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deadsetobsessions · 3 months

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Pt. 4

Sorry this took so long. In the hospital still. Out of the hospital now!

For @unadulteratedsoulsweets

——

It had been early in the morning when she’d stepped foot in the manor. It was closer to noon, now, that found the reincarnation attentively sitting in one of the (if she remembered correctly from the blue prints) three massive kitchens located in Wayne manor.

She sat atop one of the island stools Damian had ushered her into, spaced a comfortable distance from the man that was her biological father in this life. Her mask dangled at her hip, a comfort she indulged in after unpacking her things. In truth, she’s had cookies before, but it had been so long since she’s tasted it that she might as well have never tried it before. Damian and Alfred Pennyworth worked with maximum efficiency, measuring out flour and sugar and chocolate like there were no tasks more important than this.

Alfred Pennyworth also avoided a specific cabinet that smelled slightly of metal polish and gun powder. It was kept away from the perishables.

Perhaps the manor was smaller and much more homely than the palace, but the reincarnate could see the sense in and approved of the various well-hidden caches of weapons around. Meant for non-lethal take downs, of course, but anything can be lethal if you tried hard enough. Or, considering the vigilante filled manor she had agreed to vacation in, anything could be lethal if one did not try hard enough to keep it non lethal.

The scrape of a spoon drew her attention back to Damian, waving away the off topic musings her mind had wandered into now that a large portion of her brain power was freed from the duty of fear.

She tracked how Damian existed within this space he had so clearly made for himself. He was… happier. Kinder. More. More at ease, more settled into his skin instead of where he stretched it to fit the cast of the Demon’s Heir. Simply, more. He was more Damian than he had been in the league.

When Damian was locked within the walls of the palace, his shoulders were always held straight. There’d been a- not quite darkness- cruelty in his eyes and gait that their grandfather had eagerly nurtured. His chin had remained lifted, his actions closed and callous. She’d feared, for while, that Damian would follow their grandfather’s footsteps. Until the day she saw him sneak a bird into his room to heal, her heart had trembled and grieved to see someone she loved imitate the worst parts of her abuser. It didn’t change the fact that she loved him, but it changed how she taught him.

But experience is a better teacher than she will ever be, and Damian had little chance to experience true kindness in the pits of the league.

Here, Damian is light. Perhaps less aware than he normally would have been, on the look out for fatal attacks as she had trained him to be within the league, but here he is free and safe and relaxed. It feels like she’s sitting in a haze, the chirps of birds and the clouded noon sun casting everything into an unreal light.

“Ukhti, assistance is requested.” Her brother holds out a bowl of dough. Her heart hurt with how happy it was. She squished the dough between her fingers like a child rediscovering her childhood. In some ways, she was.

——

As she watched Damian, in turn the others observed her. Bruce sat beside her, cataloguing every minuscule expression of his child, the first and the eldest, in an attempt to make up for lost time. And truly, it was minuscule. For all Bruce trained in micro-expressions and movements, his eldest- god, he had another daughter, the eldest- daughter remained a mystery from which he gleaned little of. Her face never lifted from that trained neutrality, having resettled back into it after first bite of b’stilla. He cradled the mug of coffee in his hands, the tang of grief and guilt roiling in his stomach as his daughter hesitantly but skillfully rolled a ball of dough.

“Pennyworth has divulged his secrets to me.” Damian plucked the ball from his sister’s hand, who allowed it with traces of… bemusement, perhaps? His eldest daughter flicked her eyes up in question, perhaps mildly amused. Even if she had more than two decades worth of training, Bruce was frustrated that he could not read her. She was his daughter.

Already he fails her. For too long, he had failed her.

“He chills the dough for a chewier cookie. I, and some of the others with adequate taste, prefer this texture. But which would you find adequate?”

His daughter flickered through that sign language again, the one he had no knowledge of. Considering he knew multiple from each continent, that was saying a lot. He was catching a few repeated signs, but nothing concrete.

Alfred waited patiently as they had their conversation, paying sharp attention to their motions. Bruce… felt like he was sitting next to Cassandra. He supposed they were the same, except his eldest daughter hadn’t gotten free.

“That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.” Damian grumbled, resting his hands on the counter, making sure to keep it away from his meticulously clean clothes. “We’ll cook them immediately.”

Bruce, in a fit of inspired parenting, offered a compromise.

“We could do two batches. One for right now and save a batch for later.”

Unspoken were the words ‘so she can try the cookies now.’ Despite the silent nature of his intent, Bruce thought that Alfred and Damian understood anyways.

“A fine suggestion, Master Bruce.”

“Thanks, Alfred.”

——

She sensed them before she saw them. Her father had slipped out after his suggestion, no doubt intercepting his flock of traumatized orphans before they could pile in.

Perhaps she had inherited something from Bruce Wayne after, considering how many of them she’d taken under her wing. She rolled the ball of dough between oiled fingers in a haze. Faint memories, impressions of a life long faded, guided her hands as she smooshed the cookies to her preference.

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Al-Ghul?”Alfred Pennyworth asked her.

‘A Pennyworth for my thoughts?’ She swapped sign language, eyes slyly watching for Damian’s reaction.

Damian, right on cue, clicked his tongue, looking defeated. Alfred, on the other hand, smiled wider.

“A Pennyworth for your thoughts indeed.”

Her humor faded into something softer. Longing. Melancholy.

‘It’s been a long time since I’ve made dessert for myself.’

She glanced at Damian, who was trying his best to pretend like he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation lest he caught another stray pun. ‘Or used it to inoculate poisons.’

“I see.” The butler patted his hands dry onto a towel, a sharp eye on Damian’s efforts at covering the dough meant for freezing. “I assure you that these cookies will remain poison free, have no worries about that. Now, would you like some tea?”

She shook her head. ‘I’ll make it myself later. Thank you.’

“Very well, Miss-”

“Hi, Alfred. Making cookies?”

Her hands continued to work on her tray, placing cookie dough on the tray with military precision. Damian remained relaxed, though watchful of her reaction.

“That’s correct, Master Tim.”

Tim shuffled over to her, and she turned. Ah, her partial benefactor.

“Little photographer.” She smiled, slightly. Her eyes, however, were warm. Alfred stilled for a brief second at her voice.

“Hi. It’s been a while.” Tim plopped down on the seat next to her. His whole body screamed of nostalgia. It’s odd to see the little scrawny Bristol boy grow into a full fledged vigilante. It seemed like yesterday she was keeping him from slipping on Gotham’s manifestations of its rot and plummeting down on its stone heart.

She hummed. ‘Not too long.’

“What is that supposed to mean? When had you met Drake, recently?”

She glanced at the little- not so little- photographer.

“She helped me bring B back.” Tim lied. She didn’t like how easily he lied to Damian… but on account of her fondness for him, she let it slide.

“Did you, Miss Al-Ghul?” Alfred wiped his hands on the hand towel he carried. “Then I suppose we owe you our sincere thanks.”

She blinked slowly.

‘I didn’t do much. I kept him alive just the once.’

“That is a harder task than one might think, Miss Al-Ghul. Master Tim has, arguably, the worst self preservation instincts out of the life risking vigilantes I have known.” And he has known many, Alfred seemed to imply.

She tilted her head in acknowledgement.

“Hey! What is this? Gang up on Tim day?”

“I would participate in that even if it wasn’t,” Damian stated, packing the frozen cookies away in the corner. “Come and help, Drake. My ukht is about to have her first cookies and we will bake it to perfection. Bring the tray.”

Tim scoffed but slid the tray away from her, Alfred seamlessly dropping a napkin for her to wipe off the dough from her fingertips.

“Thanks, by the way. For saving Z and Owens.”

‘They were my assassins. Even if you did manage to sway them to your cause.’ She tapped the marble island, before opening her mouth. “Thank you. For destroying his pit options. It helped me kill Ra’s.”

In her peripherals, Damian settled back, disgruntled but willing to rest his curiosity as gratitude towards Tim’s part in her freedom overrode his need for answers.

Tim stilled. “…What are friends for, right?”

‘Of course, little photographer.’ She relaxed as her, arguably first, friend and now brother popped the tray into the oven.

“Anyways, they sent me in here to see if you’re ready to meet the rest of them.”

“And they said that?” Damian scoffed, coming around the island to stand beside her as she slipped off the stool.

“Nah, they actually wanted me to subtly vibe check her, but it’s not like she wouldn’t catch me doing it.”

“Ukhti’s ‘vibes’ are perfectly fine,” Damian said crabbily, crossing his arms defensively. She tapped the back of Damian’s neck and he relaxed.

‘Thank you for the… assessment of my character and general disposition.’ She signed dryly.

“Ugh, I should’ve made the connection. Your syntax is exactly like Damian’s.” Tim joked, dodging the punch Damian aimed at his nonexistent spleen.

The reincarnation huffed. ‘I spoke perhaps three words to you.’

“And how many people use disposition on a regular basis?”

“I do, Drake!”

“I know, Damian. That was the point, you little walking thesaurus.”

——

They left Alfred in the kitchen, the man all but shooing them away so he could get working on lunch, and made their way to a sitting room. The floor was covered in a plush blue carpet, a fact that made itself vividly present to the reincarnation when she placed her foot on it, the fabric brushing the back of her heels. She was too trained to allow the slip to visible, but for a microsecond, the memories of kneeling and choking clawed their way past her defenses. She made note of the trigger and moved on, compartmentalizing that fact for later.

“It’s you,” Nightwing breathed out, tensing. The others behind him freeze, even more alert than their regular state. Bruce whipped his head towards him, sharp and searching.

“Nightwing.” She greeted. She felt a kinship with this vigilante turned brother. She watched him soar and fall alongside the little photographer. She watched him grow new wings and watched them get tainted with blood and fear and grim hope. She lived vicariously through him, he who flew when she was chained. In some ways, she had ended up watching his back for a long time, both in yearning for the ease he was allowed at her father’s side and to protect the vulnerable back that knew not of its openness. Bruce inhaled deeply at her voice.

Dick stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She does not disembowel him for it. Instead, she allowed the giant octopus hug her new oldest little brother gave her. There was no aggression in his countenance. Only relief and gratitude.

“You know Dick?” The little, ah, no, she doesn’t want to sound like Ra’s, Tim asked. Dick tensed, clearly unwilling to speak about it. She stepped in.

“I met him once. Eliminated a spider for him on a rooftop. I did not think he would remember.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on knowing who ukhti was?” Damian demanded, scowling. She immediately freed an arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. Damian ducked away with a rather petulant scowl. "Not because of my safety but because she crushed an arachnid for you?"

Dick nodded at him before looking up at her. “I really hated that spider. It was super scary. Thank you for getting rid of it.”

In lieu of an answer, she gently hugged him back.

“I get the feeling.” She said solemnly, voice coming out soft and borne of an implicit understanding. ‘Talk later,’ she signed to him.

“I was not aware you were afraid of spiders, ukht,” Damian muttered. “Though, Richard, I would believe.”

“Hey!”

Dick detached himself and pasted on a mostly genuine smile. “Oh! You should meet the others!”

He turned to the rest of Bruce Wayne’s wards and children to cheerfully point them out.

“This is Duke! He’s Alfred’s favorite grandkid, because he hasn’t burnt down the kitchen yet and reports when he’s injured.”

“Hey. Nice to meet you.” Duke Thomas raised a hand, smiling. “The bar was literally on the floor with you people. ‘Sides, Jason did just fine.”

The reincarnate nodded. Yes, she knew of him, though her memories were hazy. It had been over two decades, after all.

Dick steamrolled onwards. “This is Stephanie-”

“But you can call me Steph!” Stephanie Brown interjected, bouncing in her seat. Despite her bubbly demeanor, her gaze was sharp. Seeing. She liked that sharpness. It was tempered by the same rough and tumble kindness she’d seen in Grave- ah, Jason.

Spoiler, her memories reminded her. It was a soothing distraction from the anxious memories of the league. She found herself collecting little hints and information about this family. Her family, even if it were tentatively so. She caught Bruce staring at them intently, visibly anxious about this meeting.

‘A pleasure to meet you.’

“So… what do we call you?” Steph tilted her head. Hm. A tell Ra’s would have beaten out of her, had Stephanie had the misfortune of being in his presence for more than a day.

“Al Ghul will be adequate.” Damian cut in. The glance he threw her promised a discussion upon the topic of her name. Later, it promised.

“Wow. That’s kind of impersonal though.”

“Steph!”

“What?! I’m not wrong.”

“Anyways!” Dick loudly said over the two bickering kids. “That’s actually it for now.”

“The rest aren’t here as of this moment, but they’ll be around for dinner.”

A white lie. She studied Bruce for a moment before acquiescing. He meant no harm. Despite his capability to inflict harm, his willingness to do so, she could not read a single instance of ill will in him. Not, at least, towards her. She allowed the lie to slide.

‘I wish to see the grounds.’ She put a hand on Damian’s shoulder. He knew what it meant for her to retreat to the wilderness. Nature, where most things were free and where one does not often find Ra’s after he’d had a taste for luxury.

“We will go to the gardens. Ukhti wishes to explore.” Despite the rather curt way he pronounced it, Damian had stepped closer to her side in a gesture of concern. The pit inside of her stomach eased.

“Sounds good! Let’s go!” Steph bounced out of her seat.

“We could tell you stories,” Tim offered from behind her.

“Yeah, like that one time Dick face planted onto one of Poison Ivy’s flower beds because he was distracted by an ice cream truck.” Duke grinned, eyes crinkling.

“Hey! That ice cream truck was full of Scarecrow thugs!”

“And they weren’t worth an Ivy-lecture. I’m surprised she didn’t skin you and make a pot out of your bones, Dick.” Tim yawned.

“Ooo, we should tell her about the time I hit you in the face with a brick!”

“Literally what more is there to that story, Steph?” Tim grumbled.

“I would like to hear this tale,” Damian said, beginning to tug his ukht towards the garden. The rest of the group followed.

“Actually, why don’t we tell her about the time you tried getting Batcow to the barn and he just sat down? Didn’t you bargain with her for an hour, Damian?”

“Tt!”

Duke leaned back and took in the chaos he unfolded with a twinkling grin and Bruce’s sigh bolstering him. And if their newest and oldest addition to the family relaxed in his chaos, well, that was between him and her.

——

Cassandra found her in the gardens, the both of them weaving in between the foliage like light footed cats. Her contingent of Bats were behind them, watching the two former assassins approach each other.

Cassandra had frozen, mirroring the reincarnator’s stillness.

“Ukhti.” The word was torn out of Cass’ throat, filled with tears and relief.

“Cassandra,” she called, fond and kind and loving. Damian’s eyes darted between his sisters. They knew each other. How? She called his ukht, ukhti. A title he had assumed only he could use.

Cassandra scrambled and launched herself at her, silent sobs shaking her frame.

“Hello, Cass,” she caught the flying vigilante, crushing her first little sister into a tight hug. “Freedom suits you, habibti.”

Cass trembles in her arms, hands clutching at the fabric on her shoulder blades like Damian’s. Her eyes softened, and she rested her chin on Cass’s head.

“You know Cassandra too, ukhti?”

She nodded.

“Ukhti named me.” Cass said, voice wobbly. ‘Cass. Cassandra.’ Cass did her name sign. The one she had taught the slip of a girl back when Cass was stuck in a senseless prison and she was only free in terms of movement.

‘First word too.’ She smiled, proud of Cass and how far she’s come. Cassandra reads the pride in her language, the safety and kindness that she’d never forgotten even after traversing the world for years before arriving home, and she burrowed deeper into the hug.

“Oh. I see.”

“Two ukhts.” She smiled at Damian.

Cass shook her head, but before Damian could settle into his hurt at her supposed rejection, Cass explained her confusion. “Ukhti is your name? I’m Cass.”

“Ukhti means older sister.” Damian informed her.

Cass blinked and looked back at the reincarnation. Her shoulders relaxed and drew back, eyes softening and body loosened from its confusion. She smiled, bright as the sun, and deftly clambered around to perch on her older sister’s back.

“Two.” She declared. And truly, the reincarnation was weak to her younger siblings because that was that. Cass declared it so, and it shall be so. Damian grumbled but seemed like they agreed.

“How did you two meet?” Bruce piped up, intent and surprisingly considerate.

“Saved me,” Cass sighed, resting her chin on her ukht’s head. ‘From father and the league. Taught me to speak, a little. My name. Cass. Taught me..’ Cass paused. “Taught me I am not a weapon.”

The former assassin carrying Cass on a piggy back ride hummed in agreement.

“Oh.” The rest of the family glanced at each other. Dick had his shiny teary eyes on, the ones he got when Jason initiated a hang out.

“Not a weapon,” Cass repeated, pressing firmly on her ukht’s head.

A less sure hum. Cass scowled.

“No. Bad,” Cass scolded. “Not a weapon.”

An acquiescing hum, full of fondness and exasperation.

Cassandra Cain will take that answer. For now.

“You named Cass?” Duke asked. Bruce looked at them with gentle eyes.

“After a heroine I knew.” She replied, shifting. Cass hugged her tighter, intently listening. “She was strong. Lethal if need be. But… kind. She had an inherently kind heart. Full of love. Like Cass.”

“Oh, that’s really.. that’s really sweet.”

Cass hugged her ukht closer, touched. She had never known why she had been given the name, but finding out that it was after a heroine her sister looked up to made the day that much brighter. Hopeful. Honored.

“You have not told me this story,” Damian said.

‘I will. One day.’

——

Jason found her at the lunch table. Along with the rest of the brood. Except for, jarringly, an alien named Jarro.

“He’s our alien brother!” Duke said. He smiled, and it was a smile of unassuming harmlessness. A well crafted mask that she knew better than to be fooled by.

She offered three long blinks that had Cassandra, stuck like a limpet on the reincarnator’s back, muffling a laugh.

“Telling truth,” Cass whispered, sentences punctuated by giggles.

She hummed, shifting to more securely carry Cass on her back. Damian sighed and dutifully carried Cassandra’s pack. She smiled at her little brother, who straightened. Adorable. All of her siblings were adorable. She would kill for them. Ah, right. They frown upon murder here. So had she, once. Before Ra’s broke that part of her heart and forced her hands to commit evils that grew gnarled vines through her very soul.

“Oh.” She blinked.

“Hm?”

“Killing is… a choice.” The conversations around them fell silent. Cass’ arms tightened around her shoulders.

“We don’t have to do it, anymore,” Damian agreed. Yes, he understood what it was like, to be raised to kill and suddenly having the option not to.

“Did you not want to kill, before?” Bruce asked, suddenly a bit closer. Her mind was slipping, she realized. It felt… safe, to slip.

‘If I did not,’ she admitted, like throwing stones off of a lock-laden bridge. ‘Damian would bear the consequences.’

She sounded… young. Afraid. Two things she had always been and were never allowed to be.

Bruce Wayne looked at her like his heart was breaking, like he wished he could shoulder her pain on top of the weight of the world he willingly carried since his parents died. This, she is reminded, was why she swore Damian to secrecy regarding her existence. She wondered if he had ever taken the burden of more grief than he could bear.

‘And I could not say no, regardless,” she told them, absent and tired.

She wondered if she would be the one to break him, should she allow him a glimpse of the scars on her back.

“I could have taken it.” Damian grabbed her arm, clutching at her sleeve once more.

“No,” she whispered, haunted. ‘Not while I drew breath, habibi.’

“You don’t have to kill here. We’re all very good with no murder.” Tim reminded her firmly.

“Unless it’s the Joker.” Steph chimed in, bubbly smile gentled into something kinder.

“Unless it’s him.” Duke agreed. His eyes were more serious now.

“No,” Bruce replied, tired. Heavier, in a way that made sour tang of guilt scratch the back of her tongue. She hadn’t meant to give him the weight of knowledge, but she had inadvertently done so with the things she had and hadn’t said. He wasn’t the world’s- she glanced at Tim, who quirked a smile at her- second best detective for no reason.

“Yes, but you’re not ready for that conversation.” Dick snapped, lightheartedly.

Ah. That’s what was off.

They’re kind. They choose to be and they inherently are kind.

It showed. And she wasn’t used to that.

“Lunch.” Cassandra reminded them. She was a solid, grounding presence at the reincarnator’s back.

“Oh, Jason said he’s on the way.” Duke commented, nodding when she quickly did a subtle thank you sign.

“Why does he text you and not me?” Dick whined.

“Wow, man. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because of the emoji wall you send?”

“They’re nice! How else are you supposed to know what I’m feeling, right, Cass?”

Cass nodded and gave a thumbs up from her place on ukhti’s back.

“See?!”

“I love you Cass, but you also use a wall of understandable emojis. Dick just spams them.” Steph retorted.

The reincarnator turned to Damian, a silent question in her eyes. He sighed. “Yes, the imbeciles argue all of the time.”

She nodded and the group made their way to the green house for lunch, bickering all the while.

When they get there, Jason Todd, along with Alfred Pennyworth were already at the table.

“Grave.” She greeted as Cass slipped off her back.

“Ain’t no fucking way, Trainer?” Jason leapt to his feet. It was odd, seeing him in casual clothes. Ra’s had kept him in armor most of the time.

“You know each other?”

“At this point, who doesn’t ukht know would be an easier question.” Damian grumbled. She tapped him on the head twice, a light reprimand.

‘Grave was part of your guard,’ she told him. ‘He protected you well.’

“You’re the demon brat’s older sister? That makes so much fucking sense.”

She felt her eyes go cold, lifting to stare at Grave’s rapidly paling face. He visibly backtracks.

“Uh- I mean, you’re Damian’s older sister?”

She regarded him for a beat longer before blinking, ice melting away at the change. The nickname chafed at her neck, too close from a fate she gave everything to save Damian from.

Her head dipped into a small nod.

“Wild.” Jason sat back down. “So, uh, how are you handling the pit?”

‘I am not.’ She informed him, settling down in her seat. Damian claimed the spot next to her and Cass quickly took the other, much to Bruce’s chagrin. Tim plopped down to the seat next to Cass, eyes zeroing onto the chamomile tea Alfred had set out for him.

Duke smiled at Bruce before sitting next to Jason, Steph skipping over and sitting next Dick and Jason at the same time.

“Ukhti managed to get rid of the side effects,” Damian informed the table at large.

Her little bat had the worst ability to make sure attention focused on her, the reincarnation groused. She sighed.

“How?” Clearly, Grave had forgotten how much she beat him into the sparring mat because he leaned forward to glare at her. Well, she hadn’t wanted him too afraid of her.

‘Magic.’

His face fell at the assumed non answer, but Damian’s nod had the entire table once more expectant.

She sighed and began weaving her magic.

——

She stalked through the shadows of the manor, at ease. Bruce and the others had left on patrol, hours ago. She was clad in her sleeping clothes, one of her less favored clothes. Her hands would get dirty again tonight but she was long past the point of lingering on those regrets.

“Miss al-Ghul,” Alfred turned as she stepped towards him, having made sure she made adequate noise as a forewarning. “Having a good night?”

She tilted her head, eyes inquisitively peering at the spotless china display behind the butler.

“Ah, you must be curious about the fine ceramics we have currently displayed,” Alfred smiled. “Would you be so kind as to indulge an old butler on this topic?”

She had an idea about the kind of gift Alfred Pennyworth would appreciate.

——

“Uh, whatcha got there?”

She blinked, pulling bloodied hands away from her clothes where she had been inspecting them. The assassin that caused the damage on her clothes laid beneath her feet, still and lifeless. She blinked again.

Nightwing, Dick, stood in front of her, freshly showered from his patrol.

Some form of long forgotten instinct rose from the dry rotted fabric of her faded memories had her responding, ‘A smoothie.’

“…That’s… not a smoothie,” Dick said as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I’m pretty sure that’s an assassin?”

She shrugged. “He was after Damian. To force him into being the Demon’s head.” She paused. ‘I am tying up loose ends.’

Dick considered her. And the he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Right, okay. I’ll help you get rid of the evidence.”

She waved him off, clicking her fingers and looking over the room with critical eyes as the body and traces of the fight disappeared.

“Woah, handy.”

‘Very,’ she agreed. ‘Did you need something?’

He made a face. “That’s weird. It’s usually me asking that,” he muttered. “Uh, yeah. I just… wanted to thank you again. And uh, let you know that the others don’t know so if you could not tell them, that would be great?”

With a huff, she reached over and up to gently ruffle his hair. ‘Of course. Damian did not know either.’

“Right,” he breathed. “You get it.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Been avoiding thinking about it?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

She looked at him, silent. Offering a space to listen, and a quiet promise to offer no judgement.

“I don’t- it- I could have stopped her,” he told her, guilt and shame and the lingering whispering voice Catalina burrowing into his ears and heart.

And when he started, it seemed to him like he couldn’t stop. Dick told her of the things he felt as she got on top of him, of how numb and far away things were. How, if it rained, he couldn’t be in the quiet because it made him relive it.

“But… but you stopped her so I shouldn’t even be like this!”

‘It wasn’t your fault.’ She told him, the first thing she’s said since he’s started talking. ‘The only one at fault was her. You trusted her to stop. She did not. Her crimes were not yours to bear.’

She paused, taking in the refusal she could read on his face. “If someone beats another person, would you blame the person who was beaten?”

“No!”

‘Then you are kind. But you are so kind to others, why not yourself?’

Dick fell silent.

“I killed Ra’s,” she reminded him. “He allowed many others to partake in my body without my agreement.”

She leaned towards him, the admittance of something she had not even told Damian ringing painfully in her heart but made all the easier to say by the fact that one of her little brothers (the free, first Robin, the son who stood by Bruce’s side when she could not) needed her. “He himself partook in me. And yet,” she added, when Dick looked up. ‘It is difficult to forget. I am still afraid when I step onto the carpet on the sitting room.’

“The carpet? The rug? The fluffy one?” He asked, confused.

“It is like… your rain and silence,” she crossed her arms. ‘That and the sound of rustling silk reminds me of his chambers.’

“Oh.”

‘I killed him and it will not go away. Would you blame me for that?’

“No, that’s how healing is- oh.”

“Be kind, to yourself.”

His chin trembled. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Ukhti.”

“Ukhti,” he parroted, aiming a watery and small smile her way.

She held out her arms and, with Dick’s tacit understanding, tucked him beneath her wings like she did with Damian. “Thank you for offering to get rid of the body, habibi. But I would not want you to get in trouble.”

“Eh, I’ve helped Jason deal with worse.”

‘Comforting.”

“I know, right?”

——

“Why the hell do you keep calling me Grave?” Jason asked her, grumbling as he tried to wire his new helmet after the last one got damaged.

She leaned back, basking in the sun on the new rugs. After their conversation, Dick had set fire to every fluffy rug in the house-

“What the hell, dude?!” Duke gaped as he watched Dick cheerfully toss an expensive rug into the impressive bonfire they had going on.

“Ukhti doesn’t like fluffy rugs,” Dick said with a straight face. Damian dragged another roll to the bonfire with a scowl. “Alfred Approved project, if you want to join~!”

Duke stared at him… and picked up a roll to toss into the fire.

- and bought new ones using Bruce’s credit cards.

“You got some of your memories back, in the league.” She hummed. “You liked reading. Poems.”

“What does that even have to do with Grave?”

“I remembered one. A line. Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep…”

Jason twisted around. “Are you kidding me?”

She continued. “Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die.”

“But I did die.”

She shrugged. ‘People still remembered you. Gotham and Bruce cried at your loss. I saw it.’

She straightened and smiled a small smile at him. ‘Besides. You got better.’

Jason snorted. “You too, I guess.”

She hummed an agreement, eyes slipping closed in the warm light of the sun, relief after a long second life of cowering in the shadows of a man more like a demon than he was a grandfather.

#dc #Batman #apparently oc got inducted into the dc version of ROOT from Naruto #thanks bestie I hadn’t thought of that #oc gets isekaid and proceeds to have a shit of a time #oc in a discovery channel narrator voice: a Damian in his natural habitat is a relaxed creature #reincarnation #oc in dc #me: oc gets hugs.#my sister used to give me piggy back rides and I kinda miss it #when we were young #unfortunately she is now old as dirt and her back sounds like popping bubble wrap #oc: I would murder for cass if she’d let me #oc: wow I’m feeling guilty #also oc: *is holding back tears at genuine kindness*#they have a greenhouse bc I said so #also bc that’s where they keep Ivy’s plant samples on hand #and bc Alfred likes gardening and that was Bruce’s gift to him on Father’s Day #tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon #fuck you catalina flores #if she has no haters I’m dead #tw: talk of murder #tw: implied abuse #tw: sa #the specific grief of watching someone you raised/loved grow to be like the person who almost broke you

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carewyncromwell · 1 year

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“I had my books to read -- Didn't know that I would ever need Other ponies to make my life complete... But there was one colt that I cared for -- I knew he would be there for me! My Big Brother Best Friend Forever! Like two peas in a pod, we did everything together! He taught me how to fly a kite... (Best friend forever!) We never had a single fight... (We did everything together!)

~“B.B.B.F.F. (Big Brother Best Friend Forever)” from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

x~x~x~x

Christmas was always a very special time for Carewyn Cromwell. For as far back as she could remember, it was the time of year when she could sing lots of beautiful music and spend quality time with her two favorite people in the world -- her mother, Lane, and her big brother, Jacob. Even before she took the name “Carewyn Cromwell” -- in that time when her Muggle father Evan Bach was still in the picture and so she, Jacob, and Lane had all had his last name -- the holiday season had always been special. Understandably Carewyn doesn’t remember her time as “Carewyn Bach” that well, given how very young she was, but there were two images she held onto tightly from that time in their old house in Westminster, both of which were from her third Christmas. The first was of a tall man with his face in shadow tentatively patting the top of her head -- the second was of sitting on her stomach on the floor, squashed under the fully lit Christmas tree. If one were to ask Jacob about these fragmented memories of his sister’s, he would have the appropriate context needed to understand them.

The Bachs’ house in Westminster was a decently-sized, two-story detached home -- a rare and special thing so close to the city. It was made all of red brick, with multiple large white-painted windows and a white-painted front door with a brass door knocker. Its modest front yard was mainly covered over with brick, but hosted several white rose bushes that Evan paid to be pruned and trimmed bimonthly, to keep everything well-coiffed and respectable. The largest of the house’s windows was a bay window over the kitchen table with a ledge that Lane always put a vase of flowers in and that the family’s old Siamese cat Ella used to sunbathe on. And during the holiday season, the kitchen table was moved so that Lane could put the decorated and lit Christmas tree right beside the bay window, so that any visitors to the Bach home could see the lights twinkling out through the glass.

This Christmas -- the 25th of December 1974 -- was set to be Jacob’s tenth Christmas and Carewyn’s third. Carewyn had turned two that September, while Jacob was just two months shy of his eleventh birthday. Carewyn had grown a lot in that last year -- Lane was charmed by how quickly she’d picked up talking, even after how slow she’d been to start walking, and Jacob only egged this on by talking to Carewyn almost constantly, whenever they were together. More than a few times that December he asked his sister about what she wanted Father Christmas to bring her, though Carewyn didn’t seem to know how to answer.

“I dunno,” she’d say, as her eyes migrated up toward the ceiling.

“Oh, come on,” Jacob encouraged her. “You’ve got to want something. And with how good a girl you’ve been all year, I’m sure Father Christmas’ll give it to you, if you ask him.”

Carewyn didn’t answer, instead too preoccupied with tugging at the loose thread on the corner of her skirt. Immediately picking up on her restlessness, Jacob neatly ripped off the thread off his sister’s skirt with no effort.

“Do you want a new dress?” asked Jacob. “A new teddy bear? Or how about an Easy-Bake Oven? Then you can bake your own cakes and sweets, all by yourself!”

“I dun want a Noven,” Carewyn mumbled.

“Why not?” asked Jacob. “Don’t you want to be able to make your own treats whenever you want?”

Carewyn shook her head stubbornly. “I dun want a Noven because...you didn’t get one.”

Jacob blinked in surprise. Carewyn kept her eyes down on the skirt of her dress, flapping it up and down absently.

“Mum said...Mum said to Dad that you asked...Fafa Christmas for a Noven for Christmas. And a chem -- chem -- chem’stree sit.”

“A chemistry set,” Jacob corrected with a broadening smile.

“Mm-hmm. But Mum said...you didn’t get the Noven you wanted. Even if you really wanted one.”

Jacob’s face softened in understanding. His almond-shaped blue eyes sparkled fondly down at his little sister.

“Aw, Pip...you’re right. I didn’t get the Easy-Bake Oven I asked for. But it’s okay -- it was a while ago that I asked for it...”

Three Christmases ago, in fact -- the year Carewyn was born. It made Jacob wonder why Lane had even brought it up to Evan again after so long...was Evan rambling on about Jacob not having interests like “normal” boys his age again or something?

“...And well, I still got my chemistry set, and that was fun.”

Carewyn looked unconvinced. “But...weren’t you sad?”

“That I didn’t get my Easy-Bake? Sure, a little bit,” Jacob reassured her. “But well, I’m not as good of a kid as you are -- it’s probably appropriate that I didn’t get everything I wanted for Christmas...”

If Mum had managed to convince Pops to let me have a ‘girly thing’ like an Easy-Bake Oven, it would’ve been a minor miracle, Jacob thought sourly.

Carewyn's cute little face twisted into a deep frown.

“You are good, Jacob!” she said, sounding incredibly upset.

She immediately threw her arms around her brother’s waist and squeezed. Jacob, who’d predicted the move before Carewyn made it, caught her in both arms, and his face softened further as he hugged her back just as tightly.

“Hm, well...at least you think so, Pip.”

With this, he scooped her up and started heading for the kitchen.

“Come on -- why don’t I help you write your letter? You tell me what you want to say to Father Christmas, and I’ll write it down.”

“Kay.”

~*~

Jacob did end up proofreading and clarifying Carewyn’s sentences quite a bit, when writing her letter. When he read it aloud for Carewyn, though, she was beaming from ear to ear and nodding, clearly approving of his “translation.”

Dear Father Christmas,

My big brother Jacob is writing this letter to you for me. I wanted to tell you to get him everything on his list, please, and to get Dad a new record that I can listen to. Elvis is fun! Also, Mum needs some new rainboots. Please make them yellow, so they match mine. I also want to go to school with Jacob, but Jacob says you can only give me things you can wrap up with paper and ribbons. So please just give me something pretty, wrapped up in pretty paper with a pretty blue ribbon. Blue’s my favorite color.

Don’t eat too many biscuits, or you’ll get a tummy ache.

Love from

Carewyn

~*~

When the morning of Christmas arrived, there was a large haul of neatly-wrapped presents under the tree. Every single present was wrapped in the same kind of music-note-printed white paper, with identically-tied red or green bows. Several years later that particular type of packaging would be the main thing that would clue Carewyn onto the fact that they were all wrapped by her mother Lane, rather than Father Christmas. For now, though, Carewyn didn’t think anything of it, instead taking innocent joy out of her parents neatly undoing the paper on their gifts while her brother overdramatically ripped open the paper on his, grinning mischievously at her the entire time as she tried to bite back her giggles.

“Jacob, dun do that!” little Carewyn would scold Jacob, lightly punching his back and shoulder through her giggles. Her ineffectual scolding would only make her brother laugh louder, which in turn only made Carewyn happier and more giggly than ever. The noise, however, grated on Evan, who rubbed his temple irritably.

“Jacob,” their father said reprovingly, “that is quite enough.”

Jacob shot Evan a rather sour glare -- Lane immediately intervened by leaning over her lap so that she could lightly pat her son’s shoulder from his place on the floor.

“Settle down just a bit, you two,” she said more gently. Clearly she had been a bit overwhelmed by the noise too, but had held back seeing just how happy her kids were. “Jay...I believe that one on the side is the last of your gifts. Why don’t you open it, so we can move on to Winnie’s?”

Putting down the Once and Future King anthology he’d unwrapped with the other books he’d gotten, Jacob shifted over to look under the tree. He found that last gift (which was wrapped in a red ribbon) and, once he’d reached around Ella the cat, brought the package into his lap. It was a moderately-sized gift, about the size of the books he’d already gotten from Father Christmas. It also had a tag written in Lane’s neat penmanship that read, “To Jacob, from Mum and Dad.”

With a quick, beady look at Evan, Jacob very pointedly ripped the paper right off the top so that he could see what was inside.

When he looked at its contents, though, his eyes lit up like fireworks.

“...A portable cassette player and recorder!” he cried in delight. “Mum -- you actually got it -- ?!”

“Your father paid for it,” Lane said pointedly with a wry smile. “I just picked it up at the store.”

She glanced at her husband meaningfully, who cleared his throat.

“...Yes, well...you have been behaving a bit better as of late, Jacob,” Evan mumbled. “Helping your mother around the house...looking after your sister...”

“And you clearly wanted it so much,” Lane said fondly.

Jacob’s face had burst into an amazingly bright smile, worthy of the sun. Unable to stop himself, he jumped to his feet and ran over to throw his arms around his mother in the biggest hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he said, beaming from ear to ear. “It’s just what I wanted!”

Once he’d released Lane, Jacob seized the box from the floor and sat back down on the rug as he started babbling excitedly to Carewyn.

“Look here, Pip -- this is a recorder! Now I can record songs from the radio and we can play them on cassette tape whenever we want! And I can record other things too! I can record things in class and play them back for you, or I can record us singing -- I can even just leave you messages you can play here while I’m at school!”

Carewyn’s eyes lit up, just listening to Jacob. It was like his enthusiasm just bled into her like colors running through a watercolor painting, and she was soon beaming just as broadly as her brother. Evan sat off to the side of the couch, watching his son eagerly share his gift with Carewyn with a strange, almost sad smile prickling at his features.

Noticing her husband’s expression, Lane brought a hand onto his knee, giving it a supportive squeeze before turning back to her children.

“All right, Jay,” she said with a smile. “I think it’s high time Winnie started opening her presents.”

Jacob’s huge grin seemed to gleam brighter at this. “Right!"

Once again reaching around Ella the cat, he picked up one of the remaining packages under the tree, all of them wrapped in blue ribbon, and handing it to his little sister.

“Don’t forget to read the note for her, Jay,” Lane reminded him.

Jacob peeked at it over her shoulder. “‘To Carewyn, from Father Christmas.’” He smiled encouragingly at her. “Go on, then, Pip.”

Carewyn got mostly clothes that year. Both “Father Christmas” and most of Evan’s family members sent along new dresses, though Evan’s cousin Mary had sent along a set of cute little toys called Weebles, which Ella the cat ended up playing with just as much as Carewyn did.

“Don’t forget to thank Cousin Mary when she visits, Winnie,” Lane reminded her.

“Yes, Mum,” Carewyn said promptly, even while only half paying attention.

Along with the dresses, Father Christmas also got Carewyn a new baby blue romper, perfect for playing outside. Carewyn’s last gift, though, earned a strange frown from Jacob when he read the tag.

“‘To Carewyn, from Dad.’”

Carewyn didn’t notice the confused look Jacob shot their father as she took the gift into both hands and very neatly undid the bow. Once the bow was off, she ripped off the corner so she could tear off the rest of the paper.

Inside was a rather pretty blue book with a beautifully painted illustration of an angelic-looking woman floating over a princess sitting in an open coach led by horses -- “The Classic Fairy Tales.”

“Oh, Winnie,” said Lane in breathy happiness, “it’s a book! Your very first book, Winnie.”

She shot a significant smile at Jacob. Feeling confused, Jacob glanced back at Evan -- Evan’s body language was evasive as he got up from the couch to put his spent coffee cup in the sink.

“Well, yes, I...thought it was about time that we built up a proper library for the baby,” he said stiffly. “Books suitable for a girl her age...”

“They’re magic stories, Winnie,” Lane said to her, her voice soft in both volume and emotion as Carewyn flipped through the pages of the book, consulting the pictures. “They’re stories your father and I can read to you at night, before you go to sleep.”

Jacob was still kind of bewildered watching his parents through this whole thing. There was something under the surface in how Lane and Evan spoke about the book that Jacob just didn’t quite get -- it didn’t feel like Lane had picked out the book and Evan had paid for it, the way they had with Jacob’s recorder, and yet Lane didn’t seem at all surprised by the gift (understandable, since she’d wrapped it) and seemed to really want Carewyn to be excited about it. Was it just because Lane liked reading as much as Jacob did and wanted Carewyn to like it too? If so, why didn’t she take some credit for the gift? For whatever reason she’d wanted Carewyn to see this gift as being just from her dad, not both of them.

That schmuck barely pays Pip any mind, in the first place, Jacob thought irritably. It was one of the things that made him most resent his father, that he ignored Carewyn so much of the time. Even now, he’s not even looking at her...

This thought made something click in Jacob’s head.

Is that why Mum wants him to get sole credit? Because she wants Pip to think Pops does care?

Jacob’s lips twitched with a smile despite himself.

Aw, Mum...you hate how he ignores her just as much as I do, don’t you?

Noticing Carewyn glancing up at him, Jacob grinned all the more brightly.

“That’s Hansel and Gretel, Pip,” he said, pointing at the picture she’d stopped on. “That’s a great story -- it’s about a brother and a sister, just like us! And that’s Cinderella,” he added, pointing to the picture on the cover. “She’s going to this really big party. See her dress? It’s pretty, right?”

Carewyn’s eyes seemed to sparkle seeing how happy Jacob was. She beamed from ear to ear, nodding eagerly. Then, with a quick look up at Evan as he returned to the sitting room, she put down the open book on the floor. She shuffled up onto her feet and toddled over to her father. Before he could sit down, she then threw her arms around his leg and hugged it, just the way Jacob had thrown his arms around Lane earlier.

“Just I wanted!” she chirped.

Evan looked completely taken aback. He stared down at Carewyn, his dark eyes wide and his expression almost insecure in how he took in his tiny daughter’s beaming face. Then, very tentatively, he reached out a hand and patted the top of her head, attempting a weak smile of his own.

“...I’m...glad you like it,” he said lowly.

Even despite his discomfort, his dark eyes did betray something oddly touched as he shifted his gaze over to Lane, who was smiling warmly. His weak smile even became that bit stronger, seeing his wife’s expression.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, “we’d...best get ready for the day. It’s nearly 11 already...”

~*~

After all four Bachs had gotten washed and dressed, Lane set about getting the Christmas turkey cooked in the kitchen, while Evan went out to pick up the chocolate Yule Log he’d ordered at the local cake shop for dessert. Originally Lane had suggested Jacob and Carewyn go with their father for the drive, but Carewyn was so preoccupied with her new Weebles (or, more importantly, watching Ella the cat bat at them with her paw) that Evan decided it was better to “leave the baby” at home. As soon as Carewyn was going to be left out of the little “outing,” though, Jacob immediately decided he’d stay at home too, and he promptly picked up one of his new books (A Wrinkle in Time), slouched across the armchair with his legs dangling off the arm, and started to read. Carewyn was a little put-out when Evan left the house, but she was distracted soon enough when the kitchen timer went off and she immediately toddled over to “help” her mother with setting the table. (This involved Carewyn taking the cups Lane handed to her in both hands and delivering them one at a time over to the table, as well as pulling all the chairs around the table out enough that everyone could sit down comfortably.)

After their late lunch of turkey, roast potatoes, cranberry sauce, pigs-in-blankets, and stuffing, the Bachs watched the Queen’s Christmas Broadcast -- a tradition Evan insisted on, though Jacob always found it incredibly uninteresting. He took several opportunities during the broadcast to make faces at Carewyn to try to make her laugh, which irritated Evan. The rest of the day involved enjoying the chocolate Yule Log and singing along to the family’s Christmas records. Jacob sang It’s the Most Wonderful Time of Year so flawlessly that Evan actually praised him -- something Jacob didn’t quite know how to accept, considering how little Evan did it. Jacob ultimately chose to forget the whole thing when Evan left the room altogether in response to Carewyn happily screaming out her best attempt at Sleigh Ride, claiming a headache. This left Jacob, Carewyn, and Lane alone for about an hour, during which Lane quieted Carewyn down by shifting the records over to the works of the Kings College Choir. Evan returned in time to hear Lane quietly singing along to The Holly and the Ivy, and he came up behind her to kiss her on the cheek.

“Pretty pretty, Mum,” Carewyn said, beaming as she gave a light tug to her mother’s pant leg.

Lane laughed softly as she scooped Carewyn up into her lap and gave her a big hug. “Thank you, sweetie.”

The night ended with two mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows, one cup of coffee with milk and sugar, and one cup of English Breakfast Tea with lemon in front of the fireplace. Ella the cat curled up for a nap on the now-completely-empty skirt under the Christmas tree in the kitchen while Jacob and Carewyn played with his new recorder and Evan put the batteries in the new pocket calculator that Father Christmas had gotten him. These moments were captured in pictures taken with Lane’s own gift from Father Christmas: a snazzy new Polaroid camera.

At seven o’clock, Lane took Carewyn upstairs so she could get ready for bed. She tried to encourage Evan to come up with her, even going so far as to place Carewyn’s blue book of fairy tales on the side table near the stairs pointedly, but Evan soon became too preoccupied with setting up the new coffee maker in the kitchen and never ended up making it up there.

Looking noticeably disheartened as she came back downstairs, Lane didn’t even look at the book on the table again as she settled herself back down in the armchair -- and so Jacob once again found himself glaring openly in his father’s direction as he got up from his spot on the floor.

“I’m going to bed too,” he said very shortly.

He scooped up all of the books he’d gotten, as well as his recorder, and carried them upstairs. He pointedly didn’t look at Evan, even when he purposefully knocked right into him on his way up the stairs.

“Jacob!” Evan called after him, taken aback and disapproving.

But Jacob didn’t care. Even with how sweet and innocent his Pippa was, all that old plonker ever did was ignore her -- he didn’t deserve a “sorry.”

~*~

Because Jacob went up to bed so early, he hadn’t gone to the bathroom beforehand. That was why he ended up having to get up in the middle of the night. Once he’d left the hall bathroom and started back toward bed, though, he noticed the door to his sister’s room had been left ajar.

Pip?

Feeling a pang of concern, Jacob darted over. Upon peeking into her room and turning on the light, he didn’t find her. He looked around, taking note of the empty hallway and the other closed doors on the floor, and then as sneakily as he could, he darted across the hall and down the stairs. He didn’t find her in any of the chairs in the sitting room or on the floor either.

“Pip?” Jacob called out only as loud as he dared. “Pippa?”

There was a rustling from somewhere in the kitchen. Jacob came around the door frame and entered the kitchen, and immediately relaxed.

There was Carewyn in her lacy flower-printed nightgown, nestled underneath the Christmas tree. She was lying on her stomach, with her legs stretched out behind her and her arms folded under her, and Ella the cat was stretched out on the tree skirt next to her. The Siamese cat surveyed Jacob with a mild expression as he approached.

“There you are!” said Jacob. “What are you doing under there?”

Carewyn shrugged, her eyes falling down to her hands clutching the tree skirt. Jacob crouched down to better look her in the eye.

“You’re not hiding, are you?” he said with an amiable grin.

Carewyn shook her head.

“Well, good,” said Jacob. “You know you don’t have to hide from me...”

His expression grew a bit more concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Carewyn nodded. It seemed like the truth to Jacob -- she didn’t seem the least bit distressed. Instead she almost seemed expectant: like she was patiently waiting for something.

Jacob cocked an eyebrow at the Christmas tree and then back down at his sister, his face slowly unfurling in a bigger grin.

“...Aw, Pippa...you’re not waiting for Father Christmas, are you?” he asked.

Carewyn looked up at him with a rather bashful expression. It made Jacob laugh despite himself.

“Aw...he’s not coming again tonight, Pip. It’s Christmas! Father Christmas only comes on the night before Christmas.”

Carewyn’s face noticeably dropped, hearing this. “...Fafa Christmas isn’t coming back?”

“He will,” said Jacob. “Just not tonight. He only ever comes once a year.”

Carewyn’s gaze fell down to the floor as she rested her head on her hands. Her eyes even started to water a bit.

“Aw, Pip, it’s okay,” Jacob reassured her immediately. “He’ll be back next year. And when he does, you’re such a good girl that you’re bound to get even nicer presents...”

But Carewyn shook her head.

“I dun want any more,” she mumbled.

Jacob blinked. “You don’t?”

Carewyn shook her head again. “Mm-mm...I got I wanted.”

She shifted a bit. When she did, Jacob finally took in what she’d been holding against her chest. It was the book of fairy tales Evan had gifted her -- she slid it over to him so he could pick it up.

“I got a pretty...with...with a pretty paper an’ a pretty bow,” Carewyn explained. “I wanted to say...I got I wanted.”

Jacob felt like his heart was being enveloped in a huge warm hug as he heard this. All he’d been able to wrangle out of her, when writing her Christmas letter, was that she’d wanted something pretty, wrapped up in pretty paper with a blue bow. Even though, yes, their mother Lane had wrapped up all of her gifts with blue bows, Carewyn had clearly found the book to be the prettiest of her gifts -- maybe, Jacob suddenly considered, because Lane and Jacob had reacted so happily about it. Because unlike the Weebles or the clothes she’d gotten, it was something that Carewyn could share with them, the same way Jacob had shared his recorder with her.

“I wanted to say I got I wanted.” She wanted to tell Father Christmas how much she liked her gifts.

Fondness for his baby sister washed over Jacob like a wave of warm water, making his blue eyes shine with pride and affection.

Pip, you really are a saint.

“...Well, then...”

With some difficulty, Jacob sidled underneath the Christmas tree so that he too was lying down on the floor on his stomach next to Carewyn.

“...Since you got just what you wanted...how about I read you a proper bedtime story? Since old Pops didn’t get around to it.”

Carewyn smiled and nodded. With a broadening grin, Jacob flipped open the book until he’d found the story he was looking for.

“Here we go...‘Hansel and Gretel.’”

“They’re like us,” Carewyn recalled brightly, pointing at the picture of the two siblings.

“Right, they’re brother and sister, just like us,” Jacob said, grinning as he affectionately bumped his shoulder beside Carewyn’s. He then proceeded to read,

“‘Once upon a time, near a great forest, there lived a poor woodcutter, his wife, and their two children. The boy's name was Hansel and the girl's Gretel...’”

As Jacob told the story, he took every opportunity he could to make Carewyn laugh, putting on his best imitation of his snippy English teacher when reading for the woodcutter’s wife and a cackling, “old-lady” voice for the witch. It entertained both Carewyn and Jacob greatly. Carewyn liked the first story so much that Jacob went on to read two more -- Little Red Riding Hood and Cinderella -- after which Carewyn started to nod off. Her head drooped down onto her brother’s shoulder, and Jacob smiled fondly down at her before, taking care to avoid Ella the cat, he slid both himself and his little sister out from under the tree and scooped her up so he could carry her upstairs to bed. The old Siamese cat proceeded to follow Jacob and Carewyn upstairs, only breaking off once Jacob had put Carewyn to bed and closed the door. The feline then lost interest and sidled her way back downstairs, presumably to “reclaim” her spot on the tree skirt. Jacob himself then went off to bed, a full smile attached to his face.

Evan ultimately left almost no impact on Carewyn’s life. Fortunately she never had any gaping holes left behind in his absence -- for she had a devoted big brother there to ensure she never once felt like she wasn’t special or her feelings didn’t matter.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my writing #carewyn cromwell #jacob cromwell #evan bach #lane cromwell #okay this is *supposed* to be a companion to that post I did about evan and jacob #you know for father's day -- focusing on carewyn's relationship with her dad #but it ended up being a few days late *and* focused on christmas #so hahaha we've got christmas in july #oh well! XDD #but yeah I'd always had carewyn's birthday in august 1973 but in order for math to work I realized it would have to be in september 1972 #damn it :P #but anyway #on a personal note that 'just i wanted' thing? that's actually based on an old christmas video of me when I was little #I was imitating my parents since they'd used the phrase 'it's just what I wanted' when they opened their gifts #the thing I was *so* happy to receive that year?#a VHS of snow white and the seven dwarfs #<3

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