#they will legit be coughing up a lung and still manage to take pills

[number1jaymerrickhater]

“Oh the tapes still being playable after being burned and laying outside for years by Alex is the most unrealistic part of Marble Hornets” “oh the most unrealistic part of Marble Hornets is all the characters leaving their doors unlocked” YOU FOOLS THE MOST UNREALISTIC PART OF MARBLE HORNETS IS HOW EASILY ALL OF THESE CHARACTERS DRY SWALLOW PILLS

[satire-please]

Take a Sad Song and Make it Better - Part 2

Batfam Big Bang Day 2 - Sick = Batfam member being taken care of or attacked by an army of motherhens.

Jason makes soup for some ungrateful shits

Part 1

“I hate you.”

“I hate you more.”

“But I hate you little shits most,” Jay says, shouldering the guest bedroom door open roughly,  He slams the tray of soup and crackers on the bedside table between the two coughing, sniffing invalids. “Honestly, what kind of dumb fuck takes a swim in the dead of winter?”

“Screw you, Jason. I wouldn’t call being chained and thrown into the harbor a leisurely swim.” Tim says venomously. But unfortunately, he doesn’t look much of a threat when his lap is blanketed in white tissues. In fact, there might not even be a single space of the bedspread left not covered in the clumped wet balls.

It had been cold. So cold when the thugs shoved them off the boat. The water slammed against their chests like ice. Tim managed to get one breath in before the harbor creeps over his domino mask, his hair and to sucks them under. Tim has five minutes. He can hold his breath for five minutes. Has Damian been trained? How long—

Jay raises both his eyebrows, “Excuse me? This is the thanks I get? I slave all day in the kitchen for yer bony asses and instead of a single thank you, it’s screw you? Ouch, Babybird.” His hands motion grandly to the food tray.

“Must you poison us too, Hood?” Damian stares at the bowls with suspicion. “Have we not suffered enough as it is?”

The infidels had been clumsy, roughly chaining them back to back. A shoddy job. It should have provided loopholes, space from hurried mistakes, but alas they focused enough on limiting the use of their hands. The gang yelled when a new pair of black boots landed on the insufficient sailboat’s deck. The foolish men must have thrown them over as a hopeful distraction for the Bat. But as the metal links dig into Damian’s arms, quickly turning the same temperature as the bay, he knows they were wrong.

“Now why would I do that.” Jay crosses his arms over his chest, looming over first Dami and then Tim. “That’s a waste of food. If I want ya to die, I’d just shoot ya in the head. Save Alfred a grocery trip.”

“Thanks, Jay,” Tim says sarcastically.

“Aw shucks, yer welcome.”

Tim doesn’t bother kicking towards the surface yet. They tossed them in the shallows, this group doesn’t usually care about the efficiency of a kill but the fun of it. From reports, he knows the game is to cruelly toss victims in water only a few feet deeper than their prey. Giving an illusion of hope when they kick, hop, jump from the river bed. Only for them gasp and be helplessly pushed back down by oars or hands. The sadistic game can last for hours...until their playtoy finally loses strength or gives up.

He opens his eyes in the filth of the bay and peers around looking, looking...there!

Steam flows up from the bowls, the aroma quickly fills the room. Tim takes a deep breath, the smell tempting him, while a stomach gives a quiet rumble in the next bed. When neither boy makes a move towards Jason’s generous sacrifice, Jason shifts his weight to his hip and taps his foot with a scowl.

Damn it, he knows his cooking is legit, man.

“What? Wouldja like it to be Dick’s cooking instead?” Both bedridden boys look over to each other for a second, then to Jason, to the tray and back again. Then Tim and Damian frantically struggle as one to escape the sheets to get to the bowls first. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

The tension in Jason’s limbs, like they’d notice pffftt, finally eases as the bowls barely stay full for a minute. The moment they’re empty, he gives them a second helping and glares at Tim when he wrinkles his nose at the dish. “This is no time to eat like a bird, princess.”

“But I don’t need–”

“Don’t need nothing, ya need to give yer body the good stuff to fight. And ain’t ya lucky Dick’s off planet? He’d give ya the worst puppy eyes and be all over ya, both of ya for that shitty attitude.”

Damian and Tim shudder. Dick has always won the worst Motherhen award. Always. (Alfred is the sneakiest though.)

Damian puts his spoon down. He is...content, how odd. “I suppose that is a fair point. What I do not understand is how the two of us could be put in the same room, in a mansion such as this, forced to accept each other’s presence against our will during recovery.”

Damian conserves his energy the best he can. Watching the bubbles that escape him, minding his surroundings as his ears go numb. Their bodies jerk against the current as Drake suddenly drags them in the direction of his choosing. His slight height and longer legs give a mild advantage, but Damian does not hinder or fight Drake at a time such as this. Surely Drake has a purpose, a plan if he is as clever as Grayson has repeatedly claimed. He walks carefully backward, mindful not to trip on the debris and garbage littered on the harbor bottom. If they lose their balance, escaping to the surface will be more...difficult. His heel hits something hard and he twists to the best of his ability around Drake, a car!

“Alfred’s orders. He said it’s the perfect way to condense care and meet yer needs more efficiently. The man plays the best vindictive shtick if ya know what I mean.”

“It’s the spite. He needs it to stay alive and old.” Tim adds. He sets his bowl on the tray with a sharp clink.

Two minutes. The old beetle is brown with rust, one broken door floating on its hinges. It’s just what they need, Tim hauls them on the roof of the vehicle and stands on his tiptoes. His head breaks the surface of the water and he takes a greedy gulp of air. Smog has never tasted so sweet.

Then he feels the body lashed to his struggle and squirm violently.

“Robin? What are you–” And he notices it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the top of Damian’s head, his wet dark spikes. But that’s it. His face is still submerged.

Fuck.

No. Tim bites his lip, tearing it and moves his arms under the chains for any wiggle room. He sucks in his ribs, not on his watch. Not another Robin dying on his watch. He pulls the boy up an itch up his body, two...and leans over. He hears a wonderful, desperate gasp before his head goes back in the water. Good. That’s fine. He can stay under.

Besides Tim’s got another five minutes.

On the bed somewhere, something buzzes and vibrates. Tim pats the covers awkwardly until he unburies a phone.

It’s 7:30.

He promptly reaches across the bedside table. His fingertips nudging a small orange bottle until it slides and topples over. It rolls closer to the preteen. Success is his. “Meds, Damian. Every four hours remember?”

The younger boy huffs but drops the bottle into his lap, “You as well, Drake. I believe Alfred has synced our medication schedules for this purpose.”

“What purpose?”

“To ensure the other does not conveniently forget.”

“I’ve never done that!”

“I disagree. In fact, shall we pull up the records to call that bluff? I am certain Oracle or Alfred have some sort of accounts on the matter.”

“...No.” Jay guffaws at the cowed expression on Tim’s face. Little do these two know that’s one of his tiny jobs to keep the suckers alive today. Stuff their pills down their throats if necessary. How lucky for them that he just gets to be an extra eye, to watch them like a hawk, to take note of how Damian pops open the bottle and swallow his meds dry. But–

“Drake,” states Damian exasperatedly.

“What?

Jay adds his two cents with a point, “So what about them meds, replacement?”

“Oh.” Tim looks to the side. There’s a long sigh, but finally, the asshat puts down his phone to finally get the good drugs in him. Okay, so it’s a bit of a setup. Replacement ain’t got some pills but the fancy stuff since he’s you know, missing an organ. The IV stand almost leans against the wall, it’s needle already burrowed in the back of Tim’s hand. Tim opens the high-end antibodies and carefully feeds it into a tubing of the hanging IV bag. The dying light reflects off the clear fluid. Jay almost considers helping, since Tim lightly curses, his arm stretched awkwardly above him.

Nah. Replacement...no Babybird got’s this. He’ll get all stiff and offended if Jay steps in.

They watch as Tim’s posture goes lax. His eyes narrow in annoyance but soon he’s going to pass out and there’s nothing he can do about it. Gods, he hopes they don’t watch him sleep again.

They do it with this vindictive glee that he could do without.

Damian sniffs, but nods with approval, “Good. It would be ridiculous if you wasted away after what we had to endure in that last venture.”

There are no stars in Gotham’s sky. Not from what he can see being propped up over Drake’s back in this manner. His chest strains as his lungs finally fill. He could do without the idiotic trembles as his body submits to the cold, yet he’s avoided one death and that shall suffice him for now.

“What took you so long, Red Robin? Did you not notice our difference in heights until the last instance. I swear, that you could become any sort of vigilante is beyond me. But be assured, soon Father will finish and rescue us from this silly predicament.”

There is no answer.

“D-Drake?”

Their bodies bob slightly, Damian thinks of how the dead float.

“DRAKE!”

He rocks, flails until under the water his wrist is squeezed tightly. Oh. Drake is not dead...at least not yet. Father, no Grayson would not be pleased over his incompetent predecessor’s possible demise.

So he focuses on the sailboat and screams one word. “BATMAN!”

Jay looks back and forth between the two and smirks. Feelings, these boys are shit at them, but he bets if he put a gun to them, it would be a fight of who leaps in front of the other first. He puts his money on the demon brat, the jumpy monkey. He remembers how Bruce stormed into the cave, one bird in the crook of his arm, the other over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. How he yelled for Jason to prepare the medi-beds and Alfred taking in the pale skin of the two boys went straight for the emergency heaters.

It had been a rush.

A chance of sepsis is not fun. Neither is dealing with hypothermia with the pint-sized preteen. You would think being closer to hell, or his genetics would keep him warm, but no, Jay had to massage the circulation back into those toes so the kid could keep them.

It had been a close shave.

But they’re Bats. Surviving is what they do.

“Well girls, it’s time for a nap,” he pulls out a book. A real one. Like get these shits some real literature, “And I gotcha the best bedtime story, so shut up and listen.”

“I do not require such frivolous–”

“I said shut yer yap before I suffocate ya with a pillow.” He thumbs open the first page, “There we are, ‘It was a pleasure to burn…’”

Tim graciously gives a wet tissue to Damian to lob at Jason. Damian takes the ammo grateful, continues to take it as Jason proceeds to dodge. And be successful at it. His voice melodious and soothing in its own rough way. Over time, it causes Damian’s throws to be more erratic, wide...slow. It causes Tim’s shoulders to sink deeper into the bedding, a different kind of drowning.

“‘We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?'”

Yeah, Jay thinks he could do that. Be the best botherer in the world.

‘Bout time he got started on it.