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@writing-ca-ira
࣪𖤐 WELCOME.
I write whatever I want, lawlz. I sure do hope I don’t make an elaborate series that people keep requesting to see more of. That would suck.
I don’t mind getting requests. Now, will I do them or not? No idea. But I like receiving feedback and questions and shit, so don’t be afraid to interact with me. I don’t bite.
OOOH, LOOK WHAT I’VE DONE:
YJ DICK GRAYSON.
GUSTED
NIGHT CHANGES
QUICK! DISTRACTION! (*Tim Drake focused)
HASARDER (YJ/TT DICK GRAYSON SERIES).
JUST LOOK AT THE MASTERLIST, DAWG.
DC VARIOUS X READER.
FIRST DANCE SONGS
KÖNIG AND SOCIALLY AWKWARD READER.
SLIGHTLY AWKWARD
NARUFOSTER HOME AU (TEAM 7 AND READER).
HERE
AKITO SHINONOME X GRAFFITI ARTIST READER.
BLACK AND WHITE
Can you believe that I’m constantly working on all 15 ideas in my drafts right now, cuz I can’t.
Hey, can I be added to the HASARDER tag list? I'm really excited to see how this story goes :))) <3
THIS WAS SO LONG AGO, HELP, I'M SO SORRY. I didn't see this appear in my inbox, but I hope I had you added? If I didn't, whoopsies, part 3 is out, and you'll be on the part 4 list (coming very soon...).
BLACK AND WHITE
Akito Shinonome x Reader
Sometimes, when the very thing that was your escape starts feeling like a chore, you have to find new outlets to jumpstart your creativity. Akito finds his in an unconventional form of art.
Reader is gender neutral.
Contains: graffiti art, vandalism (if you don’t vibe with that), mentions of scars (can be translated as from Ena, but may not canonically make sense in terms of the timeline), brief self-depreciating thoughts, can be romantic if you squint, reader is Akito’s graffiti mentor, they both wear face masks cuz breathing in VOC fumes is dangerous as fuck.
“Nasty scars you got there.”
Akito felt his pointer press down harder on the spray can’s nozzle. “Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Didn’t ask,” you replied with no sort of menace, shaking up your own can to mix its components together. Then, sparing a quick glance at Akito’s handiwork, you added, “let up on the pressure. Short bursts, remember?”
A curse slipped out from under the ginger’s breath when he realized his “i” was running from too much propellant buildup. Immediately, he relieved the nozzle from further abuse of his finger, staring disapprovingly at his semi-ruined tag. “Right,” he mumbled. A rookie mistake.
As if sensing his thoughts, you let out a breathy chuckle. “Don’t worry. Finding the balance between enough coverage and heavy-handiness is hard.” A short pchit from your can interluded your words. “You’ll get used to it. Just takes practice.”
He felt his furrowed brows relax a bit. Ah, that’s right… he’s still new to this. Considering that only a few weeks ago was the first time he even touched a spray can for the very first time, it was a ridiculous expectation to be a natural at this. Practice, he echoed in his brain. Just takes practice. That’s all.
And not the kind of practice that makes his voice hoarse and limbs feel like led.
Admittedly, he never thought he would be doing something like this. Sure, he always found himself admiring the graffiti in alleyways and old venues, but his father made it clear to him that this was no form of art. He recalls being a young primary schooler in the local art and supply store, his father ranting to himself about the spray cans being on full display and on sale. “Just making it easier for talentless fools to vandalize everything.”
Welp… god only knows what his old man would think about what he’s doing now.
“Saw that you updated your old tag in Vivid Street,” Akito commented, shaking up his can to start on a new letter. “I like the new style.”
You didn’t provide an immediate response, instead opting to scan over your progress as you adjusted your face mask. “Did it just last night. Not sure how I feel about the colors.”
“I think they’re fine.” The ginger finished his “r” much faster than he anticipated, pleased that there was less dripping than his previous letter. It was a bit wonky, but he found a bit of charm in the way it turned out. “A gradient was a good choice. Shows off your skill real well.”
“I’m just worried people are gonna laugh at the irony of KURO being colorful,” you chortled.
He thought about it for a moment, then let out an amused hum. Yeah, it was a bit ironic, but he found the technical aspect of the graffiti overriding that detail. Besides, it was a big improvement from the simple thin black letters that barely popped out from the wall. The color made it more than just a normal meaningless piece of vandalism; it was now art.
Now on the “o,” he offered a shrug. “I don’t think it matters that much. Still looked cool.” After grimacing at the weird overlap his circle had, he stepped back and observed the final product. It was an obviously amateur tag: the coverage was blotchy, a few of his letters dripped from over-spraying, and the block letters had inconsistent thicknesses. A friend tugged at his lips as he studied every glaring imperfection in his work.
Compared to yours…
“Hey, that looks good.”
His head snapped in your direction at breakneck speed. “Hah?”
“I said it looks good,” you repeated. You had just finished outlining your own “o,” a can of orange now being shook in your hand to assumingely begin a gradient. “Considering it’s only your third tag, and your first trying out block letters, I’m super impressed.”
All he could do was dumbly blink at you for a few seconds. You were… impressed? At his hotchpotch of a graffiti? Surely, you had to just be saying that to make him feel better. There’s no way a pro like you thought it looked anything above subpar. Hell, it barely even looked like he took it seriously, half-assing it like some punk who only wants to spray paint a train just to look like a cool kid. Nothing about his tag resembled anything close to art.
“I could definitely do better,” he huffed, looking back at his finished product with distaste.
You hummed. “Yeah. You definitely could.” Before he could even begin to wonder if that was supposed to be a snide remark or not, you continued. “But so can I. There’s a lot of stuff about my own graffiti works that I wish I could improve on.” You shook up the orange, your eyes trained on the your work. “S’why I go back and update my old tags. Like the one I did in Vivid Street. It was one of my first.”
He tried his best to remember the details of the old KURO in Vivid Street. The letters had a unique style, but were too thin to be easily readable. He had initially mistaken the “r” for a “b” for how runny it was. Looking back, he probably shouldn’t of been surprised that it was your first tag, especially compared to what you can do now. Throwing you a curious glance, he stuffed his freehand in his pocket. “Do you update all of your old tags like that?”
“Nah.” You didn’t elaborate for a couple of seconds, your can hissing as you began filling in the negative space of your letters. “Only the ones that get passed by a lot. Wanna have my art look presentable to people, y’know?”
He thought about your response. It made sense; any artist would want their most seen work to reflect their best work. Plus, there was the added bonus of making the environment feel more lively. Before the style update, the KURO in Vivid Street admittedly looked boring, and even distasteful. Just any other graffiti you would barely even spare a glance towards as you go on your merry way. After you went back to do a much-needed revamp, however, he found himself admiring every detail for a solid 10 minutes. The blue to pink was very eye-catching, white highlights boldly contrasting the black outline. Bubble letters replaced simple stick characters. He felt himself becoming inspired the more he took in every meticulous detail. It was amazing how one graffiti update could completely change the vibe of an alleyway.
Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, he fiddled with the nozzle of the spray can in his grip. “So, what about the tags you don’t redo?”
“I leave them like that.”
“How come?”
A fond shimmer sparked in your eyes. It held a sense of nostalgia to it; the kind that comes with reflecting on good times. “Tells my story as an artist. Might not be an exclusive interview or anything, and KURO’s sure as hell not famous outside of the local street art space but those who see my novice KURO tags get to see a journey.” You reached down to grab a can of yellow. “Besides, I like to go back and look at them, so I can see how far I’ve come.”
Huh… Akito wasn’t expecting that response. Sure, he was a fellow artist (admittedly, he was too much of a rookie graffiti artist to consider himself as such, but he was still a performing artist), but he never thought that way about his own art. The whole point of wanting to improve was, not only to one day make an event bigger than RAD WEEKEND, but to also distance himself from his old shitty skill level. He wanted nothing to do with his old singing and dancing, and just looking at recordings of his old performances made him feel sick. They only serve as a reminder to get better, or else he’ll be stuck in the same box for the rest of his life as an artist.
But… when you put it like that…
“So,” he awkwardly began, trying to dispel his thoughts about Vivid BAD SQUAD. “You ever gonna come back and update this one?”
There wasn’t an immediate answer. You seemed to engrossed in probably blending the orange and yellow to even think of one, so he patiently waited. This gave him a perfect opportunity to examine your technique, watching how you angled your extremely light sprays upwards to mingle the colors together (huh, he’ll have to keep that in mind). It was at this point that he took notice of the paint fumes, but rather than finding it disgusting like he initially did, there was an odd sense of comfort that came with it this time… of course, it probably helped that he came prepared with a face mask. During his initial chance encounter with you, you had warned him to stand a good distance away as to not breathe in the toxic VOC fumes.
The clacking noise of your spray can snapped him out of his thoughts, your eyes still staring intently at the still wet tag. You still had the “r” and the “o” to finish blending, but he knew it wouldn’t take long for you to do. Instead of continuing to work, however, you straightened your up posture, turning to fully face him. “You kidding me? Definitely am.”
… Huh—?
Your declarative delivery threw him for a loop. Were you not satisfied with the way this KURO turned out? His brows furrowed at the thought, eyes studying every detail of the tag. It looked amazing; and while he’s definitely no stranger to the concept of being your own worst critic, this felt ridiculous. Especially when it’s side by side with his own frumpier work. It reminded him too much of the growing gap between him and his fellow Vivid BAD SQUAD members, the familiar weight of self-doubt and envy pressing against his chest… ah, yeah… of course he had to be reminded of his own shortcomings every day. Such is the life of a talentless, worthless—
Your voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “After all, you gotta come back later and update your very first box-letter tag, right?”
… Oh.
Suddenly, all of those self-deprecating mantras fell upon deaf ears. His chest felt lighter than before, and he couldn’t fight the radiant warmth that filled his heart. Something about your implied promise of progress was… oddly freeing. It recognized his current novice status, but again, this was only his first time doing box letters. As long as he kept practicing, he could only get better. Along with that, your promise also held a deeper meaning; that you two would be working alongside each other for a while longer. Though he was too stubborn to say it out loud, your presence was calming, and he appreciated how he didn’t have to be hard on himself when it came to graffiti.
By pure chance, you helped him discover a new outlet.
He was grateful for the mask, because trying to keep the big smile off his face was damn near impossible. He tried to play it off cool by offering a humorous huff and shaking his head. “Sounds like a plan. If you think you can stand me for that long, anyway.”
“Well, you’re not the worst person out there,” you mused, getting to work on your last two letters. “Now pick up the black paint, will you?”
Quirking a brow, he couldn’t help but skeptically posing, “what for?”
Your answer came after a good shake to your can. “Gonna teach you how to properly outline. The white pops on a darker surface like this, but in most alleyways, white tags get a bit lost on the brick. Plus, it can look pretty bland.”
Ah, a lesson. He could definitely use those. Sure, he’s picked up a lot of good tips from you over the past few weeks, but if he ever wants to get better at this, he’s always down to learn some more. Graffiti took his life by storm, activating his creativity in ways he didn’t even imagine before, and the thought of being able to create it with his own hands gave him the same high that events did.
He looked at your KURO, and then his SHIRO.
Yeah, there may have been an obvious gap in skill, but with your guiding advice, this is one he was sure he could catch up on.
Blog revamp. Not sure how I feel about it, so it might change in the future.
HASARDER MASTERLIST
YJ/Teen Titans Dick Grayson x Reader
… Le cœur est calé, mais remets-en quand même encore un—
As a civilian who just so happens to live with the Titans, you’re not supposed to wake up in unfamiliar places… let alone unfamiliar timelines. Meanwhile, Dick would soon realize that the grieving process for you would prove to take an interesting twist when Tim calls him with some shocking news…
Reader is gender neutral.
Contains: civilian reader, where do I even begin with this shit, death, the reader is dead, but also not dead, wacky dimension shit, y’all don’t even know how much research I put into this, Dick Grayson is as angry as ever, Tim Drake is Robin, Jason is dead (L), that fucker’s probably gonna stay dead, not even gonna think about the consequences this all has on season 3, not even gonna think about season 3 period, Bruce is back at it again with shady Batman shit.
PROLOGUE.
PART 1.
PART 2.
PART 3.
HASARDER — PART 3
YJ/Teen Titans Dick Grayson x Reader
Prologue — Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3
There’s a logical explanation for everything… even the illogical. And sometimes, the illogical includes the idea of your dead best friend dropping by… from another dimension.
Reader is gender neutral.
Contains: civilian reader, mentions of death (your own), spoilers: you’re actually alive… kinda, classic Dick vs. Bruce argument, the heavily autistic-coded Tim agenda.
“Dick—”
“I think you owe me an EXPLANATION or TWO, BRUCE. Because why did I get a frantic phone call from Tim telling me that a stranger with (Y/N)’s face is walking around, while you KEPT ME OUT OF THE LOOP, huh?!”
“… I knew you would be too emotionally charged to handle—”
“No. No, stop. I don’t want to hear that dumb spiel anymore. This isn’t Tony Zucco, Bruce!! This is my BEST FRIEND. I knew (Y/N) better than you EVER did, and you mean to say you didn’t give me a heads up about this faker, because, what? I’d be a little surprised that there is a FAKE (Y/N) WALKING AROUND?!”
“Dick—!!”
“WELL, COLOR ME SURPRISED, BRUCE. AND KEEP ME POSTED ON THE NEXT CASE UPDATE, BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW HOW GOOD YOU ARE AT DOING THAT.”
“THIS (Y/N) ISN’T THE (Y/N) YOU KNEW, DICK. You have no BUSINESS knowing anything about this (Y/N)—”
“I HAVE NO BUSINESS?! I HAVE NO BUSINESS KNOWING WHO’S OUT THERE PLAYING (Y/N)-DRESS-UP, WHILE MY REAL BEST FRIEND IS STILL 6 FEET UNDER IN A GRAVE THAT, BY THE WAY, I KNOW YOU TOOK UPON YOURSELF TO DIG UP?! NO ONE HAS BUSINESS DOING THAT. NOT BRUCE WAYNE, NOT BATMAN, NOT ANYONE.”
“We had to know for CERTAIN—”
“WE… There’s that MAGICAL ‘WE’ I keep HEARING ABOUT!! Because Batman the loner can’t even TRUST NIGHTWING with anything, but he’ll reach out to ANYONE ON THE JUSTICE LEAGUE. WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT? IT’S A MIRACLE ANYONE EVEN WANTS TO WORK WITH YOU AT THIS POINT, SINCE YOU DO NOTHING BUT DRIVE PEOPLE OUT OF YOUR LIFE!!“
“Dick!! Dick, wait!!”
“Nightwing’s back!!”
Before Dick could even turn around, a tiny green monkey perched itself on his shoulder, offering a toothy grin. A couple of cheeky chirps came from the creature as the corners of Dick’s mouth twitched upwards. “Good to see you too, Gar,” he chuckled, letting the freshman team member crawl to his other shoulder.
An exasperated sigh rang out from behind them. “Gar!! What did I tell you about running off in the middle of conversations?!”
Dick watched as M’gann landed next to him, her hands on her hips and a brow quirked. Though her tone was admonishing, she did have an amused smile on her face, so she at least wasn’t seriously upset with her pseudo younger brother. And speaking of whom, the green monkey leapt off of Dick’s shoulder, transforming back into his human form.
“Sorry, M’gann,” the boy exaggeratedly sighed. A wide grin then broke out on his face as he said, “but look!! Nightwing’s back!!”
M’gann’s gaze turned from Garfield to Dick. “I can see that,” she remarked. Her face still held a smile, but it softened a bit as her expression turned from amused to somber. “Welcome back, team leader.”
“It’s good to be back,” said Dick, returning M’gann’s bittersweet smile.
The Martian gave him a reassuring look before herding Gar back to the sparring floor. Just as he was about to turn away, however, M’gann’s voice entered his mind. “I’m… glad to see you’re doing better.”
Dick mentally sighed through their mind link. “Thanks for taking over, M’gann… I just—”
“You don’t to explain yourself,” M’gann quickly interjected. “I completely understand. You’re still… healing.” She took a second to collect her thoughts before continuing. “If you ever need to talk... or just need more time… I’m here.”
“I know,” said Dick. He watched as she glanced back at him, an uncertain expression plastered on her face. It was a very quick glance, only lasting about 2 seconds as to not raise suspicion from Gar, but it practically screamed the words she wanted to say; do you?
The link was then dropped.
Dick had to take a deep breath in before finally walking off. His psychic conversation with M’gann left a giant weight on his chest, though he couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. Maybe it had something to do with the walls he built up to keep his friends out. Even though it’s been 2 years, he hadn’t really talked about your death with anyone; not even to Wally, or Clark, and definitely not with Bruce. “I’m fine,” he’d tell them all, hoping to finally get them off of his case. Therapy sessions with Dinah practically went in circles, since they consisted of him repeating “I’m fine” over and over again. There were still days — weeks, even — where he just can’t find it in him to get out of bed, and his response to all of the missed calls, texts, and teammate wellness check-ups; “I’m fine.”
He’s fine. Dick Grayson is fine. He doesn’t need to talk about your death because he’s fine.
But that’s not what he wanted to think about now. Making his way to the library, he kept his eyes peeled for a particular red-and-black uniform. And sure enough, at one of the farthest tables, the latest Boy Wonder was tapping away at his wrist computer. There were miscellaneous papers and books strewn about, and 2 laptops — one closed and the other open with some note-taking application up — were on the surface of the table.
Someone’s been busy, Dick thought with a humorous smirk.
The older male made sure his footsteps were heavy enough for Tim to hear, just to give the teen a small heads-up. Sure enough, at the sound of footsteps, the Boy Wonder’s head shot up, and the open laptop was immediately sealed shut just as his wrist computer blipped away. “Nightwing,” was his curt greeting.
“Timmers,” Dick greeted back. The nickname was intentional; he wanted to make sure that the young teen knew that this wasn’t a team-related matter. This strategy proved fruitful, because Tim’s shoulders lost some tension as a coy smile stretched across his lips. Though it only lasted for a couple of seconds, as a more serious expression crossed Tim’s face. “Have you… talked with B? Since your argument?”
Dick hummed. “Just last night. Talked with him on patrol when—”
“I didn’t mean Nightwing talking to Batman.”
“… No.” A shallow sigh tumbled from Dick’s mouth. “I was thinking about talking to him after paying this so-called (Y/N) a visit, but…”
“I think you should,” said Tim, a rare firmness in his tone that honestly spooked Dick a bit. But his voice soon turned into something more timid, as he added, “uh… but only if you feel up to it. I… um... anyway, I… found out where B’s keeping (Y/N). Fake (Y/N), I mean.”
Dick leaned pulled out a chair, ignoring the awful scraping noise it made against the ground as he plopped down on it. “What rules did you have to break to find the address?”
“Don’t remind me,” Tim mumbled, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. “I did what I had to do, and I’m praying Batman doesn’t take away my costume for it…”
“He won’t, trust me.” To accentuate his reassuring words, Dick put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “This dilemma is between me and him. Besides, if he wanted you off of patrol, he would’ve done something by now.”
Hearing this, Tim let out a shaky sigh. “… Okay.”
There was a short bought of silence as the young Boy Wonder fiddled with his wrist computer. Dick assumed it had something to do with (Y/N)’s location, and his hypothesis proved correct when an alert pinged from his own wrist. Quickly checking the address, Dick brought his hand from Tim’s shoulder to his neatly combed hair. “Thanks, Tim. This… means a lot to me.”
“I know it does,” the teen responded. “I mean, If it were my best friend… I’d want to know who their mysterious doppelgänger is, too.”
A sad smile formed on Dick’s face. The thought of Tim doing all of this for him… well… he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Even though Tim was the one who initially brought everything to his attention, this should’ve stayed between Dick and all of the Leaguers and scientists who were involved. It was unfair for Dick to use Tim as his little proxy. Wanting to express his guilt on the matter, he opened his mouth to say something when a book on the table caught his eye.
A BRIEF HISTORY OF BLACK HOLES.
Black holes?
Since when was Tim interested in black holes?
Dick was aware of Tim’s habit to go down rabbit holes of information, but they usually revolve around technology and cold cases. The only interest the boy had in space — that Dick was aware of — was Martians (he holds the memory of Tim spouting out Martian facts on patrol very close to his heart). Perhaps this was for a school project, or to debunk a claim that a classmate he finds distasteful made (again)?
The more Dick studied the books and papers around him, however, the quicker the dots were connecting in his mind. Another book titled Parallel Worlds was opened face-down next to his laptop with a bunch of orange sticky notes marking certain pages. And next to that was a page from a notepad labelled with “quntm hypo” (shorthand for quantum hypothesis, Dick assumed) in Tim’s handwriting. What really solved this puzzle, however, we’re the printed copies of the (Y/N) (L/N) file, a picture of you paper clipped to the first paper in the stack.
… Someone’s been busy alright.
Picking up the one of the file pages, Dick gave it a quick skim before looking at his successor. “Been doing a little research of your own?”
Tim’s gaze went to the floor. “Just a little.”
“Just a little,” the acrobat echoed with a tone of mirth, surveying the sea of papers and books around the table. “So… you’re thinking that this stranger (Y/N)’s from a different dimension?”
“Adam Strange did an MRI on them not too long ago,” Tim explained. “Found traces of Zeta Beams in their body. Doppelgänger (Y/N) said they’ve never heard of a Zeta Beam or a Zeta Tube. Which doesn’t match up with our (Y/N)…”
“Because our (Y/N) is registered in the JL Zeta Tube access system,” finished Dick.
The younger male nodded. “And these Titans… fake (Y/N)’s description of them was finally added to the Bat Computer’s records, and they’re apparently a team of young superheroes who are based in Jump City, California.” The screen of his wrist watch popped up with your given statement. “The Teen Titans. They’re my friends. We all live in Titans Tower in Jump City. Where’s Robin? Is he alright? I have to see him. Please let me see him.” He then looked up at Dick. “When Batman asked for them to identify Robin, they… said Dick Grayson.”
Dick had to swallow the thick lump that was forming in his throat. You wanted to see him. And though you weren’t his (Y/N), he wanted to see you, too. Just to see who’s parading around with his dead best friend’s face, of course. It would be unwise to think he would receive closure from your mysterious clone. “So, they lived with a group of young heroes in both worlds, but in our world, it’s in Mount Justice, and in their world…”
“It’s the Titans.” Tim closed out of his wrist computer and picked up a paper from the (Y/N) file stack. “That would also explain why they ended up on the other side of the country. If they lived in Jump City, and then somehow… got… transported or warped or whatever to our universe, then according to Strange’s Pinpoint Zeta theory, they would theoretically show up in the same area from their own universe.”
“Never heard of this Pinpoint Zeta theory,” the older male commented.
“Strange just came up with it,” answered Tim. “The basic gist of his hypothesis is that an object using Zeta Beams to travel from one timeline to another will show up in a destination with Zeta energy that’s closest to their original location from where they initially left from.”
Dick couldn’t help but quirk a brow at this. “And where did alternate timeline (Y/N) show up?”
The paper in Tim’s hand was soon replaced with another, the new paper outstretched for Dick to see. “SOTO Labs. Used to be an industrial research laboratory before STAR Labs nailed them with that huge lawsuit years ago. Long story short, the head scientist of SOTO Labs was caught red-handed smuggling Zeta tech all the way from Taos.”
“I remember that,” Dick commented, taking the paper from Tim to read over it himself. “Jorge James-Mendez. Got put away for a long time… among others who were involved.” A deep frown formed on his face. “What does (Y/N) have to do with SOTO Labs?”
Tim rested his head against the palm of his hand. “That’s the thing. While (Y/N) said that they know of a SOTO Labs, as far as they knew, there weren’t any lawsuits or anything that shut the place down, and they don’t recall being anywhere near SOTO Labs to begin with… though it doesn’t help that they don’t remember much period.”
“A parallel universe… an alternate timeline…” Dick rubbed his temples. “Do you really think it’s possible…? That this is a (Y/N) from an entirely different world from our own?”
“Theoretically… anything’s possible,” was Tim’s answer. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had to look into dimensional travel as a probable answer. And with all the weird details from this (Y/N)’s situation…” the teen interrupted himself with a sigh, “I’m inclined to believe it’s true.”
This… was too much to process. Just a week ago, Dick was trying to wrap his head around the idea of a whole other (Y/N) existing, and now he has to consider the idea of a whole other universe? Sure, he’s had conversations like this with Wally in the past, but that was all theoretical. This… was real. And his dead best friend just so happened to be the one to make it real; to prove that it was real.
… He’s fine. Dick Grayson is fine. He doesn’t need to talk about how an alternate version of his dead best friend somehow ended up in this universe — coincidentally a few weeks after the anniversary of your death — because he’s fine.
Snapping out of his deep thoughts, Dick looked up at Tim again. “So… you’re on board with the idea. And I’m guessing Adam Stange is, too. But What about Batman?”
A simple shrug accompanied Tim’s reply. “According to his notes, the evidence is enough to back up the notion of alternate world (Y/N). Manhunter and Fate feel the same way.”
Dick smirked. “Because they told you?”
“… Because Batman was kind enough to write their thoughts along with his own… in a file that’s triple password-protected.”
Classic Boy Wonder struggles.
Although Dick wanted nothing more than to stop asking questions — he’s learned enough information as it is — there was something in the back of his brain that was bothering him. Letting his eyes drift to Tim’s primary laptop, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else. Something that Tim wasn’t telling him. “What were you looking up?”
Tim only stared dumbly at his senior. “Huh?”
“Earlier.” One of Dick’s hands motioned towards Tim’s laptop. “You had your laptop open. What were you doing?”
“Nothing,” said Tim. “Why?”
… The kid’s gotten better at keeping a poker face, Dick mentally noted. “So, nothing to do with alternate (Y/N)?”
“No.”
“… And nothing to do with our (Y/N)?”
“…”
So he IS hiding something.
Before Dick could press further, however, Tim sprang out of his seat and began to gather his belongings. “Look, I’ve got a lot going on,” he explained. “This whole alternate universe thing spawned some crazy theories, some of which are half baked at best,” he tucked his primary laptop underneath his arm, “and they’re not ready for me to share. If one of them leads somewhere, I’ll tell you, but… for now, I can’t risk giving out bogus, okay?!”
Dick carefully put a hand out to calm the third Boy Wonder. “Tim—”
“I told you the concrete facts, Dick.” Realizing his voice was raising in volume, Tim took a deep breath. “I… I told you everything that Batman knows. I promise I’m not keeping you in the dark, it’s just…” another deep breath, “I don’t want to be wrong about anything on this.”
Any questions Dick had died on the tip of his tongue, and all he could respond with was, “it’s okay, Tim... I believe you.”
There was no response from the third Boy Wonder. Quietly, he gathered all of his belongings and stashed them all in the duffle bag hanging off of his chair. Slinging it over his shoulder, Tim turned towards his predecessor and mumbled a quiet, “… I’m sorry,” before making a b-line towards the exit.
Tim was weirdly… defensive. Dick wasn’t sure if he’s ever seen his successor get this way, but he definitely didn’t like it. Tim was hiding something, and whatever it is, it must been big; something not even Batman knows. And while it hurt to know that Tim of all people was withholding information from him, he at least had faith that the teen would eventually tell him (unlike… y’know… Batman). It was just a matter of waiting until Tim was fully sure of… whatever this crazy theory was.
Timmy was the one who told me about the other (Y/N) in the first place, Dick reminded himself. He’s not going to pull a Bruce on me.
In the meantime, Dick had other things to worry about, like returning to his duties as team leader, patrolling Blüdhaven, and…
… Guess it’s time to pay (Y/N) (L/N) a visit.
TAGLIST:
@swthxrry @igotanidea @byebyeeye @meigalaxy @pietrosbae @phoenix666stuff @sammy-hammy @devourmegoku @c-ms1ut @kikigraceeee2 @ameliabs-world @autumnrosnor @wnstice @trissyispicky @aimno256 ;; Sorry if I’m forgetting anyone. ^^;;
HASARDER — PART 3
YJ/Teen Titans Dick Grayson x Reader
Part 2 << MASTERLIST >> Part 4
There’s a logical explanation for everything… even the illogical. And sometimes, the illogical includes the idea of your dead best friend dropping by… from another dimension.
Reader is gender neutral.
Contains: civilian reader, mentions of death (your own), spoilers: you’re actually alive… kinda, classic Dick vs. Bruce argument, the heavily autistic-coded Tim agenda.
“Dick—”
“I think you owe me an EXPLANATION or TWO, BRUCE. Because why did I get a frantic phone call from Tim telling me that a stranger with (Y/N)’s face is walking around, while you KEPT ME OUT OF THE LOOP, huh?!”
“… I knew you would be too emotionally charged to handle—”
“No. No, stop. I don’t want to hear that dumb spiel anymore. This isn’t Tony Zucco, Bruce!! This is my BEST FRIEND. I knew (Y/N) better than you EVER did, and you mean to say you didn’t give me a heads up about this faker, because, what? I’d be a little surprised that there is a FAKE (Y/N) WALKING AROUND?!”
“Dick—!!”
“WELL, COLOR ME SURPRISED, BRUCE. AND KEEP ME POSTED ON THE NEXT CASE UPDATE, BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW HOW GOOD YOU ARE AT DOING THAT.”
“THIS (Y/N) ISN’T THE (Y/N) YOU KNEW, DICK. You have no BUSINESS knowing anything about this (Y/N)—”
“I HAVE NO BUSINESS?! I HAVE NO BUSINESS KNOWING WHO’S OUT THERE PLAYING (Y/N)-DRESS-UP, WHILE MY REAL BEST FRIEND IS STILL 6 FEET UNDER IN A GRAVE THAT, BY THE WAY, I KNOW YOU TOOK UPON YOURSELF TO DIG UP?! NO ONE HAS BUSINESS DOING THAT. NOT BRUCE WAYNE, NOT BATMAN, NOT ANYONE.”
“We had to know for CERTAIN—”
“WE… There’s that MAGICAL ‘WE’ I keep HEARING ABOUT!! Because Batman the loner can’t even TRUST NIGHTWING with anything, but he’ll reach out to ANYONE ON THE JUSTICE LEAGUE. WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT? IT’S A MIRACLE ANYONE EVEN WANTS TO WORK WITH YOU AT THIS POINT, SINCE YOU DO NOTHING BUT DRIVE PEOPLE OUT OF YOUR LIFE!!“
“Dick!! Dick, wait!!”
“Nightwing’s back!!”
Before Dick could even turn around, a tiny green monkey perched itself on his shoulder, offering a toothy grin. A couple of cheeky chirps came from the creature as the corners of Dick’s mouth twitched upwards. “Good to see you too, Gar,” he chuckled, letting the freshman team member crawl to his other shoulder.
An exasperated sigh rang out from behind them. “Gar!! What did I tell you about running off in the middle of conversations?!”
Dick watched as M’gann landed next to him, her hands on her hips and a brow quirked. Though her tone was admonishing, she did have an amused smile on her face, so she at least wasn’t seriously upset with her pseudo younger brother. And speaking of whom, the green monkey leapt off of Dick’s shoulder, transforming back into his human form.
“Sorry, M’gann,” the boy exaggeratedly sighed. A wide grin then broke out on his face as he said, “but look!! Nightwing’s back!!”
M’gann’s gaze turned from Garfield to Dick. “I can see that,” she remarked. Her face still held a smile, but it softened a bit as her expression turned from amused to somber. “Welcome back, team leader.”
“It’s good to be back,” said Dick, returning M’gann’s bittersweet smile.
The Martian gave him a reassuring look before herding Gar back to the sparring floor. Just as he was about to turn away, however, M’gann’s voice entered his mind. “I’m… glad to see you’re doing better.”
Dick mentally sighed through their mind link. “Thanks for taking over, M’gann… I just—”
“You don’t to explain yourself,” M’gann quickly interjected. “I completely understand. You’re still… healing.” She took a second to collect her thoughts before continuing. “If you ever need to talk... or just need more time… I’m here.”
“I know,” said Dick. He watched as she glanced back at him, an uncertain expression plastered on her face. It was a very quick glance, only lasting about 2 seconds as to not raise suspicion from Gar, but it practically screamed the words she wanted to say; do you?
The link was then dropped.
Dick had to take a deep breath in before finally walking off. His psychic conversation with M’gann left a giant weight on his chest, though he couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. Maybe it had something to do with the walls he built up to keep his friends out. Even though it’s been 2 years, he hadn’t really talked about your death with anyone; not even to Wally, or Clark, and definitely not with Bruce. “I’m fine,” he’d tell them all, hoping to finally get them off of his case. Therapy sessions with Dinah practically went in circles, since they consisted of him repeating “I’m fine” over and over again. There were still days — weeks, even — where he just can’t find it in him to get out of bed, and his response to all of the missed calls, texts, and teammate wellness check-ups; “I’m fine.”
He’s fine. Dick Grayson is fine. He doesn’t need to talk about your death because he’s fine.
But that’s not what he wanted to think about now. Making his way to the library, he kept his eyes peeled for a particular red-and-black uniform. And sure enough, at one of the farthest tables, the latest Boy Wonder was tapping away at his wrist computer. There were miscellaneous papers and books strewn about, and 2 laptops — one closed and the other open with some note-taking application up — were on the surface of the table.
Someone’s been busy, Dick thought with a humorous smirk.
The older male made sure his footsteps were heavy enough for Tim to hear, just to give the teen a small heads-up. Sure enough, at the sound of footsteps, the Boy Wonder’s head shot up, and the open laptop was immediately sealed shut just as his wrist computer blipped away. “Nightwing,” was his curt greeting.
“Timmers,” Dick greeted back. The nickname was intentional; he wanted to make sure that the young teen knew that this wasn’t a team-related matter. This strategy proved fruitful, because Tim’s shoulders lost some tension as a coy smile stretched across his lips. Though it only lasted for a couple of seconds, as a more serious expression crossed Tim’s face. “Have you… talked with B? Since your argument?”
Dick hummed. “Just last night. Talked with him on patrol when—”
“I didn’t mean Nightwing talking to Batman.”
“… No.” A shallow sigh tumbled from Dick’s mouth. “I was thinking about talking to him after paying this so-called (Y/N) a visit, but…”
“I think you should,” said Tim, a rare firmness in his tone that honestly spooked Dick a bit. But his voice soon turned into something more timid, as he added, “uh… but only if you feel up to it. I… um... anyway, I… found out where B’s keeping (Y/N). Fake (Y/N), I mean.”
Dick leaned pulled out a chair, ignoring the awful scraping noise it made against the ground as he plopped down on it. “What rules did you have to break to find the address?”
“Don’t remind me,” Tim mumbled, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. “I did what I had to do, and I’m praying Batman doesn’t take away my costume for it…”
“He won’t, trust me.” To accentuate his reassuring words, Dick put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “This dilemma is between me and him. Besides, if he wanted you off of patrol, he would’ve done something by now.”
Hearing this, Tim let out a shaky sigh. “… Okay.”
There was a short bought of silence as the young Boy Wonder fiddled with his wrist computer. Dick assumed it had something to do with (Y/N)’s location, and his hypothesis proved correct when an alert pinged from his own wrist. Quickly checking the address, Dick brought his hand from Tim’s shoulder to his neatly combed hair. “Thanks, Tim. This… means a lot to me.”
“I know it does,” the teen responded. “I mean, If it were my best friend… I’d want to know who their mysterious doppelgänger is, too.”
A sad smile formed on Dick’s face. The thought of Tim doing all of this for him… well… he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Even though Tim was the one who initially brought everything to his attention, this should’ve stayed between Dick and all of the Leaguers and scientists who were involved. It was unfair for Dick to use Tim as his little proxy. Wanting to express his guilt on the matter, he opened his mouth to say something when a book on the table caught his eye.
A BRIEF HISTORY OF BLACK HOLES.
Black holes?
Since when was Tim interested in black holes?
Dick was aware of Tim’s habit to go down rabbit holes of information, but they usually revolve around technology and cold cases. The only interest the boy had in space — that Dick was aware of — was Martians (he holds the memory of Tim spouting out Martian facts on patrol very close to his heart). Perhaps this was for a school project, or to debunk a claim that a classmate he finds distasteful made (again)?
The more Dick studied the books and papers around him, however, the quicker the dots were connecting in his mind. Another book titled Parallel Worlds was opened face-down next to his laptop with a bunch of orange sticky notes marking certain pages. And next to that was a page from a notepad labelled with “quntm hypo” (shorthand for quantum hypothesis, Dick assumed) in Tim’s handwriting. What really solved this puzzle, however, we’re the printed copies of the (Y/N) (L/N) file, a picture of you paper clipped to the first paper in the stack.
… Someone’s been busy alright.
Picking up the one of the file pages, Dick gave it a quick skim before looking at his successor. “Been doing a little research of your own?”
Tim’s gaze went to the floor. “Just a little.”
“Just a little,” the acrobat echoed with a tone of mirth, surveying the sea of papers and books around the table. “So… you’re thinking that this stranger (Y/N)’s from a different dimension?”
“Adam Strange did an MRI on them not too long ago,” Tim explained. “Found traces of Zeta Beams in their body. Doppelgänger (Y/N) said they’ve never heard of a Zeta Beam or a Zeta Tube. Which doesn’t match up with our (Y/N)…”
“Because our (Y/N) is registered in the JL Zeta Tube access system,” finished Dick.
The younger male nodded. “And these Titans… fake (Y/N)’s description of them was finally added to the Bat Computer’s records, and they’re apparently a team of young superheroes who are based in Jump City, California.” The screen of his wrist watch popped up with your given statement. “The Teen Titans. They’re my friends. We all live in Titans Tower in Jump City. Where’s Robin? Is he alright? I have to see him. Please let me see him.” He then looked up at Dick. “When Batman asked for them to identify Robin, they… said Dick Grayson.”
Dick had to swallow the thick lump that was forming in his throat. You wanted to see him. And though you weren’t his (Y/N), he wanted to see you, too. Just to see who’s parading around with his dead best friend’s face, of course. It would be unwise to think he would receive closure from your mysterious clone. “So, they lived with a group of young heroes in both worlds, but in our world, it’s in Mount Justice, and in their world…”
“It’s the Titans.” Tim closed out of his wrist computer and picked up a paper from the (Y/N) file stack. “That would also explain why they ended up on the other side of the country. If they lived in Jump City, and then somehow… got… transported or warped or whatever to our universe, then according to Strange’s Pinpoint Zeta theory, they would theoretically show up in the same area from their own universe.”
“Never heard of this Pinpoint Zeta theory,” the older male commented.
“Strange just came up with it,” answered Tim. “The basic gist of his hypothesis is that an object using Zeta Beams to travel from one timeline to another will show up in a destination with Zeta energy that’s closest to their original location from where they initially left from.”
Dick couldn’t help but quirk a brow at this. “And where did alternate timeline (Y/N) show up?”
The paper in Tim’s hand was soon replaced with another, the new paper outstretched for Dick to see. “SOTO Labs. Used to be an industrial research laboratory before STAR Labs nailed them with that huge lawsuit years ago. Long story short, the head scientist of SOTO Labs was caught red-handed smuggling Zeta tech all the way from Taos.”
“I remember that,” Dick commented, taking the paper from Tim to read over it himself. “Jorge James-Mendez. Got put away for a long time… among others who were involved.” A deep frown formed on his face. “What does (Y/N) have to do with SOTO Labs?”
Tim rested his head against the palm of his hand. “That’s the thing. While (Y/N) said that they know of a SOTO Labs, as far as they knew, there weren’t any lawsuits or anything that shut the place down, and they don’t recall being anywhere near SOTO Labs to begin with… though it doesn’t help that they don’t remember much period.”
“A parallel universe… an alternate timeline…” Dick rubbed his temples. “Do you really think it’s possible…? That this is a (Y/N) from an entirely different world from our own?”
“Theoretically… anything’s possible,” was Tim’s answer. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had to look into dimensional travel as a probable answer. And with all the weird details from this (Y/N)’s situation…” the teen interrupted himself with a sigh, “I’m inclined to believe it’s true.”
This… was too much to process. Just a week ago, Dick was trying to wrap his head around the idea of a whole other (Y/N) existing, and now he has to consider the idea of a whole other universe? Sure, he’s had conversations like this with Wally in the past, but that was all theoretical. This… was real. And his dead best friend just so happened to be the one to make it real; to prove that it was real.
… He’s fine. Dick Grayson is fine. He doesn’t need to talk about how an alternate version of his dead best friend somehow ended up in this universe — coincidentally a few weeks after the anniversary of your death — because he’s fine.
Snapping out of his deep thoughts, Dick looked up at Tim again. “So… you’re on board with the idea. And I’m guessing Adam Stange is, too. But What about Batman?”
A simple shrug accompanied Tim’s reply. “According to his notes, the evidence is enough to back up the notion of alternate world (Y/N). Manhunter and Fate feel the same way.”
Dick smirked. “Because they told you?”
“… Because Batman was kind enough to write their thoughts along with his own… in a file that’s triple password-protected.”
Classic Boy Wonder struggles.
Although Dick wanted nothing more than to stop asking questions — he’s learned enough information as it is — there was something in the back of his brain that was bothering him. Letting his eyes drift to Tim’s primary laptop, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else. Something that Tim wasn’t telling him. “What were you looking up?”
Tim only stared dumbly at his senior. “Huh?”
“Earlier.” One of Dick’s hands motioned towards Tim’s laptop. “You had your laptop open. What were you doing?”
“Nothing,” said Tim. “Why?”
… The kid’s gotten better at keeping a poker face, Dick mentally noted. “So, nothing to do with alternate (Y/N)?”
“No.”
“… And nothing to do with our (Y/N)?”
“…”
So he IS hiding something.
Before Dick could press further, however, Tim sprang out of his seat and began to gather his belongings. “Look, I’ve got a lot going on,” he explained. “This whole alternate universe thing spawned some crazy theories, some of which are half baked at best,” he tucked his primary laptop underneath his arm, “and they’re not ready for me to share. If one of them leads somewhere, I’ll tell you, but… for now, I can’t risk giving out bogus, okay?!”
Dick carefully put a hand out to calm the third Boy Wonder. “Tim—”
“I told you the concrete facts, Dick.” Realizing his voice was raising in volume, Tim took a deep breath. “I… I told you everything that Batman knows. I promise I’m not keeping you in the dark, it’s just…” another deep breath, “I don’t want to be wrong about anything on this.”
Any questions Dick had died on the tip of his tongue, and all he could respond with was, “it’s okay, Tim... I believe you.”
There was no response from the third Boy Wonder. Quietly, he gathered all of his belongings and stashed them all in the duffle bag hanging off of his chair. Slinging it over his shoulder, Tim turned towards his predecessor and mumbled a quiet, “… I’m sorry,” before making a b-line towards the exit.
Tim was weirdly… defensive. Dick wasn’t sure if he’s ever seen his successor get this way, but he definitely didn’t like it. Tim was hiding something, and whatever it is, it must been big; something not even Batman knows. And while it hurt to know that Tim of all people was withholding information from him, he at least had faith that the teen would eventually tell him (unlike… y’know… Batman). It was just a matter of waiting until Tim was fully sure of… whatever this crazy theory was.
Timmy was the one who told me about the other (Y/N) in the first place, Dick reminded himself. He’s not going to pull a Bruce on me.
In the meantime, Dick had other things to worry about, like returning to his duties as team leader, patrolling Blüdhaven, and…
… Guess it’s time to pay (Y/N) (L/N) a visit.
HERE
Naruto Team 7 x Reader
*Clasps hands together aggressively* ALRIGHT, Y’ALL. Time to share one of my favorite (currently) 2-parter family fic EVER CREATED. It’s called Let the Roots Take Hold by buddhaghost, and y’all do NOT know how many times I’ve read both stories. It’s basically just Narufoster home AU, and it’s very Sai-centric, and I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT. So, I decided to write fanfiction… for a fanfiction. Please read buddhaghost’s original, it’s SO GOOD.
Anyway’s summary time. Naruto has a nightmare, ruh-roh.
Reader is gender neutral.
Contains: Foster home AU, nightmares, implied child abuse/neglect, kind of Sai-centric, reader has self-doubts, reader can’t comfort anyone for shit, all platonic.
Iruka’s house was plagued with nightmares.
Before anyone gets it twisted, it’s not Iruka’s fault; the very thought was so ridiculous, it would cause you to burst out laughing (Iruka’s the last guy on earth to do anything nightmare-worthy). It’s just that… well… the 5 of you came from broken homes with varying types of scars and experiences. And while Iruka helped — and is still helping — with the fallout, those scars and experiences unfortunately linger around… pushed to the back of your minds until the darkest hours of night, when your conscious can’t filter out the bad thoughts from the good.
So, nightmares were common. Not necessarily nightly, but common enough where one of you five will wake up from one at least once a week. Iruka’s become acutely aware of this informal nightmare schedule… because of course he has a magical sixth sense like that, where he just so happens to check your rooms merely seconds after waking up in a cold sweat… and he’s made each of you promise to wake him should any of you have even the slightest of rough dreams.
But tonight, the informal nightmare schedule had Naruto down for a horrendous one, so his screams were enough to have everyone up.
It was admittedly kind of a blur to you; one moment, you’re being startled awake by the most shrillest cry, and then the next, you’ve somehow teleported to Naruto’s beside helping Sasuke calm him down. Sakura’s suddenly there, then Iruka, and the four of you manage to calm Naruto down from a full-blown panic attack. After his wild gasps for air turned into stable (though shaky) breaths, all of you quickly fell into your routines. Iruka gathered Naruto into a secure hug as the blonde began to sob. Sakura had one hand rubbing up and down Naruto’s shoulder soothingly while the other reached for his beloved stuffed toad Kichi. Sasuke took a seat near the foot of the bed as he gently patted Naruto’s knee.
And you…
You just stood there.
This was your role whenever Naruto had a nightmare; present, but not in the way. While you knew how to calm him down, it was Iruka, Sasuke, and Sakura who knew how to comfort him. So, you always let them do their thing as you stood dutifully at the bedside… your hands at your sides… fingers fiddling with the fabric of your nightwear… watching as Naruto’s sobs turned into quieter sniffles.
This was… a rough one. While it could’ve been worse — a lot worse — seeing one of your foster siblings in distress always put a stone in your chest. Not only because it was your family suffering, but because you know exactly what the post-nightmare panic feels like. And more often than not, all you can do is helplessly stare as Iruka provided the comfort to your siblings that you also so desperately wanted to provide for them. You wanted to be caring like Sakura, who has Kichi perfectly balanced in her lap and ready to hand off to Naruto when he felt better, or a protector like Sasuke, who can chase away nightmares with just one solid, grounding hand.
But… you weren’t like Sakura… and you weren’t like Sasuke. Their roles were carved from their own experiences… for better or for worse.
“… Iru…ka?”
Naruto’s muted voice snapped you out of your thoughts. It was crackly and hoarse, which is pretty on par for a post-nightmare-panic-crying session (doesn’t mean it broke your heart any less to hear, however). Scanning over your pseudo brother’s condition, you took note of his shaky hands and wobbly bottom lip. His tears may have stopped, but the urge to cry was still prevalent in his glossy and red-rimmed eyes.
Iruka adjusted his hold on Naruto so that he had a clear view of the blonde’s face. “I’m here, Naruto,” your foster father whispered. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, dark eyes shimmering with nothing but kindness and encouragement. You could feel the tension leaving your own body from the sight of it (Iruka had the ability to give out secondhand comfort. Because of course he did).
“… here,” Naruto echoed, almost unsure of his own words. He slowly directed his gaze to Sakura, then at Sasuke. “You’re here…”
“We’re here, Naruto,” confirmed Sakura. You could tell she was trying her best to put on a brave expression, though the reassuring smile didn’t reach her worried eyes. Sasuke seemed to pick up on this, and diverted Naruto’s attention by asking, “how are you feeling?”
The blonde didn’t answer for a while. As a blanket of silence settled within the room, a coil of apprehension formed in your stomach. His eyes were void of any readable emotion, a thin line present on his lips. From your peripheral vision, you could see Sakura clutching Kichi close to her body, and Sasuke grimacing from his own question.
Then, Naruto answered. “I’m thirsty.”
… You were pretty sure you even saw Iruka give a sigh of relief at that.
He wanted water. You could do that. If Sakura gives him care, and Sasuke gives him protection, then you can give him water. With the scare of him possibly disassociating out of the way, you let out an unsure um to test your voice. “I’ll go get you some. What color cup do you want?”
“Uh… one of the green ones, please.” His voice still held a bit of an edge to it, but you could tell he was slowly relaxing. You offered him a small grin and a thumbs up. “Sure thing.” You started making your way towards the door, but before you crossed the threshold, you turned back towards the bed and said; “I’ll be right back.”
Naruto slowly nodded, a shaky breath leaving his lips. You saw his shoulders — which seemed to hitch upwards when you had your back towards him — drop into a more eased position. Despite already having a general idea, that was more than enough confirmation to tell you what his nightmare was about; solitude. He hadn’t struggled like this in a while... of course, it helped immensely that you all accommodated for his separation anxiety, but he was doing really well at night. Then again, you knew better than to assume that a disorder can just go away like that.
This is just Naruto’s road to healing, you reminded yourself, rounding the corner towards the kitchen. We’re all on it just like him.
Next thing you knew, you were face to face with a shadowy figure.
… And you admittedly felt your soul leave your body for a few seconds.
Before your fight or flight instincts could kick in, the kitchen lights flicked on, effectively blinding you for a solid 3 seconds. It took a lot of rapid blinking to regain vision, and when you finally did, you were face to face with…
“Sai,” you gasped out, one of your hands clutching your heart as you try not to buckle towards the tiled floor. “Geez, man… you almost gave me a heart attack…!” A small pause. While your tone wasn’t admonishing, you weren’t sure how he would translate it. So, you decided to tack on a very light-hearted, “hi, there,” just to see if it balanced out somehow.
“Hi,” the ravenette responded. He seemed just as surprised as you were, with his eyes slightly wider than usual, and his eyebrows raised a fraction of a inch higher. These were minor details that you would’ve missed out on months ago, but now you were starting to get the hang of the smallest twitches in his facial muscles, pinpointing them to some sort of emotion. Surprised Sai was uncommon, but you can recall a handful of times when he’s used this expression (you’re glad you got surprised Sai over startled Sai, because startled Sai is… well… that’s a story for another day).
There was a beat of silence between the two of you. Just as you were studying over him, he seemed to be studying over you, and it wasn’t until about 10 seconds passed before your rather eccentric brother spoke up. “Sorry for scaring you. I was getting Naruto some water.”
It was then that you noticed he was holding a green cup in his hand. Oh… so, Sai was awake. Since he wasn’t with you guys in Naruto’s room, you kind of subconsciously assumed he was somehow still asleep... then again, it was kind of foolish to think that a former child soldier would sleep through screaming. You wanted to say something more profound — maybe praise him for how thoughtful he was being — but you had to curiously ask; “you were listening?”
At your question, Sai’s head tilted downwards, his dark eyes suddenly finding interest in the kitchen floor. You saw him subtly catch the inside of his mouth in between his teeth while his brows knit together the slightest bit. “Yes,” he answered. His voice was level, as though nothing was amiss, but the hesitation was enough to tell you otherwise. “He… said he was thirsty. So I got him some water.”
Discomfort. Sai was feeling discomfort. You could tell from the way his shoulders were stiff and hitched up, and how he held the green cup closer to his body; you’ve seen him so that with his sketchbook in public many times, whenever someone wanted to look through it. While you weren’t sure what he was exactly discomforted from, you wanted to help walk him through it.
Before he gave you a chance, however, the corners of his mouths pulled upwards into that uncanny smile, as though hooks and wires were puppeteering his face. “Did he say what color cup he wanted? I assumed it was green, but I can’t be too sure. If not, I can get another cup.”
“… He…” your voice died off. Watching Sai return to that fake smile as a shield was already a blow to your heart, but him guessing what color cup Naruto wanted? You had to steadily inhale through your nose to keep the shakiness out of your voice. “He said he wanted green. How did you know?”
“Naruto always swaddles himself in the green blanket whenever he’s sick,” the fair-skinned boy explained, eyes drifted towards the cup in his hands. “So I guessed based on that.”
Right… because Sai is the most observant out of all of you. Possible even more observant than Iruka. If anyone in your house were to pick up on a detail such as Naruto gravitating towards green for comfort, of course it would be him. You couldn’t help that warm smile spreading across your face at the thought of Sai taking note of something like that. “That’s… wow. It’s amazing how you remember those small things. I don’t know what to say.”
Seemingly not registering your words of praise, he kept his eyes on the cup. “Is… uh… Naruto okay?”
Uh.
Sai never says uh.
Yeah. Something was DEFINITELY wrong.
“He’s doing much better,” you began. “Still a little disoriented, but I’m sure he’ll be the same ol’ Naruto by morning.” You paused for about 4 seconds. Trying to connect the dots was… well, it was difficult. Sai was hard to read, despite learning how to express himself more and more these past months, but one thing seemed to be clear; it had something to do with Naruto. “He’s probably already back to complaining, too… what’s taking (Y/N) so long, huh?! I’m dying of thirst!! Or something like that.”
It was meant to be a joke. Not a good one, but just something to get a small, polite chuckle out of Sai. But your words seemed to have the opposite effect. Instead, you watched in horror as his bottom eyelids crinkled upwards, a single tear cascading down his pale cheek. His eyes held no pain or sadness, but just seeing a tear was enough to trigger your sibling comfort mode.
“Sai—?? What’s—”
He interrupted you. “That’s good.” A small pause, another tear streaming down his face. “I’m glad he’s okay.”
Before you knew it, tears were slipping down his face faster than you could process it. He didn’t sob, hiccup, or wail, only occasionally sniffling as he stared off into space. This… was new. You’ve helped reassure Sai before, distract him from some of his less than ideal feelings, and even stayed up late at night to give him company (… not to mention, keep an eye on him when it was… going rough), but him crying? God, where’s Iruka? Where’s Sakura? Hell, even Naruto and Sasuke were more well-versed in this field… do you call Kakashi? Tsunade? How would Sai perceive you leaving to grab your phone? Should you… huh him? No, he doesn’t like physical contact. You know this. What a useless thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Then it suddenly dawned upon you how dumb you must’ve looked;
You were just standing there.
Your hands at your sides.
Fingers fiddling with your nightwear.
Watching Sai sniffle.
This isn’t helping him, you urgently thought to yourself. Now’s not the time to freeze up. I… have to do something…!
But what can you do? He probably wasn’t too keen on the idea of a comforting hug, or a caring caress on his shoulder, or a protective hand grounding him. He didn’t like physical contact, so what would help him?
You’re not comforting, caring, or protective…
… but you are logical, right?
“Sai,” you gently started, “what are you feeling?”
He didn’t give you a response for the longest time. The absence of an answer made you increasingly aware just how quiet the house can be at night, though you swore you could distantly hear laughter coming from Naruto’s room. Maybe it was a dumb thing to ask… maybe you should’ve gotten Iruka, or called Kakashi or Tsunade, because you obviously can’t handle comforting someone on your—
“… Bad.”
It was a feint response; you almost didn’t hear him. But your ears managed to pick up on it, and you realized that you had some steam to work with. “Bad?”
“Yes.” He sniffled. “It feels bad. Here.”
You watched his point finger tap at his sternum. Trying not to furrow your brows, you tilted your head to the side and said, “in your chest?”
A nod. “It feels… bad.”
That’s… not a lot to go off of, but at least it’s something. The fact that Sai managed to label what he was feeling with a word in general made your heart fill with pride (you thought about telling Iruka, but you weren’t sure if Sai would be okay with that). “It feels bad,” you repeated. “Did it start feeling like that when you heard Naruto scream?”
The dark-haired boy seemed to think about this for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”
“Okay. Then…” you bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to think of a question. “When it start feeling bad?”
“At the doorway,” said Sai.
At the doorway? You were about to ask what he meant by that, but then it hit you; “The doorway to Naruto’s room?”
Another nod. “I heard him crying. It started feeling bad then.”
You weren’t exactly sure how to translate that. With a description as vague as “bad,” there were be many things Sai could be feeling. But you were right about it being connected to Naruto, so there was only way you could possible think to help him. “Would you… like to see Naruto?”
His red-rimmed eyes snapped up to yours (eye contact again. Another point for you, yay). From the way they widened by a fraction of an inch — the return of surprised Sai — you could tell that the very notion of seeing Naruto didn’t even cross his mind. He swiped at his face, drying it of any lingering tears, and returned to his neutral expression.
“… See him,” he echoed. It was like the words were foreign to his tongue, and something about that didn’t sit right with you. Did he think he wasn’t allowed to? Apprehension suddenly clogged your throat, your thoughts racing as you tried to recall anything you could’ve said or done to make him feel that way. Before you got too lost in your head, however, Sai brought you back to reality. “Can I see him?”
“You never needed anyone’s permission,” you were quick to assure him. “I think he would love to see you. It would make him feel better.” You started walking down the hall, still keeping your gaze on your foster brother. “Come on, let’s go give him his water. I bet he’s absolutely dying right now and cursing my name.”
This time, your joke seemed to land. Your last glimpse of Sai before you turned to face forward was of him softly smiling, and you let out the breath you didn’t even know you were holding in.
The trip to Naruto’s room was silent, and while it wasn’t a comfortable silence, it wasn’t necessarily an uncomfortable silence, either. You found yourselves in front of Naruto’s doorway rather quickly, but before you walked in, you noticed out of the corner of your eye how Sai hesitated in his steps. It was as though there was an invisible barrier keeping him from entering… something keeping him out.
You were about to turn around to reassure him, but Naruto’s voice rang out before you could. “(Y/N)! You’re back!!”
Everyone was looking at you now. They were still relatively in the same positions when you left, except Iruka had a chair pulled up to Naruto’s bedside. Kichi was secured tightly under the blonde’s left arm while his right one flailed in the air as a very energetic wave.
“We thought you got lost,” Sakura joked, her voice a bit strained as she talked mid-stretch.
You watched as corner of Sasuke’s mouth twitched, something he did in an attempt to not smile. “Did you forget the water?”
“Actually, Sai got the water,” you retorted. Finally looking behind you at the shadow in the doorway, you motioned for Sai to come in, but all he did was stare dumbly at you in return. It might’ve been because you put him on the spot… you usually never did that, as you hated making him uncomfortable, but this time, it was a necessary sacrifice. A sacrifice made out of love, if you will. He can be passive aggressive about it later, you didn’t really care.
“Sai?” Iruka’s tone held a hint of surprise in it, but not enough to overpower the ever-present warmth he spoke with. When his eyes landed on the boy in question, a kind smile broke out on his features. “Ah, that was very thoughtful of you, Sai.”
“And he got me a green cup,” cheered Naruto.
The praise Sai was receiving seemed to fall on deaf ears. He took a few unsure steps into the room, hesitated, then only continued further when he saw your reassuring smile. He had to reach over Sakura to hand Naruto the cup, but Sai’s steady hands kept it from spilling a drop. You watched intently as the blonde graciously accepted Sai’s offer, half of the water guzzled down within a millisecond.
“Geez, Naruto, slow down,” Sakura chided. “And what do you say to Sai?”
After lowering the cup, a satisfied ahhh left Naruto’s lips. “Thanks, Sai! I was dying of dehydration over here!”
Called it, you mentally scoffed.
Sai’s blank expression didn’t falter. He stood at Naruto’s bedside with such an uncomfortable stiffness, you couldn’t help but grimace a bit out of sympathy. This was new territory for him. From the way his lips pressed into a thin line as his fingers thrummed against the side of his leg, you definitely knew he was nervous. After taking a little time to scan over Naruto’s face, the dark-haired boy finally spoke up. “Are you…”
He trailed off completely. The thrumming fingers suddenly turned into full-on fidgety hands as he tried to find his own voice. Now that everyone’s attention was on him, his gaze was trained on Naruto’s colorful bead sheets, and you realized that it would be 10 times harder for him to get his words out.
So, you had to step in.
“Sai wants to know if you’re okay, Naruto.” Your eyes darted towards Iruka, who gave you an encouraging nod. “He was… worried.”
“Worried,” repeated Sai. He said it with such softness — such fondness — as he brought a hand up to his sternum. “Yes… I…” there was that crinkle in his eyelids again, and you were afraid he was going to start crying again. But instead, he looked back at Naruto with glossy eyes. “I was worried about you. Are you okay?”
Naruto seemingly didn’t know what to say. Unlike Sai, it didn’t take much to recognize whatever emotion was displayed on the blonde’s face, and from the wide eyes to unhinged jaw, you knew that he was surpised. This expression was soon replaced by pure joy, however, as a giant grin broke out on his face. “Ahhh, I’m fine!! No biggie!” He paused for a moment. “But… thanks for worrying about me. It means a lot, ya know?”
There was a fond smile on Sai’s face; one that fully reached his eyes. You could see the tension in his shoulders drop as his hands stilled their movement. On the bed, Sakura hitched her legs up to her chest as she potted the now vacant spot in front of her. “Join us,” she practically commanded. “Sasuke was just telling us about the time he totally wiped out on his skateboard trying to impress a girl.”
“I was not trying to impress her,” Sasuke quickly snapped back. “And I didn’t totally wipe out.”
“Yes you did!! Yes you did!!” Naruto gleefully jabbed his finger at the Uchiha. “I saw you!!”
Sasuke huffed. “You were too busy trying to catch frogs. You didn’t see anything!”
“Was not!!”
“Was too..!”
As the two began to bicker back and forth (with Sakura acting as the rogue devil’s advocate and Iruka just giving out a drawn-out sigh), Sai finally decided to take Sakura’s offer, sitting down on the bed as delicately as possible. He only contemptly observed the chaos that was unfolding, his head pivoting towards whoever was making the current retort. You couldn’t help but fondly chortle at the sight. This was your family; Iruka being the peacekeeper, Sasuke being rambunctious, Sakura being rambunctious-er, Naruto being rambunctious-est, Sai being just happy to be here...
And you…
“(Y/N)!”
You looked up to see Sai patting an empty spot next to him, much like how Sakura did earlier. It wasn’t exactly the biggest space, with 4 other people already on the bed, but it was just the right size for you to possibly squeeze in. Your heart filled with warmth at how Sai’s eyes sparkled with encouragement, so of course you had no choice but to walk over and plop yourself next to him.
Seeing you join everyone on the bed, Naruto let out a triumphant laugh. “Alright!! Nothin’ like a good ol’ nightmare to bring the fam together!!”
He thrusted his hands into the air from joy.
… Except he still had the cup of water in his hand.
So, the next thing you know, Naruto’s room forecast looked to be a 100% chance of showers as he managed to get everyone on the bed varying degrees of wet. Sakura let out a surprised yelp while Sasuke hunched over like a wet cat, and Sai… well, he somehow predicted this outcome and jumped off of the bed before a single drop could reach him, so he was spared. You, however, were not, as you tugged are your now wet nightwear, trying to process what just happened. Iruka was doing a bad job at covering his amusement with his hands as Sakura and Sasuke shouted in unison, “NARUTO!!!”
So, yeah. This was your family; Iruka being the peacekeeper, Sasuke being rambunctious, Sakura being rambunctious-er, Naruto being rambunctious-est, Sai being just happy to be here…
And you…
You were also just happy to be here.
HASARDER — PART 2
YJ/Teen Titans Dick Grayson x Reader
Prologue — Part 1 — Part 2
Trying to explain something that doesn’t exist is hard… so you can only imagine what it was like trying to explain the Titans to a bunch of skeptical cops. Luckily for you, they turned you over to a couple of people who believe your story slightly more.
Contains: civilian reader, mentions of death (your own), spoilers: you’re actually alive, it’s the you from the YJ universe that’s dead.
You have no idea who you are anymore.
Well, that isn’t true. You’re (Y/N) (L/N), and from how many times you’ve said your name to Leaguers (oh, yes; Leaguers, from the Justice League… but now’s certainly not the time to get starstruck all over again) from this week alone… god… it would be impossible to forget that you’re (Y/N) (L/N). You’ve told Batman, Martian Manhunter, some science guy named Adam, Doctor frickin’ Fate… not to mention all of the lab results that you’ve looked over (well, that you were allowed to look over, anyway. Dick would confide in you about the Bat’s preference for secrecy all the time, so you had a hunch what you’ve seen isn’t all there is to know)… all of them would have your name printed on them; (Y/N) (L/N).
So, yeah. The problem didn’t stem from who you were. It was… well… whose were you.
Of all of the people who got to run their little tests on you — the world’s greatest detective, a telepathic alien, a lord of order — you found it a little funny that it was the random science guy named Adam that provided some sort of lead on your situation. He did an MRI scan on you, and something emitting from your body caused the computers to fritz out a bit. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that there were traces of Zeta Beams in your body.
“Zeta Beams are what power our Zeta Tubes,” Adam explained. “You use Zeta to… teleport.”
Teleport…
Well, that would explain how you ended up on the other side of the country when you… died… in Rhode Island.
You addressed this hypothesis to Mr. Science Dude, wondering if that’s what he himself was thinking. It seemed logical, after all; it’s not like a dead person could get themselves across the country without raising a few federal eyebrows. But Adam shook his head at your words, steel eyes darkening with something unrecognizable.
“I… considered the possibility. Maybe you were somehow hit by a Zeta Beam before you died, and maybe something in string theory…” you recalled him shaking his head, as though to get rid of whatever digression he was going down. “(Y/N)… you’ve been an anomaly to us for a week straight. You died, and then showed up 2 years later in a town we know you’ve never been to. The next logical step — extreme, but still logical — was to dig up your grave, and… you’re still there. It’s still… you… in there.”
That all was his buildup to a jarring question;
“(Y/N)… how much do you know about parallel universes?”
That conversation happened a few days ago. You were now standing in front of the bathroom mirror of some random apartment Batman had you stashed you away in by Adam — a “safe house,” as he called it — studying each and every inch of your face. After waking up at 6 a.m. from a horrible dream about your towermates, you began to worry about the weirdest things. Were you a ghost? Was this all a fever dream from a coma? Did your friends randomly disappear off the face of the Earth like you did, and now they’re “dead” as well?
… Have you stopped looking like yourself?
That last one is why you were staring so intensely at your reflection in the mirror. You looked like… you. At least, you were pretty sure you looked like you. The same skin tone, eye color, hair style… yup, 100% (Y/N). And while you might’ve not been this… world’s… (Y/N), you were still your own (Y/N); the civilian housemate of the Teen Titans and Di— Robin’s best friend. You are the (Y/N) that plays fetch with Starfire and Beastboy, and watches Cyborg tinker with something in the garage while Raven reads in the corner. You are the (Y/N) that listens to Robin vent and then go out for milkshakes to make him feel better. No matter what bits and pieces you may hear about this other (Y/N), the one in the mirror is the one that’s… y’know… you.
I’m (Y/N) (L/N), you thought to yourself. And while I’m… a little lost right now, I’ll be back home with the Titans before I know it. The Justice League will make sure of it.
You watched in real time as your eyes hardened with determination. Batman promised you that they were working on something. While you weren’t exactly sure how parallel universes worked (it was hard to stomach the notion of parallel universes to begin with), you had no other choice but to believe that there was some way to get you back home. In a galaxy with super-powered humans, aliens, magicians, literal gods, what-have-you, there just has to be a way. You got here somehow in the first place, right? Surely, you can go back.
A faint knocking on your door caused you to snap out of your thoughts.
Knock knockknock knock.
Knockknockknockknock.
Knockknock knock.
Knock knock.
You furrowed your brows at the weird rhythm, until you remembered Batman’s instructions; don’t answer the door for anyone unless they knock in that specific pattern (apparently, the pattern was “chum” in Morse). If you heard the code-knock, then that meant it was him at the door, though he hadn’t visited since you since your last time in the lab. After giving yourself a final scan in the mirror, you made your way over to the door and mentally prepared yourself to be face to face with Batman.
… Except, upon opening the door, you weren’t face to face with Batman.
At the doorway stood a man around the same height as Batman, but most definitely not dressed like Batman. Instead, he was dressed like a business casual man, his crisp white button-up layered under a grey sweater and a black coat. His dark slacks looked recently ironed, and his shoes looked just polished. The entire ensemble made his worn down Gotham Knights hat look a bit out of place, but when you noticed his sunglasses, you recognized that this was no stylistic choice; he was undercover (being friends with Robin made you quite familiar with the “civvy” look).
Taking a few moments to study his face, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he looked… familiar. Not a personal kind of familiar, but a what-movie-have-I-seen-this-actor-be-in kind of familiar. That chiseled jawline, those prominent cheekbones, the slight beak of his upper lip… something about him screamed tabloid target to you, and it was eating away at the back of your brain.
Then, it finally hit you. “Bruce Wayne.”
The man in front of you grimaced, the corners of his lips twitching upwards for a fraction of a second as though he were attempted to smile. “You don’t… want an autograph, do you?”
“Uh… I’m good,” was all you could respond with. Formulating a sentence was quite difficult. What were you supposed to say to Gotham’s very own billionaire playboy? You know, they guy whose face is basically everywhere across not only the United States, but the entire world? The guy whose ward is your very own best friend Dick Grayson… who is also Robin… the sidekick of… well…
“… It really is true,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… him.”
A sigh left Bruce’s lips. “I’m guessing Dick told you everything, then.”
You shook your head at this. “Not really. He only told me his name was Dick. Then he showed me his face one day, and…” you tried to fight off the urge to look smug from your own detective skills. “Only so many people in the world have the same face as Richard Grayson.”
Just as only so many people in the world have the same face as (Y/N) (L/N).
That thought painfully reminded you of the reality of your situation. This wasn’t Bruce Wayne. Well, it was, but it wasn’t your Bruce Wayne. And his ward, Richard Grayson, wasn’t your Dick. These were all strangers that may look, sound, and act like people from your world, but… this wasn’t your world.
And one look at Mr. Wayne’s troubled face told you he was thinking something along those lines. “(Y/N)… can I come in?”
You silently nodded, stepping aside to make room. The billionaire crossed the threshold of the apartment and watched intently as you closed the door. No words were said for an uncomfortable couple of seconds, and you soon realized you would have to be the one to speak up first.
“So… is there anything new? About sending me home?”
Mr. Wayne pursed his lips together. “No. Nothing new.” One of his hands moved to soothingly plant itself on your shoulder. “But rest assured, we’re doing everything we can to figure out a way. We’ll get you home, (Y/N).”
This… was weird. Not just the fact that Bruce Wayne was comforting you, but the man that’s supposedly Batman — Gotham’s protector that strikes fear in the hearts of criminals — is being… well… kind. During your interrogations with the Caped Crusader, he was nothing but cold and distant with you, making you feel as though you’re guilty of something despite knowing you’ve done nothing wrong. And Dick tells you stories of Batman’s heartlessness all the time (by sticking his pointer fingers up by his head and doing his best Batman voice). Was it because you were talking to Bruce Wayne, and not Batman, that he was kind to you?
Maybe THIS Batman is just so different from MY Batman, you mentally noted.
Nevertheless, you offered Mr. Wayne a sad smile. “Thank you… and…” your smile dropped as you thought of this world’s (Y/N), “… I’m sorry…”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” said Mr. Wayne. “You have no idea how you ended up here, and really, this whole thing is a field day for our trusted scientists.” He offered you a lopsided grin. “Adam Strange has been talking everyone’s ear off about… stuff that I don’t really understand.”
You tried to give out a humored laugh, but it came out more as a pathetic chortle. “Always happy to help make earth-shattering discoveries in the realm of theoretical physics.”
But… of all the people in the world (well, you’re world) to be a scientific anomaly, why did it have to be you? You were just a normal civilian that just so happened to live with the Titans. There’s no reason why you should be involved with this whole parallel universe fiasco… and what if there isn’t a way to send you home? What if there’s so many parallel universes out there that it’s impossible to pinpoint yours? What if you spent the rest of your life being studied by scientist after scientist in this foreign timeline, while your own universe becomes nothing but a distant memory?
Mr. Wayne’s deep voice brought you back to reality. “(Y/N)…”
Your eyes snapped back to him. “Uh… yeah?”
“I… didn’t just want to check up on you,” the billionaire hesitantly admitted, his brows furrowed with uncertainty. “There’s… well… there’s something…”
The way he trailed off made you feel uneasy. Though you were hoping this wasn’t going where you thought it was going, you knew it had something to do with… the elephant in the room. It was the one thing for the past week that caused your stomach to churn and your throat to constrict with pure guilt.
Of course, never addressing it seemed very unlikely. “It’s about… your (Y/N), isn’t it?”
Mr. Wayne stood as Still as a statue for a brief period, but eventually let out a shaky sigh. “The only people who know about… this situation… are me, Martian Manhunter, Adam Strange, and Doctor Fate. We have a few JL-affiliated scientists working on the possibility of dimensional travel, but… your name has been kept out of those projects.” His voice was becoming more and more gruff, reminiscent of the Batman voice you were accustomed to. “You do understand why it’s preferable that way, right?”
“Everyone who knew the (Y/N) here knows they’re…” you could barely finish your sentence without the stinging sensation of bile rising in your throat. “They’re… dead. It’s just better to keep your (Y/N)’s close ones away from all of this… just so no one gets false hope.”
At your response, Mr. Wayne nodded. “Exactly. We’re trying to send you home without anyone noticing you were here.” He then bowed his head towards the floor. “At least… that was the plan…”
You dumbly blinked at him. “Was?”
The billionaire took his sunglasses off to rub his face. “… Dick… he…”
Your heart rate picked up when he mentioned Dick, but you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t your Dick he was talking about. This Dick wasn’t your best friend that you like to hang out with around Jump City. All you could do was patiently wait for Mr. Wayne to continue as apprehension ate at your brain.
“He found out,” he finally admitted. “About you. I don’t know how, but I’m sure he had… some help.” Worry lines formed on his face as his ocean-colored eyes found yours. “He wasn’t happy that he was kept out of the loop, and… he wants to see you.”
“But I’m not his (Y/N),” you quickly blurted out. “I… I mean… I’m not the (Y/N) from this world. I’m not the same (Y/N) that… knew him.”
“And he knows you aren’t.” Mr. Wayne’s frown somehow grew bigger. “At least, he says that he knows you aren’t. He just feels… kept in the dark. You were his— (Y/N) was his best friend, and he told me that… I shouldn’t keep secrets about his best friend. Even if it… isn’t…”
“… his best friend,” you finished.
Mr. Wayne slowly nodded. There was a blanket of silence that fell over the room, and it felt like hours later when the billionaire spoke up again. “He was… extremely upset. You two were close, so I… I understand. But… you were also close with so many other people that… that it’s…” he had to lean against the wall to steady himself. “I thought I… was doing the right thing. I thought I was saving him from so much pain and… and heartache by hiding all of this…”
The immense self-pity that wafted from his form reminded you so much of Dick that you struggled to breathe. Moments like these were all too familiar to you; Dick would disappear after a mission, and you would find him beating himself over the head for something. You wondered if the Dick in this universe was the same exact way, and if the Dick from your universe got it from your Batman.
“Dick never liked secrets,” you began, putting a hand on Mr. Wayne’s shoulder, much like he did for you not too long ago. “He would always tell me about some guy named B, and how B didn’t seem to trust him.” You cleared your throat in order to attempt your best Robin impression. “I’m his partner!! He needs to trust me more!! I don’t wanna have anything to do with him!!”
A sad puff of air left the man’s lips. “… That definitely sounds familiar.”
“But if there’s one thing I know about Dick…” you couldn’t help but roll your else. “He’s a giant hypocrite.” Mr. Wayne’s eyes snapped up to meet yours quizzically while you continued. “Do you know how many secrets he’s hidden from the Titans? And how many he still keeps hidden? Can’t believe that guy has the audacity to go on and on about how he hates B’s lies, only to turn around and lie to his own team.” Throwing your arms up dramatically, you let out a frustrated sigh. “And I tell him! Every time his secrets are brought to light, I tell him, Dick, why would you keep secrets from your team if you hate secrets? And you know what he says?“
Mr. Wayne continued to stare at you. You gave him a reassuring smile and answered your own question, “he says, I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“… Wow,” was all the man could mutter.
“Deep down, he knows you were trying to keep him safe,” you explained, heart squeezing as you thought about your best friend. “Because it’s the same thing he would’ve done.”
Another puff of air came from Mr. Wayne, though it sounded more humorous than the last one. “You always knew him better. Probably could predict his next move before he even thinks to make it.” Any fondness that he held in his face turned stone cold. “… It’s been hard. Without you, I mean. It’s been hard for him, for me, for everyone. If only…” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I… this must be uncomfortable for you.”
A frown tugged at the corner of your lips as you watched him straighten up. “It’s okay, Mr. Wayne… I understand. It’s… probably better to get everything off of your chest, right? Maybe it’ll help with healing?”
“… You’re not (Y/N),” the man uttered, voice barely above a whisper. It was hard to tell if he was speaking to you or himself, so you didn’t respond (it was hard to tell if you even had the right to respond). Taking a few steps towards the doorway, he gave you a solemn look. “I… apologize for putting you in an awkward position, with mentioning Dick and all, but I just wanted to give you a word of warning.”
“A word of warning,” your flat voice echoed.
He nodded, fiddling with his sunglasses. “He’ll show up here eventually when he obtains the address. It’s… inevitable, and I know I can’t do anything to stop it. But… when he does…” a small pause, “be careful with what you say.”
Though he didn’t elaborate, you knew exactly what he meant; don’t give Dick any false hope. A heavy lump formed in your throat as you tried to give a response. “Of course… I will.”
And, with that, Bruce Wayne was out the door.
Your first encounter with this universe’s Bruce Wayne was officially over. This was a crazy week (to say the least), but you never thought that your next VIP visitor would be Bruce Wayne. And he seemed… very unstable. Which you totally understood; you’re a parallel version, or alternate dimension version, or a whatever version of a very dead (Y/N), and that (Y/N) was close to a lot of people (including Batman, apparently?). It didn’t help that he and Dick must’ve had a fight quite recently, and you could only imagine how hard it was to admit to your son that you were keeping secrets… for his protection… again. Yeah, you don’t blame him for that tiny pity party he had.
Putting billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne aside for a moment, your thoughts went to Dick.
He’s trying to come see you.
You had… absolutely no idea how to feel about this. Part of you was excited, relieved even, to see his face. After an entire week of not seeing your best friend’s face, it would calm you down significantly. But… of course… this wasn’t your best friend; this was another (Y/N)’s best friend. And that (Y/N) is… no longer here. Excitement boiled into dread very quickly at the thought. This Dick Grayson knew you weren’t his (Y/N) (L/N)… so why would he want to come see you? At first, you thought it might’ve been for closure. While you weren’t his (Y/N), you were still (Y/N) in general, and maybe seeing you would be enough to help him… move on.
The thought sounded nice… but you knew Richard John “Dick” Grayson better than that.
Dick is a very defensive person… especially when it comes to the honor of his friends. If things start getting rough, you can practically see him put his shields up. And if he feels like things have gone too far, he’ll go fully offensive. You’ve seen it happen countless of times with you and the Titans, where he steps in with a sharp tongue and fists ready to fly whenever some unlucky jerk comes after one of you.
This Dick Grayson wasn’t your Dick Grayson, but judging from your conversation with Mr. Wayne, he’s pretty dang similar in both worlds. And if this world’s (Y/N) was his friend…
Then you’re the unlucky jerk coming after them.
TAGLIST:
@swthxrry @igotanidea @byebyeeye @meigalaxy @pietrosbae @phoenix666stuff @sammy-hammy @devourmegoku @c-ms1ut ;; Sorry if I’m forgetting anyone. ^^;;
HASARDER — PART 2
YJ/Teen Titans Dick Grayson x Reader
Part 1 << MASTERLIST >> Part 3
Trying to explain something that doesn’t exist is hard… so you can only imagine what it was like trying to explain the Titans to a bunch of skeptical cops. Luckily for you, they turned you over to a couple of people who believe your story slightly more.
Reader is gender neutral.
Contains: civilian reader, mentions of death (your own), spoilers: you’re actually alive, it’s the you from the YJ universe that’s dead.
You have no idea who you are anymore.
Well, that isn’t true. You’re (Y/N) (L/N), and from how many times you’ve said your name to Leaguers (oh, yes; Leaguers, from the Justice League… but now’s certainly not the time to get starstruck all over again) from this week alone… god… it would be impossible to forget that you’re (Y/N) (L/N). You’ve told Batman, Martian Manhunter, some science guy named Adam, Doctor frickin’ Fate… not to mention all of the lab results that you’ve looked over (well, that you were allowed to look over, anyway. Dick would confide in you about the Bat’s preference for secrecy all the time, so you had a hunch what you’ve seen isn’t all there is to know)… all of them would have your name printed on them; (Y/N) (L/N).
So, yeah. The problem didn’t stem from who you were. It was… well… whose were you.
Of all of the people who got to run their little tests on you — the world’s greatest detective, a telepathic alien, a lord of order — you found it a little funny that it was the random science guy named Adam that provided some sort of lead on your situation. He did an MRI scan on you, and something emitting from your body caused the computers to fritz out a bit. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that there were traces of Zeta Beams in your body.
“Zeta Beams are what power our Zeta Tubes,” Adam explained. “You use Zeta to… teleport.”
Teleport…
Well, that would explain how you ended up on the other side of the country when you… died… in Rhode Island.
You addressed this hypothesis to Mr. Science Dude, wondering if that’s what he himself was thinking. It seemed logical, after all; it’s not like a dead person could get themselves across the country without raising a few federal eyebrows. But Adam shook his head at your words, steel eyes darkening with something unrecognizable.
“I… considered the possibility. Maybe you were somehow hit by a Zeta Beam before you died, and maybe something in string theory…” you recalled him shaking his head, as though to get rid of whatever digression he was going down. “(Y/N)… you’ve been an anomaly to us for a week straight. You died, and then showed up 2 years later in a town we know you’ve never been to. The next logical step — extreme, but still logical — was to dig up your grave, and… you’re still there. It’s still… you… in there.”
That all was his buildup to a jarring question;
“(Y/N)… how much do you know about parallel universes?”
That conversation happened a few days ago. You were now standing in front of the bathroom mirror of some random apartment Batman had you stashed you away in by Adam — a “safe house,” as he called it — studying each and every inch of your face. After waking up at 6 a.m. from a horrible dream about your towermates, you began to worry about the weirdest things. Were you a ghost? Was this all a fever dream from a coma? Did your friends randomly disappear off the face of the Earth like you did, and now they’re “dead” as well?
… Have you stopped looking like yourself?
That last one is why you were staring so intensely at your reflection in the mirror. You looked like… you. At least, you were pretty sure you looked like you. The same skin tone, eye color, hair style… yup, 100% (Y/N). And while you might’ve not been this… world’s… (Y/N), you were still your own (Y/N); the civilian housemate of the Teen Titans and Di— Robin’s best friend. You are the (Y/N) that plays fetch with Starfire and Beastboy, and watches Cyborg tinker with something in the garage while Raven reads in the corner. You are the (Y/N) that listens to Robin vent and then go out for milkshakes to make him feel better. No matter what bits and pieces you may hear about this other (Y/N), the one in the mirror is the one that’s… y’know… you.
I’m (Y/N) (L/N), you thought to yourself. And while I’m… a little lost right now, I’ll be back home with the Titans before I know it. The Justice League will make sure of it.
You watched in real time as your eyes hardened with determination. Batman promised you that they were working on something. While you weren’t exactly sure how parallel universes worked (it was hard to stomach the notion of parallel universes to begin with), you had no other choice but to believe that there was some way to get you back home. In a galaxy with super-powered humans, aliens, magicians, literal gods, what-have-you, there just has to be a way. You got here somehow in the first place, right? Surely, you can go back.
A faint knocking on your door caused you to snap out of your thoughts.
Knock knockknock knock.
Knockknockknockknock.
Knockknock knock.
Knock knock.
You furrowed your brows at the weird rhythm, until you remembered Batman’s instructions; don’t answer the door for anyone unless they knock in that specific pattern (apparently, the pattern was “chum” in Morse). If you heard the code-knock, then that meant it was him at the door, though he hadn’t visited since you since your last time in the lab. After giving yourself a final scan in the mirror, you made your way over to the door and mentally prepared yourself to be face to face with Batman.
… Except, upon opening the door, you weren’t face to face with Batman.
At the doorway stood a man around the same height as Batman, but most definitely not dressed like Batman. Instead, he was dressed like a business casual man, his crisp white button-up layered under a grey sweater and a black coat. His dark slacks looked recently ironed, and his shoes looked just polished. The entire ensemble made his worn down Gotham Knights hat look a bit out of place, but when you noticed his sunglasses, you recognized that this was no stylistic choice; he was undercover (being friends with Robin made you quite familiar with the “civvy” look).
Taking a few moments to study his face, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he looked… familiar. Not a personal kind of familiar, but a what-movie-have-I-seen-this-actor-be-in kind of familiar. That chiseled jawline, those prominent cheekbones, the slight beak of his upper lip… something about him screamed tabloid target to you, and it was eating away at the back of your brain.
Then, it finally hit you. “Bruce Wayne.”
The man in front of you grimaced, the corners of his lips twitching upwards for a fraction of a second as though he were attempted to smile. “You don’t… want an autograph, do you?”
“Uh… I’m good,” was all you could respond with. Formulating a sentence was quite difficult. What were you supposed to say to Gotham’s very own billionaire playboy? You know, they guy whose face is basically everywhere across not only the United States, but the entire world? The guy whose ward is your very own best friend Dick Grayson… who is also Robin… the sidekick of… well…
“… It really is true,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… him.”
A sigh left Bruce’s lips. “I’m guessing Dick told you everything, then.”
You shook your head at this. “Not really. He only told me his name was Dick. Then he showed me his face one day, and…” you tried to fight off the urge to look smug from your own detective skills. “Only so many people in the world have the same face as Richard Grayson.”
Just as only so many people in the world have the same face as (Y/N) (L/N).
That thought painfully reminded you of the reality of your situation. This wasn’t Bruce Wayne. Well, it was, but it wasn’t your Bruce Wayne. And his ward, Richard Grayson, wasn’t your Dick. These were all strangers that may look, sound, and act like people from your world, but… this wasn’t your world.
And one look at Mr. Wayne’s troubled face told you he was thinking something along those lines. “(Y/N)… can I come in?”
You silently nodded, stepping aside to make room. The billionaire crossed the threshold of the apartment and watched intently as you closed the door. No words were said for an uncomfortable couple of seconds, and you soon realized you would have to be the one to speak up first.
“So… is there anything new? About sending me home?”
Mr. Wayne pursed his lips together. “No. Nothing new.” One of his hands moved to soothingly plant itself on your shoulder. “But rest assured, we’re doing everything we can to figure out a way. We’ll get you home, (Y/N).”
This… was weird. Not just the fact that Bruce Wayne was comforting you, but the man that’s supposedly Batman — Gotham’s protector that strikes fear in the hearts of criminals — is being… well… kind. During your interrogations with the Caped Crusader, he was nothing but cold and distant with you, making you feel as though you’re guilty of something despite knowing you’ve done nothing wrong. And Dick tells you stories of Batman’s heartlessness all the time (by sticking his pointer fingers up by his head and doing his best Batman voice). Was it because you were talking to Bruce Wayne, and not Batman, that he was kind to you?
Maybe THIS Batman is just so different from MY Batman, you mentally noted.
Nevertheless, you offered Mr. Wayne a sad smile. “Thank you… and…” your smile dropped as you thought of this world’s (Y/N), “… I’m sorry…”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” said Mr. Wayne. “You have no idea how you ended up here, and really, this whole thing is a field day for our trusted scientists.” He offered you a lopsided grin. “Adam Strange has been talking everyone’s ear off about… stuff that I don’t really understand.”
You tried to give out a humored laugh, but it came out more as a pathetic chortle. “Always happy to help make earth-shattering discoveries in the realm of theoretical physics.”
But… of all the people in the world (well, you’re world) to be a scientific anomaly, why did it have to be you? You were just a normal civilian that just so happened to live with the Titans. There’s no reason why you should be involved with this whole parallel universe fiasco… and what if there isn’t a way to send you home? What if there’s so many parallel universes out there that it’s impossible to pinpoint yours? What if you spent the rest of your life being studied by scientist after scientist in this foreign timeline, while your own universe becomes nothing but a distant memory?
Mr. Wayne’s deep voice brought you back to reality. “(Y/N)…”
Your eyes snapped back to him. “Uh… yeah?”
“I… didn’t just want to check up on you,” the billionaire hesitantly admitted, his brows furrowed with uncertainty. “There’s… well… there’s something…”
The way he trailed off made you feel uneasy. Though you were hoping this wasn’t going where you thought it was going, you knew it had something to do with… the elephant in the room. It was the one thing for the past week that caused your stomach to churn and your throat to constrict with pure guilt.
Of course, never addressing it seemed very unlikely. “It’s about… your (Y/N), isn’t it?”
Mr. Wayne stood as Still as a statue for a brief period, but eventually let out a shaky sigh. “The only people who know about… this situation… are me, Martian Manhunter, Adam Strange, and Doctor Fate. We have a few JL-affiliated scientists working on the possibility of dimensional travel, but… your name has been kept out of those projects.” His voice was becoming more and more gruff, reminiscent of the Batman voice you were accustomed to. “You do understand why it’s preferable that way, right?”
“Everyone who knew the (Y/N) here knows they’re…” you could barely finish your sentence without the stinging sensation of bile rising in your throat. “They’re… dead. It’s just better to keep your (Y/N)’s close ones away from all of this… just so no one gets false hope.”
At your response, Mr. Wayne nodded. “Exactly. We’re trying to send you home without anyone noticing you were here.” He then bowed his head towards the floor. “At least… that was the plan…”
You dumbly blinked at him. “Was?”
The billionaire took his sunglasses off to rub his face. “… Dick… he…”
Your heart rate picked up when he mentioned Dick, but you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t your Dick he was talking about. This Dick wasn’t your best friend that you like to hang out with around Jump City. All you could do was patiently wait for Mr. Wayne to continue as apprehension ate at your brain.
“He found out,” he finally admitted. “About you. I don’t know how, but I’m sure he had… some help.” Worry lines formed on his face as his ocean-colored eyes found yours. “He wasn’t happy that he was kept out of the loop, and… he wants to see you.”
“But I’m not his (Y/N),” you quickly blurted out. “I… I mean… I’m not the (Y/N) from this world. I’m not the same (Y/N) that… knew him.”
“And he knows you aren’t.” Mr. Wayne’s frown somehow grew bigger. “At least, he says that he knows you aren’t. He just feels… kept in the dark. You were his— (Y/N) was his best friend, and he told me that… I shouldn’t keep secrets about his best friend. Even if it… isn’t…”
“… his best friend,” you finished.
Mr. Wayne slowly nodded. There was a blanket of silence that fell over the room, and it felt like hours later when the billionaire spoke up again. “He was… extremely upset. You two were close, so I… I understand. But… you were also close with so many other people that… that it’s…” he had to lean against the wall to steady himself. “I thought I… was doing the right thing. I thought I was saving him from so much pain and… and heartache by hiding all of this…”
The immense self-pity that wafted from his form reminded you so much of Dick that you struggled to breathe. Moments like these were all too familiar to you; Dick would disappear after a mission, and you would find him beating himself over the head for something. You wondered if the Dick in this universe was the same exact way, and if the Dick from your universe got it from your Batman.
“Dick never liked secrets,” you began, putting a hand on Mr. Wayne’s shoulder, much like he did for you not too long ago. “He would always tell me about some guy named B, and how B didn’t seem to trust him.” You cleared your throat in order to attempt your best Robin impression. “I’m his partner!! He needs to trust me more!! I don’t wanna have anything to do with him!!”
A sad puff of air left the man’s lips. “… That definitely sounds familiar.”
“But if there’s one thing I know about Dick…” you couldn’t help but roll your else. “He’s a giant hypocrite.” Mr. Wayne’s eyes snapped up to meet yours quizzically while you continued. “Do you know how many secrets he’s hidden from the Titans? And how many he still keeps hidden? Can’t believe that guy has the audacity to go on and on about how he hates B’s lies, only to turn around and lie to his own team.” Throwing your arms up dramatically, you let out a frustrated sigh. “And I tell him! Every time his secrets are brought to light, I tell him, Dick, why would you keep secrets from your team if you hate secrets? And you know what he says?“
Mr. Wayne continued to stare at you. You gave him a reassuring smile and answered your own question, “he says, I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“… Wow,” was all the man could mutter.
“Deep down, he knows you were trying to keep him safe,” you explained, heart squeezing as you thought about your best friend. “Because it’s the same thing he would’ve done.”
Another puff of air came from Mr. Wayne, though it sounded more humorous than the last one. “You always knew him better. Probably could predict his next move before he even thinks to make it.” Any fondness that he held in his face turned stone cold. “… It’s been hard. Without you, I mean. It’s been hard for him, for me, for everyone. If only…” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I… this must be uncomfortable for you.”
A frown tugged at the corner of your lips as you watched him straighten up. “It’s okay, Mr. Wayne… I understand. It’s… probably better to get everything off of your chest, right? Maybe it’ll help with healing?”
“… You’re not (Y/N),” the man uttered, voice barely above a whisper. It was hard to tell if he was speaking to you or himself, so you didn’t respond (it was hard to tell if you even had the right to respond). Taking a few steps towards the doorway, he gave you a solemn look. “I… apologize for putting you in an awkward position, with mentioning Dick and all, but I just wanted to give you a word of warning.”
“A word of warning,” your flat voice echoed.
He nodded, fiddling with his sunglasses. “He’ll show up here eventually when he obtains the address. It’s… inevitable, and I know I can’t do anything to stop it. But… when he does…” a small pause, “be careful with what you say.”
Though he didn’t elaborate, you knew exactly what he meant; don’t give Dick any false hope. A heavy lump formed in your throat as you tried to give a response. “Of course… I will.”
And, with that, Bruce Wayne was out the door.
Your first encounter with this universe’s Bruce Wayne was officially over. This was a crazy week (to say the least), but you never thought that your next VIP visitor would be Bruce Wayne. And he seemed… very unstable. Which you totally understood; you’re a parallel version, or alternate dimension version, or a whatever version of a very dead (Y/N), and that (Y/N) was close to a lot of people (including Batman, apparently?). It didn’t help that he and Dick must’ve had a fight quite recently, and you could only imagine how hard it was to admit to your son that you were keeping secrets… for his protection… again. Yeah, you don’t blame him for that tiny pity party he had.
Putting billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne aside for a moment, your thoughts went to Dick.
He’s trying to come see you.
You had… absolutely no idea how to feel about this. Part of you was excited, relieved even, to see his face. After an entire week of not seeing your best friend’s face, it would calm you down significantly. But… of course… this wasn’t your best friend; this was another (Y/N)’s best friend. And that (Y/N) is… no longer here. Excitement boiled into dread very quickly at the thought. This Dick Grayson knew you weren’t his (Y/N) (L/N)… so why would he want to come see you? At first, you thought it might’ve been for closure. While you weren’t his (Y/N), you were still (Y/N) in general, and maybe seeing you would be enough to help him… move on.
The thought sounded nice… but you knew Richard John “Dick” Grayson better than that.
Dick is a very defensive person… especially when it comes to the honor of his friends. If things start getting rough, you can practically see him put his shields up. And if he feels like things have gone too far, he’ll go fully offensive. You’ve seen it happen countless of times with you and the Titans, where he steps in with a sharp tongue and fists ready to fly whenever some unlucky jerk comes after one of you.
This Dick Grayson wasn’t your Dick Grayson, but judging from your conversation with Mr. Wayne, he’s pretty dang similar in both worlds. And if this world’s (Y/N) was his friend…
Then you’re the unlucky jerk coming after them.
FIRST DANCE SONGS
DC various x Reader
Just some of my favs and what I think their first dances at their wedding would be like. What song they would choose, if they’d cry or not, etc.
Reader is gender neutral.
Contains: wedding dances, romantic relationship between character and reader, a shit ton of fluffy mushy thoughts, DC men are allowed to cry because yes.
Clark Kent — Easy choice; Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley. I can imagine this song being Jonathan and Martha Kent’s song when they got married. He has a 60% chance of crying; 70% if he catches a glimpse of Ma and Pa holding hands, softly singing the lyrics to each other. There’s also a game that wedding DJs will sometimes do to see which guests have been married the longest (if you aren’t familiar, they’ll call up all of the married guests to dance, and they’ll periodically say, “if you’ve been married for X amount of years, sit down.”), so I can imagine At Last by Etta James beginning to play after your first dance, and you and Clark would be smiling as you watch the last couple standing; Jonathan and Martha Kent.
Bruce Wayne — Just Breathe by Pearl Jam, and he’s 100% crying. That’s what happens when you make eye contact with a misty-eyed Alfred. He wouldn’t do any fancy spinning or dipping with you because he’s too busy holding you close (both to hide the fact that he’s crying and because he never wants to let go). Other songs that may start playing afterwards range from Check Yes, Juliet by We The Kings and Super Bass by Nicki Minaj (a surprise for the both of you). Also, a picture of your first dance may or may not end up on the cover of some tabloid magazine, despite any of your efforts to keep your wedding from the public’s eye.
Hal Jordan — No one was surprised to hear Stand By Me by Ben E. King start playing for your first dance. However, what they were surprised by was how watery Hal’s eyes were. He has a 50% chance of crying during your first dance, though he’d cover it up by laughing as he let you goofily twirl him around. The last minute or so would just be you two with your arms around each other, foreheads touching, eyes filled with love and adoration for each other… and then the beginning of Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey would cause you two to collapse into each other with fond laughter. Expect to see Hal absolutely shred the air guitar.
Dick Grayson — You’d probably have to get through a few ABBA songs before your first dance (because Dick is The Dancing Queen™), but it’s worth it when All of Me by John Legend starts up. I’d love to think that the two of you have slow-danced to this song under the stars as a date, so of course you two would agree on this song. Has a 75% chance of crying (despite crying earlier during the actual ceremony) because you’re just so stunning to him while you sway in each other’s arms. He’d probably want a more upbeat song to play afterwards, like La Da Dee by Cody Simpson or Sugar by Maroon 5, and he’ll absolutely dramatically sing the lyrics to you.
Jason Todd — A lot about your wedding may differ depending on if Jason is comfortable with an actual ceremony or not, but one thing that stays consistent is Falling Like the Stars by James Arthur as your first dance song. He’d probably have a 30% chance of crying in front of other people, but if your wedding something more private, that number easily spikes up to 80%. Be prepared to be held tight against him. Heck, he might not let you go even after the song ends. If you have a traditional wedding, he’d have an arm around you as the two of you sit down and watch everyone else dance to Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen.
Tim Drake — I can see First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes being your song. Tim’s not exactly a dancer, so it may be the two of you just swaying back and forth, but he’d gladly let a spin or two happen if it makes your face light up. The odds of him crying are pretty low at 25%, meaning the most you’ll probably see is the slightest shimmer in his eyes (but Cassie, Bart, Kon, and Dick are 100% in shambles as you two dance). He’ll stare at you with complete adoration, contempt with just being with you, along with a giant smile gracing his lips for the duration of your dance. Something punk-rock/emo like Sugar, We’re Goin’ Down by Fallout Boy has to be the follow-up song. I don’t make the rules.
Wally West — Because I imagine your first date being a Disney movie marathon, Can You Feel the Love Tonight by Elton John fits perfectly. He’d probably hum the melody while bringing your foreheads together, eyes sparkling if you hum along with him. Be prepared to be twirled or dipped unexpectedly (he loves catching you by surprise). I’d say there’s a 50% chance of him crying, since he might be able to hold it together until something preppier plays like Shut Up and Dance by WALK THE MOON (and yes, much like Dick, he’ll dramatically sing the lyrics to you). You two will do so many goofy dance moves together, I can guarantee it.
Victor Stone — “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” is an underrated movie date idea, which is why I declare your first dance song to be Moon River by Audrey Hepburn. Slow dancing with Vic is so soft; he’ll gently sway with you and hold you so delicately. Not a big crier, so you’re at a 40% chance of that, but it’ll easily jump up to 60% if you rest your head against his shoulder or chest. Afterwards, I can totally see something like Without You by David Guetta playing. The energy on the dance floor would go from 0 to 100 when the chorus hits, everyone jumping on the dance floor like it’s a concert, while you and Vic spin each other around with warm laughter.
Kara Danvers — A few Taylor Swift and Kelly Clarkson songs later, you’d find yourselves dancing to Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers. It’s a classic, and I can totally see you two having your first kiss at an ice cream parlor with this playing in the background. I’d say there’s a 45% chance of you seeing happy tears in Kara’s eyes. There’d be a big smile on her face as she let you spin her, your arms wrapping around each other. And of course Teenage Dream by Katy Perry plays afterwards. Clark will come up to you two with a teary congratulations, and you’ll start doing a goofy three-way dance, and that somehow evolves into a giant conga line with Clark in the lead.
Jaime Reyes — I have this feeling that Jaime gets really insecure about himself, so Corazón Sin Cara by Prince Royce is the natural choice. It’s a reminder that you’ll love him as he is, just as he’ll love you as you are. While there’s a 60% of him full-on crying, there’s a 100% chance of him getting teary-eyed at the lyric, “solo sé que yo te quiero así” (I only know that I love you like this). He’s big on hand holding — he loves to rub his thumb over the back of your hand — so he’ll have at least one of your hands in his through the entire dance. After Royce fades out, I can see either Kiss You by One Direction playing, or Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley (you both forgot about the conversation you had about how funny Rick Rolling your guests would be… effectively Rick Rolling yourselves).
Zatanna Zatara — Like I’m Gonna Loose You by Meghan Trainor has that swing sound that Zee loves to dance to. She’d get a little playful with dips and spins, but that’s only to cover up the fact that she’s at a 75% of crying; you can tell by her breathy chuckles as she rests her head against your shoulder. I think it would be really cute if she did a spell to make the air sparkle like fireflies around you two near the beginning of the song. And she’ll definitely whisper an I love you backwards to you, something I’m sure you’d be familiar with in your relationship. Also, Magic by B.o.B was suggested by you as a joke, but Zatanna was like, “that’s actually so good,” so that’s the song playing afterwards. Whoops.
QUICK! DISTRACTION!
YJ Tim Drake + Reader x Dick Grayson
The mission goes slightly awry, and as a senior member, it’s up to you to keep Tim calm with a distraction… which kinda comes at the expense of Dick’s pride.
I’ve been thinking of starting a strictly platonic relationship blog. Let me know if you’re interested.
The reader is gender neutral.
Contains: landslide, Jaime gets concussed, getting stuck in a cave, anxious Tim, lowkey autism-coded Tim, Dick shows up at the end, it’s up to you if Dick and the reader are romantically involved, senior member reader, Tim and Jaime are basically reader’s children.
Tim was always hard on himself. Whether it was his training as Robin (Batman’s sidekick), his tiring life as Timothy Drake (the heir of Drake Industries), or even his downtime with friends as just plain Tim (a socially awkward teenager), he always found some way to critique himself; to tear himself down by over-analyzing all his mistakes — no matter how big or small — and replay them in his mind over and over and over again. He’d always promise himself that he’d do better, despite the fact that “better” usually meant a flawlessly inhuman performance with no mistakes whatsoever.
So, you knew better than to hope Tim wasn’t mentally beating himself over the head because of your current situation.
Sometimes, the bad guys can be unpredictable (an unfortunate fact you learned quite quickly on this team). They can throw in a wild card that not even your most skilled strategist could’ve factored in before the mission, which changes everyone’s plan of action completely. And, on this mission, no one could’ve foreseen the well-hidden pressure plate in the dark and vast cave’s muddy ground, or the explosion system rigged up to it, or the landslide from the big boom that blocked off the cave’s entrance. It’s illogical to think this could’ve been predicted, or even avoided.
Of course, Tim thought otherwise. As he paced back and forth in front of where you were you with Jaime’s unconscious body, you unhappily wondered what he could possibly be blaming himself for. Maybe that he didn’t magically see the disguised explosives attached to the high cave walls, or the pressure plate that was basically invisible no matter how long you stared at it, or that he couldn’t warn you guys about the explosion 10 seconds before it even happened? All ridiculous thoughts, but the boy had a knack for making his very logical brain conjure up very illogical things.
Doesn’t help that Blue got completely KO’ed, you mentally noted, sparing a glance at the unconscious hero, whose head was gently propped against your thigh. Physically, he was probably unscathed; that beetle armor could take hits from a Kryptonian without cracking. But armor can’t exactly prevent your brain from hitting against your skull, which is what you deduced happened to Jaime after pulling him out from under a giant chunk of debris. The scarab de-armored, much to your unease, and you found yourself hoping it was the scarab’s way of letting you two check its host over (maybe the scarab isn’t as uncaring as Blue makes it out to be). At least you felt better when you saw that Jaime was, in fact, unscathed.
After examining Jaime, you tried your best to comfort Tim, saying that Blue would bounce back with only a minor concussion when this is all over; a mistake on your part. You should’ve known that mentioning a concussion would make your poor baby bird go pale, his hands trembling at his sides as he started to mumble incoherent things to himself. Any thought to backtrack was halted as he started to pace, and you decided it was best to leave him alone for a couple of minutes just so he could calm down.
Well, it’s been 10 minutes. And he didn’t look any calmer. Without the ability to radio Dick, you realized you would have to be Sibling-wing.
“Tim,” you softly called, trying your best not to spook the boy. A grimace tugged at the corners of your mouth when his shoulders jolted at your voice, but it quickly disappeared as soon as he hesitantly turned his head in your general direction. He was avoiding your eyes… not a good sign…
You tried your best to make your tone sound light, with a hint of jovial teasing, despite the situation you two were in. “Why don’t you sit down for a bit? You’re gonna pace a trench in the ground if you keep at that.”
The whites of Tim’s mask widened as he looked at the ground beneath his now stationary feet. Before you could worry that you made another mistake, he seemed to understand that you were just exaggerating, a long yet shaky breath escaping from his lips. All he did was mumble out a small sorry, and you had to fight the urge to frown; if he saw any hint of negativity on your face, he would probably break down entirely, and that’s the last thing you want.
“Here.” You patted the vacant spot next to you (the one obviously not occupied by Jaime). He owlishly blinked at the area before looking you in the eyes for the first time since the explosion. Progress was being made, but you weren’t too keen on the unsure look he was giving you, so you continued. “Sit next to me, Timmers. I need some company.” A pause. “But only if you feel comfortable. I don’t want to force you, bud.”
For a few moments, he stood completely still in his spot. Hope of him accepting your offer was quickly leaving your body, replaced with the nervous feeling that you may have overstepped some boundaries, but your worries were over when he finally shuffled over towards you. Tim was a small thing — probably smaller than what he should be as a teenage boy — so he took up little to no space next to your side. It might’ve been cute to see him curled up against you, his knees tightly held against his chest and his cape swaddled around him, if he didn’t look so close to having a meltdown over everything.
“I’m sorry,” he quietly squeaked out, and you thought you imagined it before he continued. “I’m sorry about all of this. I… I knew it was a bad thing that there were no guards—!!”
“Timmy,” you began, soft so he knew you weren’t mad yet firm enough that he would stop his rambling, “you have nothing to be sorry for. These things happen all the time on missions. No one could’ve seen this coming.”
Tim looked down at his knees. “… I could’ve—”
“No.” You gently wrapped an arm around his shoulder (something you noticed Dick does when he’s comforting the baby bird) and gently rubbed his upper arm. “From the moment we dispatched to the moment we got here, you did everything perfectly.”
You decided to gauge his reaction before saying anything further. He seemed lost in thought again, though you knew he was listening from the way he spared you a quick glance. His fingers were rhythmically strumming against his leg as he chewed the inside of his cheek. Still nervous, but at least he seemed to be considering your words.
“Supes and Dick will come get us in a little while,” you reassured him, pulling him closer into your side to accentuate your statement. “As soon as it’s past 10, they’ll come by in the Bioship and see we’re a bit stuck, and we’ll be out in no time, and Blue’ll get help.”
Mentioning Jaime was a bad idea. The tension that was slowly leaving Tim’s shoulders returned with a vengeance, and while he anxiously stared at his teammate, you bit back the urge to curse. Not good, you groaned in your mind, wanting to kick yourself in the teeth for yet another mistake. But you couldn’t spend too much time thinking about it. Not with Tim’s breaths picking up.
After doing a quick scan on Jaime (thankfully still breathing, so there’s the Are-My-Kids-Okay bare minimum), you playfully nudged at the Boy Wonder’s side to get him to look at you. “Y’know why I know help will be on the way?”
Tim quirked an unsure brow.
Guess he thought it was rhetorical, you noted mentally. Not exactly a bad thing; you could work with this. “Because you were the one who said to rendezvous at 10,” you answered, an encouraging smile on your lips.
At this, Tim seemed to relax a bit. He didn’t look any happier than before, but even the smallest victory was a victory nonetheless. The moment was almost ruined when he quietly responded with, “it’s just basic mission protocol...”
“Not all the time,” you countered. “The thought of a rendezvous didn’t cross any of our minds until you brought it up.” You made sure that he could see your proud smile. “And it was a good idea Timmy. A good idea that you came up with. We could be stuck here for an indefinite amount of time if it wasn’t for you.”
Though he sheepishly looked at the ground, you could tell he felt much better than before. The strumming of his fingers against his leg was slowing down, and he stopped chewing the inside of his cheek entirely. You could even see how his body language loosened up. All good signs, but you didn’t know how long this small moment of tranquility would last; you could see the gears turning in Tim’s head, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he found something to chastise himself with.
Luckily, a brilliant idea came to you in the form of a distant memory (a voice that sounded awfully familiar to Wally’s when Kaldur almost walked into his surprise party before everyone was done decorating The Cave);
Quick! Distraction!
“Dick once threw gasoline at a fire thinking it was water,” you unceremoniously blurted out.
Whatever thoughts that were running through Tim’s head came to a complete halt. His mouth parted to say something, but then sealed shut, and then his hand stilled against his leg. Then, after a long stretch of silence, he finally came up with a response.
“… What?”
“It was in Tuvalu,” you continued to explain. “Back when he was still Robin. Some grass was on fire after a fight with Red Volcano, so he decided to put it out. But he picked up a bucket of gasoline by accident and made it worse.” A fond smile found purchase on your face as you recalled the memory. “Never seen him drop a bucket so fast. Or heard him yelp that loud.”
Tim didn’t seem to know what to say for a couple of seconds. “Wha… how do you mistake gasoline for water…?”
“It was just a bucket,” you shrugged. “Of gasoline. To be fair, that’s kinda weird.”
“… Yeah,” he agreed. “I guess it is.”
Before a thick blanket of silence could settle between the two of you again, you decided to keep going with the steam you had. “He also once punched himself in the face.”
Tim sputtered. “How?!”
You chuckled at the younger hero’s incredulous state. “He had his fist up like he was gonna fake punch me, then Superboy jumped out of the Bioship and scared him. Probably the highlight of that mission, honestly. It was a slow night.”
“Didn’t know it was possible to scare him,” Tim mused to himself with slight disbelief.
“Oh, it definitely is.” You found yourself subconsciously pulling Tim closer while carding your fingers through Jaime’s hair. “I’ve managed to sneak up on him so many times. Back when he was Robin and present day. See, the trick is to take advantage of his extremely short attention span.”
“So…” he hesitated, “you’ve noticed it, too?”
Another chuckle left your lips, this time louder and more heartier than the last. “I’ve been stuck with that jerk since I joined this team. Of course I’ve noticed. Can’t focus on one thing for more than a minute to save his life.” Another delightful memory resurfaced, and you could feel your face light up. “Oh! Which reminds me of the time he burnt my birthday breakfast because he was too busy trying to copy that one dance from a Chicken Whizee commercial.”
You could hear the slightest giggle come from Tim. “He doesn’t even like Chicken Whizee’s!”
“Yeah, but he liked the dance,” was your reply. “Didn’t like it when the smoke detector started going off, though. By the time I was in the kitchen, he was scraping unidentifiable scraps of charcoal into the trash with the saddest expression. I decided to take pity on him and take him out for breakfast instead.” You paused for a moment. “Wanna know where we went?”
Tim offered a giant grin. “Chicken Whizee’s?”
“No wonder Dick calls you the Brainiac Boy Wonder,” you cooed while ruffling his hair.
“He totally does not!”
It was hard to say how long you guys were talking for; you always lost track of time when you told stories of Dick to other people. But it must’ve been a good amount of time, because around halfway through the story of how Dick crashed the Batmobile for the first time, Jaime began to stir on your lap, weakly fluttering his eyes open and closed. You both were relieved to see your teammate conscious again (despite giving him a check-up and realizing that he did, indeed, have a concussion), but your relief was fleeting when Tim started to explain what happened. His shoulders hitched upwards, his hands fiddled with each other from anxiety, his body curled into itself more and more… the cure of his Tim-is-the-worst-according-to-Tim episode was starting to wear off… not good…
So, in the wise words of Wally West;
Quick! Distraction!
“He crashed it a second time, too.”
Tim and Jaime looked up at you with curious looks. Jaime’s was less curiousness and more confusion (though you couldn’t tell if it’s from confusion of not being there for the previous conversation or general concussion confusion), and he groggily let out a small, “who?”
“Di—aAAat dude, Nightwing.” Before Tim could even process your small fumble, you quickly continued. “He crashed the Batmobile. Twice.” You then stuck up three fingers. “Three times, actually. Though the third time wasn’t his fault.”
Jaime carefully quirked his head to the side. “Nightwing crashed the Batmobile…?”
After letting Tim recount the first time Dick took the Batmobile out for a joyride (just to catch Jaime up), you continued on with the second time it happened, then finished off with the third (you left the part out where it was technically your fault). Tim let out a real, genuine laugh about 4 times (yes, you kept count), while Jaime found himself growing more and more shocked at each detail. Poor guy couldn’t process that Nightwing — the intimidating and mature leader — was actually just a giant loser. The trilogy of Batmobile stories evolved into the thrilling saga that was Dick’s fridge issues (which you solved by finding out the fridge was unplugged), then into the time he got stuck in the ventilation system of S.T.A.R.R. Labs (you remember his explanation being, “I fitted last time,” despite the “last time” being 3 years prior).
Unfortunately, before you could tell the story of Dick breaking Wally’s souvenir shelf, the sounds of rocks being pulled away from the cave’s entrance made you all flinch.
“Oh, yeah,” you simply said. “I totally forgot about the mission.”
“And the rendezvous time,” Tim admitted as he pulled away from your side.
“And my concussion,” Jaime groaned as he rested his head against your arm.
Enough rocks were moved that you could see Dick and Connor working together to free you guys. As comfortable as you were with your junior members, you practically lost all feeling in your legs, and it was definitely a good idea to get out of this cave. Tim stood up first to offer Jaime a hand. You spotted the concussed kid as he shakily got to his feet with Tim’s help, then stood up right after him. By the time Dick and Connor completely cleared the way (Connor doing most of the muscle work), all three of you were waiting patiently.
“Hey,” Tim casually chirped.
Dick, however, seemed to completely ignore the greeting. “Are you guys alright?! When you didn’t show up at the rendezvous, we thought something bad happened…!”
“We’re good,” you answered, a hand behind Jaime’s back to keep in steady. Well, speaking of Jaime… “Blue got a concussion, but other than that, we’re good.”
“A concussion,” Connor echoed, brows furrowed. “Is that why you’re de-armored?”
“Yeah.” Jaime’s tone didn’t sound all that pleased. “Scarab said that… in the event that I were to be deceased… it wants to be ready to find the nearest candidate to be its host.”
… Guess that scarab really IS cold-hearted.
Getting Jaime settled into the Bioship was easy enough. Connor gave him one last concussion test before talking about his own concussion experiences, and you soon recognized it as a tactic to keep Jaime awake. Meanwhile, Tim’s cheeks were a blotchy pink from Dick’s kind praises, his older brother gushing over how well Tim did this mission (and everything that was said was true; Tim was the MVP in your eyes). As a hug was shared between the two, Dick offered you a soft smile, which you gladly returned. Thank you, he mouthed, and you couldn’t help but let your smile grow at that.
Just as you were about to join Dick’s side, however, Tim shot his brother a questioning look. “You tried to put out a fire with gasoline?”
The smile on your face dropped, with Dick’s face seemed mirroring yours. The only difference was that, while his eyes squinted in confusion, yours widened in realization. A quizzical hum left Dick’s lips, and before you could scramble to interject, Tim continued. “And you punched yourself? Oh, also, do you still remember that Chicken Whizee’s dance? I wanna see it.”
You felt your heart drop in your chest as Dick slowly looked back up at you. It didn’t take long for him to put together the pieces, a deadly glare being shot your way. All you could do was helplessly look away, hoping that maybe Jaime or Connor would come to your rescue.
Well, it became evident that your hero wasn’t going to be Jaime. “We heard you crashed the Batmobile three times,” he called out, soft enough that it wouldn’t hurt his head but loud enough that Dick would hear it.
Connor’s brow raised in interest at this comment (so he also wasn’t going to be your hero). “Three times?”
“Two times,” Dick bitterly corrected, his gaze still on you. “I don’t think our dear friend (H/N) told the story right.” His face then broke out in a wicked grin. “Well, good thing I’m willing to set the record straight. Right, (H/N)?”
… Now would be a really good time for a distraction, wouldn’t it?
I was thinking of posting a rant here, but I’ll post positivity instead;
Sending my love to all of the writers who make a gender neutral reader and actually mean it. <3
HASARDER — PART 1
YJ/Teen Titans Dick Grayson x Reader
Prologue — Part 1
Dick Grayson is no stranger to death, but that doesn’t make it any harder to deal with. As it turns out, however, the grieving process for you would prove to take an interesting twist when Tim calls him with some shocking news.
The reader is gender neutral.
Contains: civilian reader, mentions of death (your death), mentions of a dead body (your dead body), spoilers: you’re actually alive… kinda, I’m probably forgetting something.
“Does the hurt ever go away?”
“I wish I could say yes… but it will get better over time. For you. That, I can promise.”
Dick felt his grip on the picture frame get weaker and weaker. Had he not snapped out of his thoughts a moment sooner, it would’ve slipped out of his hands and clattered on the floor, shattering the glass in the process. The mere thought of that happening caused his stomach to churn, guilt eating away at his heart despite managing to avoid that outcome. To ensure the safety of the picture frame (well, more importantly, the photo within it), he gingerly placed it back in its rightful place on top of his nightstand, right next to his old digital alarm clock and bedside lamp.
You keep thinking..."If only I'd done something differently,” Bruce’s voice echoed in his head. “If only I could've...warned them." But there isn't anything you could've done. There isn't anything either of us could've done.
That conversation happened years ago; over a decade by now. Back when Dick was still processing the death of his parents, and when Bruce was there to help him through it. Despite the consolation those words provided in the moment, he never expected them to carry such weight throughout his life.
There isn’t anything you could’ve done.
His eyes drifted back to the picture frame. The photo within it was taken 4 years ago, during his sophomore year of high school at Gotham High. He still remembers the crisp autumn air against his skin, the red and orange leaves scattered on the ground, and the chocolate flavored milkshake he was halfway through. There was a giant smile on his face, his blue eyes sparkling with such joy and vibrancy.
It’s because you were right next to him.
The photo caught you mid-laugh, your eyes crinkling with happiness. You had haphazardly thrown up a peace sign with one hand while holding your own drink in the other. Though you were too busy laughing to notice, Dick had snaked his arm behind your head to give you bunny ears, which caused you to playfully throw leaves at him when you found out afterwards.
Thinking about that day still causes a fond smile to tug at his lips. Wally had to bail on their plans that day due to a date he forgot about with Artemis, so Dick found himself in the Cave to hand out with you instead. That’s how you two ended up walking around Happy Harbor — your idea, if he recalls correctly — exploring random shops and goofing around outside.
Had that really been 4 years ago?
Whatever warmness that flooded his chest while reminiscing on the past was immediately extinguished by the coldness of reality. It’s been 2 years without you now. The anniversary of your death was a week and a half ago, which was when he found himself so filled with grief that he could barely even get out of bed. It took all of the senior members of the team to rouse him out of his depressive episode; much like the year before.
You were gone. He still wasn’t used to saying that. Even with the time that’s passed since you died, he can feel his heart drop whenever he thinks about it, as though he’s learning about your death for the first time. The tears still wouldn’t stop, and neither would the nights filled with feverish dreams of your face.
If only I could’ve done something differently.
Of course, Bruce was right all those years ago; there wasn’t anything he could’ve done. Much like with his parents, Jason, and now the recently deceased Tula (all whom he still has nightmares of to this day), there was logically nothing he could’ve done to save you. He was all the way in Santa Prisca leading a covert mission when he received a distress call from your phone in Happy Harbor. All he could do was make sure someone was en route to your coordinates — which led to the Happy Harbor boardwalk — and pray you were safe.
But by the time Blue Beetle and Tempest got there, it was too late.
Learning about what happened to you was hard for Dick. The ringing in his ears blocked out every sound except for his own shaky breaths, and he could barely even stand without feeling dizzy. But he managed to fight through his state of shock and despair to listen to the report. You were caught in a domestic dispute gone deadly at the Happy Harbor health clinic. A man stormed into the clinic to take back his kid from his ex-wife, who was there for a check-up. Things escalated, and the man shot and killed his wife, threatening the doctor in the room if she didn’t let his son go with him.
You happened to be in the next room over. Hearing the gunshot must’ve made you spring into action, making a 911 call along with the distress call to the team. The doctor that was with the son said that you snuck up behind the man and lunged at him, yelling at her and the kid to run. There was signs of a struggle in the room, but you unfortunately weren’t the one to walk out of there alive.
The man was neutralized by police around 3 to 4 minutes after your estimated time of death. If you hadn’t had your scuffle with him, it’s possible that he could’ve grabbed his son and escaped before the cops arrived. Your face was on the news after that, journalists proclaiming you to be a hero that sacrificed their life.
Except you should’ve never had to in the first place.
It’s not fair, Dick decided. Why did you, the one who wasn’t supposed to be risking their life, have to die because of some other people’s marital problems?! You weren’t even a hero; you were just a normal civilian going about your daily life. So why did you have to die like this?!
Even thinking about it caused his eyes to sting from frustrated tears, his jaw tightening as his fists clenched at his sides. If that guy wasn’t shot down by the cops, lord only knows what Dick would’ve done to him. The fact that he couldn’t even see justice for your death — your murder — get delivered also feeds into his anger. God, why couldn’t he just be there to at least get justice for you himself?!
Justice and revenge aren’t the same thing.
God, he hated it when Bruce was right.
There was nothing he could’ve done. There was nothing anyone could’ve done. Everything happened to fast; from the man barging into the clinic, to the shouting between him and his ex-wife, to the gunshot, to you calling 911 and sneaking up on the man, to the struggle that happened for a solid minute or so, to the gunshot that ultimately ended your life. All of that happened in under 10 minutes, according to the timeline, and that just wasn’t enough time for someone to come help you.
“There isn’t anything you could’ve done,” he had to solemnly tell Jaime and Garth, who were both blaming themselves for not being there. Jaime Zeta’d in from El Paso, while Garth had to go on foot from Mount Justice. They were the only ones who weren’t on a mission at the time; the only ones who could respond to your distress call. But no matter how fast they moved, they just couldn’t be there in time.
A buzzing noise snapped him out of his thoughts. It caused enough surprise to him that his shoulders jolted upwards, his heart completely skipping a beat. He soon realized that it was his phone buzzing. Someone was calling him.
Shakily reaching for his phone (which was unceremoniously tossed onto his bed), he held it closer to his face to read the caller ID. Ah, Tim. It was a bit unusual for his successor to give him a call (he was a bit too socially awkward for that), but anytime he did, it would make Dick feel special. In fact, maybe a conversation with Tim would help clear his head a bit.
He cleared his throat as a small test for his voice, then hit accept and held the phone up to his ear. “Hey, Tim. What’s up?”
“Dick—! I… it’s—” Panic was evident in Tim’s voice. Hearing his shaky words on the other end caused Dick’s brows to furrow. At first, he thought that there was something going on with Batman and Robin, but he remembered that it was Tim who called Dick, and not Robin who called Nightwing. So, did that mean something happened at the Manor?
“Tim,” Dick softly began, though with slight urgency in his tone, “is everything okay?”
“They’re… I’m— I don’t…” an uneven puff of air could be heard before the teen tried again. “I’m really sorry, Dick, I didn’t mean to poke around!! It’s just that Ba— Br— B had been spending so much time away from the Manor and the Cave, and I wanted to know what he was doing, a-and I used the Bat Computer and found the file about everything, and— a-and…!!”
Dick had to raise his voice a bit to interject. “Tim!! Tim, calm down… what are you talking about? What’s wrong?”
For a moment, all Dick got was a shuddery breath as a reply. Before he could repeat his question, however, Tim finally responded. “Don’t… don’t get your hopes up, alright? Promise me you won’t get your hopes up.”
“… Okay,” Dick decided after a moment of hesitation. “I won’t.”
There was a long pause. Anticipation and apprehension was building up in Dick’s chest, his heart thumping against his rib cage. It seemed as though Tim was trying to carefully choose his words; trying to find the best way possible to break whatever news he had.
But nothing in the world could prepare Dick for the next few words that came out of Tim’s mouth. “There’s another (Y/N).”
Everything in Dick’s body stopped working.
From his heart to his mind, his hearing to his vision, Dick felt as though he was shutting down. He almost let the phone slip out of his hands entirely, the blood in his veins feeling cold as ice and causing his limbs to tremble. Even trying to get air in his lungs was a tough task, despite his mouth hanging open. The room was spinning for him, and the ringing in his ears almost blocked out Tim’s panicked ramblings entirely.
There’s another (Y/N).
What…
What did he mean by that?
“I-I know how close they are to you, Dick,” Tim practically wailed. “I know how close they are to the team… I didn’t know that Bruce was hiding this from you— I-I-I don’t even know if I should’ve told you… oh, god, Dick… is Bruce going to fire me—?”
Dick swallowed thickly, hoping to get rid of the lump in his throat. Despite his tongue feeling like sand, he spoke up anyway. “What do you mean by another (Y/N)?”
Tim sputtered out something completely incomprehensible to Dick. It was hard to tell if the poor kid was scared of what he knows, scared of Bruce finding out, or scared of both. Either way, Dick knew that he wasn’t going to learn anything from Tim in this state. He bit the inside of his cheek before dawning the most imperative voice he can muster in the moment.
“Tim,” he lowly chided. “Give me a report.”
That got Tim to his frantic rambling of nonsense. Getting him to think of this like a mission debriefing would calm him down, Dick figured. And, from the deep breaths the former Robin could hear on the other end, he knew he was right.
“Someone was taken in by the police a week ago,” Tim started, his cracking voice taking a factual tone. “Said their name was (Y/N) (L/N). Cops ran that name through their database and found (Y/N)’s death certificate. This (Y/N) was confused, ‘n started saying weird stuff about… something called the Titans.”
“Titans,” Dick echoed. It was meant to be a question, but came out more as a statement.
Tim hummed. “Titans. A… supposed team of young superheroes, o-or something. I don’t know, the report didn’t really…” he trailed off, possibly realizing he was rambling again. “Tests were ran. Their DNA is an exact match to the real (Y/N)— but when they… they checked (Y/N)’s grave a-a couple of days ago…”
The thought of someone digging up your grave made him clench his teeth together. They went through with something like that and he didn’t even know? Who gave them permission?!
Probably Batman, he bitterly thought.
“They’re still there, Dick,” said Tim. “(Y/N)’s body is still there. But this other (Y/N) is an exact copy..!!”
Dick’s freehand was digging into the flesh of his other arm. “Cadmus?”
“Isn’t involved.”
“How do you know for sure?”
“No biological trace of Cadmus’ synthetic enhancements in this (Y/N)’s bloodstream. No psychic trace of Genomorphs in their mind, either. This (Y/N)…” Tim struggled with his words for a moment, “is natural. Genuine.”
Genuine. Dick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was another version of you walking this earth, supposedly confused about your own death, and Batman was planning to hide this from him? No, even worse, Bruce was planning to his this from him?!
No biological trace… no psychic trace…
All of these people to run tests, and yet he still didn’t know?
“Send me the file,” he monotonously demanded.
There was a small pause on the other end before Tim’s fragile voice spoke up. “What… are you going to do?”
“… I don’t know,” Dick answered, a tired sigh escaping his lips. It was an honest answer; what was he supposed to do after learning this? There was a (Y/N) alive out there, but not his (Y/N)…
“Are…” Tim trailed off, then tried again, “are you mad at me?”
“No—!!” Dick’s answer was quick. When he heard the sharp intake of breath on the other line, he realized that he might’ve spooked the poor boy, so he took on a softer tone. “No, Tim. It was good that you… brought this to my attention. Why would I be mad at you?”
“Bruce is going to be mad,” Tim practically whispered. “I shouldn’t of gone through his stuff… and… he would’ve wanted me to keep this all from you…”
Dick took a few moments to think of his response. “Well, you made the right choice telling me. He shouldn’t be keeping secrets like this in the first place.” Definitely not secrets that revolve around you…
“… ‘M sending the file now.” Distant clicking noises could be heard through the call, and then Tim followed up with, “I’m… sorry that Bruce didn’t let you know.”
“It’s not your fault, Tim,” was Dick’s soft reply. “He’s always been like that. Thinking it would protect us, or something.”
Protect us. The words were like acid on Dick’s tongue. Using secrets as protection always made Dick feel sick to his stomach. Looking at the past couple of years, Bruce’s secrets have done anything but protect others. They drove Dick away from him, they put Jason six feet under, and now…
God, why wasn’t Dick the first person to know about this other (Y/N)?
Maybe it was selfish of him to think that. He wasn’t your only friend, so the rest of the Team had just as much as a right to know as he did. But he still should’ve known. He should’ve been involved with the investigation; he knows you better than anyone. And Bruce knows this.
“You… gonna be okay?”
Tim’s voice pulled him back to reality. With a weak cough, Dick wet his lips and said, “yeah. I’ll be alright. Just gonna read over the file for myself and… figure out what to do from there.” An awkward pause, then he continued. “Thank you for this, Tim. Call me if anything else comes up.”
“Yeah… yeah, of course. I-I will.”
And, with that, the call ended.
His hand dropped to his side, the phone in his hand almost slipping from his grip. This couldn’t be real. None of this could be real. You were dead, yet… you were back. Someone with your face was out there talking about some other team… the Titans, and he was just now finding out about this.
After a week, he bitterly recalled.
Taking a final glance at the picture frame, his eyes scanned over your face. This new supposed (Y/N) wasn’t you. It couldn’t be you. The memory of your dull, lifeless face at the morgue still haunts him to this day, causing a chill to run up his spine and his hair to stand on end. Dick knows what death looks like, and you were, without a doubt, dead.
So, who was masquerading as his dead friend?
The answer seemed to be simple; you were masquerading as his dead friend. But… not you. Even if your DNA was an exact match, and Cadmus didn’t have any involvement, whoever you were, you weren’t his (Y/N). He’d like to believe that his (Y/N) would demand to see him, to assure him that you were still alive. You wouldn’t have let him go an entire week without knowing, leaving him to mourn someone that was still alive. As far as he concerned, this new (Y/N) was a stranger.
But, that just led him back to square one; who was this stranger?
Guess I’m about to find out.
TAGLIST:
@swthxrry @igotanidea @byebyeeye @meigalaxy ;; Don’t be afraid to ask if you want to be tagged. ^^
HASARDER — PART 1
YJ/Teen Titans Dick Grayson x Reader
Prologue << MASTERLIST >> Part 2
Dick Grayson is no stranger to death, but that doesn’t make it any harder to deal with. As it turns out, however, the grieving process for you would prove to take an interesting twist when Tim calls him with some shocking news.
The reader is gender neutral.
Contains: civilian reader, mentions of death (your death), mentions of a dead body (your dead body), spoilers: you’re actually alive… kinda, I’m probably forgetting something.
“Does the hurt ever go away?”
“I wish I could say yes… but it will get better over time. For you. That, I can promise.”
Dick felt his grip on the picture frame get weaker and weaker. Had he not snapped out of his thoughts a moment sooner, it would’ve slipped out of his hands and clattered on the floor, shattering the glass in the process. The mere thought of that happening caused his stomach to churn, guilt eating away at his heart despite managing to avoid that outcome. To ensure the safety of the picture frame (well, more importantly, the photo within it), he gingerly placed it back in its rightful place on top of his nightstand, right next to his old digital alarm clock and bedside lamp.
You keep thinking..."If only I'd done something differently,” Bruce’s voice echoed in his head. “If only I could've...warned them." But there isn't anything you could've done. There isn't anything either of us could've done.
That conversation happened years ago; over a decade by now. Back when Dick was still processing the death of his parents, and when Bruce was there to help him through it. Despite the consolation those words provided in the moment, he never expected them to carry such weight throughout his life.
There isn’t anything you could’ve done.
His eyes drifted back to the picture frame. The photo within it was taken 4 years ago, during his sophomore year of high school at Gotham High. He still remembers the crisp autumn air against his skin, the red and orange leaves scattered on the ground, and the chocolate flavored milkshake he was halfway through. There was a giant smile on his face, his blue eyes sparkling with such joy and vibrancy.
It’s because you were right next to him.
The photo caught you mid-laugh, your eyes crinkling with happiness. You had haphazardly thrown up a peace sign with one hand while holding your own drink in the other. Though you were too busy laughing to notice, Dick had snaked his arm behind your head to give you bunny ears, which caused you to playfully throw leaves at him when you found out afterwards.
Thinking about that day still causes a fond smile to tug at his lips. Wally had to bail on their plans that day due to a date he forgot about with Artemis, so Dick found himself in the Cave to hand out with you instead. That’s how you two ended up walking around Happy Harbor — your idea, if he recalls correctly — exploring random shops and goofing around outside.
Had that really been 4 years ago?
Whatever warmness that flooded his chest while reminiscing on the past was immediately extinguished by the coldness of reality. It’s been 2 years without you now. The anniversary of your death was a week and a half ago, which was when he found himself so filled with grief that he could barely even get out of bed. It took all of the senior members of the team to rouse him out of his depressive episode; much like the year before.
You were gone. He still wasn’t used to saying that. Even with the time that’s passed since you died, he can feel his heart drop whenever he thinks about it, as though he’s learning about your death for the first time. The tears still wouldn’t stop, and neither would the nights filled with feverish dreams of your face.
If only I could’ve done something differently.
Of course, Bruce was right all those years ago; there wasn’t anything he could’ve done. Much like with his parents, Jason, and now the recently deceased Tula (all whom he still has nightmares of to this day), there was logically nothing he could’ve done to save you. He was all the way in Santa Prisca leading a covert mission when he received a distress call from your phone in Happy Harbor. All he could do was make sure someone was en route to your coordinates — which led to the Happy Harbor boardwalk — and pray you were safe.
But by the time Aquagirl and Tempest got there, it was too late.
Learning about what happened to you was hard for Dick. The ringing in his ears blocked out every sound except for his own shaky breaths, and he could barely even stand without feeling dizzy. But he managed to fight through his state of shock and despair to listen to the report. You were caught in a domestic dispute gone deadly at the Happy Harbor health clinic. A man stormed into the clinic to take back his kid from his ex-wife, who was there for a check-up. Things escalated, and the man shot and killed his wife, threatening the doctor in the room if she didn’t let his son go with him.
You happened to be in the next room over. Hearing the gunshot must’ve made you spring into action, making a 911 call along with the distress call to the team. The doctor that was with the son said that you snuck up behind the man and lunged at him, yelling at her and the kid to run. There was signs of a struggle in the room, but you unfortunately weren’t the one to walk out of there alive.
The man was neutralized by police around 3 to 4 minutes after your estimated time of death. If you hadn’t had your scuffle with him, it’s possible that he could’ve grabbed his son and escaped before the cops arrived. Your face was on the news after that, journalists proclaiming you to be a hero that sacrificed their life.
Except you should’ve never had to in the first place.
It’s not fair, Dick decided. Why did you, the one who wasn’t supposed to be risking their life, have to die because of some other people’s marital problems?! You weren’t even a hero; you were just a normal civilian going about your daily life. So why did you have to die like this?!
Even thinking about it caused his eyes to sting from frustrated tears, his jaw tightening as his fists clenched at his sides. If that guy wasn’t shot down by the cops, lord only knows what Dick would’ve done to him. The fact that he couldn’t even see justice for your death — your murder — get delivered also feeds into his anger. God, why couldn’t he just be there to at least get justice for you himself?!
Justice and revenge aren’t the same thing.
God, he hated it when Bruce was right.
There was nothing he could’ve done. There was nothing anyone could’ve done. Everything happened to fast; from the man barging into the clinic, to the shouting between him and his ex-wife, to the gunshot, to you calling 911 and sneaking up on the man, to the struggle that happened for a solid minute or so, to the gunshot that ultimately ended your life. All of that happened in under 10 minutes, according to the timeline, and that just wasn’t enough time for someone to come help you.
“There isn’t anything you could’ve done,” he had to solemnly tell Tula and Garth, who were both blaming themselves for not being there. Tula Zeta’d in from Atlantis, while Garth had to go on foot from Mount Justice. They were the only ones who weren’t on a mission at the time; the only ones who could respond to your distress call. But no matter how fast they moved, they just couldn’t be there in time.
A buzzing noise snapped him out of his thoughts. It caused enough surprise to him that his shoulders jolted upwards, his heart completely skipping a beat. He soon realized that it was his phone buzzing. Someone was calling him.
Shakily reaching for his phone (which was unceremoniously tossed onto his bed), he held it closer to his face to read the caller ID. Ah, Tim. It was a bit unusual for his successor to give him a call (he was a bit too socially awkward for that), but anytime he did, it would make Dick feel special. In fact, maybe a conversation with Tim would help clear his head a bit.
He cleared his throat as a small test for his voice, then hit accept and held the phone up to his ear. “Hey, Tim. What’s up?”
“Dick—! I… it’s—” Panic was evident in Tim’s voice. Hearing his shaky words on the other end caused Dick’s brows to furrow. At first, he thought that there was something going on with Batman and Robin, but he remembered that it was Tim who called Dick, and not Robin who called Nightwing. So, did that mean something happened at the Manor?
“Tim,” Dick softly began, though with slight urgency in his tone, “is everything okay?”
“They’re… I’m— I don’t…” an uneven puff of air could be heard before the teen tried again. “I’m really sorry, Dick, I didn’t mean to poke around!! It’s just that Ba— Br— B had been spending so much time away from the Manor and the Cave, and I wanted to know what he was doing, a-and I used the Bat Computer and found the file about everything, and— a-and…!!”
Dick had to raise his voice a bit to interject. “Tim!! Tim, calm down… what are you talking about? What’s wrong?”
For a moment, all Dick got was a shuddery breath as a reply. Before he could repeat his question, however, Tim finally responded. “Don’t… don’t get your hopes up, alright? Promise me you won’t get your hopes up.”
“… Okay,” Dick decided after a moment of hesitation. “I won’t.”
There was a long pause. Anticipation and apprehension was building up in Dick’s chest, his heart thumping against his rib cage. It seemed as though Tim was trying to carefully choose his words; trying to find the best way possible to break whatever news he had.
But nothing in the world could prepare Dick for the next few words that came out of Tim’s mouth. “There’s another (Y/N).”
Everything in Dick’s body stopped working.
From his heart to his mind, his hearing to his vision, Dick felt as though he was shutting down. He almost let the phone slip out of his hands entirely, the blood in his veins feeling cold as ice and causing his limbs to tremble. Even trying to get air in his lungs was a tough task, despite his mouth hanging open. The room was spinning for him, and the ringing in his ears almost blocked out Tim’s panicked ramblings entirely.
There’s another (Y/N).
What…
What did he mean by that?
“I-I know how close they are to you, Dick,” Tim practically wailed. “I know how close they are to the team… I didn’t know that Bruce was hiding this from you— I-I-I don’t even know if I should’ve told you… oh, god, Dick… is Bruce going to fire me—?”
Dick swallowed thickly, hoping to get rid of the lump in his throat. Despite his tongue feeling like sand, he spoke up anyway. “What do you mean by another (Y/N)?”
Tim sputtered out something completely incomprehensible to Dick. It was hard to tell if the poor kid was scared of what he knows, scared of Bruce finding out, or scared of both. Either way, Dick knew that he wasn’t going to learn anything from Tim in this state. He bit the inside of his cheek before dawning the most imperative voice he can muster in the moment.
“Tim,” he lowly chided. “Give me a report.”
That got Tim to his frantic rambling of nonsense. Getting him to think of this like a mission debriefing would calm him down, Dick figured. And, from the deep breaths the former Robin could hear on the other end, he knew he was right.
“Someone was taken in by the police a week ago,” Tim started, his cracking voice taking a factual tone. “Said their name was (Y/N) (L/N). Cops ran that name through their database and found (Y/N)’s death certificate. This (Y/N) was confused, ‘n started saying weird stuff about… something called the Titans.”
“Titans,” Dick echoed. It was meant to be a question, but came out more as a statement.
Tim hummed. “Titans. A… supposed team of young superheroes, o-or something. I don’t know, the report didn’t really…” he trailed off, possibly realizing he was rambling again. “Tests were ran. Their DNA is an exact match to the real (Y/N)— but when they… they checked (Y/N)’s grave a-a couple of days ago…”
The thought of someone digging up your grave made him clench his teeth together. They went through with something like that and he didn’t even know? Who gave them permission?!
Probably Batman, he bitterly thought.
“They’re still there, Dick,” said Tim. “(Y/N)’s body is still there. But this other (Y/N) is an exact copy..!!”
Dick’s freehand was digging into the flesh of his other arm. “Cadmus?”
“Isn’t involved.”
“How do you know for sure?”
“No biological trace of Cadmus’ synthetic enhancements in this (Y/N)’s bloodstream. No psychic trace of Genomorphs in their mind, either. This (Y/N)…” Tim struggled with his words for a moment, “is natural. Genuine.”
Genuine. Dick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was another version of you walking this earth, supposedly confused about your own death, and Batman was planning to hide this from him? No, even worse, Bruce was planning to his this from him?!
No biological trace… no psychic trace…
All of these people to run tests, and yet he still didn’t know?
“Send me the file,” he monotonously demanded.
There was a small pause on the other end before Tim’s fragile voice spoke up. “What… are you going to do?”
“… I don’t know,” Dick answered, a tired sigh escaping his lips. It was an honest answer; what was he supposed to do after learning this? There was a (Y/N) alive out there, but not his (Y/N)…
“Are…” Tim trailed off, then tried again, “are you mad at me?”
“No—!!” Dick’s answer was quick. When he heard the sharp intake of breath on the other line, he realized that he might’ve spooked the poor boy, so he took on a softer tone. “No, Tim. It was good that you… brought this to my attention. Why would I be mad at you?”
“Bruce is going to be mad,” Tim practically whispered. “I shouldn’t of gone through his stuff… and… he would’ve wanted me to keep this all from you…”
Dick took a few moments to think of his response. “Well, you made the right choice telling me. He shouldn’t be keeping secrets like this in the first place.” Definitely not secrets that revolve around you…
“… ‘M sending the file now.” Distant clicking noises could be heard through the call, and then Tim followed up with, “I’m… sorry that Bruce didn’t let you know.”
“It’s not your fault, Tim,” was Dick’s soft reply. “He’s always been like that. Thinking it would protect us, or something.”
Protect us. The words were like acid on Dick’s tongue. Using secrets as protection always made Dick feel sick to his stomach. Looking at the past couple of years, Bruce’s secrets have done anything but protect others. They drove Dick away from him, they put Jason six feet under, and now…
God, why wasn’t Dick the first person to know about this other (Y/N)?
Maybe it was selfish of him to think that. He wasn’t your only friend, so the rest of the Team had just as much as a right to know as he did. But he still should’ve known. He should’ve been involved with the investigation; he knows you better than anyone. And Bruce knows this.
“You… gonna be okay?”
Tim’s voice pulled him back to reality. With a weak cough, Dick wet his lips and said, “yeah. I’ll be alright. Just gonna read over the file for myself and… figure out what to do from there.” An awkward pause, then he continued. “Thank you for this, Tim. Call me if anything else comes up.”
“Yeah… yeah, of course. I-I will.”
And, with that, the call ended.
His hand dropped to his side, the phone in his hand almost slipping from his grip. This couldn’t be real. None of this could be real. You were dead, yet… you were back. Someone with your face was out there talking about some other team… the Titans, and he was just now finding out about this.
After a week, he bitterly recalled.
Taking a final glance at the picture frame, his eyes scanned over your face. This new supposed (Y/N) wasn’t you. It couldn’t be you. The memory of your dull, lifeless face at the morgue still haunts him to this day, causing a chill to run up his spine and his hair to stand on end. Dick knows what death looks like, and you were, without a doubt, dead.
So, who was masquerading as his dead friend?
The answer seemed to be simple; you were masquerading as his dead friend. But… not you. Even if your DNA was an exact match, and Cadmus didn’t have any involvement, whoever you were, you weren’t his (Y/N). He’d like to believe that his (Y/N) would demand to see him, to assure him that you were still alive. You wouldn’t have let him go an entire week without knowing, leaving him to mourn someone that was still alive. As far as he concerned, this new (Y/N) was a stranger.
But, that just led him back to square one; who was this stranger?
Guess I’m about to find out.
BRIEFING
König x reader
I wasn’t expecting my first König post to get 100 notes in a day, holy shit. So, context: I wanted to turn this into a small series, where König and socially awkward reader are trying to get through life, but then my friend barged into my DMs and said, “you better add some 141 bullshittery or else,” so now it’s going to be König and socially awkward reader with a dash of 141. Except I had to add context behind why 2 KorTac contractors are with 141, so this is basically just a prologue to any future stories regarding König and the reader.
The reader is gender neutral.
Contains: soldier reader, socially awkward reader, reader is referred to as 6-6 a lot, boring mission briefing, a lot of this is just context for future blurbs, 141 shenanigans.
If there was one thing König was used to, it was being “specifically requested.” And it was no secret as to why; he’s a fucking mountain. That’s why they wanted him for the 1st Platoon in the Kommando Spezialkräfte. That’s why they wanted him as a contractor for KorTac. And, presumably, that’s why they want him for this “6-man Tundra Team.” His size proves useful on the field no matter what team he’s deployed on, and he’s sure that Ms. Kate Laswell was thinking no different.
KorTac, of course, was hesitant to let him go. Even if the higher-ups didn’t bother to commit his name to memory, they recognize his as “that big guy” who can tank through just about any barrier. To lose their human battering ram (even if it was just for a couple months) was absolutely some devastating news. But this Laswell woman must have some clever tricks up her sleeve, because the next thing König knew, he was signing a contract that let a man named John Price borrow him from KorTac.
That’s how the Austrian man found himself in a sizable SUV with 3 Brits and a Scot. Whether they chose this car in particular for their own storage convenience — or because they knew just who they were transporting — König had no idea. But he was thankful for their decision either way, as there was enough room for not only his head, but his legs as well.
“So,” the Scot began, leaning forward from his seat all the way in the back so the men in the front could hear him. “We’ve got our Tundra 5-6. Where’s our Tundra 6-6?”
“En route,” the man in the passenger seat (who König recognized as John Price) responded. He adjusted the woolen cap on his head before turning around to address König. “I understand you were the one who took charge in the AQ-Berlin mission?”
Took charge is an exaggeration. All König did was follow the orders he was given under the Kommando Spezialkräfte, which just so happened to involve him getting all the kills. Even so, he gave Price a short nod, his sniper veil rustling with the movement.
“A lot taller than what I was expecting,” commented the Scot from behind him.
König didn’t respond. Not because he was offended (he was used to hearing comments about his height during first meetings), but because even after years of people gawking at how tall he is, he still had no idea how to respond. It was just natural instinct for him to tune out anything regarding his height and wait for the subject to change.
The Scot spoke up once again. “Not much of a talker, are you?”
“Laswell said you weren’t,” said the driver. From the rear-view mirror, König could see his baseball cap and sunglasses, and the Austrian was beginning to wonder if he had overdressed for the occasion. Compared to the other men’s more casual clothing, he felt rather out of place in his full-on military attire. Even the other man in the back — the one with the skull mask — was at least wearing a leather jacket and jeans to blend in more (well, no matter. At least they were all just sitting in a parked car, and not meeting up at a cafe or something).
“It’s alright,” the Scot chortled. König could hear him lean back in his seat. “Ghost isn’t much for conversation, either. But I can get ‘im talkin’. You should hear ‘im on missions with me. Just bletherin’ away ‘n my earpiece.”
“Keep dreaming, Johnny,” a low voice mumbled — who must of been Ghost — from behind König.
Before the Scott could say anything in return, Price got everyone’s attention. “Looks like Tundra 6-6 just showed up.”
König looked out the windshield to see a fully suited-up soldier approaching the SUV. Just like König, they must’ve not heard about the casual dress-code memo, so it’s fortunate for both of them that the meet-up zone was an empty parking lot. The closer they got to the car, the more clearly König could see them, and he couldn’t help but feel they looked… familiar.
“Laswell, this is Gaz” the driver spoke, and it took a moment for König to realize he was speaking into a radio. “Tundra 6-6 has arrived.”
A staticky noise rang out, accompanied by a friendly-sounding beep from the radio. “Copy that. When you arrive, gear up. We’ll brief on the runway before take-off.”
The car door opened, and the Tundra 6-6 soldier climbed in before slamming the door shut. Their eyes scanned everyone in the car before landing on König. “It’s you,” was all they said, a casual tone lacing their words.
It was then that König remembered; the phone call. This was the soldier that was forced to answer the call that König was forced to make. Though it was nearly a month ago, he could remember everything like it was yesterday.
“Hello,” he politely greeted, offering a curt nod along with it.
Behind him, he could hear Johnny lean forward again. “You two know each other, then?”
“Both are from KorTac,” Price answered. “We managed to snag ‘em for our 6-man team.”
While the others were talking, the driver (who called himself Gaz) already had his keys in the ignition, bringing the SUV to life with a low hum. He looked at Price as his hand landed on the gearshift. “We ready to go then?”
The bearded man next to him offered a nod as a response. “Let’s not keep Laswell waiting.”
And, with that, the SUV began to head out of the parking lot, carrying all members of the Tundra Team to the start of their months-long mission.
Gearing up was easy enough.
Since, well, König was already geared up.
Waiting for everyone else, he found himself sitting on a crate next to the hangar while absentmindedly bouncing his leg. This 6-man team was already shaping up to be an interesting experience. Johnny — well, he was also named Soap, apparently… König wasn’t sure which one to call him — kept talking for the entire car-ride, which drained König’s social battery (despite the face that the Scot wasn’t even directly talking to him). Gaz turned on the radio at one point while Price grumbled something about “wanting to burn one” a couple times. Ghost, like his name would suggest, was basically a phantom in the back, though he did talk to Soap a couple of times. And Tundra 6-6…
“König, right?”
The Austrian snapped out of his thoughts to see the soldier standing across from him. Ah, yeah. They didn’t need time to gear up either, since they came fully suited-up as well.
“Tundra 5-6 for the mission,” König responded. He looked down at his hands, which were joined together in his lap. Apparently, he had been subconsciously fiddling with his thumbs this entire time, so he unclasped them and leaned back against the crate. “But, yes. König.”
Tundra 6-6 hummed. They hoisted themself up on the crate next to König, though keeping a comfortable distance from him. “Tundra 6-6, then. That’s my name. Uh… for the mission.”
“I know,” said König, then immediately grimacing at his words. Of all the things he could’ve said, why did he choose that. And it didn’t help that he decided to choose a very condescending tone. So, to salvage himself, he decided to add on, “it’s… good to see you…” a beat of silence, then he finished with, “again.”
Another hum came from 6-6. “Uh-huh.” He watched you stare at the ground for a second, before snapping your head up to face him (it actually startled him, slightly) “Um… good to see you, too.”
The awkward exchange was cut short when the hangar doors opened. Now fully suited-up, the 4 men walked towards König and 6-6 while talking amongst themselves. Soap jumped up on König’s crate, who could already feel his social battery depleting slowly but surely.
“So,” the Scot began, casually rolling his shoulders back, “is this your first time goin’ to Russia, big guy?”
König’s eyes met his (by accident), and he found himself mimicking Soap’s shoulder roll (also by accident) as he looked away. “Yes.”
The answer was short. Much shorter than König wanted it to be. Though he didn’t necessarily care about what his temporary teammates thought of him, he didn’t want to start off this months-long endeavor on the wrong foot. Before he could elaborate on his answer, however, Soap leaned forward to address 6-6. “What about you? Ever been to Russia?”
The soldier didn’t respond right away. They took a couple moments to heave a sigh before replying with a very hesitant, “Oymyakon…”
“Oi-ma-kon,” Soap echoed, testing it on his tongue. “Sounds familiar.” When Price came over to throw a duffel bag at him, he asked, “hey, Captain, where have I hear O-mack-n before?”
Price furrowed his brows. “Oymyakon?” Soap nodded, so the bearded man continued. “It’s where we’re headed, Sergeant. Fort Boynysk.” He then turned to face 6-6. “Hope you liked it there. I understand from Laswell that you were stationed in Boynysk at one point.”
“Speaking of Laswell,” Gaz mused, turning his attention to the approaching figure. Everyone turned to face her as she quickly closed the distance between the team and herself, fiddling with the tablet in her hands. “This is everyone, right?”
Before anyone could answer, she continued. “Fort Boynysk is a small Russian military base in the village Oymyakon. It’s supposedly been out of commission since the Cold War, but… that’s obviously not true.” Her eyes flicked to 6-6, then back to her tablet. “A… Russian terrorist highered a private military company to station in Boynysk a couple years ago, but the death of this terrorist caused it to be abandoned once again.”
“Supposedly,” Price added.
“We have reason to believe there’s activity in Fort Boynysk again,” said Laswell, giving out a small sigh as she hesitated. “This time, we want to find out who’s using it before it’s too late.”
König quirked a brow (though no one could see it under his veil). “Why does it matter that someone could be using it again?”
“We have someone we’ve got our eyes on,” Soap explained with a lopsided smile. “He’s—”
“Need-to-know,” Ghost quickly interjected. König and 6-6 looked over at Ghost, both completely forgetting he was even there, then looked back at Laswell and Price. Probably some international threat scheiße, the Austrian mentally scoffed. And, when he sent a quick glance to 6-6, he could tell that they were thinking something similar (the life of a contractor for a PMC is basically just dealing with an international threat without explicitly being told you’re dealing with an international threat. Just don’t ask questions about it).
It was 6-6’s turn to ask a question. “Why will it take months, then?”
“This mission starts off as recon. Purely recon.” Price’s eyes scanned over the other 5 soldiers to make sure he had their attention. “That means not a single bullet shell should be spent until we know everything. And I mean everything. Am I understood?”
There was a mix of response from the team (such as “yessir,” “rog,” or “aye-aye, Capt’n,”). Laswell picked up the briefing from there. “Our plan of action from there depends on what we learn. In the meantime, contact with the enemy before we know their connections could make this an international incident. Don’t let that happen.”
Covert, König noted. He thought back to his younger self, and how his dreams of being a recon sniper went down the drain due to his size. Now here he is, being specifically requested for a recon mission in Russia. As much as he would like to admit being rejecting from the 5th Platoon was no longer a sore topic for him, a smug sense of pride swelled in his chest.
Price’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Tundra is a 6-man team plus a pilot. I’m Tundra 0-6, your pilot is Tundra 1-6.” His finger went to Gaz. “Tundra 2-6,” then to Ghost, “Tundra 3-6,” then to Soap, “Tundra 4-6.” He then waved his finger towards König and 6-6. “Big Guy is Tundra 5-6, and Big Guy’s friend is Tundra 6-6.”
Before König could process the Big Guy’s friend part, Soap chimed in with, “and Laswell’s Igloo.”
Price dumbly blinked. “… What?”
“Igloo,” Soap repeated. “Y’know, to keep with the tundra theme?”
“That’s dumb,” Ghost mumbled. Next to him, Gaz seemed to be fighting back a smile as he tried to say, with total seriousness, “igloo?”
“Yeah, Igloo,” Soap said for a third time, as if repeating it a bunch would set it in stone.
“… I’m not going by Igloo,” Laswell stated with a deadpanned voice.
“Laswell is Watcher, not… Igloo,” declared Price, hesitant on even uttering Soap’s codename idea.
Ghost then interjected with, “I like Igloo better.”
Gas’s head snapped towards the masked man. “You just said it was dumb.”
“It’s starting to grow on me,” Ghost shrugged.
“It hasn’t even been a minute—”
Gaz was interrupted by Price, who gave a frustrated exhale. “Listen. Laswell is not going by Igloo. Laswell is Watcher. She’s always been Watcher. Okay?”
Silence blanketed over the team. It was as if everyone was too afraid to speak up, obviously picking up on the captain’s growing vexation. 10 solid seconds passed before Gaz broke the silence; “actually, Igloo’s growing on me, too.”
Soap let out a loud, ah-HA, which caused König and 6-6 to jump slightly. “See? Imagine this, Captain.” He put his hand up to his ear, imitating an earpiece. “Tundra 4-6 to Igloo. Do you read, Igloo.”
Gaz put his hand up to his ear as well to continue the bit. “Copy that, Tundra 4-6. This is Igloo.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Price groaned. “Fine. Okay. Laswell can be Igloo. R’ya happy with that?”
More silence. Then Ghost spoke up.
“… Nevermind, I don’t like Igloo anymore.”
“I swear to fucking GOD—”
König almost let out an amused chortle at his team’s banter. He already got the sense that they knew each other outside of Tundra Team, but now he realized he was really out of place amongst them. They all had chemistry with each other, while he couldn’t even keep a smooth conversation with his fellow KorTac contractor.
Though, to be fair, 6-6 wasn’t exactly the best conversational partner, either.
Sending a quick glance in their direction, König’s eyes accidentally met with theirs. They must’ve been thinking the exact same thing he was — or at least something along the same lines — because their eyes darted towards their new teammates before landing back on him. All he could do was shrug back, breaking their eye contact as he leaned back on his hands.
It was going to be a long couple of months, wasn’t it?
Schätze, wir stecken da zusammen drin, 6-6.