Jason cooks (and continues to have feelings) and Sabine's time at the House of Mystery wraps up.
A/N: throwing this up mostly unedited ;)
Chapter 33 of What's Up, Danger?: Shadows Settle on the Place That You Left
Gotham
Shambling through the automatic sliding glass doors like the revenant he was, a floral explosion of yellow caught Jason's eye.
He stood there, barely awake and dressed in his baggiest sweater and steel-toed boots, at the entrance of the small grocery store just down the block from his place. Besides the tiny pots of fresh rosemary, thyme, and mint on a tiered shelf, he couldn't stop himself from staring, completely bewitched, at the bouquet of sunflowers.
Sunflowers, in Gotham, in the dead middle of winter. The petals straining to call towards what little bit of sunlight that poked through the gray clouds primed to burst with snow.
At the sight of the brilliant yellow petals, Jason, who was used to gruesome and nasty thoughts like they were his oldest friends, felt something warm unfold across his breastbone, similar to the first warm ray of sunlight kissing his skin after he'd crawled and thrashed his way out of the Pit.
He'd never grown so accustomed to his thudding heartbeat than he had in the past few weeks. There was no escape from the color yellow and, by association, Sabine.
Sabine, who had, somehow, carved out a little garden for herself in his heart in the space of a few months that they'd known each other.
An enchanting thought popped up in his mind, the idea of giving her flowers when she returned. Amidea that he was fairly certain crossed their mutually agreed-upon platonic boundary.
The entire situation between them unleashed a wicked tempest of feelings, it tugged him this way and that way. He felt shitty and awful and selfish for wanting more. For thinking his bloody and scarred hands deserved soft touches.
The sheer effort it took to maintain a calculated distance…and even then, gravity kept pulling them into each other's orbits like their crash course was inevitable.
Walks. Texts. Phone calls. Coffee. Things that were so ordinary yet had him in a fucking chokehold where it concerned her.
Talking. Flirting. Unraveling bits of his past. He was treading on shaky ground, allowing her to get closer, closer…
It terrified him. Terrified him even more that there was a part of him that wanted to tell her to hell with it, let's see if we can make this work. All those nights in the helmet, taking brutal hit after hit, maybe he did have brain damage.
But he knew what he wanted—Sabine curled into his chest, both of them nestled safely in a bundle of cozy and fluffy blankets, sharing a homey intimacy that made everything outside melt away. Sabine in his soft worn shirts, garments so large they hit her thighs and swallowed her body. Quiet laughter. Two cups of tea on his nightstand.
He almost laughed at himself because the romanticized daydream was ridiculous. The Red Hood, former assassin and crime lord, the Red Hood, whose whole damn job was violence, wanted to be held. Wanted comfort so much, he was starved for it.
So many partners had told Jason that they didn't know whether they wanted to kill him or kiss him, both joking and serious. Flirtatious words he used to find dangerously irresistible. Words that used to pour gasoline into his veins and set him on fire but, once the adrenaline faded, led to crappy pangs of heartache.
Was it so greedy of him to want something gentle after all this time?
The sunflowers, he decided right then and there, he'd keep for himself. It was harmless to buy them if he wanted them. So he did. Just something to brighten up his living space.
Jason didn't have a vase because he wasn't someone others gave flowers to. The only flowers he'd ever received were laid out on his grave by the few who remembered and mourned him.
He picked out a vase—a tall glass cylinder that he tucked into the grocery basket—and set on top the sunflowers wrapped in crinkly cellophane.
Back home and in his kitchen, counters, and cabinets brightly white and silver, the inverse of all the dark surfaces in the manor, he unpacked his purchases.
He hadn't the foggiest idea how to keep flowers. He knew how to make explosives and noxious gasses from everyday household chemicals you'd find under your sink by the time he was thirteen, but had no clue how to keep plants alive. He'd seen Alfred harvest the roses from the bushes around Wayne Manor but hadn't paid attention.
He clipped some of the tiny leaves off the stems and poured water into the vase. How hard could it be?
Jason pushed his white streak and dark curls out of his eyes and turned away from the effervescent spot of yellow he'd added to his kitchen.
What the hell was he playing at? Bringing home a physical reminder of…
He tried not to think about her.
His phone chimed later in the afternoon, signaling that one of his alarms had been tripped. He was slicing into an onion with a chef's knife when the small rectangular screen showed video surveillance of the not-so-little-anymore demon spawn outside his window, expertly picking the locks.
Jason wasn't bothered enough to stop what he was doing and simply groaned.
Damian's lanky silhouette slinked in just as Jason dumped the diced onions into a sizzling pan on the stovetop. It was an unusual sighting, Damian out of uniform; whether it was the black, red, and yellow of Robin, or Gotham Academy's matching slacks and blazer. His hoodie, jeans, and sneaker combo probably cost more than the average rent for a two-bedroom apartment in Gotham.
The teenager quirked a dark brow at the unusual sight of the bouquet's placement on the kitchen counter. The vivid patch of sunshine yellow burst out against the assortment of spices, canned beans, vegetables, and broth for Jason's pre-patrol cooking venture. Though, he had sense enough not to comment on it as he passed by it.
Damian purposefully strode across the room and shoved his hand into his bulging hoodie pocket. From the depths, he pulled out the worn copy of The Count of Monte Cristo he'd borrowed and, with care, slotted it back into the small gap between volumes on Jason's bookshelf.
Facing the tightly stuffed shelf, full of literary classics and several rare first editions, his sharp eyes roamed over the book spines and he clicked his tongue. Without preamble, he asked, "Are you coming to the art show?"
Jason sighed, deep and weary, and made no comment on the fact that Babs had already mentioned it to him. Back to Damian, he focused on his task and crushed garlic cloves on the cutting board.
"You want me to?"
Damian made a disgruntled sound, disliking how the question was turned back at him.
"Richard mentioned he wanted to invite Harper," he said as if to egg Jason on.
Jason snorted, only half paying attention as he ripped into a package of ground turkey.
Irritation seeped into Damian's features at the non-answer, eyebrows scrunched down and jaw set tight. He, somewhat terrifyingly, resembled the photos of a younger Bruce that Alfred still kept up in frames in various spots in the manor, scowling like the whole world was set on his broad shoulders.
"You went to Brown and Cain's housewarming," Damian pointed out, tone clipped.
Jason's movements stuttered as the underlying meaning of Damian's words finally penetrated his thick, distracted brain—jealousy. He considered the invitation with a good-natured shrug.
"I'll think about it," Jason said as he transferred the diced bits of garlic from the cutting board to the pan and stirred the ingredients with a spatula.
Damian stalked over to the counter and planted himself on a stool like the immovable mountain he was growing up to be. Still too lean to be in the same weight class as Jason and B, but he'd get there in a few more years when he bulked up. He glared disdainfully at the meat browning in the pan over his steepled fingers.
Blowing out a resigned huff, Jason grabbed another pan from the pot rack mounted on the wall, set it on a second burner, and drizzled oil over it.
Damian watched Jason pull open the fridge door and grab another onion. Eyes pinned to Jason and chin jutting forward, he queried, "What are you doing?"
Jason then fetched a large carrot and red bell pepper from the depths of the crisper drawer, closing the fridge door with a hip check.
"Making you a veggie one," he explained curtly, splaying the vegetables out on the cutting board and enormous knife back in his hand, "since you're staying."
Better to feed the spawn than let him brood and judge silently, he figured.
Damian's murderous scowl crumbled, fractionally, because heaven forbid he crack a real smile. He took out his phone and set it between them on the marble counter, settling into place now that he knew he wasn't going to be chased away.
"Do you remember the time Pennyworth went on vacation and everyone showed up outside your window with bags of groceries?" Damian piped up, trying, and failing, to sound not smug that he hadn't stooped so low and desperate to act like that.
Jason let out a bark of laughter that bounced off the kitchen walls at the memory of a bullet, purposefully aimed a little high, whizzing just over Dickie's frazzled head as he dove out of the way. At least the neighbors could thank him for keeping rent in the area down, he thought as he divided the cans of tomato paste and kidney beans between two simmering pans.
"I'm certain Drake lives on black coffee and instant noodles whenever Dowd isn't around to cook for him," Damian went on coolly, "if he remembers to eat anything at all."
"Dowd?" Jason said, laughter gone from his voice because he was out of the loop.
Damian's eyes didn't look up from his phone screen. "Drake's partner."
Jason hummed flatly, he hadn't given much thought to Tim's personal life. A forced grin split his face. "Trying to fill me in on all the family gossip that I've missed out on, huh?"
"It's important to know," Damian said, tone stern and leaning over the counter, "if you plan on coming to more family events."
Something about those words struck Jason like a phantom fist straight to the gut. His core and chest clenched but he maintained a stony expression as he dumped the kidney beans from the open can into a colander in the sink and then doused them with cold water.
Making appearances and a family that wanted him around—the thought sank inside him like a stone thrown into a vast ocean. Sinking fast into dark, uncharted depths.
Letting the chili simmer, Jason busied himself with fetching bowls and utensils for the both of them before turning his attention to readying his gear for the night.
Damian tapped away at his phone, another unusual sighting, as he waited for dinner. For all his rigid posturing, Damian seemed disturbingly settled into his civilian life in Gotham. A huge shift from living in the mountains with the League and sleeping every night with a dagger under his pillow.
The early evening meal ended with a once-in-a-blue-moon compliment from Damian, deeming the chili 'satisfactory'.
High praise, indeed.
House of Mystery
The carpeting in the library had been magicked away, revealing the old wooden floorboards that were full of whorls and a rainbow of browns.
True to his word, as soon as Sabine joined him in the library Constantine pushed a familiar and heavy book into her hands, The Practice and Theory of Magikal Wards. He'd bent down the top corners of a handful of pages throughout the instructional tome that he wanted her to focus on.
"The most practical and useful ones," he said when he saw her befuddled face. "But if you want to try and cram that whole book in your noggin in one day then be my guest."
Sabine nearly fumbled her coffee when he thrust the book upon her. She set it down on the desk and it nearly sloshed over the lip of the mug, needing both hands to hold the book.
Taking a minute to flip through the pages, she silently agreed with Constantine, not seeing the point in learning subspace or psychic wards at this immediate juncture. Although a personal subspace sounded interesting…
Constantine handed her a fat piece of chalk. "Now get to it."
The afternoon melted away into an occult cram session of practice, practice, practice.
Book open and stabilized in her palm, Sabine drew the sigils over and over again on the floor with chalk. She'd already familiarized herself with some of the glyphs and their uses from the pictures she'd taken on her phone. But she very quickly learned that it was one thing to practice with her index finger, drawing invisible lines in the air as she lay in bed, and another beast entirely to use physical media.
Constantine combed over her work and made suggestions for improvement without holding back an inch of criticism and mildly berated her whenever she smudged the lines with her boots. Shaky lines won't do, the curve of the circle there isn't right, this triangle needs to have equal angles…
Precision not only mattered but was the deciding factor between protection or vulnerability, life and death.
"One wrong line and you'll be a demon's snack, gutted, or worse," he grew fond of saying as the hours blurred by.
Sabine's throat bobbed, she didn't want to know what was worse than being eaten alive or disemboweled.
It wasn't long until he snatched the book away and had her draw the handful of wards he wanted her to focus on from memory. Whenever she closed her eyes, just to pause or even to blink, she saw hundreds of dizzying and intersecting blocky paragraphs of text and white lines that blurred beyond legibility.
Orchid observed, ready to jump in as a mediator if tempers flared too hot. Perched on the edge of a low bookshelf, her translucent purple wings fluttered,
Despite their night out at the bar and makeshift comradery, there was always an undercurrent of tension between them, Sabine and Constantine, in every exchanged glance, in every conversation.
Sabine inwardly speculated if this was similar to how Jason—the Red Hood—felt about Batman. She had nothing else to compare her strange bond with Constantine to. Would it be worth asking or was that also too personal?
A thunderous clap shook her out of her thoughts.
"Focus," Constantine all but hollered at her.
Guiltily, her eyes dropped down to the floor and she realized she'd been mindlessly drawing and redrawing over the same line for who knew for how long.
She made a tiny noise of embarrassment before she murmured a hasty apology. Gathering herself, she rolled back the sleeves of her sweater and buckled down again.
By the time Constantine was satisfied with her progress, they took a short break. A mercy, on his part.
Sabine's cup of coffee had turned cold. She felt it as soon as her hand, layered with chalk dust, curled around the mug. She wiggled her fingers against the ceramic. Magic hummed in her veins and a soft red glow swirled around her hand—heat. The surface temperature transference was slow, but the drink gradually warmed up. Steam rose from the cup in ribbons. She enjoyed its rich and bitter flavor once the temperature was pleasant enough to sip again.
Constantine looked over at her, catching her little pleased expression face almost hidden by the tipped rim of the cup.
He snorted. "I'm not teaching you magic so you can become a human mug warmer."
She rolled her eyes and smiled, just a little. As if he had never used magic to do mundane tasks just for the hell of it, like lighting up his cigarettes.
Simple things, small bits of magic, seemed to come easier and easier and she wondered why she ever resisted it at all.
But the memories of her childhood and her mother lurched forward like a monster in hiding, all sharp fangs and claws, and her playful grin evaporated.
Sabine set her coffee down and tried to ignore the awful feelings that threatened to force their way to the surface. Tried not to think of the mother-daughter relationship magic stole away from her.
Practice moved even more quickly after that, and Sabine was certain it was evening somewhere. The low, reverberating clang of a distant grandfather clock every hour was the only sign that time had passed.
The star-flecked curtain of twilight outside the library windows remained unchanged. Whenever the House wasn't shifting locations, it seemed content to languish in a void seemingly outside of time and space.
Constantine's belief in hands-on experience prevailed again and he soon had her trapping imps inside and outside her wards. At first, giving her the time to draw and adjust her linework before unleashing the pesky minor demon, and then leaving her to fend for herself.
The endeavor wrecked a corner of the library. Lashing out, an imp toppled shelves and ripped apart books in a wrathful flurry while trying to get to Sabine.
The imp gnawed on the corner of a book out of pent-up frustration after Sabine successfully protected herself with a barrier ward just in the nick of time or else it might've been her arm in its greedy maw.
It ripped out pages and bits of the hardcover before spitting chewed-up wads onto the floor. Its pointy teeth chomped through another hardcover before Constantine sent it away, leaving the glistening saliva-covered book to fall onto the floor with a thump.
Taking in the state of the library, Orchid sent Constantine a withering glare that might set an ordinary person on fire, and turn them into a pile of ash. Loosening a huff of disapproval, she busied herself with magically mending the books and shelves the imp had trashed.
Constantine shoved his hands in his pockets, expression bordering on amused more than apologetic.
He wrapped up the lesson with, "Blood really is best, but not practical for practice for…obvious reasons." His mouth twisted and he wryly said, "But blood wards aren't exactly desirable decor. You can hide them under carpets or on walls under frames. Even put them on doors. Effects last longer too because of the sacrifice required."
Leaning against the desk, Sabine remained quiet and soaked in his advice. Warding her home made perfect sense but with blood? She certainly wouldn't be getting her deposit back if her landlord discovered the hidden occult symbols scrawled over the wooden surfaces. And It would be a biohazard nightmare to deep clean. Might as well burn the whole building down.
He lectured on and on, but his voice faded to background noise as her eyes glazed over.
Her thoughts zipped to the blade he'd given her over breakfast like it was the most normal gift in the world. Part of the handle poked out of the back pocket of her jeans where she'd stashed it for the time being. He said it was for emergencies, but was that just to ease her into the idea that she'd eventually have to cut—
Constantine didn't give her much time to mull over the darker implications of the knife and blood when he made a loud noise that yanked her out of her daze.
"So last night here, eh," he spoke up, voice tinged with sentiment. Which was odd.
Returning to reality, Sabine jerked her chin towards him and was unsure of what he was planning to say.
He outstretched a hand and an iron key blinked into existence in his pale, calloused palm. The metal sheen was dull and barely visible under rust. "Might as well make a thing of it then," he said, bemusedly. "Your inheritance."
"Inheritance?" she mouthed audibly, confusion apparent on her face. Her head lolled and she regarded the key with a keen look but didn't take it from him just yet. "What's it unlock?"
Instead of giving her a proper answer, Constantine simply smirked and conjured another incandescent portal. The orange glow cleaved out a sparking ring in the middle of the dim library they'd been working in for hours.
She'd tried to commit the words and hand gestures of the spell to memory, but he did it so quickly and seamlessly that it was hard to follow. Some things were still frustratingly out of her grasp. She had to tell himself that it was okay that she couldn't do everything all at once. The more complicated spells would come in time.
The candles in the cobweb-encrusted chandeliers that hung from the ceiling guttered from a cold blast of air from the other side of the portal. The invading chill sent a shudder down her spine.
Sabine stared through the burning rings, taking in the visible glimpse of scenery; gnarled tree trunks, bark silvery from snow and branches barren, were softly lit up by golden hour at their destination.
With one foot and half a shoulder already leaning through the portal, Constantine beckoned her to follow him.
Atlanta, Georgia—The Millhouse
The last brilliant remnants of daylight punched through the thick canopy of trees that shivered in the wind, dappling the worn mosaic of stonework that made the millhouse.
Sabine's ears picked up the sound of rushing water and she soon spotted the large wooden water wheel turning behind the building.
"Winters left to Liv, who left it to me," Constantine explained, head swiveling to Sabine. "Couldn't bring myself to use it and doesn't feel right to keep it."
A pale hand emerged from his coat sleeve and he held out the key for her to take again.
Sabine's gaze raked over his face, searching to see if this was some kind of jest, before settling on the aged trinket. An entire house in the dark and lovely frost-bitten woods for her? She was well on her way to becoming a witch from a fairy tale, it seemed.
As soon as her hand curled around the key, the rust fell to the ground like bits of red snow, dissolving into the air before they even touched the ground. Shine returned to the metal as if it were freshly forged and it surged with warmth against her skin. Its magic pulsed, making a direct line to her ribcage, and mimicked her heartbeat back to her.
"See?" Constantine summoned a rare, genuine smile. "It's yours."
Clutching the head of the key between fingers, her eyes traced over the jagged teeth and notches that ran along the long shaft.
He urged her towards the old structure with a hand wave. "After you."
She stepped forward, dead leaves and frost crunching under her boots. She made her way up the short, uneven stone steps to the imposing oak door. The key slotted perfectly inside the lock. A twist of the key, a metallic click, a soft push, and the door creaked as it slid open.
To Sabine's astonishment, the inside looked deliciously cozy and smelled like melted candle wax and dried herbs. Almost like it hadn't been in disuse for years. The hearth sprang to life, its flames crackled and hissed when she passed under the doorway with cryptic symbols deeply carved around the frame—wards she now recognized—and every beautiful stained glass lamp flicked on.
"The house is warded. Winters used it as a hideout and to store his collection of artifacts," Constantine said smoothly, slipping inside behind her and quietly shutting the door. "Might be a good place to lay low if things go tits up in Gotham."
Sabine found herself padding into the center of the room and drinking in her new surroundings, mouth parted slightly in awe. The walls shimmered faintly with energy, almost imperceptible to her eyes; evidence of the amount of barriers put into place to keep this place hidden and safe.
Basking in amber light, the giant study looked so lived in and welcoming. Cluttered yet comfortable, from the bookshelves shoved against the walls and overflowing to the desks and the couches. Woven, patterned rugs covered the floor.
Small pulses of magic radiated off the curious collection of displayed items; globes, maps, statues in all shapes and sizes, paintings, books, masks, helmets, jewelry, staves, and swords. Some objects tugged her to them like the moon pulled the tide.
A hideous black skull with three hollow eye sockets, bottom jaw cleaved off and trapped inside a glass box, hummed with unseen power and whispered softly and invitingly to her, drawing her interest.
"Don't touch unless you know what it is," Constantine breathed rather harshly in warning. He made his way over to a clumsy pile of books stacked on a desk. "There should be a catalog somewhere..."
Sabine's retracted hand fell limply to her side, heeding his words. The creepy skull did seem rather ominous. Best not to fuck around and find out.
She wandered over to the spiral staircase, planted her hand on the iron railing, and tilted her head up to see that it twisted upwards by several stories. Much like the Oblivion Bar and House of Mystery, it was deceptively larger than the outside led one to believe. Magically altered, she presumed, to accommodate the original owner.
Constantine watched as Sabine scoured the ground floor, leaving almost no corner or object in the room uninspected. She took in everything, eyes dazzling with wonder unbeknownst to her. Still, for all his con man ways, he couldn't tell exactly what she was thinking.
It took a long hour for her to say anything at all.
She turned to him and waved a hand, encompassing the room. "This…all of this, is mine?"
He nodded. "As I said, your inheritance." He paused for a beat, then sheepishly added, "If you want it."
The brightness in Sabine's eyes diminished, overshadowed by something darker. "Did—," she stilled and fought to swallow around the lump that thickened in her throat, "—did my mom ever come here?"
Constantine rubbed his neck, uneasy gesture revealing his sorrow at the memory of her mother and his old friend. "I think Liv found the place overwhelming. She was like you, didn't know a lick about magic then got plunged into the thick of it. She took to the books, like you, too. But—I don't know. Hard to tell what she was thinking at times. Magic hits us all differently, takes different tolls on us."
Sabine's eyes turned glossy against her will, certain there was no amount of magic in the world that could mend her or ease the waves of grief that lapped at her heart. With the heels of her hands, she wiped at her wet and shining eyes. The memory of her mother was so much like grasping a fistful of glass shards and squeezing. Her stomach twisted but she stuffed down the painful feelings, as she usually did.
She put her arms behind her back and slowly spun around in place once more, eyes roaming over every inch of the millhouse.
This was hers now, and the realization was overwhelming and…a little exciting. Maybe she could snoop around for a journal or a diary when she had the time to learn about the grandfather she never knew.
Her eyes darted over her shoulder at Constantine and her lips curved up into a sliver of a smile. "This is so cool."
"That word again," Constantine grumbled, but was relieved to pass the property onto an heir. Holding onto it felt like carrying around two immense anchors of grief; one for Jasper, and one for Liv. "It's not like the House where it's gonna give you tea and crumpets when you're feeling blue. But it's warded and augmented with magic to suit its owner's needs," he informed her, affectionately slapping a wall. "It's a good place to practice or hide or just get away from things, whatever you need it for."
"Right," Sabine drawled, shifting in place, "because I can just pop on down to Atlanta whenever I want? I can't portal like you."
"Right," he threw the word back at her, irked, "but you can teleport. Orchid told me you gave your bat a ruddy surprise with that one."
Redness was rife on her cheeks and neck when she stammered, "She told you?"
Her tongue stubbornly pushed against the back of her teeth. She wasn't entirely bothered per se, she'd told him about the teleporting mishap but conveniently left the where and who to part out of it, knowing it would just be more ammo for Constantine's verbal jabs.
He brushed some dust off his coat shoulder, preening haughtily, pleased that it was so easy to wriggle under her skin.
"Look," he tried not to cackle at the flush aflame on her cheeks, "magic pulls you towards what you want. Just have to feel it and follow it."
Sabine threw her hands up, desperate to steer this whole conversation and her thoughts a million miles in the opposite direction of Jason, away from the growing desire stowed away in the back of her mind—, "And what if I end up in a volcano?"
Hands jammed back into his pockets, he tried to joke, "Then that'd be your fault. Who wants to end up in a volcano?"
"Your concern is so heartwarming," she muttered, turning the key over in her hand and shuffling over to the magical hearth.
The heat of the spitting flames pleasantly washed over her face and her thoughts slipped. Did probate processes apply to the transference of ownership of magical properties? She sincerely doubted Constantine knew or cared but the gears in her mind whirred.
He sidled up beside her and lightly knocked her shoulder.
"Maybe after this Furcifer mess is dealt with," he started hesitantly, scratching the side of his face, "we can work on it. Teleporting, I mean—," he clarified when she side-eyed him and made a face, "Your spell craft needs refinement, too."
Her head snapped towards him and she scrunched her nose. The glint of ire in her eyes faded.
"Thought you weren't a teacher? That's what Madame Xanadu said, at least…" she trailed off, contemplating the offer.
"M'not," he voiced in a flat tone, agreeing. He parsed through his next words measuredly, "But helping out a…friend isn't the same thing. 'Sides, Orchid likes your company better than mine, I think. Says I'm too depressing at times." His head fell forward and he snorted despite himself.
Sabine caught the way his face pinched and contorted with silent regret and remorse. She didn't want the trip to end on a sour note between them.
She returned the fond elbow nudge and teased, "Oh, no, you're an absolute joy."
She thought she'd been a touch too sarcastic until a disgruntled chuckle rolled out of Constantine as he slowly lifted his head and cast the barest of smiles at her.
"Cheeky," he said quietly, warmly.
A comfortable pause ensued as they stood next to one another and enjoyed the cozy heat of the fireplace before returning to the House.
Gotham
"Can't believe you wanted us to go into the sewers," Roy complained, combing over the maps that littered the table as their post patrol chit chat turned from the idiot gang of teenagers who tried to hold up a liquor store with fake guns, which earned the would-be criminals a very stern lecture about their life choices and options instead of a severe walloping, towards Gotham's supernatural problem. "Reeks down there."
A dejected huff tumbled out of Jason's mouth as he unstrapped his holsters, setting them down on the table next to his red helmet.
"Thought it might be a viable plan, just to poke around," he expanded, following it up with a humorless snort, "but I don't have a second death wish."
Roy planted his chin in his palm. His eyes squinted behind the white slits of the domino mask and looked back to his friend. "Sometimes I still think you do," he muttered before promptly dropping it.
There was a stretch of tense silence before Jason marched to the bathroom to shower first, choosing to not engage with Roy's weighted observation. He tore off his boots and shucked off his uniform. The spray droned in his ears and he hoped in vain for some kind of epiphany as the hot water streaked down his body, caressing his fresh bruises from the night.
The scalding water provided no earth-shattering revelations and he emerged from the bathroom in a comfy set of sweats, feeling out of his depth. Hours of research and hard work up in smoke because he would not subject Roy to the primordial horror that lived beneath the city. Back to the drawing board, again.
There was the niggling thought, a soft reprimand in the back of his mind—the others would help, if he asked. Equal parts pride and resentment kept him from reaching out though, kept him from asking.
Troubled memories coming too close to the surface, he lumbered to his bed and flopped down just as Roy peeled off his mask and ducked into the bathroom for his turn to wash up.
Jason's phone began to vibrate, dancing across the side table in short bursts and interrupting his wallowing. He rolled over onto his side and swooped it up in his hands. His heart pounded with enthusiasm when he saw Sabine's name flash across the screen, the tiny white pixelated letters locking him into an instant trance.
There were three new messages from her:
| be back in nj in a few hours
| gonna spend the night at my parents then my dad's gonna drive me back to gotham sunday afternoon
| coffee catch up monday?
Jason lazed back into the pillows and stared at the texts for longer than he'd like to admit, letting the screen cast its glow on his face.
Roy appeared in the outskirts of his vision, trailed by a cloud of steam from the shower and a fluffy towel wrapped around his torso. He craned his neck to steal a peek at the phone screen.
Brows raised, he asked, "Floaty's textin' you?"
Caught, Jason's eyes finally unstuck from the glowing device and flicked up to meet Roy's. He coughed weakly into his fist, clearing his throat. "Yeah, she'll be back in town tomorrow."
Obnoxious delight settled across Roy's features and he poked Jason's cheek. "You're not gonna text her back?"
Jason fidgeted. "I sent her a thumbs up," he croaked, the pitch of his voice higher than usual. He flipped his phone over and shoved it under his pillow, away from prying eyes. His face felt unusually heated as he slipped under the duvet, keeping to the edge of the bed.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Roy intoned through a rumbly chuckle, disappearing for a several seconds to toss his damp towel into the hamper like he was actually civilized for once.
He rummaged in the closet for one of the spare sets of sleep clothes he left in there. He padded back into the bedroom in a loose shirt and boxers. He dragged his body into the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, folding into their warmth.
"I thought you were a romantic," he cooed, fingers prodding Jason's ribs.
Jason didn't say anything, the harsh panes of his face went taut as he shot Roy a pointed look.
The giddy smile on Roy's face didn't falter under the severe glare, only grew wider as it stretched from ear to ear when he noticed the pink dusting on Jason's lightly freckled cheekbones.
Crowding even closer and cheek pressed on the same pillow as his friend, Roy dared to flick Jason's nose because, goddamn, Jason had no idea how endearing he looked when he was embarrassed in the lowlights. "Night, Jaybird."
Jason let out a small infuriated noise and batted the hand away. He rubbed at the tip of his nose, soothing the slight sting inflicted by Roy.
He rolled over and turned off the lamp, snuffing out the light in the room, and kept his back to Roy. He waited several minutes for his annoyance to peter out and tried, desperately, not to think about the second body next to him, and whose body heat he wished to was doused in instead.
Eventually, a haggard sigh rattled past his dry lips when he murmured back into the darkness, "G'night, Roy."
There was no response as Roy's breaths washed over the back of his neck in steady waves.
Under the cover of darkness, Jason's fingers and brain itched to retrieve his phone, craving to relive the electrifying moment of reading the texts again for the first time. His fingers fiddled with the duvet to cope with the impulse.
It took minutes—maybe hours—for Jason's relentless brain gremlins to calm down and unlatch their claws, and it dawned on him just how physically, mentally, and emotionally drained he was. The stiff tension that plagued his body finally unfurled and the familiar rhythm of Roy's snores lulled him to sleep.
House of Mystery
Packing was the easiest part of leaving, Sabine found. With the House staying on top of keeping her clothes wrinkle-free and laundered, she wasn't surprised when she discovered everything neatly and perfectly folded and rolled into the compartments of her suitcase.
And on top of her clothes was the canvas bag Constantine had gifted her, overflowing with little jars, vials, and canisters. Everything an up-and-coming witch might need to protect themselves. She'd stashed the switchblade and millhouse key into one of its side pockets.
The slapping of footsteps coming down the hallway echoed off the walls and Sabine turned towards the open bedroom door in time to see Constantine lean against the frame with his arms folded over his chest. His bright eyes moved around the room wistfully before landing on Sabine.
"Taking that thing with you?" he asked grumpily, jerking his head towards the hinkypunk that was bobbing on the wall.
Sabine zipped up her suitcase. Rising to her feet, she shoved both of her hands into the deep pockets of her cardigan. "I mean, why not? I think the little guy likes me."
He scrubbed a palm over his forehead, smoothing over the new wrinkle lines she gave him. "It's not a reading light," he said, tone firm and a shake of his head.
"I know," she started, unperturbed, "but Gotham's a dark place. I think a light will come in handy." She couldn't explain the calming feeling that pooled in her gut in the presence of the hinkypunk. Wasn't a part of magic trusting her instincts? She sensed no ill will from the springy wisp.
"Well if it lures you off a building ledge and you go splat on the pavement—," he grumbled, "—don't say I didn't warn you."
"Wish I could take some of the books, too," Sabine said, pensively biting down on her chapped bottom lip.
Orchid peered over Constantine's shoulder, and responded with an immediate and resolute, "No."
Sabine rocked back on her heels, not pushing the subject any further. "I know, I know."
She was already planning on spending a good chunk of the following evening compiling and organizing the photos she took on her phone into a comprehensive guide for herself, then heading to the library to print everything when she had time. She'd three-hole-punch the pages and put them into a binder, complete with color-coded dividers and tabs—a personal grimoire of sorts.
Frowning, Constantine straightened up and rolled his shoulders. "Don't see why I have to take you to the airport. Could just take you straight home."
Her hands flexed inside her pockets, digits full of pent up nerves. She responded earnestly with, "Because I want my dad to pick me up. It's…important to me."
He hummed and looked off to the side but didn't bring it up again, seeming to understand the deeper meaning behind it from the vulnerability in her voice.
Orchid brushed by him and situated herself between them. She assessed Sabine for several seconds before her eyes jumped between sorcerer and the grad student. Face impassive, as per usual.
"Your time here has been illuminating," she said in a steady cadence, "I learned a lot."
Sabine's brows lifted high at the statement, quizzical. "Oh?"
Orchid didn't elaborate any further, just cryptically tilted her head.
Sabine and Constantine exchanged odd glances, and shrugged. Whatever Orchid gleaned over the past two weeks was beyond their mortal comprehension.
Constantine's mouth crooked, eyes skirting back to Sabine. "Try to take it easy, if you can."
Sabine heaved a dreary sigh, grabbed her suitcase handle, and tried for the hundredth time to not give into despair. "I don't have time to take it easy, with school starting again and the you-know-who-problem," she said as unease flooded her brain, "but I'll…try."
Reality was setting in. She was leaving the House of Mystery after two harrowing weeks. Going home. Then returning to Gotham. Running right back to the nightmare, to face it this time.
"You don't mind me crashing on your couch?" Constantine double-checked. The pointy eared protector of Gotham was going to be thrilled, if he found out.
"Yeah," Sabine nodded gravely, "just give me a few days to settle in." Her gaze traveled back over to Orchid, meeting those gleaming amethyst eyes. Apprehensively, she said, "I'd like to come back and visit sometime, if that's all right? Maybe once we settle things?"
She left out the part about wanting to plunder the library for more knowledge. Although, there was a cunning glint in Orchid's eyes.
Orchid's purple mouth curved into a faint smile and she returned the sentiment with a pleased nod. "Of course," she paused thoughtfully, then kindly tacked on one of her most recently learned human parting phrases, "Don't be a stranger."
A/N: Thanks for reading, this fic is over two-years-old now! I know updates have slowed down considerably, that's partly due to life stuff happening on my end (some exciting and good! And some…meh) and dragging my feet because I don't want this story to end! I could drag this fic out longer…but then I feel like upcoming plot momentum would be lost.
the long-awaited(?) Jay/Sab reunion is up next! They are down so horrendously bad for each other its embarrassing