Internal struggles! Magic!
Note: Splitting this chapter in half because I'm having trouble wrapping up the second part. So if this feels abrupt/shorter than my usual updates, that's why.
Chapter 30 of What's, Up, Danger?: Regret's Got Quite the Death Grip
Gotham
Jason tried his best not to feel held together purely by a clumsy mishmash of duct tape and safety pins when two days passed without any news from Sabine.
By day three, he sent her a text. It was a simple question, checking in—no pressure for her to respond, though, if she's busy. He didn't want her to think he was clingy. He was a full time vigilante after all, and a part time functioning adult. He could handle himself, suppress his emotions, and put her on the back burner in his mind.
The message remained green on his phone. The tiny red font underneath the message read Not Delivered and the two words simmered inside his skull more than he would've liked.
On day four, the duct tape started to wear down, edges fraying into loose threads. A few of the safety pins that kept the seams together unclasped. His insides began to feel like jello mashed through the holes in a colander.
He kept his phone close by but face down whenever he was home. Even peeking at it would ramp up his anxiety to new heights.
Holding back the slew of negative thoughts that sloshed around in his head was more difficult than he anticipated. He tried to veer his thoughts in any other direction whenever he remembered the night before her departure. The unabashed way she leaned into all of his touches. How she held him close when they slept. How endearingly her lips had brushed against his shoulder to stop his protests…
So, Jason fought to distract himself: browsing bookstores, tidying and re-tidying his home, and cleaning and maintaining his gear for his nightly patrols when he had downtime during the day. Anything to tear his brain away from the torture of waiting, waiting, waiting.
Then he hit five whole-fucking-days without so much as a peep from Sabine. No text or voicemail. Hell, Jason would settle for a cat picture at this point. (Did Constantine have cats? he wondered. He felt like no force on earth could stop Sabine from spilling the beans if he did.)
And even more perplexing, the few times he could stomach looking at the phone screen he witnessed the pin drop of her shared location move. And his text to her finally went through, thank god. The pin drop blinked into existence before disappearing minutes later. He received three notifications—
Louisiana.
Nepal.
London.
What the hell was going on?
A pang flooded his reanimated heart and he was just masochistic enough to chase after that particular feeling—the feeling that he missed her. Missed the late-night diner runs, the banter over coffee, and her presence just being close by and within reach.
All of his plans had been shot to hell after his harrowing encounter with…the thing. He didn't know what else to name that monstrosity. The memory still sent goosebumps skittering across his arms in a near-immobilizing wave of dread.
The crude map of the catacombs he spent so much time figuring out was just a pipe dream for now. Roy could probably handle the dangerous excursion into the sewers just to poke around. But Sabine? After the morgue fiasco, he couldn't—wouldn't—drag her along again.
He tried not to let his intrusive thoughts win and Gotham, as bloody and needy as ever, kept him on his toes every night, like every villain made it their New Year's resolution to rip a chunk out of Gotham and crush it in their fist. An explosion took out a bridge, a tunnel collapsed in the subway, a drug deal went array at the docks resulting in two cartels at each other's throats, uncaring if ordinary citizens got caught in the violent fray…
And the worst of it was that it wasn't even anything unusual for the city, but it dug under his skin more than usual. Gotham City couldn't just let him soak in his inner turmoil for more than a few minutes without something sinister vying for his undivided attention.
It was an ugly couple of days before Jason managed to snag a moment to catch his breath, just himself and the early hint of sunrise over the horizon. Cell phone forgotten on his nightstand. No more sirens, or the repetitive staccato of gunfire, or helicopters whirring overhead, or screaming in the distance—the intravenous sounds that most residents would consider essential pieces of Gotham's fucked up heartbeat.
Red helmet off, he lazily balanced it on top of his thigh. He perched on the rooftop of a high rise and admired the multi-colored city lights. Soon the festive baubles would be taken down, hidden away in storage until the next holiday season rolled around. Pearly gray fog rolled in over the harbor. Pink and gold tones of sunrise dashed across the sky. He had to admit to himself, it was one hell of a view. The way Gotham could be so goddamn ugly one moment and then beautiful the next was contradictory as fuck.
He laid back on the roof, his tired and aching limbs splayed out like a starfish. A thin layer of grime, a combination of dust, gunpowder, and dried blood, covered his jacket and gloves. Red domino mask still on, the winter frost on the wind stung the apples of his cheeks. He jutted his chin up and his eyes searched skywards to the handful of burning stars that were visible through the dull haze of pollution.
To his right, Jason heard the metal scrap of the grapple line and a whoosh. Dick flipped into view, a blur of black and turquoise. Landing on his feet, he brandished an offering in the form of a grease-stained paper bag.
He sat down on the roof an arm's width away from Jason, a respectful distance and testing to see if his presence would be tolerated. His hand dove into the bag and pulled out two foiled morsels almost as thick as his forearm.
Peering at Jason through the white slits in his mask, Dick asked, "Breakfast burrito?"
Jason stared back at him, unblinking and quiet, for ten whole seconds. He wasn't sure at what point his previous annoyances with Dick had chipped away into something more…palatable. Tolerable, even. Free food helped, sure, but maybe it was too much time with Babs, or maybe it was the haunting thought that any of them could die in this line of work at any moment so you curled your fingers tightly around whatever you could hold on to.
Jason purposely made himself scarce for years, not out of shame or regret, but because it seemed easier that way. Because he was dangerous. He'd proven that when he first returned to Gotham, with his rough treatment of Tim, with the way he precariously toed the line with Bruce's rules.
Because the thought that anyone somehow liked him seemed worse than the thought that they hated him.
But here was Dick, who took every "Best Big Brother" gag gift from the others in an obnoxiously giddy stride, offering him a goddam burrito because he didn't want Jason to grapple home only to pass out from exhaustion on an empty stomach. He held it out to him like an olive branch for Jason to take.
"Yeah, sure," Jason said, languidly reeling upright and masking his enthusiasm for the prospect of potatoes, eggs, and bacon wrapped up in a still-warm flour tortilla. Even the smell that permeated the foil was oh-so tempting.
Dick hummed, elated, and his perfect teeth flashed through his grin. He dropped the burrito into Jason's gloved hand.
Jason didn't say thank you as they unwrapped and wolfed down their burritos in shared silence. That was a little too much gratitude too soon. But he fought off the urge to push Dick off the ledge—as a joke—which was a remarkable improvement in their dynamic as they watched the sunrise together.
House of Mystery
Sabine, somehow, bumbled into a greenhouse while en route to her bedroom after another long day of rigorous reading and "hands-on training", as Constantine continued to dub it.
The midnight garden stroll was a welcome surprise amidst all the doom and gloom. How could she find joy in anything when her days seemed numbered?
Chipped brown and red bricks interspersed with wildly growing grass and weeds made a winding path through the many rows of lively plants and assortments of blossoming flowers.
An earthy smell mingled with notes of citrus as she passed several potted trees and ducked under an overgrown trellis. Moonbeams passed through the windowed walls and thick leafage, illuminating the winding path in pools of ghostly silver.
Nestled away in the back of her mind was an idealized plan of how her winter break should have unfolded: brunching with her classmates to gossip and chat about applying for internships (oh god, she needed to get on that when she went home), and curling up in her bed with a book, CEO snuggled in by her side. Maybe she'd pop by the Wayne Botanical Garden or take a day trip to one of the museums when she started feeling too cooped up inside.
But the indifferent and uncaring universe loudly replied fuck that. Her wishes and desires didn't matter.
She spent her time hunched over spellbooks in a library like some knowledge-starved goblin while Constantine tossed imp after imp at her until she could freeze the lesser demons into twisted ice sculptures with a jutting point of her finger.
Her wounds were healing. The slash through her eyebrow was no longer puffy and angry, scabbing over into a muted red scar. Her split lip was still tender to the touch and stung. She tasted the metallic tang of blood whenever her tongue dashed across her bottom lip.
And every time she started to feel a tad confident in her abilities, Constantine was there to humble her by adding some fresh twist to her studies. Whether it be throwing three imps at her at once, or releasing the barrier that contained the skirmish so she was being chased through the winding hallways of the house by a Pomeranian-sized hellhound with saliva dripping from its jowls. After the beast nearly nipped the heel of her boot, she'd had enough. She whirled around and unleashed a tendril of lightning that fried the creature into instant barbecue. The smell that filled the House afterward was…yuck.
She walked down a narrow passage draped with undulating vines, which was a bit creepy, and tried to fend off her hundredth-fucking-meltdown in who-knew-how-many-days, when she found herself drifting back inside.
Sabine sighed and peeked mournfully over her shoulder. The brief respite was over too soon. The house had already shifted, the doorway to the greenhouse vanishing. In its place, a long and foreboding hallway decorated with flickering sconces stretched on and on.
The house's very nature was a confounding puzzle that she couldn't satisfactorily piece together. Supportive and nurturing at the best of times, whimsical and strange at its so-so times, and…just a lot to take in at other times.
Whenever she showered or bathed, she'd find her clothes clean and folded on the bed, free of the day's wrinkles and smelling faintly of lavender. Whenever she was hungry, anything from a single sweltering meat pie to a small feast would materialize before her. Whenever she went to sleep—properly, in a bed and not crashing in a library nook—she'd find soft worn pajamas for her to change into. Even her suitcase and belongings from the hotel just appeared in her room one morning.
And then there was Constantine, who bounced back and forth between being helpful and downright devilish when he wasn't in a self-inflicted drunken stupor or mysteriously nowhere to be found for hours at a time.
Another night dragged into morning during her stay and Sabine settled on the porch after her simple breakfast of tea and toast, unable to calm the dark recesses of her mind or stomach anything else. She sat cross-legged. Her back leaned against the house's frame for support as the London sky wept with rain.
The House of Mystery had wedged itself between a pretty row of brick townhouses along the street, invisible to any onlookers. Pedestrians with umbrellas and traffic passed by in hazy blurs underneath the downpour.
She flicked her middle and index fingers over her thumb as she mentally conjured the image of a match striking. Constantine made it look so effortless whenever he summoned the hand-held inferno to light his cigarettes, and she couldn't help but wonder if she could repeat the trick.
She pictured the heat, the hint of smoke, and the glowing hues of the dancing flame. A thin ribbon of vapor curled upwards into the air from the friction of her fingers, but the fire remained unsparked.
The sudden chime and vibration of her phone in her pocket sent her mind skittering, tearing her away from the spellcasting endeavor. She hadn't checked it in days. She often forgot that she even carried it around with her. She'd resigned herself to no contact with the outside world during her time at the House of Mystery. With the house's penchant for shifting locations without warning, there was the faint worry that if she even stepped off the porch she'd be left behind. But to think that it was possible to get reception on the porch of all places?
Sabine turned her phone over in her hand and skimmed the new notification—a text from Paloma inviting her out to Korean Barbeque the next day. A hint of wetness rimmed her eyes at the unintended and bleak reminder of how her winter break should have gone.
And there, under Paloma's text, she eyed another notification that snuck its way through. From Jason, sent three days ago:
| You doing okay?
She reread the question over and over again until her screen dimmed. Guilt coiled in her stomach as she wiped at her eyes. Just reading his name on the screen was enough to whip the butterflies inside her into a flurry.
She lost count of how many times she'd deleted and rewrote her mangled response to him, testing the weight of different words and phrases. No message she typed out sounded apologetic enough for failing to keep in touch as she reassured him she would.
Out of frantic indecision, she sent back one word—yes— and watched repentantly as the message box eventually turned blue on the screen. Then she nearly threw her phone into the busy street because Jason deserved a better response than that.
Her phone buzzed again less than a minute later, snapping her mind out of the way it swirled around the drain.
Jason's reply was in the form of a popular word-guessing game with a patterned grid of black, yellow, and green squares indicating it only took him three tries to get the right answer.
The intense thump of her pulse dissipated and anxiety was replaced with fondness because from that reply alone she knew he wasn't holding it against her.
A competitive niggle roused in her. Her forehead creased, resolved to not be outdone, and fully absorbed in tapping away at the word puzzle on her phone screen.
It took her three guesses, too, and she sent her results back to him.
She only just began to entertain the idea of calling him when Orchid descended through the solid overhang that sheltered the porch.
"You're smiling," the purple phantom observed as she landed beside Sabine.
Frazzled by the sudden intrusion, Sabine stashed her phone away in her pocket and avoided her prodding gaze. She tried to smother the tooth-achingly sweet grin that tugged at her lips into the sleeve of her cardigan.
Orchid continued to keenly eye the young woman. "You miss him."
Around Orchid, Sabine always felt so transparent, like a window. There was no point in hiding anything or having secrets.
Sabine swiveled her head to meet her violet gaze. Sadly, she admitted, "Yeah, I do." Feeling bare and exposed from her honesty, her eyes dashed back to the rain.
Orchid followed Sabine's line of sight, joining her in watching the torrents of water that drenched city streets. "Why not teleport like the last time?"
Sabine shifted, slightly agitated by the tumultuous memory of unintentionally invading Jason's space the question brought back up. "I can't do it when I want to." A split second passed before she tacked on, "—yet. Unless you have a pair of ruby slippers hidden away somewhere that I could borrow."
Orchid's face pinched in puzzlement. "There are many enchanted objects in the house, but none are like the shoes you described."
Sabine exhaled a dreamy puff of air and stretched her legs out in front of her. "It's probably for the best."
She imagined a glittering pair of ruby slippers on her feet as she clicked the toes of her leather boots together. Briefly, she daydreamed about how convenient it would be to flit anywhere she wanted in the world and how much she'd save on airfare.
Pushing the fantasies and the sound of thousands of raindrops smacking against the pavements aside, she refocused back on her right hand. Again, she tried to summon the tiny flame. She visualized warmth, the twang of smoke, and the drag of the match against her thumb.
With a crackle, the tiny fire burst to life over her fingers. Sabine nearly jumped out of her skin, alarmed by the sudden and steady flame she conjured. Its warmth skated over her skin, not burning her.
Fascinated, she rolled the flame over her knuckles and passed it to her other hand. She twisted back towards Orchid, beaming with delight at her modest demonstration of control.
In return, a small and encouraging smile spread across Orchid's face.
Spirit brightened from the successful attempt, Sabine went in search of the greenhouse again when she spotted something unusual. At the end of one of the shadowy hallways, a ball of light bounced. Soft with blurred edges, it shimmered like a tempting beacon in the dimly lit area.
Swaddled in shadows, its tiny glowing white eyes peered up at her as she approached it. Intrigue highlighted her features when she realized it was a blue wisp of some sort—alive and full of energy. The pockets-sized being hopped to its unique rhythm, all around the floor, walls, and ceiling like a mischievous night light.
The stomp of footsteps, heavy and fast-approaching, rounded the corner. Constantine appeared with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, blond hair spikier than usual, overgrown beard scruff on his face, and his usual attire of red tie and trench coat weirdly absent.
"Was looking for you—" he began, rolling up the sleeves of his white button-up to his forearm, then abruptly halted when his eyes snapped towards the lively wisp. He unleashed a groan and smacked his forehead. Obviously, not thrilled by their mystical guest. "'Thought I told Orchid not to let the blasted thing in."
Sabine's eyes followed the wisp's zigzagging movements with amusement as he tried to shoo it down the hallway.
"What is it?" she asked, less than a step behind him.
A look of irritation amassed on his face. He tried to punt the wisp but whiffed, only hitting air with his foot.
"A hinkypunk," he sniped as the wisp bounced in taunting circles around his feet, "annoying as hell."
"I think it's cute," she said, sentiment not helping the unfolding situation. She bent over with her hands on her knees to get a better look at it.
Constantine didn't bother to contain his frustration when he uttered mockingly, "Cute, she says…"
She crouched low on the floor, hand outstretched towards it. The wisp evaded another heel-stomp from Constantine and appreciatively bobbed up the length of her arm. It settled on her shoulder nicely and emanated a soothing vibration, tickling the peach fuzz on her cheek.
He made a displeased noise at the sight and folded his arms over his chest. "Not gonna think it's so cute when it leads you off a cliff or into a bog. They're troublemakers, lure unsuspecting travelers to their demise."
"So you do worry about me," Sabine teased in a light tone, already running through a list of names for her new companion.
He ground his teeth and sent her an annoyed look in her direction. With a flippant hand wave, he said, "Don't flatter yourself. If something happened to you under my watch, your bat brat would snitch on me and I don't need Batsy poking around in my business."
She wrinkled her nose at the continued use of the nickname and the implication that Jason was, somehow, hers, but didn't dispute it. Still, underneath his cynical exterior, she knew he was only warning her because he gave a damn. But it was hard for her to believe that such a small being was capable of such mayhem.
She tried to reason with him, but her tone lacked concern, "Well, if Orchid doesn't have a problem with it, then is it really that dangerous?"
Constantine rolled his eyes and continued to scowl, displeased. Eventually, he relented, "Fine, you sort it out then. Wanted to give you something to do so you stop moping around. And Orchid—," his voice boomed off the walls as he pointed his index finger upwards with a sense of authority, "—no helping her."
The house groaned and rumbled in response as if a powerful blast of wind had rocked its foundations.
With one last calculated look and incomprehensible mumble tossed in her direction, he prowled back off into the shadows of the house.
Sabine watched as the distance between them grew until she could no longer see him, then turned her attention to the wisp. Affectionately, she ran a finger back and forth over the wisp's little head, scritching it.
"You don't seem so bad," she breathed with a sigh. Bothered by Constantine's observation, her eyes landed on the green carpet dotted with floral patterns underneath her feet. "And I wasn't moping…"
The wisp hummed pleasantly and snuggled deeper into the cable knit of her cardigan, curling up in its makeshift bed before dozing off.
A/N: what do you mean *I* have to actually write if I want my fic to update? Why isn't it enough to simply daydream about updating it?
Hoping to have chapter 31 (or chapter 30.5) up in the next week or two! I'm stuck on some of the scenes but it's *mostly* done, so wish me luck!
Anyway, happy 30th chapter update to this silly lil' fic (even though it's not quite the update I wanted). And thanks for reading! :)