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mischiefandspirits · 3 years

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Bernard Figures It Out

Was reading through all the comments on @frostbittenbucky's post and all I could think of was that it was Bernard talking to Tim. Then I got to thinking...

"I've connected the two dots."

"You didn't connect shit."

"I've connected them."

Bernard figures out Tim's a superhero... sort of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim fidgetted nervously as he waited on the front porch of his boyfriend’s house. Bernard had sounded so serious when he’d called during Tim’s lunch to ask him to come over after work so they could talk about something.

Which Tim had done, after spending an entire board meeting just going over the past week trying to figure out what he’d done.

The only thing he could think of was that he’d ducked out halfway through their lunch date on Wednesday to give Duke some backup, but Bernard had seemed understanding when Tim explained there was an emergency at GRC Labs. It couldn’t have been a tipping point, either, since Tim had managed to only flake on three other dates over the past few months they’d been dating. Kate had been happy to cover for him as often as she could “out of queer solidarity” when she found out Tim was dating a boy for the first time and Tim had managed to trick Bruce into covering a few actual Wayne Enterprises emergencies for him when they came up.

There had to be a reason Bernard was breaking up with him, though. Had he missed something? He definitely wasn’t forgetting an important day. He was good with days and Tam was even better, so she would have reminded him on the off chance that he had forgotten.

What was he missing?

Bernard was smiling when he opened the door, but there was a nervous energy to it that had Tim’s stomach sinking. “Hey, Tim.”

“Hey.” Tim gave his own nervous smile then slipped inside.

They went into the living room and sat down on the couch.

Tim frowned when Bernard grabbed a manila folder off the coffee table. Crud, had he screwed up enough that Bernard had had to make a list? He knew he was new to dating a guy, but he hadn’t thought he’d done that bad. He’d really been trying, especially with how his and Stephanie’s relationship had fallen apart at the end. “What -”

“Just let me speak, Tim,” Bernard said, waiting for Tim’s nod. “Okay, so you know Clark Kent, right?”

Tim blinked as Bernard opened the folder to show a picture of Clark. It looked like one of the employee pictures from the Planet’s website, with his dorky “I’m just a humble country boy” smile and the golden globe from their roof photoshopped in as the background. “Uh, yeah? I think so. He works for the Daily Planet, right? I think he’s worked at a few of Bruce’s events. Not a lot of outside reporters are willing to come to Gotham.”

“Exactly!” Bernard said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Tim.

“What?”

He pulled out the picture to show the next page was an article titled, “DAILY PLANET REPORTER… BATMAN!?”

A wave of relief washed over Tim and he placed his face in his hands. “Were you up all night on the hero conspiracy boards again?”

“No. I mean, I found this on a board and was up all night thinking about it, but I found it reasonably early.”

“One in the morning isn’t reasonable, Bernard.”

“Says the guy who’s always wide awake when I call to infodump.”

“Touché.” Tim leaned against Bernard and gave him a smile. “So tell me, why is some reporter from Metropolis from all places Batman.”

“First of all, living in Metropolis is the perfect cover. Everyone assumes Batman would live in Gotham, no one would consider he could be from anywhere else. Metropolis is outside the GMA, but close enough that the commute is still possible.”

“But it’s Metropolis.”

“And who would think Gotham’s Dark Knight lives in the sunshine capital? Plus, I hear he disappears a lot on the job. There’s gotta be a reason for it!”

Tim made a note to let Clark know he needs to cut back on the disappearing act some since people are catching on.

“And have you seen the guy? He is swol AF, babe.”

“Please don’t call me babe while you’re talking about how hot another guy is.” Especially Tim’s honorary uncle.

“You know I prefer twinks.”

“BERNARD!”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring Tim’s shout. “The guy is definitely hiding something! Besides, Kent is an investigative reporter. He’s gotta know a lot about cases and the underground and detective work.”

Not as much as he likes people to think, but more than he likes people to know Superman does, Tim mused. “But what about the other vigilantes?”

“Well, Kent has a cousin…” Bernard flipped through a folder and pulled out a picture of Kara. It looked like a screenshot of her interviewing Lena for CatCo. “She’s obviously the latest Batgirl. Look at her hair. And the first Batgirl and the current Batwoman were obviously Lois Lane, the red hair is just a wig. Did you see how she kicked butt at that last event she went to? She’s not as subtle as Kent. That means their son is the latest Robin. He’s exactly the right size.”

Oh, Damian better not hear about this, Tim cackled internally. His youngest brother hated being reminded that Jon was the same height as him despite their two years age difference. Damian definitely took after Talia when it came to body type, no matter what he said.

“And Kent also has a brother.” This time he pulled out a picture of Kon. The clone must have been caught by a reporter out shopping with Ma since he was carrying some paper bags and glaring at whoever was behind the camera. “At least, he’s supposedly Kent’s brother, but he was a teenager when he first showed up with the Kents. A lot of people think he’s actually Kent’s son, that Kent got a girl pregnant when they were teenagers and something happened to the mom so Kent had to take him in. Now the Kents are trying to hide it by saying the two are brothers.”

That was… scarily accurate actually. Especially given Luthor and Clark were close friends at the time that Kon would have theoretically been born.

“And that beef would explain why the younger Kent brother went all crime lord on Gotham for a while before reconnecting with the family.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Kent Jr.’s got the perfect build for Red Hood.”

Tim bit back a comment on how Kon was shorter than Jason by a good foot. Timothy Drake-Wayne should not know that. Add Jason to the list of people who can’t hear this theory.

“And then there’s this girl,” Bernard picked up a picture of Lois, Jon, and Natasha Irons walking down the street together. “No one’s sure exactly who she is, but she’s been spotted with the Kents a few times. I think the cover story is that she’s Jon’s babysitter.”

“And the actual story?”

“She’s Black Bat, obviously. That’s why she wears a mask that fully covers her face. She doesn’t want to stand out as the only African American Bat.”

“Isn’t Signal also Black?”

“Yeah, but he works in the daytime so he’s already a standout.”

“And who is Signal in this? And what about Nightwing and Red Robin?”

“Well, Nightwing’s just a Blüd who came to Gotham. He doesn’t count.”

Ouch. Sorry, Dick.

“And Red Robin is obviously an older Robin, the one who was Robin when we were kids. Kent wanted to keep him on, and I don’t blame him. As for Signal, he’s got the same backstory as all the other Robins Kent picked up, he just went the Signal route because he didn’t fit the usual Robin mold.”

“Because the female Robin fit the mold,” Tim snorted. Robin Mold, as if he and his brothers were even the same ethnicity. Or even had the same hair color. Jason dyes his hair, Dick’s is brown-black, Tim’s is pure black, and Damian’s is more a dark brown and it’s only getting lighter as he gets older.

“She didn’t, that’s the point. Kent tried to give breaking the Robin mold a chance by letting his cousin have a go at it, but he realized it just didn’t work so she went back to being Spoiler and he got a new Robin.”

Not touching that with a ten-foot pole. “Right, and where does he get the usual Robins? Please tell me you’re not back on the secret government orphanages theory.”

“No, no, no. Kent travels sometimes for his job, right? And a lot of the time he’s going to places that have been hit by disasters or major crimes. So he’ll take in some of the displaced children to train as his robins.”

Tim pressed his face back into his hands.

“You see it, right?”

Honestly, Tim was just wondering how his boyfriend could be so close, and yet so far off. “How would Kent even afford taking care of a bunch of secret -- possibly illegally acquired -- children without anyone noticing?”

“Simple. Bruce Wayne is funding him.”

“Bernard, I love you, but what the heck?” Tim blushed and looked up as he realized what he’d said, but Bernard didn’t seem to notice as he steamrolled ahead.

“It’d also explain how he can afford all the gear and how he’d be able to travel to Gotham or anywhere else Batman goes without anyone noticing. He probably has a secret Batplane or something.”

“Why would Bruce do that?”

“Because Wayne cares about Gotham, everyone knows that, and this way he can make sure someone’s taking care of the city without anyone putting two and two together.”

“And two plus two is?”

Bernard gave him a hard look. “I’m not stupid, Tim. Bruce Wayne is obviously Superman. His face is right there.”

Oh, the others are going to love this! Too bad I can’t tell Damian or Jason. Jason especially would have loved this. “Right. Bruce is Superman.”

“He is. Superman is known for being nice and Bruce Wayne’s basically all that’s keeping the city running at this point. That’s nice as hell.”

Oh my god.

“And Wayne does charity for the victims of cataclysms, doesn't he? I bet he first saves people from them as Superman and then builds them new homes for free.”

Oh my god! Why am I not recording this!?

“And the Wayne’s were rich enough to hide the fact they adopted an alien baby.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “If you’re about to tell me this is why Bruce’s parents got killed, you might want to stop while you’re ahead.”

“It’d make sense. There’re all sorts of unanswered questions about their deaths,” Bernard muttered under his breath, flipping through the folder. He pulled out another picture of Kara. This time she was in full Supergirl attire with a bus held overhead. “So if Wayne is Superman, then that’d mean your ex-girlfriend could be Supergirl. They look a lot alike and it’d explain how she got involved with you all.”

“Bernard, she has a human dad. You know, Cluemaster. The supervillain.”

“Yeah, her dad. But we don’t know anything about her mom!”

“Let me guess…”

Bernard pulled out a picture of Karen. She and Helena were suited up and talking to a group of cops, two goons held over each of Karen’s shoulders. “Her mom could be Power Girl! Some makeup and a wig and she could look just like Crystal Brown! And Damian Wayne is obviously the new Superboy! That’s why his background is such a mystery, right? He had to stay a secret until he could control his alien superpowers. That’s why he’s always so mean. It’s a cover since everyone knows Superboy is super sweet!”

Sure, when he’s not helping Damian pull pranks or using his adorable powers to put the blame on Kon and I. “No, Bernard. Damian and Steph are just very human hellspawn. And Bruce and Crystal are human too. I can’t believe you called me over here just to tell me you think Superman is both Batman’s sugar daddy and my adoptive dad.”

“Well, that’s not exactly why I called you over,” Bernard admitted, the nervous energy coming back. He grabbed Tim’s hands. “Tim -”

Tim’s stomach sank. “You are breaking up with me!”

“What? No! I don’t want to break up!”

“Why are you acting all nervous and serious then!?” Tim asked, pulling his hands away to throw them up in the air.

Bernard shook the folder. “Because I’m trying to tell you I figured out you’re Superboy!”

Tim’s brain blue-screened and his hands slowly dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know you’re Superboy. The older one, obviously. By the way, you and Damian really need to figure out separate names.”

Forget Jason and Damian, Kon can never find out about this. He’d never let me live it down. “Bernard, you called me a twink five minutes ago. Su-” Shoot, I can not risk getting Kon’s attention! “The older one might not be as big as Superman, but he’s not a twink.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the shapeshifting at work.”

“The what?”

“Obviously you Kryptonians can shapeshift. Why else would you look so much like humans?”

… Why do Kryptonians look so much like humans? Was there some - Wait, no! Break into the Fortress of Solitude for research later! Reassure your boyfriend that you’re not an alien now! “Bernard -”

“And that explains why your step-mom was so hot.”

“Gross.”

“She and your dad were actors hired by Luthor so you could have a normal life! But now Bruce has custody so he adopted you.”

“No.”

“That’s why you and your dad were so weird with each other when I met him.”

“We were weird because he’d just gotten out of a coma not long before to find that his wife was dead so he decided to actually be a dad for once in his life, but overcompensated and became a helicopter parent to a kid who was mostly on his own for his entire life!” Tim blurted out. “I am not an alien, Bernard!”

“Well, not technically since you were cloned from Superman on Earth.”

“Oh my god! You were just talking about Steph being Supergirl! Why would I date my dad’s cousin?”

Bernard blinked. “Supergirl and Superman are cousins?”

Right, Timothy Drake-Wayne wasn’t supposed to know that. “I thought they’d said something like that before, yeah. Are people seriously saying I’m Superboy on the internet?”

“NO! No, I swear I would have led with that if I thought your identity was compromised. A few people have mentioned Wayne and Damian, but not you or Steph or Jason.”

“Wh-Jason!? You think Jason was an alien too!”

“No, not exactly, but a few times when I’ve visited I swear I’ve seen a guy in the manor who looks like Jason. It’s just been out of the corner of my eye and he’s gone whenever I look so I’ve always thought it was just Dick or Bruce or some picture of Jason that my mind was playing tricks with, but it makes sense now that I know Wayne is Superman. He must have been able to heal Jason with alien tech, but couldn’t say anything because that would give away that he’s Superman.”

Damn it Jason! And damn it Bernard! I’m dating the smartest moron in the world! “Bruce did not bring Jason back with alien technology and none of us are aliens!”

“It’s okay, Tim. I won’t tell anyone.”

Tim grabbed Bernard by the jacket and pulled him into a kiss. When he started to feel lightheaded, he pulled back, “Could someone whose skin is as solid as stone kiss like that?”

Bernard blinked dazedly at him for a moment. “How do you know what Superboy’s skin feels like?”

Tim screamed internally. “He’s saved me from a kidnapping before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can get you the police report if you want.”

“Huh… And the others?”

“Not Supers. I can stab Damian the next time we’re at the manor if that’ll prove none of us are aliens.” He’d rather stab Jason, but that would probably only confirm to Bernard that Bruce used alien technology to bring him back.

“You probably shouldn’t stab your brother if he isn’t an alien.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I won’t stab him anywhere deadly.”

“That’s not the point,” Bernard said slowly.

“He’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“So do you believe I’m not an alien now?” Tim huffed, letting go of Bernard’s jacket.

The blond’s eyes dipped down to Tim’s lips. “If I say no, will you kiss me like that again?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Tim said, but he kissed him anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, but I still say Clark Kent is definitely Batman.”

“Sure, Bernard.”

#Tim Drake #robin #red robin #bernard dowd #timber #fanfiction

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iphoenixrising · 3 years

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The Demon You Know

Day 1 Urban Fantasy AU | Magical/Supernatural Creatures | Time Travel

So, something a little off the grid for my first day of DickTim Week 2021. Special thanks to my wonderful babe @vellaphoria for the beta and the incredible peeps on the Capes and Coffee discord (looking at you @themandylion, @strawberryjei and others). Also need to show my undying love for @chippon because babe, we are making it work.

When the sun creeps up over the sky in Gotham, then it’s time to GTFO. Capes in the daytime aren’t the usual for the city, and Red Robin has been playing it too late, staying out far past O’s warning to bring it in for the night. So, really, he’s only got himself to blame.

His penthouse perch has seen more use in the last few months since, welp, Gotham and the fact he likes to get away from the team mentality sometimes, like to return to his roots and run the rooftops like when he was still that Robin. His trips to the Manor had become more frequent since B was back in the cowl and things in the family seemed to be returning to some semblance of normal.

Well, as normal as it could get, really.

But all that goodwill and positivity is literally ghost. Red’s hands are shaky and his inner calm is absolutely blown. He’s ducking into his perch to throw his suit off, grab his duffle bag full of sundries and fake idents, then he’s going to hit the airport as fast as he can get a flight the hell out of town, away from the terrifying sight.

(He should just call Bart or Kon or Cassie, tell them he needs an out faster than he can arrange it himself, he needs to get away from–)

He knows he fucked up when the slight sounds, small and metallic in nature, make it past his pulse thumping in his ears.

Like a horror flick, he slowly turns as the front door gives a groan and is pushed open by a very familiar palm.

Dick’s blue eyes fall on him like a ton of bricks, on Red Robin’s feet frozen to the floor, his suit only half on, and no way he can get far enough to throw himself out a window.

Fuck.

“So,” Dick keeps his voice soft, footsteps easy as he steps inside Tim’s penthouse and closes the door behind him, “you finally found me out.”

Keeping his mouth shut in times like this has really saved his ass before, so Red doesn’t say a word, keeps every muscle in his body ready to spring for the right second –

Watching the would-be robber struggle in Dick’s grip, watching the light show brighten overwhelmingly, seeing what had to be-had to be feeding.

“I figured it would be you if anyone, actually, so I’m not really surprised, just… disappointed.” Dick continues softly, only in jeans and a t-shirt since Nightwing was oddly missing from the patrol roster last night.

And Red is apparently the only one that knows why.

“But that doesn’t mean I can just let you go, Timmy,” Dick isn’t stopping, his whole body lax while Red is wound tight, backing away from the man he thought he knew. “I really wish you hadn’t found out like this. I...I had other plans.”

Whirlybirds and pellets aren’t going to help him here. Hand-to-hand and martial arts, aerial acrobatics, none of it is going to make a difference.

His throat goes dry when Dick’s eyes get more and more blue, when his former mentor doesn’t stop advancing, and Red Robin is running out of room to back away.

“I tried to save you, Timmy. I tried so hard to get you away, out of Gotham, even if you went because you thought you had to find Bruce, I’m the one that gave you the compulsion to leave.” The low laugh is edged with something desperate, “why the hell couldn’t you stay away?”

“This is my city, just as much as Batman’s. You taking my fucking cape wasn’t enough,” Red Robin bites out, back thumping against the kitchen counter, realizing Dick had backed him into the corner. “How did you keep it from him? Constantine, Zatanna, all the magic users he has on speed dial and he never figured you out? No one in the JLA or Titans did?”

That makes Dick pause.

“He never had to. He knew what my parents were before they ever died, Timmy. Haley’s Circus came to Gotham regularly. Bruce always knew.”

The information blast hits him painfully, that Bruce didn’t bother to tell him and look at where they are now.

“And he didn’t try to help you?” Red, Tim, gapes at the still silhouette that used to be someone he thought he knew like he knew himself. Someone that’s always had this secret. “He didn’t try to –”

“Cure me?” Dick’s mouth lifts in a semblance of a smile Tim knows. “There is no cure for this, Timmy. It’s what I am. What my parents both were, the curse of the Romain Bababiljos. It’s unfortunate for me both of them were cursed, that just makes the...the hunger two-fold.”

And it’s just a few more steps, a raised hand that makes Tim flinch back, but only a fingertip taps the edge of the domino, makes the whiteouts raise.

Automatically, with everything he’s learned, studied, experienced about supernatural creatures, he ducks his head so he isn’t looking directly into those eyes. That doesn’t stop Dick from bracketing Tim in, both hands on the counter, their bodies a breath apart.

Dick laughs softly, close enough for Tim to feel the breath on his face. “The Titans...I never had to tell them. By then, I could control myself, at least mostly. The JLA? I’m one of the Batman’s proteges. I’ve been fighting crime since I was eight. They believe in me. There was never a reason for any of them to look too deeply past the surface.”

“Wh-what do you mean mostly?” Tim’s heart slams in his chest, “how many people have you killed, Dick?”

“Do you have any idea how awful the hunger is?” And the lower Dick’s voice goes, the harder Tim’s heart starts to pound. “Surviving on hugs and family affection is tantamount to starvation for someone like me. It’s so easy to kill someone during sex because the hunger is so much I can’t control it sometimes. Anyone I’m with is in danger. That’s why I couldn’t stay with Babs, she’s too human. The one time I came close–”

Dick breathes again and all Tim looks at is the span of throat, thinking of the soft, vulnerable parts, anything he can use to get the fuck away.

“–but I didn’t. I have...willpower sometimes. I drained her so close, though. She was-was so fragile, Timmy, and I was so hungry. I’d been starving for so damn long. She was hospitalized for longer than she’d been when the Joker shot her, and I said never again. But Wally and Kory were...different. I could go further with him without killing them, I could get more full than I’d been in a long time. It was still dangerous for them, but I was so far gone by the time...”

“They’re both still alive. Babs is still alive. Does she–?”

“Remember? Of course not. None of them do. I made sure of that, Tim, so none of them would be afraid of me.” And the air changes when Dick gets closer, his eyes get brighter, and Tim almost chokes with the almost touch to his body under his suit. “But, you are going to be different, aren’t you? I’m not going to be able to convince your mind that what you saw was a dream.”

“So what? You’re going to make me “disappear”? You’ll give Bruce some sob story about how I got tired of the vigilante life and left for college or some shit? Going to bury me where no one will ever find me?” He isn’t looking at Dick’s face, can’t see his own end coming, can’t believe he’d put all his faith and belief in this man only to have it all come to this.

Tim laughs wetly, blinking rapidly, and everything suddenly comes together. “He won’t ever come looking for me anyway. You made sure of that when you made Damian your Robin. Nice plan, Dick. No one is going to give a shit if I’m never seen again anyway.”

And it’s stupid not to at least try, not to duck and kick out, trip up whatever Dick really is, to break a window and fucking run, try to get Bruce, Clark, Kon and Bart and Cassie, to get anyone to listen to him about what Dick really is, to try to save himself.

(If you’d never figured out Dick was Robin, if you never put yourself in front of him, you’d be safe now. Miserable but safe.)

Even if it’s his own brain pan spitting this out, he knows it’s bullshit.

If he’d never approached Dick Grayson with proof Batman was losing his mind, Tim Drake wouldn’t have reached twenty-one. The way his life was going, he would have probably hung himself long before getting to this stage in his life. If he’d never had Bruce or Alfred or Dick or Steph, if he’d never had Robin, never had Young Justice or The Titans, if he’d never had the Clench, never felt the rumble under his feet as Gotham had fallen, if he’d never had the agony of losing everyone in his life, if he’d never had the drive to prove his adopted father was alive…

The civilian Tim Drake wouldn’t have had the strength to make it through life alive.

So if this is the way he goes out, if Dick is the one that ends it for him–

There’re worse ways to go.

He’s not going to be the Joker’s next victim or Ra’s al Ghul’s heir with a mix of Lazarus Pit crazy. The HIVE, the Light, the mass of aliens he’s fought, any number of Rogue Gallery thugs, none of them will be the ones to take him out.

But this?

His career as Robin started out with Dick Grayson, so maybe...maybe it’s fitting this is the way it all ends.

He sucks in a breath and finally tilts his head up, looks up into those electric blue eyes, and lets his breath out so so slow.

Because Dick is looking at him with watery eyes, with a grimace, with something Tim can actually recognize.

But those eyes light up in his penthouse perch, take on a supernatural glow, Dick snatching his wrists in bigger hands, pulling Tim closer, the heat getting through layers of Kevlar and Nomex. And just like that, he can’t pull away, can’t pull back.

There’s no way to defend himself when Dick pulls him in, when he expects to get his throat ripped out, his neck snapped, something important crushed, for the darkness to take over and his heart to slow down to a sad, weak pitter patter.

He can’t defend himself when Dick kisses him, opens his mouth, and stuns him into going completely slack.

“I told you,” Dick growls softly when he pulls back, bends enough to get Tim laid out over his shoulder, “I had other plans.”

But Tim can’t reply, can’t do anything other than lay across Dick’s back as the Romani love deamon strides down the hallway and kicks open the bedroom door.

And if Tim Drake survives until morning, shocking the hell out of the both of them, staring up at Dick’s surprised face and glowing blue eyes, if the soft touch to his jaw contrasts sharply with the bruises and red marks blossoming all over his body from an intense night with his supernatural mentor and best friend, if Dick doesn’t whisper, “finally, finally, my mate,” before kissing him.

If the power Dick drains from him doesn’t kill him, doesn’t do more than give him the most amazing span of unending multiple orgasms to ever happen, if Dick isn’t fully satisfied for the first time in his life. If Dick doesn’t call them both off patrol for the next three nights, carts Tim back to his apartment, refuses him clothes and computers and tech, tells the Titans they’re taking a break from crime fighting while Tim is tied and gagged in his bed, sated enough to listen hazily with half-mast eyes.

If Dick doesn’t hand feed him while he’s getting feeling back in his legs (finally) and give him the full run-down about his parents. If the strange mark on his abdomen doesn’t get warm whenever Dick’s hand is on it, fingers tracing the edges, making those blue, blue eyes dilate in possessiveness. If Tim doesn’t eventually escape with his sanity intact and a little terrified how much his body craves only to have Dick chase after him with single-minded purposes to convince him they’re meant to be.

Then only the man with cameras all over Gotham, waiting and watching with bated breath and fear for his Robins, unmitigated relief when his theory proves true, would be able to give all the details.

#dicktimweek2021 #winter writes #dicktim #back on my shit #dick grayson #tim drake #my ficlet #my writing

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mochegato · 4 years

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Hope on Board

Chapter 10 – Welcome to the Mad House

Note: In the last chapter, a few people were wondering about Dick knowing Marinette was there and I realized I cut out the pre-fight strategizing session that explained it. Signal was the first to respond because it was a daytime event and he was already on patrol. He called Red Hood in as backup because he knew Jason was free. Dick just showed up without warning because he knew Marinette had an appointment there earlier and was no longer responding to texts or phone calls and Dick got scared and came to check.

Chapter 1 Chapter 9

“And you’re sure I’m dressed appropriately?” Marinette asked again. He’d lost count of what number that was by now.

“Marinette I promise you. You’re dressed perfectly. You look amazing and not to make you pout, but nobody is going to care what you’re wearing and it’s too late to change now anyway,” Dick assured her again, this time on the steps walking up to the Wayne Manor front doors.

Marinette looked scandalized. “Of course they’re going to care! What people wear affects how people think about them. I mean, each person reacts differently to the same outfit, but it has an effect. And, technically, I’m going to dinner with two of my bosses, which just adds extra pressure on top of meeting my boyfriend’s family.” She couldn’t stop herself from grinning as she said boyfriend despite the spiral she was going into, which was making her physically sick on top of mentally sick. “And Alfred! What if he thinks I’m not dressed properly for what he planned? I don’t want to insult Alfred!”

Dick laughed hard enough to grab his stomach in pain. Marinette pouted at him. “Alfred will only care if you are intentionally trying to be offensive. That’s going to be true for almost all of them.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “But you’re dressed perfectly, I promise you. It’s nice but not too nice. The perfect meeting the family dress. But they’re going to care more about the person than the dress and they are going to love the person.”

He ran his hands up and down her arms at a soothing pace before pulling her against him and placing a chaste kiss on her lips. She smiled warmly at him and nodded, her lips set in a determined line. “Let’s do this. We got this.”

Dick chuckled and reached for the door. Before he could reach the handle, the door opened up in front of him. “Master Dick and you must be Miss. Dupain-Cheng. Please come in.” Alfred gave them a warm smile.

“Thank you so much. You must be M. Pennyworth.”

“Indeed I am. Please call me Alfred. Everyone else in the family does.” He smiled kindly at her. “It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

“Thank you. Please just Marinette, Alfred. It is a pleasure to meet you. Dick talks about you all the time.” She reached up to give him la bise. She pulled away to offer him the box she had been carrying. “I brought some macarons for you and the rest of the family.”

He took the box gratefully. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

“The grey ones are Earl Grey flavored, if you wanted to get to it before the rest of the family.” She handed over the box with a wink.

“Very thoughtful, indeed.” He nodded again with a secretive smile.

“The rest of the family in the living room?” Dick asked.

“They are, Master Dick. Awaiting Miss Marinette quite anxiously, I believe. I’m just finishing dinner. It should just be a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Dick and Marinette chimed at the same time. Alfred nodded again before disappearing toward the kitchen. Dick smiled to her and guided her toward the living room. “And now, into the mad house.” He took a deep breath as he opened the door to the living room. The room went silent for a few seconds before the noise level ramped up again with everyone welcoming them at the same time. “One at a time,” Bruce boomed loud enough to get everyone’s attention.

Dick nodded to him before going into introductions. “You already know Tim,” he started indicating Tim, who was already at Marinette’s side. Marinette nodded and gave Tim a hug. “That is Damian,” he pointed to the surly looking teen sitting on his own in an armchair. He nodded curtly to her so she returned the gesture. “And Jason.” He indicated a large man leaning against a console table. They waved politely to each other. “Duke,” he nodded toward the young man that just jumped up to shake her hand. “Barbara,” he moved out of the way so Barbara could roll closer to Marinette to say Hi. “Cass,” Cass waved excitedly. “And of course, you’ve met Bruce…”

“It’s good to see you again Mr. Wayne.” She held out her hand to shake his.

“Bruce, please. We’re not in the office. Welcome Miss. Dupain-Cheng.” He said warmly, reaching to give her a hug instead.

Marinette beamed at him. “Marinette, please. And thank you. You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you, Marinette.”

“Yeah, yeah. Beautiful home, blah, blah, blah. Alfred’s the one that does all the work anyway. Hi, I’m Stephanie.” She pushed Bruce over as she made her way over to Marinette. Marinette assumed it was a common occurrence based on the way Bruce just sighed and accepted it, sitting down quietly to observe the results.

“And this is Stephanie.” Dick repeated with a laugh.

“Hi, Stephanie. It’s nice to meet you.” Marinette grinned at her.

“How are you feeling? Do you need to sit down? Or drink some water? Or have a snack before dinner?” Stephanie fired off quickly.

“Let her breathe, Steph,” Barbara chided her.

Marinette smiled politely. “I’m fine right now, thank you.” Dick shook his head behind her so she couldn’t see. Unfortunately, she followed everyone’s line of sight and caught him. She gasped and slapped his arm. “I am!”

“You just threw up outside like seconds ago,” he pointed out. “In a bag! That we have since thrown away,” he added quickly before Alfred could hear from the kitchen and get upset they hadn’t mentioned it earlier.

“That was your driving,” she wrinkled her nose at him and turned back to the family. “And now that you’re not driving, I feel better.” Dick laughed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“Oh God, I know exactly what you mean,” Barbara laughed in agreement.

Stephanie nodded in approval. “I like her.” She grabbed Marinette’s hand to pull her away from him and onto the couch. Cass nodded in agreement and moved to join them. “Come on, let’s complain about Dick some more. I have all kinds of stories to tell. You’re a fashion designer right?” Marinette nodded trying to keep up with her, both physically and mentally. “Oh girl, have I got pictures for you!”

“No! No! Let me wow her with my amazing fashion sense.” Dick trailed after them.

Stephanie leaned closer to Marinette as though confiding in her, but kept her voice at the same level so Dick could hear as well. “He says ‘amazing’. I think he’s confusing the word with appalling.” Marinette giggled. She wouldn’t agree out loud, but she’d seen some of his shirts and Stephanie wasn’t wrong.

“She met him wearing that red and black monstrosity and she still went home with him,” Jason pointed out. “You’re not going to scare her away.”

“Wow! You withstood that shirt huh?” Barbara sent them a teasing glance. “You must have been wearing your tight pants that night, Dick.”

“Oh yeah. How drunk were you? I’m going to say you were very drunk. Only possible excuse.” Stephanie waved it off.

“Dick has a lot of assets to offset…” she immediately stopped to rephrase grimacing.

“Hey!”

“Dick is amazing,” she corrected. “And yes he was. And he is smart, sweet, hot, thoughtful, devilishly charming, brave…”

“Says the woman that took down a guy triple her size the first time I met her and took out two henchmen in the hospital last week,” Dick cut in proudly. Marinette ducked her head embarrassed to talk about her more violent experiences in front of his family and her boss. She really did not want them thinking she was dangerous and unhinged. Dick squeezed her and kissed her temple.

“Yeah, we heard about the hospital. Two questions…” he moved so she could see him better.

“Jason, stop being a pain in the ass,” Tim chided him. “She doesn’t want to talk about that.”

Jason examined her for a second. Yes, she was closing off but it didn’t seem to be out of residual fear. It was more embarrassment. He could fix that. “Can’t. It’s in my nature.” He turned back to Marinette with a conspiratorial wink, “Pain in the ass is my middle name.”

Tim groaned. “Welcome to the family. You aren’t really in it until Jason harasses you mercilessly.”

“I thought it was when someone tried to kill you,” Stephanie scoffed.

Cass smacked her upside the head. Stephanie looked back at her betrayed. “What?” She caught Barbara’s pointed look and turned back to Marinette. “…In video games of course,” she corrected.

“Ooh,” Marinette’s eyes widened in excitement. “You guys play? What do you play?”

“Yes!” Duke exclaimed. “How are you at UMS?”

“Award winning,” Marinette smirked. “Literally. You have a copy?”

“As I was saying,” Jason interrupted loudly. “Two questions: one, how are you feeling after the hospital? And two, why did you throw a perfectly good gun?”

“I’m doing okay now. Spent a few days surrounded by either Dick or Tim in meetings or Adrien, my roommate, so I’m feeling a lot better,” she assured him.

“She still has a pretty nasty bruise,” Dick interjected.

“Seen her with her shirt off to know, huh?” Stephanie wiggled her eyebrows.

Marinette squeaked and spoke louder than she needed to. “As for the gun, we don’t really have guns in Paris so I don’t have a lot of experience shooting, but a gun has more than one potential use. During all the akuma attacks we learned to use everyday items creatively. I used it for the less common usage,” she shrugged as casually as she could. “A baton would have been better but you work with what you got.”

“Oh, I suppose Chat Noir has a baton,” Dick playfully grumbled.

Marinette grinned cheekily at him. “He does in fact, kind of like Red Robin but it can break into two if he wanted it to like Nightwing and Signal.”

Damian scoffed. “Being able to break in half decreases the tensile strength of the weapon, making it less effective.”

“True except for one thing… magic.” She wiggled her fingers for effect. Dick huffed out a laugh and Damian scowled.

“Oh, are we comparing baton size between Parisian heroes and Gotham heroes?” Jason asked suggestively.

“I mean you can… but Chat’s could also extend to the length he needs for any task, so...” She shrugged confidently.

“Oooh. I think the Gotham heroes would be a lot more popular if their weapons could do that, too.” Stephanie grinned.

“Anyway…” Jason interrupted. “Do you know how to shoot a gun or what?”

“Oh, no. I don’t,” Marinette answered, returning to Jason’s original topic. “That’s why I threw it. I’m confident enough in my throwing skills to know I’d hit him, but not in my shooting skills and I didn’t want to hit someone else.”

“I’ll teach you sometime,” Jason said resolutely. He wasn’t about to let his de facto sister-in-law not know how to defend herself.

“Oh that’s right. You were the one responsible for the horde of weapons in Dick’s apartment that made me freak out and run in the first place.” She gave him a pointed look.

“You ran because you were afraid.” He pointed out.

“I ran because I have good survival instincts,” she corrected him.

“Clearly not. You ran from Dick,” Damian interjected. Dick gave him a warning look that Damian determinedly ignored.

“Aberration,” she waved him off good naturedly. “You find a stockpile of weapons in Gotham, you run.”

“True. So you in?” Jason asked again.

Marinette stared at him strangely for a few seconds. “Huh. You know, you’re the second person this month to offer to teach me. Red Hood made the same offer.” She missed the glares Damian and Dick sent toward Jason, for different reasons, and the exasperated looks Tim and Bruce sent him.

“He probably just wants to make sure you know how. I’m sure he would be okay with a different teacher,” Jason assured her.

Marinette beamed at him. “It sounds like fun. I’d love to learn.” Dick let out a defeated sigh next to her.

“If you would like to make your way to the dining room, dinner is served.” Alfred announced.

They slowly made their way to the dining room. Dick and Marinette trailed behind the rest so Dick could give her a discrete hug and supportive smile. Jason quickly fell into step beside Marinette. “Damn, you really are the size of a pixie.” He stuck out his elbow to set it on her head.

Marinette gave him a playful glare, dodging before his elbow could land. “You know, you look about the same size as that guy at the bar… didn’t turn out too well for him.”

“Though she be but little, she is fierce,” Jason laughed. “I’m a better fighter than that guy was. After the baby, we can spar and I can show you and maybe teach you a few more moves in case you need to defend yourself.” He let the ‘when you get kidnapped for being with a Wayne’ part of his sentence go unsaid. “You seem like you’ll be scrappy.”

“I’m better than scrappy,” she smirked at him.

“I can’t wait to see it,” Jason grinned as he passed her to get to his seat.

“No, you’re not allowed to encourage each other.” Dick pulled out Marinette’s chair for her and gave Jason a warning look. Damian rolled his eyes at Dick as Alfred started serving the meal.

“Miss Marinette, I made yours less spicy than the rest of the family’s but if your medicine now allows you to eat bolder flavors, I have another back in the kitchen.”

“No, thank you Alfred. This will be perfect. The medicine helps but doesn’t make everything go away. More like a low simmer rather than a full boil.”

“Oh yeah. Dick said you started your morning sickness extra early. That sucks. I hope it means it’ll end extra early for you too.” Stephanie commented sympathetically.

Marinette smiled gratefully. “Thank you. Here’s hoping.” She raised her water in Stephanie’s direction and took a drink.

“Maybe it’s twins,” Jason offered taking a bite of his dinner.

Marinette choked on her water. Dick patted her back. “What?”

“That’s a sign of twins isn’t it? Early morning sickness?” He asked around the bite of roll in his mouth.

“This dinner suddenly got a lot less fun,” Dick mumbled to Marinette.

Marinette glanced surreptitiously toward the direction of her purse in the foyer before snapping her eyes back to Jason. “That’s not funny. You take that back.”

“Sorry, Pixie.” He shrugged nonchalantly, a taunting smile tugging on his lips. “I don’t make the rules.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Jason Aloysius Hubert…”

“Not one of those was anywhere near…”

“…Sebastian Tobias…” she continued ignoring his interruption.

“What the hell kind of names…” Jason started chuckling incredulously.

“…Winthorp…”

“Winthorp?” His nose wrinkled in disgust.

“… Pain in the ass Todd! You take that back right now.” Marinette finished. She glared at him but her faltering puckered lips, straining not to smile gave her away.

Jason broke out into raucous laughter. It took him a few minutes to calm down enough to speak again, but when he did, he wasn’t ready to end the fun. “I’m just saying having a little Marinette and little Dick running around here together would be cute,” he finished innocently.

She scoffed playfully. “If you want two babies running around here together, you better go find a woman to knock up right quick.”

Jason choked on his water. Everyone else’s eyes bugged out. “No! No! No! Little Dick? Cute. Little Marinette? Adorable. Little Jason? Terrifying,” Tim interjected.

“Hey, fuck you, Timbers,” Jason glowered at him.

“Language, Jason,” Bruce chided him.

“Well at least that wouldn’t result in a baby,” Stephanie observed, calmly eating her dinner.

“Might result in a death though,” Duke added, seeming not at all upset at the idea.

“I was an adorable kid,” Jason groused.

“It’s true,” Dick agreed. “You should have seen little Jason running around the manor doing extra credit and bragging about his report card.”

“That’s because my grades were amazing. But not ready to have one of my own honor roll students, so it’s on you, Marinette.”

Marinette leveled a look at Jason. “You know what? If it’s twins, you’re coming over for at least two hours a week…”

“Four,” Dick whispered.

“Per child, so four hours total per week, to watch them for us. Since they’ll be so cute and all. You can teach them with your honor roll brain.” Marinette poked her fork in Jason’s direction still giggling.

Damian scowled at the interaction between Marinette and Dick and Jason. “Threats are unnecessary. It is unlikely you will bear twins unless there is a history of it in your family. Is there a history of it in your family?” he asked disdainfully.

“No,” she admitted.

“Then your panic is childish and unwarranted. It is a statistical improbability,” Damian finished.

“Damian!” Bruce chastised him.

“Back off Demon Spawn. We were just having fun.” Jason growled.

Marinette snorted. “It was a statistical improbability that I would have gotten pregnant in the first place. And yet, here we are. Statistics has taken a giant leave of absence with this pregnancy already.” She stuffed her forkful of potatoes into her mouth with a smirk.

“Life finds a way,” Tim nodded sagely.

The table broke down into giggles. “Dork,” Stephanie snorted, shoving his face away.

“Is it common in France to give multiple middle names?” Bruce asked, trying to keep the group on lighter topics.

“How many names are you planning on giving the baby?” Duke asked.

“Uh, common for rich people anyway. I think they get an extra name for every couple million they’re born into. Adrien has four middle names. My friend Chloe has six.” She rolled her eyes and turned toward Duke. “And we haven’t talked about it but I was only planning on a first, middle, and last name.” She looked over to Dick for confirmation.

Dick nodded, slightly relieved. “Good. That’s good. I agree.”

“You haven’t talked about names yet? That’s going to be a fun conversation. Can I bring popcorn and watch?” Stephanie chuckled.

“Six?” Duke asked.

Marinette nodded. “Unbelievably pretentious parents.” She stopped and looked around. “I mean…”

“Nobody here has more than two middle names, you’re good,” Barbara waved off her concern.

“Oh, thank God. I didn’t want to upset anyone,” she let out a relieved breath.

“No, just entrap Dick and use us for our money,” Damian bit out.

“Damian!” Bruce chastised.

“Damian…” Dick growled lowly. Damian steadfastly avoided Cass’s disapproving frown and Dick’s angry glare.

“Marinette, I apologize for my son’s bluntness. I’ve tried to instill better manners in my children,” Bruce leveled a warning look at Damian.

Marinette blinked a few times and nodded. “Honesty is a virtue,” she started out slowly. “It’s good to be suspicious. I was of anyone who seemed to warm up too quickly to my friends who had assets others might want to take advantage of. A little bit of skepticism is healthy. And at least you’re being honest about it. Most of my friends wouldn’t be if the roles were reversed.” She chuckled slightly before turning toward Bruce. “There’s a respect in that. I know where he stands. He isn’t pretending. There’s no duplicity, no illusions, no pretending for the sake of politeness. You don’t know me and this,” she motioned to her belly, “is a lot all of a sudden to take in, and not just for you.”

“There’s no way she could have intentionally trapped me. I was the one who provided everything, as I’ve said before,” Dick pointed out, his voice sharp and defensive of anyone questioning Marinette.

“Unless it isn’t yours,” Damian hedged coldly.

“Demon Spawn, I swear to…” Jason threw down his fork and started to get up.

“Damian, you will treat our guest with respect or you will go to your room,” Bruce thundered.

“Wow, you are really unafraid. I bet you’re a fearsome sight in any kind of competition.” Marinette sent him an impressed smile. “That’s a valid question. I guess the only way to be absolutely sure is with a blood test and if Dick would like one, I’ll agree to it… after the baby is born. I’m not going to subject the baby to unnecessary dangers just to prove a point.”

“I don’t,” Dick assured her. “I don’t need it. I have no doubts.” Marinette’s eyes shined with appreciation and leaned into Dick as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“But your family might,” she pointed out quietly. “It’s a reasonable request. Believe me when I say if something like this happened to Adrien, Chloe would openly be on a warpath and Alya would be doing all kinds of duplicitous, questionably legal investigations into the woman.”

“Good friends,” Cass commented quietly.

“Yeah, I think I’d like them,” Stephanie agreed.

“And they would demand a blood test, so I understand and take no offense,” Marinette assured them.

“We don’t need it,” Tim spoke up.

“Speak for yourself,” Damian grumbled.

“That’s it Damian, go to your room,” Bruce barked. Damian huffed and pushed away from the table, leaving without a backwards glance.

“Perhaps it is time to retire to the living room with dessert,” Alfred offered, giving Damian a disappointed look as he passed him out of the room. As soon as everyone except Damian was settled in the living room, Alfred brought out the macarons, setting them on the table in the room. “Provided by Miss Marinette.”

“Oh, these look delicious. What are the flavors?” Bruce asked eying the cookies.

“The purple ones are lavender and honey. Dark brown is chocolate hazelnut. Light brown is salted caramel. Yellow is lemon. And pink is raspberry.”

“Holy shit, Pixie!” Jason exclaimed swallowing his bite. “These are good.”

“Jason, language, please,” Bruce repeated in a tired voice.

Cass gave her a thumbs up and grabbed another flavor.

“If you don’t marry her, I will.” Stephanie agreed, shoving her second macaron into her mouth.

Marinette giggled. “Good to know I have backup options.”

Dick narrowed his eyes playfully and wrapped his arms around her protectively. “That’s it we’re going home. You’re not allowed around my family anymore.”

Marinette laughed harder and cuddled into him, resting her head on his shoulder and humming contentedly as he squeezed her tighter against his side.

Chapter 11

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @golden-promises @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @laurcad123

#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #prompt - illusion

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slidewhistlebj · 4 years

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With all the Wandavision hype right now, I have a X-men AU for the batfam that I wanna talk about

So in this story Gotham serves more as a mutant hub amplifying the pro and anti mutant struggles in the city than an anti-nonhuman zone, each member of the family is a meta matching one in the Magneto family from the X-men and MCU

Bruce - Magneto: Obviously as the head of the family this connection makes sense, they’re both heavily traumatized and working from that place of loss to try to make the world a better place for others. This version of them, Bruce isn’t such an overt criminal (Magneto typically commits a war crime to wake up in the morning) and he sticks with the more night time themes of Batman, he works very distantly with the Justice League typically protecting Gotham and only appearing to others for world-ending threats. His mutant rights work is as Bruce, playing political and social games that someone like him has access to via possessing an insane amount of money to change laws

Dick - Scarlet Witch: I think that Dick is strong as hell but tends to be underrated on the combat side of things in order to represent his emotional skills so Scarlet Witch is the perfect comparison (also don’t think about an angsty version of the young justice Wally West dying story with a wandavison-esque reality rewrite oof) In this story, Dick and the rest are adopted like canon but their powers all match Magnetos canon children and family. Dick grew up with Bruce, exploring his powers and limits until he became a full-fledged meta “hero” (His methods don’t always have the moral high ground but he is on the side of good) There is no robin role, but Bruce occasionally takes them out for training (the older and more control they have, the more he takes them out) Dick is the most outwardly social of the Gotham supers and he works in Bludhaven as a gymnast / gym trainer (ACAB dude, no Dick cop rights on this blog) After Jason’s death, Dick killed the Joker and began taking a more proactive role in superhero work in order to protect other kids

Jason - Polaris: Jason pushes so hard against being similar to Bruce because they are have so much of the same emotional problems / they’re so similar to one another, matching mutant abilities is the best exploration of that as Jason struggles with his identity around Bruce and his legacy as well as who he wants to be as an individual (Also her color is green, the connection to the pits is a perfect cherry on top) Jason was adopted by Bruce, they grew really close and bonded over their abilities (like the legacy of the Batman mantle, but Magneto since powers are def crucial to passing that on) Jason’s death and revival go the same as canon, but now he wears the pit colors as a sign of what happened to him and to separate himself from Bruce (Black with red is how I see Batman and Magnetos designs combining) Jason’s overly aggressive fighting tactics are against anti-mutant groups, fighting the criminals in the ways Bruce often can’t during the daytime social games he plays to change things on the legal level

Tim - Quicksilver: I’m not as sure with how Tim fits in this AU but I can see Quicksilver being a strong match as the X-man universe has set up Quicksilver and Magneto as estranged and making the choice to try to be family and support each other which is similar to Tim’s own story. Quicksilver is also light-hearted and snarky and I think Tim is a 17 year old who wants to do kick flips in the boardroom so that’s a great match. In this AU, the Drakes are pretty big anti-mutant adovocates so as Tim grew into his powers he made sure to hide them, only letting loose to follow Magneto Bruce and his family as they go out and fight criminals. Eventually he finds out who they are and when Jason dies he begins spending more time with them as support for Bruce and a safe enviornment to be himself. The Drakes aren’t dead in this AU just disconnected and travelling often so Tim has to be careful about being seen with the Wayne’s meta or day time personalities as both are very pro-mutants. His relationship with Jason and Damian is distinctly different as they’ve attacked him but he had the abilities to get away easily (The Time in a Bottle scene but it’s just Jason trying to kick Tim’s ass) and it became a more playful game / rivalry relatively quickly

Damian - Billy / Wiccan: much like canon, Damian is Bruce’s kid with Talia, raised in the league with intense training and expectations of his abilities (Powerful + Metal Control are practically his mantra), as his abilities present similarly to Dicks Ras and Talia decide that he needs to go to Gotham to learn with his father and Dick about how to control himself. Tension between Dick as his dad and Bruce as his biological father are heightened by the power similarities between Damian & Dick and Bruce & Jason and as Damian grows more powerful, needing advice and help only Dick can give him. I feel like there are so many good feels that could come from Damian eventually breaking out of his legacy under Talia and Bruce and following in Dicks steps as a (powerful as fuck) independent hero

I’m not specifically sure how the other bat kids fit into this AU but Magneto has a lot of grandkids and there are plenty of interesting way that they could fit into the story as even just talented humans who serve as medics and similar to change some of the anti-human sentiments Magneto has (Steph being the first human to join the family could stand for why she has such a rocky + independant relationship from Bruce) This has been bouncing around my head since Wandavision started and I wanted to see what other people thought about it :D

#damian wayne #bruce wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #stephanie brown #AU #batfam #batfam au #superpower au #justice league meets magneto hijinks #think of the angst #think of the potential

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f00pyf00p · 3 years

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Between The Pages

Rating: General Relationships: Romantic Analogical Warnings: Class Differences, Bullying, Long-Distance Relationship Word count: 11098 Summary: The day he was born, with the very first flicker of life, a notebook nearly fell on Logan’s head. It would have smacked him full in the face had their Doctor and neighbor not been waiting for it, one hand balancing the baby and the other situated right above the new human’s nose, waiting. Other Notes: Analogical Week Day 4: AU @analogicalweek

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The day he was born, with the very first flicker of life, a notebook nearly fell on Logan’s head. It would have smacked him full in the face had their Doctor and neighbor not been waiting for it, one hand balancing the baby and the other situated right above the new human’s nose, waiting.

The notebook was spiral, as all notebooks were. It was white and the two cardboard covers held not a single page between them.

“His soulmate isn't born yet, then,” said their neighbor/doctor, Ryan Becker. She placed the lifeless notebook off to the side and shifted the baby so she was holding him with both hands. “Now, I’m just going to go and clean him up a little. Phil, can you help your wife while I’m gone?”

Logan’s father, Phillip Berry, nodded immediately. He grabbed some of the towels they had set up beforehand and the last thing Ryan saw before heading out of the room was the beginnings of a smile on the new mother’s face.

It took a long time for the family to get fully situated, but once they had, Ryan left their home with an exhausted wave and made her way back across the street where her soulmate waited. The kitchen and living room lights were off when she entered; he was probably upstairs with that old computer he had found, attempting to make the damned thing turn on when they both knew that the thing had been dead long before he picked it up.

Whatever. He could play with it all he wanted- right now, all Ryan could think of was a long hot shower.

On her way to the bathroom, she passed the one shelf in her home, where two spiral notebooks sat. They had not been touched in a very long time but Ryan wouldn’t have gotten rid of them even if she could.

Slowly, she reached out and pulled the yellow one off the shelf.

When she had been born, her notebook had also fallen white and empty. It had remained that way until (according to her parents) a year later on August 14th when it had suddenly filled with pages and the cover had turned a stunning bright yellow.

According to Marcus’s parents, his notebook had fallen a deep dark red, pages already filled. After all, she had already existed.

Ryan examined her notebook for a second longer before putting it back and heading towards her bathroom.

The new Casey boy came out of his mother into the doctor’s hand squirming and already screaming like his life depended on it. Doctor James Miller had to struggle to keep the baby situated as he held his hand above its little head, waiting.

A dark blue book full of pages landed right into his palm. Thomas Casey, the father of the boy, smiled at the sight of it.

“Just born and already has his soulmate! Look at that!”

Doctor Miller gave the man one of his practiced smiles and held the notebook out to him. Instantly, the dad began flipping through the pages, and James just managed to not roll his eyes before he turned away to properly clean the new baby.

There was no point in looking at the notebook. Even if there had been something in it, only two people could see what was in it: the baby he was holding and the baby’s soulmate.

Whatever. James was used to parents excitedly looking through their children’s notebooks. At this point, he shouldn’t have been surprised by it.

He came back with the baby nicely bundled in green blankets and gave another practiced smile as he passed the boy off to his mother. She smiled down at him and glanced back over at her husband.

“Have you chosen a name?” James asked kindly.

“Virgil,” Bella replied. She ran a hand over his little face. “Virgil Casey.”

James made a mental note for the birth certificate.

Miles and miles away, next to napping a month and half old baby boy, a dead white notebook with no pages in between began to fill. Plum purple bloomed across the cardboard cover and clean white pages shot into existence until it was full enough to use but not so heavy that a toddler couldn’t carry it. Logan Berry rolled over and one tiny hand landed flat on the now purple cover.

He carried on sleeping.

“HI! It iS me.”

Logan’s slightly shaking hand held his favorite pencil- a blue one covered in book titles. Logan had chosen it out of his love of books and even though couldn’t able to read very many yet, those he could get through he barely ever put down. Once he got good enough, Logan planned to read every book title on the pencil, even the ones his mom said were “really long.”

“HelO!” The reply came in red crayon and was nearly twice as large but much neater than Logan’s writing. Logan beamed at the very sight of it.

“WhaT is you dOing.” The red came again, slightly smaller this time. Logan traced the large “O” with his fingers before re-scooping up his pencil and pressing it to the page.

He paused.

“Re,” he sounded out, writing the letters as he did so. “Sss-” He scribbled an s after it. “Ess. Resess.” He smiled at himself for sounding out the words properly and waited for his notebook friend’s response.

“YOu hav resess in the morning?”

Logan blinked. “It iS not mor-” Logan paused and double-checked how his notebook partner had spelled it. “-ning. It iS going to be lanch tim.”

“NO. It is morning.”

Logan really wasn’t quite what to do. His partner was obviously wrong; at the moment, Logan sat outside in the grass outside next to a plastic play structure his schoolmates were screaming across. The sun beat down on them at a chilly 60°F, which he was currently combating with a sweatshirt and long pants. They had already gone over math (which Logan had enjoyed) and geography (which he had enjoyed less). After lunch, they would be able to do his favorite part of the day (reading!), they would do some writing, and then it would be time to go home.

“Mrs. Williams!” Logan pushed from the grass and took off for a run towards his kindergarten teacher. The notebook swung from his arms as he did so and Mrs. Williams turned to him with a sort of half-smile on her face.

“Yes, Logan?”

“Mrs. Williams, my notebook buddy is saying it's morning a lot, but it's not morning. Why is he saying that?”

Mrs. Williams licked her lips and glanced around the playground. “Follow me, sweetie, okay?”

Logan nodded eagerly. He opened his book to write, “1 min” and then trotted after Mrs. Williams. She had grabbed two random slightly deflated balls, one large rubber and supposedly bouncy, and the other a small green tennis ball.

“Okay, Logan. You like space, right?”

Logan nodded eagerly.

“The earth is round, okay.” At Logan’s nod, she held up the larger ball. “Can you pretend this is the earth for me?”

Logan stared at it for a second and then nodded again.

“Okay, that big ball is the earth. And this ball-” she held up the green one- “is the sun. When it's nighttime and you go to sleep, where is the sun?”

“It’s gone,” Logan informed her. “We don’t see it.”

“That's right! Good job! And when it's daytime where is the sun?”

Logan pointed at the sky. “There.”

Mrs. Williams nodded. “Can you hold the sun for me?” She passed him the green ball and positioned his hand up so it was next to the side of the earth. “Now I’m going to put my finger here.” She placed it on a random spot of the ball. “And you’re going to tell me if my finger is daytime or nighttime.”

Slowly, Mrs. Williams began to spin the ball. She stopped with her finger on the opposite side of the sun. “Day or night Logan?”

“I…”

“Can I see the sun?”

“No!” Logan grinned. “It’s nighttime!”

“Well done! You little genius! Now, if I keep spinning the earth…” Mrs. Williams spun it around so her finger faced the sun. “Daytime or nighttime?”

“Day!”

“Yes!” But what if I move my finger?” Mrs. Williams left the ball still and picked her finger up so it was on the back of the ball, away from the sun. “Am I nighttime or daytime?”

“Nighttime.”

“Good job, Logan. Now, what if…” Mrs. Williams shifted so that her thumb pressed into the area toward the sun and her other hand faced away. “What now?”

“Ummm… that one-” Logan reached out to touch her thumb- “is in the daytime and the other is in the nighttime.”

“Right. Now let’s give my fingers names. Let’s say my thumb’s name is Logan.”

“That’s my name.”

“You’re right it is. Let’s say my other finger’s name is notebook buddy.”

A lightbulb went off in Logan’s head. “He’s in a different sun area!”

Mrs. Williams looked very pleased. “That’s right Logan. So it's lunchtime for you, but morning for him.”

Logan grinned before taking off at a run back for his grassy spot to explain everything to his soulmate.

“I want to SAY my nam.”

Virgil glanced down at his blue notebook and shook his head at his soulmate. After a click glance to make sure his teacher wasn’t looking (he was supposed to be doing his math practice) he wrote back: “It WOnt wORK.”

“But I want it to.”

“It WOn’t.”

“I’m gonna try.”

Despite his adamant belief that it would fail, Virgil still bent over his paper excitedly. Maybe…

“--------”

Nope.

“See. Nams dON’T wORk.”

“Virgil!” Virgil jumped and shoved his notebook away. “How’s your math going, kiddo?”

Mr. Ravin stood in front of him. He glanced over at the open notebook and the blank math sheet and pursed his lips.

“You need to learn math right now, okay Virgil? You can write your soulmate during playtime.”

Virgil crossed his arms over his chest. “But I want to now! He’ll go away during playtime!”

“Why not?”

“He’s in a different sun area!”

Mr. Ravin blinked. He glanced over at the notebook, back at Virgil, and at the notebook again, trying to figure out exactly what Virgil was telling him.

Suddenly, his expression brightened.

“He’s in a different time zone?”

Virgil didn’t really know what a time zone was but he nodded anyway.

“Okay. I’ll give you five minutes with your soulmate.” Mr. Ravin held up his hand and Virgil mirrored the motion. “But then you have to do the math, okay?”

“Okay!”

Virgil grasped his note with two little hands and pulled it back to him. He re-grabbed the pencil he had been using and looked over what his soulmate had written while Mr. Ravin held his attention.

“I am --- yeers. I like bookS. I live in -------.”

“It is not showing,” Virgil wrote. “i like books two.”

His soulmate went quiet.

It was annoying, Virgil thought to himself. Sometimes, it got difficult to talk about his soulmate when he wasn’t able to give his soulmate a name. And his soulmate was his best friend! He needed to be able to talk to his best friend.

“We could do fak nams,” Virgil wrote. “That waay, we hav nams but not reel nams.”

“Like sooperheros!” The exclamation mark brought a smile onto Virgil’s face and he nearly clapped his hands excitedly but he didn’t want to bring attention to himself. “What is yor nam?”

Virgil paused before putting his pencil to the paper. His fake name had to be perfect. It was going to be what his best friend called him forever and forever meant a really really long time. It needed to be about him and it needed to make sense.

“Purple,” Virgil wrote. “I like purple. My nam is Purple.”

“OK.” His partners' smaller and nearly illegible handwriting appeared beneath his own. “My nam is Logic. A sooperhero I like in my book is Logic so I’m going to be Logic to.”

“Okay Lo-” Virgil doubled-check how it was spelled. “-gic. Want tO play tic-tac-tOE?”

Virgil had only just managed to write the sentences when Mr. Ravin walked back over and leaned over him. “Alright, Virgil,” he said kindly. “Time for math now.”

“Five more minutes?” Virgil glanced down at the paper, where his Logic had drawn a tic-tac-toe board and placed a circle in the middle of it. He held his notebook out for Mr. Ravin to see. “Look, we just want to finish the game!”

Mr. Ravin gently pushed the notebook back onto Virgil’s kindergartner-sized desk. “I can’t see what’s on the pages, kiddo,” he said gently. “Only you and your soulmate can.”

“Logic,” Virgil interrupted.

Mr. Ravin blinked. “What do you mean?”

“His name is Logic.”

“We’re learning about frogs in my school.” Virgil’s legs swung back and forth underneath him, moving the swing he sat on ever so slightly, as he read what Logic had just sent to him in handwriting that practically grew messier every day. “We’ve been put into a lot of groups and now we have to find facts about a kind of frog.”

“Cool.” Virgil paused before writing; “What’s your frog?”

“I got a really boring one. I already knew everything about it so I didn’t have to do any research at all.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and a smile splayed on his 8-year-old face. Only Logic would be upset by a lack of work in his class. And he added cheerfully to himself, only Logic would have already known enough about a frog to not have to do any homework.

“What was it?”

“It’s a glass frog. They’re green.”

“Aren’t all frogs green?” Stupid question.

“No, a lot of frogs are all different colors. Poison dart frogs, for example, are really colorful.”

The smile grew. Logic was the only person Virgil knew to not care how dumb or how often somebody asked a question. He was always there, always with an answer, always ready to help.

“What frog did you want to do?”

Logic handwriting was a lot faster than normal: still legible but it was loopier and the letters connected more.

“The Macaya Breast-spot Frog! They’re endangered, and orange and they’re so much cooler than the stupid glass frog.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know about them! Obviously!”

Virgil flipped off the swing, bored of the repeated motion, and sat criss-cross underneath it, letting his notebook fall onto his lap. His pencil hit it the moment he was situated.

“At my school,” he wrote in large gray letters, “we’re going over frogs too, but they’re giving everyone a tadpole to look after.”

“That’s so cool! What kind of frog!?”

Ummm…

“Black frog?”

“That’s not a kind of frog.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it is” Logic crossed out what he had written in one smooth motion. “No it is You know it's not a real frog.”

Virgil grinned. “Yeah.”

“You are the worst best friend I have.”

Virgil blinked. “But I’m your only best friend.” He didn’t add the “right?” that hastened his breath and made his hands tremble ever so slightly.

“Obviously.”

The trembling vanished, replaced with the smile for before. “You’re being meannnnnnn.”

“The extra “nnns” are dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

“I am not!”

“Your mum.”

“You” Logic crossed out his word again. “You You’re the one being mean. Meanie.”

Virgil drew a smiley face underneath his sentence. His own grin grew when in response, Logic crossed it out and drew a sad face next to it.

He was about to say something- about what, Virgil wasn’t quite sure- when a loud female voice broke through the little spell he had with Logic.

“Recess is over,” he wrote glumly. “I’ll write you later.”

“Oh.” Even in writing, the word sounded sad. “I forgot you were still in school.”

“Yeah.”

“Bye Purple.”

“Bye L.”

Logan was supposed to be asleep. His parents had put him to bed at 8:00, and his alarm clock currently read 11:12, but it wasn’t his fault this book was so interesting! Stopping now would be a sin against… Logan paused. Were there any book gods? He’d have to look it up…

The yawn that came out of him practically shook his whole body and at the end of it, Logan sternly told himself that he had about 100 more pages to go, and he had to hold out that long. Last time, he had fallen asleep on the book.

That had been annoying.

A bang in the kitchen had Logan’s head flying up. Probably just his mom looking for water, or his dad getting a late-night snack. He went to turn back to his book when his eyes snagged on the open notebook on his bedroom floor.

And more importantly, at the letters appearing across it.

Suddenly very much awake, Logan carefully bookmarked his page, pushed from his covers, and scooped the book up to get a look at whatever Purple was sending him.

“My parents are making me go to sleep at 7:30 but I’m not tireddddd. I want to do something! So I decided to draw you a picture because you’re asleep so I can let you see in the morning when it’s good and not bad.”

What followed were several drawings, all of which had been scribbled out with such ferocity it was a wonder Logan’s page hadn’t been ripped as well. Either way, there was nothing left of what remained under the scribble.

There was a loss that came with that.

“They were all terrible, you wouldn’t have liked them,” Purple had written. “I’ve decided I’m not leaving a drawing for you. Goodnight.”

Then, underneath that.

“I can’t fall asleep.”

And under that-

“We’re never going to find each other.”

Logan’s breath hitched.

“We can’t tell each other anything! Look! My name is --------. I am ---- years old. I live in --------. I am he/him. Well, the last one worked but you know what I mean! We could pass each other and we’d never know it! I’ll never see you. I’ll never play games with you. I want to play Percy Jackson with you.”

A strong yearning entered Logan’s heart and he traced the letters on the page.

“I could be Percy. You can be like, a male version of Annabeth. And then we fight monsters!”

Logan’s fingers twitched.

“But no! Because you live super far away and I’ll never get to see you ever. I can’t even draw my face for you!”

What followed was a black square, different from the scribbles from earlier. It was too precise, too dark to have been done by Purple.

“How will I ever-” Logan had finally caught up to where Purple was now- “find you?”

He paused for a moment. There had to be a way, some kind of signal, or something they could wear-

Wait.

“What if-” In the middle of his writing a sentence, a much shorter one appeared underneath it.

“You’re here!?”

Logan paused in his sentence to write a tiny “yes” before jumping back up to finish his old one.

“What if you drew a sign for us to put on our clothes? That way we can see each other wearing it and know it's us?”

“What?”

“Just draw a pin for us to wear.”

There was a pause, probably as Purple thought it over, then, in big neat letters, “Why are you so much smarter than me?”

“You’re really smart,” Logan protested.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Yes and.”

“You can’t “and” me.”

That sparked a quiet shining in Logan’s eyes. “Yes, and I think you should draw the symbols.”

“You’re not clever.” There was a short pause. “I can’t draw them while you watch. It makes me nervous.”

Logan understood that. He didn’t like people reading over his shoulder. It was probably the same thing.

“Okay.” He wrote. “I’ll go back to my book.”

“What time is it there?”

The minute changed as Logan looked. “11:31.”

“GO.” The word filled a third of what was left on the page. “TO. SLEEP.”

“It’s only like 100 pages.”

“SLEEP!”

“Fine!” Logan frowned at the page. “You need to sleep too then.”

“It’s only 8:31 here.”

His frown deepened.

“Good night, Logic.”

A heavy heavy sigh came out of Logan. He glanced towards his bookmarked book and silently promised that it would be finished before lunch tomorrow.

“Good night, Purple.” His pencil hovered over the page. “I’ll see our symbols in the morning.”

The notebook cover shut and Logan slid back into his bed. He had only closed his eyes for 30 seconds before the eight-year-old was fully asleep.

The next morning, Logan awoke and dashed to his notebook. He opened it, heart fluttering in his throat, and smiled at the symbols Purple had chosen for them.

A purple stormcloud and a little white brain with black glasses. The stormcloud was marked “PURPLE” in shiny and the brain was marked “LOGIC.”

Logan immediately went to find a piece of paper, a window, and a safety pin so he could copy Purple’s work line for line and display it on his chest.

Logan had been wearing a piece of paper pinned to his shirt for four years. The paper had switched out; the first one he had dutifully copied back when he was only in 3rd grade had taken less than a month to fall apart. However, the design of it remained the same. Every time a new piece of paper tore, got wet, streaked, whatever, Logan flipped back to the page Purple had first drawn his symbol, pressed it up against a window, and copied it line for line again.

Despite the symbol, they still hadn’t found each other.

“My mom’s being a bitch.” Purple’s handwriting was still larger than Logan’s own, but smooth and precise. He was the kind of person you would have write everything down during group projects so it looked pretty when you presented. “I’m trying to go to see a movie with Puppy but noooooo, I have a C in fucking math so she grounded me.”

Logan smiled at the letters, even as his heart ached. Purple had written to him about Puppy countless times before; he had been described as a bubbly older brother figure, thus, why he had been given that nickname. Someone who loved gardening and still slept with a nightlight. The two of them were close, though Purple promised Logan was still his best friend.

Logan wished more than anything to be able to go see movies with Purple. Touching him, even seeing him would be a blessing.

He didn’t know it was possible to miss someone you had never truly met as much as he missed Purple.

“I could help you with math,” he wrote back. His handwriting was legible- and that was about the best thing he could say about it. “I study it in my free time so I’m sure I know something about what you’re going over.”

“You’re such a nerd,” came the fond reply. There was a beat of silence, which Logan used to check the clock sitting upon his desk.

3:32 pm. That meant it was around 12:32 where Purple was. They still had plenty of time before he would be back in class.

“I could use your help with math though.” Purple’s letters came fluidly after his last sentence. “Not right now. This is school break time.” Logan smiled wryly at that. “Are you busy at 4:00? Oh um, 7:00 for you.”

Technically no. His school had gotten a donation of recorders and he was supposed to be practicing it every night and Logan had already put it off four nights in a row.

But he could do that later.

“I’m free,” Logan replied. “We can do it then.”

“Great. I don’t understand these word problems we’re supposed to be doing and Puppy is really excited about this Rom-Com.” There was a pause. “I am not, but I’m not going to disappoint Puppy by not being allowed to go.”

“I don’t think I quite get Rom-Coms,” Logan wrote. He paused to shake his hand and then instantly put the pencil back to paper. “They’re incredibly unrealistic, remarkably cringy, and oftentimes the main pairing doesn’t even make sense together.”

“Lol.”

Logan wondered for a brief moment what exactly Purple’s laugh sounded like. At the moment, he imagined it was deep, with a sort of snarky edge to it, but he had imagined it all sorts of different ways throughout the years. None of them had ever sounded quite right.

“I don’t like them much either. Straight propaganda.”

He couldn’t help but snort at that. Both he and Purple had learned they were gay a little while back when he had brought up how often the pair of them discuss hot male celebrities.

“I’m sure that’s normal,” Purple had written. “Right?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

And then later.

“I asked my Dad. It’s not normal.”

“Oh.” Logan hadn’t been sure how to respond to that. His blood had just been thrumming with the very idea of trusting anyone about something like that. “So… does that mean we’re gay?”

“Do you like girls? Like, in that way”

“No.”

“Then yea, probably.”

Logan still hadn’t told anyone about his and Purple’s discovery. He couldn’t imagine anyone taking it well in his town. It still shocked him sometimes that in Purple’s neighborhood, you could be out without facing rather disastrous consequences.

“I’m sure Rom-Coms aren’t trying to turn you straight.”

“That’s what they want you to think. Don’t fall for it Logic. Their smiles are nothing but lies.”

Logan snorted quietly, a sound he only ever made when talking- well, writing technically- with his soulmate. “If they’re going to try and brainwash me like that, they might consider actually making a good movie.”

“Damn, L. Out here bringing the heat.”

His eyebrows knit together. “I don’t think you can feel warmth through the notebook.”

“No… Logic, it’s not literal. It’s a saying.”

“Oh.” Heat burned in his cheeks. “Of course.” He licked his lips. “And, let’s just say, hypothetically, if someone still didn’t understand what you were trying to say-”

Purple’s answer appeared beneath him before he had fully finished. “You’re doing a good job insulting boring Rom-Coms.”

“Yes. Of course. Naturally.” Logan brushed a hand through his hair. “They aren’t interesting.”

Purple made a little checkmark next to his statement.

“Oh!” Purple’s writing came hastily under Logan’s last sentence. “I almost forgot to tell you! I read that book you like.”

“Really? Did you like it?”

“Why on earth didn’t you tell me how sad it was!?”

“Because you said you would kill me if I spoiled anything?”

“Not an excuse!”

Logan smiled at the declaration. Between Shades of Grey had been such a good historical fiction book that he had just had to share it with someone- and since all his at-home friends didn’t like historical fiction as much as he did, Purple had been an obvious choice.

“I didn’t know Stalin had camps!”

“Yeah.” Logan’s stomach twisted at the thought. “It’s horrible.”

“I wish humanity didn’t suck so much. Sometimes, I think a nuclear war would be good just to get rid of everyone here.”

Logan shook his head. “I wouldn’t want it to get rid of you.”

Purple didn’t reply for a good minute. When he finally did answer, the letters made Logan’s heart flutter rather pathetically.

“I suppose I wouldn’t want you to get hurt either.” __

Virgil couldn’t hide the smile off his face, the skipping in his heart, nor the glow coming off of him in unnatural and rare waves. All of his joy came from the Christmas present his parents had just given him; a necklace, a bracelet, a pin, and a ring, all bearing the exact same mark- namely a purple stormcloud that he had first drawn back in 3rd grade.

It was 9 am in California, which meant it would be noon wherever Logic was living, but Logic had told him that family obligations would keep him from being around his notebook for longer than a few minutes at a time today.

Right now though, that served in Virgil’s favor. He hated it when people watched him draw- even when it was someone he trusted as much as Logic.

“Hey, Logic.” Virgil started a new page, leaving about a third empty under the last one. For a moment, he wondered whether that was the right thing to do- but it's not like they would ever run out of pages. The notebook just kept growing, despite not increasing in weight. “I got big news!”

He glanced over at the last thing Logic had written- Make sure you sleep well too, Purple- and his reply- Yeah yeah yeah. Good night, Logic!”

He wondered how long it would be until he could say good night to his soulmate in person.

“I know you told me that you wouldn’t be able to get to the notebook today.” Virgil paused and bit his lip. “I hope I’m not bothering you by writing now but-” He crossed the word out in one elegant line, followed by repeated scribbling until not even the essence of the letter was visible. “Sorry if I am.”

Logic probably wouldn’t be upset. Probably.

Virgil pushed down the wave of panic that told him Logic would see that he had written and never open the notebook again. Maybe he shouldn’t-

No. Things would be fine. He was being stupid.

“My parents got me jewelry with my stormcloud on it!” Virgil's initial happiness came rushing back, though slightly dulled. “I’ve got a bracelet, a pin, a necklace, a ring- here, I’ll show you.”

Virgil brought his pencil to the page. He studied the bracelet given to him- the smooth shining silver metal and the small but noticeable purple cloud that hung from it, followed by a jagged white lightning bolt.

Beside it, he drew the necklace, the small rings that made up a delicate metal chain, and the large pendant that hung from the bottom, identical to the one on his bracelet.

Then the pin, and finally the ring, which for some reason took him a lot longer than the other ones. At the end of it all, Virgil smiled at his designs and went for the lines underneath them.

“Now it’ll be even easier to find me. We won’t have to worry about paper ripping and losing it for a day or whatever else.”

He wanted to write the words “We’ll find each other” but found no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite make his pencil hit the page. It was a wish and a promise Virgil repeated to himself, one he wanted more than anything in the world, one he would do almost anything for, but one he couldn’t quite convince himself was true.

They both lived in America. That much was true. But according to time zones, Logic lived on the other side of the whole country. Even if Virgil traveled over there, he wouldn’t know which state, let alone which city-

Breath came too fast. He placed the notebook off to the side and suddenly the gifts that had been a solidifier of their symbols and ability to find each other were nothing more than a taunt.

Logic was out of his reach. Forever.

Virgil snatched the notebook up- to do what he wasn’t sure- and found a tiny barely readable letter had appeared under his note. He blinked at it.

Wasn’t Logic supposed to be busy today?

“Those look great!” Logic’s words eased some of the darkness numbing Virgil’s mind. He reached out with a single shaking hand and traced the letters. “You’re an amazing artist, Purple.”

Virgil swallowed.

“Thanks.”

They had to flip the page to keep communicating.

“Those will make it much easier to find you,” Logic wrote. Each letter cleared more of his panic and Virgil managed a tiny smile. “I can’t do the same though.”

Virgil blinked and all of that cleared panic came back full force.

Before he could properly hold his pencil, Logic had continued.

“I would like to, but I don’t think we have enough money to spare on one of those. I’ll keep wearing the paper, of course.” Logic’s letters paused but before Virgil had managed to clear his head long enough to even manage a sentence, it continued. “Yours look beautiful.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid-

“I didn’t mean for you to think you had to get any.” It was the messiest Virgil’s handwriting had been in a very long time. “I’ll spot you with the paper, I just thought-” What had he been thinking? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t really remember anything but the fact that he had somehow managed to make Logic upset-

“Purple.” Logic’s letters were crisper than normal: firm. “I think the idea of wearing jewelry is amazing. If it makes one of us easier to spot then we’re closer to being together. I can’t afford them, but that’s okay. Okay?”

Virgil took a breath.

“Okay.”

Logic was right. Like normal. Logic would have an easier time looking for a guy wearing a bunch of stormclouds rather than one white one drawn on his chest.

And he…

“I promise to be on the lookout for a piece of paper,” Virgil wrote. “You don’t need all the jewelry.”

It was to make things easier. But it wasn’t truly necessary.

Right?

Right.

“I’ve got to go. Our neighbor ------- is-” The writing paused. “I forgot other people’s names don’t work. Anyway, I have to go.”

“Okay.” Virgil took a long breath. “I’ll write to you soon.”

“Bye Purple. Oh, and don’t worry about writing to me when I say I won’t be able to come. I enjoy reading everything you say after.”

Virgil's heart missed a beat and that warm smile from before returned.

Logan had spent the entirety of Valentine’s day avoiding people handing out presents, chocolates, teddy bears, and whatever other atrocity they wanted to give their beloved. Not because he thought the holiday was stupid- although, he did actively think that- but because of the slight churning in his gut whenever he spotted a happy couple.

Along with that question. That stupid, horrible question that he had been asking himself for almost a year now.

His hand tightened around his notebook.

Would it hurt more to confess and be rejected, or confess and still be unable to see him?

Until he figured that out, Logan really didn’t think there was any point in confessing.

He turned down the hallway his class was in, ducked a ball of paper thrown at his head, and strode into the room. After double-checking that his desk and chair hadn’t been messed with, Logan took his seat, pulled out a binder held together with scotch tape and a lot of luck, and placed it on the creaky cracked desk in front of him.

Right. He had five minutes.

Logan did what he always did with extra time; he cracked open his purple notebook and glanced over the pages they had written in last.

His lips curved upwards.

Purple had added a few drawings since they last talked. Random sketches of tree leaves, a new ring he had been excited to buy, Noam and Dara from the heartbreaking series Feverwake Logan had made him read, and Gerald Way, one of Purple’s favorite artists.

Logan made little compliments underneath each of them- “Great job shading the leaf, it looks so real, the ring is gorgeous, etc- and was about to add something about scheduling a time to talk during the afternoon/night, when the book was snatched out of his hands.

Logan grimaced. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Jason that stood in front of him, a cocky grin on his face and Logan’s purple notebook open in his palms.

“Give it back.”

Jason’s stupid grin widened. Logan just rolled his eyes.

“We both know I could have it in a second. Just hand it over.”

“What were you writing?” Jason’s voice was sing-songy, taunting. He flipped through the pages- pages he could see nothing but lines on- before snapping the notebook closed and holding it above his head.

With a loud sigh, Logan snapped his fingers twice. It was a bit odd, the way he did so. Most people used their index finger or middle. He used his pinky.

By the time his fingers had hit his palm a second time, the notebook had completely dislodged itself from Jason’s hand and landed squarely into Logan’s outstretched left one.

Without saying anything to the idiot in front of him, Logan turned back to his notebook, opened it up to the right page, and scribbled down a time they could meet. It was during his shift at the grocery store, but late enough that not many people would be in so he could easily write with Purple.

“I need to talk to you,” Jason interrupted.

“No, I’m not doing your homework for you.”

“But-”

“No.”

“Okay, what about-”

“I’m not writing an essay for you either.”

There was a short silence, which Logan used to turn back to his notebook and add that Purple should feel no obligation to hang out especially if he…

Logan swallowed.

… had other Valentine’s Day plans.

“If you do it, I could hook you up with my friend Erica. She’s good-looking. Breasts are a bit small, but-”

It took all of his efforts not to groan aloud.

“Go away, Jason. And don’t talk about your friends like that.”

“Ah, she’s a girl. She doesn’t mind.”

“Have you asked her?”

Logan glanced up to see Jason rolling his eyes. He glanced towards the door.

Where the hell was Mr. Myers?

“Look man, I’m just struggling with this one essay. I just need you to-”

“I told you no, Jason.”

Jason’s face twisted into a scowl. “Stop being such a damn teacher’s pet. It’s one damn essay.”

“No.”

Logan wondered if it were too early for Purple to be up. It was 9:11 here, meaning it would only be 6:11 there…

Yeah. It was much too early. Purple woke up at 7:20 to get to school at 7:30. He had at least an hour before he would see this.

“But-”

“Jason.” Mr. Myers' voice boomed through the classroom and Logan snapped his soulmate’s notebook shut and pushed himself up straight. “Take your seat.”

Purple got back to him at lunchtime. Logan sat out in the deteriorating and slightly musty hallway, bread, and cheese sandwich sitting on a cardboard platter beside him and his notebook resting on his knees. It just so happened that his lunchtime (12:10-12:30) was at the beginning of Purple’s study hall (9:00-9:40), so it had become normal for the pair of them to talk until Logan had to head back to class.

They basically confirmed they would have that conversation later, which made Logan feel better for more reasons than one, before Purple asked Logan about his day, giving Logan a very easy outlet to bitch about the whole fiasco with Jason.

“Again!?” Purple handwriting was larger and darker than normal. “I’m going to kill him!”

“It’s really no trouble.” Honestly, Logan didn’t mind it occurring, especially since it gave him moments like this when Purple would get all angry on his behalf. There weren’t many people who did that. “Gollum-” the name they had given Jason so they could talk about him without stupid lines appearing- “won’t push it any farther.”

“The last time you said that about someone, they shoved you into a wall, broke your glasses, and stole your homework for themselves.”

Almost subconsciously, a hand came up to touch the black scotch-taped frames. The glass hadn’t been cracked in any way that impaired him, but he had been forced to pull an all-nighter to rewrite that essay differently so he wouldn’t get an F for cheating.

It had been remarkably stressful, especially since his head hadn’t stopped pounding for weeks after.

“Yeah. Gollum won’t do that though.”

“He better not. I’ll fucking kill him.”

Despite the threat of violence, Logan couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t even know his real name.”

“Doesn’t matter. I will track this prick down. Nobody hurts you.”

Logan pretended his heart had skipped a beat because of the piece of sandwich he had eaten and not due to the crisp and clear words that appeared across his page. He swallowed once, to clear his throat. And then again, to calm the butterflies in his heart. Plus a third time for luck, before putting his pencil to the page.

“I feel you’re being slightly dramatic. Gollum hasn’t even done anything yet.”

Purple drew two quick little bubble people underneath his sentence one of which was actively punching another. Underneath one, he drew a storm cloud, one that Logan had completely memorized. Under the other, he wrote the word “loser.”

Logan snorted and took another bite of his cheese sandwich. He glanced at his phone.

“I’ve got a minute.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Well, I’ll see you at 4:30.” Another pause. “I have something I want to tell you. Puppy says that I should do it today.”

Logan blinked. “Okay. If you don’t mind me asking, why today?”

A third pause.

“It fits with the theme, I guess.”

The theme.

Logan could barely hold his pencil he was trembling so hard. “Okay. Yeah, I’m happy to hear what you have to tell me.”

Please…

“Cool,” Purple wrote. “I’ll write with you then.”

Virgil was going to throw up.

Patton had told him “It’s Valentine’s Day! It’s romantic to confess your feelings today!” but Patton had also told him that chicken was a vegetable so Virgil honestly didn’t know why he was taking his advice.

He glanced down at his phone.

4:25.

Which meant he would have five minutes until he would be telling Logic how he felt.

And that was fine.

Fine.

Absolutely fine.

The worst thing that could happen would be Logic laughing, shutting the notebook, ripping off his brain piece of paper, and never talking to him again.

But that wouldn’t happen.

Right?

Urgggggg.

4:27.

How had two minutes passed without him even noticing!?

Virgil got to his feet, holding his notebook closed in his left hand while his right clung to the black pen he had found in the school hallway. He paced up and down his bedroom floor.

4:28.

What was he going to say?

Virgil wasn’t sure. He had flirted and kissed before, but they had all meant nothing, all been distractions from the real yearning for a boy he couldn’t meet.

And they had all been in. Fucking. Person. Virgil was good at the in-person shit. He knew how to place friendly touches, how to grab someone by the hand.

He did not know words.

He glanced back down at his phone.

4:32.

Shit!

Virgil hastily ripped his notebook open, flipped to the last page they had written on, and found Logic’s adorably messy writing already sprawled across it.

Great. Just great. Now they were starting this off late and terribly and Virgil really was going to throw up.

“Hi.” Logic had written in that green pen he always used when he was at his job. “It’s a little busier tonight than normal, so I might randomly disappear a couple of times, but it’s still light enough to talk.”

Virgil had barely finished reading them before he scribbled out in probably the messiest he had ever written since middle school; “That’s cool. Sorry, I’m late. I was-” nervous. Virgil scribbled out the I was. “I was I lost track of time.”

“It’s not an issue.” Logic’s response came instantly. “How was your day?”

Terrible. Virgil had barely been able to eat with the thought of being rejected plaguing him and focusing on school after his study block had been a complete no-go. Even drawing hadn’t come easy and drawing was his go-to way of centering himself.

“I wasn’t able to concentrate very well,” Virgil wrote. “And I think Mrs. Sullivan hates me now. She asked me a question and I didn’t know the answer so we just sat in silence for like a minute before she picked someone else.”

“What was the question?”

“How to find the area of a cylinder.”

“Do you-” A thick green line struck through the words. “Do you That sounds awful.”

Virgil’s lips curved up. “Were you going to ask me if I wanted the answer?”

“Yeah.” Even through paper, the response sounded sheepish. “However, I assumed that wasn’t the point of the story.”

Virgil leaped up onto his desk and placed his notebook on his lap. “Don’t worry, nerd. We went over it far too many times in class. I have that sequence of pain down flat.”

“Well. Good, I think.” There was a pause. “You had art class today right? Is your painting going well?”

Virgil’s painting was of a dark faceless nobody staring up at the storming sky around him. His teacher told him it was some of the best work they had ever seen, and Virgil had to admit, he was very proud of the dark yet somehow calming aura the painting gave off.

“I’ve about finished it.” Virgil flipped from the desk and landed on the balls of his feet. “If there was a way to send it to you, I would but… you know. Phone numbers don’t work.”

Logic took a full six minutes to get back to him. Somebody must’ve come up to his register.

By the time Logic’s scrawl did appear, Virgil was back to pacing along the length of his carpet. He had done it enough recently that a path mirrored the bottoms of his feet and the muscles of his thighs ached ever so slightly.

“I’ll see it when I meet you.” Logic sounded far more sure in that fact that Virgil was even on a good day. There was a pause. “Did-” Another pause. “-you say you have something to tell me?”

Virgil swallowed.

“Yeah.”

He swallowed again.

Had he been in person, he would’ve started by reaching out and covered Logic’s hand with his own. That, or flowers. Something simple and blue.

But Virgil had none of these assets on his side, so he had to work through the dumb brain of his and figure out exactly how he was going to say “I’m in love with you.”

“We’ve been friends for a very long time.”

“Yes.”

Logic’s quick response normally made him feel better. Right now, he wanted his nerd to shove a sock in it.

“And you’re very important to me.”

This time, Logic didn’t respond and somehow that was worse than the “yes” from earlier.

“But I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

The moment he had written it, Virgil nearly stabbed himself with the pen. Why on earth had he phrased it like that?

And it certainly didn’t help that Logic was still. Fucking. Silent.

God, he really was going to throw up.

“I mean, I do want to be friends.” Virgil sat down on the floor right in the middle of pacing. “But I don’t want to be friends.”

He stood back up and paced in a different direction than the latest path he had created in his rug.

This wasn’t working. He just had to say it.

“I’m in love with you.”

Still no reply.

Virgil swallowed around the golf ball in his throat and stared down at the words he had written. Twice, he almost reached up to cross them off, and both times he just managed to put his pen down.

Why wasn’t he responding?

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Virgil muttered to himself. “I’m sure…”

He flung the stupid notebook across the room. It hit his bedroom wall with an echoing crinkle before thumping to the floor.

He took a breath.

Another one.

Then walked open and re-picked up the notebook.

Where a green response was filling the area underneath.

“I admit, I’ve been harboring romantic feelings for you myself.” Virgil stopped breathing. “I don’t know if I could have convinced myself to confess so, thank you for doing so.”

The world, which had seemed so dark and angry before, was suddenly so vibrant and so full of color that it was impossible not to smile in. That golf ball in his throat faded and replaced itself with a light that forced Virgil to spin in a circle, arms flapping excitedly by his sides.

He froze halfway through his dance.

He should probably give Logic an answer.

“Really?” The word came out hurried. Still neat compared to Logics but nothing when it came to his usual writing. For some reason though, the messiness of it just didn’t seem to bother him.

“I would never tell you a falsehood, Purple.”

Urgggg, he was so smooth. And charming. And smart. And just… He was just perfect.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Virgil smiled down at the paper.

“Happy Valentine’s Day indeed.”

Logan graduated on June 2nd. His parents had managed to get a black graduation gown and when he walked up onto the run-down stage to get his diploma, the only thing he could think about was how much he wished Purple was here to share this moment with him.

His father had cried, but his father had always been a crier. The surprise had been when his mother had started crying; Logan had always pictured her as more stoic and firm than emotional.

But perhaps that’s what change did. It made messes out of us all.

Logan had accepted whatever his parents wanted from him throughout the day without complaint and managed to get a couple of hours to himself while they thought he was off hanging with friends. Now, at 1:23 am, Logan stared blankly down at his notebook.

He was exhausted. Admittedly, he had woken up aware he would be ending this day at the end of his rope, but there was always such a difference between knowing and feeling.

Purple’s neat script appeared on a blank page of his notebook like a hand reaching out to lift him from his drowning state.

“I know you’re asleep, but I just wanted to congratulate you. Already out of school. I still have five more days in this hellhole.”

It was so Purple check-in, insult school, and give Logan an out with a casual joke that actual tears bit behind Logan’s eyes. He blinked rapidly before placing the end of his pencil to paper and writing:

“You’ll be free of High School soon. Then we’ll be off to college.”

“Don’t remind me.”

A laugh choked its way out of Logan. “Are you still nervous?”

“I can’t imagine being anywhere but here. And there are so many things that could go wrong. Fucking taxes.” The writing paused. “Still, at least I’ll have you, right?”

“Always.”

“Anyway, shouldn’t you be sleeping? It’s-” a second paused, probably as Purple calculated whatever time it was there. “1:31?! Dude, go to sleep! You must be exhausted!”

“I am.” Logan reached up to run his hands over the blue pen Purple’s appeared to be writing in. “Today was very taxing.”

“You knew it would be. I don’t envy all that social interaction.”

“You’ll have to experience it in 8 days.”

“Bitch.”

That brought a bit of sparkle back to Logan’s eyes, but he still wasn’t smiling.

“How’d it go?”

How’d it go?

Logan had managed to stay polite the whole time. The plastered content look on his face had only ever dropped to pull a smile when his parents hugged him or pictures were necessary. He had shaken every hand that came his way, accepted every “congratulations” and every “well done.” He’d even managed to keep from grimacing at words like “if that the genius?”

“Everyone couldn’t seem to resist the urge to compliment me on getting in ------ on a free ride.” Shit. He had forgotten the stupid thing wouldn’t let them name colleges. “The college I got into.”

“I figured.” Purple’s words came quickly after. “It is very impressive.”

Purple’s compliment did what no other compliment had done all day; it brought a true smile onto Logan’s face and even managed to pull a bit of a blush.

“It must’ve been exhausting,” Purple wrote. “I probably would’ve had a breakdown.”

Honestly, yeah. You probably would’ve.

“I got a few hours to myself but it wasn’t enough to properly-” he pursed his lips and tried to figure out how to phrase everything- “-recuperate.”

“Then you should be sleeping.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Logan could practically hear the humor dripping from each word Purple wrote. “Fucking sap.”

“Yeah,” he wrote tiredly. “I guess so.” He stared silently down at the notebook. “I wish you were here.”

Purple didn’t respond and Logan shoved the book away. He was just so… tired. Of only having these strings connecting him to someone he loved. To his best friend. To his boyfriend.

“I wish I was there too.” Purple words were smaller than normal, and slower written. “We’ll be moving for colleges. Me with my art school, you with your big brain scholarship.”

Logan cracked a smile.

“Maybe we’ll find each other then.”

His hand reached up to trace each letter, starting from then and working its way up to “we’ll.” It came to a stuttering stop before it could reach the word “Maybe.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Top Art Schools. In America. Logan’s mind whirled as he stared at the library computer screen and the stupid blinking line asking him what he wanted to write.

The time zones hadn’t changed. Logan had moved from Florida to M.I.T. in Massachusetts, so he hadn’t shifted over. And Purple had moved from… well, whatever state he lived in to… perhaps the same state, perhaps a different one. He had remained in Pacific Time either way.

Which meant his Art School had to be in California, Nevada, Oregon, Washington, or the very tip of Idaho.

His fingers flew across the keyboard.

There were 454 art schools in California. Oregon didn’t give him a number for how many art schools, but there were over 100 colleges in all. 26 colleges in Nevada, 6 in Washington (although, more than 300 independent), and 15 in Idaho.

Which meant he had around 601 colleges to go through.

It was a lot. It was more than just a lot, but it gave him a place to start, it was doable, and Logan figured he could easily knock at least half of those out given Purple’s descriptions of them. Probably more, if things went well.

He scribbled all of this down in his notebook, along with his general plans on how to find him, before snapping it shut and making his way out of the library and towards his dorm room.

He checked his notebook on the way over.

“This seems like a lot of work,” Purple had written. “Do you really think we can do it?”

Logan paused in the middle of the walkway and pulled his pencil out from behind his ear.

“Yeah, we can do it,” he wrote firmly. “I’ve got resources and time. I’ll even build a program to sort through it all.”

“Lol. You fucking nerd.”

Logan smiled at the words.

“I’ll do it too. I won’t be as good as you because I’m not big brain-” Logan drew a large “X” over “I’m not big brain” while Purple wrote- “but I’ll be looking for you too.”

“That would be ideal.”

He left the notebook open, in case Purple decided to keep talking, but continued on his way up to his dorm room. Logan didn’t linger, though he did give his first in-person friend, Janus Drake, a wave before grabbing an energy drink and a bag of grapes and promptly turning right out the door.

Logan didn’t have enough money yet for a computer that would actually manage to support his work, though he was saving up for it. The library, however, was a familiar area and he was honestly much more comfortable there than he was in any of these ridiculously rich hangouts.

He situated himself at a very nice desk, opened his list of names, and looked through it. Everything had been organized by state and then by rank. Logan was planning on working through the top 10 of each state (or all six in Washington's case) and then continuing from there.

It couldn’t be that hard.

At 3 am, Logan got a text from Janus telling him that if he didn’t drag his ass back to the room and go to sleep, Janus would rip every single one of his books into pieces.

It was just as well. Logan had managed to search through the freshman class of all six Washington, ten Oregon, and had decided he might as well go through all of Idaho as well. He had been about to start Cali when the text had come through and frankly, Logan had done a lot for the day.

He scribbled all of his down in the notebook, told Janus he would be right up and shut down the computer.

Soon, he promised himself. Soon he would find Purple.

Soon turned out to be the very next day.

After his Genetics course, Logan made his way right back over to the library, sat back down on the computer, and opened the top art school in California: The University of California. Its Master of Fine Arts degree at UCLA was ranked No. 1 by U.S. News & World Report. Logan could easily see Purple making his way into that.

Slowly he flipped through the freshman class, looking for the symbol he and Purple promised they would always be wearing. The one still safety-pinned onto his chest and the one decorating practically all of the jewelry Logan knew Purple wore.

And…

There.

Logan’s heart leaped into his throat as he regarded the young man he saw on the computer screen.

He was easily the most beautiful person Logan had ever seen.

The man had black hair that ended in a tipped purple fringe. There was a single shaved line going through his right eyebrow that emphasized the glittering near-black eyes that gazed into the photograph. His skin was a warm dark brown. The man was not smiling, but he wasn’t frowning either. He wore a large black sweatshirt, covered in large purple patches. But what Logan’s eyes strayed to, and what had his eyes burning, was the patch sewn into the sweatshirt and the metal symbol hanging from around his neck.

Logan had every single line of that goddamn stormcloud memorized.

He looked down at the name and read it over several times, letting the words sound within his head and fully settle within him.

Virgil Casey.

“Vir-gil.” Logan sounded out. He ignored the glances from other students. “Virgil.”

He had a name. He had a location.

From that point on, it was ridiculously easy to find his phone number and the social media accounts Virgil had created. And see that every single one of them had a single picture on it.

The stormcloud.

An actual tear slid down Logan’s face. He wiped it away furiously and ripped open the notebook.

“You’re beautiful.” He wrote. Another stupid tear slid down his face, only to be sliced away by a quick hand. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Virgil got back to him faster than Logan expected. “You found me?”

He responded not on paper, but by a picture of the little brain with glasses Virgil had drawn for him years and years ago, sent over text.

The text noise startled Virgil, but he practically fell over himself in his desperation to reach it. He tried to open it, but the stupid face recognition wasn’t working and then he put in the wrong passcode three fucking times-

Please, please, please, please…

It was a picture of a piece of paper, cut into a neat circle and placed upon a light brown tabletop. A safety pin was open and still stuck through the top of it.

It was him.

It was Logic.

An actual sob ripped out of Virgil and his knees banged into the wooden floor of his dorm room. Roman, his roommate, glanced over at him in alarm but Virgil had eyes only for the screen, for his genius boyfriend who had somehow managed to find him through nothing but the words “Art School” and basic time zones in 2 days.

“Logic?” Virgil’s fingers could barely find the letters to type what he needed, barely even hold the phone up. Breath still in his lungs as those fucking dots appeared, letting him know Logic was typing, letting him know…

“My name is Logan Berry.”

Tears slid down Virgil’s face, ruining the makeup he had put on that day, but Virgil didn’t care, didn’t care about anything other than-

“Where are you?”

“MIT. I’m in MA.”

MIT.

Of course. Of course, his genius was able to get into a school like MIT. Virgil should’ve known to look at the school that had beaten fucking Harvard in the ranking, at least according to Newsweek.com.

“I can’t believe you found me.” Virgil swallowed noisily against the egg-sized ball in his throat. “I can’t believe I know your name. I didn’t think I would ever meet you.”

“I admit, I was beginning to lose hope as well.”

Another sob wrecked Virgil at the words. He wiped his eyes, ignoring the staring from Roman, and texted:

“Picture?”

“I’m a mess.”

“I don’t care.”

It took a second for the next image to download.

Logan was in a library because of course, he was. He appeared to have found a corner without many people, which Virgil was certain was a skill he had cultivated over the years.

Virgil couldn’t drink him in fast enough.

He was white, with ocean blue eyes that Virgil could’ve spent hours looking into, memorizing every single shine to it. They were red-rimmed at the moment, surrounded by glasses, and there were enough streaks down his pink face to let Virgil know that Logan was crying as well- though apparently not nearly as hard as Virgil.

That didn’t surprise him.

His hair was brown, short, and neat and fit the aesthetic of the blue tie he wore and black dress-shirt.

He was…

He was perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

Virgil pulled the phone to his chest and hugged the picture as if somehow that could transfer the warmth over and tell Logan, tell the boy he had been friends with since practically the moment he was born, that he was there. That he…

“I love you,” Virgil texted. “I love you so much.”

Logan’s response came immediately. “I love you too, Virgil.”

The mere thought of his name on Logan’s lips had Virgil crying all over again.

The airport was packed but Virgil did not mind shoving a few people out of his way as he headed towards the exit he and Logan had decided to meet at. One hand fell behind him, pulling the suitcase along as he headed over the other trembled at his side, mirroring the way he kept playing with his sweatshirt strings and pulling his hood up, only to shove it back down again.

The exit was in view. A few people stood around it: parents probably looking for their child to fly home, a random girl, and….

Virgil’s breath caught in his throat.

He was shorter than Virgil had expected. For some reason, Virgil had always pictured Logan towering over him, but Logan looked to be only about an inch taller than Virgil. He shifted from foot to foot, and now and then a hand would come up to shove his black-rimmed glasses up his nose.

“Logan?”

Logan turned to him. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. Virgil stepped forward unsure what to do with his body; arms hung like noodles at his sides and his legs remained stiff upon the floor.

“Virgil?”

Virgil swallowed. “Yeah.”

Logan took a step forward and suddenly, they were both moving. Virgil wasn’t quite sure exactly when he had dropped his suitcase, or how his body had known what he wanted but suddenly he was wrapping his arms around Logan’s back, and Logan’s arms were tight against his.

Virgil placed his head into the crick of Logan’s neck and let out a loud sob. He pulled Logan closer, trying to get every single part of them to touch, and knowing it would never be enough, never enough to satisfy those long long years of distance.

They swayed back and forth, neither one wanting to let go. When they did finally step back, Logan’s hand slid up to cup Virgil’s face- and Virgil’s own remained around Logan’s waist, holding him as close as he would without losing the ability to study him.

Virgil had thought he was hot from pictures.

It was absolutely nothing compared to the real thing.

Freckles patterned across his nose, light enough to not be noticeable through the lens. His eyes were even bluer than Virgil thought possible and there was a smile on his face that nearly brought Virgil to the floor.

Logan’s thumbs brushed away Virgil’s tears with one hand, but new ones simply surged to replace them. His own tears were sliding down his face, though much quieter and much less than Virgil’s.

“You’re even more beautiful in person.”

“That’s what I was going to say,” Virgil sobbed. “Asshole.” Logan’s smile was soft, delicate, and so utterly him that Virgil couldn’t help but reach up and trace over his lips with his right hand and enjoy the kiss Logan peppered to it.

“May I kiss you?” Logan asked.

Virgil answered by surging forward and pressing their lips together. Heat spread across his whole body, especially as Logan made a quiet noise and opened his mouth, arms settling into Virgil’s hair. His lips tingled and the feeling only spread as Virgil pressed as close as he could to his best friend, to his boyfriend, to his soulmate.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were smiling.

#analogical #analogicalweek #au #soulmate au #virgil-x-logan #bullying tw #misogyny

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scaryscarecrows · 4 years

Text

Will Trade Soup for Intel

Potential Gotham Knights ‘verse. For those who did not see the trailer: Bruce is dead (pfft, suuuuure he is), Jim Gordon is dead (Jim, no!), the Court of Owls appears (this is gonna be bad), Batgirl and Robins 1-3 have guardianship of Gotham. For this piece: Penguin is also dead. Dove has his operation. And the flu. :p

***

Tim’s not sure where he thought Jason was going to take him. Honestly, because it’s Jason, he was sort of thinking, ‘seedy hole in the wall where retired hitmen go’. Or something. Or maybe an orphanage, or an under-the-bridge camp; the Alley Kids don’t throw bottles and needles at him, unlike the others. They demand rides.

(Yeah, it’s funny but also scary to see the Red Hood, known for his duffle bag of heads, giving a little girl a piggyback ride.)

This is not one of those places. This is some apartment building in midtown with a doorman and everything. And, y’know, it’s daytime, which...they don’t operate in the daytime that much unless they’re undercover, and they don’t appear to be. Jason told Tim to dress like a real boy and stick his domino on in the elevator, but he’s wearing what he always does; jeans, hoodie, heavy boots. And he’s carrying a brown bag that smells like soup. No helmet in sight, and Tim knows he won’t wear a domino now. They bug the scar*, he says.

“Where are we?”

“To see an old friend. I’m out of other ideas.”

“What, are they a conspiracy professor or something?”

“No.”

The doorman waves them through and they wait for an empty elevator. Jason presses the third-floor button and settles in, adjusting the bag in his arms. For all the crap they give...gave...Bruce about theatrics, Jason’s no better. He lives for building the suspense. Tim had nearly murdered him again for that stupid monk joke. Asshole. Ten minutes from his life, and for that? Humph.

A cotton face mask whaps him in the chest while he’s adjusting his domino and he frowns.

“What.”

“You’re fragile, and she’s got the flu, which is why we’re here in the daytime. I’m basically immune after my, um, upgrade points got cashed in, but you are a Victorian maiden who'll probably turn it into tuberculosis and die and I can’t deal with Dick after that.”

Huh.

…

Whatever. You lose one spleen…

He puts the mask on, too, making sure Jason sees his glower, just as the elevator dings to a halt.

Tim starts to suspect they’re not invited, exactly, when Jason shoves the bag at him and drops down to pick the lock. Though he does knock and call, “Don’t get up!”, so.

“There. Give me that before you spill something...hey, Miss Marquis! I brought soup!”

…

Jason couldn’t have just told him this, why?

There’s furious coughing in the other room, followed by movement, and a minute later Dove shuffles out, wrapped in a blanket and wearing what appear to be bunny slippers. She looks terrible.

“For the tenth time, I don’t care how immune you think you are, you’re going to get sick and I can take care of myself.”

“Haven’t gotten sick yet,” Jason says cheerfully. “‘Sides, it’s, like, partly a bribe.”

Dove doesn’t look convinced. Tim’s not convinced, either. Jason, when left to his own devices, can and will out-mother-hen Dick. He’s just usually scarier when he does it. More like Alfred.

Before any further argument can happen, Dove starts coughing again and winds up clutching the doorframe with one hand and holding the other up to keep Jason at bay.

“Thought you were gonna take Theraflu,” Jason says sulkily. Dove reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I will take it if I need it, Hood.” Tim sympathizes. Theraflu tastes like sadness. At least Robitussin is nice. “I promise this isn’t my first flu, I am fine. ” This is not a battle she’ll win. Tim knows. Tim has tried and failed. Jason had loomed at him and told him, oh-so-nicely, that he would take the Theraflu or that it would breach his defenses. “What do you want.”

Jason holds up the bag.

“Fridge or bowl?”

“Fridge, please.”

“Tea?”

“If I say yes, will you settle down?”

“For now.”

She sighs and totters over to an armchair.

“Fine.”

“What kind.”

“I’ve got some sort of zinger tea in there, that would be very nice.”

Jason vanishes into the kitchen. Dove sinks into her chair, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders, and waves at the couch.

“Siddown, Robin.”

“Sorry we broke in,” he says, because Jason won’t. Dove just shakes her head.

“This isn’t the first time or the last time,” she says. “At least you used the door...if you need a drink or somethin’, help yourself.”

Jason comes back, steaming mug in his hands.

“I’ll get it,” he says. “Bird boy here shouldn’t touch the kitchen.”

Slander.

“Nightwing’s worse.”

“Still. Here y’go.”

“Thanks, honey.” Dove leans up to take it before shooing him back. “Now. Why are you here.”

Jason settles onto the couch next to Tim and leans forward, worrying at his lower lip.

“This is going to sound crazy.”

“Well, that’s interesting.”

“Do you know anything about the Court of Owls?”

Dove snorts, coughs, and takes a sip of her tea.

“What?”

“You know…beware the court of owls that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed. Speak not a whispered word of them--”

“Or they’ll send the Talon for your head, I know the rhyme.” She takes another sip. “It’s a scary story to keep kids in line, you know that.”

“We thought so, but.” He shrugs. “”Had a run-in with...something...last night that, um. Looked a little dead. But not dead like me, dead like...I don’t know. It was like it wasn’t human anymore. Or ever. I don’t know.”

Well, that’s a surprise. Tim wonders if Jason just straight-up admitted what happened or if Dove got it out of him or from some other source.

“Croc’s not human, either, kid.”

“No. This thing...I didn’t...I broke its neck and it fucking twisted it back into place.”

Dove frowns.

“You’re sure?”

“Uh-huh. And before that I emptied literally twelve bullets into this thing and it didn’t even flinch. I’m telling you, something wasn’t right and it was wearing an owl mask.”

Tim nods.

“There have been four murders committed with daggers that have owl insignias on them,” he says. “We think these two things are related.”

“Owl daggers?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can I see one?”

“I brought a picture. The daggers are police evidence.”

“Like you boys didn’t borrow one,” she says, but sits up when Jason comes over with the phone. “I’ve seen something like this before.”

Well, that was unexpected.

“When?”

“Years ago, now. Penguin had one that he got from who-knows-where. It went missing one night-we chalked it up to Catwoman and let it go-but we did have people offer to buy it a few times. Generous offers, too.”

“He wouldn’t sell?” Odd. Penguin loved money almost as much as his pet birds. “Can you remember who offered?”

“Rich men, you know the type. They like...oddities.”

Tim does know the type. During Dick’s stint as Batman, he’d stumbled upon an auction house that specialized in some nasty things, including a very particular crowbar.

(Jason, as far as Tim knows, has no idea about this.)

“Did he say anything about it?”

“No. He put it in his office, in a little case, and honestly, I sort of figured someone had tried to kill him with it. He was funny about things like that.”

That’s an understatement. Penguin had been very proud of the bottle in his eye, among other things.

Dove starts coughing again and ends up setting her tea on the end table. Jason’s halfway over there when the coughs turn to sputters and she manages to wheeze out a, “Fine. M’fine.”

“This is why you should take Theraflu.”

“Honey…”

“I can make--”

“Hon.” He shuts up. “I’m okay. It’s just the flu, give me another week and I’ll be back to normal.” She takes a shuddery breath and picks up her tea again. “I promise. Now. I don’t.” Another shuddery breath, but no coughing this time. “I don’t know anything else off the top of my head, but. Little fuzzy.” She tugs at her blanket until it’s closed around her neck, just under her chin. “If anything comes up, I’ll let you know-ow- shit --”

The coughs don’t stop this time and she winds up bent nearly double, arms curled up to, presumably, brace her ribs. Ouch. When they finally wane, she’s red-faced and wheezing and looking fairly well miserable. Tim’s just about to nudge Jason when she stands up, clutching her mug in white, shaky fingers, and says, “I am going back to bed. Lock up behind yourselves.”

“Can we do anything?”

“No, hon. But thanks. You boys.” A finger goes up and she sort of... hics ...but nothing happens. “You boys stay safe. Don’t do anything. Anything reckless.”

Reckless? Humph. They’re not reckless. Adventurous, is Tim’s preferred term. So one time he leapt off a building knowing his grappler wasn’t working. Dick caught him, like he knew he would. It was leap or be eaten, and being eaten was by far the uglier choice.

“Reckless? Us?” Jason mock-gasps. “Thanks. Soup’s in the fridge. Want me to make you a Thera--”

“ No. Thank you.”

THE END

*I’m debating on whether or not that scar is Joker-related (could be an aborted Glasgow?) OR Batarang-caused: maybe Bruce hit his face rather than his throat in this version of UtRH. Either way, ow.

#Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Dove Marquis #Gotham Knights #maybe #Court of Owls #fic

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years

Text

Young Just us college au

Rent a room, Dick said. It’ll be a nice experience. Don’t just buy a flat, that’s boring and lonely.

Tim had tried to tell his brother that maybe he prefered lonely to crazy, but Dick had insisted. And everyone knew just how difficult dealing with that could be, so he knew better than to resist.

At least, he had tried to comfort himself, he knew the people he’d be rooming with. They were all his friends, an odd assortment of assholes he’d picked up on school, summer camps, vacation trips, scientific events, even comic cons, and just… fell platonically in love with them.

Maybe, as Dick said, it would be fine.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

No, it wasn’t fine.

-Jay -he whispered into the phone, hoping he wouldn't be heard by the others on the other side of the door- Jay, they are crazy. I need extraction asap. We could fake my death and I can go to University somewhere else.

The older man laughed in the other end of the receiver, the sound of pages rustling indicating Tim had caught him during his daily grading paper sesion. That was the sound of crying students dying over carefully demolished arguments.

-They are all your friends, Timbo. If you fake your death, you’ll need to start over again and meet new people.

Tim hissed.

-Exactly, babybird. Also, this is day one of sharing a house, how bad can it possibly be?

-Jay, they left the kitchen lights on. It’s daytime! Why the hell do they need the lights on? Aren’t they aware of how big the bill is gonna be if they are like this?

-...Timmy, you… you are a billionaire. I think that should be the last of your concerns.

-That’s not the only thing. It’s so noisy, Jay. I choose the attic room hoping it’ll be nice and quiet. It’s not. I can hear everything. What do I do if some of them pair up? I’ll be stuck here listening to them having sex forever!

-...I don’t know where to begin.

-You can start by contacting B for me. He was right when he said it wasn’t a good idea for me to live with other people. But I can’t call him to help me out of this, because I think Dick blocked my number in his phone, and my emails don’t seem to be reaching him.

-He said it because you are the purest of his children, and he knew college was corruptive enough without adding dorm sharing to it; that was his version of helicopter parenting. But Timbo, it’s moving day. You’ve been there for less than five hours. And you already emailed B?

-The first thing Slobo did when he came in was to fart. In the middle of the living room. I can’t live with them, they are animals!

-They are your best friends, you’ve known them forever.

-But I never had to deal with them in a closed space for an unlimited amount of time!!! I’m trapped here.

-...

-...!

-...Are you hiding in a closet?

-...no. That would be stupid, in a three story house where I have my own/

-You are, ain’tcha?

-I am. Please help me?

Long sigh- I’ll meet you for coffee on the place near the Economics building so you have an excuse to be out for the evening while the others finish their moving. You’re done with your part, right?

-Yes! Thank you!

-You owe me.

-Next time Dick wants bonding time, I’ll sacrifice myself volunteering so you can run.

-And this is why you’re my favorite. Be there in ten.

-.-.-.-.-.-

-Tim? Tim! Here you are!

Blinking was a thing Tim suddenly remembered he needed to do, and he did it a few times as his eyes were dragged away from his book by a pair of hands on his cheeks.

-Kon? What are you doing in the library?

The other boy was panting slightly, flushed from what Tim guessed was a desperate run there.

-I was looking for you! You never came back after classes were done for the day, and you didn’t pick up your phone. We were very worried, dude.

-I was just studying, chill.

-It’s almost midnight.

No, it couldn’t be.

-No, it isn’t. I haven’t been here that long.

Serious and slightly worried, Conner thrusted his own phone in Tim’s face and… uh. Look at that. It was nearly midnight.

-Oh. Got distracted with research, sorry.

-It’s been barely two weeks, how much can you possibly need to study?

Unprompted, Kon started to help him pack his books and papers. He seemed utterly amazed by the almost illegible graphs and charts.

-No, this isn’t homework. I’m working on a thing for WE…

The rest of the way home was spent with Tim talking Conner’s ear off about shit he had absolutely no idea about, but didn’t complain, just holding Tim’s backpack with one hand while steering his sleep deprived friend back home with the other.

-.-.-.-.-.

-Bart? -Tim yawned, getting into the kitchen and raising a confused eyebrow at his friend- It’s… three am. What are you doing awake?

-Stress baking -the smaller boy replied, never stopping stirring the bowl- You?

-Papers and presentations.

-Classes or WE?

-Bit of both. What are you making?

-Cupcakes. Want some?

-They’ll go great with coffee, thanks.

They spent the next half hour waiting for the oven to do its magic talking about video games, classes and evil teachers.

-Your brother is the worst. TA. Ever. He always grades my papers and he’s a bitch about them.

-He relishes in the pain. It’s what keeps him young. I swear he never grew past fifteen.

-It’s scary, and honestly so annoying. Like, I get pointing out mistakes, but he doesn’t need to be a passive aggressive ass about it.

-I’ll let him know what you think.

-Please don’t. I’m afraid of him, and the power he holds in his hands. The power to make me fail Creative Writing.

-Why are you even taking that class? Actually, what even is your major?

A shrug, and before Bart could open his mouth to reply, the timer let them know the cupcakes where done.

-You can have one before bedtime, dude. The circles under your eyes look like make up at this point.

-You are one to talk, mister Stress Baking at Three in the Morning.

-But unlike you, I don’t have to be up at the ass of dawn. C’mon, have one of these and back up you go.

-Bite me.

-I’d rather bite this peanut butter miracle, but if you insist…

-No! Bart, get away from me!

-Then go to bed!

-Go to hell!

-I AM in hell! I have Jason Fucking Todd as my TA!

-IF YOU DON’T GO BACK TO BED RIGHT NOW, I’LL KICK YOU BOTH ALL THE WAY THERE! -Cassie’s voice echoed in the walls, and they both blanched at the reminder that her room was, in fact, in ground floor.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A part of college Tim had never considered, let alone readied himself for, was the… party bit.

-What do you mean, of course you’re coming -laughed Anita, clutches firm on Tim’s sleeve as she dragged him into hers and Cassie’s room.

-No, I have to study for…

-You don’t have any midterm or final this week. I know, because I checked. No papers due either. This is literally the perfect time for you to party.

-I can’t, I…

-Suck at socializing? Yeah, cher, I’m aware. That’s why awesome me is taking you as my plus one for this party. No need to thank me, glad to be your social buffer whenever you need me.

Tim started to resist in earnest when they got into the room and he caught a glimpse of the clothing Anita had apparently chosen for him.

-There’s no way I’m fitting into those pants! Let me go!

-I’ve seen you squeezing your butt into the vent that one time when Kon threw the key to the coffee maker cabinet inside it. If you could get in there, these pants are a piece of cake.

-No!

-Don’t make me hurt you, Drake.

-Anita…!

-Ugh! -she stopped, dropping Tim on her bed and crossing her arms. She averted her eyes- My ex is gonna be at the party. I might have been exaggerating a bit when I said I was over him, but I already promised my friends I was gonna be there. I… could really use your help here. I know it’s not your scene, but Kon and Bart have midterms, Slobo would straight up punch my ex with his astounding lack of subtlety, Miguel is away dealing with family stuff, and the girls are awesome but not really what I need right now.

A pause.

-Okay, but I’m absolutely not putting on that crop top. And we better not end up wasted, I have a reputation to uphold.

Spoiler alert: he did put on the crop top. And they had to call Conner to walk them home after the third time Tim walked into a lamp post and Anita fell into the campus’ pond.

-.-.-.-.-

They were walking back home late on a Friday when they were approached by a group of stupid, drunk dudebros. Tim was already dreading the moments to come before they even spoke, just by the way they kept eyeing Cassie’s legs and Anita’s rack. Cissie herself was wearing loose pants and a sweater, so she was safe from their disgusting examination. Not that it kept her from crossing her arms and looking down at the assholes.

-Heyyyyy, ladies. Wanna go clubbing with us?

Tim shrugged- He’s talking to you, girls. I’m out. Have fun.

Cassie caught him by his hoodie before he could take a single step. He heard her warning clear as day and sighed, defeated.

-Yess, you can go -slurred Dudebro number two, waving him away- There’ three of us, and three of those pretty things. You can get lost.

-See, Cass? Hear the gentlemen. You don’t need me here.

Anita kicked him in the shin.

-No. We just got our nails done. You either solve this peacefully, or take care of it if it turns dirty. Why do you even walk us home if not to protect us from creepers like these?

A loud ‘hey’ came from the dudebros, but Tim ignored them. Silently, he pointed at Cassie’s legs (he had seen her crushing a watermelon between them once), Cissie’s arms (a thing of beauty that made multiple lesbians all around campus cry) and Anita’s katana (that she wasn’t supposed to keep on her person around other students, but who was gonna enforce any rules on the girl with the giant knife?).

-Excuse me? You three should be protecting me. I’m a rich, sheltered boy.

Apparently done being ignored, the three idiots decided this was a good time to throw the first punch. Which Tim dodged, without breaking eye contact with Cassie. She raised her eyebrow, not moving an inch. Cissie was examining her nails. Anita’s eyes promised hell.

He sighed, turned around, caught the second coming punch, and used the hand under his palm to force the dudebro to his knees. A knee to the face and then he turned to the other two.

Next time, Slobo was walking with them.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Flip side: the attic room had its own bathroom. Significantly smaller than the ones on the other two floors, but hey, no sharing.

The downside: apparently, the bathroom vents all connected with one another, and because of their aligning schedules, he often took showers at the same time Miguel did.

Flip side: Miguel had the singing voice of an angel, and the acoustic was fantastic. Showers were rarely boring now.

Downside again: Tim often forgot himself and sang along, but his voice… wasn’t as pretty.

Flip side again: at least, judging by Miguel’s smile, he found it adorable rather than pathetic.

Downside number three: Greta and Cissie’s room, by some unsolved mystery, also had connecting vents to the bathroom, and the archer girl was… less charitable about Tim’s inability to sing.

Flip side: Greta liked him better than most of their house mates, and she had more than enough dirt on Cissie to keep her from sharing the secret of Tim’s awful voice.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-Hey, baby bird. Sorry I’m calling just now, it’s been a while.

-Hey Jay. Don’t worry, you’re busy grading papers.

-How do you know?

-Bart was crying in the tub this morning. Completely clothed and eating nachos with whipped cream, I might add.

-What is that boy even studying? I know he has Chem classes, Roy is his TA, and Kory saw him in the designer’s building.

-That is an unsolved mystery for the ages.

-Hey, speaking of your housemates, how’s it going?

Tim stopped on his way out of the kitchen, eyes growing fond as he examined the group on the living room. They were fighting over that night’s movie choice. He didn’t know why they tried, Greta was gonna win. Nobody could resist her and Miguel’s puppy eyes.

-It’s… it’s been great, actually.

-Uh huh.

-But don’t tell Dick. He’ll be unbearably smug.

-Of course I won’t. You still have that time I crashed B’s favorite car on me.

-Oh, Oh fuck! -came Slobo’s voice- TIM, BRING THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER!

A loud crash. Tim winced, eyes leaving his friend in favor of the wall. If he didn’t see it, it wasn’t happening.

-TIM, BUD, WE NEED SOME HELP HERE!

-...what was that, Timbo?

-Nothing.

-TIM, TIM, THE TV IS ON FIRE!!! COME QUICKLY BEFORE IT REACHES THE XBOX OR SO HELP ME GOD I’M MURDERING EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM!

-...Tim?

-Don’t tell B.

-Gotcha. Going to save their lives?

-More like hiding in my room until they sort themselves out or die. Good luck on those papers.

-Good luck on surviving.

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redhoodieone · 5 years

Text

I’ve Got You

A/N: This is a special one shot to a good friend on here @thatartkid101! I hope you love this, and I hope everything works out. You’re beautiful, strong, and don’t let anyone put you down! You’re amazing!

Warnings: Language

Words were never important to me before. I’ve never really given them much thought, but I suppose it’s because we speak every day in our lives. Whether we speak loudly, softly, to ourselves, or just reading and thinking. Words are often used a lot, which could make the words lose or overuse their meanings.

Such as “I love you” or “I’m sorry.”

I can’t even remember the last time I meant any of those words. It almost becomes a common habit; just saying it because you know it’s right, not because you actually mean it.

Which could explain why people around me always double check with what I say.

I guess I’ve never sound so confident and sure when I speak.

Bruce had invited me along with him, the Batboys, and Alfred out to dinner at one of his restaurants in Gotham. I, of course, accepted even though I always feel weird and uncomfortable going out with them since they’re practically handsome and popular celebrities, while I’m just an average girl.

I met the Batfamily one horrifying night about two years ago. I was nineteen years old and going through an awful time with my high school boyfriend, Rob. I was with Rob throughout high school, and after we graduated, we kept dating while I was attending G.C.U as he worked with his father and uncles at his father’s auto garage.

Our relationship had been good up until a point where Rob wanted me to quit school and become a “stay-at-home-wife-and-mother”. I sometimes wondered if Rob was jealous of the fact that I had a separate life during the daytime, while the two of us only have the evenings and nights. I even came out of my shell (I’ve been told I’ve been a hermit crab for most of my life), and even made new friends; particularly Tim Drake.

We had some of the same classes, except for math and science classes because Tim’s practically a genius. So, the only classes we shared were English, history, and even computer classes. In a way, Tim became my friend after tutoring me for tests while I became a friendly face when he needed someone to joke and talk to during study hours.

Our friendship blossomed within the seven months we met. I even met his father, Bruce Wayne, his trustworthy, sassy butler Alfred Pennyworth, and his brothers Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, and Damian Wayne. While all of them welcomed me into their home and accepted me as a friend of Tim’s, I realized I was suddenly struck by lightning to one of his brothers.

Jason Todd.

Jason fucking Todd.

I didn’t know what initially drew me to him; like a moth to a flame. Jason is obviously handsome, but what most people didn’t know was just how sensitive, insecure, funny, and caring he truly is. Jason has made it perfectly clear on more than one occasion that he loves his family no matter what (even if they piss him off…and I’ve seen that firsthand), he takes crimefighting more seriously now, and he’s matured a lot since fixing his relationship with Bruce.

It’s like Jason had changed for the better, even if I didn’t know him back then.

But of course, Dick insists Jason is still the same in some ways.

Like how Jason is still a tall, muscular teddy bear at heart (his hugs prove it, since I’ve been lucky enough to receive fifteen within three months), how he laughs and snorts when something is very funny, and especially when he flirts with women he adores.

Ah…the flirting.

I knew I had a boyfriend. I was faithful, and I’ve never done anything wrong to give anyone a reason to not trust me.

But Jason flirting with me on a few occasions just showed how much I was attracted to him. The warm, teddy bear hugs, the innocent cuddling on the couch during movie nights, and how he would look deep into my eyes whenever we had serious or light conversations deep into the early mornings.

And the one night we could have kissed.

Jason had offered and drove me back to my apartment late one night. I had a test the next morning, and I was too tired to drive home since Tim had tutored me for our final exam in English. Jason had been a gentleman and walked me to my door, too. The second I unlocked the front door; I turned to face him and thank him for the drive home.

And then our faces inched closer and closer until I could feel his hot breath above me. Jason had smelled like Old Spice deodorant, and a cologne I couldn’t identify. His breath smelled like the whiskey shot he downed with Tim and I when we finished studying. His ocean blue eyes were hypnotizing, and were so full of lust, warmth, and care.

I found myself leaning in more. Our lips were very close, and my heart was pounding in my chest, as if I could die from a heart attack right then and there. My hands had a mind of their own, and I soon found myself gripping his brown leather jacket and pulled him towards me; until I woke up from the lust and magnetic force shield, I was currently trapped in.

The moment I pulled away and let him go, Jason appeared hurt and confused. But he knew why it couldn’t have happened, even if we both wanted it.

Because I tried hard to stay faithful, even if my heart and body were telling me otherwise.

And of course, I had stayed faithful.

Rob didn’t.

Catching Rob in bed with a female receptionist at his dad’s garage was beyond hatred and betrayal. It was evil; pure, ugly, and sickening evil.

I clearly told Rob we were done; broken up and just finished forever. I tried very hard to stay strong, and I left his apartment with hope that I could just leave and cry privately. But that’s too easy, isn’t it?

Rob eventually caught up with me when I managed to walk a good mile away. He was yelling at me and shoving me against the wall and accused me of cheating on him first: with Tim Drake. I tried to explain to him we were just good friends, and that I didn’t cheat on him. I wanted to tell him I wanted to, but it didn’t seem like a good idea. But Rob’s anger was far from over, and he was now shouting in my face and threatened to ruin me for any new guys that would come around me.

Rob’s threat didn’t fall on deaf ears.

Red Hood landed down beside us. Twirling his gun around his fingers, he approached us and looked more intimidating than anything I’ve ever seen before.

“Wow…you’re a real douchebag,” Red Hood said, his voice is full of rage and violence. After the gun stops spinning in his fingers, he holds it up to Rob’s head. “And here I thought I was…but hey, I guess maybe I’ve grown up and learned yelling and threatening pretty ladies is just a fucking asshole thing to do.”

Rob twisted his face around to face Red Hood. He’s clearly pissed off at Red Hood for interrupting our fight.

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, okay Dildo Head?! This bitch is my problem, and I’m not leaving until I teach her some manners!” Rob snaps harshly.

“It’s one thing to call my helmet a “dildo head”, but when you disrespect women…now that’s crossing the fucking line, you dipshit!”

Red Hood beat the shit out of Rob, but that didn’t mean Rob went down easily without a fight. While Red Hood had the strength, stamina, and moves, Rob did manage to knock Red Hood’s helmet off.

And it happened to be the one-time Red Hood forgot to wear his domino mask.

Jason Todd.

Rob was thankfully knocked out and didn’t see Jason’s face, but I did. After Jason got up and fixed himself up, he knew his secret was out.

And then I eventually learned all their secret identities. I even became a part of their social and private lifestyles…including sometimes Batfamily meetings and helping with cases or whatever they needed.

But after all of that, I’m in a better place to where I don’t mind getting back into the “dating game”, but the fear of being rejected and cheated on still plagues me from time to time. It also didn’t help that the media and paparazzi insisted I was dating Tim and Jason on different occasions. The rumors were worse. I was considered a “family whore” and that I was trying to sleep with Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim.

Luckily not Damian or Alfred. But Alfred’s too precious for me, anyways.

Bruce, Dick, and Tim never paid much attention to the rumors or paparazzi. While they understood how I felt, they dismissed and corrected the rumors as much as they could. But Jason appeared not to care about the rumors, either. In fact, he loved putting on a show as much as he could.

Jason would hold my hand from leaving the limo and entering the building. He then would hold my waist and walk me back to the limo and made sure to wink and wave at the cameras. Jason had even taken it too far once when he kissed me.

A quick peck on the lips. But it’s still a kiss!

We never spoke about it or brought it up again. I wonder if Jason even remembers the kiss.

Once we arrive at Bruce’s restaurant, he leads us from the limo and into the restaurant. He smiles and is polite to everyone and expects us to do the same, in which we all do. Dick, Tim, Damian, and Alfred follow Bruce while Jason and I lag behind, because Jason wanted to hold my hand and bring me closer to his body so the cameras can get good shots of us. While I think we’re in the clear from paparazzi and reporters’ questions, one man decided to ask me a personal question.

“Y/N! Is it true you were in a gangbang after high school?!”

I immediately freeze up. It’s like the air was knocked out of me. Every muscle, breath, and cell inside me stopped working.

Jason had stopped alongside me as well. His hand remained on my lower back, while I moved to the man who asked me that question.

“What did you just say?” I repeat, not even aware I’m sounding like I’m losing my mind.

“You didn’t know? Your picture was leaked online. It’s everywhere, babe!” the man declares.

The man then gives me his cell phone. The second my eyes land on the picture, I tense up. There am I, passed out drunk from a party that Rob was throwing after high school. I’m passed out on a bed, wearing short shorts and a pink bikini top. Rob’s friends, Chris, Jake, and Vince are around me, clearly intoxicated like me. Touching me, kissing me, and passing me back and forth between them.

The picture was taken by Rob’s ex-girlfriend Lily, who clearly and obviously wanted Rob back. The picture nearly destroyed our relationship. My parents were even disappointed in me, and scolded me for being so reckless and drunk, but they eventually forgave me. I even told Rob I was drunk, and that his friends were the ones who were taking advantage of me when I was passed out.

Rob didn’t believe it at first, but then we never spoke of the picture again.

But now it looks like Rob wants to ruin any future relationships for me. This picture is the end of me.

The man takes back his cell phone and laughs at me. “At least you learned that pictures never die or disappear from the web, Y/N. Once you fuck up, you’ll be reminded that you fucked up for the rest of your life. Now, can I get a quote?” he asks seriously.

“Fuck you!” I snap.

“Nah, I’m not into gangbangs like you. Maybe you can ask Bruce Wayne and his sons to join you? My God, would you really do that? You must really be a slut!”

Jason steps in front of me and glares down at the shorter man. “Back. The. Fuck. Off.” Jason threatens angrily.

“Damn…you work fast, Y/N? So, what’s next: are you going to fuck the Luthor or Queen family next?!”

I rip my arm from Jason’s grasp, and I run away from the crowd and restaurant. I had to stop after a block to remove my heels, and then I was back to running away.

No matter how far I run. No matter how hard I try to hide my tears. I was broken.

I finally stop running once I realize I made it all the way to the pier. I remember the pier from when Dick showed me where he almost killed his parents’ killer. Walking slowly and barefoot, I make it to the rail where I take a seat and allow my legs to dangle above the water. My arms are holding the rails above me, and for just a second, I wish I could disappear.

If I fall into the dark water, I would be gone quickly, and no one would ever know.

It’ll be as if this pain never happened. It’ll be as if I never caused trouble.

“You’re not going to jump in.”

Jason?

I whip my head around and see Jason approaching me. His black tie is undone, and he removes his jacket. He sits beside me, and carefully places his jacket over my bare shoulders. Jason exhales, and allows his legs to dangle beside mine.

“Wouldn’t it just be easier if I did? I already ruined your family’s reputation. I even ruined my family’s as well,” I remark.

“Reputation? Doll, in case you haven’t noticed, reputations are meant to be ruined,” Jason says, as he chuckles lightly. He glances at me, but I still refuse to look him in the eyes. “Bruce and Alfred are already doing damage control to the media. Since your shitty ex-boyfriend leaked that picture, Timbo and Dick are making sure it’s taken down online and we’re going to sue his ass until he’s poor and dead.”

“What?” I barely whisper and turn to look at him.

“You’re a part of our family whether you like it or not, Y/N. We protect each other, and that means we’re going to protect you, too. And trust me, Bruce and Alfred are very good at clearing up the rumors and paparazzi bullshit. Alfred even said he’s going to talk to your parents, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about, sweetheart. And as for Tim and Dick, your picture will never surface online again.”

I lean my forehead on the rail. “What about Damian?” I ask quietly.

“He’s doing me a favor, but that’s not important right now! I want you to know I believe you, Y/N. You are not what Rob says you are. You’re not a whore. That picture was taken without your consent and those fuckers had no right to do those fucked up, disgusting acts to you while you were drunk. And as for your fucking ex-boyfriend, he’s fucking asshole who should have believed you and beat the shit out of those other fuckers,” Jason growls under his breath, and runs a hand through his dark hair. “If I knew you back then…and knew what happened…I would have killed all of them, sweetheart. I would have shoot off those fuckers’ balls, and then I would have jammed my gun down your boyfriend’s throat, and then up his ass until he pukes up bullets.”

I slowly turn to face Jason, and I soon realize he never took his eyes off me the entire time he’s been talking. “W-why are you saying all of this, Jay?” I whisper.

“Because you deserve to know the truth, and you deserve better. Fuck doll…you’re the strongest babe I know. Y/N, you literally don’t hesitate to speak your mind, you don’t take shit from any of us, and if I remember correctly…you once kicked my ass during that time Dick and I fought over a mission gone wrong. Remember? You took me down with just one punch and kick to the knee?”

“How can I forget? I felt bad right after, and we ended up eating a carton of chocolate ice cream while watching stupid movies on Netflix,” I say softly. “All night long.”

“The best night of my life,” Jason replies, and grins before he scoots over next to me. “This…what happened tonight isn’t going to destroy you, Y/N. Do you want to know what I see happening?”

I force myself to choke back on my tears. “What?” I barely ask.

“You’re going to hug me, and I’m going to tell you you’re stronger than this. You’re going to flip off the fucking paparazzi with me, and we’re going to show them we’re two badasses, who are not going to let the media tell us bullshit, when we know we’re better than all of them. And then, I’m going to take you out to dinner, and then I’m going to spend the entire night convincing you, that you are perfect and how much you mean to me,” Jason says seriously. “Because doll…I’ve got you.”

“Then what?” I ask, wiping a tear from my cheek with a small smile.

“Then I’m going to tell you I love you, and that I want you to give me a chance. I want one chance to show you how fucking crazy I am for you, and that I’m so in love with you that just being near you isn’t enough. I can’t be a friend anymore Y/N, especially when all I want is to kiss you, hold you, and protect you until the day I die. But most importantly, you’re going to tell me that you love me, and want to be with me as well. And after we kiss and seal our love, you’re going to tell me you’re so strong, that no matter what the media, public, and Rob says: you are going to overcome all of this, and you’re never, ever going to let anyone put you down, when you are clearly above and better than all of us.”

Before I can say anything, Jason leans in and kisses me. Our lips together send fireworks throughout my entire body, and I feel as if I’ve fallen into hot lava. I feel my body on fire, and Jason clearly does too, when he reaches to hold my face, as the other holds my waist tightly. As we explore each other’s mouths and bodies (over the clothes), we hear someone honking their vehicle. Jason and I pull away from each other, and then we see it’s the Batmobile.

Jason helps us to our feet, as we check out the Batmobile. The window rolls down and we see Nightwing in the driver’s seat, along with Red Robin beside him. Robin is in the back and shakes his head at us.

“Don’t you know how to answer your cell phone, Todd?” Robin scoffs.

“We were busy at the moment…” Jason says, and leads us to the Batmobile. “Did you do what I asked, Demon Spawn?”

“Affirmative,” Robin says.

“B wants us to drop Y/N back at the manor while we finish what we started,” Nightwing says, with a smile for me.

Jason motions Red Robin to climb into the backseat with Robin. Once the passenger side is clear, he climbs in and pulls me onto his lap as Nightwing revs up the Batmobile. We speed away from the pier, as Nightwing drives us back to the manor.

“Finish what?” I ask curiously.

“Just a…little mission…” Jason answers sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Y/N,” Red Robin insists.

“Indeed, you will never go through this again,” Robin speaks up.

“B says not to kill him, so we have to be careful with what we do,” Nightwing clarifies, as I stare at the brothers in confusion.

“What are you guys going to do? Are you…going to kill Rob, and his friends?” I ask.

Nightwing grins at me, as Red Robin and Robin flash their innocent smiles. Jason bursts into a fit of laughter and kisses my cheek. With both strong arms wrapped around me, he leans his face towards mine.

“Oh, we’re not going to kill him or his friends, sweetheart. We’re just going to break their bones!”

#dc comics #batman #red hood #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #nightwing #robin #red robin

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