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thewritermj · 1 year ago

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cameras flashes, that's how we crashed

battinson!bruce wayne X reader

part 1

summary: on a press conference, bruce finds a journalist who's up to his standards

warnings: usual gotham violence, quick discrimination of a serial killer, not actually smut in this, but in the future so NSFW MDNI

a/n: forgive any grammatical mistakes, english is not my first language!!! Bruce lives in the manor instead of the Wayne Towers cuz I like the manor vibe more, also I kinda picture Jim Gordon from the Gotham Tv show, cuz I love that version but it doesn't really matters lol. (nothing said above is useful for this reading but I just thought you should know) also, this takes place one year after the movie

Bruce sat quietly on the car, the ride was awfully short. He wished he had more time to mentally prepare to his first press conference. He was a recluse for most part of his life, but after the scandal about The Gotham Renewal Program, people deserved to know the truth. And the idea of continuing his family legacy of charity and philanthropy wasn’t all bad and kept Alfred out of his nerves for a while.

And even tough Bruce Wayne could crack a fake smile to the cameras, throw charity galas and events, the true help came at night. The only possible salivation Gotham could have, the real way he could help the city was as Vengeance. The Batman. He didn’t think of himself as a hero, or a vigilante, more of a necessary evil; all the violence and anger, the rage and the darkness of his work, his project; people would be outraged if they found out they were the same man.

“We’re here, Mr. Wayne” The driver announced.

Alfred, who as sitting across from Bruce on the limo closed the papers he was reading and smiles softly.

“Ready, master Bruce?”

Bruce sighs.

“Not really”

The car parked inside the underground garage of the Wayne Enterprises, Bruce and Alfred made their way to the elevator, not a word was said.

Bruce stole a glance at his reflection on the mirror. A black suit Alfred picked for him, a W embroidery on its lapel, his hair was short now, shorter than he liked, all slicked back by hair gel, but nothing could hide the dark circles under his eyes or the lack of sun colour on his skin. Sometimes, just sometimes, Bruce wishes he didn’t have to wear normal clothes, to comb his hair, ties his bottoms; he wishes he could live inside the Batsuit. He felt like the suit was his own skin, her armour, him and Batman were on, there was no Bruce Wayne without Vengeance, they were bonded forever and could never be separated from each other. He wish they could, he wish he could be Batman alone; no press conferences, no reports, paparazzi, no “Bruce Wayne crowned prince of Gotham.”

The elevator stops and the door open. Alfred goes our first and greet some people outside, telling them where to go.

“You have 10 minutes, Bruce.” He warns, “I’ll get them stared and you wait here till I call you”

Bruce nods.

He sits down on a leather couch and waits, starring at the glass doors. All the reports and journalists waiting for him, men and women, from Gotham and other places of the world.

He’s nervous. Not nervous like he is before a fight, nervous he will be put on a corner, that he’ll be catch on a lie, nervous someone knows. It’s like someone in the next room it’s just waiting for him to appears, to stand up from their chair and ask ‘Are you the Batman?’

“Ladies and gentleman, Bruce Wayne” Alfred announces from the stage and glances at him.

Bruce works on his better smile he can put on and enters the stage; he’s received with thunderous applauses and blinding cameras flashes. He waves and sit on a chair, in a wooden desk in front of him is a glass of water and a microphone.

“Let’s get, started then” Alfred said, pointing to a woman in a grey dress standing with a microphone in her hand.

“Mr. Wayne, why did you decided to throw a press conference after years of reclusiveness?”

Bruce leans into her direction a bit.

“Well, I think all the events of the past year made me realize how much the Wayne Foundation means to Gotham and I’ve been a little reckless with that matter”

It was a good answer, he thought.

The following questions were easy too, “Mr. Wayne, how do you plan on taking care of the raised money? To prevent anything to happen again”, “What’s the difference between the Wayne Foundation and the Gotham Renewal Program?”, “What projects do you have in mind?”, and of course, some shallow questions, “What brand is your suit?”, “What car do you drive?”, question he almost laughed at. Did people actually wanted to know that?

Bruce was thinking how the conference was going well, easy, almost, not as he had pictured it before. Until…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

He flinched for half a second, he opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Another woman asked something he didn’t quite hear with all that was going on inside his head, but the word Batman was also there. And then another, and another…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

The room turned into a complete circus. Grown adults talking over each other, fighting for a turn on the microphone.

You rolled your eyes. This happens every time, someone thinks about the name Batman and suddenly everyone has something to say. What does it matter Bruce Wayne’s thought of the Batman? There were so much important questions to be asked, so much more to discover about that man’s life and projects than a simple opinion.

You were begging to regret the moment you accepted the offer to come to this conference. You weren’t a regular journalist, you didn’t know how to write an article about the weather, fashion trends, social events, you wrote about thing most journalist didn’t want to, thing that most people were scare to read. People scared of the truth. You weren’t. You would dig and dig until the raw verity came to surface, it didn’t matter where or who you had to dig.

The man who had introduced Mr. Wayne appeared again and announced the press conference. No fucking way, no without the answers you wanted, you didn’t take this job to watch other people ruin it.

Slowly, you got up from your sit and walked towards the person who as holding the microphone and gently pull it away from his hands.

“Mr. Wayne…” but the voices around you were too loud.

You gave the head of the mic a flick, the loud keen sound made the room come silent.

“Sorry.” You apologized. “Mr. Wayne, why did you felt the urge to re-open the school project at the marginalized neighbourhoods of Gotham after your father failed attempted?”

The men was halfway leaving, but he turned around reluctant, staring right at you. Those piercing blue eyes roaming your face.

“Well, I believe the project needs a second chance. Children and teenagers should be given a chance to have a good education, it helps getting them out of the streets.” He answered, without the microphone his voice was low, but the silence of the room let you hear him loud and clear. “Who do you write for?”

“The Gotham Gazette” You answered proudly.

Mr. Wayne whispered something to the other man and sat back at the chair.

“Do you have any more questions, Miss…?”

You smile politely and told him your name.

“Would you say that the Wayne Foundation has an impact outside of Gotham?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on the man’s lips. You shook the urge to smile back at him.

You could tell he was a bit nervous, but he had answered the questions with manners and the right words, maybe he didn’t notice, but he’s quite good at it.

“Yes. I think the work we do on the Foundation inspires people to do the same. If it works out, we can show the world that if there was hope for Gotham there’s hope for them too”

“Do you think there’s hope for Gotham?” You asked, out of spite, because you didn’t write it down before the press.

His lips contracted to a thin line and he thought of it for a few seconds before answering:

“Yes. As long as people like me and you care about what happens here, there’s still hope for the city”

You smiles.

“People like me?”

“You seem to know a lot about the charity work, and you care enough to show it to the world”

Your smile grew bigger and you felt a hint of warm rushing through your cheeks.

Mr. Wayne answered a few more of your questions before the press conference was over.

You were, oh, so proud of yourself. The information you gathered was perfect for what you had in mind and for sure, you could make it a good article. An admiring of the Wayne legacy, that’s what you called yourself. It has always called out to you what that wealth family did; they had no obligation to do it, to donate not just money, but time and resources to help those who couldn’t have what they did, to make Gotham something to be proud of. It’s a shame they never lived long enough to cure it, to heal it. However, you hoped that, maybe, Bruce did. At least he sound determined to.

You gathered your things and your purse, but as you made your way to the elevator, a woman dresses on formal clothes approached you with a clean, sharp smile that made her look like a dental paste commercial.

“Excuse me, miss. Would you mind, following me?”

You frowned.

“Ahn…What for?”

“Mr. Wayne wishes to speak to you” She explained and her smile somehow grew wider.

Standing there for a few seconds, all you could do was nod as you followed her through a long corridor. What was happening right now? He wants to speak to you? Bruce Wayne wishes to speak to a journalist in private? And more important, to you.

She opened a door to a breath-taking office.

Right in front of you was a full wall window, a panoramic view of Gotham in all its “glory”, skyscrapers, apartment buildings, the clock tower, the bridge of the river, the field behind the road, you could see everything from up there. There was a wooden desk in front of the window, quite empty, and a chair that looked more comforting than any other you had ever sat.

When the woman closed the door behind you, your attention changed to the man standing on your left. Bruce Wayne was staring at you dead in the eyes with a facial expression of someone who just saw a ghost.

This guy seriously need some sunbathing. You shook that thought out of your head.

“Mr. Wayne. You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes” His raspy voice responded. “Sit, please”

You took a seat on one of the chairs in front of the chair and he sat opposite of you, behind the desk, diving completely into the velvet chair. He crosses his fingers and stares at you again. It made you a little uncomfortable, he did that a lot, like a hunter watching its prey.

“So…”

“I’ve searched your work. You’re really good.”

“Thank you, sir”

“You won a Pulitzer, am I right?”

“Yes, a few years ago”

When did he get the time to read all this information? It’s not like you’re super famous, even the Pulitzer wasn’t a very known prize if you didn’t know the industry.

“For a book about a serial killer in Detroit” He said, a voice that verged into an interrogation tone. “The Divine Move?”

You blinked a few times.

“I…Yes. Nathan Walters.”

He lifted his eyebrows just an inch, telling you to continue the story.

You cleared your throat.

“He uh, he used to be the altar boy of the neighbourhood church and he chose his victims based on the sins he supposed they’ve committed.” You’ve shorten it, you couldn’t understand why a billionaire was asking you about the modus operandi of a criminal who was thousands of miles away. “Why are you asking me this, if I may ask, Mr. Wayne?”

“You’re an investigative journalist. Why are you attending press conferences of a random billionaire?”

You supressed a laugh. Random.

“I grew up here, sir. I’ve always admired your family work, I took the opportunity when it was offered to me.”

“You seem to know a lot about my family history.”

“Like I said, I’m just an admiring. Although, I once thought of writing a book about the Wayne Legacy. Your legacy, sir.”

“Your legacy, sir”.

Bruce looked down at his cufflinks, the W prominent on a silvery material.

His legacy.

He once thought the Wayne Foundation was his legacy. But now he knew, his true legacy came in a bat shaped suit and sleepless nights; it came on purple coloured bruises and blood stained clothes.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well…it’s very hard to write about something when you only get superficial information.”

You were nervous, he could tell. You kept staring at the view behind him, or at your shoes, tanking a little too long to answer his questions. He wondered how could a journalist gets nervous, almost shy.

He gave you a puzzled look, not using any words to express his question. But you understood it.

“Using material that was wrote by someone else. All the records and stories about your parents have already been wrote by someone else before me, so I couldn’t say it was my work, could I?”

He hummed.

Bruce took a sigh. Maybe. Maybe this was a good idea, it could keep him in a good status with the press, plus, he’d be able to hide even further down his secret identity, having a journalist with him every day? No one would suspect his the Batman.

“There are stories and details that haven’t been told.”

You bit your lower lip.

He stared at you.

“What are you implying, sir?”

“If I tell you the stories, would you write it?”

You almost passed out.

Would you?

Who could say they had a proposal like that? Dig into the secrets of the Wayne family?

“Yes”.

___________________

a/n2: aaaah this is actually so boring I'm so sorry, also I think I made bruce a little more talkative than I would've but anyways I may change it yet.

a special thank you to @preciouslandmermaid for inspiring me to finally write this!! <3

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sparkletastic-cookiedough · 2 months ago

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Link Library

Literally just a link collection of all my tumblr writing.

Favorite Posts

DPxDC: Danny Phantom fan Damian, best friends with Dash. (they hang out at an arcade, also BATNIPPLES)

DPxDC: John Constantine is Danny's comfort human

DPxDC Dick Grayson is investigating a travelling circus (my favorite prompt, but it's just a prompt)

DPxDC: Vlad masters is a lion? Completely centered around Zeke Morris, an OC.

DPxDC: Danny does his taxes.

DPxDC: Cardboard Danny AU

Danny Phantom: Jazz Fenton Gaslighting People (Short)

DPxDC: The Tangerine Pimpernel (Long)

DPxDC: Danny is applying for a grant with Wayne Enterprieses (The best dramatic irony)

DPXDC: Constantine taking care of baby Danny

DPxDC

Mr Lancer goes to a bar while his students visit Gotham.

Battle Coliseum

Danny in a Maid Dress

The Phantom Cafe (Short)

In Love With The Speed Force : Barry Allen is obsessed with a god. Also the Justice League gets high in this one.

Bartender Dan has a no bats policy.

The Justice League investigates Danny's box selling business. (Featuring the Bodacious Vibes detector)

The Titans discover Danny and Dani are different people

Danny has access to dead knowledge

The Fentons make arrows for Green Arrow (Short)

Trans Danny, mourned by Bio-sibling Damian

The one where Team Phantom destroys all conflict in the Batman universe

Dani is in Hally's Circus, Dick thought she died and now she's back

John Constantine "rescues" Danny from the ghost zone

Steph plans to prank Batman

Bodyguard Danny

Danny vs Plastic Man vs Nightwing: Who would win at Twister? (short)

Wes Weston gets ghost powers, Flash is concerned

Riddler kidnaps Danny, Batman has to answer a riddle to save him

Team Phantom produces a fictional movie on Amity Park

Danny is traumatized, the Batfam is traumatized, everyone is sad and traumatized. (short-ish, hurt/ comfort)

Danny can predict the future, thus Flash yells at god (again, more of a prompt than a full story, cause sometimes I only write the beginnings.)

Dani pranks the justice league

The DC universe is about to collapse, Danny has to herd them out. (Prompt, as I am addicted to beginning stories and never finishing them)

Danny's family reincarnates (yet another prompt.)

Tim has infinite spleens

Jason can see through the fourth wall, and is not down for this Phantom of the Opera nonsense.

The Bats investigate Jazz

Wes is investigated by Superman, Magical shenanigans occur.

Catwoman steals an artifact that has a ghost in it.

Danny putting on his own Brucie Wayne act as Bruce's secretary

Jazz as Damian's Babysitter

Zatanna interacting with a Liminal Gotham

Danny is Batman's Clone (Dramatic Irony, my beloved)

John Constantine accidentally adopts Danny

Jason is dating Jazz, gets Tim and Danny to meet (mostly just Jason and Tim fluff)

Dash Baxter, Metropolis Cop (short)

Queer Platonic Relationship Fluff with Tim and Danny (features a prompty cliffhanger that goes absolutely nowhere)

Danny runs over Kori with a car (featuring yet another cliffhanger prompt ending that goes nowhere)

Clone Adoption Agency

Tim gets his spleen back from Cujo

Danny runs a daycare in Gotham

Maddie is Jim Gordon's Sister (short as heck and not great, but it's the first one I wrote, so it's special to me)

Batman Crossovers (No Danny Phantom edition)

Batman and the Muppets

Miraculous Ladybug: Marinette in Gotham (Fic itself is short, use of ai by another user in the beginning, more of a prompt than a post)

Batman x Game Changer: Robins do Robin trivia

Batman x BNHA: Batgirl gets isekaied into BNHA universe (Like the first chapter of a hypothetically longer fic)

Just Batman (and other DC characters)

Superbat Ship: featuring Batfam Fluff.

Jason can see through the fourth wall (short, more of a prompt than a post, and a continuation of the AU from an above DPxDC post.

Batfam tries to steal the watchtower (based on art!!!)

Matchmaker Tim Drake (again, more of a prompt)

Neurodivergent Batfam Moments

Hero Swap (Based on ART!!!)

Bruce Wayne time travels (short)

Bruce wearing his kids merch (short)

Clark Kent covering Bruce Wayne's drama

Superbat ship stuff (Short)

Percy Jackson

Percy Jackson & Harry Potter Crossover: Percy Jackson Vs Potions Class

Percy Jackson Gods react to Hadestown (Short)

Percy Jackson and Danny Phantom Crossover: Nico wants the Ghost King as his twitch username, but it's taken.

Other Fandoms

Gravity Falls: Levity Rises - the portal incident.

Just Danny Phantom: Jazz dealing with trauma (a bit of a character study, based on art)

Danny Phantom x BNHA crossover: Jazz and Nedzu meet.

BNHA: All Might and All for One completing to be the best dad. (Plot outline.)

BNHA: Izuku becomes a cult leader. (Plot outline)

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arzuera · 2 years ago

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Once Danny was far enough he broke down crying, he knew he shouldn't, he was expecting this. But in the end it still hurts.

Was it so wrong for him to hope for a different outcome? To be fully loved by the parents that he loved all of his life. That loved HIM for all of his life. Only to be cast out and hunted for fate accidentally turning him into the thing that they despised the most? Was it truly such a sin? Did the universe hate him that much?

Lightning cracked the sky as a thunderous roar followed. Rain poured down in sheets, erasing any traces of his frantic flight away from his hometown. Away from the ones who sought to kill him a second time. Away from the people he loved.

Danny allowed himself to fall fully to the ground of this little field. His parents had long since given up trying to chase him down. He had been too fast for the GAV to keep up with through a densely packed forest. Even then, he had kept going. Minutes turned into yards, hours turned into miles. He had fled as far as his body would allow and it had been a lot farther than he thought it would be. Danny had no idea where he was at this point. Not that he cared.

Anguish gripped his core hard as he let out a cry that would have brought anyone nearby to their knees. It wasn’t quite a wail but it was close. He shoved all of his pain and sorrow for the fact that his entire life had been ripped out by the roots and thrown viciously aside. It wasn’t the Nasty Burger accident but this was just about as bad. They weren’t dead but, in the end, he still ended up alone. So he continued to scream. His cries turned into minor wails at times but since he was screaming to the sky nothing was destroyed.

He didn’t stop until his throat bled and the screams turned into nothing more than strangled sobs. White rings flashed around his midsection as the last of his powers gave out. Leaving Danny with nothing other than his human side. The one that still existed, despite what his parents claimed. With no strength left, he lay in the mud unable to move. Vulnerable. Anyone could walk up and just do what they wanted and he wouldn’t even care. What was the point? There wasn’t any reason to try anymore. If only that portal had finished the job-

“You’ll catch your death laying on the ground like that.” A long trenchcoat came into view with a middle-aged man looking down at him from under his umbrella. “What’s a kid like you hanging out in a park so late at night in Gotham?”

Danny didn’t respond. His eyes were unfocused with his vision blurring around the edges. So he was in Gotham. Wonderful. Somehow he had managed to fly several states away in just a few hours. If he could, he would have excitedly called Sam and Tucker about this new record but he couldn’t. Not anymore.

The man sighed heavily when he realized that he wasn’t going to get an answer. So he sidled up and crouched down closer to the teen’s eye level while holding his umbrella out so it protected them both. “Look, kid. I don’t think I need to tell you how dangerous Gotham is at night. Especially to a kid like yourself. Is there somewhere I can take you to… or-” He stopped when the lights in Danny’s eyes dimmed even further than they were. “Mkay, guess not.” The man looked around the immediate area before settling on Danny again. “All right, bud, can you stand? We’ll get you back to my place until we can figure something out.”

Danny laughed bitterly turning into a coughing fit. Blood leaked out from the corner of his mouth making the man look at him with even more concern. “Isn’t it dangerous to go with a stranger this late at night in Gotham?” he rasped out and it only made the coughing worse but Danny didn’t care.

Instead of taking offense like Danny thought he would, the man smirked at the teen as if this was an everyday occurrence. “Well, we can’t be strangers if you know my name right? Name’s James Gordon, friends call me Jim. Now let’s get you out of this cold and your throat looked at. I doubt you want that getting worse.” With great care, Gordon picked Danny up and held him close. Finagling the teen around so that the umbrella wouldn’t fall out of position. Danny was too surprised by the fact that he was suddenly picked up to notice the frown that briefly crossed the man’s face at how light the boy was.

“Wait… what? What are you doing-” Danny weakly struggled against Gordon and failed since his strength was entirely spent.

“Relax, I’m not going to do anything bad. As Commissioner of this lovely city, the only safer hands you would be in is Batman, himself.” Gordon started to head out of the park towards a vehicle parked nearby. Danny gave up trying to resist, opting to just let things happen. “We’re just going to stop by my place and get you looked at. My daughter might not be a doctor but she’s pretty good with a first aid kit.”

“Why do you even care?” Danny couldn’t help but blurt out. A small pang of guilt crept into his heart from how he said it. From what little he knew, Commissioner Gordon was one of the few upright people in Gotham. One of the few people that was trying to keep the city safe… Just like Danny had tried. Only Gordon didn’t have powers at his disposal. It would be weird if the man didn’t care.

“A lone, possible meta, child screaming until his throat bleeds in the dead of night with no one around? I think you are smart enough to figure that one out.” Gordon positioned the teen in the backseat of his car before getting behind the wheel.

Danny tensed at the implication. If he thought he was a meta then he probably saw him de-transform. “…how much did you see?”

“Enough and don’t you worry about it. Big bad Bat isn’t going to kick you out as you think. If you are worried about me judging then please let me remind you, I’m the Commissioner of Gotham. A kid with powers isn’t anything new.” Gordon started up the engine and they were off. A brief silence descended on the two while Danny struggled to stay awake.

“You aren’t… you won’t turn me in?”

“Did you do something wrong?”

“Well, no but-”

“Then even if there is a law saying you shouldn’t exist, I’m not going to turn you in. If that were the case, the only person I would turn you over to is Batman and that’s because he would have a better chance at protecting you from outside forces than I would.” Gordon stated with full confidence as he pulled into the parking spot next to his building. “Here we are. Now while Barbara is checking you over I’ve got a mean vegetable stew my friend gave me. Want me to warm some up to see if it helps your throat any?”

When the man turned around he was greeted to the watery eyes of his newest charge looking at him with the smallest glimmer of hope that he had seen the entire time. Danny kept his gaze on the Commissioner. “Yes, please.”

#dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom crossover #commissioner gordon #dp x dc

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weirdowithaquill · 1 month ago

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Traintober 2024: Day 25 - The Last One

Thomas Never Thought About His Classmates...

Thomas is a tank engine who lives on his own little branchline on the Island of Sodor. He's a cheeky little engine with six small wheels, a short stumpy funnel, a short stumpy boiler and a short stumpy dome. He’s always been that way, no matter how young or old he is – it’s part of his charm!

The little blue tank engine has always lived on Sodor, almost since the day he was built. He doesn’t really remember those early days, down in the South of England. He vaguely remembers meeting a couple shunting engines that taught him the absolute basics, and a couple bigger engines who snorted about the Big Station by the works and ordered him about until he snapped back, but little else. In the back of his smokebox, he knows he has siblings – his first driver called him a ‘modified E2’, and his second driver had once shown him a picture of one of his siblings that he’d taken while down there on holidays.

But Thomas never really thought of them. They existed, sure, but when Thomas thought of siblings or family, he thought of Toby, Gordon, Percy and the other engines on Sodor, especially the early seven.

Then, something odd happened. On a crisp, cold February morning, Thomas was on his first run of the day, making his way up the branchline, when he thought he saw something in the corner of his eye. He was passing by the Toryreck Dairy, and a glint of the most unsettlingly familiar umber livery caught him off-guard. He blinked, and looked again – but there was nothing. The closest thing to the umber paint was the reddish-brown of the squat brick building, and even then it was most entirely the wrong colour.

Thomas thought nothing of it and completed his run. The day progressed as usual, and Thomas forgot about it quickly enough, putting it down to sleep still being in his eyes. Months passed, and Thomas completely forgot about the odd umber colour and how it twinged something in the back of his mind.

And then it happened again.

Thomas had been shunting the harbour, pushing trucks into their proper places for the barges to pick up. He cursed out Percy quietly, peeved at how the little green engine had gotten out of this duty in favour of a delivery to the Big Station. As he moved back, he spotted the shape of an engine, shadowed by the bridge that carried the mainline. Thomas stared, confused. “Who’s there?” he called. The engine didn’t look like Percy or Toby – and it wasn’t Duck either. But he couldn’t tell, the shade was making it near impossible to make out the engine’s shape. Thomas puffed back to investigate, when there was a loud bang! Thomas jolted as he bumped into a line of trucks – and when he looked up again, there was nothing there. The brilliant orange of the October leaves just cut a striking contrast to the dark red of the bridge.

“Maybe it was a shadow of a big engine?” Thomas thought aloud. “It could’ve maybe been Donald or Douglas…” But even that sounded wrong. Still, there was nothing there, and none of the others had heard of a new engine on the island. Thomas decided to do his best to forget about it, and keep going.

But then it happened again the next month – one moment, there was a flash of umber in Percy’s berth at the sheds, the next there was nothing. And then it happened in the hot summer of the next year, when Thomas thought he saw a whole tank engine in a deep umber paint scheme shunting trucks around the harbour when he passed over the bridge with his coaches.

No one else saw the engine though, and Thomas was left to believe it was nothing. It had to be nothing… right?

As the boiling summer passed into a cool September, Thomas did his absolute best to forget about the odd umber brown paint and the weird shadows that seemed to stalk him. He took a trip to the Big Station with one of his usual passenger runs, and fussed away into the carriage sidings to look for a suitable spot to park his beloved Annie and Clarabel. As he puffed along one of the sidings, he thought he saw two whole tank engines behind a long row of express coaches, painted that same rich umber livery. Both seemed to be… watching him, even though he couldn’t be sure.

Thomas wasn’t sure what was going on, but it left him feeling very uneasy.

October rolled around, and this time it was a duo of funnels peaking out behind Gordon’s express as he rocketed by. For a brief moment, Thomas thought he saw a weird, wrong version of himself staring back – but when the brake coach cleared the platform, there was absolutely nothing there.

Thomas decided to say nothing about it to the other engines. Percy would laugh at him and Toby would probably believe him but also pity him. And Thomas absolutely refused to be pitied. Pity was for pitiful engines, and Thomas had his own branchline! He had books named after him; Thomas was not pitiful. His pride wouldn’t allow for it.

So Thomas said absolutely nothing, even as the sightings suddenly stopped right as winter set in. The new year rolled in once again, and Thomas was distracted from the weird umber engines by other matters. Stepney had been and gone, Thomas being dazzled by his stories of their former railway and its really useful engines. But neither Stepney nor Thomas mentioned Thomas’ siblings, in some weird twist of fate.

Instead, the little blue tank engine was once again distracted by his own branchline.

And then it was April, 1963. The day started normally enough, Thomas setting out with Annie and Clarabel to do his morning run. But something felt… off. Thomas wasn’t sure how to describe it, but the air felt… electric. As if something big had happened, something he should have been aware of but just wasn’t. It left him on edge as he made his way down to the Junction. As he pulled into the platform, he felt eyes on him from the goods shed, piercing glares boring into his bunker.

“Is something the matter?” asked Annie. Thomas considered, not quite sure what to say.

“Is there anyone in the goods shed?” he eventually asked. Clarabel looked over, and frowned.

“There’s some vans – and maybe a pair of dark brown engines shunting them? I can’t quite tell. They’re – oh, maybe I was wrong.” Clarabel fell silent, trying her best to peer into the gloom of the darkened sheds. Annie and Thomas waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming.

“Clarabel?”

“My eyesight must be going,” complained Clarabel suddenly. “There’re no engines I can see.” Thomas raised an eyebrow, and looking forwards again – and his boiler went cold. There, at the very edge of the horizon where the mainline turned away from the coast and behind a cutting, was him. Only, it wasn’t him. It was maybe one of his siblings? It looked like it – but they had shortened side tanks, and a dark scowl on their face. Thomas went to call out to it, but then it vanished.

“Driver…”

“Yes Thomas?”

“Have you got any news on the other engines of my class?” Thomas’ driver pondered the question, amazed at the unusual request from the tank engine who had never mentioned the other E2 engines. He promised to check in with the Fat Controller when they reached the Big Station. Thomas felt a little better after that.

But his driver had bad news for him after speaking to the Fat Controller. “I’m really sorry Thomas,” sighed his driver. “But… they cut up the last of your siblings yesterday. You’re the last one.”

To his surprise, Thomas didn’t feel anything at that. Perhaps a little sadness, but it was mostly just distantly removed, as if he had just found out a tragedy had occurred in some faraway, distant land he’d never heard of before. It felt a bit wrong, but also just natural. Thomas had had classmates, and now he did not. He had always been unique, and now he was just a little more unique. “Thank you, driver,” Thomas said kindly. “That’s… all I really needed to know.” Thomas’ driver raised a worried eyebrow, but said nothing more.

Thomas continued on, this new information being quietly tucked away to the back of his smokebox where it festered for only a few minutes before being washed away by every other thought in Thomas’ mind. Percy was due for an overhaul soon, and Thomas would need to cover for him; Gordon had been getting uppity again recently, and he would probably need to knock the big blue idiot down a few pegs again. Thoughts of Mrs Kyndley and the farmers and Terence complaining about roots in his field all pushed the news of his classmates’ death down deep to the back of Thomas’ mind and eventually he stopped thinking about it.

“It’s so odd,” his driver muttered to the fireman. “I just told him all his siblings have been cut up, and he’s more interested in what Mrs Kyndley is having for tea!”

In the shadows, eyes glared at the oblivious blue engine; furious eyes, emotions swelling as rage and anger overtook everything.

Thomas finished his last train of the day, parked Annie and Clarabel away, and settled in the sheds beside Percy. The little green engine was already exhausted, having spent all day shifting stone for a major project on the mainland – and he was not interested in conversation. Toby was equally tired, and with no reason to stay awake chatting, all three were quickly closing their eyes, yawns stifling their last few words as they said “good night”.

Thomas fell asleep, and thought nothing more of his day.

He awoke to the hiss of steam, of metal scraping against metal. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, as if Thomas had been dragged into the deepest pits of a scrapyard while he slept.

Thomas opened a sleepy eye, and screamed in terror.

“You!” snarled the engine standing buffer-to-buffer with Thomas. “You forgot about us!” Thomas looked around – there were ten engines surrounding him on all sides; Percy was gone.

“Where—where’s Percy?” demanded Thomas, his fear replaced instantly by worry. The engines all hissed at him, their blood-red eyes boring into him.

“We’re your classmates, and you’re more worried about someone else? We DIED!” Thomas felt a bump from behind, and suddenly he was moving forwards.

“Hey! Stop that! Let me go!” he snarled, trying in vain to struggle against the force propelling him slowly forwards.

“You got all the glory, all the love!” they accused, all rushing forwards to bash into him and leave him lurching violently. Thomas winced and gasped in pain, feeling his buffers bend under the strain. “You never thought of us! You never loved us! Where were you, when we were being scrapped?”

They began to pick up speed, Thomas yelping in terror as he was forcibly shoved out of the yard, his wheels screaming on the points. He felt yet another slam against his bunker, his entire frame shuddering violently as it was assaulted from all sides.

“Failure! Traitor! You took all the glory and never looked back!” Thomas’ siderods were a blur as he was forced down the branchline as frightening speeds, his frame groaning as he felt the curves send jolts of searing pain along his axles.

“No! Stop! Please!” begged Thomas, as his entire frame shuddered again. It felt like it was going to snap. Thomas could feel the cracks beginning to tear their way along the metal, putting even more stress on every inch of his body. His wheels screeched in agony as he rounded another bend. The tunnel loomed ahead. Thomas screamed as his sidetanks scraped along the sides, scratches and deep cuts left behind by the brick.

“We’ll show you the pain we suffered,” snarled the engines. “We’ll make you feel it! Make you feel worse! You will regret forgetting us, Thomas!” Thomas couldn’t take it – his axles were overheating rapidly, the burn already beginning to settle in and leaving him gasping for air as the pain overtook him—

“Thomas?”

Everything stopped.

Terence stared at the little blue tank engine from in his field, standing in wait while his owner went to drag out seeds for planting. Thomas was in tears – everything hurt, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to move. “Oh Terence!” blubbered the little blue tank engine. Something clanged deep inside him, and then there was silence.

“Are you alright?” asked Terence slowly. He looked around, trying to see where Thomas’ crew had gotten to.

“No,” admitted Thomas quietly. “Everything hurts. I… I don’t know how I made it this far. Please call a breakdown train.” Terence was stunned silent, immediately agreeing. Thomas never spoke like that. He never sounded so… hurt. Small. Scared. It was wrong, and Terence feared whatever had left Thomas in such a state.

The breakdown train came up from the Junction, headed by a quiet Edward. The kindly old engine stopped short of the tank engine, and looked around. He thought for a moment that he could see red eyes glaring from within the tunnel, and scowled at it.

“It’s alright Thomas, we’re here now,” Edward said kindly. “Let’s get you checked over.” The men looked all over the blue tank engine – but there was no signs of anything being wrong. The brakes were on, his motion was perfectly fine – there wasn’t even a hint as to what had sent Thomas flying down his branchline. His frames were fine too, when Thomas finally worked up the courage to ask. There weren’t even any signs that he’d left his berth at all.

But here Thomas was.

Edward moved to buffer up to the blue tank engine, when Thomas flinched. Edward’s eyes widened, and he paused short. “Ok Thomas, I’m going to buffer up now. Nice and slowly, keep your eyes on me.” Edward very carefully helped his old friend back to his shed, finding both Percy and Toby deep asleep. Edward parked Thomas in his berth, then shunted away the works coach and took up guard on the line in front of the little blue tank engine. Thomas shot him a grateful look, but still neither got any sleep.

The next day, Thomas quietly asked his crew to erect a memorial to his classmates at the back of the sheds. Confused, but happy that their engine was finally showing an emotion about his siblings that was more than vague sadness, his crew obliged. Edward watched them put it together, then looked over to Thomas.

“Hopefully, it will be enough,” he murmured. Thomas didn’t reply, but Edward already knew enough.

Back to the Master Post

#weirdowithaquill #fanfiction writer #railway series #thomas the tank engine #traintober #traintober 2024 #ttte thomas #ttte edward #ttte terence #tw scrap #tw ghosts #prompt: The Last One

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brokehorrorfan · 4 months ago

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Artwork from Gallery 1988’s "Crazy 4 Cult 18" exhibit is available online. I’ve highlighted 15 of my favorite pieces:

Little Shop of Horrors by Kyle Blair

Alien vs Predator by Dan Mumford

Jurassic Park by Naomi VanDoren

Blood Rage by Travis Falligant

Gremlins 2 by Michael Stiles

Shin Godzilla by Keith Noordzy

Teen Wolf by Kyle Frink

Deep Blue Sea by T. M. Wong

Fallout by Sean Segarra

Edward Scissorhands by Paige McMorrow

Tetsuo: The Iron Man by Mark Borgions

The Ninth Gate by Shane Lewis

The Holy Mountain by John F. Malta

Flash Gordon by Stephen Andrade

Phantom of the Paradise by Pashur

#little shop of horrors #shin godzilla #jurassic park #deep blue sea #fallout #art #gift #Dan Mumford #Travis Falligant #Michael Stiles #Paige McMorrow #Mark Borgions #Shane Lewis #John F. Malta #Stephen Andrade

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demifiendrsa · 1 month ago

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youtube

“Batman Ninja vs. Yakuza League” New English subbed PV

Additional Japanese cast

Wataru Takagi as The Joker

Rie Kugimiya as Harley Quinn

Ayane Sakura as Green Lantern

Akio Otsuka as Aquaman

Nobuyuki Hiyama as The Flash

Romi Park as Wonder Woman

Kazuhiro Yamaji as Ra's al Ghul

Previously announced Japanese cast members

Koichi Yamadera as Bruce Wayne/Batman

Yūki Kaji as Robin

Kengo Kawanishi as Red Robin

Daisuke Ono as Nightwing

Akira Ishida as Red Hood

Hōchū Ohtsuka as Alfred Pennyworth

Masaki Terasoma as James Gordon

Staff

Director: Jumpei Mizusaki, Shinji Takagi

Screenplay: Kazuki Nakashima

Character Design: Takashi Okazaki

Music: Yugo Kanno

Animation Production: Kamikaze Douga

#Batman Ninja vs. Yakuza League #Batman Ninja #Batman #DC Comics #Kamikaze Douga #film #anime #anime film #semi late post

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gumnut-logic · 6 months ago

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This is a very old WIP that I thought I would post for @idontknowreallywhy as she likes to drop things on Scotty.

I blew him up and Virgil was not impressed.

Warning for very much not finished WIP from 2020 that probably has been read by some of you before, possibly several times. Also, everyone gets whumped.

-o-o-o-

Scott Tracy had an amazing smile. His dimples were legendary and those blue eyes of his certainly added their own sparkle to the equation.

And the commander of International Rescue, President of Tracy Industries and all out billionaire was very much aware of the power he wielded with that simple facial gesture.

He was a ladykiller.

Well, perhaps not quite a ‘killer’. More a ‘I’ll do whatever you want if you will just keep smiling at me’ lethal mouth muscle wielder. Or so Gordon claimed.

Gordon’s descriptive skills weren’t one of his strengths.

It was also an excellent tool out in the field. Male or female, when that smile was directed at a person in charge, they either melted and did whatever Scott wanted them to do.

Or the opposite.

The ratio of the non-receptive vs receptive to that smile was definitely a low number versus a much higher one, but unfortunately, today they had encountered one such person.

And they were being a real pain in the ass.

Virgil would have been on Two, but no negotiation on Scott’s part was convincing the mine manager that International Rescue knew what it was doing.

They were down to technical facts and time was growing shorter by the moment.

Two was hovering above with Gordon on board while Virgil rappelled down to discuss engineering concepts with this idiot and convince him that the great Thunderbird was not going to make the situation worse.

Scott was steaming.

Virgil appeared to be nearing boiling point himself and that was quite a feat on the manager’s part. Virgil had battled Fischler without a blink, for crying out loud.

The conversation had slipped into engineeringese quite early on and most of the concepts were beyond Scott, leaving him edgy and worried about the miners trapped below.

Thunderbird One was parked not far away and his eyes wandered in that direction before skipping back to the mine entrance.

Just in time to see someone slip under the warning tape and start climbing over the collapsed debris.

Scott was moving without thought. “Hey! Get out of there! It’s not safe!”

The suspect turned, saw him and disappeared inside the cliff face.

What the hell?

Scott made it to the tape before the manager started yelling.

The commander ignored him and poked his comms. “Thunderbird Five, can you give me an updated scan of the mine. An idiot just entered-“

A flash, and the rock face exploded.

The blast hit Scott face on. He didn’t even have a chance to scream.

-o-o-o-

Virgil did.

The shockwave knocked him of his feet, the mine manager landing on top of him, but they were far enough away to only be pelted by the edges of the explosion.

Something solid hit Virgil’s left arm, numbing it from the elbow down. Beside him the manager screamed as a large chunk of rock landed on his foot.

Far above, Thunderbird Two deviated from her hover, banking off to the north only to circle back and begin her landing sequence nearby.

He felt her in his bones and it was only then he realised his eyes had fallen shut.

He forced them open.

Scott.

Scott had been closer.

Virgil struggled to his feet. The manager was writhing next to him, a rock pinning his ankle. A rock that would need his exosuit to move it.

Scott first.

Scott had been closer.

“Virgil, status!”

Virgil was running. He thumbed his comms as his legs closed the distance to where his brother had been. “John, I need Scott’s location.”

“Five metres to your left.”

There was rock everywhere, dust and haze obscuring everything. “Scott?”

A stumble and a flash of blue.

A gloved hand lay limp. Virgil skidded in beside it.

Scott hadn’t been wearing his helmet. After all, he was only negotiating Virgil’s entrance into the mine.

Dirt and blood on pale skin.

Medical assessment. “John, Scott’s unconscious.” His own gloved fingers touching dusty dark hair, gently searching for the source of the blood and the damage level. “Head injury.” His fingers encountered a dip in his brother’s skull that should not be there. “Possibly serious.”

His brother was breathing, his pulse strong, and Virgil thanked whoever or whatever protected their family for that mercy.

Gordon joined him, first aid kit in hand, while Virgil was inspecting the rest of his brother’s body for injury.

“What the hell happened?”

Virgil peeled back a gash in Scott’s uniform at his thigh to reveal another injury.

“I don’t know. Scan him while I get the exosuit.”

Gordon frowned at him. “What about you?” Carnelian eyes looked him up and down only to settle on his limp left arm. “How-“

“Worry about Scott. I have another victim to attend to.” He brushed his fingers across Scott’s baldric and stood up.

“Virgil-“

“The man’s pinned, Gordon. Time is of the essence. Look after Scott.”

He didn’t miss Gordon’s glare, but he did ignore it and with an indrawn breath, broke into a run towards Thunderbird Two.

-o-o-o-

He ended up taping his left arm into his exosuit. It was slapdash and done in a hurry using some of the electronic insulation tape he kept for emergency repairs. He could lift his arm, but his fingers had no strength or coordination. It was only for a matter of minutes. He had to lift the rock off the injured man. That was all.

His arm didn’t like the added weight in the slightest.

He’d live.

He ran from the module back to the pile of rubble dragging a couple of hover stretchers behind him. He tossed one in Gordon’s direction

By the time he reached the mine manager, Virgil’s numb arm was no longer numb. In fact, it was hurting like hell with every movement.

Lift the rock and he could shed the suit.

“What the hell have you been doing?!”

“Hold still, Mr Ginley.” Fortunately, it was his right hand that controlled the largest claw, but unfortunately, he had to use his left to steady the load as he lifted.

Ginley’s cry of pain as the rock was shifted hid Virgil’s own.

Sweat broke out on his forehead as the engineer let the rock fall harmlessly to one side. He found himself panting.

“It’s bleeding! It’s bleeding!” Ginley was pointing at his foot where the rock had gashed the bare skin of his shin. The man was wearing steel toed boots and the rock had apparently only pinned him rather than doing any extensive damage beyond grazing him.

“Thunderbird Two?”

“Yes, John.” Virgil stumbled back towards the stretcher and grabbed the medkit.

“I’m still reading one life sign within the mine.”

Virgil blinked. One.

There had been five. Plus the person Scott had tried to stop from entering

All that time talking.

But then he and his brothers had been underground during that explosion…

“How far down? Mole or exosuit?”

...

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #nuttyfic reblog

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elena-mayfair · 2 years ago

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Dreams - part one

Paring: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Batman x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating T+/M, strong language, unsettling images, themes of depression, depictions of mental illness Summary: When Bruce Wayne asked you if you would go with him to Metropolis for the weekend to attend one of the most important events in the business that was TechX you expected to hear from him over the week. You expected maybe a visit to the office, a phone call, or at least an email and instead you got complete silence. Bruce did not write, did not call, did not show up at work, did not show up at the office, no headlines, no Twitter posts, absolutely zero contact for a week. "Of all people, why would he want to take a trip with me," you wondered. Word count: 12k Note: Most gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Series masterlist

***

Blue and red lights were flashing in the darkness of night as Batman crossed the yellow tape that marked the crime scene. He rarely appeared at crime scenes, being used to operating from the shadows and disappearing at the first sound of sirens coming from afar yet there were exceptions. That night was one of them. Gordon didn't dwell on his explanations, illuminating the night sky with a signal only to state in a grave tone a few minutes later "you have to see this." Batman didn't question. The shocked expression on Gordon's face told him all he needed to know. He rushed to his car only to follow Gordon toward the unknown. Toward, as it turned out, a nightmare he had not seen in a long time.

Silence fell as soon as he walked in between the policemen. All movements seemed to stop for a moment, conversations grew quiet, while all eyes turned to him. All except one. Gordon had ignored the surprised looks of his officers, ordering them to make a space, to leave the crime scene, to shut up if they wanted to keep their badges. Batman merely followed. Between the trees and benches of Robinson Park, reluctantly stepping out of the shadows and into the dim light of the street lamps, he had to, Gordon needed him. Whatever was waiting for him was so terrible that Gordon was willing to subject himself to the judgment of his men under him just to be able to lead the investigation with him at his side.

"They were found about an hour ago," he began quietly, "an elderly woman reported it after her dog smelled blood. The paramedics are taking care of her, she's in shock," he explained as he rubbed his tired eyes and lit a cigarette. "For a moment I thought it was Zsasz's work, but something does not fit here," he continued, "you'll see for yourself." In a harsh tone he ordered the two forensics to move away then crouched down and sighed heavily, "I hope you'll be able to deduce something from this because I'm not."

Batman froze in a stupor for a moment. On the ground between the trees, huddled against a bench a woman's body lay. Young, classy, elegant, probably from a good home. Light blond hair not so long ago perfectly pinned up was now messy, draped with leaves and mud, stuck to her face. Her elegant makeup was showing through the countless cuts on her face, the remnants of her red lipstick blurring with the wide cut of her lips reaching to the sides of her face, merging with the red of the cooling blood trickling down her slit throat straight onto her once creamy velvet coat. Multiple slashes scarred her body, deep, wide, tearing flesh, destroying organs, ripping out life. In her arms, she was cradling a child, a little girl with wide-open blue eyes, whose head was falling lifelessly to the back.

"Batman?" Gordon asked, observing his friend who stepped a few steps closer.

"Jewelry, purse, whoever did it took nothing," Batman stated quietly, "a diamond ring on her finger, a gold wedding ring, diamond earrings…" he reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a phone handing it to Gordon to be secured as evidence.

"So far you're not telling me anything I don't already know," Gordon growled.

"Rough night?" Batman decided to ignore the commissioner's tone.

"Fucking rough month…" Gordon once again sighed heavily, "we haven't caught one murderer yet and already another one is emerging!"

"A murderer…" Batman muttered calmly and crouched down by the bodies, "I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean?"

"Dilated pupils... bulging veins…bruised fingers and lips…dilated nostrils…" Batman mumbled to himself while looking more closely at the woman's body, but Gordon could hear everything, "clenched teeth and hands…" he examined the child's body more closely, careful not to gaze into her wide-open terrified eyes.

"We've already photographed everything, you can if you must…" seeing as Batman struggled to spot the leads Gordon gave permission. Frozen bones crackled as Batman cautiously drew back the woman's still arm.

"The child's body was crushed…. exophthalmos… fingernails broken, scratches…" he examined the child's body then the mother's body then rose from his knees, reached into the utility belt and pulled out a flashlight. Slowly and cautiously, with the flashlight pointed to the ground, he began to move away from the corpses. Step by step, scanning each millimeter of the ground beneath his feet carefully, separating the traces of police boots, from the traces of dog paws, deciphering every detail, reading the last hours from leaves, branches and mud.

"She was dragged here…" Gordon spoke up quietly.

"No… not dragged…" Batman walked a few more steps then returned to the bodies, "she was moving away, clear heel marks pressed into the wet ground. She tumbled over, moving backward, pushing away from someone."

"Killer?""

Batman did not answer. He crouched in front of the bodies once more and began scanning all the details once more. Mud on her hands, on the back of her velvet coat, lumps on her shoes confirmed his assumption. Frightened eyes, mother and child, mother's clenched hands, bulging veins….

"She was afraid…" he finally stated, "she was terrified. Whatever or whomever she saw she wanted to get away from him. She wanted to protect her daughter. She held her tight, too tight. The girl tried to break free, scratching her mother's face. She was in pain. But she was afraid…so much so that in an attempt to protect her daughter she crushed her ribs and suffocated her after which she died of a heart attack."

"A heart attack?" Gordon asked surprised.

"A heart attack," Batman repeated, "wounds…. on her face, on her abdomen, on her chest, were inflicted posthumously."

"Forgive my skepticism but how can you tell?"

"The wounds are precise, detailed," Batman pointed with his finger to the slit in the mouth and the slit in the throat, "if she was alive, she would try to fight, the wound would not be so clean. The blood loss is comparatively too small and there is no sign of splatter. In a state of fright, her blood pressure would have been at least 180-200/120. Cutting the carotid artery at such pressure would have caused the blood to gush out. There would have been marks on the ground all around."

"Makes sense…" Gordon nodded, " an attempt to pose it as murder?"

"Clumsy. Whoever did it was unsure, he was trying to fake a murder or cover up the actual cause of death but he hadn't done it before. He wanted to be accurate, too accurate, he improvised, he didn't think like a murderer.

"Who then?"

"A psychopath."

***

When Bruce Wayne asked you if you would go with him to Metropolis for the weekend to attend one of the most important events in the business that was TechX you expected to hear from him over the week. You expected maybe a visit to the office, a phone call, or at least an email and instead you got complete silence. Bruce did not write, did not call, did not show up at work, did not show up at the office, no headlines, no Twitter posts, absolutely zero contact for a week. You checked the TechX profile to find out if his attendance had already been announced, and sure enough, posts announcing the billionaire playboy CEO Wayne Enterprisses' presence had been trending for days. Yet you haven't heard from Bruce. On Wednesday, you began to think that perhaps you should write to him and ask where and when you were supposed to show up, what time your flight was leaving, and from which airport. After all, it was somewhat of a business trip. TechX was starting on Friday evening and would wrap up by noon on Sunday, so even though doubts were beginning to cloud your mind, just in case, you started packing your suitcase and preparing the right clothes for the trip. You checked your email, checked your spam folder, checked your business mail, nervously glanced at your phone knowing that even though he hadn't asked you for your phone he had access to it, still no contact. On Thursday, you discreetly asked Lucius if Mister Wayne was perhaps in the office, under the pretext of discussing feedback on your project. You were not sure if Lucius knew, you were not sure if this was more of a business trip or more of a social one, you were not sure what kind of relationship Lucius and Bruce had, and above all at all costs you wanted to remain professional. Lucius only replied with his typical smile that Mister Wayne was out of town and then added, "don't worry, the information will come, he hasn't forgotten." The suggestive smile and the tone of his voice took you aback, suggesting that he wasn't really talking about feedback on the project. Resigned, you returned home, ready to give up, unpack your suitcase and settle in for the weekend with a bag of chips in front of your favorite TV show. "Of all people, why would he want to take a trip with me," you wondered. You didn't have to wait long for an answer. A short message, just a few words and the nervous frenzy began all over again.

"I hope you are ready. The car will pick you up tomorrow at 11:30am. See you then."

And period. No emoji, no smiley face, no emotion. And yet it didn't seem to you that someone like Bruce was a man who used emojis. That message made you realize that Bruce was a man who apparently had no need to ensure, to check, to confirm. He was a man who was certain and decisive, if he said something once it was clearly so. And he probably expected the same from the people around him.

"I'll be ready. See you tomorrow."

You wrote back briefly and succinctly but even though you didn't add a smiley face, a grin lit up your face. The craziness had begun. You thought you were prepared and yet suddenly everything seemed inappropriate. The dress you had chosen was too casual, unsuitable for a public appearance in the company of someone like him. The sneakers you wanted to fly in flew out of the bag, "I can't walk around in sneakers next to a guy wearing Tom Ford suits," you scolded yourself. Classic straight black pants replaced jeans, a black dress shirt with chiffon sleeves replaced a more formal one, a black leather jacket also went into the bag, plus two dresses one more businesslike than the other just in case. Your favorite black-heeled boots that match everything also went to the bottom of the bag, along with, to your displeasure, black heels. "Okay, that looks good. Now only accessories, electronics, and cosmetics," you assessed the contents of the bag with satisfaction. You were excited. All sadness disappeared replaced by a radiant smile, the burden of the past days' experiences seemed insignificant, worries were replaced by a wonderful mood, the only thing missing was an unexpected knock at the door.

You didn't expect anyone, after all, who could visit you unannounced. Convinced that it was a courier with plane tickets, you turned down the music and ran to open the door. Green eyes shone before you as the blood froze in your veins.

"You don't call, you don't write, you don't answer my calls, I decided to drop in." Jonathan smirked, "can I come in?"

"Jonathan this is not a good time," you answered not feeling like having the uncomfortable conversation that awaited you.

"There hasn't been a good time all week," he chuckled spitefully and, without waiting for your permission, entered the apartment, "are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you!" you denied immediately.

"Forgive me, but after you slipped out in the middle of the night leaving a note that you would be in touch only to not hear from me all week, I dare say you are avoiding me," anger boiled under a facade of calm control.

"I just needed some time to myself, that's all," you tried to dismiss it with a chuckle, "I needed to sort things out in my head."

"And apparently you need not only time but distance," his glance swept over to the open suitcase, "you going somewhere?"

"To Metropolis, on business," you replied briefly as if it was nothing important, " sorry, I didn't mention it, the time wasn't right."

"It was. Apparently, you just didn't want to tell me about it."

"I didn't think it was something you should know about," you shrugged, "if you were my therapist I would have simply called off the appointment."

"But I'm not your therapist," Jonathan's voice sounded dangerously low.

"You're not…." you repeated, "and actually who are you, huh?!" you spat angrily, "what is this?! This strange thing between us. You are not my therapist and yet you are putting me through some horrible therapy methods! You're not my therapist because a therapist wouldn't be angry with my business trip. You're supposedly my friend and yet you won't say that there isn't something between us…." you paused in a half word, "what are we?"

"Do you really have a need to give it a name?" Jonathan came closer and took your hand. His green eyes shone intensely as he said, "some relationships are more complicated to give them a definite name."

"I'm trying to control the chaos in my life, and I'm not sure if you're helping me with that or not," you replied, aware that his proximity certainly wasn't helping. Jonathan didn't respond, only reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a cream-colored envelope.

"I was planning to give you this after therapy but there was no time," he wryly accented your words handing you the envelope, "I was hoping that as my friend you would like to accompany me."

You opened the sealed, elegant envelope made of thick cream paper and pulled out a richly decorated stylish invitation. The headline proclaimed The Thomas Wayne Annual Gala of the Scientific Association.

"You want me to go with you?" you whispered in surprise staring at the invitation, "I don't know what to say, you surprised me."

"Say you have an evening dress in your closet," he smirked then added, "The gala is usually a boring party full of snobs and self-obsessed members of the scientific society, but in your company, it would be bearable. Besides, I thought you could use some entertainment. The food and music are mostly exquisite."

"Is that supposed to help me name this thing between us?"

"You think too much of it all my dear," green eyes shone intensely as he put a finger under your chin forcing you to look at him, "but if you must name it so much, then let it be your way. I like you. Consider it a date," a thrill ran over your skin as he spoke the last words in a smokey voice.

"A date…" you repeated in your mind while looking at the invitation, "damn, it's on Sunday! I'm in Metropolis until Sunday. Why didn't you say something earlier?!"

"I wanted to. A week ago. But you chose to avoid me."

"I'm gonna make it," you glanced nervously at your watch which indicated four o'clock in the afternoon, "you need to go!" you ordered and started rushing to get dressed.

"What? Why?!"

"You need to go now!" you grabbed your jacket, bag, keys "I gotta run! I don't have an evening dress!"

***

At exactly 11:30 on a Friday morning, a black Chrysler parked on the side of your street. You applauded in your mind your decision to wait in front of the building when the car pulled up at the exact appointed time, not a minute earlier or a minute later. Excitement quickened your pulse as you waited for the charming man who would get out in a moment to take your luggage from you and help you get into the car, but Bruce was not there. The driver's door opened and an older gray-haired, slender man in a three-piece suit with his shirt buttoned up to his neck tied with a black bow tie got out of the car. He bowed his head politely and spoke in a strong British accent.

"Miss Y/L/N I presume. Alfred Pennyworth at your service," he bowed gracefully and, without waiting for your permission, took your suitcase and coat from you, "Miss, allow me."

"Alfred! Nice to meet you, Bruce has mentioned you," you smiled politely thanking him and handing him your luggage. Confused, you waited for his instructions, you were not used to such treatment. Alfred placed your suitcases in the trunk, laying your coat perfectly flat, then opened the passenger door with a gesture inviting you inside. You smiled thanking him again.

"The plane departs at 1:15pm. The flight is scheduled for exactly one hour and forty-five minutes which gives a landing time in the Metropolis of 3pm. The weather in Metropolis is excellent. Sunny, temperature around twelve degrees Celcius or fifty-seven Fahrenheit, however, the evening is forecast to be colder so I suggest you bring an outer garment," Alfred informed as he started the engine and drove the car out onto the busy road, "in your seat pocket you will find a folder with the event schedule."

"I suppose Mister Wayne is already in Metropolis," you prompted, looking over the event schedule, "since he didn't come to pick me up in person."

"You look troubled miss," Alfred cast a glance in the rearview mirror, "is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course! I'm sorry," you faltered, "if I can be completely honest this is all new to me! I didn't expect this trip to happen at all considering that he messaged me yesterday afternoon. I'm flying to the biggest event in the industry and I don't even know what airline! I'm a little nervous."

"I understand," Alfred visibly frowned, "in that case, I am obliged to apologize on behalf of Master Wayne. Master Wayne can be quite a busy man," he explained kindly, "I hope you were not offended in any way."

"No, of course not," you smiled, hoping it would look natural.

"Master Wayne will be expecting you at the airport," he informed, "and don't you worry about your ticket and lines. Master Wayne does not fly commercial airlines."

"Of course…he flies private…" you sighed pensively, "why didn't I think of that."

You didn't have to wait long to see for yourself the luxury of travel in the company of Bruce Wayne. Thirty minutes and a dozen politely exchanged sentences later, a black Chrysler pulled up at the back of Gotham City International Airport in perfect synchronization with the familiar gray Lamborghini. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw his car approaching. Alfred parked, and you, not used to the custom, reached for the door handle eager to get out.

"Allow me, Miss," Alfred immediately reached for the door and extended his hand offering assistance. You smiled apologetically and once again thanked him. You kept repeating in your mind that it wasn't a cab, that you didn't have to worry about your luggage, you didn't have to glance nervously at what was happening to it, you didn't have to collect it from him, nor pay or tip him. The only thing left for you to do was to wait awkwardly and watch as Bruce got out of the Lamborghini and walked with a slow nonchalant pace toward you. He smiled, elegant as ever and yet the few days of stubble on his face suggested that he had indeed had a busy week.

"You look nervous," he smirked as he approached you.

"Is it that obvious?" you chuckled.

"If it's because of the plane then I understand, I don't like to fly either," he admitted, reducing the distance and standing in front of you. For a moment he flinched as if he wanted to kiss you on the cheek however he chose not to, "please excuse me for a moment," he excused himself and pulled Alfred aside.

You watched them from afar as they talked in hushed voices. Something was clearly bothering Bruce, he was giving orders as was in his habit while Alfred remained silent for a long moment nodding in agreement. For a moment you thought it was a conversation between a superior and a subordinate, but when Bruce finally turned silent and Alfred began to speak, you realized it was in fact a conversation between son and father. Bruce's face darkened and this time it was he who nodded in agreement before they both turned in your direction.

"Shall we?" the mask returned to Bruce's face as he pointed to the plane.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pennyworth," you smiled courteously.

"The pleasure was all mine Miss," Alfred replied with a bow, "have a safe trip."

Feeling like in a movie scene, you followed Bruce. Brought to the airport by a private butler on the way to a private plane alongside one of the most influential men in the world. "How did that happen?" you chuckled under your breath.

"What's so funny?" Bruce threw a sidelong glance at you.

"Reality," you replied, "ignore me, please. It's just myself thinking to myself about myself."

"Care to share?" he asked, offering you a hand and assisting you to board the plane. This time you didn't rush.

"Nope!" you replied with a grin, "I'll keep it to myself."

The interior of the plane turned out to be exquisite like everything around Bruce. Spacious, suitable for up to six passengers. There was no stewardess, only a well-stocked bar and a mini-fridge at each of the lodges. Everything in wood and leather conveyed luxury but didn't scream hubris.

"This is the first time that I'm seeing an airplane without a flight attendant," you noticed as you settled comfortably into a soft seat so big you could sleep in it.

"I value my privacy," Bruce explained.

"I noticed. Private car, private pilot, private plane," you listed, "you're very secretive Mister Wayne."

"It comes with the job," an infuriating smirk once again dawned on his face and you were sure it wouldn't go away anytime soon. As soon as the two of you were left alone, something changed, the expression on his face, the look in his eyes, and the tone of his voice, were completely different from how they had been a moment ago, "Alfred informed me that it was extremely rude of me not to call you for a week," he began softly, "forgive me. I didn't mean to cause consternation or doubt."

"I have nothing to forgive," you replied, "Mr. Pennyworth has already apologized for you, explaining that you happen to be a very busy man. I should have come to those conclusions myself."

"Which doesn't explain my behavior," Bruce continued, "I know that I can sometimes come off as neglectful."

"It's okay, really," you assured him, "I was stressing, that's all. TechX is a dream come true! I typically like to have everything planned to the T' and you didn't give me that opportunity. Sorry, I'm not used to well…" you hesitated weighing your words, "let's just say I feel like Alice who fell out on the other side of the mirror."

"What do you mean?" you weren't sure if he was pretending to be ignorant or if he really was.

"Well, you're not going to tell me that all this is standard!" you laughed, "because it's not!"

"Oh, right!" he awkwardly rubbed his neck, "but don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Your heart hit stronger in your chest but you remained calm. The implications of his words were not hard to read, and once again you couldn't help but wonder if he said it on purpose.

The plane rose into the air remarkably gently, and although you felt a pressing force in your stomach it was not as unpleasant as usual.

"I read the event schedule, it looks packed!" you began as soon as the plane reached the right altitude, " sorry for asking, but the unknown frustrates me, what's the plan? What time should I be ready today? What about tomorrow? When are we flying back to Gotham?"

"You have a lot of questions," he noted, "but I understand, so I'll try to outline a plan. The whole event runs from today until Saturday evening, late at night. I have planned to return to Gotham on Sunday at noon. A car will pick us up at the airport today and take us to the hotel. I've reserved two suites for us at the Metropolis Plaza Hotel," gentleman as always, "we'll have about three hours to freshen up before the event starts," he ran his hand over his beard, "and shave in my case. Don't worry about anything. Everything in your hotel room is for your use. If you feel like ordering something just do it. The hotel staff knows what to do. Don't worry about meals at the event venue there will be plenty of them. Tomorrow evening after the main event ends we are going to attend, well private party…" he chuckled seeing your amused look.

"Again, sorry but I have to ask, dress code business or business casual?"

"I'm sure whatever you have in your bag will be perfect for the occasion," a smirk flashed over his face once again, "but I think business elegant if you can put it that way."

"Got it."

"Tomorrow if you want we can spend the whole day at the expo. Exhibitors from many different companies will be presenting their latest designs, new ideas, and technologies. I will be giving a short presentation during the panel."

"I wouldn't miss it!"

"And as I mentioned in the evening we are invited to a banquet with several of my associates. So formal dress code, black tie."

"I'm prepared for such an occasion as well," you smiled pleased that thanks to yesterday's unexpected shopping you bought not one but two dresses, one of which you packed for the trip, "but if you were intending to calm me down I'm afraid you only made me even more anxious."

"Nothing to worry about," the blue eyes flashed brightly, "trust me, I'll keep you close," he added in a smooth low tone making you wonder about what your role was on this trip. "I know the schedule seems intense, and it probably will be, but most of all I want you to enjoy yourself," he said.

"I have a feeling it will be an unforgettable experience."

In the Bruce Wayne world, everything ran like clockwork, no delays, no mistakes as if everyone who came into contact with him knew instantly what standards he expected as if his mere presence made the world suddenly adjust to his requirements. Immediately after landing, a black Bentley pulled up and a driver who, as it turned out, only delivered the car, packed your luggage into the trunk and handed Bruce the keys. In front of the hotel, a staff awaited, ready to pick up the car and luggage along with an impressive tip, as if they were well aware of the car he was traveling in and the time he was scheduled to arrive. At the door, the elegantly dressed door-keepers waited for that perfect moment when he would come close enough for them to take a proper bow, greet him with a trained "Welcome, Mister Wayne," and open wide the door leading to luxury and prestige. As you walked beside him it seemed to you that everyone was looking at you, that curious eyes were flitting from every direction even though you were certain that most of the people in the hotel were of no less status than Bruce himself. And yet, with his statuesque posture, his perfect blend of nonchalance and class, and those intensely gleaming blue eyes, he seemed to tower above them all.

"Welcome to the Metropolis Plaza Hotel," the concierge greeted you in a perfectly smooth professional tone, "the suites are already waiting for you," he added pulling out the gold-colored key cards without expecting any acknowledgment from Bruce, "all according to your preferences. Your luggage has already been delivered."

Bruce simply picked up the cards with a brief polite thank you then directed you towards the elevators.

"Do enjoy your stay, Mister Wayne," you heard as you moved away from the reception desk.

"So this is the standard in the Bruce Wayne world," you smirked as soon as the elevator doors closed, "I understand that the lack of a hotel escort to the room is due to your preference for privacy."

"I hope this doesn't overwhelm you," the stoic billionaire's façade dropped again showing a sincere, kind-hearted man. You were fascinated by the ease with which he came to change faces depending on his surroundings.

"Maybe a little," you admitted, "I should expect it, but still, this is not a world accessible to mere mortals."

"Don't be fooled by apparent beauty and glamour. Everyone here plays a role."

"You too?" you glared with a devious smile.

"I do too," he confirmed, "and so do you."

"And what role am I playing, Mister Wayne?" you didn't intend to but the flirtation was coming out so very naturally.

"It remains to be seen, Miss Y/N/L," the way he accented your name brought a shiver to your skin.

You didn't have to wait long to find out. Bruce escorted you to your room, informed you that his was right next to yours, and left you alone for less than three hours, three hours that flew by in the blink of an eye. Coffee came first, having the highest priority in any situation, followed by a short message to Jonathan containing a simple, "I'll make it. See you on Sunday." Next, a shower because you needed to freshen up, makeup and hair because you needed to present yourself, black pants imitating leather and a dress shirt with chiffon sleeves according to you were business elegant. You topped it all off, despite your reluctance, with high heels, silver jewelry and a small handbag on a silver strap. You decided that with your budget and mortal's possessions, you looked elegant enough, and with half an hour still to spare you took a coffee and stepped out onto the balcony to get some air.

"Mr. Pennyworth had some good information," you grinned as you exposed your face to the surprisingly warm for this time of year sunshine lighting up the cloudless sky. Metropolis was so different from Gotham. From the top floor of the hotel, the view of the city spread with a shimmering glow reflected off the glass skyscrapers. So bright, so inviting, promising fulfilled dreams, the city you were supposed to live in, and yet. You listened for a moment to the whisper of the city below, so different from the hum of Gotham. Instead of menacing murmurs and mysterious whispers rolling through the city like blood pulsing through the veins, you heard joyful music composed of the sounds of distant conversations, signals, the hum of cars, the sound of horns, and the singing of birds. There was no darkness lurking in every alley, no fear, no dread, no quiet determination. After all, how could there be when the city was protected by the Man of Steel, who, instead of lurking in the shadows, rose in the sunlight toward the blue of the sky.

"Different isn't it?" reached you from the balcony next to you.

"Very different," you replied glancing at him. In the sunlight, his black suit shone with a soft velvety glow. The black shirt, black tie fastened with a pin under the collar, and that typical smile of his made your knees weaken. "But different doesn't mean, better. I liked Gotham's dark gothic vibe and its dark soul. There's something about it that just draws you in."

"You were supposed to work at LexCorp and live here," Bruce recalled, "now, after a few months in Gotham, don't you regret your decision? After all, Gotham was not kind to you."

"Absolutely not!" you grinned.

"I can't believe you wouldn't trade Gotham for Metropolis, the city of the future!"

"Nope!" you repeated with an even wider smile then added, "Metropolis has no Batman. And he saved my life."

"What are you saying?!" a shock of surprise swept over his face, "you didn't say anything! What do you mean he saved your life? That accident of yours?"

"Sorry but I don't go around bragging about it!" you replied awkwardly, "actually I don't know why I said that. Somehow, I thought of Gotham and thought of him," you mused for a moment, "but yes, Batman saved my life."

"I don't think I'll surprise you if I say that my curiosity peaked," he smirked, "you'll have to tell me all about it but in a spare time," he looked at the road below, "that's our car. I hope you're ready."

"I am!"

You weren't. You weren't ready at all and not even a little. You weren't ready for the crowd of reporters waiting outside the Metropolitan Expose, you weren't ready for the crowd of staring eyes, for the endless flash of cameras, for the excited voices exclaiming his name that you could hear behind car closed doors. A cold sweat washed over you as you looked at the world on the other side of the windshield, and suddenly you longed to be back in the sewers of Arkham Asylum instead of facing the devouring reporters. You needed a moment, you needed a moment of silence to calm your anxiety, to gather your courage, but it was not given to you. Bruce parked the car and, without a moment's hesitation, got out and the camera lights flashed even more intensely.

His name was shouted from every direction, calling for him, just to get his attention, just to get him to turn toward the right camera, but he ignored them all, walked to the passenger door to open it, and extended his hand to you.

"Breathe," for a split second he removed the mask from his face, "you are with me, you will be fine. Trust me."

"Trust me…"

You took his hand and got out of the car with the utmost grace, grateful in your mind that you decided to wear pants. As much as you wanted to head for the entrance as quickly as possible, to escape the blinding light of the flashes, you had to rely on him, and he had to play his part.

"Smile," he murmured quietly glancing at you discreetly. His eyes shone with understanding, safety but also pride, "you look amazing. Relax…" he smiled as he placed his hand on your waist drawing you gently closer to him. The camera lights blazed with doubled intensity taking away all your confidence and Bruce as if sensing this only tightened his hand tighter on your waist, as if wanting to give it back to you.

"Mister Wayne!!! Mister Wayne! Here!!!"

"Mister Wayne! Who is your companion!?"

"Bruce! Are you dating!?"

"Mister Wayne!!! Mister Wayne! GQ!!! Can I count on a short interview!?"

"Mister Wayne! What do you think of LexCorp's controversial moves!?"

"Mister Wayne! Is it true that you are planning to sell WayneTech!?"

"Mister Wayne! Who are you wearing today!?"

"Mister Wayne! Are you planning to settle down!?"

"Mister Wayne! What do you want to say to all the grieving women who will see you with your new partner?!"

"Miss! What's it like to catch the most desirable bachelor in Gotham?!"

A hail of questions fell from every direction. You couldn't see their faces, voices blended together, lights flashed from every direction and yet you were smiling, playing your part.

"And that is enough for them," you heard a quiet murmur. Bruce smiled one last time then, without taking his hand off your waist, directed you toward the entrance.

Yet inside, it was not at all quieter but much more interesting. Exhibitors from all regions of the country, each in their own part of the huge hall, yet occupying a space larger than that of many stores. There were no major players on the stands, only companies wishing to impress those who really meant in the business, hoping that perhaps their idea would impress one of those who had the means to implement it. Illuminated banners, music, impressive sound effects, excited promoters, passionate young entrepreneurs trying, at least for a moment, to stand in the glare of the world's most influential enterprises, a glare that shone above their heads hiding them in its shadow. On the walls around the entire room, high above their heads shone huge logos of the biggest representatives of the technology industry. The stylized LexCorp in sunset color, the minimalistic S.T.A.R Labs in blue and white, the red plain Stagg Industries, the green-gold modern Queen Industries, and among them the silver elegant Wayne Enterprises. You stopped for a moment gazing in awe. An exhilarating realization broke through the stress and anxiety bringing a bright smile to your face, you were part of it, one of them.

"Is it just as you imagined?" Bruce asked eyeing you with fascination.

"Absolutely not!" you grinned, "but I'll have to survive it, somehow."

As flattered as you were by his company you wanted to ditch him and run toward the stands, talk to the young brilliant minds, inquire about technological innovations, peek at solutions, absorb as much as you could. Bruce, however, had other plans.

"Forgive me, I should have warned you about the reporters," he said in a hushed voice pulling you gently to him, "I hope you won't hold it against me."

"Don't worry about it, I'll add it to the list of transgressions," you sassed.

"I'll have to do my best to balance this list with good deeds then," the blue eyes drew magnetically close. Bruce didn't even try to pretend that this was strictly a business relationship. "I have a few hands to shake, it would be a pleasure if you would accompany me," the soft voice and the charming smile made it impossible for you to refuse. He took your hand placing it on his forearm and led you into the crowd.

Moving through the venue from one group of people to another, you tried to remain classy and keep a discreet smile on your face even though excitement made your face flush. The statuesque figure at your side nodded time and again to someone in the distance, greeted with a look and a smile, shook one hand after another. Some faces came and went, faded into oblivion leaving only their gazes in your memory. Some full of admiration, others full of surprise, others brimming with contempt. You didn't learn their names you didn't know who they were and neither did Bruce feel the need to stop and have a word. They were just pawns when he was the man in power. Yet even though everything around told you that here you were walking hand in hand with power and prestige there was no hubris or contempt for others in him. There was none of the arrogance that others exuded.

"Miss Y/L/N! What a pleasant and totally expected surprise," arrogance emerged from the crowd dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and red tie, "I should have guessed someone had bought you off from me!"

"Mister Luthor," you greeted him with a polite smile while simultaneously clenching your hand tighter on Bruce's forearm, "nice to see you again."

"Professionalism trained to perfection," he looked at you meaningfully while simultaneously addressing Bruce, "Wayne, I thought we'd finally get along but meanwhile you first refuse to sell me WayneTech only to then buy off my engineer."

"I believe that's what we call a friendly compromise Lex," Bruce's tone dropped menacingly low. He refused to shake his hand, "WayneTech was never for sale to begin with."

"Come on Wayne! If you wanted to bargain all you had to do was make a counter-offer!" Luthor's ostensible nonchalance deprived of Bruce's honesty, once again he resembled a hyena taunting its prey. But Bruce was no prey.

"I'm not interested in your money Lex, and no amount of it would convince me to sell you WayneTech."

"Shame. With a mind as brilliant as Miss Y/L/N's we could accomplish so much," he finally looked away from you and fixed his gaze on him, "I understand merging business and pleasure but Bruce, you should stay with your models and actresses. It's a shame to waste such potential," he sneered and Bruce's muscles tightened under your hand. "If you had decided to work for me we could have cut a much better deal," he added in your direction.

"With all due respect Mister Luthor, but I simply could not agree to work for someone with such questionable ethics and a company profile that does not align with my own moral values," you snapped back with a wry smile, "no offer you would have made me could possibly persuade me to work for you."

"Questionable ethics? Well, well, she's entered the big leagues and she's already messing around," Luthor laughed, "Moral values can be easily changed and bent. You just have to know where and how to push."

"Not mine," you growled, "forgive me, gentlemen," you glanced at Bruce apologetically and walked away.

As you approached the bar you tried with all your strength to remain calm, but the blood in your veins was burning with anger. Once again you were reminded of your ignorance. You should have expected to meet Lex Luthor at the event, just as you should have expected the luxuries provided by Bruce and the dozens of photographers awaiting his arrival. "What am I doing here?" you leaned against the bar, ordered a coffee, and, sipping it slowly, watched him from afar. Although the conversation between him and Luthor seemed to be heating up, they both remained classy and professional. Standing a step away from each other, with forced half-smiles glued to their faces, only their eyes betrayed their mutual dislike. You were fascinated by how smoothly the look in Bruce's eyes changed, from worry when he glanced in your direction to icy anger when he turned back to Luthor. "How many faces does he have?" you wondered, "which one is real? Or are they all there?" you observed him, "he is hardly trying to keep a professorial distance."

"Don't let him get under your skin. He's a piece of shit, an arrogant piece of shit. He's hardly worth your nerves," a friendly voice commented next to you, "and you have nothing to worry about. Bruce knows very well who he's dealing with."

"I don't recall asking you for your opinion," you snarled without taking your eyes off Luthor and Bruce further immersed in conversation, "keep your friendly advice to yourself."

"So he's already got under your skin," the man laughed and slipped a fresh cup of coffee under your nose, "I am not sure if coffee is such a good idea, but yours seems to have gone cold."

"I appreciate the gesture, but I'd really rather be left alone," putting the cold cup of coffee down on the countertop and accepting the fresh one, you looked at the man and almost let it out of your hands, avoiding chaos only thanks to his quick reflexes.

"Careful!" he smirked saving the situation, "maybe we should order water after all?"

"Mister Queen…" the blond man smiled charmingly seeing your surprised face, "I'm so sorry! I really hadn't, damn it, I'm sorry. It was incredibly rude of me."

"Relax! Luthor is doing this to people, roaming around and pissing everyone off. A scumbag like no other!"

"I guess you're right," you smiled shyly, and remembering your previous faux pas you extended your hand to him, "Y/N Y/L/N," you introduced yourself.

"I know!" a wide smile lit up his face, "WaynTech's newest addition! Oliver Queen," he shook your hand exchanging courtesies, even though he didn't need to introduce himself at all.

"I know!" you replied with an equally broad smile, "please forgive the question, Mister Queen, but how do you know about me? I don't think a lower level engineer is important enough to be talked about at Queen Industries."

"Call me Oliver, there's no need for forced conventions," he corrected you, "Bruce didn't fail to mention you once or twice. Well, maybe five."

"Bruce talked about me?" you tried to control the tone of your voice in an attempt to hide your surprise.

"He talked is an understatement! How is the work going on the project to improve Gotham's security warning system? I'm looking forward to seeing the results of the first test phase. I think Star City would also benefit a lot from such a system!"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure if I should discuss this subject with the CEO of a competing company."

"Okay, let's establish one thing up front," he threw his arm around your shoulder and, steering you toward Luthor and Bruce again, he pointed his finger ostentatiously, "over there, that one in the red tie, an asshole and a scumbag. And my humble person, a friend," he smiled sincerely, "you do not think Bruce would talk about this project and you with just any random guy."

"I don't think that Bruce would talk about me or this project with anyone."

"You won't get far with downplaying yourself! A lower level engineer," he snorted, "not for long, oh not for long."

"I'm not downplaying myself," you denied, "I just…"

"Just what?" the ease with which he spoke made you want to abandon professionalism and be yourself.

"I'm surprised that's all! Seriously, I didn't do anything special, I'm just doing my job!" you sighed heavily but Oliver continued to smile disarmingly.

"Keep going, say again that you and your work are not worth talking about between two CEOs," he sneered.

"Because it isn't!"

"Y/N look around. Where are you and who are you here with. Believe me, if you weren't worth it you wouldn't be here. I know him very well," green eyes flared with amusement, "Bruce doesn't do or say anything without a reason, and those things and people he spends time with are worth a lot."

"You see, I hear what you're saying to me but it doesn't quite get through to me."

"It better start, and it better start fast, because tomorrow you'll be on the tongues of not only two CEOs but all the gossip magazines and portals out there," he chuckled.

"Fuck…" you swore quietly prompting a loud rubbishy laugh from Oliver, "I don't want any drama! The problems I already have are enough!"

"Let me tell ya, if you don't want drama you chose the wrong guy," he winked and added quietly seeing Bruce approaching, "there will be plenty of drama, believe me…" he whispered after which, spreading his arms wide, he gave Bruce a truly friendly hug.

"Ollie, I hope you maintain at least a modicum of professionalism," Bruce gritted but smiled kindly. The anger had disappeared completely from his eyes, and the smile he bestowed upon you as he stood at your side was as warm as before, "Was he behaving himself?" he asked.

"Me, never!" Oliver laughed, "I tried to persuade her to pour red wine on Luthor, completely accidentally, but she stubbornly refused."

"Yes, Y/N can be very stubborn," his hand seemingly involuntarily found its way to your waist again, "I'm glad you two had time to get to know each other. Oliver and I have been working together for years."

"I always thought Wayne Enterprises and Queen Industries were in competition with each other," you noted, uncertainly finding your place again at his side. Oliver's words did not leave you indifferent.

"Queen Industries would first have to have something to compete with," Bruce chuckled.

"Hey don't get cocky Wayne!" Oliver feigned offense, "mutual collaboration doesn't have to involve what our companies do," he turned to you.

"And what then?"

"I think we will have to leave this subject for another day," Bruce's tone suddenly grew firm again, "I think we have enough excitement for one day."

"Right! Tomorrow we'll have plenty of time to chat during the banquet!" Oliver nodded.

"Ollie, did you happen to see Clark Kent today?"

"From the Daily Planet, I've only seen Lois Lane but Kent hasn't. Why do you ask?"

"I was supposed to give him an exclusive during the event."

"He'll probably show up tomorrow, after all the paparatzi crowds have cleared out and only the real reporters are left."

"He better."

***

They called Metropolis the City of Tomorrow, a city of opportunity and fulfilled dreams, a city of lights that even in the middle of the night seemed as bright as during the day. A city where shadow and darkness never entered, where people could feel safe, guarded in the end by the Man of Steel. An idealized image of reality created by hopeful people. They didn't pay attention to crime, they didn't pay attention to violence, they seemed to ignore threats and those who threatened them, they felt safe, they felt that someone was watching over them. Someone who didn't hide his face under a mask, someone who didn't hide in darkness and shadows, someone who wasn't to be feared even though he posed a far greater threat to them than the one they feared. One who even here was able to find shadow amidst the radiance of the lights. One who seemed to bring the shadow with him, weaving it around himself like a veil that Clark could see from afar. The statuesque, motionless figure whose shape only loomed against the blackness didn't even flinch when he landed next to him on the roof of the skyscraper.

"Where were you?" he asked him in a low grave tone staring into the distance.

"Sorry Batman, I got held up," he replied walking up to him.

"The cat was stuck in a tree?"

"A plane fell from the sky."

"Funny," he chuckled quietly.

"Everyone's okay, nice of you to ask," Clark replied grumpily.

"I wouldn't have thought otherwise."

"Batman, what's going on? Why won't you tell me the details?"

"I want your honest reaction and opinion. My intentions don't matter."

"Why?"

"You don't need to know why," he replied sternly.

"If it wasn't important you wouldn't have asked me for help."

"I want you to either confirm or dispel my assumptions. At this point, you don't need to know more. Just be there tomorrow."

"I've seen the pictures," he decided to make a dangerous move knowing his friend very well, "they're already circulating online."

"Typical."

"You looked happy. Truly happy."

"I was doing my job. Don't look for much meaning in it."

"Bruce, we both know that's not true," he tried gently, "I saw you doing your job. I saw you putting up appearances when the spotlights demanded it. It wasn't the same."

"You have a point?"

"It's okay to want to be happy Bruce…. it's okay to want something or someone…." Batman didn't even flinch but his face hardened, despite that Clark decided to continue, "this life we lead, the mission, we can't do it alone. You can't do it alone. Want it or not, you're only human."

"I didn't ask you for life advice.

"Bruce, come on! How long have we been friends! You like her, that's obvious! For once, let yourself take a risk and give it a try."

"Stop," Bruce interrupted groggily, "just stop. Don't assume my intentions without knowing them."

"Lois has been watching you and said that she seems to like you. You. Not the persona you created."

"And that's exactly the problem," he muttered quietly.

"And why is that a problem?

"Just be there tomorrow," he ended the conversation then pushed off from the edge of the roof and soared into the night.

***

"And what are we going to do with you? You tried to run away, it wasn't nice of you. One can't just escape from here."

"Watch me," you spat out viciously. Your arms, legs, tied with wide leather straps prevented you from moving. You tried to yank yourself out but couldn't. Not far away, in the shadows of the light, multiple people seemed to be watching. "I have repeated this hundreds of times. I am not what you think I am! I can't do the things you think I can! Let me out!!! I revoke my consent!!! Let me out!!!"

"I can't," the needle flashed against the white light, "I can't just let you go. I can't let you run free out there. You know too much."

"Even so, no one would ever believe me! I'm a nobody! I'm unimportant! No one would pay attention to me! And even if someone did they would probably lock me up in the loony bin instead of believing me!" you tried to bargain, "Please. Don't. You know it won't work. Just let me go. I'm no threat to you."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that…" The icy voice pierced you along with the needle puncturing your skin. "You see I believe we just haven't found the right spot yet, the one we're looking for," he murmured beside your ear, "we press and push, prick and pierce, but we haven't found the right spot yet, which when pushed properly will release all your potential…" With cold wet fingers, he ran over your collarbones, neck to stop at your forehead, "it's here…. inside your head. And I want to bring it out."

"I beg you not…" tears flowed down your cheeks, "you're wrong! You are wrong!"

Cold metal touched your temples.

"Please stop…"

He laughed quietly tightening the straps on your arms and legs.

"Please don't…"

The sound of the machine being turned on rose above your sobs.

"Please…" a wide piece of leather shoved into your mouth drowned out your cries.

"And now we'll try to push."

Shock jolted through your entire body as electricity ran from your head to your feet. Muscles tensed, teeth clenched painfully on the leather in your mouth as the first wave convulsed your body.

"Again."

Your eyes went black as another surge shot through your muscles.

"Come on, show me what you're hiding."

The third surge stopped your breath, every thought, every feeling except the metallic taste of blood in your mouth.

"We can play like this and for hours. For me, the situation is won anyway. In the worst case scenario, I'll fry your brain and then you certainly won't be any threat."

The fourth surge, stronger than the previous ones stopped your heart.

Darkness fell and everything suddenly stopped. The pain disappeared, the tears dried up, the fear, dread, suffering seemed so distant. You fell into an abyss in which you heard neither your own breathing nor the beating of your own heart. You were falling into a blissful, peaceful darkness. You wanted it. You craved solace in the darkness, and when it seemed to have already surrounded you when you could almost feel its soothing touch on the wounds of your soul an aggressive flare tore through it bringing with it renewed pain.

A fifth wave shook your body with a scream that ripped out of you as if it wanted to destroy everything around you. A scream filled with pain, a scream filled with bitterness, a scream of hatred, a scream of anger, a scream of uncontrollable desire for revenge. It tore strips of leather from your arms and legs, shattered the lamps above your head, blew away the machines to the wall, set scalpels and syringes in a whirlwind, started hurling them in all directions, inflicting wounds, cutting and puncturing just as they cut and punctured you.

"I knew it!!! I knew it!" he exclaimed in delight, " magnificent! So magnificent!"

"You shouldn't poke in my head…" you breathed out through your teeth.

"Just look at you! Magnificent!!! You gonna be my…" the words sank into a gush of trailing blood. His white coat flooded with red as he grabbed at his slit throat as if desperately trying to keep the life inside him.

"I warned you," life escaped from his terrified eyes.

It was over. The nightmare was over. You were free. All you had to do was open the metal door and run down the long corridor toward freedom. All you have to do is open the door.

Bang! Bang! Banging against the door. Insistent, loud, aggressive, filling the silence. They were trying to enter. They were trying to breach the door. To stop you.

Someone called your name. From a distance. Barely heard under the deafening sound of pounding doors. Fading into the noise.

The pounding grew stronger, louder, knocking the door off its hinges with each blow. One more moment and they'll force their way in! One more second and they'll capture you!

A voice from afar called out again. Desperately. It called out once and then a second time. It was so far away.

The door yielded. With each blow bending the metal more and more to finally tear it from its hinges and forcibly send it to the other end of the room.

No one called your name.

You froze staring into the darkness. You waited for them. You waited for them to rush in with guns, with handcuffs, with chains. They will capture you. They will execute you. They will kill you. In terror, you waited. Ready to fight. Ready to take back your freedom by force.

But the fight did not come. The darkness took shape, the shape of a tall, slender man with raven black tousled hair, a marble face, and eyes that seemed to hide the stars. The darkness wrapped around his body taking the form of a long black cloak as he took long strides toward you.

Something had changed.

"Who are you?" you asked tentatively.

"That is not important,'" his voice resounded deep as if from the abyss of the world. He stopped between the blood and the pieces of glass, swept his eyes slowly over the surroundings before fixing them on you. His eyes seemed endless, like the infinite depths of a black starry sky. "You must wake up."

"Wake up?" you whispered.

"All of this," he ran his eyes over his surroundings once again, "this is not how it should be. It does not feel normal. Dreaming is disturbed, tainted, broken. You are broken."

"This is a dream?" you couldn't take your eyes off his, "how can I be aware that I'm dreaming?"

"Because I have allowed it."

"You allowed it?"

"You often come back here. To the same place. To the same memory," the infinite depth of his voice seemed to wash over your body and mind, "this is not the first time we have met."

"Why don't I remember it?"

"Because I don't want you to remember."

"Can you do it?"

"I can do many things," there was a gentleness in him, a cold soothing kindness, "I can erase this dream, this nightmare. The distorted memory."

"So this happened? I…" you looked at the blood spilling at your bare feet, "I killed him."

"Only you can find the answer to that question, but not here," he replied, "this nightmare is not quite real. It is altered, bent by your fear and by something else," he rubbed his fingertips in front of his eyes as if to feel a non-existent structure, "it feels forced."

"By whom?" the question broke out breathlessly.

"You will not find the answer to that question here," the stars in his eyes shone, "in a moment you will wake up. You will not remember our meeting. Nor my words. But you will remember the doubt. The feeling of doubt and suspicion. Trust in it. It will guide you to the truth," he slipped a pale hand out from under his coat.

"Wait!"

"This dream is over."

Bruce shook her gently in an attempt to wake her up. Forehead burning with fever, skin wet with sweat and tears, he repeated her name, gently trying to pull her out of the nightmare. She couldn't hear. Her face twisted in a grimace of pain, her hands clenched on the sheets, her body twisted as if in a convulsive shock, she suddenly relaxed and sank onto the bed.

"Y/N wake up!" he repeated again, "wake up! Do you hear me!" the realization of the adrenaline syringe hidden deep at the bottom of the bag in the closet of his room suddenly brightened his mind, "Y/N!" he shook her gently by the shoulders.

She moaned quietly. Her breathing took a steady pace, her heart seemed to calm down. Despite his terror, his thoughts were clear and composed. He looked around the room. The windows were closed. No signs of intrusion. Everything was in order, no disarray, except for the door lying on the floor, which he had knocked down a moment ago. He ran his eyes over her arms and hands and, finding no traces of a needle, reprimanded himself in his mind for thinking she might have been using drugs. "I've seen them before," he thought as he looked at the unmarked bottle. Y/N groaned again shifting under his hands.

"Y/N can you hear me?" he caressed her cheek. The fever was subsiding, "open your eyes…" he whispered. She only moaned softly and, cuddling her face into his palm, opened her eyes.

"Bruce?" confusion marred her eyes, "what are you doing here? What's going on?" she tried to get up so he helped her then rose from his knees and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked softly.

"Sure I do," she replied startled.

"Tell me."

"We are in Metropolis, in a hotel room at the Metropolis Plaza Hotel…" she stopped in mid-sentence when her eyes rested on the hole in the door frame where the door should have been. At the entrance to the room stood a confused young man in a room service uniform, "Bruce? What happened to the door?"

"I knocked it out," he replied briefly then added, "I'll be right back alright?" he informed her and with a quick step made his way towards the entrance.

Y/N watched as he changed from a caring man to a powerful persona in the blink of an eye. She watched his commanding stride, the look he threw at the butler making the man yield under his weight, she could hear the icy "stay here" with which he held him in his place. He was gone only a moment. A moment full of confusion, the covers pulled high up to her neck, confused stares, and an uncomfortable silence. When he returned he didn't wait a single second, the authority spoke up issuing orders.

"Here's a grand," Bruce began, placing the bills in the man's hand, "I trust the press and tabloids won't find out about it."

"Mister Wayne, sir, I would never…" the boy blushed hesitantly accepting the money.

"Let me see your phone."

"Sir?"

"Show me your phone," Bruce repeated with emphasis taking the phone from the butler, "unlock it," he ordered.

"Sir I would never do anything that would…"

"I believe you," Bruce interrupted him, "unlock it."

The boy reluctantly unlocked the phone and handed it to Bruce. He only swiped the screen a few times before handing it back to its owner.

"Thank you," he pulled another stack of bills from his pocket and shoved it into the confused man's hand, "if anyone had asked I was drunk, completely wasted. I mixed up the rooms," the butler nodded while Bruce pulled out another bill, "here's an extra five hundred. A token of my gratitude for your cooperation and assistance in moving Miss Y/L/N's belongings to my suite quickly."

"Yes sir!" the boy merely nodded then with swift careful movements began to gather her bag and scattered clothes.

"Bruce it really won't be necessary," she began but he didn't listen to her. He only threw her an assuring look then disappeared into the bathroom only to return a moment later with a packed makeup bag and bathrobe in his hand.

"You can't sleep in a room without a door," he smiled kindly handing it to her, "you'll spend the rest of the night in my room. And tomorrow we'll work something out."

Fifteen minutes later you were sitting disoriented, wrapped in a robe and sipping hot mid-tea that had been delivered to you by the butler. The nightmare had not yet fully left your mind, still clouding your perception of reality. Bruce was pacing around the room. He arranged your clothes on the sofa, hung your dresses on hangers, carried your cosmetics to the bathroom then opened the window letting in the blissful fresh scent of the night air and sat down opposite you.

"You will take the bed, I will sleep on the couch," in the privacy of his apartment he adopted a gentle tone and warm expression once again.

"Bruce, I can sleep on the couch. Really! A lot of fuss about nothing!"

"About nothing?" his brow arched in surprise, "Y/N you were screaming. I thought someone broke in, that you were in danger. You were screaming in your sleep."

"I'm sorry…" you whispered embarrassed.

"Don't apologize," the warmth of his voice and the blue of his worried eyes seemed to calm your exhausted nerves, "don't apologize because you have nothing to apologize for."

"I have caused you trouble."

"It's nothing," he assured, "the most important thing is that you're okay. Are you okay?" his eyes shone with concern.

"I don't know…" you replied weakly, "I'd like to say yes, but that would only sound like a lie. And for some reason I don't want to lie to you."

"Has this happened to you before?"

"Nightmares? Yes. That intense? I don't know," you admitted, "it's not like there was anyone around to tell me about it."

"You were all feverish, crying in your sleep…"

"Awesome," you smiled faintly, "another mishap. This is what happens when you pick up an idiot from the street and bring her into the society."

"Stop it!" his hand tightened on yours, "I didn't say that to embarrass you or make you feel uncomfortable. I just, you worried me, I don't think that's surprising," there was no lie in his eyes.

"I didn't mean to worry you," you replied, but hearing Bruce's heavy sigh you gathered your courage and decided to continue. You owed him that much. "It started after the accident. Nightmares, anxiety, maybe slight paranoia. I ignored them, not the first trauma in my life. I knew that with time it would pass. But it didn't pass."

"Don't get me wrong but have you talked to a doctor about it?" concern shone in the dark depths of the blue of his eyes.

"A psychiatrist?" he nodded, "let's say that I did. My… friend helps me with the mess in my head. He has extensive experience and knowledge in psychology and psychiatry. He has been a great help and support to me since the accident. But I wouldn't call it typical therapy."

"Did you dream about the accident?"

"No…" one part of you wanted to run away from his gaze when the other wanted to completely sink into it, "no, I don't dream about the accident."

"If you don't want to talk about it, I won't insist."

"I don't want you to think I'm insane," you smirked.

"I won't"

"Promise?"

"Promise," a shiver ran down your spine at the sound of his words. A strange feeling, a familiar sense of security, "you can trust me."

"I think these are memories…" you began hesitantly but Bruce's hand still on yours provided comfort, "some of my nightmares are memories, for sure. I remember them too well to have any doubts. But others, I'm not so sure…" you mused for a moment, "they feel like memories, but I'm not sure. Because I don't remember…"

"You don't remember?"

"There is a two-year gap in my memory," you replied quietly. You looked at him but there was neither surprise nor derision in his eyes, only a quiet understanding, "A void, a complete void. A black space where memories should be. I don't know anything, I don't remember anything from that time."

"Memories began to return after the accident?"

"After the accident I increased the frequency of therapy sessions," you replied, "I also started taking medication. You probably think I'm nuts."

"I do not think that," he assured, "believe me, crazy is the last word I would use to describe you."

"Liar," you sneered even though his eyes spoke the truth, "I think the sessions and the drugs unlocked something in my mind and memories began to return."

"Memories of what?" he inquired.

"I don't want to talk about it," you slipped your hand from his under the guise of reaching for a mug of tea, "at least not now."

"Of course, I understand."

"Forgive me but I haven't even talked to my psychiatrist about it."

"This friend of yours, yes," you nodded in response to his question,

"This friend of yours, yes?," you nodded at his question, "you say he's good at what he does. What's his name if you don't mind me asking?"

"Doctor Jonathan Crane."

***

~~Gotham City~~

Nightwing stood over the broken body of a forty-year-old man and watched the blood flow from his frozen in excitement mouth. The bag of money he had recently stolen lay nearby, green bills spilling out onto the wet concrete sidewalk. The gun he had fired at him just a moment ago still warmly fell out of his hand with a metallic clang. If only he had reacted faster the man would still be alive. He should have seen this coming, but how could he?

"What happened here?" Red Hood jumped off the building and landed next to him.

"He jumped," Nightwing replied quietly.

"He jumped?"

"He just jumped. I didn't even have time to react."

"Wait wait wait. He robbed the bank and then committed suicide?"

"No… it wasn't suicide," Nightwing denied, "I got him cornered and instead of giving up he said I couldn't do anything to him, that he wasn't afraid of me," he looked at his brother seeking understanding, "he laughed in my face."

"That's new."

"He said I couldn't do anything to him because there was no fear in him."

***

Chapter ten: Dreams - part two

~~***~~

Author note: Originally this part was meant to be all in one chapter. But as I sat down and started writing, it grew and grew so much that I decided to split it into two. Otherwise, this chapter would be about 20k. I really wanted to get you all into his world, like truly deep into the world of Bruce Wayne, or at least the world that I imagine. I think it worked out. Some new characters appeared and one unashamed cameo which I couldn't help but write! After all, he is a character in DC comics (and I love him so much). The second part will be out as always within the next two weeks, and then I will take a break, which means that chapter eleven will arrive a month later. I'm traveling abroad to see my friend so I won't have time for writing. Hope you'll forgive me. I added to the tag list those who asked to be added. Thank you for your engagement! It truly means a lot to me. And finally, as always Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.

~~***~~

Tag list:@clown-princesa @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming @julesjewelss36 @cherryflavoredcoke @grandstrangerphantom

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