The One and Only

He landed three feet behind you with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent half his life making dramatic entrances and the other half pretending he didn’t enjoy them.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Long way down.”

You didn’t turn around immediately. For one strange second, he thought you hadn’t heard him. Then your shoulders shifted, not quite a flinch, not quite a sigh.

“I know.” Your voice was quiet. Worn thin at the edges.

Dick took a cautious step forward. “You okay?”

That made you laugh. It wasn’t a happy sound. It was small and brittle and gone almost before it reached him.

“People always ask that when they don’t know what else to say.”

“Yeah,” Dick admitted. “But sometimes it works.”

You finally looked at him.

And Dick forgot how to breathe. Not because you were beautiful—though you were, in the strange way lonely things often were, like abandoned churches and winter stars. It was your eyes that caught him. They looked too awake. Too aware. Like you had spent years watching life happen through glass and had long since stopped knocking.

“You’re Nightwing,” you said.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“No one.” Your mouth twitched. “No one ever is.”

Dick frowned. “What’s your name?”

Your expression changed. It wasn’t dramatic. There were no tears, no sudden collapse. But something in your face folded inward, like he had pressed on an old bruise.

“You won’t remember it.”

“I’m pretty good with names.”

“No,” you said. “You’re not.”

That should have been impossible. He should have remembered you saying that.

Later, he wouldn’t. Later, all he would remember was landing on a rooftop, finding nothing, and feeling—absurdly, irrationally—like he had lost someone.

But in that moment, with the wind tangling itself between you and the city glittering beneath, he only tilted his head.

“Try me.”

You watched him for a long moment. Then you told him your name.

It entered him like a secret. Soft. Human. Real.

He repeated it once, carefully, like a promise.

Your eyes flickered. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make it sound like it matters.”

Dick stepped closer. You stepped back.

Not from fear. Not exactly.

From habit.

“It does matter,” he said.

“You’ll look away,” you whispered. “Everyone does.”

Dick had faced murderers, gods, aliens, assassins, monsters with too many teeth and men with too little mercy. He had been hurt in ways that left scars under the skin. He knew danger. He knew tragedy.

But he didn’t understand the grief in your voice. Not yet.

So he smiled, gentle and warm, the kind of smile that made people believe in sunrise. “Then I won’t.”

You looked at him like he had just offered to hold back the tide with his hands. “You will.”

“Nope.” He tapped two fingers against his domino mask. “Professional watcher. Comes with the job.”

Your mouth trembled. You looked away first.

Just for a second. Just enough.

Dick blinked.

The rooftop was empty.

He straightened, pulse jumping. Why was he on this roof?

He glanced around. No signs of disturbance. No armed suspects. No civilians. Just wind and moonlight and the city humming below.

His comm crackled.

“Nightwing?” Barbara’s voice came through. “You okay? Your vitals spiked.”

Dick put a hand to his chest.

Something hurt. Not physically. Not like a bruise or broken rib. More like grief had stepped behind his ribs and made itself at home.

“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice sounded wrong. “I think.”

“You think?”

Dick scanned the rooftop again.

Nothing. Nobody.

And still.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just broken a promise.

The second time Dick met you, he was prepared. Sort of. Preparation was difficult when he didn’t know what he was preparing for.

He had started noticing gaps in his patrol logs. Not missing time exactly. Missing context.

Three nights in a row, he found himself standing in places he didn’t remember choosing to go. A rooftop near the old clock factory. An alley behind a closed laundromat. The fire escape outside a condemned apartment building where someone had left a blanket, three granola bars, and a cheap paperback tucked inside a milk crate.

The weirdest part was the notes. His notes. Written in his own hand.

DON’T LOOK AWAY. That one had been scrawled across the inside of his wrist in black marker. Another, written on the back of a takeout receipt: ASK THEIR NAME AGAIN. APOLOGISE. A third, typed into his phone and pinned to the top of his notes app: You met someone. You keep forgetting. This is real. Trust yourself.

Dick trusted himself. Mostly. He trusted his instincts. He trusted his body. He trusted the uneasy pull in his gut that led him back to the rooftop where he had first felt that strange ache.

This time, you were sitting on the ledge. You looked exhausted.

“You again,” you said.

Dick froze. Then he slowly held up both hands. “Okay. Great. We’ve met.”

Your eyes flicked to his wrist. DON’T LOOK AWAY had been rewritten there in thicker marker this time, underlined twice.

Your expression did something complicated. “You’re making notes now.”

“I’m a detective,” he said. “We love notes. Notes, trauma, and dramatic lighting.”

You didn’t laugh. Dick’s smile softened.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

That got your attention. “For what?”

“I don’t know yet.” He swallowed. “But I think I owe you one.”

The wind moved between you. You looked so tired that it made him want to sit beside you and stay there until the world stopped being cruel.

“That’s the worst part,” you said. “You always mean it.”

Dick’s chest tightened. “How many times have we had this conversation?”

You looked away over the city. Dick’s entire body went still.

“Hey,” he said quickly. “Look at me.”

You did.

Too late? No. He still remembered. Rooftop. You. Notes on wrist.

Your face had gone blank with resignation.

“You remembered,” you whispered.

“Yeah.” Relief hit him so hard he almost laughed. “Yeah, I remembered.”

Your eyes shone. It was the first time he saw hope on your face. It broke his heart worse than despair.

“My power doesn’t work like most people think,” you said, voice low. “It’s not invisibility. It’s not mind control. It’s… absence. The second someone stops perceiving me, their mind corrects the mistake. I don’t fit. So reality edits me out.”

Dick went very quiet.

“If I turn away,” he said, “I forget you.”

“Yes.”

“If I leave?”

“Yes.”

“If I sleep?”

Your silence answered.

Dick exhaled. A laugh tried to climb up his throat. It failed halfway and became something smaller. “That’s horrible.”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah. Not exactly party trick material.”

“How long?”

You looked down at your hands. “Since I was thirteen.”

The city seemed to dim. Dick thought of thirteen-year-olds. Of Robin. Of scraped knees and bright capes and wanting desperately to be brave. He thought of childhood as a thing already too sharp without adding loneliness so deep it swallowed your name.

“Your family?”

“They forgot first.”

His hands curled into fists. You said it gently, like you were telling him the weather.

“My mom went to answer the phone. When she came back, she screamed because there was a stranger in her kitchen.” You rubbed your thumb over your knuckles. “My dad called the police. My brother hid behind the couch.”

Dick couldn’t speak.

“I tried for a while,” you continued. “I stayed in the house. Left notes. Photos. Videos. They believed something was happening. They just couldn’t believe in me. Every time they looked away, I became a break-in. A haunting. A threat.” Your voice thinned. “So I left.”

Dick moved before he could think better of it. He sat beside you on the ledge, close enough that his shoulder nearly touched yours.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

You looked at him. “You’ll forget.”

“Maybe.”

“You will.”

“Then I’ll remember again.”

“That isn’t the same.”

“No,” Dick said. “It isn’t.”

You seemed surprised by that. Good, he thought. You deserved honesty more than comfort wrapped in glitter.

“But it’s something,” he added.

You stared at him for a long time. Then, carefully, like you were reaching toward a flame, you rested your shoulder against his.

Dick did not move. He did not look away.

For twelve minutes, neither of you spoke.

For twelve minutes, you existed.

It became a ritual. A strange, fragile, aching thing.

Dick built systems. Because that was what Bats did when faced with the impossible. They made it into a case file, then a contingency plan, then a moral crisis in a cape. He wrote your name on his arm before patrol. He left notes in every safehouse. He set reminders on his phone that went off every hour.

There is someone you love remembering.

That one had been a mistake.

He didn’t remember writing it. He stared at it for a long time anyway.

Someone you love remembering.

Not someone you need to remember. Not someone you are trying to help.

Someone you love remembering.

The words felt like they had been written by a version of him who knew something he didn’t.

He hated that. He hated that there was a version of himself who knew your favourite tea, your favourite rooftop, the way you liked to sit with your knees pulled up when it rained, the fact that you always cried silently during old movies but pretended you didn’t. He hated that he kept becoming a stranger to you.

He hated, more than anything, the look on your face each time he came back.

The guarded hope. The careful smile. The grief already waiting.

“Hi,” he would say.

And sometimes you would say, “Hi, Dick.” Sometimes you would say, “You forgot again.” Sometimes, on the bad nights, you would say, “Please don’t make me do this.”

Those nights nearly killed him.

Because he did make you do it. Not on purpose. Never on purpose. But he always came back with his notes and his guilt and his stubborn, shining heart, asking you to explain the wound again so he could try to love around it.

One night, you snapped.

It happened in his apartment.

That itself had been a miracle. You had never been inside before. You didn’t like enclosed spaces with other people. Too much risk. Too many exits someone else could take. Too many ways to become a stranger in a room you had briefly been welcomed into.

Dick had covered every mirror with sticky notes. DON’T LOOK AWAY. THEY ARE REAL. THEIR NAME IS—

Your name covered his walls. On paper. On tape. On his skin.

It should have been sweet. It was, in a way.

It was also unbearable.

You stood in the centre of his living room, surrounded by proof that you were loved by someone who couldn’t keep you.

“This isn’t living,” you said.

Dick froze in the kitchen, where he was making tea and very deliberately not turning his back. “What?”

“This.” You gestured at the walls. “The notes. The alarms. The way you move around me like I’m a bomb.”

“You’re not a bomb.”

“No,” you said. “I’m a hole.”

Dick flinched.

You laughed, but it broke at the end. “I am. That’s what I am, Dick. I’m this empty space people fall into. They meet me, they care, they forget. And then I have to stand there holding all of it alone.”

He set the mugs down. “I’m trying.”

“I know!” Your voice cracked. “That’s what makes it worse!”

Dick looked stricken.

You pressed both hands to your face, then lowered them quickly, like you were afraid he would vanish if you blocked your own sight.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry. I just—do you know what it’s like to be loved in pieces?”

Dick said nothing.

“You look at me like that,” you said, quieter now. “Like I matter. Like I’m someone you found in the wreckage and decided to carry home. And then your phone rings, or someone calls your name, or you turn your head for one second, and I watch it happen.”

Your lips trembled.

“I watch you lose me.”

Dick’s eyes were wet. You had never seen Nightwing cry before.

Not really. Not like this. Raw and silent and human.

“You get this blank look,” you whispered. “Polite. Confused. Kind, because you’re always kind, which is honestly so rude of you.”

A watery laugh escaped him.

You smiled despite yourself.

Then it faded.

“You ask if I need help. Sometimes you apologise. Sometimes you reach for your escrima sticks because there’s a stranger in your apartment. Once you called Barbara while I was standing right in front of you.”

Dick closed his eyes. Only for a second.

Your breath caught.

His eyes flew open.

Still there. Still remembered.

But the terror on your face gutted him.

“I can’t do this to you,” you said.

“You’re not doing anything to me.”

“I am.”

“No.” Dick crossed the room slowly. “No, you don’t get to decide that your existence is harm.”

You looked away. He reached for you, then stopped himself.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

You shook your head.

“Please.”

When you finally did, tears were running down your face.

Dick’s voice broke. “There you are.”

You crumpled. He caught you because of course he did. Because Dick Grayson had always been good at catching falling things, even when he couldn’t save them from the drop.

You gripped the front of his shirt like you were trying to leave fingerprints in the fabric.

“I’m so tired,” you sobbed.

“I know.”

“I want someone to remember me without bleeding for it.”

“I know.”

“I want to be normal.”

Dick held you tighter. “I know.”

You cried into his chest until your knees gave out. He sank with you to the floor, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressed between your shoulder blades.

He didn’t say it would be okay. You loved him a little more for that.

He only held you. He only stayed.

For a while, that was enough.

Then his phone rang.

Both of you froze.

The sound cut through the room like a blade.

Dick’s hand tightened against your back.

“Don’t,” you whispered.

He didn’t move.

The phone kept ringing. You could see the war in him. Duty, love, habit, fear. The city had trained him to answer every call like someone might die if he didn’t.

Maybe someone would. Maybe that was the cruellest part.

You pulled back first. “Dick.”

“No.”

“You have to.”

“No,” he said again, and this time there was anger in it. Not at you. Never at you. At the world. At the rules. At whatever cosmic glitch had decided you were optional.

“You have to,” you repeated.

His jaw clenched. “Then tell me your name again.”

You stared at him. His eyes burned.

“Tell me,” he said. “Before I lose it. Please.”

So you did.

You told him your name.

He repeated it. Once. Twice. Like prayer. Like defiance. Like if he said it enough times, reality might get embarrassed and stop being such a jerk about it.

Then he turned his head. “Oracle, talk to me.”

The second his eyes left yours, he forgot.

You watched it happen. The soft confusion. The slight shift in posture. The way his body moved between you and the door, protective but uncertain.

His gaze landed on you.

A stranger. In his apartment. On his floor. Crying.

Dick’s hand went instinctively toward the escrima stick on the coffee table.

Your heart made no sound when it broke.

It had learned to be quiet.

After that, you left Blüdhaven.

Not far. You weren’t dramatic enough to vanish across the world, and anyway, airports were complicated when the person checking your passport forgot you between looking at your face and looking down at your documents.

So you took buses. Walked. Hitchhiked with people who were kind for exactly as long as they could see you.

You became good at temporary things.

Temporary shelter. Temporary conversations. Temporary warmth.

You slept in libraries until librarians forgot why they had let you stay. You ate in diners where waitresses refilled your coffee, turned away, and came back startled to find you sitting there.

You stopped using your name. Names were for people who could be called back.

Weeks passed. Maybe months. Time had always been slippery for you. When no one remembered your birthday, age became less of a number and more of a rumour your bones carried around.

You thought Dick would stop looking.

Not because he didn’t care.

Because he couldn’t. Because love needed memory the way fire needed air, and whatever existed between you kept suffocating before it could breathe.

Then, one rainy night in Gotham, you saw him again.

Not Nightwing.

Dick. No mask. No suit. Just a man standing under a broken awning outside a closed flower shop, soaked to the skin, holding a bouquet of forget-me-nots.

Your chest hurt so badly you almost turned around.

Almost.

But he saw you. And the world narrowed to his face.

He looked wrecked. There were dark circles under his eyes. Stubble along his jaw. His hair was plastered to his forehead by the rain. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

Knowing Dick, he probably hadn’t.

He didn’t smile when he saw you. He looked relieved in a way that was almost painful.

“Hi,” he said. 

Your throat closed. “Hi.”

His grip tightened around the flowers. “I don’t know your name right now.”

You nodded once.

“But I know I’ve been looking for you.”

Rain slid down your cheeks. Or maybe it was tears. The weather gave you plausible deniability, which was honestly very polite of it.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah,” Dick said. “You keep telling me that.”

A laugh broke out of you.

It was small. Awful. Alive.

Dick looked at you like that laugh had just saved him.

“How?” you asked.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a stack of index cards, carefully laminated.

Of course he had laminated them. Because Dick Grayson loved like a circus kid and planned like a Bat, which meant all his grand romantic gestures came with office supplies.

“I made a system,” he said.

“You already had a system.”

“I made a better one.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“Probably.” He glanced down at the top card. “This says you find that annoying but secretly charming.”

You stared. Despite everything, your mouth twitched.

Dick’s face softened. “There it is.”

“Don’t.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No,” he admitted. “I’m really not.”

He held out the flowers. You didn’t take them.

His hand faltered.

“They’re for you,” he said.

“You’ll forget giving them to me.”

“I wrote it down.”

“That doesn’t make it hurt less.”

“I know.”

The rain kept falling. You looked at the flowers. Tiny blue petals, fragile as breath. A cruel joke from the universe or a tender one from him. Maybe both.

“I left because I couldn’t keep watching you lose me,” you said.

Dick nodded. “I figured.”

“And you came anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

He looked at the card in his hand. Then he lowered it.

When he spoke, his voice was rough.

“I don’t remember most of it,” he said. “I’m sorry. I hate that. I hate saying it. But I don’t remember our first meeting. I don’t remember your favourite tea. I don’t remember the sound of your laugh unless I’m hearing it. I don’t remember what I promised you.” Your vision blurred. “But every time I forget you,” Dick continued, pressing one hand to his chest, “I miss you.”

You went still.

He looked helpless. “I don’t know how else to explain it. There’s this… space. Right here. Like my heart keeps setting a place at the table for someone my mind can’t name.”

You covered your mouth with your hand.

Dick took one step closer. Slow. Careful. “I find notes everywhere. My apartment. My suit. My phone. Once, apparently, I wrote your name on a cereal box at four in the morning.”

You choked on something between a sob and a laugh. “Very normal behaviour.”

“Extremely normal. Healthy, even.”

“The pinnacle of mental stability.”

“Honestly, Bruce has done weirder with less emotional justification.”

That made you laugh again.

Dick smiled, but his eyes stayed wet.

“I forget details,” he said. “But I remember the shape of loving you.”

The world stopped. Or maybe you did. For so long, you had thought being forgotten meant being unloved. How could it not? Love was supposed to be the thing that stayed. The thing that survived distance and time and bad days and worse decisions.

But Dick stood in front of you, soaked and shaking, holding flowers he might not remember buying, loving you with a heart that kept reaching for you even after his mind went dark.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t enough.

It was everything.

“You don’t know me,” you whispered.

“Then tell me again.”

“I can’t keep doing that.”

“I know.”

“I’m tired of introducing myself to the person I love.”

Dick’s face crumpled.

There it was. The truth. Ugly. Beautiful. Finally spoken.

You loved him. You had loved him across rooftops and forgotten mornings, across notes and alarms and the blank look in his eyes. You had loved him in fragments, in seconds, in stolen hours. You had loved him knowing love could not save you.

Dick stepped closer. “You love me?”

You laughed through tears. “Don’t make me regret saying it.”

“I’m not. I’m just—” He looked overwhelmed, almost dizzy with it. “I wish I remembered earning that.”

“You did earn it,” you said. “Over and over.”

He looked at you like that hurt worse than anything.

Then he held out the flowers again. This time, you took them. His fingers brushed yours.

For one breath, neither of you moved.

“I don’t have a cure,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“But I talked to Zatanna.” Your heart kicked. “And Constantine.”

Your expression must have shifted, because Dick quickly added, “I know. Terrible idea. I brought backup and did not sign anything. Growth.”

Despite yourself, you smiled.

“They think it’s not a power,” he said. “Not exactly. More like a curse that latched onto your metagene and rewrote the rules.”

Hope was dangerous. You had learned that young. Hope was a match in a room full of gas.

Still, you felt it spark.

“Can they fix it?”

Dick hesitated. And because he was Dick, because he knew you deserved truth more than pretty lies, he said, “Maybe.”

The spark flickered.

“They’re not sure,” he admitted. “But there’s a chance.”

“A chance.”

“Yeah.”

You looked down at the forget-me-nots. Tiny blue stars in your hands.

“What happens if it doesn’t work?”

Dick’s voice softened. “Then I keep making better systems.”

Your eyes closed. “Dick…”

“I know,” he said. “It’s not enough.”

“No.”

“But it’s what I have.”

You opened your eyes. He was still looking at you.

Still there. Still yours, for now.

“I’m scared,” you said.

“Me too.”

“I don’t want to hope.”

“I’ll hope first,” Dick said. “You can borrow some until yours comes back.”

It was such a Dick Grayson thing to say. So earnest. So stupidly poetic. So bright it made you want to scream.

Instead, you stepped forward and pressed your forehead against his chest.

He went very still. Then his arms came around you. Careful at first.

Then tighter.

The bouquet crushed slightly between you. Neither of you cared.

“I’m going to forget this if I close my eyes too long, aren’t I?” he whispered.

“Probably.”

His breath shook. “Then I won’t.”

“You have to blink eventually.”

“Rude.”

You huffed a laugh against his coat.

Dick rested his chin lightly on top of your head.

“Tell me your name,” he said.

So you did.

He repeated it. Then again. Then again.

The rain came down harder, turning Gotham soft around the edges. Cars hissed through puddles. Neon bled across the street. Somewhere, sirens wailed, because the city never learned how to be quiet at the right moments.

Dick held you like he could anchor you by touch alone.

Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe, in five minutes, he would glance away and lose you. Maybe tomorrow, you would have to start over. Maybe love was not a cure.

But for one impossible moment, you existed in someone’s arms.

Not as a ghost. Not as a gap. Not as a tragedy waiting to be forgotten.

As a person. As yourself.

Dick pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

“You won’t remember.”

His arms tightened.

“No,” he said, voice breaking. “But I’ll come back.”

And the worst part was that you believed him.

The House of Mystery did not like you. That was your first thought.

Your second thought was that the House of Mystery was alive, and you were going to have to unpack that later, preferably with snacks and several hours of screaming into a decorative pillow.

It crouched at the end of a crooked lane beneath a sky the colour of old bruises, all black windows and impossible angles. The front door had a brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head. Its eyes followed you.

Dick noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, keeping his hand around yours. “It does that to everyone.”

You looked up at him. “You’ve been here before?”

“Once.”

“And?”

“And I still have all my limbs.”

“That is a suspiciously low bar.”

His mouth twitched. “Welcome to magic.”

Rain slicked his hair dark against his forehead. He hadn’t let go of your hand once since you left Gotham, like contact alone could make you more real. Maybe it did. Maybe that was hope whispering sweet lies again.

In his other hand, he held a stack of laminated cards. He had added more since you agreed to come with him. Your name was written on the top card. Beneath it: They are real. You love them. Do not panic when you forget. Ask what they need.

You had cried when you saw that one. Then you had called him a menace with office supplies, because love was easier to survive when you insulted it a little.

Dick had smiled so softly you almost forgave the universe.

Almost.

Now he stood beside you outside a sentient magical house, shoulders squared like he could intimidate architecture. Very on-brand. Very stupid. Very him.

The door opened before he touched it.

A man leaned against the frame. Trench coat. Loose tie. A cigarette hanging from his mouth despite the rain. Hair like he’d lost a fight with a pillow and declared himself the winner.

John Constantine looked at you for half a second. Then his eyes slid away.

Your hand tightened around Dick’s.

Constantine blinked. His face went blank.

“Well?” he said to Dick. “You gonna stand there all night, bird boy, or come in before the house decides you’re garnish?”

Dick went still. You felt it happen. His hand was still holding yours, but something changed in the shape of his fingers. Not letting go, exactly. Just not knowing why he was holding on.

He looked down. At your joined hands. Then at you. Polite confusion softened his face.

“Hi,” he said carefully.

There it was. The knife. Familiar as breath.

You tried to pull your hand away.

Dick’s grip tightened reflexively—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop you. His brow furrowed.

Then he looked at the card in his other hand.

Read it. Read your name. Read: You love them.

The colour drained from his face.

“Oh,” he whispered.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

His eyes found yours again, devastated and desperate. “I’m sorry.”

“You always are.”

Constantine, who had apparently been watching this with the expression of a man realising his bad day had grown legs and started singing, took the cigarette from his mouth. “Well,” he said quietly. “That’s properly awful.”

You laughed once. It came out sharp enough to cut. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Constantine looked at you. Really looked.

His gaze caught, snagged, fought to stay. The air around him sparked faintly, like invisible wires had been pulled taut.

“There you are,” he murmured.

Then he flinched. Not physically. Not enough for most people to notice.

Dick noticed. So did you.

Constantine’s eyes narrowed. “Bloody hell.”

“What?” Dick asked.

Constantine didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a black marker. He grabbed Dick’s wrist without asking, shoved up the sleeve of his jacket, and wrote your name beneath Dick’s existing notes in quick, ugly letters.

“Oi,” Dick said.

“Shut up, circus boy.”

“Wow. Rude and helpful. Multitasking.”

Constantine ignored him and wrote your name on his own palm next. Then he looked away deliberately. For one second. Two.

His face emptied. Then his gaze dropped to his palm.

He read your name. Looked back up.

“Right,” he said grimly. “I hate this.”

Your stomach turned. “Can you help?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Comforting.”

“I’m not paid to comfort.”

“You’re being paid?”

Dick coughed. “Zatanna said not to ask him that.”

“Zatanna says lots of things,” Constantine said, stepping aside. “Some of ’em backwards.”

The House opened wider. Warm yellow light spilled across the threshold.

Dick leaned closer to you. His voice lowered. “Still with me?”

You stared into the mouth of the impossible house. “No.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Same.”

And because fear was easier to carry when shared, you stepped inside together.

Zatanna Zatara was waiting in the parlour. You knew her from posters, news clips, blurry magical incidents that made conspiracy forums foam at the mouth. She was impossible to mistake even without the stage lights. Dark hair, bright eyes, presence like a velvet curtain lifting before thunder.

She stood beside a round table covered in candles, mirrors, bowls of salt, silver thread, old books, and a vase of forget-me-nots.

The flowers made your chest ache.

Dick saw them too. His fingers flexed around yours.

Zatanna turned when you entered. Her gaze landed on Dick. Then Constantine. Then you.

Unlike Constantine, she did not immediately forget.

Her eyes widened.

“Oh,” she said softly.

One syllable. So much grief inside it.

You hated that. Hated the pity. Hated the immediate understanding. Hated the way kindness could feel like being peeled open under clean light.

“Don’t,” you said before she could say anything else. Zatanna’s expression shifted. Not offended. Just listening. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Dick moved a little closer to you.

Zatanna nodded once. “Okay.”

That was all. No argument. No apology parade. No theatrical sadness.

Just okay.

You liked her immediately and resented that too.

Constantine shut the door behind you. “It’s worse than you said.”

Zatanna’s mouth tightened. “I can see that.”

“You can?” Dick asked.

“I can see the outline.” She walked toward you slowly, stopping several feet away. “It’s like looking at a person-shaped tear in a painting.”

You looked down at yourself.

Person-shaped tear.

Yeah. That tracked.

Dick’s jaw tensed. “Can you fix it?”

“Dick,” you whispered.

“No.” His voice was quiet but edged in steel. “No soft wording. No dancing around it. They’ve had enough of that.” He looked at Zatanna. “Can you fix it?”

For a moment, the room only breathed around you. The candles flickered without wind. Zatanna looked at Constantine. Constantine rubbed a hand over his face.

“Maybe,” Zatanna said.

The word landed like a coin dropped into a well.

Small. Far away.

Maybe.

You hated how badly you wanted to dive after it.

Dick’s grip went tight, then loosened as if he remembered not to hold too hard.

“What does maybe mean?” he asked.

“It means the curse isn’t simply making people forget,” Zatanna said. “It’s convincing reality you were never there.”

You laughed under your breath. “Love when reality has beef with me personally.”

Constantine snorted. “Kid, reality’s a bastard. Don’t take it special.”

Dick shot him a look.

“What?” Constantine said. “That was almost supportive.”

Zatanna ignored him with the grace of someone who had built an entire skillset around ignoring John Constantine.

“It edits perception first,” she continued, “then memory. If someone stops perceiving you, their mind closes the gap. It removes you to protect the shape of what it thinks is true.”

You stared at the candles. “And what’s true?”

Zatanna’s voice softened. “That you belong here.”

Your throat hurt.

Constantine looked uncomfortable, which seemed to be his default state whenever sincerity entered the room and failed to die immediately.

Dick stepped closer to the table. “What do you need?”

“Names,” Zatanna said. “Anchors. Memory has roots. We need to find yours.”

“My records are gone,” you said.

“Not paperwork.” She tapped her fingers lightly against the table. “Moments. Strong ones. The first time someone forgot you. The first person who remembered longer than they should have. The first time the curse changed.”

Your chest went cold.

Dick looked at you. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes,” you said.

His expression flickered.

“You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“I do.”

“You shouldn’t have to bleed on command just because magic wants trauma receipts.”

Constantine lifted a finger. “For the record, magic does love trauma receipts.”

Zatanna glared at him.

He lowered the finger. “Not helping. Got it.”

A laugh almost escaped you. It got stuck somewhere near your ribs.

You looked at Dick.

The awful part was that he still remembered you.

You could see it. The recognition. The fear. The love he had confessed in the rain and might lose again with one wrong blink.

You wanted to run. You wanted to stay. You wanted a life where those weren’t the only choices.

“I’ll do it,” you said.

Dick looked like he wanted to argue.

Instead, he nodded.

Because he knew. Because he loved you enough not to mistake protection for permission.

Zatanna gestured toward the chair at the centre of the room. “Sit.”

You did.

Dick started to follow.

Constantine moved, blocking him with one arm. “Not you.”

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“If you stand there staring at them like a kicked puppy with a vigilante complex, the spell’s gonna grab you too.”

“It already grabs me.”

“This is different.”

“I’m staying.”

“No,” Zatanna said.

Dick froze.

Her voice had changed. Not loud. Not harsh. But full of command.

“You can be in the room,” she said, gentler now. “But not beside them. Not touching. The spell needs to see where they end.”

You hated that sentence.

Dick did too. You could tell by the way his face closed around it.

Where they end.

As if that had ever been clear. As if loneliness had not spent years blurring you into doorways and blank spaces and forgotten corners.

He looked at you. Your hand felt cold without his.

“It’s okay,” you said.

“No, it isn’t.”

A small smile trembled across your mouth. “Yeah. But I’m trying to be brave, and you’re making it very difficult.”

His laugh broke a little. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No,” he admitted. “I’m really not.”

He stepped back anyway. Only a few feet.

It felt like miles.

Constantine took up a place near the fireplace, drawing symbols in the air with smoke. Zatanna lit the candles one by one. Each flame burned blue.

“Tell me your name,” she said.

You did. The candles flared.

Dick repeated it from across the room.

Your eyes snapped to him. He looked almost embarrassed, but stubborn.

“What?” he said. “Backup.”

Zatanna’s expression softened.

Constantine muttered, “Hopeless.”

But he wrote your name on the wall in smoke.

The House shuddered around you.

Not hostile now. Listening.

Zatanna took a silver thread and wrapped it once around your wrist.

“Memory is a door,” she said. “I’m going to open it carefully.”

“Carefully sounds fake.”

“Smart,” Constantine said. “Distrust adjectives.”

Zatanna gave him another look.

He mimed zipping his mouth shut. The zipper sound was somehow literal.

Magic. Exhausting. Camp. Terrifying. Pick a struggle.

Zatanna lifted both hands.

“Rebmemer,” she said.

The room vanished.

You were thirteen again.

You were standing in your kitchen. Morning light fell across the yellow tiles. Your cereal had gone soggy because you had been reading the back of the box instead of eating. Your mom was humming near the sink. Your dad was searching for his keys. Your sibling was talking too fast about school, words tumbling over each other like bright marbles.

You remembered the exact smell.

Toast. Coffee. Laundry detergent.

Home.

Then the phone rang.

Your mom turned away. Your sibling crawled under the table to grab a dropped spoon. Your dad walked into the hall.

For three seconds, no one looked at you.

Three seconds. That was all it took to end the world.

Your mom came back first. She saw you standing by the counter and screamed.

Not a startled scream.

A stranger-in-my-house scream.

Your bowl shattered when you dropped it.

Milk spread across the floor like a pale wound.

“Mom?” you said.

She grabbed a knife from the counter. “Who are you?”

Your dad ran in. Your sibling started crying.

You said your name.

Your mother sobbed harder. Your father called the police.

You kept saying your name.

Over and over.

Like a spell. Like a plea. Like the universe had simply misheard you and would fix itself if you spoke clearly enough.

Then hands grabbed your shoulders.

Not your father’s.

Dick’s.

The kitchen blurred.

You were back in the chair, gasping, doubled over against invisible pain.

Dick had crossed the room.

Zatanna was trying to hold him back with one arm and a half-formed spell, but Dick Grayson had been throwing himself at impossible things since childhood and had never once learned to respect cosmic traffic laws.

“I’m here,” he said, kneeling in front of you. “I’m here, I’m here.”

“Don’t touch,” Constantine barked.

Dick ignored him. His hands hovered near yours, shaking with the effort not to grab on.

You looked at him through tears.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

Then his eyes flickered.

Just for a second.

He looked confused.

Your heart stopped.

He glanced down at his wrist. Read your name.

The confusion shattered.

“Yes,” he said again, more fiercely. “Yes. I remember.”

“You looked away.”

“I came back.”

“That’s not the same.”

“I know.”

The silver thread around your wrist burned cold.

Zatanna’s voice cut through the room. “The curse is reacting to him.”

Constantine swore. “Course it is. Love always makes magic weird.”

Dick did not look away from you.

Zatanna knelt beside the circle. “Dick, listen to me. If you keep forcing your way into the spell, it may bind you to the curse.”

“Fine.”

“No,” you snapped.

His eyes locked onto yours.

“No,” you repeated, trembling. “You don’t get to martyr yourself into my tragedy and call it romance.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Isn’t it?”

The room went quiet. Even the House seemed to hold its breath.

Dick looked hurt.

Good. You were hurt too.

“You keep coming back,” you said, voice breaking. “You keep writing notes and building systems and bleeding yourself dry trying to remember me, and it’s beautiful, Dick, it is, but it’s also killing me.”

His face crumpled. “I don’t know how to stop.”

“I’m not asking you to stop loving me.”

His breath caught.

“I’m asking you to stop treating loving me like it means surviving damage quietly.”

For a second, no one spoke.

Then Constantine, very softly, said, “Well. That one landed.”

Zatanna stood. The candles flared higher.

“That’s it,” she said.

You looked at her. “What?”

“The curse feeds on isolation,” she said. “But not just yours. Anyone who tries to remember you alone gets pulled into its pattern. The harder one person holds on, the more the curse makes them pay for it.”

Dick went pale. “So I’m making it worse?”

“No,” Zatanna said. “You’re proving it can be resisted. But you can’t be the only anchor.”

A thin, terrible hope moved through you.

“What does that mean?” you asked.

Constantine pushed away from the fireplace. “Means we don’t make one poor sod your whole lifeboat.”

Dick glanced at him.

Constantine shrugged. “No offence.”

“Some taken.”

“Good. Keeps you humble.”

Zatanna placed both hands on the table.

“We build a circle,” she said. “Multiple witnesses. Multiple names. Multiple memories. The curse can erase you from one mind at a time. Maybe even many. But if enough people remember at once—if they keep passing your existence between them—it may not be able to close the gap.”

You stared at her.

A circle.

Not one person staring until his eyes bled. Not one love asked to carry the weight of an entire existence.

A circle.

Your voice came out thin. “Who would do that?”

Dick’s expression changed.

Softened.

Strengthened.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “I know some people.”

“No,” you said.

Dick looked at you from the driver’s seat.

You sat in the passenger seat of his car outside Wayne Manor, arms crossed so tightly over your chest that your ribs protested.

The manor rose beyond the windshield, enormous and golden-windowed, looking less like a home and more like old money learned how to brood.

“No,” you repeated.

Dick turned the engine off. “You haven’t heard the pitch.”

“Is the pitch ‘let’s ask Batman to perceive me as a team-building exercise’?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what is it?”

He hesitated.

You groaned. “Dick.”

“I may have already told them.”

You stared at him.

He winced. “In my defence, I wrote it down first.”

“You told Batman about me?”

“And Barbara.”

“Dick.”

“And Alfred.”

“Dick.”

“And maybe Tim, because if anyone can build anti-curse tech, it’s him.”

“Richard.”

He smiled weakly. “Full name. Yikes.”

You looked out at the manor. Your stomach churned.

Somewhere inside were people who loved Dick. People he trusted. People who would look at you, look away, and forget you like everyone else.

Except this time, you would have witnesses. This time, there would be a whole room full of faces going blank.

A symphony of loss.

“I can’t,” you whispered.

Dick’s smile disappeared. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Your voice cracked. “I know you think you do, but you don’t know what it feels like. Walking into a room and knowing every person there is going to abandon you by accident.”

He went still.

You looked down at your hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He sounded rough. “You’re right.”

Silence filled the car.

Then Dick opened his glove compartment and pulled out another laminated card.

You blinked. “Did you stash lore cards in your car?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you did.”

He handed it to you.

This one wasn’t for him.

It was for you.

You are allowed to leave. You are allowed to be angry. You are allowed to want help. You are not a burden because people choose to care.

Your vision blurred.

Dick looked straight ahead, giving you the fragile privacy of not being watched.

“I had Zatanna write the wording,” he said. “I wanted to put something like ‘you’re amazing, and everyone should get with the program,’ but she said subtlety exists for a reason.”

A laugh broke through your tears. “Terrible advice.”

“I know. I was shocked.”

You held the card against your chest.

The manor waited. So did the curse.

So did maybe.

Finally, you whispered, “Don’t let go of my hand.”

Dick reached for you immediately. “Never on purpose.”

And because that was the only kind of forever either of you could promise, you got out of the car.

The Batfamily did not handle magic well. This became clear within ninety seconds.

Bruce Wayne stood in the cave with his cowl down, looking at you with the intense focus of a man trying to out-glare a metaphysical condition. Tim had three tablets open and was muttering about cognitive imprinting. Barbara watched from a screen, expression sharp and sympathetic. Damian stood with his arms crossed, deeply offended by the concept of forgetting someone against his will.

Jason was there too, leaning near the med bay with his helmet tucked under one arm.

He looked at you once.

Looked away.

Forgot.

Looked back.

His hand went to his gun.

Dick stepped in front of you so fast the movement blurred. “Jason.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell is that?”

You flinched.

Dick took out a card and held it up.

Jason read it.

His face changed. Not softened. Jason Todd did not soften easily in front of strangers.

But something dark moved behind his eyes.

He looked back at you.

“Ah,” he said. “That’s messed up.”

Your laugh came out strangled. “That seems to be the general review.”

Jason grabbed a marker off Tim’s workstation and wrote your name on his forearm.

Then, beneath it, Don’t be a dick.

Tim leaned over. “Statistically unlikely to help.”

“Statistically bite me.”

Damian clicked his tongue and took the marker from Jason. “Your handwriting is atrocious.”

“My trauma’s got flair, demon brat.”

Damian ignored him and wrote your name on his own wrist in neat, precise letters.

Then he looked at you.

“You will not be forgotten here,” he said, with the absolute certainty of someone who considered reality a personal rival.

You didn’t know what to say.

Alfred saved you.

Alfred Pennyworth approached with a tray of tea, because apparently even curses could be bullied into manners by a British man with perfect posture.

He looked directly at you.

Then he looked down to pour.

The teapot paused.

His expression went blank.

Your heart sank.

Then he glanced at the card pinned to his waistcoat.

His eyes returned to you.

“My apologies,” he said calmly. “Sugar?”

You stared. “What?”

“Sugar,” Alfred repeated. “In your tea.”

You made a sound that was almost a sob.

Dick squeezed your hand.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Please.”

“Very good.”

Like this was normal. Like you were simply a guest. Like being remembered imperfectly was not still, somehow, being welcomed.

Bruce watched the exchange with a look on his face you couldn’t read.

Then he turned to Dick.

Wrong move.

The second Bruce looked away from you, his brow furrowed.

He forgot.

You saw it happen again.

And again. And again.

Every person in the cave became a door closing.

Tim turned toward a monitor and forgot mid-sentence. Barbara glanced down at incoming data and lost your name. Damian looked at Dick and his face went cold with confusion. Jason checked the chamber of his gun, looked up, and saw a stranger again.

It was too much.

Your hand slipped out of Dick’s.

You stepped back.

“No,” you whispered.

Dick turned instantly. “Hey—”

“No.”

Your breath came too fast.

The cave walls leaned in. Too many eyes. Too many blank faces.

Too much proof.

“I can’t do this.”

Dick reached for you.

You backed away.

His face cracked open.

But he stopped.

He let his hand fall.

Because you had asked him not to turn your pain into his hero moment.

“I can’t,” you said again, louder now, to everyone, to no one. “I can’t stand here and watch all of you erase me.”

Bruce looked at the note on his hand.

Then at you.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You barked a laugh. “Don’t.”

His mouth closed.

“Don’t be sorry like that fixes it. Don’t look at me like I’m a case.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” You pointed at the screens, the tablets, the notes. “All of this. The systems. The strategies. The little labels on your wrists. I know you’re trying to help. I know. But I am so tired of being a problem everyone has to solve before they can love me.”

The cave fell silent.

Dick looked wrecked.

Zatanna, standing near the edge of the circle she had drawn in chalk, said gently, “Then tell them what you need.”

You laughed weakly. “I don’t know what I need.”

“Yes, you do.”

You hated magic people. They were always saying true things at inconvenient times.

You looked at Dick first. Then at the others.

Your voice trembled. “I need you to stop acting like forgetting me hurts you more than being forgotten hurts me.”

Dick closed his eyes. Only for a second.

When he opened them, he still remembered.

Barely.

You could see him holding on.

You looked at Bruce. “I need you to ask before you test something.”

Bruce nodded once. “Done.”

At Tim. “I need you to explain what you’re doing like I’m a person in the room, not a glitch in your code.”

Tim looked stricken. “Yeah. Yes. Absolutely.”

At Damian. “I need you not to make promises reality can break.”

Damian’s jaw clenched. Then he dipped his chin. “I will try.”

At Jason.

You hesitated.

Jason raised both brows. “What? Need me to stop being charming?”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched. “I need you to keep being angry about it.”

Jason’s expression flickered. Then he gave you a grim little smile. “Oh, that I can do.”

At Alfred, your voice softened. “Thank you for the tea.”

Alfred inclined his head. “It is a start.”

It was. A strange, fragile start.

Zatanna stepped into the circle.

“Now,” she said, “we try again. Not to solve you. To witness you.”

The words settled over the cave.

To witness you.

Not fix. Not save.

Witness.

Dick looked at you. This time, he did not reach.

He waited.

You crossed the distance yourself and took his hand.

He breathed out.

The circle began.

Magic, you discovered, hurt like remembering.

Not a clean pain. Not a cut. More like every forgotten version of yourself waking up in your bones at once.

Zatanna spoke backwards, voice ringing through the cave. Constantine answered from the shadows, lighting sigils with a snap of his fingers.

Bruce read your name aloud. Then Barbara. Then Tim. Then Damian. Then Jason. Then Alfred.

Then Dick.

Especially Dick.

Each time someone said your name, the curse screamed.

Not with sound.

With absence.

Lights flickered. Screens glitched. The cave shook. The giant penny tilted dangerously and made everyone briefly consider whether dying by novelty coin would be too embarrassing for the obituary.

Memories tore loose.

Your mother screaming. Your father forgetting your face. Teachers marking you absent while you sat at your desk. Friends laughing with you, turning away, returning with fear. Doctors diagnosing stress. Police calling you a runaway. Strangers offering kindness that evaporated between one blink and the next.

Years of being unseen crashed through the room.

And this time, you were not the only one holding them.

Dick gasped like he had been punched.

You turned toward him.

He was crying. Not silently anymore.

He saw it.

All of it.

Every introduction. Every loss. Every night you had smiled like your heart wasn’t breaking because you knew he would not remember the tears anyway.

“Dick,” you whispered.

“I remember,” he choked.

The spell buckled.

Zatanna shouted something backwards.

Constantine swore so loudly that Alfred said, “Language,” on pure reflex.

The curse lunged.

You felt it reach for Dick. For the shape of his love. For the single bright thread he had tied around you again and again and again.

No.

Not him.

Not anymore.

You let go of his hand.

Dick made a broken sound.

But you turned toward the circle. Toward everyone.

“If you’re going to remember me,” you said through gritted teeth, “then remember this.”

The cave lights exploded blue.

You spoke your name.

Not like a plea this time. Not like an apology.

Like a claim.

The curse recoiled.

For the first time since you were thirteen, the world hesitated before erasing you.

That was all Zatanna needed.

“Dloh,” she commanded.

Hold.

Every person in the cave repeated your name.

Again. Again. Again.

A circle. A chorus. A net.

The curse thrashed, dragging shadows across the walls. For one terrible second, every face went blank.

Dick. Bruce. Jason. Tim. Damian. Alfred. Barbara on the screen.

All of them stared at you like strangers.

You stood in the middle of the circle with your heart in pieces.

Then Jason looked at his arm.

“Don’t be a dick,” he read aloud.

His eyes snapped to you.

“Right,” he growled. “Screw that.”

Damian followed.

Then Tim.

Then Bruce.

Then Alfred.

Then Barbara.

Then Dick.

He looked at the card in his hand. Read it. Looked at you.

And this time, something changed.

The blankness did not vanish all at once.

It cracked.

Like ice under sunlight.

His face filled with pain. With recognition. With love.

Your breath caught.

Dick whispered your name.

The curse broke.

Not with a bang. Not with dramatic lightning, though honestly, with this crowd, it would’ve fit the brand.

It broke like a held breath finally released.

The room went quiet. The silver thread around your wrist dissolved into blue ash.

One candle remained lit.

Then another.

Then all of them.

You stood very still.

No one moved. No one looked away.

Finally, because the universe enjoyed comic timing, Constantine said, “Well. That was horrible.”

You laughed.

It was wet and shaky and half a sob, but it was yours.

Dick took one step toward you.

Then stopped.

Still asking. Still learning.

You closed the distance.

He caught you when your knees gave out, and this time when his eyes shut against your hair, just for one exhausted second, he did not forget.

He opened them again.

Looked down at you.

Still knew you.

His face crumpled.

“Oh,” he whispered.

You touched his cheek with shaking fingers. “Do you remember?”

Dick laughed through tears.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I remember.”

You started crying then.

Not the quiet kind. Not the practised kind.

The ugly, gasping, years-too-late kind of crying that tore through you like weather.

Dick held you on the cave floor while the candles burned blue around you.

No one turned away.

Or maybe they did. Maybe Tim looked down at his tablet. Maybe Jason wiped his face and pretended he hadn’t. Maybe Alfred stepped aside to make more tea. Maybe Bruce closed his eyes because grief had found another child-shaped wound to haunt him with.

But when they looked back—

They remembered.

They remembered.

They remembered.

The cure was not perfect.

Magic rarely was.

Constantine explained it three days later in Dick’s apartment, boots on the coffee table until Dick kicked them off.

“Your existence sticks now,” John said. “Mostly.”

You sat on the couch under a blanket, both hands wrapped around a mug of tea. “Mostly is a cursed word.”

“Appropriate, then.”

Zatanna elbowed him. He grunted.

“What John means,” she said, “is that people who have been anchored will remember you. People outside the circle may still forget if they look away too quickly, especially strangers. But the curse no longer rewrites your entire existence.”

“So I’m still forgettable,” you said.

Dick sat beside you, his knee pressed against yours. “No.”

You looked at him.

His voice was gentle, absolute.

“No,” he repeated. “You’re not.”

Something in your chest warmed.

Terrifying. Tender.

Zatanna smiled.

“New memories should hold,” she said. “With time, the effect may weaken further. But for now, the anchor circle matters.”

“Meaning the Bats remember me.”

“Unfortunately,” Constantine said.

Jason, from where he was raiding Dick’s fridge uninvited, called, “Heard that, trench coat.”

“You were meant to.”

Damian looked up from the armchair where he was pretending not to be emotionally invested. “If anyone forgets them again, I will take it as a personal insult.”

Tim, surrounded by three laptops on the floor, nodded. “I’m building a shared encrypted memory archive.”

You blinked. “A what?”

“A normal scrapbook,” Dick said quickly.

Barbara’s voice came from Dick’s phone. “It is absolutely not normal.”

Alfred, who had somehow made tea in Dick’s kitchen better than Dick had ever made tea in his own kitchen, set a fresh cup in front of you. “Normal is frequently overrated.”

Bruce stood near the window, quiet as a shadow trying to pass as furniture.

He looked at you.

Then away. Then back.

Still remembered.

His expression softened with something almost like relief.

You did not know what to do with that. So you looked at Dick instead.

He was already watching you.

“Hi,” he said.

You smiled. “Hi.”

His eyes went bright.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Dick.”

“I just like knowing I’ll remember this.”

Your smile trembled.

The room grew quieter around you—not silent, exactly. This family did not do silence. Jason was still arguing with Constantine. Damian was threatening Tim over keyboard sounds. Barbara was providing commentary like a sports announcer. Alfred was pretending not to enjoy any of it. Bruce was brooding.

But somehow, inside all that chaos, there was space for you.

A place at the table. A name that stayed.

Dick reached for your hand.

You let him take it.

For years, you had lived as a vanishing point. A person made of almost.

Almost seen. Almost known. Almost loved.

Now Dick Grayson held your hand in a room full of people who had witnessed your absence and decided, collectively, with alarming stubbornness, to become impossible to erase.

It was not a fairy tale.

It was messier than that.

More fragile. More real.

Maybe tomorrow, a barista would forget your order. Maybe a stranger on the street would bump your shoulder and blink in confusion. Maybe some mornings you would still wake up afraid that the world had changed its mind.

But Dick would remember.

Zatanna would remember. The circle would remember.

And for the first time in years, when someone looked away from you, the world did not end.

Dick squeezed your hand.

You leaned into his side.

Jason opened the fridge again and yelled, “Yo, Dickhead, why do you have six kinds of oat milk and no real food?”

“Because I’m an adult,” Dick said.

Tim looked up. “That sentence has never convinced anyone.”

Damian sniffed. “Grayson’s refrigerator is a cry for help.”

Constantine pointed at Damian. “That kid’s scary. I like him.”

“No,” Bruce and Dick said at the same time.

You laughed.

Everyone looked at you.

Not because they were afraid you would vanish. Not because they needed to check.

Because you were there. Because they heard you. Because joy, even fragile joy, deserved witnesses too.

Dick pressed a kiss to your temple.

This time, he would remember doing it.

This time, you would too.

You’d grown up in Smallville with Clark. Got the same internship as him and joined him here at the Daily Planet. Lois called it adorable in that same way she did when some of your Kansas accent slipped. Slightly condescending and pretentious.

She failed to understand just how little you and Clark interacted. His social circle was wholly wrapped up in Lana and Chloe. Despite the small-town aspect, you really never had any interactions outside of the occasional shared English class.

This newfound rapport is born from the need for a tether back to Smallville. As much as you enjoy Metropolis, sometimes it’s so big and looming that you want to cry and go running back home. Clark understands the ache for home, so you spend lunch breaks reminiscing and talking about visiting your folks.

You place your coffee down and let out a long-suffering sigh. Lois shoots you a look that you pointedly ignore. If Clark ever wanted anything more than a close office friendship, you’d be eagerly presenting yourself as tribute.

But he’s never hinted at anything more, so you take the coffees and lunches at face value. Just friendly office camaraderie.

Clark’s waiting in the lobby as you rush out of the elevator. “Sorry, Perry held me up.”

“No problem.” He has his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched. The effort to make himself small is futile, though; he’s always going to be the tallest in the room. “Where were you thinking of having lunch today?”

“What about that cafe on Fifth? I’ve heard that’s pretty good.”

Clark nods, but he’s cut off by a sharp voice. “Adorable,” Lois has appeared beside you, sipping an overpriced smoothie as she eyes you up and down. “When was the wedding?”

Your skin heats as you glare at her. “Uh,” Clark fumbles for a moment, shooting you a sheepish smile. “No wedding,” his voice cracks around the word and embarrassment burns hot in your gut.

“No?” Lois shrugs and eyes you both with a wicked gleam. “So just work married, then? Because I’ve never seen two people in our office get along for more than ten minutes.”

You suck your teeth and shake your head subtly. “You and I are friends. I believe that’s the antithesis of your point.”

“No, that’s different.”

“How?” You snap, wondering why she’s still holding up your lunch with Clark. She’s teased you, had her fun, and usually she’s grown bored by now.

Lois shrugs and begins to walk toward the elevator. “Have fun, lovebirds.” She calls over her shoulder. Maybe she did have a point about no one getting along. You have never wanted to strangle her more than you do now.

Clark lets out a stiff laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “She’s…” he rocks back on his heels, failing to find a suitable explanation for Lois.

“An enigma.” You finish for him, already leading him out of the building. “And an occasional pain in my ass.” Clark’s laugh is genuine as the air between you settles back into comfortable acquaintanceship.

“Got any plans for the long weekend?” Clark asks as you wait for your food.

You smile eagerly, “Planning on going to see the folks. I haven’t seen my mom in forever.”

Clark’s grin is easy and half-blinding. He’s so naturally charming that it makes your stomach swoop every time you’re on the receiving end. “I was planning to see mine, too. We should drive up together.”

The waitress dropping your plates off saves you from an embarrassing amount of stammering. It’s nothing more than Clark being friendly. He’d probably offer a ride to a stranger if he thought they needed help. Still, his being endlessly generous and kind doesn’t make the butterflies in your stomach calm.

“Oh,” you bite back, with an overeager smile. “Yeah, okay, that sounds great.”

“Really?” He almost seems surprised, eyes widening behind his glasses as he watches you.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun.” You’ve impressed yourself with how easily you’re playing this off as something casual. Like you’re not already mentally preparing a playlist for him and the drive. As if this isn’t what you’ve wanted since you both got the job at the Daily Planet.

Clark picks up his sandwich and shoots you another heart-melting smile. “Yeah,” he agrees. “This’ll be nice.”

It’s pleasantly quiet for a few minutes. Both of you are attempting to eat your food fast enough to be able to make it back to work on time. The sounds of the patrons around you and the low music playing settle comfortably in the silence between you.

“So,” Clark interrupts, having scarfed his sandwich down far quicker than you. “What did Perry want?”

Your brows turn in, “Huh?” You mutter around a mouthful of pesto.

Clark lets out a low chuckle that makes goosebumps prick at your skin. “You said Perry held you up. What’d he want?”

You roll your eyes at the reminder and let out a sigh that settles heavily on your shoulders. “He was telling me that my articles are ‘too sweet,’” you recount to him bitterly. The words have needled their way back under your skin at Clark’s reminder. It makes the forgotten anger resurge with a vengeance.

“Too sweet?” Clark asks, clearly amused as a smile pulls at his lips.

You nod and push the rest of your meal away, your appetite effectively diminished. “No one wants to listen to the news anymore. Every other page is a kid killing or getting killed. Our politicians are corrupt, vigilantes are ridiculous and costly. So, I take the little moments I can find and try to lighten someone’s day. I’m not saying I deserve the front page, but I think sometimes people need a breather before diving back into the harsh reality of the city.”

Clark’s expression softens the more you speak. The sharp line of an amused smirk melts into something more gentle than you can handle. You’re not sure if it’s the glare of the lights or simply Clark existing, but his eyes are shining with something so endearing it hurts.

“Perry thinks it’s too soft. He threatened to stop printing my articles if I don’t get my act together.”

“He’s wrong,” Clark tells you sharply. It catches you off guard, the conviction of his voice. But you know the underlying irritation isn’t meant for you. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make the world a little kinder. No matter how ineffectual Perry thinks that is.”

You shrug and lean back in your seat. “I appreciate that, Clark, really. But there’s not much I can do. I either write what he wants, or I lose my job.”

Clark lets out a sharp breath that makes you smile. You appreciate it, the anger on your behalf. At least it means you’re not blowing this out of proportion.

“It’s not fair,” he says it lowly, meant more for himself than you.

“No,” you agree. “It’s not.” Biting your lip, you tilt your head and let out a low hum as you look him over. “I envy you, Clark.”

His brows shoot up as he frowns. “Me?” You nod with a small smile. “Why?”

“You get all these exclusive interviews with Superman. I mean, you could write about seeing someone pick gum off their shoe and Perry would print it. Just so he could keep access to our city’s favorite hero. If I had leverage like that, he wouldn’t ever bother me again.”

The way Clark’s face falls makes guilt sour in your stomach. You weren’t trying to make him feel bad for having connections you didn’t have. He earned those interviews; you weren’t trying to take that from him.

“Clark, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean it like that.”

He shakes his head and you can’t figure out what the look on his face means. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry Perry’s giving you a hard time. You’re a good writer, you deserve better than that.”

You huff out a laugh, stomach settling when you realize you haven’t pised him off. “Thanks, Clark. God, I wish you were my boss. Life would be so much easier.”

“Perry is definitely something.”

“That’s being generous,” you snort and Clark’s smile returns as the tension dissipates.

After returning from lunch, your first task was scrapping your last story. Perry didn’t want to hear about firefighters rescuing little old women or successful fundraisers for underprivileged kids. He wanted muggings in dark alleys and the inside scoop on recluses like Bruce Wayne.

Slumping against the copier, you listen as it shreds your only decent copy of an old article you started on Batman. A little incident from a week ago, when he and Superman had a relatively mild clash. Still, if you gloss over smaller details and exaggerate a bit, you’ve got a gritty enough article.

“Well,” Lois whistles lowly as she walks into the copier room. “You look like hell.” Her lips tilt sympathetically as she surveys your hunched form. “Perry?”

You nod, face smushed against the cool plastic of the machine. “Yep,” you mumble.

She reaches over and rubs your back like you’re a pathetic stray. Honestly, it feels accurate as you despair over the future of your career. He’d told you to head back to Smallville if you couldn’t handle real journalism. Since when did being a journalist mean shoving nothing but blood and negativity down readers’ throats?

“Sorry, sweetie. But I told you if you submitted that article, he was going to blow a gasket.”

Clark steps into the room as Lois tries and fails miserably to comfort you. This feels more like a lecture than consoling. “Talking about Perry?”

You roll your eyes and finally straighten up. “Who else?”

Lois shakes her head with a low sigh. “I’ve been telling her to just play it safe. Perry’s been testier than usual.” She turns back to you, “You were just the closest target.”

“Yipee,” you mutter sarcastically. The copier finally begins to grind out your story about the two vigilantes.

“Hey,” Clark nudges your side with a small smile. “Maybe heading back home will make you feel better.”

Warmth blooms in your chest at the thought of golden fields and smiling faces. A far cry from the cramped roads and dirty streets of the city. “Yeah, I bet.”

Lois glances between both of you, eyes narrowing with a sharp smile. “Heading home?” Her eyes dip to you and you feel your stomach drop at her look. “Together?”

“Yeah, I thought it would be fun,” Clark tells her, completely oblivious to the scheming glint in her eye.

“Hm… Such a long car ride, just the two of you. Sounds,” she draws the word out, her voice a low purr. “Intimate.”

Your eyes widen as heat begins to rush through your body. Her teasing has begun to turn into full-blown bullying. At this rate, Clark is going to figure out your less-than-platonic feelings and be totally skeeved out by you. You’re barely even friends, let alone anything more.

“Completely platonic,” you snap at her, voice sharp. “There’s nothing else going on, Lois.”

Clark’s eyes dart to you as he lets out a soft sigh. “Right,” he mutters. His hands clench around his papers and you frown. “Better get back to work,” he turns and walks out before you can stop him.

The noise Lois makes has you feeling like a complete idiot. “He didn’t even use the copier,” you point out.

Lois just rolls her eyes. “You know, if you listened to me, your life would be a hell of a lot easier.” She pats your shoulder as she walks out and you’re reluctant to admit that she’s probably right. If you weren’t constantly getting in your own way, who knows, you might actually be happy.

Papers sprawl along your living room rug, and you’re struggling to push through the last half of your article. With a low groan, you reach for your wine glass and swallow the rest down. Your head slumps into your hands as defeat begins to settle over you.

You hated this. Hated writing about fights and exaggerating the details into something bloodier. You liked your other article. And it had featured Bruce Wayne, his event for troubled children and their lives at the homes he funded. Perry just had a stick up his ass and you were the easiest one to berate.

Tossing yourself back with a dramatic sigh, you collapse to the floor. You’re fighting to keep your eyes open and debating abandoning the article when you hear it. The slightest tap against your window. Barely audible over the music you have playing.

Frowning, you reach over and pause the song. Your head tilts toward your porch doors and you hear it again. Another tap. You would say it’s a branch or someone knocking, but you’re on the fifth floor. Neither of those is actually plausible.

Reluctantly, you get to your feet and creep slowly toward your curtains. Taking a fortifying breath, you jerk them back and immediately drop with a shrill scream.

The man on the other side of the glass flinches back with a wide-eyed expression. Meanwhile, your eyes have nearly bulged out of your head as you openly gape at Superman.

“What the everloving hell?” You curse under your breath, scrambling to your feet. He gives you a hesitant smile as you rip open your door. “Superman?” You ask, voice tight because you’re not entirely sure this isn’t a dream.

“Hello,” he greets you warmly. “Do you mind if I come in?” You can’t even formulate words as you step to the side and he floats into your living room. You eye his cape incredulously and pinch yourself. A sharp sting shoots up your arm and you dismiss the idea that this isn’t real.

“Why,” you clear your throat and finally close your door. “Sorry, but… why are you here?”

Superman props his hands on his hips, eyes roaming over your small apartment with an unusual amount of interest. “I was going to meet Clark for an interview.” His voice is so low, but you swear you recognize the cadence. “But he told me you might be better to speak to tonight.”

Your brows turn in as something warm rushes through your chest, easing the aching tension. “Clark said that?” You ask softly.

Superman turns, but he never lets you get a full look at his face. “He seems to care about you a lot,” he tells you.

“Clark cares about everyone,” you dismiss. Superman lets out an almost irritated huff before he begins pacing slowly through your living room. You keep your eyes on him, digging through your bag for your recorder.

“What,” your voice cracks and you swallow roughly. “What do you want to talk about?”

Superman smirks and gives you a look that makes you burn hot. “Isn’t that your job?”

Yes, it is. Because you’re the journalist. You almost slap yourself as you try to shake off the shell-shock. “Right, right. Well, I was writing about your run-in with Batman earlier this month. All the bloody bits.”

Superman’s jaw tightens and you can’t help but admire just how tall he is. And how ripped he is under that tight-ass suit. You blink, trying not to openly ogle the superhero in your apartment.

This is the weirdest night of my life.

“That’s not what people think it was. We were working together, and we just had a slight disagreement.”

Smiling, you take a seat on your couch. Something about him is strangely familiar in a way that makes you relax. “Alright, tell me about that, then. The partnership,” you clarify. “I don’t care for the grittier bits. Everyone knows about that, but they don’t know the other side.”

“Exactly,” he agrees eagerly. He picks up his cape and takes a seat at the far end of your couch. Far enough that your dim lighting still won’t let you get a good look at him. “I see why Clark wanted me to see you.”

It’s a shame he can see your body heat, because you are certain you’re lighting up the room right now.

Despite the very professional front you’ve been meticulously keeping up, you can’t stop yourself. The second you see Clark the next day, you’re practically throwing yourself into his arms. He lets out a surprised chuckle as he catches you.

Lois whistles at the display, but you’re not paying a lick of attention to her. “Thank you so much,” you gush, face buried in Clark’s neck.

His arms squeeze around you before he sets you back on your feet. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” his attempt at playing dumb is laughable. You can see why he never auditioned for the plays in high school.

“You’re a bad actor, Kent,” you tease, slapping his shoulder lightly. “I mean it, really. Thank you. You have no idea how much that helped me.”

Clark opens his mouth, but a cool voice intercepts. “Are you going to elaborate on this display of PDA, or do the rest of us have to guess the context? Because I promise, you won’t like any of my ideas,” Lois snarks.

Swallowing roughly, you glance around to find half the office watching you. Realizing how close you are to Clark still, you take a respectable step back. His hands linger on your arms for a moment before he lets go.

“I gave her some information Superman shared with me for her article. I figured she could use some extra help after what Perry said.”

Not a lie, not the truth. But it’s enough to make sure that the rest of the office doesn’t start demanding interviews with Superman from him when they’re on a tight deadline.

Even with something as small as that, you can still see how Lois’s lips are pursed. The only reason she’s not laying into him about favoritism is that she knows you need the win. Well, at least this is proof she does have a heart. You were beginning to wonder.

Lois hums and shoots you a sharp look. “Well, look at that. You really are like a work marriage; Clark gives you special privileges. And you… What exactly do you do for him?”

You open your mouth to answer, but fall short. Clark brings you coffee every morning. Clark insists on fielding the bill for lunch every time. He does a dozen little things for you every day, to show you he cares. Has this been so one-sided the whole time?

Lois waits with a raised brow as you flounder over the idea that you’re a horrible person. “She’s always checking out my articles for me. And,” Clark looks at you now, the smile on his face so soft it makes your chest ache. “You leave those little notes for me when I’m having a rough day.”

Your throat goes dry as you stare up at him. That’s just Post-it notes with smiles on them or little cheesy words of affirmation. He never mentioned them, you thought he didn’t care or notice.

“Oh,” is all you can manage.

Lois clears her throat. You and Clark rip your eyes off each other like you were doing something you shouldn’t be. “Well, that’s pretty darn cute.” Her tone is mocking but you can hear the genuine pleasure she takes in seeing you and Clark being together.

“It’s nothing,” you dismiss, eyes dropping to your feet so Clark doesn’t see the flustered look on your face. Lois hums, but she’s done teasing you both, for now. She turns back to her computer, and you feel the tightness of your chest loosen.

When you look back up, Clark is still watching you. The look in his eyes is intense and knots your tongue before you can even think of something to say. “You always do that,” he mutters.

“Do what?”

“Downplay yourself. Make yourself smaller than you are. I don’t know why, but you shouldn’t. You’re great.” The way he says your name after that makes you feel like someone important. Someone he actually values in his life.

For a moment, you don’t let the feeling diminish. You let the warmth of that sentiment burn you from the inside out until you think you could glow from Clark’s affection. “Thank you,” you whisper, voice quiet so you don’t shatter this tentative feeling between you.

Clark simply smiles. The type that makes butterflies flit through your stomach. But when the feeling grows too strong, when the warmth burns away into something acidic, you clear your throat. The moment shatters between you as you take a step back.

“My bag’s all packed, so we can head out after work today.”

Clark blinks a few times, frowning as he steps back and allows space to grow between you. “Alright,” his voice is strained as he nods, no longer meeting your eyes. “Sounds good.”

You hum an affirmative, too unsteady to risk anything more. Silence lingers before Clark finally turns and walks back to his own desk. With a heavy sigh, you drop into your chair and let your head fall into your hands.

Lois’s stare is burning into your back as you pointedly refuse to make eye contact. “Don’t,” you warn. You don’t feel like stomaching another ‘I know better than you’ lecture.

“Wasn’t going to say anything,” she defends, but it’s a blatant lie she doesn’t even try to hide.

“Excited to see your folks?”

“Ecstatic,” you tell Clark, smiling as he takes your bag from you and heads into the elevator.

“I have so much I need to tell my mom.” The majority of it is about the man standing next to you, but he absolutely does not need to know that.

“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck and you melt at his subdued look of excitement. “I need to get out of the city for a while. Don’t get me wrong, I love Metropolis, but sometimes it’s just too…”

“Crowded?” You offer. “Smoggy, rude, overwhelming…. Loud.”

He grins and his small chuckle makes your heart race. “All of the above.”

You nod, letting your head rest against the cool wall. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Lois teases me all the time about not being able to take the small town out of the girl or whatever, but sometimes I feel so out of place here.”

Clark frowns, motioning for you to step out first as the doors open. “What do you mean?”

You shrug, following him to the car park. “As much as I wanted this job, this escape, sometimes it just feels so wrong. Like I’m too small for such a big life.” You let out an embarrassed laugh and shake your head. “Does that make any sense?”

Clark places your bag into the backseat beside his own and shakes his head. “Not at all.” You’re slightly taken aback, eyes widening as he opens the car door for you. He catches the shocked look on your face and shoots you a wry grin.

“Jerk,” you scoff, slapping his shoulder as you get in.

He slides into the driver’s seat and, god, he needs to stop smiling with those perfect teeth and kind eyes. “I know exactly what you mean. I just don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You earned your place here, just like me. And a little homesickness doesn’t mean that you don’t fit in perfectly with everyone else at the office.”

You smile, but it falls flat. “Perry disagrees.” He opens his mouth to argue, but you’re sick of feeling sorry for yourself. “But I appreciate it, Clark. Really. I don’t think you know how much your encouragement means to me.” Translation: How much Clark means to you.

A light blush blooms along his cheeks and your heart stutters at being the reason for it. “Happy to be of service,” he jokes, switching the subject as he pulls onto the highway. The conversation flows easy, slightly shallow, but enough to keep you entertained for the long drive ahead. The entire time you just think about how shocked high-school-you would have been to be so close to Clark Kent. To be talking to him like you guys could be more than just friendly work acquaintances.

Clark drops you off at your front door, a gentleman through and through, as he insists on carrying your bag inside. Your mom, of course, is overjoyed at the prospect of you finally visiting home with someone rather than being single (as usual). You’d had to race to speak over her before she assumed Clark was your boyfriend and said something absolutely mortifying.

The disappointment on her face would have been laughable if you didn’t have that same expression every time you thought of you and Clark.

“If you feel up to it,” Clark tells you, standing by his car as he lingers for as long as he can. “Maybe you could come over for dinner tonight. I’m sure my Ma would be more than happy to finally meet you.”

Finally? You question internally, but don’t voice the thought out loud. “I’d love to,” he lights up and you get that sinking feeling in your gut. “But,” his face falls and you grimace, “I think my mom and dad will probably want me home tonight.”

“No, we don’t!” You jump, heart pounding against your ribs as your mother’s overly enthusiastic voice rings through your ears. She stands beside you, somehow materializing from the kitchen straight to you and Clark. Your eyes widen as she practically tosses you at the first man showing you an iota of interest. “Please,” she pleads, “take her.”

“Jesus, Ma,” you hiss, glaring at her. Clark only laughs and you just pray he finds your family charming rather than overwhelmingly obnoxious. “Well,” you suck on your teeth and turn to him with flat lips. “Guess I’ll be coming over.”

Clark looks happier than you expected at the news and you can’t help the way your expression softens into something dopey and close to (in) love. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Sounds good," your mother speaks for you. Clark only gives you an endeared look before he gets in his car and heads down the street toward his parents. The second his car’s out of view, you drop your smile and whip around on your mom.

She’s already moving toward the house, back facing you. “Someone had to do something,” she defends.

You scoff as you race after her. “Did you have to make me seem like a desperate charity case?”

She pauses by the door, eyes narrowing as she looks you up and down. She suddenly reminds you so much of Lois it’s disturbing. “You are a desperate charity case, sweetheart.” Her voice is so sickly sweet, you can almost ignore just how barbed and backhanded her words are. But you can’t and you also can’t deny that she’s absolutely right.

Clark is right on time, not that you expected anything else, waiting by the front door for you like a gentleman as your mom lets him in. You were planning on just wearing what you’d worn on the drive up to dinner, but she had effectively prude-shamed you and forced you to change. Now, you wore the sort of sundress you’d abandoned when you’d first moved to Metropolis. It was too short and too girl-next-door in your newfound environment.

But, back home, the soft dress seemed just right. Especially if the look Clark gave you was anything to go by. He’d gotten so used to seeing you in nothing but pantsuits and professional attire that he’d probably forgotten the woman hiding behind the work persona.

“You look…” He struggled with the word, probably trying to find something appropriate for a work-friend. “Pretty,” he finally settles on and it’s embarrassing how warm you grow from the praise. “Really pretty,” his voice is slightly breathy as he trails off into an awkward chuckle, seemingly remembering your mother standing over him, watching like a hawk.

You shoot her a sharp look that she ignores as she comes up behind you and all but shoves you at Clark. Your father, as usual, simply sits in his armchair, reading his book and leaving you to the mercy of your overbearing mother.

“Have fun, feel free to keep her out late!”

“Ma-” You’re cut off as she slams the door in your face. “Shameless,” you hiss.

Shaking your head, you turn back to Clark, who’s taking far too much joy from your embarrassment. “I think it’s sweet.”

“What?” You deadpan. “How she throws me at any breathing man?”

Clark grimaces slightly but nods as he opens the car door for you. “I mean, it means she cares, at least.”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “Too much.”

“It’s the culture out here,” Clark explains, fingers flexing around the steering wheel. “My mom hasn’t left me alone ever since I told her about-”

His jaw snaps shut and your brows crease together. Your eyes narrow as the nagging feeling that you should have heard the end of that sentence settles heavily in the car. “About?” You probe, but Clark just shakes his head, lips stubbornly clamped shut.

“It’s not important.”

You settle back in your seat, eyes still narrowed. “I don’t believe you,” he makes a high-pitched attempt at explaining himself that you dismiss. “But I’ll let it go since you were kind enough to drive me up here.”

Clark shoots you a look from the side of his eye that has heat rushing under your skin. “I like spending time with you,” he says your name and the low timbre of his voice nearly makes you jump his bones right there in the car.

Only the reminder that you’d have to drive back to the city with him after something so mortifying keeps you seated.

It doesn’t take long for Clark to pull up to his parents’ farmhouse. Martha pokes her head out of an open window and waves at you both. Despite the sun glaring into your eyes, you attempt to return it. Clark hops out of the car, eagerly opening your door and helping you out.

After so long spent in the company of citymen who’d rather let a door slam on a woman than waste a few seconds, his courtesy always takes you off guard. And the reminder of just how wonderful he is always makes you sink even deeper into an inescapable pit of unfortunate affection.

Clark’s dad, just the same as his son, holds open the front door for you both, welcoming you inside with a subdued smile. You barely get a chance to return it before Martha plants herself in front of you.

“Oh, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you.” Your brows furrow but you don’t get a chance to question her before she’s tugging you into a hug.

“Well,” you let out a little gasp at how she squeezes you. “It's nice to meet you as well, ma’am.”

She pulls back and you take the chance to get your air back. “Just call me Martha, sweetie. You have no idea how happy I am that he finally brought you home for us to meet.” It feels like you’re missing something here, some crucial piece of information. Because you have no idea why she would be so excited to meet you.

“Ma,” Clark urges and she huffs, releasing you and heading back to the kitchen. Clark’s face is flushed and you realize that your mothers are remarkably similar. He’s right, it’s just the culture. “Sorry about her,” he tells you lowly, breath brushing against your hair as he dips his head toward you.

“Consider us even,” you tell him, shooting him a conspiratorial wink as you follow Martha toward the kitchen. Clark lags behind for a moment, his father laughing at him as he pats his shoulder, urging him forward.

Dinner with the Clarks is pleasant. Despite Martha’s eager greeting, she doesn’t probe you for details on your job or love life. She lets the conversation flow naturally in a way your mother would never comprehend. Johnathan is quiet for the most part, and Clark too. But you enjoy speaking with his mom; she’s kind without being overbearing.

The food’s delicious, the type of home cooking you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed in the city. You swear to god you almost cried when you took your first bite. It was like being fifteen all over again, racing through downtown or someone’s farm, not a care in the world. No bills to pay or deadlines to meet, just freedom.

God, you missed that feeling.

When the food’s been finished, Clark and Johnathan stand to help clear the table. But a loud, pained bellow from the fields stops them both in their tracks. “Was that a cow?” You ask, brows furrowing as you get to your feet.

“Dammit,” Johnathan curses. “Been having some trouble with coyotes lately.” His eyes dip toward Clark, something you can’t understand passing between them.

Clark nods, “I’ll go check on them.” He rushes out the back door and Martha shakes her head with a tired sigh. She moves toward the sink as you help Johnathan clear the plates.

It’s as if a switch has been flipped in Clark’s absence. The calm demeanor of Martha is immediately gone as she smiles at you eagerly. “You know, I never thought he was going to let us meet you.”

It takes you a moment too long to realize who she’s talking about. “Clark?” You question, wondering why you seem to be such a hot topic in their home.

“Martha,” Johnathan shoots her a look that she waves off.

“Hush,” she scolds. She looks back at you as you place a plate by her elbow. “He talks about you all the time,” she explains.

You look toward Johnathan for confirmation, not quite believing either of them. A reluctant smile breaks on his face as he lets out a small chuckle. “We were starting to think he made you up.”

Apparently, time in the city has just made you brain-dead, because your mind is still just repeating: HUH? “Clark talks about me?” You ask, again.

Martha hums, clearly oblivious to the turmoil on your face. “Oh, yeah.” Her eyes lift and she gives you the soft sort of smile that seems to say, you sweet summer child. “He’s crazy about you, hun.”

Your eyes widen just as hers and Johnathan’s do. She stops drying the bowl in her hand, face going slack as she stares into the suds in the sink. “Oh, shoot,” she whispers under her breath. Johnathan lets out a world-weary sigh, head sinking into his hands.

“Uh,” you back up, body stiff. “I was not aware,” you clear your throat, stomach twisting itself into knots. “At all,” you finish, voice stilted.

“Of course not,” his father mutters.

Before you can ask them one more time, Clark? Clark Kent talks about me? The man of the hour comes traipsing back into the house. “Whoo,” he lets out a panting breath, grabbing a towel and wiping off the back of his neck.

“It’s a killer today,” he says, cheeks sun flushed and smile blinding. “Cows are all good,” his eyes dart between you all, seemingly just picking up on the tension.

“Did I miss something?” He jokes, glancing at you for help.

You drop yourself back into your chair and shake your head, smile too forced to be believable. “No,” you clear your throat, heat rising to your face at how squeaky you sound. “We were just talking about the article I’m working on.”

Clark’s face lights up, even more excited about it than you are. “Oh, yeah, it’s great! Perry’s been telling her to cut back on the positive stuff, I have no idea why.” Martha nods along, eyes darting to you every once in a while like she’s begging you not to tell her son she’d snitched on him.

But you can’t pay attention to any of them. Vaguely, you can pick up on Clark’s continuous praise. He seems to think you’re the best writer since Shelley, as if your silly little articles are groundbreaking. They’re hardly better than the Sunday comic, but you wouldn’t know that listening to Clark gush about you.

Instead of soaking in the praise like you should be, you sit there… just wondering if you’ve always been so stupid or if it’s just a situational thing because of Clark. But sitting here, listening to how highly he speaks of you, far kinder than anyone would be to an acquaintance, you worry that you’ve always been an idiot and no one’s ever had the heart to tell you.

Oh my god… Clark likes me

And I’m fucking stupid

You jump up, chair screeching obnoxiously against the hardwoods. With such an ego-wrecking realization, you don’t know what to do with yourself. Especially when Clark trails off and his family sends you alarmed looks.

“Is everything okay?” He asks, smile fading as he takes a step closer to you.

You clear your throat, not one damn good excuse coming to mind. “I… Have to go.” Your voice trails off and the idiot claims are building a solid case against you. “Yeah, have to go.” You nearly trip over your chair as you rush to the back door. “Bye.”

And, in what is the worst possible way one could react to reciprocated feelings, you run. Their screen door slams behind you as you take off into their golden field and race to the street. Dirt kicks up under your heels, staining the hem of your dress as you pump your arms furiously. The sun is beating harshly against your back, but it just pushes you forward.

You’ve already completely humiliated yourself by running away; you can’t just turn around. No matter how much you might want to.

Clark Kent likes you, the thing you’ve hoped, dreamed and wished for ever since you got the internship at the Daily Planet has just been confirmed.…. And you ran away like a fucking child.

I’m never showing my face at work again.

You’d bypassed your mom when you got home, just sent yourself to your room and buried your face in your pillows. Your brain, tiny as it is, has just been going in circles, reviewing every way that could have gone better. All of it starts with you not running away from your feelings and just talking to Clark.

So, sucking up what little remains of your confidence, you forced yourself out of bed. Again, you ignore your mom pestering you as you walk down the stairs and out the door. You just have one goal in mind: Clark’s house and then an early grave.

The sun’s setting as you grow closer to their pasture, your hand trailing along the fencing, careful to avoid the barbed wire. You can spot the herd of cows off in the distance, their mooing more placid now.

You’re not entirely sure what you’re going to say to him. You know you need to apologize for how you left, especially to Martha. You should have at least given them a proper goodbye. And you consider, for a moment, fessing up your feelings.

Martha seemed to confirm that they were mutual, so what could go wrong, really?

A lot, according to your overworked mind. You kept seeing a million different ways Clark might reject you. Maybe Martha misinterpreted how he spoke about you. Maybe he changed his mind on the drive up or during your freak out at dinner. Still, no matter how many horrifying hypotheticals your mind concocts, you don’t let yourself stop.

You keep going until you’re opening their gate and stepping closer to the field. Their tractor is going off in the distance. If you squint, you’re pretty sure it’s Clark you see driving it. It stops and you nearly call out to him.

But then, he’s hopping out of his seat and peering down at something on the ground. Before you can even process taking a step forward, he bends down and lifts the goddamn tractor. And this isn’t one of those new fancy ones that barely even need a driver. This is old school, probably his grandfather’s tractor. Heavy, industrial, and absolutely not something any man should be able to lift with one hand.

“How in the fu…” You race toward the barn, creeping around the walls and crouching to get a better look. Sure enough, he’s holding the goddamn thing. No wires or lift beneath it. It’s just resting in the palm of Clark’s hand as if it ain’t no thing.

But it is a thing.

A big thing.

Jesus Christ, you didn’t think you could get any stupider, and here you are. How could you not have seen this before? You’ve met Superman on multiple occasions, been rescued by him, and just recently had him sitting on your couch. Yet, a different hairstyle and glasses, and all of a sudden, you had no idea who Clark is? The very man that you’re halfway in love with.

Clark looks up, and you let out a gasp, pressing yourself firmly against the barn's wall. When you hear the tractor going again, you finally peel yourself away and go racing back to your home. Tonight no longer seems like a good night to spill your guts to Clark. Superman?

You almost wished you’d just stayed stupid.

The ride back into the city on Monday is…. Something. You wouldn’t say awkward because Clark spoke to you as if you hadn’t spazzed out on him. And you did your best not to let what you’d discovered slip out. But there was a tension between you that you were struggling to ignore.

That tension only worsened when you were back under Lois’s scrutinizing gaze. She practically sniffed out the drama, eyes glaring at you both like one of you might spill what happened on the trip. But you kept your lips sealed, eyes only occasionally darting up to Clark as you wrote your article.

Every time you glanced up, he was already staring, offering a small smile before turning back to his computer. There was no lunch today, both of you working through it as if neither of you could handle anymore close proximity. Lois noticed, of course, and she bugged you, but you didn’t offer anything except your fast-approaching deadline.

And when it was time for everyone to head home, it was still just you and Clark in the office. Neither of you was ready to say goodbye or approach one another.

Shockingly, it was you who took the first step forward.

You clutched your freshly printed paper in your hands, nearly shaking as you took in a sharp breath. If you got this wrong, read Clark wrong; this was it. Whatever could have possibly been between you both would be officially obliterated.

“Hey,” Clark didn’t jump, not at all surprised by your approach. But he did tense, shoulders lifting as he turned slowly toward you. You held out your article, a strange peace offering as you gave him a stiff smile. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind checking over my article for me?”

His brows dip, almost looking disappointed as he takes it from you. “Oh,” he clears his throat and offers a weak smile. “Sure.”

“Tonight,” you add quickly. He raises his eyebrows, and you offer a stilted laugh. “Please,” you implore. He nods, watching you carefully. Restless under his gaze, you nod and then rush back toward your desk. You plop yourself back in your chair, eyes lifting to meet his every few minutes.

When he gets off his computer with a definitive click, your shoulders shoot up to your ears. The second he picks up your article, you’re already packing your bag and getting ready to book it to the elevator.

What you’d written was a shot in the dark. One that you’d shocked yourself by taking. It was your interview with Superman, praising his work in the community and how much he’s helped Metropolis. About halfway through, however, you started switching Superman out for Clark. And then, at the very end, just one little sticky note for Clark.

I wish I’d seen it sooner. I can’t believe how long I’ve held us both back. I like you, Clark, probably more than I should and I’m pretty sure you feel the same way. (Your mom kind of told, sorry).

I’m sorry for holding us back so much, but if you want this to be something real, then so do I.

Not very eloquent, but you’d started running out of room on the Post-It and were too much of a coward to tell him everything. Like how often you thought about him. How long you carried his smile with you as you made your way home. How you’d started imagining your domestic routine, but he was right there with you.

You couldn't say everything, but at least you could finally tell the truth.

Shouldering your bag, you make your way to the elevator, heels clicking as you ready yourself to leave the office. Your foot taps against the ground, rapid and impatient was you wait for the doors to open.

Stepping inside, you take a shuddering breath, attempting to calm down the nerves spiking under your skin. Just as the doors begin to close, a hand slips through the crack and they shoot open. Your eyes widen, gaze lifting from the floor to meet Clark’s flushed face.

“I’m sorry-”

You’re cut off as his hand cups the back of your hand, pulling you forward as his lips press against yours. It’s gentle, not a rushed claiming of your mouth. A light press of your lips against each other as you sink into his hold.

This is what he’d wanted the whole time. Not long, drawn-out paragraphs that struggle to encapsulate exactly how you feel for each other. He wanted something real, solid that he could hold and know it meant the same to you.

You let out a breathless laugh and smile up at him. Clark brushes some hair off your cheek and grins down at you. “Took you long enough,” he mutters, already swallowing down your protests with another kiss.

𝘚𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘛𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳                  ♥︎

⇄              ◁◁  I I  ▷▷          ↻

⁰² ⁰⁸ ━━━━━━━━━●━ ⁰⁰ ²⁵

💿 Yeah your paragraphs mean shit to me 💿

end. — I do not own the characters or the TV Show Smallville, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © scribes-of-valar 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Taglist: @mollymal  

Dick frowned, supporting himself with his arms as he stared Slade down. “You bewitched Y/N, and had Tara working for you, Slade. You cheated!”

Slade took another step closer, you raising your sword in response.

“Don’t you dare take another step,”

You watched as Slade looked you over, a chill running down your spine. “Do you really think you can stop me?” Using a finger, he pushed the blade of your sword away. “You don’t have any power over me.”

Baring your teeth, you raised your sword and swung it at him with a shout. Slade dodged to the side, evading your attack. Not wasting a moment, you pivoted on your feet and changed your direction to swipe at his head.

Your blade made contact with his face, leaving a small cut on his cheek.

Before you could react, Slade grabbed you by the throat and threw you across the deck. Landing with a loud thud, you looked up to see a bright flash, and Slade was no longer a man. He was a monster you could only dream up in your nightmares.

Instead of legs, his lower half morphed into that of an octopus. All eight legs wriggled across the deck as he used two of them to grab Dick, who struggled the best he could.

“The wedding was beautiful, kid, such a shame for it all to go to waste,” he grinned before launching himself overboard.

“No!”

Rushing to your feet, you were seconds from following them overboard when you were grabbed by a pair of strong arms.

“Let me go!”

“Y/N!” Roy grunted, feeling your elbow dig into his side. “You can’t just go after him on a whim! You jump in, and you’ll drown from the weight of the dress alone.”

Kicking your feet, you fought harder to get out of Roy’s hold. “I don’t care! I have to do something!” Using all your strength, you flipped Roy off of you. Grabbing the hem of your dress, you ripped it to shreds, not caring one bit that the fabric was salvageable. Using a scrap to keep your hair back, you ditched the rest of the skirt before running to the side of the boat.

You were going to save Dick. After all he did for you, it was your turn to do something for him.

As Slade dragged Dick deeper and deeper into the ocean, Dick struggled to get free. Whatever he did to try and get free, it didn’t loosen Slade’s hold on him.

“You’d think after everything that brat would show some loyalty.” Slade hissed. “No, instead she hits me in the head with a fucking vase.”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t using her to hurt her friend, Tara wouldn’t have done what she did.”

Slade turned his ire on Dick, the latter almost flinching from the cold look in his eyes. “And you,” he growled. “You just had to ruin everything. Who’d have thought that you would get that close without actually saying a word.”

Dick grinned, “Guess it was these baby blues.”

Using his tentacles, Slade slammed Dick into a rock as he hit it with a cry. “You don’t get to talk, or did you forget you belong to me now?”

“He doesn’t belong to you, Slade.”

Both Dick and Slade turned to see Bruce there with his trident in hand, and Alfred beside him.

“That’s where you have it wrong, Bruce.” Slade grinned as he pulled out the contract Dick signed. “The young prince here made a deal, signed the contract, and everything.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes before aiming his trident at Slade.

“I wouldn’t do that, I don’t think the kid could survive a blast from that.”

“What do you want, Slade?”

Bruce’s words made him grin. “You know what I want, the throne.” Keeping a tight hold on Dick, Slade swam around him. “Everyone knows I can’t say no to a good trade. What do you think, Wayne? The throne for your oldest?”

He watched Bruce’s expression harden, only making him grin. “Or is he just that easy for you to replace? You have plenty of other brats to inherit the throne, what’s the harm in trading the one you never fully adopted to me for eternal servitude?”

Dick watched as Bruce’s eyes darted to him, a pained expression on his face. “B, don’t listen to him! He just wants–”

Before he could finish, Slade covered his mouth with another tentacle. “Are you willing to let another son be taken away from you? Because this one isn’t coming back.”

“Enough,” Bruce snapped. Sparing one last look at Dick, he dropped his head. “What do I need to do?”

Dick’s eyes widened in shock as he tried to get free.

“All you have to do is sign your name,” Slade pulled up Dick’s contract. “Sign over his, and the deal will be finalized.”

Letting out a sigh, Bruce looked at Alfred and Dick. “I’m sorry,” and with that, he signed his name.

“Master Bruce!”

Instantly, Dick was released, and he watched in horror as Bruce began to shrink before he was nothing more than a dead plant with eyes. Swimming over, Dick knelt beside him with Alfred at his side.

“Bruce!”

Behind him, Slade leaned down and picked up the trident from the ocean floor. “Finally,” he grinned. “The power, it’s all mine.”

Hearing his words, Dick turned with a growl. Swimming at full speed, he grabbed the trident and tried to wrestle it out of Slade’s hands. He almost had it out of his grip before Slade wrapped a tentacle around Dick and threw him to the side. Aiming the trident at him, Dick glared.

“That’s no way to treat your new king,”

“You will never be king!”

Slade clenched his jaw. “For someone who is getting out of this scot-free, you’re being a real pain in the ass. I should’ve killed you the day you showed up to my lair.”

“Go ahead, kill me. You’ll have all the neighboring kingdoms after you; they will never accept your rule, Slade.” With a grin, Dick tilted his head. “You were never meant to rule the seven seas.”

Dick leaned back as Slade pressed the trident against his throat, it beginning to glow with power. “Say goodbye to your princess, such a shame you never worked it out.”

Before he could do anything, a harpoon shot through the water, going through Slade’s arms. Letting out a cry of pain, both he and Dick looked up to see you swimming above with a harpoon gun in hand.

“You royal brats are really starting to get on my nerves!” Slade shouted, aiming the trident at you as you quickly began to swim back to the surface.

Taking their chance, Alfred and Wally knocked the trident away as the blast missed you by mere inches.

Feeling his hold on him loosen, Dick pushed Slade’s tentacles off of him before he swam quickly up towards you. Wrapping his arms around you, he swam as fast as he could before you both hit the surface.

Gasping for air, you held onto Dick tightly as he kept the two of you afloat.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing!?”

“I’m saving your life!”

Dick groaned as he looked around. “The ocean is no place for you. If Slade gets his hands on you, he will kill you.”

Keeping your hold on Dick, you looked around frantically for your little rowboat. “What makes you any different?”

Cupping your face, Dick used his tail to keep you above the surface. “Because he can’t drown me, you are at a disadvantage in the water.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,”

“Oh, how sweet, the merprince finally found his princess.”

Looking around, both of you tried to find where the voice was coming from.

“Such a shame for the happy reunion to end so soon.”

His voice vibrated the ocean, making the waves get violent and the current get stronger. Keeping his tight hold on you, Dick looked around trying to find him. The sky was dark, clouds were swirling above, and you could hear Slade’s laughter ring around you.

Suddenly, the water around you and Dick started to rumble as something sprang out of the water. Grabbing your hand, Dick quickly pulled you both away from the monster rising from the depths of the sea.

Getting the two of you far enough away, you clung to Dick as he kept both of you afloat, watching the monster in front of you.

Slade was standing at easily over a hundred feet tall, his tentacles reaching high into the sky with Bruce’s trident grasped tightly in his hand.

“Finally! The power is mine to rule all the oceans!”

“Look out!”

Looking up, you and Dick saw a tentacle coming down towards you. Grabbing you once again, Dick pulled you with him as he swam as fast as he could. The force of it hitting the surface of the water pulled you from Dick’s hold, the current dragging you under the water.

Unable to cry for help, you held your breath and looked around. The ocean looked as violent inside as the surface, with Slade’s tentacles going as far as the eye could see. Turning around, you saw Dick coming straight for you.

“I’m coming!”

Wrapping his arms around you, Dick pulled you to the surface as you gasped for air. Holding tight to him, the two of you looked around.

“We have to get you out of the water! It’s not safe for you here!”

“I’m not leaving you!”

Dick shook his head, finally spotting your boat.

“He’s after me, I can’t risk losing you, Y/N.”

Before you could argue, Dick swam you towards the boat and lifted you up into it.

“What do we do?” you asked, pushing your hair out of your face.

Dick looked around, his eyes lingering on the massive trident. “I don’t know, but as long as he has that trident, he is unstoppable.”

“You will never stop me!”

Hearing Slade’s cackle, you looked and saw another tentacle coming your way. “Dick! Run!”

Hunkering down in your rowboat, you watched Dick quickly duck under the water as the splash of the tentacle rocked you violently. Holding on for dear life, you wiped the incoming rain off your face and slowly sat up to look around.

You saw Dick a ways away, his head above the surface as he looked for you. Before he could start in that direction, Slade started stirring the sea and made a massive whirlpool. The water turned an unnatural green color, and you watched as the realization dawned on Dick’s face.

“No!”

Dick swam against the current as fast as he could, his tail trying its hardest to get him out. He could see you ready to jump off the boat to come after him. Reaching a hand out, Dick let out a shout as he was pulled in.

Everything around him was spinning, the water whirling around and obscuring his vision as he tried to get his bearings. He could see debris and other objects left to rot at the bottom of the ocean begin to swirl around him as he continued to be pulled down.

Landing on the ocean surface with a thud, Dick looked up in horror. He was at the bottom of a massive whirlpool, one that went to the bottom of the sea, and he could see Slade’s monstrous face looking down at him with a sadistic grin.

Without water, Dick was a sitting duck. The walls of the whirlpool were too far for him to reach in a quick escape, and they would probably spit him back out.

He watched as Slade aimed the trident at him,

“Any last words?”

“Rot in hell!”

Slade grinned as he fired a blast from the end of the trident. Dick saw it before he heard it, quickly diving out of the way so he didn’t get fried. The blast landed a few feet from him, the ground a dark, scorched color.

With Slade’s attention on him, Dick only hoped you managed to stay out of the whirlpool. He couldn’t come rescue you if you managed to get dragged in as well.

Seeing another blast, Dick jumped again and again, trying to keep himself alive.

What were they going to do?

Sitting in your rowboat, you watched the whirlpool get bigger and bigger as the items came out of the sea. No doubt Dick was at the bottom, that being what Slade was firing at. You had to take this chance to find something to stop him.

Looking to your left, you watched as a large ship rose from the deep. It was mostly intact still, but the figurehead was broken, leaving it a sharp piece of wood. That had to be it.

Taking a deep breath, you dove off your rowboat and swam for the ship.

The current was strong; you fought against it as hard as you could. There was a rope hanging off the end; if only you could get a grasp and pull yourself out. Urging your legs to move faster, the ship was soon within reach, and you quickly grabbed the rope before it moved out of reach.

Using it, you pulled yourself out of the water and walked up the side of the ship until you were on the deck. Even with your well-trained sea legs, this was still a new experience. The ship was rocking from side to side, the wind whipping you every which way, and the rain felt like sharp objects hitting you repeatedly with how hard it was falling.

Trying to keep your balance, you stumbled over to the mast, desperate to make your way up to the wheel. Holding onto it to keep yourself standing, you watched as it spun out of control, the wind taking the sails wherever it wanted.

You had to get up there and take control.

A rock of the ship knocked you off your feet, sending you rolling towards the edge. Digging your fingers into the wood, you caught a loose board and used it to keep yourself from being thrown off. Ignoring the sting of the rain in your eyes and the pain in your body from being tossed around, you climbed up the steps.

Letting out a gasp of air, you finally reached the wheel and used it to keep yourself up. Using every ounce of strength you had left, you forced the wheel to turn in the direction you wanted. Aimed right at Slade.

Keeping a tight grip on the wheel, you steered it right at him. By the time Slade noticed, it was too late. The wind sent the broken point of the ship right into his stomach, and Slade let out a cry of pain so loud it shook everything around you.

Dropping to your knees and covering your ears, you watched as his tentacles grabbed onto the boat in reflex, dragging it down with him as he met his demise at the bottom of the sea. Quickly, you got to your feet and ran. You had to get off the boat before you went down with it.

Diving off the edge, you were free-falling for only moments before you splashed into the sea below. You could hear the commotion behind you, Slade’s magic turning against him as he turned into bubbles and smoke at the bottom of the sea.

Fighting your way to the surface, you finally were free. The ocean was still fighting, the currents dragging you in every direction. Distantly, you could see the ship from your failed wedding. You had no idea where Dick was, and you couldn’t take the risk of waiting for him to find you.

You were quickly losing strength, your rowboat long gone and missing. The currents were dragging you back to shore, away from the ship, away from the smoke, and away from Dick. Waves continued to crash, dragging you further and further away. Forcing yourself up, you waved your arms in the air.

“Hey! I’m over here!”

Looking around frantically, you tried to find something to catch yourself on. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of red and yellow before the waves threw you into a large rock, and everything went dark.

~~~

“Y/N! Where are you!?”

Groaning softly, you felt your body come to its senses. Wiggling your hands and feet, you could feel the coarse sand beneath you, the grainy pebbles sticking to your wet skin. Slowly, you sat up and opened your eyes.

The world looked brighter, with the recesses of the storm fading away, and the clouds dispersing enough to let streams of light through. The sounds of the ocean waves crashing onto the shore washed behind you, with the calls of the gulls flying above filling the silence.

Rubbing your eyes, you brushed the sand off your face and looked around.

You weren’t exactly sure where you were, but you knew you were on the shore, not too far from your home. The last thing you remembered was–

Dick!

You immediately sprang to your feet, looking out at the vast ocean in front of you.

“Dick!”

“Dick, answer me!”

There was only silence.

You heard the calls of others in the distance, but none of them were Dick. They were looking for you, but you were looking for the man you loved.

“Where are you!?”

Running out into the waves, the ocean was still restless, with the force of the water fighting against you. You had to find him; you didn’t even know if he made it out. Dick had to be alive; you couldn’t imagine life without him.

The harder you fought, the more it felt like the ocean was trying to keep you on the shore. The waves got bigger and stronger, each one pushing you back a few feet before you could get too deep.

“Y/N!”

Looking to your left, you saw Roy come running up with Kyle and Vic right behind him.

“I have to find him!”

Water sprayed your face, soaking your already damp clothes as you fought. You had to find Dick, you had to! Looking up, you saw a large wave rise up and wash you off your feet, sending you back to the shore.

Sputtering out a cough, the salt water bitter on your tongue, you got back up. You didn’t get very far before a pair of arms wrapped around your middle.

“Y/N! You have to stop!”

You didn’t pause at the sound of Roy’s voice, his arms keeping you in place. Thrashing in his hold, you fought to go back into the ocean.

“Let me go! I have to find him!”

“Roy, tell me he’s alive! Tell me he’s okay!” you pleaded, slumping in his hold. You could feel droplets run down your face, the tears joining the ocean below you.

Wrapping his arms around you tightly, Roy nodded slowly. “He’s alive, I saw him.”

Looking up at him, your eyes went wide. “Where is he!?”

Roy looked pained to tell you this. “He made sure his friends got you to shore, but after that, he disappeared. Y/N, I don’t think he’s coming back…”

You didn’t believe him. You refused to believe him! Dick loved you, and you loved him. All of this didn’t happen, so you wouldn't be together! You didn’t give a damn if he was half fish; that was never something you cared about.

After everything, this couldn’t be how it ended.

“N–No. You’re wrong,” you couldn’t stop your lip from quivering. “He’ll come back…”

Roy slowly shook his head. “That was almost two hours ago. That’s how long it took us to find you.”

He watched as reality slowly set in on your face, your body slumping in his hold as you broke down into sobs in his arms. Dropping to his knees, Roy held you close as you cried. He wished it didn’t end this way, but even he knew how cruel the sea could be.

It took more than it gave, and was less than forgiving. The ocean was as cruel as it was beautiful, promising endless adventure before taking it all away and everything you loved with it. Carefully, Roy lifted you into his arms and carried you to shore, where Vic and Kyle were waiting.

They could see the pain on your face, your sobs wracking through your body as you shivered from the cool breeze. Quickly, Vic took off his coat and wrapped it around you.

“What happened?” Kyle asked, his eyes flitting to the ocean. “Did he–?”

Roy straightened his features, keeping you in his arms. “Dick isn’t coming back. We need to get her back to the palace and clean her up.”

Vic and Kyle shared a look before they nodded. You were more important. Dick was a friend, someone they came to care for, but they had a duty to you and the crown. You were priority number one.

It didn’t take long before you were all back in the castle, the whispers already beginning the second you set foot inside. Immediately, Donna was at your side with Rachel right behind her. Quickly, they ushered you into your room, helping you get cleaned up from the day’s previous adventures.

You didn’t recognize the passing of time, all of it coming and going in a blur. Once, you were on the beach looking for Dick, and the next thing you knew, you were in your bed wrapped up in several blankets as the sounds of the sea below floated in through your open window.

The sun had fully set now, the moon resting high in the evening sky. Closing your eyes, you knew you needed to sleep. Listening to the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks, you lay in your bed. Every once in a while, you swore you heard something floating softly beneath the sounds of sea foam sizzling. If you tried hard enough, you thought you could hear words spoken in the breeze.

But that couldn’t be. Life wasn’t a fairy tale. There was no magical prince to sweep you off your feet, no talking sidekick, and no true love’s kiss.

The clock on your mantle struck midnight, signaling the end. The magic was gone, and you were back to being a pumpkin.

The days passed, you went back to your duties, and everyone else around you acted as if nothing had happened. That was, until you left the room and the whispers started. Whispers that the princess had an affair with a man from the sea, something only found in legends of old.

Roy kept watch over you with a keen eye, noticing every little detail. Your smile never met your eyes, and the light of adventure was gone from them. Not once did you ask about going out to sea; you didn’t even mention it.

Your love for the ocean was gone, replaced with heartbreak that he wasn’t sure would ever be cured.

Unbeknownst to you, a lone figure sat out on a rock just off the shore and watched your castle. Day in and day out, Dick sat on that rock and watched. He didn’t have the heart for anything else. Wally and Alfred both noticed, being the ones to force him to go home and at least sleep in his bed.

But how could he? How could he sleep when he felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest? Dick loved you; he loved you more than anything. It’s why he had to disappear. He couldn’t keep this going.

Jason was right; he was from the sea, and you were from the land. It was never going to work between the two of you; your worlds would never allow it. So a clean break was best; he hoped you would move on. Find some other human guy to love, one who could do it without having to sell his voice to do it.

Dick would marry Kori, officially joining their kingdoms like Bruce and her parents wanted. It was time he stopped these childish dreams and faced reality. Marrying her was the right thing to do, so why did it feel wrong?

It was the third day, and Dick was sitting on the rock watching your castle. His head rested on his arm, as his hand drew circles in the water below him. He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the two visitors appear a ways behind him.

“Alfred, he’s miserable.” Bruce sighed, his trident held tightly in his hand. “He comes up here every day and just watches. That’s no life for him to live.”

Resting his claws on Bruce’s shoulder, Alfred watched Dick from afar. He spent those three days with Dick, and he could see how much the two of you loved each other.

“He really loves her, Master Bruce. I saw them together; there was never a better pair.”

Glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, Bruce sighed. “I have to let him go,”

Alfred fought a smile. “A wise decision,”

Bruce chuckled softly before he swam towards Dick.

“Chum,”

Dick jumped and turned to see Bruce approaching.

“B–Bruce, I didn’t hear you coming.” Quickly, he sat up and looked around. “I was uh– just looking.”

Bruce let out a sigh and raised his brow. “You really love her, don’t you?”

Dick looked at Bruce before his gaze went back to the castle. He couldn’t lie, not to him. Slowly, he nodded, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Then I need you to promise me something,” he started. Turning his head, Dick looked at him, confused.

“Take care of her, and yourself.”

Now Dick was really confused. What was Bruce talking about? Before he could ask, he watched as Bruce aimed his trident at his legs. Dick stared in wonder as his lower body transformed once again, his once bright blue tail disappearing and being replaced by a pair of legs with bright blue pants.

His webbed hands separated, and the scales on his face vanished. He watched as a loose-fitting white shirt formed on his chest, before the magical glow was gone. Looking at his newly transformed self, Dick couldn’t fight the smile on his face.

Jumping off the rock, Dick wrapped his arms around his father. “Thank you, Bruce.”

Hugging him back, Bruce smiled. “You're welcome, now go get your princess.”

Dick smiled brightly as he swam for the shore, with the assistance of the waves at Bruce’s command. In record time, he reached the shore. Pulling himself up, he could see his silhouette in the distance. Waving an arm, Dick could see Bruce wave back before he disappeared in a flash.

Looking up at the cliffs above him, Dick knew where he needed to be.

Taking off into a sprint, Dick ran through the village and up the rocky path towards the castle gates. In the distance, he could see Kyle and Vic watching through the towers. As he ran closer, he waved his arms in the air and smiled.

“Let me in!”

Vic’s eyes almost bulged out of his head seeing Dick come running up the path. Not wasting a moment, he opened the gates and ran down the tower steps.

“Dick, what the hell are you doing here?”

Walking through the entrance, Dick could only smile. “I’m here for Y/N, where is she?”

“She should be in her study, but how–”

“No time, I have to find her and tell her I love her.”

Vic watched as Dick took off through the castle doors, chuckling at his friend’s antics. This was going to be a story to tell for the ages.

It didn’t take Dick long to get inside and find his way through the castle. Having been in your study before, Dick knew where to find you. As he ran through the halls, he ignored the odd looks from those around him. He didn’t care if they knew who he was. Dick was a man on a mission, and he refused to let anything stop him.

Making his way up to the correct floor, Dick saw the door to your study. He knew you were there, the door was slightly ajar, and soft music was coming from inside. Urging his feet to go faster, Dick was in front of the door in no time.

Placing both hands on the doors, he pushed them open to reveal you standing inside with Roy, Donna, and Rachel around you.

Looking up from your book, your heart swelled at the sight of the man in front of you. “Dick?”

“I’m back,”

Not bothering to say another word, you gathered your skirt and took off towards him as Dick sprinted in your direction. The second you met, his arms were around you as Dick pulled you into a kiss.

Your hands rested on his chest, gripping the collar of his shirt as he kissed you. You could feel his hand press into the small of your back, keeping you in place as the other came up to cup your cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered in between kisses.

Pulling back, you rested your forehead on his. “I love you too,”

“I’ve been wanting to say that for so long, I love you more than anything Y/N,” he gasped, looking into your eyes. Looking back at him, you could see he still had the same shocking shade of blue, the inhuman color to his eyes. It made him even more beautiful.

“I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Dick stroked your cheek gently, his eyes not leaving your face. “I didn’t think I was. I broke a lot of rules coming here the first time. I didn’t think fate would give me a second chance.”

Looking him over, you could see that he was definitely on two legs and was talking. “How did you get here this time, then?”

“That’s a story for another day,” reaching down, he grabbed both of your hands and pressed a kiss to them. “I have something more important to ask you.”

You watched as Dick held your hands in his as he got down on one knee. “Marry me? Marry me and make me the happiest man on Earth?”

How could you refuse?

“Yes,” was all you said before Dick was on his feet again, sweeping you into another kiss. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he swung you in a circle as the skirt of your dress floated around you.

“Looks like we get our happily ever after, after all,” he smiled, before kissing you once more.

Dick frowned, supporting himself with his arms as he stared Slade down. “You bewitched Y/N, and had Tara working for you, Slade. You cheated!”

Slade took another step closer, you raising your sword in response.

“Don’t you dare take another step,”

You watched as Slade looked you over, a chill running down your spine. “Do you really think you can stop me?” Using a finger, he pushed the blade of your sword away. “You don’t have any power over me.”

Baring your teeth, you raised your sword and swung it at him with a shout. Slade dodged to the side, evading your attack. Not wasting a moment, you pivoted on your feet and changed your direction to swipe at his head.

Your blade made contact with his face, leaving a small cut on his cheek.

Before you could react, Slade grabbed you by the throat and threw you across the deck. Landing with a loud thud, you looked up to see a bright flash, and Slade was no longer a man. He was a monster you could only dream up in your nightmares.

Instead of legs, his lower half morphed into that of an octopus. All eight legs wriggled across the deck as he used two of them to grab Dick, who struggled the best he could.

“The wedding was beautiful, kid, such a shame for it all to go to waste,” he grinned before launching himself overboard.

“No!”

Rushing to your feet, you were seconds from following them overboard when you were grabbed by a pair of strong arms.

“Let me go!”

“Y/N!” Roy grunted, feeling your elbow dig into his side. “You can’t just go after him on a whim! You jump in, and you’ll drown from the weight of the dress alone.”

Kicking your feet, you fought harder to get out of Roy’s hold. “I don’t care! I have to do something!” Using all your strength, you flipped Roy off of you. Grabbing the hem of your dress, you ripped it to shreds, not caring one bit that the fabric was salvageable. Using a scrap to keep your hair back, you ditched the rest of the skirt before running to the side of the boat.

You were going to save Dick. After all he did for you, it was your turn to do something for him.

As Slade dragged Dick deeper and deeper into the ocean, Dick struggled to get free. Whatever he did to try and get free, it didn’t loosen Slade’s hold on him.

“You’d think after everything that brat would show some loyalty.” Slade hissed. “No, instead she hits me in the head with a fucking vase.”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t using her to hurt her friend, Tara wouldn’t have done what she did.”

Slade turned his ire on Dick, the latter almost flinching from the cold look in his eyes. “And you,” he growled. “You just had to ruin everything. Who’d have thought that you would get that close without actually saying a word.”

Dick grinned, “Guess it was these baby blues.”

Using his tentacles, Slade slammed Dick into a rock as he hit it with a cry. “You don’t get to talk, or did you forget you belong to me now?”

“He doesn’t belong to you, Slade.”

Both Dick and Slade turned to see Bruce there with his trident in hand, and Alfred beside him.

“That’s where you have it wrong, Bruce.” Slade grinned as he pulled out the contract Dick signed. “The young prince here made a deal, signed the contract, and everything.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes before aiming his trident at Slade.

“I wouldn’t do that, I don’t think the kid could survive a blast from that.”

“What do you want, Slade?”

Bruce’s words made him grin. “You know what I want, the throne.” Keeping a tight hold on Dick, Slade swam around him. “Everyone knows I can’t say no to a good trade. What do you think, Wayne? The throne for your oldest?”

He watched Bruce’s expression harden, only making him grin. “Or is he just that easy for you to replace? You have plenty of other brats to inherit the throne, what’s the harm in trading the one you never fully adopted to me for eternal servitude?”

Dick watched as Bruce’s eyes darted to him, a pained expression on his face. “B, don’t listen to him! He just wants–”

Before he could finish, Slade covered his mouth with another tentacle. “Are you willing to let another son be taken away from you? Because this one isn’t coming back.”

“Enough,” Bruce snapped. Sparing one last look at Dick, he dropped his head. “What do I need to do?”

Dick’s eyes widened in shock as he tried to get free.

“All you have to do is sign your name,” Slade pulled up Dick’s contract. “Sign over his, and the deal will be finalized.”

Letting out a sigh, Bruce looked at Alfred and Dick. “I’m sorry,” and with that, he signed his name.

“Master Bruce!”

Instantly, Dick was released, and he watched in horror as Bruce began to shrink before he was nothing more than a dead plant with eyes. Swimming over, Dick knelt beside him with Alfred at his side.

“Bruce!”

Behind him, Slade leaned down and picked up the trident from the ocean floor. “Finally,” he grinned. “The power, it’s all mine.”

Hearing his words, Dick turned with a growl. Swimming at full speed, he grabbed the trident and tried to wrestle it out of Slade’s hands. He almost had it out of his grip before Slade wrapped a tentacle around Dick and threw him to the side. Aiming the trident at him, Dick glared.

“That’s no way to treat your new king,”

“You will never be king!”

Slade clenched his jaw. “For someone who is getting out of this scot-free, you’re being a real pain in the ass. I should’ve killed you the day you showed up to my lair.”

“Go ahead, kill me. You’ll have all the neighboring kingdoms after you; they will never accept your rule, Slade.” With a grin, Dick tilted his head. “You were never meant to rule the seven seas.”

Dick leaned back as Slade pressed the trident against his throat, it beginning to glow with power. “Say goodbye to your princess, such a shame you never worked it out.”

Before he could do anything, a harpoon shot through the water, going through Slade’s arms. Letting out a cry of pain, both he and Dick looked up to see you swimming above with a harpoon gun in hand.

“You royal brats are really starting to get on my nerves!” Slade shouted, aiming the trident at you as you quickly began to swim back to the surface.

Taking their chance, Alfred and Wally knocked the trident away as the blast missed you by mere inches.

Feeling his hold on him loosen, Dick pushed Slade’s tentacles off of him before he swam quickly up towards you. Wrapping his arms around you, he swam as fast as he could before you both hit the surface.

Gasping for air, you held onto Dick tightly as he kept the two of you afloat.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing!?”

“I’m saving your life!”

Dick groaned as he looked around. “The ocean is no place for you. If Slade gets his hands on you, he will kill you.”

Keeping your hold on Dick, you looked around frantically for your little rowboat. “What makes you any different?”

Cupping your face, Dick used his tail to keep you above the surface. “Because he can’t drown me, you are at a disadvantage in the water.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,”

“Oh, how sweet, the merprince finally found his princess.”

Looking around, both of you tried to find where the voice was coming from.

“Such a shame for the happy reunion to end so soon.”

His voice vibrated the ocean, making the waves get violent and the current get stronger. Keeping his tight hold on you, Dick looked around trying to find him. The sky was dark, clouds were swirling above, and you could hear Slade’s laughter ring around you.

Suddenly, the water around you and Dick started to rumble as something sprang out of the water. Grabbing your hand, Dick quickly pulled you both away from the monster rising from the depths of the sea.

Getting the two of you far enough away, you clung to Dick as he kept both of you afloat, watching the monster in front of you.

Slade was standing at easily over a hundred feet tall, his tentacles reaching high into the sky with Bruce’s trident grasped tightly in his hand.

“Finally! The power is mine to rule all the oceans!”

“Look out!”

Looking up, you and Dick saw a tentacle coming down towards you. Grabbing you once again, Dick pulled you with him as he swam as fast as he could. The force of it hitting the surface of the water pulled you from Dick’s hold, the current dragging you under the water.

Unable to cry for help, you held your breath and looked around. The ocean looked as violent inside as the surface, with Slade’s tentacles going as far as the eye could see. Turning around, you saw Dick coming straight for you.

“I’m coming!”

Wrapping his arms around you, Dick pulled you to the surface as you gasped for air. Holding tight to him, the two of you looked around.

“We have to get you out of the water! It’s not safe for you here!”

“I’m not leaving you!”

Dick shook his head, finally spotting your boat.

“He’s after me, I can’t risk losing you, Y/N.”

Before you could argue, Dick swam you towards the boat and lifted you up into it.

“What do we do?” you asked, pushing your hair out of your face.

Dick looked around, his eyes lingering on the massive trident. “I don’t know, but as long as he has that trident, he is unstoppable.”

“You will never stop me!”

Hearing Slade’s cackle, you looked and saw another tentacle coming your way. “Dick! Run!”

Hunkering down in your rowboat, you watched Dick quickly duck under the water as the splash of the tentacle rocked you violently. Holding on for dear life, you wiped the incoming rain off your face and slowly sat up to look around.

You saw Dick a ways away, his head above the surface as he looked for you. Before he could start in that direction, Slade started stirring the sea and made a massive whirlpool. The water turned an unnatural green color, and you watched as the realization dawned on Dick’s face.

“No!”

Dick swam against the current as fast as he could, his tail trying its hardest to get him out. He could see you ready to jump off the boat to come after him. Reaching a hand out, Dick let out a shout as he was pulled in.

Everything around him was spinning, the water whirling around and obscuring his vision as he tried to get his bearings. He could see debris and other objects left to rot at the bottom of the ocean begin to swirl around him as he continued to be pulled down.

Landing on the ocean surface with a thud, Dick looked up in horror. He was at the bottom of a massive whirlpool, one that went to the bottom of the sea, and he could see Slade’s monstrous face looking down at him with a sadistic grin.

Without water, Dick was a sitting duck. The walls of the whirlpool were too far for him to reach in a quick escape, and they would probably spit him back out.

He watched as Slade aimed the trident at him,

“Any last words?”

“Rot in hell!”

Slade grinned as he fired a blast from the end of the trident. Dick saw it before he heard it, quickly diving out of the way so he didn’t get fried. The blast landed a few feet from him, the ground a dark, scorched color.

With Slade’s attention on him, Dick only hoped you managed to stay out of the whirlpool. He couldn’t come rescue you if you managed to get dragged in as well.

Seeing another blast, Dick jumped again and again, trying to keep himself alive.

What were they going to do?

Sitting in your rowboat, you watched the whirlpool get bigger and bigger as the items came out of the sea. No doubt Dick was at the bottom, that being what Slade was firing at. You had to take this chance to find something to stop him.

Looking to your left, you watched as a large ship rose from the deep. It was mostly intact still, but the figurehead was broken, leaving it a sharp piece of wood. That had to be it.

Taking a deep breath, you dove off your rowboat and swam for the ship.

The current was strong; you fought against it as hard as you could. There was a rope hanging off the end; if only you could get a grasp and pull yourself out. Urging your legs to move faster, the ship was soon within reach, and you quickly grabbed the rope before it moved out of reach.

Using it, you pulled yourself out of the water and walked up the side of the ship until you were on the deck. Even with your well-trained sea legs, this was still a new experience. The ship was rocking from side to side, the wind whipping you every which way, and the rain felt like sharp objects hitting you repeatedly with how hard it was falling.

Trying to keep your balance, you stumbled over to the mast, desperate to make your way up to the wheel. Holding onto it to keep yourself standing, you watched as it spun out of control, the wind taking the sails wherever it wanted.

You had to get up there and take control.

A rock of the ship knocked you off your feet, sending you rolling towards the edge. Digging your fingers into the wood, you caught a loose board and used it to keep yourself from being thrown off. Ignoring the sting of the rain in your eyes and the pain in your body from being tossed around, you climbed up the steps.

Letting out a gasp of air, you finally reached the wheel and used it to keep yourself up. Using every ounce of strength you had left, you forced the wheel to turn in the direction you wanted. Aimed right at Slade.

Keeping a tight grip on the wheel, you steered it right at him. By the time Slade noticed, it was too late. The wind sent the broken point of the ship right into his stomach, and Slade let out a cry of pain so loud it shook everything around you.

Dropping to your knees and covering your ears, you watched as his tentacles grabbed onto the boat in reflex, dragging it down with him as he met his demise at the bottom of the sea. Quickly, you got to your feet and ran. You had to get off the boat before you went down with it.

Diving off the edge, you were free-falling for only moments before you splashed into the sea below. You could hear the commotion behind you, Slade’s magic turning against him as he turned into bubbles and smoke at the bottom of the sea.

Fighting your way to the surface, you finally were free. The ocean was still fighting, the currents dragging you in every direction. Distantly, you could see the ship from your failed wedding. You had no idea where Dick was, and you couldn’t take the risk of waiting for him to find you.

You were quickly losing strength, your rowboat long gone and missing. The currents were dragging you back to shore, away from the ship, away from the smoke, and away from Dick. Waves continued to crash, dragging you further and further away. Forcing yourself up, you waved your arms in the air.

“Hey! I’m over here!”

Looking around frantically, you tried to find something to catch yourself on. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of red and yellow before the waves threw you into a large rock, and everything went dark.

~~~

“Y/N! Where are you!?”

Groaning softly, you felt your body come to its senses. Wiggling your hands and feet, you could feel the coarse sand beneath you, the grainy pebbles sticking to your wet skin. Slowly, you sat up and opened your eyes.

The world looked brighter, with the recesses of the storm fading away, and the clouds dispersing enough to let streams of light through. The sounds of the ocean waves crashing onto the shore washed behind you, with the calls of the gulls flying above filling the silence.

Rubbing your eyes, you brushed the sand off your face and looked around.

You weren’t exactly sure where you were, but you knew you were on the shore, not too far from your home. The last thing you remembered was–

Dick!

You immediately sprang to your feet, looking out at the vast ocean in front of you.

“Dick!”

“Dick, answer me!”

There was only silence.

You heard the calls of others in the distance, but none of them were Dick. They were looking for you, but you were looking for the man you loved.

“Where are you!?”

Running out into the waves, the ocean was still restless, with the force of the water fighting against you. You had to find him; you didn’t even know if he made it out. Dick had to be alive; you couldn’t imagine life without him.

The harder you fought, the more it felt like the ocean was trying to keep you on the shore. The waves got bigger and stronger, each one pushing you back a few feet before you could get too deep.

“Y/N!”

Looking to your left, you saw Roy come running up with Kyle and Vic right behind him.

“I have to find him!”

Water sprayed your face, soaking your already damp clothes as you fought. You had to find Dick, you had to! Looking up, you saw a large wave rise up and wash you off your feet, sending you back to the shore.

Sputtering out a cough, the salt water bitter on your tongue, you got back up. You didn’t get very far before a pair of arms wrapped around your middle.

“Y/N! You have to stop!”

You didn’t pause at the sound of Roy’s voice, his arms keeping you in place. Thrashing in his hold, you fought to go back into the ocean.

“Let me go! I have to find him!”

“Roy, tell me he’s alive! Tell me he’s okay!” you pleaded, slumping in his hold. You could feel droplets run down your face, the tears joining the ocean below you.

Wrapping his arms around you tightly, Roy nodded slowly. “He’s alive, I saw him.”

Looking up at him, your eyes went wide. “Where is he!?”

Roy looked pained to tell you this. “He made sure his friends got you to shore, but after that, he disappeared. Y/N, I don’t think he’s coming back…”

You didn’t believe him. You refused to believe him! Dick loved you, and you loved him. All of this didn’t happen, so you wouldn't be together! You didn’t give a damn if he was half fish; that was never something you cared about.

After everything, this couldn’t be how it ended.

“N–No. You’re wrong,” you couldn’t stop your lip from quivering. “He’ll come back…”

Roy slowly shook his head. “That was almost two hours ago. That’s how long it took us to find you.”

He watched as reality slowly set in on your face, your body slumping in his hold as you broke down into sobs in his arms. Dropping to his knees, Roy held you close as you cried. He wished it didn’t end this way, but even he knew how cruel the sea could be.

It took more than it gave, and was less than forgiving. The ocean was as cruel as it was beautiful, promising endless adventure before taking it all away and everything you loved with it. Carefully, Roy lifted you into his arms and carried you to shore, where Vic and Kyle were waiting.

They could see the pain on your face, your sobs wracking through your body as you shivered from the cool breeze. Quickly, Vic took off his coat and wrapped it around you.

“What happened?” Kyle asked, his eyes flitting to the ocean. “Did he–?”

Roy straightened his features, keeping you in his arms. “Dick isn’t coming back. We need to get her back to the palace and clean her up.”

Vic and Kyle shared a look before they nodded. You were more important. Dick was a friend, someone they came to care for, but they had a duty to you and the crown. You were priority number one.

It didn’t take long before you were all back in the castle, the whispers already beginning the second you set foot inside. Immediately, Donna was at your side with Rachel right behind her. Quickly, they ushered you into your room, helping you get cleaned up from the day’s previous adventures.

You didn’t recognize the passing of time, all of it coming and going in a blur. Once, you were on the beach looking for Dick, and the next thing you knew, you were in your bed wrapped up in several blankets as the sounds of the sea below floated in through your open window.

The sun had fully set now, the moon resting high in the evening sky. Closing your eyes, you knew you needed to sleep. Listening to the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks, you lay in your bed. Every once in a while, you swore you heard something floating softly beneath the sounds of sea foam sizzling. If you tried hard enough, you thought you could hear words spoken in the breeze.

But that couldn’t be. Life wasn’t a fairy tale. There was no magical prince to sweep you off your feet, no talking sidekick, and no true love’s kiss.

The clock on your mantle struck midnight, signaling the end. The magic was gone, and you were back to being a pumpkin.

The days passed, you went back to your duties, and everyone else around you acted as if nothing had happened. That was, until you left the room and the whispers started. Whispers that the princess had an affair with a man from the sea, something only found in legends of old.

Roy kept watch over you with a keen eye, noticing every little detail. Your smile never met your eyes, and the light of adventure was gone from them. Not once did you ask about going out to sea; you didn’t even mention it.

Your love for the ocean was gone, replaced with heartbreak that he wasn’t sure would ever be cured.

Unbeknownst to you, a lone figure sat out on a rock just off the shore and watched your castle. Day in and day out, Dick sat on that rock and watched. He didn’t have the heart for anything else. Wally and Alfred both noticed, being the ones to force him to go home and at least sleep in his bed.

But how could he? How could he sleep when he felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest? Dick loved you; he loved you more than anything. It’s why he had to disappear. He couldn’t keep this going.

Jason was right; he was from the sea, and you were from the land. It was never going to work between the two of you; your worlds would never allow it. So a clean break was best; he hoped you would move on. Find some other human guy to love, one who could do it without having to sell his voice to do it.

Dick would marry Kori, officially joining their kingdoms like Bruce and her parents wanted. It was time he stopped these childish dreams and faced reality. Marrying her was the right thing to do, so why did it feel wrong?

It was the third day, and Dick was sitting on the rock watching your castle. His head rested on his arm, as his hand drew circles in the water below him. He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the two visitors appear a ways behind him.

“Alfred, he’s miserable.” Bruce sighed, his trident held tightly in his hand. “He comes up here every day and just watches. That’s no life for him to live.”

Resting his claws on Bruce’s shoulder, Alfred watched Dick from afar. He spent those three days with Dick, and he could see how much the two of you loved each other.

“He really loves her, Master Bruce. I saw them together; there was never a better pair.”

Glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, Bruce sighed. “I have to let him go,”

Alfred fought a smile. “A wise decision,”

Bruce chuckled softly before he swam towards Dick.

“Chum,”

Dick jumped and turned to see Bruce approaching.

“B–Bruce, I didn’t hear you coming.” Quickly, he sat up and looked around. “I was uh– just looking.”

Bruce let out a sigh and raised his brow. “You really love her, don’t you?”

Dick looked at Bruce before his gaze went back to the castle. He couldn’t lie, not to him. Slowly, he nodded, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Then I need you to promise me something,” he started. Turning his head, Dick looked at him, confused.

“Take care of her, and yourself.”

Now Dick was really confused. What was Bruce talking about? Before he could ask, he watched as Bruce aimed his trident at his legs. Dick stared in wonder as his lower body transformed once again, his once bright blue tail disappearing and being replaced by a pair of legs with bright blue pants.

His webbed hands separated, and the scales on his face vanished. He watched as a loose-fitting white shirt formed on his chest, before the magical glow was gone. Looking at his newly transformed self, Dick couldn’t fight the smile on his face.

Jumping off the rock, Dick wrapped his arms around his father. “Thank you, Bruce.”

Hugging him back, Bruce smiled. “You're welcome, now go get your princess.”

Dick smiled brightly as he swam for the shore, with the assistance of the waves at Bruce’s command. In record time, he reached the shore. Pulling himself up, he could see his silhouette in the distance. Waving an arm, Dick could see Bruce wave back before he disappeared in a flash.

Looking up at the cliffs above him, Dick knew where he needed to be.

Taking off into a sprint, Dick ran through the village and up the rocky path towards the castle gates. In the distance, he could see Kyle and Vic watching through the towers. As he ran closer, he waved his arms in the air and smiled.

“Let me in!”

Vic’s eyes almost bulged out of his head seeing Dick come running up the path. Not wasting a moment, he opened the gates and ran down the tower steps.

“Dick, what the hell are you doing here?”

Walking through the entrance, Dick could only smile. “I’m here for Y/N, where is she?”

“She should be in her study, but how–”

“No time, I have to find her and tell her I love her.”

Vic watched as Dick took off through the castle doors, chuckling at his friend’s antics. This was going to be a story to tell for the ages.

It didn’t take Dick long to get inside and find his way through the castle. Having been in your study before, Dick knew where to find you. As he ran through the halls, he ignored the odd looks from those around him. He didn’t care if they knew who he was. Dick was a man on a mission, and he refused to let anything stop him.

Making his way up to the correct floor, Dick saw the door to your study. He knew you were there, the door was slightly ajar, and soft music was coming from inside. Urging his feet to go faster, Dick was in front of the door in no time.

Placing both hands on the doors, he pushed them open to reveal you standing inside with Roy, Donna, and Rachel around you.

Looking up from your book, your heart swelled at the sight of the man in front of you. “Dick?”

“I’m back,”

Not bothering to say another word, you gathered your skirt and took off towards him as Dick sprinted in your direction. The second you met, his arms were around you as Dick pulled you into a kiss.

Your hands rested on his chest, gripping the collar of his shirt as he kissed you. You could feel his hand press into the small of your back, keeping you in place as the other came up to cup your cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered in between kisses.

Pulling back, you rested your forehead on his. “I love you too,”

“I’ve been wanting to say that for so long, I love you more than anything Y/N,” he gasped, looking into your eyes. Looking back at him, you could see he still had the same shocking shade of blue, the inhuman color to his eyes. It made him even more beautiful.

“I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Dick stroked your cheek gently, his eyes not leaving your face. “I didn’t think I was. I broke a lot of rules coming here the first time. I didn’t think fate would give me a second chance.”

Looking him over, you could see that he was definitely on two legs and was talking. “How did you get here this time, then?”

“That’s a story for another day,” reaching down, he grabbed both of your hands and pressed a kiss to them. “I have something more important to ask you.”

You watched as Dick held your hands in his as he got down on one knee. “Marry me? Marry me and make me the happiest man on Earth?”

How could you refuse?

“Yes,” was all you said before Dick was on his feet again, sweeping you into another kiss. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he swung you in a circle as the skirt of your dress floated around you.

“Looks like we get our happily ever after, after all,” he smiled, before kissing you once more.

Before Dick could even pretend to voice his concern, Roy grabbed his shoulders and launched them both into the ocean. The two of them fell only for a few moments before they crashed into the waves below. 

Dick didn’t have to worry about Alfred as much as he had to make sure he made it back to the surface. His eyes burned, opening them underwater trying to get his bearings to see what way was up. He caught a glimpse of Roy, and swam the same direction as he did. 

Breaking the surface, Dick took a deep breath and fought to keep his head above water. The one thing he missed about his tail was how powerful it was. It easily could’ve kept him and Roy afloat. But here he was, tailless. 

Feeling something nudge his side, Dick saw a familiar orange friend. 

“Long time, no sea.” Wally chuckled, helping keep Dick afloat. “Get it? Sea?” 

If Dick could talk, he would’ve told him how stupid it was. 

Wally only laughed, and pulled Dick after Roy who managed to find a little portion of the beach to take surface on. Letting out a sigh of relief, Dick pulled himself onto shore, with Alfred crawling up beside him, Wally staying nearby in the shallow part of the water. 

Laying back on the sand, Dick draped an arm over his eye trying to catch his breath. There were so many words Dick wanted to yell at Roy, but that would be saved for later. 

Roy took a look around as he wrung out his hair. “Is that big weird looking fish a friend of yours too?” 

Dick simply nodded. 

“Cool, so we have a crab, a fish, a human merman who can’t talk, and a captain of the guard on the run from an evil sea octopus.” Roy counted, putting a finger up for each thing. “Did I miss anything?” 

“It seems I missed a lot.” 

Both Dick and Alfred turned to look at Wally with an unamused look. 

There was a loud foghorn in the distance, Dick and Roy standing to see a large passenger ship taking off into the sea. It seemed in all their scheming, and running from the others, the wedding had been put together and you were off to marry a literal monster. 

Dick’s eyes went wide, his breath catching in his throat. You were so far away, how was he going to ever catch up, and stop it? 

Roy looked over and saw Dick going gray, wavering on his feet. Rushing over, he threw an arm over his shoulders to keep him up. “Woah there, Dick you have got to breathe.” he coaxed. “We will fix this, but you have to keep your cool.” 

Hearing Roy’s voice helped ground Dick to reality, Alfred’s light tapping as he stood on his foot. Taking slow deep breaths, Dick was able to see clearly again and keep himself standing. Nodding a little, Roy hesitated before letting him go. 

“Is there anyone else we can call for help?” 

Dick looked between Alfred and Wally before he nodded. “Master Wallace, you stay here with Master Richard and help him with anything he needs. I will go and alert Master Bruce of what’s going on.” 

Sparing a last look at Dick, Alfred nodded before he jumped into the sea and swam off. 

Letting out a shaky breath, Dick pushed back his doubtful thoughts. He couldn’t afford to think about the possibilities of losing you to Slade, and watching the destruction of his kingdom and yours at his hands. Looking at Roy, he gave him a firm nod. 

“We have to get you on that boat, got any ideas?” 

Dick looked around, they didn’t have much at their disposal. They were surrounded by rocks, sand and some driftwood that rolled in from the waves. None of it seemed useful to them, especially when none of them had magic of their own. 

Slade had to have something to channel his magic through while he was on land. Running a hand through his hair, Dick began to pace across the sand. He hadn’t gotten a good look at Slade before they were chased out, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to act it out to Roy considering he’s never met him before that morning. 

Roy watched as Dick paced, eyebrows raised. He could tell there was a lot going on in his mind, but he was at a loss for communicating as well. Roy had no idea where to start, other than to ask a thousand questions to try and narrow things down. 

“Hey, Dick hold up a second.” 

Dick stopped in his tracks, looking at his companion. 

“We need to stop Spade, right? And he used some sea magic or whatever on Y/N to put her under a spell?” 

Dick nodded, fidgeting with his shirt. 

“How did he cast a spell on her in the first place if he was on land?” 

Dick’s eyes widened. That was a really good question, Dick looked expectantly at his fishy friend to see if he knew the answer. 

Wally just simply looked between them, before he finally got the hint that Dick was now asking him. 

“You know this is better suited to Alfred–” Wally stopped as Dick threw a rock at him, dodging out of the way. “Okay, rude. But all magic has to be used through an object, at least in our world. Slade is from our world, so he has to abide by the rules even on land. For Bruce it’s the Trident, Talia, it’s her emerald necklace, Kori has her massive amethyst crystal, and wasn’t there a Chrysocolla stone you were supposed to inherit when you took over? ” 

Dick stood there and listened to Wally’s ramblings about the various magic users they knew and what granted them their magic. 

He really wished he paid more attention in his studies. 

Going through the items, the only one different was Bruce and his trident. But that was the only legendary item left of their world, the rest destroyed in wars against other kingdoms and humans. 

Emerald, amethyst, chrysocolla, ruby, sapphire, all the major families of the undersea world have a powerful gemstone that was the root of their magic. Was it possible that Slade was in possession of one too?

Looking over himself, Dick wasn’t in possession of anything that could be in relation to a gemstone. Walking over, Dick gestured to Roy to hold his hands up. 

“What are you looking for?” 

Letting out a sigh of defeat, Dick made a circular shape with his hands before pointing at the rocks around them. 

“A round rock?” Dick waved him on, “A stone?” 

Dick nodded quickly. 

“A stone is how you do magic in your world?” Roy watched as Dick nodded his head around, making a so-so motion with his hand. 

“Alright, so Spade has some sort of magic stone. Do you know what it looks like?” 

Dick shook his head, before motioning to places a gemstone would normally be.

“These stones are something you typically wear?” At this, Dick nodded again. 

Roy thought back, he was more concerned for you than he was assessing what the man was wearing but…

“Does the stone have to be big? Like something to fit a ring?” 

Dick nodded enthusiastically. 

“And if I told you he was wearing a ring with an unnaturally blue gemstone on it?” 

Both Dick and Wally were jumping, the latter yelling. “That has to be it!” 

Dick nodded in agreement, finally they were getting somewhere. 

Roy grinned. “Now this is the beginning of a plan my friend.” 

It took them less than half an hour to come up with a plan, and another 20 before they caught up to the boat that was floating just off shore of the castle. With the help of Wally, both Roy and Dick managed to get across the water in a timely manner. 

Gripping onto the rope hanging off the end, Roy and Dick shared a look. After this, there was no going back. They had to get Slade’s ring, break the spell and find a way to fight a sea demon. 

“Once we get on deck, we are going to be found pretty quickly. You leave the fighting to me, and you get that ring.” 

Dick nodded, the two of them sharing a last smile before he began to climb. Once he was on deck, he ducked behind a few barrels and hid from the oncoming guards. He couldn’t risk the chance of them being under Slade’s spell like Victor and Kyle were. 

Quietly, he crept through before he came upon the large open deck where the wedding was taking place. 

“If anyone should object to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.” 

It was now or never, Dick took a deep breath and ran. Before the guests, you or Slade could process what was happening, Dick dove and tackled Slade to the ground. 

“What the– you!” Slade growled and kicked Dick off of him before straightening out his suit. “You don’t know when to accept that you’ve lost do you?” 

Dick only grinned, with a cockly tilt to his head as he rose to his feet. Behind him, he heard a load of commotion, sparing a glance back to see a variety of sea creatures finding themselves on board to cause chaos and stop the guards from reaching him. 

Hopefully, Roy made it alright. 

Slicking his hair back, Slade grinned a smarmy grin. “You can’t just leave well enough alone, can you? You had the perfect life, but you had to have more. Now look where that’s gotten you.” 

Dick glanced at his right hand, and sure enough there it was. A ring with an unnatural blue stone on it.  Standing up straight, Dick clenched his fist. He had to stop him, time wasn’t on his side and he only had so much of it before the sun set. 

“Dick catch!” 

Looking to his left, he saw Roy tossing him a sword. Diving to catch it, Dick turned back to Slade barely reacting to his attack in time, blocking his sword with his. 

“Seems our young prince has learned a few things, but you won't win this, kid. No one has ever beaten me, and you won’t be the last to lose.” 

Dick glared before pushing him back, gaining his balance before their duel began. 

Slade was the better swordsman, Dick barely able to hold his own. Ducking a slash to his throat, Dick grabbed a vase and threw it at him unaware of others around him. Slade’s attacks were relentless, Dick keeping up the defense. 

Slowly, Slade had backed him to the edge of the boat before disarming him, pressing the blade to his throat, gripping the front of his shirt as he dangled him overboard. 

“You know, I was going to use you to get Bruce to hand over everything to me. But you’re too much of a nuisance to be kept alive, guess I’ll send you back in pieces.” 

Slade raised his blade, to bring it down on Dick who tried desperately to hold back his wrist but his strength was waning. 

Suddenly there was a crash, and water and roses came down around Slade’s head stunning him for a few moments. Looking behind him, Dick saw Tara there, with vase shards in her hands. 

“That’s for trying to hurt my friend.” 

Taking his moment, Dick pushed out of Slade’s hold and grabbed the ring off his hand. The second it was off, Dick felt a rush of wind around him with the sound of distant voices among it. 

A soft blue light rose out of the ring, it swirling around him in the air. The more Dick listened, he realized it was his own voice he heard. 

 “The toughest of sharks, through the darkest of depths.” 

“You look tired Timmers, why don’t you get some rest?” 

 “You what, Bruce? You decided to marry me off without so much as telling me, let alone asking if I wanted to marry her?” 

“You and I both know Bruce is never going to change his mind. I love Kori, but we are just friends.”

“I want you to make me human.”

You watched, your vision coming into focus with the scene in front of you. The black haired man–no Dick, was caught in a whirlwind and...

Why were you in a wedding dress, and why didn’t you remember how you got there?

Suddenly, the blue light went into Dick and the wind fanned out around everyone leaving Dick standing there with a wide eyed look. 

“Dick?”

At your voice, he quickly turned around. “Y/N?”

Dick almost jumped at the sound of his own voice, before he threw his sword and the now black ring aside and ran to you. Meeting him halfway, you ran into his arms as he wrapped them around you tightly. 

“Oh my god, Dick you’re talking!” 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I did something incredibly stupid and–” 

“Dick, whatever you did it’ll be okay I promise.” 

Dick cupped your face making you look at him. “No Y/N, you don’t understand. I’ve been trying to tell you this entire time–”

You ran your hands over his chest meeting his eyes. “Tell me what?” 

“Y/N, I’m not from here. I’m–” 

Dick was cut off by a loud crack of thunder before he began to feel his weight get heavier. Hitting the deck with a loud thud, you watched with wide eyes as scales formed on his face, and where his legs used to be was now a large massive, blue tail flapping against the deck. 

Kneeling down beside him, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Dick was a merman, you’re merman from all those secret meetings. How did you not put it together, all the signs were there from the moment he appeared on the beach barely clothed and unable to walk properly. 

“Dick, how did you–” 

There was a low chuckle behind you. Turning to look, you saw your almost husband rise to his feet. 

“You’re too late, kid,” he grinned, picking up the discarded ring. 

Dick looked out to the horizon and his blood ran cold. The sun had set, he lost. Dick now was a slave to the sea demon, for all eternity.

your head was still hurting a little from the bright light that shone during the earthquake— or what you thought was an earthquake. you have no idea what happened, or why it happened. all you know was that you fell unconscious when your room shook and you woke up with a terrible headache in the worst possible cities to ever not exist.

bludheaven.

unbelievable. one moment you were on your bed, next moment you were on the streets of bludheaven. you saw some shop that had the city's name on it. at first you thought it's some joke, but then who could set up a whole city to look like a fictional city you're familiar with? you're not dreaming, maybe you were reality shifting? is that even possible? you didn't really have time to ponder because it was slowly getting dark, you need to find a place to stay safe. obviously you can't go to a motel, you had no money. even if you did, would this place accept the money? too many questions but from what you've read about bludheaven you have to find a safe space.

you started walking on the streets where it the street lights were on to keep check if your surroundings. yoh must have walked for an hour, you had no idea where you were headed, but you knew that if you kept walking you'll find something—it was almost like a force of nature that guided you during your walk. and thank the force of nature because you did see something.

a man, his back towards you but he has sticks behind him. two escrima sticks. you immediately knew who he was, of course you knew it. you've read a lot of about this guy, and from what you've read, you know that he was your safe space and the one to get out of this mess. a part of you wanted to jump—not just because you found a way home but also because you're about to talk to the nightwing.

he was several feet away from you, you had to run to catch up to him. "nightwing!" you yelled, but he didn't stop his steps. you yelled again and again until you reached closer to him.

finally, he stopped and turned to face you, you who were bending down slightly, hands on your knees catching your breath from the running. "finally, you wal—" you didn't get the chance to finish what you were saying. nightwing's face scrunched up with anger? why is he angry?!

and why did he grab his escrima stick and pointed it at you.

"you." was all he said before trying to buzz you with the stick. you immediately ducked, trying to defend yourself but he was skilled. you won't be able to keep with him, you didn't keep up as his stick reached closer to you making you fall on your back.

"dude! not cool," you said from the ground. "i thought you were the good guy who helped random civilians, not try to hit them randomly?" you huffed slightly. those nightwing writers were so wrong about this guy.

"“random civilian? you?” he scoffed, stepping closer with his stick still pointing at you on the ground.

"yes, me. who else? its an empty street right now, isn't it?" your eyes looked around.

"this isn't funny. whoever you are, I'm not playing this game." nightwing said with fury, his face told a sad story, you couldn't point out what. maybe batman died? but why is he mad at you? what game does he think this is?

"sir, could you please put the stick away and let me explain. i need your help." your words rushed out, not wanting to get interrupted by him or his stick.

your words made him frown slightly, "help? you want my help? again, I'm not playing whatever this is."

"i wish I knew what this was— please, you have to listen to me. you're my only hope right now." you tell him honestly.

it was true. you somehow fell into a dimension where bludheaven and nightwing were real. you know no one here, if nightwing is here then that means others might be here, people who could send you back to your dimension. and nightwing knows these people, so he was your way back home. but only obstacle is that he is not friendly here.

"hope." he repeated as if that word meant nothing to him anymore. he put his stick away finally. "you have 5 minutes to explain why you look like that."

you frowned... what does that mean? "um, thank you?" you said. maybe you look different in this universe and hence that comment. "anyways," you tell him your name, he looked like he already knew it. "i somehow fell into your dimension. you see, i know you are nightwing, etc because in my world you are a fictional character I've read about, you're a comic book character. i don't know how I got here but i know that you know people who can help me get me back to my world. and in my world, the fictional nightwing is a good guy, he'd help me. so please—help me, dick."

when you said his name, his real name out his face flinched. "you know my name," his stick was facing you again.

"woah, no need for these!" you pointed at the stick with your eyes. "i just told you, ive read your comics. i also know you have a dog and other stuff." you said with a smile, hoping he'd act friendly.

"my dog died." he said blatantly.

"oh," you didn't expect that. "im sorry about that... uh."

he waved his stick. "how can I trust you saying the truth?" he asked.

"i honestly don't know. intuition? look at me, why would I waste my time trying to convince you I'm from a different dimension and have to get back?"

"many reasons. but if you were having any negative reasons for this... you wouldn't be dumb enough to look like that." he said, lowering his stick.

not that again. you chose to ignore it, you need his help. it doesn't matter what he thinks you look like. and why does that even matter?

"so you'll help me?" you asked with hope in your eyes, slowly getting yourself up, dusting your jeans and palms. he looked like he wanted to give you his hand but he didn't.

"no."

"no? you won't help me?!" you asked with frustration, scoffing through your nose. unbelievable.

"im not that guy anymore. i do basic patrolling at night because I can't sleep and having nothing to do. i can't help you, sorry." he said and started to walk away, you ran after him.

"wait! no, dick. wait, you don't understand. i know no one here, i having nothing. please, at least point me at the right direction for help— like batman or zatanna or anyone who could help me!" you grabbed his hand as you spoke to stop him from walking further away.

dick looked at where you were holding, once you noticed his eyes on your hands you removed it. "sorry, look. i get that you're not exactly like the dick grayson from my world that I've read about but I can tell there are some of him in you. are you seriously going to let me just be alone, i have no money, no identity in this world."

"you do have an identity, you have a name." he said.

you rolled your eyes. "i meant verfied one. i... please just help me, dick?"

he stared at you, his cold look softened a little. something shifted in him for a moment before he put up his shield.

"fine," he paused. "I'll help you. as in I'll get you to batman tomorrow. he can deal with you."

"thank you! that's more than enough!" you clapped your hands together.

he just stared at you again before speaking. "uh, you can stay with me tonight. tomorrow, first thing we're going to gotham. hopefully we'll never see eacother again."

"okay, deal." you gave him your hand but he didn't take it. just motioned you to follow him. "wait, we're walking to your apartment? do you not have a transport-wing?" you asked.

he glared at your complaint. your fingers made a zipping up motion at your lips and quietly followed him to his apartment. tried to follow him quietly at least.

_

his apartment was small and depressing. which isn't a surprise to you but everything was so bland... like he has no life. he asked you to not touch anything and offered you his bed and took the couch. but you were sure that he wasn't going to sleep. and neither could you. for most of the night, you talked his ear off. asking questions and answering them before he could—not that he was willing to answer. occasionally he'd glare at you but sometimes, rarely he'd soften up. you even made him smile a little! but he quickly retrieved it.

"was that a smile?" you asked. this version of dick grayson had definitely gone through extra hell. something extra terrible had happened to him. you don't know what but you can tell.

The house was warm with the quiet kind of peace that only came after a long day.

Lantern light flickered softly against the walls, the faint hum of the evening settling in as the wind brushed gently past the windows. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the soft rustle of leaves, air bending without effort, without thought.

Home.

You stood just outside the main room, one hand resting lightly against the doorframe, having meant to step in only a moment ago.

But then you heard Aang’s voice.

“…and I’m serious,” he was saying, tone firm in that way that meant he was fully committed to whatever he was talking about. “There is no one, no one, like your mom.”

You blinked, pausing.

Oh.

Carefully, quietly, you leaned just enough to see inside.

Aang sat cross-legged on the floor, his robes slightly wrinkled from the day, hair loose, a few strands falling into his face. Across from him sat your kids half-listening, half-curious, entirely unprepared for whatever speech he had clearly decided to give them.

One of them tilted their head. “Dad… why are you talking like that?”

“Because it’s important,” Aang replied immediately.

You had to press your lips together to stop your smile.

Important.

Of course it was.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on his knees, eyes bright in that earnest, unwavering way that had never changed not since the day you met him.

“Your mom is the strongest person I know,” he continued. “And I don’t just mean bending or fighting or anything like that. I mean… everything.”

Your chest tightened softly.

One of the kids snorted. “Stronger than you?”

Aang didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

That made them laugh.

“Dad- ”

“I’m serious!” he insisted, sitting up straighter now, a little more animated. “She’s stronger than me because she carries so much and still smiles. Because she protects people without needing recognition. Because she makes everything better just by being there.”

You felt your breath catch.

“…And,” he added, voice softening just a little, “she’s the most graceful person I’ve ever seen.”

That got a reaction.

“Graceful?” another one repeated, clearly amused.

“Yes,” Aang said, completely unbothered. “Have you seen the way she moves? Even when she’s just walking, it’s like everything slows down around her. Like the world knows to give her space.”

The kids were fully laughing now.

“Dad, you’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird!” he protested, though a grin was starting to tug at his lips. “I’m being honest.”

“Sounds like you’re in love,” one of them teased.

There was a pause.

Aang blinked.

Then, like it was the most obvious thing in the world-

“I am in love with her.”

The laughter doubled.

You covered your mouth, shoulders shaking slightly as you tried not to make a sound.

Inside, Aang only grew more determined.

“And she’s beautiful,” he went on, as if he hadn’t just been completely called out. “Like, really beautiful. The kind of beautiful that doesn’t go away. Not when she’s tired, not when she’s upset. never.”

“Dad- ”

“And talented,” he added, counting on his fingers now. “In everything she does. She doesn’t even try and she’s amazing at it.”

“She definitely tries,” one of them said through laughter.

“Well, yeah- but she still makes it look easy!” Aang shot back.

Another kid leaned forward, squinting at him. “Are you trying to get out of trouble or something?”

“What? No!”

“Because this feels like when you mess up and then start complimenting her a lot- ”

“I didn’t mess up!” Aang insisted, though now he looked mildly offended. “I just… wanted you guys to understand.”

“Understand what?”

He hesitated for a second.

Then his expression softened.

“Why I love her so much.”

The room quieted, just a little.

Not fully, but enough.

Aang’s gaze drifted somewhere softer, somewhere distant but warm, like he was looking at something only he could see.

“She’s… everything to me,” he said quietly. “She always has been.”

Your heart ached.

The kind of ache that was too full to hurt.

One of the kids made a face, though it was more playful than anything now. “That’s so cheesy.”

“It’s not cheesy,” Aang said, but he was smiling. “It’s true.”

“Still cheesy.”

“Yeah, super cheesy.”

Aang huffed, shaking his head, but there was no real frustration there just fondness.

“You’ll understand one day,” he said.

“Doubt it.”

“Definitely won’t.”

“You will,” he insisted lightly. “And when you do, you’ll get it.”

There was a small pause.

Then-

“…So you really think she’s the strongest?”

Aang didn’t hesitate.

“I know she is.”

That did it.

The laughter softened into something quieter now, something warmer.

You leaned your head gently against the doorframe, your eyes never leaving him.

Because he meant every word.

Every single one.

And he said it so easily.

So openly.

Like loving you wasn’t something he ever had to hide or hold back.

Like it was as natural as breathing.

You stepped forward before you could second-guess it.

The floor creaked just slightly under your weight.

Aang’s head turned instantly.

Of course it did.

His eyes met yours and just like that, everything else faded.

“Oh hey,” he said, a little softer now, a little sheepish as he realized you’d heard.

The kids turned too, immediately grinning.

“Mom,” one of them said, clearly delighted, “did you hear Dad being all- ”

“Yes,” you interrupted gently, though your voice was warm, your smile soft. “I heard.”

Aang rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little bashful.

“I was just- uh- ”

“Raving?” another kid supplied.

“Appreciating,” he corrected.

You walked over slowly, stopping just in front of him.

For a moment, you didn’t say anything.

You just looked at him.

Really looked at him.

At the way his eyes searched yours, a little uncertain now, like maybe he’d said too much.

Like maybe he’d embarrassed you.

You reached out, your fingers brushing lightly along his cheek.

His breath caught, just a little.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said softly.

His face fell, just barely.

Until you smiled.

“…But I love you.”

Relief melted through him instantly, followed by that bright, familiar grin.

“I love you more,” he said without missing a beat.

“See?” one of the kids groaned. “There he goes again.”

“Wow, it’s worse when she’s here.”

“Way worse.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head as Aang stood, hands finding your waist like it was the most natural place for them to be.

He pulled you just a little closer.

Not enough to be embarrassing.

Just enough to be him.

“I meant everything,” he murmured, just for you.

“I know,” you whispered back.

And the way you looked at him then-

Soft.

Full.

Unwavering.

Said just as much in return.

Across the room, your kids made exaggerated gagging noises.

Neither of you paid them any mind.

Because in that moment, wrapped up in something that had only grown stronger with time-

It was just you and him.

Just like it had always been.

♡♡♡

The house was warm with the quiet kind of peace that only came after a long day.

Lantern light flickered softly against the walls, the faint hum of the evening settling in as the wind brushed gently past the windows. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the soft rustle of leaves, air bending without effort, without thought.

Home.

You stood just outside the main room, one hand resting lightly against the doorframe, having meant to step in only a moment ago.

But then you heard Aang’s voice.

“…and I’m serious,” he was saying, tone firm in that way that meant he was fully committed to whatever he was talking about. “There is no one, no one, like your mom.”

You blinked, pausing.

Oh.

Carefully, quietly, you leaned just enough to see inside.

Aang sat cross-legged on the floor, his robes slightly wrinkled from the day, hair loose, a few strands falling into his face. Across from him sat your kids half-listening, half-curious, entirely unprepared for whatever speech he had clearly decided to give them.

One of them tilted their head. “Dad… why are you talking like that?”

“Because it’s important,” Aang replied immediately.

You had to press your lips together to stop your smile.

Important.

Of course it was.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on his knees, eyes bright in that earnest, unwavering way that had never changed not since the day you met him.

“Your mom is the strongest person I know,” he continued. “And I don’t just mean bending or fighting or anything like that. I mean… everything.”

Your chest tightened softly.

One of the kids snorted. “Stronger than you?”

Aang didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

That made them laugh.

“Dad- ”

“I’m serious!” he insisted, sitting up straighter now, a little more animated. “She’s stronger than me because she carries so much and still smiles. Because she protects people without needing recognition. Because she makes everything better just by being there.”

You felt your breath catch.

“…And,” he added, voice softening just a little, “she’s the most graceful person I’ve ever seen.”

That got a reaction.

“Graceful?” another one repeated, clearly amused.

“Yes,” Aang said, completely unbothered. “Have you seen the way she moves? Even when she’s just walking, it’s like everything slows down around her. Like the world knows to give her space.”

The kids were fully laughing now.

“Dad, you’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird!” he protested, though a grin was starting to tug at his lips. “I’m being honest.”

“Sounds like you’re in love,” one of them teased.

There was a pause.

Aang blinked.

Then, like it was the most obvious thing in the world-

“I am in love with her.”

The laughter doubled.

You covered your mouth, shoulders shaking slightly as you tried not to make a sound.

Inside, Aang only grew more determined.

“And she’s beautiful,” he went on, as if he hadn’t just been completely called out. “Like, really beautiful. The kind of beautiful that doesn’t go away. Not when she’s tired, not when she’s upset. never.”

“Dad- ”

“And talented,” he added, counting on his fingers now. “In everything she does. She doesn’t even try and she’s amazing at it.”

“She definitely tries,” one of them said through laughter.

“Well, yeah- but she still makes it look easy!” Aang shot back.

Another kid leaned forward, squinting at him. “Are you trying to get out of trouble or something?”

“What? No!”

“Because this feels like when you mess up and then start complimenting her a lot- ”

“I didn’t mess up!” Aang insisted, though now he looked mildly offended. “I just… wanted you guys to understand.”

“Understand what?”

He hesitated for a second.

Then his expression softened.

“Why I love her so much.”

The room quieted, just a little.

Not fully, but enough.

Aang’s gaze drifted somewhere softer, somewhere distant but warm, like he was looking at something only he could see.

“She’s… everything to me,” he said quietly. “She always has been.”

Your heart ached.

The kind of ache that was too full to hurt.

One of the kids made a face, though it was more playful than anything now. “That’s so cheesy.”

“It’s not cheesy,” Aang said, but he was smiling. “It’s true.”

“Still cheesy.”

“Yeah, super cheesy.”

Aang huffed, shaking his head, but there was no real frustration there just fondness.

“You’ll understand one day,” he said.

“Doubt it.”

“Definitely won’t.”

“You will,” he insisted lightly. “And when you do, you’ll get it.”

There was a small pause.

Then-

“…So you really think she’s the strongest?”

Aang didn’t hesitate.

“I know she is.”

That did it.

The laughter softened into something quieter now, something warmer.

You leaned your head gently against the doorframe, your eyes never leaving him.

Because he meant every word.

Every single one.

And he said it so easily.

So openly.

Like loving you wasn’t something he ever had to hide or hold back.

Like it was as natural as breathing.

You stepped forward before you could second-guess it.

The floor creaked just slightly under your weight.

Aang’s head turned instantly.

Of course it did.

His eyes met yours and just like that, everything else faded.

“Oh hey,” he said, a little softer now, a little sheepish as he realized you’d heard.

The kids turned too, immediately grinning.

“Mom,” one of them said, clearly delighted, “did you hear Dad being all- ”

“Yes,” you interrupted gently, though your voice was warm, your smile soft. “I heard.”

Aang rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little bashful.

“I was just- uh- ”

“Raving?” another kid supplied.

“Appreciating,” he corrected.

You walked over slowly, stopping just in front of him.

For a moment, you didn’t say anything.

You just looked at him.

Really looked at him.

At the way his eyes searched yours, a little uncertain now, like maybe he’d said too much.

Like maybe he’d embarrassed you.

You reached out, your fingers brushing lightly along his cheek.

His breath caught, just a little.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said softly.

His face fell, just barely.

Until you smiled.

“…But I love you.”

Relief melted through him instantly, followed by that bright, familiar grin.

“I love you more,” he said without missing a beat.

“See?” one of the kids groaned. “There he goes again.”

“Wow, it’s worse when she’s here.”

“Way worse.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head as Aang stood, hands finding your waist like it was the most natural place for them to be.

He pulled you just a little closer.

Not enough to be embarrassing.

Just enough to be him.

“I meant everything,” he murmured, just for you.

“I know,” you whispered back.

And the way you looked at him then-

Soft.

Full.

Unwavering.

Said just as much in return.

Across the room, your kids made exaggerated gagging noises.

Neither of you paid them any mind.

Because in that moment, wrapped up in something that had only grown stronger with time-

It was just you and him.

Just like it had always been.

♡♡♡

what a dick. such dick that even his name is dick. it was hard to believe the you were so close to settling down with dick grayson. at first, you met him at a park helping out a charity event for homeless children. he was kind and so charming. you couldn't believe that he had time to make space for someone special in a romantic sense in his life. the first month was obviously hard, but dick always made a way to make your relationship work.

until one day he stopped. the reason he gave you? “i can't do it anymore.”

you were furious, he had been missing dates. and important events in your life, bailed out at the last minute when you were supposed to meet your family, he had been extra avoidant with his feelings, but you put up with it all because you loved him. loved him for always caring even though sometimes his actions don't match, you loved him for how he tried to always help out people with his money, loved him for loving you despite your flawless… but a girl has a limit to which she can put up with missed dates and irrational excuses.

“i was at an event.” he would say, but he always informed you about these events he attended and always invited you whether you were free or not.

“i didn't know you had one day.” you replied.

“it was a sudden one. sorry, babe.” he stepped forward to kiss your cheek.

if it was one time, you would have let it go but no. it happened again and again. but at last he was the one to dump you.

-

you sighed as you exited the club. you just wanted a few drinks, and thankfully you drank til your limit because why was there a man holding a knife to his hand yelling at you?

“i don't have any—” you started but he took an abrupt step forward with his knife aiming at you.

woah. you needed to run, so that's exactly what you did. you weren't a slow runner but with your intoxicated state your body wasn't acting towards its full capacity. the robber chased you, screaming that you stop immediately and give him money.

you didn't look back, you weren't going to risk it but the words stopped and the guy… screeched? you heard a sound that felt like a punch as you slowed down. once your body turned curiously to see what happened, it was obvious someone punched the robber and helped you. you weren't surprised to see who, it was nightwing.

obviously, protector of bludheaven. you've never met him before, sure had seen him leaping around but not this close.

the guy was knocked out. so you stepped closer to the scene to thank nightwing.

“Thank you…” you said awkwardly. this is his duty, kind of.

“no worries,” he said, and noticed your state. was it obvious that you were slightly drunk? “you shouldn't get drunk and walk alone in a dimly lit street.”

“uh… well, i don't have a car for now. i used to use my boyfriend's car, or he'd drive me but wait i mean ex boyfriend, yeah ex. stupid ex, him and his stupid car. now since he's an ex —who by the way dumped me— i have no choice but to walk, alone.” you rambled.

nightwing sighed. “ex boyfriend, huh?” he said while bringing himself closer.

“yeah. stupid ex boyfriend.” you emphasised on the stupid part. “so uh, I'll just continue my solitary walk back home.”

“ill walk with you… just incase. you're not in the right state to walk alone.” he offered, no demanded to walk with you.

“i… i guess I won't mind the extra company.” you said. he was right, you can't defend yourself right now. and something about him felt familiar.

you two walked in silence for a bit. “so you hate your ex?” he asked.

you looked to his side, “hm? i mean, hell yeah. he's stupid after all.”

“you say stupid a lot.” he pointed out.

“that's because i dated a stupid idiot,” you paused and then continued. “but i loved him. he was so good at times, you know?! perfect even, but then of course no one is perfect, he had his flaws but I was willing to work with it. but he didn't even acknowledge it, that I'm willing to work it out, but then he dumped me, nightwing. i thought there was someone else, but no. he just wants to be alone.” you finished.

nightwing was awfully quiet. then he nodded. “im sure he loved you. do you believe he did?” he asked you as if it's the most important question.

“uh, i guess. but the end… i… i guess he just didn't value the relationship that much.” you tell him softly. one more word about dick and you might actually cry.

“i don't think so.” he said.

“you don't even know this guy. he could be a fraud.” you tell him, blinking away your tears.

“well, i— i don't know. intuition.” he said.

“for a superhero, your intuitions are bad.” you rolled your eyes. of course, he's a man and he'll take a man's side.

“maybe, maybe not. do you think you'll give him another try, ever?” he asked, but this time he paused walking… coincidentally you two reached your apartment as well. huh, strange.

“um. id like to say no, but if he gives me a proper explanation I'll take him back, right that moment. I guess i still love him that much.” you shook your head, can't believe what you were saying.

nightwing nodded, then smiled. “stupid you.” he joked.

you rolled your eyes playfully as you chuckled. there was more familiarity with him now. the smile… you could swore it was like dick, but maybe it's your drunken state and the ranting to him about dick.

The first time Aang got you out of the house to teach you, he was all smiles.

Bright and hopeful, excited to share something that mattered to him. You don’t think you’d ever seen him look that happy, especially by the fourth attempt.

Airbending.

The others thought you might pick something up eventually. Water, earth, maybe even fire, but nothing ever came of it. And deep down, you knew nothing ever would.

You weren’t a bender.

You weren’t going to wake up one day and move the ground beneath your feet, or shift water with your hands, or throw fire. It wasn’t something you could learn. It wasn’t something anyone could promise you. You weren't born to be able to bend.

But Aang didn’t let it go.

And you didn’t have the heart to take that from him, no matter how much it pained you.

So you let him pull you out of the tower you’d been calling home for years now and take you to the Southern Air Temple.

You’d been there before, back when it was you, Katara, and Sokka, following him around while he showed you around. You’d seen far greater things, but the temple in ruins always settled heavily in your heart. It felt different now. More overgrown. Quieter.

Still beautiful though.

And you knew how much it meant to him.

You ran your hand along one of the columns as you walked, the stone cool under your fingers. You wondered if he ever thought about what this place used to be. If being here made it harder or easier.

“Okay,” Aang says, clapping his hands together as he turns to you. “Airbending. My area of expertise.”

His grin widens. And just like that, he looks like himself again.

You cross your arms loosely, raising a brow at him. “Confident?”

He moves past you, then circles back, positioning himself a few feet away. His posture shifts without him thinking about it. He looks lighter on his feet, shoulders relaxed, arms loose at his sides.

“I have to be,” Aang says easily. “I’ve only been doing this my whole life.” He steps back a little, giving you space. “Besides, you've made it through three trials. You haven't given up.”

“Three failures,” you correct.

“Three attempts,” he says, like it matters.

You sigh, finding your sandals more interesting, the dirt beneath them crunching with every press-down you make. You're pulled out of the hole you begin making up in your mind when Aang claps loudly again. The crack had made you flinch.

“Okay! Airbending isn’t about forcing anything,” he starts. “That’s why it’s hard to explain. You don’t grab it like the earth beneath your feet, or push it like fire. You… move with it.”

You nod, even if you don’t fully get it.

He gestures for you to stand straighter. “Feet apart. Don't stand too stiffly. You don’t want to lock yourself in place.”

You adjust, trying to copy him.

“Good,” he says. “Now, don’t think about making something happen. Just focus on what’s already there.”

“The air,” you say.

“Yeah.” He gives a small nod. “It’s everywhere. You don’t need to have a source like water or earth. You just… connect to it.”

You take a breath, slower this time.

Behind him, the wind moves through the open temple, brushing past the columns, slipping through broken archways. You can feel it on your skin, faint but constant.

“Okay,” he says. “Follow me.”

He steps into motion, slow and controlled. His arms move in a wide circle, like he’s tracing something invisible.

You mirror him. At least, you try to. Your movements feel heavier. Less natural. Like you’re thinking about every step instead of letting it happen.

“Loosen up,” he says gently. “You’re resisting it.”

“I’m not trying to,” you mutter.

“I know...”

You exhale, forcing yourself to relax your shoulders. Your arms follow his again, slower this time, less rigid. You shift, trying to follow what he’s doing again.

“Better?”

“Yeah. That’s good,” he says. “Now just…move your arms. Slow at first.”

You copy him, lifting your hands and pushing them forward in the same motion he just showed you.

Nothing happens.

You try again.

Still nothing.

Aang doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches on, further heightening the fact that you were aware he was observing your every move.

“Try not to think about it too much,” he says after a second.

You let out a small breath. “That’s kind of hard not to, especially when I’m trying to make something happen.”

“I know,” he says. “But if you focus on making it happen, it won’t.”

You glance at him. “That doesn’t sound very helpful.”

He laughs. “It’s true, though. Don’t think on it too much.”

You shake your head a little, but you try again anyway. This time slower.

Less stiff, more loose.

Going with the flow.

For a second, it almost feels right.

Almost.

“Now shift your weight,” he adds. “Don’t stay rooted. Airbenders don’t stand still if they can help it.”

You step lightly to the side, copying the way he moves. He’s already adjusted, already onto the next move before you've barely finished the previous action.

You’re a step behind. Always a step behind. Never able to keep up with the rest of them.

“Okay,” he says. “Now guide it.”

Your arms move through the air, and for a second, you almost think you feel something pulse within your palms.

But it’s gone before you can figure out what it might be.

Probably nothing to be honest.

You drop your hands with a huff. “Yeah. Still nothing.”

Aang steps closer, not an ounce of discouragement on his face. “That’s okay. It takes time. With more practice, you're bound to get something out of it. It gets easier. Trust me.”

“For you maybe,” you say. “You’ve been doing this since you were a kid.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn something from it.”

You give him a look. “Aang, I can’t move a leaf, I couldn't shift the water from the stream, I couldn't move the stupid pebble that Toph had me attempt to move. Zuko even tried having me light the fire for the camp we set up. We almost froze. I can't move anything!”

“Not yet,” he corrects. Oh, how you wonder where he gets his patience and his calm from? Something you were surely running out of.

You sigh, but there’s no real frustration behind it. Yet, anyway.

He hesitates for a second, then moves behind you. “Can I?” he asks.

You nod. His hands hover near yours before settling lightly over them. Gentle, warm to the touch.

“Let me guide you,” he says.

You feel him push your arms through the same motions as before. Slower this time. More steady.

“Breathe,” he adds quietly. The warmth of his words tickles your ear.

You try to match his pace, his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

The air moves around you, brushing past your arms, your face. You can feel the wind, how it responds to him. The subtle breeze he lets swim in and out through your hair.

“Feel that?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

You almost laugh at the sensation, but you keep going. Letting your hands move with his instead of trying to lead on your own.

For a second, the motions feel easier. Like you’re not working as hard to exert them, act them out.

There's barely anything happening. Most of which is done by Aang. But the air in front of your hands stirs.

You pause.

“Did you—”

“I saw it,” Aang says quickly, a little quieter now. “Keep going.”

Your focus breaks.

And just like that, it’s gone. You let your arms fall.

“Of course.” You huff in defeat.

Aang doesn’t move away right away. “You felt it, though, right?” he asks.

“Barely.”

“It’s still something.”

You turn your head slightly, glancing back at him. “It only worked because you were helping. I’m not even sure that was me just now.”

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe you just needed to stop trying so hard.”

You don’t answer that.

After a second, his hands drop away from yours. You miss the warmth of them in an instant. The lack of his touch makes you want to pull him close again.

“Do you want to try again?” he asks. Chin dipping to try and get your eyes to meet his own. They don't. He looks down at the ground before waiting for your response.

You look at your hands, then back at him.

“Maybe later, if that’s okay.”

"It's okay. We can take a break."

-

The hill you found and settled on feels nice and cool underneath your touch as the sun dips.

Long shadows stretch across the mountains, swallowing the land around them, making it quieter. Emptier. At peace.

You and Aang sit side by side, and you disturb a patch of grass by pulling grass stems from the ground. You'd guess your anxiety was to blame for impulsively messing with perfectly good grass. Aang had lain back, eyes darting up at the sky. His thoughts wandering, you'd guess as much, seeing as his fingers stopped tapping against his stomach.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

The wind moves gently through the open air, brushing past softly, reminding you of the reason for being there in the first place. You figured Aang could've been reminded of home. Of everything he lost, but who were you to speak for him?

Aang exhales slowly.

“It’s weird,” he says.

You glance at him. “What is?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just out.

“The sky. The temple, all the antiques we keep finding. Everything.”

His fingers curl slightly against the grass as he sits up.

“I used to think the temples would always feel full,” he admits. “Like, no matter what happened… I could come back, and it’d still feel like home. Still… alive.” There’s a pause. “But it only reminds me of how everyone I've ever known...is gone.”

That lands heavier than anything he’s said all day.

You don’t interrupt. You just listen.

“They’re gone,” he continues, voice quieter now. “The monks. My friends. Gyatso. The stories they all used to tell, the way we used to celebrate, the food we would eat… even the stupid games we played.” A soft, broken laugh slips out of him. “I’m the only one left who remembers any of it.”

Your chest tightens.

“I don’t even know if I remember it right anymore.” He finally looks down at his hands. "I keep thinking that if I die, my culture dies with me. What if I forget something important?” he whispers. “What if it all just… disappears with me? No one but me can carry on my past. My whole life rests in my hands.”

There it is. His fear. It hits you harder than you expected. Because for once, this isn’t about being the Avatar.

This is just a boy, a man now, sitting in the ruins of his home, terrified of being the last voice of his people.

You don’t think. You don’t weigh your next words. You just… say it.

“Then I’ll carry it with you.”

Aang freezes.

You don’t stop.

“I’ll learn it,” you add quickly, heart racing now. “All of it. The stories, the traditions... Whatever you remember, I’ll remember too. I won’t let it disappear.”

He’s staring at you now.

Completely still. Like he’s not sure he heard you right.

“And if you’re worried about it ending…” You hesitate, then push through it anyway, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

“I’ll give you a legacy.”

The silence falls heavily on you both. You look out into the valley, feeling the wind settle.

And the second it leaves your mouth, you second-guess your words.

Oh.

Oh no.

Your breath catches. “I-I didn’t mean—”

Aang’s expression changes.

“You’d… What?” he asks softly.

You shake your head quickly, heat rushing to your face. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just mean, I mean I did, but not—” you let out a nervous breath, stumbling over yourself. “I just meant I’d help. However you needed, I—”

“You’d give me children?” he interrupts.

That stops you. Your mouth opens agape, then shuts.

His voice is so quiet you almost miss it. You look at him properly now. Really take in the man before you. Give him children? You'd be stupid not to want a family with him.

Something in your chest settles warmly.

“Yeah,” you say, softer this time. “If you wanted me to. The only thing I could really give back.” You release a nervous laugh.

Aang’s eyes search yours, like he’s trying to find any sign of hesitation. Doubt. Anything that screamed that you were just trying to make up for what you lacked in, but you weren't

There isn’t any. Because you meant it. Even if you didn’t take into account how much you did until just now.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, but there’s no strength behind it. No real push. No malice. Just a hint of genuineness.

“I know,” you reply. A beat. “I want to, though.”

That hits him harder than anything else.

You see it in the way his breath stutters slightly, the way his shoulders drop just a fraction, like something inside him is loosening up for the first time all day.

“You’d really…” he starts, then stops, swallowing. “…you’d learn everything?”

You nod. “Everything you’re willing to teach me.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then his hand reaches for yours. Slowly, hesitant. Like he’s still asking permission to touch you, when he has every right to. When you don’t pull away, his fingers tighten slightly around yours.

“That means a lot to me, Y/n,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "I never even considered the idea of having children right now.

You smile, just a little. “I figured. It looked like your heart stopped for a second there.”

A soft huff of breath leaves him. almost a laugh, but not quite.

The wind returns, gentle once more, curling around the two of you as if it felt the heaviness settle between you. Like it had listened in.

Aang glances down at your joined hands, then back up at you.

For once, he doesn’t try to turn it into a joke right away. He just looks at you.

Like he’s still catching up to what you said and what it means. Not just the words, but the fact that you meant them. That you said them so easily, like it wasn’t something huge you placed in his lap.

It was.

You can tell by the way he keeps holding your hand, squeezing every now and then, like letting go would break up the moment too fast.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits after a while.

You let out a small breath through your nose. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I feel like I should.”

“You don’t have to.”

His mouth twitches a little at that, but it fades just as quickly.

“I just…” He looks away for a second, out at the valley below, at the fading light and shadows. “I’ve spent so much time thinking about what I lost that I never really thought about what could still happen. What I could still have.”

Your thumb brushes lightly over his knuckles before you can think better of it. Aang notices. His shoulders loosen again, but not enough.

“You make it sound simple,” he says.

“It’s not simple.”

This turns his attention back on you.

“It’s just not impossible either,” you say quietly. “There’s a difference.”

He studies your face for a second, and you can almost see the thoughts moving behind his eyes. Aang was never very good at hiding what he felt, but this is different. He's less open. More careful. Like he’s afraid of letting this conversation go in the wrong direction. Of making you angry.

“You'd really give me children?” he asks again.

Not because he didn’t hear you the first time. Because he needs to.

You nod once. “Yeah.”

“And learn all of it?”

“Yes.”

“The stories, the customs, the food, the prayers, the weird games—”

You smile a little. “You’re really trying to sell it now.”

That earns a breath of a laugh. Then he goes quiet again.

“Even if you can’t bend?”

There it is. You had a feeling it would come back to that.

You look down at your lap for a second before answering.

“Especially then.”

Aang frowns. You take a breath.

“I can’t give back from the lack of bending,” you say. “I know that. I know I’ll never be part of your culture in the same way you were born into it.” You pause, picking at a blade of grass near your knee. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t love it because it matters to you. It doesn’t mean I can’t help keep it alive. This could be one of the only things I can give back.”

His face changes at that. Softens. Something about those words gets through to him in a way the other words of the gang couldn't. Maybe it's because he knows you’re not saying it to make him feel better.

You’re saying it because you’ve already decided.

“I don’t want you to think this is all you’re good for,” he says after a moment.

You look at him, caught a little off guard.

“What?”

He turns toward you more fully now, his hand tightening around yours.

“The only thing you could really give back?” he repeats softly, using your own words. “Don’t say it like that.”

Heat crawls up your neck in half embarrassment, and half of something else.

“I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” His voice stays gentle, but there’s something firmer in it now. “But you make it sound like you have to make up for something.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Because there isn’t a clean lie waiting to spill past your lips. Aang notices that too.

“You don’t owe me a legacy,” he says. “And you don’t owe me children just because you can’t bend.”

Your throat tightens a little.

“I know,” you say, but it comes out softer than you intended.

He watches you for another second, then shifts closer, close enough that your heads are leaning against each other.

“You don’t have to try and even the score for what you think you're lacking in,” he says. “Not for me.”

His words land hard. Too hard.

Because some part of you had thought exactly that, even if you didn’t want to say it out loud. That if you could never stand beside the others in the way they did, through bending, through power, through something useful, then maybe you could still give him something that mattered.

Something lasting.

You stare down at your lap for a second, blinking against the sting behind your eyes.

“I didn’t mean for it to sound like that,” you say quietly. “I’m not trying to make up with children for my lack of bending with you.”

“I know.” He says it immediately. Reassurance following his understanding. “I know you’re not.”

It helps. His words. A little.

You breathe out slowly.

“I just hate that I can’t help out sometimes,” you admit. "Heck, even Sokka is out there being a hero... But what can I do?"

Aang goes still. Because he finally understands what’s underneath all of the hurt you've bottled up inside of yourself.

The discouragement after every attempt. The way you'd look away from everyone's eyes after every attempt. The way you'd say it’s fine, when it clearly wasn't.

He shifts again, this time dipping his head enough that he can see your face better.

“What can you do?” he repeats quietly. And it's just him, sitting with the question instead of brushing it off.

You don’t answer right away because you’ve already answered it a hundred times in your head. Nothing, was always your response. He frowns as though the crease in your forehead gave you away.

“You think being a hero is just about bending?” he asks.

You give a small shrug. “It helps.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You glance at him, a little caught. He doesn’t look away.

“You think Sokka is a hero, but he can't bend?” Aang presses.

You hesitate. “Yes, but—”

“But what?”

You sigh, frustrated now. “But he still does things, Aang. He fights. He plans. He actually contributes when something goes wrong.” You shake your head a little. “When things get bad, I’m just… there.”

The words come out flatter than you meant them to. Like you’ve said them before. To yourself. Too many times.

Aang’s expression tightens.

“You’re not ‘just there,’” he says.

You don’t argue. You don’t agree either. You just look away again.

“Do you remember the canyon?” he asks suddenly.

You frown slightly. “What about it?”

“You were the one who figured out how to settle the feud between the Gan Jin and the Zhang tribes,” he says. “You made them work together to get us out of being eaten by those canyon crawlers.”

“Wasn't that you—”

“And the village near the volcano?” he continues. “You were the one who convinced the villagers that they needed to evacuate.”

You shake your head. “That’s not—”

“And when Appa got hurt,” he adds, quieter now, “you stayed with him the whole night. You looked over him, you lost sleep over it too.”

You go still because you do remember that memory.

You remember thinking it didn’t count. That it wasn’t enough.

“That’s not fighting, though,” you say, softer now.

“No,” Aang agrees. “It’s not.”

He leans in just slightly, not crowding you, just enough that you can’t ignore him.

“But it’s helping.”

You swallow.

“It’s paying attention,” he continues. “It’s seeing things the rest of us miss because we’re too busy trying to win something.”

His voice softens. “And it matters.”

You look at him again because he’s not trying to make you feel better.

He’s not reaching just to say something nice. He means it.

“But when something actually happens—” you start.

“You’re there,” he says, cutting in gently this time. “You don’t run. You don’t hide. You stay.”

Your chest tightens.

“That’s not nothing.”

The wind shifts around you again. You look down at your interlocked hands.

“It doesn’t feel like enough sometimes,” you admit.

Aang nods. “I know.”

That catches you off guard.

“I get that, trust me,” he adds. “I’ve felt that too.”

You blink at him. “You?”

“Yeah.” A small, almost self-conscious smile tugs at his mouth. “Being the Avatar doesn’t automatically make you feel invincible.”

You let out a quiet breath. That… comforts you more than you expected it to.

Aang studies your face for another second, then reaches out again. This time, slower, more deliberate, as he nudges your right cheek with his left hand, before pressing a gentle kiss on it. You don’t pull away.

“I'm sorry if we made you feel that way. You don’t have to be like the rest of us to matter,” he says.

You let that sit. It doesn’t fix everything. But it settles the war that was waged inside you anyway.

“You really believe that?” you ask.

He nods.

“I wouldn’t be sitting here with you if I didn’t.”

That makes you look at him again. A small, uneven smile pulls at your lips.

“You’re really bad at letting people wallow in their self-pity,” you mutter.

He smiles back, softer now. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ve been told that.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

"Why do you keep talking like bending is the only part worth carrying on?”

That shuts you up again.

He’s not angry. If anything, he sounds a little sad. A little frustrated that you still can’t see what he’s trying to tell you.

“My people weren’t just airbenders,” he says. “They were monks, teachers, healers. They made toys for kids and baked fruit pies and played games and told stories they’d told a hundred times before.” A small smile pulls at his mouth. “They were annoying sometimes. And stubborn. And really nosy.”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. Aang smiles a little wider when he hears it.

“My culture didn’t live in bending alone,” he says. “It lived in how we treated people. What we believed. How we lived.”

He looks down at your joined hands. “And you’ve been trying to understand that part of me since the day we met.”

Your heart settles.

“So no,” he says softly. “You wouldn’t be giving me the only thing you could offer.”

You swallow.

“Aang…”

“You’d just be giving me more of you.”

His words are so simple they almost hurt. You don’t know what to do with them. So for a second, you do nothing. Then your hand tightens around his. His eyes flick down to it, then back to your face.

You shake your head a little, a laugh leaving you, thin and shaky. “You always know how to make me feel stupid in the nicest way possible.”

That finally gets a real laugh out of him.

“You’re not stupid.”

“Mm.”

“You’re not.” He presses firmly, gently.

You look over at him. “I heard you the first time.”

“Good.”

The breeze picks up around the two of you, cooler now that the sun has dropped. It lifts a few strands of your hair and brushes the fabric on his sleeves.

Aang leans back on one hand, still facing you.

“I think I’d like that,” he says after a while.

You blink. “What part?”

He smiles, small and careful. A beat. “All of it.”

Something in you eases. Not all the way, but enough to let you breathe easier.

“Even if I can't bend?”

He tilts his head, brows furrowing in feigned shock. “You can't bend!”

You let out an offended noise and shove at his shoulder.

He laughs, catching your wrist before you can do it again.

“I’m kidding,” he says.

“You’re not.”

“Okay, maybe a little.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling a lot brighter now, and he is too, and the heaviness from a minute ago doesn’t feel quite so sharp in your chest.

He keeps hold of your wrist for a second longer than he needs to. Long enough for the mood to shift again. Just slightly.

His smile fades first, not into sadness, but something more aware. Serious. You felt it too. The tension.

The way he raised his hand and his thumb brushed once, almost absentmindedly, over the side of your face.

“Aang,” you say softly.

His eyes avert from your lips, falling on your softening gaze.

You lost your train of thought, the words you wanted to say falling off the tip of your tongue. Maybe it was nothing. His name just felt easier than everything else sitting between you.

His eyes search your face anyway.

“Yeah?”

You shake your head, but not because you want to take it back.

“Nothing.”

His mouth curves faintly. “You sure?”

“No.”

He studies you for another moment, then glances out at the valley again.

“You want to stay here tonight,” he says. “If you want, of course.”

You lift a brow. “You mean avoid going back and getting interrogated by Katara?”

“That too.”

You smile. “Tempting.”

“Very. It’s quiet here.”

You look around. The grass. The temple in the far distance, worn down but still standing strong, like Aang.

“It is.”

Aang nods, then looks back at you. Letting the quiet air take over as he took in his favorite view. You. Who went back to pulling at the patch of grass you disrupted, he can't help but let his smile grow.

“I love you.”

There it is again. His plain honesty. It always got the best of you. You feel your face heat up, but there’s no point in pretending you didn't hear him.

“I love you too,” you say, expression timid, but still facing the ground.

His heart beats faster. This was it for him. You were it. All he'd ever want, so long as the universe allowed you and him to last. To be.

His shoulders drop. His mouth softens. He looks younger for a second, and older too. Like the boy and the man he’s still becoming are both sitting right here beside you. Making your head spin and your heart full.

The wind curls between you again. Gentle. Familiar.

And this time, when the silence returns, it doesn’t feel empty.

It feels full.

Aang glances at your joined hands once more, then back at you, his expression almost shy despite everything you’ve just said.

"So you really want children with me?"

"Yes, Aang." Your grin grows as you stifle a laugh.

“Do you want to start...on our legacy?” he asks.

You smile.

“Right now?” you ask.

Aang freezes. “Right now?”

You shrug, biting back another laugh. “You’re the one who asked.”

His brain immediately starts short-circuiting.

“Okay, wait, hold on—” he lets go of your hand just to gesture wildly, before stopping again. “I didn’t mean like right now, right now, I meant like, someday right now. Future right now. Not, this exact moment on a hill—”

You’re fully laughing now.

“Aang—”

“No, because there’s—there’s steps!” he insists, pointing at the ground like the steps might appear if he believes hard enough. “There are definitely steps. We skipped all of them.”

“You asked!”

“I didn’t think you’d say yes that fast!”

You tilt your head. “You wanted me to say no?”

“No!” he says immediately. “No, definitely not that either, just, maybe a warning? A little preparation time?”

You grin. “You’re panicking.”

“I am not panicking,” he says, voice an octave higher than usual. “I am calmly evaluating a very big, important, life thing—”

He stops. Looks at you. You’re still smiling at him like this is the best thing that’s ever happened.

“You’re serious, though,” he says, quieter now.

You nod. “Yeah.”

That does it. He exhales, shoulders dropping, all that frantic energy softening just a little.

“Okay.”

A beat.

“Okay,” he repeats, like he’s trying to convince himself he’s got this.

Then.

“Not right now, though,” he adds quickly.

You laugh. “Not right now.”

“Good,” he says, relieved. “Because I think I’d pass out.”

“You’d pass out?”

“Immediately.”

You bump his shoulder. “Avatar, master of all four elements… defeated by the talk of children.”

He points at you. “You’re the one who started it!”

“You asked!”

“And I regret nothing,” he says quickly, then pauses.

You laugh again, leaning your head against him. He relaxes this time, letting your head rest against his shoulder, still a little flustered but smiling anyway.

“We can start with the easy stuff,” he mutters.

“Like what?”

“Like… teaching you those games I used to play here,” he says. “Much safer.”

You hum. “Yeah, probably a good place to start.”

“Definitely a good place to start,” he agrees.

A beat.

“Still saying yes, though.”