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starry-bi-sky · 3 months

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fast food is the best course of action after causing a scene. ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴʏᴀʟ ᴀʟ ɢʜᴜʟ ᴀᴜ

(First Post Here and Second Post Here

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Danny finds Sam easily.

She's right where she said she was over the phone: standing outside on a balcony, in Gotham, at Father's many charity functions.

("Would you still be willing to fly over to Gotham, Danny?" She asks, her voice ringing clear through the speakers. Danny is already climbing out his window before she even finishes her sentence. He was just about to settle down for the night, his ghosts would know better by now than to disturb him at this time. The Box Ghost not included.)

("Of course." He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Sam was one of his best— closest friends, he would do anything she or Tucker asked. Even if it means stepping foot into his Father's city. He drops down silently, and walks through the house's ghost shield. "Would you like me to bring you anything?")

(Sam sighs through the phone, relief leaking through. "One of the veggie burgers from Nasty Burgers would be great, with their new ecto-fries. Extra salt. I'm sick of all this rich people food.")

(A small smile pulls across Danny's face, tilting at the corner as his living form falls away to his ghost self. "Alright," he says, and kicks himself off the ground, "I'll be there in a few minutes.")

("Thanks, Danny.")

He had the bag of food with him, stored in a container he had to run back to the house to get that would prevent the food from cooling during his flight over. Clutching it in hand, he floats down behind Sam and sheds his invisibility.

Being visible and being invisible always felt different, but in a way Danny can never describe, no matter how many times he tries to think about it. It's like a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, he always knows when he's visible and when he is not.

His ghost form burns away like steel wool being lit, and Danny drops the last foot to the ground silently. In his other hand lies his thermos, but filled with plain ectoplasm — lazarus water. "I have your food."

(He brought the thermos for himself — his side was still healing from his last fight with Technus. The ghost impaled him with a broken pipe, and Danny returned the favor by wedging his sword into his chest. Technus had been quite offended by him ruining his favorite coat.)

Sam jumps a foot into the air, and her hand slams across her mouth to muffle the shriek she lets out as she whirls around. "Danny!" She hisses, her voice rising in pitch, and her eyes narrow at him into a glare. "Freaking-- Tucker's right, we seriously need to put a bell on you."

"You have been saying that for years," Danny grins, sharp-toothed and jack-knifed, and passes the container over to her. "And yet I've yet to see any kind of bell." He was going to start getting disappointed at this rate.

As Sam takes the container, Danny hops up onto the railing and looks around. He hadn't seen any of Father's other children lurking around the building before he revealed himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that their stealth skills were poor.

He wasn't that arrogant.

...Anymore.

"Oh you will." Sam threatens, unzipping the container and grabbing the takeout bag. "I'll get you a collar and everything, we can start calling you Catwoman." When she pulls out her fries, Danny snaps forward and steals one from the box, ignoring her indignant yell as he pops it into his mouth.

"I spent my own money on these fries, Sam." He sniffs, leaning away from her with a stifled huff of laughter as she swats at him. "So they are technically my fries. And also, Catwoman would be a poor thief if she wore a bell."

Sam grumbles at him, and takes a bite out of a handful of fries. "I'll venmo you money." She says past a mouthful of food, Danny would have been disgusted in the past, when he was still new. But he's gotten used to this... normality. So he makes no reaction to it. "How does three hundred bucks sound?"

Danny immediately frowns.

"Did you have a fight with your parents?" He asks, eyes glancing to the doors. Doors that are covered heavily by curtains and blurred heavily, decadent music passing through in muffled sounds. He shifts himself away from the light. "You only spend that much money when they've pissed you off."

Sam's chewing stops, and her annoyed expression falters into one Danny knows well -- hurt, furrowed brows, a small frown, disappointment -- and she turns her head away from him. She swallows. "Yeah." she says, quiet.

Oh.

Danny knows that tone too.

Guilt settles like a rock in his chest. He leans forward, "Was it about me again?" He wasn't blind to the disdain Sam's parents had for him, far from it. This wasn't the first time Sam had gotten into a fight with them over her friendship with him and Tucker. But especially him. He unsettled people, even after years of observing his age-mates and trying to mimic their behavior, and anyone who knew him in middle school knew it was an act.

Sam's silence gives him all the confirmation he needs, and the guilt heavies itself with the weight of the sky. Danny's never much cared about others' opinions of him -- he is (was?) an Al Ghul, they never heed to mind what the weight of a simpleton's thoughts.

But.. he cares a little a lot when it hurts his friends like this. He presses his lips together into a thin line, and forces the words out through his teeth. It sounds robotic. Al Ghul's do not apologize. "I... am sorry." But this one does. It doesn’t come easy.

Sam sighs through her nose, and turns to roll her eyes at him. "Don't apologize on their behalf when you won't even apologize for your own; their assholes." She says, and goes reaching for more fries.

It's a sign, a signal. A silent word for the conversation to move on, to change. A distraction. Danny grasps it with both hands, and makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. And like he has learned, puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized American southern lady. "I apologize! I apologize plenty."

She snorts. "Only when you think it matters." And pokes him in the ribs sharply with her fry. He withholds a wince and snatches it out of her hands. "You're about as unapologetic as they come, Danny J. Fenton. I've seen you look more sincere when you're trying to drive your sword between Vlad's ribs."

"Stabbing Masters is a very important task for me, Sam." Danny says in only partially faux-seriousness. Masters has yet to realize that Danny had no interest in becoming his son, but he had to (reluctantly) admire his persistence. "Of course I will apply myself to it as best as I can."

He grins triumphantly when Sam laughs, and she reaches over to shove him square in the chest. He barks out a laugh of his own as he grips onto the balcony railing and catches himself at an angle.

"Quit with your method actor talk," Sam retorts, grinning sharply while Danny twists himself back up elegantly. "I know you can talk like a normal person, I've literally seen you do it."

Danny sniffs, and snatches more fries from the carton as revenge. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Miss Sam." He says, grin-twisting when Sam rolls her eyes. "My speech has always been this way. This 'normal' you speak of, I do not know it."

She waves her hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you keep talking like that, I'm pushing you off the balcony."

"Such violence, Sam."

He gets a laugh again, full of disbelief without any of the annoyance. "I'm gonna be the one that stabs you, oh my god. Pot meet kettle." She looks at him again, smiling.

Danny smiles back, and with a flick of his wrist pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. It was one of the few weapons Mother was able to pass on to him whenever she made her scarce visits. He cherishes it well, along with anything else she was capable of giving him.

He holds the handle out to her, and watches her face shift from disbelief to shock, then back to disbelief. "Then you're gonna need a weapon to do that."

"Of course you have a pointy object on you." She mutters, and takes the kunai and puts it in her purse. Danny makes a pleased hum, it resonates low in his core, and drops his hand. "When do you not have a pointy object on you?"

As if to make her point, Danny's hands twist near his side, and he holds his palms up to her, revealing the shobo he had also hidden on him. He gives her a shit-eating grin. "Never." He lowers his hand, and pockets the small weapon once again.

Sam huffs, "Of course," she repeats, "thanks. I was gonna bring a knife but..."

Danny finishes the sentence for her, kicking his feet idly and knowingly. "The security at the door?" He'd seen them on his flight over the building. It wouldn't do much in the face of the Rogues, but at least they were good at keeping appearances and keeping out the smaller threats.

He rolls his eyes and turns his head away, looking up to the ugly, smog-covered skies. There was no bat signal in the air, and while that was a good thing, Danny almost wished there was. He wanted to see it. "I saw, and I would’ve called Father foolish if he hadn’t hired help. He attracts trouble almost as badly as I do."

"Maybe it's hereditary," Sam jokes, laughing under her breath. With her fries finished, she started on her veggie burger. "At least your dad isn't a vigilante like you are."

Danny smiles wryly. It felt nice to be able to talk more freely about this. That he didn't have to hide the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne, now that Sam knew it from her own accord. Maybe he could have conversations like these more often. Even if it was limited to Bruce Wayne only.

(Even if it felt a little terrifying to know that his father was so close by, close enough that Danny could reach out and touch him. To speak to him. But how would he explain that? And with an audience?)

(He’s wanted to see him since he was a kid, and he still does. It clings onto him like a cough that doesn’t go away after the cold already has, and while it has faded over the years, it clings. His mother’s words still ring in his ears however; it’s not safe. It’s not safe.)

(And isn’t that why he faked his death in the first place? So that his little brother would be safe? Why he gave up the heirship, his home, his Mother, Damian, and his chance to meet his Father? Going to see Father, even now, would be throwing that all away. He has to stay away.)

(Why is Damian with Father if staying with Father was unsafe?)

He just needed to tell Tucker. Danny wouldn’t keep him out of the loop, he was just as much as his friend as Sam was. His eyes draw towards the door, where the golden glow of lights was still pouring through, where music was playing loudly. "Yeah, fortunately."

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and Danny finally cracks open his thermos. The pipe Technus impaled him with was covered in a goo that Danny didn’t recognize, but whatever it was, his injury was taking its time healing. The ectoplasm was speeding it up.

He isn’t sure what the difference between the ectoplasm that Drs. Fenton collected and Grandfather’s Lazarus pools is, but there’s a difference. He swirls the thermos slowly, watching as the ectoplasm inside twists into a small whirlpool sluggishly.

When left alone, it thickens into a consistency similar to egg whites, or perhaps a thick smoothie, but reverts back into a water-like substance when moved and swirled. It was strange; unexplainable. He can understand, to an extent, why the Drs. Fenton are so obsessed with studying it and the dimension it comes from.

Sam watches him idly as he brings the thermos to his lips and drinks from it. The effect is instantaneous, a sense of relief washing over Danny as if someone had put a soothing balm onto an injury. It buzzes down to his fingertips, and when he lowers the thermos, he licks his lips and watches the tips of his fingers burn green like frostbite.

“Your hair turned white again.” Sam comments, her hand reaching out and touching the hair on the nape of his neck. While it’s not the first time Sam’s touched his hair, it still makes him tense up with her hand so close to his throat. Instinct. dan

He ignores the urge to bat her hand away, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed it does that.” He says, pulling down his bangs to see if they’ve also turned white. No, still black. He lets go. “Let me guess; my eyes are green too?” He lifts the thermos again and peers into the chrome casing.

Sam nods, “Yep, but it’s only the, uh.” She makes a circle around her eyes with her finger. “The iris part. Everything else is fine.”

Danny can see that. The faint reflection on the chrome casts back an intense green. He takes another sip. It chills the back of his teeth, and he can feel his canines warp and sharpen. He runs his tongue over them, and swallows.

Sam is still watching him, her fingers drumming against the balcony railing. “What’s it taste like?”

“Carbonated.” He says dryly, before taking a large swig. He couldn’t name a specific flavor if he tried, it changed every time he took a sip. The only thing that stayed consistent was that it tasted carbonated. And slightly sweet. When he pulls the thermos away, Danny twists his body towards her and offers it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Want to try?”

Her reaction is immediate. Sam’s nose scrunches up and her mouth twists into a smile, and she makes a huffing-laugh sound. “No, thank you.” She pushes it away lightly with her fingers, “I don’t know how to explain to my parents why my hair is white.”

Right. Danny pulls the thermos away and puts it down beside him, straining his eyes to see if the rest of his hair has changed colors. Even just his first sip would take half an hour to fade back to its normal black, and he was a halfa. He had no idea how long it’d take to fade on Sam, who was human.

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Danny snaps his head towards the source. There’s a figure, small, a boy, trying to hide behind one of the curtains at the door. His form just barely peeking out from the angle Danny was sitting at. He wouldn’t have seen him if the boy hadn’t moved.

His fingers curl tightly into the railing, and he breathes in sharp. Sam’s smile crumbles away and she turns to see what he’s looking at. “I should go.” He says, and reaches for his thermos. “There’s someone spying on us. Don’t say anything, just look at me.”

Sam’s expression warps, twists. Her eyes widen, her jaw starts to drop before fixing itself into place, and her shoulders curl up and tense. She forces it all to smooth over, and she leans casually against the railing. There’s a tick in her jaw. “I see.” Her voice comes through teeth. “Do you think they saw you?”

“I am not sure.” Danny says. He keeps an eye on the figure as he twists himself over and grabs the Nasty Burger bag and the container. He tries not to look like he’s rushing. He is. How long has that boy been there? How much did he see? Did he hear anything?

“Father, fortunately, has privacy films on the glass. Nobody should have seen me unless they’re specifically trying to peep through the door.” He says. The boy seems to realize that Danny was starting to leave. And, his heart beginning to sink, instead of leaving, moves to grab the door handle instead.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Danny’s breath catches in his throat, he’s hoping that isn’t who he think it is. But how else would he have not noticed an eavesdropper on their conversation unless it was someone who was capable of bypassing those skills? He told himself that he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that his siblings’ had poor stealth. He got distracted.

Five years, five years. He refuses to let that go down the drain. He zips up the container and throws his legs over the other side of the railing, his back facing the door. He hears the doorknob click, and without a word to Sam, slips off down the side and down to the ground below.

Just in time. The once muffled music now sounds blaring as the door presumably is thrown open and the pull of invisibility washes over him like a second skin. He doesn't stay to see who it is.

#dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #first danny pov of the au! whoo!#danny's hair turns white if he drinks ectoplasm brrrrr and his eyes turn green. good for him #this sat in my drafts for the last few days until i finally finished it during class #it was a math class and i already knew the material so tis fiiiine. now i just need to finish my CFAU post rewrite :)#ectoplasm tastes like that time i went to go get pepsi from the soda machine and it was all out of the pepsi flavoring so instead i got a #cup full of carbonated liquid. it was disgusting. ectoplasm kinda tastes like that. sometimes.#danny smiles in this more than i thought he would but yk it fits. he IS more smiley around his friends and family.#ectoplasm is a weird non-newtonion fluid and danny is fascinated. its got the consistency of egg whites one minute and then water the next #its a water slime and then suddenly its as brittle as annealed glass. it heats up and rots like milk or it heats up and boils like water #it congeals. it thickens. it boils. it solidifies. it does whatever it wants. it gels and melts into a tar-like substance #how long has damian been standing there? good question. :) i almost had him open the door and make eye contact with damian before falling #backwards. i also almost had it be *bruce* and damian opening the door bc bruce found out that damian pulled a knife on sam and was gonna #have him come apologize. that would be a fun scene. prolonged eye contact prolonged eye contact prolonged eye contact #imagery brrrr. had fun playing with how danny's ghost form works. if anyone has seen a video of steel wool burning thats how i imagine #danny's ghost transformation to be like.#also ayyy balancing danny's dialogue be like “how fancy should he sound and how Normal Teenager Should He Sound”#when sam gets home she catches tucker up to speed about everything including the convos with the waynes she had and they both form the #'“Fuck Them Waynes” squad. Sam has jumped to the entirely wrong conclusion about danny's separation from his family but in her defense.#it is a pretty sound conclusion to jump to considering the lack of context she has from danny's prior home life. which is almost none at al #so to her it looks like danny got abandoned by bruce wayne

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canisalbus · 3 months

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Machete has parents?? I'm not familiar with their actual lore, so I've been imagining Machete as a desolate victorian orphan boy

Everyone has parents, he didn't materialize out of thin air (or evolve from a crumpled napkin).

But he lost contact with them early on and doesn't remember much of anything about them. Machete was a sickly kid and his family was going through a rough patch at the time, they were constantly struggling to find the time and funds to care for him. Child mortality was high and it was starting to look increasingly likely that he wouldn't make it. He was around three or four when they left him at the closest monastery that accepted foundlings and he hasn't heard of them since.

#it was child abandonment but I don't think they did it out of malice or anything #monasteries often functioned as hospitals and/or orphanages and his parents hoped it would give him a better fighting chance #sending children to monasteries to be raised as oblates wasn't uniquely uncommon #and it worked he was well looked after there and probably wouldn't have survived otherwise #but of course being separated from your family isn't great for a child's psyche in any situation #answered #anonymous #Vaschete lore #in modern au he has a better but still complicated relationship with his parents #he's not super close to his brothers but they get along fine #so not victorian (different era) and not an orphan (his parents aren't dead they just chose to sever ties with him)

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randaccidents · 19 days

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Lost Memory-Dream #00

One of many half-remembered dreams of memories that Heart has. This one might be his oldest memory ever.

(Hi! First Tangled Wisteria fic :3. Doing a small set of random memories half remembered in dreams. And a little hint to how Heart might see the world now, freshly amnesiatic.)

(ALSO this fic is unfortunately not reader tool friendly, because I'm trying to give the feeling of words being roughly scratched out of memory. I AM going to include a translated transcript in a reblog though, so look out for that if you're wondering what they are saying!)

(also I went crazy in my tags whoops)

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He is standing in a space of white and grey and black. Standing in the white and in the grey are two cut-out figures, the same color as the space they stood in, yet clearly separate from the background. He himself stood in the black.

["W██ ███ █ou ███?"] He furrowed his eyebrows. The voice is blotted out and fuzzed, he couldn't clearly make out what it was saying. He tried to open his mouth, but found that he couldn't. Hm. Something told him that it was simply not his turn to speak yet.

{"███ am I? I ███ld ███ y██ ███ █ame."} This voice was the same, static-filled and words missing his ears entirely. He knew it was not meant to be that way, but he didn't know what should fill the gap. He felt the figures turn towards him, and his mouth opened on instinct.

("Don't look at me? I don't know who either of you are!") He is confused. He could tell he is dreaming, but where is this? What is this? At least this dream-him has the same thoughts that he does.

{"I ██ow ███ I ██. I'm ██e ████."} The cut out of grey had moved, a hand on its presumed chin. He tilted his head, examining the cut-out and finding nothing he could use to identify it. Who was that?

["██gi███ly, ██ ██ ████ to ██████ es█████sh██ na████ con███ti██, ██ ██████ ████ ro███ ███ na███."] There's a deepness to the few letters that ungarble themselves from the white cut-outs words. It almost sounds.... familiar?

Familiar. Nothing about this dream has felt familiar, yet he knows it is a memory. Why is his memory made of static and cut-out figures? He can't find it in himself to worry too much about it, the roots of panic strangled at the source. There is a sweet scent in the air.

His mouth moves again. ("Roles as names you say? Well wouldn't that make you the ████, since you're so logical?") It was disconcerting, hearing his own voice briefly turn to static. There was something important there. What was it?

Words were being spoken at him. The sweet scent from earlier was building. He strained to listen. ["██ ██at ██? ████ you ████ ██ █he-"]

He shot up in bed, mouth forming around a name quickly lost to pruned branches and faded flowers. Furrowing eyebrows under the blindfold that had been given to him, he tests out the shape of his mouth.

The letter H. He tests the letter on his tongue, finding it familiar. Still mouthing the letter, he brings hands up to brush through tangled wisteria vines and feathers alike, calming himself on the sweet scent of the flowers.

That was a memory of his name. He is certain of it. But what name starts with the letter H? And what he said in the dream, roles as names. None of it made sense to him. The bright cut-outs in his memory gave no hints either, pruned and cut out and distorted out of meaning.

What was his name? He squinted eyes he had learnt were sensitive to light down at his hands. Purple had named himself. And now a forgotten memory told him he was named by someone he could not remember.

["Purple? Are you awake? It's late morning already."] Jumping at the deep voice, Purple looked up, tossing a grin at the shadow in his doorway.

("I'm alright Blue, just thinking. Remembering? Dreaming. I'll be out in a second!") He stretches, standing up and missing Blue's reaction to his words. ("I had the weirdest dream last night.")

["Is that so. Care to share?"] Blue has a weird way of being curious. Purple is still getting used to it. He shrugs it off anyways, both Red and Blue were still just strangers with some familiar habits anyways. It's probably normal to be awkward.

("I dreamt that...") The words trail off into burnt ashes that fall from his mouth. His face scrunches up as he tries to remember the memory. Only one thing stands out to him, caught between his teeth. ("...I forgot. All I remember is the letter H.")

A cold, metallic hand gently rests itself on his shoulder, urging him forwards. ["Maybe it will return to you later. Come, breakfast is waiting."]

Perking up at the thought of breakfast, Purple nodded his head, following Blue's lead, the scent of wisterias trailing behind him as he forgot his dream in favor of breakfast. The letter H remains, lodged in the breath between his tongue and palate.

#cccc #cccc au #chonnys charming chaos compendium #Tangled Wisteria AU #I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS ONE I SWEAR (lie)#the TRAGEDY of forgetting your name #because it was given to you by the people you have forgotten #thats the tragedy I was going insane over #his name is █████ his name is █████ he cant remember his name he renamed himself #because his entire identity is tied up in his family who he has forgotten #he had to relearn he was light sensitive he doesnt recognise his own blindfold as his #head in hands the sheer scale of the loss of IDENTITY Heart goes through #and he doesnt even know it enough to mourn it #last thing but good god. he only remembers the letter H. thats it. he forgets the dream #he forgets a half forgotten thing further #and it means nothing to him that that was his literal creation #rand.writ #forgotten case of memories #<- Imma call this mini series of random memories I let Heart half remember this #hanahaki #hanahaki disease #head in hands HE HAD TO GIVE EVERYONE AROUND HIM A NEW NAME BECAUSE HE'D FORGOTTEN

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senseiwu · 1 year

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Made a lil thing to explain the family since some people have been confused

But really, the biology side of things does not matter to them at all. Ray and Wu are just as much the kids dads, no matter who's DNA they share. And same goes for the kids being their kids.

#i hope that makes sense #family au #happy family au #i guess. since theyre the same people #ninjago #goldsmithshipping #ray smith #maya smith #sensei wu #kai smith #nya smith #lar smith #.....still contemplating their surname being smith wu..... like how misako and lloyd are montgomery garmadon......#(mayas surname not included cause she was more than happy to drop ties with her family. at least her husbands have nice families)#(....for the most part.)#my art

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iamknicole · 4 months

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Messiah pulled into the Bekim driveway and looked around before killing the engine. When he got to the door, he rung the door bell a few times then knocked hard on the door.

@annoyedkayah2395

#family ties au #we can still keep the others #this is just what happens when you leave me too long lol #we minding ours #you mind yours bih

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blue-star-doodles · 11 months

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This is part 1 of the first comic for Family Ties!

#rottmnt family ties au #family ties au #rottmnt #rottmnt au #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt comic #blue star doodles #alright guys #I've had these three pages for quite a while now #and I was waiting until I finished the rest of the comic before I shared #but I feel like it's going to take a while so here's part 1 #the rest will come eventually #my respect for people regularly making comics has increased 10 fold #thanks for listening to my TED talk #turtledoodles

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forever-eternal · 1 month

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May I very humbly request art of Louisiana 👁️👁️

*completely fine if not, do not feel forced or rushed to answer this!*

Hello Lovely!!

Have a Loui! Design is liable to change

#welcome to the table #wttt #welcome to the table au #family ties au #wttt louisiana #my art <3

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quinloki · 1 year

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Family Ties

Fem Reader x Donquixote Doflamingo

23 Chapters - 60,812 words

Version with images can be found here.

CW: Language, violence, blood, moral ambiguity, murder, sexual themes and situations 18+ only

Summary: "It is in love, and murder, that we are sincere." He states, breath tickling your lips as he leans closer. "And I adore your sincerity, (Y/N)."

Modern Mafia AU style story - sorry, I don't really know what else to say about it ^^;

Chapter 1: Trouble

Working a lot of odd jobs, meant working a lot of odd hours, and most of the time it didn't bother you, but today was an eighteen-hour day and you put in time in three jobs. It had been long, and both your mind and your body were effectively exhausted. Peeking at your phone as you walked, you realized it was more like a 24-hour day, since it was already past midnight.

Ugh, I've been up since 4am, today was nuts. You grumble internally.

You kept your monologue internal so you could keep your senses external. Walking home this late wasn't super safe, but you're also not exactly easy pickings, so you weren't terribly worried. A dropped guard though, is no guard, so while you might have looked distracted, you weren't.

You hear a low groan from ahead of you, and the shifting of clothes and back-alley trash. It wasn’t loud, but you were on alert and there wasn’t much other noise around here at this time of night. Making yourself quieter than you had been, you crept into the alley and took in the scene.

A man in a nice, if not torn and bloody suit, is propped against the wall of building, breathing ragged puffs into the cooler air. He’s tall with blonde hair, sunglass – at night? What a choice. – and an old flintlock gun in his hand. It’s hard to see in the dark, but from his posture, he looks beat to all hell.

You slip closer, softer than the air, and put a hand over his flintlock and his mouth at the same time, staring into his eyes well as you could against the glasses. He jerks, but he doesn’t make a sound, and you don’t feel him struggle against you. Taking a closer look, you realize he isn’t just beat all to hells, he is hurt enough to be on the edges of death.

Looking around for signs of whoever is on his tail you then lean in close and hiss in a whisper. “Fight me on trying to help you and I leave you to die.” You warn. “If you lean on me, think you can stand?”

You didn’t move your hand from his mouth or his firearm yet, but he nods without any real hesitation. “Your pursuers,” You whisper, releasing your grip and bracing to help him to his feet, pointing with your chin as you spoke. “In the alley or main?”

He points to the alley and lets out a low grunt from behind clenched teeth as you get him on his feet. “Alright. Stuff your questions and your voice, now move.”

He towers over you. You were short by normal standards, and he had to have two feet on you easy. But for all he leaned into you, you pushed back, giving as much support as you could physically muster. You would’ve fireman carried him, but something told you that unless he was completely unconscious there’s no way he was going to suffer being hauled around like that.

You stop from time to time to listen, and then adjust your course or get off the main street entirely. You were making your way to your friend’s clinic, it was closed but locks were just a suggestion, and the doc wouldn’t press charges against you anyway.

"Where?" His voice was deep, but as soft and quiet as you imagined it could hope to be.

“Somewhere safe and discreet to stop the bleeding.” You pause, listen, and catch the first real sounds of actual pursuit so you push him a little faster. “After that depends.”

He seemed content with that answer, and you could feel him trying to push him body to move faster.

It only took a couple of minutes to reach the clinic. You prop him against the wall. “Don’t fall down big guy,” You whisper, pulling out your lockpicks and opening the door almost as fast as if you’d had a key. It was no surprise, you practiced on this door for years with Law’s permission. He’d meant for you to be able to come in if you had an emergency for yourself, but that wasn’t your problem right now.

You get the big guy in, and the door shuts quietly behind you both. Setting him on the exam table, closing interior doors and making sure there was no way for light to spill into the front of the clinic before turning on the room’s light you go about gathering supplies.

"Why?" That rumble of a voice was nice. You appreciate him keeping his noise making minimal as well.

"Bored." You snort derisively. You speak quietly, barely above a whisper, the room wasn't soundproof, but it was brick with a heavy door. You don't look at him as you move around the room. With the supplies gathered, it was time to prep the station and then clean everything. "You like that suit?"

"Not sentimentally." He states flatly. His tone suggests he does like it for more practical reasons.

You bite back a laugh. "Strip what you can and lay down."

"You're a doctor?" His voice was like thunder and velvet, you would almost hate to hear it when he's at full health, you imagine it'd be easy to get swept away by that voice.

"Field medic if anything." You answer. "You're in the loving hands of someone with practical experience but no degree." You finish prepping as he lays down with a restrained groan, his suit jacket, tie, and undershirt on the floor. "We can compare scars la... ter." You turn toward him after scrubbing your hands and see the extent of the wounds.

At least three bullet holes and two gashes. Bruises and scrapes too, but those weren't your problem. With this level of hurt he's probably got a fracture or two at the minimum.

"Anything I can't see?" You ask, cleaning up the absolute mess his torso had become. "Stabbed in the back? Shot in the leg? Those pants are kind of blood-colored, I don't want to waste time hunting for holes."

"One back wound." He replies. "Left leg outer thigh."

Concise, you appreciate concise. You glance down and see the tear and the blood, pulling the tear you rip the pants a bit and clean the area up with the towel. "Lucky bastard, the shot's shallow, it'll be easy to fix. I'll get your front patched up and we'll look at that back wound. I don't wanna go flipping you over and over."

You hand him a clean towel. "You look like a tough bastard, but I don't thief the doc's meds, so if you have to, bite this and keep as quiet as fucking possible if you don't want your friends to come in uninvited."

You go to work. You'd assisted the doc before, and you'd actually patched yourself up a few times too. Not because you were full of bullets and had pissed people off, but you got into fights and accidents and hospitals weren't cheap. Plus, time around the boys meant patching Pops' crew often enough, and those cheeky bastards never wanted to admit that anything hurt.

This guy could've won their fights though, he was using the towel as a pillow, and the harsh light of the room was enough for you to see the outline of his eyes through his glasses while you work. He does grunt and twitch a time or two, but he is impressively stoic.

"You lost a lot of blood, mister." You remark. Rambling while you worked helped you keep focus. "I can't fix that either, but at least we're plugging the leaks. I bet with that suit you're wearing you can get proper care later, but I feel like your friends out there are the clingy types. And pretty well-prepared too, to do all this, you don't strike me as a guy caught off guard much."

There was a silence at first, and when you were between wounds a single word. "Traitor." There's a weight to that word that almost sinks your soul down to your feet. If that traitor survived tonight, you had a feeling he wouldn't survive many more if this man had his way.

"Explains the wound in the back then. Tough luck." You pat his chest as you finish up the last wound and raise an eyebrow. This guy is solid. Handsome bastard too, especially if he can look this good while being in this bad of shape. You swallow and refocus. "Let me deal with your leg, then you can turn over."

Moving closer to it you pull the fabric a little more to make more room. "At least I hope we can turn you over after this. I'm not exactly a power lifter, and you're a touch bigger than me."

A bemused chuckle fills the air and you smile. A sense of humor, and being able to appreciate that humor, are good signs in situations like this.

His muscles ripple as he turns over and crosses his arms in front of himself, resting his chin on them. You took a moment to appreciate what this man did to maintain his body and felt a swift pang of guilt that your stitches weren't better.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Trouble." You answer and earn another smooth rumbly chuckle. You clean the wound on his back, just barely to the side of his spine, and are getting ready to stitch it. "And Trouble, I don't want to know any other name you have, and there's no reason to give you mine."

"I'd like to properly thank you for all this."

You grunt. "This ain't over yet, and if it goes bad then you'll just have to appreciate our time in my friend's clinic."

You resist the urge to slap his ass when you finish. He's not one of the boys, and you're not looking to make friends with Trouble - so there's no need to be cheeky.

"Get dressed, I'm going to go out the front and at least pretend to be locking up so I can see if your friends are around." You pull the gloves off and toss 'em in the wrong bin specifically so Law'll know it was you. "After that we can make our way to Q's, since the cabbies hang out there, and get you a lift to wherever you want.

"Then you'll be someone else's problem, Trouble."

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