Alternative chapter title: "Do you have room for one more troubled soul?"
C/W: Sleep paralysis, nightmares
Chapter 11 of What's Up, Danger?: Early Longest Night
8:50 AM, Sunday—Gotham Village Community Center
Sabine stirred the creamer into her coffee with the thin wooden swizzle stick. The dinky white cup was laughably small and held a pitiful amount of coffee. She doubted it would give her brain the caffeinated jolt she needed to get through the next two hours.
The foldable card table in front of her had several containers full of coffee from a nearby cafe and an assortment of sweet-smelling glazed donuts and pastries in a pink box; a modest breakfast spread.
She brought the cup to her lips and sipped—it was still too hot to drink in large gulps—and worried that she wasn't ready for this.
The meeting room was about the size of her studio apartment, but somehow even more cramped. At least a dozen hard plastic chairs were arranged in a circle in the center. Towering shelves stuffed full of containers and boxes were pushed up against one of the walls. Mounted on another wall was a large bulletin board covered in colorful flyers. A few dinky overhead lights illuminated the space. There were several blank square spaces on the ceiling where tiles had fallen off.
Sabine had never been to one of the community centers in Gotham, but she could tell this one needed refurbishment. Wasn't Gotham supposed to have a score of philanthropist billionaires willing to donate to social programs and the community? Or were they too busy spending time on their yachts?
She sagged into one of the chairs, next to a woman who looked like she had just walked out of an important administration meeting: pencil skirt, fitted navy blazer over a pinstripe blouse, and heels.
The woman leaned over. "I like the blue in your hair."
Sabine unconsciously tugged at the little pop of turquoise that framed the left side of her jaw. She had forgotten about it. "Oh, thanks."
The lock of blue hair was a result of impulsive late-night experimentation. She'd intended to dye a larger portion of her hair but chickened out when she smelled the stench of bleach stripping the dark brown pigments from her hair and making her scalp itch.
Minutes dragged by as the hands on the wall clock above the doorway painfully crawled forward to 9.
The seats around her began to fill up with people. Some made a beeline for the coffee and pastries while the others milled about, making small talk and filling the tense air with chatter.
Finally at 9, a man with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up on his forearms came into the room with a clipboard. He sat in the chair closest to the entryway and folded a leg over the other, resting the clipboard on his calf.
He cleared his throat. "Hi, everyone. Welcome back. As always, thank you for being here on a Sunday morning." He paused, letting people settle into the chairs before continuing, "As many of you know, I'm Dr. Ibrahim and this group focuses on trauma and PTSD. So, before we start, I want us to just go around and say our names, introduce ourselves. And then I'll open up the floor for anyone who wants to share something urgent.'
"And if this is your first time here," Dr. Ibrahim's dark eyes moved around the circle of people, briefly pausing at Sabine and smiling, before moving on, "don't feel pressured to talk. You can just listen and decide if this is for you."
Oh, thank god, Sabine sighed in relief as sank into the chair.
His vision flooded with green light; bright, glowing, ominous. He floated, limbs spread out, weightless as the mystical water oozed around him and into his skin. It permeated every cut and crack in his body. The sensation of a hundred needles and threads pulled at his skin, mending him.
Jason's entire body jerked. When had he last breathed in air? His lungs screamed for oxygen.
His mouth opened and his nostrils flared, inhaling. The green water cascaded down his windpipe, burning his insides like hot lava. His throat contracted in a feeble attempt to prevent more liquid from pouring into his lungs.
He thrashed wildly, trying to find the surface and breakthrough. But everything looked the same in the glowing pool, he couldn't tell which way was up and which way was down.
His throat burned as his hands extended upward, reaching towards what looked like a cavernous ceiling through the murky depths.
Jason woke up coughing, his body instinctively trying to retch the remainder of the pit's water out of his lungs. He gasped and sucked in air in deep gulps as his racing pulse steadied.
He was alive, he reminded himself.
He was alive.
And that meant he felt everything, whether he wanted to or not. At times, when he was pensive and alone, he wondered if he would be better off if he had stayed dead. Would his younger self be disappointed knowing how he turned out?-who he grew up to be? Probably.
Being Robin had been everything to him back then, meant everything to him. And then it was violently snatched away. Then he came back bitter and disillusioned with being a child soldier.
Dying was easy once he accepted his fate. Living for a second time was harder. Especially under the thumb of others.
Jason's hands trembled as he threw the covers off of himself, letting the cool air in the room soothe his hot skin. He brought his knees to his chest and leaned back against the headboard.
He studied his hands as they rested on his kneecaps and the myriad of cuts and blemishes that covered them, resembling worn-out leather.
The pit had healed his old wounds and broken bones, but it didn't prevent the new constellation of scars that marred his skin—a stab wound on his forearm from when he was shoved by a drug dealer, a raised patch of pink skin on his abdomen from a bullet had gone through him, the freshly stitched cut on his thigh from when it was grazed by a bullet…just to name a few.
Uneasy, Jason reached for his phone that was charging by his bed, checking the time. He hadn't replaced the alarm clock that he smashed. It was on his to-do list. Maybe he could snatch one from the manor the next time he was there, Bruce surely wouldn't miss one alarm clock. Alfred would notice though.
He pressed the phone screen and opened the messaging app on his phone, speculating if Roy was awake. He needed a distraction from his messy thoughts.
However, instead of clicking on his text thread with Roy, he scrolled down a few names. The pad of his thumb hovered over Sabine's name. He sighed as his eyes scanned the cat photos she sent a few days ago. In one photo, he noticed that CEO had multi-colored pads on the bottom of his paws.
He tried to remember what he'd overheard Stephanie call them when she was talking to Damian a few weeks ago. Jelly beans? Toe beans?
(4:30 AM)
Jason: Ok, the cat is pretty dang cute.
He was about to put his phone down and watch some late-night reruns of old sitcoms while gorging on the leftover pizza in his fridge when Sabine unexpectedly replied. Troubled, he furrowed his eyebrows. Why was she awake at this time?
A massive pressure engulfed Sabine's chest and she couldn't breathe. A force was pressing down on her, crushing her inwards. Choking for air, she tried to sit upright, but her body was paralyzed. Her arms were pinned at her sides and her legs couldn't move as if she had been strapped down by an invisible force.
Her eyes shot open and immediately met the luminous yellow eyes of CEO, who was sitting on her chest with his legs tucked under his body. How could a ten-pound cat feel like the weight of the world was pressing down on her?
Sabine tried to move again, to wiggle, to shoo the cat away, but an unseen force gripped her and held her prisoner.
The horizontal shadows cast on the wall from the street lights leaking in through the blinds slowly morphed. Shadows on the wall and ceiling grew and twisted in shape, forming dozens of large claws that moved and reached down towards her.
Her heart thundered inside her chest, beating frantically. Seconds crawled by, each feeling like an eternity.
Her heartbeat felt like a jackhammer. Panic whipped around inside of her like a tornado growing in power and intensity.
The cat's mouth opened as the shadows drew closer, his tiny fangs glowing like white beacons as darkness closed in.
A wet and crackling sound escaped the cat's throat.
Sabine's eyes widened as the cat's mouth moved, mimicking human speech, articulating two words over and over again; a name.
"Rosemary…Delgado…Rosemary—"
Sabine jolted upright, a strangled yelp escaping from her lips.
Her body was drenched in a cold and slick sheen of moisture. The bedsheets were soaked with sweat and wrapped around her limbs. Her hands flew to her throat, gently caressing the column as she inhaled a deep breath then exhaled.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. She repeated the mantra over and over until her pulse calmed and her blood didn't feel like ice water.
Her brown eyes darted around the room. The sinister dark shadows had receded. Everything was bathed in monochromatic colors as her vision adjusted to the dimness.
Next to her feet, CEO slept, softly snoring as if nothing had happened.
She fell back against the mattress and pulled the duvet over her head. Her hand groped around under her pillow for her cellphone. She curled into herself as she unlocked the screen and her hands trembled as she began typing, looking to the internet for an explanation for what she just experienced. There had to be some logical and rational explanation for it. There had to.
In the right-hand corner of the screen, the time read 4:15 AM. Her eyelids drooped, heavy and exhausted, but she didn't want to go back to sleep.
Search history:
asleep but couldn't move
sleep paralysis
sleep paralysis cat
cat memes
sleep paralysis can't breathe
The fifth search brought up two interesting articles: A witch on your chest: Facts and folklore of sleep paralysis and What You Should Know About Sleep Paralysis and 'Sleep Demons'
She squinted, fixated on the brightness of the phone screen as she skimmed the text on the web pages. Some cultures believed that the unsettling phenomenon was caused by malevolent supernatural forces (it had certainly felt malevolent), while scientists posited that it could be attributed to issues such as anxiety or poor sleep patterns (this sounded more reassuring).
Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard on the screen before typing again.
rosemary delgado
Too many results.
rosemary delgado gotham
The web browser directed her to an obituary from several years ago. A woman by the same name had died in her apartment "under mysterious circumstances". In the memorial photo, Sabine could see that Rosemary had wispy salt and pepper hair and deep wrinkles on her bronze face. She was sitting in a large chartreuse chair with a cat on her lap—a cat with the same black and white markings as CEO. Reading on, she discovered that the cat, named Louis, had gone missing shortly after her death.
Sabine unfurled herself from the blankets and peeked at the tuxedo cat, who was slumbering peacefully at the end of her bed. It made sense that he hadn't always been a stray, he was friendly enough with strangers.
Rationalizing CEO's past didn't stop her mind from spiraling. Sleep paralysis didn't explain why she heard what she did. Hallucinations accompanying it weren't unheard of (from what she read), but what about hallucinations with uncanny accuracy?—hallucinations with names of real people who had died.
Maybe there was something supernatural about it.
She fervently shook her head as she buried her face in a pillow. Nope, nope, nope, don't wanna think about that.
Sabine let her phone drop onto her chest and stretched her arms out to the side, taking up space on the bed. A tidal wave of confusion and dread crashed over her, pulling her under.
She fought against the difficult feelings, but couldn't stop asking herself: why had everything been so hard lately? Why did bad things seem to all happen at once? Why were so many weird things happening? The vigilante in the dumpster from over a month ago seemed like an omen that kicked everything off. Could she blame him? She wanted to blame someone or something.
Out of the blue, her phone buzzed. The vibration almost startled her.
Sabine tilted it up, glimpsing at who was texting her at this unholy hour. Her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise when she saw Jason's name on the screen.
(4:30 AM)
Jason: Ok, the cat is pretty dang cute.
She rolled her teeth over her bottom lip and wondered if she should respond. She settled on gently teasing him despite the anxiety coiled in her stomach.
(4:35 AM)
Sabine: Looking at cat photos at 4 in the morning, really?
Jason: Technically, it's 4:35.
Sabine: pfft you know what I meant
She wondered why he was awake so late. Maybe she wasn't the only sleepless and troubled soul in the city.
(4:37 AM)
Sabine: Bad dreams? can't sleep?
Was that too personal of a question to ask?
Jason: Something like that.
Sabine: Same, probably not gonna go back to bed
A few minutes passed without a response. She turned on the table lamp at her bedside, illuminating the bedroom nook, and considered boiling some water to make tea.
Her phone vibrated again. The blue text message bubble from Jason posed a question she hadn't anticipated:
(4:41)
Jason: Wanna get coffee? Not Waffle House this time, I promise.
(4:42)
Sabine: Not Waffle House? who are you and what have you done with Jason? ;-)
Sabine: but sure, coffee sounds good!
Jason: What's your address? I can pick you up.
Her thumbs hesitated before punching in her address and sending the text. She intently watched the screen, waiting for the tiny "…" bubble on the screen as Jason typed his reply.
(4:45 AM)
Jason: Be there in twenty.
Sabine reread the text several times, the words sinking into her brain. Oh, shit, he was really serious?
She climbed out of bed and hastily changed from her pajamas into a pair of thick socks, boots, dark washed jeans, and a black Gotham University sweater. She slung a small cross-body bag over her shoulder, stuffing her wallet and phone inside the zipper pouch. Then she sat on the edge of her bed and waited, nerves gnawing away at her.
She had never left her apartment or ventured out into Gotham so late before. Or was this considered early? Sure, she had worked closing shifts or stayed at the campus's library until it closed for the night, but she almost always was home by midnight.
Her ears picked up the sound of a motorcycle roaring down the street before idling in front of her apartment building.
She peered out the window to the street below, and true to his word, Jason was there in his signature brown leather jacket and boots. Twenty minutes on the dot.
He tilted his head up, saw her through the visor on his helmet, and waved. Propped in the crook of his arm was a spare helmet.
Sabine hurried out the door and down the staircase.
It was dark outside and freezing. Only a handful of stars were visible in the night sky, and the moon was a thin crescent. Her footsteps crunched through fallen leaves scattered on the sidewalk as she walked over to Jason. Through the tinted visor, she saw the purple bags under his eyes that matched her own. It looked like they both had had a rough night.
"Good evening? Good morning?" Sabine greeted as she stopped next to his bike.
Jason responded with a hoarse laugh.
"Here," his voice was more gravelly than usual, cutting through any pretext. He raised an arm, presenting her with the black motorcycle helmet that resembled the one he wore.
Sabine moved forward, took the offered helmet, and stuffed it on her head.
Jason waited for her to quit fiddling with the strap under her chin and patted the space behind him. "Well, get on. I promise the bike doesn't bite."
She carefully swung a leg over the seat and straddled the bike behind him. She chewed the inside of her cheek. "Like this?"
Not knowing what to do with her hands, she awkwardly gripped the vinyl seat underneath her. Should she hold onto him? Have her hands by her sides?
"You might want to hold on," Jason instructed. He sounded tired. He reached around and grabbed one of her hands, tugging her forward.
She weakly held onto his abdomen and scooted closer to him, closing the small gap between their bodies. Her petite frame slanted into the firm planes of his back. Again, her voice barely audible over the loud thrum of the engine, she asked, "Like this?"
Jason chuckled and she felt the rumble of his chest. Or was it the continuous vibrations from the engine of the motorcycle?
He squeezed the clutch and the exhaust let out a monstrous vroom.
Sabine playfully swatted his bicep and muttered into his ear, "My neighbors are going to kill you."
"Yeah? They wouldn't be the first to try," Jason quipped as he glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was safely and securely situated behind him.
"What does that mean—"
Jason twisted the throttle towards him and the bike shot forward. They hurtled down the city street, parked cars and street lights passed by in streaked blurs.
Sabine burrowed herself against Jason's broad back, her cheek pressed against his shoulder blade as she watched them whipped by buildings and neon signs that lit up the night. Through the thick smell of diesel fuel, she picked up the earthy scent of leather and tobacco from his jacket.
His stomach fluttered when he realized how tightly she was holding onto him after the first right turn, dipping low around the street corner. He was used to having passengers on his bike (mostly Roy), but this was different. It felt different. He couldn't quite describe the feeling though. The only word that stood out to him to describe the emotion swelling inside of him as they streaked down the road on his motorcycle in the dead of night was a simple, four-letter word: nice. This felt nice.
Jason eased on the brake as he pulled up in front of a diner. The inky shadows from the outside of the establishment contrasted with the warm and brightly lit room visible through the large windows that lined the exterior of the building. The way the stillness of the street and sidewalk clashed with the buzz inside the diner felt alienating, like a scene from an Edward Hopper painting.
It wasn't Waffle House, but it would do.
Her arms loosened and slipped away from his torso. Immediately, the absence of her hands made him feel hollow again, the nice feeling fading away with her touch.
He waited as she hopped off the bike seat before putting down the kickstand and killing the engine.
Sabine pulled the helmet off of her head. Her hair was matted against her scalp from the short ride, so she ruffled it with her hand.
Jason noticed the blue streak in her hair and grimaced. She caught a glimpse at the face he pulled and stuck her tongue out at him in response, even if she didn't know why he looked sour.
He nudged her with his elbow as they entered the diner, and she bumped him back. The indoor heat was a welcome change in temperature from the frigid air outside.
They seated themselves on the stools at the counter. Without even asking, the waitress set two mugs of coffee down in front of them along with two laminated menus.
Despite the late—or early—hour, the diner was alive with energy with customers dispersed around in aquamarine booths and tables.
Sabine flipped through the menu as a peculiar question materialized in her mind.
"Have you ever…" she began with a low voice as if she didn't want others to eavesdrop, "seen any of the vigilantes in this city?"
Jason blew on his coffee and said casually, "I met Batman once."
Her eyes widened in surprise, pupils dilated. Her attention was fully on him. "Really? What happened?"
The right edge of his lip pulled up into a side-smirk. "I was twelve and in Park Row. I saw the Batmobile parked outside one night, no one was around. Not a cowl or cape in sight. So…" there was an inflection of pride in his voice, "I bypassed its security and jacked the tires. Figured I could sell them. Almost had the entire thing up on cinder blocks when Batman caught me."
She stared at him blankly for a few moments before she puckered her lips as if she had eaten something sour. Her forehead creased in disbelief.
Sabine snorted softly and rolled her eyes. "You're so full of it."
"Full of what?" he pressed, taking a short swig of coffee. The temperature was hot, but it was almost drinkable.
"Shit," she clarified, shaking her head. "You expect me to believe that you," she pointed at him, "as a kid, stole from Batman." It did sound like something he would do and her curiosity was piqued by the tale, as far-fetched as it was. "So, what happened next?"
Jason dipped his head towards his chest and hunched over the countertop, his eyes gazed into the mug in front of him. The traces of humor that had graced his hard features dissipated into a solemn expression.
"He confiscated my tire iron and chewed me out for a good ten minutes."
So maybe it was true, she thought.
When he didn't continue, she asked, "And that's it?"
Jason wet his lips and leaned forward on his folded forearms that settled on the metal surface. "Yep, that's it."
"Why were you in Park Row?"
"I lived there."
"With your family?"
"Yeah, with my parents. Before and after they died." Or disappeared, in Willis Todd's case. He didn't want to delve deeper into it.
A quiet "oh" passed her lips at his rare display of vulnerability, followed by a sullen, "Sorry."
The way his green eyes lost focus made her think there was more to the story. As talkative as Jason could be, there was always this wall he had up. A wall to create distance and keep others away, a wall to protect himself.
"I get the dead parent thing," she admitted gloomily, "it's a shitty club to belong to."
Jason huffed in agreement.
The silence grew between them until the waitress prompted them for their orders after refilling their coffee cups. Drearily, Jason ordered an egg and potato scramble with an extra side of bacon and Sabine asked for cream cheese stuffed French toast.
Jason flicked an empty sugar wrapper across the counter at her, restless from the lull in the conversation. "So, have you met any of Gotham's famed vigilantes?"
He asked because he wanted to know what she thought of the Red Hood; what she thought of him.
"I met one," she said, recalling the strange first encounter, "if you can call pulling one out of the dumpster next to where I work meeting one."
"And?" Jason mused, drinking his coffee.
Sabine blew air noisily out of her lips, "Somehow this numbskull managed to fall into a dumpster, and I…I poked him with a broom, just to see if he was still alive. He was. Then he kind of passed out and I didn't know what to do,"—the waitress placed their food in front of them and the aroma of eggs, cooked sausage, cinnamon, and maple syrup filled the air—, "he had this little communicator thing and I used that to call his…friends? Coworkers? Associates? Anyway, it was kind of anti-climatic."
He picked up a fork. "And then what?"
Her words hadn't been too revealing of her feelings or thoughts, he'd hope to glean more.
Sabine reached for the strawberry syrup dispenser. "That's it," she lied, mirroring his answer. She poured the red syrup over her French toast, pensive. "I mean, I've heard stories about him, who hasn't?—but then, I don't know, you meet the 'legend', and realize he's just a guy in a suit. He's human, just like you."
Jason swallowed a bite of bacon, trying not to snicker at how 'just a guy in a suit' sounded. It was reductive, sure, but some nights he did feel like he was just another body in a uniform, trying to improve the city bit by bit.
She tucked into her French toast, savoring the fruity and powdered sugar-filled bites. There was something comforting about being in Jason's presence, even if they were just eating next to one another. Sure, there were other people around them, but it felt like they were alone in the world, reminiscing together and privately on some things better left unsaid. It was nice.
Between mouthfuls of egg, Jason said, "Why do you ask?"
Calling him a 'numbskull' (when she didn't know it was him) had been a little revealing of her true thoughts. He'd been called worse.
Sabine fumbled for words, "Just…curious." She smiled meekly, her cheeks puffed out and full of eggy bread.
Jason bit back a laugh because her face looked ridiculous and she knew it.
They both pushed their plates away from them when they finished eating. Only bits of hot sauce remained on Jason's plate while Sabine's still had a chunk of unfinished French toast. Their full stomachs eased the distraught disturbances that had torn them both out of bed.
The waitress brought the check, sliding the paper receipt on a small black tray between them as she cleared their plates.
Sabine moved to get her wallet to pay for her half, but Jason threw down several ten-dollar bills before she unzipped her purse.
"Don't worry about it, it's the least I can do for dragging out at this time."
Sabine suddenly felt shy and looked away, her shoulders scrunched up to her ears. "Thanks."
They drained the remnants of their coffee. Sabine felt the caffeine tickle her brain, starting to feel alert and less weary.
Jason opened the door for her as they left. The sunrise was peeking over the skyscrapers, tinging the sky in the palest blue and shining amber that reflected off of the windows of the steel structures. The city was starting to wake up, music blared from street corner stores and people shuffled on the sidewalk as they began their day.
They both slipped on their helmets as they sat on the bike. Sabine wrapped her arms around his waist less hesitantly this time and, again, he was engulfed in a pleasant feeling he wished he could stretch out longer than the short ride back to her place.
The motorcycle loudly rumbled to life under their bodies and Jason drove her home, past familiar buildings and structures that were more easily recognizable to her in the daylight.
He slowed to a smooth stop outside of her building and kicked his foot out to balance himself and the bike as she dismounted.
She pulled the helmet off her head and returned it to him. He tucked it under his arm.
Sabine awkwardly crossed her arms across her chest, trying to think of what to say. "That was…nice. Thanks for inviting me out."
Jason's lips twitched upwards, smirking a bit. "Yeah, well, thanks for coming with."
She nodded as she stepped back and on to the curb. "I'll see you later?"
"Probably."
He leaned ruefully over the handlebars as he watched her vanish inside her apartment building. When the door closed with a heavy thud, he sped off, gunning it faster and faster. Even through the helmet, the wind howled deafeningly in his ears.
Jason tried to bury the budding feeling sprouting inside of him as he tore into the garage entrance of his building. He had detailed files on her and she was a lead in an investigation. She would hate him if she knew that he was partially responsible for her sleepless nights and stress. And despite how many times he told himself to just leave her alone he found himself talking to her again and again.
There were rules against this kind of thing, he was crossing a line. That's what Bruce would say (and he was a stellar example at following his own rules). And Jason was so tired of following rules.
It was always: Don't do this, Jason, don't do that, Jason.
Fuck that.
Killing the engine, Jason decided he had enough of some of Bruce's rules. He could have it both ways.
It was just being friends, it didn't have to be this complicated.
A/N: Trying to figure out a good text message format for this fic.
There was originally going to also be a scene between Dick and Jason in this chapter, but I moved it to the next one because it didn't fit with the tone I wanted for this one/wanted to give Jason and Sabine more than five minutes together.
Thanks for reading! (I'm always so surprised that people read my writing, haha)