#day 18

“okay..” you whispered to yourself, turning on your heel.

you found yourself at the front of the bus again. two people, two people, two people.. then a seat with one. you fought the urge to let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. approaching the seat, you stopped when you realized who was in it. finn blake.

finn blake, as in, the grabber’s only surviving victim. it was pretty obvious just by looking at him. his eyes were darker, like a shadow had somehow been cast over them. his posture made it look like he was reluctant to fully relax. his head was turned to look out the window, earphones connected to his walkman drowning out the world around him.

you bit your inner lip. you knew better than to approach people wearing headphones and sitting alone. let alone when that person was finn blake. nonetheless, you cleared your throat, starting to sit down.

“um.. is this seat taken?” you asked.

no response. he didn’t shift or make a face either, from what could see. at least he wasn’t being petty.

you thought about poking him but quickly dismissed that thought considering his history. so, you tried again, louder.

“is this seat taken?”

finn looked over, unfazed by what was almost a shout. he took off his headphones. your stomach immediately sunk. now that you’d literally warmed the seat, there was no reason to ask that. you tried an apologetic smile.

“uh..” he straightened his posture to scan the rest of the bus. when he got whatever result he was looking for, he relaxed again. “no.”

finn took the headphones from his neck and placed them back over his head. you nodded. never in your life had you been more grateful to be ignored.

nonetheless, it was about to be a long ride, when you yourself didn’t have a walkman.

←•🚌•→

“this is my stop.” finn’s voice jolted you out of your thoughts.

your thoughts about him. about his hair, his face, his voice, his history.. everything. it took all of your strength not to sneak a glance over at him throughout the ride. yet, somehow, you managed. the bus came to a rocking halt. beeps signifying that the stop sign was coming out sounded. now was the time to seize the opportunity.

“oh, got it.” you slid out of the seat to stand in the aisle to let him out.

You had many things to thank about becoming a vigilante. There was a certain freedom that came with footfalls flying across Gotham rooftops and chasing down thugs in darkened alleys. Years on the job had tempered your emotions and honed your abilities, until donning that suit at night felt as natural as slipping a second skin on. From where you had started ruthlessly beating petty criminals as an outlet for the rage of your parent’s death, you had now toned into precise jabs and an anger that had finally been addressed. Slipping off fire escapes and landings had turned into well placed footings that boosted you up into the night.

You had to thank becoming a vigilante for the people that you had met, masked and otherwise. You felt finally that you were doing something for your Gotham community, even though you my not have been going after the big players like the Batman and his gang. You were content with catching bag snatchers and bank robbers, hindering get away drivers and making sure that hit and runs lacked the run aspect. You however had earned the respect of the Bat, enough that you could all work in and around each other without stepping on any toes, even going so far as to send you heads up bout the crime in your area of patrol, Lower Gotham.

It may have had something to do with the fact that you had also fallen in love with one of his sons, NIghtwing. Although, you couldn’t give yourself all the credit, for the way he fell heads over heels was entirely on him. What had started as just a friendly rivalry, some banter among rooftops had turned into joint stake outs and a little more, until you were both climbing in through the window of your apartment in downtown Gotham, masks shedding moments before the rest of your suits did.

Nightwing had revealed himself as Dick Grayson, the unofficial Prince of Gotham, while you yourself had felt underwhelming as a bank teller at the Gotham City Bank. Yet he hadn’t cared, and your lives fit like puzzle pieces around each other. You could breathe easy when you worked the nights at the bank, vigilante suit tucked hidden back in your apartment. Even with hands bound, you knew he’d come swinging through, taking care of the robbers with practiced acrobatic ease. Black rubbered soles would land behind the counter where you were hidden, out of the sight of the cameras and other hostages alike. “Hi honey,” he’d grin from under the domino mask, voice hushed as he crouched low to hide with you. “How’s work?”

You shrugged, hair flicking into your eyes. “Could be better. Yours?”

“Nearly finished.” He hums, leaning in to give you a quick kiss. When he pulls back his gloved hands wiggle your wrists free from your ropes. “How about after this shift we watch a movie at yours and order take in?” he grins.

“Princess Bride?” you offer.

“Sounds good. Pizza work for you?”

“I could go for pizza.”

“Great. See you at 10pm?”

“It’s a date. Go get em.”

With one final peck he springs back over the counter, and the sounds of fists colliding to flesh continued to echo in the bank.

So, you were used to jumping across rooftops in tandem with him before inviting him in through the fire escape to drink wine and make dinner with you, the same way you were comfortable with cuddling on the couch before suiting up for the nightly patrol. There was a balance that had come to your life between the vigilante and domestic sides to yourself, a balance you hadn’t really managed before meeting Dick. You had him to thank for the way you considered your own safety more when patrolling, knowing there was someone waiting for you to come home. In the same strain you saw the time he began carving for himself, taking time out from the overworking thumb of Batman to be with you. Everything had been going so well, which is why it was a surprise that now a year and a half into your relationship, you were in your kitchen fighting.

“Dick, please.” You sigh, pinching your brow. You had been pacing around the kitchen island for the last ten minutes, cake now forgotten in the middle. It was like you were both wrestlers, refusing to slow or give either opponent a chance to attack.

“No, don’t ‘Dick, please,’ me.” He huffs back. “It’s a perfectly valid suggestion.”

“Perfectly valid?” you scoff, stopping for a second. “In what world is asking me to stop going on patrol perfectly valid?” you mock his tone back.

“There’s no need to get juvenile.” He grits back, eyes narrowed. “We’re both adults, we can discuss this civilly. And yes, I think it is a perfectly valid request.”

“Dick, for what good reason would I stop going on patrol?” you sigh. “Is this about the incident with Mr. Freeze last week?” you sigh, hands dropping to your side. “I swear Dick, I thought I was just chasing some gangsters, I had no idea that Freeze was on that side of town where you guys were working. Our path just happened to cross. I swear that I’m fine, see? Just some bruising.”

You pull up the hem of your shirt to reveal the smattering of bruises on your side, yellow and purple blooming over your ribs. He winces when his eyes flit over it, looking away and back down to his glass of wine.

“It’s part of it, but it’s not all of it.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just think you should be more careful-“

“Careful?” you raise an eyebrow. “I’m not the one going after the big bads. I’m not the one chasing that fucked up clown, or Freeze, or Ivy.” You snap. “God, Dick, you make it sound like I’m going up against fucking Bane.” You hiss, hands coming down to slam on the counter and your glasses rattle. “Listen,” you sigh and shake your head. “Please. It’s my birthday. Can this wait till after?” you say softly. “I just want to spend a good evening with my boyfriend. Not as vigilantes. I want Grayson here with me, not Nightwing.” You say, finally coming to his side and looping your arms around his waist. “Surely it can wait?” you kiss his cheek, hoping to dispel the frustrated red hue that had been creeping up his neck. Yet for all your affection, he unhooks your hands from him and steps back, the offence in your eyes making his heart clench.

“Listen, we do need to talk about this.” He says, locking his fingers with yours. “It’s really important.”

“More important that a birthday?” you offer weakly, trying to ease the hostile air that seems to be suffocating your kitchen now. He sighs, looking away awkwardly.

“Listen, I don’t mean it like that, I’m just worried-“

“That I can’t take care of myself?” you ask back frowning. “Dick, I’m not going to go out while I’m injured. I promise you that. But I also promise you that I’m a lot tougher than I look. I was out there on the rooftops before we even got together. You know why I go out, why I have to go out.”

“You’re just not getting it.” He says, frustrated, eyes looking down t you pleadingly. “Sure you sit this one out, but when do you get hurt again? When is the next time you get led over to a larger fight than you’re prepared for?”

“Dick, I get why-“you try to interrupt, to try and slow the snowballing argument as his pitch begins to rise again.

“I just don’t know what I’d do next time your carelessness takes over, when that anger and that trauma you carry is going to get you killed-“

“Excuse me?” you hiss out, ripping your fingers from his as the blood begins to heat under your collar. Your vision tunnels in and your nose flares, anger welling up in your chest almost as powerfully as the tears that want to break free.

“Careless? My anger?” you seethe, stepping forward slowly. “You mean how my parents were killed in a home invasion? You mean that anger? You’re telling me it’s misplaced?” you shove a hand to his chest. “That’s awfully rich coming from the man who only became robin because his parents died.”

Dick’s jaw tenses, and he holds his ground as he glares down at you. “That’s different, and you know it- “

“Different?” you laugh, aware of the cruel ice in your words. “How is that different? You stuck to the Batman and played the role of Robin because you were angry, and because you wanted revenge. I think we both had that going for us.” You snap. “Except I guess the real difference is, I can see that you’d grown and didn’t carry that around anymore, and you can’t see that for me. You really think I’m letting my anger get the best of me? After years of working on myself to get over it, you’re going to reduce me to that again? Like some hurt little kid?”

You’re unable to help the flicker of pain that coats your tongue as you begin to step back. Dick’s eyes however, are still hard. “I just want to protect you.” He groans back, hands coming to grip his hair. “Why can’t you see that?”

“I don’t know,” you mock back, matching his volume. “Maybe because you thought my birthday was the time to tell me I needed to take more time off of patrol.”

“No.” he snaps, closing the distance between you in three quick strides. The anger radiating off him almost sent a shiver down your spine, the cold way he glared down at you and the tension that shook his entire body. He was like a coiled wire about to snap, trembling in front of you.

“I’m just asking you to take patrol off for the week.” He hisses. “I’m asking you to stop it entirely. I don’t want you out there at all anymore.”

It feels like your ears are ringing as he speaks, your feet frozen to the ground like you’re back there fighting Mr. Freeze all over again. “Why?” you ask softly, the anger fading for a split second to let the tears take their turn. You see the way that his face flickers with a moment of regret when the first tears slipped down your cheek, before you wiped it with your sleeve.

“Listen, honey, it’s not- “

“It’s not fair.” You hiss back out, words making their way over the ball in your throat. “It’s okay for you to go out there? It’s okay for you to go and patrol and fight crooks every night, but suddenly you’ve decided its not okay if I do? Do you know how much of a hypocrite you’re being right now?”

You hate the shake in your voice, the way you pitch up higher as you try to sound collected through your tears. Theres a wave of shame that makes his shoulders to slump, and for a second you think that he’s seen your side and is about to concede.

“Listen-“

“I’ve been listening!” you plead with him, hand coming to your neckline to tug it down, as if it’s your shirt making it hard to breathe and not the man in front of you ripping your heart out.

“Fine.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get to the point. Honey, I can’t do it anymore. I can’t deal with the idea of you out there every night.” He snaps. “I love you, but-“

“But.” You sniffle out, shoving him away. “That is the one word that should never come after that sentence.”

He grips at his hair, and in a moment of frustration he kicks the table. “I’m not doing this knowing that you could die out there at any moment, any night. You either keep yourself safe-“

“I do keep myself safe-“you argue back but he holds a hand up. “You either keep yourself safe by removing yourself from this life, this second job you feel you have to do, or I’m out.”

You can’t help the tremble in your lips as you look at him, fingers clenching the edge of your shirt until your knuckles stress white. His eyes have a flicker of pain in them, but he doesn’t seem as upset as you thought he would have been. He peers at you imploringly, but that only makes the bubble in your chest swell tighter.

Rage swirls in your stomach, and you shake your head to prevent any more tears from coming out. “Are you breaking up with me?” you manage to croak out. “Are you seriously going to break up with me if I don’t quit? If I don’t leave? Is that really the fucking ultimatum right now?” you rage, head snapping up to glare into his.

“Listen-“

“No.” you seethe, hands shoving at his pecs. “No, I will not listen. I’m not listening to this bullshit anymore. You’re making me choose between us and this second life?”

“I still love you,” he implores as you begin roughly shoving him to the doorway, cake and wine be damned. He stumbles on the carpet, heels digging into the carpet as you push him.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t be saying any of this. You wouldn’t be making me choose. For shits and gigs, what if I left. Would you leave too?” you say shoving him to the door. All he can manage is a guilty look down, and you cut him off before he can even get a word out.

“Oh, so it’s okay for you to worry about me and ask me to leave it all behind, but as soon as I ask the same, its not okay? Its suddenly just okay for me to sit at home working a nine to five, but you can go out on the rooftops each night?” you snap, flinging open the door and letting the harsh night air in. You shove him out onto the doorstep, not caring that his jacket was still inside in the kitchen. Hell, half of his things were living in your apartment already. His side of the bed, his nightstand, his drawers in your bathroom and bedroom. You weren’t sure if you could even stomach the thought of having to throw any of those out right now.

“I’m just-“

“Worried. I get it.” You snap back, fingers curling on the doorframe. The ringing in your ears has settled, but the stabbing pain that clutched your chest refused to ease up. “But I think I made my decision.” You choke out, finally unable to hold back the flood of tears and the sob that tears from your throat. He reaches out for you, like only now he is seeing the devastation that wracks your body in sharp tremors, but it’s far too late to pick up the pieces of your heart now.

“Get out.” You hiss; lips curled back in a snarl and body trembling. “And never come back here Grayson. You wanted me to choose? Well, I made up my mind.”

With that you slam the door closed and your fingers scrabble to slide the chain across, latching it firmly. You wobble through your apartment sealing every window and entrance you use coming back from your patrols, slamming the blinds down. When you feel that your home is vigilante proof you storm back to the kitchen, sobs tearing through you in harsh hiccups. You blow the candle off the cake, now hardly a candle and more so a bright puddle of sparkly wax. It didn’t matter; you never got around to eating the cake anyways.

Sitting on a kitchen barstool you drown out the pleading and muffled calling on your name, and the thudding on the door. A part of you twinges in hurt as he leaves after a few moments, a small part of you wishing he fought for you longer, attempted to fix it for even a second more, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

You didn’t feel like listening anymore.

The Hideout was buzzing with energy. It was busier than usual, and not just because it was a Saturday night. The bar decided to host a battle of the bands, and it brought in more people than they were expecting, which was great for business, but not necessarily great for you since you couldn’t find a seat. It didn’t matter while Corroded Coffin was playing their set, you hadn’t even noticed since you were standing right at the front of the stage, headbanging until you thought you were going to break your neck, but once they were done and you wanted to take a seat, there were none available.

You scanned the bar what felt like ten times, but every seat was taken, every table full. You were about to give up and find a spot on the wall to lean against, but Gareth waving at you from the other side of the room caught your attention.

“Hey, stranger.” Gareth greeted you.

“How the hell did you guys get a table?”

Eddie shrugged, “I just used my powers of persuasion.”

“And by that he means he annoyed the ever-living shit out of some people until they left and we commandeered their table.” Jeff smirked.

“I guess that’s one way to do it,” you felt Eddie grab your hand and intertwine your fingers with his. You smiled and sat down in his lap, “Is this seat taken?”

He wrapped his arms around you, grinning, “That depends.”

“On what?” You looped your arms around his neck and started placing kisses along his cheek.

“Uh…um…” Eddie trailed off, losing his train of thought the second your lips moved from his cheek down to his jaw. He pulled you closer and moved his head so his lips could finally meet yours.

“Get a room.” Grant threw a peanut shell at Eddie, letting out a laugh when it hit Eddie’s forehead.

“Sorry,” you chuckled and leaned your head against Eddie’s, “hi.”

“Hi.” That goofy smile that you loved so much spread across his face.

You placed another quick kiss to his cheek, “You were amazing up there. I think that was the best you guys have played.”

“So up until now we’ve sucked?” He teased.

“Yup! Until tonight, absolute crap.” You teased right back

“The two of you are insufferable.” Gareth sunk down into his chair.

Jeff grinned and mussed up Gareth’s hair teasingly, “Someone’s jealous that he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“I am not!”

“Dude, you so are.” Grant chimed in.

“Shut up!” Gareth whined.

“Hey,” you whispered to Eddie while the others continued arguing, “you wanna go out back and make out?”

Eddie practically jumped out of his seat, taking hold of your hand and pulling you towards the back door of the bar. The guys stared after the two of you with confused expressions, but neither of you noticed, too focused on getting outside.

Before the door closed, Eddie popped back in and yelled to the guys, “Save our seat!”

The guys each gave him a thumbs up before you yanked him back outside by his jacket.

and he can't even use it, he'll die!!!!!!!!