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thetomorrowshow · 2 years

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what to throw away

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yes that's correct!! two trust au updates in one month! we love to see it <3

cw: choking, light violence

This is almost a dream come true.

Jimmy is engaged to the love of his life. They share everything—quarters, meals, a bed. He lives with his fiance in a beautiful palace in the snowy mountains of Rivendell, overlooking a picturesque elven town. He spends every day with his fiance, working together and trading smiles that are literally only for each other.

Yet as sweet and wonderful and purely happy as that all sounds, Jimmy’s every moment is devastating.

His fiance will never love him the way he loves Scott. And none of this is real.

When Scott had suggested it, desperation lacing his voice, Jimmy had barely even had to think about it before accepting. Even if it wasn’t the only option to keep him safe, it was the only one that Jimmy wanted to consider. A chance to be engaged to Scott Smajor, despite the way he messed up their friendship by kissing him that one time? Please.

What he didn’t consider was the fact that even letting Scott sleep in his bed at night was already something that left him feeling empty inside—watching him sleep and knowing that they would never have anything that he truly wants. Surely he ought to have thought about how much worse being betrothed to him would be.

And now here they are, playing a game of catch with Jimmy’s heart, the odds of it hitting the ground and shattering becoming more and more likely with every passing moment.

It’s a terrible way to live, as thrilling as it is. But it’s keeping him safe.

Sausage and fWhip have been entirely silent on the issue of the Codfather head, not even mentioning that they might have it. With the diplomatic immunity that Jimmy currently possesses, he would be surprised if they even tried to interact with him at any point in the near future. Luckily, no such thing had happened so far. Scott’s plan was working.

Scott’s plan, however, includes some very . . . interesting stipulations, including some of the most interesting clothing Jimmy’s ever had to wear.

Every day, Jimmy dresses in a long elven robe, falling to his ankles despite that skin already being covered by his hose underneath. It’s similar to Scott’s everyday clothes, but with a longer hem and sleeves and higher neckline. Atop that is a veil that covers his head and face (this comes in several varieties, some veils trailing down to the ground and others cutting off neatly at his collarbone, and he thinks they have different purposes but Scott hasn’t explained that yet). The veil is fastened in place with a couple of pins and clasps and the robe with various ties, none of which Jimmy can successfully put together without making a mess of his clothes, then finished off with a pair of gloves pulled over the gold ring on his left hand and soft boots.

The only time he can skip out on the veil—and only the veil, unfortunately—is when he’s in their quarters, which is where he spends most of his time outside of tutoring. He’s not exactly allowed to roam around any farther than the palace gardens, and without permission to even dip his fins in the pool of freezing water, the gardens quickly lose their charm. No part of his skin can show outside of their quarters, and shown to no one but Scott. He’s actually not supposed to even see anyone but Scott.

Exceptions have been made, thankfully. Not only is he from a different culture, but he’s also royalty (as far as anyone knows), both of which have been taken into consideration by Scott’s various councils (he has an advisory council, then a historian council, then a culture council, all for the ordeal of just getting engaged). He’s allowed to video chat on his communicator with his advisors as necessary, and he’s managed to stretch that a little bit to include the Cod Alliance. At least he can see Lizzie and Joel on occasion, even if they can’t exactly see him.

The clothes aren’t all bad, of course. For the first time in as long as he can remember, Jimmy feels as if he has full autonomy over his body, even as he expects the clothing to cause the opposite feeling. Sure, the gloves and long skirts and veil cover any scars he has, but it’s not really that. He mentions it to Scott one night, and he’s surprised when Scott agrees.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? All this time as the king of Rivendell, it’s like my body has been constantly on display.”

“Constantly judged,” Jimmy adds. “Every time I passed by, people would just be gossiping about how I looked.”

Scott nods. “Exactly. And now nobody knows how I look, and there’ll be no tabloids about how it looks as though I’ve not brushed my hair in three weeks. I can just . . . do whatever. They aren’t even allowed to perceive me. This is excellent.”

While it isn’t exactly excellent, Jimmy completely understands. He’s never felt more like his body belonged to himself.

That night occurs maybe a week into their sham betrothal, and it’s a night when they stay up late talking, the lamps low and both of them in bed. Despite his positive feelings about the betrothal get-up, Jimmy’s relieved to be able to wear just shorts and a loose top to bed, even as Scott wears embroidered nightclothes.

(Jimmy had been measured for some when he first arrived, but they’re too slidey and silky on his scales and too fancy for his tastes. Scott looks impressively rich and handsome, but Jimmy just doesn’t think it’s right for him.)

“It’s an awful lot of fabric, though, isn’t it?” Jimmy continues, waving his arms for emphasis. “I feel as if I have a million different pins and clasps to do before I’m anywhere near right, and I always seem to get tied up in it wrong.”

Scott giggles. “There’s two clasps and two pins, Jimmy, it’s not that difficult. And the ties are a bit tricky at first, but you’ll figure it out soon. And then I’ll teach you how to style it!”

It’s strange that Scott knows all this stuff already. According to the councils, this is Scott’s first time being engaged, which makes it some sort of big deal. Maybe it’s just something that they teach in Rivendell schools? Maybe the ties on Scott’s usual robes are similar enough that there’s no real difference, even if Scott’s usual is a decent bit more form-fitting and skin-showing?

“How long have the robes and veil been a thing?” he asks thoughtfully, thinking over the past week’s worth of mind-numbing lessons with his tutor on Rivendell history. He doesn’t really remember anything from them.

“A while,” Scott shrugs. The moon has properly risen, now, and Scott wiggles until he’s under the covers, rather than sitting up to talk. “Many thousands of years, probably. They started out as just whatever household clothes you could throw together to cover your whole self in order to go to the market, if I’m recalling correctly. It was only within the last . . . five thousand years, maybe, that they became something that was marketable. I could be entirely wrong on that.”

“I’ll make sure to ask the tutor instead of you, yeah?” Jimmy suggests, to which Scott laughs.

Jimmy also readjusts, scooting under the covers to press as near to Scott as he dares. The conversation dwindles away and Scott blows out the lamp. They fall asleep like that, almost touching, and when Scott wakes in a panic in the middle of the night, he buries his face in Jimmy’s chest and clutches his arms around him.

Jimmy wakes the next morning in the warm embrace of a very clingy, sleeping Scott, the smell of their now-shared gingerbread shampoo strong in his nose, and he cries (just a little bit).

Lizzie had boasted that she knew the whole time. Joel had laughed and congratulated Jimmy. Jimmy had smiled through the anxiety that at any moment they could be found out to be lying, and surely what would happen then would be worse than if the Wither Rose Alliance went public with their possession of the Codfather head.

It’s been nearly a month, though, and nobody seems to suspect that he and Scott are anything but deeply in love with each other.

Maybe it’s the level of commitment that they’ve taken this to—neither of them have left Rivendell’s palace, neither have shown any skin since the engagement was announced. They’d had to do a press conference of sorts on the first official day of the first step of their commitment (‘first official day’ because Scott’s councils had known for several days already and had been getting them both fitted for the proper attire), where reporters from all of the empires were given the opportunity to ask a couple of questions before the total isolation began. They had an agreed-upon story (with as many embellishments as Scott could throw in on the spot)—in which they’d been courting since the beginning of their alliance, and had decided to bite the bullet and commit to strengthen their empires when the rumors of war began. Somehow (despite certain members of the Cod Alliance knowing otherwise), every one of the other rulers bought it, as well as the citizens of both their empires. Katherine in particular became much warmer to the both of them, extending her congratulations and arranging a personal meeting in order to work out a neutrality statement in the coming conflicts that wouldn’t harm their trades.

The first week had been a flurry of activity, but now things have settled down and Jimmy mostly finds himself bored.

His lessons are mindnumbing and confusing, but despite them feeling as if they drag on forever, they only last three hours and leave Jimmy with a pile of homework he can’t wrap his head around without Scott and nothing to do for the rest of the day.

There’s the gardens, of course, and he can visit the courtyard, as long as he puts in a request with the staff (by way of a note slipped through a slot in the door) to ensure it stays empty an hour before his arrival. He can only stay for two hours at a time, though, and is otherwise confined to within the palace walls, moving as a wraith through the halls.

It’s frustrating that the only place he can remove his veil is in their quarters, particularly because there’s not a lot of opportunities for exercise in their rooms. Two bedrooms, a sitting room, a washroom, two walk-in closets, and a half-kitchen. Not much room to run laps, do heavy lifting, and certainly not a place for swimming. He brings it up to Scott one morning, who frowns.

“Maybe we can get you a few hours per day at the public pool?”

“You have a public pool?”

Scott shrugs. “Of course. It used to be a bathhouse, I believe, but it was too cold. Nobody wanted to bathe in it. Instead of tearing it down, we remodeled.”

Jimmy’s never been so excited at the idea of going to a public pool, but there’s not much to get excited about in this incredibly dangerous false arrangement. It would set his heart racing with excitement just to see a tree that isn’t one of the two in the gardens.

They bring it up to all three councils the very next day. At first, none of the elves seem to approve of the idea, but Scott (rather forcefully, Jimmy thinks, blushing under his veil) reminds them that Jimmy’s a cod hybrid and has a biological need to swim. A begrudging amendment is made, and Jimmy is allotted three hours every morning to travel in a covered carriage to the pool (new hours of service established so that the general public are not swimming with him), swim, and travel back, all in solitude.

It’s better than nothing, he supposes. The pool is deep enough on one end for him to dive into, and large enough that he can swim laps at a moderate speed without crashing into the wall. There’s also a slide on one side, reminiscent of the children’s mudslides into ponds back home, and after one ride Jimmy decides that he’s going to be installing slides at every dock he can.

Scott smiles every time Jimmy mentions the slide (because there’s not much to tell of Jimmy’s every day, the slide is a recurring character), and one night he mutters, “If we were getting real-married, I’d make you all the slides you want.”

And that one hits like a punch to the gut.

Every day is more of the same. They wake up and get ready for the day together, then Scott leaves for his private library and Jimmy leaves for the pool. Jimmy gets back and eats a midday meal alone, attends his lessons, then has a conference call with his advisors (it usually only lasts a couple of minutes, the empire is fine and all is quiet). Scott’s often in meetings and war preparations until supper, which they eat together—and which Jimmy has recently taken upon himself to cook, as bored out of his mind as he tends to be, and as safe as he knows it makes Scott feel.

Over supper they chat, then they throw themselves in random places around the sitting room or Scott’s bedroom, and study and read and have generally heartbreaking conversations.

Jimmy’s never borne a heavier secret, and yet it’s still the most prized secret he’s ever been privileged enough to keep.

The only people in on the secret are Lizzie and Joel—well, they think that the love is real, and that the betrothal will remain beyond the threat, but they are aware of the disappearance of the Codfather head. They’ve been sending recon groups into Mythland and the Grimlands, searching for anything suspicious, spying on the emperors. They haven’t found anything yet.

Jimmy both hopes they do soon and hopes they won’t.

The worst thing, he thinks, is that Scott is incredibly sweet about all this. Not only does he keep up pretenses in front of the councils to a fault (holding Jimmy’s hand, keeping his arms protectively around Jimmy’s shoulders, using pet names and rubbing his back and so on in such painful ways), but when alone, he’s apologetic, closer than ever, lightheartedly joking and doing his best to make the situation bearable for Jimmy. He never blames him for their predicament, never asks him to take any of the blame for losing his own claim to the throne. Scott shows Jimmy nothing less than utter compassion and care, and Jimmy falls in love with him a bit more every day.

Tonight, he lays on his stomach on their—on Scott’s bed, trying to unobtrusively watch Scott flip through his notes and compare to whatever he’s reading.

He knows he must look embarrassingly cliche—his feet in the air behind him, chin propped up on his hands—but he can’t help it. Scott’s quite absorbed in his work and won’t notice, and if he does, he can write it off as practice for being in love. Cod knows he needs it—every time Scott so much as mentions his name, he gets all tongue-tied and can barely look at him.

He’s got it bad, hasn’t he?

“Lizzie said she caught some salmon sneaking around the east border, right?” Scott says absently, and Jimmy jolts, quickly turning his eyes down to the history book he’s meant to be studying.

“Uh,” he says after a moment, faking concentration. “Maybe? I think so, yeah.”

Scott sighs, bonks his head against his desk. “That just doesn’t make sense. If they’re looking for the End portal, they’re nowhere near it. It’s been nearly two months—how have they not gotten close yet?”

“Maybe Lizzie’s misdirecting is working,” Jimmy suggests.

“If it wasn’t fWhip, I would believe it,” groans Scott, lifting his head and stretching. “Were it just Sausage? I’d hardly worry about it. But fWhip. . . .”

He trails off, and Jimmy doesn’t offer any other solution. He’s willing to believe that Lizzie’s plan is just working, but if Scott’s right, then why on earth would they be at the east border? Is there something else there that fWhip wants?

“I’ll call Lizzie about it tomorrow,” Scott waves off. He pushes back his chair, stands. “You’d think that requiring total isolation would mean I would deal with less people, but I seem to have a new meeting every day. What about a one-year betrothal period do these elves not understand?”

Jimmy doesn’t answer that either, just shoots him a sympathetic smile. He checks the incense clock—the stick’s burned halfway down. He hadn’t realized just how late it was.

Scott seems to notice, too, ducking into his walk-in closet to change. Jimmy checks under the bed, finds his shirt and shorts. He pulls the robes off over his head and changes quickly, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor.

Scott barely even pauses his stride to scoop them up and throw them in the hamper on his way to the bed, blowing out his desk lamp before climbing in under the blankets. Jimmy scoots under them as well, pulls them up to his chest. He settles in, swiveling his ear fins a few times contentedly. There are ups and downs to this, sure. But at least tonight, he can pretend that all the pain doesn’t exist and just sleep next to Scott.

That’s just going to make it worse in the morning, he knows. It always does.

Scott quickly looks away when Jimmy glances at him, any color draining from his cheeks. “Um. Bed?” Scott says weakly, despite them both already being in bed.

Jimmy nods, so Scott reaches over to his bedside table and lowers the lamp shade, allowing just the tiniest bit of light to peek through, offering some definition to the shadowy shapes around the room. He fluffs his pillow, then lays back beside Jimmy.

It always takes Scott a little while to fall asleep, and Jimmy always makes an effort to not fall asleep before him, so he rolls onto his side to face away from Scott, staring instead at the curtains through the crack of which he can see the tiniest sliver of the night sky.

It’s beautiful, moreso here in Rivendell (at Scott’s side) than anywhere else Jimmy’s ever been. Maybe it’s the height of the mountains, reaching closer to the heavens than any other empire. Maybe it’s the clarity of the crisp air. Something about Rivendell makes the sky mesmerizing in a way he’s never found it.

“Scott?” he finds himself whispering.

“Hm?”

“What’s your favorite constellation?”

A moment. “Probably the Clash of the Stags. Basic, I know.”

Jimmy shrugs. “I don’t know it. Has it got a good story?”

“You don’t know it?”

“I’m sort of new here, remember?” Jimmy’s not sure if he means new to Rivendell, or new to the empires as a whole. Scott hums thoughtfully.

“Well, I can’t do it justice right now. We can go out tomorrow night to stargaze, and I’ll point it out. Sound good?”

That sounds terribly romantic, actually, and Jimmy already is both excitedly anticipating the event and entirely dreading it. “Yeah,” he says eventually, ignoring the roiling emotions in his stomach, then adds, “I’ll bring something to eat, how about.” Scott yawns. “Perfect. Tomorrow night, okay?”

“Tomorrow night,” Jimmy agrees, and with that, they fall silent. Jimmy listens as Scott’s breathing slowly evens out, his body losing all of the tension that it’s been holding.

It’s nice, lying next to Scott as he falls asleep.

Jimmy just wishes there was more to it than that.

He’s about to fall asleep himself when his communicator beeps. He fumbles to grab it off the bedside table, meaning to see who’s messaging him at this time of night and mute it, like he usually does before bed. He can’t have it waking up Scott, and he’s holding down the volume button to mute it when it buzzes again, messages coming into focus as he blinks the bleariness away from his eyes.

Had he muted it earlier, had it not disturbed him just as he was about to fall asleep, perhaps all that transpired next could have been avoided. Perhaps the message sent wouldn’t have been seen until morning, when Scott was awake, when they were both levelheaded enough to handle the situation as a team.

But that isn’t what happens.

fWhip: If you want the cod head back, meet us at the end portal in one hour

fWhip: Come alone. Tell no one. Or else

Jimmy’s blood freezes in his veins.

They have the Codfather head. They’ve found the portal. And while he doesn’t know what would happen were he to ignore the requests given, he knows fWhip’s style. It would involve a lot of pain.

He can’t wake Scott. He can’t tell him about any of this.

It’s terrifying to know that he’s about to go face his tormentors without even the option for backup, so terrifying that he can’t even think straight. He just knows he has to obey fWhip’s demands.

And maybe—just maybe—he can hold them off from going into the End long enough that someone finds them.

It’s not much of a plan, but Jimmy can’t take the time to think any longer. He has to go.

He slides out of bed, careful not to disturb the covers. Tiny things can wake Scott up, and he’s actually spent hours teaching himself which floorboards are safe to step on so that if he needs to get up in the middle of the night, Scott will still be able to rest (the first week here, Jimmy had gotten up for some water and woken Scott, fuelling a panic attack and setting them both up for several more hours of wakefulness).

Those practiced skills have never come more in handy than now. He sneaks across the chilly floor, into the sitting room, then through there into his own (almost unused) bedroom. He shuts the door near silently, then rushes to get ready.

One of the Rivendellian robes won’t do, not with his elytra. The only other clothes he has are his travel clothes that he’d worn here weeks ago, so those will have to do. Brown leggings, green-and-grey mottled tunic, a brown leather jacket. He laces up his boots over it, then adds a pair of his day gloves, the warm ones—though they’re long enough to go up to his elbows, a bit excessive. The veil’s tricky, but if someone catches him sneaking out without the veil on, he’ll be accused of infidelity and the whole betrothal will be off. He pins it around his head, tucking the longer ends into his tunic.

It takes about ten minutes to get dressed, which leaves him only fifty to get to the End Portal. It’s not a terribly far flight—it can’t be more than half an hour, twenty minutes with good winds—but he’s anxious to get going anyway. fWhip gave him a one hour time slot. He can’t mess this up.

He doesn’t think to grab anything else—he barely remembers to slip his communicator into the inside pocket of his jacket. He just has to leave, has to take care of this and get back before Scott wakes up.

Maybe soon, he’ll have the head back. Then they can cancel this silly betrothal once and for all.

He’s not sure if he wants it back quite yet.

Still, though, Jimmy straps on his elytra, and with a final glance at his closed door, pries open his window and leaps out.

He arrives at the portal alone, swooping down through the tunnel into the dimly-lit portal room.

Jimmy’s been here once before, but the portal is still the novelty it had been the first time, drawing his eye as soon as he enters.

It doesn’t fit in with the rest of the room, rough stone bricks and crumbling patches of clay. The portal must be the feat of some great craftsman, carved out of some material he doesn’t recognize, shimmering words in a language he can’t read pulsing and melding together. The Eyes set into the holes in every finely-carved brick glow softly, glassy green and shiny.

The most foreign aspect of the portal is, however, the void.

As opposed to the swirling purples of a Nether portal, the End portal lacks . . . anything at its center. To look into it is to see nothing forever, an enveloping blankness that makes Jimmy dizzy to take in. Perhaps there are flecks of color if he looks closer, but he’s too afraid of losing his balance and falling inside.

It thrums softly, filling the room with an ominous presence. Jimmy tears his eyes away.

It’s only two minutes later that the fluttering of elytra alert him to the presence of others. He spins around to face the entrance; Sausage flies in first, stumbling on the floor, followed by fWhip, landing gracefully.

These are the men who hurt him for so long. These are the men who tortured Scott for a week straight.

Somehow, Jimmy can’t find a single spark of anger. He only feels cold fear.

Jimmy does his best to seem imposing, standing straighter and holding his head high, but fWhip only laughs.

“Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Are you ever going to learn?”

Jimmy glances between him and Sausage. What’s that supposed to mean?

Even with the veil hiding his face, fWhip seems to pick up on his confusion. “I mean, I do have to thank you. Best ally I’ve had in a while—after all, you led us straight to the portal!”

Oh no. Oh no.

Oh no.

Jimmy’s heart sinks.

How could he have been such an idiot? Of course they didn’t know where the portal was, of course he shouldn’t have come, of course he should’ve woken Scott and discussed with him. The panic had seized him and all thoughts had left his brain.

“I’ve held up my end of the bargain,” Jimmy blusters, pure will keeping his suddenly-dry throat from cracking. Maybe he hasn’t ruined everything. Maybe he can salvage something from this. “Give me the Codfather head.”

It’s Sausage’s turn to laugh. “Not so fast, little fishie! We never offered it!”

And they hadn’t, had they? They’d just told him to be here if he wanted it back.

They tricked him, and he was stupid enough to fall for it, and now his stupidity has likely brought about the invasion of a demon.

“Aw, maybe we’ll give it to you anyways, right?” fWhip sticks out his bottom lip, mocking a pout. “That way, you won’t have to wear this old thing.” He bats at the veil; Jimmy pulls away, hands shooting up protectively.

It’s clear they know his betrothal is a sham, and Jimmy isn’t sure if that makes it better or worse. For an instant, fWhip’s mask of joviality slips to show irritation, then is back up as he clucks his tongue.

“C’mon, what Scott doesn’t know won’t hurt him! After all, his feelings for you aren’t your responsibility. You can take that off, it’s just us!”

Jimmy would’ve worded it the other way around, but he stands firm. He promised Scott. He’s already ended any shot at friendship he could ever have with him, let alone a relationship (Scott will never forgive him for this, he’s freed the demon and Scott’s going to hate him as will everyone else), but he can at least keep this last promise. He can at least follow the rules laid out for their short-lived betrothal until its termination.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance, as someone swoops in behind and knocks him to his knees, tearing off the veil. Jimmy winces as it rips along the pins, coming entirely off his face. He ducks his head, hit with the stale, cool air of the portal room, the musty smell suddenly that much stronger. He feels uncomfortably naked without it, because for almost two months no one’s seen his face but Scott and they aren’t supposed to see him—

Joey Graceffa appears before him and stomps on the veil—unnecessarily brutal, and now the shame is melting into anger, it may have been fake but that veil had come to represent an important part of his life—but before he can do more than turn toward Joey with his fists up, Sausage is shoving him to the ground.

His elbow knocks against a wall, hitting his funny bone, but he ignores the tingling up and down his arm and rolls up—

He’s hit again in the stomach, hard enough that his vision instantly blurs with tears and he can’t see who did it as he doubles over, and he doesn’t get any time to recover as he’s kicked onto his back.

“Stop,” Jimmy gasps out. “I need—give me—”

“Look, Codboy,” fWhip sneers, shoving his boot under Jimmy’s chin to tilt his head up (and it’s just like old days, isn’t it, it’s just like it always was, how could he ever believe he’d escaped), “you’ve always been the funniest guy to mess with. But you just had to go get Scott involved—which I’m not mad about, by the way!”

fWhip’s boot presses into his throat and Jimmy chokes, his gills flap open for a split second but he’s not in water, his fins flare in defense—

“Because as it turns out, Scott’s very fun to play with as well,” fWhip continues, as if Jimmy’s windpipe isn’t being crushed under him. “And you, Jimmy. Well . . . you’ve become quite the issue.”

The pressure releases and Jimmy gulps in the air, rolling to his side. This is the worst—he hasn’t been so humiliated in ages, and here fWhip is, in control like he always was, Sausage and Joey laughing and jeering in the background.

Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s really changed, and he’s once again on his own because of his own stupid decisions.

fWhip claps his hands together, startling Jimmy so badly he almost loses his tenuous hold on his gag reflex, bile leaping up his throat. “Well, Jimmy,” he says, voice dripping with grandiose. “How would you like to go to the End?”

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emo-batboy · 1 year

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Battinson and the JL ft. His Eventual Identity Reveal

(If you’re just here for the cutesy bits, skip to Attempt #2. Otherwise, STRAP IN CUZ IT’S A LOT)

Bruce Wayne of Matt Reeves’ The Batman is not the founder type.

He wouldn’t voluntarily join a book club, much less join a league of super powered vigilantes whom he does not know personally.

So in this universe, you probably wouldn’t call him one of the three Founding members.

But he’s still integral to the formation of the Justice League

It starts out with a friendly visit :)

Bruce is patrolling on a random night in Gotham when he notices a weird thing in the sky. It’s floating just far enough behind him that a less vigilant person wouldn’t have noticed, but Bruce is always watching his own back, and he takes it as a threat.

He strays from his usual path and then heads to a warehouse roof before turning to face the threat.

It’s Superman. All smiley and dressed in primary colors. The strongest, most powerful being on Earth just floating over like he wasn’t stalking Batman a second ago. Bruce does not like that.

“What do you want with Gotham?” He asks. “I don’t,” Superman says. “I wanted to talk to The Batman.” So this is some kind of fight? An intervention? A warning? Then Superman frowns. “You…are The Batman, right?”

Bruce only nods as he considers his options, but he can’t really do that when Superman has super speed, super sight, super strength, super breath, super lots-of-things-that-Batman-probably-doesn’t-know-of.

Then Superman surprises him by landing on the roof and giving him this pitch about a superhero group.

Superman and a few other vigilantes have been bouncing around the idea of teaming up together so they can help one another protect their cities. And The Batman was a “perfect candidate.”

“I’m not joining your club.” “It’s not a club. It’s a league.” “What’s your mission statement, then?” “A what?” Bruce fights the urge to roll his eyes. He still doesn’t trust this guy. “Take your league idea back to the drawing board then we can talk.” He does not intend on talking.

But two months later, Superman is back. This time, he brings another super powered vigilante named Wonder Woman.

She smiles, politely approaches him, and says “Superman tells me you want to learn more about our league.” That is not what he said, but he doesn’t bite.

Bruce can’t decide which they remind him of more: college recruiters or cult leaders. But because Wonder Woman genuinely seems to care about seeing this project through, and the roster she has of current like-minded vigilantes is impressive, he lets her talk.

And to give her credit, she definitely thought out the logistics more. It almost makes up for the time they’re wasting.

Okay, fine. They’re still way behind on concept, and it’s pitiful. He actually feels bad.

They obviously care! They just have no idea how to run a business like he does. Is it a bit cynical to think of this league of Justice as a business? Yes, but that’s the only way he can even conceive this happening and working.

Bruce asks about their organization’s leadership structure, and that’s when Wonder Woman falters a bit. “We want to work with each other, not for.” Bruce bites his tongue on that subject.

He asks about their scope of work. “We want to help as many people as we can, but that can be ironed out later.” Bruce bites his tongue on that subject.

He asks “Who’s funding this?” She answers, “We have a few members willing to pitch in, but the majority will have to come from generous citizens.” And that’s when he just stops asking questions. Because what?

If he could cry the grease paint off, he would.

They can’t just think every super-powered vigilante is going to sing Kumbaya and braid each other’s hair. There needs to be checks and balances within the organization to avoid tyranny and corruption. They need a reliable source of donations (that doesn’t immediately out Bruce.) They need a proper chain of command. They need to map out their area of responsibility. They need to design a VERY strict vetting process. It’s not sunshine and rainbows. It’s hard work!

So he says he’ll think about it again and complains to Alfred about the weird super stalkers.

But for SOME reason, Alfred doesn’t see the problem

Alfred encourages him to join so he can “make some friends.” But how can he trust these people if they can’t even make a half-decent pitch? It’s like a bad episode of Shark Tank.

And “make friends?” They’re all masked

But after a week of gentle nudging (read: very firm lectures), Bruce agrees. ONLY to keep tabs on the rest of the vigilante world and possible threats to Gotham

(And without his help, they’ll probably butt-dial Lex Luthor the nuclear codes or something)

And he is damn well going to figure out who these people really are before he helps them make a Super Organization.

Alfred figures out about half of their secret identities purely as a brain exercise while Bruce is out fighting crime and collecting head injuries like Pokémon cards. They figure out the rest together.

They also develop contingency plans for every single member. Just in case.

And after months of Batman being visited by random vigilantes, whom he has several choice words for about personal space—“This is my city. Go away.”—he accepts. On several conditions.

Not all of them are appreciated.

Attempt #1: “Making Friends”

After several scheduling conflicts, a lot of prep work, and a really good hype session in front of the mirror, Bruce heads on over to the first official meeting.

Batman arrives with a long list of things they need to do before going public. The first thing on the list?

Write A Mission Statement

What the fuck are they actually trying to do? Bruce thinks this is a great starting point.

And you’d think (you’d think) this Justice League thing would be easier to tolerate than the drawn-out exec meetings he has to sit through with boring, old businessmen who keep delaying things so they can hash out every little detail.

To Bruce’s absolute horror, he BECOMES the boring businessman who’s delaying things so they can hash out every little detail. He misses the boring, old businessmen. At least they knew what they were doing.

Every turn, he is argued with.

“Why do we need a mission statement?” “‘Power Structure’ feels authoritarian. Can’t we just share leadership duties?” “Do we really need this much paperwork?”

Bruce has the audacity to say, “We need to develop some sort of protocol that helps us analyze any possible threat.” But no. “Why can’t I just jump in? I have eyes.” “Jumping in without studying an opponent’s behavior could cause more harm than good,” he insists. “So what? I’m going to watch an alien monster go on a rampage through my city instead of fighting it?” “Yes. You don’t know what it’s capable of.”

Bruce already regrets joining.

All he hears is the others gossiping. “Is this guy really telling us how to be heroes?” “He’s got a major stick up his ass.” “I knew we shouldn’t have let him join.” And if that doesn’t dissuade him, he doesn’t know what will.

“How was the first meeting?” Alfred asks. Bruce scowls. “I’m not making friends.”

Nonetheless, Bruce sticks it out for weeks until they have some semblance of an organization. And, to his shock and amazement, it…kind of works.

The Justice League makes its debut, and Wayne Enterprises generously donates some money “out of spite” after Lex Luthor publicly denounces the league. (Honestly, Bruce would too if he hadn’t personally duct-taped it together himself.)

But the league starts small, just like he told them, they respond to natural disasters and public safety threats first (as per the outreach initiative) and focus on protecting communities in need (as per the mission statement.)

Yes, they still think Batman has a stick up his ass because he’s a stickler for writing incident reports, but no one else reads them so he has the right to be pissed.

He’s almost kind of sort of content with how it’s going. Even his reputation as a vigilante is improving.

That’s when another glaring difference between him and the other members appears.

Despite looking the same age as the rest of the team, Bruce is actually much younger?? Even excluding the aliens, gods, etc.

Most of his teammates are in their late 30’s, early 40’s. Meanwhile, Bruce is at the ripe age of 29 and a half.

He is the youngest by ten years.

Everyone kind of just assumes he’s the same age, though, so they make references to 80’s kids stuff that he only vaguely understands through Alfred and his business partners. He just sits there in silence like a child who snuck over to the adult table and is waiting to get caught.

So on top of the rift he (accidentally) created when they started the organization, it’s even harder to connect through similar interests. Other than punching people together.

And Bruce Wayne has a bad case of imposter syndrome when it comes to their superpowers.

He’s always in the corner brooding, and everyone’s like ummm antisocial much?

But 50% of the time, it’s because he’s thinking “I’ll never amount to the incredible heroic feats everyone else has accomplished. How can I possibly make a difference to the world if I’m already struggling to save Gotham?” Like a little emo freak 🖤

(Meanwhile, you couldn’t pay those mf’s to step foot in Gotham. This Bat guy’s crazy and he’s human apparently?! No way. Nuh uh.)

The OTHER 50% of his “brooding” is Bruce standing to the side with a mixture of concern and judgment because his teammates’ competency in certain areas is…alarmingly low sometimes.

One week, he finds himself thinking, “How do these grown-ass adults not know their way around a digital map? They’re 40, not geriatric.”

Then like a week later, it’s “These fucking war fossils don’t even know Morse code. I gotta do everything around here.”

One of the final straws is when he says, “Did they just break another fucking Keurig? Who does that, Alfred? It’s the fifth one.”

Suffice it to say, he’s not very personable. But is it his fault? Well yeah, a little bit. Like……..65% his fault.

(The remaining 35% is their moaning and groaning whenever Batman calls a meeting.)

Bruce’s irritation is totally justified.

God, he just wants to go home.

Why is he doing this again?

Attempt #2: Actually Making Friends

The first JL member to break through his cold, black exterior is Wonder Woman. She needs help with search and rescue after a sinkhole opens up near an elementary school, but no one’s available until Batman responds to her call.

He’s on the scene in less than an hour and makes quick work in securing the area. Thankfully, she catches him once it’s over. (He always runs off without saying goodbye.)

“Thanks for helping. Everyone else was just so busy. I’m glad you could fly over.” Batman mumbles something that she can’t quite hear. “What was that?” she asks. “I was busy too,” he repeats. She gives him a weird look, and he freezes up for a second as he realizes that probably wasn’t appropriate to say. “I mean…this was more important. There were kids in danger so it didn’t…matter if I was busy.”

Wonder Woman considers how awkward The Batman looks for a moment then smiles. So he really is human. “Well, thank you. The help was very much appreciated.”

Since then, several small acts of kindness and solidarity earn Batman some respect from the rest of the team.

One day, Flash complains about how boring their meetings are so Batman brings a massive bin of fidget toys. After placing them in front of the Flash, he mumbles, “These are for ADHD. They’re useful.” Flash almost cries with relief. He is very touched.

Another day, Green Arrow is severely injured in battle. Without a word, Batman leaves the fight, takes him to a safe location, stops the bleeding, and does it all while repeatedly making sure he’s awake and asking permission to remove certain pieces of clothing.

In another fight, Plastic Man’s mask is thrown off, and Batman sees his face. In a second, Batman tosses a smoke bomb, picks up the mask, and hands it back before anyone else can look. It costs them time and the element of surprise, and Plastic Man knows it, but Batman did it anyway.

A JL member’s stomach grumbles during one too many meetings. Suddenly, their little break room becomes a fully stocked kitchen with shelf-stable meal items and all the basic necessities. There’s a nut-free section, a gluten-free section, everything. The only reason they know it’s him is because anyone else would have admitted to it.

(He renovated the whole fucking thing. In one night. By himself.)

And they all see how gentle he is with children. Countless times, The Batman is spotted prioritizing young civilians at any given moment.

He has lollipops in his belt. And Bluey bandaids too.

It’s the little things that make them feel closer to him :)

And okay maybe his goddamn Mission Statement lecture wasn’t so bad

So they stop moaning and groaning

Okay, now it’s bonding time WOOHOO!!

Attempt #3: Kinda? Friends??

One day, Superman says he isn’t too fond of billionaires (because of Lex, obviously) and goes on a rant about capitalism. Bruce doesn’t dare contribute because 1) he’s the richest man in the world and 2) every other billionaire he’s met is insufferable.

(Including Oliver Queen who Bruce refuses to look at while Green Arrow “defends his city’s billionaire.”)

(And while we’re on the topic of Green Arrow, Bruce cannot forget the disappointing almost-fling two summers ago. He still holds a grudge.)

Green Arrow: “You’re all fashion nightmares. Who wears a cape in the 21st century?” Batman: “At least my facial hair isn’t longer than my dick.” GA: “What was that, Batman?” B: “What?”

Also Bruce is very attracted to Superman.

(He likes older men.)

(Yes, I am referring to Henry Cavill’s Superman.)

(Sue me.)

(But don’t get your hopes up. He does literally nothing about it.)

(Coward.)

One of the JL members complains about how sore they are after a few missions so Bruce cashes in his Monthly Attempt to Socialize and says, “Try yoga. It helps me.” “…Batman, you do yoga?” “Yes. My son got me into it….It’s good for you.” “You have a son?!” He is never socializing again.

They also learn that Batman has the smallest frame on the team. (Like yeah, he’s tall, but he’s also lanky, and everyone else is either an alien or a human dorito.)

One night, they need to sneak through the vents of some building so Bruce offers to do it. Someone says, “It’s a tight squeeze. Are you sure you can fit?” Then he just takes his cape and pauldrons and shoulder pads off and is suddenly like a foot skinnier

“Wait…is this why you’re so good at hiding in the shadows?” Bruce just glares at the Flash for a second before climbing into the vents.

(The answer is yes.)

A betting pool is started over whether or not Batman is part Bat.

In fact, several betting pools begin because no one knows anything about the guy??

Aquaman and Plastic Man go to great lengths to figure out what his hair color is.

They lose their shit once Bruce tells them he’s vegetarian.

Green Lantern: “Every time he opens his mouth, we learn something new. Next, he’s going to tell me he speaks Swahili!” Batman: “I do.” GL: “Oh, come on!”

Superman: “We need someone on the inside for this international operation to work, but that’ll take at least three months undercover.” Batman: “Don’t worry. I have connections.” S: “…In Shanghai?” B: “Yes.”

The Flash adds SHANGHAI?? to his conspiracy board

Bruce needs to stop trying to socialize. It’s better for everyone’s cardiovascular health.

A year or two in, they’re all introduced to Captain Marvel. Bruce is the first and only person to learn his true identity (kid Billy Batson) because Bruce is the only one with a kid. That way, he understands the weird Gen-Alpha humor and references.

Millennia-old deities don’t use the term Flop Era.

And, of course, they play FMK at some point.

(I mean, come on. There are like TWO mature adults on this team, but Martian Manhunter doesn’t know what’s going on until it’s too late, and Wonder Woman is busy at her day job.)

During that particular round, the celebrities are Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor, and Kylie Jenner. Bruce does, in fact, want to kill himself, but he chooses Fuck instead because of this exact conversation:

Green Lantern: Come on, Bats. It’s just a game! Choose already. Batman: No. I’m against killing. GL: Oh, go fuck yourself. This situation is completely hypothetical, and you know it. B: Fine! Fuck Bruce, Marry Kylie, Kill Lex. GL: See? That wasn’t so hard :) Bruce:

He tried

Attempt #4: Ah shit, FRIEND?

The identity reveal comes about three years after he joins. He’s 32, has three kids, he’s been on hundreds of missions with them, the team’s over twice its original size, and there are domestic terrorists overtaking Manhattan.

Superman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, and The Batman try to extract as many civilians as possible, but now they’re being hunted. After hiding in a warehouse and considering their options, MM finally suggests that they pose as civilians, which immediately creates uproar.

Bruce, however, realizes this is the only way out.

But it’s not dramatic or badass like that one JL episode. No, instead, he thinks about it, swallows the regret, and just—

Takes off his cowl.

And the whole room falls dead fucking quiet.

Then, “Oh fuck.”

(That was Green Lantern.)

Bruce just shrugs and mumbles, “Martian is right. It’s the only way.” And really fucking hopes the grease paint hides his red face because he is not having a good time right now.

He would rather die, actually, but they need to get somewhere safe and Fast.

The others look him up and down then nod slowly. “Uh yeah.” “Okay, sure.” “This is fine.” “We’ll do that.”

The others begin slowly taking off their suits and changing into something more casual. Bruce takes his off, revealing the skin-tight compression suit underneath, and stuffs his armor in the roll-up duffel bag that’s kept in his belt.

He changes into his drifter outfit, wipes his face clean, and suddenly, The Batman’s just a normal guy. (A very pretty normal guy, mind you. His teammates have eyes.)

“We can head to my place,” Bruce says. “It’s closer, and I know the train system pretty well.” And yes, he’s pretty soft-spoken outside of the suit, but now it feels even more obvious.

Meanwhile, the others are like—

Oh. My. God.

Oh my god, he’s fucking shy. Batman is acting shy in front of us. Dear fucking god. Batman is Bruce Wayne. And Bruce is shy so Batman is fucking shy?? Bruce is pretty too. Holy fuck. He is very pretty.

And he’s so young?? Oh my god, he’s a BABY wtf?! He’s like four inches shorter. Four inches tall! They’re all towering over him without his massive boots and armor, and he just hunches over with the big duffel bag like he wants to sink into the floor, and he’s so small.

Wonder Woman wants to put him in her pocket.

Sue her.

They end up taking the train back. Bruce has on the mask and cap that hides his face (poor Superman, he really likes his jawline) and they all follow Bruce as he gets off and on several trains at seemingly random stops. THEN when they’re finally in Gotham, they head into an abandoned-looking subway station that leads them into a…cave?? WTF

And in the middle of the cave is an elderly man with a cane and a three-piece suit just lounging on a recliner. (WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK—)

He looks up from his crossword puzzle and says, “Ah! You’ve finally made friends, I see?” Bruce rolls his eyes. “This is not a sleepover,” he gripes. “Shame. I was about to grab your footie pajamas for you.”

The man smiles at them. “A pleasure to meet Master Wayne’s work friends in person. Would you like some coffee? Tea? If you’re like him, this is going to be a long night.”

No one dares to question why this man recognizes them in their civvies

They also can’t tell if the footie pajamas line was a joke or not. After tonight, nothing is off the table.

(This is a minefield of information. Barry is having flashbacks to his conspiracy board. No one is going to fucking believe him.)

They all settle into one corner of the cave. Bruce leaves to change and comes back looking like this:

(Goddamnit, Clark is having a meltdown. His hair looks so good wet.)

At one point while they’re plotting, Wonder Woman glances over his shoulder to see Bruce checking some sort of security camera. A boy, maybe nine or ten, is sleeping in bed. “Is that your son?” Bruce clearly doesn’t want to answer, but Alfred gives him a look, and Bruce sighs. “One of them. Yes.”

Later, they have to analyze some explosive samples in the cave, and Barry, forensic scientist extraordinaire, has some choice words about the non-sterile environment.

Barry: This doesn’t look safe. Bruce: My lab is perfectly clean and functional. *bat screeches* Don’t worry about that.

For the rest of the night, they use the evidence they have to track down the organization while the rest of the JL suits up and saves NYC.

After a few hours, they’re safe to return to NYC for damage control. But Alfred refuses to let Bruce go with them. “Your sons are worried. Drive them to school, then you’re coming home and sleeping.”

Bruce clearly wants to argue, but the mention of his kids stops him. He sighs and turns to the others who are already changed. “Let me know if you need anything. I can be there in ten minutes.”

They all nod, knowing full well they will not be doing that. The guy clearly needs rest.

(Also, he is a single father of three and still goes out every night to punch robbers and crime bosses? Is he doing okay?)

Then they head back to NYC with so many questions.

But a lot of it makes sense too, actually. Maybe they just weren’t thinking about the man behind the mask enough to see it.

They learned a lot about their friend that night.

And they have a lot of bets to cash in.

FIN

Okay :D that was a lot! If you enjoyed it, please let me know. This has been simmering in the back of my head for months <3 Have a great day and drink some water :)

Hey bestie @bruciemilf

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