When I was a kid i had this idea of "saving" like you would do in a game. So whenever I felt particularly content i would take a note of my surroundings and “save” that moment😌
The main difference between me and my cat is that when she sleeps all day and does nothing productive, she doesn’t feel crushing guilt and overwhelming societal pressure.
It’s that time again (and the last Wednesday before the new year) where the amazing WIP Wednesday Game community push me to do the thing and actually write. Thank you @rainy-weather-supremacy , @auburnlaughter , and @eriquin for the Broken Glass chapter 2 request. 💜
Chapter 1 can be found here
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Tim is curled impossibly small in the corner of the bed, just a puff of dark hair under a mound of blankets. From the gentle rise and fall of the blankets, Roy is ninety-nine percent sure the former Robin is asleep. He hasn’t moved since Jay carefully tucked him in 45 minutes ago, hasn’t uttered so much as a peep, doing the whole unnaturally-still Bat-thing Batman trained each of his Robin’s.
Out of the cape and into the Hood, Jay still had a habit of scaring the daylights out of him, and they’d been together over three years.
Roy opened another panicked text from Dick, trying to reassure one of his best friends that they had things handled. Word traveled fast when one of the birds was down for the count and Tim—it had been a rough couple of years. For everyone.
So, Dick, ever the mother hen, was frantic.
And Jason?
Jason stalked the hallway outside the bedroom, quietly hissing to Barbara on the other end of the comm, checked and rechecking security footage, his security system, searching for something, anything, to explain why their wayward bird was wandering around in the middle of the night barefoot and bleeding.
“What do you mean you don’t know? Check again.” Jay growled, trying to keep his voice low. The veins stood out on his neck. He wasn’t just pissed—he was scared and they both knew it.
Fill requests by @adhdavinci @whimsicalmeerkat @itswrenly @twyrewolf @zyrafowe-sny @auburnlaughter @quietlysleeping @somefishycat for my future Whumpcember day 15 — Broken Glass for JayRoyTim.
Requests were made in the amazing Wednesday Wip Game Community. Thank you so much for pushing me to write! I hope you check us out and play!
This is written in tandem with @ditzyredrobin.
CW: Blood and injury
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Tim blinked dumbly, looking up from the blood pooling in the palm of his hand. After a long pause, Tim is able to gather enough brain juice to make sense of his surroundings in the dim glow of sodium lights. “I think I’m near the video rental,” the pain is a distant thing, blood oozing between his fingers. “The one we went to last week near Rao’s.”
Jay is coming.
Jay is coming for him.
There’s soft voices over the line again as Roy seemingly relays the info before he’s back, giving Tim his undivided attention. “Jay is on his way. Can you tell me how much you’re bleeding?”
“A little,” Tim supplies numbly. “I cut my hand.”
“A little by vigilante standards or civilian standards?”
Tim pauses to think, “Civilian.”
“That’s good, I’m glad.” Roy sounds pleased and it sends a little thrill down his spine. “Lucky for you, you’re not very far from the apartment. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Tim’s eyes burn, and he nods. “My feet hurt, I stepped on glass.”
“We can fix that.” Roy promises, muffling another yawn.
“I’m sorry.” It was late (early?) for a vigilante.
“Don’t be. You know we’re happy to help you anytime you need, even if it’s late.” Tim nods again even though Roy can’t see it, hugging his knees to his chest. The damp pavement was soaking in through his night pants sending goosebumps down his arms and legs.
He tries to will himself to say something along the lines of, I’m okay, no seriously I’m fine, or like seriously okay, but headlights illuminate the alleyway before he can say anything.
A beat up Honda pulls up in front of the alleyway, headlights illuminating it with more light than should be allowed. Tim squints against the light as Jay steps out of the beat up SUV. He rounds the hood, outlined by the headlights.
“Jay,” Tim breathes.
Roy says something but he can’t make it out, his voice a distant din, because Jay is here.
His hair is mussed with sleep with dark shadows under his eyes and a furrowed brow. One look at Tim and he’s shrugging off his leather jacket, wrapping it around his shoulders. It smells like Marlboro Reds and aftershave and it’s the first time Tim feels like he can breathe.
It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.
At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return.
It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.
Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug.
“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.
(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)
By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.
When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.
Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”
And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”
That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.
Some of the more from @corefourweek are throwing one last even next year and prompt submissions are OPEN! @timkonweekend will run from October 31st through November 2nd.
If you’re interested check both events out! Submissions are open for @corefourweek until December 19th!
The fill I forgot to post last week for @post-and-out. Thank you for pushing my to write!
Requests were made in the amazing Wednesday Wip Game Community. Thank you so much for pushing me to write! I hope you check us out and play!
Written in tandem with @ditzyredrobin
BW24 - 269/Kit (CW: for needles, minor blood and injury)
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Jason’s threads the needle through flesh with the ease of a man who’s done this a million times over, fingers nimble and quick yet with an air of caution. Their little bird was already starting to crash, hitting the wrong side of adrenaline, listing to one side. His eyes glazed over and the dark bags under his eyes more prominent.
On Jason’s other side, Roy is perched on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like he was five. The tackle box of a first aid kit was spilled out between them, a fresh suture kit neatly laid out and ready.
“Can you stop?” Jason growls, not looking up from his continuous row of sutures. The cut was clean and not very long but the piece of shrapnel had cut deep—deep enough butterfly stitches weren’t enough. “I don’t know if you can tell but I’m in the middle of something right now.”
“I can,” Roy grins but continues swinging his legs.
Jason has to suppress a groan, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the steady thump thump thump of Roy’s socked feet again the kitchen cabinets made his jaw ache.
Deep breath in, hold, deep breath out, he reminds himself.
“I can finish up by myself,” Tim mumbles, words almost incoherent. He looked dead on his feet even before he was sat down. “I’m sure there’s a lot of stuff to do—I can’t —I can finish the stitches and you can—“
“Yeah, no, sorry to burst your bubble, sweets, but that ain’t happening.” Jason snaps. “You couldn’t even get out of your suit on your own. So stitches? That’s outta the question.”
Tim glared up at him, looking more like a child upset they weren’t getting a second round of dessert, than a fearsome Red Robin.
“Ahhh, you know you look like one of those little kid memes when you’re mad.” Roy grinned.
If looks could kill, the one Tim turned on him would’ve had Roy vaporized on the spot.
“Roy,” Jason warned. “If you don’t knock it the fuck off, I’m not going to stop Tim when he decides enough is enough, you feel me?”
Roy snickered, “C’mon, Jay, you know you wouldn’t let Little Red hurt me.”
Jason paused, shooting Roy a look. “What makes you so sure about that? This whole thing is your fault so as far as I’m aware, it’s fair game.”
“Aw, don’t be like that. You know you love me.” Roy pouts, crossing his arms. “And it was an accident and you know it.”
“Babe, I said I was sorry, plus it’s not my fault I thought you said go, not no. My comm was busted, remember?”
“There were options, Roy, you almost got him killed.” A green haze was starting to creep along beyond the field of his vision, liquid and oozing like the pit. “And you-“ Jason snapped, turning his ire on their little bird. “Why hadn’t you cleared out? If I remember correctly, you called the all clear before Roy got trigger happy.”
Tim’s expression twisted, and he looked down at his newly sprinted wrist and ankle. “I’m sorry. I thought I had more time.”
“Yeah, no, sorry isn’t gonna cut I this time. That was a stupid call even for you.” Tim opened his mouth to speak but Jason cut him off. “You’re lucky a broken wrist, a sprain ankle, and some stitches is all you got away with. For that, you’re benched.”
“No,” Tim snapped quickly. “You can’t do this you’re not my—“
“You want me to call Dickie.” Jason countered. “‘Cause I will and you know how he gets when one of his little birds is hurt.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Jason smirked, “Wouldn’t I?”
Tim grumbled under his breath but didn’t say anything else, earning a laugh from Roy.
“And you,” Jason turns to Roy. As far as he was concerned Roy wasn’t getting away with shit either. “You’re out too until Timmy is better.”
“What? Why me?” Roy said, aghast.
“Did the crime, face the time. You caused Tim to get hurt, you get to put him back together.”
Fill requests for @wizisbored @twyrewolf @aparticularbandit @somefishycat @zyrafowe-sny @eriquin @bald-rights @asha10100101010 @enigma-the-mysterious for Whumpcember Day 15 - broken glass.
Requests were made in the amazing Wednesday Wip Game Community. Thank you so much for pushing me to write! I hope you check us out and play!
Written in tandem with @ditzyredrobin.
CW: minor blood and injury
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“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers, hot tears finally slipping down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Oh, doll, come ‘ere,” Jason sighs, gathering their Baby Bird in his arms like the delicate thing he is. “You don’t gotta be sorry about anything, me ‘n Roy are always gonna come when you cry. You hear me?”
“But-“
“But nothing. Don’t gotta to worry ‘bout nothing but bein’ here with me now, yeah?” Jason says, in that silky, loving drawl of his. “‘sides, if anything, I should say sorry to you. I wouldn’t expect Roy to let you go ‘til at least the bottoms of your feet have healed up.”
A week or so of cuddles on the couch might be nice, he thinks absently, burrowing into Jason’s neck. He’s warm and solid and protects him from the lazy Gotham drizzle.
“That Roy still on the phone?” Jason rumbles, cradling him to his chest with one arm, using his free hand to open the passenger side door.
“Oh,” Tim blinks, pulling the phone away, Roy with Lian, grinning, covered in ice cream after an ice cream fight Jason was less than thrilled about. “Yes.”
Jason settles him in the car, the heated seat already on high and toasty under his ass, “Can I talk to him?”
“Okay,” Tim agrees distantly, holding it out. He doesn’t think there’s anything else he can say.
Jason, ignoring the blood smears on the screen, takes it, holding it between his shoulder and ear as he buckles him in. He pushes Tim back against the headrest, his hand gentle yet firm.
Tim just rolls with it.
The heater is on full blast but it doesn’t fully chase away the chill.
He becomes aware of the seatbelt clicking into place and Jason taking above him but the words don’t register. He doesn’t mind, though, letting his eyes shut.
When he opens his eyes again, Roy is opening his door, eyes wide and so so green, looking a little frantic.
“Pretty,” Tim mumbles, letting himself be manhandled out of the car.
Jason snorts behind him which Roy pointedly ignores, but a little tension eases from his shoulders. “Let’s get you upstairs, ‘kay? I have dry clothes and a hot bath waiting for you once we get you patched up. Sound good?”
Dry clothes sounded nice, a bath with his vigilante boyfriends sounded even better.
Roy just smiled and bundled him in close to his chest. When Tim blinked again, he was sat on Roy’s lap while Jason tsked over his over his feet. The tackle box of a first-aid kit was spilled out over the bathroom counter.
“I don’t like this one but, Sweets, somethin’ just ain’t addin’ up. Why was he out there barefoot in the first place?”
Roy hums considering and smoothes the hair off of Tim’s forehead, his touch more gentle than his mother’s. “We’ll just have to wait and ask him,” he says gently. “What do you think, Timmy?”
Tim nods dumbly and winces when Jason pulls out another shard of glass. Jason looks up with an almost apologetic look and Roy presses a kiss to his hair.
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