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theonewiththefanfics · 3 years

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Come Back To Me (one-shot)

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes has gone through hell and back to reach his happiness, and his happiness came in the form of the love of his life. But what happens when she’s ripped away? What happens when she comes back and can no longer be happy herself? How does he get her back

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Genre: AAAAANNNNNGGGGGSSSTTT, sooooo much angst. Lil bit of fluff as well (also, we’re gonna pretend like Endgame didn’t really happen, and WandaVision wasn’t as emotionally devastating), smut

Warnings: extreme sadness, depression, refusal to eat, unprotected sex, allusion to ra*e, but not the act. if there is anything else, please let me know and message me :) (MINIMALLY EDITED)

Word count: 9301 (it gon be a ride)

Bucky’s been scared many times in his life before. He wouldn’t admit that out loud, but most of the time, even as the Winter Soldier, he was terrified. Afraid to fail and of the consequences that would follow, afraid to succeed and have another person’s blood on his hands, afraid to look in the mirror, for the face staring back at him wasn’t quite his own, and even afraid to sleep in the dark, terrified the spirits of his victims would come out for revenge. But he’s never been as scared as he was in that moment, pointing a gun at the head of the love of his life, while she did the same, only without any clue as to who Bucky was.

His mind was still processing how they’d gotten in that position, and it refused to accept it, because nothing, not a single thing had clued him in on how that day could turn south so quickly.

It had started off as usual with Bucky’s flesh hand sliding down Y/N’s naked spine, as she had her face pressed against his toned chest, small snores escaping into the air, while a small dribble of drool trickled down the corner of her mouth.

Bucky couldn’t help the smile lifting up his lips. It was moments like those, he believed in good things. 5 AM, the New York sky dark and without a trace of morning light probably until 8 AM, with his favourite person in the world pressed up against his side, soaking up his warmth, leeching it off without any shame after having been satisfied (or at least he hoped so) by his tongue, fingers and, well, other things as well.

Y/N shifted a bit, trailing her palm up to his abs and settling in the middle of his chest to feel his strong heartbeat. Bucky laid his palm over hers. Even in her sleep, she didn’t hesitate to entwine their fingers and bring them under her chin, closer to her, as if she needed him next to her at all times.

He felt bad, he truly did, as he squeezed Y/N’s side, making her frown. “You gotta wake up, dollface. We gotta get ready.”

“Dunantdo,” she mumbled, and if Bucky hadn’t been there to take care of her drunken ass more times than he could count, he wouldn’t have been able to decipher her slurred words as “don’t want to.”

“I know.” He chuckled. “And believe me, there’s nothing in this world I’d wanna do more than lay here with you… well maybe go down on you a few more times at some point as well, but the mission won’t happen on its own.”

Bucky felt her chest rumble against his, as she laughed. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind you going down on me, mission and all.” Her words were clearer, but still laced with sleep, and muffled by his skin while he felt her calves run against his as she stretched out.

“I know you don’t. The missing hair chunks on my head prove that.”

“Hey!” she slapped his chest but soothing it immediately blearily looking at him with a pout. “I didn’t pull that hard!”

“I’m not complaining, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “In fact, if you ever stop doing that, I will make sure you regret it, but unfortunately we don’t have time for a rendezvous. Jet’s gonna be ready in an hour.”

Finally, after having accepted the fact she won’t get any more sleep, Y/N lifted herself to rest on her elbow right next to Bucky’s ribs and opened her Y/E/C sleep-filled eyes to look into his cerulean ones. “We can still squeeze in a quickie if we hop into the shower together.”

“We can,” Bucky hummed, metal fingers lifting up to cup her cheek and place a strand of unruly hair behind her ear. “But you know a quickie for us is never quick.”

Y/N let out a scoff and pushed away from their fluffy duvet, making her shiver as she placed her feet on the cold floor. “And whose fault is that? You’re the one with the super-soldier stamina.”

“And you,” he pinched her ass making her squeal before giving him the middle finger and taking the red Henley she’d so happily taken off his body the night before only to put it on herself, “are the completely irresistible one. Can you blame me for wanting to spend eternity between those two legs in every way possible?”

The smile she threw him over her shoulder was nothing short of wicked, but instead of joining him in the warm embrace of the bed, Y/N made her way to the bathroom. “Keep talking, Mr Charmer. Might just get you what you want.”

Bucky was happy about having super speed as well with how quickly he hopped out of the bed and pressed her against the cold tile wall.

***

Much to Steve’s annoyance, although they were barely fifteen minutes late, Bucky and Y/N were late, and when he saw the smug grins both of them sported, he genuinely thought his eyes would get stuck at the back of his head with the hard roll he gave to them.

“As a new policy,” he started, flipping over the mission file, “I’m putting you two on a celibate streak.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, plopping down on one of the metal benches as the Quinjet lifted in the air. “Really, Steve? Do you truly want to deal with Bucky like that? Cause I know, I don’t.”

“Well, your fondueing is disrupting the schedule.”

“Oh relax,” Nat butted in, throwing Y/N a chocolate bar, given how no one had had time to eat proper breakfast. “It’s not like the HYDRA base was going to suddenly disappear.”

“It could’ve,” the blond super soldier countered.

Nat rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide the smile she had on her face. “Which is why we have an inside man, who as of three minutes ago has confirmed – they’re still there. And by the looks of it, not even trying to run.”

Bucky’s arm slung around Y/N’s shoulder and pulled her closer. “See? Everything’s still on track. Besides, from what I heard from Sam, he’s loving the whole under-cover thing so we were doing him a favour.”

Tony had gotten out of the pilot’s seat and joined in on everyone discussing Y/N’s and Bucky’s sex life, so that was her cue to switch the comms in her ear from ‘communication’ setting to the ‘music’ setting, leaning against Bucky’s side and closing her eyes, cashing in on those lost sleep minutes she’d spent in the shower with her lover.

When they had about forty minutes left in the air, Bucky once more woke Y/N up as she’d fallen asleep while Steve and Tony went over the last briefing.

“Bucky and I will take the South-side entrance,” Steve said, pointing at the holographic map Tony had pulled up. “Y/N, Nat and Wanda you take the East, and go as easy as you can, Red.” Steve nudged his chin towards Wanda who nodded. “Just because you can bend reality doesn’t mean you can bend your health. That’s where the main intel storage unit. Get as much as you can and get out. Tony will take the air and wait until Sam joins before blowing everything up. Clint, Bruce and Thor have all checked in, and are already in their positions on the ground as blitz attack. Once F.R.I.D.A.Y has confirmed everyone’s location away from the blast zone Tony will detonate the bombs Sam has set up inside. Got it?”

Affirmative nods came from everyone on board, as they went to do final checks on their gear and equipment.

“Be careful out there, alright?” Bucky mumbled against Y/N’s neck as she double and triple checked her ammunition count, strapping a sword to her back as well, just in case. Her obsession with Medieval fantasy shows giving her a reason to make Tony pay for her lessons.

“We’re gonna be fine,” Y/N gently patted Bucky’s cheek before giving him a peck on the cheek as he wrapped two strong hands around her waist. “We always are.”

But where typically she was right (most of the time), it was in that instance where she couldn’t be further from the truth if she’d tried.

Despite having Sam on the inside and him having gone through great lengths to make the infiltration as easy as possible, getting inside the building had been suspiciously easy, and that had set off everyone’s alarm bells, but knowing how important gathering the information was, they pressed on, keeping the thought that it could be a trap at the back of their minds at all times.

Thor, Bruce and Clint had started their ground attack two minutes before the rest had joined, with Vision guiding and disabling every system possible from back at the tower, so Tony and F.R.I.D.A.Y could put all of their focus on retaliating against the helacarriers coming their way.

“Cap, we’re in,” Natasha announced, ducking through the door, as Wanda covered her six, and Y/N lead the way in front, bullet shells flying out from her rifle.

Their comms crackled with echoes of gunfire outside as Tony lead them through the place right until they got to the main room where the whole system mainframe resided in.

“Five-minute countdown commenced,” Y/N said it out loud to inform the rest of their team, as she stood behind Wanda, who’d created a red shield of magic, keeping the assault away and them inside the room.

Five minutes until they had to get out of the building because in eight minutes time Tony and Vision, having infiltrated HYDRA’s system would blow everything to bits. If that failed, Wanda was there to provide a safety dome for the three of them, but it was just as a failsafe. Even though she now had full control of her powers, understood them better than ever, taking in a blast that will level a whole ass building was still a lot and there was no guarantee bricks and beams wouldn’t just settle right over them to then fall on top the women, she was still recuperating from a rival witch attack and it had taken out a bit more energy from her than usual.

“How’s it looking over on your end, Vis?” Wanda asked through the comms, connecting back to the rest of the team in the tower.

“The files are coming in, but too slowly,” his smooth voice invaded everyone’s earpieces. “And unfortunately F.R.I.D.A.Y’s mainframe won’t allow for a faster download, as she needs to scan everything for viruses.”

“Should’ve used a flash-drive,” Y/N mumbled under her breath as she watched the HYDRA agents line outside the room, creating a two-level firing squad basically.

“Last time we did that, the files corrupted the drive and then erased themselves,” Tony butted in, then groaned as something hard hit him. “And no one needs to hear you complain about losing the six seasons of Brooklyn Nine-Nine again.”

Y/N just rolled her eyes and steadied her rifle against her shoulder once Nat gave the go-sign. Then something beeped through everyone’s comms. The three-minute countdown before the whole building went down.

“We’re barely at seventy-six percent,” Nat’s tone was calm, but the frustration didn’t go unnoticed by others.

“Plan B then.” Wanda changed her stance a bit, but not by much as to not arouse any suspicion from the agents. If they could be taken out by the blast instead of her it’d be less energy used on her part.

“Are you sure?” Sam finally butted in, having gotten in contact with Bucky who’d given him a comm linked just with their interface. “We can try and delay the blast,” Sam said right as Bucky commanded him to do so.

“No,” Wanda stated. There were already at the two-minute mark. “Get out. We’ll take cover once the files are ours.”

“Y/N,” she heard her lover start, but she just shook her head, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Wanda’s right. Just be here to pull us out from the rubble. I have no want to climb through the wreckage.”

A deep, long, exasperated sigh echoed in her ears, and it made her smile. “You know, sometimes I really hate you.”

“Love you too, hot stuff.”

A chorus of gags followed shortly after their little display of affection, and even though they were nowhere near one another they rolled their eyes almost at the exact same time, as Vision told Wanda to stay safe.

“You owe me a foot massage, Vis.”

“Gross.” Y/N chuckled.

Wanda just threw her a smirk. “Imagine how we all feel about you and Bucky.”

“Okay, we’re down to sixty seconds!” Tony said, making Y/N nervously glance back at Nat.

The assassin just shook her head. “Eighty-seven percent.”

She gritted her teeth. If the building went out before they got the files they’d be stuck with just what they had. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, please speed up a bit, the place is about to get blown to bits.”

“Rerouting the files to a different server,” the A.I. was immediately on it. “Will have to do the scan later.”

“Thirty seconds, guys!” Steve shouted as whoever was still near the base scrambled to get out.

Nat’s head whipped back to the computer screen. “Almost there.”

But the whole thing seemed to have made the HYDRA agents realise something was amiss, yet it was too late for them. As Sam counted off the last five seconds, Natasha rushed to the other two women, grabbing them by their waists and crouching down while Wanda created a red dome of magic, explosions shaking the whole house.

For a second the rumbling felt more like someone shaking you awake from a deep sleep until the walls of the room exploded, raining fire, brick and metal down on them.

That would’ve been fine if not for the fact that the floor underneath them decided to disappear as well, an array of curses coming from their mouths as Wanda immediately rounded out the shield while the rest of their teammates kept nagging them to respond.

“Y/N, I swear to everything you hold dear, I will kill you myself if you die,” Bucky pretty much screamed, while she groaned as the sudden shift in balance had made her hit herself in the ribs with the rifle.

She gritted her teeth, as Wanda used more of her powers to stabilise them. “We’re fine,” she responded. “No need to bring in the cavalry yet.”

A deep sigh from what seemed like everyone echoed in her earpiece, and when Wanda was sure there’d be no second shockwaves from the blast or no debris that could fall right on top of them where she’d need to take her focus away, she flew the three women out of the ruined building and onto the grassy knoll where the team stood waiting.

Bucky was instantly next to Y/N, pulling her into his body and her lips against his once Wanda released her from the energy bubble.

“God, you’re disgusting,” Sam mumbled, and it was followed by a small yelp when someone hit him in the side.

Y/N threw him a mischievous grin when she pulled away. “Don’t be a Bitter Betty. The offer to set you up still stands.”

Sam cackled, as everyone had now regrouped and together were marching away to where the jet sat disguised between the trees. “Hard pass. You’re a worse matchmaker than Steve.”

“Hey! Amelia was an amazing girl.”

“She is except for the fact that she’s not interested in men.”

Steve’s cheeks reddened up a bit, as Tony gave him a sympathetic pat. “ ‘S not my business to ask what people’s sexuality is. And blame yourself. You’re the one who’s called Sam.”

“Oh, don’t you even –“ but his words were cut off midway as gunfire rained down on them from the sky.

Instantly Wanda threw up a shield once more, Bucky going to cover Y/N with his body, but HYDRA opening fire from the top had left their sides unprotected, and a well-aimed shot from a bazooka ripped everyone apart.

The blast was minimised thanks to Wanda and her quickly directing a part of her magic to contain it, but the missile still threw them away.

Y/N’s head was ringing, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the loud noise of the blast, because of her having hit her head against a tree trunk, or because of all the screams from her teammates, yet she had zero time to recuperate as an agent rushed towards her, knives ready for a kill.

The first one embedded itself inside the tree, and barely not inside her head, as she moved to the side in the last minute, but a small sting still crept along the side of her head where he’d managed to split the skin.

She was up and rolling away, grabbing one of her own knives from the side of her leg, finally unsheathing her sword. There was no time to put more clips in her guns.

The first agent was quick work for Y/N, I mean he only three more knives left, and he’d been one of the unlucky ones to stand next to the building when it went off, so the shrapnel had ripped a piece of his Kevlar open giving her the perfect place to put her sword in, but the next ten were not as easy.

She was worn out, tired from having experienced two explosions and some of the agents were new backup, which meant they had more strength and energy, but she wasn’t going to let them get the best of her.

At the back of her mind, Y/N heard everyone chiming in as to where they were, how many people were after them if they needed backup, but mostly Y/N heard Bucky’s calls that he was coming to get her, even though she hadn’t requested help, she was too busy dodging bullets and knives to even respond.

She was human, she needed help, she wanted help, but then something odd occurred to her – most, from what she’d heard through the comms, were fighting maybe four to five people at a time, with the exception of Wanda, Tony, Thor and Hulk who had tanks and cars going after them, while Y/N had a group of twenty to twenty-five people to manage.

It was an ambush, it dawned on her.

She wanted to scream at herself ‘No shit, the whole thing is an ambush’, but it was an ambush of Y/N specifically, which was odd given how she was pretty much one of the few who had no direct ties to HYDRA, but that one moment of confusion was enough for someone to land a slice to the side where her own suit had a hole in it.

“Oh, we don’t want you,” a voice went through her comms that she didn’t recognise. It was muffled as if someone was whispering through someone else’s mic. “But we’ll hurt you more than ever.”

An unsettling quiet settled around before she clearly recognised Bucky breathing out a ‘no’ and then a panicked ‘Y/N!’ rip through his throat. Her head whipped to see one of the most frightening sights of her life that will forever be ingrained in her mind.

Bucky was laying on the ground, completely paralysed without the ability to even flex a muscle, blue eyes turned towards her in terror and helplessness as he watched while nine more agents stormed towards her.

She was capable, of course. He’d even experienced how capable the girl was on his own skin, and it had left his super-soldier skin bruised and battered for a few days. But right now, she was tired, she had zero ammo left, all of her knives were embedded in the heads or chests of other assailants and somewhere along the way her sword had snapped in half, leaving her with a jagged piece of steel, which was also protruding out from someone’s chest. Y/N had nothing, but her punches and kicks left. And even she knew there was no way she’d last long enough to get back to the jet in one piece.

So, gathering whatever strength remained in her body, Y/N retaliated on last time. She heard people shouting that they were coming for her, and for a moment she truly believed so when a red ball of magic hit a group of seven agents knocking them down, but when Y/N’s eyes flitted to where it’d come from, she saw the agents subdue Wanda, as they'd somehow managed to put an electroshock collar around her neck. She fell to her knees gasping in pain.

All of it, Y/N realised, every single thing that had happened had been a distraction. They’d split them apart, and the Avengers had most likely helped HYDRA accomplish their goal when the bomb went off.

For a moment she wondered why’d they’d want to take her, why not take their ‘weapons’ back, but just as quickly came the realisation of their words.

Someone grabbed her by the ankle, yanking her down.

Y/N saw stars behind her eyelids, and her teeth clanked together. She was lucky her tongue hadn’t been between them.

Bucky screamed as if someone was ripping his heart from his chest.

A gun hit her on the head.

And then everything went black.

***

Bucky was going insane. He’d trade having his brain being put through the meatgrinder for seventy years once again if that meant Y/N was back with him, but the empty space in his bed, the unused shampoo and conditioner bottles, the dirty cup in the sink told him otherwise. She was gone, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

For two weeks he was basically a zombie, barely eating and functioning, spending most of his time by the interrogation room’s computer, following up on dead-end leads and any breadcrumb he could find, yet every single time he thought he’d gotten something as if life was mocking him, it turned into dust, just like his hope slowly was.

There was pretty much no one else but him, Sam and Wanda left in the tower, as the rest had split off into teams to go and search every left-over HYDRA base in the world. The only reason he wasn’t out there was because Steve had benched him.

“You’re compromised,” he’d said. Bucky couldn’t say he wasn’t.

Sam had stayed behind because during his last raid he’d gotten hit by some gas, rendering him pretty much useless for half a week, and no one felt comfortable enough to ask him to put his life on the line before a full recovery.

And Wanda… well, Wanda wasn’t taking the whole thing too great either, but she was still functioning, so she was just waiting for the jet to come in and fly her out to Serbia with Vision for a potential lead on Y/N.

Defeated for the night, he grabbed the coffee cup that once had been filled and trudged his way to the kitchen area. God, fucking hell, how much did it hurt to even breathe.

Just as he was about to pour himself another cup of the burning black liquid, all of his senses went haywire, and he spun around to look at the hallway of the living room. He instantly recognised the shadow standing in the middle of it, how the shape curved and sloped in such a familiar way. How could he not, when that shadow belonged to the woman, he intended to spend the rest of his life with, when his hands had memorised each and every way she was formed.

“Dollface?” his voice cracked at the end, but when she entered the light, instead of warmth filling his heart at the relief of her being back, ice-cold fear rushed through him at the sight of the black muzzle across her nose and mouth, not to even mention the HYDRA symbol in the middle of the chest of her tactical suit.

The first shot rang out right after he blinked, giving him barely enough time to dodge it, but Y/N was already on the move rushing towards him and kicking her leg out so that her knee would connect with Bucky’s chin.

A sickening crunch echoed through the room, as his head met the marble floor, bright lights flashing behind his eyes. He could even feel his teeth vibrate from the impact. It was this second which he used to somewhat regain a sense of place, that Y/N used to straddle him down, hand going behind her back to pull out a gun, but Bucky knew her. He knew her moves and how she left her left side open.

When his forehead connected to Y/N’s nose, he almost vomited at the feeling of bone-crunching against his skin, but it gave him enough time to deliver a blow to her side, disarming her before grabbing her bicep and pulling her arm behind her back, his own metal appendage wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her flush against him.

“Come on, sweetheart!” he was pleading, but his grip unyielding to her struggles. “Fight this. I know you can.”

But to his horror, HYDRA had dug their nails into her mind deeper than he ever thought was possible, as she smashed the back of her head against his nose once more, red blood spilling everywhere.

He staggered back, palm cradling his face, but he still had one free to block the fist that was coming in his direction. This caught her off guard for a millisecond, but not long enough for Bucky to do anything, as she smashed her foot against his knee, bringing him down, yet he’d expected it, using the position to his advantage and grabbing Y/N behind the legs, yanking her towards him, and making her back hit hard against the floor, dizzying and knocking the air out of the woman.

It took him three seconds to slide over to the gun she’d discarded and to stand up, and it took three seconds for her to flip herself up and aim the gun that’d still been strapped to her thigh.

Both of them were shaking, but both for different reasons. Bucky was shaking because he was making the love of his life look down the barrel of a gun, while she was shaking because the only thought on her mind was about if she didn’t finish the mission, the consequences would be more horrible than anything HYDRA had done to her before.

“I don’t want to hurt you! Please snap out of it!” he hollered but didn’t lower his weapon. It went against all of his instincts to be in that position, even when the two sparred, Bucky, to Y/N’s annoyance who was hoping for a real fight, pulled his punches. It was unnatural for him to even consider harming her.

She cocked her gun, didn’t even hesitate.

“Sorry, can’t do that. You’re my mission.”

Bucky took in one last breath.

It hitched in his throat.

He blinked away the tears pooling at his bottom lashes.

He’d never pull the trigger.

She steadied her aim.

Bucky closed his eyes.

But the bullet never came. At least not for him.

The yelp of pain made him open his eyes just to see Y/N’s body jerk to the side and drop to her knee, hand clutching at her shoulder, with Sam behind her, his own gun aimed at her with a little stream of smoke coming out of the barrel.

Yet the second her shock passed Y/N swiftly turned to Sam, gun in her usable palm when her body seized up, and she fell to the ground unconscious.

Bucky was panting, as he looked to see Redwing, two blue lights on each side dying out, as it deactivated the tasers. It took him a second to realize what had happened, but then he was by Y/N’s side, pulling her body up to cradle against his own.

“What the hell, Sam?!” Bucky yelled, hovering his left hand over Y/N’s mouth. When the metal fogged over, his whole frame literally shuddered in relief, as he went on to the next job – stopping the bleeding before her breathing stopped.

“She was gonna put a bullet between your eyes!”

“You didn’t have to shoot her!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sam mocked, dropping to his knees and shredding apart a kitchen towel to press against the wound. “Would you have rather had your brains splattered against the floor?”

“You had Redwing taser her! That was enough!”

“If I hadn’t shot her, Redwing wouldn’t have been able to taser her.”

He hated the fact wounding Y/N had been a necessary step in subduing her. No, Bucky told himself, not her. Not his Y/N, but whoever HYDRA had placed in her mind.

As gently as possible, he scooped up her body and with Sam in tow made his way to the med bay.

F.R.I.D.A.Y had alerted the medical staff of the situation, so they were ready when Bucky came in. Instantly two nurses took his girl from his arms and laid her down on a gurney, Helen Cho stepping up with surgical gloves.

“A through and through in the shoulder,” she remarked more for the medical records than anyone else. “She’ll have a few painful weeks of recovery, but nothing fatal.”

Bucky nodded in acknowledgement, but still, he didn’t let anyone touch Y/N without him being beside her. As Helen patched up her shoulder and strapped her down on the cell bed, he was still there beside her, both hands clutching onto her palm, not moving an inch away.

A little while after Helen had left, he felt a presence hovering behind him, and Sam stepped into the room, leaning against the wall, brown eyes looking over Y/N.

“How is she?”

Bucky sighed, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. They were cracked and on the verge of bleeding despite the regenerative cream, Dr Cho had applied. “Asleep,” he mumbled. “So that’s better, I guess. Gives her time to heal.”

He heard Sam shuffle around a bit, and then he entered Bucky’s peripheral as he sat down on a chair next to the bed.“It took them thirty years to break you, yet it took them two weeks to break her…” Sam said biting on his lip, and the statement made anger course through Bucky’s veins.

“Are you seriously calling her fucking weak?” He snapped looking at his fellow Avenger. “You have no idea what kind of torture they pu-“

“I’m not calling her weak,” Sam interrupted. “Y/N is one of the strongest people out there. What I’m saying is – back then it took them years to break a person… now it took them barely fourteen days… what else have they ‘improved’ on?”

The thought of Y/N having her mind ripped apart and then put back together as if she was some ragdoll made bile rise in Bucky’s throat, and it didn’t settle when he thought of how far that horrid machine had come since he’d been in one.

But as much as Bucky wanted revenge, as much as he wanted to destroy HYDRA, to make sure what happened to Y/N never happens again to anyone else, let alone if what Sam implied was true, he couldn’t leave her, not when she would need a familiar face the most.

He gulped, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on her hand to steady himself. Just the thought of her in all that pain made him go to the edge of breaking apart. “She’s gonna be alright, isn’t she?” If there was one thing Bucky appreciated from Sam it was his honesty.

“In the long run most likely. You’d be the proof of that…” Sam sighed. “But first, we gotta make sure she doesn’t shut people out.”

But that was most definitely easier said than done, given how the second Y/N woke up, which was about a day later after being knocked-out cold when she realised what had happened, it was not like a wall had magically appeared between her and anyone from the team, but a fucking fortress surrounded by an impenetrable mountainous barrier, and she was the only citizen in that mind castle. And Bucky was the first one behind the door.

It broke his heart to see Y/N pretty much shut down. She refused to eat, barely drank the water provided, and couldn’t sleep one bit, yet what hurt most was she absolutely rejected even the thought of going back to their shared room, and instead stayed in her barren cell, white walls, with a thin blanket and a paper-like pillow. It got so bad they had to put her on an IV drip so she wouldn’t waste away. But it didn’t matter to her. She was like a ragdoll.

It was about five days later when she said her first words. Y/N had her head in her hands, matted Y/H/C strands spilling between her fingers, as her nails dug deeper into her skull. That’s the position she’d been sitting in for the past five hours, not even bothering to lift her eyes as a paper plate with a meal, a single plastic spoon next to it and a paper cup of water was slid through the opening at the bottom of her cell door. She wasn’t hungry anyway. In fact, what she really wanted was to disappear from the surface of the earth, for the ground to open and be swallowed by molten lava or have a sharknado crash in and get eaten by a great white.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam asked arms crossed as he leaned against the entrance to the door. He’d been asking that since the first time she opened her eyes, but never received a response, so when the scoff she let out was almost inaudible, but he still picked up on it, he straightened out. “Just peachy,” Y/N mumbled. “Absolutely fantastic. Ten out of ten would recommend.”

“Y/N…”

He really didn’t have anything to say. I mean what could you possibly say… but he had to at least try, given how miserable Bucky was. He’d heard him sob so loud through two closed doors and a running shower, that he had to do something.

Sam swallowed hard before entering the room and cautiously, keeping as much space as possible between the two, sat down next to Y/N. He wasn’t afraid of her. He could never be. But he knew she needed to let him closer on her own terms. “You can’t keep going like this. You can’t keep everything in. If you don’t wanna talk to the shrink, it’s fine, but at least talk to someone else…”

“I am talking to you.”

“Yes, but you know who I mean.”

“How am I supposed to even look at him?” Her head shot up, and tears threatened to spill down her face. “How am I supposed to talk to him? To touch him, knowing I almost killed him.”

“It wasn’t you.”

“But it was!” The words were a hiss. “It was me. I understood everything I was doing, I knew who he was, I knew what we were to one another, yet…” she choked in the middle of the sentence, not wanting to say the truth. “I wasn’t going to hesitate. I was going to kill him. If you hadn’t gotten involved, one more second and Bucky would’ve been dead. Because of me.”

“HYDRA messed with your brain,” Sam stated. “I know that everyone knows that and Bucky most of all. Why do you think he couldn’t pull the trigger?”

“Because he’s an idiot.”

“No, because he’s been in the exact same situation.”

She bit her lip. All her brain was doing was screaming that Sam was right, to listen to him, he knew what he was talking about, but the guilt, the absolutely corrosive horror at herself for what she was going to do wouldn’t let common sense come through. “I just.” Y/N choked and then cleared her throat. “Just tell him I don’t want to see him. I – I can’t see him.”

Sam did know heartbreak. He’d felt it when his first girlfriend had broken up with him, he’d felt it in the army when his friends lost limbs and lives, and now he felt it looking at two of the people he’d grown closest to struggle to find one another and themselves.

He cleared his throat standing up and wiping hind palms down his thighs. “Wanda is also – “

But Y/N didn’t let him finish the sentence. “No.” She shook her head. “No one. Please.” She tucked her face against her knees. “I just wanna be alone.”

And so he left her alone. In fact, everyone did so.

For a whole month, the usually lively tower was a glass structure of sombre and pain. Everyone was hurting. Wanda had retreated to her room, sitcoms on the rerun, Vision always by her side as she tried to manage the sadness of one of her dearest friends going through such a tough time and the guilt of not being able to help Y/N, to save her from that pain. Nat and Clint along with Tony had locked themselves in one of the lower levels of the tower analysing the data she’d gathered. They needed to occupy themselves with something, otherwise, they’d be overcome by their own thoughts and they were too dark to manage at that moment. Bruce and Thor had relegated themselves to the lab doing experiment after experiment, trying to find out how HYDRA had managed to do such damage to Y/N.

Steve, however… Steve was doing quite bad. He felt probably the most amount of guilt than the rest of his teammates. He’d taken up the role of the leader, he was supposed to make sure everyone stayed safe. Yes, they were the most skilled people in the world, but they trusted him to make the best calls. And him not having taken into account a blitz attack from HYDRA after their blitz attack had broken two of his friends because Bucky was doing just as bad as Y/N, if not even worse.

He wouldn’t sleep, he couldn’t; Steve heard his cries each night until, at twelve of one AM, they’d cease, and he’d make his way to the cells. Steve had told Y/N a week after she’d been brought back that there was no reason for her to stay in there. She’d just sat on the bed, arms around her knees and staring at the wall. She didn’t go back to her room.

But each night Bucky would sit by the glass doors and look at the frame of the love of his life, curled underneath a white duvet, a single pillow underneath her head (Y/N loved pillows, she couldn’t sleep without at least four of them) body in a foetal position. She looked so broken. She was. And because of that, so was he.

It was about three AM at night, when his routine was shaken up by none other than Y/N. Typically she’d sleep through the night not even stirring, slipping into the cot at nine PM and then waking up at six AM when Helen came in to switch her IV. She was eating now, but still too little for it to be enough.

However, that night she was stirred awake by the feeling of someone watching her, not the camera that was always on but by human eyes.

That was the first time she’d seen Bucky since having woken up and regaining control of her body.

Her breath hitched when their eyes met, and his whole body straightened out. Y/N remained under the covers, while Bucky sat by the doors still. His palm pressed against the glass.

“Hi, doll.”

Two words, but that was enough for the dam to break. Tears spilt down her face, and without a second to spare Bucky had rushed inside and laid down next to her, strong arms weaving around her shaking body, as his own pain merged with hers.

All Y/N could manage to say was ‘I’m so sorry,' and it became a mantra she repeated in Bucky’s chest, hoping that somehow the words would find their way and settle beneath his skin so he could understand with his whole being how much she meant them.

“Please.” He was close to sobbing by that point, hand moving to cup her cheek. “Please let me help.”

“I can’t, Bucky! I can’t!” Y/N was close to complete hysterics by this point. “Every time I even think about you, I remember the emptiness, the absolute numbness that was in me, when I pointed a gun at your face, and I meant to kill you! I was going to pull the trigger, if not for Sam… So,” she gulped looking down at the ground, at their feet. “Tell me how the hell am I supposed to let you anywhere near me when I’m terrified of myself.”

The grip he had on her face, was tight, strong and sure. “Because it wasn’t you. I know what it’s like to have your brain scrambled around and rearranged with false truths and present them as real… but the thing is – they’re not. And you taught me that. You were the one who made me realise it, dollface. Now let me do the same for you.”

“I can’t even look at myself in the mirror because every time I do, I see that – that monster staring back at me.”

“Reflections are deceiving,” Bucky whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “Mirrors can’t and will never show the truth. It’s a twisted, flipped and made-up version of us, and we can’t allow ourselves to believe it. It’s not us.”

And despite the pain, despite the guilt and anxiousness, Y/N chuckled, letting out a small sound of happiness for the first time in a while. “When did you get so wise, Gandalf?”

She could feel the relief that flooded Bucky’s body slowly seep into her own. “Well, re-reading ‘The Hobbit’ helped… but more so you. You taught me that. You made me realise the man that haunts my nightmares might have my face, but it’s not me. He’s not me and I’m not him.”

“Will you…” Her voice shook as she said the words as if there was a possibility, he could say no. “Will you help me?”

“You never, ever have to ask for help. I’m always here for you. Whatever you need, I’m always here. I’m so sorry, so sorry you had to go through that.”

And for the first time in six weeks did Bucky get to hug Y/N. Feeling her body melt into his almost made him have a breakdown of his own, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and grabbed onto him like her life depended on the tightness of her grip.

Six weeks, almost two months without Y/N in every imaginable way had almost broken Bucky to a point of no return. Had they gone longer periods of time without seeing one another? Sure, but this was different. When the person you love is right there, but more unreachable than when they’re thousands of miles away, that’s a different kind of pain.

She didn’t release her grip form him, as Bucky shifted and sat up, her legs moving to lace around his waist on instinct. With one hand underneath her thighs the other going to take off the IV bag from the stand, he stood up and moved through the tower, finally retreating to his room, where he took off a photo frame from the wall and hung up the medical supply while gently laying Y/N down between his sheets.

She’d been in that position many times before in different states of undress, in different emotional states as well, but not once had she been alone there. And neither would she be alone now.

It was the first night Bucky slept without waking up, and when he did Y/N’s head was resting on his chest. He held her a bit tighter then.

***

The road to recovery was slow.

It started with her spending her days and nights in Bucky’s room, no longer isolating herself from him. It turned to late-night talks where they just chatted about miscellaneous things, and if she felt comfortable enough, then about every heavy thing pressing on her heart. Then she ventured off to her own room, and once evening slipped inside the room of who was her neighbour. She slept next to Wanda that night.

The next night, she and Wanda sneaked inside Nat’s bedroom, and just hung out a bit, painting their nails. When Y/N went to sleep next to Bucky, she felt as light as the light-yellow colour adorning her fingers.

On the morning of the eleventh day of her recovery, she woke up earlier and made everyone breakfast, putting some extra chocolate chips in Sam’s pancakes. He deserved it for all the trouble he’d gone through. The smile on his lips and the kiss on her head from him meant more than any thank you he could say.

But it was about a month down the line, after evenings where she’d joined in on the movie nights and had discussed the gathered intelligence from other missions as well as the tactics agents should employ when Y/N took her biggest step yet.

Bucky was laying on his bed ‘The Two Towers’ between his fingers, the metal appendage flipping the pages as gently as if they were made from butterfly wings, when Y/N came out of the bathroom, hair wet and dripping onto her nightshirt. Well, it was actually one of Bucky’s shirts, but at this point, every piece of clothing he owned belonged to her as well. Besides, in his humble opinion, she wore them better than he ever could.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?” he hummed, flipping to another page.

“Buck I – “ she took in a breath. “I want to have sex.”

“What? Ow!” The book had slipped from his hands and the edge hit his eyebrow, making Y/N hiss, and instantly come over to try and soothe the hurt part.

“I mean – “ Bucky stuttered much like his heart. “I’d love to. Gosh, dollface, you know I’d do anything you ever wanted me. Tell me to spend forever between your legs, and I will, but… Please don’t feel like we have to. You’re still healing, and –“

“I want to,” Y/N was quick to quench his doubt, running a gentle finger over his brow. “I do. I – I need to feel you. I need to feel… I need to feel whole, and I haven’t in so long.”

His hand cupped her cheek. “You are whole. You don’t need me to complete you. You don’t need anyone to complete you.”

“I –“ She huffed, struggling to form the thought running through her brain into words. “I – I know that. At least I think so. But… but there is this part inside me, I can’t seem to heal myself, this crack that no matter how hard I try to mend just won’t do. And that’s because that part can only be filled by love. And yours is the strongest one I have in my life.”

A tear slipped down his cheek. “Oh, doll…”

Her legs slowly shifted so they were straddling him as Bucky leaned up in a sitting position, palms dropping to her hips and sliding underneath her PJs to touch the soft skin of her back.

His nose skimmed against hers, and Y/N sighed at the feeling. She’d slept like that – nose to nose curled up next to Bucky – for close to a month and a half now, but the anticipation of the kiss turned her into a bundle of nerves.

“One word,” he breathed against her skin, pressing a kiss to her collarbone before looking deeply into her eyes. “One word and we stop.”

And even though she wanted to say there was no doubt in her mind about doing it, she nodded. He needed the reassurance just as much as she did that if something happened, he’d be there for her.

When Bucky’s lips met hers, it was just like the first kiss they’d shared. A bit tentative, unsure, yet filled with so much restrained passion and pure love it was overwhelming, and Y/N’s eyes immediately filled with tears.

“Darling, let’s just not do this,” Bucky said noticing the clear pearls dripping down her cheeks, but she shook her head.

“I just missed you so much. I missed letting you love me.”

“Well, it’s a good thing people don’t need permission to love. I never stopped. I can’t imagine ever not loving you.”

His mouth was on hers once again. Bucky let Y/N lead the whole time. He didn’t deny himself from exploring her body, from feeling every crook, dip, and crevice of her form, but she was always in control.

When her shirt dropped to the floor, she was the one who started lifting it up.

When she laid down to pull Bucky on top, she was the one who flipped them over and pulled him on top.

Her hands skimmed the band of his boxers, and Bucky unconsciously ground against Y/N’s clothed core at the feeling, both letting out moans of relief at the friction.

“Can you take ‘em off?” she breathed, as Bucky left beautiful marks on her neck and chest so they could bloom through the night and could be greeted by them in the morning.

“You sure?”

She nodded. “Please.”

They did it together. Y/N linked her fingers behind the fabric and pulled it down his legs while he shimmied out from the boxers and kicked it to the floor.

“Can I take yours off?”

As sure as she was about everything that was going on, there was still some hesitancy in her body, and he immediately sensed it, pulling a little bit away. “Y/N…”

When her hands went to wrap around his wrists where they rested against her hips, horror washed over Bucky like a cold shower. “Did they…?”

“No!” Y/N was immediate to answer. “No, they didn’t… but… they said after they were done with me after they turned me into their puppet… after they’d make me hurt you, you’d never want to touch me. That, in your last moments, you’d only have hate in your heart for me, and I’d have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

He gently put a finger underneath her chin and lifted her head. “Even when I was staring down that barrel, all I could think about was how much I love you. How I’d give my life for you even if you were the one taking it. I could never hate you.”

A violent sob ripped through her chest. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve the world, and I’ll try to give as much of it to you as I can.”

She couldn’t take much more of his confessions because Y/N’s chest was already as full as it could be of love, so instead, she pulled Bucky back down for a passion-filled kiss, while shimmying out from her own underwear.

“Condom?”

“No,” Y/N shook her head. “Not this time. Need to feel you as you are.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “Helen put me back on the pill about a month ago.”

Bucky shuddered, nodding. “Alright. Okay. But I need to make sure I don’t hurt you first.”

Y/N was about to say he could never hurt her, when two of his fingers slipped along her folds, cutting her words off in favour of the groan of pleasure.

“Gotta take care of my girl the right way.”

A moan seeped into Bucky’s skin when he pushed a cold metal digit into her tight entrance. His arm had the added feature to feel things if he wanted or switch it off when he didn’t want to, which was a nice thing, especially during missions (he’d forgotten to do so one time and when a bullet bounced off, it wasn’t like a bee bumping against glass, hot pain had rippled through his whole arm, so it was a good idea on Shuri’s part), but this time it was on, and the absolutely exquisite pressure and warmth that squeezed around his digits was enough to make him grind against the mattress to alleviate his own growing pressure.

“Bucky, please,” Y/N practically mewled, eyes screwed shut, nails digging into his skin, making him groan in pleasure. He’d forgotten how delicious the sounds were and how close to the edge just the feeling of her nails marking half-moons into his back could bring him.

“Fuck,” he swore leaning up to kiss her once more, while he increased the speed of which his fingers were going in and out of her, while his thumb rubbed circles around her clit, and when he hotly breathed against her neck to ‘soak him all down to his elbows’ Y/N’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and she arched up from the bed as an orgasm shattered her world.

Gently he coaxed her through the orgasm while muttering praises against her mouth.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bucky sighed leaning to rest on his elbows. “So fucking gorgeous.”

Y/N smiled, stroking his cheek. “You’re beautiful too, Bucky. More than you’ll ever know or will let yourself believe me.”

The crooked smirk which he threw her reminded the one from Steve’s tales of him and his skirt-chasing days. “Guess you’ll have to convince me.”

“With pleasure.”

Her hand snaked down to where he’d been running the tip of his cock between her folds, before gently pressing him down so he could easily slide inside. When he was sheeted a moan of satisfaction came from both of them.

It was like homecoming. Like curling up in a warm bed on a cold winter’s night. It was just right.

“God, I could stay like this forever.” Bucky tucked a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear.

“We have forever and then some.”

A look she could not figure out crossed his face. It was like absolute joy mixed with fear and terror. “You promise?”

Y/N kissed him, trying to pour all of her love into the single act. “With everything I have in me.”

He took that as the cue that he could move and experimentally rolled his hips towards hers. Bit by bit he picked up the pace, breaths turning into pants broken up by moans, sweat beading along his skin, a small burn appearing in his knees, but even that discomfort couldn’t overshadow the heavenly pleasure rippling through his veins.

She’d always been the epitome of beauty and love, that’s how completely Bucky had fallen for her, and he could only hope he was the same for her.

“Bucky,” she choked out. “So close.”

“Yeah?” His vision was starting to go white at the edges.

“Mhm – ohh!” The confirmation turned into a squeal when he hit just that right spot, he concentrated all his thrusts to match it, and soon enough both of them were falling over the edge, clinging onto the other as if they were the last lifeline that existed for them.

“Hey,” Bucky cooed, opening his eyes and seeing how furrowed Y/N’s brow was, how hard she was fighting to resurface. “Come back to me. Come back, doll.”

Slowly, Y/N’s breathing evened out, her trembling became small shudders from the aftershock of the pleasure, and her lids fluttered, gaze meeting his.

She’d come back.

She’d always come back to her home.

To Bucky.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Bucky tag list: @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn @projectxhappiness @callmebucky-doll @coal000 @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken @sophiealiice @raquelbc2003 @watch-out-for-thorns @potentially-kinetic @thatonegirljessy99 @proxinge @bbkenna @buckysclub @ulired @fangirlofeverythingbasically @mrsalh32611 @horrorx570ximagines @the-nargles-made-me-do-it @pooslie @itsisabelanotisabella @httpmcrvel @purplebananatragedy @pxrrishly @parker-barnes-af @skulliebythesea @california-grown @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @belongsto-prachi @hello-i-am-insane @its-nott-my-problem @emmalbg @hopeinahotbox

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

Marvel tags: @nerissa98 @happyseagrill @asguardiansoftheavengers @crazybutconfidentaf @wishingforahome @pizzarollpatrol @desir-ae

A/N: My Bucky boiiiii! I’m back! hope y’all like this rollercoaster :)

P.S. if you see yourself on my tag list and you’re crossed out means the tag didn’t work. if you still wanna be on the tag list please message me your new url and what was your old one so I can change it (if it’s not the change of the url then I genuinely dunno what could be the problem)

P.S.S. my tags are always open.

P.S.S.S. please don’t repost my works on other platforms without specific written permission and don’t plagiarise them

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 5

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Revenge is sweet but a well-timed dick joke is sweeter. xoxo gossip girl. Please supervise one Bucky Barnes on the internet. Questionable music taste. Detention is the price we pay for justice. Bruce Banner is too precious for this world, too pure.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! 🎶🎵I love you biiitch ain't ever gonna stop loving you biiitch 🎵🎶

"Initiate phase one," I added a growly undertone to my whisper, holding my phone inconspicuously, as if I was making a simple phone call. There was no answer but I didn't expect one: I was testing the voice recorder app that I had downloaded for the sole purpose of documenting and relaying the inevitable fall of one Flash Thompson.

Making my way through the crowd of students during the busiest time of the day, I made the most intrigued and outraged facial expression I possibly could. Spying my targets, I leaned against a nearby wall, putting a hand over my mouth in fake outrage, keeping my eyes wide and trained on the opposite wall. Just as I had predicted, the two sophomore girls started giving me side-eye by minute two of my staring and finally approached me as I contemplated the wall for whole five minutes.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" The brunette asked, her blonde friend hanging a step back.

"Yeah, totally," I mumbled. "I'm, like, shook beyond imagination, but nothing, like, bad."

The girls traded a curious look, seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion. The greedy gleam in their eyes had me internally cheering. "What happened?" The blonde one asked, coming closer.

"I'm not sure if I should tell that to anyone," I stammered, watching them bodily move forward. "Well, okay, I can't keep quiet. But you must never, ever speak of it or I'll get expelled or something," I said nervously. They both nodded so rapidly it reminded me of Funko Pop figurines. "You know the senior guy, Flash? Brown hair, kinda hot?" Again, they both nodded, conspicuously grinning. "I think I just saw him in the closed girls bathroom on the third floor with, like, some brunette from Ms. Johnson's History class," They both gasped. Predictable. "But that's not the worst! They were like, y'know," I made an obscene gesture with my hand and they instantly covered their own mouths with their palms in shock. "And the chick was like 'is it in yet?' and he was like 'yah' and I just closed the door and ran, oh my god I hope they didn't hear me," I squealed at the end, playing the part of a mortified teenager.

All three of us giggled uncomfortably for a moment. The blonde girl stared at me suspiciously. "And what were you doing there?"

I faked a nervous stammer, looking around briefly and showing them my lighter for a moment. They both gasped and nodded in recognition. "Don't tell anybody or my mom is going to have kittens," I pleaded. Both of them nodded solemnly, noticing their own group of friends approach. I used the brief moment to get lost in the river of pupils and by the time they turned around to introduce me, I was already at the opposite part of the hallway.

For the time being, everything seemed peaceful. There were a few giggles and side-eyes directed towards Flash Thompson but nothing out of the ordinary. He was disliked by most of the student population even if nobody dared to admit it outright. I took care to walk around without my earbuds for the day and pulled out my phone to record the most interesting conversations around me whenever I caught the tell tale signs of a gossip mill beginning to run its course around the school.

"Oh my god, I heard about this girl that was caught fucking Flash in the girls bathroom and she literally said 'is it in yet', can you imagine the shock, jeez!"

"Some chick literally just rejected Flash because his dick was too small."

"Rebecca from AP chemistry told me someone saw Flash's micropenis. Poor guy!"

"I wonder if his girlfriend dumped him because he can't do shit, I mean, he doesn't look like the type to eat the kitty."

Those were just the highlights of the Friday afternoon. Come the weekend and the news of Flash's unfortunate condition will make the rounds through every single group chat that the school has and by the time Monday rolls around, nobody will have a clue who started the rumour in the first place. I had to carefully select the girls who were to distribute the rumour and I was happy with the outcome: Marissa and Layla with their squad of chatty, bored rich girls were the perfect choice. I thought they would jump at any opportunity to cause drama and I was right.

It was sufficient to say I was bristling with pride as I cut and compiled the audio track from today's school day before sending it to the group chat.

Clint, Peter and Natasha appeared online as soon as the message delivered and I was delighted at their response. Romanoff's kind words, specifically, made me all warm and mushy inside. I didn't resist the feeling, basked in it even as I did a happy dance around my room. Peter's nonsensical string of emojis was another point of laughter for me.

It wasn't exactly the smartest way to go about killing Thompson's reputation... Alas, simplicity is the way to success when it comes to large crowds of teenagers. That tiny little vindictive part of me was very much looking forward to the weekend and the results of the inevitable distortion of the rumour I had started. Who knew, maybe by Monday Flash Thompson would not only have a micropenis but horns and hooves as well.

Near bedtime, I had all the avengers send me their regards and thumbs up. I answered the flurry of texts as quickly as I could but there was no point in keeping up with ten or so people constantly streaming their questions, opinions and comments.

I settled on a single easiest response: pulling my dad's old uni sweatshirt over my tiny lacy pajamas to preserve some modesty, I settled in front of my mirror, turning on my Bluetooth speaker to play "Boss Ass Bitch". In true gen-z fashion, I put on my best resting witch face and solemnly lip-synced to the song's eponymous chorus. My eyeliner was sharp enough to cut paper and my prismatic highlighter glittered enigmatically in the cold light of my blue lava lamp.

The response was, once again, delightful and I genuinely belly-laughed at the adults' attempts to meme after Peter. His blushy face emoji started a whole nother conversation that I didn't participate in but watched from the sidelines with glee, snorting every time his friends and mentors gently teased him about the very obvious crush he harboured on me.

Seeing Peter starting to go absolutely nuts, I interjected with an offer (more like a dare) of a lip sync battle. He jumped on the bandwagon, immediately going offline to undoubtedly film an epic video of what I thought would be dorky-dancing to some hipster song. I was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a pre-recorded tik tok video of him and Ned fighting with lightsabers while mouthing the words to Fergalicious that played over the Imperial March.

Weirdos. I still followed him on the app, though, it was pretty funny.

Bucky interjected with a very well executed rendition of "Bring Me to Life": he was wearing his full Winter Soldier get-up, complete with an AK-47, dramatically serenading Steve who looked seventeen shades of done with his partner's antics. Wanda's following twenty second voice message consisted of nothing but pure hysterical laughter, summing up everyone's reaction to the video. Bucky was going to go viral one of these days...

Obviously, I had good competition and nobody else seemed to want to participate so I rearranged my surroundings a little bit and stood up at my full height and swapped the old sweatshirt for a cute crop-top hoodie. My thigh-highs were on display and with my make-up, I looked like a proper internet e-girl. I leaned against the mirror as I mouthed along to the song with my best interpretation of the famous Lucifer smirk, seasoned with a tiny bit of angelic innocence: "Doctor, doctor, give me the news, I got a bad case of loving you..."

Needless to say, I won the competition. Eventually Wanda joined in, looking menacing and ominous with her dark clothes and Natasha's red hair flashing somewhere in the background; even Tony did a round (AC/DC as his soundtrack of course) with one of his Iron Man suits but nothing beat my stunt and the reaction that it caused.

I had accidentally called out Bruce with the choice of my song and his teammates gave both of us a lot of cheeky comments about it. We relented and flirted with each other a bit as the conversation flowed into more mundane discussion; I said my good nights somewhere between Tony's bitching about the hobbies of my generation and my nightly skincare routine. The little green heart that I'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks greeted me just as I was about to lock my phone.

Bruce was really too precious for this world. My crush on him was different than the one on Tony, it mellowed out in comparison. I wanted him to hold me, to stroke my hair, to call me his darling and wrap me up in one of those dorky button-ups that he insisted on wearing in spite of Tony's unwanted, however very valid, fashion advice.

For all that's worth, the scientist probably knew or at least suspected and had the good grace to play along just enough to satisfy my deep need for attention... Without crossing any actual lines. It was frustrating, it was disappointing but I had virtually nothing to complain about. Besides, I didn't want to lose the quirky friendship that we had. Banner was, probably, the least judgemental person I knew and I wasn't about to trade that for an awkwardly stolen kiss.

Monday and Tuesday passed in a flurry of giggling and snorting every time Flash walked by. His girlfriend broke up with him, very publicly, accusing him of cheating and he didn't even deny it - just insulted her and stormed off, leaving even his friends looking lost and clueless. I started dragging Peter and his two pet nerds along with me just about everywhere I went in case Thompson decided to do something stupid again. If judging only by the looks he was throwing our little company, he was on his way to figuring out who began nibbling at his reputation.

The week was coming to an end and the rumour began dying off, slowly. That just didn't sit with me, I wanted the fucker gone. Due to the obvious time constraints, I approached MJ regarding Peter - after a brief argument, we came to an agreement regarding Peter's safety should I need to leave him alone in the hallways or at lunch.

I needed to do this alone so if I got caught, I won't drag them down with me. Granted, I would probably get something like a suspension and the school will attempt to call my mother (she never picks up) but that's about it. That's where her reputation comes in handy-people consciously avoid dealing with her, she can be that unbearable.

But first, I needed to get a teacher that's on my side. After carefully considering the candidates, I settled on my Social Studies professor - he taught the college-level classes and was overall a very chill, nice dude. And he disliked bullies with a flaming passion. So it didn't take me long to work him into a righteous fury - just a quick chat over a cup of tea in his homeroom and a few pictures of Peter's bruised face, complete with my own pleading puppy eyes. We agreed Mr Davies would "accidentally" leave the teacher's lounge unlocked during third period and I would sneak in. The plan wasn't foolproof but if it worked, not only Flash, but also his whole misogynistic, bigoted family would go down.

As I was leaving, Mr Davies looked up at me with a bright smile: "Give them Hell, alright?" And I suddenly noticed he was, in fact, very attractive. The smile brought out the fine wrinkles around his mouth, the crow's feet around his eyes - he smiled a lot. Silver strands mixed in with the wooden brown of his hair.

I let my eyes slide over him briefly before baring my teeth in return. "I owe you one," I don't know what possessed me to say that. My mouth really had a mind of its own sometimes. The room suddenly became hot.

"Sure," He replied, totally oblivious.

On Friday, I made myself a small nest in the empty classroom opposite the teacher's lounge and sat waiting for the signal from Mr Davies - he'd tap on the door once and I'd quietly go inside the teacher's lounge, retrieve Thompson's file and make my way back to the empty classroom to grab my backpack and carry the file to my locker for further examination.

The first part went successfully and I managed to snag Thompson's file. It was heavy and hefty, all the evidence of his rowdiness compiled into one flimsy plastic folder. There were A LOT of pink slips and I rejoiced internally: at least there was a paper trail of his exploits. The principal didn't do anything about it which was... If not against the rules then at least frowned upon; the plan was to take copies and anonymously submit them to the school board prompting at least an investigation into the blatant disregard for Flash's immoral and illegal behaviour.

On my way back I stumbled upon the principal herself which got me not only a stern talking to, but a whole detention for skipping class. Whatever, I was too elated from potentially ruining the life of a dumb fuck who ruined my friend's face.

Surprise came in the face of Mr Davies, who, having heard the commotion in the hallway, stepped out of his class and saw me being lectured by the principal.

"I'll take her for the detention," I heard the familiar voice behind me. The principal nodded solemnly and I had no choice but to sigh in resignation. "Three thirty, be here," He nodded to me, walking back, looking way too smug for his own good. So I wasn't the only one excited about the successful completion of stage two of my nefarious plan. Cue evil laughter.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n #bun writes #party favours #author doesn't advocate for small dick jokes but tbh the abusive fucker deserves it

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batarella · 4 years

Text

I Don’t Hate You - Part 17 (Jason Todd x Reader)

JAY IS BACK MOTHERFUCKERS

WORDS: 6706 WARNINGS: A BIT OF VIOLENCE. JASON BEING AN ASSHOLE.

Masterlist

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-----

“Just coffee. For two.”

The waitress nodded. “Anything else?”

“No.”

She left. Five minutes later she brought in two mugs and poured in your drinks.

You warmed your chilled palms onto the ceramic. You somehow felt cold. Even when it was ninety degrees out. Especially your hands. You blew into your mug and took a sip. Just to warm up the itch in your throat.

Three weeks ago, Dick gave you that first call. You asked what it was about. He said he needed to talk to you in person. When he showed up to your house, he had a sling in his arm from a gunshot wound.

You thought he didn’t need to explain where he got it from. You knew who he was, as well as Bruce. But then he told you that it wasn’t from Penguin or Riddler or even a common thug. That it came from a new enemy going after Batman.

Still a bit confused why he came all the way to your place just to tell you that, he started bringing in a few documents.

First, he showed you pictures of Jason’s grave with a massive hole where his body was supposed to be. You remembered sweating your hair out at the horrible sight, the chills that ran down your back. It wasn’t from grave diggers. No. It was from someone climbing out from 6 feet under the soil.

Then, he showed you DNA test results.

Jason’s DNA, taken from when he was still alive, and a DNA sample from the Red Hood’s blood they had taken from one of their encounters. It was a match.

You demanded to know what was going on. Because whatever Dick was trying to tell you, none of it made even the slightest bit of sense. Dick wished he could explain more, but even he didn’t know the full story.

You couldn’t sleep that night, and barely the next night.

But then the week after that, Bruce invited you over to the mansion to talk. Dick picked you up, and at the dinner table, you, including Alfred, had a long, difficult talk about how he’d confirmed that Jason Todd, officially pronounced dead three years ago April 27, had been brought back to life by some unknown force, took the mantle of the Red Hood.

With you in the brink of tears, Bruce told you they were still trying trace where he came from, studied his techniques that Bruce was sure Jason didn’t know until now. So far, they found out that the Red Hood had been going around the state before he came to Gotham, formed his own crime ring and has taken over the empires of almost ten different drug lords. He was wanted in over six sectors, has left bodies left and right.

And now, he’s challenging Batman with his new style of vigilantism, which included cold-blooded murder. Every time Bruce, Dick, and the new Robin, Tim Drake, come across the Red Hood, they barely come out of it alive. He really wanted them dead.

And he was good at his job, as well. He’s done more good for the people than anything else. But he was also taking the lives of so many, Bruce wanted to put a stop to it.

You asked to be left alone for a while. For days, you didn’t talk to anyone. You stared at the rooftops. You looked at Jason’s old photos, compared them with the Red Hood’s new photos. You tried with everything you could to understand that the man you still loved even after three years of his death was now back, alive, risen from the dead as if that wasn’t actually insane. You mourned for him for so long. You still did. And what was that going to amount to now? You knew he was involved so many things you never could understand. But this? This defiance of the laws of nature?

You barely slept a wink.

Two days ago, Dick told you they needed your help.

You didn’t want to be involved, and you told him that. You weren’t even sure you wanted to see him like this. If this was even the same Jason before his death.

Dick told you that somehow, you could be of help. You could talk to him. Level him back down and give him the peace he needed to stop all the killings. You weren’t sure if that would work, and if anything, it was risking your life. You had no idea what Jason was capable of now. He could kill you. He could be heartless like that. And he was, from the way he was acting now. It wouldn’t be of any surprise.

But Dick and Bruce, they were running out of options. And even without Bruce outrightly admitting it, they wanted Jason back in the family. They missed him, too. It wasn’t just you.

As if the three years of grief weren’t enough. If any part of him was the same Jason you fell in love with, and still love now, this was the thing of your most impossible dreams, that your dead boyfriend had miraculously come back. It was insane. But you knew, with all your heart, you desperately wanted him back.

But you needed the help. Bruce offered to pay for therapy if that was what you needed, to get your head straight, figure things out before you ultimately decide what to do. Eventually, you agreed.

And now, here you were.

You took another sip from your cup, then Dick came up from behind you.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You stood up to give him a little hug. His hand patting your back, he sat across from you.

“For you.”

“Thank you.” He took the coffee mug. “You’re looking a lot better.”

You held your drink with both hands. “Thanks.”

“If you’re not comfortable in any way, I completely understand.”

You tried to hold back your shaking arms. You didn’t want him to see just how much this all scared you.

“What brought him back?”

“Ra’s al Ghul. The Lazarus pit. At least, that was after he was already resurrected. The pit just fixed his body and made him stronger.”

“Lazarus pit?”

“It’s uh,” he stuttered. “Ra’s has this League of Assassins with his daughter, Talia. And they own all these Lazarus Pits. It’s a sort of a Fountain of Youth. He bathes in it, and it makes him live for six hundred years. It also heals your body from just about any injury.

“They must have found Jason, bathed him in the pit, then nursed him back to health in an attempt to create this someone to go against Bruce.”

This was far, far beyond what you could have possibly imagined. Some sort of the supernatural had always been real. Magic. Aliens. The Justice League. But now that you were involved? This was too much.

But with Jason… your sweet, loving Jason… You’ll do anything.

“You think he’s heartless enough to try to kill me?” you asked.

Dick drank from his coffee mug, set it down, then swallowed.

“I never got to tell you, didn’t I?”

“What?”

Dick bit his lips. “Jason’s not gonna hurt you. I’m sure of it. I wouldn’t have called if it had put you in any kind of danger at all.”

“How are you so sure?”

He looked out the window, at a rooftop from an apartment building nearby. You breathed into your mug.

“About a week ago, I put a tracker on him without him knowing. Then one day I followed him, just to see what he was up to…”

He held his cup.

“He was waiting for you outside your university. And when you got out, he followed you all the way to your house. He’s been at it almost every single day.”

You caught your breath in your throat and watched Dick with your lips starting to shake.

“And it isn’t just that. He does everything to make sure you don’t get hurt. When you go out at night, he’s still watching you. As the Red Hood. One time before you were about to cross an alleyway where thugs were waiting to rob you, he beat the living shit out of them before you even noticed.”

You gulped down, then you drank even more of your coffee just to ease your nerves. You shifted in your seat, then cleared your scratchy throat.

“How long has he been at this?”

“I’m guessing since he first came to Gotham. A month ago.”

The coffee suddenly didn’t taste so calming anymore. “God… I… This is still so much to process…”

“I know.”

“He isn’t going to show himself to me willingly, is he?”

“I don’t think he will. He makes sure you never see him.”

You closed your eyes.

“That’s why I called you. If you got to talk to him, maybe you can get him to listen.”

He loves you. He still does. And he was a broken soul, protecting you when no one was there to protect him. He needed you.

It was that one, single push you needed.

“I want to do it.”

Dick held your wrist and squeezed it tightly. “Don’t worry. If anything goes wrong, Bruce, Tim, and I will be there.”

“It’s not that I’m afraid of,” you said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen after this.”

Not a clue. Not a single premonition.

“Honestly, me neither.” He finished his coffee. “But it’s worth a try.”

-----

One. Two. Three.

Those fools had it coming.

Barely a word out of his mouth gushing with blood. The Red Hood held his neck, stuck him up against the truck’s container, then pushed his revolver right under his chin.

“When’s Black Mask’s next shipment?!”

“I don’t fucking know!”

He clicked his gun. “I think you do.”

His filtered voice made everything a lot worse. The driver of a weapons cache truck he caught was trembling off his ass. His two other co-workers were lying dead on the ground. And when Red Hood squeezed his neck further, he gasped for air.

“Tomorrow! At the docks!”

He slammed the butt of his gun right to his face. He fell to the ground, unconscious. And just because he had one bullet left to waste, the Red Hood shot his shoulder.

He jumped out the vehicle and stretched out his neck, closing the truck door while the driver continued to scream in pain. The police should be here soon. He’ll have to get out of there.

“Hey there, bud.”

“Fucking shit-“

The Red Hood, in just one swift move, reloaded his gun and aimed right at the top of the truck, at the black and blue figure crouched over staring at him.

“Get out of here.”

“I just want to talk, Jay.”

He wanted to shoot Nightwing’s smug little smirk right off his face. “I mean it.”

“I won't-“

Red Hood fired at the truck’s metal just an inch away from Nightwing’s leg.

“I won't miss next time.”

“Just listen to me-“

“Fine. You wanna play that game, Grayson?”

He took his other gun strapped from his hip. Nightwing jumped off the truck before he started firing at his face.

Dodging the bullets, he started leaping circles around him, getting closer to where he was standing. Red Hood stopped firing, threw his guns to the ground, then charged for Nightwing’s leg just as he got close enough.

His larger figure stopped himself from tumbling to the ground when Nightwing landed a kick to his helmet. He growled, waited for him to pounce again, then Red Hood ducked under his leg, shot up quickly enough to land his powerful fist right against his chest.

Nightwing was down. He rolled to the floor, but resisted pulling out his escrima sticks. He wasn’t here to beat him down. But obviously, Red Hood wasn’t here to talk, either.

He ducked and blocked Red Hood’s succeeding hits, almost rolling around the empty road. He kicked him in the stomach, then Red Hood headbutted him with his much stronger helmet.

“Jason!” Nightwing blocked him with his arm. “This is about Y/N!”

He stopped.

Then his helmet was about to melt at the immense heat his head was boiling to. “WHAT DID YOU SAY!?”

Nightwing leapt up to a pole. Red Hood grabbed his guns, reloaded them, then started firing.

“Stop it!”

“Fuck you!”

He kept firing at Nightwing’s body, backing off when he got too close. He was going to kill him. He wasn’t getting out of this alive. Not tonight. Mentioning your name like that, it’s going to cost him his life.

“She knows! About you!”

“You fucking ASSHOLE.”

More. More bullets. Nightwing went into one of the alleys and jumped up the fire exits. Red Hood kept firing, the bullets bouncing through the walls. He climbed up the escape and chased after him.

“HOW THE FUCK DID SHE KNOW?”

“I told her!”

“oh, you’re dead, Grayson.”

They reached the rooftop, and Nightwing ran all the way to the other side of the ledge. Red Hood sprinted after him, opening fire. He didn’t care where they landed. He wanted his body to put into the shock in the middle of jumping to another rooftop and fall to his death.

“She wants to talk to you!”

“NOT A FUCKING CHANCE.”

“Don’t you think she deserves to know what happened-“

“LEAVE HER OUT OF THIS, DICK.”

He made sure you never saw him alive. You thought he was dead. He was going to keep it that way.

Then he ran out of bullets, cursing beneath his breath, Red Hood threw his guns to the floor and chased him down.

When he caught him, he pinned him to the ground, grabbing him by his neck. “Jay-“

“I’m going to kill you. Right now. You think I’ll hesitate?”

“Do you really want to break her heart again, asshole?”

“You fucking-“ Red Hood punched him in the face. Then Nightwing folded his legs up, pushed him with the heels of his feet, landing him on the ground. He placed his arm right against his neck.

“You of all people can't lecture me on breaking hearts, you jackass.”

Red Hood punched him again, then got off the floor. Nightwing finally pulled out his escrima sticks, and Jason pulled out the last of his guns from his holsters and aimed it at Nightwing’s head.

They paused, stared each other down with their weapons in hand a yard’s distance away.

“Just… talk to her.”

“I can't believe you pulled her into this-“

“This isn’t about our little game. This is about you, Jay. And you need our help-“

He laughed. “Since when did I ask for your fucking help?”

“Since you killed almost a hundred people in Gotham in the last month-“

“Those aren’t just people, you idiot. They’re Joker’s men. Penguin’s. Two Face’s. They all deserve to die.”

Nightwing tightened his grip on his sticks. “Then just talk to her. She deserves that. You of all people should know just how hurt she is.”

He clicked his gun. “Mention her again, and I’ll blow your brains out.”

“She’s waiting for you at the plaza. Behind the cathedral. It’ll just be you and her. Just let her talk to you-“

Just one pull of a trigger. And this son of a bitch dies for ever even speaking to you. He’ll fucking keep his word.

“You think I don’t know this is a trap? What, you, Bruce, and that fucking replacement will be waiting to ambush me in the dark?”

“Not this time. You have to believe me.”

He scoffed. “What are you trying to do? Change all this?”

“Trust me, I get it. You have no intention in mending anything with Bruce. But if you don’t show up, it’ll devastate her.”

“She’ll be fine. Trust me. She dealt with worse.”

“And you really want to subject her into that again?”

Deep, slow breaths. He lightly pulled the trigger, but Nightwing just skidded to the side and dodged him.

They heard something. Coming from below. Police sirens cleaning up the weapons truck.

Staring each other down, Nightwing and Red Hood slowly backed off. He hated him. All of them. His fucking family that never once cared for his ass, or felt any type of remorse for not being able to save him. The family that never thought to avenge him, set their morals aside to do what’s actually right. They look down on what he does, and yet, he’s done more to control Gotham’s crime than Bruce ever had in his lifetime.

Red Hood set his gun down, then they both sprinted to opposite ends of the rooftops.

He was going to clean up their mess. Again.

-----

It ends tonight.

Everything. Your story. Your mourning. Your commitment to your dead, beloved high school boyfriend. Your unhealthy attachment to what could have been. Your reluctance to move on.

You realized, it all ends tonight.

No matter what happens, no matter how this all ends, everything was going to change.

If he doesn’t show up, it’ll pave the way for you to move forward, knowing that Jason, given the chance that seemed entirely impossible just a few weeks ago, had no intention of even speaking to you, let alone change for his own betterment. It should tell you to let him go, despite you not wanting to. It’ll tear your heart into shreds, more than it already was, but if he was alive, and he still wanted nothing to do with you…

You just hoped that won't be the case. You still loved him. Endlessly.

And if he does show up, it could only end as well as you being able to convince him to stop with the killings, be his better self, be the Jason you knew he still was, and it’ll go on from there. The miraculous dream you never thought to be true. Your loyalty to him, rewarded. And no longer will this life go on as if you were merely running in a slow, painful treadmill with no actual direction, other than to keep the promises Jason asked of you. You’ll have him back. As crazy as it still is, you’ll actually have him back.

But that was the most wishful thinking you could do. It’ll almost never end that way.

But, no matter the outcome, if he changes or not, you’ll finally come to the end of you dreaming about the past. You’ll know he was here. Alive.

That alone fixed some parts of your broken self.

So you got out of your car, walked out into the plaza where you told Dick you’ll be waiting. Behind the Cathedral. Where there was no one around but trees and bushes. The next walkway was yards away, and there were almost no lampposts nearby. If what Dick said was true, and Jason would never try to hurt you, you’ll still be safe.

You leaned against the wall, looked around at the vines eating up an old, wooden bench.

And you breathed. Long deep breaths.

You were going to see him. Finally.

Maybe your attachment to him was made for this. Because somehow, deep within you, you knew it wasn’t over. You knew he wasn’t completely gone. As hopeful as it was, it somehow came true.

Deep. Slow. Breaths.

An hour. Maybe an hour and a half. You waited.

You were going to have to be as patient as you could be.

What were you gonna say to him?

A lot of things. Punch him in the face. Scream at him for ever leaving you like that. Yell at him for idiotically going after the Joker by himself. Hug him. Kiss him.

Your mind was boggling. This was never what you signed up for.

But it was everything you could have hoped for.

You’re seeing him again. Jason. Your love. Your first, and still love. Oh, how your heart warmed. You wanted his arms back. You wanted his lips back. You wanted-

Thud.

A noise.

Coming from the roof.

You stepped out from leaning against the wall. Nothing. Nothing above you.

Another thud. On the grass.

You looked around.

Your heart was thrashing hysterically in your ribcage.

“Jason?”

You walked to the other side of the cathedral’s backside. But there wasn’t so much as a squirrel around you.

Then.

You turned around.

There was a figure.

A large, dark figure, hiding in the shadows. By the trees. A few yards away from the building.

You narrowed your eyes, squinted to get a better look.

It was getting closer.

You wanted to back away, but you didn’t. You were too frozen too move.

When it passed by a single ray of light from a faraway post, you saw it was a man in a dark, hooded jacket. With what looked like armor on his chest.

He got closer. Closer. Close enough for you to see the red bat symbol on his chest.

You took a step back.

He was huge. So fucking huge. This couldn’t be him. Not by a mile.

You took another step back.

And when he got close enough so you could see the red helmet where his head was supposed to be, with white, glaring eyes looking back at you menacingly, you fumbled backing away until you ultimately hit the wall.

The Red Hood.

He walked to you until he was standing so close to your shivering body. You pressed yourself against the wall as much as you could. Your whole body thudding, your head swarming in panic. Your stomach was churching, much like it did when you were terrified beyond belief. You wanted to run away, but his helmet, his chilling red helmet, it stared you down so you couldn’t even move. An inch away from your body, the Red Hood growled.

“Stay… Away…”

You swallowed.

“Jason?”

“Don’t… Don’t even try.”

“You're…” you breathed out, your chest heaving. “You’re really alive…”

He just stared at you, not giving you any chance to move. You were stuck, pressed against the wall, as you stared at him in disbelief.

“How much do you know?”

You were stuttering. Your shaking mouth forced you to. You’ve never been so scared in your life. “A lot…”

The Red Hood slightly turned his head to the side.

You wanted to see him. Really see him. His face… without thinking, you reached up to his helmet.

He pushed your hands away, and you gulped, backing off.

“Whatever it is you're trying to do, stop it. It’s not going to work.”

“I just want to talk-“

“About what? What are you possibly hoping for?”

“Why didn’t you come to me?” you whispered. “Why didn’t you see me first? You have no idea-“

“You think you want to see this?”

He pointed at his chest. “This isn’t what you think it is. I’m not who you fucking think I am.”

Of course he isn’t. You didn’t expect him to.

“You have no idea how much I wanted this…”

“This isn’t what you want. Trust me. Far from it.”

Eyes stuck to his helmet, where his own eyes were supposed to be, you didn’t know what you wanted to say.

“I want to talk to you. I know about what you do… and I still do-“

“Forget about all this okay? As far as you know, I’m still dead.”

This time, as scared as you were, you wanted to punch him.

“Do- do you have any idea how much you hurt me?”

He didn’t answer.

“You fucking don’t.”

“I wouldn’t talk that way to someone with three guns on him.”

“Go ahead. Shoot me. Kill me. If you insist that’s what you are.”

You saw his shoulders rise, his breath deepened. You bit your lips, and you stepped closer to him. You craned your head up his much taller figure.

“What do you expect out of this?”

“I just want to talk…”

“About what?”

His filtered voice. There was barely anything of the Jason you knew. You couldn’t see his face. His whole body grew more than four sizes larger. You couldn’t hear his voice. It was so hard trying to be gentle to someone who just looked terrifying to look at.

“Stay away from me.”

“No,” you said. “Take that mask off and look at me.”

“Listen,” he walked towards you and pushed you against the wall. “I don’t know what you want. You want us to talk? And what do you want out of that? Something more?” he scoffed.

Your mouth turned dry. You wanted to kick him in the groin until he’ll barely be able to walk.

“You left me,” you whispered. “When you said you never would.”

“We broke up-“

“You. Left me.” you hissed. “You have no idea…”

He stopped, looking to the side at the wall behind you.

“You should’ve moved on-“

“Fuck you.”

Tears. Angry tears. They wanted to seep out. He stepped back. “If you know what’s good for you, forget about all this-“

“I can't believe this is how you are after you fucking died and left me to grieve you for three years-“

“Deal with it. I’m not who you fucking think I am.”

And, as it seems, you started to believe him.

This was a cold, heartless villain. The Red Hood. His helmet, his voice, his body. None of it was Jason anymore.

“I just want to talk… Please…”

He shook his head, not even giving you another glance. The Red Hood turned away from you and walked out into the trees until you couldn’t see him anymore.

You cried too much for him. Far too much.

So you didn’t this time. You let yourself slowly realize this was how things ended.

Your phone rang.

“Y/N?”

You breathed. “He won't talk to me…”

“It’s alright. We did what we could. I can come up there and-”

“Can I be alone? Please? I’m going home.”

“Of course. I’m really sorry…”

You hang up.

----

It felt like it was about to rain, even when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

You went up to your bed, folded your knees up your chest and stared blankly at the cold, empty floor. It was back. All over again. The same loss when they told you he died. That wasn’t Jason you talked to. Far from it.

There was no trace of his sweet, comforting voice, of his handsome face that lit up any room he was in. His arms, now twice as large as they used to be, they didn’t give off that soothing rush that calmed down all your nerves when he’d pull you into his chest. His voice, it was far from some fucking robotic filter that hurt your ears. You hated every part of it. You hated that helmet. You hated what he became.

Jason was still dead. He wasn’t coming back.

You hoped far too much of what was impossible to ask for. Because whatever that was, the Red Hood… You didn’t know what you were even expecting. That wasn’t your boyfriend. He couldn’t be.

You wanted to see the Jason who smiled bashfully when he saw you walk down the steps of your apartment, the one who stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyes glistening as he stared lovingly at you. You wanted the guy who wanted to see you every day of the week, miss you on the days when he wasn’t and push everything to the side just to spend every minute he had with you. The one so obsessed with you that he couldn’t possibly ask you to stay away, or ever make you feel like he didn’t want to see you at all. You didn’t like feeling so unwanted.

You hoped, with that tiny part of you that still had it, that he would have met you, looking exactly the same way he did before he died, and pull you into his arms. The dramatic part of you wanted to run to him, and he’d run to you, and you’d crash into an embrace for hours and hours until he’ll ultimately pull away to kiss you.

And instead, you got a red helmeted asshole who told you to stay the fuck away from him.

You clenched your fists, shutting your eyes.

That part of him should still be alive. A part of him should still be loving you as you knew he did. He followed you around, didn’t he? He protected you.

How could he… after all you went through just to hold on to him… this is how he treats you…

Thud.

You reached for your scissors you had stashed beside your bed. There was someone in your fire escape, standing like a brick wall.

A tall man, face hidden by the shadows of his red hoodie. He stared at you, but he wasn’t moving.

Your hands left your scissors.

You knew exactly who it was. You stepped off the bed.

Your heart was pounding so hard within your chest, you thought of running out of your room. But he didn’t look like how he did a while ago. His head was down, almost like he was looking at the ground.

You walked to your window and slid the glass open.

You still couldn’t see his face. The shadows were too dark.

All the emptiness, the darkness, all that consumed you, it was all finally starting to fade out. When you saw how he didn’t have any weapons on him, no armor, no helmet, this was what you thought to see.

You let out a broken, trembling breath as you climbed out into the fire escape, facing the man closer and closer. He slightly backed away, but his back hit the railing. You stood in front of him, frightened, but not enough to run away.

He flinched when he started for his hoodie, but you didn’t back off. Your nerves were on fire but you wanted to rid the shadows, finally see him as you never thought you ever could again after all those years.

Gulping, he leaned in.

You took off the hoodie.

The same black hair that fell down to his forehead, slight curls that tickled his skin. His jaw, angular and strong. His lips, chapped and scarred. His eyes, that deep, bright blue so beautiful that it tore through you and looked right into your soul. They looked through you so woefully, hurt, broken.

And scars. One that tore through his eyebrow, one on the corner of his lip, and one on his cheek.

You breathed, and a single tear fell down your face.

It was him.

Undeniably.

It was him.

It was Jason.

He’s here.

You clutched to his neck, both your arms pulling him so tightly to you that you swore you’ll never let go again. Oh, his warmth. His body. He was here. He was actually here. You stuck your face into his shoulder, holding onto him so hard that you’ll kill him if he even tried to move away.

Jason.

“Oh god…” you cried. “It’s you…”

And you could feel just how much he wanted to pull away. He was meaning to. But fuck him. You weren’t about to. His muscles tensed. His breath hitched. You could feel his chest stiffen-

Then,

You felt his incredibly strong arms around you.

And you sobbed. Silently. Not so much with tears but with your broken breaths, your shaking arms. He stuck his face into your hair and breathed in. Yes. This was Jason. This was definitely him.

You could hardly believe anyone could be risen from the dead. You saw him in his coffin. His lifeless body, white and cold. And he was here, back with the same exact warmth and life. He looked different, there was no denying that.

But the moment you looked into his eyes, you knew it was him.

“Jay…”

He tightened his hold on you.

“Y/N…”

And you cried even more. That voice. The same that said your name in the most beautiful way he possibly could in that voice message you listened to over and over again. He’s here. He’s really here.

Your hands on his face, you pulled away so you could look at him more.

And he looked like he was about to cry as well. The light from your room, it shone perfectly on his face. Every detail, you could revel in. His hands squeezed your shoulders and you pressed your forehead tightly against his.

You wanted to kiss him so badly…

He closed his eyes, but you didn’t. You kept looking at him, watching how his face moved.

Jason took your hands, gripped them tightly by the wrist,

Then pulled you away.

“Uhm,” he cleared his throat, taking his hands off from you and stuffing them back to his pockets. “I came to talk. Like you wanted…”

He looked to the ground. And reluctantly, you backed away.

You leaned against the railing beside him and crossed your arms.

“I don’t know where to start…”

Jason turned to you. “How are you?”

You had so many things to say. You could blurt out all your thoughts and you wouldn’t be able to stop. But you settled yourself, calmed your mind.

“I’m not so sure myself.”

“School?”

“Ending my third year. I went to arts college…”

“Yeah… I know. You like it?”

You nodded. “I do…”

You desperately wanted to hold him again, but you just kept to your shoulders lightly brushing.

“How ‘bout you?”

“Horrible. Thanks for asking.”

You shook your head. You wanted to chuckle, but you weren’t sure that’d be the best thing to do.

“Jay, what happened-“

“You really don’t want to know…”

“I deserve to know, don’t you think?”

Jason turned around, placed his hands on the railing and looked down onto the alley. You did the same, but your eyes were locked on him.

“Something happened. Some reality altering shindig in the cosmos. Ripples, as you might say. I’m not so sure myself. It caused a lot of weird shit to happen. Including me. I woke up in that coffin and climbed my way out.”

You swallowed.

“Somehow, the al Ghul’s found me and nursed me back to health. They put me in the Lazarus pit-you know what that is, don’t you?”

“I have an idea.”

“Anyway,” he continued. “They let me spend time in the League. Some sort of brainwash, but I got over it after a while. I went around different cities in Jersey, then I got to Gotham. You know the rest.”

You looked down at the empty alleyway with him. And you didn’t have much to say. You could tell he didn’t want to be consoled.

“Well, you certainly changed.”

He looked out into the rooftops. There wasn’t any wind, so nothing was blowing into his hair. You watched his face so raw, a matured version of what he once was. But it was still him.

“Aren’t you gonna ask what happened to me?”

His lips went through his teeth, gritting as his muscles tensed.

“I listen to your message. All the time.”

You didn’t think he’d be so shocked, but he was.

“It sent?”

“What do you think?”

Jason pursed his lips, shutting his eyes so he couldn’t look at you.

“I kept your promises…”

You held your hands together, and you stared at them. “I went to college for you. I changed. A lot. I’ve been singing for events around the city a lot.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I watched you a few times.”

You breathed out. Slowly.

“Not all of them, though.”

Jason looked at you, and you looked back at him.

“I couldn’t move on…”

“Fuck…” he cursed. “Y/N-“

“I can't.”

“It’s been three fucking years…”

Your heart just shattered at the way he as looking at you now.

“I haven’t even talked to another guy. Not one date. I wouldn’t let them. I told them…” You shouldn’t tell him, but you really wanted to. “I told them I was still with you-“

“Fucking hell.” He stuffed his face into his hands. “I can't believe you…”

You choked. “I lost you!”

“You should have let me go…”

“I can't!”

You held his shoulder, but he flinched away.

“Why…” you cried. “Why this? I’ve done nothing but mourn for you-“

“I wanted you to live your fucking life!”

You turned away, and Jason looked at the streets by the building, at the empty cars and leaves stuck on the road.

“I wanted you to move on…”

You never once thought you’d have this conversation. Not in your life. “I couldn’t think of it.”

Jason closed his eyes, and you hugged yourself despite the heat. Your throat wanted to climb out of your neck. And your uneasy breaths, it choked you.

Jason let out a strong breath and looked at you.

“You know what I didn’t tell you in that message?”

“No…”

He leaned over the railings, elbows on the metal. He closed his eyes.

“I wanted to tell you that if I ever got out of that place alive, I’ll do everything-everything-I possibly could to get you back…”

You looked up at the sky. Something stung in your heart.

“But I didn’t. I didn’t want to put you in a terrible place. Whether I got out of it or I didn’t, I just wanted you to find what you were really looking for…”

“I want you...“

“Y/N…”

“I still do…”

“You don’t,” he choked. “We were kids-“

“Fuck you, is that what you really think?”

He breathed through his mouth, looking at almost everything around but you.

“This was a bad idea…”

He started for the stairs. And you watched him, feeling him tear your heart out all over again. Just like the first time.

“Jay… Please…”

Just as he took the first step, he stopped when you held his face.

He didn’t pull away. In fact, he leaned into them.

“Don’t leave me again…”

“Y/N,” he bit his lip, leaning closer to you but not close enough to kiss you. “You don’t want this…”

“I do…”

“No-“

“Why not?”

“I’m not bringing you into this. You don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You're worth it…”

“Y/N…”

You brushed his cheek with your thumb. He was about to cry, and you, with your tears already falling, you whispered.

“You are the love of my life…”

He closed his eyes, let you hold his face a bit tighter.

“Do you really want me to forget about you?”

Your breath shaking, it hurt like the world stepped on you when he slowly nodded. “I can't let you hold on to me any longer…”

Everything. It hurt ten times more than you ever thought it could. You never could have thought this would happen.

“Just give me a few days with you… Please…”

“Y/N, no-“

“Please,” you gulped. “I’ve been wanting To just...hold you... for so long. I never thought I’d get to anymore. And now, you're actually here. The cosmos. Whatever brought you back, they sent you here. and if you really… If I can't spend the rest of my life with you anymore, just give me a few days… Please just give me that…”

Jason finally looked up at your eyes, shaking. His eyebrows were up to his forehead, and he looked so terribly beautiful.

“Please… and I swear, I’ll forget about us. I’ll finally move on. You never have to see me again…”

Jason… Your beautiful, perfect Jason…

He took your hands off of his face.

And you turned around before you hurt yourself even more watching him leave you for the second time.

You faced out the building, at the empty sky, then you shut your eyes close before it sank in that this was the reality you had to face. Another nightmare. Just when you thought you could handle it.

You heard Jason’s voice, light and subtle.

“Three days…”

You turned around.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He almost jumped down the fire exit, disappearing before he could possibly change his mind.

-----

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-----

everyartistwas-firstanamateur @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive @lucy-roo roseangel013bf @ loxbbg reclusive-chicken-nuggethttp-cherries shadowsndaisiesriver9noble zphilophobiazannoylinglyaries @knightfall05x @l-horizon11

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #jason todd angst #red hood angst #batarella #batarella fluff #batarella angst #i don't hate you series #i don't hate you #jason todd x reader series #jason todd reader insert #batarella series

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twofrontteethstillcrooked · 4 years

Text

whumptober

12 October: grief

Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

"Could you tell me what happened?" Bruce asked.

Clark paused to consider the question, or, rather, the shape of it. In the kitchen at the lake house, steel and black marble surfaces dimly glittered from the glow of a single lamp on the windowsill. He didn't need light to see by, but he found himself almost desperately curious to parse Bruce's inquiry and, in the effort, to watch Bruce for some further clue. 'Could' had been proffered. The chosen form wasn't an order. Bruce's posture spoke of ease, as though he asked nothing tasking from the barstool opposite the one Clark sat in. What did Bruce assume he'd say; what would be the subsequent result for any given response?

Clark was rarely bothered by inclement weather. The hollow feeling in his chest was not caused by the extant temperature of the room.

“I understand Diana's the one who's concerned," he said, "and it's on me to reassure her--"

"We're all concerned." Bruce held up a hand before Clark could protest. "We know Circe didn't hurt you physically, other than throwing you into animated suspension for a few minutes to keep you busy. We don't think your ability to do your job has been compromised. We're not." He stopped and looked at Clark. "We are not worried about that."

It seemed to Clark that Bruce struggled, just a little, on the word 'we'.

"Circe showed me something," Clark said, feeling some part of himself begin to slip out of kilter, as if he were sinking beneath a sheet of ice, paralyzed. "Not a dream, nor a hallucination." He cleared his throat. "Or I don't think it was."

Two heartbeats silenced, blackened agony gaping in him wide and infinite.

Bruce had gone motionless, watching Clark with dismay plain in his expression. Bruce hated missing things, Clark knew; he would hold himself personally responsible if something had harmed Clark and he hadn't even known to try to prevent it.

Clark didn't have the energy to bear the way Bruce was looking at him, not with having slept at most no more than an hour or two at a stretch for going on two weeks. Easily remedied. He closed his eyes.

"What she showed me, I." The words stuck. He pried and a few more came loose. "There's another universe, or timeline -- another Earth with another us." Clark took a shallow breath; an echo of pain cracked against his sternum. "And in it, I'm everything you've ever feared I could become."

He squeezed his eyes shut more tightly. His fingertips dug into his palms.

"Whatever you think you were shown, you're not him." Bruce spoke at a pace so steady it had to be deliberate. "Clark," he said, his voice just a little sharper on the name. "You must know that."

"It doesn't make the people he's killed less dead." Clark wanted to spit the words out like blood, but instead he'd barely raised his voice. He knew Bruce would hear anyway.

"And that's what you've been grieving," Bruce said. "That other world."

Clark shook his head. He finally opened his eyes, to Bruce waiting with as much patience as Clark had ever witnessed from him.

"It should be, I guess. Those victims deserve to be mourned." Clark uncurled his fingers, kept his stare on the furrows in his palms. His lungs were filled to drowning. Saltwater stung the back of his throat, his eyes. "The other me. He loses his family. It… Everything he does afterwards is because they die at his hands, or that's his excuse, anyway."

He could feel, at the furthest edge of his senses, the way Bruce was counting his own breaths to keep from interrupting, how intensely he was listening. Clark knew it should have been a comfort, but there were all these words left, a chain of them winding around his chest in a vise as crushing as Circe's magic had ever hoped to be.

Because Bruce was being kind and because he was his best friend, Clark managed to say, "I keeping thinking about how when I was a kid, I was scared of everything. Of being found out, of what people might do to me. Of hurting someone accidentally." Words like ropes, like rusted nails, like knives that would flay humans with the lightest pressure. "Maybe most of all, I was scared I would never have a family of my own."

He was almost out of air. He inhaled shakily. Too late to quit.

"I knew my parents loved me; I knew Lana and Pete loved me. The idea that I'd never find anybody to share my life with -- it was sorta more terrible than I could even let myself think about." He gave a small laugh. His cheeks were wet, and Bruce's eyes were too dark to look into. "But for all that, I never thought. I never thought it might be better if I didn't find...if it really was dangerous for people to be with me…"

As a writer, Clark weighed words constantly and therefore understood their limitations. Sometimes, however, they were all that was left of the truth. "I'm a weapon," he said, the words tumbling out like flat stones he wouldn't be able to budge once they landed. He'd closed his eyes again. "I'm not supposed to be someone's home."

There was a noise only Clark's abilities would've caught, as though a thin blade had been cleanly slid into the most vulnerable point beneath a ribcage. He didn't catch up quickly enough to realize he himself wasn't the one who'd made the sound before Bruce said, "You haven't eaten much recently."

Clark blinked. "What?"

Bruce's expression had changed to open, neutral, downright placid. "Food, Clark."

"Ah. No. I haven't been hungry." Clark shifted on the barstool. He blinked again, wiped his face, clasped his hands together. Some strange veiled heaviness had been lifted from his peripheral vision, from his shoulders and hips.

Bruce was stretching his legs and standing up, headed a few feet to the large refrigerator. "I should call your fretful mother and tell her you're wasting away."

"Don't. Guilt tripping me by invoking my mom is dirty pool." Was this what whiplash felt like? Clark wondered. He couldn't remember. "You don't have patrol tonight?"

"It's raining," Bruce said, like something as common in Gotham as rain was a well-known Batman deterrent.

Clark hadn't noticed the water sheeting down the windows, nor the insistent drum of a downpour on the roof; probably not the best sign of mental stability. "Pizza'd be all right, if ChowWagon will deliver out this far."

"They would. I'm Bruce Wayne," Bruce said with the flair he usually reserved for taking the piss with reporters who weren't Clark. He tugged open the bottom freezer drawer and removed a large disc. "But we already have pizza."

"Convenient. Alfred?"

"Hn. I can forage for sustenance all on my own." Bruce poked at the oven display. "I can even toss a crust and slow-simmer a red sauce." He picked at an edge of plastic wrap until he figured out how to unwrap the pizza and made a cagey face at Clark for a second. "Don't suppose you'd care to share who other-you was married to."

Clark suppressed a groan. He sighed and said, "Lois. You absolutely cannot mention it to her, ever."

Bruce quirked up an eyebrow. "Noted."

"It's not-- She's great." Clark winced. Well, she was. She was one of his smartest, scariest friends. He hadn't been anguished specifically about her counterpart's death in another reality, or even the thought of her and a child they might have together dying because of him. His grief, he'd discovered, was less bound to them, there, and more rooted in his own terror in this world. "I'm keeping this info in my arsenal, for future occasions where she's so mad at me she's about to kill me."

Bruce's other eyebrow appeared to have an opinion on the matter.

"I'm counting on being able to make her laugh hard enough to forget why she's about to kill me," Clark said.

"Good plan." As Bruce placed the twelve inch pie on the middle rack, he said, all mildness, "You know why your conclusion that 'Being alone forever is best' is bullshit."

It didn't seem like the kind of not-question he needed Clark to answer.

"First," Bruce said, "to merely temporarily remove you from action, a powerful sorceress tortured you for one hundred and eighty-nine seconds with visions of another universe the existence of which you cannot possibly be expected to either confirm or ameliorate. Second, whoever you saw in those visions who looked like you isn't you. Worth repeating. Third, you are not responsible for him."

Clark didn't quite believe him, and didn't quite trust Bruce believed such logic either. But Clark could let him finish his lecture. Bruce had opened the long fridge door and taken out two beers in bottles. He gave one to Clark, pausing for a second as if making sure Clark was paying attention. He sat back on his barstool, and Clark clutched at the cold glass with both hands.

"Fourth. There aren't any guarantees about what may or may not happen to anyone who becomes part of your family," Bruce said, like it wasn't the biggest understatement he could utter. "You meet people every day who've suffered the worst, most unimaginable tragedies, sometimes of their own doing, and they take that pain and loss and accomplish astonishing things with it. They found non-profits and fund scholarships, serve their sentences, advocate for victims' rights or new legislation. They get better. They live to honor their loved ones. Most people, in mourning or otherwise, don't become homicidal despots. You're not as strong as them?" He took a drink of beer in a manner that Clark would describe as almost smug.

Clark thought about both pinching and hugging him. The heaviness in his shoulders had come back. He was hunched forward, trying to breathe against it. He wasn't sure he was even strong enough to keep having this one conversation.

When Bruce spoke again, there was no trace of arrogance in his tone. "What are we up to, fifth? Fifth, not to be mean about who you were as a kid, but." He tapped his fingernail against his bottle. His thoughts on Kansas farm life and Clark's once-upon-a-time place therein had been the source of delicate ribbing as long as they'd known each other's real identities.

Bruce gave a rueful head tilt. "You missed a key element of the bigger picture when you were younger and you're doing it now, and not just because of course you, you specifically, are supposed to have a family." His voice sounded a little odd. But then he went on, turning so that he was looking out the window. "One person isn't really a family." More softly, he said, "If you decide to keep everyone away, it also means you're keeping out someone who might want to be your home."

Clark's hands seemed too stiff. He put the beer on the counter to keep from shattering the bottle and opened his hands, feeling the cold lift away from them. When he looked at Bruce's profile, he saw him exhale very, very slowly, as though he were lowering to the ground something immense but easily fractured. Clark heard the rain on the metal roof of a barn seventeen miles away and the ticking the oven made as it came up to full temperature. He waited until Bruce looked over at him again. He sat perfectly still and held his gaze as gently as he could. The minutes passed between them, quiet, shadowed, and warm, until Clark was able to find a place to start whatever was to come next.

"What's on the pizza?" he asked eventually, not bothering to be embarrassed at the roughness in his voice.

Bruce smiled small at the corner of his mouth. "Mushrooms, tomatoes, green olives. Asiago with extra mozzarella."

An order in a greasy pizzeria years ago, the two of them battle-wearied and starving at three a.m. One of the first times, perhaps, Clark had sat across from Bruce and thought of him as anything more than a teammate.

"My favorite," Clark said, reaching for Bruce's wrist.

"I know," Bruce said, letting him.

#whumptober #superbat #fic #clark #bruce #clark kent #bruce wayne

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awhitehead17 · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020: Day 24 - You’re not making any sense

Prompt: Blindfolded

Summary: They were doing what was supposed to be a simple training exercise, but of course nothing is ever easy is it?

Enjoy! :D

Jason growls as he stumbles forward after something hits his back. Once stable, he spins around and swings his fist in hopes of hitting that something, however he only hits air.

He clenches his teeth in annoyance. “What’s the point in this again? To see how long my patience lasts?”

A laugh comes from his right and Jason swings his fist that way, only to hit air a second time.

“I, for one, am enjoying this exercise very much!”

The statement was followed by Jason getting smacked twice with what he’s assuming is Tim’s staff. It leaves him winded and even more annoyed.

“Why don’t you stick the blindfold on then replacement and let’s see how well you do, huh?”

“Maybe another time, for now I’m going to continue winding you up!”

Jason growls again and lunges in the direction where he thinks Tim currently is. As it seems to be a pattern, Jason hits air once again. Tim’s cackle grates his nerves in a way he hadn’t realised was possible. By god he thought Dick was annoying but Tim really was on his way of passing Dick on that level.

Before he could get too annoyed Bruce’s authoritative voice could be heard throughout the cave. “Tim enough. If you can’t take this seriously then leave and I’ll ask one of the others to join instead.”

There's a moment of silence before Tim could be heard apologising.

Despite Tim now taking this training exercise serious, it doesn’t help Jason relax. He still doesn’t fully understand how this is supposed to help but here he was still training under Bruce’s questionable ways.

What he’s doing is simply sparing, but with a twist. He’s wearing a blindfold. Bruce had vaguely explained at the start of the session that losing one of their senses can help heighten the others or some bullshit like that. Jason hadn’t exactly been listening. What he’s supposed to do is spar with Tim with the disadvantage of not being able to see.

So far it’s been crap. Jason hasn’t gotten one hit against the teen yet and what’s frustrating is that Tim’s gloating about it, or was until Bruce finally stepped in.

Now it’s silent as Jason tries to locate Tim, he’s listening out for any clues to where the kid could be or how he was about to attack. He listens out for footsteps however it’s like the kid seems to be walking on air because he doesn’t make a sound. Jason tries to listen for Tim’s breathing but there’s not a peep.

Jason grits his teeth how was he supposed to fight the ‘enemy’ when he can’t see? He’s brought out of his thoughts when something smacks against his chest, he curls over and before he could react his legs were being swept out from underneath him causing him to hit the ground.

He lets out a heavy breath and stays on the floor for a moment. “This is stupid.” He snaps at no one in particular.

He gets to his feet a moment later and could hear Bruce’s voice talking to him. “Focus on your training Jason. You have the experience, once Tim feels close enough use your instincts and strike back. If he hits you then try and predict where he’ll strike next.”

“Easy for you to say! You’re not wearing a blind fold!”

Bruce doesn’t comment and Jason rolls his eyes behind the fabric covering them. He takes another breath and gets into a defensive stance, once again trying to work out Tim’s location.

As he tries to concentrate Jason couldn’t help but notice a shift in the atmosphere, it feels more weighted than before. It’s making him feel uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t describe, probably because he couldn’t see anything but also knowing that he’s in the middle of the cave, vulnerable to any attack, with eyes watching him in directions he couldn’t work out. His chest suddenly feels tight, making it difficult to breathe which was weird because he hasn’t even done anything to become breathless.

Moments tick by and the anticipation builds up inside of Jason. He still hasn’t worked out Tim’s location, nor has the kid made a move against him for some time. It doesn’t last long because suddenly a thump could be heard and Jason instinctively turns to it, only to be smacked in the chest by Tim’s staff followed by a kick to his stomach.

Jason snarls and blindly lashes out, missing his mark each time. Tim fires his attacks, hitting him in the side before making him drop to the ground with an accurate kick to the back of the knee. Jason swings again but his moves are easily dodged and Tim finishes him off by striking his sternum with his palm. Jason becomes winded and falls backwards onto his back

As he tries to breath he clambers to his knees and curls up. He couldn’t breathe. His chest feels tight and why can’t he breathe? He can’t see, what if Tim attacks again? He can’t stop the kid.

“Jason!”

Hands were on him, gripping his shoulders and pulling him upright. Before he could react the blind fold was being ripped off his face and lights were blinding his eyes. He still can’t breathe.

“Jason, open your eyes and just breathe. You’re okay, you just need to calm down. Breathe in and out.”

As his hands latch onto something, Jason tries to do just that. Being held up right helps opens his chest up, now that his eyes are uncovered he can see everything around him even if it takes a few moments for it to register.

Tim’s in front of him, his hands keeping Jason steady as he guides him through the breathing exercise. Jason could see that his own hands were locked on Tim’s shoulder’s, holding onto him like a lifeline as he follows Tim’s instructions.

Eventually Jason is able to breathe easily, his chest loosens up and the weighted feeling from earlier disappears as he calms down. Tim watches him carefully before letting him go to sit back on the ground.

Jason runs a hand over his face, trying to make sense of what happened.

“Well, at least we know to avoid that particular exercise in the future.” Tim quips looking him over. When Jason makes a face Tim simply raises an eyebrow. “You had a panic attack Jason, we’re not doing that exercise again.”

Jason rolls his eyes and stands up, having to catch his balance when he stumbles. He ignores both Tim’s and Bruce’s concerned looks as he starts heading for the changing rooms. From behind he could hear the two of them exchanging words but he doesn’t care enough to pay attention to them, instead he focuses on shaking off the uneasiness that’s washed over him with a hot shower.

He’ll have a conversation with Bruce about what happened sometime later, for now he simply wants to forget that it ever happened to begin with.

#Whumptober2020 #day twenty four #blindfolded #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #bruce wayne #panic attack #anxitey #sibling relationship #bit angsty #training gone wrong #sensory deprivation #fanfiction

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the-ghost-and-the-writer · 5 years

Text

Better with Three-Maria Hill X Female Reader X Natasha

It’s your one year anniversary, so of course you want to celebrate it in one particular way.

Sorry this took so long, I didn’t have a clue how to write f/f, let alone add another /f into it

Requested

18+

Fandom: Marvel

Ship: Maria Hill/Female Reader/Natasha Romanov|Black Widow

Characters: Maria Hill, Natasha Romanov, Female Reader

Word Count: 4, 113

Warnings: Brief mention of violence, NSFW, Swearing

NSFW Content: F/F/F Sex (Oral (Reader receiving), Sexy Toys (Natasha Receiving)

You didn’t know how, in a tower filled with people who had abilities most would only dream of having, it could be so easy to hide a relationship like this. Especially with Friday’s omnipotence, the way that Tony and Pepper could read people like a three panel comic, Wanda’s mindreading abilities, and the fact that you really weren’t too good at being subtle, it was a miracle you got to one month hiding this, let alone one year. To be fair, it was the Avengers; there were more important things to focus on, like missions and the odd attempted invasion of Earth and their own personal lives.

One year, you thought giddily as you waited in the elevator to get to your floor. One year to the day, in fact, you had made a decision that only made everything better. When you finally got to your floor, you hurried out and scurried off to your room “Friday, is anyone in my room?” You asked with a smile just before you got to the door. “Miss Hill has been waiting for you for a few minutes.” “Thank you.” You smiled before entering the room and seeing Maria perched at the foot of your bed, messing about on her phone. When the door slid closed, she looked up with a large smile. “Hey there brawler.” She sighed when she saw you, dropping her phone to her side “How was it today?” You shrugged and advanced to her so she could wrap her arms around your waist and look up at you as your hands fell to her shoulders. “Same as usual. Bruce is still trying to make up with Big Guy, and Steve thought we should try to teach him basic self-defence if it doesn’t work out for a bit.” “Did he let you at him?” You laughed and shook your head. “With my fists and his dodging skills? I’d kill the poor fucker. You know how heavy-handed I am.” Maria pouted and took your right hand in both of hers. She manipulated your fingers to curl over her palm so she could press her lips to the mid-section of your fingers. “I think your hands are very gentle.” She smiled up at you cheekily and you rolled your eyes. “Get here, dork.” You sighed and bent down slightly to kiss her, just to stop the little tangent you were sure was inevitable if you left her lips unoccupied. Every single time you’d mention your hands and your abilities, she’d get this way

Since it had first developed, you had a love-hate relationship with your power. Sure, it sounds really cool to be able to punch through almost literally anything with little-to-no pain, but it also meant that you had to be careful any time you tightened any muscle since they could become as solid as steel; that meant hugs, and handshakes, and holding things. At least you could control it somewhat now. It was Wanda that had ‘found’ you, really. The streets were being ravaged by some alien robots or whatever, you hadn’t cared about the specifics, and while Scarlet Witch was fighting off a few on her own with a bit of difficulty, you had run headfirst into that crowd of metal and punched one of them through a building with hardly any effort and no hesitation, a few of his buddies following after him. Soon afterwards, after having Tony run tests on you to see exactly what the hell made you punch like that, you’d met the Avengers, been (partially) accepted with a glowing recommendation from Wanda, gotten close to everyone. The rest was history.

Maria was always so responsive to you, especially when you kissed her slowly and made sure to pay close attention to all the things that you knew would make her melt for you. Her hands came down to your hips as you slowly guided her to lie on the bed with your hand at her back. She coiled her leg around yours to knock your balance so you almost collapsed onto her. You only just caught yourself in time so you didn’t slam your body into hers, starting to laugh softly and needing to pull away. The grin that Maria gave you didn’t calm yours down at all “Are you trying to cause an injury?” You chuckled and she shrugged softly. “Just eager.” She sighed, trailing her fingers across your hair “It’s our anniversary.” “I know.” Quickly, you leaned down to kiss her briefly again “Happy one year.” Your girlfriend smiled widely. “Happy one year.” She echoed back and pulled you down to kiss you again, just as gentle as before. You had to pull away, however, when a smile spread across your lips. Maria sighed softly as you pressed your forehead against her shoulder and set into silent giggles "You're thinking about that vine, aren't you?" With a tiny laugh, you nodded against her shoulder and she rolled her eyes "I'm in love with a dork." "Just a bit." Then you started kissing her neck as an apology for the inability you had to have a serious moment without thinking back to the many 3am vine compilation video binge sessions you had "I love you too though." "You better." Then, with her leg still wrapped around yours, she pushed up and turned the two of you so you were below her with her hands braced on either side of your head. The movement pulled your lips from her neck and she took that to move for another kiss. This one, you didn't mess up. Your left hand came to her jaw, your fingertips brushing against the nape of her neck as she gave a soft bite to your bottom lip while pulling away for just a second. She tilted her head to the side and deepened the kiss yet again. You whined against her lips and curled your right hand around her hip to tug her even closer "Scootch up." She muttered when she pulled away, unbuttoning her shirt as you shifted back onto the bed properly. You pulled your tank top off in one swift movement and threw it across the room, which made Maria stop in her efforts with two buttons left just so she could look at you. "What?" You asked with a smile. "It's so hot when you do that." "You're just saying that because you're horny." You muttered and Maria nodded slightly as she finished with her shirt and dropped it to the floor before hopping up onto the bed. She took two steps then fell to her knees, straddling you, as she spoke. "Maybe. What are you going to do about it?" You hooked your index fingers under the straps of her bra and tugged her closer so you could kiss her again. Your hands shamelessly went almost instantly to cup her ass and pull her further into your lap while she trailed her fingers down across your clavicle before softly placing them at your neck.

"I swear, the others are more trouble than they're worth." Natasha sighed as she walked into your room, dropping her shoes at the side of the door. You didn't move from kissing Maria, almost as though you hadn't realised she was there "For all the times Clint just goes AWOL, you'd think..." She cut herself off as she took in the sight on the bed "Really? You couldn't wait?" "Sorry, baby." Maria said as she pulled away from you. "She started talking about my hands; I had to stop her somehow." You pouted before pressing a few kisses to Maria's neck, specifically down the path of a vein that made her groan "You can catch up." Natasha looked over the two of you and then nodded once. "I guess I can." She sighed before taking her shirt off with one hand and crawling onto the bed.

Her fingers tangled in Maria's hair and guided her head back so they could kiss. Your lips carried on with their attention to Maria's neck, sucking small marks lower down her neck in areas that would be easily hidden if she zipped her jacket up fully for once. The lower you got, the more she arched against you and raised up to give you more places to kiss and bite. One of your hands trailed around her side to her stomach, drawing circles upwards until you cupped your fingers around one of her breasts. Natasha seemed to have the same idea; her fingers knocking against yours which made her break from the kiss and laugh softly. You pulled back to look at her with a little smile, kissing her for just a second "Sorry we didn't wait for you." You muttered but she just shook her head to it. "I'd have done the same." She said before bringing you in again, pulling away just as you tried to push forwards "And I'm much more patient than you." "I'm not patient." Maria said, a frown on her face "Can we please get back to celebrating? Please?" You shared a look with Natasha before swapping roles; you dragged Maria down into a kiss again while Nat focused on her neck, giving her identical marks on the opposite side to where your attentions had been.

Natasha's free hand, the one that wasn't preoccupied on Maria's breast, moved gently up the agent’s back, making her shudder, before making quick work of the clasp of her bra. In a second, due to the efforts of all three of you, it was across the room and Maria gasped as you and Natasha returned your touch to her now bare chest. She didn't seem to be able to deal with having idle hands any longer as her fingers tugged blindly at the knot of your workout pants. When she only succeeded in knocking her hands against her stomach, the knot unrelenting, she whined and pulled away from you to see what she was doing, pushing Natasha's head away when she only served to distract her more. "Want some help, darling?" Nat asked with a smile, teasing Maria’s nipple between her fingers while you were more set on tracing a spiral across her puckered skin. "No, let her figure it out." You tried not to laugh, especially with the glare that Maria set you with. "It's not too late for me to get rid of you, you know." That's what made you laugh, how seriously she said it, and you cupped her face so gently in your hands that it almost made her glare falter. "You would if you didn't love me. Gerroff, then we can get everything out of the way." Maria moved off you so you could easily undo the knot and tug your pants off to drop them beside the bed, while Maria didn't even bother with buttons before shedding her own trousers.

You cried out when Natasha gripped your ankles and tugged you to lie down on the bed properly before she crawled over you "Hi, sweetheart." She smiled and kissed you deeply before you could even think to reply "Today has been so unfair." She muttered against your lips "All I've wanted to do is kiss you. Fucking team bonding bullshit." "You can do a lot more than kiss me now, baby." You reminded her and the smile she gave was almost predatory before surging downwards instantly and latching her mouth around your right breast. Maria lay beside you and took your hand, pressing kisses across every section of your fingers with a look in her eyes that instantly got you suspicious "Say a single thing about my hands, I swear to god." You muttered breathlessly when Natasha flicked her tongue over the quickly hardening bud of your nipple before blowing a focused breath over it. “I wasn’t going to say a thing.” Maria smiled softly, though you were sure that she wanted to so gave her a look “Well, I was going to say-” You covered her mouth with your hand to stop her before she even started. Natasha looked up at you and rolled her eyes as she moved her attentions to your other breast. “Don’t.” You muttered and she licked your palm, making you scrunch your nose up and draw your hand away “Gross.” “Why do you think I’m gross? You know where I’ve been.” “Exactly.” You cried out suddenly as Nat bit you a bit harsher than she had done before "Nat." You whined and she looked up at you as she licked across the reddening mark around your nipple as an apology. "You two talk too much." She said for an excuse, with a shrug, before looking away from your eyes and kissing down your stomach.

Her lips made a path across your waist, across the outline of your panties, and sometimes let her tongue peak out against your skin. As she curled the fingers of one hand under the only scrap of fabric you had on, her short nails just barely scratching against your hip, the other tapped your thigh twice as a sign for you to lift up. When you did, it took hardly a second before your panties were across the room and Natasha put herself between your thighs with her hands underneath your body. Two fingers of her right hand stroked up across your slit slowly, spreading apart so she could expose your clit more easily. She removed her touch just to put one of your legs over her shoulder, arm curling over your thigh and parting your intimate lips again so she could instantly swipe her tongue from the bottom of your entrance up to your clit. Craving her touch all day, on such a day like this, seemed made it feel a hundred times better than usual and your brain short-circuited as she carried on her attentions. You didn’t notice, too caught up in what your gentle assassin was doing, that Maria slid off the bed and started to shift around in one of the side-drawers. Natasha noticed, however, and her eyes met Maria’s when the brunette stood with a strap-on in her hand and a sly little smile on her face. The redhead moaned against your clit, eyes sliding closed as she lifted her hips up slightly.

Maria trailed her hand down Natasha’s back, causing her to shudder and whine. Her back arched even more when Maria was behind her and started to slowly pull her almost skin tight workout pants down her ass. The brunette hardly even pulled them down to her ankles before she started to don the harness, softly moaning herself as the textured pad on the inside of the harness settled against her clit. With a little pout, as she looked over the sight of Natasha, she absently trailed a finger up and down the length of the toy. Nat, uncharacteristically impatient tonight, tried to entice Maria into doing /anything/ by shaking her ass slowly. In return, she got a light but still shocking slap. The sound of it caused you to open your eyes and look down at your lovers. The sight was incredibly arousing, especially when Maria sent a cocky wink your way. Almost the second that she did, she was slowly working the toy into Natasha.

The feeling seemed too much for Natasha to handle while keeping busy with you. She moved away to press her forehead against your thigh as she let out a shaky breath of a moan "Боже ты мой." (Oh my god) With a smile, you reached down and stroked your hand through Nat's hair slowly. "Does it feel good, baby?" You cooed. Her responding nod was strangely cute and you almost laughed. "Oh, it's been a while since one of us fucked you, hasn't it?" "Yes." Natasha whined, as Maria's hips pressed fully against hers. Maria's nose wrinkled with her smile. Her hands trailed over the assassin's back and thighs, soothing her until she started to slowly roll her hips against the bed and kiss your inner thighs. Maria took note and the two of you shared a look over her. When her lips came up to your pussy, slowly starting to build you up to orgasm again, Maria pulled out just a little before quickly filling her again. The little moans, groans, whimpers, from Natasha as Maria set a slow pace just served to turn you on even more and you had no shame in moving against her face as she carried on eating you out so perfectly.

Soon enough, Natasha had you on the edge of orgasm. Your movements and breaths started to become more frantic, your grip on her hair tightened just enough to make her softly moan, and it seemed like your whole world had fallen away to just you and your girls "Nat, baby, make me cum." Natasha rubbed at your clit with her fingers as she pulled away to talk. "Are you close, sweetheart?" "I'm almost there, just make me cum, please, I love you so much." You came, pretty soon after, with her lips around your clit and her name leaving your throat almost as a scream.

As you were recovering, Maria took that chance to really give it to Natasha since now she had nothing to be preoccupied with. She bent over more, bracing her hands on the bed either side of Nat, and fucked her deeper and harder than before. Nat was helpless to do much else than cling on to your still slightly trembling legs and moan near incoherently. Absently, you kept your fingers carding through her hair even after you had properly calmed down from your, frankly amazing, orgasm. You took a second to admire the expressions that crossed her face and let her muffle her moans against your thigh. Eventually, you decided to shift down the bed and put your fingers under her chin to make her look at you before you kissed her softly. She melted into it eagerly and you even felt a slight smile come across her lips, the two of you lazily kissing while Maria spattered the redhead’s shoulders with kisses of her own. Natasha pulled away from the kiss for just long enough to turn her head towards Maria and mutter “Harder.” “Of course.” Maria said with a smile, almost as breathless as Natasha was. How couldn’t she oblige? With a soft chuckle and a kiss to Nat’s cheek, she seemed to almost brace herself to work your girl harder. That just made Natasha whine out a deep moan and shudder in the pleasure.

After that, she barely lasted a minute before she was warning the both of you of her impending orgasm. You held her through it, as Maria took to nuzzling at her neck. When Maria deemed her ready, she pulled out though it caused a slightly overstimulated half-whine to tumble from Natasha’s lips when the toy stroked slightly against a sensitive spot inside her. Maria didn’t even bother taking the harness off before joining the two of you properly on the bed again. You looked over to her with a slightly amused smile at the sight “Did you cum yet, Ri?” Maria shook her head dismissively. “Not just yet. But we’ve got all night, right?” “Hear her, Nat?” You laughed softly “Maria thinks we should spend the entire night just fucking, not going out and celebrating another way.” “Sounds fine by me.” Natasha purred, turning onto her back and reaching up to trail her fingers across your jawline “Unless you really want to do something else.” The look she shot you was almost identical to Maria’s, both of them knowing that you really didn’t want to do anything but spend time with them this way. “I could be convinced otherwise.”

The Next Morning Afternoon

The morning perhaps didn’t go as planned.

You had fully intended to wake up and start the day off right with the girls, maybe start the morning off right with a quick extra bit of appreciation towards them, before joining the team for breakfast and carrying on your days. However, the three of you had exhausted plenty of energy with each other so easily slept through the morning; unfortunately that meant that you missed breakfast and also your absence eventually caused a bit of worry amongst the team.

At first, they assumed that sparring had taken it out of both you and Natasha (unaware of Maria’s presence in the tower), especially with how beat Nat had looked as she left, so left you both to rest up. When it hit around 11, however, it seemed to be a unanimous agreement that something was wrong. So, they decided to check around the tower. Evidently, not every room had cameras but the ones that did were checked first in case the two of you were just hiding out in one of the many recreation rooms that Tony had put around so that escape was possible without hiding in bedrooms all day. When the cameras showed nothing, they went to check your bedrooms. Not all together, obviously, but pretty much evenly split.

Natasha’s room was almost undisturbed. She hadn’t slept there for a few days, preferring to stay with you since your room was just slightly closer to the gym than hers and she had been going pretty hard recently, but that fact was obvious so just served to add to the suspicions of everyone. Tony was with Buck and Wanda to check your room. As he tried to open the door, Friday spoke up “I’m afraid Y/N has engaged the privacy lock.” Tony sighed. “Come on, just override it, we wanna check on her.” “She told me not to let anybody in.” “Friday, open the door or I swear to god I will reprogram you.” After a beat of silence, almost as though the AI was considering it, she spoke again. “Yes, boss.” The door slid open, exposing the room to the three.

Exposing the sight of you, Maria, and Natasha curled up together, Maria between the two of you, and almost completely bared if it wasn’t for the blanket that was tangled between you all.

“Holy fuck!” Was your unpleasant wakeup, jolting you from your sleep. Well, kinda. It also didn’t help that Natasha’s lightning fast reflexes made her shoot up and instinctively cover you and Maria with the blanket while pulling out a gun, which also made the intruders freak out quite loudly.

It didn’t take too long for you all to calm down, and for Maria to prise the gun from Natasha’s fingers, but the silence took a while to be broken “So.” Tony said with a half-smile “This is…Unexpected.” “Tony.” You sighed. “I mean, I’m never going to complain about having this sort of view.” “Tony, I’m going to punch you if you carry on.” Having seen exactly what your fists could do, Tony was quick to shut up and almost sink down into himself “Right, so you probably have questions so I’ll make this quick because I would love to get back to cuddles.” Maria and Natasha smiled softly, especially as you rubbed your eyes “We’re all in a relationship, it’s not just sexual –Tony, keep your eyes decent I swear to God-, Maria and Natasha were together first, I don’t get jealous of their relationship. Anything I’ve missed?” “How long have you been together?” Bucky asked quietly. A goofy smile came across your face and you reached for Maria’s hand. “A year. Exactly, as of yesterday.” Maria answered for you “Now, can we please…just have the day?” Buck nodded once, and muttered a ‘sure’ before leaving. “See you later, have fun.” Wanda smiled, almost suggestively, and let you be with a slight nod.

Tony, however, stayed for a second and seemed to start speaking his train of thought but cut himself off each time before he could say a word. After the fourth time, Natasha sighed “Tony, either talk or get out.” “Happy one year.” “I’m 35.” The assassin said, without hesitation, in the ‘dumb blonde’ voice from the vine. Maria groaned and fell back to lying down. “The two of you fucking nerds, I swear to god.” A fond smile came across Tony’s face and he let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll leave you three to it.” The door quietly clicked closed behind him, and the second that it did Maria grabbed both you and Natasha to pull you back down to cuddle her on either side.

You didn’t ask any questions when the three of you suddenly got sent matching necklaces, that were far above what all of you could afford.

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themaskedwriter · 5 years

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silent

summary: in addition to being a silent man, bucky felt his emotions silently.

warnings: near death experience, swearing, a dash of angst.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

clues: this writer has a penchant for slow burn and ceiling murals!

word count: 1600

before hydra, bucky was loud. he used to laugh loudly, holding his stomach. his cry would sound like a howl to someone who did not know better. when he was an angry, he was often times surrounded by his own destruction, whether it be broken dishes or broken hearts.

after being brainwashed, he did not feel a need to express himself loudly. he did not mind, for the most part. he felt that everything around him was so loud and egregious that he did not even want to express himself sometimes. we more accurately, he forgot how to. he was so used to everything just being shoved down that he did not know how to show people how he felt. so, he felt in silence.

he was happy in silence

a huge grin would take up his features, making him look quite boyish. he would be giddy, physically bouncing and not being able to keep still. his heart would feel so full. for that small instant, he would feel whole. he knew that he shouldn’t get attached to moments, because they all ended at some point, good or bad. but he could not help but bask in the warmth of his short lived happiness.

on christmas morning, the pure joy inside of him was bursting out of him in small giggles, surprising everyone. he could not bring himself to stop smiling, even when his cheeks started hurting. he unwrapped his gifts from the other avengers with care, trying not to destroy the wrapping paper.

when he unwrapped his gift from y/n, his smile was replaced with a look of awe as he gingerly ran his fingers over the silver compass in his hand. he was scared that he was going to crush it so he shifted it to his flesh hand. she was holding her breath, unsure of how to take his reaction.

the two of them were sitting side by side, under the christmas tree. no one was paying any attention to them. sam and clint were standing in the kitchen, bickering over something. clint eventually got fed up and turned his back toward sam, so that he could not lip read or interpret sam’s signing. steve and tony were standing by the stove, peacefully making hot chocolate for everyone. natasha was nestled in a blanket on the couch, fast asleep. pietro and wanda were talking amongst themselves in rapid sokovian. bruce was sitting off by himself, glasses falling off his nose as he leafed through a book that tony had gotten for him. clint called out to him and he grumbled something back. “i don’t know what you’re saying if i can’t see your mouth! does anyone care that i’m deaf?!”

but all of it faded away when bucky popped open the compass. the needle was pointing steadily towards north. inscribed on the inside was “take another step, for you are never lost. you will always find your way home.” underneath, were his initials. he traced his fingers over them.

“and then,” she began softly as she put her hand over the compass, “you can open this,” she turned it over and felt around for a small notch, “and you have a secret hiding spot.” the bottom of the compass opened up to reveal a small compartment. neatly pasted on one side was a candid picture of y/n and bucky together, laughing at something. “i don’t want you forgetting about me,” she whispered as she lightly touched the picture.

“wow,” he exhaled. he felt a warm tingling sensation blossom all throughout his chest. he felt overwhelmingly whole. as though he would never need anything again. if that moment in time caused his life to grow stagnant, he would not mind at all.

“do you like it?” she questioned. her expression was one of childlike nervousness. she was eager to please him as he had very picky tastes.

he turned his head to look at her. his eyes were twinkling brighter than she had ever seen them. “i love it,” he beamed, his voice low. in one swift movement, he pulled her into his lap and buried his face in her neck, holding her tight. “thank you,” he repeated over and over again.

she laughed, bringing one hand up to card her fingers through his hair. he wanted to drown himself in the depths of her angelic laugh. he wanted to lose himself in her velvety touch. he was so completely enamored with her. all he wanted was to live in that moment for eternity. deep in his heart, he knew that he should not get attached. but love can make one act a fool and he, ever so foolishly, wanted to live in her touch for the rest of his days.

what she had said earlier resonated in him. “i don’t want you forgetting about me.” he wanted to tell her that he could never forget her. not even if he tried.

bucky was afraid in silence.

he sat in a plush chair, his head in his hands as he tried to calm himself down taking deep breaths. the whole medical staff was rushing around him and all he wanted was for them to all go away. wispy, dark, and intrusive thoughts shrouded his mind. he pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes to try and push them away. sometimes, he wished he could claw his brain out. maybe then he would be at peace.

he heard a set of footsteps softer than the rest, rushing towards him. he looked up and saw y/n speeding towards him, her oversized cardigan and hair flying behind her like a flag. the top portion of her hair was pulled back with hair ribbons. he immediately stood up and let her crash her body into his. he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off of her feet. her arms circled around his neck, holding him close. he let out a shaky breath before daintily setting her back down onto her feet.

“why don’t you sit down?” she said, her voice gentle. he obliged. she kneeled in front of him, her hands going to cup his face. she swiped his tears away from his cheeks. his eyes were screwed shut. “hey honey,” she cooed when he opened them up to look at her.

he heavily exhaled in response. he felt so utterly hopeless and scared. his best friend was walking on the edge of life and death and there was nothing that he could do about it. he did not know what he would do if steve didn’t make it through the night. he did not know how he would continue without the person who he had depended on his whole life.

“i’m right here. we’re just gonna have wait this out. whatever happens is gonna happen,” she said to him, brushing his hair behind his ear.

“i s-should’ve gone instead,” he rasped.

“no, bucky,” she shook her head. “everything happens for a reason. none of this is your fault. we both know steve’s gonna fight as hard as he can.”

“i’m so scared,” he whispered.

“oh, baby,” she sighed. she pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “have faith.”

three hours later and bucky was sitting between y/n’s legs, facing away. his head was resting on her of her knees as he slept away his exhaustion. she had taken the ribbons out of her hair and french braided them into his hair.

he stirred when doctor cho emerged from the operation room. he pulled himself up to his feet and grabbed y/n’s hand, waiting for doctor cho to say anything. “steve is completely stable. it’s only a matter of how long it’s gonna take him to fully recovery.”

his shoulders dropped in relief when doctor cho finished talking to them. he exhaled the weight of anxiety. everything would be okay. he was hopeful.

bucky was angry in silence.

his anger was dark. his normally clear blue eyes would cloud over and become gray, with his eyebrows drawn together. the muscle in his jaw would tick. his knuckles would turn white with how tightly he clenched his fists. he was a man of few words, and the words he used when he was angry would cut like a knife.

“you don’t get to make that choice, steve,” he growled at the blond man.

“then what choice do i get to make?” steve laughed coldly in response as he removed his gloves.

it sent a chill down y/n’s back. she had never seen either of them act like this sinisterly towards one another. following thanos, steve had become a lot more closed off to the other avengers, with the exception of bucky. to see steve treat him in such a manner was a shock to her. the three of them were standing in the back of the quinjet, with clint flying it from the cockpit.

“bucky,” she said softly, reaching for his hand. “it was a tough mission. but we’re all in one piece. steve took a risk and it turned out okay.”

“NO!” bucky roared. he turned to her, his eyes wild with pure rage. “he does not get to risk your life. never,” his voice was dangerously low. she had to stop herself from taking a step back in fear. but he saw it flicker over her face. he withdrew his hand from hers.

“honey, relax,” she whispered. “it’s fine.”

“no! it’s not fine! both of you need to fucking realize it!” his chest was heaving as he drew in ragged breaths. “you both are dumbasses! i can’t live with either of you! stop putting yourselves in situations where i could lose you! i’m not gonna wait around for you guys to fucking kill yourselves!” he practically ripped his rifle off of his back and threw it into its spot before collapsing into a chair. he pinched his nose bridge before leaning his head back.

sometimes, bucky wished he was not so silent.

#fic

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aconitemare · 4 years

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[jaydick] Before That, And Colder

Chapter Three

Previous Chapter

AO3

A large mirror — a looking glass — or so it seemed to me — now stood where it had not been before. As I walked toward it in terror I saw my own form, all spotted with blood, its face white, advancing to meet me with a weak and uncertain step.

Four knocks sound at the door, quick and heavy, impatient: Suzie Su. Jason glances up from his book, a collection of Poe’s works mailed to him from Wayne Enterprises, Office of Bruce Wayne, C.E.O. It’s no library book — an expensive collectible, probably, judging by the silver-edged pages, embossed cover, and massive size. Jason is more tolerable of this gift, however, compared to the first edition volumes of Great Expectations sitting in a box in his bedroom closet. Sometimes he has the urge to bring them outside, douse them in kerosene, and roast marshmallows over them. He once got as far as unearthing the box and running his hand gently over the topmost volume, registering its rough texture beneath his weathered palm, before he lost his momentum and tucked the box away again.

“What is it?” he calls out. The doorknob jiggles. “It’s locked,” he drawls, tipping his chair back a little with his toes. Upside down, he looks out the wall-to-wall windows behind him. The final dredges of sunlight bruise the Atlantic Ocean purple.

Suzie Su kicks the door futilely. “No kidding,” she gripes.

Jason sits back upright. He shifts the paperweight off his open book, moves to close it, and is promptly reminded of the photos spread across the desk. They’re why he had begun reading. He had grabbed a book off his shelf and slammed it down, burying the bodies. Now, dead boys stare up at him, their dark hair rusted with blood and their hollow bones crunched. They look like crows, like a murder, infused with tragedy and beating broken wings.

“What do you want?” he asks roughly, eyes transfixed but mouth still — as always, he knows — moving ahead of him. He needs to get these out of his sight or he’ll lose his mind.

“Well, it’s not a social call,” replies Suzie Su.

“Be right there,” promises Jason. He shoves the photos into the book, crushing his doppelgangers between the final pages of William Wilson. Then he bats the book away, towards the corner of his desk for later.

Jason unlocks and opens the door to reveal Suzie Su in a plain, button-down shirt damp with sweat. It pools beneath her pits like dolphin fins halfway down her sides. He raises an eyebrow. “What, no little black dress?”

“You don’t pay me to be beautiful, ass,” says Suzie Su, brushing past Jason into his office.

“Shit, am I supposed to be paying you?” he jokes, watching her over his shoulder. He’s about to follow when James darkens his doorway next. James is less sweaty but sporting a badly busted lip. Of course, the interesting part is the man he’s got wrapped in his arms with a potato sack over his head.

Jason spreads his palms in delight. “Oh, good, you’ve found someone for the internship,” he says with cheer. He cocks his head to check around James’ hulking form. “Any other incapacitated applicants? No?” He sighs and shakes his head remorsefully. “Low turnout.”

James just stares at him, unamused. Probably sour over the punch Potato Sack got in. “Let me in, please,” he says. Jason courteously steps aside, closing the door behind him. James immediately releases Potato Sack, who sags to his knees and leans against James’ leg for half a second before regaining his balance. He’s more conscious than Jason would have thought for a bound and gagged kidnap victim.

Jason points at him. “Who’s the fool? He just come from the county fair’s three-legged race?” he inquires. Potato Sack is dressed nicely; his outfit is a tad disheveled, but there’s no blood or sweat on him, at least not from the neck down. His peachy pocket square is halfway out his paisley blazer. The cuffs are folded to his elbows, exposing muscular, nicely tanned forearms.

Suzie Su flops into one of Jason’s chairs, the white leather one with too much cushion. “The sack came straight out of Big Guy’s car. I don’t even know,” she remarks. She sounds tired despite being uninjured, like she might’ve chased Potato Sack all the way here.

Jason contemplates making a Karate Kid reference, something about chasing chickens, when James chimes in. “We can’t have suspicious figures knowing where your office is,” he justifies. “Especially right now with the — photographs,” he finishes, visibly uncomfortable.

Jason shrugs and shakes his head in amused mystification. “A suspicious figure?” he repeats, making a “so what?” gesture with his hand. “Is that all he is?”

James grimaces. “Not all. He’s weirdly… agile. Freakishly quick.”

Suzie Su laughs, a husky and wheezing sound in her current state. “Agile is right. He pirouetted James right in the face.” Pirouette, Jason thinks. The word spins into his mind, a flurry of movement, and then neatly halts on a striking thought. Jason turns his attention to the well-dressed man on his knees.

Meanwhile, James is sending Suzie Su a glare across the room. “It was a roundhouse kick,” he corrects as if the name affords him more dignity. “Just a really spinny one. I don’t think he was actually even on the ground — ”

Impatient, Jason rips the sack off the man’s head. His jaw clenches so tightly he’s aware of the ache. Dick is noticeably unharmed, except for perhaps a small patch of dirt accentuating his sharp right cheekbone. His hair is in disarray, silky strands breaking from what once must have been perfectly molded curls to fall smoothly into his alert blue eyes. He looks more like a pampered socialite returning from a joyride with the windows down than a hostage. Dick blows a rich black lock of hair out of his eyes and gives a toothy grin that positively dazzles. “Hiya, Hood. Fancy seeing you here,” he greets and, for added impertinence, he even winks at Jason.

Claustrophobia looms over Jason’s back like an invisible but palpable enemy, breathing down his neck, crowding him against Dick and Bruce and Tim. He never should have contacted Tim, this was the respect they showed, the audacity. He has a flash of himself yanking Dick up by the throat and dangling him out a window, letting him drop to the icy ocean. Then he sees Dick’s golden face turn cold, eyes white and face pale, and the horrifying vision is gone just as fast.

“Everybody out,” Jason orders. He feels stiff, his spine stiff, his voice stiff. He’s still staring at Dick, the smiling piece of work. Suzie Su stands up and lumbers towards the door, but James lingers.

“Is he one of your, you know,” James starts out. He brings his fingers to his head and Jason knows he’s about to form little bat ears, but fortunately, James drops his hands to his side instead. James swallows dryly. “I’ll be outside.”

“Yeah, way outside,” Jason agrees sharply. “Outside the casino, if you can.”

Dick watches the two of them with glass-blown eyes. He smiles cheekily at James and says, “Maybe you can keep an eye on the parking lot, make sure no one touches Hood’s bike.”

James narrows his eyes at Dick but says nothing more. He turns around and stalks out the door, trailing after Suzie Su. “The door, ” Jason adds, mildly amused when James grabs the doorknob and slams the door shut. “Touchy,” Jason tuts.

Dick springs to his feet and begins undoing the knot around his wrists. Jason just barely resists shoving him back to the floor. “What the hell, Dick!” he shouts. “What happened to the fucking parking lot!” he demands, waving his arms.

Dick’s wrists come free, the rope falling to his feet in one final and fluid motion. “I got lost,” Dick says. He smoothes out his shirt, which draws Jason’s eyes properly to how the pink highlights the rosy warmth of his skin tone. He looks good.

“Oh, my god,” Jason mutters, turning away from Dick and pinching the bridge of his nose. There’s tension building there, a volcanic tension Jason is always pushing down, keeping dormant. Stupid, stupid, letting the Bat in. He can only blame himself because if he blames Dick he’s going to go on a rampage, and anyway, holding the bats accountable has never worked for him before.

“You know what,” he says after a moment wherein Dick wisely stays silent, “it’s my fault,” he informs, holding his palms up in surrender. “I, despite many opportunities to learn from my mistakes, entrusted your hegemonistic troupe with private information and somehow expected you to respect my rules.” Jason holds a hand over his heart and leans forward in apology, causing Dick to have to tilt his chin slightly upward. Jason stares intently at him, going for venomous sincerity as he says, “This is on me for thinking what I said matters to any of you psychos.”

Jason watches Dick blink owlishly at him. He’s still in Dick’s space, waiting for a response, when finally Dick smiles and pats him on the shoulder. “Woo!” he says, wiping his forehead, “Glad we got that over with! Very mature of you, Hood,” he chirps, stepping around Jason. Jason imagines grabbing him by the neck and holding him in place, pinning him still like one might do to a butterfly that lingers too long for safety. Jason does not do that.

Dick begins rooting through his desk, wiggling drawers to find they’re locked and checking beneath his Poe book like he’s in a clue game. Jason can’t help but release a weary sigh. Jason begins, “Would rather you just let me die, if we’re being hon — ”

“By the way, what you say does matter,” Dick abruptly interjects, looking up from another locked drawer to stare Jason down. Dick’s hair has fallen into his eyes again, providing a thin buffer between their gazes. Jason awkwardly shifts his weight and suspects, with some bitterness, that the terms of the mission have just switched hands. Then Dick is pushing his bangs out of his face and wrestling his curls out of their mold. “It’s just that your life matters more,” he explains, and the whole line is just so nonchalantly sentimental, so easily spoken, that Jason wants to throw them both out a window. At least Dick has stopped staring at him, and he looks like slightly less of a prick now that his hair is closer to its naturally relaxed wave.

“The curls make you look gay,” Jason informs, trying not to pout like he’s sixteen again and Nightwing is refusing to partner up with him on a case.

Dick smirks. “Those who live in glass casinos, Jay,” he retorts. “Feel like unlocking any of these for me?” he asks.

Jason crosses his arms. “Not particularly, no,” he replies, shaking his head.

Dick twists his lips in irritation before, apparently, moving on, expression blasé. “That’s fine,” he dismisses. “What’s not fine is that security of yours,” he adds, unimpressed, as he scoops the Poe collection into his hands. Jason’s heart seizes in his chest.

“Hey!” he protests, marching towards Dick and reaching for the book. Dick’s shoulder cuts between them, blocking Jason off.

“Your bruisers couldn’t land a real hit on me — and they just take me to you without, apparently, informing you ahead of time?” Dick criticizes. He’s sifting through the silvery pages now, fanning them with his thumb. “What if I had been your stalker? What then? They deliver me unto you where I’m free to shoot you point-blank?”

Stalker, Jason thinks, is a tad dramatic. “What, they didn’t pat you down?” he asks, already knowing they did. James is too paranoid not to and Suzie Su knows who lines her pockets.

Dick purses his lips unhappily. The overall effect is charming against Jason’s will; it’s a beautiful mouth, full and fair, and easily admired when idle. But then his lips are framing around words, as they frequently are, and Jason has to focus. “Well, technically, yes, they checked me for weapons,” Dick admits. He holds a finger up and points at Jason’s chest. “But there are other ways of killing you.”

Jason pats his chest and then holds out his arms like wings. “And yet I am not dead. Security seems just fine to me.”

Dick’s expression sobers. Jason can barely keep up with Dick’s emotive face, the ups and downs of his duel humor and sincerity. “You’re not dead because there’s been no attempt. You’re the endgame and these boys are just,” language fails Dick here.

“Pit stops?” Jason offers, raising both his eyebrows. Dick clearly doesn’t appreciate his word choice, because his brows knit and he turns his fine cheek further away from Jason. He wants to keep pushing, though, so he says, “How about appetizers?”

Dick has reached the end of the book, but before Jason can feel relief, he starts fanning the pages again. “Sure,” Dick concedes, albeit moodily.

Jason leans against his deck and watches Dick flip through. He considers ripping the book out of his hands, but he doesn’t know if it’s worth the trouble, so he holds back and drums his fingers against the edge of the table, letting his anxiety bleed out through his tips.

“Appetizer makes sense,” Jason proposes. “Sociopath like him, he likes to whet his hunger when he can, but he’ll never be full,” he explains, almost absently, his mind drifting away from the office and towards the ocean facing him, and across that ocean, too, all the way to his return to Gotham. He remembers his own hunger.

He hears Dick slap a page down. Jason doesn’t bother looking; he knows Dick found the photographs. A tiny sigh escapes from Dick beside him. Jason glances at him from the corner of his eye, sees Dick tapping his fingers against a face, communing with some boy’s preserved pain. Jason looks away.

“Except he’s not ‘whetting’ anything,” Dick says. “These kids aren’t for his benefit. They’re for yours.”

“None of these kids died,” offers Jason, partly as an agreement with Dick’s point, partly just to remind himself. They’re all alive. They’re breathing. They didn’t lose everything.

Dick hikes himself up on the desk and sets the book down in his lap, legs pretzeled. The white slacks curve keenly around his thighs. “Makes sense for a reenactment, which the assailant’s going for. You didn’t die, after all.”

Jason’s jaw flexes. “I did.”

Dick does not respond, which Jason is grateful for. Having the photos open, their bodies inspected while he stands off to the side, is such a keen breach of privacy. He feels it like a direct violation, yet he knows better than to snatch the evidence from Dick’s hands. Dick always comes bounding back after a rebuttal, Exhibit A: this whole thing. The only way Dick would be gentler is if he needed to be, and Jason refuses to give him a reason.

After a minute, Dick breaches the silence. “Full discretion?” he says.

Jason hangs his head and braces himself. He’s never noticed before, but there are tiny fishes painted onto the ceiling. “Yeah?” he asks, figuring Dick is seeking permission, or whatever.

“I watched the tapes.”

That gets Jason’s attention. He faces Dick whose fingers rest on the open pages, whose brow is furrowed in what must be guilt or nervousness. Jason opens his mouth, closes it, and then shakes his head. “What tapes, Dick?”

Dick taps his index finger on the first kid: Terry Weind. The name he learned from a news report the same day his picture was stuck to his bike. No pictures were released to the public, but Vale spared few details in her verbal description. Jason didn’t have to do much digging for the boy’s identity. He had shown up at the hospital with flowers, telling Terry’s mother that he was just a concerned citizen. He also told her that Gotham’s heart went out to her son, that there was a community right outside that hospital room, even if it felt the only souls around were her and her son’s. He hopes she believes it better than he does.

“B has had Park Row Memorial recorded around the clock for years. He has — every one of the attacks on camera. We watched them while he was prepping me for this case.” Dick says this like it’s a confession and Jason has the power to pardon him.

Jason nearly scoffs. “Yeah, well, it’s your job,” he says instead. If he was stronger, Jason would hold this breach of privacy against him. He would take advantage of the one aspect in all of this that Dick appears penitent for. He should be sorry. Dick got to watch not just three kids brutally beaten, exploited helplessly, he got to watch Jason. Jason had to experience his death completely alone and now he had to experience it again on a stage. Neither Bruce nor Dick were there for him as partners, but they are here as an audience. Jason’s grave has been violated by more than just a hooded figure in an alleyway, but Jason does not have the energy to be judge, jury, and executioner. He doesn’t have the energy to give Dick what he wants.

“So, what’s the plan?” asks Jason, propping his elbows on the desk. Dick doesn’t answer, so Jason says, “You must have one since you went to all the trouble of getting James to deliver you personally to my office like a sack of potatoes.”

“Who keeps a potato sack on them, by the way?” Dick asks. Jason shrugs. “That’s just weird,” Dick comments.

“Yeah, he’s kind of weird,” Jason agrees. “But so is everyone in your corner. Those who live in glass batcaves should not throw batarangs?” he asks, irony lacing his words.

“Wingdings, actually,” Dick corrects, which reminds Jason of the Microsoft font and he wonders if Dick’s stupidity is contagious. He’d hate to start calling his guns ‘bat-barrels’ or ‘Times New Hoodlum.’ “Also, the plan might just take place in the aforementioned glass house,” Dick adds.

Jason shakes his head. “You’ve lost me.”

Dick sighs, the perfect picture of put-upon. Jason knows where this is headed: he’s the unreasonable one here, somehow, despite arriving by car like a normal person instead of on a suspicious person list. “Your hired muscle isn’t the best,” Dick begins with an insult, so Jason knows it’s going downhill from here. “Bunker’s observational skills are decent, but not up to par. Your ‘James’ is sloppy. And the, uh,” Dick licks his lips here, “ lady — insulted you about five times between the budget interrogation and the bumpy ride to your office. Wherever her loyalties lie, they’re not with you.”

Jason groans dramatically and pushes off his desk. He reclaims his book from Dick’s lap, closing it shut and walking towards the whale-shaped bookshelf mounted on a non-windowed wall. “Su’s loyalties lie with her money, and her money lies with me,” Jason refutes. He gently slides the book between a copy of The Orphan Master’s Son and Hamlet. “You tell me where a man gets his corn-pone, and I’ll tell you what his opinions are. Mark Twain,” Jason cites.

Dick watches him from his seat on the desk. His lips are pressed in wry amusement, although the amusement may be wishful thinking on Jason’s part. He’d like to say he put something on Dick’s lips, and humor is good enough. “Yes,” says Dick flatly, “that sounds familiar, thank you. But money only goes so far when another pocket reaches farther. Me, telling you she’s bad news,” he cites himself.

“Alright, fine,” Jason says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. He moves them so his jacket fans out in a textile shrug. “Tell me then — Suzie Su the figure you caught on tape? I assume it’s only a figure and not a clear profile since you’re sitting on my desk like it’s your college dorm bed and not out there apprehending my so-called stalker.”

“So-called because they are stalking you, Jason,” Dick says gravely.

“Thanks for the clarity, dickhead, the situation could’ve been really lost on me. Almost forgot I’m the Case of the Month.”

“Sorry,” says Dick, wincing.

“Ugh,” Jason says, hanging his head back with the burden of Dick’s personality. The confession-booth sincerity might be ingratiating if Dick wasn’t as oppressively righteous as an Elf on the Shelf.

“And no,” Dick resumes, “the figure is definitely not Suzie Su. Average height, it looks like, although he’s — bent, most of the time, so it’s guesswork. His frame is neither slim nor broad.”

Jason laughs. “Really? That’s the best you got? Not tall, not short, not big, not small?”

“Well, he’s wearing a hoodie, which obscures a lot of their physique,” explains Dick. He raises his eyebrows then, a questioning movement, and glances out the windows. The room has crisped to an orange color without Jason noticing. In a few minutes, the sunlight will be directly in Dick’s eyes, and then shortly afterward night will fall. “Specifically, he was wearing loose-fitting denim jeans, black combat boots, and a red pull-over with the hood up,” Dick describes.

The last revelation pulls a clownish ribbon of laughter from Jason. It’s a nervous one, which must be obvious to Dick, but he can’t help it. The laugh bubbles in his chest, acidic, and pops on his tongue with acerbic heat. “I bet,” is all he says.

Dick musters a half-smile and says, “Points for theme?”

Jason snorts. “Yeah, sure, he can get all the points for theme. But why?” he asks. “What the hell is this theme? He’s dressed himself like me to kill me. Am I killing myself? Is that the idea? Is he saying it was all my fault, that I got myself killed?”

Jason envisions himself as he is now, face veiled in red, bring metal down on Robin. The warehouse builds itself around the nightmare, boxes stacking atop boxes, men milling about indifferently, and then running out. Except that it’s not the warehouse, it’s Crime Alley, and the walls collapse revealing narrow city streets. The Joker falls away and Batman stands in his place. Jason looks down, expecting a bloody crowbar, but he holds in his grip a simple, slightly rusted tire iron. Both are red though, in the end, aren’t they?

Jason flexes his empty fingers. The floor beneath him is plush, white carpet that’s been bleached more times than he can count. “Why Park Row?” he asks.

Dick’s voice is muted, almost hesitant, actually, or perhaps just attempting to hush and soothe. “It could be coincidence. Park Row is conveniently vacant, especially at night, and he wouldn’t know there were cameras watching,” Dick speculates. He approaches the next possibility more tentatively. “Or he might know what Park Row means to you, to Robin. He could even be showing off how much he knows.”

Jason blanches. “He knows a fucking lot then.”

Dick does inventory: “If Park Row is coincidental, he wouldn’t necessarily know you as Jason Todd. He would just know that the Red Hood was Robin and that the Joker killed — ”

Jason cuts him off. “With a crowbar, he got it to the exact weapon .”

The weapon troubles Dick as well, Jason can track the rumination on his face. The crowbar is specific, purposeful, and not common knowledge. The details of Jason Todd’s untimely death were not released to the public — and as far as his other identity went, Robins may change but they don’t die. “Bruce has a theory about that,” Dick shares.

“Oh, yeah?” Jason asks. He can’t keep the sarcasm from entering his voice. Rationally, he knows Bruce can help him and that’s why he’s willing to work with him. But also, what aspect of Jason’s life hasn’t Bruce analyzed through a microscope, poured into a beaker to see if it would blow up, and uploaded for his future reference? What aspect of any of their lives has Bruce not thought through for them?

“Joker, or someone who worked with him that day,” Dick supplies. “They would know about the crowbar, and if it’s the Joker, he makes almost everything Batman does his business, he might even know about the cameras. He could be taunting B by making him watch.”

What a theory it is, too. Jason starts laughing until Dick trails off and asks, “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jason says, holding up his hands in mock apology. He pretends to wipe away a tear. “That is just some crazy narcissistic bullshit. I’m getting the photos of these mutilated kids and he’s the reason why?”

Dick must know Jason has a point because he flounders briefly before restarting. “Maybe not the reason, but logically Batman is connected. I know it doesn’t feel, I don’t know, satisfying, but it’s the only plausible theory so far. The Joker’s games almost always lead back to him. He used you to get at Batman, it’s at least worth considering how Bruce might factor into — ”

Jason holds up a hand to shut Dick up before he loses his patience. “So, none of this is about me?”

Dick’s expression turns confused. “That’s not what I’m saying. I know this is about you.”

“But my death wasn’t,” Jason practically spits. He shrugs, tries to play this casually, but he wants to upend the desk Dick is still sitting on. He’s overcome with the suspicion that everything in this room is a prop to Dick, a piece to a gameboard he’s playing with Bruce alone. The both of them are entitled to waltz in with some half-baked disguise, lounge on his furniture, look through his books, watch his death over and over again. Jason himself is just another clue.

“You can say it,” Jason encourages, “I died for Bruce. It was never about me, it was always his war and I,” Jason pauses for the right words and when they arrive, the anger building up in him blows away. “I was just a good soldier.”

Dick’s eyes don’t sharpen with recognition; they cloud over with it. Jason repeats the plaque’s inscription in the Batcave: A good soldier. It shines, encased in gold, commemorating Jason’s death while in defiance of his life. Here, in this conversation, it is soaked in venom. Jason doesn’t mean it as an attack; nonetheless, Dick shifts physically away as if to hide the bite mark.

Jason takes a fortifying breath. This isn’t where the conversation is going, he vows. “This isn’t the Joker and this isn’t Batman’s case,” he says steadily enough. Dick has slid from the desk and finally stands, his gaze level with Jason’s. Jason gestures broadly, indicating everything around them that Jason has built for himself the past few years. “ This isn’t Bruce’s life and I’m not about to give him mine again.”

Jason thinks he’s made his point. He just wishes Dick didn’t look like he had slapped him. “No one expects that,” he assures before amending with a tiny frown, “I don’t expect that. I won’t speak for Bruce.”

“That’ll be a first,” Jason replies wryly.

Dick actually laughs, kind of, more of a huff but it’s not without humor. “That’s fair, I suppose. I know everyone thinks I’m his champion, but I try to support everyone in our bat-themed infantry. Family, or so I like to call it. I defend you, too, Jay. I hope you know that. I guess he just seems to need me in his corner the most. Or maybe his corner is where I’m used to being, I don’t know, either way — it was just his theory and I thought it was worth sticking to the wall.”

Jason’s impulse is to criticize half of what Dick just said, but he leaves it be. Dick may be here for Bruce, but more importantly, they’re both here for the case. “I get it. But it’s a theory for Batman, not for Red Hood. I know Bruce is already halfway to commandeering the case and you’re here as a favor to him because we infamously don’t get along, but if you’re going to work with me, you gotta respect what I’ve got going on. Because whoever this person is, they’re not going to all this effort over the Joker or Batman. I’m not a soldier caught in their crossfire this time around. They know me as Robin and as Red Hood. This is very, very personal.”

Dick’s eyes drift to Jason’s bookshelf. He’s thinking of the pictures and how these kids were hurt because of Jason. Jason is, too. Dick folds himself across his chest and nods. “You’re right, you’re right. This is your case.” When Dick looks back at him, his face is intense. “I am here for you, not him. Well, I’d like to think we’re all in this together and so in a way I’m here for both of you, but. I don’t see this as a favor to him. Just so we’re clear.”

Jason breaks their gaze before he can accidentally believe him. When Jason became Robin, Dick avoided him because he was upset with Bruce. When Jason became Red Hood, Dick chased after him because he wanted to help Bruce. And when Dick faked his own death and told Jason nothing, it was because of Bruce. Why Dick wants to expand their relationship now is beyond him, but he’ll take help where he can get it.

Besides, he does like the idea of Dick leaving Bruce’s corner for his. If Jason plays his cards right, Bruce’s plan for a middleman could backfire with Dick not apprising him of every time Jason’s nose twitches. Even Dick can’t resist a mission in Gotham without the Bat breathing down his neck.

“Good,” Jason finally says after moments of Dick patiently awaiting the reception of his little olive branch. “Well, if it’s not a favor to him, then you won’t care that one of my caveats is keeping B on a strict need-to-know basis.”

Dick furrows his brow. “Define ‘need-to-know.’”

“Uhh, unless I say, ‘hey, Bruce needs to know this,’ he doesn’t need to know this.”

“Bruce is a good resource, Jay,” Dick insists. “You’re important to him, believe it or not, he’ll want to know everything is developing safely and efficiently.”

Jason cocks his head left and right like an unbalanced scale. “Yeah, well, I don’t want what he wants and it’s my case.”

Dick purses his lips thoughtfully. His forehead relaxes as does so, and it occurs to Jason that Dick is actually quite expressive. He can see the reluctance fall off his face, track the movement of thoughts across his gray-blue eyes. It’s strange to think that this man with all these open emotions and mercurial playfulness was raised by Bruce and his shadows. “Okay,” Dick eventually says, somewhat pensively, “what do you want?”

It’s an honest question, not rhetorical in the slightest, and that catches Jason off guard. He isn’t equipped to answer it. Jason knows what he doesn’t want, but that’s easier. He’s learned not to want things. He remembers wanting immensely in the life before this one. Jason is more careful now. If he was reckless, he would say he wants Dick here. He likes that Dick has all but literally chased him down to give him that help. He might want Dick to keep chasing him. He wants to be found, to be saved. But Jason knows from experience that those wishes don’t come true.

“I want you to leave the Bat out of it,” Jason reiterates. He says it because it’s easier, and on the outside wanting an absence is like wanting nothing at all. But it is a want secretly, a real one, because he wants to know if Dick is chasing him like he suspects, or if he’s holding a scalpel behind his back, ready to scrape off a sample of Jason and deliver it to Bruce.

Dick doesn’t roll his eyes or argue. In fact, he doesn’t react to the sarcasm Jason had safely wrapped his answer in at all. Instead, he breathes in through his nose, inhaling the terms and conditions, and then breathes them out through his mouth, fully processed. “Within reason,” he acquiesces. It’s not enough and Jason is about to say so when Dick holds up a hand. “I will not contact him without telling you first. And if he sends me anything about the case, I’ll forward the information right away,” he modifies.

That’s another fear to pile onto Jason’s plate. Dick doesn’t even plan on Bruce being forthcoming about whatever he might find on Jason’s rogue. “Yeah, Dick, details are kind of life-or-death here!” he exclaims, utterly bewildered. “I would freaking hope you don’t let Bruce hijack my case.”

Dick has the social graces to look contrite, although Jason knows he’s no different from any of the bats when it comes to secrets. They’re all hard-pressed to feel real guilt over things as petty to them as privacy. Boundaries, like all obstacles, are easily circumvented with a just cause and some zipline.

Once Dick’s done pretending he’s sorry with his face, he sticks out a hand. “Our case,” he offers.

Jason laughs quietly. “Nah, but sure,” he agrees, shaking Dick’s hand. Then he leans back and crosses his arm, shifting his weight to one leg. “I guess the only thing left to sort out is for you to meet the in-laws.”

Dick tilts his head. “In-laws?” he repeats curiously.

“The Outlaws,” Jason specifies as Dick nods and makes an “ah” sound. “Or what’s left of them at least,” he says.

Dick finds his way back to Jason’s desk and hikes himself up. He begins swinging his legs like a child. “I think I already did meet them. What did you call them? Sweaty Su and Fat Lip?”

Jason doesn’t think he’s heard Dick roast nearly enough people to be satisfied. “Yeah,” he says, grinning despite himself. He really should defend them, they’re all he’s got at the moment, but also they suck. “You should call them that to their faces, they’ll love it.”

Dick points at him and winks like the two of them are onto something. And maybe they are.

#jaydick #dickjay #dc #fanfiction for the void

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fatandnerdy30 · 5 years

Text

The Itsy Bitsy Spider 17

Hope and Scott enlarged themselves as soon as they came in the special door Hank had provided for them. Both of them were heavy hearted for the news they had to tell Hank.

"Hope?" he father called from the living room. "I thought I heard you. Did you bring...oh you did." Hank came walking out into the foyer and made a face at Scott, who smiled and waved. "Hey Hank. It's nice to see you again. OH! Ummm...thanks for the new suit. It fits perfectly." "Of course it does. We've been working together for almost two years. I think I should know your measurements by now. Now, where is Sean? His family is waiting to see him." Hope shook her head, looking sadly at the floor. "We...we lost him. He was killed by one of the doctors that was holding his family captive. I'm sorry..." Doctor Pym was speechless. "How?" he finally asked after a long silence. "There was another man in the room. He took us by surprise when we thought he was unconscious, but he still had enough life in him to manage to pull a knife on Sean and....stabbed him in the back." Hope took a deep breath. She usually wasn't this upset when they lost someone. But, this man had known her father, was her father's friend. She would have liked to get to know him. "In the end, Sean destroyed his files, all his research." took the small tablet out of her back pocket, using a blue disc on it. "We were able to save the tablet Doctor McCleary was holding, but that's all." She handed the bloody tablet to her father, seeing the face he made when he took it. "Thank you," he managed to say around the sudden lump in his throat. His one time partner was gone. He shouldn't be feeling this way, he hadn't spoken to the man in nearly thirty years. But, it still hurt. "Any luck getting in touch with Doctor Banner?" Hope asked. Hank shook his head. "I started to..but I've been thinking, and I don't think I want anything to do with the Avengers if Stark is anywhere near them." "What?!" Scott exclaimed. "So, you'll just leave a kid who used to be normal, the size of a mouse for the rest of his life, without helping? Not even sending Doctor Banner any information on the serum that could have been used?" Hank gave Lang an angry glare. "You have no clue what Stark is like! He's a user. He uses everyone and everything for his own gain!" Scott shook his head. "No. I don't agree with you. I met him, fought with him...he uses his technology to help people, not take them down! You're thinking of his father!" The white haired man glared at Scott, but didn't say anything. Nothing would change his mind on the Stark family. "I want you to bring the boy here, then. If we have him, we can at least tell if the serum is reversible." Hope and Scott looked at him with shocked faces. "Do you know how impossible that would be? Tony has an AI that monitors the entire building, and I'm pretty sure he has things in place for anything ant sized." "Well, I am not stepping foot in a Stark building, even if that means leaving a child the way he is now!" Hank was stubborn, but the thing was, so was Hope. "Well, I'll go into the building then, and have you on Video where you can see the kid, talk with him, ask him questions. Sound good?" "Not really. I don't want you anywhere near the Avengers." "This isn't going to solve anything. Just suck up your pride, Hank and go to see this kid! Or, at least contact Doctor Banner!" Scott had had enough of this. The two glared at one another until Pym sighed. "Fine. I'll go into Stark's tower. But, he's not getting any files or information from me." With that, the man turned. "Where are you going?" Scott yelled. He wasn't finished. "To tell Sean's family the news," was all Hank needed to say. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The news was playing on the screen in front of the nurses station. May wasn't really paying much attention to what was being broadcast as she did her filing, until something caught her eye. Turning to the television, she saw it was the Avengers taking fire from some super villain that could fly, the footage from almost a week ago. But, that wasn't what she was looking at. One of the camera men turned his attention to the Hulk, who had Tony Stark's daughter in his arms, but there was something on his shoulder. The camera zoomed in a little more and May thought her heart was going to stop. There, sitting the green giants shoulder, was Peter! The woman let out a small scream as she watched the monster grab him in his hand and close the fist. "May?" One of the woman's coworkers came over, worry on her brow. "What's wrong?" "Peter," she whispered. "Peter's alive!" She pointed to the battle on the screen. The woman was unable to wrap her head around it all. Her nephew was alive and was the size of a doll with Tony Stark. The Hulk was shown again, but this time his legs were caught in a metallic rope and he was sent flying to the ground, letting go of the Stark girl, but the camera couldn't pick up Peter. Until the little girl was about to fall to her doom. Her sleeve was being pulled by something, and the cameraman focused in on Peter as he grabbed her sleeve and managed to actually pull the girl to safety. May smiled, tears in her eyes. Just like her nephew to think of others! Suddenly, he was gone, a piece of asphalt landing where he was. She let out a scream and collapsed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "First things first." Steve was setting up to start training Peter. It was a little odd not to be using the equipment, but hey, work with what you've got. "We run some tests. First test: strength. Sam told us what you did on that bridge with Morgan, and let me tell you, that was no small feat. So, I want to see how much you can lift." He set up the smallest weights they had, which weren't light, but not too heavy either. "Start with the smallest, lightest one. Then move up until you can't lift anymore. Sound good?" Peter nodded with a smile as he jumped off Mr. Stark's palm, taking off the wrist straps and running up to the weights that were so much larger than him. But, he couldn't be put down by that, because this was his moment to show the Avengers what he could do! Rubbing his hands together, Peter grabbed the weight. Everyone watched with bated breath as the boy lifted the weight with ease above his head. That was ten pounds, no light weight. "Now what?" he asked, not about to just let the weight drop. "Just put it down and go to the next," Steve said patiently. Peter nodded and gently set the dumbbell down, moving on to the next one, which was fifteen pounds. Again, he easily lifted the weight above his head for about thirty seconds before setting it down again. Again and again he lifted the weights, but started struggling when he hit the fifty pound mark. At sixty pounds, he was literally shaking in his effort to lift it. At seventy pounds, he grunted as he tried to lift it, but could barely get it over his head before he dropped the weight, breathing hard, his face red. There were six more weights, so he moved to the next one, which was seventy-five. He struggled a lot with this one, this time barely getting it off the ground before he collapsed to his knees, panting. Peter felt the ground rumbling so bad he actually fell over, only to be met with several adults, all of them looking down at him from their towering, skyscraper heights. It was scary, but the boy couldn't move at the moment. Tony knelt down first. "You okay, Spiderling?" When the boy nodded, he smirked. "Well that was one helluva show, Thumbelina. Feel like you could do a little more?" Peter nodded. "Yeah...let me just catch my breath?" He let out a gasp as he was grabbed around his middle by two large fingers and lifted from the ground. A water bottle cap was thrust into his hands filled with sweet, blissful water by a smirking billionaire. The teen couldn't thank Mr. Stark before he started chugging the liquid down, not stopping until it was empty. "That's much better, thanks." He sighed. "So what's next?" "We want to see how well you're able to stick to things," Bruce came forward, excitement in his voice. "We've seen you in action on certain objects, but we want to test in what climate you would stick. Like, can you stick to wet surfaces, frozen surfaces, things like that. Can you handle it?" Peter nodded, but then paused. "I think the chemical should be done by now, too," he said thoughtfully. "But, I have nothing to put it in and I really wanted to test it out. I mean, I have something to put it in, but no container since I didn't have time to measure it yesterday while I was building the shooter." Tony smirked and held out his hand to Banner, dropping the teen into the doctor's palm. "Yeah, I already thought of that. While you two were playing mad scientist, I made something for the kid. Be right back." Peter gave Doctor Banner a confused look, to which the man just shrugged. "I can never tell what Tony's thinking," he replied. While they waited for Tony to come back, Bruce let Peter off his palm to stick to the nearest wall. The entire group watched in fascination as they small boy climbed all the way to the top of the ceiling. Wanda followed when he got too high as a safety precaution, ready to catch the boy if he fell. But, Peter had all his concentration on his hands and feet, making sure they stuck to the surface of the smooth wall. When he turned to look down, he was met with the smiling face of Wanda, who waved to him. "How long do they want me to stay up here?" he asked, and the girl repeated down to the others. "You can come down any time you want, son. You didn't even have to climb that high," Steve laughed, imagining Peter's blush. "Well that's something you should have told me," Peter grumbled. He wanted to test his own abilities too, and someone was there to catch him just in case. So, he turned around and slowly let his hands off the wall and straightened out so he could just walk down the wall like it was nothing. A few times he had to catch himself because of the weird angle, but he was sure it was a pretty cool sight. And it helped him understand that he could stick to more than just metal this way. "Reminds me of when we first rescued him," Natasha laughed. "Freaked Tony out so bad to see him just walk down his suit." Peter grinned at the memory as he stepped onto the floor. "I wasn't sure I could do it, because I had never used my new abilities before Mr. Stark came into the lab. I had been hiding under the table they put my cage on, sticking to one of the table legs after they..." Peter stopped himself, unable to think about what the soldiers did back then. It seemed like so long ago, but it had only been two weeks since then. "It's okay," Bucky said, kneeling down. "I understand more than anyone how messed up Hydra can be. But, if you ever want to talk about it, just let me know and I'll be there to listen." Peter smiled up gratefully at the man and nodded. "Thank you," was all he said, and that was all that needed saying. "What did I miss?" Mr. Stark asked as he walked back into the room holding a brown bottle and something in his fisted hand. "Well, Peter just climbed up to the ceiling and literally walked back down," Sam said. "Freakiest thing I've ever seen, and I fought Ant-Man." "Friday, turn the sprinklers on the wall please," Steve asked and suddenly Peter was almost swept away by the river streaming down the wall and onto the floor. "Woah!" he cried, falling on his butt and just going with the current, that is until Rhodey reached down and plucked him from the water like a drowning bird. "Easy there, Spider-Head," the man laughed, though it felt weird to have a something so small actually literally sticking to him. "A little warning next time, Cap?" he asked the wincing blonde. "Th-thanks Mr. Rhodes." "Hey, you don't have to call me that, kid. Just call me Rhodey, okay? That's what everyone calls me anyway, except when I'm at work, then they call me Mr. Rhodes, or General." Peter's face was priceless when he told him that, his eyes wide and his mouth shaped like the perfect 'O'. "You're a general? That's amazing!" He hadn't ever met a general before, and he had a million and one questions, but they were interrupted by Mr. Stark literally grabbing Peter from the man's hand. "Okay, time to see if you stick." Tony said with a smirk, the teenager squirming in between his pointer and thumb. He pressed the boy to the wall and waited a minute before slowly bringing his hand away, but keeping one palm up under him just in case. And Peter was glad for the hand, because the minute Mr. Stark let go, he slipped at least a foot-to him-down the wall before he was able to feel his fingertips grip. "Phew, that was close," he laughed, looking back to see the giant adults watching him with worried faces. "I'm okay, just took a minute. I'm gonna start climbing now." And Peter did just what he said he was going to do. But, he didn't get very far before he lost his concentration, thinking about how well this was going, and he fell. Tony was glad he'd had his hand out, because the kid fell right into the center of his palm, face pale and eyes squeezed shut. "You okay, Pete?" Peter opened one eye, then let out an explosive breath and nodded. "Yeah, yeah....I'm good...just lost my concentration for a second." "What do you mean?" Bruce asked, coming over to inspect Peter for any injuries. "Concentration?" Peter nodded. "Yeah. It's like, when I focus on sticking to things, I do it, even if it's in the back of my mind, as long as I'm thinking about it, I can do it. I don't really know how it works, but it does. I think anyway. I wasn't really able to use my abilities back in the lab, spending almost all my time in that cage, at least until Sean came in. He let me out and set up a little obstacle course for me to use for exercise." The team all had the same look of pity on their faces, to which Peter freaked out at. "It-it's no big deal!" he cried, eyes wide. "I'm not in there anymore, so that part of my life is over!" He was telling the truth about that. His life had gotten better than it ever had, even with May. Sure she was great, but ever since they lost Ben, he'd lost a father figure of sorts. But, now when he looked around the room, he had so many male role models. But when he looked at Mr. Stark, he almost felt like the man was his father in a way. He couldn't explain it, but whenever the man held him in his hands, he felt....safe. Protected. And in a way, loved. He liked feeling that way. "Boss," Friday's voice came from the ceiling. "Happy says there's a woman screaming at the gate of the Compound. She says her name is May Parker." Peter's face went white as he looked up at Mr. Stark with horror. Aunt May was here!?

@sparrowrider @letsbeinspiredby @6inchicon @ixlovexirondad @carttorchdeatth

#g/t #Iron Man Tony Stark #iron dad #shrunkpeterparker #nokink #spideyson #MamaPepperPotts #morgan stark #protectiveavengers #hank pym #scott lang #hope van dyne #Marvelfanfic #theitsybitsyspider

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ailelie · 5 years

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Like a Bad Penny (not!fic, crack treated seriously; Damian is Stephanie’s Dad)

This is over 2.5k of not!fic going more or less scene-by-scene of how I’d write the Stephanie-is-Damian’s-Daughter fic I first mentioned here. This is crack treated seriously. This is not written as fic. This is written as an in-depth, first draft description of a fic, scene-by-scene, with a few rare moments of dialogue. It involve an OC who is the daughter of an old and off retconned out rogue, the Penny Plunderer or Joe Coyne. Of course Coyne named his daughter Penny.

This is Steph/Tim. And would inevitably be followed by a half-dozen ficlets focusing on the weird father-daughter relationship between Steph and Damian.

---

“I’m just saying—knowing Penelope was Joe Coyne’s daughter would have helped us solve this a lot sooner.”

Tim and Bruce are in the Batcave after a case. The giant penny is prominent in the background. The case involved an Arkham breakout of Joe Coyne and Zachary Gate. Gate is still focused on eliminating the founding families of Gotham. The villains always seem one step ahead until the Bats realize that a new engineer at Wayne Enterprises, Penelope Finger, has been feeding the villains information and providing them with weapons. When caught, Penelope talks about how her father had turned his greatest failure into the cornerstone of his success. He taught her to always learn something from failure. She points out a pair of pennies on the table and chides the heroes that they should pay more attention to the things they think are useless. She moves one of the pennies, completing a circuit embedded in the table, and causing an explosion. She escapes in the confusion.

Penelope’s thing is about how people overlook the terrible potential of the mundane and undervalued. Her inventing prowess focuses on using the seemingly useless and unexpected with great creativity. While Batman and co. focused on Gate, Penelope and her father quietly stole the materials she needed to finish making a time machine.

Gate and the others are recaptured, but Penelope and her father remain at liberty. Penelope finishes her time machine. Joe Coyne, though he helped with the thefts, wants to use the time machine to change the past. His time in Arkham really did rehabilitate him. Penelope, however, for reasons unknown, was aware each time the timeline changed. She remembers the timelines where her father almost ceased to even exist and blames the Justice League, but mostly Batman since he captured her father in the very first place and then had the gall to forget him.

It eventually gets revealed that the Batman Beyond universe exists through her machinations. She either helped the Joker get his three uninterrupted weeks with Tim or provided the microchip, for example.

But all of that is late reveal stuff. At this stage in the game, the Bats think she helped Gate to buy herself time to get her dad somewhere safe and out of the way.

Bruce goes to bed and advises Tim to go rest as well. Tim, instead, sits at the Batcomputer and starts writing a program to identify familial relationships among the DNA samples saved in the computer’s memory, as well as a secondary program to ensure this doesn’t lock the computer up like tea aboard the Heart of Gold in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

A few days later, Tim is using the Batcomputer for one his cases while Bruce runs tests on a new drug growing in popularity in Gotham. By this point Tim has grown slightly annoyed with his own program as it so far has identified relationships such as Bruce and Damian, Ra’s and Damian, etc. When yet another Damian alert pops up, he almost closes it without read it. Except Bruce tells him to wait.

Then Tim pays attention and realizes what it says: a paternal match between Damian Wayne and Stephanie Brown.

“Run that again,” Bruce orders.

Tim minimizes his case files and pulls up Damian and Stephanie’s DNA profiles. Time drags as they wait, but the answer is unchanged. A paternal match.

“Could the DNA files be corrupted?” Tim asks.

“I’ll call them in.”

This leads to Stephanie and Damian in the Cave. Tim and Bruce each conduct their own paternity tests, just to be absolutely certain. Hours pass. Damian and Stephanie’s patience dwindles.

“Father, I demand you explain what is happening right now.”

“Seriously, you’re both acting super weird.”

“Maybe we should just show them,” Tim says, looking at Bruce.

“Show us what, Tim?”

“Show them. I’ll be right back.”

Tim sighs, glaring at Bruce’s back. “This.”

Stephanie and Damian are still ranting in disbelief when Bruce returns with a strange device that he explains he took from the Flash. He asks Stephanie to step aside and he runs the device around her. The readings are faint, but enough to confirm his suspicions

“Stephanie is from the future.”

No one takes this particularly well. Tim chases after Steph when she bolts.

Tim and Steph have a cute conversation about this changing nothing, which ends with Stephanie starting to find the humor in the situation.

“Damian is my dad. Wait, Tim, you realize what this means? You’re dating Damian’s daughter.” She laughs, then her eyes widen. “Your brother Damian’s daughter. I’m dating my uncle! This horror show’s got levels.”

Tim buries his face in his palm. “Please stop.”

On a lighter note, she also gives him an envelope of purple glitter and tells him “happy 18th.” He tries to toss the glitter out, she refuses to let him and tells him it is punishment. “On my birthday? For what?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Meanwhile, Bruce uses the very faint readings from the device to pinpoint from when in the future Stephanie came. Damian is training and occasionally ranting in the background. He alternates between anger and nascent protectiveness.

“Brown can’t be a Wayne. She’s not worthy of our name. There must have been a mistake. She can barely hold her own. Could you imagine what Mother would think of her?” He stops, in sudden alarm. “The League cannot find out about her. They’d destroy her.”

The readings on Stephanie were too faint to pinpoint an exact year. With help from the Justice League, Bruce gets a device to allow time travel. He decides to travel to the last possible year in the range he determined, deciding that it is far better to return after her disappearance than it is before her existence.

Tim, Stephanie, and Damian join him.

Dick, Jason, Duke, and Cass stay to hold down the fort in Gotham.

Here the narrative splits. One of the four in the present time discovers the case Tim pushed aside when the paternity alert popped up. The case is cold and involves a string of strange thefts that took place while they were trying to re-capture Zachary Gate. Investigating these thefts eventually leads the present-time crew to realize that Penelope has built a time travel device of her own and has been using it.

The future time crew finds out that the Batfamily is no more. Batman was last seen five years ago. Terry McGinnis is, at this point, three years old.

“Is this the darkest timeline?” Steph asks quietly reading Tim’s wiki page over his shoulder. Older Tim is in Communications. Damian, Jason, and Cass are all missing. Dick is in Bludhaven, though Nightwing appearances are increasingly rare. Bruce is alone. Leslie Thompkins is still operating her clinic and they decide to start by talking with her.

Leslie fills them in, not just on Stephanie, but Tim’s time as J.J. (which, they realize with horror, is not too far into their future) and Damian’s recent arguments with Bruce. After Damian’s daughter, Isra Wayne, disappeared from the hospital, Damian’s marriage fell apart and he blamed Bruce for not being able to find Isra. Last Leslie heard, Damian was off looking for someone who could help. She also tells them about Bruce’s heart attack and retirement.

Instead of going to old!Bruce next, they track down Dick. Dick, at least, hasn’t completely given up Nightwing yet and may have more connections that can help them. By this point, Damian has decided to call Stephanie “Isra” and nothing else. This is what gets overheard by older!Damian who is also in Bludhaven to visit with Dick.

Older!Damian is investigating a break in at Cadmus (he’s been promised access to various tools to help him find his daughter if he helps them find the thief; Damian hasn’t completely joined up with his grandfather yet, but he is wavering) and wants to consult with Dick. When he hears younger!Damian use the name “Isra” he shadows the group. He is nearly caught by Bruce, but manages to escape.

Once older!Damian confirms that Stephanie is Isra, he calls in a favor from his mother. Talia arranges a diversion and older!Damian abducts Stephanie.

Dick is furious. He points out the ways better infrastructure could have made the attack impossible or, at least, more difficult. “When do we stop cleaning up messes and start preventing them from happening in the first place?” he demands.

They regroup at Dick’s. Dick, Damian, and Bruce bounce ideas off each other and Dick tries to contact older!Damian to no avail. Tim, needing to stay busy, looks through Dick’s open cases. One of them—a break-in at a Cadmus Lab in Bludhaven—piques his interest because it is very similar a string of thefts he’d been investigating in Gotham. He starts searching for similar cases. Damian is the first to realize the shift in Tim’s energy and calls him out on it.

Tim startles and then explains—he thinks whoever broke into the Cadmus Lab is the same person who kidnapped Stephanie (“Isra,” Dick and Damian correct) as a baby.

They re-break into the lab to do their own investigation. During the investigation Bruce notices a dropped penny. Dick doesn’t understand the significance at all. But Tim does. It was the sort of thing one would overlook. Less a clue than a taunt. They don’t say anything to the others yet.

Scene-jump over older!Damian and Stephanie. Damian is in awe of his daughter. He can’t believe how old she is, nor how much she resembles her mother. He tells her about her mom, how they met, how they played chess together, the wedding, Isra’s birth, and the terror of losing her. They talk and he asks her to remain, but she can’t.

She tells him about her life in his past, about her childhood, career as Spoiler, friendships, and relationship with Tim. She asks him to let her go.

He agrees on one condition—he goes with her.

When the others return to Dick’s from the Lab, older!Damian and Stephanie are waiting for them. Quick reunion. Bruce and younger!Damian are surprised by older!Damian. Tim shares the Lab information with Stephanie and she starts helping him crack through it. She asks about the envelope of glitter. She takes a pinch and throws it on older!Damian as punishment for abducting her.

Ultimately Stephanie is the one who finds Penelope’s true target—a microchip that can overwrite a person, creating a clone. Stephanie wonders if the chip was used for Joker Junior. Tim and older!Dick & Damian dismiss that. That was just brainwashing. Bruce, however, gets it—crimes hidden within crimes. Tim looks sick and the two future people questioning, so Bruce explains about Penelope.

Older!Dick and Damian both blanche. Older!Damian shows a picture of his ex-wife, Penelope. (Stephanie’d never met the woman in the past and so did not recognize her). Tim realizes she must have used her father to abduct Isra (he uses Isra for baby!Steph and Stephanie for his!Steph). Then she blames Damian for the abduction, divorces him, and disappears.

And she may be involved with Tim and the Joker.

“If I hadn’t created that program, if we hadn’t figured out that Damian and Stephanie are related—” Tim trails off and gestures around the room. “This would have been our future.”

“It won’t be,” Bruce promises.

“We have to go back,” Stephanie says. “We have to stop her.”

Bruce agrees and he sets up the device to create their portal home.

Older!Damian quietly squeezes Dick’s shoulder and says “good-bye” before rushing through the portal too quickly to be stopped.

“I lost her once,” he says on the other, “I refuse to lose her again.”

When the others say having two Damians is too confusing, older!Damian offers to go as “Ian Head” instead. He has the fake ID and passport to go with the identity.

(Later Ian will adopt Stephanie. Even though, as she’ll point out, she is turning 18 in a month or two and doesn’t need to be adopted. He uses paternity as proof. And the old, long forgotten news articles about the hospital lying about Crystal Brown’s baby being stillborn resurface. Stephanie keeps her first name, but changes her middle name to “Isra” partially for Ian, partially to explain he and Damian call her that. There are long arguments about whether she’ll keep “Brown” or change to “Head.” Connections are made. Media goes wild.

Talia notices the surname and that Ian’s name is just the last three letters of Damian’s. She will be stopping by for answers. But that’s in the future and not yet).

The present!time crew explains about what they’ve been doing. They tracked the thefts, concluded time travel device, and figured out it was Penelope. They have an idea for where she might be as well.

Before anyone can act on that information, though, alarms ring. The Joker is free.

They have to catch him. Someone needs to stay with Tim at all times, too. Of everything that went wrong in the future, Joker Junior was the start. It ends up being Ian who watches out for Tim. Unbeknownst to the others, however, Ian wants Tim captured. He’s hoping if he follows the Joker, he’ll be able to see Penelope. (Has this Penelope met him yet? Is Isra in her past or future?) He needs to confront her, to get answers.

So Tim is captured and Ian follows. Tim is still in his suit and tied up, rather than strapped down. Penelope arrives and Ian breaks in. His break-in diverts attention from Tim, leaving him tied up insteadof strapped down). Ian confronts Penelope, but is caught by the Joker who scolds him for being in the wrong time. Penelope and the Joker realize that the rest of the Bats might know where they are, so they need to move.

Tim finds the envelope of glitter. He has to hope that Penelope will be too wrapped up in the larger scheme to notice. He doesn’t drop a ton; just enough that he hopes Stephanie will notice.

Stephanie does.

It takes a few days, but they do find Tim and Ian. Penelope is not with them. The Joker is. A big battle ensues. Tim and Ian are rescued. And then Tim is there with a gun in his hand. And some things repeat no matter what. He shoots above the Joker instead, freeing something precariously attached. It falls and knocks the Joker out. Batman ties the Joker up and calls the authorities.

In the distance, watching, Penelope pulls out the microchip she never did give the Joker after Ian’s interruption.

And then it all epilogue. A birthday party for Tim. Ian bonding with Jason of all people. The adoption. And Ian breaking into Arkham and very quietly killing the Joker in his cell. Nothing personal, but his little girl cares about Tim and the Joker had hurt him. And, more importantly, it was time to take one of Penelope’s chess pieces from her.

And then the end.

#batman #not!fic #stephanie brown #damian wayne #tim drake #fic i want to read

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quiet-onset · 7 years

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A Piece of Your Heart

Requested by Anon: “How about Bucky or Tony x reader where reader has been hiding her powers (cardiokenisis) because of something that happened when she was little and lives a normal life as a florist or a librarian until some asshole really messes her up and she kills them by stopping their heart completely accidentally and she's forced to flee wherever she was and meets bucky/Bucky? Sorry I've had this idea for a while and I like your writing style. I love you!”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3,130

Trigger Warnings: Death

You walked through the convenience store, your head hung low. You had a hat on under your hood and a pair of sunglasses covering your eyes. You made sure to look around for any cameras that might be hidden throughout the store. You grabbed a bottle of red hair dye and rushed to the register to pay for it. You never thought you would actually have to do this, that you would have to do what father prepared you for most of your childhood. You were confident that you had control over your powers.

You proved yourself wrong yesterday.

It was an ordinary day. You worked as a florist in a rinky-dink flower shop in downtown New York City. The perfect job for you; it was low maintenance and almost guaranteed that no one would ever notice anything special about you. Yesterday, however, was a particularly bad day.

You worked two jobs to keep up with your bills. That morning, you’d been laid off from the other one. That being said, you were already in a sour mood coming into work. Then, your coworker forgot to make a delivery, so you had to deal with an angry customer over the phone.

“Emily!” You’d scolded her. “You didn’t make the Davis delivery?”

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” She said, pretending that she’d just forgotten about it. You both stared each other down. The animosity between you two was something you were both aware of, but neither cared to talk about. When it became evident to you that she wasn’t going to move, you threw your arms up.

“Well, are you going to make the delivery?”

“My car’s in the shop.”

Inhale. Exhale.

That’s all you could do as you grabbed the bouquet of flowers and your car keys. You left the store practically fuming, but still doing your breathing techniques that your father had taught you.

Back in your motel room (paid for in cash), you started the process of dying your hair. After the accident, you headed home and went into the box your father left you. It had a new ID, a passport, a stack of cash inside, and a key to a car in a garage somewhere. He was already for an accident to happen, to go completely off the map or to start over.

You just never thought you’d have to do it.

Shortly, you realized your chest was heaving. You were starting to hyperventilate as you thought of everything that went on the day before. You twisted the silver faucet with a squeak and splashed cold water on your face. When you looked up, you saw your reflection, but didn’t recognize yourself. This wasn’t you. This was an entirely new person.

Now, you just had to make the outside reflect that.

As if the day couldn’t get any worse, you got caught in traffic on the way back to the shop. While you were waiting in the car, you got a call from your landlord. “Look, Y/N, I don’t want to evict you, but you’re behind on your payments.”

“I literally just got laid off.” You tried to bargain with him.

“I’m sorry you got fired—”

“Laid off!”

“Laid off.” He corrected himself. “But you need to catch up with your payments by the end of the week or I’m going to have to evict you.”

When you arrived back at the shop, you remembered you had an appointment with an engaged couple for flower arrangements. This commission will definitely help towards the rent, you thought. Just as you were parking, you saw the couple leaving, grinning from ear to ear. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Emily was smirking as you rushed back into the store. “That was my appointment!” You all but shouted.

“And you weren’t here.” She gathered her purse and phone, preparing to leave. “Jason said I can take off early, so you’re on your own. Good luck!”

You felt all too familiar feeling in your veins as she walked past you, but you just continued to breathe.

Inhale. Exhale.

After she left, you had some time to calm down. You were wrapped up in your own boredom and thoughts. You kept thinking that you almost lost control. You could’ve done something terrible to her, but that breathing technique saved you. You silently thanked your father as you exhaled.

However, you spoke too soon.

A red-haired man with freckles sprinkled across his cheeks burst through the doors of the flower shop. “Where’s the manager?” He asked angrily.

“He’s not here right now.” You answered. “I can help you though.”

From there, everything was a blur. You don’t remember what the man was angry about. You only remembered the yelling. The flying hands. The insults.

“Incompetent piece of—-”

Inhale. Exhale.

“It’s like you can’t do anything right!”

Inhale. Exhale.

“Worthless—”

“Just stop!”

And he did.

Before you knew what you were doing, your blood was boiling, and that same feeling from when Emily walked past you started surging through your veins to the palms of your hands. Your hand reached out toward him, you realized that he really did stop.

He froze and clutched his chest. To any bystander, it would’ve looked like he was having a heart attack. He tried to gasp for air, but quickly realized he couldn’t. You were so out of control by that point, you couldn’t stop yourself. You didn’t really realize what was happening until he was lying on the ground, eyes and mouth wide open.

After you rinsed your hair, you began to towel dry your hair. You looked down and saw the towel, as well as your hands, stained with red hair dye. The logical side of your brain knew that it was hair dye, but you couldn’t stop the thought of this being that man’s blood. You immediately rushed to the sink and yanked both faucets of the sink.

You started to scrub your hands raw, trying to get the dye off your hands. It took about ten minutes of rubbing and scrubbing before you were satisfied with the tint of your hands. You averted your eyes from the white towel that was stained red and went to your motel bed.

You took out your new laptop and searched for a flight to the most obscure place you could find. When you were satisfied with the distance from New York City, you booked a flight for the next day with money from an untraceable account your father had left for you.

Soon, you’d be able to start over without a worry of what happened yesterday.

“Banner! Over here!”

The NYPD police chief called the scientist over to the body of a red-haired man whose cheeks were sprinkled with freckles, paying no attention to the ‘Winter Soldier’ who was with him. Bucky had been training with the Avengers for awhile now, but this was his first time in the field, so to speak, since joining the team. Of course, there were some people who weren’t happy about the new addition. Like the NYPD police chief.

Bruce shook the chief’s hand with a small smile. Bucky and the chief shared a small greeting filled with animosity before turning their attention to the dead body lying before them. “What’s the problem, chief?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky started, “You don’t usually call the Avengers when you need something. ‘Cause, you know, they apparently do too much property damage while saving the world.”

Bruce stepped in front of Bucky as the police chief opened his mouth to answer him. He left out a nervous laugh before quickly intervening, “Don’t mind him. He’s still a little torn up about the situation.”

The chief gave Bucky a dirty look, which was returned with one hundred times the animosity, and gestured to the body. “Looks like the guy had a heart attack—”

“You called us here for a heart attack?” Barnes huffed.

“But,” The chief continued, “We went through his family history, and there’s nothing that would suggest heart problems. He was the primary example of health. It was like a heart attack happened out of nowhere.”

Bucky knew that examining bodies was not his strong suit, so he wandered around the shop. He looked for any kind of clues to help the case, but found nothing of importance. When he got behind the counter, he did see something that caught his attention, something reflective. He picked up a necklace with his metal arm, noticing the initials on it.

While Bucky inspected the necklace, Bruce had crouched down to further examine the body. He noticed his neck was paler than the rest of his body, so he looked up at the chief. He pointed to the dead man’s shirt. “Do you mind?”

“By all means.”

Banner unbuttoned the man’s shirt and saw that the paleness started around the left side of his chest and was spreading outwards. “Cardiokinesis.” He muttered.

“Cardio what now?”

Bucky rolled his eyes from behind the counter, “Cardiokinesis. The power to control the heart. We’ve got a ‘superhuman’ on our hands.”

The police chief cleared his throat, “Well, this is definitely out of my jurisdiction.”

“We can handle it from here, chief.” Banner nodded.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., pull up all news headlines of people with superhuman abilities from the past five years.”

Bruce saw a few that he recognized, and apparently Bucky recognized some of them, too. A man leaping out of a building, a hood covering his face. A blindfolded vigilante that ran around Hell’s Kitchen, fighting people and taking down drug lords. But nothing that would suggest a cardiokinetic.

Bruce and Bucky worked for hours trying to find a cardiokinetic in New York City, but nothing showed up in their research. Bruce placed his hands on the counter, tossing his glasses carelessly onto the marble. He decided to broaden his search in hopes of narrowing something down. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., show me any headlines of sudden, out-of-the-blue heart attacks within the last twenty years. NYC only.”

Bruce swiped through the headlines. None of the victims were connected in any way, aside from how they died. However, as he breezed through, Bucky saw the same man in the background of each headline picture. “Wait.” He said, moving to stand next to the scientist. Bucky circled the man with his finger, and asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to run facial recognition.

He ended up with the record of Y/F/N Y/L/N. He died about five years ago, but Bruce noticed he did have a daughter. Y/N Y/L/N. Bruce flipped through all the pictures again and saw that there was a little girl with him every time. Bucky noticed that the little had a necklace around her neck. “It’s her.”

“How do you know?”

Barnes dug around in his pocket before pulling out an identical necklace, the one he found at the flower shop. “It’s her.”

Five weeks later, you were still adjusting to your new life. You had moved onto an old farm that your father had bought years ago. It was the perfect place to hide. Plenty of open space, no neighbors for miles in any direction; it was isolated, and that was exactly what you needed.

Sometimes, you would go into town to sell fruits and vegetables. You needed a way to keep all of your assets in cash, in case you ever needed to hide somewhere else. Other than that, you tried to keep your contact with others to a minimum. You would’ve gone crazy if you didn’t find the puppy that had wandered onto your farm. You had no idea where he came from, and he didn’t have tags, so you kept him. You named him Soldier; he always barked at anything that seemed like it would harm you.

You were in the back, picking strawberries from a bush when you heard Soldier barking. You figured it was nothing, so you kept at it, stopping to eat a particularly big one. As you chewed, you realized that he was still barking. You huffed and rose to your feet, “This dog will be the death of me.”

When you made it inside the house, you saw Soldier on the couch, looking out of the window. “Soldier, get down from there.” You clapped, prompting him to leap onto the ground. His barks quieted down to whines when you leaned onto the couch and peaked out of the window. You saw a car coming up the dirt road, slowing down in front of your walkway.

With wide eyes, you ran to your bedroom and grabbed the revolver you kept on your bedside table. You tucked it into the back of your jeans when you heard a knock on your door. You couldn’t take the risk of being without protection in case it was someone who was after you.

You made your way back to the front door, twisting the lock and opening the door.

The man on the doorstep looked familiar to you. Maybe you had seen him in town before. He was wearing a pair of worn jeans, a red long-sleeved T-shirt, and garden gloves on his hands. He was sure to be a farmer, his face covered with dirt and his brown hair falling into his eyes. “Hey there.” He smiled. “I’m your new neighbor, James.”

You cautiously shook his outstretched hand and nodded. “Nicole.” You lied.

“Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Nicole.” He joked. “Mind if I come in?”

“Um, no.” You slowly opened the door wider. “Of course, come in.”

You tried to remember where you’d seen him before as you offered him a drink. There weren’t many options. You poured a glass of water, trying to allow your nervousness to subside. He was obviously just a farmer. If that were true, you thought, then why does he look so familiar?

When you came back to the living room, James was rubbing Soldier on his belly. He had a small smile on his lips as Soldier rolled back over and wagged his tail. He clearly liked your new visitor.

“Here you go.”

James reached up for the glass when you saw a flash of light. To anyone else, it would’ve been nothing. You, however, saw that the glare of light was a result of a piece of metal on James’ arm. You thought it was some kind of microphone, so you immediately grabbed the revolver that was tucked into your pants.

“Who the hell are you?” You pointed the gun and lowered your voice.

James had his hands up, a sign that he was no danger to you. “What’s the matter?”

“Who are you?” You stressed again,

“I’m James. I told you that.”

“Your real name.”

Once he realized that his cover was blown, he sighed deeply. “That is my real name, doll. But most people call me Bucky.”

Then it suddenly clicked. Bucky, as in Bucky Barnes. You had heard all about him and the rest of the Avengers, as most people had. You spent the last two years trying to make sure you steered clear of them. They must have gotten word of your existence when they found that man’s body. You immediately clicked the safety off and tensed in your place. “The Winter Soldier.”

“That’s not who I am.” He said in a low voice.

“So, that metal that I saw?”

He began to move his right hand toward his left slowly, letting you see that he wasn’t trying to trick you. Pulling on the glove, he showed you his metal hand before throwing the glove to the side. He tried to step closer to you, but you made it clear that you would shoot. “Now, I don’t wanna hurt you, doll.”

“I’m the one with the gun.”

“And I’m ‘the winter soldier’, remember?” He raised his brow. “That may not be who I am, but I retained some things.”

You furrowed your brow as you looked him in the eye, trying to call his bluff. You didn’t think before you pulled the trigger; you just aimed at his chest and pulled. Bucky reacted quickly, placing his metal arm in front of himself to deflect the bullet and stepping forward to grab the gun. You pulled the trigger again, but the bullet didn’t even get to leave the gun due to Bucky’s hand covering the barrel. “You’re not the first to try that, darlin’.”

“Why are you here?”

“You killed a man.”

You let go of the gun, and he threw it to the side. He was prepared to fight you if he had to, but he decided to talk to you. He wished more people had given him the same chance when he was under Hydra’s control. “It was an accident.” You muttered.

“You mean,” Bucky started, “You didn’t mean to kill that man?”

Tears started to well up in your eyes as you sat on the couch. Soldier curled up next your feet and rubbed his cheek against your leg in an attempt to make you feel better. You reached down to pet him as you continued. “I had just been laid off from one job, I lost the commission from my other, I was about to be evicted…” You trailed off.

Bucky stayed silent. He noticed the true remorse in your eyes with every word you spoke. He knew you weren’t lying. You really hadn’t meant to hurt that man. You were no more a killer than he was the Winter Soldier.

“Then he walked in. I don’t really know what he was upset about; it was a blur. I just remember him yelling and shouting at me. Then I told him to stop.” You cried. “And he did.”

Bucky sat down next to you, not knowing how to comfort you. He wished he could; he saw so much of himself in you. He just wanted to let you know that it would eventually be okay. Thanks to Hydra, though, Bucky wasn’t really good with communication and showing genuine emotion. So, he leaned back into the couch and made you an offer. “Come back with me.”

You looked at him like he was crazy, “No, I can’t. They’re gonna send me to jail or I’ll get the death penalty—”

“New York doesn’t have the death penalty.” He chuckled. You were cute when you were nervous. He looked into your eyes, “I don’t know what they’re planning on doing, but I will be there every step of the way.”

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not.” He said. “I’m offering. If they want, they’re gonna have to go through me. And they won’t get through me.”

Walking out the front door with Bucky on your left, and Soldier trotting beside you on your right, you had never felt safer.

Forever Tags:

@jockarchie, @kimmy-h-life, @ben-platt-deserves-the-world, @thewordofthenerd, @wishuponastarlana, @yumel21, @here-for-your-bullshit, @bethbat

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fic #marvel imagine #hamilsquad-writings

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satire-please · 7 years

Text

TimDrakeWeek 2017 Day 2: Childhood/Adulthood DamiTim

Excited to try this with @iphoenixrising, @the-all-seer and @rahndom if they still want to jump and do a day. :D So far it’s been really fun.

Damian outgrew Tim in his fifteenth year.

In that summer to be precise. Though the sun baked the concrete to the point that everyone stayed inside to not fry to death...it had been a very dark summer for Tim.

Damian hadn’t been subtle at all. Anytime Tim stopped by the manor for a chemical analysis, a briefing from B or retrieve a casefile the current robin would stand side by side next to Tim. Look, compare and smirk. In June the brat was about to the bridge of his nose, by August...he was a hair taller.

“A centimeter is more than a hair I believe, Drake.”

“It’s the width of your pinky, now stop gloating.” With a hand, he pushes Damian back slightly. The teen’s been bad with personal space lately. Crowding him against walls before a mission just to prove heights is rude, dude. It’s almost as if the assassin is relishing the fact that now he can look down on Tim physically as well as emotionally.

“I’m just admiring my new perspective. This angle is surprisingly pleasing to me.” See. Tim doesn’t even know why he’s pissed. He should have been resigned the moment the tiny hell child announced Bruce was his father.

Still the fact itches. “Look, I know oxygen is thinner up there, but could you try not to lose too many brain cells?”

“I’ll try, though the weather up here is quite lovely.” Oh Alfred’s Apple Pie, Damians learned puns. Now Tim has to murder Dick. Especially when the smile Damian gives has a touch of fang. “Now come along, father needs us.”

The boy, ‘cause height difference or not that’s what he is, turns away dramatically after beckoning Tim to follow him.

“Worst. Summer. Ever.”

Dick of course makes it worse, “Who’s my shortest adorable brother?” He coos obnoxiously. Like one of those fat women making baby noises at their pet dog. His palms squish either side of Tim’s face and Tim swears to all higher powers that if Dick tries to rub their noses together he’s gonna bite him. “You are! You’re officially the shortest ruthless vigilante in the family now. I should twitter about this...to everyone.”

“If you don’t get your hands off me right now, I’m going to string you in your underwear somewhere for Bab’s viewing pleasure again.”

Dick’s fingers fly off his face as if it’s scalding. “Awwwwww, you don’t have to get that vicious Timmy.”

“I’m always this vicious, you dick. One day my pain will be yours and on that day I’ll will remember this moment and you will be sorry.” Tim promises with spite.

Dick coyly presses a hand over his heart, "Oh Timmy, my darling petite–omph,” Dick could dodge the first strike to his thorax, but not the second. But still he wheezes out, “That would never happen!”

It happens.

“How could this happen?” Tim vindictively snickers at Dick’s cry when Damian hits seventeen. A month away for a mission and now he’s reduced to whining that Damian's not the right size to cuddle anymore. "He doesn't fit under my chin anymore." He sobs, tucking Tim under said chin tighter as Tim repeatedly attacks his kidneys. "And he keeps dragging me along if I hug him from behind. Like my weight doesn't even matter!"

"Ha. Serves you right." Tim twists around to slap his hands on Dick’s face, “Who’s the second shortest vigilante in the family now? It’s you, Dick. It’s you.”

“You’re so meeeeeeeeeean.” Dick wiggles his head closer until their noses smash together, “What did I ever do to get brothers as cruel as you?”

“It’s in your namesake, Dick.” Tim starts struggling in earnest to get away from the clingy hero. He is not a stuffed animal and would very much appreciate if his ‘siblings’ treated him less so. “Or it’s karma. Take your pick.”

Dick grumbles and childishly cheats by using his legs to make the hold more difficult.

Yet as Tim contemplates his fate on the floor in this horrid octopus grip he actually has to admit...Damian has seemed to mellow out?

“Did you forget who’s the senior vigilante here? Just because you inherited B’s monstrous height doesn’t mean you’re any less of a brat Damian.”

Damian taunting sweeps his arm towards the entrance, “My apologies, age before beauty, then again with your delicate bone structure perhaps you would account for both.”

Tim freezes. Is Damian...flirting with him? He shakes his head, nah. Headgames must be another thing the boy’s gained from his crazy family tree. Lately, or not lately, it’s been a gradual thing really, Damian and Tim have done more missions together.

“For efficiency sake.” Damina justifies. As the two of them all a frightening team when they apply their talents together.

Tim skill in logic and ability to place the clues in interesting ways, Damian’s assassin training that makes him a martial arts vistoso. Few enemies can best them when they fight together.

But something's off. Tim can’t nail down the thought with proof yet but…

“Timothy?” He jerks towards at Damian. “Timothy it is time we made our way to the burrows.”

“Timothy? What happened to Drake?”

Oh my dear. It that a slight blush Tim recognizes on Damian’s face? “I have realized that it might be considered rude to refer to you in that manner. After all, you do not call me Al Ghul, do you?”

This is true. “I suppose.”

But later, Tim realizes much later to his faulty skills as a detective, Damian still says Grayson, Todd and Brown with the other members of the family.

Like “Timothy, I’ve brought us some rations. Just because we are reduced to wait for this scum to leave his pithole does not mean we must do it in discomfort.” It’s just a sandwich. But it’s one from one of Tim’s favorite cafes. Tim doesn’t know what to think of that.

Damian’s grown into his father’s monstrous bulk. Still shy of B’s height and an inch or two below Jason yet still informidable. His wide shoulders and dark tan skin have earned him the title, “Sheik” by various gossip magazines.

Not that Tim really pays attention to that sort of stuff.

Nor doesn’t he pretend not to know of how they dub them, “Fire and Ice.” whenever they endure an event together.

"What's going on?" Tim asks bemused. Damian and Kon stand off in the commons area. Kon with his arms crossed in front of his chest, while Damian casually tosses a batarang up and down with one hand. Kon is definitely taller, but there's something deadly in Damian's stance. Like a snake coiled to strike.

"Pissing contest." Cassie says gleefully, grabbing a fist of popcorn before shoving the bag at Tim. "They've been at it for 14 minutes now and it's glorious."

Suck, diplomacy with the Titans and Dami has always been iffy. Once you attack their 'bird' you tend to go on their people-okay-to-drown-at-lunch list. It's a big list. Garth was excited to announce that Tim's list was currently the largest.

"Why didn't anyone get me?”

"Because it's about you." Bart hooks his elbow through Tim's and supports him, which is completely unnecessary, to limp and slouch on the couch. "The dude just showed up demanding to see you, that Bats needs your mad skills with forensics and crap but Kon thinks, it'd be nice if you were off crutches before getting broken again you know?"

"I'm not broken."

"Your leg begs to differ." Raven materializes beside him from the shadows. She really should teach Tim how to do that, he's just saying. Raven digs into the popcorn bag still in Tim's possession to get a satisfying crunch. "If I recall correctly, you shouldn't even be out of bed."

Damian whips his head to their direction, "Timothy is this true?

Crap. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Says the idiot whose tibia is in three pieces.” Kon grumbles straightening his back to make himself even more imposing to the intruder, but Damian’s eyes are glued on a different target. He drops the posturing act to walk to Tim and falls to a knee in front of him. Carefully, he lifts the neon pink cast, ‘cause real men wear pink, that’s littered with inappropriate comments from his team.

“Yes, that does seem to fit into the category of a ‘big deal’ Timothy.” He chides running his fingers over the names on Tim’s calf.

Tim bristles. “It does not. Besides, even benched, grown-up vigilante here, I can still do casefiles and computer work just fine, what does B need?”

“Hmmm, my father needs another to look over a heist note the Riddler is fond of making. Yet perhaps I should turn to different source.” Damian looks around and fishes for a marker on the coffee table. He gently lifts the limb to rest on his thigh, begins to write. “Maybe one that will allow himself to heal properly.”

“Damian. Al Ghul. Wayne.” Where’s his crutches? He’s going to beat this twerp over the head. Give him something else that’s broken to worry about. Bart buries his face into Tim’s shoulder to muffle his snickers. It doesn’t do much.

Dami finishes adding to the mess of ink before nodding to himself. “I’ve decided. I’ll give you the datapad after you gain an hour of rest.” He says staring up at Tim without compromise.

“What? No.”

“Or I’ll put Alfred on the com and inform him of your unfortunate situation.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Only if you consider it to be so.” Why yes Tim considers it to be so. Motherhen Alfred is a terrible nightmare to behold. No one can escape his clutches once he knows a Bat is harmed, doesn’t matter how old you are or where you are, he will find you. He will drown you in blankets, food and sedatives. And he has full access to the Tower. Garth is very fond of his vegetarian alfredo pizza.

“He’s got you there, Red.” Kon calls out, hands on his hips with a smug expression. The tension that once electrified the room is gone, but Tim almost misses it. Then maybe everyone in the room would stop ganging up on him.

“Do we agree or disagree?” Damian presses.

“We agree that this is shameless blackmail and I hate you.” Tim hisses out.

Damian’s voice turns warm and satisfied. “Good. Now let’s get you back into bed.” He then worms his hands under Tim’s knees and lower back and lifts. Like Tim weighs nothing at all.

“I have crutches. Like right there. Cassie get my crutches.”

“Nope. Red’s room is on the top floor, by the way.” She has a hand pressed to her mouth, grinning like a loon. As if the best sight she’s seen all day is Tim carried like a princess. Then where’s his tiara, dammit?

“Thank you.” Damian gives a curt bob of his head and turns to go with the fussy man. The last thing the team sees is the elegant black scrawl on their Rob’s cast.

Please protect this foolish treasure - Damian

Yeah, maybe the Titans can trust their bird in these hands….just maybe.

It all comes to a head during a mission, they almost get caught in an explosion. Why can’t clowns stay away from fire? And Damian had tackled him to the ground and covered him against the flare of heat that licked their backs.

In the rubble, Damian lifts himself to stop crushing the smaller man. Their faces are close, Tim notes with his heart in his throat. They breath the same air and Damian's eyes flicker to his lips. To the inch barely separating them, all he’d would have to do is drop his head...just a little for them to meet.

“Damian?” The boy, no man in question drags his gaze to meet Tim's stare.

“Tell me to stop.” And slowly, achingly, he closes the distance between them. Tim can't move. Doesn't dare to as Damian kisses him gently. Almost excruciatingly so. It's a barely a press, so hesitant though it lasts for several long seconds...or years, Tim can't tell. Damian doesn't close his eyes the entire time and Tim is hypnotized, can't break the hold of that connection even when Damian reluctantly pulls back.

His brow furrows and it's a ridiculously adorable look on the oversized teen. “You did not tell me to stop.” He says confused.

“I didn't tell you stop period.” That earns Tim a cracked smile. It's so cute, Tim can't help but lean up to peck him square on the mouth. When Damian jerks to the side in surprise, He snorts and breaks into laughter.

His arms slowly squeezed around Tim’s waist, as if in disbelief that he was there in Damian’s lap. It was tentative, but definitely a conscious action. Then reluctantly Damian unraveled his grip and cradled Tim’s hips in his palms. The fire blazed from yards away but the heat that races up Tim’s spine isn’t coming from the destruction. Then with barely an effort he lifted Tim straight up to place him back on his feet.

It’s casual, smooth and Tim hates to admit it...impressive.

“Are you alright, Timothy?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“A little singed, nothing more.”

“Okay, I have to know. Have you flirting been with me this entire time?” Tim asks blunt as a rock.

“Oh good.” Damian ducks his head away from the other vigilante, as if he’s too embarrassed to look at him. “I was becoming concerned that you would never notice my advances.”

A raspy voice buzzes in from the com, “Yeah, we thought the world would end first.”

“Jason if you ruin Dami’s confession, I will cut you.” Dick hisses and Tim decides that the rest of this conversation is better done off grid.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere where there isn’t a raging firestorm or snooping eavesdroppers around.”

“Indeed.” Damian’s agrees warmly and when he wraps his arm gently around Tim, smiling down at him like that? Well, Tim finds that he doesn’t mind the height difference anymore.

Not at all.

#timdrakeweek #tim drake #damian wayne #damitim #my writing #dick grayson #bat fic #cute and fluffy

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words-writ-in-starlight · 7 years

Note

look I am sleepy and tired and I've got some school shit to attend to pre-enrollment tomorrow so HEY MORAN how would you write an AU where Steve Trevor ends up as the Winter Soldier figure. bc we need more of that trope always.

Okay so I’m real into Winter Soldier AUs where their identity is discovered in the WORST AVAILABLE WAY (well, all WS AUs tbh but like come on I like to see people break down), and also this morning @littlestartopaz suggested that the Waynes are basically the Starks but more humanitarian and less weapon designer (also please note that I generally adhere to Unpretty’s Batman personality because I like it).

So basically what I’m saying here is that Bruce, after the League has formed up and suffered a nasty battle that dredged up a lot of people’s old issues, returns to the unsolved case of his parents’ murder and mulls over the information . He has done this for most of his life when things go awry, not so much because he expects to solve the crime anymore or even because he’s still as emotionally locked in that moment as he once was, but just…it’s his parents and he doesn’t know and if there’s one thing the Batman hates, it’s not knowing.

This time he has actual people, though, and while Clark mostly goes home to Metropolis and his day job, Diana is formally speaking on leave from her day job and she knows who he is and he lets her stay in his mansion because she really loves his gardens. (This is what clinches it for Diana–the Batman is a marshmallow under that layer of body armor.) So she comes across this research and the two of them start poking around and they find a loose end that Bruce hasn’t seen before. They start pulling on it and at first they think that it goes nowhere, that it dead ends in a conglomerate of the wealthy and ethically deficient that dissolved decades ago and took all their records with it.

Two days later, Dick Grayson (probably around seventeen now) hears a quiet beep when he opens his car door and it’s only the years of practice that let him throw himself back fast enough to escape most of the shrapnel. Bruce shows up to the hospital where Dick is getting bandaged up (burns to his left forearm and lower leg, two cracked ribs, and a nasty bit of road rash on his right cheek and shoulder) like the wrath of God, and Diana is already on site, sifting through the debris for a clue. This is a warning, plain and simple, targeting the eldest son–death of the firstborn, Dick says like it’s at all funny, aren’t there supposed to be some other plagues before that?–but a critical mistake has been made. Bruce Wayne is rich and powerful and people know it, and feel threatened even by ‘eccentric playboy Brucie’ because, well, one time he found out someone was paying off a surveyor to build one of his buildings on a burial site, and he came down like the fist of an angry god.

Batman, defending his partner and adopted son, is going to rip these people to shreds.

“Huh,” Diana says with interest, tapping her comm so that Bruce can hear her. She’s picking over what’s left of the bomb itself, armored and disinterested in the police nervously milling about. “I haven’t seen a weight trigger like this since I was in the trenches.”

The manhunt that gets underway is subtle, at first, Diana and Bruce operating from the shadows or with the mild interest of superheros who happen to be in the area, while Clark calls in a few favors to look into the names that Bruce and Diana were pulling at. The rest of the League isn’t told, not yet, because Bruce is protective of his identity and even more so of his secrets and he’s still adjusting even just to Diana and Clark.

Diana does a lot of the legwork. Clark has a secret identity to keep up and Bruce has an injured kid to duct tape to a bed (the entire Wayne household redefines ‘bad patient’ to levels that frankly amaze Diana even now) so Diana is mostly the one quietly talking to people, pushing for information, searching, seeking, hunting.

It draws attention to her, because it looks like Bruce took the warning seriously while she did not.

It takes less than a month for someone to be sent to…deal with her.

Diana is just leaving the house of a woman whose dead husband’s brother’s boss might have had something to do with the whole mess–all of her leads have been like this, but Diana doesn’t mind because Bruce should see that people don’t always have darkness in their souls. She’s willing to work with his kids and Clark on proving the point. Also, she finds the concept of attacking children as horrific as she did a century ago at Veld, and Hades have mercy on anyone who did, because Diana certainly wouldn’t. (Dick had protested that he’s almost an adult and besides he’s been fighting crime since he was nine, and Tim sat on him. Carefully. With affection.) So yeah, she’s fine with digging through people who are at two or three removes from the situation on the off chance that they might have information. Also this particular woman makes lovely home-mixed tea with rosehips and lemon and honey, so there’s also that.

She’s not certain that she’s being followed until she turns into an alley and the figure drifts after her, and…he’s good, she almost missed him. Diana admits it at once–never underestimate your opponent, Antiope’s voice whispers through the years–and twists on her heel to face him. She believes he’s male, but he’s masked, hard plastic too pearly to be skin that covers his face from just below his eyes all the way down, hiding mouth and keeping his jaw closed like a muzzle. His hair was buzzed short at some point, but it’s growing out, as if no one tends to it, and his eyes are as cold and empty as the clear sky at midwinter.

Diana feels a little sick. She was ready to take him down, hard and fast, but the man following her looks more like a tormented hunting hound than anything else. Like he’s forgotten what it’s like to be treated as human.

“Why are you following me?” she asks, holding a hand out, palm down, as if gentling a nervous horse. “Can you tell me who sent you?”

He raises a gun and shoots twice without so much as batting an eye. Diana barely gets her bracers up in time, and then the alley is a melee battle, gun and blind determination against lasso and lifelong training.

Obviously, Diana wins, and the gun clatters away, followed by not one but three knives and a second small gun. Her opponent carries more weapons on him than Bruce does, which is no small feat, and finally she tackles him outright, bracing one knee on his left wrist and catching his right in her hand as she uses all her strength to deny his attempts to throw her off, already demanding answers.

“I said,” she snarls, hooking her nails under the mask and ripping it away, “who sent–” Her words strangle on her tongue as the mask drops from nerveless fingers. “Oh Hades,” she breathes, and reaches out, hand trembling. “Steve?”

He takes the moment of weakness to slam his head into her nose, and she rocks back as he rolls away. She lashes out on instinct with her lasso, catches his ankle and yanks him back down onto the asphalt.

“Steve,” she says again, getting a better look at his face this time.

He bares his teeth at her, as if threatening to tear her throat out if that’s what it takes. “Who the hell is Steve?”

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oikawas · 7 years

Text

title: no love, no glory (no hero in his skies)

summary: Snapshots of a life shared, a friend lost, and a love found. (for @arkhamknignt)

Jason Todd and Kyle Rayner had been a pair since before Bruce Wayne, before Robin, before a ring took Kyle into the stars. Before death, heartache, realizations, and anger.

It starts on a rainy day in Gotham, deep in the dirtiest parts of the city’s underside.

A small, dark-haired child bolts across the streets, clothes getting progressively wetter as he splashed through the puddles of muddy water.

Behind him, people yelled, laughing hysterically at his panic. Kyle stifles a sob, and keeps running, a few dollar bills crumpled up in his fist. He knew it was a mistake, pulling out the money right in front of those kids, but he was going to pay for a hotdog! The vendor didn’t even bat an eyelash as the much larger kids started chasing his wiry frame down the street.

That was five minutes ago, and admittedly, he’s starting to get tired. The foster house is still a few blocks down, but the kids are gaining on him and he’s running out of energy.

Kyle rounds a corner blindly, and slams into a body; another kid, just like him. Panic overtakes his senses, and he flails wildly, trying to flee.

“Can ya fucking relax?” His assailant groans, easily pushing Kyle aside and standing. Kyle finds himself looking up at the boy, blinking rapidly.

The newcomer has dark-hair, not unlike his own, and a pair of startlingly blue eyes peer down at him with annoyance. He’s dressed in dirty-smudged jeans and a ratty t-shirt. He looks taller than Kyle, by a few inches at least, as he stands and eyes the kid warily.

“You’re…you’re not with them?” Kyle asks, shoving the money back into his pockets. In the distance, the sound of angry kids gets louder and louder, and Kyle cowers further into the alley. He knew if he didn’t get back…nobody would come looking.

Someone appears in the mouth of the alley suddenly, and to his utmost horror Kyle realizes it’s one of the kids who had been chasing him. The brunette locks eyes with Kyle, but before he can yell out to his friends, the newcomer decks him.

The boy falls to the ground, unconscious.

The dark-haired boy stares for a second, eyebrows furrowed, before glancing out of the mouth of the alley and pushing Kyle further into darkness.

“I dunno what you did to get Rodney on your ass, but c’mon, Scrawny.”

“Hey!” Kyle barks indignantly, even as he followed his newfound saviour through the winding streets. It’s disorienting, but Kyle can find his way back to the foster house. “My name is Kyle, not Scrawny.”

“Well, scrawny is why Rodney decided to pick on you,” his saviour spits back, not forgetting to roll his eyes. Kyle’s sure that he enjoys theatrics and being overdramatic. “You’re lucky you ran into me and not some other jerk; there’s a lot of those ‘round these parts of Gotham.”

“Uh…I didn’t catch your name.”

“The name’s Jason. Jason Todd. Where do you even live, kid?”

“Oh. It’s nice to meet you. Um, well…I live at Ma Gunn’s School.”

Jason glances down at the newbie as he leads them through the streets, startled by the location. He knows the name, knows the kinds of people who lived there. Hell, even the streets are better than that corrupt shithole. “The hell is a kid like you doing at Gunn’s place?”

“The other foster care houses were over-populated,” Kyle explains, voice strained. “It’s not…it’s not that bad—”

“You can’t lie to a master liar,” Jason muses, after processing the words. “It fucking sucks doesn’t it?”

“…Yeah. It does.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason speaks genuinely, even as they hurry through the streets. It’s getting darker and darker, the rain picking up in speed. A bolt of fear shoots through Kyle, but he trusts Jason to know what he’s doing, where he’s going, because Kyle has no clue where they were. He had only been shipped off to Gotham a few weeks prior, and knows little of the dirty neighbourhood.

He misses his mother.

Tall, abandoned warehouses loom around them as they slow, broken glass and debris littered everywhere. Jason walks on confidently, but the ghostly streets rattle Kyle to the bones. The winds whistled a haunting tune that raised goosebumps, and fear struck deep in Kyle’s heart.

“Relax, Kyle,” Jason sounds kind, or as kind as a street-wise child can. He reaches out and grabs Kyle’s much smaller hand, clammy flesh meeting a calloused palm. It’s a comforting weight. “Do I look like the type of dick who’d let a scrawny brat like you get hurt?”

A warmth spreads through the younger boy that he can’t explain, but the sentiment in Jason’s words and Kyle’s emotions are clear. Kyle’s heart inflates with equal amounts of gratitude and trust, the sparking ignition of a newfound bond forming between the duo.

Kyle smiles.

Soon, the streets turn into more familiar scenery; Jason cuts through a few more alleys, and then they’re walking up the street to Ma Gunn’s. A total of thirty minutes had passed in total, leaving the skies to darken in response to the approaching nightfall.

Jason’s talking animatedly about cars, an obvious passion, and Kyle hangs on to every word. It’s clear the older boy has an affinity for auto mechanics, and uses words Kyle can barely understand. Then the topic switches to books, much more of a comfort zone, and Kyle finds himself rattling off a list of his favourites. Jason nods along to every title and author, promising to look them up at the library whenever he had time next. There is something achingly beautiful about the blooming friendship between the duo, a storm-kissed mess of shared circumstances.

Kyle can’t explain it, but Jason already held importance in his heart in a way that he can’t explain even if he wanted to.

They walk up the short flight of stairs, Jason still holding Kyle’s hand. Their joined hands still act as an anchoring warmth of sorts, the cold night seeming so much warmer. In the distance, sirens sound as the crime life begins to pick up under the cover of nighttime and the rain.

A figure seemingly streaks across rooftops in the distance, but Kyle dismisses it as his imagination.

“Take care of yourself, I might not always be there to save you,” Jason chimes, tone sarcastic, though his amused eyes give away his true intentions. Kyle stares up at him for a moment, gently shaking his head to break the trance he’d fallen into.

Right. Jason had to go home.

“I will! Thank you, Jay!” Kyle makes sure to pour as much of his inner turmoil into the few, timid words as he can, coupling them with a bright smile.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, kid.”

Jason shows up the next day, sporting all kinds of cuts and bruises. Kyle had been heading towards the park, bounding down the front stairs and nearly passing by the older boy in his excitement of having free time.

“Hey, Scrawny.”

Kyle yelps, stumbles, and nearly trips in surprise. Jason watches, thoroughly amused, as his new friend rights himself and turns in his direction, the warm smile slipping off his face as he takes in Jason’s injured state.

“Gosh, Jay, what happened? You were fine last night.” Panic overtakes Kyle’s senses, because some of the cuts look to be too deep to be left untreated. Jason just shrugs, a strained smile on his face as he leans against the lamppost.

“Took care of Rodney for you this morning,” Jason explains, voice light. Almost too light, but it wasn’t something Kyle caught in that moment. “They won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“Rodney and his friends did that to you?” Kyle gapes, unable to stop himself from reaching out and lightly touching a hand-shaped bruise around Jason’s throat. The boy flinches away from the soft touch, a dark look flickering across his face before vanishing completely. “Wait. Are you…”

“Drop it, Kyle,” Jason snarls, pulling away and beginning to walk down the street, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Kyle has no illusions about his age; he knows he is young. But he is also what Ma Gunn liked to all an old soul trapped in a young body.

He can see through the lie; that handprint is too big to belong to Rodney.

“It wasn’t Rodney, was it?” He calls after Jason, but Jason just keeps walking without even turning to glance back.

Kyle stands there, staring off into the distance for a long time.

Jason comes back a week later, a book in his hands and one of his eyes blackened.

Kyle had been sitting on the steps with his paint supplies, the ones his mother had gotten him mere months before her death. Nobody else is outside, so when Kyle jumps to his feet and his paint supplies scatter to the ground, they’re in no danger of being stepped on.

Not that he cares, not when Jason looks like a walking corpse.

“Jason!” Kyle’s hands cover his mouth, shock overriding his senses. Jason gives him a tired smile before sitting down on the stairs, shoulders hunching inwards. “Jason, you’re scaring me. Where did you…?”

“My dad got out of prison last week,” Jason’s voice cracks on the word ‘dad’, his head bowing even further. It was all the explanation he offers, and Kyle is not naïve; he thinks back to the handprint—

A stifled sob interrupts his thoughts. Kyle’s eyes began to tear up too, body immobilized by his friend’s pain. Jason, one of the strongest people Kyle knows, is sobbing on the stairs of his house and he has no clue how to make it better.

It begins to rain, Gotham shedding tears for her heir, and Kyle shuffles closer, barely registering Jason pulling him into a hug, tears wetting Kyle’s shoulder.

They stay like that for a few hours.

Just two lost boys and Gotham’s tears for her beloved child.

Kyle’s on his way home from school when he sees Jason. The older boy is smiling for the first time in weeks. It’s a welcome sight, and Kyle bounds over and throws himself into his friend’s arms.

“Geez, Kyle, you’re not too scrawny anymore, huh?” Jason laughs, holding him close for a moment before setting him back down on the ground. Kyle gleefully notes the fact that Jason wasn’t limping this time. “How was school?”

“Good! Math sucks, I like art class better,” Kyle scrunches up his nose at the thought of addition and subtraction. He can’t fathom why it would ever be important to know how many apples Emily has left after she shares with Nia. Or why Prairie would need to know how long the trip would take, if you took out the pre-party. Colours were so much easier to understand. “Anything new with you?”

“My dad’s gone,” Jason admits, voice hushed as if admitting some great secret. Kyle’s heart swells at the relief in his friend’s voice, feeling a weight lifting from his shoulders. “He just…took off one night. I dunno how me and my mom are gonna get by, but I’ll…I’ll think of something. It doesn’t matter. I’m…I’m safe from him, Kyle.”

They spend the rest of the day at the park, talking about everything from books to cars, just as they did the first day they had met. They take turns on the swing set, they race around the park, they run up and down the streets laughing uproariously.

It’s a good day.

It’s raining again, and Kyle rushes home through the cold wetness. He nearly slips, but manages to right himself, continuing up the road towards the foster care house. He hopes his artwork isn’t soaked, even though he can tell his backpack was damp. Maybe—

He sees the figure standing in front of the house, head tilted towards the skies and hands hanging limply and his sides. Jason.

Kyle opens his mouth to shout a greeting, but the call tapers out into nothingness. Deep in his gut, he can tell something is wrong. Jason’s hurting. Badly.

“Jay?” He murmurs softly as he approaches, slowly, as if his friend is a wounded animal in need of treatment that which he did not want to accept. “Are…are you okay?”

“She’s gone.”

Jason’s voice is hollowed out and raw. It doesn’t take long for Kyle to realize who Jason was talking about, and his mouth opens on its own accord. Despite everything, Jason loved his mom; Kyle, however, resented the woman. Crime Alley is a hard life, but for Jason to have to fight for scraps and money…Jason deserves better than that. Kyle knows how smart and determined Jason is, but being born in the dirty streets of Gotham is a curse.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” Kyle whispers, moving closer and reaching out to grab Jason’s hand. The rain grows in fury as it pelts down on them, but both boys are numb to it. Jason squeezes Kyle’s fingers, a sign of gratitude, but says nothing for a few minutes.

They stand in silence, Kyle mourning the remaining shred of his friend’s innocence and Jason trying his best not to cry.

“I need to go,” Jason murmurs, gently pulling his hand free. Kyle misses the contact immediately, but is wise enough not to reach out again. Jason was in a perilous place, was teetering on the edge of something dangerous. “I need to find somewhere to sleep for the night.”

“You could stay here—”

“No! You know how Gunn is, kid. I’m not gonna even consider getting you into trouble. I can manage, no worries,” Jason is firm in his conviction, and Kyle is scared. For him, for the child with a soldier’s heart, who deserved to spread his wings and fly.

He doesn’t voice his concerns. “Will you still come to see me?” He asks instead, sounding timid and worried and everything he shouldn’t. Jason gives him a hesitant smile, reaching out to grab Kyle’s shoulder.

“Of course, Scrawny.”

Kyle stands and watches Jason Todd disappear into the darkness.

The next time Kyle sees Jason, the seasons have changed and the sun is shining brightly for once.

Jason’s lost weight, has a new look in his eyes that has Kyle flinching away involuntarily. This isn’t the same Jason who talked about cars and books with a bright smile and shining eyes. This is a Jason who has been suffering for weeks and weeks, who’s had to fight tooth and nail to survive.

This is not Kyle’s Jason.

“Hey, kid,” he starts, sounding tired and angry. Kyle wonders if Jason’s beginning to think of his visits as a chore. “Sorry I disappeared.”

“It’s okay, Jay,” Kyle tries to sound reassuring, he does, but he’s sure it comes out reproachful instead. “How are you?”

Jason shrugs, not meeting his eyes but instead looking off into the distance. “Same old. Car parts sell well, when you can get your hands on them.”

“Car p…Jason, that’s illegal!”

“Well sometimes you gotta do shit to survive, alright kid?” Jason spits back, patience seemingly worn thin long before he’d started the trek to the foster home. “I’m trying…I’m trying my best.”

Kyle falters, a burst of sympathy exploding in his chest. This was his friend, living on the streets with no one to protect him. The least Kyle could do was be supportive, no matter what he really thought of his friend’s actions. Survival means dirty things. Survival comes with a price. “I know you are, Jay! I know and I love you for it.”

They pause. That was the first time either of them had ever brought up the all-encompassing term, but Kyle means it. He means every word.

Jason Todd is his best friend and Kyle loves him for it.

Jason melts, the anger and bitterness dissipating to make way for tenderness. This side of Jason…he doesn’t show it often. Down in the underside of Gotham, showing vulnerability can easily get you killed.

“Love you too, Kyle. Thanks…for being there. All this time.”

“You’re welcome,” Kyle smiles. Some part of him always knew it, but to hear Jason verbally confirm his love…Kyle knows he matters to him now. A petty reassurance, perhaps, but it does wonders. “Just…stay safe, ‘kay?”

Jason agrees, and after a quick hug, he departs, citing territorial issues as his reason to bolt. Kyle watches him go, a smile on his face and heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

If only he had known.

Kyle Rayner doesn’t see Jason Todd again for a very, very long time, because that night, Jason gets caught stealing the tires off the Batmobile by the Batman himself.

And two nights later, Kyle is shuffled off to a foster home on the other side of the city; a day later, he is adopted into a nice family looking for a nice son.

“What do you mean there’s no one there? I know he was at Ma Gunn’s!” Tears of frustration build, fists clenched and stance defensive. Jason glares down his new father, dressed in the sacred colours of Robin. Bruce sighs, rubbing his eyes.

“Ma Gunn’s was shut down two nights ago, Jay. I promise I looked into their paperwork, but there’s no record of a Kyle Rayner at Ma Gunn’s home. I…without paperwork, there’s nothing to track, chum.”

“Nothing to track?! You’re Batman!”

“Jason…there’s a good chance he’s been adopted. He could be happy, I promise to keep looking, but if there was never any paperwork in the first place…it will be hard.”

Unbelievable. Tears beginning streaking down his face, because Jason is powerless; Kyle was lost to him. Kyle, whom he had sworn to protect, was nowhere to be found. How is he supposed to live with himself if something happens to Kyle? Kyle Rayner is his best friend and Jason loves him for it; he always will.

But he prayed to every God in the sky that Kyle could do this, could live, without him.

#jason todd #dc comics #kyle rayner #jaykyle #arkhamknignt #mywriting #brotp: gal pal #anYWAYS THIS IS PART 1 OF 3.....

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