#your pick

"Close enough. Has anyone ever told you you're the most funny when you don't intend to be, Timberly?" Jason smirks at him, and Tim really wishes he's had something else to throw at him. But at this point, his options are only the table and chairs, seeing that he's already wasted the wrapper, and he doesn't want to cause an actual commotion. Yet.

So he leans back, mirroring Jason's position, and crosses his arms on his chest. "I'll take it as a compliment," it's a weak retort, but he doesn't have the energy to come up with anything better. The recent murder case, one involving a sorry excuse of a cult, an out-of-town drug dealer and, by some crazy twist of events, three nuns from Missouri, has been driving him nuts for the past week, sue him.

He so regrets asking Jason for help right now. It's not even the matter of his dignity — it's just that Jason is not helping, and most likely, doing it on purpose.

"Please, do," the unhelpful asshole gives him his grand permission, turning back to the window. But, a second later, his whole face lights up like Christmas came early, and he sits up, "Oh, there he is!"

In the next moment, the door to BatBurger slams open, and in steps... a guy.

Black hair, blue eyes, lanky, slim build — makes sense why Jason never mentioned him before, Bruce would have flipped his shit at the sight of an unadopted Bat-bait.

Worn denim jacket with rolled up sleeves, black t-shirt underneath, loose pants and sneakers — nothing out of the ordinary, really.

Except the guy has a fucking crowbar that he carries on his shoulder, and both the tool and his hands all the way up to his elbows are drenched in something dark red and wet. Tim would say it's blood, but then, would the guy really be showing up here covered in blood?

On the second thought, it's Gotham. He definitely would.

The guy looks around and wrinkles his nose slightly when he spots Jason. Then, he makes his way towards their table, the crowbar still on his shoulders.

"'Sup," he greets Jason, and as he stops right in front of the table, Tim sees that it's not only his hands that are stained with red. There are splatters of it on his face and neck as well.

"You've got something on your cheek," Jason gestures to his own face, trying to show where said 'something' is. The guy throws him a deadpan look and then licks it off without second thought.

His tongue is a lot longer than it should be. Tim takes a deep breath, looking between the bloody dude and Jason. He really hopes that his face is expressive enough for the latter to read the 'what the actual fuck' through his eyes alone.

"Okay, just so you're aware, an absolutely marvelous kind of high school reunion had to be put on pause because you called," the guy starts, wiping one of his hands on his jacket. "So, like, explain your fuck-up situation to me in ten words."

Jason, the absolute traitor, looks to Tim. The guy follows him, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Okay, ten words. He can totally do that.

"A sacrificial pentagram of dead nuns high on mystery cocaine," Tim says after a moment, looking the guy straight in the eyes.

He blinks. Then, he tilts his head sideways, like he's not sure if he heard Tim right. Tim just keeps staring at him — that was precisely ten words, and he is definitely not chickening out of this little-shit-superiority contest.

"O-kay," the guy finally says, slow and begrudgingly respectful, "I'm eighty seven percent certain this is about to be the highlight of my week." He gestures for Jason to move over and drops the bloody crowbar on the table before sitting just opposite to Tim.

A beach trip that Price insisted on after a rough op. He'd been kind enough to talk to you in private before announcing it, and you'd assured him you'd much rather sleep that day, that it was no loss of yours.

It's fine, you've always hated the sand anyway, it's course and rough, and it gets everywhere, you'd told him. He gave you a look as if he knew your true feelings, but you left before he could call you out on it.

Later that night, when you're sluggish and hungry, you climb atop Gaz and feel his still warmed skin against your own. He tells you about all the shit Johnny got up to while you feed. How he had dropped a bucket of water over Price who still had his hat on. As well as how he'd lured Ghost into the sea and tried to tackle him, only to have the tables rudely turned on him, swallowing a pound of sand himself.

You don't really listen to him, after all you weren't really interested in that trip anyways, right?

There are other times you take notice of how much on the outside you really are in their lives. To you, they're all you know, your life practically revolves around them most of the time. Yet their day lives still need to function like any other human.

You'd been sipping on a glass of blood, watching Ghost show you a card trick he'd learnt the day prior, when Johnny came bursting into the commons.

He shoves his phone in Ghost's face, something clearly wildly inappropriate on it from how his expression drops. "Bloody hell-"

"Told ye I could take 'im before the end o' the night!" Johnny smiles proudly, taking a seat next to you to show you a more clothed picture of his newest date.

"You went to the pub?" You hope the confusion doesn't bleed into your voice. Johnny prattles on like nothing, but Ghost looks at you a second longer.

"Aye. Sun was still up so we didn't want to wake ye!" Johnny explains.

You nod slowly. It was fine, you really didn't like being out in the sun anyway, they were just looking out for you, but then why did it hurt to have missed out on that too.

It starts becoming more obvious after that. You take notice of even the little things. How much closer they seem when you really look into it, or how much you're actually missing out on from your aversion to the sun's scorching rays.

You start to pull back from them in turn. Just as slow at first, but it becomes noticeable. The few outings you'd have been able to join, you skip, the communal dinners are avoided, and you get quieter.

Ghost was the first to notice your absence. He kept quiet about it for a time, awaiting your turnaround back to the fold, but when it doesn't come he brings it up with Price.

The others weren't stupid, they'd seen it too, each of them waiting for you to get out of the little mood you'd found yourself in, to finally get their beloved vamp back, and when that night seems too far away, they decide to take action on their own.

Ghost finds you on the roof, the night they decide to make a surprise trip. "Vamp," he greets, walking over and cheekily snatching your lit cigarette out of your hands.

Your hiss ends in a smile, and you get it back after he's taken a drag. "It's late Ghost, you should be asleep by now," you state the obvious, but you're not surprised to see him. He'd always struggled worse with insomnia than even you, except what you find out is that he's not here because of that.

"Got a surprise for you, the boys are waiting." He doesn't listen for your answer, doesn't even give you the option to decline because he grabs you under your arms and hauls you up from your seat and pushes you in front of him so he can make sure you walk with him.

The surprise, turns out to be the beach trip you'd always been so envious of.

The midnight version.

You fight back a smile at seeing Gaz and Soap, already with packed bags and waiting at the car. Price sits behind the wheel, waiting for the rest of you.

You pretend to fight it, for your own dignity, and your claims of dislike towards the plans. They're having none of it, squeezing you between Gaz and Ghost in the backseat and making sure you stay put.

You don't want to admit it, but half-way there you can start to feel the excitement bubbling in your chest, and when you can see the dunes of sand and the dark waters you erupt in joy.

You're the first that reaches the water, the ice-cold feeling among your toes making you jump back. Even during the warm summer nights, the water itself never really heated up enough for comfortable swimming. You started to question their decision on the timestamp of this trip, but before you can voice it, a roar erupts behind you, and you're tackled fully into the sea by Soap.

It quickly devolves into a water fight, one you manage to get all four of them into. You build a sandcastle out of the stubborn sand with Gaz, have a power nap with Price, and play volleyball with Ghost and Soap.

For the first time in a while, they see you with a genuine smile, the one that's followed by laughter they haven't heard in even longer. And they intend to hear it a lot more before heading home.

That morning when you cosy up in the barracks, it's with a satisfied smile on your lips, and a blooming warmth in your heart.

They make other changes without a word. Pub outings and movies are moved a few hours later into the night, allowing you enough time to wake up and participate with a fanged smile on your lips.

Gaz and Soap collaborate on making your meals more interesting, though admittedly there's not much they can do with bloodbags. They still get a laugh out of you when you open the door to your room one night to see Soap laying on your bed, a thorned rose in his mouth and his neck offered up for your consumption.

Ghost starts inviting you into his office when he's working late at night. You find it's more cosy than you thought it'd be, often enough he allows you to snuggle up to him, and you end up getting a little more sleep in.

Even Price becomes more insistent on finding any way at all to include you in every outing, and slowly, the ones you can't attend become few and far between.

They make changes in the small ways. The ones you never need to ask for, because you're important enough to notice, and though you have days of doubt, they will always be there to remind you just how much you mean to them.