written for ficwip's all ships ship week 2024! day 2: double life; hurt/comfort.

cw: Aventurine/Sunday, vigilante AU, blood & injury, medical procedures, implied/referenced mutilation, implied/referenced abuse, Aven is traumatized but what's new, hurt/comfort, eventual fluff, Aven is called Kakavasha

based on my sunven hero/vigilante AU, which is heavily inspired by Matt Reeves's The Batman (2022). u don't have to have seen the movie to understand this, tho it would help set the mood of the AU & the general vibe of their relationship i think. (regardless, it's a good movie (imo) so def watch it if u want.) basically, sunday is the batman figure, kakavasha is the catwoman figure. they come from very different backgrounds; both have their respective issues, but they try their best to understand for one another (as u'll see here, if my writing does what i intended for it to do 💀)

heed the cw! vasha is (mostly) not having a good time. if you think i should warn for anything else, pls lmk 🫶

title from Frank Ocean's "Pink + White"!

🚂 _ _ _ _ 💫

Under the stark, spasmodically-blinking light of the bathroom, the gash on Kakavasha's neck looks deeper, and the blood gushing out redder and more copious than Sunday initially feared.

"Fuck." There is a smile on Kakavasha's lips still as he curses. His fingers tremble around the faucet's handle. "Fucking lunatic. Unbelievable." He turns the water on, lets it sluice over his hand. It barely washes anything away.

"Does it hurt?" Sunday frets—and immediately regrets the way he phrased it, naive and infuriating, a way that makes Kakavasha scoff.

"Nah, it just stings a little— Of course it hurts." Kakavasha drops his hand that was trying without success to staunch his bleeding into the sink. With brusque motions, he strips 'Aventurine's' gloves off, then starts to scrub his hands together in forceful attempts to get the blood off. His scowl is plastered to his movements all the while. He's sparing Sunday most of his anger—which, in some ways, makes Sunday feel even worse.

"You got the tracker out, right?" he asks.

"Yeah, of course," Kakavasha mutters, as if he doesn't think that question even needs to be answered. He cranes his neck a little to look at the wound, and grimaces half in disgust, half in pain. "Where's the equipment that you picked up?"

"Here." Sunday lays the medical kit he's swiped off some ambulance that had pulled up to the scene out on the countertop. Kakavasha shakes his hands to dry them somewhat, then immediately begins to rummage through what's there. "Ah, Kakavasha... let me—"

"I got it." Kakavasha dismisses him. He tears open a pouch of sterile gauze, then uncaps a bottle of disinfectant and pours a liberal amount over his hands, before drying them with said gauze. His motions are clearly practiced, just hasty. No matter the case, though, Sunday can't imagine leaving an injured person to stitch up their wound all by themself.

"Let me help."

"I got it, thank you." Kakavasha is already pulling latex gloves on. His eyes flick from the medical kit to the mirror to the sink, but never toward Sunday. "I'd appreciate if you could wait outside."

"It might be easier with two people," Sunday implores. "I could hand you the equipment, or—"

"No need."

"I understand that you're very confident about this, but you're hurt. Maybe it'd help—"

"I said no."

"Can you just—"

"NO!" Kakavasha yells. "For fuck's sake, no!" His fingers curl into near-fists. "Can you stop!? You're freaking me the fuck out!"

Silence. Sunday watches Kakavasha pant and pant, until he seemingly catches himself, and forces in a breath large enough to make his chest puff up, holding it there until his body leaves him no choice but to release it, in one long, charged, quivering breath. The next time he speaks, exhaustion is the overwhelming presence in his voice. "Just, wait outside. Or don't. I don't— It doesn't matter."

"I'll wait," Sunday says.

"... Okay." Kakavasha sighs. His eyes slip shut for a few seconds, before he opens them again. "I'll be fine. I'll shout if I need anything, so... yeah."

"Yeah. Please do," Sunday says. Then he leaves the bathroom and closes the door behind himself, and goes to sit down by the adjacent wall with his back and head propped against it, listening to the sound of running water and a potential shout. None comes. Intermittently, he would catch a clink of metal, a snip of scissor blades, a clean rip through bandages. But no shout, and nothing else that makes it past the rumble of the open faucet.

Eventually, the door opens, and Kakavasha comes out. Sunday straightens up, but he just rounds to the other side of him before sitting down as well, leaning his back and head against the wall. The bandages around his neck look like a cast—but at least they are without a trace of blood. So are his hands.

They sit like that for a while. Kakavasha picks at the underside of his nails distractedly, while Sunday distracts himself from the silence by watching him do it. It isn't quite peace, but it isn't quite so far from it, either.

"I'm sorry." Kakavasha suddenly speaks. "For being so snappy earlier. I..." he trails off, briefly engrossed by his fidgeting, before it ceases somewhat and he continues, "I get freaked out. By a lot of things." He breathes. A soft, wavering breath. "Like, touch. Bad night, really." He chuckles, but there is nothing lighthearted about it. His eyes are on the wall before them, but his gaze is much further away, seeing something Sunday can only imagine. "I felt like an animal. Worse. A slab of meat. For him to freely carve and slice until I take the form he desires." His chest shudders, and Sunday thinks he will sob, until laughter bursts forth from Kakavasha. "Put a tracker in me, can you imagine? If he dies by my hand, I'd wanna tell the whole world."

Logically, Sunday should be concerned. But as he watches Kakavasha laugh, pallid face flushing pink, the sound of his joy strained by the bandages around his throat, the only thing he feels is happiness for him. Kakavasha has never questioned the manifestation of Sunday's vengeance, never mind that he doesn't even know who he is behind the mask. If this is the manifestation of Kakavasha's—who at this point has let Sunday in on more about himself, about 'Aventurine,' about 'Chip,' than Sunday ever did him even on the persona the other has resorted to nicknaming 'angel'—what right does Sunday have, how dead must his heart be to tell Kakavasha it is unjustified?

"I'm hungry." Kakavasha's remark breaks him away from his thoughts. "Can you eat?"

Sunday shrugs. "I'll take you," he says.

Kakavasha hums something humored. He holds out a hand. "Help me up?"

Sunday hauls both of them to their feet. He lets go of Kakavasha quickly, but the other man keeps his hand extended. The smile that always pulls at his lips turns genuine, almost shy.

"Hold my hand?" he asks.

The night is cold and Kakavasha's hand is even colder, but his grip is sure, and that's all that Sunday needs.

🚂 _ _ _ _ 💫

some more explanation of the AU, bc i plopped us in the middle of the chaos and that may have made for a confusing experience:
- vasha's names: his real name is 'kakavasha'; the name he uses at work (stage name) is 'aventurine', and his vigilante name is 'chip' (i picked this based on aven's philosophy that, in theory and w proper practice, the power of/what you can get in exchange for a chip is unlimited)
- sunday's names: his real name is 'sunday', but vasha doesn't know this (classic batman-bruce wayne secret identity situation ykwim). in this AU he hasn't been a vigilante for that long, and hasn't chosen a name for his vigilante identity yet (those at his mercy prolly j call him a menace 😭). but bc it's annoying to not have a name to refer to him by, vasha nicknames/gives him the pet name 'angel' (due to the wings & feathers motifs on his suit)
- what happened?? how did they end up like this?? where even are they??? just vibes bro. vasha works at a nightclub where he inevitably interacts w many rich, powerful and not-so-good ppl... i'll let ur imagination take it from there. personally i didn't have a detailed plot in mind, this fic is for a week-long event and i rly tried to just keep it simple & get to the point 😭

but anw! it was very fun to write sth for this AU. i hope u enjoyed :3 dw sunday made sure (to the best of his ability) that vasha got wtv he was craving and ample time off work after this :3