True Stories for Fictional Children to Tell in the Dark :: a mutli-fandom zine :: selected fanfic stories by Mary with artwork and collaborations by Audrey Disclaimer: no copyright -ownership or -permission of the non-public-domain characters and settings contained herein is implied or intended; all remain the property of their respective owners. No profit has been made by either of the contributors as a result of this zine. Please don't sue; we're just fan-people who can't resist getting our metaphorical sticky fingerprints all over our toys when we play them. Mary can be contacted at [email protected] Audrey can be contacted at [email protected] Fandoms in this zine: DC Comics DC Animated Films Firefly/Serenity Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl JRR Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings New Line Cinema's The Lord of the Rings Star Wars JK Rowling's Harry Potter series The X-Men movie series Buffy the Vampire Slayer Supernatural A MonkeyWench.net production Suspension DC Comics, between Crisis on Infinite Earths and Infinite Crisis Intended for adult audiences They have another not-shouting match when they get back to the cave. "It was reckless." "You're nuts. It was nothing." "You were foolhardy, and I expect better of you." "Yeah, well, I guess that makes you the sucker, then," Jason snipes. He's getting better at this kind of argument. When he was a kid, his parents would scream and swear and slam doors at each other and then be fine within the half-hour. With Bruce, it's a simmer. A big pot full of all kinds of crap and the heat's always, always on. It isn't like he's murdered a bus full of nuns and orphans, either. Just waited a fraction of a second (or maybe, yeah, a half-dozen fractions of a second) longer than he really needed to before clasping the cord properly in a swing. Who wouldn't do that? "I only expect what I know you to be capable of." Bruce is back in civilian clothes now, looking like there's nothing out of the ordinary about him even in the middle of the cave. It's like he gives off an aura of utter normalcy, canceling out anything odd in the situation around him. Jason wonders briefly how a guy ends up learning how to do that. "And what's that supposed to mean, exactly?" Jason, however, is still in full uniform. He always takes as long as he can before changing, especially on Saturday nights. It's the worst and best time of the week: best, because he is Robin for the second night running, his peak of adrenaline and fierce contentment. Worst because it'll be a whole week's worth of boring, blank nights before he'll be back out and playing again. Bruce sighs and scrubs at his face with his palms. Jason's gonna have to remember to actually call the number he keeps tucked in his wallet and ask Dick if Bruce always did that face-scrubbing motion or if it's one of those new things, like double-checking first aid kits and the 'no rock music after six pm' rule. "Nothing, Jason. Get some sleep." It's better when Bruce looks like he wants to slap him or shake him or something. When all the fight goes out of him, Jason's got no choice but to walk off and get changed into something that isn't the Robin suit and lie on his bed and pretend to sleep for a while. It's frustrating and makes Jason feel almost queasy, a roiling in his gut that makes him want to punch something or drive fast along a long, empty road. After enough time's passed, he goes to the kitchen and makes himself a couple of salami sandwiches. Jason really likes the sort that they get; it's kinda spicy, and he's glad that Bruce or Alfred or whoever obviously likes it too. There's always tons in the fridge when he sneaks down to swipe snacks. When he's eaten, Jason borrows the motorcycle and heads back into the city center. He realizes five minutes after he's left the manor grounds that he's also left his helmet, but the wind feels almost as good as it did up in the air before he grabbed onto the cord and so he doesn't mind so much. There's always a bunch of kids hanging out on the stairs near City Hall, chatting and smoking and watching the crowds along the sidewalks. Jason bums a smoke off one and a light off another, his clothes dusty enough from travel to look like they're not ridiculously expensive. Some guy from a shelter comes by and offers everybody coffee and soup, but Jason's not really hungry and he's already feeling kinda strung out and jittery even without caffeine. It's been a while since he slept. One of the kids, a boy about Jason's own age, has a beat-up guitar and a grotty old hat for people to throw coins in. Jason makes some lame joke and the boy grins. Jason gives him the remaining third of the cigarette and some spare change and then, with a wide yawn, Jason heads for home. It's kinda tacky. Even hookers most likely have more subtle opening lines. "Watch where you're walking, dipshit," Blake Stevenson says, his elbow connecting hard with Jason's rib as they pass each other in the corridor, and that's that. Six minutes later they're the center of a ring of guys from their class, out behind the trees past the home-ec block. The school's got all kinds of rules about what the students aren't allowed to do in uniform, and fistfights fall somewhere between smoking and playing arcade games, so there's somebody standing guard in case a teacher comes by. Blake's knuckle makes contact with Jason's lower lip, making the skin split and making Jason's laugh sound harsh and raw. Blake's left ear is already looking all puffy and red-purple and they've both lost a couple of buttons. "Dipshit," Blake says again, and Jason thinks for the first time about what that word might actually mean. He laughs and punches Blake in the stomach, hard. After a while Blake starts to get sloppy and Jason knocks him down pretty quickly. There's no fun in fighting someone who's not really up to it. One of Blake's friends takes him off to see a doctor or something. Jason wipes at his bloodied chin with the back of his hand and wonders if he can put the buttons back on well enough to fool Bruce. Probably no chance in hell of that. "You just cost me my ride home," somebody says. It's Blake's sister, Abigail, with her glossy black bob and her dark, dark eyes, leaning against on of the trees. "Now Blake'll take off without remembering me. So what're you gonna do about it?" "I get picked up at three forty. I'll give you a lift home," offers Jason. He hopes it's the Bentley today. That is one damn cool car, and he bets it's just the kind that somebody like Gail Stevenson would be impressed by. Abigail raises one sleek eyebrow. "That gives us more than twenty minutes." The trees are just as good for shielding this as they were for blocking the fight from view. Abigail's straddling his lap on the mulchy ground and she's sucking at the split on his lip like she's a vampire or something. He tries to work the buttons on the blouse of her uniform and she swats his hands out of the way and pulls it open sharply. The little white buttons scatter across the damp leaves, mixing in with those from Blake and Jason's shirts. "Nothing," she says, voice hot and damp against his mouth. "Nothing below the waist. My parents check." "Mmm-hmm," Jason nods, moves in closer. Then, "What the fuck?" he pulls back. "They check?" "Every six months. Gyno does a hymen check. It's a clause in my trust fund." "That's psycho." Abigail shrugs and nods. "Yeah. So nothing up the skirt, right? And I mean nothing. I'm not taking any chances on a brat like you, Todd." Jason hmms agreement and trails his mouth down along one strap of her powder-blue bra. They're both gonna have to wear their blazers to cover the mess they've made of their uniforms, and then burn the evidence or something before anybody sees. Abigail nips and sucks at the point where his throat and collarbone meet, and Jason thinks that she's probably got a vampire fetish or something. She seems really into him, too. Maybe he gives off a vibe that says he looks good in a cape. When the twenty minutes is gone, Abigail does that weird thing some girls can do where they manage to neaten up really well without a mirror or water or a comb or anything, and Jason does his best to look like he hasn't spent the time since classes ended getting messed up by the Stevenson twins. It's not a particularly convincing performance, but at least he's not actually bleeding anymore. The car sent is the Bentley, and Jason thanks whatever power's looking out for him.