AJ

Tim seemed to share your frustration, “It’s a shame.”

You scoffed, leaning lazily on the edge of the rooftop as you watch the drones circle the streets below you. “I don’t know what Bruce expects from us. We could be out helping him, but instead he sticks you in lab duty, and me on surveillance duty.” You sat yourself on the edge of the rooftop, feet dangling over the side of the building. “I haven’t surveyed anything we haven’t already been seeing. Bombs, drones, more bombs, even more drones. It’s an endless cycle.”

Tim chuckled lowly, as if saying “You’re telling me.” The two of you sat in silence for a long moment before you stood up. “I’m done with this.” You step off the ledge and back to the rooftop. “If there’s an emergency feel free to contact me, but otherwise I’m going to actually try and get some sleep for once.”

Tim hummed, “Wow, sleep? Hardly know her.” He drawled teasingly, knowing neither of you have slept at all for the past day. It’d been a long night. Ever since he showed up, none of you have truly relaxed. “Got more important things to do then survey the city?”

You pursed your lips, “Yeah, sleep.” You fidgeted with your grapnel gun before launching it, “I don’t understand him sometimes. We’re of no use to anyone like this.” The wind whips past your ears as you moved.

He huffed, “Tell Bruce that. He’s insistent that I work on figuring out this cure when we have bigger issues currently out there.”

You frowned, “If you want, when I wake up we can switch shifts?” You offered hesitantly, landing onto the balcony of your apartment. You didn't hear anybody inside, and you took this as your cue to go inside and quickly change out of your suit.

Jason has always worked late nights for as long as you knew him. It was, frankly, a miracle considering you weren’t sure how you’d explain your nightly escapades. It wasn’t a conversation you were ever going to look forward to, so you delayed it for as long as possible.

“I’ll be alright.” Tim sighed, “I’ll probably just nap on the computer or something.”

You sighed, “Tim.”

“Don’t.” He started, dry amusement evident in his tone despite the snappy words. “I will not hear the ‘Sleep is important’ lecture from you when you’re just as bad as I am.”

You chuckled, “Yeah, yeah, touché." You tone became more serious, “Just don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?”

He hummed noncommittally, but you know he’s listening. “Of course, have a good night.”

You smiled, “You too.” You took out your comm, putting it in its case before stashing it away with your suit.

Based on Jason’s usual schedule, he’ll be home in a couple hours, which gave you plenty of time to prepare for his arrival.

While you could've just hoped that Jason would never come home early while you were still out, you had decided against that early on. It was too risky, and it was better to just provide and potential explanation why. You had told him that you also worked late nights, and would be out at around the same times he was.

As you go through your post-patrol routine, prepping for bed, you find yourself conflicted. Every night you look at Jason’s side of the bed and wonder if this is the night you tell him. You’ve rehearsed the conversation dozens, if not hundreds of times.

Not once have you taken action to tell him though. A mixture of apprehension and fear of judgment always win, leading to you telling yourself the same lie every night: “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll tell him.”

You never have, and it’s been long enough where you question if you ever will. The longer you wait, the worse it gets, and not just because it’s a big secret. How does it somehow get worse?

You have concluded that Jason does not like Batman. Hell, you would go so far as to say he loathes the vigilante. While you may not always work with Batman, you do it often enough to the point where it's well known that you have some sort of association with him. It was apart of the (many) excuses you used in order to stall your inevitable confession. You needed to get him “open” to the idea of you working with the hero he detests. Every time you “innocently” inquired why he hates the Bat, Jason would get this far off look, his eyes narrowing in what looked like inner turmoil.

You stopped asking after he snapped at you about it.

In his defense, you had asked the question multiple times in the past (all with no success). You figured that if you kept prying at it, he’d eventually relent. However, you had clearly underestimated how personal his hatred was for Batman. He had left angry that night, fists clenched and whitened at his sides as he threw the door open. You had watched him leave regretfully.

It was a bad night.

That was the night that Scarecrow had first leaked his new Fear Gas to the diner. Millions of people fled the city, and you had felt a sense of dread settle into your chest. You knew, at that moment, that it was going to be a long few nights. That initial night was when you had first heard his name: the “Arkham Knight.”

You only recently started operating in Gotham, so you were accustomed to being unfamiliar with some of the household names in this business. Bruce had (very) reluctantly allowed you to operate in Gotham on your own. He let you do your own thing as long as you agreed to keep him in the loop if anything major happened. This whole Scarecrow and Arkham Knight mess fell into that category, and so the two of you came to an agreement to work with one another for the time being. You had hoped that, with how long Bruce has been doing this, he’d recognize the Arkham Knight. It turned out that not a single one of you had previously heard the name, and if Bruce didn’t know it, that didn’t bode well for the rest of you.

It didn’t take long for you to commit his name to memory. Soon it became the one thing that you focused on. Figuring out who he is. You and Alfred worked on it the most, sifting through files upon files of patients at Arkham who may have a vendetta against Batman (no small number), yet none fit the profile.

“You’re still here?”

You— the trained vigilante you are— jumped as Jason walks into your shared bedroom. He looked worn, just like every night he had left previously. However, he looked considerably more unkempt this time, and he had a stiffness about him. “Why wouldn’t I be? I do live here, you know.” You grinned at him as you made your way into your shared bed.

His mouth parted, and then he frowned. “I just… You know with all the shit that’s going on—” he tilted his head lazily to the window, “—I thought you’d leave.”

You chuckled, more out of surprise than amusement, “You thought I’d leave without telling you?”

He offered a strained smile, silently walking to the bathroom.

You blinked, frowning. Jason was never the most talkative person, and you were content to be the one that carried the conversation between the two in the beginning. As time went on, he opened up more, and more. It felt strange to have him be quiet again, and you did not like it one bit.

“Jay?” You called out his name, standing up from the bed. You knocked gently on the open bathroom door and find him looking at his reflection on the mirror. His eyes snap up on the reflective surface, meeting your own. “You know I wouldn’t leave you, right?” Steadily, you walked up behind him, adjusting your position before leaning your head onto his shoulder and wrapping your arms around him. You don’t squeeze tightly, giving him the opportunity to push you off if he doesn’t want you touching him. He relaxed faintly under your touch, and you basked in his warmth. He’s always warm when he returns from his nights out.

The two of you were silent for a moment, and you looked down at his hands, rough and scarred. Gently, you caressed the skin, and he shuddered lightly. “I…” His sounded conflicted, and you turned your gaze to face him. He didn't return the look. “I think you should leave.”

You froze, staring unblinkingly at his face. “Leave?” You tested the words in your mouth, they felt unfamiliar. You’re used to never leaving this city, even in times of crisis. Back before you started dating Jason, you had no reason not to stay. You were more useful aiding Gotham. You never had somebody to prioritize over the city, not until Jason. And if this is what Jason wanted, then you’ll figure out a way to apologize to Bruce later. You haven't even told him you have a boyfriend. “If that makes you feel better we can leave.”

Jason slowly maneuvered his way out of your grasp. “No,” he shook his head, brows downturned, “I have to stay.”

Your lips parted in surprise, “Jason,” you began slowly, “it’s not worth your life to stay in this city.”

He didn't react to that comment, “I can’t risk you being here when it all goes to shit.” His voice is stronger, colder, calculating. It’s not a tone you hear from him often. Sure, he’s gets mad or frustrated, but this?

You shook your head, “Batman will figure—”

“—Batman,” the words were spat with such venom that your eyes widened, taken aback, "won’t be able to stop this. This is beyond him.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “How can you be so sure?”

He turned his gaze to you, his eyes set and narrowed. His next words were low, quiet, not out of uncertainty, but more akin to a promise to himself: “He won’t be walking away unscathed after this.”

You took a deep breath, “That…” you swallow, unsure how to proceed, “sounds like a threat to him.”

His expression was unreadable, “He should take it as one. This isn’t a battle he will win.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off again. “Leaving is your best option. It’s the safest option.” His eyes softened slightly as he raised a hand to your face, brushing your skin.

You grabbed his hand, “Then let’s leave together. I don’t understand why you feel obligated to stay here.”

He exhaled, shaking his head, “No, no. Don’t you get it? I can’t stay. I have…” He looked into your eyes, trying desperately to get you to understand him. It pained him to look at you, knowing he couldn't ever share his reason why he must stay. “…I have unfinished business here.”

You scoff, “Jason, whatever it is can wait. With all that’s going on with Scarecrow and the Arkha—”

“—You can’t be here for it.” He grounded out, “Please,” he tone turned into a imploring whisper. He shifted his grasp from your hands to your entire forearm. Supporting the weight with his own arms, he met your gaze, “I know— I’m aware I’m giving shitty reasoning, but I cannot do what I have to do if I know you’re in the city and could be in danger. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I heard you got caught in some crossfire.”

You shook your head at him, “Jason— I— How can I know you won’t get caught in the crossfire?”

His gaze turned steely, “I won’t.” He must have sensed your uncertainty, “I will— fuck— I can call you every night. I can give you my location. I will personally find you once I’ve done what I need to do. We can go wherever you want after this. Just please,” he gently raised a hand back up to your face, “please get out while you still can.”

You stared into his eyes, his despair nearly appearing manic. You shifted your focus to his hand cradling your chin, then to him. “I don’t want— I can’t abandon you Jay.”

He vehemently shook his head, “And you won’t. I know you aren’t. I’m asking you to. It’s all I’m asking of you, get yourself out of this mess before it gets worse.”

Your heart settled, and you take a deep breath. Slowly, you remove yourself from his hold, crossing your arms. “You’ll call?”

He nodded emphatically, “Every morning, every night— I’ll— hell— I’ll even answer during work.”

You slowly nodded, “If anything happens—” he opened his mouth to cut you off, but you glared at him, “—do not cut me off again." He swallowed before nodding. “If anything happens. I want you to leave the city at that very moment. I don’t care if your ‘business is unfinished.’ I don’t want you here.”

He was silent for a long moment.

“Jason.” You narrowed your eyes at him, “Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”

Hesitantly, he nodded, “Yeah,” he sounded breathless, “yeah, that’s… fair.”

You sighed, “You better mean that. Otherwise I’ll come back to the city just to drag you out.”

He looked immensely concerned by your words, “…You won’t do that.” At your unwavering expression he coughed lightly, “Please don’t do that.” He amended his statement.

You smiled humorlessly, “Then don’t give me a reason to.” You turned to walk out of the bathroom. Just as you were about to get past the threshold, you placed your hand on the doorframe, turning to face him again.

“Promise me you’ll be careful, Jay.”

His eyes lifted from the ground to meet your own. Still conflicted, but lighter than they were when he entered.

“I promise.” He vowed.

“Wait, you’ve been staying where?”

You lean back in your seat at the Batcomputer, looking at Tim projected on the monitor. “Well, Bruce is out right now. He hasn’t been home for days.” You shrug, “I do not understand what keeps that man going.” You mutter to yourself, shaking your head. “Anyway, I thought I'd just camp in the cave for the next few nights. It’s not like I could actually leave the city.” You sigh, reclining back in the chair.

“Remind me why you even considered doing that? We’re already stretched thin as it is.” Tim frowns.

You look up to Tim, his frown clearly projected on the screen. “Uh…” You cough, “Reasons.”

He walks off screen. “Ah, yes, reasons, very descriptive.” You can hear him rolling his eyes. “You know, it’s really none of my business—”

“—it really isn’t—”

“but it might feel better if you get it off your chest?” Tim returns, offering a small smile. You can vaguely see him working with some blood samples on the left side of the screen.

You twist in your chair, shifting your position to get a better look at him. You lazily rest one leg over the other. “I…” The problem with Tim’s offer is that you do want to talk about it. There’s not many people who could understand your inner conflict, and Tim would be one of the few.

“Don’t feel pressured. It’s just…” he sighs, “Don’t stress yourself too much. That’s Bruce’s job, we don’t need to do it to ourselves too.”

You chuckle, tapping a finger on the armrest of your chair contemplatively. “If… If I tell you—” you scoot closer to the screen, “you gotta swear not to tell Bruce.” You pause for a moment before continuing, “And you can’t look into it.”

Tim raises an eyebrow, but he eventually nods. “If that makes you feel better, then I suppose I can keep a secret.”

You brace yourself, looking around the cave for any third party listeners. Hesitantly, you clear your throat, “I… Hypothetically… have a boyfriend.”

Tim doesn’t outwardly react other than switching his focus from the samples to you. “How hypothetical are we talking?”

“…Not very hypothetical,” you smile sheepishly.

Tim gives you a sympathetic look, and slowly nods. “How long?”

You grimace, “About a year and a half?” You do a so-so motion.

His mouth parts, “Oh,” he blinks, dumbfounded, “so this has been a while.”

“Yeah…” You trail off.

“And Bruce has no idea?”

“No…” You trail off. “Probably not? I think I’ve done a pretty good job hiding it.”

He nods, “Alright, wow. You know the boyfriend thing? Kinda expected that.” He holds his hands up in surrender at your slightly offended look. “It’s not a bad thing. I’m just surprised you haven’t… you know.” He vaguely gestures.

You blink slowly, “No, I don’t. Elaborate, Tim, please.”

He purses his lips, “Uh— Actually forget I said anything.” He pretends to busy himself with the samples. “So, uh, boyfriend huh? Got a name?”

“Most people do, yeah.” You nod, grabbing a pen on the desk and loosely spinning it.

His shoulders sag, and he places the blood samples down. “Oh come on, I already said I won’t tell, and I won’t look into it.”

You stare at him for a moment, assessing him for any lying tells. “You will not say a word or look it up.”

He groans, “Yes, otherwise you’ll kill me or something I don’t know. Honestly, you might have to wait to see if we survive these next few nights in order to do that.” He gives you his full attention, blood sample forgotten.

You snort humorlessly, that's a bit too realistic for you right now. “Alright,” you sigh, “his name is Jason.”

Tim blinks at you, and neither of you say anything for a bit. "Hello?” You hesitantly wave at him. Did the connection go out?

He shakes his head, “No— sorry— yeah, I’m here.” He nods carefully.

You raise an eyebrow, “Something… wrong with that?” You never really heard of Tim having something against the name “Jason,” but you’ve heard stranger things.

“No. I just—” he scratches his neck, “I know somebody by that name… Well—” he frowns, looking off into the distance before shaking his head, “technically I never knew him. I just heard nearly everything about him.”

You raise an eyebrow, a silent inquiry.

He looks down at the table in front of him before looking up again. “He was the— uh— previous Robin.”

You tilt your head, furrowing your eyebrows, “I thought that was Dick?”

He nods, “Dick was the first, but he wasn’t my predecessor.” He crosses his arms, leaning onto the table. “You know that one Robin suit in the cave?”

“Oh,” your eyes flickering over to the Robin suit displayed on instinct. “I… never knew.”

Tim shrugs, “He doesn’t talk about it much. I only know so much cause he kept calling me ‘Jason’ in the beginning.” You wince. You couldn’t help but feel sympathy for everybody involved. Losing Robin, losing a kid like that. It must have been hard on anybody. Then to constantly be compared to him.

“I’m sorry, Tim.” You apologize, voice quiet.

He shakes his head, “I never knew him… Not really anyway. It can't mourn him the same way Bruce, Alfred, or even Dick did. It just wasn’t the same.”

You nod, “Yeah.” You mumble, eyeing the costume.

He exhales, grabbing the blood samples, “Didn’t meant to dampen the mood.” He smiles apologetically at you. “The name just reminded me of him, that’s all.” His begins to work offscreen. “He treat you well?”

You nod, “He… He loves me. I know that,” you fidget with your fingers.

Tim leans back into frame, “But..?”

You exhale, feeling exhausted just remembering the argument. “He… He’s being a fucking idiot.”

Tim snorts, “How so?”

“He’s the one who told me to evacuate the city.” You prop an arm up on the desk, “At first I had actually considered the idea— don’t give me that look.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Tim grumbles.

“I wasn’t actually going to vanish, Tim. Why do you think I’m here and not at my apartment with him?” You rub your temples. “I would’ve figured something out. I just— I thought,” you exhale, frustrated that the words aren’t coming out as intended, “I thought that if he cared about me so much, he’d understand that I care about him just as much.”

“Does he not?” Tim asks, frowning as he sets the blood sample to spin in a centrifuge.

“He was insistent that he stay in the city. Said he has ‘unfinished business.’” You do air quotes, “Apparently, that is more important than his safety.”

“Did you ask him what it was?” Tim asks, mirroring your pose, propping his face onto his hand.

You slowly shake your head. “He… I don’t know.” You groan. “He knew it sounded stupid, and he told me that, but he never actually told me what it was.”

“Hm,” Tim hums disapprovingly. “I know you may not want to hear it, but that sounds—“

“—Suspicious as hell.” You nod, “I know, Tim. I’m not stupid.”

He holds his hands up in a surrender, “I’m just saying. ‘Unfinished business’ could be a way of saying he works for Scarecrow or just maybe he works for—”

“—the Arkham Knight.” You both chorus. You mouth parts as you feel your heart begin to pound against your chest.

Tim nods, “Look at us,” he chuckles, “teamwork at its finest. Finishing each other’s sentences.” He gestures between you both.

You don’t share his joy at coming to the same conclusion, “I don’t— Tim, it’s not fair of me to accuse him of something that drastic just because he won’t leave the city.”

Tim leans forward, hands propped up, “I don’t want to bash your boyfriend, but can you truly come up with another reason why he’d want to stay here with everything that’s going on.”

You remained silent.

“I’m sure he’s a great guy,” Tim tries, voice artificially optimistic. At your distressed sound, he panics slightly, “I can’t imagine you’d have subjected yourself with a relationship with an asshole for that long, so I genuinely don’t think he is a bad guy. He’s likely in a similar situation to many other criminals: forced into an awful situation, and forced to make it work.”

“I could help him though!” You groan.

“Have you told him about…” he gestures around loosely, “all of this?”

You purse your lips, shaking your head, “No…” you sigh. “I know it’s hypocritical, but it’s just—” you huff, laying your head into the crooks of your elbow on the desk. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s my issue to solve. I’ll probably tell him after all of this.” Your voice is muffled from speaking into your own arm. “I… I’ll just make sure to keep tabs on him while he’s here.” You sit up straight. “We got bigger issues to solve than my relationship issues.”

Tim removes the blood sample from the centrifuge, “Any updates on who the Arkham Knight could be?”

You shake your head, “Nope,” you pop the ‘p,’ “Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if this guy materialized out of thin air just to mess with us, or Bruce I guess.”

Tim raises his eyebrows, huffing as if considering the probability of that. “I wouldn’t even be surprised at this point.”

You chuckle humorlessly. “I’ve checked everything. Past Arkham patients, inmates at Blackgate, hell— I’ve begun to widen the search outside of Gotham and Blüdhaven. There’s nothing on this guy. He’s a ghost.”

Tim frowns, “You’re telling me somebody capable of leading the militia has just been hiding out in public then?”

You rest your head on your hand, rubbing your temples. The stress of figuring out who the Arkham Knight is has really been getting to you. “Seems like it." You admit. “I think I’ve just accepted that we’re not going to know who this guy is unless he reveals himself to us.”

Tim sighs, “Then let’s hope that it’s sooner rather than later.”

You can hear your heart beating.

It pounds in your ears as you watch the militia henchman walk over the grate your hiding under. The Arkham Knight had been setting up these bases across the city, and Bruce had tasked you with dismantling as many of them as you could.

Easier said than done.

“Have you heard about the calls the Knight has been taking?” One of the henchman asks his friend.

You crawl as close as you can to them in order to hear them better. “The Knight? Hell, I barely see the guy. Only times I’ve seen ‘im are when the Bat is involved.”

The first henchman huffs, “Well,” he looks around, checking to see if anybody is listening, “rumor has it, that he’s spent the past few nights callin’ someone. He doesn’t go out on jobs ‘til after the call.”

You watch as the second guy lowers his gun, “Eh, it’s probably ‘bout a job. You guys are looking into it too much.”

The first guy shakes his head, “Nah, man. We thought that too. Then one of the lieutenants accidentally walked in during one of these calls.” He huffs, “The Knight calmly ended the call, then absolutely lost it.”

“Did the guy knock? Manners are important.” The second guy asks dryly.

“I dunno,” the first guy shrugs, “but apparently what he heard? The Knight was talking to some woman.”

The second guy snickers, “Oooh,” he mockingly coos, “the Knight got a fuckin’ girlfriend? You sure we’re talkin’ about the same guy?”

The first guy huffs, as if offended. “Whatever, man. I’m just tellin’ you what I heard. Now, don’t go blabbing your mouth to everyone alright? Apparently, the Knight threatened the lieutenant, saying he’d kill the guy if he said anything about the call.”

It’s silent for a moment.

“So why the fuck would you tell me? I don’t wanna die!” The second guy whisper-yells.

“I just said don’t blab. If ya don’t blab then you’re fine.” The first guy waves him off.

“Yeah, but what if somebody is listening?” The second guy continues to whisper, eyes flickering around apprehensively.

Yeah, it’d be crazy if somebody was listening.

“It’s just us, buddy. Batman’s busy trying to get Ivy’s aid or some shit. It’s just us tonight.” The first guy pats his friend’s shoulder.

“Don’t he have those sidekicks of his running around?” The second guy gestures loosely.

“Eh, what’re the chances they’ll show up? The Bat is the only one we really need to worry about.” You quietly exit the grate, crouching behind a concrete wall.

“Yeah, I guess,” the second guy responds, unconvinced. You carefully sneak behind the two of them. “I suppose you’re right. What’re are the chances that one of the Bats will decide that we’re worth— OH SHI—”

You slam their heads together before knocking them both unconscious. You wipe imaginary dust off your hand, grabbing the controller from the pockets of the left guy and smashing it beneath your feet. The second you destroy it, the walls around you come down.

You open your comms, raising your wrist as Alfred's projection appears, “Another base dismantled.”

“Copy that, Madame.” Alfred gives a resolute nod.

“Also, I may have gotten more info on the Knight.” You lightly kick the militia goon, checking if he’s fully unconscious.

“Oh?” Alfred prompts.

You can’t help the grin on your face, “Apparently, the Arkham Knight has a girlfriend.”

Alfred is silent for a moment, “A… girlfriend?” He sounds baffled.

“Yeah, so I was listening to these militia guys talk, and apparently he has a girlfriend.” You sit on the ledge of the rooftop, looking down on the tanks patrolling the streets. “So now we’re dealing with a masked rogue working with Scarecrow, that has a grudge against Batman, that has no prior incidents actually recorded at Arkham, AND has a girlfriend.” You huff. “Gotta admit, the guy is one hell of a multitasker.”

“We can attempt to narrow the search, but I regret to inform you that I find it unlikely that any results with turn up with a real answer.” Alfred informs you, frowning.

“Yeah, I know, I’m just… I guess I was surprised. It’s the first piece of information we’ve caught on the Arkham Knight’s personal life.” You sigh, standing up. Alfred hums in acknowledgement. “Anyway, I’ll be heading to another base. I’ll keep you updated, Alfred.” You nod at him.

“Please remember to be careful.” Alfred nods at you in return.

You smile, “When am I not?” At his exasperated sigh, you chuckle. “I won’t get killed, Alfred. You needn’t worry.”

He sighs, “I always do.” The two of you sit in silence before he hangs up.

You slowly lower your wrist, staring over the city. The neon red lights of the drones shine through the alleys below, searching. Searching for Batman in particular, but willing to take any target that dares to venture into their line of sight. Occasionally, you’ll see a criminal duck into an alley, attempting to get out of the militia’s path. For once, you cannot blame them for trying to run.

It’s been one night since you “left” Gotham.

You had called Jason last night, standing on the balcony of Wayne Tower. Staring down at the city as it’s overrun by more militia and rogues than you’ve seen in a while.

“Hey,” You spoke softly into the phone. The rain attempted to drown out the sound of your voice, but Jason could hear it clear as day.

“Hey,” Jason started, “you got out of the city okay?”

You smile sadly, “I texted you the second I got out.” You had texted him six hours after you had reached the Manor. You made sure to scramble your location so that he couldn’t track you to Bruce’s.

“Yeah, I know.” He hummed “I wanted to hear it from you.”

You chuckled, “I’m alright, Jay. How about you?”

He’s silent for a moment, “I’m managing.”

You sighed, leaning against the railing, “Do you think that you’ll finish up soon?” You asked quietly.

He sighed, “No… Not for a couple of days at least.” You heard the creak of a door open in the background. Jason inhales so sharply that it was actually audible. “Hey, sweetheart,” he started slowly, and you can hear the sound of a chair squeak in the background, “somethin’ just came up. I can call you in a minute, you mind if I deal with this real quick?” Well, that wasn’t a very long call.

“It’s okay, Jay. Go and deal with it. We can always call tomorrow. I know you’re busy.” You smiled ruefully.

“Are you sure?” His voice became rougher, and you could tell somebody is in the room with him.

“It’s okay, Jay.” You chuckled, “The quicker you get this done, the quicker we can see each other again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” his words were a whisper meant for you. “Alright, I’ll call you tomorrow." He paused, and his next words were somehow softer than the last. “I love you more than anything. You know that, right?”

You bite your tongue to keep from grinning into the phone, “I love you more, Jay.”

He chuckles humorlessly, “Doubt it.”

You roll your eyes, “Alright, alright. I’ll let you think that.” You pushed yourself off the railing, walking into Lucius’ office with a nod of acknowledgement for the man. “Good luck with whatever you’re dealing with.”

“He’s gonna need it.” Jason hung up the call, and you put your phone away.

You had called him for a quick check up in the morning, but he seemed even more busy than last night. You didn’t want to bother him too much, and accepted the quick phone call, not questioning any of the oddities that came with it. You were just glad to hear he was okay.

You pull your phone out, opening Jason’s contact, thumb hovering over the call button. The rain patters onto the screen, causing the pixels to warp slightly underneath the liquid. You wipe it, gloves smearing the droplets off the screen.

Is it too late to call him? Is he busy again? What if he’s out working? What if he’s working for them?

You shiver from the cold, raising your knees to your chest to conserve warmth. Your about to lower your thumb to press that button, when you hear the militia begin to speak into your comms. Bruce had given you the frequency they were on, and you had been listening to them all night.

“Got her located in sight, Boss.”

You whip around, narrowing your eyes as you notice a helicopter in the distance approach you. What the hell?

Narrowing your eyes, you stand your ground as the helicopter closes in on you. It turns to open the doors that are now facing you. Half a dozen militia henchmen jump out, landing in front of you. You ready yourself for a fight, fists raised, “Oh, now you decide I’m worth the effort?”

“Take her out!” The medic yells from the back, and you maneuver your way around the other members in order to take him out first. Bruce has mentioned once or twice how annoying they could be, and you didn’t want to find out.

Standing up from the now unconscious body, you use your peripherals to catalog the other members of the group. They’ve got training, but they’re not nearly as good as some of the simulations Bruce has made you fight for practice. You focus on one at a time, incapacitating them one-by-one. Attack when you can, but focus on keeping yourself safe first. By the time you finish. You look back up to the helicopter, gesturing your hands out as if asking “Got anymore than that?” Was it smart to taunt the heavily armed military group occupying your city? Probably not, but to be fair...

You didn’t expect the Arkham Knight to jump out of the helicopter next.

You immediately crouch into a fighting position, narrowing your eyes at him. This is the first time you’ve seen the man up close in person and not just from Bruce’s recordings. “You aren’t who I was expecting.” You keep your tone steady, quips dying as you realize the severity of your circumstances

“I could say the same about you.” He strolls casually to the left, and you begin to circle one another. “I knew that the Bat had gotten a new sidekick.” He pauses, lazily pointing his gun at you, as if you aren’t a threat, “I didn’t expect him to get two new sidekicks.”

Now, you haven’t been doing this for as long as Bruce, but you wouldn’t consider yourself “new” to this anymore. Even if you were “new,” the Knight said that there were two new sidekicks. The newest after you is Tim, and he is certainly not new to this.

“New?” You ask cautiously.

The Arkham Knight laughs, the robotic sound sending an uneasy shiver down your spine. “Still can’t figure it out?” He slowly approaches you, and you reach your hand back to your utility belt, ready to attack. “All of these allies and nothing to show for them, huh?” He continues to laugh, and instead of being scared, the sound begins to grate on your nerves.

“Don’t pretend to know anything about us.” You glare at him.

“Oh, I don’t have to pretend. I know how he thinks. I know how he operates. I’ve known longer than you have, and longer than you ever will.” The Knight stops in front of you, the lights on his mask pulse as you stare at it.

“Is that a threat?” Your words are quiet, stiff.

The Knight shrugs, “Take it how you will. I don’t care. Either way, I won’t hesitate to stop you if you attempt to meddle with my operations any more.” He points his gun beneath your chin, and you swallow nervously. The metal doesn't touch you, though. You don’t break eye contact with him.

“Then why hesitate now?” You grit your teeth.

He chuckles quietly, “Don’t mistake this for hesitation.” He presses the barrel of the gun up against your chin, causing you to jerk back instinctively, “This is your warning, your only warning. I don’t care what your partnership with him is like. If you know what’s best for you, you’ll stop interfering with my plans.”

“You’re hurting innocent people—”

“Innocent?!” You wince at the sudden change in volume. “You think these people on the streets— these criminals that walk around— are innocent? They’re just as guilty as me, y’know?” He lightly nudges the gun against your chin, and you avoid looking into the barrel of it. “Do you wanna know somethin’?”

You don’t respond, and you don’t think he’d care what your response is.

“Well, the Bat? The guy you hold in such high regard?” He waves the gun away from you. “He doesn’t give a fuck about you. He doesn’t hold your life in any higher regard than any of those low-lives running amok in the street.”

“You don’t know that.” You push the gun away with your hand, and the Knight lets you.

“I know that better than anybody.” He spits the words out, waving the gun around. “Perhaps you will learn that someday, but really— it's not my problem.” He holsters his gun, turning around as he walks back beneath the helicopter. “This is beyond you. Stay out of this fight. This is your only warning, and you’re very lucky I’m giving it to you.”

You slowly trail behind him, keeping your distance, but curious what more he has to say. “No, no, wait—” six more militia members drop to the Knight’s sides, “—I don’t understand, how do you know—”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” The Knight cuts you off. “Let’s make this our final meeting. If you’re smart, you’ll stop aiding the Bat,” he pauses for a moment, reaching for his grapnel gun, “but something tells me you won’t listen to me.” He launches himself away, back into the helicopter, before you even get a chance to respond.

“Damn it.” You mutter to yourself, looking up at the helicopter hovering above you. The Knight grabs the edge of the door for support, looking down at you. “Do what you can against her.” He commands before walking out of your sight. You glare up at the helicopter as it begins to depart.

A quick jab comes your way, but (luckily) you raised your elbow to block the blow. Wincing, you huff at the goon; you know you’ll be feeling that tomorrow. You parry the goon’s next jab before sweeping him off his feet, and punching him in the jaw. He grunts as you hit him once more, knocking him unconscious. You look back up to the helicopter fleeing the scene as the remaining henchmen surround you.

That wasn’t what you expected.

“Did he give any tells as to who he may be.” Bruce asks over the comms.

“I… No? I don’t think so. He seemed to believe that he knows you better than Tim and I do.” You look over the rooftop you’re standing on, surveying the militia base below. There’s a drone stationed in there, damn. It looks like you’ll have to dismantle that first before taking on the rest of the henchmen.

Bruce says your name, “Think.” He prompts. “Was there anything he said that you think could clue us into who he is?”

Frustrated, you shake your head, “Bruce, I don’t know who this guy is. I’ve looked. I uploaded the footage of our encounter to the Batcomputer. You can view it if you want, but there’s nothing we didn’t already know. He acts like he knows you better than Tim or I do, then goes on about having a grudge against you.”

Bruce grunts, and you sigh. “I’m sorry, I wish I had more to say, but I don’t know who he could be.” You frown, grabbing your disruptor. “I can keep looking—”

“Don’t.” Bruce interrupts you (apparently everybody feels the need to cut you off).

You straighten your posture, “But you said that you wanted me to try and figure out his identity.”

“It’s too risky right now. If that was his only warning, I don’t want you getting hurt on the field.” You can hear Bruce’s cape in the background of the audio.

You furrow your eyebrows, “That’s never stopped you before.”

He remains silent for a moment.

You sigh, “Fine… Fine, I’ll stop looking into his identity.”

“And the bases.” Bruce adds.

You stand up, turning away from the base below you, “What? Are you serious, Bruce? You want to bench me now?” You scoff, “We finally make progress, and you decide that sending me away from this is the best option?”

“You have a target on your back now.” He responds stoically.

“Oh,” you chuckle humorlessly, “so now I’m an obstacle? A person to babysit on field? I’m an adult, Bruce. You don’t need to baby me. I've had a target on my back since my first day out.” You cross your arms as you turn you back to the base below you.

Bruce is silent for moment before he says your name, “Help Tim if you must, but it’s safer for you if you aren’t out here.”

You inhale slowly, attempting to control your breathing. You let out a long exhale, “Fine.” Fuck you too, Bruce.

You stare blankly ahead for a moment before you hear Bruce switch channels. You take the opportunity to turn around, looking down at the base again.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, I suppose.” You mumble to yourself, before switching the comm channel. “Hey, Tim?”

“What’s up?” You can hear his voice off in the distance.

“So, Bruce tried benching me,” you trail off, pulling your disruptor back out.

Tim snorts, “Welcome to the club. I’m like ninety-nine percent sure he wants me working on this cure just so I’m not out on the field.”

You huff, “I can’t imagine why he’s so set on working alone, but I’m going to keep trying to dismantle as many bases as I can.”

“Hm,” Tim hums, “well, if you need help—”

“—then I’ll let you know. I just wanted to make sure somebody knows what I’m doing.” You hold down the button on the disruptor, connecting it to the drone.

Tim snorts, “You’re better than Bruce at least.”

You roll your eyes, “I’d hope so.” You click the button to turn it off for thirty seconds. “Anyway, I’m at a base right now, I gotta go, bye!” You quickly hang up, ignoring Tim’s baffled “Huh?”

You take the opportunity to sneak behind the drone before making quick work of it. Obviously, dismantling such a big weapon wouldn’t go unnoticed, so you quickly throw a Batarang at the one gunman in the corner. You roll before grabbing your Batclaw and disarming him.

You narrow your eyes, a smirk forming on your face as you watch one of the goons run toward the crate of guns. Grinning, you decide to taunt the guy, knowing he won’t listen, “Uh, I wouldn’t touch that—”

The second he touches the crate, he gets electrocuted, crumbling to the ground. You wince in sympathy, that’ll leave a mark. You shoot the Batclaw out again before yanking one of the militia members to you; you use the momentum combined with your punch to instantly knock him to the ground.

“Thought we’d only be worrying about the Bat tonight?” One of the guys yells out.

“Well obviously not. Last I checked she wasn’t the Bat!” The other one grabs a club before attempting to hit you with it.

“Can confirm: I am not the Bat.” You block the club, yanking it from his grasp before whacking it back on him. “Kinda more like a subcategory. Bat-adjacent, if you will.”

“So like a sidekick?” Another goon asks.

“Eh, yes but no?” You respond, using the wall to jump off of and knock him out. “Sidekick feels a little demeaning. Like do you want me to call you guys sidekicks to the Arkham Knight?”

One of the other goons slowly lowers his hands, sharing a look with his buddy, “Well, no—”

“So you see my point!” You offer him finger guns, before grabbing his elbow. You twist it to an unnatural angle before snapping it. He cries out in pain, “Sorry, it ain’t personal.” You sheepishly shrug.

“The hell is she doing here? The Knight told us we wouldn’t have to worry about anybody else!” One of the goons cries out.

“He fuckin’ lied that’s what!” You knee him in the face, ouch.

“So like— since you guys are feeling chatty— Have you heard anything about the Knight’s girlfriend?” You pin one guy to the ground, using your weight to keep him stationary.

“How—” He coughs, “How do you know about that?” His voice is raspy. You smile, putting a finger up to your lips.

“Don’t worry about that. I was just curious cause like— no offense to him— but I did not imagine him to be the romantic type.” You wave a hand casually.

“That’s— That’s what I said!” The goon beneath you cries out.

You nod sagely, noticing a guy sneak up behind you. You move out of the way in the nick of time, and he slams his arms down onto his friend’s body— right where you previously were. The grounded goon cries out in pain, and you frown.

“So you guys got any info on that matter?” You grab a Batarang, throwing it at one of the guys attempting to pick up a gun off the ground.

“Like we’d tell you anything!” He yells back, cradling his hand as if you smacked it (the Batarang didn’t even hit him).

“Okay, fair, I can respect the loyalty…” You raise your hands up in mock-surrender. “But like— does he get all gushy when he talks about her?” You snicker to yourself, you can’t imagine the Arkham Knight being a loving boyfriend.

One of the guys snorts, “He like fully changed into another person. Like I heard from outside the door he was like ‘you get out of the city okay?’ or somethin’—”

“Hey, you never told me that!” One of the other goons whips to face his friend, offended.

The first guy shrugs, “You didn’t seem like you cared.”

“Are you kidding me, dude?” He grumbles under his breath.

“Yeah, yeah, so did his girlfriend leave the city?” You pry, putting your hands on your hips. At this point the fight has been long forgotten.

The two remaining goons shrugged, “I dunno? I think so. I left soon after the other guy walked in on his conversation with her.” The second guy winces, raising a fist to his mouth with a hissing sound.

“Yeah, I could hear his yelling down the hall.” The second guy adds on.

You nod solemnly, “Damn, so have any of you guys asked about her since?”

While getting information about the Arkham Knight be difficult, getting information from his girlfriend?

Now that is a much easier mission.

Based on what they’ve told you, the Knight told his girlfriend to evacuate the city. This means that she’s likely a civilian, a lot easier to interrogate than the Knight himself.

“You kiddin’? Last guy who said anything about it was made an example of.” The first guy cries out, shaking his head. The other guy frantically nods his head.

You frown, “Does he make an example of you guys often?”

“Nah, he’s not abusive. Tough and maybe a bit too vengeful, yeah, but the guy has done a good job training us for this.” He shrugs, “Well, other than the guy who said something nasty about his girl.”

You raise an eyebrow, “What’d he say?”

The two guys shrug in unison, and your hold back your chuckle at how innocent they look. “We don’t know. All we know is that the guy hasn’t been seen since.”

You nod slowly, “Huh, alright… Thanks.”

“Yeah— Wait, you think we gave her too much info?” The first guy turns to face his friend. The second guy slowly looks between his friend and you.

“Probably,” his voice sounds, understandably, worried.

“It’s fine. I’m not really happy with Batman right now. Rest assured that that info won’t reach him.” You pull out your detonator.

The two guys exhale, relieved.

You hold the detonator up, “Still gotta knock you both out though,” you offer a pitiful smile, “sorry?”

“What—”

You press the button, and both of them fly a few feet before laying limp on the ground. You frown, checking their heartbeat: unconscious, but alive.

You raise a hand up to your comm, turning it on. “Tim, you will not believe what these guys just told me, oh my goodness.” You hold your wrist up, looking at Tim on the projection as you locate the signal for the controller for the base’s walls.

“Good news I hope? We’re kinda running low on that.” He mumbles the last part to himself. You grab the controller from the goon beneath you.

“Eh, interesting news, that’s for sure.” You crush the signal, watching as the walls around you fold onto itself.

Tim raises an eyebrow, “Alright, I’m listening.”

“You remember how the Knight has a girlfriend? Well, I was just chatting with some of the militia guys, and—”

“The Arkham Knight has a girlfriend?” Tim slams his arms down onto the desk in surprise.

You pause, frowning, “Did… Did I not tell you that?”

“No! I think I’d remember!”

“Huh,” you pause, contemplative. “Oh! Right, I told Alfred first.”

Tim’s mouth drops open, “You told Alfred before me?”

You purse your lips, “Sorry, Tim, kinda forgot. Alfred has been the one helping me identify the guy.”

“No worries, I’m just surprised— we are talking about the Arkham Knight, right? The ‘Look at me while you die, Batman’ guy?”

“Yep,” you release a dry chuckle.

“He has a girlfriend?” Tim asks again.

“Yep,” you grin.

“Who’d date the guy? Wait, do you think he practices his lines for when he attempts to kill Bruce? You think his girlfriend hypes him up?” Tim chuckles at the idea.

You cover your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, “Tim.” You lightly scold.

“Okay, sorry, but like— he’s gotta bounce the ideas off somebody.” Tim smirks, shrugging. You ponder the question for a moment.

“You think his girlfriend gets tired of it?” You eventually ask, smirking back at him. “Babe, it’s three in the morning, please stop threatening Batman.”

Tim lets out a long exhale that sounds like a wheeze. “He— He wakes her up like: ‘Babe, wake up, I came up with a new Batman threat.’”

The two of you continue to cackle on call, your volume garnering attention from criminals roaming the street. When they go to investigate, they see you, and immediately turn the other direction which only spurs your laughter even more.

“Okay, okay—” you continue to laugh, “seriously though. I was talking to some of his guys about it. Apparently he like likes her.”

“Oh?” Tim coughs, attempting to catch his breath from the laughter.

“Yeah, and I quote from one of the guys: ‘he fully changed into another person.’ Which leads me to think she isn’t involved in his business.” You theorize.

Tim nods along, “You think you can find her?”

You deflate, “Well, uh, no.” His shoulder sag, and you rush to add another comment. “But,” you hold up your index finger in a “Wait” motion. “But, I do know she left the city.”

Tim frowns at you, “I think that’s the opposite of helpful.”

“Yeah, well. It’s something. We know she’s a civilian, and she is currently not in the city.”

Tim chuckles, tired, “Wow, with that much information, we might as well consider it a case closed.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. His goons talk easily. I didn’t even have to threaten them. I’ll just wait til some of them talk about the girlfriend again.” You smile at Tim.

“Well, that sounds enjoyable. I hope you have fun with that.” Tim responds dryly.

“Don’t act like testing blood samples is any more fun.” You deadpan.

“What?” Tim gasps, “What’re you talking about? This is a blast.” He set the blood sample in his hand back into the centrifuge to spin.

“Mhm,” you hum, “yeah that’s what I thought.”

“Don’t you have goons to be eavesdropping on?” Tim’s lip twitches, betraying his smile.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep you and Alfred updated.” You lower your wrist and dismiss the projection of Tim.

“In that order, or will I be the second to hear about any new info you gathered?” Tim’s voice echoes in your comms.

You chuckle, “Bye-bye, Tim.” You hang up the call, checking the time. It’s nearly four in the morning, and upon seeing the time, you feel the exhaustion deep into your bones. You should call Jason. It’s what you were going to do before the Arkham Knight oh-so kindly interrupted you.

Heyy, sorry, I fell asleep on accident

do you still wanna call or is it too early?

or I guess late

idk depends on perspective

Not even a minute goes by.

Jason: I can call if you’d like

Jason: but if you were asleep, then you should go back to sleep

Jason: we can always call in the morning

Jason: or now

You smile, pursing your lips as you consider your options. On the other hand, you are tired. Calls with Jason can last two minutes (given his mystery job), but also the possibility of spending the next two hours on the phone with your boyfriend is very real.

it’s okay, we can call in the morning

sorry I didn’t mean to fall asleep lol

Jason: Don’t worry about it

Jason: I should’ve texted you earlier

Jason: It’s been a long night

Don’t you know it.

I get that, just make sure you rest

Jason: Only if you do

Damn fair enough 💀

Jason: Joking, joking

Jason: Not really

Jason: Seriously get some rest

No need to tell you twice.

Whatever you say 🫡

He pauses for a moment, bubble reappearing and disappearing.

Jason: That felt a bit too easy

Wow okay so you wanna argue about it?? :(

For a beat, there is no bubble or message.

Jason: Good night, I love you

You snort.

That’s what I thought

Good night, I love you too Jay :)

The two of you like each other’s messages, and you put your phone away. Time to trek back to the Manor. You look up to the city above you, Ivy’s plants wrapped around bridges, smoke in the distance puffing up into a smoky gray cloud— probably Firefly’s fault.

Sighing, you grab your grapnel gun and head back to the Manor.

“I know that better than anybody.”

You press the space bar, looping the audio.

“I know that better than anybody.”

Once again.

“I know that better than anybody.”

“Madame, I don’t believe looping your encounter with the Knight will be beneficial for you.” Alfred walks up to the Batcomputer beside you.

“Well, it’s the best we got.” You sigh as Alfred places a mug beside you. You smile at him gratefully. “Thanks.”

He nods, “Forgive me for prying, but I was under the impression that Master Bruce was going to be the only one out in action for the next few days.”

You scoff, “Yeah, well, he is insane if he thinks that tackling on the city with no field back up is smart.”

Alfred hums, “I suppose you make a good point.”

You turn toward Alfred, eyes pleading, “Don’t tell him please. I already told Tim that I’d call him for help if I mess up.”

Alfred remains silent for a moment before slowly nodding, “As long as you aren’t mortally injured, then I suppose I can omit this bit of information from him.”

You smile, exhaling in relief, “Thanks, Alfred.”

He nods, “Thank me by not making me have to resort to that.” He walks off, leaving you alone at the computer once again.

You watch him leave before slowly returning your attention to the screen. You zoom in on the Arkham Knight’s appearance. He looks the same as he has every time Bruce showed his footage of him. Screen-like mask, a military style suit, the “A” in the center of his suit. Upon closer examination, you notice that his suit has similar patterns in some parts that match some of the militia’s, only difference being that his is more vibrantly colored with a red. You hadn’t noticed it when you first met him. All you could focus on was his eyes. Bright and unyielding and betraying no emotion. The only way you were able to discern his thoughts was when he spoke. You click on a different time stamp in the audio.

“Innocent?! You think these people on the streets— these criminals that walk around— are innocent? They’re just as guilty as me, y’know?”

His body language seemed frantic yet controlled. His wide gestures aren’t out of any lapses into mania, but out of anger. You frown as you watch him hold the gun underneath you chin. At the time, you had been focused on not dying. Now, you notice the slightly tremble in his hands. You aren’t so naive to think that it’s out of fear of killing. A man like the Arkham Knight— a man who has taken lives without remorse— wouldn’t feel scared of killing you. You recognize it for what it is: fury.

Whatever his grudge against Batman is. It’s personal. It feels too personal for Batman not to have met the guy at least once.

Stretching, you stand up from your chair before grabbing your utility belt laid out on the desk. Alfred was right. This isn’t helping. If anything, you just feel crazy listening to the same modulated voice lines over and over and over, analyzing fabric just for a hint on who this guy may be.

You might as well go to the city, make use of yourself.

Journeying from the Manor to the main part of the city isn’t an unfamiliar trip. The trip back is automatic, and you barely even process the fact that you’ve made it back onto the main road. The only reason you do is that the drones patrolling the sky nearly blind you with their unforgiving beams of light waiting to claim their next victim.

The night started out slow, at least relative to the other ones.

You didn’t want to draw too much attention to yourself— with Bruce not knowing you’re still patrolling— so you focused on the more minor crimes… for the most part. You didn’t actively go looking for any rogues or militia bases to dismantle, but if you stumbled onto them?

You might as well.

Some of them were evidently made with the intention of taking on the Batmobile (something you did not have access to), so you had to settle for taking on the ones without a dozen turrets scanning for a hint of movement. While not ideal, it still left plenty for you to take down.

By the time you had taken down two bases and two watchtowers, you had eased yourself comfortably into the night’s routine. The watchtowers required a bit more stealth than the bases, but if anything, you were grateful for the change in pace. It kept you on your toes.

You heave a sigh, detonating your third security console of the night. Another watchtower gone. You linger for a moment, grateful for the heating your suit provided. With how cold it is, and with the constant on-and-off rain, you imagine you’d get sick very fast without it. Frowning, you look over the unconscious bodies scattered at your feet.

Despite all your work tonight, not a single base has provided useful information. Frustrating? Absolutely. However, you aren’t too surprised. You kneel down to examine the armor the militia is wearing. “Hm,” you hum to yourself. It's the first time you've actually considered analying their attire. It appears to be standard military wear. Perhaps it has extra padding, but you note that it isn’t bulletproof, which is a bit surprising. You narrow your eyes at the scuffed up pieces of armor.

You suppose that makes sense, Bruce doesn’t use guns. It makes no sense to prepare for bullets when your biggest target doesn’t use them. You are about to reach into their pockets when you still.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

You pause, but don’t look around. You don’t want to alert anybody that may be watching that you are aware they’re watching. Taking a deep breath, you urge your heart to calm down. Biting your tongue, you slowly proceed with your original intention: looking through the militia’s pockets.

Then you see it. The flicker of a red dot flickers onto your arm before trailing up to your head. You heart spikes as you instantly raise an arm up, diving to the side to avoid the bullet. You scramble to push yourself against the now destroyed control console, smoke still piling up from your earlier explosion. You reach for smoke bombs in your utility belt, before quickly realizing your grasping at air. You mutter a soft curse, attempting to look for any other cover in the environment around you.

The control console was placed on the center of a long bridge walkway. The nearest crates for cover are at least thirty feet away. A distance you can’t cover, lest your sniper attempts to shoot you again. You attempt to raise your head over the top of the console, using the smoke to mask yourself. Upon seeing a figure on a rooftop above you, you feel your heart drop.

Of course, it’s the Arkham Knight. Why wouldn’t it be? You had blatantly disregarded every warning he gave you.

You tap your comms, “Tim— Alfred— Somebody— Arkham Knight is attempting to kill me. He’s sniping me just south of Kingston on Miagani.” You flinch as a bullet hits the console. “I could use some backup, as soon as possible!”

You hear Tim curse in the background, “I’m at least five minutes out. Think you can hold him off for that long?”

You attempt to steel yourself, “I’ll try my best. Please hurry.”

“Not so confident are you now?” The Arkham Knight’s voice echoes between the two buildings you’re between.

You scoff, not deigning to respond to his taunt.

“You can’t hide there forever.” He continues, his casual arrogance leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It’s like he already considers you dead.

“I’m assuming we can’t talk about this?” You yell out, wondering if he’ll even be able to hear you.

“Oh, we’re long past talking.” For a second, the red light of his rifle vanishes. You narrow his eyes, what is he planning?

Then you hear the faint familiar clatter of a grenade. Your eyes widen as you launch yourself out of the blast radius. However, you weren’t able to escape it completely, and it sends you skidding near the ledge of the walkway. Forced out of your cover, your eyes flicker to the Arkham Knight. He is propping the rifle against his shoulder, and he tilts his head at you.

“I gave you a warning.” He slower lowers the rifle, preparing to shoot it. Your muscles tense, and you run towards a shield an unconscious militia member left on the floor, raising it at the last second as the Knight sends a bullet straight into the shield, a resounding “CLANG!” nearly making you flinch.

“I remember!” You sneer, raising your shield up again as he sends another bullet your way. Reaching for your Batclaw, you hide it behind the shield. Keep him talking, not shooting. “In case it wasn’t obvious, your threat—” you emphasize the last word, “wasn’t appreciated.”

He chuckles, the sound distorted and wrong. “A shame.” He shoots your shield again, and the second the bullet impacts the metal, you shoot the Batclaw out, yanking the rifle out of his hands. You both watch as it falls to the ground, about fifty feet in front of you.

The two of you stare at each other for another moment, before you lunge for the rifle. He quickly follows suit, jumping onto the walkway with you. You reach the rifle first, but that doesn’t deter him. He lunges toward you, and you side-step to your left. He pivots, grabbing a gun out of its holster before shooting it mere feet away from you. The bullet hits your shield again, and you take the opportunity to unload the rifle, throwing it off the walkway— hundreds of feet below.

The second you release the rifle, he tackles you. The two of you tumble, and you let out a surprised yelp. You attempt to secure your spot on top of him, but he presses his weight into your elbow, nearly snapping it. You wince, hissing in pain. You use your other hand to attempt to maneuver yourself out from underneath him.

He shifts his position, using his knee to pin your neck to the ground. You attempt to push him off, but he only puts more force into your neck.

“Think of this as sparing you even more pain down the line.” He begins slowly, raising his gun to your sternum. “If it makes you feel better, it’s really not personal. Not with you.” He lazily gestures, gun in hand, and all you can focus on is the barrel boring into your soul. You're unable to move underneath him, and it is then that you realize the true gravity of the situation.

You attempt to kick him off of you, but your efforts are futile. The Arkham Knight barely moves at your attempts of escape. “Sure feels personal.” You grit out, coughing again as he presses more weight into his knee.

He shakes his head slowly, “My issue is with him, and I thought that maybe you were smart enough to take my warnings.” The gun pointing at your head doesn’t waver. “However, you’ve gone and taken down dozens of my men tonight single-handedly.” His voice is low, telling you that he is fuming behind that mask. Good.

“You almost sound impressed.” You chuckle sardonically, and he matches the sound.

“At your audacity, perhaps. I didn’t think you had it in you.” He shakes his head thinking about it.

“Clearly, you thought wrong.” You retort.

He hums, “A mistake I will not make again.” You watch as his hand tightens its grasp on the gun. His index finger, slowly putting more pressure on the trigger. You watch as his finger remains frozen on the trigger, unmoving.

You don’t bother to hide your stilted exhale. For a moment, you’re glad that he can’t see the fear in your eyes as he shoots you, your mask conceals the terror that would no doubt be reflected upon its removal.

You watch as he slowly raises the gun to point at your head, and you shut your eyes. You don't want to look at your demise. You don't want to give him the satisfaction.

You feel the Knight shift slightly, and you take a deep breath— likely your final breath. You don't count the seconds, but you get the distinct feeling he is drawing this out.

At the deafening sound of the gun, the weight is thrown off of you, and your vision spins as you immediately open your eyes in shock.

You're not dead.

Frantically, you look around, searching for who saved you. You attempt to stand up, but quickly stumble over yourself, your shoulder crying out in pain. You resign yourself to the ground and watch as Tim uses his staff to shove the Knight off the walkway. You make eye contact with the Knight once last time, and you’re surprised to see him watching you until the very end.

You inhale sharply, attempting to catch your breath as you slowly crawl over to the edge looking over it to see—

Nothing.

He got away, again. Even the rifle you threw below has vanished.

Still scanning the streets below for the Knight, you don’t realize that Tim snuck up behind you. You jump as he kneels down, gently hoisting you up. It’s only at that moment, when he looks down at you in horror that you realize what the strange sensation in your shoulder was.

The Arkham Knight shot you.

The observation is apparent to anybody with eyes, but all you can do is stare at the growing red stain spreading over your suit— staining the material. The pain feel distant, and you tell yourself you can walk it off. You barely register Tim calling out for help over comms. He presses his hands onto your shoulder, and you feel light-headed. All you want to do is lay down and close your eyes, perhaps it’ll make the dizziness go away.

You aren’t sure how many minutes go by, but next thing you know, you’re wince as Bruce slowly sits you up. You somehow have enough energy to realize that you will be getting chewed out for this later on for disobeying him. Given your current circumstances, you can't truly bring yourself to care. It’s not long before you are being put into the backseat of the Batmobile. Tim is still sitting next to you, and you feel a bit more clear, and only one thought enters your mind:

You want Jason.

You want to see Jason.

You don’t want to be out fighting the Knight. You don't want to think about him

You want to see your boyfriend.

You don’t have any tears to cry, and you look up at Tim as a dry sob escapes your mouth. You’re so tired. You hear him mutter some empty promises. Promising it’ll be okay, and that you’re almost there.

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry, I thought that— I just…” You lean your head against the back. “I didn’t know he’d be there tonight.” You slowly open your eyes to look at Bruce. He doesn’t turn to look at you, nor does he meet your gaze in the rear view mirror.

You shift uncomfortably, Tim still putting pressure on your wound. “You shouldn’t have kept going out on patrol without me knowing. Not without backup ready on the field,” he breaks the silence, “but that’s not my priority right now.”

You nod solemnly, part of you wants to argue with him, but you’re in too much pain to fight back on it. Perhaps when you have more energy. “He…” you swallow, “…was going to shoot me in the head.” Your mouth feels dry.

Tim stiffens next to you, and he can’t meet your eyes. “I… I saw. I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.”

You shake your head, offering him a pained smile. “You made it. That’s what matters.” He attempts to mirror you smile, but it looks wrong.

You laugh softly, “You know—” you wince as a burning pain pierces your shoulder, sending burning waves of pain up your next, “It wasn’t even worth the bullet. I still don’t have an idea who this guy is.”

Nobody else laughs with you, not that you were expecting them to.

“You will not be investigating the Knight any longer.” Bruce declares.

You huff, feeling your stomach turn, “Mm…” You think you see him narrow his eyes at you in the rear view mirror. The familiar sign of Leslie’s clinic comes into view, and you exhale in relief. Even if every move you make is painful, you feel better knowing that you’re in safe hands.

You will worry about the consequences of this night later.

The fogginess from your eyes slowly dissipates as you blink.

You hear the soft squeaks of the bats above, the electronic hum of the technology in the cave, and yet there’s no sign of anybody in the cave with you. Frowning, you sit up, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through the wound. “Hello?” You call out, and your voice echoes around the empty cave.

Carefully, you maneuver yourself off the bed, making your way over to the Batcomputer. You hold your shoulder as you slowly walk over. Sitting down, you're about to message Tim or Bruce when dread hits you full force.

You got shot, and you haven’t told Jason.

More accurately: You got shot, and you can’t tell Jason.

Eyes falling on your phone, you hesitantly reach for it. You navigate your phone to his contact.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring—

“Was beginning to worry you forgot about me.” Jason’s voice breaks through all the ambience of the cave. Despite the teasing tone, you can hear the relief in it.

You smack your lips, “I could never.” You swallow, feeling emotional just hearing him. “It’s been a rough night.” Your voice is quiet, and you wince at how small you sound. Your goal is to avoid alerting Jason to your injury.

He’s silent for a beat, “Rough, hm?” He hums. “I’m sorry.” He does sound genuinely apologetic.

You stare through the ground with a strained smile; it’s not like he can see. “It’s not your fault.” You settle into the chair at the Batcomputer.

Jason exhales, “I’m sorry nevertheless.” You can almost hear him trying to figure out what words to say, “I’m sorry that we had to do this.” He adds on.

Heaving a sigh, you slowly lean against the back of the seat. You want to say it’s okay, but really it’s anything but. You never wanted to leave the city, and if Jason found out you stayed despite agreeing otherwise?

You fear the look of betrayal more than his ire.

“…How’s your thing going?” Your attempt at changing the topic doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and you hope he won't comment on it.

“Slower than expected,” you hear him set something metallic down. “I… I’m not sure when I’ll be done.”

You hum, nodding slowly. That was the answer you expected, but it wasn’t the answer you wanted. “You’re safe though?”

There’s an unusually long pause. Your shoulders sag at the lack of response, and you bite back the hiss of pain it sends through the bullet wound. The silence speaks more than any words could.

“Yes.” Jason’s voice is unwavering, but you don’t believe him. Your heart aches to not believe him, but you cannot deny the suspicion that arises from hearing how obstinately he refuses to leave the city.

“You’d tell me if something happened, right?” You ask, and you make sure to keep your tone skepticism free.

You hear him inhale, “Of course.” His words are low. The silence that ensues makes you wonder if he is able to differentiate his own truths from lies.

“Alright,” you relent, and you see a notification pop up on the Batcomputer. Tim must have noticed you are awake now. “I have to go, but be safe, okay?”

“I’ll try my best.” His attempt at humor doesn’t land as he likely intended, but you muster up a soft chuckle in spite of it. “I love you.” He continues.

Your smile turns more genuine, “I love you too.” When you look at your screen again, the call has already ended. Setting the phone down, you pull up Tim’s messages on the Batcomputer.

He’s already frowning at the screen the moment you accept the video call. “Hello to you too.” You comment dryly.

“Are you okay? Since when did you get up?” He asks, and you notice he’s back at Panessa Studios. Damn, Bruce is still making him do those blood tests?

You frown, “If you didn’t know when I got up, why did you spam the Batcomputer?”

He waves you off, “I noticed that there was some activity on the network there. I’ve been monitoring it since I left.” Oops.

“Oh,” you nod, “yeah that was me.”

“I sure hope so. I’m not anywhere near the Batcave right now.” Tim crosses his arms, but then his glare softens. “How bad is it?”

You experimentally rotate your shoulder in a circular motion, “Could be worse. Not great, but it’ll have to do. Pain meds are helping.”

Tim sighs, and you hate the wounded look he’s giving you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there faster—”

“Tim, it’s not your fault. I went out there knowing what I could encounter— who I could encounter.” You don’t break eye contact with him. “If you weren’t there, I can only imagine how things could’ve gone.” He winces at your words, and you soften. “I am not upset, Tim. I’m just grateful that you showed up when you could.”

Tim purses his lips into a thin line, and you wish you could reassure him in person. “I… Logically I know that, but—”

Static cuts him off, and both you and Tim turn your attention to the other monitors of your respective computers. “Arkham Knight and militia just south of Bristol! Requesting backup!” The chatter in the background makes it hard to identify what’s going on, but you didn’t need to hear anything else.

Your blood boils hearing his name.

Tim, as if sensing your thoughts, eyes you cautiously. “I can handle it. I’m pretty sure Bruce is handling Two-Face right now.”

You shake your head, attempting to seem casual, “No, no, it’s fine. I got it. You’re busy as it is. I’d feel bad if Bruce was working you to the bone and I made you handle this.”

Tim narrows his eyes at you, “Are you sure? Weren’t you just shot?”

You make a show of rotating your shoulder, ignoring the dull ache that accompanies it. “See? All fine.” You grin at him.

He frowns, “Alright,” he begins reluctantly, “but if anything happens.”

“I will contact you and Bruce, how about that?” You are already moving off camera to go grab your suit. “I’m glad we agree, Tim. Thanks for the back up, bye!” You make a move to hang up before Tim can change his mind. You hold your laugh back as Tim’s astonished expression is the last thing you see before the call ends.

Now, is this a smart move to make? Going after the Arkham Knight fresh off a bullet wound? No. Even you are self aware enough to know that this is an incredibly foolish move, but that doesn’t stop the burning fury and questions you have. Perhaps your curiosity will truly get you killed someday. Putting on your mask, you shut off the Batcomputer.

You can almost hear Bruce’s voice echoing in your head: “This isn’t an investigation, this is an attempt to avenge yourself.” Perhaps the voice has a point because this isn’t just professional interest. It’s personal now. The Knight made it personal. The sound of his name grates against your nerves in a way that leaves you out of breath. With how spread out you all have been, you have no doubt that the Arkham Knight took advantage of that. He probably chose this time to act knowing that you’d all be busy.

He probably didn’t account for you impulsively searching for him, but at this point he should’ve with how many times you’ve met.

Upon arriving at the scene, you frown. It’s practically the same setup as when his men are stationed in those towers, and it feels a bit too predictable. You attempt to look for the Knight, but there’s so many goons that you aren’t sure where to look first. You stay up above them as you continue surveying the ground below, searching for any signs of him.

Instead, you find a shipping container hidden around a corner (courtesy of the goon you followed). Upon reaching it, you narrow your eyes down below. His mask is quite distinct. You imagine that even from a distance, you’d always recognize it.

You use your grapnel gun to get slightly closer, making sure to minimize your movement, lest they hear you.

“—ready for Scarecrow by tonight.” One of the militia henchmen informs the Knight, clipboard in hand.

The Arkham Knight slowly nods, “Excellent. Have the trucks move them.” He gestures off.

The guy looks back between the Knight and the shipment container, “..Are— Is that a good idea? What about the Bat or any of his sidekicks—” You frown, leaning closer to try listen better.

“—The Bat won’t be an issue.” The Arkham Knight sounds really sure of that. “As for his sidekicks?” He slowly turns around before turning his attention up to the ceiling above him. Your heart drops into your stomach. “I would’ve hoped they wouldn’t be foolish to come here alone.” He raises something in his hand, and you realize all too late that it’s a detonator.

You don’t even get a warning before the gargoyle you’re perched on explodes, causing you to fumble as you attempt to save your fall. The Knight doesn’t break eye contact with you, but you’re forced to turn away from him. The first few militia guys who approach you aren’t armed, and you sweep them off their feet, dealing with them as fast as you can.

However, they don’t stop.

It’s only when you realized how outnumbered you are (and outgunned) that you attempt to reach into your belt to reach help. The moment you reach for it, a gunshot ricochets next to you, causing you to flinch.

For a moment everybody is frozen. You aren’t sure who to look at, every direction you turn just shows a sea of the black and red uniforms. Swallowing, you are forced to watch as they part the path for the Arkham Knight. When he reaches you (all too casual for your liking), the henchman behind you strikes the back of your knee, causing you to collapse. You turn around to glare at them, ready to stand up, but they shove the barrel of a rifle onto the back of your head.

Damn. You knew this was stupid going into this, and yet you went through with it anyway. You silently berate yourself before raising your eyes to look up at the Arkham Knight who is now looking down on you. You hate how he looks down on you.

“I did that as a precaution. Can never be too sure with you lot.” He points down to you, circling you slowly, mockingly.

You bite your lip so hard you offhandedly realize that the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. The synthetic voice sounds like nails on chalkboard, and you find yourself wishing he’d shut up.

“I gotta say, I expected Robin though. I figured you’d be outta commission still.” He stops his pacing, his boots mere feet in front of you.

You sneer, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, don’t be.” He looks up, nodding to the massive militia squad behind you. You don’t turn your head (the pressure of the rifle’s barrel is starting to feel too real), but you can hear the shuffling footsteps dissipate. By the time they leave, there’s less than five of you in the area. You swallow, meeting the Arkham Knight’s “eyes.”

“I didn’t expect him to be such a coward. Letting his injured friend handle the dirty work out here.” He (not so lightly) shoves your wounded shoulder, and you let out a surprised whimper. The Knight resumes his pacing, and you get slightly dizzy watching him move back and forth.

Scoffing, you attempt to quell the thumping beat in your chest as you steel yourself. “Don’t call him a coward. You don’t even know Robin.” You swallow, attempting to push yourself up off the ground. One of the militia members uses a rifle to pin you back down, and— not wanting to be shot— you reluctantly settle yourself onto the floor.

The Knight pauses his pacing, looking down at you on the ground. He looks at the man with his gun pointing his rifle at your chest, and the man slowly lowers the weapon. The Knight strolls over to you, kneeling down to you, yet not low enough to be eye level. You wonder if he gets some twisted enjoyment looking down on you. You hide your trembling arms away from his view.

“Tim Drake…” He begins slowly, a mere whisper just above your ear.

You blink, “What—”

“He isn’t the first you know. He isn’t even the second.” He props his arms onto his knee, leaning closer to you. Instinctively, you lean away from the man, as if your body has a visceral reaction to his presence. “Do you know who was before him?”

You grit your teeth, “Why the hell should I tell you?” He doesn’t react, and you both are caught in a long staring contest. Neither of you back down, and you hate yourself for being the first one to. “Jason.” You eventually mutter.

Slowly, he nods, “And you are aware of what happened to him?”

You bite your tongue, attempting to look away from his mask. You tilt your head slightly. It could be interpreted as “so-so” but it could’ve just been a flinch. The Knight leans closer, “I need words. Silence doesn't tell me anything but that you lack the knowledge, and I find that hard to believe.”

You exhale, “I don't know everything, but...” You slowly look up to him. “I know that he died.”

The Knight freezes at your statement. His hands clench at his sides, and you half-delusionally wonder if he’s going to try and kill you again.

“Lies.” He spits the words out, and for a moment you are taken aback. “The Dark Knight fed you all lies.”

Your mouth parts, “What is your issue with him?” You scoff, glaring at his mask. “Look— He isn’t perfect, and I’m not always partial to the guy myself, but you’re acting like he’s the devil incarnate.”

A mangled sound comes from the Knight, distorted by his modulator. Frustrated, he stands up, resuming his pacing. He mumbles something to himsef before chuckling sardonically, the sound grating on your nerves, “You’re a fool for returning.” He raises a hand to point to you lazily, “You’re a fool for trusting him. I told you once before that in his eyes, your life is equal to the worth of some criminal roaming the streets.”

He walks back over to you, “Don’t you think if he wanted to be here, he would? He would’ve found you by now?” He throws his hands up casually, “I don’t exactly see him, and if he’s waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike from the shadows?” He leans closer to you, “He’s taking a long time.”

You try not to let his words get to you, “He’s looking for me. He’ll find me.” You glare at the Knight, but even you start to doubt your own words.

The Knight stares at you for a long moment, before he softly continues, “I once thought that too.” His words are low, quiet, only meant for you. The softness in his tone isn’t out of empathy, but out of pity, and it sends an wave of anger up to your throat, waiting to be spoken. The softness isn't mocking, and that irritates you more than any genuine statement the Knight could have half-heartedly mustered up. “Save yourself the trouble, and lose that optimism.”

You grit your teeth, angry tears flooding your eyes, followed by the impulsive decision to headbutt the Knight. It seems you caught him off guard, and he stumbles back slightly. His mask has a large crack in the screen, and you take immense satisfaction watching it glitch. The two militia members behind you kick you back down to the ground. Your jaw and nose echo in a resounding ache as one of them uses the butt of their rifle to hit you.

You can feel the familiar tang of blood fill your mouth, whether it was from the strike or biting your tongue to hard, you aren’t sure. What you immediately notice is that your mask is no longer fitted pristinely to your face. Pieces of it rest on the concrete floor below you, and you scowl at them as if they personally offended you.

You don’t attempt to sneak a glance up to the Arkham Knight, not wanting him to see your face. You don't want to look up while he's still your vicinity. It takes a minute, but once his footsteps become more distant, your eyes flicker up. Head still facing down, you peer through your eyelashes to watch as his figure grows smaller and smaller.

One of the militia soldiers hits you at the back of your neck causing your hood to fall limply off your head. Just great. One of them snickers before attempting to rip the remaining pieces of your mask off your face.

You yelp, attempting to fight him off, but three other soldiers restrict your limbs. Perhaps if you had been in better condition, you could figure out a method of escape, but all you can feel is the utter futility of your situation. Despair rises in your chest. The Knight’s footsteps taunt you as you hear them slowly fade into near silence. “Not so tough without ya mask, ain’t ya?” One of the men snickers, and you’re planted into your spot on the ground, knees digging painfully onto the uneven floor. You continue to scowl, forced to watch these men expose you as he rips your mask off.

They all laugh at your expression, and you can hear them mutter taunts to you. You tune them out, and one of them kicks your back, sending you to the ground, elbows first. The blow aggravates the bullet wound, and you bite back a scream of pain. Hunched over, coughing, you ball up your hands into fists as you look up to the Arkham Knight before he exits the area.

For a moment, the two of you make eye contact, and all you can do is attempt to catch your breath as the men above you continue to taunt you. Their words go unheard by you, but their presence is enough to drive you mad.

The Knight is no longer moving, and— similar to you— is rooted in his spot. You break eye contact with him as the soldier kicks you down again, pinning you with his boot.

“To think I unmasked one of the Bats,” his cocky tone inspires nothing but annoyance in you. You attempt to take a breath, but he presses harder, and your head is pushed right-side down onto the concrete. “I think I’ll be keeping this as a souvenir.” From your peripherals, you can see him pick up your broken mask.

“Oh come on, man! It was a group effort. Split it four ways, we each get a piece—” Something causes him to stop talking. The guy sounds like he begins to choke on air. For a moment, you feel utter relief.

Took Bruce long enough.

Your face is still planted into the ground at an awkward angle, and you use the goon’s distraction to your advantage, grabbing his foot and sweeping him from underneath, causing him to fall next to you. Once floored, you give him a quick strike to the head, making sure he’s knocked out before standing up again. You cough again, rubbing your chest, still feeling the imprint of the soldier’s boot.

“Finally,” you groan, twisting your neck, popping it, “I—” you turn to face Bruce, a small relieved smile on your face.

It falls immediately, for you aren’t met with the familiar silhouette of Batman.

Instead, the Arkham Knight is standing mere feet away from you, a few of his own militia groaning and unconscious on the floor beneath him. He has his guns pointed to the one who pinned you down. You flinch back as the Knight’s gaze meets your own, startled by his appearance. Why did he come back? You thought he left

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, both of you waiting, anticipating.

Slowly, his hand lowers, and your own hand snaps towards your utility belt, Batarang in hand within within milliseconds. At your reaction, he pauses. He is still, too still, and it causes you to panic internally. Whenever you saw him, whether it was in person or on a recording, he was constantly moving. Pacing back and forth, scanning the area, gesturing with his arms. For somebody so enigmatic, his body language was surprisingly expressive.

It makes his current stiffness all the more unnerving.

“You… I…” His voice sounds more subdued than you’ve ever heard, nigh distraught. It’s contrary to everything you’ve encountered with him. The Arkham Knight wasn’t quiet. The Arkham Knight wasn’t soft. Not like this at least. His “soft” words were always quiet taunts, never meant to comfort, only to break. This is the person who shot you with no remorse. This is the person who has pledged himself to kill Batman.

Yet he stands before you, bodies beneath him, speaking in soft tones, soft tones that lack that condescension.

What kind of tactic is this?

“If you have something to say, just spit it out.” You haven't lowered your hand. The Batarang glints dangerously in your dominant hand, perfectly within the Knight’s view.

“You…” he begins again, “You aren’t— When—”

You furrow your eyebrows. Add stuttering to the list of odd phenomena with the Arkham Knight that you aren’t entirely sure how to deal with.

“Oh, I get it.” You sneer at him, “You see my face, and you want to catch me off guard by acting like we’re supposed to be cool—”

“You said you left the city.” He cuts you off, and your momentary anger is replaced by pure unadulterated confusion.

You blink dumbly at him, “What?”

He shakes his head slowly, guns dropping to his side, but you don’t let your guard down. “You—” he shakes his head more aggressively, as if trying to shake a thought away. “You said you left the city.” He repeats, turning up to face you.

You furrow your eyebrows, “When did I ever tell you that?” Your palms feel sweaty in your hands, and you grip the Batarang tighter, worried it’ll slip between your fingers.

“I checked your location— I saw—” he sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself, “It said you were out in Central City.”

Your stomach feels queasy the longer he continues to speak. The unease causing you to shift restlessly on your feet. There was only one person who you gave that location to. A horrifying thought enters your mind, but you refuse to consider it, immediately shutting down the idea. “And… You know this how?” You attempt to sound indifferent, but you can hear the shift in tone of your own voice.

He remains frozen for a moment before he says your name; it’s so quiet you wonder if you even heard it correctly.

Your chest shudders, “You know me.” You don’t want it to be true.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t move to deny your statement— your accusation.

You swallow, “Say something.” You attempt to keep the break out of your voice, and the Batarang in your hand involuntarily lowers.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a step closer to you, and as if setting a switch off, you immediately raise the Batarang again. He freezes mid-step, and when you don’t throw the weapon, he resumes his approach. You keep your eyes trained on his mask, watching as the distance between you both dwindles faster than preferred. By the time he stops, he is mere inches from your face, and the tip of your Batarang is pressed weakly against his chest.

You’re breathing heavily at this point, yet you don’t feel physically exhausted. You force yourself to take a deep breath, but your chest shudders at the action. “Who are you?” Your voice is a low whisper, and your question, a plea for him to deny every thought racing through your mind.

Your hands don’t move as he slowly raises his own, reaching toward your face. Your breathing halts as he pauses before gently running a gloved finger against your jaw. Your eyes flicker over his form— unsure where to look— waiting for the attack. Why are you allowing this? The Knight is messing with you— he’s going to use your distress to his advantage.

Yet you are frozen to your spot, and something tells you that he is too. You are both frozen in front of one another.

His hand brushes down to the tattered shoulder of your suit, grazing lightly over the injury that he caused. Despite attempting to hide your wince, the Arkham Knight seems to sense your pain, and pulls his hand back slightly at your first sign of pain. You can’t look at his mask, but you can feel him staring at you. His gaze is piercing, as if waiting for you to start the conversation.

“No.” You deny, shaking your head as you attempt look down— away from his mask— away from him. “No, you're— you’re not…” you trail off, the words dying on your tongue. You attempt to push him back weakly, but he doesn’t move. “…You’re not Jason.” Your eyes glisten with tears as you look up to stare at his mask.

Hesitantly, as if afraid, the Knight raises his hand up, pressing his fingers just below his ear as the mask releases a hissing sound before it lifts up.

Despite having already reached the dreadful conclusion, you sharply inhale upon seeing Jason beneath the mask you have come to loathe.

You let out a sound that almost sounds like a whimper mixed with a sob. Before, you could at least pretend that the Arkham Knight wasn’t a real person. He was just another foe that had to be defeated. Seeing a person underneath all of that. It changes things.

You try and scour him for hints of your boyfriend, of Jason. Instead, you see the mask resting atop his head. You see the armor covering every inch of his skin. The holsters at his sides. The “A” in the center of his chest.

Looking at Jason now, you can’t see your boyfriend. You see the Arkham Knight.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, as you keep your eyes shut. If you close your eyes long enough you can pretend that he isn’t there.

Then the Knight says your name, and it sounds like Jason. No longer is the distorted voice mocking your every action. Instead, it’s your Jason, calling out for you. Every cell in your body screams to you that the man in front of you is Jason. That he’d never hurt you. Your loving boyfriend adores you more than anybody in the world. He would sooner strike himself down before doing anything to hurt you.

You slowly turn your head to the healing scar at your shoulder. Jason The Arkham Knight follows your gaze to the injury, “I… I never knew that… You know I would never—” he turns his gaze up to you, desperate “you know I would never have done if it I knew. I thought— I never wanted—” he lets out a hurried exhale, saying your name again.

“Please, please look at me.” He begs, raising a hand to your face, but at your glare at him, and he hesitantly lowers it, as if unsure what to do with his hands. “I’m so sorry.” His voice a broken plea for forgiveness. “I’m so, so sorry. I would take it back if I could—”

“You shot me.” You cut him off, voice sounding more stable than you feel. “You were going to shoot me in the head.” You raise a hand to wipe the tears overflowing your eyes.

“No!” He yells out, and you stiffen up. His hurt expression reminds you of Jason so much, that you force yourself to look away again. “No, no. I didn’t want to actually hurt you.”

You narrow your eyes, disbelief evident in your gaze. “You said that I blew my ‘only warning.’” You scoff, but the sounds more pained than mocking, “You placed that gun against my body with your finger on the trigger. You were ready to shoot.”

He scrunches his eyes tight, “I was just trying to scare you— I didn’t actually intend to kill you. I... I didn't even intend to shoot you.” Your eyes slowly lower to his holsters before moving back up to his imploring expression.

“Then why did you shoot me? Why did you go searching for me with a rifle?” Your eyes burn as you point an accusing finger at him.

He looks down, unable to meet your eyes for the first time. “I… My issue was with him. You were dismantling my operations,” he swallows, “I had to send a message to him that I wouldn’t tolerate any interference. I knew he wouldn’t relent.” He shuts his eyes, before opening them, steeling himself for his next words. “However, if I threatened you or Robin?” He sounds pained, “If I showed him that I wasn’t messing around… Then maybe I could finally catch the Bat, catch Bruce. It’s stupid now. I shouldn’t have— I…” He slowly trails off, eyes frantically looking over you.

You stare at him for a moment, and hesitantly he attempts to look up— almost as if waiting for your permission. “You… You know Bruce.” You think out loud, Jason don’t respond. “You’re… You’re that Jason.” The realization dawns on you. You had been so focused on him being your Jason, that you didn't even consider he could be that Jason. He meets your eyes for the first time, slowly nodding.

“I…” It made sense now. Jason’s grudge against Batman, the Knight’s knowledge of how he operates— knowing his weaknesses. Jason didn’t just know Batman. He was Robin. “…never knew.” You clench your fists.

He huffs, and it’s somehow the most “Jason” and the most “Arkham Knight” he has sounded this whole conversation. “Yeah, that… doesn’t surprise me.” His voice trails off, quiet, but with rage bubbling beneath.

Neither of you say anything, and all you do is stare at each other. Slowly you push yourself away from Jason, and he doesn’t move to stop you. He watches as you kneel to grab the pieces of your broken mask. He starts to lower himself as well, intending to help most likely, and you send him a pointed look. He stops, slowly straightening up, and you can’t bring yourself to look at his expression.

Before, you’d have fought tooth and nail just to catch a glimpse of the Arkham Knight, to be able to see his face. You expected fury underneath, a sneering expression built out of personal grudges and vengeance.

Now?

You find yourself wishing he was never unmasked. The despair of seeing Jason’s face is worse than any bullet to the chest could’ve brought you. You grab the last piece of your mask before starting to walk away from Jason.

“You’re leaving?” Jason sounds as if he’s preparing to follow you. His hand twitches as if he wants to reach out to you.

You grit your teeth, “Are you going to stop me?”

He doesn’t immediately respond. At his silence, you turn to face him, the weariness in your gaze evident. He looks as if you struck him, mouth open, and for a moment you wonder if you broke him. You don’t say any of that, simply choosing to raise an eyebrow.

“Of course not.” He responds, his voice nearly inaudible. He isn’t moving, but he is leaning forward, as if he wants to be closer to you, yet he doesn’t reach for you. His hands lay limp at his sides.

You stare at him for a moment before turning away from him again. After a beat of silence, you think that this is the end of the interaction, but then he speaks again. “Is this it?” He breaks the silence, and you freeze.

“What?” You ask, and your voice sounds exhausted. Despite that fatigue, your alarm at hearing his words is evident.

Jason shifts awkwardly on his feet, and it makes him look so small despite him being anything but. “Are you going to leave?” He asks, and it sounds so helpless and utterly pitiful. You hate that you’re the one causing him to use that tone. Desolate and expectant. As if he isn’t surprised you’re leaving.

“I’m… I need to think.” You respond, tilting your head away from him. “My judgment is…” you loosely wave your hand around, “When you’re involved, I can’t—” you struggle to find the words, “I have to get out of here to think.” You land on, swallowing.

He doesn’t react initially, but then he hesitantly starts again. “I meant are you… are we..?” He trails off, swallowing down the words. He inhales, and you see his chest shudder slightly as it rises.

“Jason,” you squeeze your eyes shut and turn away from him. The anger floods out of your body, replaced by anguish. “I need to process this.” You hesitantly sneak a glance to him. “I’ll return, but I can’t do this right now.” You purse your lips, shaking your head.

“And how long will that take?” He asks softly, and he looks so pained, so hurt. Part of you wants to reassure him, to go back to him. That was all you wanted for days. “Do you intend to return, or—” he chuckles humorlessly, “or…” he repeats, trailing off, his already soft tone becoming inaudible. The implication is obvious to both of you.

“Jay,” you plead, “don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be, please.” You open your eyes, forcing yourself to take a deep breath, calming your racing heart. “You know I don’t want this.” You turn to face him before quickly averting your eyes back to the ground.

“Really?” His words sound disbelieving, and you wince at the tone. “If you don’t want this, then don’t go.” He walks up to you, and hesitantly grabs your palm laid at your side. “Just…” you watch as his lip trembles, nearly imperceptible, “Just don’t leave… Don’t leave me, please.”

You finally look up from the ground to him. His plea is desperate and only meant for you. To think that the same man begged you to leave the city is now pleading for you to stay with him. His words are soft, but the weight of them was never valued in their volume. He is breathing heavily, but you doubt it’s from physical exertion. The brawl had ended what must’ve been ages ago. His eyes follow your every moment, as if trying to predict your response based purely on eye contact.

“Jason,” you start and your voice cracks slightly, “It’s not that easy. I’m not— I don’t want to leave you. That's never what I’d want.” You raise a hand to his head, eying him as you carefully grab the mask off the top of his head. He doesn’t stop you. “I just…” You look down at the mask in your hands, the Arkham Knight’s mask. “I wasn’t… It was unexpected.”

He remains silent, and you see his jaw clench. Your shoulders fall slightly as you shift the mask into your offhand. “Give me a day or two… We can meet at the apartment or wherever you decide. I just need a little bit of time.” You thoughtlessly run your fingers over the mask before offering it back to him. “We need time, whether you think so or not.”

Jason looks down at it before looking back up at you. Slowly, he grabs it, “I… I didn’t want to hurt you.” He repeats his words from earlier.

You exhale, slowly blinking, “I know, Jay.”

“No,” he grounds, frustrated, “you don’t sound like you believe it.” He clutches the mask so tightly you see it tremble. “I never intended for you to get shot. That’s not how we planned it.”

“I believe you, Jay.” You offer him a strained smile. You do believe him. It’s hard not to when he’s looking at you as if your opinion is the only one that matters. You believe that he never intended for you to get shot, that he never wanted you to get shot.

That doesn’t change the fact that it happened though, and this revelation will be no small obstacle to overcome. You can’t imagine he doesn’t feel some sort of betrayal at finding out you’ve been working with Bruce for the past few nights, lying to him. You may have been the one to get physically hurt, but you can imagine— in fact, you can see the emotional toll it’s taking, not just on yourself, but on him. No matter how much he may insist you needn’t leave, you doubt that he doesn’t need time to process this too.

“I believe you.” You reassure him.

No matter how much you love him, belief doesn’t change the past.

The next couple days pass by with an aching slowness, tension taut as if waiting for an inevitable snap. You find yourself awaiting for it to crumble down upon you, but Jason adhered to you. He didn’t contact you, and despite telling him to not message you, you felt a pit at the bottom of your stomach every time you checked your phone only to not see his name. It left an uneasy weight on your chest, and you kept telling yourself that you both needed this. Not a break, per se, but at least some time to understand the consequences of both of your actions.

Your train of thought inevitably led to one question: where did this leave you both?

It wasn’t as easy to answer as what you may suppose.

The part of you so blindly in love with Jason says that this changes nothing. Even when Jason was actively the Arkham Knight, he never treated you— the real you— any differently. If you wanted to be blind once again, perhaps you both could pretend.

Of course, that’s naive, and dangerous in more than one way.

There’s no way you’d be able to ignore that facet of him. You doubt he could hardly ignore you going out masquerading into the night either. Best case scenario, you two would ignore each other out on the field. It’s not even a good case, yet it is better than having to fight with Jason. Even if you try to ignore each other, it would be downright impossible given Gotham's current state. Bruce would catch on immediately, and it’d create a whole other slew of problems.

You’d reached your conclusion on the afternoon leading to the second night. You’d pulled out your phone, and texted Jason for the first time since the night of the reveal. He responded within seconds (you were not counting), and the two of you agreed to meet at the apartment tonight.

You’d gone on dates many a time throughout your relationship with Jason. The first few were filled with that fluttering feeling in your chest, the giddiness of thinking you found the one. You had felt nervous, but excited.

Now, you feel that nervousness tenfold, but with zero of the excitement. No matter how well this could go, you can’t help but wonder how different things could be. Why did you have to be helping Bruce? Why did Jason have to be helping Scarecrow? Why did he have to be the Arkham Knight?

They were fruitless questions, more what-if’s to add to the growing list of regrets you have.

You can’t help but feel that both of you would’ve been happier if you weren’t who you are. Would ignorance be better than the guilt you feel churning in your gut? You whisper a lie to Tim, telling him you have business to attend to tonight— unavoidable. He frowns, but doesn’t question it. You wonder how he’d react to finding out that you are the one dating the Arkham Knight.

You try desperately to bridge the connection between the two: Jason and the Arkham Knight. If you think hard enough, and reflect on the footage of your meeting for the millionth time, perhaps you can find some similarities. Idiosyncrasies that you would’ve never connected between the two.

The longer you mulled over that footage the longer you realized that they were never separate. Jason is just as real as the Arkham Knight is. They aren’t mutually exclusive. Jason may have been real in different ways, but both of them are real. Jason shares his feelings with the Knight, and the Knight shares his feelings with Jason. They’re equal, and somehow they aren’t opposite. If anything they feed into each other.

It was yet another thing to add to your list of regrets. You had initially separated the two in your head, Jason and the Arkham Knight. The Arkham Knight could not love you because he is not Jason. Jason could love you because he is not the Arkham Knight. It wasn’t a fair distinction to make because Jason does love you, and you know that. He loves you even when he wears that mask and he loves you without it. Putting on a mask doesn’t change that.

Perhaps your first mistake was assuming that it did.

By the time you get there, he’s already waiting in your shared apartment. You walk to the living room, and despite everything that's happened, you feel glad to see him. It’s the first time you’ve seen each other since the revelation. He looks you up and down, his eyes lingering on the bullet wound he caused. You can’t tell if he’s attempting to be obvious, or if he really can’t tell he is staring. Either way, you adjust your clothes to cover the bandages around it. He turns his attention away from you, back to the coffee table he was staring into.

Neither of you want to be the first one to speak, and it’s painfully apparent. The silence is suffocating, and neither one of you act to allow the room to breathe. Eventually, you suck it up and break it.

“You’re here.” His head snaps up to yours as if he wasn’t expecting your voice. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here so soon.”

He pauses before answering, “I never left.” His voice is rough, raw, and strained. You can’t tell if it’s from overuse or underuse.

You frown, “You stayed here?” You're slightly taken aback by the revelation. He stayed even when you had left? “Even when planning…” you gesture your hand loosely around you.

He shakes his head, “No… God, no, I didn’t want you involved in that stuff.” He shakes his head profusely.

“Bit too late for that now.” You reply dryly, barely louder than a whisper.

Jason doesn’t respond to that comment, “Why’d you come early if you weren’t expecting me here?” He sits up straighter, turning back to look at you.

You blink at him before slowly shrugging, you begin to pace the room. “I don’t know… I wanted to see if I’d find anything that would’ve clued me in sooner. Closure, I suppose."”

“Closure?” He repeats, sputtering. “That… You’re making it sound final.”

You sigh, “Jason…”

He furrows his brows, “Is Bruce making you do this?” He asks softly, standing up. He sounds like he understands, as if he’s been in your position before. “We can… We can just leave. You don’t have to listen to him.” He walks over to you, grabbing your hands.

You open your mouth to speak, but your mouth runs dry. He takes this as an opportunity to continue. “We can leave Gotham. Forget Bruce. Forget Scarecrow. Forget everything going on here.”

His words are a whisper into your ear, for a moment you don’t register the panic hidden underneath.

The offer is tempting, so tempting. You feel yourself faltering, wondering if this is the right decision to make. Could you ditch everything here? Could you leave Gotham and— realistically— never look back? You’d never be able to look any of your friends in the eye again. How could you look at Tim, Dick, Barbara, or even Bruce knowing that you ditched them out of fear of facing reality?

“Jason,” you begin slowly, “it’s not that easy.” You squeeze his hand.

“It can be. I can get us out of the city within the hour.” His eyes bore into your own. “Just tell me to, please.” He squeezes your hand back. The gesture isn’t comforting, not to you. It’s not a gesture born out of grounding you, but out of fear. Fear that if he let go, you might never return. “Tell me anything, but I—” he exhales, “I can’t do this silence anymore. Just talk to me.”

You open your mouth, the words are on your lips. The desire to stay with Jason is overwhelming. Your lips part, and you let out a shaky exhale.

“Jason, I can’t ask you to do that.” You look down, focusing on your intertwined hands. The scars on his hands make so much sense now, and hesitantly you raise your hand to gently caress them. Jason watches you the whole time, and he looks conflicted by your gesture.

“You can.” He nods obstinately, “Please ask me to do this.”

“Jason, I don’t think—” you force yourself to look to the ground, away from his distraught expression, “—this is a good idea…”

He doesn’t react immediately, yet you know he heard you. He can’t not hear you, your inches apart.

He says your name, “Did Bruce ask you to do this?” He repeats his question from earlier gravely, and you shake your head.

“No, no,” you sneak a glance up to him, “I haven’t even told him.”

“So why?” He sounds wounded with an aspect of bewilderment thrown in. “We don’t have to break up.”

You swallow, shaking your head, fighting the tears. You tried to avoid that phrase: “break up.” Digging your nails into your palm, you sigh, “Jason, this isn’t going to stop anytime soon. We’re on opposite sides of this—”

“And you’re not willing to work past that?” His eyebrows are furrowed, and his eyes are filled with utter confusion.

“Jason, I don’t think we can.” You mirror his expression. “I mean— Look where it got me.” Your eyes flicker down to your shoulder.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “That’s— That’s not… I would take it back in a heartbeat if I could. You know it was a mistake. I was caught by surprise. I never meant to actually hurt you, even when I didn’t know it was you. I—”

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose, but it’s just proving my point.” You shake your head. “We won’t be on the same side of this battle. It’s dangerous for both of us if we’re out there fighting each other.”

“You wouldn’t have to fight me. I wouldn’t allow them to hurt you.” He grounds out, teeth gritting.

“If they hurt Bruce though? If they hurt Tim? Dick? Barbara?” You shake you head, “Jay, I won’t be able to avoid fighting your forces if any of them are in danger.” You squeeze his hand again. “This—” you gesture between you both, “won’t work for as long as we’re on opposing sides. We’re too close to the situation, too each other. It’s going to get one of us hurt or worse.”

Shakily, you raise a hand up to his cheek, gently avoiding the ‘J’ scar. His pupils are dilated, and you can see your teary reflection in them. You blink away the tears, “Perhaps, perhaps when this all dies down… Maybe we can make it work again, but with the current circumstances…” You turn your gaze to the window, looking down over the city, filled with drones patrolling, buildings aflame, and the familiar echo of not-so-distant gunshots. “Jason, we can’t continue this right now, and I think you know this.” His eyes stay trained on your own as you gently lower your hand from his face.

“I… You’re choosing them and not us?” He doesn’t meet your eyes, and he angles himself so you can’t read him.

“Jason— No— How could— I’m not choosing anybody. I’m…” You swallow, “I’m not going to be going out for patrol until this is over.”

His eyes snap up, “You’re… quitting?”

Dubiously, you nod. “At least until this is over. I can’t— I wouldn’t be able to make a decision out on field if I had to pick a side. I’m a liability.” It’s a lie, and you aren’t sure if he caught it. You know what decision you’d make. You know who’d you choose, and you know you’d only exacerbate the situation if you continued to aid Bruce. “I’m sorry, Jason.” You meet his eyes, the tears are silently falling down your face. You rub them away, attempting to pull away for the last time when he grabs you, luring you in.

You fall against his body, and he tilts your head to face him. Neither of you say anything as he leans down and kisses you. It’s slow, lingering, as if both of you are savoring what very well may be your final moments together. Jason raises his hand to wipe away the remainder of your tears as he deepens the kiss. It’s not sensual, but it contains desire. It’s the desire to stay in each other’s presence for just a little more, drawing out what inevitably must end. It’s the desire to spend just one more minute in each other’s presence. Neither of you pull away, and you take the opportunity to wrap your arms around him, leaning closer to him. You can feel Jason's shoulders relax under your touch.

The moment is drawn out, but that doesn’t make it artificial. If anything, it only makes the reality set in. Neither of you are eager to pull apart, and you offhandedly realize you should’ve. Perhaps it would make this easier.

Despite everything, one thing your heart and mind could agree on was that you still want Jason. No matter how much you’re pushing him away with your current actions, you still want him. Even after learning of who he is, you still want him. You don’t ever think you can stop wanting him.

Perhaps that’s why you don’t pull away, not for a long time.

Inevitably, one of you has to pull away for air, and Jason continues to lean closer to you, as if chasing your lips for just one more kiss. You open your eyes, and he is panting heavily as he shifts his gaze from your lips up to your eyes. Neither of you say anything as you look down to his lips. Both of you craving the other, yet unable to do anything about it. You gnaw the inside of your lip as you pull away. None of you say anything. You stare at each, and his gaze is heavy like a promise. A promise to return to each other one day.

For that moment, he was your Jason again, and you feel content in knowing that one day, he may be yours once more.

Both of your eyes linger on one another as you exit the apartment. You’re unhurried, almost as if you’re attempting to burn this memory into the back of Jason’s mind. He supposes that you do an acceptable job burning it into his memory. The kiss you shared is vividly painted in his brain, and he doesn’t think it’ll be leaving his thoughts anytime soon.

He okay with that.

He watches the door as if hoping that by some miracle you might turn around and take back every decision you made. He doesn’t wait long, but there was the tiniest bit of optimism.

He walks back to your shared bedroom. Opening the closet, he reaches for the duffel bag inside. Upon unzipping it, his mask is atop the pile of his armor. He slowly grabs it, the pulsing light emanating from it illuminates the otherwise dark room.

You had said that maybe in the future it could work again. That being on opposite sides is dangerous, and Jason knows that logically, you’re correct.

He’s never been logical when it came to you.

He looks out the window, seeing the city reflected below. You were right. Both of you are too deep into this situation. He knows you can fight— he’s seen you fight, but knowing that you’d be out there on the field with unaccounted variables, variables he can’t control? With the current state Gotham is in? It’s a wonder how Bruce thought it was acceptable to be going out alone against the wolves of Gotham. It’s one thing for Bruce to endanger his own life, it’s another thing to endanger yours.

The thought sends a shiver through him that Scarecrow never could. To think that he could get his hands on you if Jason wasn’t careful. Jason banishes the idea from his mind, for he’d never allow that to happen. He’s already failed you once, and he will not be repeating that mistake.

Perhaps, one day you will reunite. Perhaps one day, he will be able to hold you in his arms once again, untroubled by the headache of Gotham. Perhaps one day, he won’t have to worry about Bruce, the enemies you've made, or any criminals of Gotham itching to get one over his head and take you.

Today isn’t that day. It won’t be tomorrow either. There’s a possibility it may not come for years.

But Jason is patient. He's been patient.

He will wait.

However, he has the power to expedite your return. He holds the mask up before gently placing it onto the bed as he grabs the rest of his armor, slowly putting it on.

He can get out there right now, and make those years apart turn to months. He can make those months turn to weeks. If he tries hard enough, perhaps he can make those weeks into days. If finishing his business with Scarecrow is what it will take to be able to feel your touch upon his skin once more?

Jason adjusts his holsters before grabbing his guns, sliding them into place. He reaches for the mask, placing the familiar weight onto his head. He presses the button against his neck, and it lowers onto his face. He takes in a deep breath.

He will do what it takes.

: ̗̀➛ A/N: Yes I’m aware I said that I would be posting that one Jason fic ft. Damian idea next. No, I will NOT apologize. I had this idea in mind ever since I finished the games. For those of you who’ve been following my updates. THIS is the fic that I’ve been unsure about. I hope I did AK!Jason justice. I adore him so much. Anyway, I wasn't sure whether to tag this as ooc. The way I see it, Jason may love you, but at the same time he did go and commit all those crimes in the game. He was out for BLOOD in Arkham Knight (at the very least he wanted Bruce specifically dead), and I wanted to make sure that was evident here even if he loves reader. Honestly, I could go into a whole deep dive of why I wrote him the way I did. I have SO many thoughts about him. ANYWAY, this is already long enough as it is, I hope you enjoyed the fic! :D

As you walked away the corners of his lips turned up into a soft smile. 

You hurried to Bucky’s room and upon entering a frustrated groan left you. There the nightstand was, with no watch. You searched the drawers in the nightstand and the top of his dresser, still no luck. 

After staring at the nightstand, you wondered if you really did leave it there but maybe it fell. You kneeled down next to the bed and turned on your phone flashlight. A quick scan finally revealed the missing watch. With a relieved sigh you reached for it, when something caught your eye. 

A box. 

A box with your name written on the side of it. 

Your own name was staring back at you as you grabbed the watch. With a careful hand you reached for the box and dragged it out from the bed. 

The box sat in your lap, unopened, unbothered. It was a dark brown cardboard shoe box from one of his pairs of boots. Your name was written in black marker on the side and next to it a tiny messy heart. 

Your gut is telling you not to open it. It might have been hidden for a reason. You have no right to be digging and snooping around Bucky’s things. Finding something he didn’t want found. 

But another part of you was desperate to know what was inside. That small but loud part of your brain that was screaming at you to open it. The voice kept echoing in your ears. Reminding you that your name was on it. 

Why did he have a box with your name on it?

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be hidden. You kept things under your bed not because you wanted to hide them, but because of storage and safekeeping. Maybe this was like that. 

Maybe. 

God the anticipation was going to kill you. 

Maybe it was a present he put in there for your next anniversary, birthday, or some other reason. 

Well then you should really not open it. Don’t want to ruin any possible surprise he has for you. 

You really shouldn’t open it. You shouldn’t open it. Don’t open it. Don’t open it. Don’t open it. Don’t open it. Open it. Open it. Open it…

Your hands moved on their own. Your fingers peeled back the lid of the box and set it down on the floor next to you. 

You peered inside at the contents of the box with confused curiosity. At first glance it didn’t look like much. It definitely wasn’t a present. There were a bunch of random items, mostly paper ones. 

The first thing that caught your attention was the small plastic wristband. It was at the top of the pile. You picked it up and read the words on the side “Luna Park: Coney Island.” Realization dawned on you that it was Bucky’s wristband from your first date. When he asked you out, there was no specific place in mind yet. But when he told you an old story about him and Steve at Coney Island and you said you had never been there before, he knew where he wanted to take you. 

It was a perfect first date. The weather was clear and warm but not too hot to be uncomfortable, no doubt because of the cool ocean breeze. You went on rides, you played games. And of course Bucky spent 40 bucks to win you a blue stuffed penguin you fawned over and called cute. He was a man on a mission. And now that penguin sat on a chair in your bedroom. 

With a smile you placed the wristband back in the box and picked at the other things inside. 

Your heart swelled at the realization that most of the items were from your old dates with Bucky. There were tickets from your trips to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Museum of Natural History and one from The New York Aquarium. There had to be at least 5 movie stubs and 3 dinner receipts from dates you went on with him. There was the playbill from the broadway show he took you to for your birthday a few months ago. He surprised you with orchestra seats. 

You dug around more and found a strip of photos from a photo booth you took with Bucky. His eyes shined as he told you about how common they were back in the 30s and how he used to always stop at them with his friends. When you both sat down he stared with wide eyes at the inflated price. 

“Ten dollars? This used to cost a quarter!” 

You giggled at his complaint, “You sound so old when you say stuff like that.” You reached for your purse to grab a ten when he stopped you with a hand on your arm and pulled out his wallet from his pocket. 

“I’m still not going to let you pay for it,” he returned with a sly grin. 

You smiled looking down at the strip of pictures in your hand. The top photo was simple, both you and Bucky smiling at the camera with his arm around you. It was sweet, peaceful. In the second photo you placed a hand under his chin and kissed his cheek. His eyes were closed with wrinkles around them from his smile. His cheeks were more rosy than in the last photo. In the third photo Bucky now had his hand on your neck as he kissed you. The fourth and final photo was of you looking at the camera, mid laugh, while Bucky had a hand on your face and pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

The machine gave you two copies of the pictures. Yours was pinned to a cork board in your room next to other photos. 

You moved on from the photo strip and continued digging through the memory box, throwing caution to the wind. 

As you flipped through the other items a shell fell from behind something, landing in the corner of the box. It was the seashell from when you walked and talked on the beach for what felt like hours because you were so engrossed in conversation with him. The water carried a small shell onto the shore. You picked it out from the water and stared at it in awe. You had asked Bucky to hold onto it because your clutch was full and your outfit didn’t have any pockets. Later that night you forgot about it. 

In fact, you forgot about it until now, weeks later. Your jaw dropped as you ran your fingertips over the ridges of the shell's surface, reminiscing your walk on the beach. His hand in yours and the

The next thing you found were the birthday cards you gave Bucky from his last two birthdays. One card was from a birthday before you started dating, and the other one was after. 

The two year old card was more basic, like you got it from the generic section of the birthday card aisle (because you did). You opened up the old card and read your own handwriting. 

Happy Birthday Bucky

I know you don’t like making a big deal out of your birthday but you still deserve a card :) 

You’re so important to this team and your effort doesn’t go unnoticed. We’re lucky to have you around. I hope you have a great day and that 109 treats you well. (Even though you’re technically not 109 haha) 

You closed it and set it back down in the box before grabbing the one you gave him on his most recent birthday. This one was less generic. You picked out one that had more design and personality. 

Happy Birthday my Love 

I am so grateful to have you by my side. You’re one of the best things to have ever happened to me. I hope you know you are so important and appreciated. I can’t imagine my life or this team without you. 

Happy 110th you old man ;)

I love you with all my heart

Hidden behind the birthday cards was a stack of post-it notes all stuck together. Some of them were old with barely any stickiness left and crinkled edges. Some were new and almost in pristine condition. But all of them were notes from you. You flipped through the stack of sticky notes and saw more of your own handwriting. 

Good morning <3

You make me smile :)

Meet me in the lounge later I have a surprise!

I know you stole my last Pepsi >:( prepare for war

I’m so proud of you 

Have a great day!

And at least 7 more that just say I love you 

Bucky must have saved every single note you left for him.

Your heart almost gave out but thankfully it lasted to see the last few items in the box. 

There were more photos. Two to be exact. Two Polaroids taken from Yelena's camera. 

One of the Polaroids was taken a few months ago. You knew it was taken because you posed for it. It was on your birthday. The team celebrated at the tower with you after the show Bucky surprised you with. You wanted to keep out of the public eye for the rest of your birthday. Spend the night with just friends. And your boyfriend of course. 

Yelena was a few drinks in, wasting her camera film throughout the night. She had a pile of photos on the coffee table that was getting thicker as time went on. Most of them included you. 

This one was of you and Bucky. Everyone was sitting on the couches playing a drinking game. You and Bob returned from the bar with new drinks. A Long Island iced tea for you and a regular iced tea for him. You plopped back down on the couch next to your boyfriend, giggling at whatever outlandish thing Alexei said. After you placed your drink down Bucky wrapped an arm around you and placed a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

“Awe! Wait, that was adorable, do that again!” Yelena exclaimed as she grabbed her camera. 

You rolled your eyes, with no real malice of course. “Yelena,” you laughed. 

“Come on, it’s sweet!” She turned the camera on and looked through the viewfinder. 

“Kiss!” Alexei shouted. 

“Pucker up Barnes!” Ava yelled from the other couch. 

The corners of Bucky’s lips turned up into a grin as he shook his head. A gasp left you as Bucky grabbed your hips and pulled you into his lap. He tightened his arm around you and placed a kiss on your cheek. Your face turned bright red as an airy giggle left your lungs. 

Yelena snapped the image in front of her. Forever frozen in time.

The memory of that night now sat in your hands as you stared down at it. There was a phantom feeling of his lips on your skin as you set the Polaroid back down in the box. 

You picked the other photo up, immediately recognizing when it was taken. Except, you don’t remember it being taken. 

This picture was taken a few short weeks before Bucky asked you out. You knew that because your hair was slightly shorter. It was more grown out now. 

The photo was of you and Bucky on the couch, taken from behind. Your back was to the camera, resting against the couch. Bucky was sitting next to you. Your attention was pulled away somewhere off camera. But Bucky, he looked right at you. 

The thing that really stuck with you was his eyes. His eyes were soft. The kind of soft that people didn't see often from him. His eyes are normally like stone. His stare, usually hard, like rock. It pierces into you. But this look on him was different. He looked at you like you were a work of art. Like he was trying to take in all of you with just his eyes. 

You've seen that look before many times. But didn’t notice it before you started dating. You didn’t realize just how head over heels he was in the weeks leading up to your first date. 

You cautiously placed the pictures back in the box, like they were delicate and fragile. 

Something else you didn’t remember was a napkin with little doodles on it. You recognized it as a napkin from a bar the team occasionally visited. But you can’t remember when you drew flowers and vines on this napkin. 

Bucky seemed to remember it. He kept it and cherished it in his memory box like it was a masterpiece you created and not some drunk sketch. 

Your heart rate slowly grew in speed as your eyes moved to a keychain at the bottom of the box. It was a small, yellow, metal keychain in the shape of Texas with a cartoon beaver on it. 

It was in the middle of the night after a short mission in Texas. You and Ava stopped at the largest rest stop you’d ever seen in your life. The rest stop had a beaver for its mascot and aisles of merch. But what made you buy the keychain for him was the name of the rest stop. Buc-ee’s. 

You almost didn’t buy it for him. This was long before you started dating and you weren’t sure how he would appreciate a random gag gift. 

“I found something for you in Texas.” 

He turned to you and hummed with curiosity. You dug the keychain from your jeans pocket and handed it to him. 

“We found this rest stop called Buc-ee’s and they have this little beaver as their mascot,” you explained, fidgeting with the loops in your jeans. “He’s literally your twin, you're both named Bucky,” you ended with a chuckle, trying to make this one sided conversation any less awkward. 

He continued to silently examine it, his right, flesh hand running over the painted metal. 

“I know it’s stupid, you don’t have to keep it,” you nervously mumbled. You reached forward to grab it back from him, 

He pulled his hand back, not willing to give up the present. “No, it’s not stupid. It’s cute,” he reassured.  

Your cheeks heated up in real time just like they did when he said that. 

He kept it. 

He kept the gag gift you got him. This silly little keychain was so important he kept it in a special keepsake box.

You almost couldn’t believe what you found. All the memories, all the stuff you gave him, all the things he cherished because they reminded him of you. It seemed like this box that sat in your lap held his very own heart and all his love for you. 

You shuffled the items back to how they were in the box when you found it. You assumed that was all there was to find in there. Until three candy wrappers fell out from between the various papers. 

Jolly Ranchers. Your favorite candy. 

You always had them on you. Kinda like an old lady that carries around hard candy. John always jokes that you’re an old woman when you grab a jolly rancher from your pocket or purse. He says you and Bucky are perfect for each other because you both have old person tendencies. 

Speaking of Bucky, because you often had candy on you, you always offered some to him. He always said yes. Here in his shoe box you saw one cherry and two green apple wrappers. 

You froze, staring at the candy wrappers. Even in the silence of his room you couldn’t hear the footsteps approaching. For a moment all you heard was your own heart pounding in your ears. 

The door creaked open. “Hey, you’ve been gone for a while. Did you find your watch?” Bucky asked, walking in the room. 

He stopped a few feet away from you. Your back was to him, the box hidden in your lap. But he knew you had it because he saw the lid on the floor next to you. 

You raised your hand and shook your wrist to show him the watch. “Yeah, I found it,” your voice sounded more hoarse than you expected. You quickly blinked away the tears that collected at your waterline right before he waked in.

Bucky took a few steps closer, and crouched down next to you. He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. Now that he was close to you, he noticed how glassy your eyes were. 

He held your face in his hand, his thumb stroking your cheek. Your eyes fluttered close. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. My watch was under the bed and I found this,” you started rambling. “I saw my name. I know I shouldn’t have opened it-“ 

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” he soothed in a quiet voice. He turned your face towards his. “I’m not mad.” 

You nodded to confirm you understood. You sniffled and glanced between him and the box. 

“You kept all this.”  

“I did.” 

“Why?” 

It was a dumb question and you knew it. Yet the word still flew out of your mouth. 

He took a pause, breathing in. 

“This stuff means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me,” he answered like it was the easiest thing to say in the world. 

“After HYDRA, after all the-” he hesitated- “issues with my memory I started keeping stuff like this. To remember.”

With his free hand he grabbed the other side of your face. Bucky leaned closer, his bright blue eyes stared into yours and bore into your soul. You could’ve sworn they looked a little glassy.

“I want to make sure I remember you.” 

You lip quivered. Bucky leaned forward and captured your lips in a brief, gentle kiss. He rested his forehead against yours. 

“Can I ask about something in the box?”

“Anything.” 

“The napkin. I don’t remember it,” you confessed, voice quiet and curious. “Why did you save it?” 

“It was the team's first time at that bar. You were drunk and bored because they weren’t playing songs you liked. Someone left a pen on the bar and you sat there drawing on a napkin for twenty minutes.” Bucky paused as his lips curled into a smile. “You were so concentrated. The bar, the team, they were all so loud and distracting. But all your attention was on these little drawings. Like you were painting the Mona Lisa.”

He licked his lips, “that night I realized I have feelings for you.” 

A giddy smile snuck its way on your face before you kissed him. Slow and passionate. You poured all your love into that kiss to try and match the amount of devotion and love he had on display for you.

You pulled away, but not too far away. Your lips hovered over his. “I love you with all my heart. You know that right?” 

He lightly chuckled, “I know.” 

Bucky wiped away a stray tear that you didn’t know escaped and ran down your cheek. 

The light in the bathroom flickered on as you reached your hand out to flip the switch, standing in front of the mirror and pulling your hair back to finally get settled in for the night after what felt like an impossibly long day. Your eyes glanced up to see your face a little more upclose, subconsciously grabbing the makeup remover first to clean all of it off your features.

It wasn’t that often you wore makeup but when you did it was always just something simple. Mascara, blush, filling in your eyebrows. But what really was your favorite part was wearing some type of lipstick or lip gloss on your perfectly plump lips. Your only reason as to why it was your favorite was so at some point in the day, you could pull your boyfriend in for a kiss on the cheek, only to pull back and see the residue of your lips. He however would groan and playfully shoo you away as he wiped his cheek to see whatever color you had on staining his palm. But the small smile playing on his own lips would tell you that he secretly loved it.

You reached up towards your eye to gently remove the mascara from your eyelashes, before discarding the cotton pad in the trashcan below. Then copying the same actions to your eyebrows, you removed any pencil that was left before throwing that cotton away as well. You then briefly rinsed your face with water, before pulling out your drawer full of products to use in a specific order.

The cleanser was always first since your face had to be a little wet, applying it gently all over your skin before leaning back down and rinsing it off completely. Toner came after, dabbing a little product in another cotton pad before dragging it over your face and neck to make sure you didn’t miss any lingering dirt that could still be there. Then it was serum, dripping a little from the dropper over different sections before lightly dragging it out until everything felt even.

It was always this part where you felt your face was especially shiny and glowing, taking a second to look at it glistening in the dim light. Until your eyes lingered to some movement just behind you, seeing Daryl’s figure standing in the doorway as he watched you intently.

You gasped a little at his sudden presence as you weren’t expecting him to be there, laughing a little to yourself as you placed a hand over your heart and turned to face him now. “Jesus,” you breathed, “You scared me half to death.”

His face turned a bit sheepish as that was never his intention, he just simply wanted to watch whatever girly thing you were doing before heading to bed, “Sorry.” he said as he slowly passed through the threshold.

“It’s okay. Just give me a few more minutes and I’ll be done.” you said before turning to face the mirror again.

You half expected him to leave and just wait for you in your shared bedroom, but he didn’t. He placed himself right next to you as his eyes moved towards the mirror as well, but only to watch your movements as you attempted to put on eye cream. He squinted a little as he watched you, thinking silently to himself for what felt like a long while.

As a guy, he never really understood things like this, though he went along with it because it clearly made you happy. But tonight apparently he was full of questions, wanting you to tell him everything about your little potions that sat out on the bathroom counter.

“The hell you puttin on yer face?”

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to just blurt, but he couldn’t help it as genuine confusion filled him seeing as you didn’t need anything like this to be “beautiful.” He always thought you were perfect.

Though you laughed at his bluntness, rubbing in the cream under your eyes as you looked at his face in the mirror, “It’s my skincare routine.” you said simply.

His brows remained furrowed as he was still left in the dark. “I’ve been doing it since before we even got together, Daryl.” you said as your eyes moved to look at your own features.

He hummed a little, more to himself as he thought back to if he had ever seen you do this before like you claimed. Had he really been that dense about it?

“Well, uh…what’re they supposed to do?” he asked.

You smiled as your eyes locked with his again, “They just help keep your skin healthy and clean.” you said as you reached for your moisturizer, your final step, “Why? You wanna try?” you asked playfully.

He scoffed and shook his head as he leaned down a bit on the counter, continuing to watch you with his head in his hands, “Nah, watchin you do it is enough for me.”

You rolled your eyes a bit, though you didn’t push further as you finished rubbing the cream into your cheeks. Though silently you wished Daryl would do something for his skin, you believed that everyone should. The sun was your biggest concern for him. Although you loved his little sunspots all over his face and the slight redness he would sometimes get on his cheeks and nose, you wished he at least wore sunscreen if anything at all. But it was no secret the man was stubborn, but maybe, just maybe, you would be able to convince him.

“Okay,” you said as you finally finished and began putting the products away, “I’ll make you a deal. You don’t have to do face masks with me anymore, if you promise to put on some sunscreen everyday before work.” you wagered.

You watched as his eyes narrowed at you playfully, thinking about his options in his head before finally sighing in defeat and standing back up to his full height, “Alright, fine.” he agreed.

“Yay!” you silently cheered as you leaned forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders, bringing him further into you.

He smiled to himself as he hugged your waist tight, resting his chin on your shoulder. If you asked him, he didn’t need anything to keep his skin “healthy” because he didn’t necessarily care about any of that quite like you did. But he would do just about anything for you, anything to make you happy, and anything to even catch a glimpse of your smile.

Which is why he reluctantly pulled away with a quiet groan, “And I’ll…still do facemasks with ya anyway.” he said almost regrettably.

Your mouth dropped in surprise, “Really?”

“Yeah,” he huffed with a small returning smile, “As long as they make me pretty after, I guess they’re alright.”

You tilted your head a bit to the side as your hand came up to trail your thumb against his cheekbone, “But you’re already pretty.”

“...Not as pretty as you, sweet girl.” he corrected, coming in close to place a kiss on your cheek.

But your hand coming up quickly to stop him is what caused him to be slightly taken aback, “Wait, wait,” you giggled as you kept his face away from yours, “I just finished my skincare, have you learned nothing?” you playfully asked him, “Besides the moisturizer will get on your lips, I don’t think you wanna kiss me there.”

He sighed in faux annoyance as his eyes traveled down a bit, “Well, can I kiss ya here?” he asked as you felt his thumb come up to run along your bottom lip gently.

You smiled with a small nod, “Yes.”

He smirked before finally closing the distance between you two, his lips overlapping yours in a sweet kiss as his hands ran up and down your back slowly. You hummed into his mouth as his lips felt heavenly against your own, feeling him pull away to place one more peck on your parted mouth before fully stepping back.

“Alright, come on now, we gotta get ya to bed for yer beauty sleep.” he teased as he suddenly bent down and grabbed you by your legs, swinging your upper half over his shoulder as he carried you out of the bathroom.

“Daryl!” you cried as you laughed at his sudden fast actions, hearing him let out a chuckle himself as he carried you all the way up the stairs while swaying you back and forth playfully.

After that night Daryl fulfilled his promise, letting you put sunscreen over his cheeks and nose right before he headed off to work each morning to ease your mind. And he still occasionally allowed you to put a face mask on him, seeing how much it brought you joy to have someone to do it with. But also he had to admit, it made his face feel a little softer afterwards.

The only thing that changed in your routine since that night is that Daryl would now always follow you into the bathroom when it was time to put on all your “potions” as he called them. Except he wasn’t the one watching you do all the work, but instead, he applied everything for you. He insisted on it in fact. He always wanted to take care of you and this was no different, in fact he thought it was fun.

It was also fun for you as well as you agreed to his request, sitting yourself up on the counter as he applied everything like you usually would. You had to walk him through the steps the first few times, but after that he was a natural. He was always so delicate as his slightly rough fingertips glided effortlessly across your skin. Your favorite part however, was opening your eyes occasionally to watch his face as it was full of concentration, seeing his tongue slip out a little at times as he focused. You thought it was absolutely adorable.

And every time he was done, without fail, he would always look at you so lovingly it nearly made you melt into a puddle. His eyes so clearly held so much love for you, you found yourself thinking how you had the best man in the entire world. Though you always wanted to know what he was thinking when he stared at you like this, finally one night opening your mouth to ask.

“What?” you voiced a bit playfully as your head tilted to the side.

He shrugged his shoulders as his eyes remained the same, “Nothin…just so beautiful.” he practically whispered.

Your lips stretched into a bashful smile as you couldn’t help but blush. Yeah, best man in the entire world.

2:45am

Someone's at the door. They knock once, and you don't make a move to answer. But then the bell rings, and they knock again so, with a groan, you get out of bed and walk past Steve's room to see if he's still asleep, or if he was also woken up by the disturbance from downstairs. Luckily, he's asleep.

You make your way down the stairs of the house and, for safety, you grab Steve's nail bat from its place beside the front door. Slowly, you unlock the door and open it just enough so that you can see whoever is on the other side of it.

It's Billy.

You open the door fully and drop the bat as quietly as you can. Billy looks like he's been dragged to hell and back, to put it simply. For a second, you're confused as to why he's here at 2:45 on a Wednesday morning, but his eyes shine with unshed tears, and the big red mark on his cheek speaks for itself.

"Hey, pretty girl, mind letting me in? I'm dying out here." You nod and step out of the way with nothing but worry for him casting over your features. You notice that he's limping a little, but you don't mention it.

"God, Billy, what the hell happened to you?" You know it was Neil, but Billy had insisted that things with his dad were getting better. He laughs half-heartedly, not meeting your eye.

"I, uh, let Max go over to the Byers to stay over with her friend Ellie or El, or something, 'cause Neil and Susan were supposed to go away for a few nights. But they ended up coming home early, and when he found out he told me to go pick her up. But I told him I didn't want to disturb Mrs byers, and he didn't take to that too kindly." He huffs out another humourless chuckle, but you can hear him choking up as he speaks.

"Oh, babe..." You start, but you're at a loss for words. You've seen Billy a few times after a bad run-in with his dad, but there's blood coming from his nose and he's cradling his right elbow in his hand, and not to mention his left eye is swelling slightly. "C'mere, let me clean you up a bit."

As you go to take Billy's hand to lead him to the downstairs bathroom you can hear Steve's floorboards creak just above you, and his footsteps echo through the hall upstairs.

"Hello?" Steve calls out from the top of the stairs.

"Hey, Stevie, it's just me." You reply.

"Who were you talking to?" You can hear him making his way down the stairs. "Hargrove? Is that you?"

"Don't get too excited, Harrington." Steve rolls his eyes at Billy's sarcasm.

"Why are you in my house, man? What-" He stops himself as he reaches the bottom of the stairs and can see Billy's face in the light, letting out a soft 'oh'.

Neither of them speak for a moment or two, and you take that as your cue to get back to the previous task as hand.

"Billy, let's get you fixed up." He nods silently and follows you to the bathroom. You tell him to sit down on the lid of the toilet, and you open the cupboard under the sink to grab the first aid kit. You rummage around a bit, until you remember that Steve took it last week after Will had fallen off his bike and gashed a pretty nasty cut into his knee.

“I need to run to the living room to grab the first aid kit, okay?” You ask gently, already heading toward the door, but Billy grabs your hand before you can go any further.

“No, please don’t leave.”

“Baby, it’s only for a second. I’ll be right back.” He shakes his head.

“Can’t you just yell for Harrington to get it? I just don’t think I can be alone right now.” He speaks so quietly, more so than you’ve ever heard him do before, and there's something about the rawness and honesty in his eyes that makes you never want to leave him alone again.

“Steve?” You shout, feeling bad about disturbing your friend again.

“Yeah? What’s up?” He quickly walks back down the stairs and comes into view as he stands in the doorframe of the bathroom.

“Could you grab the first aid kit from the living room, please?” He nods without a word, and emerges a few minutes later with the little, green plastic box.

“Thank you. Sorry for waking you up, you can go back to bed now. promise we won’t disturb you again.” Steve just laughs lightly and shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m up now. No chance of me getting back to sleep for at least 2 hours. Might as well do something useful with my time.” He heads in the direction of the kitchen, and you close the door of the bathroom behind him.

Walking back over to billy, who is sat silently on the counter of the bathroom, you’re able to truly take in how beaten up he looks. His left eye is swelling more and more, and the red mark on his cheek has almost turned purple.

“Oh, Billy.” You slowly reach out to touch his face, but he flinches back slightly at the notion of your hand coming into contact with his cheek.

"Shit- sorry." He apologises quickly and takes your outstretched hand in his.

"You don't have to be sorry, it's not your fault." You give his hand a reassuring squeeze and get to patching him up. You clean up his bloody nose, which he scrunches up when the alcohol rub you use on his cheek stings a bit, and you apologise quietly. You find a bandage and you fashion a make-shift sling. It's definitely nothing special, but it's better than letting his arm hang free without support.

You catch sight of the shift in his features when he goes to adjust his position on the counter. His hand shoots up to hold onto his chest, and you immediately worry for the state of his bones and internal organs.

"Billy?" He looks up at you. "Can you take your shirt off?" He smirks.

"You tryna get me naked? Could've just said so, baby." He laughs under his breath, and despite the situation, you crack a small smile. He removes his shirt, and you can't help the short intake of breathe of breath that you take. The skin on Billy's chest is red and blue and black and purple and the more you examine it the worse it looks. It's horrible.

"Oh my god." You breathe. You look through the first aid kit for some kind of oil or ointment that you could use to treat the discolouring on his chest, but it was to no avail. "I don't think I have anything that can help that. I'm sorry, Billy. I'm so sorry." You aren't really apologising for your lack of treatment products. You're apologising because this is real. He has to live life like this, and there's nothing you can do about it.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's not your fault. You didn't know I was coming, yeah?" You nod. "And besides, you've done more than enough, sweetheart. More than you ever needed to, alright? I'm okay, I swear." You know he's lying. He's not okay. But for once, you choose to not argue back. You honestly don't have the strength.

The rest of his casualties aren't your forte, unfortunately. Bruises and a potentially sprained ankle- which he promises 'isn't even that bad'- aren't things that you can tend to, but you think some ice to his ankle will do him some good, and maybe provide some pain relief.

"Hey, Billy, let's go to the living room, 'kay?" He nods, and stands up, and you put your arm around his waist to support him. He kisses your temple and starts to limp out of the bathroom to make his way to the living room.

Steve is sitting on the sofa when you enter with Billy, and he makes a move to leave.

"I'll give you guys some privacy." He nods at Billy as he leaves, and you truthfully don't want him to go. He's your best friend, and you could use some grounding after what you've done tonight. You don't say anything in protest to his statement though, however, Billy does.

"Harrington? If you wanna stay down here, I don't mind, really." Billy looks almost as shocked as you do, as if he doesn't register what he's saying until the words have already flown out of his mouth and he can't take them back.

"Oh, uh, okay. You sure, man?" Steve makes a move to re-enter the living room.

"Don't make me change my mind, dude." Steve laughs lightly as Billy's answer, and walks back into the living room, closely followed by you and Billy.

You sit down on the couch, Billy following you, and Steve takes his previous seat. You have to admit, it's a little awkward at first. You're the one making conversation and trying to tie them both in, but it's difficult, what with knowing about their past rivalry and all.

You sigh, before saying,

"Alright look, I know you two have your differences, but I'm just as uncomfortable as you both. So, if we're gonna sit here tonight, is there any chance you could just make up? For my sake at least?"

It's a while before either of them speak, and to no one's surprise, it's Steve.

"Yes, yeah okay. I think I can do that."

"Thank you." You smile at him, and wait hopefully for Billy to agree too.

"Fine." He mumbles after a few minutes. You know you won't get much more out of him than that, so you're just glad he cooperated.

"Thanks, Billy." He nods, not saying anything more. "I'm gonna get you some ice for your ankle." Another nod, this time accompanied by a smile.

You leave the room, cringing internally at the thought of leaving Billy alone with Steve. You just hope they can put their differences aside, because it would make your situation a hell of a lot less difficult.

After retrieving the ice from the bottom drawer of the freezer, which took a great deal of effort because you had to clear out the contents of the drawer and then fit it all back in, you head back to living room, silently praying the 2 boys haven't killed each other in your absence. However, as you walk to the door, you hear them before you see them. Billy's laughing, and so is Steve. 'What the hell?' you think to yourself, bemused to say the least.

"Jesus, Harrington, that's fucking hilarious. You know, you're better company than I thought."

"What's gotten into you two, huh?" You chuckle as you saunter in and retake your seat, leaning forward to set the ice on the coffee table, and then prop Billy's ankle on the bag.

"Nothin', sweetheart. This guy's not too bad to have around. He's funnier than I remember." As you lean back against the sofa, Billy stretches his good arm around your shoulders, and you settle against him.

"It's good that the two of you are getting along, for my sake, anyway." Billy doesn't say much, but hums in acknowledgement, while Steve just nods.

It's quiet for a little while longer, until Steve clears his throat somewhat awkwardly.

"Uh, Hargrove- Billy, even- fuck, that feels weird. Yeah, anyway, um, if you ever need a place to stay whenever, you know, this happens, you can always come here." Steve doesn't look at Billy when he talks, but if he did he'd see the way Billy's eyes soften ever so slightly, the way his shoulders relax into the plush couch behind him, the way his eyes go a little glossy.

"Thanks, Steve." Billy replies, before continuing with, "Yeah, that feels weird as shit, man." earning a laugh from both you and Steve.

After a moment, Billy yawns, and his eyes look droopier than they did a minute ago, so you decide now would be a good time for the two of you to head to bed.

"Alright, Stevie, we're gonna head to bed." You stand up, helping Billy do the same.

"Me too." Steve follows in suit, standing and stretching his arms over his head. The three of you head toward the stairs, with Steve behind you and Billy to make sure he can help if the latter falls.

As you're climbing the stairs, however, Steve has something on his mind.

"Hey, kid, any chance you're making pancakes tomorrow morning?" You turn around to face Steve and you don't think you've ever seen him look more hopeful in your life. "Billy, I swear to God, she makes the best pancakes in the world."

Billy smiles and says, "Well, sweetheart, I gotta try 'em. I'm somewhat of a pancake connoisseur, if you will." You roll your eyes.

"Ugh, fine. Yes, Steve, I will make my famous pancakes." You say, and you swear Steve looks like he could jump for joy. "But, you have to make spaghetti tomorrow night."

"Done."

When you reach the top of you stairs, you bid Steve goodnight, and make your way back to your room, but this time with Billy in tow, and you tell him to sit on the bed. Grabbing him one of his shirts that you stole a month ago, you help him out of his other one, careful not to disturb the fine bandaging you had previously carried out on his arm, and you gently pull the new one over his head, guiding his arms through it too. He opts for no pants, just boxers, and you're too tired to object, not that you mind either way, and the two of you lie back in your bed.

"Thanks for takin' care of me." Billy mumbled into your hair.

“Billy!” You were sure the word wasn’t yours, that some other voice had screamed with enough force to scratch their throat to shreds. It wasn’t your feet launching you down the broken escalators, taking as many steps at a time as you could manage without tripping. The Mind Flayer was gone, but the damage it had inflicted hadn’t vanished miraculously with it. Even from across the room you could see what it left behind on the man you loved—too much blood, every limb far too still, red everywhere, why was it everywhere?

Max made it there first, dropping to the ground beside him with enough force against her knees that it makes you wince. You practically slide across the tile to reach him too, hands grabbing one of his. His are dirty, mixed with the dirt and blood of too many of your friends, from him. They’re still his though, with the same rough callouses you used to spend so much time trailing your fingers across. You cradle his hand between both of yours, pressing a kiss to the back of his fingers as though that might take the pain away. Because there wasn’t anything you could do for him now but this, you’d try to bring him as much peace as you could, knowing he deserved so much more.

“—’m sorry,” he choked out, and you wished you’d never had to see the way blood slipped from those lips with his words. Already you could feel the sight imprinting on your mind, scarring over the once cheerful memories the two of you had made in this mall.

“Billy,” Max repeated, voice barely there through the tears that threatened to silence her, “please.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured the two of them, lower lip quivering around the words. Salt and iron mixed at your own lips as tears trail down your bloodied face, and a sob threatened to tear through your already scratchy throat. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

It looked like he wanted to say more. You watched helplessly as his lips parted and closed a few times, gasps coming out instead of the words he wanted. You leaned forward, hand resting against his cheek and trying to ignore the blood that stained it. There was so much you wanted to tell him, so many hopes and dreams you’d never quite shared with him in search of the right moment. There never would be a right moment now, and that thought alone was enough to constrict your heart.

But this moment wasn’t about you, it was about the fear in his blue eyes as he looked between you and Max, as his lips still struggled to voice the final words he wanted to tell each of you.

Billy needed peace, so you would give it to him in the only way you knew how. 

“We’ll be okay,” you told him, blinking away the tears in a desperate attempt to keep looking at him for as long as you could. Because up until this moment, you’d assumed you had forever, you took the ability to see Billy for granted. And now forever was reduced down to seconds, and you had too many words to say.

“I’ll take care of her, I promise,” you continued, not missing the way his shoulders relaxed just a fraction at the promise. You brushed away the stray curls that fell into his face even now, trying to memorize every inch of his face before he left you. For just a moment, through all the blood and signs of battle, you could almost imagine this was any other night. The two of you were laying in your bed, whispers falling between you as you fought to hide from your family. He would grin and hold onto you, saying he didn’t care if they found the two of you like this, and you’d laugh and say he might, your family could be scary when they were protective. They don’t need to protect you from me, Sweetheart, I’d never hurt you. What a fucking lie that was.  “I promise, we’ll be okay. All because of you, you saved us.”

When his breath stuttered and his chest grew gravely still, you felt your world grow colder. It was an immediate change, a crack in the dream you’d once had for how your life would end up. Because how could you ever have your happy ending when the person you wanted to share it with was laying here, in your arms, cold?

And when the paramedics finally pulled him from your hands, you were still whispering the same words.

I love you, I love you so much.

“Max! If you make me late to work again, we’re gonna have real problems!” you shouted through the rolled-down window of his—your—car.

“No, we won’t,” Max shouted back from the front door of her mom’s trailer, messing around with slipping a tape into her Walkman at the step instead of doing it in the car. “I know better.”

“Well, this time we will have problems,” you retorted, rolling your eyes at the level of sass the girl had. Though even now, you knew she had a point. No matter what she did, no matter how many words she tossed at you when she was frustrated, you would be there for her. You’d made a promise, nearly a year ago now. “Can we go, please? Harv is forgiving, but I don’t want to test his patience.”

Though she didn’t acknowledge you, at least Max sped up a little and climbed into the passenger seat as quickly as possible. You sighed when immediately headphones were placed over the girl’s ears and her head turned to face out the side window. After everything that had happened, you’d never expected her to be the same Max she’d been before but you’d hoped that she wouldn’t be this pulled back from the world. It seemed all she did anymore was drown everyone out in the music, only slipping off those headphones to convince everyone else that she was, in fact, fine.

You’d heard it from just about everyone now, that they were worried about Max but she’d stopped talking to them. Friends, teachers, and even Joyce Byers had called you once to say that Mike had mentioned what was going on to El. They all looked to you for help, expecting you to save her from the grief that threatened to drown her. But you weren’t a lifeguard like her brother, and all you could do was desperately reach for her hand and hope she’ll hold on someday. Until then, there was nothing you could do. Just like her brother, you couldn’t save her.

So you drove her to school every morning and took a few minutes off of work in the afternoon to drive her back home on the days her mother was working late. When she needed to go somewhere else, she knew to call you no matter the time. Sometimes she did, asking you to drive her to places just on the edge of town. You’d sit in the car and wait while she sat out there, watching the stars. You never knew what she did there, but if it helped then you’d take endless sleepless nights. All you could hope for was that, in time, she might open up to someone again even if that someone wasn’t you.

“Have a good day at school, kiddo,” you told her as you approached the school, and she must’ve barely heard you through whatever she was playing because Max graced you with a smile and nod before she slipped out the car. You stayed there for only a moment, making sure she got safely inside the building before you headed off toward work.

Harv’s mechanic shop was on the edge of town, giving you a long drive to destress. Every morning was the same anymore—you’d turn on music from a band you hardly liked but you’d found the tape on the floorboard the first time you’d worked up the nerve to slide into the driver’s seat. It had been sitting on the bottom of the backseat right where you remembered hiding it, when Billy spent an entire week listening to nothing but that song. Where before you only rolled your eyes at his off-key singalong, now you drove down country roads humming the tune with tearful eyes. ‘I’ve been waiting for a girl like you to walk into my life.’ 

And though you knew the car could handle faster speeds—Billy, slow down! Are you trying to get us in a wreck?—you’d take it barely over the speed limit, taking your time with the feel of the wheel under your fingers and the sound of the engine you’d come to adore. You’d never expected to see it again, much less spend so much time inside it. You often wondered what he would have thought if he could see you driving it around town. Would he smile fondly or would he sigh, reminding you there were better ways to take care of a car as beautiful as that one. Maybe you would roll your eyes back, proclaiming that if only he were still here, he could tell you what to do with it. But he wasn’t, so all you could do was use your best judgment.

When Max came to you in July in near tears, you didn’t know what else could have gone wrong. You were ready to fight anyone who dared to hurt her while she was already down, grieving someone she didn’t know she could grieve.

“He’s getting rid of the car,” Max hiccupped out after you’d brought her into your house, sliding a cup of coffee her way you knew her mother would have scolded you for. “I shouldn’t care, but, he’s just going to junk it and—”

“Who?” you asked, “Why?”

“Neil,” Max practically spit out, and though you knew she didn’t have a good relationship with him either you’d never heard such vitriol in her voice before. “He’s leaving town, and he wants to make as much money as possible selling his son’s stuff before he does, apparently.”

“Well, I promise you that car’s not getting scrapped,” you told her, already standing up from your seat at the kitchen bar. You grabbed your keys and hurried to find your wallet, a fierceness in your gait that hadn’t been there since the Fourth.

“How do you know that?” Max asked, following you out of the house and into your car. Any other time, you might’ve felt a warmness in your heart at the knowledge that she trusted you so much she’d follow you anymore without any explanation.

You shrugged, eyes on the road as you were speeding faster than you ever normally would. There was no way you’d be too late to talk to Neil, though, that was for sure. When you got there, you’d insist on buying the car off of him, taking whatever price he demanded because, to you, it was a priceless win. There were too many memories built into that car, too many smiles and laughs. You’d do what it took to make sure Billy’s pride and joy was saved. You weren’t an expert with cars, but you’d become one if that’s what it took. “I needed a new car anyway.”

The Camaro had sat untouched in your garage for a month before you were able to even look at it without crying, much less try to drive it. But eventually, you were able to sit in the driver’s seat without blurry vision and you set to work determined to restore its beauty after the damage it sustained at Starcourt. So you slipped Billy’s necklace over the rearview mirror and set out to find a way to bring the car back to life.

That was how you’d ended up with your current job at the local mechanic’s shop. You needed guidance in fixing the thing up and Harv was more than willing to impart his knowledge to someone else. After years of focusing on only the job, you were the closest thing to family he would ever get. He’d become something of a mentor to you over time, trading repair tips for well-cooked lunches. It wasn’t too much of a surprise when the older man offered you a job at the shop, making up some excuse that he’d rather focus on the cars instead of the business side of the shop. He let you work on the cars too, in between balancing the books and taking the occasional phone call. It was hard work, but you appreciated the chance to keep your hands busy before your mind filled in the blanks with memories you wished you could forget. 

“Forget the morning coffee?” Harv asked when you finally stepped through the shop. “You’re looking more tired than usual, tell me you’ve been sleepin’.”

“I can tell you if you want,” you hedged, slipping two brown paper bags into the fridge before grabbing a hand towel to throw over your shoulder. There were some days you needed more distractions than normal, and on those, he’d usually let you do more work on the cars than in the office. 

“Havin’ more dreams?” he asked, and the non-answer was enough for Harv to get the picture. For the past several months, you’d been plagued with nightmares of that night, of the immediate days after, of having to plan a funeral because his family couldn’t be bothered, of d—

“Please, please, no!” you screamed, the blankets becoming your new prison as you fought to escape them. Your voice was hoarse as you tumbled out of bed, landing on the same hip that was already bruised from previous impacts.

It was only two weeks after the ‘tragic fire’ at Starcourt, your wounds beginning their slow fade away. The nightmares seemed to get worse when you realized, that, soon you would lose any evidence of that night, of the sauna, of Billy fighting to stay with you all. Because he’d fought, no matter what the party seemed to think of him. You hated that you mourned the loss of the deep bruise around your wrist from where he’d grabbed it at the Mind Flayer, when you’d gotten roped into trapping him in the pool sauna.

“Y/N?” 

Fuck.

Max had been sleeping in the guest room of your parents’ house since the incident, admitting that it was too hard to be in the house where Billy had been. She’d told you it was confusing, seeing the rooms where he’d yelled at her so badly she’d cried but wishing he could be there to do it again. She hated the way Neil and her mom seemed to ignore what happened, carrying on as though nothing had ever gone wrong.

And you’d promised Billy that she would be okay, so you’d told her she could stay as long as she needed while she worked through her grief. You just never expected her to see yours, too.

“I’m okay,” you gasped, pulling yourself to your feet and trying to fix your rumpled pajamas and hoping she could hear through your closed door. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn’t, I was awake,” Max answered, slowly opening the bedroom door. Even in the dim moonlight, you could see the tear tracks shining on her face.

“Oh, Max, come here,” you called, and the second you held out your arms she was rushing into them. Her body hit yours harshly but all you could do was hold onto her for dear life, your own tears forming as she let out her sobs into your shirt.

“I don’t want to miss him,” she cried, “he hated me, I shouldn’t miss him so much.”

“Hey, hey, listen, okay?” you tried to tell her, moving back just enough that you could see her face. “Billy did not hate you. Do you know how often he talked to me about you? About how worried he was about you sneaking out so much, about how he was trying to keep you safe from N—your stepdad.”

“I want to hate him. He was so awful to my friends, I should hate him, and I hate that I—”

“What, Max?”

“Nothing,” she sighed, and you knew there was more to it but for the time being, she was already wiping away her tears with rough hands. “It’s nothing. I don’t think I’ve slept right since the Fourth of July.”

“Me either, kiddo,” you sighed, running your hand over her hair once before stepping back fully. “How about I make us some hot cocoa and we can watch a movie, something happy.”

“Still about that Hargrove boy of yours?”

“Always,” you sighed. It would always be him, no matter how many times you fought to move on. There was no easy way to erase the memories you’d made together, all the hard work it had taken to make your relationship set up to last.

“You know, there’s no harm in finding someone else to make you happy.”

“I know that I just,” you fought to find the right words, looking up to the sky as if Billy himself might help you conjure them up. “I’ve never loved anyone like I loved him. I don’t really know if I can again.”

“Why don’t you take the day off today?”

“I’d rather be here,” you told Harv. Because what else was there to do but sit and think about where you could have been? If you were alone, then you’d start thinking of the nights you’d lay with Billy, dreaming up a future for after the summer. In those dreams, you’d pack up his car with as few items as you could manage, and the two of you would drive. There wouldn’t be a particular destination in mind, as long as it was far past the Indiana border.

Instead, you stayed in the one place you knew he hated. Where else was there to go? You told yourself you could leave Hawkins when Max was out of school, when you knew she’d be okay on her own. 

“You can’t work yourself to death either,” Harv argued, grabbing the towel off your shoulder and tossing it over his instead. “Go, find some trouble to get into. You’re off for the rest of the week.”

At first, you were furious at the idea of a week off. It turned out, though, that Harv’s generosity came at a perfect time. Because suddenly, the Upside Down wasn’t as shut away as you once thought it was. Suddenly, Billy’s sacrifice wasn’t enough to completely spare the kids from the horrors that lurked under the city.

And as it turned out, you were frighteningly close to breaking your promise to him.

Because Vecna was coming after Max, and the only thing that was keeping her from a horrifying death was that damned Walkman you’d once cursed for existing. Now, all you could do was hope that the machine kept up, that you’d never need to read the contents of the letter tucked into your back pocket.

You’d do anything to keep your promise now, even cross into the Upside Down yourself.

The decision became even easier when Steve was pulled down into the lake, through the barrier he’d been investigating. Nancy had jumped in after him, Robin following soon after. It was an obvious choice, then, for you to jump from the boat.

The Upside Down was a living nightmare. You were sure this new scene would take the place of Starcourt each time you closed your eyes, between the bats determined to kill and the vines that connected all the way back to Vecna himself. You had to agree with Eddie in all of the panic over it, even though you’d been exposed to its horrors before. 

You thought the group made it out safe, though. Everyone was climbing up the curtains to get back to the safety of Eddie’s trailer, and you were up next but instead of falling through to hit the mattress set up on the trailer floor, you hit hard tile. It was white tile though was now marred with an eerily familiar red hue. Broken glass dug into your palms as you landed, though you hardly noticed it at all.

Because the moment you recognized those neon lights surrounding each store of the building, you knew you were doomed. Because Starcourt had been torn down months ago, yet now it looked the same way it had on the worst night of your life. You knew what was going to happen, you knew what memories Vecna would use against you. There was only one that continuously haunted you, kept you awake at night wondering if there was something else you could have done.

Immediately you took off toward one of the escalators, hoping to put as much distance between you and the mirage you knew Vecna would send to you. You didn’t want to see him, not after all this time, not like this.

“You always did run from your problems.” That voice, even as harsh and cold as it was now, was enough to make your heart race. It seemed to echo through the large courtyard, filling the space and making it impossible to ignore the form Vecna had taken on just for you. “What, too scared to face me, Sweetheart?”

The venom-laced nickname was sure to break you, if the sound of familiar boots on blood-stained tile wasn’t enough. You could hear Billy saying it a thousand times, each with more care in his voice than you’d ever heard before. It was some of the few times you could see his walls really melt, if only for a second. Now that love was being used against you, hurled at you with enough hate to make you wonder if this wasn’t how Billy had intended it after all.

“This isn’t real,” you shouted back in hopes of convincing yourself, never daring to look over your shoulder as you rushed up to the upper level of the mall. It felt real though, felt like you’d never been able to escape the nightmare of that mall.

“It’s as real as the day you let me die,” Not-Billy called back, letting out a near-hysteric laugh that you’d only heard post-sauna experiment. “I haunt you, don’t I?”

“No,” you gasped around the word as though the running at made you lose all breath stored in your chest. “No, you don’t.”

“Liar!” Not-Billy laughed, his pace quickening as the mall turned loops around you in an unbeatable maze. All you had to do was outlast him and hope that Eddie had a tape that you liked enough to snap you out of this. “You traded your entire life in for some promise you could never keep, didn’t you? You kept my car, my clothes, my music. You got a job somewhere you knew I’d like.”

He was gaining ground fast. Where were they with that music? How much longer could you last like this?

“It wasn’t for you,” you tried, keeping your eyes forward as you fought to find an escape. But the mall just extended, trapping you in the horror of the day you’d lost Billy. “It was for me.”

“Is that what you tell yourself when you lay alone at night, Y/N?” Not-Billy teased, not seeming in a rush to catch up to you and instead preferring to break down your resolve inch by terrifying inch. “Admit it, you know you’re nothing without me. You know it’s your fault I’m not there for Max, so you’re taking my place.”

“No,” you denied, hating the rush of guilt that crashed over your shoulders like a rogue wave. “No, that’s not it.”

“You feel guilty. You know you could’ve noticed something was wrong sooner. You should’ve known. Did you really think I would hurt you like that?” 

Billy, what are you doing? This isn’t like you. Fine, if you want to act like that then you can do it alone, we’re through.

“I didn’t know!” you screamed back, the tears hitting your eyes at the memory of what you’d deem your greatest failure. Because you hadn’t noticed, you truly thought that he might’ve simply wanted to be so cruel that day. How were you meant to know he was taken over by a mythical creature from a kids' game?

You were just kids when it all went wrong. Fuck, you were just kids.

You finally chanced a glance at him, and the sight was enough to make you trip over your feet. You hit the ground harshly, wrist bending painfully as it caught your weight. But there was Billy, standing in his blue jeans and white tank, covered in blood the same way he’d been the last time you’d laid eyes on him. This time though, instead of blue eyes flashing in recognition they burned with a hatred you’d never seen before. He hated you.

No, this was Vecna. Right? Right?

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Billy’s voice overlapped with a deeper one, a haunting voice that settled deep in your bones. “You can admit you feel responsible for my death.”

“I don’t,” you shot back, ignoring the stirring of heavy emotions you’d long-since locked away deep in your ribcage. “We did the best we could, I tried to save you, Billy, I tried everything.” 

How many times had you tried to break him free from the hold the Mind Flayer had on him? How many times did you call his name, beg for him to return to you? And even when that failed, you launched yourself into danger just to keep him safe. Nancy, what the fuck are you doing? That’s still Billy, put down the gun, put down th—

“It wasn’t enough though, was it?” Billy stepped even closer, head tilted to the side as he regarded your prone form. He bent down closer to you, a familiar rough hand reaching out to tuck under your chin. “And the worst part of it all, you let him die without ever telling him how you felt. You let him die thinking you didn’t love him.”

 You knew this was it, the moment Vecna could take you. Yet still, all you could do was stare at the face you’d never thought you could see again. You took the time to study his face, searching for any sign that this was the Billy you knew and loved. It may not have been him, but he still had his blue eyes, gorgeous freckles peppering his cheeks, and blonde hair with a stray curl still draped across his face. 

And if this was the end, at least the view was wondrous.

“You don’t have to hurt anymore, Y/N. I can make it stop,” Billy spoke in Vecna’s voice, and it was then you began to rise from the floor against your will. You didn’t fight it, not when you knew there was nothing else you could do. 

As you stared down the Not-Billy, all you could hope for was that Max wasn’t watching.

Miraculously, though, the final blow never came. Instead, that damned song played loudly through the air. It was the tape you’d found in Billy’s car, the one you remembered tossing into the backseat on a long drive a year before, just so you wouldn’t have to hear it again. The tape you played on your drive to work every day, just wanting to feel closer to the man you’d lost.

“I need to know if you feel it too, maybe I'm wrong!”

“C’mon, Billy, can’t you play anything else?”

“What’s wrong with Foreigner, Sweetheart?”

“For starters, your singing.”

You’d never been so thankful to hear that song. It was enough to release Vecna’s hold on you, dropping you to the ground. The second your feet touched tile, you were sprinting without another spare thought.

And there the scene was, right in front of you.

If you hadn’t already been under Vecna’s illusions, you’d have thought this was another one. Because you could see your own body dressed in what you’d worn to the lake, laying on the floor of the Upside Down trailer with familiar hands holding onto you. He was shaking you, hair falling into his face as his expression grew more panicked.

“It’s not working!” that voice shouted, “She’s not waking up! You said it would work, Harrington, why isn—”

“Billy!” you shouted, not understanding how you could see him there but running for him anyway. Maybe you were running toward the end, maybe this was your mind’s vision of an okay ending. Maybe there really was no escaping from Vecna, but all you could do was follow the sound of the music, follow his voice yelling for you to come back to him.

‘I’ve been waiting for someone new to make me feel alive’

“I’m here!” you shouted though you knew no one could hear it, feet moving faster than they ever had before as you chased the vision. The second your hand brushed your own, you were tossed back into your body with a gasp.

Instinctively, you fought the hold on your arms. It was Vecna, the Not-Billy, he was coming back to get you, he made you think that you’d escaped when really i—

“Y/N, hey, Y/N, calm down it’s okay,” that familiar rough voice called. It was a voice you’d thought you’d only ever hear in a dream. “You’re okay.”

Yet there he was, Billy fucking Hargrove, alive and well. He looked a mess—months of Upside Down survival coated on his face, hands, clothes. He was still wearing what he had been at Starcourt, still with the same teary eyes that he’d had at your final goodbye. Though this time there was a distinct relieved smile painting across his face, proving that this wasn’t some harsh illusion created by Vecna but rather the real Billy, your Billy.

“How are you...?” you trailed off, hand reaching up to press on his cheek. You half-expected him to disappear the moment you reached for him, but instead, his face tilted into your touch, eyes fluttering closed for only a moment. You tried not to think about how long it had been since Billy had known any kind of touch that wasn’t that of something dangerous trying to hurt him.

“I don’t know,” Billy admitted, and later you’d come to the realization that he’d fought through it all without any prior knowledge of the Upside Down, of the gates, of Vecna. All he did was try to survive, try to get back. “I woke up here after Starcourt. I thought I was alone here but Harrington and Munson started yelling and—

“I love you,” you blurted out, leaning forward to wrap him up in a hug. Your hands dug into his shirt, and clung to him like any moment he could disappear. And maybe he still could. You couldn’t quite understand how he was still here, how any of you would take down the creature coming after all of you. All you knew was that by some act of grace, you’d gotten another chance with the man you loved. And this time, you wouldn’t dare wait for the right moment to come before you told him everything.  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, there was so much I wanted to say that night, I just cou—”

“I know,” he answered, “I knew then, too. I love you, Sweetheart.”

“This is sweet and all, but I suggested getting out of the freaky nightmare portal,” Robin called down to the two of you, reminding you of where you were and what you’d just gone through.

You weren’t sure you’d ever let go of him. Even as you climbed back up and out of the Upside Down, as you watched Steve bend down to help Billy out of his prison world, your hands itched to hold onto him again. It was like after so long thinking you’d lost your forever, you were scared—terrified—to let it slip through your fingers again.

“How’d you know that song would work?” you finally asked, looking at the group who all seemed to regard you with, well, it wasn’t quite fear but maybe apprehension. After all, you were just one of the latest to nearly succumb to the terrifying death that fell upon Vecna’s victims.

“I heard you, every day in my car,” Billy admitted. You’d learned today that people in the Upside Down could hear parts of the normal world if they tried, could be strangely connected to the people they needed to hear. “You’d get in and play that song. Every morning.”

You fought not to imagine what else he’d heard in his months there. Did he hear you when you’d gotten home from the scene that night, not bothering to shower away the grime before you tucked into bed and cried? Had he heard the way you’d locked your door against your parents, screaming to them that they’d never been supportive of you and him before, so why the hell should they get to help you mourn now? Had he heard you apologize every single damn day since it happened, knowing Max was suffering and not being able to reach her in the way she needed?

“I hated that song,” you whispered, looking out the wide-open front door to see the leftovers of the scramble to save you. The driver’s side door of the Camaro was tossed open, a few tapes scattered around the grass beside it. Though you hadn’t been there, you could easily imagine the scene as it unfolded. Billy and Steve, still in the Upside Down and fighting to hold onto you as you lifted in the air. Robin and Eddie, fighting as they looked over his music to find something near your taste. Someone screaming, asking Billy what your favorite song was and him growing angry because why the fuck does that matter right now?

Him knowing, even now, that of course your favorite song would be the one that reminded you of him.

“I’m glad I kept that fucking tape,” you laughed, a little hysterically as you untangled yourself from him.

“I knew you liked Foreigner,” he grinned cheekily, and you weren’t sure you’d ever get tired of that look on his face. It didn’t happen often, especially not there at the end when he’d not been in control of himself. But you’d spend the rest of your days trying to recreate that smile as much as possible.

He felt it if he wanted to leave a party early because the crowds reminded him of how claustrophobic his mind felt under the Mind Flayer’s influence—he thought your frown was annoyance.

Your look of pity each time he didn’t answer you because he flashed back to that time killed him.

Before the Mind Flayer, he wondered why you agreed to that initial date with him. He was an asshole—so angry at everything. Angry at himself. What did you even see in him?

Your date had to be one of his favorite memories. He took you to see The Goonies, bought popcorn to share, and when he took your chin and turned you to kiss him, you waved him off after the third one. He would’ve been irritated; any other girl and he’d have considered the night a bust, but you were so invested in the screen that he couldn’t help his lips turning up. He wasn’t sure you realized you grabbed his hand at one point in your excitement at the film. Neither of you pulled away until it was over to gather your things. He had thrown an arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his side. And when you asked if he wanted to go to the diner down the street, a little jump in his stomach made him say “yes.”

It felt…nice…that someone wanted to spend time with him. Maybe he was interesting enough without sex.

He’d never laughed as hard as he did that night. You were funny and kind, sweet and smart—and dammit—the way you smiled at him? You were so goddamn beautiful. He was hooked.

Now, after the Mind Flayer—after he found out this wasn’t your first time dealing with that creature—he knew he loved you. He felt the beginning of it that first night. And that meant you would hurt him. That meant you would leave.

Exactly like his mom had.

But Billy was a coward.

The day he had decided to end it, he kept pushing it back. He had picked you up, and you smiled, and he thought, “Tomorrow.”

You were in the middle of a date, sitting across from one another, and he had imagined that smile turning into a sneer. He had been so close to blurting it out. Then, you giggled and intertwined your fingers with his.

Then, Steve invited everyone over for a BBQ. He had tackled you into the pool, and when you both emerged, you laughed and splashed him. He warned you with the biggest smile, and you started swimming to the other end of the pool.

Billy watched it all. And he felt sick.

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t angry enough to be jealousy. It was like confirmation. One day, you could have this when you were no longer tied to him. If it was happening now, then it’d happen in the future.

He had to break up with you.

No matter how much it’d kill him.

—

He pulled in front of your house, barely getting out of the car before you were bounding toward him.

You were so excited to see him that you couldn’t even wait for him to reach the door.

He shook his head slightly. He had to do this, had to beat you to the punch.

“Hey, Billy! How are—”

“We need to talk,” he said, avoiding your eyes.

“Oh? What about?” You tilted your head, scanning over his tense posture.

He let out a slow breath. Just rip the bandaid off.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

“What?” Had you heard him correctly?

“I’m breaking up with you,” he repeated, jaw clenched.

You took a tentative step forward.

“Billy, I—what do you mean? Are you okay?”

It didn’t make sense. You were attached at the hip yesterday; Billy couldn’t keep his hands off you, and now he wanted to break up?

What the hell was going on?

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets to hide his whitening knuckles. He didn’t trust himself to not grab hold of you.

“I mean, it’s over. I don’t love you.”

You furrowed your brow, inhaling shakily. “I love you, Billy. I’ve been telling you for weeks now. I know you haven’t said it yet, but that’s okay! I’d never pressure you into—”

He had to cut you off if he was gonna get through this.

“And I’ve realized I don’t love you. What? You gonna make me stay with you?” He wished he could get through this without looking at you, but then you wouldn’t believe him.

You’d be okay. You may hate him now, but you’d move on. And he’d never have to know the pain of you leaving him—of you having an everlasting disdain for him. This hate would only be temporary.

“...You know I won’t,” you whispered. “I’d never force you to do anything.”

He'd had enough of that his entire life.

He nodded. “Then I guess we’re over.”

He turned to walk back to the driver’s side, pulling the door open with more force than needed.

“I don’t believe you.” You managed to get out before he got in.

He stopped. His hand was on the car's roof but didn’t look up.

It gave you a bit of hope.

“I don’t believe that you don’t love me. I see it every time you look at me.” You sniffled. “I know you, Billy. You never would’ve been with me for this long—through all this shit—if you didn’t love me.” You wiped at your tears. “But if this is what you need to do, then I guess you have to do it. And I’ll still love you. That’s never going to change.” You took in a shaky breath. “So, when you’re ready, I’ll be here. You’ll never lose me. I promise.”

He didn’t know how you could read his mind. But it had always been like that. You could anticipate what he needed before even he knew.

He wanted to run to you, to scoop you into his arms and apologize, but that nagging in his head wouldn’t stop. The image of you and Steve smiling and laughing. That phone call with his mother—Billy begging her to take him, too.

It felt like you confessed to him just yesterday—that warm feeling in his chest froze over.

You’d leave him eventually. Even if you didn’t think you would, he’d do something to change that. He’d ruin the best relationship he ever had, and then you’d be gone.

He blinked rapidly, getting into his car and speeding away. But not before glancing in his rearview to see the tear tracks streaming down your face.

—

It had been three weeks since Billy broke up with you, and every day your chest seemed to hurt worse. You had spent the first few days hopeful, convincing yourself Billy would be at your door any moment to apologize and explain why he did what he did. It didn’t fully sink in until the fourth day that he was serious.

You had arguments, of course, but Billy was always quick to remedy the situation. He didn’t like when you were angry with him. He said it put a pit in his gut because it reminded him of his anger toward his father. Even if it wasn’t nearly the same thing, Billy still hated the idea that you could ever loathe him that much.

But you didn’t hate him—could never hate him. You just wanted him back, but you didn’t know how to do that. You had called but either gotten Max or nothing at all. You had driven by several times, but Max and Billy weren't home, or he ignored you because—of course—he could tell it was you by your knock.

By week two, you were almost positive you had done something to him. However, you had no idea what. You played through every moment you spent with Billy, and the closest thing you could come up with was that you were a bit clingy. And even when you asked Billy about it, he said he liked it!

That was a few months ago, and he wasn't one to hold his tongue if something bothered him. It was one thing you loved about him. Even though it may come off as harsh—which he was working on—nothing ever festered with him. There was no chance of growing regrets.

You had barely gotten any sleep the past few weeks.

Lying in bed in one of Billy’s shirts, you tried to take your mind off everything with a book when the phone rang.

You sighed but got up to answer anyway. At this hour, it was either Robin or Steve.

“Hello?”

You waited a moment, no one speaking, and then a deep breath came through.

“(Y/N)?”

“Max?” You furrowed your brow. “Is everything okay?”

You’d spoken to her plenty since your break up, but she had never called you after ten. You gripped the phone tighter, ready to listen to anything she had to say, and hoped she was alright.

“I don’t…It’s Billy.” She waited for your response, and when you didn’t give one because of your surprise, she continued, “He’s been drinking a lot since your…since you know…and I’m worried. This is the worst it’s ever been, and I…I don’t know what to do.” She let out a shaky breath. “Can you please come over? I think he needs you.”

Your heart was in your throat. Part of you wanted to refuse. Billy ended things. There was no way he wanted to see you.

But the selfish part of you wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay, to maybe get some answers out of his inebriated state. Even if you didn’t want to hear them. So, you told her you’d be over soon. Not bothering to change, you threw on shorts and shoes and grabbed your keys.

—

You didn’t know what to expect when you arrived. Billy could hold his alcohol, but you didn’t know what frame of mind he was in. The fact that Max called you to begin with set you on edge.

You barely knocked on the door before Max ripped it open.

“Hey.” Her mouth pinched. “He’s in his room. He was…He turned off the music ten minutes ago. I’m not sure what he’s doing.”

You nodded. “...You said he’s been doing this since we…since he—”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what to do anymore,” she said.

You placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll try to figure out what’s going on.”

You weren’t sure if you knocked or not on Billy’s door. The thumping of your heart drowned out the taps.

His slurred “go ‘way, Max” made it nearly stop. Just how long had he been like this?

“It’s me, Billy.”

He opened the door faster than Max, eyes wide as he took you in, almost as if he couldn’t believe you were here.

“(Y/N)?”

The glassiness of his eyes made you want to pull him close and tell him everything would be okay. That whatever was going on in his head, you could face together.

“Is s’tha’ really you?” His knuckles brushed your cheek, testing to see if this was another daydream. And when he made contact, he breathed, “I miss s’you.”

Your nose tingled. “I miss you, too, Billy.”

A singular tear slipped down his face as he cupped yours.

“Hey,” you cooed. “It’s okay.” You wiped it away. “Everything’s okay.”

He shook his head adamantly. “I’m sorry. M'sorry…sorry…”

His shoulders shook, and he could no longer look at you, head hanging low.

You hushed him softly as you led him back into his room and closed the door. His apologies continued until you sat on his bed and pulled his head into your neck.

You brushed through his curls and blinked back your own tears. Never had you seen Billy like this.

He had gotten better at telling you what he felt but still kept a lot to himself. This…This was a sadness you couldn’t handle seeing in him. You wanted nothing more than to take it away—fix it—so you could see that brilliant smile again.

“I lo’you.” He burrowed further into you. “Love you.”

They were quiet confessions, but they held so much conflict.

You were relieved, almost ecstatic, but he was drunk. It might just be because you were here, comforting him.

In any other scenario, you’d be the happiest person alive. However, with every “I love you,” a knife seemed to lodge into your heart.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Everything’s okay. I forgive you.”

He squeezed you tighter in response. All he wanted was to be closer to you. Like that could erase what he had done.

With another kiss, you gently guided him away so you could meet his gaze.

“Let’s get you ready for bed, okay?” You tucked a stray curl behind his ear, and he nodded. It seemed he was content to do whatever you said.

You helped switch his shirt to a clean one and handed him a pair of boxers, covering your eyes when he didn’t hesitate to remove the ones he wore.

“How’s that feel? A little better,” you asked, combing through his hair with your fingers.

He hummed, leaning in.

“Good,” you said. “I’m gonna get you some water and aspirin for tomorrow.”

When you went to pull away, his hand shot up to grip yours.

“Please,” his eyes were near watery, “please, don’t leave me.”

Maybe you were imagining it, but his plea felt like it held so much weight.

He was asking you to stay with him, to sleep beside him so he wouldn’t feel so vulnerable in an already vulnerable state. But it also felt like he was asking you to not walk away from him. That even though he broke up with you, he regretted it. And hoped you would want him back, accept him and all his mistakes. All his flaws.

Either way, the answer was the same.

“I’ll always be right here, Billy.” You squeezed his hand. “You get settled, and I’ll be right back.”

He slowly nodded, letting your hand slip from his.

And when you came back, Billy was on his side, facing the door, a space for you wide open.

Once you got in, he nuzzled into your chest, arms securely around you.

“Love you,” he mumbled, already half asleep.

“Love you, too,” you whispered, heart in your throat.

—

There were three blissful seconds of peace, of the comfort of an arm wrapped around your waist when you woke up. Then last night flooded back.

Billy drunk.

Him crying.

And saying he loved you.

And you had said it back even though you were afraid the next day would bring you more hurt.

He might not remember.

Or worse, he might not have meant it.

Looking up at the peaceful expression on his face pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind.

He’d feel like shit today, so the least you could do was make him breakfast and ensure he was alright.

You had managed to switch positions throughout the night. He had held you like always.

You carefully slipped out and into the kitchen. And as you worked, you prepared for the worst.

—

The ache in his chest might’ve been worse than the one in his head. The sun hurt his eyes, and the cold spot beside him bit at his torso.

You had been there.

He couldn’t remember all of last night. But you had been standing outside his door. And the smell of your shampoo clung to his sheets anew. Back where it belonged. The day it had worn off, he had buried his face in his pillow, desperate for one part of you to still be with him.

But you weren’t here anymore.

He swallowed the aspirin, wondering if Max had put it there. Maybe she took pity on him and was making him breakfast.

The bacon made his mouth water. He just hoped she wouldn’t want him to open up about last night. He didn’t want to relive it, especially when you had left before he woke up.

He dragged his feet in the hallway, one hand grazing the wall with the other rubbing his eyes.

He would've plopped down at the table. He would’ve tucked his head in his arms and maybe drifted in and out until Max nudged him. Instead, he stopped and stared.

You were still here.

His heavy steps must have alerted you because you glanced over your shoulder and gave him a small smile.

“Morning,” you said softly.

“Hi,” he said, blinking once, then again.

You motioned for him to sit at the table, and he did without another word.

You hadn’t left him.

After placing some food down, you sat across from him.

He wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t even sure he was awake right now. After everything he put you through, you stayed.

His mind was still foggy. Add that to the thoughts racing through it, and he didn’t know where to start. Thankfully, you spoke first.

“I miss you,” you whispered, hands folded atop the table.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I miss you, too.”

Without his notice, his hand had sought yours out, his fingers sneaking underneath to trace your palm. “I miss you so much.”

Your answering squeeze was like a switch—it made things brighter.

“I’m right here,” you said.

He nodded, not even trying to keep the smile at bay.

He believed you. Last night was proof. He was at one of his lowest points, and you had shown up—you had stayed.

Still, the smallest part of him had to hear you say it.

“Promise?” He locked eyes with you, pleading.

You took his hand in both of yours. “I promise,” you said. “I love you.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh. “I love you, too.”

You brought his hand up to kiss his knuckles, and he could feel your smile against his skin.

He needed you closer.

Tugging at you, he muttered a “come here,” guiding you onto his lap and pushing his nose into your neck, breathing into you. “I love you so much.”

You said it back, running a hand through his messy curls, then trailing your thumbs around his ears down to his jaw, holding him gently so you could kiss him. You wanted to savor every second of this. You had a lot to discuss, but right now? You just wanted to be with him.

His grip tightened as he returned the kiss.

He wanted to apologize again, to tell you how much he regretted what he said. Before he could, you looked at him as if you couldn't get enough.

“As much as I would love to continue kissing you, I’m starving. And you need to eat.”

He laughed, a genuine, full-fledged laugh, something he hadn’t done in weeks.

You tried pushing off his lap, but he wouldn’t let you budge.

“I’m just gonna get my own plate,” you said, giving him a quizzical look.

He shook his head. “Eat off mine.”

And with the contentment and hope on his face, you couldn’t argue. So, you swiped a piece of bacon, taking a bite as he kissed your shoulder.

"This mine?" he asked, pulling at the hem of your shirt.

"Yeah. I've kinda been cycling through all the ones in my closet," you said.

He hummed, a sullen look crossing his features.

"Been wearing your ring," he muttered, fishing out his Saint Christopher to show you the ring hanging on it.

You toyed with both pieces, rubbing your thumb over the face of the original, then set it back to his chest. You pressed your palm against his heart, and he placed his hand over it.

You leaned your forehead against his, closing your eyes.

He took a sharp breath, then relaxed.

When you finally looked into his eyes, they held security. He trusted you. And he would continue to trust you with something he didn't trust anyone with.

As you ate, one of your arms stayed around his shoulders, sometimes playing with his hair or rubbing his neck. His stayed firmly around your waist, his fingertips grazing up and down your side, trailing further to your thigh.

It was perfect, this moment. Every laugh Billy brought out of you, every kiss you gave him, every word said; it was all a balm. He wasn’t completely healed, he knew that, but he also knew you.

You chuckled and agreed, pulling out of the Sinclair driveway.

“You both brought your sunscreen, right,” you asked, looking in your rearview mirror at Lucas and Erica.

They nodded.

“Good. Max?” You glanced toward her before turning back to the road.

“Do you really need to ask?” She tugged gently at her hair.

“Just checking,” you said. “I have extra if anyone needs it.”

It didn’t take you long to reach the pool. When you arrived, Steve, Robin, and Dustin were already there.

You caught the last second of Steve cannonballing and splashing Dustin when Robin waved you all over.

“Finally! The testosterone was becoming too much!” Robin said, dramatic as ever.

“Have you been here long?” You set your bag beside the lounger and took a seat. Max, Lucas, and Erica didn’t waste any time jumping in.

“Ten whole minutes,” she whined, making you chuckle.

“Then it’s a good thing I got here when I did,” you said, grinning.

You relaxed into your chair after slipping your sandals off. The umbrella provided enough coverage to keep the sun off you. It was as cool as you were going to get out here.

Not knowing how to swim certainly put a damper on things during the summer months, but it was never something you were in a rush to learn. For you, summer meant working and saving up for college, not hanging out at the pool—one of the many reasons your friends insisted you come with them. They all knew you couldn’t swim. They also knew a public pool wasn’t the most conducive to learning, but you knew it’d be fine. Robin and Nancy would sit and chat with you anyway. The boys and the kids were the ones who took full advantage of the water.

“So,” Robin grinned, leaning in closer, “who do you think's gonna get water up their nose first?”

You tapped your chin as if in serious thought. “Dustin.”

“I was thinking the same.” She nodded as if you had concluded an important meeting.

Said child seemed to be having a race with Steve and Lucas toward the deep end while Erica and Max were leaning on pool noodles and laughing.

Faintly, a lifeguard’s whistle was mixed with shrieks of joy and splashes. The piece of metal fell to the guard’s exposed chest. Your eyes trailed along his strong shoulders and neck to land on his face.

Billy.

The heat in your cheeks was no longer from the weather.

Your friendship with Billy Hargrove was unexpected, to say the least. His friendship with the rest of your group—even more so. Fighting an interdimensional monster would do that to someone.

He’d changed a lot since last summer. Fortunately, it was for the better. It was obvious in the way he handled his job here. Billy had ruled the pool with an iron fist before. Now, he was less severe. You’d been here a few times already this summer, and not once had he threatened banishment to some too-excited kid who disregarded the safety rules.

You clocked the scars along his abdomen.

It had taken months of reassurance and support for him to take his shirt off. Before then, you never would have described Billy as insecure, but the Mind Flayer stole so much from him. You were just thankful it wasn’t worse. Joyce had closed the gate right on time.

Now, he sat in his chair with his shoulders back, relaxed, and surveyed the area like he used to.

Though he wore sunglasses, you knew he was looking at you when his head stopped in your direction.

You gave him a small smile and a little wave, and he answered with a flirty smirk of his own.

“Get a room,” Robin groaned. “You’re both ridiculous!”

You playfully swatted her.

She’d known for a while now how you felt about Billy. She had caught you staring a little too long, then at a sleepover, made you spill. And it brought you such relief to tell someone.

“C’mon, you’ve been flirting for months!”

“You know he flirts with everyone,” you said.

“Not since what happened,” she countered. “And I know you’ve noticed it, too.”

You had, but you were sure it was just because you'd been there. He had no reason to hide from you. And that gave him the space to be himself again. It’d only be a matter of time before he was chatting up one of the women strutting by his tower trying to get his attention.

She sighed. “All I’m saying is, I think you should give it a chance.” She poked your arm. “You have chemistry, and I know you’d be good together.”

You squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

She stood, stretching. “Anytime. Now, I’m gonna get something from the vending machine. Any requests?”

“Whatever you’re getting.”

She nodded, walking toward the machines.

You pulled out your book, determined to finish it before you left the pool. Or before Billy got off his shift.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Dustin called. “Can you bring me my goggles?”

“Sure!” You scooped them up from the edge of Robin’s chair and walked over to him. “Here”

“Thanks.” He gave you that smile you loved.

“Where’s Steve?” you asked, looking around.

“He’s gonna do the high dive. I think he’s trying to impress the girl in the blue bikini,” he said, nodding across the pool.

You shook your head slightly. “He knows that won’t actually work, right?”

He shrugged. “I tried to tell him.”

“In other words, ice cream is a must after this.” You usually followed the same rulebook for Steve’s failed flirting as you did for Robin: ice cream and a bitch sesh.

“Ice cream is always a must.”

You laughed, eyes focused on his smiling face.

Maybe if you were paying more attention, you would’ve seen the little boy running to the diving boards. You may have moved in time to avoid him bumping into you and sending you straight into the deep end.

—

Billy spotted you the moment you walked toward Robin with your gaggle of children. Max had told him she’d be here with the rest of your group. So, when the first to arrive were Steve, Robin, and Dustin, he deflated a little.

Ten minutes later, he straightened and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t felt like this since he was a little kid. You made his stomach twist in the best possible way and your smile? He’d do anything to see it.

Every so often, he’d glance back your way. You and Robin laughed at something and his lips ticked up ever so slightly.

He always kept an eye on you. He didn’t want to miss the way your shoulders shook as you laughed. Or the smile you gave El when she wanted you to watch her hold her breath. Or the view he’d get when you bent over facing toward or away from him—he didn’t know which he preferred.

He also knew you couldn’t swim. And every time you showed up, he watched you—made sure you stayed away from the edge. Part of him wished you wouldn’t come to the pool, but the selfish side loved when you did.

It was easier when he was off duty. He didn’t have to pay attention to everyone else. He’d sit at the foot of your lounger and talk to you while the others swam. You’d poke him with your toes if he flustered you too much, and he’d grab your feet and move closer to put them on his lap. He’d graze a finger up the bottom of one, and when you went to pull away, he’d grip your ankle and laugh, promising not to do it again.

You’d ask him to reapply sunscreen to your back. And each time he’d massage it into your shoulders, your neck—his thumbs pushing the tension away—down until he reached your swimsuit, and then move onto your arms. You’d always tell him you could do that part, and he’d grunt at you, wanting to touch you a little longer.

Then, when he finished, you’d offer the same, and he’d turn around, stifling a moan when your hands rubbed his shoulders and down his spine. He’d tease you, ask if you could do his chest, to which you rolled your eyes, but did it anyway because you told him once you didn’t think he applied enough to begin with. You never said it was because you liked touching him, too.

He continued scanning the rest of the pool. It wouldn’t be long before his shift ended, and he could finally join you.

Everything was relatively calm—kids playing, parents sitting with one another, high schoolers gossiping as they floated. Everything was normal.

“(Y/N)!”

His head shot to the panicked voice, dread clawing his gut.

Dustin’s arms waved frantically at Billy.

Where were you?

And he dove in.

You were sinking, bubbles no longer escaping your mouth. And the feeling in his gut worsened as your eyes slowly closed.

He’d taken his eyes away from you for a second.

That was all it took.

Just one second.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, using the other to propel himself upward.

Dustin was still panicking and had gathered the attention of his friends, who had rushed forward when Billy emerged.

Billy vaguely noticed Steve above him.

“Help me get her out,” Billy called. “Lay her down.”

Steve hauled you by your arms, using the towel around his neck as a pillow. Billy was beside you in a moment doing compressions.

“C’mon,” he muttered before pinching your nose and pushing air into your lungs. “C’mon.”

Each press into your chest made his hurt.

He couldn’t lose you. He just couldn’t. Not like this, not when you survived so much. Not when you’d become so important to him. Not before he could tell you.

You coughed, water spurting from your throat as you instinctively turned to get it out.

Relief washed over him.

“It’s okay, baby. Just breathe,” he whispered, rubbing your back. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Your coughing slowly subsided, but your breath shook, and the urge to cry crept up your nose. You’d been so close. You felt the water burning your lungs as you sunk further and further.

Billy’s body heat comforted you as you shivered. You rested your head in the crook of his neck. The warmth of his skin made you shudder at the contrast. All the energy had been drained from you. You were just so cold, so fucking scared.

“I’ve got you, honey,” he repeated, placing a towel around your shoulders. “Let’s go to a chair, okay?”

He was so gentle with you, only his tone registering, but whatever he was saying, you’d agree with.

He hooked an arm under your knees and his other around your back and walked you to one of the Adirondack chairs.

Kneeling in front of you, he covered your hands with his.

“(Y/N).”

You stared at your joined hands, wanting to burrow into him to have some semblance of warmth.

“Sweetheart, I need you to look at me,” he said.

You did.

“You’re safe now.” He used one hand to graze the side of your thigh. “How ‘bout I take you home?”

You slowly nodded. This was the last place you wanted to be. Your nerves felt so exposed here.

“Okay.” He smiled gently, brushing your forehead with his lips as he rose to his feet.

“Here,” Robin said, setting your tote beside you. She placed a hand on your shoulder, and you touched it in thanks.

Billy pulled your coverup out of it and slipped it over your head.

“C’mon,” he shouldered your bag, “let’s go home.”

His arm went around your waist as he led you through the locker room to get his belongings.

When you got to his car, he placed you in the passenger seat and hooked you.

The way to your home was silent. And that was okay. You were still trying to settle yourself, and just being out of there helped.

Billy had put a hand on your thigh, needing to remind himself that you were next to him—that you were still breathing.

It comforted you—he did that in general. Maybe in a different situation, it would fill your stomach with butterflies. But right now, it was the contact you needed.

He was right here. And so were you.

You were grateful your parents were out when you arrived. You didn’t think you could handle any questions.

Billy’s hand was at the small of your back as you walked inside and went to your room to change. And he went to the kitchen to get you some water.

You got out of that swimsuit as fast as you could. Once Billy left, all you wanted was for him to come back.

It was like your chest didn’t hurt as much when he was in your line of sight.

He’d changed out of his suit and was waiting on the couch, patting the back of it when he saw you.

“Feel any better?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. “A bit.”

“What about inside? Anything hurt?” He leaned toward you, scanning your figure like he could pinpoint those spots.

“I’m fine, Billy,” you said. “Really. Maybe a little shaky, but that’s it. You don’t…” You didn’t want him to go, but you didn’t want to force him to stay. “You can go back if you want to. I know you wanted to hang out with everyone.” You didn’t want to feel like a burden. Billy deserved more than being tied down here with you.

He didn’t speak.

He wanted to hang out with you. He may have befriended everyone else, but you were the one he wanted to be around.

You had stopped shaking and coughing. Your breathing seemed normal, and the fear in your eyes was gone. You looked more exhausted than anything.

But still, he kept flashing back to you sinking.

He could’ve lost you. If Dustin hadn’t yelled, you might not be here. And he feared if he left you now, it’d somehow all be a dream. You wouldn't be sitting next to him. You’d be at the bottom of the pool, and he’d have to live with the guilt of not being able to save you.

But you were here. And you were okay. And he had to keep reminding himself of that.

“Let me stay,” he breathed, eyes pleading.

Yours softened, and you nodded.

He gave you a grateful smile. “Good. How about a movie? You can pick anyone you want, sweetheart.”

The pet name sent shivers up your spine, and he noticed. A concerned look covered his features.

“Are you okay? Are you still cold?” he asked, scooting closer.

You shook your head. You were definitely far from cold.

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

“Billy, I’m fine,” you urged.

“You inhaled a lot of water—”

“I promise.” You put a hand over his. “I just…I like when you call me that.” You played with your fingers, avoiding his gaze.

His face pulled in confusion. When he called you what?

He tried to think of what you were talking about, and then it dawned on him. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been doing it.

A grin spread across his face.

“You like it when I call you ‘sweetheart’?” He moved, his knee touching yours.

You nodded slightly.

“What about ‘honey’?” His head tilted so he could try and meet your eyes.

Again, you nodded, but the smallest of smiles tugged at your lips.

“And ‘baby’?” He lifted your chin with a finger, and your breath hitched.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I like it.”

“How would you feel if I used them all the time?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, but the smile still spread. “I’d like it.”

“And what if I wanted to use them in front of our friends? Would you be okay with that?” he asked, leaning in.

“Only if you asked me out first,” you said.

He chuckled. “Could I still kiss you right now?”

“You better.”

His lips pressed against yours a second later. He tasted like mint and the barest traces of smoke and chlorine. He pulled you into his lap so you straddled him, and your hands cupped both sides of his neck. 

You loved how warm he was. Every time you saw him, you wanted to burrow beneath his clothing and find a home there. You didn’t know if it was his Cali sun-kissed skin, or maybe the fire from his cigarettes, or a combination of both, but it was entirely Billy.

His hand trailed up your back to your neck, his other gripping your thigh, trying to plant you there. And part of you wished he’d squeeze harder so the bruises would remind you of this moment.

But you had to pull away.

You panted into each other's mouths, foreheads pressed together. And his hands slid to your waist and wrapped around you, hugging you to him.

“There’s somethin’ I have to tell you,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek.

“You can tell me anything,” you said, thumb rubbing his jaw.

“I love you.”

You pulled back to look at him better. “What?”

“I,” he cleared his throat, “I love you.”

You caught the panic in his eyes, but before he could move, you put your hands atop his.

“I love you,” you breathed, smiling.

He laughed, cupping your cheeks to kiss you—soft and sweet, and it felt like love.

“Does this mean I can call you ‘baby’?” you asked, a teasing lit to your voice.

He grinned, pulling you closer by your hips. “You better.”

He kissed you again, and you had the passing thought that you could do this all the time.

—

The next time you went to the pool, Billy had a lounger and umbrella for you right behind the lifeguard chair.

He greeted you with a kiss, his hand slipping down to squeeze your ass. But you caught it. As much as you liked how physical he was, you weren’t about to let the other pool goers see.

“You shouldn’t have anything to worry about, honey. Just sit back and relax,” he said.

“Why’s that?” you asked, pushing one of his curls behind his shoulder.

“‘Cause I banned that little shit.” He shrugged.

“I’m pretty sure you can’t actually do that,” you said, laughing lightly.

“But he doesn’t.” He kissed you again. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Now, enjoy the show.” He winked, then reclaimed his place on his chair.

It was close enough that you could walk there from home. Your backpack was stuffed with two blankets, snacks, and water.

You saw Billy before he noticed you. He sat on the hood of his car, the smoke from his cigarette drifting to you on the breeze.

Cordial would be the best way to describe your relationship with him. Neither of you really spoke, but his sister had become your friend, so awkward pleasantries were as deep as you and Billy went.

You should probably say something to him. It’d be weirder if you didn’t.

Before you could, Billy looked over his shoulder, squinting over your flashlight until he could see you.

“What’re you doing out here?” Billy asked, turning back around.

“Could ask you the same,” you said, slipping your hands into your pockets.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, lips tugging down.

“You should go home. It’s late,” he said. He inhaled deeply on his cigarette.

You bit the inside of your cheek. He clearly didn’t want to be disturbed, and you weren’t about to poke the bear.

“Don’t worry. I won’t bother you. I’ll just be over there.” You gestured with your head to the right, walking off before he could give you a response.

You pulled both blankets out of your backpack, laying one down and using the other as a pillow.

At first, it was odd to have an audience. Not that you thought Billy was staring at you, but just that another presence was here. It was that feeling you got when someone watched you do something you’d done a hundred times, but because someone was watching, it was like it was the first time you were doing it.

Twenty minutes passed, and you were finally settled, the stars gaining your full attention as they let your mind wander. You were connecting all the ones in Pegasus when you were interrupted.

“How are a bunch of tiny dots so interesting?” Billy stood beside you, arms crossed.

You would've been a little annoyed by the question, but something told you this was his way of reaching out. And you weren’t about to push away someone who needed a bit of company.

“Why don’t you lay down, and I’ll show you?” You patted the spot next to you.

He hesitated. Maybe he expected you to get irritated or start an argument, but your invitation relaxed him slightly. And he laid down, arms behind his head.

You smiled to yourself and looked back up, searching for the right constellation.

“Okay, do you see that little diamond shape with the tail?” You pointed.

His eyes narrowed, searching. “They all look the same.”

You rolled yours. “Okay. How about the big square over that way?” You moved your finger to the left, tracing the shape.

He slowly nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good! That’s a part of Pegasus. Now, keep your eyes in the middle and move to the right. Pass the first star you see and keep going—”

“You mean the thing that looks like a kite?” he asked.

“Yes!” You grinned. “That’s Delphinus.”

“Like a dolphin?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Exactly. The myth goes that this constellation represents the dolphin Poseidon sent the goddess Amphitrite because he wanted to marry her.”

“He sent a dolphin to get her?” he asked slowly, giving you an “are you serious” look.

You nodded. “Another myth is that the dolphin saved a Greek poet after the poet sang a song as his 'last words.' He threw himself overboard, and the dolphin saved him.”

He was quiet for a moment, staring intently at the constellation.

“Which one do you like better?” His eyes met yours, and you were struck by how blue they were. The same blue you imagined, the dolphin swam in.

“The latter,” you said.

He looked at you in surprise. “Really? Not the other one? I thought girls liked that romantic shit.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “It’s not really romantic. All the dolphin did was give Amphitrite a ride. The other one is…” How did you want to put this? “...It has more meaning.”

He waited for you to continue.

“The poet, Arion, sang a song that drew this dolphin toward him. His art literally saved his life because Delphinus was so moved by it and had to go toward it.” You softened. “Isn’t that what everyone wants? For someone to acknowledge you for who you are?”

He analyzed you for a few minutes. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, but you wished he’d say something. You hadn’t meant to say all that, and something about saying it to Billy felt like your heart was on the line. He could act disinterested, he could argue with you, or he could laugh in your face.

He had never been blatantly rude to you before, prickly, of course, but this felt different. Like there was a line between you two, and depending on his response, he’d either build a wall or cross over onto your side.

He slowly nodded. “I think I like the second one, too,” he almost whispered. Then, faced the stars once more.

It wasn’t what you expected, but the corners of your mouth lifted.

You spent the rest of the night pointing out other constellations. He took a keen interest in Equuleus. The horse had been pierced by Neptune’s trident when he and Athena were competing to determine who’d be the superior.

It went on for some time like that. He’d ask questions, and you’d try your best to answer. Or he’d make up his own constellations.

“You see that long-ass rectangle?” he asked, tracing with his finger.

“Yeah.”

“That’s ‘Smoke Break,’” he said. And when you giggled in response, he grinned.

You had unfolded the other blanket, draping it over the both of you. Between the conversations, the silence lulled you into a sleepy haze. And before you knew it, you were asleep.

—

When Billy woke up and saw the sun rising, he’d never been more confused. Then, he saw you, curled into his side with his arm around your waist. He couldn’t find it in himself to move.

Last night was something he could never have imagined.

Neil had a bad day at work. And that usually resulted in a few good shoves and a backhand. Billy had stormed out as soon as Neil left the living room.

Billy had been driving, speeding down the road when the rage left him, and he slowed to turn into a field. He’d been there ten-fifteen minutes when you showed up.

He wanted you to leave. Didn’t want any questions about why he was out here. So, when you pretty much left him alone, he was relieved. And sorta disappointed.

Billy had known you since high school. You’d been paired up for one project together that you both got an A on—the best grade he’d ever gotten, and he knew it was because of you—and that was about it.

He saw you when he dropped Max off and picked her up, and sometimes you’d wave at him if you saw him around.

In a way, Billy saw you as unreachable. Like your light was somehow drowning out his darkness. And he didn’t mind it. He just wasn’t sure he deserved it—to feel light himself. But you drew him in, and he couldn’t help but approach you after those twenty long minutes.

He was glad he did.

He’d never felt more at peace. You’d calmed a part of him that he didn’t think could be.

It was strange, but that moment with you didn’t feel real. As if the night sky wrapped you in a bubble for only the two of you to know.

And he refused to burst its remains until you woke up.

—

Billy had offered to drive you home that morning.

You’d awoken and pulled away almost instantly, face heating up and profusely apologizing.

He had shrugged them off and helped you shove the blankets back in your bag before throwing it in his backseat and holding the passenger door open.

It’d been a few days since then, and tonight was gonna be another clear one. On your walk to the field, you wondered if Billy would be there, too. It was probably a one-and-done thing—you still didn’t know why he had been there in the first place. But there was that spark of hope. And then disappointment when he wasn’t there.

A half hour went by, and you could feel yourself nodding off. You were trying to work up the energy to pack up when the crawling of wheels made you turn.

Billy got out of his car and strolled over.

“Anything interesting up there?” he asked.

You patted the spot beside you, and he took it without a thought.

“You know there are three goddesses of the moon in Greek mythology?” you said.

“How can there be three?” he asked, lying on his side.

“There’s Selene, Artemis, and Hecate.” You listed on your fingers. “Selene was believed to be the moon personified, while Artemis is the goddess of the hunt and wilderness, and Hecate is the goddess of magic and witchcraft.”

“Is Artemis the one with the wolves?” he asked.

You nodded. “Sometimes, though, she's often shown with deer.”

“Makes sense. What about Hecate? Think if I stare at the moon long enough, she’ll put me under her spell?”

You giggled. “I don’t think that’s how it works, but I guess you never know.”

“What else can you tell me?” he asked, giving you a lazy smile.

“Well, Selene is supposed to bring the moon across the sky with her chariot,” you said.

He hummed. “You think it’s an actual chariot or a motorcycle or somethin’?”

You snorted. “You’d love it if she had a motorcycle, wouldn’t you?”

“She’d be hot as shit.” His grin widened when you laughed. “C’mon, if you were pullin’ the moon across all that, wouldn’t you want something sexy?”

You paused for a moment, pretending to think. “A station wagon.”

He deadpanned. “A what?”

“A station wagon,” you repeated, trying not to laugh.

“Now you’re fucking with me.” He flopped onto his back.

You let a giggle slip. “Think about it. You have this beautiful celestial body, then a shitty, rundown station wagon in front of it. It’d be hilarious.”

You could tell he was imagining it and trying not to smirk.

“See! It’s funny!” you said, nudging his shoulder. 

“Didn’t say that,” he said.

“But you thought it.”

He rolled his eyes. And it was enough of an admission for you.

The conversation slowly morphed into something else. Whereas the first night it was about the stars, tonight, it became more about the both of you.

“How do you know so much about this stuff,” he asked, adjusting the blanket over himself.

“I read a lot.” You played with a loose thread. “Helps that I didn’t have many friends growing up.”

He raised a brow. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, looking at him through your lashes.

He blinked, then cleared his throat. “You’re always hanging around Max and her friends. And Harrington.”

You nodded, missing that tone in his voice. The one he tried to convince himself wasn’t there. 

“Yeah, it took a while, but I think I’ve found my people,” you said.

He stopped himself from asking if that included him.

“You, uh, you still working at that bookstore?” he asked, needing to change the subject.

“Why? Thinking about reading up on some myths?” you teased.

He let out a breathy laugh. “Maybe. But I don’t think reading them would be quite the same as listening to you.”

You smiled in response.

Again, you lost yourselves that night, falling asleep and waking up with your head on his chest.

Each time your conversations delved deeper. And each morning, the hasty pack-up and drive home extended to soft “good mornings,” slow risings, and comfortable mullings of nothing. You began to crave those moments.

And so did he.

When he’d drop Max off at the bookstore, he’d walk her in, hoping to see you. And on those days, Max usually bought one book with another stashed under her arm. One to read at home and the other, so she had something to do as she sat in one of the armchairs as you and Billy talked.

Max told El what was happening. Then El told Mike, who told Dustin, and Dustin told Steve, and he told the rest.

None of them knew how your friendship blossomed or why it happened now.

Then, one night, Max watched from the crack in her door as Billy strode out of the house after another of Neil’s screaming sessions.

She knew Billy’s date look, and this wasn’t that. It didn't seem like he was running away this time. There was something in his steps that suggested he was running toward. And it clicked.

—

You were waiting for Billy. At this point, every time you were out here you were waiting for him.

He’d somehow wormed his way into your routine, and now, without him here, it felt wrong. Like you were missing this crucial piece.

When he finally arrived, he didn’t say a word, no sarcastic quip or flirty banter. He simply laid down. What you didn’t anticipate was for him to pull you into his side.

His arm settled around your shoulders, his other hand on your forearm, his thumb rubbing up and down. He didn’t look at you, didn’t speak, his brow furrowed.

It was a look you’d seen before.

It worried you.

You wanted it gone.

“So, what do you wanna know this time?” you asked tentatively, chin resting on his chest.

His eyes slid to yours. They relaxed like he finally realized where he was, and they became hooded. He trailed down to your lips, then back, the barest of smiles gracing his features.

“Everything,” he whispered, pulling you closer.

BUCHAREST 2016

You and Bucky met in the laundry room in the basement of your building, and when you found out he had just moved in you showed up at his door later that evening with an apple pie and a cheap bottle of champagne you had leftover from a get together with friends. He poured the champagne down the sink, but he did enjoy the pie.

A few days later he realized that he probably should've invited you in to have the pie and champagne with him. That would've been the gentlemanly thing to do, and something he wouldn't have hesitated to do if it were 70 years earlier. But he was on the run, he shouldn't be entertaining guests. For all he knew you could be a spy placed there to watch him, just waiting for the right moment to barge in and kill him. Or worse, take him to prison. But, in case you really were just a nice girl that lived across the hall from him, he left a basket of fresh fruit from the farmer's market outside your door with a little note that read "Bucky." After finding the basket you invited Bucky over for dinner.

It didn't take Bucky very long to fall in love with you. He didn't know if it was because half of his brain was mush or if this is just what happened when you met someone you think you could grow old with, but he didn't care. He couldn't remember much of his life, but he was fairly certain that no one had cared about him quite like this. When he told you who he was you calmly nodded and said "I know, I recognized you from the news. That's why I brought you the pie."

"As a congratulations for murder?" He had asked. 

"No," you playfully hit his chest, "to let you know I'm on your side."

That was the first time he cried in front of you. He could never fathom that someone so nice and innocent who let bugs outside instead of killing them could care for someone like him. You always reminded him that his idea of "someone like him" didn't exist. It was never anything he did, but rather something that was done to him.

Of course the thought that all of this could change in the blink of an eye was always in the back of his mind. He had nightmares that he turned back into him. Sometimes he had nightmares where Hydra came looking for him and you were collateral damage. Other times he had nightmares where he killed you himself. He gave you a gun and made you promise that if he ever turned back you would defend yourself and turn him in, or kill him if you had the chance. You knew you would never be able to defend yourself against the Winter Soldier, but you promised, because for some odd reason you trusted him.

You spent a lot of your time cooped up in one of your apartments daydreaming about what your future could look like. He would lay on his back and you would lay next to him with your head on his chest and his arm around you. He would tell you how he would take you on a proper date at a real restaurant and you would talk about all the things you wanted to show him that he had missed.

Everything changed after the attack in Vienna. You saw on the news that they were blaming the Winter Soldier for the bombing and the murder of the king of Wakanda as well as several others. You both knew he didn’t do it, but they were going to find him sooner or later.

A few days after the news came out you and Bucky went to the farmers market to fill up your pantries. He begged you not to come with him, knowing that people were looking for him, but you never listened. That was the only time you could go out in public together, even if you wore disguises. One of Bucky's nightmares came true though. There's no doubt that he was recognized while walking home.

You rushed back to your building with your heads down. As soon as you got into the elevator he handed you an old burner phone from his backpack. He told you to go straight to your apartment and lock the door, then to go into your bedroom and lock that door too. You started to cry and he wiped your tears, kissing your forehead.

"It's okay," he said, "I'll get in touch as soon as I can."

You nodded, putting the phone in your back pocket and wiping the remainder of your tears away.

"Don't look at anybody and don't come out until you're 100% sure it's safe. Don't try to help me. Just do as I say."

The elevator dinged as it reached your floor. Bucky gave you a final kiss on the forehead and sent you out, waiting a few moments before he returned to his apartment. You locked yourself in your apartment, but you didn't go back to your room. You pressed your face up against the door and listened for Bucky. You heard him enter his apartment, but there was someone in there.

"Do you know who I am?" The other voice asked.

"You're Steve."

Shortly after that you heard gunshots and fighting. You rushed into your bedroom and locked the door behind you, sinking to the floor against the far wall. You knew they weren’t trying to take him alive. You sobbed as quietly as possible to not alert anyone in the building or outside the window that you were in there. You stared at the burner phone with tears in your eyes until you fell asleep, not even bothering to get up onto the bed. You don’t know when the fighting stopped.

Two weeks later you were basically rotting away on your bed. There were no contacts on the phone he gave you, so you just had to wait for it to ring. You couldn't even contact him if it was an emergency. You had kept up with what they were saying about Bucky on the news. You knew he had been caught and you worried that he wouldn't have much time left. If he was even still alive.

You still hadn't left your apartment even though the authorities investigating Bucky’s across the hall were long gone. You worried that people would recognize you as "the woman with the Winter Soldier" as you were referred to on the news. There were blurry photos of you and Bucky walking home from the farmer's market that day. Your hat was covering your face in each photo, but who knows if others had seen you and could identify you.

When you saw the reports of Bucky fighting the Avengers as the Winter Soldier after breaking out of captivity your heart broke. It was a completely different person than who you knew. You should've been scared, but you weren't because you knew that wasn't him. It was his body, but it wasn’t him. Then, when you saw the aftermath of the Avengers’ fight in the airport you couldn't take it any longer. The news anchor said they had no idea where Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes had gone. Half of the Avengers were in hiding and you figured you'd better not reach out to the other half that were against him. You had lost hope completely that he would ever contact you or that you would ever see him again.

A week later you got your first call on the burner phone. The thought had crossed your mind that someone had stolen the phone and was trying to contact you for information on Bucky, but you would never miss an opportunity to speak to him if it really was him.

"Hello?" You answered cautiously.

"Doll?" It was him.

"Buck, oh my god, are you okay?" You tried to hide the lump in your throat from your oncoming tears.

"I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. I miss you so much," you answered.

"I miss you too, doll," he replied. "But listen, I have to go away for a while."

"What do you mean? For how long?"

You weren’t hiding your tears anymore.

"I don't know,” he sighed.

"Can I see you before you go?"

"No, baby. I'm already gone."

He knew that if he kept talking to you he might change his mind and go back to you. This was something he had to do, and until they found a way to fix him he had to leave. Zemo was able to change him back into the Winter Soldier like no time had passed, and he didn't trust himself to go back to you like this. He had to either be cured, or be killed.

"I have to go. I love you, sweetheart," he said.

You cried even harder. He'd never told you that he loves you before. You always felt that he did, but you knew he was too scared to say it in case he lost you. You worried that he was saying it now because he was leaving for good.

"I love you, Bucky."

Bucky hung up the small flip phone and handed it to Steve who had just entered the room. Steve tried not to eavesdrop from the hallway, but he was so curious. It's not his fault he has enhanced hearing (technically it is).

"She doesn't have anything to do with the soldier. She was helping me get better," Bucky quickly tried to clear your name in case Steve thought you had anything to do with Hydra. Steve could tell from the hallway without hearing your side of the conversation that you were someone good for him.

"Is that the girl from Bucharest?" Steve asked, pulling up a chair next to Bucky in the small room he had been provided. Bucky nodded.

"She seems important," he added.

"She is," Bucky replied.

"How'd you meet?" Steve asked.

"She lived across the hall."

Steve visibly deflated. “Was she there that day when I found you?”

Bucky didn’t say anything, giving Steve his answer. The guilt was eating Bucky alive. He knew how terrified you were and still are and he had to leave you there alone in your small apartment while they hunted for him like an animal.

"So, she knows about him?"

"Mhm."

"Why didn't you tell her what you're doing here?" Steve wondered.

"I don't want her to worry. If there's nothing they can do to fix me or if for some reason I don't wake up I don't want her to come looking for me. I want her to live a good life. She deserves that," Bucky replied.

"You think she's gonna just move on if you never come back?"

"She's better without me in the long run. I don't trust myself around her, and even if I didn’t hurt her I still don’t know how much longer I’ll live without being on ice anymore. She still has her whole life ahead of her," Bucky sighed.

"But what if it works, Buck? This is something good for you."

They have no idea how long the deconditioning will take if it even works. You could be married with children by the time he’s ready to see you again, and even if you weren’t would you even want to see him? You weren’t together very long, he’s not even sure if you were “together”, but he knows that he would do anything for you. You talked about your future together but did you mean it? Would you have really settled down with him?

He still can’t tell which thoughts are his and which are that voice in his head telling him he doesn’t deserve anything. But Steve’s right, he has to try.

"If she's still waiting for me when or if I'm free, I'll look for her."

He promised he’d look for her. He didn’t say he would talk to her.

Bucky and Steve then said their goodbyes before Bucky laid down in the chamber to be induced into a deep cryo sleep. He’s not religious, but he prayed up until he was fully unconscious that this would really work.

NEW YORK 2018

It had been almost two years since you heard from Bucky that day. After a year had passed you packed up your things and moved to Brooklyn. You didn’t have anything keeping you in Bucharest and you figured if Bucky ever came back he would come to New York since that's where the Avengers facility is and where Steve lives. You never heard any word of him the entire time. Not even on the news.

You made friends and were relatively happy. You had a roommate, but you never told her about Bucky. You didn't want to talk about him like he was in the past, so you didn't talk about him at all. You didn't know if he was dead or alive but you tried not to think about it too much. And if you did think about it you pictured him happy somewhere else. Somewhere where he can be himself in public without fear. Free of his own fear of others and the fear that he would hurt someone again.

One morning when you were running errands in the city the wind picked up immensely as if a storm rolled in out of nowhere. The sun was covered up by what you thought were clouds, but when you looked up you saw a large ship hovering over the buildings and getting lower. People around you screamed and ran. Cars crashed into each other and were left abandoned on the streets as the drivers tried to escape. In the chaos someone bumped into you knocking you down to your knees. A stranger came over and helped you to your feet. Your heart dropped to your guts when you saw who the stranger was. Tony Stark stood in front of you.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. What's going on?" You asked shakily

"Not entirely sure yet. Wait a minute, you look familiar. Did we spend a beautiful night together years ago?"

"Definitely not," you scoffed.

"FRIDAY, who is this?" he asked.

An invisible robotic voice spoke, stating your name. “She was the woman in Romania with James Barnes.”

Suddenly, the spaceship meant nothing to you. Memories of Bucky flashed through your mind like a slideshow. You hadn’t allowed yourself to think about him this long and this deeply for months.

“Is he okay?” you managed to ask.

"Oh shit. Uh, okay, just go home and lock the doors alright?" he said, leaving to run towards the spaceship and its passengers.

You knew you should hurry, but all you could think about is when Bucky said the same thing that day he left, followed by the fact that Tony didn’t answer when you asked about him. You started to cry as you ran home. Debris and parts of buildings crashed around you as you ran. When you finally got home you locked the door and ran to your room locking it behind you just like Bucky had told you.

"Are you okay?" your roommate, Jess, asked from outside your door.

"Fine. Just don't go outside," you answered, not even bothering to try and cover your sobs.

Just then a loud crash, screams, and honking rattled the windows of their shitty apartment. Jess went to the living room window and opened the curtains, finally seeing the chaos down on the street.

"Holy shit. What's happening?" she asked.

"I don't know. Tony Stark told me to come here and lock the door."

"Tony Stark?!"

You didn't have the energy to answer. You laid there for hours trying to ignore the outside world and hoped it would manage to spare you. Eventually, you fell asleep on tear stained pillowcases.

The next day you woke up to silence. You left your room to go to the kitchen to get something to eat. Somehow you had slept the rest of the day and through the night and you were starving. Jess wasn't in the living room or the kitchen though. You checked her bedroom and the bathroom but she wasn't there either. It wasn't like Jess to just leave without saying anything or leaving a note, especially after the chaos yesterday.

You looked out the window onto the street and saw the rubble and crashed cars. It was strangely quiet. No cleanup teams or police or ambulances. Usually you would at least see people walking, but there was no one.

Confused, you returned to the living room to turn on the TV and were met with videos of crying people in the streets and a panicked news anchor asking them questions.

"She was just gone," the woman cried, "One minute she was there and then she wasn't."

The scene went back to an anchor at the studio. The headline at the bottom of the screen read "MILLIONS OF PEOPLE DISAPPEARING OUT OF THIN AIR." Could that be where Jess is? And what about your other friends? What about Bucky? Is he gone or is he just as confused as you are? Was he even alive to experience this?

Half of the entire universe was gone and somehow you were still here. You remembered your silent prayers yesterday hoping that nothing would happen to you, now you just wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole. How unkind was the universe to give you the love of your life just to take him from you, only to find some sliver of happiness without him just for half the population to disappear and leave you behind to grieve. You don’t know where the other half of the world went, but you wished you were taken too.

A few weeks later you heard a knock at your door and had no idea who it could be. You found out that every one of your friends you made had been a victim of the Snap and you got laid off from your job because there weren’t enough people to keep the business running. You looked through the peephole on the door and were very surprised to see Steve Rogers standing on the other side of it.

"Hi. You were with Bucky in Romania?" He asked once you had opened the door. He knew he had the right apartment from looking up your records, but the only photos of you he’d seen were the blurry ones taken by civilians in 2016.

"Yes. You're Steve?" you asked. He nodded.

You let him into your apartment and offered him something to drink. He declined, but he was thankful. You sat in the chair next to the couch.

"Is this about Bucky?" you asked him.

He sat on the couch on the side closest to you. "He's gone."

"For how long?" you asked, assuming he had been gone after you never heard from him again.

"Since the Snap. He disappeared," Steve answered quietly.

"You mean he was alive this whole time?" Tears started to form in your eyes.

"Technically, yes. He was put in a cryo sleep for a long time until they could figure out how to get the Soldier out of his head."

"Did it work?" you asked. He nodded, tears were forming in his eyes too.

You sat for a moment just crying and staring at the coffee table in front of you. You didn’t know how to feel. You wished you could’ve seen him even if he wasn’t awake, or at least known that he was okay. Now that you know he was okay but that he was a victim of the Snap it was like losing him all over again.

"He would kill me if he knew I was here," Steve said, breaking the silence.

"Why?" you asked, wiping the tears and snot from your face with your sleeve. You briefly remembered you had company and should've just gotten a tissue but you couldn't bring it in yourself to care.

"He wanted you to move on and be happy without him. He thought he didn't deserve you," Steve answered.

"I love him more than anything," you said.

"He felt the same way."

NEW YORK 2023

Five years had passed since everyone disappeared. Steve reached out to you pretty often just to check on you and you were grateful for that. He’s all you had left even if he was just your dead ex-boyfriend's friend from childhood who felt bad for you. Steve even got you to come to a couple of his support meetings. You never spoke though, just listened. You started taking antidepressants and they helped a little, but not how you would like.

One day Steve told you that they had an idea on how to bring everyone back. You didn't get your hopes up. Even if they were able to bring everyone back, would Bucky even come back to you? You told Bucky every day that he deserved you, and in fact, he deserved more than you. He deserved the entire world. It broke your heart to know that it never sunk in.

You never knew why you loved Bucky so much or why you couldn't move on. You only had 6 months with him but you had planned a lifetime together. You saved his life. He had told you he wanted to get married. When everything settled down and you could actually do things he wanted to marry you with a real wedding like what he thought he would have when he got back from the war. You jokingly discussed baby names and bickered about how you would decorate your house. In your fantasies you had a cat. It had been almost 7 years since that day and you still remember it like it was yesterday.

Everything changed when you heard Jess call your name from the living room. You jumped out of bed, running into the door on your way out of your bedroom, and ran straight into Jess's arms almost knocking her over.

"What happened?" Jess asked.

"You disappeared. Half of the world disappeared for 5 years. I thought you died."

"Years!? It felt like seconds to me. I was here and then I wasn't and then I was here again."

You tried to fill her in on what had happened while she was gone and the state of the world. You couldn’t believe you were actually talking to her again. Once you calmed down from the excitement of seeing Jess again you realized something. You were actually talking to Jess again.

"What's wrong?" Jess asked, noticing your demeanor change.

"Bucky's alive."

"Who?"

NEW YORK 2024

It didn't take long for you to find out where Bucky was, but it took months for you to reach out. Before Steve left he gave you a man named Sam Wilson's phone number and said you could call him. He didn't say much about Bucky. Just that he was okay.

You kept up with his trial on the news, wanting to make sure he would be okay. Bucky was officially pardoned of all the Winter Soldier's crimes. You cried so hard that day you slept for hours afterwards and woke up dehydrated.

A couple times after that you saw Bucky with Sam on TV fighting together. He was in public fighting with the good guys. You'd never been so proud of someone in your life. The reporters were praising him instead of talking about his past.

For a while the news updates with grainy iPhone videos of Bucky fighting were enough. You knew he was alive and the Soldier was gone. That was all you could hope for him. But eventually you wanted more. You wanted to see Bucky, even if he didn't want you back. Even if he didn't even know you were there. You just wanted to see him with your own eyes, to know for sure that he was alright.

You finally decided to call Sam.

"Hello?" he answered.

You introduced yourself. “Steve gave me your phone number,” you added.

"Oh, right! I thought you'd call sooner," he replied.

"Been scared," you answered honestly. "Um, how is Bucky?"

"He's alright. Grumpy as ever and a pain in my ass but he's alright."

You giggled, knowing how stubborn Bucky could be. He told you how he used to be a charming ladies' man back in the day but that that part of him died. You never believed that it died, it was just hidden under the grumpy old man exterior.

"Do you think maybe I could see him? If he doesn't wanna talk to me that's okay. I just want to see him for myself and then I'll leave him alone."

"I'll tell you what, this weekend my family is having a party and Bucky will be there. If you can get down to Louisiana you're welcome to stay at my sister's place. And if it doesn't go well, I'll get you a hotel and a flight back myself. Sound good?" Sam suggested.

"Okay. Sounds good."

It did not sound good, but this was your chance to see him so you had to take it. If it went poorly you didn’t know if you could handle it, but you had to try. So Sam texted you the address and the details and you booked a flight.

You had no idea what to expect. You didn't know if he would be happy to see you or if he would just be reminded of a terrible time in his life and would want nothing to do with you. What if he didn't even remember you? Did the cure of his trigger words erase his memories of when he was affected by them? Either way you were going to go. Even if you had to introduce yourself to him as if you had never met. Even if you had to just watch him from the shadows across from a crowded room.

That weekend you flew to Louisiana. You texted Sam as soon as you landed. He had offered to come pick you up but you refused. You didn't mind taking an Uber and you didn't want to pull him away from his family. Besides, you preferred to show up in secret in case you decided you didn't want to see Bucky. If you got there and changed your mind, you could just leave.

It was only about a 30 minute drive from the airport, and with each passing minute you got more nervous. You hadn’t seen Bucky in 8 years. If he was in cryo sleep and then snapped away he'd only been away from you for a fraction of that. But, you had no idea what he's been through.

When the car pulled into the driveway Sam was there waiting for you. He helped you carry your luggage inside without being detected. You noticed Bucky's backpack on the floor by the couch, the same one he took with him when he left. Sam noticed you staring at it.

"He's right outside. I think my nephews are harassing him," he joked.

You smiled. Through all of this chaos you realized that Bucky was at a party. He's in public around people he's comfortable with and he's hanging out with children. You remembered when Bucky told you he was scared of having kids in case he wasn't a good father. He didn't want to turn back and hurt them. You started to cry.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm just overwhelmed."

"I understand. He's there when you're ready," Sam replied. He headed outside to rejoin the party, leaving you to come out when you felt ready.

At this point, if you didn't go out right now you weren’t sure if you ever would, so you followed Sam out onto the back porch and down the steps. You expected to see a scruffy long haired grumpy man like how you remembered him, but were frozen in your steps when you saw him with short hair and a recently shaved beard. He was smiling and laughing with the kids around him checking out his metal arm. You wished you took a photo so you could look at it forever.

Bucky stilled when he looked over and saw you. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking. For all you knew he could be seconds away from running for the hills so he didn’t have to talk to you. The kids kept pestering him but he couldn't hear anything. All he saw was you. Finally, the kids turned around to see what had caught his attention.

"Who's that?" One of the kids asked.

"That's my girl," Bucky smiled. He ran over to you and picked you up in his arms lifting your feet off the ground. He was squeezing you so hard you were afraid you would lose your breath. Obviously you don’t have super soldier strength, but you hoped you were squeezing him just as hard.

"You're here!" he spoke through tears, pulling back from the hug just enough so that he could see your face.

You moved your hands to his cheeks and wiped his tears. You then ran your fingers through his new haircut and smiled at him.

"I missed you so much, Buck," you said, struggling to talk through your own tears.

"I thought you wouldn't want me anymore. It's been so long for you, I thought you would've moved on," he replied. "That's why I didn't go to you."

Steve had told him where you were before he left. He thought about looking for you, he really did, but he kept stopping himself and Steve wasn't there to harass him about it. So for months he lived in his new apartment knowing he was in the same city as you and not having the strength to reach out.

"I never went a day without thinking about you. I thought maybe you wouldn't remember me or you wouldn't want me anymore because I remind you of your past or something."

"Sweetheart, you're the best thing about my past," he told you.

He pulled you in for your first kiss together in 8 years. It felt the same as before, like no time had passed, except this time they were in public and he was surrounded by people who care about him. This time he wasn't worried about hurting you.

"You look different," he said, holding your face in his hands.

"Like how?"

"Like older."

"Not as old as you," you teased.

"That's true," he laughed.

"Your arm's different," you pointed out. You held up his metal hand and ran your fingers over it feeling the grooves. You didn't know if he could feel it with this new arm since he couldn’t with the last one, but you did it anyway. He could feel it.

"They made it for me in Wakanda," he answered, smiling like an idiot.

"It's beautiful."

You put his arm down but still held onto it during the party like you were scared he wouldn't be there anymore if you let go. He loved that you were never scared of it. You always treated it like it was just part of him. You held his left hand just as much as you held his right, possibly even more, though you claimed that was because you have sweaty hands and the metal was cool on your palms.

Bucky introduced you to Sam's family and you didn't leave his side the whole night. Not that Bucky minded though, he was doing the same thing to you. He’s not sure he’ll have the capability to ever let you go. In fact, he’s already planning on how he’s gonna ask you to move into his apartment when you get back to the city.

Once the night settled down and everyone that didn’t live there left you sat across from each other at a picnic table eating some leftovers from the party. You were watching the sunset, but Bucky couldn't take his eyes off of you.

"Doll?" He said.

"Hm?" you answered, turning to face him.