Here's More No One Asked For

Okay I admit, the drawing I did of vampire Jason was not showing... all his facial potential 🤣 So here are some doodles to show you that he is not always an angy ball.

Also Salim use to turn into his beast form and sleep with Zain in the living room when he was scared as a little child and still do it later when Zain was scared hearing bombing or fight. Zain would pet his baba's fur until falling asleep, reassured by big woof Salim. 💗💗💗

The masculine urge to delete Tumblr because honestly the Tumblr side of the HoA fandom scares me away from the fandom more and more.

they're in love, your honor.

It's kinda hot, sorry

So, @deadlilmoon made some incredible artwork about Salim and Jason sharing a hug after a fight, and it gave me so many emotions, but the tags were what basically forced me to write this fic! Both can be found here X and here X

Hope you enjoy!

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There’s an itch under Zain's skin when he passes Amar's watch stall in the market with Tariq. They both stop to admire the watches, some incredibly complex, with dials for all sorts, and some incredibly simple, but -.

But there’s one and it’s Zain's. He knows it’s his. It’s not stealing, it’s just that he picks it up to look closer at the watch face, at the way it silently ticks, its beauty, its simplicity, it’s in his pocket.

They make it about twenty paces away before Amar realises. Zain makes it another block before he’s caught. Tariq manages to escape.

Amar has one hand braced around his arm, tight. The other is rifling through his pockets until he finds Zain’s watch, snarling and snapping.

“It’s mine! That’s my watch!” Zain shouts, trying to grab for it.

“That’s it kid, I’ve had enough of you and that other kid around this market, if your father won’t sort you out, I will.”

And he’s frog marched all the way home, his head hung low.

*

It isn’t Baba that answers the door after the third round of pounding, but a bone-weary Jason, and Zain feels a stab of guilt all over again. He had forgotten that Jason had taken an extra cash-in-hand job last night, working until the small hours of the morning for pennies. Jason huffs, leaning against the door frame and shooting the pair a indecipherable look.

“T’what do I owe the pleasure, Amar? You decide my boy can’t walk himself home?”

“Your boy” Amar sneers “Has been caught stealing from my stall –“

“It was my watch –“

“Stealing my property, and I’m not the first stall he’s tried this on. But I’m the first to take action. Get him straightened out, American, or you’ll find a lot more eyes on your quaint set up than you’re comfortable with.” And with that damning statement he tosses Zain forward, and with one last filthy look at the pair of them, leaves.

Zain doesn’t dare look at Jason, how does he even begin to explain? He chances a look at Jason and realises that he isn’t going to be given the opportunity either way, not if the furious look in Jason’s eyes has anything to do with it.

*

“- I mean Christ alive Zain, you’re off to uni in three months, ya think they’re gonna let you keep a scholarship if you’re fuckin’ dippin’ their pockets? And God, now we owe Amar money we don’t fuckin’ have –“

Zain has gradually sunk into the couch cushions, fighting back tears as he hears Jason berate him. And he knows, of course he knows he’s put their little family in a dangerous spot. Knows that Jason is constantly looking over his shoulder for CENTCOM, knows that Baba is constantly aware of how it looks to his neighbours having two men in the same house raising a teenager.

But he can’t explain the compulsion, the thought when he saw the watch that it had always really been his, the way it hit the light, the way it looked as though it would perfectly fit his wrist, it was his, his, his.

“ZAIN! Y’ain’t even listening to me, you seriously need to pull it the fuck together!”

And that’s the front door clicking closed, and there is Baba in the doorway, glaring at Jason, true, pure anger in his eyes. The type Zain hasn’t seen since his mother left.

“Zain. Go to your room.”

“Baba please –“

“Now. Zain.”

He walks slowly to his room, though Baba doesn’t seem to concerned with waiting until he reaches it before he rallies against Jason.

“How dare you speak to my son that way. You have no right.”

“Chrissakes Salim, he was caught stealing in the market again –“

“That is a matter between me and my son, you think you have the right to speak to him as if you know –“

“What’s all this my son bullshit, what happened to sticking things out together?”

“You are not his father! He is not your son!” Zain can’t control the gasp that leaves him, the words piercing through his heart. Baba’s voice rises above their argument, which was already loud, and there is a deathly silence afterwards, and Zain chances a glance from the hallway, and he sees his Baba furious, flushed and practically shaking. He chances a look at Jason, just in time to see walls slam up. Any faltering emotion has now been covered by Old Jason from when he first visited them.

“Ya’know Salim, yer a real piece of work when you want to be. You have this whole innocent act ‘Oh poor me, my wife left me and I’ve no idea why.’. Lemme let you in on a lil secret Salim. It’s this.” And he throws his arms wide. “Your wife left you because you couldn’t give less of a shit about her or your son, but you can’t stand anyone else givin’ it a shot.” And Zain winces, because if there is one rule in the Othman house that has always been strictly followed (though he really tries with the no stealing rule) it is the rule that states ‘don’t talk about the ex-wife. Baba looks as though someone has reached into his chest and crushed his heart and his lungs in one move. Staring wide eyed at Jason as though he can’t believe his words.

But this is definitely Old Jason. And he’s searching for any loose plates in his Baba’s armour. And now they’re both shouting again. Jason accusing his Baba of stepping in where he’s not wanted, Baba accusing Jason of being ‘hung up’ on someone called Clarice. Their voices rising and rising and Zain finally turns and enters his room, closing the door only doing so much to mute the sound.

*

Its been quiet for about ten minutes now. Zain knows because ever single tick of his bedside clock has signalled a second that he has fucked his Baba’s relationship up royally. He wishes he had never tried to take home his watch. Wishes he had been as swift as Tariq. Wishes he wasn’t so broken, that he could scratch out the itch under his skin. Wishes his Baba had a son like Tariq, who at least tried to do good.

Would Jason even want Zain as a son?

He knew his Baba was excited for him to leave for London. Knew he looked forward to having a normal life, passing Zain off as someone else’s problem.

If – If Zain was thrown out of school for stealing, would Baba let him come home?

*

The silence has reached its hour long mark now, and Zain chances sticking his head out of his bedroom door to assess the situation.

Baba stands with his head bowed next to the stove, slowly stirring the pot, though his eyes look off into the middle distance. But there’s no sign of Jason.

As quietly as he’s able, he heads toward the back door, and there’s Jason sitting on the porch, hat held twisted in his hands, and eyes suspiciously red.

Zain opens the door and silently sits as close to Jason as he feels he’s allowed. Though his own eyes well with tears when he hears Jason let out a long sigh.

No. Jason wouldn’t want him as a son. Of course not. Why would he? He’s responsible for fucking up something amazing between the two, and now Jason will go to America and Baba will never forgive him and will send him to England without a goodbye – .

“M’sorry, Zain.” Jason mumbles, still staring off into the distance. And Zain chokes, and tries not to sob as he lets his head fall onto Jason’s shoulder, huddling closer when an arm is wrapped around him.

“I know you can’t help it, and I know I shoulda tried to help instead of gettin’ so angry. You just scared the shit outta me, so I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Dad.”

“Ah, best you don’t call me that Kid – Zain. I ain’t your dad.” And under his breath he mutters “That’s been made very clear.”

“I wouldn’t mind – unless you don’t want – that is, I know you’d want someone else to be your son, but. But there’s no one else that I would want to be my –“

“Zain.” Jason cuts him off, gently. Squeezing his shoulder tight to his side. He’s put his hat back on, pulling it down to shield his eyes, Old Jason hiding again. “Zain, it ain’t really my call.”

And that’s the end of the conversation. They sit like that for a few more minutes before Jason sighs, heaving the two of them up and leading him inside.

“Do you want to talk to your Baba first?” Jason asks, and Zain nods. Searches for any last piece of courage, and steps into the kitchen.

*

“Set the table Zain, dinner is almost ready.” Baba says as soon as he walks into the room, though he doesn’t turn to look at him.

“Yes, Baba.”

The atmosphere is tense, loaded, and after fiddling with getting all the knives and forks completely straight and telling himself in the back of his mind on repeat ‘you don’t need to take the shiny magnet off the fridge, it’s already yours, you already own it, you don’t need to take it’ he realises that Baba isn’t going to start this conversation. It’s up to Zain.

“I want to take the magnet off the fridge. The bright blue shiny one.” He starts, and then cringes at how random it is. Baba stops stirring the pot, and though he hasn’t turned to face him, his head is cocked as though he’s listening. “I know that I already own the magnet. I know that it probably won’t go anywhere in the future. But, but I want to take it because it’s mine, and something under my skin says I need to take it before it isn’t mine any more. And, and sometimes it’s things outside the house, and I know that they’re mine, and I feel that itch under my skin –“

Baba is turning around now, looking at Zain clearly, his face one of intense concentration and Zain is panicking, because what if Baba is deciding that he’ll make Amar’s job easier for him? What if Baba decides to leave like Mama did?

“It’s why I took back my – the watch. And I’m sorry Baba, I really, really tried, and I promise I’ll try harder. I won’t leave the house or anything and I’ll be better so don’t leave, please –“ The tears are blurring his vision, and he’s terrified and everything sounds like static, and Baba isn’t at the stove any more and that just makes the panic worse and then.

Baba is squeezing him tight. Tighter than he has in a long time. There’s a hand carding through his hair, and the other is around his back, and Zain hugs back just as fiercely, clinging to his Baba as though he were driftwood in the middle of the ocean.

“I’m sorry too, Zain. I should have tried to help you a long time ago.”

*

Once all his tears are shed, and his head feels as though it’s stuffed full of cotton wool, Baba gently ushers him off towards the bathroom to wash his face.

He passes Jason in the hallway who is staring resolutely at where Baba has turned back to the stove. Zain reaches out and squeezes his arm, smiling up at him. And Jason gives him a soldier’s nod and marches off towards Baba as though he were in active combat.

He falters before he reaches Baba though. Reaches a hand out and then curls it back toward himself. Brings the same hand up to his head and removes his cap, placing it on the table and running his hand through his hair.

Then he steps forward, circling his hand round Baba’s waist, burying his head on Baba’s shoulder, and mumbling “ ‘m sorry”

Baba doesn’t look up from the pot, though he’s stopped stirring. “Oh, really?” He replies, before sighing. Leaning back into the circle of Jason’s arms and finally losing some of the tension in his shoulders. “I'm sorry too.”

Zain breathes easier as he finally closes the bathroom door.

*

It’s a week later that Zain receives some early coursework through an email, along with reading lists and some light “ice-breaker” essays about favourite myths. When dinner rolls round, he excitedly talks about his lecturer's praise for his essay on Sumerian myths and legends.

“Hey, that’s fantastic Kiddo,” Jason says, reaching out to ruffle his hair before he hesitates, turning it into an awkward thumbs up. “I mean... I’m sure your Baba is real proud of you.”

He goes back to eating his dinner, unaware of the look Baba sends his way, and Zain lets the hurt silence sit for only a moment before he remembers the email he received from the boy who will he his roommate in University and starts talking again.

*

They are at a market two hours away from the house, partly because they sell a wider range of things for Zain’s dorm, and also because Baba and Jason want to keep and eye on him, and not run into Amar.

They’ve only been here for about half an hour, but a woman with a very grating laugh has already decided that she is latching onto Jason with everything in her. She praises him in both English and Arabic, reaching over to squeeze his arm and in one particularly bold moment, even hooks a finger in one of Jason’s belt loops, though she laughs as though it is the funniest joke when Jason jumps a foot in the air and tries to explain in basic Arabic that he’s not interested.

Zain looks to Baba, sure that he is gearing up to head over and rescue Jason, and maybe give the woman a firm scolding on boundaries too.

Zain remembers his Baba doing the same when his Mama would have the same happen to her in the marketplace. Though... Zain doesn’t remember her being as adverse as Jason is at the moment.

It’s not the first time Jason’s gotten into a predicament like this though, and Baba has always stepped in to help explain, managed to cut off arguments or dissuade a woman from chatting Jason up.

Sure enough, Baba’s fists clench, and he takes a step toward them before he hesitates, shaking his head. He let’s his head fall, turns his back on Jason and instead focuses on a truly hideous lamp instead.

He’s so focused on the lamp (that he absolutely should not consider buying for Zain. It’s yellow and neon orange) that he misses the sad look Jason sends his way as he miraculously finds the exact words in Arabic to explain perfectly to the woman why he isn’t interested.

*

The solution comes in three parts. Each one Zain helps with.

The first is a series of paperwork that takes Zain and Baba three days in secret to complete, very glad that Jason has found a semi-stable cash-in-hand job that has him out of the house in regular hours.

On Jason’s birthday, two months before Zain leaves, they present the last page to him, the one that requires his signature to make it all official.

“Godfather?” Jason reads, looking at the two in askance.

“You can’t adopt me as your son because Baba is still alive and that would be illegal, so the closest I could get to officially calling you my dad is to have you as a godfather!”

Jason’s eyes well up with tears, and he sniffles and smiles so wide it looks as though his face will split in two.

“You want him to be my son?” he asks, looking at Baba as though he has handed him the most precious gift in the world.

“Zain wants you to be his dad, you have been for a while.” Baba days, and Zain nods. “If anything – Allah forbid – ever happened to me, I would be grateful that Zain had another parent to look after him.”

“Here dad, sign it!” Zain enthuses, handing Jason a pen, and pretending as though he has something in his eye when he tears up.

*

The second takes a lot of espionage. So much so that Zain has to rope Tariq in to keep Baba busy, which is a funny sight.

Shop after shop he visits with his dad, trying to give his best advice and also be honest when he starts to feel the itch under his fingers, Jason holding his hand tight and reassuring.

When they finally find something more than suitable, Jason confides that he’s waiting for his and Baba’s anniversary of escaping the House of Ashes to give him the gift.

“I want you there too Zain, you’re important to the two of us, and it’s an important moment I don’t want you to miss.”

“And also because you’re a massive pussy and you need my support, dad?”

“Yannow either you get that from your Baba or her gets that from you. He said basically told the same thing to me!”

They’ve finished their anniversary dinner, raised a toast to their fallen friends and celebrated finding each other when Jason signals Zain to hand Baba the gift.

As Zain walks round the table and hands Baba the gift, Jason stands up while Baba is distracted opening the velvet box, and gets down on one knee.

Inside is two rings on silver necklaces. At first glance they’re totally plain rings, but as Baba turns them towards the light, they shine with a traditional Sword and Shield pattern, elegant and discrete and beautiful.

“Salim,” Jason coughs, drawing Baba’s gobsmacked attention to him. “I love you. Plain an simple, you’ve saved my life more times than I probably deserve, not just in that temple, but in the times you’ve looked at me as though I was your whole world, when you shared your house and your bed and Christ, even your son with me.” Both Baba and Zain choke at that, though Zain mostly at the thought of his dads sharing a bed, whereas Baba is choking back tears.

“You’re it for me Salim. An even though we can’t get married legally, I’d still like to know you’re mine. Will you marry me?”

There’s tears, snot, a litany of “Yes, yes of course yes.” There’s Zain being pulled into a hug between the two men, not even hiding his tears of happiness.

And then there’s Zain grabbing his overnight bag and staying at Tariq’s.

When Tariq asks why, Zain says that Baba is unwell and Zain doesn’t want to catch it. He resolutely tries to convince himself this is the real reason, and not his dads bumping uglies.

*

Its the night before Zain leaves for university, and everything is packed and triple checked (the joys of having two military Babas, everything was packed with an efficiency that scared him).

They’re eating dinner together, and Baba and Jason keep sharing looks with each other not at all subtly. Jason giving obvious, imploring eyes to Baba and Baba sending him back equally ridiculous eyes telling him to wait.

Eventually Jason, not known for his patience in the first place bursts out with “For Chrissakes Salim, I’ll tell him”

“You absolutely will not you Jarhead, I’m telling him now, stop rushing me!”

“Rushing you? We go any slower the damn mountains will be quicker movin’ than us!”

“The only thing slower than a mountain is you!”

“Oh ain’t we smart tonight.”

“Baba! Dad! What is it?” Zain interrupts, nearly at his wits end.

“We’re coming with you!” They both shout, and Zain stands there wide eyed.

“We know you have been worried about these ideas that you won’t be welcome home if something goes wrong, and we know that the therapist in England has already talked to you about surrounding yourself with something familiar. So we – well Jason suggested it first, but we’re coming too.”

“An’ don’t worry bout being embarrassed at havin’ your dads along, we want you to have your independence, but we want to support you too, if you need us.”

“We love you Zain.”

Zain is in floods of tears now, though his smile is wider than it has ever been, practically splitting his face in two. He’s rounded up into a tight hug, squeezed within an inch of his life, though he laughs and insists that he’ll see them all tomorrow.

And the day after that too.

*

Zain is at the airport with his Baba, (Jason getting a later flight so that he can turn the water off and collect the last of their stuff) when he presses something into Zain’s hand.

It’s the magnet. Bright blue, shiny.

“Yours. It belongs to you, because it always has.” Baba says.

His. Because it belongs to him.

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Quick note here also, this is written by someone who has a brother with kleptomania, and this is my experience with him. I hope this doesn't offend any sufferers of Kelptomania, I tried to be very faithful to his experience.

Reblog if I can go on your page and write stupid things in your ask box whenever I'd like to.

I love when men are put in situations :)

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I have a treat for my fellow Jason simps tomorrow 🙏 I appreciate all the love on my posts so far! I'm glad they're liked 🤍

I drew all the Resident Evil games in WigglyPaint

Bonus ↓