It's been difficult. This whole coming back thing. Narci has spent moments where he'd want to claw the skin off of his own body, curl up on the ground and scream until answers came to him. He'd tug at his hair, bite at his own lip until there was blood dripping down his chin and he didn't have to deal with these thoughts. They tumble in on him whilst he's sleeping. Memories and thoughts of a life before that plague him until he's all but lost.
The knowledge of who he was, who he used to be, comes to him at night and keeps him awake. He knows it's not helping, he's lost inside of himself and God he just wants to wipe the slate clean and start again but he can't. His own mind taunts him, picks at him and pecks at him like a vulture at a corpse. He's lost in himself and sometimes it doesn't feel like there's anyway out of this feeling of turmoil.
His phone vibrates in his pocket, drawing him from the fog of his mind and letting him latch onto something real and alive. Sleep with me tonight? Puzzles never could voice anything that was even the slightest bit emotional. Narci understands that and doesn't say a word as he crawls beneath the covers, burying closer, feeling the warmth of another's body against his and drawing him out from the mist.
When Puzzles' head cushions itself on his chest, despite the extra weight, he feels as if he can breathe again. If only for the night.
Swag knew how to have fun. Not the boring kind of 'let's play monopoly and cheat' kind of fun, but the real belly laugh, curled on the floor crying with tears streaming down your face because it was so funny kind of fun. The kind that more of the world needed to enjoy. The kind he was slowly teaching Puzzles to let himself enjoy without feeling embarrassed.
Surprisingly enough they work well together as a team, their genius minds working together to come up with the best ideas they can and leaving everything in place for the results. It takes until the next morning and they're awoken by the slamming of the club door, someone storming in, cursing and spitting something fierce that Swag swears would make a sailor blush. Sitting up besides Puzzles in their shared bed (nothing like that, was just nice to have someone there you know?) he grins to the door ready to act like the innocent lil angel that he was.
Of course it's very difficult to do such a thing when you burst into hysterics at the colour of your victims' hair. They're all standing in the doorway, a mass of bright colours, angry faces and so many dirty words that the air was damn near turning blue. Besides him Swag can feel Puzzles trembling, trying desperately to smother his giggles, shoulder shaking, biting his lip until a howl of laughter erupts from him. That only spurs him on and soon enough he's flat on his back, constantly checking on the badly dyed hair colours of their Riddler family Rainbow as Puzzles falls off the side of the bed with a thump and a giggle.
Puzzles was an only child; and for good reason. The thought of his parents having another child made him shiver for many reasons but he supposed the one that was least condemning was the thought of the child also getting the abuse and neglect he'd suffered through. Another part of him just enjoyed the positive attention with no one else to share it with. Yes he was selfish but what did he care? Then he departed from his biological family and found a new one, well it could technically be said to be biological, if you looked at it from a certain point of view but it was more just a combination that worked.
It shouldn't have worked at all, they should have killed each other the second they laid eyes on the other holders of their name, but instead they were caught in a web of family that was hard to get detangled from. He'd never considered Narci to be too sentimental, he'd always been so abrupt about his emotions and feelings on the family, so his little discovery was rather interesting.
Picking up the clothes he'd lent his 'brother' something had fallen to the floor and when he inspected it properly he was almost touched by what he found. It was a picture. Well multiple pictures badly taped together to form one piece of paper, a mish mash of all of their faces, some of them smiling, clearly aware that they're being caught on film and others not even aware of it. He traced his finger over the images, noting that it was crumpled, folded, cracked in places as if it had been frequently hidden, then taken out again. Giving a small chuckle he pins it to the fridge door with a magnet.
Maybe he didn't mind being an only child sometimes, but it was nice to have the option to not be one sometimes.
My half of a trade with Verticathoughts who requested this fic. Hope you enjoy it hun :3
Word count: 6,445
Warning!: Mentions of suicide, depression, malevolent thoughts and overall and very dark themed fic.
August is a month of too much pain and too little sleep.
Puzzles doesn’t remember the last time he properly slept. It’s been days, maybe weeks since he’s actually managed to got through a whole sleep cycle. He can barely function anymore, but help is not an option. Medication has never been his favourite treat of choice and right now he can’t think that prescription medication is really going to help this situation. He’d rather pass out from exhaustion when his body can’t cope anymore than get himself dosed up and rattling with pills. Besides, you usually needed someone to watch you when you took sleeping pills, and right now there was no one he’d trust to watch him whilst he was unconscious.
He’s dealt with sleep deprivation before, he has been to college after all, and when working on a project it really didn’t phase him. But at the moment there were no projects, there was nothing to occupy his mind as he phases through the days. That’s just what it was, there was not break up of time anymore, days merged together with the nights in a blink yet minutes would last forever.
It didn’t take long for things to get worse health wise. The bags under his eyes are dark, smudged and he’s taken to no longer looking in mirrors since the mere sight of them causes him distress. Control is something he takes a lot of pride in having, and suddenly not having it is making everything worse. He continues somethings as he regularly would; showers every day, brushing his teeth, keeping personal cleanliness high, and generally trying to keep his usual standards of living.
Of course when the days are merged together and time loses all meaning, sometimes his usual rituals are ruined. He’ll think it’s been hours when in reality it’s been an entire day since he ate last. Food makes him feel nauseated, the only nutrition he manages to keep down are a few candy bars and the occasional soda to quench his thirst. It’s not enough and his stomach feels as if it’s constantly on the verge of illness and hunger.
His home has almost become a prison for him. The outside world seems too much to deal with as he pads around barefoot in a daze, curtains over the windows and door bolted shut. He needs no visitors right now, even if he may crave them, company will not help and he’s certainly not strong enough to defend himself if need be. So he remains isolated, the same walls as his scenery as he dithers through the day until he falls into a few hours of restless sleep.
The dreams are the worst part.
Well he calls them dreams, but when they’re around they’re so much more than that. It’s rude to call them dreams to their face after all, you should treat family with respect. After being alone for so long, the company was nice and where at first he’d rubbed his eyes, pinched himself and woken up to get away from the dreams, now he simply enjoyed their company. When the dreams stopped coming when he was asleep and instead wandered around him when he was awake, he didn’t mind too much. He was almost grateful that they’d gone to so much trouble to be with him.
Madness was playful as always, purring, rolling about on countertops and batting at his fingers like playful smoke. His fur is soft as air, his eyes bright in the darkness and Puzzles finds himself humming in delight whenever he’s near. There’s some unwanted visitors, malevolent anonymous presences that cause him to squirm in discomfort and hide beneath the bed in fright. They can be so loud he has to clamp his hands over his ears and grind his teeth until he wakes up a few hours later with visions of bloodied heads dancing before his eyes. Those were the bad days.
Though of course in contrast there were good days.
Days where his family gathered around him, mixing their scents together and keeping him warm, ruffling his hair, praising him and giving him the love he’d always craved. It burns within him when they leave and so when they’re around he makes sure to give them all of his attention. Bringing them drinks, offering food and always engaging them in conversation to keep them happy. Sometimes it works, other times they fade away into nothing and leave him clawing at the walls and crying out for them to return to him.
The days continue blurring into one, the hallucinations keep him company through the daze and slowly he begins to find it easier to cope. The hallucinations continue to come to him, begging for his attention, some kind and everything he wants to see, some everything he fears in his nightmares.
September is a month of awful mistakes.
Weeks pass without him noticing, blurred with smiles, laughter, screams and in the end, something much much worse. He’s seen them all over the past few weeks, most members of his family coming to be close to him and keep him company when sleep just won’t come. Everyone he wants to be near is with him when he wants, listening to his riddles, laughing at his jokes and being there when he needs them. Everything is perfect.
Until suddenly it really isn’t.
Curled in a corner clutching at the bloodied pipe and panting in distress, Puzzles feels sick, bile rising in his throat and spilling onto the floor beside him. He avoids slipping down into it, his head propped against the wall as his body slumps in exhaustion and terror. The adrenaline is wearing off, and now the shock of what he’s just done begins to sink in.
Everything had been fine. They’d been sitting together on the floor, in a circle chatting, making plans, Arkham was so proud of him for his ideas and it was all fitting together nicely as a family evening. They were going to play board games and drink punch.
He chokes on more bile, the acid burning his throat, dripping down his chin to add to the puddle on the floor, blood dripping from the pipe and staining it.
There had been a knock on the door, hesitant at first, then louder until eventually he’d turned to find it open. Another figure stood outlined by light, a mockery of an angel as they entered his hideout. Puzzles had giggled, standing up on wobbly legs and acting the host as he’d noticed the green and assumed yet another riddler had come to join the clan.
“Welcome! Do you have a nickname ye-“ And he’d choked on his own words. His latest visitor had a nickname, but it was one that he’d not heard in a long long time. Narci had stood before him tall, proud and smiling in that cocky manner he’d always had. Death hadn’t seemed to slow him down in Puzzles’ mind and he’d stepped backwards to find himself falling and stumbling over the severed heads of his family. They spun in puddles of smattered blood, eyes open and unblinking, smiles permanently etched on their faces as they rot in death at his feet.
Puzzles gagged, hating the way Narci had looked, so real as he’d touched him that he’d almost felt the warmth seep through his shirt and onto his arm. His mind had conjured a Narci that looked so real, death having not affected him at all as he stood tall and speaking, words dissolving into the air between them when Puzzles’ mind fails to comprehend them. Something primal had taken over him in an instant and now here he was on the floor.
His fingers loosened on the pipe, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter and a splash of blood. Narci’s body is twitching, his legs giving jerking kicks against the floor and Puzzles can only retch as this hallucination feels so real. The bloody metallic stench of a corpse reaches his nostrils, but his stomach can only cramp in protest as he has nothing more to vomit. They’ve been bad before, but never like this.
Beside him the heads of his family lie still before turning to smoke, vapours evaporating towards the ceiling and disappearing in a blink. His head feels full of fog, he can barely breathe and Narci’s body has stopped moving. It’s wrong, everything right now feels so wrong and he doesn’t know how to describe it. Brain matter is smattered on the floor and it’s too real, far too real and terrifying. Retching again he rolls away from the sight, wrapping his arms about his head and curling into a ball as he faces the wall, squeezing his eyes shut and refusing to move until everything is fixed.
He’s disgusted when he gets a few hours of actual, much needed, peaceful sleep.
October is a month of days merging into one huge mass of confusion.
Narci’s body doesn’t turn to smoke or ash, it lies in place and festers, maggots eating at his eyes as he rots in place. Puzzles felt sick, so very very sick every day afterwards. He gags on air thick with death, flies swarm inside his home to the point where he has to make the choice to loose a room. Narci’s body is heavy, but he can make a sacrifice of his storage room to lock him away, dragging him in there to the darkness, covering him with a blanket and tucking him in. Some part of him still hates him, fire burning within him as he sees that smirk flickering in and out of existence. Then again, some part of him still sees him as a brother, a family member and someone that he had once enjoyed the company of. Placing a pillow beneath his dented head, Puzzles locks the door behind himself and tries to forget.
It works about as well as he’d expected.
“I thought you were meant to be a genius.” Arkham is disappointed but there’s a grin hidden in his words.
“Bro you totally fucked up.” Swag won’t even turn to look at him.
“Puzzles I can’t believe you did that…” Yj looks lost.
“He deserved it for what he did to me.” Nash huffs loudly, arms folded and eyes dark.
“Can’t believe you’d stoop so low.” Enygma’s face is fuzzy, as if there’s static over him.
“I’m worried about you darling.” Detective’s voice washes over him full of worry and pain.
The first few days burn inside of him. Puzzles scrubs at the floor, washes away the blood, but it doesn’t take away the guilt. He doesn’t eat anymore, washing only happens when he needs to scratch and scrub away at the itching beneath his skin, but even whilst cleaning he can’t escape them. There may be no bodies right now but there are voices and after so long of listening to them, everything they say seems to make sense.
He scrubs at his hair, eyes closed as the thoughts whirl through his mind, blanking out anything else. Worthless. What kind of person killed someone they’d once called brother? Who was insane enough to not notice the difference between what is real and what is not? He’s going insane, he’s becoming the thing he never wanted to be, lost inside his own mind, one of the crazies he spits at in Arkham.
You killed him. You killed your own brother. Murderer. How could you? You didn’t stop after the first hit. When you felt the contact, you knew he was there, he was real and you continued to beat his head until his brain spilled onto the floor. You’re sick. You cannot be saved. Murderer. Killed someone in cold blood. You’re disgusting, what kind of Riddler does that? There was no chance, no riddle, no fair trial. Poor Narci. Poor poor Narci, killed by someone he’d once trusted and loved.
How could you? He’d already died once. Was that not enough? Then by some miracle he comes back to you, flees to you, wanting you to help him survive this sudden strange new life gifted to him. Then you go and snatch it from him. What kind of person are you? What makes you better than him? Why do you deserve to live when Narci had to die? There is nothing left for you now murderer.
You think they’ll understand? Your family? They will disown you, they will abandon you, they will not want to deal with a murderer like you in their midst. Make it easier for them Puzzles, take yourself out of the equation. It’s the only answer to this riddle. You are aware of that. Your family knows that. They will only ever respect you again once you solve the riddle. Be the bigger man, do what you have to do. Answer the riddle Puzzles. Kill yourself, you killed Narci, this should be easy.
Days turn into weeks of the same thoughts spinning in and out of his head, a constant mantra within him. It eats away at him, nibbling and gnawing at whatever is left of his mind until all he can think about is how he should really hurry up and do it. He thinks about how, should he used medication and overdose? Should he slit his wrists in the bath? Or should he just place a gun in his mouth and leave a spattered mess on the wall?
On Halloween he ends up on Arkham’s doorstep, gun in his hand held out to the elder Riddler, and a pleading look on his face. “Please, I can’t do it. I need you to do it for me.”
November consists of a battle before giving in.
Puzzles has always looked up to Arkham, ever since they first met he’s seen the older Riddler as a mentor, an idol, someone that he aspired to be. That amount of skill and experience was something he wanted, something he could see in his future if he only worked hard enough. Now here he was on his knees, begging for death from the one person he’s ever fully trusted in his life. As usual things don’t go the way he’d planned.
Arkham takes the gun from him, sliding it in the waistband of his pants before grabbing Puzzles by the scruff of the neck and dragging him inside. It’s not exactly what Puzzles had expected, but he’s nothing if not adaptable. Stumbling through the hideout as Arkham drags him, all the follies of this plan suddenly washed over him. Never in his moments of planning has he ever considered the notion that Arkham may not actually wish to assist him in his suicide bid.
The older Riddler doesn’t dally with comforting words, nor does he treat Puzzles with a gentle hand as if he were made of glass. Instead he’s his usual harsh self and Puzzles soon finds himself pushed fully clothed into a bath tub. Before he can get himself into a more stable position, the shower is turned on above him and he gasps, scrambling about for purchase as ice cold water sprays over him.
Soon the water warms up, leaving him kneeling in the base of the bath with water spraying over himself as he looks up to Arkham in confusion. He would ask questions, but right now he can see the look on Arkham’s face and knows that it would not be the best of actions right now. Leaning down Arkham begins assisting him with the removal of his clothes, seeming not to care as his sleeves and chest get spattered with the water spray. Puzzles assists as well as he can, but right now his body feels more like a hindrance than a help.
“Get clean, you stink.”
Puzzles would laugh usually, Arkham’s kind words sound a lot like orders and others would probably be offended, but he knows him. The fact that he wants him to looks after himself is a sign that he cares, deep down somewhere. The older Riddler leaves him to it, exiting the bathroom but leaving the door ajar in a motion of slight concern. The fact he takes the razor with him shows a little more concern than that.
He leans back in the tub, resting the back of his head against the side as the water continues to rain down on him. Getting out of wet clothes is difficult, but he somehow manages to wriggle his way out of them, leaving a pile of sodden material at the end of the tub as he begins to actually wash. It’s something simple, a small task to accomplish that isn’t asking too much of him right now. His hair is stiff with grease as he scrubs himself with shampoo, body wash, whatever bottles he finds on the edge of Arkham’s shower and can use to make himself feel a bit more human.
Just when he begins to wonder if Arkham has forgotten about him, the older Riddler returns, a bundle of folded clothes in his arms and no indication on his face that he cares about Puzzles’ nudity. Still, he turns himself away to hide his shame.
“Put these on. They’ll be too big, but they’re clean.” Arkham sets the bundle on the closed lavatory before leaving again. Puzzles feels more like a burden than ever as he turns off the water, stepping out of the shower to dry himself off and quickly cover himself. The clothes are far too big, a good few inches off on the waist and the hoodie sleeves almost cover his hands entirely. If he didn’t feel pathetic beforehand, then the fact that all cords and ties on the clothing had been removed helped him sink to a new level of low.
When he leaves the bathroom he almost runs straight into Arkham, who it turns out had been waiting outside of the door for him, like a parent watching a child to ensure they didn’t do something stupid. Hitching up the ever slipping sweat pants, Puzzles isn’t exactly sure what he can possibly say right now but he could guarantee it would probably make it worse. So he remains silent and Arkham it seems doesn’t have a problem with that.
Arkham places a hand on his lower back and begins steering him down the hall, all firmness and not keeping his pace slow as Puzzles stumbles over too long trouser legs before he’s unceremoniously shoved into a small room. It’s dark, sparsely furnished with nothing more than a single bed and a window that doesn’t look like it’s been opened in years. “You’re staying here for a while, go to bed, get some sleep.”
Before he can even question it the door is locked behind him, and he can hear Arkham walking away down the hall. He’s alone again, left sitting in a mass of stale smelling blankets and pillows, alone with his thoughts. That’s what frightens him the most and of course, he’s not alone for long.
“You idiot.”
“Moron.”
“Pathetic mess.”
“You aren’t worthy of the name Riddler.”
Clamping his hands over his ears and screwing his eyes shut he tries to tune out the voices, the faces of those he respects and admires treating him with such scorn and contempt. He’s kept up for hours by their words, their picking at his brain until he swears his eyes are bleeding and his ears and ringing in pain. The bed isn’t a very good shield against them, hiding beneath the sheets like a child hiding from monsters doesn’t help and he finds the hallucinations can climb beneath the sheets with him. He howls, he cries, he screams and he begs for mercy but there is none.
They keep coming, digging at him, pulling his hair, nipping at his mind until he feels himself crumbling into sleep. It’s not restful in the slightest, he fades in and out of sleep, unsure of whether he’s awake or asleep as he spins through memories and pain. There’s a buzzing in his mind, loud like a jar of bees mixed with television static and at one point he’s in a coffin, banging at the lid as severed heads fall into his lap and stain his hands red with blood.
It takes time, and time is all he has. Sleep comes in fits and starts, leaving him more exhausted than well rested as he watches his family members gets more and more frustrated with him. He knows Arkham comes in every so often, forcing food upon him, letting him go to the bathroom before locking him back up in his lonely little cell. After a week the bed stops smelling so musty and begins smelling of him and the hallucinations stop talking. Instead they sulk, skulking around the edge of the room in the shadows and glaring at him with sunken eyes.
He hates every minute of it, but he has to admit that this ‘therapy’ is working. Things stop plaguing him so much, the hallucinations begin coming less and less, not taunting but just existing as he munches through sandwiches brought to him by Arkham, actually keeping it down and gaining a bit of the weight he’d lost. As his health and mind slowly begin to improve he finds things becoming clearer and when Arkham enters the next morning he can’t help but laugh at what he’s failed to notice before.
“Would the real Arkham Riddler please stand up?” Pointing to the older man’s chest he sits up in bed, hair in disarray but feeling a lot more clear headed this morning.
Arkham smirks, and it’s different from the other smirks, this one has a tiny hint of mirth in it. “I needed to distinguish myself from your hallucinations. This was the best solution at the time.” Tapping his chest he glances down to see the sticker attached to himself, clearly proclaiming in bold black letters; ‘I’m the real Arkham, not hallucination.’
“Well I appreciate it.” Getting out of bed he tugs the ever falling trousers back up, stretching a little as he feels more human. “But you don’t need it anymore.”
“Oh really?” Arkham tilts his head with a look of intrigue in his eyes, it’s one Puzzles hasn’t seen directed at him in while. Lately every look he’d received had been one of suppressed anger and worry.
Shrugging to himself Puzzles tugs on the hoodie again to keep out the chill that seems to be constant at this time of year. “Not seen anyone but you in two days.” He’s expecting breakfast, but Arkham is lacking in his usual tray of items and he wonders if that means what he hopes it does.
“Well let’s just keep it for the moment. Come on, I’m making breakfast.” Arkham walks out to the kitchen and Puzzles follows eagerly, excited to be given the trust to leave his room and eat in a room filled with knives.
December is cold but a time for family.
He still has bad days every so often. Sometimes the hallucinations come back and leave him trembling on the floor beside a puddle of his own vomit until Arkham comes to save him. But they’re becoming few and far between. Sometimes he’ll hear things that aren’t there and the days like that are signified with silent communication between the two of them. Puzzles will simply take up the sticker and place it back on Arkham’s chest; just in case.
It’s on one of those days that there’s a knock at the door and before Puzzles can question it Nash has his arms wrapped around his waist and face buried in his chest. Feeling a little lost at all of this he glances over to Arkham, the real stickered Arkham, for some kind of answer and finds that the older man is simply smirking again before leaving.
“I missed you. I’m so sorry.” Nash is clingy, his childish innocence showing through as he looks to Puzzles with obvious worry in his eyes. “I didn’t know, they wouldn’t tell me, they said I didn’t need to know but I’m so sorry Puzzles.”
Somehow they manage to make it to the couch, Puzzles flopping back against the cushions with Nash leaning into his side, clearly needing some physical comfort at the moment. He’s not entirely sure what he can say to explain this whole thing, it’s so complex and he’s not sure he wants to let Nash know about his mental failings and trauma. “I’m okay now.” Across the room an identical Nash grins to him, waving as he leans against the wall. Puzzles tightens his arms around the younger Riddler to keep him safe. “Well, I’m getting there.”
“It’s okay you know? To take time. It took me a long time when bad things happened to me.” From where he sits Puzzles can feel Nash’s heartbeat through his chest, it’s very soothing and helps him to keep focussed on the here and now. “But you helped me through a lot and now I want to return the favour.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“But I want to.” Nash looks so determined, young and still with a lingering of puppy fat in the cheeks, but so much older now. He’s not a kid anymore, he’s a man and looking to actually now be taller than Puzzles himself. “I want to be here for you. Please let me be useful.”
“Nash.” He sighs, running his fingers through the younger man’s hair and ruffling it up backwards, just as he used to when he was even younger and smaller. “Honestly, I’m still in a very unstable place right now. Some of the things I’ve done…I don’t want you to know. You don’t need to know.” He doesn’t need anyone else to think any less of him. “I’ve got Arkham helping me through it, but I can be dangerous sometimes and I’d never ever want to hurt you.”
“I can handle myself, Puzzles I’m not a kid anymore.” Nash protests, looking annoyed but this is one thing that Puzzles doesn’t want to deal with, hurting his younger brother.
“I know you’re not. And you’re becoming a fine young man, but I’m putting my foot down. The most you can do to help is keep coming to visit, bring me candy since Arkham doesn’t have any, and sit and watch awful Christmas movies with me.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“I’m certain.” Smiling, for once genuinely happy as he leans back on the couch he flicks on the television, finding some kiddie movie to watch with Nash. “This is enough.” It’s more than enough right now, no worries of hurting him or having Nash see him in his more awful moments. No, this worked better. Just two brothers hanging out together, having fun and laughing over badly animated reindeers. He laughs all the louder as Nash number two fizzles into dust.
The days pass with much of the same. Sometimes Nash comes to visit, bringing more than enough discount Christmas candy to keep them both occupied and giving Arkham some time away from caring for his charge. It works for them and as the weather gets colder, the carols get louder and Puzzles forces a string of dilapidated fairy lights up on a sorry looking tiny tree, he begins to feel better.
Other Riddlers come to visit, Swag bringing a very expensive bottle of whiskey for Puzzles as an early Christmas gift cum sleeping aid. As much as he appreciates the sentiment and getting to see someone as bright and rowdy as Swag, the bottle ends up being Arkham’s more than his own. Still, it’s the thought that counts. Yj comes over for a few hours, grumbling in annoyance at an apparent text he’d received from Arkham. Something about getting out from underneath Bruce Wayne long enough to come visit. Puzzles doesn’t ask and Yj doesn’t tell, but he does kick the visiting Riddler’s ass at Mario Kart. Bambi doesn’t visit, neither does Sleuth or any of the new Riddlers, but he gets a phone call of well wishes and a fruit basket sent over. One of the most surprising things is a letter from Enygma, just a few words of comfort, but definitely enough to make him feel better.
Enygma’s letter was the most surprising until a few days before Christmas.
“Darling? Sweetheart you need to wake up.”
“Mhm?” Puzzles blinks awake, eyes grotty with sleep as he finds a figure sitting beside him on his bed.
“Hey there Puzzles.”
He knows that voice. It’s a voice he’s only heard in his hallucinations, usually the safer ones, the ones that remind him of home, mothers and floral print dresses. “Detective?”
The older Riddler smiles down to him, fingers coming to stroke through his hair, brushing it back out of his eyes. “I came to see you my darling. I’m so sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but trying to get through the Christmas rush when it comes to planes is so hard. But I’m here now for a little bit until I have to go again.” His voice is so soft, so gentle and it almost breaks Puzzles’ heart to be treated so kindly after everything he’s done.
“You came to see me?”
“Of course I did.” And Detective sounds heartbroken that he’s question it. “Arkham called me. Sweetheart why didn’t you ask for help sooner?”
Shame flushes through him in his half asleep state and he tries to sit up for a moment to explain before Detective pushes him back down. “I…I can look after myself.”
“But you don’t have to. We’re a family, that’s what we’re here for.” Detective’s smile is easy to see in the darkness of the night, or maybe he just remembers it so well. The kind treatment just makes him feel hollow, the worries of what he’s done rattling around in the hole in his chest.
“No you don’t understand, Narci’s dead.”
Detective coos, humming a little as he continues stroking through his hair. “Yes dear, he’s been dead for a while. It’s not your fault.” The words are spoken to him as if he’s a child, so young and innocent and not a murderer.
“No, he’s double dead.” He tries to explain. “I killed him again. He came back and he was in my home and I just hit him and hit him and hit him again. There was so much blood. I killed him, I’m a murderer Detective I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Flailing beneath the sheets he grabs at Detective’s arms, trying to make him understand, to explain, to beg forgiveness and get the punishment he deserved.
“Shh. It’s okay darling. You didn’t kill anyone it was just an hallucination.” And Detective’s voice is so calm, so soothing and gentle. The fingers through his hair are so soft and he breathes deeply as he’s helped to lie back down.
“But it was so real.” He tries again, voice heavy with sleep as his blinks become longer and longer.
“But it wasn’t, I promise you.” Detective is so calm, eyes bright and full of nothing but love and care for him. “You didn’t kill anyone, Narci never came back from the dead, he’s still at rest and you never hurt him. It’s okay baby, you’re fine. You didn’t do anything wrong, it was all a bad dream but it’s over now. You’re going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry.” Puzzles whispers, wishing he could d more to let it be known. To earn the forgiveness he wants to deserve.
“Shush, it’s okay, you’re okay. Get some more sleep darling, you’re exhausted. I’ll see you soon.” A gentle kiss is pressed against his forehead and as he’s slipping back into the waves of slumber Puzzles could swear that this hallucination must be real to feel so perfect. The hallucinations had never been this perfect before, but Detective was here and as far as he could tell, real and loving. He falls asleep feeling safer than he had in a long time.
“Did you clean up the body Arkham?”
“Everything’s been disposed of. There’s no signs of it at all. He’ll never know what he did if we’re lucky.”
Christmas day is spent in a haze of turkey sandwiches, cheap Christmas candy and watching the movies that are all over the television. Arkham deems ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ to be a little too close to home, so they end up watching ‘Home Alone’ and picking apart the flaws in the burglar’s plans. It’s sad and not very festive, there are no gifts shared, Arkham is making his way through the whiskey slowly and Puzzles has a stomach ache from too much chocolate. Still, it’s one of the best Christmas’ he’s ever had, so really Puzzles can’t complain.
Gotham City seems to be in a haze of festivities, there’s no grand Christmas crimes from anyone, and it seems the world is on hold as they celebrate the season. Puzzles enjoys the next few days, living with Arkham and feeling so much better than before. The hallucinations have all but stopped, he’s eating better, thinking better and actually takes pride in his appearance again. Arkham doesn’t so much have to care for him anymore, instead he simply allows him to stay, keeping an eye on him just in case.
Puzzles can deal with that. He doesn’t mind having that safety net there just in case he falls, and really everyone keeps telling him that’s what family is for. It doesn’t hurt that it’s Arkham giving him this assistance either. There’s no secret that he’s always admired Arkham. The older Riddler is everything he once wanted to be, strong, confident and so sure of himself. He’s so successful, a feared villain of Gotham who’s survived long enough to make a name for himself.
Arkham’s never been a very emotional person, it takes a lot of getting to know him to understand how his mind works. Puzzles knows when a grin means actual amusement or when it means to leave him alone. He is aware of his body language and how he very rarely ever relaxes when in someone else’s company, he knows that he hates having his smoking questioned and he knows that Arkham would kill to protect something he views as his. Puzzles rather likes being something that Arkham sees as his.
So in the dead of the night when he has nightmares creep up on him, Narci’s face rising from the grave and spitting blood on his cheeks in pain, he knows that Arkham doesn’t mind when he steals into his room for comfort. When he slips under the covers and curls up against his chest, burying his head beneath the older man’s chin and pressing close enough to hear his heartbeat to soothe himself. Arkham grumbles around him, disgruntled old bugger that he is, but Puzzles know he doesn’t really mind. The arm slung over his hip doesn’t hurt either.
The new year dawns soon enough and Puzzles still hasn’t left Arkham’s place. Honestly he doesn’t wish to leave anytime soon. Here was safe, here was where he felt sane and comfortable and had that safety net just in case he slipped. Arkham hadn’t made any question of when he was leaving and as Puzzles staggered half asleep out of the bedroom to the kitchen he can only snicker, an actual laugh of humour as he sees Arkham in all his glory.
Standing at the kitchen sink is the older Riddler, wearing nothing but some novelty Christmas underwear and a vest shirt as he does the washing up. A cigarette bobs from between his lips as he cleans, the washing machine humming from the laundry room as Puzzles steps forward.
“Not that this isn’t a lovely view, but you’re not going to win any fashion awards this morning.”
“Laundry day.” Arkham mumbles, taking a puff of his cigarette, letting the smoke plume from his nostrils like a dragon as he looks over his glasses to Puzzles. “Not like you can talk.”
Looking down at himself Puzzles has to agree. One of Arkham’s hoodies, some underwear and thick woollen socks didn’t exactly count as a desirable outfit, but he had just woken up. Shrugging he slips over to Arkham, starting up the coffee machine he gets out two mugs for them both, used to this little ritual. “Admit it, I can pull this off better than you.”
“Of course, I forget what an influence you have been on the fashion world. So tell me, Gotham’s next top model, feeling better?” Humour mixed with a serious question, a way to keep things simple and easy to cope with. Typical Arkham, no actual emotions involved.
“Well enough.” He shrugs, waiting for the coffee machine to finish its cycle as he chews on his lower lip. There’s been so much progress for him over the last few weeks. Things are running much better now. He feels as if his brain has been defragged, cleaned and sorted into organised files and senses. “We need more milk by the way.” He rattles the milk carton to him to make it obvious, pouring the last of it in the mugs and adding the copious amounts of sugar he enjoys. Arkham’s coffee is black with a splash of milk, bitter and dark.
“We?” Drying his hands off Arkham takes the cigarette from his lips, blowing a plume of smoke in Puzzles’ direction with a smirk on his lips and a raised eyebrow. It’s a moment that Puzzles will always remember, the moment when his residence here was questioned and the answer left in his hands. He’d have expected Arkham to simply tell him what was going to happen, the man had never beaten around the bush before, but here he was giving him a choice.
Shifting closer he leans back against Arkham, letting their warmth be shared through layers of laundry day clothing as he pours the coffee into their mugs. Stirring them slowly he lets the thought runs through his head, the question of what was Arkham really asking. We, held a lot of connotations and he wasn’t entirely sure what aspect of it Arkham was questioning.
Humming a little he nods, turning to lean back against the counter, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Arkham’s novelty underwear and tugging him closer. “Yes.” Leaning up a bit he presses a kiss to the corner of Arkham’s lips, a determined look in his eye and sounding more sure than he has of anything over the past five months. “We.”
Swag had been one of the first Riddlers accepted into the gang. He’d been saved by Mom in his early teens, brought to safety and snatched away from a life that was already spiralling out of control into dangerous territory. Mom had helped him grow, gotten him to blossom into a fine young man with a smart head on his shoulders and the ability to look after himself. Everything had been set into place for him to live a wonderful life of success. The only problem was that he’d decided he wanted to do it away from the gang.
Stepping out on his own had been a hard choice but he wasn’t a kid anymore and Mom just wouldn’t loosen up and let him have some freedom of his own. They’d fought of course, shouting and screaming at each other so loudly that it echoed around the tunnels afterwards. The club had been his own investment when he’d left without saying goodbye, just storming off and leaving everything he’d had behind. It was a fresh start and if his family weren’t going to be supportive then he didn’t need them in his life.
It had been a blast at first. Nights full of music, girls, guys, drinks, money and just being the man in control of his own life. It had just been one constant party that he’d been the star of. Then he’d started going downhill, drinking too much, partying all night and sleeping all day, fucking anyone who offered and losing his health. The club had ground to a halt when he’d spent his money on jewellery, drinks and more fun than paying his employees. The club had died financially and left him well and truly fucked.
The days and nights all blurred into one, he’d drowned his sorrows in more and more drink, moping about an empty club with a whiskey bottle and deep bags beneath his eyes. It had been terrible, the best months of his life had become the worst and he didn’t know how to ask for help to save himself. Slumped over his own bar with an almost empty bottle in one hand and his fingers of his other hand tangled in his hair as he looks for answers. There are none in the drink, none in the bar and none in his stupid fucked up head.
“Why didn’t you call?”
Turning on his stool he almost falls to the floor when he finds Mom standing behind him, a smile on his face that’s not condescending, but just warm and full of love as always. In that moment every barrier he’d been putting up inside of himself collapsed, leaving him in tears pressed against Mom’s chest and sobbing for forgiveness. He’d been too scared of being the fuck up his father had always told him he was, worried about hearing ‘I told you so’ and not taken back into the family. There was no way he could have handled that rejection in the state he had been in for the last few months and the thought of seeing Mom look disappointed had been too awful to think of. “I didn’t want to be your fuck up.”
“You’re not a fuck up, you’ll never be a problem to me. You’re my son and it’s a mother’s job to look out for their children and help them with any problems.” Mom kisses his forehead, holding him close before dabbing beneath his eyes with an embroidered handkerchief gently. A hand trails down Swag’s bare chest to tug on the waistband of his pants, stroking of the tip of the tattoo that peeks out against his pale skin. “This makes you one of us forever, I’d never sit back and let you get yourself into too much trouble. Now come on, let’s go home shall we?”
---
Puzzles thought that being in that warehouse closet was the worst time of his life. He was wrong. This was even worse.
The week spent in that hole, starving, dehydrated, beaten, abused both verbally and physically until he was nothing more than a broken mess had been so difficult to get through. Each day he’d begged for help, pleaded to whatever God would listen for his family to come and save him, to ride in like heroes and take him home. He’d wanted Arkham, he’d wanted Mom, he’d wanted all of his brothers to be there with him to keep him warm through the freezing nights. Every beat down had been more and more humiliating, blood smeared his vision, teeth rattled in his mouth and he vomited everything he’d managed to keep down back up since he had been in so much pain.
It had taken time but he had been saved, the bad guys had been defeated, he’d been taken back home to his family and anticipated everything being perfect and back to normal. But it wasn’t. It was as if someone had taken his warm, safe home from before and replaced it with a parallel universe that smelt the same, looked the same and contained the same people but felt completely different.
He knew it was home and it was completely as he’d left it, but it was just all wrong. Sleeping was a struggle nowadays, even though he was fully aware that their HQ was locked down, the train car doors were sealed tightly and no one could get to him, he was paranoid. Nightmares wracked his mind, shadows held nothing but enemies and new injuries waiting to be dealt out. He flinches at every noise, whenever a rat scurries past he thinks it’s an attack and flinches in response.
Puzzles hates it. Every time one of his brothers tries to get close to him, he recoils in fear, all ready to plead for mercy and curl up defensively. He curls up tighter in his bunk, tugging the duvet closer as worries plague his mind and he can’t block them out. Covering his ears from the sounds of snoring and a family he can no longer connect with, he tries to focus on something else, something that will help him sleep.
It’s no good of course, all he ends up doing is picking at his stitches, tugging on bandages and pressing on bruises for a spike of pain that will distract him from dark thoughts. He’s still healing and he knows it’s not a sprint it’s a marathon, these things take time and Mom keeps telling him to be patient but he just wants everything to be back to the way it had been. This was the first place he’d ever felt at home in and he did not want to have that all taken away by a stupid rival gang.
Sighing he stands up, wrapped in his quilt as he shuffles down the train car, stepping over a snoring Sleuth, weaving around Bambi and Nash before sliding through to the next car, the one Arkham and Mom called home. The older Riddlers are both fast asleep on either side of their car and Puzzles settles himself on the floor between them, giving himself two living barriers between himself and the outside world that terrified him so much.
Being in here is safer, it means he’s calmer and the thoughts that keep plaguing him settle back as he’s surrounded by the scents of the two strongest people he knows. Burying himself in his quilt he leans back on Arkham’s bunk, sliding down enough to let his feet touch Mom’s bunk so he can feel grounded. He’s safe here, he’s with family and no one will ever get to him again. The stitches pull on his cheek, but it doesn’t bring any memories back with it fortunately. When Arkham’s arm reaches out in his sleep and unconsciously touches his side, Puzzles finally feels safe enough to close his eyes and find some much needed rest.
Yj tightens his hold on Rattata, petting him softly between the ears as he tries to block out Puzzles and his stupid ideas. His Pokémon judders in his arms, grinding his teeth together in worry as he peers up to his master. It’s amazing how Rattata can tell how he’s feeling so easily, always trying to make him feel better any way he can. “He doesn’t want to evolve and I’m not going to push him into it.” He finally replies, still feeling uncomfortable enough to not look up at where Puzzles is training with Umbreon.
Rattata squeaks in upset as he’s placed on the floor, curling around Yj’s ankles and scrabbling to try and climb back up into his arms. He nibbles at the hem of his trousers, calling for attention and the comforting hold he’s used to from his master. Yj ignores him, focussing instead on Umbreon’s training and watching how Puzzles manages his Pokémon so well. He’s never been very good when it came to battling, instead preferring to just keep his Pokémon as friends, maybe become a researcher or something in the future.
Detective enters the training room, Rapidash trotting behind him gracefully, tossing her mane back and forth as she nickers happily following as her master walks over to Yj. “Good work Puzzles, you’ll take down that Gym leader no problem.” The older man smiles as he watches them train, letting his fingers trail up to run through Yj’s hair gently. “How’re you doing sweetie? Everything okay?”
Yj shrugs, nudging away the still squirming and whining Rattata with his foot as he wonders if he’ll ever be good enough to take on the Gym challenge. He may not enjoy battling his Pokémon but he has to do something, sitting around here annoying Detective isn’t helping anybody. “I’m just picking up tips. You know, learning how to battle properly.” Rattata whines, slumping on top of his foot on the floor, obviously worried for the sudden change in his Master. His whiskers twitch and no matter how much Rapidash tries to nudge him with her nose to get a response he stays curled up and sad.
Detective pets her, reassuring her as he cards his fingers through the cool flames of her mane, in a mirror of how he pets Yj’s hair also. “Take your time Yj. Battling isn’t everything.” He stoops, lifting Rattata into his arms and petting the tiny Pokémon before holding him out to his Master. “Sometimes just being close to your Pokémon is enough.” Yj sighs and takes his dear rat Pokémon into his arms,
Anything Riddler related maybe? Do whatever your imagination comes up with?~ -anon
Arkham lets him in so much more than the others. He’s one of the few people who are allowed to share a bed with him for sleeping, he’s allowed to looks through his plans before they’re completed and he’s allowed to just walk in whenever he feels like it. Now for example he’s been having a bad day, Robin and his annoying friends have been halting his progress at every turn and it took all of his genius to avoid being captured and thrown back into Belle Reve again. He can’t wait to spend the night over at Arkham’s, they have such a comfortable relationship that they can easily be in the same room doing different things and still be comfortable around each other, though he’ll admit right now he may be in need of some sympathy and cuddles.
He enters Arkham’s hideout and hangs up his coat, happy to be in front of the other man wearing nothing but his casual clothes of a loose tee shirt and jeans, Arkham didn’t care if he looked professional at all times, he had no one to impress here. “Hey Arkham I brought over some movies and I thought we could order pizza for tonight if you haven’t-“ The words trail off into silence when he finds Arkham is busy leaning over a desk with Puzzles, pointing to various points on some plans and discussing something obviously very important.
Puzzles turns to face him, raising an eyebrow as his eyes travel the length of his body, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he sees his state of dress. “Yj, what a surprise to see you here.” Yj shuffles in place and holds the movies closer, pressing them to his chest as he tries to hide the storm trooper print on his tee shirt from view. Compared to him the other two looked professional even at this late hour, both still in their suits, a little ruffled but always looking the part of competent villain as he looked an awful lot like an overly tall child. “Do you need something? We are awfully busy here.”
Yj shakes his head in reply, hurt that Arkham doesn’t even have the decency to look up from his plans to talk to him. “We are busy Yj.” He’s told again, Arkham’s voice is low and gravelly, his tiredness and frustration showing through easily. “Do you need me for anything important?”
“Or do you just need some attention?” Yj thinks he’s lucky that he can’t hear whatever Puzzles mumbles after that, because Arkham reaches out to swat at him so it can’t have been anything nice.
He shuffles on the spot again, feeling very much like the awkward teenager he used to be and getting a sense of just how bad he is when it comes to asserting himself. “No. No it can wait I guess.”
“Okay, great.” Arkham is flustered as he moves more plans onto the desk, unrolling them and smiling to himself, not paying him an ounce of attention as Puzzles steps closer. He doesn’t know if he should be feeling as hollow and lost as he does right now, it’s no big deal, he can share. “I don’t have time for you right now.”
Yj nods and turns around to leave, ignoring the laughter of Puzzles and the low chuckles of Arkham that he can hear through the door that closes behind him. It’s not a big deal. Arkham is just too busy to help him right now. Yj ignores the voice in his mind that snaps that he’s not too busy for Puzzles.
