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dcxdpdabbles · 17 days ago

Note

Danny wakes up in a cage in the Batcave as a human and thinks to himself “well that’s not a good sign.”

Big bad bat encountered him in the caves near the Batcave by finding him half dunked in the Lazarus pits under Gotham during a routine check. He put the boy in a cage as a precaution, but was otherwise planning on investigating then returning him to his rightful place.

Danny does not know that.

He proceeds to search his pockets (phase his hand into his body disguised as reaching into his pockets) and pulls out a tool kit, systematically disassembles, exits, then reassembles the cage.

And walks out.

Now the bats are hunting the streets for this engineering escape artist while Danny is just hanging out at a newsstand reading up on the universe Clockwork had sent him to check out.

"Woah! What happened here?" Duke gasps from the staircase. He is wearing his school uniform, but upon checking his backpack, he realizes his chemistry textbook is missing, likely somewhere in the Batcave after his latest monitor duty.

He had been multitasking by shooting out questions to the rest of the bats as they patrolled. Due to an injured wrist, Duke had been benched from his regular day shift (Jason offered to cover for him), and watching screens had been the only way Bruce had been willing to let him participate.

That quickly became boring, however, since Oracle was much faster than he was, and Duke had a tough time focusing on screens. He's never been one to enjoy too much screen time - he didn't have the attention span for it.

This meant that Duke had not been in the cave for the past three nights, after he struck a deal with Bruce to let him catch up on some much-needed rest instead, provided he could continue his civilian work during the day.

Imagine his surprise to find the Batcave in disarray, with almost everything taken apart, piece by piece, including the Batcomputer and the dinosaur. Bruce, Damian, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Cass were currently attempting to gather the pieces and reassemble everything, which seemed hard given all the little pieces that had shattered about.

"Some kid with a screwdriver," Jason grunted, holding up various nails towards the light. In front of the anti-hero were five distinct piles of nails and bolts, each separated by type and size, which he carefully sorted from a large bucket.

"What?"

Tim looked up from a mountain of wires, some of which were dropped over his shoulders, around his head, and a few were entangled with his leg, as he tried to untangle everything. He looked as crazed as he did the year he decided he was going to put up all the Christmas lights by himself, only to realize how large Wayne Manor really was. "Two nights ago, we found a civilian unconscious in cave sector T-Y13. He was practically radioactive with Lazarus pits water, so Bruce had the bright idea to put him in a cage as a precaution. The civillain woke up while Bruce was away so he couldn't explain that he was not kidnapped, realized he was in a cage, and deassimbled it with a tool set he pulled from his ass-"

"Tim. Laugauge" Dick scolds, leanign over metal tubes to cover Damian's ears. The twelve-year-old huffs, but doesn't shake off Dick's hands as he stares at a different buckets of lightbults, sorting them like Jason was doing to the nails.

It was a little darker than what Duke was used to.

"-And then, he decided to reassemble the cage once he was out." Tim continued as if he weren't interrupted, nodding his head to the only part of the cave that looked normal. The contamination unit seemed to shine in the untouched spotlights. "Then the civilian had the bright idea to take apart everything in the cave. He systematically disassembled everything and mixed up the pieces. The only things he left alone were the railings!"

"It's pretty impressive," Bruce praises. He was checking over technology boards with a critical eye. A headlight strapped to his forehead shines brightly on the pieces as he smiles. "I wonder where he is now."

"If he has any brains, he's probably applying for a position with a pit crew in NASCAR," Cass laughs, picking up different boards of metal. "He took the whole place apart in less than twenty minutes."

"He even got the Batpens" Dick sighs. "Why was he so passive-aggressive about pulling out the pen's springs?"

"If I woke up in a cage, after unfair imprisonment, I would also cause my captors as much grief as possible," Damain comments casually. "We are lucky he decided to leave nothing harmful behind."

"He just took everything else!" Steph's voice calls out from a dark patch of the cave. Duke knows it's in the direction of the showers and the changing room. "Does anyone see any shower heads over there? The kid took them off every shower!

"I have one!" Cass calls back, holding up an item in her hand. "Are any pipes missing? There are five long metal cylinders that I can't figure out what they are for."

"No, he left the pipes along, but I think he took the mirrors and the door."

"Which door?" Bruce yells back. There is a moment of silence before Steph replies.

"All of them! "

"Of course. That's what these ones are for." Jason says in an Ah-ha voice, holding up a few black bolts. "They're the ones from the shower heads!"

Duke stares, then sighs. He lets his backpack slide off his shoulders, landing on the stairs with a thump. Looks like he's calling in sick to school again.

Rolling up his sleeves, he moves over to Cass and helps her lift the long cylinders she had mentioned. "Do we know anything about this civilian?"

"Before he took the Batcomputer apart, we were able to get that he wasn't in any of the local government records. He isn't from Gotham or this state." Bruce says while carefully placing pieces back on a large computer board with a pair of tweezers. "My guess, he's not going to be in any system, either."

"Why?"

Bruce looks up, his eyes shining. "His DNA matched eighty-five percent with Themyscira's genetic make-up. No proof of cloning either. We may just have a genius male Themysciran on our hands."

Duke didn't like how excited Bruce sounded when he made that statement. He opens his mouth to snap, "You can't adopt him, Bruce!"

It's validating that his voice wasn't the only one that said it, but that it echoed by literally everyone else in the cave. Bruce purses his lips but doesn't agree or disagree with the accusation as he turns back to his computer board.

Duke hears him mutter under his breath, but he's too far away to figure out what he said.

"How long do you think this will take us to put back together?" He asks Cass as they compare metal pieces- he's holding a triangle-looking thing that he can't figure out where it came from.

She kicks aside a circular metal slate, raising a brow at him, then nodding her head toward the left side of the cave. Duke turns to look in the direction of the third Robin, who was wiggling around.

"What are you!?" Tim screams at a blue wire, shaking it like he was strangling someone's neck. Somehow, in the time Duke looked away from him, Tim had his right arm tied to his left knee, with a red wire thread running through his shirt, and his right leg was no longer visible because the rest of the wire pile had consumed it.

"Oh, so it's going to be a few hours," Duke sighs as Cass nods sadly.

"Does anyone have any eyes on the light switches?" Dick yells out. "Damian and I almost have all the pieces to turn the lights back on."

"Oh gods -He took the lockers!" Steph screams in angst. "I had a snack stash in there!"

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #The engineering escape artist #dimension travel #misunderstandings #Danny haunts the narative in this one #He registers as a male Themysciran #The Bats have to reassimble the Batcave #You ever have someone mix up your lego pieces from a set? That's basically what Danny did to them #Bruce want's to adopt Danny #Tim is losing is mind #They all are

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pretentious-blonde · 5 months ago

Text

built to last

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve harrington was just supposed to help you build a bookshelf. he definitely wasn’t supposed to have this much fun doing it.

warnings: none! sweet steve!!! PINING STEVE!!!

a/n: part two as promised, but can be read as a standalone.

series masterlist

Steve Harrington sat on the floor of your living room, cross-legged on the floor. A heap of wooden panels and screws spread out around him, still in their plastic bags, scattered like a mini battlefield. He couldn’t understand how many parts a simple shelving unit would contain, but that wasn’t going to stop him from building the damn thing.

In one hand, he clutched an instruction booklet that he’d already peeked at three times, and in the other, a trusty screwdriver from the tool kit he’d lugged in from his trunk, shoved in there that morning. He really didn’t want to be caught unprepared, especially when you accepted his offer to help. And what help would he be without a screwdriver? None. It was basically furniture building 101.

His adrenaline was finally dying down from that morning, because honestly? It had been a whirlwind day—and it wasn’t even noon yet.

He’d arrived outside Family Video nearly a half-hour early because punctuality suddenly felt like a life-or-death situation. He’d never admit that to you though, he’d probably just tell you he was an early riser, or traffic was lighter than he expected if you asked. A white lie to avoid seeming pathetic.

Truth was, he’d spent most of that time staring at his reflection in the car window, smoothing out his hair, worrying if he looked too eager—or maybe not eager enough. Telling himself not to look so desperate, then proceeding to check one more time anyway. He was just glad you could see him without the stupid company vest, that he did have some semblance of a fashion sense. Further proven when he caught you looking him up and down a few times over the course of the day.

You didn’t know him in high school, which was both a blessing and a slight curse. He couldn’t sail by being “King Steve” and all the popularity that came with it, but maybe that was a positive thing. You were meeting just him, just Steve. You said yes to just Steve, and that was a good start.

When you finally appeared—warm smile, eyes full of anticipation tied with that slight nervousness—Steve immediately forgot all the conversation starters he’d practised. He forgot how lovely you were up close, it threw him slightly off balance as you approached.

He couldn’t quite believe his luck: you’d actually let him help you pick out a bookshelf. Yes, it was a mundane task, but it was a chance nonetheless. He just hoped you didn’t accept because of the heavy lifting—or worse, pity.

He was hopeful that whatever this was, would put a stop to his terrible track record of recent romance.

So, no pressure.

He asked if you were comfortable with his car—not wanting to force you—and a wave of relief swept over him when you agreed that his trunk was indeed larger. When you both reached the passenger side, Steve—being every bit the gentleman he was trying to be—opened the door for you.

He had fully stocked the glove box with a selection of cassettes, some rock, some pop, and even some old jazz records from his dad’s study—just in case you were into that. He wanted to cover all the bases.

You thumbed through the tapes, taking a jab at him for his eclectic tastes, which he welcomed with a faint chuckle. You chatted with him the entire drive, and it was fully welcomed, with him asking question after question, wanting to get to know you better.

He’d tried so hard not to stare at you, but every time you laughed at one of his stupid jokes, he couldn’t help but glance your way—just to soak up the way your eyes lit up at something he said.

When you got to the store, it turned out to be bigger—and more confusing—than either of you expected, but that only made the whole thing funnier. You cracked jokes about all the weird items on display—like the life-size ceramic dog statue that looked bizarrely regal in the middle of the aisle—and Steve laughed, genuinely, relieved that he didn’t have to come up with any forced banter. It flowed out easily, like water.

When you finally found the bookshelf section, you spent time comparing finishes and sizes, your head tilted thoughtfully while you tapped your fingers against your chin.

Steve tried to appear useful—pointing out this shelf or that one—but mostly, he just liked watching the way you beamed whenever you found something close to what you wanted. Eventually, you settled on the biggest option of all. Typical.

“I don’t want to have to buy another shelf anytime soon,” you’d explained, eyeing the tall, dark wood frame.

“Right, because buying a bigger shelf isn’t just an excuse to buy more books or anything.” Steve joked.

You’d looked at him, eyes dancing. “Obviously,” you said, in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

He’d grinned. Your energy matched his and his anxiety from earlier was almost entirely gone. You had a sense of humour. You were quick. He liked that.

The real task was moving the damn thing. Getting the unopened box of parts up to your place felt like an Olympic event. He nearly died hauling the massive bookshelf up the flight of stairs to your apartment—he was pretty sure one of his arms was going to give out—but there was no way he’d admit that to you. You’d offered to take one end, but he’d waved you off immediately. No way was he letting you do that.

“I got it,” he’d insisted, heart pounding. If he were being honest, part of it was pride, sure—but the bigger part was that look of concern you kept giving him, and how nice it felt to be needed again. It had been a while since he felt that way, and it felt good. It felt really good.

By the time the two of you managed to wrangle it up the final steps and into your living room, his arms were shaking. He pressed his lips tight, ignoring the slight burn in his shoulders, giving you a triumphant nod as if he did this sort of thing every day.

“You okay?” you’d asked, eyes flicking to the flushed look on his face.

“Yeah, totally fine,” he’d lied, trying to catch his breath. “All good.”

You’d nodded and stepped away to make coffee, leaving Steve alone with the dreaded instruction booklet. With you gone, he allowed himself a second to let out a small, nervous huff.

He’s totally got this. It’s just like any other puzzle, right? Except it’s bigger. And 3D. And a little more complicated. But still, he’s got this... Mostly.

He spread the pieces out on the floor, still in their plastic casing, scanning for anything that looked like the logical first step. If he were honest, he’d never built anything this big before. But you didn’t know that and he’d prefer to keep it that way.

He was so absorbed in mentally prepping for the ordeal that he almost didn’t hear you come back. But the soft clink of cups drew his attention, and he glanced up to see you standing there, holding two mismatched mugs. One was white with a blue rim; the other had some faded floral pattern along the side.

Mismatched cups. He wouldn’t have guessed he’d find that detail adorable, but it just seemed so you—practical, unpretentious, sweet. He’d built you up in his head the days leading up to this, and now you seemed a little more human. Still nerve-wracking, but human.

Your hair was slightly tousled from the breeze outside, or from hauling that box inside—he wasn’t sure which—but either way, you looked at home. It was a nice image.

“Figured you might need a boost after your workout on the stairs.” You said softly, offering him the faded mug.

“You read my mind.” He picked up the coffee and cradled it for a moment, letting the warmth seep into his aching hands. “Thanks… It was honestly nothing.” he shrugged, trying to downplay how out of breath he’d been.

You lowered yourself onto the floor across from him, tucking your legs underneath you. The scene felt strangely intimate, the two of you crouched on the floor like kids at a sleepover.

“Sure,” you said, taking a sip from your own mug, seeing through the sweet lie. “I’m kinda the one putting you to work here, so it’s the least I can do.”

Steve glanced at the scattered wood and screws, a determined look on his face. He could not screw this up. It took a lot of willpower not to glare at the instructions for a fourth time.

“I’m happy to help,” he said aloud, his voice a touch too casual. He didn’t want you to know how sincere he was, how good it felt just to be around you—and how it had been a long time since he’d felt this comfortable with someone new. Someone who he began to click with so quickly. He could not ruin it by building this thing incorrectly.

You offered him a small smile. “Well, let me know if you need anything. I can help screw things in, or hold up the pieces, or—”

Steve waved you off, trying for a confident smirk. “Nah, don’t worry. I’ve got this covered,” he assured you, tapping the screwdriver against his palm. “You can just…supervise. Maybe read me the instructions if I accidentally, uh, if my hands are full or something”

“Sure,” you said, laughter dancing in your eyes. “I’m great at reading, by the way. Got loads of practice.”

“See? Perfect team already,” Steve replied, flashing a grin in your direction.

He tried to stop himself from smiling too hard, not wanting to look like an idiot as he chastised himself. You're gonna scare her off.

But inside, you were fighting your own battle: trying not to show just how pleased you were that this considerate, unexpectedly funny boy had agreed—offered, actually—to spend his Saturday morning with you, building a bookshelf you could’ve probably pieced together on your own eventually. You almost felt bad for taking up his weekend.

But you couldn’t help but think how nice it was, feeling looked after for a change, seeing him all earnest and determined to do a good job.

“If you get stuck, just say." You wrapped your hands around your mug. "Or if you want me to hold something in place.”

“Will do,” Steve promised, flipping open the manual. His brow furrowed as he scanned the step-by-step images. “I think Step One is just laying out all the pieces and checking if we have them.”

You looked around at the piles of wood. “So…do we have them all?”

“Uh…” Steve quickly counted, mind flashing back to that moment when he’d lugged the box up the stairs. He was pretty sure he hadn’t left anything behind. “I think so?”

A quiet laugh escaped you, and he couldn’t help but beam—he liked that sound. He wanted to be the one to draw it out of you again.

Your eyes flicked down to the mug in his hands, noticing how big they looked against the delicate porcelain. Something about Steve, all broad shoulders and careful hands, handling that little cup was…endearing.

“Okay,” he declares as he puts down his drink, attention fully on the folded paper. “We got this.” he insisted, though his smile gave him away.

“You sure about that?” you teased, nudging him with your elbow. “Because it looks like you’re holding the manual upside down.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Listen, I’m just—this diagram is confusing, okay?”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” You rolled your eyes.

Still, the two of you were grinning like dorks, giggling over the supposed simplicity of what the box had promised was a “quick assembly.” The sound of your laughter mingling with his reminded Steve of an old married couple—it was playful bickering, not the tension-filled kind. And for the first time in forever, he didn’t feel that usual weight of having to be perfect.

He’d spent so much of his life chasing approval: from his parents, his ex-girlfriend, the kids—not wanting to let anyone down. But right now, with you kneeling next to him on the carpet, trying to figure out which side of a wooden plank was the top, that pressure completely melted away. He found himself bursting into warm laughter every time you caught him doing something wrong, or whenever you made a joke at his expense. He didn't mind. Not in the slightest.

You were just relieved you didn’t have to go through this furniture fiasco by yourself. Watching him wrestle with a piece of wood while claiming he totally had everything under control was surprisingly entertaining. His confidence, that slight puff of his chest whenever you teased him, was too endearing to ignore.

Eventually—somehow—the two of you got the shelf together, the last screw twisting into place. You both sat down in front of it, looking up to admire your joint handiwork.

“All right,” Steve declared, brushing imaginary dust off his hands. “Mission accomplished.” He turned to you with a wide grin. “You wanna put your books on it now? I could hang around—maybe help alphabetize?”

“Yeah, no.” You snorted, crossing your arms as you eyed the imposing shelf. “That’s enough manual labour for the day. My arms will fall off if I even think about lifting anything else.”

“Fair.” He laughed, secretly glad you declined, honestly—his muscles were already feeling the burn from lugging the thing upstairs, and he had no idea how he’d look if he had to repeat that process again. Probably not cool. Definitely not cool.

Silence stretched for a second as you both looked at each other. You looked comfortable. Comfortable with him being there still. He took it as an invitation to talk to you more, not wanting this to be over just yet.

“So,” he ventured, propping up one leg, “why’d you move here, anyway? Don’t get me wrong, it’s, uh, full of character—” He shot you a grin. “But it’s not exactly high on anyone’s must-see list.”

“No one’s asked me that quite so bluntly yet.” Your voice was warm, though, and Steve saw a smile tug at your lips. “I got a job at the local newspaper. It’s not glamorous—I’ll probably be making coffees for everyone for the next few weeks—but it’s a stepping stone, right?”

He blinked. Newspaper. He was immediately impressed. Your eyes were shining with something like hope. And if there was one thing Steve Harrington admired, it was someone with hope.

“Seriously? That’s impressive,” he said, meaning every word. “Congrats. That’s, uh, kinda a big deal.”

“Thank you.” You paused, a shy expression forming. “I’m excited to do real reporting eventually, you know?” You lifted a shoulder in a faint shrug, trying to act casual, but he could tell you were proud. He admired that.

There was a small part of him that felt a flicker of insecurity creep up the back of his neck. You’re clearly smart, and driven, but what was he? A guy who shelved videos and had questionable carpentry skills?

The thought gnawed at him for a moment, but he forced it aside. Telling himself not to spiral in your living room, there would be time to do that after he left.

“Couldn’t be worse than my first job,” he offered, hoping to lighten his own mood—and maybe make you laugh.

“Yeah?” You perked up. “What was your first job?”

He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… wore a sailor’s uniform. For an ice cream shop. For a whole summer.”

For a second, you just blinked, then your eyes widened. “Wait—what? Like a full-on costume situation, or…?”

“Oh God, don’t even— Look, it was a legit uniform, okay?”Steve groaned, face heating. “Hat, kerchief, everything. It was humiliating.”

“That’s amazing,” you said, stifling laughter behind your hand. “Do you still have it?”

“Fuck no,” he burst out, shaking his head so adamantly his hair bounced, eyes narrowing in playfully. “Why? You interested in seeing that or something?”

“Maybe.” A mischievous gleam flickered across your face.

“Wow, okay. Didn’t think you were into that sort of thing.” He gave you a gentle, teasing shove with his shoulder, trying to hide his darkening cheeks. You giggled, falling back a little, and for a moment, he thought about just closing the distance right there.

A comfortable silence settled over the room again, your playful banter trailing into quiet. The shelf stood assembled, your coffee cups had gone cold, and the clock was ticking further into the day. He couldn’t escape the sudden awareness that this was probably where he headed home. He felt the weight of it in his stomach. You must’ve noticed his demeanour shift.

“You okay?” you asked, voice laced with concern.

He cleared his throat, forcing his gaze away from the door—he didn’t want to see it, not yet.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Then, softer, “I just… had a really good time today.”

“Me too.” You nodded, relief softening your features.

“Yeah? Good,” he exhaled, fiddling with the hem of his polo. He was so close to saying something else, but the words were stuck in his throat, so he blurted them out quickly before he could lose his nerve. “’Cause, uh, I don’t want this to be the last time we hang out.”

You looked at him curiously, a small smile growing on your face. His heart hammered. Keep going, Harrington. Don’t freak out.

“I, uh—” he scratched the back of his neck. “I liked this. I like… you. And if you’d be cool with it, I’d really love to see you again. Maybe under different circumstances?”

He half-expected you to burst out laughing at him. He felt so vulnerable he could practically see his own heart beating. Instead, you just stared at him for a moment, expression unreadable, until he panicked.

“I mean, I could always come back if you need something else built,” he joked. “Like, if a table breaks or you need a chair assembled or—” He shook his head. “Sorry, that’s weird. No pressure. I—um—”

“You don’t have to make up excuses, Steve.” You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, shifting closer. “I’d love to see you again.”

He froze, eyes darting to yours.

“Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed with a nod, and the certainty in your voice settled him.

A grin spread across his face, wide and unfiltered, and he laughed breathlessly. “Okay. Well, I’m working Monday, so…” His eyes flicked around for a second as he gathered courage. “Bring that tape back? The one you borrowed? Then I can tell you where we’re going for dinner.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you tried to look nonchalant, but that pink tint gave you away.

“Yeah, sure. I can, uh… definitely do that.”

“Sweet,” Steve said softly, practically glowing. He’s still got it.

A few minutes later, he was slipping on his shoes by the door, shrugging on his jacket. You stood there, arms crossed lightly, eyes flicking between him and the bookshelf like you couldn’t decide which one was more impressive.

He paused, realising this was it—time to go.

But you were looking at him with such a sweet, hopeful expression that every nerve in his body was screaming.

Kiss her.

He swallowed hard as you looked at his mouth, then back up at his eyes. A silent invitation you were too scared to initiate.

Fuck it.

In a surge of courage, he leaned in—maybe not quite as smooth as he hoped, but good enough to press his lips to yours.

He cupped your cheek, and the second his lips met yours, a delicious, dizzy warmth rushed through his veins. It was like every nerve in his body had lit up at once—your warmth, your scent, the softness of your mouth pushing away all the lingering insecurities in his head.

You made a tiny sound of surprise, then melted against him, one of your hands curling gently into the collar of his jacket. The feeling sent a heat through his entire body, making the tips of his ears burn.

When he finally pulled back, your eyes were half-lidded, and you looked stunned. Which, for some reason, made his heart squeeze even tighter.

“Wear something nice on Monday, all right?” He told you gently, unable to help the little smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m driving.”

“I will.” You nodded, lips curving into a grin. A beat of silence before you spoke again. “See you, Steve.”

He gave a quick nod, fighting the dopey grin stretching across his face.

“Yeah, see you,” he said as you gently shut the door. He practically bounded down the steps and into the cool air outside. Resisting the urge to shout out loud to everyone within hearing distance about what just transpired moments ago.

He made it to the car and slid into the driver’s seat, adrenaline buzzing in his veins like he’d just done something incredible—because, honestly, it felt like he had.

First thing he was gonna do? Call Robin. Obviously. Because he needed to tell someone about how he, Steve Harrington, who thought he might’ve lost his edge, just built a freaking bookshelf and scored a date in the process. Both of which he was equally proud of.

Turning the key, he let out a slow, happy exhale. Then, with a smile that refused to quit, he pulled away, your building disappearing in his rearview mirror—though the thought of you remained right at the centre of his chest.

God, he couldn’t wait ’til Monday.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things imagine #stranger things x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x you

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