Summary: Flirting! and an unexpected visitor…
Chapter 36 of What's Up, Danger?: Poor Unfortunate Souls
It was dark and murky but the time they arrived at Jason's apartment, save the hazy and sickly glow of the street lamps that lined their way in the misty post-rain haze that weaved through the streets.
Sabine's cheeks were flushed with heat the whole time, and she was one hundred percent certain it was because Jason had reached for her hand and stubbornly wedged his gloved fingers between hers as they shuffled over the uneven cracks in the puddle-flooded sidewalks.
His grip on her hand was strong and warm—even through the glove. Comforting. Grounding. Whenever her mind receded into dark corners, his sure grasp reminded her not to let the dread that took root and sprouted uncontrollably in her brain like a forgotten field full of weeds win.
Sabine followed Jason into the lobby. They tracked in wet partial boot prints on the vinyl flooring, passing by a stairwell entrance decked out in graffiti and a row of aluminum mailboxes along the wall.
She shook water droplets out of her hair and off the jacket as they got into the elevator, and he punched the button for his floor.
Jason kept his gaze forward during the short ride up but she spied the soft upward quirk at the corner of his mouth, wreathed by a boyish dimple.
He gave her hand one last squeeze before he slipped out of her grasp and unlocked the front door to his apartment.
"Hello, safehouse," he announced with a theatrical flare, throwing open the door.
Sabine's brows shot up and a tiny, delighted laugh bubbled out of her. "Dork," she said, fondly, "How many 'safehouses' do you have?"
He shrugged and grinned down at her, unguarded in the moment. "This isn't my only place, but it's the one that's the most…homey."
More peaks into Jason's life and Sabine savored them like the last sweet bites of a dessert.
Images of his other safehouses pocketed around the city flashed through his mind; rows of equipment and supplies neatly organized on shelves, cold blank walls, blackout curtains drawn tight, and a lonely mattress on the floor to pass out on. No comfy couches, cloud-soft blankets, or bookshelves.
Sabine returned the grin with a small and sly one of her own, and joked, "This is where you nested."
Jason made an exasperated huff and rolled his eyes because it didn't matter how much time passed, he was never escaping the bird jokes, was he?
"You hungry?" he asked, head tilted sideways and giving her a dimpled half-smile. "Might take a bit, but I can whip something up."
There was a moment of hesitation as she rubbed a hand over her knuckles.
"I could eat…something," she managed to say, trying to return his smile with a reassuring one of her own. Her empty stomach roiled unpleasantly at the thought of food, tumbling and twisting inside her middle like clothes in a washing machine.
Cups of coffee and tea throughout the day and several pitiful bites of a granola bar from a vending machine on campus didn't count as anything substantial, she knew that. The breakfast skillet drenched in hot sauce that she'd had that morning seemed like a distant memory. Even then, she'd only pecked at it. Maybe eating a third of the plentiful serving of eggs, potatoes, and bacon that had been plopped down in front of her.
Jason shucked off his jacket and hung it on a hook. "Sorry for the mess," he added.
Her restless eyes roamed around, wondering what the heck he was talking about. From the tall and spindly potted cactus that dwarfed her in height next to the entry door to the tidy state of the living room, Jason's place fit the definition of 'spotless'. All the books on the shelves were neatly tucked away. The weapons mounted on the walls glinted dangerously under the ceiling lights. Even the kitchen countertops damn near sparkled.
Then Sabine's wandering eyes finally veered to the dining table. The wooden slab was cluttered with an assortment of his gear. Scattered amongst the tools, she noticed pieces of his body armor, an open laptop, disassembled handguns, bottles of cleaner, dirty and greasy hand towels, knives…
In the middle of it all was the red helmet, white lenses dimmed and lacking their usual otherworldly glow, staring lifelessly at a wall.
Tossed over one of the chairs was his trademark jacket. A few new tears and patches had been sewn into the fabric. In addition to a few questionably dark-colored splotches.
The only pristine object on the table was a book—thick, cloth-bound, and covered in foil stamps. It was pushed to the side, away from everything else.
She could tell he'd spent his day tinkering with his gear, perhaps as a way to deal with the dregs that clung to his mind like pesky cobwebs. She'd seen the table in this state before. Busy hands kept his troubling thoughts at bay, she figured with a sad frown.
A mixture of worry and sympathy twinged in her chest when it struck her that Jason might not have much of a personal life outside of his Red Hood persona. Jason Todd really only existed in the sense that he needed to be able to move around during the day, unnoticed.
It made sense that he'd be somewhat of a homebody when he wasn't patrolling the grimy streets and back alleys of Gotham.
It also must be a lonely existence for him, Sabine concluded, or, at least, a very isolating one. And she wondered, half hoped, if her company eased any of that.
Her melancholy musings were disrupted when Jason directed her to the breakfast bar that jutted out from the wall, separating the kitchen from the living room area.
"Make yourself comfortable," Jason said, peeling off his gloves and tossing them onto the counter. He yanked open the fridge door and scoped out its contents. Slim pickings, but with some imagination and his arsenal of spices he could whip something edible together for them. He looked over his shoulder at her, and followed up with, "How does curry sound?"
"Thai curry?" she voiced hopefully.
Settling on the stool, Sabine remembered, quite viscerally, sitting in that exact spot, that exact stool, earlier that morning. Fueled with sleep-deprived giddiness at the blissful sight of Jason, tired and handsome, scooping globs of cookie dough onto a baking tray and making her tea.
"Yeah? I can do that," he said, smiling warmly at her. "You liked the takeout we got that one time, huh? They're open pretty late, too, maybe next time we're both up late we can skip the diner and head there?"
She smothered a teasing snicker into the heel of her palm. "Forsaking your beloved Waffle House? Who are you and what have you done with Jason?"
He merely shrugged. "It's good to change things up sometimes. And if it's something you want to do, we should do it."
"On the rooftop again, too?"
"My, my, someone's daring…"
"I trust you." Sabine thought it over, remembering the last time Jason egged her up the side of a cathedral and the dizzying view of the city spread out below her feet. A beat passed, and she nervously amended her request with, "But maybe a rooftop with railings next time? And stairs?"
Jason broke into laughter.
Sabine dug out her laptop as Jason plugged in a rice cooker and got the food going, hoping that going over the day's lecture notes and readings would distract her from the dread that coiled in the pit of her stomach.
She watched over the top of her laptop screen as he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows—god, those forearms, Sabine simpered—and started pulling food out of the fridge, setting it on top of the breakfast bar. And then Jason ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it up, and it took her a considerable amount of willpower to not combust on the spot.
Sabine reluctantly pulled her eyes away from him to scrutinize the ingredients he dumped on the counter, stomach churning as she eyed the chicken and vegetables.
Jason watched her from the corner of his eyes, reading the way a hint of conflict contorted her features. Without a word, he grabbed a glass from a cabinet, filled it with cold water from the filter, and slid it across the counter towards her.
The soft thunk of the glass on the countertop drew her attention.
She blinked up at him, a little dazed. Complicated and heavy emotions reflected in her eyes before her gaze fell to the glass.
Her hand twitched towards the glass, wrapping her palm around it. The lacing of condensation was cool on her skin and she took a few slow, purposeful sips.
"Thank you," she murmured, head drooping a bit from feeling a bit too exposed and vulnerable in the moment.
She started to feel a bit better and when she captured his gaze the look in his eyes grew impossibly softer.
"I'd bake you something again," Jason said, turning around to rummage in the pantry for spices and a can of coconut milk, "but I'd feel guilty if all I did was feed you junk."
Sabine laughed a little at that. Then her expression shifted, turning wistful and moody. "It's too bad your cookies can't defeat a demon."
Jason chuckled as moved to the sink to wash the vegetables and then his hands before drying them on a red and white striped hand towel. Vegetables splayed out on the cutting board, he reached across the counter for the knife block.
"Not too many demons would be afraid of a dessert-themed vigilante," he said, keeping his tone light. "Although, I'm sure some of the assholes around here would appreciate it if I pelted them with pies instead of knives and bullets."
He spun the handle of the knife smoothly in his hand, the sharp metal edge catching the light, and moved to slice into the onion. The little flourish was so fluid, she had forgotten that a knife in his hand could be dangerous.
It took her a few seconds to absorb what Jason had said, then she asked, "You bake…pies?"
Across the countertop, one of the most terrifying men in Gotham shot her a grin that oozed devastating confidence, and remarked, "It's one of my specialties."
A red flush stained Sabine's cheeks and she took another gulp of water as she let that…sink in. Little fantasies played out in her mind of Jason in an apron, a light dusting of flour on his face and hands, his strong hands working a rolling pin to flatten out a lump of pie dough.
She doubted criminals knew that the Red Hood, a tank in a leather jacket with guns blazing, had such wholesome hobbies.
Sabine could barely focus on the article in the open tab on her screen as the rhythmic sound of his knife work chop, chop, chopping away echoed off the kitchen walls, slicing the chicken into small chunks, an onion into neat little c-shapes, and bell pepper into relatively thin slices.
It wasn't long until he was dumping the onions into a hot pan on the stovetop. They sizzled when they hit the hot oil, and the scent of cooking chicken, coconut, and spices filled the air as the meal came together.
He sang quietly as the food in the cast iron pan simmered, and she was only half-looking at the text on the screen because she couldn't stop staring at the way he was grinning like he wasn't running on three hours of sleep.
Because the companionship was nice and Jason's place was warm. There was a sense of safety in his company.
She lost track of time as she absent-mindedly scrolled and clicked through pages, barely registering the words in front of her eyes when Jason pushed a bowl full of steaming rice and curry across the counter towards her.
Jason planted himself on the stool next to her, handing her a spoon. "Whatcha reading about?"
"Civil procedure," Sabine said, closing her laptop and elbowing it to the side. She reached up and her hand curled around the offered utensil, fingers almost brushing his.
His dark brows popped up as he dug into his food. "Yeah? Any case in particular?"
The blush on her face intensified an embarrassing amount.
"I, umm," she floundered, not expecting Jason to be familiar with case law (but it would make sense if he was, so she couldn't lie her way out of this) and definitely not wanting to admit that she'd spent the last thirty minutes doing fuck all while her chest overflowed with fizzy, feel-good feelings because there was something terribly attractive, and distracting, about the way Jason knew his way around the kitchen. "It was…kind of dense, so I skimmed it," she murmured, shoving a spoonful of curry into her mouth.
He smirked knowingly at her. "Uh-huh. Right."
The second spoonful of curry sat heavy on her tongue and she couldn't hide her nervous swallow. She refused to meet his gaze for several seconds.
Sabine settled on stirring the spoon around in the bowl, mixing the sauce and rice.
She was desperate to talk about anything other than how she hadn't been reading like a good little grad student.
Chin resting on her closed fist, she asked, "So your grandfather taught you how to cook, right? I can follow a recipe with some trial and error. But I feel like cooking on the fly the way you do is a whole other level of skill."
Jason glowed appreciatively under the praise. "Having a great teacher helps. But it's also practice and experience. Never really got the chance to cook much as a kid until I moved to—well, you know."
Jason, thankfully, didn't make a fuss over the few little bites of dinner she took. Sheer anxiety made her stomach feel full when her bowl was still half full. He seemed outwardly pleased that she put in some effort to eat.
She didn't want to leave, not yet, but she could picture CEO's yowling maw, demanding dinner, in the back of her mind.
They were cleaning up the dishes and boxing leftovers when Sabine felt the tension push and pull between them again. Unsaid words from the coffee shop taunted the tip of their tongues and prickled the backs of their necks. It had been mounting for the past hour, both of them ignoring it in favor of stealing glances at one another and flirting.
A small wave of relief rolled through her when Jason was the one to initiate the unpleasant turn in the conversation.
His eyes slanted towards her. "Before I take you home," he paused for a beat and a conflicted expression flickered across his face, "we need to talk about that."
Just like that, the comfortable mood was snuffed out like a candle.
Sabine tried not to fidget but her eyes glanced down at her feet anyway. Anxiety bubbled up in the pit of her stomach and surged up her throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste. She wished it was acid reflux from the coffee she downed earlier.
All she could do was mutter her sullen agreement, "We do."
They had been avoiding it ever since they arrived at the apartment, even though it hung over them like a dark and heavy cloud, prime to burst.
Her next words were calculated and measured. "I've given it some thought," Sabine said, leaning against the counter across from him. She crossed her arms and rubbed her elbows in a self-soothing manner.
The shadows on Jason's face shifted and his lips thinned. "Yeah?"
She gave him a slight nod. "I told you how I used the location spell to find Constantine? Maybe I can use it to find him. Pinpoint his exact location."
There was a troubled scrunch between Jason's dark brows and a storm of thoughts brewed in his mind.
An uneasy silence dragged on for too long between them.
Sabine crossed the kitchen and picked up her glass of water, tossing back the rest of it and wishing it was something stronger. Constantine's damn influence, she mentally griped as her fingers drummed against the empty cup.
"It was just an idea," she mumbled, setting the glass down next to the sink.
Jason reeled himself in and kept his emotions in check as best he could. "I've been trying to map out the catacombs but they're a goddamn labyrinth—," he said, somewhat numbly, and gestured towards his computer desk with a hand wave, "—but say we find this asshole. Then what?"
She went quiet for a moment.
"I don't know the specifics of it," she eventually admitted, unease ripe in her tone, "but Constantine mentioned a curse. You have to power it with something big, though…" she trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.
"Something big," he echoed sharply. He shelved his arms across his broad chest and
tilted his head. "Like what?"
The intensity of his stare made her swallow.
"A lifetime of memories, love…," Sabine said, unhappy and resigned.
And there it was.
She winced at the immediate way Jason's eyes went wide and then narrowed into furious slits in the span of a second.
Light rain began to patter against the windows and his green eyes blazed with concern, boring into her.
"It's more like a sacrifice, I suppose," she continued, tone soaked in reluctance. She curled into herself, shoulders and arms drawn in tight. She recalled Constantine's grave and heavy-handed pep talks. "A cost, a toll. There's a price for magic."
Jason's forearms tensed under the rolled-up sleeves, veins bulging, and tension traveling up to his stiff shoulders. Horrible ideas of what could happen to her ravaged his mind, each one worse than the last. Sabine lifeless, body gnarled and twisted beyond recognition. Everything that made her her—dimples, freckles, that damn silvery-teal bleached lock of hair, the absurdly adorable and oversized cardigans and sweaters that she liked to hide in—stripped away.
He shoved down the vile and intrusive horror reel that played on repeat in his brain.
He ran a hand down his grave face and kept his gaze low. Miserably, he scoffed, "Shit, sweetheart. You know how bad that sounds, right?"
Jason's eyes flicked back up to her in time to see the muscles in her face twitch.
"And you're okay with that?" he probed, voice colder and harsher than intended when she didn't answer right away. His tired eyes swept over her. Unable to keep his face cool and composed, a scowl twisted his mouth. "Paying a price like that?"
A muffled and distressed sound erupted from the back of her throat. She was unable to stand the helplessness she felt any longer. Something had to change, something had to be done.
Of course, she wasn't okay with it.
But when the time came, would she have a choice in the matter?
The meekness in her eyes gave way to something else and a spark of anger rolled through her, a bonfire catching and burning between her ribs. Her once apprehensive face smoldered with an intense and determined resolve; brows slanted, a pissed-off frown, and usually warm brown eyes narrowed into a glare, in a way he hadn't witnessed before.
Livid, breathing anger morphed into a full body expression and, Sabine, for an incredibly long and furious moment, looked like she was about to set the next person, thing, being—whoever the fuck—dared to try her on fire.
It was terrifying. Danger solidified.
And, even worse, a fucked up part of Jason found it kind of hot. Which was something he felt he needed to examine about himself later, maybe.
She flung her hands up, shooting tiny incandescent embers from her curled fingers, and snapped, "I mean, wasn't the point of my trip so I could learn more? So I could get more involved? This started because of me, I want to be part of how it ends."
Losing her temper like that was a mistake because her control shattered. Plumes of black smoke riddled up and into the air, blanketing the ceiling.
Shrill beeping punctured their eardrums as Jason grabbed a baking tray and fanned it wildly under the smoke alarm and Sabine dashed to throw open the windows.
She buried her face in her hands and tripped over her apology, barely coherent. "Shit—sorry, sorry."
Jason choked on a rumbly laugh like he couldn't help it and came up behind her, slinging his arms around her slim shoulders.
"Sab, it's okay. It's fine. You're fine. We're fine," he said, hushed and comforting. His lips flattened into an apologetic line. "I wasn't trying to push you."
Face turned and stuffed against his collarbone, she made a dire noise. "I could've burned down your apartment, we could have—," she stopped herself when his large palm swept up her spine, shushing her.
"You've been keeping a lot in," Jason said empathetically. "You setting off the smoke alarm is the least of my worries. 'Sides—," he rolled his shoulders back, "—I do it myself once a week when I'm cooking."
Sabine let herself lean back into him until her back was flush with his chest, sinking readily into his space. He was solid and warm. Her heart jumped into her throat at the closeness.
He pulled her tighter into his chest and asked, "For your spell to work…what do you need?"
She contemplated, twisting around in his arms to fully face him. "A map, a lighter—well, uh, maybe not anymore since I am the lighter now—and…something that belongs to him."
His hands drifted down to her waist, snaking under the borrowed jacket, and skimmed along her sides. "How detailed does the map need to be?"
She glanced up at him, trying not to focus on where his hands were because it made her thoughts go blank. "I'm not sure, I can make it work without one but then we'd have to go down there blind and I would have to 'feel' my way around…at least with a map I can pin down the general area."
"The local history section at the library might have something," he said, hands dropping away from her as he reached for his phone in his pocket. He spotted the alarmed hesitancy that splashed across her face. "We're not breaking into the library," he assured her with a smirk, "we'll go when they're open."
Her head lolled forward against his shoulder and she closed her eyes. "Oh, thank god," she breathed out.
Jason's first thought was he had far too much respect for the library staff to vandalize the property and ruin their day like that.
Babs would kill me was his second thought.
"And something that belongs to him?" he asked through a hard swallow.
Sabine chewed on the inside of her cheek, stewing over the new magical knowledge crammed inside her brain. "Madame Xanadu said ownership can be a matter of perspective…if he—Furcifer—feels like he owns me then maybe, I don't know, a lock of my hair? A fingernail? This old band shirt I have with beer stains and over a dozen holes in it that I've been meaning to toss for ages?—anything that burns?"
His green eyes scoured her face, taking in her words. "As long as the intention is there, right?"
She nodded, trying to muster a small smile for him. "Right."
"What about Constantine? Is he…reliable?"
She rocked back on her heels, looked shiftily away, and mumbled, "He knows his stuff."
Jason exhaustedly pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled roughly, not looking too happy, "A ringing endorsement."
She felt the aggrieved sigh that rumbled through his chest and tried to lighten the mood. "Well, nothing beats a romantic walk through the cisterns."
One arm still wrapped around her, his eyes sloped down at her through the fingers that were plastered to his face, laughing lightly. "If you wanna take me out on a date I need to be romanced a little first."
"Romanced?"
"You know, flowers, chocolates, wine…"
Her lips curved up slightly at the cheesey jest. "Best I can do is a tall can from the liquor store across the street from my place and, maybe, a frozen pizza. I'm on a grad student's budget after all."
Jason followed it up with a husky laugh, wanting to chase after her smile. "I'll hold you to that. Consider me wooed."
Before heading out the door, Jason grabbed her backpack and shoved the tupperware full of chocolate chip cookies into its already jam-packed depths, jostling around the textbooks and laptop inside to make space.
Holding a motorcycle helmet, she perked a brow in question.
"For later, when your sweet tooth hits," he winked at her, zipping the bag up, and slinging it over his shoulder. He let out a little 'oof' when he felt its full weight as the strap dug into his shoulder. There was a slight quirk to his lips and mischief glinted in his eyes. "No wonder you're short. S'heavy."
Sabine rolled her eyes at his bad joke. "You know I can set you on fire, right? With my mind."
Jason made an amused noise, love of danger tickled by the notion that—yes, she absolutely could. "Oh, I know, sweetheart."
Jason slowed his bike to a stop at the curb outside Sabine's apartment building.
Her arms wound around his torso and she gave him a reassuring and thankful squeeze.
He allowed himself to sag into her, soaking in the way her chest was flush against his back.
She held him tighter, squeezing again and nuzzling into his shoulder blade, before letting go and sliding off the seat.
He pried off his helmet and followed her up the stoop to the entrance.
Sabine's hand drifted to her pocket, pulling out her set of keys. He could tell she was stalling when she fumbled them, the sound of metal clinking together echoed in the small enclosed space.
The pink hue on her cheekbones from the cold was pretty, he thought.
She looked up at him with those soft brown eyes flecked with gold, and her teeth dragged over her bottom lip in a way that almost entirely unmoored him on the spot.
He almost didn't register her slow movements, the way she breathed in and out, as if bracing herself, until he felt her hand, flushed with warmth, slide up and curl around the back of his neck. Her fingers threaded gently into his hair, fingernails gently scratching his scalp.
Lambent green poured over her vision like the sea, and at the center, keeping her afloat, was Jason.
Jason stopped breathing, stopped thinking. The world seemed to fade around him. Molten heat flared in his chest and simmered in his veins, warming him from his head to his toes. Anticipation turned his gaze heady and soft. His pupils dilated into new moons, swallowing the remaining green sliver of his irises.
Sabine didn't need to guide his face towards hers, he dipped low and close of his own volition. She stretched up on her tiptoes to meet him halfway.
She pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, where the faint taste of black coffee, cigarettes, and spice lingered. She tried not to laugh when she caught a whiff of garlic that clung to his breath.
A satisfied shudder, warm and electric, stormed through his body. His skin tingled, hot under the place where her lips touched.
It was just a taste of what he hungered for, quick and chaste and innocent.
She grinned into the swell of his cheek and felt the scratchiness of his unshaven jaw against her own.
Sabine let herself have a few more precious seconds pressed against him before breaking apart. She pulled back just enough to smile up at him, and the dull, distant ache in Jason's chest eased a little.
She laughed as his nose knocked into hers. "Oh my god—the garlic on your breath."
"Stop," he groaned, curling further into her space until he towered over her. "You're ruining the moment—"
"I think," she began in a sweet tone, ignoring his protests, "you're the best thing I ever found in a dumpster."
Jason snorted. "You go dumpster diving for vigilantes often?"
"No, but I'm lucky the one time I did I found one I like a lot."
With that, his arms curled around her protectively, tight and snug. It was entirely disarming how she was able to burrow into that hole in his chest and fill it with affection and warmth. Pure sunshine punched through his ribs, reaching his resurrected heart.
"You're making it incredibly hard to drop you off and leave, you know that?" he said, tucking his face into her hair and inhaling the smell of her lightly scented floral shampoo.
She snuggled into the closeness, burying herself into his chest. "I'm sorry."
He huffed. "You're not."
Just because she'd staked her claim on his heart didn't mean he couldn't call out her bullshit.
A soft and breathy laugh escaped her, fogging up the air between them. She reached up and draped her arms around his shoulders and neck.
"I'm not," she affirmed smugly, sounding pleased with herself.
Her hands then slid down his front until her palms were braced on his chest. The tiny scar on his upper lip caught the light. The feral urge to curl her fists into the front of his jacket and yank him down until his lips slid over hers—to kiss him properly—sent a frenzy of butterflies crashing through her. Next time, maybe, she thought.
"Going on patrol tonight?" she asked.
Jason's brows pushed together tiredly and he sighed. "Yeah, can't stay out of trouble every night."
An amused puff of air left her mouth. "Jay, you are the trouble," she said. A fretting smile simmered on her face. "Take care of yourself out there."
Her eyes looked at him so fondly it made his chest ache all over again. He carefully combed a lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
The small and tender act made her heart slam against her ribcage.
Jason bent forward and his lips brushed over the side of her temple. It felt right, like he should have done it months ago.
"I'll try, sweetheart," he promised quietly. Something caught in his throat, and a fragment of vulnerability slipped out of him before he could stop it, "I… missed you."
Without missing a beat, she said, "I know." It pulled at her heartstrings at how unexpectedly sweet he could be. "I missed you, too."
Jason waited on the bottom step of the landing until he saw a rich yellow light flick on and pour through her apartment window before he left.
Sabine didn't know what time it was when an unseen force compelled her to sit up straight in bed.
The atmosphere around her was heavy and thick. Her studio apartment was dark, unnaturally so, and her eyes strained to adjust. Shadows swelled and writhed, almost as if the room was breathing.
Just beyond the foot of her bed, a dark mass lounged on a tufted wingback chair that had never been there before.
Ice pumped through her veins as panic lanced its sharp hooks through her.
She saw the eyes first, twin torches burning white hot. They pierced her, commanding her full attention in the near pitch-black gloom.
With each blink, she hoped her eyes were playing tricks on her.
But the figure remained. Still. Cold. Unnerving.
And when the form finally leaned forward into the single and slender beam of light that punched through a blind, revealing a crown of blond curls, almost platinum, a pressed suit, and a wretched smirk that was all gleaming pearly white teeth, she was slammed back against the headboard.
"Hello, Miss Song," the figure greeted, low and darkly seductive. Like this hiss of a snake. Inhuman.
The voice tunneled straight through her, chilling her to the marrow. Goosebumps pebbled her skin. Fear wrapped itself around her throat, constricting it and stealing her voice away. The pressure in the room crushed inwards on all sides.
Her eyes darted around the room, wondering where the hell the fault in her warding lay. She tried to dig deep for her magic, reaching into the well that she could pull from but came up empty. Her fingertips refused to spark with warmth, remaining cold and trembling. The magical buzzing that danced over her skin and thrummed inside her body was frighteningly absent.
Eyes wide and shining with fear, she tried to force her limbs to move but they remained pitifully pinned at her sides.
Cold sweat trickled down her spine.
Bitter bile flooded the back of her mouth, clogging it.
She tried to speak, but the only noise she could make were guttural and harsh sounds.
He settled back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. Ankle resting on his knee revealed shiny and polished Oxford.
Another shadow slithered through the darkness, creeping forward on all fours with a tail straight in the air and alert, yellow eyes.
CEO, she finally recognized the traitorous furball, effortlessly jumped up into the visitor's lap and purred loudly, fondly. Nuzzled his sweet little head into the stranger's large palm.
"I come with a proposition." His eyes flared menacingly and he grinned, a sinister affair that lacked any human warmth on such a severe and sharp face. "I could get rid of your little demon problem. For a price."
Jaw locked up, her pitiful attempts to say something garnered an explosive boom of laughter that rattled the windows from the visitor.
He steepled his thin and pale fingers together, leaning back into the shadows. "Your soul." Melding away, his sinister voice ran in her ears. "Think about it."
She blinked, once, twice, and then he was gone.
Her apartment came back into focus slowly, surroundings slowly lightening up by degrees. Overwhelming darkness lifting, furniture and posters cast in gray and muted colors. Through the gaps in the crooked blinds, pools of neon dappled across the floor and walls.
She fell back on her pillow, balling her fist in her sleep shirt right above her pounding heart. Her whole rib cage throbbed painfully, like an invisible fist had closed around her and squeezed.
Her palms flew up to her eyes and she rubbed away the wetness that coated them.
Sabine closed her eyes shut and focused on grounding herself, all the sensations she could feel and hear. Her bed was soft, and the jersey sheets slightly damp from the sweat that clung to her body. She heard the city sounds, muffled and distant, just beyond the shut windows. The furnace hissed in the corner. The refrigerator hummed softly. She heard footsteps pad by in the hallway.
She didn't know how much time slipped by as she lay there, chest heaving and ice water pumping through her veins as she tried to tether herself back to reality.
A gentle dip on the bed made her eyes snap back open from surprise. She peered down her nose and saw that CEO had jumped up by her legs. He kneaded the tangled mess of blankets before trotting over to lick her hand with his sandpapery tongue.
Sabine sat up slowly, squinting suspiciously at him. "Are you really just a cat?"
She looked at him like she expected an answer. CEO met her wary gaze with his bright eyes and loosed a raspy yawn, all teeth. He lowered his head and tried to nuzzle into her palm.
Sighing, she ran her hand over his soft and smooth coat, giving in to his need for attention.
Sabine's nose twitched, not detecting the distinct smell of sulfur or ichor lingering in the room with her, the usual tell-tale sign of a demonic presence, which she had learned from her time at the House of Mystery.
Instead, alarmingly, notes of smoky wood, amber, and citrus clung to the air. Expensive cologne, perhaps. Not the cheap stuff from drugstores.
She threw off the blankets and swung her legs off the bed, somehow managing to stand on her wobbly legs without toppling over. Her brain was too wired and unsettled to go back to sleep any time soon.
It was only when she was clutching a hot cup of tea to her chest in her still clammy hands to soothe her nerves at five in the morning, that she spotted the dark smudge that marred the hardwood floor.
That…hadn't been there before.
Her stomach plummeted, wrenching open a panicked chasm in her gut that grew and grew.
Inhaling sharply through her nostrils, Sabine crouched down. Cautiously, she brushed a shaking hand over the textured wood.
It felt warm…and terrible.
Her pulse raced as the world melted around her and a vision dragged her in, sliding down her line of sight like the yolk of an egg cracked over her head. A landscape of juddering flames. Tall, dark, and twisted spires. Ground littered with bones. Mangled screams.
Tearing her hand away, she suddenly felt sick. The sloshing mug of herbal tea almost slipped out of her other hand.
Not Furcifer but something else, she concluded.
Someone else.
Watching her.
Circling her soul like a vulture.
In a posh suit and classic, black Oxfords.
A passage she read in the library at the House of Mystery came back to her, how souls were regarded as currency in Hell.
Behind her eyelids, images of the inferno were burned into her mind.
Her breath caught and she shuddered, almost able to feel the fiendishly hot hellfire ghosting over her skin and melting it like wax.
She went over to the closet and rifled through it, pulling out a small teal shag rug. She tossed it over the mark on the floor.
Nope, nope, nope. Not dealing with this right now.
She'd been telling herself that too much lately. Her plate was full. What else was the universe going to throw at her? Wasn't dealing with one demon enough, and now her soul was on the table as a bargaining chip for…
Sabine didn't let herself finish that thought because this was insane.
Sitting cross-legged on the worn couch with CEO curled into a tight ball by her side and the hinkypunk burrowed into the hood of her bulky Gotham U sweater, she realized that Constantine had never given her a business card. Or a phone number. And she very much doubted he had any sort of social media presence.
How the hell was she supposed to contact him about this?
He said he'd come to her but it was just as likely that he'd pass out in a back alley in some seedy corner of the world, piss drunk.
She set her mug down and drifted back to her kitchenette. She ripped open the container of cookies Jason had given her and wolfed down four of the treats, trying to stifle the gnawing hole of dread with something sweeter. They lacked oven fresh warmness but, as she chewed, a spiteful resolution wormed its way forward in her mind: she was absolutely going to live long enough to sample one of Jason's pies. Devil be damned.
A/N: sabine *overwhelmed, eyes closed, and clinging to her last atom of sanity*: I pretend I do not see
anyway, the horrors persist but so do I! (aka back on my bullshit by being overly wordy, writing softie jason todd, and putting sabine through it)! and i'm a big fan of the trope that messing with supernatural and paranormal things "invites" them in :)
Thanks for reading!