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bluegarners · 3 years

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“Dick has an overdose at a gala, hurt/comfort” ~ anon

~oOo~

He forgot to take his meds this morning.

Dick blows out a frustrated breath because that means he’s going to have to rearrange his entire cycle in order to not double dose. He always takes Zoloft in the morning with his breakfast and protein shake, and then the rest of the day goes smoothly and he can go to bed without the lingering worry of whether or not he remembered to do something. It’s an ingrained part of his routine and Dick is kicking himself for having forgotten to do it today.

The little yellow-tinted pill in his hand mocks him of his absent mindedness. The entire day had thrown him off of his usual planning, the not so gentle reminder of tonight’s charity gala for leukemia causing him to flit about in an attempt at getting his very much not used suit dry cleaned for the evening. Alfred would probably feel the need to strangle his first grandchild if Dick showed up with a wrinkled suit smelling of dust and disuse.

That wrench thrown into his day leads him to where he is now, staring down the pill in his hand and holding a glass of water in the other. He could always take his meds tomorrow so his routine wouldn’t be thrown off so drastically, but even the thought of doing so makes his hands feel clammy for skipping an entire day. He promised his psychiatrist he was going to take these things more seriously and he wanted to at least start that off by regularly taking his prescription. It had been working, so far, and Dick really didn’t want to fall into the bad habit of “skip-days”, so with one fluid motion, he was swallowing the pill and gulping down water.

Tonight was going to be fun at least. Even with his flighty day and the hassle it was doing things he should’ve done the previous week, Dick was excited to go to a gala for once. It was one of the rare occasions where Bruce had managed to convince all of his wayward children to go, and it had been far too long since Dick had spent some time with all of his siblings. He saw Damian at least once a week, Tim as well, but Jason had been a struggle to get a hold of and Cass and Duke were always busy with their own responsibilities. Not that Dick wasn’t busy as well, but in his book, there was always time for family.

Dick walks out of the bathroom, feeling slightly more pleased with himself for following through with his promise, and quickly walks to the garage where most of the family had already gathered. Had it not been for the fact that Cass and Duke happened to be staying at the Manor that week, Dick would have driven by himself to the banquet hall, but as it were, he was going to make every effort possible to squeeze in as much time as he could to be with his brothers and sister.

A slight problem arose though, as fitting eight total people into one car, driver included, was a tight fit. However, living with a billionaire had numerous perks, one of which being that they could choose from a variety of overly expensive cars and limousines and tonight, Alfred had chosen a classy black limo with leather seats and a cooler filled with bite-size cucumber sandwiches and bottled waters because, “In all of the many years of hosting galas, the Bestout family has yet to figure out how to properly serve a banquet.”

Slipping into the passenger seats, Dick was slightly giddy at the sight of both Damian and Duke already munching on a few of the snacks Alfred had prepared, Tim typing away on his phone and Cass curiously peering over his shoulder. They all looked dashing in their respective suits, and Dick reached out to lightly pat the head of the youngest, careful as to not disturb the neatly gelled locks of hair.

“Richard,” Damian acknowledges, a stray piece of bread clinging firmly to the side of his mouth. Adorable. “Where is Todd and Father?”

Before Dick has a chance to reply, Bruce and Jason step into the garage, Bruce’s hand latched firmly onto the third oldest’s shoulder. Dick can hardly hide his grin as Jason huffily plops down into the seat next to him, obviously still miffed at being forced to go to the gala. Bruce follows shortly after, taking his place besides Cass and in front of Dick, reaching into the cooler as well to retrieve a sandwich.

“Shall we proceed, sir?” Alfred calls from the front, the small window dividing the driver from the passengers a perfect view of the butler’s unimpressed eyebrows. “Or should we wait until the gala has ended to arrive?”

“Yes please. Sorry, Alfred.”

With that, they roll out of the Wayne Manor grounds and begin the short drive to the Bestout Charity Auction. Dick, personally, had no money to bid with and no intention to do so at all, but Bruce’s pockets went deep and they had already planned on what pieces to bid on and who to out-bid. Tim had made the bet that their “rivals” would attempt to out-bid the Waynes this year, and Tim was nothing but prideful on keeping the Wayne name free of that sort of blasphemy. He had done the math, was probably reviewing it on his phone at the moment, and had estimated that they could easily bid away about seven million dollars on a singular piece tonight if things went according to plan.

Money. Old money at that.

He feels a small tap on his shin then, and looks over to where Cass is gazing at him. She quirks her eyebrow, holding out her right palm and twisting her left middle finger against it. He nods, giving her two thumbs up and saying, “I remembered, don’t worry.”

She smiles, satisfied, before going back over to whatever Tim was doing on his phone. The rest of the ride is mostly silent, Dick basking in the presence of his family, until they finally pull up to the entrance. They are precisely thirty minutes late, fashionably so, and Jason is the first one to exit, followed then by Bruce, Cass, Tim, Duke, Damian, and lastly Dick.

Immediately, they are met with the flashing of numerous cameras, a couple shouting out questions or beckoning them to look their way for a good shot. Bruce indulges in a few of the requests, stopping for a few seconds, before hurrying up the steps, his many children following just as quickly behind. Entering, they are greeted with a high vaulted ceiling with a singular ornate chandelier hanging down as the centerpiece and a few other light fixtures to highlight the entrance.

Despite the initial grandeur, the charity gala is relaxed. Formal casual wear was allowed and encouraged upon, which basically meant one didn’t need to come dressed like they were meeting the Queen of England and could come in simple slacks and dress shirt, and for this reason and this reason alone is how Bruce managed to convince six of his children to attend. No one liked galas. Well, no one except Duke who was highly fascinated with how the rich and prim lived compared to the grittiness of Wayne Manor.

As Alfred had lamented about, the Wayne family was late, perhaps an hour or so from the initial invitation arrival time, and all eyes were on them as they entered the banquet hall. Cocktail hour had just begun, and it was a matter of moments before a chorus of simpering, “Brucie! Over here!” began and Jason and Duke disappeared to look for the bar. Tim meandered off to find a few familiar faces, and Dick, Damian, and Cass were left standing near the entrance.

For a second, Dick regrets his decision not to force himself to eat one of the cucumber sandwiches Alfred had prepared as his stomach rolled around unpleasantly. His medication didn’t require a meal to be eaten with it, but again, he had been thrown off his normal routine and that usually included some food.

He feels a nudge into his side and glances over to where Cass is smirking at him.

“I know, I know,” Dick groans, slumping slightly. “Alfred warned us, but you know I don’t like cucumbers. I’m just- yeah, I’m just going to go find something that doesn’t look like old cheese. Either of you coming with me?”

He extends a hand pleasantly, bowing over and winking at both of his youngest brother and sister.

“Unlike you,” Damian drawls, absently checking his fingernails, “I took sound advice when it was given.” He glances upwards, eyes narrowing as he finds his target. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it would appear that Father is in need of assistance.”

Dick watches the youngest Wayne march astutely towards a struggling Bruce Wayne, broadcasting a small amount of distress as yet another slightly drunk (already?) woman leers at him through false lashes.

“Cass?” Dick asks hopefully, turning back towards her. “My most wonderful and elegant sister, will you come with me?” In truth, Dick was the tiniest bit hesitant to go over to the buffet style table by himself, no doubt going to be swarmed by the Gotham elite youth once he was alone and miserable once he took in the shallow presentation of foods.

But his dear sister is nothing but sweet and ruthless, smiling prettily at him before walking off in the other direction, most likely to find Jason and Duke at the bar. Cass didn’t like alcohol, but she knew how to order a Shirley Temple all the same.

With a sigh, Dick begins the trudge over to the long horderves table, snagging a flute of strong smelling champagne on the way. He didn’t really like champagne truthfully, more of a white wine kind of guy himself, but it gave off the impression that he was relaxed and confident even if he was mentally preparing himself for food disappointment. He’s right, well, Alfred is right, as his gaze travels mournfully over the plain and overly dressed finger foods. Was it really just that impossible to serve a nice plate of cheese and crackers with some fruit? What in the world was foie gras entier anyway?

A hand slides smoothly over his shoulder as Dick contemplates if the horderve is an organ or not, and he steadily turns his head to meet artfully decorated brown eyes.

“Well if it isn’t the elusive Richard Grayson,” the woman says, letting her hand fall from his shoulder to his elbow. “It’s been a while since I saw you at one of these.”

Another hand brushes against his shoulder, and he turns his head the other way to meet the eyes of the exact same woman on his other arm.

“Tristy is right,” the other, same?, woman coos. “It’s been too long, Richard. Tell me, where have you been? You haven’t been avoiding us, right?”

It finally clicks into place as Dick looks back and forth between the identical women. The Thoreau sisters. Identical twins. Heiresses to the Thoreau Parts manufacturing company. Their entire net worth was close to five hundred million and the sisters were notorious, perhaps even more so than “Brucie Wanye”, for bringing home exploits and one night stands.

“Good evening ladies,” Dick says simply, dialing back the charm he usually reserved for the elderly elite of Gotham. “It’s been awhile since I last came to one of these auctions, but tonight is for a good cause. Of course I would come.”

The two sisters titter lightly, hands flying up to cover their arched grins. “Oh yes,” maybe Tristy says. “The auction is surely going to be a smashing success. At least with a man like your father bidding tonight, and that man is nothing but generous.”

The sudden innuendos leave Dick feeling slightly off footed. It truly has been too long since he attended one of these galas, and he’s out of practice at maneuvering around seduction attempts such as these.

“Oh hush,” the other sister snaps, tapping Dick’s bicep twice to get his attention back to her. “Do you plan on bidding at all?” she asks charmingly. “My sister and I have our eyes on a sculpture by Vasconcelos and it would break our hearts if your father also had plans to bid for it.”

Dick shakes his head, bringing his flute of champagne upwards to take a sip. He decides he does not like the taste of carbonation. “No, I can’t say I have plans to bid on any one particular item tonight. However, I can promise you that Bruce has no plans to bid on any sculptures, so you will find no grievances with him I hope.”

“How gracious,” possibly Tristy practically moans, leaning into Dick’s side. “You know,” she whispers, eyes flicking back and forth in mirth, “If you’re not planning on bidding at all, there’s a private study somewhere. Once the bidding begins, we can just,” she leans in closer, practically licking Dick’s ear, “get out of here.”

A cold feeling begins to settle in Dick’s gut, his composure quickly melting away as he struggles to keep on a pleasant smile. Has it always been like this? When was the last time he actually attended a gala? He can’t remember being harassed like this, much less so soon. They just arrived and already someone’s trying to take him to bed. Is that all he looks good for? Why is it so hard to just have a normal conversation? This is supposed to be a family day, and yet here he is, separating himself from them all because he can’t control his cravings and really this harassment should’ve been expected because Gotham didn’t call Richard Grayson Bruce’s imprint because he had to get the “playboy” tendencies from somewhere if not genetics, so really he’s fine and just making a big deal out of nothing.

This was normal. Right.

Lost in his head, Dick realizes too late that it’s been far too long since he’s said something aloud. Tristy, or whoever it is that’s to his right, is frowning at him, a mean looking sneer adorning red lips. The other sister, he just doesn’t know her, is looking at him with something akin to disgust as well though slightly better hidden.

He clears his throat. Clears it again. His throat feels funny. “Look, ladies,” Dick says, “I’m flattered, I really am, but I’m not looking for anything right now. I’m sure you’re both lovely, but I think I’m going to… yeah, I’m just going to go find Bruce. You know how he gets when he’s had more than a couple glasses,” he tries to chuckle, tapering off when neither of the women join in. “Have a good evening.”

Extracting himself from their manicured hands is more difficult than he thought it would be, their insistence at keeping him cornered to the table making him more nervous. The ice in his stomach pinches unpleasantly, and Dick finishes off the champagne to place the little flute on a passing waiter’s stand.

The lingering stench of overpriced perfume has him feeling nauseous, and Dick looks around for one of his family members. He spots Jason and Duke still at the bar, seemingly content at just sipping and observing, and Dick makes the move to walk towards them when the room tilts slightly. He stumbles, hardly even that, and rights himself in less than a second. He looks down, frowning when he sees nothing that might’ve tripped him up.

“Richard,” a voice calls out, and Dick turns to see Damian making his way towards him, Bruce trailing slightly behind.

“Hey, Dami!” Dick gushes, his unease melting away at the familiar faces. “Meet anyone interesting yet?”

The boy huffs, crossing his arms. “If by interesting you mean intelligent, then no. Not a single person here is capable of holding a conversation before spouting some nonsense. It should be considered cruel.”

“I hear you there,” Dick sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Is it just him, or is the banquet hall extremely bright? The Bestout’s should consider investing less in chandeliers and more in good food. “Did any of the art pieces catch your interest?”

Another huff. “No,” Damian replies. “Modern art holds no value. I find nothing special about three dots in the center of a large canvas. If anything, it is a waste of material.”

“Bruce?” Dick asks. “What about you? I just ran into the Thoreau sisters; they said they were going to bid on that, uh, what was their name again… the Vasconcelos sculpture.”

Bruce grimaces at the company name, looking more closely at Dick. “No, nothing was to my taste. Alfred has asked me to bid on a tea set supposedly owned by Queen Anne. It is… vintage?”

Dick nods, willing himself not to laugh at Bruce’s idea of something vintage. “Nice. I’m sure Alfred will be excited to add it to his collection. Have, uh, any of you guys seen Tim or Cass at all?”

“Cain left,” Damian says simply. “Brown invaded the gala about ten minutes ago and coerced her into ditching. Drake is most likely stuffing himself into a corner.”

“Oh.”

A waiter walks by just then and Dick snags another champagne glass. He takes two sips, feeling some of his anxiety from earlier rise up again. Tonight was supposed to be a family night, or at least one as close to it as it could get, and already Cass had left? He doesn’t blame her for wanting to be with Steph, he remembers how infatuated he was in his first relationship, but he already felt the tell-tale tug in his heart that told him he was lonely.

“I’m going to go find Tim,” he announces, patting the top of Damian’s head and giving a squeeze to Bruce’s left shoulder. “Have fun you two.”

They wave him off with little else, and Dick looks around the hall for the middle child. As his gaze travels from table to table, he can’t help but feel as if all eyes are on him, catching his gaze with each flicker. Taking deep breaths, Dick takes another sip, meandering slowly around the perimeters of the already established social groups. He catches bits and pieces of conversations, most if not all having nothing to do with tonight’s auction, and Dick begins to tap his fingers restlessly against his outer thigh. Why does he feel so anxious?

Someone bumps into him rather rudely, causing Dick to stumble again, but when he turns around to semi-glare, there is no one around him. The lights in the hall are blinding and Dick can feel a headache begin to form at the front of his skull. His breaths are suddenly very loud and Dick becomes all too aware of just how many people there are. At least two hundred and all of them seemed to be staring at Dick.

Someone else brushes up behind him, and Dick quickly turns around to confront them, because come on, that’s not a nice thing to do. There is no one there though. No one was even near enough to touch him and Dick feels sweat begin to trickle down the back of his suit.

What was he doing again? Right, right, searching for Tim. Tim was always calm, he’s sure he’s got to be around here somewhere.

“Richard,” a voice sing-songs to him. “Oh, Kathy, he’s right over here. My, my, thought you could give us the slip, hm?”

His grip on the glass of champagne tightens slightly as one of the Thoreau sisters slithers her way in front of him. He didn’t want to talk to them. He wasn’t feeling well. They didn’t make him feel comfortable and Dick really needed to find Tim.

“You don’t look so good, Richy,” Tristy, Kathy, whoever, whispered. “Are you feeling alright? Had one too many to drink it looks like.”

The other sister laughs. “We only left you for twenty minutes. Missed us that terribly? How sweet.”

One of them grips his bicep again. Turns his chin so he’s facing her head on. The other one falls out of his line of sight. He thinks he’s seeing triple though because the twin in front of him is slowly separating into two, faces flickering back and forth and failing to align with the center.

“Maybe he’s tired,” she says, voice distorted and far away. “Finish that off and we’ll all go find somewhere to lay down, hm? Somewhere… private.”

The flute of alcohol is pressed gently into his lips and Dick automatically begins to drink from it, the liquid sliding down easily. It leaves a sour taste on his tongue, and huh, that’s weird. It didn’t taste like that before. He really does hate the taste of carbonation.

Hands on either side of him push him forward, his feet dragging and shoes all of a sudden much too big for his feet. The glass is taken from his trembling grip, a whisper of “Wouldn’t want you to drop that,” letting his decisions elude him. The smell of sharp chemicals assault his nose and Dick feels his stomach roll. He thinks he might vomit.

Even though he keeps his face to the floor, the bodies beside him guiding the way, Dick can feel the stares, the eyes, that bore into him. The pressure leaves his chest heavy, feeling as though he’s slowly sinking into the red carpet below. The red shifts and melts like wax beneath his polished shoes, pooling and coiling around his shoelaces and reaching towards his ankles.

It smells like blood.

The red turns into a dark gray suddenly, fuzz turning into slick tile and the hands that gripped onto his biceps earlier now trail towards the hemline of his pants. He jerks, neck craning upwards and hands fumbling to push the invasion away. He’s simply shushed though, hands restraining his own and Dick feels like he’s been shot when he realizes he can’t get his legs to move properly.

He’s shoved towards an open door way, tripping and falling over himself as any semblance of coordination leaves him. It’s brighter in this room but everything keeps swirling together. Vertigo slowly weaves its way around his head and soon, there is no difference from up and down, left and right, sister and sister.

Nails dig into the sides of his cheeks in a harsh and fervent grip, and Dick feels like throwing up when he sees nothing but the swirling vortex of a flesh colored void. It spins faster and faster and Dick has to look away, but the sight of himself in a mirror is no better because that has to be him that’s standing there pressed into a stone counter but at the same time it can’t because he left that all behind.

He left Spyral behind. He escaped. He was home. They couldn’t control him anymore and yet- and yet.

Another blank flesh void stares back at his turned head. No visible features to recognize himself by. A smooth canvas that twists and churns and leaves him faceless. He is nothing once more.

Something breaks inside of him and Dick feels a sob erupt from out of his chest. He’s just so confused and scared and lost and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He doesn’t want to go back to Spyral. His mission was completed, he had done everything Bruce asked of him and even after enduring throughout all of that, Dick feels that desperate yearning for his father.

He wants Bruce. He’s so scared. His head hurts. He can’t feel his legs anymore. Everything keeps colliding into everything and he can’t even recognize his own cries because even that sounds like it’s a lifetime away, all the way back in Gotham, but instead he’s stuck here and he doesn’t even know where here is anymore because Agent 37 isn’t allowed to ask questions, that’s not his place, that’s not his place, he’s not allowed-

“Wow,” a voice breathes into his ear, “you’re even pretty when you cry.”

And Dick doesn’t really know when it started raining, but his face is wet and the person is right, he is crying and it’s raining so hard and he doesn’t completely understand why or how but he does know he doesn’t like the hands that keep fumbling with his belt. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want her. He should say something. He should say something, but his mouth won’t move and he just lays there and takes it because that’s all he’s good for right? That’s why Barbara didn’t want to see him anymore because he’s just an awful person that just takes it and please, please, please stop.

“Are you afraid of spiders, Richard?”

Of course he’s afraid. He’s terrified. He’s even more afraid of the dark and the dark contains many, many scary things. Things like a calloused hand reaching out to smother him, to choke him, to kill him. Things like a bright red pill shoved into his mouth, things like a bomb attached to his heart, things like the heat of the metal on his back as the chaos consumed him, destined to watch, destined to die, destined to be smothered over and over again. Bright red pill. Rough hands. Bright red lips. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

Dick vomits.

~oOo~

“Mister Wayne?”

Bruce looks up from his phone, a smartly dressed waitress staring at him. “Yes?”

She holds out a folded napkin to him and Bruce takes it from her hesitantly. He stares at it before glancing back up. “I don’t understand.”

The woman gives him a half-hearted shrug. “I was only told to give it to you, sir. I don’t know what it is. Excuse me.”

With that, the waitress turns back around into the throng of people that wave her over for drinks. Bruce looks down at the napkin, putting away his phone quickly as he unfolds it. It’s a note, hastily written in smudged black, similar to a crayon. Perhaps some sort of makeup applicator. Bruce doesn’t give it much thought though as he reads,

Find your son.

And isn’t that a great way to get his heart to stop? His first instinct is to look wildly about and start dashing around in search of his, holy shit, five sons he brought along to the gala. Bruce stops though, forces himself to take three deep breaths and count to five, before calmly beginning to make his way to the entrance of the banquet hall. It was easier to see everyone from that position and it was crowded enough so that he wouldn’t immediately be singled out once again.

As he walks, he stares at the napkin note, trying to decipher who exactly sent it. It was a woman’s hand writing, he’s sure of it, but the intentions behind it could be anything. Ransom? A threat? A simple warning that one of his sons was much too drunk to care about public decency? Either way, being passed an anonymous note wasn’t good and Bruce felt his gut clench in apprehension. He tries to think of everything that’s happened throughout the night so far.

Damian had remained mostly by his side, a good defense to have on hand whenever one of the socialites got a bit too grabby. Jason and Duke had remained a pair by the bar from what he'd heard, challenging other young adults into dart games and shot pyramids. Tim had steadily been making his way through old friends, chatting with a few and periodically texting Bruce to ask what the bidding was at.

(Alfred will be happy to know that he now had one more tea set to add to his collection)

And Dick… well, Bruce honestly hadn’t been keeping secure tabs on him. He’s trying to be a better father to adult Dick Grayson. Privacy and space had been something Dick had last emphasized on, the “mother-henning” as Dick liked to call it, overbearing and un-welcomed. When his eldest had mentioned his run in with the Thoreau sisters, Bruce had been concerned and looked for signs that his son was uncomfortable or something worse. As usual though, Dick had merely grinned and carried on like it was nothing and perhaps that was all it had been at the time but now with this note, this damn napkin note in his hands, Bruce could feel the suspicion slide into him like water.

“Father?”

A hand tugs on his right sleeve and Bruce finds himself sighing in relief as his youngest appears in front of him. Scrutinizing his son, Bruce finds nothing obviously wrong with him, hair still perfectly in place and a permanent frown etched upon his brow. His suit is still stain, spill, and wrinkle free and Bruce clasps a heavy hand onto Damian’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asks, keeping eye contact.

“Of course,” is Damian’s curt reply. “What happened?”

Wordlessly, Bruce hands over the napkin to him, watching as his son’s frown deepens. “I shall gather Todd and Thomas. I will return shortly.”

Damian’s small figure disappears into the crowd easily, leaving Bruce standing by himself at the front of the hall. Pulling out his phone again, he quickly types out, Come to the front of the hall. Urgent, and sends it to Tim. He types out the same message and sends it to Dick as well and contends himself for the wait by tapping his foot against the red carpet.

A minute barely passes before he spots Jason’s broad figure moving through the crowd, and the tension in his gut only increases as he counts the heads moving towards him. One, two, three, four…

“What’s going on?” Duke asks as the four boys gather closely. “Are we, uh, needed?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Damian showed you the note?”

“What note?” Tim demands. “Bruce, what’s going on? Is something- oh,” he trails off, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as he reads the scribbled napkin. Tim turns his gaze to begin counting, and the same realization dawns upon him as he finally looks at Bruce’s grim face. “Where’s Dick?”

“I’ll call him,” Jason is quick to offer, pulling out his cellphone. He dials and holds it to his ear as the rest of the family watches. “Voicemail,” he grimaces, staring down at the device as if it had personally offended him.

“We’ll split up. Jason, you’re with me. Duke, Tim, Damian, you three will go towards the east end, Jason and I will take west. Keep your phones on,” Bruce orders, checking his own ringer as he does so. “Ask around to see if anyone has seen Dick. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, so remain cautious. Understood?”

A chorus of “yes” is the motivator for the split and like liquid, they flow back into the crowd seamlessly.

~oOo~

He’s alone.

Or, Dick thinks he is. Well, now that he’s thought about it, Agent 37 is never alone. There’s always someone there, watching him, waiting for him to fail. But Nightwing works alone in Bludhaven. He’s discovered that he doesn’t like team ups much. Partnerships always end in the rain and he doesn’t like the rain. He doesn’t mind it so much when Batman’s cape is shielding his face but the rain is still pelting his cheeks and it smells like acid.

It smells like acid and metal. It sounds like endless whirring too, constant noise when all he wants right now is quiet. He wants to reach out and smother whatever it is that’s making the noise but his limbs are gone, he can’t move, he’s been restrained once again and that damn red pill, or maybe it’s tinted yellow this time, he can’t be sure, there are just so many pills, so many pills, it’s all keeping him down and dead.

He feels his stomach convulsing again and he gags, unsure if anything actually comes out. There’s red on the floor, it always comes back to red, why red, and it gathers around in his vision, slick along the white void below him. A part of Dick is glad he can’t move because he fears that if he were to even breathe, the void below would capture him and turn him white and twist his nothingness into something even less than all of it.

His lungs stutter and his eyes roll back into his head for a moment. For a brief second, he is gone in the bliss of blackness. It’s not for long though because the need to cough erupts out of him and he has to open his eyes and see what plague is clawing its way from his mouth. His jerking disturbs the void and Dick can feel the blood in his veins freeze because he’s not supposed to move. He’s not supposed to make a single sound or else it would get him but he’s just so dumb, he’s just so incompetent, and now the void knows he’s here, now the void is going to get him and he’s so scared.

He blinks four times. He counts in his head. Two, five, one, two. Dick doesn’t think that’s right. He isn’t sure.

The void is angry though. He can tell in the way the ground shakes and the colors scream at him. He wants to move away and cover his ears but his arms don’t exist anymore, how could he forget, how could he forget, and he feels his eyes burning like he’s on fire and his brain is also screaming at him now and there are hands on his shoulders and no, no, stop, please stop, he doesn’t want this, he never wanted any of this. He’s sorry. He’s sorry.

The void grasps him and pulls at him and Dick’s eyes are wide open and he wants to scream at the void’s face because he doesn’t know who they are, he doesn’t know where he is, and there’s no comfort in the cold, there’s no love or warmth in it’s embrace and he’s so tired and his chest hurts and he’s having trouble actually seeing anything now because he’s just scared of the dark and everything is getting quieter and doesn’t anyone have a nightlight he can use so he can fall asleep a little less scared?

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Bruce doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting when that waitress handed him a napkin. He doesn’t really know what he wanted to happen when he asked his children to split up and search for the lost one. Of course, the goal was to find the eldest, find Dick Grayson safe and sound and just doing something silly like back flips off a stairwell so Bruce could come and save him from embarrassing himself further. Okay, yes, Bruce knows exactly what he wanted to happen.

But this wasn’t it.

It wasn’t Mister Dower slyly implying that Bruce’s eldest son was a clone of “Brucie Wayne’s” habits. It wasn’t the news that the Thoreau sisters had left in a hurry. It wasn’t a bellboy directing him to a private room that had been left ajar. And it wasn’t walking into a pitch black study only to hear wet retching and rattling from the adjoining bathroom.

He’s bursting through the door before he’s had the time to process it all and he feels as if all the wind in his lungs have been knocked out because there he is. Here is Dick Grayson, his son, his eldest, convulsing, bleeding, vomiting, shaking, dying, alone.

It’s second nature, done without a thought, and Bruce is kneeling down, stripping himself of his jacket and folding it, taking Dick by the shoulders and turning him on his side and placing the folded jacket beneath his head. Dick’s eyes are rolling, unseeing, and his face twitches and jerks and it’s terrifying, and Bruce looks away to stare at his watch and counts and counts and counts.

It’s scarcely thirty seconds before the jerking stops and Dick goes stiff, like every single muscle in his body is clenched in anticipation.

“Bruce,” Jason begins, and he sounds unsure and out of place and Bruce curses at himself for having momentarily forgotten about him, “Holy shit.”

Bruce says nothing and continues to stare at his watch because he knows the seizure isn’t over, he prays it is but he knows it’s not, and Dick begins to convulse again and Bruce’s heart is beating so fast he isn’t sure if he can feel it anymore.

“The others are on their way,” Jason speaks up again. “I’m calling 911. What should I tell them?”

And usually Bruce is faster than this, better at processing, but it’s all so sudden and this is his son that’s laying in front of him, shaking and heaving in front of him, that it takes him a few seconds to come up with an answer. “Tell them,” he tries, mouth dry and god how much longer is this going to last? “Tell them that we need police and an ambulance for,” Bruce clears his throat; two minutes now, five becomes dangerous, “A possible assault and drug overdose.”

There’s lipstick smeared on Dick’s collar, his tie is undone, his belt buckle unclasped, pink indents on the sides of his jaw, lips tinted blue, and a mess of vomit splattered down his shirt. It smells sour and pungent and it’s the color of old brandy. Blood weeps from Dick’s hairline and Bruce startles himself with the thought that, had it not been for the note, Dick could’ve died and no one would have known.

No one would have known.

Finally the seizure stops and Bruce can feel his fingers trembling as he cradles his son’s head to fully rest against the tile flooring. Three minutes and fifteen seconds. Too close. Too close.

“Move! I demand to see Richard!”

“You can’t, not right now. Bruce is helping him but you have to stay out here.”

“Jason, what the hell happened to Dick?”

“Bruce thinks he got roofied. Whatever was given to him was too much.”

“Did… did anything happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Todd, I swear to you, if you do not move this instant-”

Bruce can’t focus on their conversation anymore, too entranced by the way his son breathes. They’re short, shallow gasps, like he’s panting through a straw, and Bruce reaches out a hand to rub his eldest’s upper back. He doesn’t move from his position, kneeled firmly as if in prayer, and maybe it is like a prayer because he needs a miracle right now. Bruce needs some guidance, some reassurance, and he hasn’t prayed since his parents died, but a little part of him is sighing and repeating those long forgotten words over and over again.

Abraham, Issac, and Jacob; Sarah, Rebekkah, Leah, and Rachel.

Dick does not stir from where he lays, eyes flickering behind closed lids. Bruce thinks he’s conscious, the flighty rhythm of his heart giving his blankness away, but the stillness in which his son lays allows a vine of terror to eclipse around his heart.

Grant him a r’fu-ah sh’lei-mah, a complete recovery.

His mother used to whisper prayers into his ear when he was younger and sick, fever-ridden constantly and just so tired. She would sit by his bedside, hold his hand, and pray for him in the silence of his room. Bruce was too young to understand what it meant. Too young to really grasp the concept of salvation, of hope found in religion. Now that he’s gone so long without it, Bruce thinks he still doesn’t grasp its weight, but the familiar words roll around in his head and leave the tightness in his chest with company.

But the comfort is like a blanket draped over your head when you were a child, on some level convinced it could protect you from the monsters in your closet and the kidnappers that surely tap on your window. The monsters are real though, the kidnappers are grabbing at your feet, and Bruce can feel his heart pounding away with the realization that he truly could have lost Dick. That Bruce had been in the exact same room, in the same vicinity as his eldest when he was drugged. When he was… assaulted. Possibly. Maybe. Bruce clings to those uncertainties.

And he’s got ideas. Theories. Conclusions. A list of suspects.

With those, Bruce also has punishments in mind. Vengeance. Retribution. But the situation at hand is more pressing than the thoughts that bang against his skull.

Dick’s eyes fly open, a cough that sounds more like a gag jerking his body. His arms stagger against his sides, feet kicking out with the force of his hacking, and Bruce merely lets his hands hover. He wants to touch him, to ground Dick, but the hesitation in his actions leave him barren of any sort of presence. Dick keeps coughing, getting louder and more forceful with each measly breath he manages to suck in, and his lips are beginning to turn blue and his face a bright red and Bruce doesn’t know what to do right now, doesn’t know how to help because he’s so afraid to touch him, to help him, when all he’s done tonight is ignore him and let this whole thing happen because he’s a horrible father-

“Richard, stop it!”

And then Damian is falling to his knees beside Dick’s heaving body, also fumbling for an answer and scared and all the things Bruce feels right now.

“Stop it, Richard! Stop it right now!” Damian demands, but his orders fall on deaf ears because Dick won’t stop coughing and gasping and shaking and he’s not having another seizure but that’s what it looks like and then finally, Bruce reaches out a hand and holds his eldest still, willing for something, anything, to happen to get Dick to stop.

“Son,” he implores, practically begging, “Dick, you need to calm down, okay? I know you’re scared and confused right now, but everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. Take a deep breath, Dick. Breathe.”

Finally, something seems to register for Dick because he’s craning his neck around, eyes wide and searching even as he continues to retch out his lungs. Bright blue eyes, beautiful and robin egg blue, catch Damian’s and Bruce can see recognition light up onto his face. The relief that Bruce had felt blossoming in his chest at the sight is quickly smothered when tears gather in Dick’s eyes, a weak sob wrenching its way in between coughs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dick moans, delirious and broken. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“Richard, breathe,” is all Damian says, reaching out to grab at one of Dick’s flailing hands. “Please.”

Bruce doesn’t know if Dick actually understood what Damian was saying, or if he even recognized any one of his brothers that stood around him, but one moment, Dick is retching up a lung, and the next, he’s silent and holding his breath. The coughing stops but Dick is going slightly purple in the face and before Bruce, Damian, anyone can do anything to get him to open his mouth again, Dick’s eyes roll up into the back of his head and he drifts.

His head thuds softly onto the white tile just as the paramedics arrive and Bruce thinks he might need an ambulance too with how quickly his heart beats and how hot the blood in his veins feel.

The rest is a blur.

~oOo~

Many things happen in the few hours that follow.

Dick is promptly swept away on a stretcher, paramedics checking pulse count, setting up an IV, and other things that anyone hardly has the mind to pay attention to. By then, the entire banquet knew something was wrong, along with a few reporters that whipped out their cameras and began snapping pictures in earnest.

In a move that is sure to get him on the front pages, Bruce snarls at a few of the reporters, threatening them in mannerisms that suggested he might just break their obnoxious cameras. Jason follows a similar pattern, actually reaching over and knocking away one of the invasive reporters when they got too close to the ambulance, and the youngest is not far off in doing the same before he is ushered away and into a waiting private car that would escort them to the hospital Dick was being taken to.

Only Bruce had been allowed to ride in the ambulance on the way over, and the four brothers had sat in tense silence during the ten minute drive. Tim had been almost absurdly quiet during the entire ordeal, typing away at his phone and absently chewing on one of his fingernails. No one comments on the bad habit, all of them guilty of doing something in a similar fashion, and when they arrive at the entrance, Bruce meets them there where he tells them that, for now, Dick appears to be mostly fine.

His vomit and blood were being tested at the moment for a tox-screening, a toxicologist named Dr.Ruth informing them that Dick wasn’t in life-threatening danger anymore. The “anymore” bit startles them all and it is explained to them that, because Dick appeared to have eaten nothing that night and drank nothing but champagne, there was little else in his system to digest whatever drug was given to him. It all went straight into his nervous system, which is what caused the seizure.

Bruce manages to secure a larger medical room for all five of them to squeeze into and forty minutes later, Dr.Ruth returns with a clipboard in tow. Results are in.

“Mister Wayne,” she begins, making sure to keep an even gaze with the older man, “You said you believed that Richard may have been purposely drugged tonight?”

Bruce nods.

“Is Richard taking any drugs right now? Recreational or otherwise?”

The implication sends a strange stab of anger through Bruce, rising up from his seat to challenge the doctor about her accusations. “Richard has never-”

“Actually,” Tim interrupts, finally speaking, “he does.”

Bruce looks over, shock peppering his face through the way his mouth twitches and his jaw clenches.

Tim rushes to defend himself. “No, wait, what I mean is that Richard takes a prescription. He’s not doing, like, hard crack or something like that.” He holds up his phone as if it contains every single answer to life. “Cass- our sister- told me that Richard didn’t take his anxiety medication this morning. He took it before going to the banquet tonight.”

“Do you know what he was prescribed?” Dr.Ruth asks, scanning through something on one of the papers.

Tim checks his phone again. “Uh, Zoloft. 40 milligrams once a day.”

“Okay,” she hums to herself, satisfied with the answer. “That explains it then.”

She clicks her pen, setting down her clipboard and turning to face all five of them in the room. “Richard’s screening came back just a few minutes ago, but there were a few discrepancies that didn’t match up exactly. From what the labs tested, Richard was given a dosage of about 250 milligrams of ketamine, on which he overdosed, but an additional drug was also found in his blood and from what you said, young man, it would appear to be Zoloft. That medication, in addition to not eating anything and consuming some alcohol, was what caused such a bad reaction.”

She glances behind her again, checking her clipboard. “Now, Mister Wayne,” she addresses Bruce, “In your witness statement, you said that Richard appeared to be having hallucinations?”

“I don’t believe he knew we were there with him.”

Dr.Ruth nods. “Victims of large overdoses on ketamine typically experience hallucinations, similar to a bad LSD trip or otherwise. Sight and sound become warped and the person under the influence often doesn’t understand what’s going on around them.”

“What about,” Duke begins, nervous and quiet, “What about the, um, the other test? Did- Is Dick okay?”

The doctor smiles, happy to give fortunate news. “Yes, the test results came back negative. Other than a few scratch marks on his face which have been cleaned, Richard is fine.”

A collective breath releases over the room. Dick was going to be okay.

“Once the nurses have finished checking your son over, you’re free to take him home,” Dr.Ruth finishes, collecting her things. “Someone will be with you shortly to escort you to him.”

“Wait,” Jason calls out, “That’s it? You’re just going to send him away?”

The doctor looks back at him, sympathy lining her sad smile. “Well, there’s not much else we can do. Keep an eye on him, make sure he drinks plenty of fluids and try to give Richard some dry foods. If anything happens or Richard’s condition worsens at all, please bring him back and we’ll do what we can.”

And with that, Dr.Ruth opens the door and leaves.

~oOo~

The nurses tell them that Dick needs to stay for an additional hour or so, just until he’s coherent enough to answer some well-being questions and to finish the IV bags they’ve given him. All five of them have managed to cram themselves into Dick’s small room, the man in question awake but quiet. He’s coherent enough that he seems to recognize them all individually, and no longer seems to be hallucinating, but he wears a grimace that tells of discomfort. Dick has yet to say anything since waking up.

His eyes are distant, staring listlessly towards the ceiling and trailing from light to light. Bruce is sure the action is somewhat painful, but he doesn’t make a move to distract his son from whatever he’s thinking.

It’s been a long night, for all of them really, but none as long as the night Dick Grayson has had. Bruce is told that Dick spoke in private with one of the nurses and an assisting officer about some of the things that happened during the banquet. Bruce doesn’t pry though. He knows better than to go sticking his nose into something so fresh, something so invasive. He trusts that Dick will speak when he’s ready.

Whenever that is.

There’s a knock at the door before Dr.Ruth walks in again, hands folded neatly in front of her as she enters. There’s no clipboard with her and a lightness in her posture is telling of good news.

“You’re all clear,” she says warmly, stepping up closely to Dick’s cot. “I just need you to sign some release forms and you’ll be on your way. Do you have any questions for me?”

She directs the question towards Dick, whose gaze travels slowly over to the doctor. He licks his lips twice before asking, “What do I need to do after I leave?”

“Hydrate,” she answers, mentally going through a checklist. “Lots of fluids. The charcoal is going to absorb a fair amount of liquid in your system, so keep an eye out for water consumption and bowel movements.”

“What… what about medication?”

She frowns at that, lips pulling down slightly. “Well,” she starts, “I would suggest keeping away from them for the next twenty-four hours. Are you in pain? Do you feel like you need something for it?”

Dick is quick to shake his head. It jostles him and he closes his eyes briefly, be it from pain or disorientation is something indiscernible. “No, no. Not hurt or anything. I take some, uh, prescriptions though. From my psychiatrist. Everyday.”

“I see.” Dr.Ruth is quiet for a moment before, “Try to wait as long as possible. If you absolutely need to, go ahead and take them but be careful. You won’t be in any serious danger but it’s always better to be cautious after an overdose.” She turns to Bruce then. “He’ll need to be somewhat monitored over the next few days. It’s not very common, but symptoms can linger.”

After another pause in which no one speaks up, Dr.Ruth smiles and bows her head slightly. “I’ll have someone bring those papers by soon. Tell one of the nurses if you’re having trouble walking, Richard, and we can get a wheelchair brought to you. Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

No one continues to make a sound as Bruce fills out the paperwork, insisting that a wheelchair be brought when Dick only manages to take a few steps before his legs begin to shake. Dick makes no comment on it, only half-heartedly glaring at Bruce as he sat down heavily into the plastic seat. The walk out of the hospital is quiet too, Duke along the way muttering that he was going back to his cousin’s place for the night. Alfred meets the remaining boys at the front, leaning forwards to bring Dick into a small hug before releasing him and helping Dick get into the car he brought.

When Damian hands Dick a water bottle, Dick accepts it silently, lightly patting his little brother’s hand before taking a singular sip from the bottle. He doesn’t drink from it again.

When they arrive at the Manor, Jason is the first one moving and is quick to pull out the ramp they have for when Barbara visits. Dick is tense as they roll him into the Manor, finally putting his foot down when Bruce suggests that one of them carry him up to his bedroom. It’s a slow process and it twists Bruce’s heart in a way he can’t quite describe as he watches his eldest struggle up the flight of stairs, using both the railing and Damian as meager supports.

Dick pushes open the door to his dark room and makes no comment when everyone follows him in. He all but collapses onto his bed, exhausted. They all just simply breathe for a minute, taking the time to truly process everything that’s happened that night. Somewhere in the Manor, a bell tolls and the electric clock on Dick’s nightstand reads two in the morning. They’re all still in their suits, still in their tight dress shoes, and nothing seems quite real yet. The black out curtains are clasped together tightly, as if their belief in maintaining the illusion and reality of darkness is all that’s keeping the peace.

Damian is the first one to move this time, peeling off his jacket and kicking off his shoes to sit beside Dick’s sprawled form. They don’t exchange words, but Dick shifts and allows Damian to get closer, a hand reaching up to finally destroy the carefully combed locks of hair, stiff with gel and pomade. Dick sighs and this release is what prompts the others to move as well, Jason plopping himself at the foot of the bed to lean against one of the banisters, Tim choosing to sit on the floor and rest his head against the side of the bed frame, and Bruce pulling a chair closer to be within reaching distance of Dick.

It’s quiet, calm, and the proximity is just enough to be reassuring. Comforting in a way that doesn’t demand physical touch but soothing enough to provide warmth. It’s nice.

Dick speaks first. It’s an apology.

“I wanted this to be a family night, you know?” he confesses into the stillness. “I didn’t mean for… any of this to happen.”

“We know, Dick,” Tim says, equally as quiet. “It wasn’t your fault.”

There is no response to that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jason asks, voice gruff but kind. Gentle in a way that betrays his outward appearance.

“I don’t know,” Dick says. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” is all Jason responds, easy and light. The dark hides many secrets. He will not be the one to unearth them.

It goes back to silence after that and soon enough, Dick’s breaths are even and his eyes are closed. Slowly, the boys disappear one by one back to their rooms, allowing themselves to recover as well from the experience. Damian falls asleep by Dick’s side and Bruce tenderly picks him up, cradling the boy’s head onto his shoulder, and carrying him to his own room.

When Bruce returns, Dick is sitting up and staring at him. He’s nervous. Bruce takes a deep breath in for his own nerves and sits back down into the seat. They stare at each other for a long time, the eye contact neither uncomfortable nor helpful. It’s a waiting game, one that doesn’t need to happen, and Bruce breathes in again.

“How are you, son?” he asks, gaze heavy as he takes in Dick’s haggard appearance. The hospital had given him a scrub shirt to replace the one he had thrown up on and the texture crinkles as Dick shifts in place. His eyes go back to wandering around, drifting from Bruce’s face to the comforter around his legs.

“I’m tired,” Dick whispers, hands flexing and clenching. “And a little freaked out,” he adds, eyes flickering to Bruce’s and then darting away again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful. I… I messed up.”

Bruce sighs, slowly and deliberately telegraphing his movements as he reaches out to place a hand over Dick’s fidgeting one. Dick is still tense, hand clenching into a fist as Bruce just lets the warmth of his palm linger.

“You did nothing wrong,” Bruce begins. Pauses. Backtracks. “Everything that happened tonight wasn’t your fault. Whoever did this… that’s their fault. That’s their doing. Not yours. Never yours.”

“How did you find me?” Dick asks, deflecting. He’s always been good at that.

“I was given a note.” The napkin had been taken away as evidence earlier. The phantom hot weight of it still burns a hole in Bruce’s coat pocket. “It told me to find you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Pause. “I’m glad they did though. I was… worried. Worried of what had happened to you. Dick, look at me please.”

Instantly, Dick’s eyes snap to his and again, Bruce’s heart twists in a way he can’t describe. Sadness? Resentment? Melancholy? Regret? He doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry I let that happen to you,” he says firmly, reaching out with both hands to grasp at Dick’s. He grips them tightly, holding them together like they’re praying. This is now twice in over a decade. “I am so sorry, Dick. I wasn’t there when you needed me, but I’m trying to be better. I want to be a better father to you, son. You mean more to me than you will ever know and the thought of losing you scares me.”

Dick nods sharply, once, twice, and his face falls into apathy as he processes what Bruce has said. He doesn’t reach out to hold Bruce’s hands as well, but the fact that he hasn’t removed them is enough to reassure Bruce that he’s doing at least one thing right.

“It,” Dick says, voice barely a whisper, “It scares me too. Losing you. Losing anyone. Dying.”

He swallows audibly and sweat trickles down his brow. Bruce wants to insist that Dick go back to sleep or at least drink some more water, but he refrains from doing so, too afraid to remove his hands lest he lose Dick all over again.

“When I was...” Dick trails off, swallowing again. “While I was hallucinating,” he restarts, “I saw, no, uh, I thought I saw a lot of things.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, buddy,” Bruce reminds him, tapping his index across Dick’s knuckles. “It can wait.”

Dick shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m okay.” His voice cracks slightly as he says that. Bruce ignores it and Dick seems grateful.

“I thought I was dying again,” he rushes out, as if to force the words before he can take it back. “All these bad things, things from the past that I didn’t want to remember, were suddenly all happening again and I-I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where I was, what was happening, who I was with half the time, and I couldn’t move, Bruce. I couldn’t move and it all just happened.

They wouldn’t stop touching me and it scared me. I was terrified and then suddenly I was alone and I really thought I had died. I thought that I had died and then Damian was there and-and I thought he had died again and I couldn’t, couldn’t handle that, Bruce.”

“Dick, breathe. Breathe. Damian is safe. You’re safe. Breathe in for me, buddy, that’s it. You’re okay. I promise.”

Dick nods again as if trying to convince himself that he’s safe now. That he’s home and everything is okay and there are no ghostly hands that cover and touch him. He tries, but he’s tired. The fear rests idle and Dick can feel it scratching at his throat. It’s been six hours hours since everything happened. Only six.

“I think the worst part,” Dick admits, strained and hushed, “was that I was alone.”

Bruce squeezes his son’s hands together, the pressure meant to be grounding. “I’m sorry,” he says, meaning it with everything he has.

Dick only shrugs his shoulders, a shuddering breath escaping him. He looks at his father’s hands, the gnarled knuckles and thin white scars that grasp his own destroyed fingers. The contrast of the touch compared to the appearance is comforting in a way that reminds Dick of their early days as Batman and Robin. Before Nightwing. Before Agent 37. Before everything else. It is a testament to their struggles, their crooked fingers and half formed nails from broken bones and relentless pursuit. Their hands hold the weight of a thousand punishments, twice more punches, and countless conflicts and battles.

Their hands are the evidence of their survival though. Their victories against death.

Two thin stitches that hold together the cut just below his hairline are another piece of the evidence. Another testimony to Dick’s endeavor for endurance against the odds. There will be a pink scar to commemorate tonight, and in a year or so, there will be nothing left but a faint white line.

Tomorrow, Dick will wake up, eat breakfast, and carry on about his day. It will be normal because it has to be. There is no other way to move forward, and Dick will swallow his pills with the same grimace and remembrance of hot metal and red lips. Maybe in a week, he’ll tell his therapist about tonight and they’ll suggest another coping strategy that Dick’s already tried but he’ll try again because he has to.

For now though, in the silence of his childhood room, decorated with pictures of the circus and framed photos of his found family, with black out curtains that never move to let the light of day peer through and a noisy vent that sometimes drips from condensation; for now, Dick can indulge in his fears and his worries as Bruce holds his hands.

There will be police reports, prosecutions, scandals, interviews, testimonies, and so much more later. Right now though. Right now, Dick lets himself breathe and accept the fact that things aren’t fine and that he needs help. Dick lets himself squeeze his father’s hands and blink away tears, finding relief in their hold.

He’s not okay, but tomorrow he will be. He has to be.

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thekidkelly · 4 years

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if i may be so bold as to make an observation (or six):

i feel like the entire group (as well as the audience, in some cases) dismiss abed as somebody who can’t empathize with the group during different scenarios. now at the beginning of the show, i can see how that could be a viable reaction (all you need to do is look at the pilot and his interactions with jeff, in the case of the “say you have to go to the bathroom” text, and the group, when they were mouthing to one another and abed didn’t understand what was happening). but i feel like it’s not really acknowledged that abed becomes very emotionally aware of the people around him as the show progresses.

troy would be the most obvious example. even just looking at Pillows and Blankets (even though it hurts me abed says these things about troy), he knows exactly what troy is insecure about underneath the surface, and how to, in a sense, make him emotionally distraught. on the flip side, in Basic Human Anatomy when troy wakes him up, he doesn’t need to ask troy why he’s fulfilling the Freaky Friday switching-bodies trope to understand that troy is going through something and that he needs abed’s help, and abed is willing to go to whatever lengths troy needs him to go to to help him.

his relationship with annie has a deep development as well. in Foosball and Nocturnal Vigilantism, abed (as batman) says to annie that if someone had stepped on his dvd and broken it by accident, they would have already come forward, and to not tell abed (because that guy is ruthless), to me that shows that abed recognizes annie’s guilt, and makes the conscious decision to not make her feel any worse by pretending he didn’t know the truth behind the broken dvd at all. it’s not exactly a surprise that annie (like troy) tends to show her emotions on the surface, but she went through the effort to try and cover up her mistake, but when it came down to it, abed knew all along, and decided that the guilt she was feeling was enough, and to respect that she was deeply upset about it and that was enough.

even with shirley, you can look at Urban Matrimony and the Sandwich Arts, and you can see how throughout the progression of the wedding, abed tries to stay as “normal” as possible, so as not to upset shirley on her special day. he’s faced with plenty of situations that could easily unravel him, but he even went through the “24-hour weird-down” to prove that he could not be himself for a night, if it was to make shirley happy (not that i condone him actively repressing his true self to make others happy, i just find it intriguing that abed would be willing to go to the distance to make his friends happy). also, in Messianic Myths and Ancient Peoples, abed makes the interesting comment to shirley “you humble me”. that shows that abed was able to recognize how his movie was affecting shirley (albeit a little bit late), realized that what he was doing was offensive to her and her beliefs, and immediately stopped because friends don’t actively try to dismiss or dismantle other friend’s beliefs or feelings. also he was willing to deliver her baby for her and was most concerned with making sure she was safe and, really, emotionally comfortable with the situation she was in since it was not entirely ideal, and was willing to make sure she felt as secure as she could in the moment.

with britta, he was able to open himself up to the option of “therapy” with her, because he felt he could trust her, but i also think that under the surface abed realizes that britta needs validation. the group constantly calls her the worst, and uses her name in place of messing something up, and as someone who was probably picked on and bullied a lot as a kid, abed was probably aware of the negative impact this had on her. he was willing to make britta feel that validation while simultaneously making a real effort at what she was recommending because he knew it was backed with a genuine want to help his wellbeing.

the one relationship that i think makes me feel the most conflicting emotions though is his relationship with jeff. jeff keeps everything bottled up inside, we only see his emotions when he either lets himself be incredibly vulnerable or when he becomes incredibly frustrated/outraged. otherwise, we can’t really tell what’s happening with him besides the small quirks he has that betray what he’s feeling to us as an audience. in the beginning, he’s all back-handed sarcasm and short fuses with abed, somebody not worth engaging deeply with (because jeff, at this point in time, is arguably the most self-centered he is throughout the entire show). but in Critical Film Studies we see a shift in their dynamic - abed recognized that jeff was pulling away from him, actively distancing himself from abed, and that hurt abed’s feelings. from that point on, we see jeff interact with abed on a more emotional level, to the point that in Emotional Consequences of Broadcast Television, we see abed covertly recognize that jeff is struggling with the fact that his found family is suddenly slipping through his fingers, and tries to comfort him in a way that doesn’t necessarily attract everyone else’s attention. i would argue that, by the end of the series, abed becomes sort of like an emotional sounding board for jeff.

abed said it himself numerous times, he’s been a lifelong surveyor of human behavior. i just don’t think he ever got close enough to anyone to look at the emotional part of that behavior until he met the rest of the study group, and if he can identify quirks and other physical behaviors so well, why would emotions be any different?

#whew that was a lot #also it was kind of hard for me to do abed and brittas relationship so if i missed something im sorry #i didnt include pierce bc the two of them never had a relationship in my opinion #please please please give feedback on this so i dont feel like im way off base #abed nadir #troy barnes #jeff winger #annie edison #britta perry #shirley bennett #community

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borhapparker · 4 years

Text

special victims unit | borhap x female!oc - chapter two

summary: The Special Victims Unit, a specially trained squad of detectives in the NYPD, investigate sexually related crimes. Lead by Lieutenant Astrid Morrison, they solve New York's most sensitive cases, as well as battle with their own demons from the past.

warnings: mentions of sexual assault, mentions of alcohol and drugs, lots of triggers mentioned above

word count: 3.9k

series masterlist | teaser (read before this) | chapter one

Astrid's phone rang in the dark room, curtains pulled shut to prevent light form coming in, as she reached over, grabbing it and answering.

"Morrison." she answered, the figure next to her on the bed shifting at the sound of her voice.

"Lieutenant, we have a victim. Meet us at the hospital, we're on our way." Lucy's voice rang from the other end as Astrid rubbed her face with her other hand.

"Yeah, I'll be there. Give me twenty minutes."

Ending the call and placing her phone on the nightstand she got up, before an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back into the covers.

"Five more minutes." the voice said as she smiled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling his body closer to hers.

"Just five more minutes." she said, closing her eyes.

"Who called?"

"Lucy. New case, she's on route to the hospital." she said, as he groaned.

"Why can't we stay here the whole day?"

"Well, you have work, and I do too." she paused, before letting go and getting out of his grasp. "Alright, let's go."

Groaning once more, he got out of bed and headed to her bathroom, as she checked her texts for updates on the victim.

Twenty minutes later, Astrid walked into the hospital with a coffee cup in hand, as Lucy approached her, frown on her face.

"What do we have?"

"Avery, transgender female, was injured in a fall from a bridge."

Astrid sighed, before nodding to the room. "I want to see her."

Lucy led her inside the room, where the victim was waiting, Detective Ben with her and the parents.

"Hi, I'm Lieutenant Astrid Morrison with the Special Victims Unit." she said, as the parents introduced themselves. "So, Avery, can you tell me what happened?"

"I was taking pictures on the bridge when they surrounded me."

Ben spoke up, notepad in hand as he took notes. "Avery, can you describe them?"

"Black, my age." she slowly breathed in, "They were giving me the look."

"What look is that?" Ben asked.

"The freak needs to learn a lesson look." the parents looked at Astrid, hurt spread across their features as one held her hand and the other placed a hand on her shoulder in a comforting manner. "I tried to go but they started saying stuff."

"What were they saying?"

"Tranny. He-She. My personal fave." she paused, "I told them to leave me alone. One grabbed my skirt, another my camera. I was pushed and I tripped on my heels."

Astrid took a step forward, "Avery, can you remember anything else about the boys, anything they said or that they did?"

Tears pooled in Avery's eyes, "It was all a blur of shoving, people laughing," a tear streamed down her cheek, "Taking video."

The father spoke up, "This isn't the first time, and the local precinct never follows up."

"We will." Astrid reassured the family, "We take this very seriously. I give you my word, Mr. Parker."

Returning back to the station, all the detectives got to work on trying to find anything they could to ID the boys that had pushed Avery. Lucy finally found something, pulling Astrid out of her office.

"What do you have?"

"Well, we were checking social media, lensing the area where the crime occurred, and these finally popped up." she led her back to the big round table in front of a large screen tv, where the rest of the detectives were.

"These three separate cell phone videos so far. They all begin after it started, but you get the idea." Joe said, pressing play as they watched.

"Let's see slut. What's under there?" "Beat his ass!"

Someone smacked Avery across the face in one of the videos, "Oh, he's slapping him around."

"Darius, we're going to get in trouble!"

"All these people watching. Nobody helps."

"How long do they go on?" Astrid asked.

"Till the fall." Rami says.

"You're not getting that camera back, uh-huh." "Aw, she likes you, Darius." "They dancing."

"Just give it back." "Get off me you freak!"

A boy pushes Avery, as she topples over the edge of the bridge, the crowd in the videos gasping.

"Do we have any idea who posted these?"

"Well, according to Facebook, it's two sophomore kids and one junior from Shirley Chisholm."

Astrid looked between her three detectives, "That's it, guys, let's go, full court."

They all drove to the school, heading inside and looking for the administration in charge, who directed them to where a bunch of students were, three that had posted the videos.

"I didn't do nothing. I just took a video." a girl said, holding a pencil between her fingers as she wrote down notes for an essay.

"You watched a person get assaulted and thrown over a bridge." Lucy said.

"I didn't touch that freak show, and why is he wearing a skit, acting all -- whatever."

"Who were the guys messing with Avery?" Joe asked.

"I don't know." she said, pointing the pencil at both Lucy and Joe, "That's your job."

They walked off, as Ben and Astrid were with a teacher, showing him the video of the incident.

"This is deeply disturbing."

"Yes, it is, and three different students from your school posted those videos."

"Well," he handed back the tablet, "Let me be clear. This behavior is in no way indicative of our community. We strive for inclusion."

"We understand." she changed the video to three pictures, showing the three suspects. "Who are these kids?"

Having now got the names of all three students, Astrid and Ben headed to another full classroom, where students were throwing around pieces of paper and chatting.

"Alright, quiet." the same teacher that had spoken to them spoke to the class, as the class lessened their chatter. "Keon Williams and Markus Green, come with me."

"Why?" one spoke up.

"We didn't do nothing." another said.

"Now."

Both of them stood, walking to the teacher and out the door with Astrid and Ben following behind.

Meanwhile, Joe and Lucy were talking to another teacher.

"Why are you looking for Darius?" she asked, arms crossed in front of her door.

"It's a police matter. Where is he?"

"He was here before school began, very upset about something. I told him we could talk after lunch."

"He live nearby?" Lucy asked as the teacher shook her head negatively.

"He won't be there. He hates the projects. There is one place he likes to go." she paused, "Book Culture."

"Let's go." Joe said to Lucy as they thanked the teacher and headed off to the bookstore. Walking through the various shelfs full of books, before they spotted him sitting against a shelf with a notebook on his lap and a pencil in his hand. "Darius McCrae?"

"Hey, NYPD." Lucy parted her coat, showing him her badge. "Darius," she motioned with her hand and walked to him, "Get up."

"Come on, I-I didn't do anything." he said.

"Come on, Darius, stand up. Let's make this easy." Joe said, as Darius frowned and got up, placing his notebook in his bag.

"Yes, sir."

In an interrogation room, Ben rolled up his sleeves of his shirt, before supporting his weight on his hands, leaning into the suspect. "So, you're saying it wasn't your fault?"

"That tranny started it, all up in our face with, you know, being weird."

The mom next to him spoke up, "That boy goes around dressed like a girl? You should be talking to his parents, not my son."

"Well, they're in the hospital, and you're here, so think about that." he walked towards the door, opening it and closing it behind him.

"Markus, did you beat up on a girl?" the grandmother asked her nephew, who was sitting with Rami.

"He's not a girl, grandma. He's one of them he-she's." he said as she smacked his hat off.

"Wow." Rami said, Ben walking over to him.

"Acts like one, wears makeup."

The grandmother looked up at Rami, "Why would he do that?"

"That's not the issue." Rami said, "The issue is your grandson pushed a kid off a bridge."

The grandmother gasped, "You did what?"

"I didn't push him off the bridge, grandma! I swear!"

"Then you better tell them who did."

He looked down, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know."

Ben glared, "Markus, look at me." he looked up, "I know that your grandmother did not raise you to lie."

Markus was silent for a few seconds before he spoke up, "It was Darius. He's a grade above me."

Right as he said that, Darius walked through the door, Joe and Lucy escorting him into another interrogation room.

"Am I going to jail?" Darius asked as Lucy crossed her arms.

"When your mom gets here we need to talk, but the best thing to do is to tell the truth."

"You want a soda, sandwich or something?" Joe asked Darius as he groaned, his arms cuffed behind his back.

"My stomach's not feeling good."

"Darius?" a voice was heard through the entrance as everyone turned to the sound of the voice.

"This way, ma'am." Ben said, escorting her to where Darius was sitting with Astrid, Lucy and Joe.

"I'm Lieutenant Morrison."

"Ms. McCrae, I'm Detective Joe Mazzello. This is Detective Lucy Boynton."

"I'm sorry, mom." Darius spoke up. "I didn't mean to do anything bad."

"What do they think you did?" the mother asked.

"A teenager was assaulted in Fort Tryon Park and is now in the hospital."

"I didn't mean to hurt him."

The mother looked at Joe and Lucy, "Darius is a good kid. He takes care of his little sister. He goes to -- to church."

"Okay, well, ma'am, we still just need to talk to him, okay." Lucy reassured her.

"But he's only fifteen." she said.

"Which is why we waited for you." Astrid spoke up, "We needed you to be here when we read him his rights."

"We were just talking to him." Darius said, now in an interrogation room with his mom next to him, "I asked what was up with the dress.

"So Markus and Keon were telling the truth? It was your idea?"

"Yes, but we were all messing with him, tried to lift up the skirt."

The mom frowned, "Darius, why would you do that?"

"I didn't want my friends to think I was gay."

"So you were being tough around your boys. Is that why you pushed Avery?" Lucy asked.

"No, he fell on me and I just pushed him away. I didn't mean for him to fall over the bridge."

"Then why'd you run?"

"Because it was the worst thing I ever did. I thought I killed someone."

Through the glass, Ben and Astrid were watching the interrogation. "This kid seems genuinely upset. The other two, they just think it's funny."

Astrid spoke up, hands on her hips, "Yeah, well the other two didn't push Avery off a bridge. I mean, she could've died."

"Bright side, all three confessed. We got the video evidence, we're done." Ben said, following Astrid to her desk.

"Look, the video is shaky. The kids are underage. I just don't want anyone claiming that those confessions were coerced." she sighed, rubbing two fingers on her temples. "Let's see if Avery can come in and make an ID."

"You got it." Ben said, leaving and heading to his desk, where he called the family and asked for a lineup ID. They agreed, driving over in less than twenty minutes.

They prepared the lineup, as Avery and her family arrived. Placing them in front of a glass window, Avery got up, as the boys walked in. Looking through the lineup, she pointed one out.

"Number four."

"Number one."

"Three."

Astrid knocked the correct amount of times on the glass for each suspect, before turning back to Avery. "You did great, Avery."

"They look smaller in there." she sat down on her wheelchair, groaning slightly. "Scared."

"Well, they should be, Avery." Ben said, "They're in trouble."

"Did they say why they did this to me? I'm not stupid, I wasn't being cheeky."

"It wasn't anything you did," the mom reassured her. "We need to get back to the hospital."

Darius' mom spotted the daughter and the parents, getting up from her chair. "Excuse me."

The family stopped at seeing her.

"Are you the Parkers? I'm Darius' mother." she said as Astrid approached her.

"Ms. McCrae, now may not be the best time."

Avery spoke up, slightly shifting in her wheelchair. "Hold on. I want to hear her out."

"My son is really sorry for hurting you."

"Did he tell you why he did this to me?" Avery asked.

"Avery, let's go," the mom said as her dad slightly pushed the wheelchair.

"Just wait a minute." Avery said, reaching out a hand for Darius' mother, who sadly smiled and gripped his with sympathy, "Ask him, please."

The mother and father separated both, anger coursing through them as the other detectives watched. "Okay, we need to leave. Now."

"Come on, this way folks." Joe started leading them to the doors, as Astrid watched them walk away.

Joe turned, getting Ms. McCrae's attention and escorting her to sit in a chair next to his desk.

"Wait, my son has to spend the night here?"

Joe reassured her, sitting across, "No, he's gonna be able to go home. The desk sergeant's gonna give you an appearance ticket for tomorrow in family court."

She furrowed her eyebrows, "I have work tomorrow. I'm a home care attendant."

"Well, you're gonna have to call in sick. You gotta be there."

She exhaled in frustration, looking around before nodding, waiting patiently for the sergeant to come back.

Lucy served herself a cup of coffee in the break room as she heard footsteps, before Ben appeared in the doorway.

"Those poor parents, right?" he asked as Lucy only nodded.

"You want one?" she gestured to the coffee as he smiled in confirmation, leaning against one of the counters opposite from her.

"Hey, Lucy, let me ask you something." he paused, collecting his thoughts, "What makes a boy decide to be a girl? I mean, is it that he likes boys? He just doesn't want to be gay?"

She thoughtfully came up with her answer as she stirred his coffee, "There's a difference between gender identity and sexuality, Ben."

"Yeah." he thanked her for the coffee, taking a sip and smiling, "You know, my parents, they think this is all about getting attention."

Lucy chuckled, "You were a 14-year-old boy once. And would you or any other boy you knew put on a skirt, if it didn't come from a real place?"

He chuckled, shaking his head, "No, not a chance."

Joe, Lucy and Ben were at the Office of Corporation Counsel, waiting with Marcus, Darius and Keon. The counselor approached, as she turned and looked at the sitting audience.

"Good afternoon, which one of you is Marcus Green?" he raised his hand as she nodded, "Come with me please."

Joe spoke up, "Counselor, you want us inside?"

"If I need anything, I'll let you know."

She headed inside a room, as everyone waited patiently outside. Forty-five minutes later, Marcus walked out with a smug look, as she called on Keon next, Ms. McCrae confused as to why her son wasn't called before.

She waited, as Keon walked in, and walked out forty-five minutes later, a smug look adorning his mother's features, as she shook hands with Ms. Cox, the counselor.

"Thank you so much, Ms. Cox. I promise you, Keon has learned his lesson."

They walked away as she turned to Darius, who stood up and walked over, his mom behind him. Walking inside, she closed the door behind them and motioned for them to sit, explaining the deals the other boys received as punishment.

"The other boys got probation?"

After that, they kept talking, trying to figure out a suitable deal for Darius, one that hopefully wouldn't jeopardize his future. They finished and walked out, Lucy heading straight for Ms. Cox and Ms. McCrae for Joe.

"This is not fair. The other boys get probation but she wants my Darius to do three months in juvie?"

"That's what she wants. A judge still has to rule." Joe said, trying to reassure her that it wasn't over.

"She also told me that if it goes to trial, Darius could get a year. I said I wanted to talk to a lawyer but she said no one was available today."

Lucy walked over, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, that's your right. They're gonna have to wait."

She listened, before turning to Joe, "Talk to that lady about Darius. He's no thug, and he's had a lot to deal with."

"I'll do what I can."

She turned to Darius, tugging on his shirt as he stood up and headed to Joe. "Detective Mazzello, can you make sure Avery gets this? Tell him to know I'm sorry."

He walked away as Lucy turned to Joe, who opened the drawings to inspect them. "What's that, drawings?"

"It's an apology."

"Well, and it's an admission of guilt. You know, if you were Avery, would you want to hear anything that Darius has to say right now?"

Joe sighed, "My brother got the crap kicked out of him when he was a boy for being friends with a gay classmate. No one ever apologized to him."

Back in the hospital, Ben was with Astrid, as Avery looked happier than she was. "Darius McCrae wrote something for me?"

Astrid smiled, "He did. He wanted to apologize."

Avery's dad looked at her, "You don't have to read it if you don't want to."

She looked up, "No, I do."

Astrid handed her the file with the drawings, as she opened them, a smile on her face.

'If I could get a do-over, I wouldn't do it.'

The smile dropped from her face as she examined the drawing, her parents sharing a look of concern.

'But I wish I could erase it. I hope one day you can forgive me.'

She looked up, "Did you tell him I was into graphic novels?"

"No, we didn't know." Ben answered, as Astrid smiled.

They walked out with Avery's parents, as questions began to spill from the dad's lips. "We heard the boys took a plea, does that mean Avery won't have to testify?"

"The third boy, Darius, is speaking with a lawyer, so we should know more tomorrow." Astrid answered as the parents nodded their heads in confirmation.

"What Avery's gone through, she's a tough kid. You must be proud."

The dad smiled, "We are."

Suddenly, the hospital lights flashed, "Code blue, code blue."

The doctors rushed in the direction of Avery's room as the parents turned to each other with a look of concern. "That's her room!"

They all ran over, as the doctors began to use a defibrillator, restoring a heart beat inside her body.

"Clear!"

"My baby!" the mother cried out, catching the nurse's attention.

"Please, you have to wait outside."

"No!"

Ben and Astrid began slowly motioning for them to head outside the room, the parents wanting to make sure their daughter was okay, as the doctors worked on her.

"Check the heart.." "No pulse." "Let's go again." "Nothing." "Come on, Avery honey, stay with me." "Clear!"

The doctor comes out, a frown on her face as the parents break, bursting into tears and sobbing over their daughter.

Ben's growing concern escalates, as he begins to interrogate the doctor in charge. "One minute Avery's fine and then she's gone just like that?"

"What happened?"

"A fatty embolism." the doctor answered.

"Oh no. From the fractured leg, right?" the doctor nodded, as Ben crossed his arms.

"When the femur fractured, fatty globules were released. They traveled to the lungs. Death is almost instantaneous."

"So this embolism was a direct result of Avery's fall?"

"No question," the doctor shook her head.

The doctor walked away as Astrid rubbed a hand over her forehead, Ben turning to her with a disappointed look on his face.

"What do we say to them, I'm sorry?"

"Never gets easier." Astrid answered as they both walked over to where the parents were grieving, as she sat next to them, "Mr. and Mrs. Parker, I'm so sorry."

They nodded, before the husband erupted into a sobbing mess, the wife cradling him in her arms as the detectives rubbed their backs in consolation, before excusing themselves and returning to the police station, where everyone else was.

"What happened?" Rami asked as Astrid frowned.

"Avery died."

A few days later, they were all waiting for the results from the M.E. as Ms. Cox walked in with a blue folder in hand, Astrid walking out of her office to meet her.

"The M.E. confirm cause of death?"

"Saddle embolism to the lungs, direct result of the broken femur from the fall. No intervening cause."

Astrid sighed, putting her hands on her hips.

"What does that mean for these boys?" Lucy spoke up as Ms. Cox turned around.

"Well, Markus and Keon didn't push her. They didn't cause the death."

Rami spoke up, crossing his arms, "But Darius McCrae did."

Another lawyer walked into the station, catching everyone's attention. "Lieutenant, we need to talk about the Avery Parker murder."

She turned, nodding, "Of coourse. Kenneth O'Dwyer, meet Pippa Cox."

"It's nice to see you again, Ms. Cox. You'll want to be in on this meeting too." he said, as Pippa nodded, following them to Astrid's office. "The D.A.'s office is taking over the prosecution."

Dumbfounded, Rami had joined them, as Astrid lightly tilted her head, "Now, you know Darius McCrae's only 15 years old?"

"Yes, and if he's tried in family court, he'll be charged with juvenile delinquency and be back out on the street again when he's 18."

"Wait, you're looking to charge him as an adult?" Astrid asked as O'Dwyer nodded.

"Second-degree manslaughter."

Pippa spoke up, "We can charge that in family court."

"We can, but we won't, and I want to attach a hate crime."

It was silent for a few minutes, as Astrid sighed, "Okay, wow."

O'Dwyer spoke up again, "There's an epidemic of attacks on trans persons. We have to take a stand."

Astrid interjected, "Yes, but I don't think that this is that case. Darius seems like a good kid."

"He went after Avery, he taunted her and he pushed her off a bridge."

"But you want to charge a 15-year-old as an adult?" Rami asked, furrowing his eyebrows, "He could get 20 years."

O'Dwyer sighed, "It's more like seven. And while I appreciate your sympathy for Darius McCrae, we can't wait for a more overtly evil perp. We have to draw a line."

Rami and Astrid exchanged a look, crossing their arms as they sighed in unison.

Lucy was visiting Ms. McCrae, informing her of the charges, as she paused her, concern etched on her features.

"Darius and I, we feel horrible that Avery died, but that was because of something that went wrong at the hospital."

"Well," Lucy began, wringing her hands together, "The autopsy showed that it was a complication resulting from the fall."

"So, what does -- what does that mean?"

"They're charging him with manslaughter," Rami spoke up, "He'll be tried as an adult."

The mom was dumbfounded, as she frowned, "My Darius? No no no.. He's -- he's just a kid."

"But the DA and the mayor want to send a message that hate crimes aren't acceptable in New York City."

"Hate crimes?" she breathed out, "The only person Darius hates right now is himself."

"I'm sorry," Rami apologized, "This is where we are."

Lucy got up from the chair, adjusting her blazer, "You said Darius was in his room?"

"You have to take him right now?"

"Yeah, he's got to be arraigned. Can you call him please?" Lucy asked, crossing her arms.

They escorted Darius out of his home and back to the police station, as they booked him in for the night, waiting to be arraigned in the morning.

tags:

@hollandroos @me-a-hopeless-romantic @shuri-owns-my-heart @im-grac3ful-but-fi3rc3 @thebohemianpenguin @misterf4hrenheit @sofarxitsalright @lolabean1998 @sailing-race @desperately-bisexual @desir-ae @cl0ve @theimpossiblehologramtree @peachllobotomy @rrrogah-tayluhh @allaroundaddict @orchideax @thesevenseasofnublar @owensgrxdy

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sailorportia · 4 years

Text

Femslash February 2020, Day 4

Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power Pairing: Glimmer/Catra Prompt: Punk/Pastel

approx. 2,100 words, rated T

also available on AO3

Summary: Catra and Glimmer are forced to work together on a group assignment, and it's almost a competition to see who's more annoyed by this arrangement.

Tags: University AU, Swearing, Alcohol, Drunken Kissing

Catra was holding court in her corner of the student union building's cafeteria. "I can't believe Professor Prime stuck me with Sparkles for a group project!" She slammed her fist on the table, rattling everyone's lunch trays. "Anyone else would've been better than Sparkles!"

"I'm confused," Entrapta said, picking up tiny sandwiches from her lunchbox. "Who's Sparkles? Oh, do we have a new friend!?"

"Oh, um, that's what she calls Glimmer," Scorpia said. "Because, well, y'know," she leaned in and whispered, "Catra doesn't like her very much."

"Oooooooh!"

Catra ignored the exchange, lost in her own petty misery. "That girl is the worst. Total control freak. She never shuts up in class, always arguing with the profs and making everything a debate. She's not even that smart. I bet she only got in because her mother's got tenure." Her hatred toward Glimmer in no way stemmed from the fact that princess was now closer to Adora than Catra was. They were even roommates now. Not that it bothered Catra at all.

"Um, just out curiosity," Scorpia said, "this might not be important, but have you ever really talked to her? Like, other than insulting each other?"

Catra gave her a blank look. "Why would I need to do that? I don't need to learn her favourite colour to know I hate her." Knowing Sparkles, it was probably pink. Or worse, hot pink.

Entrapta frowned. "That's not a very scientific approach."

"I'm a political science major. Everyone knows that's a fake science."

"Okay," Scorpia said. "But she's one of Adora's friends. Isn't that enough reason to try to get along with her?"

"I don't want to get along with Adora's friends." Catra uttered the words as if they were a rule. If Scorpia and Entrapta had been feeling sassy, they could've pointed out that Catra was also one of Adora's friends, and that would explain why she didn't get along with herself.

"I'm just saying," Scorpia said with a shrug. "Maybe if you give her a chance, you'll find something you like about her. Or, uh, something you don't hate at least. Who knows? You might have more in common than you think."

"As if!" Catra and Glimmer couldn't have been less alike. First off, their appearances were complete opposites. Catra's punk style had attitude, conveyed through dark colours, unruly hair, spiked accessories, the patches on her jacket and other modifications to her clothing, such as stylish, strategically placed holes she tore with her own claws. Glimmer, in contrast, was a pastel disaster whose brightly-coloured outfits hurt to look at. Her hair was literally pink, like she was made of bubblegum or something. Secondly, Glimmer was a sanctimonious goody two-shoes, whereas Catra just didn't give a fuck. No way in hell were they going to get along.

"Well, you better figure out how you're going to talk to Glimmer," Entrapta said, "because she's headed this way."

A group of three approached their table: Adora and Bow, led by a pissed off Glimmer. Catra might have found it intimidating if she weren't wearing the softest possible shade of lavender. Her new haircut was something of an improvement. She was almost hot—but Catra wasn't into bossy girls.

"Hey, Catra," Adora said nervously as the group reached the table.

Glimmer cut Catra off before she could say her customary greeting. "If you screw up this assignment for me, I'm going ruin you."

Bow grimaced. "Glimmer! We literally just went over this!"

"You could at least pretend to be nice," Adora said.

"Why do I have to be nice?" Glimmer pointed at Catra accusingly. "If you heard the way she talks in class you'd get it. She's a war criminal waiting to happen."

Catra snorted. "Says the girl who's a shill for the monarchy."

Bow stepped between them. "Guys, guys, cool it. We don't want another fist fight on our hands."

"It was one time!" Glimmer protested. "And it was hardly my fault. Nyan Cat over here was being a belligerent drunk."

"Don't blame me for that incident," Catra said. "You threw the first punch after like six Shirley Temples."

"Who wouldn't punch you when you're so obnoxious?" Glimmer let out an agonized groan. "Just get your ass to me and Adora's dorm room tonight by six o'clock, or I'll come looking for you."

"Whatever." Catra stuck her tongue out as Glimmer stalked off, her friends running off after her. She didn't need any more proof that the two of them were incompatible at every level. Maybe she'd fail this assignment on purpose just to piss her off.

Glimmer was already regretting her decision to work on the group project in her dorm room. Her reasoning had been that she didn't want to be seen in public with Catra, but she hadn't anticipated how much having Catra in her living space made her skin crawl.

They were sitting on Glimmer's side of the room. Catra had attempted to make herself at home on Adora's bed, but Glimmer put that to a stop immediately.

"You don't shed, do you?" Glimmer asked, eyeing Catra's wild mane of fur. "I don't want to be picking your hairs off my clothes for the next month."

"That's an anti-cat microaggression," Catra said. "Not very politically correct of you. Besides, it can't be as bad as all the glitter you leave behind, Sparkles."

"That's not my name! And I do not wear that much glitter." Sure, Glimmer preferred sparkly eye shadow some days, and some of her clothes did have glittery details on them, but glitter wasn't her thing. "You're in no place to criticize how I look." She sneered at Catra's outfit, specifically the tears in her pants. "Nice jeans, were they 50% off?"

"Haha. Very funny. I'm sure you bought your clothes at 200% the price just to show off how bougie you are."

"Listen you—" Glimmer groaned through her teeth. She knew Catra was just trying to get under her skin. All she had to do was be the bigger person and let this go. "The sooner we start this assignment, the sooner we'll be done and out of each other's hair."

"Finally something we can agree on," Catra said. "What's the topic again?"

"We're supposed to pick one from this list." Glimmer retrieved the relevant paper from her desk and read them off. "There's one about arguments for and against raising the minimum wage."

"Eh? That sounds dangerously like math. Economics sucks."

"Fair. Next is one about the role of money in politics."

"Still too much math."

"Suggestions for electoral reform?

Catra laughed. "Maybe get rid of elections altogether? Then everyone's equally unhappy with the result."

Glimmer could've sworn she had some patience, but it was running out faster than she'd anticipated. "There's one about the ethics of torture."

"That one's easy. Whatever gets the job done is fine with me."

Never mind writing an assignment together, they were never going to find a topic they could agree on due to Catra having the moral centre of a Saturday morning cartoon villain. "Torture doesn't even work! The premise is flawed."

"Really? It's working on me right now."

Glimmer groaned. "Is this a joke to you? This assignment is for 10% of our mark! You might not care about your own future, but I do."

Catra smirked. "What's wrong? Afraid that Professor Mommy will be disappointed if her little princess flunks a class?"

"You don't have any idea what it's like studying at a college where your mother is one of the professors. Having to measure up to those expectations all the time."

"Hey, at least people expect something from you. You can't imagine what it's like to grow up in Adora's perfect shadow."

"Yeah, well now she's my perfect roommate, and I'm going to lose it if I have to hear one more time that Adora got on the dean's list last year and I didn't."

"Oh yeah? Well I would've gotten on the list too if I didn't have to deal with Professor Hordak's inferiority complex."

The conversation carried on way longer than it should've. It turned out the only way they could avoid bitching at each other was by bitching to each other instead. Before long they ordered a pizza and cracked open a couple of cold ones, the assignment lying forgotten on Glimmer's desk.

By the time they ran out of things to complain about, they were both a little beyond tipsy. They had moved to sitting on Glimmer's bed, leaning against each other. Glimmer was very aware of the fact that she had never been this close to Catra before, physically or emotionally. Not wanting to linger on those thoughts, she said the first thing that came to mind.

"Hey, is it true that you wore a tux to your high school prom?"

Catra smirked. She put her empty beer can down and got out her phone. "Feast your eyes."

Feast, Glimmer did. She was tempted to ask Catra to send her the pictures. "Daaaaaaaaaaamn," Glimmer said. "Adora's so lucky. I went to mine with Bow as a friend-date, but she got to dance with the hottest girl at the prom."

If they were any farther apart, she wouldn't have picked up on the other girl's reaction: a low, rumbling sound in her chest.

"Oh my god." Glimmer couldn't believe her ears. "Are you purring?"

"No!" Catra stuffed her phone back in her pocket and crossed her arms over her chest, as if that would cover up the sound she'd already made. "You're imagining things. All that glitter must've gone to your head."

"Oh, looks like someone isn't used to hearing people say nice things about her." This was too good. "So that's how I get under your skin."

Catra's face looked like it couldn't decide if she were furious or embarrassed. "Screw off, Sparkles."

"Aw, you can dish it out but you can't take it? That's so cute." Glimmer honestly didn't know why she was winding Catra up. Maybe she wanted to see what would happen when she finally sprung.

Catra stood up, but didn't step away from the bed. "Isn't Adora going to be coming back soon? I should probably go..."

Glimmer grabbed Catra's arm and pulled her back down. "We've talked enough about Adora. Let's talk about you."

"I don't want to talk," Catra said. "I don't want Adora to walk in and see me getting along with you!"

"You care too much about what Adora thinks. Are you that hung up on your old prom date?"

"I am not! Screw you! I'm always getting the girls. I don't need to chase after Adora. I've got pull!"

Glimmer smirked. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Catra had hit her limit. The cat finally pounced. "You asked for it."

In one swift motion, Catra pushed Glimmer down and pinned her to the bed. There was a moment's pause before their lips crashed together.

Oh my god, Glimmer thought as she tasted the alcohol on Catra's breath, is Catra kissing me? Am I kissing her back? Even being tipsy wasn't enough to excuse this. But Glimmer didn't really care. She needed to blow off steam, and making out with a bitchy catgirl serviced that need.

The kissing kept getting messier and messier, which was a nice analogue to their interpersonal relationship. Glimmer vaguely acknowledged that she'd never live it down if anyone found out about this, but it wasn't like Catra was going to brag about it either. They were in the clear—

"Oh my god. I didn't expect you guys to get along this well."

Glimmer and Catra sobered up instantly. They broke apart, Catra springing away as if she'd suffered an electric shock. In absolute horror they turned in unison to see Adora standing in the doorway, barely containing her amusement.

"This isn't what it looks like!" Glimmer said.

"It's actually exactly what it looks like," Catra said. "Kill me."

Adora laughed so hard she snorted. "Looks like you guys had a party," she said, looking at the empty pizza box and beer cans. "You guys must've finished up that assignment pretty quickly." She raised an eyebrow at the sight of the pair's blank looks. "You did work on the assignment, right?"

As if a switch had been thrown, Glimmer and Catra were back at each other's throats as if nothing had happened. "This is all your fault!"

#she ra #spop #glitra #glimmer #catra #fanfiction #my fanfiction #femslash #femslash february #FauxGhostsFSF

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gary36 · 5 years

Text

GM X: Binary pt 1

I couldn't tell you the first thing about Alex.

"Switch seats with me."

"Why?" Kyrie shouted at me without taking her eyes off the road.

"Because-"

"I'm not a good enough driver for you!"

"Because your fucking right hand keeps trying to bite me!" I said indignantly while I pressed myself against the passenger door of the ice cream truck to put as much space as possible between myself and the massive lion head roaring and snapping at me in the middle seat.

"Well it's not my fault! I don't own him. He's not a pet."

"That's hardly the point, Kyrie!"

"Excuse me." Jamie said, tentatively poking her head from the backseat with both eyes on the lion head beneath her. "Mrs. Whetstone is the only adult here, maybe she should drive."

Kyrie rotated the steering wheel twice over, hit the gas, and leaned into a hard left turn. The ice cream truck came up on two wheels, for a moment I was sure we'd roll, everyone in back screamed, gravity pulled me towards the angry lion's open mouth, fortunately I was wearing my seatbelt. The tires squealed as we pulled out on the main road in the twilight. With a terrible shudder the truck slammed back on all fours.

"Am I not up to your standards?" Kyrie roared at the windshield.

"It's really just the lion thing." I said in a soothing voice.

"Mrs. Whetstone just has the most... experience." Jamie said diplomatically.

"Actually," Mrs. Whetstone chimed in as she regained her footing and rummaged around the freezer before producing an ice cream sandwich. "I ride my bike to work. I have a horrible phobia of driving. You're doing great hon!"

"Thanks Miss Shirley!" Kyrie said as she slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The lion went berserk, he thrashed and ripped huge chunks of the seats out with his fangs.

"Slow down!" I screamed.

"Fuck no!"

"Why?"

"There's snake people back there! My right arm is a lion! You're being a backseat driver!"

Kyrie stomped on the brake without warning. My insides lurched forward. Everyone in back screamed, so did the tires. The lion roared fiercely. The truck shuddered violently to a halt.

Suddenly all was quiet, the ice cream truck sat perfectly still in the middle of the empty road beneath a flickering streetlight. On either side of us tall green trees shifted in the wind. Kyrie breathed ragged and deep, her eyes fixed on the road. Her left hand held the wheel in a white knuckled grip. I saw sweat running down her face. The lion bore into me with his unwavering predatory stare.

At last Kyrie let out a long sigh. She reached over the steering column with her left hand and shifted the truck into park.

"Fine." Kyrie said popping the door open and gently sliding out "Have it your way."

I nodded and opened my own door. We started to swap seats.

"I can drive." Josh chimed in.

"Whatever." I obliged him, shifting course to the back.

"But I'm not sitting next to her." He pointed at Kyrie "She's got the disease."

"Would you shut the fuck up Josh?" I lost it "There's no disease."

The back erupted in squabbling.

"She can't ride back here." said a boy with corn-rows. "Her arm is a lion." I had learned his name was Virgil "We're too close together."

"Please don't let the wearlion ride back here." said Casey, an extremely short senior. "She's so angry."

"Technically," Darius, Math Club "lycanthropsy is a magical disease. Usually the transformation involves the best of both human and animal forms. This is more akin to shapeshifting, either through a spell or spell-like abili-"

"Can you please take me home?" Tina, freshman, color guard "I live just around the corner!"

"All of us want to see our parents." Roy, football player. "But where is everyone?"

"I don't want to go home." Margaret, perpetually smoking and wearing sunglasses, especially in class. "I want to hang with Lion Girl, she's cool."

"Wow." Sarah, perpetually smoking weed and wearing hemp, especially under the bleachers. "I can't believe you would act like this at a time like this. 'Lion Girl' is so cliche."

"Everybody calm the fuck down!" Joey, perpetually doing something sketchy in the bathroom.

"Nobody panic, it's going to be alright." said Jamie over the clamor.

Mrs. Whetstone, or Shirley, since Kyrie was on a first name basis, sat on a freezer beaming peacefully to herself with total indifference. Years of teaching had granted her a resistance to young people and their chaotic communication.

Josh was still ranting about seating arrangement "All I'm saying is-"

I shifted the truck into drive. Kyrie rolled down the passenger window and let her lion arm hang out.

We got rolling and an awkward silence settled on everyone.

I sighed and shook my head. "You said you're close by Tina?"

"Ya!" she piped with excitement "Just over here."

A couple of side streets later we were driving into a gorgeous sunrise. Tina lived in a modest house with her dad on Eris Avenue. We didn't pass anyone on the way, but Tina shrieked with joy when she saw her dad's car in the driveway.

The ice cream truck pulled gently to a stop in front of Tina's place. I turned and smiled at everyone. Sometimes it's nice to turn things over to adults.

Tina jumped out of the back of the truck and ran all the way to the front door. She knocked twice hard. Then she grabbed the door knob and let herself in with an ecstatic cry of "Dad!" Before disappearing inside.

Everyone else got out and gathered on the street. Tina's front door lay open. Miss Shirley walked to the door and called inside. "Tina! Honey! Can we use your phone?"

"Yes Ma'am!" Tina answered from far within her home. "One second I..." Her voice traveled further away and trailed off. "Let me just..."

Miss Shirley peaked her head inside "Tina! Everything OK?"

Tina came back to the door with a frown and tears in her eyes "I can't find my dad."

Miss Shirley placed a hand on Tina's shoulder and spoke softly "Hey now, everything is going to be alright. I'm sure your dad is around here somewhere. Did you check all the rooms?"

Tina nodded.

Miss Shirley held her chin in thought for a moment. "Where does he work?"

Tina sniffled "He's a cameraman. At the news station."

"Maybe he's still at work?"

"But his car..." Tina covered her face and looked down.

"Hey now, it's OK Tina. We'll find him."

"Okay..." Tina cried softly to herself.

I looked around at the others. They all shuffled their feet and looked down.

Darius cleared his throat "I live just down the street."

Shirley led Tina inside the house saying "Come on hon, let's call... someone."

"Hey, I gotta make a call!" Virgil said.

"Me Too!" said Sarah, aghast.

"Let me call my grandma!" Joey blurted out as he scuttled inside.

Soon everyone filed into Tina's house but me and Darius. A thunderous roar came from the ice cream truck. I looked back at Kyrie gazing sullenly into space, her lion reaching madly for me from the passenger window.

"Come on Darius." I said weakly. "Let's get you home."

We climbed in and started down the road. No one was outside. No one was driving. Once I saw a squirrel.

Darius lived three turns away from Tina. All the houses there had big yards, second floors, pools, guest houses.

"That's me!" Darius stopped me at a brown house with wood paneling down a private drive.

As I pulled up I hunched over the wheel and swiveled my head in all directions. There was no one, the sprinklers were on, the lights were on, but no one.

Darius jogged to the garage, produced a remote from his pocket, raised the door, and disappeared inside.

"Kyrie." I whispered.

"Yeah?" She replied without taking her eyes off the beast's glorious mane.

"Was it like this before you came to the school?"

"Like what?"

"It's so quiet."

"It's early."

"It's earie"

"Ya it's been kind of a weird day."

"Don't worry Kyrie, we'll get you... a doctor."

Kyrie rolled her eyes.

Darius walked back to the ice cream truck with his head down.

"What's up?" I said.

He shook his head. "Nobody's home. They left everything running, I'm sure they'll be back."

"Did you call?"

"The phone is out or something. It just beeps."

"Let's go back to Tina's." Kyrie said. She sounded exhausted.

"I'll wait here for my parents." Darius said.

"What?" I replied "Darius, we can't just leave you here by yourself."

He shrugged "I don't want to miss them when they get back. Besides, there's a security system. I'll be alright."

I refused to leave Darius alone but he wouldn't listen to reason. Eventually he went in his house and Kyrie reminded me that the others would be looking for us at Tina's. I turned the truck around and felt myself speeding. It wasn't like there were any cops around.

I looked to my right and saw the wind blowing through Kyrie's hair. She was holding the lion's face into the wind and stroking his mane with her left hand.

"I think he likes it." She said softly, as if to herself. "The fresh air calms him down."

When we got back to Tina's I headed directly inside. Kyrie stayed scratching the lion's head.

A quiet defeat had settled on all the students inside. They sat all about Tina's living room with hunched shoulders and low hanging heads. Miss Shirley scanned a nearby bookshelf silently.

I saw a phone in the room and picked it up.

"It's not gonna work." Virgil said.

I dialed my home anyways. It rang twice. I heard a click like someone answered but then just beeping. High pitch. Low pitch. Low pitch. Low pitch. High pitch. High. Low. Low. Low. High. High. High. Low. High. High. High. High.

#ghost mold #writing

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edenwinchester · 7 years

Text

Joys of Fatherhood- Eden Marie Series Part 6

Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5

Characters: Eden Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, OC!Matt, Castiel (Mentioned)

Warnings: Language, Violence

Word Count: 1897

Summary: the Winchesters domestic life, Troublemaker!Eden (again), some heartbreak

A/N: So, I thought about doing a couple of one shot about 1- 10-year-old Eden, to clear up some things about her past and her relationships with Dean, Sam, Bobby, John etc., what do you guys think about that?

“And you’re sure she’s already up?” Dean asked his younger brother, checking his watch again. He had to take her to school in twenty minutes or else she would be late for her first class.

The brothers had agreed to let Eden stay home for another day so she could rest before getting back to school. Of course, Eden completely disagreed with that. She told them that now there were only three days to go until her spring break and begged them to call her off school for those three days so she could visit her godfather early this years since she couldn’t spend Christmas with him. But all that begging was worth nothing.

“Yes, Dean. I’m sure. I made her get out of my bed this morning.” Sam assured him, rolling his eyes. When his niece was five years old he would let her sleep in his bed to make her feel safe. Two years ago, after Eden moved back home from boarding school, he realized that it had been a bad decision since Eden barely slept in her own room when Sam was home.

Shortly after Sam finished his sentence, Eden walked into the kitchen a sleepy look on her face, clucking her backpack behind her. Her outfit looked like she had dressed up in three seconds and her hair was a mess, but her make-up was on point.

“Well, good morning, Sweetheart!” Mary greeted her.

“Mornin’,” she mumbled back and sat down next to her father. “Do we still have waffles?”

“We did, five minutes ago,” Dean told her before he took a drink of coffee from his World’s Second Greatest Dad mug, which Eden got him for his last birthday. “Here, have a toast.” He dropped a slice of bread on her plate.

Eden fixed herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and slowly started eating. She clearly wasn’t in a good mood.

“Is that a scrunchie?” Sam suddenly asked her pointing at the black velvet hair tie around her wrist, trying to cheer her up a bit. She answered with a nod. “I thought those things went out of style twenty years ago!”

Everyone stared surprised at Sam, wondering why he knew about these things. Eden was the first one to reply. “You went out of style twenty years ago.”

“Since when do you let her talk to me like that?” Sam asked Dean surprised when he heard him laughing. Usually, Dean wouldn’t let his daughter be so cheeky with them.

His brother rolled his eyes and so did Eden.

After breakfast, Dean drove his daughter to school. When he parked the Pickup Cass had stolen in front of the building Eden still made an upset face. She had even started pouting.

“Okay Champ, something is clearly bothering you,” Dean said, “What is it? Mom? Or those Brits?”

Eden didn’t really think about them, she simply got used to her dad and uncle bringing home people, who she had never seen before and she didn’t care about the British Men of Letters because after all, they were civilized human beings. “None of it. I just don’t wanna get in there,” she answered him nodding at the big redbrick building.

“Well, that’s just too bad,” her father went through her dark hair with his hand, “and now move your ass!”

“Fine!” Eden muttered, “Will you pick me up?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yeah, please!” she begged a little. Her dad could be quite good at comforting her when he knew that he wasn’t the one who made things unpleasant for her in the first place.

“Then I’ll try.” he smiled.

Eden smiled back, then picked up her backpack and got out of the car.

The entire eight hours of school Eden wouldn’t say a word unless her teachers told her to. She even managed to ignore Matt for a little longer. She knew he wanted to know what happened a couple days ago, but Eden just didn’t want to talk about it. After school, the talk Eden was trying to avoid happened. Matt had caught up with her while she was waiting for her dad to show up.

“Eden.” he greeted her, “What the hell is wrong with you?” The blonde guy seemed to be pretty mad at her.

She looked at him, unsure if she should answer him since some of their classmates were still around. “Nothing” she simply said and stared away, hoping the Pickup or the Impala would drive around the corner.

“Nothing? So you’re literally saying that you showed up at my house having a mental breakdown because of nothing? And that you’ve been ignoring me because of nothing?” Matt asked her angrily, which just made Eden roll her eyes. “What? Are we in fucking preschool?”

When she didn’t answer he continued, “See, I actually thought that we could trust each other and tell each other everything because that’s what I’ve been doing for like the past year, but now I am so sick of your goddamn bullshit, Eden, I am so fucking sick of it!”

“Hm, let me help you out a little.” the teenage girl started, already fed up with the situation “We are not a thing, Matt! I am not your girlfriend and I owe you nothing! We agreed on that, remember?”

Suddenly Matt’s anger turned into an attitude, “You knew that I wanted things to be different. I once really liked you, Eden, but that was before I realized that you’re just a little bitch, who had been using me for whatever stupid cause you made up in that pea brain of yours. And in that way, even Shirley Chambers would be better for me that you!”

“I don’t feel that way,” she said regarding his last sentence. Maybe she was a little bitch and maybe he used to like her her, but there was no way Shirley Chambers was better than her.

“Sometimes I think you don’t feel anything…except maybe for your uncle, which by the way would be exactly your kind of crazy shit.”

That hit Eden hard, but probably not as hard as her fist hit Matt’s nose. He stumbled backward, holding his bleeding nose and glancing at her shockingly. “You dumb whore!”

A voice angrier and louder that Matt’s echoed through the school yard. “Eden Marie Van den Berg Winchester! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Eden spun around seeing her angry father walking up to her. “Please Dad, let me explain!” she tried to calm him down before he could reach her.

“Oh, that better be a damn good explanation!” Dean said while checking Matt’s nose and asking him if he was okay. After Matt answered with a nod, he turned around to his daughter, “Otherwise I’ll whoop your ass when we get home and this time I’m serious!”

The teenage girl swallowed hard. She felt extremely humiliated by her dad and that in front of her classmates. But she replied with her jaw clenched, finger pointing at Matt, “He’s the one who needs the ass whooping. He called me a little bitch, then claimed that I and Sam are having a thing and then he called me a dumb whore!“

Dean really tried hard to control his anger when he started speaking to Matt again. "How dare you! You have not the germ of an idea of what my family went through. So you better keep your mouth shut and stay the hell away from my daughter, boy, or I swear to god I’m gonna rip your lungs out! You hear me?”

“Ye-es Sir!” he stammered intimidated.

“Good!” he said before he looked back at his daughter, commanding her to get in the car.

Eden obeyed. She didn’t want to get in more trouble than she probably already was.

Her Dad started lecturing her as soon as he pulled the car out of the parking lot, “I can’t believe what you just did, Eden. Seriously, I thought Sam made himself pretty clear the last time you got into a fight.”

But Eden hardly listened to him talking. She just stared out of the window, watching the neighborhood passing by while thinking about what Matt said. When he said he liked her he actually meant that he was in love with her, otherwise, Matt would have broken up with her months ago. It was so stupid of Eden not so see that. She knew that now, and still she would be lying if she told him that she felt the same. Of course, she liked spending time with him, but only if her dad, Sam or Cass weren’t home. Maybe Eden just wasted his time, maybe she used him.

“…And that’s exactly why you have to learn to control your damn temper, Eden!” Dean finished, then realized that his daughter didn’t hear a word he said.

“Eden…Come on, won’t you try defending yourself?”

“Huh?”

“Please don’t tell me he broke your heart.” he said and Eden shook her head, but he didn’t see that, “I get it, Champ. I was a teenager once too.”

“Yeah, a couple lives ago,” she joked, but earned a stern glance from her father,

“He did not break my heart, he just said some things that I have to deal with.”

“Fine, just talk to Sam about it, or maybe even Cass, before it eats you up inside, okay?” Of course, Dean wouldn’t want to hear her emotional breakup story, he thought that she only did this to herself. A fifteen-year-old shouldn’t be in any kind of relationship with any boy.

“Okay.”

Back home Dean parked the stolen car in the garage and continued fixing his Baby, which still was damaged after “that British Bitch” crashed it. Eden just wandered off to the kitchen, where she spent the next thirty minutes on her phone while eating a bowl of cereal.

Her uncle decided to join her when he passed the kitchen. “Hey, Baby. Are you okay?” Sam asked her after he noticed her pensive look.

His niece shrugged her shoulders, “Don’t know”.

Clearly, Eden wasn’t okay, but also didn’t want to talk about it, Sam knew that. He just put his arm around her shoulder to comfort her.

“Sam, do you think we’re too close to be niece and uncle?” she suddenly asked.

The younger Winchester brother glanced at her surprised. “I actually never thought about that. Why would you wanna know?” “Just reasons.”

“I don’t know. You were more like a daughter to me. I mean, after all, I did raise you.”

Eden looked up at him and smiled weakly. “And I have to admit, you did a quite good job.”

Her uncle laughed, “Okay, what is it? Did you got a bad grade or why are you trying to butter me up?”

The teen lowered her head and said with a shaky voice: “Matt broke up with me.”

And Sam wouldn’t answer. He just hugged her tight and hold her until she’d calm down.

I don’t own these GIF’s

@daughters-and-winsisters

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural one shot #supernatural imagine #dean winchester #Daddy!Dean #deanxdaughter #Sam Winchester #Uncle!Sam #mary winchester #SPN #spn fanfic #spn one shot #spn imagine #fanfic #castiel #writingwinchesterscontest

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emeraldthoughtsblog · 7 years

Text

Code Geass: A Tale of Two Demons. CH7: The False Classmate

Chapter seven of A Tale of Two Demons. Lelouch, Suzaku, and Kallen are all hiding their involvement in the Battle of Shinjuku, while the Purists, try to track down Clovis’s assassin. Kallen suspects Lelouch to be the voice over the radio, Lelouch uses his geass on Kallen, and no one suspects Suzaku of being involved in Shinjuku.

[First Chapter] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter (Soon)]

The next day, after the incident in Shinjuku, Jeremiah is in his office in the lower levels of the embassy. “How have we not caught this guy yet. He’s like a ghost, vanishing as suddenly as he appears.” Jeremiah says to himself. He then hears the door to his office open, and looking up, he sees Villetta enter the room. “So, is it true, no one remembers what happened on the G1?” He asks her.

“I’m afraid so. We even have soldiers with no memory of their knightmares being stolen as well.” Villetta replies. “Lord Jeremiah, there is someone to see you. A reporter.” She adds.

“Bring him in. We’ll have to spread the word about Clovis’s death somehow.” Jeremiah says.

“And I’m glad you have the time to spare.” Says the reporter, entering the room. “Diethard Ried, I’m with Hi-TV.” The reporter says, introducing himself. “I heard that the military got involved in one of the ghettos, am I right?” Diethard asks. “And from the looks of things, you were given quite the thrashing.” He adds.

“You’re a little too good at this.” Jeremiah says.

“I’m just doing my job, reading the situation and making an astute observation.” Diethard replies. “Any ideas on who could be responsible for the ambassador’s untimely demise?” He asks, getting straight to the point.

“The Prime Minister said he might know.” Jeremiah replies. He then picks up the phone and calls the Prime Minister. “Prime Minister Kururugi, it’s Jeremiah Gottwald.” He says as Genbu picks up his phone.

“How did the demolition of the ghettos go, Jeremiah?” Genbu asks.

“We ran into a slight problem, one we thought we could deal with.” Jeremiah replies.

“Thought you could deal with?” Genbu asks, his temper rising slightly.

“I’m afraid so. We encountered heavy resistance in Shinjuku, and we believe that the assassin was among them, if not leading them.” Jeremiah replies. He then hears Genbu sigh.

“I don’t know who your suspect is, but I can give the name of the man responsible for the resistance in Shinjuku.” Genbu says.

“I’m listening.” Jeremiah says. He then turns the phone on speaker as he sees Diethard pull out a notepad and pen.

“His name is Naoto Kozuki.” Genbu says.

“Kozuki?” Jeremiah asks.

“You might know him as Naoto Stadtfeld. He’s spent too much time around the ghetto, and he was assigned to aid you lot in removing the terrorist threat within the ghetto.” Genbu replies.

“Halfblood, eh. Well, we’ll take him into custody as soon as possible, and interrogate him.” Jeremiah says, after hearing Naoto’s real name.

“Do that. I will have this rebellion quelled, before it even starts. Japan will prosper.” Genbu says, ending the call.

“And Britannia will lead the way.” Jeremiah says, placing the phone down.

Meanwhile at the Ashford Academy clubhouse, the members of the student council are in a meeting. Nina is busy at her computer, while the others are preparing for future events and working on the budgets for the clubs. As they’re all working, Lelouch falls asleep, putting his hand to his forehead. Milly, seeing that Lelouch has stopped moving, rolls up some of the papers in her hands and hits Lelouch on the head. “Wake up, Lelouch! I know you were sleeping, your hand stopped moving.” She says, hitting him repeatedly until he finally moves, waking up.

“Well, you don’t have to beat me up over it, do you?” Lelouch asks, waking up.

“Serves you right for leaving me out of the loop.” Rivalz says smugly.

“Rivalz.” Shirley says, displeased at her friend's response. “That’s right, what did you do yesterday?” She says, turning her attention towards Lelouch.

“That’s enough you guys.” Milly says before Lelouch can respond. “Let’s not get sidetracked here.” She says to the group in general. “Suzaku, I know you balanced the budget the other day, but we need to make sure it stays balanced. Lelouch, I trust you to review Suzaku’s work, and see if he may have missed anything.” She says to Suzaku and Lelouch. “We all know what’ll happen if there were any mistakes. There won’t be money left for anything at all.” She adds.

“And if it comes to that point.” Nina says, still looking at her work.

“The equestrian club would be pissed.” Rivalz says, jokingly. “We don’t want they coming in here on horseback.” He continues. The sound of a horse approaching can be heard outside, and one of the equestrian club members can be seen outside the window.

“Rivalz, can’t you be a more serious student council member.” Milly says, displeased at Rivalz.

“You know, it would have been nice of you, if you reminded up of this mess a day ago.” Shirley says.

“I would have to say a day later, then we would have given up.” Rivalz says.

“Good idea, we can still do that.” Lelouch says, looking at Rivalz. Suzaku gets up and heads to where his budget balance was placed.

“Guts!” Milly shouts, getting frustrated at the council, causing all of the members to cringe.

“Are you trying that ‘guts’ spell again?” Rivalz asks, looking at Milly once she has his and the others attention.

“Yep!” Milly replies. “I want you people to start putting your all into this.” Milly adds.

“I really don’t think your magic is going to do a whole lot.” Lelouch admits.

“Actually, it’s got me going, madame president.” Shirley cheerfully replies.

“Supple and willing, that’s what I like.” Milly says, pleased at Shirley.

“I work hard in the gymnastics club.” Shirley replies.

“That’s not what I was getting at.” Milly says, causing Shirley and the others to be confused for a moment. “You’re a ten.” Milly says, looking right at Shirley, causing her to look shocked. Shirley looks down, seeing what Milly is talking about. “From what I’ve seen in the girls bathroom, anyway. You’re filling out in all the right places.”

“What are you talking about, you perv.” Shirley says, getting defensive and covering herself up.

After their meeting at the clubhouse, they then head to their classes. “Geez, our president is just a dirty old man on the inside. Sullying our meeting with her dirty mind.” Shirley says, angered by Milly’s actions at the meeting.

“Yeah, well that’s Milly for you.” Nina says, walking with Shirley.

“Look on the bright side. We got the budget balanced correctly, didn’t we.” Rivalz says, laughing a little. When they enter the classroom, they see several students watching and discussing the news. Lelouch and Suzaku walk in right behind the others, hearing the other students mentioning the events on the news

‘This is bad, why would they cover it up.’ Lelouch thinks as he hears the news, or doesn’t hear the news of Clovis’s death and Euphemia’s arrival. Remembering what he did to Clovis, Lelouch rushes to the restroom, about to throw up.

“Lelouch, you alright?” Suzaku asks, as Lelouch runs off.

In the restroom, Lelouch is cleaning himself up. ‘Why are they hiding Clovis’s death and their defeat at Shinjuku?’ Lelouch mentally says to himself. ‘Whatever reason, the truth will be revealed, one way or another.’ He mentally adds, turning off the tap. Looking up and seeing his reflection, Lelouch smirks a little. “I guess I’m not as tough as I thought I was.” He says to himself. Upon leaving the restroom, he sees Suzaku leaning on the opposite wall.

“What happened, Lelouch?” Suzaku asks, as he sees his friend enter the hallway.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Lelouch says, turning to head back to class.

“Just tell me, Lelouch. I promise I won’t tell anyone else. We’ll keep it between each other.” Suzaku says, getting in front of Lelouch.

“I…” Lelouch starts to speak, then stops and looks at the ground. “I may have gotten into a fight, the other day.” Lelouch finally replies.

“That doesn’t sound good.” Suzaku says, knowing what Lelouch is capable of in a fight.

“It wasn’t, and that’s all I’m going to say.” Lelouch says. He then heads back to his class. Upon entering the classroom, he sees Kallen surrounded by her friends. Suzaku walks passed Lelouch and takes his seat. ‘Her whole world has just changed, and yet she hides behind her mask.’ Lelouch thinks as he heads to his own seat.

Rivalz, seated behind Lelouch, leans in close to his friend. “What’s up buddy, see something you like?” He asks Lelouch. “You’ve got a thing for her, don’t cha?” Rivalz says as he sees Lelouch looking towards Kallen.

“I know we see her everyday, but I think this is the first time I’m actually seeing her.” Lelouch replies. Shirley, seated near Lelouch, is a little hurt hearing Lelouch say this.

“Kallen Stadtfeld. A member of the many sports clubs, she’s even in Suzaku’s martial arts club. Her grades are the top of the class, for being such a sports person. And she’s a member of the Stadtfeld family, which means she’s well bred and rolling in money. Man, you sure know how to pick ‘em.” Rivalz says, telling Lelouch what he knows about Kallen.

“It’s not like that.” Lelouch replies.

“You don’t have to hide it. A touch aggressive, if you ask me.” Rivalz adds.

As the day progresses, students are around the campus having their lunches. Kallen, sitting with some of her friends, is eating her lunch outside. Suddenly the girls around her scream as they hear the buzzing sound of a bee approaching. As the other girls scatter, Kallen places her sandwich down and holds out her hand for the bee to land on. In the distance the girls freak out even more as Kallen lets the bee land on her hand. “I don’t see why you’re all afraid, she’s harmless.” Kallen says. She then gets up, and as she gets up the bee flies off in search for some flowers, and heads towards the school.

“An impressive performance.” Lelouch says, leaning against one of the pillars, as Kallen approaches.

“You saw that, vice pres.” Kallen says, turning to face Lelouch.

“Indeed. Now, I was wondering if you could help me with something.” Lelouch says, looking around the area and preparing his geass.

“What is it that you need my help with?” Kallen asks.

“I want answers.” Lelouch says, using his geass on Kallen.

“Of course.” Kallen says, standing at attention.

“Your brother was involved at Shinjuku, was he not?” Lelouch asks, maintaining his control on Kallen.

“Yes.” Kallen replies.

“Why terrorism?” He asks, seeking information.

“Naoto wishes to change Japan. Although Naoto and I are Britannian, we’re technically half Japanese. Our prefered name is Kozuki.” Kallen replies.

“Halfblood?” Lelouch says, shocked to learn this about Kallen. “But why go so far?” He asks, putting his attention back on Kallen. Shirley, walking past a window on the second story of the school, sees Lelouch and Kallen talking with each other.

“Because the Japanese government is corrupt.” Kallen replies.

“I see.” Lelouch says, breaking contact with Kallen.

Kallen looks at Lelouch, trying to remember why he’s in front of her. “Uh, can I help you with something, vice pres?” Kallen asks as she regains control of her mind.

“No, I got what I wanted here.” Lelouch says, turning and walking away from Kallen. He then turns around and activates his geass again. “Oh wait, just to be sure, don’t tell anyone about Shinjuku.” Lelouch says.

“What do you mean about Shinjuku?” Kallen asks, suddenly getting a little suspicious about Lelouch.

‘As I thought, it doesn’t work a second time. After all these years, I would have thought it would have grown as well. Looks like I was wrong.’ Lelouch mentally says. “Nevermind, just head back to class.” Lelouch says, deactivating his geass.

“As soon as I get an answer to my question, I will.” Kallen says, getting aggressive.

‘This isn’t good, what do I do.’ Lelouch mentally says, backing up away from Kallen.

“Hey! Lulu, Kallen!” Shirley calls from the open window, waving at the two. “You know it’s time to head over to the chem lab. You better get a move on.”

“Oh, crap! It’s my turn to set up for class.” Lelouch says, remembering. He then runs off and heads towards the lab. ‘I’ll have to thank Shirley for getting me out of that situation.’ Lelouch mentally says as he is running.

Later that night at the clubhouse, Sayoko is teaching Nunnally and C.C. more origami. “Well, what shall we do? He may be late again this evening.” Sayoko says as she finishes folding a paper crane.

“I’ll wait. He said that we’d have dinner together again tonight.” Nunnally replies.

“There now, this one’s finished.” Sayoko says, holding the crane for Nunnally to take. Nunnally extends her hands out, and Sayoko places the crane in her hands.

“A bird?” Nunnally asks as she feels the shape of the crane.

“Yes, it’s a crane.” Sayoko says. She then looks over at C.C. and sees her folding another crane.

“Amazing. The Japanese are so skillful.” Nunnally says. She hears Sayoko chuckle a little, and knows that she’s smiling. She then looks towards the door as she hears something approaching.

“Lady Nunnally?” Sayoko says, opening her eyes and sees that Nunnally is fixated on the door. She turns to look at the door and watches it slide open moments later.

“Sorry I’m so late.” Lelouch says, entering the room.

“Hi Lelouch, welcome home.” Nunnally says, greeting her older brother.

“Yes, welcome home, my lord.” Sayoko greets.

“No place like it, Sayoko. Right Nunnally?” Lelouch replies.

In a Britannian secret lab, outside of Tokyo, Bartley is discussing the events with another person. “With Clovis dead, we have no funding to continue our research.” Bartley says.

“Fear not, Bartley. I have a second lab set for your team to work.” The, almost childish, voice replies.

“You do? Did you know that this was going to happen?” Bartley asks.

“No.” The voice replies. “I however did expect someone to eventually find out about this. Transfer all your data and supplies, your research team is being relocated to Narita.” The voice adds.

“And what of you, director?” Bartley asks.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll keep looking for C.C.” The director says. “I’m glad to have helped you in you projects.” He adds.

“I understand, sir.” Bartley replies. He then leaves to relay the information to the rest of the researchers.

In the clubhouse dining room, Lelouch and Nunnally are having dinner together. “Miss Sayoko was just teaching me about the art of origami. Fold a piece of paper the correct way and you can make birds, boats, almost anything.” Nunnally excitedly tells her brother. She then takes a spoonful of soup and puts it to her mouth, spilling some in her excitement.

“Easy there, you don’t have to tell me everything all at once, you know.” Lelouch says. He then cleans his sister’s chin with a napkin. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” He adds.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thank you.” Nunnally replies.

“You’re very welcome.” Lelouch says with a warm smile on his face. He then hears Nunnally giggle.

“I’m so happy, because last night, you scared me a little.” Nunnally says.

“Did I?” Lelouch says, a little worried. “Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind, is all.” He adds.

“Hey.” Nunnally says, getting Lelouch’s attention. Lelouch looks at Nunnally and sees her hold up the crane that Sayoko made. “They say if you fold a thousand of these cranes, your wish will come true. So, if there’s anything you’ve been wishing for…” Nunnally says.

“No, not really.” Lelouch quickly replies. “What about you? Do you wish for anything?” He asks his sister.

Nunnally looks away from Lelouch, deep in thought. “I wish the world was a gentler place.” Nunnally admits.

“When the day comes that you can see again, I’m sure that it will be.” Lelouch says.

“Really?” Nunnally says, getting a bit excited.

“I promise.” Lelouch says. ‘The truth is, there are very few paths our future can take. The Ashford family is sheltering us for now, but how long can that last. If our identity is exposed, even Shirley, Rivalz, and the others will abandon us. We’ll end up as pawns for our father again. I have to build a world where Nunnally can at least find happiness.’ Lelouch mentally monologues. As he is thinking this, Nunnally grabs his hand and raises it up. When Lelouch sees this, he see that Nunnally has wrapped her pinkie around his.

“Sayoko taught me this the other day. It’s called a Japanese promise.” Nunnally says. “Cross my heart, hope to die, eat a thousand needles if I lie. Pinkie promise song.” Nunnally sings with a slight giggle.

“Well, that’s scary. I may have to eat a thousand needles, someday.” Lelouch says, playfully.

“That’s right. So I better not catch you telling lies, okay.” Nunnally says.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll never lie. I swear.” Lelouch says. ‘Not to you anyway.’ He mentally adds.

The next morning, Lelouch is outside the clubhouse, near a little stream, looking at his reflection. ‘Suzaku and I both know the limitations of our geass. We did several tests, but never used it on each other. At least I don’t think we did. Knowing that our power hasn’t evolved is one thing, but the potency is another issue altogether.’ Lelouch mentally says to himself while looking at his reflection.

“Lelouch! Class will be starting any minute, you know.” One of the teachers says, seeing Lelouch outside of the main school building.

“Oh, yes sir.” Lelouch says. “Just gathering my thoughts.” Lelouch replies.

“Well, don’t be late to class this time.” The professor says, heading towards the school.

On the roof of the school building, Kallen is in a call with Naoto’s second in command, Ohgi. “So, how’s campus life treating you?” Ohgi asks.

“Stifling. I was stuck in history class yesterday.” Kallen replies. “Have you seen Naoto, He didn’t return home yesterday?” She asks.

“I haven’t seen him either. Neither have the others, now that you mention it.” Ohgi replies.

“What about that voice over the radio? Do you think he had something to do with Naoto’s disappearance?” Kallen asks.

“I don’t think he did, but there’s no point in looking for a voice. No matter what happens to Naoto, he’d be glad to know that you’re safe and still in school.” Ohgi replies. “Forget about Shinjuku for now. “Seeing that you’re part of our group now, I’ll be in touch.” He says, hanging up.

‘Shinjuku, I guess he’s right.’ Kallen mentally admits to herself. She then remembers what Lelouch said the other day. ‘No, it couldn’t have been his voice.’ Kallen mentally says, suspecting Lelouch of being the voice over the radio.

In Kallen’s next class with Lelouch, Lelouch is giving a speech while Kallen is watching him with a mirror. ‘It… could be. No, I can’t remember well enough to be sure.’ Kallen mentally says, hearing Lelouch’s voice.

After giving his response to the teacher, Lelouch then takes a seat. He then spies Kallen looking at him in a mirror, which she quickly closes. ‘All I did was simply mention Shinjuku.’ He mentally says. ‘But if she really knows who I am, at the first moment, I need to take care of her.’ Lelouch mentally says, planning how to deceive Kallen.

‘But if he really knows who I am, at the first moment, I need to take care of him.’ Kallen mentally says, trying to figure out how to dispatch of Lelouch quietly.

At the end of the school day, Shirley approaches Lelouch as he is packing his satchel with his books. “Hey, Lulu, you coming along?” She asks him.

“Sorry, maybe some other time.” Lelouch abruptly replies. He then walks away from his desk and heads towards Kallen. Once in front on Kallen, the two look eye to eye. “Do you think you can spare a minute, I need to talk to you.” Lelouch says to Kallen.

“Sure.” Kallen replies, standing up. “I was wondering when you were going to ask.” She adds. Shirley, watching this unfold, is in shock of the situation.

At the clubhouse, Lelouch and Kallen are in the ballroom. “The clubhouse, are you sure the others won’t disturb us here?” Kallen asks Lelouch.

“Yes, that’s correct.” Lelouch replies.

“Here it is.” Shirley says from the second floor. Lelouch and Kallen both look up at the balcony and see Shirley standing up, holding a data chip. “I found it! Look, this is it, right?” She calls out.

“What a relief you found our lab data.” Nina says, approaching Shirley and taking the chip from her. Rivalz then gets up off the floor next to Shirley.

“Good, my ass is killing me.” Rivalz says, moving towards the two.

On the ground floor, Milly enters the room pushing a cart of food. “Were you able to find it?” Milly asks as she enters the ballroom. “I finished up on my end, shall we dig in.”

“Oh, wow.” Rivalz says, amazed at the food Milly brought.

“Way to go, Milly.” Shirley says.

“You adore me, I know.” Milly says, setting the tables and giggling.

“Uh, what is all this?” Lelouch asks, confused at what’s happening.

“And I thought you of all people would know, Lelouch.” Suzaku says, entering the room. “It’s the anniversary of our friendship, as members of the student council.” He adds.

“Has it really been that long already?” Lelouch says, amazed at how quickly time can pass.

“It sure has.” Suzaku replies, smiling. He then hears the door open and turns to see Nunnally enter the room, with a few boxes of pizzas and several pastries.

“Shirley, could you set these on the table for me?” Nunnally asks as she moves her wheelchair into the room.

“Oh, sure, thanks Nunna.” Shirley replies, moving to help Nunnally.

“Nunnally, what are you doing here?” Lelouch asks, expecting his sister to be with Sayoko.

“I’m still in the middle school group, so I can’t be on the council yet.” Nunnally says.

“That’s alright. You’re an honorary member in our book.” Rivalz says. He and Nina then move towards the tables.

“Hello there, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you Kallen.” Nunnally says, greeting Kallen.

“Thank you. You as well.” Kallen replies.

“Right, shall we kick this off with a toast?” Rivalz says, placing a bottle of champagne on the table.

“Champagne?” Shirley asks, shocked.

“Yeah, but we’re on the student council, we shouldn’t.” Nina says, failing to convince Rivalz not to do it.

“Oh, come on, loosen up you guys.” Rivalz says, preparing to pop to cork of the bottle.

“No way, we’re going to get in trouble!” Shirley shouts, fighting with Rivalz.

“What’s going on?” Nunnally asks.

“Here, Nunnally.” Milly says, approaching Nunnally with an orange drink, placing it in her hands.

“Lelouch, heads up!” Rivalz shouts, tossing the bottle to Lelouch. As Lelouch catches the bottle, Shirley pushes Rivalz to the ground and rushes towards Lelouch to take the bottle from him. Lelouch and Shirley fall to the ground, and as they land the cork pops out of the bottle, flying towards Kallen. Kallen quickly swipes the cork away, but then doused in the champagne fountaining out of the bottle.

“What just happened?” Nunnally asks, confused at the event she could only hear.

Afterwards, Milly and Shirley are cleaning Kallen’s soaked uniform, while Kallen is taking a shower at the clubhouse. ‘After Shinjuku, I don’t think I could look at the Britannians that same anymore. There my friends, but still.’ Kallen thinks to herself as she cleans herself. She then hears a knock at the door, causing her to tune back into reality.

“It’s Lelouch.” Lelouch says from the other side of the door. “I brought you a change of clothes.” He adds.

“You can come in, I’ve drawn the curtain already.” Kallen replies.

“Sorry about all this. I know they can be a little over the top.” Lelouch says as he enters the bathroom with a set of his clothes.

“That’s okay. Nothing wrong with cutting loose every once in awhile, you know.” Kallen replies.

“These are some of my clothes, hope that’s okay.” Lelouch says.

“It’s cool, don’t worry about it.” Kallen says. “You live here, don’t you?” She asks.

“I do, with my sister.” Lelouch replies. “The principal of the school lets us live here as a favor.” He adds. “Anyway.” Lelouch says, turning to leave.

“Hey, wait!” Kallen calls as she hears Lelouch’s footsteps. Hearing him stop and turn around, Kallen extends her right arm out from behind the curtain. “Could you hand me that pouch, over there?” She asks, pointing to the pink pouch on the sink.

“Sure.” Lelouch says. He then walks towards the sink and takes the pouch. He then looks away from the shower and hands Kallen the pouch. Kallen quickly grabs Lelouch’s wrist, surprising him and causing him to drop the pouch. “You really are a live wire, aren’t you?” Lelouch says.

“Were you the one in Shinjuku?” Kallen asks, sternly.

“What do you mean?” Lelouch asks.

“Don’t play dumb, you brought up Shinjuku the other day. Why?” She asks.

“Why do you ask, is there something wrong with Shinjuku?” Lelouch asks.

“Don’t answer my question with a question.” Kallen says. She then bends down and picks up her pouch. “Yes or no, that’s all I want to hear out of you.” She says, releasing a blade from her pouch. Suddenly the phone in the bathroom starts to ring.

“If I don’t answer it, someone will come.” Lelouch says. “That okay.” He says, reaching over for the phone. “Hello, Ashford Academy student council.” Lelouch greets the caller over the phone. “No, this is… Oh.” He says to the caller. “It’s for you.” He says, passing the phone through the curtain. “He says he knows you.”

Kallen looks at the phone in surprise, then sets her knife down and takes the phone from Lelouch. “Hello.” Kallen says to the caller.

“Glad you’re still alive, Q1.” The caller’s voice says over the phone.

Surprised to hear the voice, Kallen looks at Lelouch from behind the curtain. ‘Was I wrong.’ Kallen mentally says, seeing that Lelouch can’t be the voice anymore.

“Sixteen hundred hours, the day after tomorrow. The observation deck at Tokyo Tower. Come alone.” The voice says.

“Who are you? How did you arrange that ceasefire order?” Kallen asks the voice just as he hangs up. “Hey, don’t hang up!” Kallen shouts, pulling the curtain open on accident.

“Did you say ceasefire?” Lelouch asks. “Sounds like you keep dangerous company.” He adds.

“Oh… Uh… That was…” Kallen stammeres.

“Let me guess. You’re talking about a game, something online?” Lelouch asks.

“Uh… Yeah. Naoto showed me this game he and some of his friends play. Guess I’ve still got a lot to learn.” Kallen says, releasing Lelouch’s wrist.

“That’s what I was warning you about, because the game is nothing like the real thing. Seriously, some guys will show you footage of that day, and it’s pretty damn grim.” Lelouch says, rubbing his wrist. “By the way, you know I can see you , right?” He says, looking away from the shower. Kallen then panics and closes the curtains. “I won’t tell anyone. Later.” Lelouch says, leaving the room.

“I was wrong.” Kallen says, as she hears the door to the bathroom close.

Lelouch then enters a room where Sayoko is, and replays the message he prerecorded. Once the message is played, he leaves the room and Sayoko snaps back into reality, confused as to where she is. Lelouch then sees Kallen exit the bathroom, dressed in the clothes he gave her, and they walk around the clubhouse until the return to the ballroom. “Lelouch, it’s awful.” Nunnally says, as Lelouch and Kallen enter the room.

“What is?” Lelouch asks, as he sees the footage on the TV in the room.

“Prince Clovis has been found dead.” Milly replies.

“There saying that he was killed.” Rivalz quickly adds.

“Prince Clovis has been taken from us. He fought for peace and justice, against all of the terrorists. He died a martyr!” Jeremiah says over the television. “We must all bury our sorrow and carry on his will.” He adds.

“We interrupt this broadcast with Breaking news.” A female reported says. “The man suspected as the murderer and instigator of the Shinjuku incident, has been captured. According to this report, the suspect is is a soldier of the Japanese military.” The reporter says.

“Naoto.” Kallen says, as she sees her brother restrained by the Britannians.

“Corporal Naoto Stadtfeld, a Britannian enlisted in the Japanese military. I repeat, Naoto Stadtfeld arrested for murder” The reporter continues.

1 note · View note

faithfulnews · 6 years

Text

Thanksgiving from the Upside Down . . . and Stuffing

Today I am preparing a message for New Day Community Church in Stockton that has a special Thanksgiving Day Service tomorrow, followed by a Thanksgiving meal, and I have been invited to speak. I am not sure if I am more excited about talking during the service or presenting my Thanksgiving stuffing at the meal. And since I am preparing both at the same time, I thought I would add notes on both. Besides, my chef daughter Elizabeth asked me yesterday for my stuffing recipe so now is a good time to share my thoughts on my stuffing and also my message which deals with a spirit of thanksgiving when things go wrong, go upside down, as they did for me last year when I lost my wife of 29 years to malaria in Africa.

First of all, the stuffing. It’s different for me every year and I don’t have exact measurements but I can tell you that the first thing I do is roast a chicken. This gives me the stock I need to add the right taste long before the turkey turns up. And I put the heart/liver/neck etc in a pot and boil it for 20 mins to get even more stock which gives taste and moisture.

And since I am roasting a chicken, I might as well roast a few potatoes also. I will get a separate meal out of this – roast chicken and potatoes for my family, but no gravy because all the juice and stock will go into the stuffing.

The big players for the stuffing are celery, onion, and meat. I sautée each one separately in butter and throw them into a large bowl. I usually do bacon and mushrooms but don’t have any right now. And my kids hate mushrooms so I am used to not cooking them, but I totally recommend them. For the meat, I like to mix it up with bacon and different minces, pork is good. I have used some rabbit before for a more gamey taste. But today is beef because its all I have.

The other big player, apart from croutons (which I will talk about in a minute) is parsley. I used a big bunch of it, cut roughly but not chunky. And rosemary needs to be present – thyme might suffice – but rosemary is a necessity. I had to sneak into my neighbor’s yard to steal some but I told them 6 months ago I would do this on occasion and they were cool with that.

But what about that message. Ah yes. The text is Ephesians 5.

8 For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light 9 (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth)10 and find out what pleases the Lord. 11 Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them. 12 It is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret. 13 But everything exposed by the light becomes visible—and everything that is illuminated becomes a light. 14 This is why it is said:

“Wake up, sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.”

15 Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, 16 making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. 17 Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord’s will is. 18 Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery. Instead, be filled with the Spirit, 19 speaking to one another with psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit. Sing and make music from your heart to the Lord, 20 always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Paul borrows here from Isaiah 60:1 but takes a little license in adding his own spin. I want to do the same thing with this passage. Most people read it in a prescriptive way – a list of do’s and dont’s, which is fine. Giving thanks is a command. Yes. An argument can be made for that and I could make it also. But there is a deeper layer here that I see as descriptive – a pattern, a journey, a teaching on not only what to do, but what happens when you do that. And this is what I want to share tomorrow.

It goes like this.

As you step into the light and embrace God (does that sound too SHIRLEY MACLAINE for church? HA HA) and as you are embraced by God (oooh ok this is WAAAY TOOO SHIRLEY), something will happen to your mind and your heart

Your mind

You will gain perspective, you will be illuminated, enlightened. You will understand what God is up to and you will speak out on behalf of that truth. This will affect your life – you will recalibrate your life, your actions, your habits to align with what you know of God and what he is doing. What is good, what is right, what is true. This will be your new default setting.

Your heart

God will put a song in your heart. That song will play even through the most difficult circumstances. You will have a soundtrack, and its called “thanksgiving” and that will spill out into encouragement to others. Thanksgiving will also become a new default setting. Just like a drunk person is controlled by alcohol, you will be consumed with and controlled by God’s Spirit. This will change your demeanor, alter your posture, define the way you hold yourself and the way you relate to other people. You will be a person characterized by thanksgiving and not a person who bickers, judges, fights, complains or sees life as half empty. This god-filled-ness will also spill out into other relationships including the way you relate to others, as one who uses your song to encourage and uplift others who need to hear, and as you relate to your spouse and your children and parents – you will be someone who easily surrenders and submits and finds common ground, seeking unity, rather than fighting for or defending your ego.

OHHHH I just took the potatoes out of the oven. They are lovely and crispy. Nothing to do with the stuffing but this will be a great compliment to the roast chicken tonight.

Speaking of the stuffing, I spruced mine up with lemon juice, sauteed garlic, and raisins. I usually add orange zest, and to be honest it really needs it, but don’t have any oranges today.

For the liquid, which is really important because you don’t want your stuffing dry, I added orange juice, white wine, stock from the liver/heart, and stock/juices from the chicken itself. Melted butter also works and I waited until the very end until pouring some all over the top and over the cranberries so they would turn golden brown and not burn.

This is really lame. I spelled the word “THANK-FUL” with the cranberries. You can’t even read it. You need to ask for the gift of interpretation to even see it. But thats OK. I know it’s there and its a teaching embedded into the stuffing that will impact people, even subconsciously, but the most important thing is that it has meaning for me.

Oh yes, those croutons. I took the rest of our bread, cut it up into cubes, and baked it in the oven until it was firm and a little brown. They need to be robust enough to handle the liquid. And I added herbs – whatever I had. Sage is awesome. Thyme is marvellous. I had neither, but, as I say, I used what I had. I also ran short on bread so I scraped off the pizza toppings from the pizza I made last night, cut up the bases and threw them in also. OHH and speaking of leftovers, I only ate half of that amazing Cubano sandwich from Cuban Kitchen in San Mateo yesterday so the ham and pork was also cut up and added to the stuffing. HA!!!!!

Back to my message.

This is my story

Last year I lost my wife. She died of malaria and other diseases. It was the darkest time of my life. I couldn’t sleep alone in a bedroom. I couldn’t make decisions. I lost the other half of myself and after 29 years of oneness with a single person, that is pretty much most of my life and certainly the life I was used to. On top of that I was really sick for a really long time, surviving the diseases that took my wife but basically unable to function for many many months.

And yet, throughout the entire time, I felt God’s presence in a calming way, knowing deep in my heart that He is good, He is faithful, He is patient, He is caring and He will look after me. He knows whats up and that spirit of thanksgiving that permeated my mind and heart was not a drummed up motion of obedience but rather the overflow of truth, of what was real.

Some people think God is distant and occasionally invades earth to bring disaster or tragedy. I see God as near, intimately connected to us and everything else, constantly enlivening and sustaining His creation, always standing guard and protecting us, and yet occasionally and empathetically removing his hand when He knows the time is right.

This is my song

The name of my song was thanksgiving. It was there all the way through the devastating process of losing my wife and explaining to my youngest daughter that she no longer had a mother. I am not being chirpy here. I am not being naive or brainlessly religious. Yes IT HURT. IT HURT MORE THAN ANYTHING IN MY LIFE and I was hurled into the Upside Down world of darkness, solitude, confusion, fear, GRIEF, emotional pain, and loss of hope for the future. I was BROKEN, plunged into grayness, emptied of life, emptied of hope. I am not reducing that reality or downplaying the significance of what happened to me. I am just saying that there was a soundtrack playing the entire time, a song of thanksgiving. And at my best moments, my grief gave birth to gratefulness.

I am still thankful.

I am thankful for so many good friends.

I am thankful for 29 years of marriage to the most wonderful woman on the planet.

I am thankful that I got to say everything to my wife before she went.

I am thankful that my wife got to finish her race and go out in the way she always imagined, in the country she loved.

I am thankful that my daughter was spared from disease and that I have 5 wonderful kids.

I am thankful for a softer heart and new wave of consideration for others. I am a different person – more in tune with suffering and more empathetic to those who are going through loss.

I am thankful for the next season that is coming upon me and that I have the freedom to enter in.

This is my dance

Grief has become my friend and my reminder of a wonderful life with a wonderful woman. My grief is warmer now than it was last year. My grief and the grieving process I have embraced has allowed me to push forward into new levels of understanding and awareness. That has given me a softer heart, as I said, and it has also positioned me to be of help to others who are also grieving. God comforts us so that we can comfort others.

When you lose someone, a lot of other people, more than you can imagine, also lose someone. Grief is a shared experience. Our friends feel the pain of our loss but they also struggle with their own loss. They find it awkward to talk to us about it. But the healing we experience is for them also.

A few months ago one of my wife’s best friends lost her husband. This is what I told her.

It’s a strange dance this grief of ours. We hold our own sadness and allow the processing to continue thru it’s various stages, knowing it moves forward step by step, finding firmer hold with each telling of the story, with each new person entering into the story and at the same time we become priests for others who find it awkward to enter, but know that they need to. We hold the keys for them. We give permission. We invite them into the dance and make it easy for them, we suggest, we put their words out in front of them, we show the appropriateness of the conversation, the shared hurt of loss, the rightful pace and flow of what needs to be said. Being closer to the pain and further along in the process, we hold out our leading hand and invite others into the dance, into the spiral of healing.

My hope tomorrow, at the church, is that other people who have experienced loss, whether the loss of parents or children or spouses, divorce (which can be far more devastating than the loss of a spouse), the loss of dreams, whatever it is they have lost, that they might enter into that spiral of healing, and find themselves in that dance, with God, where the juxtaposition of pain and joy, of grief and thanksgiving, of tears and laughter, might come together to find healing, wholeness, hope, and a song of thanksgiving that will play on and on. Amen.

This is my stuffing

The stuffing is ready. Its not completely cooked with that attractive blackened burned look but I need to take it to Stockton tomorrow and they will heat it up right before the meal and I think it will come into its own at that moment. I might bring some parsley to freshen it up on location. If you look really carefully, you can almost see the word “THANK-FUL”. Almost.

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