⏤͟͟͞͞★

his fingers were swift. taking off the straps. he watched as you moved. the figure that was much smaller. less harsh and hard around the edges. of someone who was not accustomed to heavy loaded work like them. your gait was unsteady from the sedative he had administrated. he had been careful. of course, he had been so careful with the dosage. just enough to calm you down. it was just enough to make the world a lot softer at the edges. just enough that you would not remember the way his eyes had flickered to an ominous red. he just watched as you had left the tent.

he continued to watch you. his gaze never truly left your form. watching as you clutch the cyan ticket that he only gave to a few… he did not move. not one bit, but he was watching. his hand had twitched. like he was trying to memorise the touch. the way your cheek felt, the weight… the softness. he let his hand to relax. the cyan of his goggles went dull. in something much quieter… it was not the quietness of nothing. it wasn’t a flat look, or one of disinterest. he could still feel the thrumming of your heartbeat against his palm. he had remembered how he had counted it without meaning to… but he always did. he always found it so fascinating with humans. the workings of their bodies. it was truly fascinating… so interesting. however. there was something different from yours compared to the many who had waltzed into his tent.

yours had been exactly right. it wasn’t approximately. it was not similar. of course. he was someone who believed in facts and science… it was just… the same tempo. the same pressure. the small little flutter from different beats that he had catalogued and memorise over a century ago. so… so many nights. when he had pressed close. trying to replicate the feeling. the sensation. he had slowly lowered his hands. curling his fingers into a tight fist before slowly loosened it. the gloves made a soft creak as he did so. ❛ you are not them ❜ he told himself. he closed his eyes. the words landed somewhere in his chest… yet it did not take root into his foundation that he had built. years had passed and grief was a fickle mistress. where it was hard to truly let you go. even when he understood that he had only known them for a brief time of his long life… truly… it was peculiar. how one simple life can change one’s life… a simple blimp in his long life.

his gaze turned to the white clad figure. yet the doctor did not physically turn to acknowledge the fool. he walked to the examination chair… where you had been bound only minutes before they were interrupted. the restraints were now loose… empty. his clawed tops traced along the seat. pressing his finger against the warmth… it still faintly lingers. he trailed along the armrest. ❝ you have something to say? ❞ he asked, wondering when the message would be. from the faint traces of purple. it must be jester who had sent the fool. ❝ they knew too much. ticket taker’s report was… rather concerning ❞ the voice of the controlled human came rather thin and rough. it was like air was escaping and struggling too come out a balloon with a simple hole. the fool had paused. ❝ you had let them go ❞ it continued to speak.

❝ i gave them a ticket ❞ doctor answered his oldest friend amongst the troupe. ❝ i saw ❞ it continued. the doctor slowly turned towards the fool. ❝ then you saw what just happened ❞ the doctor answered. though as he watched the white clad fold step close. ❝ the issue is that you gave a cyan ticket. your ticket ❞ it continued. but the doctor did not say or respond. ❝ cyan tickets are not those who know too much… not for- for- ❞ the fool try to articulate the words from the purple clad jester that was mere feet’s away. ❝ i know. i am aware of what cyan tickets are for ❞ it was for those that had piqued their interest. a game of sorts they had started. and he was one that gave out the least. he can almost count the amount of those he gave out in just one hand… compared to the others. the silence between the two had that kind of weight. the one that pressed heavy.

❝ doctor ❞ the fool said. there was something gentle in it… but there was a hint of warning. ❝ who was that? ❞ and just as the doctor remained there. his cyan eyes met the hollow gaze of the fool’s mask. ❝ they were a patient. nothing more. nothing less ❞ the doctor responded. ❝ that is not what i asked ❞ the fool spat out. the doctor stared at the human… no, at the mirage of jester. the one he had met first. he knew how protective jester was to the memory of them that it bordered dangerous. like the idea of someone would ever sully their name or the memory. he could count so many instances… yet he knew that jester was a patient man. ❝ you… you wanted to know if they are a threat ❞ the doctor asked. he had paused as he watched the guarded figure. even when jester was not physically there, the body of the controlled fools… almost followed the movement of their leader.

❝ they had… their heartbeat ❞ the doctor’s words came out before he could truly stop it. ❝ not a heartbeat. it was theirs… they breathed in the same cadence… and their fear… the fear had the same tempo… same flavour ❞ the doctor spoke. as he watched the fool pause. it was very still. ❝ doctor. ❞ the sound sounded like fury hidden behind politeness and grace. ❝ that is not possible ❞ the fool had answered. ❝ the one you speak of… meu sol…is dead ❞ the fool had made sure his words, his tone was measured. ❝ but… they were about to say something before you had interrupted ❞ the doctor turned to stare at the gap of the tent. the night sky. the soft glow of the lights. ❝ ale— they had began to say something. a name… or perhaps someone who had knew me… or— ❞

❝ or nothing. ❞ the fool cut in. ❝ a coincidence. a half formed word. the sedative was already in their systems. their thoughts… were not coherent ❞ the fool had continued. ❝ that is the logical conclusion ❞ the doctor had nodded. and he could see the fool twitched. while his gaze turned down to his hand. hands that cradled your cheek not ten minutes before with a tenderness that should have been impossible for the likes of him. ❝ their name… was written down. it was shaky. almost like they were writing their own death warrant ❞ the doctor laughed silently. ❝ the initials… ❞ which only had made the fool step closer. ❝ do not make the same mistake. bil had been mistaken by tricks like this before ❞ the fool gazed up. he was serious. ❝ you are wondering if you want them to be them… doctor. you are no fool. there is no chance they are alive ❞

then he watched as the fool turned to head back to the purple tent. it was a word of caution. a warning. he had slowly sat on the large chair. it creaked beneath him. he had closed his eyes. remembering the single syllable… ale— just a syllable. it could have been anything. alessandra. alex. alec. alexander. or it could have been a sneeze. a cough. a random exhalation. but you were looking at him when you said it. your eyes blown wide… yes. but was focused. you were looking at him. at him. there was something in your gaze. not recognition. not exactly. that would be too simple. it was…. almost like a shadow of recognition. the doctor slowly pressed his palm against his chest. feeling the sound of his heart. trying to remember something that his own memory had long faded but a few.

❛ ale— ❜

❝ alexandrite ❞ he had quietly muttered to himself. like a hope that was as small as a small flame.

——————————————————————————

the moment you stepped out. you felt like you thoughts were a jumble… or possibly like things in a jar filled with water. shaking. shaking. the outside sky was already a dark colour gradients of blues and purples. the lights were buzzing. everything felt like stroke lights… just as you squint, trying your best to focus… you started panicking. your friend. where did your friend go? you heart felt like it was punching against your ribs. you can just feel the panic trying to break through. yet it felt like it was getting smothered and muffled. ❛ where? ❜ you turban in a slow circle. the music that was playing, felt wrong. the melody was all wrong. the notes seem like a jumble, playing half notes, either a step fast or step slow. your tongue felt dead in your mouth as you started to walk. and every step felt like dragging lead across. you keep seeing things at the edges of the tents.

you can feel the panic climbing now. clawing its way up through the fog. everything felt like it was building in your chest. whatever you took, would not let your body match the terror. you felt so trapped. your phone? it was dead. you don’t even remember it dying. as two things were having a war in your nervous system. and you were definitely losing at both fronts. you were shaking and trembling. your vision kept tunnelling. as your arms were tightly wrapped around yourself. trying to put in the weight somehow. just as you continued to walk. you can see the food stalls. the scent made you so nauseous. the popcorn. the half eaten pretzels. the fried dough. everything just felt like a dizzying mess.

and there… at the very end, sitting on a crate, talking to the one dressed in the blue suit and half masked. your friend. just as you sped up toward them, your gaze stared at the man. was it a glare? possibly not but the intent was there. the moment ticket taker spotted you, he was quick to politely bow to your friend before leaving, which only made your anxiety soar. what were they talking about? did your friend had no idea about how this circus was absolute bad news. just as you approached, your friend must have heard the sound of your footsteps, because they turned to look at you. their expression was neutral. mild. untroubled. utterly normal compared to you. ❝ oh hey, took you long enough ❞ your friend said. as they stared at you, with concern. ❝ you okay? you look kind of out of it ❞ they questioned. you looked at the food in their hand. half eaten. the drink in their hand, half finished.

❝ why… were you talking to that guy ❞ you asked, your friend who sat there eating. ❝ oh! i did a quick visit to the blue tent! it was extremely fun, just mirrors. he was outside the tent when i did a quick visit ❞ your friend answered, gulping the food. you stood there as you were trying to calm your mind. hearing how your friend was not aware the eerie feeling around the circus. you stared at your friend, pinching the bridge of your nose. ❝ you should stop by. it was just mirrors. there is quite a few people in there. it is quite calming ❞ your friend smiled. you stared at your friend and slowly trailed your eyes towards the blue tent to just looms over the circus… just like every single tent. it felt like you were in a forest, in a dark dark wooded area… trees loomed, the branches… they were trying to cover the sky. it was… enclosing.

❝ i… ❞ you were uncomfortable. both at the idea of leaving your friend again… but also going into the tent that from deduction? was ran by the man from the front. though, now you have so many questions… so many needed to be answered. why is it that everything seemed so… familiar yet so dreadful. like something is haunting the very ground. ghosts? some entity? you could not understand. and maybe in some sick way, you want to at least… get to the bottom of it. what can truly go wrong in a mirror tent? and somehow you thinking of that, it felt like you had just jinxed your future self. something can definitely happen. maybe one of the mirrors was a video or something. a mirage… before you had slowly nodded. ❝ i can go check it out ❞ you whispered. and seeing their smile, watching as they had patted your arm.

❝ it is just some simple mirrors ❞ they smiled. you stared, seeing the way your friend was being supportive… and well… you only came to make sure your friend didn’t end… up… you didn’t know what they would end up as. you nodded with a silence. before you slowly moved. still feeling the blur around the edges. softer. yet your mind and your heart was going in two different directions. your mind was soft, like a nice and… a little muddy… meanwhile your heart was racing at full speed. your heart was pumping in your chest. like you had ran a long marathon and had not yet stopped running. your hands was sweaty. ❝ wish me luck ❞ you muttered under your breath. forcing a smile on your face. as you quietly staggered towards the blue tent. trying to rationalise. you spent a lot of money on a ticket. it was right to visit all the attractions. just two more tents. and you can just leave and run away. never come back. just try to forget what you seen.

god. the sedative was still thrumming in your system. a slow river in your blood. and now you are here… wherever here was. you pushed through the flap. and inside… the world just fractured. mirrors. every surface was a mirror, well except for the ceiling, thankfully. the mirror was all polished. that made your reflection was clear. you stood there. you were seeing yourself… the multiplication was nauseating. and the tent was full. packed with people. and they don’t notice you. thats the first wrong thing…. and the second one? was the silence of it. you slowly blinked only to see that every single person… was almost removed. as if they were never there. you were alone in a tent of mirrors. you press your palms against your heart. grounding the technique. you close your eyes… before you slowly opened them.

still empty. still mirrors… still you, multiplied into meaninglessness. until you turned. the sound of a spotlight being turned on. a shadow appeared almost like a mirage merging from the fog. ❝ hm? my tent doesn’t usually attract that many curious souls… especially ones who seem so eager to run away ❞

and you did want to run away.

——————————————————————————

the cyan tent loomed. striped in a muted cyan and black… it looked like it was breathing in the evening wind. like the circus was pulsing like a rapid heartbeat. you stood there as you felt like the laughter around you sounded like screams if she listened to it wrong. you felt violated by the recognition. your memories, the ones you cherished while also mourned, was dressed in some little performance and presented in front of an audience. like someone had taken your story… their story… and hung them on a stage. lit in lights… selling tickets to tell the story that you held so dear to your heart. you stood there. everything felt so… wrong. muffled. distant… just wrong. your hands trembled. holding a pen as you started at the waiver form on the clipboard that was offered to you by a person clad in white. it was eerie. as you stared at the letters that blurred and jumbled. your hand on the pen felt so foreign in your own hands. 

your friend was settling onto a bench just outside. ❝ i’ll wait here ❞ they said gently. face masked with concern. ❝ you don’t have to go in if you don’t want to ❞ they reassured you. but you have to. this unbearable feeling. and the sensation that you were being watched… somehow you were hoping for an explanation… maybe evidence that you were not going insane. as you stared at the waiver. you stared and stared. the usual language of one, however… it felt like a contract for something so much darker. like if you were going to sign it, it would possibly be a death warrant. signing meant agreeing to whatever was in there… the pen shook in your hand. ❝ no… i will go inside ❞ you finally mustered. you signed it. your signature came out wrong, wobbly. not yourself. it was like an unfamiliar scrawl. as if someone was trying to forge your own signature. 

handing the clipboard back. you stepped through the canvas, into the dark. the lights were so dim that it was completely dark… hanging figures twisted in ways that made you feel sick in the stomach. you stood there, almost too scared to move your legs. then a scent hit you like a splash of water. familiar. beautiful… unsettling… too impossible to truly forget. it was the faint spice, clove? or was it cinnamon. it was faint beneath the sweetness that was reminiscent of honeysuckle. but then there were other scents that made you nauseous. the air felt sterile… but at the same time, it wasn’t. there was a scent of an attempt to clean with something ammonia based mixed with sanitiser. but it could never truly hide the lingering scent of blood. heavy. sharp. the coppery tang.

was there no end?

though as you stood there. the puppets? moved. the sound of cracking, a forceful movement of joints that made you wince. why did you expect to actually get medical attention in a circus that advertised horror? ❝ come closer, dear patient. don’t be shy ❞ the voice beckoned you closer top the chair illuminated by the red spotlight. then the dissonance of force. the eyes. god the eyes were turning towards you. all glowing cyan. just as the walk way lit up for you to approach. you wanted to turn. to say no. but you moved. approaching the towering figure. this was the closest you gotten to one of the performers. you could see how he looked. how he dressed. the plague mask which made you wonder if it was all for show or that he actually stuffed herbs inside to mask the… foul odour in this darkly lit tent. you were not sure. 

❝ don’t forget to roll up your sleeves, please ❞ the doctor had spoken once more. making hairs jolt up. you were hesitant. your eyes gazed around in the room. unsure if you can stomach what you had eaten. too much was happening at once. you felt like your hands moved. slowly pulling your sleeves up. rolling the fabric up one by one, your hands trembled and shook so hard, you lost count of how much you unroll and rolled it back again. slowly feeling the seat beneath you. sitting there as the gleaming bloodied medical instruments lay on a blue cloth… you were hoping and praying that that was just some fake blood. some prop. until an incense was lit. the scent… it was something you have experienced before… the faint clove and honeysuckle was much stronger. was that…. the azalea that you were smelling? it was masking the other scents. there was almost like a floral scent… something akin to just jasmine… perhaps a hint of something tropical… it calms your nerves more than you like to admit it. 

❝ you wanted to run off, didn’t you? ❞ he asked calmly. almost trying to reassure you. but it was true… you did want to run. but not in the case of running away from this tent… but running away from this entire circus that had done nothing but made you sick. the doctor took your silence as a confirmation but not aware of the many underlying reasons why you wanted to run away. ❝ it’s fine. no one really likes visiting the doctor ❞ he whispered. his gloved hands started to tie down your wrists. ❝ after all, there aren’t any secrets between the doctor and their patient, right? ❞ you started noting at the sharp points of his gloves. was this some type of cosplay? ❝ what… what are you doing? ❞ you were trying to heave through. but the incense was dulling your mind… lulling you to something nostalgic. something that had your heart slowing down. calming down. ❝ it’s part of the procedure. i don’t want you to freak out and run off ❞ he took a small pause. ❝ you could hurt yourself, you know? ❞ he pulled back after securing the ties. ❝ there are dangerous instruments in an office ❞

❝ on your file… ❞ he paused. you sat there. but the doctor was staring at the file silently. pensively as he read what was written down. what ticket taker had quickly jot down between the passing of the form between fool and doctor. ❝ it seems you are suffering from stress induced attack ❞ he finally spoke. tapping the page. ❝ a… a colleague of mine has directed you here, yes? ❞ he turned to you. you were silent. trying to listen, but you were too out of it. finding comfort in the incense that just reminded you to a time. but all you did was nod. parting your lips as you realise it was rude to not respond. ❝ yes ❞ your eyes watched as he tilt his head to the left. ❝ hmmm. don’t worry. i will be very gentle. i am your doctor. and i would examine every fibre of your being to see what is the cause of these… stressful moments, dear patient ❞

his hands moved. touching your wrist. pressing firmly against your pulse to check it. but all you did was lean to it. making the doctor slowly blink beneath. what a strange peculiar reaction. he slowly listened. counting the beats. it was slowly down. he had heard it then. when you stepped in the tent. your heart was thrumming to the roar of a drum. how your eyes darted around the tent like you were waiting for something to drop… for a body to drop. he remembered how your breathing was ragged. you were afraid. you were scared. the rushing of blood all over your body. god… it reminded him of… he paused. he stood there. it reminded him of them. but he was no delusional fool like pierrot… or was he? he leaned in, your fear tasted too much like theirs. and somehow he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from you. 

but worth great effort, he pulled away. clearing his throat, psychology was a little outside his field of expertise. ❝ what is troubling you so? ❞ he asked. and you, who sat there, inhaling the incense that made you rock your head a little bit. this just felt like a therapy session… but a session that was much cheaper than you could get. for a ticket, that was at least half the cost of your actual sessions. leaning against the chair. somehow you were a little too scared at the idea of exposing that you believe if you said something along the lines of speaking of the belief you witnessed a murder in the pink tent… that the second performance made you yearn and crave the touch of people you were unsure were alive and well. to the third performance that was a grotesque retelling of something so sacred to your heart… and here you were, in one tent and two more to go.

the tent was quiet. well, as quiet as being surrounded by the sounds of on goers, muffled by the thick canvas. ❝ i keep… having this dream ❞ you spoke quietly. ❝ well.. it is not like a dream…. it is more like a memory ❞ you wanted to place your hands on your lap. ❝ except it had never happened… or maybe it has happened. i don’t know ❞ no, you did know it happened. that newspaper article meant something, right? that you had experienced something… or were you trying to fool yourself. to hopefully make something make sense. your fingers traced along the groove of the chair. ❝ i am sitting with all these people… they look at me… but i know that i have to do this one thing. if i didn’t, they’ll all… ❞ you paused. you couldn’t truly finish your words. your eyes closed your eyes. ❝ one of them… they.. oh… they took initiative. and i don’t scream. i don’t even think about screaming at all. i just let it happen ❞ you slowly opened your eyes. watching as he stared at you. it was nerve wrecking with how you were not sure if he was blinking or showing an expression. 

❝ sometimes… some mornings… some times after naps… i wake up and ache ❞ you whispered. ❝ at your chest? ❞ the doctor had finally spoke. but you shook your head to answer him. ❝ no. not in one place… not like i have been hurt. it’s so much deeper… it’s so raw. like somethings been pulled out of me me and i can still feel where it was clawed out ❞ you let out a shaky breath. you winced when you realised you wanted to reach to your chest. ❝ and… i am so tired ❞ you whispered. the doctor frowned, not like you can see it. ❝ perhaps some melatonin would do good rest ❞ he didn’t have the qualifications to administer actual medication. but you shook your head once more at him. ❝ it is not the sleepy kind of tired… its just tired. like i have been trying to carry something for so very long… and no one notices… no one understands. no one ever saw it happen… it was just a dream they say ❞ you laughed… however, it sounded so exhausting. it was too thin and hollow. a sound that made the doctor choose to listen longer. 

❝ maybe i made it all up… maybe it’s just… ❞ you were tearing up. feeling frustrated. feeling angry at it all. ❝ i don’t know. like it was just some metaphor… for something stupid ❞ you wanted to cry. ❝ but it doesn’t feel like a metaphor. it… it feels like the truest thing that ever had happened to me… and somehow it is the most loneliest ❞ you whispered. clutching on the chair. there was some silence between the both of you and the doctor. ❝ does that make any sense? ❞ you asked in a quiet voice. your vision was completely blurry. and somehow you felt like you were talking in circles. you waited for his words. waited for what he may say. somehow you were expecting him to be like the others. the same doctors and therapist. that you had such an overactive imagination. that you were probably making everything up… that it was all dreams. that they were never real. 

that it was never real in the first place. 

but the doctor was quiet. ticket taker had written how you knew too much. the possibility that you were aware of what was truly happening behind closed doors. however, instead of getting an admission that you knew, instead… he was met with a dilemma. how was he supposed to approach this… how was he supposed to separate the feeling that you were someone he knew. he was silent. his hands had reached towards you. and for a moment those cyans had become red. ❝ you know… your fear… it’s just like them ❞ his hands trembled. was this the delusion that pierrot felt? his large hand cupped your cheek. his fingers were cool even through the gloves… it was not unpleasant. ❝ your heart pumping… just like theirs ❞ he leaned in. making your breath hitch there was something wrong with how the doctor was approaching this. 

his hand traced along your jaw, ❝ thump… thump… thump… thump ❞ his hands moved, rose ands fell like a metronome that he had memorised its rhythm. it was right. exactly right… too right. the heart beat that he had remembered with precision of something that he spent a very very long time listening to. while his other hand had held a syringe, it was quick. swift. a movement to prick and get you to calm yourself. ❝ the fear… oh the same fear… you wear it so beautiful, dear patient. i can smell it on you like i smelled it on them ❞ his hands returned back to your cheek. thumb tracing the curve of your cheek to your cheekbone. ❝ and your pupils…. ❞ he leaned closer. ❝ blown wide. just like theirs. looking at you now… i could almost pretend… ❞ his voice cracked. not with some emotion but it was something else. his hand paused. his thumb had stopped moving. 

❝ that you… are them ❞

he pulled away. ❝ but they are dead… no they still belong to us… belong to us who loved them to pieces… all the pieces ❞ he paused. ❝ fufu ❞ he laughed a little bit. ❝ i like you ❞ he spoke. before he had miraculously pulled a ticket. a cyan ticket. a special ticket. you were a little dizzy. watching as he had untied the bounds around your wrist. your gaze was staring at the ticket. there was no looming foreboding. ❝ what is this? ❞ you asked as he handed the ticket. his eyes were back to one of cyans. ❝ ale— ❞ you stared as you opened your mouth. until the white clad fool opened the entrance. almost like it was trying to relay information from someone else. ❝ hmm. i guess we would have to cut our appointments short… but i do hope you use my ticket, my dear dear patient ❞

however one thing remained on his mind… ale— what were you going to say?

——————————————————————————

it was not too long before your friend had reunited with you in front of the red tent. and you did not understand why they chose this tent when it was obvious you were still shaken up from the previous performance. perhaps it was for your sake. ripping the bandaid off. your arms wrapped around your waist, turning around slowly… steadily. almost aware of your surroundings. too aware. the air tastes like copper. something so familiar that the hair in the back of your neck raised. there was an itch in your hands. the itch that made you heave. the itch to scratch, to scrub. trying to mentally calm yourself was starting to become a hard feat. you continued to walk. your legs did not feel like you were carrying lead. it moved like it wasn’t yours. numb. carrying you forward into the red tent. even when your instincts were screaming and shaking you to stop. that something was truly wrong about this circus.

because what you saw… it kept replaying over and over again. the spotlight. the haze of it all. the choreography. it was seamless… until it involved the dove. the mocking bird. the fact, everyone had seen this act. or perhaps some version of it? you were unsure if the stories changed each day that passed. they watched the fool crumple. the crunch that sounded too real that it could have not been some kind of sound effect. you had watched it all. sick to your stomach. it was so deliberate. all you could hear was the applause. it was all around you. like some kind of sick standing ovation. someone hollered and whooped. all of them… and the shape… form… being discreetly dragged away. everyone thought it was just some dummy, some kind of prop… but you knew through your core that was not the case whatsoever. you who had witnessed death, no matter how many psychologists downplayed your trauma, knew with full certainty that you had watched a double homicide. watched it while everyone cheered for an encore. 

now here you are, your friend has betrayed you in the nicest possible way. you felt like you were running a fever. you were breaking cold sweat. you felt lightheaded. fear gripped your heart with a heavy hand. your stomach was clenching into fists. and your hands could not stop trembling. every time you close your eyes, all you can do is envision the crumbled up bodies. and no one believes you. not your friend. no one. they would just call it dizziness… maybe a huge imagination, something in your head. even when your friend tried to reassure you, you could feel it… you can sense that they did not truly believe it. their support felt hollow… but in a way, it was better than being dismissed of having an overactive imagination. gaslighting you that you have possibly watched too much true crime or you were too paranoid.

but the next show. the next performance. where you will be watching amongst the same crowd. how everyone including yourself would hold their breath… but you would be holding your breath for an entirely different reason. since you would be watching, you would be listening for every single drop. and that’s the worst of it. you had witnessed death. but the people around you would tell you of the impossibility of the truth. and here you were about to possibly watch the sequel of the haunting tragedy. finally finding the solid surface beneath you when you found yourself seated. your heart was pounding so hard against your chest, slamming. you felt powerless once again. seated amongst the others as you would witness another possible death. 

then when the tent was jam packed. it was quite the popular attraction. you chewed your bottom lip. you don’t even move when you felt a quick shove. there was a row seemingly left empty. the front ones. it was something you noticed in the last performance as well. you winced when someone behind you jostled your shoulder and didn't even apologise. but you were too out of it to care. then the tent lights cut out. you could hear how the gasps from the crowd that was vibrating with a need to watch. you glanced around, away from the centre ring. almost like you were trying to see if someone can see what you were seeing. but all in the darkness, you can just see how they were open and eager. innocent in a way that makes your stomach feel like it was bubbling. it was the fact they did not know… or did they not care?? or were you simply reaching too much. 

then a spotlight. you closed your eyes tightly. silently counting in your mind. your breath held. your head slowly… stiffly turned towards the spotlight. it was mechanical. you were waiting to see who… or what would be walking into that light. 

then in the blink of an eye, there standing in the middle of the spotlight was the man from earlier. he had a much different air now that there was a spotlight upon him. it was like he occupied the space, not in an arrogant manner. his feet planted on the ground, the same length of his shoulders. the way he breathes was slow… the rise and fall of his chest. there was some gravitational pull towards it. however, it was his eyes that searched the crowd until landing on you. and for a moment, his eyes seem to sparkle. those eyes that seem to gleam with a joy that you have not seen directed at yourself in so long. but it cannot be true. you cannot let yourself believe. you can’t hurt yourself over and over again. laying awake in the middle of the night… wondering, hoping… shedding too many tears that you have lost count. the painful ache in your heart that cried for them.

it would be selfish to put someone else on the pedestal of someone dear to you. putting them in the spotlight of expectation. 

pierrot stood upon the spotlight. the light catches wrong to his figure. it was complete silence before the music was quiet. almost too quiet like it did not want to take away from the performance. his movements were slow… almost like liquid. his hands moved. that you noticed the pointed tips. they were sharp… like claws. you were wondering what was going to happen. people said this was a physical attraction. it was when his fingers and joints were folding… like he had so many of them. watching as it became a bird. why was there so many bird analogies today.. but you sucked in your breath. shadow work. okay. that’s good. that is not scary. though you watched the shadow almost… come to life. wings beating with desperation. his hands moved, the spotlight followed. each feather, each wing that was the work of a simple contortion of the hand. watching it move around the tent, smooth. like you can hear the wings. like you can feel the wings when the light moves across the crowd, across you. like a gentle caress. then the shivers everyone was getting. 

however, you watched as the shadow plummets. making your heart ache. you watched as the shadow changed. to one of a figure. his? it seemed a little shorter. and you slowly realised that he was telling a story. pierrot moves. something almost like a waltz. the performer raises an arm, and his shadow steps forwards. a duet. it was beautiful. a choreograph of something so long ago. of remembrance. every movement was graceful… so tender and loving. like a performance practiced a thousand times before. it was a memory of a grief that you somehow believed you relate to. his body moved along his shadow like his heart cannot simply let go. the way they moved apart, how his fingers reached for the shadow. and the shadow followed in answer. the fingers almost like they were interlaced with one another. and you can hear the crowd exhale. watching this was a love story.

then you caught the scent of something familiar. pierrot faltered. but remained stead fast. you turned towards the direction towards the scent. jasmine. you momentarily saw something green disappeared from the canvas. only to turn back to the performance. watching as he and the shadow turned. how he spins the shadow. how it moved with something so fluid, like it was life. alive. something that was defying physics all together. how the shadow was blurring at the edges into almost smoke. it was mesmerising. you watched him lower the shadow. then the mood shifts, how he watches as he crumbles. his body folds around the shadow. watching the shadow crumbles alongside him. not in the way you had seen, or heard from the previous tent. not with blood and bones. but the way a shadow crumbles when the light changes. dissolving the edges… becoming less of them… an absence. 

you held your breath. watching as his hands clutch at the dissolving form. his claws close around nothing, again… again… like the beat of a heart. of one he tried to remember. you watched him gather the darkness again… bringing it to the shape. but it slips again… and again. and then the shadow was gone when the spotlight was finally directly on him. finding him… kneeling in the sawdust. arms wrapped around nothing. and the shadow… his shadow loomed over him. behind him. you watched as he shook. like he was trying to hold something that wanted to break in front of so many people. but he chose not to. the crowd was silent before it erupted. cheers. it was art. you could hear people calling it beautiful and it was a performance. an amazing act and show.

but you didn’t think it was not a show. you saw his mouth form words… you were not sure if it was a sob or a name. you could see how the performance had truly ended and the grief replaced it. your heart ached. watching him now rising from the sawdust. turning towards the crowd. pierrot stared at the audience. bowing down theatrically. however, his eyes had found yours again. his hands shook. like he wanted to walk towards you… to pull you close to him. and you did not understand why… why he looked at you like you were something so precious. something he needed to protect… something he needed to keep safe. you were unsure and scared if you should be worried for your being, or feel this heavy load of expectation this one was placing upon you…

you could not tell. and somehow you did not know if you wanted to understand it more… or not. 

——————————————————————————

he had been wrong too many times… too many he could not count. humans he had followed. studies. approached with shaking hands and trembling hope. only to find things wrong. he had believed every time he found someone that it was you. it had to be reincarnation. transmigration… recursive souls. something he had read to bright hope that his beloved was never truly gone. waiting to be found in the billions. a new face, a new life where he would kneel down and vow to protect you. but no one has truly fit in the puzzle quite right. not in the way they acted. not the way their eyes shimmered. but this was so much different. he watched. he watched you throughout the performance. how your eyes wavered… how you shook before you entered his tent. he had to stop that ache. to cradle your weary soul that has been through so much…

so he changed his performance completely. a declaration of love… but harlequin had definitely noticed the change. he was going to report it to the others. pierrot was delusional once again. that this is the same malfunction. it was just his grieving mind that was looking for signs… trying to find patterns in a single person. that this was just a hallucination.. even if in the cold rational part of his mind told him this can’t be them. even then, he was starving… starving for a hundred years. something in his mind was telling him that this time… this time, it was real. it was them. it was finally you. 

❝ pierrot ❞ 

pierrot chose not to turn around. standing in the backstage of his tent. he could not. ❝ pierrot. please ❞ the voice belonged to the usual mocking and teasing harlequin. but it was devoid of the teasing. the taunting. harlequin, the one who had ended them with his hands… pierrot knew, he knew that it was not his fault. it was an act of mercy, to die a slow death or one that was fast and quick. but the pain that tore out his chest, that harlequin was still to blame… even when it was too late. too late to save them. harlequin’s hand settled on pierrot’s shoulder . which pierrot had shook it off with a violence that did not surprise harlequin. ❝ don’t. ❞ pierrot said even when he could see the hurting in harlequin’s eyes. even when he knew that harlequin was going through the same pain that he had, maybe on the same level. ❝ do not tell me this time… i know what you… and everyone will say ❞ pierrot’s voice scraped out of him. clawing up his throat. like a dead man desperately crawling out of the grave. the interventions… the pain and aggression that followed soon after when it was just not them. 

❝ it’s not them ❞ harlequin forced it out of him. even when he was a hypocrite himself. ❝ it is. ❞ pierrot snapped at harlequin. but the green clad figure stood there. watching how pierrot practically snarled at him. ❝ pierrot. ❞ harlequin trying to stand between pierrot and the exit. it was a bad idea. their fights tend to end in bloodshed. ❝ listen to yourself! you say this every time. in one city, in another. in every show when some soul does something remotely like them. a certain angle. and every single time— ❞ harlequin’s voice cracked, even when he tried to recover himself. ❝ this time is different ❞ pierrot spoke… convincing himself as he falters. ❝ it is never different, pierrot ❞ harlequin tried to reason with one of their emotional ones amongst this messed up family. pierrot turned to harlequin, and harlequin could see the war behind his eyes. 

❝ they are dead. ❞ harlequin whispered. it was not to be cruel. never in their memory. it was just true. ❝ we held them. they bled. we all listened to them stop breathing. and then we— ❞ harlequin remembered what had happened afterwards. it was a cruel reminder of the cruel mercy. ❝ do not. do not say it ❞ pierrot’s fist clenched tightly. standing there, shaking. grief. anger… a complex mixture of hope that pierrot tried to keep a tight hold on. harlequin closed his eyes, turning away from him. ❝ pierrot… they are gone. there is no body to return to. no soul to be reborn. no such thing as reincarnation or transmigration or whatever your mind had conjured to keep you sane. ❞ 

❝ you do not know that. ❞ pierrot croaked.

❝ i know that you have been chasing ghosts of them for over a century ❞ like himself, harlequin was just as much of a hypocrite as pierrot. chasing visages of them. humming a tune that reminded him of them… it got so bad that even jester had to put a ban… he was no different from pierrot even when he claims he isn’t. that he had moved. throwing a facade, a mask to hide what was the grief that constantly bubbled deep within his chest. 

❝ their hair is not the same. their hands are not the same… ❞ harlequin tried to target towards their outward appearance. ❝ souls do not carry the colour of hair. and bodies change. forms change. quim. we know this. we as creatures in this form know this ❞ pierrot placed a hand on his chest. pierrot was already near tears and harlequin had winced at the name used on him. ❝ you are breaking your own heart. every night… in every stranger. you cannot keep doing this ❞ harlequin’s voice quietens. his hands gripped pierrot’s sleeve. shaking himself. he missed them too. he missed them terribly so. in the end, it was like raising a mirror and arguing with himself. pierrot had brushed harlequin off. ❝ then what do you want me to do? forget them? let them fade… pretend they were not the reason why we are alive…they gave every remaining moment of their life for me… for us… what did i give them back ❞ pierrot’s voice cracked. 

it was silence between the two. looking back at each other, seeing the grief between them. ❝ we loved them too, pierrot. we love them still. we will always love them… but this is not love. this is something else… this is just you refusing to let them sleep ❞ it was the last thing harlequin could muster up to say. yet, he knew what pierrot was going to say. he knew because nearly every single one of them… approached this wildly differently. but he knew that every one of them grieved over the loss of them. so the words out of pierrot’s mouth would reflect that.

❛ i cannot ❜

❝ i cannot ❞

two words. that echoed one another. one through one’s lips. and the other through the mind. ❝ quim… just go… go back to your tent. just leave me be… your show is starting soon… ❞ pierrot turned away from harlequin. leaving both in an internal turmoil that both had a hard time truly letting go. and pierrot, in all his twisted beliefs, believes you are them… and they are you. no matter who told him otherwise. he just has to make sure of it. he had to confirm it. but deep inside, he believes it’s you. even if a part of him, the one that has been swayed by harlequin, says otherwise. 

——————————————————————————

the sun had disappeared over the horizon, leaving the tent submerged in darkness. the only light source that flickered from the torch that was strategically placed outside the tent. the flickering flame seemed to dance, reaching to the skies like it can be one with the sun that had long had set. his purple eyes narrow, at how it sways. how it wavers. it snaps and crackles like sparks of open and loud defiance. the wind assisted the flame, fanning it. adding the air it needs to continue to light, to continue to live. the breeze being so gracious to open the flaps of the canvas, to allow air to circulate. the air felt like a heavy warm blanket. even with the breeze, it did so little to cool him and the slumbering others. however, it was something he was used to. but he remains awake amongst the others that he had called and deemed family. why? to think. to look over every nook and cranny of any issues will arise during their possible escape. amethyst laid awake, subjected to his racing mind of possibilities, to conflicts to the possible failures… 

his eyes clenched, feeling restless. as the familiar scents and sounds only dulled the headache that want to linger. the scent of night blooming blossoms pumped out scent to attract insects. coffee beans that had been left, forgotten, roasting in clay pots and pans over fires that had long fizzled out. tobacco and sweat permeated the air, leaving the rancid scent of chewed tobacco and sweat over workers and slaves. the cicadas screamed through the night. ringing through the night, making it a common sound of the tropical landscape. it could be almost maddening… the whine of mosquitoes not far but he did not pay it any mind. the birds that seem natural in it’s habitat. a guttural rumble that was reminiscent to a roar, to the screaming kraws’ across fields and rivers. it was truly a symphony of the natural world around them… and it was at most, the most familiar he had gotten in this hellscape that stunk of humans. it was an orchestra of dissonance. 

then… the familiar soapy scent tickled his nose. his eyes jolt open. a shadow loomed over at the entrance. wary. his gaze turned towards the one that stood at the flap. looking exhausted. your eyes were red rimmed… almost hollowed by the nightmare that must have plagued your mind. the remnants of dried tear tracks that traced down paths down your cheek. a sheen of dried sweat that made your usual glow, more clammy. oh, how your shoulders curled forward. arms tightly wrapped around your body, like you were holding yourself together. your hands were stiff. his eyes narrowed… your hands scrubbed raw. a habit that their cyan eyed friend had noted. your hands were intensely red… blotchy. your fingertips were pruned, possibly from constant cleaning. your knuckles were cracked.. the back of your hand was chapped. stopping just at the wrist. 

❝ caretaker ❞ his voice had clarity that had you wince. his clawed hands reached out, beckoning you closer. you stood there, you had woken up in cold sweat. remembering the viscous thick sensation of blood on your hands. hallucinations. it always felt so fresh in your hands. it never dried out. it does not fade. it was a reminder of lives that you had taken. even for the good for them. the blood is always pungent. even when no one could even smell it. but to you, it might as well be there. you could always seem to smell it in the dark of the night, when there was nothing for you to do. nothing for your hands to work to forget. even pressing your palms together in a gesture that once was a prayer, a wish… now felt stained and tainted. because of this, sometimes sleep was an impossible feat. the mental deterioration that eats away at your consciousness. 

but you followed at his wordless command. your steps slow. sluggish. like you were trying to learn how to walk even when you did find yourself walking towards the most dangerous part of this place… however, it was not dangerous. it was safety. it was the lull of a lullaby that rocked you. a need to be in their presence, to remind yourself that what you did was for them. ❝ did you have a nightmare? ❞ he asked, once you were already seated by his cage. you could only nod. tired, you were mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted. ❝ i am so tired, amethyst… ❞ your voice croaked. sounding raw. and his gaze upon your form that had been trembling. persistent. your arms still wrapped around your body tightly. pressing tightly against your torso. flat against yourself to warm… to hide… to absorb the taint that was mentally tattooed on your hands. 

amethyst remained quiet. you were too trusting of them. always walking into the jaws of those who wouldn’t hesitate to snap your neck… yet, he believed he may have gotten too soft himself. he had no words of advice. humans and monsters were so different… yet at the same time, they can be alike. that was always something he had a hard time coming to terms with. ❝ there was, once… a group of performers. they… were not very good at being performers. they were large and terrifying. they had big teeth and claws so sharp… however, even as performers, they lived in a dark place. ❞ he paused. mentally cringing at his lack of story telling skills. ❝ under the rule of a tyrant who used them like fools. and they followed orders. even then, they were sad, cold… and constantly starving. but they did what they were told as they were shackled down, weak at the mercy of the their owner ❞ his mouth pressed in a thin line. and he can see you were typically not enjoying this story. this narrative he was allowing you to envision. 

❝ but suddenly a royal appeared. the royal was not supposed to be there. they are usually not supposed to be amongst the darkness and harsh conditions of the performer’s living quarters. royals had better, important things to do than to be amongst the monstrous performers ❞ he spoke. grazing his claw along your shoulder. ❝ but the royal was lost. so the royal try to befriend the performers… and to the performers… the royal was bright. it was not like the brightness of the sun, where you have to squint. it was bright and… gentle. like the morning light of dawn, where everything looks softer and kinder ❞ his finger stroked your hair. feeling you slowly relaxed at the introduction of another character. ❝ the royal befriended them, lowly performers. they would constantly escape their opulent home to spend time with them ❞ his eyes gentled as he could see your eyelids grow heavy. ❝ the performers realised they deserve better… the royal… they saved them by noticing them, feeding them…talking to them… not like the heroic stories ❞

he closed his eyes. trying to vision it. ❝ ❛ come with me ❜ the royal had said. and just like that. speaking of the warmth of the sun, delicious fruit that would drop from trees. oceans they could have fun at… so they left. escape from the grasp of the tyrant in the dead of night ❞ he whispered. ❝ and the world they have seen before was… much brighter. a sky of endless possibilities. they travelled together, the royal abandoning their duties. they walked through forests. crossed rivers. played amongst the sand. they slept in beautiful meadows full of flowers. i do not know what they were travelling towards… maybe they didn’t know it either. they were not cold anymore. they were not forgotten… they were happy …and they lived happily forever ❞ he simply cringed at his rather mediocre tellings. it had so many gaps in its story. cliche turns. questions of why would a prince or princess ever leave luxurious lifestyle to live a life of travel. 

though his purple gaze watched your eyes closed. your body slumped against the metal. his knuckle trace along your cheek. he hated humans. it was not a casual dislike or a preference. it was hatred that buried deep into the ground. roots so strong that could never be weeded out. he hated their noise, their cruelty that was dressed up as civilisations and empires. he hated how they burnt things… burnt so many things. casting him and his family as the monster in their stories. but here you were. his hatred did not erode away. it only created a pocket… a bubble to separate you to the cruel humans. since hatred of this magnitude did not subsides. you… he had found himself beginning grow fond of your presence. that your presence was now a home for him and the others. this human was not fire. ithey were sunlight through the cracks. 

as he continued to trace their features, combing their hair. he traced every curve of what you were. from your upper lip, to the bridge of your nose. like sculpting you into his memory. he could see the way your eyelashes cast shadows. and he could see the way your breathing was steady. in and out. he continued to trace. the line of your jaw. along your neck… his hands that could squeeze, strangle… easily killing a human… had trembled lightly. his hand cups your cheek. and then… you smiled. in your sleep. not any big smile or grin. just something small… happening while his hands held you like you were a treasured being. he was reluctant. but he slowly pulled his hand from your face. and so he sat in the dark. listening to the breathing of his brethren… focusing and zoning to yours. he could not sleep. perhaps he chose not to sleep. 

he just watches you. and then he finally thinks. ❛ you. you are the fire that i was not supposed to love… no. calling you a fire is an insult. you are the sun. and i want to be where you are… i love you. i will always love you in the morning when you come through the entrance. i will always love you in the evening when you are getting tired. i will love you when you laugh… so graceless and crass… but a sound i will treasure… i will protect you… your sleep… your crooked little smile… i love you… i will protect you… always ❜

——————————————————————————

he was seated in his tent. his hands holding a brush, brushing his long purple locks. the scent of the coppery tang was strong, another one. another human. life that flickered away. the familiar scent of you continue to bloom in his personal tent. he stared at his pale masked form. his mind once again, disobedient, wanders. wondering if you would be happy with what they were doing? you have been long gone now that he feared that he may have forgotten what you had wanted. what you cared for. he let out a shaky breath. no. you would be happy for them. you would have wanted them to be happy and healthy. you would have wanted nothing but for them to ❛ lived happily forever ❜. the brush slowly moves through his hair. the tent was quiet, except for the sound of his brushing.  

as he thinks of your memory. he thinks of it constantly. treasuring and guarding it. like it was something truly sacred. like something that could be stolen by disgusting humans that was willing to desecrate your beloved memory. he… does get a little fidgety whenever someone mentions of you. how he goes very still. but smile it through. he does not correct anyone. he cannot. because if he were to correct them, it would mean he would admit of his belief that he knew you better. somehow know you better the rest. so he choose to be quiet. to keep the moments between you and him as knowledge buried deep in his private and sacred mind. however, he will always listen. he will listen with the intensity of a scholar ready to sort through the errors. the other monsters who had figured out about your gentle soul… hearing the misinterpretations, like they were speaking of some story than you. 

they were getting it wrong. they were getting it all wrong. and he had snapped. he had hurt monsters and humans alike… the monsters who speak carelessly… who reduced you as a character in a story than someone who had lived and breathed… the humans that managed to retain themselves… making jokes of their beloved. it was not only him that acted like a guard, a sentinel of the memory of you. he knew you would have not wanted this. you would have just told them to ignore them. oh… reminding how you were a human. 

but jester was not a human. he can never be a human. he can only guard and protect your memory with the tools he had. and his tools were his calculative sharp mind, his claws… his teeth. and soon the brush stills.

——————————————————————————

the grass swayed in the gentle soft caress of the wind. it moved like a whispered prayer. his golden eyes swept across the familiar stretch of fields. the field stretched beneath the clear skies. the field was lush and green with wildflowers with an array of vibrant colours. ipê trees were a beautiful shade of yellow. softer than his eyes. but he could not help but reminisce his past. his mother… his father. he took in a deep breath. the air tasted warm somehow. there was even a faint lingering taste of coffee from such a distant. he was a monster. much different from the humans. he had never belonged anywhere amongst the humans… however in this field… this small handful of light and stillness… had once had been theirs. and for a quiet a moment, his ears twitched. hearing footsteps but his nose had picked up a familiar scent that had his heart blossom. there you were. impossibly there… beautiful like the day you saved him and rose… columbina. he remembered that day like he could retell every minuscule detail of that perfect day.

your smile so radiant that it was so bright sometimes… however, even if he were to ever go blind, he would gladly if he could seared your smile in his memory. you stood at the centre. you were not fully turned away from him. your shoulders loose and relaxed. wearing the same cotton shirt. but you were somehow barefoot. dirty frelimo the soil. the way you shifted your weight every once in a while. or how you would tilt your head as you inspect things… something he had memorised across the the time he had memorised. it felt like he had known you for decades. and he couldn’t move… he was simply paralysed. watching you so idly there. so beautiful. so warm. so colourful… so alive. then you had finally turned towards him. and his breath hitched. your face was exactly how he remembered it. it was not a blur that faded at the edges. or some static noise… down to every small little scar to the way your smile.

❝ topaz ❞ you called out to him. the name you had given to him. a name that had became a treasure in itself. and he only ached to hear you say it. ❝ i have a question ❞ you asked. he moved close. closing the distance between the both of you. wanting to feel how real you were. the solid fact that you were breathing in the same space as him. he felt something deep inside him was telling him to stop. to hold himself back. because the fragility of the light… like… like then… but he couldn’t stop himself. he just needed to feel you. to touch you. ❝ would you love me… ❞ you had tilted your head with that familiar gesture that he had memorised. ❝ if i were a worm? ❞ you asked. the question was so absurd. stupid. confusing. it was so whimsical while holding a hint of insecurity. something so human. and you asked him would he still love you if you were a work… you who had looked and seen his monstrous form and see a home. see safety… not something terrifying. something that was worth loving and caring. and you were asking this?

you had asked him if he would love you… in the smallest yet fragile version of yourself. as if love was something that can be measured and withdrawn. ❛ foolish ❜ he thought to himself. ❛ so utterly foolish ❜ because he already knew the answer. ❝ i would love you ❞ he said. and his words felt like truth… the first truth he had spoken in so long. he took in a deep breath. his claws clutching at his chest. ❝ i would love you if you were a work in the earth, blind and small. ❞ he stepped closer towards you. his hands yearned to hold you. ❝ i would love you if you were rain that cascades and drips on the ground and soil… here and then gone ❞ his voice seem to grow strain. his eyes seem to hold onto your silhouette with a desperation that he saw in himself. ❝ every single version of you ❞ he continued. his voice breaking down on every syllable. ❝ is worth every once of love i possess. every iteration. every shape. every form you have ever worn or will ever wear. ❞ his voice shook now. ❝ you as a worm. you as a memory. you as dust ❞ his hands shook, as he was so close.

❝ you as gone ❞ he croaked. it was when the light hit off your figure just wrong. it was so subtle but he noticed it. he could feel like it was a wound that was horribly stitched… reopening once more. the surroundings started to lose its colour. your figure that was so solid, beloved…. so real… began to soften around the edges. as though you were not made of flesh and blood. but a haze you would only see from the warm earth at dusk. ❝ no ❞ his voice cried out. his hands trying to grasp you in his arms. pulling you close. ❝ no, please. not again ❞ he cried. his face crumbled. his heart was crumbling so loudly. as his hands grasped at nothing at air. like a cloud that dispersed in his arms. he turned to look at you. as you held his gaze. your smile had gentled into something sorrowful. you tried to say something to him. bur your voice started to dissolve… becoming one with the rustle of the grass. becoming one with the distant cry of a bird.

the field slowly starts to dissolve. as he stood there. feeling the world caves and he stood there, his hands twitched and ached. the world was crumbling around him, everything felt like static. he closed his eyes. letting out a wet sob. his shoulders shook. as the world around him became dark once more. leaving him alone in the spiral of his heavy emotions that consumed him and kept him in grief’s sharp strong jaws.

then his eyes snapped open. his face was damp. his wet eyes opened to the darkness. the ceiling of the trailer. it was morning. the air was different from the fresh air of the field. it carried the sweetness of sugar but not the same one that was carried from distant trade. there was no ipê trees. no wildflowers. no high grass. no clear skies. there was no… you. the weight of it settled into him slowly. it had all been a dream. all of it. the field. the light. the question. the answer he had meant with every single fibre in his being… it was nothing more than the cruelty of the mind. however, he knew that the loss was not a dream. the loss was something that had happened. you had long gone for awhile now. years. long enough that the earth no longer remembered the shape of you. he tried his best to close his eyes again. attempt not to move. wondering if he had stayed very still if he had concentrated hard enough… that he can find his way back to that field where you stood.

back to you. where you were solid, alive and breathing. that you would turn towards him, beaming like the sun you were. where the answer would be on his lips forever. yet he waited. and sleep did not come easily. he laid on his bed. his hands reached to his head. rubbing the tears away. before finally he had pushed himself up. feeling the emptiness lingering in his chest. his back hunched. his head hung low. as he stared at his hands, his claws. another day once more. the schedule he had memorised the night prior when ticket taker had given to him. pierrot was supposed to be handing out fliers alongside harlequin today… and he… did not want to do it. not finding the motivation. but knowing he had to. he had to do something to get his mind off of things.

so he chose to weep. great. heavily. shaking. they were soundless sobs that shook his enormous frame. wondering why must his dreams be so sweet yet so cruel to him. pierrot’s hands clutched at his chest with a deep to feel something warm again.

——————————————————————————

the day continued in a rhythm that he was so familiar to. the injuries he had sustained this morning had easily patched up quickly. humans again. just like what jester had said, humans did not love. how they are not kind. how they were all monsters who crave to see others in pain, to see others humiliated. how they all took pleasure in hurting each other. though when he remembered how jester had said those words. he seem to always twirl his hair between his hair. like he was remembering something. like there was one person aside from him and ticket taker was given the chance to get as close to his hair. them. they were different. he knew jester would never mean them. never them. rubbing at his cheek. even when the pain had long faded now, it had this lingering sensation that he had grown to get used to. the silent pierrot was quiet. his mind was long elsewhere once more.

today was a strange day. his sleep. his dreams were usually always so… quiet. empty almost. like there was nothing to truly dream about. unless it was the same nightmare. the taste of blood and salt… of acidic bile lingering in the back of his throat. the sensation of crushing bone that vibrate along his jaw. he closed his eyes. covering his mouth. remembering the words. ❛ don’t . waste . them ❜ harlequin had said those words. while he shoved torn flesh into his mouth, even when he felt ill. even when all he can taste was salt and blood. it was at that moment, he remembered how sickening it felt to eat someone you cared about. someone you love that you could not enjoy the nourishment that was supposed to aid in their recovery. he remembered how soon enough, his own mind went blank. the awful fact of blood… of how wet it was. the way it dried on his palms. how bits of flesh and blood caked beneath his claws. he had experienced another grief that hollowed him out…

even now, while the whole circus was at full swing. he was in the motion. the dream had been clear cut and felt an extreme whiplash that had him still dazed. the entire day, he was in a complete daze. ❛ clumsy ❜ he remembered harlequin teased at him. and he was too mentally exhausted that he couldn’t really make a comment. while he idly floating around. even when his own performance was going to start eventually. soon after columbina’s performance. a strict schedule he had to follow. he needed silence. he always did. yet he could not truly escape the noise. the meaningless chatter of the circus goers. the laughter. the whispers. it made his mind feel like static. just as he had rounded the corner a little too quickly. his mind was elsewhere, trying to reminisce on the smell of ipê, coffee beans… the scent of soap… on the very laughter he believed he could still hear if he stood still enough. that was when he had collided against someone. making him stumble. usually he wasn’t so… fleeting to be easily pushed. he had once again collapsed backwards, questioning how many times would he be pushed today.

his eyes flickered with irritation. human. he couldn’t even speak. ❝ i am sorry… are you okay? ❞ it was the voice that hit him. not the pitch. it was not the tone. but it was the shape of it. of how it curved around the question. of the way it cared… nearly the same words. his golden gaze slowly lift from the ground. then he saw the figure. you. the world somehow tilted in its axis. not some gentle gradual slide. it was a violent one. like the rug beneath him had been yanked him sideways. leaving him in between the terrible and the impossible. all he can do to answer your question was how his breath only hitched. while he took in the sight of an unfamiliar yet familiar person. it felt like the world had stopped.

it was the furrow of the brows. the faint lines like a ghost of old worries. the tiredness beneath those eyes. bags that spoke of too many burdens carried, too many late nights… the strain across their shoulders, as if the weight of the world had settled there and never left. yet it was that meek smile that was targeted towards him. it was them. it had to be them. standing here in between the tents that whispered of true horrors that would make any ordinary human frozen in fear. you were looking at him with the same expression that mirrored that day. the taste of a bitter brigadeiro, it was a ghost, a phantom linger upon his taste buds. his breath was caught. his chest seized. and he was unable to truly respond. even when you had reiterated your question. but your voice felt so far away now. like the sound of the dum of his heart beat was all he can hear. his hands, his claws, covered in gloves hung useless at his sides. he felt like he was seeing a ghost.

he opened his mouth. ready to rasp something. but he stopped. the rule. but he gulped. he could not utter a word. not now. not yet. ❛ this is not possible… no… this is not…. ❜ the rational part of him whispered. but the rational part had grown very small and very quiet over the century…. that it was easy to ignore. because what he saw was not a strange. what he saw was them. ██████… no… they never liked it when people called them that… his treasure. every little quirk, every little thing he remembered in his fuzzy memory… this had to be them. his hands couldn’t help but tremble. he could hear that you were speaking but his mind was not registering. he could not hear the words. only watch the way you spoke. it was a familiar cadence. but the rhythm of their speech was wrong. the voice was wrong… everything should be wrong. but their concern was perfect. it was right.

their eyes was different. he can see that. but the way it carried, it was the same of his beloved. it truly didn’t matter that it was different. he tried to speak. but with the eyes in the shadows. yet he tried to form words. but nothing truly came out. only a small strangled sound finally tore from his throat. a whimper. the sound of something so broken… so wounded. ❛ it’s you ❜ was all he could think. it was not a possibility. it was a fact. a truth that bypassed logic. reason. all evidence. the stranger in front of him, you… was them. returned somehow. reborn. reassembled different. like the universe had finally taken pity of him and his family. however… deep inside… he knew it was madness. that the desperate hope. he knew. the face was not right. the height was different. their hands that they always washed was not their hands. these hands were the hands of a stranger.

but his irrationality, his desperation was trying to search. the way how your shoulders were always tensed and strained. it was the same way the stranger stood the same way, the same tension. his rationality and his need for hope were at odds with one another. fighting. struggling. because how could it be possible. that this stranger was them. and the answer, that pierrot had believed in, was that this was not chance. it had to be them. it had to be. desperation was a physical sensation. he had lived already too ling without them. a century may be short. but it felt longer than that. it felt like days had blurred into centuries than decades. he had slowly pushed himself up with ease. the way this stranger was looking at him now was enough. it was just enough. he was drinking in the image of this stranger. you. he stared. matching. reinterpreting. maybe in his dream, it was telling him something maybe their soul had chosen a different body this time. but in the end of the day, the soul was the same. his beloved could change. he had changed. his family had changed.

❝ i… i have to go… my friend is waiting for me ❞ you finally spoke. feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. wondering if he was scrutinising you. ❛ don’t go ❜ he thought. as the words were screaming. screeching for himself to stop. ❛ please don’t go. it has been so lonely. it has been so cold… i have been so cold for so long. i can’t do it after see you. please stay. please let me look at you always… let me follow you. let me finally protect you. please let me ❜ as he watched you smiled, giving him a nod. his gaze watched you walk away… walk to the direction of the red tent. ❛ yes. meu tesouro is visiting my tent ❜ the obsession seem to rooted in the foundation of the tall pierrot. but it was just a seedling. and now the sun, the rain had finally came. it had grown voraciously. he needed you. he smiled. giving you a wave. his smile was a mixture of so much. small. shattered. broken. desperate. and unbearably hopeful. even when his rational mind was uttering how it was not them. he chose not to listen.

❛ i found you ❜

you had managed to stray away from that red clad clown? he was wearing jester hat. you were confused as you had temporarily separated from your friend. after they had announced they were going to the red tent. which was quite traitorous due to you were still recovering after the pink tent. before your friend had ran to the toilet. but you kept an eye on the toilet. almost like you were watching. making sure. waiting outside the red tent that was preparing itself… physical acts again. perhaps your friend means well… get the bad stuff out of the way first before… going for more easier… performances. you could not help but sigh softly. waiting.

——————————————————————————

Chapter 8 - No More

You’re fucked.

There’s literally no other way to describe your situation.

If you weren’t absolutely terrified about abandoning your morals-fuck them kids, you’d already be setting up your beacon with a one way ticket home. 

Once you’re home, the first thing you’ll do is take a bath, and visit Spider HQ to catch up on the situation with the Spot, and then visit Aunt May, Uncle Ben, and Peter’s graves. No more fights, no more swinging, no more hero business. You’ll take the week off, ask Miguel to cover for you just so you can rest. Just to put all this behind you. Like a bad dream.

Just like a bad dream, you started to feel the early signs of shutting down. Your body wants recovery, but staying here, there will never be recovery. You just don’t feel safe enough to shut down completely. And this case is eviscerating your health.

But you refuse to lie down. You can’t. Not here, not in Gotham, not in this universe. Just make it home, then you can rest. 

All you have to do now, is find Jacob, and get him arrested. Then Batman and the others will find the missing teens. You already did everything you could as an intruder, an outsider. You can’t risk much. You’re already stretched too thin. 

God you might just pick up drinking and become an alcoholic. Oh you don’t have a-legal- ID so there goes that coping mechanism. Maybe they can see your lifeless eyes and just give you some as pity. You’ll welcome that.

After managing to lose the Boy Wonder, you made sure to avoid surveillance cameras as best as you could. You don’t know who exactly is watching (if they’re watching at all), and you definitely don’t want to find out. 

Stalking the alleys you watch it start to get darker out. Spider sense became more of a dull noise, you knew you were in the clear. You take a shaky breath and regain your bearings. Fear is creeping up your spine when you recall just how many (dangerous) people you have encountered today.

You first (almost) bumped into- not one- but TWO of the most dangerous people that exist (Damian Wayne, and Jonathan Kent), then you USED Red (Jason mother-fucking Todd) Hood as a shield- Oh!- Let’s not forget about Duke Thomas! Then there was glimpses of- possibly- Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown together, and last but not fucking least the one and only Richard ‘Dick’ (Nightwing) Grayson. 

You swear that if you come into contact with Batman, you’re buying a ticket to Metropolis or Star City. You’ll be gone. 

This day has gone on long enough. You’re tired, hungry, and your sanity is almost nonexistent. You hope, plead, beg, to anyone who will hear your prayers, that this day won’t or can’t get any worse.

Knock on wood.

After taking a quick break, you regain your breath. Let’s think things through once more.

You know Jacob is leaving tonight. But he’ll only leave now when he has you. If you aren’t found tonight, he’ll leave people to fetch you. If he leaves, then sure they can trace him back to Spain. But he’ll most likely be with the man who backs him up, his boss. He won’t be found easily, it could take years, maybe decades. 

Those children would have to wait. Wait a long time, that is, if they survive.

If Jacob disappears and you’re not there, it will have been all for naught. You'd rather risk being with Jacob and knowing his location than leaving it up to chance, hopes, and prayers that Batman and/or the Justice League would catch them before they go off grid. 

You don’t have decades worth of time either. You don’t think you’d survive that long in this world, in this universe. 

You’ll be stranded, your watch will die, and you can’t risk your existence in Gotham. You’ll be on the run. Who would you trust? Can you trust anyone? Certainly not Batman. Superman? Yea, but he would most likely just take you straight to Batman. 

Maybe the Flash? He’s smart. Oh! Maybe the Green Lantern? You know they handle space stuff. Wonder Woman is a no go, you’re not dealing with Gods and magic, you’re dealing with science. 

The Spot was accidentally made with science, everything about you is science. You just need better equipment and tools. That’s all. Sure you can build just fine where you’re at. But it takes too long and you’re constantly paranoid. 

But regardless. You’ll make it home. That is something you’re sure of. 

Time to get back into business.

Reaching into your pockets, your blood runs cold.

Oh no… There’s nothing there… your envelope is gone. And the urge to vomit once again resurfaces.

The money inside the envelope didn’t exactly bother you (kinda, it is your money), it was your newly created passport. A form of Identification. A fake one. One that ties you along with the very criminal they want to apprehend. 

Well, isn’t this just swell.

Sweatpants fucking suck balls. Watching as the streetlights start to turn on, you decide to keep on moving. The evening breeze makes you feel all types of exposed. Glancing at the (useless) watch, thumb rubbing across the cold material, you lament what could have been.

“Peter… nothing is- going well… I miss you- all of you.” Eyes watching Gothamites slowly dwindle in numbers. “I don’t know what to do. I just want to see you.” Wish you were here, those words left to yourself. Very personal, and very out of place here.

Grabbing the only object that didn’t fall when you were manhandled by a certain police officer, you watch the burner phone vibrate an incoming call. You watch the phone vibrate on and on until it stops. 

Only one person knows this number. Only one. And you don’t want to talk to him. Not now. Not when you don’t have a face you can scrutinize- to dissect every expression he makes. You refuse to give him the upper hand willingly.

Grip tightens, almost cracking the dang thing before putting it away. You don’t have time for this. Watching both sides and relying on your tingle, you walk out. No money and no mask, so your face is basically nude for the world to see.

Just great.

Head low, just like other Gothamites, your next destination is to get out of dodge. Hands inside pockets, most likely looking sketchy as fuck, you wonder around, looking both ways and doing your best to keep out of sight, keeping mostly to backroads unless absolutely necessary.

You’re pretty sure you've made it out of the Narrows a few streets back. Recalling exactly where you currently are with visual landmarks as your only source of guidance. 

Speaking of guidance, there at a distance you can see Robinson Park. So you haven’t completely left the Narrows. Robinson Park is the place you had been here before, and it has done quite a lot relaxing you. 

Nature has always done well when you’re overwhelmed. It seems your body decided you needed some time for yourself before you'd deliberately throwing yourself into a lion's den. Just a little bit of peace. Like Peter used to give you.

He was-IS special. He had some sort of sixth sense when it came to you and your moods. He knew exactly when you were mad, sad, stressed, happy and especially scared. After the deaths of Aunt May and Uncle Ben, you had used the mask as a shield, and when that mask was off and you were yourself, you kept everything inside. Bottled up, packed away, and hidden. You couldn’t afford to have cracks in your walls, you didn’t have anything then. You never pretended to either. 

You fought, and fought, and fought until your body ached, until you bleed, until you were seeing black. You would fight until your body would shut down, until your health would decline, until the time would come where you could finally close your eyes- permanently.

But Peter saved you.

When you saved him, it was like any other civilian you’d save. You’d (most likely) never see them again. But this guy was persistent. He’d find a way to follow you, to see you in action, and sometimes, he would end up getting into trouble and you’d have to save him again.

And smart Peter Parker managed to unmask you. And he became a constant in your life. A presence you eventually could not live without. And he knew that. He knew that- and yet…he… he left you. No, he didn’t leave you.

Peter- yes Peter just knew you so very well. He was good at so many things, and he was especially good at conveying them, but he struggled with valuing himself. For someone so very smart, and talented, he could not bring himself to see himself the same way he sees you. 

Peter Parker… the man who became air to you, left you with nothing but hollowness. His soft and gentle hands became a noose around your neck, his warm and kind eyes became an abyss swallowing you whole, and his- his…existence- it soothed you. Made it feel like life is worth living, made you look forward to opening your eyes the next day, that life was worth protecting since he was there, because then, you could stand beside him. 

No more throwing your life away, no more fighting until someone or something out there would end you. No more. 

Peter Parker is no more. 

No more warmth, no more kindness, no more devotion, no more safety, no more rest, no more, no more, no more. There is no more of anything anymore. Nothing. You’re left with nothing. Hollow once more. Nothing that can stop you from relapsing to your old habits. 

No more.

Peter Parker is softness and purity, like nature can be. You both would often go to the park to watch the stars, and you would listen to his cute rambles. Hands intertwined, his thumb rubbing your knuckles, and eyes filled with warmth and brilliance. 

Life was worth living then. Worth waking up in the morning, worth holding back, worth the less broken bones, bruises and pain. Worth coming back to a warm embrace, gentle hands that would mend the hurt, warm eyes that would melt your coldness, warm laughs that would be contagious, warmth everything. A warm place to call home. A place to come back too. Peter Parker was the warmth you didn’t realize you had been desperately clinging to.

Peter Parker was everything. 

No more.

No more Peter Parker who would hold you. So when things often get too much, you’d return to nature for that embrace, for that illusion. It’s not warm, but it’s the second closest thing to mimicking Peter Parker’s warmth. No more.

Feet crunch on the fallen leaves, the cold grass nips at your ankles, sending shivers up your spine. The breeze dancing around you, reminding you just how exposed you feel your hand clutches the watch around your wrist. Metal is just as cold as your surroundings.

You sit down by a bench, take a deep breath and look up at the sky. Clouds consume the sky, despite it being evening, and the sun is setting, you can’t spot a single star. Couldn’t help but chuckle in disappointment. “This fucking sucks.” 

From the corner of your eye you can imagine Peter sitting besides you looking up and also looking disappointed, sticking his tongue out towards the clouds. You can see it so clearly that you’re debating if you already have lost your sanity and are already losing your mind.

In a moment of vulnerability you discretely move your hand to place it on top of Peter’s only to watch him disappear like smoke clearing. Ah, you have gone insane.

This place sucks. This whole universe sucks. Your whole situation sucks. But this is the situation you are currently living in. 

Staring at the clouds for minutes, the people around you- as scarce as they were before- dwindle to single digits and eventually disperse. You can feel yourself breathe a bit better now.

The burner phone had rung twice since you decided to ignore Jacob's first call. It seems he has finally gotten the memo, you just don't want to talk. The stress that has consumed you whole needs an outlet.

When you see Jacob, you'll swing. Yea, that sounds like a good idea. He’s the reason you haven’t left yet. The reason you’re being hunted by the birds like some sort of prey. You’ll give him a good whammy and then you’ll leave. It wouldn’t be enough to decompress but it would be satisfying to wipe that smug look on his fucking face.

After that your exit plan is simple.

Use your beacon, connect to HQ, report to Miguel and then get sent back home where you’ll sleep off this whole situation. “I’m burning those fucking comics once I get home.” You had enough of the DCU, and you want nothing to do with Batman or anyone for that matter. You’ll apologize at Peter’s grave since he’s such a dork and comic book nerd. But you just had enough.

Seated on the bench for an additional time, you stretched your legs and got up. The cold keeps you awake and alert. It’s time to end this once and for all. Tonight. Eyes closed, you imagine what the stars in Gotham look like. The image is replaced by the stars Peter and you would see back in your universe.

It’s a much better view in your opinion.

A shaky smile makes its way to your face. It’s wobbly, shaky but it’s still a smile. A real smile, no matter how scared you are. It’s probably the first time you’d smiled since you got here. A real smile since the passing of Peter. 

It would always hurt when thinking about him. It would always kill a piece of what is left of you.

Opening your eyes, the clouds still blocked out all the stars. Yea, home is way better. Getting up, you made your way towards the park's exit, using your spider sense as a look out for any potential bats or birds. A hum.

That’s what your spidey sense tells you. You’re good to go. The wind nipping at your exposed skin, the sun just about to disappear, leaving an orangy hue that will soon be consumed by a dark blue hue.

You can use the night as a cover to find Jacob. To uncover where exactly he planned on taking you. Once you find that, you’ll forward that information to Jim Gordon and call it off. They can handle the rest. The Justice League can handle anything else if it gets to that. You’d have done your part and in good conscience you can go home. 

The Justice League (from what you remember) are competent. Those are the big leagues, the best of the best. Yes. They can handle the rest. You’d be giving them the last piece of the puzzle and all they would have to do is finish it. 

“Almost home, Peter. Just a few more hours, and I’ll be home.”

Crossing the streets, you pass by a thrift store you debated entering. Placing a hand in your pocket you realized that you can’t even if you wanted to buy a sweater. You no longer have access to the money. Forget the ID you mostly cared about the money since it’s what was sustaining you. 

Speaking of money, you feel just how empty your stomach is (you’re surprised how quiet it's been, or have you just tuned it out?). All the energy you had spent today and you hadn’t had food since this morning. If you can call granola bars a sustainable breakfast. You feel like you’re running on fumes and your gas tank is on its last bar.

Great, you’re in an even bigger time crunch. Good thing you decided to sneak around. The bad thing is that the money you were going to use to sneak around is gone. Just your luck.

Rubbing your bare shoulders- not from the cold, just something to keep you grounded- watching patrolling police cars drive past you since crime never sleeps in Gotham. Doing your best to stay as hidden as possible, using the ever growing shadows as cover, back alleys as a guide, and bars to collect information.

From what you infer, Jacob was mostly on his own for his bar, with some sort of system to get clientele for his fighting ring. From what you observed, especially as spider-woman, most of the recruitment (more like heavy manipulation) were done by those in a high hierarchy. 

You had targeted those people first when you kept sending anonymous tips. Yet the names, the names of so many people… there’s no way those who you had snitched on were the only ones bringing in others. 

 How Jacob kept getting an abundance of people in what you assume was a relatively short amount of time has truly baffled you. You highly doubt they had been operating for much since you know that Batman would have caught wind of kidnappings and/or missing teens/young adults sooner rather than later.

If not, then you’d have heavily overestimated Batman. 

Keeping an ear out an ear out for any loose lips, eyes vigilant for any suspicious movement and posture appearing relaxed but ready for action should you need to move, you were ready for anything.

Your spider sense spiked- not rapidly, but it was gradually increasing. Letting the alley’s shadow consume your frame, you watched a very familiar motorcycle drive zoom across the streets past you. 

You did not like that. You’re sure you managed to stay out of surveillance as much as possible, of course there are stores and/or buildings with working cameras, but there is no shot they could pinpoint your exact location with just that! 

So why was Red Hood so close?!

You peeked in the direction he went when your spider sense called down. That direction… either he’s looking for you, or he’s going to a very specific location. And based on the speed, you assume it is the latter rather than the former. 

If they narrowed down your possible location, Red Hood would probably use the alleys like how you accidentally ran into him earlier in the day. You hope whoever is on camera duty spills a drink on the keyboard.

Deciding to head in the direction Jason was heading, left the alley, keeping close to the sides of the building as much as possible to negate the fact that you’re out in the open. 

A couple of blocks from the bar, a familiar sense pulls you. You feel it before you see it, the proper way your spider sense always behaves. You turned your attention to a girl, walking in your direction, headphones in both ears, distracted by her phone. That wasn’t what your spider sense was warning you about. It was about the three men that were following behind her, blending with the night, and with obvious ill intentions. 

It seems the ginger hasn’t noticed she’s being followed, and she’s close to turning the corner. 

You sprint, startling the girl as one of the men grab her. She screams, dropping her phone, cracked when landing on the concrete as you land a punch at the assailant. The man’s grip loosened as he fell and you pulled the ginger behind you, pushing her out of the way. “Get lost!” you hissed at her. 

She didn’t move, voice stuck, body frozen and frame trembling. Without looking behind you reached behind to grab her top and push her further back, out into the open. Letting her go, you rush back in the alley, kicking the guy down again, and weaving when another tries to swing. The last guy pulls out a switch blade, the other two follow suit. Fucking copycats.

Looking around to spot anything that would let you keep your distance. You will not be getting stabbed today! 

One of the guys lunged, you sidestepped and tripped him. Watching him hit the ground you kicked the knife out of his hands, watching it slide outside the alleyway. Your spider sense warned of an attack behind you, the shadows on the ground gave away a horizontal swing. You get down on the floor and swipe his legs, causing him to lose his balance and hit his head hard on the ground and pass out. One man down, two to go.

The first guy who was bleeding from his nose raised his leg to stomp on you as you rolled away for distance, getting back up on your feet. Your back hit the wall as the one of them swung his fist, you slid down the wall and raised your leg and hit him in between the legs. He doubled down and you stood up, using his hunched figure and grabbed his head and smashed his face with your knee, knocking him out. Two down, one left.

Droplets of the guy's blood stain your face and use the back of your hand to wipe it away, walking away from the unconscious man’s body. You didn’t want to trip on him. The last guy realized how quickly the situation turned, cussing you out as he gripped his knife in frustration. 

Your eyes never left him. You could see the growing panic rise as his mind scrambles for what to do next. He felt like prey in front of a predator. But how could such a prey looking woman be a deadly predator? 

None of this made any sense! It was supposed to be an easy job! Grab lone walking women, rob them, beat them, and if they are pretty enough, take them to have their way. Not whatever this is!

But all that was foiled by this one person. This weak looking woman.

He felt rage bubble up inside him, and he started seeing red.

You on the other hand felt differently.

You didn’t feel intimidated at all. Not scared, and definitely not weak. All you could do was focus on this one insignificant man who decided to unfortunately cross your path. You couldn’t see anyone else but him. Everything else was background noise, silent, and unimportant. Like nothing else exists but you and this weak man.

You could clearly see the man’s intentions, blinded by rage he would definitely be easier to fight. But what transpired here, it wasn’t a fight. Well for the two who are currently out cold it was a fight. For the man in front of you, it was definitely a fight that he is losing. But for you, this was a one-sided beatdown that became nothing real quick.

You weren’t anticipating a secret plan, or a powered boosted villain, or a super genius outlaw, or a blood-lusting alien. You were against average people. Not villains of the week, not super powerful god-like people, just your normal ass person who is rotten within. 

You weren’t tired, or worried. This was a baby fight- not even a fight, one that didn’t require planning, strategizing, or even cautious actions. They are so easy to read and predict. Childsplay is what this was. And a huge waste of time.

The only good thing that came out of this was helping the girl they targeted got away and hopefully has already called the cops.

Now, all that’s left is to knock this last person out, and report them to the authorities, and you’ll be on your merry way once again.

And you know the guy in front of you feels this way too. You can tell that he understands that he won’t- can’t win. Not against you. So he continues to do what his body instinctually does to survive, it chooses fight or flight- he charges. His body chose to fight.

You’re ready for this. You’ll smash his head against the wall behind you and call it a day. You can clearly see how this all plays out.

And in that very moment, everything around you slows down when you feel a sharp tingle, and your spider sense begins to go haywire.

Someone strong is nearby, getting closer. You’re being watched.

This moment of distraction kicked you out of the zone. Everything that was deemed as white noise suddenly became loud- became too much noise. You felt overstimulated with the sound of cars honking in the distance, police sirens making themselves known close by, the music from the bar a few streets down felt louder than they were.

Your body tensed up, rigid and became unfocused.

The knife almost grazed your neck- just barely- had you not moved back out of the way in a back flip. You swore you felt the cold metal touch skin, cold fingers checking in case you were correct. Nothing. 

Only having a few seconds to re-calibrate, you run towards the guy, watching him pull his arm back and launch his knife. You swiftly side step and grab his shirt, pull him towards you, using your elbow to hit this man on the back of his neck letting him drop to the ground. 

The prickly sensation of eyes on you never went away, and your spider sense was making so much noise that you started to hyperventilate.

You back away from the three men on the ground. From the corner of your eyes, two people were standing there, at the entrance of the alleyway. It was the same two people you only saw a glimpse of earlier. 

“Hey, are you okay?” The blonde one asked, taking a step forward while the other assessed the situation. “That was amazing, you know? It’s okay, you’re okay. You did good here.”

The ravenette kept her sharp gaze on your figure, and you swore you stopped breathing. The single step the one person took was enough to make you falter and step back.

Fucking spider luck.

-

Cassandra didn’t really know how to feel about what transpired. She and Stephanie were technically undercover, going around casually overhearing rumors and plans. You’d be surprised how often people talk out in the open when they think no one is listening.

They were assigned to watch out for potential strays that would get picked up by Jacob and his men, making it harder for more runaways or kidnappings to happen out in the open. It was how they also knew that those who were taken were deliberately orchestrated.

Everything was orchestrated, structured, detailed and planned.

And then everything accelerated in just a couple of days, then in a week, names were uncovered, those missing were discovered, now all that’s left is to rescue those within reach and save those who were taken hostage. 

All this happened in such an accelerated pace that what once was thought as coincidence or a lucky break quickly turned into interference. An outside component who had uncovered so much in such a short time- not that they couldn’t be able to do it, it was someone from the inside who was breaking this operation down while they were on the outside trying to break in.

Whoever they were, had tremendously aided in their operation, the only issue is that they are unknown. And Batman doesn’t like unknowns. 

This whole operation had spiraled out of Batman’s control, but it was still controlled, and that’s something that has caught his attention. And soon it will catch his interest.

Cassandra can agree to an extent. Everything detailed from the concise, structured plan, but was still within the parameters, it just skipped a few steps. A sprint instead of a jog, similar but not the same.

Their objective today was to find out the location of the underground fights, the names of those involved, then from there the location of where they transport the missing and kidnaps, infiltrate and rescue before they catch on. 

They were going to use Jon as one of the baits, and use Stephanie and her as loose ends. Jon fits as a gullible and naive teen while Steph and her are asking around for a missing friend, digging deep until Jacob and his crew have no choice but to interfere and take them.

Of course they only just got Jon here, a few days ago a big lead was caught and sent to Jim, names were thrown and things were rapidly escalating. Stephanie decided to still go on with the investigation, and now that they knew a couple of civilians were being targeted, they purposefully went to places they frequented to ask questions, enough to catch attention.

So, they too had to adapt to this anomaly. 

Not knowing just how far Jacob’s power reached, they were going to make it his problem. The only issue now is, that since everything went off script, they were working on an extreme time crunch. 

When they spotted the new face and apparently Jacob’s new obsession they decided to approach you.

Well that was the plan.

Cassandra’s eagle eye caught the rigid and tense posture you took just steps away from the entrance to one of Bruce’s financed shelters scattered throughout Gotham. Eyes roamed your body like a book. Noted how terrified you were, disguising it like control. 

Her eyes couldn’t help but want to stare. To dissect. Mostly to read what your body is honest about. But in that short glimpse she managed to see, your eyes seem to be the more honest one. It has managed to imprint itself into her mind, consuming her thoughts. Like a gravitational pull. Something that has never happened to her before, and that in itself is alarming as well as interesting.

What happened? Why did you stop? What made you turn back? These questions circled her mind. They hadn’t even managed to get close to you to see just what had spooked you. The action you took was so abrupt that Stephanie pulled her hand in your direction as she called out to you.

Only for you to disappear when they rounded the corner. Barbara had lost you shortly thereafter. From what Cassandra could infer, you moved with purpose, decisions made with quick calculations and reflexes fine tuned as if it was another extension of your body. 

With what little she managed to see from you, you had never let down your guard. Not for a single second. You move like you can’t trust anything around you, like you’re alone, like you’re surviving instead of living.

You look like you’re going to break any minute now.

But that doesn’t stop the blatant issue at hand. You’re being targeted, and not casually, no, you’re actively a part of something big, something bad. Cassandra wants to know why.

Why is this case revolving around you? What about you has them paying attention? In retrospect, you are a civilian with too many variables. Too many unknowns. All eyes seem to be looking at you, they want a piece of you. What did you do to warrant this type of action, that is causing this type of reaction?

Cassandra looks at Stephanie, gauging her reaction as Barbara’s voice rings in their ears.

“I lost her. She’s really good at using the back alleys. I’ll keep an eye out, I think it’s best you both begin to suit up. I’ll set the rendezvous point with Hood and Signal. Oracle out.”

Stephanie on the other hand was a tad bit frustrated. You had popped up, and disappeared in literal seconds from them noticing you. Well, more accurately it was Cassandra who noticed you, she only managed to catch a glimpse of your back. 

Though she was able to memorize your fit before you completely bippity boppity booed yourself out of existence. 

You looked hurried, like something was going to nip at your feet if you didn’t move fast enough. Steph glanced towards Cassandra and she could tell that you were important. Important enough that you had both Jacob and them reaching for you.

After losing you, they had attempted to scour the area nearby, in case they could spot you, keep you but that completely failed after an hour of walking.

What followed not too long later was news of you being spotted by cctv at a terminal, buying a ticket out of Gotham. Stephanie’s stomach sank. If they lose you, they lose a big lead. Luckily you aren’t that far from their location. 

Both Cassandra and her book it, only to receive terrible news of you being led away. And when they got there, it was empty, the only lead is the direction you took when being taken. Things were not going well today.

It seems the closer they try to get to you, the further you scurry away. It’s like the world doesn’t want them to make contact with you. 

Then only to find out that you made contact with Dick and Duke, only for them to also lose sight of you.

Life is just laughing at them at this point. Barbara was right, you are good and disappearing. Stephanie doesn’t know if she’s more impressed or upset that you keep giving them the slip.

“I guess we really just better suit up after looking around for a bit.” She suggested

Cassandra nodded, seemingly equally as troubled from the constant setbacks today has brought them.

Just as they entered a dark alley, Barbara’s sharp tone tapped into their comms, and things were suddenly setting into motion. The plan has changed, not drastically but quickly.

And as if their luck had turned, you were spotted much closer than they thought. You had passed some bar almost a dozen blocks in front them. Being assigned to catch up, Cassandra and her quickly took off.

Stephanie hopes you don’t disappear before they get there. That’s now your modus operandi, your m.o., and if you are gone before they get there, she is going to crash out- a very justifiable crash out.

Just as they made it to the bar, lo and behold, you are not there. 

Cassandra feels Stephanie squeeze her hand in frustration. Though the moment is interrupted when a distressed and panic-stricken girl runs up to the bouncer outside the bar.

Stammering how she was almost jumped and that she was saved by another girl and is frantically telling them to call the cops, her phone being broken and missing. Stephanie and Cassandra looked at each other, eyes communicating. This could be it, it’s in the direction you were seen going from Barbara.

And as the planets aligned, there you were.

Two guys were out cold, knives scattered on the pavement, one man left, trembling and then there was you. Standing tall, confident even, but what caught Stephanie's attention, was your face.

Or better yet, the expression on your face. You are displaying something sharp, confident, but at the same time it was something impassive. You were completely locked in. 

That impassive expression is what stole her breath away. You look strong.

That was until you froze, almost getting your neck sliced open before you dodged and flipped away. 

Stephanie almost bolted in your aid but Cassandra’s grip on her hand pulled her back. Cassandra’s eyes never leave your body. They both watch you dodge a knife and bless her heart she felt herself almost bolt to your rescue again before the impenetrable wall of Cassandra Cain had kept her in place.

It seems Cassandra knew you would win without help, without their assistance. But you are a civilian, they should even let this situation be a possibility.

The man’s body hit the ground, knocked out, along with the other two, and there you stood. Just like Cassandra knew, trembling and out of breath.

Stephanie chalked it up to anxiousness and adrenaline wearing off. The look of unadulterated terror is displayed all over your face. So she stopped moving forward. Cassandra quietly beside her watched the trembles in your body like it was telling her a story. A language only she knows.

That’s what was causing your body to shake. 

“You’re okay now. You’re safe.” Cassandra’s voice was calm, and soothing, but it only frightened you more.

“Yea, these guys are down, you don’t have to be scared anymore.” Stephanie waved you over, knowing if she moved you’d bolt like deer. “You fought amazingly, took them down all by yourself!”

Was she trying to distract you? It wasn’t working, you’re more terrified that they both are here. Why are they here? It’s the evening and you’re sure they should be getting ready to suit up and stop Jacob from leaving! Why are these two here?!

“Is-” You try to control the dryness in your mouth, and regain your breathing. “Is the girl okay?” Your voice was soft but clear enough to be heard.

Stephanie perked up. “Yes! She’s fine, you save her. Everything’s fine now. It’s okay.”

If you didn’t know Stephanie Brown and just assumed she was just another person, you’d accept her presence. She has a way of making you feel safe. But you don’t feel safe. Far from it. Stephanie Brown is an amazing woman, kind yes, but she’s also smart. You don’t know her mission. 

All you have right now is fear. Especially because she’s accompanied by Cassandra Cain.

You glance at the bodies before taking a shaking step forward, a cracked phone near the edge of the alley. You don’t need to pretend you’re scare, you down right fucking terrified. You’ll play the hands you have been dealt with though, but you feel yourself about to combust from pure stress.

Cassandra’s vigilant eyes watch your movement carefully, and it really does not ease your mind one bit, but you know she’s going along with Stephanie. So you will too. Stephanie gives you a smile, beckoning you in her direction. You don’t know if Cassandra believes you’re a frightened civilian that Stephanie might think you are, but your real fear at this moment is what is helping you.

“She called the cops, you know?” Stephanie outstretches her hand and you take it hesitantly. “Told us someone needed help.”

“It’s dangerous.” You whispered, standing in front of Stephanie but next to Cassandra, the former softly pulling you into the street light and away from the alley. “You both could have been in danger too.”

Stephanie almost snickers. “You’re right, but you were in trouble too. How did you learn to fight like that?”

Cassandra watched and Stephanie felt you freeze up. Your body was such a book to them. Looking at the grimy ground you let go of her hand, keeping them at your side balled into a fist. You debated what to tell, how to get out of this quickly without them tailing you. What information can you divulge that won't bite you in the ass later?

Stephanie waited patiently for your answer, while Cassandra’s eyes narrowed at your hesitance. “I um- from the streets.” you admit cautiously.

Stephnie tilted her head, filing away the information. “The streets?” Cassandra’s eyes roam your figure, silent like a shadow.

“That's all I ever knew.” You admit-carefully. “It’s all I am good for anyways.” Your eyes are focused on the ground, not glancing up to gauge their expression.

“Do you know them?” Cassandra spoke, almost startling you.

Looking back before looking at her you shook your head. It’s the truth after all. “No. Not at all.” You carefully point across the street. “I was walking over there when I saw what happened.” You didn’t elaborate further than that, wrapping your arms around yourself to ease the trembling.

You’re glad the evening cool air helps cool your head. You refuse to let them know what you know about them.

At this very moment your stomach decided to introduce itself and you wanted the ground to cave in and bury you alive.

“You’re cold and hungry. Do you want to wait for the-?” Stephanie cut herself off when she saw you jump back as if hurt.

“I’ll go. I don’t want-” You took steps back, Cassandra took a step forward out of habit. “I don’t want to be a part of this. I just- I just couldn’t let someone get hurt.”

“You’re safe. Here.” 

You looked Cassandra in the eyes, gauging for deceit, an attempt to read her. You failed obviously. You wonder what she’s seeing in you at this very moment. “No, I’m not.” You spoke with vulnerability, you gripped your arms and glared at the floor. You don’t want to be here damnit! “I can’t stay. I really can’t. I have to go.” Stepping further back to create distance.

“Are you,” Stephanie didn’t want to push but she really had no choice. She needs to buy time, as much time as possible for Duke to come. He’s near, he’ll be here in fifteen, so she really needs to keep you here. “In some sort of trouble?”

She watched as your expression morphed into panic, your grip tightening, nails leaving indents on your bare arms. Stephanie’s eyes were stuck on your face, now that she’s really looking at it. You have a lovely appearance now that’s focusing. Despite your tired eyes, and the eyebags that you carry, you’re pretty- like really pretty. The shape of your eyes complement your face shape, and your lips look really soft despite how chapped they are. You really do look like you’re just surviving rather than living.

Cassandra mostly focuses on your body, reading clearly how anxious and cautious you’re being. Every answer you have given, ever movement you have made, and every expression you have shown, she has been reading them all. When she had settled on your face, she couldn’t help but notice just how raw your eyes are. They tell much more and hide more than your body shows. You look haunted, exhausted, and above all, desperate. You look absolutely desperate. You’re running from something, or rather from someone- based on all the information Barbara has given them.

She thinks back on how they got to this situation. Were they lucky? Possibly, Barbara had narrowed down a radius, they were both on their way to suit up actually. Meet up with Duke first, suit up and then slip up in different directions. So it was really lucky that on their way to the meet up location, a brunette ran up past them to the bouncer at the club a few blocks down about a girl who saved her. How she’s in trouble and it was just her against three men who tried to hurt her. 

They were pretty lucky to have run into you. To be honest she was impressed by how well you handled yourself. Cassandra knew that Stephanie and her would have joined you, creating a distraction in order to save you, but you didn’t need any saving. You held on well.

Now in Stephanie’s case, she was very much impressed with you. It’s not everyday that a civilian can hold their ground. Cassandra on the other hand, she was more cautious. Yes you did fight like an experienced person, but you fought a little too well for a civilian. Your answers confirmed what Barbara told them earlier. You were-- are part of the underground fighting, which does explain your ability to kick ass. The issue Cassandra has though, is the look in your eyes, your body language when you fought those three men.

You didn’t struggle, and fighting more than one person, experience or not causes apprehension, planning, and caution. You didn’t express any from what she has been able to see. You didn’t even look like you struggled at the start. Though you did falter, which almost caused your next to bear the damage but you dodged. You didn’t hesitate after that, didn’t even look scared of a knife being pointed at you. It’s like you’ve dealt with that before. But from her knowledge the underground fighting rings normally don’t include weapons. It’s mostly fists. 

‘I um, from the streets.’ Was your answer. There’s nothing on you, no medical records, no passport, no birth certificate, nothing. Like you didn’t exist. A ghost. Your whole existence is a mystery. And that’s not a good thing, especially not in Gotham. She wants to uncover you completely, see what you’re actually about. But that look on your face. That exhausted look in your eyes that you wear is what catches her attention. You look like you’re going to break. Maybe that’s why she is cautious but at the same time interested in you. 

“I am.” Your voice brings Cassandra back from her thoughts.

Sirens echo in the distance, getting louder as the seconds tic by. Cassandra’s eyes never left yours, and Stephanie focused on your face.

“What kind of trouble?”

-

Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson had just handed the teen off to a trusted police officer and watched him get hauled away.

The inside of his jacket pocket feels heavy. Making his way over to his car, the take out he picked up lays forgotten inside the front seat as he pulls out the envelope that had fallen when the girl he had scuffed twisted out of her sweatshirt, the movement causing it to fall.

He had picked up the envelope and pocketed the phone in the kid’s hand before Signal caught up to him. No girl, he remembers Duke’s expression. Through the helmet, he could tell the kid was exacerbated, brows furrowed, exposed lips tightened. Does this civilian mean something to him? 

He asked for her location, Dick glanced at where he saw her go. Duke went to chase, asking Barbara for visuals.

Off he went. On his walk back to his car, he debates suiting up and hitting the streets immediately or report to Bruce first. The phone he pocketed rings, so he picks up.

“Ricardo.” The unmistakable voice of a man speaks. “Where is Nada.” He demanded.

Before Dick could get a word in, the call ended. He debated returning the call, he wanted to inform Bruce, whatever is going on seems to be bigger than he believed. 

The phone rang and rang  but the man never picked up. Seems he was blocked right after the call ended. Great.

Pulling out the envelope, eyeing the contents. Money, and a passport. Dick will admit it, this passport is extremely well made, feels real too. He’s dealt with this type of trickery back in Blüdhaven, and he’s had pride in identifying these fakes easily. 

The question is, who gave you this? He can infer that you were given this, since it was basically wrapped neatly inside the envelope like a present, all that it was missing was a bow. He can also deduct that you were given this to leave Gotham, maybe even the state, just the final destination is a mystery. Now on the topic of who exactly gave you this, he recalls the events earlier.

“Ricardo, can you drive?” Agitation in the tone. “Even if you’re late, get Nada to the location. Go.”

Nada… God, it’s not even her real name. Dick is curious, really curious.

He thinks back to his encounter with you. He found it kinda strange that you were the only one to not look at him, not even curious to see who called out to you three. The only reason he and you even caught a glimpse of each other was simply because you and him were facing each other during the whole situation. 

He recalls how you stiffened when accidentally making eye contact, you looked- what’s the word- petrified? Not really. Baffled? No. Aghast? Maybe? What is it? It’s the type of look you give when the situation has gone off the rails and become worse. 

Dick decided then and there that he in fact, did not like that look on your face. Expression aside, the look of complete and utter exhaustion also painted her face. He’s seen that look, he’s seen it often. Bruce has that look as well. Hell, even he had that look at one point. You just don’t look well, and not in a sick way, more like, you would absolutely fucking crack into pieces. A haunted look. 

Dick clicks his tongue. He really doesn’t like that look. You look underfed, not malnourished per se, but it's obvious that you aren’t exactly getting three full meals a day. Even with that sweatshirt that concealed your frame, he could still tell. Out of place, that’s how you looked.

Oh, helpless. The word he’s looking for is helpless. So out of place- at least that’s how it seemed to him. Something about you just doesn’t seem to click with your surroundings. 

How can Dick put this into words someone could understand? Oh! It’s like you're the right puzzle shape but not the right image to finish the puzzle. Right shape, wrong image. Yea, that’s it.

You were-are scared when you looked at him. Why? Have you seen him before? Did he do something to you in the past? Did you see him do something that terrified you? 

Dick is trying hard to recall any past actions that would cause that specific reaction from you. He’s sure he hasn’t seen you before. He would remember. A face like yours? He’s sure he would definitely click a memory should there be one. Despite him seeing pretty faces before, Dick is very certain that yours isn’t in his recollection. He is no stranger to beautiful people, attractive faces, but yours- for some reason, has been stuck in his mind ever since he laid eyes on you.

Dick knows that he would not be able to forget you now that he’s seen you. Should he see you in the crowd now, he is sure that he would be able to spot you. His eyes would naturally gravitate towards you. You're like an enigma, something about you is captivating and he wants to find out why.

Even with a quick glance at you, Dick came to some conjectures. You have nothing- this envelope was all that you seem to own. You don’t even have a backpack, so could you be a recent runaway? Probably not, but not completely crossed out. Homeless? He’s leaning more towards that. Despite your exhausted frame and messy hair, you do look like you have a place to freshen up. Have you been in some shelters that Bruce sponsors? You look relatively clean, so Dick deduces that you aren’t in the worst situation of homelessness, but he can’t get rid of this nagging feeling that you aren’t here of your own free will.

You certainly seem important enough to be treated as a package. 

From what Dick can recall, you looked exacerbated when the guy next to you was struck. It seemed (from his point of view) that you became compliant as a result of what occurred. Seems like you’re not exactly a willing participant.

Dick debates whether he is going to suit up and join the search with Duke in looking for you, or report to the Batcave and inform Bruce what just happened. 

When he can’t get the image of your stilled figure out of his head, he makes up his mind to suit up and search.

Pocketing everything again, he decided to call his best option, Barbara.

“Hey Babs, you won’t believe what just happened to me just now.”

Babs fills him in and his heart drops and his demeanor changes. He had just let go of a lead. An important one at that. So there was a reason you looked so absolutely terrified. You’re being hunted like prey, not given a single moment of peace. Your face resurfaces in his mind, the way you’re exhausted and fatigue, like you haven’t rested for some time now. Just how long have you been this way? How could he have let you slip through his fingers.

 She tells him to go to the cave and he disagrees. 

“Dick! I don’t have time for this, I need you here! Things are getting out of control and I could really use your help right now.”

The sharpness in Barbara’s voice does it for Dick. He turns on the car and drives, the food cold in the passenger seat.

“Fake ID, do you think you can figure out where it was made?”

“Yea. Just-” Barbara takes a deep breath, calming down. “Duke’s compromised, but Steph and Cass are nearby. Jason sent me very worrying information. Tim just left me a folder from our friendly neighbor and I could really use a second pair of eyes before I send you to Tim.” 

Barely turning the corner on a yellow light Dick grips the steering wheel at the stressed tone of Barbara. “Where’s Damian?”

“With Bruce. They caught one of Jacob’s major players, the mercenary, you and Duke took out another, and Jason finished the third. Everything spiraled out of control so quickly. They’re leaving tonight and Nada is who they desperately want right now. As long as Duke or the girls are on her tail, they won’t get her.”

“Got it. I’m almost there, give me fifteen.”

“Thank you Dick.” Keyboard taps could be heard through the line. “And I’m sorry for snapping.”

Dick shook his head as if Barbara could see him. “Don’t worry about it. I get it.”

The tapping stopped. “Oh.”

Dick tenses, almost running a red light. “What’s going on Babs?”

“The docks. They’re leaving by the docks. Forget about me and just go, I’ll send you the locations.” Barbara resumed typing away. “I’ll inform the others, hurry.”

Dick turns the car around and his tires cry as he speeds off. “On it.”

-

Sitting inside a cop car is not in your bingo card. Sure you have been inside a few times, but those were mostly before your time as Spider-woman. This time, you really didn’t have a choice. Though you would admit, it took everything in you to not put up a fight. You never really got along with police officers and- and Peter didn’t count.

You heard that correctly. Your Peter Parker, was a police officer. You disliked the cops before, but when Peter told you his profession, it was understandable a mind shattering experience for you.

But he made it work. Peter always makes it work. Until he was no more. You were always distrustful of cops. Peter made them tolerable (not really), but your feelings never went away. And now here you are inside of a cop car getting driven away.

No handcuffs despite your spider-sense buzzing inside you, but there's a reason for that. You’re not under arrest, even if you had beaten three men and left them unconscious in an alley.

You sat quietly, eyes trained in front of you, wary, watching landmarks and reading street signs.

Because- the reason you are in this situation is because the police officer here is not taking you to the station like she proposed in front of Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown. No, this officer is taking you to where you’re going to be delivered to Jacob Sullivan Jones.

It seems like Jacob’s package is finally getting delivered. You repeat the same phrase that started this whole situation. ‘If they’re leaving tonight, then they need me tonight.’. This is it, everything hinders on the fact that you successfully get Jacob caught and arrested. 

You can’t afford any delays or setbacks. With this, you’ll finally be free to set up your beacon and go home. You can almost taste it. You can’t slip up. No more. You don’t know where you’re going, you just know it’s where Jacob wants you to be. 

Whatever he brings out, you’ll be ready.

The A.C. blasts cool air despite the already chilly temperature outside, and your spider sense tingles sharply. Oh.

The air had begun to emit a smell, barely noticeable but there. You’re getting put to sleep.

It seems they’re really desperate to avoid any unforeseen inconvenience. They probably assume you’d bolt when an opportunity arises. And you honestly can’t even blame that assumption.

You already had a track record, and all of it was just today alone.

“Jacob is expecting you in pristine condition, hope you don’t mind me taking extra precaution.” Her voice sounded so motherly as it echoed and your eyes began to droop, turning you sluggish. “We’ll be there soon, rest Nada.”

Damn that shit was strong, what the fuck did they put in that? Your spider sense echoed inside your mind and everything around you turned black.

You open your eyes to see stars shining brightly in the sky, and a couple of them pass by every few seconds. They were shooting stars.

“I see you woke up.” the soothing voice caught your attention and you froze up. Turning your head, you realize you were laying down on a thin blanket, the person at your side was also laying down, but he was looking at you. And you felt yourself choke up. “I was thinking of letting you sleep, but you were going to miss it.”

Eyes watered and you noticed a warm feeling in your hand, letting out a choked whisper. “Peter?” He was holding your hand. 

Your eyes watched his face light up, a warm smile with dimples, his cheeks flushed, and his hair a bit messy as his eyes were squarely trained on you, he squeezed your hand that was intertwined with his. “Happy Birthday Spider-Woman, or should I say -”

Your name left his lips, you could feel the warmth in his tone, his face, and his feelings.

Peter.

Prev; Next;

Lol, happy mother's day. Steph and Cass were not supposed to be this soon but oh well. Damian, Jon, and Tim will get more screen time, probably next chapter but who fucking knows. My timeline is fucking screwed as it is. ANYWAYS, no one talked about Miguel last chapter and I'm sad haha.

Kon-El is possibly going to be added but I don't know much about him (only interpretation I know is Young Justice). Regardless, if you see any inconsistencies, no you don't. I bit off more than I can chew and i'm fucking choking.

Web Bound Secret Corner!

Spider-Woman's world is different from the other spider-lings.

Spider-Woman's is technically malnourished and sleep deprived, she does her necessities at the centers in case anyone was wondering (showering, brushing teeth, etc).

Spider-Woman's Peter was in fact a detective.

Spider-Woman was adopted by May and Ben when they found her in the streets.

the world smelled of smoke and iron. even when the fire had long starved themselves. the ghost of heat still lingers. it was just like that back then. but this was different. this was devastation. the tents and lanterns were burnt to crisp. there were only blackened remnants of wagons. melted curves of metal rods. everyone moved in silence. checking, collecting their belongings after hiding. among them, she, the one who still believed in good, still believed in miracles… columbina tore through the wreckage with desperate precision. tossing the beams aside. pulling apart canvas that still managed to remain intact. the others watched helplessly, in silence. as her movements grew frantic. how columbina’s breath was ragged. how her claws bled black with soot. she was searching. while making no sound herself as she searched so desperately.

❝ columbina ❞ ticket taker began. his hand reached over to columbina. ❝ there’s nothing left ❞ he spoke. however columbina refused to listen. or perhaps she chose not to listen. an aching wordless cry emitted from her figure. ❝ it has to be here ❞ she said. her voice quivered. her movements sharpened. quick yet imprecise. hands rifling through the rubble. areas she had checked. tossing aside things she didn’t even see. ❝ what is it that you’re looking for? ❞ the doctor whispered. seeing their youngest in distress. it could only mean it involved them. but everyone knew. it wasn’t just an item. it was proof. of something real. something that was once theirs. not days before, some fools had caused pierrot distress. a loss of his important item due to a careless monster. and now… another one of them was slowly descending down to a desperate search. ❝ them… my treasures ❞ her breathing picked up. shallow and uneven. she tried to think where else. hoping that the wind did not pick up the ashes. even when the others tried to pull her away… it did not stop. 

❝ let her search for the time being… we leave in an hour ❞ jester whispered to ticket taker who only nodded grimly. everyone separated to search, to at least retrieve anything that was salvageable. ticket taker placed a hand over his chest, simple folded pieces of paper, kept close to his chest due to its compact nature. he glanced over at columbina, ❝ columbina… ❞ he approached her. only to stop moments away. knowing he should not interrupt her. not when she gets like this… not when it was about ██████. he closed his eyes as he slowly turned away. ❝ i will be back ❞ he spoke softly. unsure if she heard him. he could hear the frantic galloping of her heart. like a rush that made him know this was not a moment to bother her. either she would find it. or she would tire herself out trying. he slowly turned and went searching for what they could use for their travels. to build once again. 

but columbina was too distraught. she felt like time was slipping through her claws along with the debris. then she froze. her hands hovered over it. it was just a frayed string, burnt, but there were a few acorns, and shells… it was still there. it was in a different shape but it was still there. her breath caught in her throat, ❝ i found you ❞ she whispered. the words sounded fragile and uncertain. she collected what was the remnants of the glimpse of them. pressing it close to her chest. closing her eyes. she knew it wasn’t enough. it wasn’t them. not really. with a sharp inhale. she set it in her pocket, carefully, reverently. before she turned back to the wreckage. she knew there was more. but it felt so impossible to search. even as her voice cracked. as she searched for more. until the hour was almost up. 

in the end, she couldn’t find that piece of paper. the one they so lovingly drew of her. the one… she loved because that was how they perceived her. she just broke. a sound tore from her. it was not a sob. not a scream. but was something far deeper. something that was pulled from a place that she had kept sealed so she can handle herself. to keep herself from falling apart. she held her chest, her head resting down on the ground. she curled into herself. rocking ever so slightly. in her pocket, in a single surviving fragment of them… and she held onto it like it was everything. mourning the many times once again over the course of so many years of your absence.

they had come for her quietly. for a long time, she didn’t move. even when she sensed them behind her. her pink eyes stared into the rubble of their home. slowly, the tension in her limbs unravelled. she slowly stood up. even when her hands were covered in black soot. part of her disguise was blackened. together, without any force to drag her away, they had guided her away from their home. step by step. the six of them left the ruin behind. not erasing this moment. not forgetting. but carrying it with them. knowing they would be rebuilding the circus over and over again. until they finally found a home… or perhaps they would be searching for that home. 

however, as those walked ahead. ticket taker stood there. staring at the last of it, until his eyes caught a gleam. slowly brushing it away and seeing the photo frame. the glass was broken into many pieces. seeing the familiar strokes of their hand. he frowned a bit. seeing some edges were burnt. he looked up ahead. watching the other five walking off. he would catch up. as he slowly removed the frame. carefully extracting the picture. he smiled a little bit. brushing away the broken fragments from the paper. the glass did manage to protect it from the soot. he stood up and simply folded the paper. then with much reverence of the hand, he slipped it into his pocket. with the other bunch that he had found so long ago. with the bunch that he had kept safe from the aging of time. it was just safe… until he finds the moment to return it to their rightful owner.

before he turned and followed the trail of the others. 

——————————————————————————

jolting up from her seat. panting. her arms was over her eyes. remembering. her hand reached for a metal box. her eyes turned around frantically only to relax a bit. seeing it was on the table. before she slowly relaxed against the table. the memory of that day was so vivid in her mind. she could still smell the lingering smoke. she could feel how her chest was tight. how she was recovering from her dream. such as how her breaths were shallow. like she had been running. it was like the dream was still draped over you. not quite ready to let you go. columbina was just realising she was not there anymore. the relief doesn’t come right away. there was still this strange disorientation and dissociation. because emotionally… she felt like she was still there. replaying the scene over and over again. sometimes she wondered if she could have gone it differently. lessons she had learnt more afterwards. keep her valuables close to her. it makes her wonder if she could have fix them if she had stayed asleep a little longer. but she knew it was a wishful thing. knew she couldn’t change the past. you take a deeper breath. 

columbina stood up. her gentle gaze stared in the mirror like many times she had done before. human like. her and ticket taker were the closest to humans in appearance. but why was it that they were still so different from humans. her clawed tips traced along the frayed images that was stuck on the mirror with no pattern, no reason. photos of her and the rest. over the years. some in disguises so they can wander amongst the humans. before setting her eyes on her journal, on the photo album. it was just a little small nook of normalcy in a circus filled with horrors and hidden monsters in shadows. no. she was not speaking for them. she was speaking for those who enter the circus. the bright vibrant colours. the shows that brought those around in awe. only if they knew what was seeping beneath the floorboards. how the acts seem too realistic that it was chilling. or possibly uncanny. 

fixing the frilled cuffs with exact precision, her breath was steady. causing the lace veil to sway. the sound of murmurs. the sound of a multitude of distant heart beats that made her flutter her eyes closed. listening to the symphony of some fast, some slow… some so steady like a stream. skipping against the water. everything was so alive in this circus that was still healing… yet still grieving. her hand slowly reached towards a treasured box. containing simple treasures that she had held dear to her heart. the ache. the longing. stored away in a simple yet delicately designed metal box. wood would have burnt what was close to her. plastic would feel cheap to the memory that she so lovingly cherished. glass would reveal too much. so much had already been lost through time… through fire that had ruined their simple home. so many fires caused by both man and monster. because neither would ever discriminate. and both think with their own selfish needs. the only difference between man and monster was that the circus and the monsters remained small in numbers and hidden… while humans were abundant in numbers. 

remembering how pierrot came back today. her heart clenched. he was once again injured. it was cruel. how nothing truly has changed even back then. humans were still so cruel to those they perceived weaker. or possibly they wanted to lash out so they can seem much bigger. nonetheless. it was something they should not be doing in the first place. the issue was the rule. it was put in place for his safety and the safety of others. including the factor they could not get caught. but columbina knew due to the rule, he could not utter a word to outsiders, meaning he couldn’t possible stand up for himself or eloquently detach themselves from the situation like jester. or wittily dodge from the scene like harlequin. pierrot just had to take it. allow the human to just blow some steam before getting tired and walking off when they knew pierrot couldn’t defend themselves.

a soft sigh left her form. thinking of pierrot. thinking of everyone. thinking of… harlequin. she had known he had been hurting. she would not say either of them were hurting the worst. or suffering more than the rest. however, she could see it in their green eyed one. he was quick to make many teasing remarks. quick to rile pierrot up for a reason? she could never truly tell. he never allowed her close during and after the explosive fights between himself and pierrot. only turning to the doctor after each fight. while pierrot would have to be held back by the others and herself. but, somehow she felt like there had to be a reason why. everyone was so close with one another before this. before their captivity… before the horrid humans… before what had happened to ██████. but she knew he was hurting. if it were not for his actions. for the factor that the fools he chose may look different from one another. but somehow… they would have one feature… it could be the hair to how they smiled or even from as simple as the eye colour. he transformed his anguish and grief through his lustful actions. 

she knew harlequin would never take her help. he wouldn’t even allow her to be even close to him. knowing the nature of her powers, she assumed he believed it would be too revealing. too much for someone to understand. even when the doctor had commented how it was quite easy to understand harlequin. although compared to pierrot who was open with his emotions while also still unpredictable. then she remembered. remembering how they used to help. how they would always offer a gentle hand that felt so warm and comforting… a sweet laugh that always tugged on her heart strings. it was the help she wanted to offer. through grief. through despair. but it was hard to emulate something that was slowly and surely fading from her memory. she grasped hard, scared that she would forget. forget them…

then there was her… she was holding up. still picking up broken pieces nearing two centuries. about seventeen decades. but she tried to remain strong. trying to remember them. honouring them. they would not want her to constantly weeping over their death. but she still did. the years may have passed. but it was barely a fraction of their life. it felt like it was only yesterday when they lost them. ██████. every one of them still speaks of them. harlequin and jester had incorporated them in their own stories. their origins. every one of them still mourn. and even when she tried her best to keep a steady stance and balanced herself, she couldn’t help but cry for them. their beloved. ❝ meu anjo ❞ she could already feeling tears well up in her eyes once again. her hands placed upon the surface. her head hung low. droplets dripped down onto the table than down her cheeks. 

her hands shook as she opened the simple album. photos. more of them. behind each photo was a simple message. like she was writing to them. like her angel could read the words that she wrote on each photograph. photos of food. as she tried to dry away her tears. she heard a subtle knocking against the mirror. ❝ i know ❞ she whispered softly. ❝ thank you for reminding me, bil ❞ she spoke softly. as she slowly looked up. her tears were gone, seeing the afterimage of ticket taker and nodding, turning away to return to her position. she took in a deep breath as she stood straight. brushing her costume that was reminiscent of a bird. flowing. with simple ribbons attached. her stockings were thick. not easy to be ripped. designed immaculately by jester. with a simple brush of her hair from her face. she turned to step on the stage. to meet with the usual smoke that had her nose scrunched up. 

the canvas of the tent breathed softly. just as the wind slips in. you were amongst the audience. alongside your friend. the sounds around you were noisy. laughter. hushed anticipation. the low hum of a crowd gathering to watch something they don’t fully understand. rows of people lean forwards. as voices overlapped. it was overstimulating. ❝ they don’t even look human up there ❞ one uttered in hushed voices. ❝ she is deserving of the title, the wings of the circus ❞ there was excitement. smiles that seem to linger a moment too long. your eyes gazed up. above, ropes and silks vanished into the shadows. the performer, columbina appeared. already suspended, already moving. 

it was a mesmerising sight. she hangs in the air as if gravity has momentarily forgotten her. her costume echoes the suggestion of a bird without ever becoming literal. feathered like textures, delicate layers. pink hues that shimmered. ribbons drift and trail, attached to one wrist, fluttering with each extension. more ribbons run down one leg, accentuating each lime and stretch. the show had barely started and everyone was in awe. her long black hair spills downwards like a darken silk, melting seaminglessly into soft pinks. catching the light with every slow turn. a soft veil concealed the bottom of her face. adding an air of quiet yet graceful mystery. yet it was her eyes… they were what were impossible to ignore. even from such a far distance…

bright pink. almost crystalline. they shimmered under the lights like polished gems. they hold a distant focus while remaining free. and you held your breath. how your eyes met with hers. it felt less like seeing someone new and more like remembering something misplaced. they glimmered in a way that felt achingly known. there was a warmth… or maybe the echo of it. a softness that suggested kindness or at least a memory of kindness. it was dizzying. trying to recall a dream that dissolved the moment you reached for it. but the eyes looked older… not in age. but in feeling. as if time or experience had layered something over it. but there was a flicker… an impression of something younger and gentler. but you knew there was a pull… quiet. insistent… something impossible to ignore. it was something deeper. something so disorienting

the show had just begun. you sat there longer. caught in the tension between hope, fear and doubt. your hands reached out. realising just how out of reach… how far away. eyes that was once familiar… and you feared losing once more. you were so caught between an impulse and hesitation. that reaching out further might shatter something so fragile. this sensation again. that quiet insistence whispering. the shape. the presence… the feeling. it aligns just enough to spark that familiar, dangerous belief. however, you knew what came after. fear was never far behind. it seep in more slowly. heavy. wrapping that hope like a shadow. because you have been here before. too many times. faces in crowds, passing strangers. reflections in shadows. each one…. for a moment, had been them. each time… the same surge of recognition. and each time… the same collapse when reality settle back in.

——————————————————————————

— CHAPTERS ♡ : 4k+ words

00. — my ordinary life.

— DRABBLES ♡ : #series: don't romance the npc

none so far.

— ASKS ♡ : #series: don't romance the npc

what would kon think of (y/n) becoming close to you?

— INCORRECT QUOTES ♡ : #drtnpc: incorrect quotes

none so far.

— FANART ♡ : #drtnpc: fanart

none so far.

— TAGLIST ♡ : under construction!

comment to be added.

you're a burnt out college student, you have loans to pay, a side hitch at a restaurant working the front. loving, middle-class parents — which is somehow the most interesting part of your boring persona — and you're simply just the picture perfect imagery of how accurate a normal plot could get.

you have interests, yes, heaven forbid you don't because it would imply you're beyond subhuman, maybe even a blank slate, which is a far off worse fate.

but back to the point, you have your likes. you like reading anything from comics to mangas, that's what you tell your friends and other potential (and failed) dates. you like feeding strays roaming around sidewalks. you like staying up late listening to reddit stories and watching short-form content in whichever site piqued your interest that day.

you pretend that romance is beneath you (in truth, your love life as fickle as your personality), but then a secret part of you indulges in fanfiction in the middle of the night, which is only kept between you and your decades old plush toys in your apartment. you have hobbies. you sometimes sing ballads in your showers, you partook in crocheting, even knitting, failed in both. and sometimes, you do a godforsaken activity you found after doomscrolling in the archives of the internet when you've got nothing to do, give up on it too within an hour, start something new, the cycle repeats, which basically means...

congratulations! you're a human being.

that's as much of an introduction that you've needed to get along with your life and your story. you don't travel much, you don't go out to eat as often as you'd like, your life isn't built on overarching goals like finding a cure for cancer, exploring every country, or traveling to space; you only ever thought of surviving college, finding a decent job with a decent paycheck, splurge all your savings on a trip to probably one of the seven wonders of the world after two decades of slaving off. and that's really it.

you're just living and going about the flow in your life. like floating motes of dust and debris scattered in the air.

you're not entirely satisfied, but you're also not depressed.

you're not suicidal, you're not the type to hurt yourself over small inconveniences. self-deprecating jokes, yes, but not to the point of self-harm.

you sometimes wish for something better, for something interesting to happen: a jackpot at the lottery, a surprise baby, an accident; nothing ever happens, but you're not less grateful at the same time.

you convince your thoughts everyday, in the middle of brushing your teeth, in front of your mirror, in front of the mundane sight before you that, "it could be worse."

thank god it wasn't.

(you sometimes hope it was, just to excuse feeling empty despite it all).

you have your fanfiction to read every night, the bi-monthly shopping sprees if you could afford it, your parents who you could turn to when you're feeling down (even if they sometimes feel invisible and distant, even if your messages were sometimes left unread when your nightly rants became too complicated for them to handle). your have friends, both on campus and online (who all never feel enough to provide you any true laughter, who awkwardly smile at you through calls or lunch dates when they see even a single trace of frown on your face— like they didn't expect such a low maintenance person to be... anything remotely negative; when all you've provided are jokes and never honest connections).

all of them are enough for you to not complain about how nothing interesting really happens to you personally.

in the simplest terms, you're what they call... happy.

not satisfied. not fulfilled. but isn't what they call a normal life a happy life?

you're happy. not too much, not too little. just enough to keep living, and that should be enough.

(enough to ignore the hazy void in your chest. to bury the aching urge to be more. to be something. to be anything other than a faceless person in a crowd—

but those are bad thoughts, those are depressing thoughts, and sad and bad and terrible thoughts should go away and only appear when you decide it should.)

yet... at the same time.

if you were offered another chance, another lease in life, another attempt to make something out of nothing, you'd take it too.

in fact, you'd take anything.

so when you somehow find yourself opening your eyes after a night of scrolling through an archive waiting for any updates to whichever book you're reading— lying on unfamiliar bedsheets, foreign walls surrounding you, crusty eyelids snapped open and awoken by the honk of a loud car from the buzz of the streets outside; one would expect that after momentary confusion, you'd react along the lines of positivity — jumping up from the bed, yelling "huzzah! what an awesome chance to escape this prison i call my mundanity!" — or falling into despair because you're too comfortable with your previous life.

nope. instead, you facepalm, your fingers feeling the skin of your brows furrowing. you slam your body back into the cushions, and let out an exasperated sigh. a substitute for what was supposed to be a frustrated scream.

that's right.

even the fucking way you transmigrated was boring as hell.

it could've been the catalyst for a decent hook in your character introduction, but who the hell would listen to a story like yours if you told them you simply "woke" up in another world.

not thrown, not prophesized, not dropped.

realistically, for your case, you could've been hit by a garbage truck trying to save a cat with a suicide wish making a run for the streets under heavy traffic. or stabbed from right behind. or killed by your childhood nemesis, pushed from a high drop, swearing revenge in another life with a tragic monologue for how short your life has been lived.

but waking up?!

holy shit, you might as well win a reward for being more generic than those black haired anime protagonists you've watched before.

at least they got something interesting to vouch for. like transforming into a fridge, slime, gaining some magical abilities, or, literally anything other than just waking up in a normal body!

you laugh, sarcastic and bloody dry, like the air around you. it reeks of an amalgamation of black car smoke, bile taken from the mouth of a drunk, and crisp, humid mildew growing on the corners of your boxed room. almost like the equivalent of gotham air and—

wait.

you've read about this exact same description before. in the fanfiction you've read the night before this happened.

last night, before you went to bed.

you hear your socked feet thud to the floor faster than your racing mind could register. you have to confirm something.

your head turns to windows left of your bed, you take a slow, precautionary step towards it, noting the way it frosts over, periodically, like the air itself is breathing with you.

but it wasn't winter, your body feels naturally toasty, your breath doesn't exude any misty coldness like it should. looking around, you see the heater inside your room is turned off, but instead there seems to be a dehumidifier operating and buzzing, as if it could combat the toxic stench harassing your nose.

also, the slight smog misting your windows wasn't your usual colors of bleak and boring grays.

no, your eyes widen, your throat constricts.

"holy shit..."

were your first words in this totally unfamiliar world.

just from your distance alone could you see that the air wasn't colorless or like the greys from a polluted city, as it should normally be—

but it was exhibiting hues of unearthly neon greens and blazing purples.

fuck, it looked like a living, breathing, pulsing plume of danger and uncertainty; a warning to anybody who dares to even open their windows in its cancerous state.

you may be average, but you're not stupid.

as much as you wish to confirm the location you transmigrated to, you wouldn't want to take the risk of opening your windows — looking even closer, you could see it's locked with multiple complex latches meant for an apocalyptic setting; and you're once again reminded that you've read about this before — now backing off, slow and deliberate, as the back of your shaking knees hit the frame of your bed.

your throat constricts, your nose still aches trying to get accustomed to the stench of your new life. shit, you notice the smell of it somehow fills the air too. you want to laugh at the irony, but you're too afraid to even think of anything else in this moment.

if this setting was recognizable enough, then you want to cry because it's simply unreal. if you've read about this, no you don't. you wish you didn't. it's fucking impossible that out of every possible world you'll get transported, you end up in the last fanfic you've read. it's wrong. you gaslight yourself, eyes glazing over the cacophony of mixing colors outside your tightly packed room, knees hitting your chest, like a wounded animal.

yet before you could even fall into the hands of a panic attack, before you found yourself gasping for air, a voice on the other side of your door knocked you out of your thoughts. gentle—

familiar. it calls out your name.

"— dear, are you alright there?" the voice... it's your dad's! your father, oh goodness gracious, you've never been more grateful before than now, "i heard some noise, figured you woke up to all the chaos outside. i'll go in right now, okay?"

your brain frantically tries to scramble for a reply, you attempt a "sure," but it comes out croaky, weird, and unreachable to the ears. your door opens before you can respond in full, it creaks, and in enters a familiar sight, a homely face. you could cry right now.

instead, you breathe in relief despite just how dry the air was.

your father, meanwhile, furrows his brow at you the moment his eyes reach your body, maybe because there's tears welling in your eyes, your lips are wobbling, and you look just like you've awoken from a nightmare—

or rather, you've awoken to a nightmare.

"bad night, hon?" he asks, stepping over your crumpled pile of papers, scribbled with equations, in the middle of the room. when he enters your line of vision, when the panic has slowly subsided, a closer look at him had you realizing he looked youthful, more composed, the years of stress haven't line his face yet. and hon? the last time he called you hon was when you were in your first years of college.

then that means this version of your dad is... younger.

younger, back when he was more affectionate, the same man who used to lovingly wrap his arms around his wife, your mother, from behind, who'd willingly kiss her cheeks before going to work— not without looking forced, not because it's a formed habit, but because he actually loved her. the present man before you was the same man who he hadn't yet withdrawn himself from you and your mother with the excuse of focusing more on work, on promotions and colleague drama.

he wasn't the same man who left the two of you to fend off for yourselves emotionally, who'd look more and more like a bank account than a husband as the years pass by.

and, well, your mother more or less would rather spend time with the neighbors to gossip about their neglectful husbands, hidden affairs and— that's far from what you want to think about at this moment, not when there's someone waiting for your answer right now.

you want to reply to the familiar stranger standing right in front of you, reassure him that you're fine, even if it's strange how your parents somehow were dragged into the fray of your transmigration; pretend like the normal you. but your mouth suddenly decided now was high time to stay breathless like a gaping fish caught fresh from the sea, staring up at him, at your father who's equally trying to discern your reactions.

he shakes his head, eyes still laced with genuine concern — so warm, it's as unreal as the pulsing fumes from outside — and brings his palms to ruffle your head. he sits at your bed, right beside you at a comfortable distance, both hands found its way to your clenched ones rested atop your locked knees.

his mouth opens, the words that come out are carefully chosen, but natural, as if he's said the same thing to you before.

"hon, i know it is bad, you're probably scared, i won't lie and say i'm not," his index finger points to the windows behind you, both of you look at the ethereal yet damned sight, at the still-aching air, now supersaturated with colors beyond unnatural and reasonable. then it returns to your fists again, in an attempt to ground you, he massages your shivering fingers while continuing to look at you in the eyes. he continues, "but we'll be fine. the joker does this all the time, hon, trying to poison the air with his toxins just to get a good laugh. at the end of the day, you know he'd be dealt with, that's just how the story goes—

"we're safe, as long as the city's vigilantes and the commissioner are in our prayers. so there's no need to be afraid, 'lright?" he ends his little encouraging speech with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

you only nod at him in reply, biting your lips, eyes still wide at the man, your father, before you. but at least the thumping in your heart has subsided. at least, despite the initial panic, you have someone you can actually turn to, even if there's that nagging fear that your father is secretly a skinwalker imitating the identity of your real parent— but again, happy thoughts.

your father hums, satisfied at seeing your tense shoulders relax, your diluted eyes returning to a normal size. even with your lack of words could he see you're better now. he leans in forward, you flinch but you don't move when he makes the motion of kissing your forehead. in fact, something deep inside aches like an reopened wound instead.

as much as it pains to admit it: you missed this. you missed him.

the past image of your father. you stare ahead after his lips separate from your forehead, afraid that if you look at his kind eyes again, you'll possibly tear up and fall into the hopeless delusion that he wouldn't change, an oddly dystopian setting wouldn't erase his emotional absence by the near future— you still yearn this version of him though.

he didn't mind your lack of reply, you hear your sheets shuffle as he stands, "alright, i'll get out now. your mom's making dinner, your favorite. i'll call you when it's ready—

"oh, also, before i forget, we need to have a talk about your plans for gotham-u later at the table, 'kay?"

"mm." you hum, mindless, not really looking at him as he leaves the room, confirmed by the sound of your door clicking shut.

you only stare at the walls before you, at the lined shelves, the desk and you even turn your head back (avoiding the sight of the outside) to stare at your beloved plushies; really taking in the new setting.

your walls are the same color, your favorite one, but it's a different shade. the shelves are lined with a different arrangement of trinkets. even your desktop had a different layout, with foreign but likeable decorations. your laptop still had its personality, decorated with stickers that you know the same you would apply— you're in a place that still screams you, but in a different life.

it's just that this life feels way more dangerous than it lets on. and maybe that's what's different from your mundane life from before; waking up to the news of a nuclear gas invading the neighborhood.

because yeah— if being locked inside this seemingly foreign apartment, with the image your uncharacteristically kind parents from the past, with latches and locks being the only thing protecting you from the nuclear wasteland caused by the joker right outside your house... then maybe being transmigrated in this life sounds way more worth it if it meant removing yourself from the title of the most boring character the gods above have ever concocted.

wait, what?

"the... joker...?

"... gotham university?"

your fingers hastily try to clench the bedsheets in fear of falling off, vision blurring until everything you see before you become inconceivable, shapeless blobs. suddenly, like a beat dying to be heard, your mind races with thoughts, with a memory of the night before:

'(y/n) didn't understand why their so-called family were so determined to keep them locked up in the manor when all they said was that they're going out for groceries. the family all came rushing to them with stupid, dauntless claims that they're safest here, that gotham is currently in disarray because of the joker's bullshit attempt at clogging the city's sewage systems with laughing toxins once more— not like they'd care. they'd rather die than be faced with their condescending nerve to be gallant.'

'yet damian's sword blocks the main doors, ridding them of any chance of running off, a stupid frown on his face. the others are behind them, ready to pounce if they even try to escape. they roll their eyes, agitated, furious, but how are they to fight against a pack of starved vigilantes?'

'even if they have all the love and attention now, it wouldn't erase the fact that back then, when their eyes hadn't yet followed their form, when they was all but mere shadow, they could always sneak out without ever being caught. ever being seen. that was only ever the blessing of the curse bought upon their sad, little life.'

'"c'mon, dad," they say, with vehement contempt, looking back at the view of an equally frustrated but worried bruce. "if this is another one of your attempts to keep me locked up here again, then screw off and let me live in piece and buy some damn groceries!"'

'"language, (y/n).* bruce tries, with furrowed brows, to calm one of his youngest child with a cold, authoritative voice. but (y/n) refuses to back down. their arms cross, as if questioning bruce's authority, chest all puffed and angered eyes staring pointedly at bruce, their damned father.'

'it wasn't until tim drake cuts off the tense atmosphere with a phone and an article shown in its screen, shoved gently in front of (y/n)'s face, who's eyes scan over the title of: 'breaking news! the joker releases a new wave of experimental toxins at the city's sewage systems affecting many of the main districts!''

'after the younger sibling had done a quick read-through of the article, they roll their eyes at a cautious tim, who scratches the back of his head while saying, "my friends dorming near gotham-u told me it smells worse than shit there. like mold and amplified car smoke or something. also, the air's looks all neon over there too. it's real bad but the air can't be seen from here— why'd you think we're all suited up right now?"'

'yet at tim's very sensible statement, (y/n) could only stubbornly tsk, retorting with, "well, i would've known if you people actually allowed me to read the news instead of babying me every damn second.'

'"tsk, you know what? fine. whatever. i'll believe you for now, so go save the city so i can buy my groceries."'

'and with that, they refuse to look at the piercing of their family, turning on their heel and making their way to their bedroom, stomping the entire time. as if that alone would make family hear the melancholy engraved into every sound of (y/n)'s footsteps...'

holy shit, so you did read about this before. and you're in the exact same world in... in a neglected reader fanfic?! when the haze in your mind subsides and you regain your vision, you see your father standing right outside of the door, head peaked inside your room, hand on the knob and a worried stare in the other— how long have you been reminiscing? has time passed that quickly?

"you seem pretty caught up in your daydreams, hon," he says, yet his expression now twists to a fond smile at the silly thought of you getting lost in your thoughts, eyes glazed with affection, "— that should come later, though. dinner's ready."

'okay, calm down, you. don't make yourself obvious.'

"'kay, dad," you respond, letting go of your crumpled sheets, ignoring the slight sting in your palms. "uhm... can i ask you something?"

"yes, hon?"

'don't be too obvious. don't be too obvious. don't be too obvious.' you repeat to yourself, staring at your father who still patiently waits by your door while beads of perspiration start to drip down your otherwise cold skin, anxious.

"gotham-u's my final choice, right?" you question him, biting your lips, imagining yourself closing your eyes because you obviously couldn't brace your reactions in real time without making yourself look to suspicious.

your father, meanwhile, only tilts his head in confusion. but he recovers and hums at you, nodding.

"yes...? any problems with it?" he swings the door open, revealing himself in all his apron'ed glory, "we've talked about this before, you said gotham-u was final, hon. any last minute changes? we can talk over it in dinner."

he smiles, as if the words escaping his mouth didn't just aim for a fragile piece of your heart.

god, he's so sweet before, so sweet now that it's painful. it's nostalgic and... you didn't realize you miss this version of him so, so much.

your eyes flit downwards, to your wobbly legs and your shaking palms, scared that if you look at him once more, you'll really burst out into tears.

"no, no," your voice cracks, "i was just wondering about... something, dad. it's nothing bad, i promise. you can go, mom's probably gonna get mad if we take too long... i'll, uh, catch up after i— i fix my room in a jiffy. yeah." you wish the world would devour you whole right now, and you wished your father could just revert to the version of him — distant, clinical, cold — you knew in your present before; so you could stop mourning him right now.

but no, he only hums again. and even in your current state, refusing to catch the smallest glimpse of him and the outside world, you can sense the gentle smile returning on his face and the whispered, "alright, hon," before he ultimately leaves once again.

then you're back sulking, burying your face in your palms.

wondering to yourself if this is all a long, aching, fever dream. no matter how real everything feels.

'i really should've specified my wishes to the world, huh.'

because you didn't just wake up in a normal bed, in another normal life, in a completely normal place.

you've woken up in gotham city.

and not just the gotham city you've read about in comics. not just the gotham city with its iconic vigilantes and the deranged gallery of rogues— but a gotham city riddled with a self-insert going to the same university and you whose existence twists the narrative of every character around them; making everyone obsessed with their presence.

somehow, that fate alone seemed worse than anything.

somehow, the first idea that came into your brilliant mind after a momentary breakdown was to grab a recorder after dinner instead.

after all, what's a better way to make things more interesting if not by narrating your new life in gotham city?

— it's not like this life would pave the way for an NPC like you to actually be part of the spotlight, right?

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 4k words. it's 4am. i heavily encourage leaving comments since this is the first major update i've had in a while!!! i love comments guys and i rewrote this prologue for like a hundredth time and somehow this one was the best !! (the others were so corny i want to cry). the next chapters r gonna be funny thrust, this one is just a build up but hey !! i at least learned to put more dialogues in my stories now. uhm i have no other words to say, but just leave comments cause lack of interaction makes me inactive. anyways, that's it !! i hope y'all like the first installment of drtNPC.

TAGLIST: @mishkradetsa , @gluttonousriceflour , @thecloudsaremyhome , @kittzu , @forlacie , midniteshore, @steor-ra , @tagmepls , @xnitz , @leitor-sonolento, @nondiagram, @huyuhumu, @ramens-posts , @weepinglovelight , @prorpy , @lowkeyjarrr , @fishcrack , @eurydiceknowshesloved , @catley1011 , @unixilian1, @gameperson23100, @potterhead0928 , @yomiyayei , @oliviaewl , @sugacor3 , @cloudedthotz , @nahhhhimgood, @breivete , @antionisweird , @lettucel0ver , @fr0ggy-cake, @lilyalone , @iamapotatoe , @ishshhsj, @hyukkja, @kiku07 , @kontradiction , @irenehart02 , @ceramic-raven , @notfuntimes

his eyes were such vivid vibrant greens that mirrored the terrain surrounding him. the night air felt bitter in his lungs. alone. everywhere, it was like it was breathing. there was the sound of a distant rush of a river that you could not see. the layers of canopy. it was not loud. but it was constant. it was home. what would be chaos, was like simple patterns. sounding musical. like an orchestra. but his eyes were staring at the night sky. stars stretching across the sky. like spilled glittering dust glowing soft. how the stars shine brightly while others flicker slightly. his eyes mapped the stars, connecting the stars into shapes… into shapes only he could make out. the sky was vast and beautiful. and somehow, it made everything around him feel small. his clawed hands rested upon the foliage beneath him. he quietly took everything in. the silence of his own being. 

but silence was a deadly enemy. his mind swirled with insecurities. the silence was never empty. as it ruthlessly pressed in on him, not the comforting weight but one that felt like it was crushing. it always started off small. something so minuscule. a thought that he couldn’t quite place. then slowly it spirals. how suddenly every thought feels louder than it should be. his mind replays things. the words he had said. things he didn’t say. the way someone looked at him or didn’t. somehow each memory twists. how each memory sharpened at the edges. and then slowly doubt creeps in. he sits there. still. alone. inside… he felt like he was truly unravelling. wondering. thinking. maybe he is too much. maybe he is not enough. maybe it was both at once somehow. and the silence feeds it. there was nothing to interrupt the downward spiral. nothing at the moment pulling him out of it. it was just the quiet hum… or perhaps the loud wail of his own mind turning against him once again. 

his breath grew rapid. even while he tried his best to steady himself. and then… something just shifts. his breath had slowed down. it was subtle at first before it grew stronger. a scent. familiar. warm. scent of trees. the soap that he had slowly started to associate with you and his purple eyed friend. the scent just cuts through everything before he could truly register what was happening. his thoughts hesitated. standing after sprinting for so long. like they had lost their rhythm. their pace in the fast paced marathon. he slowly turned. looking up. his heart was racing. pulsing so loudly that he could pick it up so easily. 

there you were. not dramatic like his thoughts. not loud. just… there. like how you were. so real. so grounded. unshaken by the hurricane he was drowning in. and just like that, the noise of his thoughts dulls. the sound of nature slowly returns after being silenced by his own mind. the doubt would never disappear. it never vanished completely but it was slowly losing its grip. it stopped sounding like truth. replaced the steady thrumming of your heart. because he remembers something so simple. something solid that grounds him completely. he was truly not alone. he had people. he actually had people in his life and that includes you.

❝ looks like i finally found you, aventurine ❞ your smile. god. it was like the sun that he could bathe in. aventurine slowly tilted his head, a sly grin slipping into place like clockwork. his hands raised. ❝ guess, i am that easy to be found ❞ he mused out. before he tilted his head. ❝ or perhaps, i wanted you to find me ❞ he cooed. his eyes crinkled as he looked up at you. you stood there. that smile that made him feel like he was dying. the way you rolled your eyes. not the simple one looking upwards. you actually rolled your eyes from left to right. it was cute. it was funny. but somehow, it was something that you did. an information he took close to his chest, and filed away in his mind. ❝ haha, very funny. you were always trying to tease me ❞ you didn’t even seem mad about it. you just indulged in his little whims. his little games. 

❝ oh! i am wounded! me? teasing you? i would never! ❞ his dramatics only made your shoulders shake. holding back. stifling laughter that just edged to leave your lips. he could listen to that music for days. he finally stood up. he towered over you. but you never flinched. not even when he and the others towered over you. ❝ how about this? why not dance with me ❞ his clawed hand reached out to you. a smirk adorned his monstrous features. you only looked at him. ❝ i can’t really dance ❞ you had uttered. which he shook his head, ❝ oh. i will be the judge of that ❞ he chuckled. the sound rumbled from his chest. ❝ don’t blame me ❞ your hands reached to his. you were so much smaller than him. humans were. but he wanted to cradle your form. 

as his tentacles unfurled like ribbons. you hummed, a sound that was so beautiful. and so they began to dance. following the rhythm of your hum and the harmonising sound of nature. one, two, three. but your feet stumbled. already catching between two tentacles. squishing one. which he arched an eyebrow. ❝ now, i feel like that was intentional ❞ he hummed. making you glare at him. feeling the way your face heated. ❝ i did warn you, aventurine ❞ you huffed. he tilted his head. and a low grumble left his chest. it might have been laughter which only made you relax. his eyes couldn’t help but soften. watching as your eyes now darted down to the ground. avoiding stepping on his tentacles. the ache of his singular tentacle didn’t matter. 

what truly mattered was your heartbeat. it was wild. yet so fragile. and… so heartbreakingly alive. pounding in the silence between the steady rhythm of an invisible song. he couldn’t help but watch as your shoulders relaxed. you moved much slower. you moved so clumsily. stumbling but somehow managing to be at least an inch away from stepping on his foot or his tentacles. there was an earnestness to how you were trying to avoid from harming him. he could feel it tight in his chest. something always unravelling inside whenever he was around you. a warmth. or perhaps it was a hunger that was too tender to truly name. then once again you stumbled again. laughter bubbled out of you as you crashed to his chest. the vibrations of your laughter to the sound of your heart thrumming directly against him. he was hesitant before he wrapped his arms around you. his tentacles slowly moved, gathering you close to him. not to restrain you. but to hold you. to steady. 

❝ i must look ridiculous ❞ you huffed. but in his eyes, you were not. you were ❝ beautiful ❞ he had uttered it. and somehow seeing that smile so up close… and so instead, he swayed with you. in the darkness, that was illuminated by mini orbs of light. two shapes. two shadows that should never have fit… finding a rhythm in the imperfection of it all. the night was filled with nothing but this warm blossoming sensation in his chest. from swaying to dramatic flairs that had you in fits of giggles. it was the fact neither of them truly moved to let go. listening to your heartbeat that made his chest swell with this warmth that he couldn’t truly explain. 

even as both of you two collapsed. side by side. the uneven breaths trying to catch up. a quiet that wasn’t empty. a silence that felt complete. it was so full. the moment when he looked into your eyes. he knew then. everything felt so different with you. his eyes couldn’t look away. he just stayed there. caught in the feeling. he couldn’t say it. the moment for him was too fragile for words. also instead he focuses on the moment. that both were breathing the same air. his clawed finger reached for your wrist. thumb pressing against something and then he can feel it. the pulse. thumping. the physical sensation that eased his weary heart. 

he slowly leaned closer. his eyes closed as he took in everything. he could just immortalise this moment in his mind.

——————————————————————————

a turn here. slow. an uneven rhythm. if you could even call it dancing. the green eyed one moved with a strange tender care. as though gentleness might undo what has already been done by his clawed hands. one arm cradled the body. while the other guides it. the room was quiet. except for the drag of feet across the floor. he hummed but there was no music. just the echo of movement of what used to be. even then, he tilts his head. waiting. listening for a breath that wasn’t there. he paused. waiting patiently. expecting a laugh. a word. a flicker of something in those eyes. he adjusted his grip. softer… pleading. but there was nothing. no semblance of life. even as he leaned down, leaning on the shoulder. just waiting for that shake that would never come. that smile that was like golden hour… he slowly looked back up.

but harlequin could only stare at the white fool. you were long gone and now what is in his arm was a cheap imitation of what could never be you. ❝ minha pombinho ❞

——————————————————————————

i am not sure if you guys wanted to be tagged in the side stories. but i will tag nonetheless.