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greenglowinspooks · 6 months

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(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 1)

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Tw: one instance of canon-typical violence (DC), vivisection mention

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Prologue) - (Pt. 2)

(Subscription post/masterlist)

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Danny has been working for Mr. Cobblepot for over a month now.

The first few weeks he was in the Penguin’s company, he couldn’t do much of anything. Instead, Mr. Cobblepot made sure that he was well-rested and beginning to recover.

Danny cried a lot in the first week that he was there.

He cried when he ate for the first time in years; the GiW had kept him on IVs and a feeding tube, so they wouldn’t have to move him from his surgical table.

He cried when he was given his own room to stay in, when he was brought clothes to wear, when he was given a bodyguard to protect him.

He cried when Mr. Cobblepot’s doctors told him that the damage to his vocal chords was likely permanent, and that he would never sound the same again. That he would find it hard to speak at any volume above a whisper.

Apparently, he had a lot more damage to him than he had thought.

The doctors said that the scarring in his brain stem suggested his entire brain had been removed and had regrown. Danny couldn’t really disprove that, and it did line up with a pretty substantial gap in his memory, but if that was the case then why couldn’t his voice recover too?

The scarring and incredibly new tissue that showed up in scans of several other parts of his body suggested that the GiW had done the same thing with most of his organs, as well as a few limbs, and all of the fingers on his right hand.

Danny could remember that. He just didn’t want to.

Perhaps it was the feeling of pity that kept Mr. Cobblepot so understanding of Danny’s slow recovery. That didn’t really matter much, though; Danny’s energy was focused on keeping his place here, ensuring that Mr. Cobblepot didn’t decide he was no longer worth the effort.

As it turned out, there was an easy enough solution to that.

Danny was the only one who knew how to properly operate and modify the weapons and inventions stolen from the GiW.

And so, Danny had a niche he could occupy. He could be useful, useful enough that Mr. Cobblepot couldn’t get rid of him, even if he wanted to.

And, as it turns out, Danny remembered quite a lot of the theories he heard while he was on the cutting board.

As soon as he had enough muscle control of his arms to do so, he was working away at the machinery created by the GiW and his parents.

No, not his parents.

Doctors Madeleine and Jack Fenton.

Regardless of their creators, he was able to understand them quite intimately.

Maybe it was because the ectoplasm flowing through the weaponry was his own, maybe it was because he had nothing to listen to for three years other than the excited chatter of his vivisectionists as they cut him open. Maybe it was because they were both simple weaponry without a purpose.

Danny found working on the machines soothing in a way that nothing else was.

The smell of oil and grease, the sounds of mechanical clanking and metal joints squealing, the feeling of cold steel beneath his fingertips.

The first thing he did to the machines was replacing the paint, from shiny white to a matte black. That way, they were recognizable as his own modified creations.

It was only a bonus that he didn’t catch his reflection in the metal surfaces this way.

Still, his reflection was starting to become more familiar to him. It was still strangely off-putting to see, but his face was beginning to plump out from consistent eating, and his skin was beginning to lose its unhealthy pale tone, going back to a more natural pinkish color.

His eyes still looked devoid of life, but that could be ignored as long as he didn’t look at himself for too long.

Danny sighed, leaning back in his chair as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was working on modifying the ectoblasters so that they could properly hit humans, as per Mr. Cobblepot’s orders.

He probably should feel some sort of moral conflict over it, but really, Danny couldn’t find it in him to care. Maybe it was some sort of deep internal flaw, or maybe it was because he knew that they wouldn’t be shot at anyone without blood on their hands. Either way, he didn’t have any qualms with what he was doing.

As Danny reconnected the circuitry within the gun, the indicator lights on the side of the muzzle blinked to life, a familiar neon green.

Danny would have to change that color too, he thought. Maybe red would be nice instead, or an icy blue?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the door to his temporary workshop opening. Danny looked up, and smiled when he saw that his bodyguard was the one standing in the doorway.

The man, known only as Derringer, was 6’2”, built like a tank, and known for his love of unusual firearms. He was also a big fan of card games, and had been teaching Danny how to play Blackjack during their meals.

He gently closed the door behind him, strolling into the workshop.

Danny hopped out of his seat, hugging the man tightly. Derringer laughed, patting Danny on the back as he clung to him like a koala.

“Good to see you too, kid,” the man said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “you just about done in here?”

Danny nodded, letting go of the bodyguard. He picked up the gun on the desk, handing it to Derringer, and pointed to the target resting in the far corner of the room.

Derringer glanced down at Danny, shrugging before aiming the gun.

He pulled the trigger, and a large scorch mark appeared in the center of the target.

Derringer whistled appreciatively, walking over to inspect the damage.

There was a deep dent in the center of the metal target, around an inch in diameter, and a large scorch mark surrounding it. The metal of the dent was white-hot, and the area around it was somewhat warped.

“That’s real nice, kid,” Derringer said, “don’t know how you do it.”

Danny grinned, baring his teeth at the man. He smiled back, ruffling his hair.

“The boss is gonna go forward with the Arkham raid soon, so long as your guns are ready,” he said, “he’s eager to try them out for real. You think you’re up to talking to him?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding to the man.

“Good,” Derringer signed back.

Mr. Cobblepot, not wanting Danny to be limited in his speech by the damage to his vocal chords, had ensured that all of the people who interacted with him knew at least the basics of ASL.

When he wasn’t working on the ectoblasters, Danny was practicing his ASL with a dedicated tutor, or with Derringer, who learned the language when his mother had gone deaf.

“Can I eat first?” Danny signed, “I forgot to.”

“You forgot, or you didn’t want to leave your work?” Derringer asked, signing as he spoke, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, “and yeah, the boss wants to talk to you in thirty minutes. You’ve got plenty of time before then.”

“Thank you,” Danny signed, “let’s go.”

“Hey, just a sec,” Derringer said. His face had dropped into something unusually serious.

Danny nodded, tilting his head as he signed a quick “what’s wrong?”

“You’re a good kid. Even after what you’ve been through, you’re…you’re a really sweet kid,” Derringer said, looking away. “But you…you can’t keep being sweet to everyone. You gotta act tough, alright?”

“Why?”

“You just…” Derringer sighed, combing a hand through his thick, curly hair, “a lot of the guys think that you’re too weak to be here. They’re calling you the Penguin’s pet project, and the problem is that they’re not really wrong. You gotta be scarier to survive, alright? Gotham’ll eat you alive if you don’t. Just make up a persona and roll with it.”

Danny nodded slowly, processing his words for a moment.

“Like a mask?”

Derringer laughed, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Yeah, like a mask. Just don’t start fighting crime while you’re at it.”

“Okay,” Danny signed, his movements slow. “I can do that.”

“Good on you, kid,” Derringer said, ruffling his hair once more, “now let’s go get lunch.”

The two of them ate quickly, Danny’s mind on Derringer’s advice the entire time.

He was right, and Danny knew it. He’d seen the way that some of Mr. Cobblepot’s men had looked at him.

He wasn’t anywhere near big enough to pull off the looming intimidating look that Derringer did; his doctors back in Amity had told him that he would grow to be over six foot, but his time in the GiW seemed to have stunted his growth significantly. He was only around 5’6”, and it seemed that he was going to stay that way.

In the same way, he wasn’t nearly frightening looking enough to pull off the terrifying stares of the smaller individuals working under Mr. Cobblepot. He just couldn’t get the glare right; his face would always fall back to a blank, dead stare.

Though, maybe if he played into that…

A few minutes before they had to leave, Danny excused himself to go to the restroom. He stared into the mirror, looking into his cold, dead eyes, and let his face drop.

When he adjusted his stance, and kept his eyes a bit wider than usual, he looked downright unnerving.

Danny had already noticed that most of his mannerisms were…unusual, after his stay at the GiW base. Put simply, he had forgotten what it was like to be a human.

He had noticed that most of the people around him would avoid being in his presence, and had begun mirroring their body language as much as he could to seem more normal.

Maybe, though, it would be better for him not to.

He could lean into the whole thing. An unstable young adult, experimented on by the government for years.

Danny looked into the mirror, and wide, icy eyes stared back at him.

Danny left the restroom. Derringer turned to greet him, jolting when he did. After a moment, he nodded.

“That your new look?”

“Yes. Is it good?”

“Yeah. Freaky. Gonna take some getting used to, but yeah. Now,” he said, getting up from his spot at the break room table, “let’s go see the boss.”

Danny felt anxiety bubbling up in his chest, his entire body beginning to twitch. If Mr. Cobblepot didn’t approve of the weaponry, or if he thought they were underwhelming, would he be thrown out? Would he be tortured again, or killed?

Danny shivered when they came to a stop in front of the door to Mr. Cobblepot’s office. Failure wasn’t an option. He had to make sure this went well.

“You’ll do great, kid,” Derringer whispered, pushing the door open.

Mr. Cobblepot had been talking with a few other people, but their conversation died out when Danny and Derringer entered the room. Danny’s skin crawled.

“Ah, Danny! Just the person I wanted to see,” Mr. Cobblepot said, a large smile on his face, “Do you have one of your guns with you?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding.

“Wonderful. I was just telling my associates here about your work. Do you mind giving a demonstration?”

“Where should I shoot? Do you have a target?”

Derringer was quick to translate. Mr. Cobblepot nodded, gesturing for a hired hand in the corner of the room to pull out a small wooden board, holding it up in the air.

Danny paled. He would definitely burn the man’s hands if he hit the target, even if he aimed for the furthest corner of the board.

Still, he was more terrified of disappointing Mr. Cobblepot than he was empathetic towards the man, so he drew a blaster from the holster on his leg and aimed carefully.

The blast hit the center of the board. The man holding it howled in pain, dropping the target and drawing his hand close to his chest. The nauseating smell of burning flesh filled the room.

Danny breathed shakily, in and out.

Mr. Cobblepot, for what it was worth, looked like he couldn’t possibly be happier. He and the others inspected the board on the ground closely, ignoring the hired hand as he ran out of the room, still cradling his damaged hand.

A large hole had been blown into the board, and a good portion of it had been incinerated.

“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen! I told you that Danny would deliver, and deliver he did! Imagine if that had been a person instead! Danny, what would you say would happen?”

Danny paused, trying to wince when he realized that the question wasn’t hypothetical, and Mr. Cobblepot actually wanted an answer.

“It would give them S-E-V-E-R-E burns,” Danny finger spelled the word that he didn’t know the proper sign for, “mostly S-U-R-F-A-C-E. It can’t P-E-I-R-C-E, because there is no bullet, just energy.”

Derringer translated for him.

Mr. Cobblepot frowned, and Danny frantically continued, “but it can be L-E-T-H-A-L! Burns on the head kill fast. Burns on the body make S-H-O-C-K, and kill. Strong I-M-P-A-C-T, too.”

“So they do still kill, just not instantly?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, “they’re fast. They hurt bad. Bad way to die, hurts a lot.”

“Well,” one of the other men in the room piped up, “I guess he’s not completely hopeless.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Mr. Cobblepot replied, fixing a terrifying glare onto the man, “it was my idea to bring him in, after all.”

“Danny,” Mr. Cobblepot said, turning his attention back to him, “we’re going to be collaborating with these fine individuals in the future. I’m going to need twenty guns ready for use in a week. You can handle that, can’t you?”

Danny nodded frantically.

“What kind?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mr. Cobblepot said, waving his hand dismissively, “semi-automatic is preferable, but handguns and shotguns also work. Just make sure they work perfectly.”

The room was silent for a moment.

“Well, that’s all. You can leave now, and I’ll finish discussing the details with my associates.”

Danny nodded, signing him a quick “thank you, goodbye,” and slipped out of the room alongside Derringer.

They made their way back to Danny’s workshop in silence. Once they were inside, Derringer heaved a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“You really think you can make that many guns that quickly, kid?”

“Yes,” Danny replied, “but I need your help.”

Derringer groaned, a smile on his face.

“Of course you’re putting me to work. I should’ve expected it. Now, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, first, hold this…”

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#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #vengeful danny #villain danny #btw Derringer is named after a type of gun #dw he isn’t the focus forever #I just felt like Danny could use like. a single person who isn’t trying to manipulate him #also I think he would get along very well with the goons :)#aside from. yknow. the whole target thing HDJDNDND #also there IS a lore related reason that his vocal chords can’t recover but the rest of his body can #you just gotta wait to see what it is >:3 #anyways. Arkham time next chapter #Awwawaw

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oleander-nin · 6 months

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Im not sure if you still take reqs so sorry if you dont but can you do yandere donnie with a reader thats really bad at taking care of themself? Like they’ll stay up until like 5am playing videogames and end up sleeping in so much they decide to skip breakfast and lunch then end up eating a snack instead of a real meal for dinner because its to much work

A/N, not important: Uhh, I think I may have done this wrong- I had an idea, but somehow this came out instead. If it's majorly not to your tastes, send the request again and I'll try again. Thank you sm to @lethelagoon for the title and for helping me with the fic! Also this is posted on the tenth and not the third because I posted smth on the first and decided I could just skip to this week. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

Tw: mention of feeding tube, descriptive, mentions of drugging, pills, needles, abuse, kidnapped reader, dark themes, yandere themes

Words: 1357

Summary: Donnie comes home and finds out you broke his rules. Again.

“Do we need to go over your schedule again?” Donnie’s smooth voice sounds from behind me. I look towards him, shrinking down in fear. I set the console SHELLDON swore I was allowed to use down, racking my brain to try and find an excuse to get out of this. It had taken me three months to convince him I was fine being left alone, three months to convince him I wouldn’t break the schedule he created for me. Yet here I was, caught with the console on and his(or ours, as he liked to claim) bed unmade, the clock shining the traitorous numbers brightly. It was three in the morning, and Donnie had just returned from a mission, catching me in the act. I gulp. This was not going to go well.

“Well?” He asks, crossing his arms and tapping his foot. A scowl was on his face, signaling his distaste to the world. I chew on my cheek, opening my mouth and closing it over and over, trying to think of something to say. I didn’t want to be drugged again. I wouldn’t let him drug me again.

“I couldn’t sleep.” I say. It was a half-truth, which is better than a full lie. He can’t prove I wasn’t having trouble sleeping. Hopefully he won’t realize I never tried.

Donnie scoffs, a scowl set on his face. “Then you ask SHELLDON for sleep medicine. That is not an excuse and you know it. Gosh, you’re so- UGH!”

I cower back, my hands starting to shake as he paces around the room, his arms flailing as he continues to rant. I was going to be punished again, I was sure of it. Images of the isolation room and chains flashed through my mind, the slick taste of pills burning my throat. I couldn’t go through that again. I never wanted that to happen again.

Noticing my shaking, Donnie rolls his eyes and crosses the room in quick succession. He scoops me into his arms, holding me close while he continues to grumble under his breath. His arms were tense, the muscles more defined due to his anger. I couldn’t help the wave of panic coursing through my veins, my mouth going dry.

I brace myself for the sharp pinch of a needle, but it never comes. I glance at his face, his dark eyes boring into mine. He wasn’t pleased, that was certain, but I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t freaking out. Last time I did something like this, he stripped the room of anything I could mess with and kept me locked up for a month. I still remember the pills he brought in, every night at seven. I shudder at the thought, the feeling of my body shutting down and pulling me into an unwanted sleep.

He continues to stare at me, scanning my face slowly. He sighs in irritation, adjusting me in his arms before carrying me further into the room and setting me on the bed. He sits on the edge, his eyebrows furrowed as he takes his gear off slowly, letting each glove and padding fall to the floor. His steady hands were shaking in anger, his drawn eyebrows furrowed. My chest is tight in fear, knowing what was to come. The only wonder I had was why he was taking so long. I watch his face, trying to look past his eyes and learn what he was thinking. His silence was never good, a painful indicator of how ruthless he could be. Silence was a warning with Donnie, never a blessing.

“You didn’t listen.” He says, his voice tight. He’s not looking at me, his eyes trained on the floor. His hands squeeze the blanket of his bed, his green knuckles going white from the force. My blood runs cold and I desperately try to think of a way to fix this. He looks back over at me, his eyes narrowed and furious. “Why? Do you think I’m wrong? Do you not see the way I love you and want you to improve?”

I stay silent, unable to form a response. I didn’t know how to tell him the way he loved me was wrong in every way possible. I didn’t know how to tell him I still wanted, no needed, my escape from reality.

His eyes wash over me again, my body feeling heavier with each look he gave me. It was like every time he scanned my body, another layer of fear and shame was set on my shoulders. The room was getting smaller, my lungs struggling to take in air. My left hand crosses my chest and sits on my shoulder, my right digging painfully into my thigh. I couldn’t do this. I wanted to go home. I hate him, I hate him so much. I can’t do this, I can’t be near him. All he does is hurt, and take, and I can’t leave. I was going to die here, stuck under the sick obsession of a mutant turtle.

I feel his hand on my back and I try not to cry, panic and fear growing until I feel as if I would pop. I couldn’t live like this, not any longer. I look up, seeing the way his face had tensed. I could see his lips moving, but couldn’t hear the words. I feel my throat ache from the held back tears, my entire body thrumming in sync with my heart. It was too fast. His room was too dark.

“Breathe.”

I suck in a sharp breath at the order, my body conditioned to do as he says without question. His hand goes under my chin, gripping it firmly, but not harshly. He makes me look into his eyes, the same eyes that were unbothered as he locked me away for weeks. The same eyes that stared angrily as he shoved a feeding tube down my throat when I forgot to eat. A sob bubbles from my chest as I try to pull back, survival instinct kicking in. His grip on my chin grows tighter, his other arm looping around my back and holding me in place. He places his forehead against mine, his lips moving once more. I could feel the words around me, the vibrations in the air, but I couldn't hear them. I could understand what he was saying, but I didn’t know what he said.

I continue to cry involuntarily, the hand holding my chin shifting to cup my cheek so he can wipe the tears as they fall. It didn’t help, his thumb wasn’t fast enough to wash them all away. I sit like that for nearly twenty minutes, the world around me crashing down and landing on my chest. My vision swirls with each sob while Donnie continues to hold me and whisper useless, silent words.

My vision swims one last time before the room starts to come back into focus, a harsh ringing in my ears. Donnie’s face is inches from mine, his drawn eyebrows furrowed. I stare at them through my sniffles. I never noticed he didn’t take off his mask. I try to turn my head to look at the room, but his grip on my face is strong.

“Are you done?”

I blink at him, his thumb roughly swiping my cheek as a stray tear falls. I forgot how his voice sounded for a moment. I take a deep breath, nodding. I didn’t have any other way to tell him, and I doubted I would fall into another fit. His hands fall from my face and I lean my neck back, staring at the ceiling. I felt numb, like my tears washed away every emotion my body once held. I couldn’t tell if I felt free, or even more suffocated. It was surreal, having my body be able to go through such stress before falling back as if nothing had happened.

Donnie’s hands trail down me, as if he was afraid I’d fall apart if he let go. They loop around my waist, pulling me firmly into his lap before he shifts on the bed and falls backwards, keeping me on his chest. I don’t fight it this time, letting him press a kiss to the crown of my head while he slowly rubs my back.

“This is what happens when you don’t listen, love.” His voice is quiet, one hand leaving my back to take his mask off while the other holds me tight. I let my head fall, my cheek pressed uncomfortably against the hard of his plastron. I let my eyes close, too tired to fight him any longer. I feel his chest vibrate as a small chuckle can be heard from him. “There you go. Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up so we can discuss your new schedule. This will never happen again.”

I feel my stomach churn at his words, but I do nothing more than hum in agreement. I couldn’t fight anymore, my energy zapped. I just hoped I could sleep in tomorrow. I would delay a talk with him forever if I could. I take another breath and sleep comes for me, dragging me down into the darkness of my mind.

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after-witch · 4 months

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Tw for mentions of eating disorder

Your most recent Chrollo post got me thinking, Chrollo has such an interesting (and sad) relationship with food, I have to wonder, if his darling had issues eating, such as a disorder or just a blatant hunger strike, would he try to guilt trip them, or go straight to force feeding?

note: discussion of eating disorder, food refusal, discussion of starvation

I think it really depends on why darling isn't eating. I wrote a bit on this before for food refusal that wasn't eating disorder related,

I don't think he'd ever go straight to force feeding, whether darling had an eating disorder or not.

He'd definitely walk a more delicate line with an eating disorder... probably would be one of the few decent Troupe yanderes to have if you had one, I think, just because he's the one that likes to have the most "domestic' life with his darling, meaning there's room for some type of genuine treatment.

Once he suspected an eating disorder, he'd have Shalnark do tons of research on them, including treatment options. He might, if darling is behaved enough, even let you see a therapist in some capacity... monitored by him, of course.

I think he'd almost enjoy the fact that he'd get to be in charge of your treatment, though, so he'd try to be your therapist first. It would, in his mind, bring you closer while giving him another position of power over you.

I do think, given that we know more now about what his childhood was like, that he would try to use guilt for a reader who was on a hunger strike or not eating out of stubbornness. Like, "I wonder, does your stomach hurt when it's empty? It's been ah, two days now? We used to go without anything more than a bite or two a day for days on end. Emaciation was not uncommon."

In the case of an eating disorder, I imagine he'd probably read tons of books on recovery and read that trying to guilt people into eating doesn't work and usually backfires, so he wouldn't in the case of an eating disorder.

In both scenarios--hunger strike vs eating disorder--he's going to give you plenty of options before a feeding tube or forced feeding comes into play. It is a last resort, he doesn't want to do it, it would be very unpleasant for him as well as you.

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ollie-supports · 14 days

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hello all! below the line i am going to explain my hiatus, tw for death, mental illness, neglect, heart problems, psych ward mention, and school issues. i will be returning today! please take care of yourself if you can't handle any of these topics, your health matters!🌸

so, to start off, my grandmother died. her name was bunny and she was the most wonderful person! she had an aneurysm about to explode, so she took a voluntary surgery to get rid of it and reduce the pain. she did not have to get this surgery because it wouldve been done when it blew, but it would have improved her quality of life. as they tried to put in a tube to regain bloodflow, all the tissue basically crumbled. they had to sacrifice a kidney, but her other worked just fine. she was on lots of machines, and when she only had 2 days left until discharge, she demanded for us to pull the plug. she would have survived. her quality of life wouldve skyrocketed. she just needed to wait 2 more days on her machines, which wouldve been painless had she accepted painkillers. i watched her die. i held her hand, taking comfort in its warmth. it got so cold so fast when she died. i threw up only 3 seconds after i felt her go cold. i had never truly understood dead weight until then. she survived off of her machines for 6 hours. i spent every second by her side, holding her hand. i heard her death rattles. i watched her stats decline. when the painkillers made me pass out, i saw the little girl in her right before she died. the little girl she used to be, who thought she'd never die.

my mental state severely deteriorated. we had to sell her house, the house my uncles lived in to stay closer to us. my uncles now live much farther away, and they were my only safe space. i have been severely neglected my whole life, and as im writing this i am in debilitating pain from how hungry i am. my parents have enough money to feed me. they just dont. my parents have ignored me my whole life.

this affected school. i was a straight A student, getting a 4.0 gpa easily. i failed every class this trimester. i may be held back.

the stress from all of this has severely impacted my heart problems, giving me longer and worse episodes. i have nearly died 3 times now because my heart problems induced a heart attack. ive died once and was resuscitated. my dosage for my antidepressants has been tripled, its the only way to prevent me from yet another psych ward visit, in which i would have to go to a long term facility.

please be patient with me. im trying my best, i promise.

#🌸.•°○ ollie's rambles ○°●.🌸#pro transid #pro transx #radqueers please interact #transid please interact #vent #rq 🌈🍓#rq community #transx #transid #radqueer

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cumtastiics · 6 months

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Would Aurelius rather force food on their patient of just put in a feeding tube, if they don't eat? I guess he'd try takling first and everything else after that.

tw: small mention of an ed

You’re probably right on the talking first. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he can’t help it if you’re so stubborn.

I’d assume if you were just scared to take food from him, because he may have poisoned it, he’d be more harsh. Buuuuut, if we’re going on an ED type of path, he’d be more understanding, but still a bit harsh, since well, he understands, he is a doctor after all. (the ed is not something talked about the rest of this btw)

He’d probably resort to leaving you without food for a bit.

I think that just like in the ask where Anon wanted to know if Aurelius would put the reader in a coma, you’d have to struggle a lot first.

But I also think if you struggled, he’d just put it into a feeding tube instead, not wanting to force you, he wouldn’t admit it, but he doesn’t want you to get eating problems just because he forced you.

tl;dr - he’d rather hook you up to a feeding tube instead of forcing you, but you’d have to struggle a lot for that to happen.

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lismarstclair · 15 hours

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Keeping Focus

TW: mention of- force-feeding, forced alcohol, bindings, eluding to waterboarding.

It seemed a cycle had formed in her day-to-day activities. Lisette would come to consciousness in total darkness. With no window in her space, she held no understanding of time. Sometime later, a man would come in and force a funnel in her mouth to push cheap vodka down her throat. Lisette could not know how much, but it must have been a single bottle at the least. Every other day, an older woman would come in with the large man and would force a tube down her throat to force-feed her. The first time this happened, Sveta had watched saying ‘I can’t let you die before I have had my fun’. It was rare that the blonde came for this process anymore.

No, Lisette knew her favorite time to visit was well after this. Sveta found her joy in the later hours when she would perform a new way of torturing her. It had been simple in the beginning. A slap here, a kick to her ribs there. Enough to bruise or fracture, but never anything detrimental.

But then she discovered what made Lisette react, and Sveta relished it.

The psychological manipulation was what was slowly destroying Lisette. It was subtle at first, hell Lisette used to bite back about knowing Sveta was lying to her. As time passed, she wondered if there wasn’t a seed of truth to some of the things the Russian Woman said.

Surely her family had not forgotten her- but could they be occupied with other things? Surely her children were safe- but the Russians could have eyes on them. Surely someone cared that she was gone- but was she just replaceable?

At this moment, she lay on the same metal table, bound tightly to stay in place. Bathed in complete darkness, Lisette kept her eyes closed to prevent her mind from playing even crueler tricks on her. She couldn’t do much more than wiggle her fingers, so she kept her mind moving by counting.

… 58, 59, 60 …

Tapping her fingers on the metal, she would count to one hundred in English and then French to keep her mind focused. Lisette found that if she didn’t keep her focused she would spiral into a self-induced panic attack.

… 71, 72, 73 -

The door’s lock could be heard turning and Lisette clutched her fists tightly. Keeping her eyes closed, Lisette hears two sets of footsteps enter the room- and the sloshing of water…

#self para #basement living #please get her out soon <3 #sveta

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generic-whumperz · 7 months

Text

The Aid: Chapter 4- One Step Closer

TW & CW: non-con nudity (nonsexual), dub-con/non-con touching (nonsexual), clothing dressing (nonsexual), mention of past non-con, pet/slave fic with general dehumanization that goes along with it (nothing severe), deliciously delirious drugged Whumee, Whumpee awakening from a coma, aftermath of torture and starvation, underweight and malnourished Whumpee, probably medical malpractice, med whumpy(?), Care-Whumper (this is the closest we are getting to a “Caretaker” for a LONG time, and Dr. Paul is no saint), asexual-spectrum Whumpee who doesn’t know he’s ace-spec yet and subsequently has negative self-talk and throws himself a pity-party because of it (this is part of the character journey, alright?), Caretaker turned Whumpee, general sad + angsty Whumpee energy, Wyatt Sullivan (Whumper) being a bully (expected), Whumpee being called "boy" when he's a grown ass man, bad jokes as a coping mechanism from Whumpee

IDK if this needs to be a warning or not, but Whumpee is currently non-verbal from being drugged and having trauma (brain trauma from the coma mixed with general trauma-trauma), but there’s quite a bit of internal dialog, and we are in his POV!

Word count: 3645

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‘Maybe if I’m a good enough boy, I’ll get a treat after this,’ The Aid jokingly thought, desperate to find an ounce of humor to cling to.

If he couldn’t laugh, he’d surely cry.

And he was tired of crying.

With gloved hands, Dr. Paul carefully removed The Aid’s IV and feeding tubes, talking him through the process as he worked, intended to keep him as calm and present in the moment as possible. Wyatt Sullivan returned with a full glass of water—per Dr. Paul’s request—which the Doctor took from him before shooing him away, tasking him to warm The Aid a bowl of soup.

“I saved the worst for last, but it’ll be quick, I promise,” Dr. Paul said in a chipper tone. He fondled and stuck a syringe into something at the foot of the bed for a minute before lifting the bottom of the comforter and sheet that covered The Aid.

“Full disclosure, you’re naked under here, but after I remove the catheter, I’ll make you decent so you don’t have to trot around bare-assed.”

The Aid felt his heart skip a beat and his body temperature quickly rise from utter humiliation.

‘Great.’ A shiver of unease washed over him as the thought of another grown man dressing him filled him with inept self-consciousness. He felt foolish for feeling this way, as Dr. Paul had seen more parts of him than anyone else—all parts, in fact, many times.

‘At least Dr. Paul offered; at least it isn’t Wyatt—not like that asshole ever would do anything remotely helpful.’

He glanced down to see Dr. Paul hoist up the covers to his right knee before he forced himself to look away, not trusting himself not to jerk away from perturbed anticipation. The Doctor stuck his arm under the blanket, placing his hand on The Aid’s inner mid-thigh, unclipping the catheter from the adhesive tubing holder, and gently peeling it off his leg.

“This won’t hurt. I mean, even if it did, you wouldn’t feel it with the meds you’re on. Just take a deep breath and try to relax,” Dr. Paul directed, giving The Aid a moment to prepare. He sucked in a quick breath and held it in as he anxiously kneaded the blanket, fingernails digging into the soft filling of the comforter like small animals burrowing into freshly plowed Earth.

The Doctor hoisted the bedding further and quickly peeked below as his arm completely disappeared between The Aid’s legs.

‘I look like a mother about to give birth.’

Although he couldn’t feel much of what was happening and Dr. Paul worked diligently, his face turned bright pink from embarrassment. He fought his knee-jerk reaction of clamping his legs shut, knowing that would only prolong the process and demoralize him even further. He lightly felt the strange sensation of the tube pulled from his urethra, along with Dr. Paul’s index finger and thumb holding his sex steady as the catheter was fished out from inside him.

He wanted to fucking scream.

“You’re okay, almost there…Just a couple more seconds,” Dr. Paul hushed, observing The Aid’s legs shaking, stiffened body, and tightly-twisted red face.

“All done!” The Doctor pulled the blanket back down over his feet while holding the catheter out in front of him, placing the tubing and foley bag that was secured to the foot of the bed in a small trash can.

The Aid sharply exhaled the breath he held in between clenched teeth as a few tears escaped his eyes. He tried to force the memory of the experience out of his mind alongside his expulsion of breath before filling his lungs with a steadied, deep inhale.

‘Deep breath in…deep breath out…Repeat. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.’

He couldn’t help but feel violated and further stripped of agency. Who was he kidding, what agency did he have left at this point?

He knew the Doctor was only doing his job, and it was a simple medical device removal procedure; that wasn’t what bothered him, although he couldn't shake the feeling of being molested. What really ate at him was the fact that he viewed himself as a pathetic loser because, through his own avoidant tendencies, he inadvertently put himself in a situation where the only people who touched him were doing it out of a sadistic urge or in a medical setting—usually to fix damage from said sadistic urge.

He felt stupid for being triggered by something as simple as a formal routine, but his distraught feelings overpowered his rationality, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself. He didn’t care if he was being overly emotional about it; he had to allow himself to grieve the life he lost on top of all the pain and torment he went through. If he still had an ego, he was sure it was just as broken and bruised as his body.

Fleeting parts of him wished he had succumbed to horny teenage sexcapades just so he could dig up a single good memory of an intimate connection that didn’t leave him a sobbing mess afterward. But looking back, even in his supposed “sexual peak” (that he never went through), he harbored no such desires—well, save the fragmented memories of a single budding spark with a male cheerleader that he quickly snuffed out and fled from in a last-ditch attempt to save them both from eventual embarrassment and hurt feelings.

But that was a lifetime ago.

He didn’t know why he had always avoided deeper romantic connections, but he found them off-putting and thought himself incapable of possessing any feelings beyond a familial or platonic bond.

His disinterest in amorous relations didn’t use to bother him, but now it did.

He would cry-laugh about the irony of his situation when left alone for long periods; he’d spent days reeling about it, stuck in a mental loop while secluded in the basement—an intimately incapable 24-year-old forced to be a punching bag and fuck puppet for a sick pervert who found pleasure from his immense suffering.

He accepted that life wasn’t fair, but did it have to be so goddamn cruel?

******

Dr. Paul’s latex gloves snapped as he peeled them off his fingers. He disposed of the gloves and applied a dab of sand sanitizer, working it vigorously into his palms- the pungent alcoholic stench burned The Aid’s nose and caused a stir of harrowing memories to resurface that came through in broken fragments. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the details and lock them back up in the recesses of his mind’s “Do Not Enter” section.

‘How many things have this abominable fuckass Wyatt ruined and taken from me? Triggered by hand sanitizer? Embarrassing. Maybe it's best I stay here till I die.’

The Aid felt Dr. Paul’s hand tunnel between his lower back and the bed; the Doctor’s other hand securely grabbed his left forearm—the only side of his upper half that remained unmangled.

“I know you’re high as a kite, and you’re out of it, but I’m going to sit you up, okay? We’ll take it nice and slow, up and at ‘em.” Dr. Paul pulled him up with expert caution to a sitting position, still holding him up as his damaged body adjusted to the movement and change of elevation.

The Aid groaned, not from pain, but from the dizzying head rush that momentarily filled his vision with small, trailing stars that reminded him of tiny fireworks. Everything felt off and wrong. The world seemed surreal, as if an obnoxious bright tint was added to it, and he was looking through a high-contrast photo filter.

“Do you feel anything? Are you in any pain?”

The Aid perfunctorily shook his head, his eyes wandering around the room in a daze.

Dr. Paul released the hand from his back, waiting a moment to ensure he could keep himself upright before grabbing the cup of water from the nightstand and holding it out in front of him. The water seemed to sparkle in the clear glass, and he reveled in the small, idyllic moment of his first drink from a cup—not a bowl—since his demotion from house pet to basement troll.

He wrapped his fingers around the glass and carefully took it from Dr. Paul. He brought the rim to his mouth and took a sip.

‘This is the best goddamn water I’ve ever had.’

The liquid was cool and crisp; it didn’t taste dusty and metallic like the water he had grown accustomed to. He never realized how water could have such flavor to it. He took another magnificent sip. Realizing how thirsty he was, combined with the uncertainty of when he’d get fresh water again, he continued gulping it down, savoring every drop.

“Alright…Alright. Okay, that’s enough.” Dr. Paul took the cup from him—still halfway full. “Gotta take it easy, okay? Can’t go chugging water right now; you can have some more in a minute if you’re still thirsty.”

The Aid slumped in defeat, feeling like a small child being berated after being caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Dr. Paul walked to the other side of the room to rummage through The Aid’s dresser, then disappeared into the small walk-in closet for a moment before returning to The Aid’s bedside with garments folded over his arm. He placed the clothes on the bed, leaving all but a pair of boxers in hand, and spun The Aid to the side so his legs were hanging off the mattress—still keeping his lower half covered under the blanket.

Dr. Paul bent over, pulled the boxers over his ankles, worked them around the curve of his bent, scabbed knees, and shimmied them up around his bony hips, the elastic waistband snapping around his waist.

‘This is what Madame Eleanor must have felt like…’

He reflected on his former Master’s last year of life when she needed the most assistance with things. He dressed and changed her multiple times a day without much thought, but never considered the mix of emotions of the person on the receiving end of help. Maybe she made peace with it; an elderly woman dying a slow death from cancer surely didn’t struggle with needing support as much as he did as a mid-20-something-year-old man who was supposed to be the pinnacle of health, right?

Some strange part of him felt a pang of misplaced guilt for not being a better version of himself, although he knew it was out of his control—he didn’t shackle himself, starve himself, and maim himself for months; it was done to him.

Dr. Paul continued dressing The Aid, slipping a pair of socks on his feet as he informed him of his sprained, lightly wrapped left ankle, which he was to stay off of for the next couple of weeks. Dr. Paul assured him that he told Sullivan that he was on bed rest and that his Master wasn’t to lay anything but a helping hand on him.

‘We’ll see how that goes. That creep can’t get his grubby ass hands off me.’

Next, Dr. Paul pulled on a pair of baggy sweats, tying the drawstring as tight as it would allow, then carefully fed his arms through a black zip-up hoodie, taking extra precaution with his right side.

“That wasn’t too bad, was it?” Dr. Paul asked over the low whir of the zipper gliding up to his chest.

‘Consider me your living Ken doll. I can even beg on my knees like Barbie.’

The Doctor retrieved an arm sling from his grab-bag of medical equipment, looped it around The Aid’s left shoulder, and adjusted it to securely hold his right arm. Then, without warning, Dr. Paul abruptly pulled him up by his left hand to stand. His body was stiff as a board, his knees locked, and muscles pulled tight. He stumbled, wobbling with all his weight on his right foot—which wasn’t much, but just enough to throw him off balance.

A distraught whine escaped him as he hopelessly felt another head rush come on and desperately clutched onto Dr. Paul for support.

Panting, he slouched into the taller man’s chest, trying to work up the strength to hold himself up on his own. He felt like a newborn fawn taking its first steps on frail legs minutes after birth.

The hardwood oak floor beneath his socked feet was nice and smooth—he hoped he wouldn’t slip on it. Falling on it would guarantee more damage dealt…although that would mean more bed rest, which meant more time away from Sullivan’s beatings.

“Here we go!” Dr. Paul shoved a walking crutch under his left armpit (‘Where the hell did this come from?’) as he wrapped an arm around him to bear some of his weight, allowing him to acquaint himself with his temporary walking device.

‘An aide for The Aid—a match forged by the heavens and prophesied in the stars, or a cruel joke? You decide.’

“Perfect height! Alright, we’ll just take a stroll to the other side of the room and head back, then I’ll get outta your hair, alright? You’ve been doing so good—”

“That’s what I like to hear! My boy’s a champ; he always bounces back.”

The Aid and Dr. Paul's necks craned simultaneously to the left, watching Wyatt stroll into the room and gesture at a bowl of steamy soup in hand, then placing it—and a spoon—on the dresser.

‘Looks like he’s trying to win points with the Doctor by pretending to be civilized by ‘allowing’ me to eat with silverware; what an occasion. If only I was allowed a camera to document this momentous event.’

“Don’t stop on my account,” Sullivan simpered, sitting on the corner of the bed, twisting around to watch them. He eyed The Aid excitedly, half expecting him to fail and become a blubbering, broken heap on the floor in mere seconds.

‘Stop fucking looking at me with that shit-eating grin.’

“Com’mon,” Dr. Paul coaxed, loosening his grip around The Aid and slowly stepping backward, encouraging him to follow. He took a small, hesitant step forward, supporting himself with the crutch. He felt the woosh of his clothes sway with his jolted, ungraceful step, indicating how much weight he lost during his time in isolation.

“Beautiful,” the Doctor encouraged, guiding him to take another step.

“Speaking of hair, he got a wash and a beard trim last week, then a sponge bath a couple days ago. But I’m sure he’d appreciate a warm shower.” Dr. Paul glanced over at Sullivan.

“Think you can manage to keep an eye on him? I'm not saying you need to bathe him; just monitor him and make sure he doesn’t run the water too hot. I recommend sitting him in a chair so he isn’t standing the whole time; he’ll be woozy for a while. One of the side effects of these meds is heat sensitivity and an increased risk of heat stroke, so just make sure you don’t lock him in the car on a hot day with the windows rolled up. I’ll go over meds with you while he’s eating.”

“Ow-wa Doc! Was that a dog joke you just threw in there?” Sullivan whooped amusedly.

“Just making sure you’re paying attention,” Dr. Paul chuckled.

‘Call me Scooby because I can’t fucking Doo this anymore.’

“Sure you don’t want me to scrub his back too? Scratch him behind the ears? Towel dry him and put a pretty bow on him?” Sullivan teased.

‘Don’t threaten me with a good time. If only you would treat me like the show dog I was born to become.’

“Only if you feel so inclined to. But maybe you can pretty him up and get him a haircut and a shave? I’m sure he’d like that. Your mother always kept him groomed, and he looked happier that way. Plus, it brings out his boyish charm, don’t ya think?” Dr. Paul playfully tousled The Aid’s shaggy, grown-out chocolate brown hair that hung past his ears and covered the nape of his neck.

They reached the opposing wall and began their trek back to the bed, the Doctor still guiding him, walking backward like a parent teaching their infant how to walk. From this vantage point, The Aid could see the heap of medical devices stationed on the right side of his bed that mimicked a hospital room.

“Hm, I dunno, I think I like the shaggy dog look on him,” Sullivan said tongue-in-cheek, knowing damn well The Aid didn’t like looking unkempt.

“Looks like a sad little stray puppy, doesn’t he? Well, minus the collar—oh wait—” Sullivan stood abruptly and pulled something from his back pocket. “Now we can complete the look!” He pinched the metal D-ring in between his fingers as The Aid’s dark green leather collar dramatically uncurled, springing out and forward.

The Aid glared at Sullivan with daggers in his eyes, disgusted by the presence of the collar. Just because the physical assaults were off-limits momentarily, it didn’t mean that Sullivan would stop tormenting him in whatever other way he could. The man had the same energy as a brutish school bully who deliberately picked on smaller kids just because he was bigger than them.

“Wyatt, play nice. Don’t tease him; put that thing away,” Dr. Paul chided, irritated by Sullivan’s blatant callousness.

Sullivan challenged The Aid’s glare with a smug smile, placing the collar on the dresser, deliberately positioning it on the edge closest to him so he would see it clearly when lying in bed. This served as a warning, a constant reminder of The Aid’s place, how he was owned and thought of as nothing more than an exotic pet to be tamed and used.

Once they reached the bedside, Dr. Paul took the crutch from under The Aid’s armpit and eased him down on the bed, resting the crutch on the nightstand and grabbing the glass of water.

“Want to finish this?”

‘Is water wet?’

The Aid eagerly seized the glass and greedily drank the rest like it was the last cup of water he would ever get to drink.

“Your first urination after the catheter removal may sting a little, but it shouldn’t be more than a little. There may also be a small amount of blood in your urine, but again, it shouldn’t be more than a small amount. If you have any issues down there, tell Wya—Master Sullivan, okay?” Dr. Paul looked expectantly at Wyatt to confirm that he would be receptive to possible future conversations involving The Aid’s urinary health.

“What am I supposed to do about it?” Sullivan asked dumbly. Dr. Paul eyed him confoundedly.

“…You call me, and I come to check on him and make sure he doesn’t have a UTI. If he has any issues, call me, and I’ll check to ensure he isn’t developing more problems. He’s been okay so far despite everything, and I’d like to keep it that way. But, if you haven’t noticed, he’s rather fragile right now; a gust of wind could knock him over.”

“Could have just said that.” Sullivan threw his arms up in the air. Dr Paul sighed, taking the cup from The Aid and propping him up against the bed’s headboard. He brought forth a medium-sized metal tray, unfolded its tucked-in legs, and placed it over The Aid’s lap. This time, Sullivan was smart enough to take the hint of placing the bowl of soup on it.

“You’re welcome.” Sullivan stood, waiting for a meek “Thank you, Master” from his slave.

The Aid stared bleakly into the bowl of soup, unsure how much he’d be able to eat because, despite being starved, he didn’t feel ravenous—he didn’t feel hungry at all. Sullivan scoffed at The Aid’s silence—what he took as an act of defiance.

He’d let it slide, just this once.

He promptly joined Dr. Paul to discuss medication times and dosages.

The older men’s voices faded to indistinctive background chatter in The Aid’s ears. He stared into the soup, fumbled the spoon, and stirred the contents around, trying to muster the strength to feed himself. Somehow, this felt like more of an impossible feat to overcome than hobbling around the room.

He only managed a few spoonfuls of broth. He nibbled on a chopped carrot, but it felt foreign in his mouth, and he struggled to swallow it.

He was suddenly hit with an unmistakable twinge of dread. His life felt bleak and meaningless; he had no hope for the future—the drugs seemed to only amplify his negative feelings.

‘Hope I get some fast-acting anti-depressants, if there is such a thing…’

How many more times would he be beaten nearly to death, or to death, just to be nursed back to health for the process to repeat itself? He couldn’t do this again, not after the basement. He lost part of himself in that dungeon that he’d never get back, the remnants forever lost in the pitch shadows. He found his demons down there; they coalesced with a single mission of ripping him to shreds and flaying him open for his human monster to feed on. The demons and devil-man volleyed him back and forth until nothing was left but a shell of a young man who’d lost everything and abandoned his will to live.

He knew no peace, no happiness; nothing but desperation and horror filled his mind and heart.

He stared helplessly into the bowl of soup as his mind dragged him down the hall of horrors, making him relive the torment.

He couldn’t even enjoy his first hot meal in four months.

‘I survived death…But now what?’

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Tag list: @sacredwrath

If ya wanna be added to or removed from the tag list, just let me know! Leave a comment or message me :)

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sanriosratz · 2 years

Text

Adrian Lucas Beck

might give him an ED so bad that he has to have a feeding tube or something?? maybe the bleach poisoning had a factor in it

why? 'cuz i can (and that is a problem)

thoughts?

#kuraitsume’s tattoo & piercing parlour #pigment of your imagination #adrian #adrian lucas beck #tw poisoning #tw feeding tube mention #tw ed mention #tw eating disorder mention #listen #i love my boy so much #that he must go through the worst possible things #imaginable #this boy went through horrific trauma #and im out here??? giving him more???#in the name of love?????#what is this blasphemy

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chickensarentcheap · 3 months

Text

Lost and Found- Chapter 27

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake and Esme Drummond (established OFC. You do NOT have to read the other fics in the series to understand this one)

Warnings: some profanity, mentions of blood, bruises, physical injuries

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @youflickedtooharddamnit @secretaryunpaid @thebejeweledwatercat @fanficanatic-tw @munstysmind @themaradwrites @asirensrage @kmc1989 @karimac @ninjasawakenedmystar @theesirenteller @residentdormouse @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @alisbackalleybbq

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/134993251

My tag list is OPEN. Just let me know if you'd like to be added :)

****

When she wakes, it’s to the glow of the bedside monitor and the ribbons of moonlight that stream into the room. As the waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea vigorously lap at the base of the cliffs, a steady, crisp breeze flows through the open window; fluttering the curtains as the scent of salt fills the room.

She’s confused and disoriented. Days spent drifting out of consciousness; never fully aware of her surroundings, the identities of the people tending to her, or the validity of the conversations she partook in. Kept on high and frequent doses of medication as her body began the healing process; wanting to spare her the overwhelming stress that the intense and constant pain would inflict upon her. It takes several minutes for her surroundings to register; the disjointed and muddled mess of thoughts causing her head to swim as the room spins around her. Her mouth and throat are impossibly dry; finding it painful to swallow, her cracked and peeling lips burning when she dares to run the tip of her tongue along them. Her limbs feel impossibly heavy and rooted to the mattress below; the accompanying pain dull, yet manageable. A far cry from the agony she’d experienced after the accident; the memories of that afternoon returning slowly yet terrifying vividly.

“Tyler?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. Initially believing she’s speaking to an empty room, she gives a small start when she hears movement at the side of the bed. Then manages both a sigh of relief and a small smile as he drops his cell phone onto the mattress and slides his chair closer.

“Hey…”

The smile reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners. The first time she’d ever seen it, it had taken her breath away; the way the years seemed to drop away from his face and off his shoulders. Only to be replaced by a softness and a beauty not expected from a man like him. Weary and laden with unspeakable burdens; the traumas he’d endured for most of his life, the things he’d seen and done during his tours of duty with the military, the lives he’d taken during his time as a mercenary. And while others had deemed him reckless and dangerous, he’d been the only person who’d ever made her feel safe. Secure. Protected.

He briefly stands, leaning over the bed and running a hand over her hair. Hooking a finger under her chin, he gently tilts her face towards him; his lips gracing hers with the most delicate of kisses. “...sleeping beauty awakes.”

“I appreciate you trying to feed my ego, but I already know I’m a mess. And not a hot one, either.”

“You’re still here. Alive and on the mend. Can’t get much more beautiful than that.”

“Jesus, you really ARE the most biased man on the planet.”

“Biased or not, it’s true.” Pulling the chair as close as he can to the edge of the bed, he sits once more. A palm resting on the top of her head as his thumb repeatedly brushes against her brow and his free hand holds one of hers. How ya feelin’?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Better, I guess? Considering how I felt when it first happened…” She gingerly reaches across her body; careful to not upset the various tubes and wires and the IV needle that pierces the top of her hand. Allowing her fingertips to gently explore the various cuts and bruises that mar his face and neck. “Are you okay?”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Excuse me? Have we met? I worry. It’s what I do. You should know that by now.”

“Of all the times you should be ignoring what I look like and what I’m doing.…”

“That’s impossible. I’ll never stop worrying about you; no matter what’s going on with me. I spent five years worrying; wondering how you were doing and if you were staying safe, and just hoping and praying you’d be alright. Every time Nik would tell me about a job you’d take…”

“You know, you could have cut out the middleman and just talked to me.”

“I wanted to, so many times. Do you know how many text messages I erased instead of sending them? How many times I’d call and get your voicemail, then just hang up without leaving anything? More than I like to admit.”

“I used to call your cell,” he sheepishly admits. “ The one you left behind. Just to listen to your outgoing message. Hear your voice.”

“Did it make you feel better?”

“Sometimes. And sometimes it made me mad as hell.”

“I’m sorry, Tyler. I am so sorry. And I know it seems like I’m constantly saying that, but…”

“Let’s not talk about it right now, okay? If there was ever a time NOT to…”

“What better time could there be? Not much else I can do.”

“It’s not important right now. We’ll get lots of time later. Believe me. When all this is over, and we’re finally home and settled, we can deal with everything else. But right now…” Cupping her cheek in his palm, the pad of his thumb tenderly glides over one of the many bruises that grace her skin. “...let’s just concentrate on you. Getting you better. And home.”

“That’s all I want. To go home. I mean, not that it actually IS my home. It’s not like I’ve ever lived there. I didn’t…”

“It is, though. Your home. OUR home. It’s the one we bought together. Made all kinds of plans for. The last five years didn’t just erase all of that.”

“But I never actually lived there. Other than when we first looked at it with the realtor, I’ve never even stepped through the front door.”

“That doesn’t matter. At least not to me. It’s always been your home, Me. It’s always been the place where you belong.”

Tears glisten in her eyes. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like THIS. The way you are with me. The way you’ve always been. Why do you love me like you do?”

“Do I need to have a reason?”

“After everything I’ve done, after hurting you like I did, you still love me. Way more than anyone else ever has. Or could. Why?”

“Because I do. Isn’t that enough?”

“I don’t deserve it. Not after…”

“That’s just your guilt talking.”

“I have a reason to be guilty. Everything I did to you..”

“Esme, I love you. I have ALWAYS loved you. And I always held out hope that one day you’d just walk back into my life. I only wish it had been a little sooner.”

“If I only called you sooner. Not waited so long. If I’d just…”

“But you didn’t. And you can’t change that. You can’t go back and make different choices. And you know what, that’s going to suck for a long time. Believe me, I know. There are a couple of things I wish I could go back and change. Have a re-do.”

“When it comes to us? To me?”

“The only thing I’d change is that I’d stay home that day; instead of going to Broome with Koen. And I should have. Stayed with you. You were sick, and you needed me and I..”

“I thought it was stress. Or that I’d come down with something. I wasn’t bedridden. I didn’t need you to wait on me and food and baby me. I…”

“I should have stayed. It’s the one time I didn’t listen to my gut. And look what happened.”

“You being there wouldn’t have changed things. The adjudicator still would have shown up. If anything, your being there would have made things worse. I know what you’re like, Tyler. When it comes to me. How protective you are. How you wouldn’t think twice about hurting someone…even killing them…when it comes to me. That wouldn’t have ended well. If you’d laid hands on them.”

“Maybe not. But we could have gone through it together. Found a place to hide out while Nik dealt with everything. You leaving? That wasn’t the only option.”

“I was scared. I wanted to protect you. Everything I did that day, I did for you- to keep you safe. I never did any of it to hurt you.”

“I know that. And I’m starting to accept it. You just need to give me some time, yeah? To deal with all of it? Work through it? I need that from you. Time.”

“As long as you don’t want to go through it alone. As long as it means that it’s the three of us dealing with it all together. Me, you, Millie. That’s what you want, right? The three of us sticking together?”

“I wouldn’t think of NOT doing it that way. I’m not going anywhere- not now, not ever. You need to trust me when I tell you that.”

“I do trust you. I’ve always trusted you. You’re the only person I really DO trust. To this extent, anyway.”

“Then trust me when I tell you that we don’t need to be dealing with this right now. We’re going to have lots of time to talk about things. Work through them. But right now? Right now needs to be about you. And getting you back on your feet and finally home. That’s all that matters. Can we agree? To just focus on that?”

Esme nods.

Giving her a wink, he leans in to press a kiss to her brow)

Her fingertips continue the investigation of his face and neck; tracing over healing cuts and thriving bruises. “I think you’re going to have a few new scars. To add to your collection. Nothing major, but…”

“Wouldn’t be one of my jobs if I didn’t get a little fucked up.”

“You do have a bad habit of messing yourself up, that’s for sure. Why it has to be the face, I’ll never know. Of all things? The face? Really?”

“I appreciate your concern for the rest of my body,” he teases. “And my mental health.”

“This one will always be my favourite.” She runs a fingertip over the scar that curves over the bridge of his nose. “Always.”

“How ARE you feeling? And don’t bullshit me.”

“I feel fine. Well, I don’t know if ‘fine’ is the right word, but I know I feel a lot better than I did…” She frowns, her voice trailing off.

“What? What’s wrong? What…?”

“How many days HAS it been? Since we left New York? What day is it today?”

“It’s Friday.”

“What? Friday? Are you sure?”

“I’m fully aware of what day it is.”

“But we left on Monday. How can it already be Friday? I’ve been out that long? What…?”

“You’ve been on some really strong meds. Heavy-duty stuff. You’ve been in and out. Never fully conscious, though. The doctor thought it was for the best; let your body heal without trying to fight back against the pain.”

“Did you think it was for the best?”

“I wouldn’t have told him to go ahead with it if I didn’t. I didn’t want you in constant pain. I know what it’s like; to always be in agony. I didn’t want that for you. Of all people who don’t deserve that…”

“Thank you. For taking care of me. Fighting for me.”

“It’s what we do, yeah? Take care of each other? Isn’t that what you always say?”

She nods.

“It was my turn anyway. Considering everything you had to do? After Dhaka?”

“I didn’t HAVE to do it. I wanted to do it.”

“Just like I want to take care of you. No more running. I’m not that guy anymore. I haven’t been him in a long time.”

“I’ve never known that Tyler. I’ve only ever known that one who will do anything and everything he has to protect me. THAT’S the Tyler I know. The one I fell in love with.”

He presses a kiss to her temple. “I do have a bone to pick with you, though.”

“Uh-oh.”

“You scared the fucking shit out of me. Seeing you like that. After the accident.”

“It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Just don’t do it again, yeah? I’m not getting any younger. My heart can only take so much.”

“Noted. I’ll be on my best behaviour from here on out. You know what the good thing is? That once this is all over and we’re finally settled, we won’t have to worry about this kind of thing anymore. Let alone go through it. It’ll all be behind us. No more stressing over whether or not the last time you walk out the front door really IS the last time.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re kinda walking away from danger and right into another. You do realize you’re gonna be married to a firefighter, right?”

“As scary and as dangerous as that is, I will take it over you being a mercenary any day of the week. Not to take away from your skills or your talent. Because you’re amazing at what you do. But…”

“It’s time. For something new. Something normal.”

“Whatever ‘normal’ is when it comes to us. We’ve never really been ‘normal’.”

“Our own brand of normal, I guess. We weren’t meant to be like everyone else. And who wants to be? That’s boring as hell.”

“I’m okay with whatever brand of normal we come up with.”

“Speaking of being okay, you never really answered my question. About how you’re feeling.”

“I feel kinda weird, to be honest. The last thing I really remember is being with Nik and Yaz. On our way to the airport. When you gave me that morphine. Everything after that is a complete blur. Just the mashup of moments and words and sounds. I know that doesn’t make sense.”

“I remember feeling like that. After waking up from that coma. So it makes total sense to me. Have any pain?”

“A little. Nothing serious, though.”

“They almost weaned you completely off the IV meds. They’ll want to start you on oral stuff in the morning. They don’t want you hooked up to anything once you go home. Think you can manage that? Getting rid of all those tubes and wires?”

“I can definitely manage that.”

“Do you need anything? Something to drink? Eat?”

“I AM thirsty. And I definitely could eat. Honestly, I feel like I could eat the shit out of a dead hippo, right about now.”

He chuckles. “Now I know where she got it from. Millie said the same thing the other day. When she woke up and wanted breakfast.”

“Well, there is at least a little bit of me inside of her. A few of my genes. She can’t be EXACTLY like you.”

“She’s like me in all the best ways, though.”

“She’s beautiful, like you. That’s for sure.”

“You just had to go and insult me. Call me the ‘b’ word.”

“Regardless of what you think, you can be both badass AND beautiful. You check both boxes. Among many others.”

“You are so good for my ego.” Cradling her bruised cheek in his palms, he places a long, soft kiss on her lips. “I’ll go downstairs and see what I can round up. You feel like anything in particular or…?”

“Cheese toast.”

“I can’t believe you still eat that stuff,” he chides. “Thought you would have grown out of that by now.”

“It’s my favourite comfort food. That, and your lasagna. Remember how I’d always ask you to make that? If I wasn’t feeling well or I was just having a really shitty day? And you always did it. No questions asked. No bitching or moaning about it.”

“I liked making you happy. I still do. Besides, if Esme wasn’t having a good day, no one was.”

“I always felt I’d found the proverbial needle in the haystack. A guy that can fuck well, fix his own truck, AND cook? Nothing sexier than that combo.”

“You know, when it comes to men, your standards are very low.”

“Well, I mean, there’s a lot of things that are sexy about you. I have a very extensive list.”

“Like I said, you’re really good at stroking my ego. Among other things.”

(laughs, then winces when it causes pain and discomfort in her ribs)

“You just relax, okay? I’ll go and make you something to eat. Bring you some tea. It’ll do some good to get some food into you.”

He stands and leans over the bed; index finger once more hooking under her chin and tilting her head back in order to kiss her. Skimming his knuckles over her bruised cheek, she grabs his hand when he attempts to step away from the bed; squeezing tightly as he glances down at her. Scowling at the look of fear and worry that lines her brow and creases the corners of her eyes.

“You’re coming back, right?”

“I mean unless something happens to me on the way to the kitchen or on my way back here…”

“Promise me. That you’re coming back.”

“I’m coming back.” He chooses to assure as opposed to scolding her for thinking so irrationally. “I already told you, Me. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

****

He returns with a tray laden with food and a small pot of tea; discovering that she’s managed to sit herself up in bed and now leans back against a selection of pillows stacked behind her. In spite of the bruises that decorate her face and various parts of her body, her colour has started to return; days spent a sickly, almost deathly gray, her skin impossibly dry. She’s starting to look like Esme again; able to smile, the sparkle back in her eyes, her sunken cheeks beginning to fill out. Clarity and understanding quickly restored; now fully conscious and aware of her surroundings. It’s a relief to see her like this; knowing the extent of her injuries and how close things had come to being so much worse. And when she beams at him as approaches the bed, it helps the last of his fears and worries subside.

“I see you made it back safe and sound. No one tried to kidnap you.”

“I was jumped in the hallway. Fought them off. Told them they may be mean and tough, but they don’t come close to you when you’re hangry.”

“I am not THAT bad.”

“I’ve lived with you. You ARE that bad.

“Got ya a little bit of everything.” Placing the tray across her lap, he takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “Cheese toast, some apple sauce, some pasta that was left over from dinner, some tea.”

“I know I said I was hungry, and I really do appreciate you wanting to wait on me hand and foot, but…”

“You don’t have to eat it all. Just a bit of each. Do what you can.”

As she attempts to eat, he tends to the tea. Filling the waiting mug and adding a splash of milk, he keeps a quiet, watchful eye on her as she attempts to eat; her hands furiously trembling, making it impossible to even lift the food, never mind get it to her mouth. Instead of immediately jumping to her aid, he allows her to keep trying; knowing the enormity of both her stubbornness and her hatred for being too ‘dependent’ on another person. And it isn’t until she mutters profanities and begins to tear up that he finally steps in; sliding closer to her just as her lower lip and chin begin to tremble.

“Here…” Cupping a hand under her chin, uses the other to bring a slice of cheese toast to her lips. “...let’s make it easier on you.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“No one HAS to do anything. I’m doing it ‘cause I want to.”

“It’s embarrassing. I’m a grown-ass adult. I shouldn’t need someone to feed me.”

“Did you think that way when you were doing it for me? After Dhaka? That I was a grown man and should be able to do it myself?”

“You almost died. You were in a coma for seven months. You needed my help.”

“And you’ve gotten yourself fucked up pretty good, and you need my help.”

“It’s not the same thing. It’s…”

“It’s a two-way street, yeah? We already agreed on that. You take care of me, I take care of you.”

“But…”

“No ‘buts’. Just shut up and eat your cheese toast.”

He’s patient, and his voice is gentle, allowing her to take small bites and chew slowly, offering encouragement and praising her on both her efforts and success. Using soft fingertips to clear crumbs and cheese away from the corners of her mouth, then moved on to the applesauce; alternating between slipping the spoon between her lips and offering sips of tea. And he’s genuinely impressed when she makes it through more than half the pot and a couple of mouthfuls of pasta before tapping out.

Helping her get settled and comfortable against the pillows, he moves the tray to the dresser and disappears into the master bath. Returning moments later with a damp cloth and a hand towel in order to clean and dry her face. Afterwards, he climbs into the bed alongside her; mindful of the various tubes and wires as he settles next to her. Leaning back against the headboard and stretching his legs out in front of him; her body fitting tightly -and comfortably- against his when he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

Dropping a kiss on her hair, he places his chin on the top of her head. “You good? Feeling alright?”

“I’m good. Full. I think I ate too much. Probably shouldn’t have had THAT much.”

“That was nothing. I’ve seen you put away enough to feed four grown men.”

Laughing, she digs her elbow into his ribs. “Fuck off, Tyler.”

“It’s kinda sexy; a little thing like you being able to pack it away like that.”

“I’m starting to regret that I even woke up. You picking on me like this.”

“Everything I say, I say with love. Just like when you make fun of my huge feet and big ass forehead.”

“I don’t say those things with love. I say them with one hundred percent truth.”

“Now who’s starting to regret that you woke up?”

“For the record, EVERYTHING I say is out of love. Well, except for maybe when I used to bitch at you for leaving your dirty underwear in front of the hamper, instead of in it.”

“You sure it was mine? ‘Cause I don’t wear underwear ninety-eight percent of the time.”

“Well…” She settles her head on his chest and places her hand on his stomach; fingertips drawing slow, smooth circles on the fabric of his t-shirt. “... unless there was another guy living there that I didn’t know about…”

“It was my twin. My EVIL twin.”

“And what did you do with him? Your evil twin.”

“Who says you’re not talking to the evil one?”

“The evil twin would NOT have spoonfed me apple sauce.”

“That’s a very good point.”

“Besides, there’s nothing evil about you- not in the slightest. Trust me, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you if there had been. And I definitely wouldn’t have STAYED in love with you. The last five years haven’t exactly been pleasant for me, either.”

“I know. It’s not like you wanted to leave. Or stay away.”

“But, I promised we wouldn’t talk about this. Not right now, anyway. And I don’t want to fight. I know how things get when we talk about intense stuff; we both get worked up, and our tempers take over and mean things get said. And then the next thing you know, all kinds of feelings are hurt, and we hate each other.”

“I’ve never hated you. I never could.”

“Okay, maybe hate is a strong word. But feelings do get hurt, and then we hold grudges against each other, and things are awkward for a while. And I don’t want things to be awkward. I want to be better than that; like we were five years ago. Not that we were horrible together, or anything. Because we weren’t. We just…”

“We both had a shit we were carrying around. It was bound to fuck things up every now and then.”

“Everything happened so fast. Between us. We never really got a chance to catch our breath, did we.”

“Not really, no.”

“We went from those five days in Dhaka to living together and planning a future. It’s not like we dated; or got to know each other like normal people.”

“I think we long ago established that we are both far from normal. Do you regret it? The way we handled things? The way they happened?”

“No. Not in the slightest. I just think it’s just a reasonable explanation; for why things got a little tense and out of hand at times. But you? US? I’ve never…for not even one second…had any regrets. I mean, other than the obvious. My fuck up five years ago. I think that goes without saying. Do you? Have regrets?”

“No. It all happened for a reason: you showing up on my doorstep that day, everything that went down in Dhaka. And I hope one day I can say the same thing about you taking off, keeping Millie a secret. That there was a reason for it to happen that way.”

“There was. I wanted to keep you safe. That’s the only reason. And as far as not telling you about Millie…”

“I know you were scared. That I’d turn you away. That I wouldn’t want anything to do with her. And there are moments where I totally accept that. But other times…”

“Hurts like hell.”

He nods.

“I AM sorry, Tyler. And if there was a way of taking it all back…”

“Well, there isn’t.” Immediately aware of the harshness of his voice, he gives her shoulder a squeeze and smiles down at her. “I love you. I always have. And isn’t that what really matters? When it all comes down to it? That I love you?”

“That’s all that’s ever mattered. It was the only thing I ever had that was real. How you felt about me. It was the only thing that was ever important. And then Millie came along. She’s all I had of you. My only connection. I didn’t even have a picture of you. I just had her.”

“You’ve done a good job, Me. A damn good job. She’s beautiful. And so fucking smart. Way smarter than I was at that age, that’s for sure. Probably smarter than I was at TWICE that age. Maybe even smarter than I am now.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got a bigger brain pan than you realize or let on. And that’s part of what makes you so good at what you do. You’ve got the size, strength, and skills; those things are easy for people to see. They don’t expect you to be smart, too. They underestimate you. And that’s what makes you so dangerous.”

“I don’t know, Me. I think you have me beat in that department. If anyone is underestimated…”

“Well, you know what they say, about good things coming in small packages.”

“Pocket-sized packages, in your case.”

“Oh God, not THAT again.”

“I’m just saying. You’re tough for a little thing. I can see why you were so good at the job. No one would ever expect someone like you to be able to pull those kinds of things off.”

“It was survival of the fittest. And the smartest. I learned early on that if I was going to make it out alive, I had to be really good at what I did. It was exhausting, though: pretending to be a completely different person all the time. I’m glad it’s done; that I can just walk away and never think of this life again.”

“Soon. Once we’re out of here and get settled in Broome and Nik takes care of things back in New York City…”

“It’s going to be weird. Living a whole different life. Seeing you doing a different job. I have to say, you picked a pretty sexy career. A girl loves a man in uniform.”

“I don’t wear a uniform.”

“That’s it; go and ruin my fantasy.”

“And there’s nothing sexy about those coats and those boots, I’ll tell you that much.”

“You’re just a real party pooper, you know that?” Nuzzling her cheek against his chest, she closes her eyes. Relaxing in the warmth that radiates from his body, the hard muscle against her, his familiar scent, and the way his calloused fingertips repeatedly graze up and down her arm. She desperately needs and craves the close contact; the feel of him a vivid reminder that she’d walked through hell and come out the other side.

*****

Several minutes pass before she speaks again. “Has Millie been okay?”

“She’s been worried about her mum. Constantly asking the doctor and the nurse about how you’re doing and if you’re getting better. And giving all kinds of advice on how to take care of you. She’s pretty adamant that mint chocolate chip ice cream is the cure to everything.”

“Was she ever in here? Because I don’t know if I was dreaming, but I have this very vivid, distinct memory of her sitting on the bed and brushing my hair.”

“Every night before bed, she comes in and sits with you. She always brushes your hair. And reads you a story.”

“That’s why I can’t get ‘Goodnight Moon’ out of my head. We really need to toss that book. Get her interested in something else. Because if I hear that damn story one more time…”

“Consider it done. As soon as we get home, it’ll mysteriously disappear. Along with your ten pairs of Crocs.”

“Hey! Leave my Crocs out of this. They didn’t do anything to you.”

“They’re an abomination.”

“They’re comfortable!”

“They’re ugly, is what they are.”

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t touch my Crocs. I can hurt you, you know. In ways no one else ever has.”

“Doesn’t sound too ominous. Sounds more like you’re threatening me with a good time.”

“Listen, if you want to take your chances…”

“I’d rather be safe than sorry. You’re scary for a little thing. Probably the only person on earth who DOES frighten me.”

“You SHOULD be afraid. Very afraid. I have powers. That you can’t even begin to comprehend.”

“If you’re threatening me with no sex, I’ll have you know that I went months without it. After you left. Almost an entire year. So don’t think I can’t do that again. I don’t want to, but…”

“Who am I kidding? I’d never do something like that. I’d suffer just as much as you would. If not more.”

Yawning noisily, she once more closes her eyes; enjoying the feel of his breath against the top of her head and the sound of his heart beating deep within his chest. And he’s teetering on the edge of sleep when he feels her move against him; finding her peering up at him, chin resting just below his shoulder.

“You alright?”

“I have something to tell you.”

“I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

“It’s nothing bad. At least not to me. You might see it a bit differently. When you hear what it is. But I just figured that since we’re doing this whole totally honest, completely open thing, there was no reason to wait. That we’re in a good enough place to talk about it.”

“If it has anything to do with when you left and started hiding out…”

“It’s nothing to do with that. Well, maybe it does. I don’t know. I suppose it’s kind of related. Very loosely, mind you. I just think this is the time to tell you about it. I’m finally awake and feeling a lot better, and we’ve had some really good talks tonight, and I guess I want to keep the ball rolling and just..”

“Esme, you’re rambling.”

“I don’t even know where to start. HOW to start.”

“Just spit it out. Say what you want to say. What you NEED to say.”

Sighing heavily, she briefly glances away, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. “I was the one who asked Alcott to get you out of prison.”

“What do you mean you were the one who…?”

“I had spies, okay. Informants. Keeping me up to date on you. Alcott, Nik, Yaz. You know, people I could trust; to do the job for me and keep quiet about it. I didn’t want you to know that I was keeping an eye on you; I know how much you hate being babied or coddled or worried and I was afraid you found out I was sticking my nose where it didn’t belong…”

“I would have just been happy to know you were okay. To know you even still gave a shit about me. I wouldn’t even have questioned it; you spying on me.”

“I always gave a shit about you. It was never about NOT giving a shit. I still worried about you. I still LOVED you. None of that ever stopped. Not even for a second.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t know about any of this. You and Alcott being buddies.”

“You know what it’s like in the circle. Everyone’s connected in some way.”

“And you asked him not to tell me. That he knew you.”

“There was no reason for you to know. It didn’t really have any bearing on anything. And it kept Millie and I under the radar; the fewer people who knew where we were and who were connected to, the better.”

“So he just called you and told you I was in prison?”

“Not exactly. Well, I mean, he DID. He was the one who let me know. But before that, he’d shown up in New York. Totally unexpected. And he told me all about the job in Georgia; how it involved your sister-in-law and her kids, and that it was Mia that hired you.”

“And…?”

“And it didn’t sit right. The whole thing just felt ‘off’ to me. I found it really…troublesome…that she sought you out like that. I mean, didn’t seem kind of weird to you? That after years of even knowing she was, she would just show up out of the blue? For something like THAT?”

“It was a little…odd.”

“I didn’t like it. At all. The fact she went looking for you. The fact that she would probably use your son’s death against you; use all that guilt and regret and grief to get you to do what she wanted. You can see why, right? Why I’d think that? Why I’d immediately go in that direction?”

“I’m not saying you were wrong for thinking it.”

“I knew once she did that, you’d go along with it. You’d take the job; not even caring about how risky it was or how dangerous the Nagazi were. So naturally, that made me even more nervous. Knowing you were going into something like that.”

“And Alcott kept you up to date? On what was happening?”

“I asked him to let me know how things went. Like I said, I was worried about you. And I knew all about Davit and Zurab and what they and their people were capable of. It scared me, alright? I didn’t want anything to happen to you. I loved you. You were the father of my daughter. And the thought of her losing you before ever even having you…”

“This is just…” He laughs incredulously and shakes his head. “Wow.”

“I knew exactly when the job started. Day, time. Right down to the very second. And Alcott was supposed to let me know how things went; get a hold of me as soon as you were free and clear from the prison and on your way to Vienna. So I could rest a little easier, you know? Only I didn’t hear from him for a few days. Which got me totally freaked out. I left messages, I sent texts. Nothing. Just silence.”

“And then…”

“And then I put more feelers out. I reached out to other colleagues. People I’d worked with in Europe. Specifically in and around Austria. I knew if anyone could find out if you made it there safe and sound, it would be then. And then they called back and told me that you were alive, but they couldn’t tell me exactly where you were. That I was ‘need to know information’ and I didn’t need to know.”

“So Alcott…”

“He FINALLY got a hold of me. A week later. And he told me what happened in Vienna. How you killed Zurab but ended up getting busted by the cops and thrown in jail. You were going to be there a really long time, and I didn’t want that to happen. You didn’t deserve to be there. All the bad things the Nagazi did? All the horrible shit they inflicted on people? You should have been given a key to the city and a parade in your honour. Even had a day named after you.”

“Whether or not I did the right thing, what we do IS illegal.”

“I didn’t want you rotting away in there. Not for helping people. For getting that kind of trash off the street. And there were selfish reasons, too. For why I wanted you out of there. I already knew I was going to bring Millie to you. It had always been my plan; to take her to her dad before she turned six. And considering you were facing a life sentence, I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. I wanted Millie to meet you. Have a relationship with you. And that couldn’t happen if you were locked up.”

“You’ve been really busy the last five years, haven’t you.”

“I was caught up in a few things,” Esme admits. “ Nothing that ever put Millie in danger. I’d never do that; take a job that could put her in harm’s way. There was no reason to think things would go so wrong with Alessio. I was so close; to getting all the information I needed. Everything had been so easy. Gone so smoothly. If I ever thought anyone would try and hurt her…”

“I never once thought that. That you’d put her in danger. I know how quickly things can go wrong. And if there was no reason to think that the job would go to shit…”

“Like I said, everything had been so easy. It was all running so smoothly. I would have been finished in a week. Two at the most. I don’t know what happened; I don’t know how things went so badly. But I never would have agreed to help Nik out if I even had the tiniest worry that Millie could be hurt. That’s my little girl. My baby. She’s all I had; my only connection to you. I wouldn’t have agreed to anything that could possibly hurt her. I…”

“Esme, you don’t have to defend yourself. To anyone. Let alone me. I’m the last person who’d ever judge you. All the things I’ve done? You really think I’d think less of you?”

“She’s your daughter, too. It would be really easy for you to be angry. Look what happened. Alessio’s family tried to kill us. It’s only reasonable that you’d be pissed about that.”

“I am pissed about that. But I’m pissed at them, not you. I know how much you love Millie. How well you’ve taken care of her. Look how happy she is. How healthy. How fucking smart. That’s not a kid being raised by a shitty mother.”

“She’s my entire world. I waited so long to be a mom. I’d never do anything that would put her in danger. I’d never…”

“I believe you. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’ve never once thought something like that.”

“The other night you were pretty angry. And you asked me how I could ever put her at risk like that. Why I would even go back to the job with her in the picture. You…”

“I didn’t mean any of that. I was pissed. Hurt. I’m an asshole when I’m going through shit like that. I say things I don’t mean. I’ve always been that way. You know that.”

“Still, there had to be some truth to it, right? To your words? There must have…”

“I love you, Esme. I always have. And I’m sorry that I lashed out like that. Said those things. But I didn’t mean them. I was hurt. And I wanted you to hurt too.”

“Well, you succeeded. Because it did. Hurt. I may have deserved to hear it…”

“You didn’t. You’re the last person who deserves it. It was just me being an insensitive prick. That’s something I need to work on. Not lashing out like that. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.”

“I guess we both have things we need to work on, huh?”

“There’s a list. Or two. And we’ll get to it when everything settles down. For now, can we go back to what we were originally talking about? Alcott? What happened after he contacted you and told you where I was?”

“I couldn’t let you waste away in jail,” she continues. “They would have kept you in there for the rest of your life. So I asked Alcott if there was any way he could pull some strings. Did he know someone on the inside who could help get you out of there? He arranged a meeting. Between me and his boss. I already knew him; from my time in New York when I was doing freelance work. I’d done a few intel jobs for him. Nothing too major. But if anyone could help, I knew it would be him. That’s a man with a lot of power. A lot of people under his thumb.”

“He is NOT the kind of person you should be mixed up with.”

“I had been offered some work. In Abu Dhabi. That involved one of his biggest rivals. So I made a business proposition; I’d hand over all the information I had and the whereabouts of this person in exchange for getting you out of prison. But he’d only agree if you would be the one to take over; take everything I knew and go after his rival and kill him. It was up to Alcott to offer you the deal; do a job for them and earn your freedom.”

“I can't believe you stuck your nose in that shit.”

“Look, I did it because I love you. Because I always have. Nothing changed in those five years. If anything? Missing you like that? Having a baby…YOUR baby…it made me love you even more. I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. Let you rot away in that prison. You didn’t deserve to be there. All you did was take out the trash.”

“I did a little more than that.”

“It was all you? That made all that happen?”

“I just came up with the idea. Alcott had to make it happen. He did the hard work.”

“I don’t know, getting in contact with the likes of his boss? That takes some balls. That’s the last person you ever should have trusted.”

“I didn’t have a choice. I had to get you out of there. And I needed help to make it happen. There was no one else. Believe me, if there had been, I would have asked them.”

“You did all of that? Put yourself at risk? For me?”

“Okay, so you may have shot the ever-loving shit out of Vienna. And came very close to burning the entire city to the ground. But it’s not like you didn’t have help.”

He gives a small chuckle.

“I couldn’t leave you there, Tyler. Just like I couldn’t leave you on that bridge in Dhaka. And I got you out of jail just as much for me as I did for you. Because I knew I’d see you again. Because I wanted you to meet Millie and be a part of her life. Finally get to be her dad. And that couldn’t have happened if you were stuck in there.”

He nods slowly as he considers her words.

Pushing her fingers through his, she brings their joined hands to rest on her collarbone and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not mad, are you? Please tell me you’re not mad. I didn’t bring it up to cause issues. I just figured we’ve been so open and honest with each other and we both want to keep that going and…”

“I’m not mad in the slightest. I have no reason to be. I’m more surprised than anything; hearing you were involved in all that. I never would have connected any of that to you. Not in a million years.”

“At the time it all went down, I didn’t want you to know it was me. I wasn’t ready; for us to come face to face. I was scared, and I was holding on to so much guilt and regret, and I didn’t want those things ruining it, you know? So I asked Alcott to help me. And before your mind goes there, he helped me as a FRIEND. Nothing more. There never was -and never will be- anything between us.”

“He knows better than to even try. He knows I’d kill him.”

“Always the protective one.” She nuzzles the underside of his chin with the tip of her nose. “Always.”

Smiling, he pecks the bridge of her nose, then rests his brow against his. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

“I never stopped worrying about you, Tyler. I worried every second of every day. That something bad would happen, and I’d never get the chance to see you again. Or that you’d ever get a chance to see Millie. Or hear me say that I was sorry.”

“But we did get that chance. All of that happened.”

“It shouldn’t have taken so long.”

“We’re not going to talk about that. Getting into the reasons why. Not right now.” Tightening his hold on her, his hand falls to her hip as she presses herself into his side and rests her head on his chest.

“You know how you always say there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me? Well, it’s a two-way street. Because there’s nothing I couldn’t do for YOU.”

“I know. Believe me, I KNOW.”

“We take care of each other. It’s what we do. It’s who we are.”

“It’s kinda only gone one way. Taking care of each other. At least until now.”

“Well, in all fairness, I’ve never really given you a chance. To take care of me. And that’s mainly because I don’t get in nearly as much trouble as you do.”

He smirks. “I’m not quite sure about that.”

“For what it’s worth, you’re really good at. The whole taking care of someone thing. It’s a whole different side of you. That you don’t let anyone else see. Just me.”

“There’s a lot of those sides.”

“I’m lucky. You’ve always felt comfortable showing them to me. Right from the start of things. In Dhaka. You never hid them from me. You never hid the REAL you.”

“I never felt a reason to.”

Smiling, she reaches up to once more trace the various scars and cuts that decorate his face. Gentle fingertips glide over old and faded, raised and angry, a nail slowly travelling the entire length and curve of his jaw. “I do love you, you know.”

“Yeah…” Giving her hip a gentle squeeze, he leans down to peck her lips. “...I know.”

#Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fanfic #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction #Extraction 2 #Extraction fanfic #Extraction fan fiction #Chris Hemsworth #Tyler Rake x OFC #Rake Lives #Esme Drummond #Esme Rake

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th3sp4rr0w · 7 months

Text

Day Nine

A03 Link <- Starts at Chapter/Day One for those just joining us :))

Prompts For Day Nine Scar Reveal/Interrogation/Presumed Dead

Alt. Prompt For Day Nine Forced Feeding

Prompts Used for Day Nine All

Tw's; Medical Talk, Dubious Medical Accuracy, Slight Pregnancy Termination Mention (It Did Not Happen)

Chapter Nine under the cut :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arriving at the island was like a breath of fresh air. It was like having hope for the first time since he had done what he did.

Talia landed the plane flawlessly. Jason’s heart rate leveled out on the plane ride there. There were no bleeds, spikes, drops, nothing.

He’d hovered over his boy the entire time. He deserved to have someone looking out for him even if it was too late .

The bat unhooked the monitors and oxygen. The I.V.’s and nasogastric tube stayed in place as he wheeled him out of the plane. Talia lead the way as they walked through this island’s base doors, leading him to where the Lazarus pit had formed.

Talia could tell he wasn’t himself. She didn’t see how he could be; though he hadn’t officially lost him, she couldn’t imagine having to deal with Damian in that condition for this long.

It was like it was her own kid lying on the cot. How else could she have felt? He was still so young, had been through so much at his tender age. She pretended she didn’t see the irony as she thought of her own son, the weapons he always kept on him, acting like a shield. As a teenager, even well into her adulthood, she’d never thought of how small children really were. How fragile. How vulnerable. It wasn’t even having her son that had woken her up.

It took her beloved’s child getting so, so very broken and bruised for her to realize. She imagined any of the moments that her child’s life had been in danger. She wondered what she would’ve done if she didn’t have the pits to rely on. It made her chest tighten.

She knew if she tried to hide him away, she’d never rest. The moment he was conceived he was doomed to have an abnormal life. It was utterly pathetic. She was constantly scolding Bruce for being too weak; she wondered if her own lack of strength had caused her child pain. Somewhere deep inside her, she knew the answer.

Their reliance on the pits had been a mistake. Without it, they were nothing.

The walk had been both longer and shorter than they anticipated. Bruce’s impatience had shown through, the grunts and hums present in his normal vocabulary upped to a ridiculous level. In a way, she understood.

We all had things that kept us sane when things fell apart.

The green sludge bubbled. Bruce stood there, staring at it for a moment before pulling a syringe from one of his infinite pockets. She watched in muted... astonishment? Horror? As he removed the cap.

She watched him kneel down in front of the pit, sticking the needle in the sea of green. She folded her arms behind her to keep herself from reacting as he pulled on the plunger. Green liquid flowed into the barrel of the syringe in perfect synch with the rubber stopper. She watched him tap the syringe to get the air bubbles at the top, placing two fingers on the finger flange and his thumb on the rest to push out the air. He only stopped when there was a small spurt of green.

He walked over to the cot.

At first, she thought he was going to inject it all at once into his vein. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from speaking. This was what he wanted; it didn’t matter that it was incredibly idiotic -

He grabbed the primary I.V. bag , pulling it towards him while it was still on the hook. He took a hold of the secondary tubing. He inserted the needle into the small opening. He pressed gently on the plunger.

Her insides felt cold. How was this better than dunking the poor boy into the pits?

The green bloomed outwards as it was added to the bag. She watched as it curled and spread, infecting the clear bag with a radioactive glow. She’d always known the pits would emit its own light, beautiful and deadly, but this truly put it into perspective. The bag now positively glowed like it was full of kryptonite. She could see when it started going into the tube attached to the boy’s arm. Bruce agitated the bag to mix it up and within minutes, Jason’s small face was lit up with the green glow. Seeing it like this made it feel every bit as dangerous as it was. She had always known the pits weren’t to be messed with, but it truly sunk in at that moment.

They both watched him. At some points, the horror of what he’d just done washed over her and she couldn’t stand seeing the boy with the glowing vein where it had started to pour into his body. She found her eyes trailing over the zebra plush Bruce had carefully tucked beneath his arm.

Over the next few minutes, they could see some improvements. Wounds began to close and scab. She could swear if she looked too long at his exposed legs she could see nerve and muscle stitch itself together. She never had questioned how it did that, but watching it like this? The slow process demanded patience as they stood, waiting for answers. Talia was certain this might’ve been the most reckless thing the bat had ever done.

Somewhere in her, she knew she should probably be concerned about the near-manic, desperate look on Bruce’s usually stoic and expressionless face. If this didn’t work, she feared it might break him. He was already on the cliffs edge, wandering toes curling off and begging to freefall as it was.

It took an hour for the I.V. to nearly empty into Jason’s veins. Neither said anything during the process. Bruce worked silently, prepping another bag in advance. This time, he gently shook it until it was one homogenous glow. He attached it to a new I.V. line, unscrewing his old one from the extension set. Once the new one was in place, he allowed it to creep into Jason’s body.

She couldn’t believe it was working. She had been here for a long time, and she had never seen anything like this in her life. Never had someone thought of injecting the pits into their veins, not even her father. She supposed that a parent would do or try anything for their kid. It was what made her certain that her boy would be safe when he went to live with Bruce.

They were almost finished with the new bag when it happened.

His body had mostly, miraculously, healed. She suspected he’d been dosing the boy with sleeping medications to keep him asleep for the entire infusion. She had been staring at him, the constant rise and fall of his chest, counting his breaths. His breathing had been gradually slowing down before it stopped all at once.

She hadn’t had to alert Bruce. He swore loudly and rushed into action, checking his pulse and starting CPR. Talia counted the minutes in her head, knowing he would never do it. Never know when to call it.

Each pump of the boy’s chest left her more on edge. Any damage done would be another injury to add to the list. Another thing that they’d have to heal. She watched Bruce desperately attempt to revive his son. It... it was a fruitless effort.

They both knew it when the bat leaned away. There was no choice now.

“Beloved, give him here,” she said softly. “We’ll see if the pit-”

“Shut up,” he said softly. He never took his eyes off him.

“Beloved-”

“You wanted this to happen.”

She reeled back as if she was struck. “Excuse me?”

“You wanted to have credit for saving him,” he breathed. “You know the pits do nothing for those already dead-”

“He still has time,” she insisted. “Just let me-”

“No!” he shouted, finally turning to look towards her. “YOU wanted credit for saving him! YOU admitted you had something to tell me one day! YOU were the one to suggest this and now-”

“I did no such thing,” her voice was dangerous. “I thought you could handle this. I was willing to let you do it your way, and this is how-”

“Please, you just wanted to gloat about-”

“Shut it,” she hissed. If he wanted a fight?

“If I had my way, I’d have taken Jason here without you.”

She’d give him one.

“I would have dropped him off like nothing had ever happened. I changed my mind because I thought you’d want to be here for your child; instead, you took over things you had no business to be taking over,” her voice was stiff as she continued, “Clearly, I should have stepped in a long time ago. You did this to him, Bruce. You did.”

Bruce’s eyes were hard. She was certain if it wasn’t for their history that she’d be lying on the floor. “You don’t have kids. Do you have any idea what it’s like to worry about them? To see them hurt like this?!” his voice was raised. His words felt like a slap in the face.

“Shut up, Bruce. You don’t deserve them-”

“Oh, and you do?”

“Do not put words in my mouth,” she barked, “This is your mistake. Now let me fix-”

“No! No, this wasn’t a mistake, Talia. You did this to him! He’s only fifteen , for gods’ sake!”

“I am well aware of how old he is-”

“You don’t know anything about him!”

“And you do?”

The fight carried on, raised voices covering the soft noises that had started coming from the boy.

He wheezed and coughed. He tried to sit up and that’s when Talia noticed him.

The “J” on his cheek glowed green. The scars on his hands and legs looked smooth but were a noticeably different color. He was still wheezing. She had to do something.

It had to be her because Bruce had just collapsed to his knees. It had to be her and it had to be quick because his too-blue eyes were beginning to roll into the back of his head, think, Talia, think-

In a stroke of genius, she remembered one of the decorative vases they had laying near the entrance of the room. She ran for it, coming back and scooping up the green waters. She carried the cup of bubbling liquid to Jason’s cot and coaxed him to drink, forcing it into his mouth and making him swallow.

A chunk of his bangs turned white. She barely noticed as she continued to make him drink.

His breathing evened out. The green glows in his body faded, though the scars looked positively irritated. She couldn’t imagine it was comfortable, but unless Bruce wanted to hook him up to another I.V. bag she didn’t think they’d be fading anytime soon.

The zebra had fallen wayside in the heat of the moment. To do anything but stare at each other in shock, she picked it up from the floor and dusted it off. She carefully placed it in his lap and backed away slowly.

He reached for it, looking at it for a moment. A keening sound came from his throat. “Papa?”

The bat had been silent and wide-eyed on the floor until that moment. He stood up and fussed over his son, cupping his cheeks gently, whispering to him and reassuring him when he began crying that he’d lied and hid things and-

Talia felt like she shouldn’t be there, especially after the way they had screamed at each other. She did her job; he was healed. He would survive. She doubted he’d like that scar, but there were cosmetic fixes they could probably look into if he wanted. It definitely wasn’t as good of a job as it would be if she’d been allowed to just dunk the boy, but-

“Talia?” she heard his small voice ask. “Papa? What happened?”

Bruce took a deep breath. “You... you got hurt, Jason. Really hurt,” he said.

She refrained from scoffing. There was no sense in lying to the child; he was fine now, wasn’t he? It’s not as if he was still at risk of passing-

“Don’t lie,” he said, voice small. He played with the mane of the zebra.

Watching them interact made her heart ache. She was sick of revelations and hurt; she wanted to get this over with so she could deal with these pesky thoughts and emotions on her own time. Or, better yet, overbook herself so she didn’t have to deal with them at all. An Al Ghul should not be allowing themselves to have such weaknesses, after all.

She spoke before Bruce got another chance. “I heard of what happened. The rumors were that Robin was barely alive after an encounter with your so-called ‘Crime Prince’. I decided I needed to check on you myself.”

She wanted to tell him everything. The injury logs she had helped herself to, the report Bruce had typed up, his seizure, that terrifying moment when they thought him to be deceased. She had always been taught to give every detail; every shred of information as to learn from their mistakes. Second chances were hardly given out; in her world, you were lucky to get a chance to begin with. Understanding your failings was imperative to ensuring they never happened again.

She looked at him and saw the terrified look in his eye. Bruce had crawled onto the cot to cradle him in his arms, kissing his temple. He had smoothed his features to not look as stoic. He was leaving it up to her. Her eyes trailed back to the zebra Jason was clutching in his lap.

“I found you near comatose. After offering my help to Bruce, he agreed we’d take you to the pits. Your father did not want to dunk you in fully, as he feared that would be too traumatic. Instead, we administered small doses at a time through an intravenous fluids line. When you awoke, you had not fully healed yet. It was a risk, but I feared causing you more harm if nothing was done. I poured some of the waters down your throat.”

Jason nodded. “I almost died,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Talia saw no need to correct him, “But you did not. Welcome back, habibi.”

It was likely the most tender thing she had ever done. She felt the act had been appreciated when Bruce looked at her and mouthed ‘thank you’.

She nodded and turned to leave.

“Talia?” his small voice asked.

“Yes?”

“Why did you help me?”

Anger bubbled up in her. She attempted to deny it. She turned and walked to the cot, putting a gentle hand on the cheek that had been swollen before. “You deserved it,” she said. “You deserved to be helped because you did not deserve what happened to you.”

He began crying again. She wiped his tears in a way she had never done for her own son.

“Why’d she do that to me,” he sobbed. “She- she could’ve left me al-o-one,” he hiccupped.

She barely spared a glance towards Bruce as she climbed onto the cot with them, pressing him into her. Bruce was at his back. He tried to cling to both at the same time. She never thought she’d see the day one of Bruce’s kids looked to her for comfort.

She couldn’t help but to compare it to her own.

“Habibi,” she murmured, “Do not think of it. You did not deserve that, and she was wrong for it.”

“Did she live?”

She hushed him. “No more of that. Do not burden yourself thinking of the well-being of others over your own, especially when those you are caring for do not value you in the same way. She did not value you, Jason. You will not spare another thought to her.”

He nodded.

This was the comfort she had never given to, or gotten from, another being. The crying child ruined her shirt, yet she could not seem to find it in her to care for it. All she wanted was to soothe him.

Although it was unbecoming of an Al Ghul to do so, she thought of what could’ve been if she hadn’t kept the secrets she had. She had never questioned her choice to side with her father. She had never needed to. She had had her life planned from the moment she was conceived, and she had been content to fill the role. The boundaries she pushed were never truly tested to their limits, and she knew it. She had never stopped to wonder what could’ve been.

If she had been soothed like this when she was much younger. What could’ve happened if training hadn’t been survival. She wondered if she’d be a better warrior for it. She wondered if she could’ve been a better mother.

Her child was five. She remembered what it had been like to be pregnant, her father attempting to insist she terminate in the early stages since she’d be out of commission so long. She had just barely managed to convince him it was a good opportunity.

She remembered every detail of the birth, how he felt in her arms and his soft, milky breath puffing out over her cheeks. He’d been put into training nearly immediately. She’d never questioned it. Even knowing her father would kill him if given the chance. Knowing he’d likely already be dead if it weren’t for the pits.

It would take time. It would take effort. It would take work. But sitting here, softly rubbing down the back of someone else’s crying child, she swore she would do better for herself and her boy. She wasn’t sure if she would ever earn it, but he at the very least deserved it. It would take cunning, wit, and the courage she had never had the guts to conjure up.

She thought of his little face, still full of baby fat. The scars that already marred his once perfect skin.

It would be difficult but he was worth it. It would take time, but he was worth every second. She would spend the rest of her life in regret for not coming to her senses sooner, but right here, in this very moment, she was swearing to do better for him. Only for him.

If Bruce fit into that picture, great. If he did not, that was fine too.

She steeled herself, taking her vow.

After all, above all, and Ah Ghul always gets what they want. Talia wanted this would every fiber of her being.

So have it she shall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finding a kid on the rooftop was the last thing Nightwing had been expecting.

Agent A had contacted him through the coms to let him know Batman had a breakdown and took Robin on an impromptu tour to go see the world’s most radioactive pool with an Al Ghul, so that was so nice. He swore he was going to beat that man black and blue someday-

He was pretty sure Bruce wouldn’t be stupid enough to actually go through with it. He could be incredibly selfish, and impulsive, and sometimes he thought he knew everything and ignored facts. After everything they’d been through, everything they’d done to make sure Jason pulled through this, he better not throw it away trying to find a miracle cure. The thought made his blood pressure rise.

He’d been pissed, looking for a couple more criminals to bust before he called it a night. He was in Gotham this week to be closer to Robin, but also to make sure the Bat didn’t go too far. He’d been pushing it a couple of times this week and he wasn’t sure what all that was about.

Babs had been helping them, of course, but she had college work to do and she was only one person. It took at least three at a time to handle Bruce on a good day.

When he saw two people on the rooftop, he’d been suspicious. He hadn’t crept close enough to hear what was being said, but he knew they were there.

Looking at them hurt, like they were beings mortals were never supposed to see. They were otherworldly and felt so out of reach. That rarely spelled out good news for the world, so he stuck around.

When one of them left, he could immediately feel most of the awe he’d been full of leaving his body. He looked at the remaining being. White hair with a black suit; he’d assumed it was a new villain. He’d spotted a couple people walking around in white suits, and as far as he knew that was nobody's trademark around here; he assumed a new rogue was moving in.

It hadn’t gone as planned. It was a kid, he thought. He was scared and had powers, maybe a new meta? He’d thrown something that scorched the building and Nightwing had let his anger for the bat take a hold of him, breeding impulsive decisions. He’d branded his escrima sticks, turned on, electricity crackling between them beautifully.

He’d caused this kid to have a panic attack. He had one himself when he started picking out features of his baby brother in the boy.

They had the same nose. They had the same eye shape and chin. The only difference between them was the hair, his eyes, and the fangs. Though, it explained it perfectly if Jason had... passed away.

Yeah. Batgirl was more than earning her cookies tonight, talking him down gently and allowing him to carry the child after he had just gotten his gross feelings all over this case.

… Maybe they shouldn’t have taken the mysterious child to the cave. In his defense, he was pretty sure he was going to get another brother with the way Alfred was looking at him as he walked around in silent awe was anything to go by. Plus, Batman wasn’t here to say no. See, this is why you shouldn’t take flights to only god knows where in the middle of the night without informing people. They get back at you by doing things they know you wouldn’t want them doing, often in your own house.

He vaguely wondered if Alfred would help him convince Bruce the boy had been here the whole time. It would be hilarious.

Alfred walked over, holding a tray of sandwiches. He was already in his own domino after he and Batgirl warned him they were coming home with an extra.

See how nice it is when you have a warning? You can prepare-

“Good evening, young sir,” he started out, ever formal. “I am called Agent A. I must admit I was shocked when Nightwing informed me you were going to be joining us tonight, but I have managed to prepare sandwiches. There are other things cooking as we speak and leftovers in the fridge I can heat up if you are interested. Would you by chance be willing to partake in them with us? Or tell us your name?”

The boy blinked. He looked like he was having trouble remembering how to speak. “I... I’m Phantom,” he said slowly.

It was more than they’d been able to get out of him.

Alfred smiled. “Phantom it is. Now, are there any allergies or preferences before we get started?”

“I’m vegetarian,” his voice was still low, like he was afraid of speaking too loudly. “S-, uh, Black Dahlia would probably kill me again if I go back on my word.”

… Well that was odd. They filed the information away for later; they didn’t want to push their luck as of right now.

“Very well,” Alfred replied without missing a beat. He started pointing to different sandwiches, “This one is cucumber. It’s one of my personal favorites to make, and is quite delicious. If that isn’t your preference, these are egg salad, assuming you are not vegan-” he paused to look at the child.

“Egg and stuff is fine. Just no meat,” he said lowly.

Alfred smiled. “Good. Now, these-”

He kept explaining different sandwiches before leaving the platter on the table he’d made Bruce shove down there years ago. He excused himself before he went upstairs.

Knowing Alfred, he was baking cookies right now. Bless that man.

“Phantom,” Batgirl said, “do you, uh, know who we are?”

He gulped a bit. “I always assumed the Gotham vigilantes were, uh, fake,” he coughed. “I should probably stop assuming things. I’m always wrong,” he muttered.

“What do you mean?” she asked gently.

He froze. “I met bigfoot,” he blurted out. “He was a ghost. Kind of, uh, puts things into perspective.”

That... hadn’t been what they were expecting.

“Okay,” he said cheerily instead. He could bullshit his way through anything for at least five minutes. “Was he nice at least?”

He snorted. “He tried to kill me and my friends.”

“Well that’s not good,” he replied. The kid gave no indication he was fucking with them. Given what he saw earlier, he had doubts he was.

“No.”

“I’m Nightwing, by the way,” he stuck out his hand.

He grinned. “Phantom, though I’m sure you already heard,” he took it.

“I’m Batgirl,” she decided to jump in before this conversation could get any weirder. “It’s nice to meet you, Phantom.”

He turned his boyish grin to her. Nothing like Jason’s. It was as soothing as it was uncanny.

“Nice to meet you too, Batgirl,” he said.

“So, Phantom,” she asked, “Where are you from?”

He fidgeted in his seat. “Um...”

“You don’t have to answer,” Nightwing jumped in. He could see she was trying her best to be subtle, but they really did need answers. “We just want to understand what happened back there a little better. You seemed pretty out of it.”

“... Yeah.”

He didn’t speak further on it.

They dropped it easily, trying to extract information a different way.

They asked if he went to school. Who his friends were. He kept giving answers like “Pharaoh” and “Black Dahlia”. Most of them made little sense.

They let him ask questions, too. They tried not to show concern as he asked how Agent A got the food to taste so good and casually dropped that his parents reanimated everything in their fridge often enough that he thought about keeping dry food and snacks in the house to eat??

They were either being fucked with, and this kid was incredible at sticking to the bit, or this was an actual ongoing occurrence.

They weren’t sure which option they preferred.

By the time Alfred had gotten down with the cookies, he’d had a medical kit with him.

“Now, Phantom,” he greeted, “I noticed you had a nasty bruise on your head. I would like to take a look at it and any other injuries you may have, if that’s alright.”

He looked back at Nightwing and Batgirl.

“Agent A has been doing most of my medical maintenance since I was nine,” he reassured. “I promise you’ll be okay.” He dropped his voice, cupping his hand over his mouth conspiratorially before whispering, “He even lets you have an extra cookie if you stay still.”

Phantom laughed a bit before agreeing to let the older man take a look.

“How’d you get such a nasty thing?” Alfred asked.

He fidgeted. “I... someone hit me in the head with a bat,” he said.

“Oh?” Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Why would someone do that?”

He was quiet for a moment. “I still don’t know why,” he said in a whisper.

Nightwing glanced at Alfred’s face as he glanced at his. They nodded and looked at Babs. She also nodded subtly, pretending it was because she was enjoying a cookie.

“Mmm,” she hummed while making the motion and swallowed before saying, “These are really good, Agent A. Would you like one, Phantom?”

“What kind?”

“White chocolate chunk raspberry with macadamia nut,” she responded.

He whistled and winced when Alfred pressed gently against the bruise. “Sure!”

“After his exam, I presume?” He looked up at Babs, eyebrow raised.

She blushed. “Of course, Agent A.”

He nodded. “Very well,” he said. “It looks to be healing nicely. There’s been no nausea? No headaches, tiredness...?”

“No, sir,” he replied.

“Oh, nonsense, call me Agent A,” he said, looking the boy over. “You can get that cookie now, as long as you answer one thing.”

He looked up at Alfred. This expression reminded Nightwing of Jason; his chest ached.

“What is it?” he asked tentatively.

“What is that on your hand?”

He made a small ‘oh’ before holding his hand out for Alfred to see. “It’s a Lichtenburg scar,” he said softly.

Alfred took his hand gently. “My word, how does someone get one of these in such a peculiar place? Where does it end?” he asked.

Phantom took a deep breath. “I, um... live wire,” he said dismissively as if he didn’t just make alarm bells ring. He began peeling himself partially out of his suit to uncover a mass of scarring going up his left arm and across his shoulder.

Some of it creeped towards his neck, but most of it traveled along the curves of his chest and back. Dick was almost certain those were the same patterns of nerves and blood vessels in that area, all ending right where his heart should be.

The adults were silent for a few seconds. “Oh my,” Alfred said before catching himself. “That’s quite a serious wound. It looks like it’s healed alright, you’ve had no pain? No nerve damage?”

“It’s better some days than others,” the boy admitted, already pulling the suit back on. “It really only bugs me when I overuse my hand. Play too many video games, write too long, stuff like that,” he answered.

“Very well,” Alfred replied. “I believe you’ve earned your cookie. Which one would you like to start with?” he asked.

“Um,” he said softly and looked at Babs. “What was the one you had earlier?”

“This one,” she said, tapping the plate.

He grabbed the napkin Alfred offered him and took one, taking a careful bite before humming in surprise. “This is really good!” he said after he swallowed.

“I do try,” the butler replied humbly, because he was just like that.

All of the information they were getting was starting to paint a very concerning picture. They hadn’t been able to extract a hometown or a legal name from the child, but it was clear he was very nervous and jumpy. He looked one wrong word away from bolting, even with them pulling all the stops to try and prevent it.

The longer he studied him, the more sure he was that he had been some sort of vigilante in his area. The suit, the persona, the way he carried himself and talked before he caught what he was doing and adjusted his behavior? Something was wrong.

The boy also made his heart ache. He didn’t have the same mannerisms as Jason, and the scarring on his left hand was enough to prove he wasn’t, but he looked enough like him for it to be jarring. From the glances Alfred and Babs through his way when Phantom wasn’t looking, he could tell they thought the same. It was nice knowing he wasn’t completely out of line on the rooftop, but he’d really thought for a moment...

It was stupid. Bruce... Bruce promised he’d make it. He was really clinging to that, ignoring the little voice that whispered that it was Bruce’s fault he was in that position to begin with.

He remembered when he found Jason’s phone sitting on his desk. The boy had never seen the need for a passcode and had never set one. He picked it up. He’d turned it on.

He didn’t go through any of his private messages with his friends. Didn’t even really look at those; he couldn’t recall a single name he’d seen except for hers. He’d read through every email on the account, seeing the way she’d manipulated and used him. He hadn’t given the phone to the bat; hadn’t mentioned the emails. If Jason wanted to tell him if- when he woke up, that was his business.

He didn’t care what kind of condition his brother was in. If Batman got hold of his phone now, he’d leave nothing unchecked. Any sort of private conversation his brother was having would be between him, the person he was having it, and the bat. He would turn into a tyrant and start bugging devices again; he didn’t want that for Jason, and he was pretty damn sure Bruce would bug his phone again. He sure as hell didn’t want another awkward talk from Bruce about internet safety. He’s 18, he can make his own decisions, and also, that was completely on Bruce for bugging his fucking phone .

He was willing to admit that it was a little selfish, but what was done was already done. Showing Bruce the emails wouldn’t do any good now. He would have a conversation with Jason himself about it.

His thoughts snapped back to reality as he heard Phantom’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “What was that? I got a bit distracted.”

“I asked if you were okay,” he said softly.

It hurt. He treated Jason so badly when he first arrived. They had really only just been getting along; and now, he was...

He smiled. “I’m okay.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. He ignored him.

Batgirl glared at him. He ignored her.

“So!” he clapped his hands, “Phantom, what’s your favorite tv show?”

He jumped, but recovered quickly. “I, um...”

He held back a sigh. He got an idea.

“Hey...” he whispered. “Did you know that Batman-” he leaned forwards, glancing around for dramatic effect- “Is deathly afraid of bats?”

He could hear Alfred groan softly. Babs giggled into her hand. Phantom himself snorted and choked out, “Really?!”

Dick himself let out a chuckle. That had blown his mind when he was little; he assumed Bruce loved bats. He had insisted they get bat-themed everything any time they could get away with it for that very reason (now he just did it because it was funny).

“Yup,” he said. “I was just as shocked as you were. I was pretty young when he took me in, and he never told me he was deathly afraid of the things. One night, when I was a little younger than you are now, I found a few of these little bats that were hurt,” he started. Babs was already stifling laughter and, although he’d deny it if called out, he could see Alfred’s shoulders shaking with mirth. He had already began cracking up himself.

“I uh,” his shoulders shook, “I was really concerned about them, right? They fit in the palm of my hand and...” he trailed off. “They were badly hurt. I think a cat got a hold of them or something,” he continued.

Phantom hadn’t noticed his switch in mood. Babs and Alfred definitely had.

“I did what any teenage-something would do; I put them in a box and brought them to Batman. Surely he liked bats, right?”

They were back to restrained laughter, but it wasn’t the happy thing it had been. Phantom had caught on to what was about to happen, his own shoulders shaking with laughter.

Dick slammed a hand on the table. “I feel like he didn’t appreciate it enough!”

“Certainly not, sir,” Alfred sniffed, “Can’t imagine why a man who dresses up as a bat wouldn’t want to have bats in his home. In his room. On his bed,” he smirked a bit. “I haven’t the faintest idea as to why he would run out of the room screaming.”

There wasn’t a hope in the world to get Dick and Babs under control in the next few minutes.

Phantom was no better, mouth muffled and shoulders shaking. “On his bed?!” he wheezed.

“I-” he was interrupted by his own breathless laughter, “I thought they’d get co- cold.”

Babs grabbed the table. “He-he had to call my dad,” she forced out, “To come get them!”

And maybe things weren’t perfect. They certainly weren't okay. The underlying tension was like waiting for a balloon to finally pop.

But Nightwing was a big brother. This may not be his baby brother, and he wasn’t very good at this yet, but he couldn’t just let him... stay like this. He looked so sad.

This kid wasn’t his baby brother, but he was someone’s baby brother. He’d do his best.

He just hoped his best would be good enough.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #dp x dc #jason todd #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc robin #robin #batman #ai-less whumptober day nine #kite flies over the nightingale nest

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