#now the whole Out Of Breath Lightheadedness Shit is starting again GUYS THIS ALL HAPPENED WITHIN A WEEK.

[r1ngfinger]

i need our body to stop fucking with us

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.i // Introduction to the Show

AO3 / Masterlist / Next

The one with the bleached-blond hair.

The one who yanked him sideways by the handle of his backpack and repeatedly kicked at his legs when he only fell halfway inside, until Conrad managed to draw his legs up and retreat backwards into darkness.

The one who slid the door closed so hard it rattled the whole van, only to set upon Conrad, wrestling him to the floor and pinning him there with a knee in his back.

The one who slammed his face into the unpadded floor when he managed to twist his arm free, breaking his nose with a crack that still reverberates in his skull.

The one who pressed his cheek into his own blood and hissed into his ear, a promise for a much worse outcome if he kept squirming.

The one who forcefully shoved a cloth into his mouth mid-scream and duct-taped it in place, looping the tape all the way around his head for good measure.

That’s the one Conrad fears the most.

And yet, it’s the one he has to try and beg to.

Through the tears in his eyes, he can see the guy in the passenger seat, wide eyes and manic grin intermittently illuminated by the yellow glow of streetlights. He scuffles through the contents of Conrad’s backpack, and holds a mostly one-sided conversation with the driver in a voice that’s bright and cracking with excitement, as if he’s high on the trill from an amusement park ride, and not someone who just kidnapped a stranger off the street. Every once in a while, when Conrad’s muffled pleas successfully recatch his attention, the guy looks over his shoulder, and Conrad desperately tries to communicate his desperation through the gag – but then, inevitably, the fake blond turns around to look out the windshield, shaking his head incredulously, that crooked grin creeping back on his face.

“Fuck, man, we’re actually doing this. Holy shit.”

Conrad knows what the fake blond is thinking – that he’s struggling to beg to be released, to threaten, to bargain or hurl insults, just like they do in the movies. But he’s not.

He’s choking.

Slowly.

There’s a gap between the duct tape and his lower lip, but the air is getting harder and harder to push through the cloth saturating with saliva. His nose is stuffed with blood, and he’s managed to swallow most of it, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach and the cloth that constantly threatens to trigger his gag reflex. But by now, the blood is starting to clot, clogging up his nose for good.

If he could somehow free himself from the hard plastic strips that dig into the flesh on his wrists, he could rip the tape off and breathe. But the zip ties don’t budge an inch, even though he tries to squeeze his hands through. Their edges feel rough and sharp against his skin every time he so much as tries to twist his arms around his torso to reach – but evidently, Fake Blond thought he might try that, because he’s fastened the ties around his wrists to one in a belt loop on the back of his jeans.

Little by little, Conrad’s airways close shut. He can feel it in the lightheadedness that isn’t born from terror alone, the tingling in his arms and legs that isn’t just the restraints cutting off blood supply, but his blood itself wearing thin. His head is getting heavy to hold, there’s stars in his eyes. Little by little, he’s starved of oxygen. Inch by painstaking inch, he feels a soft internal pull, his body’s yearning for unconsciousness.

Conrad shouts, but under the engine revving up, it’s barely audible, even to himself. He tries again mid gear shift, when the noise is at its lowest, and that catches Fake Blond’s attention again.

Please, please help.

He tries to say it with his eyes. Tries to twist his bound hands enough to point at his face, but only manages to point sideways at the van’s door. Fake Blond squints and turns around completely in his seat, and for a brief moment, a small hope blooms in Conrad’s chest. But the guy only blurts out a short laugh.

“You serious? Not happening, dude.”

“What’s he doing?” the driver mutters. In stark contrast to his partner, he sounds more bored than anything.

With a snort, Fake Blond settles back into his seat. “Nothin’, he just wants out.”

When Conrad gathers up the energy to shout again, a weak, frantic wail that catches in his throat, it only prompts Fake Blond to laugh, but he doesn’t turn around.

They’re not listening to him. They’re not listening, and Conrad can feel the cartilage in his nose move about with a faint clicking sound when he tries to draw in a breath, but he doesn’t succeed, so his chest stays a vacuum. His eyes scour the dimly lit space, desperate for anything he can use as leverage to either break free of the zip ties or pull the gag off on, but there’s nothing. Aside from himself and a few white plastic bottles strewn about in a corner, there’s nothing.

He worms his way down to the back doors of the van, rolls over on his back, and tries kicking at the back doors. It’s hard with his ankles tied together, and he doesn’t know what it would achieve, but he does it anyway. Maybe it can catch the attention of other drivers.

A high pitched laugh behind him. “He really wants out.”

Around his fifth kick, Conrad realizes he’s being stupid. His breath doesn’t pick up – it can’t – but the void in his chest seems to expand with his effort. He lets himself slump.

The next thing he knows, his eyes fly open, and he hauls to inhale through the cloth. A groan grates in his throat as he blinks through the haze and it isn’t until a streetlight whizzes by outside that he realizes he isn’t actually blind; the back of the van is just black as night. He knows he must’ve blacked out for a short moment. Also knows, from the shaky uncertainty in his limbs and the aching in his head and chest and throat, that for however long he was unconscious, he wasn’t breathing at all.

It comes creeping again, like the closing shutter on a camera lens vignetting the ceiling of the van, and he tries to reject it, tries to fight for consciousness until he can’t remember why he’s trying so hard. Blood trickles down the back of his throat, but that, too, feels vaguely comforting in the high light of asphyxiation. His boat sways and sinks, and Conrad, heavy on its floor, lets himself sink with it.

Far away, someone hisses out a curse, and a figure crosses in front of the lights shining in from outside. The vague, dream-like fog is pierced by a sharp pain in his cheek. Fingernails dig into the fresh wound, scratching to get a hold of the layers of duct tape, and finally pulls them off so quickly, it barely registers as painful. The cloth is yanked out of his mouth and he draws in a ragged gasp, filling his chest with air that vaguely tastes like salt and rockweed.

“Hey, why are you—"

“He’s suffocating, you idiot.”

Conrad’s body acts on its own, pushing out the breath to pull in another, and once it does, it seems to take on an automatic, frantic kind of fight. It’s as if the air can’t come quickly enough, as if his lungs are trying to make up for every breath he failed to inhale. He becomes vaguely aware of a hand on the base of his neck tilting his head until he half-faces the floor, feels the blood and saliva that’s collected in his throat dribble out past his lips.

“Where the fuck was he supposed to breathe from, Renee? His ass? Why did you break his nose anyway?”

“Relax. He was squirming.”

“Of course he was, he’s scared shitless. Use your fucking head.”

Blinking fog from his eyes, Conrad tries to steady his wheezing breaths, lifting his head just in time to see Fake Blond’s – Renee’s – backlit silhouette shrugging from the passenger seat. “Sorry,” the silhouette says, voice edged with more than a little sarcasm.

There’s a soft, metallic click followed by a frustrated sigh. Wide-eyed, Conrad looks up to see a guy kneeling beside him, folding a knife in on itself to stuff it back into his pocket. It takes Conrad a moment to realize he’s looking at the driver, and not some newly appeared third kidnapper.

The guy’s jaw is set as he looks his hostage over, long dark hair disappearing behind his shoulders, face only half illuminated by the light shining in through the windshield. His nose is somewhat hooked, dark eyes serious under thick brows. When he reaches out his hand, Conrad shrinks back until his head hits the van’s wall. His reluctance doesn’t really seem to faze the driver, though, because he casually follows along, grabbing hold of Conrad’s chin and turning his face to this side and that. His mouth twitches a little before he lets go.

“We’ll deal with that later,” he murmurs, voice slightly strained with anger, but at least it isn’t directed at Conrad. “You okay?”

Conrad gives a small nod, then has to grit his teeth at the surge of emotion that washes through him when he’s had a second to consider that he actually is okay. He’s alive, and he can breathe. He can’t even begin to consider the outcome if his kidnappers hadn’t noticed when they did, if they’d kept driving for an hour longer, thirty minutes, five even. A surge of overwhelming relief and terror hits him like a bolt of lightning, and it feels pathetic, but he can’t help it. Can’t tell if the tremors that rattle him to the core are rooted in joy or fear, can’t stop them either way. He breaks down in tears.

A chuckle rises from the passenger seat, cutting through the sound of Conrad’s racking sobs. “Oh my god, Davin, you’ve already made him cry.”

The driver rolls his eyes. “Go for a smoke, will you?”

As Renee shrugs and pops open the passenger side door, Conrad tries to stop hyperventilating, counting each second that passes per breath, forcing it even. Through the frame of the van, he feels the door slam shut, and he catches the driver’s eye the moment Renee is out of earshot. Maybe it’s stupid to assume the small hint of empathy in the man’s expression is genuine, but Conrad is desperate, and he needs it.

Despite his best efforts, the moment he starts talking, he falters again. “I’m—I couldn’t—I, I s—”

Air whistles out through his teeth in shaking increments, a steady rhythm of ss-ss-ss-ss, until he can’t possibly exhale further, and he heaves in a new breath, tries to keep it under control. Pressing his shoulder to the floor, he manages to push himself up, settling with his back to the van’s wall, now closer to eye level with Davin, who watches him, silent, calculatingalmost. Conrad draws his tied legs up in front of him, and that feels safer somehow, like a barricade between him and his captor.

“Wh-what do you want?” he croaks. “I’ll give you anything, whatever you want, I’ll g-give, I’ll give it to you…"

“Yeah, listen—”

“And I won’t tell anyone, I swear, I won’t tell, won’t go to the, the police or, or to anyone. I’ll lie about it, I’ll say I fell, or, or, or I got mugged and didn’t see your faces, didn’t see anyth—”

Davin claps his hands. Once, loudly, a crack so out of the blue, it makes Conrad jump. He stays frozen, staring wide-eyed.

“Sorry,” Davin mutters. “Just—listen to me, alright? Deep breaths, you’re okay. I know you’re scared, and you have every reason to be. That,” he points at Conrad’s broken nose, “wasn’t supposed to happen. Renee got carried away, and it wasn’t part of the plan. We’re not gonna kill you, if that’s what you’re thinking. You have my word, you’re not gonna die.”

Conrad swallows, and tries to keep his voice somewhat even. “So you’re… holding me for, for ransom…? Is that what this is? A ransom?”

Shifting to kneel in a more comfortable position, Davin grimaces and shakes his head. “If I’m patient with you, you can be a little patient with me, yeah? We’ll get to the whys eventually, but right now, there’s something else we need to discuss.”

There’s something in Davin’s voice that makes Conrad’s stomach sink, a subtle twist of the kind tone, perhaps, a hint that whatever comes next, it won’t be quite so comforting.

Prompted by his silence, Davin continues, voice even. “We’re switching cars. That can happen one of two ways: You willingly stay quiet through the whole thing, or I’m gonna put the gag back in your mouth and wait until you’ve passed out to transfer you. Either option, I get my way, so it’s up to you.”

Bitter at his own gullibility, Conrad feels a wince flash across his face, and new tears burn in his eyes at the mere thought of choking again. “I’ll st—” he whispers unevenly, and clears his throat. “I’ll stay quiet.”

“Is that a promise?”

Conrad wearily eyes the bloodstained cloth. “Y-yeah.”

Smirking, Davin stretches back to grab one of the bottles that’ve rolled into a far corner, and starts fumbling with the cap. Plastic creaks and taps under fingers getting white from pressing so hard, and it continues until he lets out a frustrated grunt and mutters under his breath, “These fucking lids…” He fishes the knife back out from his pocket, and Conrad feels himself tense up when he flicks it open. Davin doesn’t seem fazed by his fear.

“I want to make it clear,” he says slowly, “that if you do decide to scream - that will get you nothing. We’re on a dock several hundred meters from the nearest inhabited building. At best, someone calls the cops, but we’ll be long gone by the time anyone arrives. At worst…”

Running the edge of the knife around the bottle’s neck, Davin carefully rotates it as he goes. There’s a strange grotesqueness to the way the plastic splits and gapes open, and although Conrad can’t smell the bottle’s contents, he can still somehow taste the sharp chlorine of a strong chemical cleaner.

“Well, come to think of it,” Davin mutters. “‘At worst’ implies it’s avoidable with the right odds, but it’s more of an inevitability. I’ll know you’re the disingenuous type, and I won’t be happy about it.” With a final twist of the knife, Davin pops the lid off and palms it – then hesitates. He looks up, thumb running over the cut edge of the bottleneck. “Your name is Conrad, right?”

Conrad manages to tear his gaze from the knife to meet Davin’s eyes. One raised brow over eyes kept empty enough to reveal nothing, and his tone is casual, if only mildly curious. He doesn’t look like a man in the middle of threatening someone else into silence, and something about that makes it so, so much worse.

“It is. Renee read me your driver’s license,” Davin says, tilting his head to the side. “Tell me, Conrad. Do you want to know what I’ll do if I find out you’ve lied to my face?”

Conrad quickly shakes his head, prompting a small nod from the other.

“Ignorance is bliss, eh? Good. Let’s keep you blissful, then.”

With that, Davin tosses the lid to the side, hitting a window in the van’s back door with a tap. A few seconds pass before the door pops open, and Renee sticks his head inside, a cigarette burned almost to the filter dangling from his lips. “Yessir?”

Davin’s eyes shoot from Renee to the cigarette to the yellow warning label on the side of the bottle in his hand depicting a black flame. He looks about ready to say something when he stops himself, winces, and silently shakes his head. “You carry him over,” he says. “I’ll take care of the van.”

“Deal,” Renee grins, and the cigarette jumps a little, sending flakes of ash floating to catch in his jacket. As his eyes trail anew from the zip ties around Conrad’s ankles, to the bound wrists behind his back, to the flakes of blood and still-drying tear tracks trailing lines down his skin, a wicked smile dawns on Renee’s face, and when their eyes finally meet - he winks. “You heard the man. Let’s go.”

It takes effort, forcing his frozen body to move, and when he does, it’s stiff, and more than a little shaky. Conrad digs his heels into the floor and slowly drags himself toward the doors where Renee stands, expectantly waiting for him. He struggles to keep himself upright, wincing as the ties around his wrists make it difficult and painful. On his final stretch, Renee spits out the cigarette butt and reaches into the van to grab his ankle and drag him forward, and Conrad lets out a yelp as the sudden, quick forward pull makes him tip over, sliding toward the doors on his side.

“Whoops,” Renee says with a snicker. He yanks Conrad’s legs out over the edge, hauling him upright by the front of his jacket. With a casually humorous glint in his eyes, he grabs Conrad’s chin and forces his head to look back in Davin’s direction, tapping his bloodied cheek with the tip of his finger. “Hey, what about the tape?”

Davin shakes his head. “I think he got the message.”

Renee lets Conrad go, brow furrowed for several moments, until his expression suddenly lightens and he breaks out in boyish laughter.

And Conrad ducks his head.

AO3 / Masterlist / Next

[vampiredecay]

Hey dear, i have a weird request but could you do a Lost boys X reader or Marko x reader Where all the boys (Marko Dwayne David paul Micheal all of them or just marko Dwayne David paul) see the reader re put bandages on his scar but the scars would be like carls in the walking dead and they see the scar ( i wonder how they would react to it?)

thank you so much for the request, sorry it took me a hot second to post! its longer than my other stories on here so far, so i hope that makes up for it. i also hope that you like what i did with it!! its angsty in the beginning but it gets fluffier <3

Scar Tissue

rating: teen

word count: 2,908

tags/warnings: swearing, mentions of being in pain, mentions of scars, mentions of being in the hospital, harassment, fluff, the boys being sweet, the lost boys x male!reader, male pronouns used, poly!lost boys

--

You could have never predicted how your life had gone so sideways. Not in a million years- before the accident, you were pretty much an average joe. Decent family, decent friends, decent existence. Nothing was ever really exciting, but you were okay with that. Life didn’t need to be crazy or unpredictable to be fulfilling.

But, you supposed, the price of being a living being on this Earth was that life could never truly be predictable at all. It couldn’t be, with the events that followed you losing your eye, and pretty much all normalcy you grew to live with.

It was extremely painful at first, physically and emotionally. You had lost a vital part of your body, and you could never get it back. It was disorienting, and uncomfortable, like an itch you could never scratch. The skin around your eye was incredibly sensitive, the lightest movement or touch sending shockwaves of burning pain through your nerves. Tears were always on the brink of spilling over anytime you or a doctor had to replace medicine and bandages to keep the wound clean.

In the end, the pain wasn’t the worst part about it. No, you could deal with the pain. The people in your life, however, suddenly changing and disappearing was way, way worse.

Friends slowly stop coming to visit you at the hospital, calls go unanswered, gazes averted. Your parents supported you, of course. They still loved you, and you knew nothing could change that. But sometimes even they got this look in their eyes, something a little too close to pity.

It was an incredibly lonely first couple of months.

But the loneliness and the heartache slowly healed, along with your eye. The scarring lightened and stopped bleeding, and your skin no longer felt as if it was on fire every time you turned your head. You still had to keep it under wraps, to keep out infection, and to keep other people from seeing how bad it was. You knew that people seeing the bandages would cause looks and questions, but it was better than people actually seeing the wound, which would surely cause reactions that you didn’t have the patience to deal with.

As you were healing, you were also relearning how to do things in your daily life. Your sight and depth perception drastically changed, so things like walking and doing simple tasks had to be practiced all over again. You had to take things slow, which you hated, you couldn’t leave the house very often until you got used to walking without bumping into things.

The first place you wanted to go once you were able to was the boardwalk. It was one of your favorite places in the world, so loud and full of life and happiness. It was absolutely what you needed after all of the hardship you had to deal with lately.

So one night, when it got late and your parents turned in for the night, you went out and caught a bus to the nearest stop to the boardwalk. From there you walked until you saw the bright lights and heard loud screaming and chatter and laughter. You smiled as you took in the sight of the people and the games and the rides, it felt like you were breathing for the first time in months.

The first thing you did was buy a big thing of cotton candy and a soda, roaming the boardwalk and consuming sugary goodness. As you walked, you noticed that some people were giving you looks, but you ignored them, focused on just having a good time and living your best life.

Walking around for long periods of time still gave you a bit of trouble, you were starting to get a little dizzy, so after a bit you sat down on a bench to give your brain time to catch up with the rest of your body. This was nice too, you got to relax and just watch people for a bit. There were all sorts of people out tonight, families and tourists and couples, teenagers and surf nazis and locals, all in one spot, the heart of Santa Carla, enjoying the wonders it had to offer.

There was a group of guys that caught your eye, though. You didn’t mean to stare at them; in fact, you knew not to, you’ve seen them around the boardwalk in the past, and heard the rumors surrounding them. But, in your defense, it has been a while since you’ve been there, and you forgot how magnetic they can be.

They were milling near their motorbikes, smoking and talking and lightly harassing anyone that happened to walk by. Three blondes and two brunettes- had there always been five of them? You could have sworn there was only four- all dressed in black and leather, looking dangerous and infuriatingly hot. You would have noticed more, but by accident you make eye contact with one of the guys and you rip your attention away from them.

Shit, god damnit, you’ve been spotted now. There’s only one thing to do, and it’s to walk quickly away and hope you don’t run into them later.

You get up too quickly though, and you stumble straight into a man walking with who you assume to be his girlfriend.

“Hey! Watch it-” He starts to say, pissed off that someone ran into him, but then he takes a good look at you and lets out a laugh. “Oh, I guess you really can’t, huh?”

The girlfriend lets out a giggle, smirking behind a hand over her lips. You mumble out an apology and try to go around them, but the man blocks your path. “What was that? C’mon man I can’t hear you, you mute too or something?”

You look up at him and scoff, anger building inside you. Who the hell did this asshole think he was? Without thinking, you say “Yeah, real funny and original. Bet lines like that really score you in bed.”

There’s some laughter around you, making you realize that a crowd has been drawn. The man’s face turned bright red, his mouth curved downward into a frown and he got up in your space. “Oh, so you’re a tough guy now, huh?” He pushed you in the chest, making you stumble back. You get dizzy and almost fall, but you don’t hit the ground. Instead, your back hits someone's chest. You freeze, then slowly turn your head, to see a guy with spiky platinum blond hair staring at the man who pushed you. The four other guys with him were also there, glaring at the crowd of people just watching.

You turned to look back at the man who pushed you, all the color was drained from his face. His girlfriend was clutching his arm, trying to pull the man away but his feet were glued in place. The blond behind you smirked.

“There a problem here?”

The silence that swept over was deafening and unnatural, it was like all of the boardwalk was holding its breath waiting for an answer. The man swallowed, eyes gliding over the gang behind you, not focusing on one spot. “N-No, man. No problem.”

You let out a breath as you watch the man and his girlfriend back up, and the crowd starts to disperse. The man behind you gives a shark-like grin and chuckles deep. “Wonderful.” He says, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you away. You can hear your heart thundering in your chest as you walk away with them, listening as they laugh and push each other.

“N-No m-man, n-no p-problem!” One of the blonds says in a mocking wavering tone, “What a fuckin pussy!” The gang starts laughing again, it feels like the ground underneath your feet is rumbling from the force of it. After a little more walking, they stop in front of a different bench and gesture for you to sit down.

“Take a load off, little man!” You snorted as you sat down, grinning despite the slight lightheadedness. Two of the blonds sat next to you, one with a wild mane of hair and a smile to match swinging an arm behind you. You look at all of them, nodding your head a little bit. “Thank you,” You said softly, “You didn’t have to do that.”

The spiky blond shrugged his shoulders and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Y/N” You said, and he nodded. “I’m David. This is Dwayne, Michael,” He gestured to the two brunettes, one with curly hair and sunglasses hanging off his shirt, the other with longer straight hair and not wearing a shirt at all. “And that’s Paul and Marko.” The two blonds next to you do little waves, the one that wasn’t right next to you has curly hair and a jacket so cluttered with patches it must be heavy.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N!” Paul says, nudging his knee against yours, making you smile more. “It’s good to meet you guys, too.”

After the introductions were out of the way, David offered for you to hang out with them, but you declined, saying you needed to get home. At that David offered a ride instead. You hesitated, but accepted in the end. Riding behind him on his bike was terrifying and exhilarating, you clutched his middle tightly the whole way home, but the blond didn’t seem to mind.

“You should come to the boardwalk more often,” David said as you got off his bike, now at your house. He smiled at you like he was letting you in on a secret, “We’re there all night.”

From that point on, you couldn’t ignore the boy's siren call. The next couple days you would take the bus over, wander until you found them, and then do stupid shit with them all night. A lot of it consisted of them terrorizing people who even looked at them funny, but you didn’t find it scary anymore. You found it powerful. It was the best you’ve felt in a long time.

It wasn’t long, though, until the questions started. You supposed you should have seen it coming, but hanging out with them honestly made you forget.

“So Y/N,” Paul said one night, it was just you and him and Marko. You were leaning against the railing in front of the carousel, waiting for the others to get back from getting food. When you looked over at Paul, he asked “What’s up with the eye?”

Marko punched Paul's shoulder, giving him a look, and Paul threw his hands up dramatically. “What? I don’t mean anything by it, I’m just curious.”

You sighed a little bit, mulling over what to say. You weren’t mad that he asked, you just hated talking about it. “There’s nothing much to say.” You said after a couple seconds of silence. “I was in an accident. Got fucked up. End of story.” Paul and Marko both nodded, taking the hint not to ask anymore. The taller blond wrapped an arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head. A silent apology. You smiled a little and leaned into him, letting him know it was okay.

After that, David, Dwayne and Michael arrived back with food, and once everyone settled down at a nearby table to eat, David proposed that they go back to their place after eating. You were nervous to accept, but they were cool guys so far, so you didn’t see the harm in it.

Before you could voice your opinion, however, a sudden cold, wet substance suddenly splashed all over your face. You yelped and got up, trying to shake off whatever the fuck it was, when you heard laughter getting distant. Suddenly, the boys were all getting up and shouting, someone was holding onto your shoulders, and when you wiped at your eye you could see it was Dwayne. He looked absolutely livid.

“What the fuck just happened?” You asked, looking down at yourself, disgusted to find that your clothes were soaked now too. The brunette gripped your shoulders a little tighter, not enough to hurt but the pressure was there, “Some people have a death wish.”

You would have asked him to elaborate, but then something dawned on you. “Oh shit!” You exclaim, hand going up to your bandaged eye. “Fuck, I have to get home, I have to change this, fuck!” Dwayne's eyes widened a little, and he nodded, calling attention to the other boys, who were all talking angrily to each other. They all looked over, and when they heard that you needed to change your bandage, they all hurried over. “Our place is closer. Michael, take Y/N to get the supplies he needs. We’ll meet back up at the hotel.” David all but commanded, and everyone seemed to be in agreement. The rest of the boys took off on their bikes while Michael steered you in the direction of a small convenience store on the edge of the boardwalk.

“You okay?” Michael asked, worry written all over his face. You nodded at him, though in reality you were feeling gross, sticky and anxious as hell. You thought it was so nice of them to help you out, really, but you knew this meant that they would probably end up seeing your eye. Seeing your scars. The thought alone was enough to make you slightly nauseous. The brunette could tell that something more was going on with you, so he gently took your hand as you approached the shop. You looked at him, and he smiled at you, squeezing your hand gently. You gave a light smile back and looked away.

After buying the necessary wrap, tape and some bottles of water, you both get on Michaels bike and ride off to their place. You were just thinking about it now, David had said the word “hotel”. Did they stay at an actual hotel?

It didn’t take you long to figure out. When you arrived at the hotel, that was really more of a cave, you were in absolute awe of the place. It was massive and beautiful, you couldn’t believe these guys actually lived here. You had so many questions, but now that you were here, they would have to come after.

Michael led you over to a slightly dusty couch and you sat down, holding the items in your hands nervously. Everyone was sitting around you, you had a very attentive audience that you didn’t really want.

“Is there, uh, a private place I could do this?” You asked, and your heart sank when they shook their heads. “Most of the rooms collapsed when the earthquake hit. There’s not much left, and the parts that remain are too dangerous to go into.” Marko explained, and you sighed. You supposed there was no getting around it.

“Okay, well. Just, don’t say anything, okay?” You got out the bandage wrap from its packaging and took a deep breath. Slowly, you unwrapped the dirty bandage from around your face, revealing your eye to the boys.

All of their facial expressions changed, some more surprised than others. David looked the least shocked, eyes of steel trained on your face, just looking. Dwayne and Michael looked a little more concerned, Michael especially, but otherwise they tried to keep their expressions neutral. Paul and Marko looked intrigued, if anything. Like they wanted to ask questions but were reigning themselves in.

Overall, they kept quiet, and they didn’t shy away from your appearance, so you counted your blessings as you cleaned and dressed your eye as quickly as possible. When you were all finished, Marko and Paul launched themselves at you, sitting next to you with wide smiles on their faces.

“Dude! You’re so badass!” Paul shouted, and Marko was quick to agree. “You should get an eyepatch or something. Crank up the badass factor.”

You laughed at their antics, blushing a bit at their words. You could tell that they really thought you were actually cool. It warmed your chest and you smiled as they went on about eyepatch ideas.

Eventually, David dragged the two away, saying it's getting late and they should probably take you home now. You nodded in agreement, letting out a yawn. You didn’t realize just how tired you were.

Dwayne was the one who ended up taking you home, the ride was a lot gentler and smoother than it usually was, which you were grateful for. When you arrived at your house, and you got off his bike, Dwayne pulled on your arm before you could leave. You looked at him, confused, but then he got off his bike, and he stood in front of you, and he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. You froze, heart pounding. Dwayne pulled away and let go, giving you a small smile. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard as he got back on his bike. “Yeah- you too.” You stumbled out, making him chuckle. He then rode back off into the night, and you were left stunned on your front lawn.

You didn’t know what would happen now, you had absolutely no clue when it came to the gang of bikers. But you found yourself at peace with it.

Life could never be predictable anymore. And you were more than okay with that.

[glassartpeasants]

The Test

Overhaul x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, death, mega angst, pregnancy, premature birth, this hurt to write but thats okay

Gotta get the sad vibes out of thy body. Lets all be sad together

~~~

‘Okay, It’ll be okay. Just tell him! He’s your husband for christ sakes!’ You thought as you paced back and forth inside your room. You were afraid. You loved your husband you really did but sometimes he even made you afraid. 

Kai barely showed his emotions and when he did it was a miracle. Hell you barely just started getting intimate. You’ve only had intercourse 2 times you’ve guys been together. You’ve guys been together for 4 years. You understood his dislike of germs, and you never wanted to make him uncomfortable. So you just kept your wishes for intimacy to yourself. 

His kisses or hugs were almost just as rare as sex. You would tell him you loved him and he’d grunt back at you. You knew it was his language of saying i love you back but sometimes you just wished he’d say it back. You were only human after all. You wished for attention and some sort of love contact.

The last time you guys had sex he wore a condom. You didn’t mind really, it’s not like you were trying for a baby. But out of all the times that the condoms could have failed you,

This was the day of absolute fuckery.

You glared at the positive pregnancy test, hoping it would just disappear. But unfortunately problems like this don’t just disappear. So which leads to where you are now, a woman who is absolutely fucked if she can’t figure out a way to tell her husband she’s pregnant.

“Come on (y/n), you’ve got this. It can’t be that bad right?” You say trying to convince yourself. Kai was very difficult when he wanted to be. So what if he thinks you cheated on him?! You’d be killed on the spot! You wouldn’t be able to even explain, he probably won’t even let you. He had a habit of taking over you.

You sat on the bed as you rubbed your eyes. Trying to hide the tears that threatened to spill. You cried into your hands. This shouldn’t be so hard. He’s your husband. Then why were you so afraid? Was there a possibility that you could tell him without speaking? But how would you-

-the internet

You jumped from your spot on the bed and grabbed your personal computer and began looking at mom websites. Cool pregnancy ideas to tell your husband. You clicked on the link and saw the best ideas there. Get a mug and put the words you're pregnant at the inside of the bottom of the cup. Nah. Gift him baby clothes and let him put the puzzle pieces together. No thats stupid. Get a teddy bear and sew him holding a present, put the test in there and give it to him. Ah fuck it why not?

So from that search alone you RAN out the door and near the closest place where they had teddy bears and presents. You ran as fast as your legs could endure. Whipping your head from aisle to aisle. Looking for the fuzzy stuffy.

You go to the baby aisle and see the best teddy for the job. You quickly grab it as you go to the next aisle for the present. You had picked out a small box that would just fit the test. You smile as you jump up and down in joy. You didn’t know when you became so giddy. Not even an hour ago you were stressed to the point of wanting to hit your head against the door. You take a deep breath in before turning on your heels to pay.

~~~

1 Day Later

You looked at the teddy bear in your hands while sweating. What happened to confident (y/n) yesterday? Oh yeah she left when she had a fight with her husband, a bad one at that too. It was really bad. But you couldn’t stop now. You had to tell him. Better sooner than later. You take a deep breath as you hugged the teddy closer as you let out a sigh. Looking at Kai’s office door you let your hand let out a fragile knock. 

“Come in.” You slowly push the door open, looking in, you see Kai with two of his henchmen. Chronostasis and Nemoto. You didn’t talk to them much but you guys had pretty civil conversations.

“Kai I need to talk to you, without them here please?” You say as you try to stand your ground. You don’t really want your husband's friends to know what’s going on in your guys personal affairs.

“Fine. Chrono, Nemoto, leave.”

“Yes boss.” They leave the room just leaving you and your stonic husband.

“What do you even want?” He says in a voice that makes you question doing this but you go up to him and hand him the teddy bear. Your face beet red as you try to figure out his emotion. Especially when he opened the present.

“Is this a positive pregnancy test?” He says in an emotionless manner, but you couldn’t help but hear the bit of anger in his voice as well.

“Yes, I don’t know what you want to do or-”

“You cheated on me?” Wait what the fuck?

“What! How could you say that!” You say in offense. 

“I wear protection, woman! There's no way I could have gotten you pregnant!”

“Condoms aren’t even 100% effective! It could have busted or had a whole in it!” You yell back. You were offended. You were his wife, how dare he accuse you of such an act! Considering he was so interested in medical things you would think that he would know that condoms aren’t 1005 effective!

“You slut! I give you everything and you go out and cheat on me!”

“I didn’t fucking cheat asshole! God after years of being with you, your immediate reaction was I’m cheating?! Why am I with you if you don’t even trust me!”

“Leave this house! We’re over!” 

“Are you fucking serious?! You won’t even consider it!” You scream at him.

“Leave or else!” His ember eyes looking at you with the intent to kill. You knew that if you wanted to live you had to leave. Tears rush down your eyes as you turn around quickly before swinging open the door. You turn around to him one last time before screaming at the top of your lungs

“I can’t believe I married a cold hearted monster like you! I hope you die alone!” And with those words, you left. Never stepping foot inside that base as long as you lived.

~~~

5 Months Later

“This sucks actually ass.” You growl as you walk around your apartment. It wasn’t the best but it would do for the time being. You got it cause your friend was friends with the owner. All you had to do was take care of the garden they had outside. They wanted to make it eye catching so more people would move in. 

Understandable.

You held your stomach as the urge to pee came over you. Due to the fact a literal baby is growing inside you, it's pushing against your bladder. Kinda rude. You're carrying this baby and it's just gonna do you like this? That’s some bullshit man.

You groan as you continue to sweep your hardwood floor in your small living area. It was much better than living with Kai I guess. You never wanted to see his stupid gorgeous face again.

You look up at the area around you, admiring your work on cleaning the entire apartment. You smirk to yourself before feeling a kick in your stomach. You hold your stomach as you take a breather. Looking back up you notice a familiar golden shine coming from a little dish you kept by the door where you put coins in. 

Walking towards it you notice that its your old wedding ring from you old marriage. You guys never really got divorced so it was still official by law. Annoying yes but you didn’t want to even be in a room with that bastard.

Grabbing the ring you look at it and think how much it would be worth. A final fuck you to the mind that shattered you heart. 

Grabbing it and putting on a coat you start walking out the door and head out the door. Going to a pawn shop around the corner. You would be able to get a little extra cash for the baby.

~~~

“Yes sir I would like to sell this ring.” You place the ring on the counter and slide it over to the employee. His eyes widen as he motions you to come closer.

“This is a yakuza style ring. A Shie Hasssakai kind of ring. Where did you get this?” The man said. He sounded like he was worried. 

“Oh my shit husband gave me this when he proposed to me. Then kicked me out saying I cheated when I told him I was pregnant. Like sorry that a condom is not 100% effective.” You say soundly. The man looks at you with wide eyes. You didn’t really care at the moment because the feeling of lightheadedness was weighing you down. 

“Ma’am are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Before you could say anything you felt a wet feeling coming from in between your legs. Looking down you see that your water broke.

“MA’AM SHOULD WE CALL 119?!” You shook your head up and down before falling down on the ground, the world seems to be growing black around you.

~~~

Ring ring ring

“Hello?”

“Yes Overhaul sir? This is the guys from the pawn store downtown, we have a ring that seemingly belongs to your ex wife.”

“And you're calling me why?”

“Uh...because she was just carried away in an ambulance. She didn’t look very well, boss. My girlfriend had her kid recently and she wasn’t near as sickly looking as she was.” Overhaul couldn’t help but have his chest tighten up a bit. His heart was beating faster and he could feel it. 

“Do you want to know the hospital she’s at Overhaul?”

“Not right now.” Before Kai could even think about what he was doing he hung up the phone and moved his wrist back to the papers. You cheated on him, you’ll be fine. He rolled his eyes but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the sinking feeling in his stomach. 

Like if he had just made a mistake he would live to regret.

~~~

Kai ran as fast as he could towards the hospital where you stayed. They had sent him a call asking him to come down so he could see his kid. When he said that it wasn’t his, they told him that the DNA matched up perfectly with his. 

Kai felt a painful sting in his chest as he got closer and closer to the hospital. He was thinking on all the ways to apologize to you. And if his pride would allow him to apologize. 

His head rang with the words of what the doctor told him,

***

“Is this Kai Chisaki?”

“Yes it is, why?”

“Well we have you as an emergency contact for miss (y/n) (l/n).”

“Take me off.”

“Excuse me sir?”

“I said take me off.”

“Well I can’t take you off when we called you to tell you that your wife is in critical condition.”

“What?!” Kai tried to not show much worry but he couldn’t help it. No matter how much he told himself that he didn’t love you, thoughts of your smile rushed back into his head. Your laugh. Your everything calmed him down. You were his angel. 

“Unfortunately her water broke early, leaving her to have an early birth and her body was not able to handle it. Your daughter, who we did a dna test on is in the ICU (intensive care unit). Her being born 2 months early is having complications breathing.” Kai couldn’t say a world before he rushed out of the door and into your hospital,

***

He burst through the hospital doors and walked up to the nurse as he panted from running. A look of desperation in his golden eyes.

“Where is my wife and daughter? Mrs. Chisaki?” He said in a moment of panic. He hated the look that the nurse gave him as she told him where to find your room. Before he could run into your room a doctor stopped him by grabbing his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to inform you sir but, the complications your daughter had to breath were to severe. We couldn’t save her. I’m deeply sorry.” Kai looked at the doctor. Not wanting to believe a word he had just said. He felt his hands tremble as he grabbed the doctors shoulders. Tears streaming down his face,

“What about (y/n)? Is she okay at least?!” Desperation in his voice. He can’t lose you. He already lost his daughter that he refused to believe was his, now to late to say hello or I love you. He had to see you. Just to hear you sweet voice at least one more time-

“I’m sorry Chisaki. She was pronounced dead 5 minutes before you came in.” No, no. He refused to believe it. He ran to your room, praying you were still here. You needed to be here. He needed to say he was sorry. That he loved you.

once he burst through your room door his worse fears were confirmed, and what the doctor was true. You no longer a heartbeat monitor. Your chest never moved to show some sort of breathing pattern. Kai ran to you holding your face in his hands. He put your forehead to his as his tears landed on your lashes.

“Please...wake up. I’m begging you. I already lost our daughter, I can’t afford to lose you to. Please my angel. Come back.....” Kai grabbed your limp body and pulled you close to his chest, shaking as he started sobbing uncontrollably. His whole world seemed to stop as he felt his only sort of light in his life be blown out. He cried into your neck as he collapsed onto his knees.

“Please, I don’t wanna be alone.”

[minstrivia]

can you do a smut/fluff volleyball player!jungkook au where y/n is at one of his games where he loses and she tries to make it up to him in the locker room? ;)

i hope you like it. xx

in which he’s a sore loser…

Admittedly, Y/N had seen it happen before it actually did. The match was halfway done when Taehyung had to substitute off after landing on his ankle wrong and spraining it. And after that fiasco, it had been the other teams turn to serve and well, with a barely average player taking Taehyung’s place, no matter how hard they tried, it was clearly a losing battle. The ball just kept falling and falling and falling on Jungkook’s side, and before they knew it the scores were 25 - 18 to the other team.

Which leaves Y/N the job of somehow cheering up a very pissed off Jungkook whose shoulders are slumped as he sits on a bench, head in hand muttering to himself. She knows how much this match meant to him and she knows how self-depreciating he gets. He’ll blame himself and constantly nitpick at things she knows he couldn’t have done anyway.

“Kook, you’re beating yourself too much about this,” She says using a gentle hand to stroke small circles across his naked back; his top being the first thing he exposed of as soon as he stormed his way in here. “Honestly, I think you guys did really well.”

Jungkook scoffs, throwing his head back. That match was meant to be theirs for the win, theirs to finally prove that they’re better than their longtime rival team. And they blew it. They fucking blew it. God, he should have volleyed the ball that one time instead of blocking it straight. And he should have— Fuck, he could have done a whole lot better.

“Yeah well, clearly not well enough.”

Y/N releases an exasperated sigh. She knows Jungkook and she knows that when he gets into one of these moods it’s pretty hard to get him out of it. But it’s not entirely impossible and she doesn’t think twice before acting on the thought.

“How ‘bout—” She slings a leg over him, settling in to straddle his lap so they’re face to face. She hooks her arms around his neck, lips moving to brush over his ears and tug at the shell of them. “—I suck you off now…then when we get home, I’ll let do whatever you want to me.”

“Depends, is it out of pity?”

“No,” She stretches, rolling her lip between her teeth. “You know how much I love sucking your cock.”

Jungkook grips at the smalls of her waist, tugging her closer and nuzzling his face into her neck. He definitely knows how much she loves sucking him off, she’ll do it anywhere if he let her and she always wants to. And it sounds tempting— really tempting. “You’ll let me do anything I want because I lost my game baby?”

She nods, her lips everted in a pout as she rakes her fingers through his dishevelled raven locks and he chuckles, sucking and biting her skin into his mouth.

“You’ll even let me fuck you here?” He asks, lips curving into a smile at the flourishing magenta on the surface. “Where anyone can walk in?”

“Shit—” Y/N pulls back eyeing him cautiously. They’ve done things publicly before but never actually gone the whole way. “—are you serious Kook?”

He nods. “Pretty fucking serious.”

Y/N’s lips screw into a grimace, brows knitted in a frown. He does look serious, his eyes are slightly hooded and she can physically feel his excitement about the whole idea. God, she really wouldn’t do this for anyone else. But it’s Jungkook and she always has that ever-growing feeling of wanting to please him.

“People could walk in…” She trails off. It’s a last-ditch attempt to change his mind and it’s weak, to say the least. It doesn’t even sound like she’s that bothered by it and Jungkook’s already smirking.

“Love you baby—” He runs his palms down her thighs, slipping them underneath her skirt, from the knee to the fleshy insides. “—always so good to me you are.”

He presses his lips against hers impatiently, kissing her as if he’s been starved and he can’t get enough. It’s frantic and intoxicating, her fingers tangled into his hair as she pulls him impossibly closer. Her hips rock against his ardently, her barely clothed core rubbing against the thin texture of his shorts right above his hardened length. And they’re both moaning into the others mouth at the feeling.

“God, I love you too,” she breathes as his lips travel down her skin, from her jaw to her neck to her collarbone leaving sloppy open-mouthed kisses in his wake.

She smells absolutely amazing as well, a pleasant sweet smelling fragrance that he loves on her. He hums, his fingers dancing up her arms, quickly hooking the small strings of her vest in his clasp and drawing it down.

“Gonna fuck you so good—” he murmurs, his mouth-watering, completely entranced by the sight of her. Her habit of not wearing a bra under most of her clothing means her breasts are quickly plump and exposed for him, nipples beautifully erect. And he’s quick to capture one between his lips, sucking and flicking his wet tongue against the bud making her shudder as he rolls the other in his fingers. “—fuck you so rough and hard, the other team will hear you.”

Y/N’s short of breath, back arched into Jungkook’s touch as the fervid desire of his fantasies start to creep up. The low babble of incoherent conversation can be heard from just outside the door but she doesn’t care anymore, she just wants to please Jungkook.

She digs her nails into the tops of his thighs, her head thrown back as she continues to grind against him. “Want your cock in my mouth—” she mewls with a light gasp, she can feel her wetness pooling crudely in her underwear and she’s pretty sure by his grunts and tightened grip he can feel it too. “—Want to be a good girl and taste it.”

Jungkook curses under his breath. He can’t help but think he’s hit the jackpot with Y/N, to get someone so willing to satisfy him and allow him to release his frustration the way he wants. He definitely needs her forever. “Get on your knees baby.”

Y/N slides off his lap, her knees scraping against the grainy locker room floor and she knows they’ll end up chafed but the movement of Jungkook towering over her and tugging his shorts and boxers down distracts her. Instead, her mind is entirely focused on his cock, it’s thick and it’s long, the tip a flaming pink as it leaks with pre-cum and she shuffles closer, her hands encircling him and lowering him onto the warm heat of her tongue. She glances up at him through fluttering eyelashes, flicking small teasing kitten licks across his slit.

“Fuck baby, no— no teasing,” he groans with a sharp intake of air, squeezing his eyes shut and tipping his head back to collect himself. And when he opens his eyes again, she’s looking at him wide-eyed, blinking slowly as if she’s waiting for his instruction. God, she’s beautiful. “Go on baby, suck it for me. Show me how good you are.”

Y/N licks her lips, running her tongue along the underside of his length before sucking him into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing around him almost immediately. She strokes him eagerly, her hands circling around as she swirls him in her mouth, head bobbing up and down with it. It feels so fucking good and his eyes squeeze shut momentarily, but Jungkook needs more, he needs to be in control.

“No hands. No hands,” he rushes out, gathering all her hair in one and bunching it up close to her scalp. “Need to fuck your mouth.”

And he doesn’t wait for a response before driving his cock and burying himself bit by bit into the slickness of her mouth. Her jaw slackens taking in all of him until she’s choking, the tip of his cock hitting the deep back of her throat as she forces herself to breathe through her nose.

“Christ, you’re so fucking good at this baby, so used to my cock ain’t you?” He pulls back from her and she’s panting heavily for air, strings of spit trailing and connecting her still to his cock. It’s such a lewd and rousing sight, it sends a shiver of satisfaction through him and he’s pumping himself into her again and again.

There’s tears prickling at the corner of Y/N’s eyes as she swallows around him, the lightheadedness of not being able to breathe properly and the fire building low in her abdomen craving her release all proving to be too overwhelming for her. She digs her nails into his thighs successfully breaking the surface of his skin but the all-consuming pleasure masks all the pain from him.

“Always— fuck!” He tautens his grip on her, the roots of her hair jerking sorely on her scalp but his words of praise spur her on further and she sucks him keenly with increased pressure. “You always suck me so fucking well.”

“Shit,” He growls. He needs to be inside her. His chest heaves forcibly as he watches Y/N with her eyes half-lidded, face flushed and her lips darkened and swollen. “Come on baby.”

Jungkook hauls her up by her underarms, shoving her urgently against the cool metal of the lockers, making quick work of getting rid of her underwear, hurling the ruined piece of cloth away cursively. Their lips meet frantically, tongues massaging together and she places her palms flat against his cheeks curving her body into his as his teeth tugs at her lip.

He hikes her skirt up her hips, his cock smoothing against her folds and he takes a hold of himself, slapping her wet cunt teasingly. “Fuck, you’re dripping baby, all for me yeah?”

Y/N whimpers, gently tugging the roots of his hair and nodding eagerly. “Ye— Yes.”

“And you’ll let me fuck you like the cock whore you are…wanting to please me.”

“God yes.”

“Good girl.” Jungkook rams himself to the hilt inside her roughly, letting out a guttural groan at the way her warm walls stretch so naturally around him. She feels so good and so tight like every other time he’s fucked her. And Y/N lets out a small shaky breath of relief.

“Shit Y/N, you feel so fucking good,” he husks, an arm anchoring around her waist and his other palm fondling the voluptuous flesh of her ass. “Gonna fuck you so well.”

“Please, Kook.”

Jungkook’s smile dangles on the corner of his lips before he begins to pummel into her with animalistic vigour, the lewd sounds of their skin slapping together at the feat. Y/N’s teeth are clamped down into her bottom lip, small moans she’s trying to hold back escaping every so and so. And he strikes her ass harshly.

“You’re normally a whiny bitch when I’m fucking you baby. Can’t keep you quiet,” He mutters. “So I know you’re louder than that.” Jungkook wants to properly hear every beautiful noise that leaves her lips when he fucks her, he wants the people outside to hear just how well he fucks her. And just how good she is for him.

Y/N throws her head back, skull thumping against the hard metal of the locker, and throbbing mutely. But it’s nothing against how full he’s making her feel, pounding into her again and again without pause. And she can’t even control her moans even if she wants to, her jaw stays flaccid as ear-splitting whines and sobs leave her trembling lips.

“Jesus Christ, you’re sexy—” He hisses at the sight of her rounded breasts bouncing with every thrust he makes. “—letting me pound into you like a fucking fuck toy.”

They’re both hot slippery with sweat, panting carnally and too lost in ecstasy to take notice of anything happening around them. Y/N’s way too overwhelmed, strands of hair sticking to her forehead, her eyes rolling back and the protruding locks digging into her back awkwardly. And Jungkook’s in pure wanton bliss pulling her hips down harder and angling his thrusts so they hit her cervix every time.

“Fuck, that feels so fucking good,” She cries out. “I need to come so so bad.”

“Yeah, baby? Gonna come all over my cock?”

Y/N’s eyes are locked shut and she’s unable to form a sentence. “Uh-huh.” Her legs writhe as she clenches around him erratically, convulsing in his arms as unadulterated euphoria takes over her body. It’s splintering and intense and it has her chanting Jungkook’s name like a mantra.

She’s being so loud and exactly how he wants. Fuck, he’s really hit the jackpot with Y/N. “Love you so fucking much baby,” he murmurs, his lips skimming across the planes of her skin between her breasts. “Love this pretty little cunt of yours.”

“Fuck Kook I really really love you—” She starts, her voice raw from all the screaming she’s been doing.

And he’s still driving into her forcefully, impaling her swollen pussy continuously. She’s clamping down on him hard enough that he’s delirious, his calculated pace becoming frenzied and messy as he chases his release.

“—really love your cock as well. Want you to fill me up with your come and have it running down my legs—”

“Christ, you’ve got a fucking dirty mouth on you baby,” He growls. But he absolutely loves it, he loves how easy it is for her to say these things to him. And he loves how it sounds when she’s saying it.

Y/N rasps for breath pressing her forehead against his as she looks into his smouldering brown eyes. “Just for you Kook, because I want everyone can know how well you fuck me.”

“Fuck.” Jungkook halts to a still, hips locked firmly against hers as he spills his seed inside her with a low groan, she’s milking him as well making sure spurt after spurt of his cum splatters against her walls and stuffs her full.

“God baby,” he husks, shifting her around in his arms, backing up and collapsing in a stupor on the bench. “You’re amazing you know that?”

Y/N’s arms are slumped over his shoulders, his cock still inside her as she hums with her eyes closed. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

[iphoenixrising]

Anything Angsty with Tim please. Recommendations, a fic anything, just feeling angsty .... (P.S doctor!tim is everything I've ever needed and looking forward to AOB part 5! You're amazing! Good luck with your day)

Hi babe. I’m sorry I kept this for so long, but I am def aware how much you love your pain (lol) and I had this idea spinning for a while, so… Yeah. But ah, I started thinking about this what-if from the Fracture Verse and it got really long and intense really fast>.Destroyed. Basically, the Titans take on theinvaders and most the JL mentors take their sidekicks for some R&R exceptfor Red Robin, who goes back to the Tower to take care of himself and Batmanjust kind of lets him go.Well, What-If B just wasn’t having any of that? What if shit started getting so real there and just ALL THE KNOWLEDGE DROP HAPPENS THERE INSTEAD OF A YEAR LATER O_O  Like, Tim has only been back from his little torture vacay and then the mind fuckery of the Insurgents and just!

So…here it is.

**

All-in-all, invading aliens are douche canoes.

Seriously.

Kon, Cassie, Bart, Rave, Gar, and Miguel are allin agreement with him on this one; especially after they were all trapped in anendless of loop of their worst moment, worst losses, worst failures while stuckin the alien’s most powerful weapon: the Mind Trap.

Sure, it had been his brilliant, last-ditch ideato jump ball to the wall into the trap, giving him the access to their neuralnet he needed to break the hive mentality and shut them down from the inside.

It doesn’t make anything, any of it, anybetter.

While he’s reliving Kon’s final moments, Raven’snear insanity at the hand of Trigon, Gar’s out-of-control power ripping hisbody apart, Cassie’s nearly fatal injuries, Bart’s last wishes while hecoughs up blood and bile, Miguel watching his beloved slip in a coma to hoveron the edge of death—

While he’s doing all of that, Cassie is gettinghit with a two week span of time he was tortured as Tim Drake, Kon is getting aload of life with a ruptured spleen bleeding out, Bart is feeling the contagiontaking hold to kill Batman’s sidekick, Gar is feeling the pain when he, Damian,and Dick are fighting it out after the Robin tunic was given away without hisconsent, and Miguel is feeling a whole lot of owfuck from that time theRed Hood tried giving him a second smile to worry about.

But what matters in the end? With Raven’s help,he’s able to keep part of his mind partitioned off from the alien device so hecan live through the atrocities of his team and hack the invader’s tech at thesame time—enough to put in his carefully recalibrated virus to take them thefuck down.

The trap faded around them once the virus his jackpotand breaks the neural-net connection, essentially making the invaders as potentas five-year olds throwing temper tantrums.

The following beat-down is enjoyableenough to make up for the hour spent reliving their worst moments and fears, inhaving those moments share with the rest of the team.

Well, not really.

But still, it’s a pretty sweet revenge fight.

As per usual, the JL appears out of the sky overSan Fran once the main body of fighting is pretty much over and done with.They’ve already started on clean-up with the local authorities when Superman,Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Zatanna, the Flash, Martian Manhunter, GreenArrow, and the Batman show up to take a look around at the nice pile of former mayhem.

It’s a surprise when Superman goes straight forSuperboy, eyes wide with concern, gripping the teen’s arms and asking quietlyif he’s been hurt, is he okay? Does he need to go to the fortress for somehealing time?

Wonder Woman is similarly concerned upon seeingWonder Girl wavering with some bloody patches on her elbows and ribs, but it’sthe younger hero’s eyes that really bother her. Without a word to therest of the Justice League, she takes one of her protégé’s arms around hershoulders and takes to the sky, intent on going to Paradise Island for theyounger to recuperate.

The Flash pretty much catches KF in anall-encompassing hug, blurting out how bad ass the younger speedster didon such terrible bad guys, how proud he is of what KF did here today,how they need to check him over before he collapses, and just let me feedand care for you, little bro.

Zatanna feels the sharp, aching throb of paincoming directly from Raven, the power radiating in shards of agony. As a fellow magic user, she has no qualms going directly to the youngerwoman and talking gently, almost begging her to come to New York and the quietroom set-up to negate magic and allow for healing.

Martian Manhunter, who’s known Gar for years,sees the strain, the trembling, flinching muscle, and just pulls theunresisting Beast Boy up in his arms with something spoken softly against themop of green hair, and flies off with a nod to the Bat.

Red Robin, beaten and abused, bloody andlimping, is glad the JL came for his team; the aftermath of this, the rawnessof it, the pain, would be a real bitch for them to deal with. They would needthe support and the time to come back from the slideshow of horrors they allexperienced.

He turns away from the members of his team beingtaken away by their mentors and friends, going up to Cyborg with a copy of thevirus he created to take the Insurgents down, and gave the JL membersome of the deets about the who, what, when, where, and why since, you know,invading aliens are usually part of the JL’s extensive repertoire ofass-kicking.

He finally puts the bo away now that clean-upcrews are underway and the invaders are being detained by A.R.G.U.S.  Withthe job over and done with, he pulls a grapple in one bloody hand, fires it atthe convenient rooftop to take to flight. Their part is done and AmandaWaller’s people can figure out what the fuck to do with the aliens.

At least from here, he’s close enough to theTower to get half-way there without doing more damage to his ribs and theterrible concussion—

(V)

—Vash the Stampede, hitting the back of hisbrain pan. He needs antibiotics and first-aid to stop the bleeding as well aspossible other bad shit, like septic shock, from setting in (since,really, it’s ass) before he starts up adding this little sitch to theTitan’s records. Then he needs to get back on the hunt for those curiouslywell-funded labs getting Black Market equipment, and—

The slight paf of another zip line shakeshim a little in mid-air.

The shadow of the Bat is coming right up behindhim, dark cape flaring out behind the older vigilante so Red can plainly seeB’s arm already out to grab him around the middle and pretty much pull himright the hell off his own zip line.

“What the f—!?”

But they’re moving through the air, his wordslost to the rushing wind while B’s line attaches to the Batplane flyingoverhead, retracting to bring them closer to the dark silhouette in the sky.

With his back pressed up against the yellow ovaland symbol on B’s chest (and once upon a fucking time this meantsomething, didn’t it?), and that arm like iron around him, Red’s lip curls upin a sneer, shouting over the Batplane’s engine making his hurting jaw achejust that much more.

“What the hell do you need?” The unsaid can’tthis wait? Is right there.

B leans in to talk against his ear while they’restill in mid-air, probably not at all aware of the ringing so loudanyway, “I don’t need anything. Hold on.”

But through the lightheadedness, the strikes ofvertigo, the nausea rising up, Red still clenches his aching jaw and focuses onhow the hold around his gut hurting this much proves he’s pulledsomething probably important.

“Then I don’t want a ride to the Tower. I’ve gotit” Because he does. He’s had to have his own back for the better partof two years, before and after he brought B back from being lost in time andleft the Bats to figure their own shit out. He’s stayed away from their familywhen he’s in Gotham, stayed back because, well, Replacement, right?

Even if he and Jason are on better terms than ‘letme show you the pointy end of this knife,’ he’s still not even fucking goingthere.

The exit door to the Batplane slides open rightunder the cockpit. “I’m not giving you a ride to Titan’s Tower.” Is B’srumbling reply as they close in.

“Not all of us can jump from one crisis to thenext. Give me 48 hours and then you can email me with whatever intel you’reafter.” But he’s blinking behind the whiteouts, feeling sick and fuzzy, theinjuries that apparently aren’t going to just wait a minute.

“I don’t need any intel, Tim,” B snapsout, seemingly angry at something.

Red is too far into the pain game to really givea fuck about more of this little back-and-forth with his former partner.“Then what the hell do you want?” He snaps back, gripping the armaround him at the wrist, pulling his secondary grapple for, you know, justin case.

(Well, it’s not like they’re on good termsor anything—B has a Robin, so what’s this all about?)

“Stop it. You’re going to fall,” the arms getstighter with his meddling, and Red gasps out a pained noise when somethingtender is squeezed right along with it. His upper body flops over B’s arm in anattempt to curl up against the pain.

He barely realizes they’re up through the doorand into the cockpit while the plane glides smoothly on auto-pilot. The minuteB’s arm falls away, he can brace himself on the control panel and try tobreathe without puking.

Gloved hands turning him makes him jerk back astep as far as he can in the small space, pulling away.

“Just…just get me to the damn Tower,” ishoarse, blood on the Batplane’s floor now. Great, he’s going to probably get a rightbitching in his voicemail from Alfred explaining what a pain in the assbloodstains are to get out, Sir.

“I’m not taking you to the Tower,” Bgrowls back.

And there it is again, Batman is gripping hisbicep, pulling him closer, the whiteouts dipped down and the free hand rovingover the torn places in his suit.

“Then why the fuck am I in here, and—and stopthat. Shit!” His knees wobble, his move to pull back aborted when agloved hand presses along his left side. Bile rushes up into his throat,swallowed back down by sheer fucking willpower.

“The Titans just took on invading aliens,Tim. You need medical attention and time to recuperate. Your suit stood up tomost of it, but you’re bleeding.”

Again. There it is. B saidhis name more times in the last ten minutes than he has in the last year. What.The. Ever. Loving. Fuck. Is. Happening?

“Then—” he stutters out between panting breaths,fighting the dizziness and pending gray edges to his vision, “let me go to the fuckingTower so I can patch myself up.”

B seems to finally get that something isrotten in Denmark, and lets Red pull out of the hold. With his vision failingand go time eminent, Red fumbles back at the control panel in an attemptto slam the button that will open the door back for him to jump out of and firehis extra grapple. Then he’s going to be hitting the Medical floor in like, sixminutes tops because much longer and he’s going to be in oh shit landjust like when the Triad—

He misses on the first shot because B knocks hishand away and the exit stays closed.

“Wh-What the hell are you—?”

And sometimes, B is just that guy becausethe corresponding blow to his worst injury is such a fucking dickmove.

But it has the intended effect, showing how weakhe apparently is because his knees knock together and go out on him. He wouldhave ended up on the floor if B hadn’t swept him up like some fainting lily andkicked the co-pilot’s chair around with one foot to set him down in it.

“You’re in no shape to go back to the Tower,” Bmakes it statement punctuated with the last hit.

“…asshole…” he faintly gasps while the painmakes him clench his jaw against a noise.

“We’re going to talk when I’m not worried aboutinternal bleeding and broken bones. Since when have you been taking care ofinjuries this extensive on your own? I’m fairly sure a stipulation to joiningthe Titans was that you keep me updated when you get hurt.” B fills in, handspausing when he realizes the Red Robin’s suit design is…different. Verydifferent. The design has changed, along with the security traps (and hewonders when it happened. He should have the current designs of allhis sons’ suits, including armor schematics and the necessary details).

His Bat sense is going off about everything,more so than when Clark first picked him up from Gotham to inform him theTitans are in the fight of their lives because invading aliens managedto bypass the Watchtower’s systems.

He’d set the Batplane for follow them, alreadyworried about how Red Robin would be holding up while Clark sped them as fastas possible to San Francisco, meeting up with the other JL members on the way.

None of them had to say how worried they were,it was evident, even if you weren’t the so-called World’s GreatestDetective.

But the nagging something tugging at hisinner sense when Red shot his grapple without even a word to him isgetting stronger, is making him worry a hell of a lot more than he was even anhour ago.

He feels out the obvious injuries, even withRed’s hand weakly shoving his away.

“No internal bleeding, nothing broken. Thisconcussion is the bee’s knees thanks. A stop at the Tower to drop me offwould be just—” and yes, B, that was one of their agreements.Back when he was still Robin, when someone actually gave a fuck. Healmost comes out with that, but stutters to a halt because Batman gives nofucks about anything but flicking out a razor-sharp batarang and cuttingthe tunic right up the center, pulling away the dented, broken armor to get tothe body suit and main bleeders underneath.

“Tim, I said I’m not taking you there. No one isgoing back for the moment, and you need medical treatment, these look serious.”B already has the gloves and gauntlets off, “Batcomputer,” he turns slightlyand gets the acknowledging boop, “full body scan of Red Robin. Send results toAgent A.”

“N-No, no, not—” but his arms flop uselessly andthe six-minute window has already passed him up. It’s fail timeapparently.

Behind the whiteouts, B’s eyes narrow with thisconsistent fight. There’s something very wrong here, something wrong when hisformer Robin is fighting him tooth and nail when he’s half-loopy on blood lossand exertion. “Yes. There is no way in hell I’m leaving you in the Towerby yourself like this. Not going to happen, Tim. I am not goingto let you bleed out all over your computers.”

And B shoves his cowl back to show thoseelectric blue eyes, narrowed stubbornly when there’s my way or no waygoing down.

“Why,” he stutters when black replaces gray andhis brain fuzzes more, starts shutting down because of the impending owfuck,“the hell does it matter? I’m not your fucking responsibility anymore, right?”

He tries to sneer, tries to move, tries to snarland snap about why not a little bit of fuck-off for your day, butnothing is responding to command. Before he blacks out, though, he gets to see thelook of utter shock on Batman’s face, and well, the small surge of satisfactionat getting the drop on the Dark Knight leads him to the way—

Out

**

“Septic shock?” Dick gasps, utterly dumbfounded.

“Yes, Master Dick,” Alfred carefully works,aproned and gloved, cleaning the last of the ragged, raw injuries before hewould need to wrap them. The boy on the bed isn’t moving except for his chestrising and falling with slow, even breaths.

He does, however, press a button on the touchpadabove the bed in the Cave’s medical area to show the outline of a human bodywith a glaring red circle.

“It seems Master Timothy is no longer inpossession of the viscera necessary for fighting off infections.”

Bruce in only the body suit, Dick in sweats andt-shirt, and Damian without the domino all turn to Alfred.

And stare.

“You are saying he no longer has a spleen?” Damiverified, “and is thus more prone to illness?”

“That is precisely what the scans are showing,Master Damian, and I ran them several times to verify.”

The youngest Bat blinks once, blinks twice, andturns back to the unconscious form of Tim Drake lying still and silent. It wasbad enough the four of them received a nasty shock while peeling the RedRobin body suit off to reveal a mass of still-healing welts, burns, and brokenskin marring the span of Tim’s back (what the hell happened?) andthe other injuries in the process of healing, injuries that look suspiciouslylike torture on his upper body, arms, and hands; not to mention howAlfred huffs angrily at the visible curve of ribs standing out against paleskin, but finding out he also lost, you know, a semi-crucial body part sometimesince his last Bat-physical (hearing the date is the next shocker of thenight) is pretty much the last straw.

“I’m going to do some research. Let me know ifhe comes to, Alfred.” B turns away with a snarl, the muscles in his back andshoulders tight.

“I shall, Master Bruce. However, I have nointention of tying him down to the bed frame. Should I be detained with dinner,please refrain from using cuffs.”

“I’m not making any promises,” Bruce snaps back,already in his chair at the Batcomputer to start digging into the last sixmonths of Red Robin’s vigilante career and Tim Drake’s personal life.

Gingerly, Dick ruffles Damian’s hair and movesto sit on the medical bed by Tim’s hip, staring up at the closed eyes and slackfeatures. He doesn’t process Alfred taping gauze down on the current injuries,but picks up a bruised and battered hand to hold in both of his while lookingat a very obvious scar now that he knows some of what’s been going on inthe time since Tim has been back to the Manor after the Robin mantle went toDami.

(And Dick feels like a right bastardbecause he remembers coming up the stairs, thinking Tim might have been in hisold room after their thing with Ra’s people before B had been found—whenhe thought Tim might have come to his senses and come home to be RedRobin here with them…and found Tim’s room empty. His things moved out, theshelves missing his usual array of books and video games, no clothes in theclosets, no extra suits in the hidey holes, no shampoo in the shower ortoothpaste on the sink. The Flash shower curtain is gone, replaced by a genericone in most of the other guest rooms. And just turning in circles, the hardweight in his chest, the utter pain when he realized Tim never meant to comeback. He was already gone from the Cave where Alfred had patched him up,where Tim had told Dick specifically, “You’re my brother. I knew you’dcatch me.”)

He sighs, shoulders rising with the move. Hedoesn’t say anything as Alfred continues to dress the injuries and Tim sleepson.

It’s not very long before a sharp intake ofbreath from the computer draws their eyes, and B is typing furiously to getmore information. Hacking into the Tower’s mainframe is child’s play,especially when he has Vic doing the hard work.

Tim’s ghost drive, however, is yielding moreresults than he anticipated.

The video file labeled Triad makes hisstomach churn.

Dick leaves Tim to sleep off the drugs andantibiotics, for his fever to slowly come down under their ministrations. Hegrins a little at Damian asleep in the chair next to the medical bed and stepsover to the computer where Bruce is looking grim, fists clenched tight on thecontrol panel.

Dick almost asks, almost, until hecatches the video playing—

And watches Tim Drake take a whip to the backwhile their former Robin is screaming.

“Oh…Oh my God,” he blinks, chest tight,nausea rising up when the footage skips and the next scene is Tim being helddown by the arms and shoulders, the remains of his business suit ripped to givea span of bloody skin for the glowing hot iron bar to be set down.

He doesn’t know when he moved or when B got tohis feet while the two of them try very hard not to be sick as Tim screamedover and over on the security footage.

They stand together, silenced by horror as theslideshow continues, as Tim is tortured over and over, as one of their ownattempt to escape, gets to the control room and tries to get a communicationout to the outside world.

By the time they have the full picture of howthose marks got there and what Tim Drake had to go through, Bruce is deep inthe Bat, anger radiating from every pore.

Tim was abducted outside Wayne Enterprises ashis daytime persona, as Tim Drake, CEO, and none of them had known a damn thingabout it.

**

It’s almost forty-eight hours later.

The Bats are in from patrol and upstairs to dohuman things, like sleep and eat and bathe (because the sewers of Gotham are nastyno matter how many times you’ve been down there—the sitch never gets any better).B has scrubbed down and changed in the Cave, making sure he was free ofcontaminants before coming over to check on his still-sleeping Robin. Handsaccustomed to delivering pain are absurdly gentle when he lays a palm on theback of Tim’s neck, glad to see his temperature is finally getting back tonormal, and checking the IVs as well as the bandages on Tim’s healing back andnewer injuries on his side and knee. He ruffles the too-long hair gently beforegoing up to check quickly on Alfred and the boys before planning on coming backdown to stay close to Tim, hoping he might be stable enough to wake up and talkto them.

So the Cave is empty for the moment when themachines attached to the sensor clamped on Tim’s finger and the little stickypads on his chest start to pick up slightly. Not enough to trigger analert, just enough for him to blink open his bleary eyes riding the dredges ofpainkillers and sedatives.

It’s the Bat-cocktail of owfuck.

Really, he should have known better.

The fog is clearing out while his head flops onone side to look around and see where he’s—and what’s happ—how did—?

His head flops to the other side, eyes wideningwhen he realizes the big car is parked a little past the curtain, and on theother side of him, the Batcomputer looks the same, but there’s a few morethings on the control panel.

He gets the urge to violently hurl oncethe screeching overhead signals where he’s at just in case, you know, theremight be any doubt.

The air in his chest chokes off, leaving himcoughing hard for a few seconds, enough that the pulsox beeps once in warningand he struggles to get himself under control.

The haze of painkillers is still there, but nothingshort of death is going to stop him. Instead, he uses the lead to pull thelittle machine close to him and manages to pop the casing off. A few wires and boom,he takes the sensor off his finger and the monitor keeps going. It takesmaneuvering for him to sit up enough to reach the heart monitor and do prettymuch the same.

There’s cameras everywhere, but he’s sure no onewould be watching (because why would they?) as he stands on stiff,aching legs, manages to stumble a little before righting himself.

The knee isn’t going to get better anytime soon,so he’s good to be limping around because at least that means he’s onhis feet.

The Red Robin suit they must have taken off ofhim is folded neatly on a workstation table, easy to pick up.

He feels immensely better with the body suit on(even if the pressure on still-healing injuries is about a bitch, damn);boots, gloves and gauntlets, harness and utility belt. It’s enough to rock.

A domino goes on while he nabs his somewhatstitched back together cape, but the armored tunic is totes a lost cause.

Bummer.

With the machines beeping steadily behind him,Tim leaves the tunic, makes his way further down into the Cave, favoring theleg, moves as straight-backed as possible to keep the marks on his back frompulling and getting sore all over again, as been the pattern in the last monthsince he’s been back from a certain little vacay.

(And it’s fucked how B probably saw thosemarks isn’t it? Just another check in the who gives a shit category…but,the old memorial case with Jason’s Robin suit is still there where it’s alwaysbeen—and a double-take confirms it. His first Robin suit is in a new case nextto it. Mother. Fucker does it makes his chest hurt.)

The line of just in case vehicles is inthe same place it always was. A crappy beater for Matches Malone, a van forpick-ups, an Ambulance in case shit gets real. A covered car in the backcorner that is terribly, achingly familiar, and his eyes skitter away from it,just like he did with the memorial cases.

Instead, he goes to one of the four Ducati’sserviced and ready to rock, lifts up the seat while balancing on his good leg.Keys fall into his palm, so score.

His hip only hitches slightly when he throws thebad leg over the bike so the good one can steady it, and the bruises tomorroware going to be fucking beautiful.

But for the moment, all good. He’ssitting down at least, and flips the bike on, raises the bad leg to start theengine—

When Dami drops down from the ceiling vent andlands a few feet in front of him at a crouch.

No suit, no domino, but the pose is all Robin.

A Robin in his pjs, but then, well, there’sschool and shit in the morning isn’t there?

“Drake,” a low, almost-question.

“Nice to see you too,” he smirks with oldbitterness, just waiting for it.

Dami’s eyes go from the whiteouts to the bikeand back up. “This…is not a favorable course of action,” is said morecarefully than he can remember the Demon ever being.

“What now?” Because seriously, what now?

“You have been recovering from septic shock,”the youngest informs him, still in that crazy careful tone. “Among otherinjuries. It would be best if you stayed where you could be monitored shouldyou relapse.”

Now he thinks he might be more loopy on the I’mfucked up cocktail than initially assessed. Things just aren’t…aren’tmaking sense here.

“I’m in a multiverse aren’t I?” Is a stupid butkind of valid question.

Damian, however, is not amused.

“You are a fool. This is not surprising. However,as I have been informed, your team stopped an alien invasion. That if nothingelse would merit time, Drake.”

“Telepaths that want to take over our world are assholes.Haven’t you figured that out yet?” He comes back easily, “and I have a place torecoup. It would be nice to be on my way there right about now.”

The bad leg comes down, shooting a thrill ofpain up, but fuck it. Really. He needs to get out of here before JasonTodd comes around to give him a bro fist or something else just ascrazy.

The engine purrs to life against his thighs.

Again, it’s opposite day because thatlittle brat is leaning against the handlebars, scowling and talking over theengine instead of doing things like, you know, moving.

“I would not do this if I were you.”

He blinks behind the whiteouts. “I don’t knowwhat the fuck is going on here, but this is getting to creep-tasticsproportions.” He leans over the handlebars as much as he can without someserious owfuck hitting, “you wanted me gone, Demon. Riff raff,remember? That cut zip line? You think I need a written invitation toget the fuck out?”

Dami’s eye widen a fraction before narrowing,the little asshole leaning in as well like they’re going to fight it out forsome crazy reason because this is what they all wanted butwere too chicken-shit to tell him.

“Dick’s too nice to say it, but you think hereally has to after all this time?”

“Grayson—” Dami starts, voice raised to be heardover the purring engine.

“Never wanted me either. I guess you and JasonTodd were right all along. Want to gloat about it? How about you do it overSkype so I can get back to my life?”

Dami growls, baring his teeth in a snarl, “no,you fool. Grayson has missed you unbearably in the last twoyears. He has attempted to keep track of you while you searched for Father andthen later when you re-joined the Titans. He is the one that built the case foryour Robin suit.”

And just…what the ever-loving fuck?

“I am aware of how things were left whenI began my own time as Robin, Drake. I am aware of—”

“Get off.” Because now he’s blinking behind thewhiteout, his eyes getting hot and wet fast. “Get the fuck off.”

“No!” Damian snarls back, gripping thehandlebars tighter, like he has every intention of holding on. “I refuseto let you leave like this!”

And so, apparently it’s time to spell it out.“No one gives a shit if I’m here or not.” He shoves himselfstanding, old, buried pain rearing up from the terrible place in his brain panwhere he’d buried it all just so he could keep moving. “They let meinherit the cape because I was an asshole kid and found out theirsecret. They let me keep it because I did an alright job at keeping Bfrom fucking himself up like Robin is supposed to do. And he took me inbecause my fucking father was murdered when my identity was compromised.It’s ‘adopt an orphan syndrome,’ Damian. That’s it. I fucking Get.It. Now.”

Those eyes narrow, color rising to the youngervigilante’s face. But Tim leans down, blinking rapidly behind the whiteoutbecause he’s not going to give him or any of them that fuckingsatisfaction.

His voice is low, almost angry if it didn’tcrack, giving away more than he wants, especially to Damian. “Besides,why would they want the replacement when they’ve got the real son in thecape anyway, right? You said that, and you were right, weren’t you?”

“N-none of that—Drake…Timothy, youdon’t honestly,” and the twelve year old almost looks his age for once, “youdon’t honestly believe that.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up in a veryunfunny smirk, “I’m a detective, Damian. I don’t believe anything until I haveevidence.”

The younger Bat sputters a moment, looking oddlyshell-shocked, but he doesn’t let go, refuses to give up, “evidence? Openyour eyes, Drake. Father ordered the Justice League to attend your battleas soon as he knew, made Kent come to pick him up as he knew it would be thefastest way to get to you.”

“What part of aliens wasn’t clear? Thatis usually JL territory, we just happened to call dibs.”

Dami’s fists tighten around the handlebars, “Ihave been Robin for three years. Three years, Drake. If there isanything I have learned in that time, it is how Father would not leave any ofhis Robins behind. Not even you.”

Welp, that’s going to be a very hardeventual realization for the kid. But really, it isn’t any of his businessanymore. None of this is.

He sinks back down slowly, painfully becauseit’s time to go. “Get out of the way.”

The hair on the back of his neck, however, cutshim off, makes his straighten up again on the bike and rev up the engine. Damiisn’t moving, but is just staring at him looking like he might pull out thatwicked katanna for a little sliced n’ diced vigilante rather than dealwith his shenanigans. Not like it’s nothing new.

But the ghost sensation has drawn the brat’sattention as well, those eyes drawn over Tim’s left shoulder.

Without turning to look, he gives the standard,“thanks for the pick-up. Let me know when you need the next batch of intel.We’ll have a crime-fighting party with confetti and everything.”

The hand on his bicep is something he hadn’tanticipated, startling him to look up at Bruce’s bare face and angry eyes.

Oh shit. Batman’s not a happy camper. Time tohit the dirt.

From his other side, Dick comes out of nowhereand reaches around him to turn the bike off and take the key out of the ignition.

Oh, so that’s how it is? After all theyears he put into maintaining the bikes and cars just like everyone else—

“Like I said,” he deadpans, trying very, veryhard not to get pissed off at the snub, “thanks for the pick-up. I’ll gettogether whatever data you’re looking for when—”

“Get off the bike, Tim,” Bruce emphasizes theorder with a tug to his arm.

“Seriously?” Well, there goes the best ofintentions, “I’ll bring it back if this is a problem.”

“Not the point. Get the hell off the bike.”

He shoves himself to his feet, already planningon hitting up Kon in a quick text just to get a ride out of here as fast asfucking possible, itching to jerk his arm out of B’s hold (and dammit,he hates to do that now that Clark isn’t being an asshat extraordinaire). So helets it ride for the moment since, well, he pretty much shouldn’t be hereanyway, so the lecture is probably going to be fucking spectacular.

His hip hitches again when he swings his legback over the bike, but it’s only slightly painful this time around. Nope,there’s more pain elsewhere that has nothing to do with skin and soft,fleshy bits.

He in no way is prepared for Bruce pulling hisarm up and around those massive shoulders, bending down enough to be aboutTim’s height. The limp isn’t as bad with B supporting him with an arm aroundhis waist (under the worst of the older marks) and gripping the wrist, walkinghim right the fuck back into the depths of the Cave where Alfred is waitingwith hands properly folded behind him.

“Ah, the patient is awake,” Alfred is calm,cool, and collected as per usual. “Perhaps a stronger dose of painkillersshould have been in order.”

“Not necessary,” he fills in shortly, pullingaway from Bruce as soon as possible, a passing glance off the machines he’dreconfigured. “Thanks for patching me up, Alfred.”

The butler sighs through his nose and it’s sopainfully familiar. “Of course, Master Tim. If you would be sokind as to change clothing, the bandages will need to be checked again.”

He holds up a hand, “again, not necessary. I’mon my way out—”

Dick shoves sweats and a t-shirt in his chest,jaw clenched tight enough that a muscle is jumping there, and it’s fine,he gets it. Dick doesn’t want him there. He really doesn’t need this—

“I’m trying to be out of your hair,” hegrowls back at the former Batman and current Nightwing. “I didn’t ask tocome here. Not my bad.”

If anything, Dick’s expression gets even angrier.Angry enough that the hands holding the clothes are trembling finely until Timtakes them just to get the older vigilante to step back.

“Drake,” and it’s really saying something when Damianis the one stepping between them, trying to keep, well, whatever peacedistance can realistically bring. “This is difficult to believe, but there is agrave misunderstanding happening here.”

His eyebrows draw together, head tilted down tothe youngest, but he wisely remains silent because there’s volumes hecould say about that.

“Do you need assistance, Master Tim?” Alfredcuts in, trying to divert the brewing storm raging in Dick and Bruce’sexpressions, “I should say some of your injuries must be rather painful at thisjuncture. Your back, for example—”

“I’ve got it. Thank-you.”

“Very good, Sir. Once you have changed, I have adelightful pot of coffee and breakfast—”

But those words make his head snaparound, “coffee?”

Because yes. The answer is always yes.

Alfred hums knowingly, “indeed. I believe it isthe Sumatra brand you seem to favor?”

And dammit. Just, dammit Alfred.

In reply, he limps back to pull the curtainclosed in the sectioned-off medical area, flopping the sweats and t-shirt downon the gurney. Deep, cleansing breath, and he reverses order, taking off glovesand gauntlets, boots, utility belt and harness, cape and dom, leaving the bodysuit for last (since there’s the most owfuck of the day).

“Tim? You okay?” B’s voice is softer, floatingover the partition, his silhouette against the curtain.

“I’m fine,” he taps on his wrist computer withone arm through the t-shirt. Getting the sweats on is painful but it’s whateverreally, the knee isn’t going to get any better so no use whining about it.

Instead, he puts the wrist computer back on hisforearm and comes out a la civvies, his too-long hair probably wrecked,but with a KO of approximately two days?

He shoves the curtain back, cracking his neck,and starting to move to intercept Alfred’s approach. “Bandages are clean, soI’m good. Thanks.”

The butler tisks and gently simply steers MasterTim back to the gurney, “I will need to check your levels as well as theinjuries you are unable to see, Master Tim. You certainly cannot assessyour back unless you’ve taken to perform feats of magic?”

The others approach, watching with grave facesas the butler allows a cup and saucer inside the medical area, an excuse tokeep Tim’s hands busy so work can be done.

“My levels are f—” The smell hits like anaphrodisiac and his eyes fall half-mast just because coffee.

“Do not say ‘fine.’ For a young man without thenecessary organ to build up proper immunities, then I would dare to say yes.However, for a crime-fighting vigilante, your white cell count is woefully deficient.”

Oh. So that’s whatthis is about?

Shit.

“I’ve had enough time to adjust.” Is all hebites out as the butler gloves up, winds a stethoscope around his neck.

When B’s hands plant on his hips like he iswinding up for the mother of all lectures, and Damian puts a hand toDick’s forearm to stop him from saying whatever might be ready to comeout of his mouth, Tim realizes how much of a thing this might be.

The butler, however, just frowns, “then I willpose the obvious question, Master Tim. How many episodes of septic shock haveyou experienced before now?”

His jaw clenches, eyes close briefly becausewhen he got off that fucking ship—

The pinch to his inner elbow jars him out of it(luckily) or he might still be smelling stagnant water and imagine the worldrocking under his feet.

“Twice,” and he leaves it at that, going morepale at the bits flashing through his brain pan.

Alfred removes the syringe, tapes a cotton ballto the small wound. “Twice, Sir?” is quiet, neutral.

Tim swallows, looking at the span of wallinstead of any of them, “yeah.”

“Once recently I’m afraid?” And Alfred sets theblood sample aside, easily moves a gloved hand to be under Master Tim’s stillholding the delicate saucer. The minute clattering stops when he does.

“Yeah,” hoarse, but fuck yes.

“Your back, Tim?” now Alfred’s tone is movinginto soothing, someone that can (used to be) be trusted.

Still staring at the wall, keeping himselftogether, Tim gives a short, pointed nod.

“What—” Dick steps a little closer to his side,not enough to set him off, but enough to reach out, slowly, easy, “who did thatto you, Timmy?”

His shoulders tense with the contact, and heblinks hard, shaking himself out of it, shaking himself the fuck back tothe present. He lifts the cup and takes a drink of utter heaven.

It helps to steady him, to keep his head outof the two weeks he spent being tortured as Tim Drake, CEO, and the more recentfight with dick bag aliens.

“I took care of it.”

“That doesn’t tell us anything,” Dick counters.“Timmy…you were tortured.”

And well, yes. Yes, he was.

“Yup,” is his soft admission, staring down intothe depths of his coffee while Alfred moves around behind him and the shirtinches up his spine, making his hackles rise just slightly. “I was.”

And he knows, he knows, Alfred was tryingto be careful, wasn’t trying to do anything, but the wounds, the memories, allof it was still so new and raw, that when the touch hits the wrong spot,reminds him of a burning iron bar pressed against his shoulders, he chokes andmoves without thinking.

The cup and saucer crash to the floor, and he isup, moving away, spinning in mid-air, landing at a crouch with his legand back screaming, his eyes wide, hand automatically poised in a nerve strike.And he can fight, he can fight, and he can win. He can save them thistime, save them all, and he can—

He can, he will.

Whizzing and moving, focused on not throwing up,focused on not stopping.

Bruce is gripping his face between those massivepalms from one blink to the next, and Tim realizes he must have been movingagain because they aren’t standing by the medical area anymore.

Instead, he’s pinned down on one of the big matsused for practice and training half-way across the Cave, the vinyl soft andworn-in under the arm Bruce has pinned at the wrist. His back is fucking agonybecause he’s laying down on the healing injuries. Worse, he’s shaking likefuck, the coffee in his stomach rolling with it.

“Tim! You need to stop. Just. Stop.”

But it’s just as bad because he can’t be helddown.

That…he’s not good with that, and hiships take over regardless of owfuck, bucking up enough to get Bruce offhim so he can turn over, land on all fours and gag.

“Fuck…fuck…fuck…fuck…”

He gets a million vigilante points for notthrowing up his coffee.

A. Million.

Plopping down on his ass to try getting air backinto his lungs, however, is seriously the best idea for the moment even if he’sshaky as fuck and probably embarrassed the shit out of himself.

(Regretting letting him back in now,aren’t you?)

Dick kneels in plain sight, ducking down tocatch Tim’s rapidly blinking eyes. “Hey, just me,” is meant to be soft andsoothing.

It’s not.

Instead, Tim closes his eyes again it and triesto calm himself but his brain is too fuzzy, still half-stuck on the ship, inthe mind trap, in his team’s memories—

“…something for me, Tim. Let me know you’rewith us.”

He doesn’t open his eyes so he can’t see whateverexpression is on those faces.

“Should have just…dropped me at the goddamnedTower,” he manages hoarsely, bringing his knees up to hold his heavy head.

Bruce, refusing to be diverted, gets closeenough to wrap his long fingers around Tim’s ankle slowly, carefully. “No,” heclaims slowly, mind working furiously at the flow of new and disturbinginformation, “no, Tim. I’m glad, very glad, I brought you home.”

The laugh coming out of Tim’s bent head ishalf-way to a sob (home? There hasn’t been a home in a while actually),and Bruce’s hand moves up to grip into a calf instead, sliding subtly closer onhis knees.

Dick paces right beside him, being absurdlycareful, recognizing the reactions, the instincts Bruce bred into all hisRobins to fight when you’re out of all other options. It’s knee-jerkreaction to any situation.

“You blanked out for a few minutes there, Timmy.It looked like,” he hesitates slightly from saying it even if he has plentyof experience dealing with this kind of thing, “you were having a flashback.”

“I don’t talk about it,” is the hoarse reply,the horrible panting sounds finally easing down.

“I think we’re going to try checking over yourinjuries again,” Dick gingerly touches a few fingers to Tim’s limp hand,“without trying to set you off, okay? We’ll…Timmy, we’ll be right here withyou.” His finger firm a little, squeeze Tim’s fingers before the hand jerks outof his hold, the leg moving away from Bruce.

Tim scrambles backwards on the mat, shoves tohis feet because ignoring pain is something he does like a boss, but pity?Oh, he gets all kinds of pissed off about it.

Just ask Kon. The impressive choke hold issomething the super is probably never going to forget.

“I don’t need checked over. I don’t needanything other than a way to get back to my damn Tower—” and the fuckaway from here is implied.

Because really. They can stop this moundof variable bullshit anytime now.

“I don’t need whatever in the hell this,” andhis hands flutter around for a second, “this shit is all of a sudden. I lead mydamn team, and it doesn’t effect how I work. How I’ve workedfor the last few years. I’m. Fucking. Good.”

Bruce’s mouth flattens into a grim line, staringat his third Robin, the son that took his name without qualm, the son he’d letget too far the fuck away because he felt like he didn’t belong in hisown home. And Dick might share the burden of that, the younger vigilantenearly radiating beside him facing Tim down, ready to stop him if he tries tobolt.

And Bruce doesn’t feel bad about Damian andAlfred slowly coming up behind Tim to box him in, takes a moment to beratehimself for thinking he was doing the right thing in giving Tim the spacehe thought the former Robin needed to heal. The same space Dick needed when hehad to move on from the Robin mantle.

But he’d inadvertently caused both hisformer Robins nothing but pain by giving them the space to throw their bodiesinto the Mission to try and escape the devastation, the loss.

It’s another black mark under his name, but ifanything, Bruce, the Bat, has no qualms rectifying his mistakes.

And he’s perfectly fine starting now.

“Tim,” interrupts the snarling commentary on howRed Robin isn’t fucking anything up (which is unnecessary because Brucealready knows it), and makes the injured bird abruptly pause. “Let meget this straight.”

The third Robin stops, seems to mentally re-set,like when they started up a new case and the personal lives had to be left inthe Cave before they got into the big car for the upcoming night. It’s enoughof the old Tim that Bruce takes a few cautions steps, holding up fingersto tick off so he’s got Tim’s attention on the visual.

“You were kidnapped as your daytime persona, asTim Drake, not Red Robin—”

Oh shit. Well, World’s GreatestDetective. Of course he’d find out. It happened in his city.

“—they tortured you on a ship in the middle ofthe ocean. You escaped, brought them down, and turned them in to severalbranches of authorities. Four days ago, you showed up as Red Robin when theInsurgents hit Earth’s atmosphere. You went into a fight with your team againsta psychic horde without calling for back-up. And you won. Allright so far?”

“Sounds…about right.”

Bruce hums, nods, “and…why do you thinkI would questioning how effective you are as a vigilante?”

Wait.

Tim’s mouth works but nothing comes out because,well, point.

“I have no idea why you’re trying to convince mewhen I’m already well aware how incredible you are in the field. I don’tneed any other justifications. What I need to know,” and Bruce unfoldshis arms, hands loose at his sides, trying to look less intimidating so Tim’shackles won’t rise again, “is when your spleen was removed and what criminalcaused it. What I want to know is if you’ve seen anyone to help youthrough the trauma you went through on that ship. What I want to know is whyyou keep telling me you’re fine and you handle it when you are obviously notfine. No one, Tim, no one could be after all that.”

And the younger vigilante stares up at him,taller than the last time Bruce had a chance to really see him, withnarrow eyes that are already calculating his next moves. B knows it because hesees Tim’s eyes slide to Alfred and Damian, slide over to Dick before comingback to him. It’s saying something when the Bat is hovering at the fore of hismind, ready for another mad attack if Tim flips back into those flashbacks andstarts fighting by instinct.

“What I need to know is,” B counterssoftly, “why you didn’t come home when you needed to.”

When Tim stays silent, when his beaten, batteredbody gets as straight as it can, Bruce sees enough, knows enough.

He nods slowly, like he gets it, whateversilent message Tim is putting out, and returns that intense look, sees so muchhidden under the exterior that he should have picked up long before this verymoment.

“You three go upstairs. Have some downtime,” hewaves a shooing hand at Dick, Damian, and Alfred, “Tim didn’t get his coffee,and I honestly don’t need any more caffeine induced contingencies on my hands.”

“Bruce—” is Dick’s desperate attempt tostay because now he knows how much of this, how much of it isright on his head.

“Dick. Go have some downtime.”

Dami isn’t happy, is looking with his headtilted up, those dark eyes all for the scowl on Tim’s face, the sneer.

Alfred, however, steps between them, MasterTimothy and Master Bruce to break the stare down and lift a fresh cup andsaucer into the younger vigilante’s hand. It breaks the oldest man’s heart whenMaster Tim…hesitates.

But the hands are steady when the coffee istaken, and the young Master is looking carefully away from the butler, a musclein his jaw flickering.

“Thank-you,” is said softer than the rest.

“What else could I do, Master Tim? My life isdedicated to caring for my family, and that includes you.” A small pat to theyounger man’s head while the angry, defensive expression falls to wide-eyed andslack, like the younger Master is genuinely surprised. The saucer isheld tighter in busted fingers when Timothy’s spine snaps straighter and heblinks rapidly, trying to harden himself, pull his strength around him like acloak so none of them can see what abject pain he is in—how he obviouslywas very certain he no longer belonged here, with them all.

“Oh Tim,” the butler sighs sadly, gently, “thismay be untoward, so forgive me, but it is so nice to see you. As much as wehave missed, as much as you have suffered and succeeded, I am still so happy tohave you home.”

The reaction is those wide eyes, the true tellto Master Timothy’s thoughts returning to his face and immediately seeking outany deception on the butler’s part, any lies or placations, any shred ofevidence to support his previous theories.

Alfred smiles, just a small curve of his lowerlip, when the younger man’s shoulders lose a small bit of tension, just enoughto prove he found no lies here. When he can have just a hint of belief. It’sjust enough for Alfred to fit a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and squeezewith infinite gentleness before he’s herding two of his other charges up into theManor, casting a glance back at the long line of Master Bruce’s tense backbefore he and Master Dick exchange a very concerned look.

**

And they leave Tim and Bruce in the Cave withthe fluttering of bats, the gentle hum of working equipment, with damagedsuits, and healing bodies, with injuries and trauma.

It’s such a painful thing for Bruce, staring atTim and remembering a younger kid standing in the same place with the Rover his heart, the suit of his Robin and that crazy, wide grin in anticipationfor nightfall when they could move together.

When Tim’s team was Batman and Robin.

“None of this is necessary,” and it’s RedRobin’s voice, unshakeable and reliable. A leader. A vigilante.

And not the person Bruce wants to talk toright at this moment.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce cuts off that train ofthought, seeing past the denials and old pain, seeing past everythingTim is spitting out, the abject hurt, the theory that maybe, maybethey’d just been-been using him all this time. That he was just a kid ina cape or something just as ridiculous. “I’m sorry it got this far. I’m sorrynone of us, me or Dick or Alfred jumped in to remind you that you will alwayshave a home here, no matter what.  There’s no excuse for it, Tim,absolutely none.”

The younger vigilante frowns harder, his thoughtprocesses obvious to the World’s Greatest Detective.

“Once Damian and I could realistically worktogether, Dick left out of Gotham to trail the Titans and see if he could atleast talk to you, but the team was moving fast, so he wanted to waituntil you were in town again. But, regardless, we let this go on for toolong, letting you get further and further away without checking in, withoutcoming back.”

“I didn’t need to.” Tim interjects, firming hisjaw, still staying as far inside the mask as he possibly can, trying to protecthimself.

And Bruce finally sees it.

“And you don’t have to do this,” the youngervigilante puts the cup and saucer down immediately, eyes never losing that hardedge, “at all. It’s not necessary at this point. I’m still going to be theintel guy, the IT solution. I’ll still come when you call just like I’ve alwaysdone.”

“That’s not good enough.” Bruce insistsback, arms loose by his sides, “it was never supposed to be needed over wanted,and it isn’t like that. You won’t believe me until you have evidence, I knowalready, but Tim,” and Bruce comes up on him, not the stalk of the Bat or thestride of the daytime persona, it’s all Bruce Wayne—

Dad.

He’s careful but firm, hands tilting his son’sface up a little, taking in the widening eyes of surprise, “Tim, you arealways, will always be one of my sons. Just like Dick and Jasonand Damian. That’s what you agreed to when you took on the mask. You becamemine and the Batman’s, our Robin, our partner, our son, and yes,yes this is necessary. It’s completely and totally necessary becausealong the way the important things got pushed to the wayside, and it’s so farfrom fine that I can’t even begin to list the problems here.”

And the younger vigilante has the most probablereaction Bruce can predict.

He fights.

“Bullshit,” is hoarse, angry when Tim shovesaway, steps back, “and I don’t need bullshit, Bruce. You think Idon’t get it? I was the kid that figured out your secret, you hadto keep me, to keep me quiet about it. So of fucking course you’d let mewear the R. What would I have done if you hadn’t? Just because I got goodat it doesn’t mean I don’t fucking recognize how it never should have been me.It should have been Jason and then Damian. It should have been blood,not some fucking kid you never wanted.”

And God it hurts, these things tearingout him like fucking poison, like rancid bile he can finally vomit up, to get outof him.

“And you did good. You did great, Bruce,dealing with me. You really did. You did the best you could under thecircumstances,” and fuck, yes, he means it because Bruce was there forhim when he was Robin, when Dad died, when his world was going to shittime and time again. Bruce put up with his crap more than anyone in his entire life—evenhis real Dad. “I appreciate it, all the shit from back then. You don’t—” andhis chest hitches, but he grinds his teeth, straightens his back for it, “youdon’t even know how much I needed you. How much I respect you, how muchI wanted to be your partner and friend, and you gave me that, Bruce. You didthat for me, but…but your real son has the cape now, just like italways should have been, and I understand that. This,” and his handswaffle back-and-forth while he looks away, tries to choke down the bitternessall these realizations still leave behind, “this is the way it should havehappened. This is—” not okay, never fine, not really, “how itshould be.”

But when he looks back, chances a glance, hejerks a little because Bruce’s expression is—

(Is there some fear toxin somewhere? What thehell?)

The hands at Bruce’s sides are clenching intotight fists, his forearms cording, muscles getting tight.

“How long have you felt like this?” Theoldest vigilante demands in a low, dangerous voice, “how long do youthink I’ve just been tolerating you? How could you even— Jesus,Tim.”

But really, he’s the detective, right? “Iforced my way in,” he deadpans, “you never chose me, Bruce.”

And even though he’s come a long way from thatRobin to now, he’s still not fast enough to dodge Batman.

Nope. That’s not happening.

Because Bruce is across the span separating themin a skiff of shadows, literally picking him up off his feet with an arm aroundhis waist below the healing whip marks, the other hand buried in the hair atthe back of his head, pushing his face into Bruce’s neck and shoulder (and he’sshaking, Bruce, Batman, the unstoppable, the indomitable, is shaking).

The move is so out of what he expected,so unpredictable, Tim’s eyes are wide, just blinking wetly, hands up toautomatically brace himself on Bruce’s biceps.

“In…in the beginning, I was terrifiedof you,” Bruce blinks back his own wet eyes against the side of Tim’s too-longhair, “I was so scared of getting another innocent kid hurt, and you were…youwere so smart and so brave. You were fearless, Tim. You were perfect forthe job, but if I got you hurt, if I got you killed, if this world losteverything you are because of me and my Mission… then there would be noredemption. And I—” and Bruce grips him tighter, breathes in slowly,presses the side of his face into Tim’s hair harder, “I couldn’t lose you too.I couldn’t lose you, Tim.”

And that. To hear that it wasn’t becauseof Jason Todd, to hear that he was valued back then for himself, has Tim’sheart give a painful throb in his chest, makes him hold on to Bruce like he wasstill that Robin.

“In the beginning, I didn’t want anotherkid in danger. I didn’t want another person’s life in my hands, I didn’twant anyone else to suffer because of my choice to do this, to be Batman, to bethe crime fighter Gotham needed. So…so you-you were partially right. Backthen, I didn’t want you involved. When you helped solve Dick’s caseand-and you gave me no choice, Tim. You proved to me you were everything Ineeded Robin to be, everything Dick was, everything Jason was, everythingDamian is learning to be. There was no way I could let you go.”

And God, to hear that, just to hearthat from Bruce.

It’s more than he ever expected.

“You’re more than just a kid in a cape.You always were. You were always the kid I needed, the kid that groundedme, the kid that was so much like me that you should have been a Waynefrom the get-go. Just like Dick and Jason. You taught me just as much as Itaught you, and even though I never wanted to overstep my boundaries, I neverwanted to try and take your Dad away from you because—” and Bruce has to pause,has to let his eyes spill over because back then? Back then when Jack was anass, was a damn terrible father, Bruce still couldn’t fight him because, “—becauseif mine had lived, even if he couldn’t understand me and what I grew into…Istill would have at least had him.”

And Tim bites down on his lip hard enough todraw blood, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from spilling over too, from his armsmoving to wrap around Bruce’s shoulders and hold the fuck on.

“But,” Bruce breathes in, rolls his eyes upwardto try and calm down, “but when you still lost him, I…There was no question,Tim. There never was. You were my son just as much as his, and there was nevera question as to where you belonged, that you have a home here. Not-nota room, not a cot in the Cave, not a locker for your gear. Your home,Tim. And I…I thought I was helping, letting you be the vigilante you needed tobe. When you brought me back and it was Damian in the R, I… I understood why,but I still missed you. I was still…upset with Dick, doing thatwithout telling you, without giving you an opportunity to have your say. I wastrying to give you time to stop hurting, to grow from it. I was trying not topush you too hard, to make it hurt worse.”

Gentle movement, Bruce walking carefully towardthe medical gurney still carrying Tim without even straining, still holding himclose, still so painfully angry at himself for how long these thingsmust have been buried in Tim’s psyche, how all of it must have pushed thisyoung man to his breaking point.

“And I…” Bruce closes his eyes briefly as ithitches, “and I failed you, Tim. I’m so sorry that I failed you as your Dad.I’m sorry you ever thought I only wanted to keep you from telling mysecret because it was never about that.”

But Tim, hanging there, limply, pain a dull redthrob in his brain pain, gripping Bruce around the shoulders tight,hides his face away from the realizations, from the things he never imagined.

Bruce folds himself down and rocks justslightly, comforting them both a little with the motion, “and you’re not goingto believe all this. Not for a while. I know you, young man, and you’regoing to need time to believe in me again, to believe in the family, andthat’s-that’s okay. That’s completely understandable. I’ll give you as muchtime as you need, but goddammit, Tim, I’m not letting you getthat far out of my sight again. I’m not ever going to let you go. Whether youlike it or not, you’re stuck with us, kid.”

He doesn’t laugh or chuckle, still in a state ofshock since he really didn’t imagine this in his future, or well ever.

After all this time, all the bad guys andterrible night, all the sacrifices and job well dones, he’d pretty much figuredit was really…over.

This is a whole lot of unexpected that his brainpan can’t handle all at once. He needs time to think about it, to review theevidence.

“Give me a chance, Tim,” is breathed gently againsthis ear, “don’t give up on me yet. Please, don’t give up on me.”

“You’re an idiot,” he finds himself saying backwith a scratchy throat, “I didn’t give up on you when the world thought youwere dead. Like I’m going to start now?”

And Bruce, B, the Batman, just breathesout in the quiet dim of the Cave, holds this almost nineteen-year-old on hislap like he used to do to Dick when the kid was on overload or he’s finallygotten Damian to just deal with it.

“When I really believe you mean that, I’ll let yougo back to Titan’s Tower.”

That does earn a snickerbecause really, Bruce?

“Can you just—” and the World’s GreatestDetective hesitates for a second, not sure how hard he wants to push whenthere’s been some progress made tonight.

“…you want to know about the spleen thing,don’t you?”

Bruce pats the uninjured leg a little and nodswith Tim’s head tucked under his chin.

Closing his eyes, Tim sighs out through hisnose. But, well, to start gathering evidence, this might just be the way tostart.

[coffee-n-some-cream]

The Space I Filled - Chapter 6: Take Your Antibiotics and Make a Wish

Tim came to consciousness slowly, his vision black and his head fuzzy and throbbing. What had happened? Last he remembered, he had been in his room doing… what had he been doing? Laundry, wasn’t is? Yes. He had been doing laundry, but he had felt… oh. This again.

He pried his eyes open, blinking several times, and registered the blurry view of his nightstand from his bedroom floor. He placed one hand on the floor, took a few deep breaths, and tried to push himself up from the floor. The effort sent a wave of lightheadedness through him, his vision going white momentarily, and he collapsed back onto the floor, panting heavily.

He felt like he had just gone through his full workout with just that small exertion, his forehead suddenly covered in sweat, but in contrast his whole body was shaking with a chill. He pushed his forehead against the floor and huffed out a frustrated breath.

“Gabe? You here?”

Shit. He hadn’t heard her come through the door, or even knock. He didn’t want her to find him like this. He didn’t want to scare or worry her. And he didn’t want her to see him this weak. But he couldn’t really help it, could he?

“Gabe, where are you? You left all the lights on, I know you’re here. Gabe?”

Still. He refused to call to her. If she found him like this, fine, but he wasn’t going to help her. He lay in resigned yet stubborn silence on his bedroom floor and listened to her wander about his apartment looking for him.

“Gabe?” she called again, and this time she sounded like she was right outside the bedroom door. “I hope you’re not naked in there or anything, ‘cause I’m coming in!”

He couldn’t see the door as he was rolled away from it, but he heard it open and Adriana walk in.

“Oh my GOD! Gabe!” She was suddenly at his side, hands hovering over him. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Tim sighed. “I’m f-fine, Adriana, j-just…” he trailed off with frustration when he couldn’t make his teeth stop chattering as he spoke.

To his surprise, Adriana’s face went from panicked to a focus that almost seemed professional. She scanned him with her eyes and checked his pulse, pupils, and temperature, taking in all his symptoms - shivering, pale, sweating, feverish, weak, semi-conscious, pupils dilated, heavy breathing, and judging from all the swallowing, a sore throat.

“Your body is trying it’s damnedest to fight an infection, Gabe,” she said as she began helping him off the ground and into his bed, which was thankfully right next to where he had passed out.

“I kn-know,” he said, “This h-happens every n-now and again.”

Adriana shot him an incredulous look as she adjusted the sheets around him. “What happens?”

“I c-catch something and it hits me like a ton of bricks,” he deadpanned, slowly gaining control of his chattering teeth as being under his covers warmed him.

“Are you sure?” Adriana said as she wandered into the adjoining bathroom to search through his medicine cabinet for something to give him. “This is pretty serious, Gabe, I find it hard to believe you get sick like this very often.”

Tim shrugged. “Well, I don’t have a spleen, so.”

Adriana stopped rifling through the cabinet and poked her head out to stare at him. “You don’t have a spleen?” she asked with horror.

Tim smiled at her despite how absolutely shitty he felt. “It’s not that uncommon. I had to have it removed.”

Adriana rolled her eyes at him. “I know it’s not uncommon, Gabe, my mom’s a nurse, remember?” She turned her attention back to the medicine cabinet, pulling out a bottle and reading its label. “It’s just that if you don’t have a spleen, and the spleen, yanno, helps fight infection, you need to have antibiotics or vaccines fairly often to fight off the massive amount of infections you could get.”

“Yes, Adriana, I know. I had my spleen removed, remember?” he said patiently, before closing his eyes. He was exhausted.

“Well, smart guy, I don’t see any,” she responded.

“Any what?” he mumbled.

“Any antibiotics.”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t have any.”

Adriana closed the cabinet and he heard her walk over to stand next to the bed. “You don’t have any?”

“That’s what I said,” he said, not even opening his eyes to look at her. Too tired. “You’re such a good pupil, you listen so well.”

“Gabe, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

His eyes shot open at that and he reached out to grab her wrist. She jumped back and stared at him, startled.

“No hospital.”

Her brow knit. “Gabe, you-”

“No. Hospital.”

Hospitals held records, hospitals asked for ID, hospitals tried to identify you. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a fake ID, but being in a hospital was a permanent stamp on any area he was in, like a footprint left for anyone who knew where to look. They would register him, have a description of him, note that he doesn’t have a spleen. If anyone were looking for him, that would be one of the first places they checked. Hospitals were for emergencies only. This was not an emergency.

Adriana watched him carefully, then looked down at his grip on her wrist. He quickly let go of her and curled his hand against his stomach.

“Alright. No hospital,” she agreed, albeit grudgingly. “But I’m going down to the drugstore and I’m picking up some antibiotics for you, and hopefully your body will sort this out on its own.”

Tim nodded in agreement. “Good plan. Mentor approves.”

Adriana shook her head at him and walked out of the room, muttering, “You’re weird when you’re sick.”

By the time she got back with a bag of antibiotics, pain meds, and a few cans of chicken noodle soup, Gabe had descended into a feverish, delirious mess. He was mumbling to himself incoherently and, upon seeing her walk through the bedroom door, attempted to order her out of the room.

“Excuse me?” she asked, incredulous.

“Out!” he demanded, pointing a finger imperiously at the door. “The sickness can’t spread!”

Adriana stared at him for a moment, mouth hanging open, before she said, “Uh, no.”

Gabe produced what can only be called a growl and buried himself further into his sheets. Then he started mumbling again. “Insubordinate… I’m the leader of the Titans now, you do what I say, little miss ‘I do what I want,’ just ‘cause you’re Superman’s kid, well…”

Adriana elected to ignore his nonsensical mutterings and set about administering the antibiotics, which he was thankfully cooperative about.

“Okay, Gabe, there’s pain meds here if you want them,” she said, jiggling the container before setting it on the dresser next to his bed along with a glass of water.

Gabe turned to look at her, eyes wide and searching. “Who is Gabe?”

Adriana looked at him and reconsidered taking him to the hospital for a moment, but instead just turned to leave. “You’re delirious. I’m going to make you some chicken soup. Be back in a bit.”

Gabe hummed and mumbled something. Adriana stopped and turned back to him, expecting more nonsense.

“What was that?” she called, leaning forward.

“What a shit way to spend my birthday,” he muttered, slightly louder.

She stared at him. “It’s your birthday?”

“Ugh. Yeah. Twenty-five years old as of today,” he grumped, suddenly sounding much more coherent as he waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Don’t tell them though, they’ll try to make something of it.”

Adriana looked around the room as if the people Gabe was referring to were somehow hiding there. “Don’t tell… who?”

“ Them. Oh, nevermind, Steph.”

Adriana raised an eyebrow. “I’m Adriana…?”

“Uh-huh.” Gabe rolled over onto his side, turning his back to her, and almost immediately began to snore.

Adriana stared at him for a few more moments before shaking her head with a smile and heading toward the kitchen to make the soup. She was never going to let him live this down.

*

Nightwing looked out over Gotham city as he dangled his legs off the side of an apartment building and sipped on the ice coffee he had purchased at the cafe a little ways down the block. He kicked his legs back and forth and sighed. He remembered on this day, years ago,  he’d make an impromptu visit to his little brother’s place and drag him out to have some fun, or maybe he’d just stay in and hang with him. Whichever. He’d be with him. Nowadays, that wasn’t really an option. Didn’t mean he couldn’t celebrate the kid’s birthday at all, though.

“How are you, Tim?” he began, as he always did. “Things are alright here, in case you want to know. Damian hit a growth spurt. Again. He’s gonna be taller than you soon and he’s only fifteen. Jason’s good, he’s talking to me more. Still stubborn though. He actually misses you, I think. Babs still has that program looking for you, you know. She checks it every weekend, but… I think she gave up on it a while ago.” He frowned a bit, then took another sip of his coffee.

“You know, Bruce doesn’t like to talk about you when this day comes around, but I know he’s thinking about you. Trying not to, of course, but he is. Alfred is too. He gets a little more sullen this day every year. And Cass… let’s see. She’s doing beautifully in her ballet lessons, Tim, you’d be proud. She’s doing good. Don’t see her much though. Steph is good too. She took it hard when you disappeared but she bounced back. She’s like that. Which you already knew.”

He took a long sip of the ice coffee and furrowed his brow. “Who am I forgetting…? Oh!” He chuckled. “Me! I’m doing great, as always, I’m just. I don’t know. A little tired. Tonight’s been rough. Talking to you has made me feel better though. I wish the others would join me for this little tradition, but… Yeah, they say it feels like they’re mourning you. The only person I can ever celebrate today with is- Oh, there he is.”

Dick looked up to the sky and watched as Superboy descended toward the roof, small smile on his face and coffee in hand.

“Hey, Kon!” Dick called.

“Hey,” Superboy responded, perching beside him on the edge of the roof. “Got my coffee.”

“Actual coffee this time?” Dick asked.

“Nah, you know I hate the stuff. I got a hot chocolate.”

Dick nodded. “Wise choice.”

Kon held up his styrofoam cup and Dick responded in kind, both their drinks bought from Tim’s favorite coffee shop in Gotham.

“To being twenty-five years old. Happy Birthday, Tim,” Kon said, his voice heavy but steady.

“Happy Birthday, Tim,” Dick repeated, and tapped the edge of his cup against Kon’s.

They both took a sip, then sat side by side and watched the bustle of Gotham city.

AO3