#do jot expect me to stay awake when the only other option is listening to the pastor fucking screaming his head off

[eebie]

i m goingn to fucking die tomorrow

[sirkkasnow]

06 Sleep With One Eye Open

Ao3 link

07/12/13-07/13/13 Friday - Saturday

There was no rest whatsoever, much less for the wicked, that night.

“Ford. For cryin’ out loud. I feel fine. She feels fine. Just let us go to sleep.” Stan nudged away the glass of water in front of him, chin propped in a cupped hand, supported in turn by the elbow propped on the kitchen table. He and Clary had changed into dry clothes and managed to get down a sandwich apiece, accompanied by fanciful flower-cut carrot slices, before Ford started hovering over them both like a broody hen.

“He’s got a point.” Clary was nursing her own glass of water - caffeine was forbidden for the time being. “There was a shockwave. We might be concussed. I don’t feel concussed, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t sustain some injury.”

“I’ve started analyzing that sample vial you brought, Stanley, and the dust has got at least a minor soporific component. You’re going to have to stay up all night for observation.” Both Stan and Clary groaned in protest, her head dipping to rest on her forearm.

“Can’t you wake us up every two hours?” she pleaded.

“I should take you to the hospital.” More groans. “My upstairs study isn’t too cluttered. We’ll set you two up on the couch, I’ll keep an eye on you for the night, and I can probably allow each of you to nap for an hour or so at a time. That’s the best I can do.”

“You’re not gonna give either of us a moment’s peace otherwise, are you.”

“No.” Ford folded his arms and frowned down at them both. “Go on, go get pillows. You can finish giving me the details about your encounter today.”

Clary shot Stan a fleeting, resigned smile, swallowed a long gulp of water and pushed back from the table. “See you in a few minutes.”

They reconvened at the study, the space cluttered as ever if less dusty. Clary rubbed her eyes as she looked around, tossing pillows and blankets on the couch and taking an armload of books off Ford’s hands. “How’s this going to work?”

“Short naps. I’ll wake you up every hour or so to check the pupils and ask some of the usual questions. Coherence checks, really.”

“Yeah, we might as well stay as awake as we can.” Stan finished locking in the legs of a card table in one corner and hauled up three mismatched chairs, then plunked a battery lantern in the middle. “Sixer, can she crash for a while? She did all the hard work out there today.”

“You’re no lightweight, Stan, but you are the one who got a snootful of glitter.”

“I did not. Just a little dusty.”

Clary dropped the books off at the foot of the filing cabinet, dragged a chair out with her heel and settled into it with a sigh. “Serious question, you two.” She reached out to flick on the lantern, getting little more out of it than a wan circle of pale yellow light on the table’s surface. “Are we going to talk about the fact that we were running for our lives from champagne bubbles of explosive death this afternoon?”

An awkward silence hung on the air. She blinked, sleepy and implacable, at Stan and then at Ford.

“I’m fairly sure it wouldn’t have killed you,” Ford said at length, squaring up a stack of books that Stan knew for certain had been crooked for years. “I’ll know better when I head out tomorrow to document the aftermath. Turned you into shambling crystalline abominations, maybe.” He paused, lifting his head with a faint frown. “Perhaps we should do the cinnamon-and-formaldehyde treatment. Just in case.”

“No,” said Clary and Stan in unison.

“It’s just a thought.”

Stan rummaged a deck of cards out of a drawer. “Like I said. Gravity Falls is weird. S’what got him out here in the first place.” He nodded to Ford as he dropped into the chair opposite Clary and began to absentmindedly shuffle. “If this changes things, offer still stands, we’ll rent you somethin’ to get you to Portland or whatever.” He meant it in all sincerity but let the cards snap together with a tiny bit more vehemence on the next pass. “If you’re gonna stay, though, stayin’ with us is the safest option, no doubt.”

She smiled a little, watching his hands. “Are you warning me that things could get even weirder?”

“‘Course not. Simply statin’ the facts.”

For a little while the soft slap-and-clatter of the deck was the only sound.

“I think,” Clary finally said, “that I’m still all right with staying until the car’s fixed. I want to be included as you’re analyzing that stuff, Ford. And if there’s anything else I ought to know about, I expect to be in the loop.”

“You’re not going to dismiss all of this as hallucinations from heat exhaustion or the like, then?” Ford kept his tone level, but Stan could hear the hopeful note in it.

She laid a hand over her brow and peeked up at Ford through splayed fingers. “I believe in evidence. I’m not so stubborn that I can’t accept what I’ve personally experienced. And I promise you, I was coherent through all of that mayhem.”

A quick, pleased smile plucked at a corner of Ford’s mouth. “Fair enough.” He took the third chair, setting down a notebook, a penlight, one of his favorite pens and Clary’s action camera. “If you’re not going to sleep right away, let’s review your afternoon. I know what your routes looked like, so it won’t be hard to track down the sites….”

Stan dealt himself a hand of solitaire and mostly listened, interjecting now and then when he could clarify a point. Ford had always been a thorough interrogator and Clary was a good witness, offering a clear timeline and careful descriptions which Ford kept cross-checking against her shaky video.

She was yawning more than she was talking by the time he was done. “Eyes,” said Ford, and Clary winced as he checked each pupil. “Sleep. I’ll get you up for another check in an hour or two.”

“Yes, Doctor Pines.” She shuffled over to the couch and stretched out under a blanket. Within two minutes her breathing went deep and even. Ford turned to Stan with bright, undimmed interest, and he gathered up the cards with a sigh.

“Okay, go on, pick my brain, but you’ve already got most of it.”

He lost track of time almost immediately once Ford let him get a quick snooze. The wee hours dragged by with alternating moments of consciousness and too-brief sleep interrupted by stupid questions.

“What’s the capital of South Dakota?” Ford asked somewhere around three-thirty.

Stan squinted up at Ford, rubbing at watering eyes. “Who cares?”

“I’ll take that as a correct answer.” One thumb tilted over towards the couch, where Clary was down for another shift. Ford’s voice lowered. “What’s your take on her?”

That was a more interesting question. Stan leaned back in his chair enough to make it creak. “What d’you mean? She’s sharp, sure, she’s been better company than I thought she’d be.”

“She didn’t panic today, and she’s taking the local weirdness in stride. Which of course might mean she’s a federal agent.”

Stan shook his head fractionally. “Gettin’ your magnet gun to malfunction at just the right moment would’ve been a neat trick. No, there’s a couple things she doesn’t wanna talk about, but not that.” He glanced over to Clary. “She’s still wearin’ her neckerchief.”

“I’m wearing turtlenecks in July. I’m sure she has her reasons. In any event, she’s quite adaptable, and we could use a lawyer - “

“No, no, no - “ Stan flapped a hand at Ford in frustration, struggling to keep his voice down. “What in the hell do we need a lawyer for?”

“You’re still legally dead, Stanley. I wouldn’t mind being able to fly again.”

“She’s a tax specialist!”

“She’s an experienced attorney, and don’t you think trustworthiness should trump everything else?” Stan glared. Ford sat back, fingertips tapping in sequence along the penlight’s barrel. “We’re not going to be out on that boat forever, you know.”

That shut him up, as Ford knew perfectly well it would. Stan tipped his tired head back and gnawed on his lower lip for a while. “When did the world get so damn small?” he muttered, a question that neither of them needed or much wanted an answer for.

Eventually Ford rose, nudging Clary awake with a careful hand on her shoulder to run her through another series of questions. “Pierre or Bismarck,” she murmured blearily, “I can’t remember which. What time is it?”

There were three clocks in immediate eyeshot, all of which read something different. Ford checked his watch. “Five fifteen.”

“Almost morning. Fantastic.” A faint glimmer of pre-dawn light was beginning to tint the sky, the room’s multicolored window marginally less dead-black than it had been. Clary pushed herself upright with a groan and shambled over to the card table. “Deal something out, Stan, we might as well stay up until breakfast.”

“I should keep checking on you until at least noon after that, but I can let you get a few hours in a row. You both seem to be fine.” Ford made himself at home in the third chair. Stan squared the deck, shuffled a couple of times, fished out the two of diamonds and dealt the rest out in three piles.

Stan felt himself fidgeting after two quick and uneventful hands. Sheer fatigue was wearing down his usually uncrackable poker face. The other two were unreadable anyway as the room slowly filled with the faint light of early morning, the lantern’s dim circle overwhelmed until Ford shut it off. Clary scooped up the cards of the current trick and stifled yet another yawn with the back of her hand. “At this rate none of us are gonna manage to come out ahead.”

“Well, we’re more or less evenly matched.” Ford set his fanned cards facedown, checked his watch again and jotted a note. “Eyes, Clary.”

She sighed and obligingly let Ford take her chin in his fingertips, angling her head so he could check each pupil with his penlight. “Of course we’re evenly matched. All three of us have been counting cards.”

Stan snorted in disbelief and slapped his cards on the table. Ford’s laugh was lower and rustier than usual - even he was starting to wear down. “You too? Really, Clary? Really? I expect that kinda crap from my own brother!”

“I majored in math, man, I specialized in statistics and data analysis. Of course I’m counting cards. You’re the one hellbent on cheating at hearts.”

They bickered for most of another hour as the stained glass went translucent and jewel-bright. Stan tried out a half dozen variations, trying to find some way to outfox the others, but anything they couldn’t count cards on he couldn’t count cards on, and he didn’t have the sleeves to hide anything. Clary kicked him in the shin after one particularly egregious attempt, the blow softened by her floppy sock and her low husky laughter. She left her foot resting against his slippered one which was all right he supposed.

Stan was showing off a couple of the simpler card-cutting tricks when the doorknob rattled, then turned, the door creaking open to reveal a startled Dipper and Mabel. All five stared at each other in confused silence.

Mabel clapped both hands to her face. “You had a slumber party and you didn’t tell us?!”

“Not quite a slumber party, I had to make sure they were both all right - “ Ford clambered to his feet, pink with embarrassment. Mabel pointed in accusation at the rumpled blankets and pillows on the couch.

“You three were up all night! Come on, Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford, you have to let me host one now.”

That set off a quiet but intense argument. Mabel was doing a fine job of mustering a logical case in favor. Clary set down her cards, rubbed her eyes and curled a tired smile for Dipper at the doorway. “Breakfast?” She nudged Stan’s foot with a toe. “Make me a couple of pancakes, would you? I think I’ve earned those.”

“Deal, kid. Think we both have.”

tumblr: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

Ao3: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

“Are we going to talk about the explosions?” Clary looks tired, but determined.

I’m pretty sure we were both seeing things.

Methane. It’s always methane.

Gravity Falls really is that weird.

[lopithecusfanfiction]

A Life So Changed: Chapter Sixty-Five

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2517 Alternate: AO3, fanfiction.net Author's Note: Look who's back baby!! The long awaited update. I’m not even going to try and come up with an excuse as to why this took so long. I’m sure I’ve already said them enough as it is. But! I do kind of feel like I'm getting back into the writing groove so here's hoping! ^_^

Bruce lies in bed, on his side, staring at the empty spot beside him. Since passing out in the nursery, Bruce hasn’t seen Clark for four days. He knows the Kryptonian is at the Fortress, Clark does call him multiple times in the day, and he also knows Clark is keeping a close ear out on him, but it doesn’t stop Bruce from worrying. It doesn’t stop Bruce from feeling lonely.

He glides a hand over his stomach, wishing he would be able to fall asleep but no matter how tired he is, he can’t seem to manage such a task. So he lies there, wide awake, and missing his mate.

*~~~*

Bruce sits in Leslie’s waiting room with Tim by his side, waiting for his turn to be called in. There are a lot of people here today and he is sure he’ll end up being called in late. Bruce checks the time on his watch for the fifth time since arriving at the clinic. At this rate, they’ll have to reschedule. Bruce has another appointment to get to in just over an hour and he doesn’t want to miss it.

“Are you sure you’re up to doing all this today, Bruce?” Tim asks. The teenager hasn’t stopped bouncing his leg anxiously since they arrived.

“I’m sure,” he answers.

Tim shakes his head, looking around the room. “You could have just called her.”

“No,” Bruce says. Leslie finally comes back out, sending her patient off and then gesturing towards him to follow her. Bruce stands, continuing. “I need to hear this in person. Stay here.”

He follows Leslie to a room in the back, far from the waiting room so no one has the chance of even overhear their conversation. Once the door is shut, she gets down to business. “So, how has your pain been?”

Bruce shrugs, sitting down on the edge of the examination bed slowly, one hand supporting his bulging stomach. “It comes and goes. I’ve fainted again since the last time I was here.”

“And what about any more dissociations?” Leslie asks as she jots things down on her clipboard.

Bruce shakes his head. “Not since I came here the first time.”

Leslie nods at him, looking up. “How’s your pain today?”

“Right now?” Bruce shifts, feels the spike of pain go up his back. “About a five. It mostly hurts when I move right now.”

“And dizzy spells?”

“Those… are a lot more frequent.” Bruce rubs at his head. “Same with the headaches. They kind of… correspond with each other now.”

Leslie continues writing. “What about nausea? Are you throwing up a lot?”

Bruce, again, shakes his head. “Not really. I threw up the last time I fainted but not since then. The nausea, however, is there. I’m honestly kind of afraid I’m not eating enough.” He bites his bottom lip, wondering if he should continue. “I went through this phase once, Leslie, in which I didn’t eat nearly enough to sustain me and the baby. It wreaked havoc on my system and I got it under control but, in hindsight, now I realize that what was causing me to not eat back then were basically the symptoms I’m having now. Just, now they are just more intense and more of them. The thing is, Leslie, is that I can’t seem to get it under control again.”

“When was the last time you ate?” she asks, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

Bruce thinks about it. “Lunch.” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for Bruce to elaborate. “Day before yesterday. I’ve been too nauseous to eat since. I-I-I keep feeling like I’m going to throw up. I’ve tried, Leslie.”

Leslie is nodding, sympathy radiating from her eyes. “I believe you, Bruce.”

Bruce rubs at his eyes, feeling his head getting light. “I can’t do that again. What I did before when I wasn’t eating. I can’t get there again.”

“Have you tried anti-nausea medication?”

“No,” Bruce replies. “It was suggested to me by my doctor but only if it persisted. With all the other symptoms and since I was still managing to eat when I drank ginger tea to settle my stomach, I didn’t bring it up again with him. But now the tea isn’t working.”

“I can prescribe you some medicine for it then.” Leslie jots another thing down on her paper.

“Leslie,” she looks up, “there’s actually one thing in particular I came here for.” He shrugs. “Well, to ask you actually.” One of Leslie’s eyebrows rises in question. “Can I survive a C-section?”

She stares at him, for a long time, studying and thinking. Then, with a frown, she says, “I very highly doubt it.” Bruce’s heart sinks. “Bruce, you are extremely weak right now. You wouldn’t survive childbirth let alone surgery.”

Bruce bows his head, takes a deep breath to compose himself, and then looks back up at her. “What about, Lara? Would she survive it?”

“And avoid the strain of childbirth being put on her?” Leslie inquires. “It’s possible but I can’t guarantee it.”

Bruce nods, thinking it over. If it’s the only card they have to play… “It’s good enough for me to keep it as an option,” he says out loud and then hops off the bed. “I have to go, Leslie. I have an appointment with my OB doctor.”

“You know,” Leslies leads him out, “you could just come to me primarily.”

“I know,” Bruce says. “But let’s be honest, Leslie. You aren’t a specialist in pregnancies. And besides, I can’t let my OB doctor get suspicious.”

“Well,” Leslie pats him on the shoulder and continues in a whisper, “I don’t think any doctor would be a specialist in your kind of pregnancy.” She smiles, loving and warm.

Bruce smiles back. “Thank you, Leslie.”

“You take care of yourself, Bruce. And if anything changes-”

“I’ll come straight to you,” he finishes before her. He leans down, pecks her cheek in goodbye, and then ushers Tim along.

Bruce gets behind the wheel when they arrive at the car, starting it up right away, and leaving to his next appointment. The silence is almost deafening until Tim speaks, loud in the quietness of the vehicle. “So? How’d it go?”

“As well as expected,” Bruce answers, side eyeing the omega. “Tim?” The teenager hums to let Bruce know he’s listening. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Bruce takes a deep breath, focusing on the road. “For the fact that you can’t have biological kids with Conner.”

Tim is frowning, turning away to look out the passenger side window. “It fine. It…” The omega shakes his head minutely. “We can always adopt. There’s…” Bruce can tell Tim is trying hard to keep it together, to stay strong. “There’s no difference.”

Now Bruce is frowning, turning into the hospital parking lot. “The love you feel for them is no different but there’s still… there’s still a difference between biological and adopted.”

“Bruce,” Tim is looking at him now but Bruce refuses to look back as he parks the car. “I of all people have no problem with adopting. Hell, I probably would have done so anyway whether I could have my own or not.” The young teenager shrugs. “Plus, there’s always artificial insemination.”

They sit there in the silence once more, Bruce’s hands clutching the steering wheel and Tim facing him. Bruce doesn’t really know what to say, feels like he might have said something wrong but isn’t sure what. Finally, he settles on, “I don’t love Lara anymore than I love you, Tim.”

“I know, Bruce.” Tim pats him on the shoulder and then opens his door. “We better get going.”

When they get into the hospital and his exam begins, everything goes smoothly until they get to the ultrasound. “The baby’s heartbeat sounds a little… slow,” Doctor Harty tells him. “I must stress to you, Mister Wayne, how important these visits are. We’re definitely going to want to monitor this and make sure everything is going smoothly.” He prints out a picture of the ultrasound image and then starts cleaning Bruce’s stomach off. “I want you to start coming at least once a week if not more if things start to worsen.” Doctor Harty looks at his chart. “You’re blood pressure is high and combined with your baby’s heart rate being slightly slower than average is concerning.”

“I understand, Doctor,” Bruce tells him.

“Get plenty of rest, Mister Wayne.” Doctor Harty pats his knee as Bruce pulls his shirt down. “Don’t strain yourself and try to keep stress to a minimum.”

“I will.” Bruce gets off the bed.

“I’ll see you next week then,” Doctor Harty says, handing him the ultrasound picture. With one last smile, he leaves the room.

Tim is studying him from his seat in the corner. “You good?”

Bruce doesn’t answer right away, lost in thought. He knew he wasn’t doing good and he knew Lara was struggling but having proof of his daughter struggling to stay alive, having to listen to the slow beat of her heart, albeit not by much, is troublesome. “I’m good,” he finally tells Tim and they walk out, leaving the hospital to get to the car. When they arrive, they both are surprised to see Clark leaning against the vehicle, arms crossed.

When Clark sees them, he pushes off and gives the two a sheepish smile. “Hey.”

“Hey, Clark!” Tim says enthusiastically, handing the Kryptonian the ultrasound picture. Clark gazes at it fondly. “What are you doing here?”

The alpha looks up from the photo, smiling warmly at Tim. “I was wondering if I could borrow this handsome man for a little while?”

Tim looks between them, falling into an awkward shuffle. “Yeah, sure, I’ll, um, call Alfred to come pick me up.” The omega then walks a few paces away, pulling out his cellphone.

Clark chuckles after the young teenager, amusement coloring his laugh. When done, he holds the photo up. “She looks good.”

“Her heartbeat is slow.”

Clark’s smile turns into a frown. “I know.”

Anger rises in Bruce’s chest, the hurt of not seeing his mate for days on end coming to the forefront. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

With a growl, Bruce pushes past Clark and gets into the passenger side of the car, knowing Clark won’t let him drive. Clark gets in behind the wheel and they drive out of the parking lot with silence hanging over them. It’s not until they are in another parking lot, overlooking a park, that Clark speaks again. “It’s sunny today. I thought we could take a little walk. If you feel well enough too, that is. Maybe some fresh air will do you some good.”

Bruce doesn’t want to but he doesn’t protest, angrily opening his door and storming out as best he can in his current condition. He hears Clark sigh heavily as the Kryptonian follows him out, catching up with a short jog. “Bruce, wait!” He grabs a hold of Bruce’s shoulder and Bruce stops in his track, close to a bench just in case he needs to sit down. The wind blows on his face slightly. It feels good.

“What?” Bruce asks, terse. He’s not really in the mood for Clark’s excuses as to why he’s been so distant.

“Listen,” Clark starts. “I know you’re mad at me for being away for so long but I was hoping we could talk about something important.”

“Oh?” Bruce comments, sarcasm leaking into his words. “Have you found a way to save Lara’s life?”

Clark’s lips grow thin, the alpha contemplating his words. “...No but-”

Bruce turns to leave. “Then we have nothing to talk about.”

“Bruce, please, I need you to just listen to me. This is important.”

Shaking his head, Bruce stops, annoyed at Clark but mostly frustrated at himself for even falling for Clark’s tone of desperation. He twists again, facing the Kryptonian. “What?” he snaps.

Clark studies him, looks at him closely and then takes a hesitant step forward. “I would really love to have you not pissed at me when we have this conversation.”

With a tired sigh and a roll of his eyes, Bruce pushes his anger and hurt to the back of his mind, storing his emotions away for the time being. “Fine. What’s so important to talk about?”

He sees Clark swallow hard before speaking. “I want to bite you.”

Bruce blinks at the alpha, mind trying to play catch up with what Clark had just said. It’s not something Bruce had been expecting to come out of Clark’s mouth. “What?”

“I want to bite you. Become official mates with the whole shebang. A bond.”

“You’re joking.”

Clark’s eyebrows knit together. “No, I’m not.”

Bruce shakes his head, his own eyebrows furrowing together in puzzlement. “Well, the answer is no, Clark. I’m not letting you bite me.”

“Why not?” The Kryptonian asks, confusion showing on his face.

Bruce softens. “Do you know how much it hurts to lose a bond from death, Clark?” Clark face turns painful, though the alpha tries to hide it. “If we can’t save Lara, then you’ll have to experience the pain of losing that bond with her. I’m not going to add mine too.”

“But-”

“Clark, listen to me. Losing someone... losing someone you are bonded to from them dying, is one of the most painful things we, as humans, have to go through,” Bruce explains. “When Jason died, it felt like my whole world was falling apart, it felt like I was dying. I’m not going to let you go through that pain with my death.”

“You’re not going to die, Bruce,” Clark insists.

“Yes I am!” Bruce doesn’t mean to yell, looks around to make sure no one heard him. He takes a quick, deep breath, regains control. “Yes, I am, Clark. I am dying. I am going to die and if I can help it, you aren’t going to feel that any more than you already have to from the normal grieving process.”

Clark shakes his head, takes another step towards him, hands out as if to take Bruce’s. “It’s my life, Bruce, isn’t that my decision to make?”

Bruce weighs that in his head, chews on his cheek. Finally, “No.”

“No?”

“It’s my body, Clark,” Bruce says. “I’m not letting you bite me.”

Bruce has hurt him, he can tell by the slight frown of Clark’s lips and shine of Clark’s eyes, but the truth is always painful. Clark lowers his hands and bites his bottom lip. They stare at one another for a long time, listening to the bird songs that come with the beginning of Spring. The wind blows again, ruffling both of their hairs. Clark starts walking, past Bruce.

“I’ll bring you home,” the alpha says, voice void of any emotions and not looking at him.

Bruce stands there for a few more seconds, trying to push the heaviness in his chest back down and swallow the lump in his throat away, before finally turning and following Clark back to the car.

A/N: Just as a reminder to all of you, no matter how long it takes me to update this fic, I will never abandon it. This will be completed at some point, even if it takes me forever to get there.