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feroluce · 9 days

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Lucid Dreamer (1/2)

part 2

Gepard notices that it's been. Quiet lately. Like weirdly quiet. TOO quiet. He hasn't seen Sampo Koski in almost a week, which is about the longest he's ever been absent. And he is NOT worried. He's not! So what if they've been getting along more lately! So what if Gepard sometimes looks for him in his favorite hiding places! So what if he's been dreaming about blue hair and green eyes! It's nothing!!

But they're….strange, these dreams. Gepard doesn't usually remember what he's dreamt. It's out of his mind seconds within waking up. But these stick with him, they won't leave him be, they feel different somehow.

He dreams of Sampo bringing food to the frontlines and eating breakfast in his tent with him. Sampo always sneaks him extras. He dreams of chasing Sampo through the alleyways, Sampo sometimes letting himself be caught, Gepard sometimes catching him, and trying to ignore how it feels more like a game now more than anything else. He even dreams that Sampo tags along with him on one of his few civilian days. Sampo runs errands with him, prattles about inane bullshit while Gepard picks out groceries for the week, drags Gepard into some bakery he's never been to but he thinks Serval mentioned once.

And sometimes, it feels so close to reality, that Gepard half expects to see Sampo, shamelessly swaggering into the frontlines with all the guards' breakfast like his wanted poster wasn't only recently taken off the walls of Belobog. He's disappointed when it's always someone else instead. He tells himself his disappointment is ridiculous and if Sampo wants to go prowl around the Snow Plains or wherever he is, then fine. It's not any of his business.

…But it IS his job to investigate any unusual criminal activity relating to the frontlines. And the frontlines are Sampo's usual haunting grounds, and this is unusual activity, and Sampo IS technically a criminal, so it is absolutely part of his duty to look into this - is what Gepard tells himself the entire tram ride down into the Underground.

Natasha tells him he's gone, and Gepard has to steel himself. He knew Sampo made enemies wherever he went, there are a lot of people who would love his head on a platter, but he didn't think-

Natasha corrects him that she means literally gone. As in off-planet. Sampo always leaves her a note before he goes anywhere, so she knows not to expect any supply runs from him. He should be back in exactly two weeks. Thank the Preservation.

Gepard goes back home. He waits.

The uneasiness doesn't leave him.

"Where did you go?" Sampo stops dead in the middle of some story about Seele, and how you'd think someone with as blunt a mouth as her wouldn't have so much trouble asking a woman out, even if that woman IS the Supreme Guardian, and stares at him. He nearly fumbles his cigarette.

"Ahaha, what do you mean, I'm right here?" Sampo smiles at him the same way he always does. Gepard has no idea why he asked. It just popped out. He can never tell when Sampo is lying, anyway.

"I don't know. I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time." Gepard idly mouths at his own cigarette. He almost never smokes, but he wants to ration their stocks of Blizzard Immunity, and it helps with the cold. It's seemed colder lately, for some reason.

Gepard flicks his lighter once, twice, sighs at the third time because a metal prosthetic and thick gloves make the damn things so difficult. Sampo reaches over and wordlessly kisses the end of his cigarette to Gepard's, lighting it. "Thank you."

Nothing happens for almost a full 30 seconds. Something churns behind Gepard's ribcage. Because Sampo never leaves a "thank you" hanging. This is the part where he gives his spiel about how helpful and kind he is and Gepard either brings up how long his rap sheet was before Bronya helped clear his name, or just stares deadpan because seeing Sampo squirm is weirdly satisfying.

"…I'll be back in one more week."

Gepard jolts awake in his cot, mouth dry and eyes bleary.

The hell.

The next dream he has, Sampo looks tired. Sometimes he seems normal. Sometimes he says strange things, like how he wishes he'd gone to some restaurant in Belobog. Ate his favorite food more recently. Brought something with him. Gepard asks why he can't do that now. Where would he bring something? Sampo only shrugs. His rebuttals have less energy.

Gepard doesn't know if he wants to dream more, or less.

He ticks down the days on his calendar. Natasha hasn't told him any different. She promised she would if she got any kind of message. Sampo returns tomorrow, from whatever vacation or seedy business dealings he's been off having. He is not excited about it. He is not looking forward to it. He's not!!

Gepard falls asleep late that night, unable to settle. He dreams again.

He's alone. There are tons of people everywhere, the frontlines are always crowded. But he's alone. They all pass right by him as though he were a ghost. Gepard starts to walk before he realizes his feet are even moving.

He checks the trashcans in the dead end alley. He checks the supply crates that someone always stacks too high because they don't feel like finding more space for them. He pauses to check the soldiers that march past him, watching their footprints in the snow.

He finally finds Sampo on the rooftop along the northernmost wall, the one that looks out over the plains, towards Everwinter Hill, towards where the Stellaron had once been kept. With a full moon and an entire land of white snow, Gepard can almost see clear out to the horizon.

"Found you." Sampo stiffens, and Gepard is almost prepared for him to sprint off the roof. He doesn't. But he doesn't relax either. Gepard sits down next to him and stares out at the wastelands.

"…I fucked up." It wasn't what Gepard had been expecting. Sampo never 'fucks up,' Sampo just gets into incidents that are entirely, supposedly, not his fault and that he just happens to always be within the vicinity of.

"What did you do now?" It must be really bad if Sampo is coming to the Silvermanes for protection.

Instead, Sampo ignores his question completely. "See out over there? Right on the other side of that mountain. There's a safe house that way. It's hidden under a lot of snow and dead trees, but it's there. And in that safe house is a box full of letters. I need you to deliver those letters for me."

Gepard's brow furrows. It's a weird favor to ask. Sampo would never tell anyone where his hidden safehouses were. It defeated the whole purpose of a hidden safe house.

Something is wrong, something is really really wrong.

Gepard turns back to look at him again and startles, all of his questions dying in his throat, because the entire left side of Sampo's head is suddenly matted down, dark and sticky, his skin is dyed red red red-

"In three more months, there's gonna be something big happening." Gepard grabs Sampo's hand and it feels slick and warm against his palm. "I won't be here. So I need you to do my end of things for me." Gepard tries to keep hold, but something is fading, something is slowing, the sun is coming up but the colors are all wrong, everything feels like encroaching fog, Sampo's hand slides right through his. "I was gonna come back with my mask to finish setting the stage, but…" Gepard makes a frantic grab for Sampo's wrist, the air twists, he comes back empty-handed. "They have you. And you're the Iron Wall of Belobog. So it'll be ok."

Gepard finally manages to find his grip, snatches the front of Sampo's dark wet jacket and yanks him forward to hold onto him, and this close up, he can see it better, his colors are bleaching out, leaking outside the lines as if Sampo will become part of the background, as if he's fading into the strange fog that's been closing in on them. His fingers are already starting to feel empty again.

"Wake up."

Gepard jolts awake, uncurls his hands from where they're fisted in the blanket, scrubs the dampness off his face. Breathes. Breathes. Breathes. Today is supposed to be the day.

He throws on his civilian clothes, and he goes down to the shipyard the IPC had built. He finds a spot where he can see every person that returns to Belobog, and he waits.

And he waits and he waits and he waits.

No one he recognizes appears.

#sampard #gepo #hsr gepard #hsr sampo #gepard landau #sampo koski #honkai star rail #hsr #blood #my fics #lucid dreamer #there was more to this but it didn't feel right included here so part 2 tomorrow maybe?#I just think Penacony being the land of dreams presents some FASCINATING possibilities like showing up in other people's dreams #the end of masquerade duet killed me just beat me dead #Sampo going through all this trouble just to protect Belobog...#poor Ray got such an earful that night haha #In the Penacony dreamscape someone can change their appearance however they want but I think in this case where one of the dreamers AREN'T-#-on Penacony it would take more concentration to keep that illusion up #and if someone were say. hurt and badly bleeding. it would start to fall apart eventually as they lost their concentration.#but oh my heart #Sampo being away and missing Belobog so badly he shows up in his friends' dreams just to do the same mundane shit they always do...#He probably showed up to everyone #he sat around and kept Natasha company in her clinic. he pestered Seele until he provoked her into asking Bronya on a date.#he played one last song with Pela and Serval. he told them he'd always kept his old bass guitar.#he took Hook out on one last joyride on his scooter and he even let her sit up front and steer like she'd always wanted.#and he stood around to shoot the shit with Gepard #he got to go do things like run domestic errands together with him. as if they could have been something more than what they were at the en #it was nice to get the chance to do all that #it was nice

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zorilleerrant · 9 months

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Tim would do anything for Bernard, he really would, which is why he's stalking around the docks in the middle of the night, when he would usually be on patrol - when he said he'd be on patrol - not even wearing his Robin gear, which makes him feel, if not naked, then at least like this is a bad idea. He's armed, because he's not quite that willing to go along with everything Bern has planned, but a pocketful of knockoff batarangs, a taser, and an extendable baton is still a lot less than he keeps in his utility belt. And he's not armored at all.

He's pretty sure Bern is armed, although clearly not armored, it's just that he didn't want to ask, because there's no way his boyfriend is going to be dissuaded by any kind of logic or emotional appeal, and while sex works some of the time, having him scramble out of bed in the middle of it because he just realized somewhere new to look for clues is... well, look, Tim's out at the docks in the middle of the night trying to avoid that happening again, isn't he. Tim doesn't want to worry more than he has to, therefore Bernard's most likely armed.

Oracle isn't in his ear, and things have been fairly quiet on the city-threatening and world-ending fronts, but it's still something he's going to catch disappointed looks for, because he did promise he'd do something. And this is something, but Tim can tell himself all he wants that maybe he'll stumble across a vital piece of evidence wandering around the city like this, he's still going to know how much more efficient it would be patrolling on his own, like he should be. And less nerve-wracking, too, not just because he's worried for Bernard's safety.

But Bernard doesn't want to look for missing homeless kids - that might not actually be true, Tim didn't ask - he wants to look for Batman's secret Robin training facility, which he has a 'solid lead' on, and he may not have a solid lead, but he has puppy eyes with the best of them, and he smiles like a madman whenever Tim grabs a coat and follows him out the door. Tim doesn't know why that's his favorite of Bern's smiles when there's the soft one he gets at a cheesy compliment, and the pleased one he gets when one of his pastries turns out just right, and the just shy of laughing one he gets when a song hits a mondegreen but he's in the middle of humming it. But Tim says yes, and then has to spend all night watching the shadows for things trying to get them both.

What Tim knows is this: there's been a rash of missing kids. Nothing reported, nothing the news would know to pick up on, and the few reporters who keep an eye on this kind of thing don't sound totally credible at the moment. But there are places people hang out - and places Jason always snaps aren't really best described by hanging out - and they aren't there, even at the times of day where they're most often there. Homeless kids, some, and other vulnerable kids, kids with less than stellar families, kids with risk factors, kids with problems they have trouble getting out of. No reports, sure, but rumors fly, and people ask Batman directly, it's gotten that out of hand. No bodies yet. No word, either.

What Bernard knows is this: someone saw a bunch of Robins where Robins don't usually deign to be, at hours they aren't usually there, training together in unison, uniforms all pristine like they just came off the assembly line. Tim doesn't have the heart to say it's probably just leftover meetups of We Are Robin, or even a fanclub that's not quite official enough not to worry about giving the wrong impression. There's no way to explain to Bern that there aren't really that many Robins, and anyway none of their uniforms look the same. By the time they're out in the field, they're already responsible for making their own. Even Dick did, back in the day.

Tim doesn't actually think this new group of vigilantes (or established group that Bernard just doesn't know about, maybe) is gathering to solve the pressing mystery of where everyone's friends went. That's too big of a coincidence even for Gotham. And he doesn't think it's probably them kidnapping kids and selling their organs or whatever, because the whole city knows how fast you get shut down wearing the Bats' symbols while doing anything they don't like. People who aren't so close to the fire might think Red Hood has some kind of leverage (and they aren't wrong), but they also know how tight a hold he keeps on his goons, and they know he doesn't fuck with people who break his rules. Jason's been losing his mind over this, anyway, and so it doesn't even matter whether they know how protective he is of the kids, they're going to know if they so much as try it.

So Tim can be sure anyone wearing his colors is at worst a mild nuisance, possibly a mild help. Bernard can't, though. He's too optimistic at what might not even be a real sighting - there are people there who lie for clout - and too paranoid to believe anything the news has to say about it, which is probably the only outlook he has right in the whole pipeline. (Tim also, possibly, knows that, possibly, there are some people who go on those sites and lie on purpose, not for clout, but to cloud the issue. Possibly.) He's just, and, okay, obviously this is a problem, so cute doing it that Tim finds himself accidentally believing it could be true. And for all he knows it could be Damian doing something stupid again, so doesn't he have a responsibility to follow Bern down the docks, hand in hand, warm callouses against his own?

Tim does still have his phone, and can tap out codes to the rest of the family when he sees what he inevitably sees down by the docks, and keep his phone on mute so that they can't lecture him about anything until later. So he doesn't even feel that guilty letting himself be led along and not worrying about everything else, none of which looks like any kind of human trafficking, or anything that could be corpses, either. (Well, one obvious mob thing, but it's a mob thing, and that's the harbor's problem now.) He's stopped telling himself he'll stumble across the answer, but he hasn't started telling himself he'll stumble across a bigger problem, so it works out.

Bernard turns around with a proud grin, the same proud grin he gets when a souffle turns out, prouder maybe, and Tim's stomach falls. That means he's been here before. That means he started investigating without Tim, and he found something, found enough to want to do a big reveal, putting his finger dramatically to his lips and helping Tim up the stack of crates. Tim's too numb to do anything but let himself be lifted, either, peeking his head in the window as Bern gives him a look that says, see?

See? Batman really does have a Robin factory.

The window is grimy, but not so grimy Tim can't see through it. And he does see what Bernard means. He can tell - but from experience, not from the details which are all that Bern can see from here - the armor isn't as uniform as all that, mismatched from make do parts, but as careful as it can be. And it's clear to him in a way it might not be to someone without Batman's training that they aren't moving quite in sync the way the purported clone army would, the way Tim and the rest of the family do when they take the time to train together for just such an event. But it's also clear it is Batman's training.

Bruce is at home right now, resting a broken leg. As much as they can get him to, but it was two days ago, and he's still high as a kite, and Alfred probably just told him he already patrolled. It's not Bruce. But someone is in there, with the cape, with the stance, with the way he walks up and down the lines inspecting everyone's form. Someone with the right proportions - the right height, the right build, the right chin jutting out from undeniably the right cowl. It's not just someone playing dressup. Or if it is, they're good.

Tim doesn't know whether this is a timeline thing or a universe one, shapeshifter, robot, clone, hallucination, military experiment gone wrong, wronged dark double of one stripe or another. But Bernard knows, or thinks he knows, that this is where Batman trains his Robins, grows them in industrial vats until they're roughly ten and then pipes them out and starts training them. And Tim doesn't know how to correct any of that, with all these kids, who now maybe are the missing teens, looking so similar in shape, so generic of feature under their bright costumes they might as well be the same.

Bernard kisses him triumphantly, and Tim can feel that gleeful smile pressed against his frown, but there's still Bern heavy in his arms, an anchoring weight against what's turned a problem not quite worse, but something he can't call off patrol in the face of, anymore. He needs surveillance in here, now. He needs to send Bernard home. And to do it, he needs to catch that disappointed look for not being proud of this horrible, horrible find.

#look i said something #my writing #batman #timber week 2023 #this is the start to a longer thing. I will continue it if anyone is interested I'm just having trouble concentrating this month

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