#if Alfred is not early grey I will scream

[heybabybird]

important question what tea do y'all think tim is

#Timotea is a valid answer but not the one I'm looking for sorry to disappoint #jason is probably rooibos? #dick is hmmm butterfly pea tea #and dami.... I'm going to be basic and say chai #what about Steph and duke aaa #Cass is oolong you can't change my mind #if Alfred is not early grey I will scream #Bruce is pitch black coffee

[delusionalmultifandomwriter]

Grabby Hands (fluff)

Requested?: No

words: 1194

One Shot: Damian gets overwhelmed at a gala and Jason is willing to save him.

overwhelmed!Damian Wayne & bigbrother!Jason Todd

I have no idea what i am compensating with this but enjoy (Im very nervous to post this but yolo (im dying inside))

Damian Wayne hated his father's galas with a passion. Not for the same reason as Bruce though. Bruce hated the fakeness of these events. For Damian the lights were too bright, the people too many and too intense and every interaction too unpredictable.

His father made sure to introduce him to these kind of attention as early as possible. The excitement over Bruce Wayne's biological son was ginormous and Gotham was crazy to finally be introduced to the 10-year-old.

Damian hated the attention. The journalists. The flashing lights and the never ending paranoia that every false step would end up being abused on Twitter or in the next edition of the Gotham Times or Gotham Gazette. You never know.

Secretly, Damian looked up at Dick for his ability to easily handle these social events, as much as he hated them himself. It was like a skill. A skill that he couldn't seem to figure out. He always got stressed before the events which only increased over the course of the evening.

Most of the times, he managed to work through these events and then would hide in his room for three days until the noises were back to normal and he could talk to someone again without snapping at anyone or going non-verbal again.

Today's gala was different. Bad. Very bad to be exact. Damian had forgotten the reason for this event. It took place at Wayne Manor so Bruce must have had serious reasons to host it but Damians brain was empty tonight.

The suit was too itchy. Why do they make suits out of wrong material? The tie was too tight. Breathing, he needed oyxgen! Damian fumble around with his tie a little.

"Misses Davenport, this is my son Damian." Damians gaze shot up. Right in front off him stood an elder women with a babyblue and silver-sparkly dress. A silver tiara throned on her grey perm. She was far past her best ages. She smelled like old lady.

He couldn't remember who the women that his father just introduced him to was. Where did she come from? With who was she here? How was he supposed to talk to her?

Damian forced himself to smile at her. He had practiced this smile in front of the mirror a million times after his father told him to not look so grumpy when they were in public all the time.

"Oh, aren't you the sweetest." The women cooed, her voice was too high-pitched. She ruffled Damian's hair. He wanted to wince, his skin was sensitive, she needed to stop touching him!

Halfway through the gala, Damian wanted to scream and cry. The lights made his eyes burn and all these voices seemed to flood over him. After he had spent 15 minutes in the bathroom, he had followed Jason around for the last half an hour like a stray kitten to avoid getting caught up in a one-to-one conversation.

While Jason was caught up in a conversation with god knows who, Damian's gaze wandered off into the distance. The dark night was nice. He wanted to wander off into the dark and curl up somewhere nice and silent. Wander off to a quiet place where he could cuddle Titus and Alfred the Cat and just be. He wondered if someone would noticed if he would disappear from this event to spend some times with his pets. Maybe a short visit to Batcow was just what he needed...

"Hey Shorty. Sup?" Damian snapped out of the very comfortable train of thoughts about his pets. Jason was standing right in front of him and looking down at him.

Damian looked at him puzzled. After a few moments, he opened his mouth but his throat was shut tight. Luckily Jason just continued talking without waiting for his answer. "You've been rocking on your toes and staring off into the distance for the last 20 minutes. What's wrong with you?" Jason asked. Suddenly he squad down to Damian's height.

Damian tried to say something but the noises were back and the bright light was replacing the darkness he was craving. The words got stuck in his throat together with a desperate sob. At this point he was done. His brain was cooked, his skin was burning.

Withdrawal.

Damian extended his hands a little and made weak grabby hands towards Jason. Jason rolled his eyes but proceeded to pick Damian up. "Told B you couldn't take 'dis shit again." Damian heard Jason murmur while he hid his face into the older boys neck to block out the light.

Damian felt Jason walking, he was embarassed but at the same time he was finally out of responsibility and able to relax a little. He stiffened up a little as he heard a high pitched voice.

"Ohh, poor boy. What happened?" The women in the blue dress, Damian was able to recogize a light Gotham accent in her voice now. "Oh, it is already way past his bedtime. He is very tired." Jason chuckled, it was obviousy fake. Other than Damian, the elder woman didn't seem to recognize the fakeness because she dropped the conversation immediatly.

Damian felt Jason walking for a while before he headed up some stairs. The noises started to subside in the distance. Suddenly, the chilly temperature of the garden disappeared and it got significantly warmer. Jason had carried him into the manor and was now heading upstairs again, probably carrying Damian into his room.

"Im gonna kill you, Todd." Damian grumbled into Jasons neck while he fumbled with his tie to loosen it a little.

Jason chuckled, Damian could feel his chest vibrating against his smaller body. "Sure thing, babybird, kill me all you want. You were the one making grabby hands." Damian growled embarassed and buried his face deeper into Jason's shoulder.

Jason opened Damian's bedroom door with his elbow and pushed it open with his hip. He set the smaller boy down on the queen size bed and Damian curled up immediatly. It was dark, the only light came from the moon shining through the half-opened curtains. The event taking place in the garden was barely audible from here.

Damian immediatly wanted to doze off when something soft hit his face. He blinked drowsily, Jason had thrown his pyjamas in his face. "Change." He ordered while he was already heading back out to the door. "Need something else?" He asked while he turned around again.

Damian looked at his pyjamas for a few moments before he looked up. "Cat." He said finally. Jason gave him a smirk but nodded. "I'll go find your feline friend, you change." Before Damian could answer someting, Jason had closed the door.

The younger boy slowly started to open his tie and the buttons of his jacket. After what seemed like eternity, Damian had changed into his pyjamas and his gala clothes laid forgotton on the floor. His skin slowly stopped burning when it touched the cool sheets and when his head touched his pillow, he sighed deeply.

Damian Wayne hated his father's galas with a passion. But at least there were people to understand his grabby hands.

-----

Same thing on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55397962

#batfam #my writing #jason todd #red hood #damian wayne #dc robin #batman #bruce wayne #wayne manor #overwhelmed #stressed #oneshot #send help #im nervous #grabby hands #cross posted on ao3

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Part Two: Space

Part One: Here. Part Two: You are Here. Part Three: Here.

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson. This is as close to sci-fi as I've ever written and therefore not accurate to the ISS or other actual science because its time travel. Warnings for panic and some goreless action.

International Space Station 400 km above the surface of the Earth. 21st Century

“Careful up there, Jones.” The navigation officer’s voice echoed through the intercom, making Alfred look up, a domed helmet in his hand. He grinned.

“Don’t you worry yourself, darling,” He replied. “I’ve sat on some bison bigger than that panel.”

He could practically hear her eye roll. “Stay in communication and don’t pull another stunt like that backflip.”

“Aww, c’mon. Kids on the live stream went wild for it.”

“Try me, Jones. There won’t be a presidential order on earth that’ll get you back up here again.”

“Laaaaaame.”

The ISS floated serenely 400 kilometres above the earth. Alfred sailed from the equipment locker, pushing off until he reached the airlock. An old hand at this, it was almost as intuitive as horseback riding was when he was younger, but his heart sped up anyway. He clamped his helmet down and checked the comms.

“Eagle Scream, back to baseboys, over. Confirm baseboys.”

He could practically hear an eye roll from the command module. “Eagles don’t even scream. They get that sound from a hawk.”

“That should be a state secret.” Alfred grumbled. There was a whoosh as the airlock was sealed at the inner end. He opened the outer hatch, giving it one final pat for good luck. Hitching his tether, he grabbed the metal rails and took a moment. He never got sick of this part, the void of nothingness with the sheer expanse of the universe before him. The sun was at 40 degrees; the planet was just behind him.

Tossing a look over his shoulder, he could see the little green sweep of Nantucket at the edge of a grey nor’easter. He released one hand to get a better look. He was a handsome bugger from this angle, almost a thousand miles above the earth. He couldn’t quite reach his ass in the suit, but California looked good regardless. When he was done being vain, reverence swept him through the weightless silence. He leaned his helmeted head against his shoulder, watching his pale blue dot. He smiled: home sweet home.

“Move your ass, Jones.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He snapped out of his reverie, grinning in the helmet. After releasing the rails, he sailed gracefully up and behind until the Canadarm appeared. She was preloaded. All he had to do was line it up, fix some wiring and screw it in, and they were golden.

“Jones to command. Jones to command. Come in command. Need you to swing’er over nice and easy.”

The bright white arm twitched on its crane-like elbow joint, and its flexing attachment worked as steel fingers clamped on the panels and kept them in place as Alfred fastened them. It had better joints than Matt, only whirring softly instead of popping and creaking like organic bubble wrap. Alfred positioned himself near the panel that needed replacing, flexing his hands and cracking his knuckles before pulling out his wrench. The arm reached out, perhaps a bit too fast.

“Whoa, easy on the gears! My brother will shit bricks if we fuck up his baby.”

“Sorry.”

Alfred replaced the panels for an hour. The steady guidance of the Canadarm provided the stability he needed to make damn sure the solar panel was securely in place. He stopped, needing an adjustment as the command module chatted with Houston.

Alfred patted the arm and said, "You've got a better grip on that panel than Mattie does on his mental health." She was almost alive, the machinery warm, and she practically purred.

“Captain, we’ve got some funky radiation readings.”

“Almost done, just crank’er up .2 degrees and I can get this finished and come back in for some sweet tea.”

“Houston advises re-entry.”

So? They hadn’t ordered to retreat, and navigation wasn’t panicking. “I just need oh point two degrees and thirty seconds.”

“Noted.”

Canadarm moved a touch. “There you go.” He centred the panel and lined up the screws. He was the last one in when the alarm rang. Emergency lights flashed red and blue. Alfred had never heard them in action before and grew cold. Comms opened again. No. He breathed. He was not panicking.

“Captain, they’re ordering re-entry.”

“Retract the arm. On my way.”

Alfred gripped the rungs and swung his line out of the way. He pushed off hard and scrambled over the top of the rigid cylinder of the can-shaped module. It was dark here, away from his work lights and sliding across the expanse towards the hatch. He caught himself on the handle, keeping his movements controlled.

“Captain?”

“Almost there.”

“Radiations rising!”

Alfred glanced towards the sun, not looking at it. It was brighter now, with dark fire spots. The rings of light jumping up the Corona stretched and flexed like the hoops of the flexible baleen skirts he used to crawl under every now and then before Lemonade Lucy came along and put him on the straight and narrow.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me we were going to get solar flares?”

“The data didn’t show any!”

“Well, that just dills my pickle.” He muttered. He was almost at the hatch. It was brighter now, and he scrambled up the rungs, barely touching one before climbing the next. Alfred swung at the hatch.

Almost there, almost there. Why was he hot? He shouldn’t be hot. His fingers slipped inside his gloves, but he had the lever in his hand. The world fell black before he closed his fingers.

Incident Report Diplomatic Security Service Bureau of Diplomatic Security State Department

On [redacted] and at [redacted], the ISS and ground services at Carnaval facilities reported unusual radiation readings and advised the crew to return inside. See addendum one. Captain [redacted] was in contact with personnel until Captain [redacted]'s suit abruptly transmitted a distress beacon. A thorough search of the ISS was conducted, leading to the discovery of an empty spacesuit, with the helmet still attached. The inner flight suit, including the Snoopy cap and lining, was not recovered. It has been suggested that a replacement may have been made. However, the space suit contained four viable samples of [redacted]'s DNA, leaving no doubt that it belonged to [redacted]. See Addendum Two.

Two simultaneous investigations were conducted by a multidisciplinary team of experts from [redacted] and [redacted]. Interviews were conducted, telemetry data analyzed, and video footage reviewed. The spacesuit Captain [redacted] wore was intact, with no signs of damage or malfunction. Video footage and telemetry data did not reveal any abnormalities or anomalies, except as previously noted. Crew interviews did not provide any significant information regarding the incident. Pushback regarding these results has been seen overseas, significantly [redacted] and [redacted]. It is the recommendation of this body that our counterparts be updated as to the results of this investigation due to the international familial ties of the next of kin and the diplomatic pressure being leveraged.

#hws america #aph america #the dangeld axe to grind: the viking age time travel au #my writing || cacoethes scribendi #Alfred and the stars || the first golden retriever in space #alfred || o beautiful for spacious skies #dont know why im continuing this part one flopped so hard but lmaoooo i finally figured out how to do plot i fucken guess

[alittledoseofchaos]

Marvelous Miracles (Please Disregard the Ghosts)

Pt. 2

Prev. Next,

this crossover includes Miraculous, DC, Marvel, and DP. I'm not gonna list each individual crossover in the tags (I list Maribat and dp×dc because I know those can be difficult to block sometimes and it makes it easier for this fic to blocked). If you don't like these, the title (exactly) is a tag so this fic can be blocked that way too.

Alfred Pennyworth, despite what most people claim, does not know everything. He knows Bruce Wayne is Batman, his son, and a father. He knows he would give his life for his grandchildren. He knows that the world needs people like his family, even if he doesn't always like it. He knows that something in Paris, France is bad enough for Master Bruce's old friend Jared to suggest that one Marinette Dupain-Cheng move to Gotham of all places, but he can't for the life of him understand what it is.

His family is incredibly paranoid wary at heart, and for good reason too, so it comes as no shock that they began investigating the girl's life. What is surprising is that they can't find a single reason for Jared's concern. School reports show cases of bullying and victim blaming being ignored, which is mildly concerning, but not the life threatening problems Jared has promised them. Thorough research finds that her parents are busy, but hardworking and loving parents. In fact, after learning who the girl's parents were, Alfred messaged an old friend of his. Unfortunately, Gina Dupain, grandmother of the girl in question, provided more questions than answers when she mentioned something about evil butterflies. Everyone they talk to sounds just as mad with terror as the last.

Master Bruce, never one to leave a child in danger when he uses that brain of his, agreed to host the girl. His family is still at work trying to figure out the girl's backstory as he picks the dear up from the airport. He's early, and not as young as he used to be, so he waits for her in the plain van. He sat watching the camera feeds as the plane lands and begins unloading. His curiosity grows as miss Dupain-Cheng comes to a sudden halt as her foot lands in the building. From what he could tell, there is nothing around that would cause this abrupt stop, yet she is still standing there, frozen with one foot in the building. Displeasure crosses his aged face as someone behind the girl pushes her forward. She starts walking again, but her movements are stiffer than before.

Her blue-grey eyes shine with unease and dart between all the exits warily. Alfred climbs out of the car, intent on getting her out of there as soon as possible. He grabs a sign with 'Felicity Garcia' written on it, the agreed upon name that hopefully wouldn't draw anyone's attention. His brows furrow with determination.

Alfred Pennyworth does not know everything, but he knows that he'll do right by this girl.

🐞🦇👻🕷🐞🦇👻🕷🐞🦇👻🕷🐞🦇👻🕷🐞🦇

Marinette Dupain-Cheng knows many things. She knows that she would risk everything for her friends. She knows that she'll never get to be a normal girl with a normal life until Hawkmoth is taken down. She knows that something is wrong and that nobody has noticed. She knows that something is there, in the corner of her eye. She knows that someone is watching her. She knows there are many mutterings, but nobody is talking. She knows that Gotham is Crime Capital of the US, but this? This was something much darker. Something she is sorry to have seen, because now she is going to have to do something about it.

She feels another shiver dance down her spine and thanks the kwami that she wore such a thick grey sweater. She pushes aside thoughts of sinister intentions and scans the almost empty building. She hums lightly as she spots a sign with 'Felicity Garcia' written on it. The elderly man holding it is wearing a beige sweater and regular jeans, but something in her screams that he shouldn't be wearing anything other than a suit.

"HI! I'm Felicity Garcia! Are you here to pick me up?" She asks cheerfully. The gentleman's smokey grey eyes twinkle as he replies.

"Of course not, I'm much too frail for that." She smiles at the passcode. As they walk towards the doors, someone behind them spills their coffee. She turns to the woman that is now drenched in coffee. Without hesitation Marinette rushes over. She pulls out napkins and an anti-stain stick. She offers them up to the woman freely. Distrust fills the woman's eyes as she takes the offered objects. The woman nods in thank you as she walks away.

Marinette stares at the space where the woman had stood for a long while before she moves again. As she heads to the van, pity and determination mixes into a jumbled mess inside of her.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng knows many things, like how she is going to do anything to help these people in a place too dark.

Next

#maribat #maribat marinette dupain cheng #Marvelous Miracles (Please Disregard the Ghosts) #dpxdc #maribat alfred pennyworth #mass crossover

[alrighty-matty]

breakfast and headlines

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: with every scrutiny of the press’ eyes on you after Bruce’s grand, stupid, and scandalous stunt, you decided to take the matter to your own hand. part two of flashes and hallways.

Warning: SPOILER FOR THE BATMAN! kinda? i referenced a lot of things that happened in the movie so beware!

Note: the thing that i love about being a fic writer is watching everyone screaming at me for having a horny thought about fictional dudes and that’s honestly very validating. also thank you for the love you give for flashes and hallways! <3

read flashes and hallways here

Bruce always had the knack to take you by surprise.

Even in his own home, his footsteps were light and undetected, almost as if he could conjure himself up out of the thin air. Ever since a kid, he somehow always managed to sneak on you—no matter how many times you tried to deduce his surprise—he always had a trick underneath his sleeve. You never knew which way he would come.

The sight of him walking to the dining room every morning, a surprise that cracked through his stoic face every time his eyes landed on you, and the slight quirk of the corner of his lips had become a routine to your morning lately. Even this had taken you by surprise. After all that happened, you never thought he would be a part of your routine again.

Alfred could use a company, you reasoned, especially after the incident. God knows what Bruce was up to, and he was never a morning person. You spared every few hours in the morning just to visit him and chat over a cup of tea before you head off to work, the welcoming smile embedded in Alfred’s face was a balm to your otherwise very chaotic days ahead.

This had nothing to do with Bruce and everything to do with Alfred—even when you stayed a few hours longer and compensated to start your day late just to see him walking to the dining room before you went.

He was early today.

“Very kind of you to join us this morning, Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted him, pausing a very passionate conversation about a crossword puzzle he had just finished last night. “Would you like some tea?”

Bruce squinted his eyes on you, another routine added to your morning. It took a while not to take it personally—although it was hard to scrub over the feeling of his gaze slowly creeping underneath your skin—he just had a hard time staring in a brightly-lit room.

He still had yet to learn how to properly acknowledge your presence in the room—not that you ever acknowledged his presence properly at all. “What do we have for breakfast?” he poured himself a cup of tea, eyes trained on his cup.

You thought you caught him grinning slightly at his tea.

You raised your own cup of tea to hide a frown. Alfred had kindly brewed a very delicious earl grey tea today, your favorite. “Actually, I’m here to pick you up for breakfast,” you said quickly, eyes trained on the newspaper laid on the table almost forgotten. “Outside.”

Bruce snapped his head, lips pressing together in a harsh line. “Outside? Why?”

You picked up the newspaper and smoothed the crinkle out. Vicky Vale wasn’t the only journalist who took interest in whatever stunt Bruce pulled in front of the press weeks ago, but she was the most ruthless. The news of your engagement had put a target behind your back for the media to sniff some worth-to-write news updates, especially with the rumor of Thomas Wayne that was still yet to be addressed.

Bruce was seriously in dire need of a PR team.

“Just because,” you waved your hand dismissively. “Go change, I’ll meet you outside.”

“What’s wrong with the food here?”

“Be quick, won’t you? I’m hungry,” you huffed. “And vitamin D is good for you.”

He was quick but he was grumpy the whole time, his lips pressing together to form a thin line. It wasn’t exactly a frown, but you quickly could tell he wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of going outside and fending himself to the outside world—a possibility of encountering a person who recognized him immediately was something he never liked.

The restaurant was fifteen minutes away driving, a quite fanciful place that had become a new hotspot in the city. Glances were subtly thrown your way the moment you entered with Bruce in tow, some were not so much, and some even openly gawking.

The hostess greeted you with a wide smile and ushered you into a table next to a big floor-to-ceiling window, facing the street outside, and offered a clear view of the city slowly stirred from its unrestful sleep.

A flash from somewhere—your left?—broke the silence that slowly stretched between you and Bruce.

Bruce glanced over his shoulder momentarily, before he slowly trained his gaze on you. “You planned this,” he started.

“Hmm?” you flipped over the menu, awfully aware that more than one camera firing flashes to capture your sight with Bruce. “What are you talking about?”

“Paparazzi,” he said, voice thick with accusation. You didn’t have to glance up to know his eyebrows knitted together tensely. “They’re hiding behind the tree across the street.”

You glanced up and followed his gaze. Five cameras were sprouting from behind the tall tree across the street, a little subtle to unassuming eyes but not to you—a result of playing hide and seek for years with the scrutiny of the media.

“You roped me into your mess, Bruce. You made us our bed, might as well as lay on it,” you snapped close the menu and stared at him. “If you want to pull some PR stunt, we’re going to play with my rules,” you leveled a stare with him, trying your best to unwavering your gaze at his strikingly blue eyes—you almost forget how damningly gorgeous his eyes were—glancing subtly at a server walking towards your way. “Now, darling, what do you like to eat?”

Bruce huffed out a quiet, shaky breath, throwing his glance away into the space next to you. “I’d have whatever you’re having.”

“Two smoked salmon bagels then,” you smiled widely at the server—a poised young man somehow taken aback at his customer this morning—voice as sweet and thick as honey. “Can we have the roasted sesame dressing for our salad instead? He likes that the best.”

“Leave out the cucumber, please,” Bruce interjected. He muttered the addition and stared into the space behind you, “You hate cucumbers.”

You blinked at him. Bruce always had his way to strike you by surprises, even after all these years. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and muster up your best public smile, trying to steer away from the thought of what-ifs and unanswered whys that you tucked behind your memory and sealed it away tightly—or so you thought—you couldn’t afford to descend into an endless abyss of your own questions.

But right now he was sitting right in front of you, and you missed him even more than you could dare to imagine.

#bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #the batman #batman #batman imagine #battinson #battinson imagine #battinson x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #dc batman

[lalainajanes]

For the square “water park” on my Klarosummerbingo card! Might be my worst title ever but it’s actually better than the original one so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Slip and Slide

Caroline speedwalks through the lobby, weaving around people who seem to think it’s the appropriate place for an early morning stroll. “Hold the elevator!” she calls, ignoring the few disgruntled looks she receives.

She hadn’t been that loud, and she’s nearly late for a critical meeting. It’s the first one with a new client, and she’d hate to make a bad first impression.

She’d had to head to the dry cleaners before work, had gotten caught in a traffic snarl in an area she wasn’t that familiar with, and it had taken her way too long to figure out the detour. She should have left her place earlier.

She gets to the security gates, juggling a garment bag, her briefcase, and a portfolio. Her ID seems to be just out of reach, and she jams her hand further into her purse. Albert, her favorite guard, murmurs, “Take a breath, Ms. Forbes.”

She blows one out, frustrated. Rolls her shoulders in an attempt to relax. “Sorry. I’m just…”

“Stressed? I can tell.”

Yikes. Caroline hopes that doesn’t mean her hair has exploded.

She smiles weakly, “Big day today.”

A brand new project, after the last one had been a disaster. Caroline’s comfortable with stress, thrives on high stakes, but she could totally use a win.

Her fingers touch the familiar edge of her badge, and she pulls it out triumphantly. She taps it on the sensor, walks through the revolving gate. “Good luck, Ms. Forbes,” Alfred murmurs as she passes.

It’s a little thing, but Caroline feels a little better knowing someone’s rooting for her.

She’s relieved to spot that one of the elevators is open, a man holding the door, his eyes on her. She doesn’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything. The building has 55 floors, offices for more than two dozen companies within it. He’s dressed in a suit, like the vast majority of the men she sees in the building. His is nicer than most, charcoal grey, perfectly fitted, with a very subtle pinstripe that she only notices when she gets closer. Caroline hurries into the car gratefully. She leans forward, punches 32. “Thank you so much,” she says to him, turning so they’re shoulder to shoulder. “You’re a lifesaver.”

The man on her other side makes a noise, a tiny scoff. Caroline glances at him quizzically. He’s stoic, eyes forward, but she’s sure there’s a hint of amusement on his face.

An arm brushes against hers, drawing her attention. “Feel free to ignore him,” the man who’d held the elevator says. His voice is low, smooth and she’d be charmed by the accent if they’d met in a social situation.

Or any situation, if she’s honest.

“My brother would probably describe me as more of a troublemaker.”

Huh. She hadn’t have figured brothers. They’ve both got attractive and well-dressed going for them but little other familial resemblance. Caroline’s head swings back, “Are you a trouble maker?”

His amusement is plain. His full lips curl, and deep dimples appear in his cheeks.

Oh yeah. Definitely a trouble maker.

“I’m about twenty minutes early for my meeting today; how much of a trouble maker can I be?” His tone is playful, a touch too innocent to be believed.

Damn it. Caroline does not have time for an attractive man this morning. At least she hadn’t changed into the frumpier outfit in the garment bag. Hopefully, she’ll run into this guy again.

“I think I need more info. Could be a one-time thing. I’m almost late for my meeting, which is wildly out of character.”

“Not the trusting sort, are you?”

Caroline shrugs, raising her brows expectantly.

He laughs briefly, “Well, I did send an email ahead to inquire about the coffee preferences of the team I’m meeting. I’m stopping at one of the cafes to pick it up now. Would a troublemaker do that?”

“Hmm, maybe. Could be an underhanded tactic to get on a good side before the trouble starts.”

Dimples’ brother chimes in again, dry this time. “I believe your assistant sent that email. And that she learned the practice from my assistant.”  

Dimples glowers, and Caroline must admit this is a delightful distraction from her anxiety. She glances up at the panel above the door and is disappointed to find they’re almost on her floor. “If you’re going to the café on 36, I recommend the oatmeal raisin cookies. Most people go chocolate chip. Trust me, that’s a mistake.”

The elevator pings, the doors sliding open. Caroline smiles, hitches her briefcase higher on her shoulder. “This is me. Thanks again.”

The receptionist spots Caroline, stands up, a sheaf of papers in her hands, and Caroline’s reminded about how much she has to do. She hurries out, her heels clicking across the shiny tiles of the lobby.

She still glances back at the elevator, can’t help smiling, pleased, when she finds her new friend from the elevator watching her as the doors close.

Even if she never sees him again, he’d made her morning a little brighter.

Now, though, it’s time to work.

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later, Caroline’s pacing in her office. She’s pinned her hair back and changed into the purple pantsuit she’d picked up at the dry cleaners. It’s a great color but not the most flattering fit. The pants are fine, but the jacket’s boxy, and she’s wearing a plain pink blouse underneath, buttoned to her throat, a thick silver necklace threaded through the collar. There’s a pair of glasses perched on her nose, and she’d changed into sensible flats.

She’d learned her lesson last time, at the first meeting where she’d been the project lead. She’d been called ‘Honey’ and other more annoying pet names and asked to serve coffee and fetch snacks. She’d received skepticism when she’d introduced herself. By the end of that first meeting, Caroline had wanted to scream her credentials – a B.A. and a Master’s in Civil Engineering, a whole pile of certifications, several prestigious internships, and stellar work references, thank you very much – at most of the people in the room.

Ultimately, the project had been successful, but Caroline had experienced frequent bursts of frustration that bordered on rage. Her suggestions were met with questions that made it clear her intelligence was doubted, her corrections with condescension, even though she’d usually been the only one in the room with any significant scientific expertise.

Expertise that’s kind of crucial in designing a water park. It wouldn’t have been a good look, or a sound investment, if guests were to end up injured or dead after paying exorbitant ticket prices and expecting a fun day.

Her skin has thickened considerably, but Caroline hopes that’s less necessary this time. Her boss had assured her that this job would be easier, and Caroline’s choosing to believe her. It’s even potentially exciting – these clients own several international resorts, the park she’s pitching on will be built in Spain.

Being project leader, she’d traveled to oversee construction on the nightmare build, but Tennessee doesn’t carry quite the same appeal as the Spanish coast, at least from the photos Caroline’s seen.

At the very least, it can’t be a worse experience. She hopes.

She hears Katherine coming her way, takes a final deep breath before Kat breezes into her office. “What are you wearing?” Kat asks, sounding both mystified and vaguely disgusted. She pauses in front of Caroline, fingers pinching her lapel and tugging. “Is this polyester?”

“Maybe. I thrifted it.”

Katherine’s face twists in the sort of revulsion one would expect if Caroline confessed to grave robbing the ensemble.

“Ew, why?”

“Figured I needed a costume. To make sure that this time, no one in there thinks to call me ‘sweet cheeks.’”

She’d been paired with another designer last time, Matt Donovan, who was a nice enough guy but had been pretty useless in the having her back department. Caroline likely wouldn’t have cried into her Ben and Jerry’s quite so often had Katherine been her partner. Kat has the unique and impressive ability to make demands and issue orders and have people thank her for it.

Kat snorts, “Elijah Mikaelson would never. He’s aggressively polite. I haven’t spoken to him yet, but I doubt Niklaus would either. I assume he has the same hot accent.”

That’s a new name. Caroline doesn’t like surprises. “And who is Niklaus?”

“A brother. And a business partner. He wasn’t originally scheduled to be here but is unexpectedly in town. What do you think the British equivalent to sweet cheeks is?”

Caroline’s eyes go wide, a few puzzle pieces clicking together. British brothers, twenty minutes early for a meeting. What are the odds?

Crap. Had she been flirting with a client? In front of another client?

There’s a tap at the door, her boss’ assistant’s head poking in, “They’re ready for you in the conference room.”

Ugh. Maybe she’s cursed.

* * * * * 

The presentation goes fantastically.

Katherine had been correct – the Mikaelsons don’t seem to labor under the misapprehension that a conventionally attractive blonde woman can’t grasp complex concepts. They’d shaken her hand when she’d arrived; Niklaus (or Klaus, as he apparently prefers) had looked a bit puzzled when they’d been introduced, Caroline had chalked that up to the outfit. He’d said it was nice to see her again. Explaining her mad dash to the elevator, and Klaus’ assistance, to the room had broken the ice nicely.

Kat kicks them off, and her design is gorgeous; Elijah and Klaus appear suitably impressed. When it’s Caroline’s turn, her nerves fall away by her second PowerPoint slide. She knows her stuff backward and forward, and she’s incredibly pleased with her innovation.

She also begins to feel less bad about the flirting once she sees that Kat throws Elijah a few looks that are borderline inappropriate for the office (that he seems pretty pleased with).

They ask questions, pour over the mock-ups and technical drawings Caroline and Katherine had prepared. Their ideas are actually good, which is a nice contrast for the last project. She’d done far too much lying and finessing to attempt to steer the previous park into a less terrible direction. The Mikaelsons have far fewer notes than Caroline had anticipated, and she promises to put together an update ASAP. They schedule another meeting.

She thinks Klaus’ handshake lingers when they say goodbye, but maybe she’s just riding high on adrenaline and imagining things.

She kind of hopes she isn’t. It’s probably too messy to date a client, but a girl can fantasize, can’t she?

Caroline helps herself to the cookie tray, pleased by the generous helping of oatmeal raisin she finds. Kat’s disappeared, but she knows their boss will want to debrief. Caroline collapses into one of the conference chairs, pulls out her phone to check her messages.

She replies to a few emails before she notices one that’s just arrived.

 Hello Caroline,

I enjoyed your presentation today. I look forward to the next.

Warmly,

Klaus

 She grins to herself, slumps lower in her chair. Clearly, she hadn’t imagined anything if Klaus is emailing her when he’s barely out of the building. She takes a risk and sends a slightly more casual reply than she’d usually attempt at this point.

If he reacts badly, she can up the formality later on. If he doesn’t, well… she’s only fostering a good working relationship. That’ll be essential if they land this contract.

And she’s like 90% sure it’s in the bag.

 Hi Klaus,

Thank you!

The photos your team sent over of the location were gorgeous; both Kat and I were inspired. I think this is some of our best work to date. I’m excited to dive into the updates and meet again next week.

Best,

Caroline

P.S. Thanks for the cookies.

His reply comes minutes later.

Caroline,

I believe it. Your work is impressive, as I’m sure your new ideas will be. Have you ever been to Spain? The pictures hardly do it justice.

Warmly,

Klaus

P.S. You’re welcome. Which coffee order was yours?

 Well, that’s the opposite of a bad reaction.

Caroline sets her phone aside, tells herself she has to be smart here. She’s reasonably sure she’s not doing anything that’s prohibited. The emails will speak for themselves, and they live on the company server. Neither she nor Klaus are offering anything untoward for the contract. If things go well, she may just have to fill out an HR disclosure form. She’ll double-check the firm’s code of conduct.

Just in case.

#klarosummerbingo #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction

[jinxedpanda4life]

DamiRae Hospital AU?

  No I am not writing one, if I could write well I would though! So here are some HCs for a hospital AU.    If someone decides to write this then I’ll be your first reader. Also I am sort of basing things off of Grey’s Anatomy just a bit and my limited knowledge of the medical field.

- Starts of as 1st year residents, specialties may vary

- The “Titans” are residents and 1st years that show great promise, this doesn’t really play a role its just what people call them behind their backs

- Dr. Kori Anders is a OBGYN (women parts and birth) resident, a year or two away from finishing

- Dr. Richard “Dick” Grayson is is a surgery resident, trained by the hospital owner Bruce Wayne (who is a world renowned surgeon, has awards, etc), specifically general surgery

- Dr. Garfield Logan is pediatrician (kid doctor) res, bonds well with kids, but is considering going back to school to become a vet instead

- Dr. Jaime Reyes is an oncology (cancer doctor), having had cancer as a teen and is now forever trying to rid the world of it, works mostly with kids and teens

- Dr. Jonathan Kent is a physical therapist that works with pain management. Up beat guy and is always trying to brighten his patient’s lives.

- Dr. Damian Wayne is a surgical intern, blood thirsty little thing, hoping to become a neurosurgeon (brain, spine) (or cardiothoracic (heart, lungs) both are competitive)

- Dr. Raven Roth is an anesthesiologist (the drug person that knocks you out) and is starting her surgical internship (she wanted to do more than just help people get high essentially or whatever) has no current preference for any specific surgical field

- Add in characters:

-- Dr. Jason Todd, trauma surgeon (fits too well)

-- Dr. Timothy Drake diagnostician (medical detective basically) 

-- Dr. Donna Troy gynecologist

-- Terra Markov is a nurse (i don’t like Terra but nurses are the actual best)

- Story stuff:

- Damian and Raven meet as they are put under the guidance of the same resident

-Damian has an automatic dislike for Raven because she knows everyone already and is equally, if not much more, knowledgable about surgery, the OR, the ER, protocol, etc  He also thinks she is cold because she rarely shows emotion (pot kettle Damian)

- Raven can always be found in the medical archives researching old cases and studying new ones, Damian stumbles upon her when looking for an old cardiomegaly case (enlarged heart).

- Raven gets along with all of the past ‘Robins’ making her a go to intern

- Garfield can be seen whenever he is not needed trying to flirt with Nurse Markov and often goes to Raven to sulk 

- Damian and Raven are always early to pre-rounds and are typically the first ones there (usually early in the morning, getting there before 500)

- Jon bumps into Damian more often than not and they start becoming friends (Damian is reluctant at first and is still you know Damian about everything), Damian even recommends patients to him 

- Though Damian doesn’t want to really ‘hang out’ with anyone he reluctantly hangs out with the Titans, because of Jon and Dick

            - When in a large group when at a bar, club or whatever Damian tends to stay close to Raven because 1) they actually have things to talk about 2) she isn’t loud

- Raven & Damian are both assigned to a case that is frankly befuddling and have to start spending long nights and early mornings together to figure it out

- Over that period of time they learn things about each other:

-- Raven learns: 

Damian has a dog (Titus) and cat (Alfred) 

He is single (Kori told her) and lives in an apartment close to the hospital

He has lived in various countries

He is trained in multiple martial arts 

He prefers his tea with brown sugar and a slice of lemon 

His eyes are a true emerald color with a ring of gold and flecks scattered within 

He may hide it well but when Raven compliments him he becomes flustered

He speaks to himself in Arabic when he curses, trying to remember something, doesn’t want anyone to know what he is saying

He isn’t always an asshole

When he actually smiles a true and genuine smile, she has heart palpitations

-- Damian learns:

Raven has two tattoos (neither are a bird), a gang tat (she is saving up to get it removed), and a mantra in Azarathian; Azarath Metrion Zinthos

She immigrated from Azarath when she was around 8

Her notes are in Azarathian

She actually feels a lot of emotion and knows how to control them

If she is not reading about a current or past case she is reading any book or file she can get her hands on, he has caught her reading in multiple different languages; Azarathian, English, French, Russian, Arabic, Dutch, Mandarin, (could be more or less)

She lives alone and has a cat, Nevermore, and thanks to Dick he already knew she was single

She likes all tea, no matter how prepared, but prefers the sweetener to be honey

Her hair is black but shines purple, especially under the ER lights

Her eyes are a purple that at first glance look blue, like Elizabeth Taylor, he realizes though her eyes are galaxies on their own 

When she smiles the world actually stops moving, her eyes shine like stars and he never wants the world to start moving again

She always wears a necklace with a gold and ruby ring at all times (it was her mother’s wedding ring)

- When Damian starts having le feelings for Raven he considers actually seeking medical advice as this has never happened to him before

- Raven tries her best to contain her feelings when at work, going so far as one day a month staying home just to scream, cry and feel her feelings

- It does not help that new feelings towards Damian start popping up, especially since he starts bringing her tea and hanging out with her at work

- During the middle of their 2nd year of residency someone holds Raven hostage in the hospital to fix someone that person loves (this person had connections to Trigon and knew who Raven was)

- That was not a fun time for either Damian or Raven; Damian was outside the hospital pacing trying to figure something out with the other Titans trying to calm themselves and him down

- Shots are fired and when all is said and done, Raven gets shot in the abdomen and the hand (she was in ICU for a hot sec)

- Damian seemed to be there every time Raven woke up, he was always checking on her during rounds even though he wasn’t on her case

- Raven did have to have surgery on her hand and in her abdomen (idk where i’m not getting that specific), she hated being, in her words, coddled 

- Even though Raven was right handed (the one that got shot) she learned how to do everything, writing, eating, going to the bathroom, etc. (many of the other residents are impressed since she keeps working on it after her other hand heals)

- Raven’s room also becomes a space for other residents to destress and just vent about their day. She listens and gives advice, all without looking up from whatever she was doing. 

- During this time Raven becomes hooked on Pretty Pretty Pegasus

- Raven’s room is also full of cards, flowers, etc all from fellow staff and some from patients. When she leaves (she spends a couple weeks in thanks to multiple surgeries, recovery, and other minor injuries) all of the gifts litter her apartment, the cards end up in a box by her desk, she presses the flowers, and stuffed animals are donated to children’s shelter (she keeps some that she has grown attached to)

- During this time Damian is more of an ass than usual (people notice and tease him)

- Damian at some points keeps working without breaks/sleep for hours on end. Dick pulls him aside after noticing, scolds and forces him to sleep in one of the on call rooms. (He really wanted him to go home, but Damian wasn’t leaving)

- Once Raven was discharged Damian and Garfield help her back home (clothes + gifts + Raven w/a healing hand/other injuries = need help) the other Titans would have helped but were needed at the hospital

- Garfield leaves after dropping off Raven and Damian (and her stuff) as he is called in on a Peds case (could be fake, may not be) and Raven & Damian spend the rest of the time basically watching terrible movies. (with Nevermore sitting on both of them)

- That is the night Damian realizes that not only does he like Raven, but he like likes her. He starts devising plans on how to get her to date him. 

- All his plans basically are thrown out the window because of one reason or another (he kept overthinking it)(poor guy)

- It is not until their 3rd year of residency that Raven realizes her feelings towards Damian (Have I made it clear she likes him? I can’t remember...)

- She realizes her feelings when she has to crash at his place for a night (because he lives ridiculously close to the hospital, like how expensive is that??) and he tries to make sure that she is as comfortable as possible 

- She never realized how much he cared for her? Like she was always helping him out and there for him but she never realized he reciprocated that care? *Shocker*

- Raven becomes kind of a mess because of all her emotions that she is trying to bottle up. (all the corks are disintegrating and the jar is overflowing)

- Raven is during her Ortho rotation (bone surgeon people, they are cool, ik from experience) that she actually gets a good release for her emotions (setting peoples bones and drilling and hammering in pins is actually therapeutic) 

- Raven thinks that may be the specialty she chooses

- Damian saw her as a mess and could not fathom why she was said mess, he figured it was about a romantic interest after someone made an offhand comment about her love life and she became a blubbering mess (very un-Raven like)

- After all of well *motions with hands* that Raven asks why Damian doesn’t have a s/o or someone

- He says there is only person that he has been meaning to ask out (looks pointedly at Raven)

- All Raven says is “Go for it.”

And that is where my HCs end. Now if anyone who happens upon this post decides to write a Medical AU with any of these please tag me, tell me, message me. 

You do not have to give me credit, I just want to read it. 

This took me a couple of days to write up, so if it is disjointed I apologize. 

If anything needs to be corrected for any reason let me know!

 I hope this fuels some imaginations!

-I may post more HC AU things if they come to mind, we will have to see.

#damirae #damian x raven #demonbirds #teen titans #raven #damian wayne #rachel roth #headcanon #medical au #au

[kimberly-spirits13]

Right Hand Man (Loyal to the End) Pt. 9 (Final Part 😢)

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Synopsis: You were like Talia’s daughter. The only thing was that you weren’t and instead, you had grown up in the foster care system and at a young age were taken by and personally trained by Talia. Along the way, you meet Damian and the two of you start to work side by side and eventually, after some time become closer and closer. However, when disaster in the league strikes, you face balancing an old, forgotten life as a normal child and the burden of right hand to the demon heir.

Note: I know that this is long and that there are a good number of time skips, but I didn’t want to make this into a series and just wanted it as a long fic because .... well because I can lol

Also, I didn’t want to have Damian so young in this so just go with it. I’m thinking maybe early 15 or almost 16 at the most. Idk I just don’t like writing for young Dami.

Warnings: mentions of blood, injury, almost dying, pit madness, angst 

Word Count:1285

Masterlist for Series

After Alfred removed the pipe that was in your stomach you started bleeding heavily. No one was ready for it and the amount of blood made it hard to work. Damian looked over and saw you bleeding out on the table and went into panic mode. He jumped up and started looking through your belt for something.

        “Damian- what are you...” Your eyes went wide as he pulled out a small glass of liquid, “You’re not going to do what I think you will are you?” You groaned.

        Talia had allowed you to have a vile of the pit just in case something happened and you needed to use it on Damian. If it was injected, it would be stronger so you always carried the proper supplies for it.

        “Pennyworth, a moment?” Damian pulled him to the side once you weren’t totally bleeding out, “She’s going to die isn’t she?”

        “Master Damian I- yes, she will die if something else isn’t done. I do not know what can be done.”

        Damian sighed, “We have to inject this into her, where ever the wound is. It’s a vile of the water from the pit. She has it to use for me, but, she needs it now.” “I’ll hold her down.”

        “Why ever would you have to...” Alfred thought about it before a long look came over his face, “I understand. Right away then.”

        Damian walked to you carefully, knowing you had an idea of what was to happen.

        “Dames, please don’t.” You whimpered.

        “Beloved, I know you hate it but it has to be done. I’ll be right here for you the entire time, you won’t be alone this time, I promise.” He said taking your hand in his, “Just let Pennyworth do this quickly and it’ll be over faster.”

        “Damian no!” You started crying, “Please not this, just let me die, please!”

        “Y/N, no you have to just listen to me. I’m right here, the entire time.” Damian said after Alfred put a hand on his shoulder.

        He pulled you to his chest close and held your hand as Alfred injected you with the stuff. Damian knew it would work, he just didn’t really know about what would happen to you after that. The issue of the pit’s madness might not be one here, however no one was entirely sure what an injection of it would do. He knew shortly after though.

        You screamed and cried into his shoulder almost not being able to breathe.

        “Make it stop please!” You begged, “It hurts, please!”

        “Beloved I’m right here.” He said, “I’m not leaving you.” A few minutes had passed and he knew from past experience that you’d be back in just a second. That didn’t make it easier. As you came off of the hallucinations and pain, you were silent. The silence was the worst part. It was like after all of that, you went into autopilot now just trying to figure out where you were and how to get topside. The sudden mental change was all too familiar but instead of waking up alone and in a cavern illuminated by the light of the pit, you woke under florescent lights that had been dimmed and a figure holding you tightly after Alfred had left. Your hands immediately found his hair and with the comfort and familiarity, your heart rate dropped to something normal instead of rushed.

        “Dami?” You blinked a few times, “Is it over yet?”

        “Yes beloved.” He said looking up, eyes puffy with tears in his eyes, “I’m sorry beloved, I just, I can’t... I don’t know what would happen if I didn’t have you with me.”

        “It’s okay Damian. It really is this time.” You sat up clutching your side some, “Doesn’t mean it won’t hurt for a little bit though.”

        “Here, let me help you.” Damian helped walk you upstairs to his room and wash your hair. With the number of wounds you had to have dressed and cleaned, you didn’t need a shower, just the rubble and dirt out of your hair. He pulled up a stool in front of the sink and held your head up and he washed the hair.

        You didn’t really know what to do or say, so instead you just sat back and let him take the lead for once. After drying your hair enough, you went and sat on his bed, him sitting behind you. He took sections of your hair and started braiding them over and over again.

        “I thought I was going to lose you Y/N.” He said, “You’re so stubborn.”

        You scoffed, “You’re one to talk demon.”

        “That is true General.” He remarked, “What you did was truly remarkable though.”         “I had to do it Damian. She was around the same age I was when I was brought to the league.” You said.

        “You should’ve seen the look on the mother’s face when I brought her back. She was so happy to see her.”

        “Well, at least if anything happened, a family would not have been lost tonight.”

        Damian didn’t respond, you knew he couldn’t because while he knew you were right, it pained him to think of you leaving him.

_______________________________________________________________________

        It was a few days later, your wound was healing rapidly probably just to leave a scar and sun was finally shining onto Gotham. Damian was out with the guys not of his own free will though. You were sure that when he got back there would be a ranting session about the dramatics of it all. Alfred had a day off right now and the rest of the family was gone. For the time, it was just you in the large house left alone to roam around as long as you wanted. With that silence and peace however, was an interruption. A knock at the door came and when you went to check, nothing was there but for a parcel sealed in wax addressed to you.

        You looked around knowing it was Talia’s writing and nodded before walking back inside and heading for your bedroom. Once sitting at your desk, you opened it up with the small knife you kept on you. Unraveling the letter that was set atop the actual package, you read it.

General Y/N,         I send this letter as an update to the league. Nothing has changed as the last one has arrived to your doorstep but for the slow process of filing through recruits once more. The attack was assisted by an inside source which is now being handled as seen fit. As for you, I have heard the news of your recent relationship with my son. I give you my blessing to continue, seeing as I have anticipated this for an extended amount of time. I also write this as a thank you for your recent near sacrifice. You have lived to my expectations dramatically and I see you were the right fit for this position. As such, I have obtained a second vile of the pit and sent it to you as a token of my gratitude.         Sincerely,         Talia al Ghul

      You smiled reading the letter before in code writing the important parts down in a leather journal you kept locked in a trick door on the third drawer of your desk. With the actual letter, you burned it in the fireplace which was already going. And with the ashes of the letter, you knew that this was the start of something new. You watched the rest of the letter disappear into the rest of the ashes and then headed outside for a walk in the sun, letting go of all of your issues for even a few moments of serenity.

-

-

GUYYSS I’m so sad that the series is over 😭! I loved writing this series so much and I really hope you guys enjoyed it too! I’m planning on making some headcannons and spin off one shots for it that I’ve thought up of and I wanna play more on the singing part cause I’ve developed more for it. Anyways... I’m starting a new series or smt I think cause I miss this series like Algebra misses its x

Tag List-

@we-want-mini-mini​ @a-door-into-my-mind​ @idkmanicantenglish​ @queengeorgiaaa​ @lucy-roo​ @wolfiemichele​ @grey-water-colors​ @random-fandom-girl-24​ @crumpets-are-better-with-jam​ 

#damian wanye #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #robin imagine #robin x reader #robin x y/n #robin x you #batfam x y/n #batfam x you #batfam imagine #batfam x reader #dc x you #dc comics #dc x y/n #dc x reader #teen titans x you #teen titans x y/n #teen titans x reader #teen titans

[reddrobins]

last ‘i love you’ [d.grayson]

Request: Angst time! Could you do “This isn’t you.”, “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.” and “You’re scaring me.” with Dick please?

Summary: A few months into their relationship, Reader begins to realise that her loving Nightwing isn’t as loving as before... in fact he may not even be her Nightwing anymore.

Your relationship with Dick Gayson was like a dream come true. From the day you saw him walk into the Bludhaven police station, you knew that the two of you would click, that you were destined to be together forever… or so you thought.

You soon come to realise that ‘forevers’ only happen in fairy tales.

The change wasn’t instant, no it was gradual, and that made it even worse. You hadn’t noticed your boy-wonders personality shift until it was far too late.

As you sit alone in the manor, you think back to the events of that night. Hoping that somehow, someway it was all a dream. And that Dick, your Dick, would come back to you.

It had been a long and frankly weird day.

Starting off in the morning, Dick seemed more stoic and straight-faced than ever. The last couple of days had been like that, but you’d pay them no attention. After all, the man had been stressed before, so you thought nothing of it. You rolled over and laid your cheek onto his chest. “Hey pretty bird.” You whispered.

However, unlike the usual greeting you got, Dick just sat up, pushing you off of him. Your body thumped back onto the bed and you propped yourself up on your elbows, eying Dick. “Hey, what gives?”

Dick turned his neck to face you, not even giving you the classic Grayson smile.

Maybe he's just not feeling well, you thought to yourself.

Pushing himself off the bed, DIck walked to your shared closet and grabbed his work uniform, still no words spoken between you two.

You got out of bed as well, and tiptoed over to him, snaking your arms around his toned waist. “I said morning, pretty bird.” You mumbled into his back.

Still, no response.

Then, after some time, “(Y/N), I have to get dressed.”

You pouted into the one sided hug, “But I didn’t get my good morning kiss yet.”

The older man whipped around, causing your arms to drop, and faced you. He leaned down and gave your cheek a quick peck. “There,” He started, “Now, I need to change. Do you mind waiting outside?”

Two things about this interaction didn't sit well. One, the fact that he was very persistent about you not seeing him change and two, that was not a DIck Grayson kiss.

Dick Grayson kisses were dizzying, full of love and hard to pull away from. That, that felt like a stone against your cheek.

“Um, yeah sure. Take your time, I’ll be in the kitchen, love.” Closing the door behind you, you walked over to your small nook of a kitchen, taking your phone off the counter.

He’s acting so strange, you thought, Do I text Bruce?

It was an unspoken agreement you had had previously with Dick. If he was ever to come home acting differently, or off in any sort of way, text or call Bruce. Though at the time you didn't understand why, the further you got into your relationship and the more you found out about the wild life of a vigilante, you decided it was better safe than sorry.

Hey Bruce, you texted, Just wanted to give you a heads up that D is acting a little off. Nothing to worry about, just thought you should know.

“Who are you texting?”

You spun around, bumping into the tall man that was peering down to your phone.

“Jesus Dick! I didn’t even hear you sneak up on me! Don’t do that again you buffoon.” Going to play hit him, you raised your arm but Dick caught it, holding your wrist with such intensity, it started to hurt.

“Hey, Dickie, I was kidding.” He didn’t budge. “Seriously, Dick. Let go of me.”

Only at your angry tone of voice did your boyfriend drop your arm, “Who were you texting, (Y/N)?”

What is up with him?

“Just Bruce, he uh, wanted to see if we wanted to come over for dinner tonight.” You lied.

Dicks beautiful blue eyes hardened to an almost grey colour, “You texted Bruce?”

You missed the hint of panic in his words.

Shrugging you nodded, “Yeah, something wrong Dick?”

The vigilante shook his head, “Of course not,” then he seemed as though he had trouble with the next word, “love.”

You smiled and reached up to peck his lips, he stood still as you did so, not reciprocating. You frowned, had you done something wrong? Before you could ask, Dick sped over to the door.

“I am off to work. See you later.” And with that, he was gone.

You leaned against your kitchen countertop, shaking your head, what was going on with your boyfriend?

Walking into the Bludhaven Police Station, you sat down at the front desk, getting ready for today's job as secretary.

You scanned the ares, looking to see your boy in blue, however, Dick was nowhere to be seen.

Calling over Captain Addad, you looked at him in worry. “Good morning Captain, I had a question. Have you perchance seen officer Grayson at all today?” You bit your lip as you awaited his response.

The captain seemed to be relaying all events from this morning when he eventually shook his head, “No, I’m sorry dear. I don’t believe he clocked in. Something wrong?”

Not wanting to alert him to your current home issues, you shook your head, “Erm, no. Oh goodness me, Totally forgot, he’s home sick right now.” You lied through your smiling teeth.

Though he didn’t fully believe you, Addad didn't want to press and so he let the discussion go, walking back to his office.

You called the work day in early. You just couldn’t focus knowing that Dick didn't make it to work that day.

Walking down the street to your apartment, you whipped out your phone, deciding now it was time to call Bruce.

“Hello?” He answered.

“Mr. Wayne, thank god. Hi, hope your day is well, I just have a quick question…” You breathed a sigh of relief at his answer.

“Go ahead,” Bruce urged on.

Heading up the steps to your apartment complex you started, “So you know the text I sent you this morning?” Bruce ‘hmmed’ in response, and you continued, “Well, Dick didn’t show up from work today and I'm just a little worried and was wondering if you had heard from him at all?”

Bruce rubbed his chin as he thought if he'd heard from his eldest child, “No, I’m sorry (Y/N), I can’t say I have. Is everything okay?”

You came up to your door and unlocked it, almost screaming at the scene inside. “Yea, everything is, um, all good.”

Your voice must’ve gone up a bit as Bruce repeated his question, “(Y/N), Is everything okay?”

Your breathing was rapid, as was your heart beat.

The inside of your house was covered in bloody footprints.

Blood.

You were about to reply when a figure caught your attention, a large man in what looked like to be an owl mask put a finger up to his mouth, signalling you to be quiet.

“Bruce, I, I’m going to have to call you back…”

You hung up before Bruce got another word in.

As you dropped your phone, The figure stepped out of the shadows, letting you get a better look at them.

You could now clearly see it was an owl costume, with the beak and all. Daggers layered the tool belt of the man as well as a broad sword strapped to its back. Not only were his footprints bloody, but you could now pick out the blood splatters layering his body.

“Who are you?”

The figure didn’t answer you, only blankly stared at you from a distance.

Slowly, you made your way to the bedroom, swinging the door open - hoping not to see Dicks dead body splayed on the bed.

You sighed in relief when nothing was there, but soon became distressed when you felt a presence behind you.

Turning around, you became face to chest with the intruder. Finding every last bit of courage in you, you asked again, “I said, who are you.”

“You know who I am (Y/N). Just as well as I know who you are.”

You froze, even masked, you recognized the voice. “Dick?” You whispered out.

There was no way, this blood covered figure could not belong to your loving boyfriend.

The man, who you now knew to be your boyfriend, lifted off his helmet and sure enough, there stood a smirking Dick Grayson.

“This isn’t you.” was all you could manage out. “Dick, I know this isn't you.”

His face returned to the stoic one that you saw this morning,“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.” it was almost robotic, the way he spoke.

“Dick, what? This isn’t you, you’re Nightwing, you’re my Nightwing, my hero. I l-”

“Nightwing is dead.” He raised his voice, jostling you. For the first time in all those months of your relationship, you felt true fear in the presence of your pretty bird.

“Dick please.” You whispered, tears filling in your eyes, “Please, you’re scaring me.”

Dicks figured loomed over you as you tried to retreat back into the bedroom. He followed after you, stalking you like a cat.

You put your hands up in defense, “Dick,” You pleaded again.

“Dick Grayson is no more.” He said as he unsheathed the sword on his back. “Now only lives Talon.”

He brought the sword up and you screamed, ready for the slice. But it never came, the only thing you heard was a crash coming from the window.

Finally uncovering your eyes, you looked at the scene before you. There in your room stood Batman, batarang at the ready, facing off with Dick Talon.

“Nightwing, stand down!” The Batman scolded.

Talon laughed venomously and swung his sword at his father figure. “Nightwing. Is. Dead.” He yelled, kicking Bruce in the chest, propelling him backward.

You screamed as he came towards you once again, only to be saved by Batman… once again. “Go. Get out of here. Head to the Manor, Alfred knows you’re coming.”

Nodding your head you sped out of your room and weaved through the layout of your apartment. Reaching for the door, you touched the handle, until you were ripped away from safety.

Talon held you in his grip, the sharp claws edging towards your neck. “Dick, don't do this.” Batman said, trying to regain control of the situation.

Your boyfriend increased his pressure on your neck, tears streaming down your face, “Dick, Dickie please. I love you.”

At those words, Talon froze. I love you.

He was the first to say it. And now you’d be the last to say it.

His pause was one that left him off guard, Batman quickly lunging towards his son and punching his temple. Dick crumbled to the floor.

You stood in your place, trying to make sense of the last few minutes. Bruce walked over to you and placed a hand on your shoulder as you looked down at your passed out lover… or ex-lover.

“Bruce, I-” The words caught in your throat. You leaned into the older man's touch and shook with tears. How could this all happen? How could Dick, your Dick, become this evil?

“I know. It will be okay (Y/N). We’ll bring him back to the cave. I’ll have doctor Thompkins look at him. Right now, we need to get you somewhere safe.”

And so here you were, alone in Dicks old bedroom, reminiscing about the good times you had, hoping that they weren't your last.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #talon!dick #dick grayson imagine #nightwing #nightwing x reader #batfamily #batman x reader #batman imagine #batfamily imagine #batman

[insanebatty]

JASON TODD X READER

(I've always made stories, but never posted them in public before. This is the first time. So please be gentle with the criticism, if this story wasn't to your liking then I'm sorry. I want to continue posting stories on here, but I won't be able to post them right away. Please be patient with me & thank you. I was inspired by @batarella ) Y/N = your name.

CHAPTER 1

There you were sweating in a black tank top with black shorts, gloves & goggles on, you were in the bat cave working on one of your experiments.

Rob Zombie blasting in your earbuds.

You were in charge of making a small beam to fit in Batman's glove.

You were tinkering with it then made your way to your laptop.

Your laptop had wires sticking out of it & plugged in your experiment.

"Foxy foxy!" You said going with the music, nodding your head as you started typing away on your laptop.

"Okay, please work. Please work." You said with your fingers crossed for dear life.

You clicked the downward key 5 times then clicked the enter key.

You looked to your right where the experiment was, you had an empty can two feet away from it.

Just then the beam shot at the can & the can flew in the air.

"Holy shit! It worked!!" You screamed not realizing or careing how loud you were.

You went & put another can in front & went back to your laptop.

You started typing away on your keyboard, tapping on the upward key 10 times, just as the music had changed to Deftones.

"The change in you! Like you never--"

You clicked enter.

Looked again to your right & saw your second empty can fly into the abyss.

"Oh my God!!" You excitedly screamed while jumping up & down.

"Oh my God I can't wait for Batman to use you, who should he try it on first? Bane, maybe Killer Croc? Ohh, what if he's surrounded by both Bane & Killer Croc? I'm gonna need to keep tinkering with it so he can shoot 4 shots simultaneously, but what if--"

You suddenly felt like your back was against a wall, but instead of the normal hard exterior of a wall.

This wall felt odd, it felt very warm & soft to the touch, you turned to see what exactly it was pressed up against you.

You were looking up at this 6'0 man who towered over you, short black hair almost touching his eyelids, faint scars on his face.

You couldn't even tell he had scars unless you really examined his face thoroughly.

He was wearing a white muscle shirt with grey sweatpants on & a towel around his shoulders.

Jason Todd, your ex-boyfriend of 4 years.

Last time you saw him was a few months back.

You had walked in the manor's kitchen & saw him sitting on the counter eating one of Alfred's blueberry pies.

You knew he had left because everyone wouldn't shut up about it, especially Bruce. Before Jason even had left, he somehow managed to hack in the bat computer before taking off & stealing newly found information about The Penguin.

Bruce was trying to get ahold of Jason for the information, but Jason wouldn't answer his calls.

Ex-boyfriends were supposed to be unbearable to be around, you would hate everything they did, you would ask yourself "I really found HIM attractive?!"

But this relationship was different. You were different & he was different.

After you two broke up, you two stilled worked along side each other, joked with each other & even complainted each other from time to time. You couldn't lie to yourself, you still found him attractive.

There he was standing in front of you, you could see his flexed muscles on his arms, but then he mouthed something to you.

"WHAT?!"

You could tell you were screaming because as soon as you said what, Jason moved his head away from you, he raised up his hand & pulled your earbud out of your right ear.

"Why the fuck are you yelling? You do realize you've been screaming out lyrics for hours now, right?" He said to you sounding annoyed.

"Hours? It couldn't have been that long, could it?" You asked him while taking the other earbud off.

You looked up at him confused.

"What time did you get here?" He asked you while taking off the towel from his shoulders.

"I got here at midnight."

Jason laughed, "yeah you've been here for hours, it's 5 in the morning."

You looked at him surprised "no..it can't be." you said while taking your phone out of your pocket.

"Check if you don't believe me."

You used your finger for the fingerprint on your phone. 5:45 am in a bright white shined back at you. You can feel your eyes bugging out, holy shit time really flys when your having fun.

"Told you so." He said, you can hear him smiling as he said that.

"Shut up, when did you get back? You were gone for what? 2 months now?"

"Igot back a few days ago & I was gone for a month in a half."

"So 2 months basically."

"It wasn't 2 months, it was a month in a half."

"Agree to disagree."

"Oh, shut the hell up."

You laughed, your favorite thing was to see how long it'll take for him to get annoyed.

Of course you never did that when you two were together. You would only playfully annoy him, but knew when to back off. Now that you two weren't together you took the opportunity to annoy the shit out of him.

"So why are you here so early?" You asked him, while pausing the music on your phone.

"I made a deal with Alfred. If I help him bake 2 cakes & 3 dozen cupcakes for the charity that bruce is going to, he'll let me use daddy dearest's work out equipment."

He always liked to annoy bruce that way, calling him daddy dearest, dracula or even old man.

One night on patrol, Jason had the balls to yell out "WATCH OUT DRACULA, HE'S GONNA TAKE YOUR PREY FROM YOU!!" On a rooftop across the street, as he watched Batman chase a mugger. The mugger was chasing his victim on the opposite side of the street, that street happens to be the busiest street in all of gotham. Almost everyone heard him, even a civilian on the sidewalk yelled out "BATMAN IS DRACULA, I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!"

Jason fell to his knees holding his sides from laughing so hard.

Bruce would glare at Jason for 2 weeks straight & Jason would return that glare with a shit eating grin.

"Ah, I see. It still surprises me that you know how to bake. You never baked anything when we were together."

"Yes I would, those chocolate cakes or red velvet cupcakes on your birthday."

"You made those?! I thought you bought them from the store."

"I thought you would like it more if I would bake it instead of buying it."

"How come you never told me this?"

"You never asked."

"Because I just assumed, plus you never really made a mess in the kitchen for me to hint at the facted that you baked them."

"Yeah well I do know how to clean too, unlike some people in this place."

"HEY! I so know how to clean! I would clean up all the time when we were together & now!"

"Chill the fuck out! I'm not talking about you!"

"Ohh, sorry then."

He rolled his eyes while messing with his hair & finally he looked behind you. "What are you working on?" He asked, walking towards it.

"Oh, Bruce asked me to make him a beam thingy for his glove. I like to think of it as a gun." You said following behind him.

The cave was so dark, it would have been pitched black if it weren't thanks to the lights above the gigantic bat computer & all the other lights above Batman's suits & souvenirs that he kept from his enemies.

You could already tell Jason was here to hold on his end of the deal.

This was the only place he preferred to work out at. He never liked working out in public.

He says he doesn't care if people stare at him, but you feel like he's a little self-conscious about the scars & you don't blame him.

Those scars he got from The Joker on that fatally night.

The night Jason died.

He has scars of gashes throughout his body. Memories that would keep him up at night when you two were together.

You would wake up to an empty side of the bed where Jason would sleep.

You would find him staring out the window or outside in the balcony, the moon would shine down on his body.

You would make your way to him & you wouldn't say anything.

You would just wrap your arms around him.

Your head on his bare back listening to his heat beat, but since he was so muscular & toned you couldn't clamp your hands together.

That's when he would turn to you & just stare at you. You would stare back at him, longingly.

You never wanted to stop looking at him.

He would smirk & caress your cheek.

He then would grab your chin & pull you in to kiss you.

He would hug you tight & wouldn't let go, you two would hold each other for hours without saying anything. Because there was nothing to say.

But now you wouldn't have those nights, they were just memories.

You two have been broken up for 5 months now.

You knew it was your fault that you two broke up, but you two still had each other, even if it weren't as lovers. But you two wouldn't allow yourselves to get too close to each other like before & it didn't help that you two were Leo's.

So you two are headstrong & stubborn as fuck. Waiting for the other to make the first move.

Now that you lost yourself in thought, you were facing the work out area in the bat cave.

The area was so lit up, it looked so hollow & empty.

"HEY, Y/N!" Jason yelled.

"Ah, what?" His yelling snapped you back into reality, as you turned to face him, his hand was on hip.

"Why the fuck are you standing there like an idiot?"

"I'm not! Why did you yell at me?"

"I was asking you how does it work, but you were too busy spacing out. You must be tired." He said to you as you walked towards him.

"I'm not tired, I was just lost in thought is all." You said as you put the gloves on.

" 'lost in thought, huh? Is it because I'm here with you alone & you wanted to take advantage of me, is that it?"

You stopped & turned to face him, his face was so close to yours & he had this sexy grin on his face.

He was bending over to be the same height as you.

"Oh, S-shut up. I wasn't thinking about you. You never crossed my mind."

"Oh is that so? Well that makes one of us."

What he said stopped you in your tracks, you looked up at him.

He eyed you down with his arms folded over his chest.

"Show me how this works." He said pointing to the beam thingy.

"Ah sure, but you'll need to wear these first." You said handing him a pair of goggles with your right hand, at the same time you turned to face your left side & started typing away on your laptop.

As you stared at your laptop, you noticed that your right hand was warm.

Too warm to be your own body heat alone.

You turned to see Jason holding your hand with his left hand, while putting on the goggles with his right.

You looked down to see both your hands entangled with each other, you noticed your heart racing.

It felt like it was going to burst out of your chest like an alien from the movie Alien.

You turned around, he hadn't noticed you staring.

"Okay, are you ready?" You asked him.

Pretending as if you didn't notice he was holding your hand.

You were hoping he would hold your hand the whole time, but it was too late. He let go.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"A-alright." You tried not to sound disappointed.

You grabbed an empty can from the floor & placed it where the original cans were.

You went back between Jason & the laptop.

"Alright. Here. We. Go." You said as you tapped the enter key.

The beam started up & blasted the can further than the previous cans.

Smiling from ear to ear, you faced Jason.

"So what do you think? Cool, huh?"

"It's alright."

" 'Alright'? Really?" You asked while both of you took off the goggles.

"My guns can shot further than that thing."

"You know how Bruce feels about guns."

"Why are you making this for him in the first place? Couldn't he make it himself?" He asked while tilting his head to the side.

"He can, but he asked me to make it. He's too busy with Wanye Enterprise at the moment." You said having your back towards him, turning off the beam.

"Ah, couldn't he asked Tim or Dick to help out with the "Family" business?" He said while making quotations with his fingers.

"Dick's in california right now on a mission with the Titans & Tim is already helping out with Wayne Enterprise, were you secretly hoping he'll ask you?"

"One, he wouldn't ask me & two I wouldn't do it, even if he asked."

"Okay, if you say so."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm gonna go do what I came down here for." He said turning his back towards you, giving you a peace sign.

"Alright, have fun."

"Yeah, you too." He said to you while making his way across the cave, you could never tell what he was thinking about even when you two were together.

He walked up to the weight bench, throwing his towel on the floor beside it.

He then went over to grab the weights, two 30 lbs & placed one, then went to the other side to place the other.

He was staring at a bucket on the floor, he went up to it & sticked one hand in & his hand came out covered in white. He smacked his hands together, white dust flew in front of his face.

He then noticed you standing there like a doofus, he returned your stare.

"Ah.." you muttered out & went to your experiment.

Examining & analyzing ever little piece on it. Making sure everything was a hundred percent. You made your way to the chair that was next to your laptop & sat down. You can hear the way the weights were rubbing against each other from the distance.

"One..Two..three..four..five.."

You shook your head & smacked your cheeks lightly "don't get distracted, Bruce needs you to finish this." You said to yourself.

Everything came out fine, you placed can after can god knows how many times. As you continued your work, on the opposite side of the cave, Jason continued his workout, both of you a sweating mess. You sat on the chair, typing away.

Hours later Jason finished his workout, he made his way to you, huffing & puffing, wiping the sweat off his face.

"Hey y/n, did you finally finish?" No response. Taking the towel off his face, "Hey Y/N!" No response.

"Your fucking music is too loud, your gonna go deaf-" he spinned the chair around. He was expecting a wide eyed look on your face, but instead he was staring at you peacefully sleeping. Mouth wide open, drool dripping out of it. The goggles you had on your head, was now entangled in your hair.

Jason's face softened up, he chuckled.

"God damnit y/n." He said as he started to separate your hair from the goggles.

His face was so close to yours, he felt your breath. He closed his eyes, opening them back up his eyes made their way to your lips. His heart stared racing faster than when he was working out. He stepped back. Taking a deep breath & exhaling, he started to put his arms under you. One arm under your head the other under your legs. He picked you up with no problem. Your head started to tilt backwards until he moved his arm so your head would be resting on his chest. He stood there watching you, studying every part of your face. He looked away & started walking out of the cave with you in his arms. He made his way through a brightly lit manor. The grandfather clock chimed as Jason went past it, your body twitched in his arms. He smiled.

"Good morning master Jason." Alfred said as he came out of the kitchen, his eyes went from Jason to Jason's arms.

"Oh my, is y/n alright?"

"Yeah she's fine, she just passed out. I'm gonna take her to my old room."

He said as he passed Alfred. Alfred nodded at him.

"Alright master Jason, I do wish you two would get back together. She made you so happy." Alfred said as he went back into the kitchen.

Jason smiled as he went up the stairs, "she still does."

He placed you on his bed, putting a thin sheet over you.

"Sleep tight y/n." He kissed your forehead & started for the door. He opened the door, but before he closed it, he looked back at you. Then he closed the door.

#jasontodd #jason x reader #jason todd #dc characters #fantasy #romance #comedy #fictional relationships #fictional bf #fictionalstory

[inforapound]

Ease The Dawn Chapter 18

A/N - Thank you for reading and sticking with these two. Please see warnings. 

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith

Chapter - 18 of 18

Warnings - Violence, injury, death/injury to a horse, character death

Daybreak was masked by a blanket of low clouds, dark with coming rain and a shifting wind that did nothing to ease Ivar's anguish. Leaving Aethelswith to sleep, he returned to his men by the fire as he could bear to stay near her. Could not lie beside her and keep himself from reaching for her or running his weathered fingers across the skin of her face. Could not feel her body in his arms and then hope to survive a single day with her gone.

He was setting her free, and as a result, slamming the door to his own dungeon.

Ignoring the drink in his hand, his mind was haunted by the details of the coming morning. Remaining in his chair long after the others slowly disbursed to their tents to catch a couple of hours of rest before the trade-off. He could not return. If he did, he would crawl back into the space beside her and never let her leave; his beautiful Princess. She deserved the world, everything! More than a life with a half-of-a-man cripple and far more than a future decided for her.

As the light broke through the trees, reflecting daybreak on the surface of the stream, his restraint proved less than ironclad. The thought of his last words being the cutting, cruel ones he had spoken out of hurt made him feel ill. Made his heart race and force him to swallow back the taste of bile from his stomach.

Moving quickly through the tent doors, he needed to speak with her one last time. Needed to see her, be alone with her inside that tent, hidden from the merciless world, one last time.

She was gone. Stunned, his eyes bounced from object to object as if delaying the impact of the tent's emptiness. Closing his eyes, he cursed his brother for following his orders to ready her by dawn.

Adjusting his crutch under his arm, he swiveled toward the door, his eye catching on something out of place. Squinting through the dim light, he saw at an object on his desk. Moving toward the table, he stood and stared down at her gold dagger. Shuffling around his stool, he picked up the narrow knife, the same knife Hvitserk had removed from her the day of her capture. Ivar only felt it right to return it the night before. She had purposely left it for him. Spinning the handle in his hand, he exhaled quickly, wishing she knew the meaning behind gifting a man a family knife.

Glancing down, he noticed the thin sketching paper the knife had been resting on. Not able to tell what the lines were through the parchment, he flipped it over and his heart sank. Biting his bottom lip hard, emotions bloomed behind his eyes. On the page, etched in delicate charcoal lines was the exact likeness of his large rough hand with her small, fine hand tucked within. He shook his head at the sentiment of the drawing; their sweet embrace while sitting side by side at the feast. She too had felt it, the longing. This offering was her only way to express it. Closing his eyes, pain coursed through his chest.

—

Ivar tugged the reigns to slow his horse, stopping the chariot beside Hvitserk. Standing behind the crowd of warriors already in position, Hvitserk's glance caught the suffering in his young brother's face. Ivar pulled his leather scarf up to just below his inflamed eyes. An attempt to conceal the tremble in his jaw and his tear streaked cheeks. He was afraid to even swallow for fear of sobbing.

Searching the front line of his chapter of warriors, Aethelswith's flowing blue cape caught his eye. Her small frame sat in front of Gussr on his tall grey horse. Her hood was up, shielding the side of her face from view but locks of her warm golden hair, picked up by the wind, stood out against the rich blue fabric.

Gussr jerked the reigns and his horse stepped forward. It was time. Ivar's eyes shot across the expansive field and over the sea of armoured soldiers to the meek, pale skin King sitting atop a black horse. A chestnut horse at the front of Alfred's army stepped forward, breaking away from the Saxon's line. The dark hair of the older man riding was shoulder length and being swept back by the gusts of wind. His face looked weathered and he had the early growth of a beard and below his left eye was a deep indent that crossed his cheek. At the distance, Ivar could not tell if it was a scar or a fresh wound. This man, he thought, would be the recipient of all his rage now.

A faint, misplaced sound broke him from his focus. Disoriented to its direction, his eyes scanned the thick line of soldiers. Gussr's horse suddenly jerked and sidestepped, rearing up onto its hind legs and Ivar could now see Aethelswith's profile. Her mouth was distorted in a cry; she was screaming. Jolting his head forward, he strained to understand her distant words. The wind settled for just an instant and he heard it.

"It is not him! It is not Burgred!" she wailed.

A trap.

"Charge!" Ivar screamed above the heads of his warriors. Their own screams echoing his command.

They surged forward, swords and axes overhead, hollering, eyes wide with the need for slaughter.

"Hvitserk, get her!"

Hvitserk ran toward the chariot to better hear his words.

"Bring the Princess back. I will go..." Ivar motioned with his hand indicating for them to flank the front on opposing sides.

The rival forces of warriors and soldiers collided in a wave of screams and metal clatter. The pulverizing strikes of swords on metal clashed and splintered, producing hollers of triumph and erupting sprays of blood.

The white horse, pulling the chariot, drove forward into the sea of battling men. Ivar kept his focus on Gussr's large frame and watched him tug and pull the reigns attempting to maneuver and retreat. A soldier with chain mail armour over the green Saxon colours lurched toward them, slashing the front legs of Gussr's grey horse. Nose-diving, the large beast fell, launching Aethelswith and her Viking shadow forward onto the damp ground. Gussr rolled over Aethelswith's small body, attempting to shield her from the soldiers grabbing hands. He cried out as a sword was driven into the back of his shoulder and slumped onto his side, clutching her to his chest. The boot of a second soldier repeatedly slammed down on his face, splitting the skin of his forehead wide as a third Saxon worked to pry Aethelswith from his weakening grip. His body went limp and Aethelswith was pulled forward but yanked her hand free from the soldier's hold, scrambling back over Gussr. Clutching the leathers of his chest, she looked down into his unconscious, bloodied face and screamed. Staring down into his kind eyes, she watched them slowly close.

Grabbed around her waist, she was pulled backward; a daze washed over her and her fighting, frantic arms fell slack. Unaware of Alfred nearby and deaf to his calls, she was loaded up in front of him, atop his waiting horse.

Rage heaved through Ivar as he watched Alfred clutch his arms around her and turn the black horse toward the Saxon's back line.

Ivar's eyes shot to the side as a sword drove straight for his throat. Lurching his chin up, he swung his ax backhanded, driving the pick of his ax deep into the temple of the attacking Saxon, cracking wide the eye socket as he yanked it free. He whipped his other ax through the air, smashing it deeply into the open mouth of a charging soldier. Scanning the fighting men, he searched without result, for the tall black horse.

Eyes sweeping the chaos, he found Hvitserk, not far from the chariot, pulling a sword from the abdomen of a fighter.

"Hvitserk!" he hollered.

Hearing his name, he looked over to Ivar.

"Find her!" Ivar shouted. "She was on horseback with Alfred!"

Hvitserk scanned the chaos and raised his hand to point.

The King! There. He has lost her!" he shouted back to Ivar.

Finding the spot, Ivar watched Alfred pull his lead, fighting to steady his horse among the surrounding battle. Aethelswith was gone and Ivar could see the panic in the young King's face. His dark eyes were darting side to side searching the carnage for her just as Ivar had been. His mouth was moving but his shouts were lost in the noise of crashing metal and the cries of the attacking and wounded fighters.

Cold panic swelled through Ivar as he spotted her among the violence, running and staggering between swinging swords and screaming men. She was looking toward him, arm thrown in the air to catch his attention. Her hood had fallen back exposing her further to the surrounding bloodshed. Unable to hear her cries above the deafening sound, he could only make out her moving lips mouthing his name. She was screaming for him. Screaming Ivar.

Snarling, he gritted his teeth and snapped the reigns, roaring for his horse to run. His narrowed, burning eyes stayed fixed on her small vulnerable form.

"I am coming my sweet!" he blared through his face scarf.

Charging forward through the fighting men, he hesitated only, to lodge his ax deep into the collar of an approaching Saxon.

Slowing the chariot as they neared one another, she rounded the back, as Ivar swiveled his body and outstretched his arms. Leaping into the chariot, she smashed into his chest. They clung to each other and the chaos seemed to fade away.

Aethelswith pulled back and Ivar tore his face cover down, her wild watering eyes staring up at him, her breathing still ragged and her cheeks flushed red.

"I want to come with you," she cried.

Searching her face, his eyes darted back and forth between hers.

"I want to stay with you," she rushed, still out of breath.

"Forever," he whispered before slamming his lips to hers.

His eyes were closed and his brows pinched in both desperation and relief. Their first kiss. Her first kiss. Filled with a lifetime of silent promises. Breaking away, he tilted back to look at her, his eyes filled with both tears and reverence.

She brought her hand up and cupped his cheek, running her thumb over his bottom lip. "Please, do not hurt my brothers."

Ivar stared at her before bending down and pressing his lips to hers one more time. Straightening, he nodded and looked away, searching the crowd for Hvitserk. Finding him he shouted orders for them to fall back.

Without breaking their embrace, he turned her, pulling her to stand in front of him. His left arm was tight around her rib cage, holding her small body. Grasping the front of his chariot, she wrapped her other arm over his.

Bending down, he nestled his face into her neck, pressing soft kisses up the side of her throat. She tipped her head back, allowing him access, lost in his touch and deaf to the surrounding noise. Brushing his cheek against the smooth skin of hers, he pulled back and grazed his mouth along her ear.

"Aethelswith, I love you," he breathed. "I love you." Closing his eyes, the look of pained relief crossed his face. "You are everything."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her temple to his jaw, savouring the fervour of his words; alleviation washing over her as warm tears slid passed her closed lids. She squeezed his arm hugging her waste. He would be hers. Finally.

Tilting her head up, she spoke into his ear. "I love you, Ivar. Forever."

Straightening, he held her tight and adjusted the grip of the leather ropes in his hand. Bracing herself, Aethelswith pressed back into his body, the top of her head resting below his chin. Standing together, looking ahead of the chariot, toward their uncertain future, Ivar snapped the reigns.

.

 @yanii-the-hippie @youbloodymadgenius @lol-haha-joke @fangirl-nonsense @allvikingsfanfic @ceridwenofwales @medievalfangirl @naaladareia @flowers-in-your-hayr @equalstrashflavoredtrash @geekandbooknerd @readsalot73 @tephi101 @jaydelesley4 @whenimaunicorn

#ivars heathen army #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnar #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #vikings #vikings fic #ivar fic #Ivar and Aethelswith #ivar and princess #frennamies #enemies to lovers #kiddnapping #ivar love #romantic ivar #ivar smut #eventual smut #vikings smut #princess aethelswith

[aion-rsa]

Psych 2: Lassie Come Home Easter Egg and Reference Guide

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The following contains spoilers for Psych 2: Lassie Come Home.

As fun as 2017’s Psych: The Movie was, its 2020 sequel Psych 2: Lassie Come Home will likely supplant it in Psych-Os’ hearts, because it’s got 500% more Carlton Lassiter (Timothy Omundson). But how does it stack up to its predecessor in terms of Psych callbacks and pop culture homages? Using our Spencer powers of observation, we’ve tried to catch every recurring inside joke between Shawn (James Roday Rodriguez) and Gus (Dulé Hill), plus all the episodic-specific bits. It’s a feature-length Hitchcock homage, but it’s also the toughest Easter egg hunt of your life. C’mon, son!

Psych 2: Lassie Come Home Easter Eggs and References

The title is a reference to Lassie Come Home, the 1943 Lassie movie about the beloved dog making her way home from Scotland. A German-language remake came out early in 2020.

It’s always a treat to hear the Psych theme song “I Know, You Know,” performed by creator Steve Franks and his band The Friendly Indians.

Lassiter wakes up to Shawn and Gus hovering above him at the recovery clinic is a throwback to when they kidnapped him for his bachelor party in “Deez Nups” and he came to with them screaming “Surpriiise!”

Morrissey the rescue dog reprises his role from Psych: The Movie in being adorable, incredibly nosy, and oblivious to Shawn’s hissing commands.

Sarah Chalke’s nurse character Dolores is most likely a nod to San Francisco’s Mission Dolores church and cemetery, the location for Carlotta Valdes’ grave in Vertigo.

Right out the gate, Dolores is treated to the requisite Gus nickname: “My name is Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner Bill Poopingtons.” However, Shawn and Gus take a sidebar for a very meta argument about their ongoing bit (while fitting in another bit):

“Gus, don’t be the night your dad fell asleep inside your mom. We can’t just stop doing bits we’ve been doing for ten years. We have fans, they have expectations, there’ll be a huge backlash.”

“Shawn, we are two dumbasses, we do not have fans.”

Compromise: Gus gets right of refusal until they land on a nickname he prefers. And so:

Bill Poopingtons > All the Pips in One

Ding-Dong Ditch > Claude O’Dern > Big Poppa Pump > Lemon-a Lemon-a Lemon-a Liiime

Leggo My Eggo > Norman Brown Butter > Dijon Hounsou

Gus also calls himself Jermajesty, channeling some Jackson Five energy.

“Black Jello” was Gus’ nickname in their adult dodgeball league.

The Herschel House is likely a nod to Herschel Daugherty, who directed over two dozen episodes of Alfred Hitchcock Presents…

Gus and Shawn are still bickering over driving the drivers ed car, even if we don’t see it in the movie. They do manage to be just as bad at turning the right direction when riding a motorcycle together.

“Now I know this ‘goofy little white guy/sexy black dude’ routine the two of you have going like the back of my scrubs.” Sarah Chalke played Elliot on Scrubs, whose JD/Turk bromance walked so that Shawn/Gus could run.

Shawn calls Dolores “the nurse from Color of Night,” the 1994 Bruce Willis erotic mystery thriller that won a Golden Raspberry for Worst Picture.

The boys get Jamba Juice because you never turn down an opportunity for a Jamba.

Shawn likens Gus’ pubic hair to Eddie Murphy’s mustache in his 1987 stand-up film Raw.

Shawn offers the dismembered hand to Gus to “knuck it up softly,” per their penchant for fist-bumping. 

They later do fist-bump outside the old Psych offices, but not before channeling Han Solo and Chewbacca in Star Wars: The Force Awakens: “Gus, we’re home.” “[Wookiee sound]”

Psych has become a French-themed cat café… for now, at least. It’s not an alternative universe from Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, but the current subletter’s pop-up business. The proprietor (not the girl from Orphan) is played by Allison Miller, James Roday Rodriguez’s co-star in A Million Little Things.

“I am a psychic. He is a sympathetic pooper.” Poor Gus’ intestinal system gets called out again.

Henry’s (Corbin Bernsen) put-on voice gets compared to Tom Waits, Kathleen Turner, Harvey Fierstein, and Diedrich Bader.

Shawn neglected to tell his landlord that he’d moved, which tracks with his behavior in the series finale “The Break-Up.”

Henry reveals that in addition to telenovelas, he enjoys zeitgeist-y sobfests: “You left behind a slow cooker with a three-pound roast in it. You nearly This Is Us-ed the entire block.”

“This Is Us—Dad, why are you watching that show? They have the same show on ABC but newer”: Shawn’s shoutout to A Million Little Things.

Lassiter mistakes Reese Kessler, his supposed shooter, for country music singer Conway Twitty.

Lassiter’s to-do list includes “tape Galavant,” the short-lived musical comedy fantasy series created by Dan Fogelman (This Is Us), in which Timothy Omundson played King Richard. It also includes items poking fun at Lassiter’s crankiness (“yell at nature,” “chirping bird d-day plan”) and tenacity (“solve black dahlia”), and heartstring-tugging items (“pre-register for ironman” as in the triathlon). He also has written down Shawn’s S.E.I.Z.E. mantra from his short-lived career as Lassiter’s life coach in “S.E.I.Z.E. the Day”: Seize Eggs I don’t know Zebra Eighties.

Juliet (Maggie Lawson) lying to Shawn sounds strange, though not as strange as Lupita Nyong’o—the Tethered Lupita—in Jordan Peele’s Us.

Shawn’s “romantic dinner” for Jules is the menu from A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving (jelly beans, pretzels, buttered toast, popcorn, and ice cream sundaes) because it’s all they had at the gas station on the way home.

That prompts an iconic “C’mon, son!” from Gus.

Gus’ ringtone is “I’m Mr. Bootyman,” which is both Henry’s ringtone and the song featured in Buzz McNab’s bachelorette party stripper routine in “Deez Nups.”

Gus’ (technically Jules’) green snuggie bears a striking resemblance to official Psych contest merch.

Lassiter spotting mysterious bleeding figures out his window is an homage to Rear Window.

Richard Schiff (as Dr. Herschel) was Dulé Hill’s co-star in The West Wing.

Potterhead Gus wants to know if there are any people hiding in the pipes of the Herschel House, “speaking in their own tongue, perhaps Parsel.”

The Psych boys’ map of suspects briefly includes the Hell Hag from Gus’ dreams in “A Nightmare on State Street.”

Shawn has only been to Norway once with his brother-in-law Ewan O’Hara (John Cena), but they don’t talk about that… Maybe that’s where Psych: The Movie went after its cliffhanger ending?

Ova’s Norwegian song/chant toast at the Viking’s Ice Den is very similar to the Swedish toast in “Right Turn or Left for Dead.”

Ova’s violent son Per is first described as “the bearded Daryl Hannah.”

Shawn’s excuse to Detective Buzz McNab (Sage Brocklebank) for being in Santa Barbara is that he forgot a frisbee signed by German writer/director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck.

Shawn’s first reaction to Jules potentially being pregnant: “You know the windows in the loft don’t even fully close, right? I’m gonna have to replace them, otherwise this is Baby’s Day Out all over again.” As Gus reassures him, he always did get worked up over John Hughes’ worst idea.

At the old Psych offices, Shawn pulls out the jousting lance from “100 Clues”—as well as a pineapple! He looks about to ask, “Should we cut this up for the road?” (his question during the pineapple’s first appearance in the pilot, plus at the end of Psych: The Movie) but stops himself.

When Lassie believes that fellow patient Mr. Wilkerson (Kadeem Hardison) has been walking around, Shawn and Gus have to go “full Dirty Rotten Scoundrels” to interrogate the supposedly catatonic patient.

Shoutout to Jessie Spano’s infamous “I’m so excited, I’m so excited, I’m so scared!” speed speech from Saved by the Bell.

If it’s not Scrubs, the boys are getting compared to Ren and Stimpy.

Mary Lightly (Jimmi Simpson) returns in another incredible, extra-hallucinatory look into Shawn’s brain… this time as a baby, since Shawn’s got fatherhood on the brain.

“We got jackaled!” Gus shouts upon learning that Wilkerson can walk—a reference to “hitting the jackal switch,” or going into stealth mode.

Shawn has always had a thing for singer Jewel, even after the Civil War movie (1999’s Ride with the Devil) and the Bollywood song.

Of course there’s a nasty dance when Shawn and Gus figure out who they think is behind everything.

Gus declares that “I am not going to let you shoot Shules’ baby!” only for the Chief (Kirsten Nelson) to ask, “What’s a Shules?” That’s the fans’ name for Shawn/Jules, a cute nod to a series OTP.

And of course, we can’t forget the fact that Jazmyn Simon, who plays Selene, is Dulé Hill’s real-life wife.

More than once, Shawn quotes The Handmaid’s Tale in reference to Gus and Selene’s baby: “Praise be” and “Blessed is the fruit.”

Dolores compliments Lassiter’s “chest of hair plentiful enough to wake all of Destiny’s Child.”

Shawn comes up with possible names for Gus’ child: Shaft, Shaftie, or D’Shaft—just like Gus’ nickname Sh’Dynasty (with a “God’s comma,” or apostrophe) from “Santabarbaratown.”

They also both coo “c’mon son” to Selene’s womb.

Selene’s proposal to Gus includes his negotiation that he and Shawn have adjacent homes with connecting pools, a callback to Shawn and Gus talking about their dream setup in “The Break-Up”; as well as Pluto! She asks, “Will you make me the happiest woman on this planet, on Eres, and Pluto?”

Shawn tells Juliet that “you’re my person,” the iconic Grey’s Anatomy line (though one would argue that Gus more accurately is his person).

When Lassiter stands (shut up, you’re crying) to meet Marlowe (Kristy Swanson), they place their palms together—like they did when he would visit her in jail, like they did at their wedding. My heart.

Join us on the Easter egg hunt—let us know what references we missed!

The post Psych 2: Lassie Come Home Easter Egg and Reference Guide appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[redrobinfection]

(15) Horror Movies

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober - Day 15 “Horror Movies”

JayDickTim | Established Relationship | Horror Movies | They’re not always scary but they can still put you in weird headspace | Sleep Deprivation | (brief) graphic descriptions of horror scenes | Panic Attack | Want to write with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

Tim loves his boyfriends. So, so much. But one thing that Jason and Dick both love that Tim just can’t wrap his head around: horror movies.

They’re watching one right now, the third of a trilogy Jay and Dick love, and Tim is sandwiched between them on the couch, feeling faintly ill.

Jay and Dick are the kind of people that get that something from a horror movie, the adrenaline or the enjoyment of their terror or whatever it is that hooks people. Tim isn’t and he gets nothing but is a sick feeling in his stomach and the impression that all the color has been sucked out of the world.

It isn’t the scenes themselves that get to him, because as terrible as it is to admit, he’s seen and experienced thing just as terrible, maybe worse, in his time as Robin. All of them have. Brutal serial killings, human trafficking tragedies, figurative and literal monsters left and right, not to mention the rogues. A run-in with Scarecrow’s fear toxin? That would make most horror movies seem like a pleasant summer picnic. Chasing and being chased by Killer Croc in the sewers in the dead of night? Monster B-flick gold. And the Joker? ‘Nough said.

No, for Tim it’s more about the way the scenes are presented - the cold, dark filters; the unnatural lighting; the haunting music and grisly sound effects. It turns a factually horrifying scene into an garish exaggeration, like a scene from one of his nightmares - you don’t fully believe its real, but it still strikes a chord deep in your psyche.

He can handle one movie. Easy to shake off. Maybe two, in the daytime. But tonight they watched three, using their one night off from patrol to stay up into the wee hours of the morning–as if they would ever think use that time to catch up on sleep or something.

Three-quarters of the way through the third movie, Jason notices Tim getting twitchy and asks if he’s okay.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just getting late. I keep nodding off and then every time someone screams, I jump awake again,” Tim tells them, playing it off with a laugh. Dick and Jason laugh with him.

“No problem, Babybird, we’re almost done. We’ll let you sleep in peace soon enough.”

“Did you mean 'rest in peace’, Jaybird?”

“Ugh, Dick, staaaahp.”

They laugh and kiss over Tim’s head, then come at him from both sides when he makes a disgruntled noise for being squished between them, showering him in kisses and noogies and awkward side hugs. The warm moment of affection between the three of them almost distracts Tim away from the grim mood affected by the movies. Almost.

When they settle down into bed an hour later, Tim snuggled between the two of them–all of Dick’s limbs wrapped around him and Jason drooling onto his shoulder–the sick feeling, mental and physical, doesn’t budge. Tim spends the rest of the night staring up at the dark ceiling, mind circling the imagery of the movie in endless spirals. He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep when Dick gets up at 4:30 to pee, and again at 5:15 when Jay startles awake for a few seconds at the sound of a car alarm blaring down on the street. When they all get up at nine the next morning, neither Dick nor Jason seems to be the wiser to his deception.

Tim spends the next day exhausted, but makes up for it with a jam packed schedule–keeping busy always helps–and copious amounts of caffeine. That night he goes out for a quick patrol, then turns in early, hoping to make up for lost sleep.

He can’t. He’s still awake, his mind bombarding him with the images of a decapitated zombie child crawling toward a screaming young woman in the grey rain as “mama, mama” whistles in the wind; the sounds of a man sobbing as he clutches his dead partner in the snow–her womb torn out messily–and the smells he imagines a child clinging to their mother’s green, long-dismembered corpse would experience when Dick comes in at three AM. He’s still awake–and pretending he’s not with every Bat-trained skill he has–when Jay comes in a half hour later.

He’s seen just as bad in real life–and how messed up is it to say that?–but here the imagery is also accompanied by such a deep sense of sorrow, lasting pain and depression. Lives, minds, souls ruined. He’s still wide awake as dawn begins to light the sky. He extricates himself from their sleepy dogpile while Jason and Dick are still in the deepest stages of sleep and heads down to the gym to get a few hours of training in to pump him up for another exhausting day.

He struggles through day two, barely functioning as he makes his way into night three. He volunteers to stay on comms for the night, citing some bullshit excuse about a sore ankle he wants to rest to keep Dick from worrying and Jason from asking too many questions. He stays up late, working on case docs, hoping that if works himself to utter exhaustion that he can just pass out at dawn. He tells Dick and Jay he’s doing it to make up for not going out, and they seem worried, but he promises he’ll rest in the morning.

He doesn’t. Daylight doesn’t bring any relief from the wild thoughts and images that pop into his head any time he tries to quiet his mind. He pretends to nap on the couch until Jay and Dick leave, then goes into Wayne Enterprises and works late.

He goes out as Red Robin that night–night four–but turns in early after he gets a call from Alfred asking about unexpected telemetry from the vitals sensors in his suit–racing pulse, high rate of respiration. He excuses himself with claims that he’s in a bit of pain from his “sore” ankle. It’s a lie. His body and his mind are hitting their natural limits, his anxiety levels increasing and his organs screaming for rest. He meditates for the rest of the night, feeling somewhat refreshed the next morning.

Day four is like a bizarre dream, time zooming past or crawling by in fits and starts. He loses his appetite and even coffee starts to lose its appeal, the smell of it making his stomach twist. By five PM swears the shadows at the corner of his office have started to ooze toward him and he jumps at every little sound.

That night he skips dinner, disables all telemetry in his suit, and goes out for solo patrol. Just a loop around his territory. Then he’ll stop, take a sedative, and pass out for twelve to fifteen hours. Sweat it out as the drugs force him to stay under no matter what nightmares may come.

His patrol is patchy, if that makes any sense. Some moments he is clearly aware of where he is and what he’s doing, and then there are whole stretches of time that are total blanks. Halfway through his loop he gets sidetracked to a neighborhood outside his scope after he hears about of a drug deal going down outside a middle school.

He handles the would-be dealers–high schoolers dealing to middle schoolers who were lucky Red Robin caught wind of the deal before Red Hood did–then retires to the roof of the school for a breather. He sits down between two AC units and lets his head fall back against one for a few moments…

—

Tim slowly comes awake to the sounds of quiet conversation around him, gentle fingers combing through his hair, and a soft bed under him. He blinks his eyes open, squinting in confusion at the overhead light of the room he shares with Jay and Dick. Who left the lights on? Wait, why is he in his uniform? Did he forget to take it off before he dropped into bed?

“Dick. Dick, shut up a second, I think he’s coming around. Tim? Timmy? You with us?”

Tim turns his head to the side with a grimace. His neck is sore like he slept hanging off the side of the bed half the night.

“J-Jay?”

The hand leaves his hair and Tim turns his head minutely to see Dick sitting beside him on the bed, running both hands through his own hair, expression a blend of relief and worry.

“Holy cow, Tim, you scared the crap out of us. What were you thinking?” Dick demands of him. Tim blinks, confused.

“Whoa, whoa, ease up, Dickie, give 'im a sec to reboot, 'kay?” Jason chides, settling down near Tim’s bare feet–-oh, someone removed his boots, gauntlets, belts and cape and unzipped the collar of his suit. He rubs a soothing circles into the arch of one foot. “Hey, Timbo, you know where you are?”

“The 'partment,” Tim answers slowly. Did he hit his head on patrol?

“Yeah. You know what time it is?”

Tim blinks. It’s dark outside, so he knows it’s nighttime, but when he tries to think back to the last time he remembers he can’t get it straight. He was on patrol? Which patrol? He can’t remember. Did he get drugged? Shot?

“No? You know what day it is?”

He doesn’t. He starts to panic. What happened to him? He tries to sit up.

“Easy, Tim. Just rest for a minute,” Dick soothes, easing him back down with a hand on one shoulder. Tim flops back, heart racing. He’s missing something, something important, something awful he should remember.

“Breathe, Tim, don’t force yourself,” Jason chides. Dick’s hand returns to his hair and Jason lies down beside him, now rubbing circles into his exposed hand.

Dark spots cloud his vision and he starts to shake. Why can’t he remember? Now that he’s more aware, why do his joints ache and his limbs feel like they’ve been filled with cement? Why does he feel so cold? Is he dying? Is he dead?

“Jay, he’s hyperventilating.”

“No shit. Timmy? Tim? Breathe with me okay?”

“Breathe with Jason, Tim. Nice and slow.”

“Hey, fo– on m–”

“Ti–”

Their voices fade out along with the sensation of fingers feeling for a pulse and hands pulling off his suit. Darkness fills his vision until there is nothing left but the darkness.

—

When Tim comes around again it’s with a hiss for the bright overhead lighting of the Batcave’s med bay. You’d think with all their resources they’d invest in a light dimmer at some point.

“There he is. Rise and shine, Timbo,” Jason’s voice calls from his left. He groans and tries to squeeze his eyes closed.

“Ah, ah, ah, no falling asleep again until you endure the wrath of Big Bird and Alfie. They’ve got a lot of choice words for you, Babybird,” Jason chides, squeezing his hand. Tim tries to curl onto his opposite side but freezes with a gasp when a sharp twinge in his right arm informs him of the IV inserted there. The numb, slightly clammy feeling on his right index finger speaks to the presence of a pulse oximeter clip. Did he get injured, he wonders?

No. Bit by bit, Tim’s head clears and snatches of memory come back to him. He’d been on patrol. He stopped to rest. No dinner. No sleep. Wayne Enterprises. Disabled telemetry. Solo patrol. The teenaged dealers. A middle school.

Disabled telemetry. Shit.

“H-how long was I out?” Tim asks, croaking around the dryness of his throat. He turns back to Jay in time to see Alfred and Dick walk into med bay, expressions stern and relieved in equal measure. Jason snorts at whatever expression Tim makes in response to theirs.

“About a day, in and out of it,” Alfred replies smoothly, voice cool and unamused as he raises the back of the bed to help Tim sit up. “You gave Masters Dick and Jason quite the fright, not to mention myself, going out alone and under the radar the way you did. I thought we had taught you better than that, Master Timothy.”

Tim shrinks in on himself. You know you’re in trouble with Alfred when he calls you by your full first name. “Sorry, Alfred. Dick. Jason. I haven’t really been myself the past couple of days,” he admits, thinking back on the past week. He cringes internally as he thinks about their last free day and all the stupid things he did in the resulting funk.

“I imagine you wouldn’t be, skipping meals until you passed out from exhaustion,” Alfred lectures sternly as he deftly removes the IV and pulse oximeter. Dick looks sad and disappointed. Jason looks unconvinced.

Tim shakes his head. “I wasn’t skipping meals - mostly - I just wasn’t sleeping very much.”

Dick raises his eyebrows. “Define 'very much’? Why weren’t you sleeping?”

“Uhhhh, well… not at all?” Tim replies shrugging with an apologetic grimace. Alfred shakes his head as he leaves med bay and Jason’s eyes blow wide. Dick makes a sound of indignation.

“Not at all?!” Jason echoes. “What the hell, Babybird? What were you thinking!”

Tim scrubs his hands over his face and deliberately ignores the question in favor of asking one of his own. “What happened? I remember stopping to rest on the roof of Parkview Middle and then briefly waking up back at the apartment.” He looks around the med bay then takes stock of himself. He feels fine now, but he vaguely remember feeling like he was dying the last time he was fully conscious. “Did I get hurt?”

Dick doesn’t look happy about the redirect, but shakes his head and takes a seat on the edge of the gurney. “Well, after me and Jay got home at four AM, realized you weren’t there, and found your suit was missing, we called Alfred and Babs to see if you’d been out that night.

"Alfred said he hadn’t heard from you, and neither had Babs, but she eventually tagged you in a couple of surveillance feeds along your route. We tried to call you on comms: nothing. Then Babs tried to find you on live surveillance: still nothing.” Dick’s expression is dark and his eyes drill holes into Tim.

“We were freakin’ out, Timmers,” Jason continues. “Like, did you get hurt? Did you get kidnapped? We tried to check your telemetry and got fuck all. No vitals, no location. Dickie here was nearly shittin’ himself thinking you’d gone and gotten yourself killed or somethin’”

Tim’s face heats up in shame.

“In the end we pulled out the nuclear option and activated your subdermal GPS beacon,” he explains, gesturing to the stretch of skin on Tim’s arm under which the small capsule resided, a measure they all–Bruce included–agreed to take in order to avoid situations just like this one.

“We found you on some random-ass roof four blocks off your route, passed the fuck out. When we tried to check on you, you nearly cleaned Dickie’s clock, kicked me in the cup–it still hurt, even with the cup, so thanks for that–then tried to throw yourself off the roof. After we got you to calm down and wake up a bit, you seemed to recognize us, understand where you were, and we escorted you home.

"Everything was fine until we got into the apartment, at which point you threw yourself across our bed, cowl up and belts on, and passed out again,” Jason explained, rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of it. “You weren’t outwardly bleeding and your pupils reacted appropriately to light, so we thought you were just a little tired or whatever. When you woke up again, you were disoriented as fuck and freaking out. Then you went completely non-responsive and we freaked out. We brought you down here just to make sure you didn’t have a brain bleed or a punctured lung or something.

"A million scans and some bloodwork later and Alfie concluded you that probably hadn’t been taking care of yourself,” Jason concludes, pinning Tim with a severe look of his own. “And now we’re hearing from you that you haven’t been sleeping?  Cough it up, Timbo. How long?”

Tim clears his throat and shifts his legs restlessly.  “About five days.”

“Five days!” Dick exclaims, jumping up from the end of the gurney. He rounds to the other side, across from Jason. “Why?”

Tim shrugs and looks away. “I dunno, I just haven’t been able to fall asleep. I couldn’t shut my brain off.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you had insomnia?” Dick asks.

Tim shrugs again. “What would you be able to do about it?”

“Make sure you didn’t do something stupid like stay up all night filing reports or go on patrol with all your tracers turned off, probably,” Jason replies wryly. He stands up, bracketing Tim between himself and Dick. He narrows his eyes.

“You know, I can tell when you’re keeping something from us, Timbo. Spit it out. What’s been so heavy on your mind that it hasn’t let you get a wink of sleep for nearly a week?”

Tim tenses and curls in on himself subconsciously. “Nothing. It’s not important.”

Jason laughs mirthlessly and Dick frowns. “If it’s important enough for you to lose sleep over it, then it’s important to us,” Jason insists.

Tim mumbles under his breath, avoiding eye contact.

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles a little louder.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, Timbelina,” Jason belts loudly into his ear.

“It’s your damn horror, movies okay!? I couldn’t sleep after we marathoned that trilogy on our night off,” Tim shouts back, scooting down the bed and throwing off the sheet. He swings his legs over the side, stands up, and only sways a little as the room swims around him for a second.

“The movies? They scared you?” Dick asks uncertainly as he steadies Tim with hand around his upper arm.

Tim shakes him off. “No, they’re just depressing as fuck. We see enough horrible stuff in our line of work, so sue me if watching it presented in a way intended to be emotionally gripping as possible puts me in a bit of a funk.”

He moves for the doorway, pretending not to be embarrassed that his ass is hanging out of the back of his hospital gown, only to be stopped by Dick darting in front of him, closely followed by Jason. They’re both watching him with concern, worry, and a tinge of guilt. Tim deflates. This was exactly what he hoped to avoid.

“Babe. You never told us they bothered you,” Dick starts while Jason says, “A bit of a funk? It must really bother you if it’s keeping you up for days.” They look at each other, then Dick nods to Jason. Tim sighs.

“What’s really going on, Tim,” Jason asks.

“That’s really all it is,” Tim replies, crossing his arms. “We watched the movies, I didn’t sleep that night and then it kind of snowballed from there, the sleep dep feeding the funk.” Looking at it objectively, after a good night’s rest, he can admit that the situation never should have escalated past that first morning; he should have taken a sedative and a day off right then and there to avoid falling deep into the funk.

“Is it really that bad? Why didn’t you tell us you don’t like scary movies?” Dick asked, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. Tim groaned.

“It’s really not a big deal. Not usually. They don’t scare me, they just kind of… I dunno, haunt my thoughts for a while afterwards. You know how it goes; I overthink everything,” Tim admits, waving a hand dismissively. “And I didn’t tell you guys because I didn’t feel like being made fun of for being 'too scared to watch a scary movie’. Who would have believed me if I said they’re not scary, just emotionally disturbing?”

Dick opens his mouth like he’s going to object but Tim cuts him off. “No, don’t even try to tell me that you would. Look at Jay, at least he’s honest with himself.”

They both look at Jason, who is nodding along, looking chagrined. “Yeah, I’ll admit, if you’d said something, I probably would have teased you about it.” He gives Tim a look Tim can’t decipher. “You’re an odd one, Timbo, but there’s no arguing with the results. If it bothers you, it bothers you, whether it’s frightening or not. But if it bothers you so much, then why watch with us? You could have just told us you don’t like horror and gone to bed.”

“And not spend time with you guys?” Tim asks incredulously. “We get one night off together every two weeks, and you think I would just give that up and go to bed alone?” He shakes his head at them. “I put up with it because I wanted to spend time with you guys and I wanted you guys to do something you both enjoy. I didn’t want to be the wet blanket in the room that put a stop to that.”

Both Jason and Dick’s faces fall on hearing this, and in that moment Tim is done with this conversation. He tries to skirt around them, but Jason blocks his path.

“Move, Jason, I need to pee.” He does. IVs are great and all, but sleeping for twenty four hours through one, maybe two liters of fluids equals one very full bladder. He’s grateful Alfred didn’t stoop to inserting a urinary catheter just to punish him, even if it would have done him a favor in this one thing.

Jason crosses his arms obstinately.

“I will pee on you,” Tim warns.

Dick steps between them and places his hands on Tim’s shoulders. “Tim, it means a lot to us that you would put our enjoyment above your own, but it hurts a little to think you don’t trust us enough to let us know when something’s bothering you.”

“What Dick said,” Jason seconds. “Yeah, we’d probably tease you at first, but eventually we’d get that horror makes you uncomfortable and picked something else to do. We care about you just as much you care about us, ya know?”

Tim looks away, uncomfortable.

“Look, we’re not trying to blame the victim here, we’re just saying give us a chance next time, okay?” Jason clarifies, tone softening. “We deserve the opportunity to prove ourselves assholes or saints for ourselves, yeah?”

Tim snorts softly. “Yeah.”

They smile and Dick draws them both into a hug, sandwiching Tim between them. “Good. And we’re sorry, Tim. We should have noticed you weren’t having a good time and asked.”

“You did,” Tim admits, “But I told you I was 'just tired’ and you guys bought it. That’s on me.”

“Yeah, well, dealing with you–the guy who lies to Batman–we should have pressed the issue no matter how convincing you were,” Jason replies, pressing his face into Tim’s hair. “And you shouldn’t feel like we won’t take you seriously. That’s mostly my bad for teasing you so much.”

Tim presses his face into Jason’s chest and shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Dick says softly at his back. “But it will be.” Tim feels Jason smile into his hair and nod. He lets them hold him tight and close for a long minute.

“And no more horror movies around Timmy!” Dick exclaims belatedly, making Tim and Jason laugh.

“Definitely. We’ll save it for our solo dates, right Dickie?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Okay, this was nice and all,” Tim begins, squirming a little, “but I wasn’t kidding earlier; someone needs to let go now or I’m going to pee on Jason.”

“Eh, I’m fine with that,” Dick replies lightly.

“Dick, you dick!” Jason shoots back, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Stop making me laugh! I’m really going to pee on him!”

#my writing #christmasriverswrites #jaydicktim #spooktober 2019 #saf's spooktober prompts #polyamory #ot3 #my writing in the raw: barely edited #organic and covered in typos #does spellcheck count as editing? #tw brief mentions of gore #tw horror #tw sleep deprivation #tw panic attack #this is how I personally feel about horror movies; they don't scare me but i go into this horrible headspace and sometimes i just can't stop #thinking about how awful life can be sometimes #how messed up some psychological states get #it's not just horror; i don't like to watch a lot of fiction and non-fiction crime shows for the same reasons--i just overthink *everything* #maybe it's just me and i'm a weirdo but for the sake of fiction tim will be weird with me on this #this is four THOUSAND words. when. where. why. HOW. did that happen. it was supposed to be 800 max. *facepalm* #i betcha with the ''keep reading'' i'll get like 8 notes max #prove me wrong tumblr

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 2

We’ll Meet Again by George deValier

Bright sunlight crept under Arthur's eyelids and forced them open. He groaned loudly and threw the blanket over his head to block it out. Weeks of overcast days and it had to be sunny on this one. Arthur clasped his head in his hands and tried to stop it exploding. Why the hell did he feel so… Suddenly the memory of the night before hit him like a fist, his stomach turning violently. What had he done? What had he said? Oh God how had he ended up in bed without his shoes and… Arthur quickly patted himself down and thankfully found his clothing intact, although he had lost his tie, apron and shoes somewhere along the way. He buried his head in the pillow and tried not to scream. Well that was the last time he would ever see that bloody American… but that was a good thing, yes? Arthur only felt sick at the thought. But that might also be from the copious quantities of rum he'd consumed the night before. What on earth had he been thinking?

Well, to be completely honest, he knew what he'd been thinking. He'd been thinking that Alfred was the most handsome man he'd ever laid eyes on. He'd been thinking that no one else in the world laughed like him, spoke like him, smiled like him. He'd been wondering what the hell a handsome, popular, confident young fighter pilot like Alfred was doing wasting his time talking to a boring old bartender like him. And he had drunk heavily to try and make sense of it, obviously scaring Alfred off in the process.

Trying to throw it all out of his mind, Arthur dragged himself out of bed to begin getting ready for the day ahead. It wasn't like he had never dealt with a hangover before. It was just the sudden memories that kept appearing unbidden… Alfred grinning and winking, Alfred leaning towards him, Alfred laughing, Alfred carrying him… "AGH!" Arthur tried to shake his head of the unwanted recollections. They just grew stronger, replaying over and over. Arthur decided there was nothing to be done but get dressed, go down to work, and forget he had ever met an American pilot named Alfred F. Jones.

The morning passed uneventfully. A few Americans came in for an early lunch with local girls on their arms, but the place was generally quiet. Arthur gave thanks for small mercies and spent his time avoiding a certain table by the window, while running a cold cloth over his forehead when no one was looking.

At noon, Arthur stood behind the bar, the cold cloth over his face, working hard on erasing the last week from his memory when it was all blown to hell by two words.

"Howdy, Arthur!"

Arthur jumped in surprise, the cloth falling to the floor. He looked up at Alfred, his face dripping, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest. All he could think to say was, "Good God man, do you have to yell so loud?"

Alfred looked amused. "I didn't yell…"

Arthur pressed on, slightly embarrassed. "Well I just have this flipping great headache…"

"Yeah, I'm not surprised," laughed Alfred. Arthur glared at him and Alfred cleared his throat. "So anyway," he continued, leaning on the bar, "I was thinking, that if this relationship is ever gonna go anywhere, we'd better start seeing each other in the daytime."

"Relationship?" Arthur's head still felt fuzzy… he must have heard that wrong.

"Show me the sights of London!" Alfred was all intensity and eagerness, dressed immaculately in his military uniform and cap along with the ever-present bomber jacket. Arthur tried very hard not to acknowledge the effect it had on him and tried instead to look annoyed.

"What? I'm working, I'm… I'm…"

Alfred grinned. "It's a beautiful sunny day out there, you're gonna spend it all in here with a cloth on your face?"

Arthur closed his eyes. Why could he not resist that bloody grin? "Very well," he said through gritted teeth. "Let me fetch my coat."

An hour later they had hardly seen anything of interest in Arthur's mind, but Alfred was fairly hopping in excitement. As they stood on the deck of a river boat crossing the Thames, Arthur was quickly growing embarrassed by all the stares the energetic American drew from fellow passengers.

"Wow, wow, oh my gosh! What do you call that thing again?"

Arthur peered sideways at Alfred pointing madly. "London Bridge."

"Wow!" Alfred's face lit up like a Christmas tree as he craned his neck looking upwards.

Arthur could not see why Alfred was impressed. "…It's just a bridge."

"It's LONDON bridge!" Alfred cried excitedly. "Like that song! You know… London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down, London Bridge is…"

"Yes, yes all right, for heaven's sake…" Arthur tried to quiet Alfred as his raucous singing caught the humoured and surprised attention of several onlookers. "I know the blasted song."

"Are we hopping off over the river? Where are we going next? Can we see the bridge closer? I tell ya, all this walking is making me hungry." Alfred pulled something out of his pocket and starting unwrapping it. Arthur groaned when he realised it was a chocolate bar. He put his hand to his head, exasperated, and hoped the other passengers wouldn't notice.

"Alfred."

"Hmm?"

"You're eating chocolate."

"I know. Do you want some?" Alfred held out the bar.

"No… I…" Arthur didn't know quite how to tell Alfred that he was being rather rude considering everyone in Britain had been on sweets rations for years. He leant in and whispered. "We've been at war for quite a while here. Things like this are very hard to come by for us."

"Ohh," breathed Alfred, his eyes going wide. He glanced around guiltily. "I have more, should I offer everyone else some?"

Arthur almost laughed, but quickly stopped when he realised Alfred was serious. "Wait, Alfred, what are you…"

"Greetings folks!" Alfred turned and called out cheerfully to the passengers behind him. Arthur was horrified as everyone stared openly, obviously unsure what to make of this loud, strange American. "I'm Lieutenant Alfred Jones, all the way from the US of A, and I just wanted to say that I'm honoured to be here in your terrific city! Now I'm hoping some of you fine people can help me out with a small problem I have. You see, I'm shipping out soon to fight the Krauts in Italy, and I have all this candy I don't know what to do with!" Alfred pulled out a handful of chocolate bars, attracting the immediate attention of several small children who inched closer.

"Candy?" asked a little girl, tilting her head in confusion.

Alfred shot Arthur an inquiring look. "Sweets," Arthur managed to murmur in bewildered explanation.

Alfred turned back to the girl, laughed raucously, and explained, "That's what we Americans call sweets! Now I don't know what might happen if I took these sweets over to Italy with me..."

A little boy gasped and said, "The Krauts might steal 'em off you!"

Alfred gasped also, his expression drawn in mock horror. "They might, too! Well, we can't let that happen can we?"

The children shook their heads, moving slowly towards Alfred, their eyes fixed on the chocolate in his hands. Arthur's face was frozen in shock, as were some of the passengers'. Others, however, were smiling, a few of the women were giggling to each other, and the children were positively enthralled.

"Do you think you might be able to help an ally out and take 'em off my hands?" asked Alfred, smiling widely and offering the chocolate bars to the children. "It's really good... Hershey's, all the way from America!" Each of them took a bar, giggling happily, before running back to their parents. Alfred tipped his hat to his gawking audience. "Have a good day, folks!" He turned back around and winked at Arthur.

Arthur shook his head. "You're quite mad."

Alfred just laughed, then pulled another bar from his pocket. "I saved the last one for you."

Arthur could not stop his lips pulling into a smile. He tried in vain to furrow his brows and wipe the smile from his face. "Fine." He snatched the bar and jammed it in his own pocket.

"I like that," said Alfred, staring at Arthur.

"What?" asked Arthur huffily. How bloody irritating that he could not even control his facial expressions around the American.

"When you smile."

Arthur cast his eyes out at the river, the smile finally falling from his face and the back of his neck flushing with heat. They stood in silence, but he could feel Alfred's eyes on him for the rest of the short journey.

"What is that tall bridge over there?" asked Alfred, after they had arrived at the port across the river and walked a while along the bank. It was the finest day in months, the sun high and a gentle breeze blowing. It was hard to believe it was winter - Arthur could not ever remember a milder one in London.

"That there is Tower Bridge."

Alfred's face lit up again. "That one is terrific!"

"And that is the Tower of London," said Arthur, pointing over the street.

"Ooh, fantastic!" cried Alfred. They stopped and stared over at the imposing buildings. "What's in there?"

"German prisoners of war, currently. And traitors, and enemy spies." Arthur wracked his brains to think of what else they were keeping in the tower these days. "And, uh… ravens."

Alfred looked truly fascinated. "Ravens, really?" He looked around eagerly. "Is there any way we can get in there?"

"Well, there is one." Alfred raised his eyebrows inquisitively and Arthur smirked. "Betray Britain."

Alfred's face fell in disappointment. "Oh. I don't think I want to do that. Even to see the ravens."

"Oh, the ravens aren't the most interesting thing about the place," said Arthur.

"Really?" asked Alfred, intrigued. "What else is in there?"

"Ghosts," said Arthur wickedly. He gazed across at the tower as he spoke. "The Tower of London is the most haunted place in Britain, if not the entire world. There are dozens of ghosts in there… Lady Jane Grey, the Princes in the tower, Sir Walter Raleigh…" Arthur found ghost stories fascinating, and he'd always loved the ones about the tower. "On stormy nights, the ghost of Anne Boleyn is said to walk the tower, dressed all in white and carrying her severed head under her arm…" Arthur turned to find that Alfred was no longer standing beside him. He looked around, confused. "Alfred?" He walked a few paces before spotting Alfred further down the road, leaning against a tree and looking like he couldn't breathe. Arthur gasped and ran to him. "Blimey man, are you all right?" he asked, concerned by the pale green colour of Alfred's face.

Alfred looked up with wide eyes, clutching his chest, sweat beading his brow. "I… don't… like… ghosts!"

Arthur tried not to, but he burst into hysterical laughter. They quickly left, steered away insistently by Alfred, who kept glancing back fearfully as though the ghost of Anne Boleyn was on his heels. Arthur had been happy to walk along the river, but Alfred was desperate to get far away, as fast as possible, and headed straight for the nearest bus stop. Arthur couldn't stop snickering… the loud, brash, swaggering American was afraid of ghosts.

Alfred seemed to get over his terror rather quickly however, and whistled as the red double-decker pulled up at the bus stop. "Wow! It's one of those super tall ones!" he said as he swung himself up onto the platform. "Howdy, Miss." Alfred tipped his hat to the pretty young conductor who giggled and smiled at him. She barely even looked at Arthur as he purchased their tickets.

Arthur made his way into the crowded bus. Finding an empty seat, he was just about to sit down when he realised Alfred was, once again, nowhere to be seen. "What now?" he muttered, then winced when he heard a familiar loud voice shout down the stairs.

"Hey Arthur! There's a whole other bus up here!"

Arthur felt every passenger's eyes stare at him. He smiled apologetically. "Sorry. Uh… he's American." Arthur hurried up the stairs. He proceeded to spend the rest of the drive trying to get Alfred to sit down, apologising to the other passengers, and on one occasion having to haul the stupid Yank back into the bus when he tried to lean out the window to shout a greeting to some American soldiers on the sidewalk. Arthur was relieved when they finally reached their destination, though probably not so relieved as the other commuters.

It was difficult to keep up with Alfred. Arthur didn't know where he got his energy from, but it was endless. He tried to keep pace as Alfred barrelled down the busy streets, weaving amongst the mass of pedestrians, talking non-stop as he went.

"I've really never been in a city this big before, you know? This place is huge! I mean, I was in New York, but not for long, before we shipped out. Now that was one wild city! I'll take you there after the war, Arthur. We'll see it all together. And then I'll show you where I live. It's only a small town… we don't have nothing so fancy as all this, but you'll really love it, Arthur, I know you will."

"I… I…" Arthur was a little thrown, unable to believe Alfred, and unsure whether he wanted to. "That's rather a long way to go, isn't it?"

"Nah, it'll be fine! I'll fly you there in Lady Beth!"

Arthur raised his eyebrows skeptically. "I don't think your plane will make it from England to America, Alfred."

"'Course she will!" Alfred grinned, and even in this bright, busy street, Arthur felt his breath knocked from him. That bloody grin.

"And how will… um… 'she'… manage that?" Arthur was caught in Alfred's gaze as they walked, unheeding of the street traffic that narrowly avoided them.

"Magic." Alfred winked. Arthur stared, transfixed, until Alfred looked away and gasped loudly. "Ooh, ooh!" Alfred practically skidded to a stop, his eyes fixed upward. "I know that one!" he cried. "That's Big Bob!"

The spell was broken, and Arthur again burst into laughter. "Ben."

"Huh?"

"It's called Big Ben!" Arthur explained. "Well, actually, it's not the tower that's named Big Ben… that happens to be the name of one of the bells."

"Really? Huh. You sure know a lot, Arthur." Alfred stood stock still in the middle of the footpath, staring up at the clock tower. A busy crowd surged around him, but he didn't move.

"Alfred?" Arthur waited a few moments, but Alfred did not budge. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for it to ding." Alfred said it like it was obvious.

Arthur did not fancy his chances of getting Alfred to move, so he simply stood still as the passing pedestrians shot them strange looks and parted around them. He watched Alfred watching the clock, until after only a few minutes it rang in the hour.

"Haha, fantastic! All righty, where to now? Ooh, can we go in that strange looking building over there?" And Alfred took off, headed towards Westminster Abbey down the road. "Keep up, old man!"

Arthur scowled. "I beg your pardon?" he called, hurrying to catch up. He was, however, grateful for the tiny break. He really was starting to feeling like an old man today.

Once inside the dark abbey, Alfred quickly lost his cheerful grin. He moved along slowly, glancing around suspiciously, pressed quite close to Arthur's side. Arthur couldn't help finding it rather amusing.

"This place is creepy," Alfred whispered nervously as they walked slowly past the low stone coffins. "There aren't dead bodies in these things, are there?"

Arthur wasn't quite sure if he was serious. They were coffins, after all. "Oh, no," he said sarcastically. "They're stone all the way through."

"Oh." Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. "Well that's okay then."

Arthur glanced at Alfred quizzically. Surely he hadn't taken him seriously... "They're coffins, of course there are bodies…" He fell quiet as Alfred tensed up again. Apparently he had. "Ah, just forget it, Alfred."

Alfred was quite insistent they leave after that. "You Brits sure are big on the scary old buildings, ain't ya?" he asked as he hurried out into the street. Again, Arthur couldn't help laughing.

The pedestrian traffic thinned as they walked further down the street. Alfred started to slow, and eventually came to a stop in front of a roped off bomb site. Only one wall of the building was left standing, fixed at a dangerously skewed angle; the rest reduced to flattened rubble around it. Alfred whistled. "Whew, the Krauts sure did a number on that one."

Arthur nodded. "Quite. We still have quite a lot of sites left like this one. From the Blitz, you know." It suddenly struck Arthur how young Alfred looked, standing there in shock, gazing into the ruins.

"Innocent people shouldn't have to go through this," said Alfred, shaking his head as though he did not understand. "Women and old people and kids and stuff. That's just not right." He turned and looked at Arthur with wide, bright eyes. "That's why I'm doing this, you know." Alfred gestured over the wreckage. "I'm gonna stop this happening here, or back home, or anywhere else. Because we're the good guys, Arthur. I'm gonna go to Europe and put a stop to this, you'll see. I'm gonna save London!"

And Alfred sounded so young also, like he honestly believed he could take on the world. Arthur's heart swelled despite himself. Why did Alfred have to be so naive, so good, so stupid... "Come on, Alfred. There's a lovely park just up here I want to show you."

"Oh, great!" Alfred fell briskly into pace beside Arthur, snapping back into high spirits; but he didn't have quite the same spring in his step as before.

Alfred finally slowed down when they reached St James Park. The air started to chill as they wandered aimlessly past trees and gardens and couples taking an afternoon stroll. As they passed a park bench beneath a dense, leafy tree, Alfred lightly took Arthur's arm and led him over to it. Arthur felt the touch shoot through his nerves, and was surprised by the sudden nervousness it evoked. He sat down and felt something pull tight in his pocket. Confused, he reached in and pulled out the chocolate bar Alfred had handed him earlier. "Oh," he said in realisation. "Blimey, forgot about that."

"Try it!" said Alfred fervently. "American chocolate is the best chocolate in the whole world!"

Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Is that so."

"It is! Try it! Don't you like chocolate?"

Arthur sighed wearily, ripped open the bar, and took a bite. He paused, surprised. It actually was very good. "It's passable, I suppose."

Alfred looked amusedly doubtful. "Passable."

"Mm-hm."

"That must be why you're scoffing the whole thing."

Bollocks. Arthur glared at Alfred. He hurried to finish his mouthful.

"So it's that hard to get candy here, huh?"

Arthur shrugged, discreetly wrapping the last of the chocolate in its wrapper. "Well, we're on rations. Everything is hard to get right now."

Alfred sighed and leant back, throwing his arms across the top of the bench. Arthur jumped nervously when Alfred's hand brushed his back. "You Brits have had it tough for a few years, haven't ya."

Arthur almost laughed incredulously. Alfred had no idea. "London is different now from a few years ago. So much has been destroyed. After the Blitz…" Arthur broke off and shuddered, still overwhelmed by awful memories. The dread of the coming nightfall, the evil of the air raid signal, those horrifying moments crouching in shelters and unable to sleep through the noise. The terror which quickly gave way to a numbing acceptance; never knowing what would be standing and who would be breathing in the morning. Arthur felt a brief brush of Alfred's hand against his.

"I remember seeing a film about it back home a few years ago," said Alfred quietly. "A docmenary."

Arthur tried not to laugh. It was a welcome distraction. "Documentary."

"Yeah, one of them." Alfred shook his head and stared up at the sky. "People all huddled in bomb shelters, and sirens going off, and dozens of Heinkel bombers flying over and flattening buildings to rubble - just like that one in the street before. It looked like you really had it rough."

"We did. We still do." So Alfred did know a little of the earlier war after all. His words brought back memories far too easily. "But we're strong. We made it through then, and we'll make it through now. We're British, after all."

Alfred smiled at that. "I'm starting to see quite a bit about you Brits."

"And does the American like what he sees?" asked Arthur.

"Yes," said Alfred softly, his eyes intense as he stared at Arthur. "He certainly does."

Arthur's neck burned despite the chilly wind. He dropped his gaze to his feet.

"Well, I'm impressed," said Alfred, his voice rising to its usual loud volume. "Your city is fantastic."

Arthur raised his eyes to Alfred's grinning face and smiled back. "I know."

The air was near freezing and the sun quickly descending in the sky by the time they strolled slowly passed the gates of Buckingham Palace. Alfred, as usual, looked excited and fascinated. Arthur could not understand how he was still so energetic.

"Oh, gosh! Oh, wow! That's where the king lives!"

Arthur nodded wearily. "Yes, Alfred."

"Can we see him?"

Arthur furrowed his brows, taken aback. "The king?"

"Yeah!"

"Oh yes, absolutely, I'll just trot right in and see if old George will have us for afternoon tea, shall I?"

Alfred looked gobsmacked. "You can do that?"

Arthur shook his head, partly amused, partly exasperated. Alfred obviously had a little trouble with the concept of sarcasm. "Why don't we go back to the Emerald Lion and have afternoon tea there, instead?"

"With the king?" asked Alfred eagerly. Arthur just looked at him. "Oh, you mean, obviously... right." Alfred coughed and Arthur hid a smirk behind his hand. "Well sure, Art, that sounds swell. Only, I don't actually have to drink tea, do I?"

"No. And Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Arthur."

"Of course it is."

But Arthur couldn't feel angry. Sure, he was a little tired, slightly exasperated, and quite confused as to why Alfred was still intent on spending time with him. But he was also happier than he could remember feeling in years. And he had just spent the best day of his life, in the greatest city in the world, with a slight hangover and the most interesting, wonderful, bloody frustrating American he had ever met.

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#We’ll Meet Again chapter 2

[feynavaley]

Hetalia Fanfiction – Beyond the Breaking Point Ch 1

Summary: Caught between a rebellious teen fighting for his independence and an older brother struggling to be a parent, Matthew somatizes. Not drawing attention to his fake ailments seems the best way not to further stress the already precarious situation – but when Matthew takes his resolution a bit too far, all their lives are sent into a tailspin. (Human AU; ACE Family)

This story is the long-promised sequel of Arthur Kirkland’s Guide to Being a Big Brother [x] that I finally got around to writing, but it could be easily read as a stand-alone (plot-wise, the two stories aren’t related, they merely happen within the same universe). I hope you’ll like it, and any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated! (Full chapter under the cut, use your phone browser if you can’t see it from the app.)

AO3 | FFN | Next | List

———

Chapter One

On Friday morning, Matthew woke up to muffled yells coming from downstairs. He groaned, burrowing himself deeper under the blankets as if they could somehow block out the sound. The only accomplishment that came out of the movement was to increase the dull pain pulsing in his lower abdomen.

Matthew would have liked to call himself surprised, or even concerned, but there was no fooling himself. Over the previous months, the scenario he was facing had become a familiar companion to his days. Whimpering when his shifting once again made the pain flare up, Matthew turned to the side table and paddled for the phone before lifting it in front of his face. It was early, there was no need to get up yet – but Matthew knew that he wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep again, between the screaming in the background and the throbbing in his belly. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to gather the strength to face the day. Matthew was expecting it to be hard.

What he wasn’t expecting was the searing agony that pierced his lower abdomen as he sat up, making him double over with a small cry. White swallowed his vision, the acrid taste of bile singed his throat.

Matthew swallowed down and forced himself to take a deep breath before he attempted straightening up again – slowly, this time, and with his hands firmly pressed against his stomach. His body didn’t like it, once again rebelling with an intense burst of pain. Matthew frowned and looked down at his feet, nibbling on his lower lip.

In truth, he wasn’t new to random pains. He had started feeling ill and shaky the previous morning, with a dull pain pulsing around his navel that had ended up growing more and more intense over the course of the day. He had never imagined it could turn so bad, however.

How typical. Life’s always full of surprises, isn’t it? I don’t know how I could have forgotten this.

A couple of experimental shuffled steps told Matthew that standing straight was almost impossible, the pain intensifying with sharp stabs at each movement. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. If his features showed any sign of discomfort, Arthur was going to notice. Not only he was going to keep Matthew home from school when he had already missed more days than it would be wise (his perfect grades weren’t suffering from it, yet, but for how long would he be able to keep it up?), Arthur was also going to worry to no end without ever finding a solution. Given his past history with illnesses, Matthew couldn’t blame his brother – and that was why avoiding the scenario altogether was imperative. Which was completely up to Matthew.

Trying to collect himself, he took his sweet time to prepare for the day. Half an hour later, he was cleaned up and dressed – presentable, in spite of the grey pallor that donated an unflattering ill hue to his already too pasty skin. Matthew elected to ignore it, just like he was desperately trying to keep his mind off the agonizing throbbing inside his abdomen, that hadn’t diminished.

I have had worse, and I was only a child. I can handle this.

Matthew kept repeating the words like a mantra, but once he got out of the room, his distress only intensified. That time, the pain only played a minor part in it – the ongoing argument was just too loud for him to push it to a remote corner of his mind.

“Just a stupid letter, Arthur!” Alfred was yelling, his voice heavy with all the disdain he was capable of. “What does it even matter? I cannot believe you’re making such a fuss over this!”

Matthew flattened himself against the wall as he shuffled to the kitchen, hoping not to be noticed and dragged into the discussion. He shouldn’t have worried about that, nobody had the time to pay attention to him.

Arthur’s voice joined Alfred, trembling with rage.

“Only a letter? Let alone the fact that this is hardly your first failing mark, which is an issue itself, why did I have to learn it by going through your graded essays? You should have told me as soon as you got home! Instead I—”

Matthew had reached the kitchen. He closed the door to muffle the sounds and let himself double over, clutching his abdomen. The pain had intensified in agony during the short trek, it felt like a knife twisting into his intestines. Matthew was perfectly aware of the cause.

In the living room, Alfred resumed yelling.

Matthew resolutely turned a deaf ear to the sounds, focusing on the array of cereals into the cupboard and pretending not to hear the hurtful words Alfred and Arthur were spewing against each other. In truth, Matthew didn’t even need to hear anything to know what was being said. He could have recited the entire argument by heart: the words might change from time to time, but the meaning was always the same.

Matthew’s stomach made a summersault that brought bile to the back of his throat.

Breakfast was out of the question. The previous day, Matthew had skipped lunch and his dinner had ended up making acquaintance with the toilet not long after having been ingested. With the pain plaguing his abdomen, that morning wasn’t shaping up to be anything better.

Out of habit, Matthew cast a furtive glance behind his shoulders. He shouldn’t have worried, Arthur was still yelling at Alfred in the living room. He was at the ‘wasted potential’ part of the lecture – Matthew didn’t want to hear it. He methodically took out a bowl, poured just some drops of milk into it, and smeared them over the surface to give the impression of an eaten breakfast. A pang of guilt flared up in his stomach at the thought of wasting food, but it was still better than making Arthur realize he hadn’t eaten. Trying to drown the sound of the discussion, Matthew took to methodically washing all the bowls already inside the sink. He turned off the water just in time to hear the door slam closed with a thud that made the house tremble and Matthew’s stomach coil in discomfort, increasing the pain in his abdomen. He had to bite his lower lip to restrain a moan, willpower alone prevented him from doubling over.

Just a moment later, dragged footsteps announced Arthur’s entrance into the kitchen.

“Oh, Matthew! Good morning. Have you already had your breakfast?”

The forced colloquiality of the words couldn’t hide the slight tremble in Arthur’s voice. When he turned, Matthew’s gaze was immediately captured by the violet shadows that were painfully evident on the tight skin under his brother’s eyes. Another intense spike of pain stabbed his stomach, accompanying the clenching of his chest. Matthew stubbornly refused to double over.

“Mmh…” he muttered in assent, doing his best to offer Arthur a reassuring smile.

There was no way he was going to trouble his older brother over something as trivial as a bad – no matter how excruciating – stomach-ache. Arthur certainly didn’t need another concern added to his plate – even less if it was nothing more than a product of Matthew’s too anxious mind.

Arthur reciprocated with a tired smile of his own and a small nod.

“Good. I trust you’ve taken your antibiotic, haven’t you?”

A lump surged in Matthew’s throat. He nodded, using all his willpower not to let the smile slip from his face. Not only he hadn’t taken the antibiotic that morning – he was feeling too nauseous for it, he knew he wasn’t going to keep it down – the dose from the previous evening had joined the rest of the meal down the toilet drain. Arthur didn’t know. He was imperative that he didn’t become aware of that second instance, either.

The young man’s exhaustion was written as clear as daylight in his slumped posture and drawn features. On the top of the already taxing concerns of a twenty-year-old having to deal with running a family, the constant fights with Alfred were draining Arthur to the point that Matthew was surprised he hadn’t collapsed yet. And how could Matthew add another weight to Arthur’s shoulders? The mere thought made his lungs tighten so much that he could hardly draw a single breath.

Moreover, it had been more than six years since Matthew’s spleen had been removed. Other two, and he would finally live like a normal person and be free to stop taking his prophylactic antibiotic. Missing two doses wouldn’t cause any harm, no matter how much Matthew’s skin crawled with uneasiness at the thought of disobeying his doctor’s orders.

Any doubt evaporated in front of the tired yet unmistakably earnest smile that blossomed on Arthur’s lips.

“You’re such a good boy…” he exhaled, “I know I can always count on you.”

Shame crawled up Matthew’s stomach.

“I have to go, I’ll miss the bus,” he muttered, ducking behind Arthur to rush out of the kitchen and ignoring the painful jolts in his lower abdomen.

He couldn’t stop himself from noticing how a bit of tension seemed to leave Arthur’s shoulders, allowing him to stand straighter. Matthew felt sick at the thought.

A good child? This couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m just an anxious, selfish wreck.

If Matthew were a good child, he would fully understand that Arthur just had more vital concerns than constantly paying attention to him – it just wasn’t possible, in their situation. If Matthew had truly managed to convince himself of that, his body wouldn’t rebel that way in order to be noticed, making Arthur waste precious energy over silly concerns. Matthew was aware of that. And, at the same time, dwelling over it wasn’t going to help.

With a tired sigh, Matthew hauled up his school bags and headed out of the door after saying goodbye to Arthur. The cold wind that bit his cheeks made him shiver, bothering him far more than it should have. On the flip side, the combination of cold and heavy bags allowed Matthew to walk slightly hunched over without anybody questioning it. It was a small blessing, the jolts of pain in his lower abdomen were getting more and more intense and harder to hide. Matthew would have been ready to drop to the ground and cry in pain.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and trudged on to the bus stop. By the time he reached it, he was dizzy and out of breath, the throbbing in his guts so intense that he feared he would pass out. Matthew let himself slump on the bench and hugged his knees in front of his chest, trying to find a position that would give him some relief from the pain.

“Woah, you look miserable. Did Art yell at you, too?”

Matthew started at his brother’s voice. He hadn’t realized that Alfred was still at the bus stop as well, sitting at the other end of the bench with his legs spread open and his hands folded inside the pockets of his bomber jacket. He would’ve been the picture of carelessness, if not for the thin lines of anger still creasing his forehead and the barely repressed fury darkening his eyes. Matthew missed their limpid blue. Every time he looked at that foreign rage burning behind them, he felt like he was being kicked in the chest.

He shook his head.

“Arthur didn’t do anything, I’m just tired. And…” The hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second. Matthew couldn’t bear his family arguing any longer. “You know, he wouldn’t yell at you, either, if you just talked to him instead of just him having to find out everything on his own.”

Alfred snorted and gave an exaggerated eye-roll.

“Who, Arthur? Don’t make me laugh, Arthur doesn’t do ‘talking’. He just decides what’s the best for us and demands us to follow through it. He has already made up his mind, there’s no way to make him reconsider. Hell, it’s not even about getting him to change his mind – he doesn’t even get to the ‘listening’ part!”

Another sharp burst of pain squeezed Matthew’s intestines. He hugged his knees closer to his chest, trying to breathe through the agony.

“But… he does have a point, Al. I mean… not with everything, but… you’re really smart, if you just… studied a little… You’d have better grades, and it wouldn’t even be so much of an effort… You really are kind of throwing away this opportunity…”

Matthew’s voice trailed off in a whimper, his chest tightening at the recognition of the fury that warped his brother’s features.

“Of course,” Alfred spat out, gritting his teeth. His hands clenched into fists as his entire body tensed. “Of. Fucking. Course. I don’t even know what I was expecting from you. Always Arthur’s little bitch, aren’t you? For fuck’s sake, Matthew! Can’t you see he doesn’t care for you in the slightest? All that that matters to him is appearance – to be seen as the perfectly proper big brother who takes perfect care of his equally perfectly proper and boring younger brothers. There’s nothing deeper behind it! Why are you still snivelling at his feet? It won’t change anything. Arthur won’t magically start caring for you just because you’re an obedient little goody-two-shoes! You’ll always be invisible to him, always a second thought!” Alfred gave a violent shake of his head. “By now, you should know that I’m the only one who truly cares for you. Why are you still siding with him?”

Matthew couldn’t breathe, Alfred’s word pressed against his chest with the weight of a stone. With his head swimming and his racing heartbeat pounding in his ears, Matthew could only look at the utter disgust spelt out in his brother’s features.

“And you know what? I’m sick and tired of getting blamed for everything as I wait for you to finally develop some critical thinking skills. You’re no better than Arthur, at this point. Don’t fucking talk to me until you’ve got some sense back!”

Alfred jerked up from the bench and walked in swift strides to the road, just in time for the bus to appear from the corner. He got into it without sparing a glance at Matthew, the tight fists around his backpack’s strings quivering in rage.

Matthew was paralyzed. Only when the bus driver cast him a questioning glance, he was reminded that he had to get in. He got up on shaky legs and automatically walked to the bus. Somehow, he managed to ignore both the agony raging in his lower abdomen and the tears scorching against his eyelids and offer the driver a shaky smile.

Without meeting anybody’s eyes, Matthew found a spare seat and curled into it as he tried to compose himself. No matter how much he forced himself to even out his breathing, however, he couldn’t soothe the ache in his chest or in his abdomen. He let his head rest against the window, savouring the feeling of the cool surface against his clammy skin.

When did everything start going so wrong?

In truth, Matthew had a quite precise answer: the downfall had waltzed into their life in worn-out and faded tennis shoes along with Allen and Allyson Jones. Alfred had always had a rebellious streak, but hanging around those twins he had bonded with because they shared the same surname had turned it into a meaner, uncontrolled force that had slowly taken over their lives. Well-meaning and trusting as ever, Alfred hadn’t been able to recognize the real malice hiding behind the façade of innocent, misguided teens with a rough past. When Arthur had urged him to be cautious, he had retorted that Allyson and Allen deserved a chance like anybody else. When Matthew had reported that they were vandalising the school properties, scaring and bullying younger teens and smoking weed, Alfred had laughed and told him he shouldn’t listen to every rumour that went around, that they were nothing but stereotypes.

The Jones twins must have seen something special in Alfred, something that could be useful to them. They had initially acted tamer around him, only to slowly lead Alfred into the mindset that society and norms were oppressive, that going against them was the only way to truly help people. They had taught him that school didn’t matter and that the rules Arthur put in place were only meant to hinder Alfred from letting his true potential shine. And Alfred had swallowed everything, changing bit by bit until he was just a shadow of Matthew’s brother.

Eventually, something had happened that had opened Alfred’s eyes. Matthew wasn’t aware of what had transpired, his brother hadn’t confided in him in a long time; all he knew was that Alfred had abruptly cut his ties with Allyson and Allen and hadn’t regretted their departure at the end of the summer. For a couple of weeks, Alfred had even been nicer to Matthew, almost back to his old overprotective yet well-meaning personality. Allen and Allyson Jones, however, had left a strong, dark impression that had seeped into Alfred’s mind and planted its dark root into his heart. The fights with Arthur had started to burst out again, more violent and frequent than ever.

Now, Matthew considered himself a quite forgiving person. Before casting any judgement, he always did his best to look into other people’s motives and try to understand their perspective. He would be able to say without hesitation, however, that he hated Allen and Allyson Jones. The mere recollection of those malicious smirks and those eyes, of such an intense warm shade of brown that they almost looked red, made hot fury surge inside Matthew’s chest. Allen and Allyson Jones had ruined his family and his life.

But, more than anything, Matthew was tired of getting caught into the crossfire. He was so tired that his body had started faking illnesses and pains in response. “There’s nothing wrong with him. It’s psychosomatic,” the doctor had said when Arthur had rushed Matthew to an appointment after four days of unexplained slight fever and stomach-ache (Matthew had tried to hide it from Arthur. He had done his best, but he hadn’t been expert enough to completely cover the signs of his too frequent vomiting and the weakness that accompanied it).

At that time, Matthew hadn’t known what the word meant, but he could perfectly recall how shame had crawled up his stomach as he lay on the cold bed, under the doctor's unforgiving stare. Later, he had realized why the doctor was judging him so badly: ‘psychosomatic’ meant ‘not real’. It was just Matthew’s body being whiny and claiming the attention its owner was so desperately trying not to ask for, knowing just how many more pressing issues Arthur had in his hands. Selfish. That was what Matthew’s illnesses meant.

Matthew gritted his teeth against another spasm of pain that was shortly followed by a wave of nausea. He refused to let even a moan go past his lips. In spite of the embarrassing display his body was giving, there was still one thing he had control over: his reaction. No matter how bad the pain might get, he wasn’t going to add other fuel to the fire.

Matthew’s resolve was thoroughly tested during the following hours. Normally, he would feel a bit better once he had left home, but that day, the pain wasn’t giving him a single moment of respite. If anything, it seemed to be growing worse. By midday, Matthew could no longer stand straight. He felt like a scorching knifes were embedded into his lower abdomen, twisting at every movement.

Matthew had never blessed so much his being unremarkable, he probably wouldn’t have been able to hide his discomfort from anybody truly noticing him. Fortunately, he didn’t share any class with Michelle or Emil that day, and Carlos was in Cuba visiting his grandparents. His luck extended to the fact that there wasn’t any test, but that was also where it stopped.

Matthew spent the entire lunch break curled up in a bathroom’s cubicle, getting rid of bile and doing his best not to bawl from the pain. He was quite sure he had never experienced something like that – and probably, the intense hockey practice he would have to face in the afternoon had something to do with it.

In theory, hockey practice should have been suspended as the coach wouldn’t be able to attend, but there was going to be an important match the following week; the team couldn’t afford to miss any training. Because of that, Ivan had elected to ignore the rules and follow with the practice even if there wasn’t any supervisor. The thought made Matthew’s chest tighten. He was uncomfortable with going against the rules, but he had already agreed to it, he couldn’t take it back.

‘You’re really trying to give up on me, aren’t you?’ he scolded his body, but he didn’t even have the energy to be truly angry anymore. He was just tired.

As he willed his churning stomach to settle down, Matthew let his head rest against the wall. The ceramic tiles felt icy under his skin. Matthew wouldn’t have been surprised to find a fever accompanying the general feeling of illness, it wasn’t unusual – but there was nothing he could do about it.

Somehow, Matthew found the strength to climb to his feet at the end of the break. With his head swimming and his abdomen screaming in agony, he dragged himself to his afternoon classes.

The following periods passed by in a daze. Matthew was hardly aware of his teacher talking, all he could think about was the pain consuming him. He mentally pleaded for it to stop, tried all the calming techniques he had even vaguely heard of, but to no avail. By the time the bell rang, the agony had only worsened.

Matthew wanted to curl up into a foetal position and sob out all the pain he was feeling. But that meant attracting the attention of the teacher. And feeling sick at school meant being sent to the infirmary. Then, the nurse would have to call Arthur, who would worry to no end. Matthew couldn’t forget how exhausted his older brother had looked that morning. He couldn’t do that to him, not over a fake ailment that shouldn’t have been happening in the first place. Matthew just couldn’t.

Mindful of that, he gritted his teeth, forced his body to straighten up ignoring the excruciating stabs of pain and walked with single-minded determination towards the changing room, trying not to pay attention to the way the floor seemed to tilt under his feet.

Fortunately, everybody seemed to be too concerned with the imminent practice to pay attention to the way Matthew wobbled into the changing room, and they were used to him changing inside the bathroom. Matthew didn’t like to think about the thin scar marring the left side of his abdomen, nor did he fancy the idea of other people seeing it – mostly, because it meant questions that would make his mind linger on something he only wanted to forget – but, for the first time, he was grateful for its presence.

Matthew had forgotten how many movements were required for an act as simple as changing his trousers, but he almost teared up several times when the agony raging in his lower abdomen increased to the point that it turned his vision grey. None of his teammates was there to witness that, nor did they see the several minutes Matthew needed to rest before he could even attempt straightening up from his crouched position, or how the searing pain when he finally accomplished the task distorted his features in a grimace.

By the time Matthew got out of the bathroom, everybody was already on the move.

“Come on, Matt!” called Mikkel, “On the ice! We need all the training we can get!”

In spite of knowing how important the upcoming match – and, consequently, training for it – was, Matthew found himself mourning the lost opportunity of a missed practice. Writhing in pain on his bed seemed a lot more appealing than a hockey match. At least, skating while slightly doubled over didn’t raise any question, and the headgear prevented his teammates from spotting Matthew’s pained expression, but that was about where anything positive stopped.

With each movement of his legs, Matthew drove a knife deeper into his abdomen. The searing pain was engulfing all his senses and narrowing his vision, it was all Matthew could think about. Not the game, the puck or the other players. There was only the fire eating him from inside.

Matthew was suddenly torn out of his stupor by a voice that rose above the general buzzing, calling his name in a panicked intonation. He raised his head to see Ivan coming at him at full speed, horror shining in his eyes.

There was no time to move away. Matthew barely managed to duck to his right. For a moment, he thought he had avoided Ivan – then, the end of the stick caught his left side at full force.

An agonizing fire exploded in Matthew’s lower abdomen. This time, the boy couldn’t restrain the raw scream that was torn from the depths his throat. He had no more control of any of his limbs, he couldn’t feel his legs or arms – all he could feel was the agony tearing his gut in half. Perhaps, that was exactly what had happened.

Mercifully, Matthew’s senses soon vanished in the black that swallowed his vision.

(word count: 4,299)

———

Notes:

Hetalia Human Names [x]

Allen and Allyson Jones are 2P America and 2P Nyo America (they won’t make any other appearance, they just belong to some key-elements of the backstory)

For people who hadn’t read the previous instalment – Matthew got his spleen removed after a car crash, when it was punctured by a broken rib.

Please keep in mind that the story is filtered through Matthew’s POV, and he has quite a skewed view of what ‘psychosomatic’ truly means.

English isn’t my first language. If you noticed any mistake, feel free to point it out!

Tagging: @ono-its-ryane (thanks a lot for asking me this, it’s really flattering!); @notice-me-hetasenpai; @aph-fanficchallenges (thanks a lot to you, too)

#hetalia #aph canada #aph america #aph england #ace family #feyna's writing #btbp #hetalia fanfiction #ace brothers human au #wip #hurt/comfort #human au #angst #family #drama #sickfic #(sorta) #wc: 4k+ #yep it's shorter than my usual ones #i want to try posting shorter but more frequent chapters #ideally 1 chapter about every week or 10 days #let's see how long until i go back to my usual 10k words chapter lmao

[millenniumrobin]

Kiss It Better

TItle: Kiss It Better Author: millenniumrobin  AO3 story link

Summary:  Dick Grayson is rotting in prison. Sitting in his cell for more than a year, there's only one person he'll give a jailhouse interview to about the night that changed his life, and the lives of those around him, forever.

Batfam Week Day 1: Vacation or Separation

“Grayson.” The sound of his name stabbed Dick’s ears like a knife. He didn’t want to open his eyes. Not yet. Not now. Maybe everything from the past year had been one long, insane nightmare and if he just kept his eyes closed, just this once, he’d actually wake up and it would all be over.

“Hey. Grayson. Wake up. If she finds you sleeping when she gets here, she’s not going to be happy.” Harsh white light pierced his vision as Dick cracked his eyelids open. He found himself looking up at the bottom of a bunk bed, flat steel bars staring back at him like a cell door. Dick could feel those same bars pressing into his back through a too-thin mattress as he pushed himself to sitting. Brushing a calloused hand over his face, Dick felt rough stubble that had sprouted.

He thought about shaving. But what was the point, really?

That same hand moved upward, running through ragged hair now long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail. It had been weeks since he had bothered to look into the small mirror that occupied a fraction of the far wall. He knew what he would find looking back at him: the shell of a man who was once one of the most feared crime fighters in Gotham, and one of the most beloved heroes in the world.

“What’s she gonna do, Jack?” Dick finally answered the voice that had forced him to rise. “Kill me?” His hollow chuckle wasn’t met in turn. The only other man in the room didn’t move from his spot. Wearing a faded orange jumpsuit and sitting on a makeshift stool by the bars that marked the front of their existence, he kept his eyes down the hallway.

“Don’t joke, Dick. She probably would. Especially today. She wants you to smile all pretty for the cameras and doesn’t want you to ruin her big scoop.”

“Born in a circus, die in a circus.” The old Dick Grayson would have been shocked by his statement and the coldness with which it was delivered. But not now. Not after the past year. “She’s an old friend, Jack. Which is why I’m talking to her, and only her.”

Dick had only gotten a few visitors once he’d been incarcerated. Alfred had visited a few times, but then he had Bruce to deal with. Tim couldn’t bring himself to come say hello. Jason sent an audio tape of him slow clapping for three minutes. That had been nice to listen to for a few hours, and then Dick had thrown it away.

Bruce hadn’t said a word to him since everything happened, but then again, he had his own problems to worry about now. Dick didn’t know all the specifics, news was sketchy on this side of bars and concrete and steel, but every new prisoner who came in and recognized him loved to extoll the issues the great Bruce Wayne, the Batman, was now facing at the hands of the law.

Then there were the Gordons. Dick hadn’t heard from the Commissioner at all. In fact, the last thing he’d seen from Barbara’s father were eyes full of pain, sadness, and anger. As for Barbara… well, Dick had no idea what she thought about what he’d done. But maybe he’d be able to ask her soon. Maybe…

“Can I ask you something?” The question pulled Dick from his thoughts yet again. Worry was creased all over his cellmate’s face as he continued looking out over common area. Dick sighed loudly as he sat back on his bunk, fingers rubbing absentmindedly as they always did over his most prized possession, a strip of photo paper.

“You’re going to be fine, Jack. You worry too much.” His cellmate was Jack Reynald, a former high-rolling investment banker who had Ponzi-schemed his way to hundreds of millions and left a few thousand people very, very angry with him. They were together because Jack was the only inmate who didn’t want to kill him. Dick also wondered if the reverse was true.

“No, no, it’s not that.” The man swallowed hard and looked back over at Dick. “I was never a good guy. Even early on in my career, I found little ways of skimming some off the top here and there. But you… you weren’t just good, you were one of the best.” Jack sighed as he sat back against the wall, the back of his balding head pressing against the rough concrete block. “If even the great Dick Grayson, the great Nightwing, could fall, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

Hearing his old alias struck Dick like a shock from a guard’s stun baton. It had been a while since it had been uttered, at least without an extreme amount of venom behind it. The other inmates had tossed it around a lot when he’d first arrived, mostly to taunt and deride, but even that had died off after a while. Dick felt the edge of the photo paper bury into a familiar crease along his thumb and sighed.

“Did I ever tell you why I did it, Jack?” Dick paused. “Why I killed him?” The Commissioner’s eyes flashed through his mind again, but he brushed the feeling away. Jack’s eyes were wide, and he shook his head slowly.

Dick smiled slowly and allowed his eyes to become unfocused. The cool grey concrete began to remind him of where it all happened over a year ago. Where this nightmare began. “It was the happiest night of my life...”

*****

“Grayson!” His shouted name danced after him in the mid-winter air, bouncing around the snowflakes and twisting on the breeze. Bright lights swirled all around him, the Gotham night a snow globe of wonder and sparkle. It was, for all its faults and dark underbellies, why Dick Grayson loved this city.

“Grayson, slow down!” But the real reason he loved this city came bounding after him in the sidewalk slush, red hair trailing behind her like a wispy cloud caught in the setting summer sun. Her voice was full of laughter and annoyance, her cheeks nearly as red as her hair with a smile plastered to her face.

“You haven’t been able to keep up with me all night, Babs. Why would I slow down now?” A swift punch to the arm was the only reply he got. He rubbed it playfully and half-grimaced. “Ow.”

“Oh, that didn’t hurt.” Laughter filled her voice again as she held an oversized teddy bear in a Superman t-shirt. It was the prize he had won her through his exploits that evening. “You want me to kiss it to make it feel better?”

“Works for me.” A mischievous smirk crossed his own face as he wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her close. Whatever the temperature was outside didn’t matter, because when their lips met, there was only fire between them. It was a long few seconds before Dick realized they were squishing the newly won bear between them.

“All better?” There was a teasing glint in Barbara’s green eyes, and Dick responded in kind.

“I don’t know… it still hurts. I think more kisses are in order to make me really feel better.” And so they did again. And again. And again. It was a perfect evening of laughter, innuendo, and physical affection. A tavern with the bear propped up on the bar while they got a drink, a photo booth where more kisses and funny faces were shared, and endless sidewalks where they held each other close.

It was the perfect night, and Dick knew that it was finally time for that little circle of metal, hiding in his pocket for weeks waiting for a moment like this, to appear. They sat on a bench overlooking the park in the middle of Gotham, the city lights twinkling around the light snow that continued to fall.

“I love you, Barbara Gordon.” The words came easy to him, uttered countless times before. But there was something different to them this time, a finality that came with them. He knew what he wanted in life, and it was sitting right here on this bench with him. She offered back that easy smile of hers, planting a kiss playfully on his cheek.

“I love you too, Dick Grayson.” This was it. This was the moment he had waited for, planned for, hoped for since he had first laid eyes on her in grade school.

Dick began to slide off the bench, one knee dropping toward the slush-caked sidewalk. But as he turned his body to face Barbara, movement in his periphery caught his eye. Mirroring his motion, the figure moved closer, turning to face the two of them.

Time slowed to a grind. It was the years of training and adrenaline that allowed him to see everything clearly, but Dick remained frozen to the ground like the icicles around them. Why now? Why tonight? Why at this moment must the scourge of Gotham once again rear its ugly head?

And then he saw the gun. Highlighted, glimmering in the light from so many concrete and steel towers, the barrel a hole as black as anything he’d ever seen before. This was no robbery, something in his gut told him that. It was death.

A leather-gloved finger tightened on the trigger, and Dick saw the flash of the muzzle. He didn’t hear the shot. Everything had gone silent. A force stronger than anything he’d ever felt, and he’d been thrown into a wall by Bane before, slammed him back against the ground, away from the perpetrator.

He looked down to see where he had been shot. There was no blood, no gaping wound. The only red he saw was Barbara’s hair in front of him, splayed out on the ground.

If he screamed her name, he didn’t hear it. The gunman was already retreating away from them as Dick scrambled to scoop Barbara into his arms, pressing his fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse. There was one, but it was weak, like a feather bouncing along on a breeze.

And then in an instant, that deafening silence was shattered by the sound of laughter. Low at first, then growing higher and higher to a frenzied shriek. Even if Dick hadn’t caught a glimpse of his face from the light of a street lamp, he would have known that laugh anywhere. It had haunted his dreams as a child, and Dick knew it would now haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Dick…” His name, barely heard in a breathy whisper, drew him back to the sidewalk. Barbara’s green eyes were staring past him, snowflakes she made no move to brush away gently nestling on her face. Her red hair spilled over his arm, the ends draping onto the sidewalk where it mixed with her blood.

Dick reached down, pulling off one of her mittens to take her hand in his. Even though he hadn’t been wearing gloves, her skin was still colder than his. Tears streaking down his cheeks, Dick cradled Barbara in his arms as he leaned down and kissed her face softly. “Everything is going to be alright Babs. I promise. Everything will be alright.” But it wasn’t going to be alright. He knew that, and so did she.

“It’s not your fault, Dick. You didn’t know…” she trailed off again, coughing. He kissed her face again, willing his lips to bring warmth back to her body. “Kiss it better, Dick? Please?”

Onlookers were racing around now, some with their cell phones to their ears, other taking video. The bright twinkling of city lights was starting to be replaced with red and blue flashing ones. But even with the cacophony of noise around him, Dick could only hear the whispered words of the bleeding love of his life.

“Stay with me, Dick… stay with me until I fall asleep.”

“Barbara, no. Stay awake. Stay here. I’m right here.”

“Stay with me until I fall asleep. Stay with me…” The faint steam that had been rising from Barbara’s lips froze, and her eyes began to shut. All noise and chaos around Dick seemed to stop. He knew his mouth was open, knew he was screaming something because his throat was burning and raw, but no sound reached his ears. He didn’t know how long he sat there screaming, begging for her to come back to him. It wasn’t until two police officers began dragging him away that he was lifted off the sidewalk, left only with the image of Barbara Gordon lying dead on the sidewalk, an oversized teddy bear in a Superman t-shirt still sitting on the bench behind her.

*****

“Grayson, you have a visitor.” A burly prison guard stood by the cell door, layer upon layer of muscle stretching his uniform. Like most of the other guards here, he treated Dick relatively well because the former vigilante was polite. And because, secretly, they appreciated what he had done on the outside and didn’t like how he’d been treated since the murder.

“Thanks Charles. Send her in.”

“You’ve got an hour. The Warden won’t tolerate lateness today.” Dick offered him a slight nod.

“I’ll see you then, Charles.” Jack moved from his perch by the door as a slender woman with ebony hair moved into the cell. She wore a crisp pantsuit and held a small notebook between her fingers. When she looked at him, surprise and then a hint of pity fluttered through her purple eyes.

“Grayson,” she said, pulling over the extra chair that had been set out for her. “You look terrible.”

That got him to laugh. Probably his first real laugh in the past year. She wasn’t wrong, of course. She never was.

“Why thank you, Lois. It’s good to see you too.” Lois Lane, pride of the Daily Planet, multiple Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, and probably one of the smartest women left on the planet smiled up at him as he settled back to his spot on his bunk.

“How are they treating you here?” Dick chuckled to himself. The food was lousy, he got a single hour outside his cell a day, and he lived under constant threat of being shanked. He shrugged.

“The guards are fine. The Warden wants to impress the Commissioner, so he comes down hard on me. But I’m still alive, so that counts for something.” Lois offered him a thin smile and reached into the purse she had brought with her. When her hand emerged, it held a small recording device. She looked pointedly at him, raising an eyebrow. Dick nodded in agreement. Though he knew Lois would never misquote him, intentionally or not, he knew the recording wasn’t for the story. It was for the people on the outside to hear his voice one last time.

“I was surprised when you agreed to my request for an interview, Dick. You’d shot me down the last ten times I’d asked.” Dick could only offer a half-hearted shrug and a sheepish smile that was nowhere in the realm of the one he used to flash all the time. “The Commissioner was kind enough to give me an hour, so I don’t want waste any time. I reviewed the case file and your statement from the night of Barbara’s murder, so I won’t ask you about that. What’s less clear to me is what followed. Can you tell me what happened after you arrived at the police headquarters?”

Dick’s mind flashed back to that night again. Police headquarters, Commissioner Gordon… the Joker. Yes, it was that night where he had started down this path, towards this inevitable conclusion.

“After the EMTs got there, two officers who recognized me took me back to HQ…”

*****

Dick Grayson had never known before what it was like to be alone in a crowded room. Sure, there had been times when he had just been lost in his thoughts before, but not like this. No spacing off at a Gotham Academy dance or Wayne Foundation gala could compare to how alone he felt right now. The headquarters was in a panic. Commissioner Gordon’s daughter had just been gunned down by the Joker. But as officers and detectives raced past him, Dick could do nothing but stare at his hands.

Her blood was dry now. No longer bright crimson, his hands were now caked with a dark burgundy, split by thin white lines where his clenched fists had broken it up. He wasn’t sure what felt heavier: his heart, or the engagement ring he’d never get to use that still sat in his pocket.

“Grayson!” Dick jerked his head up, seeing the rotund form of Harvey Bullock standing over him. Even as lost inside his own head as he was, Dick was shocked he hadn’t smelled the detective first. The large man still chomped on a toothpick as he thrust his thumb back over his shoulder. “The Commissioner wants to see you.”

He forced his legs to work. He had to. Every step he took toward the door with the gold lettering on it, the one he was so familiar at sneaking into through the window, seemed to take an eternity. But with each step rage also bubbled up within him. Rage at himself for not stopping the Joker. Rage at Barbara for pushing him out of the way. Rage at Bruce for allowing the Joker to live as long as he had.

But all that anger melted away as he opened the door and saw Commissioner Jim Gordon sitting behind his desk, a picture frame held in shaking hands. Dick knew which one it was. He had seen it dozens of times before. It showed the Commissioner, then a Captain, and Barbara no more than nine. They were sitting on a park bench, very close to where she had been murdered tonight. It was from their first weekend in Gotham City, when Barbara had wanted more than anything to go back to Chicago. Her father had taken her to get ice cream, to a carnival, and gotten her a balloon. That solitary blue balloon hung in the background behind the two of them, a father and daughter smiling and laughing together in a picture taken by a passing tourist. It was the moment the Commissioner had convinced Barbara to stay. Dick wondered if he hadn’t done such a good job, if his daughter would still be alive tonight.

When Jim looked up at him, his eyes were redder than Dick had ever seen them. Redder than when his wife left him. Redder than after any other night of the countless horrors Gotham had to offer. His hair, for years having kept its original auburn color with only a hint of distinguishing gray at the temples, was now almost completely white. In a matter of hours, the Gotham City Police Commissioner had aged decades. Dick felt as if his heart had gone through the same transformation process.

“Jim… Commissioner… I’m so sorry. I didn’t see him. I couldn’t stop him. And she pushed me out of the way and… I couldn’t save her sir. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I tried. I tried to save her but I couldn’t. I wanted to, sir. If I could be dead and she could be standing here sir I would do it in a heartbeat.” Dick was rambling and the tears started to flow. He couldn’t help himself. Words, barely coherent, continued in a steady stream from his lips. He wanted his words to take away the Commissioner’s hurt, to bring his daughter back, to make this whole night a very bad nightmare.

And then two arms pulled him into a hug. Dick hadn’t even noticed Jim getting up from his desk. The two men embraced, their bodies shaking, sobs wracking them both as they used each other for support. And then the words started to flow again. Dick recounting every single detail of that night. Every place they had been, the times they had been there, what they had done. He told him about the ring. He needed to get everything out before he forgot a single moment. Even, as painful as it was, the Joker killing Barbara.

By the end of it, they were sitting in chairs facing each other. The Commissioner hadn’t spoken since he had started, but Dick knew that he had heard and absorbed everything. When the words finally exhausted themselves, they both sat in silence for a few minutes, only the sounds of sirens throughout the city breaking the tranquility.

“How are you doing, son?” The question caught Dick off guard. But in an instant, he knew the answer. The rage was back. The pain and sadness had gotten their turn. Now he was filled again with pure, unadulterated rage.

“I’ll be fine.” The words were clipped. Dick knew what he wanted to do. No, not just what he wanted to do. What he had to do. “Give me a task force, Commissioner. Give me a squad, anything. The Joker won’t see the morning.”

The Commissioner physically recoiled in his chair. He studied Dick for a long moment before getting up and walking toward the window. “That’s not how we do things, son. And that’s not how he raised you to do things.”

“The hell with how he does things!” Dick was on his feet now, voice rising to meet his stature. “How he does things got Barbara killed. That monster should have been dead after he killed Jason. Now he’s taken your daughter.” Dick paused, staring at the Commissioner’s stoic back. “I’m not going to let him kill anyone else.” Turning on his heel, Dick made for the door.

“Sit. Down.” The words stopped him in his tracks. When he turned, Dick saw Batman looming in a dark corner. There was no open window. The Big Black Bat must have been standing in the room the entire time, but Dick had just been too distracted to notice. The Commissioner looked over at Bruce Wayne and nodded solemnly.

“That’s not how we do things, son. Not even when it’s Barbara he killed. Especially then.” Dick opened his mouth to protest when there was a frantic knock on the Commissioner’s door and it swung open, an out-of-breath officer bursting through.

“Commissioner, we got him!”

“Who?”

“The Joker. He just walked in the front door and turned himself in.” The officer struggled to catch his breath. “He says he wants to confess, sir. He says he wants to confess for the murder of Barbara Gordon.”

*****

“I should have known something was up. I should have known the game he was playing. But like Batman standing in the Commissioner’s office, I was too blind to see it. I was too distracted to see the big picture. That’s what…” He sighed, rubbing his fingers over the strip of paper again. “That’s what she was always so good at.”

Lois nodded slowly, looking down briefly at her recorder and her watch. She had barely asked him any questions, just let him talk. Dick appreciated that. It was the first time he was able to tell his story, he feelings. Maybe it would help the others still on the outside. Maybe people would see he wasn’t the monster the District Attorney and the Commissioner painted him to be.

“What happened after that night? Before his trial a month later.”

“The Joker confessed to the murder but plead not guilty in court. Said he wanted his day in court. We should have seen it, all should have seen what was coming. Any trial of his would be a circus, and it was. How many news outlets were there? Fifty? Seventy? All with their cameras and their shouted questions at Bruce. At the Commissioner. At me. People were starting to dig, and that’s what he wanted. He wanted the groundwork there so when he took the stand, the pieces would fall into place.”

Dick looked down at his hands again, at that strip of paper held so tightly in one of them. “I should have seen it. But I didn’t. Nobody did. I don’t think anybody could have seen what was coming but Barbara.”

*****

“The defense calls John Doe, alias The Joker, to the stand.” Dick didn’t look up to the court spectacle in front of him. He knew what he would see. It was the same thing he had seen every day at this trial. The Joker, green hair mussed, clad in an orange jumpsuit that was too big for him, arms and legs shackled and a platoon of guards surrounding him.

He also didn’t have to turn around to see what was behind him. He could practically feel the eyes of dozens of journalists and the lenses of their cameras pointed squarely at his back. At Bruce’s back. At the Commissioner’s back. The three of them were sitting directly behind the prosecutor’s table. It was as close as they could be to the action without being in the action.

The Joker sat in the witness box with that same sick smile plastered across his face. This was all a joke to him, a theater of the absurd. And now he was center stage.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” The Joker cocked an eyebrow at the bailiff.

“Not sure what the big guy has to do with this, but for the first time in my life, yes, I do.” The Joker sat as his defense council, some young public defender barely out of law school, walked toward him.

“Only one question, your honor. Mr. Doe, are you insane?” The Joker broke out into a low laugh at his attorney’s question.

“Some would like to think I’m not because then they wouldn’t have to try and rehabilitate me. Others think I am because it makes it easier for them to process my actions. But in my world, I’m the sanest one there is.” The leering voice, the upward curve at the corner of his mouth made Dick’s stomach turn. He clenched his fists between his knees.

The Joker’s attorney sat back down as the D.A. rose to his feet. “Mr. Doe, had you taken leave of your senses the night you shot and killed Barbara Gordon?” Another laugh followed.

“No, Mr. District Attorney. I knew very much what was going on that night. Two lovebirds in the Gotham winter air. It made me sick.” The Joker looked over at Dick, locking eyes with him. That old familiar rage came back again, and he struggled to suppress it.

“So you followed Mr. Grayson and Ms. Gordon with the intention of killing her, is that correct?”

A harsher braying laugh followed. “No, Mr. District Attorney, I didn’t mean to kill Barbara Gordon. I was aiming for her partner.” Dick’s back snapped to attention, rage swelling in his chest. He heard the click-click-click of a dozen camera shutters behind him, but he didn’t care at the moment. The fog of the past month was lifting, the madman’s plan crystalizing in his mind like the memories of that night.

The District Attorney turned and looked at him. “You were in the park that night to kill Mr. Grayson? Why?” The Joker’s smile grew, malice filling his eyes and words.

“Because I wanted to hurt someone very close to him. I wanted to hurt someone very close to me.” Dick felt Bruce stiffen beside him but did not look over. A glint of light off of metal caught his eye. Ahead of him, just over the bar separating the gallery from the tables and judge’s bench, stood a guard. And his holstered gun was calling to Dick.

“You see, the last time I tried to get the attention of Mr. Grayson’s friend, I didn’t get the reaction I was hoping for. I thought by going for the original, I might finally get the attention I wanted.” Something snapped inside of Dick. Whatever had been holding back the rage, the recklessness, was gone.

His hands gripped the bar as he vaulted over it. Fingers brushed the edge of his suit pants. Bruce’s. He knew they were Bruce’s. He would have been the only one fast enough to even lay a hand on him. But his mentor wasn’t fast enough. Neither was the officer, who only managed a shout of surprise as Dick grabbed the pistol and ripped it from its holster.

The commotion in the courtroom was only white noise to him now. The camera shutters, the shouts and screams, all of it was just background noise. There was only one sound he was focused on: the Joker’s laughter. It was getting higher and faster again, just like it had that night. His only goal was to make it stop forever.

His hands raised the gun, one palm pressing against the cold metal, the other wrapping around his knuckles. The District Attorney dove out of the way and at the periphery of his vision jurors scrambled for cover. They didn’t need to move. He wasn’t going to hit them anyway.

Striding toward the jumpsuit-clad monster, Dick’s finger tightened on the trigger. He saw the muzzle flash, the barrel jump back towards him, the shell casing fly off to the side. The harsh laughter ringing in his ears hitched, a cough replacing it. A bright red spot began to appear in the middle of that orange jumpsuit. But the laugh returned, wetter and wheezier than before, but still there. Dick’s finger tightened again, again, again. His finger continued squeezing until the click-click-click he heard wasn’t from the cameras but from the pistol in his hands. The laughter was just a ragged breath now as Joker’s eyes rolled back into his head.

Then he was on the floor, four police officers on top of him, wrenching the gun from his hands and yanking his arms behind his back. The cold metal of the gun was replaced with that of handcuffs. As the officers yanked him back to his feet, he caught one last glimpse of the Joker, dead on the witness stand. That sick smile was still plastered across his face.

As he was dragged out of the courtroom, Dick turned one last time to see Bruce and the Commissioner, side by side, still standing behind the railing. The cameras and reporters were already starting to descend upon them. Neither of them seemed to notice though. The last thing Dick saw as he was hauled out the door were the Commissioner’s eyes. He hadn’t been expecting the emotions he saw in them. Not relief or gratitude. Just anger. Pain. And sadness.

The door slammed shut behind him.

*****

Lois nodded slowly as he finished, writing a quick note down on the pad in front of her. “You didn’t know about the tape.”

“No.” Dick shook his head. None of them had. The tape, which went live an hour after the Joker’s death, had been recorded the night he killed Barbara. It laid out, in exacting detail, Batman’s identity. Nightwing’s identity. And, as the Joker on the tape had realized, who Batgirl was as well.

That had been the end of Jim’s career. He had been fired the next morning, his gun and badge stripped, as he was placed under investigation for aiding and abetting vigilantes. The stock of Wayne Enterprises had plummeted as companies declined to do business with Bruce Wayne. No formal charges had been found, they couldn’t prove he was Batman. And they hadn’t found the Batcave. But the Batman hadn’t been seen in the Gotham night sky for over a year.

That tape had been the Joker’s final revenge on all of them. He had laid the trap, and they had all been too blinded by grief to realize they were walking straight into it.

“Do you regret doing it?” Dick looked at her for a long moment and smiled.

“No. I wish everything had gone down differently, but no, I don’t regret it. I think there’s someone in your life who, if he was really honest with himself, would do the same if anything ever happened to you.” That elicited a small smile from Lois. She checked her watch again and looked up at him.

“Is there anything else you want to say? Off the record, but on recording for those closest to you?” Dick leaned back against the wall. There had been so many letters that he had started and torn up. He knew that no number of apologies could make up for what he’d done, but he also figured the Joker was going to expose them at the trial anyway. At least he wasn’t alive to escape and hurt others.

He shook his head slowly.

Lois’ lips pressed together as Charles came back, knocking the cell bars with his nightstick. “Time to go, Grayson.” Dick nodded and took a deep breath, standing and facing Lois again.

“One for the road?” There were tears welling in her eyes, but she didn’t allow them to fall. When he opened his arms, she threw hers around his neck, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

“They’re going to be there,” she whispered in his ear. “Bruce and Jim. Clark too. They promised me they’d be there.” Dick broke the embrace and offered her a smile of thanks.

“Take care of yourself, Lois.” He felt the much firmer grasp of Charles as he let himself be led out of the cell.

“You too, kid. Good luck.” Dick smiled.

“I won’t need luck. I’ve got my girl waiting for me.”

As Charles led him down the hallways of the prison, past a sign that said “Execution Chamber”, Dick rubbed his fingers over that strip of paper again. The pictures on that strip were worn from age and being held for so long, but the images were still clear enough. And from that strip, as she had every night, Barbara Gordon smiled back at him, laughing as he held her close or kissed her cheek. Soon he wouldn’t have to just stare at a picture. He knew that in just a few minutes, he would get to see her again.

The smile on his face grew as he was led through the door and into a blinding white light.

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