Chapter Text
Yukio sighed softly as he walked into the dormitory. It was quiet. Too quiet. Which was saying a lot, considering how expressive Rin usually was. He frowned as he set his bag down. Rin had been glued to that strange book he’d found a few days ago. When Yukio asked about it, all Rin had said was that it was “concerning but interesting.”
And considering Rin’s definition of “concerning” usually boiled down to things like watching a so-called professional chef boil chicken and call it gourmet… well, Yukio hadn’t taken him seriously. Rin had been so offended by the idea of boiled chicken that he went on a three-day research spree to confirm if Americans really ate like that. The entire monastery had breathed a sigh of relief when Rin eventually learned most of them did not—mostly because it spared them from Rin trying to declare culinary war on America.
So, no, Yukio hadn’t been worried about Rin’s mysterious book. Most likely it was some badly translated cookbook where someone forgot to use salt.
“Rin!” Yukio called as he made his way up the stairs toward their shared room.
No answer. Not unusual. Rin got wrapped up in things easily.
He pushed open the door, “Rin, I’m back… Rin?”
The room was empty. The bed still messy from where Rin had been sprawled earlier, the book lying open on the desk. The window was wide open, letting in a cool breeze that rustled the curtains. For a heartbeat, Yukio’s stomach tightened.
Before panic could set in, he spotted a piece of paper on top of the book. A note.
Ok, maybe Rin just went out for a walk. Yukio tried to convince himself of that as he picked it up.
The handwriting was unmistakably Rin’s—messy but bold, scrawled in a rush.
Hey Yukio!
Don’t freak out (you’re probably freaking out). I’m leaving for a little while. But it’s fine—better than fine actually! I met this boy, and he came in through the window (yes, through the window ). He says we’re supposed to go somewhere important. Crazy thing? I think he’s telling the truth. The book told me this would happen, and it hasn’t been wrong so far.
I know you don’t like it when I just run off, but you don’t have to worry. I’m not alone, and it’s like… I know I can trust him. Weird, right? He feels kind of like family.
Anyway, if you want to understand, read the book. Everything is in there. It knows things, Yukio. It knows us .
See you when I get back! (Unless the book says otherwise, haha.)
—Rin
P.S. Don’t close the book for too long. It doesn’t like that.
The bottom of the note made Yukio’s skin prickle.
He dropped the paper back onto the desk and immediately snatched up the book, flipping through the pages.
Halfway down the second page, the text cut off mid-sentence. He flipped through the rest, but the pages were blank—utterly blank.
Heart hammering, he looked back at the point where the words had stopped. His breath caught.
Fresh ink was blooming across the page, line by line, as though an invisible hand were writing them in real time.
And it wasn’t Rin’s story.
It was his.
Exactly what he had just done. From walking into the dorm, to climbing the stairs, to reading Rin’s note. Word for word.
Yukio froze, the book heavy in his hands.
The last line of text bled into existence, making his stomach drop:
And then Yukio realized he was already too late.
Yukio slammed the book shut, only to feel a faint thrum vibrate through the cover, like a heart skipping a beat. He shoved it down and reached for his phone.
First call: the cram school class group line.
“Rin’s missing,” Yukio said flatly the moment Bon picked up. “And there’s something you all need to see.”
The shouting started immediately. Bon demanding what he meant by “missing,” Shiemi gasping in panic, Izumo snapping questions. Yukio barely heard them as he said, “Just get here. Now.”
By the time Shura arrived—reeking faintly of alcohol and muttering about “brat problems at this hour”—the cram class had already clustered in Rin and Yukio’s room, voices overlapping with frantic questions. The note was passed around with trembling hands, each person growing more unsettled the more they read.
“What the hell does he mean the book told him this would happen?!” Bon barked, slamming the paper down.
“It sounds like he was lured,” Konekomaru whispered, pale.
Shura rubbed her forehead. “And you’re saying this book is writing about you, in real time?”
Yukio shoved the open pages at her. “See for yourself.”
As if on cue, black ink scrawled across the page:
And then the woman with the bottle-breath finally caught on. Congratulations.
Shura jerked back, cursing under her breath.
“Okay nope nope nope—this thing’s cursed!” Renzou yelped, half-laughing, half-terrified.
“Call Mephisto,” Shura muttered. “This is his kind of freakshow.”
When they reached him, Mephisto didn’t even sound surprised. Just cheerful. “Ah, yes. Rin’s little field trip. Don’t worry, it’s going exactly as intended.”
“What is that supposed to mean?!” Yukio snapped.
“Read the book,” Mephisto sing-songed, and hung up.
For a long moment, silence filled the room. Only the faint scratch of the book’s invisible pen broke it.
Bon looked down. His face darkened. “It’s writing again.”
Everyone crowded around as new lines appeared:
Mephisto is, as usual, spectacularly unhelpful. (Did you expect wisdom from a clown? Really?)
But I suppose I should not mock too harshly. After all, you children are fumbling through events far beyond your comprehension. One can hardly expect ants to understand the boot hovering above them.
Still, if you wish to see your beloved flame-brained fool again, you will take a little trip. The Tomb of Qin Shi Huang. China. Do hurry—though not too quickly. Watching you scramble is endlessly amusing.
The words bled to a stop, leaving the group frozen in place.
“…China?” Izumo muttered at last. “Are you kidding me?”
“We can’t just trust some creepy book!” Bon snapped.
“Then what do you suggest?” Yukio bit back, his voice sharp. “Sit here and hope Rin wanders home?”
The book twitched under his hand. More text appeared, smug:
Oh, by all means, sit. I’m sure Rin will be just fine without you. After all, he is only half-prepared, half-informed, and half-competent. Which is more than you.
“Did… did that thing just call us incompetent?” Renzou asked, wide-eyed.
“No,” Yukio muttered, throat tight. “It called us exactly what it thinks we are. ”
Shura swore. “Tch. Dammit. Pack your bags, brats. Looks like we’re going tomb-raiding.”
The book’s last addition before Yukio shut it made everyone shiver:
Finally. Progress. I was beginning to think you’d sit around squawking like chickens forever.
Jason really wanted to meet whoever wrote this damn book. Not just because he wanted to punch them in the face for convincing Damian to haul himself halfway to China, but also because, well… they had some fantastic insults.
He’d been reading it half out of boredom, half out of morbid curiosity, and then—bam—the POV in the book suddenly turned on him.
Jason actually jumped, eyes widening at the fresh words curling across the page. Shock morphed to intrigue, then straight-up excitement as he leaned in.
And then he saw it.
The book exempted him from any roasting because he was the only one reading it for fun.
Jason groaned, slapping a hand over his face. “Oh come on ! The bashing was the best part!”
Like it had been waiting for him to complain, new ink spilled across the paper, smug as hell.
Fine. Since the guy who died apparently can never be in enough pain, he’s back on the chopping block.
Jason’s grin snapped back into place. He jabbed a finger at the page. “Awesome.”
He read on, hunched over like a kid sneaking comics in class.
Meanwhile, everyone else in the Batcave was pacing around like chickens missing heads. Bruce was stonefaced. Dick was gesturing like he was auditioning for a soap opera. Tim was muttering half-formed theories under his breath, stringing red yarn in his head.
They were all asking the same thing: why the hell would Damian go to China?
Was it the culture? Was it some deep attempt to get closer to his heritage? Had his pint-sized little brother suddenly developed a taste for ancient history?
Jason almost choked when the words on the page answered:
I am here to tell you… it was because he read a book.
Jason didn’t even try to hold it in. He burst into full-blown laughter, wheezing, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. His shoulders shook so hard he nearly dropped the damn thing.
Every single head in the room whipped toward him. Bruce narrowed his eyes. Dick tilted his head like he was waiting for the punchline. Tim looked vaguely horrified, like Jason had finally lost the last marble holding his brain together.
But Jason wasn’t laughing at them. Oh no.
He was laughing at the fact that, according to his new favorite smartass author, Damian Wayne had read a book… then kidnapped another kid who had also read a book… and dragged him off on a full-blown, international adventure.
Jason doubled over, pressing his forehead against the desk to breathe. “This is—this is so stupid it’s perfect .”
The book practically purred under his hand, pleased with itself.
Jason grinned down at it like he’d just found his soulmate in paperback form.
Yeah. He really needed to meet the bastard who wrote this.
“Jason,” Bruce’s voice cut through his amusement like a blade, sharp and warning. “What is so funny?”
Jason dragged in a breath, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Oh, nothing, B. Just appreciating some fine literature.”
Tim frowned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You don’t laugh like that at Tolstoy.”
“Yeah,” Dick added, narrowing his eyes. “You’re the only one of us who actually likes Russian literature. And you didn’t crack a smile the entire time you reread Crime and Punishment. ”
Jason grinned wolfishly and patted the cover of the book in his hands. “That’s because Dostoevsky never thought to insult me personally, Dickiebird.”
That earned him three synchronized stares of suspicion.
“Jason,” Bruce said again, slower this time, like he was working with a skittish animal. “What kind of book is that?”
Jason’s grin widened. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out like he was king of the world. “Oh, just a story. About a kid who reads a book, gets it in his head to travel halfway across the world, and then kidnaps another bookworm for company.” He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Really riveting stuff.”
Steph, sprawled on the arm of the couch, perked up. “Wait. You’re telling me Damian ran off to China because of a book?”
Jason pointed at her with the kind of triumphant smirk that said she’d hit the bullseye. “Ding ding ding! Give the girl a prize.”
“What book?” Tim demanded, stepping closer.
Jason snapped it shut with a flourish and hugged it to his chest like it was a beloved novel. “Not telling.”
Tim scowled. “Jason, you always tell. You recommend me books all the time.”
“Yeah, well, this one’s special.” Jason waggled his brows. “Besides, it roasts all of you like chestnuts on an open fire, and I’m not sharing the joy just yet.”
Dick groaned. “Oh my god, he’s actually enjoying this.”
Jason leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Enjoying? Nah. I’m thriving. ”