Did Aemond Unintentionally Left The Cell Door Open Or Was He Just Being A Loser And A Dumb?

Did Aemond unintentionally left the cell door open or was he just being a loser and a dumb? 

Also, been craving for some AemondxReader interaction..

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Aemond beating the fuck out of Aegon shouldn't have made me as horny as it did but.... here we are. World building for this fic is so much fun.... I'm considering doing an occasional Aemond POV chapter on the side, what do you guys think?

Chapter 36: Flea Bottom

It felt like time stood still.

Your eyes were locked on the open cell door.

Lungs seized and pulled in a greedy breath. Shakily pulling yourself up to stand, you stumbled back, the twinging in your side making you grow dizzier by the second.

Your eyes tunnelled, black seeping into the edges of your vision as your heart raced whilst you stood, leaning heavily against the damp wall behind you. 

Shutting your eyes, you breathed in deeply. In for three, out for three. Your vision began to settle.

Six steps was what it took for you to reach the open door of your cell.

Six steps more were what you took as you exited the iron bars. 

If it was a trick, then you would soon find out. Aegon was cruel, and Aemond calculating. Perhaps they were waiting for you outside to mock your efforts and tease you of your naivety. You can imagine Alicent, stone faced beside them as they gloated.

The original ring leader.

Yet despite the risk, you still took it.

Each step caused your side to ache and your head to spin, though you pushed yourself through it, forward down the dark corridor. Your ears listening for the sound of guards or the King and Prince above.

You heard nothing and pressed on, reaching the steps. 

You lifted a foot and placed it on the cold stone before pulling yourself up the first step and began to count as you ascended the stairs.

One.

Two.

Three.

Your feet were numb from the cold and you sniffled quietly as your heart raced in your chest, one hand clutched tightly against your side to sooth it. Your foot lifted before it paused midair. You raced back down the three steps, into your cell, hand digging roughly into the straw bed before your fingers found the cold steel. 

Snatching the broach, you raced back across the room, feet slapping gently against the tiles as you began to dart up the stairs, a headache steadily blooming as you clutched your side in pain. You wound up the steps rapidly as you desperately tried to steel your breaths.

In and out. In and out. 

As you wound up and out of the dungeon, more light came into the space from the torches on the wall. Your hand reached out to grab one out of instinct before you snatched your hand back.

You could not be seen. 

Soon you reached the top of the stairway, before you snuck out into the darkness of the open halls. You ran silently, sliding against the wall as you raced away from the dungeons below you. All was quiet in the space as you tried to catch your breath and gather your bearings. 

Where were they?

Were they hiding in wait for you?

It felt oddly nostalgic, hiding and running in the dark from your uncles, however this time far more sinister than the 'hide 'n' go seek' games you would all play as children.

Your eyes rapidly searched about, catching on the open expanse of a courtyard. You were near one of the servants' paths down to the exit of the Red Keep, along the side, out of sight, out of mind. Your feet dragged you to the path as you began to rapidly dart down the stairs towards Flea Bottom.

Before you, the sky was dark and small lights could be seen in the commoners city below the Keep. Small yellow orbs glowed in windows and paths, illuminating the smaller buildings and houses. You descended the stairs, hand still clutched at your side whilst the other gripped the stone below it. 

You needed an out, somewhere to hide, or flee, anywhere but in the Keep, though you knew as soon as your absence was noted, the entirety of the Kings Guard would descend upon Flea Bottom until they found you.

No matter the cost. 

Could someone die from their heart exploding in their chest? You were sure you had heard stories of it before. Men's hearts that fluttered in their chest so fast and so hard that suddenly it stopped. Your heart felt like it was trying to escape your rib cage.

As you wound down the stairs, the Red Keep loomed behind you, becoming further and further away, and down below, the sounds of Flea Bottom became louder. 

Jovial voices called out to friends or loved ones, jagged singing came from another and lusty moans from the darkened alley ways curled out into the open space. You raced towards it, finally away from the stairs and down the path towards the narrow streets, lined with a sea of people. 

Some eyes caught yours, looking at you curiously before others looked away, going back to their entertainment, whereas few watched you closely. You knew that if you were recognised, they may descend on you, taking you back to the King in the hopes of a reward.

You needed a disguise. 

You barged your way through the crowd as you ran, hair flying wildly behind you as you began to feel sick from lack of breath and the agony that still rolled through you in waves, made worse with every step.

Ahead of you, a line of robes were hanging on a line, drying after they had been washed. You slowed your step and jumped up, snatching a faded black cloak from the line. 

A person cried out in protest as the cloak came down into your hands, “Oi!” They yelled. 

You did not turn back as you ran faster, pushing your legs towards a dark alleyway to turn into as you ran through the streets without knowing where to go. You felt like a mouse in a trap, running blindly without any idea of escape. 

Your legs ached as you pushed forward, though your speed faltered as you breathed heavily, feeling faint. You slipped into a dark corner of an alley as you swept the cloak over your shoulders and head, covering your hair and casting a deep shadow across your face. 

It was unbearably hot as your heart raced, sweat dripping down your brow, as you tried to catch your breath. The pain in your side throbbing with every pump of blood your heart made. You bent forward to suck in a ragged breath, your throat so dry your tongue felt like sand.

Breathlessly you gagged once more, the nausea from running, from the pain and from the sheer horror of the experience, bubbling its way up your throat, though nothing came out. 

You're wasting time. Move.

You pushed yourself away from the wall and back out into the busy street. The streets stunk of waste and unclean bodies as you passed. The smell was pungent in your nose, almost enough to make your eyes water. 

You walked briskly in the sea of bodies. Men and women drank freely on the street as children wandered aimlessly around them. A woman sat on a wooden chair, eyes milky as she told people's futures. You had never been in Flea Bottom before, and suddenly you realised, Aegon did.

Often.

Aegon knows these streets, he knows these people. He frequents the Silk Lanes, and Flea Bottom and has sired dozens of bastards here. You knew it. They all knew it.

Even the Queen knew it.

He would know his way through here.

This made you panic more.

You looked around in desperation until you saw a small boy standing against a wall, watching the people around him. You stood still, blinking as you looked at the boy whose brown hair messily sat on his head. You blinked again. It was not Lucerys. You felt your body gravitate towards him, feet stumbling in the dark as he watched you come towards him.

As you stood in front of the boy, you looked at him up and down. His hair sat chaotically on his head, loose greasy curls that came down below his ears going in all different directions. He wore a cream coloured shirt that was dirty and crumbled against his body and brown breeches beneath them. His shoes were old and worn, covered in mud.

He would be no older than Lucerys was.

The boy looked at you in annoyance as you gawked.

“What?” He asked gruffly, looking you up and down.

You paused, then blurted out, “Where are the docks?”

You swayed on your feet, feeling fatigue begin to catch up on you, your adrenaline slowly running out.

The boy frowned at you, as if it was a stupid question.

Fuck.

But as you started to panic that you had given yourself away, the disgruntled youth sharply nodded his head upwards, pointing away from you down the path to your side. You nodded you head in thanks, and as you moved swiftly to follow the path, the young boy muttered under his breath.

“Fucking drunk.”

You breathed a breath of relief and moved down the crooked street. The ground below you was dirty, with the stale stench of piss and vomit bathing the air around you. The further you walked down the street, the further away you got from the crowd. Now only a few straggling people were sat in the shadows, talking to each other lowly, or in one case to themselves. 

The houses were squished together, and the further you walked the more poverty stricken it became. The bricks were made of reddish and pale stones, though the further down you went, the more the houses came to be made of wood. Crude huts that leant awkwardly, with washing drying on lines above you. 

How could the people live like this? In such poverty? How did no one see? How did no one do something?

You pushed on, weaving through the hanging clothes until the air got less dense, and the path widened. The sound of men talking ahead of you made you slink to the shadows again, hiding in the darkness as you snuck down the street.

Ahead of you were the docks, with a large trading ship moored against the wood, a path on its flank for those to walk along the ship, large planks letting those wander back and forth on the boat. They were loading the ship.

Your eyes flicked across the men on the dock. There were more than 20 crew, and two kings guards talking to a man you could only assume was captain. You pressed your back against a shack and breathed in. You needed to not be seen, for if you were caught, you would no doubt be recognised by the guards.

You pulled the hood of the cloak further over your face casting your eyes downwards as you swayed with your step. The young boy thought you were a drunk, now was time to play the part.

If any crew was to see you sneaking around in the shadows they would immediately become suspicious, but not of a drunken commoner stumbling about the dock. You would simply be overlooked. Your bare feet were caked in filth and legs were dirty from days without bathing, the cloak barely covered your shins as you shivered in the pale moonlight. 

You walked out of the shadows along the side of the dock, making sure you swayed and stumbled as you had watched Aegon do many times before.

Drunken fuck.

As you swayed towards the dock, you saw large crates and barrels, some empty and some full. Your hand reached out to touch one of the barrels when a booming voice split the air.

“Oi!” The man yelled and you yanked your hand back, “Get away from there.” He growled at you, before turning back to the guards who didn’t spare you a second glance. One of the guards muttered beneath his breath about drunken peasants. You looked at the barrels again before you ducked down behind them.

Breath in. Breath out. 

With your free fingertips you grazed your hands along the wood of a crate, the dark oak chipped and worn from use over the years. A net was half hazardously tossed over the top, its rough thread rubbing against your side as you moved along the creates, ears listening for crew coming back. 

Looking between a gap through the crate and a barrel you peered at the guards and the captain, their bodies facing away from you as they chatted. The captain seemed relaxed and familiar with the two guards. Perhaps they did this often, or grew up together. 

You snuck behind the barrels as you heard footsteps begin to descend from one of the planks coming towards you. You began to panic again. It would definitely cause suspicion if you were caught hiding amongst the barrels and crates. You had to think quick and fast.

Your hand nudged the barrel beside you. It was heavy, but shifted slightly under your hand. It was empty. The footsteps came closer now and you realised with great dread that it was too late. To stand and crawl into the crate now would be to be spotted, you imagined the guards descending on you and taking you straight back to Aegon where he could finish what he started.

You felt frozen in your spot as the footsteps got closer. Your breath caught in your throat as you steadied yourself to be caught. Perhaps you could make a run for it.

“John!” The captain's voice barked across the dock.

The footsteps stopped.

You held your breath as the footsteps faded away from you, as John went to the captain and guards began to whisper to them in hushed tones. Your ears picked up as you listened carefully.

“…escaped…be on the look out…if you see…” 

Your heart pounded in your ears.

They knew you had escaped.

You needed to act now.

Sneaking up, you pulled the lid from the barrel carefully watching the guards and two men in front of you, before dipping one leg, and then the other inside. The barrel top was held in your hands as the man named John began to turn around. You watched in horror.

Please Gods, favour me.

But one of the guards caught his attention again, stepping closer to talk to both the captain and crew member. With this pause in their attention, you shoved yourself the rest of the way into the dark barrel, lightly placing the lid above you. 

You held your breath inside, out of fear they would hear you and you tucked yourself into a ball. The barrel was tight as you sat inside, your knees roughly brushing against the wood. The squeeze made your side ache painfully as the skin was pulled taut in an odd direction. Your hand was clenched on your side still, inside your palm the three headed dragon broach. 

You felt the rough edges in your palm as you listened to the footsteps begin to approach you. Each step got louder, the vibration of its weight tickling the barrel underneath you. You sucked in a silent and short breath as the feet stood in front.

Hands pressed to the outside of the barrel pulling you sideways. You felt yourself tip towards the side and shot your hands out to catch yourself before your head could collide with the other side. The man above you grunted. 

“Gods.” He muttered as he hauled the barrel up in his arms.

Your head spinning in the dark as you could not tell which way was up. That same nausea built inside of you, making your stomach turn in knots and skin become sticky. 

With every step the man took, the barrel shook you. The steps were loud on the dock's wood until he walked atop the plant, the footfalls sounding more hollow than before. You held your breath as you were rattled around inside, desperately trying to stay upright so as to not knock against the sides.

Then suddenly you were heavily placed on solid ground once more. You listened as the man's footsteps faded away, walking up what you assumed were the same steps you came down. They echoed until there was nothing. 

You finally allowed yourself to breathe, listening for sounds of other men nearby. You sat in the barrel and waited, feeling the slight sway of the boat's hull on the water as it rocked you gently back and forth. The man came back several more times, sometimes alone, sometimes with others, as you listened to them place other crates and belongings into what you now knew was the hold of the ship.

You slumped against the edge of the barrel in exhaustion. Eyes beginning to close as you could barely hold them open any longer. You pulled the cloak around you tightly as your legs cramped from being curled up so long.

You would have to wait it out.

No matter how long it took. 

The barrel offered a small comfort of protection as it cocooned you in its rough arms. The broach was still firmly pressed against your side as you let the gentle sway of the ship lull you into a deep sleep, adrenaline finally running out.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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PLS IM BEGGING FOR THE LEON KENNEDY RATS TO COME OUT AND WRITE FICS LIKE PLS THERES NOT ENOUGH AND I KNOW THAT SO MANY OF YOU HAVE BRILLANT MINDS I SWEAR I WILL EAT UP EVERY FIC YOU PUT OUT PLSSSSSSS

“But we'll say hello again someday” bring your face closer to yours, holding it gently in your hands “I swear”

Omg.. Is mutliverse happening?

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰...

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 (you are there) - Epilogue.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Every great show must have a great ending and with that a great plot twist that accompanies it, but yours is more than an end, the most difficult farewell that any mother can dare to say.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫(𝐬): Bruce Wayne x ScarletWitch!Reader; Jason Todd x Batmom!Reader; Dick Grayson x Batmom!Reader; Tim Drake x Batmom!Reader.

English is not my first language, please be patient.

The 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 for this history is OPEN

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Well, here is the last chapter, I hope you enjoy it. We still have to see each other in the Epilogue but the truth is this story has been an incredible journey for me and I have more plans for this world so we will see each other again.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @some-lovely-day @simonsbluee @yuki-chan23 @miyakana @myst3batz @otchae @d3m0n8ch1ld @marsenbie @mynameisnotlaura @igotmessymind @andieperrie18 @randomboostsofmotivation @totallynotme420 @igotmessymind @amarawayne

Tim heard the magic before he felt it. It was a small sound that only a trained ear could hear, Bruce had taught him to detect it, but they hadn't prepared him for what would come after that sound. 

Of course he had seen how you used it, since sometimes you used magic in the house to move from one place to another, Wayne Manor was excessively large and it was easier than walking twenty minutes to get to the kitchen, or shamelessly getting lost in the corridors. He had never been prepared to react defensively to that sound, though there wasn't much he could really do though. The magic wrapped around him tightly but harmlessly, it was actually a warm soft force around him but firm, leaving him with his arms glued to his sides and his feet dangling under him as he was lifted into the air.

“Mom” Jason's voice broke the air, but he was the only one surprised or scared by what had happened.

“Mrs Wayne, I just want to help” Tim managed to say as he watched you leave the house at a steady pace with your hands manipulating your magic to lift it into the air.

“Don’t say that. I don't want to hear about it” you said furiously while pushing the boy further away from the house thus getting away from Jason “The drones, the missiles. All these people. Bruce”You pointed accusingly, leading him further from the house, until you were in the open field between the building and the woods. Tim could see how behind you, Bruce, Diana and Clark were the only ones who stepped forward in the situation to catch them both, while Dick held Jason and forced him into the house. Dick knew that if he let the boy get in the middle of the fight, your need to protect him would only escalate the situation, so it was better for him to stay where he was safe. Tim told himself that he should thank him for that, because he was starting to feel the heat of your fury emanating from the magic around him and he was starting to sweat, he didn't need everything to get worse. Neither did you.

“He had nothing to do with all that” Clark spoke, trying to divert your attention from the boy so you'll face him. It didn't fully work, the magic remained around Tim, but you did turn to look at it, giving Tim a few valuable seconds to think clearly.

“All you do is LIE!” you told him, gritting your teeth and squeezing your hand unconsciously. You didn't want to hurt Tim. But by squeezing your hand you caused the magic to respond to your fury and squeeze Tim, the air gone from his lungs, causing him to gasp and Clark could hear the boy's bones crack at the force you had put into the magic. So he acted. But, as he reacted, Jason successfully dodged his older brother while he was busy looking worriedly at the scene and ran out of the house, brushing against the shoulder of Roy, who was casually leaning against the door frame, looking at the yard with resignation.

Clark used his heat vision in the direction of your hand to try to get you to reduce the force you were putting on the boy or just let him go. But he didn't see Jason approaching, and when he heard him it was too late, your face turned from anger to sheer terror at the thought that your son caught in the crossfire, you dropped Tim, who hit the ground with a thud, the backpack helping to break his fall. You reached out to Clark, who had to stop his Heat Vision because you'd blown a bubble around his head, which he knew for sure that no matter how much heat he applied it wouldn't let go, but you didn't end there. You picked Clark up by the neck and tossed him away as you watched Diana try to stop Jason. With your magic you grabbed her by her feet and dragged her away from your son.

Barry tried to run towards Jason to get him out of there, that would lessen the situation but you already listened to reason, and when you felt his intentions you made sure he ran into a wall of your magic at the moment he ran out of his place, leaving a stain of blood on the wall of magic. Bruce yelled your name approaching the two, causing you to look at him with red eyes of magic and clenched teeth in fury. Jason had frozen in place looking at the now bloody face of who he thought was the gardener.

“Stop, please” he begged you, but your look made more than clear that fury had blinded you. You looked at him, eyes red and ready to continue fighting. They wanted to harm your children, they wanted to take them away.

“NO” you snapped, Tim moaning in pain behind you, still lying on the floor with at least a couple of splintered ribs. Your anger was emanating from you in waves, it was as if it could practically push Bruce back every time you speak. The world around him flickered. Black and white returned, as did the 1960s setting and clothing, but the situation remained the same. “You wanna take him out there” you spit out the syllables like poison and the magic keeps pulsing out of you around him. Everything changed again, now it was the sixties, all black and white, but this time your magic was dying, losing the illusion you had managed up to now, and contrasting with the television style of that period. “Y'all want that” you looked around you. Again everything flickered as Clark tried to stand in place, quickly being held to the ground by your magic and Barry wiping the blood from his nose with the sleeve of his colorful seventies suit, the color glistening against the yellow of his shirt. Diana hadn't gotten up yet, she was dizzy “Why would you want to do this, Bruce?” you spoke directly to him, fury turning to anguish, genuinely misunderstood in his actions “Why do you want them away? They're our children, they're safe here.”the betrayal hurt but the fury was still stronger. As Bruce felt this was the most honest conversation the two of them had had in a long time, which made him more sad than happy for the breakthrough, because he had let it get to this point. “Why don't you stay?”

Jason looked between his parents, as if it were a tennis match, he felt trapped in the middle of that discussion and the worst thing is that he didn't know why. There was no way or reason for his dad to want to take them outside. Where was she supposed to go if this was his home? There they were safe where you cared for them. Why did all these people want to put them in danger?. His anguish was reflected in you, you felt it in your bones as your own and Bruce realized that, directing his attention to him for a moment.

“Jason” he called out, causing the scared boy to stare at him with wide-eyed terror “It's all good, all right, just breathe” he asked, taking a step towards the boy. A mistake that was made clear when he was thrown backwards into the air. The world began to flicker anew, in a counting and confusing way, objects changing individually between decades in a chaotic and meaningless way. Bruce fell against one of the glass doors of the house that led to the patio, breaking the structure and cutting himself. The world stopped flickering, freezing everything to whatever decade it had been before that moment.

“Don't speak to him!!”you yelled at him as you walked towards him. Arthur Victor, seeing that neither Diana, nor Clark, nor Barry was able to react fast enough, stepped forward to face you. Hal checked Bruce who slowly got up from the glass mattress where he had fallen, while Oliver took Roy and Dick and put him further into the house where Alfred received them as upset by the situation as everything. Constantine and Zatanna were nowhere to be seen, no one really knew where you had sent them when you detected their magic when you went out into the yard to attack Tim. Jason ran to stand between you and Arthur and Victor, he didn't want any of them to get close to you, he didn't trust them anymore and before you could understand what was happening, you reacted.

“STOP!!” you cry out.

Tim didn't have enough time to process what happened next, too busy processing the pain in his ribs like Bruce had taught him, he heard your scream and then when he got up your magic had spread all over the yard, like a rope that stretched around you. For a second Tim didn't understand the gravity of the situation. It was a beautiful second, because for that second Tim held out hope that he wouldn't have to do what Bruce told him he would have to do at the end. When that moment ended, he realized that there would be no happy ending, maybe that option never existed.After all, you wouldn't have your son back and they were the ones you'd have to lose him to twice. So it was time to do what had to be done. He glanced at Jason, standing a few feet from him, and Jason looked back at him.

Dick watched the scene standing directly opposite Tim's. It was like he was awake for the first time all week, he knew things were getting out of hand. He, along with Tim, Bruce, Alfred and Jason were the ones the magic didn't touch when you screamed in utter stress and overwhelmed by the amount of things going on, the magic had spread like an aggressive current, wrapping himself around the necks of everyone present once before continuing on his way to the next person.It was while you covered your ears and squeezed your eyes shut without much thought, wanting to isolate yourself from the situation you were in. You were tired, you just wanted everything to stop for a moment, for everyone to shut up.

It was when the silence came that you realized your mistake.You looked up slowly, tears formed in your eyes, you saw how your magic surrounded the necks of those who were your friends. They had done bad things. They want to take your Jason away from you, but it wasn't because they were bad. They were your friends and they thought they were doing you good. They just didn't understand, but they were good, you still knew that and were sure of it. And you were hurting them.

“Mom” Dick's voice called you. you looked at him. The magic disappeared from everyone's necks, and then they disappeared from sight without even making a sound, as if they had never been there. In a sleeping limbo they were now, until you needed them or until it was all over.

“Dick” you said, tears falling freely, reaching your hands slowly towards him. Your son. Your little Dikie was there with you. You could barely move before he jumped into your arms. Neither of you was sure what would happen, you were scared, but you hugged him holding onto him, and he felt safe as you held him, because no matter the strange circumstances, you were there. His mom was there.

You saw how Bruce and Alfred were standing in the distance, next to the house, looking at the scene. The door he had landed against had been fixed, as if nothing had happened, neither were the marks on the floor from Clark's heat vision, or Diana's drag marks. Look at your husband, suddenly without a trace of glass on him and without any wound on his back. Everyone believed that he was a stoic man, that he could undergo the most horrible of tortures without blowing a whistle, not death or tragedy upset him. But as he stood there watching the scene, his eyes filled with tears as they had not in all the months since his son's death, as he came back suddenly to the moment he found his body, in the rubble, folded into a shape that was unnatural, with his eyes closed and his skin covered in bruises that would never heal.

During all these months without your youngest son, you and Bruce had drifted apart, not because you didn't love each other, but because you each got caught up in your own fantasy. You expected every morning that your son would return. All day, every day, you imagined how he would walk through the door and he would smile at you as only Jason knew how, he would ask you why you are crying and he would hug you. He would comfort you by saying that whoever it was that cruel person who had made his mother cry would deal with him, and he would say it with a tone so serious that it would make you laugh. He'll laugh with you. While Bruce clung to the idea that if he did his job well enough, if he took care of Tim, if he made sure to help Gotham p and at the same time make young Timothy live a full life, his son would finally visit him in dreams. It wouldn't be a nightmare, where he told her how much he hated him and that it was his fault he was dead. He would visit him to tell her that he had done well, that he had finished the job that both of them had started and that is why he was now at peace. But neither would ever happen.

Above the whisper of the wind, just for you to understand, Bruce had a thought, so pure and genuine that there was no way he wouldn't feel it too. I'm sorry, he whispered in his own mind, knowing that you would hear him. Me too, you replied with a sad smile over your eldest son's shoulder. War is over, Alfred thought, and felt he might as well cry. He would cry for the loss of his grandson, for the suffering of his son, he would cry for how no matter how much tea or sandwiches he had made you there they would all have ended up the same, in a fantasy where nothing bad had happened, accepting that it was time to return to home, even when the fantasy felt more like home now than the real world. It was time.

Tim led Jason back to the tree where they'd first met, the place where the burial was. When they got there she realized that Jason's appearance was again at odds with reality: he was fifteen years old, bright baby blue eyes, dimples in his cheeks, a red hoodie, and ripped jeans that hadn't been like that when you bought them, but they were his favorites.

“I have to go now” Tim told him, looking at him, and for a second he allowed himself to feel sad “But I need you to give something to your mom” he said pulling the backpack off his back and opening it, he looked Jason in the eye one last time before doing so. His eyes filled with tears and he allowed himself to think about what a life would be like with you as his mother, with Bruce as his father, with both showering him with love and attention the way Jason had enjoyed in life. He imagined what it would have been like if the boy before him was alive and was his older brother. He smiled sadly as he pulled the battered, torn, and still bloody Robin suit from his backpack, to offer it to Jason. Jason didn't look at him again, and Tim watched you approach in the distance, with the nerve of someone headed for his own death. Your eyes met his, and where Tim expected anger, disappointment, or sadness, he was met with a genuine tenderness that had never been directed at him. You made a silent gesture of thanks, stopping a few feet behind Jason. Tim felt relieved, you didn't hate him despite everything, he hoped that when it was all over it would continue like this. 

He had admired you from the first time he had seen you on television when he was five years old, fighting alongside the rest of the Justice League and had cried when it was announced that the Scarlet Witch had died to save the world. He felt happy for the first time in a long time and looked at Jason one last time before, wondering if the boy ever knew how lucky he was to have you in life and death as his mother (Jason knew). He allowed himself the hope that in some time line, he would have that honor too, he could also be your son and have your love in life and death (Tim already had your love, but he didn't know it yet). 

With that Tim Drake said goodbye to The Wayne´s Show for now and got lost in the woods, never to be seen by viewers anymore.

The suit in his hands was smooth, but there were burnt edges, which were rough against his soft hands that had never granted pain or labor. Jason moved slowly, staring at the garment, almost mesmerized, as if there were a piece of the puzzle in it, something intangible he couldn't quite figure out.

“Jay, baby” you called him, with a sweet but sad voice. Your son, your Jason, looked up from that cursed garment and looked at you “We need to talk-” Jay cut you off before you could say more and you almost thanked him for it, you wouldn't have known how to continue the conversation anyway.

“Mom” he said, dropping the garment in his hand to the floor, as if it meant nothing and then walking towards you, stepping on it as he passed without looking where it had fallen. That gesture made all the aversion you had towards that suit vanish, it didn't matter anymore “Mom-” his mouth opened a few times, it felt like the words were attacking his throat. Jason wanted to know, but he wasn't sure he wanted whatever it was he was going to do to get that answer. Noticing and giving him a reassuring smile, Jason released a heavy sigh that he didn't know had been saved and finally asked “Mom, what am I?”.

You walked toward him at a slow pace, admiring his features, the way his hair refused to be completely straight or curled, the way he stood almost level with you despite only being fifteen. You put your hands on his cheeks, feeling the softness of his skin under your hands once more, and looked into his eyes before answering.

“Jason Peter Todd. You, my dearest boy, are the piece of the Darkhold that lives in me. A body that believes based on what we live together, and what we don't too. You are my sadness and my hope. But most importantly, you're my love and you will always be” you explained. The information entered Jason's mind like a gentle ocean wave washing away tracks in the sand, but this time the wave filled empty space with information, and filled in all the illogicalities in his memory and also the memories that weren't there, the ones that he hadn't really lived. But the circumstances of his own existence hit him, out of the corner of his eye he could give up as if the world closed around him, but he wasn't scared.

“Do we have to say goodbye?” He asked you in the same way that he always asked if it was time to go to sleep, to then ask for five more minutes of light to read another chapter of his favorite book.

“Yes, son, we have to” you told him with regret, feel your tears fall down your cheeks again “But we'll say hello again someday” bring your face closer to yours, holding it gently in your hands “I swear” you promised him before looking at him for the last time, then you closed your eyes to kiss his forehead and so the inevitable arrived.

Unlike the other time, Jason didn't feel afraid or terrified at the idea of “dying”, because his mom had made him a promise and she always kept them. So he enjoyed the sensation of your smell flooding his nose, of your hands when his face with such care and delicacy, of your lips kissing your forehead, before his existence dissolved. His last thought was that, although he did not quite understand what his first life had been like, or understood the memories he had of it, he hoped that if he lived more lives you would continue to be his mother in each and every one of them.

Bruce found you, once the fog in his mind lifted and he realized there was no anomaly anymore, standing where Tim had left you. With your back to him, you held Jason's old Robin suit in your hands, you looked at it with a mixture of affection and sadness.Everything was over, but at the same time it was just beginning, just now you and your husband could properly process the joint loss of your son, as if right at that moment you both hit bottom in the deepest point of the ocean, meeting for the first time with the true cold and desolation of the situation. The fantasies of the miraculous return, of the dreams where they promise peace, of the sitcoms where at the end of the episode all the problems were solved no matter how serious they were, had ended. That would not happen. But now that reality no longer sinks you like quicksand, and as you and Bruce hold each other in front of Jason's grave that day was the first time you both felt so genuinely alive in a long time.

You were alive. Your family was alive. And that was something as beautiful as it was tragic, the purest magic in the world from your point of view.

Although the idea that life itself is magic is one that your husband has always discussed with you since the day you met. But that could be a story for another time.

I’m still learning what works for posting stories on tumblr and I guess tag lists are a thing. Does anyone want to be tagged when I post the next Fragments story? Or all my stories?

this was so worth my 20 minutes.. look at him.. he's glorious