#i will be very surprised if Joker didn’t toss Harley off of that building

[cocoabubbelle-newblog]

[augiewrites]

“us” - harley x reader

summary: Y/N helps a drunk Harley get to a safe place for the night

pairing: harley quinn x reader

word count: 800+

warnings: alcohol, swearing, bad endings

paying homage to the gal who sparked my bi awakening. hope you enjoy :) 

Y/N hadn’t seen Harley since the night the Joker broke up with her. It wasn’t pretty, and she felt guilty for being part of the reason it happened.

She had been working with the Joker for a while, not because she liked the man, but mostly to have connections if she needed them down the line. In her time working as one of the Joker’s “associates,” she had gotten close with Harley. A little too close on too many occasions. He didn’t have specifics, but the Joker found out that Harley was fooling around behind his back and decided to end their relationship.

Harley completely dropped off Y/N’s grid after the break up, and it hurt Y/N a bit more than she’d like to admit. Which was why she was surprised that she got a late night call from Dinah Lance, telling her that she needed help getting a very drunk Harley somewhere safe for the night. What was left of the night, anyway.

Walking into the near-empty club, Y/N found Dinah standing in front Harley slumped against a couch on the back wall. 

“Sorry for calling you so late,” Dinah greeted Y/N, “but I figured that you might be the only person in Gotham that doesn’t want her dead.”

Y/N just laughed half-heartedly and muttered a “yeah.”

As the two women tried to stabilize Harley between them, Dinah continued, “she told me about her and the clown...did you know?”

“Yeah,” Y/N looked at Dinah, “I was there for it.”

“Oof.”

“Yeah,” Y/N paused once they got to her car, “how the hell are we supposed to get her in there?”

Suddenly reanimating, Harley exclaimed, “Y/N! Dinah, Y/N’s here! Y/N, you’re here...” and she was gone again.

“Here, I’ll hold her up and you go around and pull her in from the other side,” Dinah said, shifting more of Harley’s weight over to her. After a bit of pulling and shoving, the two got Harley into the backseat no resistance other than a weak, “don’t touch what you can’t afford mister.”

Dinah just scoffed a “shut up,” tossing one of Harley’s shoes onto the floor of the car, turning away and waving a goodbye to Y/N.

Y/N didn’t know where Harley lived now that her and the Joker split, so she didn’t have any place to bring her other than her apartment. Hopefully she could get Harley out of the backseat and into the elevator without causing any damage. 

Thankfully, Harley sobered up a bit on the ride, and Y/N got her upstairs and to her bedroom without hurting themselves or the building. Harley dived face-first into the bed and Y/N took off her one remaining shoe and covered her with the blanket. Quietly, Y/N took a pillow off the bed and a spare blanket from the closet, moving toward the door.

Until she heard Harley talking to her from under the covers.

Sighing, Y/N took a few steps back to the bed and moved the covers away from Harley’s space. With the blanket removed, all Y/N could see was Harley looking up at her like it was the first time she’d seen a living person. 

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi.”

Harley closed her eyes, whispering, “Mr. J left me. Kicked me to the curb.”

“I know, Harles.”

Harley just layed in silence, and Y/N took that as her cue to leave for the couch. Just as she was about to close the door, Harley stirred again, saying, barely audible, “I don’t regret us, just so you know.”

Y/N wasn’t even sure if she heard her right, but her words never left Y/N’s mind all night.

I don’t regret us.

~~~

The bright light shining into her bedroom made Harley’s brain want to explode. She burrowed deeper into the covers, hoping that she could sleep off the worst of this hangover.

Wait.

This isn’t her bed.

Shooting up, Harley looked around in panic, where the hell was she? 

Oh. Y/N.

She flopped back down, debating on locking the door and never facing Y/N again. But her hyperactivity got the best of her, and she slowly crawled out of bed and walked to the living room, where Y/N was cooking in the adjacent kitchen.

“Hey,” Y/N greeted with a smile, “welcome to the land of the living. It won’t be as good as Sal’s, but I made breakfast.”

“Thanks, it, uh, smells good,” Harley replied, uncharacteristically shy, “how bad was I last night?”

Y/N chuckled, “I’ve seen worse.”

“I’ve got a feeling that I did that thing where my mouth opens and I say some shit I shouldn’t,” Harley laughed half-heartedly.

“How much do you remember?” Y/N questioned.

“Just a little bit,” Harley’s gaze was fixed on the floor, “but I meant what I said.”

Y/N turned down the stovetop and moved over in front of Harley, grabbing her hands, “I don’t regret us either, Harles.”

~~~

I’m sorry if this isn’t that great, but thank you for reading <3

[tricksters-captain]

Birds of Prey/Roman Sionis Imagine - In Debt - Part 2

(First Part Here)

Overall Summary: You run your luck whilst running from the GCPD and straight into Roman Sionis’s club – but will he save your ass or let you walk? (Based off Lonely Gun - Cyn)

In This Chapter: Roman tries getting you on his team but there’s something holding you back

Pairing(s): Roman Sionis x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3,052

Warnings: Violence, Roman being Roman, Angst

You left the police department to see Zsasz stood outside, leant up against a car with a smirk on his lips.

“Boss says you’re welcome. Now get in the car.”

You smirked and shook your head, of course it was Roman Sionis. 

You didn’t fight against Zsasz’s orders and climbed into the car beside him. You tightened your leather jacket around you as his eyes scanned down your body briefly before he took off with a speed.

It wasn’t long before you were back at the Black Mask Club. You were curious to know whether entering the club that night was a curse or a blessing and you had a feeling you were about to find out. 

“What's this about?” You tried to ask Zsasz as he walked you up towards Roman’s loft above the club. 

“You owe Roman a debt. Two now. Let’s hope saving your ass won’t be an often occurrence.” Zsasz looked down at you with his head tilted back as he opened the door. 

“I never asked to be saved.” You hated that a phrase. You never needed to be saved. What Roman had done for you was just a favour, brushing a rock in your way off the path, not saved you like you couldn’t have gotten out of it eventually yourself. 

“Miss (Y/F/N)!” Roman opened his arms wide in celebration as he saw you saunter down the corridor towards his main living area. 

Roman wore an eccentric yet handsome suit as he rose from his dining table, buttoning his blazer as he did. 

“Roman.” You smiled back at the man but you were fully aware of the fact this wasn’t a meeting to do with friendship. 

“How lovely to see you, my dear.” Roman clasped your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“I assume you didn't bail me out of jail from the goodness of your heart, Mr Sionis.” You didn’t hold back as you withdrew your hand. 

“Please! Make yourself comfortable! Take off your jacket, that thing looks terribly uncomfortable.” Roman ignored your remark as he gestured to your leather jacket. You complied, removing the constricting fabric to reveal the dark colour tank you had beneath and the bruises from recent jobs on your arms.

Roman didn’t hide his eyes darting down to your chest before he sat and offered you a seat beside him on the couch. 

You could feel Zsasz hovering behind you as you approached the couch and sat beside his boss. 

“Now, Miss (Y/L/N)––”

“––Just (Y/n) is fine.” You interrupted Roman before he could even start and whilst Roman would never usually allow someone to cut him off like that, he only found it more intriguing with you. 

“Now, Miss (Y/n), I have a proposition for you.” Roman didn’t waste any more time. “You caught my eye after your little stint in the club a few days back and I’ve had some of my guys do some research on you and I was surprised to find out you weren’t working for anyone here in Gotham City.” 

“I’m not for hire. I’m sure I won’t be sticking around here much longer anyways.” You admitted. It was just what you did. You did as much damage as you could in a city and just before everyone wanted your head, you bounced. You completely disappeared. 

“Well you'd be safer than you are now with someone looking after you, watching your back, greasing the cuffs when needed.” Roman’s leather clad finger brushed against your shoulder as he rested his arm on the top of the couch. 

“Someone like you? Penguin? Joker? I’m sorry but I'm no Harley Quinn.” You tried to stand up but Roman’s hand caught your wrist. 

Your head snapped round to his to see his eyes dark, almost desperate. 

“I can do much more than they can. I know you can do much more than little miss Harleen Quinzell. You have talent, passion, a skill much like Mr Zsasz here.” Roman’s hand opened towards Zsasz who was stood close by with his hands behind his back. 

“You think I’m just as good as your Victor Zsasz there?” You turned to stand in front of the man’s knees. 

Zsasz frowned at your almost mocking tone. 

“Mr Sionis. I’m better than anyone on your team.” You climbed on top of the man, straddling him. 

Roman’s eyes were locked on you, his hands immediately taking hold of your hips as you settled on his lap, knees either side of his thighs. 

“Your team is full of men.” You leant forward and whispered against the man’s ear. 

Suddenly, Roman became aware of the small silver blade pressing against his neck. 

Clever, he thought.

Zsasz went to lunge forward to help his boss but Roman rose his hand in protest, stopping Zsasz in his tracks. 

You leant back and smirked at the man. 

“I’m better than your team because I’m a woman. If I wanted you dead, Mr Sionis... You’d be dead.” You pressed the tip harder against his skin and he laughed. 

“You are...spectacular.” Roman announced with a wide smile as you withdrew your knife.  

You removed yourself from on top of the man and turned to leave.

“You will work for me, (y/n).” Roman’s voice stopped you. 

“Why’s that?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. 

“Because you owe me, little bird.” Roman’s words made you shiver. “I made the GCPD go away, I can easily make them come back.” 

You knew he was right. He was one of the most powerful men in Gotham. 

“You are mine now, little bird.” Roman stroked your cheek with the back of his fingers when he neared you. “And you’ll do as your told, kay?” 

And with that, Roman walked away. 

You met eyes with Zsasz across the room who only stared back at you. 

“Be here tomorrow. 9 sharp.” Zsasz’s shoulder nudged yours as he passed you to follow his leader. 

You sighed and snatched your leather jacket up before leaving. 

“Roman’s fresh meat, huh?” You heard a voice as you lit your cigarette. 

You rose your eyebrows to see a tall and beautiful woman with dreads leaving the building beside you. 

“A piece of advice; just don’t get on his bad side.” The woman smirked slightly but you could see the hint of concern in her eyes as she walked towards her car. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve heard all about Mr Sionis pension for peeling faces. And I can handle Victor Zsasz if I have to.”  You sucked a drag from your cigarette as you replied. 

“Good luck with that.” The woman climbed into her car and drove off quickly. You made a mental note to find out who she was. 

You made sure you were on time the next morning, you didn’t want to ‘owe’ anymore of your time to Mr Sionis and his knife-wielding sidekick. 

You walked into the large loft space to see Roman and Zsasz sat at the dining table eating and seemingly bickering over something. 

“There she is! Right on time! Good morning, my little bird!” Roman rose from the table as soon as you caught his sights. 

“Roman. Victor.” You greeted the men. 

“I have an errand for you, Miss (Y/L/N).” Roman announced, circling the table to stand right in front of you. 

You remained silent, waiting for Roman to continue. 

“We have a very important meeting tonight at the club and I need you to run along and get something pretty to wear.” Roman explained, “Also, feel free to get some new toys, I’d like to see more of what you can do.” 

“I’ll go with you.” Zsasz stood, nearing you and Roman. 

“Excellent idea! Zsasz you can look after my card, make sure (Y/n) gets something perfect for this evening.” Roman dug into his robe pocket and pulled out a credit card, handing it to Zsasz. 

“I’d prefer to go alone.” You voiced your opinion but it was quickly blown off. 

“No, why would you go alone when I can have Zsasz take you around and make sure you are getting exactly what’s needed for tonight.” Roman clearly. didn’t trust you yet and you weren’t surprised, you just didn’t want to spend the day with his little minion. 

“Let’s go.” Zsasz grabbed the car keys and started down the corridor to the exit. 

“Run along! I’ll see you tonight.” Roman smiled widely at you as he hurried you along and so you went after Zsasz. 

When you pushed open the door to the stairs you felt a strong grip grab the back of your neck and pull you forcefully backwards so that your back hit the wall beside the door. 

Zsasz was quick to jump in front of you, pressing his forearm against your chest and holding a blade against your throat. 

You chuckled at the attack and exhaled deeply. 

“I get the feeling you don’t like me, Zsasz.” 

Zsasz pressed the knife harder against your neck, glaring at your amusement. 

“You think you’re so clever. Roman may like you but I won’t have a problem slicing up this pretty face of yours if you bother putting a foot wrong.” Zsasz’s golden teeth glinted through his warning sneer, “Roman’s the only one in this town that can help you. Don’t you wanna go far? Stop running from whatever you’re running from?” 

“I’m not running––”

“––Shhhh...” Zsasz leant his face closer to yours as he shushed you. 

“Now, are you gonna be a good girl or a bad girl? Cause you may have slipped through some ‘big shot’ crime dogs fingers before but if you do anything, I mean, anything wrong, you won’t escape me. I will find you, no matter how hard you hide and I’ll make you fly away from this world, away from Roman.” Zsasz warned you, an intensity in his eyes told you he wasn’t exaggerating. 

“Back off pretty boy. If I do decide to go against Roman, I’ll look forward to the hunt.” You retorted, staring the man in the eyes.

Zsasz withdrew his knife and his arm from your chest, taking a step back.

“Go get the car.” He tossed you the keys and you made the point to linger a second before descending down the stairs. 

Shopping with Zsasz wasn’t unbearable, he kept his distance but kept his eye on you and the credit card in his clutch. Dress shopping was quick but weapon shopping was harder. You kept criticising Zsasz’s choices which was only making him dislike you more. 

When you returned to Roman’s apartment, Roman was having a face/head massage so didn’t want to talk like he usually did and instead just gave you a time to be at the club later. 

You went home, showered and dressed and did as you were told by entering the club at exactly 10pm.

The woman you had spoken to a couple days back was stood upon the stage in a beautiful gold and black midi dress as she held the microphone. 

You couldn’t help but smirk at the song she was performing just as you entered the club and made eye contact with Roman. 

‘I put a spell on you’ 

You sauntered towards the man who lowered his martini glass away from his lips as his eyes devoured you. 

Roman wore a dark green suit, almost dark enough to be black but the lights hit the fabric to reveal the true colour. A black shirt lie underneath his blazer whilst his dark green and gold leather gloves gripped onto the glass in his hands. On inspecting Roman’s appearance you realised why Zsasz insisted on the dress you were draped in that evening.

You two were matching, you almost rolled your eyes at the man’s attempt to tell everyone you were his but instead you couldn’t help but smirk. 

“You look exquisite tonight, (Y/n).” Roman kissed your cheek in greeting when you finally came face to face. “I assume you came fully dressed?” 

Roman was talking about the weapons that you were required to wear by his instruction. 

You pulled back the slit in your skirt to reveal the knife holster wrapped around your upper thigh. 

Roman swallowed, clenching his teeth together before he looked back up at your face and smiled. 

“Boss.” Zsasz came forward and made Roman aware of a man entering the club with a large bouncer beside him. 

“Shall we?” Roman held out his arm for you to take, to which you did. 

Roman put on one of his award winning smiles as you both approached the short man that Roman was meeting with. 

You zoned out for most of the meeting, you sat in between the two men in Roman’s favourite booth. You only needed to act if Roman gave the signal which Zsasz had explained during your shopping spree.

Roman reached across you to touch the man’s shoulder as he cracked a joke and laughed loudly. 

You knew this was the signal, you readjusted as Roman pulled back giving you time to subtly remove the knife from it’s case and not draw any attention to it.

You froze when Roman placed his hand on your bare leg, gripping your thigh with his fingers. 

Something inside you ignited at his touch but you knew you couldn’t be distracted by it. 

Roman’s eyes met yours as you glanced to him for further instruction. 

Roman’s wink told you what to do. 

You smiled brightly at Roman’s guest and reached up to touch the collar on his shirt, making some comment about it as you positioned the knife on his ribs. 

You saw the bodyguard look away as you neared the mans ear, now applying pressure against him with the tip of the blade. 

“You don’t want to make this mistake.” You whispered against his ear, “Take the deal.”

The man glared at you as you batted your eyelashes at him. 

You pressed harder. 

He hissed as the blade drew blood, his bodyguard was now aware of the threat but Zsasz stood in front of the guard, smirking up at him and shaking his head. 

“I don’t stop until we get a deal or he tells me to.” You warned the man as you continued applying pressure. 

“Okay! Okay! Okay! Deal!” The guy, almost crying, gave in pretty quickly and Roman rejoiced. 

“Wonderful news! It was wonderful talking to you. Let’s get together sometime next week and discuss this further, sign some contracts and what not. How about Tuesday, here at the club, ‘kay?” Roman shook hands with the man whilst he struggled to hold a napkin up against his wound. 

The bodyguard rushed his boss from the table and towards the exit whilst Roman celebrated, taking two martinis off of a passing waitress. 

Once the man reached the doorway to leave the club, you threw the knife towards him, hitting the doorframe by his head, seeming skimming his ear. This was the final warning. 

The surrounding people including Roman’s newest victim all stop to look at you before quickly dispersing. 

“Great work, my dear. Truly thrilling watching him sweat whilst you worked your magic.” Roman winked at you as he handed you one of the martinis he held. 

“Would you care for a dance?” Roman asked after sipping on his celebratory drink. 

You pursed your lips into a thin line, contemplating whether it was a good idea to say no. 

“I don’t really dance.” You admitted, more interested in downing the martini in your hand and then going to find some hard alcohol to shoot back. 

“Nonsense!” Roman took hold of your hand and pulled you towards the space in front of the stage where the woman from earlier was still performing.

You heard the music change as she began to sing a cover of ‘never tear us apart’. 

Roman’s hand found your waist and you entertained him by taking holding of his shoulder. 

“See, you’re dancing.” Roman smiled as you swayed with the music. 

You could feel your stomach tense as the song became intense and the lyrics flowed around your head. 

‘Don't ask me what you know is true, don't have to tell you, oh, I love your precious heart... I was standing, you were there, two worlds collided... And they could never ever tear us apart...”

“You truly are an exquisite creature, miss (y/n).” Roman spoke loud enough for you to hear as he pulled you tighter against him, his hand moving from your waist to the small of your back. 

You closed your eyes to stop the lightheaded feeling you had from where you looked around the room to see all eyes on you and Roman. 

“If you stayed with me, you’d never have to worry about where you’re going next, how you’re getting your next pay check... You’d be free.” Roman’s voice echoed in your ear. 

“I wouldn’t be free. Not if you owned me, Mr Sionis.” You whispered back, 

“You’d belong to me, little bird but you’d be safe. Safe from whatever crazy past you’re running from.” Roman’s words made you repulse away from him.

“I’m not running.” You argued, just as hit the music reached its peak note. 

“Little bird––” Roman tried to step towards you but you took off, pushing the door to Roman’s private stairway open and racing up the stairs to escape the club. 

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

Your hands grappled the back of your dress, desperately trying to pull the zipper down in order to feel less constricted.  

You leant your hands on Roman’s dining table, dropping your head down as you tried to control your breathing. It felt like the world was closing in around you as Roman tried to tie you to him; to Gotham. 

Roman had followed you up the stairs after making sure the club was running smoothly. He found you with your back to him, hunched over the dining table, your zipper undone, revealing the smooth skin of your back. 

You could hear his footsteps approaching you but you remained still. 

Roman’s leather clad hands brushed down your arms from your shoulder, the cool fabric sending goosebumps across your body. 

“Miss (y/l/n).” Roman said your name in a quiet voice. “What are you afraid of?” 

(Next part soon)

[fordarkisthesuede]

The Tolls of Justice - Chapter 7

Goooood morning, darlings!  It was a longer wait than I wanted to give you, but I hope this absolute monster of a chapter is alllll worth it for what we’re leading up to! :3c

Important Spoiler Tags:  self harm, paranoia, playing with knives, discussion of mental illness, bonding through near-death situations, omg Billionaire Playboy Vigilante Bruce Wayne has That™ kind of drawer what a surprise

<prev> <next>

Read on Ao3 or continue below...

[Chapter 7:  Drawing the Strings]

Wayne Manor was too big. John figured he could walk the whole length of it in the time it would take to let Bruce deal with everything being set up for his fancy-schmancy party.

He was okay with not going. It wasn’t like he wanted to actually be in the enormous unused ballroom, all dressed to the nines. Or be on Bruce’s arm for any miniscule part of the evening. Or get to try to be normal-ish for once. It made sense for him not to go, what with a wannabe-killer on the loose. He knew that as soon as he’d realized he was in Wayne Manor and not in some weird fever dream made from various Arkham-brand drugs.

But hearing he wasn’t wanted there in the first place was different. Not so much from calculating, logical Bruce, who might have his best interests at heart - but from Alfred?

He felt the stirrings of the mysterious beast under his skin. It had been kicked hard in its cage and now it was angrier than ever. It was as if it had been staring Alfred down from behind its bars of bone and flesh, teeth bared and growling low since he saw him in the kitchen that morning - and it was lie Alfred could see it, somehow, and stared back as he shoved a pancake into John’s hands with his compliments like that would make things better.

John would be lying if he said it hadn’t made a fraction of a difference – Alfred treated him like he would any other guest to their face. He was polite and seemingly neutral, and even tossed a joke out about Bruce’s life juggling trick. It was enough to remind John that this was Bruce’s father figure he was dealing with and not a stranger, and he should do his best to get along with who could – in the slimmest possibilities of a good future – be his eventual father-in-law.

But the knowledge that Alfred didn’t think he should be around other people kept sitting in John’s head. It sat there in the kitchen, and in the oversized dining room, and back in the kitchen as John very carefully dried the china and attempted to make conversation about Alfred’s journey across the world in-between mentally running through a list of all the mob hits ever made on 13th Street. Bad thoughts were easy to drown out when he was thinking about other things, but as soon as he was left on his own it came back.

Alfred doesn’t want me here, the thought cycled in again as John stepped into the elevator down to cave. It was the one place he could surround himself with Bruce’s presence without the man actually being there. He doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m dangerous around people. Shadows passed over his face. 

He knew Alfred was right. Does anyone want me here, with my bloody hands...? 

John looked down at them. They were clean, but sometimes he felt like Lady Macbeth trying to scrub away the guilt that seeped a permanent red into her conscience. He squeezed his fingers into fists, feeling the short nails dig a little into his skin as his wrist muscles flexed. 

The wrists that Bruce had held not long ago, while lying on him with all the weight of the world packed in mostly-sculpted muscle. He flicked his tongue out, tasting his lips; Bruce’s flavor was all gone, and only maple syrup from breakfast remained, but he was sure it happened. There was no mistaking Bruce’s firm grip.

Bruce does, John countered himself, flexing his hands in a squeezing motion again. Bruce doesn’t care what Alfred thinks. I’m his best friend. He loves me.

He woke up alone. He woke up in the guest room Bruce had given him last time. He had to think carefully about where he was and had snatched the phone off the nightstand to prove to himself that it was Saturday.

...he SAYS he loves me. He left me alone. 

But Bruce had kissed him. Been real. John clutched his bandaged forearm, squeezing hard and feeling the fabric beneath his fingertips. He was there, in the elevator, heading towards the Batcave.

But Bruce had also lied to him before. He lied to Alfred very easily. He didn’t want Alfred to know I was with him.

Why would he do that? Why would he hide John away? Why would he not tell his father his boyfriend was there? Only if…

John squeezed his bandaged forearm harder. His gut had told him so the moment Alfred had finished his sentence from behind Bruce’s bedroom door:  Alfred didn’t know about Bruce and John’s relationship.

He’s ashamed of me.

He wanted to talk to someone about it. Badly. So badly it gnawed at his stomach. 

But of course Mickey and Devi were busy, and Dr. Song would practically say she told him it would happen and tell him to go wherever it was St. Dymphna felt would work for the time being, and John would sooner talk to Harley than go through that mess. Tiffany and Iman wouldn’t understand, and he didn’t think their budding friendships were at that level of emotional intimacy.

The elevator gave a little ding, and John felt his head start to clear with the first breath of cave air. Solid mixed metals and rock, live bats, fresh water, Kevlar cleaner - yes, this was all Bruce. Bruce in his truest form. Logical Bruce with his sweet heart that bled underneath the layers of armor he kept to hide and restrain it all.

Bruce loving him was unquestionable. He was an idiot sometimes, hiding things for his mysterious, inane reasons, but Bruce loved him. He had to. So Bruce might be embarrassed or ashamed of him, but…!

He won’t be for long. 

Sure, he could do something outlandish like kidnap Bruce without letting anyone else be wise to it and prove how clever and deserving he was of Bruce’s time and attention and love as he gave him the heavy pet-down they both deserved to indulge in, but it wouldn’t go over so well when John wasn’t officially released into the wild with the sanity stamp on his hand.

Solving at least one of the cases on Bruce’s desk, though? That was sure to earn him points. Hell, Alfred would undoubtedly be impressed, too. 

He had a lot to catch up on. He glanced over at the Batcomputer and thought about everything.

The Wednesday Nighters’ deaths at The Lot club were mysterious, but the gang seemed to have a lead on that, what with the idiot whose card was “stolen”. It wasn’t impressive enough if John puzzled the rest out.

His own attempted murder was intriguing, but there wasn’t much to go on. Unless Tiffany could show him the exact spot she lost the shooter in... If she did lose them and it wasn’t some very elaborate scheme to- 

Don’t go there, John. You know what the doctors all say about your little paranoid thoughts.

And while he could just throw their advice out the window like they seemed to do to him, he knew they were right. Thinking someone he knew (someone he was growing to like, and was sure he could get the feeling in return if he tried, no less) was out to get even with him wasn’t very progressive. Tiffany had trusted him enough to gamble on following a lead. She didn’t toss his phone over the edge of the building when he’d given it to her. She tried to chase the shooter and got her precious drone smashed to bits as a consequence. She didn’t even pull that weirded out face at the breakfast table...well, he was pretty sure she hadn’t, anyway.

The more he thought about it, the Chandis instance seemed to be connected to Cat-Lady, if the video was to be believed, and John had a feeling that it wasn’t a coincidence that both his and her attacker were wearing masks. And Selina’s looked peculiarly like a Batman knockoff.

Yup, first-in, first-out was the way to go, really. He’d just have to figure out where she was staying and then figure out a way to get there. 

It was only two things. He could manage that.

He was going to march over to the giant supercomputer when he caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision:  Tiffany. 

For the second time, he found himself finding her in an unlikely place when her back was turned.

She’d brought up Miss Kitty-Witty. She would know exactly where she was. And John, having managed to coax her into working with him before, would surely be able to do it again, as long as he could keep his face straight.

Tiffany was in the little rogue gallery, her phone pressed to her ear. She seemed to be wearing her motorcycle gear from last night, sans the helmet; he could see some of the plating looked a lot like that of the Batsuit, but in a matte midnight blue. She was clearly planning on going somewhere...

John snuck closer, walking on the outside of his heels to lessen the noise.

“I told you, Barb’, I’m not with a guy. If I was, I wouldn’t be so tired when I come back home... Of course my Mom knows where I am; even if I wasn’t with her I’d have to text her. I mean, she’s been getting better, but… Yeah, it’s just work stuff.” Tiffany stepped closer to John’s case. What could she want from there?

Or was John just being paranoid and she was actually going for something else, like Harley’s hammer or Frieze’s ice-ray?

“Oh, uhh… I don’t know. It might be a couple of days. At least I paid rent already.” Tiffany was right in front of the old Joker items; his old belt, his grappling gun, and the razor-sharp Jokerrang. She reached up and snatched his grappling gun off the little pegs Bruce used to keep it in place. Her sixth sense was pretty shitty if she didn’t know he was right behind her by now. “Yeah, I’ll text you if anything interesting happens. Really, Barb’, I don’t know what you expect to-”

“Nice, isn’t it?” John asked from behind her.

Tiffany gave a yelp that echoed against the expansive cave walls as she swung the gun behind her in an arc - it would have hit him in the head if he hadn’t leaned back in the nick of time. John stumbled backwards a step, laughing at the wide-eyed shock on her face. He knew it was loud, but it wasn’t as if anyone else was down there to complain, so he didn’t bother muffling it.

John could hear the voice on the phone shouting in alarm. “No, Barbara, I’m okay, it’s just...one of my colleagues scaring me,” she explained, still frowning over at John. “Yeah, I’ll call you back later.” She hung up, stowed the phone in her pocket, and shoved his arm hard. “Don’t DO that! You scared the shit out of me!”

 John bit his lip to try and stop the titters in his throat. “You were on the phone! You wouldn’t have noticed my text!” he explained half-truthfully, “Nice reflexes, by the way. You’ll be like a little Bat in no time! Or would it be a batling...? A Mini-Bat?”

She didn’t seem to find the funny side to that. 

John cleared his throat, unsure of what else to say until he realized he should have apologized by now. “Um, ‘sorry’. That’s what I’m trying to say.” He stood straighter. “So - Bats won’t let you play with his toys?”

“Uh… Not exactly.” Tiffany shifted her weight and tried to cross her arms, only realizing the gun was in the way too late and having to put her hand on her hip instead. “Bruce…suggested I borrow it from you. Since you’re kinda stuck here,” she said with a shrug.

Ah-ha. She was heading out on a little mission - visiting the Cat, perhaps, in Bruce’s place. “Well, the man’s got a point… Kinda wished you asked first, though, Tiff’. It might be in Bruce’s fancy case under his fancier house, but it’s still mine.” She shifted uncomfortably. John supposed he should play nice and not glower. “But I suppose I could let you borrow it -” he rocked back on his heels once, thinking quickly - “if you let me come with you. You’re going to see the Cat, right?”

“You want to…” Her already dark eyes darkened further. “Did Bruce put you up to this?”

What a suspicious-aloysius. Clearly Bruce had her a short leash. “Give me some credit, Tiff’, I have a life outside of following him around. Though it is nice when he gets that cute proud face when I do something right…” It always gave him a nice little rush of mood-enhancing chemicals to his head, seeing that face...but he was getting off-track. And Tiffany was starting to pull her weirded-out face. “But I didn’t even know you were heading there for sure until just now.”

She seemed to be analyzing him. Thinking. Asking herself if he was lying. She could easily just take the thing and run; she might be shorter than him but the suit showed off powerful legs, and who said she couldn’t fight him? Bruce might take John’s side over hers, or he might take neither. Could she trust him? Would she?

“Let’s say I do,” Tiffany said, staring him down, “What are you planning on doing?”

“Outside of asking questions? Ha, I’ll wing it!”

The dark blue woven curls of her hair swung slightly with the tilt of her head. “And what if you do something stupid?”

“Like, accidentally hit myself in the head with the grappling gun stupid? ‘Cause I’ve done that. Really hurts!” She wasn’t finding that funny. Okay. “Ohhh, you mean whoops there’s a knife in Cat-Lady’s liver, how’d that get there stupid!” He laughed at his own joke, hoping she’d turn that serious line into a tiny smile. “I’m not an idiot, Tiff’. I learned my lesson,” he beamed, holding up his scarred hand and wiggling his fingers to draw attention to it, “I won’t be shiving anyone any time soon.” Well… “I mean, unless she tries to kill you,” he added sensibly, “Then it’d be a lot more socially acceptable.”

Tiffany blinked in confusion. “Are you expecting her to try and kill me? I didn’t think she’d be that testy about a couple of questions from a stranger.”

“I just figured that with Riddler being her ‘friend’ and all…” He could see the grim understanding growing behind her eyes. The ‘R’ word seemed to have been the trigger. “I mean, I don’t think she knows it was you, but...if she did? She might try to.”

“I see…” (He could tell she did. Though what hue she was seeing it in wasn’t for him to know.) “How do I know you won’t tell her when my back is turned?”

He supposed he could, if he felt cruel enough. “You haven’t given me a reason to,” he shrugged, “so my lips are sealed!” He made a zipping motion over his mouth as he gave her a wink.

Finally, she was actually smiling. Even a small one was better than nothing. “Alright, you can come. But you do anything stupid and I’ll test my roundhouse kick on you.”

“Hm, mhm mm-?!” He mimed grasping at his throat and unzipping his mouth and gave a dramatic gasp. “Whew, hard to breathe like that!”

Tiffany gave a slight titter as he laughed at his own joke. Hers was just a little ha ha ha - that was as much as he could’ve asked for. “John, you could breathe through your nose.”

“And what, ruin the bit? Not on your life.” John checked a little box off of his mental list of ways to win her over. He was getting there. “So, when are we going?”

She glanced him over very quickly. “Uh, you’re planning on going like that?”

How else would he go? Makeup took too long to apply. He’d stand out no matter what he did, with his complexion. “She already knows what I look like, Tiff’. If I pull out a disguise now that’s just another leg she could get up on me later.”

To his surprise, she reached around the back of his case and pulled a long piece of purple cloth off a large plastic hanger and tossed it his way. “If you fall off the bike without something on your arms they’re gonna get shredded to ribbons. And you’ll be...slightly less conspicuous with that.” 

John held up the fabric, feeling how heavy it was in his hands, and recognized it instantly. The purple leather trenchcoat he’d worn last year. “Ooh!” He gave it a firm shake and slid it on, instantly feeling the weight sink into his shoulders. He could smell something like mild fabric soap, which meant Bruce had kept it fairly clean. That sweetheart. “Oh, I missed this. I’ll never get why that vampire cosplayer just traded it away…” It was a little thick, really designed for the fall more than the summer. The buttons that made up the double-breasted style were dull black, but he could fix that later. “I need to put in some vents,” he mused, following Tiffany down to the parking pad below. He could hear his ankle boots click slightly on the metal steps, reminding him of when he and Bruce had left for their little missions last year. “How many do you have in that suit? It has to get hot in there.”

“Ten. Bruce’s suit has more, you should look at it later.”

He patted his pockets. Pretty flat. “You wouldn’t happen to have any extra gloves, would you?”

“Yeah, but they’re not going to fit you.”

Upon closer inspection, the sleek motorized bicycle was really built more for one than two. The elevated seat on the back had small handles on the sides for the passenger - or easily-strapped bag - to hold onto. “Uh, you know I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before...”

“It’s okay, I’ve never had a passenger before.” Tiffany tucked the majority of her hair into a tight fitting hood that reminded John of knight’s chainmail. “Just hold onto the handles and lean with the bike if we turn. I need to start it before you get on.”

“What, no holding onto the driver like they do in the movies?”

Tiffany gave him a look. He’d seen it before on Harley when he’d asked what he didn’t realize was an ‘inappropriate’ question - an odd sort of angrily tired, like she’d been asked it too many times before, but had almost gotten used to it. But of what exactly he couldn’t understand; he’d never seen a guy give that expression to help explain it. “You try and I’ll kick you off the bike.”

“Okay, point taken. Handles only.” 

Tiffany was trying to find a spot on the bike for the grappling gun. She had a couple of little side compartments that John figured was for drones or her controlling tablet. There was a D-clip on what must have passed for her utility belt that could probably hold it, but John had deep pockets and freer hands.

“You want me to hold onto that?” He held out his hand, “Even I know you shouldn’t shoot ‘n’ drive!”

She plopped it into his hand, seeming somewhat annoyed she couldn’t find a spot elsewhere. “Only while I’m driving.”

It was nice and cold, and just the right amount of weight for a tool that could zip him almost anywhere. Now all he needed was a Batarang in his pocket... He did have that nice rainbow-hued knife Devi had given him; he supposed that was close enough, so he slid it from his pants pocket to his coat and heard a little clink.

It had hit a plastic tube that read Number 45, Wine under a torn brand name label. “Ha! I knew I left the spare somewhere.” 

Tiffany was digging around in the little trunk hidden under the backseat. John shuffled to kneel in front of the little side mirror by the controls. 

He hadn’t worn makeup since last year, either. It was one of those socially-unconventional things that made people everywhere look at him uncomfortably - and as much as he liked attention and making people question their own ideas of what was ‘fashionable’ and ‘normal’, he did kind of prefer finishing his recovery in peace. Being lynched in a mental ward with shitty excuses for protection wasn’t his idea of a good time, let alone worth ruining his record of good behavior. 

John rolled the lipstick on; it was a color bordering on the fine line between dark purple and red. The kind of color he wanted to smear over Bruce’s collar. Color over the inevitable purplish bruises and lines of faded scars. Mix with fresh cuts until the reds were indistinguishable and staining white sheets as they tumbled together, blurring the lines of taboo and illicit...

“Here,” Tiffany yanked John out of his thoughts by handing him an open-faced helmet. It reminded him of more of an old-fashioned army helmet than anything. She blinked, slightly surprised by the slight change in appearance. “Uh, there’s no visor, but I did find a bandana for you.”

Heavy white cotton. It could use a good coat of paint… “...are we ganging up on a piñata?”

“What?” Tiffany scoffed, the corner of her mouth upturned just a little, “John, you use it to cover your mouth. Unless you want to swallow a boatload of mosquitos,” she pointed out with a smirk.

“Point taken,” he grumbled, tying it around his neck.

Tiffany slid on her helmet and started the bike with a rumble of the engine while John was still working the helmet’s strap. He’d only just settled on the back of the bike and Tiffany took off like a shot, causing him to grin anew and clutch the handles like he was riding the old haunted house ride back in the abandoned amusement park, grinning anew.

Clearly, Tiffany and Bruce had something else in common.

*~*~*~*~*

To put it mildly, the Motel 11 on Augury Road was the sort of place that seemed to have a pest problem.

John just didn’t know what kind of pest. Arkham always seemed to have rats until his last two years. The run-down halfway house he’d been in the first time he was released had roaches in three sizes. The Old Five Points station John had kicked around for a few months had a bit of both, plus mice, spiders, and The Pact, depending on where you walked.

This place was still a step above all that, of course; it offered freedom, secrecy, hot water, and quiet.

Not too quiet. People clearly stayed there, and the freeway entrance wasn’t too far; John could hear the rush of cars speeding like they were all Batman on a Friday night call.

Tiffany parked her bike in a discreet out-of-the-way corner in a nearby alleyway and stashed their helmets in the tiny trunk as John took in the sight of the motel’s parking lot. 

Selina Kyle had reversed into her parking place so the traffic cameras couldn’t read the plate. There were no markings as to what model car it was, but the sleek dark windows and shiny black finish told John that it was expensive-ish and thus primed for stealing. Or stripping, depending on the area’s hoodlums. He was surprised it hadn’t been touched yet.

“How do you know which room’s hers?” John asked as Tiffany fiddled with her tablet. One of her miniature drones - he was so tempted to name it! - was already zooming towards the building like a little bird.

“Electronic record says someone named ‘Frieda Baast’ checked into room 14[B1]   late last night. Preeetty sure that’s her,” she smirked up at him briefly before watching her screen again, tilting it to fly the small drone, “Plus, she parked close to it.”

John hovered over her shoulder a little, watching the camera zoom around the place like a bee. It looked empty at first, but John saw lumps at the end of the bedspread. “Looks like she’s taking a cat nap.”

Tiffany gave him a look. “Ha ha.”

“What? It’s an easy jab!”

“Speaking of easy,” Tiffany snatched the grappling gun out of his pocket and clipped it to her belt, not bothering to even say ‘excuse me’, “she’s only got two exits.”

“Yeah, the front door and the back window. Duh.”

“Exactly,” she continued with an air of a new orderly, “You go around the back in case she tries to run for it.”

John felt offended at the very idea. There was no way he was going to fit through that back window. Tiffany was clearly going to try and hog the glory of confronting Cat Woman by herself.

Telling Tiffany they should switch places wasn’t a good idea, though. She’d take immediate offense, and even if he threatened her, they’d be fighting before they got to the real problem at hand. No, this would take compromise.

“How about we both go in the front door and use your little kit to guard the back?”

She wrinkled her nose and raised her right eyebrow. “Kit?”

“Yeah!” She didn’t get it. Of course. He rolled his eyes; he didn’t like explaining jokes. “Your last name is Fox, you built the drones - so, your kit. A baby fox!”

She didn’t look impressed. “Oh.”

“Doesn’t it have a laser or miniature flamethrower or something on it? It’s got that little tube under the lens.”

“No, Charlie is only a surveillance drone. That piece is so he can connect with Foxtrot in the field. We don’t need that, though,” she waved off as if his curiosity didn’t matter, “You’ve got a good point, we can both cover the main exit better. And she doesn’t know it’s only for surveillance.”

“Charlie? Ha, what happened to Alpha and Bravo?” he joked. “Wait, does Charlie surf?”

“Alpha was the prototype I made for Br- Batman until it…exploded,” she winced, looking away as if she didn’t want to think about it, “Bravo is what he uses in the field now. I’ve got Charlie, and Delta is the backup in the bike. Batman has the larger drones stashed around the city. And they’re all waterproof, but I wouldn’t say they surf.” Tiffany slid on a large pair of rimless yellow-tinted goggles that looked almost like they were taken from a movie. A small green square lit up in the corner of a lens, and John saw small text crawl across the yellow glass as what looked like a diagram flashed up for a moment.

“Woah.”

“Cool, huh?” Tiffany puffed up in pride. “I’m a few steps ahead of the industry. No big deal.”

“I’d say it’s a pretty big deal!” John flattered, actually meaning it. “You got any other surprise gadgets up your sleeves?”

“What, and ruin the fun?” She lightly smacked his shoulder. Friendly, not bruising, accompanied by a warm smile that reached her eyes - John had scored some points. Clearly, the old adage about catching flies with honey was onto something. “Come on, Selina isn’t going to lay around and wait all day.”

“She will if she’s been in the catnip,” John joked, striding next to Tiffany as they snuck their way around to number 14.

Tiffany could now see the camera feed in her right eye; a little controller in her own wrist gauntlet controlled the drone movements once the tablet was put away on her belt. It was incredibly impressive, but John wondered if it wasn’t a little distracting to be watching a camera and where she was walking. It would be worse if she were fighting or taken by surprise…

John decided to stay on the camera’s side. There was no helping her if she couldn’t see from both sides.

It was tempting to burst in unannounced, but Catwoman wasn’t just using her name for a cute pun on her burglary tendencies – he’d seen her dance with Bruce as nimbly as her namesake. So of course if they couldn’t break in to get the door open, they’d just have to get her to come out.

The easiest way was her car. Anyone who gave a rat’s ass about the safety of their primary method of escape checked on their car alarm.

John remembered Batman’s stunners, and how Bruce had started carrying around one in his pocket since ol’ Scarecrow got put away. He knew they packed a serious punch; he’d been hit with one of those, back when…

No. No no no. Not going there today, Johnny-boy.

John shook his head, telling himself he’d have his little traumatic flashback at a different time. It didn’t quite help, only bringing back that after-zap feeling and the image of Ace Chemicals’ control room, which frustrated him, and that made him gnaw on his bottom lip for something to do and squeeze the knife in his pocket really hard.

“Uh...you okay?” Tiffany asked, stopping him without touching him. He almost wished she did, so he knew for sure she was there.

“Ha ha ha! No!” he answered, feeling more annoyed at everything, “Of course not! Why do you think I was in the funny farm for so long, hmmm?”

It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it was. But he was pissed at himself, at his stupid brain for acting up at the wrong time, for not being able to make that memory better than it was because Bruce probably wouldn’t go for a little safe recreation and they kept getting interrupted, damn it, could things not go his way for fifteen full minutes?!

He grit his teeth. There was no use staying angry for things neither of them could control. “Sorry,” he ground out. “I’m just…” He couldn’t explain it. She wouldn’t get it.

Or would she? Surely she had nasty little memories of where she was last year, too. He knew he caused one of those. His doctors always said he should open up to others. Share the experience.

“It’s just one of those stupid thoughts. The ‘hey, guess what you did a long time ago, boy-o? Let’s relive that,’ kind. It’s not fun.” He breathed in. He was outside, in Gotham, with all its car exhaust and leftover hot dogs covering the rot that seemed to make up the city’s foundation. It was better than Ace or his old cages; at least he could clean out some of the mess by himself. “They just come in at random, sometimes. I’ll be...” 

Not fine. It was what Bruce said all the time. And not ‘normal’, because he never would be. 

“I’ll be okay.”

Tiffany looked sympathetic. Or was it empathetic? Both? She looked at him less judgy and more understanding, and that was all he wanted. “You need a minute?”

“Nah. I was just thinking we need to set off the car alarm and kinda wanted a taser to do it.”

“Oh. We don’t need that.” Tiffany waved over her shoulder for him to follow as she took position by the door, the material of her hood now covering her mouth and nose. John slinked under the window and stood on the other side.

John watched as - quick as he could say ‘Rawhide’ - Tiffany took his grappling gun and fired at one of the headlights before retracting the clattering metal teeth with a snap of a button and clipping it to her belt by its’ jaws.

Like back in his room, half hidden in the dark, John was counting beats. Feeling his heart drum along a little, excitement building in anticipation.

The door opened partway, and Tiffany met his eyes for the briefest second before they spun on their heels to block the doorway and push forward.

“Selina, how are you, can we come in, thanks!” John rushed, pushing the door wide open.

Catwoman was just as fast and nimble as he remembered; it made him wish he’d brought some of his old playing cards along. She rushed straight to the bathroom window and unbolted it as fast as lightning - only to find the drone flying there, the lens right at eye level with a little red LED blinking to life.

Tiffany had her hand poised over the little controls at her wrist. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she taunted, “Unless you want impromptu laser eye surgery.”

Selina turned to face them partway, looking more pissed off than he’d ever seen her. She had cut her hair short and dressed in tight fitting black and white; John could see something slightly protruding above her lower back, which likely meant a knife. She was dressed for combative self-defense, some instructor might say. But like everyone else, she had bags under her eyes - and they weren’t leftovers of eyeliner. In fact, there wasn’t a trace of her usual style. There was only a glowering resentment and an obvious pressure bearing down on her shoulders. He could see the tension in her brow and jaw and wondered what it was that made her hate them that much.

“Fine, you got me.” Selina stared him down; he could practically see possible escape plans swirling behind her eyes. “What do you want?” 

John could not resist a joke with an opener like that. “Oh, you know - freedom, a little niche of my own, a sunset dinner with Bruce overlooking the city...and my own cotton candy machine,” John answered, enjoying the confusion twisting her face into something less threatening, “But I’d really like some answers.”

“I see.” Selina shot a glance over to Tiffany, not seeming to recognize her. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” she said sarcastically, giving her a short once-over. “You must be Bats’ side-kick. Or have you gotten yourself mixed up in this crazy clown’s delusions?”

John could practically feel his dislike for her grow, simmering in the front of his head. What did she know about him? Or even the basic definition of a delusion, for that matter?

Tiffany seemed to have bristled a little less. “It doesn’t matter who I work with. If I don’t hear what I need to know, making your little hideout a beacon for trouble will be the least of your worries.”

“What, don’t you have a cute name to go along with the rest of the crew?” Selina taunted, not looking like she was enjoying it.

John held his gaze steady on the stealthy Cat, though his mind was already wandering to what Tiffany’s reaction would be. She supposedly wasn’t in the cave half the time anymore, and with the obvious costume change she’d likely not be calling herself ‘Oracle’ now. What would it be? Spoiler, as a homage to her original purpose of spoiling criminal’s fun? Batgirl, in mimic of her mentor? Something to allude to her range of skills, perhaps…Spectrum[B2] ? Or some word beginning with ‘T’?

“Robin. Now step away from the window,” Tiffany commanded, side-stepping close to the drone as Selina moved closer to the edge of the bathtub. 

“Hm, cute. Hope that’s not your real name, Robin.”

Selina looked very much like a cat itching to stretch its claws by the birdfeeder. It made John antsier, and he had half a mind to shove her into the bathtub and hold her there until he got the answers to the questions sitting in his gut.

Calm down, Bruce’s voice echoed in his head from a distant memory.

Sweet, rational Bruce would be right. She might kick him away, and a fight wouldn’t give him anything they actually needed. His impulses had to be tempered. And what did those doctors always say to do about it?

John whipped out the butterfly knife and began to fiddle with it, opening it and twirling it in his hand in a familiar pattern. He couldn’t quite remember just when or how he had gotten so good at it since his first release. It was sort of...natural.

He already felt the little urge ebbing away with the repetitive motion. It helped that it doubled as a passive threat - Selina eyed it a little upon seeing the flash of light glint off the blade with every turn and snap.

Selina sighed, glowering lightly at him like she was a cat stuck in a bathroom during dinner. “Let me save you the time - you’re here to ask about the attack on me in Bludhaven, right? All because I wouldn’t give up the dirty details to Bruce?” She folded her arms across her chest, looking almost business like. “The short version is:  I don’t know who they were. One minute I’m strolling down my gallery, and the next the lights cut out and some knife-happy freak crashes through my window. The only thing I can tell you about him was that he was wearing a mask.”

“How do you know it was a ‘he’?” John asked.

Selina rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve seen enough men in costumes to know one when I see one. Tall, wide build, in a mask and ridiculous cape - only a man would wear that and think they look cool.”

John thought that remark was annoyingly unnecessary. And wrong - a third of Gotham could all agree that Batman’s picture should be next to the word ‘cool’ in the dictionary. (She was clearly jealous. Who wouldn’t be?)

“Casual sexism aside,” Tiffany grunted, “did you notice anything else? Any distinctive markings? Smells?”

“I just said he wore a mask. You think a guy like that wouldn’t cover himself up elsewhere?” Selina shot back, clearly not impressed, “I would’ve thought the sidekick to Bats would know to pay attention to context clues.”

John thought about throwing the knife at her, but it was a bad idea. For several reasons. “And I would’ve thought you were smart enough to not make deals under the table anymore, now that you’re free from the pound,” he sneered, clicking the knife open and shut, “What did Roman Sionis cut you in for?”

Selina glared, her stony green eyes hardening at him. “My deal with Roman was above the table, like all my sales. I don’t see how him buying something from my gallery has anything to do with this. Just because he’s loaded doesn’t mean he’s another crazed mob boss who needs to cut ties with everyone he meets.”

So Alfred was right - Roman bought something from the gallery. John made a mental note to mention that later in the most flattering way possible later.

“Did you see him after that?” Tiffany asked.

“Why would I?” Selina asked coolly.

“Handsome, rich, easy to rob…” Tiffany trailed off, seeming to smirk at her, “We all know he’s the kind that splashes champagne on pretty girls.”

“He does seem right up your alley, Cat,” John added.

Selina looked mildly disgusted at the mild pun. Or maybe the implication. John wasn’t sure which. “Look, we had a drink together after the payment transferred. I didn’t see him after that and I didn’t care. Why does this matter?”

…so she really didn’t know. That was interesting. John had figured she had a bit more of a detective instinct than that. “Because, surprise! He is a mob boss,” John said smugly, “One in a mask, no less.”

“I still don’t see how that matters. I don’t care who my clients are, as long as I get paid. And he has no reason to try and kill me, if that’s what you’re implying – the pieces I sold him were authentic. We parted on perfectly friendly terms.”

“Pieces?” Tiffany puzzled, “What, did he buy half your gallery for his yacht?”

(John quietly wondered if she wasn’t reading his mind somehow.)

“Don’t be silly,” Selina said tiredly, “It was a set of masks. And no, they weren’t anything like what the guy from the gallery was wearing.”

Tiffany stared her down, looking cockier than usual behind her glasses. “So if you left Bludhaven to run for your life and got a nice cash deposit, what the hell are you doing here?”

“We can’t all afford to stay at the Hilton for a week,” Selina dead-panned, shifting to add another mildly scathing remark.

But now who was missing context? And with all the obvious bitterness and tension oozing out of every pore, there was a clear answer hanging in the air. One he definitely preferred over the paranoid idea that she was here for Bruce. “I knew it,” John grinned, snapping the knife in his hand open, “You’re here on a job!” he pointed at her with the tip of the knife, not missing the flash down at it. Thinking of whether he would or wouldn’t use it. “What’s wrong, Kitty, get bored of hanging paintings you hadn’t stolen? Wanted that thrill back?”

“Don’t act like you know me,” she sneered in a slightly louder voice than she needed to use, “you’ll only embarrass yourself with your paranoid delusions of what I am.”

She was baiting for a fight. Maybe she wanted to watch him crack in front of Tiffany. Well, weird people said there was more than one way to skin a cat. “Ooh, throwing around psych terms! If you want to play psychiatrist, you better bring better material than that. Like… I would be willing to bet,” he emphasized with a little faux jab and a step towards her, “that you were actually happy down there, weren’t you? Settling nicely in a weird new life you’re not used to,” step, “when it’s allll upturned by some lunatic,” step, “and you’re forced to run back to the only life you knew before.”

He could tell he was right. Very right. She looked like he’d pinned her to the dissection tray in a lab.

“So you come back home!” He splayed his hands open, feeling more and more assured of himself, “And you need to prove to the world you can still land on your feet, so you pick right up where you left off. Am I right?”

“I don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” Selina growled, looking predictably pissed off, “And what I do in Gotham is my business.”

“It’s not just your business,” Tiffany injected, stepping closer to both of them. John wished he could communicate to her that it was a bad idea without having to threaten her; he just hoped Catwoman wouldn’t get as skittish as her namesake when cornered. “This isn’t just your city. It’s all of ours.”

“Who are you doing business with, Cat?” John asked, choosing to ignore Tiffany’s attempt to get Selina Kyle to play hero. If he was going that route he might as well have mentioned how they were in the same sort of boat! Either way it wasn’t going to appeal to her the way it might with someone else. “How do you know they weren’t the ones who tried to kill you?”

She was skirting her gaze between both of them. Annoyed. Wary. Backing up just a slight bit, metaphorically and literally.

“If they wanted to kill me, they would’ve done it already.”

“Unless they realized they could use you.”

She was thinking about it, staring him down, wondering if he was right, if what she thought was an obsessive lunatic might have had a very good point… She hadn’t considered it before, had she? She had met them already. Why wouldn’t they kill her on sight if not to use her for a day or two?

“Just something to think about!” John smirked, smacking her lightly on the shoulder with his free hand and turning to leave, trying to guide Tiffany to the door by her shoulder. “Come on, Robin. Cat Lady’s not in the mood to play with us.”

Tiffany didn’t budge. She had the same sort of stalwart glare that Batman got. “You know we’re only trying to help you.”

Wrong thing to say. Really wrong thing to say.

“Help me?” Selina hissed, “You barge in and poke your nose where it doesn’t belong, and you call that helping?”

“Robin,” John warned-

“God, you’re just like him! Just as stubborn and deluded with his self-righteous concept of justice. I don’t need help! Not from Bats,” the woman spat, “and not from you! If someone’s after me, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” John interrupted, finding the ‘if’ particularly amusing, “You’ll pull a Riddler? Put yourself on display to lure them in and go for the kill?” It felt really good to rub it in her face. Almost soothing, in its own way. He couldn’t help but grin wider through his mildly-reddening vision and twist the metaphorical knife a little more. “You know what happened to him,” he purred, pointing the knife in his hand a little at her face, “Let’s not pretend it can’t happen to you.”

He felt a weight on his shoulder. Tiffany’s lightweight armored glove was attempting to pull him back, like she thought he might actually stab Selina in the face to prove a point. He went back to spinning the knife in his hand and stepped away. “Good luck out there, Cat-Lady,” he added, pulling Tiffany’s shoulder along with him in a loose, sidelong sort of hug as the drone hovered behind them like it was on a leash, its harmless lens trained on the angry thief at their backs. “You’ll need more than he did.”

Tiffany was stiff. Or maybe that was just the armor. It was hard to tell… He decided to let go as soon they were out of sight; she didn’t seem to be at the ‘hugging’ level of friendship yet, even if it was only a little one that barely counted. It would probably take longer to get there now. Which was a shame, because he felt like they could both use one.

He did want to break the silence, though. Something about the walk back to a getaway vehicle always seemed out of place, like an overly-long transition between scenes in a movie. But things were real, out in Gotham - he could feel the short heels of his boots as he walked and the city heat pressing against him. He clicked the knife shut and put it back in his pocket, not needing it anymore. “Good job back there,” he said earnestly, flashing a thumb’s up at her, “We can officially cross Black Mask off our list of suspects!”

Even with the mask and high-tech glasses covering her face, Tiffany was clearly angry with him. “So it’s our list now? Because I thought you did an awful lot of talking back there. Almost like I wasn’t there.”

“Oh.” He felt dumb just saying it aloud, but it was a reflex. “Um… I guess I got a little carried away?”

“A little? I was trying to get her to work with us, not plant suicidal ideas in her head!”

“I wasn’t doing that!” He protested, hoping he looked as honest as he felt. (Besides, even if he was, it wouldn’t be his fault if she did go down the Riddler-esque path of showboating and winding up dead.)

“What, next you’ll tell me you weren’t openly threatening her, too?” Tiffany rounded on him, looking more furious as she stopped at the end of the row of rooms.

“I wasn’t!” He clicked his heel hard on the pavement. “I was stimming! She just happened to be close to the other end when I was trying to make a point!” She didn’t seem to believe that, but he didn’t care; he knew it was the truth. “Did you want me to just walk away and let her yell at you for nothing all day?!”

“Yeah! I might have gotten a word in that way!”

“And what, convince her to have a sudden change of heart?” He scowled, getting agitated by the very idea she’d do a sudden one-eighty, “She won’t be a hero if you tell her she should!”

“I wasn’t trying to force her,” she countered, “I was suggesting! Unlike you, trying to play psychiatrist just because she pissed you off!”

“Oh, and I guess you wouldn’t get pissed off if someone tried to tell you what your issues are?!”

“You only made her madder!”

“YOU only made her madder! You don’t just offer her help!”

Tiffany was practically stomping towards the motorcycle in the distance as she threw up her hands in exhaustion. “There is just no dealing with you! I don’t know why I went along with this!”

That hurt. The kind that left a burn-like sting over a punch. They were teammates. Or at least they were supposed to be. Was it just guilt or pity that was holding their shreds of civility together? Was trying to get along with her the first step towards failure?

...or was it her fault? She couldn’t see the obvious nature of Selina Kyle - too independent and fickle to follow life-path suggestions, let alone accept help. Or maybe Tiffany did see it, and she thought Selina was still a better match for the crew - for Bruce - than he was. Maybe, like Alfred, Tiffany thought he was too unstable and dangerous to be around.

He stood in the corner of the alleyway, watching her angrily push on her helmet, and wondered at the intricate nuances of who exactly was to blame. He looked out at the city on the opposite end, wondering if he should just get a Ryde or risk using the Sky Rail...and thought it was odd a large white van was going that fast in his direction from the turn.

Ha, they’d have to stomp on the brakes to get into the parking space here...

It was getting a little too close…

WAY too close!

John darted into the alley, his heart jumping as he heard a sickening crunch behind him.

The van had smashed right into the corner of the building. Right where he had been just a moment ago.

It didn’t matter how curious he was about the driver. He didn’t want to hang around in case they had backup.

“Start the bike!” He shouted at Tiffany as she stood there, looking at the accident behind him. “NOW!”

“But-”

There came another crunch. Like metal pulling away.

The car was reversing, clearly not taking enough damage to stop the engine. It was impossible to see who was driving.

Tiffany revved the bike to life as John slammed the trunk and clumsily straddled the back seat. He’d barely sat down when the van had successfully pulled away from the building and turned its wheels towards the alleyway.

Tiffany had clearly seen this in the rearview mirror - she sped off, past the dumpster and down one of the many long back-routes of Gotham as wind whipped John’s hair. He gripped one handle hard as he pulled the bandana over his face and practically prayed that Tiffany did not decide to suddenly lose control.

The driver of the van didn’t seem to care how fast they were going, what route they were taking, or if half their front bumper was dislodged. They sped past the same brick and concrete and fire escapes and a rainbow of graffiti like it was nothing.

Tiffany tilted the bike to turn onto the street, narrowly missing a peeling station-wagon that sat too close to the alley.

John turned to see if the van was still there, wondering if maybe he could get a glimpse of the driver as they turned - the station-wagon was upended with a loud pop of fiberglass, swiveling into the road as the van barreled into traffic with a sharp turn, leaving a chorus of honking and squealing tires to follow.

John’s heart was practically drumming against his ribs like a fist, barely heard over the roar of the motorcycle but felt all too much - the van had a web of cracks in its windshield and more severe dents in its engine and driver side, but it still managed to follow them, dropping the headlight dangling from its front into the street for some other driver to run over.

Tiffany dodged between cars, seeming to ignore the beeps and rude gestures. John turned forward to see where they were, trying to think quickly on where they could go where their chaser wouldn’t follow, and heard more telltale sounds of the van in pursuit following Tiffany’s lead.

He was horribly reminded of his chase with the G.C.P.D. last year, when he had Waller thrown in the nearest vehicle as they’d ignored almost every traffic law on the way to Ace Chemicals, winding every which way to lose the cops on their tail.

He’d already killed people that way.

He didn’t want to be responsible for more off-screen deaths. 

The van was close behind, if the rearview mirror was anything to go by. Like it was tracking their every move and just waiting to splat them against a...

Oh. Now there was an idea. The van couldn’t squish them if they did the squishing first!

“ROBIN!” He shouted over the wind, tapping her on the shoulder.

She shoved her visor up. “WHAT?”

“TURN HERE!”

Tiffany made a right turn down the emptier street, passing an abandoned storefront, and John saw his chance - there was streetlamp in the middle of the sidewalk in the distance, right next to an alley.

The van could turn, but he knew it wouldn’t be able to turn too sharply without clipping the corner.

John did what he wasn’t supposed to do and quickly wrapped an arm around the armor plates of Robin’s waist as he unclipped the grappling gun still dangling from her belt. 

“WHAT ARE YOU-?”

Timing and aim - a formula too tricky and complex to actually think through. It was all about gut feeling and best judgement.

So John pointed, waited until the mirror showed the van right at their tail, and fired the hook at the lamppost.

Aaand retract!

They were pulled towards the post sharply, and John pushed the little button on the gun to unclench its jaws as the motorcycle tilted into a turn.

The crash of the van hitting the corner’s wall rang in John’s ears like a small explosion, getting quieter as Tiffany screeched the bike to a halt.

John let go and sat back in the seat, unable to stop himself from laughing in relief, letting out the strained ache in his lungs, and then laughing harder at sight of the van. The very smashed front, the now ruined windshield, the bent tire - they were going to have a hard time chasing them now!

Tiffany pushed down the parking lever in two seconds and hopped off, looking an odd mix of pissed off and amazed as she yanked her mask down to her neck and pulled off her helmet. “You…! You fucking idiot! That was brilliant! And stupid!” She shouted with a shove, causing him to teeter a little on the seat.

“Aha ha…! Sorry, sorry,” he tried, holding up his hands in surrender, “I had to do something to get that creep off our backs! And you nailed the landing! Ten outta ten!”

She looked conflicted. Like she was proud of herself but didn’t want to admit it. “Yeah,” she said simply, “but we could have died!”

Yeesh, did she sound like Bruce. “We could have, but we didn’t,” he emphasized, sliding off the bike with ease. “Besides, life’s not worth living without some risk!”

“Just...fucking warn me next time,” she said loudly, power-walking towards the van. “You’re lucky I’m an excellent driver!”

John decided to keep the thought of there wasn’t any time to himself. She sort of had a point - Gotham was full of alleyways. A few more people might have gotten into accidents along the way, but he could have waited...though he did sort of prefer stopping the van now rather than later, so he still felt his decision was the best. Still, another instance of someone telling him something uncannily familiar to what another person said…

Ah, who was he to dwell on little things like that?

“I thought I was stupidly brilliant?” He teased, following her with a twirl of the grappling gun in his hand.

“You’re a lot of things,” she shot back, not sounding as nearly as mad.

He wasn’t sure how to take the odd mix of implied-insult and praise. He decided to focus more on the positive aspect of her actually saying something nice and marked it as a personal progress.

Tiffany pulled out one of Batman’s portable stunners and kept it ready, poised to throw open the passenger side door of the van - John kept the gun pointed at what should be level with the driver’s face. “Ready when you are, Robin.”

Tiffany counted down from three on her fingers, and opened the cabin door with what looked like enough force to rip it off the hinges.

Broken glass and plastic littered the very…empty seats.

“Well, that’s anticlimactic,” John grumbled, lowering the grappling gun, “Self-driving cars sure have come a long way!” He pulled out his phone to take a quick picture:  proof that it happened, of course, but also proof for Bruce.

Tiffany was already climbing into the seat. “It was driving pretty erratically,” she commented as she poked around the ignition.

“Oh, sure, it clipped some corners and sped up a lot – but I’d say that was more reckless than erratic.”

“It wasn’t quite driving straight.” Tiffany pulled up a normal two-pound weight from the gas pedal, tugging some wire tracing from it to the back area, which was also empty. “And it’s easy to see why. Check this out,” she gestured, waving her hand in.

John hoisted himself up and in, keeping his hands to himself in the likely case it was dusted over later. “Shouldn’t we be worrying about the eventual crowd?”

“We’ve got a minute. Look,” she tugged the line, connected to a pulley system controlled by what looked suspiciously like a standing kitchen mixer, “The mixers are rigged to pull the weights on the brake and gas pedals. They probably have remote capability.”

“You’d think that would be a reeeeally short radius...”

“That’s what the cell phone’s for,” Tiffany said, gesturing to the out-of-date smartphone sticking upright in the dashboard. “They must have used it as a dash-cam, and connected it to the mixers to control through an app at the same time. There’s actually a free one for remote device control.”

“I somehow didn’t pitch you for the kitchen-gadget type.”

Tiffany shrugged, seeming slightly downcast at that. “I’m not. I bought my mom one of these for her birthday. This one’s a little different, but it probably has the same sort of rig.”

“So whoever we’re dealing with doesn’t have the handy funds for an actual radio transmitter setup to drive this thing, huh...” John pondered, pulling away the bandana on his neck to pick up the phone up.

The phone’s battery was getting low and the signal was on the edge of reception, but a remote-wipe app was up and struggling to work; John quickly canceled the wipe action and turned the tower radio off before the mystery-driver could do any further damage.

Beep. 

A beeping noise?

Beep.

That couldn’t be good.

“What’s that?” Tiffany pulled away from the backseat. Whatever was beeping came from the back, and John had a sneaking suspicion it was positioned close to the gas tank.

John pocketed the phone. “Time to go!” He snatched Tiffany’s arm and half dragged her out of the van, thinking wildly – if it were him, he would have rigged the whole thing to blast the car sky-high, and running was likely not going to cut it.

Thankfully, like alleyways, Gotham had a lot of fire escapes.

He didn’t think, only counted off the beeps that seemed to coordinate with his heart – six, seven – as he aimed, fired, and zipped up the line with Tiffany being held against her will in one arm.

Nine, ten –

A blast of superheated air hit his back as they reached the top of the metal staircase, accompanied by the roar of exploding gasoline and metal bending against its will.

John grimaced as he smacked his shin right against the metal grating as he wedged his heels in the little bars. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” he growled, casting a look down at the now-definitely-ruined car. “But it looks like our geese live to see another day!” he joked, trying to lighten up the mood for both of them.

Tiffany was just silently looking down at the wreckage below and clinging to him like she thought he might drop her.

“You okay, there, birdie?”

“Yeah,” she said, the ‘oh God, that could have been me’ written clearly on her face.

“‘Cause you’re not as heavy as Bruce in full gear, but your pal Joker can only hang around with you for so long.”

She shot him a look he couldn’t decipher and silently climbed up and over the railing.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked again as he followed her, pulling out his phone for another snap of the now-burning van below. “You kiiinda seem like you’re in shock.”

“Yeah, I just…” She pushed her goggles on top of her head to look at him, a little wary and unbelieving, but guilty more than anything. “I’m sorry I called you stupid. I didn’t mean it.” She crossed her arms, looking down at her bike below. “You saved us twice today.”

Part of him wanted to just say it was okay, and another wanted to rub it in her face, but he pushed both ideas away. “You’re welcome! But friends don’t wait until after they’re saved to apologize for being rude,” he emphasized with a light glare. “Still, I’d say this calls for a group pic! Just for my album, of course.” 

“...you’re not gonna let me go without one, are you?” Tiffany mused.

“How can I, it’s our first proper team-up!” He gently put his arm around her shoulder to draw her in. “Ooh, put your goggles on! Then we’ll be Joker and Robin.” He made sure to get both of them at a good angle, with Tiffany’s little smile and yellow goggles making her look like she was defining ‘cool’ in her own way. Snap! 

It was a really good one. There wasn’t a trace of awkwardness on her face this time, and the angle was perfectly flattering for both of them. 

“Okay, we should go before the fuzz shows up.” She pushed her goggles back up into her hair and led the way down the stairs, charging down with hard stomps. “You grabbed the phone from the car, right?”

“Yup! I stopped it from doing a little wipe. It was probably tracking us, too.” He followed closely, seeing the plates of her armor shift a little with movement. It really was like a slimmer version of Batman’s suit. “So why ‘Robin’? I kind of expected something a little more…”

“Batty?” Tiffany kicked the ladder down and started to climb back to the safety of hard pavement. “I always liked robins,” she said simply, “My suit’s wings aren’t suited to be bats’, anyway.”

It was a short fall, but worth every second of the wheee he didn’t even try to hold in as he slid down the ladder after her. He plopped the phone into her hand upon landing, not caring about the bemused look she was throwing him. “Here, you’ll probably find more than I could.”

Tiffany poked around on it, swiping with her gloves’ little pads as she walked towards the bike. “Looks like the wipe started with downloads and unused applications.” Swipe, swipe, tap. “Two different apps were used for the mixers… Bluetooth’s enabled, too... Doesn’t look like any navigation software was installed,” she muttered, “They might have a remote tracker elsewhere. But just what are they tracing?”

He was surprised the answer wasn’t so obvious to her. “Uh, pretty sure it’s me, Tiff’. I mean, the car did swerve towards me back at the motel. If it was you they were after, they would’ve veered towards the bike.”

“But the Batcave has a sensor to detect tracking devices upon arrival. Both the entrance and the elevator would’ve set it off if it was stuck to you...”

“I doubt they could’ve just seen me,” John panned, already emptying his pockets, “I might have changed my clothes, but I have to be carrying something…”

She frowned. “You don’t think it’s someone from St. Dymphna, do you? They gave you a phone, right?”

“I doubt it. It’s too basic! And look, it’s barely got a signal,” he held it out for her to see. “Besides, if someone working at St. Dymphna wanted to kill me, all they’d have to do is give me an overdose and claim it was an accident.”

There was his own cell phone, of course, but it was the least likely thing of all. No one but he, Bruce, and his friends knew of its existence, and he kept it close at all times. Remote access was turned off, as was a lot of casual security violations the phone’s software wanted to enable by default. It was possible that someone could use the Batcomputer to look at it, though… He wouldn’t put it past Bruce to leave an emergency loophole.

Just as he was about to put that one away, too, a text came in from Iman:  

Where are you?

There was the nagging thought that maybe it was one of their little makeshift crew. Especially former-Agent Iman, who could easily plant something on him without suspicion. 

But he trusted Bruce with his life. He should extend that same trust to those who Bruce trusted...right?

Right. It was just the paranoia talking.

Out with Tiffy for a joyride! he answered. Don’t tell Bruce though, I’m hoping to surprise him with what we’ve found.

Are you visiting Selina with her?

Of course he was, where else would he be? Hey, don’t ruin the surprise! ;)

John, PLEASE be careful. Both you and Selina have been targeted recently. Your attempted murderer/s are probably still be hunting you.

It’s safer for you to be in the Manor. 

You know Bruce would say the same.

A little too late for that, he thought privately. Not like he hadn’t thought someone would try it again eventually… 

 Iman sure had good timing with her commentary… She had access to the Batcomputer. In fact, she had access to just about everything. She could have known all along where Selina was hiding out and planted the van near there and just waited until-! 

“Robin,” he started, remembering what Dr. Leland had said about proving to himself that irrational ideas like that were wrong, “You trust Iman, right?”

“Of course I do,” she said confidently. “Why?”

See, John? It’s fine, he told himself. “Just wondering.”

There was no use worrying Iman needlessly by spilling the whole can of beans. We’ll be back soon! Promise!! he wrote, making sure not to scrape the screen against the knife he’d gotten from Devi as he slid it back into his pocket.

Speaking of Devi, he’d been carrying around that knife since last night...but the metal handle would probably interfere with a radio signal. And he doubted she would have planned out the shooting to deliberately put herself in harm’s way. She was smart enough to keep herself out of the way for something like that.

The only other thing he had was his rainbow-splattered wallet. There was the hotel key Mickey had given him last night, which he’d stuck opposite the official state ID grinning up at him from the little clear pocket. But the keycard was pure plastic with a little security stripe - nothing more. And why give it to John to bank on killing him later when he or Devi could have just thrown him in the middle of the sniper’s gunfire? It didn’t make sense…

The only other things he had in there were cash, an emergency contact card, some state-given insurance, that really good picture of Bruce he’d saved from an old newspaper…

John stared at the little blue card he’d hidden behind the clipping and felt the urge to smack himself. 

Of course. Of course - of course - of course. The expired card had a chip in it. He hadn’t even thought about it since he had to jimmy the parole officer’s door open… “I found it.”

“Found it?” Tiffany looked up from her examination of the bike’s underbelly. The trunk was wide open and searched thoroughly.

“It’s the only thing I can think of that I’ve been carrying around before Friday,” he said, stretching it out to her.

Batman’s apprentice took it gingerly, and he knew by the utter shock on her face it was something important. “How did you...?!” 

A distant wail of a fire engine pierced the air. Tiffany stashed the card in a little pouch in her belt, shoved her helmet over her head, and started the bike’s engine.

“Come on! We’ve hung around too much!”

“Oh I don’t know,” John beamed, taking the seat behind her with his borrowed helmet loosely stuck on, “We could always get lunch.”

*~*~*~*~*

Upon arriving back at the cave (unfortunately lunch-less), Tiffany had barely gotten off the bird-cycle before making a beeline for the Batcomputer. “I knew it - Michael Hodges! The same guy who booked the room at The Lot…” 

“From the Friday Nighters’ murders?”

“Mm-hmm…”

John felt like reality had twisted itself a little more at her casual affirmation. He was desperate for something to squeeze or tap. The cold metal of the knife in his pocket wasn’t doing it. The grappling gun was too familiar to ground him in the here-and-now. He settled for holding himself, clutching handfuls of leather and reminding himself that it smelled too clean to be fake.

From what he had read of Bruce and Iman’s notes, all seven cops ‘n’ crooks were drugged and shot in their seats, left to watch as each died and bleed into the couches. It stunk of the sort of gloating reserved for serial killers who had debts to settle. He’d wondered if that’s what they were - debts of death being repaid with more death. The little group had been around for a while. Who was to say someone couldn’t trace them back to a single, faulty so-called accident?

But the fact that the guy who booked the murder-room had his card conveniently dropped into John’s lap… It brewed a terrible feeling in his stomach. Clearly, whoever had tried to shoot him and tried to run him over, too, and they were connected to a mass homicide barely a day after two other mass homicides.

It could be a coincidence.

But didn’t the fact that he had to use ‘could’ tell him it wasn’t?

“It’s not a coincidence, is it,” he said, clutching himself a little harder. “They planted that deliberately.”

“I hate to say it, but...it really seems that way,” Tiffany affirmed with a concerned frown. “Where did you even get this?” Tiffany asked, shaking him out of his thoughts without even glancing over at him.

“It’s a long story,” he tried, not wanting to just spill everything he was feeling, “I kind of found it.”

“So, you stole it,” she said, giving him a disapproving side-eye as she jammed the card into a slot.

“Look, I got an order at work, it was sitting inside of it all expired, and I was never planning on actually using it to buy anything,” he growled in a huff, “I was only ever going to use it as a key! And if it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t have found all that stuff on Ian!”

He wasn’t sure if Tiffany was actually listening or not. Her eyes were darting over the screen, hunting for something particular in the schematics of the little chip. “How long have you had this?”

“Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?” She glanced at him once, then when back to scanning for something in the computer’s analysis.

“Yeah, Tuesday! Makes me wonder why our would-be killer took so long to find me.”

“That’s easy,” Tiffany said slowly, still not looking at him, “This thing’s shit.”

Maybe it was stress, or maybe it was her expression and the casual tone she used, but John found it a particularly funny thing to say. “Y-you said that so seriously,” he managed between titters.

“Yeah, because it’s seriously shit,” she replied with a smirk. “The receiver on this thing is pretty bad - even without the Batcave’s defenses blocking it, it must only be getting a signal a third of the time.”

“And me wedging it in a door wouldn’t have anything to do with that?”

“Maybe?” she shrugged with an exaggeratingly-puzzled look, “We’ll never know now. But they can’t track you anymore - my belt has extra-special lining, so they’ll think you got severely injured, if anything. They’ll have to wait until the police or news report comes out to know, and that could be a while.”

John had heard all of that, but he was too focused on the word anymore to really take the rest in.

Even if the thing was working a full thirty-three percent of the time, that was still a thirty-three percent chance his would-be killer knew he was staying at Wayne Manor. He’d prefer that number be a nice, round zero…

“John?” Tiffany waved a hand in front of his face.

“Ha, sorry, just thinking,” he waved off, shoving his hands in his pockets so she wouldn’t see him flexing his hands.

“Look, John - I know you’re worried, but the house is going to be packed tonight. You’d have to have one borrowed brain cell to try and get past the amount of security Bruce has for his parties. And thanks to our resident genius,” she said with a self-satisfied smile, “we should be able to track the signal back to ‘em.”

That was all well and good, but whenever anyone told him not to worry, he knew whatever they were going to say wasn’t going to put his mind at ease. 

“So, do you know who slid you the card? Like, who the order was from or anything?”

He did know, but he couldn’t remember the name exactly. John pulled his phone up and scrolled through his gallery, passing the photos of the van, his friends, graffiti… “S. Townsend. Bruce never did get back to me on this signature…” He shared it with the Batcomputer, instantly seeing it appear on the oversized screen. “I was thinking it was that chairperson.”

Tiffany sat back in the captain’s seat, looking thoughtful. “There is a Sonja Townsend on our list of potentials. She’s Michael’s mother-in-law.”

It sounded like a winner to him. “So it’s got to be her!”

“Well…” Tiffany pulled up the security footage of the woman at The Lot, clearly on her way to the murder-room. Big hat, sunglasses...what about this was special? “Look,” she zoomed in, enhancing on the jaw and nose that could be seen in certain shots, “Sonja isn’t this young.” Sonja’s company photo pulled up on the second monitor. “She’s in her mid-sixties. This woman’s half her age, at least. You can see it in her face, and I know Sonja’s waist isn’t that small.”

“All it takes is a corset and a good makeup application,” John said simply.

“I’m not saying I won’t look into this. I just think we’re might be looking for another fraud. Whoever they are, they must have known Michael enough to want to frame him.”

John didn’t have any experience with mothers-in-law - at least that he knew of - but if the media had taught him anything, they were filled with vengeance for their child-in-law for whatever reason. But as he’d learned the hard way, TV wasn’t always right. “What about her kid?”

“A daughter, but it’s definitely not her. She’s currently eight months pregnant. And she’s three inches too short, even without the heels our killer wore. As far as we can tell there’s no girlfriend in the picture, either, and mutual friends that could fit the bill have pretty sturdy alibis.”

John tilted his head, studying the image of the woman on camera. A sturdy, confident pose. A slightly round face without blemish or scarring. Red lips without any hint of smugness. Dutiful.

“I swear she looks almost like one of those really expensive sex workers,” Tiffany said, “The kind that meet businessmen in their offices.”

Jealousy hit John like a light stab. Had...Bruce had someone like that? Even though he’d told John he was waiting for him… “And you would know...how?”

“I’ve run into a couple when I was doing overtime,” she said nonchalantly, “Some of the managers on the twelfth floor seem to be steady clients.”

“You...haven’t seen them above there?” He asked nervously, “Near Bruce’s usual haunts?”

Tiffany laughed. “Bruce? No way! The guy’s way too paranoid about his social persona - he’s not about to invite one of them up to the office.”

“Oh, thank God,” John sunk, feeling some weight lift off his shoulders, “Don’t scare me like that! I mean, I know he loves me, but... I mean, I wouldn’t mind too much if he’d just asked permission first or something…”

Tiffany had a very odd look on her face. Uncomfortable? Confused? Concerned? She had looked away from him and seemed to be pulling up more programs not related to what they were doing. “I’ll look more into where this card might have come from,” she said steadily, as if they had never changed the subject at all, “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

It shook something inside, deep down, pricking his head with a familiar feeling. He’d said something wrong.

He stared at the head in front of him for a moment, wishing he could crack open her consciousness for a little peek at her thoughts. She had changed the subject and wanted to be alone, all because he mentioned Bruce. Did she not...know about them?

Naaah. Alfred he could understand not telling - but Tiffany? She was part of the team, not a relation that might judge Bruce harshly and tear his heart to shreds. Tiffany had to know.

She was probably just uncomfortable with it because of the whole almost-tried-to-kill-her thing… Or the whole almost-tried-to-kill-Bruce thing. Either way, that was water under the bridge, and she’d have to cross it sometime. Besides, she’d have to be completely blind not to notice how far along Bruce and John had come from that point.

“O-kay, well - I’m going to borrow one of the tablets and do a little research of my own. And then I will tell you what I find!” He said as cheerfully as he could manage with a slap to the back of the chair.

He picked up the spare bat-engraved tablet from the workbench on the way out, expecting her to tell him to be careful with it as soon as it went into his hand, but instead John was left with an uncharacteristically stony silence all the way to the elevator.

*~*~*~*~*

John had been careful about wandering the manor - he didn’t like the idea of suddenly running into Alfred or Tiffany and feeling worse than before, but he did like the idea of running into Bruce on the upper floor. Sadly, his fantasy about bumping into Bruce casually and pulling him into a random room to blow off steam hadn’t come to pass. Instead, he found storage rooms, a second, smaller library, and Bruce’s home office, and still wound up right back at his own guest room.

It was, admittedly, the perfect place to think. The classic green wallpaper was a pretty homey shade, the view of the garden was nice, and the vast empty space that normally bothered him was perfect to pace in and lay out all the things he needed for thinking.

“Of course I’m stimming, Doc’,” he said, looking from the picture of himself and Batman he’d put on his nightstand to his makeshift crime board spread on the floor, “it helps a lot, but it doesn’t help the nasty little thought in my head.”

“What thought?”

“That I’m not entirely welcome here.” He sighed to himself, refocusing on Batman’s stubbled jaw. “Bruce has...guests here, right now. And not just the ones having a literal ball. A surrogate father, and a...well, I don’t know, somewhat-adopted child? Their relationship is weirdly familial.”

“And that makes you feel unwelcome?”

“It’s just… Alfred doesn’t like me very much,” he lamented, looking down at the torn article depicting the Chandis stuck in the harbor. “He’s not rude or anything. It’s the little things. The way he looks at me. How much space he leaves between us.” (The killer had to have stowed away on the boat, hiding himself to lie in wait until the moment was right to kill the crew. Brutal. Forward.) “He said he didn’t think I should be around other people. He didn’t know I could hear him… It was like he was trying to convince Bruce that I should be locked up.”

“How did that make you feel?”

Isn’t that obvious, he wanted to shout into the phone. He didn’t. He looked down at the picture of the warehouse, of the crime scene photos of the mobsters on the ground. “Angry. Mostly Hurt.” He breathed slowly, squeezing his free hand into a fist and letting go. “I just… I just want him to like me. He’s Bruce’s family.”

“I know you and Dr. Leland discussed your feelings about needing to be accepted - do you remember what she told you?”

“That I shouldn’t expect instant results,” he said, not quite remembering Dr. Leland’s exact phrasing.

“That’s true, too, but more importantly:  there will always be people who won’t accept you for who you are. A parental figure in Bruce’s life will naturally be wary of someone who once put his son’s life in danger.”

She had no idea just how much he’d put him in. She would never know. “So… Should I just…not try?”

“I encourage you to try. But you shouldn’t expect anyone to take to you right away. And if there’s no improvement, you have to accept the loss.” There came a brief pause. “What about the other guest?”

“It’s a kid-of-a-family-friend sort of thing. I know she’s going to take a while to come around,” he muttered, “and I didn’t like her at first, but she’s grown on me - and I don’t think it’s entirely mutual.” He studied the picture of the dead group sitting at almost a makeshift conference table. All three major killings were in groups. The only two that weren’t were Muddy Nye and Hubbard Jr., clearly only cover-ups…

“Sounds like you’ve been making a good effort to get along with her. I’m guessing Bruce and her are close?”

“Of course! How’d you guess?” he asked, studying the strings he’d laid over the pages to connect them all. Black Mask connected to the Chandis, the warehouse, Hubbard’s Garage, Muddy, and Selina Kyle; Selina connected to Black Mask and her art gallery, with the Chandis’ killer linking it to the boat; the warehouse connected to Hubbard’s Garage; Sonja Townsend connected to The Lot and St. Dymphna, and Bruce could only be connected to both of those.

(Unless he counted his previous not-quite-a-friendship with Selina, of course… And he did know Roman, but did that really connect him to Black Mask?)

“Would you be making an effort if Bruce wasn’t close with her?”

Oh. That was a good question. One that was potentially driving in the ‘are you revolving your life around Bruce Wayne’ undercurrent that Dr. Song seemed to use as her driving force behind their therapy. It wasn’t necessarily something that made him mad, but it wasn’t something he liked to discuss with anyone except Bruce. Not that he had, exactly, but… Bruce would understand more than anyone else. Doctors and strangers and everyone else would line up around the block to tell him how obsessed he was and that it was “dangerous” and “inappropriate” if he said one word about it.

But he couldn’t keep Dr. Song waiting forever. He paced around the floor-bound casebook slowly, thinking carefully about her question.

Maybe, if they never ever knew each other before, he might not try as hard. If there was no Batman, there would be no reason to try to apologize for old-John’s actions at all. (Well, except at the funeral. But he didn’t think he caused that much of a scene...) They could just be strangers, and there wouldn’t be this dangling thread of animosity towards him. They could, potentially, just be acquaintances.

But if her Dad was alive and she just built Batman’s gear in silence…he still liked being around interesting people. And the little tech-whiz had just enough humor and potential to qualify as interesting in John’s book. He was pretty sure that was why Bruce made her his partner-in-vigilante-crime, outside of compromising for the guilt for her father’s death.

“John?”

“Yeah,” he answered, “I would. Maybe not as much, but...I would.”

“Do you think either of them would make an effort with you, if things were reversed?”

He watched the string paths on the floor turn upside down. “Ha! I wouldn’t know that… I’d have a harder time liking them, though.”

“Try to look at it from that perspective. They clearly care about Bruce a great deal, and the fact that they haven’t been openly hostile mean they’re making an effort. Take those strides with them - give them space and time, and if you feel overwhelmed or threatened, don’t be afraid to walk away,” she advised in her wise, calm tone.

John stared at the upside-down pictures, and the strings leading things together, and breathed out. She would be right, if Bruce wasn’t Batman. If Bruce wasn’t the glue holding the mansion together with his lifelong mission for his personal pursuit of justice. The Batman complicated things far beyond the notion of family and friends. He always hung there, upside down like the proverbial flipside to...

His brain fizzled and thoughts faded away as he stared down at the drawings he’d made over the bodies on display in the Chandis’ storage room.

He HAD seen that shape before. Two lines arcing out from a long vertical line, aka three lines meeting to turn into one. 

Not at all unlike the foot of a bird stamped on heavy stone tablet of the Gotham Cemetery’s mausoleum floor...

“Remember, you can always call me,” Dr. Song said in his ear, stirring him half from the memory and thoughts that were getting squished together. “My phone is always on.”

“Okay,” he heard himself say. He could hear Bruce’s innocent question echoing back out of time from Dr. Crane’s living room:  Did you ever hear anyone talk about the Court of Owls? “I’ve gotta go, doc’.” He vaguely heard her say what was probably ‘goodnight’, but he was too focused on the symbol at his feet. “Yeah, ‘night…”

There were no voices, no music, no hums of lights – just a quiet hush of a lonely room.

His head felt fuzzy, narrowing in on the symbol he’d scribbled over the bodies, silently putting the strings together.

The Court of Owls. An old cult-like organization who believed in keeping the Devil out of Gotham by any means necessary – which usually meant straight-up murder. They disbanded years ago, since the heads of it were either hung in execution or offed themselves before the law could be given the chance. The rest had left Gotham entirely, leaving their bloody sins behind to dry and stain and be swept over.

Until now.

Everything started from Bludhaven. Black Mask had his leg over the fence separating the two cities. The drug shipment, the crew on the Chandis. Catwoman had made her living there. Ian Coggs had supposedly moved to Bludhaven.

And all of them were back in town. They brought The Court with them like a plague…

But that wasn’t true - Black Mask had an inside guy, Muddy, a newbie who didn’t mind giving up the details to the Court.

They were the real rat. They knew when the ship was coming in, and who would be waiting for it – they didn’t care about the drugs, only about leaving their message behind. A warning that Black Mask was being hunted. They killed Muddy for good measure and played dress-up to throw the group off the scent entirely, just in case they delivered a message before their own demise.

John stared at the picture of his attempted-shooter. There was a line connecting the Chandis’ killer to Selina Kyle. Another connecting The Lot to himself.

The masks. The capes. Not copycats, exactly.

Owls.

John felt like he wanted to shed his skin. Chemicals in his brain rushed like he’d woken up next to Bruce for the first time. He could feel his lips wobbling and the thing inside of him vibrating.

Hee hee ha ha HA HA HA HA!

“All this time! Ha ha ha, I’d been thinking it was a riv-al ga-a-ng!” he cackled to himself. “And it’s some - rogue crusader club - risen from the dead! Hee hee aha ha ha! They could’ve killed me before I…!”

Oh.

The realization made his lungs ache with the dying laughs stuck in them. 

They could have killed him. Bruce probably hadn’t considered The Court of Owls as a possibility either. His best buddy hadn’t told him he’d had a theory about it, so he must be as in the dark as the rest of Gotham. But he couldn’t blame him, he was so busy chasing after Black Mask and the various killers and now dealing with him and the Gala and…

He stared at the pages on his bedroom floor, with all the strings laid out, connecting everything together in a complex web. “I have to tell Bruce,” he reaffirmed to himself.

But Bruce was having that big soiree downstairs. The Gotham elite had all stepped out to Bruce’s mansion to show off and pal around on the billionaire’s estate under the pretense of charity. Texting Bruce was likely to backfire, as all the music would likely drown out the phones’ vibrations and tones, and Bruce probably had his Wayne-mask on, which meant his social graces had to be generally adhered to and he couldn’t just cut off whatever schlub he was talking to just to talk to John.

Which meant there was only one solution:  John would have to go down there.

He’d see Bruce in a tux’, undoubtedly impress him with his case-solving abilities, and maybe squeeze in a make-out session in one of the unused rooms. It was a win-win.

He just had to get something to wear and smear makeup on his face. Easy-peasy.

Bruce hadn’t left the suit in John’s room or the Batcave, so it likely was kept in Bruce’s bedroom closet. The same went for John’s makeup. Bruce never just threw things away - as evidenced by the everything in Wayne Manor - so they’d likely be shoved in a drawer somewhere in his grand bathroom.

John had already dumped out half of his meager possessions when searching for his crime-board materials, but there was one thing he needed to find; even if he had to borrow another one of Bruce’s black suits, there was no way he was wearing nothing but black. He pulled out a half-eaten packet of mini-marshmallows, the shiv he’d crafted out of a broken razor and a toothbrush his first week into his stay at St. Dymphna, a very orange button-down too crinkled to deign being put in the closet, the photo album he’d been filling since Bruce had given it to him for Christmas - ah-ha! He shoved the purple bow-tie that had been folded in the corner of the bag into his pocket.

He needed something to cover his hands, too, now that he thought of it. He only had so much peach-tone foundation, and he didn’t trust the setting powder that much.

It was quiet out there, but he knew there was a party going on despite the lack of music thumping under his feet. He passed mirrors and wall-sconces and breathed in, smelling all kinds of buffet food and the smell of old house that seemed to permeate everything. He passed the spots he remembered Bruce throwing some of his clothes down on when John had been there last, and felt a little jolt of deep-seated excitement hit his groin. What he wouldn’t give to relive that wonderful rush of endorphins…

Bruce’s room was just as he’d left it that morning. Except the bed was made. And there were no more clothes on the floor. And there was a definite lack of Bruce’s super-handsome face looking at him with soft longing from the pillow.

But now he was alone in there. With no one to stop him. And John had itchy fingers and a curiosity to fulfill.

“Focus, John,” he muttered to himself, squeezing his hands to try and pass the urge to rifle through Bruce’s bedside drawers, “You’ve got a mission to do.”

The walk-in closet was like a peek into Bruce’s inner-fashionista. Black, white, gray, dark blue, thin classy stripes; t-shirts, full suits, sports jackets, slacks, jeans; shoes that cost more than John’s whole outfits; a whole section of silk ties and pocket squares in colors John had never seen Bruce wore…

It made him want to pull Bruce and his fancy-schmancy black credit card into a proper store and force him to try on some more colors. He settled for running his hands across the rack of expensive shirts instead, flipping them halfway and releasing the smells of fabric detergent and leftover colognes.

John took a step backward, seeing a flash of color behind the up-ended fabric.

A secret button. In red. With ‘ESC’ written on it.

That had to mean ‘escape’, right? What happened if he pressed it? Did Bruce have a secret panel for Batman gear? A panic room? Both?

Bruce had never mentioned it. And if it turned out to fire Batarangs, that was just extra dodging practice and wounds he could make Bruce clean up, so he decided to push it, bracing himself to move.

But there was no alarm or spray of surprise-sharp-things or secret trap door that dropped John into some holding cell. There came a quiet squeak of hinges behind him - and behind the opposing rack of suits, there was an open gap in the wall with a long, shiny pole that plunged who-knew-how-deep into the floor. John took a peek downward, seeing lights reflecting off the pole far, far down.

A secret route to the Batcave, maybe? John made a mental note to ask about that later. He did remember Bruce mentioning wanting to put in an extra entrance…but he wasn’t going to just go down the pole to find out. Pressing buttons was one thing, but travelling potentially-incomplete paths was another entirely.

The door closed by itself after John pulled his head out of the enclosure. He continued down the rack of suits, finding some in clear protective bags, and found a tuxedo in Bruce’s size - but with white formal gloves in the breast pocket. What a lovely coincidence!

They fit his hands a little loosely, but it was better than nothing, so he decided they would do. Bruce must have kept them for if he had scars or visible battle wounds on his hands.

John found his tailored charcoal-suit at the very back, kept in a full-length plastic cover with one of his playing cards peeking out over the breast pocket. He could smell the same laundry detergent Bruce used on everything else in his closet as soon as he unzipped the bag. “I’m steppin’ out, my dear - To breathe an atmosphere -” he sang to himself as he quickly changed, “That simply reeks – ha ha ha ha – wi-ith claaass!”

It still fit as snug and comfortable as ever. He hung up the street-clothes he had been wearing on the now-empty hanger for later and decided that his ankle boots (which he had worn with the same suit last time) still looked fancy enough. Bruce had not thoughtfully put the whole deck in the suit’s pockets, though. He had to have kept them somewhere…

He decided to give into the urge to peek in the drawers, finding nothing but socks in one, and another with an awful lot of boxer-briefs in Bruce’s favored colors, and the last... 

Weapons. A telescoping nightstick, razor-sharp throwing stars, an actual honest-to-goodness pair of nun-chucks, a can of extra-strength mace, a stunner, a pair of police-quality handcuffs, a literal money-clip of cash, and… 

“Oh. My. Batman.” 

Bruce had not only kept his razor-cards in a cute plastic card-case with the Joker card face-up on top, but he’d kept his old joy-buzzer on a fancy velvet bracelet-holder! (Or was it a watch holder? John could never tell the difference.) They were incredibly out-of-place sitting with the non-Batman defense weapons. It made John wonder if Bruce just hadn’t gotten around to moving them to someplace more secure - if someone poked through his drawers, like John was doing now, they might put things together.

Or just think Bruce was obsessed with him and bought the things under the table from the G.C.P.D. 

The thought made John giggle. He was definitely taking the joy-buzzer back. And borrowing the can of mace for good measure. He wanted to take the full deck of cards, but one card was surely enough to qualify as an emergency use, and the rest of the deck would be awfully bulky with the rest of the things in his pockets. Not to mention, he liked the idea of taking them slowly to see if Bruce noticed any missing.

John smirked to himself as he stood in front of the embedded mirror in one of the closet’s cabinet doors to put on his home-made bow-tie. Bruce had stolen more from John’s evidence locker than he’d previously thought, and kept them in display pieces in his bedroom like they were treasures. It was enough to make any boyfriend smug. God, he could not wait to tease Bruce for it later. Maybe pull the card out of his pocket and tap it against his cheek, and wait until Bruce got that surprised look on his face and asked him where he found it, and John would tell him it was a s-e-c-r-e-t…

Though...speaking of secrets. “I wonder where Bruce put my Batarang,” he muttered, tilting his head in the mirror to make sure the tie was staying put. “It wasn’t in the cave earlier…”

And if it wasn’t in the secret drawer… It had to be somewhere in Bruce’s room.

So naturally, he poked into the closest thing outside of the closet - Bruce’s bedside table. He wiggled his fingers before pulling the knob to the top drawer, grinning to himself as he prepared to be surprised with what was inside.

Hm. Just ordinary things. Flashlight, a candle and matches, pen and paper with the Wayne Enterprise logo, the billy club Bruce used to keep under his pillow, and what looked like a powered-off burner phone. Bo-ring.

John checked under the pillow to see if maybe it was there - nope, nothing. Maybe the second drawer of the nightstand?

He opened it, stared, and promptly shut it. He hadn’t…seen that? Right? He was imagining things?

He peeked again, half-hoping he was. Nope, that pearly-white fleshlight was definitely real. So was the bottle of lube and condoms next to it, and the…

John felt uncomfortably warm. Guilty for looking, a little embarrassed for what he’d seen, and turned on by the mental image he was producing. He let the he amused, nervous giggle leave his mouth, grateful that Bruce wasn’t there to see him like this.

Especially since his Batarang - with the lipstick-scrawled message still intact - was sitting right on top of the condom box. It really made a guy all…wonder-y.

He snatched it out of the drawer and focused on tapping on the wood grain of the furniture rather than the dangerous thoughts trying to force their way to the front of his head. Just save those thoughts for later, John. Muuuch later. You’ve got a job to do.

But it was sweet that Bruce kept his little promise-note. Really sweet. Kissable sweet. Shove-him-against-a-wall sweet. The lipstick was dried, but still slightly waxy, so John was careful when putting it in his pocket.

He breathed in and out, smelling remnants of Bruce, and went to put on his face in Bruce’s bathroom.

Thankfully, John had learned how to apply foundation fairly fast, and temporary hair color was only comb-in job. It was the little details that took longer, like eyebrows and careful shading. Especially since he had to do it in a smaller mirror, or else...it wasn’t fun. 

He left in a hurry and straightened himself out as much as possible, his mind full of Owls and Bruce and the out-of-body feeling that came with looking at himself in the mirror with his man-off-the-street makeup. He avoided looking at any hallway mirrors, reminding himself that he did a fine job and didn’t need to triple-check, and followed the sounds of people and classic lounge music to the ballroom, taking the stairs two at a time.

Wayne Manor’s ballroom wasn’t as big as John imagined. He expected something along the lines of an old castle’s ballroom, but it was actually smaller than the manor’s foyer. It still glittered like something out of a storybook or an old Hollywood movie, with an enormous crystal chandelier dangling from the high ceiling, long banquet tables complete with ice sculptures and chocolate fountains, and people dressed to the nines dancing or milling about with champagne flutes.

It was there, just outside the ballroom door, that John realized he would have to sift through the crowd towards Bruce, who was unfortunately not easily visible. 

Well, he had to do what he had to do. Enter the world not as John Doe or Joker or whoever he might have been nearly a decade ago, but as some other new rich schmo out for a shoe shine on the ballroom floor with the rest of Gotham’s elite. He could do that.

He strode in, weaving through the outskirts of the crowd as he scanned them, searching for Bruce’s beautiful face among the crowd. It was difficult - there were an awful lot of black tuxedos and pretty faces, and his growling stomach didn’t help any.

He looked over by the long buffet table - the one with shining silver trays bearing all manners of savory hors d'oeuvres - and spotted a familiar face.

She had her hair up in a very sleek ornate bun, and he couldn’t recall ever seeing her wearing lip gloss or sensible chocolate-colored high heels, but it was definitely Iman in that champagne halter dress. He approached her as casually as he could, popping one of the little fluffy pork-filled dough-things from the end of the table in his mouth on the way. “Well, fancy seeing you here, stranger,” he said as he sidled up to her.

She searched his face for a moment, clearly trying to disguise her confusion with polite examination. He grinned wide when her left eyebrow shot up to her hairline. “John?”

“In the make-up-covered flesh,” he answered quietly. “I’d say you clean up nicely, but you’ve honestly looked this pretty every day I’ve seen you!”

“Thank you,” she said politely, the silvery pearls in her ears reflecting the chandelier with the tilt of her head. They went very well with the snake-shaped hearing aid. “That suit looks like it was tailored for you.”

“It was; I tailored it myself.”

“I’m guessing you’re looking for Bruce?”

Damn, what a guess! “Ha! What are you, a mind reader? Can you guess what number I’m thinking of, too?” 

She smiled warmly. “Of course not. You’d guess a letter instead.”

“Man, you’re good,” he chuckled. “You haven’t seen Bruce, have you? I figured something out and I kinda want to tell him in person. And you, too, of course!”

Iman opened her mouth to reply when Tiffany wedged herself on Iman’s other side. 

“Oh man, I swear if I have to talk to another…” Tiffany paused, seeing John but not recognizing him. “Oh, uh, sorry. Ignore me,” she said, turning to busy herself with choosing from finger-sandwiches.

“It’s gonna be hard for anyone to ignore you when you’re looking that pretty,” John said, taking in the one-shoulder satiny blue jumper. She’d sprayed silver glitter in the dyed portion her hair, too. The effect wasn’t as cute looking when she whipped her head around with the just-seen-a-ghost type of surprise on her face. 

“What are you doing here?” she stage-whispered, “And where did you even get all that?” she added, gesturing to his whole ensemble.

“I could ask you the same question,” he teased, “I’ve had all this since the last time I was here! Well, except for this,” he added, thumbing his tie, “I just couldn’t let a perfectly good scrap of material go to waste! Oh, but I’m here to see Bruce. And you guys! I found something major, and it, uh, probably shouldn’t wait. At least for too long.”

“And you can’t just tell us now?” Tiffany asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He bit back the desire to ask what her problem was. It wouldn’t be a great start to the evening plan. “It’s easier if I just tell you all at once. In private. Hopefully in the next ten or fifteen minutes, depending on if I can find Bruce in this ridiculous crowd.”

“Which case does it deal with?” Iman asked, watching him with that same analytical curiosity he’d seen half the time she asked him questions.

All of them! He wanted to say. But you didn’t get an audience by spoiling half of the ending. “You’ll find out if you meet me in the parlor,” he said, hoping he was projecting an air of mystery. “I’m gonna keep looking for Bruce. And if you see him, tell him I’m looking for him!” he added, clicking his fingers in their direction as he made his way to the edge of the crowd.

He looked out into the party. People were dancing, laughing, pushing signed checks and wads of cash into glass bowls for the charity of their choice - if it weren’t for the otherworldly feeling he was getting and the fact that all the upper-class twits surrounding him didn’t really care about the actual people they were helping, it might have made a nice picture.

Actually, getting a picture was a good idea. They really did help with the whole grounding-himself-in-reality task he had to do more and more often nowadays. He pulled out his phone, thinking about what angle to use, and saw a text pop up from Devi.

How u holdin up J?

His phone had definitely vibrated in his hand, so that was real… Oh, there was no way he could resist showing off, now. 

You’ll never guess where I am!!! :D He wrote back, having to press a little harder on the screen so the thin cotton would let him type.

Ur bfs bedroom????

Dude u DIDNT

John giggled to himself. Her mind would be blown if she knew what he’d found in there, but he wasn’t about to tell her all that. It raised too many follow-up questions. LOL I wish!!

He turned around and decided to swallow his discomfort to take a partial selfie in the glittering, perfectly-lit ballroom and send it to her. It was honestly better to look at his made-up face with a camera than a mirror, where he couldn’t manage to look at the whole thing without feeling distorted. Maybe it was because he’d done it with Bruce before, back at Dr. Crane’s house? Or maybe it was the way the digital camera moved that made it feel fake enough. Or both. 

I’m at the gala! Undercover, of course. ;D he added.

Ok that makeup is amazing I barely recognize u!!!

Whats it like? Live up 2 the hype?

Everyone is super pretty, it’s annoying and crowded.

But it’s got swanky music and good food sooo... Pretty ok???

He should ask how she was, since she took the effort to reach out to him. How’s it going over there? You and Mickey doing ok?

Well we r still standin so its good. My sis came to visit which was nice but I decided not to transfer out. 2 much trouble. Mickey had no choice but 2 stay bc usual insurance bs :\

Oooh but that bitch Karen got her ASS reprimanded for yelling at the mens room by the gym for some reason last night! Dont ask how i found out ;p

HA I told her Mickey went in there when he was hiding from her in the library yesterday!!! Ha ha ha ha I can’t believe she actually yelled at nothing!!!

Omg!!! Mickey actually laughed when i told him!!! Classic J!!!

If u didnt almost die id say u need to come back

Its less colorful and WAY 2 quiet wo u

John felt that familiar fuzzy warmth that came with Bruce saying he missed him. He looked up into the crowd and was sure he spotted the familiar head of sleek black hair, so he decided to try and navigate through the crowd and text at the same time.

Awwww!!! Don’t worry, it’s only until they catch the guy! He wrote, side-stepping a hired butler before the tray knocked into him. (Should he tell her about Batman working on it? Surely he could excuse it away with a surprise visit. It wouldn’t be the first time Batman had been perched outside his window.) God, was there always this many people huddled together or what? Which should be soon, since Batsy’s on the case!

He’d no sooner pressed send when he smacked into an obstacle and heard the tinkling clink of shattered glass.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, but clearly she didn’t hear him.

“Fuck,” the woman he’d bumped into muttered, wiping off the end of her oddly familiar orange off-shoulder dress. It was too dark to blend in with the rest of the summer dresses swirling in the crowd. It was more suited to autumn, especially with the chunky black heels she was wearing with it...

Waaait a second.

Sure, the curly bob curving around her ears and framing her face was brown, but he knew that cute face anywhere! He’d sat across from it dozens of times!

“Jackie Lant!” He exclaimed, unable to help the smile stretching on his lips as she turned with the very clear look of a deer caught in headlights.

It was actually kind of nice how she seemed to instantly recognize him through the makeup and hair dye. Though the sight of him didn’t seem to excite her. “H-hey, John…”

She must have been thinking he was talking to her for some sort of threatening purpose. He should squash that right away by just talking like he normally did. “Talk about a coincidence! I thought that dress looked familiar – tailored by Mr. Prinya himself! It figures you’d wear it in summer. It’s just everything pumpkiny all year ‘round for you, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “But I’m surprised you’re back in Gotham! How’s the acting gig going for you? I’m assuming well enough to get you invited here?”

Jackie snorted into a small smile as her nerves melted away. “You haven’t changed a bit,” she said, propping one hand on her hip, “You still talk a mile a minute. Well, firstly - I, uh, don’t go by Jackie. In public, anyway,” she added with a pout and a side-eye to the crowd, “It’s Jacqueline, right now.”

“Little close to home, don’t you think?” John smirked.

“It’s easy to get used to,” she shrugged, “Besides, it makes for a good stage name; I get more callbacks with it. Probably because it makes me sound classically trained,” she emphasized with finger-quotes and a slight smirk that made a spark in her leaf-brown eyes. “No one suspects I just learned from life experience and being a huge theater nerd.”

John sniggered. “Well, if you ever need a letter of recommendation, I think me and Bruce can give you one! ‘Fooled entire asylum of patients and employees into thinking she was a trustworthy budding doctor,’” he mimed writing on an invisible notepad, “‘Played dual role as a sympathetic victim of our money-hungry society and a secondary villain, with a believable and overall stellar performance,’” he continued with a grin, “‘Solid ten out of ten!’”

“…sounds kind of like you’re still mad,” she responded, folding her arms across her chest with a dull look at the crowd. She looked more like the hopeless person he’d seen clutching her stitches on the mausoleum floor than the one watching the Batmobile take off afterwards. “Not that I really blame you.”

Well, he couldn’t help but enjoy holding her sins over her head a little, but he wasn’t really mad…anymore. They both did pretty rotten things at some point. “Oh, turn that frown upside-down, Pumpkin-head,” he teased, poking her in the corner of her mouth, “I’m only messing with you! It’s water under the bridge!” She eyed him, seeming like she wanted to believe that, but wasn’t too sure if he meant it. She looked like she needed a little boost. And what better way than to lighten up her grungy past a little? “Besides,” he added in a low voice, “you’re an idiot if you think I don’t replay the memory of you shooting ol’ Scarecrow in the shoulder whenever I’m feeling blue.”

That, surprisingly, made her laugh. It was light and short, but it lit up her face, so he knew he hit a bullseye. “Honestly, so do I,” she said with a dark gleam in her expression. “Especially when someone’s really annoying me. It’s a good reminder of what I’m capable of.”

One of the butlers had swooped over to their spot on the floor to clean up the glass.

“Oh, excuse me,” Jackie said politely and pulled John towards a less crowded section of the floor. “Sorry - I don’t really like the idea of smacking into anyone else out here,” she muttered, “but I’ve been meaning to ask – what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t released yet.”

Sheesh, can a guy just not want to have a good time, he wanted to say. But he didn’t really want to rile up anyone just yet, and it wasn’t her fault she didn’t know he’d been asked that twice already. She must not have known about the incident at St. Dymphna yesterday. (Not that he could blame her for not looking at the news. The same cycle of misery and murder never made for an entertaining time.) “It’s a secret,” he said simply, “Besides, I’m here for a good time, not a long time!” he added with a wink, snatching a shrimp cocktail off a waiter’s tray. It only lasted two bites, but it was delicious. “How about you? The last I saw you, you were running from your problems in a shit-box of a car.” She couldn’t possibly have been doing well enough to get a formal invitation if she had gotten her dress tailored in his neck of the woods…

“Ha, I still am,” she said, not sounding very amused despite the tiny smirk on her lips. “I’m here because it’s better than sitting around my hotel room feeling sorry for myself,” she grunted, the light in her eyes dimming as she snatched a flute off another waiter’s tray and downed half of it in one gulp. She stared at the glass, thinking of something with all the depressed seriousness he’d seen back in the mausoleum last year. “Fifteen years ago, my best friend was found rolled up in a rug in the dumpster three blocks from where she lived.”

John remembered the many pictures she had hung up in her small apartment; a lot of those friends were dead. “Oh… Uh, I’m sorry,” he tried, not sure what else he could say without sounding like a huge jerk.

“Don’t apologize,” she said with an oddly sharp look, “I didn’t tell you to get sympathy. I get enough of that from everyone else. I told you because you would’ve picked my brain apart to get it out anyway, and I don’t really feel like playing that game.”

“Ouch, Jackie,” John clutched his chest and pouted dramatically, “You think so low of me! And here I thought we were getting to be friends…” He couldn’t hold the pout for long – if she was going to be rude, he could needle her with a taste of her own medicine. “But I guess if we were, I’d drop dead in a week.”

She didn’t seem to take that harshly at all. In fact, she lightened up a little. “See, that’s more like it,” she said with a Bruce-like smile. “No one else gives me dark jokes like that. They all think it’ll just make it worse.”

Huh! Well, at least John didn’t have to worry about tossing around grim jokes in her presence…?

“Honestly, though,” she continued, “I’m really only in Gotham for-”

“Jacqueline, baby – who’s this?” A man who couldn’t be much older – or taller - than Jackie sidled up to her out of nowhere, putting his arm protectively around her shoulder and flashing what could only be described as a bad attempt at ‘the Bruce Wayne press smile’. He didn’t have Bruce’s natural charm to pull it off, but he was fairly handsome, in a standard-Hollywood-twenty-something sort of way. Bronzer, foundation, and eyebrow powder were enhancing his face, but admittedly the curly swoop of dirty blond hair and lithe athletic frame helped with the overall look.

Jackie seemed to brighten a little more; she clearly knew him. “There you are, Matt – I was just talking about you. This is one of my old work-buddies.” She nodded slightly as she gestured to John, giving him a significant look he took to mean play along. “We worked on my last play here together. He’s a real Gothamite.”

The man called Matt reached his hand out to shake John’s. “Nice to meet you, Mr…?”

Shit. John had gotten used to being himself out on the floor, and now he had to put his normal-person face on, even if he didn’t want to play along. He grappled for the most normal names he could think of. He didn’t want to use his own, no matter how ordinary ‘John’ was.

Eric? No, I need something more familiar... Uh, J...erome? Jerimiah? Ooh, wait-!

“Jack,” he answered, thinking of the card currently sitting in his breast pocket. He might as well pick a good surname to go with it. And who was this guy to know where it came from? “Jack Napier,” he finished, reaching out to shake the guy’s hand. “Sorry - auditory processing,” he snorted, trying to smooth it over, “Takes a bit for the ol’ brain case to catch up sometimes.”

Matt didn’t seem to quite understand that, but he shook John’s hand anyway. “Matt Chaney,” he said proudly, like his mere name was something to envy.

“Matt and I snuck in here for research,” Jackie said with a small wink.

“Jacqueline-”

“Oh, lighten up, Matt. Jack’s great at keeping secrets.”

John tittered. “Got a noodle stuffed with ‘em,” he joked, “and not a single leak in the pan.”

“There’s a new TV soap role he’s trying out for,” Jackie explained with a pointed thumb up at Matt’s chin, “Think Bruce Wayne, but with less dough.”

“Oh, you’re on TV?” John asked, looking over their shoulder to see if Bruce made a coincidental appearance in the crowd. Maybe he was brooding somewhere…

“I’ve gotten some good contacts recently,” Matt boasted, which John translated to a ‘no’. “You worked with Jacqueline before she moved, right? Man, you must be pretty jealous now.”

...jealous of what? “Uh, look, you’re both rather attractive, but I’m afraid my heart’s spoken for,” he answered, tapping his chest where his undying love for Bruce Wayne lay embedded. “And neither of you are…really my type.”

Jackie sniggered as Matt frowned at him. “He doesn’t really go on social media, babe,” she said to her boyfriend with a genuinely amused grin as she pulled her phone out of the small purse dangling from a pathetically tiny strap on her shoulder. John could see the Lucky Hotel logo on a card she’d stuck in the back of the phone case; no wonder she altered her dress at his place! “Matt’s big on Root and MuSec[B1]  nowadays,” she explained, tapping on her screen, “I’ve got a bit of a following myself. Here, this one’s gotten me a lot of attention.”

John watched the very short video. He couldn’t hear the background music, but he watched as Jackie dramatically flipped a fan between her face, showing her normal face at first (with her hair still dyed brown), and then transitioning to a wide, grinning jack-o-lantern face done entirely in stage makeup. She’d worn yellow contacts to make the black of the painted eye-holes pop and seemed to have crafted painted plastic teeth for her jaw to open wide. “Ooh hoo hoo! Ve-ry nice,” he praised, watching the light in her eyes brighten further. “Reminds me of your last Halloween costume,” he teased.

Matt was clearly seething with jealousy - he plucked the phone out of Jackie’s hand and pulled up a different video. “Here, check this one out,” he said haughtily.

“‘Video removed for copyright violation’,” John read from the video placeholder on the page, “Impressive!”

“What?!” Matt pulled the phone back to him a deep scowl. “Not again! Those stupid fucking…”

“Why, Mr. Chaney,” a clear voice said from John’s left, “what a delight; it seems we’re destined to keep running into each other.”

John tossed a look towards the stranger heading towards them:  a man with extraordinarily average looks and flat, mousy brown hair. He could’ve passed him in the street a hundred times.

“And who are your friends?” The man asked, looking between Jackie and John. He settled back on John, looking more and more curious. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Oh, uh, Jacqueline – my girlfriend,” Matt emphasized by putting his arm back around Jackie and giving her a little squeeze – “this is Reverend Overfield; we met when I was scouting around town a while back. Reverend, this is Jacqueline Latern, and-”

“Jack Napier,” John interrupted, deciding to take initiative in shaking the Reverend’s hand like people were supposed to do. But weren’t guys like the Rev’ supposed to wear those little white collars everywhere they went, and not full-blown tuxedos?

“We haven’t met before, have we?” the Reverend asked as he withdrew his hand. “You seem familiar.”

You might have seen me on the news, John thought privately. “Oh, I’m just your typical man about town,” he answered with all the patented Wayne charm he could channel. “I’m sure you’d find a dozen like me in this crowd.” He looked over the faces of people behind the Reverend’s shoulders, hoping to suddenly see Bruce come into view, but no such luck. He’d have to stealthily make an excuse and slip away when he could.

“Do you live in the area, or further into the city?” The reverend asked, looking oddly probing for such an innocent question.

“I’m just taking the tour, Rev’,” John said with a growing impatience.

“Splendid!” He beamed, as if he was truly enthused by the idea, “You should pay us a proper visit before you decide to go.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to John. “We’re currently housed in of the older churches in the city. It’s quite the sight by itself; you don’t have to worry about being pressured into anything.”

John doubted that. He looked at the card. Rev. Sebastian Overfield, Church of the Written Mercy was stamped next to a picture of three people clustered together to reach up to what John figured was supposed to be a beam of light. “The Written Mercy? ”

“So it is written, and so it shall be,” he nodded with a serene sort of smile that usually came with John’s neighbors being doped up. “God has written our destinies out since the dawn of time. Regardless of evil’s lawless discord interfering with those destinies, we firmly believe those injustices can be resolved with faith, perseverance, and God’s guidance. Of course, we are always open to interpretations now and again.”

“You mean want people to tear your philosophy apart?” Jackie asked with raised brow.

The reverend gave a polite laugh. “There are no better fresh interpretations of ideas than from strangers.”

John’s first impulse was to tell him fate was as much of a joke as the justice system - but while justice had dealt John a bad hand and turned his whole life into a long, bad joke, fate had given him something worthwhile.

Something beautiful, in the form of a man who might as well have been divine for all the life upheavals and whirlwinds of emotion he caused. A man that could, finally, be seen in the immense, glittering crowd over Jackie’s and Matt’s shoulders.

“I think the inevitability of death is the only true fate in the world,” Jackie said as John stared out into the crowd, feeling a sweet sting at the sudden appearance of some pretty nameless thing putting her hands on Bruce’s shoulder to guide him into a dance, “How long we take to get there, the people we meet along the way – all of that is random.”

John could see Bruce following along with the motions, but his smile wasn’t reaching his tired eyes.

“I can see where that comes from,” Reverend Overfield nodded sympathetically, “It’s hard to believe that the people we lose in this lifetime aren’t taken away by chance; but I have always believed that every loss has a place in one’s life, even those most painful to live with. How about you, Mr. Napier?”

He did agree with Jackie’s point about them all being born astride a coffin and being subject to only the unknown, but... There was no way that was all there was. How could he think that, when a piece of his destiny was twirling slowly out beyond them as they spoke? “I think we’re at the mercy of a chaotic, constantly-changing universe,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly on his disarmed dark knight, “but there are some people that are always meant to be there…” (Some of the doctors always seemed to think it was dangerous for patients to think of soul-mates and pre-determination. But they weren’t here, were they? John could speak freely, since he wasn’t going to see most of these people again. Who would care?) “Our choices can make the universe change the how and why, but they’re there; and their choices shape us in return.”

He wouldn’t be there, the way he was now, without Bruce. If Bruce hadn’t saved him. If Bruce hadn’t believed in him. John felt it, deep down, past his thoughts and feelings, past his memories, past his sensory input…

“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” Jackie commented thoughtfully.

“So fate is essentially giving us soul mates, but with free will?” Matt said with what sounded like a sneer.

John could feel himself being stared at, and tore himself away from looking out at Bruce’s strained dance. The Reverend Overfield was staring at him a little too intently. John had the feeling he’d said something wrong; there was a definite dislike sitting in that subtle expression. Not that he cared – the guy was weirding him out anyway. “Aaany-who, this has been a fun diversion and all, but I’ve got a brooding billionaire-playboy in desperate need of some livening up - I’m sure I’ll see you all around!”

He gave a little wave to the group as he made his way back to the ballroom floor, hearing Jackie’s little call of good luck as he plopped the empty shrimp-glass onto a passing waiter’s tray.

John didn’t need luck. He had Bruce squarely in his sights, and navigating around the various tuxedos and shiny gowns was nothing compared to dodging punches and stray bullets.

Judging by the look on Bruce’s face as he spun slowly around on the dance floor with the pretty young thing that had dragged him there, John figured Bruce would rather be in his favorite suit, dancing to a very different tune.

 [B1]My answer to TikTok!

*~*~*~*~*

Notes:  ...now, I know what you’re thinking. Yes, that’s where I’m cutting this chapter off. Yes, you don’t get to see The Dance I teased you with yet. But it took well over my original time-limit to finish this with all the Tiffany-John bonding and various developments I’d been planning for ages! I always seem to go “yeah I can do this large amount of development in a short amount of time nbd” and then forget that when I flesh out ideas, I pull all the stops to make sure they flow with the story right and it takes foreeeevvverrr. So, as I sorta predicted, our Big Gala Saturday is split into 2 parts! So you’ll have to wait a liiiittle while longer to see The Dance...s. But we’ll get to see Brucie next time! It’s gonna be one hell of a night... >:3c

John is just a barrel of fun to write once I get into the rhythm! Having him bond with Tiffany was a great challenge, and I managed to check off soooo much of my wishlist. Jackie Lant’s return! John choosing his “name”! The fun inclusion of the famous Bat Pole! John and Tiff bonding through their investigation and getting a selfie out of it! Ahhhh!!! I’d been planning having him grapple Tiffany out of the way of that van for months! What fun!!! 

Writing John with Selina was tough, though, because part of me knows he’d love to just deck her in the face out of undealt-with jealousy re: Bruce, but I had to remind myself that for all his similarities, this isn’t a S2!John Doe. This is an evolving John “the player” can control, and naturally I get to choose the shape he takes in his chrysalis. Our boy is doing his damnedest to keep his violent impulses in check as he grapples with reality and grows to truly care for people outside of Bruce like the recovering patient he is. He’s come a long way in such a short time! ;w;

I’m hoping I can finish and upload the next part by my birthday. So fingers crossed I’ll upload in the next 6 weeks! Please comment, kudos, and subscribe/bookmark to help charge the muse! (And reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated!)

PS -  I couldn’t NOT reference @fractualized​‘s Free John Doe series! If you haven’t read it yet, check it out! :D

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Enchantress

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

I really feel bad for Enchantress. Like, she has such a cool design, she has such a cool concept, and Suicide Squad just does diddly squat with her. Part of it is obviously the jarring tonal clash of having a bunch of relatively normal criminals going up against a superpowered demon witch for their first mission, part of it is the awful writing for her holding her back, and all of it adds up to a disappointing mess that continued the proud DCEU trend of having dull, unengaging generic doomsday villains (a trend that wouldn’t truly be broken to any great extent until the release of Aquaman).

Actor: Cara Delevingne portrays the wicked witch of the DCEU, but sadly she doesn’t really get to showcase her acting chops here. Enchantress does nothing but writhe around like a Wacky Waving Inflatable Arm Flailing Tube Man, and June Moone is just a satellite character at best. She doesn’t bring anything to this role, but at the very least I can say the fault here much more squarely lays upon the shoulders of the writers, unlike with Jared Leto where it was clearly his suckiness that was ruining things.

Motivation/Goals: So, Enchantress discovers people don’t worship or even know who she is anymore, and instead worship machines. So, she decides to do the logical thing: build a giant magitek doomsday weapon to wipe out all technology, all while doing weird interpretive dance. Yeah, our villain is a demonic Luddite womanchild who hates that people aren’t paying attention to her and so throws an epic temper tantrum. Wonderful.

Personality: She’s crazy, selfish, and entitled, but really, the most we get from her is very surface-level observations, as she’s not really characterized all that well. There’s not much to even talk about here, becsue even what could normally be gleaned from watching a film like this is contradicted – she treats her brother like an expendable mook for the entire film (which he is, to be fair), but then when he dies she seems actually upset, and actually begs to be killed so she can be with him again. This comes so out of nowhere and flies in the face of how she’s been this whole movie that it feels like a flaccid attempt at pity for her than anything. It doesn’t help that Incubus isn’t exactly much of a character himself.

Final Fate: Flag kills her by crushing her heart, meaning she actually does get to go and be with her brother in the pile of dead, crappy villains.

Final Thoughts & Score: Enchantress just does not work in the confines of this film. Like, at all.

The whole entire concept of the movie is that the Suicide Squad is a black ops group of criminals roped by Amanda Waller to do the dirty work heroes can’t do. None of these criminals are so-called metahumans, save for Diablo. Most everyone here is just a regular person with really good skills in their respective fields, be that assassin (Deadshot), escape artist (Slipknot), boomerang-themed bank robber (Captain Boomerang), or clown (Harley). Now, when you look at this group, do they seem at all like the kind of group who, on their very first mission, one where they do not know each other and frankly can’t stand each other, should be going up against a magical, apocalyptic interdimensional witch demon and her army of zombies? Does that make any sort of sense?

Like I’m all for mashup movies but I really think something like this should have been saved for a sequel, perhaps after building up Enchantress more, giving her more of a character, and have her actively helping the Squad. As it stands, she comes off as a weak, generic, underwritten villain, and it’s a real shame, because her design and concept are top notch (at least until the final confrontation). On paper, she seems a really cool villain, but she’s just not a cool villain the Suicide Squad should be facing, and so she just comes off as an overwhelmingly large threat to a ridiculous degree. This movie is like what you’d get if you asked the Paw Patrol to take down SPECTRE; narratively, it could happen, but should it happen? Would it really be cool and satisfying? It hurts even more because the Joker is, like, right there, and I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say I would have loved to see Jared Leto get his face beat in.

As it stands, Enchantress is just an absolute tonal mess who does not fit the movie she’s in at all. She’s a ridculously powerful superhuman physical god in a movie about a bunch of jerks without superpowers being sent on a black ops government mission, and she just doesn’t gel with it at all. Ultimately she gets a 2/10, though I will say this: she doesn’t fill me with revulsion to the same degree Jared Leto’s Joker does, even if she has the same score. At least her design and the idea behind her are cool, and her actress seems like a nice person, which is more than can be said for Leto’s Joker and Leto himself, generally speaking. I really think Enchantress should have been saved for a sequel and been built up more, but I suppose nothing can be done about that now.

I really can’t stress enough though how much I love Enchantress’ design, though. It’s just so cool, and kinda hot in that evil stringy-haired ghost girl kind of way. Though the less said about that weird form she takes at the end, the better…

...Yeah. No. Maybe it doesn’t look so bad in a still screenshot, but in the film it is such awkward and terrible CGI it makes Delevingne look like a living bobblehead amd swan dives right into the uncanny valley. Give me the creepy witch demon, thank you very much.

That actually reminds me, there’s actually another villain related to Enchantress in Suicide Squad, though one who I really don’t think warrants his own review. So for the first time, we’re having a Two-For-One Analysis! This one’s gonna be quick because there’s not much to talk about, but still, get ready for...

Psycho Analysis: Incubus

Enchantress has a brother. I feel the need to say this because you probably forgot this guy even existed, which I think tells you almost all there is you need to know about him. Still, I decided I’m doing this, so I’m at least going to try and be fair here.

Actor: So the only reason I even bring up that he has an actor – Alain Chanoine is his name – is because I thought for the life of me this guy was just a big, ugly CGI creation. I didn’t even remember this guy speaking until I looked it up. That’s how little is brought to the table by his actor, but at the very least I don’t really blame him, because what exactly could he do with a character like this?

Motivation/Goals: He’s basically just assisting his sister. He really doesn’t have much more to him than that, he’s just the muscle.

Personality: So here’s his defining feature: His lack of personality. This guy hardly talks, hardly contributes to the plot, and just exists as an excuse for some fight scenes and to kill El Diablo, who dies heroically sacrificing himself. This guy is just so dull I forgot he was in this movie until I started writing the bit on his sister, and then decided maybe it would be good to just toss him in as a bonus.

Final Fate: El Diablo turns into a giant flaming Aztec skeleton (for… some reason) and fights him off, and then they blow him up with a bomb. Yeah, this ancient demon dies to a bomb, which is especially egregious since he takes worse in earlier scenes. Then again, a pathetic, stupid end to a pathetic, stupid villain is pretty much fitting for this guy.

Final Thoughts & Score: I already think that Enchantress was wasted in Suicide Squad, and if I think that, I feel it doubly for Incubus. This guy barely got to speak or do anything before unceremoniously being killed in an absolutely ridiculous way. Why was he even in the movie? It’s not like he’s a really famous villain to begin with. Why even bother using him if you’re just gonna dump all over him as a character like this? Like yeah, sure, he’s obscure and not a big name, but that’s the point of a movie like this: you should be taking these obscure villains and turning them into something memorable for the audience, so that they become household names. Look at villains like Ego or Thanos or Mysterio; they’re more villains that the comic book savvy would recognize on sight, and not what I would call household names like, say, Green Goblin or Joker or Magneto. But their movies helped elevate them to become truly iconic and well-known and well-regarded among even more casual fans. Here, though? They did the exact opposite somehow. They managed to make an obscure character so forgettable and pointless I forgot he was in the damn movie.

Incubus gets a 1/10, but obviously he’s not worse than Malekith. At the very least Incubus is just a crappy minor antagonist and not the main threat of the movie; his narrative function is basically as an elite mook serving his sister. He sucks, yes, but it’s hard to muster up the sheer revulsion I feel for a travesty like Malekith. There was just a lot less going for this guy in the first place, so when he failed to deliver, I wasn’t really surprised.

[harley-quinnn]

Not My Daddy

Joker x  Reader 

Prompt from @lady-of-lies: Well harley, I'm feeling for a x teen!reader (14-15) were she picks the jokers interest (being a master pick-pocket/gymnast or smt) since she has no one else to look after her joker kind of takes her in? Maybe something with the reader wanting to make a name for herself and joker helping her with all she needs to know? And maybe rewarding her with her very first tattoo or hair dye etc? You can make it into separate fics if you want! Have fun! And oh harley? Go crazy!!!

{A/N} I hope you like it! This gave me such “The Professional” vibes and I loved it! If you haven’t seen it, definitely watch it! I will probably add to this as a series of one shots once I get my other requests finished! <3 xo Harley

Warnings: Murder, violence, violence toward a minor for like 3 seconds, kidnapping (sort of?), tattooing of minor, guns. While there isn’t any real suggestive speaking, I left it kind of open to your own interpretation. 

I sat on the stoop of my apartment building. My parents were nowhere to be found as usual, and I had nothing else to do today. Even if I did, I probably wouldn’t do it, anyway. I took a lazy haul off of the cigarette I bummed from an older kid in apartment 48B with no thought other than needing to get the hell out of the place I was at.

My eyes landed on the usual sights before me, cars driving by, people and kids walking with either no direction or a very important place to be. I might’ve been young, but I was cynical. You don’t grow up in the lifestyle I did without knowing the darker side of life.

The cherry at the end of my smoke lit up bright orange as inhaled, but just beyond that, a man in a dark purple trench coat with bright green hair and pale white skin caught my eye. He was barking orders at another man in a suit. I rolled my eyes. What a sight to see. But I recognized him, and I recognized him immediately. The man in the suit had been to my apartment on more than one occasion, waving around a gun and reminding my dad about the money he owed him. I didn’t care enough to pay attention to the rest. When they walked up to the steps of my building, they both looked down at me with different expressions on their faces. The man in the suit cocked a brow. The man with the ice cold stare wore a blood red smile. My skin crawled at the sight. He was terrifying, but still, something about him interested me. I saw a lot of abnormal shit every day, but he was not something I saw every day.

“What do you creeps want?” I asked, rather unbothered.

“You’re {Y/N}, aren’t you?” The man in the suit inquired right back. “J, this is his kid.”

“Oh, now, now, Frost, we don’t ask our payment questions, do we? No, no, no, no… No, money talks all on its own..” The man in the trench coat seemed to purr before snapping his head to look in Frost’s direction “Grab her.”

“Hey! What fuckin’ gives?!” I dropped my cigarette and fought, trying to push back against the man who was now dragging me into my apartment building and up the stairs.

“He’s not home! I don’t even know where he is, but you won’t find him.”

“Shut up, kid,” Frost rasped, almost pulling my arm out of the socket as we reached the 3rd floor.

“Your daddy’s been making some bad business deals.. Now he gets to reap what he sows, and I get to take something of his…”

“He’s not my daddy,” I spat, rolling my eyes as I was being thrust through my front door. “He’s just the sperm donor that got me here.”

They got a good laugh out of that, but I was serious as a heart attack. My dad was swine. They always said a girl could only trust her dad, but I couldn’t even do that. All he ever did was put us in danger. As I evaluated my situation.. Well, case and point. I wasn’t scared, nothing scared me anymore. But I wasn’t prepared to be held for ransom, I had other stuff to do, like hang out with my friends. My dad didn’t have the money he was looking for, I knew this because I overheard him drunkenly screaming at my mom about it just last night before she packed a bag and left.

They walked through my apartment guns blazing, shooting into rooms aimlessly and tearing holes into the already shabby furniture, all the while toting me along with them.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are….” The man in the trench coat cooed, the grin on his face never faltering as he approached my parents room.

Frost kicked the door open, firing another shot into the open air. There was no stirring, but they pushed onward.

“Maybe he isn’t here, boss,” Frost said, furrowing his brow and loosening his grip on me.

“I told you, he left this morning!” I griped, only to be met with a chilling slap to the cheek from Frost.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t used to the abuse already from my own parents, but it didn’t make the sudden contact any less painful as I placed a hand to my temple. These people were strangers, and I was still a stupid punching bag.

“Don’t be silly,” the other man said, making his way to the closet.

He turned to face us, his hand to reach the sliding door. He extended each finger agonizingly slow, placing it against the wood. When his palm was flush with the door, he began to pull it open. There he was, my trembling, pathetic father.

“I knew we’d meet again,” the grinning man said, feigning a sad expression next for just a split second.

“Joker, man, I don’t… I don’t have your money!” My dad cried, sounding far too frightened than even I expected.

It was then that I realized exactly who these people were. The Joker and his right hand, Jonny Frost. I’d read about them in the paper and heard about them on the streets. The darker side of me admired them. While they were criminals, they seemed to take out all the other bad guys in their way, too.

“Blah.. blah… blah…. Bullshit. I gave you two extra days, {Y/L/N}. And you, took advantage of my kind spirit..”

“Please,” my dad begged as The Joker pulled him out of the closet. “One more day, one more! Then it’s all yours, the money is all yours.”

“Ah…. Hmm…” The Joker seemed to ponder his offer before grinning wide. “No dice. Frost, do me the honor..”

And with that, my dad’s brain painted the wall behind him. I was in shock at the sight, though not exactly hurt. I suddenly wished I had the cigarette they knocked out of my hand earlier.

“I thought we were gonna take the kid for the money,” Frost complained.

“I needed more fun than that, more.. More adrenaline!” He roared, throwing the last word out as though it were the most fun he’d ever had, and Frost only sighed and shook his head.

Typical yes-man behavior, I assumed.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” The Joker asked me next, turning around and stepping closer.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I retorted, wincing slightly at the sight behind him again.

“Oh! Feisty... Tell me... are you good for anything?” The Joker asked again.

I thought about what he was saying. Surely he wasn’t trying to take advantage of me, but I had no idea what else he would have meant. After a moment, another thought popped into my head, and since I suddenly found myself completely alone in the world, I thought I’d try my luck at something I’d wanted for a while.

I picked another cigarette from the inside of my combat boot, popping it between my lips and lighting it with a lighter that was laying on my parents bed.

“I can pick locks, pick pockets, lie well and I’ve been in gymnastics since I was five.”

The Joker lifted his non existent brows in a mixture of surprise and being impressed, his blue eyes shifting to Frost’s.

“Oh, and I suppose you think I’ll need a master.. pick pocket,” he spat before bubbling with the same twisted laughter he was known for and quickly settling down again. “I have no use for you.”

I tilted my head, my eyes on his gaze for a moment as I tried to formulate my next response. I didn’t want to be tied down from one shit family to another, and now, he was my only shot at some kind of consistency- whether that was criminal or not. I always wanted to be something more… Being tied to these people would provide me that. Maybe I’d see myself on the news one day.

“The least you could do is bring me with you. You just shot my dad in cold blood,” I said matter of factly, taking a drag off of my cigarette like some kind of adult. “Besides, people would trust me. I’m an innocent face. No one knows who I am. They’d all recognize either of you two, I’m sure.” I looked The Joker up and down.

There was no missing him. Everything about him could be picked out of a crowd. He was unique, and while I liked that, I used it to my advantage in this situation.

“She’s got a point, boss,” Frost mused.

“Of course I do. I don’t talk for my health,” I replied.

The Joker laughed, a hearty laugh that I hadn’t yet heard out of him. I knew then that I had him truly impressed.

“I can’t ignore someone who’s not afraid to talk back to Mister Frost here…” he drew out, eyeing me carefully as my eyes drifted back to my father slumped over on the floor.

“Let’s go,” was all he said, and I was being swept back under Frosts grip and dragged out of my apartment. I stumbled back down the stairs and to the middle of the sidewalk, in plain view of anyone who may have passed by.

“Show me what you got,” The Joker demanded placing a gun into my hand, his eyes shifting around the street before disappearing with Frost to an alleyway behind me.

Sure, I could’ve run. I could’ve run for my life and found something better. I could’ve turned around and shot them both and saved the city from their horrid antics. But being a prospect to none other than The Joker was a little exciting, and lord knows my life hadn’t had any of that in a long time. I was young, but I was already as good as messed up.

Instead, I tossed my cigarette and shrugged my shoulders a few times as I placed the gun under the waistband of my skirt and let my hair out of the messy bun it was in. I tousled it a few times as a man approached me in passing, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Hey, ‘scuse me, mister,” I called out innocently, and he turned around. “I was trying to find the grocery store and got lost, do you think you can give me directions to 4th?”

He deemed me harmless and nodded, making his way back toward me and pulling up the directions on the iPhone’s screen. I peeked at the alley, seeing them both lingering with their eyes dead set on my every move.

As the man began to explain, I gingerly slipped my hand into his pocket.

“Uh-huh.. Oh, so when I get to Park, I have to go where?” I asked again, quickly but carefully grabbing his wallet and shoving it into my sleeve.

“Oh, so I don’t turn left here?” I asked again, pointing with my other hand as I reached back into his other pocket, pulling out what felt like a pack of cigarettes and a small box.

When I was done, I stepped back, giving my best pageant girl grin and batting my eyelashes.

“Gee, thanks mister. I would’ve been terribly lost otherwise,” I expressed gratefully.

“No problem, kid,” he said, turning back and walking away again.

“Oh, hey! By the way!” I called out to him again.

The moment the man turned around, I pulled out the gun and shot him dead between the eyes.

“Those were the wrong directions, jackass.”

I shoved the gun back onto my hip, and calmly walked back into the alley way. After a few moments, people began to swarm the scene before us. We all watched, not a word said between any of us. I pulled out my findings, examining his wallet, clad with three hundred dollars, a driver's license and some credit cards. The pack of cigarettes wasn’t my brand but I’d smoke anything at this point, and then the box. I opened the tiny box slowly, revealing the biggest carat diamond I’d ever seen in my life. My face lit up in awe, and I gasped softly. Before I knew it, The Joker ripped it from my hand, and shoved it into his pocket.

“He won’t be needing that anymore.. Looks like {Y/N} here let him off the hook!”

“That was mine!” I whispered loudly.

“Not anymore,” he said sternly, and I sighed and leaned against the brick wall. A few more moments passed in silence as the police rolled up to the scene before us.

“You’re in,” was all Frost said, and without another word from either of them, I was being dragged down the alley and into an SUV.

The ride was quiet, too, and once we arrived I was being, once again, dragged into a large warehouse.

“Seriously, I’m not going anywhere, I don’t know why you need to keep dragging me along.”

“We’re not exactly the trusting type, sweet cheeks,” Frost said as he pulled out a chair and pushed me down in it, grabbing my wrist and cuffing me to the nearby table.

“Cool…” I said, looking down at my wrist in annoyance.

When it was certain I was going nowhere, The Joker turned around, giving me a large smile and turning his cheek just slightly.

“Whoop-de-doo… You’re not entirely useless!” He roared again. “But I highly doubt you’re trained enough to be a killer… beginners luck.”

He cracked his neck, a sensual look on his features as though it felt a little too good.

“I’ve watched my dad gun people down and wrap them up in rugs for years. Guess it just transferred.”

I heard Frost chuckle from the corner of the room, and The Joker’s eyes immediately shot to him, shutting him up entirely.

“After a little.. training, I’m sure you could be better..” he trailed off, getting lost in thought.

“What’s in it for me?” I asked, my cuff rattling against the leg of the table.

He eyed me, completely silent. Something told me he wanted to let me under his skin, if even just a little, but he didn’t know how. I didn’t expect one of the highest profile criminals to have a heart, anyway.

“What do you want?” He growled.

I never wanted much. In fact, I didn’t expect him to even ask. I had nothing.

“I like tattoos. And hair dye. And cigarettes.”

He laughed, drawing out each “ha” as though it were all just too much.

“Fine… Training starts in an hour… Do good, and we’ll see. Do bad… and I won’t have any reason to keep you around.”

His voice was dark and gravely, the gruffness not something I was used to. He grabbed a black jacket from another chair and walked toward a door that led deeper into the warehouse.

“Watch her,” was all he said to Frost in the open air as he disappeared.

After a while of radio silence, Frost finally spoke.

“So you weren’t exactly mommy and daddy’s favorite, were you? I bet you gave them a hell of a time.”

“My dad wanted a boy. My mom didn’t want me at all.”

“Poor thing,” he said sarcastically, snorting at what would be anyone else’s misfortune.

“It doesn’t bug me. It taught me to be self sufficient early. Kids my age, they can hardly wipe their own asses.”

He snorted again, shaking his head.

“You really got a twisted way of seeing shit, kid.”

“Isn’t that why you guys gave me a shot?” I asked incredulously before the familiar slow laugh rang through the large, empty room as The Joker appeared again.

“Clever, clever, clever….”

“Are you finally gonna uncuff me?” I asked.

“When I need to, I will,” he said sternly, nodding to Frost, who immediately moved to uncuff me from the table.

When he was done, I rubbed my wrist, a slight frown on my lips. He simply smiled.

“If you’re going to be anything out here in this city, you’re going to need a cleaner getaway than shooting a man and high tailing it into an alley…”

And with that, he turned around, gesturing for me to follow him.

As we walked, he explained to me that it was better to vanish than to hide just feet away from the scene of the crime, unless it was still in the early stages where no one knew who I was. He explained various weapons, what he liked them for and how to use them. And once we reached our destination deeper within the warehouse, I saw a collection of things that looked like they belonged to a woman. There were shoes and jewelry, hats and jackets. Everything was red and blue or red and black, and most everything was surrounded by some kind of weapon.

I immediately scanned through everything visible, sizing up what I could steal for my own without him noticing. I’d always had a thing for the shiny and the expensive. Once he turned his back on me, I quickly and quietly got to work. He went on about the proper way to kill a man with nothing more than a joke and a few mind games, and I snuck around the room, taking everything I wanted and could hide on my person.

I found my place just before he turned around, my lips curving into a smile to match his as I pretended to agree with everything he said. A silence hung in the air before he sat down in a large chair and cracked his knuckles.

“The choker, the bracelets, the credit card, the diamond necklace and the engagement ring from my pocket. You’re going to have to be stealthier than that, sweetheart,” he grinned, his tone like a sweet venom as he opened his hand to take back the things I’d stolen.

I rolled my eyes. Of course he knew. I was too predictable, but with his help, I knew I’d be as wonderfully unpredictable as the best of them. I emptied my boots and pockets into his hand. It wasn’t until I placed the switchblade and the white gun into his slender, tattooed fingers that his entire expression changed.

“Well, well, well… We have a true violent streak after all, don’t we? You took those without my realizing..”

“So what’s my prize?” I asked, my hands on my hips.

He eyed me, clearly uncertain of what I was after. Then, there was a glint in his eye.

“How’s about a tattoo, {Y/N}?”

I couldn’t contain the childish excitement that forced its way to the forefront of my features.

“Yes! Finally!”

He didn’t make another sound. Instead, he stood from the chair and moved to a table in the corner.

“You know,” I said, letting my guard down a little. “I always kinda thought you were cool.”

I walked up beside him cautiously, running my finger over the dusty table. He seemed to tense up, though he didn’t speak a word.

“I wanted to do what you do. Rob banks and kill people. Mostly just the bad ones, though.”

“Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to do bad things?” He asked sarcastically, pulling little pots of ink from a drawer, along with a tattoo gun that looked like it had seen better days.

The side of the tattoo gun, had “H+J” etched into it. I wondered who H was as I scoffed at his question.

“He’s not my daddy... But you could be better than him to me,” I paused, briefly unsure of what I even meant. “My father was a piece of shit. But you.. you’re cooler. More fearless. You get what you want. When you want it. How you want it.”

My eyes absorbed his expression, noticing something change in his face for just a split second after I spoke. I didn’t have to be an adult to know whatever I said had struck something in him.

“Sit down…” He rasped, pointing to a chair beside him that seemed to have been painted in blood at one point.

I did as I was told. I moved the chair to sit down across from him, bearing my wrist and pushing my bracelets up further along with my jacket sleeve.

“What can I do for ya…?” He inquired only, his eyes wide with insanity, and his ruby grin even wider.

Something in me wanted to pay tribute to my new found freedom, even if I found it under the command of a new face. I wanted to pay homage to him, for helping me escape what I considered to be a hell hole. Even though he held up a wall between letting me in as his protege completely, unsure of just how to handle someone so young who packed such a punch, I didn’t care.

“I want the card suits. You know, spade, diamond, club-“

“Heart,” he finished for me, his voice gruff. “I know the deal.”

He flashed his knuckles in my direction, wiggling his fingers slowly; each knuckle bearing the same thing I’d just asked for. I gave a tight-lipped smile, nodding once. I had no idea what kind of pain I was going to be in for, but I knew at this point, nothing could phase me.

The needle hitting my skin, leaving little black lines, was exhilarating. It was such a burning, blissful pain that I wasn’t even sure how to handle it. I watched as he worked away, drawing each suit just as I asked. I scrunched my nose a few times, chewed on my lower lip even more, the pain enough to get me to cringe. But once it was over, he wiped away my blood and leaned back in his chair.

I looked at my wrist, happy with my new permanent dedication to my new life. It seemed so perfect; it felt so fitting. Small traces of blood seeped to the surface of each jet black pattern in my skin, and I couldn’t have been happier. There was no concealing the grin I wore as my eyes met his. He opened his arms wide before placing them behind his head slowly.

“Don’t say I never gave ya anything….”

[thatbluegibson]

CH 58

The remaining weeks dragged by with both Liz and Dave immersed in their commitments. When Dave wasn’t at rehearsals, he was in the studio with Josh listening to the Vulture’s B-sides, jamming and woodshedding towards workable material. Liz had finished her dance lessons and was busy with the script details, reading and reworking her lines, building and researching her character and racing back and forth to costume fittings that had been moved to Portland for her convenience. They somehow fell into a steady routine of texts and brief phone calls, just enough contact to feel connected, but not nearly enough to dull the ache of missing each other. 

Liz made a point to wear whatever Foo Fighters merch she had whenever she knew she would be photographed, purposefully overkilling it with a FF tour shirt and hoodie when she was invited to a Hollywood Vampires show. She had taken her father as her date and he had worn his well loved Nirvana shirt, purchased in January 1994 when he had taken Liz to see the biggest music phenomenon since The Beatles. The look on Johnny’s face when he saw Liz and her father backstage almost made her feel bad, he had invited her after all, but she wanted to be very clear about where her affections lay.  

Dave had saved every paparazzi picture of her to his phone, looking back on them when he felt the urge to book a ticket to see her. She wore the same slight smile in every photo, one that rebuffed every question that was flung at her. Yes, he was still in her life even though they were thousands of miles apart. The questions flung at him, however, were a bit more intrusive and it took an exhausting amount of energy to keep himself from shoving an insanely expensive camera up these ill-mannered cameramen’s asses. How low does someone have to be to ask a man what his girlfriend is like in bed in front of his children? He remained poised and dignified, but was in the process of hiring more security to quell the onslaught. 

*

Dave squinted down at his phone, trying to read the headline notification in the dimly lit parking lot. Liz had already left for England that afternoon, calling him from the airport to let him know that the studio had swung for a private jet and that she and Johnny would be stuck in a ‘fucking beer can together for twelve hours, so don’t be surprised if you hear he’s been murdered’ as she so eloquently put it. They ended the call with her making him laugh, a ‘miss you’ and ‘see you soon’, though Dave knew he wouldn’t be able to set foot on British ground until May and April was just beginning. His phone read that Liz had been spotted at LAX, but that couldn’t be right. She said she was going to Heathrow straight from Portland. There must have been an editing error…

“Hey!” Josh jogged across the parking lot from the line of bikes where a crowd had formed, “You have to come see this bike, man.”

Dave ashed his cigarette and followed him over, weaving his way through the leather vests and helmets to where Josh’s tall frame stood above the rest of the crowd. He looked over the bike in front of them while Josh practically giggled with excitement. “It’s a 1921 stock HD,” he explained and looked around, “never been touched and the chick that rode it in is a fucking stone fox.”

Dave admired the bike’s fairly pristine condition and wondered if it was a barn find when he heard her laugh through the crowd. She had that loud, melodic, unrestrained and genuine laugh that was almost a rarer find in LA than the bike in front of him. He turned towards the sound and spotted her a few feet away with her back to him, surrounded by several people in matching leather vests as they gradually made their way towards the back door of the bar.

Josh followed his stare and nodded to her. “Yeah, that’s her. She rode up on this. She’s a babe as is, but with this bike? God damn.”

“She’s… she’s something,” Dave said quietly. He recognized her leather leggings, high top Vans and cropped leather jacket from the night he met her, though she was wearing a loose white shirt this time. She walked with the small group of men in leather vests letting them go inside without her while she hesitated at the back door.

“Dude, she’s alone. Go talk to her into going home with you,” Josh nudged him with his elbow.

“I don’t know, man,” he tried to hide a smile as he watched her tap out a text on her phone, “She seems like she’d kick my ass just for suggesting it.”

“Fuck, dude,” Josh pinched a cigarette between his lips and lit it, “A girl that hot? I’d pay her to kick my ass.”

Dave felt his phone buzz in his pocket and before he fully realized what he was doing, started towards Liz. She was still engrossed in whatever was on her phone screen, not bothering to look up until he was almost on top of her. Her face broke into an elated smile in the split second before he shoved her against the brick wall and kissed her. She giggled happily against his lips, gasping when he pinned her against the cold brick with his upper body. He whispered to her between kisses, I missed you, so much, I missed you. He had only meant to surprise her, kiss her quickly and then ask what the hell she was doing in LA, but the moment she put her arms around him all he could think about was getting her out of there and to the nearest bed or backseat. Damnit, why didn’t he drive the van? She was all dark red hair, vanilla chapstick, leather and skate shoes, and she was all over him. She tangled her fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck and it all felt remarkably similar to the night at the Roxy when he kissed her behind the equipment boxes.

“Let the poor girl breathe, Dave!” Josh yelled from the row of bikes in the parking lot.

Dave felt Liz’s right hand leave his neck, probably to flip Josh off, but she pulled away from him anyways.

“You’re supposed to be somewhere over Canada right now,” he whispered, still holding her head in his hands.

“The studio wanted a meeting in LA before we left, so I’m here until tomorrow night,” she looked unsure, as if he wouldn’t be completely thrilled that she managed to swing some time with him.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked. He had called Josh after talking to Liz, afraid to be alone with his thoughts while knowing she was trapped in such close quarters with Depp. 

Liz blushed a little and looked down at her shoes, “Taylor helped me out.”

Dave grinned at the thought of Liz and his best friend planning all this behind his back and leaned in to kiss her again, but she pressed her hands against his chest to stop him. 

“I’m gonna go so you can hang out with your friends, but I just wanted to see you before I left,” she whispered and tried to side step away.

“You just got here,” he quickly moved to grab her hips in case she made a break for it. If she was going to leave, he was going with her and fuck everyone else.

Liz looked over his shoulder as another group of motorcycles rumbled into the parking lot, momentarily pausing to stare at a stunned Josh, “No, I should really go,” she forced a smile, “My flight isn’t until nine so I can see you tomorrow if you’re free.”

“Please stay” he leaned down and softly kissed her neck, smiling when she whined at the feeling.

“Dave, it’s the Rainbow,” she sighed, more out of pleasure than annoyance, “No one wants their girlfriend lurking about here.”

“Do you think I have a herd of groupies in there waiting for me?” he leaned back a little to see her face.

Liz shrugged, “I don’t know what you get up to when I’m not around!” she laughed when he glared at her. “Fine. I’ll stay for one beer. One.” She held her finger up in his face to drive her point home, but Dave shoved her hand away and kissed her again while running his hands down her sides to feel her pockets for her keys. Finding them tucked into her jacket, he shoved them into the front of his jeans before unceremoniously pushing away from her and walking towards the bar’s back door.

“Honestly David, that’s not much of a deterrent,” she called after him before he disappeared into the dark doorway. She leaned back against the wall again to catch her breath and maybe warn Andy that she would be staying longer than originally planned.

“So do you two know each other or is that how I should introduce myself as well?” Josh called from his spot further away.

“I’d say it’s my preferred greeting method, but I’m scared to death of your wife,” she replied and finished her text to Andy, looking up when he came closer to her.

Josh exhaled sharply in a laugh, blowing smoke from his cigarette above his head, “Yeah, I’m scared of her too. Mean as hell, that one.”

Liz smiled, she liked Josh already, and held her hand out to him, “I’m Liz.”

“Ah, the muse I’ve heard so much about,” he shook her hand and ignored her raised eyebrow, “I’m Josh. So, doll,” Liz tensed at Josh’s endearment, “tell me how you came across that cherry over there.”

“It was my grandfather’s,” she replied, following his gaze out to her bike, “He was a big Harley fan.”

He narrowed his blue eyes at her, “And those guys you rolled up with? They with you?” Josh nodded to the line of bikes next to hers, all with club insignia on the gas tanks.

“Maybe,” Liz said quietly, wary of where this conversation was headed.

“And you are…?” he asked, tossing his spent cigarette to the pavement.

“Just the granddaughter,” she smiled and looked away, feeling like she was being tested. Most riders were aware of the Hell’s Angels, but only some were aware of her grandfather’s club and its contribution to bike culture.

Josh leaned an arm against the wall next to her, well aware that their close proximity was making her uncomfortable, “The Jokers have been through here.”

Liz’s eyes snapped back up to his. “That’s fine,” she lied. The old timers at the club house had warned her that the rival club was around when she had showed up to get Pop’s bike out of storage, but she had thought nothing of it. She wouldn’t be wearing anything to announce her affiliation with Pops and the club, but the standing club president would only let her go with the promise that she would take some of the younger club members with her, just in case. It had taken the better part of an hour to convince Andy that she could go to The Rainbow alone, so she was furious that eight members were on her tail the entire ride over. She tried to lose them at least three times, but the vintage Harley was no match for the newer models they were on. Fortunately, they were more interested in the beer and meeting the rock stars inside the bar than watching Liz make out with her boyfriend in the parking lot.

 *

A ripple of excitement moved through the crowd at the Rainbow, indicating someone noteworthy had arrived and was making their way towards the bar. Dave ignored the hushed whispers and continued to wait for the bartender when Josh casually strolled through the parted crowd with Liz under his arm.

“Asshole,” Dave laughed as Josh led Liz right past him.

“Any unattended female property will be claimed by me,” he yelled over Liz’s head.

Dave expected her to drive her elbow into Josh’s ribs, but she just shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and grinned at him.

With the beer finally acquired, Dave found them at a spot against the far wall. Liz was intently watching the people around her while Josh was engrossed in a conversation with a man that Dave vaguely recognized as a session drummer.

“You okay?” he asked her, handing her a bottle.

“Just fine,” she smiled, but it didn’t meet her eyes. He slipped his arm around her waist and felt her relax against him before turning to face him. “I feel bad that I crashed your night out. I really should go.”

“The only way you’re leaving is on the back of my bike” he laughed, but he couldn’t figure out why she was trying to get out of there so badly.

Liz snorted a laugh at that and took a quick drink, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I never ride bitch on a bike.”

He frowned, a little disappointed that she would never wrap her arms around him as they flew down the highway, but he would gladly take the second best option. Maybe they could go on a ride before she left for England, take the bikes out towards the desert and he could stare at her through his rear view mirror again.

“Dave!” Liz just about jumped out of her skin when a man yelled just feet away from them. “Long time no see!”

“Hey, man!” Dave released Liz to shake Paul Stanley’s hand. “Haven’t seen you in a while!” Really, it had only been a few hours. They had nodded to each other from their respective vehicles while picking up their kids from the same school.  

“We have a table over here!” Paul waved as an invitation to join him and led them to a large corner booth where several other people were sitting. The introductions went as most Hollywood ones do, an acknowledging nod that said, yes, I already know who you are, no need to tell me your name or what you do. The booth was full to the point that Eric Singer was practically falling out into the walkway, so Dave snagged a couple chairs from the wall and lined them up in front of the table. He set one close to Eric in hopes he would assume it was for him, biting back a smile when he took the bait.

“Thanks, man!” Eric called, stopping short when he saw Liz. “I know you.” 

She innocently shrugged and took a drink of her beer while Dave settled into the chair behind her. “I think we’ve met briefly, yeah.”

The realization spread across Eric’s face and he slapped the table loudly, earning the full attention of every one at the table. “You’re the one with the bar!”

Liz’s eyes darted around the table, completely embarrassed that everyone was now staring at her. “That’s me!” she said meekly, looking back at Dave when he tugged on her arm and quickly sat on his knee. 

“She owns the coolest little beach bar where Tommy’s got a place,” Eric explained to the rest of the table then laughed loudly. “Remember that night we got blackout drunk with Tommy and landscaped his house?”

Dave remembered Krist pointing out Tommy Thayer’s house while Liz shook her head. “I don’t recall much of that night, honestly,” she laughed. 

She fell into a conversation with Eric about Tommy and her little beach town while Dave casually ran his hand up her back between her leather jacket and shirt. He felt her shiver at his touch and watched as her knuckles turned white around her beer bottle. His fingertips made it to the base of her shoulder blade when he realized she had apparently been in such a hurry that she had forsaken her bra. She raised an eyebrow at him when he shifted her on his leg, fully realizing how long they had been apart by the way his body reacted to hers.

She leaned into him, only worsening matters when her lips brushed against his ear, “I’m only here for a few hours, Dave. I wasn’t about to spend any of it tangling with a fucking bra.”

Yep, he thought, leaning back to look around for an exit, that’s it. We’re leaving. If we hurry we might make it upstairs, otherwise the bathroom would have to be romantic enough for her.

Liz shifted her hips a little and her eyes darted down. “Wait... if that’s not... where are my keys?,” she murmured.

“So!” Paul leaned across the table, interrupting several different conversations that were happening around him and snapping Dave and Liz back to attention. “How did you two lovebirds meet?”

Liz, now aware that Dave was in distress, took initiative, “A mutual friend introduced us.” She leaned forward as if she were trying to hear Paul better and in the process positioned her ass right over the bulge in Dave’s jeans. His right hand slammed into her hip to hold her still, his fingers digging into her so hard that even through the leather leggings, she knew he was leaving a bruise. She feigned ignorance and continued speaking with Paul about her Oscar and the upcoming school fundraiser he and Dave were working on while occasionally wiggling her hips. Eventually a waitress appeared with a full tray, forcing Liz to sit upright so she could place the fresh drinks on the table.

“Liz, darlin',” she was surprised by Josh’s voice and glanced over to see that he had pulled up a chair next to Dave. “You can’t kill him right now. Everyone is going on summer festival tours and no one will make it to his funeral.”

“That’s fine,” she laughed and Dave groaned, his fingers tightening even further around her hip bone as she slid herself back to his thigh, “Taylor looks really good in black so everyone will be staring at him and not the lack of mourners.”

“I don’t know, doll,” Josh made a scene of looking her up and down, “You might give him a run for his money.”

“You wanna be my date?” she kept her eyes on Josh as she took a drink of her beer.

“God, yes,” he took her free hand and kissed her knuckles, “You can cry on my shoulder all you want, kitten.”

“Hey, assholes,” Dave finally said, making no attempt to hide his smile, “I’m right here.” He was relieved they were getting along so well. Josh could be incredibly intimidating with his brash humor and dry wit, but Liz had easily matched him.

“Right, right” Liz pulled her hand away from Josh to put it around Dave, kissing his forehead in the process, “Not in front of the corpse.”

“Lucky fucking stiff,” Josh grumbled with a grin and stood from his chair, shaking his head in mock defeat as he wandered off into the crowded bar.

Liz finished off her beer and pried Dave’s fingers off her hip so she could stand. He stared up at her with an exaggerated pout and she rolled her eyes.

“I said one beer and then I was leaving.”

“Then you shouldn’t drive,” he tugged on her arm, but she stood firm.

She was just about to throw a smart comment back at him when Josh burst back through the crowd and threw his arms around Liz. His eyes were wide and his voice was urgent, “You should tell me more about your bike!” he yelled and hurried her towards the back of the bar. Liz dutifully followed, looking back at Dave’s confused face that matched her own. She had to trot to keep up with Josh’s determined gait, sensing that whatever he was up to was in her best interest.

“Yo, brother!” a raspy voice echoed down the long hallway just as Josh and Liz reached the back door.

They both stared down at Josh’s tattooed and ringed fingers hovering over the door handle and listened to the heavy boot steps hurrying their way.

“Whoa! Who’s this little snack?”

Josh let out a long breath and squared his shoulders, catching Liz’s eye as he turned her around. She recognized something in his look, a silent plea to just go with it, stay cool, stay calm and she steeled herself against the unknown behind her.

“This is Liz,” Josh gently squeezed her, keeping his arm tightly around her shoulders.

She forced a smile at the man in front of her, one she recognized as a musician that traveled in the same orbit as Dave and Josh. He stared at her through red tinted glasses, clutching a generic canned beer and swaying on his steel toe boots. Liz could tell he had just arrived on a bike, the smell of gasoline tinged exhaust was strong on his denim vest and his fair hair was matted from his helmet.

“Well hello, little lady!” he drawled, dragging his eyes down her body as he took a long swig of his beer. “Brody’s going to kick your fucking ass,” he said to Josh as if Liz wasn’t there. “I’m Jesse,” his boot clicked on the parquet flooring as he stepped forward and offered his hand. She hesitantly shook it and roughly cleared her throat when he lifted her arm to kiss her wrist and eye her feather tattoo.

Josh gritted his teeth and adjusted his arm so that his hand was gripping the nape of Liz’s neck. “We were just headed for a smoke,” he said, his voice dripping with an underlying ‘fuck off’ tone, but Jesse was already too drunk to notice.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Jesse slurred, glancing behind him at the packed bar. He had turned just enough that Liz could see the back of his denim vest was covered in motorcycle club patches, a large green and white oval showcased in the center. Tunnel vision set in and she stepped out of Josh’s hold to get a better look. The patch portrayed a graveyard landscape in green embroidery. The foreground had a freshly dug plot and a man dancing happily atop it next to a bobber style motorcycle. In the background, a severed head was held aloft, green threaded blood dripping down towards the patch’s border and a line of men saluting with their middle fingers. Jack’s Jokers was in a bold script at the top, though the thread used there was black. The edge of Liz’s vision tinged a dark red and her fists balled up at her sides just as Josh threw both his arms around her and pinned her to the wall.

“Yeah, man!” Jesse cheered, misinterpreting Josh’s movements as amorous instead of preventative. He set off down the hallway, but called back as he reached the threshold to the bar, “Don’t wear her out, man! You know how much I love groupies!”

Liz felt a small, but distinct snap deep in her chest and she bounced a little in Josh’s arms. “Fuck you!” she screamed, wiggling her arm free to point a black fingernail at him.

Jesse stopped short and spun around, a menacing smile on his face. “Oooo… I like my women mean,” he shot back.

“Then you’re in luck, mother fucker,” she spat at him, only faintly aware of Josh whispering directly into her ear in an attempt to calm her down. “Cause I’m about to fucking kick your bitch ass all over this shit hole.”

“Are we going to have a fucking problem?” Jesse walked slowly back towards them, his eyes locked on Liz.

“We already have a fucking problem,” she glowered. “I’ll be out back.” She roughly shoved Josh’s arms away and kicked open the back door as hard as she could, sending the metal clanging against the cinderblock wall.

“Liz!” Josh ran after her, stopping her with an arm on the shoulder. “He’s a fucking asshole, okay? But you have to let this one go.”

“Fuck that guy!” Liz huffed, pointing back to the bar. Seeing that patch had thrown her into another dimension of anger. The club didn’t have a rival, per say, but her grandfather had evicted some men from the brotherhood citing a rumor that they were dealing under the club’s name. They then went on to found ‘Jack’s Jokers’ and mock her grandfather’s legacy, specifically by depicting him as a disembodied head with a desecrated grave for good measure.  The back door flew open again, making Josh and Liz jump. Several drunk men lined up against the wall and pulled out packs of cigarettes as Josh dragged Liz further into the dark back lot.

He held Liz’s arms and bent low so he was eye level with her. “I get why you’re pissed, but Jesse-“

They both looked over as Dave’s voice boomed across the dark parking lot. “Liz!” He sounded pissed.

[hellraiserdeano-blog]

Evil Has Always Lost Chapter 14: Epilogue

Lucifer charges back through the firey wall sliding infront of Dean Nose to nose, eye to eye "Well, it seems the boy wants to be a man" He backs up and removes his long back trench coat tossing it to the side "well, Dean, come on then" He smirk's as Dean Winchester pull's out the golden sword walking toward Lucifer as Lucifer runs at him Dean slices Lucifer down the middle much to the king of Hell's surprise before he fell to his knees, Chuck walked toward Lucifer a smirk on his face "Your arrogance led you to this moment, son" He says before crouching slightly "That sword wasn't ment to kill you, it was ment to null your power" He looks around the battlefield "and your allies have all lost, just like you, I'm sending you back to hell and everything will return to the way it was--peace on earth til judgement day" He turns to metatron "Will you, Do the honors my good man?" He smiles as Metatron pulls the type writer infront of him and begins to type. Lucifer screams as hes dragged back toward hells gate, the entire earth beginning to fix itself. the sky turns blue once more, buildings fix themselves, angels dragged to hell, Everything damaged being fixed as people cheered all believing in Gods Mircale. Dean and the other hunters are returned to normal, no longer glowing of a bright hue. Dean and Sam bid edgar Alan, Rudy, and Sam emerson a goodbye before turning toward the rest. Grant Mitchell look's around at the other hunters "Well, Mates, Its been fun. My boy, got to see his old man kick arse" Ge says as Phil Mitchell grumbles about being the first one killed Mark fowler jr. look's at Dean "This men of letters thing, you do this for a living?" he asks as Dean smiles "yeah" he replies as Mark Fowler Jr. extends a hand "Then thank you" Dean and sam shake his hand before the trio head for the Tardis. Luke Van Helsing look's at Dean then Sam "this isn't goodbye, this is just a brief departure" He hugs dean then Sam patting Sam's back "you finally stood up to the devil and lived, No one can say that" He pulls from sam then tilts his hat to them "I'll be catching you later" He walk's toward the Tardis. Dean Winchester look's at Sam Winchester "What are you looking like that for?" He say's as Sam Winchester snap's out of it "Nothing" He quickly affirms watching James Cook walk over to them "Lads! HAHA" he laughs stopping before them taking a long drag from his spliff "We did okay! yeah? The Men of Letters are fuckin' okay!" He look's back at the Tardis then at Dean "We have to do this again some time, matey's" He hugs Dean then turns walking toward the Tardis, Batman walks over to Dean and Sam looking at them "Dean, Sam, I guess this is goodbye" He says as Clark kent walked up to them "It's not goodbye, Bruce" He says as Batman turn's around "Listen here, kansas boy, you don't get to say it's not goodbye" He says as blue eyes stared back at Blue eyes. Clark Kent look's at Dean and Sam "Forgive my Friend, Bruce. He's always been a loner, This isn't good bye, its simply a seperation until the next big threat comes along--Oh, one more thing, If those british men of letters keep butting into our BUSINESS, then It won't be my fault what happens to them," He says fixing his tie as Batman stares at him "What? why are you staring at me?" He ask's as Bruce Wayne turns back to the Winchesters "If those British Men of letters poke their nose in gotham again, I'm afraid You won't be seeing them again" he holds out a hand to Dean Winchester who takes it and shakes it "You were an excellent partner against that Hockey masked freak, maybe one day we can do it again," Clark nudges Bruces rib as Bruce growls at him "AND be friends..." He says before turning and walking to the Tardis. Clark Kent look's at Sam Winchester then Dean "Statiscally, When you work as a team any thing is possible, Working solo--You might die" he tips his hat Sams way and walks away as Sam Winchester holds up hands defensively "Uh, i have no Idea what he's talking about Dean" He says as Dean look's at him "I'm pretty sure you do" he says before being interrupted by Clyde Barrows "Well, Boys it's time for me to head back to my pocket universe, do me a favour and wait a very very long time before you want my help" He put's the rifle in his coat then opens the portal and look's at Dean "Lucifer, wasn't so tough--I expected bigger" He hops inside the portal slamming shut behind him.  Dean Winchester look's at The Doctor who was walking their way "well, gentlemen, This is where we part way's. But," He look's between them a cunning smirk on his face "Does that mean theres never a meeting between us? We may part to seperate roads but, in the end all roads lead back to you" He look's back at the Tardis then at Dean "Sometimes, Having friends is more important than dying inside, We may lose our heart and we may fall apart," he look's into Dean Winchesters eyes "In the end friendship, love can rebuild us, We do not stay dead inside--In this vast universe there are brilliant people and there ARE sad people, But Dean you are not Dead inside, what happened to your mother was not yours, nor that 4 year old childs fault" He places both hands on Deans shoulders "It is time you Lived and didn't give a damn what any one says, Dean Winchester, Sam you do what needs to be done on your end but, out there, out here where I am I will do my part and protect this earth from the threat of the ever looming Evil that threatens it; This Is good bye for now, but not forever--Time Has no End" He turns snapping his fingers and heads for the Tardis. The Tardis disappears, Chuck Shurley and Metatron watched Dean and Sam before Metatron replies "What now?" He look's at Chuck, Chuck look's at metatron then at the Winchesters snapping his fingers. The Impala reappears infront of Dean and Sam, Metatron look's at him "Seriously? Your next is a Car? I fail to see the enj--" Chuck holds up a hand "You wouldn't understand, sentimental value, after all you are a scribe" He says as Dean walks around the Impala looking it over Sam looks annoyed at this "Dude, Just because it magically appears doesn't mean gawk at it like you wanna fuck it" He says as Dean look's back at him "just get in the damn car" He slides into the front seat as Sam Winchester climbs in and looks at Dean "Seriously? It hasn't even been 3 minutes and your aleady whispering sweet lovin's to it, Get a fuckin' room" He slams his car door causing Dean to sit up "Hey, Hey, you close that Door gently, we've been over this," He motions to his door "when in my baby you close her doors like you're making sweet sweet love to a girl, and when you are driving shot gun you shut your cakehole" He holds up a Cd much to Sam's dismay "No, No Dude, I--No you better not put that stupid CD in" He states as Dean pops in the CD and immdiately it plays AC/DC back in black "Back in black!" Dean sings as Sam covers his ears "Noooo!" He shouts before the impala speeds off with the song blairing loudly. Chuck Shurley tosses the spn book to Metatron "Hang on to it, But don't think you can alter it understand?" he warns as Metatron smiles "I wouldn't do that, you know that" He vanishes as Chuck Shurley turns toward A hiding Crowley "Oh, you came back? well, you're actually quite late in helping sam and Dean" He chides as Crowley pokes his head out from behind the tipped over truck "Oi! I was gonna bloody help! I just--I just had laundry that needed tended to personally, it is Bloody hard being King of hell with no god--Sorry, with no damn Help" He says as Chuck rub's his chin "Right, Right. So, you can help by fixing that strip club back up, these cars and get rid of the bodies here with a proper burial, Can't you?" he asks as Crowley just stared at him "what Do I bloody look like? A freakin' construction crpty ceeper!?" he shouts but Chuck had already vanished. Crowley curses him under his breath walking toward the bodies he hears Harley quinn crying up on one of the light posts "Oi! will you Bloody be quiet! Some people are trying to bury a good corpse!" He shouts as Harley Quinn glares at him "Fuck you! Fat ass! my Puddin; is dead!" She shrieks as Crowley turns away from her shrugging "Women, so Bloody animalistic" He walk's toward the first body he could see and look's down at it "so, you're the clown prince of crime eh? tough break, he bloody snapped your neck like a twig" He crouches down then holds out a hand "I'll just incenerate you and the rest, you won't mind will ya? I mean, you're pretty much dead any ways right?" His hand causes the ground to shake as Crowley look's up at Harley Quinn "If it's any consolation, Quinzel i'm going to give your 'sweetum's' a proper burial--by fire of course! AHAHA!" he begin's laughing then turn's toward the Joker's corpse when suddenly the Joker grabs his arm much to Crowleys Shock as Crowley falls on his ass his arm still held "Your neck--Its bloody broken!" He shout's as The Joker lift's up head down his eyes blank and dead stare into Crowleys eyes before he snaps his own neck back into place letting crowleys arm go, Harley Quinn squee's in excitement like a six year old seeing candy as The Joker begin's to smile the smile growing into a devilishly wide grin his metal teeth on full display before he brings his forearm to his mouth Crowley scurries backwards "Oh, you're a bloody freak! i'm out of here!" He disappears quickly as The Joker fall's back a chuckle escaping his throat, A laugh begins to form in his throat "AhahahahahahHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEHEHOHOHOHOHOHO! Batsy," he grin's looking to the sky "I'm comin' for you" He places his hand infront of his mouth.

The End.