Who: Stevie Kent; Tim Drake; possibly Robin. Mostly open.
What: Stevie needs his friends and fam. Multithread log or quicklog.
Where: He's not leaving his place much. But they might catch him outside if they look. Or even in costume, at night - but he's in no mood to see anyone then.
When: This week.
(
Leave him alone / leave him alone )
Comments 49
He knocks the window pane twice before easing the frame aside. Into the darkness of the room he calls out, his voice low but not quite a whisper.]
Tim?
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It was full dark when the sound stirred him. Someone coming in - his name, like a password to entry. Day after day of 'Stevie' but he could always, always be Tim with--
he inhales sharply and answers, voice hoarse in the dark.]
Yeah.
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Dick steps silently into the room, crouching in the bay window while he shuts it behind him. Still not making a sound, he hops down from the bay and onto the floorboards, his shadow breaking the rectangle of moonlight spreading across the floor.
His eyes adjust quickly and he spots Tim huddled in the corner. Timmy. His quiet sigh is one of relief; Tim is in one piece, at least. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but this, just seeing him there, was infinitely better than whatever he'd imagined.
Wordlessly, Dick crosses the room without fear or any sign of eggshell reading, and he sits down beside Tim. He presses his back to the wall and sits shoulder to shoulder with his little brother. He doesn't wrap his arm around him like he wants, doesn't tell him to 'c'mere', or tell him he's 'sorry for his loss', he just sits in silence, lending only a reassuring comfort through the light contact of their arms touching. But the rest is available should Tim want it.]
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'We have to treasure the time we have.'
So that's it, he slumps over and leans in, invites the comfort for however long it lasts.]
.... It won't stop.
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The smell's wafting throughout the Bathouse, but Jaime doesn't seem to mind or care. He would've made the enchiladas at home, but something about food and orphanages usually means the food doesn't ever leave in one piece.
He's softly humming a song as he fries some quesadillas too. For someone who's only met Tim once, it feels like Jaime's doing more than he really should.]
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You're Jaime.
[Soft, expressionless. What's he doing here?]
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[He's not quite sure where all the plates and forks and knifes are, so Jaime's sifting through the kitchen for maybe five minutes as he puts the finishing touches on all the food.]
'Cause it'd definitely be a shame if I had to eat this all by myself.
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I guess.
[The route of least resistance is to slide onto a chair, except then he thinks of the last time Jaime was in this kitchen and Yoite was making them hot cocoa. He looks down and away, resentful. This isn't fair.]
You didn't have to do that.
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It's halfway up the road that she sees a familiar flash of dark hair, a teenage gait. The boy has a slump to his shoulders that she doesn't recognize, however. He seems...diminished. She calls out, hesitantly:]
Stevie?
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Not if he gets sidetracked, though. He stops anyway, one foot dragging by momentum. A look over his shoulder, cast with neither malice nor welcome.]
... Hey, Tifa.
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Hey. [She pauses.] Do you mind if I walk with you?
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[He's not really stopping though. He knows if he does it'll be way harder to start up again.]
... Goin' home? [The house that always smells like baking. It feels like he hasn't been there in forever.]
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Hey.
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Hey.
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Stevie speaks suddenly.]
He dumped his hot water out on one of those.
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