#I'm otherwise alright! just gotta make sure I can organize my time for all of this

[butane-muses]

[ // ] It's as they say— job hunting takes a lot of time and a lot of patience...

[ // ] I'm not one to drop exact details here, but I at least have a course of action that I'll be taking as the summer goes, on top of applying to grad school. It's a lot of work, but I'll have to have at it, one step at a time.

[therealbeachfox]

Myths of Gotham: Batman & The Two Cities

Ever wondered what the DCU looks like for all those people who aren't privy to the what's and why's of the multiverse shattering events they live through? I sure do. That's melded with my "The Completely Normal Adventures of a Crime Alley Kid" series into this: An exploration of the stories the kids of Gotham would create to explain the world around them. Featuring a foul-mouthed homeless Crime Alley kid vending an education to the younger set, and one Bernard Dowd adding his historical and cultural commentary on the side.

Also available on Ao3, but I'm posting it here because I think it works just fine as a standalone without the 160k+ words of Henchman-In-Denial shenanigans on the side.

Or ignore that link and read it below the cut!

Myths of Gotham

Supplemental Document 3

Harris (Age-12, Male, Irish/African) [[1]]. “The Origin of Batman and the Robins” Interview by Bernard Dowd. 14th August 202X. BDOH #009, Myths of Gotham Project, https://BerDProductions.net/MythsofGothamProject/bdoh-009.html. Accessed 21st November 202(X+2)

[[1. No further information given, even after being told it’d be for proper attribution. "Harris" is also most likely to be pseudonym. Sorry, researchers of the future.]]

Transcript has been mildly edited for clarity and to remove vocal disfluencies. It is otherwise presented in its entirety without any attempts to correct grammar and other verbal slips. Additional notes by the transcriber may be found in the footnotes.

========

     Alright, everybody needs to settle their shit down, it’s education time. If you don’t wanna sit here and listen to me explain shit, this place has got like twenty other rooms you can go hang out in, k? This aint school, no one’s keeping you here. ‘Xcept you, Carlos. Yeah, well you tried to go chasing after one of the Exquisite Birds the other day, so you obviously need to learn why you shouldn’t be doing that shit.

     Okay, so. We’ll be talking about the Bat Man, but there’s a lotta other stuff we gotta talk about too, first. He didn’t just show up outta fucking nowhere, you know. Now settle down, thank our slumming Posh Boy over there for tonight’s food, and watch what your tongues wag cuz he’s recording all this shit.

     Alright. The Bat Man. Where the fuck did he come from? Why the hell is he here? Why do other cities get flying muscle-men in bright colors and we got a living shadow that breaks bones? Why the hell is our shithole of a city like this? Well sit back and listen a learning, cuz unfortunately it all ties together.

     Alright, so. The first thing we gotta make clear is that we don’t live in the first Gotham. We’re the second Gotham, the johnny-come-lately Gotham, the weird mirror shadow of the first Gotham. Not saying the other Gotham’s the “real” one and we’re some sort of fake, just that there are two Gotham’s and the one we live in aint the original.

     And an important side-note cuz I can see some of you squirming to ask and someone always asks here, I’m not talking about the False Gothams you sometimes see from between buildings or in the reflections of broken windows or stuff. [[2]] Those things aren’t real; they’re just illusions and traps, spun up by something that wants to lure you in with the promise of there being a version of the world where everything didn’t go to shit. It’s all lies. Most kids who go hunting after False Gothams never come back, but there’ve been a few who have, and they’ve got wild as shit stories to tell. But we’re not getting into all that tonight. Basic point is, you don’t get to The Other Gotham by going down weird alleyways. Nah, you just gotta go down.

[[2. Harris appears to be referring to Gotham’s ‘Mirage City’ phenomenon where heated air trapped in narrow gaps between skyscrapers can sometimes warp the light enough to appear to show an altered city skyline between them. The implications of the fact that this phenomenon is most often reported near sites of Justice League confirmed inter-dimensional fracture points is beyond the scope of this project and will just be noted as a point of further study for the reader.]]

     So the way it was told to me by the kids who knew shit back when I was among you all listening was like this: Gotham, that is to say, our Gotham, is The Black City, The Gotham Above. The Other Gotham, the original Gotham, is The White City, the Gotham Below, and it was here first. [[3]] The way it’s told, it’s not just the first Gotham, it’s the first city ever, built (or carved) out of the rock way back before people had figured out things like writing shit down instead of remembering it all, math, or how to build something more than two stories high.

[[3. There have been urban legends of an underground city that exists as a mirror of Gotham since the late 1600s, barely a decade or two after the city’s founding. The two main versions either say that it was some ancient city that sank beneath the swamp and bogs before the arrival of the Europeans, or that it’s an inverse mirror of Gotham that’s formed from all our wickedness and corruption. No evidence of either version of such a city has ever been officially recorded. It’s usually assumed that people who wrote of such things, especially in the earlier centuries, had stumbled upon some of the vast cave networks that extend beneath the breadth of greater Gotham and their stories of giant chambers with rock formations that rivaled the tallest buildings in size were misinterpreted.]]

     So you know those whacked out monsters and aliens and weird-dicked demon things you have the Justice League out there beating the ass of every other week? They had all that shit way back in pre-history times too, but they didn’t have any cavemen in capes and spandex to punch them in the face. And they were everywhere. Big creepy monsters, fucked up demons that crawled out of the earth or shadows or fires and might not actually be from Hell, but acted like such murderous shits you could see how humanity got the idea of Hell in the first place. You had twisting shadows that would infect people’s own shadows and turn them into evil twisted things like them. You had monsters that only existed as silent whispers that’d get in a guy’s brain and tell them all sorts of shit till they honestly believed that wearing other people’s skin and dancing under the moon was a totally normal and not at all fucked up thing to do. You look back at the earliest stories humans ever wrote down and you can see they were remembering all sorts of fucked up shit we don’t got around anymore. Or at least, didn’t have around anymore until recently. [[4]] And it’s because of The Other Gotham.

[[4. Like with many aspects of Gotham’s unhoused youth culture’s mythic cycle, the timeline of this all doesn’t line up with actual history except in the vaguest of sense. It is interesting to note however that Princess Diana of Themyscira’s speech about ‘The Return of the Mythic’ (end note (i)) has somehow gotten incorporated here, and in a way that almost perfectly aligns with with current historical consensus.]]

     So, the way we figure it must’ve happened was like this: Just because they didn’t have superheroes back then, it doesn’t mean they didn’t have magic. Like, we don’t got a lot of it now, but you can’t argue it doesn’t exist, and pretty much everyone agrees that there used to be a lot more of it way back when, whenever that when was. And that when was here. This is the Way Back When. So a bunch of the smartest most powerful magicals [[sic]] got together to try and figure out a way to get humanity on more of an even standing against all these fucking monsters and evil spirit shits everywhere, and what they came up with was the idea for a great big fuck-off prison for the lot of them.

     So they went and found the one place on the planet that had the most Fucked Up energy possible - guess where - and set to work carving it out deep underground. At the bottom of the biggest cavern there was under the three islands and surrounding swamps, they dug out a pit. Not a giant wide pit, but a long deep one. As deep down as they could dig with whatever magic and tools they had back then. And down there at the bottom, they carved out a great chamber in the rock and covered it with all the runes and magic writing and iron and silver and whatever the fuck else you need to keep giant millipedes that eat souls in check. Then, somehow - and if anyone knows how, it sure as shit aint gonna be us - they managed to lure or suck in or capture just about every evil nasty messed up thing on the planet and locked them down in it.

     You can tell when this happened if you know enough history cuz it would’ve taken place right before humanity got its collective shit together and started doing things like building cities and writing stuff down and everything else that they count as ‘civilization’ these days. [[5]] But like I said, none of the cities everyone topside were building was the first. The first city was built right here, under our feet. They started out by carving out the insides of the biggest stalag-whatevers hanging down from the cavern roofs to live in while they did the original work. Then, once they figured out how that sort of thing worked, they started building their own towers, hanging down from above where they could keep an eye on their monster prison. All spires and guardian statues and skyways and at the center of it all, a giant hole drilled straight to the middle of the whole fucking planet.

[[5. ‘The Great Binding’ and it’s coinciding with the beginnings of known civilization (end note (ii)) is one of the newest theories out of the field of metahistory. Notably, UC Berkley’s article on the subject referenced in the end notes came out seven weeks after this interview took place. And as a side note to the footnote, even proponents of The Great Binding have no concrete theory on where such a prison might’ve been placed. A giant pit right on the Eastern Seaboard seems incredibly unlikely, however.]]

     So yeah, the Gotham Below. Sure, it wasn’t being called Gotham way back then. Not sure they even would’ve given the place a name to begin with. If you’ve never had a city before, would you even think it was something that needed a name? Anyways, Gotham Below. And they didn’t have shit to burn down there, but they did have magic. So, as the story goes, they kept the place lit with magic instead of fire. And all that rock remained as white and untouched by soot and ash as they day it’d gotten carved out. So Gotham Below, the White City. And even with all their magic, those people still eventually got old and died, so it was their kids left watching over the great pit prison. Then they grew old and died, and it was their grandkids left watching. And so it went for centuries and centuries and centuries, for however long it took for humanity to start building cities, then for Europeans to develop to the point where the felt like being assholes, and then for them to decide to go fuck up the rest of the world, and then landing on these same islands and decide that this abandoned remote hellhole was the perfect place to build a brand new city cuz there weren’t enough of those yet or whatever.

     Now, this should be obvious, but you can’t keep a thousand million monsters and demons and evil alien ghosts all trapped in one spot and not have shit kinda bleed out over time. When those pilgrims showed up to start building shit here, shit got weird. Now, I haven’t read any of this myself, but the kid who told me all this did, and according to him, if you go back and read through the journals and writings of those guys responsible for building up Gotham originally, you can see that they were fucked in the head. They kept writing about dreams they’d be having, silent streets of gleaming white they’d walk through while they slept and how the visions of great towering spires and skyways and a billion fucking gargoyles filled their pages whenever they tried to draw up designs. [[6]] So that’s what they all wound up making, one bridge and building and road at a time. A perfect mirror of the City Below, but reaching up in the sky instead of down into the earth. Each stalagamitite tower hanging down in one had a tower reaching up in the other. And smack in the middle of original Old Gotham stood the tallest building of all, right over where the pit was drilled far far below. [[7]] The Clocktower aint the tallest building in Gotham anymore, but it used to be. And while the Gotham Below remained pure and gleaming white, up here they hadn’t even finished putting up the first medieval porta-potties before shit was stained with soot and ash and coal smoke and whale oil residue.

[[6. Harris overstates things, but the base assertion is correct here. The writings of Cyrus Pinkney are infamous for their frequent reference to ‘dark and shadowy dreams’ (end note (iii)) and his open acknowledgment of how much those dreams influenced his designs. Not to the extent described here, though.]]

[[7. The Great Gotham Tower. Known better these days as The Gotham Clocktower or just The Clocktower. It was placed at the center of Gotham as it existed in it’s original state, with the rest of Old Gotham laid out around it in expanding circles connected by thoroughfares at each of the eight cardinal directions.]]

     And that’s how we got to where we are: With the White City, Gotham Below, and the Black City, Gotham Above.

Now, you can’t go building an entire fucking city without the downstairs neighbors hearing the noise and poking their heads out to see what it’s all about. This is another case where you can find references across all that early writing stuff they keep in the libraries. People started seeing ghosts. I mean, they were calling them ghosts, but they really obvious weren’t. People up high, watching people below. They’d wear big white robes that looked like wings when they moved. They wore strange masks with big smoke-glass eyes. They moved through shadows like they were part of them, they could climb a building as easy as walking, and anyone who tried to climb up to one would either find them gone, or would next be seen falling off the tallest building in the neighborhood.

     As the history goes, the masks they wore looked vaguely birdlike. A specific type of bird. But it quickly became obvious that whoever these people were, they really didn’t like it when people called them… that specific bird species. So we don’t. Adults still do sometimes, but that’s because they’re fucking idiots. [[8]] If you need to talk about them, call them the White Birds. Or, even better- They’re vain, these White Birds. If you flatter them, they’re less likely to decide to kill you for talking about them at all. The term that tends to get used a lot these days is Exquisite. [[9]] Not sure who came up with it, but we’ve barely had any kids go missing since we started. Still, it’s best to wait until the middle of the day, and talk about them someplace out in the open where you can be sure no one’s lurking in any shadows.

[[8. Beware the eyes of owls

Who watch us all the time

From lofty perches up on high

To the deepest pits of grime.

They watch us as we work and play

They watch us in our bed

Speak not a whispered word of them

Least talons strike you dead.]]

[[9. “Exquisite” is recorded as being Gotham street-kid slang for ‘untrustworthy john/rich person/official’ in the early 1980s (end note (iv)). An article in The Gotham Gazette from 1954 quotes a homeless kid as saying “We all always knew you couldn’t trust him. He was a full Exquisite Bird type through’n’through. None of us is surprised they found all those bodies up’n’in his place.” (end note (v)), and a stylized EXQU was used as hobo code for a place that seemed nice but must be avoided at all costs along the mid-Atlantic coast during the 1930s. (end note (vi)).]]

     So throughout all of Gotham’s history, they’re just… there. Watching from up high in the shadows, the Exquisite Birds. If you see one, no you didn’t. If someone asks you about them, you don’t know what they’re talking about. They don’t like it when people admit they see them, and they’re as quick to slice open witnesses as any other two-bit gang.

     So that’s where shit stood for a few centuries. Then something happened. We really don’t know what, and no one who would is the sort who’d tell us, either. We just know what resulted. Grownups call it the Cataclysm, or the Big One. [[10]] One day, the earth just turned over in a giant earthquake, split open, and half of Gotham fell down. Then, suddenly, there were monsters. Monsters everywhere. Gotham had always been shit, but now you had people dressing up like insects and murdering people with giant roach traps, or gangsters turning from murdering assholes to mass-murdering assholes who’d torture you for five hours then pull out your eyeballs for their collection, or giant piles of toxic mud coming to life and eating people.

[[10. It goes without saying, but at this point, Harris’ version of events deviates radically from the known timeline. The first recorded footage of Batman was taken eight years before the Great Gotham Quake, with the first rumors of his existence being almost twelve years earlier. This condensing down of timelines and assuming all events from more than five years ago took place at around the same time is a known phenomenon with children-created mythic cycles. (end note (vii))]]

     It was chaos. Everything broke down, no one knew what was going on. The rest of the country looked at what was happening in Gotham and flipped out and shut it all down. They blew up the bridges, put mines in the rivers and blockaded the entire city to try and contain whatever the hell this all was. [[11]]

[[11. No Man’s Land did take place, but if it was because elements of the US government were concerned about an outbreak of mythical monsters in the city, that fact remains undocumented.]]

     Now, like I said, we don’t know how everything kicked off, but we know how it ended. Somehow, whether on accident or on purpose, someone broke open the prison buried deep under out feet. Not all the way; none of the truly giant world-ending shit has gotten out. But all those twisted shadows and invisible whispers and nasty spirt ghost fuckers? They slid out just fine. We don’t know if the earthquake cracked it, or if the cracking of it caused the earthquake. We don’t know if the Exquisite Birds did it on purpose, or why if they did. We don’t know if they didn’t stop it because they didn’t care, or they just couldn’t.

     End result, though? Chaos in Gotham and monsters killing and corrupting and twisting everyone they could get their semi-visible claws into. And the Exquisite Birds just sitting there up high, watching and doing jack shit about it.

     These days, we know what to do when shit like that goes down. We know how to feed wishes to the gargoyles and how to call out for the Bats and the Robins, but people back then, they didn’t know any of that. Hell, there wasn’t anything to pray to or to collect those wishes yet. So you had a whole city of people hoping and praying for something to come save them, and nothing for all that power and energy to ground itself in. And there was a whole lotta power in the air. That ancient magic prison had just busted open after all, so along with all the evil smoke demons and monsters and shit, you also had all that raw protective magic leaking out at the same time. And it got mixed up with all those unanswered wishes and pleads as it coiled up through the spires of a city that was the mirror of its own. And there, at the top of everything, it all found it’s lightning rod and grounded itself and WHAM! Just like that, everything changed.

     Now, I’ve seen the old photographs, from back when you got pictures of city skylines from giant blimps and stuff. And the resolution on them is never great, but you can see it all the same. Back when The Clocktower was the tallest building in the city, it had a big fuck-off gargoyle on top of it. Big swept back wings and these curved back horns, and hunched all over looking out towards the ocean for anything that might be sailing in to do harm.

     It’s not there anymore. Supposedly, it fell off during the Cataclysm, but I’ve never heard of no reports of it getting dug outta the rubble. [[12]] We know what really happened to it, though. All those wards on the monster prison had failed, all the watching guardians of Gotham Below had failed, and Gotham Above was filled with unanswered prayers. It all came together at the highest point of Old Gotham, and the Bat Man statue sitting there was imbued with both the power and the motive to protect us. All of us. Bam! Batman!

[[12. The Sentinel of Gotham was an actual statue that stood on top of Gotham Tower for over 150 years. It was an angel-winged figure standing ten feet tall with a sword at its side and a shield held facing out to the bay. It fell off the top of the Clocktower in 1967 along with a significant portion of the north-western corner. The damage would remain until the revitalization of Gotham at the end of No Man’s Land. What happened to the statue is unknown. It was recovered for restoration and assumed display in one of Gotham’s museums, but I can find no further word about it after 1968.]]

     I mean, we all know about the next parts, yeah? Lots of punching, lots of asskicking. Big giant monster with glowing eyes descending from above to kick the teeth in of anyone who’d given in to the whispering shadows, to the monsters wearing human skin, to the demons and their shadows and all the rest. And it was awesome.

     But the kids at the time, the kids like us, they had it rougher. I mean, the way it’s like today isn’t like it was back then. Batman’s been alive for a lot longer now; he’s had time to learn how to be a person and not just some sort of monster-fighting gargoyle. But you can still see it. He talks like most of his throat’s still rock, and he moves like it too. He’s got a punch that sends people through walls, and bullets only make him bleed when he remembers they should and they never keep him down for long. And he still doesn’t really get what it means to be a person, or how to deal with humans. Like, you can tell he tries, but he’s an ancient protective guardian powered by even more ancient vengeance magic and there’s only so much that can do. To the kids of those early days, he was even worse. He didn’t understand that they’d be hungry or lost or alone. He didn’t understand why something like him would be terrifying, and he didn’t get why sometimes you had to steal to eat and survive.

     So some of the smart kids of back then got together and worked out a plan. There was still a lot of that protection magic in the air from the prison getting busted wide open and they got the idea to try and channel it all, but on purpose this time.

((The wishes!!))

     Right, the wishes. This is when that started. They spread the word. When you needed something, when you’d lost something, when you needed someone to help, you would write down your wish and what and who you needed to fix it, and you’d feed it to a gargoyle. Wish by wish, paper scrap by paper scrap, we taught the gargoyles what sort of protector the city’s children needed. There were attempts to get kids to feed them all to one specific gargoyle or another, but it didn’t really work out, everyone just wound up stuffing them into whatever gargoyle they liked best, or was easiest to reach, or was safe to get to. Turns out, you don’t need to feed the wishes to any specific gargoyle, they all talk to each other. What you wish to one gets picked up by all the others. [[13]]

[[13. This tradition appears to have started a year or two after Robin first premiered. It’s unclear exactly how it originated, but it’s now city-wide knowledge, especially among the kids, that you can feed wishes to gargoyles if you want them to come true. Previous writers have compared this to wishing on a star and have suggested that it’s how Gotham’s youth have adjusted for the fact you can rarely see any stars to wish upon in the city. (end note (viii, ix)). ‘Wishes for Gargoyles’/’Wishing on a Gargoyle/Gargoyle Wishes’ is often used by older Gothamites – particularly parents, teachers, and other caregivers – to refer to young foolish wishes, but with a positive connotation (similar to the phrase ‘puppy love’ meaning young foolish love, but with a positive connotation). (end note (x)). And despite what some city officials have worried, there’s never been a need to invest in going around and clearing years of paper pulp out of gargoyles across the city. What exactly is happening to the wishes instead is unknown.]]

     And it worked, is the thing! It barely took a year before there was a second shape following behind the Bat at night. And it wasn’t like the Bat at all. It wasn’t a soot and ash-stained version of the Exquisite Birds, carved out of stone and one with the shadows. It was small, and bright, with the colors of Christmas, Halloween, and the circus all in one. He laughed and told jokes and understood the difference between kids who were crying because they were scared, or tired, or lost, or had just too much happen to them too soon. He knew how to talk to kids and how to help us. He stood between kids who just needed money to eat and the Bat Man’s strict ethics. We’d done it, we’d made a protector of our own. Warmer, more real, more human.

     Kind a little too human, it turns out. Robins aren’t eternal like the Bat is. Robins grow up and grow old. Robins can die. Turns out, Robins aren’t made by a gargoyle coming to life like the Bat Man did. It’s more like, the gargoyles sort of push out the essence of all those stored wishes into a form that’s shaped after themselves, but made of our wishes and hopes and needs instead of just stone and rock. We don’t even know exactly which statues most of them came from.

     We know the Second Robin’s gargoyle. But we’re Crime Alley kids, so of course we know. He went back to it whenever he needed to rest and heal. There are kids who still climb up there to tend to it and feed it offerings. We’re never gonna get Our Robin back, but it doesn’t feel right to let his gargoyle sit abandoned. And there are some kids who think, or hope, that if we can feed it enough wishes and offerings and positive vibes, maybe someday Crime Alley’s Robin will be able to reform to protect us again.

     Until that happens, though, we keep feeding wishes to all the others. The first Robin evolved into Nightwing and became the protector guardian of Bludhaven. Kids who were smarter than me figure it’s because that protective magic is still leaking out of the broken prison and spreading out like a fog. It’s spread far enough out that it can feed them the next city over. Which means they also have those invisible whispers and corruptive shadows and all the rest, which, if you’ve ever talked to a kid from there, you know they absolutely do.

     The Uptown Robin dyed himself Red and moved in closer to us here in the Alley. Personally, I figure it’s because he’s been getting all those wishes and offerings we’ve been giving to Second Robin’s gargoyle. It’s sort of merging the two of them a little. Hell, if it wasn’t for that Red Hood guy showing up, he probably would’ve become the Crime Alley guardian fully by now. I always kinda wondered if the Uptown kids have a gargoyle they keep up like we do ours, they just don’t tell anyone about it. I mean, we scarcely do. We sure as hell don’t tell anyone who doesn’t need to know where it is, that’s for damn sure. [[14]]

[[14. I only asked after the second Robin’s gargoyle’s location once. When I told that information wasn’t shared, I didn’t peruse it any further. All the extra glaring here was just really unnecessary.]]

     Oh shit, good question, yeah, no, the Bat Girls totally come from the same place. Why some go by one and others go by the other is beyond me. There’ve been girl Robins, and it wouldn’t surprise me if there’ve been guy Batgirls. I think it’s because Gotham’s kids feed so many wishes into the system? There’s a lot of need out here, and so Gotham keeps birthing out new protectors for us. For awhile, I thought it was just a case of there were usually two ‘new’ ones at any given time, so one would get called Robin and the other would get called Bat Girl, but then we had two Bat Girls for awhile, and then Red Robin went back to being Robin while the other Robin was also Robin, but then they kept changing names, and…

     Look, I’m sure there are kids out there who have a better grasp on this stuff than I do. I just know where they come from, not what sort of weird rooftop pack/hive dynamics they got going on these days, you know?

     So, couple of other points before we close this all up. First, on the nature of wishes. I know it’s real cathar- ceth-. Fuck. Real good feeling to wish death by a thousand cuts on those fuckers who beat you up and stole all your food, or wish that the dad who beat you has his arms chopped off and whatever, but we’re all, all of us kids, city-wide, we’re really pushing that everyone cut down on the violence level of the wishes. The latest Robin we got came out with a sword. He’s straight up merc’ed a few guys too, and it didn’t work out as well as it feels like it should. We don’t want the next one to be even worse. Robin is supposed to be our protector, not our vengeance.

     If you want someone to wind up stabbed, you learn how to use a knife and take care of that shit yourself.

     We’re pretty sure the one extra invisible Bat Girl was formed out of the Bat’s shadow. She doesn’t talk much because they have to share the same voice, and she’s usually happy to let him use it, but this way the Bat’s able to properly Bat at two different places in the city at once. So she’s like the born wish of a born wish. It’s no wonder she’s so slippery and invisible half the time. Unless she’s actively punching something, she barely physically exists at all.

     And no, no one’s exactly sure what’s up with Signal. I mean, yeah, obviously he was formed out of the Bat Signal. Skin’s the same color as the metal, outfit’s the same color as the light, and he actually shines and glows and all the rest. And he says he’s The Signal. This is like obvious base level shit.

     We just don’t know who’s wishes he was born from. I mean, it’s possible that somehow the Bat Signal’s gotten tied into the gargoyle network, but that seems kinda implausible to me. Some have said maybe he was born out of the wishes of the police for Batman to show up and help out during the day for fucking once, but he’s way less violent and murdery than you’d expect from something born out of cop wishes.

     Buddy of mine who’s pretty damn smart and is usually better at these things than me thinks Signal might’ve been born from the police commissioner’s wishes specifically. Which kinda makes sense. He’s like the one cop who actually gets upset when someone gets shot twenty times in the back for no reason, and he’s always the one turning on the Bat-Signal and talking to the Bat under it for years and years and years.

     Kid I knew a year back actually managed to ask Signal who’s wishes he was born out of, but Signal just laughed and said something along the lines of “Doesn’t really matter who wished for me. What matters is they wished for everyone to be safe, so that’s what we’re here to do.” Then he blasted apart these giant shadow-bat things with bat-light beams and it was awesome.

     So yeah. That’s where Batman and the Robins and the Bat Girls and all the rest came from, and why they do what they do. Give thanks to Poshkid for the food, remember to put out your fires before you sleep, and if anyone wants to talk about the EBs, track me down tomorrow and we’ll go hang out in Leeds’ Park around noon so we can be sure nothing’s listening in.

[alysmarylin]

The fic you've been waiting for

Crowley avenging his beloved angel - Sandalphon got what he deserved (don't thank me, reblog instead)!!!!!!!!

Crowley and Aziraphale were unpacking the stuff they bought on a big shopping Sunday, and to this very day Crowley can't remember why and how they ended up talking about Aziraphale's, well... Ex-kin.

"I kinda enjoyed Michael", Crowley laughed. "Rather good-looking. Uriel, on the other hand..."

"Don't get me started on Uriel and Sandalphon", Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "I hate their guts"

"Sandalphon was a tough prick, I remember. And uglier than Belzebub", Crowley sneered.

"You don't say. He works in my place now, homophobic son of a... They couldn't have picked a worse candidate", Aziraphale said in a somewhat hurt voice. 

"Don't worry, angel. Soon enough, he will receive some beating from locals, I tell you"

"Yeah, I should've definitely punched that bastard back", Aziraphale muttered under his nose quietly, angrily. 

" Yeah, you bet...", Crowley laughed and then stopped abruptly. "W-w-wait, wait-wait-wait. Back? What do you mean, back?". Crowley stood up from the floor and stepped up to Aziraphale. 

" Nothing, really"

"No, not nothing". Crowley's eyes were widened in shock. " Do you mean, that, that piece of shit HIT you?!"

Aziraphale lowered his eyes. It looked like the memory wasn't pleasant. Crowley was gasping.

"When? When did it happen? How come I didn't know?", Crowley was not yet angry but more frightened. " Angel, look at me. Talk to me. Someone battered you and I know nothing of it?!"

"No one battered me. I was walking back to my bookshop and Michael, Uriel and... And he approached me, I was questioned..."

"Where the Hell was I?" - Crowley asked, astonished.

"You drove home", Aziraphale said quietly and sadly.

Crowley tilted his head backward and sighed with despair. "I should've known... ". He lowered his head and looked at Aziraphale with sadness and pain. Aziraphale looked confused and lost.

" What did he do? Tell me, angel", Crowley stepped closer, putting his hand on Aziraphale's arm, leaning closer. "Tell me. He's dead"

"Don't you dare, Crowley, we got away and I won't..."

"What did he do to you? What? Why didn't you tell me? I was up there, I saw him, I could've..."

"Because I didn't want you to", Aziraphale answered bitterly. " I needed you to be concentrated and cool-headed. You freed me from them, same as I did for you. That's all that matters"

"No, it's not. You look sad, you look hurt", Crowley said, cupping Aziraphale's cheek. " Otherwise you would've forgotten".

"He punched me in the stomach, alright?", Aziraphale said with a lump in his throat. His lower lip trmbled a bit. "It wasn't as painful physically as it was humiliating".

Crowley looked down on his angel's belly - soft, beautiful, beloved and precious - and everything before his eyes suddenly became red as blood.

"I told you because I trust you, but if you dare approach him or pull out something stupid like that, I will leave you, Crowley", he heard Aziraphale's voice from some distance.

"Do you hear me? Answer me, Crowley"

Crowley felt his head filling with lead from within.

"I will not approach him. I swear it"

"Good", he hears Aziraphale say. " I'll finish unpacking"

Crowley stopped Aziraphale, holding him by the arm. He embraced him from behind, wrapping one of his arms around his chest and putting his hand gently on the angel's belly. He buried his nose in his soft blonde curls and muttered: "I love you".

"I love you too", Aziraphale answered softly, "Now let me finish".

Crowley looked at him, picking up paper bags and arranging the stuff around the room, looking small and soft and lovely. Somehow it made his silent rage all the more burning and red became crimson in his eyes. He swore he wouldn't approach that sick fuck who laid his dirty hands - no, he couldn't bear to think of it - on Aziraphale

... But he said nothing of his friends.

***

Crowley pulled his hood further on his forehead

"Pleasure to see you, Jay. You look like a heroin addict in that hoody", said Phil. 

"I have to hide my hair somehow. Rare color"

Crowley was nervous and feeling restless.

"Yep. You're drop-dead gorgeous lad, we get it. To what I owe the pleasure?"

"I need to track someone down. Name's Saldanphon but he changes his IDs every now and then. You'll have to check for anything similar. Don't have a picture, but I draw him", Crowley laid a piece of paper on a table. The drawing looked fairly accurate. " Looks middle-aged, a bit fat, bald, ugly, has a golden tooth. A homophobe might be hanging around gay bars and the likes to preach or intimidate or whatever he does. That's all I have as of now".

"Well", Phil sighed " It's doable. But it will take a while. Any family?"

"No, none at all"

"I see. The golden tooth is indeed something". Phil looked at Crowley's hand. "You got married?"

"Ugh, yeah", Crowley answered looking around. " You know how to, ehm, tell me of the progress?"

"I've been around longer than you", Phil said wearily, and Crowley had to keep his mouth shut on that remark, " You'll know when I find something. Just one more thing. This, ehm, funny-named morality apostle. What exactly are you planning? He's gonna go?"

"No, not go", Crowley said with sheer disappointment "Plainly be taught a lesson. He put his shitty hands where he shouldn't have".

"Are you gonna call our mutual friend?", Phil raised his eyebrows. " If you want to make it clean, it's the best way. They'll never track his men down. Just food for thought, Jay. A piece of advice from the old man"

"That sounds reasonable", Crowley nodded, as if he had had any idea what to do next when he came to Phil, " I'll think about it. Thank you. Wanna count?". He put a book - a fake book, of course - on a table.

"Here? Oh, please. Trust me, if I don't find what I intend to find here, you'll know", Phil put a book in his bag and stood up. " Have a nice day, kid. Next time, wear something else"

Crowley waited for ten more minutes before leaving the diner. It was only when he was in a crowdy underground station when he put the hood off. He had to be cautious. For everyone's sake.

 

***

 

"Do you really think it's a good place, Jay?", said a tall and broad bald man in a leather jacket, trying to sit comfortably on a bench by a pond.

"The best one, in terms of privacy", said Crowley, looking grimly from his hood. " So. You said you owe me a favor all the way back from 1999. I didn't need anything for a long time, but now..."

"How do you manage to look so young, you sick bastard?", the man asked, chuckling, trying to look at Crowley's face. " You look just like my son, and that sad excuse of an heir is 27 now, not something you could tell by the way he speaks, though, I'd give him 10  in that department, still... How old are you, anyway?"

"I use a strong sunscreen. And I have good genes. Good, hardworking Irish people, my entire family. Will you listen or not, Patsy?"

A bald man stopped laughing and sighed.

"Of course. What seems to be the problem?"

"Our mutual buddy, Phil, tracked down a guy I need you to deal with. Here's what I've got on him", Crowley took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to a man without so much as looking at his side. " I want your people to teach him a lesson. He's gotta stay alive. I can't be seen. But I need to watch it from a distance. I know you're ready to do this, but still" - Crowley took out something that looked like a book and put it on Patsy's lap still without looking at him - "this is some additional motivation for you, or a token of a good will, if you wish to call it that way".

Patsy put down an apparently-book-thing in his suitcase and opened a piece of paper. He looked at Crowley, frowning.

" What kind of a lesson do you want him to be taught, exactly?"

"If your boys will do it properly, he'll need new teeth", Crowley said, finally turning his head to his counterpart, looking him in the eyes from beneath his shaded. "The whole damn package. And the old ones, I want to have them. Every single one. Especially the golden one. No internal bleeding, no injuries to any organs. You can break a couple of ribs, but carefully. As you wish. But I need his teeth"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jay", the Patsy man said, looking flabbergasted. " What did this son of a bitch did to you so you became such a butcher"

"He laid his shitty hands where he shouldn't have", Crowley hissed, grinding his teeth. His hands clenched in fists.

" You didn't tell me you were married. Was this your wife?", Patsy asked warily.

"I have no wife, but I am indeed married", Crowley answered. " I know you're one of the few people of your occupation who don't look down on things like that. I love him. But I swore I won't touch this bastard myself. I don't have much choice, Pat"

"I'm sorry it happened to your, well, spouse", Patsy said carefully. " But the guys that I have in my crew are not as open-minded as I wish they were. You know it yourself. Ours is not the most prestigious job. I'll do this favor, but when you're sitting in a car with them, better keep the personal personal". 

They shook hands.

"I'll be waiting for your call. You know which number to call, and which not to", Crowley said, standing up. "I'm looking forward to seeing your team at work".

 

***

 

Crowley was staring into the field glasses, trying looking at two tall men in leather jackets dragging a bald man resembling Sandalphon, gagged and tied up, to a torch on the abandoned parking lot. The jeep where Crowley and his associates were sitting was right in its darkest corner.

It was Christmas Eve, the 24th of December. The snow was falling gloriously, but the place was too grim and damp for the fairy-tale-like spirit.

“You see them, Cap?”, a young driver, sitting by Crowley’s side asked.

“It looks like him, but I need insurance. I remember his voice. Call them”

One of the guys on the backseat dialed a number and one of the bouncers took the phone.

“Our cap wants so be sure it’s the guy. Let him speak”

He turned on the speakerphone. Soon enough Crowley heard Sandalphon screaming something like:

“I’ll give you anything you want, please, untie me, I need my hands, I…”, before Crowley nodded and Sandalphon became silent again. The phone was turned off and Sandalphon was dragged to a small staircase, and Crowley had to pay very close attention, looking into field glasses again, to recognize what was going on.

“Are you sure your people can do ALL the teeth in one go?”, he asked a bit unsurely.

“You insult us, Mr. Jay. It is our signature. One strike, all teeth. Leaves a strong message”, murmured a young man behind him.

“Well, then…”, Crowley started, but then he saw something rather outstanding, that made him make a certain sound: “Oi, woah… That was surprising… Alright, gentlemen, pardon me for my previous skepticism. I take that back. On second thought, I even refuse to take, the, ehm, the evidence”

He then heard his phone ring. It had to be Aziraphale. He had to answer. He quickly took the phone and blurted:

“Angel, honey, I can’t talk, I’m very busy, buying you a surprise, I’ll call you back in ten, love you”, without letting him even say a word. He figured out it would be more secure.

“Wife?”, asked a second young man, with a smile.

“Yeah. Sort of. Listen, I think I’d rather be going, are they done with the teeth? At the end of the day, I’ll think I’m more than happy without them. I don’t wanna take ‘em. I saw what you did, it was amazing. Drop me at the underground station, please… Else my, ehm, spouse, will be suspecting something, which I don’t fancy, like, at all”.

 

Crowley was very relieved when they drove away.

 

***

 

Crowley thought he had never had such a lovely Christmas morning. Angel was by his side, in his lovely tartan pajamas, they were tucked under the blanket, sipping tea and lazily switching the channels on telly.

“I thought I hated Christmas”, Crowley said quietly, as he lowered his head to Aziraphale’s, planting a soft kiss on his temple. “Now you made me love it. What next, angel?”

“You’ll stop wearing all black?”, Aziraphale answered, with a sarcastic smile.

“Naah, not in this life and not in the next”, Crowley said leisurely, switching the channels. Then he saw the news.

“… The victim of this horrific Christmas assault is alive, but severely traumatized – his teeth were…”

That was something Crowley didn’t account for – the bloody news.

“Ugh, what is it with these people”, he said with a trembling voice, trying desperately to sound casual, turning the telly off. “It’s only violence on this television, I’ll better put on some music. And make you some tea”, Crowley said, standing up.

“Dear boy”, Aziraphale said softly. “I’d like some tangerines. Would you be so kind as to bring your husband a plateful of those?”, he smiled. Crowley looked like he was melting from the inside.

“Every time you say the h-word I can’t say no to anything, angel. I’ll be in 15, a’right”

Crowley sighed with relief as he stepped into the kitchen. He was off the hook now, but some time from now, the angel might still learn about what happened. Will he be able to understand?

“All I did, I did for you”, Crowley thought in pain. “I love you so much I couldn’t stop it. He had to pay, my love, he had to”. Crowley felt tears fill his eyes, as he was putting tangerines in a bowl, but he was able to will them away. “I’d kill for you, I’d die for you, Aziraphale”, he thought with anguish. “I hope you know that whatever comes. I hope you will forgive me for what I had to do”.

 ***

 

With Crowley gone, Aziraphale was finally able to read the newspaper.

 

“Broken teeth, that’s a good take”, he thought smugly, as he read the weekly crime report. “See, Sandalphon. What goes around, comes around, next time you want to apply brutal force to your… arguments, better remember this, no? Though I doubt there will be the next time”

Aziraphale smirked. What his husband lacked in logic and cautiousness, he made up in loyalty and protectiveness. Blind loyalty and fierce protectiveness.

“You’re such an idiot, Crowley”, Aziraphale thought tenderly. “Really, A-J? To think I wouldn’t know? Me, famous Mr. Fell of Soho?”

That very evening, when he received a phone call from Phil and heard of some “heroin junkie looking” guy calling himself “Tony Jay” or “A J”, or, God have mercy, “Jay”, of all things, he knew it has to be Crowley.

“Wearing a black hoodie on top of his shades, really. It’s a miracle he didn’t get busted for drug possession”. Maybe it was indeed a miracle.

Truth be told, he wasn’t angry. He couldn’t approve openly, but there was a certain warmness in knowing that a homophobic golden-toothed prick who assaulted him now got what was coming for him.

“But I can’t encourage this sort of behavior in Crowley”, he thought, hiding his smile. “Now, dear boy, you need to control your impulses. At least, most of the time”.

Still, Aziraphale knew that he was one of the luckiest men – well, not really men, but… - alive, for his partner would stop at nothing to protect him.

“If only he would’ve acted a bit cleverer… Well, I suppose you can’t have it all. He’s beautiful, caring, kind, sweet, fiercely loyal and sexy as Hell, in the most literal sense of this word. It’s only natural he has to be a complete idiot to not let me forget myself. Oh, he brought me the cannoli the other day… This boy watched The Godfather too many times”.

 

“Angel!”, Crowley said, entering the room with a bowl full of tangerines. “What are you smiling at?”

“I’m thinking about how lucky I am to have you, dear boy”, Aziraphale answered with a loving smile.