#Tim is trying for frantic cpr | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

terramous · 2 years

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we've never slept six feet apart

ABCs of whump: G is for Gunshot Wound title: happy. - black picket fence word count: 8.7k shout out to my beloveds @marjansmarwani @morganaspendragonss and @trkstrnd who looked over this and gave me validation while it was rotting in my google drive <3 !!MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!! AO3

Tommy didn't call it.

If it were anyone else, she would've before they even left the scene. Yet here they were, in the back of the ambulance, sirens blaring, Tommy pumping his fiancé’s chest as he sat numbly on the bench.

He was the one to break the silence.

"You can stop."

His voice sounded completely foreign to him, hollowed out and quiet even to his own ears. He supposed it made sense, he didn’t feel a whole lot like himself right now, emotion giving way to a chasm in his chest. He had no idea where the strength to speak came from, it was like the bones had been stripped from his body.

"I'm not doing that, TK."

It took him a few moments to be able to gather himself enough to speak again, his voice cool and even. It cut through the air like a bullet. "It's been twenty-five minutes. You know as well as I do that he's dead."

"I'm not stopping," Tommy insisted. "The hospital is only a few minutes away."

"Please," TK begged. "Leave him be."

There was blood soaked into Tommy's uniform, red spread all over the floor of the ambulance. TK's arms were caked in it. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to scrub it from his pores.

There was a sense of calm as Tommy stopped her frantic attempts.

"Nancy, no sirens," Tommy said, her voice soft and wrought with the same emotion that was currently eating TK from the inside out.

It was peaceful, or at least as much peace as TK could gather from the cessation of the sirens. Tommy clicked off the lifepak, detaching the bag from the end of the tube down Carlos' throat. There was a stillness in the air that TK knew came with grief. He wasn’t the only one grieving Carlos, he was a friend to Tommy and Nancy too.

A gunshot wound.

To the chest, a cruel mimicry of TK's own scar, of the wound he survived. Carlos' one was further down, more central–he'd bled out in minutes.

No amount of saline or CPR was going to rectify this.

Heroic measures up until the hospital doors. TK echoed Nancy's words in his head, what she had said the night Tim died, it felt like a lifetime ago. But nothing about this had been heroic, they weren't lifesaving measures, they were torture. A torture to have TK watch efforts he knew were futile, to hear Carlos' ribs crack as Tommy tried desperately to restart his heart.

There was nothing she could've done.

No one had said a word after loading the gurney into the ambulance. Tommy worked in silence and TK had just watched her. He had known Carlos was dead–that he wasn't coming back from this.

The hollowed out feeling in his chest just grew as he had watched Tommy try to resuscitate the love of his life. Carlos was his entire world; his sunlight; the centre of his entire universe, and she knew that, so it was no surprise that he had to be the one to tell her to stop.

Carlos was almost unrecognisable.

He was covered in blood, a relatively small perforation in his chest at the epicentre. His uniform had been cut away from his torso, his chest exposed and hooked up to the lifepak leads, defibrillator pads secured on his right shoulder and left side. They'd never been used, he'd never entered a shockable rhythm.

It was quick. Carlos had been dead well before they even got a backboard to him.

A gunshot. A crackle over the radio–gunman apprehended, officer down, requesting medical assistance.

A part of TK knew that Carlos wasn’t coming home the second he heard those words. He didn’t panic, didn’t sprint to the building.

He was staring down at Carlos’ partner–Elise Riviera–as she desperately tried to staunch the flow of blood from between her fingers. Freshly out of her training period, she had only been working with Carlos for a few months.

She was a damn good cop, and had a heart of gold much like Carlos’ own, but she was nervous on her best days. She had been frantic.

TK had only been at Carlos’ side for a minute or two, watching him gasp as he tried to breathe around a collapsed lung, before he watched Carlos go lax, his eyes still open, but the panic in his dark irises had subsided, emptiness in its place.

Despite knowing somewhere deep down that this was the end, TK had been the one to start compressions. He’d stayed there kneeling on the ground until he was sure his knees would bruise as he pumped Carlos’ chest on his behalf.

Nancy and Tommy had worked around him, silent except for orders being given out.

Somewhere between putting his fiancé’s dead body on a backboard and loading him into the ambulance, it had really hit TK. His steps faltered and the crushing weight of nothingness swept over him–he was numb.

It was a nostalgic feeling, one he had felt back when he first came to Austin, a haze of grey that only those deep brown eyes had managed to cut through.

And yet, it was worse now.

He couldn’t see Carlos, not really, his face was mostly obscured by the endotracheal tube and strap securing it in place. His eyes were closed now, someone doing TK the courtesy of closing them, so he didn’t have to see that emptiness staring back at him.

Just this morning they had shared breakfast, and more than a few light kisses, never straying from the other for too long. Until they parted ways for their shifts.

He had no idea that was going to be the last time he saw Carlos alive. He’d seen Carlos before his heart had stopped but as Carlos choked on his own blood, he had been dying, he wasn’t alive.

He was alive when his hands had been on TK’s face, holding him close as they kissed. It was always magic to kiss Carlos Reyes, and now TK would never have that opportunity again.

Carefully, he took Carlos’ hand in his own, bringing it close to his face. He breathed in the scent of Carlos, still lingering on his skin, before pressing a soft kiss to his knuckle.

No one spoke, no one knew what to say. All three members of this team had lost someone close to them recently, they all greeted grief like an old friend. But this wasn’t sitting down for tea, this was Carlos, dead on a gurney in the back of their ambulance.

The feeling was familiar, the circumstances anything but.

Tommy best knew what he was feeling right now, after all, she had lost her husband so recently. But dimly, TK realised that she had a lot more time with him. They’d built a life together and had two beautiful daughters. TK and Carlos’ story was just beginning, and as quickly as it had started it had been cut short.

Sure, three years wasn’t a short time, but in the grand scheme of things they were supposed to have the rest of their lives together. That’s what the ring on his finger meant–the ring that was suddenly too heavy to lift, as if it weighed more than the Earth itself.

There was nothing that anyone could say that would make this any better, so no one spoke.

TK watched numbly as the gurney was unloaded from the ambulance, too used to springing into action, relaying information to the doctors, keeping pace with the rolling wheels.

He stayed seated this time.

“Be careful with him,” Tommy said softly, and finally for what felt like the first time in years, she took off her blood-covered gloves. They didn’t look blue anymore, just dark and marred with Carlos’ blood. “He’s one of our own.”

The faces of the ER staff were a blur, but they nodded solemnly.

TK didn’t know what to do with himself, but Tommy took his wrist in her grip and gave it a gentle tug. “Come on, let's go inside.”

He watched as Carlos disappeared between the double doors of the ambulance bay. He was gone–both literally and metaphorically.

Tommy guided him around to the entrance to the waiting room, not following Carlos. He’d walked through the hallways of that same hospital a million times, but he’d never gone to the morgue. He wouldn’t today; he didn’t have the strength.

So he just let Tommy take him wherever she wanted. He was a balloon caught in the wind, he had nothing left to anchor him, Carlos was gone and the string tying him to the ground was severed. He felt like he was floating, but he weighed a tonne.

Tommy sat him in the corner, next to the vending machine. It was a smaller row of chairs, two, then a tall houseplant, and the entrance to a supply closet. It was the most privacy he would be afforded in such a public place.

He was covered in blood that wasn’t his own in the waiting room with a hollow look in his eyes. Everyone knew why he was there.

The waiting was a courtesy. He wouldn’t be given updates, or information, they would hand him a bag of Carlos’ clothes, his keys, his phone, and his ring, and ask him if he wanted to see his fiancé’s body.

But that was a while away yet.

For now, Nancy silently sat beside him, placing her hand, palm up, on the armrest that sat between them. It was a silent offering.

“I’m going to radio dispatch–call in a relief team,” Tommy said. “You two sit tight, okay?”

TK said nothing. But apparently Nancy gave their captain the confirmation she needed because she offered TK a smile that didn’t meet her eyes, and gave him a soft pat on his knee.

It hung unsaid in the air, that she was going to have to be the one to relay the news.

Fire hadn’t even been at the scene. Medical was on standby in case things went South, which they did, because TK couldn’t have any peace in his life. He had his love for Carlos, their relationship bringing so much light into his life–and it had been so cruelly robbed of him today.

So no one knew, except the three of them.

A relief team would pick up their rig, take it back to the station. His father would come, someone would call the Reyes’. TK couldn’t help thinking that it should be him.

He and Carlos had been set to be married, he should be the one to tell his once future in-laws that their son was dead. After all, he had watched it happen.

But someone else would do it on his behalf.

He hadn’t even shed a single tear, but it was only a matter of time before the dam broke and everything came crashing down on him. It just didn’t feel real yet. It couldn’t be. He had seen Carlos this morning, had touched him, had felt the warmth of his skin against his own. Carlos was so alive, in every sense of the word, he couldn’t be dead.

He was in a room full of people but he was so alone.

Grief was an isolating feeling.

He would not be the only one grieving Carlos, but it felt like he was the only person on earth who knew him. That wasn’t the truth, of course, Carlos touched the lives of so many people, everyone he had ever met, and he would be so dearly missed. By none more than TK.

In that sense, he was selfish. To consider his grief more than that Carlos’ parents and family would have when they found out. They had known Carlos for his entire life, TK had known him for three years.

Those three years had been the most vital and important of TK’s life. He’d rebuilt his life and his sense of self in Austin, shaping everything around being alive and no longer just living for something to do until he kicked the bucket–whether at work or his own hands. He’d never even entertained the idea of growing old, having grey hair and wrinkles, until he met Carlos and realised that he wanted every moment with this man, as many years as his body would give him. He had only hoped it would forgive him for twenty-six years of abuse from a kid who didn’t fear death.

And now he was alone. Alive. But alone.

He had cheated death so many times, but it seemed that every time death couldn’t have him, it took someone he loved.

Carlos was the casualty this time. Collateral damage, just like he had described them after finding out that their fathers had planned and schemed behind their backs to catch an arsonist. A million lifetimes ago.

His radio crackled against his collarbone.

“This is Paramedic Captain Vega of Station 126, requesting for a relief team.”

Tommy stared, forlorn at her phone.

She had to make this call, there was no way around it. But there was nothing she wanted to do more than to just pocket her phone and go back to TK’s side, to console him.

Sighing, she clicked on the contact she was looking for. They needed to know.

TK was grieving the love of his life just inside, and someone had to tell everyone else. It couldn’t be him, she couldn’t place that burden on him now.

There was no option other than to bite the bullet and tap on the call icon, pressing her phone to her ear.

“Captain Vega, what can I do for you?”

She heaved a sigh, there was no easy way to do this. “Hey, Owen.”

The other captain wasn’t stupid, he caught onto her tone immediately. “What’s happened?”

“I think you need to meet us at Mercy General.”

“What? Is everything okay? Is TK okay?”

“TK is-” she had to cut herself off, TK wasn’t okay, far from it “-he’s unharmed.”

“Then what is it?”

She just had to get it out, as simply as possible, there was no use dangling the sword above Owen’s head for any longer than necessary. She needed to cut the rope, watch it fall. “Carlos is dead.”

“What?”

There was a tangible shock to his voice. It was understandable. Due to their line of work they prepared for the worst, somewhere in the back of their minds they knew that every call they went on, maybe not everyone came home, Owen Strand knew that better than anyone. It didn’t help to soften the blow.

APD had so many rules, hell, they even had bulletproof vests. None of the guidelines had been able to protect Carlos when he needed it.

“We were called to a scene, on standby just in case. I can’t even remember what the situation was, just that they didn’t know their perpetrator had a gun. Carlos was shot.” She took a steeling breath. “There was nothing we could do.”

“TK?”

It was a simple one-word, a two syllable question, but so much was left unasked. It was yet another question Tommy dreaded answering. “We treated him. TK is inside right now, Nancy is with him.”

“Alright.” Owen’s own voice sounded hollow, words echoed in a state of shock. This was not a conversation to have over the phone but no one had a choice. “I- I’ll tell the team. I’ll be there soon, just take care of my boys, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll see you when you get here. Take care, Owen.”

“You too, Captain.”

Tommy didn’t envy the other Captain in the slightest. Her hands were already shaking, tears already threatening to spill after a single phone call. She couldn’t fathom having to look their team in the face and tell them that someone they cared about so deeply–like their own family–was dead.

Tim’s death had hit the station like a brick wall coming toppling down on them, and sans Nancy they had barely known him. There was a sense of fear, for what this meant for everyone. What it meant for TK. TK, who had lost his mother so recently and now the man who had helped him manage his grief and strong-arm his way back into life, was gone too.

Death was cruel.

The best anyone could do now was to hope TK let them in, let them help him. Tommy didn’t like her chances, she bore witness to the shutdown, the shutters coming down on all the liveliness she had come to associate with her newest paramedic. He was like a ghost now, haunting his body.

Something in Tommy had died with Charles, now the last person she ever wanted to, felt the same grief.

So she allowed herself a few more minutes as she sank to the ground, back pressed to the pillar of the entrance to the emergency department. She could only afford a few tears and to wipe them as soon as they fell, she once again needed to be strong for her team, but she needed to let herself feel this.

A relief team from the 129 was sent. They picked up the rig, offered their condolences and left.

Tommy returned not long after radioing for the relief team. Undoubtedly she had called his father, to inform him of the day’s events, that his future son-in-law was dead, and his son was in the waiting room, covered in his blood. As soon as she hung up the call, the weight was placed on Owen’s shoulders to inform the 126, no one’s shoulders grew lighter, the weight shifting hands but never leaving, only spreading.

No matter how many hands gripped the weight settling over him, nothing would lift it.

The best anyone could do now, was to cope. And for Tommy that meant taking care of her team. They were her kids, as she had jokingly reminded them on many occasions. The first time they had all rode in the ambulance together, they had become family, and it had since extended from a work relationship, beyond and into their personal lives.

She would always take care of them, especially on shift, she was their captain after all. So TK couldn’t say he was surprised when she offered to help him get cleaned up.

They went to the bathroom together, a small single stall next to the reception desk.

Tommy took off his gloves, quickly moving to place the blood-covered nylon in the rubbish bin. It was a stark change, to see his hands, palms and fingers, completely clean. There was a ring around each wrist, where the blood stopped, dried and unmoving, where it had sat against the edge of where glove met skin.

He was still, staring at his bare hands, as Tommy pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and ran it under the tap, before carefully wiping at the blood on TK’s arms.

She paid no mind to the blood on her skin as she worked, clearing the mess from TK’s own. A few wipes, she would wring out the handkerchief in the sink, the water running a muddy and faded red before disappearing down the drain.

As she did the best she could of cleaning his arms, she moved to his neck and face. He hadn’t even known there was blood there, but she was quiet and gentle as she tended to him.

It was as she was wiping his cheek that he looked at her, really looked at her, since Carlos’ partner had radioed for medical assistance.

For a flash, she is Carlos and they are in the APD precinct. Deep brown eyes and a careful touch. Just as quickly, they are in a hospital bathroom covered in Carlos’ blood.

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he’s said since the ambulance. His voice is rough and watery with the tears he was forcing himself to swallow.

Confusion crossed Tommy’s expression, her ministrations halting. “For what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” she said firmly, “not at a time like this.”

There were so many things he needed to say, but he couldn’t find the words. If he thought he was barely functioning before, nothing could have prepared him for the laborious task that was every breath without Carlos.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to keep living.

It was possible, he knew that much. He had watched so many of the people he loved lose people and keep living, but he didn’t understand how he was meant to. Carlos had been his rock, his biggest comfort when his mom passed, that wound was open, still bleeding, and he needed Carlos now. He needed Carlos if he was going to get through this but that was the one thing he absolutely couldn’t have.

He knew that his friends and family would take care of him through this, they had been by his side through less world-shattering events. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that they should just leave him alone, let him destroy his life because nothing he could do would ever hold a candle to the pain inflicted on him today.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The scar over his collarbone ached, not for physical pain but mentally, as what it stood for. Had Carlos survived too, his scar would not be dissimilar, but TK would never get to see it. That wound would never close, Carlos would never heal.

Death had already robbed him of so much, did it really have to take Carlos too?

Owen had delivered news like this more times than he had ever thought himself capable. Patients in the field, his fellow firefighters, calling his ex-wife to inform her of TK’s overdoses, him getting shot, his hypothermia, Tim’s death. He had tried to just stay calm, stay focused, and relay the information. But it never got easier.

His hand was shaking as he set his phone down on his desk. This was the last thing he ever wanted to hear. In his life, he had heard so many doctors tell him his son might not make it, to prepare for the worst, say goodbye. There was a sense of finality now though, the man he had come to think of as a son, someone who had shown TK so much love and care, was dead.

There was no way around those words, unshakable and permanent.

He needed to tell the team, but he didn’t think his legs could hold him. Carlos was dead. Those three words, a branding iron to his heart and his head.

TK was grappling with losing the most important person in his life so soon after losing the other. Owen wasn’t an idiot, he knew both Gwyn and Carlos outranked him. He had never been a perfect father but those two were the kindest people he had ever met, and they loved TK just as fiercely as he did.

And TK had lost both of them, so permanently and so close together.

It stayed unspoken between Tommy and himself, but he knew, deep down, that TK had watched Carlos die.

Catching the eye of his team through his glass wall, he noticed their tense postures, quizzical expressions. They had noticed. Of course they did. It was only a matter of time before they made their hike up to his office and he had to utter those words.

Carlos is dead. He rolled the words around in his mouth, but no matter what, they didn’t feel right, they weren’t meant to fit together like that. It left a bitter taste on his tongue, one he wasn’t sure that mouthwash could ever clear.

He afforded himself a deep breath, hoping to harden his resolve. He didn’t need to start crying now, but something inside of him just felt so raw knowing that they had lost Carlos. Death had never been fair, Owen had witnessed too much of it to ever consider it anything but ruthless, but this was a new level of cruelty.

Looking over to Tommy’s unoccupied office, he felt a pang in his chest. This wasn’t like Gwyn, who died at the other end of the country, TK had been there with Carlos as he died. So had his team.

He remembered Tommy apologising to him, while TK was in his second coma, blaming herself. He had managed to reassure her then, that no matter what happened it wasn’t her fault, but this time that comfort wasn’t his to give her. She would blame herself, even if there was nothing she could’ve done.

TK would forgive her, Owen was certain of that much, but he’d never forgive himself. There were very few things on this Earth that Owen Strand could confidently say terrified him, the effect that Carlos’ death would have on TK was currently at the top of his list. TK had tried to throw his life away over so much less.

Someone had to call the Reyes, or maybe just APD and they’d relay the message.

God, everyone had lost so much today.

Owen had sat on the precipice of losing his son more times that he cared to count, but despite everything, TK had always come back to him. He’d always hated the idea of burying his own son, but that was just a thought, a worst-case scenario. It was reality for Andrea and Gabriel Reyes. They were going to have to live his worst nightmare.

So he shouldered his own weight, and left his office, closing the door quietly behind himself as he moved to the stairs.

He wanted to fend it off for as long as he could, to avoid repeating the words he’d heard over the phone, but his team needed to know, and he had to be the one to deliver the news.

Never had two feet on the ground floor felt like a death sentence before.

“126, can I have you all in the sitting area, please?” he called out in his most normal voice, his captain skin that he wore as a façade to cover turmoil beneath the surface. He needed to hold himself together, he couldn’t afford to feel any of this.

Not when everyone needed him to be their pillar. Even as he was about to bring the roof crashing down on their heads.

Sometimes hell is you, a group of people you trust with your life, couches and words weighing heavily on your tongue.

“There is no easy way to say this. I fully understand if any of you would like to go home after you leave this room.”

He wasn’t imagining it when he saw everyone tense, eyes trained more intently on him now. He knew that Paul knew, much clearer than the others, what the next words out of his mouth would be.

He didn’t even know how to say this, how to word it for a group of people. It wasn’t something typically reserved for an announcement, just soft words in private corners.

“I have just been informed that APD Patrol Officer Carlos Reyes was killed in the line of duty.”

Gasps ricocheted throughout the space, everyone’s eyes growing wide. Marjan’s hand came up to cover her mouth, tears already gathering in her eyes. Judd’s grip on the cloth in his hand tightening tenfold, his knuckles going white. No one spoke, but a thousand words hung unsaid.

Grief was no stranger, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Owen hung back like a shadow as TK unlocked the door to the loft.

TK didn’t look at him, too busy trying to figure out where he was meant to step. It felt like a tomb.

It looked the same as it did when he had left it that morning, but instead of dawn sunlight pouring through the windows, the space was illuminated only by the moonlight outside, casting a cool tone over everything. Usually it was a space filled with warmth, courtesy of Carlos who seemed to radiate love and warmth as naturally as the sun gave out light.

The air carried a different weight now, settling heavily in TK’s lungs with every breath.

It was a picture perfect display of how Carlos lived. Furniture laid out tidily, well-thought out and planned, but still filled with TK’s own belongings, still scattered everywhere. If he dared open the fridge he would see Carlos’ meticulous layout, a careful plan that he swore up and down improved the cooking experience. He’d only bought groceries last night–the fridge would be fully stocked.

TK couldn’t cook like Carlos, he wouldn’t be able to use up all those ingredients, one of Carlos’ final efforts was already going to waste. The iron grip around his heart tightened once more.

“Just get some clothes, okay?” Owen said. TK knew he was just trying to seem comforting, reassuring TK that it was okay that he was struggling right now, but it felt condescending. He needed time, he couldn’t just pluck the strength to walk into their shared bedroom out of thin air. He already felt like he was going to pass out standing just beyond the threshold.

But he would never put that to words, not to his father.

If, for even a second, he indicated that he could not handle this, Owen would reach out a hand and whisk him back into the corridor. They would ride back to his father’s house in silence, whether or not he gathered any clothes.

He would not be allowed to stay at the loft, at least not alone. It was a safeguard, to keep him from doing anything stupid, and he didn’t have the energy to care about it. At some point he had gotten used to his father tiptoeing around him, pulling away everything that could possibly hurt him–even if it were his own two hands. He didn’t mind, he wouldn’t have been able to spend the night here if he wanted to.

The air was too heavy, space too barren without Carlos. He felt like he was suffocating just trailing his eyes over every sign that Carlos had been here.

Every step he took deeper into the loft was harder than the last.

The dining table was the first anchor he found, something to lean against in hopes of holding himself upright. Palms pressed to the cool lacquered wood surface.

It is not his best moment when he strikes a hand across the table, throwing a decorative wooden fruit bowl against the wall. The impact was loud, he could almost hear the wood splinter, the clatter against the floor piercing through him, shattering through the air.

His strength leaves him then. His knees met the rug under the table, his arms hanging limp at his sides as he allowed himself, for the first time, to cry. It was not his choice, he had tried to hold himself together for so long.

Through the ambulance ride, the agonisingly long time in the hospital waiting room, even as he looked in the devastated expressions of his friends, family, and Andrea and Gabriel Reyes, he hadn’t let himself cry. He knew that if he did he would never stop.

At some point, the dam was bound to crack, the water pressure becoming too much for his concrete resolve, and he shattered.

His sobs were loud, the only noise in the entire space, so open that it reflected his misery back at him tenfold.

He couldn’t breathe, erratic hands coming up to grasp uselessly at his throat and chest as he heaved out more wails than breaths.

The neighbours would probably think he was being attacked, or some wild animal was stuck and hurt, screaming for release. But it was just him, on his knees in his own home, unable to reign in the pure agony that filled his being. He didn’t think it would ever stop.

His father crossed the loft, coming to his side. He took his son into his arms and held him fiercely as he choked and cried.

There was nothing that he could say that would make this any more bearable, so he said nothing, just offering TK a physical presence, an anchor, a reminder that he wasn’t completely alone in this.

All they could do was ride it out, let the grief come pouring out of TK until the exhaustion finally won.

He figured he would never stop crying.

At the end of the day, he left the loft, head hung, his father’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. He didn’t grab any clothes.

Due to no involvement of his own, TK ended up staying with his dad.

He expected it, no one would let him be alone right now, but even then, his shoulders were heavy with guilt. He saw the way his father looked at him.

He’d taken up residence on the couch–not being able to handle the idea of sleeping in any bed without Carlos on the other side. The first night he had settled into the guest room, but when he reached out to the other side of the mattress, expecting for his hand to meet the warmth of Carlos laying next to him.

But there was nothing except cold sheets.

So he made his tearful trek downstairs, comforter wrapped around his shoulders, and he lay on the couch in the dark until the universe took pity on him and exhaustion finally seized him.

He hadn’t bothered trying to sleep in the guest room since, and neither Owen nor Mateo seemed to be inconvenienced by him. Which was likely because they were worried and not much else.

It reminded him of a different life in which he had spent a lot of time on the couch, recovering from his gunshot wound with his doting father forcing a menagerie of all things green and healthy onto him. And he’d spent the entire time sending texts back and forth with Carlos, trying his best to ease his worry.

Mateo had taken to spending his time off on the couch with TK and a bowl–or three–of popcorn. TK had sat through far too many superhero movies to count over the past week, he couldn’t recall any of the plot, or the character names, but he appreciated the company. And Mateo seemed happy to sit with him.

Even though he barely spoke and would randomly start crying.

At one point he had fallen asleep, his head in Mateo’s lap and a hand playing with his hair. It was comforting to not be alone, but also not being treated like he was falling apart, even if he was.

He was never left alone–not entirely. When Mateo was on shift, usually his father would be around the house, and if that wasn’t possible, there would be a random visitor. One time, he had stirred from his midday nap to find Judd sitting at the nearby armchair, scrolling on his phone.

Neither of them said much.

Tommy’s visit yielded more conversation. Worry poured off of her in waves, she tried to get him to go for a walk with her, but he couldn’t muster up the strength. There were lots of questions about his well being, and a wrapped sandwich pressed into his palm.

The grief was eating him alive, but he didn’t need to tell her that.

TK hated funerals. He’d been to so many in his life, but they never stopped being as difficult to attend. From the second he fastened his black tie he had a lump in his throat.

Carlos’ funeral was the worst.

Everyone offered TK their condolences, as he numbly shook their hands and thanked them. Carlos’ family, far more APD officers than he cared to count. It was a big event, a grand show of people, a testament to how loved Carlos was.

Swathed in a sea of people in black, TK couldn’t seem to gather his bearings. A few people hugged him, mostly his own friends, he stayed boneless and pliable in their grasp.

Andrea’s hug lasted the longest. He knew she was trying to see if she closed her eyes and pretended, that it would feel like she was hugging her son and not the man in front of her. But TK was two inches too short, his posture too slouched, his shoulders too narrow, his hands too cold. No amount of pretending could make him who she needed him to be, but he was content to let her try.

As she finally released him, she extended a hand to cup his cheek. Her eyes were red-rimmed, much like his own. He figured they both had been crying non-stop this entire time.

“How are you doing, mijo?” she asked, her voice full of care, and concern.

He hadn’t had the energy to take even the most basic care of himself. He had sat on the bathroom floor all morning, Owen had to shave his face for him, the numbness in his chest reaching his fingers and making even holding a razor an impossible feat.

But now he stood before Andrea, clean shaven and two seconds away from collapsing under the weight of his own grief. His limbs were so heavy, but the folded up piece of paper in his back pocket was the heaviest.

“I’m holding on,” he said. His own voice was rough around the edges, hoarse with the sobs and wails he had let out the night before as his father had tried to soothe him. There was something mortifying about your father standing in front of you and trying to help you decide which tie to wear to your fiancé’s funeral.

At the end of the day, black is black, and Owen chose for him.

“That’s the best we can do,” Andrea said softly, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I’m proud of you. I know he is too.”

“Thank you.”

Gabriel’s hug was briefer, it was silent, but he held TK like if he let up his hold even a little, then he too would disappear. TK was no idiot, he knew that the Reyes considered him family, and now he was the closest thing they had left to their son.

The thing about funerals though, was that TK never cried at them. So while everyone else had tears streaking their faces, TK’s eyes were dry as he joined the group of pallbearers. Gabriel, Judd, Paul, Carlos’ captain, his other partner–Nathan, and himself.

He hadn’t attended the viewing, too distraught to handle looking at his fiancé’s dead body again. Perhaps he should have, just to have anything in his memory that wasn’t how he looked in the ambulance, covered in blood and medical equipment.

But it wasn’t Carlos in the box, he couldn’t let himself draw that connection, if he did his legs would have given out from underneath him. He needed to be strong now, one last time, for Carlos.

He would be buried with his engagement ring on, his parents had insisted on it.

TK and Carlos would be joined by that much at least. Their promise of forever, they would never be united in matrimony but there would never be room in TK’s heart for anyone else, they were forever, a linking of souls more potent than an exchange of vows could ever be. Even if Carlos didn’t get to see it.

There was something about this aisle that felt like TK was being raked over hot coals, pain shooting up his legs with every step. It was so akin to the aisle he and Carlos had talked about, yet it was its antithesis.

Both journeys ended with a promise of forever, but that one was a devotion of love, this a marker of loss.

He still had to cancel the caterer.

That realisation hit him harder than anything else that day, his steps faltering. He hadn’t even realised that his father had slotted into place behind him until the weight above his hands, on his shoulder, lifted.

He was ruining Carlos’ funeral. No one would ever say that, they wouldn’t blame him, but he knew. Gabriel on the other side was holding it together and he was burying his son today, TK should have been stronger.

As soon as they set Carlos down the numbness came rushing back to meet him.

There was a simple monotony to everything, so many eulogies given. Those by friends, by family, by coworkers. All telling stories of how Carlos’ existence had touched their lives and changed it for the better. There would never be a greater display of how much people loved Carlos Reyes.

TK’s own wasn’t anything special. He was watching himself from outside his body as he told a room full of people–mostly strangers–many tales of the man he loved more than life itself. He told them how Carlos had saved him more times than either of them had thought, how those deep brown eyes and that unimaginable kindness for a stranger had allowed him to rebuild himself in Austin, had made it possible for TK to want to live again. He confessed, hand tightly clenched on his necklace, Star of David hanging between his fingers, that although he had never been easy to love, Carlos’ patience had been unwavering, he had never given up on TK even when he gave up on himself.

He regaled them with the tale of his father finding out about their situationship because Carlos visited him while he was in a coma. How despite not knowing where they stood, he still couldn’t bear to be away from TK when there was so much unknown, how much he had feared to lose him before they were anything.

“Never in my life has anyone loved me like Carlos,” TK stated simply, it was a fact. Nothing could ever compare to the experience that it was to be loved by Carlos. “I never thought I could deserve that kind of love, but he showed me that I not only deserved it, but that it would be a given for the rest of time, that he would love me like that forever. I will never stop being grateful for him, I will never stop loving him. I am grateful to have been allowed to be loved by him, I just wish we could have had more time.”

There were flashes of the Chinese place on Spring Street as Owen all but forced TK to sit at the dining room table, shoving a plate of food under his nose–some kind of pasta dish. But it wasn't Chinese and there wasn't a pair of chopsticks in his hand and Owen wasn't his mother.

"Eat something, please." He sounded desperate. TK didn't dare meet his eye.

"I'm not hungry," TK said, setting down the fork he hadn't even noticed his father pressing into his hand.

"I know you're not, but you have to eat."

TK stayed silent, not really looking at anything, his head angled towards the table. There was nothing he could say that would dissuade his father, but the very idea of eating anything made him feel like he was going to be sick. Nausea had been his constant companion for weeks now, there was something about his current situation that was just deeply sickening. When he thought about Carlos for too long, he often found himself curled around the toilet, usually with Mateo's comforting hand on his back.

"Please, TK,” his father started again. “You haven't eaten."

"I have."

"Not enough,” Owen said. “When was the last time you ate a meal?"

TK shrugged, his eyes still trained on the plate in front of him. He didn’t even have a concept of how much time had passed between anything, the haze of grey blurring it all together. He hadn’t so much as felt a hunger cue since he lost Carlos. Grief was the ultimate appetite suppressant.

"TK,” his father sighed, TK hadn’t paid close attention to him lately but he seemed exhausted, “you can't keep this up. I can't watch you kill yourself."

"Why not?" TK's voice was soft, hollowed out and emotionless.

"Because it's not what he would have wanted."

"We'll never know what he wanted, because he's dead." The word stung, like poison on his tongue. He wished he could spit it out. He realises, numbly, that this is the first time he's said it out loud. Carlos was gone, lost to TK, not here, but never had he said the words ‘Carlos is dead’.

He didn’t even have to look at his father to watch his expression fall, he’d seen it so many times in his life that it played in his head. "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. He's dead, I'll never know what he wanted."

"He would want you to live, TK. He loved you, hell, I guarantee you he still does. Don't let a terrible accident kill you too, he would never want that."

It had been weeks now. Weeks without Carlos, weeks since TK last felt like he was a person. He hadn’t gone back to work, the idea of seeing the ambulance again twisting his insides until he was eventually sick.

He could barely stand on his feet, let alone do his job. Tommy would never allow him to try anyway, he can’t take care of patients if he can’t take care of himself.

But he didn’t care about that. Everything in his world stopped turning the second Carlos died and he was left, alone in the back of the ambulance.

"I know you can't see it right now, but there is still so much to live for, TK."

TK sighed, pushing the plate away from him. He couldn’t even try to eat now if he wanted to. "Like what?"

"The 126, your job, your team, your baby brother, me; you still have us TK."

He knew that his father was just trying to give him something, anything, to hold onto. He needed a lifeline if he were ever going to climb out of this hole, but he didn’t grab hold of anything he was offered. As far as he was aware, this hole was his life now, and nothing beyond it would soothe the pain inside of him.

He didn’t need a lifeline, he needed to go back in time and somehow change the outcome of the day that ruined his life. That was the only way he would be able to carry on, only if he had Carlos by his side.

"I don't want any of that. I just want him."

He was crying now, for the first time in days he actually had the energy to cry. Hot tears ran down his face as any of his attempts to speak were reduced to sobs. The air shifted, no longer bearing the strict worry of his father, as the older man rounded the table and took TK in his arms.

Neither of them spoke. Owen just rubbed TK's back as he sobbed–as if he were holding his young son, and not a fully grown man. He cried like a child though, the kind of tears only shed when this is the worst pain you've ever experienced. When he was four it was stubbing his toe on the edge of the counter at the firestation, when he was twenty-eight it was the loss of his soulmate.

He would never cry like this again, no pain could ever compare.

“I went back to work today,” TK said, leaning his head back until it rested against the stone behind him. He fiddled with the bouquet of flowers in his hands. It felt weird to talk to the open air like this, he didn’t even look at the headstone.

He knew what he would see, the inscribed words, he’d traced his gaze over them a million times. At least this way he could close his eyes and pretend he was leaning against Carlos.

It was bittersweet. He knew he would never get to touch Carlos again, but at least he could come to the shady corner of the cemetery and pretend, even if for a short while, that they were together again.

Wherever Carlos was, was home to TK.

“I’m surprised Tommy let me come back. Last time I stepped foot in the ambulance I had a panic attack so bad no one could get me out of the bunk room for an hour. Then Dad had to drive me home. I wouldn’t stop shaking, I couldn’t stop seeing you there,” he admitted, his voice surprisingly strong. It hadn’t been embarrassing to admit his weaknesses to Carlos in a long time. It was another life in which he would have hesitated about saying any of this, to anyone.

He pulled a few of the pink petals from the tallest flower in the bouquet. He couldn’t remember the name. It was just to swap out the old bouquet, the white rims of the stargazer lilies already going brown at the edges, their stems losing their firmness. He wonders idly who brought them. Carlos’ grave was a frequented site, he was loved by many, missed by even more. “But today went well, I did more driving than anything. Tommy wants me to ease back into it, which is fine.”

“I miss you,” he said, his voice breaking as the tears came back. They always did. He feared he would never even be able to utter Carlos’ name without crying, but it made sense. At least it proved to himself that he was still hurting so deeply over his loss, that he wasn’t moving on too quickly.

“I know you can’t say anything, but thank you,” he muttered around his tears. “I never told you enough, you know, when you were here.” He still couldn’t say it. He doubted he ever would try to again. “But I really don’t think I would’ve made it this far without you. Even when you’re not here you give me the strength to keep living.”

TK pulled his knees up to his chest now, setting the bouquet down on the ground next to him. “I’m eating again, much to my dad’s relief. He wanted me to tell you ‘thank you’, from him. I really scared him there for a while. Which I understand, I wasn’t even trying to stay alive, all I was doing to prevent myself from dying was breathing.

“I’m doing better now, I think. I’m still not okay, far from it, but I’m trying. I even got lunch with Marjan and Paul yesterday. They weren’t very subtle, they catered it to me: we got boba and mostly just walked around town. Then we got sushi. It was nice; I missed them. I know they were worried about me too.”

He didn’t think he’d spoken this much since Carlos died.

Sans his eulogy, every conversation he had was stilted and short, he lacked the energy to talk to people, even his father. Most of his life lately had been lived in silence, everyone else taking it upon themselves to fill in the conversation.

It was nice. They all understood that he would need a lot of time before he was normal again, if that ever happened, and they never even hinted at anything that meant he was going too slow. No one urged him to get over this or pushed him to do something he wasn’t ready for. Healing from this would take the rest of his life and his family understood and respected that.

They missed Carlos too. They always would. But just because Carlos wasn’t around anymore didn’t mean that TK was alone.

He had felt like it for so long, the pain and darkness seemed never ending. He was still in it now, but he saw the light at the end of the tunnel, he would make it there eventually. With the ring on his finger, he would take Carlos there too.

Forever didn’t start at a wedding, it had started in the middle of the night, drenched in rain when TK and Carlos had first met.

“I just love you.”

TK smiled softly, opening his eyes to look up at the sky, a bright blue with white clouds rolling past. Sunlight filtered through the tree foliage that draped over Carlos’ grave.

“But you already knew that.”

#max.doc #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #userkimmy #reyesstrand #actuallysara #theatrevicki #userac #tuser paige #jazzyjess #userbones

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timbourinedrake · 2 years

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Ever since discovering that you can time cpr compressions to the beat of cpr - cupcakke, i haven't stopped thinking about a scenario where Dick stops breathing and someone uses the song to help them to count compressions

Just imagine Tim frantically singing 'I save Dick by giving him cpr (yeah!) i save dick by giving him cpr' whilst trying to resuscitate his brother

#this draft is approved by my sibling #i'm too tired to proof read to see if this even makes sense #tim drake #dick grayson #nightwing #robin #batman #dc #batfam #dc comics

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butwhyduh · 3 years

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Red Sun

Kon Kent x batsis!Reader

Summary: The prompt was “this isn’t you”

Warning: angst, death.

Your eyes stung as water fell in them as you stared up to the roof in the rain. Your enemy was standing there, almost falling over with exhaustion. You were similar.

“Give up now. Before you get yourself killed,” Connor called up beside you. He wasn’t as bad off but still tired. The villain laughed.

“I only wish I could stay for the show,” they said before moving their hands in a complex motion while speaking a language you couldn’t understand. The palm of their hand glowed red and you jumped away to avoid being it. It didn’t hit you, by a long shot. It hit Connor straight in the chest.

“No,” you gasped looking him over for injuries. Nothing was visibly wrong with him. “Superboy are you okay?”

He turned to you and his eyes glowed red. You immediately pushed your panic button on your suit. The villain cackled and ran off with renewed energy.

“Superboy, what’s going on?”

Connor just looked at you coldly and walked towards you. Much the way prey animals can sense danger and instinctively runs away, your body moved backwards from your boyfriend. You sensed something wrong in him.

“Hey, what are you doing?” You asked a little panicky. If he was cursed or brainwashed or whatever, you had maybe 5 minutes before Kryptonite was needed to save you. Your nearest Bat was Jason in Gotham and that was at least 20 minutes away. He took a step towards you and you jumped back.

“Connor, you know me. This isn’t you,” you said, trying to plead with him. You cursed yourself for not listening to Bruce. He warned you to have Kryptonite. But your boyfriend would get sick and weak around it and you trusted him. But this isn’t him.

He curled a hand into a fist and punched towards you almost lazily. You barely dodged it and realized he was backing you into a corner of the alley. He punched again and this time his lazy punch hit the wall and bits of brick fell to the ground. That punch alone could kill you.

“Connor, hey. Don’t do this. You’re stronger than that,” you begged. He hit out and you tried to duck but instead you were grabbed and thrown bodily into the bricks.

“Connor!” You gasped. You tried to push up with your arms only to fall bodily. One was definitely broken. You trembled as you pulled yourself up. “Stop.”

There wasn’t a single glance of humanity in his eyes. They were red and mad from the magical influence. He grabbed you and slung you again. Your head hit brick and you heard a ringing as your vision spun. Head injury. Blood pooled from your nose. Your boyfriend was going to slowly beat you to death. Great.

“Connor, Kon. I love you,” you whimpered as he pulled you up by your shoulder. You squirmed in his grasp as your head throbbed and your arm burned. You held it close to your body. Connor’s other hand wrapped around your throat and you grab at it with your good hand. It was like pulling on concrete.

“No, no,” you pleaded. Tears burned your eyes and not even the cold rain could soothe the burned you felt from his hands. He was burning up. Fingers tightened on your throat and your eyes went wide. You frantically clawed at any part of him you could reach. You didn’t even manage to leave a single mark. Your brain throbbed and lungs burned.

It wouldn’t be long now. The burn in your lungs stretched onward and was so prevalent that you couldn’t even feel your broken arm and injured head. Your hand stopped it’s frantic scratching to rest on Connor’s arm. Black spots darkened your vision. A few body spasms and your consciousness left you. Connor held your body for a few more minutes before letting you drop to the ground.

The spell broke and he gasped with sudden realization. He scooped you up. “No,” he said. “No. No.” He laid you on the concrete and started CPR. His movements were jerky as he tried to bring you back. “Come on. Come on!”

“What’s going on!” Jason asked as Connor did chest compressions. Conor didn’t answer but continued with tears in his eyes. Bringing you back was the only option. Jason noticed ligature marks around your neck and the concrete chunks on the ground. He pulled a shot of epinephrine from his belt and pushed Connor back to shoot you in the heart.

You didn’t move or breath or anything so Connor continued compressions and rescue breaths. Jason pulled out a second one. This was all he had. His hands shook a little. His little sister was dead. If this didn’t work, you weren’t coming back. Jason stabbed your heart with the second shot and a full second later your body spasmed and you gasped in a breath. Connor let out a sob before grabbing you in his arms. Your breath rattled heavily.

2 days later you woke up in the cave medical bay with blankets on top of you and an IV in your arm. Heart monitors softly beeped normally.

“She’s awake,” you heard Tim say. Footsteps came towards the room and Cassandra came towards your bed.

“How are you?” She asked giving you a glass of water.

“Okay,” you said hoarsely. You winced in pain before drinking a little of the water. It burned and soothed your throat. She looked at the monitors and IV.

“Everything looks expected,” she said and you nodded. You were already tired and wanting to fall asleep again. “I’m glad you are awake. You scared us for a while. You have a visitor.”

You looked up to see Connor standing in the doorway. Despite the pain, you shrunk away from him. The heart monitor beeped angrily and you gasped out a “no” in fear.

“Go,” Cass said, pushing him from the room. Connor’s face crumpled and he left.

“It’s okay,” Cass said pulling you into a hug. Tim suddenly appeared in the doorway. He relaxed upon seeing you okay but shaken up.

“I’ll talk to Kon,” he said. Connor stood by the computer bay with a look of dejection. “Hey, it’s okay. She’s disoriented and needs some time to be okay.”

“It was me. I did it. They cursed me with some spell and I attacked her,” Connor said with his head hung low. He wouldn’t look at Tim.

“You did that?” Jason asked from across the room. Connor had been so distraught that no one had asked him to report from the field.

“Magic. I had no control,” he said.

“Get the fuck out of here,” jason said. “You killed her and if I wasn’t there, she’d be 6 feet under.”

Connor looked away and grabbed his jacket. He roughly shoved it on and left the cave.

“You don’t think he feels bad enough?” Tim asked Jason.

“He can feel bad somewhere else,” Jason answered. “You didn’t see her. She was dead.”

“I know-“

“She’s asleep again,” Cass said interrupting them both. “Connor is also a victim. He couldn’t control.”

Jason sighed and then nodded in agreement.

“It will take time,” Cass answered. “For them both.”

“Perfect timing for you to file paperwork then. You’re very behind,” Bruce said to Cass. She sighed and gave him a pout. “Not a chance. Find a computer.”

#Kon kent x reader #fns #dc #dc fanfic #superboy x reader #superboy x batsis!reader #batsis!reader #batsis #Connor kent x reader

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neworleansspecial · 3 years

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Summary: Nancy isn’t coping after Tim’s death

Warnings: implied alcohol abuse, suicide attempt, ptsd, emeto

WC: 4.5k // AO3

Tags: @heartofmarjan @bristrandd @blakestrand126 @fedoralaura11

Nancy has to be dragged away from Tim.

She tries to work on him, save him, do something for him, even if it’s already too late by the time they follow Owen’s scream to Tim’s body, pinned beneath a massive piece of ejecta. Nancy drops to her knees by his side and grabs for it with her gloved hands. When she can’t move it, when her gloves begin to melt into her skin, she peels them off her burned hands and feels frantically for his pulse.

“Starting compressions,” she cries, getting up on her knees, but she doesn’t know where to put her hands. The ejecta had initially covered Tim’s chest, right where she would do CPR, but has since melted through his body to singe and sink into the dirt. She thinks she might be screaming when she grabs Tim’s scorched face and tries to wake him up.

She cries, she screams, desperate to help him, desperate for someone to do something, until Owen says something and Paul and Judd grab her arms to pull her away. She fights them. Of course she does, because she’s a Goddamn paramedic and she needs to get to Tim to save him, but they’re both holding her back as Marjan and TK move to block her view. There’s tears in their eyes. They have no right to cry when they won’t let her see him, help him. Save him. She has to save him.

“No!”

Owen stands in front of her so that all she can see is his worn face and blue eyes, not Tim. Not even the people blocking Tim. Just him, and he puts his gloved hands on her shoulders above Judd and Paul’s hands.

“Nancy,” he says gently, “there’s nothing we can do. We’re going back to the station now, okay? Let Tommy patch up your hands on the way.”

“We can’t leave him!”

“There’s nothing we can do,” he repeats. “Judd, drive the ambulance?”

“Sure thing, Cap.”

Usually Tim drives. Nancy makes an inhuman wail and doubles over, only held up by Paul and Judd’s strong grip, until they carefully lower her to the dirt. She claws at her face in her grief, desperate to feel something, until they seize above her burned wrists and hold her still so she can’t hurt herself anymore.

“Breathe, Nancy,” Tommy says as she kneels in front of her. She has her medical bag. Did she have that when they came over and found Tim? Why didn’t she help? “It looks like second degree burns, you’ll need to go to the ER, but I’ll get it all cleaned up and bandaged for you.”

“Tim needs to go to the hospital,” Nancy counters.

No one responds to her.

She stares down at her hands as Paul holds her right still for Tommy to rinse with saline and wrap heavily in cool white gauze until she can’t move her hand at all. Paul steadies her left. She’s been made useless as they guide her to the back of the ambulance, where Tommy helps her onto the gurney and sits beside her as Judd goes to start the engine. Everything is very quiet. Nancy prefers this to fake condolences when they wouldn’t let her see or help Tim, and curls up on her side on the gurney so she doesn’t have to look at Tommy.

“There was nothing we could do,” Tommy says.

“I think I’m tired of hearing that.”

They drive for a long while, to the point that Nancy realizes they’re at a clinic and not the station. “It’ll be faster than the ERs,” Judd says when he opens the doors. He and Tommy help Nancy down from the gurney and the truck bay, and lead her into the clinic. They stay with her while she’s seen. She’s given medicated ointment, painkillers, and antibiotics, as well as a fresh dressing on her burned hands. Looking at them, they remind her too much of Tim’s skin and she has to turn away.

Then they take the ambulance back to the station, where Nancy has to meet with Owen and the department chief and tell them what she saw. What she did. They all stare at the bandages on her hands the whole time. Finally, she’s allowed to go sit with the rest of the crew and hold a pillow to her chest while they talk.

She says they should have saved him. Worked on him. Helped him.

“There wasn’t enough of him left to work on,” Judd says sadly.

She wants to hit him. Instead, she throws the pillow at him and goes to clean out Tim’s locker because no one else will. It’ll be difficult with her hands, but it isn’t as if anyone else will do it. No one really cared about her and Tim except for Michelle, and she’s not here anymore.

Oh God, Nancy has to tell Michelle. No one else will think to call her.

She carefully takes down all of Tim’s hoodies, a feat made difficult by her bandaged hands, and cries until Tommy comes to help, and promises to look after Buster. She also offers to drive Nancy home, something which she has no choice but to accept since she can’t drive with her burned hands. She doesn’t want to be comforted. This is something which Tommy seems to sense. There is no radio, no speaking. No nothing.

When they get to Nancy’s house, she hands over her phone with sad eyes.

“Can you call Michelle for me? I need to tell her.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Tommy says.

She helps Nancy out of the car and into the house, fiddling with the keys much slower than Nancy is usually able to do this, and lets her in.

“Do you need anything else tonight?”

Nancy shakes her head. She wants a shower, but she can’t take one with the bandages like this and refuses to ask for help with that. After a long moment, Tommy leaves. Now, Nancy is completely alone, and she collapses on the floor to sob.

The next morning, she wakes up to a knock at the door. Nancy fumbles with the lock and the knob for a moment before opening it to see Michelle, red-eyed and somber. “I thought we could both use some company.” In her arms are grocery bags full of ice cream and tequila, so Nancy steps to the side to let her in.

Michelle eyes the hand shaped bruises on Nancy’s biceps from the restraint, but doesn’t say anything. Instead she sets up two glasses full of tequila and spoons for the ice cream on the couch, with a soft offering of help if Nancy needs it. This feels like breakup protocol, but cold ice cream and hard liquor don’t seem like such a bad idea to soothe the burn inside of Nancy’s chest at the loss. For her, there is no grace period in which it doesn’t seem real. She touched his body. She burned her hands trying to help him. She could not save him.

“Owen tells me they had to pull you away.”

“I had to try and save him.”

“I would’ve done the same.”

Nancy manages to get the glass to her mouth and drains it all in one go. Michelle wordlessly refills it. They will likely get fucked up, and pass out on the couch, but it’s not as though Nancy has anywhere to go. Everyone got a few days off for the grief, and Nancy has a couple weeks while her hands heal. She’s lucky she doesn’t need grafts or it would be longer. Instead, she’ll simply get blisters and pus for a while, and then it’ll turn into scars spanning the entirety of her palms.

“Who’s taking care of Buster?” Michelle asks.

“The new captain took him in. I think she feels guilty.”

“She should. She lost someone.”

They pretend it’s fair to blame Tommy, because that’s easier than blaming no one, and Michelle starts drinking straight from the tequila bottle. Luckily there’s another, which Nancy begins to do the same from. It burns going down in a new sort of way, but Nancy loves the sting of it and the way her head begins to get too fuzzy to really feel sad anymore. She falls asleep next to Michelle and wakes up alone.

Tim’s funeral comes a week later, when the firefighters of the 126 are out fighting some wildfire. None of them come home to attend. Nancy, whose hands are somewhat healed and require much less thick bandaging, is able to dress herself and pull her hair out of her face before she goes. She wears sensible flats instead of heels because Tim always said she walked like a baby deer in her heels. This is true. She thinks it would honor his memory to stand up straight and serene rather than stumbling and losing her balance like a drunkard.

The thought reminds her that Michelle has left some alcohol in the house for her, so she hunts down the bright pink bottle of fruity vodka and brings it to her lips. Drinking doesn’t burn as much as it used to, and she downs the equivalent of four shots with ease, licking the remnants off her lips after. It will make the funeral easier to bear. Then she goes out and sits on her front porch, under the bright blue and unfairly sunny sky, and waits for Tommy, who promised to drive her.

Tim’s family will be at the funeral, Nancy realizes, and the thought terrifies her. They’re going to ask her why she didn’t do more to save him, and she will simply look at her burned hands and shrug because she has no answer. She did all she was able before she was stopped. Part of her knows, rationally, that there was nothing to do; Tim was dead before she got to him, they say, but most of her believes there was something she could have done. Anything, really. She doesn’t believe herself to be blameless in this, and she doesn’t expect others to believe it either.

“How are you doing?” Tommy asks in that gentle voice that everyone who called Nancy with condolences has used. “Been sleeping okay?”

“Fine.”

Tommy doesn’t comment on her unusually brusque behavior, which is good, because Nancy is too exhausted and hurt to try to put on the niceties and act like she hasn’t been on a small bender between drinking and her painkillers for the last few days. Michelle has been kind enough to stop by a couple more times, so the two of them could grieve together. Unlike the current 126, Michelle will be coming to the funeral.

When Nancy and Tommy arrive, she gets out of the car and joins Tim’s family. They had asked her to be a pallbearer, and though it broke her heart, she said no. She can’t carry his corpse to the grave. There is a large procession, given the times, and Nancy takes Michelle’s hand while two police cars lead the funeral procession. Four paramedics from another house, people who vaguely knew Tim, carry his casket. Their white masks look so awful compared to the dress blues everyone wears for the occasion.

Her own feel too itchy and tight without Tim beside her to make a joke, and Michelle leans close to whisper in her ear. She expects reassurance. Instead, Michelle murmurs, “Have you been drinking?”

Nancy doesn’t bother to respond. Of course she’s been drinking. Her best friend is gone, and without him, she doesn’t know how she can ever walk into the firehouse again. She doesn’t know how she can live again. It feels like the past few days, she’s been wading through glue, waiting for some miracle news that Tim is alright.

He’s not.

The tears come quietly instead of the loud, ugly sobs she’s suffered through recently. Michelle squeezes her hand. Tommy takes the other and holds on tight. Between the two of them, they attempt to anchor her, but it feels too much like being dragged away, so she lets go and crosses her arms protectively in front of her chest.

Her eyes burn and her cheeks wet her mask while the procession goes on, ending with Tim’s flag being taken off the coffin and handed to his mother so he can be buried. This is it. There is finality in his burial, proof that he will never ever be coming back. The feelings of the past week all hit at once and Nancy’s legs give out. Michelle and Tommy have to hold her up. Though she doesn’t much want to be touched or held in any capacity, she allows them so she can stand through Tim’s funeral, and leans against Michelle when it’s over.

“Let it out,” Michelle says, and the sobs come once more. They’re the same ugly, desperate things as the night it happened, but no one is cruel enough to accuse her of theatrics. Thank God. She couldn’t handle her pain being questioned right now, she knows, and it’s lucky that Michelle shoos away anyone who comes to ask. She seems to sense how fragile Nancy feels right now. “I’ve got you. It’s going to be alright.”

“No, it’s not! He’s dead!”

Everyone quiets at her shout, and Michelle guides her away from the crowds to grieve in peace, if there is such a thing in a world without Tim.

It’s another two weeks before Nancy is cleared to return to duty, although part of her wants to just stay home rather than go to a firehouse where Tim no longer works. Still, she puts on her uniform and pulls back her hair to drive herself, something she hasn’t done since she was injured. She needs to go grocery shopping, she thinks, but it doesn’t seem very important in the wake of the past few weeks.

She’s vaguely hungry when she parks and walks into the firehouse, especially once she smells the pancakes Paul is making and the nice syrup Marjan has cracked open. “We made a little welcome back breakfast,” Mateo explains. He’s dusted with flour. “Pancakes with the good syrup from Cap’s farmer’s market, and powdered sugar, and raspberries, your favorite!”

Raspberries were never her favorite. She ate them voraciously as an inside joke with Tim, who was really the one to like them. Nancy forces a smile and a thanks even though she feels hollow inside. Judd asks if she wants a hug and she says no. His arms will remind her too much of that night, and she can’t afford to break in front of everyone any more than she already has. She’s too sober for this. She can’t drink on the job, though. So instead she sits down with the team for a delicious breakfast that she can tell they poured a lot of love into.

It tastes like sawdust.

She eats it anyways though. Judd gives her a second helping, which she carefully picks through to make it look like she has more than she does. They all usually take seconds, sometimes thirds, because of how much energy the job takes. Everyone else certainly has plenty. Tommy gives her a look. Nancy looks back and gets up to scrape her plate into the trash. They don’t put her on dish duty today.

Marjan follows Nancy to the rec room and sits beside her on the couch. They don’t speak. It’s much easier to be quietly upset than it is to talk about what losing Tim felt like, which Nancy knows everyone will be asking. She completely broke down in front of all of them, and regardless of how rational that may have been, she doesn’t want to contend with trying to relive all the agony when she’s just learning to push it down with lots of alcohol and little sleep.

“Do you have nightmares?” she asks Marjan.

“Sometimes. They’ve gotten worse since… I dream of him, as I’m sure you do.”

“Every time I close my eyes.”

Marjan nods and holds out her hand. Nancy takes it, only because she doesn’t know what else to do, and revels in the small amount of comfort for as long as Marjan will give it to her. It’s nice to just have something instead of being asked if she’s alright, or instructed to talk about the death of a loved one. Owen wants Nancy to go to a department counselor to talk about it, but she imagines that unleashing the beast will only make things that much worse. She doesn’t want to deal with letting that monster out of its box any more than she already has.

The two of them stay together in a heavy silence after that until the bell rings, and Nancy rushes to the ambulance in the bay. She goes to hoist herself into the truck, passenger side, and her heart stops.

Tim isn’t here to drive the ambulance.

She freezes until Tommy comes up behind her and places a hand on her back.

“You alright, Gillian?”

“Fine.”

Nancy goes to the other side of the truck and pulls herself into the cabin, having to briefly adjust the seat for her longer legs before she can drive. It feels like erasing Tim from the ambulance. It feels like abandonment. But she does it nonetheless, and ignores the tears that wet her cheeks as she pulls out of the bay to follow the fire trucks. Tommy sits beside her, when there’s no patient in the back of the ambulance, and luckily doesn’t comment on Nancy crying. It hasn’t been long since Tim’s death. She thinks she’s allowed this.

When they pull up to the call, it’s at a pool, because of course it is. Some little kid slipped and fell, breaking her leg and hitting her head. It’s broad daylight and nowhere near as hot as it was that night, and the pool is a classic neighborhood rather than a rooftop. It’s not the same at all. But it’s close enough that Nancy freezes up completely. All she can think about is Tim’s body next to that kid on a backboard.

“Gillian.”

Nancy shakes her head and goes to kneel beside the patient to help Tommy. The fracture isn’t too bad, but the head injury is bleeding a lot. Head injuries do. Nancy secures a c-collar over the child’s neck and gently feels the injury on the back of the head.

“Six inch lac,” she reports to Tommy. “Minor swelling.”

She avoids looking at the pool because it hurts to think about. So she focuses on the child, someone she can save, and pushes all her emotions as far down as she possibly can to make this easier.

They load the child up onto the stretcher and her mother joins Tommy in the back of the ambulance. Once again, Nancy faces the daunting task of sitting in Tim’s seat and doing his job, but much to her surprise and upset, she doesn’t feel it as strongly. That in of itself is a betrayal. Of course she drives, does what she’s supposed to, but it’s too easy in a way that makes her want to throw herself out of the car entirely.

The rest of the shift is the same, and as it gets easier to get behind the wheel of the ambulance without crying, Nancy hates herself a little bit more. She shouldn’t be forgetting him so soon. She wants to slam her face into the lockers and remember his laugh and think about her best friend as he was alive, not the night he died. All her memories of him are too heavily tainted by the sight of his corpse and it simply isn’t fair.

She starts drinking more, though she’s careful not to drink before she has to be on shift. It is the only time in which she gets any peace of mind, any quiet to her thoughts. She’s willing to do whatever it takes to ease the pain, and this helps. She doesn’t go out to the bar with the squad, because she knows they’ll notice her drinking too much and mourning Tim’s absence, instead going home to drown her sorrows in solitude.

She takes a lot of baths, too, and realizes one night when she nearly passes out in the water that she could have died. Such a thought ought to scare her, but instead it brings a strange amount of relief. If she’s dead, she won’t have to be in pain anymore. On a logical level, she recognizes the danger of this feeling, and she wants to tell someone. She wants someone, anyone, even Tommy to see how badly she’s spiraling, but at the same time, she doesn’t want anyone to know until it’s too late to do anything about it.

That night, she sits on her bed with a bottle of pills and a decanter of whiskey and considers it. This is the coward’s way out, and there is nothing here to make her remember Tim in her last breaths. These few weeks without him have been hell and she just wishes she could tell him one more time how much she loves him and what his friendship meant to her. He was her world at work. Her best friend. Her lifeline. She doesn’t know if she ever told him any of those things, but at least now she’ll get the chance to.

Nancy makes a plan.

She writes out her suicide note on her computer, double spaced, and prints it out before folding it up and putting it in a sealed envelope. It is short. Most of it is words to Tim she wishes he could read, but some of it is taken up by apologies to her firehouse and a brief explanation of the agony she’s been in for so long. She tucks it into her backpack instead of her cell phone when she goes to work, and irons her slacks an extra time before pulling them on. It will be her final dress, after all. Nancy plasters on a smile and forces herself to just be normal when she gets to the station and everyone says hello.

Paul watches her. She thinks he knows something is wrong, but they aren’t close enough for him to say anything to her. Besides, he reminds her of that night when she looks at his hands and thinks about the way they felt on her arm, pulling her away from Tim.

Instead of sitting down to breakfast with the others, she goes to the bunks and lays down on the bed that used to be Tim’s. It hasn’t been his in weeks, and the other shift uses the same beds as them anyways, but it feels like connection when she lays down on the soft mattress and cracks open two bottles.

She takes ten pills four times, chasing them each time with vodka snuck in via her backpack. It’ll take time to kill her, but hopefully she can die before a call comes in and someone runs looking for her to get up on the ambulance and come with. She will not drive Tim’s ambulance again.

Nancy peels back the covers and curls up under them, content to die warm and safe. The pill bottle and the rest of the tequila sit proudly on the nightstand beside her suicide note and she realizes she’s at peace. She doesn’t mind dying. It’s a respite from the pain, but it is also the ending of a book at just the right time. All her storylines are complete. Her life is at its natural conclusion.

“Hey Nancy, Cap wanted me to-”

She looks at Mateo. He looks at her. He looks at the bottles on the nightstand and the note ready to be read and turns and runs right back out of the room. He’s getting help. She covers her face and sobs. This isn’t fair. They’re going to make her throw up the pills and take her to the hospital, where she’ll be treated whether she likes it or not.

Tommy comes in with her medical bag, Owen and Mateo flanking her. The others must have been told to stay away. She pulls out her blood pressure cuff and reaches for Nancy’s arm, only for Nancy to pull away and draw her knees up to her chest. Owen picks up the pill bottle and reads out the drug and dosage to Tommy.

“How many did you take?” Tommy asks her.

“I refuse treatment.”

“She’s a threat to her own safety,” Owen says. “Treat her anyway.”

“I refuse treatment,” Nancy repeats, and scrambles away when Tommy reaches for her again. “Don’t touch me.”

Owen watches her nearly fall off the bed. “Mateo.”

“Captain, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tommy interjects.”

“Got a better one?”

So Tommy nods at Mateo, who grabs her arms and holds her down against the bed. Her heart is pounding. She screams no, tries to throw him off of her, does anything to be able to escape this just as she did the night Judd and Paul held her back, but Mateo is stronger than her and has more leverage. Nancy screams and thrashes the entire time they take her vitals. She cries when they drag her out of the room and to the gurney where she’s strapped down with soft restraints in front of everyone. The weight of their eyes is just as heavy as Mateo’s weight on her body had been.

Tommy sits in the back of the ambulance with her and stares at her as she takes rapid, panicked breaths. During the drive, Nancy starts to feel dizzy with the pills, and thanks God that she might die before they get to the hospital. She should have slit her wrists, she thinks. It would have been faster. Maybe even successful before she was found.

“I need you to stay awake, Nancy,” Tommy tells her.

“Fuck off.”

She’d never normally say such a thing to her captain, but she’s angry and ready to die, tied down to a gurney in the back of an ambulance and waiting for the meds to do their job. Nancy purposefully ignores Tommy’s speech about how precious life is and how many people love her, tuning it out in favor of the dull hum at the back of her mind that’s slowly rising. She wants it to overtake her. She’s ready for it.

Unfortunately, she’s still mostly awake when they arrive at the hospital. She shuts her eyes and tries to calm herself down, fake dead so they leave her alone, but that just earns a doctor rubbing painfully against her sternum to rouse her.

“Nancy? My name is Dr. Reese, I need you to open your eyes for me.”

Nancy shakes her head, which makes her feel sick. She gags. Her stomach is rebelling against the drugs she took, or maybe they put something in her IV that makes her throw up, because she’s suddenly leaning over a blue bedpan and throwing up bile.

She’ll survive this attempt.

She’ll try again.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #911ls #nancy gillian #tim rosewater #owen strand #paul strickland #judd ryder #tommy vega #marjan marwani #tk strand #mateo chavez #michelle blake #suicide tw #emeto tw #alcohol tw

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starspatter · 5 years

Text

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 11

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 4,380 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Also on ff.net and AO3.

There was a time when I was alone Nowhere to go and no place to call home My only friend was the man in the moon And even sometimes he would go away, too

-Ruth B, "Lost Boy"

————————–

Before.

“Batman, wait!”

Robin was too late; Batman had already charged ahead by ruthlessly breaking down the door to the house with the sole of his boot. A low-key villain calling himself “Cluemaster” (whom Robin had incidentally never heard much of until now compared to the likes of Riddler or Joker, having supposedly gone “straight” for a couple years – at least according to Batman) had led them on a lengthy chase, and they ended up pursuing him all the way out to a small neighborhood in the suburbs. As they infiltrated the dwelling, Robin hastily checked around to make sure no homeowners were present who could be caught in the fray – or worse, taken as collateral.

Fortunately the room was empty, aside from their glaringly orange-clad target in the middle of it, reaching for one of the plasti-glass pellets attached to the front of his costume. Batman had already anticipated the move though and launched forward faster than the other, lurching a blurred glove into his opponent’s throat, which caused him to drop the canister as his body was slammed hard against the wall.

“You’re under arrest for multiple counts of grand larceny, Cluemaster. Or should I say, Arthur Brown?”

With his other hand, he grasped at the bandana covering the lower half of the man’s face, which had already come loose from the force of impact. He jerked the rest of the kerchief off to expose a snarl under the guise, the owner evidently infuriated by the idea his identity had been so easily discovered.

“Now, where’s the money you stole?”

Arthur sneered.

“Why don’t I give you a clue to its whereabouts, and you can figure it out yourself, since you’re so smart?”

Batman growled as he grabbed his foe’s collar, lifting high into the air, letting free-dangling feet flail frantically.

“I don’t have time for these games. Either you tell me voluntarily, or I’ll make you confess.”

Robin was getting anxious by the aggressiveness in Batman’s tone; making threats of violence wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but he’d been out of sorts all night, acting excessively and extremely hostile, leaping into enemy territory with heedless disregard to danger – to himself or those around him. Sans his usual sangfroid. He was starting to sound like that time Scarecrow dosed him with a gas that took away all his fear, resulting in Batman almost taking a henchman’s life. It had taken all of Robin’s strength to haul him back up after Batman cut the line…

The current captive seemed to be getting panicky too, as he quickly changed his attitude, appealing to sympathy instead.

“Listen, I’ve got a wife and kid. They’re asleep upstairs. I just needed the cash to help support them. We’re in a bit of a financial jam, y’see…”

Robin’s conscience wavered, recalling the time they had to prevent a penniless man from holding up a drugstore in order to obtain medicine for his daughter, who was simply sick with a high fever. Of course this was theft on a much greater scale, but he still couldn’t help having some lingering empathy – especially based on his own past experiences dealing with poverty.

“That's one of the hardest things about this job, Robin. Sometimes we have to stop someone from doing the wrong thing for the right reason.”

“…Daddy?”

As if on cue, all three revolved towards the top of the staircase, where a young girl with golden curls – probably about his age – was standing in bare feet and violet nightgown, beholding the scene before her with baffled eyes, big and blue and broad.

“Darling, why don’t you go back to bed?” Arthur choked out, his own eyes bulging as cheeks turned indigo as well. “You’re just having a bad dream.”

“Arthur? What’s going on here? I heard a loud noise…”

Robin swallowed as a woman emerged from behind the adolescent, gripping the girl’s shoulders as she drew her daughter in protectively, eyeing the pair of home intruders with fear and suspicion. The situation was steadily turning from bad to worse. He hurriedly bounded up the steps, trying to block at least the shorter one’s view with his arms and cape, acting as both shield and shroud.

“Both of you should stay back…”

Batman’s prey put on a pleading, pathetic look.

“Now now, you wouldn’t hit a guy in front of his family, would you?”

While his quivering lips pouted, his pupils seemed to flash triumphant. Robin felt a sick chill in his stomach. Had he set this up just to take advantage of innocent citizens – and his provider status for them – as an alibi?

Whatever the reason, Batman wasn’t falling for it. While he slowly lowered his fist, he continued to glower viciously at his victim.

“I’m still taking you in. The police will be here soon, they can interrogate you. And if you don’t admit to them, well…” He leaned in close, crescent slivers narrowing. Intimidating. “They’ll just have to call me.”

With that, he twisted his prisoner around, pressing head harshly against partition again as he slapped a pair of handcuffs on. Robin sensed the two frightened females peering over his shoulders, crying and clinging to each other as sirens started to wail outside, and the junior one almost looked like she was about to join them. He thought about reaching out to try and comfort her, but a cold bark from Batman halted him.

“Let’s go, Robin.”

“But Batman-”

“Now.”

He was already halfway out the side exit when he said this, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Robin bit his lip and vaulted over the railing to race after him, cloak whisking out of sight just as officers began filing in. As they headed back towards the Batmobile parked in the shadows close by, Robin hissed his irritation.

“You know, there were a million other ways you could’ve handled that.”

“I did what was necessary in order to get him to talk. The police should have an easier time of it now.”

“Yeah, but did you have to do it while his wife and child were watching? This is exactly the reason Nightwing left you, remember?”

Batman blatantly ignored the bold declaration of disapproval as his pager began to beep: a message from Batgirl, requesting backup.

“Armed robbery in progress, escalated to a hostage situation over on the north side. We’re needed.”

“Did you even hear what I just said?”

Batman brusquely cut him off.

“We’ll discuss this later, at home. Now get in the car.”

Robin grumbled, but grudgingly obeyed.

They never did discuss it though. Concurring collectively, both Batman and Batgirl determined there were too many hired guns in the building, deeming it far too “risky” to bring Robin – the “kid” – along. …Plus it was a school night. So Batman swung swiftly by the manor on the way, dropping Robin – Tim – off unceremoniously at the front gate despite loud and adamant protests, where Alfred was waiting to pick him up and march him straight on inside to get changed and ready for dinner.

“And ‘don’t forget to do your homework’,’” Tim mimicked Bruce’s reprimanding voice with a querulous whine as the vehicle sped off, leaving him in the dust. “God, he still treats me like such a child.”

The butler patted his charge’s back consolingly, ushering within.

“Come along, Master Timothy. There are cookies and cocoa waiting for you inside – after you finish with your studies, that is. We wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite, now would we?”

Tim shot an exasperated expression at the patronizing statement, but acquiesced. Upon entering, he immediately tore off the mask and tossed it on the table in frustrated anger, flopping sullenly onto the couch without even bothering to remove the rest of the suit. Alfred tutted, but made no remark as he disappeared into the kitchen, promising food would be served shortly.

As Tim gazed at the fireplace, he stewed over Batman’s earlier reckless – not to mention downright rude – behavior. How could he even be so cruel and insensitive? It wasn’t just the bossing around that bugged him, but he was genuinely rather troubled by Bruce’s mental state. …Truth be told, he had a guess as to the cause for callousness. He’d noticed a common trend in increasing indiscretion (and intractability) after their latest visit to Arkham, when they stopped by Two-Face’s cell following another escape – and subsequent suicide attempt. Ever since he’d developed a third personality who judged himself guilty and sentenced to death for his sins, his condition had been gradually worsening. It was to the point he – and his coin – had to be kept under constant watch and isolated lockdown.

Tim was never really sure how to feel about Two-Face (in the same way his chest was always confused and ached a little whenever he faced Clayface). The man murdered his father; Tim supposed he should hate him for that. In addition, he’d even once mercilessly electrocuted Nightwing with a wire taser, forcing the senior superhero’s heart to completely stop. …Had he not promptly administered CPR and literally brought his brother back from the brink of death, he might have lost another family member that day.

But, according to Dick, Bruce and Harvey had been good friends once – which explained why his guardian always bore a grieved semblance whenever they went up against Dent. …Tim tried to imagine what it must be like, to watch one’s once close companion fight a losing battle against himself. Clearly it was taking a capricious toll on the old man’s emotional and psychological well-being as well, making him far more mercurial and volatile – prone to violent vagaries.

Yet, even Tim recognized that didn’t excuse him taking it out on others, especially when it interfered with their work. (Frankly that didn’t seem to be the only thing distracting recently either, given Batman and Batgirl had been ditching him more and more often as of late, citing his “immaturity” as pretense. …But he didn’t really want to think about that right now.) He was concerned about that girl as well. Screw Batman, he should’ve stayed to try and talk to her. At least give her some reassurance after witnessing such a harrowing event.

Making up his mind, he snatched his domino from the counter and was out the door (cautiously evading the security cameras he knew were watching overhead) just as Alfred came to call him for dinner. Upon finding the parlor empty, and after exhausting all other options of where the lad might have gone to within the mansion (including underground area), the caretaker finally murmured in alarm.

“…Oh dear.”

…

It took Robin longer to get back by grapple alone, but eventually he made it to his destination. Descending on the rooftop from a nearby tree, he tiptoed towards a single annexed dormer window which jutted prominently from the tiles. Testing the lucarne’s latch, it luckily wasn’t locked and slid open with relative ease. Silently slipping in, he was greeted almost instantly by an unpredicted punch to the face.

As he was thrown flat onto the bed, survival instinct triggered to roll over and try to fight back, but his own fists arrested when he saw his assailant was the same girl from before, glaring at him with mistrust.

“Who are you?! Some kind of creepazoid stalker?”

“Whoa, whoa! It’s me, Robin. You know, from before?”

She stared at him, realization dawning.

“Oh. …Sorry. I didn’t know it was you.”

The way she said it, she still didn’t seem very impressed.

“…I’d hate to be someone you were expecting,” Robin muttered, rubbing at his sore jaw.

She folded her arms firmly.

“So? What the heck are you doing here? Again?”

“I- I just wanted to check and see if you were okay, after… all that.”

An eyebrow raised.

“And you thought coming in through the window was the best way to go about it?”

“…In hindsight that might not have been the best plan,” he acknowledged, repentant. “Sorry. Being with him tends to rub off on you. I apologize if he scared you earlier. He’s really not a bad guy.”

She exhaled, letting her limbs down.

“No, my father is, right? …It’s okay. I know who and what my dad is. He deserves to go to jail.”

Robin cocked in confusion at this unanticipated acceptance.

“But… He’s still your dad.”

“Yeah, and I hate him.” Her knuckles clenched, tightening. “He just wanted to use Mom and me to get away with his crimes. We’re basically just tools, a means to an end for him. He’s a total class-A jerk.”

Robin blinked, unsure how to respond to that. He certainly hadn’t been prepared for this outcome. An uncomfortable hush filled the chamber, which he idly noted details of as he glanced around nervously. He’d never actually been in a girl’s room before, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. He supposed the piles of stuffed animals and boy band posters were probably typical, though he was surprised to see some large prints of Superman lining the walls, and a bulletin board covered with newspaper clippings of Batman and Robin – mostly his predecessor – busting the Cluemaster’s previous petty heists. She apparently wasn’t kidding when she said she had it in for her father. (…The image felt almost eerily familiar, reminding of the days when he kept a similar chronicle in a corner of his own pops’ apartment, much to the old man’s displeasure.)

“…You’ve got weird taste for a girl,” he mused aloud.

“And you’ve got weird fashion sense for a boy,” she retorted, nose wrinkling.

“Hey, I didn’t design the suit,” he huffed defensively.

“And who did? Your mom?”

Robin winced a bit, but bit his tongue. “…Would you believe me if I said Batman?”

She sniffed. “I mean seriously, what’s with that getup anyway? It’s so bright, it makes you look like a clown.”

Fed up with her criticism, he started to skulk back towards the outlet again.

“Look, I didn’t come here just to be insulted.”

A hand reached out to clasp his wrist, and he rotated to see her regarding him sincerely.

“Sorry, I was just joking. …You don’t have to leave.”

He gulped, blushing a little at the light touch. The last time a girl held his hand like this for so long, she’d followed with a…

“Um, okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck uneasily, growing tense as she inclined forward and grinned – before passing him by to hop onto the sill instead, sticking out her tongue at him.

“Ladies first.”

He whirled around in shock as she stepped out over the ledge.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? That’s dangerous, get back here.”

“Relax, I do this all the time. Besides, you jump around rooftops every night, don’t you?”

He impulsively climbed after her, keeping a careful eye on her footing, hovering close behind in case she fell. But, true to her word, she did seem to have practiced this pattern many times before, effortlessly picking her way over the slates to the top, where she plopped down and petted the spot next to her. Indicating invitation. Tentatively, he took it and traced her wondering sightline to the stars above.

“…You know, I used to dream I’d see the Batman someday. Drifting across the moon, dark against the night sky…” She hugged her knees to her breast. “This is the first time I’ve actually seen him in person. For a second, I almost thought he was a monster.”

Robin remained quiet as she continued.

“But, my dad’s the real monster. I know he’s hurt a lot of people – myself and Mom included. He doesn’t care about us at all.”

“How come she doesn’t just divorce him?”

“She can’t afford a lawyer to kick him out. He still owns the mortgage on the house.”

She smiled bitterly, drawing circles on the shingles.

“As a kid, I used to think about running away. Getting on a plane and going somewhere far, far away from here. Someplace exotic, where no one knows who I am or where I come from – like Africa. …But, I could never do that to my Mom. She’d be lonely if I left. Even though she has some… ‘difficulties’, I still love her.”

She looked at Robin, who was still listening attentively. Patiently.

“Sorry,” she mumbled in a slightly sheepish manner. “I’m just making you sit through my random rambling. I don’t usually get a chance to talk to anyone about this, let alone someone my age. Having a lame, insane supercriminal for a dad isn’t exactly something I can tell all my friends at school.”

“It’s all right. I wish there was more I could do to help…”

He replied, feeling as utterly useless – hopeless – as when he came across a bunch of homeless youths in his hunt for Annie after they’d gotten separated, the ragtag group of street rats sleeping together on a filthy mattress in an abandoned shelter; huddled under each other for warmth, sharing but one thin, dingy blanket between them. (…The kind of neglected kid he could’ve easily ended up as had he not happened to be so lucky, to be “chosen” – caught before he slipped through the cracks into faded obscurity and was overlooked – forgotten – by society.) There were some things punches and kicks just couldn’t fix.

“You’ve already done more than enough, thanks. I’m grateful to you both for putting a stop to him. …Even if it’s probably only temporary.”

“There has to be something that can be done though.”

“Really, you don’t have to go out of your way or anything. Besides, why do you care so much anyway?”

He shrugged, surveying the distance. “Maybe it’s because you kinda remind me of someone.”

She scanned his wistful countenance, scrutinizing closely.

“…Was she cute?”

“What- no. I mean yes. I mean, uh-” Robin stammered, flushing red as he was abruptly taken aback by the unexpected inquiry. She giggled in snorting amusement at his oh-so-obvious reaction.

“Relax, Boy Wonder, I’m just teasing you.”

He coughed, regaining composure.

“To be honest, that’s not the only reason. My dad wasn’t much of a prize either. …Although he can’t compete with yours.”

“Ehhh?” She gaped at him in astonished awe. “But he’s so cool!”

“Huh?” He puzzled for a beat, then it clicked what she was talking about. “Oh, you think that Batman’s- no, he’s not my real dad. I’m not even sure I would even go so far as to call him much of a ‘father figure’ actually. He’s more like a… mentor?”

It was her turn to listen as he ruminated, reflecting.

“He saved me though. Took me in when I had no place else to go. Gave me a second chance. I’ve… done things I’m not exactly proud of either. If he hadn’t found me, I’d likely be dead or in jail myself right now.”

Sensing a buzzing interruption from his waist – a warning summons from the butler no doubt – he consulted the timestamp in the corner of the display, and cringed upon calculating how much interval had elapsed in his absence.

“…Speaking of which, I should probably get back soon. Batman’s gonna kill me once he finds out I’m gone without letting anyone know.”

Her forehead creased with contriteness.

“You didn’t have to go that far for me…”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. It’s the least I could do.”

She looked reluctant to end the conversation though. He wondered if he was the first person she’d ever been this open to about her feelings. …After some thought, he fished around in a pocket and pulled out another spare backup communicator.

“Listen, don’t tell anyone about this; Batman doesn’t like me lending out tech. But if you ever need anything, you can get in touch with me on this. I’ll come as soon as I can. …Only if it’s an emergency though. He’ll really give me an earful if he finds out I’m using our gadgets for personal stuff.”

She looked down at the device in trepidation.

“Is it really okay for me to have this?”

“Yeah. It’s no problem, don’t worry. I know how to keep a secret. And I’ll definitely stop by again sometime, so we can hang out some more if you want. Whaddya say?”

Her eyes lit up, and- without warning, she flung her arms around him in an appreciative hug (that very nearly knocked him off balance).

“…Thanks, Robin.”

His hue embarrassed again, but he gently reciprocated the gesture.

“Hey, what are heroes for?”

After an awkwardly long minute, she propelled back from the embrace with a self-conscious laugh. Once the rapid beating in both their ribs had calmed down (and she’d surreptitiously wiped some tears from her face), she afforded him a somewhat odd look.

“…What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just… Calling you ‘Robin’ feels kinda weird. It’s like a girl’s name.”

“Hey, it can be a boy’s name too,” he sulked in indignation. “Besides, at least it is a name.”

She shook her head, concentrating intently on him as she contemplated. After a bit, she brightened with sudden brilliance.

“I know! I’ll call you ‘Peter’ – since you came in through the window. …And ‘cuz of the tights.”

Robin blanched as she pointed playfully at his leggings.

“…I think I’d rather be called ‘Robin’.”

“Nope,” she cheerfully announced. “You’re ‘Peter’ to me now.”

Robin sighed, but didn’t object further to the nickname. It wasn’t like he could tell her his real title.

“Fine. ‘Peter’ it is then. …Does that make you ‘Wendy’?”

She smirked with a wink.

“If you want me to be.”

He blinked, clearing his throat as he stood up, almost stumbling over his heels as he backed up in haste.

“Right. Well then. Wendy. …Guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. See ya.”

“…’Kay, bye.”

“’Kay, bye.”

He waved as he fired his grapple into the branches and swung away, and she merrily returned the motion. Elated, Robin’s spirit soared over heightening city structures back to the estate, performing as many flips and tricks as he could on the way. …Although come to think of it, he had failed to ask for her actual name. …Oh, well. There was always next time.

Rather than directly approach the porch or cave entrance, Robin thought about endeavoring to sneak back in through the second-story opening to his own bedroom, so he could pretend he’d been there all along. …Unfortunately, as soon as he’d made it inside and detached his façade, he bumped straight into a severely stern-looking Bruce towering over him.

“Where the devil have you been? We’ve been trying to contact you for the past hour. Barbara’s out there searching all over for you right now. Meanwhile I’ve had to help Alfred double-check every secret room and passage in the manor. Do you know how long that takes?”

Tim merely shrugged.

“I went out for a stroll. Is that a crime?”

“In this house, it is. Do I need to start putting a tracer on your utility belt again?”

“No, sir,” he squeaked meekly.

Bruce heaved a grunt.

“Just hurry up and go get changed, young man. Your dinner’s cold already. Alfred made soup. Make sure you apologize to him too, he’s been worried sick.”

“Yeah yeah, I hear ya, old man.”

“And did you finish your homework?”

Tim flinched. He knew there was something else he’d forgotten.

“You had better get to it if you want to come patrolling with us tomorrow night.”

“I will.”

Before he vanished into the privacy of his enormous closet (which, in his own private opinion, was way too overly spacious – though no one would certainly hear him complain), Tim paused, calling softly back over his shoulder.

“Bruce.”

“What?”

“Thanks… for caring.”

…

About a month later, a couple men dressed in black arrived at the Brown residence, carrying grim, serious auras and stiff briefcases containing various important-looking official documents. An obstinate Stephanie insisted on sitting down alongside her mother on the sofa as they discreetly disclosed the news she never once conceived she’d get to hear like this:

Her dad was dead.

Apparently he’d cut a deal while in prison, and became a part of something clandestinely known by a select few outside those in power as a “Suicide Squad”. He’d perished while on a covert mission for the government, and – according to these strange men’s confidential report – he’d died a “heroic sacrifice”.

Stephanie didn’t know how to react. What to feel. …How she was supposed to feel.

As she sat in her room, trying to write in her diary but coming up blank, her observation shifted to the window still left ajar each evening, through which a mild breeze blew. Opening her desk drawer, she retrieved the hidden miniature handset from the far back, tucked neatly behind all sorts of stationery. She had avoided using it up to now, afraid of coming off as an annoyance. …But she hadn’t seen Robin at all since then. No one had. Based on what she’d gathered from growing gossip, he’d been fully MIA over the course of the past few weeks, and rumors were starting to spread. It was like his existence had been entirely erased, simply evaporated off the surface of the earth. …She was worried about him too.

She pushed the button, hands shaking in mounting apprehension as she elevated to her ear.

There was a long, low hum of crackling static, before someone (presumably) picked up at last.

“…”

“Hello?”

“…Who is this? How did you get access to this comm line?”

“I’m… a friend of Pet- Robin’s. Is… he there?”

An extensive gap stretched.

“There is no more Robin.”

The pronouncement was deep. Disturbing. Definite.

“Do not contact here again.”

With a final click, the other end hung up.

She tried, repeatedly – desperately – to dial back – but the machine seemed to have been remotely disconnected. Slumping forward in defeat as she let go the last potential link – lifeline – she buried her face in her sleeves, and burst into sobs.

At length, she dried her sniffles and rose, dragging her feet to the wide frame. Casting one last look of longing out at the pitch gloom, she shut the pane. …Shutting out pain, and all the brief memories associated with it.

…

She never saw Robin again.

————————–

He sprinkled me in pixie dust and told me to believe Believe in him and believe in me Together we will fly away in a cloud of green To your beautiful destiny As we soared above the town that never loved me I realized I finally had a family

#TimSteph #Tim Drake #Timmy Todd #Stephanie Brown #Batman the Animated Series #Batman Beyond #DCAU #Return of the Joker #fanfiction #starstories #Happy Father's Day #for some reason I can't seem to insert a horizontal line anymore?#so please excuse the slight change in formatting

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linaofthemyscira · 7 years

Text

The Quest for the Lost Treasure (Part 9)

Pairing: Adventurer!Jason Todd x Adventurer!Reader

Word Count: 868

Summary: In university, you discover that an ancient treasure supposed to have been “found” was actually still lost. Determined to be the one to find it, you set off on a journey to find it, and run into Jason Todd and his adventurer posse. With Jason’s expertise of the land, and your natural talent for adventuring, you two are the perfect mix. Will you find the treasure smoothly? Or will you fail and lose a friendship?

Warnings: foul language, Jason being a little shit, fluffy floof

A/N here is part nine! sorry its uber short.

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |

Reader POV

Where did we leave off? Oh, right, hitting the pool at the end of the waterfall.

I feel myself submerge into water, and I can’t hear a thing, until I resurface. I look around to find my teammates, and I spot Tim, Damian and Dick pop up but Jason is nowhere to be found. I turn around and search for him but I still don’t see him. Where is he?!

“Jason?! JASON? JASON WHERE ARE YOU?” I yell frantically. I dive back underwater and begin swimming around, trying to find him. Maybe he got hurt and is unconscious. Shit.

I swim around the pool for a few minutes and then I spot him floating a few feet away. Oh my god. I paddle over to him and grab his vest, pulling him to me and then I swim to the surface.

I take a huge gasp as I come up for air and I tug Jason up as well. Then I swim to the shore of the pool, drag Jason out and place him on the ground. I place my ear on Jason’s chest and I don’t hear a heartbeat.

“Oh no no no no no no, please Jason, don’t die,” I feel his neck for a pulse. Faint. But it’s there…

“Hey! Y/N! Wait up!” I hear Dick’s voice behind me. I don’t have time to wait. I start doing CPR on Jason, doing chest compressions and giving him mouth to mouth.

“Come on, Todd,” Damian whispers in the background. After a few minutes more of CPR, Jason coughs up some water and gasps for air.

“Ughhhhhh,” he groans and sits up, putting a hand to his forehead. Without even hesitating, I throw my arms around Jason’s neck and embrace him in a hug. I feel Jason tense up but I continue hugging him.

“I hate you so much,” I whisper. After a few seconds I feel Jason wrap his arms around my back to return the hug.

I let go of him and look into his eyes. He looked pretty beaten up and exhausted.

“Come on let’s find a campsite and settle for the rest of the day. You need some rest,” I stand up and help Jason back on his feet.

“I can walk, Y/N,” he says to me.

“No, I don’t care, we just fell down a 200 foot waterfall, I’m sure we’re all tired and could use some rest,” I tell him.

“Y/N I have your bag,” Dick informs me.

“Thank you, Dick. Come on. Let’s go.”

Jason POV

Y/N practically dragged me to a little vacated area near the falls and we set up our campsite there.

She and Dick had made a little bonfire and placed some small logs around it to use as seats. Right now, I’m currently drying off and heating up near the fire. Y/N made me take off my clothes to dry them as well, so I’m half naked in a new pair of boxers, wrapped in a blanket, sitting on a log by a fire.

How ideal.

“Hey,” I hear Y/N. I look up and see her standing to my right, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m better. Thanks.” I say.

“Good.” She says.

“Did you do mouth to mouth on me? If you wanted a kiss you could’ve just asked,” I smirk.

“Shut up, I was trying to help you.” She hisses.

It becomes silent for a few minutes until I break the silence.

“Thank you for saving my life,” I tell her. She blinks at me a few times before answering.

“I’m sorry, did you just thank me for saving your life?” She asks.

“Yeah, don’t get used to it,” I scoff. I hear her let out a small giggle.

“Just making sure. You’re welcome, by the way,” I glance over and see her smiling at me.

“Why are you smiling? I almost died,” I question her.

“No reason.” She looks away and up at the stars.

“It was the monkey on my–” I start.

“It was the monkey on your face, yes,” she begins laughing. It’s like music to my ears, I wish I could hear it more often.

“Yeah, thanks for smacking it off too, you have a mean swing,” I imitate a baseball player swinging a bat.

“Thanks. Mini golf, it pays off,” she jokes. Another blanket of silence. Then Y/N pipes up.

“Why did you leave after–?” She begins to say, but is cut off.

“Hey! Look at you two, talking and not strangling each other,” Dick comes up and claps me on the back.

“Grayson,” I address him, annoyed that he didn’t allow Y/N to finish speaking. Now I won’t be able to know what she wanted to know.

“How are you feeling? Better?” He asks me.

“Yessssss,” I repeat myself for the 5th time.

“Alright alright, makin’ sure, that’s all. Y/N, how about we get dinner ready, yeah?” Dick says.

“Sure. Let’s do it,” she gets up from her log and walks over to Dick.

“No no no no no no! Y/N don’t go…what was your question?!” I think to myself.

And just like that, she’s gone.

TAGGING:

@redhoodshood @crazy-fan-girl-with-many-fandoms @saltyteengirl@carryonmy-assbutt@4evahevah@roxalienqueenx@miraisnotavailable @illeatyoursoulwithmustard @just-a-girl-maybe@cecedot @crowbarcorps@avengerdragoness @hellomgann1296 @grasyons @wynterrobin@chipsinabox @blxkestnight @friendlylilshipper @tortoisegonewild@marlenej1 @hamsterforlive @kindaace

(Tags still open!)

#Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #batfamily #batfam imagine #batfam x reader #The Quest for the Lost Treasure #dick grayson #Tim Drake #damian wayne

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wellthatjusthappend · 7 years

Text

Flicker Beat (2/2)

Read on AO3

<- Previous

Damian was sleeping soundly on the couch at last. Dick took the blood sample he’d drawn, separated it out into a couple test tubes, added drops, and set them spinning in a homemade centrifuge of sorts he’d thrown together. The baddies were always cooking up some chemical this or that and while a trip to the cave would be ideal, it wasn’t always possible.

Case in point.

The Abuse kid said something about it not affecting Alpha’s as much, which was weird to say the least. Hopefully after these samples settled properly he could get a better idea of what they were dealing with. Damian seemed to be already doing better, but that wasn’t the point. Someone had taken a good shot at his partner and it irked Dick that he hadn’t been there for him. Damian was very dear to him. If that dosage had been lethal…

Dick closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He balled up the wrappings from the tubes and went to toss them in the trash. Dick paused noticing an unopened package that was partially buried under the rest. It was flexible and had been squished up as much as possible. There was no return address, but Dick recognized Leslie’s spidery scrawl.

I know this is hard for you, but it’s not your fault. Please take them, they really will help.

Dick frowned opened the sack. Inside were a couple different bottles of medicine as well as a bottle of antidepressants. He wracked his brain trying to think if there was a reason Leslie would give these to him and came up blank. He’d call her after Damian was feeling better and try to figure why exactly these were in his trash. In the meantime he put time safely in his cupboard.

He heard Damian move around in the other room and hurried out of the kitchen again.

“Little D,” Murmured Dick kneeling by his side and feeling his forehead. No fever anymore, that was good, “How are you feeling?”

“Less than optimal.” grumbled Damian, jade eyes blinking open to stare at him blearily before scowling, “Colin, that traitor.”

“I’m glad he brought you to me.” Dick said firmly, “You didn’t know what you had been dosed with, it could have been very dangerous.”

“-tt-” Damian looked away. Dick wanted to hug him. He settled for stroking a hand through his hair affectionately.

“I’m really glad you’re here, babybat,” Dick admitted, “You have no idea how worried I’ve been.”

“Your worry was unnecessary. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Damian scowled. Dick was quite sure that if he knew how much he was pouting he’d stop immediately.

“You still shouldn’t have had to.” Dick said angrily, “You’re 14 years old, you should be having to carry adult burdens. Just because you technically can doesn’t matter. It wasn’t an ok for your Dad to do that.”

Protecting Tim was one thing. And an important thing at that. But turning your teenage son out of the house was another. Dick thought Bruce sometimes forgot Damian was actually child. He had a bratty attitude sometimes, but for the most part it wasn’t like he ever acted his age much. Still.

“So why would he do it?” Damian shot back, his angry tone barely covering an edge of hurt, “Why? I’m the blood son. Me. So why would he choose Drake over…?”

“Because even though Bruce is some of the smartest men I know, he’s also one of the stupidest,” sighed Dick helping Damian sit up a bit so the Beta could sit and he could lean against Dick’s chest, “I don’t think he meant for you to be gone more than an evening, but that still doesn’t excuse his behavior. I think he thought you would just agree to stop attacking Tim and that would be the end of it but he really should have known better. He knows you, after all. You’re both so stubborn.”

“I don’t understand. Drake already has everything. Why does he insist on always messing everything up?” Damian gritted.

“Wouldn’t you say though that everyone deserves a chance to feel at home in their own skin?” Dick asked.

“Don’t be idealistic Grayson, bodies were always meant to be cumbersome things.” Damian gave Dick a look like he was stupid.

“And even so, we still all try to find our place to fit.” Dick insisted, “Tim has found his. The pack is supporting him in that.”

“Colin would fit, if he could.” Damian said suddenly, Dick looked at him quizzically, “My- the person who brought me to you, Colin.”

“The Alpha.” Dick nodded, pursing his lips at the memory. He didn’t like that such a big aggressive Alpha had been just living with his younger partner. Dick wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that Damian was calling this- friend?- by his first name either. Damian didn’t call people by their first names.

“He’s not an Alpha.” snapped Damian defensively, “He’s- he doesn’t fit correctly into the dynamics, but he would if he could! It’s not his fault. If he’s had a choice he would have and- And then there’s Drake, hah!”

Dick bit back a thousand things that came to mind in the younger Beta’s defense but he decided to let Damian vent for a little first.

“Drake fit before and now he’s just messing it up just because he feels like it. Dynamics matter. They’re everything you can’t just- you can’t just throw them out just because.” Damian tried to explain.

Dick let them sit in silence for a little before carefully asking, “If dynamics are everything, where does that put your friend Colin?”

“I don’t know.” Damian admitted sounding distressed.

“What if your friend decided he wanted to fit? He’d have to go do some of the same kinds of things Tim is doing.” Dick let that sit, “If, say, he decided to transition to being a Beta, would you consider him to not be a real Beta like you’ve told Tim over and over?”

“No.” Damian gritted out, “I am aware that makes no sense, but no.”

“Ah.” Dick felt a flicker of hope. He’d always kind of been worried Damian might never except Tim. But maybe…

“I don’t know what to do, Grayson.” Damian admitted quietly, then more loudly and frustrated, “These matters are supposed to be set and very clear. The rules are in place, and those with any ounce of integrity follows them. There a correct way of doing things for each dynamic that compliments each other. If you break for that there can only be chaos and heartbreak.”

Dick refrained from asking about what Damian thought of relationships outside of a potential bond or traditional Beta/Beta relationships. He was already aware Damian thought he and Jason were infidels. Still…

“If you want to talk about my take on it all, I’d be happy to share some of the insights I’ve heard.” Dick said slowly, “But it sounds like most of all you need to think about it all some more. Don’t just bottle it up and try not to think about it because it’s hard though.”

“I know that.” grumbled Damian wiggling close. Dick smiled to himself, knowing that Damian would deny snuggling till the day he died. It was hard to resist kissing his forehead, but he doubted Damian would tolerate it.

At first Dick thought that his throat was tightening up because he was emotional. But after a couple of times of trying to clear his throat unsuccessfully, Dick got a bit suspicious. Damian seemed fine though.

“One sec little D.” Dick said regretfully shuffling out from under the other.

“Where are you going?” Damian asked looking disgruntled at having to move.

“Just gotta check something.” Dick smiled reassuringly.

In the kitchen the centrifuge had long since stopped spinning. Dick’s eyes widened at the way all of the tubes had separated and were reacting really concerningly. It didn’t say great things about whatever this new drug was.

One of the samples wasn’t sealed properly.

He started to reach for it and became aware that his hands were shaking. Hard. And more by the second. And the room was starting to pulse in an alarming way.

“Dami-!” Dick tried to call but it came out a concerning weeze. He couldn’t breathe. And everything was- everything was-

Black.

*****

“Pennyworth! Please! Grayson has-” Damian started frantically pulling the Beta far away from the sample in the kitchen.

“I’m on my way.” Alfred began to say before Damian’s brain caught up to the situation.

“No!” He said, “Stay away. And keep Drake away too. This is a drug that only affects Beta’s, we can’t have you getting exposed as well. I’ll call the ambulance, you inform the rest of the pack.”

“As you say.” Alfred said, strain evident in his voice.

“I need you to send an ambulance. Do not send any Beta personnel,” Damian said briskly dialing 911, “My packmate has reacted to the drug called Flicker. He is no longer breathing. My address is 54th St and Adams. West Gotham, apartment 731. I expect you to arrive promptly.”

Damian hung up before they could answer and focused on giving Dick CPR. He wasn’t sure it was doing much but his brain was filled with statistics and facts about the brain starting to die after 6 minutes without oxygen.

“Grayson, you fool, you’re not allowed to die.” Damian told him, “Especially not because you were caring for me.”

The ambulance's arrival and the ride to the hospital was a confusing panicked blur. Damian tried to keep track of who was doing what and why but it was chaos.

“Stop! Where are you taking him?” demanded Damian when they tried to take the Beta away from him.

“Don’t worry kid,” one of the attendants smiled wearily, “We’re getting real good at treating Flicker victims. Your packmates going to be fine. We just need to take him for a few.”

Damian reluctantly sat back and channeled his worry into rage for the fools who dared to hurt his pack and what he planned to do to them.

“Damian!” Damian turned as his name was called to see Tim running up.

“You shouldn’t be here-” Damian started angrily. Regardless of what Drake really was, right now physically his makeup was closer to that of a Beta than an Omega which meant he could be at risk. They weren’t sure exactly what it was people were reacting to after all.

“It’s fine,” Tim waved him away, “If it was loes in the hospital then Beta’s would be collapsing left, right, and center.”

“-tt-” Damian turned away.

“Tell me what happened.” Tim said intently, and Damian knew in that moment he was dealing with Red Robin. That was fine. He always dealt better with him than Tim.

Damian explained all about the gangs and the drugs and about getting dosed and not knowing that Dick had taken a sample so he hadn’t thought to warn him about any potential dangers. Tim was frowning deeply by the time he finished. Tim nodded and quickly sent out a series of texts.

“No one can seem to get ahold of Jason, but Barbara is going to Dick’s place to get his samples. We’ll have an antidote of our own soon enough.” Tim said

“Todd is going to go on a rampage when he hears.” Damian said dryly. The grimace Tim made said he agreed.

“Where is Dick?” Tim asked, “How is he?”

“In there.” Damian nodded to the doors.

“I’m going to go talk to them.” was all Tim said. Damian let him do it. He had no patience for people caught in bureaucracy and they would likely not appreciate him hurling them over the counter when they refused to cooperate.

“This doesn’t make sense.” Tim said looking troubled when he returned, “The drug has dramatic effects. Deadly if not treated. But it’s not hard to treat. They’re telling me that it rarely takes more than a day for Beta’s to get back on their feet. If this gang is targeting Beta’s, then it can’t be this simple.”

“-tt- Perhaps they got sloppy.” Damian said.

“No, they have to know by now that people can treat it easily but they’re still producing.” Tim said frustrated.

Damian shrugged and kept his eyes fixed on the door. He and Tim sat in silence, Tim occasionally tapping away at his phone. It was the first time they’d seen each other since their fight. Damian expected to feel more resentful, but he couldn’t muster it in the face of Tim’s palpable worry about Dick.

A commotion by the entrance made Damian look up to see Jason shoving his way past personal with Colin trailing worriedly behind him. Both Damian and Tim were on their feet in an instant.

“Are you ok? Should you be out here so soon after-” Damian went straight for Colin.

“I’m fine, Jason said I already stopped scenting and I’m feeling better than usual since he was taking care of me.” Colin said quickly. Damian started to feel jealous at that but-

“Where is he?! Where the fuck is he?!” Jason yelled.

“Jason-” Tim started to lay a hand on his arm but Jason shook it off.

“No, fuck, you need to let me see him right this fucking second!” Jason spat, his eyes wild and feverish.

“Sir, calm down,” a nurse tried to calm him, “If your mate is somewhere here than I assure you that we can take you to him. The Alpha ward is this way if you’ll-”

“I’m not going to no fucking Alpha ward.” Jason snarled, “My mate’s a Beta.”

“Oh,” She blinked rapidly, “Um, well, technically then you’re not m-”

“He was just admitted here for unintentionally exposure to Flicker?” Tim cut in with a charming smile before Jason could lose his already frayed temper, “Could you tell us if his procedures finished?”

“Flicker? Oh, well that procedure should have been finished a while ago, it’s really quite quick. We don’t take names upon entrance since patients usually wake up again fairly quickly to tell us themselves. I can see if he’s in the system?” she said stepping behind a computer, “What’s his name?”

“Dick Grayson.” Tim said while Jason muttered things under his breath. Colin took Damian’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

“Hmm, no one here is by that name.” She hummed, “Can you give me any other descriptions?”

Tim listed off several more.

“I’m sorry, you’re sure he’s didn’t already check himself out? Flicker patience do that sometimes. The only Beta’s here for Flicker are in their teens.” she asked.

“You.” Jason rounded on Damian grabbing his shirt, “Why didn’t you stay with him?”

“I wasn’t permitted to-” Damian began to spit defensively.

“When the fuck has that ever stopped you?” snarled Jason, “You knew Beta’s were disappearing after taking this drug, why the fuck would you let him out of your sight for a second?!”

Damian felt very cold.

“Oh god.” Tim breathed, “Oh god, that- that’s very clever. They could just- and nobody would probably notice- oh god.”

“I’m going to go fucking find him.” Jason said spinning on his heel.

“I- I’ll keep looking for clues here.” Tim said shakily turning back to the front desk.

“Wait, just like that? You guys really think he’s gone?” Colin asked worriedly.

“If he’s here, Drake will find him soon.” Damian said trying to breath through- Dick, no, they couldn’t have taken Dick. Not the one person in the family who- “But if they have taken him we’ll only have a short window to intercept them.”

A window that may have passed.

“Damian, I need you here with me.” Tim said apologetically as Damia started toward the door with Colin, “you’re the one who was with him and might be able to identify those who brought him in.”

“Colin, you go help Todd. I’ll remain here with Drake.” Damian said pushing his friend towards the door, “You have the best nose out everyone besides Jason. See if you can track him down.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.” said Damian in frustration, “Now go.”

With one more cautious look, Colin took off.

“We’re going to find him,” Damian said turning back to Tim, “We must.”

#angst #my writing #my bondless love series #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #drug mentions #transdynamic character #interdynamic character #cliff hanger #start of reconciliation

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