#but i decided to keep him alive and he somehow got involved with gordon and now theres so much stuff between them aksdjhad

[gearbroth]

[concept-dump] Space-au - (main(?) Antagonist) Skal, enemy of sun and mentor to iron

[scaryscarecrows]

Before You Put My Body in the Cold Ground (Take Some Time to Warm It With Your Hands)

AN: ‘Roots and Leaves’ related. Title from Brand New’s ‘Sowing Season’.

* * *

Bruce does not allow himself to speculate on the nature of the Light. Gordon turns it on for anything from ‘take this piece of evidence’ to ‘we have a new serial killer’ to ‘there’s been an Arkham breakout. Again’.

It isn’t, at least, an automatic warning sign of mayhem.

Gordon, as per usual, is standing near it, soaking up the warmth, when Bruce lands silently on the rooftop behind him. Contrary to popular opinion, he doesn’t come in from the back to be dramatic. He comes in from the back to avoid taking blinding, agonizing light to the eyes.

“Commissioner.”

Gordon jumps and swears.

“Every time…Dove Marquis wants to see you. Says she’s got temporary custody of one of your-and I’m quoting, here-‘fifty thousand children’, and would like you to come and get him.”

Well. This is unexpected.

Dick and Tim are accounted for on the way, Dick covering the night shift for a friend and Tim…interviewing…some of Harley Quinn’s on-again-off-again henchmen. Which leaves Jason.

Jim had not implied it was anything imminently fatal. And Jason, the last anybody knew, hadn’t actively picked a fight with anybody overly dangerous. It’s likely that he’s got some sort of mild, but unpleasant, injury that’s preventing him from getting home. 

That sounds weak to Bruce’s own ears. With Marquis calling Gordon about this, it’s because it’s serious or because Jason asked, and if it’s the latter…

Marquis is on her balcony with a cigarette when he arrives. There’s no sign of Jason, but surely that’s not a bad thing. Surely. It’s pouring rain, it’s late…

She looks rattled, and she keeps twisting around to glance through her doors. The feeling of unease grows, and he scans the building. The only figure in the apartment is curled up on the couch, asleep. He deems it safe to land on the balcony railing.

“Jesus-!” Her cigarette lands in a puddle with a hiss! “Good God, that’s creepy…are you socially awkward, or just an asshole?”

“Why did you tell Gordon to contact me.”

Marquis rolls her eyes.

“Asshole it is...because he asked for you. So you have to take him.” As though he wouldn’t. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t wanna know. I found him wandering around a few blocks away. He was throwing up dirt a-and fucking worms, and I spent a good forty minutes pulling shards of wood out of his hands.”

Sounds like someone thought it would be a good idea to bury him alive. Bruce will disabuse them of that notion as soon as he gets Jason home and under Alfred’s care.

“Hn.”

They go in. Jason’s scrunched up on the couch with an electric blanket over him, face smushed into a pillow. His hands are wrapped from fingertip to wrist, and he’s shivering, just a little. Bruce is more concerned about the fact that he’s not waking. He’s a light sleeper, always has been, and for him to be uncaring, unknowing, that he’s not alone…

What happened to you tonight?

He whimpers and scrunches up under the blanket, hands jerking, and Marquis says softly, “Want me to try and wake him up, or do you want to risk it?”

Neither, preferably.

The whimpers stop and he goes still, sniffling softly. Bruce sighs, calls for the car-it’ll be here by the time he gets downstairs-and pulls Jason into a fireman’s carry.

“Thank you,” he manages to say. “For. For watching him.”

“Take it up with Harley,” she says shortly, fishing out her cigarettes and heading for her porch. “Tell him I hope he feels better soon, huh?”

Jason stirs, a little, when he settles him into the Batmobile, but when Bruce tries to talk to him, his face scrunches up and he closes his eyes again. He’s tempted, he really is, to go after Harley now; Jason’s clearly all right, not even a hint of a low-grade fever, but…

But. He could have inhaled something, he could have been drugged. Bruce needs to take him home and have Alfred look at him. Harley can wait.

And this way, he’ll be more likely to keep his temper when he tracks her down.

He tousles Jason’s hair, covers him with the cape-he’s shivering now that he’s away from the electric blanket-and makes sure he’s secure before hopping into the driver’s seat and calling Alfred.

“I need you to prep the med bay,” he says. Alfred does that thing where he doesn’t really sigh, but he may as well.

“What happened this time, Master Bruce.”

It isn’t always his fault. Arguing will get him nowhere, but it really isn’t always his fault.

“I’ve got Jason,” he says, narrowly avoiding a fire hydrant that really is located too close to the curb. “He’s. It appears that somebody attempted a live burial.”

Alfred is silent.

“I will be ready and waiting for you, Master Bruce,” he says at last. “Drive safely.”

He does. Mostly. He takes care, anyway, not to come screaming into the cave in a cloud of dust and burnt rubber. Jason’s still unconscious in the back, but he wakes, a little, when he’s picked up.

“B…?”

“Hn.”

“You came.” The surprise in his voice hurts. “You really came for me.”

“Yes.” He sets him on a gurney. The clothes aren’t his, and they don’t fit him well. There’s small cuts on his face and neck, and his hands are all but mummified. “Jay—”

“My fault, I should’a—”

What?

“Jason—”

“She said it was safe,” he whispers. “She said. She said.”

And then Alfred is there, shooing Bruce out of the way and humming, “Let’s see what’s happened, Master Jason…”

Jason blinks at them for a minute before his eyes roll back. Bruce has no idea what happened. He doubts Jason would have trusted Harley Quinn. Pitied, almost certainly, but trusted? No. Somebody else was involved, somebody he doesn’t know about.

Bruce doesn’t like not knowing about things.

There’s a bump on the side of the boy’s head, and when Alfred unwraps his hands...they’re not a pretty sight. There’s a few nails missing and the remaining ones are badly broken. They’re riddled with cuts and punctures and oh. Coffin. There must have been a coffin, or at least a large wooden crate.

How did this happen?

“--ce. Master Bruce.”

“Sorry, Alfred.”

“Move aside, please...thank you. It’s a miracle his fingers are still intact.”

Bruce often thinks it’s a miracle Jason’s alive at all, after...after everything. And now, under the stark light of the medical bay, that idea comes back in force. He can’t place most of these scars, even though he knows what caused them. That one’s from a crowbar; he’s got a few of those himself. They’re a cheap, easy weapon. Or that one, there, that’s from a knife. There’s more than a few gunshot wounds, far more than he ever had from his time as Robin, and…

“There we are, Master Jason,” Alfred says, forcefully cheery, even though Jason’s not awake to care anyway. “I’m sure your father will take you upstairs.”

Some father he is. This is his fault, none of this should have happened.

He wants Harley Quinn. And once Jason’s settled in bed, he’s going to find her.

* * *

Bruce decides, when he’s back in the car (he isn’t hiding from Alfred’s disapproval, he’s just…), that he’ll start his hunt for Harley after getting what he can out of Marquis. He’s hoping she’ll be more cooperative about this than she’s been about past cases, given the circumstances. Besides, Penguin’s not involved (theoretically), so she doesn’t have any reason to withhold information, not really.

She’s still outside, but no longer smoking, when he lands on the balcony.

“Why are you here.”

“What happened.”

“Get lost.”

“I need to find Harley, but I need to know what happened.”

For a minute, he thinks she’ll just go inside. But she sighs, mutters something about too many goddamn vigilantes and never thought I’d miss the weirdo with mommy issues, and gets up off the bench.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I found him wandering around a few blocks away, and he said Harley did it, and he was really, really upset about some woman named Sheila, but I don’t know who that is and at this point, I don’t care.”

Sheila, Sheila...Bruce knows of a Sheila, but...no, that’s too much of a coincidence...there’s no such thing as coincidence...and Jay’s always had near-comically bad luck. Rather like the Baudelaire Orphans.

“Where exactly did you find him.”

“Ah...over in Sunshine Plaza.”

Bruce has always wondered who, exactly, named that plaza. And why.

“Thank you.”

“Now are you gonna go?”

He can take a hint. And also there’s nothing else he needs here.

He brings up his file on Sheila Haywood on the glide over. She’s still living exactly where she was the last time she was on his radar, when he’d been desperate. He’d thought that maybe...either Jason had found out, somehow, and gone after her, or that her connections to the Joker would…

He’d been desperate.

Sheila’s apartment isn’t far from here, and Bruce’s unease only grows. The odds of there being another Sheila are...low...and Jason…

He lets himself in through the bedroom window. There’s a body lying in the front hall, but no other signs of life.

The body is Sheila Haywood. Bruce sighs-he doesn’t know why he expected otherwise, really-and sets up a virtual crime scene.

Sheila died from a bullet to the head, maybe...five hours ago, give or take. The shooter was waiting for her; she’s still wearing her raincoat, and her purse is sitting on the ground where it fell when she died.

There’s a gun near her hand. It hasn’t been fired-it’s not even loaded-but hers are the only prints on it.

Hm.

There was a struggle, at some point. The end table by the couch is tipped over and there’s blood on the carpet. The blood is both Jason’s and an unknown-likely a hired hench-and there’s a hint of Quinn’s perfume still lingering in the air.

So. Harley-or her goons-probably shot Sheila when she pulled the gun. That doesn’t entirely explain her involvement, but Bruce wonders if Harley wasn’t trying to get her to come back. She didn’t take Joker’s death well, and he knows she’s been grasping for any last connection to him. Sometimes he feels sorry for her.

But not today. Today, her insanity killed a woman and could have cost Jason his life, and Bruce is not happy about it.

He calls Gordon about Sheila before following the perfume outside. There’s not enough to track over a long distance, but it does lead him to the parking garage...and a set of tire tracks.

The first place the tracks go is a park, maybe two blocks away. Reasonable; Jason was either unconscious or restrained, but keeping him in a small car would have been risky. The car was parked, and…

Oh.

Oh, dear God.

He doesn’t need to track anything to see the tear in the earth, the thick wooden shards and the torn roots. The scanner says the disruption goes down six feet, to a cheap coffin.

Oh, Jay-lad, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

His ear crackles and Alfred’s voice hits him, colder than Freeze’s gun.

“Master Bruce.” Oh no. “What do you think you are doing.”

“I need to find Quinn.”

“You need to be with your son, who has asked for you twice tonight.” The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach is a response to the grave in front of him, and that’s all. “Now.”

Alfred uses-really uses-the No Argument tone very rarely. That’s probably why it’s so effective.

That said, Harley’s likely gone to ground for the time being. Big to-dos aren’t her style, not anymore. Besides, he can put feelers out from home. And maybe Tim will find something.

* * *

Jason’s asleep when Bruce nudges his door open, face buried in the pillow. Looking at him now, Bruce can almost convince himself that none of the last few years has happened, that he’s just...home from college for the weekend. But then he rolls over, bringing the brand into the low light, and the illusion’s shattered.

“Has he woken up at all?”

“Once,” Alfred says, apparently happier now that Bruce is here. “He wasn’t terribly happy with the room being so dark, hence the pineapple lamp.” Bruce can only imagine. “He wondered where you were, but then decided to go back to sleep.”

“I’ll watch him, Alfred.”

He’s sure he’s imagining the it’s about bloody time aura Alfred is radiating. It’s been a long night, that’s all.

“Very good, sir. Call me if you need me.”

Jason doesn’t stir when Bruce sits down on the edge of the bed. Good. It’s...it’s better that he get some sleep.

(Bruce doesn’t want a fight tonight.)

How did this happen, Jay? What am I missing?

He’ll find out. He’ll find Harley, he’ll make this...well, there’s no making this right, but...he’ll find her.

God, he’s tired of clowns trying to take his son.

THE END

[violetsmoak]

Appetence [3/?]

AO3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251420/chapters/47997634

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Red Robin is investigating the disappearance of a friend and stumbles into a spot of supernatural trouble. He doesn’t expect to be saved by Jason Todd, miraculously alive five years after his death and now with the inexplicable ability to commune with the dead. Meanwhile, when Jason returned to Gotham he meant to maintain a low profile and not get involved with Bat business. That was before he found out how hot his Replacement is.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #incubus (sort of) #paranormal investigator 

Canon-Compliance: Alternate Universe; Jason still died but was not found by Talia when he was resurrected. All other events mostly follow the same chronology as New Earth continuity, with mentions made to events in New 52

First Chapter

Author's Note(s): Bit of a shorter chapter today because I have stuff to do later so I'm updating early.

Beta Reader: I’ll get back to you on that.

________________________________________________________________

It’s another two hours before Jason returns to the East End. It had taken all of his concentration to keep Cole’s ghost focussed on him and his stories, instead of whatever unnamed force might tempt him back to gravesite. After the boy vanishes in the gradual, whispering way spirits do when their unfinished business if met, Jason doubled over at the sudden migraine.

He much prefers when unfinished business can be completed in one place instead of having to carry a phantom passenger with him.

Being tired—and now that he thinks about it, hungry—does not help his bad mood.

Another kid. Another victim of the fucking Joker.

Just how many more kids was the nutcase going to take out? How many more Robins? Because Jason’s seen pictures of the new kid—blurry and imprecise as anything to be found in a Gotham tabloid, but enough for someone with an eye for it to judge some facts—and he’s fucking tiny. It doesn’t matter that the girls in the Bowery where Jason lives say he’s meaner and more dangerous than any of the others. He’s smaller than Jason’s replacement—smaller than that girl even. What the hell is Bruce thinking?

Again, the temptation rises within him to hightail it over to the manor without warning and rip Bruce a series of new ones while he’s too busy gaping in shock to defend himself.

He doesn’t, though.

Knowing Bruce, he’d think it was a trick and beat the snot out of Jason, then stick him in a cell somewhere until he could confirm his identity. Jason’s been behind the door of enough cells to last him a lifetime, and that alone holds him back.

And who’s to say he doesn’t blame me for getting myself killed in the first place?

He knows that’s not likely, somewhere deeply buried inside, but it’s hard to shake the idea. Old insecurities return in full, memories of pity and concern and frustration, and his final moment waiting for his dad to save him and being disappointed.

And then being disappointed again when his wits returned to him and he discovered the Joker was still breathing. That Bruce didn’t deal with it—didn’t kill the fucker that killed Jason and shot Barbara.

He remembers that horrible week, wondering if she was going to live or die, and then being told she’d never walk again. Vibrant, ass-kicking and beautiful Batgirl with her wings forever clipped. In a way, he thinks he’s angrier about Barbara than himself. As Robin, he was always going to be a direct target of the Joker; Barbara wasn’t shot and tortured because she was Batgirl—she was shot and tortured because she was Commissioner Gordon’s daughter.

And after all that, Bruce just put the bastard back in Arkham, where he could have a taxpayer-paid vacation then break himself out again whenever he felt like it.

Something needs to be done about him, and B’s sure as fuck not going to do it.

With every step, Jason finds himself getting a little angrier. It’s a cool rage, different from the volatile mess of hormones and emotions he was as a kid, but it’s still there. Say what you want for the brain damage, but he was so out of it that it’s probably why John’s meditation techniques took when Bruce’s didn’t, tempering him.

He’s still prone to rash action, of course, but for something like this—something as serious as the Joker—he’s going to have to think it through. Somehow, he doubts it’s just going to be as easy as walking into the asylum and shivving the guy. And Jason’s not exactly keen on getting arrested, not after he worked his ass off to set himself up with an identity and a job and everything here in Gotham.

It bears thinking about, and he can’t do anything immediate about it now, so he’ll sleep on it. Something will come to him.

Jason turns the corner, intending to do just that as he heads for his apartment.

Well, it’s not really an apartment. It’s more office space over a bar on the border of Crime Alley and the Bowery. It’s just cheaper to rent an office than an apartment these days; with housing costs soaring, even property in the worst parts of Gotham are wildly out of his price range.

(He’s not a billionaire’s son anymore.)

Might stay out of my price range for a while. PIs don’t make much, to begin with, and my niche is kind of…specific.

Mediumship isn’t exactly a lucrative business, nor is paranormal investigation. Both jobs attract the crazies, but he knows from experience the ones who are legit will pay good money for his services.

Still, the whole set-up isn’t so bad.

He’s been getting his food from the local bodegas and the bar downstairs, and he’s sure after a bit of saving he’ll even be able to go out to the occasional sit-down restaurant when he gets a craving for something gourmet-ish (He doesn’t think about how Alfred could whip up a do that would put the cordon bleu to shame).

Jason sprung for a decent quality sleeper sofa, so it’s not like he’s kipping on the floor and the office even has a bathroom with a shower, which was a big plus when his landlady, Trista, showed it to him. The ambulance chaser who occupied the space before him said he used to work a lot and needed to be able to shower between jobs. He’d also said if he hadn’t been so keyed into his job, he’d have noticed his life falling apart around him and not shot himself three months ago.

Yeah, that was a fun one…

Since helping the previous owner move on and then taking up residence in the cramped office space, Jason’s made a point of warding the entire office against any other wandering spirits.

I happen to have very strict office hours, ta very much.

He pauses on the street leading to his place, his stomach growling again, and decides he’ll head into the bar for a pick-me-up beforehand. Trista, who also owns that place, doesn’t offer a lot in the way of food, but what she does is pretty good. Hers is the only place he’s been so far that can make decent fish and chips.

As he heads in that direction, he notices a familiar face standing on the corner across the street. He decides to make a quick detour.

“Rhonda,” he says with a grin, “you’re lookin’ especially gorgeous tonight.”

“Boy, I don’t need you to tell me shit I already know,” the woman tells him with a sniff. “And if you’re cruisin’ for a lay, I’ll tell you what I always tell you—you too young.”

“You’ve been tellin’ me that since I was twelve,” he grins.

Rhonda is the only person here in Gotham that knows he’s back, and that’s only because recognized him one night while he was heading back from a job. When he first landed himself on the streets as a kid, Rhonda was one of the girls who looked out for him and whatever other orphan was wandering around here at the time. After he was adopted by Bruce, he made a point of checking up on her as Robin, chasing off johns that tried to get over her time (even though she was already pretty good at managing that herself) and buying her food whenever he could. He never expected her to still be here when he got back, but she’d taken one look at him and cursed.

“I knew that story about you bein’ dead was bullshit,” she informed him as she took a drag of a cigarette. “What you do, run off on the rich man or some shit? He been tellin’ everyone you’re dead for years now.”

“To him, I am dead,” he’d replied, not wanting to go into it. “And everyone else better keep thinkin’ that too.”

“Ain’t gonna hear it from me,” she’d shrugged. “But why the fuck did you come back to this shithole?”

“Home’s home,” he had shrugged, and she’d nodded because she knew exactly what he was talking about.

Now, she sizes him up and considers his face. “Rough night, it looks like. You gettin’ in trouble again?”

“Nah, just exorcisin’ some…personal demons. Quiet night for you?”

“Mostly. There was a cape around couple minutes ago, though, so keep an eye out.”

She knows he tends to avoid them.

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Which one?”

Christ, I hope it wasn’t Batman or Robin. Don’t think I could take seeing either of them tonight.

“It was Red. Came through to ask some questions.”

It takes him a moment to connect the name to the roster of vigilante’s he made himself memorize before coming back here. Red Robin is the one he suspects used to be his replacement, probably got graduated or replaced himself when the newest brat was put in the boots.

“He came here?” Jason asks. “Why?”

“Usual mask thing, comin’ down here to talk to the little people who might’ve seen somethin’.”

Jason makes a thoughtful noise, a bit impressed. He was always the only one who bothered coming down here; even Bruce avoided the minor crooks of the Alley after he started getting more invested in Gotham’s rogues.

“Red’s good people,” Rhonda says then, looking like she’s considering something. “He’s the only one that tries with us. Pays good money, buys food—sorta like Robin used to. And you know he’s doin’ it on purpose, ‘cause when he’s around the city, he usually sticks to Chinatown or Tricorner. That’s what the news say, anyway.”

Jason is again surprised. “Definitely goin’ out of his way then.”  

“Hm.”

He thinks about it a further minute and then shrugs. “Anything else interesting happening tonight? You need anything?”

“Yeah, for you to get off my corner so I can get to work,” Rhonda retorts. “Unlike you, I don’t like livin’ off bar food. Gotta be careful what you put in the temple, you know?”

“I dunno, give me a chili dog any day…”

Jason chuckles as she shoes him away, and then continues on his way to the bar. Maybe he’ll pick up something to go—

Just as he’s about to step into Trista’s bar, the hair on the back of his neck stands on end, and he feels a minor flicker of vertigo.

Something’s off.

Turning back to the street, he casts his eyes about, looking for anything out of ordinary to explain the sudden unease. Something nags at him, something that feels…hungry almost.

Since his senses are only attuned to the spirit of the dead, a hungry presence is never a good sign. Ghosts can sometimes become so enraged over their deaths, so tied to the mortal realm, that they become psychic vampires, attaching themselves to the living and feeding off of them like a parasite until they drop from exhaustion.

Fuck. Can’t leave one of those wandering around, if that’s what this is.

He gives an irritated groan and walks away from the bar, turning his focus on tracking the sensation. It’s not exactly calling out to him personally, but it’s still present enough for him to notice.

Jason digs into his pocket, winding his prayer beads around his wrist and checking if he’s still got any iron on him. Nothing big enough to make much difference, but for distraction if it comes to it.

As he reaches the end of the block, Jason catches sight of the cape first.

Damn, I don’t miss the days of having to wear gear like that.

Because that cowl thing the vigilante is sporting is almost as much a tragedy as the green leotard Jason used to sport (they weren’t panties, fuck you very much, they just looked that way—as if Alfred would allow someone to go outside the house in just their underwear). And the cape is so thick it gives him no idea as to the stature or body behind it.

At least this Red Robin guy is smart enough to have a full body-armor suit instead of pixie-boots and a t-shirt.

Might be the only thing he’s smart about, judging by his company.

The too-perfect-looking young man that beckons the vigilante to follow him into the alleyway is all cold blue eyes, sharp smile, and sleek movement. And even if Jason couldn’t read the malevolent aura emanating from the direction of the two men (and that’s a doozy, especially if it’s coming from only one individual), he’s seen that look before in eyes just as cold.

He knows the tactics of an incubus seeking its next meal, and this one seems to have decided it has a taste for vigilante tonight.  

This isn’t really Jason’s thing—incubi are low-level demons, more John’s area of expertise than his. Getting involved would mean willingly crossing paths with one of Gotham’s masks, which he’s been taking pains not to do since returning.

But he’s also not allowing any kind of unrestrained feeding and killing to happen on his turf. And these darkest, dingiest parts of Gotham have always been his. Even when he was trailing after the big Bat.

Plus, this guy is Red Robin.

Jason hasn’t had any particular interest in the growing number of masks cropping up in Gotham over the years, but this guy’s obviously a bird. Which means Jason has a kind of personal connection to him. Call it brothers-in-arms or something poetic like that, even if they’ve never met.

Also, the way incubi feed…no one deserves to have that happen to them, especially in a filthy alley like this one. Jason’s always had concern over consent issues, and with incubi, the way they get that consent literally straddles the line far too closely for his taste. This Red Robin might be Bat-trained, but unless he’s taken a master class in the occult (doubtful, considering Bruce’s distrust of anything resembling magic), he’s being led away like a lamb to the slaughter.

Probably he’s already been ensnared by the thing’s powers and doesn’t even realize it. Like a baby bird in front of a snake.

Jason sighs in defeat and rolls his shoulders in preparation for what he knows is going to be an unpleasant interlude.

“Time to be a hero,” he mutters to himself and stalks toward the shadowy alley where the two figures have disappeared.

⁂

Next Chapter

[noodlecupcakeswritings]

Madness is like Gravity - Chapter 7

Warnings: Language, Stalking

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Chapter 7

Emerald’s P.O.V

The next morning Jerri handed me the mail that was addressed to me before making some coffee. I opened the first two, revealing bills. Of course. The last one on the other hand was a larger brown envelope with no indication as to who it was from. I don’t remember ordering anything for myself. I shrugged and tore the top off. I pulled out a single piece of paper that was folded over. I opened it up and recoiled a little. Staring back at me was a picture of Jerome and I. The selfie he had taken the night we robbed a nightclub after our Arkham escape.

The sender had crudely drawn crowns on both our heads. I put the paper down and swallowed hard. Jerri saw my expression and frowned, taking the piece of paper from me. “Looks like your getting fan mail,” she spoke. “I don’t want it,” I snapped. “I know you don’t. But calm down. This is nothing. We’ve dealt with crazed fanboys before Emerald, we can deal with them again.” “You don’t understand. I just want to move on, but it seems every time I try someone else reminds me of him. I loved him and a part of me always will but he’s dead and there’s nothing I can do to bring him back.”

Jerri placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, putting the paper back in the envelope. How had the person even gotten hold of that image? Let alone our address. “Ignore it. If anything, else happens that’s when we’ll do something ok,” Jerri reassured me. I took a deep breath to calm myself. I was still shaken from it but she was right. This was just one thing, it was probably nothing. Besides I couldn’t worry about it too much, I needed to get to work. I’m sure a day of typing up things someone else couldn’t be bothered to would distract me enough.

I arrived at work and sat down in my small square booth, turning on my computer. That’s when I noticed another brown envelope on my desk. I felt panic start to rise again. I forced myself to calm down, it might not be from the same person. It could be and most likely was work related. I hesitantly reached for it and opened it up. This time I tipped it upside down so the contents would fall on to the desk. This time a newspaper article fell out. I felt my stomach churn as I reached for it. It was that creep again, that was the only explanation.

I turned it over to see an article about the night of the children’s hospital gala. The night Jerome died. There was a picture of him on the front, pointing a gun at the crowd, Barbara and I off to the right. Only this time in big red marker pen were the words ‘miss you’ scrawled across the front. I threw it on the desk, doing my best to hold back tears. It was if Jerome had sent it himself but I knew that was impossible. I left my desk and headed to the bathrooms. I locked myself in a cubicle and pulled out my phone.

I looked through my contacts but I didn’t even know who I should call about this. Oswald had more important things to worry about, I didn’t have the money to hire Victor at the moment and he wouldn’t be able to do anything until we knew who was doing it. Ed was definitely not an option. I couldn’t go to the GCPD with this, they wouldn’t care for starters and they probably wouldn’t take me seriously either. The only person I could really call was Jerri. I hit the call button next to her name and held the phone against my ear. Jerri picked up on the fourth ring.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” She asked. “Another one showed up at my work,” I sobbed. “Shit. Was it the same thing?” “No, this one was an article with the words ‘miss you’ written across it.” “Alright, breathe and calm down. Come here now, take the rest of the day off. You’re not exactly in a fit state to keep working.” “Jerri it’s my third week-“ “And you’re going to spend the day worrying and crying at your desk. Come home.”

She was right, I’d be no use in this state. I hung up and exited the bathrooms. I found my supervisor and made up an excuse that there was a family emergency and thankfully they let me go. I gathered my things as well as the article and envelope. I headed straight home, showing Jerri the article. She scanned over it and frowned. “So, this fucker is trying to imply that Jerome’s alive. Obviously, he wants to scare you, that’s fine. I’m sure I can scare him just as bad,” Jerri growled.

“Do you think I should go to the GCPD?” I asked. “And have them turn you away? Emerald you’re an ex criminal and ex inmate, if anything they'll think you deserve this. I'll deal with it. I still have my connections, I'll place some calls ok. We'll get this sorted.” “Ok.” She was right about the GCPD. They would just turn their nose up at me, probably hoping I'd go after the creep and deal with him myself so they could find an excuse to put me behind bars again.

I unlocked my phone and decided to check my emails. My heart dropped as an email from an unknown person appeared in my inbox. Now they had my email? How? Jerri noticed my expression and took my phone from me, opening the email. Her expression hardened and she reached for her own phone. I took my phone back from her, looking at the e-mail. Another picture only this time it was a selfie I had taken of Eddie, Oswald and I. I was smiling looking at the camera whilst both of them kissed my cheeks. The word ‘slut’ was bellow it.

Jerri was talking on the phone with one of her old friends from the club. I checked the sender's address but it wasn't one I recognized, it was probably a fake one too. What had I done to deserve this? I began racking my brain for all the people who I either had a grudge against or had a grudge against me. Tabitha, Doctor Strange, Jim Gordon, Isabella, Ed. Gordon wouldn’t do something like this however so that ruled him out. Doctor Strange was currently missing and probably had better things to do with his time.

The other three however all had reason to do so. I'd confront Tabitha first. I grabbed my coat and told Jerri where I was going before heading out the door. I got in my car and started the engine. The Sirens thankfully wasn't too far away. I headed straight upstairs and over to the bar where I found Tabitha counting money from the register. She looked up at me before going back to the wad of cash in her hand.

“Barbara’s not here,” she said, already sounding bored. “I didn’t come to see her.” Tabitha stopped and put the money down, turning to face me with her arms folded over her chest. “If you’re the one sending me fucked up fan mail, it stops today,” I spat. “What are you talking about?” “I got mail this morning at my apartment and my workplace as well as an e-mail.” “Look I know you still hate me but you really think I care enough about you to dedicate my time to send you shit?”

I glared at her, “you always enjoyed other people’s misery.” “I'd have better ways of doing it if I wanted. Besides I don’t even know any of your addresses, maybe you should look somewhere closer to home.” “You’re not lying to me?” Tabitha rolled her eyes, “no. Also Barbara’s told me I have to be nice to you so like hell she'd let me do something like that.” She did have a point, several in fact. Fine. I turned and left without another word, heading back home.

So that left the two love birds. Maybe Isabella was secretly a crazy possessive bitch and was doing this after the dinner. Maybe it was to drive me further away from Ed. And she was a librarian meaning she had access to old newspapers. Perhaps if I proved it Eddie might leave her. I was unsure of my next step. Confronting either of them wouldn’t be a good idea. I entered the apartment and kicked off my shoes. Jerri was in the kitchen still. “Ok so I’ve thought about who could be doing this and I’ve narrowed it down to two people,” I announced.

“Alright,” Jerri replied. “It’s either Isabella or Ed.” Jerri frowned, thinking about it for a few moments. “Think about it, Isabella is probably doing it to drive a wedge further between Ed and I,” I explained. “You need to be sure before you throw around blame. In the meantime I've made some calls and a couple of guys will be on the lookout for us ok. They'll question fanboys that I know of. It’s bound to be one of them.”

Jerri spent the rest of the day trying to take my mind off the situation. But she knew she was having a hard time getting through. “How about we get Sir Limpalot to look into this? He's got eyes and ears everywhere. For once it wouldn’t be a bad idea, “ Jerri suggested. “No.” She frowned, “No?” “I don’t want Oswald getting involved. This stays between us.” “What about Zsasz?”

I shook my head, I really didn’t want either of them involved. I wanted to handle this myself without them. Prove that I didn’t need them to solve all my problems. Jerri’s phone buzzed and she checked her messages. “Anything?” I asked. “They've asked around but there’s nothing. We'll keep looking though.” I nodded. My own phone buzzed and I hesitantly checked it. A message from an unknown number. Great now I needed to change my phone number. I opened the message only this time there was no picture.

Daddy misses you doll face. Another Jerome styled message. The stupid part of my brain thinking somehow this meant he was alive. Even though he'd died in my arms. Although Fish Mooney had somehow been brought back to life. Maybe the same people had gotten hold of Jerome's body and now he was alive. Oh God if he knew about my relationship with Ed and Oswald he'd kill me. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I was over thinking this way too much. Jerome was dead, he can’t come back.

I showed Jerri the text and she raised an eyebrow. “Daddy?” She questioned. “Please don’t kink shame me at a time like this.” “We'll talk about that later. In the meantime we're gonna get you a new phone and a new email ok. That's the best we can do for now.” I nodded, forcing a small smile. I’m glad I wasn’t alone through this, I’m glad I had someone. I pulled her into a hug. “Thank you,” I spoke. “Don’t thank me yet. When we find this guy I'll bring you his head.”

@my-world-of-imagines, @edweirdoddlepot, @belathora

[zombiesbecrazy]

Phantom Pain Relief

Summary: Alfred Pennyworth's days have been rather dull since Bruce Wayne lost his memories, until an unexpected guest shows up on his doorstep.

Set the day prior to Grayson #12

In honour of one of Dick Grayson's many birthdays :)

Word Count: 4366

AO3

Alfred was finding himself with a lot more free time on his hands. Or hand as it were.

His duties under this new, memory-less version of Bruce Wayne were much closer to those of a typical butler; cooking, cleaning, general household tasks. It was a lot less surveillance or medical emergencies than in his previous reiteration of his role and resulted in a lot more consistent sleep patterns and time to himself. He still assisted the rest of the family on a nightly basis as required from the confines of the Cave, but it was a much calmer and subdued than before without Batman overseeing the events.

Frankly, things were dull for the first time in a long time and if he were to be entirely honest, he was getting bored.

He was going to have to get a new hobby soon to keep himself entertained.

It was three o’clock on a Sunday afternoon and he was sitting in his living room with a cup of Earl Gray and a book that he had been meaning to read for months. Sunday had always been his day off, theoretically, but he couldn’t remember the last time that he had fully taken the day to himself before Master Bruce’s memory loss. Yesterday, New Master Bruce (as Alfred had taken to thinking of him) had insisted that Alfred take the day completely off because he had noticed that his butler hadn’t actually done so since his return, and New Master Bruce had thought that was odd.

New Master Bruce had laughed and said lightly “I’m capable enough to look after myself without adult supervision for one day a week, right?” and Alfred had just smiled and replied with “I should hope so, sir” and then provided strict instructions to not attempt to use the stove because that had always ended badly before and amnesia was surely just going to exacerbate that.

A knock at his door came as a surprise.

Before he opened it, Alfred knew that it could have only been a handful of people.  Most callers to the manor (who made it past the gate unnoticed) went to the front door. Close friends of the family often used the kitchen side door, but there wasn’t really anyone in that position right now who knew New Master Bruce well enough for that. In case of extreme emergency, those with the power of flight had been allowed to use the north side third floor lounge balcony, but other than that all costumed appearances must be through the various Cave entrances. Not many had that type of access privilege anyway.

A knock at this particular location was an even further rarity, as it was at the little used door of Alfred’s ground floor west wing apartment and it was a door that very few people outside of the family knew even existed. The door was tucked away in a nook of the manor, through a small garden, well out of the way that people couldn’t stumble across it randomly unless they already knew that it was there. He wasn’t expecting anyone today and it made him curious as to who it could possibly be. His only guess was that it was New Master Bruce needing some assistance, but he would have used the inside entrance rather than the outside one.

Unless he had somehow managed to lock himself out of the manor.

When he opened the door, Alfred froze at the sight of the dark haired man before him. He had not expected this visitor to grace his doorstep with his presence ever again.

“Um. Hi?”

It wasn’t often that Alfred Pennyworth found himself dumbfounded, but seeing the previously-thought-to-be-deceased Dick Grayson standing on his doorstep had solidly positioned him as such. Dick looked a little sheepish, clearly knowing that this was an unorthodox situation at best. It was his ‘caught stealing cookies from the jar’ face. Alfred could recognize that specific look anywhere.

Words were failing him, so instead Alfred spoke with his actions and stepped forward to pull Dick into a hug. Dick immediately gave him a tight squeeze back and any doubt Alfred had about his identity vanished; it was a pure Dick Grayson hug. The eldest boy was alive and home. Alfred couldn’t take his eyes off him after they broke apart. It was nothing short of a miracle and it felt like Alfred had finally let go of a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding.  “You would expect that with the amount of times that someone who has been thought to be dead comes back into my life that I would be used to it, however, I never am.” He stepped aside, smiling, and gestured for the now grinning younger man to join him inside. “I’m extremely shocked but pleased to see you. Please come in.”

Dick entered and closed the door behind himself, kicking off his shoes and removing his jacket at the same time, and hung it up in the closet behind the door. Bruce, as well as Thomas and Martha before him, had always insisted that the rules were different in Alfred’s apartment. This was Alfred’s home, not part of the manor itself, and should be considered as such. Unless it was an actual life or death emergency, you couldn’t walk in without being invited, as Alfred was not at work and that was to be respected.  You were to look after yourself. Titles were not used.  It was the only place that Alfred used only first names with the family. Master Bruce had tried to get Alfred to stop using formal titles in the rest of the manor proper years ago, but Alfred had always insisted on the formality of it. It was a part of his job, and he liked the division of such.  Dick, as well as Jason, had spent quite a bit of time at Alfred’s when they lived at the manor, but it had been a long time since either one of them had stopped by unannounced, however that probably had more to do with Alfred never taking time off than anything else.

“Alfred! You’re missing a hand!”

Looking down at where his hand used to be, Alfred frowned slightly to himself. “I’m aware, but thank you for your concern. The Joker decided that I was no longer in need of it.” Dick looked like he was going to start arguing about it or make a fuss, but Alfred held up his good hand to silence him.  He really wasn’t in the mood for that conversation when there were more pressing issues to discuss. “There is a fresh pot of tea on the counter, if you would like some.” Dick’s eyes flicked back to Alfred’s missing limb, but seemed to decide to drop the matter and made his way into the kitchen. He grabbed a cup and poured himself a drink, and then back into the sitting room and joined Alfred on the sofa. They sat in silence for a few moments, with neither of them really knowing where to start. Dick looked a little nervous like he was expecting to be chastised for his disappearance, which was understandable, but Alfred was just so happy to see him that he couldn’t. Etiquette for such occasions didn’t have a set schedule, so Alfred just decided to plunge in and save Dick from any awkwardness. “I assume that you heard about Bruce. I must infer that he knew of your current living status before all this?”

Dick gave a small nod, and Alfred could see the regret on his face. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come home. I didn’t know until a few days ago. Bruce had me on an undercover mission but dropped out of contact so I came home to see what was going on only to find… amnesia?  Seriously? Soap opera much?” He snorted, because even after all they had been through it did really just sound farfetched. He was clearly just getting started though, and Alfred smiled to see him talking animatedly with his hands. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed that particular quirk. “Jim Gordon is in a robot Batman costume? You are missing a limb?” Dick rolled his eyes in what would have been an overdramatic fashion if the story wasn’t so absurd to start with. “I haven’t been gone long enough for things to really go this sideways, have I? What on earth happened?”

Alfred sipped his tea. “After his last encounter with the Joker, Bruce lost his memories as a side effect of dionysium healing him. And once I realized the full scale of it, I may have purposely neglected to inform him of all the facets of his previous life.”

“So… no Batman.”

“No. He is now simply Bruce Wayne.”

“What about the family?”

“He hasn’t really asked about children, so I have not disclosed much, however I’m certain he has done some investigating on his own so he must be aware of your existence. If he were to Google himself it would pop up; all of you are mentioned on his Wikipedia page. If he asks directly, I’ll tell him. I removed some more compromising pictures from the walls, and hidden some personal items from your bedrooms, but everything is still here. He’s just not looking very hard. I think he suspects that things aren’t exactly as they seem, but for now he’s accepting what he’s being told.”  Alfred knew that he really should have told Bruce more about the youths that he had taken in, but that would have involved telling him about Robin and he just couldn’t find a way to separate them at the time.

His eyes looked conflicted, but Dick nodded slowly. He may not like it but it was a scenario that Alfred knew that Dick could understand the decision he had made at the time. “Lying by omission. Bruce taught you well.”

“Who do you think he learned it from?” Alfred sighed. “The rest of his background overwhelmed him and I just got to a point where I didn’t want to distress him further. Either of us.”

Dick hums softly. “What will you tell him? If he asks?”

“A variation of the truth, I suppose. Jason and yourself are legally deceased, so I don’t think he’ll dig deep there, though he have questions about you being Nightwing since that was public because of the Crime Syndicates actions. I’ll deny any prior knowledge. Tim has been in regular contact with him, but Bruce just thinks he’s a Wayne Enterprises wunderkind, which isn’t exactly a lie. The jump to adopted son won’t be hard, especially under the circumstances of Mr. Drake’s death, and that Tim’s old enough to rationalize him not living here. Tim has said he wouldn’t mind if Bruce wants to develop a relationship if he finds out, but he’s not going to initiate it at this point. He’s letting Bruce settle in a little more.”

“And Damian?”

“I’ll say that he’s with his mother overseas.”

“Where is he really?”

“Travelling extensively, but when he’s in Gotham he has been staying in the penthouse. Goes out on patrol, sometimes with Tim or Jason or various Teen Titans, but primarily he is on his own. He’s doing better than I would have expected with the situation, but he doesn’t want to speak to his father.  I’m just rather glad that he checks in with me daily, at least by text if not a phone call.” Alfred reaches over and pats Dick’s knee gently. “He misses you.”

Instantly Dick’s face clouds over, obviously thinking about how much his absence has been felt by the family.  “I’m so sorry, Alfred.” He places his hand on Alfred’s. “For letting all of you think I was dead. I didn’t want to, but you know how Bruce is…”

“Was.”

“Yeah. But because of that you’ve been going through this alone. I should’ve been here. I could have helped.”

“I’m sure you had good reason.” Dick shrugged and stared intently at his drink, looking a little lost in his own thoughts.

A few moments passed in silence and Alfred saw Dick give himself a little shake to regroup. “How have you been doing, Alfred? This can’t be easy on you. You’re looking after him, but who is looking after you?”

“You needn’t worry about me. I’m doing as well as can be expected. It has been different at the very least. It’s been nice to see Bruce happy and healthy and not coming home bleeding every night for a change. I have a lot less in my portfolio as well.”

“You’re bored.”

“So very bored, Dick,” said Alfred dryly and Dick laughed in response. “I had forgotten what only being a butler was like. Most would find it to be a very tiresome and busy role, but after so many years of doing more and having the house run as a well-oiled machine, I don’t know what to do with myself a lot of the time. I’ve caught up with some old friends, read a great many books, but yes.  I often find myself without much to keep me stimulated.”

“I’m going to get you a kitten.”

“Don’t you dare. It would just be appropriated by Damian in any case.” Alfred paused.  As much as he appreciated Dick asking about him and being concerned, there was much that Alfred still needed to know. How on earth had they found themselves in this situation in the first place? Or was it something that Dick wouldn’t want to talk about, like Alfred and his decision about his hand? “May I ask about the incident with the Crime Syndicate?”

“You know most of it, actually. Captured. Unmasked live on TV. Died.” Alfred raised an eyebrow at Dick’s words, and received a small grimace in return. “I did die, technically, but it was only for a few minutes. Luthor revived me almost immediately.” Dick sucked in a breath. “It really was the only way. Stopping my heart did save everyone. Greater good, you know?  I can’t be too upset about it.”

Alfred reached over and gave the younger man’s shoulder a squeeze. “Oh, Dick, you absolutely can be.”

“I’m more upset about what happened afterwards. About letting everyone think I stayed dead. That was a horrible thing to do.” Dick locks eyes with Alfred. “Bruce and I are terrible people to do that to you.”

Alfred squeezes Dick’s shoulder again and then drops his hand to pick up his tea once more. “I wouldn’t say that at all. I’d say that it is unfortunate that that is what it had to come to. There couldn’t have very many viable options if that was the best that he could come up with.” While Alfred hadn’t always agreed with Bruce’s unilateral decisions that he made as Batman over the years, he had come to realize that sometimes they were necessary, and what was necessary wasn’t always easy. It wasn’t something that either Bruce or Dick would have agreed to lightly. “So where have you been, if not in your grave where I had erroneously assumed you were?”

“Spyral. Bruce suspected that they had intel on a lot of people’s secret identities and needed someone on the inside to find out how much they knew,” Dick shrugged. “My death was at a convenient time for the mission. He took advantage of the opening.”

“You’ve been a spy. That sounds like it could be quite exciting.”

“Sort of the same, actually. Less spandex. More hiding in plain sight. Lots of secrets and techy gizmos. My partner thinks it’s cute that I won’t kill people and that more than once I’ve thrown my gun at someone instead of shooting it.” Dick stretched his arms over his head and Alfred heard his shoulders pop faintly. “If anything, I’m overqualified for the job.”

“That can happen when one is trained since childhood. Was the mission successful?”

“I guess. Not as good as it could have been. I give myself a B minus. I’m not sure that it’s been worth what it cost. I’m done though. It’s over.” Dick looked out the window and there was a ghost of a smile on his face as he looked out onto the grounds. “This isn’t my first time home.”

“No?”

“Before I left, I had a huge fight with Bruce in the Cave about the mission. Massive. Destroyed the place. You almost walked in on us and he had to lock down the entrances to stop you.” Alfred instantly knew the occasion. When he had finally gotten access back to the Cave, it had been a disaster. Bruce was bleeding profusely and a Batmobile was crushed amongst much more damage. He had assumed at the time that Batman had done it all himself in a moment of raging grief but this explanation made much more sense. “I was here before they went to get Damian from Apokolips, too. I had some prime Pennyworth sandwiches that night.”

“So you haven’t seen anyone else?”

“You were my first stop. Only person who saw me on my other visits was Bruce. And Titus was pretty excited to see me. I did work a case that overlapped with something Babs was doing a couple weeks ago, but she didn’t know it was me. Or I don’t think so at least, but I really shouldn’t put it past her.”

Alfred hummed in agreement. If anyone had been able to see through whatever cover Dick was using, it would have been Barbara Gordon. “Are you back in Gotham to stay then?”

Leaning back on the sofa, Dick closed his eyes and smiled and for the first time since he arrived, Alfred got the feeling that Dick was truly relaxed.  It reminded him of soldiers who had come home from a long time away on only just realizing that his mission was over.  It was a look of calm relief. “That’s the plan.  Don’t know what I’ll do though. Nightwing was unmasked and Dick Grayson is dead. Gotham has a Batman. Time to start over again, I guess,” said Dick quietly. He opened his eyes again and locked them with Alfred. “I’m going to have to reveal myself to the family if I’m staying.”

“You may want to consider doing that part regardless. They’d appreciate it.” Dick nodded and looked away. He was still clearly struggling with what faking his death had meant to the family and the potential consequences of such. “If you wish, I think Commissioner Gordon might be relieved if a non-robotic Batman were to appear again. Damian would be pleased if you were to take on the mantle again as well.”  Dick didn’t like being Batman, and Alfred knew that better than almost anyone, but it needed to be said.  The option had to be presented.

“I’ll think about it.” Dick tapped his fingers against his cup a few times. “Do you mind if I stay in the penthouse for a bit? I’m slightly homeless.”

“At this point that’s going to be up to Damian as the primary resident, but I would expect it will be fine with him.”  Dick nodded again and a silence fell between them once more, and Alfred couldn’t help but think of other times that Dick had visited him over the years. Dick always appeared calmer here, in Alfred’s home, than he did other places where he was usually in constant motion. He was more likely to sit at rest and indulge in the quiet instead of in the manor or the penthouse. Alfred had never questioned it, wondering if it would break the spell if Dick became aware of the change in himself. Five minutes passed in silence before Alfred broke it. “Do you want to visit with Bruce? We can disguise you and come up with a reason for you to stop by.”

“I don’t know, Alfred. What is he like?”

That was a very good question.  What was this New Master Bruce like and how best to describe him? It was something that he had tried to do for others already and had struggled with it.  It was a strange position to be in; to reintroduce someone to a person that they had known for years. “He’s very much the same person at the core, but lighter. The weight of the world isn’t pushing him into darkness. The death of his parents doesn’t drive him, but their work does motivate him and he’s doing a lot of charity projects with the Wayne Foundation. He still wants to make Gotham better but is doing it in the light. He’s the person I would like to think that he would have been if they hadn’t been killed. He smiles a lot. He’s seeing a lady that he knew as a teenager who is very kind and openhearted. He’s grown a beard. And not just the usual ‘I’ve been sitting in the Cave for four days and forgot to shave’ scruff. An actual, on purpose, beard.” Dick snorts and Alfred gives him a small smirk in return. “It’s odd. He doesn’t actively remember his former life, but things that he says and does… I can see the person that I raised.”

“Such as?”

“When he first arrived, he didn’t know his history, birthdate or where his room was in the manor, but he knew that he kept his sleep attire in the closet instead of the dresser like most people do. He knew that he took milk, not cream, in his coffee. That he doesn’t like grapefruit without tasting it first. He still prefers blue pens over black pens,” Alfred could feel the smile growing on his face as he continued. “The first morning he came down for breakfast, he called me Al instead of Alfred. It isn’t usual to abbreviate the name of someone you have just met.”

Dick gave a low whistle. “That’s something that I haven’t heard him say in years. Do you think that his memories are still there, just hidden?”

It had been something that Alfred had been considering frequently over the past week. “If you had asked me that a few weeks ago I would have said no however I’m beginning to think otherwise.”

“Does he still eat burgers wrong?” Alfred could still remember the first time Dick had seen Bruce take out a knife and fork to eat a hamburger. He had been absolutely flabbergasted and had just stammered without forming real words for a few moments, before telling Bruce that he was ‘insulting to the good people of Hamburg’, and ‘why on earth would he eat sandwiches normally but then butcher a hamburger with utensils’? Bruce blamed Alfred’s influence, but Alfred had taught him nothing of the sort.

“I’ve yet to test that, though now I think that may be a good addition to my experiment. A control variable.”

Nodding, Dick exhaled slowly. “Ok. I’ll see him. This new and improved Bruce Wayne. I need to see him with my own eyes and know that he’s alright.” Alfred started to stand up but Dick put his arm out to stop him. “Tomorrow.” He raised an eyebrow and Dick pointed at Alfred’s clothes. “No jacket or dress shirt? Slippers? And I saw some dishes just sitting on the counter in the manor kitchen when I was sneaking around the grounds earlier. You are clearly off the clock today. I can tell. I’m an international super spy, you know.” Dick winked and Alfred rolled his eyes in return.

“I believe this is a good example of something that would be considered an exception.”

“Nope. It’s not life or death. I know the rules. I shouldn’t even be here uninvited.”

“I would say that coming back from the dead definitely falls into reasons allowed for a visit.”

“To visit, yes, but to have you go back into full butler mode on your day off? Not a chance. It can wait.”

“Of all the rules you choose to follow…” Sometimes Dick, along with the others, completely exasperated Alfred. Being a vigilante wasn’t an issue, but the line was drawn at potentially disturbing Alfred on his day off to reunite with Bruce? Frustrating, but in a familiar way that warmed Alfred’s heart. “Do you wish to stay the night here?”

“If it’s alright with you. I should probably see Bruce before I see the others or ask Damian about being roomies again. If not, I can go to a hotel.”

“I insist you stay with me tonight then. I have more than enough room for a wayward Robin to roost in when required.”  Alfred stands, picks up his cup and moves towards the kitchen. “Would you like something to eat? I’m feeling rather peckish myself.”

Dick shot up with his own empty cup and started to gather things off the coffee table to follow Alfred. “Let me give you a hand with that.” Wincing slightly, Dick looked a little sheepish. “Damn. Is it too soon for hand jokes?”

Alfred chuckled and waved his handless arm at Dick dismissively. “Not at all. They are quite common now. I actually should show you all the prosthetic designs with weapons attachments that Jason has been working on. He’s been calling them my ‘arm-ory’. I’d give him a round of applause on that pun, but that is a little less effective now than in the past.”

“Nice.” Dick chuckled. “Though I’m a little disappointed that he didn’t find a way to work ‘bat’ into that name.”

“He has one he’s calling the ‘bat-tering ram’. I must admit that it is one of my favourites so far.”

“And the naming legacy lives on. I’m so proud.”

Alfred looks Dick over again and thinks about how much he has changed, not just since his death, but since he was young and had first come to the manor.  The boy has grown up to become a fine man, and it was exceptional to witness. He turned and pulled the young man into another gentle hug. “I’m so happy you are back, Dick. I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, Alfred. Me too.”

[analogscum]

SCUM IN THE AISLES #1 (Vacation of Terror 2: Diabolical Birthday)

Sometimes, in order to seek out the weirdest discarded slices of celluloid trash that cinema has to offer, one must leave the confines of their crappy apartment, and go to an actual movie theater. This is a column recounting my excursions into the b-movie wilds. This is Scum in the Aisles!

I walk out the front door of my building in scenic Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, and within less than 45 minutes, I am in cinephile nirvana: the Alamo Drafthouse. Located on the top floor of a shiny new shopping center and dining hall that sits conveniently atop the DeKalb Ave. R stop, the Drafthouse has become a sanctuary for freaks like me since it opened two Halloweens ago. Has it spoiled moviegoing for me forever? You bet it has. Once you have a theater experience where the tickets and food are reasonably priced (for New York City, that is), the seats are comfy and offer impeccable views wherever you sit, the movie choices range from the newest tentpole blockbusters to the most obscure arthouse and genre faire imaginable, and most of all, your fellow audience members respect the sacred rites of moviegoing just as much as you do and don’t goddamn fucking talk through the entire movie or goddamn fucking stare at their goddamn fucking smart phones through the entire movie, then you can never go back to the Regal Bowtie Halliburton Googleplex with the rest of the riffraff who bring screaming three-year-olds to R-rated movies or yell “OH I DIDN’T KNOW HE WAS IN THIS” at every name during the opening credits, or conduct mid-movie Skype conference calls with the home office (I’m not joking, I’ve actually seen someone do this, props to the asshole who ruined the first half hour of The Witch for me!)

Point is, I’m at the Drafthouse whenever time and money allows. So, on this particular Monday night, I found myself in a packed little theater for this month’s installment of Video Vortex, the series that shows the films that are too bizarre to be shown anywhere else, and that includes Weird Wednesday, a series that literally has the word “Weird” in it. I was especially excited because this month’s installment was presented by Annie Choi of Bleeding Skull. To say that Bleeding Skull has been a huge inspiration and influence on ANALOG SCUM would be the understatement of the century. Simply put, without the thoughtful, scholarly, clever writing done by Annie, Joseph Ziemba, and Zach Carlson for that site, ANALOG SCUM would not exist. Perish the thought!

On the menu for the evening was a ridonkulously bonkers Mexican horror chiller with the incredible title Vacation of Terror 2: Diabolical Birthday. Don’t worry, as Annie helpfully explained, this was a Troll/Troll 2 situation, as in the sequel has nothing to do with the original Vacation of Terror. Hell, there isn’t even a vacation in this movie, although true to form, the birthday does become mighty diabolical. The only returning character from the otherwise totally unrelated first installment is Julio, a sassy antique store owner. He flirts with a customer who turns out to be Mexican teen pop sensation Mayra, played by real life Mexican teen pop sensation Tatiana. He gives her some crappy looking vase that’s supposedly worth 60,000 pesos for free, which he figures will buy a trip to la zone de bone, but instead she just invites him to her little sister’s birthday party the following evening. How do you say “friend zoned” in Spanish? Oh, you don’t, because the concept of the friend zone is patriarchal bullshit that implies that men are entitled to sex for being nice to women and that their friendship is somehow some sort of punishment and we need to smash that way of thinking forever? Ok cool, moving on!

So as it turns out, Mayra’s sister, lil’ Tania, has this creepy doll. It looks like if they made a Cabbage Patch Kid based on Bob Dylan’s stage getup from the Rolling Thunder Review tour. You know it’s no good because suddenly this old dude barges in to Julio’s store and starts smashing everything in site while ranting nonsensically about the evil doll. Then he runs out into the street, where he is promptly hit by a car and dies. We then see Julio head over to the trusty public library, where he looks up some books on demonology. Now it’s time to par-tay! Mayra and Tania’s dad, Don Roberto, is a famous movie director. In fact, he’s planning on using Tania’s spooky-ass doll for his next movie. Tania’s birthday party is being held on the backlot of his movie studio, and it’s a Halloween-themed birthday party, even though it’s not Halloween, but who cares, because who WOULDN’T want a Halloween-themed birthday party?! Orrin Hatch, I bet.

Anyway, the party provides a perfect excuse for Mayra to take the stage and sing her latest smash hit single, “Chicos, Chicos, Chicos.” That’s “Boys, Boys, Boys” for those of you who don’t hablo Español. Guys, we need to talk about this song. First of all, it is catchier than influenza, or affluenza, for that matter. I’ve included the clip from the movie below, but just know that by smashing that PLAY button, you are going to have this thing running through your head for at least the next week, if not longer.

Now, I couldn’t find a version with subtitles, but the VHS tape (yup!) that was screened for us was subtitled, and these lyrics…holy mackerel. It’s been awhile since I took high school Spanish, but I’m not sure if these translations are accurate, or if they’re like the equivalent of BabelFish or something equally lazy. Anyway, here is the first verse of the song as it was translated for us:

Boys!

Monday, a snack

All the way

Bands and running

Clouds

Speed

Step on the gas

This is war

Great attention

Traffic jam downtown

Nervousness

Danger of rebellion

Boys, boys, boys

Clumsy and aggressive

Poor boys

Neurotics, all lost

Super guys

Surprised by Sunday crisis

See, I told you! Just have Kim Gordon whisper those words over some droning guitar feedback, and ta da, you’ve got a Sonic Youth song that nobody likes!

So what better way to follow up hearing your new favorite song than to have some birthday cake? Don Roberto wheels this puppy out, and it is spectacular! First of all, it is bigger than most tables, and it sports a sugary tableau of Halloween fun: a haunted house, a cemetery, a witch, etc. But for some reason, Don Roberto decides that it’s totally acceptable to hand a seven-year-old a giant sharp knife and let her cut the cake herself. Guess what, Tania slices her finger open, and gets blood all over that fondant witch. Then things take a turn: seems as though that creepy doll is actually alive. Whoops. It steals the bloody fondant witch, eats it, and promptly turns into a murderous demon.

Luckily, Julio shows up. He’s wearing a black trench coat and his power mullet is pulled back into a ponytail, because he’s a demonologist now. After one night of breezing through a book from the library. From here, we’re treated to all sorts of madness involving some silver coins, a laughing jack-o-lantern, Don Roberto sporting a shotgun whilst wearing a Canadian tuxedo, and a incongruous poster for the movie Cocktail. Now, it’s not all great. There are some really slow scenes. There are surprisingly few deaths, and they often happen offscreen. Worst of all, the filmmakers blatantly break the “keep your monster hidden” rule; this demon is all over the place, to the extent that he stops being threatening after like three scenes. Of course, it also doesn’t help that the demon just slowly waddles around and makes noises that are supposed to be spooky, but instead sound like sleep apnea. But only a chump would deny that this movie is one of a kind bizarro fun. How fun is it? Guys, the movie ends with not one, but TWO triumphant freeze frames!

Props to Annie Choi, Bleeding Skull, and the fine folks who make the Alamo Drafthouse Brooklyn the best place to watch a movie in the whole darn city. I’ll see you in the aisles, Scumbags!