No Contact
Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader
Word Count: 7.6k
Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort
Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.
A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3
—————————————————————
No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process.
No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None.
He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.
Hell, it might even make you worse.
It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward.
But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star.
It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?
You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did.
He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party.
He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.
But he wasn’t.
A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.
Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle.
For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.
He was the last to know.
After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.
Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup.
Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup?
You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible.
It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup.
Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing.
Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out.
He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn…
He never got to see you.
“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?
“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”
A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”
Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped.
Does that mean…?
No…
“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“
The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”
Chan was suddenly in a chair.
When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.
“It’s not forever, son.”
Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.
Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.
He gets it now.
The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly.
Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.
Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?
Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?
“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”
It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort.
You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.
It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him.
Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them.
God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.
How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?
5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift.
He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to.
Mice would get to it before you did.
His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin.
All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.
It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved.
Just like him.
It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces.
He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time.
Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.
Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of.
Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together.
There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his.
You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM.
This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return.
It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much.
Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now?
Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before.
Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago.
You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you.
To him too.
It’s the library where he first met you.
The same library Chan finds himself in front of now.
He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside.
Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working.
Absolutely not.
The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful.
There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet.
Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were.
His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves.
There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it.
On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face.
Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option.
When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head.
Your eyes met. He was a goner.
How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you.
Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.
Maybe you’re not working today?
No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere.
Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway.
He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here.
His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time.
Empty.
You-less.
If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks.
What a moment.
Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?
He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio.
Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.
“Can I help you find something?”
His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone.
Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch.
His throat immediately tightens.
There you are. You. Beautiful you.
Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger.
“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?
You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something.
Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”
No.
“Yeah.”
You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”
He knows.
“Really?”
“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin.
Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows.
You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”
Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug.
He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.
But—
“If you need anything, let me know.”
You start to walk away.
Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please.
His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!
“W-Wait!” he says quickly.
You turn around with a curious look.
“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”
Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”
He knows. You collect different translations of it.
“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”
With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics.
He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months.
You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies.
Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you.
The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day.
Y/N, please.
“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book.
Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry.
“Thank you,” he whispers back.
You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower.
From foot to foot, your weight shifts.
You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?
“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”
It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you.
You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them.
Y/N, please.
“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself.
Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck!
Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world.
Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite.
He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks.
He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow.
Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it.
He knows everything.
“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained.
You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?
“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”
Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes.
“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out.
Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments.
After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper.
“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”
Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you.
Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”
Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him.
Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in.
Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.
“Chan,” he answers softly.
“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him.
Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.
“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile.
“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth.
“You too, Chan.”
And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus.
—————————————————————
A bad idea was going into the library that day.
An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going.
And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him.
And the worst part? You said yes.
So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date.
How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how.
Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings.
His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother.
“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything.
“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone.
“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous.
“How are you? Is everything okay?”
“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”
Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth.
“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”
His jaw clenches. Now or never.
“It’s with me,” he blurts.
Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth.
“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”
He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you.
“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself.
“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused.
She’s right. What if you don’t?
“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”
Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”
—————————————————————
“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table.
Yes, you have.
“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water.
“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”
He looks back down at the old menu.
This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town.
The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late.
“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu.
He’s more nervous now than on the first date.
“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile.
A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”
It was your favorite.
“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu.
His eyebrows knit together. “What?”
“‘Cause of your allergy.”
He stops.
You stop.
He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy.
His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”
Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”
You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”
He definitely did not say something.
Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before.
The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.
You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe.
A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you.
Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks.
You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully.
“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”
He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused?
“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out.
What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you?
“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”
Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick.
Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?
“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”
He licks his lips and opens his mouth.
Your phone rings.
A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest.
Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up.
“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”
“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock.
A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet.
“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”
Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance.
—————————————————————
It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park.
“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”
You already have.
“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket.
“Changbin sounds like a blast.”
He was your favorite before.
“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”
And you have.
A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation.
Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it.
With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side.
You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.
“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings.
Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours.
The brightest smile stretches over your face.
God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.
He can’t help it.
He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk.
“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease.
He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”
Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now.
“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”
“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”
Another laugh from you.
“Shameless flirt.”
He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”
Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you.
Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe.
It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago.
He wants to kiss you so bad.
Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?
Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop.
“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin.
Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident.
It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago.
The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features.
Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch.
His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up.
Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that.
You’re always so enchanting.
Is this a good idea?
Is kissing you the best option?
But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?
Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop.
One look into your eyes quells that anxiety.
Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside.
He can’t take it anymore.
Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.
But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach.
He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers.
It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t.
He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips.
But he is.
He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss.
How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time.
No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers.
Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again.
Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose.
God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good.
His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer.
He immediately stops.
Why is your face wet?
Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression.
You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?
Your eyes open and you look at him confused.
“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?
“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.
Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears.
“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”
Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused.
Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window.
Every muscle in your face is twitching.
What’s happening?
“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob.
Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident.
Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?
Please.
Slowly, your hand falls from his.
Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on.
He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.
You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.
Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own.
“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time.
He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore.
But you do.
“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“
“It’s okay, Y/N.”
You know him.
“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”
Chan. Not Channie.
He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”
His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation.
Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs.
“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”
Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over.
The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you.
You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.
“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”
You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared.
“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”
Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming.
“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.”
How is your voice so even?
Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck.
He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him.
“I—“ he starts but you cut him off.
“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.
“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”
Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest.
More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow.
“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”
Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest.
Him. You’re talking about him.
Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying.
Nothing has ever hurt this bad.
You know him. You just don’t know it’s him.
Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”
Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it.
You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest.
That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter.
“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”
A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling.
A sob tears from his throat.
You grip his hand tighter.
“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat.
“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”
Oh, god, Y/N.
“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”
He breaks.
He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm.
He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you.
Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist.
Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.
Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out.
You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline.
Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it.
Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you.
“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”
Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms.
“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”
Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.”
Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat.
“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”
Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs.
Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face.
“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”
Channie. You called him Channie.
He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair.
You’re still crying. Both of you are.
“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest.
All he can do is cry.
Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night.
The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over.
Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.
You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong.
“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.
“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”
He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently.
“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”
Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you.
"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."
His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.
The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.
It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.
But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.
The burn is soothed.
“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”
His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”
“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”
Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws.
You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it.
His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle
“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”
“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”
955 notes
·
View notes
Tell Me
Batfam x Assassin! Daughter! Reader
Tw: neglect, poor mental health, blood, death, guns, reader is stabbed and shot, argument, reader gets slapped once, everyone gets called out on their shit, reader’s on the dark side, assassination, etc…
Synopsis: Ever since coming to the Manor you never felt truly at home, nobody gave you the time of day no matter how hard you tried to be good and perfect. It takes a toll and in the end you find a dangerous outlet for all these negative emotions. You’ve reached your boiling point and now not even your estranged family could pull you from this darkness but what would they do? Could they really lock you away like the other villains after they were the ones to allow you to stray from the path of Justice?
Children were often the reflection of their parents, what they saw growing up is what molded them, what influenced their parents in turn influenced them. From a young age you knew you were not special, you were a weapon, raised by the Al Ghul’s and treated like a souless object for destruction. You weren’t used to kindness or happiness so it didn’t surprise you that your new family failed to treat you like an actual family member. You were the youngest Wayne now, but to everyone you were just another kid Bruce took in out of pity. Damian recognized you as soon as you’d been abandoned on the steps of the Manor but he did not treat you warmly. You were an obstacle, a challenge his mother had sent to destroy his peaceful life but all you wanted was to be loved.
The mansion was nothing more than a pretty bird cage, Bruce welcomed you with open arms but hardly gave you the time of day. Most of the other family members followed in his example, they were kind to you but rarely interacted with you and often times did their best to avoid you. At the very least you thought Damian would support you but seeing his emerald eyes shrink into a deathly cold glare was enough to make you give up on making a connection. All your life those cruel green eyes always mocked and ridiculed your existence, once it was your mother and now it was your brother. Within the span of a year you felt like a ghost in what was supposed to be your home. Your older siblings avoided you, and your “father” often ignored your presence despite your best efforts.
The only one who was kind to you was Alfred, the family butler, he always remembered your favorites and always lent you an ear to listen to you vent your sorrows. Sadly the attention and affection of one wonderful old man was not enough to ease the pain in your shattered heart. You tried to be good, you tried to follow all the rules and be a model daughter and student but what was the point? There was nothing nice in Gotham, it was cruel to the poor and the rich, so maybe you should use that pent up frustration to make a difference in this miserable city? After all you were trained by Ra’s Al-Ghul, you were never very good at pretending to be someone you’re not but maybe holding back wasn’t the answer. Maybe you were sent to Gotham to do what your dear brother failed to do! There was no point letting all those years of torturous training go to waste, not when there was a whole city of targets to take out and destroy. You could make Gotham a better place with your own two hands!
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bruce was troubled, more and more news articles were popping up about the sudden deaths of crooked politicians or cops throughout the past few months. Gangsters and common crooks were also being targeted by some unknown entity and it was driving the Bat Family wild. These weren’t just random targets, with each individual killed their dirty secrets were revealed to the entire world. Opinions became mixed about their deaths but in the end a mass murderer was on loose and Batman had to bring them to justice.
“Staying up late again Master Bruce?”, Alfred hummed, setting a plate of food down.
Alfred looked up and read over the screen, a sad frown pulled at his lips and a heavy sigh soon followed.
“It’s a shame really, even the worst of people deserve a second chance.”, Alfred sighed.
Bruce could only hum in response, “The whole family is out tonight, everyone is in pairs to ensure their safety. Tonight will be the night we capture this murderer, I just know it.”, Bruce growled pulling his cowl over his head.
Without saying another word Bruce stormed into the Batmobile and sped off into the night for patrol. Alfred could only sigh and stared back at the extra plate of food, he always made you dinner even though you’d left the manor months ago. Deep down he wishes he could’ve done more, he wishes he could’ve scolded the family into treating you better but it was far to late for that. Nobody was aware you were even gone, just the poor old man that kept you company and accepted you for who you were.
The night is still young, crime is always at its peak at these ungodly hours. Its no surprise thst everyone is out on patrol tonight but Damian is livid, something about these murders seems so familar that it’s driving him insane. He wants to do something, he wants to lock away the madman that’s been doing this but nobody knows what they look like! All they have to go on is a scratchy voice recording that’s been altered and a blurry image of the culprit.
“Yo look alive Boy Blunder, looks like we found him.”, Red Hood chuckled.
Damian quickly reacted replacing his green mask over his eyes as he rushed to the rooftop ledge, Red Hood pointed to the strange individual silently stalking into the heavily guarded building. Robin couldn’t help but scoff, he researched every possible target that this fiend would possibly try to attack tonight. He wouldn’t allow anymore deaths, tonight was the night that this assassin faces justice.
“Let’s go, there’s plenty of targets that this idiot can hit.”, Robin growled, launching his grappling hook and swinging down to the building below.
Red Hood chuckled and followed behind his little brother, soon enough the two vigilantes were inside searching for their elusive prey. A drug deal was going on between two lead dealers in Gotham, the two vigilantes were itching to arrest both but they had to wait for their target.
“Our best bet is to protect the two leaders, without a doubt they’re the targets.”, Robin whispered, watching closely for anyone acting out of ranks.
The tension in the room was thick, everyone was ready to fire rounds off at the drop of a hat but not even the heroes could see it coming. They were focused on the wrong targets and in a chilling instance a bullet was silently fired and pierced through the skull of one of the dealer’s right hand men. Before the body could hit the floor everyone drew guns and began firing away without a care in the world. Amidst the chaos Red Hood managed to hear a distorted giggle, his eyes focused in on the raptures of the warehouse and that’s when he finally found their target.
“You’re not getting away this time.”, Red Hood growled, launching his grappling hook just above the assassin and swinging towards them.
It was far to late before they realized they’d been found, Red Hood tackled them from the raptures and both crashed down onto the table below. The sudden breaking of the table silenced everyone and the gunfire stopped but that didn’t mean anyone was safe. The two vigilantes were disoriented from the impact and the thugs took it as the perfect chance to kill them both. Robin swooped in to save his brother setting off several smoke bombs to hide their escape. Red Hood clung to the assassin with a vice like grip, grappling his way up to a nearby rooftop as the shooting continued.
“Alright you fucking idiot! Now you’re gonna be going to prison for the rest of your-“
A huge explosion roared behind the small group, the building had erupted into a huge fire with all those men still inside. Again a distorted giggle sounded from the stranger behind them, “Watch and learn ladies!”, the voice cheered, racing off the rooftop and falling down to the ground below.
Robin and Red Hood both shouted in frustration, now they’d have to deal with two threats at the same time. The assassin rushed to a nearby water tower near the flaming building and destroyed the supports with small explosives they had on hand. The toppling tower crushed part of the warehouse but doused the fires out with all the water inside. Many of the men were flushed out with the water, many still alive but casualties were present. Several more lives had been lost in the gunfire and so many more were injured.
“Oh Bat’s gonna love this damage control.”, Red Hood sighed.
He wasn’t even aware that Robin had already left his side to track down the runaway assassin, they giggled in amusement to chaos before them blissfully unaware of the nearby danger. Robin began attacking them, slicing their arm with the tip of his blade before they realized he was there. They tumble to the ground, clutching their bleeding arm in pain before Robin jumps down to cuff them. A distorted groan sounds from the mask but Robin could care less, the sounds of police sirens are growing closer and now the assassin is beginning to panic. Red Hood soon joins his brother and the mocking tone he has is almost enough to trigger the young assassin.
“You’re going away for a long time freak.”, he hums.
The police sirens grow closer before an agitated sigh spills from the masked assassin, Robin and Red Hood watch in horror as the assassin slams their face repeatedly into the concrete ground below. After the third hit Robin grabs the hood and pulls the assasin up noticing their mask now gone. Jason and Damian are both shocked to see who’s under the hood and realize that they can’t let the police take away this assassin. The three vigilantes disappear into the night, rushing back to the Bat Cave to inform the family of what they’ve found.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your thigh hurts, your arm hurts, your back hurts, your face hurts, everything is burning and going numb from the pain all while your siblings silently glare at you in shock. You don’t say a word blissfully lost in the thoughts of your own head while you play with the cuffs around your wrists. Surprisingly enough your siblings had cuffed your hands behind your back and seated you in a chair until Batman could get back to deal with the issue at hand.
“I can’t believe the person behind the murders was you!”, Dick finally speaks up, frustrated to know that the youngest Wayne had been killing people.
You scoff at him and turn your head to look away from him. He gets more upset when you do so, “(Y/n) do you understand what you’ve done? We don’t kill people!”, Dick continues, his words falling onto deaf ears.
“Don’t be a hypocrite, Damian was killing earlier than I was and none of you ever scolded him for it.”, you snapped back.
Your brother’s face scrunches up in disgust, he knows he has no room to speak but he has changed. You ignore their voices as your eyes catch sight of the lights in the cave, the roaring engine of the Batmobile echoed in the distance. Great now things were really gonna get interesting, you huffed in frustration and get comfortable knowing you’ll be getting an ear full for your actions.
“Can you make this quick, I’ve gotta get home and walk my dog.”, you huff, opening your eyes to see Batman glaring down at you in disgust.
“Explain yourself.”, he simply growls.
You roll your eyes and cross one leg over the other, “I’m simply putting my skills to good use.”
The answer is simple and straightforward, nothing is untrue about the words you’ve spoken but it does draw mixed reactions from the family members.
“We don’t kill. You’re a murderer (y/n), your hands are stained with blood and you’re dragging down the family name with each kill.”, Bruce removes his cowl to get a better look at you.
You sigh and look down at your lap, “Tell me when was I ever officially renamed a Wayne?”, you ask glaring up into Bruce’s masked eyes, “Who gives a rat’s ass? I was raised by the League of Assassins, you should be grateful I have my own independence and don’t follow in my grandfather’s footsteps. Bedsides I’m making the Al-Ghul family proud.”
Bruce grows red with frustration at that comment, he doesn’t mean to but his hand moves on its own to slap you across the face. The boys all gasp and push Bruce back, Barbara and Steph rush to your side to help you, blood begins pouring from your broken nose again but you hiss at them to not touch you.
“You are a member of this family, you live under my roof which means you follow my rules. I should have you locked up in Arkham for what you’ve done!”, Bruce begins yelling at you but you are a woman with nothing to lose now.
“I am an Al-Ghul! I don’t even live here anymore! None of you ever cared about me, nobody ever helped me when I needed it! I was a ghost here until I decided to leave and make a name for myself, I’m an assassin get used to it!”, you roared back, your outburst shocked everyone.
They were so used to the quiet shy girl from before that your newfound voice sent chills down their spines. Bruce’s heart sank to the floor hearing your sad words, it made him think. Suddenly he realized that he knew nothing about you and he could barely remember the last time he’d seen you in the manor.
“I-I…that’s not true. If I’d known you were so lonely I would’ve done something…I-“
“Just save it. You people never gave a crap about me, I’ve been on my own for the past seven months and I bet none of you even noticed. What’s my favorite color? When’s my birthday? Who went to my school concert? None of you know right? Don’t suddenly act like you care!”, you chuckled darkly watching everyone’s faces suddenly pale at the realization of your words.
“B-But I thought you just locked yourself in your room? Alfred always made an extra plate of food…was he never taking it to you?”, Tim asked, guilt suddenly eating away at him when he tried to recall the last time he’d see you.
“I always thought you’d left early to school…I would’ve taken you but you were always gone.”, Jason added, he looks miserable but you don’t offer him any sympathy.
“I checked myself out of school months ago, I don’t even go to Gotham Academy anymore.”, you chuckled, enjoying the growing shock melting over everyone’s faces.
Everyone was too stunned to speak, even more so when you suddenly stood up from the chair with your wrists freed from the cuffs. Dick and Steph both quickly noticed you popping your dislocated thumbs back into place. Everyone was cautious of your movements but none could speak a word as the gravity of the situation slowly sunk in. You limped to the nearby exam table and grabbed tweezers to pull out the stray bullet that had lodged itself into your leg during the shoot out. While you bled over the exam table everyone watched just how unbothered you were by an injury that should’ve been painful.
“D-Did you get shot in the warehouse?”, Damian asked, inching closer to you with the intent to help you.
“I sure did. The slash I got from your sword hurts alot worse though, I can take care of it when I get home.”, you hummed, cleaning the bleeding wound.
Bruce joined Damian by your side and suddenly looked apologetic, “(Y/n) this is your home…I-I’m sorry if we failed to communicate that. Just stay here, Alfred can clean your wounds and we’ll talk things through. I’m sure there’s some way for you to atone for what you’ve don-“
An obnoxious ringtone blared from your pocket and you growled, muttering under your breath as you took the call. Nobody was sure what was going on but your body language became rigid and your face was stuck in a permanent scowl. Damian’s body mimicked yours once his ears caught on to a familiar voice sounding on the other end of the phone.
“Have you been talking to Mother?”, Damian questions you but you ignore him to continue the call.
You nod your head and let out a heavy sigh, “I’ll take on the task tomorrow, if that’s to long for you find someone else.”, you end the call and begin grabbing your things.
Bruce immediately gets in front of you trying to stop you from leaving, he’s delusional thinking he can repair the bond between you. You only offer him a dead glare and a frown, “Get out of my way.”
Bruce insists that you stay as do several of your “siblings” but to you these are just strangers. You don’t care for their opinions or words of wisdom, you needed them months ago not now. Your resolve was absolute and no one would stop you.
“(Y/n) if you walk out of this mansion than you will be a criminal. I won’t help you and neither will anybody in this room, if we meet on the field you will be arrested and taken to Arkham Asylum.”, Bruce warns hoping to scare you straight.
A light giggle falls from your lips eventually erupting into a hearty laugh, “Oh please do, I’ll just kill all your problems in one go. Mother’s been wanting to kill Joker for a while now. I bet the paparazzi would love to see me defaming the Wayne name like you said. Once everyone finds out who I am I’m sure they’ll put together who all of you are.”, your voice is cold and sinister as you continue to mock him, “Batman arrests his own daughter. Bruce Wayne is Batman. Family of vigilantes unmasked. Wayne family murderer. It’ll be a grand spectacle to read all of those articles.”
Bruce is appalled suddenly realizing that his hands are tied in this situation. Barbara speaks up, trying to descalate the situation, “(Y/n) please give us a chance. If we don’t arrest you than a Justice League member will. You won’t win against metahumans.”
“Do you think I’m stupid? I’ve been down here alone while you were all on patrol hundreds of times, all I could do was read to keep myself entertained and guess what I found all the contingency plans for each league, Titan, and family member. I downloaded those files before I left and if you keep threatening me I’ll be sure to sell that info to the highest bidder.”
Everyone suddenly seems more panicked than before, that information could destroy the world if it landed in the wrong hands. Barbara stayed quiet and pulled away knowing that there was no changing you mind. Damian tried to speak up, trying to speak some words of wisdom to you.
“(Y/n), sister please, I know growing up in the league made us abnormal. We thought we were weapons but I learned that I’m not. You can too. Just give us a chance to show you.”
You can barely smile anymore, listening to him lie through his teeth just to keep others safe from you made the cracks between you even bigger.
“I gave you a year. A whole year! I chose the path I could follow based on what I know, you failed. All of you failed! Go to hell, if any of you get in my way I will utilize all the information I have on you, the league, and the Titans.”, you warned.
This time nobody stopped you, you grabbed your things and walked away without once looking back. You were an assassin, this is what you were born to do. They had their chance to make things right and help you heal from your trauma but it was to late. There were unquantifiable corpses burdening your weak soul but even that wasn’t going to stop you, you had a mission tomorrow which meant you had less then 24 hours to heal and recover from tonight.
~~~~~~~~~~
The manor seemed lifeless after you left, suddenly everyone found themselves reflecting on how they mistreated you and grew disgusted with themselves. Alfred returned from his vacation only to find everyone wallowing in their own self pity. He knew of your suffering, he knew that you left as he was the only one you said goodbye to, and he was the one to withdraw you from school. Alfred did everything he could to support you until finally you pushed him away to take on your lonely path in life.
“You only have yourselves to blame, at the very least be courteous enough to bury her in the family cemetery when she’s killed.”, Alfred scoffed, returning to the kitchen to cook away his rage.
This only makes the family more miserable, the idea of you passing and them not knowing until its to late begins to haunt them. They’re scared and although they’re all together they’ve never felt more torn apart. Bruce sighs and stares at the empty windowsill where Damian usually sits during family meeting in the living room, he knows that Damian is taking this the hardest.
Damian slept in your room that night with Titus, looking for anything to hold onto of his sister. He never treated you well, he hardly knew you as you were both separated at young ages for training but even still the feint bond was the only hope he could hold onto. Being an assassin was a dangerous job and a lonely one at that, you would never know peace and it’s because he failed you. He was you brother, he was the one person that should have welcomed you and helped you earn your place in the family. He found your journal, a book you’d often write in and vent to, he read each entry and actually began to cry as each entry became sadder than the last. They’d missed your school orchestra concert, they’d missed your entire season of volleyball, and even forgot your birthday. It was through this journal that Damian even learned when your birthday was, it hurt so much. You deserved better, they all should’ve done better…you were alone and trapped in a pretty cage. You were like a hawk in a tiny cage, dangerous and searching for a way to escape and be free.
“Whatcha got there D?”, Dick asked noticing Damian with the book in his hand.
“(Y/n)’s journal.”
Everyone suddenly fell silent, they all wanted a chance to read through it and learn a bit more about you but Damian wasn’t done with it. He needed to know what he could do to fix this, he had to know what that phrase meant.
‘Tell me…’
‘Tell me what to do to make you see me’
‘Tell me why I’m not like them…why aren’t I special like them’
‘Tell me what did I do to be hated?’
‘Tell me why I’m alone….tell me why I’m angry!’
“Tell me why my version of justice feels so good? Why did assassinating that man feel right?’
‘Tell me was my mother right all along, if I have the power to change the world like this should I take it?’
‘Tell me what would you do if I suddenly became a part of the problem? Tell me what I have to lose if I follow the path of the demon!’
“Tell me what I have to do to bring you home (y/n).”
1K notes
·
View notes