#Jason noticing she's wearing steel toed boots and grinning about it

[flowerflamestars]

Migration Patterns snippet

Mostly asleep, but too near waking to be insensate, Elle turned her cheek into his touch, soulmark suddenly pressed to Jason’s palm.   Everything stopped. There was only this: warmth. If he let himself think it, Jason had imagined his half a little like the ocean. Too much, no matter how he tried to bottle it. Fresh water and salt water: where currents met, where color muddled, both and neither. Tidal Eleanor, ceaselessly making it make sense.   All that existed in Elle, just awake enough to reach, was no drowning depth. Just a certain light. Glowing and burning. Incandescent. New and old- not love yet, love already- spark bright interest that could not fade to embers, a thousand soft shades of safe.   Jason’s brain and Jason’s body all in one for once: a country with no borders, Elle an endless expanse of sky.   And then she rolled. Curled small enough not to fall, one arm outstretched.   Jason felt reality start to intrude before her eyes even opened. It was the cold, probably- insistent search that grasped only the cool leather of Jason’s jacket instead of a body in bed, and yanked anyway.   It was no distance to travel.   Just Elle’s grip, ferocious- just air, escaping Jason’s lungs in something so much worse than panic- Elle, on the threshold, a honey sweet dream turned caramel burnt before it cooled to snap in two, all at once- Elle woke up.   Adjusted, softened, let go to hook her fingertips in the collar of his t-shirt, expression unspeakably, unmistakably, fond for a minute before she blinked. Ran the back of her hand up his neck for half a second, and then-   Elle really woke up, drawing back.   “Shit. Sorry. Sorry. I thought”- She flung herself upright, steel-toed boots thudding not unpleasantly against Jason’s side. Elle frowned. “Where are we?”

[everbluesky]

Inside My Mind Chapter 2-

Blood and Crimson

Pairings: None

AN: Special thanks to @schweeeppess for beta-reading! She’s absolutely amazing!

Tagging: @chidori-chan

!Slight Violence/Gore Warning!

He watched the eight men circled around him draw closer and closer, guns raised, and their leader spoke up.

“We made a deal. You give us the cash, and we give you the goods. We’ve done our part”—he cocked his pistol—“now where’s tha money?”

He tightened his grip on the case of “goods”.

Just go through the motions, this shouldn’t take long, he reminded himself.

“Mr. Roscoe will deliver your money soon,” he said, addressing the Italian gang’s boss. “I’m just here to pick up his goods, Mr. Alfonsi.”

“Oh-ho-ho, I see,” Mr. Alfonsi laughed. “You’re trying ta play us!” Turning to his group, the gang leader said, “Ya hear that boys? This midget is trying ta trick the great Alfonsi gang out of our cash!”

The other men laughed along with their boss but soon the mocking laughter died off and the serious atmosphere grew thicker.

Another member spoke up.

“What should we do wit him, boss?” He called.

Mr. Alfonsi smiled cruelly.

“Well, we’re just gonna have ta get a payment of our own,” he said, raising his gun and aiming it at ‘the midget’s head.

‘The midget’ relaxed as he heard the gun fire.

Focus, he remembered. Any emotion can get you killed.

The bullet stopped centimeters from his forehead, and the Alfonsi gang gasped.

“Oi, what kinda trick are you playing?” Someone yelled, stepping back in fear.

The Italian gang leader swore.

“He’s one of those meta freaks!” Mr. Alfonsi stammered, cocking his gun to fire again.

But it was too late.

‘The midget’ drove the bullet that had been meant to go through his head straight between Alfonsi’s eyes before sending it through all the other gang members temples.

He watched as they dropped, literally, dead.

A bullet through the brain isn’t something most people survive.

The aforementioned bit of ammo, now covered in blood, floated back to him and he pulled out a small plastic bag to put it away.

He then walked towards Mr. Alfonsi and crouched down next to him, pulling off the large gold ring with a fancy letter “A” engraved in it from his finger. He put it in a separate bag then continued to gather the smaller gold rings from the other members, making sure they were all dead in the process.

The last member left, when he’d finished with the rest of them, was a kid who looked to be about 15 years old.

It was such a shame that he had to join up with this gang.

He leaned down and started to pull the ring off the boy’s finger when the teen’s hand shot out to grab his bloody wrist.

He had to fight down the instinctive flinch of shock.

“P-please, I…I don’t—” Blood splattered from the teen’s mouth as he was cut off by his rattling coughs.

He narrowed his eyes.

It looked like his bullet had missed where he had intended and had instead impaled the boy through a lung.

“I..I don’t…..wan’ die…please…” the boy gasped.

His eyes were fixed on the smaller boy as he breathed, gaze still locked on the boy’s.

Don’t feel, it just gets in the way.

No.

You were made for this.

Wrong.

You shouldn’t feel bad for your targets.

Why not?

You follow your mission only.

He pulled a small knife from his belt.

“I’m…sorry,” He said. The boy’s eyes went wide as he slashed the knife across his throat. Blood splattered and started to pool on the floor. The boy’s eyes were still fixed on him. He stood up and put his knife away.

It was a small, underground, and still growing gang, but they were great at getting their hands on strange and illegal materials and weapons. It was just what The Foundation needed. And now, they didn’t need to pay them.

Mission accomplished.

————————-

Two months, twenty-three days, and eleven hours.

That meant eighty-four days and eleven hours.

In thirteen hours, it would be eighty-five.

Dick was getting nervous. How could he let Tim slip off the radar that long? Maybe he was just being… paranoid, or something.

Was that the right word to use? He didn’t know and couldn’t find it in him to care. He just knew that Tim had dropped off the radar for way too long, considering what happened beforehand.

But he’d have to push it back in his mind for a moment. He had things to do.

Dick jumped from rooftop to rooftop, making his way to some abandoned warehouse near the docks of Gotham. He was supposed to meet Jason there twenty-eight minutes ago, but had been on just about the opposite side of Gotham when Jason had called him.

Cautiously entering the warehouse through a glassless window, Dick silently leapt to the ground. He landed behind a large stack of crates and a couple of dusty shelves.

There was a single dim light illuminating what Dick guessed was the center of the dirty and smaller warehouse. He carefully picked his way around the edge of the stack of crates, half expecting to be shot at or attacked.

Neither occurred.

Jason was crouching under the light, investigating something on the floor—or maybe he was wounded.

Dick made his way over.

“Hey Hood! Sorry I’m late. Traffic was nuts out there,” he joked, grinning. Jason didn’t even look up.

“Apology accepted—just get over here,” huffed irritably.

There was something about the situation that made Dick feel inexplicably nervous.

He moved closer and crouched right next to his brother, asking, “What’s up? Are you hurt or something?” And he didn’t try to hide the concern laced in his voice.

Jason turned to look at him, apparently confused.

“What? No.” He gestured to whatever he was looking at, and added, “Just…look at this.”

Dick gave the floor his attention.

He hadn’t exactly noticed it before, due to how downright filthy this place was, but there was a huge puddle of dried blood directly in front of them.

Dick’s brows furrowed in confusion. Had Jason forgotten they lived in Gotham? Blood on the ground was a common thing. Sure, this was a lot, but it wasn’t anything special to Dick.

“Oh wow, blood!” Dick gasped in mock-surprise. “Never seen that before.”

He could feel more than see Jason’s eye-roll.

Jason held something out to his brother, hand clutched around something small.

Dick held out his hand and let Jason deposit whatever he was holding into his palm.

Only when he got a look at what the thing Jason had given him was did he understand Jason’s concerns with the blood.

In Dick’s hand was Tim’s metal Red Robin insignia, broken in half crudely, and mostly covered in blood.

For a moment, all he could do was stare down at it in disbelief, confusion, suspicion, and pain.

Tim must have run into someone or something…strong. Strong enough to snap his insignia in half.

Dick forced himself to tear his eyes away from the weight in his hand and shift his gaze back to the blood, which he realized was a lot. The dried puddle looked much bigger now that Dick knew where the blood came from.

But was it actually Tim’s? Or just some sort of set-up to make it look like Tim had bled that much?

Jason finally spoke.

“I almost missed it. I only noticed it when my foot ran into it. It was stuck there pretty good.” Jason said with a shrug, almost convincing Dick he was casual about the whole thing.

But Dick knew his little brother better. Jason was worried, and he was angry, and he probably didn’t feel like saying too much about it.

Dick’s eyes went back to Tim’s insignia.

“Are you sure it’s his blood? It could be a setup.” Dick remarked, hoping for the latter.

Jason shook his head.

“I dunno. DNA test?”

Dick looked at the blood on the insignia and tapped it against his fingers.

“I don’t know. Tim’s been missing for almost three months. We might be able to, but it depends on how old this is. DNA in dried blood usually only sticks around for three months max,” Dick said, feeling his heart sink with every possible set back. What if it was too late? What if Tim was dead?

Jason started to say something, but the sound of the lock on the large doors in front of them being opened caused the two vigilantes jump back into the shadows.

Dick was hidden behind the stack of crates he’d landed beside, clutching Tim’s insignia tight in his hands. No matter what, he refused to lose it. Jason was on the opposite side of the lit space between him and Dick, back pressed against a large, solid metal shelf.

Dick heard footsteps echo against the stone floor of the silent warehouse and crouched, just to be safe. He peeked through a small opening between the crates, trying to get a better look at the figure without being seen. He could only see him from the waist down.

The figure seemed to be wearing a long, black trench coat of some kind, tight black pants, and charcoal grey, steel-toed combat boots. He also had what looked like a dark, metallic red utility belt lined with silver metal tools and other various metal objects, including a line of bullets under his coat. That meant that he most likely had a gun. Dick put Tim’s insignia in his utility belt and pulled out his escrima sticks.

He glanced over at Jason, who had already gotten his gun ready. Dick then glanced back through the small opening. All he saw was black, and a tiny bit of metallic red. Dick soon realized that they were right in front of him. Dick stayed as still as he possibly could, and ducked a little when he heard a smaller, metal crate being picked up from off the top of the pile of crates he was behind.

He stood still as footsteps echoed farther and farther away from him. He nearly breathed a sigh of relief, but then tensed as he watched Jason step out from his hiding place and aim his gun at the stranger. The sound of a gun resonated throughout the building, and Dick moved out of his hiding place to see what the damage was.

“What the h***” Jason said, gun still raised at the figure. Dick looked at the figure. The bullet hadn’t hit him. In fact, it had stopped mid-air, about 3 inches away from his back.

The hooded figure was holding the crate under his right arm with surprising ease, despite its size. His other dark red gloved hand was hanging loosely at his side. He had frozen in his tracks but hadn’t made a move towards either of them. Dick tightened his grip on his escrima sticks but otherwise kept an outwardly calm composure.

The figure then turned slightly, not facing them, and not enough for Dick to get a good look at his face. He held out his hand and let Jason’s bullet drop into it.

“What’s in the crate?” Jason asked, gun still up. The figure didn’t respond, or turn his head. Instead, he examined and rolled the bullet through his fingers, as if it were some sort of valuable artifact or a piece of an important experiment. He then tossed it up in the air a couple of times. Dick narrowed his eyes.

Suddenly, his arm shot out in their direction, and the bullet came flying with it, as if it had been fired from a gun. Dick and Jason both moved, and the bullet went flying into the wall of the warehouse. They both stared at it in shock for a moment. Then Jason turned back to face the newly proclaimed enemy, gun at the ready.

“Hey, that wasn’t v…” Jason trailed off, looking around. “Where’d he go?”

“C'mon! He couldn’t have gone far!” Dick shouted to Jason, running out the door. He turned and looked around, looking for any sign of the stranger. Jason came behind him. There was nothing. No sign of him anywhere. Dick looked down and let out a sigh of defeat.

Then, he noticed something shiny and small, about the size of a quarter. He picked up the small rhomboidal object and turned it in his hands. There was some sort of symbol on it, but he couldn’t exactly make it out in the dark.

“Guess he’s gone?” Jason asked.

Dick nodded, slipping the thing into a pocket in his gauntlet for later.

“Yea, let’s get back to the cave.”