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hailsatanacab · 2 months

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I'll ask after that secret number 8!

I only remembered secret number 8 because I saw your wip here! I'd started this one based on the same prompt, then lost said prompt and stopped working on it 😅

Instead of a snippet, I'm just dropping it all here - maybe that way I'll feel inspired to finish it?

———

It’s a full house for dinner tonight and, really, that should have tipped him off.

Bruce sits at the head of the table, smiling softly as he watches over everyone’s antics. Damian is regaling Dick with everything they saw at the zoo that day (Danny had been so happy to see Delilah the purpleback gorilla again, and her new little additions to the troupe, too!) and how well they are implementing the grant the Wayne Foundation had gifted them. Tim, Steph, Cass, and Duke are all engaged in a thumb-war tournament which Danny has no interest in participating in. It just wouldn’t be fair on them.

Danny loves that look. The one where Bruce’s eyes crinkle when he thinks none of the kids can see him. It oozes love and it makes Danny’s heart, his core, ache.

It’s been a little over a year since Alfred found him on the street and managed to wrangle him back to the manor to stay—even after the whole biting thing when he realised how rich they were.

A little over a year here and Danny’s starting to feel like family.

Starting to feel like he might, just maybe, like to make it official.

“Danny,” Bruce says, drawing everyone’s attention. Danny starts at his name, but Bruce’s voice is warm and calm, and his shoulders lose their tension almost immediately. “Danny, I have something I would like to tell you.”

“Uhhh…” is all Danny can croak out, eyes flicking back and forth between Bruce and the rest of them. Smooth. Looking good, Danny.

Except… they’re all happy. All smiles, all relaxed body language, all radiating calm and love and acceptance. Well, not Damian—his face is as thunderous as it always is—which at least means it’s nothing too out of the ordinary.

“Danny, first of all, I just want to impress upon you that this is in no way something you have to do. You are under no obligation to join us and, no matter what, you shall always be welcome with us in the manor.”

Wait, what? Danny squints at Bruce, trying to parse exactly what he’s saying… Is he—is this them asking to adopt him? Do they want to make it official, too?

It’s been a little over a year and of course Danny has imagined calling Bruce ‘Dad’. Of course he’s imagined being part of the family, of course he wants to make it official!

He can’t help the beaming grin or the bright and bubbling “Yes!” already waiting on his lips. All Bruce has to do is ask, all Danny needs to hear is—

“I’m Batman.”

The smile freezes on Danny’s face.

His lungs stop working, his heart stops working, he stops working, he just—

“And I’m Nightwing,” Dick smiles, breaking the awkward silence.

Danny’s eyes snap to him, and then down to Tim when he admits to being Red Robin. Duke is Signal, Steph is Spoiler. Damian begrudgingly tells him he’s Robin, but Danny can barely hear it over the ringing in his ears.

“I’m Black Bat.” Cass cocks her head, almost looking concerned. It always felt like she understood him the most. Whenever he was feeling low, too in his memories, or stewing after a nightmare, she was always there, ready to card her fingers through his hair and never mention his tears. It makes his heart ache to think of it now. “It’s okay, Danny.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, but how—how can it be okay? How?

Danny’s spent a little over a year with them. A little over a year with Batman.

Batman, who works with the Justice League, who works with…

A little over a year.

Just under 16 months since he escaped.

“Danny? Are you alright?” Bruce asks

Finally, his lungs kickstart and suck in a shuddering breath, only for everyone to drop their smiles.

Didn’t take them long, did it? Now that their ruse is up, there’s no kindness in their eyes, they’re just… cold, calculating. Evaluating.

“Why?” Danny gasps, his fingers tingling, his heart in his throat.

Just under 16 months since he—has he escaped? Or was this just another one of their experiments?

"I... I trusted you, why—" Danny chokes back a sob, gritting his teeth as his shoulders shake. Why? Why would they do this? "I was happy here, with you. I thought... Weren't you happy?"

"Danny..." Bruce is looking at him, eyes narrow and eyebrows pinched, in some cruel facsimile of confused concern and all Danny can think is how much of an actor he is. How well he can play the part of a doting father. How much he made him want that.

"I don't understand, why..."

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you before, I can imagine that it comes as a shock. We shouldn't have lied to you, Danny, but—"

"Stop it!" Danny slams his hands down on the table and pushes himself up on wobbly legs. Even standing, he feels so small. Smaller than Bruce, than all of his adopted siblings. They crowd above him when they all stand, too. "Just stop it! Why are you doing this, why are you still pretending? Stop it!"

It was easier, with Danny's biological parents. The knowledge that they'd do anything to get him on a lab table, to open him up and see what makes him tick, to rip him apart molecule by molecule, had always been there. He knew they hated ghosts. He knew they hated Phantom. He knew they hated him. It was easier because it was something he'd known all his life. When he died, when he became a ghost, he knew what to expect from them. It hurt, of course it did.

But it was easier than this.

"Danny, I'm going to need you to take a deep breath. You're having a panic attack and you need to breathe."

"Breathe?" Danny laughs, the sound harsh and choking, too high pitched in his hysteria. "You're joking, right? Or is this just more of the—the experiment?"

"Danny, please, we don't know what you're talking about, you—"

"You don't know? You're Batman! You work with the Justice League, you work with—" His words choke off as his stomach churns, bile rising in his throat. His whole body itches, screaming at him to leave, he can't go back, he can't, he can't, he can't!

Bruce takes a hesitant step forward and Danny scrambles back, his feet catching on the chair behind him and sending him careening to the floor. Where are the agents? Why aren't they swarming in, ready to apprehend him, strap him back on the table, carve him from the inside out.

"Please, Danny, calm down. We don't—"

Danny stops listening. His back hits the wall and he pulls his knees into his chest, his shoulders dipping down as he begins to sob. His heart throbs inside his throat, too painful to swallow around. Tears fall hot and heavy on his face.

Sure, he could run. He could phase out through the wall and he could be out of Gotham in a couple of hours. He's escaped the GIW once, he can do it again.

But that was before Batman knew who he was. Before he had the World's Greatest Detective on his tail.

Before he...

He really thought this would be different, you know?

He wanted to make it official.

"Why did... Why were you so nice to me? Why did you make me like you? I really—I really liked you. I-I thought we could be a family."

"Danny, we are a—"

"Don't lie to me!" Danny snaps, but the force of his anger leeches all the fight from him, and suddenly all that's left is a bone-weary tiredness. There’s a lump in his throat that hurts. There’s a line down his chest that burns. "I don't care. I don't care anymore, I don't. Just... don't make me go back there. Please."

Is it futile? He thought he knew how the GIW operated by now, the depths that they would go to achieve their results, but this... this was a whole new level of pain that Danny thought he had left behind him in Amity.

"We're not going to make you go anywhere, Danny, you're safe here, I promise."

"Safe? Safe? You must have—" he takes a deep breath, tries to stop the quivering of his voice. It’s all starting to make sense, now. "The reason you're telling me who you are is because you must have told them everything already. I know the Justice League—I know you're working with them, which means the ex-experiment is over now, and they're coming to take me back. And I can't go back."

"Danny—"

"I can’t!” Danny glares at Bruce with all the rage he can, fingernails digging into his skin. “I’m not going back!"

"That's right, you're not going back, Danny. I won't let that happen." Bruce crouches down in front of Danny, his hands open and raised as if he's trying to say he's not a threat. "I don't know who you're talking about, and I'm sorry about that, but I can promise you that you’re not going back there. We will keep you safe."

Danny pulls himself closer, tucks himself further into the wall, eyes flickering all across the room waiting for that tell-tale flash of white as the agents start to swarm.

He should take his chances now and run, he should go, he needs to go!

The rest of them, his brothers and sisters of a little over a year, are spread out, giving him and Bruce some space. The same concern colours all of their faces. Why are they still pretending?

Steph is chewing on her thumb.

Danny liked Steph and her brash confidence, her jokes. She's been promising to paint his nails for months now, they've just never found the time. He was going to go for green and black, or maybe a galaxy theme, depending on what she felt comfortable doing.

He likes them all.

"You were supposed to be my family." His mouth turns down at the corners and his voice shakes like a child. "You were supposed to—why? Why would you—I don't understand why you would make me like you..."

"This isn't an experiment, Danny," Bruce's voice is steady, soothing. "I promise."

"But you work with them and—"

"Who do I work with?"

"The Justice League."

"Yes, I do, but we—"

"And the Justice League works with them. The GIW." Danny trembles with the name, clutching tightly onto his hoodie. "I'm not going back there, Bruce."

Danny doesn't miss Bruce's look over his shoulder, nor Tim's nod in return. Tim turns slightly to the side to hide his movements, but Danny bets he has his phone in his hand, probably letting them know they can take him now. Guess this is it, then. They'll be here soon, and he'll be gone.

"Kill me."

"Danny? What do—"

"If you ever had any kindness for me, if you ever cared, kill me. Please, Bruce. I can't do it again."

"Danny..."

"End me now. Take my core out and break it, please, before they get here."

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dpxdc fanfic #wip game #thanks for the ask <3 and thanks for helping me remember this fic lol #also huge thanks for having the prompt linked because i have S O M A N Y prompt wips that i can't ever post because i've lost the post #didn't really know how to get danny to calm down #that's a lie #i have a few ideas of where this can go but no motivation for it - not against all the other wips #i'll keep at it and ig post to ao3 should it actually start looking alright #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#dudes did u kno u can pin shit to your clipboard on desktop because i fucking love that #also if you use the windows key + . there's like emojis and shit #(((φ(◎ロ◎;)φ)))#<- and kaomoji too!!!!!#anyway that's been fun facts and fanfic with me. ur welcome #oh shit my writing tag #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #at some point 'oh shit my writing tag' will just become my writing tag #anyway thank you again for the ask #good night everyone!!!!!

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drysaladandketchup · 2 months

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22 Mattdrai please

Thank you anon! I hope you enjoy :)

22. things you said after it was over

Last year, it was Matthew's precious Flames that got punted out of the playoffs. To add insult to injury, it was at the hands of the Oilers. Which is why, that same night, he sent Leon a slew of drunken texts from some dingy downtown bar because he was not in the mood to even look at Leon, let alone go home with him.

Those texts included one declaring they were breaking up, which Leon didn't take to heart because not even five minutes later he got another message assuring him that no they were not actually breaking up Matthew was just going to hate him for the next 48 hours. That, Leon could handle.

Hell, he'd probably have gone for 72 hours. Minimum. And he had to rest his ankle anyways, if he wanted any chance of seeing ice-time the next game. He'd be there when Matthew was ready.

This year, it's the Oilers who go out first.

Leon just barely keeps it together through the post-game media frenzy. He doesn't want to look at the cameras, barely keeps the shudder from his voice, which is little more than a whimper because he just can’t breathe. Hunkered down with his hood up because it feels safe, the only barrier between him and a world that just crushed his dream. Again.

It's not like he can be mad at Matthew, because he fucked off to Florida, a whole other division, so Leon has no excuse for not answering any of his texts, or the six separate times Matthew tried to call after Vegas knocked Edmonton on it's ass.

Only once Leon's back home for the night, drained and exhausted and dazed, refusing to go out with Connor and the guys because he really, really doesn't want to exist right now, does he look at his phone.

Cuddling Bowie in his arms, he sits on the couch and scrolls through the avalanche of texts from Matthew. The last one catches him off guard, and he stares at it, reading it over and over.

come down and see me. please.

And... yeah. Through the doom and gloom of another lost season, he misses Matthew. Matthew, who's season isn't done. Matthew, who doesn't need Leon, but wants him. Wants him to be there.

So Leon books a flight to Florida, and starts packing.

The next day he goes in early for clear-out, says his goodbyes, and drives right to the airport. After an almost nine hour flight--including a layover in Denver that's great for his legs but not his morale--he lands in Fort Lauderdale just as the sun hits the horizon.

Matthew's waiting for him at Arrivals, dressed in board shorts and sandals and button-down shirt, sunglasses and that damn bucket hat. He smiles when he sees Leon, waves, and the simplicity of it chips away at the heavy stone sitting on Leon's chest. He always breathes better when he's with Matthew.

"What, not even a sign?" Leon calls out once he's in earshot. "I thought you were excited to see me?"

Matthew slaps the brim of Leon's hat down over his eyes. "Next time I'll bring confetti canons and air horns."

And fuck, just hearing Matthew's voice again without a phone between them lifts a weight off Leon's shoulders. It almost makes the defeat worth it.

His hands are too empty suddenly. He wants to hold Matthew's, wrap him up in his arms, touch him anywhere and everywhere, inside and out. Replenish old memories, make new ones. Never let go again.

Matthew gets the jump on him once they're in his car, dragging Leon over the center console by his shirt and into a sloppy kiss. It's all tongue and teeth, scratchy beard and plush lips, and as always, it's perfect. This too, aches like a phantom pain when they're on opposite ends of the continent. Phone sex and a bit of imagination with his own hand can't totally replace the sex, but it definitely can't replace the sweetness of a kiss.

When he pulls back, Matthew looks like he's going to immediately drop the one thing Leon really doesn't want to hear--the dreaded I'm sorry about what happened--so he jumps first.

"I missed you."

If Matthew knows he's purposely being cut off, he doesn't show it. He bumps their foreheads together and closes his eyes, like he's just soaking Leon in.

"Missed you too."

As the dusk fades to night, they drive, and drive, and drive. Not to Matthew's house, that's immediately obvious, but Leon doesn't ask where they're going. He slumps in the passenger's seat, leg tucked up against the dashboard, and goes between watching palm trees and glistening waterfront, to watching Matthew.

He tries not to think about hockey, but it was a long and restless flight, and Matthew's got a stupid little air freshener shaped like skates, and the playoffs aren't actually over, so of course the first thing Leon says to break the silence is, "When's your next game?"

Matthew taps his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music playing on the radio. "Thursday. Against Carolina. We're flying out the day after tomorrow."

"Hmm. So what are we doing with all that time?"

"Fucking, hopefully." Matthew glances sidelong at him, tongue poking between his teeth. "At least for part of it. I still have practice, and you need to relax."

"What am I doing while you're gone?"

"Waiting for me to come back? You can stay at my place. Come to the games when we're at home. My family's going to drop in too, so, you know, be prepared for that."

Won't be Leon's first tangle with the Tkachuks. Pretty sure he's an honorary member of the family at this point, even if he still struggles to keep up with the energy they bring to a room. Not that he minds.

The rest of the drive is quiet enough that Leon dozes off. When he wakes up, groggy with jet lag, it's dark aside from the street lights, and Matthew is pulling into a parking lot up from a small, deserted beach. Leon doesn't know which one; there's so many here. He follows Matthew out of the car and down the promenade, down the stone steps to the sand, where grains slip between his toes and the sound of the waves soothes the storm in his own head.

Which is exactly why Matthew brought him here; somewhere secluded, somewhere that can't hurt him. Because Leon loves the ocean, and Matthew loves him.

He follows Matthew along the beach, going nowhere in particular. Matthew walks purposefully nonetheless, head high and shoulders back, warm breeze tugging at his clothes and ruffling his curls. Something Leon loves to do too, and can't wait to do again.

This place looks good on Matthew. If only it weren't so far away.

"I'm glad you came," Matthew says over his shoulder, slowing until Leon catches up. "I wasn't sure you would."

Why not? The year-round heat and the beaches and the seemingly endless bars are a nice change of pace. But more importantly, this is where Matthew is. Of course he was going to come.

"Beats sitting around re-watching the second round wondering what we could have done differently," Leon says instead, because it's true, and because he doesn't need to tell Matthew what he already knows.

"Hey, that's not a bad thing. But it's not what you need right now." Matthew swallows, takes an uneven breath like he's the one getting choked up. "I saw your interview yesterday. After the game. Leon, you know I didn't call you down here for me, right? Don't get me wrong, I'd fucking love for you to be here watching us play, but the way you sounded... I was worried you'd end up sitting around your house all alone and depressed."

"I'm not depressed. And I wasn't going to. I was planning on going back home."

"Great, so you can mope around in Germany instead."

"I wouldn't have been alone."

"Much as I love Bowie, he doesn't count, babe."

Leon stops walking, staring at the sand until Matthew stops too, turning back and right into Leon's space to block the wind, which has taken on a chill.

"Leon--"

"Our season's over, Matthew," he mutters. "I really thought we could... I didn't want it to end here."

Matthew sighs, but his eyes are sympathetic. "Yeah. I know. But you're not done. There's always next year. And a bunch more after that."

The same platitudes, every time. It's empty words. Leon knows it. Matthew knows it. But what else is there to say? You fall, you get back up, you try again. Rinse and repeat. That's what this league is.

In any other circumstance, Matthew would probably make some crack about the Oilers and how assuming you guys can actually get your shit together, you may have a chance, but it's, you know, fucking Edmonton, so...

But he's being kind for Leon's sake. Because Matthew's forked tongue turns to silk when he's off the ice. He's so gentle at times like this, handling Leon with kid gloves like he thinks he'll shatter if he so much as breathes too hard.

"I'm just getting tired of it always being 'next year'," Leon admits easily, because it is easy with Matthew. "Every time we come close, we get knocked down. It feels like shit. I'm fucking tired of it."

Every time he climbs the ladder, he tastes victory. The higher the wrung, the sweeter it is. And every time he falls, there's a tiny part of him that worries he'll never get his feet off the ground again.

"Hey." Matthew cups his cheek, forcing Leon to look him in the eye, into pale blues that dance and shine even in the dark. "You're not giving up on me, are you?"

The question catches him so off guard Leon jerks like he's been struck.

"What? No. Fuck no. The hell kind of question is that?"

Quitting has never even crossed his mind. He didn't come into this league thinking it would be easy. He's worked his ass off to get where he is, and sure he's got his own liabilities to work through, but he'll keep going until something gives out.

"Good. Just making sure." Matthew looks so damn smug, but Leon's learned to find that endearing too. "Only place left to go is up, right?"

Right. Leon said something like that to Matthew, once. You win or you lose. Only two options. If you lose, then all you can do next time is win. If you win, you keep winning until you make it to the top. Anger into action, failure into fortune.

Matthew's hand slips down Leon's forearm, searching for his hand, but stops when Leon flinches, and brushes a callused thumb back and forth over the bruise there.

"This from Pietrangelo?"

Leon huffs. "Maniac, yeah. It's fine. It wasn't as bad as it looked."

"Want me to rough him up a little if I see him down the line? My treat. Actually, it'd be my pleasure."

There's that blinding confidence. The Matthew that's going to ensure they blow right past Carolina, through Dallas or Vegas, and raise the Cup. Who's dumb enough to argue with him?

"If you want." Leon's almost too tired to smile, but he tries anyways.

And Matthew softens too, cheeks pinked and teeth showing between his parted lips. It's hard to think back to a time when he would never look at Leon like this; like he's so fucking in love with him it's physically impossible to hide it. Leon can only imagine how he looks to Matthew.

"I'll make you another deal while we're at it," Matthew says.

"A deal or a promise?" Leon knows what's coming, because he knows Matthew. His heart still jumps up into his throat.

"I'll win the Cup for you."

They've learned to say I love you in a million different ways. Somehow, they keep finding new ones.

It's so stupid. Matthew's not arrogant. But then again, he seems to be playing a game no one else is, in a way no one else can. He oozes confidence and bleeds charisma, possesses the kind of karma that can change destinies.

If anyone could actually say it, and do it, it's Matthew. Damn if Leon doesn't believe it, too.

So all he has to do is smile, nod, and say, "Okay."

"Just to be clear," Matthew says, "I'm not doing it for the Oilers. I'm doing it for you. And for me and the Cats, obviously. Maybe... maybe a little more for me and the Cats. No offence, babe."

Leon snorts. "It's fine. It's yours. You earned it."

"So have you." Damn right he has. "Shit just sucks sometimes."

Leon scoffs and rolls his eyes to whatever unseeing deity keeps fucking him over. But he's done wallowing. He's got something so much better standing right in front of him.

"You said this was a deal." Leon tugs him closer, one hand cupping the back of Matthew's head, pressing the words against his mouth. "So what do you want from me?"

Matthew smiles under his lips. "I just want you to be there to see it."

#hockey #mattdrai #matthew tkachuk #leon draisaitl #my writing #asks #of course the tragedy of the panthers losing the finals to vegas and matthew's injury looms over this one. I do so love dramatic irony #at least leon is there now so he and brady can both help matthew when he's hurt #matthew is upset they didn’t win and he couldn't keep his promise to leon but leon is like 'your bones are broken please calm down'#i'm actually usually pretty indifferent to petnames but I am so enamoured with matthew calling leon 'babe' I can just hear it #sometimes I don't think I can write romance because I'm very aromantic but then I write shit like this #and suddenly I'm like well damn I guess love is real #once again thinking I should be sued for defamation because I'm pretty sure 'min fic' does not mean 2k but oh well

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