#woulda become red robin right then and there

[dc-sideblog]

Tim: so when I became Robin you were so opposed to teenage vigilantism you almost killed me over it, but when Scarlet does teenage vigilantism you make her #2 in your criminal empire???

Jason: exactly. Now you're getting it, Timbo

[carol-effing-danvers]

knock me the fuck out (i dare ya, babe), part one

TEACHER STEVE AND SOFT BILLY 

Ten years, eight months, three weeks, and nine days ago, Billy had escaped this Lovecraftian nightmare town and never looked back. He’d come into Hawkins believing that it was his own personal hell and left it certain that it was actual, literal Hell.

(this got long so i decided to divide it into three parts) If you prefer the Ao3 format, click here

Billy’s first thought as he rolls back into Hawkins for the first time in ten years is: I cannot believe Max stayed in this deathtrap. 

He didn’t. Ten years, eight months, three weeks, and nine days ago, Billy had escaped this Lovecraftian nightmare town and never looked back. As soon as he was well enough to leave the hospital, he spent most of his savings on a shitty Ford Bronco (he did NOT miss that car), packed up his records, and hit the fuckin’ road. He’d come into Hawkins believing that it was his own personal hell and left it certain that it was actual, literal Hell.

Billy wonders, a bit guiltily, if Max’s life woulda turned out like this if he hadn’t left her in this Midwestern madhouse all by herself. Only twenty-four and she was already getting a divorce. 

He’s never like Justin van Haut but at first, Billy attributed that to the fact that the dude was dating Max - he had a right to hate any dude trying to fuck his sister, he figured. Facts was just facts. But then they got married and it didn’t get better. If anything, Billy might’ve hated him more. 

Justin reminded Billy way too fucking much of himself, of the strutting arrogant little dirtbag that he used to be - only, van Haut had the money and the influence to get away with his bad deeds. He was the kind of guy who wanted something only until he got it, and then he didn’t want it anymore. 

Billy wasn’t that person anymore. He couldn’t be. It took too much energy that he didn’t have - like the Shadow Monster had sucked all the rage out of him. And without it, there was so little left of Billy Hargrove.

Old Billy would’ve gotten drunk and drove to South Bend. Old Billy would’ve beat the shit outta the bitch-ass pussy who’d spent six and half years cheating on his sister. Old Billy would’ve spent the night in the county lock-up. 

New Billy didn’t do that, because New Billy promised Max he’d be there by dinner time. New Billy knew that Max would just have to bail his sorry ass out of prison with money she didn’t really have. 

But either way, Billy knew even if he had the chance to, he’d never change the way it worked out, because in the end-

“UNCLE BILLY!”

-in the end, he got his girl.

As soon as he opens the door, she launches herself at him. “Who is this?” he demands seriously, stabilizing her on his lap, letting her grip the stirring wheel in two tiny hands. “Who are you? Where’s my Lulu?”

She giggles at his theatrics, tugging at his leather jacket, wisps of red hair escaping her little braid. “I’m Lulu, Uncle Billy!”

He gasps, feigning shock. “You can’t be my Lulu! You’re such a big girl!”

“I’m going to Kindie-gar-den now!” she says proudly, with a cocky little toss of her head that reminded Billy of her mother so much that he couldn’t hold in a grin.

“Yeah? Do you like school, Lulu?” They get out so that Billy can grab some of his things from the trunk.

“Uh-huh. My teacher is really nice!”

“Yeah? What’s your teacher’s name?” he asks absently, resting Lulu on his hip as he pulls his bag from the trunk.

“He’s Mister H!” she says, and his brows bounce up. Male kindergarten teacher? That was pretty unusual. Maybe Hawkins was finally getting outta the Stone Age. He doubts it, but hope springs eternal.

From inside the house, Max yells “Lauren!”

“Mommy, Uncle Billy is here!” she shouts, and squirms back down to the ground, running for the front porch. “Mommy says you can have my room!”

Billy thinks with no small horror of the pink room with Mickey and Minnie Mouse’s faces staring out from the wallpaper. Jesus Christ. Lulu beams at him, utterly delighted at the prospect of her uncle moving in, and he barely has to lie when he says “Fantastic, princess.”

Max gives him a wry smile as she appears in the doorway, practically reading his mind as she wipes her wet hands on a dishtowel. “Welcome home, big brother.”

Old Billy would’ve told her that this town might be home, but it wasn’t his. Home was a place he lost when his mother left him with Neil. New Billy knows Max isn’t talking about Hawkins. “You’re gonna get so sick of me,” he promises, dropping the paper bag he’d taken from the trunk. “Here.”

“What the hell is this?” she asks, laughing. “You better not’ve brought me a bag of p- oh my god, Billy.”

He chuckles at her open-mouth as Max stares down into the stacks of cash inside the crumbled paper bag. Rubbing the short hair at the back of his neck, he awkwardly answers, “Rent.”

“This is way too much!” she protests, trying to hand it back, like she didn’t miss a mortgage payment last month.

Billy dances out of the way, picking Lulu up and twirling her around. Grinning like a madman at her delighted shrieks, he throws her across one shoulder. “Wanna help me set up the stereo, Lulu?”

“Yeah!”

“Billy, get back here!”

“Can’t hear you, Max! All that loud metal music, y’know!”

---

“I’m home!” he calls, pushing the door shut with his hip. The apartment is completely silent and then Steve hears a familiar ‘thump’ and grins.

With her bushy tail held high, a black cat races down the hall, wailing “Waah!”

“Hello, Angie,” he coos, crouching to scratch her under the chin. “How are the birds today, huh?”

“Waah,” she repeats loudly, pleading at him with her huge yellow eyes.

“Missed me?” he asks, stroking the fluffy black fur along her back. “Let’s have some dinner.”

He must’ve told Dustin a thousand, maybe two thousand, times that he did not want a cat, but the very morning that Dustin left for MIT, he dropped the fluffy soot-black kitten on Steve’s doorstep and raced away anyway. “His name is ‘the Witch-King of Angmar’, good luck, Steve!”

Ha. The joke was on him, though. His ‘Witch-King’ was actually a queen and Steve called her Angie and she was a fucking delight – he suspected that Dustin was just overly dramatic. Steve supposed that the cat was a nice compromise, considering that Dustin had tried not to leave for college at all.

That had probably been the worst six months of Steve’s life.

He’d never fought with one of the kids before, let alone Dustin, but they spent nearly all of his senior year fighting – because Dustin managed to get a scholarship, a two-year free ride to Princeton, and he didn’t want to leave Hawkins. Or more specifically, he didn’t want to leave Steve.

Lucas was bound for Howard in DC, Will and Mike were reuniting at MIT, and Dustin got into fucking Princeton, but he didn’t want to go.

(“What the fuck are you talking about, you don’t wanna go? I don’t give two dicks what you want, shithead. I’m an adult, Dustin, and I can take care of myself! You’re not going to throw your whole life into the toilet because you think I’m LONELY!”)

So, yeah. Steve and Dustin spent Dustin’s senior year of high school fighting, and now Steve has a cat and Dustin is in graduate school, because college was where he fucking belonged, just like Steve had told him.

Filling Angie’s bowl, Steve idly dances around the kitchen to no music, pulling open the fridge and peering inside. “What should we have for dinner, Angie? What do ya think Aunt Robin wants to eat?”

Angie doesn’t bother turning her head away from her cat kibble, but her tail swishes at the sound of his voice. Humming ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’, Steve throws together a stir-fry.

Cooking has become one of those parts of being an adult that Steve finds unexpectedly pleasurable. Cutting up the ingredients, mixing spices and seasonings, tending to the food – Steve enjoys that.

He hears jingling in the hallway as Robin comes through the door, purse swinging from her arm. He can also hear her swearing under her breath and she kicks her shoes off onto the mat beside the door. “Angie, Angie baby,” she coos as the cat runs to greet her. “Please feed me, Steve-o. I’m gonna fucking kill Bobby Monroe.”

“Parent-teacher conference didn’t go well?” he asks lightly, fluffing the rice with a fork before he pulled his stir-fry off the fire.

“NO,” she says shortly, before calling “How was the dentist? Is this a bad time to say that I picked up a banana cream pie at Baker’s Square?���

In a rather bloodthirsty tone, Steve replies “Cavity or no cavity, we are eating dessert, Rob.”

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to get out a torch and a pitchfork.”

“What happened with Bobby Monroe?”

Oof, speaking of bloodthirsty. Robin’s teeth grind together and Steve pokes her pointedly in the side as he takes their plates down from the cabinet. “His kid is on the verge of going to juvie and this guy just…Does Not get it, Steve.”

Steve’s glasses were on the verge of slipping down the bridge of his nose as he cracked open the tops on two beers. “That’s ‘cause Monroe is golfing buddies with Mayor Walsh and my old pal Tommy Hall, Rob.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Ugh,” she mutters, then brightens a bit. “I got to read another one of Holly’s essays.”

Smiling at his plate, Steve says “Yeah?”

He was a little sad he got into teaching too late to have Holly or any of the other kids as a student, but Robin got the joy of having both Erica Sinclair and Holly Wheeler pass through her classroom. “Her analysis of the creation of the Constitution was…I wanna send it to Harvard, Steve. She’s only fifteen, but she can already understand how to translate nuance in the document. Half of my graduating class couldn’t write something that impressive on early US history.”

“That’s fantastic,” he says, grinning.

“How was Munchkin Land?” she asks, through a mouthful of vegetables and rice.

Laughing slightly, Steve says “The Lollipop Guild always keeps me on my toes. Thank god for naptime!”

They eat banana cream pie on the couch in front of ‘Frasier’, Robin’s toes shoved under his thigh as Steve tries not to fall asleep on the damn sofa. She laughs at him, throwing one of the cushions at his face.

“It’s seven-thirty, you old man,” she teases, coaxing Angie onto her lap.

“Leave me alone,” he whines, melting into his secondhand couch. “I’m an educator of young minds!”

Rob stuck her tongue out at time. “It’s called ‘narcolepsy’, Steven.”

“Please leave me to die in peace.”

She does leave, an hour later, and Steve locks the door behind her like a Responsible Adult.

He is surrounded by almost total silence again. He’s a helluva lot more comfortable with it here in his apartment than he was in his parent’s house. Maybe it was because there wasn’t quite so much space to echo the silence back to him. Maybe it was because there was no steaming blue pool waiting in the backyard. Maybe it was the lack of judgmental silence, which persisted whether his parents were home or away. 

He turns off the television and the lights in the living room, babbling baby-talk at Angie as he brushes his teeth and gets into bed, putting his glasses on the nightstand and sliding between the cool sheets.

Angie curls up behind his knees and Steve closes his eyes and listens to the empty space all around him.

Briefly, he spares a thought of apology for the Dustin of years past, because he’d been right. Steve was lonely. But at least now that he was a real grown-up, he was comfortable with it.

Mostly.

---

“You don’t have to do that,” Max mutters, head resting against the back of the sofa. Lauren was put to bed an hour ago and the only sound down in the house in the constant quiet tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.

“Hm?” Billy asks sleepily, sipping his beer. It was a thirty hour drive between San Diego and Hawkins and Billy had only slept once, and not recently. Honestly, that was probably the best state to experience the Horror of the Mouse that awaited him in Lulu’s old room.

Max gestures restlessly to the stacks of hundred dollar bills hastily stuffed into the paper bag. “Don’t pretend that isn’t your entire savings, Billy.”

“Don’t have to anything but die, Max,” he murmurs, his free hand subconsciously drifting to the tight silvery mass of scarring beneath his shirt, even as his eyes remain closed. With a damp shaky sigh, she leans against his side and Billy shifts that hand to drape around her shoulders. “Don’t fuckin’ argue with me, you know I ain’t gonna let you win.”

His t-shirt gets a little wet. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she admits, sniffling. “I missed you.”

His throat clicks as he swallows. “Missed you, Mad Max.”

Though Billy’s exhausted and goes to bed early, he spends an hour in Lulu’s full-sized bed, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling.

Despite his best-laid plans, here he is. Back in Hawkins, Indiana.

Funny that he still kinda feels like a mess, even though he’s a better mess than he used to be.

When his alarm goes off, Billy has the taste of antifreeze in his mouth and though it’s nearly March and Max keeps the heat low, he’s sweating.

Getting Lulu ready for school is a breeze. Firstly, because she’s smart and independent and she knows the routine she’s supposed to be following by now. Second, because once you fight an interdimensional alien monster and temporarily die, not much phases you anymore.

“This one, Uncle Billy!” Lulu says eagerly, pulling him along through the halls, towing her uncle with single-minded determination. "You can meet Sam and Freddy!"

Samantha Cross and Fred Ferris were Lulu's little friends. "Alright, slow down, you're gonna run someone over," he says, amused. She reminds him so much of Max, it's insane. "This one, Lulu?"

"Yeah!" A dark-haired man wearing a navy cardigan over a collared shirt is helping a pair of identical twins with their coats, crouching near a row of cubbies with sixteen name tags on them – from here, Billy can see Lulu’s near the end: Lauren V. "Hi, Mister H!"

Mister H-who-wears-the-dorky-cardigan turns his head and the bottom of Billy’s stomach drops out.

Steve Harrington gives Lulu a dorky little smile, all cute and happy, squinting from behind the lens of his big nerd glasses, and warmly says “Hello, Lauren.”

As a teenage boy, rolling fresh into Hawkins, Billy had fallen into a wild spiral of lust for Steve Harrington the moment he saw him standing next to Nancy Wheeler at a Halloween party. Closeted and angry and unable to escape his father’s rage and his father’s expectations, all Billy wanted was some of Steve’s attention – he hadn’t dared to let himself seriously consider getting more than that. Steve, being a straight teenage boy with a girlfriend, with popularity and money, had froze him out at every turn, and it drove Old Billy fucking crazy. No matter what he did, he never got a reaction more interested than bland annoyance. 

As hot as his passions for him burned, Billy couldn’t make the Hawkins ice princess melt even a little.

But at a certain point, when you grow up, you can look on certain things you got attached to or certain things you enjoyed as a teenager and find your attachment sort of silly, maybe even comical. New Billy had sort of looked forward to reaching that conclusion here.

This isn’t like that at all.

Actually, Billy thinks it might even be worse than before. Billy feels a dull flush beginning to form over his face and swallows the urge to say something stupid to get Steve’s attention – that was the ghost of Old Billy talking.

God, he looks so good.

All grown up, the knitwear clinging to the tantalizing hint of strong biceps, Steve’s eyes are huge and dark behind the lenses of the geek glasses, bangs hanging down into his eyes. Beneath the cardigan, his collared shirt shows an enticing view of his clavicles and the moles high on his neck. Billy used to jerk off to a fantasy of sucking on them and seeing what kind of noise he would get.

He looks soft and sleepy, like Billy could just curl himself around him and press his mouth to that bare skin and Steve would just-

“This is my Uncle Billy!”

Billy is abruptly pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Lulu’s voice and realizes that he’s well on his way to pitching a tent in his pants in front of Steve Harrington and his five year old niece. What the fuck is his life, seriously?

“Harrington.”

---

“Harrington,” the man next to Lauren drawls, and suddenly, Steve’s attention is focused and sharp.

This is my Uncle Billy.

He’s…wow, he’s really…grown up.

The sneering boy with a headful of dirty blond curls and a baby-fine mustache has aged into a grown man with a full beard – the old mullet has almost reversed, with the hair at the back and sides nearly shaved off and the hair at the top slicked back away from his face.

Oh my god.

So. So so so so so.

The thing about Billy- “Hargrove,” he greets, hoping that he sounds friendly and surprised and not breathless. “Max didn’t tell me you were coming back to town.”

Billy Hargrove was the very first boy Steve was ever attracted to, and after he left town, the realization that 1) he had a big gay crush on him and 2) he wasn’t ever going to see him again, were sorta the things that began his big bisexual breakdown – what Robin affectionately calls Steve’s ‘all dicks tour of ‘86’, even though she still doesn’t know what started it.

And now Billy’s standing here, in Steve’s classroom, the muscles he used to flash now hidden beneath leather and denim and flannel but possessing every inch of them as much as he had ten years ago. He looks like he could toss Steve over his shoulder and carry him off somewhere, like a caveman.

But hotter, Steve thinks, helplessly staring at the long sweep of his lashes. His lips, the same deep, full red of ripened berries. The dusting of freckles over Billy’s cheeks from hours standing in the sun.

For a moment, Steve feels a stab of uncertain fear – has Max ever told Billy anything about what happened in ’86?

No. His relationship with Max may have gotten slightly distant, especially after she officially married Justin, but he was pretty confident that she wouldn’t have told him such embarrassing and personal information about Steve, not when she that knew Billy had hated him.

At least she seems to be right, though – Billy had calmed down a lot.

Billy shrugs, in that effortless, careless way of his. Steve experiences a visceral urge to have that short beard rub his mouth raw and it makes his stomach twist with desire, uncomfortable in its intensity. “Got tired of San Diego – thought I’d see my best girl. Right, Lulu?”

Lulu. God, that’s cute.

Lauren grins up at Billy, proud as a peacock, and Billy smiles back at her for a moment, so nakedly adoring that Steve’s stomach gives another twist, his insides melting into goo. “Billy lives with me and Mommy now, ‘cause he missed me so much,” she declares, lifting her chin. “I’m his best girl.”

“That’s right,” he vows, cuffing her lightly over the head.

“That’s…really nice of you, Hargrove,” Steve says lightly. He knows that Max is getting a divorce – the entire town knows. Honestly if he didn’t think Max would kick him in the nuts, he’d have a nail bat with Justin’s name on it. 

Lucas, chewing on his jealousy like a wad of bubblegum, had told them that Justin had basically spent their entire relationship cheating on her. He’d gotten the most willful girl in school to be his girlfriend and got bored with her almost immediately afterward. 

He has a feeling that was the real reason for Billy’s sudden appearance in town after ten years of absence.

Billy shrugs again and peers at Steve through those long lashes. “Max didn’t tell me you were Lulu’s teacher.” He grins, tongue held between rows of sharp white teeth. Steve’s heart kicks up in his chest. “Kindergarteners, Harrington?”

He smiles awkwardly, dodging the question. “Lauren is one of my best readers,” he says instead. No matter which child it is, Steve can always find a reason to brag about one of his kids. “And her penmanship is terrific.”

Lauren gasps, bouncing with excitement, one of Billy’s rough hands clutched in both of hers. “I read a chapter book with Mommy and she only had to help me with two words, Mister H!”

“That’s awesome!” he says, unable to keep himself from beaming down at her. “Did Mrs. Diaz help you get a library card?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Maybe your uncle can help you, then,” he says brightly, neatly side-stepping anymore conversation with the boy – the man, god, Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more of a man – who can apparently still make his heart race, even ten years since he’d last saw him.

In the doorway, he spots Marcy Roberts holding her little brother’s hand. “Morning Marcy. And good morning, Martin.”

“Morning, Mr. Harrington!”

---

“Alright, Lulu, it’s almost time for your class to start,” Billy says, tucking her too-long bangs behind her ears. “Mom will be back to pick you up, okay?”

For the first time, some of Lulu’s uncertainty shows through. “You’re still gonna be here, right? You aren’t going home?”

Billy pauses. Fuck, this kid’s dad has done a number on her.

Justin was hardly ever around anyway, but he’d just packed up and left in the middle of the night – Billy doesn’t even know the last time he bothered to talk to her on the phone. Lulu’s gotten upset when she and Max had to say goodbye to Billy in the past, but she’s never acted this insecure with him. “I’m home now, Lulu,” he says, crouching down to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be there to say goodnight, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees in a tiny voice that steals his whole fuckin’ heart away.

“Who’s my girl?” he asks in a whisper, tugging gently on the end of her ponytail.

Her face brightens. “I am.”

“The best, Lulu.” He winks and she giggles. “Be good, okay?”

“Kay!”

He stands to his full height and Harrington’s eyes accidentally meet his. There’s still a small smile lingering around the soft shape of his mouth and as soon as he looks into those big brown eyes, Steve looks away. Billy bites the inside of his cheek, resists his automatic urge to say something spiteful, something that will get those eyes back on him.

He would like to be able say that it’s because New Billy knows better. But it’s really because he already knows from experience that it won’t do anything but make Steve that much colder. He wants fire, and all that’s there for him is ice.

He leans against the wall right outside the classroom door and…just listens.

Listens to Steve speaking, his sweet patient drawl used for the children in his classroom. “Alright let’s take attendance and then I want to hear all about what you did this weekend, class. Evan Adams?” He stays there, listening with eyes closed, until he hears, “Lauren van Haut?”

“Here!”

Billy shakes himself, pushing away from the wall. No sense mooning over a straight boy who thinks he’s lower than dirt.

TBC

[reallyautomaticvoid]

Calling It: Good Intentions

Chapter 1: Calling It: The Beginning

Characters (in order of appearance): Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Conner Kent, Tam Fox, Bruce Wayne, Ra’s al Ghul

 Summary: 

Timothy Jackson Drake has been Red Robin for nearly three years now.  Ever since he was summarily kicked out of the Batfam (no matter what anyone in the Batfamily said), he’s been taking care of himself.  He has his own back and doesn’t need anybody else help, no matter what the Titans may say (and they have a lot to say on the matter).  He doesn’t need a safety net when he flies.

Note:

This was inspired by @iphoenixrising beautiful piece, Fractured, which everyone should read because, frankly, it’s incredible.  I would also like to thank them for all of the help they gave me when I was starting to write this piece.  Seriously, they're a wonderful person who deserves all the lovely thing in their life.

Serene and Gotham do not go together.  It was almost peaceful so long as you ignore the racket of car alarms and traffic.  It was excellent for Gotham.  Anytime there was peace (and Gotham was not on the verge of an alien invasion) was a blessing.  

Something to celebrate.  

A reason to be happy.

Drumming his thumbs on the concrete roof under him, Red Robin waits in the chill.  There was always, always something to do in Gotham.  Punching Two-Face in the face?  Great.  Foiling the latest Joker scheme?  Fantastic.  Catching Ivy before she releases the latest version of her plant toxin?  All in a days work.  Hell, usually there were muggers throughout Crime Alley that Red could punch.

Quiet nights, like tonight, grants a sense of false hope.  Like Gotham could do this every day.  That maybe Gotham could be like any other city.  

It couldn’t be.

Red Robin knew that.  

The worst part wasn't the boredom (which, don't get him wrong, was fucking awful.  Shit, he'd almost welcome a Ra's attack, but that wasn't due until later this week), no it was the stealthy asshat sneaking his way over to Red because, clearly, Tim couldn't see him coming.

“Hood.” Red's thumbs accelerate their drumming.

“Damn, Red, and here I was tryin' ta be sneaky.” Red Hood sinks onto the roof next to Red Robin.  Red could see Hood surveying him.  

"Next time, leave the steel-toed boots at home then."  

Jason snorts.  "Ya need a hair cut."

Red ignores Jason.  “You know it’s immensely stupid to sneak up on somebody in Gotham, right?”

“Whada ya going do? Shoot me?  I'd love to see you try, Babybird.”

Red scoffs as his thumbs continue to play their beat, “oh yeah, I’m the one with a history of shooting people.”

“One time.”

“Three times.”

Red ignores Jason's flinch, too busy shoving his own unwelcome memories back into their black box.  One of many.  Hood slitting Red's (then Robin's) throat.    The hot, dry Arabian desert.  The cock of a pistol.  Death.  Gotham rooftops.  Blood.  Unknown basements.  Pain.  

Jason bumps Red, nudging Tim out of his thoughts, Hood forces a chuckle, “eh, the first time was barely a graze.”

For the first time, Tim's thumbs froze as his head swivels around to look at Hood.  Tim gave Hood one of his best Red Robin glares which only appears to amuse Hood.

“How in the Hell do you figure?”

Red could tell that Hood was grinning at him under his hood, “yer still breathing.”

Tim shakes his head, suppressing a smile.  It had been over a year since Red Hood had last tried to kill him.  Well, really tried to kill him.  Without the Pit pulling strings.  

Enough time passed so Tim 'replacing' Jason wasn't a raw wound anymore.  It didn't hurt that Red had also been replaced at this point too.  Shoved out of the way to make room for the family.  Like Jason.  Like Damian.  Like Dick.  The real sons.  

Mostly though, Tim thought Jason finds it more useful to keep Red breathing instead of trying to stab him with a Batarang.  

Again.  

It's moderately difficult for a person with a slit throat to track the drugs trade in Gotham.

Shaking his head, Red resumes drumming his thumbs. “You have a terrible sense of humor.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s to die for,” Hood snickers more to himself than Red.

Red closes his eyes briefly, resisting the urge to sigh (because, damn it Hood, that shouldn’t be funny, but it was, so fuck you) before asking, “how’s Roy?”

Tim internal wince when he hears Jason swoon.  

He’s fucking swooning.  

Like a goddamn Disney Princess.  

Oh Gods, when did this become Red’s life.

“He’s fukin’ fantastic.  No, really Replacement,” Hood continues loudly over Red’s groans, “he does dis thing, with his tongue, dat makes me c—”

“SO, WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?”  Red’s voice came out harsher than he intends in order to cover Jason’s gushing.

Red’s rules for dealing with the Bats:

1. Find out what the Bats want.

2.  Give it to them.

3.  Get the Hell out of Dodge.

The less time Red (Tim) had to spend with the Bats, the better.  It wasn’t like he was a welcome part of the Batfamily anymore.  

Hell, the only Bat member Red ever communicated with (outside of the job) was Jason.  Even then only on the rare occasion Tim was in Gotham.  Red put up with it because if Tim starts avoiding Jason, Hood would go out of his way to find and talk to Red.  Or Tim.  Either would work.  

The Titans were not enthusiastic about having the formerly dead Robin on their doorstep, asking after Red and what kind of beer they had.  ("PVR?  Shit, Replacement, I thought you had class.")

Besides, it was better this way.  Everyone was happier in their designated roles.  It's easier than trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.  Tim is done trying to shove that peg in anymore.  

And Red's perfectly fine with it.

“B wants ya ta come ta the Manner for dinner,” Red controls a flinch that Hood graciously ignores.  “Alfred making pizza.”

“Can’t.  I have to run a trace on a weapons shipment,” Red lies.  

It's a white lie, really.  The trace on the weapons cargo (a trail Red had been working for fucking weeks now) had long since run cold.  Since there were not any criminals out and about, Red should call it a night.  

Oblivious as ever, Hood suggests, "do it on da Batcomputer.”

Red stifles a groan. Yes, it made a lot of sense to do it on the Batcomputer. Red hates (and he really, really hates to) to admit it, but the Batcomputer is faster than any setup that he has in Gotham. Plus, it is already hooked into Gotham PD meaning Red wouldn't waste hacking in.

For some reason, the GPD was forever upgrading their systems. It woulda been annoying except for the sense of pride Red got every time he wormed his way back into the database.

Logically, Red should do it on the Batcomputer.  

But, returning to the Batcave?  Ugh.  

For the sake of argument, Red entered the idea of going to the Batcave.

The facts:

1.  Batman would be there; that would be…unavoidable.  

2.  Robin would defiantly be there along with his newest pet.  Through the grapevine, Red heard that somehow Robin had convinced both Batman and Agent A that he should be allowed to keep a cow in the Batcave.  A cow.  And to think, Bats and Agent A nearly had an aneurysm when Red had bring a guinea pig back to the Manner for a science project.  It had been in a cage for Heaven sakes, but it had still been a fight to get it through the front door.  

Red briefly considered if Robin was keeping the cow (dubbed Batcow for some unholy reason) was being kept in his old workspace before banishing the thought.  It wasn’t any of Red’s concern what was happening in the Batcave anymore.

3.  Oh fucking hell, Nightwing would be there too, come to think about it.  N had moved back to Gotham after the Battle of the Cowl and the ensuing chaos that followed.  As far as Red knew, N hadn't gone back to Blüdhaven nor would he after 'Haven had fallen.  Nightwing would be inescapable, that is, if N even noticed Red was there.  Red started drumming his thumbs again, Gods, he was beginning to sound like an angsty tween.  He was twenty, not twelve for fuck sakes.

As much as his stomach yearns for Alfred's pizza, Red didn't want to go through the tedious process of expulsion from the Manor.

Not my place anymore Hood, remember?

"No, I already have all the info synced on my systems.  Next time.” The tone that came out of Red's mouth was nothing like his usual tone.  It was smooth.  Unemotional.  Insincere.

If Hood noticed the change in Red's tones, he didn't comment.

*    *    *

“Where were you?” Dick flips off of the high training bar, landing lightly onto the mat near Jason. Jason fought a grimace at Dick’s smirk. He had never been able to achieve Dick’s level of grace and dat fuckin' acrobatic knew it. And Jason would be damn (again) if that fuckin' asshole didn’t rub it in ta Jason’s face every fuckin' chance he got. Dick strolled pass the Demon who happened to be busy practicing with his katana (and who da fuck's bright idea was it ta give that back ta the kid?  Jason, really, really didn't want ta have ta get stitches again) ta invade Jason's bubble.

“Talkin’ ta Tim,” Jason slams his helmet down onto his workbench before starting ta clean his guns.

Each of the members of the Batfamily had their own work area in the cave.  Jason’s area near da garage which made it great fer a quick escape.  Goldie's has his workbench next ta da mats.  Demon Brat's was between Bruce's (next ta da Batcomputer) and Dick's.  

The only bench dat had never been touched was fer da Replacement.  It stood, damn near gleaming next ta the back of the Batcomputer where the person who was supposed ta be workin' there would have easy access ta da Batcomputer if they (Tim) needs ta repairs it.

Goldie hardly took any notice of what Jason was sayin' ‘cause he was distracted by da Brat.  In fairness, it did look like the Demon Brat was tryin' ta hack the practice dummy ta death.  

“Oh, that’s nice. Is he coming to dinner?”

“Busy,” Jason grunts.

“Huh, he’s been busy a lot recently,” Dick replies, still starin' at da Demon.  “Damian, what on Earth are you doing with that katana?  I only gave it back to you because you promised not to hurt anything with it.”

Jason misses da Brat’s response as Dick went over to correct (bicker with) Damian about the katana.

Sometimes, Jason thought, Dick was a fuckin’ idiot.

Replacement—Damn it, Tim, not Replacement (Jason was working on that)— hadn’t been near the Manner for over a year.  He hadn’t been near the Batcave in almost half that time.  

Yet, neither Bruce nor fuckin’ Goldie seems ta have a goddamn clue about the fucking kid.  Sure, they knew what fuckin' CEO: Tim Wayne was doin’.  But fuckin' really though, what tabloid didn’t?  

Tim though?  Ickly Baby Bird though? Dork wonder? They didn’t have a fuckin’ clue.  What's worse, neither of them seem ta have a clue dat they didn't have a clue.  World Greatest Detective?  Shit, they couldn’t see what was goin’ on two inches from their fuckin’ face.

Jason glares down at his workbench.  Shit, when had the Replacement—shit Tim— wellbeing been become fuckin’ Jason’s problem?  

About a year ago, Re—Tim had gotten Jason’s nuts out of the fire.  Not that Jason wouldn’t have figured a way out.  He had been pinned down by drug dealers before.  Sure, Jason mighta gone in a little hot (and without enough bullets and he mighta been ridin' da pit a bit, but who needed to know that?).  He didn’t like drug dealers who would push their crap onto kids.  It rubbed 'em the wrong way.  

But Tim (fuck yeah, he got his name right)—icky Timmy-wimmy—swung in like it was noth’ and kicked some major ass.  He managed to knock all the fuckin’ dealer and tied ‘em up before Jason could say shit.

Then Tim did something that Jason never expected.  

He fuckin’ dragged Jason’s sorry ass back ta one of Jason’s safe houses (which Jason still doesn't know how Tim knew about dat one.  It wasn't one on any of B's radar) and patched him up before leaving.

“Da fuck you do that for?” Jason slurred.  

Blood loss was always a bitch.

Tim shrugged.  It mighta been da blood loss, but Replacement- Tim's eyes seemed empty.  “Couldn’t leave you there to die, could I?”

Tim left before Jason could respond.  

It wasn’t long after dat Jason gave in to Bruce and Dick and started hanging ‘round the bats again.  

Jason had expected to see Tim around the cave.  After a month of not seeing Tim, he finally cracked and asked the Demon about it.  

“Where’s Replacement?”

Dami looked around at him.  “Tt.  If you’re talking about Drake ,” he sneered the name which made Jason’s eyes roll, “he doesn’t live here anymore.”  

"Isn't the kid only like, eighteen?"

Damian stared blankly at Jason.  "And your point, Todd?"

Dat was da last time Jason had asked any Tim question ta any of da Bats.  He did, from time to time, still yanked on Timmy’s chain, ta make sure the kid was still kickin’.

Alfred's voice pulls 'em from his thoughts as the butler calls them up fer dinner.  

*     *     *

Tim took a deep breath in as he parked his Ducati before entering his Perch.  

It had been a long week.  If Tim saw one more proposal to sell WE tech to Lexcorp, he was going to scream.  Some of the ideas people were having….  Tim had begun to worry about the intelligence level of those who worked for him.

Tim heavily sigh before sliding off his cowl and tunic.  He glances down at the rainbow of bruises that were blooming over his torso.  No need for (new) stitches tonight.  Yay.

Maybe Tam would let him have an easy day tomorrow...?  Tim snorts at that idea as he pokes a particular large bruise that's three different shades of purple.  He was the CEO of a major company who, on average, spent less than a week a month in the office.  So when Tam got him in the office…well, there was lots of paperwork.  Tam likes to claim that if he was here more that there’d be less paperwork.  Tim disagrees with this.  If Tim were in the office more, he would have more paperwork.

Tim finally gets his costume off and pulls on his sweats.  Sweats were, in Tim's opinion, one of the best things ever invented.  They allow him to feel a bit more like Tim rather than Mr. Wayne or Red Robin.  

Tim hums to himself as he left his perch to go up to his apartment.  

Unlike his perch (where everything was in prestige condition) Tim's apartment is a disaster.  While in Gotham, he was also almost always too busy to clean.  After the fourth (or was the fifth?) time Tam had entered his apartment to find it in shambles, she suggested (ordered) Tim get a cleaning service.  She even offered to do it herself.  Tim had declined the offer because of, well, Bat.  

That's how Tim found himself (at three o’clock in the fucking morning) washing his coffee mug before setting up his coffee maker for the morning.

As Tim washed the cup, he debated with himself about whether he needs to sleep tonight when he heard his phone buzz.  He glances down to see Conner had sent him a text.

GO TO BED.

Tim grinning types back:

How do you know that I wasn’t snug as a bug in bed and asleep until my phone went off?  

Tim sent the message off.  Less than ten seconds later (which, crap, that means Con means business), his phone buzzed again.  

Because I know you.  Go the fuck to bed or you're grounded all weekend.

Tim snorts at that.  It isn’t like the metas in the Titans would (could) ground him.  He had escape plans for every one of grounding.  Although, Raven had threatened she’d poof in his room and take all his Red Robin uniforms.  He didn’t want to test that.  So Tim texts back:  

Fine.  Going to bed.

Tim barely gets the coffee grounds out before his phone buzzed again.

NOW or I’m flying over there.

Tim rolls his eyes at his best friend before sending back:

My God, I need to get your cameras out of here.  I’m making coffee for the A.M. then straight to bed.  Night, worrywart.  

As Tim put the finishing touches on the coffee, his phone went off again.  

Night, reason why I have an ulcer.  Oh, and don’t forget to take your vitamins!

*     *     *

The next morning at WE was not as bad as he was expecting.  

It was so, so, so much worse.  

As soon as he got in, Tam grabbed him to tell him that an investor was waiting in Tim’s office.  The investor wanted to discuss why his product wasn’t in production yet.  

Tim's ears were still ringing as, an hour later, he heads to a board meeting.  Trying to get the board to make a decision was like trying to get Bart to slow down.  Frustrating and ultimately useless.  

By the end of the meeting, Tim wasn’t sure what the meeting had been about or if a decision had even been made.  This all happened before lunch.

“You want the usual, Tim?” Tam asks, as Tim was about to reenter his office.

“That sounds fanatics, Tam, thanks.” He gives her a grateful half smile.  

Tam hums back.  “Oh and Tim, Mr. Wayne requested a meeting with you.  Again.”

Tim suppresses a sigh.  “What’d you say?”

“That you were going back out of town tonight and I wasn’t sure when you’d be back.  Which isn't a lie because I don’t know when you’re going to be back."

Tim rubs his temples ignoring Tam’s glare.  A migraine had been threatening to form for the last hour and a guilt trip from Tam was the last thing that Tim needs.

“I promise Tam, when I know, you’ll know.”

She huffs.  “Fine then.  I’ll get your lunch for you.”

Tim smiles at her.  “Thanks, Tam.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t thank me yet.  Once Mr. Wayne found out that you were going out of town again he—” but the rest of her sentence was cut off by Bruce.  

Bruce coming out of Tim’s office.

Great.

Tim felt his best CEO mask slip into place.  He hadn’t seen Bruce since…well, Tim wasn’t sure when the last time that he’d seen Bruce.  Let alone been close enough to talk to him.

“There you are, Tim!” Brucie came out in full force this morning.  

Great, this is exactly what Tim’s head needs this morning.

“He decided to stop by for a bit.  See you in a few, Tim.” Tam shoots him an apologetic look before leaving.  

Tam may not know all of what went down between Tim and the Bats, but she did know that it was best to keep them separate if possible or, if not, to get out of the way.

“Bruce.  I wasn’t expecting to see you today.  How’s Selina?” Tim keeps his voice detached as he processes these new turn of events.  

What he wouldn't give for a cup of coffee...  

Tim strolls into his office with Brucie following him, the door squeaking shut behind them.

“She’s great! So, son,” Tim suppresses a flinch (not your kid, remember? Just the placeholder between kids.  We’re all clear on that, right?  Right.).  “I didn’t even know that you were in town.  I thought you were still in San Francisco.”

“I’m headed there tonight,” Tim begrudgingly informs Bruce.  Though neither his expression nor tone changes from the CEO mask.  “So, what can I do for you?”

Bruce extracted some files from his jacket (Where did those folders come from? Red did not like not knowing that.) before thrusting them at Tim.  

“Can you run the data for me on this case?”

“Not a problem.” Tim flips open the top file.

“Alfred wants you to come for dinner.”

It was a statement.  Not a question.  

“Can’t, sorry.  I’m going to the Tower right after work.  Maybe next time.”  Tim replies automatically without looking up.  

Brucie, however, didn’t seem to notice the tone.  He was already on his cellphone, checking something.  

“Right then.  Next time.”  Bruce left before Tim gets a chance to respond.  Tim drops the files next to his desk before walking around it and sinking down into his chair.  He lightly raps his head against the desk for a minute.  

Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Tim thinks to himself.  He tries to make it a point to not tell the any of Bats of his coming or goings.  Really, though, it wasn’t like any of them cared.  

A voice in the back of his head (that sounded suspiciously like Con) whispers that it must be the sleep deprivation, which didn’t make any sense.  Tim had gotten almost two whole hours of sleep this morning.  And that's like ten normal people hours of sleep.  

It really isn’t Tim’s fault that the police reports that he had been waiting weeks for had finally been put on to the Gotham server last night.  Of course, he had to read them last night just to make sure they were the right ones.  He wasn’t going to send the Titans, his team, off on a wild goose chase.  So, he had read the report and made his own before going to bed last—this morning.

Tim's pulled from these thoughts by a knock on the door.  Tam was standing there, holding a carb salad with raises eyebrows.

“Here is the thing you claim is lunch.”  Tam crosses the room and places the box onto Tim’s desk.  

Tim sniffs, shuffling Bruce’s papers away.  “There is nothing wrong with eating a salad for lunch.”

“It’s not the salad itself I object to.  It's the fact that it's your only eating a salad for lunch that weird."

“Who doesn’t like salad?”

“Most sane people.”  

Tim snorts.  “You realize calling your boss insane isn’t a good idea?”

“Tim, if you fired me, then you’d have to do all the paperwork,” Tam smirks at Tim’s horrified expression.  “Yeah, I think my job is safe.  What did Mr. Wayne want?”  She nonchalantly asks.

Tim stiffens at the question.  “He just wanted some data.”  Tim flips the lid off the salad to see a full family sized salad sitting in front of him.  “I think you may have gotten too much.”

“No, I didn't.  You'll need the energy.  The Lexcorp officials are coming after lunch for an impromptu meeting.  Don't worry,” Tam continues at Tim's groan, "I've already told Steve down at Security to run interference."  Tam turns to leave.  “And I expect all of that salad to be gone by the time I get back mister,” she adds in her best mock motherly voice.

“Yes, Ma’am.”  And Tim took an exaggeratedly large bit at Tam’s glare.

*    *    *

The rest of the day at WE went by relatively smoothly.  Tim's even able to get out at a reasonable hour.  

Miraculous, Tim had been able to finish the whole salad.  Or, maybe it wasn’t a miracle; just Tim failing at remembering to feed himself.  Tam was always good at making sure Tim ate.  She claims that he was just too skinny and would attempt to force-feed him every chance she got.  

Tim hums to himself as he unlocks the front door to his apartment.  He was supposed to be at the tower by midnight.  For once, he didn’t have to rush to get there or run the risk of being late.  

There were even times that Tim thought that his three-floor apartment a little…much.  

When Tim had bought it, he'd never expected that all of the space would bother him.  Spending most of his childhood alone at the Drake house and then at the Manner, large empty space had never been an issue.

And Tim had been fine with it until he had started to spend more time at the tower.  Tim smiles at the thought of the other Titans while dumping his briefcase onto the couch and throwing his suit jacket down too (his mother, or Alfred for that matter, would have been horrified that Tim had just thrown a custom made Armani suit onto the ground, like trash? but, hey, they weren’t here so what they do?).  Tim heads down the hallway towards his bedroom, taking off the pieces of Tim Wayne: CEO costume off so he could put on his Tim Drake: Red Robin uniform on instead.  

The tie went on the guest bathroom’s doorknob, and the shoes get kicked down the hallway ahead (making a small crashing noise) of him into his room.  By the time Tim reached his bedroom, he was just in his undershirt and pants.

Red stills.  

Something wasn’t right.  

Red looks around, trying to figure out what was misplaced.  His eye roved over the neat mess also known as his closet.  He really should get somebody in to clean it but who has the time to vet a new hire?  His dresser was pulled open with clothing spilling out of it.  

Tim did have a ridiculous amount of clothing.  

Tim’s eyes froze on his bedside table.  There was the usual clutter (empty soda cans, coffee mugs, Chinese food containers, etc.) but there, sitting neatly embedded on top of all of the disarray was a gleaming knife.  

A blade used personally by the Demon’s Head.  

Tim had only seen that dagger a handful of times before.  None of those memories were pleasant.

A bubble of panic began to form in his chest.  Shit, shit, shit.  I do not have time for this today Ra’s.  Tim casually reached towards his distress beacon.  

He hadn’t even moved an inch before pain met him.  

Tim was hurled forward before slamming down onto his bed by a force behind him.

“Now, now, Detective.  We can’t have you spoiling all the fun now, can we?”  Ra’s voice came from a spot a few feet in front of Tim where he'd magically appeared.  

Fucking hell.  I don’t have time for this.  

“We wouldn’t want you to call those pesky Titans, now would we?”

“Go to Hell, Ra's.”  Tim's voice was somewhat less intimidating, what with the three ninjas smashing into his back and a pillow smothering him.  

“Tut, tut.  Language, young Detective.”  Tim feels the stab of a syringe going into his neck followed by a burning sensation.  The world began to get fuzzy.  “It wouldn’t do for the next Demon’s Head to insult his predecessor.”

There's a rushing noise in Tim's ears which is only drowned out by the steady beat of his heart.  Lights begain to dim.  Tim's arms were getting heavery as he struggled to move.  Tim give a weak kick towards the person pinning him down wich barely rocks the bed.  The world is quickly closing in on Tim.  

Before he completely passes the fuck out, Tim manage to say, “What would you prefer Ra’s, Real Housewives of Gotham or Metropolis?  Because one of those will be playing on a loop for days before I’m done.”  

The last sound Tim hears before sleep overtakes him is of Ra's laughing.

Thanks for reading!

AO3 link here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106355/chapters/42802829

[dcarevu]

DCAU #18: See No Evil

“Hey! Who locked the bathroom?!”

Watching this show in production-order as opposed to airing-order is drastically altering how I perceive it. This is an episode that I had no memory of. Like, none. And then when I watched it, yeah, I managed to sense some vague familiarity (at least enough to know I didn’t miss it the first time I went through the show), but it was basically like watching it for the first time. This time was different, though, and I actually think that this episode is not only worth remembering, but it’s kinda another key episode! I know, you probably have your doubts, but hear me out. Maybe by the end of today’s blog post, you’ll at least see where I’m coming from.

Episode: 17 Robin: No Writer: Martin Pasko Director: Dan Riba Animator: Dong Yang Airdate: February 24, 1993 Grade: A Where do I begin with See No Evil… Talking about an episode like this is weird, because knowing that I can praise an episode you don’t see praised as often as, say, Heart Of Ice puts more pressure on me to say what I feel I need to say. With Two-Face I didn’t really need to worry about getting my points about how great it is through. Everyone already knows. I was preaching to the choir. But this episode doesn’t have the flashy villain. It also doesn’t have the landmark status. Hell, its airing number was 56. By that point, this episode wasn’t special at all. The series was more than halfway over. The airing order wasn’t all bad, I mean, let’s bring up Heart Of Ice again. It’s a wonderful episode, but imagine if it aired more than halfway through the series. We’d probably be looking at it at least a little differently. I believe that See No Evil got swept into the cracks. No real harm done, don’t take this as me saying that losing this episode like that was a travesty. I still wouldn’t put it on a top 10 list or anything (at least, I don’t think I would). But I want to shine the spotlight on it, even if it’s just through this post. Give it a little bit of love, and hopefully at least get a few to acknowledge it as an achievement within Batman the Animated Series, despite it often being seen as a standard.

(“Hey! Who locked the bathroom?!” Try knocking, asshole!)

What’s funny is that the first few minutes are more engaging and have better atmosphere than the entire climax of our last episode. And that had explosions and fires galore! This is essentially just a little kid talking to a seemingly supernatural being! Wait. A little kid? In a Batman TAS episode? I know you’re going, “I thought you said this episode was good.” As I said. Hear. Me. Out. Now there’s something that creeps me out about things such as dolls coming to life, whether they’re actually sentient, or some creepy invisible thing is manipulating them. Especially when intentions are clearly malicious to everyone except for the naive child. It’s that creepy manipulation aspect. You ever see a horror movie where the mom asks their kid who they’re talking to, and at that moment you know that it’s not just their imaginary friend? That something sinister is lurking around? Hell, when I was a little kid I used to partially wake up in the middle of the night and see things in the dark. Apparently one time I asked my mom over and over if she could see/hear the lady with the guitar wandering through the house. If I were my mom, I woulda packed my bags and moved out until I could get ahold of the god damn Ghostbusters (by the way, Ghostbusters 3, what the actual fu-).

(Char thought this scenery was really spooky. I’d have to agree!)

But anyway, getting back on topic… Now, we later of course find out that this “ghost” is just a regular dude, and is in fact the girl’s father. But, despite concerns, that doesn’t remove the tension from the episode at all. There’s a horror movie called Hush which I enjoyed a lot more than I thought I was going to. But one minor nitpick is that, although it helps alleviate the cliché, when the killer removes his mask and we start to slowly see them as more human than blank, creepy slate, the scariness takes a hard hit. I hear a similar complaint with how some of the modern Halloween movies make Michael too human, and although it can often create a stronger character, that doesn’t exactly help improve the Halloween movies. Michael Myers is scary because of how mysterious and inhuman he is. My point is that relatability alone cannot always take the place of that haunting alien quality. And our villain, Lloyd Ventrix, goes through a similar transformation as we learn more about him. But here, it doesn’t hurt the episode, it only makes it more interesting. I’m usually all about sympathetic villains on this show, but it would have been so easy to turn this into a typical emotion-driven story about a dad who misses his daughter and uses his invisibility to see her sometimes. Granted, this story could have worked. It worked in Spider-Man 3 with the Sandman (I actually like that movie, despite having some major problems with it). But instead we go for a different route where somehow our character gets scarier when we find out who he is and what he wants. The best way I can put it is that we found out what he wants without finding out what he wants after he gets what he wants. Whatever it is, though, it’s likely not good. Something is so off about Ventrix. And it’s actually explained why. The chemicals in his invisibility suit are basically making him go crazy. He’s not going crazy in a cartoonish way, it’s a legitimate mentally ill way.

(Look at that fixated glare. <Shudders>)

He stalks. He steals. And despite the super villain element, there’s a realness to it all that puts the real accounts of child kidnapping and stalking at the back of your mind. Enough to get a slight case of the willies. We find out from the mother that Ventrix has basically no redeeming qualities at all, but she doesn’t know much more about his motivations than we do. Even his daughter. She has no idea who he is when he reveals his face to her. Add in the fact that he ignores his restraining order at one point in the episode to try and show his ex wife that he’s a changed man because he has money now, and it makes you real glad that Batman exists in this world to protect the more innocent.

(“Goth Mart”. Love it. This store would eventually become Hot Topic.)

I legitimately feel like his daughter would have been in danger if she would have gotten into that car. Ugh. Yeah. That’s another thing. Ventrix trying to get his daughter into his car (when she has no idea who he is, they likely haven’t communicated face to face since before she can even remember), and her saying that her mom told her to not talk to strangers. Ahhhhhh! Scary! And she sees his face and gets creeped out that he’s a grown-ass man she’s never seen before. Like, am I the only one so disturbed by this guy? In a world that unfortunately contains child-molestors and killers, can you blame me?

(I really love this little girl’s character model. Beautiful eyes!)

Now, if you’ve never seen this episode (go watch the series, dude!), you’re probably a little surprised about this being an episode of Batman the Animated Series. But they don’t play everything quite so scary. In fact, there was a decent amount of comic relief, and it was genuinely funny. There was one moment where Batman jumps onto our villain’s invisible car as it starts racing through the city. At first, this looked stupidly campy. I was thinking of the Invisible Boatmobile. And also, since we can’t see the car, we just see what appears to be Batman flying around in an incredibly static position at 90 mph. But the show was smart. Martin Pasko knew that this would look stupid. So they embrace it. We see a civilian who notices Batman speeding by, and he goes, “I didn’t know he could fly too!” in a pretty funny voice. Char and I both laughed out loud. It was very well played.

Speaking of funny voices, by the way, holy hell, the voice work in this episode was incredible. Every character’s voice had so much…well…character! My favorite voice performance in the episode was actually that one scientist (Sam Giddell was his name) that Batman talked to about the invisibility plastic. He was kinda funny sounding, but not in a cartoony way. He sounded exactly how he should, a nerdy, dedicated, hard-working researcher. He was no Seymour the scientist (anyone who gets that reference gets a bat-cookie. Or maybe a lava cookie…), that’s for sure. Y’know who another surprisingly great voice came from? Batman. You’re probably thinking, “This is Kevin Conroy, Collin. His Batman voice is always great.” You’d be right…kinda. Watch The Cat and the Claw, and then go watch the Superman TAS episode World’s Finest. One is really good. One is great, and the Batman voice we’ve come to know and love from Conroy. I think that See No Evil is our first episode with the definitive Kevin Conroy Batman voice. Especially when compared to The Cat and the Claw where everyone was barely talking above a whisper (I still don’t know what that was about, honestly). Really, The Cat and the Claw coming right before this episode just highlights why this episode is a key episode even more. The Red Claw ended up being a little bit more gimmicky and stock than I would have liked. And she was a little bit too…exaggerated? Think back to that attack on the train. See No Evil indeed has a villain with a gimmick, don’t get me wrong. But this gimmick is one that provides a lot of plot-points that don't feel empty. It’s how he manages to frequently talk to his daughter. It’s how he managed to kidnap her. It’s how he committed so many of his crimes. It’s how he gave Batman so much damn trouble. Compare this to the level of meat that Red Claw provided for that story. Miles apart.

Underneath this gimmick, which essentially is a way of giving someone in this show a super power, we have a regular guy (well…kinda) without even a supervillian name. Bruce Timm and co from the beginning wanted the show to focus on good stories rather than freaks of the day. They made it clear that sometimes this would involve regular mobsters or, maybe people like Ventrix. We’ve already done similar with It’s Never Too Late, but I think that this episode is even better in some aspects.

It isn’t perfect, though. The scene with Batman on top of the car, yeah, the joke was funny, but it goes on a little too long for me. Also, the bit where Ventrix pulled that robbery of the jewelry at the beginning I had mixed thoughts on. Like, dude. You’re invisible. You manage to quietly sneak an item into your pocket, but then decide to throw the idea of stealth completely out the window by ripping jewelry out of people’s hands, shoving people around, and dumping out displays right in front of people? Oh, good job, now you alerted Batman, you moron.

(An in-costume Ventrix, visible.)

At the same time, though, we do establish later on that this guy isn’t mentally there, so maybe that’s a decent enough reason. Either way, these are nitpicks through and through, and calling them anything but would be doing an injustice. This episode is awesome. I haven’t even talked about the step up in action scenes yet. This is probably the best the series has been so far with action. Except for when Mr. Freeze rode that fire hydrant into a building. That was amazing. Batman gets the shit beat out of him in this episode. I think that maybe they could get away with more because the villain was invisible for most of the hits or something, but the way that they were animated still makes them look just as painful as any hits from a completely visible person would have.

(Caption this?)

(Or this.)

(Or this.)

(Or even this.)

Yeah, the animation here was done by Dong Yang. Y’know. The same ones who did Nothing to Fear and I’ve Got Batman In My Basement. Before I checked on who the animation studio was, I totally would have guessed TMS or Spectrum. It looks that great. A major step up from those two mentioned episodes. The only weird bit was that Batman’s face looked a tiny bit off occasionally, but it's barely noticeable. It’s mostly in his nose, and how it tends to hang down. Anyway, yeah. Lots of great action scenes. Probably one of the coolest was when water is raining down on the battlefield, and Batman uses that to keep an eye on Ventrix and take him out. Here, he is totally visible, but they don’t cut back on the damage being done by Batman’s fists and feet. But y’know what the main thing I noticed with this bit was? The live action Daredevil movie totally got the final fight scene from this episode. Coincidentally Ben Affleck is a common denominator.

There are lots of other little things I could say. There were a few more funny bits, a particular scene where Batman is rummaging through some files and tension skyrockets, and even the technical mumbo jumbo that surprisingly made a lot of sense and didn't seem to jump the shark much… It’s mostly all great. This is why production order is so important for this episode in particular. By the time episode 56 arrived, much of See No Evil’s achievements had already been seen! But watching it this way, we see a huge boost in good comic relief, a huge boost in action, a huge boost in tension/borderline horror elements, a huge boost in animation (at least for this particular studio), a huge boost in voice work, and a solid, entertaining story to go with all of it. I really liked this episode, as did Char, and this is why it gets a proud, sturdy A from me. Char mentioned to me that this villain felt like a one-shot, and I’m guessing she’s right (I can’t quite recall). I bet they could have done another interesting story with Ventrix, and maybe he found his way into some of the DCAU comics? Speaking of that…

I made a post earlier, but I wanted to reiterate! There are DCAU comics. There are actually a lot of them. Now, I have no idea which ones are technically still considered canon (or which ones ever were). But what I’d like to do is put in a little research and start including them in this blog! Unfortunately, these likely won’t align together as nicely as the episodes do. Because I’m watching Batman in production order, it’s kinda hard to then look at the comic dates and place them appropriately throughout. So I’m going to treat them more as a separate thing and check them out at my own pace. I don’t even own any right now, so it’s likely gonna be a while before I even get to them. I still don’t know if I want to do all of them, or just the confirmed canon ones? Any input? Lemme know! With that, I’ll see y’all next week, most likely, as we…um…head west…

Char’s grade: A

Next time: Beware Of the Grey Ghost Full episode list here!

[xadoheandterra]

Title: Eternity in an Hour Fandom: Devil May Cry 5 Characters: V, Griffon Part: I | II WARNING: HEAVY AS ALL HELL SPOILERS ABOUT V. Also Poetry. Summary: He came into this world with the breath already stolen from his lungs, the strength taken from his limbs, and his skin as thin and fragile as ash.

V knew one thing for certain and one thing only—he didn’t want to die like this; weak as a newborn kitten in frail humanity. Of course, that meant surviving and, well, V wasn’t sure if surviving would be any worse than dying really. Not with—not with what that fool of a devil had planned to go down.

Especially not without Dante on board—and fuck did V not want to deal with Dante right now. Not like this. Never like this—and even worse he didn’t really have a choice. What had he been thinking, originally?

Oh, right, he hadn’t. Fate fuck him.

Notes: The poem that is the source of the title and is referenced here is Auguries of Innocence by William Blake and apparently V references it a lot in the game? I hadn’t even realized that he did so because 90% of the time I was more focused on fuck there are a lot of demons and V is a squish.

I picked the poem honestly because it’s one of my favorite’s of Blake’s, and I thought it fit the character rather well too, and well apparently Capcom agrees so there’s that? IDK. It’s an interesting bit of poetry. Contradicting and confusing, but interesting.

Perhaps it should not have surprised him so much to see the manor still stood, if a little run down and beaten up. Furniture rested, well cared for despite the age and lack of use, and Vergil stared at each item he came across for a good second until he felt a not-so-subtle nudge from the nightmare bound to his skin. It’d been years since he’d come to this home, the last time perhaps when he was almost nineteen before the mess in Fortuna—and he still could barely recall even that. Something about a potential resurrection ritual, some sort of girl, and Dante?

What had Dante been doing in Fortuna all those years ago? Vergil knew he went to find out more about Tamen-ni-gru and how to raise it—not to mention their father. If rumors were to be believed the beast of a man had lived and even ruled there for some time, long before their mother came into the picture. The worshippers left a sour taste in his mouth, a bit of disdain—and Vergil couldn’t recall while and it bothered him.

“Focus,” Vergil hissed to himself and moved on. He passed room after room until he came upon the master suite—he’d lost his way, frustratingly enough, and found himself trapped in the halls of his childhood. Now he stared at one of the last places Mother stood before she—

—there was the closet he—

Vergil sucked in a breath and hissed, “Focus,” to himself. This half-brained plan of his to split devil and human had left him rattled, and this piss-poor place of memory best left forgotten wanted to take root. None of it mattered, not now, not when—Vergil stumbled into the wall as his legs nearly gave out from under him and he coughed a wheeze of surprise as his breath stole away.

It took him five minutes to recover even a semblance of himself, leaned against the wall and wheezing as he tried to draw in a real breath, to bring strength to his limbs. Vergil felt like he was a hairs breath away from crumbling into ash and it scared him.

“You really should take it slow, V,” the Griffon said as it burst into life around his shoulder. Vergil tilted his head toward the creature.

“What…did you call me?” Vergil questioned.

“Uhhh, Vergil?”

Vergil eyed the bird and then turned away. V—Dante used to call him Verge, and when they were very, very young he’d call him ‘bee’ – he never could quite get the sound of Vergil’s name right when they were small children.

“V, huh?” Vergil mumbled. Maybe that was a better thing to call himself. He was barely even half of what he was—just a letter tacked onto a name long, long forgotten in the dust of Hell. V—not Vergil, because he wasn’t. Vergil wasn’t weak, or human, or dying.

Except he had been, hadn’t he? Corrupted, twisted beyond his ken, and dying. He was days from crumbling into ash, wasn’t he?

V hated the thought.

“Well looks like the smart mouth actually kept things pretty neat here,” the Griffon huffed as he took off from Vergil’s shoulder to explore the room. “Shit’s all pristine. Who woulda thought?”

“Maybe that’s why he never has any money,” V said dryly.

“Oooh, look! A book, V!”

V hummed, and Vergil pushed himself off the wall and fumbled into the room.

“What is this? Poetry? Eugh.”

In it’s talons Griffon held the book in question as he beat his wings an angled his head in a way that no normal bird really could to stare down at the cover. The embossed ‘V’ caught Vergil’s eye first, and they widened in surprise. With trembling fingers V took the book away from the Griffon, who scoffed in response.

“Don’t tell me you like that shit,” the Griffon grumbled, and V felt his lips curl into a smile. He leaned back against the wall, far more relaxed now as he flipped the book open and stroked long fingers down the edge of the page. As if from memory V began to quote, voice soft even as it trembled with pain.

“To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour.

A Robin Red breast in a Cage Puts all Heaven in a Rage. A Dove house fill’d with Doves and Pigeons Shudders Hell thro’ all its regions.

A Dog starv’d at his Master’s Gate Predicts the ruin of the State. A Horse misus’d upon the Road Calls to Heaven for Human blood.

Each outcry of the hunted Hare A fibre from the Brain does tear. A skylark wounded in the wing A Cherubim does cease to sing.

The Game Cock clip’d and armed for fight Does the Rising Sun affright. Every Wolfs and Lions howl Raises from Hell a Human Soul.

The wild deer, wandering here and there Keeps the Human Soul from Care. The Lamb misus’d breeds Public Strife And yet forgives the Butcher’s knife…”

V trailed off, unaware that his still naked form was now surrounded by the Griffon, the Shadow, and a hulking form off in the corner. He took a moment to take a breath and then continued softer than before, brows furrowed down in intense sort of thought.

“A truth that’s told with bad intent Beats all the Lies you can invent. It is right it should be so; Man was made for Joy and Woe;

And when this we rightly know Thro’ the World we safely go. Joy and Woe are woven fine A Clothing for the soul divine.

Under every grief and pine Runs a joy with silken twine. The Babe is more than swadling Bands Throughout all these Human Lands.

Tools were made and Born were hands Every Farmer Understands. Every Tear from Every Eye Becomes a Babe in Eternity….”

“Holy shit Shadow did you know he could do this?” the Griffon landed next to the Shadow and stared at V who stared at the book and flipped the pages almost reverently. He faded away from speaking for a moment, voice trailed off in hoarseness, before he eventually finished with a whisper,

“Every Night and every Morn Some to Misery are Born.

Every Morn and every Night Some are Born to sweet delight. Some are Born to sweet delight, Some are Born to Endless Night.

We are led to Believe a Lie When we see not Thro’ the Eye Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light.

God Appears and God is Light To those poor Souls who dwell in Night. But does a Human Form Display To those who Dwell in Realms of day.”

For a moment Vergil leaned against the wall in silence as his fingers brushed against the last page of the book and the hastily scrawled name within it.

“Auguries of Innocence,” V said softly. “One of the more…popular of William Blake’s poems.” One of his favorites, he could remember. The juxtaposition of the poem, the pitting of sides against one another over innocence—it spoke to him as a teenager. It spoke to him now.

V slipped his fingers from the name—Vergil Sparda—and snapped the book shut. He couldn’t find himself to part with it, to leave it here—and he wondered if Dante even knew the book resided in the ruins of their home, but it mattered not. Half a second later, as if he came out of a trance, Vergil stood upright and began to search the room with more awareness than he’d had when he first touched the book.

Within minutes he found clothing—obviously Mother’s, he noted, but they fit this body’s slim figure. V wondered what age he was—did he look like himself in any form, or did he take far more after Mother like this? Mother to whom he could once attribute the human blood that ran in his veins.

“Lookin’ good, V!” the Griffon cackled as V tugged on the jacket.

“Be quiet,” V replied and with a wave of his hand the Griffon burst into shadows and seeped into his skin. He grabbed a silver cane from where it rested—Sparda’s, V thought, although he could never remember seeing the Devil with a cane before. Still it had a weight to it, and it could bear his own when he felt his limbs weaken.

Distasteful, but the cane would have to stay a permanent part of his attire for now. V needed to get out of the manor, find some funds, and then—well, there was not a chance in Hell that he could handle the swarms of demons that would follow the fools call to arms. He’d need protection to get where he needed to go—to do what he needed to do. Protection meant—Dante.

Dante meant money.

V sighed.

[iphoenixrising]

Heavy in Your Arms con’t

@satire-please wanted the finish. I just can’t say no.

**

I’m so heavy

Whirl of colors. The spasm of his gut and throat, bile and cold sea water. Fist in his diaphragm, forcing the rancid waterfall out.

Pain racing up his spine and his fingers form claws even in the sodden gloves, ready to start tearing at the flimsy silk covering wood and plastic trapping him, ready to start from the inside:

—Screaming until he’s spitting blood, torn something there (that’s why his voice is fucked even now)

—Crying for Bruce: save me, don’t leave me in the ground to rot (but you fucked up, didn’t you? Why would he come save the Robin who failed? Who would?)

Heavy

—It’s dark and I’m scared (and now he’s forgotten how to fear the night, never fucking again)

—Where...Why? (because you should have never went after her. If you’d have stayed, the clown wouldn’t have taken your stupid ass the fuck apart. Shoulda put a gun in your mouth instead, not like you don’t always chicken the fuck out)

—Broken, bleeding fingernails (but getting through all that earth, and the first breath of tainted Gotham air was like salvation)

—Air...have to have air (no, asshole. You should have just fucking stayed dead)

Heavy in your arms

In and out. Things are flashes and snatches when he gets snippets. Movement kills it because his leg is muted but still a mess with inevitable pain waiting on the outskirts with a whole lotta lemme talk at ‘chu for a minute.

The blood loss might have made him slightly more insane than the Pit. Slightly because he’s seeing things in starks and spectrums. He’s the guy what always saw shit in shades of grays.

I’m so heavy,

Seeing things in color, just like him, his boy. Always had to be on the opposite ends of the scale because in some way they both got it— that bitch, Justice? Blind as fucking bat, yeah?

He snorts at it while the wind dries his hair and fuck he’s getting hit in the face with the battering of a cape, telling how far gone he’s got to be at this juncture.

B wouldn’t come for him, that shit is just plain stupid.

Heavy

But as stupid as it is, the kid in him buried in some dark corner, some un-fucked inch of his soul, the kid that coulda, woulda, shoulda been the right Robin...the part he can’t carve out, no matter how sharp the knife is, how strong the steel, how covered in gore it’s gets in his hand, that part still fucking hopes.

—Save me, Bruce.

Stupid little punk. Didn’t cha learn any better? You already done proved you ain’t worth the effort.

Heavy in your arms,

Out.

Back with it to the low, dulcet tone of a wrought-iron fire escape. One of the sturdy ones built back in the twenties when they intended shit to last. He can place himself by that noise alone— it’s the block of apartments on 152nd, his side of Gotham. He knows every building and bolt hole, all the old trolley stations (from back when it was the talk of Gotham, before it became the Narrows and dilapidated into drugs and low-income housing) and closed entrances to the subways, he knows the niches.

He knows where sin lives. Just another mark in the book, baby. Ya know I got it in spades.

And is it worth the wait?

The safe house is one of his. He knows it by the way the creaking mattress shoves a spring into his ass cheek.

Death seems further off since his leg is set in a complicated splint and elevated. Bodysuit is gone and his ribs wrapped just this side of too much. Someone was pissy about picking him up off the pier.

When he gets an eyeful of the slumped bird beside his shoulder on the bed, he gives a rough huff because some assholes have to show up like the motherfucking cavalry or some shit.

(Lemme go. When it’s time, Timmy, it’s time.)

He has enough in him to lift the hand just enough to fit at the back of Tim Drake’s neck, being smooth and easy with it. His fingers work up to scratch lightly at Tim’s scalp just like he’s seen his boy do a hundred times, knows it’s Red’s weakness.

All this killing time?

“You. Fucking. Asshole.”

Sounds about right.

“What do you think he would do if he heard half the made fucking ramblings I heard last night?”

Pacing, moving, doing because Timmy gets that kind of pissed off. You know, royally. He’s still in the Red Robin body suit, thrumming with energy now that some of them are going to live like the rest of the shithead population. At present, he’s cutting up a banana with feeling. One he apparently ain’t shy about sharing.

“Fucking up your second chance? Just giving up and I’m sorry.”

He winces for the banana.

Are you strong enough to stand?

“Timmy, c’mon, calm it down. Coming close...ain’t easy fer me. Gets my head all jacked-up with the…” and is he really going to do this? He and Baby Bird are good now, can work together, can snark, can siddown and have a burger on the ledge of the Wallstone. He has his own code into the Perch, got a coffee mug and set of pajamas.

But he’s never—

Only with Kory and Roy. Only with his boy.

And only when it tries to cut itself out. When it’s poison in the back of his throat.

Protecting both your heart and mine?

But it’s got Timmy turned away from the counter, facing him in the dim dawn starting to eek through the blinds. And Baby Bird is calm, rant tuning down, giving him the weight of his stare and full attention.

“It’s like,” and he has to look away, to stare up at the ceiling, to blink and keep himself away from the final moments, to gather a whole different kind of strength, “alla the bad comes first ‘cause....’cause I don’t remember enough of the other side to know if it matters, you feel me? The first time I was a shithead, but I died as Robin, trying ta save my mother, and...it was fucking noble. But when it comes again...Timmy, when it comes for me again, what if the good don’t outweigh the bad?”

Who is the betrayer?

“What if the scales ain’t never gonna be square now? ‘Cause I got ta come back.”

Who’s the killer in the crowd?

“What if I don’t get anywhere but gone. Maybe you don’t get the choice again. Who fucking knows?”

The one who creeps in corridors

“And the only good things I got to offer up...the only thing I done right this time...is that I made it square with you...and...and with him.”

And doesn’t make a sound

He must be hitting shock or something because he doesn’t even hear Timmy move. There’s just warmth when he’s already so fucking cold inside and out. Just like first waking up when all he could see was darkness and the inside of that casket wasn’t as comfortable as it looked to the meatbags on legs lookin’ down.

But his hands can move just enough to grip Tim’s shoulders from behind, he can lay his face in the side of that neck and be fucking grateful.

My love has concrete feet

The window gives under real strength, banging fast and hard.

He comes up enough to snag the .45, not screaming when the pain train hits full speed ahead. Tim’s already got pellets, even though he’s holding the younger of them to his hurting chest with his free hand because he ain’t gonna let Timmy go down that path before it’s his time—

When Nightwing leaps through, fast and furious, a whirl of feral destruction. Every muscle in his body is tense, a beautiful picture in that suit, and he must be feeling the glad-ta-still-be-breathings because he can appreciate his boy animalistic grace when he’s utterly pissed the hell off.

It’s always a sight to behold.

Tonight? It’s even better.

My love’s an iron ball

And the slow roll of those hips is the start of something utterly terrifying, the first Robin, former Titan, former Batman, and a whole lot of sexually charged vigilante powerhouse could be gearing up for a massive roundhouse to start the fight or could be a breath away from ripping your fucking clothes off to give you the ride of your life.

Or.

Could be hitting the wall with such stark relief that’s an inescapable hold and lips on his forehead, always a soft Romani prayer a litany against evil, a plea of protection and strength.

But his boy knows. Knows him down to the bone. Is achingly soft and easy, the whiteouts up on the mask so those blue eyes are overwhelming.

Wrapped around you ankles

“M’ sorry, sweets,” is rough because almost drowning had that effect, but his boy is a sucker for the real pet names, always has been.

“You asshole,” Nightwing pulls off the domino to becomes his baby, his sweet, his sugar (his redemption, his avenger, his guardian angel), and the arms get tighter, making the pain arch in his abdomen, but it ain’t all that. Naw, there’s always worse.

Over the waterfall

“You should have waited. I said I was on the way.”

Wouldn’ta mattered. We both know that.

“I was almost too you when the warehouse exploded. Jesus, Jay, I thought— I thought…”

“Aw, naw, sweets,” and he’s pressing his mouth under his boy’s watery eyes, “I’ma hard motherfucker ta kill. Ain’tcha figured that out yet?”

“Fuck that, we both know better.” And those eyes spill over, making tracks through the dirt of Gotham still on his face.

This will be my last confession

If only...if only he could be the man his boy deserves.

Instead, he’s the man he knows how to be, and draws the older vigilante down to fit their mouths together in a sloppy rendition of what might be a kiss, but is more breathing each other’s air, gripping each other to make sure it ain’t just a dream.

And he don’t have ta see it ta know his boy is gripping Timmy’s hand like a lifeline, like he’s a part of them.

He also knows Timmy’s gripping back just as tight.

I was a heavy heart to carry

My beloved was weighed down

My arms around his neck

My fingers laced to crown

None of them bitch when the two mobile vigilante strip down to boxers and crawl in bed with him. Tim’s cheeks and upper chest are a disturbing shade of red, but they don’t comment on it, not when they can’t let go of him any more than they can let go of one another.

They bracket him easy-like so the knee under his restrained leg takes some of the pressure off, and two fingers push hard enough to make the nerve clusters blissfully silent instead of radiating to his pain receptors.

His face is nestled in the crook of his boy’s neck, those long fingers rubbing soothing circles on the back of his neck while they all ignore the shamefully wet hitches in his breathing.

His grip is tight in Tim’s hair again, his shaky hand scratching against Baby Bird’s scalp to punctuated the point.

I was a heavy heart to carry

But he never let me down

When he held me in his arms

My feet never touched the ground

And it’s a crazy thing, one that strikes him at dark places where he stores the old pain and remorse, how he never thought he’d be worth this kind of grief. How no one would be stupid enough to mourn a piece of shit like him. A stupid punk-ass what got himself offed.

But while his phone lights up with worried texts from Roy and Kory, while B is on his boy’s comm demanding to know the Red Hood didn’t bite the big one again, while Alfred is stress baking and B is pleading for them to put him on so Alf will just chill the fuck out, while Timmy grips him, nuzzles a warm nose into his cold jugular, and his boy holds him in the present, those dark corners get...just a little bit of light.

Not too much to taint the darkness in his soul, just a slice enough so he can see how bright and white it is, so he can remember how warm it was to move into the first time, so he doesn’t have to be as afraid when the next time inevitably rolls around again.

I’m so heavy…

So heavy in your arms...