Content warnings can be found at the end of this chapter. Also a pretty important note.
The first thing Tim noticed was that the blood was rushing to his head. Then, he realized that there was also plenty of blood rushing out of his head. There was something on his lap—the seatbelt, right—keeping him from falling down, but that wasn't important right now. What was important was that the airbags hadn't deployed, and the driver had clearly been knocked out, and his head wound made Tim's hurt just looking at it.
But everything was a little groggy, just enough that Tim was having trouble remembering where he was and why he shouldn't just drift back to sleep…
"Stupefy!"
It was a testament to Tim's training that he managed to jerk off his seatbelt and drop down onto the top of the car just before a green arc of light shot over Tim's body through the windshield and blasted his seat to smithereens. Tim winced, feeling glass cut into his head and shoulders, and he blindly tried to locate the door handle to get himself out.
Tim wasn't sure if his ability to regain consciousness quickly was a result of his years of vigilantism or just the way he was born, but it once again kept Tim alive as his senses rushed back to him, and he realized fuck that was a spell—I'm being attacked—I need to get out of this car—
He frantically slapped his hand around, searching for the door handle while he looked out the broken windshield and watched four pairs of cloaked legs get closer to him.
I can't leave the civilian here to die—but I need to draw the Death Eaters away from him—crap, they sent four of them?—
His fingers finally found the latch, and with a shove, he was rolling over glass and into a standing position and stumbling over his feet trying to sprint to the empty street corner because four sets of spells were chasing after him. If he hadn't been so used to dodging bullets in his career as a Gotham vigilante, he'd be dead by now.
Run, run, ignore the pain, pain is just a message, run, run—
He needed somewhere to run to. He needed to escape. He needed something—a safehouse or something.
"And, if you ever want to locate the headquarters on your own, it would be best if you knew that it is located at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place." Through some act of divine grace, Dumbledore's words echoed in Tim's ear.
Keep running, don't stop, you've been practicing this with Alcibar, remember the three D's—
The last thing Tim remembered was someone's scream and collapsing onto a fraying couch.
"Rennervate."
Tim gasped, sitting up straight. Run, run, get away as fast as—
"Dear, calm down, you're—" Someone placed a hand on his shoulder, and Tim immediately flipped them onto the ground without a second thought. Second thoughts were what got people killed.
Second thoughts were what Tim should have had instead of flipping Molly to the ground. Tim dropped her like he'd grabbed a boiling pot of water with his bare hands, and he watched in horror as the middle-aged woman struggled to get up.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Molly," Tim gasped, taking her by the shoulders and helping her back up. "I-I'm sorry, I thought—I just—fuck, I'm sorry—"
"Breathe, Tim, breathe," Molly said, pulling Tim into a hug and holding him there until he stopped shaking.
Shit. He hadn't even realized he was shaking. He gripped the sides of her apron tightly and tried to steady his breathing, syncing it with her own.
"Is everything all right in there, Molly?" came Sirius's voice from the kitchen a floor below.
"Perfectly fine, Sirius!" she called back, rubbing circles into Tim's back with her hands. "Tim was just a little startled, that's all." She turned her head back to him. "Breathe in…breathe out…that's right, dear, in…out…in…out…"
"Molly, I am so sorry about that," Tim apologized again once they finally separated and sat down onto the couch next to each other. "I'm—I'm a trained martial artist, and sometimes that instinct goes on autopilot. I swear I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Nonsense," Molly chuckled, patting Tim's shoulder gently. "I know that, dearie. Next time, I'll make sure you're aware before I touch you, all right?"
Tim sighed, leaning onto her shoulder. "Were you the one who healed me up?"
She nodded. "Gave me and Sirius a right scare, there, you did. He and I are the only ones here right now. You seem to be outside of school a lot for a student!" she laughed, petting his hair down.
"I was visiting Billy," Tim explained. "The one hit with the Killing Curse. I was attacked on the way back to the train station by four Death Eaters. They flipped over my—oh my god, the cab driver—" He stood up, pulling out his phone even though he should have been aware at this point that it didn't work.
"Tim?"
Tim swallowed, feeling his heart rate rise again.
"Tim, talk to me."
"I—" he gasped out, and he could feel the tears beginning to fall. "I left him behind." He choked on the last couple of words and collapsed back onto the couch, burying his face into his hands.
"Tim…"
"I left him behind—oh god, what if he's dead—what if that killed him—I killed him—I killed him—"
"Tim, try to breathe, okay?"
He was trying, he really was, but all he could think about was the unconscious (dead) figure hanging over the steering wheel, another death that was on Tim's hands—
"Tim, he's probably fine," another voice chimed in, not Molly's. Sirius? "Listen, were there other people on-scene?"
Were there? Tim tried to think back. It was all a bit blurry, but he remembered pushing a couple people aside in his hasty retreat.
He must have said as much to Sirius, because the man continued, "Then those people probably contacted Muggle healers with their telly-thingies. Right?" He sounded like he wasn't sure himself, but the logic made sense when Tim thought about it for more than a second.
"Oh, oh!" Sirius sounded excited, as if something new was occurring to him. "And if Muggles were there, then that means the Ministry'll have to show up to Obliviate them, meaning they'll have to heal that bloke so he doesn't have an unexplainable injury."
That sounded right…
Tim hiccupped on a sob and messily wiped the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. "Right, right…" he managed to gasp. "That…yeah…"
"Albus needs to know about this," Molly told Sirius.
"Of course, I'll send a Patronus right away." As soon as Sirius left the room, Molly conjured a cable-knit blanket and draped it over Tim's shoulders like a shock blanket. Tim usually didn't believe in that sort of thing actually working, but it must have been a combined effort, because between the blanket and the feeling of Molly's arm wrapped around his shoulder, Tim was beginning to calm down, the adrenaline steadily draining from his system.
Dumbledore arrived within the hour, appearing in the fireplace looking quite frazzled for such a usually composed man. The minute his eyes fell on Tim, his shoulders sagged, and he suddenly looked a whole lot older than he had seconds ago.
"Timothy, I need you to tell me everything you remember happening the moment you left the premises," said Dumbledore, his eyebrows dipping down towards his spectacles.
Tim nodded, his head bobbing shakily up and down. Apparently, he wasn't as calm as he'd have liked to be right now. "Right. The Portkey took me into an alleyway near a diner in Fawcett City, and, from there, I took a twelve-minute Uber—sorry, a cab—to the Vasquez house. If you want, I can draw a map of the route." Years of giving reports on missions had taught him how to be precise and include even the most obscure details. If Dumbledore thought something was important, Tim was prepared to recount it to him in detail.
"Hm. I shall see. Continue."
"When I reached the Vasquez house, I was invited inside and spent around ten minutes socializing with them. After that, one of the Shazams led me out the back and teleported us to the Rock of Eternity."
"Is there a possibility that you could have been being followed?" the old man asked.
Tim paused, then shook his head. "It's a possibility, but I'm pretty good at knowing when I'm being followed. And, even if I was, they wouldn't have been able to track me when we went to the Rock of Eternity. The place is a fortress, it's kept magical intruders at bay for millennia."
"I see. And I assume this same 'Shazam' took you to London?"
"Yeah. I was at the Rock for around fifteen minutes before he took me to London. From there, I called a cab to take me to King's Cross, and that's when we were attacked."
"Tell me about the attack."
Molly patted Tim's shoulders, wrapping the blanket further around his body. "Take your time, dearest."
Tim nodded, closing his eyes and steadying his breathing. He was there, he had memories of the event, he just needed to access them and keep them intact.
"It was six minutes into the drive, and we hit a pothole." He'd been staring out the window—what had he seen? There was a street sign to his left, it was... "We were on the Upper Thames and we'd just crossed White Lion Hill when—" There was a bang, like someone had thrown a firecracker to the ground, and then they'd listed to the right. "—when the front right wheel went out."
The driver had shrieked and turned the wheel in the opposite direction, slamming on the breaks and forcing the car to slide perpendicular to the road. Tim had been thrown to the left, but out of the corner of his eye, there had been a flash of blue light, which was when the car lost contact with the ground...
"They shot an Expulso curse under the car, which flipped us upside down. I hit my head on the roof of the car and was knocked out for about a minute, but I'm not certain on that, it's a little fuzzy." Even though she'd already cleaned and healed his wounds, Molly petted Tim's head gently, like it needed extra care.
"When I came to, the car was upside-down and the driver was unconscious. Four Death Eaters were approaching, and one of them tried to stun me." So they must have wanted me alive for some reason. "Once I'd managed to get out of the car, I started to run away towards the street corner. They were flinging all kinds of spells at me, but none of them were inherently lethal or Unforgiveable."
"Was anyone else around?" Dumbledore asked.
"Yeah, a crowd had started to form, but I Disapparated before I could take a head count. Then I passed out again and woke up on the couch." And attacked Molly, let's not forget that. He opened his eyes again, having finished recounting his tale.
Dumbledore was nodding all the while, and he reached into his robes and procured a small glass phial. "If you would permit me, I would very much like to take a look at your memory."
So Dumbledore was a mind-reader, too? That certainly explained why he always acted as though he knew what everyone in the room was thinking. Tim was wary of letting the man into his mind before he reminded himself that he didn't have to let Dumbledore into Drake Manor, just let him borrow one of the books in there. When Dumbledore slipped his wand from his sleeve, Tim closed his eyes again and tried not to tense up as he felt a very small tugging on his forehead. Then Tim was in his old house's library, taking the closest book off the shelf and sliding it out a crack in the window for Dumbledore to pick up.
"Thank you, Timothy. This will be of great use to me," Dumbledore said in the real world, pulling away his wand from Tim's head and depositing what looked like a glowing piece of hair into a small phial which then disappeared into his cloak.
"Now, Timothy, it is imperative that we return to Hogwarts before a certain 'High Inquisitor' catches wind of our absence."
"Of course," Tim agreed, standing up and shrugging off Molly's blanket, making sure to take the time to fold it and drape it over the side of the couch.
Molly stood up and grabbed Tim in another hug. "Do be careful, Tim. Don't be getting into anything dangerous, you hear me?"
Tim nodded into her shoulder, not sure how to let her know that danger seemed to follow him around like a duckling that had imprinted on its mother. He just hugged her tightly and tried to assure her that he would be okay.
When he and Dumbledore arrived back at Hogwarts in the headmaster's office, Dumbledore put a hand on Tim's shoulder, a silent order to stay and chat.
"Timothy," he told him slowly, "for your own safety, I think it best if you refrained from going on any future Hogsmeade trips."
"Sure," Tim told him, not that Dumbledore could stop him from exiting school grounds anyways.
"Additionally, you will not be permitted to leave this castle," the man added.
"Sure, sure."
"Then you would not mind if I were to place on you a spell that would alarm me if you got too far from the castle?"
"Sur—wait, what?" It was one thing to promise Dumbledore he'd comply and then sneak out later when he wanted to, but it was a completely different thing to have the magical equivalent of an ankle monitor placed on him.
Not that Tim thought being tracked was inherently bad. The Bats all had microchips implanted in between their shoulder blades (limbs could be cut off, there was no use chipping someone there) for tracking purposes. Each Bat had control of their own chip and could turn it on or off as they wished. The only person able to override the controls was Barbara, in case of emergencies. Bruce had proposed the idea a couple years back, and, slowly but surely, the Bats had all acquiesced to be implanted, starting with Bruce himself. Some might shudder at the thought at being able to be tracked, especially when all they wanted was to be left alone sometimes, but after the first couple supervillain kidnappings which had been resolved by the use of said microchips, everyone had agreed that they were worth keeping.
Not that anyone could track Tim's location right now with all the wards on Hogwarts.
"To ensure that, if something were to go wrong, I would be immediately aware of the fact?" Dumbledore suggested pleasantly, but Tim could see the steel behind his gaze. The headmaster was clearly aware of Tim's tendency to break the rules and did not want to take any chances with him.
Well, fuck that. Tim was an adult, and he could do what he wanted. If he wanted to leave the castle, no one was going to stop him.
"I would, actually, mind then," Tim informed him, keeping his voice level. "I'm not big on all my movements being watched."
"Then you are planning on leaving the castle at some point in the future?" asked Dumbledore.
Tim shrugged. "Not sure. But it's none of your business where I decide to go."
"It is if you are a student under my tutelage."
"Then maybe it's time I dropped out."
Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted. "Pardon?"
"Yeah," said Tim, voicing something that had been in his subconscious since joining the Order and was only now making itself heard. "I've basically completed all the research I can at this school—wouldn't it make more sense to just drop out of school and work full-time with the Order?"
"I do not believe that would be the wisest course of action, Timothy. Your chances of survival are much greater if you stay here at Hogwarts."
"Maybe. And maybe I can take care of myself."
Dumbledore frowned, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "You were attacked by four Death Eaters who used nonlethal spellcasting. It is clear that Voldemort has taken an interest in you."
"Again, I can take care of myself," Tim stressed, his voice getting tighter. Was this because Tim looked so young? Or was it just Dumbledore trying to assert his power over Tim like he did with so many others?
"I cannot allow you to leave school grounds," Dumbledore told him firmly.
"Why?" Tim shot back. "Afraid I'm gonna start looking for horcruxes and mess up your master plan?" At Dumbledore's shocked expression, Tim pressed further. "Yeah, I saw how you acted back at Grimmauld Place when I broached the subject. It's obvious you don't want any of us seeking out horcruxes except for you. Why is that, Professor?"
Dumbledore took a silent breath. "Perhaps, if you were more willing to share your secrets with me, I would be more inclined to reveal my own."
Tim rolled his eyes, frustrated at how the man danced around the subject. "Please, stop deflecting from the real problem. What won't you tell us about horcruxes?"
"Why won't you tell me what exactly your relationship with Ra's al Ghul is?"
The question caught Tim completely off-guard, and he couldn't help but feel his cheeks heat up at the question which Tim had yet to find an answer for himself. "T-that's completely different. This is about the fate of the wizarding world! Why are you being so tight-lipped?"
Have you considered that I have my reasons for such behavior?" Dumbledore asked, stroking his beard.
"Have you considered that maybe you aren't always the smartest person in the room?" This was, of course, a rather hypocritical take for Tim to posit, as Tim himself tended to have a similar train of thought when keeping matters to himself. "That maybe having one person with all the knowledge is incredibly foolish and dangerous? What happens to that information if you get killed? How're we supposed to defeat Voldemort when there's only one person who has all the info on how to take him down?"
"There are things of which you have no idea—"
"Yeah?" Tim snapped. "Enlighten me, then."
Dumbledore merely shook his head, looking rather tired. "Now is not the time, Timothy. If you would only—"
"When is the time?"
"Later, Timothy, later."
This was pointless. Tim was getting nothing out of the old man. "Whatever. I'm leaving anyways, and there's nothing you can do to—"
In hindsight, Tim really shouldn't have let Dumbledore know that he was planning on escaping. It would have been much wiser to just play along with the man and then make his move later. As it was, Tim found himself ducking down when a spell shot towards him and reaching for his wand. What Tim was not expecting was for Dumbledore to flick his wand in the air, casting a spell which did not have such an obvious trajectory for Tim to trace, and before he could react to the invisible spell, Tim found his whole body frozen in place, like his bones had become fixed in space.
Tim gasped, unable to open or close his mouth to form any coherent syllables. His wand was still sitting at his waist—if only he could move his hand a couple inches further…
Dumbledore gave him a pitying look that made Tim's blood boil. "I apologize for the drastic measures, Timothy, but I am acting under the greater interest of the wizarding world."
What about the non-wizarding world? What about the rest of us? Tim thought bitterly. His muscles seemed to be working perfectly fine, so Tim furrowed his brows and gave Dumbledore the harshest glare he could muster. The wizard rounded his desk and approached Tim, who held his breath in anticipation. What exactly was his headmaster planning on doing to him?
Once he was face-to-face with Tim, Dumbledore carefully squatted down, placing a hand on his knee for support, and tapped each of Tim's shoes with his wand. A flash of heat came over Tim, starting at his feet and travelling up to the tip of his head before disappearing completely.
Dumbledore stood up with a small grunt. "I want you to be aware that all that I have done is placed a simple tracking spell on you, Timothy. It will prevent you from leaving the confines of the protective spells on the school grounds but will not otherwise affect you. In time, I hope you will understand why I have done what I've done." He pointed his wand at Tim, and suddenly he could move again. Tim immediately snatched his wand and pointed it at Dumbledore—
—only to find himself frozen once again. Tim let out an angry snort, glaring daggers at Dumbledore.
"Please do not attempt to fight me, Timothy," Dumbledore sighed. "I promise it will not end well for you. Do you understand?"
Tim rolled his eyes, and even after Dumbledore released his hold on Tim's body, Tim continued to point his wand at the old wizard.
"You can't keep me here forever," Tim hissed through clenched teeth. "You're no better than Lucius Malfoy keeping Constantine in his basement."
"Perhaps I am," Dumbledore acquiesced, his shoulders drooping. "But I will not compromise the great task before us all just for one person."
Tim tucked his wand back in its holster and crossed his arms. "Tell me, is this actually for my own protection, or is it because I'm a threat to your authority?"
"In time, I think you of all people will understand my actions."
"You know I'm going to tell Harry and the others about this," Tim warned him.
"Oh, I have no doubt that you will. While not ideal, it is a natural consequence of my actions."
"Fuck you, and fuck this," Tim growled. "I have better things to be doing."
"By all means, feel free to leave, Timothy."
"The office, you mean. Not the castle. Obviously." Tim waited for Dumbledore to reply to this, to offer some other vague promise of future understanding to Tim, but when a full minute passed in which Dumbledore just observed Tim with a concerned expression on his face, Tim finally called it a day and marched out of the office, feeling extremely bitter and deeply betrayed.
Later, Tim sat on his bed alone in his dorm and slipped off his shoes and socks.
"Finite," he whispered, tapping his left with the tip of his wand. Black marks appeared on Tim's feet, forming long lines of runes that wrapped around Tim's feet and faded away as quickly as they'd come.
"Finite!" he hissed, tapping his other foot, only for the same thing to happen again.
"Dammit." Tim flopped onto his back and gripped his wand tightly, frustrated at his lack of agency. A warm, fluffy something pressed against Tim's free hand, and he automatically lifted his arm up to pet the cat. Alfred let out an appreciative purr and curled up against Tim's hip.
Despite his threats towards Dumbledore, Tim was reluctant to let the Gryffindors know about the situation he was in right now. To reveal his imprisonment would be to acknowledge the fact that he'd been leaving the school multiple times. To acknowledge the fact that he'd been leaving the school would be to broach the topic of Ra's al Ghul. To broach the topic of Ra's al Ghul was to admit that he'd gotten students kidnapped and had gone on top-secret Order business.
However, at this point. Tim wasn't particularly against telling all of Dumbledore's secrets to the kids, if only to spite the old man and show him that he was willing to follow through on his promised rebellion. Tomorrow, perhaps. Today was for Tim to grumble about how unfair everything was and to plan his escape. Hermione would probably have a better idea of what Dumbledore had done to him.
Once he'd sufficiently tired himself out trying to uncharm himself, Tim ended up eventually following Alfred down to the common room and spending most of the evening reading in an armchair, which always helped distract him from his worries. For a while, it actually did, but he should have known that the peace wouldn't last.
"We need to talk," Purdie announced just before Tim headed up for bed, grabbing Tim's shoulder.
"Okay," Tim shrugged, turning back around. "Do you want to wait for Cordelia and Aruna to leave or—"
"We all need to be here for this," Purdie told him, his voice low, and Tim felt a faint shiver go up his spine. The boy was being uncharacteristically solemn, and Tim had absolutely no clue as to why. Tim glanced over at the only other Ravenclaws left in the common room. Cordelia was sitting in an armchair stimming, cracking her knuckles like she'd been doing for the past hour. Aruna was curled into a ball, her head tucked into her knees.
Tim slowly headed back over towards them and sat down next to Aruna, who curled up tighter, like something was bothering her.
No one wanted to make eye contact with Tim except for Purdie, which was when Tim finally realized that something was wrong. The Ravenclaws had been rather tense ever since the semester started, but so had everyone else, seeing as the once-distant threat of exams was finally beginning to sink in on everyone. Tim had had so much on his mind as of late that he must have gotten lax when it came to the people closest to him. So focused was he on the Gryffindors and why they were avoiding him that Tim hadn't even stopped to consider that his Ravenclaw friends had their own beef with him.
"So…" Tim started, looking up at Purdie, who hadn't taken a seat but was standing beside Cordelia, wringing his hands together. "What did I do?" This was the default for Tim—assuming that he'd done something wrong, that is. Just one of the many ways his anxiety manifested itself. Usually, it was a false assumption. But sometimes…
Purdie took a deep breath and then said, "Tim, we know you've been lying to us about a lot of things."
Sure, but, like, I lie to a lot of people, not just you three.
Instead of giving voice to these thoughts, Tim asked, "Like what?" trying to suss out what exactly they were referring to.
Cordelia stopped cracking her knuckles. "Well, a lot of your personal life doesn't exactly add up. Say, why do you call Muggles 'Muggles?'"
Shit. After Hermione had brought that up, Tim had planned on coming up with a good excuse as to why that particular turn of phrase had stuck, but Tim, being Tim, had put it off for later because he'd had the gall to think that no one else would find him out.
When it was clear they were waiting for a response and weren't going to let this question go, Tim cleared his throat, trying not to let on how nervous he was. "I…well…I don't have an answer for that."
"If you don't give us an honest answer, we'll take this to Dumbledore," Purdie said coldly.
"And what, exactly, would you be taking to Dumbledore?" Tim asked, just to be certain.
"The fact that you've been leaving the school premises like you did with Aruna and Neville," Purdie told him. "And that we have reason to believe that you're not actually a wizard. Not like the rest of us."
Both true statements. Both things Tim was trying to keep on the down low.
Both things he'd rather not reveal to another set of people if he didn't have to. The list of people who knew about his mission was getting uncomfortably long.
"You told them?" was what eventually came out of Tim's mouth, and he looked over to where Aruna sat, wondering where all of these betrayals of trust were coming from all of a sudden.
She didn't seem to want to do this confrontation right now, so she shook her head and tucked it back between her knees.
"Of course she told us!" Purdie cried, looking at Tim like he didn't recognize him. "She was terrified from everything that happened that day. Tell him, Aruna."
She shook her head again. Tim felt a deep pit beginning to form in his stomach. No, she'd been fine, she'd stood up to Ra's al Ghul without flinching, there was no way… Tim couldn't have read her that wrong...
After a beat of silence, there was a very, very small voice that breathed, "I thought I was going to die, Tim," and Tim realized that he'd made a terrible mistake. "I thought you were going to die."
When Tim was still Robin, he'd been in awe of Bruce's stoic demeanor in the face of terror. Even when the odds were stacked against him, even when faced with gruesome scenes too graphic to comprehend, Batman would never flinch, would never make any indication that he was anything other than calm and in control. It was only years later that Tim was made aware of the fact that the things that Bruce had experienced while on the job still haunted him to this day, but he just had a really, really good poker face.
And, apparently, so did Aruna.
"I'm sorry," he immediately said, though it sounded even to his own ears like a measly excuse. "God, I'm so sorry, Aruna, you shouldn't have been thrown into all that."
"But she was," Purdie pointed out. "And it could happen again."
"I swear I won't let anything like that happen again," Tim said firmly.
"And why should we believe you?"
"You—" Tim's voice cracked, and he turned away from Purdie and the others. "You shouldn't," he whispered. "I've done nothing but lie to everyone here. If I'd been truthful from the start, Aruna and Neville would have never gotten captured alongside me. I'd have been able to protect them better."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tim was vaguely aware of the fact that there was actually valid reasoning behind his being undercover. Somewhere else, somewhere even further back, was the knowledge that he was not and would never be responsible for Ra's al Ghul's actions and thus should never have to blame himself for the villain's actions. But all Tim could see right now was the fact that he'd let his friends down—just like he always did.
"I'm gonna leave Hogwarts," he decided. Forget Dumbledore's orders. "Being here is a danger to all of you."
Purdie opened his mouth and then closed it again. He did this a couple more times. "Wait, Tim, that wasn't what I was saying—"
"I know," Tim interrupted, "but it's what has to be done if I'm to keep any of you safe."
Cordelia stopped cracking her knuckles for a moment. "No, wait, we just wanted to know why you're acting so suspicious and why there're people after you, we don't want you to leave."
"Stay," Aruna whispered into her knees.
But this was something Tim had had on his mind for a while now. It was only now that he was fully beginning to understand that it was the best course of action.
"I'll leave at Easter break," Tim told them. "Then you'll be safe." He would find a way to get Dumbledore's spell off of him, and he would get out of here.
Oh boy. So, uh, I kinda reached the point in my writing where the rest isn't finished. Not that I haven't written anything, but, the next chapter that comes chronologically isn't finished yet. Meaning I gotta go *deep breath* on hiatus *covers head to avoid the tomatoes being thrown at me*.
Don't worry, it's not for forever. I just don't want to rush the end to this when the end is sorta mushy in my mind. There's definitely less than ten chapters left, but what happens in those next ten chapters is sorta jumbled up in my word document. Thus, I shall be taking a break so that you all have time to forget what I've written until you get an email months later and end up rereading the whole thing again because you're subscribed to too many stories on this site and have to remind yourself which one this is. No? Just me? Ah, whatever.
Due to this hiatus, I have compiled a brief list of objectively better things you can do with the time you would have spent every week reading this fic:
- Learn to play a new instrument (I'm learning the guitar)
- Learn the lyrics to a really inappropriate song so you can impress your friends when it accidentally comes on in the car
- Learn a new language (I'm learning ASL)
- Buy yourself a Lego set and relive the joys of childhood -or steal one if you're broke like me uwu-
- Bake something nice for yourself or your family/friends (it doesn't have to be complicated, but go wild if the inspiration strikes)
- Schedule an appointment with your therapist whom I've you've been blowing off for no apparent reason
- Draw -fanart of this story- something, even if you don't think you're good at art
- Create a new character for a story -and then never write that story-
- Start a podcast -about this, your favorite AO3 fanfic- with a friend either in person or online
- Write a new amendment to the Constitution and/or rewrite one that needs some rewriting (I'm not saying that the Eighth Amendment is vague and needs actual parameters but)
- Paint your nails (might I suggest blue and bronze?)
- -Write me a lengthy comment about how disappointed you are in me going on hiatus and how you're unsubscribing-
- Write your own -better- Harry Potter and/or Batman fic
- Read a book (if you're into fantasy, I'd suggest The Raven Boys, and if you're into nonfiction, I just read The New Jim Crow and it is fabulous)
- Make a playlist -for this fic- and only put on songs you actually would want to listen to over and over again, not just songs you kind of like
And there you have it. Plenty of things to do while you're gone. Meanwhile, I'll just be here slaving away on my story...
But seriously. I'm not giving up on this story, so don't give up on me, and (cuz I know some people need to hear this today) don't give up on yourself. Happy (re)reading!
CW: car crash, blood, minor injuries