#ASL is its own language. please take all English signed dialogue as translated from the ASL and know that it will have inaccuracies.

[brown-little-robin]

28: Ground Rules

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Joseph Wilson is a bit of a ghost.

It’s not about the loss of his voice any more than everything is. It’s about being thirty-eight, he supposes, and having no full-time job besides art. It’s about being thirty-eight and unmarried, though with a large heap of good friends. Joseph Wilson wouldn’t—couldn’t trade his life for a normal white-fenced existence, but he can’t help feeling painfully different when his mother asked him “Are you ever going to settle down, honey?” with a sad look in her eyes.

She asks that every once in a while, and every time, Joseph gives her the same gentle look. He can’t answer that question. His heart has always compelled him in certain directions, gently and irresistibly and unchangeably. Joseph cannot negotiate with his heart. It compels him toward unknown beauties, the alien landscapes of the planet Tamaran, the depths of the jungle, the mediums of watercolor and poetry, the strange alienness of Raven, the lonely grace of Nightwing. The ever-expanding horizons of friendship.

His heart rarely compels him toward romance, and that always ends with Joseph being hurt. He stopped calling his refusal to get himself hurt cowardice a long time ago.

Along with the question, Adeline always offers to give him a position in her company, Searchers, Inc. She reminds Joseph how effective he could be as an agent, seeking out the information that Searchers sells. Or, Joseph suspects, as more of an all-around odd-jobs agent. A retrieval specialist, maybe. A diplomat, when the company requires diplomacy. Which is often.

He got a taste of the life of a Searchers agent last week. He had to go to Qurac and find his mother, gather information without getting caught, and get her out of a heavily guarded prison—with her on a broken leg! Joseph did it, and he did it well. But that life…

An overwhelming sense of orange occurs to Joseph Wilson’s senses, and the feeling of a bullet in his leg, and the sound of gunfire and shouts. He lets it wash over him and dissipate.

That life is not for Joseph.

What life is for him? A month ago, Joseph thought it was decided: the life of an artist. His life in Metropolis. An easel in the living room, canvases in the closet, a guitar by his bed, and leather and paper notebooks stacked on his desk and nightstand. Anxiety medication on his nightstand. Jericho uniform gathering dust on the top shelf of his closet. Medical pack for the vigilante friends who occasionally come to his door with wounds and illnesses. A calendar full of cultural events, art shows, part-time teaching, and get-togethers with his friends.

It was a good life. Joseph was content. Even with the occasional loneliness.

And then Wally West found him walking home from the general store, took one of his grocery bags, and fell into step with him. Joseph Wilson learned more about speedsters from that one breathless conversation than he had ever known before. Wally West was a whirlwind of explanations, the gist of which was “Barry Allen was the second flash; Barry has a grandson (Impulse); Impulse has a clone (Inertia); Inertia is a supervillain; well, actually, there have been multiple Inertias, and the first one wasn’t so bad; the first one just came back from the speed force and he doesn’t want to live with us and we’re worried but we’re trying to give him a chance; have you ever heard of a lightning rod? Okay, well… it’s kind of strange.”

Wally West explained the concept of a lightning rod—someone who gives a speedster the “grounding” to escape the speed force. He said their idea was to have Raven give Thad Thawne an artificial lightning rod. The hope was that the lightning rod person would be able to curb Thad’s powers if necessary. It wasn’t the strangest thing Joseph ever heard of by a long shot. But the idea of creating an artificial lightning rod seemed wrong.

Joseph understood that the plan was a desperate bid to rehome a supervillain, but something in him was shocked. If a lightning rod is so integral to a speedster’s heart… if it comes from mutual love and trust… what would it do to a person to have that void filled with magic? Joseph can’t imagine that the magic wouldn’t affect the child’s mind; Raven’s magic and emotion intertwine nearly inseparably. Would the lightning rod force him to trust Joseph? To love him?

Joseph hated that idea instantly.

But… the child Wally West described did seem to dearly need a new home. A young clone created to be a weapon, trying his best to figure life out but desperate to move away from his blood family. And Joseph has always had a soft spot for traumatized children.

Joseph Wilson has known of a few—a very few—reformed villains. He knows it’s an awful, difficult process to rebuild your life. He knows, too, that blood family is complicated and hard and sometimes it’s better to be away for a while.

He learned more over the phone with Max Mercury; he learned the boy’s name, Sophos Thaddeus Anacletus Free; he learned that he definitely has PTSD, dissociation, and nonverbal episodes; and he learned that Max loves him very, very much. Max didn’t say so, but it was there in his voice. It was obvious in the way he asked Joseph, softly, to be honest. He asked him if he would seriously consider taking Thad in. Max didn’t want to give the boy false hope.

Joseph said yes.

Of course he said yes.

It seemed like fate at the time. Joseph Wilson, living alone with a house full of art and a mind full of knowledge about trauma and recovery, having a child fall into his lap. It felt like being needed and perfectly able to provide. Like the possibility of doing what was not done for him when his throat was cut. Healing the hurt.

He loves his mother, but all she knew how to give him was protection. Training. She never knew how to give him comfort.

Then Joseph met Thad Free, and the boy walked with him and talked to him in his rusty little voice, and Joseph fell in love with him then and there. His heart ached. He was never so sure about the compulsion in his life. He saw the stiff, over-careful way Thad moved transform into sure-footed, childish delight. He saw the hope in his yellow eyes, and he wanted to give that to Thad forever.

And then his mother vanished on a Searchers mission, and Joseph had to find her, and on the airplane ride home, she dropped the bomb on him:

“I want to give Searchers, Inc. to you.”

Joseph froze.

“I won’t ask you to be an agent,” Adeline Kane said. There were bags under her eyes, her white roots were showing, and her leg was in a cast. “I know by now you don’t want that. I think I know my own son. But… Joseph, I can’t keep up with the company anymore, and not just missions. Your mother’s getting old, honey.”

Joseph signed, “You’re retiring?”

Expressions are always exaggerated in ASL because that’s one of the ways to indicate meaning, including framing a sentence as a question, but Joseph’s disbelief must have shown really clearly. Adeline smiled at him knowingly.

“Sooner or later,” she said. “I hope sooner. Depending on if you agree to take over Searchers. If not… if not, I’m going to have to find someone else I can trust. And there’s no one in Searchers.”

“No one?”

“No one. Hazard of being a… well, frankly, a shady, barely-legal, and downright deceptive company. I’m glad you never joined, Joey, you’re too good to be part of it.”

Joseph signed, quick and almost angry, “Then why ask me to take the whole company?”

“Because I trust you,” Adeline said. “Because whatever you decide to do with it, it will be good. Change the company to be more legal, or more impactful and positive? Wonderful. Burn it to the ground? Fine!”

“Mother,” Joseph signed, horrified.

Adeline shifted uncomfortably in the airplane seat, reached out her hand, and took Joey’s cheek in her hand.

“Joey,” she said tenderly. “You can say no, and I’ll never ask again. But, darling, I know you could use Searchers well.”

Joseph turned his head into her hand and closed his eyes, throat closing up with emotion.

He ended up telling her that he’d have to think about it. She said Searchers could keep running for a while without her, but he should make his decision before her leg healed.

“Otherwise I’ll just end up taking over again,” she laughed, and Joseph laughed, too, in his own silent way.

As they disembarked, his mother said bluntly: “I need help around the mansion. While my leg heals. Would you be willing to come? I’m sorry, I really don’t want to put responsibility on you, but I’m a wanted woman, and—”

“Give me two weeks,” Joseph signed.

When his heart compels him, he rarely denies it.

The next day, Max Mercury called him. Thad Free! He has a commitment! But he told his mother he would move in with her! Joseph was furious with himself for forgetting. He gave Max a day and a length of time for Thad to visit: nearly a week. It’s a long time. It’s not nearly long enough.

Thad Free stands in the middle of Joe Wilson’s apartment like a polite ghost. He waits, solemn-eyed and wary, as if for Joseph to react to his presence. He looks like he expects Joseph to recoil from him in disgust.

He’s a pale creature, lighter blond than Joseph himself. The light from the picture window makes every hair of his body shimmer like thin strands of gold. In his whitish-blue sweater, he seems out of place among the rich greens and pinks of Joseph Wilson’s apartment. Like a white pigeon.

Thad Free reminds Joseph of Raven, back when she was new with the Teen Titans. When she feared her powers as much as she valued them. Thad Free moves like Raven: light-footed, like he’s trying not to take up any more attention than his existence demands. Tension rides in his shoulders. He watches Joseph like he’s afraid one of them is going to get hurt if he looks away.

Joseph gives Thad a quick tour of the apartment first, trying to coax him to move a little easier. It’s only three rooms, counting the bathroom; the kitchen and living room are one area, and the bedroom is one area. Joseph smiles ruefully as he acknowledges that the apartment is pretty small. Thad smiles back and shrugs.

Joseph signs apologetically, “There’s only one bed, sorry. Can you sleep on a futon?”

Thad looks surprised to be asked.

“That’s fine. I don’t sleep well in beds anyway. Normally I sleep on the floor.”

Joseph widens his eyes. Thad laughs softly.

“It’s more normal than how I used to sleep,” he says.

Joseph cocks his head, curious.

Thad lets his canine teeth show in something like a grin as he says “Suspended upside down in a tank of purple liquid, all chained up in the VR equipment.”

It’s heartbreaking. It’s weird. Joseph balks, torn between the impulse to reach out and the impulse to laugh. Thad grins knowingly at him and sticks his hands in the pockets of his pale-blue sweater. Joseph laughs, and Thad looks pleased with himself.

Joseph takes Thad out to the living room and sits down on the couch. Thad sits on the opposite side of the couch, tucking his feet under him. He seems seconds away from taking flight.

Joey signs, “Let’s set some ground rules.”

“Oh thank God,” the boy blurts out, and then looks away, blushing.

Aww.

Joseph waits until Thad Free looks back. Then he signs, “One rule: look at me while we’re talking.”

“Oh,” Thad says, and Joseph watches the realization hit him: looking away removes Joseph’s ability to communicate. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Joseph brushes his fingers along his palm twice: “I forgive you.”

Thad nods and settles down a bit, moving his legs so he’s less crouching, more kneeling. He looks more comfortable this way.

Joseph signs, “Don’t break things or make loud noises.”

“I wouldn’t,” Thad protests, offended.

Joseph gives him an apologetic look and shrug.

“I don’t have many rules for you,” he signs. “You’re my guest. I’ll tell you more if I need to.”

“Okay,” Thad says slowly.

“It’s not a test,” Joseph signs. “I just can’t think of any more rules right now.”

“Okay,” Thad says again, steadier.

Joseph signs, “You?”

Thad looks alarmed.

“Me what?”

“Do you have any ground rules?” Joseph asks.

Thad looks confused.

“Things you want me to know?” Joseph prompts. “Things I shouldn’t do or talk about?”

Thad’s body glitches. It’s as if Thad moved while Joseph was blinking, only Joseph didn’t blink. Joseph is just realizing that Thad must have slowed time when the boy says decisively: “Yes.”

Joseph puts his hands in his lap and leans forward, listening.

“Don’t touch me without asking.”

Joseph nods. He knows that one, but it’s always good to hear again.

“And try not to come up behind me with no warning.”

Joseph nods. He lifts his hands and signs, “Coming up behind me is bad for me, too.”

Thad nods back. He takes a deep breath.

“Sometimes I dissociate. Do you know what that is?”

Yes. Yes, Joseph does.

“Don’t touch me while I’m not conscious, please,” Thad says. “And don’t… don’t…”

Thad’s gaze falls to Joseph’s hands.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it?” the boy requests. “It just happens.”

Joseph signs “OK.”

“And don’t talk about clone stuff, please.”

Joseph asks, “What clone stuff?”

He has to fingerspell “clone”; there’s no ASL sign for it. Thad grimaces.

“Don’t talk about Bart. My genetic original. And don’t… I guess just don’t ask me about being a clone. You can ask stuff about my past and I’ll answer. It’s fine. But not about that. Not about him.”

Thad’s voice is husky.

Joseph puts his hand on his heart and inclines his head, giving Thad a sympathetic look. The boy can’t hold eye contact; he looks away out the window, then remembers and looks back at Joseph, flustered.

And then he looks away again. His shoulders hunch.

“Sorry, I just—sorry. I’m not good at this.”

He stops. He looks at Joseph’s hands again.

“Uhh… so, sometimes I get overwhelmed, and I have to go be alone… I’m not trying to be rude, I just… I can’t do it. I’ve rarely ever had to interact with real people before. I’m sorry.”

Joseph signs, “It’s OK. Truly.”

Thad looks down at Joseph’s hands, shamefaced.

“Raven gets overwhelmed too,” Joseph signs. Then he remembers that Thad doesn’t know Raven’s ASL name, so he fingerspells it: “R-A-V-E-N. And Raven is one of my best friends.”

Thad signs “OK.”

Is he going nonverbal? It seems like this got into some heavy territory for him.

“Do you have all the ground rules you want?” Joseph asks. “You can add more later.”

Thad nods. He looks up at Joseph again.

Joseph smiles at him. “If you want to be alone for a while, you can hang out in the bedroom. I thought I’d do some painting this afternoon. I’ll be out here. We can order dinner at seven in the evening. Does that sound all right to you?”

“Yes,” Thad says quietly—but sincerely. “Yes, that sounds good.”

Joseph nods. He gets up, slowly, and stretches, arms up in the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Thad hop off the couch with the light grace of a dancer.

“Joseph?” Thad’s voice asks.

Joseph puts his hands down and gives Thad his full attention.

Thad says, “Thank you. For the ground rules.”

Aww. Joseph remembers the way Thad relaxed when Joseph assured him that the moss he stepped on would grow back, and something clicks. Thad was raised in isolation from human contact, and probably punished for every wrong move. He’s terrified of doing something wrong.

“You’re welcome,” Joseph signs. It’s the same sign for “Thank you,” and he hopes Thad takes it both ways.

Thad nods seriously and asks to be excused.

#We are back! :) #and hopefully with a regular update schedule again! #longer notes will be on AO3 #but the gist of them is: #ASL is its own language. please take all English signed dialogue as translated from the ASL and know that it will have inaccuracies. #I don't know ASL #although I am doing my absolute best to portray it accurately and respectfully #and I WELCOME criticism on ASL / signing! #(not on other stuff please XD I'm doing my best and fanfic is a creative/fun outlet for me.) #Anyway enjoy! #The Strange Redemption of Thaddeus Thawne #Thad Thawne #Joseph Wilson #Joey Wilson