#Batman (adding to his file): Go on…

[imnotditzy]

What if a Greek Chorus acted like Captain Marvel was the lead of their play?

What if a Greek Chorus chose Captain Marvel as the focus of their narration? This could be due to a magic mess up and now they’re stuck talking about The Champion for a while, but I’d like to think that they’re just extremely bored ghosts of prestigious Chorus members who have nothing better to do. Like all of a sudden they’re just haunting Billy and narrating whatever he’e doing in such a dramatized way.

Context for the post/Brief history lesson:

(Shortened version: A Greek Chorus is a group of people who act almost like narrators, speaking about the main elements or the takeaways throughout a play. They spoke in unison to carry their voices better. They had multiple ways to communicate the takeaways, this post focuses on speech and body movement.)

(Example)

*A media example are the muses from Disney’s Hercules. (Except the members of the Greek Choir don’t sing.)

—-

History lesson, done! Now onto the post.

—

Billy: sits down on his old mattress

Chorus: The young boy strew himself along as he perched upon his withered bed. The pesky jabs of fatigue and exhaustion’s claws bore at the young one as his body ceased to relent its constant shivers. 😔

(A few of the ghosts have their hands on their foreheads like they’re about to faint, the rest are shivering like they’re a moment away from hypothermia.) Billy: I’m not even that tired, and my bed is fine???

Chorus (puts hands on their unbeating hearts): To appreciate sanity at mind, the poor youngling deluded himself. Choosing to experience the world in a more gentle perception than what has been given to him. Billy: Oh knock it off!

—

(Captain Marvel/Billy saves a cat out of a tree.)

Billy: …Did I lose them?

(The Chorus pokes theirs heads out from behind the tree)

Billy (clutching his pearls): Gah!

Chorus: In a swift moment of honorable heart, The Champion draws the feeble cat, and all of its quivering self, out of the tall and winding Maple. The daint kitten’s form consumed by the engulfing man, forgoes its fear as it slows stills in warmth.

Billy: That was so NOT cool!

(Random citizens watching Captain Marvel get spooked at absolutely nothing and hearing the echo of a group of ominous voices): Hm. Seems like the Captain’s schizophrenia has gotten worse. It’s materializing now.

—

Imagine during this catastrophe there’s a meeting at the Watchtower. Billy begging his pantheon to do something and their just like…

Atlas: Sorry Billy, there’s nothing more we can do.

Zeus: Shut up Atlas, you know no more than a grapefruit. But also there’s nothing more we can do, Billy.

Heracles: Do not fret however, this is very typical for beloved heroes!

Achilles: Yes, besides the ghost ordeal and the obvious-continuous stalking, this is very common.

Billy (growing more distressed): Not very comforting…

[cottagecore-moss-king]

Not so Artificial Intelligence Part 2

When Bruce finally managed to get the time to look at the file Danny had added to the bat computer, it was almost patrol, and the rest of the family was filling in to get ready to head out. Even Jason had shown up, but that was probably just because he was bribed by Alfred with leftovers from dinner. Bruce couldn’t really blame him, Alfred’s food was the best in the world, but he does wish that he would show up more often just to hang out with him and his siblings.

Bruce sat in the bat-chair, graciously labeled with a sticker from a recent prank by Stephanie. She had gone around and labeled everything in the bat cave, but added the bat suffix in front. It had taken forever to find most of them, but he allowed some of them to remain. 

Finding the new folder was easy, it was labeled FROM DANNY, and left in the middle of the screen. Clicking it open and sipping his fresh coffee he glanced at the first document. The folder was full of notes, pictures and videos, but all of the previews were white, green, or black. 

Bruce started to read through the document, and chocked on his coffee at the contents.

Hello Batman and family, I hope this reached you before they do. I didn’t bring this up just incase you knew and were supportive, but how you act and how contaminated you are I will assume you do not. There is a Government Law that declares any being that has come into contact with enough or creates ectoplasm as non-sentient and non-sapient, but at the same time malicious {Abbreviated the AEA}. We are to be turned over to the GIW to be experiment upon and exterminated. This is literal torture, and I have gathered as much evidence as me and my friends could without being caught. I beg you, please be careful if you decide to take these people down. From what is on here, I think that Lazarus Water is a form of corrupted ectoplasm. Also, anyone who has died and come back to life no matter what are counted, and anyone with godly blood within them. Please Please, save us. My parents are the leading “scientists” which is bullshit, and they’ve already tied me down once. I can’t go through that again. Please, Amity and the Infinite Realms need help. If you don’t help us, I’m scared we may be forced to go to war, and I don’t think you can win against the godly dead. 

Please, I’m begging you - Danny Fenton {King Phantom}

“You good B?” Nightwing asked strolling over casually. He didn’t know how to answer, how was he supposed to say ‘Oh yeah, just found out that the government calls us non-sentient\sapient, and we are to be experimented and slaughtered. Also if we don’t stop them our worlds probably going to fall and we’re all going to die a painful death.’ That’s a fun conversation to have.

Clearing his throat he finally spoke up. 

“Red Robin, Oracle, I need you to help me sort through these, Nightwing, get the Justice league ready for an emergency meeting, call the Dark too. Look at this.”

“Are we sure it’s real though? It could be a prank,” muttered Oracle, though even she doubted her words.

“Even so, the threat is there and we should certainly look through this, and that means the League needs to know.”

Batman carefully mourned the loss of a peaceful evening, and his coffee, he was going to need to leave that at the cave, he had an image to keep. 

Nightwing wasn’t smiling anymore, Robin looked concerned, and Red Hood was openly gawking at the screen.

“I’ve called the emergency meeting, you three sort these files out, I’m calling up the JLD now. Guess we should warn Constantine to bring a couple extra bottles huh.” His joke fell flat, but Bruce wonders if he should bring some alcohol and coffee with him, image be dammed. 

“Wait a second, godly blood included? They fuckn’ shittin’ on Diana!”

“That’s what your concerned about Todd? Not that the we both fall under these parameters, along with Father and the rest of the collection? I will go fetch Thomas from his chambers, he will need to suit up to follow us to the watchtower.”

“Good idea Damian, tell him to hurry up. Everyone else, in the Zeta Tube, Alfred, you can stay here if you want.” Bruce gathered his laptop and moved the file over, copying and sending it to Tims laptop as well. 

“Thank you master Bruce, I will wait for the younger masters then I will be up shortly. Run along now.” Alfred excused with a bow, but even his face was shadowed in worry and thinly veiled anger. 

“See you in a bit Alf.” Dick replied, inputting directions to the watchtower in and doing a quick headcount. 

With a flash, the dark gloomy cave was replaced by fluorescent lights and the steel infrastructure of the watchtower. Hopping off the platform another flash of light appeared, and Aquaman stepped out. The group filled out as Aquaman politely greeted them. Making their way to the nearest meeting room, Batman and Red Robin began to set things up as the gathered heroes began to sit. 

“Hey Nightwing, what’s with the meeting, you never call for an emergency meeting, Blüd rarely has big threats.” Flash mentioned as he zoomed into the meeting room, last as always, and began to dig into his waffle plate. Where he got waffles from, Bruce didn’t want to know, they weren’t serving waffles in the cafeteria today, or yesterday from leftovers. 

“This isn’t just Blüdhaven, it’s all of the united States.” He worried, checking over one final time to make sure everyone was here. A collection of the main heroes from the Justice League, they’d need to figure out who counted as ecto-contaminated before throwing people around, and Constantine, Zatanna, and Deadman were gathered to represent Justice League Dark. At least he assumed Deadman was there, as a chair was pulled out and labeled for him. At least they wouldn’t have to race to find him, they could tell him just to stay up in the watchtower if things got bad. Finally, Robin and Signal rushed in, signal tiredly rubbing his eyes and his helmet in Agent A’s hands. 

“As some of you know, a person got stuck in the batcomputer a couple months ago. And was only recently released.” Murmurs and imputed questions rose around, and Nightwing promptly ignored them. 

“They left behind a file for us, and we were looking through it and discovered many hidden crimes from the US government. They have taken and labeled a whole species and group of people as non-sentient and non-sapient, and have been experimenting and committing genocide on them.” Again, a chorus of questions and yelling went up, and Nightwing had to take a moment to pause. A glance at Martian Manhunter reviled a stone cold face, quietly waiting for more information. 

“Oh god… what is this?” 

[nutmegtales]

Fucking Clowns - Part 2

Barbara replayed the grainy video recording of the initial assessment of one Danny Smith. The boy had been admitted for causing a scene and then reportedly being detached from reality, and a potential risk to himself.

As per their newer procedures the cops had brought him to the lower security section of the Arkham facility for observation. At least 24 hours to let the body cycle through whatever drug might have triggered a psychosis. Arkham was well equipped for this kind of cool off period now, and they weren't unaccustomed to being flooded with fear toxin patients or other mass victims.

After those 24 hours though with no sign of improvement or other casualties displaying similar symptoms he was brought through to the initial assessment.

To say it had not gone well was an understatement. Babs hit pause on the moment when the doctor had begun to explain the situation: where Danny was, that he would go through a number of tests for his health, that he might have to stay for a while, and they may trial some medication for him. The frozen image was grainy but she could still see the look of absolute terror on the kids face.

She fast forwards through the outburst, as the kid refuses to be a lab rat, as he shoves out of the chair and goes to storm off before stopping in mid path, like someone was blocking his way. As he turned around again and was seemingly stopped again. And again. And again. As he shouted at the air to leave him alone, to let him go. As he rounded on the psych screaming that he would not take anything, no pills, no needles, that no one could make him. That he wasn't a lab rat over and over and over.

She hit play again once she reached the point they'd calmed him down and walked him through his options. They were going over why the kid thought he was here "Because I died" he said it so matter of factly, she could believe him. He said it the same way Jason did, in the tone of a 'fuck you'. But that didn't mean it was true.

"Because the ghosts want me here" another point in favour of psychosis.

"Because Batman wouldn't kill the Fucking Joker". It had been a quiet admission, almost too quiet for the recording equipment to pick up. Babs rewound and replayed that moment another few times, checking over the notes but not able to find a reference to it. She watched further on in the recording as the psych asked what Danny had just said, but the boy refused to repeat it.

Babs knew though, she was pretty certain she was not mistaken in what she heard.

She clicked open some of the more recent notes the nurses made. And yeah, her heart sank a little as she read there were quite a few mentions of Batman's name screamed in accusations, and a few little notes about oddities here and there. Cold spots, times where the kid had caught something that someone his size shouldn't have been able to lift. Times where he had items there was no explanation for him having. She'd gone over the rest of the recordings but hadn't found anything concrete herself.

She opened up a file of her own titled Potential Future Rogues, and added the name Danny Smith to the list with a check against Grudge and a question mark against Meta. That's all she'd do for now, without anything more solid or a real name to go on there was no point bringing this to anyone else's attention yet.

She sighed to herself and rubbed her eyes. It had already been a long night, and she was only part way through her long list of preventative procedures she'd made for herself. This might end up being nothing, but she'd still rather have a leg up on the situation if it ever does become an issue. This and the million other potential problems.

'Ah Babs', she thought to herself 'you really like to make work for yourself don't you.'

---

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[luludeluluramblings]

Bruce Wayne's Obsession with Smalltown!Reader - Revised

A/N: I honestly have no idea where this came from. I just wanted to revise it and then I spiraled. I'm just trying to keep the creative juices flowing and attempted to add dialogue. Next thing I know, I wrote this. Maybe it's the on coming fall? Fall is my time of year. Still might make some more revisions to this and other's. Especially if I keep putting off the main story.

A/N: Consider this a test of me adding more lore to Reader. It'll help Smalltown make sense when we get there in the next two parts. Or, at least I hope it will.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Link to Original

Yandere Type: Platonic Father

Reader’s Momma is Adeline

Reader’s step-father, Daddy, is Samuel

Bruce was obsessed with Reader as soon as he saw the little bitty picture of them in that tiny hospital crib. And, for a while, that single picture was all he had of them. 

Imagine the surprise he felt to come back for a six month long mission off planet to find out that the brief relationship he had with a woman from outside of Gotham had produced something. 

He’ll admit, he hadn’t been that careful with Adeline. She was a gorgeous and charming woman, with just a hint of a wild side. She had been just a bit too sweet for his taste. Sweet enough he wasn’t too concerned about any lasting consequences. She had been quite understanding when he had ended things. Perhaps a bit too understanding. 

He had to find out through court papers that sweet Adeline had actually been more his type than he expected. Bruce didn’t expect her to even have a bitter side. But, apparently, she could be petty and spiteful, and had some damn good lawyers. 

Bruce hadn’t expected to get Adeline pregnant. He understands how it happened, and he made sure to lecture both Jason and Dick about being cautious after the whole ordeal, but he hadn’t expected it. And, he most certainly hadn’t expected Adeline to keep the whole thing under wraps before filing for full custody with no child support or visitation. 

To say Bruce was pissed was an understatement. The Wayne lawyers had dropped the ball on this matter, and subsequently been fired. They had wrongly assumed this was some revenge publicity stunt, and that Reader probably wasn’t his. 

But, he saw that little picture. That sweet face laying in the hospital cradle. Those were his mother’s eyes on that little baby. His mother’s eyes. 

Of course, Bruce tried to do damage control. Claiming he hadn’t known about the court date (which was true). But, Adeline had some damn good lawyers and had made sure to do all the court procedures out of state and out of his circle of influence. 

He did manage to get one thing. The DNA test. Not because he doubted that Reader wasn’t his. But, so Adeline couldn’t win completely. She could remarry. She could leave the birth certificate blank. She could fill their child’s head with lies about him. But, that child was his. His baby. 

Naturally, the results came back with absolute certainty. Reader was his. And, he had to fight himself to not drag Adeline back to court. 

Hell, he had debated on proposing to her. Forcing her to marry him. He was willing. Adeline was sweet and gentle, and this side of her, despite how much it was pissing him off, was quite attractive. The pettiness, the cunning, the protectiveness, weren’t exactly turn offs for him. 

Luckily, Alfred had pointed out to him that he was being irrational. Sure, it wouldn’t have been the worst idea he had, but Bruce wasn’t going to give up being Batman. Not at this time. Not yet. 

Would he really be able to handle a newborn and a pissed off wife on top of Gotham’s crime? What if something happened to them in Gotham? What if history repeats itself once more? 

Reasonable and both unreasonable questions. 

That being stated, Bruce concluded it would be best to let Reader grow up outside of Gotham. He couldn’t give up being Batman for them, but he could at least let them grow up without Gotham’s smog sinking into their bones and marrow. 

Not to say Bruce didn’t just let Reader linger in the back of his mind as a spare thought. He thought about them often. But, he was always careful. 

His enemies grew bolder and more numerous every year. 

Bruce had resigned himself to one day a year to dedicate all his time to checking on Reader. One day where he would hack anything and everything for information about his child. Adeline’s phone and social media for pictures of Reader. Milestone updates for Reader’s pediatrician. Preschool footage to see his child toddle around and make friends. Researching those friends and their parents to make sure his child was safe. One single day a year.

He nearly lost it when he found out Adeline had met another man and introduced him to Reader. It enraged him further to see the wedding pictures. To see this man holding his child in his arms with such a loving smile and pressing a kiss to their cheek while holding Adeline in his arms. 

He had done background check after background check into this man, Samuel. As much as Batman and Bruce Wayne could without arousing suspicion. 

And, he was clean. A good ol’ boy. Focused on family and minding his business. And, he was good at business.

Samuel owned a massive regional construction company. Not as wealthy nor diverse as Wayne Enterprises, but stable and steady. He had a secure income, not a negative thing written about him ever. In fact, if Bruce had met the man under different circumstances he probably would appreciate Samuel’s practicality. 

But, his first introduction to this man was from watching a video that Adeline had filmed of Reader having a birthday party. Of Reader making a wish, blowing out the candles on their birthday cake. 

“What did you wish for, baby?” He could hear Adeline’s voice in his mind. A warm loving voice that was the prelude to his heartbreaking. 

“I wanna little brother!” Bruce watches as a sweet grin forms on a frosting covered face, every time. He’s watched this video over and over. Memorizing the words. Memorizing the smile. Memorizing the sprinkles on the half eaten cake.

“Oh? What if you get a little sister?” 

“Nah, it’ll be a brother. I know it.”

“And, how do you know it, sweetpea?”

“Cause last year I wished for a Daddy and now I got one.” 

Those words are what breaks Bruce every time. Every single time. 

It should have been him being called that.

That was his child. That was his baby. He loves them. He’s done so much to keep his distance. To keep them safe. 

Now, he’s resigned to watch as another man treasures his most precious thing. Probably the only innocent thing that will ever come from his existence. 

Alfred had a hard time convincing him that this was for the best. That he needed to let it go. 

Until now, he had accepted that it was necessary. Gotham needs Batman. For a moment he was ready to give it up.

But, then Jason died. (Temporarily.) Something broke when that happened. Bruce realized if Gotham could take Jason, it would’ve taken Reader, too. 

So, even though he hates it. Even though he is so bitterly jealous of Samuel, living a peaceful life with his child. Even though he would do almost anything to hear his child call him Daddy. He keeps being Batman. 

He has to at this point. Gotham took his family, and he won’t let it take anymore. Not ever again.

[axstoria]

Clark Kent taking his boyfriend out ice skating at a local winter fair in Smallville, not expecting the billionaire to know how to stand on his own two feet on the ice.

Now, of course, he forgot that said boyfriend is Bruce Wayne, of all people. The Batman.

The Batman who can do literally anything just by watching something once.

So, while Clark is still lacing up his skates, chattering along, Bruce's gaze is focused on couples and families as they glide along the ice, taking in each moment and stride, filing it away in his mind.

He already knows how to skate—having fought Mr. Freeze so often that he actually added retractable blades to his suit—, so he shouldn't be this observant of the other people.

Clark stands up, a boyish grin on his face as he takes Bruce's hand and drags him out onto the ice, carefully steadying his poor human mate to make sure he doesn't fall.

Bruce just waves off his worry and skates away like a damn figure skater, finding an empty space and happily twirling.

Showoff.

Clark catches up with a frown, grumbling something along the lines of, "You didn't tell me you knew how to skate!"

"A man never tells all his tricks," Bruce teases back, looping his arm with Clark's, and they begin to make lazy laps around the rink like everyone else.

An hour and a half later, both are nursing warm hot chocolate to their chests, taking small sips. The beat doesn't bother Clark's tongue, but he drinks only when Bruce does, not wanting to seem glutton.

They toss the cups in the recycling after they are done, opting to wander around the several stalls set up along the streets.

When Clark shows interest in something, Bruce is already handing over cash, not even bothering to check the price tag. Anything for his love.

Clark objects stubbornly, but eventually snatches up the bags, upset that Bruce was carrying things in his presence.

They find a bench to sit on that is further away from the crowd, Clark tucked against Bruce's side, a light purr coming from his throat as the billionaire scratches his hair mindlessly.

"Now since I went to the fair with you..."

"I'm not going to a gala." Clark's voice is low and there is a hint of hesitation to it. "I report, that's all."

"Alright, alright. I guess I can't force you. Though, once we're married, it's going to happen."

Clark mutters some kind of brush-off statement, wrapping a thick arm around his boyfriend, bumping their skulls together as he happily purrs.

"I'm gonna get you rocks."

"Rocks?"

"Mhm. From whatever planet you want. I'll make you diamonds if you want them."

"That's nice, Clark. What for?"

"Our wedding. Humans give each other rocks, right?"

"Mhm."

"Kryptonians do, too."

"That's nice."

"I'm gonna get you a sapphire. Like your eyes."

"Okay, Clark."

"I love you."

Bruce pauses, a little sigh escaping him—he really did have to pick a hyperactive one, didn't he?— before he replies softly, "I love you, too."

[sarahcmarie]

Dick listens to rockin robin before every event and patrol for good luck it’s a tradition started by his parents

Dick remembers when his parents used to get ready for a show they’d play the song he remembered how his dad would dance with him on his shoulders how his mother sang along as she did her makeup how as the end of the song neared his mom started dancing with them he remembered his dad making a bad joke he remembers how his mother laughed with pure glee he remembered feeling so happy before preforming feeling prepared

After his parents death he couldn’t bear to listen to the song anymore he couldn’t handle the memories it brought with it

It was time for his first gala and suddenly he was full of nerves which was ridiculous he preformed much harder things with a bigger audience this was just a stupid party but he couldn’t even leave the car Alfred was at the window asking if he was ok and he couldn’t even respond he could hear the radio playing but he couldn’t move he couldn’t talk and suddenly a familiar tune started playing on pure autopilot he started humming and tapping his foot by the end of the song he gathered up the courage to meet Bruce outside of the car walk to the party he felt Bruce’s hand on his shoulder and for the first time he thought that maybe everything was gonna be ok

He listened to the song before every gala after that

Dick was FINE he wasn’t angry and yea it was the first anniversary of his parents death but he was fine but Bruce told Dick that if he wanted to patrol he had to calm down so he went up to his room and he definitely was NOT brooding he was thinking like an adult plus even if he was brooding or angry he had every right to in the past year his life had been completely up rooted he was taken away from his home his parents died AND everyone was treating him like a little kid when clearly he was not 9 years old is basically an adult anyway but alas he had to at least make Bruce think he had calmed down (even if he didn’t need to cause he was fine) if he wanted to go out on patrol so he turned on the radio and the song he used to listen to everyday with his parents came on he almost turned it off… but he didn’t he let the song play and he felt calm he felt just a little better Ok maybe Bruce was a little bit right not that Dick was gonna tell him that

Dick added rockin robin to his before patrol playlist

After Bruce took in Jason Dick saw the uncertainty he had as robin Jason was confident in everything he did but at the end of the day robin was Dicks thing not Jason’s at least that’s what Jason thought the first time Nightwing and Robin patrolled together he played the song he saw Jason give him a weird look but started singing and dancing anyways as he did every night before patrol after this same event occurred a few times he started seeing Jason relax the same way Dick did when the song played

And then Jason died Dick didn’t listen to music before patrol anymore

Tim drake was determined to help Batman and Nightwing he had become Robin to help make that happen

But Nightwing was angry and lost in his own grief as much as Batman and that couldn’t happen the first Robin was Batman’s light to help Batman he had to help nightwing

Tim was talking to Alfred when the man mentioned the tradition how Dick and Jason would listen to rockin robin before every patrol so on a particularly bad night after Bruce and Dick got into another argument he played the song the shift he saw was immediate and it went through a couple stages

Surprise grief anger and finally robin just like that Dick Grayson disappeared and the spirit of robin took his place if Tim added that song to his before patrol playlist when Dick visited well that was between him and Jason Todd’s ghost

Jason was alive and he was angry it had been a few months and he had a very fragile relationship with his family he had to drop off some files before patrol and decided he’d just get ready there Tim’s music was playing as he stretched with Dick and that same familiar song started playing Jason froze and a truck load of memories came at Jason

Dick ruffling his hair before patrol Jason trying to hit Dick after he ruffled his hair before patrol Bruce hiding his smile at their antics

And weirdly enough he didn’t feel angry or violent or bitter like he usually did when a reminder of his tenure as robin came up he felt calm he felt prepared

Bruce was dead Tim was gone Dick was Batman and Damian was Robin everything was different he had a kid who wanted to use murder as a means for justice to raise on his own sure he had Alfred’s help but Alfred could only do so much Bruce was dead and Damian was here angry about what happened to his father angry about being uprooted from his life at nanda parbat angry about how people were treating him as a child

And Dick? Dick understood that anger he was feeling the same anger but he had to be there for Damian he didn’t have the luxury to let his anger out

Alfred had given the advice to treat Batman the way he treated everything else treat it as a performance and to preform he did what he did before every show he turned on that song the same song that had gotten him through the hardest times of his life and he held on to the memory’s it brought memories he couldn’t look back at for a long Time without anger and sadness

He looked at them now with joy and nostalgia and just a little grief

His mothers laugh and his father’s cologne

Bruce’s warm heavy hand on his shoulder before a gala

Jason’s faked annoyance when Dick grabbed a hairbrush and used it as a microphone and started dancing

Tim’s relief when he saw Dick smile

He held these memories tight and didn’t let go

Because his family was why he preformed why he smiled through the hard days why he made bad jokes when things were getting hard

[demonicsuffrage]

If you do still happen to have any Clark/ Bruce bodyswap ideas rotating in your head. This is a sign to reveal them to the masses (read: I fsbking. Love them . And would be incredibly happy to hear any others you have)

Like for instance what if they have to go off and superhero with others? (Not including their families I mean). Say if there's suddenly the yearly alien invasion that the JL needs to get together to beat. Would they be able to fight convincingly as each other or just kinda fumble given that they've not had that much time to develop the necessary skillset for this body? Would they be able to handle interacting with the JL as their counterpart, or would Batman suddenly be an optimistic guy giving reassurance and pep talks to the team while Superman either broods in a corner or starts spouting intricate plans with eighty contingencies? And what if one of them happens to in some way come into contact with Diana's lassoo- will they be able to keep the ruse intact or is the game immediately up?

(I'm also wagering that a good few members of the JL have taken some sort of photos/ videos of the things they do for blackmail purposes)

So uh. As you may be able to tell I very much enjoyed this concept. There are worms wriggling about in my brain and they all whisper Clark and Bruce's names

Wait that opens up an entirely new facet of this scenario, and I love it, thank you anon

I think in the body swap scenario, and this isn't me biased towards batman, i love both him and clark equally, but Bruce would be able to cruise by with his new superpowers, easily. Clark would be the one who would be struggling a little.

Bruce has extensive files all over them, he's human, he's observant, he knows how Clark operates. And he's pretty adaptable too, so he'd be terrifying.

He'd obviously have to figure out minor kinks on how to better control his powers, but he's talked and trained with clark long enough to do how to do that. Bruce never had any powers, that was never his usp, and now that he does, he's like the most overpowered character in the verse. He'd absolutely I think, if no one in the league knows about it, imitate Clark's cheery attitude, Bruce would just view it as putting on another mask like he does for Brucie Wayne. Martian manhunter knows but he doesn't tell anyone, because he's Bruce's best friend and he supports his friend

Now, that's not to say obviously, that clark would be weak or that everything heroic about him is his powers, but now he's in a more fragile body, obviously he's super intelligent and would be able to adapt real fast too. But the key difference is that while Bruce is simply gaining something, Clark is the one losing his powers. He'd also, absolutely, enjoy imitating Bruce, he's a journalist after all, he knows how to pretend.

I think they're obsessed(affectionate) enough with each other that they'd be able to emulate each other pretty well! Plus, clark now gets the added benefit of a gaggle of robins behind him and Bruce now has to walk alone, so in that way, the gain loss is the opposite

I don't really know enough about like the lasso to really say anything about that but does it like excuse loopholes? Because if it does then technically, they are clark and bruce!

Omggg this post would be too long if I talked about the reactions of the JL too, I think I'll make another post about those scenarios, it'd be so funny

There's this one panel I remember in which clark is insulting Gotham and Bruce is insulting metropolis, that will definitely, definitely be their reactions when they have to spend extended amounts of time there

I get those brain worms from time to time too, they're eating up my brain now, I think I've been convinced to make like atleast two more posts about this

Thank you for the ask!

[brucewaynehater101]

I had an AU, that at this point is more of a headcanon for me, that I thought you might enjoy because it's a nice mix of angst, Tim not thinking things are as bad as they very clearly are, and some fluff.

So it's pretty widely accepted that the Bats don't really know anything about Tim's days with Young Justice right? Like they might know one or two small facts, but they don't know that the gang blew up Mount Rushmore, any of the times the DEO tried to arrest them and drag them into Government Labs for experimentation, or that time they went to a Disco Themed Hell with Supergirl. They sure as hell don't know about any of the things that happened with Secret and Harm. Even though Tim would canonically be gone for days at a time (some of his adventures, mainly the one when they were gone for THE ENTIRE WINTER OLYMPICS) with no one noticing. One time they were in space and had enough time to not only go to Darksied's planet but spent WEEKS there and when they got back still not even Batman knows that Tim was even gone.

Anyways, all this to say. If Tim vanished for a month or two and just said he was spending time with Young Justice again while sending in case files and stuff to keep Bruce busy, I don't think anyone would notice. Nor would they notice if he suddenly switched from being Right Handed to being Left Handed and then after months of practice he goes back to being right handed. It's such a small change after all.

So here's the headcanon. On a Young Justice mission, something goes horribly wrong and Tim full on looses his hand. It's simply gone. The reason no one knows or notices is that he got a robotic replacement, a very realistic looking one like Roy Harper has, that he spent a few months learning how to work with and then went to physical therapy for it for years. It's just part of his life now and he thinks everyone knows, after all. How could they miss it? Jason has seen his palm open with a screw driver deep in his wires. Jason thought he was still tripping from fighting Scarecrow a few hours before. Not a single person outside of Cassie, Tim, Kon, Bart, Greta, Anita, Slobo, and Cissie knows that Tim is missing his right arm just below his elbow for almost 5 years.

That is until Tim has been up for 4 days straight and Dick says something about needing a hand with something and in a moment of sleep deprived brilliance, Tim takes off his hand, and throws it at Dick.

Yes! I love this AU/hc. There is a fic that kind of has this situation: "I told you about that... Didn't I?" by weewoow_070603. Jason is the one to find out, though.

I like the details you added in this AU that the fic (as far as I remember) didn't add: Tim being gone is a regular thing, the fear toxin with Jason, the months of physical therapy, etc.

I do think something as vital as this would happen to Tim, and he'd just forget to tell his family. At first, he tries to hide it. He doesn't want to deal with their fretting, the lectures, the scolding, and them getting involved. He has it handled, after all. After a while, he forgets that he should hide it and why he did in the first place. Then someone finds out, and he's confused why they don't know such a common place thing.

I'm also super glad you tied in all those YJ examples that you did. People tend to focus on the space baseball or Santa Clause (which I love those events too), so it was refreshing to see other events as examples.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

one free one

"How is Batman?" Starfire asked, looking out the window of her bedroom. The phone pinned between her shoulder and her ear as she inspected her nails.

"Awake and on the warpath, how else, Star?" Dick snorted. "But- this is a nice little bit of comeuppance."

"How?"

"The only person he really ever fucked over is back. And now she knows the truth- the whole truth. Not just the parts he wanted her to know. And I don't think he ever counted on it."

"Are you frightened?" she asked.

Dick smiled a little at the worry in her tone, "No. Not of her. Even if she's playing a long game, she wouldn't want any of us dead. Or hurt. But she's gonna fuck with us- mostly Batman for a while. I'd swear to it."

"She sounds dangerous, Dick," she warned. "Be cautious-"

"If she's like the woman I remember at all, if it is who I think it is, our biggest danger is Batman getting his feeings hurt.

____________________________

Bruce watched the airport security footage and frowned.

It was quiet. Somone knew who he was. And yet. There were no demands. Not one. So what was the point? They'd saved him. A criminal would have seized the opportunity. Even a citizen might have if-

He dismissed the thought shaking his head.

And again reviewed the evidence. He'd been hidden, but Dick had been able to find him. Stitches- done in a hurry but not rushed. Steady hands. The cowl was left, not taken as a trophy. Placed. Almost like a taunt. He remembered the fights before.

He remembered collapsing.

But he didn't remember who was the one who found him.

"Master Bruce," Alfred sighed, "you haven't left the study all day."

"We're at risk of exposure, Alfred," Bruce said looking up from his files. "If that happens-"

"It may not be that dire," Alfred mused.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you haven't heard?" he hummed, "Miss Y/N called. She told me she's on her way home."

"Y/N?" Bruce demanded. "Alfred I told you-"

"Come now, Master Bruce," Alfred tutted, "Your little falling out was ages ago. Surely afterall this time-"

"Absolutely not! Not now! If she sets foot in this house-"

"Very well sir," Alfred said, "No need to yell." Or stomp your foot, Alfred added silently. He didn't know WHAT that argument had been about all those years ago- but he did know that one way or another, Bruce was going to apologize. No one who was blameless acted LIKE THAT.

[lady-ace]

FIC WIP BE UPON THEE

(Captain Marvel x Pokémon, which i'm planning on putting on AO3 once i'm done with like, 5 chapters or so. This is the WIP of the first chapter.)

Captain Marvel is the brand new Fawcett hero. The man simply showed up one day, and started helping the community, be it with fighting crime or the most mundane things, like helping children find their parents when lost or help a person cross the street. He wasn’t as famous as Batman or Superman, and he even doubted he’d even been heard of outside of Fawcett. He was still very new, after all.

When flying around on patrol, Captain Marvel and Tawny — Who was on the ground, following along — spotted two men cornering an elderly woman in an alley, knives in hand, poised to attack.

“Pass em’, grandma!” One of them ordered, bringing the knife closer to her threateningly. “Give us the necklace and no one gets hurt!” The other thug exclaims, getting closer to rip the necklace off the lady’s neck altogether.

“No, please!” The senior pleaded, “It was a gift from my grandson!” She added, clutching her necklace close to her protectively, clearly close to tears and panic evident on her voice.

Marvel looked at Tawny as the Raikou growled and went into the alley, passing and startling the robbers as he stood in defense of the lady, growls coming out like crackles of thunder, loud against the silence of the alley.

“Shit!” the first thug yelped in surprise, “Is that the hero Raikou?!” the second one asked, taking a step back in fear of the large feline in front of him. “I thought it was a myth!”

Captain Marvel slowly floated down to land alongside Tawny, standing tall and opposing the two criminals, who were looking ready to bolt, shaking hands reaching to the Pokéballs on their belts.

“Tawny,” The hero called, nodding at the Pokémon, “Electroweb.”

At the command, electricity charged all around the legendary Pokémon, surging forwards as two webs that wrapped around the two criminals, shocking them to make them drop their weapons, before staying dormant, only serving to keep them both still.

After checking on the restrained criminals, Marvel turned to Tawny. “Good job!” he smiled, petting the Pokémon’s head, who trilled back proudly at the praise, happy with his work well done.

After the brief congratulations and pets, Marvel turned around to check on the elderly woman. 

“Thank you, thank you! This necklace is oh so dear to me, I can't bear to even think of losing it.” The senior babbled, voice full of relief and a big smile upon her face.

The Captain smiled back at her, “No need to thank me, Ma’am. I’m just glad you’re safe.” he responded, before being lightly headbutted by his partner Pokémon, trying to get his attention.

“Yes?” he asked, confused, as the pokémon walked to the thugs restrained on the ground, referencing them, their fallen weapons and Pokéballs with a paw. Realization dawned on the champion, “Oh! Them! Right, right.” he noted.

“Ma’am, I need to go deliver those men to the police. Stay safe, alright?” at her nod, he grabbed both restrained thugs, still struggling in the electric webs, and took flight, being mindful of the Pokéballs still on them. He absentmindedly noted that Tawny took both of the dropped knives before he followed him. 

──────────────────────────

Today was a calm day in the Justice League watchtower. Batman was researching some cases and compiling files, with his Noivern by his side, while Flash’s Jolteon raced by, chasing Green Lantern’s Reuniclus.

The Jolteon, happily yipping after the other Pokémon, stopped once they both reached the recreation room. The large TV was on, displaying the news.

“Hello, good morning, Reporter Jessica speaking, reporting from Fawcett city.” the reporter started. Behind her was a large person who was talking to the police. The person didn’t seem thrilled at all to be talking to them. “This morning a criminal duo was apprehended by Captain Marvel, the newest Fawcett hero.” She said, stepping aside and letting the camera focus on the tall person — Presumably, Captain Marvel — talking to the officers. She moved again, the camera focus going right back at her. 

“We are hoping to get an exclusive interview with him, and get more information on the crime.” Jessica says pointedly. She was not too close to where Marvel and the officers stood, but with the subtle raise of her voice, it was obvious she was heard. Especially when the Captain seemed to beam out of nowhere, saying rushed goodbyes to the officers, waiting patiently as the news crew moved in.

“Hello, Captain Marvel. Could you explain to us what happened earlier today?” The reporter politely asked, raising her microphone near the hero. He seemed somewhat relieved, or more accurately, less on edge talking to the curious reporter and cameraman than he was talking to the officers.

“Of course!” The hero said with a bright smile. The news banner silently changed from ‘EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH NEW FAWCETT HERO AND LEGENDARY PARTNER’ to a blank banner. “While on patrol today, me and Raikou,” Upon being mentioned, a Raikou showed up, who was previously out of the camera’s view. The hero seemed surprised too, “Oh, hi.” He cut himself off briefly to greet his Pokémon, who simply let out a chirp at the camera. “As I was saying, me and Raikou were on patrol when those two,” Marvel pointed behind him. The camera follows where he points, ending up on the two criminals, handcuffed and inside the back of a police car. “Decided to try and rob an old lady.” 

The reporter feigned a gasp, and proceeded to ask more questions, some very unrelated to the matter at hand. —“Could you tell us if you’re Kryptonian, Marvel?” and “Were there Raikou on your planet?” couldn’t have anything to do with an older lady getting saved from two robbers, after all—The TV channel’s banner now read “NEW FAWCETT HERO SAVES OLD LADY FROM ARMED ROBBERY, NEW SUPERMAN?”.

While the Pokémon watched, mesmerized by the seemingly random appearance of a legendary Pokémon — A caught one! Can you believe it? — on live TV.

The Jolteon and the Reuniclus started chattering to each other back and forth, communicating with wobbles and barks. The excited Pokémon chatter attracted Noivern’s attention a room away, who went to check it out.

Upon arrival, and seeing what all the noise was about, Noivern quickly returned to Batman, the normally quiet and composed Pokémon suddenly chirping rather loudly to get the man’s attention.

[goblinhoursinsomniaramblings]

I Know Those Eyes Pt 2

why yes i am continuing this

“You’re certain.”

Batman’s words were clipped. Less a question than a threat of consequences. Tim nodded, no hesitation.

“I’d have to have access to a blood or skin sample for 100% confidence, but… yeah. As of 1:23 A.M. this morning, we have confirmed visuals of Lex Luthor and Damian Wayne, alive and mobile, in downtown Gotham City.”

He brought up images of the hotel.

“Hotel Spillane, originally used by the Falcone family, mainly used by the successors of their original business interests. Several legal and executive representatives of one of these interests arrived over the course of the night and previous evening, with Luthor and… Damian being the last to arrive.”

Keep it together, Tim.

“Oracle looked into Luthor’s new identity. It’s so obvious I am actually mad. He’s backstopped a whole life story as Lex Luthor’s estranged twin brother, Lionel V. Luthor, going by the nickname Vlad. Sole inheritor of all Lex Luthor’s assets.”

He brought up the images on file for ‘Lionel’ as well as his own analysis of the footage.

“The confusing part is what he did after inheriting–he has been spending a lot of money on sustainability research, alternative fuels, updated emergency service systems, things like that. As far as I can tell he wants to make premium versions of those things and sell them for a profit, but is playing the long game by flooding the board with cheap goods while gaining good PR.”

He called up the files on VladCo.

“The rest he used to get a tech startup running, VladCo. Apparently he’s interested in ‘standardizing the nonstandard’, whatever that means, but he hasn’t really made anything for the mass market yet. The closest we can find is he’s been making something classified for the U.S. government.”

He took a shaky breath and called up what he had on Damian. He felt Bruce’s pained, shocked exhale more than he heard it, but it was there all the same. So… there really wasn’t any doubt.

“Daniel Summers. On paper he’s 24, was raised in Chicago, and while he’s acting as Luthor’s bodyguard we couldn’t find any official records of him being employed in that capacity. Probably because Oracle was only checking every thirty seconds and his birth certificate didn’t show up on any records until just before they arrived at the hotel.”

He started counting off on his fingers.

“So, 1: whoever is adding them to the system isn’t done yet. 2: they don’t actually care if they get caught. 3: they, very specifically, don’t care if we catch them.”

“You’re saying he’s taunting us.”

“It’s looking–hang on, Oracle says there’s a situation developing.”

One quick shortcut and video of a meeting room popped up on the screen. ‘Lionel’ was smugly facing down his very angry looking investors and their representatives. Suddenly, each of them seemed to calm down. Unnaturally fast, and in unison, with a very particular dull look to their eyes. Tim felt a chill down his spine.

Mind control. Lex Luthor was a meta now, and he had mind control! No wonder Damian hadn’t reached out–

But why? What did he still need Damian for? Unless…

Oh.

He met Batman’s eyes. The taunting, the lack of discretion, finding his first victims in Gotham City.

This was a hostage situation.

***

“You know, badger, you’re perfectly free to walk away from this part of the plan.”

“No, I promised. … still really creepy to watch, though.”

All the papers were signed, all the signatories overshadowed. Now all they had to do was get out of range.

Danny frowned as he saw the receptionist reach for the phone. Right, spy games. Someone was probably supposed to give her a code word when the meeting was over–

Her eyes went glassy, hand freezing around the phone, and seriously that would never stop being creepy to watch. Still, non-violent solution, he’d take it.

As they approached their car, Danny scanned the quiet, ominously lit street. Not for obvious cameras–he knew for a fact Oracle would never allow one to be obvious–but for the best possible angle a camera could have. Eliminating the ones that would have already been used, that left–

He had thought about this moment. How he would give some signal to let them know he was back. That he had been thinking of them.

… Tt. Another time. Too many layers to communicate through, too little space to do so. His gaze had lingered with a purpose, he could only hope that would communicate that Damian was still a part of him too.

For now, that would have to be enough.

***

-major reveal of this chapter: ‘Lex’ has mind control powers

-lol damian/danny is the ghost king, vlad holding him hostage? ha no

-yeah they did not plan the hostage thing but vlad is gonna jump on it with both feet later. like he’s not gonna take credit for it, amirite

-some chapters will be longer. some will be shorter. the main thing is still vibes

-yes, the last little bit is going to make things so much worse with the bats

-why Summers? anything winter-related would be too on the nose, and using a name associated with a very different comic book universe felt appropriate

-i've been a touch stressed so this got put on the backburner. yes, because current events

@hinari @blankliferain @grimdarling69

[storyscribeforthesentiment]

smoke + shadows

Summary: Marie gets kidnapped + Bruce does everything in his power to find her.

Pairing: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f! original character

Word count: 11k

Chapter List

The soft glow of morning filtered through the massive windows of Wayne Manor, casting golden streaks across the sprawling bedroom. The air smelled like clean linen and Bruce—the warmth of his skin, the faint scent of cedar and something undeniably him.

Marie lay nestled against his chest, her fingers absently tracing patterns over his bare skin. His arm was draped around her, holding her close, as if even in sleep, he refused to let her go.

The room itself was breathtaking. High, vaulted ceilings stretched above them, dark wooden beams adding to the rich, old-world charm. The massive four-poster bed they lay in was draped with sheets softer than anything Marie had ever slept on, the deep navy comforter a stark contrast to the crisp white pillows.

A fireplace sat along the far wall, the stone mantle adorned with a few personal items—a watch, a book Bruce had been meaning to read, a small, framed photograph of his parents, and a Polaroid of Marie. It wasn’t anything staged or glamorous. Just a simple snapshot—Marie laughing, slightly out of focus, her curls a mess, her eyes full of mischief. She’d taken it herself, playing around with one of Bruce’s old cameras, and he had kept it, right there among the things that mattered most.

Despite its size, the room felt intimate, wrapped in the quiet warmth of morning.

She sighed contentedly, pressing a lazy kiss against his collarbone. “I like this,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

Bruce’s lips curved against her hair. “Mmm,” he hummed in agreement, his voice rough from the morning. “Me too.”

She tilted her head, meeting his gaze—those impossibly blue eyes, still heavy with sleep but filled with something softer, something reserved just for her. She kissed him then, slow and lingering, savoring the way he melted into it.

His fingers skimmed down her spine, sending a shiver through her as he deepened the kiss. It was slow, unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world.

Then—

Bruce sucked in a sharp breath, his body tensing beneath her. A quiet groan slipped past his lips.

Marie pulled back immediately, concern flashing in her eyes. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly, shifting slightly beneath her.

Her gaze narrowed. “Bruce.”

He sighed, knowing he was caught. “It’s nothing serious,” he admitted. “Just a… minor disagreement with a mobster and a steel pipe last night.”

Marie propped herself up on her elbow, gently running her hand over his ribs, her fingers ghosting over the tender spot that made him wince. “Minor, huh?”

Bruce smirked. “I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the flex you think it is.” She gave him a pointed look before pressing a feather-light kiss to the injury. “You work yourself too hard.”

His hand slid into her hair, tugging her gaze back to his. “And you don’t?”

Marie huffed, knowing he wasn’t wrong.

“You’re out there every night,” she murmured, her fingertips trailing along his jaw. “And still, you’re here. You take care of this city in ways no one else ever could. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

Bruce’s expression softened, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You love everything about me.” His voice was teasing, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed the playfulness.

Marie rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. “Almost everything.”

Bruce hummed. “I’m just the night shift. You deal with Gotham all the time. I think that means you do more than me.”

Marie snorted. “Oh, please. You’re out there getting into fights with steel pipes. I just shuffle through case files and question guys who think they’re smarter than me.”

He smirked, tracing his fingers along her arm. “I know better than to try that.”

“Smart man,” she murmured, leaning in to kiss him again.

Bruce pulled her closer, his lips moving against hers with an urgency that made her stomach flip. She could stay like this forever, tangled up in him, in the warmth of the sheets and the way he made her feel like the safest place in Gotham was right here.

But reality was waiting.

Marie groaned as she reluctantly pulled away. “I have to get ready. My shift starts soon.”

Bruce exhaled dramatically, rolling onto his back, one arm still lazily draped over her waist. “I don’t like that.”

“Yeah, well, neither do I.” She kissed his cheek before slipping out of bed, stretching as she padded across the room.

Bruce watched her, his gaze dark and lazy with admiration.

Marie disappeared into his massive bathroom, flicking on the light. The space was unnecessarily large, all sleek marble and glass, with a shower big enough to fit five people.

She turned on the sink, reaching for her toothbrush—

And then Bruce was behind her.

His arms wrapped around her waist, his lips brushing against the curve of her neck.

Marie sighed, tilting her head to the side as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against her skin. “Bruce,” she warned, but there was no real conviction in it.

“You sure you have to go in?” he murmured, his voice low, teasing. His hands slid over her hips, pulling her back against him.

She swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the sink. “Mmm-hmm.”

Bruce kissed her again, just below her ear, and her resolve wavered.

“You could stay,” he suggested, his lips skimming over her shoulder. “Call in sick. Say you’re dealing with a personal emergency.”

Marie met his gaze in the mirror, arching a brow. “And what’s the emergency?”

Bruce smirked, his fingers trailing beneath the hem of her shirt. “Me.”

Marie laughed, turning in his arms to face him. “You are so damn cocky.”

Bruce just grinned, dipping down to steal another kiss. “You love that too.”

She sighed against his lips, her fingers curling into his hair. God, she really did.

But she was already running late.

With monumental effort, she pulled away, pressing one last lingering kiss to his lips before stepping out of his grasp. “I really do have to go.”

Bruce sighed, watching her with an almost amused resignation. “Fine. But I’m picking you up later.”

Marie smirked, grabbing her detective’s badge off the counter. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce just watched her go, shaking his head as she disappeared out the door.

Yeah. He was definitely picking her up later.

///

The Gotham City Police Department was already alive with chaos by the time Marie stepped into the precinct, the scent of burnt coffee and cheap cologne lingering in the air. Phones rang, detectives shouted across desks, and officers moved with purpose—a usual morning at the GCPD.

Marie adjusted her badge, pushing back the lingering warmth of Bruce’s touch still ghosting over her skin. She’d barely sat down at her desk when Gordon’s gruff voice called from his office.

“Manning. My office.”

Sighing, she grabbed her notepad and headed inside, closing the door behind her.

Gordon stood behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on his nose as he rubbed his temple. A half-empty cup of coffee sat next to a thick file with a red URGENT stamp across it. Marie knew that look. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

“Black Mask escaped from Blackgate last night,” he said without preamble, looking up at her.

Marie felt her stomach drop. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Gordon muttered. “Security footage is useless. Looks like he had inside help—cameras were disabled before he even made it out of his cell. He killed three guards on the way out, execution-style. Quick, efficient. No hesitation.”

Marie clenched her jaw. “That’s his M.O.”

“Exactly.” Gordon opened the file, flipping through grainy surveillance photos. “Word on the street is he’s already making moves, but we don’t know what. No one's seen him, no one's talking—except one guy.”

He slid a paper toward her—a mugshot of a wiry man with hollowed-out cheeks and a scar cutting through his eyebrow.

“Charlie Vitti,” Gordon continued. “Low-level weapons dealer. He’s got ties to Black Mask’s operation but never had enough clout to make himself useful. A couple of our guys spotted him last night when responding to a call for a disturbance—some bar fight over in the East End. He got away before our guys could grab him. If anyone knows where Black Mask is, it's him.”

Marie exhaled sharply. “You want me to handle it?”

“I want you to find him and get him to talk,” Gordon corrected. “And I’m not sending you alone.”

Marie arched a brow. “Who’s my babysitter?”

“Bullock.”

She blinked. “Bullock?”

Gordon sighed, anticipating her reaction. “Look, I know you two haven’t worked a case together before, but he knows the East End. Knows how to talk to guys like Vitti. You’ll need that.”

Marie leaned back against the chair, crossing her arms. “Bullock knows how to talk to guys like Vitti, or he knows how to bribe them into spilling?”

Gordon smirked. “A little of both.”

Marie huffed, shaking her head. She liked Bullock well enough—they had a joking, somewhat sarcastic rapport around the precinct—but she also knew he had a reputation for being lazy. He’d been around the block, sure, but he wasn’t exactly known for his work ethic.

“Fine,” she said, standing. “But if he makes me do all the paperwork, I’m making him buy me lunch.”

Gordon chuckled. “Take it up with him. In the meantime, I want you wired for this. Black Mask is unpredictable. If he really is planning something, I don’t want you walking in blind.”

He reached into his desk, pulling out a small earpiece and an extra radio. “Keep the earpiece in so we can track you. If things go south, I want to know about it immediately.”

Marie took the devices, slipping the earpiece into her pocket. “Got it.”

Gordon’s expression softened slightly, though his voice remained firm. “I mean it, Manning. Be careful. Black Mask isn’t like the other scumbags we deal with. He doesn’t just kill—he enjoys it. If Vitti knows something, it means Black Mask is getting reckless. That makes him even more dangerous.”

Marie nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

Gordon studied her for a moment before nodding. “Good. Now get moving.”

She left his office and headed back to her desk to grab what she needed. As she clipped her badge onto her belt and checked her sidearm, her phone buzzed.

She nodded and left the office, heading back to her desk to prepare. As she gathered her notes and checked her sidearm, her phone buzzed. It was a text from Bruce.

Miss you already, lieutenant.

Marie felt a grin tug at her lips.

She was quickly pulled out of it when Bullock approached her desk, chewing loudly as he shoved the last bite of a burger into his mouth.

“You ready, Manning?” he asked, wiping his hands on his coat.

Marie sighed, slipping her phone into her pocket. “Ready as ever.”

///

The East End was its usual brand of bleak—narrow streets lined with crumbling brick buildings, neon lights flickering overhead, the stench of cigarettes and stale beer lingering in the cold night air. The city’s filth seeped into the cracks here, pooling in the alleyways like oil slicks. Even the streetlights did little to break the overwhelming darkness.

Marie and Bullock moved through it with purpose, their breath misting in the chill. They had spent the last hour chasing leads on Zitti, one of Black Mask’s known associates, but the man was proving impossible to pin down.

"Well, this is a damn ghost hunt," Bullock grumbled, adjusting his coat. "Been to three different dives, and all we got was a bartender tellin’ us Zitti skipped town."

Marie tightened her grip on the radio in her hand. “No way in hell he skipped town,” she said, eyes scanning the dimly lit alley ahead. "Black Mask just got loose. Zitti’s not running—he’s hiding."

Bullock let out a tired groan. “I swear to God, if this is another dead end, I’m gonna—”

“Complain? Yeah, I figured.” Marie shot him a smirk.

They stopped in front of a run-down convenience store, the kind that never closed, where cashiers worked behind bulletproof glass and half the stock was expired. Marie pulled out her notepad, checking over the last tip they got—a supposed Zitti sighting in the alley behind the shop.

“Alright,” she muttered, shoving the notepad back in her pocket. “Let’s try back there.”

They slipped into the alley, the space between buildings narrowing to a grimy passage filled with dumpsters and discarded needles. A single flickering light buzzed overhead, barely cutting through the darkness. The farther they walked, the more Marie’s instincts itched.

Something felt off.

Too quiet. No distant city hum, no muffled music from the club down the street. Just eerie silence.

Marie’s fingers brushed against her holster as she turned to Bullock. “This feels—”

Suddenly, a sharp crack split the air.

Bullock let out a grunt before his body crumpled to the ground.

Marie barely had time to process it before something—someone—slammed into her from behind with bone-crushing force.

The air whooshed from her lungs as she was thrown forward, hitting the ground hard. The rough concrete scraped against her cheek, the sharp impact rattling through her ribs and leaving her momentarily stunned. A jolt of pain shot through her hip where she landed wrong, but she had no time to focus on it before hands—strong, unrelenting hands—latched onto her arms.

Her instincts took over—she fought with everything she had.

Marie twisted violently, trying to wrench herself free, but her attacker was too strong. She kicked back, the heel of her boot connecting with something solid—a shin? A knee? Someone grunted in pain, but another set of hands seized her ankles, dragging her across the pavement.

No. No, no, no.

She threw an elbow, aiming for where she thought their ribs would be, but her strike was wild, off-balance. A curse rang out, followed immediately by a crushing blow to the side of her head.

A burst of white-hot pain exploded in her skull, her vision going black for a split second. Disorienting. Blinding.

Her body swayed, knees buckling beneath her as she felt herself sag against her captor’s grip.

Stay awake. Stay awake.

The world spun. Her ears rang. Then—rough fabric slid over her head.

A bag.

Darkness swallowed her whole.

Marie gasped, her breath suddenly hot and stifling inside the thick material. Her pulse thundered against her ribs, her breaths turning shallow as panic clawed at her chest. She tried to steady herself, to focus, but the overwhelming sensation of blindness and suffocation sent adrenaline surging through her system.

Someone yanked her arms behind her back, wrists wrenched together. Plastic zip ties cinched tight around them with a sharp zip, biting into her skin.

“Bullock—” she tried to say, but her voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Somewhere close by, she heard a groan. Still alive. But unconscious. He wasn’t getting up anytime soon.

She was alone.

Marie thrashed, kicking wildly, twisting, struggling with everything she had left. But it didn’t matter.

Her captors barely even slowed.

She was lifted off the ground like she weighed nothing, hoisted up and carried—dragged—through a doorway. The hinges shrieked, the air shifting from the biting cold of the alley to something damp and stale. The distinct scent of rotting wood, oil, and rust filled her nose.

Then—the metallic clunk of a car door swinging open.

Her stomach dropped.

“No—NO!” She bucked, trying to dig her heels into the floor, to get any kind of leverage, but a firm shove sent her sprawling forward.

She landed hard, cold leather pressing against her cheek.

The seat beneath her felt old, cracked. The smell of cigarettes and sweat filled the enclosed space, thick and suffocating. The car dipped slightly as more weight shifted inside.

Her wrists strained uselessly against the zip ties. Her heart pounded as her brain screamed at her to move, fight, do something—but before she could, the door beside her slammed shut with a heavy, final thud.

Then, a low, amused chuckle.

The engine roared to life.

The tires screeched against the pavement.

And Marie was gone.

///

The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly, each second a punch to Gordon’s gut. Two hours. Two hours since Manning and Bullock had checked in. Two hours of radio silence. Two hours for things to go terribly wrong.

He leaned forward in his chair, his jaw tight as he reached for Marie’s radio one more time.

"Manning. Bullock. Status update."

Nothing. Just static.

His unease turned into something worse. Something sharp and ugly. He grabbed his desk phone and tried Marie’s personal cell.

Straight to voicemail.

“Dammit.” He slammed the receiver down. “Fuck.”

The feeling in his gut curdled into certainty—something was wrong.

Gordon shoved out of his chair and stormed into the bullpen, his voice cutting through the steady hum of chatter and ringing phones.

“Alright, listen up!”

The precinct froze. Officers, detectives, even the administrative staff—all eyes snapped to him.

“Manning and Bullock have gone dark. Last known location, East End. I want every available unit out there looking for them. Now.”

A storm of movement followed. Officers grabbed their gear, radios buzzed with deployment orders, but it wasn’t enough. Not for this.

Gordon exhaled sharply and stepped back into his office, his pulse hammering.

He needed to let Bruce know.

Not Batman—Bruce.

Because Bruce Wayne was more than just Gotham’s billionaire. He was Batman, the one man who could find her faster than anyone else. But more than that—he was in love with Marie. And if something had happened to her, if she was truly gone…

Gordon didn’t know how Bruce would take it.

His thumb hovered over his contacts list for only a second before he made his decision.

He called Bruce Wayne.

The phone rang twice before Bruce answered. “Gordon?” His voice sounded confused. Gordon never called his personal phone, not once in all the months since he’d figured out the truth.

Gordon’s grip tightened. “This isn’t official business.” His voice came out grim. “It’s personal.”

There was brief paused before Bruce’s voice shifted. “What happened?”

“It’s Marie. She’s missing.”

Gordon was met with complete, utter silence. The kind that made his spine go rigid, because he knew that the moment Bruce inhaled sharply, the moment his breath stilled, that he’d just shattered his world.

“When?” Bruce’s voice was low, dangerous.

“Two hours ago.” Gordon tried to keep his voice even. “She and Bullock were looking for a lead in the East End. Charles Zitti. I haven’t heard from them since. No radio, no cell, nothing.”

Bruce was already moving. Gordon could hear it—the shuffle of footsteps, the rustle of fabric. Could picture him already out of his chair, already storming through the halls of Wayne Manor.

“Two fucking hours?” Bruce’s voice was sharp, edged with something lethal.

“I wasn’t sure if they’d gone silent on purpose—”

Bruce cut him off, “I’m on my way.” and the line went dead.

As soon as he was off the phone, Bruce moved like a man possessed. He tore through the halls of Wayne Manor, the walls narrowing around him, his lungs burning.

Alfred barely had time to step out of the study before Bruce stormed past.

“Sir?”

Bruce’s voice was hoarse. “She’s missing.”

Alfred’s expression darkened. No further explanation was needed.

Bruce descended into the cave at a dead sprint.

He didn’t know who had taken her. Didn’t know why. Didn’t care. All he knew was that she was gone.

He yanked on the suit with practiced efficiency, but it felt different this time. This wasn’t just another mission. Another criminal to bring to justice.

This was Marie.

His hands trembled as he pulled the cowl over his face.

There was no time for hesitation.

With a growl of frustration, he vaulted into the Batmobile, the engine roaring to life as he shot out of the Batcave like a bullet. The tires screeched against the damp stone, the force of his acceleration pressing him into the seat, but he barely noticed.

Gotham streaked past in a blur of neon and darkness, but none of it registered. His mind was consumed with one singular, all-encompassing thought—find her.

The Gotham City Police Department was already drowning in chaos when he arrived. Phones shrieked through the air, overlapping in a symphony of urgency. Officers darted back and forth, their voices rising over one another, papers flying between frantic hands. The scent of burnt coffee, sweat, and cigarette smoke clung to the walls, mixing with the metallic sting of tension. It was thick enough to suffocate.

Then, the front doors slammed open with a force that made the hinges shriek.

A gust of cold air swept inside, snuffing out every conversation in an instant.

Batman strode in, a walking nightmare of black armor and fury, his silhouette a dark stain against the fluorescent lights. Conversations died in throats. The rustling of papers and the tapping of keyboards stuttered into silence. He had never entered the GCPD like this before—never so openly, never in the merciless exposure of bright overhead lights where every officer, every detective, every damn bureaucrat could see him.

But none of that mattered.

His steps were slow, deliberate, each heavy thud against the tile carrying the weight of a warning. Cops shifted instinctively, stepping back, forming an unspoken path without even realizing they were doing it. Some gripped their holsters on reflex before thinking better of it. Others, the ones who had seen him work, knew better than to move at all.

He didn’t acknowledge them. He cut through the room like a blade through flesh, his presence coiling around the precinct like a noose tightening by the second.

Near his office, Gordon stood in tense conversation with a detective, his voice low and urgent. Then, he looked up. His breath hitched.

"Let’s not—" Gordon started, but his voice wavered. "Let’s calm—"

Then, the front doors burst open again.

This time, the silence didn’t just return—it imploded.

Bullock staggered inside, his usually disheveled coat now a mess of blood and grime, his face slick with red that dripped onto his collar. His breath rattled in his chest, coming in short, gasping wheezes, his body swaying like he was barely keeping himself upright.

The room detonated with noise—officers surging forward, exclamations of shock, radio static crackling in fits and bursts. Someone called for a medic. A dispatcher cursed into their headset. But through it all, Batman was already moving.

Gordon reached him first, gripping Bullock’s arms and steadying him as his knees nearly buckled.

"Where is Manning?" Gordon’s voice was tight, urgent.

Bullock blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. His pupils were dilated, his expression dazed, but the sheer frustration in his voice burned through the haze.

"I—I don’t know." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "We were out there looking for Zitti, following leads, and then—bam. Someone fucking blindsided me. Next thing I know, I wake up on the damn pavement, and she’s gone." His breath came ragged, like he was choking on his own words. "I don’t—I don’t remember a damn thing."

Gordon inhaled sharply through his nose, his hands curling into fists.

Bullock slammed his own fist down onto the counter, making a nearby officer jump. "I should’ve—shit!" His voice cracked. "I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve done something!"

The guilt was already devouring him alive.

Through it all, Batman didn’t move.

Not a flinch. Not a shift in stance. Not a single damn muscle.

But the air around him was suffocating.

His gloved fists clenched at his sides, the leather groaning under the strain of his grip. A shadow darker than the suit itself passed over his expression, something lethal, something barely contained.

Bullock turned to him, desperation leaking into his voice. "You gotta find her."

Batman’s head lifted slightly, and for a second, Bullock almost wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

The next moment—

He was gone.

No sound, no warning. Just a sudden absence, like a phantom had vanished into the night.

The only thing left in his wake was the sharp swing of the precinct doors and the lingering, spine-chilling certainty that whatever poor bastard had taken Marie Manning was about to learn what true fear felt like.

///

The Batmobile tore through the streets like a phantom in the night, its engine a guttural roar that sent shivers down Gotham’s spine. Rain lashed against the windshield, blurring the city into streaks of neon and shadow, but Batman’s grip on the wheel was ironclad. His pulse pounded like war drums in his ears, his mind locked onto a single objective—find her.

He had never felt this way before.

Not when the Joker had poisoned the reservoir. Not when Bane had broken his body.

This was different. This was her.

Marie.

And she was out there somewhere. Alone. Afraid. Hurting.

His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding as he swerved onto a side street, tires shrieking. He should have been thinking strategically—staying calculated, detached—but every second that passed without a lead chipped away at his restraint. The city was a vast, rotting corpse, and he was tearing it apart limb by limb, determined to find the infection at its core.

Tonight, Gotham was going to feel his wrath. And he didn’t waste time on subtlety.

His first target was Theo "Fangs" DiLuca, a low-level enforcer with ties to every major crime syndicate in the East End. He found him inside a seedy dive bar off Grant Avenue, leaning against the counter, laughing over a drink. The laughter died the moment the door slammed open, ripped off its hinges.

The room plunged into silence.

Batman’s shadow swallowed the dim bar whole as he strode forward.

Without breaking stride, he reached out and ripped Theo from his stool, sending his beer bottle shattering across the floor. Before the man could scream, Batman drove him into the wall, the plaster cracking beneath the impact.

The bartender ducked. A few patrons scrambled for the exit. No one tried to help.

Theo gasped, his fingers clawing at the fist locked around his throat.

“Where is she?” Batman’s voice was a growl, low and deadly.

“W—what?” Theo choked out, eyes bulging.

Batman slammed him into the wall again. Harder.

“WHERE?”

“I—I don’t know, I swear—!”

Batman didn’t have time for lies. He let Theo drop to the floor, only to deliver a brutal kick to his ribs that sent him sprawling.

“You have three seconds to be useful.” Batman loomed over him, his presence suffocating, his patience gone.

Theo coughed, spitting blood onto the floor. “Shit—okay, okay—Black Mask’s been making moves in the East End. Had some of his guys sniffin’ around earlier—hired muscle. He—he’s been looking for information on Batman. On—on anyone connected to him.”

The world narrowed. She was taken because of him. Because of her connections with Batman. The thought alone killed Bruce.

Batman shook the thought from his head and grabbed Theo by the collar, yanking him up. “Where’s his base?”

“I—I don’t know! He moves around too much, but—” Theo coughed again, wheezing. “He’s got warehouses. All over. He—he likes abandoned places—places no one would think twice about. Could be the docks, the Narrows—”

Batman didn’t wait for him to finish.

He spun on his heel, already reaching for his grapple. The moment he was airborne, disappearing into the night, the entire bar exhaled as if they’d been suffocating under his presence.

He was going to find Black Mask. And when he did, God help him.

///

Marie’s head pounded before she even opened her eyes.

It started as a dull, throbbing ache in the back of her skull, radiating outward like splintering glass. Then came the sharp sting of her split lip, the deep, bone-deep bruising in her ribs from—what? A punch? A kick? She couldn’t remember. The details were murky, lost in the haze of unconsciousness.

Her wrists burned. The zip ties bit into her skin, cutting off circulation, and the chair beneath her was rickety, the kind of cheap metal folding chair you’d find in a rundown community center—only this one was bolted to the floor.

She was trapped.

And she wasn’t alone.

A slow, measured pair of footsteps echoed through the warehouse, each step deliberate, predatory.

Black Mask.

“Well, well,” Roman Sionis’s voice slid through the air like oil, thick and slick and wrong. His shoes clicked against the concrete, expensive and out of place in a place like this. “Look who’s finally awake.”

Marie’s head lolled slightly, her vision adjusting to the dim, flickering light overhead. The first thing she saw was the mask—a grinning, blackened skull twisted into something monstrous under the shadows. The second thing she noticed was the smell.

Cigars. Gunpowder. Blood.

It clung to the air, heavy and suffocating.

She swallowed, forcing her spine to straighten despite the restraints. “Wish I could say it’s nice to see you.”

Black Mask chuckled, his broad shoulders rolling with amusement. “Feisty. I like that.”

He crouched beside her, so close that she could feel the heat radiating off him. He smelled like expensive cologne and violence, a scent so sickeningly familiar in Gotham’s underworld that it almost made her gag.

“You know,” he mused, tilting his head, “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to wake up at all.”

Marie smirked despite the pain slicing through her lip. “Sorry to disappoint.”

His amusement flickered, darkened.

“Oh, you haven’t disappointed me yet, baby girl.” He reached out, brushing a gloved finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “But you will—if you don’t start talking.”

Marie didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

She let her gaze drift past him, scanning the room instead. It was a warehouse, all right—concrete floors slick with oil, rusted chains hanging from the ceiling, wooden crates stacked in uneven piles. The air was damp and cold, the sound of dripping water somewhere in the distance.

More importantly, she wasn’t alone with him.

Two guards stood by the entrance, both armed—one with a pistol holstered at his hip, the other cradling a rifle like a security blanket. A workbench sat against the far wall, scattered with tools—pliers, a hammer, something that looked like a blowtorch.

Her stomach twisted.

She needed to get out of here.

Black Mask let out a slow exhale, the leather of his gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers. “I know you’ve worked with Batman before. You were all over the Red Lotus case together, playing detective and vigilante.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek. “You two seemed like quite the dynamic duo. Chasing down leads. Cracking the case together. Taking down Maroni.”

Marie said nothing.

She kept her expression blank, her breathing even, but her eyes never left that workbench. If she could get loose—if she could just get her hands on something—

Black Mask grabbed her jaw suddenly, forcing her gaze back to him. His fingers were too tight, his grip possessive, like he was testing her, seeing how far he could push before she broke.

“So here’s the deal,” he murmured, stroking her cheek with his thumb. His touch was deceptively gentle, a stark contrast to the brutality she knew lurked just beneath the surface. “You tell me who he is, and I let you walk out of here with your pretty little face intact.”

Marie stared at him, unreadable.

Then—she smiled.

Not a warm smile. Not a real one. It was something colder. Meaner.

“You really think I know who he is?” she scoffed, shaking her head. “You think Batman—of all people—would trust a cop with that information?” She licked the blood from her lip and smirked. “I hate to break it to you, but I’ve never even seen his face.”

Black Mask was quiet for a moment.

Then—CRACK.

His backhand hit her hard, snapping her head to the side.

White-hot pain exploded through her skull, her teeth cutting into the inside of her cheek. Her ears rang. Her vision blurred at the edges, black creeping in like ink on water.

Before she could recover, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back.

Her throat was exposed now, vulnerable, and he hovered inches away, studying her like a wolf deciding how much of the carcass to pick apart first.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he murmured, his fingers tightening.

Marie’s breath came out ragged, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “And you’re a pathetic little man who thinks hiding behind a mask makes you powerful.”

A mistake.

The room tilted violently as his fist slammed into her ribs, the force of it knocking the air from her lungs. The pain was immediate, sharp and suffocating, and before she could even inhale, he drove his knee into her stomach.

She choked.

The zip ties cut deeper into her wrists as her body jerked against the chair.

Black Mask stood back, rolling his shoulders like he had just finished a warm-up round.

“See, I really hate liars.” He gestured to one of the guards. “Bring me the knife.”

A flicker of panic jolted through Marie’s chest.

The knife.

She forced herself to stay calm, to think.

The workbench. The tools. The guards. The layout. She took it all in, cataloging every possible weapon, every possible weakness.

Black Mask took the knife from his goon without breaking eye contact with her.

The blade gleamed under the flickering warehouse lights, long and wickedly sharp. He turned it over in his hands, testing its weight, before dragging the flat of it along Marie’s cheek—slow, deliberate, teasing.

“I’ll give you one more chance, baby girl,” he murmured, his voice almost affectionate. “Who. Is. Batman?”

Marie clenched her jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of flinching. “Go fuck yourself.”

Black Mask exhaled through his nose, his patience snapping.

“Wrong answer.”

The knife pressed against her collarbone, just enough to bite into her skin. A slow, stinging line of blood beaded at the edge of the blade, warm against her already bruised flesh.

But Marie didn’t give him a reaction.

She focused instead on the sounds beyond the warehouse—the distant hum of Gotham’s streets, the faint echo of a passing siren. Every second that passed meant Bruce was getting closer.

He was coming. He had to be.

Black Mask clicked his tongue in disappointment. “You’re really not making this easy.”

Then—THWACK.

His fist drove into her ribs again, harder this time. The pain was immediate, white-hot, stealing what little breath she had left.

Marie gasped, her body jerking violently against the restraints.

“Still nothing?” he mused. “Shame.”

Another punch. This time, her vision spun.

She tasted blood.

“Y’know,” he went on conversationally, brushing his knuckles against her jaw, “I don’t mind taking my time. I could play with you all night.” He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of her ear. “I’d actually like that.”

Marie’s stomach churned, but she forced herself to keep breathing.

Keep fighting.

Her wrists burned against the zip ties as she flexed her fingers, testing for any weakness. There had to be something—

Black Mask sighed, irritated. “You’re getting boring now.”

And then—

A sharp, blinding crack against her skull.

The world tilted.

Pain flared through her head like a gunshot, her vision going dark at the edges.

Her body sagged against the chair, her thoughts slowing, scattering like sand slipping through her fingers.

She barely felt it when Black Mask grabbed her chin, tilting her head up to inspect her.

“Such a shame,” he murmured.

Marie tried to stay conscious, tried to fight against the darkness swallowing her whole.

But as her vision faded, her last thought was simple.

Bruce will find me.

And she knew—

He’ll bring hell with him.

///

Batman moved through Gotham’s underbelly like a relentless force, his presence felt long before he stepped into the shadows of the city’s most dangerous corners. Every den of criminals, every hidden safe house, every alleyway where Gotham’s worst whispered their secrets—he pursued them all with unwavering determination.

His fists struck with precision. He didn’t break bones needlessly, but he left a lasting message in every blow. A dislocated shoulder, a bruised rib, a sharp strike to the gut that left his targets gasping for air—painful reminders of his wrath, but nothing they wouldn’t recover from.

Questions were asked only once. If an answer wasn’t given, he tightened his grip, pressed a little harder, made them feel the weight of their silence. He never needed to go further. Fear did most of the work for him.

By the time the city clock struck midnight, he had torn through three more hideouts, leaving behind a wake of groaning criminals too shaken to think about lying. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation—only purpose. Tonight, there was no room for patience.

Every lead brought him closer.

But not close enough.

The fourth informant barely had time to register the looming shadow before Batman had him pinned against a rusted chain-link fence, steel rattling violently under the force. The man wheezed, his face a contorted mask of terror as a gloved hand clamped down over his throat.

“Where is Black Mask?” Batman’s voice was a guttural snarl, low and menacing.

The man squirmed, his fingers clawing at the powerful grip crushing his windpipe. “Please—I don’t—”

Batman twisted the man’s arm back at a brutal angle.

“Where?!” Batman barked, his patience long gone.

The man yelled out, his body shaking violently. “I—I swear, I don’t know! Black Mask’s been off the grid for weeks—no one’s seen him! I swear on my mother, I don’t—”

Batman let go, disgust curling his lip as the man crumpled to the ground, clutching his dislocated arm. He wasn’t lying. He was too much of a coward to lie under pressure like this.

Batman turned away, his mind a whirlwind of fury and desperation.

Then his comm crackled to life.

“Batman.” Gordon’s voice was sharp, urgent. “We found Zitti.”

Batman didn’t waste a second.

He was already on his way to the station.

///

By the time Batman reached the precinct, the air was thick with tension. Officers moved in hurried strides, phones rang incessantly, and Gordon was waiting for him just inside the entrance, his face set in a grim expression.

“He’s in holding,” Gordon said, leading Batman through the station, their boots heavy against the tiled floor. “We picked him up outside a club on Grant Street. He knows something—he has to. He’s been in Black Mask’s orbit for years.”

Batman said nothing. He didn’t need to. The way his shoulders tensed, the way his jaw locked, the way his cape flared out behind him like an omen of death—it all spoke volumes.

As they neared the holding cells, Batman didn’t even slow his pace.

“Batman—wait,” Gordon started.

Too late.

The door to Zitti’s holding cell slammed open so hard that the hinges nearly snapped.

Zitti barely had time to blink before Batman grabbed him by the collar and hurled him against the concrete wall with a sickening crack. The force of the impact rattled the glass window behind them, sending fractures through it.

Zitti groaned, his head snapping back against the stone, dazed from the sheer force. His hands flew up defensively as Batman loomed over him like a specter from his worst nightmares.

“I don’t—”

Batman’s fist slammed into his gut.

Zitti gagged, doubling over as the air was driven from his lungs. His knees buckled, but Batman didn’t let him fall. He hauled him back up, shoving him hard against the wall again.

“You know where she is.” Batman’s voice was quieter this time, which somehow made it worse.

Zitti coughed violently, his breath ragged. “I swear—I don’t—”

Batman grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him clear off the ground, slamming him into the wall again, the impact shaking the entire cell.

The fear in Zitti’s eyes sharpened into something primal.

Batman leaned in, his voice lethal. “Tell me where Black Mask is holding her.”

Zitti swallowed hard, his pupils blown wide with panic. “Warehouse—” he gasped. “Dockside—by the old shipyard—”

Batman let go.

Zitti crumpled to the floor, coughing and wheezing.

Gordon, who had been watching silently, stepped forward. “We’ll deploy all officers—”

Batman was already turning.

“No,” he cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll get there first.”

He strode out of the holding cell without another word.

Gordon exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose before barking orders to the nearest officers.

“Suit up! We’re moving out! Now! Send all available units to the old shipyard!”

Red and blue lights flooded the night as the GCPD mobilized, but Batman was already ahead of them.

He would reach her first.

He had to.

The city blurred in a haze of lights and shadows as he rocketed down the streets, the familiar landscape of Gotham flashing past in a whirl of urgency. His grip tightened on the wheel, knuckles white, his thoughts fixed solely on the warehouse, on Marie. His mind was nothing but a singular, destructive focus now.

He didn’t care about the risks. He didn’t care about anything except getting to her.

His heart pounded in his ears, adrenaline pulsing through his veins as he wove through Gotham’s maze of streets. Each turn was calculated, each movement a flawless execution. He didn’t notice the speed, didn’t care about the way the wind howled around him or the sharp hum of the Batmobile’s engines. All that mattered was getting to that damn warehouse before Black Mask could do anything else to Marie.

Gotham was about to burn, and they were all standing at the edge of the fire.

///

Pain.

It was the first thing Marie felt as she drifted back to consciousness, a dull, throbbing ache that pulsed behind her eyes and radiated through every inch of her battered body. Each breath sent a sharp sting through her ribs, her limbs felt like lead, and the coppery tang of blood coated her tongue.

Slowly, she forced her heavy eyelids open.

The warehouse swam into view under the dim, flickering glow of an overhead bulb. The space around her was cold and lifeless—stained concrete floors, steel support beams looming overhead, and the acrid scent of old oil and damp wood filling her nose. Her arms were yanked back, wrists bound tight with thick rope, the fibers digging into her torn skin. Her ankles were the same, tied so cruelly that her circulation had started to fade, her feet tingling with pins and needles.

Black Mask was gone.

Marie’s pulse picked up. He wouldn’t be gone for long.

She had to move.

Forcing herself to breathe past the pain, she scanned her surroundings. A rusted metal table sat against the wall, littered with tools, empty liquor bottles, and a scattering of cigarette butts. A stack of wooden crates was pushed into the farthest corner, and high above—

A window.

Her pulse pounded harder. It was small, grimy, but open just enough that she could slip through if she could reach it.

But first, the ropes.

She twisted her wrists, biting her cheek as the rough fibers scraped deeper into her skin. Come on. Think.

Her gaze landed on the table. A knife. Rusted, but sharp. If she could just get to it—

Marie shifted, forcing herself to inch her legs toward the table. She stretched, using what little movement she had to push at one of the table’s legs with her foot. The metal screeched against the floor. Her stomach clenched. Move, damn it.

One last desperate shove—

The knife clattered to the floor.

Her pulse roared as she twisted her body, inching closer, the pain screaming through her battered muscles. She stretched, fingertips grazing the handle—got it.

Her hands were shaky as she maneuvered the blade against the rope, sawing frantically. Each movement sent fiery stings through her wrists, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through.

The rope gave way.

With a sharp gasp, she ripped her hands free, barely registering the sting of her torn skin. Moving fast, she cut at the bindings on her ankles, hissing as blood rushed back into her numb limbs.

She stumbled to her feet, dizziness crashing over her like a wave. The ground tilted, her vision swam.

Not yet. You have to move.

Marie braced herself against the wall, taking a deep, steadying breath before staggering toward the crates. She shoved them into position, stacking them into a makeshift ladder.

Every movement burned, her body screaming in protest. But she climbed.

The window was just within reach.

With the last bit of strength she had, she shoved it open. The cool night air rushed in, sharp against her bruised skin. The distant hum of the city buzzed beyond. Freedom.

But she wasn’t finished yet.

Her gaze flicked back to the table. The cigarette lighter.

Marie’s mind worked fast. The warehouse was old, rotting. The wooden crates, the oil-stained floors—highly flammable.

She grabbed the lighter, flicking it on. A small golden flame danced in the darkness.

Her eyes landed on a pile of discarded cloth, soaked in something greasy and foul.

She held the flame to it.

The fire caught instantly, devouring the fabric, licking hungrily at the wood beneath. It spread fast, leaping from one surface to another, crawling up the walls like a living, breathing beast.

Marie didn’t wait to watch.

She hauled herself through the window, gasping as she tumbled onto the dirt outside. The rough ground scraped against her already raw skin, and her limbs barely held her weight as she pushed herself up.

Her legs faltered.

The world tilted.

Her body was giving out.

Her vision blurred at the edges, the pain consuming her, and just as she felt herself falling—

A roar.

The low, snarling growl of an engine.

Headlights sliced through the darkness, blinding her for a moment. She tried to lift her head, tried to focus—

The Batmobile skidded to a stop, tires kicking up dirt.

Then—he was there.

Batman.

A black shadow, moving fast, cutting through the night with purpose. His cape billowed behind him as he sprinted toward her, his boots pounding against the ground.

“Marie.”

Her name was raw in his throat. A breath, a prayer, a promise.

Her knees buckled.

She felt herself sinking, the ground rising to meet her—

Strong arms caught her just before she hit the dirt.

She was lifted effortlessly, cradled against the solid weight of his chest, the scent of leather and smoke filling her senses.

“Hey, hey—stay with me,” he murmured, his voice low, hoarse. One gloved hand cradled the back of her head, the other holding her so tightly against him, like if he let go, she might disappear.

Marie forced her eyes open, her fingers weakly grasping at his suit. Her breathing was shallow, uneven, but through the haze of pain, she still managed a battered smirk.

“I got out,” she rasped. “Torched the place.” She let out a ragged breath, then, with a flicker of dark amusement, added, “That bastard better be extra crispy.”

Batman exhaled sharply—half a chuckle, half disbelief. “Jesus, Marie,” he muttered, but there was something almost fond in his voice.

His fingers brushed against her bruised cheek, reverent, aching. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured, his voice thick with something deeper, something unspoken. “You held on.”

A tear slipped down Marie’s cheek, mixing with the dirt and blood on her skin. “I knew you’d find me.”

His grip tightened. “Always.”

And then, before she could say another word, he kissed her.

It wasn’t desperate, wasn’t hurried. It was steady, firm, grounding. Like he needed to feel her alive, needed to remind himself she was still here, still breathing.

She collapsed into him, her body weak, trembling, every muscle drained of strength. Her fingers, barely able to hold on, curled into the fabric of his suit, gripping as if he were the only thing tethering her to reality.

Batman held her against his chest, his arms unyielding, shielding her from everything—the cold night air, the pain, the world itself. Behind them, the inferno roared, flames devouring the warehouse in a violent, hungry blaze, sending thick, black smoke curling into the night sky like a specter.

His grip on her tightened, just enough to let her know he was there, that she was safe. She shuddered against him, her breath warm and uneven against his neck. His fingers traced soothing circles against her back, a silent promise that it was over.

Then, with infinite care, he lowered his head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her temple. A quiet moment, stolen in the chaos, meant only for them.

Then—sirens.

The piercing wail cut through the night, growing louder as flashing red and blue lights painted the scene in a chaotic glow. Police cruisers skidded to a stop, their tires kicking up dust. Firetrucks roared in behind them, their ladders rising, firefighters already moving to contain the raging blaze. EMTs rushed from their ambulances, their equipment rattling as they moved with practiced urgency.

Gordon was the first to emerge from the swarm, his trench coat whipping around his legs as he took in the scene. His eyes moved from the burning warehouse to the two figures standing just beyond the fire’s reach. He saw the way Batman held Marie, the way she sagged against him, the way his grip on her was as much about support as it was about reassurance.

Gordon exhaled, slow and measured.

“Let’s give them some space,” he murmured to the officers behind him, his voice low but firm.

No one argued.

Batman pressed another soft kiss to her temple, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

And for the first time all night, Marie let herself believe it.

///

The steady beeping of a heart monitor pulled Marie from the depths of unconsciousness. The world around her felt soft, distant, like she was floating between reality and a dream. The scent of antiseptic and clean linen filled her nose, replacing the acrid stench of fire and blood that had clung to her before.

Her body ached, a deep, bone-weary exhaustion settling over her, but the pain was dull now, cushioned by whatever painkillers were coursing through her system.

Blinking against the sterile white light, she let her gaze wander. The hospital room was quiet, the muted hum of machines the only sound. The walls were a pale, impersonal blue, and the IV in her arm tugged slightly as she shifted. A bouquet of fresh flowers sat on the bedside table, their petals delicate, untouched.

And then—

Bruce.

He was seated beside her, in the chair closest to the bed, a book resting open in his hands. His suit jacket was draped over the arm of the chair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the bruises marring his forearms. There was a tension in his posture, a quiet stillness that was different from the way he usually carried himself.

His hair was slightly disheveled, dark circles smudging beneath his eyes, like he hadn’t slept—not really.

Marie stirred, her fingers weakly gripping the blanket draped over her.

Bruce immediately looked up.

The book was forgotten, discarded as he leaned in, his blue eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. His hand found hers, warm and solid, his fingers tracing gentle circles against her skin.

"You're awake," he breathed, relief evident in every syllable.

Marie tried to smile, but her lip was split, the movement sending a dull throb through her face. "So it seems."

Bruce exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. Without hesitation, he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against her knuckles.

She stared at him, stunned by the tenderness of it, the way he held her like she might slip away if he let go.

“How long was I out?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

"A few hours. Doctors said you'll be fine, just needed rest," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her wrist, grounding her.

Marie blinked up at him, a ghost of a smirk playing at her swollen lips. “Hospital, huh? I half expected to wake up in your cave.”

Bruce huffed out something that almost resembled a laugh. "I wanted to," he admitted, his expression softening. "But there were too many officers at the scene. If you disappeared in the Batmobile, it would've raised too many questions."

She let that settle, nodding slightly. It made sense. It was logical. But part of her still wished she had woken up somewhere private, somewhere she didn’t feel so exposed under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Bruce must have sensed her unease because he shifted closer, his other hand reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair from her face.

"You scared the hell out of me," he said quietly.

Marie swallowed, staring at the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers curled just slightly against hers.

"You saved me," she whispered.

Bruce shook his head. "You saved yourself. You got out, Marie. You lit the place up. By the time I got there, you had already won."

Her chest ached, not from injury, but from the weight of those words. She had fought. She had survived.

But still—

"I knew you'd be there," she murmured.

His lips parted slightly, his expression flickering with something unreadable. Then, without another word, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger there.

Marie sighed, her body relaxing into his touch.

"I'm not leaving," Bruce said, his voice low, steady. "Not until I know you're okay."

She squeezed his hand, holding on tight.

"Then I guess you're stuck with me for a while, Wayne."

His lips curled into a faint, tired smile.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I think I can live with that."

[fractualized]

Here's some Golden Age batjokes nonsense that delighted me today, in "The Crimes of Batman!" from World's Finest #61.

So we open on this:

Like, 1) haha obligatory "it is hard to believe he's straight!" joke 2) Batman just completely violating Joker's civil rights. The first thing Bruce tells us is that in the eyes of the law Joker is completely allowed to go about how he pleases, implying he's served a full sentence and has good behavior and everything. But who wants to give rehabilitation a chance? Not Bruce with this clown, that's for sure!

Through this illegal wiretap, Bruce and Dick hear Joker chatting with his henchmen, discussing a jewelry theft he's heard about. Joker didn't do it, but based on the M.O. he's positive that a supposedly dead crook, Dink Devers, is the culprit. With this information (and no proof) Bruce and Dick run off and find Devers red-handed with the loot.

Uncommented on is the fact that all the glasses Joker is knocking down have his face on them.

Anyway, Bruce could keep quiet about his source and maybe glean more info from Joker, but no, he's happy to tell all and sundry that the Joker is helping him solve crime, apparently just to be a dick. (Or maybe he was just so enthusiastic because it's a secret dream he has… 🥺)

And for Joker's part, he doesn't wonder at all how Batman came to the same conclusion as him or why Batman credits him. (In fact, the bug in his car never comes up again.) No, Joker's primary concern is mirroring Batman's offense!

Naturally his retaliation starts with kidnapping Robin from a solo speaking engagement at a boat show. (Today's sidekicks sure don't do solo speaking engagements like they used to!) Then Joker draws Batman to his hideout, where the presence of a single gun means Batman and Robin cannot simply kick everyone's asses.

I like Joker's little taunting pose in the top left, and also the one below it, with him in the front doorway like a housewife seeing her husband off to work.

Of course, Joker's very specifically worded demands will be his undoing! Bruce's brain is already cranking.

First the Cheat task! Using a dummy, Bruce fakes a near-death experience, and not long after, Joker gets a package.

lmao just stuffing bats in the box to add insult to injury

Just as the newspapers in the beginning deemed Joker an aide of the law, now we have a paper that declares that Batman has fulfilled the first part of the agreement by CHEATING death, oh ho ho! Nothing like another dash of public humiliation for spice in their relationship.

While Joker is aggravated at first, he accepts Bruce's strategy as valid and does not shoot Dick (because this is 1952 and not 1992). In fact, he's come around to admiration by the time Batman meets with him again.

Joker will come to regret adding to Batman's plight, since it actually helps Bruce think of something! When he learns that Joker is robbing a special playing card collection at a department store, he hurries over.

Sure enough, afterward the Gazette has a favorable headline.

"A worthy adversary." Who's deft at obnoxious wordplay. I'm in love.

"Boss, if ya don't stop flirtin' with da Bat, da boys and I gotta file a complain wit da Goonion."

Fine, fine, when Batman checks in again, Joker has new parameters.

Ooh, Joker wants them to work closely together, eh? 👀 For the murder finale, eh? 👀At the circus, eh? 👀With Joker and his henchmen dressed up like clowns to blend in yeah okay even for Gotham I can only take this joke so far. Anyway, Joker's plan is to have Bruce kill the cashier so they can rob the ticket revenue, and of course this also goes awry.

And then it's time for more wordplaaaayyyyy!

I'm sure Joker would prefer to go back to being humiliated in the papers.

He does manage to get free, but as he runs down a back stairwell, the lights go out!

We get it, Bruce!!!

Then, unnecessarily, Batman and the cops put on the circus clown disguises– Bruce wearing Joker's, of course– and head back to the hideout so they can enact a surprise beatdown when they rescue Robin.

Bruce, you are absolutely not using that saying correctly, but you carried out such an elaborate bonkers plan, it's fine.

[theroomundermountjustice]

adding to that whole “Tim slowly leaves the bat family thing” I think it should work. Like I think he should end up pulling the strings so that they don’t even notice he’s quietly removing himself from their minds,, he’s kinda just making them rely on each other more—he recommends dick go to Jason when he needs backup on a mission, and it goes incredibly well! dick goes to Jason everytime he needs back up now and then they just start hanging out regularly outside of work too and they’re closer than ever. Tim starts training Damian a little more, just extra correction during sparring, a tip or two about tracking targets and resource gathering, how best to support the family and some of their little quirks that can make it easier to convince them to do things,, subtly enough that Damian doesn’t feel like he’s being taught or talked down to. his suggestion for Bruce to tell Damian he wants him to take on more responsibility at WE gives Damian more confidence that his father trusts him and they get closer as a result. Tim tells Jason he’s struggling w a case and has to go out of town real quick so he can’t finish it, so he hands it off to him because it’s in crime alley, and oop—Bruce actually has the information for those files you should try just talking to him to help you, and Bruce and Jason actually manage to work well togther and they start talking to each other more directly instead of using Tim like a go between like they had before.

all that is to say, Tim completely drops off the grid when he leaves and it takes two weeks before any of them notice they haven’t heard from him. Part of that is because none of them actually asked where he was going when he said he was moving, and Tim’s really good at covering up his tracks. they don’t know he hid himself so well at first—why would he hide form family? and they assume he’s being hunted by someone or had a hit on his head that made him need to hide. they start looking harder for any signs of organizations wanting him gone.

they don’t find him, in the end. A situation comes up, not the world ending kind but the city wide crisis kind where the bat family is all hands on deck regardless—they’re all gathered in the cave, discussing battle strategy when Tim slips in. they almost don’t notice, and then they almost don’t recognize him. he’s wearing all black, he left his Red Robin suit when he left, only wearing an all latex/leather kind of suit, the kind that looks more like a black ops fit than a vigilante one.

“Tim,” Dick finally breaks the silence from the shock. “Where have you been?”

“Training,” Tim replies easily, like he hasn’t been gone for nearly a year.

Tim expects them to be mad, is already thinking of ten different modes of deflection, but dick kinda just pulls him in and hugs him, and some of the rest follow suit, even saying they’re half he’s here and he just kinda—freezes? the idea that they’d be happy to see him and not ask any questions, not demand any explanation, not call him a traitor of some sort was… unexpected. they save the city, and Tim fluid in a way he’s never been before—I imagine Tim having his own Batman: the knight type arc while he’s gone, where he went around the world training with a lot of different people (he definitely gets more training with lady shiva if the way he moves now is any indicator) and just focuses on his own growth and skill. but I think after of that, he just settled in with his old friends. Moved in with YJ in San Francisco and just stayed in one place while his family was searching for him elsewhere and just got to be happy with no expectations on his shoulders but having fun w his friends and helping with whatever missions they had

[noxioustoxins]

Food for Thought - JayTim - Batman

Jason just finished making pasta, a meal full of carbs and protein, with only enough sauce to make all the ingredients stick together, just the way Tim liked it. He wouldn’t eat it otherwise. He added some extra sauce to his bowl and left the kitchen.

“Any progress?” Jason asked, sitting next to Tim on the couch, mouth full of pasta and fork dripping with his properly sauced food.

Tim’s eyes flickered over, before almost immediately returning to the computer

Hook.

“The budget is almost illegible. It’s definitely on purpose but I don’t have proof of which shareholder is responsible for it.”

Tim has been chasing a shareholder through botched paperwork for a few weeks. It was a string of issues that they were not used to. Most situations they came up against could be dealt with through well-placed violence, but this was a game of cat and mouse. Which if it were an actual game, Tim might have enjoyed. But as it stands, he has a shareholder stealing money from the company and botching projects for insurance scams. The difficulty Tim was running into, the reason the investigation has been going on so long, has been because corporate scum bags fight in paper work and contracts. So, Tim has had to dig his way through red tape, new and old contracts, current budget meeting and previous budget meetings, all to match up numbers that claim to have been lost in the shuffle.

There have been a few of his ‘board of old men’, Tim’s words, that he had cleared. Each cleared shareholder lightened the load, but sniffing out one specific pompous asshole at Wayne Enterprises was taking its time; and a toll on Tim. He hasn’t been able to take time to patrol as Red Robin, and his team have had to manage a few cases without him at the helm because of the near quadrupled amount of paperwork he’s had his nose in lately. It was making him antsy, his mind had been busy, but Jason could feel Tim’s body aching to move. The way he shifted constantly lately, or got up just to walk around, the lessened patrols were definitely getting to him. When he had been able to go out, he wasn’t even working on investigations, and had taken to the role of simply beating assholes senseless.

But Tim wouldn’t let anyone help. His pride wouldn’t let him.

“So, no progress?” Jason said through another mouth full of sloppy, wet pasta.

“Not in this specific file yet,” Tim sighed, “but I was able to eliminate one more suspect today.”

Tim began chewing on his thumb nail, eyes still glued to his computer screen.

“Well,” Jason grunted as he stood up, “you have like, three extra jobs at WE now, so no one can blame you for it taking time.”

“I blame me,” Tim grumbled, “I have to wait for every new edition of every new contract and every new budget, and then having studied those, I have to wait for the board meeting, which I then spend most of that time trying to catch someone slipping, but these guys lie, cheat, and steal through their whole lives. It just feels like the progress is so slow its non-existent.” Tim pulled the laptop into his lap, slouched against the couch and scrolled through another page of gibberish on his computer that seemed to make sense to him.

“Of course it does. You’re climbing a wall of old man greed with bricks made out of million-dollar budgets and legal jargon.” Jason spoke up louder, so his voice could be heard from the kitchen.

He made his way back to the living room, taking a bite of pasta with not enough sauce, before sitting back down and staring intensely at the computer. Tim looked over at him as he entered.

Line.

“Wait.” Jason said, grabbing the computer off Tim’s lap, and putting the pasta where the laptop had been.

“What?” Tim said, leaning in. Jason held up his hand to pause Tim, and scanned the document on the computer.

“Nothing.” Jason said, looking over at Tim, then at the bowl, and back at Tim with a smile.

It was boring, and Jason had to reread every line twice for any of them to make sense. Beside him, Tim took a bite of too dry pasta.

Sinker.

Tim looked down at the bowl of pasta, made with just enough sauce for everything to stick together and extra parmesan cheese, just the way he liked it.

Tim’s glare meant nothing, as it was followed by an eye roll and a small smile. Jason closed the laptop, and Tim moved closer, another forkful of pasta in his mouth, once again reminded that, yes, he did need to eat.

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Investigations are attempted

whumptober2023 day 12- red fandom- Danny phantom x batman TW- none summary- Bruce and his kids continue to look into Daniel Nightingale.

ao3 whumptober23 materlist Part 4 of ITR

Bruce stared at the file again.

Name: Daniel Nightingale Family: Unknown Previous employment: Nasty Burger cashier Magical ability: can sense spirits and magical artifacts, can see some mid-level spirits

He frowned. He’d already tried looking up Nasty Burger but no results had come up. He’d tried looking more into Daniel but everything seemed to be in place. Everything was almost too perfect.

It felt like a cover up, like a fake identity. But it was done so well, he was having trouble finding anything else. He’d already had Tim and Barbara try, but Tim didn’t get much further, only discovering that Daniel was his real name but Nightingale had been what was changed. Barbara had agreed and added that she recognized the signature of the hacker who had done the job, but that she had no idea who the hacker was except that they were on her level of talent.

Bruce closed that file and pulled up his search for Manson.

He turned aside to take a drink of his coffee, and when he turned back there was a message displayed on the Batcomputer.

Bruce stared at it before reaching up to his comm. “Oracle.”

“What’s up, B?” he could hear the clicking of keys in the background.

 “I need you to run a check on the Batcomputer.”

“I’m kind of busy at the moment, is this something that can wait?”

“I think we may have found the Manson we’re looking for.”

“Okay?”

“But I only know because the name started blinking across the screen.”

Oracle was silent for a moment before he heard her curse, then the clicking of keys continued at a much more frantic pace.

Bruce waited, the message had disappeared already and so he started looking up Samantha Manson. From what he found she reminded him of Ivy, and he could only hope she wasn’t some kind of villain as well. Manson was an avid protester against meat farms and deforestation along with several other environmental issues. She was also heir to the Manson company and fortune. When he looked into her background he found that she came from Amity Park, Illinois. But when Bruce looked the town up, he came up blank. He wanted to bang his head agaisnt his desk in frustration.

“B.”

“What did you find?”

“I don’t know where exactly the message originated from, but it has the same signature as whoever made Nightingale’s files.”

Bruce grunted in acknowledgement and frustration.

“I’ll keep looking but I've never been able to find this hacker before and I’m not sure I’ll be able to unless they let me.”

“Keep me updated.”

Bruce could practically feel her eye roll as she answered. “Of course, B.”

Bruce really hoped Samanthat Manson was the one they were looking for. But why would the hacker tell them? Regardless, it was worth looking into. It had been a month since Daniel had been taken and if this went on too long, Bruce wasn’t sure if Daniel would still be alive.

He looked up Manson’s whereabouts and his suspicions increased when he found that she had arrived in Gotham the day before.

He spoke over the comms again, “I need a volunteer to go with me to investigate Manson.”

“You finally found them? Who are they?” said Nightwing.

“Took you long enough, old man.”

“Did you or Oracle find them?” Tim asked.

“Neither. Someone hacked the Batcomputer to send the message.”

There was silence on the comms for less than a second before a flurry of overlapping voices made Bruce wince. 

“Quiet.” Thankfully they listened and Bruce was able to continue. “Oracle is looking into it, but I want one of you with me to approach Manson.”

“I need to wrap a case up in Bludhaven.”

“I’m busy.” Jason said.

“I’ll go.” Robin responded.

“Not you, Robin. Agent A informs me you have a project to work on.”

“But, Father–”

“Do you want to take it up with Agent A?”

Damien grumbled but didn’t say anything else.

“Red Robin?”

Tim sighed, “I guess I can go. Whoever this Manson is probably knows our hacker, and I’d really like to meet the person who can hack the Batcomputer. Who is it?”

“Samantha Manson.”

Tim spluttered. “What! Sam Manson, heir to the toothpick company!”

“You know her?”

“Do I know her? She’s the only reason I volunteer for the annual Baymont’s Gala, you know, the owners of that meat packaging plant. Her family always attends, and she always does something to make the gala more interesting. Last year she somehow put laxative in all the champagne. It was hilarious!”

He could hear Dick cackling over the comms.

“That’s ridiculous. Surely something like that would be in the news?” Damien said.

“I don’t think she’s ever been caught.”

“Then how do you know it was her?” Jason asked.

We’ve been going to that gala for years and she’s always very vocal about her opinions of the Baymonts and their company. And once I saw her slip a fake mouse into Avery Bellmonts dress.”

“I think I heard about that incident.” Dick said. “If she turns out to be good, we should invite her to the next Wayne gala; they are always so boring. No offense, B.”

“I agree, except full offense. And no names in the comms, Dickwing.” Jason said.

“Hypocrite.”

“It’s not my fault you–”

“Boys.” There was silence and Bruce sighed. “Red Robin, I’m sending you the address of her hotel. Meet me there in an hour.”

“Will do, B.”

Bruce silenced his comm and got up to get changed into the Batsuit. If Samantha was anything like Tim said, he was in for a long night.