Work Text:
Robin slouched forward on her desk, her head in her hands.
It'd been a rough couple of years. And the past couple of months certainly hadn't been helping things.
She allowed herself a glance outside, at the leaves turning vibrant orange in the cluster of forest nearby and the ocean spray that drifted close to their little alcove of a living situation. Maintaining a population of three split from most vestige of society was a challenge that never ended, and she took her peace where she could. It didn't have to be this way--Miguel fit in well enough in the new city streets a stone's throw away from where they were, and Luke (or 'Rooster', as they affectionately dubbed him--for he was permanently stuck on chicken coop duty) hadn't yet come across any ability that could get him into trouble, and even Robin herself had the potential to reside there unbothered. But she preferred it this way. Remaining hidden like they were let her keep a part of herself that otherwise would have had to have been hid. Her head tilted on her shoulder, so that she could see her hands on the table. Quick hands. Skilled ones. Maybe not as trained in her innate craft as she would have liked, but certainly getting there. She was good.
For the sake of their new companion, though, she had to hope she was good enough.
A sharp rattle of the windows jolted her from her stupor. Shaking the afternoon drowsiness off, she paused to listen more intently. It could very well have been just the wind (and a sure sign that she and Rooster had some structural reinforcement work to expect in the near future, lest the weather soon turn unforgiving on even the best of their charms). Except...the wind did not usually make a habit of raking its claws over the windowpanes.
Nor did it ever voice any displeasure over being left out in the cold for longer than it'd like.
In a swift motion Robin slid off her work bench and crossed the threshold of the small cottage, unlocking and hefting the glass paneling up just as a lithe figure darted in under her arms and made for the warmth of the fire, not giving her a second look. As she settled the panel back into place and followed him, the figure pricked up his ears. A large black cat, sturdily built and unusually long-limbed, gazed at her through large amber eyes. In his mouth was secured a small cloth satchel that Robin knew to contain exactly what she had been waiting for.
"So you were successful, then?" Robin murmured, ambling to a crouch so he could hear her better. There was no need for greetings and pleasantries, not in this lonesome space. Besides, neither of them were really the people for it. The tom let out a non committal mrrow around the bag in his mouth, giving Robin a look that she would have interpreted as almost weary had she not known him better.
He was more likely just overwhelmingly bored.
She reached out a hand to pluck the satchel from his mouth. "If you're done, I'll take that no--" As if on cue, the tom immediately dropped his quarry and leapt for the worktable, leaving Robin to snatch at the air and only just catch it before its delicate drawstring loosened and spilled its contents onto the floor. She sighed in relief, before shooting a glare to her new irksome companion. Now calm and collected, cleaning his paws as casually as could be. She stood back up and made her way over to the table. He was deliberately sitting on all her notes, too. Unbelievable.
Robin cleared the space before her, bits of carvings and dried flowers and loose sheafs of parchment, and used her free hand to gently shove the tom aside to his great audible chagrin. "You'd make a pretty shitty familiar, you know," she mused, ignoring his indignant chirps in favour of setting the cauldron to a boil. She tucked her hair behind her ears so as avoid catching fire, and focused on tending the flames. The chirping behind her ceased, but she carried on working.
"Yeah, well, I'm not aiming to be." A hand reached past Robin to grab the ladle leaning against the cauldron. When she straightened her back up the tall boy with thick black hair and casual day clothes tossed it back to her. He folded his arms. "Go find some other cat to be your Best Friend For-Magicks."
"Hmm. I'm more of a dog person, actually," the witch replied breezily, only to earn a snort and a rude gesture for her trouble as he moved to her side.
"So, what are you up to?" It didn't take the shapeshifter long to get comfortable, leaning easily across from her as she tipped the contents of the satchel onto a cutting slab and counted up the herbs that spilled out. "Gathering duty went a little farther ahead than usual today."
"Just making something for our...guest." Robin went ahead in preparing her ingredients, all of them accounted for, moving aside slightly to allow herself more table room and her companion more elbow room. Sparing a glance at him, he looked surprised. Turning her attention back to work, she could hear him rummaging into the compartments of the table while he continued conversationally.
"Huh. Still hanging on, then." He emerged from his dive with a strip of chicken jerky in hand, and slid the compartment shut once more. He bit into it, his eyes lost someplace. "Hardy little bastard."
A pause, and his eyes darted back to Robin.
At her stare, he stood his ground. Leaning farther on the table, he waggled the chicken strip at her and insisted, "What? I've earned this." He leaned back into his seat and she gave no further comment as he finished off the piece of (her) drawer poultry, instead rolling her eyes and tilting the organic residue on her slab into the bubbling waters of the cauldron. Then checked her notes. This was going to be a difficult brew.
“He’s hanging on,” she answered, “I think I’ve got him stabilised, so what this should do is encourage his body to heal.” Robin sucked in a breath. “...As much as it can, that is.”
Her companion winced. “Yeowch.”
“I appreciate your vote of confidence, Miguel.”
“You know it.” Miguel tapped his foot against the leg of the chair. “Y’know, s’funny I haven’t actually seen him yet. He is kinda taking up my room.”
Robin frowned slightly. “He was really bad when he got here, and you said the basket was good enough for you then--”
“Nah, nah, I’m not complainin’. I sleep anywhere. I just want to see how he’s doing, if he’s going to be staying here any longer.”
“That’s fair.” Robin traced her finger along a line of liquid vials, reading her sheet and comparing them to their labels, “I’ll get this finished up, and we could go see him together.”
------
“Jeez, Robin--I thought you said he was hanging on, not at Death’s goddamn door!”
The boy in the sheets beside her stirred at the disturbance so she reached out a hand to soothe him, gently massaging the side of his face--the side that still remained intact, that was--with her thumb until he settled. As he buried his face back into the cloth, she glanced reproachfully at Miguel.
“Alright, alright, he’s rough. But like I said, I’ve stabilized him. Now I would appreciate it if you kept it down and let him have this rest.”
Miguel huffed and crossed his arms. He stood at the doorway of the small room, leaning against the divider curtain that kept it from the main area of the house. Before him crouched Robin, and the poor sucker that looked like he’d been dragged to hell and back over the jagged ocean stones. Which would actually have been pretty apt; Robin and Rooster found him washed up on the beach, as he was told when he returned home one day to find the two of them hurriedly ushering in a humanoid black bundle. He looked like he could have been some sort of a sailor-to-be in a past life, tanned accordingly and with the build for it were it not for the wounds that marred his face and entire left side. They still looked angry against his flesh, though the blood was gone now from his blond hair--Robin probably rinsed it out. There must have been enough on that bundle he’d seen that he’d thought the boy was a brunet.
He whistled. “Well, at least Rooster doesn’t have to see this.”
Robin uncorked the stopper bottle of potion in her hand. “Oh, no, he has--he checks up on him every morning. Fluffs his pillows and blankets and everything. Helps with the bandages. It’s almost sweet.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “What’s with that look?”
“He’s ten!” Miguel yelped, “Ten!!”
“Take it up with him, then!” Robin retorted, “He wanted to help anyway, so I wasn’t gonna not let him. What would be the point?” Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, but his face eventually fell back to one of pained sympathy when he looked back to the sleeping boy.
“He’s taken some shit.” A part of him wanted to do more, but he couldn’t be around this. Not for long. Robin followed his line of sight, and her shoulders slumped.
“I know.” She looked back at him, and their eyes met. “But so had I. When you found me.”
He gave a mirthless laugh. “That was different, Rob. You stood a fighting chance. This...is a whole new shade of hopeless.” Robin flinched, and he ducked his head. Fuuuck. “The kindest thing to do for him now is finish what the sea started. But if you want to try your hand at squaring off with the beyond on this guy, you know I’ll back you.” He shifted at the doorframe, turning to leave. “Tell me if you need anything.” She paused, then gave an affirming nod before turning to her patient.
When she glanced back, she could see a tail disappear just around the corner.
Another faint groan returned her attention to the boy. He wasn’t much younger than she was, give or take a year or so, but pain laced his features. As best as she and Rooster could figure over the past couple of months, he was drifting in and out of consciousness and kept at the cycle, as if unsure whether to remain or pass on. One time, though, he was present for long enough to hold a conversation. He was aware of them, and she got the impression that were it not for his situation he would have been a nice person to know.
“Shhh,” She soothed, carefully, turning him over and propping him up so the potion would go down his throat once ingested, “I’m sorry to bother you, but drink this. It’ll help.” As she said this, she felt something near the hand that held the bottle twitch. When she looked down, she found one of his fingers had just managed to brush against hers. It hadn’t been there a second ago.
Taken aback she shot back up to look him in the face, to find his one still intact eye focused on her.
It was blue, like the sky.
“Hey,” he croaked.
Robin blinked, trying to slow her heart rate after that little jump. “Hey.” A smile slowly crossed his face, as much as his injuries would allow him.
“Thank you.”
His fingers’ grip on her hand became stronger, reassuring. Despite herself, despite the past few weeks, she smiled back at him. Warmer and more genuine than she expected.
“No problem at all.”