#went to the urgent care. confused and disoriented. and scared. they figured out what happened. i felt better. ate some food at home.

[randomfandomimagine]

Fever (Final Fantasy XV Fic)

Requested by @sylleblossomstar:

Request: fanfiction (without reader insert) Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Characters: Gladio, Prompto,Ignis & Noctis. The idea is about the boys overworking themselfs, they are tired, angry or frustrated and obviously Gladio and Noct, fight. Noct decides to not cause more trouble and shuts about his physical health. But after a battle his body gives up and falls badly ill (dangerously high fever) they worry and cant travel, take care of him until he is strong enough to travel and they make peace.

Noctis was tired and dizzy. The humid heat and trudging for hours wasn’t helping. The Regalia was also far away, left behind as they were working hard hunting to earn some more money.

The prince sighed in annoyance to his unwell. Someone suddenly bumped his shoulder with so much force that it made him totter. It could only be Gladio.

“Step it up, Noct!” The Shield indeed told him. Noctis produced a groan of complaint.

Ignis and Prompto stopped walking when the other two did. They exchanged a look of helpless resignation as their friends inevitably argued again. 

“What was that?” Gladio asked him, shoving Noctis a little again.

“Get off my case!” The prince muttered, scowling and grimacing.

Gladio continued walking, angrily muttering to himself. The other two approached him, taking notice of how pale he looked.

“You okay?” Prompto put a hand on Noctis’ shoulder.

Although gently, he pushed him away. The blond frowned, but he knew it was better to leave him alone when he got stubborn like that.

The world, however, was spinning around Noctis. He was out of breath. Nauseous, tired and sweaty. Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by darkness.

“Noct!” Ignis exclaimed when Noctis fell, not being fast enough to catch him. The prince landed on the ground with a thud. 

Gladio and Prompto rushed to his side when they saw, but Ignis was already kneeling down and checking Noctis’ pulse. It was faint and weak.

“Iggy?” Prompto’s voice shook. “What’s wrong, is he okay?” 

Ignis pressed his hand against the prince’s forehead. He was burning up.

“He has a fever” He explained, trying to remain calm. “Hopefully, he is only fatigued”

To serene himself, Ignis tried to think logically. They had been trudging under the hot sun for hours, spending days of endless hunting. They were all tired, but it seemed like Noctis had pushed himself further than the rest.

Glancing up, he saw Prompto and Gladio watching them. The latter was frozen in place, his amber eyes fixed on the unconscious Noctis. 

“W-What do we do?” The blond piped up, fidgeting to make up for Gladio’s stillness.

“Uh, well...” Ignis’ fingers trembled as he went to adjust his glasses. “Let’s see...”

“Will he be okay?” Gladio suddenly mumbled, snapping Ignis out of his daze as well as himself.

Ignis nodded his head, taking a deep breath to settle his nerves. 

“Prompto, get the car” He tossed him the keys and then turned to the other man. “Gladio, pick him up. We need to get him somewhere shaded and cool”

Without a word, the three men worked to look after their friend. They had to get his fever down. Prompto ran at top speed, causing the keys to jingle in his hand. Gladio carefully propped Noctis up and carried him over his shoulder. 

In the meantime, following Gladio to the car that Prompto would bring to them, Ignis quickly went over his first aid knowledge. They had a kit in the trunk of the car. There was a cold compress there that they could use to get his temperature down. Then they would take him somewhere safe where he could rest. Where they could look after him. Heaving a trembling sigh, he nodded to himself. He knew what to do.

-

Noctis woke up, feeling like a long time had passed. His head was spinning. He felt weak, tired and heavy. Slow, confused. Something cold was pressed against his burning forehead. It helped.

When he slowly opened his eyes, a voice immediately received him.

“Noct!” Prompto exclaimed, quickly standing from his chair beside the bed.

“Prompto...” His friend muttered, feeling disoriented as he looked around the room. “What... what happened?” 

Last thing he remembered, they were hunting. Running under the burning sun. He remembered feeling very sick, and nothing more after that.

“Guys!” Prompto called out, then facing his friend once more. “You scared us so much, Noct! You were really sick, Iggy said you were exhausted” 

“Where are we?” 

“Oh, we brought you to this hotel, you needed to rest”

“And where’s everyone?” 

“They’re around, we were all so worried about you...”

Uncomfortable with Prompto’s urgent staring, the prince averted his gaze. He had noticed the dark circle under his friend’s eyes, noticed how his hands trembled slightly. Noctis didn’t know how long he was unconscsious for, but it had to be serious for them to be so scared for him.

Just as he thought about it, two restless figures erupted into the room. Watching with the corner of his eye, Noctis saw Ignis approaching his bed. Gladio stood at the threshold, with his arms closed over his chest.

“Noct, you’re awake” Ignis sighed in releif. “How are you feeling, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Specs,,,” He replied, still not making eye contact with anyone.

“You scared the crap out of us” Gladio said behind them. His tone was neutral.

Noctis finally looked up. His Shield lingered in that spot, watching him carefully. Nonetheless, he could read the concern wash out and turn into relief, all hidden beneath his apparent annoyance.

“You were quite sick” Ignis rested a hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Everyone was grumpy and tired” He shrugged a little. “I didn’t want to give more trouble”

“Well, you did” Gladio replied from the door. “We haven’t moved from this place in two days because of you”

Noctis stared at him. He knew that dangerous edge in Gladio’s voice, but this time it was different. This time it felt forced, like he wanted to stay mad but couldn’t. Like he was too happy to see Noctis was okay to be annoyed that he pushed himself on the first place.

“The important thing is Noct is okay!” Prompto cheerfully said, breaking the tension that hung in the air. 

“Yes” Ignis kindly patted the prince before dropping his hand. “But you need to take it easy, you are still convalescent”

“Sure...” Noctis awkwardly stirred in the bed. “Thanks for looking after me”

Prompto muttered something about being friends as he went to hug him tight, laughing playfully yet in utter glee that Noctis was alright. 

Gladio rolled his eyes, insisting that it was their job. Despite his deadpan voice, there was a small smile on his lips. His shoulders relaxed as well.

Ignis, on turn, reminded him that it was their duty. Yet as well, their pleasure.

Noctis sighed, and although he still felt a bit sick, he wasn’t worried. He smiled a little. His friends were there for him, to take care of him. Always had, always would be.

Tag list: @anxiouslyreckless / @xionroxas / @dancewaterdance02 / @blossattic / @little-faerie-artist / @x-joie-x / @snowfire71 / @goodmorningawfulbye / @daggerheartilly / @legallyblindgamer727 // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, let me know!! // Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

#rfi writings #fic #final fantasy xv #ff #ffxv #final fantasy fic #ffxv fic #noctis lucis caelum #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia #prompto argentum #no reader insert #requested

[dc-x-readers]

Your Boy (Damian Wayne x Parental!Reader)

This is not a romantic fic, and it is gender neutral! Yay Me!

People who are always asking me for a part 2, don’t worry this one will have one. I hope you all enjoy!

TW: Cannon typical injuries, mentions of blood

You found him lying on the street. If you had been anyone else you would have probably kept moving, averted your eyes and pushed the image from your mind. But you were new to Gotham, and you still had that bleeding heart; so you walked over to the boy who lay in the grimy alley way in a too expensive suit and a bloody head.

“Hey kid.” You said, shaking his shoulder lightly, hoping the child would wake up.

The kid did, his eyes shot open, dark hazel orbs meeting your own. He looked scared and disoriented. You weren’t the most parental figure, but you suddenly wanted to wrap the child up in your arms and hold him close, tell him it would all be okay.

“Kid.” You tried again, “We need to get you to a hospital, or the cops, or something.”

This seemed to wake the kid up immediately, he looked at you with wide eyes, “No. No hospitals.”

Probably a street kid then, you nodded to yourself, because street kids never wanted to be put back into the foster system, and that broke your heart slightly. But you didn’t say that out loud.

“Listen kid,” You tried again, softly this time, “You’re bleeding from a head wound. It’s probably not good. I’m no doctor, you should really get checked out.”

The kid whipped at his forehead as if he was just noticing the blood. He didn’t say a word, just stared down at his bloodied hand.

“Come on. I’ll take you to urgent care. They don’t ask too many questions there.” You said finally, standing up and then offering him a hand up as well. The kid took it, sluggishly and you smiled at him.

He was small, but he was deceptively heavy, probably all muscles. But his weight meant you couldn’t carry him, you would just have to help support his weight. The two of you made it to the free clinic in good time, and in almost complete silence, aside from a few groans of pain.

While the two of you sat in the waiting room the boy attached himself to you, it was like he imprinted on you. You were filling out paperwork fo the kid, in preparation for him to see the doctor.

“What’s your name kid?” You asked not looking up from the file, you expected a quick answer, and after a moment of silence you looked at the child sitting next to you. He looked horrified, he didn’t even know his own name, he must of hit his head really hard.

“Shit kid,” You whispered, “You’ve got to–”

Fear and panic swam into the kid’s eyes, “No please, I can’t go…” He trailed off.

This kid was terrified of something, and he didn’t even know what it was. You felt pity for him, you couldn’t throw him back to the wolves that was the foster system. You wanted to protect him, which was odd, because you had never felt an urge like this before.

“Fine, fine. For now you are going to say you are Ian L/N.” You whispered pulling a name out of your ass, “and you are my baby brother. Got it?”

The kid nodded, “Ian.” He said in confirmation.

The nurse didn’t say anything when you gave her the paperwork, but she did look between you and the little boy. She didn’t seem to believe you were related. But this was the bad part of Gotham, and the boy was still clinging to you as if his life depended on it, so she didn’t say a word.

A few hours later Ian returned to you, his head was sewn shut with three stitches, and the tired nurse explained that he had a concussion and that probably caused his memory loss. The memories would return in their own time, and that you shouldn’t force them. She said that with a concussion he shouldn’t do anything that provided too much brain power, and absolutely no electronics. Then she sent the two of you home.

You didn’t know what to do with the kid, Ian now, but you couldn’t just leave him on the street again. So you took him to your home, it was a small studio apartment with barley enough to take care of yourself, let alone a child. But you heated him up some canned soup, and then put him to bed in your bed, while you took the scratchy couch.

That night you dreamed of nothing.

It was a week after you had found Ian, and you were gladly getting into the routine of him being in your house. You would leave early in the morning for work, always giving him a kiss on the forehead and making him promise to take it easy with his concussion. You would come home after your shift with new foods, those that an eight year old (you were assuming he was eight, he looked young) might like. Then together you would take a short walk around the block, and Ian’s face would light up everytime he saw an animal. You loved it when he smiled, for a small kid he was too serious, except when he saw a dog or cat. He would always ask the owner if he could pet the animal.

It was a normal night for the two of you, he was reading one of your old books, and you were cooking dinner for the two of you. You heard the book fall to the ground. You turned around scared, because Ian was surprisingly agile, and you had never seen him drop anything. He was staring at you, his hazel eyes wide and scared.

“Y/N.” He whispered it, it was a terrified whisper, and you ran to him, abandoning the dinner. “Y/N, I remember my name. It’s Damian. I’m Damian – I am Damian something.”

Ian–Damian, was crying now, and you didn’t know what to do. This kid didn’t show his range of emotions a lot, so you just reached around him and gave him a hug.

“Why can’t I remember who I am?” Damian asked softly.

“You will. I know you will soon.” You whispered.

The dinner was forgotten and went cold, but you kept holding Damian as he cried. And you were okay with that.

Damian’s concussion had faded away, and you were worried about him being in your apartment all day, it might look like kidnapping or something, so you enrolled him in school, under the name Damian L/N.

After his first day of school you treated him to a night out, you couldn’t afford a fancy dinner, but you went to a small greasy diner and ordered him an ice cream. You asked him how his day was, and Damian told you that everyone at his school was an imbecile, and you laughed.

You don’t know exactly when it happened, but Damian had somehow wormed his way into your heart, and now you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

You couldn’t imagine walks without him stopping every dog owner to ask if he could pet them.

You couldn’t imagine going to the park without him playing with a stick, acting like it was a sword. (You had noticed he was all too good with it.)

And you definitely couldn’t imagine Friday nights when you two would curl up in your chair and watch movies, Damian likes action movies, and you indulged him.

You worried about the fact that Damian still hadn’t regained any of his memories from before he was with you. You tried to get him to go to the clinic, but every time he would conveniently disappear and not come back until you sighed that you wouldn’t take him. From his fears of the police and the hospitals, you figured it was a life he didn’t really want to remember so you tried not to push it too hard.

The two of you had been together for six months when everything changed, and you were so happy about it. Damian was home from school, his homework spread out on your table and you were happily reading a new book from the library.

Damian without looking up from his home work said, “Hey mother, I need you to sign a permission slip for me.”

Damian didn’t even notice that he called you mother, but you certainly did. You stared dumbfounded at the boy at the table, you heart soaring. You had never felt so good, so accomplished, in your entire life. Damian saw you as a mother, and you (God help you) saw him as a son as well.

“Y/N” Damian said again, this time looking up, “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah Dami. I’ll sign it.” You were still smiling like a fool and Damian noticed, but he said nothing.

The field trip was on Monday and you and Damian were on your daily walk to the park. It was growing colder, and the sun was going down earlier. Damian had insisted he didn’t need a jacket, and his teeth were now chattering, but he was too stubborn to admit he was cold, and you were laughing silently at the ordeal.

“We better get going.” You told Damian, looking at the fast darkening sky, “It’s getting dark, so no petting any dogs okay.”

You loved Gotham, but it was not the type of place that you wanted to be at night, even if Batman would protect you.

“TT. I’m not afraid of the dark.” Damian huffed.

“Well I am Dami. So we better get going.” You replied automatically.

“I will protect you if anything happens Umi.” Damian boasted, he had started calling you Umi about three months ago, and after your initial confusion you googled it to learn that Umi was Mom in arabic. Which was at least one clue into his past.

“I know you will kid.”

They two of you were about two blocks from your apartment, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, when none other than the Batman jumped in front of the two of you. You pulled Damian behind you, putting yourself between your kid and a grown man with a weird fursona.

“You.” The Batman seethed, his voice was gravelly and dark. He sounded like he was going to kill you, and you knew the Batman didn’t kill so you were terrified. “Stole him away from me.”

Him?

Did Batman know your Damian? Was that his life before you, as the Robin? No wonder the kid was bloody and bruised when you met him.

“No,” Damian said, trying to get out from behind you, but you wouldn’t let him. Because you be damned if you kid got hurt by a costumed vigilante. “No father, she didn’t steal me. She saved me.”

While you couldn’t see the Batman’s face, you could feel his palpable shock at Damian’s words. They mirrored your own shock, because Father?

“Young man,” You said, not looking at Damian, because you still were keeping yourself between him and the Batman (who apparently is his father), “You told me you didn’t remember your past. You lied to me?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this here.” Damian huffed, stepping around you so he could see the Batman fully.

Damian sighed and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards your apartment, “Come on.”

The Batman followed behind you silently, and it was awkward to say the least, for a vigilante to be walking behind you and your kid, him towering over your shoulder. You could feel the Batman’s eyes on you, as if this were all your fault, and not his for leaving his son to bleed out in a dirty alley way.

As soon as you three all entered your apartment, Batman rounded on Damian.

“You left. You were gone for almost a year, do you know how worried I was. I thought you had died!”

“I didn’t die, I was completely safe. Y/N was taking care of me.” Damian replied shortly, one hand was curled into a ball, and the other was still holding your own. It reminded you of the first day you had him, when he wouldn’t let go of you, as if you were his life line.

“But I didn’t know that!” Batman countered, raising his voice so that you flinched. Damian squeezes your hand tighter, stepping a little in front of you, as if he was protecting you. The movement didn’t escape Batman’s knowledge, and he took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Damian.” You spoke softly, and the boy turned to look up at you, his big hazel eyes wide and full of terror. You never raised your voice at the boy, and you wouldn’t start now, “You should have told him where you were. You should have told me you remembered you past. Why didn’t you?”

And you could see the tears gathering in Damian’s eyes. He acted so strong and mature, sometimes you forgot that he was still just a child. You kneeled down and pulled him into a tight hug, “He would have taken me away from you. And I didn’t want to leave Umi. I wanted to stay with you.”

You looked at the Batman, who was watching the display carefully, and you wondered if he would take your son away.

Finally Batman sighed, and he pulled down his mask, revealing the face of the billionaire Bruce Wayne. You wanted to be shocked that you knew who Batman was, but right now you could only focus on the child in your arms. You stared at Bruce Wayne, and pleaded with your eyes, you couldn’t let your boy go.

“We’ll figure this out Damian.” Bruce Wayne finally whispered. “I won’t take her away from you.”

#Damian Wayne #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #Damian Wayne and reader #Damian Wayne x Parental!Reader #Damian Wayne x Mother!Reader #the beginning of bat mom #batman #robin x reader #robin imagine #batman and robin #DC comics #dc comics x reader #dc comic imagine #dc comics reader insert

[neuro-whump]

Lost In Transit, Part 3

This is my entry to the Box Boy Extended Universe which was originally created by @sweetwhumpandhellacomf and written by @shameless-whumper and I’m using a lot of world-building which was done by @ashintheairlikesnow. Still somewhat vague on hospital procedure here, only semi-deliberately.

CN: Dehumanization, human trafficking, mass casualty events (referenced), dehydration, amnesia, mistaken identity, box boy universe, vomiting, bed-wetting, IVs

Part 2

Kenna was already having a bad second unsupervised day of work ever when she left their nameless patient to run his blood to the labs, and and do all the things that her regular assigned patients in the neuro ward still needed even when there was a all-hands-on-deck, honest-to-god mass casualty event filling the ER and flowing out into the hallways, failed to get the charge nurse to find an empty bed, and finally to go back to the ER, which was still overflowing - but maybe, finally, was beginning to overflow less - and managed to look in on him for just a moment before rushing off to take care of all the tasks and people who were more urgent than the scared, disoriented kid huddled in a corner behind a hastily erected curtain.

He didn’t seem better, and she made a note in his chart like she’d been taught and meant to find Joey or Dr. de Courcy and ask about it but Joey was up to her elbows in a code and she couldn’t even find Dr. de Courcy before the next set of ambulances arrived and then she was pulled into a trauma bay with a medical resident and neither of them knew where the burn dressings were and by the time she had time to check on or talk to anyone she had blood spattered on her scrubs and their mystery patient was doubled over being violently sick.

No one else really seemed to have noticed. He was out of the way without a call button and, compared to the general hubbub, not making much noise. And sitting, terribly precariously on a gurney without the side rails up (she should have put those up, why did she forget to put those up). She went over to him and braced his shoulders so he wouldn’t tip off onto the floor. Finding a basin seemed like a waste of effort anyway, he was already a mess.

“I’ve got you,” she said to him, “I’m right here, just just let this happen. It’ll be over soon.”

“I need a hand,” she yelled, and she hoped her patient was too preoccupied to notice how squeaky her voice had come out.

One of the ER nurses - Dana, or was it Carla - stuck her head around the curtain.

“I need -“ Kenna started, then took a breath and tried to sound like a professional, “Joey and Dr. de Courcy assessed him earlier but he’s deteriorating, and de Courcy wants him admitted to neuro and I can’t find a bed.”

Dana-Carla nodded briskly and left again and Kenna, who went back to trying to comfort her patient.

He was still retching periodically, even though he didn’t seem to have much left to bring up, and sobbing pitifully.

“S-sorry,” he gasped, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, “you just got a bit sick, is all.”

Really, he was more than a bit sick, and covered in vomit and dried-on salt and amber coloured urine. Why was he still so dehydrated?

“Is that why you’re upset?” she murmured to him, “because you had an accident? These things happen, no one’s mad, we’ll get you cleaned up right away. Just hang in there.”

She leant over to check his IV, but it was working fine. She opened it up wider anyway and hoped it would help.

“I’m sorry, I - ow,” he started again, and then shuddered and trailed off into a thin, pitiful whine and gagged again, curling up with his arms around his stomach.

Kenna stroked his shoulder a little bit, and tried to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do. He needed a bath, before the stomach acid started burning his skin, and clean bedding and a damn hospital gown because he was still naked under the soiled sheet, and she knew that and knew how to get all those things done in a real ER room, but to get any of those things right now, she’d have to leave her sobbing, disoriented patient unattended because she was actually standing in a corner of the waiting room with a curtain around it which hadn’t come up at any point in training because this whole day was insane.

Kenna was still standing around being an indecisive lump about what to do when Dr. de Courcy swept in. She’d been hoping for Joey.

“There’s an open bed now in 281,” she said, with no preamble, “don’t let them brush you off just because you’re new. When did this start?”

“Sorry,” Kenna sputtered, “um, he was about - that is, unchanged about an hour ago, and he was vomiting when I next saw him.” She could feel herself blushing, she felt like an idiot.

Dr. de Courcy looked them both over, and bent down to talk to their patient. He was already looking at her, he’d quieted and had his eyes fixed on her since she walked in.

“Do you remember swallowing anything before you arrived here 798591?” she asked.

He nodded miserably, with tears streaming out of his eyes.

“Can you tell me what it was?”

“There was some water,” he whispered, “and I thought I was supposed to.”

“And did that taste salty, or unpleasant?”

He nodded, “I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “I was bad, I’m sorry.”

“You’re just confused,” said Dr. de Courcy, soothingly, “I don’t think you’ve done yourself much serious damage, now, I need you to lie down so I can examine you, and then Kenna is going to take you upstairs and get you properly settled, and hopefully more comfortable.”

It was pretty clear that the last thing he wanted was to have someone press their hands into his obviously tender abdomen and Kenna wished she could stay and hold his hand through it, but he needed the be admitted properly and the ER needed the space and she could, occasionally, take a hint.

When she got back with a wheelchair he was sitting back up with his arms wrapped protectively around his stomach, still staring at Dr. de Courcy while she wrote out a prescription.

“You can give him an H2 antagonist for a few days, for any lingering gastritis,” she said, and handed Kenna the prescription, “I’m not changing Joanna’s prescription for the dehydration, it should work better when he doesn’t have a gut full of salt water and I’ve put in an order for repeat labs.”

Kenna looked at the orders and devoutly hoped she’d be off shift before it was time to redo the labs in the middle of the night.

Dr. de Courcy did help her get their patient into the chair, which Kenna appreciated, and then walked off without any indication of what she was planning to do with him other than store him in the neurology unit, which she did not.

The patient, who still didn’t have a name, Kenna supposed they should be calling him John Doe really, sat quietly and let Kenna dress him in a hospital gown and wrap the blanket he’d been brought in wearing around his shoulders so it wouldn’t get lost, and take him up to room 281 where the hospital gown was promptly tossed in the laundry and the blanket was tossed onto a chair until she could store it with the rest of the patient’s belongings.

“Alright, 79- um, oh boy I wish I knew your actual name, I’m going to give you a shower and get you your medication and then you’ll feel much better, sound good?”

He didn’t answer. He was crying quietly again.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, while she wound plastic around his IV port to keep it dry, “is the pain really bad? Can you tell me if its bad?”

He shook his head, which might have meant it wasn’t, and might have meant that he couldn’t tell her.

“Can you stand up,” she asked, “just until I get you into the shower.”

He nodded.

She got him into the shower and cleaned him off and tried to examine him properly and usefully, like a real nurse. She had definitely been taught how to do this without spattering herself with water, but she needed clean scrubs anyway.

Under the layer of salt and grime he was covered in superficial scrapes and bruises she tried her best not to put any more pressure on them than she had to. He’d obviously fallen forward at some point, there were a matched set of deep grazes on both his knees and the palms of his hands.

There was also a barcode tattooed onto his left wrist, with a tiny neat string of numbers underneath it 7-9-8-5-9-1.

It made a curl of anxiety form in her belly, which, in turn, made her feel a bit like a hysterical little girl.

She focused on talking him through the shower, and getting all the salt out of his hair, and coaxing him into rinsing his mouth out - he seemed uneasy about the mouthwash, which made her think he was still nauseated - and then drying him off and getting him into bed and a clean hospital gown. He was quiet through it, leaning on her a little while she transferred him into the bed, still staring at her with sad dark eyes like a fawn. He looked a little bit like a fawn actually, skinny and wide-eyed. The caramel coloured hair, currently dark from the shower, didn’t help. The thought caught in her head and jammed.

“I’m going to get you that medication now, alright,” she said, “I’ll be right back.”

“I don’t think she likes me,” he said suddenly.

“What’s that sweetie?” she asked.

“She’s going to send me back,” he whispered, his lower lip trembled, “I don’t want her to send me back, I don’t want to be r-refurbished.”

The curl in Kenna’s stomach curled a bit tighter. But she was the professional here. She comforted people while she was at work. People could comfort her when she was off the clock - whenever that actually was today.

“Do you mean Dr. de Courcy?” she asked.

He nodded. Two big tears dripped out of his eyes.

“Oh sweetheart,” she said, “No one’s going to send you anywhere. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe.”

More tears. She decided that, given it was late and they were both having a crappy day, that a few half-truths probably wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Besides,” she continued, “I think Dr. de Courcy likes you just fine. We’re just having a bit of a crazy night, and she’s just sort of scary like that all the time, its just her personality. She scares me too.”

That seemed to work. He nodded and tried to give her a watery little smile. It wasn’t a very good attempt. But she patted his forearm and left to get the prescription, and bandages.

Fawn stared dubiously at the pills when she brought them back.

“I know,” she said, “I know you don’t feel like swallowing anything right now, but these are to help your stomach feel better.”

He took them with a vague look of hurt in her general direction but by the time she’d got him medicated, and settled into bed and dressed the worst of the cuts so he wasn’t bleeding onto the sheets he seemed calmer and better focused.

“What’s this, sweetheart?” she asked him, picking up his tattoo’d wrist.

He looked at it like he’d just noticed it was there.

“The identifying bar code means I can be returned if I am lost,” he said flatly.

Returned to who? Kenna wondered, but she didn’t ask, because she was afraid to hear the answer.

“Well, you’re safe here tonight,” she said, and smoothed the blankets down around him, “and the call button is right here,” she pointed, “so if you need anything at all, or if you’re feeling too unsteady to get to the bathroom and manage the IV pole you can just press on it, and someone will come and help you.”

He nodded, but Kenna had a weird feeling about it, so she said again, “you can press the call button for whatever, okay, even if you’re just afraid. Its okay, its allowed.”

Okay, so, possibly the night-shift staff were going to hate her, but she really wasn’t sure he believed her about the button, and he looked so pitiful.

While she was fussing over him, Joey walked in.

“Carla said there was an issue with the IV?” she asked.

“Oh,” said Kenna, “no, he wasn’t hydrating well, but it turns out he swallowed a bunch of salt water, we think, well, Dr. de Courcy thinks. Dr. de Courcy said the original IV should be fine, but I turned it up bit.”

Joey came over and checked the line, and then bent over to talk to Fawn.

“Feeling any better?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Got a name for us yet?” Joey asked.

Fawn shook his head, “Dr. de Courcy didn’t want to give me one.”

Joey grimaced. In fairness, Kenna also grimaced.

“Well,” she said, “I’ll ask her about that.  Maybe she’ll come up with something.”

Fawn sat up and smiled at her, “really? Is she going to come back?”

“Sure,” said Joey, “ but she’s going to come see you sometime tomorrow and its late now, so you should just try and have a good sleep okay? Would you like Kenna to turn the light off for you?”

“Can it stay on?” Fawn asked in a whisper, lying back down and curling himself up around the pillow and shutting his eyes.

“Sure hon,” said Joey, and left.

Kenna wished him good night, which he didn’t respond to, and went to talk to Joey.

“Everything okay,” Joey asked her, when she caught up.

“I am,” she said, “freaking myself right out.”

“What’s up?” said Joey.

“Fawn - um - John Doe, has a barcode tattooed on his wrist with that number he answers to under it. And he insists he was inside a box and he doesn’t want to be sent back. And its just, way too much.” Kenna explained, all in one go so she couldn’t chicken out half way through, “today is insane. Today is just insane right? People don’t get shipped around in boxes. Right?”

Joey looked at her and just sighed.

“Today is, in fact, insane,” she said, “but I don’t think you are. You need to tell Dr. de Courcy.”

“What,” squeaked Kenna.

“She’s his attending physician,” Joey explained. “Besides, if there’s going to be, like, legal weirdness, we won’t have to wrangle any lawyers if she’s there to do it.”

Kenna gulped, “where do I—“ go tell the most intimidating person in the hospital my insane-sounding, and possibly straight-up insane theories?

“If she’s not still in the ER or in her office she’s probably gone back to lay down in her coffin,” said Joey.

“Why does everyone make that joke?” Kenna asked, “I think you’re the third person I’ve heard say she does that.”

“Oh you don’t—“ Joey started, “I’ll tell you later.”

Kenna found Dr. de Courcy in her office, so at least she didn’t have to make a spectacle of herself in the middle of the ER where people could see her.

“Kenna. Come in,” she said, before Kenna could ask.

“I’m worried about our John Doe,” Kenna started.

“Is he displaying new symptoms?” Dr. de Courcy interjected in the space of Kenna gathering her thoughts.

“No, — I mean —“ Kenna babbled, and then tried to sound professional, “the patient’s condition is unchanged, but some of the observations I’ve made —“ she gave up, it was too late, and she was too tired, and she was going to sound insane either way, “I think John Doe might actually have been, being, you know, um, shipped in a box?”

Dr. de Courcy looked up from her computer and stared at Kenna, “which observations?”

“He talked about being in a box,” said Kenna, “and when I spoke to him earlier he was really scared of being ‘sent back’, and I know he might just be delusional, but he is responding to a string of numbers he has tattooed onto his wrist instead of a name and - and  I know I’ve been watching stupid videos on Youtube, and believe me I’m going to stop, but he’s got a really weird form of amnesia right?”

“He does,” Dr. de Courcy said, “and I will be interested to see how many of my residents are able to make the same observation. And while I do not have what could be reasonably described as an appreciation for your taste in media, I do agree. I’ll write the hospital legal department. How widely have you discussed this?”

“I talked to Joey,” said Kenna.

“That’s fine,” she said, “but please refrain from talking to anyone else until we’ve got either ironclad confirmation . I’d prefer the public outcry to be over facts, rather than speculation, if at all possible.”

“Yes Doctor,” said Kenna, which made her sound like a nurse in a starched cap from an old movie, but honestly Dr. de Courcy just had that effect on people, the more experienced nurses all did it to, and most of the doctors here went by their first names.

#lost in transit #whump #box boy universe

[psychosistr]

Second Chances & Bloody Nights- Jonawagon Vampire!AU Chapter 5

Summary: Jonathan, plagued by grief and regret, mourns Speedwagon’s death. However, something approaches him with the intention of interrupting his depression.

Jonathan was curled in on himself, sobbing as grief and pain overflowed within him. He was still lost in that void of red- everywhere he looked, all he saw was the color red. Occasionally he would see vague shapes within the redness, but this burning anger- an anger the likes of which he had never felt before, not even towards Dio for all that he’d done- it would drive him to destroy anything he came in contact with, wishing to make SOMETHING hurt as he himself had. He’d seen things moving within the void every now and then, as well, so he took out his anger, as well as his hunger, on them to sate himself.

‘But..what is the point..?’ Jonathan thought bitterly to himself. ‘The only reason I decided to keep living was to be with Speedwagon..and now..now..he’s..gone..’ A fresh wave of sobs tore from Jonathan’s throat as he gripped the picture in his arms tighter- the lone image of himself and Speedwagon, along with a few of his suits and his old hat, were the only things that Jonathan could clearly see within the void. ‘He’s gone..and..and I never even got a chance to tell him I loved him..god, all of the wasted time..I was such a fool..if..if only I had realized it sooner..if only I had gone WITH him..if..if only..he were still here..’ He allowed himself to wail and sob and curl in on himself even tighter, clutching the framed picture like a life line. ‘Speedwagon! I’m so sorry! I-I never told you how much you meant to me! Damn it all, there’s so much I never got to tell you!’

Through the sound of his own sobbing, Jonathan heard something. It sounded like a voice, but he couldn’t recognize it through the ringing in his own ears. “!!” He looked towards the source of the sound and saw a blurred figure moving closer to him. He held the picture to himself protectively, not wanting anything to happen to it. He let out a low sound, something dark and feral that rose from deep within him since he didn’t feel like talking. “…….”

Instead of being frightened off, though, the shape moved closer and spoke again. “Jo…n…s m…Speedwagon…” He picked up bits and pieces of words, the last one coming through clearly.

“Sp..eed..wa..gon…” He managed to say the name through his clenched teeth. Finally saying it aloud, though, only brought another wave of despair and pain that made Jonathan sob again. He looked down at the picture in his arms and could still clearly see that bright smile- could still remember that cheerful laugh- and it only made him angry to hear this being mention his beloved’s name. “Speed..wagon..’s…dead…” He felt the angered snarl forming, the red around him pulsing as the rage began to consume him.

Apparently this being cared not for its own safety, as it moved closer to the enraged vampire. It continued to speak, but Jonathan could no longer hear the words. All he wanted was for the thing to be quiet so he could go back to grieving his dear Speedwagon in peace. Whatever it was did not seem too keen on letting him do as he wished, though, so Jonathan decided to take matters into his own hands.

Moving with blinding speed, Jonathan was up and on his feet in a flash. “Be..silent..” He grabbed the thing by what felt like its neck and squeezed, lifting it into the air. Guided by instinct, two of his fingers sank into the flesh and began drawing blood from the struggling creature in his grasp. He did not truly want to eat, as it would merely prolong his life and further his grief, but it would be the easiest way to make this creature leave him alone.

‘Alone..that’s right..I will still be alone after this..’ He thought sadly, fresh tears welling up in his eyes and spilling over. ‘Alone..forever..without..Speedwagon..’

That thought hurt greatly. God, how he wished he could see Speedwagon’s face one last time..to simply hear his voice again..

Even the warm blood of this creature could not heal his pain. Something about that warmth, though..it felt..almost familiar…

He felt something brush against his face. Jonathan expected an attack or more struggling, but, instead, the touch was gentle, almost tender. It was warm and caring, the touch wiping away his tears as if it was concerned for him. Then, he heard it speak again. It was weak and faint, as if it was coming from far away, but he heard it: “Jo..jo…”

That voice…Jonathan knew it from somewhere, but where?

And the blood he was consuming…it was so familiar, had he had it before?

Then there was that touch…it was so warm and gentle, more familiar than the blood he was feasting upon, but to whom did it belong?

He distantly heard the voice continue speaking, his mind slowly gaining more clarity as the blood he ate steadily eased the red out of his vision from the edges inward. “S’okay..Jojo..don’..cry…Jon..a…than…” That voice..it couldn’t be..!

Jonathan didn’t want to believe it..he didn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them dashed to pieces..but that voice..this familiar blood..that warm, kind touch upon his cheek..it had to be..!

As the red void finished disappearing, there, right in front of his eyes, was Speedwagon’s face! Jonathan stared in shock, unable to believe it, but it was real!

His eyes took in every detail: Speedwagon’s messy mane of blond hair. The scar that defined his handsome face. The warm, caring smile on his lips. The soft look in his eyes that seemed almost…pained? Wait, why did his skin look so pale? And why did he seem so short of brea-

Jonathan’s eyes widened in alarm as he saw a hand violently clutching Speedwagon’s neck- HIS hand, he realized in a panic. “Ah! Speedwagon!!” He quickly released the other man’s neck, though he fumbled to catch him instead when doing so nearly caused him to fall to the ground. “I-I am so terribly sorry! Oh god, what have I done?! I-I thought you were, goodness, I don’t even know what I thought- I couldn’t see you! I just-” He rambled as he urgently tried to stop the bleeding around Speedwagon’s neck, desperate to not lose him again.

Speedwagon gave a tired, raspy chuckle, his voice clearly strained from the pressure that was previously placed on his throat. “It’s okay, Jojo..I know..wasn’..you..” He closed his eyes and held a hand to his head, apparently dizzy and a bit disoriented from what he’d just endured.

Jonathan carefully maneuvered Speedwagon over to the bed, realizing how hard it must be for the other man to stand in such a condition. “Here, move slowly..” He sat with Speedwagon on the bed, holding the smaller man close to his chest- Speedwagon turned away with his back pressed to Jonathan’s chest while being seated in Jonathan’s lap- to both provide stabilization for Speedwagon as well as comfort and reassurance for himself. He still couldn’t believe it- Speedwagon was ALIVE! “Speedwagon..” He held the other man in a tight embrace, burying his head in the soft locks of golden hair. Part of him was still scared that this would all turn out to be some sort of cruel dream; that any minute he’d wake up in that red void again, left with nothing but remnants of the man he cared for most. “I still can’t believe it..you’re actually here..when I thought you were dead, I just..I lost myself..it was like..like..” He couldn’t find the words, but apparently Speedwagon could.

“Like everythin’ else no longer mattered and y’ just wanted t’ wallow in your grief?” At the surprised gasp from Jonathan, Speedwagon chuckled, clearly pleased that he’d hit the nail on the head. “Now y’ know what I went through when YOU died, mate..” He sighed and leaned his head back, fully relaxing his weight into Jonathan’s embrace.

Jonathan took a while to fully process those words, flashbacks of the night he returned and the conversation following it a few days later playing in his mind…

Speedwagon stared up at him with wide eyes, his hands shaking so badly that he dropped the knife he’d been clutching a moment ago. “J…Jonathan…?” He reached up with his trembling hands and placed them on the sides of Jonathan’s face, apparently needing to feel the flesh and muscle and bone to confirm that this wasn’t just a hallucination. “Jojo…h-how..? I…we all thought…you were…”

“Dead?” Jonathan finished with a soft but sad smile.

Jonathan was now feeling that same desire to physically touch Speedwagon, to make sure he was REAL and not just some figment of his grief stricken mind…

Speedwagon’s breath caught in his throat and he looked horrified by a dawning realization. “Good..Goodbye…? Jonathan..what..what are ya sayin’..?” He grabbed onto Jonathan’s shoulders desperately, looking at him with terrified eyes. “Ya can’t be serious, Jonathan! You’re ALIVE! Why would ya want t-?!”

A stabbing pang of guilt filled Jonathan’s chest. He had put Speedwagon through this pain once already and had been prepared to inflict it again without even realizing how badly it truly hurt the other…

“Jonathan Joestar! Look at me, damn you!!” Speedwagon shouted at Jonathan as he prepared to pull his hood back up at the door.

Jonathan did as Speedwagon asked after a moment’s hesitation, preparing to say something but it died in his throat almost instantly. “?!” He saw Speedwagon standing by the sofa, the knife he’d drawn earlier now clutched tightly in a white knuckled grip and held against the left side of his own throat. Jonathan’s eyes widened at the sight, a look of fear and confusion placing itself firmly upon his face. “Speedwagon?! What are you doing?! Don’t-!”

“Shut the hell up, damn it!” Speedwagon spat at him, a toxic mixture of rage, sorrow, and desperation giving his voice the power to make Jonathan flinch back as if struck physically. Speedwagon stared him down hard, his eyes set in a firm glare even as tears flowed freely down his face. “If y’ think I’m just gonna sit ‘ere an’ let y’ walk out that door t’ go kill y’rself, ya’ve got another thing comin’, ya daft bastard!!” His free hand was clenched into a fist at his side, trembling with anger and so many other dark and painful emotions that were showing in those red-rimmed eyes.“I already lost ya twice! I ain’t ‘bout t’ lose y’ again!” Speedwagon began to press the knife into his flesh, hissing slightly from the sting as it drew blood to the surface but refusing to look away from Jonathan.

Jonathan had been slightly confused by that line, and still was. What did Speedwagon mean by “lost you twice”? Jonathan had only died once before then, so what was the true implication of that statement?

“You were dead and I..I was never gonna see y’ again..never get a chance t’ drink with y’ again..never get t’ jus’ sit an’ talk the night away again..” He brought a hand up and covered his eyes, his shoulders shaking with the tears and sobs he was clearly fighting back. “God, so many things I knew I’d never get the chance t’ say to ya…”

Jonathan’s eyes snapped open as a realization dawned on him. Those words- “So many things I knew I’d never get the chance to say to you”- that was how he himself had felt earlier. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but, maybe, just maybe, the words Speedwagon wanted to say to him were along the same lines of what he himself wished to say.

“Jonathan..?” Speedwagon’s tired voice broke through Jonathan’s thoughts, a concerned tone clear even though HE was the injured one. “Everythin’ alright? Not complainin’, mind you, but you’re clingin’ awful tight to me ribs.” He chuckled lightly and patted Jonathan’s arms that were still wound firmly around his waist.

“Huh? O-Oh! Sorry..” He loosened his grip and lifted his head to look down at the blond, giving Speedwagon’s bruised midsection a few gentle strokes in apology. “I was simply processing a few things.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Speedwagon prompted patiently.

Jonathan was so tempted to talk to him about it now- to simply come out and ask him how he felt about Jonathan here and now- but the moment didn’t feel quite right after everything that had just transpired. “Not now. After we’ve both had a chance to rest, though, there is something I wish to discuss with you.” He pressed his forehead to the back of Speedwagon’s own head, taking in everything about the man- his warmth, his smell, the soft feeling of his skin and his hair. “For now, though..would you mind laying with me for a bit? I know it’s a bit of an odd request..but..” His arms shook slightly as he clung to Speedwagon, careful not to bruise him again. “I..simply need to feel you here beside me..please..”

Speedwagon smiled softly. Jonathan couldn’t see it, but he could feel it through the other’s voice and the way his heart was beating against his chest. “ ‘course, Jojo. Anythin’ y’ need. Just let me give Tatty an’ Kempo the OK t’ go ‘ome.”

Jonathan nodded and reluctantly let Speedwagon go so he could do just that. As he watched him walk away, Jonathan made a decision, his conviction firmly set. ‘I will not leave him again. I will not allow either of us to live on or die with regrets. I will tell him how I feel, whether he feels the same way or not, and hope for the best. But, no matter what, I will not leave Speedwagon’s side ever again.’

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

-From the Beginning-

#jonawagon #jonathan joestar #Robert E O Speedwagon #vampire!au #canon divergence #vampire!jonathan #jojo no kimyou na bouken

[psychicscavenger]

Shance Batman AU series: A Dark Knight is Born Part 1: Dark Corners

read on ao3 here or continue down below.

Part 1: Dark Corners. 

He gasped as he was pushed back against the brick building, his small shoulders and his upper back taking the brunt of the shove as his mother let out another pleading cry for help. He watched helplessly, completely frozen as the man, the same man who just killed his father, struck her. Sharp metal shined in the low light just before it dug into her throat, red splashing and staining the concrete below her just before her body, now limp, was disposed, as if common street trash.

Takashi stared wide eyed at his mother's lifeless body, the red that splashed out earlier now growing into a puddle underneath, staining the beautiful white satin dress she had donned for the banquet dinner they had to attend that evening. As he watched her eyes grow less wary of the world around her, he couldn't help but think back on his biting words to her earlier about not wanting to go to some fancy dinner for his father's company. He felt tears well up in his eyes as he sobbed out her name, mumbling over and over how sorry he was for being a brat, wishing he could wake up from this horrible dream when heavy footsteps approached him, booted feet stopping in front of the shaking boy.

Takashi paused, his heart beating franticly as he was absolutely sure this wicked man before him was going to kill him like he killed his father and mother, a quick glance at his father's corpse at the front entrance of the alley had him cowering against the building again. They were just going out for ice-cream of all things. It was a compromise his father had made earlier with Takashi in order to get him to stop whining about having to go to the banquet, knowing the promise of sweet cookies n' cream usually persuaded Takashi to listen to them, mostly when it came to attending events regarding Shirogane Industries.

Of course, neither of them would ever think some common street thief would be hiding out in an alley waiting to pounce on them, whipping out his knife when Takashi's father stepped in front to protect them just before the killer slashed his throat, blood pouring and flesh hanging down as he fell to the ground gasping for breath while his mother screamed pulling Takashi behind her before the thief advanced on them.

A high pitched whimpering sound had Takashi focusing once more on the looming man before him, wondering where that noise was coming from only to realize he was the one making it.

"I was expecting to take only them out tonight, but it looks like I got a small bonus as well." The man smiled wickedly as Takashi pathetically cried out for help, his weak cries lost to the sound of the usual nightlife. The man held out his stained knife, the jagged teeth scaring the small boy further as he retreated into his cocoon, wrapping his arms around his legs as he cowered away from the tall man. His hair was dark and flared out in the ends with sideburns and a beard short and thick. He only had one eye that Takashi could see, the other covered up by an eyepatch, enhancing his scary villainous appearance. His body was covered in a trench coat, hiding a very broad and tall figure underneath it.

Takashi gasped as the man suddenly gripped his left arm, yanking him closer as he stood over him. Takashi tried to back up, completely scrambling over his mother's corpse and ruining his own suit with the blood as the man stepped over him, placing a heavy boot on his chest, pinning him.

"Since I was ordered to bring a trophy with me for proof, might as well be you little one." He chuckled, the flash of the knife coming out had Takashi swallowing in fear as the man descended upon him in a hurry, one arm gripping the knife, the other pinning his left arm, to prevent him from moving. Takashi whimpered fearfully as the knife was flashed in the low light once more before a sudden sharp, burning pain flared through his right arm, just above his elbow. Takashi began screaming right away, doing anything to kick this man off him as the adult just continued sawing through flesh. He struggled in the man's grip, reaching out with his face to bite the man on his arm that had him howling. The man used his knife to try and aim for Takashi's neck, but he ducked just in time only for the edge of the knife to slice through the skin on the bridge of his nose, making Takashi cry out as blood dribbled down from the cut. The man continued his work, slicing through flesh and trying to saw through bone, his hands slippery from all the blood. Takashi began to lose consciousness, his vision flickering in and out when the man made some kind of disgruntled noise before standing up, leaving the faded kid on the cold ground.

He leaned over the boy once more, his actions quick and urgent, with a final swish of his  arm, Takashi  felt a few wet spatters fleck across his face before the figure stalked off leaving Takashi on the cold, wet ground.

He didn't know how many minutes or possibly hours he laid there in the dark before he heard hurried footsteps and muffled shouts. He watched blearily as figures crouched over him followed shortly by red and blue lights as well as more people. He felt weightless as he was eventually moved, unable to pay attention to what exactly was happening or what the paramedics were telling him. When he was finally strapped in the back, the people began attaching all kinds of wires and IV's, speaking rapidly. Even if he was completely conscious he wouldn't have understood them anyway. Takashi watched, his vision starting to fade away as an oxygen mask came into view, the paramedics wrapping it around his head gently. He felt his eyes close as the gentle rocking of the van lulled him to sleep.

He awoke a week later, confused and disoriented, feeling oddly lighter on his right half. The commotion he made awakening had several nurses and doctors rushing in, checking his vitals and charts, some speaking over each other how it was a miracle he had survived, how lucky he was. Once things were calm again, everyone having left including the police who came to ask him about what happened, and sadly informing him the death of his parents. Takashi wasn't too surprised, after all that blood he'd seen that night he would've been surprised if either of them had survived. He remained in the hospital another week with his parents bodies kept in the body freezer as requested by his grandfather. The news had reached them a few days after it happened with them living in Japan and they were making arrangements to move to America. So with his parents lying frozen in the freezer somewhere, his grandparents out of the country, Takashi was left alone in the world, staying in an orphanage temporarily until his grandparents were able to retrieve him. During that time, reporters and light paparazzi showed up constantly to snag pictures of the orphan billionaire but Takashi stayed indoors, preferring to barricade himself in his room until they gave up and left. Thankfully the police were able to keep them at bay during his parents funeral, his grandparents finally showing up after two weeks he spent trying to recover from the emotional and physical trauma. Afterwards, they headed back home, to the mansion Takashi grew up in, dreading returning to the big, empty home memories of his parents haunting him in every item inside. It wasn't easy and still wasn't trying to recover from something as terrifying as that night, but as time went on, Takashi almost became like his old self again.

His grandparents hired a caretaker named Mr. Coran to help care for Takashi who would bring along another charge of his, Allura Altea, heiress to her fathers fortune and daughter of the city's police commissioner. The two became good friends, and slowly but surely Takashi focused on rebuilding his life. Ultimately, his fathers company became his to inherit when he came of age, but the scars and his missing arm as well as the untimely death of his parents as well as the man who took their lives would haunt him forever.

                                                   *****

Altea City gleamed amongst the dark night, stray cars flying by too quickly on the city streets, people enjoying the late evening, most likely looking for the hottest nightclub to party at to forget their weekly troubles. Yet, there were others who preyed in dark corners, watching and waiting for their chance to strike on those to loosen their constraints, making them easy pliable targets for pick-pocketers, robbers, and worse, sexual predators.

It was all Shiro could think about as he stared down at the city beneath him, a feeling that would make most think themselves on top of the world, but Shiro felt only melancholy. A doomed sense of irrational responsibility to protect the city from the evils he knew lurked around every back-end alleyway, every upper-class street, and behind office doors of their elected government officials. Of course Altea City wasn't all bad, it was charming and deemed one of the best places to live. It had good schools, nationally ranked low prices for affordable living, and decent work wages for all classes. Still like any city, there were some Shiro turned as he felt another presence creep up behind him, steadily shiro turned without hesitation hand already glowing in warning.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, a low threat to his tone much to his regret as blue eyes he once regarded with fondness and trust dimmed as they gazed over his distrustful stance over to his powerful arm which hadn't lowered since the other's arrival.

“Same as you, just ‘taking a stroll’ or ‘getting some air’.” Blue eyes smirked as Shiro or as he was known in that moment, Black Paladin flinched at his words that he once used were now thrown back at him.

“Look Kashi, I’m-"

“Don't call me that. I have a role same as you when I’m on the job and know that others cannot know my real identity. I expect you to respect that as I respect your hidden identity on the job, Blue Claw.” He spoke bitterly as Blue Claw glanced down ashamed.

“You’re right. I apologize. I won’t do it again.” Silence fell between them once more. Neither willing to speak next for fear of saying something wrong. This was the first time Shiro had seen him, like this that is, in the two months after he had found out followed by their mutual breakup.

If only it were as mutual as Shiro declared it to be.

“It’s very clear tonight.” Shiro glanced up to the stars his companion was looking at, his mask not blocking his sight of the twinkling gems. A rather fond memory that reminded him of tonight drifted up, something wistful overcoming his silent brooding as he allowed himself to bask in that evening he spent with the man beside him, back when he was just known as Lance McClain, his then boyfriend, potential fiancé, now ex.

“Do you remember that night when it was just like this?” Shiro glanced over to see the same wistful gaze on Blue Claw’s face. He knew the night he was fondly remembering was the same one he was currently thinking of.

“Yes, I was just thinking about it.” Shiro admitted. Lance, or rather, Blue Claw gazed back at him, expression hopeful which stirred up an awfully familiar feeling in Shiro’s gut bordering on longing.

“I still think about it you know. It’s probably one of my favorites memories..of us.” He tacked on that last part hesitantly, inching closer just slightly until Shiro stepped out of reach, putting distance between them causing a disappointed pout to appear on Lance's hidden face.

“I would assume the other memories are lying to my face about who you really are, and all your little ‘heists’ you performed while I ran after you like some kind of messed up cat and mouse game.” Shiro coldly spoke, a small part of him berating himself for putting that sad defeated look back on Lance’s face. He remembered seeing a more worser version that night they had the fight, he never wanted to see that expression on Lance's face again but here he was unable to hold back his anger towards the man he loved.

“I can’t lie to you, I did enjoy my ‘heists’ as you call them but for the last time, lying to you was never something I enjoyed. Especially after I found out who you were-are. I’m sorry for not being honest but you were dishonest with me too!” Shiro sharply turned to him at that, failing to come up with any retort since he had also lied, technically.

“What do you want Lance? To bring up more painful memories of our time together?” Shiro demanded forgetting his earlier rule about keeping their identities secret. Lance sighed, something in his expression forlorn and stance drooping from exhaustion that had Shiro wanting to take the other man in his arms and hold him, he clenched his fist at that realization.

“No, I wanted to ask a favor from you, since you’re the only person I can think of who can help out.” Lance stated eye hardening as did his posture, gone were the flirty playful days that Shiro never thought he would miss when he was chasing this man multiple nights before finding out who he was underneath the mask.

“If its to steal something-"

“No! God no, its just... It’s Lotor.” Shiro's eyes flashed upon hearing that name. He watched as Lance drew more into himself, completely vulnerable and small-looking as he gazed back at Shiro pleadingly.

“I think he's got himself involved in something bad. I suspect it's his mother but he's been blackmailing me into helping him. He found out who I am and what I do. Shiro, if I don't do what he says he... ” Lance’s breath stumbled then which had Shiro stepping forward immediately arms raised but hovering unsure as Lance kept on speaking.

“He’ll find some way to take back Silvio’s life support. He won't be on the donor list anymore and no matter how much support your charity did for him and others, he I mean, Lotor, he’ll... He’ll find some way to stop it and I can't do that to my family, we've worked so hard to help him recover.” Lance’s breath catches then, an arm reaching up to wipe his cheeks under the mask before he took a measured breath and gazed back at Shiro.

“So I need your help. Catching these guys and stopping whatever plan Lotor has in mind. Because if we don't, alot of kids could wind up dying, not just Silvio. Call me whatever you want, I deserve it, but I'm not going to stand by while innocent little kids get hurt.” Lance finished looking surprised as Shiro stepped forward, reaching out a hand for a handshake to both their shock.

“I’ll help you. Meet me at the mansion tomorrow after work, we’ll see if we can find some information then.” Shiro stated as Lance shook his hand agreeing to their allyship.

“Okay. Thank you, I, I cant thank you enough for helping me out Shiro. Really.” Lance stated as Shiro turned to face the city once more.

“Well, as you know I'm fond of helping anyone in trouble. Plus, you kept my late night hobby a secret surprisingly when you had ample amount of blackmail on me to give to the press.” Lance turned towards him with a frown, eyes hardened as he spoke,

“I would never tell anyone about your identity. In fact, Lotor was going to tell you about my identity as part of the blackmail. I figured I'd play along just to keep yours safe and what he doesn't know is for the better.” Lance states which caused Shiro to glance at him shocked.

“Lance, I...” but his words fell short. He was taken back by how sincere and respectful Lance was right now. With a newfound respect he thought he didn't have any left for this man, he drew back to his full height side eying him as a slight curl of his mouth drew up as he spoke, “Well, I'm glad I never liked him then. Knew there was something wrong with him.” Shiro smirked as Lance giggled, playfully punching Shiro in his side as the two chuckled over a long-running joke between them, almost like old times.

"Oh stop, you didn't like him because we dated, duh." Lance teased as Shiro merely shrugged in response.

"Isn't that reason enough?" Lance simply rolled his eyes playfully before settling back on heels, gazing across the city scape, trying to ignore the flutter in his belly.

"Tomorrow then?" He prompted, meeting Shiro's determined nod and matching it with one of his own. "I'll see you soon. Don't stay up too late, you'll be cranky in the morning." Lance chastised earning a scoff and head shake from the other before racing off, leaping and parkouring off buildings that sent a racing spike of uncertainty through Shiro's heart each time his legs left the safety of a flat surface. He wasn't sure whether he was ready to face Lance again after all that happened between them and considering he was still processing that Lance was Blue Claw the infamous cat burglar of Altea City, he wasn't sure if he should be helping Lance to begin with but the idea that Lotor would do something so treacherous as to deny some sick little kids a chance to be on the donor list after all they worked so hard to get on after many years, Shiro knew he wouldn't resist lending a hand. A small fact he noted, Lance knew about and could possibly be exploiting for his own use, but as soon as the idea came to him it left with a forcible shake of his head. Even if Lance was trying to get back at him, he would never in a million years drag his family into his hair-brained scheme, especially given how nice his family is, so welcoming and so bright despite the dark shadow of death looming over them constantly. No, Shiro wouldn't add to their troubles and to do that, he would have to work with his ex, no matter how painful it might be even after these two months of silence on both their ends. With a final sigh, Shiro turned away from the cityscape, ready to head home while reminding himself it was not because Lance suggested he get some rest, he knew he had to be on his toes both mentally and physically if he was going to help figure out this case as well as juggle being around his ex whom he still held feelings for. As Shiro climbed into his vehicle The Black Lion, the memory he and Lance had discussed earlier floated back to his mind and this time, he allowed himself to reflect over it as he drove through the streets.

It had been a clear night just like tonight with Shiro having sat on his bed staring out the windows towards the city skyline much like he was just doing. He had that nightmare again, the same one thats haunted him since he was ten years old and would never forget even with all the drugs and alcohol in the world.

"Shiro?" a soft voice called to him causing Shiro to turn towards the newcomer, thoughts no longer reflecting on one of the darkest nights of his life and instead on the brunette sashaying his way towards the bed, his night robe swinging along with the movement as he moved, before crawling onto the bed, gently easing himself in Shiro's lap, arms winding themselves around the hero's neck and shoulders, nuzzling into his chest, bringing forth a soft chuckle from the man. His boyfriend's cat-like tendencies never failed to amuse him, and knowing what he did now, it made perfect sense regarding Lance's altar ego. There were definite signs and Shiro would forever kick himself for missing the most obvious of them.

"I come over here after a particularly stressful shift to cheer you up, and you're not even noticing the lengths I went through just to primp myself out for you." Lance pouted hilariously as Shiro chuckled apologetically.

"Sorry sweetheart, I've got alot on my mind tonight." Shiro gazed back out towards the windows again, eyeing the same familiar lights in he distance as Lance watched him with a worried expression on his face.

"Do you want to tell me about them? I'm here to listen and you know I love it when you share stories of your past." Lance prompted, rubbing a soothing hand over Shiro's chest that had the hero thinking it over before nodding along.

"Yea..that might help." Shiro smiled easily embracing and falling into the arms wrapped around his chest as a hand soothingly pet his head, reassuring strokes running through the strands of his forelock giving him waves of comfort as he began to ramble about his parents.

That night had been the night he shared what he remembered about the incident. Lance was supportive and patient throughout his rambling, interjecting with a hum or gasp when appropriate, and even when Shiro got frustrated with himself Lance was right there to pull him out of his head, keep him from drowning it felt like.

Reflecting over that memory usually felt soft and calm, like everything in his body was floating like some kind of high, now he felt only bitterness and sadness as he pondered whether all of that was also a ploy just to find out his identity. Shiro had to once again remind himself Lance wasn't that kind of person, he was too kind and thoughtful to pretend to care about someone emotionally and physically the way he cared about Shiro but ultimately, he still lied about himself and acted selfishly in regards to withholding certain information involving Shiro's 'night-time activities'. No, the issue wasn't Lance and whether or not Shiro could trust him, the person he still didn't trust was Blue Claw and if they would be working together, he would proceed with utmost caution because working with a thief like him proved you had to be careful around tricksters. They could weasel themselves into the darkest corners of your mind and no matter how charmingly goofy they acted, it was all just a game cause one-second they're flirting with you, and then the next thing you realize, they have a gun against your back, finger ready to pull the trigger.

#shance #batman inspired au #minor character death #violence and blood #limb is cut off #angst #emotional hurt/comfort #not sure what else to tag this as