#Jason is straight up snarling at any one trying to come close to his new baby

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Merfolk Edition!

Jason Todd is an Orca!mer who drowned when the Joker tied him up at the bottom of the ocean.

Tim Drake, an octopus!mer, stole his place in Bruce’s pod only a short few lunar cycles after.

Jason is going to make him pay.

aka. The Titans Tower Au but instead of just beating him up Tim is in serious danger of getting eaten.

#orcas hunt octopus #this is very bad for Tim #but in my head Jason’s brain quickly goes from ‘dinner’ to ‘baby’ #and henceforth you can see a huge orca mer swimming around with an octo!mer clinging to his belly or dorsal fi #bruce gets several heart attacks when he first sees this #and is very sure he’s gonna find Tim’s throat ripped out #Jason is straight up snarling at any one trying to come close to his new baby #it’s a wild couple days #jason todd #batfamily #dick grayson #Tim drake #merfolk #mermaid Au #merpeople #bruce wayne #batfam #robin #red hood #prompts

[is-it-art-tho]

Summary: What happens when two of the most emotionally damaged members of the Batfam are tricked into spending quality time together?

OR

Damian and Jason have complicated histories when it comes to family and revenge, but a Father's Day card could help them start to work through it.

____

“You didn’t have to come,” Jason pointed out, trailing his fingers along the wall of greeting cards.

Damian scowled at a New Year’s card with a drawing of Superman on the front being pulled into the air by a balloon over the caption Up, up, and away to a new year! It was infuriatingly nonsensical. Why would the alien need a balloon if he could already fly?

“Pennyworth insisted. And I was under the impression that this was going to be some form of surveillance operation. It seems he didn’t find it necessary to disabuse me of that notion before we left.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed as he recalled the pleased slant to Pennyworth’s mouth as Damian had gotten in Todd’s car. The younger boy had assumed it was because Alfred would get to have the house to himself for the afternoon. Now he suspected a much more nefarious motive.

Jason chuckled. “Played by the old man, huh? Anyone who thinks Bruce is the master manipulator hasn’t met Alfred.”

“Tt. I wonder what I have done to upset him.”

“Hm?” Jason plucked a card from the wall and skimmed it. He chuckled at whatever it said.

“Pennyworth must be fairly irritated to have set this up. Obviously he knows how we feel about each other.”

At that Jason raised an eyebrow, putting the card back in its slot and grabbing another. “Oh yeah?”

“Of course he does.”

“And how do we feel about each other?” There was a subtle lilt in his voice; Damian could see the older boy fighting back a smile.

His jaw clenched. “Stop acting like a fool. You know the status of our relationship.”

“Thought by now you’d realize it’s not an act. I really am just an idiot.”

Damian scrunched his mouth together, but continued with forced calm. Meanwhile a woman pushed her cart past them slowly, clearly eavesdropping as she pretended to examine the envelop options.

“We are colleagues. That is all. Otherwise, we stay out of each other’s way.”

“Right,” Jason agreed as he flipped open yet another card. This one had Green Lantern grinning on the front and saying something that Damian couldn’t see around Jason’s fingers. “Why do you think that is?”

“What?”

“The whole ‘staying out of each other’s way’ thing. Why is it like that with us?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, I’ve got actual beef with Bruce, Dick-wing, and Replacement. Or at least, I did. You, on the other hand,” he glanced at Damian now. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?” Damian echoed incredulously, his voice grating under the strain of keeping it at least somewhat moderated. “Since the moment we met, you have made it abundantly clear that you want no part of me. Most of the time, you refuse to even look in my direction. You set the terms of this relationship, and I have accepted them. That, Todd, is my deal.”

Damian’s face felt hot, and it took more effort than it should have for him to slow his breathing. The nosy woman was openly staring at them now.

Jason blinked at him, his eyebrows arched in surprise, then looked back at the wall of cards. His expression reverted into something smooth and inscrutable, but his ears had gone red.

“Hm,” was all he said in response, exchanging the card in his hands for yet another.

Damian, on the other hand, felt as if his head might pop, and Jason’s lack of reaction was only making it worse. Now on top of being inexplicably angry, he was also embarrassed. Compared to Jason’s calm, he looked like a child throwing a tantrum in a store.

He was also embarrassed that Alfred had tricked him into coming here for a reason he apparently did not understand, and that Damian had also apparently misinterpreted something about the dynamic between him and Jason. All this time Damian had thought he’d understood the rules of engagement between them. Now it seemed as though he had been mistaken; that fact burned in his stomach like acid.

But Damian knew what he saw. He had not made up the aura of revulsion that had initially wafted off of Todd in waves whenever Damian had come around. He had not imagined the surreptitious glances of rage or disgust, the loaded silences between them. And he would not let Todd try to make him think that he had. As if all this time he’d been playing make-believe like some foolish child.

“What are you even doing?” Damian spit. For the first time, he noticed that Jason was looking at Father’s Day cards.

The older boy offered a delayed and distracted, “What?”

“What are you doing?” Damian repeated slowly, emphasizing each word.

Jason looked at the card in his hands before looking back at Damian, the blush in his ears intensifying. There was an edge in his voice when he retorted, “What’s it look like?”

“It looks like you’re browsing Father’s Day cards, which is odd seeing as how you don’t have one.”

Jason recoiled, and Damian relished the wild fury that flared in his eyes – the break in his vexing calm. The younger boy found himself bracing for a physical attack; the others would never be so reckless in public, but from what he’d seen of Todd, this boy was careless and unpredictable enough to launch into an all-out assault right here in the pharmacy.

But then the fury faded into something barely restrained, and he muttered,“You’re lucky you’re still just a brat and that I don’t pummel children.”

“I am not a child,” Damian snarled, trying not to cringe at how utterly childish that response sounded on his lips.

“You’re an infant. And I’m sick of looking at you. Go wait in the car.”

Although he wanted nothing more than to do just that, part of Damian despised the fact that it would now look like he was taking orders. He stood there, weighing his dignity against his overwhelming desire to be elsewhere, until he caught the flash of ire in Todd’s eyes again and decided that the consequences of his defiance would not be worth whatever satisfaction he might glean from it.

He stalked out of the pharmacy, ignoring an employee’s too-bubbly farewell as he slammed open the door and marched toward the old, definitely-stolen Jeep in the lot. It wasn’t until he yanked on the locked passenger door that he realized he’d forgotten to get the keys, and he threw his head back and screamed a curse that would have turned Alfred to stone.

There was no way he was going back inside now, so he found himself sitting on the curb, his arms crossed tightly around his knees as he glared at the asphalt.

A few minutes later, he heard the chime over the door, then the crunch and shuffle of boots on pavement followed by the sound of the car doors unlocking. He got in without a word and glowered straight ahead.

Beside him, Todd got in empty-handed and started the car, but they didn’t move right away. The following silence felt like a precursor to something, and Damian was glad he hadn’t yet put his seatbelt on. Adrenaline bubbling up in his chest, he slid his hand over to unlock his door, ready to make a quick exit.

At last, he chanced a glance in the older boy’s direction, expecting to find unbridled fury and perhaps even murderous intent. While Todd did still looked incensed, his unnaturally green eyes burning a hole in the windshield, he also looked oddly wounded and confused. The expression was enough to distract Damian from his escape plan, and he paused with his hand on the plastic nub of the lock.

Jason muttered something, and Damian asked, “What?”

“I said ‘I don’t hate you.’ I mean, I do – I did. But it was never personal.”

“That doesn’t make any–”

“Would you just shut up? I know, okay? I know it doesn’t make sense. Just let me–” Jason exhaled loudly, running his hand over his face as he tipped his head back into the seat.

When he spoke again, it was with his eyes closed and his hand still resting over his mouth. “I’m trying to communicate. Just work with me, all right?”

“Tt.” But Damian fell silent, allowing the older boy to continue.

Jason at last let his hand drop, his eyes slipping open so that he was staring at the stained and scuffed cream-colored ceiling. “When I first met Tim, it was like I’d been punched in the face. I don’t know how much you know about me and my… history, but even when I was Robin, Bruce and I never completely agreed on how we should handle things. We got along most of the time, but we argued a lot. He thought I was too aggressive, I thought he was too soft. He thought I was impulsive and reckless, I thought he had a stick up his ass.”

He paused. “Butt. Don’t tell Alfred I cursed in front of you. Anyways, we were just so different. The poor kid from Crime Alley and the billionaire CEO. It shouldn’t have worked, but when it did, it was great. And when it didn’t…”

Todd paused again, his gaze becoming distant and… pained, Damian thought. Not a sharp, lancing pain, but something dull, like an old bruise.

“Then I died and I came back and there’s this new kid– the new Robin. For some reason, I’d gotten it in my head that Bruce would just retire the role all together after me. As if he cared enough to do something like that.”

He smirked, but there wasn’t an ounce of joy in it; it was a sour twist of his mouth that reminded Damian of poison.

“So, there he was. Robin 3.0. And he was good. Like really good. I was a good Robin, Dick was a good Robin, but Replacement.” Todd shook his head in rueful appreciation. “The kid is a genius. He’s like a mini-Bruce. Even Dick was never like that. Apparently he even figured out the whole secret on his own when he was like fourteen or something?”

“Thirteen,” Damian corrected quietly. He, too, often found himself impressed by Drake’s mental acumen, even if he’d never admit it aloud. Damian was sharp, but he’d had to work for years to get like that; for Drake, it just came naturally. Watching him solve a puzzle was like watching a prodigy at their craft. There were connections that Drake could make that Damian knew he never could, no matter how many years of training he got under his belt.

“What are you getting at?” he asked, perhaps more sharply than he’d meant to.

“I’m saying, that when I first met Tim, I hated him. Like really, genuinely hated him. But it wasn’t him that I was pissed at. It was what he was. He was everything I never was and could never be.”

“Smart?” As soon as Damian said it, he regretted it. He could never figure out why he was like this, always throwing barbs even when he didn’t really want to. It was like a reflex, and he again braced for the equally reflexive response he expected from Todd.

Instead, the older boy barked a laugh. The sound was as genuine as it was sad.

“Yeah, that. But mostly, when I saw him I saw someone who was more like a son to Bruce than I ever was. And a way better Robin. They just fit together. Rich kid to rich kid. Like puzzle pieces. Then I met you. My worst effin’ nightmare.”

Damian bristled. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“I hated Tim because he was like Bruce’s actual son. How do you think I felt about you?”

Any quick retort died in the younger boy’s throat. He swallowed and frowned at the glove compartment. “I fail to see how my biological relation to Father has anything to do with you.”

Jason sighed. “It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. But I look at you and Tim and even Dick and all I can think is, ‘I bet Bruce would kill for them.’”

He chuckled wryly. “Jesus, it sounds even more effed up out loud.”

And again, he lapsed into a heavy silence, this one so cold and absolute that Damian hardly dared to breathe.

After some time, when it was beginning to feel as if Jason wouldn’t speak again, Damian cleared his throat and said, “Obviously, I was not there when you had your… incident.”

Jason scoffed, perhaps at Damian’s choice of words, and it rankled him, but Damian continued as if he hadn’t noticed.

“But I have heard stories from that time, and the time shortly after. From what I understand, your death was not insignificant. It nearly killed him.”

Jason seemed to be working hard to maintain his sardonic grin; he was failing. “Is that what they told you?”

“It’s what I’ve gleaned. And after living with Father for several years, I don’t doubt that it’s true.”

“Tell me something,” Jason said, his eyes searching Damian’s thoughtfully. Any trace of humor, false or otherwise, was gone from his expression. “If someone killed you tonight, what would Talia do?”

Damian stiffened but said nothing. He knew the answer and he knew that Todd knew as well. His mother would be enraged by his failure, for certain. She would talk grandly about how Damian was no longer her concern since he’d chosen to be with Father, but the same day she would unleash utter destruction upon everyone responsible. She would lay waste to them and their families and salt the earth at her feet. His killer would know the full wrath of the League of Shadows, and the last thing they would see would be the tip of his mother’s blade.

Damian knew this implicitly, but the knowledge did not inspire any feelings of love in him the way Jason apparently suspected. The younger boy did not feel flattered by this assurance. If anything, it made him sick.

“Father does not grieve in blood,” Damian said at last, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. “He isn’t like us.” Damian didn’t know if us meant himself and the League of Shadows, or him and Jason. Perhaps both.

He’s better, is what he wanted to add, but instead Damian continued, “And vengeance is not always love.”

He thought again of his mother. The same woman who would wage a war on his behalf had also nearly killed him dozens of times herself. The fact that both of these things could be true at once still made his head spin.

Jason gazed out the windshield for a moment before offering a simple, “Hm.” It would have sounded dismissive, but Damian could see the consideration in his eyes.

Outside, the sun was tipping into late afternoon, and shadows were creeping longer and longer across the ground. Damian watched two birds dance together in the air. At first it looked like they were fighting, but then they landed side by side on a powerline, so close their wings were nearly touching.

His finger worried at the plastic lock as he built up his nerve.

“I don’t hate you either,” he offered, and he was grateful that his umber complexion a least somewhat camouflaged any flush that might be creeping into his face. Even staring out his window, he felt Jason’s eyes on him.

“You should.”

“I don’t.” He took a breath. “Where I come from, love is earned. Every day you must prove yourself worthy of it and every day is another opportunity to lose it. The slightest failure could cost you everything.”

He forced himself to continue quickly, outpacing the memories he felt rushing to meet him. “That is the mindset I arrived in Gotham with. My first few years with Father were marked by that conviction. It made sense to me. Dick and Tim are worthy combatants. I understood why Father would offer them his affection. But you… All I knew of you was that you had failed.”

At that, Damian’s head swiveled to look at Jason, realizing too late how his words must have sounded. The older boy was rigid, but he didn’t look angry.

“I didn’t mean–”

“I get it. It’s okay.”

“No,” Damian insisted sternly. “It is not. I was raised to believe that to die in battle was the ultimate failure. But that was wrong. Like much of what I learned back then.”

When Jason didn’t say anything, Damian continued, “I heard stories about how you were when you first returned. How you hurt Father and the others over and over again. I know about Father’s attempts to reach out to you and how you turned your back on him for years.”

Damian could feel the temperature around Jason dropping, as if the older boy was turning to ice at Damian’s side, but he continued, feeling now as if he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. The words flowed out of him, unfiltered and unrelenting.

“Your grievances against him were so numerous and severe, it didn’t make sense to me that he would still love you. And yet he did.

“Meanwhile, I live in constant fear that I will inevitably prove them right. That I’m not worthy of…” Damian’s nail carved into the hard plastic of the car lock as the words hitched and stuck in his throat. He swallowed.

“Who?” Jason asked quietly.

“What?”

“Prove who right?”

My mother. My grandfather.

Everyone.

Me.

“That’s not the point,” Damian answered. “I resented you and your unearned love and and how absolutely oblivious you seemed to be to that blessing. Even now, it is clear to me that you fail to recognize how fortunate you are.”

A few years ago, Damian would not have been able to say this without lacing the words with venom. Now he was able to say them plainly, though something in the center of his chest still ached.

“You know it’s not like that with you, though, right?” Jason confirmed. “That whole earning and losing love thing– Bruce would never make you do that. You’re his son.”

“As are you.” Damian forced himself to look Jason dead in the eye then, and Jason held the gaze for a beat before looking away, his ears once again going red.

“You do not see the way Father looks at you,” he explained. “It is like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.”

Jason was speechless for a second before muttering, “Whatever you say, kid,” as he put his hands on the wheel and backed out of the parking spot. When they hit the road, the older boy switched on the radio, and Damian was grateful for the blanket of sound to quell any further discussion.

He sunk into the seat then, oddly exhausted, and turned around in time to watch as the two birds on the wire took off towards the clouds.

*********

“Just admit it. You killed him, didn’t you?” Tim asked, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair. “You finished the job.”

Damian’s eyes flicked up from his book to glare at the boy across the kitchen table. This particular joke had been going on for over two weeks, and while Tim’s attempts at humor were never amusing, this one was particularly grating since it also managed to twist Damian’s guts into guilty knots.

No one had seen or heard from Jason since he had returned Damian to the manor after their disastrous pharmacy outing, and now all the younger boy could think about was everything he had done wrong. He never should have been so transparent; he never should have been so cruel. In retrospect, he could concede at least that much.

Damian typically preferred to apologize with his actions rather than explicit words, and he’d thought that he had managed to convey that while he and Jason were in the car together, but perhaps the older boy had not seen it that way. Perhaps he’d been waiting for a formal apology, and now that so much time had elapse, they had finally fallen below even the status of colleagues – not quite enemies, but certainly no longer allies.

Damian straightened in his seat, setting his shoulders. If that was the case, then so be it. He was the last person who would ever weep over a burned bridge. The loss would be inconvenient – Todd had proven himself a useful aid in the field at times – but it was not as if they had ever been particularly close or worked together often. If Todd wanted to move on, then Damian would do the same.

He returned his attention to his book, but after a few seconds of rereading the same sentence over and over, he slapped it on the table with a frustrated sigh and took a sip of his lukewarm tea.

There was distant knock at the front door followed by some muffled conversation between Alfred and whoever the other person was. A moment later, Damian shouted as a plastic bag rocketed into the side of his head and fell to the floor. He whirled toward the source, but all of his rage evaporated into blank shock when he saw Todd leaning in the doorway, a fading bruise on his cheek and a butterfly bandage over his eye.

“You like those, right?” he asked.

Damian blinked down at the bag on the floor. Reese’s cups.

He nodded.

“Good. You and I are patrolling together tonight, got it?” Jason’s tone was decisive, leaving little room for disagreement. Two weeks ago Damian would have bristled at it, but for once, he felt he was reading the older boy correctly, and for all Jason’s gruffness, Damian was certain that this was not an order, but a request.

He nodded again, and Todd’s mouth twitched at the side.

“Wait, you disappear for two weeks and come back with free candy?” Tim exclaimed. “Where’s mine?”

“Get your own, Replacement,” Jason shot back, disappearing back through the door and shouting, “Bruce! C’mon, I wanna kick your ass in pool. Sorry, Alfred…”

Damian ignored Tim’s dumbfounded stare as he bent to pick the candy up off the tile. His chest suddenly felt warm and buoyant, and he lingered out of sight below the table for a second longer than necessary as his lips curled into a tiny smile.

#damian wayne #jason todd #jason todd and damian wayne #whump #emotional hurt/comfort #the boys just gotta talk it out #robin #batman fanfic #batman fanfiction #batfam fanfic #batfam fanfiction #batfam #red hood

[consumeconstantly]

Luggage Tags

Summary: To love someone, to lie to someone, to leave someone. Marinette and Jason tell people they’re together, but things fall apart. 

_____________________________________________________________

The room is dark when Jason enters. He flicks the light on to see Marinette, looking right at him.

“Pixie? What are you doing? Why were you sitting in the dark like that?”

Marinette just stares at him. 

Jason shrugs and moves to the kitchen counter. The first year they were together, she woke up with nightmares. She still got nightmares sometimes, but for the past few months, she’s been prone to getting episodes like this, where she stares at the door in the dark and doesn’t talk to him for hours. He’s not really sure what’s changed, but it could be any number of things. Trauma affects everyone in different ways.

“Pasta tonight? Job’s been taking me to Japanese restaurants every day.”

Marinette faces him, but Jason doesn’t think she’s really looking at him. Her eyes track him around the room whenever she gets like this, but her face is always so devoid of emotion and so unresponsive that she’s only subconsciously recognizing his figure.

She starts sobbing. That’s new.

“Hey, hey,” Jason soothes, approaching her with one hand out and a rumbling baritone. It feels stupid to do this, but during one of her nightmares, she flipped him in her sleep and he cracked a rib. “You’re not in Paris anymore. We’re in Gotham. Hawkmoth can’t hurt you here.”

That just gets her to sob harder, shoulders shaking tears forming rivers down her face, settling in her laugh lines. Jason hasn’t seen Marinette laugh in a long time.

He goes to wrap her in a hug, but she bats his arms away, chest heaving. The time between each breath is so short, she’s just short of hyperventilating. 

“C’mon, Mari, breathe with me. In for one, two, three, out for one, two three.” He feels so helpless, carefully maintaining a distance from his best friend and lover. At times like this, he can do nothing but watch as she suffers. It hurts, because even though Marinette doesn’t let him in her space even though he should be helping her, holding her, crying with her. 

She does that for him, when his nightmares get bad. Marinette wraps him up in an ever gentle hug, not minding the scratches she gets or the threats he ends up giving her. 

Her presence is an instant balm, the scent of butter, sugar, and clean. 

Jason shrugs off his leather jacket and tries again. She’s been weird about his jacket and certain clothes as of late. He’s not sure why— she never explains, just purses her lips and looks stubbornly to the floor— but he tries to avoid the clothes she dislikes as much as possible. He supposes she gets annoyed at seeing tiny imperfections in her old designs sometimes, so Jason carefully packs those clothes away and out of sight. But he’s never been able to part with this leather jacket. It was her first gift to him, with her name embroidered on the inside of the jacket, right over his heart. He always makes sure that he treats this jacket very well, never wearing it to a fight, and cleaning and caring for it more often than he needs to. Marinette spent a long time on the jacket, and during the first year of their relationship, she liked tracing the smaller details with an index finger before pulling him into a kiss. When she was feeling down, she batted the zippers with a pout on her face. They had too many good memories on this jacket for Jason to put it away permanently.

Her tears start to subside, so Jason tries again. She hisses. 

“Please, Jason. Just— just make dinner for yourself. I can’t be here right now.” With that, she stands, grabs an overcoat and a purse, casts a lingering glance at the jacket Jason left on the sofa and closes the door so quietly, he barely hears it.

They continue on like this for months.

#

“Do you need to start seeing your therapist again?” Jason asks one night.

Marinette laughs, and it sounds like a parody of the full-bellied sound that’s trademark of anything she really finds funny. “Jason, I’ve been seeing her for months now.”

His fork clicks against the ceramic. Marinette insisted on only buying things they would use, so the finest dishwater they had were the wine glasses gifted to Marinette by Kagami half a year ago. That had been a very odd encounter. The woman stormed into the apartment, with a curse at the edge of her tongue, four bottles of very expensive wine, and two more bottles of 70 proof liquor. She ushered Marinette into their bedroom and locked Jason out for the entire night.

“Oh,” Jason says, eloquence failing him. 

“Have you— have you been feeling any better lately?”

She laughs again, and it makes him feel tiny. “Thanks to my therapist, I think I’m finally coming to terms with what Kagami told me.”

“I see.”

“Do you want to know what Kagami told me?”

He does, but Marinette is always good at talking about things when she’s ready to. If he pushes her now, she might end up in a bad place again. With his siblings, he has to push and push constantly to squeeze any information out of them. Marinette’s tendency to speak her mind is much more Jason’s speed. He’s the same kind of person. That’s a big part of the reason they get along so well.

Her hand drops to the stem of her wine glass. She swirls the white around and stares at the way the edges drip back down into the body of liquid. 

“Then let’s talk about something else. How’s Tim doing? I haven’t talked to him in a while?”

“Really?” Jason raises an eyebrow. This morning, after he finished  his week-long excursion to California, he dropped by Wayne Enterprises, and Tim gushed about a new coffee blend Marinette showed him. 

“It’s been a few days,” Marinette clarifies.

“Probably just more of the same. Keeping Wayne Enterprises afloat and Gotham out of trouble.” A few days isn’t that long. Even the Replacement couldn’t stir up that much trouble.

“I’ve missed you,” Marinette says, looking down at the steak she prepared. 

“Me too, Mare.”

“You’ll tell me when you leave, right?”

“I always do.”

The rest of their meal is eaten in silence.

#

“I love you.” She’s holding a freshly cut bouquet, standing at the door of his old bedroom in the manor.

Jason grabs the bouquet, grimaces, then kisses her on the cheek. “Mare, there’s thorns on these. You’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” Her voice is faint. She’s wearing a dress made out of some sort of airy fabric. It sort of makes her look like a spirit that’s ready to float away with the wind. 

“Has the therapist been helping any?” His brow furrows. Marinette never hurts herself intentionally like this. She only gets hurt for others. No matter how much he tries to persuade her to stop sacrificing herself for others, Marinette just loves the world too much.

“Can I come in?”

His frown deepens. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you in the dining room. We can go out on a date. It has been a month since we’ve last seen each other.”

“Right,” Marinette says with a voice so small, he has to strain to hear her. “A few minutes.”

He locks the door behind him, throws on the latest set of clothes Marinette dropped off at the manor, leaves his bed unmade, and a note on the table. When he gets down to the dining room, Alfred informs him that Marinette has been called away for an emergency meeting.

“An emergency meeting? But it’s the weekend!”

Alfred just looks at him and shakes his head.

#

One day, Jason comes back to find nobody in their apartment. That’s odd, because Marinette has some sort of super sense about when he’s coming back, even though he never tells anybody. Every time he comes back from being outside for longer than a few days, Marinette has always been at home, waiting for him with a smile and a hug. Well, lately, with a blank stare and tears, but she was always still there.

Maybe he should try going to therapy with her, see what’s been getting her so down. She never talks about herself anymore, just about her friends and what they do. He doesn’t know how her business is doing or even what she enjoys anymore. The game console that was used to play UMS every weekend gathers dust underneath their television.

He checks his phone. No text or missed calls from her either. Nothing since a few days ago, anyways.

“Hey,” Jason calls Tim. “Is Mare at the company?”

There’s static and the sound of breath from the other end of the line. Then it cuts out, and his phone makes the disconnected noise. Tim’s been pretty pissy, lately, and rarely takes his calls. Jason tosses his phone on the couch and runs a hand through his hair. He twirls the white tuft Marinette likes to play with. He should shower before she gets back. 

He looks down at his phone. 

“I’ll try one more time,” he says.

It goes straight to voicemail.

#

She doesn’t come home the next day, or the day after that.

#

Jason storms into the manor. “Where is she?”

“Where is who, Master Jason?”

“You know damn well who I’m talking about. There’s only one girl who’s location I’m ever interested in.”

Alfred in his butler suit is very good at looking condescending, even without changing his posture dramatically. “Is that so, Master Jason? You could have fooled me, then. Last time you were hunting for Talia. The time before that, Lady Cassandra.”

Jason snarls. “I don’t mean it like that. Just tell me where she is. I’m worried. She hasn’t been back in days.”

Damian comes down the steps, looking every inch the brat he was when they first met. “Don’t answer him, Pennyworth. He isn’t worth the air.”

Jason rounds on his little brother, reaching out to grab him by his shoulder. “What does that mean, huh, Demon Spawn?”

Damian doesn’t even bother breaking stride to look at him in the eyes. He barely moves enough to dodge Jason’s grasp, then continues on his way to the dining room like Jason’s not even there. Dread begins to pool in Jason’s stomach. He feels more Lazarus than he has in years, and there is no Marinette to cradle him while he breaks right now.

“Where is she?” 

“You’re supposed to be her boyfriend,” Damian scoffs. “Then again, you’ve never been very good at playing your part.”

#

The perks of having a famous girlfriend: the internet knows exactly where she is.

The cons of having a famous girlfriend: the internet knows exactly where she is.

Jason feels terrible. It’s Fashion Week in Paris. Jason always makes the time to go to Fashion Week with Marinette. She reminds him months and months in advance the exact dates that Fashion Week is going to be that year, and he always, always blocks out at least two days to be with her. 

He almost thinks about flying out, but Fashion Week is basically already over, and the day she presented her Spring/Summer line already passed.

“Marinette, I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

His message goes straight to voicemail.

He goes on another mission.

#

The next time Jason comes back home, Marinette is sitting in that same chair in the darkness again. 

“I’m back,” he says, trying to gauge what mental state she’s in right now. “I missed you.”

She sits, primly, properly, and in silence. Jason flicks the light on. 

“You love me,” Marinette states. How long has it been since he’s last heard her voice in person? Two months? Three?

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, crossing the room to give her a hug. “Of course I do.”

A sharp intake of breath. Marinette holds her arm out, eyes pinched close, lips devoid of color. “I love you, too, Jason.”

His heart softens. He needs to start spending more time at home. 

She rises to her feet, placing a hand on her Ladybug-red luggage. 

“Are you going on a business trip? I’m sorry I didn’t make it to your last line.”

There’s a careful blankness in her eyes that makes him uneasy. Something about the size of her luggage, and the fact that there are things missing from around the house. The gramophone that holds the Miraculous is missing from the side table. Pictures of Marinette, Kagami, Chloe, and Alya have disappeared. All of the plants that Marinette meticulously keeps alive are gone.

“No,” Marinette says. “I’m leaving for good.”

Sun streaks through the window blinds. The bags underneath her eyes are prominent, and her whole face looks swollen. 

“Oh,” Jason says. “Did you find a better apartment? I can put off my next mission so we can move into it.”

Marinette blinks. She laughs, full belly, but Jason’s heart squeezes. Her voice sombers. “Jason, it’s better if we break up now. I’m-- I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore.”

He can see every fine line on Marinette’s face. When did she get them? He can’t recall. “What do you mean? Why?”

Slowly, Marinette drags her luggage forward and pops his collar, staring at it with sad, sad eyes. She runs a bitten-to-the-quick finger down the zipper of his leather jacket, holds the zipper in her hand and sets it back down with nary a jingle. Her smile forms with her lips, not her teeth, and the wrinkles at the sides of her eyes don’t gather up. It’s a soft, sad, small thing. Tip-toeing, Marinette presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re a good man, Jason. But I can’t trust you with my heart.”

She leaves her key hanging at the peg and closes the door gently.

@jasonette-july-2k20

#angst #jasonette #miraculous ladybug #dcu #maribat #jasonette july #original content #marinette dupain cheng #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #breakup

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Chaos and Bloodshed Already Haunt Us

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Tim and Jason get kidnapped by Black Mask. Jason is too sacrificial for his own good.

Tim has been waking up tied to chairs in strange places since he was thirteen, to the point where he has been kidnapped more times than he’s been to Chuck E. Cheese. When you’re a Wayne kid and a batkid, you learn to accept regular kidnappings as a part of life, just like taxes. Is it so unreasonable that Tim would prefer to wake up in his own bed, for a change? First things first: take stock. Assess the situation. Go from there. Before he’s even opened his eyes, Tim feels for what he’s pretty sure is regular rope keeping his hands tied behind him. Unfortunately, even rope can hold a bat when said bat has no weapons to bail them out, which Tim doesn’t. His utility belt and bandoliers are missing, and any spare tools he has hidden on his person are impossible to reach with the way his arms are wrenched behind him. His fingertips are already tingly, going on numb. “Red? You up?” Tim opens his eyes at the familiar voice. Jason is tied to his own chair across from him, a mirror of Tim’s own situation. The room itself is small—gray walls, cement floor, unmarked crates stacked along the walls. Jason’s helmet is off, exposing the domino he wears underneath. Tim’s mask hasn’t been touched either. “Do you remember what happened or do you need the recap?” Jason asks.

It’s blurry at best, but Tim remembers enough. “Intel mission on Black Mask, right?”

“Started out that way. We got here and I figured out that Sionis was selling weapons to Intergang so we blew the whole shipment to hell.” “You figured it out?” That doesn’t sound right, as fragmented as Tim’s memories are. From the throbbing in the back of his head, he must have been hit pretty hard. “You calling me a liar?” “I ain’t calling you a truther,” Tim mutters, fiddling with the rope that’s been cutting off circulation in his hands for what must have been at least an hour. He can’t get Jason and himself out of here in this condition. “Did you—" “Already signaled him.” Good. Bruce will send someone to bail them out of this in no time. They just have to hold out until then. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” a chilling voice speaks from behind Tim. “You have no idea how bored I was waiting for the party to start.” Fingers touch Tim’s shoulder and he jerks away. Jason, unbothered by the newcomer, snorts. “This is what you consider a party? You need some fucking friends.” Sionis ignores the jab. He passes Tim and goes straight for the camera set up near the left wall, just far back enough to fit both Tim and Jason in frame. Very, very bad sign. He turns it on, the red light blinking. “You making a movie?” Jason says. He’s snarky, but Tim can see the fear lurking behind his eyes. Roman ignores him and adjusts the camera so it points at himself. “Hello, Batman.” Tim’s eyes snap up to meet Jason’s. “In case you were wondering, this is a live feed you’re getting now. And don’t try tracing it, you’ll just waste your energy. You’re not the only one who has talented technicians on his side.” He leans in closer to the camera, his mask nearly touching the lens. “In the spirit of clarity, let me be clear: this, right now? This is a gift. This is my warning to you to stay the hell out of my business, otherwise you and your precious lackeys will have to answer to me.” He moves out of the frame and zooms in on Tim’s masked face, then Jason’s. “Lucky for me, I found a couple of your birds messing with my shipment, and they so graciously volunteered to help me set an example.” He steps aside and gestures to a tray of tools, each one more horrible than the last. Most of them are still coated in blood from his last victim. Tim gulps. Sionis peruses his collection, which gives Tim the chance to catch Jason’s attention. He jerks his head toward the camera, mouthing, Tell them where we are. Jason nods, and Tim looks back at Sionis. “You think I haven’t been tortured before? This is just a workout.” Is it true? No. He’s terrified, actually. But Jason needs time to signal Bruce through the camera, so Tim will stall for as long as he can. “Bold words, kid.” Sionis picks up a knife, tracing the edge of it with his fingertip. “Just makes it more fun for me when you break.” He comes closer and grabs Tim roughly by the chin, pressing the knife against his cheek uncomfortably close to his eye. “I’ll bet I can make you cry.” “Hey, Blackie,” Jason calls, ripping their focus away. His eyes are narrowed, mouth twisted. “Did you hear the one about the rich dude who wore blackface?” Sionis tightens his grip on Tim’s face. “Do tell.” Stop talking, Tim tries to convey telepathically. Don’t make this worse. “It was universally agreed that he was a piece of shit.” “You should learn to keep your mouth shut when someone’s holding a knife to your baby brother’s face.” To prove his point, Roman digs the knife in, slicing a thin line down all the way to Tim’s jaw. Tim inhales sharply at the sting. “Baby brother?” Jason repeats. “You really are an idiot.” He doesn’t look at Tim, keeping his glare solely on Roman. “I barely know the guy. He follows me around, thinking I walk on water or some shit, but trust me. He’s a pain in the ass. You’re doing me a favor, really.” Sionis pulls the knife away from Tim’s face. Tim releases a breath. Sionis approaches Jason now, his knife still raised with Tim’s blood staining the steel blade. “Someone’s mouthy today.” “If you think this is mouthy, you should have heard your mother last night.” Sionis plunges the knife into Jason’s knee. Jason locks a scream behind his teeth, his face contorting in pain. “Try walking on water now,” Sionis hisses. He yanks the knife out, blood splattering on Jason’s legs and the floor. Tim looks nervously at the camera, its red light blinding ominously. Is Bruce watching this from the other side, agonizing over having a front-row seat to this display? Or is he already gone, on his way to rescue them? Tim hopes it’s the latter. “You think—think I haven’t been stabbed before?” Jason pants, his teeth gritted through the pain. “That was child’s play.” “Is that right?” Sionis looks over his shoulder at Tim. “Then maybe we should get a second opinion. What do you say, kiddo? Want to match your brother over here?” “Thank god,” Jason says. “Go over there and stay, if you wouldn’t mind. Your breath smells like dog shit. But I guess you are what you eat, so.” Roman punches Jason in the face so hard Tim can hear his teeth clank from here. He does it again two, three times, until blood streams from Jason’s nostrils and spills over his lips. Tim pulls frantically on the ropes binding him, tries to do anything, but he’s held tight. “Now, that,” Jason says, spitting out a mouthful of blood and what looks like a tooth, “was better. Still amateurish, but at least you’re not a fuckin’ sissy about it.” “Hood,” Tim snaps. “Please, shut up.” Why are you doing this? “Why should I listen to you? You’re the one who got us into this mess in the first place, replacement. This is your fault.” Jason’s words are snarls and his eyes burn with a tangible hatred, all directed at Tim. But Tim knows him too well. Not everyone wears a literal mask like Sionis does. Roman reaches for his tray and picks up a new blade, this one with large, jagged teeth. “By all means, keep talking, Hood. See where that gets you.” “What, are you going to stab me? Go ahead. The little shit deserves to feel guilty.” Sionis poises the blade at Jason’s shoulder, digging the tip in until Jason hisses. He leans in close, grabs Jason’s jaw with his other hand. “I know you’re not stupid. You think that if you act like a big enough asshole, you can save the runt from me.” He pushes on the knife, slowly sinking it into Jason’s flesh, ridge by ridge. “I’m very okay with that.” Roman twists the knife and Jason screams. Tim closes his eyes but he can’t cover his ears; he can’t tune out his brother screaming in agony, and he almost wishes that he were in Bruce’s position, watching this through a video feed. At least then he could turn it off. “Stop, please,” Tim begs. “He didn’t do anything, it was all me. It was my idea to blow up your shipment. I ruined your business, not him. Just—hurt me, take it out on me. Not him.” Sionis releases the blade, leaving it sticking out of Jason’s shoulder. “Told you I could make the little bird cry.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim has never felt so powerless in his life. It feels like it goes on for hours, the blood and the screaming and the sickening sound of torn flesh. It only gets worse when he escalates to the snapping of fingers, the crackle of knife through bone. He hits Jason so many times there’s more purple riddling his face than clean, unmarked skin. And every time Sionis so much as looks at Tim, Jason does something new to pull his attention back like a wasp on a string. He provokes the sadistic bastard with vulgar comments, snotty complaints that belong more in Damian’s mouth than Jason’s. And Tim can’t do anything but watch. He doesn’t know how long it’s been when something crashes behind him, which he assumes is the door. Roman barely has time to drop the blowtorch he’s holding before a batarang strikes him in the center of his mask, knocking him out cold. Jason doesn’t react. He hasn’t lifted his head in so long it puts Tim on the edge of panic, just quiet groans and grunts through every new injury inflicted on him. “Tim!” Dick is at Tim’s side in an instant, already working on the ropes binding him. “Are you okay?” Bruce is tending to Jason, putting a field dressing on one of his many open wounds while he talks to Alfred through his earpiece. He’s telling him to call Dr. Thompkins and tell her it’s an emergency. As soon as his hands are free Tim is lunging up from the chair, only for Dick to grab him by the shoulders and force him back down. “Hey, hey, slow down. Where are you hurt?” Dick lightly prods around the cut on Tim’s face, which is undoubtedly going to need stitches, but Tim couldn’t care less. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Jason, who lets out a groan when Bruce accidentally jostles his broken arm. Tim shakes his head, swallowing thickly. “He didn’t—he didn’t do anything to me. He didn’t touch me at all. Only Jason.”

#whumptober 2020 #batfamily #batfam #batman #jason todd #red hood #robin #tim drake #red robin #idiot duckboy #angst #fanfiction #fanfic #black mask #roman sionis #dc comics #no.6 #'stop please'

[watchtower-feed]

Death Do We Part (Part 15)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Words: 2,700+

     You rest your head on your knees as you look at Tim. Your lips tremble as you watch him struggle with his thoughts.

     He stares at his hands with narrowed eyes before you hear his broken voice.

     “... I don’t know if I want to be Robin anymore.”

     The morning dragged on agonizingly slow with Tim hiding in your room, Bruce nursing a drink in the kitchen, and Alfred sitting beside him. But when Bruce’s phone rang and the hospital told him that his son, Richard Grayson, was just admitted into Gotham General, everything sped past like a blur.

     The city traffic buzzing through the car’s window. The loud reporters hounding you at the entrance. The doctor’s mouth moving in silence as he reads from a chart, explaining Dick’s condition. You were only picking up words like critical and surgery.

     The first thing you became conscious of was Alfred’s hand on your shoulder. “Y/N. He’s going to be okay.” You didn’t even notice your tears until he was wiping them away.

     It’s past midnight in the hospital room. Tim is sleeping on the couch. Alfred is  in an extra bed. Bruce had just stepped out for coffee. And you’re still awake, curling up in the armchair closest to Dick. You’re holding his hand and looking at the fringes of his hair lying on his forehead. Slowly you loosen your grip to brush them back, but Dick’s fingers curl around yours.

     You’re too busy staring at his hand when he opens his eyes.

     “Hi…”

     You cover your mouth to trap the sob that’s lodged in your throat. “Dick--”

     He smiles. “H-hey hey. I’m okay.” He sounds exhausted but he still tries to laugh. “It’s just-- what? Like broken ribs again?”

     You frown at him, “One punctured your spleen, Dick. They had to stitch it up during surgery.”

     Dick chuckles, “Another one? Man. I swear I get one every other month. I probably passed out on Jason.”

     “You were with Jason?” your voice hitched a little but you lower it right away and check on Alfred and Tim.

     “Oh yeah… we had a nice little chat…” Dick’s looking at you now while frowning. “So… you’re leaving.”

     You pause and then look down when you answer, “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from Jason since yesterday morning.”

     Dick raises one eyebrow and teases you, “The morning after?”

     “Shut up,” you snap at him in a whisper, making him snicker quietly. You blush but you can’t help give a small laugh as well.

     Dick smiles at you.

     “He told me you were leaving and I was hoping to charm the two of you into staying.” He gives you a look, one that’s both sad and disappointed. “But I don’t really think that’s an option, huh.”

     Dick squeezes your hand and your voice is a lot softer when you answer, “He killed the Joker, Dick. In front of Bruce.”

     “Yeah. He told me.”

     “And you almost died, too.”

     Dick laughs, “Ye of little faith in me, Y/N. I had those guys--”

     “But the bomb. That one was real--”

     Dick shushes you. “Jason’s friends got me off the bridge before it went off. Guess you guys were too busy watching Jay and Bruce’s fight.”

     Dick slumps back against the pillows and stares at the point where the ceiling and the wall meet. “I hate to say it but Jason thought of everything.”

     Tim grumbles in his sleep and you both turn to him. Once the rise and fall of his chest becomes even, Dick speaks again.

     “This must be hard on Tim, huh?”

     Tim has been tossing and turning in his sleep. When he was in your room, he checked on his wound and was surprised to find that Jason had changed his bandages when he was unconscious.

     You watched Tim’s surprised look slowly morph into one of anguish. He didn’t know how to believe that Jason and the Red Hood were one and the same. Or is he just a persona Jason created to do what he can’t do. To protect the hard truths he wanted Bruce to realize.

     You close your eyes and slowly climb into the bed next to Dick. He makes room for you and you carefully curl up next to him.

     “He told me he didn’t want to be Robin anymore,” you whisper.

     Dick pats your head and hums to himself.

     “If I was Jason and Tim-- I was them. I was Robin and I always thought… I always saw Bruce as more than just Batman. He was my dad and my friend. He was my protector.”

     When Dick’s hand stops moving, you wrap your arms across his chest and hug him tightly. You can feel the even breaths he’s trying to maintain but failing.

     “But after what Jason did--” you can hear him clenching his teeth as he speaks, “After realizing that Bruce will always be Batman--to everyone-- more than anything else in the world… it shatters something in you, like you’re not special...”

     Before your life turned into this living tragedy, you always thought Batman was just a myth. You’ve seen him sure, leaping and gliding over rooftops from your window and from the streets, but you always knew he was just a man playing pretend. Maybe a police officer finally fed up with the red tapes and the joke that is the Gotham justice system.

     You always thought Batman was just another Gothamite who just got sick of being battered and bruised.

     “It doesn’t mean I agree with Jason, though.” Dick’s voice is a little lower. He’s giving you a long look with the same sad and disappointed expression. “His heart’s in the right place but Y/N, he’s the one who doesn’t understand.

     “When Bruce first brought me in, my parents were murdered by this guy-- Tony Zucco-- just a typical low life mobster in Gotham you know-- no one like the Joker. But when I became Robin, Bruce’s greatest concern was whether I would seek vengeance against that guy.”

     Dick’s gaze strays away from you. He’s looking somewhere past his feet, seeing something that’s not there.

     “I had him, Y/N. I tied him up and suspended him over a ten-story building, half hoping he would die, or break every bone in his body from that height and live out the rest of his days as a vegetable.

     “Then Batman came out of the shadows. He didn’t stop me. He didn’t talk to me-- he just put his hand on my shoulder the whole time, while I stood there and held this man’s lifeline in my hands.”

     Dick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath but he doesn’t open them again. The skin at the corner of his eyes crease and there are folds in his brows. When he speaks again, it’s rushed and he sounds exhausted.

     “In the end, I couldn’t do it. I dropped him from the third floor. He broke a few bones and that was it. It didn’t make me feel better. Killing him wouldn’t have brought my parents back-- it also wouldn’t prevent another family from ever being murdered…

     “Jason thinks he can get rid of evil in the world by killing criminals but he can’t. Because everyone is nursing evil inside of them-- I have something evil inside me.”

     Dick’s lips are quivering when he opens his eyes again.

     “Batman is the only one that doesn’t because all he wants to do is protect... everyone.”

     Bruce has heard enough. He’s been standing outside the hospital room with his hand on the handle when Dick started talking about avenging his parents. Desperately, he wants to go in there and join you and Dick. But the writing on your arm pushes him to visit the rooftop instead.

     He steps out to meet Gotham’s foggy air and reaches the end of the ledge when he calls out, “Worried about Dick?” He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t hear Jason’s footsteps approaching him from the shadows, but he knows he’s there. “You should be. He’s here because of you.”

     Jason stops abruptly and clenches his fist. “Wrong. He’s hurt because of your self-righteous courtesy toward the psychotic filth of Gotham.”

     Bruce turns around. Jason doesn’t have his helmet or his mask. He’s wearing a black trench coat but Bruce can still see the Red Hood symbol peeking from his chest. Bruce lifts one corner of his lips. “How does it feel?”

     To Jason it looks like a smirk on its ways to becoming a snarl. Any semblance of a smile on Bruce is unsettling.

     Bruce faces him fully with his hands in his pants pockets. “Now that you’ve killed half of the inmates in Arkham, how does it make you feel?” He watches Jason and lowers his brows and his mouth turns into a straight line. “Like it’s not enough. Right? Like there’s still a few more loose ends-- and you just have to be sure.

     “I know you went after Penguin and Dent after the club last night. I also know you’re still after Harley.” Bruce eyes his clothes.

     Jason tips his head to the side and replies to Bruce with a small smile.

     Bruce tries to control the urge to arrest Jason then and there. He tries to stop being Batman for just one second before he loses his son for good. He takes in a breath and releases it like a sigh. He takes out his hands to gesture to Jason.

     “If I could give you one last piece of advice. As a father. As a friend. Ask yourself if this is the type of person you want Y/N’s soulmate to be. Do you want her to be with a murderer?”

     Jason didn’t expect that. He was ready to have another go at Bruce, maybe their last showdown before he leaves town, but now he just feels insulted.

     “Fuck you, Bruce. I just want her safe-- To do a better job than you did for me. Be better than you.”

     Bruce shakes his head. “You can do that without taking another person’s life, Jason. Killing people will only put your lives in more danger.” He points to Jason’s chest. “And you-- the Red Hood-- are a testament to that.”

     Jason looks down, the crimson symbol on his chest peeking at him from his loose coat. The Red Hood is supposed to be just a means to an end. A myth strong enough to withstand the Bat’s. A new player to hook in the Arkham villains. Not someone who’ll join their ranks.

     Jason looks back to glare at Bruce.

     “I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

     The pause Jason gave didn’t go unnoticed to Bruce.

     “I assume you’re here to see Y/N,” Bruce replies. “She’s talking to Dick. She hasn’t noticed your message yet.”

     Bruce walks up to Jason and sizes him up. Jason watches as his demeanor changes. Bruce stands taller, his shoulders seem to go wider. Jason doesn’t need to see the cape to know who’s standing in front of him now.

     “Leave Gotham before sunrise.” 

     Jason can see himself reflected in Batman’s eyes. He suddenly looks like a child. The kid sleeping on the streets of Gotham. Scavenging in the garbage just to get by. Stealing to survive. 

     Bruce sees his own reflection in Jason’s and it terrifies him. He relaxes his shoulders and leaves his eyes half-lidded. Slowly, he lifts his hand and places it on Jason’s shoulder.

     “Take care of each other, son.”

     Bruce takes back his hand and starts walking to the door but Jason slaps something against his chest. Bruce looks down and sees that it’s an envelope. He looks back at Jason but he’s looking away from him.

     “Give it to Alfred… please.”

     Bruce smiles. He gives Jason a small nod before he takes the letter and leaves the hospital rooftop.

     When Jason hears the doors close shut behind him, he lets the panic settle in. He first feels its claws scratching at his throat on its way up to his mouth, prying it open, making him gasp for air. Jason jumps when the door slams open.

     You see your soulmate standing on the rooftop.

     “Jason?” 

     You run to him and wrap your arms around his shoulder, as far as you can reach. He bends down and you hold him tighter. “You’re okay!” you exclaim against his coat. “I passed Bruce on the way here and I thought--”

     “Y/N.”

     Jason’s voice is shaky. You pull away to take a look at him but he holds you tight against him. You feel it now, the way his lungs are expanding rapidly and his heart is beating hard against his chest. He’s gripping your clothes as he pulls your body closer to him, afraid to let go. Afraid you’ll let go.

     “I want to stay…”

     The Joker had killed him and it killed you. The League had planned on using you against Jason. Scarecrow poisoned you. But now they’re gone. Dead. The Joker. Scarecrow. Black Mask. Bane. Croc. Clayface. Penguin and Dent.

     Jason killed them all.

     “You told me to find a better life. Away from all of this, remember? And I wanted that.” Jason hides his face on your shoulder and you can feel his tears seeping through your shirt. “I wanted that for both of us. But how could I do that if we have so many enemies? How could I do that if they can come after us at any second?”

     Battered and bruised.

     Dick’s wrong. Jason doesn’t have evil inside of him. None of them do. Everyone is just broken. Cracked under the pressure of the city’s heavy fog and manipulated into playing a never ending game of survival.

     You glare at the horizon of the drab cityscape. Yellow lights left on all night. Sirens blaring at every corner. Sewer stench wafting toward the roofs. If Gotham hasn’t broken you yet, it will tomorrow.

     You hold on to Jason tightly.

     “It’s okay, Jason. Everything’s going to be okay.”

     “It’s not, Y/N. We can’t stay-- I can’t stay.”

     “I know…”

     You rub Jason’s back to soothe him. 

     “It’s not just the Joker,” you whisper. “Gotham did this to us. It’s taken something beautiful from us-- our link-- and used it to abuse us. It tore us apart and made us forget who we are.

     “We can’t stay here. We need to leave Gotham not because we’re not welcome. But because we need to heal, Jason.”

     Slowly, you pull away from Jason to take off his coat. He watches as you unzip his kevlar vest and lets you take it off of him.

     You stare at the symbol in your hands and silently thank it. Then you drop it on the floor. Jason is too stunned to stop you when you reach for one of his guns inside his coat. You fire two shots into the vest.

     This is something you feel you need to do. Jason got to kill the Joker, the phantom menace that has haunted your dreams and waking moments. You only get this. The barrel is still smoking when you return it to him.

     You pick up the vest and walk to the ledge of the roof. You pull back to gather as much momentum as you can and throw the vest out and down into the busy streets. You watch the Red Hood fall to its death until you can’t see it anymore.

     Jason holds your hand and you turn to face him. He watches the look on your face, determined and unmoving. As if you hold all the cards and you know exactly where to go. He’s never seen such an expression on you.

     He squeezes your hand

     “I’ll go anywhere with you, Y/N.”

     Just before the sun rises over, you’re already on a bus heading West, far enough away that even Wayne tower’s shadow can’t reach you. You pat the bag on your lap that has some clothes and your new identities.

     As the bus crosses the bridge, Jason is watching the subtle pink and orange light peeking over the ocean that meets Gotham harbor. It’s a rare sight and one you’ll both miss. He turns to you.

     “Hey,” Jason calls. “Look at your arm.” He takes out a pen. You watch as Jason writes on his arm and finally finishes his last words to you.

     I love you.

END.

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#ssa #jason todd #red hood #superhero soulmate au #DC imagines #DC fanfiction #DC reader insert #Jason Todd imagine #Jason Todd fanfiction #Jason Todd x reader #Red Hood imagine #Red Hood fanfiction #Red Hood x reader #watchtower-feed #atbucud

[moonah-rose]

King Takes Knight

A quick Michael whump drabble mini-fic, written for catharsis sake. I’ve had a rough week.

TW: Captivity, torture, impaling.

His wrists are bound together behind his back, chains clamping tight around his skin, looped to a stake on the stage. He’s constantly hanging forward, feet impaled into the wood by rusty nails. The laughter had rippled around him when those had been hammered in, slow as fork, half a minute between each pound to give Michael a chance to appreciate the pain. Enough time for everyone to enjoy his groans.

At first he’d done his best not to give them the satisfaction. Demons fed off the sounds of misery. No, seriously, it’s like a vampire feeding off blood. It’s like their own crack cocaine. Michael had grown tired of the ‘kick’ many centuries ago. Why him? Why none of the others? Oh, right, of course. That’s the whole reason he’s here. It’s why he’s now the main, impromptu, attraction at this DemonCon.

He’s a freak.

That was always a fact, as much as he had tried to hide from it. Demons don’t collect human objects for a hobby unless its teeth or kidneys. Demons don’t binge watch human TV shows to help them fantasise about what it would be like to live the way they do, up above on Earth in the fresh air, with dating and parties and their own laugh track. Demons don’t get tired of what they were designed for; torture, maiming, eviscerating. For so long he told himself, It’s just a phase, a hyperfix, it will be pass, I just need something new....

The psychological experiment had worked. Until it hadn’t.

Now here he was. Still a freak, to them, more so than ever. He has no intention of running from it anymore. Not that he’ll be able to run or walk for a while now.

Sometimes they loosen the chain and one of them will yank it, making him crawl. Typically after they’ve smashed a broken bottle on the floor, open palms falling onto the scattered shards, trousers tearing at the knee as they cut in deep.

He’d barely felt anything the first time he’d noticed the crimson pooling beneath him. He had already worked out that they’d done something to heighten the pain receptors in his skin suit. But how could he have blood?

“Just an illusion, you tuft of pubic hair.” Shawn had snarled at him, disgusted at the curios look on his prisoner’s face; “You don’t get to have blue goo like a true demon. You’re an abomination. A holy spawn of Nothing.”

He’d have tried to give a snappy comeback, had they not threaded a steel wire through his lips. Michael almost took it with pride; as if Shawn was afraid to hear him talk after he’d given his speech before. Clearly it had him worried that he was losing control, that there may have been demons listening who agreed with him, who were believed it was time to change. Maybe Michael wasn’t the only freak. A small, foolish part of him held out hope it would be one of them who would try to free him.

Nothing yet. Maybe all his words fell on deaf, wicked ears. Maybe they had considered it, for a moment, before distracted by the new attraction of a Michael piñata to play with.

The remainders of his suit stick to burned, bruised and bloodied skin. His jacket is gone, one of the Trolls borrowed his bow-tie to use as a handkerchief so he doesn’t expect to see that again given their snot is acidic. He knows they’re working their way up to the penis flattener. Just his luck, he was just starting to get used to the weird hanging bits, even having the odd fantasy of how he might be able to use them...and now it seems the first bit of action they’re going to get is being slammed with a mallet. If given a choice, he might prefer to try the butthole spiders.

His vision fades in and out after taking several punches to the head from one of the Rock Giants. He’s sure his eye nearly popped out of its socket and his jaw is broken, barely held together by the metal in his lips. They all chant their names at him. Not just freak. Traitor. Weakling. Disgrace. Failure. Hopeless. Loser.

They want tears. They want him to break.

But he’s never felt more strong in his life...at least, for now.

He closes his eyes, swaying in his bonds, head rolling as the pain thumps through his skull. He can still hear Janet screaming his name. Her magnet-bound hands reaching out for him. Jason’s hands on her arms, his distraught face looking past his not-a-girlfriend as Michael shoved the handcart away as soon as the guards caught up with them.

“GO! NOW! DON’T COME BACK! DON’T RESET! JUST GET OUT!”

It was one of them or all of them. It had to be him.

This was all his fault, after all. Janet had been taken because he’d been foolish enough to underestimate his former colleagues. They’d failed to notice the imposter among them because Michael was too busy keeping all his anxieties over his own potential double to himself. Had he just told Eleanor and the others the truth about Shawn’s call from before the experiment, the reason for his ‘breakdown’ from the start, they might have known something was up. They might have known better than to let Janet get on that train alone. 

He might not have let everyone down.

Her hand grabs his wrist as they leave Mindy’s. He says nothing as Tahani and Jason continue to walk on ahead.

He turns around.

“Listen...about last night.” Eleanor looks up at him, taking a deep breath. He can see that she’s slept very little between the few hours they took to rest up and prepare for this journey, “The whole....trust issue dealy. I just wanted to say-.”

“It’s okay.” He raises his hand; “You don’t have to apologise.”

She blinks at him.

“Uhmm...Good, because I wasn’t gonna.”

Michael’s mouth forms a silent ‘Oh’. Why had he been expecting that? 

“I meant what I said, dude. I don’t know if I can ever trust you.” She tells him, straight; “I believe that you’re Michael and not Vicky, you proved that much. But, like I told Tahani, even if it is you, I don’t fully trust you. You know why right?”

He swallows, looking down at his shoes; “The lying...I know.”

He doesn’t try to excuse himself anymore. It was bad. That’s all there is.

“Not just the lying but the lying about the lying!” She berates him; “It has to stop! And don’t get me wrong, the whole offering to sacrifice yourself thing, that’s done you credit. I need you to keep that shirt up. I need to be sure that you understand how important this whole show we got going on is. Whole of humanity is riding on us beating Shawn and those goons. It’s more important for us to win this than worrying about just any one of us. Got it?”

He nods. Of course he’s got it. Does she still consider him a liability? Would she have preferred it if Jason hadn’t interrupted his attempt earlier?

No, he tries to reassure himself. She’s not being mean. She’s being a leader.

And she’s right.

“Got it, Boss.” He tells her, quietly, the shame still burrowing deep in his chest.

She gives him a small smile and bumps his arm with her first; “There! Glad we got that settled. Look, I just want my partner in running-fake-Heaven back at my side is all. Not hiding things from me or putting me through crab like you did last night.”

“I understand. I’m sorry.” Was he unreasonable to hope for an apology back?

He’ll never understand what it means to be human, he realises sadly.

“Apology accepted. Now go bring back our favorite not-a-robot or I’ll be demoting you to my personal shrimp-serving butler.” She teases with a twinkle in her eye as they continue their walk to the train station.

Michael laughs to himself, spluttering droplets of blood from his encased tongue, as her words ring in his ears. He hopes they win. He hopes he gets to see his friends one last time before they go to the Good Place, the real one, and he’s sent to...wherever. Hopefully somewhere nicer than here.

The more time passes, the more he’s beaten and scalded and whipped, the more he knows Janet has obeyed his request. They haven’t gone to the Judge. They’re carrying on the experiment, best as they can, with Chidi as their best chance to succeed as one of the subjects. He hears Shawn muttering one time about the train tunnel having mysteriously caved in.

Well done, Janet, old friend. Or was it Jason with his last molotov?

He knows they can do it without him. He believes in nothing else in this world except his incredible friends and their ability to save the forking world. 

They don’t need him...They have each other. And Eleanor.

His girl from Arizona. The only one who can take charge of this. The one who knows what is at stake and what needs to be done. There’s an odd tightness in his chest, which may be from where his fake ribs were crushed earlier, but may be something else. He can’t deny it...He misses being at her side, he misses watching her take charge, of being on her ‘team’, her...partner. Fork it, he doesn’t want to be sad about it. He doesn’t want to...

It’s his own fault that’s over. You ruined everything, y’know that?

“You’re thinking of her, aren’t you? Your favorite yellow cockroach.” Shawn whispers, appearing as a blur in the corner of his distorted eyesight; ���Funny how they haven’t come for you. You and that idiot came for your Good Janet. But their own pet demon? So much for human friendship, huh.”

He closes his eyes tight. He doesn’t...want them to come.

His hair is grabbed, head pulled back, a small block of freezing ice pressed against his stomach. He moans into the wires. His natural fire-element essence is violently reacting to the cold. It’s worse than a thousand volts of electricity. 

“They left you, Mikey. They abandoned you to us.”

N-no...He chose to stay....He made them g-g-go...

“And don’t get me wrong, the whole offering to sacrifice yourself thing, that’s done you credit. I need you to keep that shirt up...”

And he did.

“It’s more important for us to win this than having to worry about just any one of us. Got it?”

Got it.

That’s why they haven’t come. They can’t throw away the progress they’ve made just to save him. They need to see it through till the end now. That’s all it is. Eleanor understands, he’s sure of it...It’s not because they don’t care...

The chill seeps into him. He feels parts of his goo crystalize sharply.

“I don’t think I can ever trust you.”

“Why don’t we just lock you up in Janet’s void?”

“Get out of here. You don’t get to be part of this.”

As the agony shoots through him, he blinks and he sees her. Staring at him. Uncertain, afraid, but silent. Complicit in his fate, if it’s for the greater good. No longer hers to worry about. No longer a distraction from what’s truly important - would she react the same if it was Chi-? No, stop it! Don’t! 

Shawn moves away with the ice block and Michael sags against the stake.

“Ahh...Would you look at that.”

A finger reaches out to graze Michael’s cheek, picking off a tiny frozen droplet on his cheek. Fork. How long had he been crying? He didn’t want to give them that satisfaction!

Shawn puts it between his lips and smiles; “Mmmm, not bad. Not as salty as human tears. Let’s see if I can get you to fill my glass.”

Michael glares at him now, shaking roughly. Shame quickly simmers into a flash of rage before his old boss slams the ice block against him again. He screams.

Fork, fork, fork. This has to be worth it.

If it’s the only way he can prove, without a doubt, he’s on their side...That he wants nothing but to be worthy to be her ‘partner’ again...To be wanted...Forgiven?

Win, you guys. If he can ask for nothing else, do this for him. Please, damn it...Win.

#tgp fanfic #angst #whump fic #no comfort #if someone wants to write comfort go for it #im not there right now #i just needed hurt

[eat0crow]

Jasonette Prompt! Mari and Jason first meeting but it’s after a bunch of thugs tried to jump her (she beat them uppp). anyways they’re both in civilian form and she’s validly untrusting and he calms her down.

Bullies count as thugs, right?

116%

Partly by accident, mostly by self-preservation, Jason figures out that, in order to get everyone to stop looking at him like the poor-orphan-charity-case Bruce Wayne had taken in, he needs to instead get them to write him off entirely.

It’s a genius plan. Gotham Academy is nothing if not judgemental. All he has to do is wear his uniform loose, his tie undone, tell everyone exactly how little he thinks of their petty power plays, and get into a screaming match with his xenophobic history teacher about how people working minimum wage, “Absolutely should be making a living wage. Screw you, you bootlicking capitalist fuck!” within the first month of school. Honestly, he’s surprised he lasted that long.

So maybe he’s a little out of line, it’s not like he’s wrong. And it’s all worth it just to see the look on Bruce’s face when he walks into the principal's office. The man’s eyebrows are practically up to his hairline by the time he hears that Jason, in the face of his teacher's warning, had the audacity to ask, “What are you going to do? Expel me? unfucking likely.”

“It’s not like I’m actually going to be expelled,” Jason says. “Half the school’s annual budget comes from the money you donate. If I’m expelled I’ll have to go somewhere else. You’re not going to invest in a school I’m not attending and they’re not going to those funds.”

With unmasked glee, Jason watches the growing horror spread over his principles face-he’s a smart brown-nosing man after all. He knows exactly what kind of trap he’s walking into. It doesn’t matter that Jason’s history teacher is glaring the man down, looking like he's’ just bitten a lemon. Nope, Jason is not going to be expelled.

“Jason,” Bruce, simply sighs, looking far more put out than he has any right to be.

They settle for him being suspended for the rest of the week with detentions taking place after school on Mondays and Wednesdays for the next two months.

As all interesting gossip tends to, the rumor makes its way through the school before the day is even over-rich kids have way too much time on their hands-by the time Jason comes back the following Monday everyone seems to have decided that he’s a troublemaker unhinged just enough to be dangerous.

It marks the end of people trying to suck up to him, they all seem to have collectively decided that if they mind their own business and leave him out of it, he’ll do the same.

The thing about Jason Todd- fourteen-year-old high school freshman- is that he’s really bad at minding his own business. Like Dick’s Discowling suit levels of bad at it. He's a Robin, after all, you couldn’t be a Robin if you were actually able to keep your nose out of where it shouldn't be. It's practically a rule.

Never once has Jason ever had any fondness for bullies, it doesn’t matter if they were school kids or criminals or one percenters-looking at you Jeff Bezos, looking at you. He’s seen enough of them growing up in the Narrows, and maybe, it’s because his dad, the utter asshole, had been a bully. Maybe he just spends too much time fighting against people who think they can get away with pushing their weight around. It doesn’t matter.

Jason Todd could not bring himself to turn a blind eye, which is why by the beginning of his second semester he’s gained the title of actual-punk-you-know-the-kind-who-fight-the-man with his biweekly detentions being upgraded to triweekly and extended indefinitely. The number of fights he’s gotten into in the last couple of months has easily erased whatever Golden Boy standing Dick had established. Jason is confident that the only reason he’s yet to be kicked out is the fact that Bruce had almost doubled his donations.

So really, when he hears raised voices and the distinct sound of someone being thrown against a wall just as he’s leaving detention for the third time this week, he has to investigate.

Disgust is the first thing Jason can register when he turns the corner because there’s a ring of five students- two girls, three guys- all crowded around the new girl from France. Jason’s pretty sure he shares a class or two with her, maybe. She's easy to miss, small as all hell and stick thin.

This, this isn’t a fair fight. Or a fight she even has a chance of winning. Jason has a bad feeling about this.

But-

But Jason takes a closer look. Her back is pressed against the side of the building, yes. Her bag has been thrown to the ground and she’s shaking but that stance, it definitely doesn’t belong to someone who doesn’t know how to defend themselves. Sure these idiots have her backed into a corner, one point them, but her feet are firmly planted on the ground, her back is straight. She’s not going to run, at least, not before she throws a punch and, judging from the way she’s holding herself, a good one too.

Jason doesn’t really know how to approach this. This girl looks like a deer caught in headlights who will spook the second she hears a loud sound. Getting a teacher would be the most sensible thing to do. It would also require leaving, Jason isn’t confident enough in the situation to do that.

He’s almost talked himself into it, sure it might be a little off-brand for him but this seems slightly out of his depth, when Idiot Number Three, the smirking brunette addition, makes a move toward Marinette-Jason only just remembers her name-and Marinette lashes out.

Dead silence overtakes the yard as the girl goes down, her body crumpling to the ground like a wet paper towel. Marinette’s fist is still curled, her arm still outstretched. She looks like she can’t believe what she just did. Everyone stands frozen for one disbelieving moment before one of the guy's snarls, lunging to grab Marinette’s jacket.

If she was a deer in headlights before, Jason isn’t quite sure what to call her now. She looks like she’s on the cusp of a panic attack, frantically babbling a mishmash of jumbled up words. Jason sees what she’s going to do a second before the bully does, but by then it’s too late.

Marinette, with way more force than someone her size should have, brings her knee up and kicks her would-be attacker in the balls. Jason does not want to feel sympathy pains. He doesn’t, but still, if the way Idiot Number Five falls to his knees is any indication...well.

Idiots Numbered One, Two and Four run off without much fanfare taking their downed Idiot Number Three with them. Jason has a distinct impression they’re going to snitch and Marinette, who was only defending herself and is in no way capable of explaining her side of the story right now, is going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble.

Nope, not on Jason’s watch. He makes his way over. Closing the distance in three precise non-threatening strides. “So I’m thinking, this isn’t exactly what you had planned,” he says lightly.

“Fuck you, Todd.” Eloquent as ever Idiot Number Five.

“No thanks. You seem like you’re having enough fun clutching your balls for the both of us,” he says cooly, crouching down just enough to make eye contact. “Between you and me, I would run if I were you. Before she decides to come and knock your teeth in.”

“Like she would,” the bully scoffs.

“We both know she could and you know I would let her. Hell, I would help her if it kept your mouth fucking shut.” Jason cracks his knuckles, casually pressing his elbow further into the prick's collar bone. “Fuck, I kinda want to do it too. You really piss me off.”

At least he has the good sense to take Jason seriously. Jason can’t help the satisfaction that comes from watching him get to his feet and limp off. Some things really are poetic. Serves the bastard right, even if he promises that, “I’ll get you back for this, Todd.”

Jason snorts, as if he’d worry about what some schoolyard bully was going to do. Have you seen half the lunatics he fights on a monthly basis? “You good?”

“I-no!” Marinette cries, sinking to her knees in shock. “I am so going to be expelled. God, I’m going to be deported. I’ve only been in Gotham for a month! One whole month and already I’ve

messed this up. Momma is never going to let me out of the house. That’s if they don’t send me to jail. Oh, they’re going to send me to jail, aren't they? I can’t go to jail, orange is a terrible color!”

That's ... a lot to unpack. Jason feels something flutter in his chest. He has the strongest desire to comfort her. So, he does the only thing he can think of, he reaches out, wraps his arms around her waist, and promptly gets punched in the face. Hard.

He staggers back, clutching his eye, Jason barely registers Marinette’s steady stream of. “I’m sorry, so sorry I didn’t mean to hit you.”

Self-consciously Jason shrugs, he’s had far worse. The only thing in danger is his ego. “It was my fault. You were literally being threatened a minute ago, I shouldn’t have touched you. Sorry about that.”

“I’m panicking a bit,” Marinette says, pulling at the end of one of her pigtails. “I’m not usually...I just-I don’t want to be expelled.”

“You're not going to be expelled, Hermione,” Jason says dryly. “Yeah, those bastards are going to snitch but you were just defending yourself. They got what they deserved.”

“Do you think anyone’s going to believe that?”

Jason takes a moment to look Marinette over. There is so much earnest hope on her face that Jason...he feels really bad but... “Of course not. You kicked Pattrick Thomson in the balls, his dad’s on the school board. There is no fucking way any one of these teachers is going to believe that he actually got what was coming to him. No matter how much of a prick he is.”

“I’m doomed,” Marinette cries.

“You’re not doomed.” Jason catches Marinette’s look of pure utter disbelief and continues, “You’re not going to be expelled because you’re not the one who is going to be taking the fall for this.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly,” Jason says scooting down to sit next to Marinette. He makes sure to leave a good foot between them. One black eye is enough, thank you. “Unlike you, I won’t get expelled, trust me this isn’t anywhere close to my first fight. If they could have axed me, they would have like a month in. The good news is that this is the one corner of the school security cameras can’t see. So as long as we make our story sound believable, no one is going to question it.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re all going to find it sketchy when no one can agree on who threw the punch.”

“See you would think that but, no offense, you’re a literal wafer cookie. A strong breeze could blow you over. No one is going to believe you took down those idiots. Not when it’s so much easier to blame the one who’s admitting it.”

“I did take them down,” Marinette says, narrowing her eyes.

“And it was badass, but for this to work, we need to milk as many of their sexist assumptions as possible. So,” Jason starts, pressing his hand a little further against his eye, there’s a bit of blood slipping onto his fingers. Marinette got him good. “This is what we’re going to say. We’re going to keep it simple. Tell them that those guys were picking on you and I came over to see what was happening. Things got heated, Thomson punched me in the eye and I bumped into what’s-her-face. You were panicking and didn’t really pay attention until you saw me knee him in the balls. Short, sweet, and believable.”

“What are we going to say when they ask about why everyone is blaming me and not you?”

“Well, why were they bothering you in the first place.” Jason shrugs reaching out to grab some of the stray papers that had fallen from Marinette’s bag. “Just use that. Trust me, Thomson’s going to jump at the chance to save face. Once he changes his story the rest will follow.”

Marinette grimaces. “It feels wrong.”

“Please,” Jason snorts. “They’re rich, they’re cheating at life. They’d get away with murder if they dropped their wallets. You could tell them all exactly what happened word for word and the teachers would still only hear their side of the story.”

“That’s awful.”

“That’s Gotham.”

Marinette falters, as if she wants to dispute the inherent corruption of this city. She stares at Jason, who would probably be blushing if it wasn’t for the excruciating pain coming from his right eye.

“You’re sure.” Marinette bites her lip, nervously picking at her nails. “You’re absolute, one hundred and twelve percent sure you won’t be expelled.”

“I’m one hundred and sixteen percent sure,” Jason says and then Marinette smiles.

It’s a nice smile, Jason doesn’t think he’s ever experienced the full force of someone's relief before.

“Thank you.” Sincerity is dripping off every word, so much so it almost aches. “I-you’re really nice Jason.”

Marinette knows his name. That’s-not necessarily surprising given the act that yeah they do share classes, probably. It’s just this is the first time they’ve talked.

“It’s cool,” Jason says leaning further back into the wall. He can hear people coming, it won’t be long before they have teachers to deal with. Jason might as well get comfortable. “You’re Marinette, right? I think we have English….Math..something together.”

Marinette nods, scooting closer to him. “Yeah, I’m Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I sit three rows over in Math and two seats up in English.”

“It’s nice to meet you Marinette. Officially.” Jason takes the hand off of his eye and holds it out to her. “Jason Todd.”

Slowly, Marinette’s smile slowly morphs into a look of pure horror. “You’re eye!”

#maribat #crow writes #jasonette #prompt fills #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng

[ask-marcus-cally-and-ari]

Only Human

Chapter 12: Welcome to Hell

Two weeks had gone by since the hunt for three teenagers began- two weeks of being hidden by two Freaks and eating small rations to make money stretch out and last longer.

Eggs had become a luxury to Marcus, sausage a meal fit for a king. He wolfed down a plate of toast like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“What I wouldn’t give for some pancakes,” Ari remarked as she ate their third biscuit in a row for breakfast that week.

Cally ate her cereal, looking around. “I mean, we’ve saved enough to go to McDonald’s for lunch. Spyper, do you think it’s safe?”

Spyper briefly scanned the area, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I don’t see any Freaks around.”

Marcus whooped. “Meat, here I come!”

The trio and the two Freaks that accompanied them stepped out of the van and headed towards McDonalds. Intelligent and Spyper stood on either side of the teenagers, acting as a buffer between them and any Freaks in hiding.

Marcus kept his hand on his gun until he was sitting at the table, and even then, he looked around, ready to pull it out if anything moved wrong.

“Once we’re at HECU, we won’t have to worry about rationing food,” Spyper said, glancing around. “They have this huge cafeteria there and the food is really good. Last time I was there I had a philly cheese steak, potato wedges, and a chicken sandwich.”

“That’s awesome,” Ari beamed. “So how’d you meet them?”

“Me and Intelligent actually saw them in action when we met them. They were trying to contain a dead Freak called Friendly Scout. He got away, and we went up to them to see what was going on,” Spyper explained. “Granted, we haven’t had the best relationship with them since. Pure wrapped us up in this scheme to kill a demon a few years ago and HECU had me and Intelligent placed under house arrest for putting people in danger.”

“Wait, the f@ck?!” Marcus squawked. “How did you do it if it was this Pure mofo’s fault?”

“We were accomplices,” Spyper said. “That, and I kinda helped him escape from HECU when they had us cornered in an apartment…”

“And we lied to an HECU officer so they would help us,” Intelligent added, wincing.

Cally nodded. “Yeah, that would sour relationships. I remember Marcus lying to a teacher to cover for me when I was stuck at home once.”

“I still think I should have told her from the start. Your parents not letting you go to school because your room wasn’t clean isn’t even fair.”

“Yikes. Your parents sound horrible,” Spyper frowned.

“Eh, they tried,” Cally replied. “I- hey, check out that guy. Is there a cosplay convention around?”

The group followed Callys gaze and saw a guy in a Jason Vorhees costume sitting at a table nearby.

“What the hell…?” Spyper whispered, raising an eyebrow.

Marcus put his hand back on his gun. “Don’t look at him.”

“Please tell me there’s not a Freak who looks like that,” Intelligent winced, averting his gaze from the costumed patron.

“How would I know?” Spyper asked.

“There isn’t,” Cally replied.

“So either that’s someone who’s way too into cosplay, or we’ve got a Team Killer wannabe on our hands,” Spyper winced.

Ari shuddered. “Team Killer?”

“A pretty infamous Freak. He kills anyone who wears red.”

Marcus looked at his clothes, took off his red sneakers, and put them in the garbage.

“Good call,” Spyper said. “I have an extra pair of brown boots in my van if you want them.”

“Thanks. I-” Marcus froze. What was he feeling? Nothing was touching him, but there was warmth he could feel. Body heat, to be specific. Body heat and the cold, sharp blade of a… oh, no. “...Ari, sit still and close your eyes.”

“What, why?” Ari whimpered.

“Because my sense of touch is now bullsh@t levels of keen, and the world won’t let us rest,” Marcus replied- then pulled out his gun and fired.

A scream filled the restaurant and a Spy decloaked behind the Trio, collapsing to the floor in a bloody heap.

Cally gagged. “WHAT THE F-”

“SH_T WE GOTTA GO!” Spyper screamed as the entire restaurant was sent into panic. He and Intelligent Heavy grabbed the Trio and ran out the front door to the van, leaving the masked figure to follow them.

Cally slammed the door once they made it, locking it. “DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE-”

Spyper jammed the keys into the ignition and slammed on the gas, sending the car lurching forward. “Ok, who the hell was that!?”

“I don’t know!” Marcus replied. “I just felt him come closer!”

“You felt him?! The hell does that mean?!” Cally shouted.

“It’s like I could feel... like my sense of touch got way keener.”

“It’s the power of the Body,” Intelligent said, watching the restaurant from the rear-view mirror. “The Body enhances all human senses.”

“I hate this power so much,” groaned Marcus- and then something shot out Spyper’s tires. “OH, THAT’S BULLSH@T!”

“GAH! What just happened!?” Spyper screamed, jerking the wheel to stay on the road.

Cally looked out the window. “Guys, we got company!”

“Who is it!? I can’t look away from the road!” Spyper shouted, fighting against the pull of the blown tire.

“I see at least five people.” Cally squinted. “And one of them is pointing a rifle at us.”

“Oh sh_t, it’s Brutal!” Intelligent hissed. “Since when is he still good with a rifle!?”

Marcus scowled. “Do you guys have a rifle?”

“Check in the compartment under my bed! My old rifle should be under there!” Spyper grunted as another car slammed into his van.

Marcus pulled out the weapon, loaded it, and headed to the top of the van, where he opened the trapdoor and came out, aiming for the drivers of the closest car. “EAT LEAD, MOTHERF@CKER!”

He fired into the car and the front windshield shattered on impact before the car began veering off the road, its driver out of commission.

Ari whimpered in the back, and Cally went to go hold him.

“Hang on to your hats!” Spyper shouted, reaching for the clutch. “We’re about to go airborne!”

"SH@T!" Before Marcus could go back in, he found himself in a struggle for the rifle with Brutal. "Get lost, you son of a b@tch!" he snapped.

“Not until you get lost first!” Brutal hissed, trying to kick Marcus off the van.

Marcus, deciding the rifle wasn’t worth it, let it go and ducked back into the van, only for the Sniper to prevent him from closing the door.

“You’re not getting away that easy!”

Ari screamed, and Cally panicked, reaching for the nearest knife.

“Get the hell OUT!” Intelligent screamed, trying to slam the trapdoor shut to keep Brutal out.

The back door to the van opened, and a Scout with a hole in his chest, no eyes, and chains coming out of the hole hissed at the Trio, grabbing Marcus with the chains and trying to pull him out. “MOTHERF-”

Quickly slamming the trapdoor in Brutals face, Intelligent ran to the vans back door and tried to rip the chains off of Marcus’ leg. “Let him go!”

“Get off me, 2 Chainz!” Marcus squawked.

2 Chainz hissed and yanked Marcus out of the van and on to the open road where their fight continued.

“MARCUS!” Ari screamed, running to the door.

Marcus got up, holding his side, then looked at his knife. “You wanna go, weirdo?!” he asked challengingly.

2 Chainz snarled and the chains from his chest angled towards Marcus, tipped with razor sharp blades.

Marcus didn’t back down. “COME ON!” he shouted. “You want some so bad?! Come get some!”

2 Chainz lunged at Marcus, slashing at him with his claws and bladed chains.

Marcus caught one chain and tried to wrap it around 2 Chainz’s neck, ready to strangle him.

As they brawled in the road, traffic was eventually jammed and several people got out of their cars to begin recording the whole fight.

It didn’t take long for people to begin watching, including HECU.

“COMMANDER! WE GOT A LOCATION! ONE OF THE THREE KIDS IS FIGHTING A NEW FREAK!” cried an intern.

Rudra came barreling down the hallway to see the feed. “What the - Who’s recording this footage!?”

“Multiple people! I’ve got a squad on the way!”

On the screen, Marcus turned to whoever was holding the camera. “AYO! YOU ENJOYING THE SHOW?! HOW ABOUT YOU BE IN IT AND HELP ME?!” he snapped.

“What!? I can’t fight!” The bystander cried.

“YOU GOT A CAR, DON’T YOU?! GET IN IT AND RUN THIS F@CKER OVER!”

The bystander dropped their phone and ran back to their car to do exactly that. Cranking their car, they drove through the traffic and barreled straight for 2 Chainz as Marcus leapt out of the way.

As 2 Chainz found himself occupied, Marcus dropped the knife and took a breath as Spyper doubled back to pick him up.

“Marcus! Marcus, come on!” Ari shouted in fright. He was leaning out the back of the van, holding out their hands to catch Marcus.

The teenager ran to meet her, reaching for his ticket out when Brutal leapt from the top of the van and tackled him to the pavement.

“You’re not going anywhere!”

“HEY!” Marcus snapped. He rolled onto his back and kicked Brutal off before quickly leaping back to his feet. “That’s my ride!”

“Not while I’m here!” Brutal grinned, brandishing his shiv.

“You’re sooooo tough with that knife, aren’t ya? I dropped mine, now drop yours! Fight me like a man!”

“And risk you getting away? Not a chance, bloke,” Brutal hissed, charging at Marcus.

Ari gasped. “We gotta get over there!” she cried. “Marcus isn’t gonna win this fight!”

“Hang on! Road safety laws, prepare to be IGNORED!” Spyper shouted, jerking the wheel back. His van veered sharply to the left and began careening straight for Brutal, only for a Medic in a mask to appear and call up giant spikes to block the van’s path. Spyper screamed in surprise and slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding crashing into them.

“Marcus! We can’t get through!” Spyper called.

Marcus scowled. “Well, I guess I’m throwing hands,” he grumbled, cracking his knuckles.

“Soon enough, you won’t have any hands to throw!” Brutal bit back, pulling yet another blade from his vest.

“Another knife. Coward,” Marcus sneered, then charged.

Marcus quickly grabbed Brutal by his wrists and forced the Sniper back, keeping Brutal from swinging the knives. Brutal hissed and kicked Marcus in the leg and shoved him back towards the spikes. Marcus staggered, but managed to dig his heels into the road to keep his balance.

Marcus, having taken a knife, grinned. “Now it’s fair.”

“Not for long,” Brutal grinned, producing yet another blade from his vest. “I can do this all day!”

“THE F@CK?!”

Brutal chuckled and swung his blades, slowly closing the gap between him and Marcus. “You should have paid more attention to my entry in HECU’s database.”

Meanwhile, the person who’d gotten said database was running scenarios in her mind as Spyper drove, trying to avoid the new Medic Freak. “Alright, so what are these spikes made of?”

“You asking me? Cause I sure as hell don’t know!” Spyper grunted, trying to find a way through the spikes to reach Marcus.

“If I knew that or could figure out a pattern, I could figure out how to take out the spikes and this new guy. Speaking of, do you know him? Because HECU’s files don’t.”

“No, I’ve never seen this Freak before!”

“They sent new ones under the assumption that I’d know all the old ones,” Cally hissed as Ari wrapped a blanket around himself, terrified. Then an idea hit her. “Alright, let’s see. Start driving like crazy. Don’t think, just go.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice!” Spyper grabbed the clutch and jerked it forward, causing his van to go airborne. “Hold on to your a$$es! This is gonna be a bumpy ride!”

The Medic threw spikes as the van flew, and Cally turned to Intelligent. “Your pot. I need you to drop it on his head.”

Intelligent glanced out the window and nodded, taking the pot off his head. “Got it.”

Cally called up to Spyper, “Give Intelligent a clear shot!”

“Already on it!” Spyper spun the wheel and started heading straight for the Medic before sharply pulling up. Without a moment's hesitation, Intelligent leaned out the passenger side window and dropped his pot, shouting triumphantly when it landed squarely on his target's head.

As the Medic clawed at his face, the nightmarish images filling his head, Cally grinned. “Alright. That takes care of him. Now we can get to- MARCUS!”

Marcus, though still fighting valiantly, was squarely on the other end of a beatdown, if the rips in his clothes and visible injuries were any indication. Didn’t seem like he wanted to show it, though; he picked up a broken spike and shouted, “That all you got?!”

“I could do this for eternity!” Brutal cackled, not relenting in his assault on Marcus.

“SH@T!” Cally cried. “Do you have a rope or ladder here, Spyper?”

“Under my bed, there should be a foldable ladder there!”

Cally pulled it out. “Ari, help me throw this to Marcus!”

Ari got up and ran over, grabbing one end while Cally grabbed the other. Then they tossed it to where the fight was happening. “MARCUS! COME ON!”

Marcus immediately dropped the spike and ran to grab the ladder. Leaping for it, he narrowly managed to grab on while avoiding scraping his legs on the spikes below.

Grinning down at Brutal, he held up a middle finger before climbing up and into the front seat.

Marcus smiled in relief once he was in. “Thanks!”

“You ok?” Intelligent asked, already getting out the first aid kit.

Marcus paused, then decided, “Everything hurts.”

“Alright, just hang on.” Intelligent opened the glove compartment and pulled out a small first aid kid. “Uh...I’ve got some bandages and some alcohol wipes. Any chance these will help?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Alright, where’s it hurt at?” Intelligent asked, sitting Marcus up beside him.

“I think it’d be easier to know what doesn’t h- Ari?” Marcus looked over his shoulder to the living quarters of the van. Ari was leaning against the wall and holding her side, his hand red with blood. A knife was laying on the floor nearby covered in blood.

Marcus gasped, all his injuries forgotten. “ARI!” He leapt over the front seats and grabbed Ari as they went down. “Ari, what happened!?”

“Brutal threw a knife,” Ari gulped, gripping Marcus’ arms.

Cally grabbed a first aid kit and went to work, panic written across her face. Ari sucked in breath as Cally set about cleaning the wound with alcohol and wiping away excess blood.

“That stings,” Ari winced, gritting their teeth when Cally stuffed gauze into the wound.

Marcus scowled. “Okay, now I’m p@ssed.”

“Same,” Cally said, a dark coldness in her voice. “It’s personal now.”

“Is Ari ok back there?” Spyper quizzed, flying away from the scene on the road.

“He will be. One of Brutal’s knives that he threw while on the car hit her.”

“It’s not deep, is it?” Intelligent asked worriedly.

“Kinda. They’ll need stitches, but it's not fatal,” Cally said, wrapping up the wound with a clean bandage.

“Do we know anyone who can do stitches?” Marcus asked, wrapping a bandage around his hand.

“Uh...I kinda know how, but I don’t think you want me doing that,” Spyper said, gesturing to the fact that he was still driving.

“Yeeeeah…”

Cally sighed. “I can do some. I need the practice.” Cally poked around in the first aid kit and found a needle and surgical thread inside. “Now hold still, this is probably gonna hurt…” She warned, beginning to sew the wound shut as gently and as steadily as she could.

***

That night, the group had taken up residence in an abandoned shack with just a power outlet. The kids sat watching Marcus’s miniature TV, and Intelligent sat beside Spyper, writing notes.

“Cally seems to be really good on her feet,” he mused. “She came up with that plan to take out someone we didn’t even know about in, what, half a minute?”

“You think part of that's coming from her powers?” Spyper asked, glancing over at Cally.

“Maybe. It makes me want to run tests, but I’m pretty sure Marcus would turn me into a pencil with all the lead he’d put in me if I tried.”

“I think we should leave that to HECU,” Spyper remarked, taking a sip of his drink. “Not that Marcus would let them do that either, but still.”

“He’s incredibly protective. And he looks more p@ssed now than he did when he was the one being threatened or getting the sh@t beaten out of him.”

“That’s true for anyone who’s close to their friends. I mean, if I got threatened, you’d be pretty p_ssed too.”

“Yeah,” Intelligent nodded. Spyper lit a cigarette, then noticed his phone ringing.

“Hey Intelligent, can you get that? I’m expecting a call from Madic.”

Intelligent reached over and picked up the phone, holding it awkwardly in his large hands.

It was an unknown number. Weird. Intelligent swiped to answer and held the phone to his ear. “Hello? Who is this?”

“Hello, Intelligent,” an all too familiar voice greeted in a cold tone. “Enjoying the peace and quiet?”

“Gentle. What do you want?” Intelligent hissed, pulling out a laptop and hooking it up to the phone.

“Just wanted to catch up. Give you a little grief for screwing Brutal over earlier today.”

“I didn’t do that. Marcus did. I’m proud of the kid for lasting as long as he did.”

Marcus, noticing the call, had gotten up to come over and listen. When he heard his name, he cut in. “Someone call my name?”

“It’s Gentlespy,” Intelligent replied, focusing on his computer screen. “Keep him talking, I’m trying to track his phone.”

Marcus hissed. “You motherf@cker. If you were here I’d-”

“I saw your fight with Brutal. I know exactly what you would do if I was there.”

“Then thank whatever god you pray to that you’re not. The hell are you even after?”

“Haven’t we already made this clear to you? We want you three gone.”

“You wouldn’t even have to deal with us if your stupid @sses hadn’t come after us. We knew jack sh@t about this whole thing.”

“Oh well. Hindsight is 20/20.”

“Yeah. And regret is a nasty feeling.”

“Is everything okay over there?” called Ari nervously.

“Considering who’s on the other line? Probably not,” Intelligent replied.

Ari came over, still holding their aching side. “Who is it?”

“Gentlespy.”

Ari tensed. “What does he want?” he whined. “Is the other guy with him?”

“I’m not sure. Just try to relax. You don’t want to pull any of those stitches out.”

Marcus hissed. “If your pal is with you, put him on. I got something I wanna say to him.”

“I don’t see why not. Once you and your friends are out of the way, you won’t be saying much anymore.”

Marcus grunted and cracked his knuckles. “Just put him on, I don’t want to listen to your pretentious-@ss voice anymore.”

A scoff came from the phone as it was handed off to the Sniper Freak. “What do you gotta say?” Brutal hissed.

Marcus spat on the ground. “Well, pal, listen. I’m not a hard guy to p@ss off. Really, you could throw a rock at me and I'd get mad. And I was content to just run my @ss off to avoid you f@ckers. That said, I am a hard guy to make an enemy out of. It takes you trying to kill me or the ones I love. And you did that. Like, way beyond that. When you put your disgusting hands on Ari. So now that we're enemies, I am gonna rain unholy hell down on you, your friends, and your entire plan,” he growled, eyes flashing with the blood-red power of the Body.

Intelligent looked up and silently gestured to his computer as a location popped up. “I’ve got Gentle’s location. They’re about five blocks away from here in an old warehouse,” He said quietly.

Marcus cocked his gun and hung up. “Then let’s go.”

“What are you doing? We still need to head to HECU and Ari needs to recover. We can’t go after them,” Spyper warned. “Especially not when they could have backup.”

Marcus huffed. “We can’t stay here! They’re five blocks away!” he snapped. “If they figure that out, Ari won’t have time to recover!”

“Then let's get out of here!” Spyper said, grabbing his keys and starting for the door.

#Freak fortress #team fortress 2 #Only Human #Spyper #Intelligent Heavy #Christian Brutal Sniper #Marcus #Cally #Ari #Gentlespy

[justicealwaysprevails]

fallibility.

WHO: Bruce Wayne @justicealwaysprevails, Slade Wilson @terminator-deathstroke, Jason Todd @thatsjasonfkntodd, Tim Drake @redrobin-timdrake, Damian Wayne @sonofabct, & Duke Thomas @missed-signals, mentions of Dick Grayson @amazingflyingdick WHERE: The hospital WHEN: Backdated to June 30th, 2020 WHAT: A short discussion in Dick’s room about the night’s events

Bruce: Bruce waited until there was some news before he made a few phone calls. He passed along the information in a tone that was calm if not flat, simply stating that the doctors had performed surgery and Dick was unconscious, but the coma was medically induced. It was a good sign that he'd survived this long and he made sure they knew that. He knew they were all worried. Nothing he said was untrue, he wouldn't go that far even if it meant putting them at ease, and Bruce hoped his tendency toward harsh honesty in the past might provide some comfort now.

He asked Tim to bring a change of clothes to the hospital for Jason. The staff had nothing to offer and Bruce didn't want to draw attention to him. No one seemed to make the connection, but Bruce Wayne had more than one son and perhaps it was too impossible to imagine.

After hanging up with the last of them, he returned to the room where they were allowed to sit with Dick. "The others are on their way. Tim is bringing you clothes." It was the last thing he said for a while.

Damian: Damian hadn't been too far from the hospital when he received the phone call. For the longest time he was silent as Bruce explained the situation and when the call was done, he wasted no time in making his way to the building to meet up with everyone. There must have been a chilling expression on his face when he arrived, because several of the patients and guests in the waiting room took a look at him; got interested that Robin was making an appearance; and then immediately backed down and looked away as he ignored them and gathered directions to Dick's room.

Upon arrival, he saw his Father and gave him a quiet nod before taking up a position leaning against one of the walls - his gaze locked on Dick's unconscious body. How could something like this happen? To Dick, of all people? The more he thought about it, the angrier he got - and the angrier he got, the more icily silent he grew. Tim: Tim had been working on the encryption for NOVA correspondences when he got the call from Bruce. He had listened, face impassive. He was a different man than when Bruce had told him about Steph. Back then, he hadn't really been a man at all. Now, he certainly didn't take it the same way. His expression became as blank as Bruce's often was as he hummed his agreement on each point.

Tim had always had a special sort of closeness with Dick that he didn't have with really anyone else but Steph. It wasn't as if he and Jason were close. Or he and Damian. To hear that Dick might be in danger or fighting for his life threatened to draw out any number of emotions. All of them were repressed in favor of action. He told Steph what was going on in the same kind of removed voice. She knew him, so she'd know he was trying not to instantly self destruct. Tim didn't cry anymore, really, and he knew that getting hyper emotional could be dangerous in their line of work. So he was calm, though there was a waver in his voice when she handed him a thermos full of coffee and he made his way up to grab a set of clothes. He didn't think much of aesthetic. Hoodie, sweats, shirt. He didn't think much about the variation of height between him and Jason. All he was thinking about was Dick. The possibility of Dick being gone.

Medically induced coma. Gunshot to the head. The survivability of that wasn't great. And if he did live, what complications would there be? His memory? His emotions? His balance? He may live but how my physical therapy would he need? Already, Tim's mind began to fixate on machines he could build or programs he could design to help Dick should something like that happen. He and Duke left without much more preamble. Tim didn't say much of anything on the way over, mind still stuck in his loops. In truth, he almost forgot Duke was there, because he had begun to get fixated on what could be done.

When they arrived at the hospital, Tim's face was that same blank expression as he told them who they were and they were quickly directed to the right room. When he took in the scene: Dick looking small in a hospital bed with everyone around it looking grim and silent... it transported him right back to another death in the family. Another Robin fighting for their life. Steph had lost. She'd died. What if Dick died too? Would they make him a grave?

That was likely altogether too morbid. He pushed it down as he wordlessly held out the bag of clothes to Jason. "What do the nurses say?" He asked no one in particular, his gaze remaining settled on his big brother where he lay. Duke: Duke had been in Star City not even six full hours when they got the news about Dick. He hadn't even seen Bruce yet, or had a proper conversation with Tim, before getting woken up by a phone call. He found Tim downstairs and gave him his space while he spoke to Steph and Babs, but he knew the situation was grim and he wasn't in the mood to put up an act about it.

At this point he knew Tim (and the others) well enough to know when to talk and when to not say anything. So on the way over he was also quiet, his gaze turned out the window, and tried to put the pieces together in his own head instead of speculating aloud. He knew it would be bad for everyone if Dick didn't survive this, but he tried to convince himself that wasn't going to be the outcome.

When they reached the hospital he walked next to him and slightly behind. As they reached the door he caught sight of Tim's blank expression and he reached over to press his arm reassuringly. His hand slipped away as they walked inside. The atmosphere was tense and his gaze went straight to Jason because of the blood on his clothes. Duke tried not to react but he couldn't help a wince. "Hey," he said awkwardly, also acknowledging Bruce and Damian since he hadn't had a chance to see them yet. This wasn't the best place for a reunion, either.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he studied Damian for a few seconds with a small frown as he took in how he looked, concerned, but he didn't say anything to him yet. "Yeah, any more news?" Jason: Maybe he should have found some kind of relief in the others being there, but the sudden influx of bodies, even while they were accompanied by little talking, was not welcome at all. He didn’t greet any of them, but silently took the bag of clothes from Tim and was still holding them when Duke arrived right after. He was the only one out of all of them that had actually seen him, and the evidence was all over him. It was going to be a lot longer before they got real news, he was certain. Even excusing the hole in his head, Dick had lost an alarming amount of blood.

“Better settle in,” he finally said, though which of them he was speaking to wasn’t clear. That was all he offered before he walked out with the clothes to find somewhere away from them to change and clean up. Slade: Slade hadn't really begun to worry until it got very late and he hadn't heard from Dick. He wasn't the sort to helicopter someone he thought was competent as Dick was. However, Dick hadn't reached out and he hadn't confirmed any sign of life when Slade texted him. It had begun to stress him out. Then it had been simple, as it got even later, to have Billy triangulate the signal from Dick's cell phone.

The hospital was a far enough drive that Slade was thoroughly pissed off by the time he arrived. Of course, no one would have thought to call him. Why should they? Even if Dick was all but living with Slade now, his family certainly had no loyalty to him. But if he was seriously hurt, the assassin was going to find out why and then it would just be a matter of how.

As he stepped up into the nurse's station, she had cowed under the look he gave. He was a massively large man and he was asking where Dick Grayson was. When she had the audacity to ask if he was family, Slade all but snarled out: "I'm his partner." It wasn't quite like that, yet, but he knew what he had to say in order to get inside.

When he had the room number, Slade barely saw any of the rest of Wayne's orphans, or even Wayne himself. Of course he was aware of them, but he certainly wasn't here for them. He stared hard for a moment at Dick in the hospital bed, moving up beside it to reach out. There was a machine beeping out Dick's pulse, but Slade ignored it in favor of his own ears and touch. He could hear the familiar sound of Dick's heart, but was working overtime to try to fix him. And his fingers dropped down so two could press to the vein on Dick's inner wrist.

"What happened?" He growled. Bruce: Damian's arrival troubled him. Bruce moved away from the window to go to where he was standing against the wall, prepared to speak, but Tim and Duke's arrival distracted him from it. He was grateful that Jason could change into something else so no one would have to see the amount of blood that soaked his clothes. It was disturbing, especially now that he'd had time to see Dick and take note of how pallid he was. The nurses had given him blood. It seemed never-ending.

"They believe he'll only be out for a few days. It was a precautionary measure." They had been worried about swelling. Bruce wasn't blind to the fact that Dick was receiving more care than any other patient would have had the luxury of experiencing. There were already two doctors involved and a third coming in from a neurological center in LA. "They are optimistic that he will survive it." They made it clear they weren't sure how he would be affected in the long term, but that was something he didn't bring up right now. He saw how Damian looked and he knew how Tim's mind could overrun with possibilities. It was better if they focused on certainties instead.

He did not expect Deathstroke. It was one thing to know what was going on, to hear it confirmed by Dick, and have an understanding of the situation. That didn't mean he believed Dick was making a wise decision. It also didn't mean it would be natural for him to accept Slade's presence in a room with his family, one of them comatose, and in that moment of shock it didn't really matter what he knew. He moved around to the other side of the bed and snatched Slade's wrist as he took Dick's pulse, his eyes narrowing. It was an instinctive, protective gesture, but one he didn't fully process until after he'd made it. "Don't touch him." Damian: Damian's gaze never left Dick even as more members of his family entered the room; even as Slade Wilson himself walked into the room and immediately went to Dick's side to check his pulse. His gaze didn't budge until Bruce's protective gesture had slipped past his lips. "Father." The word was soft and followed by a small shake of his head. This wasn't the time or the place to have any sort of confrontation - and honestly, Damian wasn't sure he had it in him right now to even engage someone. "Who did this?" He questioned at length. "Did Jason see anything? Say anything?" Tim: Tim watched Jason go and then watched him be overtaken by Slade Wilson before shaking his head. He was prepared, if Bruce turned this into an altercation. Tim would be at his side in a moment.

Looking to Duke, Tim realized that he had no idea what was going on. None. "Dick and Slade Wilson are... involved," he murmured lowly. "It's a new revelation, but an old connection, I guess."

Duke: Even though he was officially and legally part of the family, Duke still occasionally felt out of place. It didn't help that he'd stayed behind in Gotham instead of electing to move with the rest of them. Eventually he decided to bite the bullet and just do it, especially because it seemed like they were needed more here.

He'd taken a seat close to the door, which meant Deathstroke walked right by him. Shocked, he was on his feet in seconds, confused, and his gaze went to Tim and Damian to gauge their reactions. He knew what Tim said, but he felt like he needed to hear it again. "Excuse me, what?" Jason: Jason lingered in the bathroom quite awhile longer than necessary. Tim had obviously not looked at the clothes he’d brought him, and they probably belonged to him, because the pants were too short and the rest felt too tight. He considered just leaving the hospital altogether, he’d have to as soon as the SCPD sent someone anyway, but he wanted to be there when someone gave them an update. Whatever that update was. So he dealt with the clothes, cuffing the bottom of the pants to make it look less like he’d just hit a sudden growth spurt, and washed the blood off his hands and the places on his face and hair that he’d touched. He took another minute to send Roy a message, tell him where he was, why, that he’d be back soon. Roy was one of Dick’s best friends. He should know.

He didn’t expect to be walking back in to see the massive form of Slade lumbering by the bed, but he seemed to be the least surprised by it judging by the look on everyone else’s face. Especially Bruce’s. He rarely saw him quite so expressive. As much as he’d have ordinarily liked to stand back and watch them fuck each other up, the reason they were all in one room had sort of robbed him of the desire to do much more than exist in the space, figure out whether Dick was going to get to walk out of it, and leave.

“Chill, B. Dick would want him here.” As weird as it was, as much of an issue as it was, he felt pretty sure about that part. Dick had made his choices. Slade: The moment he felt Bruce's grip, Slade's head shot up. That was rich. As if he was going to walk in in plainclothes, the legal way, with intent to harm Dick? He knew that Wayne knew about them, that he knew what Dick meant to Slade. He also knew that recently he had dug a tracker out of Dick's arm and seen the disappointment on his face as he talked about Wayne putting it there.

"Take your hand off me, Wayne, or I'll break your arm in front of all your kids." There was no batsuit and no gadgets to protect Bruce. Slade had defeated him when he was fully specced out. Slade may be in plainclothes, but he could never stop being a metahuman. He had respect for Bruce Wayne in many ways, and he would rather not humiliate him in front of his children and then subsequently have to fight them, but he wasn't leaving this hospital room and he wasn't going to be ordered away from Dick. "I wouldn't hurt him. Especially not in plain view of everyone in this room. Why don't you focus on the people who might *actually *need you, if you're not going to give me anything relevant?"

Slade was surprised to hear Jason speak in his favor. Damian, not so much. The pair of them had worked together before. He liked the youngest batkid. He might have liked Jason had he not been such a pain in the ass. He looked to Damian. "Fill me in, kid," he said, knowing that he might actually get an answer other than hostility from Talia's kid.

Bruce: Bruce was pragmatic and logical enough to understand that challenging Deathstroke in a hospital room as his family looked on was not a wise decision. It hadn't mattered in the few seconds he'd given over to the anger he'd been harboring since learning of the injury. He could see it mirrored in Damian, even if his son were able to contain it, and it concerned him.

Jason's odd demeanor, too, concerned him, and it was their efforts to deescalate the situation that had him releasing Slade's wrist. Regardless of his own opinions, he didn't actually believe Slade was a danger to Dick. At least not right now. Bruce hadn't believed it back then, either, but then things had ultimately changed. They could always change again.

"He doesn't know anything." Damian had just asked him questions, after all, but Bruce wasn't eager to answer them in front of Slade. But he knew he would find out eventually. It made no difference if it came from him or one of the others. Considering multiple factors at play, he was the best option. "Jason didn't see anything," he said that without any doubt, because he wouldn't have left something like that out. When he directed the explanation to Slade his voice shifted in tone and became more matter-of-fact. "Dick came across someone on patrol." He had no idea how old this person was. He'd been referred to as a kid. That could span several years. "A kid, someone small enough to carry. He asked them their name and they gave the name Gary Kemp. After that there was no more contact with him." Who knows what could have happened after Barbara lost communication, or if the kid had even been the shooter. Damian: As his siblings spoke up and quieted back down, Damian let out a quiet breath. He was relieved when Bruce finally let go of the man - but not as relieved when he cut in to tell Slade that he didn't know anything. It wasn't a lie - he was as in the dark as everyone else; but he could've told Slade that himself. He gave Slade a look as if he were about to say something, but then his Father began explaining what they knew - and every ounce of his attention was diverted to the words he spoke. Damian's fists slowly curled at his sides. This was because of some kid? Who the hell were they? Gary Kemp... that name sounded familiar to him, but Damian couldn't place why. He hadn't exactly been in-town when Dick had taken the agent's life, but he was familiar with the incident thanks to the family's 'record keeping'. "That's it?" The question came out sharply. Tim: Tim was only half-listening. Still processing. However, the name that Bruce said had him tuning back in. "Kemp?" He repeated. "Gary Kemp. It's the name of the NOVA officer that Dick killed when he was undercover. The murder he publicly admitted to." He pushed to his feet, coming to the foot of the bed. "I'm willing to bet that the kid was a plant. Bait for Dick. NOVA has been shown to be conniving before."

Tim looked at Bruce. "It was NOVA. Or at the very least a non-affiliated NOVA sympathizer of the organization or Kemp."

Duke: Duke was stunned, but he didn't ask another question even though he had about fifty. He learned by now that it was better not to ask questions. The name Gary Kemp was familiar to him, too, and when Tim clarified where it came from he nodded. It had been news in Gotham because Dick was Bruce's son, but that was the only reason he knew anything about it. He hadn't asked Dick for details. He was pretty sure that wouldn't have gone over well.

"Doesn't Nightwing's mask record? He was on patrol, right?" Dick was shot in the head, which probably meant the mask wasn't in great shape. The thought made him wince. "I mean, even if it's... damaged, maybe it can be recovered." Jason: “Dick didn’t know who shot him. He said so. He was...he could talk for a few minutes.” Once he’d stopped hallucinating that Jason was 14 and visiting Bludhaven, anyway. “Doubt it was the kid.”

He leaned against a space of wall as far from the bed as he could get while still being in the room. “I have his mask, but I wouldn’t count on getting much out of it.” They might get lucky, but he sure as hell didn’t feel like it. Jason had his bloody clothes shoved in the bag Tim had brought and reached in to take the mask out of the pile to hold out for whoever took it first. Slade: Slade listened if only because, once he knew who to gun for, he was going to take care of it. NOVA had been in Star City for years at this point and Slade hadn't cared about it. He was a metahuman, but he wasn't exactly worried about the organization. If various governments of various countries couldn't take him down, he hadn't needed to concern himself. Now, however, he did. They had had the audacity to go after someone relevant to Slade. Now, they needed to be dealt with.

As Jason held out the mask, he watched the others. He wasn't going to take it. He usually left tech to Wintergreen and he was willing to bet one of the others was more savvy than he was. They'd know more quickly than he did. Instead, he simply stayed by Dick's side and waited for what he needed. Over Bruce's shoulder, Slade locked eyes with Damian. If there was anyone in this room he might consider working with beyond Dick himself, it might be an Al Ghul. Damian was Bruce's, but he was also Talia. Slade and Talia had been close. And Damian was proving himself to be more like Talia than Bruce Wayne, wasn't he? Bruce: Bruce took the mask. He didn't know how salvageable it would be, but it would be work taking a look at. When Jason said that Dick had been talking he looked up at him, frowning. "Did he say anything else?"

Even though he was distracted by the news, he knew better than to turn fully away from Slade. He paid attention to him, even if it were in his peripheral. If he noticed he was looking in Damian's direction he didn't say anything, but he knew he would have to have a talk with Damian later about everything. He expected everyone to be impacted by this, but Damian in particular had already suffered a setback because of what happened with the league. Damian: "If this was NOVA..." Damian started and shook his head slowly. If this had been NOVA, then clearly the Avenging League wasn't doing a good enough job at finding information to help bring the organization to heel. He dropped his gaze to the ground, but when he lifted it once more it locked with that of Slade. He looked back for a moment before narrowing his gaze in a challenging and confusing look before peeling his eyes away to look at Dick's mask as his father took it. "Jason, where did you say you found him?" He questioned and looked at the man. If he knew a location - he knew where he could start looking into things for himself. It wasn't that he didn't trust his family - he needed answers for himself. Tim: Tim moved to Bruce's side automatically, wanting to see and hear as well as he could. He knew all the efforts that the League was making. He was a big part of the tech efforts to take them down. It was slowgoing, but if they were attacking people like Dick, that needed to be rectified immediately. Still, he keep quiet, waiting for Jason's answer.

He knew that Duke was still sitting baffled. He'd explain everything to him after this. But right now he had to focus on facts. On understanding and making it all make sense. He could deal with Duke's emotions later if he could get past where his mind was looping right now.

Duke: Duke was very confused, but he wasn't dumb enough to think that his stupid questions should take precedent over the issue of who shot Dick in the head, so he was thoughtful enough to keep quiet. He'd only sat down when he realized Bruce and Slade weren't about to fight. It seemed like a real possibility at first.

Pressing his lips together, his gaze shifted to Tim and he thought about asking him if he could get footage off of something that looked so busted up. He reconsidered when he realized how distracted he was, abandoning his own curiosity to let Jason answer all the questions that had been directed at him. Jason: “He was a couple of blocks from Roy’s place. I was close. Babs sent the coordinates. The kid must have been waiting in one of the alleys, Dick was by the dumpster in the back. I-“ he licked his lips, remembering seeing the blood before he saw Dick at all, “I doubt anyone else saw what happened.”

Had he said anything else? Yeah. Yeah, he’d said more, but none of it was relevant to anybody in that room except for Jason and he wasn’t in the mood to share with the class. They’d had what felt like one of those end of the world moments, and that needed to just be between them. It wasn’t going to solve anything about NOVA or what happened. “Nothing relevant,” he eventually answered. Slade: Slade listened, setting his jaw before resolving himself and turning for a chair in the corner. Placing it beside the bed, he settled himself. His mind was already working, but for now he was staying right where he was.

Reaching for his phone, he pulled it free to send some messages. One he sent to Wintergreen requesting all relevant data he could discover about NOVA and its facilities, a few others he sent to contacts in Star City to start a recon process where they could.

The final one he sent right to Damian Wayne. Since he didn’t seem able to grasp what Slade wanted from meaningful looks, Slade was going to start the conversation. Or perhaps the kid had already been thinking it.

Don’t be obvious or BW will figure out that I’m talking to you. It was a risk to ask him anything, but the set Damian’s jaw reminded Slade of his own anger, though he kept his under wraps. Let’s talk when we can steal a moment. Bruce: As Tim approached, Bruce silently folded the mask so the blood was less visible, careful not to damage it further. He did hand it over so Tim could look at it instead - not that he fell short on his personal technological ability, but he believed Tim might be able to do it faster.

Jason's answer made him hesitate before giving a nod. "The coma was medically induced. They're going to take him out of it in a few days. He might not remember anything." He was operating on the assumption that Dick would wake up, but he'd made it this long. His vitals were stable.

One of the nurses came in to check the machines. While she was working Bruce took notice of Slade's incessant texting, but he said nothing about it. Once the nurse was finished she nervously told Bruce that the doctor wanted to speak with him and motioned for him to follow her out of the room. He went with her even though it went against all of his instincts to leave all of them with Slade, but he also knew he wouldn't do anything. Not here, at least. Damian: A few blocks from Roy's place. That was at least some sort of a starting place. He listened as Jason stated there wasn't anything else relevant that was mentioned and watched his father pass the mask over to Tim. Normally, he would've smarted something off about not needing Tim to do the work that either Bruce or himself could handle - but instead, he just gave the male a look. "Work quickly?" He stated in a tone that was more of a request than a snark. When the nurse came to check the machines and finally relieved Bruce so he could speak with one of the doctors, Damian finally checked his phone. The message from Slade was unexpected and he read it a couple of times over before replying - making it seem like he was searching something up instead of sending a simple text response.

What? Why do you need to talk to me? You know something? The message made his confusion at the request evident and Damian fiddled with the phone a few moments more before pocketing it and finally peeling himself off the wall. "There isn't anything else we can do standing around here, right?" He questioned rhetorically, looking at his siblings and then back to Dick. "I can't just keep standing here staring at him... I need air. Someone update me with what the doctors say when Father returns." The teen stated and made his way towards the door. He quietly slipped out before quickly making his way down the hall towards one of the hospital's secondary entrances instead of the main doors. I'll find you. He sent the text to Slade and let out a slow breath. Tim: Tim took the mask. He didn't even have a quip for Damian. As if he wouldn't work quickly. Idiot. He was too preoccupied to retort. Instead, he nodded. He didn't ask whose blood was on the mask. He knew the answer and he didn't want to consider it. Instead, he shook his head. "I'll take it back to the Batcave," he said. "I'll let you know when I have something."

He gave one last long and lingering look to Dick before following Bruce out. "You comin' Duke?" he asked in the doorway.

Duke: "Uh, yeah." Duke definitely wasn't going to stay behind and try to act like this wasn't weird. He stood up, sighing softly, and paused before actually following after Tim so he could speak to Jason. "Hey, man. What about you? You coming?" It felt weird leaving Dick alone with Deathstroke even though apparently that was okay, but this was all brand new information. He had no idea how to feel about it, but it was also none of his business. Jason: “No. I’m sticking around for now.” He wanted to know what was said to Bruce, and right then didn’t particularly care who else was around or not around. It was less hypothetical for him. He’d seen the damage first hand, before the surgery, before Dick looked all peaceful in the bed. He’d bail before the cops got there, but he’d stay until then.

With the others gone, though, it just left him in the room with Slade and Dick. “If you want a minute I’ll step out.” He’d turned himself in to the SCPD to keep Slade behind bars, but not only had that been a stupid fucking plan that did not work and infinitely complicated his own life, Dick had turned all the circumstances for doing it on their head. Jason still thought he was being an idiot getting involved with Slade, but that was Dick’s call to make and he’d made it. It was happening. He wasn’t so much of an ass as to make it about himself, despite all previous accusations thrown at him. He could wait for Bruce in the hall the same as he could wait for him in the room. Slade: “I don’t care if you stay,” Slade said. He’d barely notice him, honestly. He was only here to watch Dick and he doubted that Jason would tell him anything about what he had seen. They weren’t exactly cordial. Besides, there wasn’t much of a moment to be had. Dick was unconscious. All Slade could do would be to make a phone call, but he could explain to Billy everything he needed in the NOVA facility from his phone. He’d already initiated the process and Billy had access to his assets to bribe their way into a double agent. As soon as Dick was fully in the clear and awake, Slade would mobilize. He could do it alone, but he hoped Talia’s son would consent to join him. He had a good mind and none of the hesitations of his father, it seemed.

“I won’t be leaving until he wakes up, but I give my word I’d never harm him while he was like this.” He would say ‘at all’, but Slade had done emotional harm to Dick in the past and he couldn’t guarantee the future if he were to misstep. He didn’t give his word unless he could most certainly keep it. Bruce: It was another ten or fifteen minutes before Bruce returned. His expression was no longer grim, but he didn't look any less tired than before. He was surprised to find only Jason and Slade there upon his return and paused in the doorway, frowning. It was no secret to him that Jason and Slade's involvement in what happened at the docks and Jason's confession were what brought Slade to jail in the first place. But he knew at least Jason wasn't thinking about that right now.

"The surgery went well. The swelling is down. They anticipate bringing him out of the coma within the week. After that they will be better able to assess any lasting effects." That part carried weight, but he pushed past it for now. "No paralysis. Before they put him under, he was responsive." Jason: Jason had stepped out for a little while after Slade gave his non-committal answer and had barely went through the door again when Bruce came inside. It wasn’t bad news. It wasn’t a miracle or anything either. Jason was not, by nature, an optimist. He wasn’t going to run with the good parts and make more of them than what they were, but he was genuinely relieved that it wasn’t worse out of the gate.

He nodded and grabbed his bag of bloody clothes. He’d lingered long enough. Slade had insisted that he was staying and maybe Bruce would do the same, but Jason didn’t have the option. “Call me if anything changes. I’ll be at Roy’s.”

#bruce wayne #slade wilson #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #duke thomas #c: discord

[bigskydreaming]

The Ric Grayson AND Talon storylines both end at the same time, and in the same way:

Great Grandpa Creeper Cobb successfully manipulates Ric into position to be brainwashed and become the Talon that Willie the Weenie has always wanted him to be.....this happens for like, two issues.

Then Grandpa Get Ye To A Graveyard Already fucks up....he accidentally brings Talon Ric within sighting distance of the Court’s latest crop of prospective Talon recruits, including a wee baby ten year old orphan being trained to be a future Talon.

And the essential corn kernel of Dick Grayson’s essence, deep down in his psyche, just fucking POPS like its Orville Redenbacher and someone just nuked it in the microwave.

And the real Dick Grayson comes SHRIEKING to the forefront of Talon!Ric’s brain, nothing subtle about it, and the next thing his Rancid Relative knows, he’s being fucking impaled by his great grandson’s blades as said great grandson, who is SUPPOSED to be docilely brainwashed, wtf, is already halfway across the room, diving into the mass of other Talons like they’re a collection of bowling pins and he’s a wrecking ball straight out of a Miley Cyrus music video, but instead of the caterwauling lyrics “I never hit so haaaaaaaard in love,” Dick’s accompanied by a soundtrack of him screaming:

“I WILL PROTECT YOU SMOL CHILD!!!”

As said smol child is just standing there, staring, like....dude, wut?

And then Dick finishes absolutely DESTROYING everything undead and nefarious in sight like he’s the Tasmanian Devil on meth, and he turns to said smol child and begins the process of Smothering, as his hands flutter all up and down checking for injuries but not touching, like: 

“Did they hurt you are you alright you’re safe now cough once for I’m all good or punch me in the no-no’s if I’m making you feel unsafe, I will make sure you are totally safe from here on out, you are my baby now, I have decided, but like, only if you want to be.”

And smol child is decidedly overwhelmed but Man-Who-Speaks-Like-He-Has-Pixie-Sticks-In-Place-Of-Blood-Vessels seems harmless, if weird, and is definitely preferable to the weird Bird Men who kidnapped him off the streets and tried to teach him how to kill people and make death threats out of nursery rhymes. And he doesn’t have a lot of experience in OTHER subterranean lairs to compare this one too, but he’s decidedly not a fan, so when Dick asks if he would like him to take him to see Batman and Batgirl and Robin and other superheroes who can also reassure him there will be no more homework on How To Torture People Good, he’s like....”yeah I guess. If you want.”

And so Dick scoops him up with glee and takes off through the tunnels, yelling back over his shoulder: “Bye Greatly-Gross-Grandpa, hate you lots, don’t call, don’t write, you’re officially off my Christmas card list, hasta la neeeeeeeeeever.”

Thereupon swiftly grappling across the Bludhaven rooftops, yelling PARKOUR! just because he can and its fun, and its weirdly relaxing for his wee passenger, because look, this dude may be weird as fuck, but he’s clearly got the moves to protect him from the Undead Legions of Ornithologists and he seems too....fun to be evil, like not in the Joker kinda way like he’s seen on TV in previous foster homes where its like, jeez dude, try hard much, but more like an adult who just quit a soul-crushing cubicle-dwelling corporate-craphole job and has suddenly been reminded that the sky is blue, flowers smell good, and there IS a Santa Claus, Virginia.

Thus by the time they arrive at Wayne Manor, with no attempt made to hide where they’re going from his wee passenger’s eyes - Dick has already decided he’s keeping the kid, pending said kid’s approval but look, kids like him and he’s determined to bring his A game to the pitch meeting, so he likes his chances - said wee passenger disembarks in the Batcave but stays close by, clinging to Dick’s side in an ever so slight way that allows for plausible deniability later, once he gets his bearings and also his bravado back.

“Dick?!” Comes the chorus of voices from the rest of the family, who are all there already, by great coincidence and in great defiance of the crapfests in their own individual titles, but also who the fuck cares. And Dick puffs out his chest, cuz he’s putting on a good show for his new kiddo, first impressions are important...

“Tis I, fam! The one true Dick Grayson has returned! Huzzah!”

Look, being completely oblivious to his Greatest Dork Energy coinciding with his Times He Most Attempts To Be Impressive, is like, Peak Dick Grayson characterization, you can trust me, I’m a doctor. 

And Tim’s like, “Why are you dressed like a Talon?”

And Dick’s like, “Isn’t the better question why AREN’T you dressed like a Talon?”

Which makes no sense but shhh, I’m running out of steam here, don’t question the atmosphere, just let it be.

And Bruce is like, “Who’s your friend?”

With like...designs and agendas already in mind, because said wee Talon-to-be is cute and adorable and bravely trying to act like he is not at all intimidated by his surroundings and is in total control of what’s going on like, he meant to be here, this is all according to plan, yes, excellent, everything is progressing nicely....

Which as everyone knows, are the three key essential traits Bruce looks for in prospective adoptees....

So Dick snarls and later blames it on residual Talon-ness, they’re very territorial bird...assassin....people....anyway, the adrenaline is still high and also he has swiftly become attached because whether kiddo knows it or not, Dick 100% credits him with the brainwash-breaking and thus when factored in with the cuteness quotient, what we have here is an instant recipe for Protectiveness slash Possessiveness that would be creepy and inappropriate if this wasn’t pure crack. 

But crack it is, and thus Dick curls a protective arm around the kiddo like the lap-bar on a particularly turbulent roller coaster and applies G-Force sufficient to keep even Superman from prying him out of his hands - but in a gentle, non- ’crushing kinda way that might hurt the kiddo,’ even though physics doesn’t work like that, except look, these are CRACK PHYSICS, they can and they do work like that. 

And he’s all, “I already adopted him, so back off, Bruce, I’ll cut you. But also hi dad, I missed you. In spirit I mean, like I had amnesia and then I was brainwashed so technically its probably a reach to say I missed anyone but just roll with it. Also I can haz hugs now, please?”

And then Damian apparates in front of Dick amid a cloud of Disapproval that’s really just a cover for OMG-I-Was-Without-You-And-It-Was-Terrible-And-I’m-So-Glad-You’re-Back-But-Also-Who-Is-This-Interloper-And-Why-Is-He-Stealing-My-Hug.

“Tt. Grayson. Your absence was...less than desirable. See to it that this doesn’t happen again. Also what is that and why is it here.”

“Aww, Dami, I’m sorry. I promise to install a “please have the nearest available psychic reboot my brain in case of future brain damage slash amnesia” clause in my living will, and soon as I get a free second, I’ll break the fourth wall and blackmail the DC editorial staff into declaring me off-limits for all death, brainwashing and/or kidnapping plots for at least the next four major crossover events. I have naughty pictures. They’ll cave.”

“Hmph,” Dami says. He resumes staring pointedly at the kiddo, who juts his chin defiantly and stares back while clinging more tightly to Dick, because he may have very little clue what’s going on, but he’s a quick one and has at least picked up on the fact that Dick wants him and this other kid wants Dick. Which combined with the rescuing and the kicking of bad guy ass means Dick is probably Quality and In Demand and Of Value, and thus he might as well stake a claim now and worry about whether or not to act on that or skedaddle later, once he’s got more intel. He’s a natural Bat, this one, but then, that’s probably why he was in Toddler Talon Boot Camp, he scored high on whatever weird aptitude tests they used to scope out talent, and by talent we mean murder-skills.

“Dami,” Dick admonishes then, “This isn’t an it, he’s a person, and he was recently traumatized so promise me you’ll be on your best behavior or at least your ‘engaging in shenanigans with Jon’ behavior. And he’s not competition, you’re my Dames and my little bro, and he’s potentially your nephew, which is a whole separate category and no threat to you and your baby bro status at all, so retract the claws. If anything, the real danger is Pops adopting him and thus supplanting you as the official Baby Bird of our generation, so make like an ally and help me get that dangerous “I’m gonna adopt this kid so hard” gleam out of Bruce’s eye before it gets any gleamier. We’re still only halfway through my tearful reunion and having to cut Dad before we even get to cake would be a major mood-killer, but I’ll do it, I swear. Also, get your Baby Bird behind over here and hug me already, I have two arms.”

Damian rolled his eyes but obediently disappeared and reappeared nestled against Dick’s other side in the blink of an eye. The proper application of ninja skills has always been the pursuance of hugs and cuddles. Thus sayeth the crack.

“Hey, I do get cake, right?” Dick asked suddenly, looking around dangerously. “I was amnesiac and also brainwashed, I deserve cake, TELL me there’s gonna be cake.”

“Well that answers whether or not we should be worried about this being an attempted infiltration or not,” Jason says, strolling over casually. “No impostor or brainwashing script-writer could ever duplicate the Essence de Dick so perfectly. Hey squirt. Welcome to the madhouse. I’m Jason, what’s your name?”

“Oh right,” Dick realized, cocking his head. “Hey, what is your name?”

“Really, Dick?” Tim sighed, fondly exasperated. “I realize you like to jump from A straight to Z whenever possible, but steps B through Y aren’t usually just mere suggestions.”

“It hadn’t come up yet,” Dick defended himself.

“Yes, why would it have,” Duke mused from where he was leaning over and snapping his fingers in front of Bruce’s eyes, in a futile attempt at tearing his gaze away from the viable adoption candidate within 20 meters from him. It was probably best that they get this adoption thing inked out and signed off on as soon as possible - it was the only thing that was definitively going to get that “Argh, I’ve spotted treasure ahoy” look out of Bruce’s eyes. And Alfred had been very clear :Bruce was forbidden to adopt any more kids himself until he got a better handle on juggling the six he already had. Which. The past year had...probably not met Alfred’s standards on, so it didn’t seem likely he’d be waiving that requirement any time soon. 

(And nobody wanted to get in between the Unstoppable Force that was Bruce’s ‘must adopt all the orphans’ and the Immovable Object that was Alfred’s ‘must maintain at least a reasonable fascimile of order in this household, even if it is a total sham, appearances matter.’)

“Hey!” Dick protested. “I’ve been busy, okay? There was fighting and then there was parkouring and now we’re reunifying, and it wasn’t like I was just calling him ‘that kid’ in my head, I was calling him ‘my kiddo’ which is a perfectly reasonable identifier and thus more specific detail just....hadn’t been relevant yet!”

“So uh, bee tee dubs, what is your name, buddy?” Dick asked, looking down. His kiddo looked back up at him for a long, measuring moment, and then he shrugged.

“I’ll tell you in exchange for some cake. You said something about there being cake, but I don’t see any.”

Dick got misty-eyed at that. “See? He already prioritizes like me. This was destiny! Also, you heard my kiddo, do we not deserve cake? It has been a very long day, there was murder and mayhem and more. Also, my creeper great grandpa was there being icksome, and you know how much that weirds me out.”

“Come along, Master Dick,” Alfred said then, appearing out of nowhere thanks to his Bat-Butler Magic. “And your young charge as well. I already have your favorite baking in the oven and it should be done shortly. Lemon meringue with raspberry layers.”

“That’s disgusting and I will not participate in any ceremony that treats that as part of a celebration instead of just a weird kind of laxative,” Jason said loftily, though it escaped no one’s notice that he was the first to the stairs.

“Shut your facehole, its delicious and amazing and you will like it or I will kick your ass,” Dick said, equally loftily.

“Boys,” Bruce said with a long-suffering sigh, as the threat of brotherly bloodshed was enough to finally shake him out of his orphan-induced stupor.

“At MARIO KART. I will kick his ass at MARIO KART, ugh, jeez, B, why do you always assume the worst of us?”

“Precedent,” Tim said dryly.

“Who the hell asked the Oompa Loompa Brigade to weigh in with all ninety of his pounds?” Jason called back from the top of the stairs. 

Cass came up on Dick’s left, where the kiddo was one half of the sandwich made by him and Damian on Dick’s other side. She smiled down at him when he directed his still very wide-eyed gaze at her, landing on her after his latest sweep of the cavern and all its contained chaos, as if trying to take it all in - most likely in the hopes that if he could manage that, somehow the last 72 hours of his life might suddenly make sense. He really was adorable.

“Don’t worry,” she beamed at him, reaching out to pat him comfortingly on his shoulder, right above where Dick’s arm was still curled around it like a warm blanket - albeit one with the tensile hold of a python. “They’re all crazy, but only in the good ways.”

Duke scoffed as he slipped ahead of them and started taking the stairs two at a time. “It’s funny how you say that like you’re some kind of exception to the rule.”

“Bold words, little brother,” Cass called after him. He only shouted back from the top in a booming voice, his words echoing down the narrow stone stairway dramatically.

“Am I not Batclan?”

“Oooh, is that a new thing we’re doing?” Dick asked excitedly. “Somebody catch me up, I demand context. I smell a story there.”

“It was Jason’s fault,” Tim said automatically. Dick nodded.

“Sure, that tracks. Continue.”

Bruce trailed after his brood of batlings and birdlets, sidling over to where Barbara was waiting for the elevator. The latter having hung back to watch the commotion with the air of one taking notes for repurposing in the form of future blackmail material. Her ever extending network of spies and informants made so much more sense, suddenly.

He cleared his throat while they listened to the hum of the elevator’s machinery as it descended to their level.

“I wasn’t really thinking of adopting the boy,” he said. Not at all sullenly, nor with a trace of defensiveness to be found.

“Of course you weren’t, Bruce,” Barbara said. She patted his arm fondly, with all the conviction of a kindergarten teacher whose student was attempting to claim innocence on the matter of a paint disaster perfectly matching the paint stains on his hands.

“I wasn’t,” Bruce muttered as she preceded him into the elevator. 

Why did nobody ever believe him?

[thelostcatpodcast]

THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: SEASON 5: EPISODE 5: THE DUNNERING DEMON

THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: SEASON 5: EPISODE 5: THE DUNNERING DEMON

Released on : 5th June 2020

https://thelostcat.libsyn.com/season-5-episode-5-the-dunnering-demon

My cat was walking along a quiet hedgerow-lined road in the country, of the kind where the tarmac gives way to gravel at the edges, and passed a sign reading ‘you are now entering the village of Dunnering’.

Some bunting had been draped it.

It was a beautiful village on a green hill surrounded by rolling fields dotted with comfortingly ancient trees where birds sang just out of reach, with delightful rows of mismatched cottages leading up the hill to the stately old manor house.

From every lamp-post hung bunting and flags, on every window flowers.

It could not have been a more pretty, peaceful place.

But Dunnering was a village beset by ill-fortune, sickness, violence and, as of this morning, murder. For the village of Dunnering was cursed.

THE LOST CAT PODCAST, BY A P CLARKE, SEASON 5, EPISODE 5: THE DUNNERING DEMON

As my cat wandered up the delightful high street, he noticed a general movement of humans up the hill towards the manor house. A crowd of them. He made a habit of following crowds for the inevitable heaps of dropped food that always accompanied them.

But there was a strange feel to the crowd, less of the excitable and chaotic energy that one usually gets when something out of the ordinary has happen, and replaced with some kind of grim magnetism that pulled them all up the hill.

The crowd was full of mutterings about ‘the curse’, and ‘the demon’.

And they all walked, leaden foot, up the hill towards the manor. And so my cat held back, not wanting to get caught under any of those feet.

Then my cat also noticed one human, an old lady, walking slowly but very determinedly in a different direction. She walked over to the side of the road, bonked her stick off the helmet of the police constable, who was watching the whole parade with a bemused expression, and made him open his car door so that he could drive her up the hill. My cat leapt in to her lap, just before the officer closed the door, and immediately began purring.

The old lady said, “oh? What’s this with the purring? I don’t have any food.”

But she scritched at his head, and he settled down gently.

“Ah dear, do we have to, Mrs Lipeston?” Grumbled the officer. “It’ll get fur everywhere!”

“I’ll worry about this cat dirtying your car, when you’ve bothered cleaning it up after last night’s joy ride. Don’t think I didn’t notice!”

And the officer coughed and changed the subject.

“And if there’s anything else I can do for you, Mrs Lipeston.”

“This will be sufficient, Jason.”

They drove carefully up the road to the gates of the manor house, avoiding the crowd.

The gates were closed, and being guarded by large groundskeepers with even larger dogs. The crowd drew up to the gate, but all stopped a very specific distance away from the hardened scowls that greeted them, and absolutely none tried to push past.

The groundskeepers owned absolutely everything beyond that point.

So the crowd peeked around the edges of the gates, and over the fence, to try and sneak a look at what might be happening within.

As the police car pulled up to the side of the road, the constable asked, “Do you know what this is about, Miss Lipeston?”

“No, but I fear any business concerning Lord Dunnering will come to no good.”

“Some say he’s quite mad.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“Some say...”

“Don’t mention the curse, Jason.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Lipeston.”

“He was a good child,” the old lady began, and the constable knew better than to interrupt again. “Brighter than all the others. It would get him in to trouble, but I never had problem with him. I think what gets ascribed to madness is often an unwillingness to accept a life of rules and traditions such as run right through an ancestral manor such as this. However, at some point, as he grew into a man, it turned him inward, and dismissive of others, and I simply could not talk to him at all after that. But he grew in to a man of immense will. He had unbounded energy, a world striding ambition, and he did not suffer fools, or his family, gladly. He abandoned his inherited wealth and then went and built an entirely new fortune by himself that dwarfed that of his family. Mad? I am not so sure.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the constable, opening the passenger door for her.

Miss Lipeston held my cat in her arms, and the constable helped her out of the car.

As the two began slowly making their way through the crowd to the gates, passing plenty of whispers about ‘the looney lord’, they saw a handsome lady rush up to the gates, with a clear attitude of authority, and began speaking to the crowd with a high manner. She kept looking at the Groundskeepers with a mildly-hidden mix of fear and disgust, while the groundskeepers were in turn barely keeping their disdain in check.

It seemed a common goal - of keeping the crowd out - was allowing a temporary impasse.

The dogs just snarled.

She said: “Now please, please, Lord Dunnering is a VERY private man and this is a very sensitive matter. We must ask for the GREATEST of respect in this unfortunate time.”

“That’s the Lord’s niece,” said the constable. “Turned up recently.”

“Yes, I know of her.”

“Lord Dunnering knows,” the lady continued. “Lord Dunnering knows that he can reply on your FULL support at this time.”

And while the lady was speaking, Mrs. Lipeston leaned in to the constable’s arm and continued: “Then the story takes a turn. For he took off. Vanished. Overseas, and no-one knows where, or what he did. Rumours, of course, and of a most unkind nature, flourished. He came back some five years later, with no word of explanation, kicked everyone out of the ancestral pile and filled the halls with the uncounted, not to mention mysteriously gained, treasures that he had acquired in his travels. And that, I am afraid, is where the trouble began.”

They approached the gate. The neice blocked them. The dogs snarled at my cat, and my cat hid further down in the woman’s arms.

“Uhh, excuse me but where are you going?”

“To speak to Lord Dunnering.”

“As his niece I will be handling all questions regarding the estate at this time.”

And Mrs Lipeston gripped the constable’s arm, just ever so slightly.

“Mrs Lipeston will be assisting the police today, Lady Carstarse.”

“Well, I…” Lady Carstarse began, but Mrs Lipeston walked straight past her before she could finish.

“Grace,” she said, as she did.

The handsome woman clearly wanted to follow them in, to assert authority again, but that instinct was caught in a conflict of not being willing to give up the gates to the groundskeepers. As such she just sort of stood still, and stuttered.

“Well, aren’t you going to do something?” she said.

The groundskeepers said nothing, but kept their eyes very carefully on the old lady as she passed. The dogs growled at them, and pulled at their leashes.

My cat stayed very deep in Mrs Lipeston’s arms.

And they walked along the gravel path towards the house, past withered flower beds, thick bramble, and endless cages for animals, of all sizes, now empty and overgrown.

And Lipeston was in full flow now: “Once the family was gone, he filled The Manor House with every kind of treasure, the grounds were filled with every kind of exotic animal. He hired a full staff of groundskeepers to look after this extraordinary collection. The house had never seen such success. But bad luck began befalling the Dunnering Estate. Plants would not grow, the animals began dying, there were strange sicknesses among the staff: breakages, accidents, sightings, and more”

My cat did notice a strange atmosphere in the grounds. He heard no birdsong, he smelt no trace of wildlife. He looked back, and saw the guard dogs had stayed right where they were, on the other side of the gate.

“These events became so severe Lord Dunnering became convinced that he had been placed under a curse and that he was being hunted by a demon. And a darkness came over the manor then. It radiated out from him and smothered all within its influence. He became more and more paranoid, more fearful of every tiny threat until he locked himself away inside his great hall and was never outside again. And of course, such behaviours simply fuel gossip like gasoline.”

“They say he desecrated an ancient Syrian tomb.”

“Precisely,” said Mrss Lipeston.

And with that, they entered through the vast doors of the Dunnering Manor.

And they saw just what the gossiping had all been about.

The entrance hall had been completely gutted, and replaced with an immense glass case, stretching all the way up to the now removed roof, forty feet above, and enclosing some 80% of the vast atrium.

It was a complete second, sealed, inner room. The old roof had been removed, so that the glass was exposed to the sky, with nothing breaking its smooth surface but a small ventilation port barely two feet across right at the top and right at the centre.

Inside the room the floor was filled with furniture and statuary, of Marathan, Byzantine and Zhou heritage, and more. Some of the sculpture was immense. Beds, divans, tapestries and dining tables of many styles, filled in the spaces between. Marble and bronze, wood and glass: The treasures of many worlds.

And there, lying at the centre, quite dead, was a young woman with her head bashed in.

“Oh my dear girl,” Mrs Lipeston said, so quietly, and my cat could feel her body straighten as her aspect changed, and she slew off some of her little old lady body language.

My cat gave the room a good sniff.

The constable said with a gasp: “Is that Maud Montgomery?”

“I’m afraid so,” said the detective in charge, calling over. “Lord Dunnering’s fiance. Daughter of the head groundskeeper. We’re just getting the doors open now.”

A group of medical staff and police officers stood by a complicated set of doors on one side of the glass enclosure. Groundskeepers stood around them, checking over their every action with grim expressions.

And the medical staff, even the police officers, worked with great and visible, care.

An older man was with them, handsomely dressed, entering a code into the door.

Mrs Lipeston leaned over to the constable and whispered “Uncle.”

“They do keep popping up, don’t they.”

“Don’t they just.”

The Uncle was speaking: “Double-redundancy, Time release airlocks. A fully featured quarantine with de-comtamination chamber. The, uhh, renovations were made without any expense spared.”

He looked up at what was left of the Manor’s roof as he said this. “Which of course were entirely Lord Dunnering’s privilege to make, and we have supported him in every way. There.”

The heavy doors unlocked with a hiss of escaping air, and the medical staff went in to check on the body, lying still in the centre of the room.

My cat, sitting in Mrs Lipeston’s arms, got a good smell of the escaping air.

When the uncle saw the body through the doorway he turned away, holding his hands to his face.

“Oh it’s too awful,” he said. “They were to be wed this Saturday.”

Just then the niece bounded in from outside, out of breath, clearly having made the decision that it was more important being there than at the gates.

She saw the body, and held her uncle’s shoulder.

“It is a tragedy, Uncle Freddie.”

“We put bunting up all over the village,” said the sobbing Uncle.

Mrs Lipeston asked, “And why all this?”, gesturing at the great class enclosure.

It was the niece that responded.

“I’m afraid Lord Dunnering is... sensitive to outside contagion, and demands everything go through two weeks of quarantine before being let in to own sanctuary. He built this entire chamber for his fiancée so she could pass her time in quarantine in comfort.  When the quarantine period was finished, she would have been transferred to his own quarters so that they could have been, finally, together.”

“How did they meet?”

“The two struck up a relationship while she worked around the house, doing groundskeeper duties. She would sit by his chambers for hours, apparently. She was an incredible solace to him. Such a lovely girl, surprisingly so. We thought she might finally bring him out of himself. It is so tragic.”

Mrs Lipeston said, “I might need to speak to the groundskeepers too at some point.”

“Uhh, be careful,” said the niece, speaking more quietly now. “They don’t mix well with... locals. The Lord brought them in after working with them on his travels. They are insular, proud, and fierce.”

“The story I tell,” said the uncle. “From my great-grandfather, about how their people fought in some war or other. They faced an invading force ten times their number, and over days of battles broke that number down to less than half. Extraordinary fighting. But when the invading force finally overwhelmed them, and stormed their settlement, they found every last one of them dead. Facing capture, they had killed their own rather than face dishonour. I would be careful.”

“Nevertheless,” said Mrs Lipeston, and moved over to the quarantine doors.

The groundskeepers all watched as she approached, and she made a point of catching one of their eyes and holding his gaze.

Some of the police officers were speaking:

“It’s the curse. It’s got to be.”

“It is a crime,” said the detective in charge.

“But how could it have been done? There’s no way in, and no way out?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out, isn’t it.”

“No human could have done this.”

Mrs Lipeston interjected: “Has Lord Dunnering been informed of the death? We should speak with him.”

“Lord Dunnering don’t want to see anyone,” came a booming voice from behind them.

Heavy steps sounded from the darkened hall that led to the East Wing and the hunched form of the Head Groundskeeper emerged into the space, and stood, blocking the corridor.

“Mr Montgomery.”

“No-one.”

And the other groundskeepers joined him, standing shoulder to shoulder.

Mrs Lipeston approached, leaving the others behind.

“I can not offer you solace, Mr Montgomery,” she said. “But we will catch who did this.”

“Was the demon.”

“If it was a demon, then we will catch a demon. May I pass?”

Mr Montgomery did not move, and a couple of the groundskeepers leaned in and they spoke quietly for a moment.

Eventually he said, “Ma’am.” and he reluctantly stepped asideAnd Mr Montgomery reluctantly stepped aside, and then led them in to the darkness of the East Wing.

“I am utterly sorry for your loss, Mr Montgomery.” Said the uncle as they walked.

And Mr Montgomery cleared his throat so aggressively at that no-one spoke at all the rest of the way.

There was no lighting in the corridor, and it was lined with towering statuary and other treasures, piled high on either side. The deepening shadows loomed over the party as they walked in to the East Wing.

The corridor emerged to show another huge glass enclosure had been built, and filled the space. It was all in darkness, covered in drapes and curtains, save a single beam of bright sunlight from the ventilation port at the very top.

A man stood there just inside wall of the glass room, almost in silhouette, and watching them approach.

“Mrs Lipeston, it has been a long time.”

He was gaunt, he did not fit his clothes, he was pale, and his body was almost completely still. He had none of the vitality of the world-striding young man she had known, he did not have the squirling pestilent energy of the sick, nor even the floating unreality of a ghost, only the cold grey blankness of death, and it bled out from him to fill the entire room, the entire wing, and it poisoned everything it touched.

“Miss Lipeston, it has been a long time.”

“Yes it has, Philip.”

And he held in his arms a small, hairless cat, of the type popular in Northern Africa and the Middle East, and it hung limply from him, it’s shallow breaths showing through its ribs, with barely enough energy in it to raise its head, which lolled forlornly over his wrist. Its pale, bare skin stretched and stuck to its master’s until you could barely tell where one started and the other finished.

Lord Dunnering then looked at my cat, which was sitting in Mrs Lipeston’s arms, looking all about with some interest, and the merest trace of a wince could be seen on his brow.

Instinctively, almost unconsciously, he reached for a handkerchief, and began waving away imaginary cat hairs from around him. He caught himself doing it, and then began self-consciously rubbing at smudges on the glass wall with the handkerchief, as if to cover his mistake up.

The hairless cat in the Lord’s arms languidly raised its head enough to see what was going on. But Its heavy lidded eyes were barely even open.

Some smudges the Lord could not budge, no matter how hard he rubbed. He snapped when he realised they were on the outside of the glass.

“Mr Montgomery I have asked you repeatedly to ensure the cleanliness of the quarantine. Increase the rota. This place must be clean!”

“Yes, sir.”

Lord Dunnering caught himself again, and straightened, taking a half step back. It was clear he was finding himself doing this sort of thing more and more.

He took a deep breath, put the handkerchief into a waste receptacle, and gathered himself.

Calmly, the Lord turned back to the gathered crowd.

“I asked to be alone.”

“I’m afraid this is a police matter, Lord Dunnering.”

“And then why is she here?”

“We must ask you some questions.”

“There is nothing to say.”

“Your fiancée has been murdered,” said Mrs Lipeston.

“It was the demon.”

“Take this seriously.”

“It is the curse.”

“Philip!”

“The curse takes everything!” he spat, suddenly wrathful, with that old energy passing fleetingly across his parchment face. “Oh, at first I did not believe it, in my arrogance, as staff fell sick, animals began disappearing, began dying. You never could solve those deaths could you, Mrs Lipeston.”

“No, Philip, I could not.”

“But still I careened blindly on. Then my own pets were lost. I came back to this manor with three sibling cats, Mrs Lipeston.” and he stroked the pallid, lone creature in his arms. “By the time the second one was taken from me I could not deny the truth any longer: I was cursed, and it was killing everything around me, so I retreated here, to this sanctuary, out of the world, so I could keep what I loved safe.”

And his face passed in to shadow, and any trace of the old Lord that remained was entirely gone.

“But it did not work, for now the curse has taken my beloved. Even here, even with all I have done, the curse follows with me. The demon will come for me, will come for every thing I love. There is no escape. Leave, for there is nothing here. Not any more.”

He turned away from the glass then.

“Mr Montgomery, you are relieved of duty, you may do as you wish.”

And Lord Dunnering retreated from the wall, back in to the darkness, absently stroking his withered pet.

“Be careful with your cat, Mrs Lipeston. They don’t last too long round these parts.”

And then he was gone.

They walked back towards the Entrance Hall, towards the light.

As they walked, the uncle shook his head with worry. “I am concerned this could send him over the edge entirely, and we’ll never get him back, right-minded and competent again.”

“It is a terrible tragedy,” agreed the niece.

Back in the entrance hall, the body of Maud Montgomery had been brought out of the quarantine, on a stretcher and covered, and was currently waiting for the coroner to remove her to the hospital.

Mr Montgomery knelt by the stretcher’s side, and held the body’s hand.

He placed it back, gently, beneath the cloth and then rose.

“Well,” he said. “What’ve yer got?”

“We are following up a number of leads at this moment…”

Mr Montgomery scowled at him, shook his head, and stormed off.

“Have you checked the roof?” said Mrs Lipeston, and pointed up at the ventilation port.

“It’s too high, it’s too small. We’ve discounted it as a means of ingress.”

“Discount nothing, Detective.”

And the detective sucked in sharply. “Fine,” he said. “Officer: send three men up.”

And, as he ran off, Mr Montgomery and a couple of the groundskeepers stood at the East Wing corridor, arms folded, and glaring.

While they were climbing towards the roof, my cat wriggled in Mrs Lipeston’s arms and the old lady let him go to the floor, where he began sniffing around the doors of the opened airlock.

Forty feet above them, long wooden ladders were stretched out over the gloss roof, as they tried to attach to the support of the ventilation apparatus without touching the glass itself. This entire edifice was designed by someone who wanted it perfect in form, with no care as to how hard it was to access.

Police officers banged and wobbled their way along the ladders to reach the ventilation port. They checked it thoroughly, then reported down that there was no evidence of tampering at all.

Then one of the officers almost fell off the ladder. In the Entrance Hall they all looked up at the figure half dangling off the struts, then clasping himself very tightly to the ladder.

The detective called up, “are you alright? What happened? Report!”

“I’m sorry sir. I’m sorry. But I think you are going to need to see this, sir.”

“What is it?” asked the detective “what is it?”

“Footprints, sir.”

The officer was brought a tablet so he could beam an image down to the detective.

And the image told its story. Close to the ventilation port were two large, non-human footprints next to each other. They neared half a metre long, with complicated claws around their outside and, one on each foot towards the front, was the round outline of a large sucker.

“My god.”

“Like a squid or something.”

“It is the demon! It used the suckers to climb straight down the glass walls and do for poor Maud. We have to tell the Lord!”

They ran back to the East Wing.

Mrs Lipeston followed, silenced by the evidence of the footprints.

Back in the East Hall, The Lord looked at the footprints, then put his hand upon the glass and bowed his head.

He said, “My love, my love.” Then he collapsed, putting the cat down upon a table where it melted to the surface like custard. He said, as he sobbed into the floor “I have cursed you too.”

And then two large thumps were heard above them, coming from the darkened roof. Then two more, towards the back of the house.

“Footsteps!”

“The demon is still on the roof!”

The Lord grovelled on the floor “It is come for me. At long last, it is come for me.”

Mr Montgomery stood tall and said: ‘If it leaves footprints, it is real. And if it is real, you can put your hands on it. And I will lay my hands upon this demon.’ he pointed at the detective. “Bring everyone!”

And they rushed, all of them, the family, the police, the hangers-on and the groundskeepers, out into the grounds, carrying clubs and whatever was to hand, leaving only Mrs Lipeston and Jason the constable.

They looked into the glass case and the Lord lying there.

“It is not unheard of for someone to be so convinced of their own guilt that they create their own punishment. But could that self-destructive will become so strong as to manifest physically? To actually become real?”

“I don’t rightly know, ma’am.”

“You should probably go with them, if only to ensure they do not harm each other.”

“I think you might be right.”

“And Jason,” she added as he started to leave. “Do be careful of yourself out there. Just in case.”

“I will Mrs Lipeston,” he said, and ran off.

Mrs Lipeston left the East Wing slowly, and met my cat as he walked back from the Entrance Hall. She lent down and scritched behind his ears, speaking distantly, mostly to herself.

“I don’t know. I just… don’t know. I am not so foolish as to dismiss the existence of demons. But I’m not so sure it is monsters that do things like this. Let us say: Trapping the lord in a cage would most definitely benefit some of those outside of it. Something doesn’t smell right, and I am sure you sense it too, little one. Go on. And be careful.”

My cat ran off in to the halls.

My cat walked down the shadowed corridors of the vast manor house, lined with the relics of ancient worlds, and things more unimaginable, all towering over him.

Faint noises echoed in the halls: movements in the shadows in the corners of eyes. My cat was used to reading the endless activity of the city at night, but he was not used to the almost complete stillness here, and so found it hard to interpret it.

So he mostly ignored it, for he had a scent to follow. He was following the strange mix of smells he had found all around the tragic sanctuary of Maud Montgomery.

Outside the quarantine, he had smelt all of the usual country smells of village people but also stranger smells, chemical smells - smells he only knew from certain parts of parts of the city.

When the airlocks had opened he had smelled Maud, sweet and sad, coming from her clothes, from everywhere she had touched, but could not make out the scent of any other person. What he did smell coming out of that airlock door, that had so peaked his interest, was the very faint smell of an animal.

And it was this smell he was following right then.

He followed them down stairs, past kitchens, well passed where the statues began to thin out, with the smell of this animal getting stronger and stronger, and onto a corridor right on the edge of the manor house.

There was a bang! And a scrape!

And my cat hid beneath a statue, as one of the groundskeepers walked by, come back alone from the hunt, and constantly looking behind him.

My cat followed him.

And, at the very end of the corridor, the groundskeeper unlocked a door with three locks and went in. My cat snuck by before he closed the door and went in too.

And there the strange mix of chemical and animal was strongest mixed in with the sweet, sad smell of Maud Montgomery.

It was a small, plain bedroom, and the groundskeeper was lighting dark candles and incense of the kind to ward off dark spirits, filling the air with the smell of chemicals.

Then, in front of a small book case, he put down two small bowls, pushed the case aside, and revealed a small cubby hole, filled with blankets, soft lights, and a tabby cat curled up tight right in the corner.

And a cloud of cat hair spilled out of the cubby hole. The cat had been there a long time. And the tabby cat shuddered – it was absolutely terrified.

The groundskeeper filled one bowl with water, one with food, patted the poor creature on the head, and then left, locking the doors again.

Alone again my cat rose and, very carefully, before he revealed himself, made a thin high yowling noise.

The noise said ‘I am just passing through, and I pose you no threat’

And then he stepped out in front of the terrified creature, and waited for the animal to accept his presence.

But it would not leave its hiding hole. It kept checking on the windows, at the grates in the walls - all of the places a demon could get in. The terrified cat checked all around the skirting boards of the room. It all made perfect sense from my cat’s point of view - it was checking for any gaps.

As far as this poor cat was concerned, if he left this hiding place, the demon would get him.

My cat stayed small and gentle so as not to scare the cat any further. My cat purred and moved slowly to calm the animal and, eventually, my cat approached, sat down next to it, and began licking its fur.

This was Maud Montgomery’s cat, hidden away so that the curse that killed all the other animals would not get to it. It said a great deal that the cat was hidden, rather than given away or left with relatives. Maud was clearly a lady who was not going to give up her cat. This animal was loved, and had been cared for. It is possible that the cat had already sensed that something had changed, and that Maud was never, ever coming back again.

My cat gently groomed the poor creature. And when it was calm, they settled down and napped with each other, just for a little while.

My cat left the animal sleeping and happy a little while later, stopping to eat a bit of the food first. My cat knew the killer of Maud Montgomery now, and he had work to do.

It was the dead of night now. The halls of the Dunnering House were silent and still. And my cat paced through the East Wing to the great glass wall of Lord Dunnering’s quarantine.

The glass shone in the moonlight, smooth and clean.

The Lord was long asleep, the hunting party long since returned empty-handed, and the house closed up for the night.

My cat approached the glass, and he yowled.

And, slowly, out of the shadows withered the hairless cat, its head barely lifted from the floor, its limbs swaying like noodles.

It came and sat on the other side of the glass, its shoulders like knitting needles through the skin of its back.

They stared at each other.

And then the hairless cat straightened its limbs, its eyes narrowed to points, it rose up and sat regally. It opened its mouth and called out in a coarse, breathy hiss. But it was not addressing my cat. It was looking behind him.

Where, out of the darkness, two more hairless cats approached, stalking, like panthers.

The cat behind the glass cocked his head just slightly, as he watched. He showed his teeth, and hissed.

My cat backed away from the hunting pair, towards the glass.

One of the hairless cats circled round to cut him off, rubbing up against the glass to close that escape route, and leaving an oily smudge.

My cat had nowhere to go.

The two hunting cats closed in.

And then two nets came down upon them.

Mr Montgomery and the constable came out of the dark, holding on to the nets.

The cat within the glass howled a shrieking howl with its feet up on the glass wall, unable to do a thing.

Mrs Lipeston called for the lights to be turned on.

Mr Montgomery leaned in close to the cat in his net, and he said “I got my hands on you.”

The captured cats spat and yowled.

Lord Dunnering himself walked bleary eyed towards the glass.

“What is the meaning of this!” he said.

“We have captured the murderers of Maud Montgomery, Lord Dunnering,” said Mrs Lipeston.

The lord rubbed his eyes awake and saw.

“My cats.... Those are my cats! They did not die!”

“No. I imagine it would be relatively easy to live in the roofs and basements of this manor without being detected.”

“They are the killers? But this is ridiculous, Mrs Lipeston! You are making a fool of me! Of Mr Montgomery! Of Maud!”

But Mr Montgomery said, “i’d hear her out.”

“Fine!” said Lord Dunnering, looking at his long-lost pets struggling in the nets. “So tell me: HOW did they commit this murder?”

And Mrs Lipeston took a deep breath, and began:

“It was a simple plan, really. Jason, could you fetch me a chair. Thank you. Last night, the cats waited for the poor lady to fall asleep, then one blocked the filtering system bringing air IN to her quarantine - most probably that one, and you may find some slight scorching on one side of its body, as the machinery can get hot when blocked.”

Jason checked, and confirmed a slight reddening on one side of the cat.

“The other then simply sat on the ventilation port above and their smooth, hairless skin created an airtight seal on the glass. Then they had simply to wait for the oxygen, in what was now a completely sealed room, to run out.

“Poor Maud woke up eventually, choking and already dazed from carbon dioxide poisoning, and fell hard upon a marble statue and quite bashed her head in. Dramatic, but unnecessary, for she was doomed as soon as they sealed off the air.”

“And what about the footprints?”

“Ah,” said Mrs Lipeston, who was finding her rhythm. “The footprints were caused by these cats sitting on the glass while they waited for the lady to sleep. When a normal cat sits down they leave a bundle of hair, but these ones, they leave only an oily smudge of their sweat. The footprints were simply the oily residue of their hairless skin imprinting on the glass the outline of their seated forms, which can easily be mistaken for the footprint of a much larger beast’s footprints.” Then miss Lipeston leaned in. “Those suckers some were so sure helped them walk down the walls were, my dear lord, the oily outline of their hairless ani.”

She said this with some relish.

“But why would they do this?”

“Greed. Selfishness. Covetousness. Do not think that such desires are purely human inventions. They had the Lord and wanted him alone, so they began a campaign of destroying anything that would take the Lord away from them. This was the beginning of the curse. Then they hid in the roofs and grounds of this estate and attacked anything they saw as a threat. Other animals, new pets, staff and now, rising to human murder, the future wife of Lord Dunnering, Maud Montgomery: the biggest threat they had faced so far.”

Lord Dunnering was silent for a long while.

“My god,” he said. “My god.” he had his hand to his head.

“Well,” said the detective. “We shall take away these murderous animals immediately.”

And the Lord said “Stop! They are mine, and I will do with them as I please. Put them in quarantine so that they may join me in two weeks. These cats were my everything, and I thought I had lost them. Now I find them returned, and will not have them taken again, for they are all I have now. So this is done. The curse is complete, and the demon has found me. Leave my estate, you are all of you no longer welcome.”

And so they left. They closed the gates and went down the hill to the village, leaving the manor house behind.

And my cat had a very nice evening on the old lady’s lap, in front of her fire, as she told stories to her very patient friends of the many other mysteries she had solved. And they drank very large glasses of red wine.

After a day or so, the cat moved on, walking through the strangely quiet village on his way out.

It still was as bright and cheerful as ever, but it was not the same.

Some of the bunting lay coiled, higgeldy-piggeldy in the street where the wind had blown it down and no-one had picked it up.

And, on top of the hill, the manor house darkened and was shuttered up, its ground left to wild, its unused wings closed up and left to rot, and deep at its heart, three cats wrapped themselves around a man, alone, and lost, deep in an unfathomable darkness of his own.

THIS HAS BEEN EPISODE FIVE, OF SEASON FIVE OF THE LOST CAT PODCAST, CALLED ‘THE DUNNERING DEMON’, WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY A P CLARKE

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING

Links:

https://apclarke.bandcamp.com/album/the-lost-cat-podcast

thelostcat.libsyn.com

twitter.com/LostCatPod

thelostcatpodcast.tumblr.com

facebook.com/lostcatpodcast

soundcloud.com/a-p-clarke/sets/the-lost-cat-podcast

#CAT #lost cat #thelostcatpodcast #lostcatpodcast #podcast #audiodrama #horror #comedy #murdermystery #transcript #dunnering #demon

[violetsmoak]

Pieces of April [1/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

 Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Warning(s): Past Jason/Isabel, kidfic, minor canon character death (pretty sure you can guess who), I’ll add more warnings/tags as I think of them.

Canon-Compliance: Takes place in between the two RHATO series, so after Roy and Kori and before Artemis and Bizarro. Jason and Isabel Ardila 

Author’s Note: Exactly what it says on the can. I’ve had this idea kicking around my head for a while, getting in the way of finishing the next chapter of Philtatos and I figured if I started jotting down the basics of it, I could stop thinking about it. 

________________________________________________________________

Despite the carefully cultivated exterior of a hardened criminal, Jason Todd is remarkably straight edge.

After what happened to his mother, drugs were never going to be a thing; he stopped smoking long before a lunatic clown beat him to death; and though his preferred hangouts tend to be bars, that’s more to keep an eye out for trouble than for slinging back shots.

There are exceptions, of course.

Coping with any kind of murder that involves kids. The days immediately following another one of Joker’s breakouts and inevitable mind games. Some of the worse fights with Bruce. And certain anniversaries.

Days like today, when all he is boils down to traumatic flashbacks of metal caving in his lungs and high-pitched laughter, and mounting fear turned to begging for the end. Circular thoughts and ‘what-ifs’ that he ignores or pushes to the back of his mind every other day of the year are stronger now, now occupy his mind with the stubbornness of a cancer.

Today’s a day for hard whiskey and keep it coming until he can’t see straight, for everything to melt away behind a fog of false levity until he wakes up again and he can forget for another year.

He’s nearing that point when his phone rings.

It’s not the harsh tune of I Hate Everything About You that he’s programmed for any of the Bats civilian phone lines, but a generic ringtone. Not a call to offer sympathy, but not an emergency.

(If they couldn’t reach the comm in his helmet, they’d just show up.)

He ignores it, goes back to his drink.

There’s a brief silence once it goes to voicemail, and then ten seconds later it rings again. The bartender is giving him a look with raised eyebrows, but Jason just gestures for another finger of whiskey.

Around the fifth time, Jason picks up the phone if only to turn the damn thing off or chuck it at a wall, but pauses at the Caller ID—Gotham General.

What the hell…?

No one he knows would contact him on a public hospital line.

His thumbs fumble as he accepts the call, but even as he barks out, “What?”, he hears a static click and the electronic monotone of his voicemail bidding the incoming caller leave a message.

There’s a pause, and then a stranger’s tired voice comes on the line.

“This message is for Jason Ardila. I’m Dr. Kerry at Gotham General Hospital. We have you listed as the primary contact for Isabel Ardila.” Jason straightens up as best he can at this. “I have news regarding your wife’s condition. It would be best if you came to the hospital as soon as possible. You can reach me at—”

He rattles off a number but Jason doesn’t catch it, mind whirling.

Isabel? Emergency contact? What the hell? Wife? Even more what the hell. At least she knew not to give his real name, but...again, why call him? They aren’t exactly close, and he hasn’t seen or spoke to Isabel since that thing at Elysium.

That was…what…last July?

He counts back again, needing to check his math against his alcohol muzzled brain. In any case, it’s a few months shy of a year, which makes it more than random she’s calling him now.

Wait…

“—can’t make it here within the next two hours, please contact a hospital representative to assist you.”

The message ends. 

Jason stares blearily at the phone for several minutes, trying to put his thoughts in order.

Something needles at the back of his mind, and his thumb smudges across the screen to open his browser, pulling up Gotham General’s staff directory. It takes longer than he’d like to navigate, squinting at text that’s far too small before he remembers he can resize that shit, and finally he locates—

Dr. David Kerry, M.D., F.A.C. S., Obstetrician.

Jason’s stomach lurches.

He counts back again.

April back to July.

Almost nine months.

Nine months since the last time he and Isabel—

No. No way, it must be a coincidence. Probably she just got into some trouble. Trouble that needs the Red Hood to solve, and that’s why she named me as contact.

He scrubs a hand down his face, trying for sobriety.

But then why didn’t she call me and tell me? Why wait until she’s at the goddamn hospital?

And under the care of an obstetrician. That’s…the thing he’s most concerned about.

There’s no way. She said she was seeing someone, if there were anything, it would have to do with him. But then…why contact me and not him?

He’s dimly aware of shrugging his jacket back on, of throwing a bunch of bills on the bar-top and wandering out despite the barkeeper saying something to him. Of getting out into the chill and damp spring air, trying to hail a cab, because yeah, the bike he left in the alley has an autopilot feature, but Jason doesn’t feel like risking road rash if he slips off it on a sharp turn. Which he might do, considering he drops his wallet twice trying to put it back in his jacket.

Also, if he and Isabel need to make a quick exit if she’s hurt, it will be easier for him to steal a car later than try to put her on a bike. And if she’s not alone—

Don’t think about it.

As he gets his wallet back in his pocket, he remembers he basically gave the barkeep all his cash, and shit, does he even have anything left? This means he’s going to waste time going back in and taking it back since the guy hasn’t exactly followed him out to return it. Probably thinks it’s a tip or—

Jason stiffens, that sixth sense honed from a childhood on the street and training under the most paranoid man in the world bypassing his otherwise alcohol clouded senses to warn him. Someone’s behind him.

“Whoever you are, you really don’t want to test me right now,” he growls, speech only a little slurred. Shit-faced or not, he’s still a better fighter than any low-tier thug in Gotham.

“I’m not testing anything, except how much your situational awareness sucks when you’re drunk.”

The voice is dry and familiar, and Jason turns around, half-expecting to come face to face with Red Robin crouched in the shadows. Instead, Tim Drake is several feet away, dressed casually and leaning against a sports car that has no business idling on the streets of Burnley.

Jason didn’t hear him pull up, which means he’s been here a while—and he didn’t notice him.

Need to sober up now.

“The hell are you doing here, Drake?” he snarls to cover up his obvious impaired reactions.  

“It’s the 27th,” the younger man says, slow and careful. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”

Of course, he knows what day it is…

Jason bares his teeth. “In case I do something crazy? Decide to go on a rampage?”

“In case you needed a ride home or someone to talk to or just make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit,” Drake retorts.

“Aren’t you the little do-gooder. How’d you even find me?”

“Roy Harper called me out of the blue. He told me someone should check in on you, and he figured for some reason I’m the best candidate to look in on you.” He shrugs and there’s a frown of confusion on his face. “Don’t know why he thinks so, considering our history.”

Jason suspects it has to do with Drake being the one who got him the information needed to find and save Roy’s ass in Qurac, but he’s not about to say so.  

“Doesn’t answer how you knew I was here.”

Drake raises an eyebrow at that because, yeah, they both know how he found him.

Damn stalker.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You found me. You saw me. Now step off, I’m trying to get a cab.”

He turns away and starts heading up the street to the busier intersection.

“Headed to another bar?” Drake wants to know, uncertain, like he’s trying not to sound judgemental.  

“No, screw you very much, I need to get to Gotham General.”

And it’s further proof of how much his mind and his reflexes are on a roller coaster tonight, because he’s actually started the hand that falls upon his shoulder. As it turns him around, he instinctively lashes out with a right hook, but Drake dodges it with embarrassing ease.

His eyes are raking over Jason, up-and-down, re-assessing. “You hurt?”

He’s fishing, Jason thinks; none of them have gone to the hospital for an injury that wasn’t faked in years, least of all Bruce Wayne’s legally dead ex-son. Perhaps that’s why he’s able to detect the genuine concern in the bland question. It’s not laid on as thickly as Dick might do, or tinged with the hint of judgement and self-recrimination from Bruce.

Maybe that’s why he finds himself admitting, “Someone I know might be.”

The younger man nods, understanding; some of the intentness leaves his face.

“I could give you a ride,” he offers, nodding his head at the car. “I could get you there faster than a cab could.”

It’s on the tip of Jason’s tongue to refuse, before he remembers he has no cash.

He glances back at the bar once more, wondering if it’s the better option to “haggle” with the barkeep to get his money back. Suspects that will lead to a fight, which if Drake insists on hanging around (which he suspects he will, even if it’s just watching him from a distance, the creep) he’ll probably intervene in and—

This is getting too complicated.

“Fine,” he sighs at last, earning a blink of surprise from Drake.

No kidding. I’m surprised, too.

Still, if there’s anything going down at the hospital, if this is a trap or something, and Jason needs to ensure Isabel gets out alright, however much he is off his game right now, having Red Robin backing him up wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.

It’s not like they’ve never worked together before, or kicked ass doing it.

Jason course corrects once more, heading for the car. Still, he can’t help making a comment, just to show how much he’d rather not be doing this. “But if we’re doing this chauffeuring thing, you’re gonna keep your mouth shut about it. And fork over whatever coffee I know you have in that shitbox of yours.”

Tim is the one who bares his teeth this time, a sharp, cold smile that Jason suspects is the last thing his enemies ever see. “Call my car a shitbox again, and you can walk.”

________________________________________________________________

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Next Chapter

#violetsmoak #violet writes #jaytim #jaytim fanfic #kidfic #babyfic #enemies to lovers #or rather reluctant allies to lovers

[thehelleniclunarwitch]

Home [Chapter One]

Author’s Note: I tried my best to switch my OC’s name out for Y/n. If I missed any my apologies just let me know and I’ll fix it. Hope you guys enjoy my new fic, Home!

                                                   --------------------- “Y/n!” Eddie shouted.

Y/n laughed as she sped up, running up the hill towards their farmhouse. The horses ran alongside her in the fenced in area. She giggled as she could feel Eddie closing in on her. Y/n took a quick turn and ran towards the chicken coop. She slowed down as she reached the coop. Breathing heavily, Y/n turned around to see Eddie slowing down. He was glaring at her.

“You cheated,” Eddie growled.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “You’re just mad that your younger girlfriend is just faster than you,” Y/n teased.

“I’m only older by six years!” Eddie shouted.

Y/n laughed again. “Six years is a lot for an old man,”

Her laughter faded as he lunged at her. A tiny squeak slipped out of her as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She tried to pry his arms off her, but he only pulled her back against his chest.

“Say you’re sorry,” Eddie said.

“Never,” Y/n laughed as she continued struggling trying to free herself.

“Why must you be so stubborn?” Eddie asked her.

“I’ve learned from the best,” Y/n said between clenched teeth.

The two continued to struggle for power until Y/n slipped her feet in between Eddie’s. He gasped and then swore as the two of them went crashing down into the mud. Y/n fell back against him laughing hysterically as Eddie had taken the brunt of the fall and most of the mud.

Eddie was quick to flip Y/n over and onto her back. Squishing her down in the mud. She groaned and looked up at her boyfriend.

“Was that necessary?” Y/n hissed.

“You wouldn’t stop laughing at me,” Eddie complained.

Y/n shook her head and she could feel the mud caking onto her hair. Eddie grinned, leaned down, and then kissed her. Y/n nibbled at his lips and he pulled away. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“How about we take this inside?” Eddie asked.

Y/n cocked an eyebrow at her boyfriend.

“I’ll race you,” she joked.

“You’ll pay for that one,” Eddie said as he jumped up to his feet.

Y/n let out a soft playful scream as he yanked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. He slapped his hand against her ass and she let out a small yelp.

“That’s not fair!” Y/n argued.

“You don’t play fair,” Eddie reminded her.

Y/n fell silent as Eddie carried her the rest of the way across the yard and up into their house. He kicked off his shoes and peeled off hers dropping them outside of the door where they would have to come back and hose their shoes down.

Their two dogs greeted them as Eddie stepped inside. Y/n called for her dogs to follow, but they only stood and watched as Eddie disappeared upstairs with her.

A very long hour later, Y/n came jogging down the stairs. She booped Cap and Sarge on their heads as she went over to the fridge. Her stomach was rumbling and dinner was calling her name. Y/n strained her ears as she heard the sound of tires on the gravel of their driveway.

“Someone’s here!” Y/n called up the stairs.

“I’m coming,” Eddie shouted back.

Y/n could hear Eddie running down the stairs and land right in the living room. She tossed the stuff for dinner on the stove.

“Y/n, you’re going to want to see this,” Eddie said.

Y/n wiped her hands on a dish towel and headed towards the front of the house. A black SUV sat parked. The two of them watched as a man in a black suit stepped out of the SUV. Three more doors opened and a bunch of figures stepped out of the vehicle.

“My boys,” Y/n said as she burst out of the house and onto the porch.

“Y/n!” Billy exclaimed as he finally set his eyes on her.

Y/n stepped off the steps and caught Billy as he threw himself at her. The other three boys ran up to join the hug. Y/n made sure to give them each individually a huge hug.

“What are you guys doing here?” Y/n asked.

“Miss Barnes, it’s good to see you again,” The voice said.

Y/n looked up as the man in the suit pushed back his sunglasses revealing himself as the one and only Bruce Wayne.

“Surprised you’d be caught dead out here, old man.” Y/n snarled.

Eddie pinched her side to silence her.

“Well, I knew if I’d call you wouldn’t answer,” Bruce admitted.

“Damn straight I wouldn’t have. Takes a lot of guts to show yourself around here,” Y/n snarled.

“Y/n,” Eddie sighed.

“Shut it, Brock,” Y/n growled.

Bruce gave Eddie a knowing look. Eddie sighed. Y/n wasn’t normally like this. She was sweet. Kind. Caring. Always had open arms every single person. Except for Bruce Wayne.

“Listen, I know that you and I have a lot of unresolved issues,” Bruce said.

“That’s barely touching it, but sure we’ll go with that,” Y/n growled.

“Can we talk?” Bruce asked.

“I’m not inviting you into my home,” Y/n barked.

“Y/n!” Eddie shouted.

Y/n tossed her boyfriend a look over her shoulder. He fell silent. Eddie knew better than to argue with her. This wasn’t a battle he wanted to pick with her. Not when it came to Bruce.

“I’ll make this quick. Some things have come up in Gotham. The boys are no longer safe,” Bruce began.

“Oh so now that Jason and Tim are dead, now you realize that?” Y/n snarled.

Eddie noted the way that a look of pain crossed Bruce’s face. He felt bad for the guy. He had lost two sons. Lived a dangerous life. Ever since Y/n lost Jason and then Tim it was never the same between the two of them. Y/n couldn’t forgive Bruce. Eddie didn’t think she’d ever been able to.

“There’s no reason to be hurtful,” Bruce said coldly.

“Trust me that’s me being nice,” Y/n said.

The four young teens looked at each other. They knew what was going on. They weren’t dumb. All of them understood why Y/n was so upset. She was in love with Jason. He was her first love. Damian was so sure growing up that Y/n was going to end up as his sister. When Jason died, it was like Y/n’s whole world had crashed down.

Y/n had become dark and scary. She hardly talked to anybody. Damian wasn’t sure of Eddie at first, but he sure brought Y/n around. He made her happy. And that’s all that mattered to Damian. He loved Y/n and he didn’t want her to be hurting anymore.

“I need you to sign this,” Bruce said pulling out a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

“What is it?” Y/n asked.

“Legal custody of the four boys. Clark already signed the papers, as did I, and so did the Vasquez’s,” Bruce said.

Eddie and Y/n only stared at Bruce.

“I’m sorry, what?” Eddie said in shock.

“You’re right. I lost Jason. And then turned around and lost Tim. If Dick was young enough to be placed in your care he would be, but he’s an adult now and can protect himself. These four can’t. If they stay with us they will only end up being hurt or killed to hurt the rest of us. I can’t do that. I can’t lose any more of my children,” Bruce explained.

“So, what? You expect me and Eddie to just drop our whole lives and take care of the boys because you’ve finally come to the realization that the life you live and lead isn’t safe for them?” Y/n snarled.

“Yes,” Bruce simply said.

It took everything out of Y/n not to slap Bruce across his smug face.

“What made you think that Eddie and I would even be willing to do so?” Y/n demanded from him.

“You’re the only safe choice that I have,” Bruce told her.

“What about Clark’s mom? I’m sure Martha would love to take care of the boys. Or how about Detective Gordon? He could give them a good life and protect them,” Y/n said.

The four young teens watched as Y/n and Bruce squared off. Jon was starting to grow concerned that Y/n wasn’t going to take them in. That she was going to say no and they would have to go to Bruce’s last resort which was the orphanage.

“Martha is too old to be running after four teens. Gordon has his own kids to take care of, plus he’s in the thick of my mess just as much as I am,” Bruce said.

Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest in defiance.

“Y/n,” Jon finally piped up.

Y/n looked down at the dark haired boy.

“Bruce will take us to the orphanage if you don’t take us in. You know they’ll separate all of us if that happens. Please don’t let him do that to us,” Jon pleaded.

“Are the papers actually for custody or for guardianship?” Y/n asked him. “There’s a major difference,”

“Custody. We are signing over all legal rights to you. If and once you sign the papers you are legally their parents. Which means you’ll be in charge of Damian’s portion of Wayne Enterprises until he is of age, you have rights to all of their bank accounts that I have their college tuition set aside, and a hefty bank account for you and Eddie as well to live more than comfortably for the rest of your lives while you take care of them,” Bruce explained.

“Which means you and Clark will have no control over Damian and Jon? And that unless I permit you can’t see them,” Y/n said.

Bruce nodded. Y/n outstretched her hand.

“Give me the paperwork,” Y/n said.

The four boys watched her practically rip the custody papers out of Bruce’s hands. She quickly signed her name on the lines that were marked with a purple highlighter. Once she had signed on all of the correct lines, Y/n moved so she was standing in front of all of the boys.

“Just because you have handed over the custody to the most important boys in my life doesn’t mean that I forgive you. I still hate you for what you did to me. To Jason. To Tim. And I swear to you that I will make you pay for it,” Y/n said her words dripping with poison.

Bruce straightened his back. He ripped his gaze away from Y/n and glanced down at Damian. Damian looked so much like him. His son was fifteen. Just nine months shy of turning sixteen. Bruce noticed the way he stood right next to Y/n. Holding her hand in his and defiantly looking at him waiting for his father to say something to him.

“Be on your best behavior. And take care of each other,” Bruce said before turning on his heel and heading back to his SUV.

The six of them stood there and watched as Bruce backed out of the driveway. Finally, Y/n turned around to face Eddie and their sons. She wasn’t sure what to say or what to do.

“Are you guys hungry?” Eddie asked finally breaking the silence.

“Duh, I can always eat,” Freddy said.

Eddie and Y/n rounded the boys up and brought them inside. The couple worked alongside each other whipping up a large meal for the four growing boys. As the boys sat around the table eating, Eddie pulled Y/n out of the dining room and into their office. Y/n knew what was coming. Eddie closed the door.

“You didn’t even ask me if this is what I wanted,” Eddie pointed out.

“Last I knew, we weren’t married, this was my house, and my decision to make,” Y/n snapped.

Eddie sighed. “Four teenage boys is a lot,”

“Yeah, and what’s your point? You’ve known even before we started dating that I was close with all four of those boys. I made it abundantly clear that I would drop anything for them. Which I have. You’ve come with me to rescue them on bad fights,” Y/n reminded him.

“It was different when we had the chance to take them back home to their actual parents,” Eddie argued.

Y/n crossed her arms over her chest and she clenched her teeth. Eddie had pissed her off. He knew that. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the kids, but he and Y/n had already been through so much together. They were friends before they had started dating. He saw the emotional turmoil that she went through after the death of Jason.

He was there for her when Thanos had happened and she had lost a huge chunk of her family. The two of them had gone through a lot. Their relationship was strained for a long time after the snap. But they worked together. He loved her. Eddie could see himself spending the rest of his life with her, but her not including him on making such a big decision rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t really care that they were here and that Y/n took them in. The point was that she didn’t even discuss this with him.

“Did you want me to send them to the orphanage?” Y/n asked him.

“Of course not!” Eddie hissed.

“Then what is your fucking problem?” Y/n asked.

“You and I have been through so much shit together. I just thought you would have had the common courtesy to at least ask me if I was okay with you taking custody of the boys,” Eddie explained to her.

“You’re right,” Y/n began.

Eddie looked at her in confusion. He felt like this was a trap.

“The two of us have been through a lot of shit together, but you would think by now that you would have learned that I don’t ask for permission. Especially when it comes to those boys. If you don’t like it, then pack up and leave,” Y/n said.

Eddie’s eyes widened. “You’d break up with me because of this argument?”

“Those boys came first before you. I’ve made it clear that I love those boys. I’ve watched them all grow up. I will always put them first. If you don’t like that and can’t handle it then don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Y/n said.

Before Eddie could even try and argue with her, she was pushing past him and leaving him in the office. He could hear in the dining room talking with the boys. Eddie loved her. But could this be too much for them? This could be their breaking point.

Forcing a smile on his face, Eddie stepped out of the office and headed back into the dining room. Jon was in the middle of telling Y/n some wild story. His hands were waving all over the place. Freddy and Billy were arguing over who was the better superhero between Y/n’s parents. Eddie caught Damian’s eye and the young teen was glaring at Eddie.

Eddie and Damian stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity until Y/n asked for Damian’s opinion. Damian slowly turned his attention off of Eddie and onto Y/n. Eddie sighed. Venom was growing restless. He hated when Y/n and Eddie argued. Which Eddie didn’t understand because 99% of the time Venom always sided with Y/n.

Apologize!

No.

Y/n didn’t have to ask for your permission.

I know that. But we’re in a relationship. It would have been nice if she at least considered my opinion.

Bleck! You humans and your emotions disgust me.

Yeah. Yeah. If anyone is a bleeding heart, it’s you.

Take that back!

Eddie only smiled to himself and fell quiet. The teens were rowdy. Y/n was laughing. Eddie had to admit this was the happiest he had seen her in a long time.

“Hey, Y/n, we don’t have anything except for what we could shove into our backpacks,” Billy sudden brought up.

“Mhmm, you’re right. That’s going to be a problem,” Y/n said.

“We could always go shopping tomorrow!” Freddy shouted.

“You all have school,” Y/n said.

“So? We all could afford to skip a day,” Damian shot back.

“Yeah, come on Y/n, we could make a day of it. Get everything that we need in one big day of shopping,” Jon added.

Y/n sighed. Y/n glanced up at Eddie. He gave her a soft smile and nodded.

“Also, it’s not like you don’t have the money. You know Bruce set you up for life. Buying us clothes, toys, electronics, or whatever else we want isn’t going to break you,” Damian piped up.

“Well, I was thinking of using that money to add to my house. Y’all will be sharing a room for a while,” Y/n said.

“Do both. You can afford it,” Freddy grinned.

“Yeah, come on Y/n, it will be so much fun. It will be our first big day as a new family,” Billy pleaded.

“Alright, we can go. But on a few conditions,” Y/n gave in.

“Name them!” The boys exclaimed together.

“You all must be on your best behavior. You stick with us and no running off. Clothes first before anything else. No whining. No complaining. You will try on your clothes and I get to veto anything that I don’t deem appropriate and then your butts go right back to school the following day,” Y/n listed.

The boys looked at each other and nodded. “Deal!”

Y/n rolled her eyes. Everyone chit chatted while they finished dinner. Once they were done eating the boys helped take care of the leftovers, did dishes, and then split into pairs into the one spare bedroom and into the office that they would make into a bedroom for the time being.

After Y/n got all of them showered, in pajamas, and their teeth brushed she left them to talk amongst themselves until they fell asleep. She disappeared upstairs into her bedroom. Eddie was already in bed. Y/n changed into her pajamas, did her nightly routine, and then climbed into bed next to Eddie.

‘Y/n,” Eddie began.

“I’m tired of fighting. We can talk tomorrow,” Y/n said and without giving him a chance to respond she turned off her light and turned away from him. Eddie had hurt her feeling and she wasn’t sure just how they were going to bounce back from this one.

#Home #Damian Wayne #Jon Kent #Billy Batson #Freddy Freeman #Eddie Brock #Robin #Superboy #Shazam #Venom #marvel #dc #fic #insert reader #batfamily

[subverbaldreams]

Jason’s Boy

A side story to Eternity Rising & graphic sexual imagery

(it’s just smut)

3.3k words

Warnings!! Graphic, abusive father/son incest. Also, graphic images. You get no further warning.

Here’s a link to the uncensored moodboard on NewTumbl

****

    The bedroom door was shut.

    Jason frowned as he opened it. He was certain he had left the door cracked; he liked the idea of his naked son being just barely hidden away while he fucked the boy’s soft-hearted, gullible boss in the adjacent room. Michael had left him wanting, tonight...but that annoyance died out the moment he laid eyes on the prize that awaited him in his own bedroom.

    The boy was where Jason had left him, wrists bound together above his head and tied to the high bedpost, blindfolded and gagged. He was only half-hard--but it had been several hours since Jason had gone to meet his “date,” leaving his son straining on the brink of orgasm and dripping precum onto the floor. He walked forward slowly, enjoying the sight of Devyn’s muscular body stretched and bound.

    Devyn heard his footfalls and his breaths came faster. He shifted his shoulders. Sweat dripped down his chest. Jason watched the bead of liquid travel down to his lower belly, where it lodged against a raised scar. Such a sexy little bastard.

    He checked Devyn’s wrists when he got close. The pretty, red rope was thinner than he usually used, and a little abrasive. His boy had been twisting his wrists again, and had managed to break the skin. Jason didn't discipline him for doing it. To him, the wounds on Devyn’s wrists were given by him--his ropes, his will--and so long as the boy didn't lose any fingers, he wasn’t concerned about nerve damage. It wasn't as though Devyn would ever play guitar.

    Devyn flinched when he was touched. A little whimper sounded behind the gag. Jason checked his fingers for temperature, found them normal, then backed away from him.

    He unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it on the floor. He'd watched his boy on the security cameras for a few minutes before coming in--watched him twisting and writhing. Devyn was trying to hold still, now that he was in the room. Jason pulled his belt off slowly, careful not to let the metal make a sound. He wrapped the strap end of it over his hand once, then swung his arm around hard to whip the buckle into the iron bedpost just above Devyn's bound hands.

    The crash exploded the silence of the room. Devyn spasmed in reaction, letting out a belated scream, followed by tight, frightened breaths that heaved his ribs in and out.

    Jason swung his arm again, this time aiming the buckle for the bedpost behind Devyn. When he hit it, Devyn lurched away, every muscle in his body pumping and straining. Such a perfect little whore. 

    Jason set the belt silently on the floor and finished pulling his clothes off. Devyn's breathing didn't return to normal. He didn't know if it was something about the way Devyn's throat constricted when he was afraid, but he made the sweetest little humming sound when he was put on high alert, like he was now.

    Jason knelt naked in front of his boy, getting close enough so that Devyn could feel his body heat. The boy went perfectly still, except for the too-rapid movement of his chest with each shallow breath. He wondered if the boy even knew who was with him. Jason had allowed others to use him enough times, the boy shouldn’t be surprised to feel a stranger’s hands on his body.

    He grabbed his boy's right nipple and tugged it forward. Devyn stuck out his chest with a little yelp, struggling to move with him, but his bonds kept him from going any further. Jason pinched his tit hard and watched him closely. After a few seconds increasing the pull and the pressure, the pain made Devyn's breath stop. Jason let him suffer another few seconds, then released him and watched him squirm as the blood returned to his freshly bruised nipple. He leaned down and put his mouth over the purpled flesh, sucking it. Devyn's breath caught in a pained cry. He kept whimpering after Jason released him. He was fully hard again. A distinct hum came through the gag.

    "Daddy."

    Jason closed his eyes and stroked himself, rubbing his son's need into the flesh of his cock. "I've got you, boy," he murmured. 

    He dove into his boy's throat, pushing his head back to bite and suck on his neck. He ate at his son like a starving man, digging his teeth into the deltoid muscle, then licking along the collarbone. Devyn's whole body tensed at first, but his hips began thrusting as Jason coaxed him. His teeth drew muffled gasps from his bound boy, while his lips and hands drew out sighs of contentment. Pink flushed up his son's chest and neck in response to him--pain and fear, passion and pleasure.

    My son. Mine.

    Jason wrapped a hand around his son's throat and lifted him, kneeing between his legs so that Devyn straddled his lap. Devyn's biceps bunched as he tried to pull his weight up by his bound wrists. The exposed parts of his face darkened above Jason's gripping hand. 

    The urge was there--not to loosen, not to let go. Just choke his baby boy until he fell limp in his bonds...until he went quiet and still...

    "Dirty slut," Jason growled, grounding himself and pushing the urge away. He wrapped his other arm around Devyn’s waist and pulled him in close, so that their hard cocks were trapped against each other between their bellies. He squeezed Devyn’s throat one last time before releasing and diving in to kiss and lick the bruises his fingers left behind. He could hear the sobs lurking just behind those uneven, whistling gasps as his son fought for breath. He licked up behind Devyn's ear and massaged his scalp through his thick hair. Devyn tensed and shivered, afraid to relax. 

    He could spend time soothing that fear, if he wanted to. He could bring his boy down, make him release, get him to accept the pain without tightening up the way he was doing now. 

    But that wasn't what he wanted. Not tonight. Tonight he wanted his sweet baby clenched and terrified. He wanted to take him screaming and fighting. He'd been lenient enough this week. He had allowed Devyn to suck him until he came and then let him swallow the cum. The night before, he had let Devyn hump his hand while delivering electric shocks to his nipples and his hole. He'd pampered the boy lately; now it was time to take his due. Time to remind him that it was only by Jason's mercy that he received any pleasures in this life.

    "Who owns you?" he demanded. 

    "You, Sir."

    "Who made you?"

    "You, Sir."

    "Who do you live for?"

    "YOU, Sir!" The muffled groan rumbled up from deep inside his chest. Devyn's head fell back, exposing his throat. His legs widened, his hips pushed forward; even his blood-striped torso lengthened as he physically threw himself into the words. Jason basked in the sight of it, the feel of it. Sometimes his son's devotion sent shivers over his skin. Right now that feeling of godlike power rolled straight through his center, filling him with a delicious warmth. He grabbed Devyn's neck, enveloping his throat in a vise grip, and pushed him back against the bedpost.

    "Fucking sexy whore," he whispered roughly. He took lube from his pocket and slicked a dollop of it over his cock. It would be just enough to get inside; he wanted this to hurt. In one swift motion, he grabbed his boy under the thighs, lifted him, and forced that unprepared young hole right down onto his rigid rod.

    Devyn screamed.

    Jason grabbed his hips, digging his fingers in viciously. He shoved the boy up and down on his cock, not giving him a second to catch his breath. Devyn got a few good screams out before his inability to inhale fast enough through the gag turned the screams into choked whimpers. His body's reactions became confused. His cock went soft at first, then stiffened, then went soft again. He may have been fucked recently by the house staff, but none of them were big enough to keep him ready for Jason's cock. Even Shaw's fat monster was a few inches shorter than Jason's. One week without his daddy inside him and Devyn was tight as a vise. Hot, sweaty, and howling.

    Jason snarled and surged against him, shoving him flush against the bedpost. He grabbed the post and the rail respectively and slammed his whole body forward and upward, thrusting his son into the iron bar. Devyn's bound hands and ankles prevented him from gaining any traction against the assault. His thighs spasmed around Jason's waist; his clenched fists knocked into the bedpost with every thrust. He shuffled his legs uselessly, trying to escape. Jason's heart was pounding, but he could still distinguish his boy's racing pulse--a panicked, fluttering sleeve of heat wrapped tightly around his cock. Devyn lurched and cracked his head back into the iron bedpost. Jason grabbed him by the hair to stop him from knocking himself out. He bared his teeth, angry and satisfied all at the same time.

    "Think that'll work, whore?" he snarled. "Think you can get away from this?" Jason punished him with harder thrusts, angling his hips forward and back, side to side, to force his hole further open, to bruise every part of him. Wild sounds, uncontrolled shrieks and sobs, came from behind the thick gag. His boy was exhausting himself quickly, thrashing and screaming so hard. It was absolutely amazing.

    "Think you want to get away?... Sweet little fuck-slut...you belong to me...tight baby, fuck yeah...I think you love this..." Jason groaned random compliments and insults to his son, letting himself bathe in the pleasure of their joined bodies. He kept up his hammering thrusts until they were both glistening with sweat. The whip wounds in Devyn's chest reopened with their movement until fresh blood had run all the way down Devyn's chest and belly, between his legs, to leave a sticky smear between his ass and Jason's thrusting hips.

    An electric heat was building at the base of Jason's spine. He could hold it, if he wanted to--just keep fucking his baby for hours--but his new boy Michael had left him so unsatisfied. Stupid slut, getting drunk so quickly. He should be more grateful for Jason's attention, should take better care of himself for his Master. He had to remember the boy didn't know any better, though. He still thought Jason was just some rich playboy. 

    But the memory came before his mind's eye: Michael shrinking away from his touch tonight, fearful as an untrained street whore. He'd never done that before.

    And the bedroom door had been shut.

    It was that quick. It came to him in a perfect flash. The averted eyes. The sudden reticence. His new little plaything had seen something he shouldn't have. Jason stopped moving and looked down at his captive son, then over his shoulder to the door of the room. 

    That was it. Michael had gone wandering while Jason had been occupied at the front. He'd opened the cracked bedroom door and seen Devyn, tied and naked.

    Jason grinned. What a sight that must have been to his fresh young club manager! Had it made him hard? Was he cowering in his own bed right now, guiltily jacking himself off? A laugh rumbled up Jason's throat at the mental image. Excitement filled his hips like a cup of warm brandy. If a replay of the security feed confirmed his suspicion, then it was time to move Michael to the next phase of the game. He let out a pleased hum and luxuriously rolled his hips, stirring his cock around inside his son. Devyn twisted helplessly, speared on his thick meat. 

    Jason lifted his boy's hips, sliding his raw cock out of his boy's equally raw hole. Devyn screamed when the head pulled free; his legs went limp and his full weight fell into Jason's hands. He lowered the boy until he hung from his wrists, panting raggedly.

    Jason moved behind his son, pushing in between him and the bed. The size of his torso forced Devyn's chest out and pulled his bound wrists backward until his shoulders were strained. Devyn's head fell back against Jason's shoulder. The timbre of his whimpers became pleading. Jason bent his head to lick the sweat off his son's throat; he smoothed his hair back and flicked his tongue across the boy's hairline. Small sounds of hurt and need came muffled to his ears. His baby sang the prettiest music to him.

    "My boy," Jason whispered against Devyn's hot, sweaty forehead. "My son."

    Devyn groaned. Jason took his hips and thrust into him from behind. 

    Devyn instantly knotted up from fingers to toes, clamping so tight around his cock it was painful. Another struggle ensued as Devyn tried to pull away from his battering thrusts. The new angle let each bruising lunge of his cockhead punch directly against Devyn's gland. The tone of those cries changed, becoming more--more fear, more pain, more pleasure. Jason used one hand on the bedrail behind them to lift himself; he held Devyn with an arm around his waist, planted his heels, and lifted his lower body to pound upward into his son's battered hole. Devyn was left with even less leverage than before; he was forced to lie back against Jason's body while his ass was reamed, unable to ease the force of the thrusts. His head fell back against Jason's neck. He turned his gagged and blindfolded face up toward Jason's, crying in exhaustion. Straining to find him. Seeking comfort. 

    Jason put all the power of his body into the thrusts, pounding upward as if he would tear out through the front of his son's belly. His baby boy's dick was hard again; it wagged in the air as Jason fucked him. He could just imagine Michael standing in front of them. He pictured the horrified lust on the man's face...pictured his spirit crumbling as he jerked off unwillingly, as he squirted his guilty load onto Devyn's exposed stomach, onto his smoothly shaved balls, while watching him get plowed by his own father...

    "AAAH!" The orgasm rushed through his dick in a torrent. Jason pushed his hips high into the air, until his boy's feet were lifted from the ground. Devyn spasmed in pain, but he went silent, accepting his daddy's load. Jason gripped his chest in a one-armed bear hug and bit his right arm where it was raised beside him, tasting his tender flesh. He yelled his release into that jawful of shivering muscle, emptying his heavy balls into his son's bowels. 

    As the rush of ecstasy slowed, the roaring in his ears quieted, and his vision began to clear, he resumed his thrusts, mixing his seed around inside his baby boy. Devyn's chest rose and fell in irregular hiccups. There was a quick whistle as he sucked in a bit of air around the nub of the gag, then fell back limp onto Jason's chest. Only then did Jason notice the boy wasn't able to breathe through his nose anymore.

    He lowered himself unhurriedly so that he was sitting back on his heels, his boy still speared in his lap. He held Devyn around the waist and unbuckled the gag from behind his head. He had to work the silicone nub back and forth before his boy's jaw opened enough to release it. A long stream of saliva--mixed with tears and mucus--fell out of Devyn's mouth. He sucked in a raw, ratcheting gasp, then another, and another, until his desperate breaths threw him into a coughing fit. The spasms that created around Jason's cock were interesting, but he was spent for the moment. 

    Jason pulled out of his son and left him there, hanging by his wrists and struggling to fill his body with oxygen, while he went to the bathroom to clean himself, then to the walk-in closet to dress. Devyn had quieted by the time he came back into the room. The boy was shivering now, teeth chattering, as the sweat and blood on his body dried, sucking the warmth from his skin. It had to be hard for him, staying on his knees after the way Jason had fucked him, but his bonds gave him no choice. Jason looked the boy over once, decided it was satisfactory, and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

 ~~~

    Rheven was quick. 

    Jason barely caught a flash of her disappearing behind the door of the training room as he emerged from the bedroom. He strode rapidly after her and slammed the door open. She was just behind it; he felt it hit her, heard her fall to the floor. He stepped around the door and looked down. His daughter cowered where she fell, her head lowered. It was nothing more than an amusing annoyance, until he saw the small bottle of water roll away from her leg.

    A reactive rage uncoiled from the base of his spine--but Jason ignored it, and it quickly fell away. He controlled his rage, not the other way around. Rheven had been lurking to give water to her brother. It wasn't strictly a rule that she could not; Devyn wasn't technically being punished right now. It was the hiding that had aroused his anger.

    "What are you doing, baby girl?" he asked softly. 

    Rheven mumbled something that began and ended with "Sir." Jason's mouth quirked and again he found himself half-amused, half-annoyed. 

    Kids.

    "Speak up when I ask you a question, girl," he snapped.

    "Sir, I was waiting to see Devyn, Sir," she said, almost too loudly this time. 

    Jason nudged the water with his foot. "Who's this for?"

    "Sir, it's for Devyn, Sir." Her voice was calm with the admission, but he could taste the fear rolling off of her. He leaned down to pick her up under the armpits and haul her to her feet. She was stiff in his hands--not resisting, but frightened. Jason wiped down her arms as though dusting her off, then tilted her chin up with his fingers. She stared at his shoulder, expressionless.

    "Good girl," he praised her gently. "Always tell your Daddy the truth."

    "Sir, yes, Sir." 

    Her voice was flat, her eyes were empty, but her lips quivered just a touch. Jason rewarded her for that vulnerability with a slow kiss. He cupped the back of her head, stroked her waist, and gently tongued her lips apart, probing just inside her mouth. His girl's rigid body softened. She subtly shifted into his chest, huddling into that moment of protection. Jason held and stroked her for a minute, giving her some Daddy time. She laid her head against his chest, but kept her arms tucked into herself. She always had a harder time releasing to him than her brother. But, as was so often the case, he had used up his night with his son, leaving himself short on time to spend with her. It was no accident, though it sometimes left him with the odd sensation that he was missing out on something.

    "You go on, baby girl. Be quick, though. I won't be gone for long."

    "Sir, thank you, Sir," his girl said into his chest. Jason kissed her forehead and left the room. She did not come out behind him.

 ~~~

    Marcus was in the screening room when Jason reached the front of the house. A quick scan of the night's hall camera recording confirmed his suspicion. His little Michael had nearly fallen over from shock after he pushed open Jason's bedroom door.

    Jason texted a heads up to his cop contacts and to his men at the club. His relationship with his naive lover was about to get interesting.

    Finally.

#tw: incest #tw: abuse #my writing #my fic #eternity rising

[moonah-rose]

King Takes Knight (Part 4)

Promises were broken. 

(TW: torture and captivity)

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

He hates to pull away from Tahani’s embrace, from the softness of her luxurious hair against his cheek. Her lip wobbles as she attempts to smile at him, holding back the smallest of tears pricking her eyes. She can’t bring herself to say anymore parting words, enough air trapped in her throat with worry, so Michael just gives her cheek a brief stroke with his thumb.

“We’ll be back before you know it. All of us.” He tells her, which may be turn out to be another lie. He hopes not.

She nods and moves aside to hug Jason. He turns to see Eleanor standing in front of him. He tenses, not really sure he can handle more talk about how badly he screwed up, right when he’s about to go riding into actual Hell.

“I’m gonna give you one job, okay. Even you should be able to handle that much.” She tells him.

He nods; “Bring back Janet. You don’t need to tell me-.”

“No, that’s Jason’s. Your job is to keep that brave doofus safe...and to make sure you all come back in one piece. I mean it,” She prods her index finger against his chest; “I don’t wanna see a single cut on that skin-suit or you’re on dinner duty for a month.”

“I’m always the one who gets dinner.”

“Yeah but...without magic or Janet.”

He shrugs; “Oh, I’ve been meaning to learn to cook!”

“Look, I haven’t had time to think of a suitable threat! So just say ‘Yes, Boss’ and know that I’m gonna be pissed if any of you get hurt down there, got it?” She raises her voice, the hint of uncertainty rearing its head.

Michael gets it now. He stands up straight; “Yes, Boss.”

He tries to reach his arms out to her, only for her to take a step back. His chest aches, hard. Still a little mad then. She doesn’t look it but...

“No hugs. Hugs are for goodbye and this isn’t gonna be that. There! That’s my threat! Come back safe or no hug!”

It’s a pretty lame threat but he pretends to look horrified, all the same. 

“Yes, Boss.”

-

Wafts of steam float from his nostrils and the tiny slit in his lips. Everything around him is dark blue, sheets of ice coating every surface. There’s only the dimmest of lighting above, they don’t leave him in complete darkness. It’s enough for him to see how alone he is. It’s enough for him to never want to have to look at snow or ice again in his existance.

It’s enough to hallucinate, to fill the empty stage with figments of his tormented and bored psyche. 

“I gave you one job.” She tells him, stood a metre away.

The first time, he had yanked against his chains, wordlessly begged for salvation. For freedom. He’d been foolish enough to believe it was finally over.

It’s started happening enough now for him to be aware what’s happening.

But there’s still that slight, crushing realism that makes her words as hurtful as ever.

“You couldn’t do the one thing I asked of you? It was bad enough you lumbered me with this job that was supposed to be yours before you chickened out, now you leave me to handle it on my own!” Eleanor snarls at him; “You should have been able to fight them off and escape but look at you...Pathetic, Mikey. You always were. A useless demon and a failed wannabe angel.”

He closes his eyes and bows his head, body jittering against the chill and the bluntness of her words.

It’s not real. She’s not real. She’s not here. She’s safe.

Even if she probably would be saying these things if she were here...It doesn’t matter. It’s not her.

“Maybe Shawn is right. Maybe this is where you’re supposed to be. You betrayed your own kind and then you betrayed us by lying. You’re nothing but a dirty, cowardly traitor. I hope you rot here.”

He’s torn between tearing up and laughing at the almost cliche insults his own mind is creating to throw at him. They’re becoming beyond a joke. He knows full well what he is. The only reason his not-brain is creating these illusions are something to fill the time between Shawn’s torture games.

It’s either that or sit and suffer the cold. He struggles to imagine what being warm...what being held felt like.

Her face hovers before him as if she were kneeling down to find his eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about me, bud. Once this is over, Chidi will wake up and I’ll have the person back at my side who I trust...Who I love. Who’s never let me down like you did.” She sneers, resentment in her grey-green eyes piercing into him; “...Don’t flatter yourself by thinking I’ll be missing you.”

When the side door opens, he almost weeps with relief, as it casts away the ghost for a moment. Whatever horrors they have planned for him is preferable to...that.

A shoe moves forward and pressed down on one of the nails in his foot. He yelps, the wounds still feeling raw after all this time...

Fork. He doesn’t want to know how long it’s been.

“I thought you might want to hear some...interesting news, Mike.” Shawn leans to hiss in his ear; “I just got word that someone has lifted the blockade brought down by your Good Janet. Now...I think there’s enough of your teeny mind left in there to work out who might have done that....”

He starts to shake harder, eyes widening.

Shawn’s fingers pinch the back of his neck.

“Looks like our little video bait worked a treat. And now your pretty slave-robot is on her way to try and save you...And she’s gonna be walking right into our trap. We better get it ready, don’t you think?”

Michael tries to open his mouth against the bindings to speak, blocking out the pain of the metal tearing his mouth. He’ll beg. He’ll threaten. He’ll do whatever it takes to-

Something large whacks him over the head and he falls on his side.

“Oh, I’m afraid you won’t be here when she arrives. She’ll be coming here for you, no doubt, but you’re going somewhere were no one apart from myself is ever going to find you again.”

No, no, Janet, please! Don’t come! Stay away!

There’s a snap. Something goes over his head and everything is black.

#btw if anyone is wondering why this isnt on ao3 #because they are in short parts #i plan to upload the whole thing as a one shot when finished #its easier for me to update this way #whump #tgp fanfic #angst

[reallyautomaticvoid]

Calling It: Where's the Beer, Replacement?

Character: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Bart Allen

Summary: Jason stops by to have a beer. Tim is not prepared for this.

Warning: some angst, swearing, reference to alcohol

Thump.

Tim groans and nestles deeper into his pillow.  His bed is warm.  The world is cold.  He’s not getting up unless there is an alien invasion.  Even that is a coin toss.

“Normal,” an overly chipper voice bore into Tim’s skull, “I’m all for you sleeping.  Especially when you’ve been up for a week straight and don’t think we don’t know about that, dumbass.”  A being leans close to Tim’s ear, “we have eyes everywhere.”  

Tim snarls, pulling a pillow over his head.  “Fuck off, Bart.”

“Any other day, I would, fuck knows you need the sleep, but unfortunately, today isn’t your lucky day.” 

Bart pulls Tim’s blanket off of him before stealing his pillow.  Tim blinks at the sudden bright light and cold air.  

Glaring at Bart, Tim shivers.  “What?”

“Okay, so, you know how you love me and stuff?”

“Not at the moment, no.”  Tim tries to snatch his cooling blankets from Bart, but speedsters.

“Okay, great.  You know how you want the Tower to stay standing?”

Tim’s eye’s narrow.  “What?”

Instead of answering Tim’s question, Bart took the opportunity to pick Tim up (Bridal style because Bart’s an ass sometimes) and speeding them from Tim’s room to the kitchen.

“Get him out of my kitchen, or I’m calling Con,” Bart mutters in Tim’s ear before running off.  Probably to call Con.

Tim blinks at the back of a person, in a leather jacket, who was digging through the fridge.  The only two people in the Tower are him and Bart.  

So, who the hell is digging through their fridge?

And why the hell didn’t any of the Tower’s security go off?

Clearing his throat, Tim watches, as the person—man—didn’t jump.  Or flinch.  Or stop his search of the fridge.  

Instead, the man turns to arch a brow at Tim.

Jason—Jason fucking Todd— was digging through his fridge.

“Replacement.”  Jason turns back to the fridge.  “Where the hell is your beer?”

“Beer?  What are you talking about?  How the hell did you get passed security?”  

 “Dont’ worry about it and yeah, beer.  You know, the stuff ya drink.”  Jason pulls out a container of what was Thai food.  Popping the lid before sniffing it, Jason jerks back his head.  “Whoo, what the fuck is this?”

“Pad Thai. Jason, what the hell are you doing here?”

Wrinkling his nose, Jason says, “This is not Pad Thai.  This is a new life.”  Turing, Jason dumps the Pad Thai in the trash.  “I’m lookin’ for a beer.”

Sighing, Tim says, “you came to Titans Tower to look for a beer?  Jason, there are liquor stores in Gotham.  So, really, what are you doing here?”

This time when Jason turns to face Tim, he closes the refrigerator. “I’m here checking on ya, Replacement.”

Tim stares at Jason who stares right back.  

Fifteen seconds.  Jason blinks.

Thirty seconds.  Tim twitches.

One minute.  Jason scratches his nose.

“No, seriously, Jason.  Why are you here?”

“What?  You think I can’t worry aboutcha and that I’d come by and check on ya?”

“I think it’s more likely your here for the beer.  Do you need intel or something?  Because I’m busy.”

Jason snorts.  “Yeah, I can tell.  Nice boxers by the way.  I like the little hearts.”

Blushing, Tim looks down because, yeah, he is in his boxer shorts.  Just his boxer shorts.  The ones with the little hearts all over them with little cuties sayings all over like XOXOXO and BEE mine written all over them.  

He’s going to kill Bart.

Slowly.

“No, asshat.  I don’t need anything.  Ya missed your last two call-ins and haven’t answer any my emails.”  Jason looks Tim up and down.  “You don’t look dead so what the fuck?”

“I’m almost nineteen, Jason.  I don’t check-in anymore.”

“I’m twenty-one.  What the fuck does our age have ta do with checken’ in?”

“I don’t check-in with the Bats anymore.  I’m not their responsibility.”

Jason stares at Tim for a moment before cackling. “Oh, please, please let me be there when you tell Bruce this.  Or, better yet, Dick, let me be there when you tell Dick.”

Tim controls the flinch that threats to overtake him when Jason says this.

“Jason.  I haven’t check because they don’t care anymore.  I’m just the IT guy or an extra body for when the apocalyptic is threatening to blow shit up.  They don’t care anymore.”

The more Tim says, the more Jason looked pissed.  

Great.

“Since when has dis been a thing, Replacement?”  Jason’s voice was low and dangerous and all Red Hood.  Fan-fucking-tastic.

Since Dick kicked me out as Robin without so much as a good job kid, we’ll be seeing you around.  Since Damian had come out in his Robin uniform without Tim getting so much as a ‘hey, heads up, this thing is happening now’.  Since Damian had made it clear that there wasn’t any room at the Manor for him anymore.  Since I brought Bruce back and I didn’t get so much as thanks for the assist, kid.

Since he was flying without a net. 

“Since I became Red Robin.”

Jason sucks at his teeth, sizing Tim up.  

Tim’s muscles began to tense.  Tim took a half step back, subtly trying to get into a fighting position just in case.

Jason clicks his tongue at Tim.  “No need for that, Replace—Tim.  Really,” Jason rolls his eyes at Tim’s cocked eyebrow, “we’re not gonna fight.”

“Really?” Disbelief dripping from every pore in Tim’s body.

“Really, Tim.”  Jason’s voice is warm and soft; the tone normally reveres for hurt young children.  Not one of Red Hood (Jason’s) normal tones.  Not a tone for Tim.  “I’m not gunna hurtcha, kid.”

Right.

“I’m not,” Jason repeats causing Tim to jump, wondering if he said it out loud.  “Nah, kid, yer just easy to read.  Remember, I did quite a bit of time studying you.”

“You were trying to kill me.”

“Semantics.  Besides, that’s how I show I care.”  Jason cracks a grin and Tim, to his great surprise, is suppressing one himself.

“Next time, I’m fine with flowers.”

“Not chocolate too?”

“Nah, I cut sweets out of my diet last year.  It’s not good for you, you know.”

Jason snorts.  “Nether is vigilantism.  Gunna give dat up too?”

“Never,” Red replies.

“Cool dat.  Now, listen, Tim: I wantcha to check in with me every now and then.”

“I don’t need—” Tim starts, but Jason cuts him off.

“I know you don’t need to, Replacement, but I wantcha to.  I’ll take a ‘not dead’ every month or so, ‘cause really, I know ya can handle your own business but since ya help me out last month with pit visit,” Tim flinches at the memory of trying (and somehow succeeding) in talking Jason off that very murdery ledge.  Nobody (including Jay) wanted a revisit from that Red Hood; the one that would shoot you as soon as help you.

Jason clears his throat.  “Anyways, I’m…concerned about your welling being now.”  Jason wouldn’t meet Tim’s calculating gaze now.

He could mean it.  Jason could really be holding out this olive branch.  Tim wants to believe in him.  Wants to believe in his Robin.  Wants to believe in that.  But his gut on the other hand—

“Are we going to hug now?” Tim lightly asks, trying to breaking the tension. “Because, I gotta warn you, I’m not much a hugger.”

Jason snorts.  “Hell, no, Replacement.  I’d say we should drink beer, but you don’t have any.”

“Jason, I’m eighteen.”

“So?”

“It’s not legal for me to drink in California at eighteen.”

“Again, so?”

“Or to own alcohol.”

“Didn’t Bruce teach ya to make fake IDs?”

“Not for buying alcohol.”

“Aren’t Garth and Raven over twenty-one anyways?”

Tim splutters.  “I mean, yes, technically.”

By this point, Jason has a massive shit-eating grin that Tim has ever seen on his face.  Or anybody else's face.

“Replacement, I’ve seen the movies.  I know what eighteen-year-olds get up ta.  And do you honestly expect me ta believe that a much of Metas—who regularly fight to prevent the end of the world can’t get their hands on some booze?”

And Jason—Jason fucking Todd—just stares at Tim.

And—fuck.

Sighing, Tim finally relents. “There’s some PVR in the meat drawer.” 

"PVR?  Shit, Replacement, I thought you had class."

Thanks for reading!

AO3 link here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18140963

#Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Bart Allen #swearing #reference to alcohol #angst #brotherly bonding #one shot #dick grayson (mentioned) #Bruce Wayne (mentioned) #tim drake is red robin #Tim Drake-centric #jason todd is red hood