House Arrest

by Michele | Dec 4, 2017 | Chronicles

Steph: #FirstWorldVigilanteProblems

There’s a saying about Hell and a hand basket. The thing is, it doesn’t really every apply to Gotham, because one part or another of it is basically already always there. Another one about a fresh Hell. Again. Doesn’t work because technically none of this is fresh and/or new. Joker being a homicidal, creepy-ass freak? Bi-Weekly sort of engagement. League of Shadows has a ninja horde beef with someone? Semi-annual. Some D-List baddie has it in his mind that this is his moment? Normal Tuesday night. Or it was. Until Batman was gone and this weird sort of hush settled on the place. No one wanted to make a move, because no one wanted that spotlight of attention and blame. Apparently it was really just the eye of the hurricane settling over us. Because now? The rest of it’s rolled in.

And it’s like all the worst parts of every postal holiday, with none of the upsides all rolled into one. Complete with the forced spending of time with family. And like most of the rest of my life, I’m kind of helpless to do anything about it. ONLY I SHOULDN’T BE. For the first time, I’ve got training (some) and a suit (it’s still kickass) and all the gadgets and a circle of people that tolerate me that are much better at handling this crap than I am. They’re probably out handling it right now, in fact while me? I’m off the grid. Because I’m completely, and legally, on it.

Gotham City. Where the crooks are everywhere, and the legal system either is in their pocket, or wide-eyed and manically hopeful that this time… this time they’re going to have a poster child to use for their rehab programs and that this time, they’re going to have really made a difference. That’s me. Poster child and sacrificial lamb, because obviously a repentant criminal who’s seen the error of their ways, and is back on the straight and narrow should be able to appeal for joint custody now that they’re out of jail. And. Totes a good guy. Only he’s not. And here I am. Stuck with him just the same. One weekend a month. The first weekend since I caught onto the scheme (which was the last time I had to be here), and I fought with my Mom about it. Argued. Stamped my foot. But she’s got something going on this weekend, and doesn’t trust me at home alone apparently.

So. Daddy/Daughter time it is. Gotham’s imploding, but by all means… lets follow the Idiot Court’s orders. Great job, CPS. Kudos. Really.

I don’t want to be here, and I made sure everyone, and anyone, who would listen knew about it. Well. At school anyway. At home. I haven’t been able to get back to the ‘Batcave’ since the night Joker branched out into television programming, there was no side trips allowed by Mom between Mom’s place and my Dad’s. And seriously. Who has doors that lock from both sides? Oh wait. My Dad, the D-List not-so-supervillain. That’s who. On the upside, there were boxes of Eggo waffles in the freezer. Clear bribery. He gets better cable, too. Judging by the three hundred and counting flicks of nothing interesting that I’ve gone through, while silently counting down the time in my head.

Two more minutes.

Tim: There’s nothing on television. Nothing at all. Channel surfing is one of life’s little tortures. A good cable plan gives you hundreds of channels, but there never seems to be anything on. Until you finally find that one thing that doesn’t bother you. It’s not exactly what you want to watch, but it doesn’t make you angry having it on. For what is likely the nine hundred time this year. You know what it’s like. That one movie you liked the first time, but now you’ve seen it so many times you can recite the lines to yourself (or others if they’re in range of hearing). Sure, you don’t like it as much as you once did, but it doesn’t make your ears bleed putting it on.

One of the lines is certainly not, “Jesus. I never thought he would leave. That was painful to watch.”

Nope. That isn’t your movie Stephanie Brown. It’s the Boy Wonder. Who isn’t nearly as imposing when he’s not appearing out of nowhere dressed as a six foot bat that terrorizes the Gotham Underworld. This is a little bit of a different sort of impression. This isn’t even the same costume she saw me in before, when I first met her on the rooftops. This is version 3.0 of the Red Robin outfit. More in the style of a flight suit, less in the vein of ‘Scare you to Death’. It has some perks though, which was important for today’s outing. Between the stealth tech which turns the entire red-color scheme off, darkening it to allow for blending in to the shadows of her apartment and the technology that is woven in to the very fabric of the outfit itself? It shouldn’t be half as comfortable as it actually is. Nor as easy to move as it turns out to be. No cape to slip on. No horns to catch in closing doors.

With one hand, I flip what looks like a gameboy with a pok-e-mon skin to her. The other hand carefully remains at my side, even when I flip over the arm of the couch to crash down on it next to her. “Gotta catch’em all. Figured you might be a little bored. What with the whole mandated custodial visitations and such.”

That’s not entirely untrue, but it really doesn’t happen to cover the real reason I’m here. Instead of out there. The world out beyond the walls of this apartment is going to hell in a hand basket. The League of Shadows has descended upon Gotham. An alien space crafted landed in the harbor. Nowhere has arrested Dinah’s ex-boyfriend. Damien’s mother has been kidnapped by the Joker. It does not take a super-genius to know that I shouldn’t be here. Not right now.

“You’re one of the team now, Steph. Did you really think we’d let you disappear at a time like this without us noticing and looking in to it?”

Steph: The sound that comes out of me is about as far from ‘cool’ as one can possibly make. The combination of I just stepped barefoot on a slug and walking face first into a really big, really gnarly cobweb, with maybe a bit less disgust in the tonal mix. It also sounds suspiciously like a number at first, because I went from counting down the seconds since Dadmonster left the ‘condo,’ or what passes for one in this part of town. Row house is probably a better descriptor. Super narrow, which takes away from the multiple floors. Anyway. Not the point. He left, bolted the door, there’d been some carrying on about it that I like to think was pretty convincing given the looks I’d been giving the guy since I got shoved in the front door after school. He actually looked about as excited to see me as I was to see him, which had been a little confusing on my end.

If I was going to be stuck here all weekend, while everyone else was probably out dealing with the crapstick that is Gotham City right now? I could at least try to get some of my own work done. Not homework. I did that already. That was my method for ignoring Arthur Brown for the first stretch that I was here. When he finally left? I didn’t try any of the windows, or look for another means of escape. Unlike my Mom, and her very predictable shifts at the hospital, I have absolutely no way of knowing when he’ll be back.

Once I’m done flailing on the other side of the couch, and no longer threatening to tip over the armrest, I can properly side-eye the uninvited guest. Who has clearly been here a while, or I would have heard the window, exactly how long he got to watch the elegant ballet of two people who are stuck with one another and desperately want to be somewhere else…I couldn’t say. We’re just going to stick with ‘awhile.’ There’s so many options available to start my side of this conversation, probably something witty, or funny, or maybe we’ll just go with rude for scaring me like that.

“…how many suits do you have?”

Yup. Nope. Obviously and pointless. That was what we went with. I can’t help wondering if they do this all the time. The musical capes charade. Last time I saw him, he was Batman, and it kind of feels like some weird, mean practical joke may or may not have been going on at my expense. Except he was actually nice and encouraging with the black on. So…maybe the black Red Robin suit means I’m going to get something in between. Guess we’ll see. The hand that had the remote in it, before it went flying to who knows where in my spaz moment picks up the gameboy. Frankly. Looks a little low tech for him. Which means either that’s part of the joke, too, or it’s something else entirely.

“How do you know about… because you know everything. Right.”

That’s not even sarcasm right there. That’s just me honestly answering my own question before I flip the handheld game open. Even the things I thought maybe I still had as a secret have more or less gone out the window at this point. Which means somewhere there’s a whole lot written down about me, which isn’t that off base there was an awful lot of interviews with some really annoying social workers pretty much annually out there. Which I have no doubt they can get access to. All the boring bits about my life. This part? Probably wasn’t even hard to get to. Public record. And if you already know the name of Arthur Brown and Crystal Bellinger’s, formerly Brown, daughter the whole classified part doesn’t really matter.

“But um. Thanks.”

For the gameboy and…what he’s just said right there I suppose though I’m still looking out of the corner of my eye at him like Tim’s some weird bug. My face slowly turns in his direction as I talk though. I’m not entirely sure how to take that. I’m also very aware that if he was saying that with the Batsuit on, I would probably take it an entirely different way than my head wants to right now. Maybe it’s just my general mood, or some low-grade PTSD.

“I figured you guys were probably busy. But. No. I mean. It wasn’t exactly on purpose, I just don’t have the number for the Batcave. I didn’t mean to make anyone …’ Worried sounds too invested. Pick a new word, Brown! “Concerned. Wait. One of the team not like… sidegrade liability of the team? Gosh. I’d offer you a celebratory snack but I don’t have any idea how long that box of cookies has been in the cupboard. It was up there last time I was here and I didn’t want to touch it then, either.”

Tim: The look on my face tells the story of someone who isn’t the least bit phased by her commentary. Do I know everything? No, but I sure like people thinking I do. Most of the time. In this case though, Stephanie hadn’t known enough to conceal her identity when we first met. Not in a way that would or could stop me from looking in to her. Once I got her name, I was off to the races of finding out everything there is to know about Stephanie Brown. Not exactly an exciting autobiography, but at this age who of us can actually make that claim? Not me. Not until this last six months at the very least. Knowing who Steph is meant knowing her her life. Then finding out her Father’s identity meant having to dig deeper. I couldn’t bring her to the Nest, if she was a plant. That’s been tried before.

Fortunately for all involved, Stephanie’s disgust over her father’s faked rehabilitation? Is either Oscar Worthy or Genuine. Not many people can fool me once I’ve seen their face. “Counting the ones in my closet back home? I think twelve or thirteen. Unless we’re not counting the ones that include a tie? Then it narrows that number down to four. Though, I suppose one of those four is technically not mine. Never really was, but certainly isn’t now. So let’s call it three.”

Tapping the Gameboy with a finger tip, to bring her attention to it. “Covert Surveillance Computer. It plays games too. Geeze, you’re looking at me like I’m some sort of nerd or something.”

“While you and your Dad were playing the ‘Who can be more uncomfortable in their silence’ game. I was putting a microbe transmitter in to his Coffee. You should be able to track him with that,” pointing her in the direction of the disguised micro-computer. “The microbe isn’t powerful enough to show up on most forms of detection, but it should allow you to get a general feel for where he’s going, gone or when he’s coming back. If you have time this weekend, you should try to put some of the microbes on his cell phone or any sort of computers he might use. We’ll be able to hack in and see what he’s doing. Or listen to his calls.”

She’s giving me such a look, which she might think I’m missing but the fact is that I rarely miss facial cues. It’s one of the many little quirks that I’ve had for a long time. Reading people. They’re all like living crime scenes. Once you figure out the clues, you can know what they’re really saying. It tells a sort of truth of it’s own. Right now Stephanie’s face is a clouded mask of confusion, skepticism and her normal sense of generally being an open book.

Kicking my feet up on the inn-table and reclining back in a way that says ‘getting comfortable.’ That’s all a clue to the fact that I’ve got no other plans on being elsewhere. Not right now. At least. I’m half-way to putting my hands behind my head, when the rotator cuff flares with enough pain to leave me wincing. She’s not wrong, there are a hundred places I should probably be other than on Stephanie’s couch. But, after the Iceberg Lounge….

“They are busy, for sure. Right now you’re not the liability though,” rubbing at my shoulder, as I start to explain, honestly. “You might say I’ve been pulled from the starting line-up. Put on injured reserve. That wouldn’t be entirely untrue. But. I was worried about leaving you alone during all of this. I’m pretty sure I can beat your Dad up with only one arm.”

Steph: Oh, it’s genuine. So very, very genuine. My level of love and forgiveness for the man was pretty much exhausted when he went to prison the last time. On the upside, that time resulted in my Mom cleaning up her act. But whatever shred of positive feelings I might have been able to dredge up for Arthur Brown was drug out in the alley way and executed when I was here the last time and stumbled on this next, newest and greatest plot of his. Whatever it actually is. And that was a very small amount of feelings anyway. I’m not even pretending right now. I don’t want to be here. I didn’t understand why he wanted me here in the first place, and that made Tim’s theories about him and why I’d found those breadcrumb trails stick in my mind. Was it on purpose? And was it because he thought I’d be cool with joining the family ‘business’ or because he secretly wanted someone to catch him and with Batman supposedly gone there wasn’t anyone out there to do it?

I don’t think it’s the latter. As far as I could tell, he was seizing the moment because Batman was gone. Either way. I’m here, and this time? It was pretty clear that he didn’t want me here either. I bet because he has something more criminal he’d rather be doing than spending time with his teenager.

“Huh. That’s too bad. It was a pretty good ‘look’ on you.”

It certainly isn’t now? That’s kind of telling. Means someone else is probably wearing it, out dealing with all the usual Gotham crap, multiplied by four, and that’s why Tim’s here in my Dad’s house checking up on me. With presents. But I mean it. I thought he’d done a pretty good job as Batman, plus my time spent with him while he was wearing it? A hell of a lot more pleasant than the times he’s turned up in a version of what he’s got on now. Turning the device over in my hands, my eyebrows lift in an appreciative look while I let a low whistle out between my teeth.

“Niiiice. And you are kind of a super nerd, from my limited observation, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean. So long as you’re not using it for villainy. Sounds like a much more efficient method than count to six hundred Mississippi’s and pray. Especially since you made me lose count around four-eighty.”

I will most certainly be doing all of those things. And taking great satisfaction in it, too. Though the look on my face says I just spent a second or two contemplating where else he’s stuck those things. Invasion of privacy when it’s me. Justified when it’s against my Dad. I’d been wishing I had my suit, and all of its doohickies but there was definitely not any chance I was going to bring the thing here. I don’t even take it home, because I don’t want to risk anyone else finding out who’s under Spoiler’s mask. So the gift? Welcome. The ideas? I won’t even balk over them not being my own because they’re good. It still definitely doesn’t explain why I’ve got a Red Robin making himself comfortable in the living room, when I could literally see Assassins moving around out there last time I looked out the window.

The only person I’m really in any danger from would be Dad, here, and he’s gone for… a while hopefully. Staying off the streets and hunkering down is kind of a default mode a good and smart Gothamite falls back into in these kind of scenarios. But he’sRed Robin, and could probably have dropped off the hand held and left without me really having time to process that he’s here. I’m about to ask, when he starts to supply the answers on his own. Explaining the presence, and his wince. All makes total sense. Except maybe the worried part. Tim Drake was apparently from the Narrows, too, before he became a Wayne. He knows how it goes, then.

“…because you were worried that he would do something stupid, or because you were worried that I would?”

I’m okay though. Stir crazy maybe, but I was just waiting until I thought he’d been gone long enough to start doing some snooping. And then…subsequent freaking out over every little noise…Yeah. His way is better. With the tracker. And the nerd stuff. Harper’d love it.

Tim: Maybe there’s a momentary look at Stephanie that I couldn’t control. A pretty good look? I’m not sure how to take that really. Times like these make me think I should learn how to talk to people the normal way, instead of relying on deductive reasoning and logic to interpret their meanings. It leaves me a little clueless at times about the more simpler forms of communication. This leaves me thinking she’s trying to spare my feelings, but I already know the truth there. It truly is in the simple math of that problem.

“Do you mean it looked good on me, despite being six inches too short, a hundred pounds too light and about three Olympic weight lifter classes weaker?” Though I’m smiling, there’s a definite sense of displeasure in saying all of those things out loud. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to spare my feelings by holding off on the jokes. I never should have put the suit on, but.. y’know… the City needs the Batman. Not -a- Batman. The Batman.”

Some people don’t understand that. It can’t just be anyone in that suit. Hell, it shouldn’t be someone with the skills but lacking the personality either. Batman is the sum of the whole. You need to be smart enough to figure the job out. Skilled enough to get the job done. All wrapped up in the ethics needed to know when enough is enough. If you’re missing any one of those things, you’re just a guy in a suit. For better or worse, that’s what I was. Just a guy in the suit. Smart enough, sure. The ethics weren’t my problem. I lack the tools to do the job, the way that the Batman would do them.

While I’m mulling this over, I can’t help but notice that Stephanie is giving me the side-eye again. Her question is a good one, but I’m not entirely sure that I know the answer. At least, not entirely. “Let’s go with a little of both. I was worried that you’d do something to tip your hand and then he’d do something stupid that you’re not quite ready for. Yet.”

“I went through at least four alternative plans, before settling on the stealth approach too. There was ‘Batsuit, throttle Cluemaster while Stephanie swoons.’ That was my early draft plan, but … sidelined, y’know. Then there was ‘Wayne Foundation Scholarship’ plan, which involved showing up in a limo. But. Then I remembered where you lived. It was down to ‘Infiltration’ or ‘Wayne Foundation Internship’ plan. But you objected so much to being called Robin, that I was sure you’d turn down wearing a skirt and fetching me coffee during board meetings. Seeing your Face when your Father’s greed had him signing you up? Almost won out anyway, but I rolled some dice and voila… microbes, game boy and stealthy approach are what you got.”

Steph: See, now I’m the one getting weird looks. Like I’ve just said something in a weird, gibberish language and he’s wondering if I’ve been drugged or thumped in the head too many times. I’d say the latter could be a possibility, but brutal as Canary is? She doesn’t tend to leave bruises in places that will be visible at school, or cause lasting brain trauma. As a favor, of course, which she’ll spell out for you in the knocked you on your face debrief. I could have broken your nose and snapped your blahblahblah but… It doesn’t take a brainiac or ace detective to deduce that he doesn’t agree. I end up shrugging my shoulders, and not even making much in the way of the jokes.

“Okay, so you looked a little shorter but my only up close reference was like. Eight years ago so I just figured watching the ass beating, and the general state of Bat-looming made him look taller than he really was.”

Which wouldn’t really be that big of a deterrent I don’t think. Somehow, I doubt six inches of height and a hundred pounds lighter made that guy whose kneecaps he broke feel better about the situation. Most people don’t get close to Batman out there, and when they do it’s because they’re in deep, deep trouble. Or getting saved. In either case? Probably more worried about a lot of things, or grateful for them, than something like that.

“I’m pretty sure someone told me I shouldn’t have put on a cape and hood either.” Ahem it may have been you. Or everyone in the universe hypothetically speaking. “Hasn’t stopped me from doing it anyway. But. It did look good on.” Oh, God why Stephanie why. “And you were…different. Good different.”

I.E. Not a total dick. Dick that gave me a badass suit and signed me up for getting my ass kicked lessons, but…still kind of a dick. Interacting with him as Batman had been like a totally different person under there. Someone that made me feel like I could maybe actually do this. Though. Hearing what were definitely concerns about doing it himself, maybe a lot of that was projecting. I don’t know. Boy. I kind of masochistically want to hear the answer to that one, because vigilante self-esteem or lack thereof isn’t going to stop me from carrying out this vendetta of mine but… it was sure nice to have some for a little bit. It’d really suck to think he was only building me up to try and maybe do some of that for himself, too.

But as far as I was concerned, and for all that it mattered what I thought? Tim had been Batman. And I thought he’d been pretty good.

“Hah. Well. Luckily for everyone involved, it doesn’t take much acting to pretend like I don’t want anything to do with him, so we haven’t had any conversations about my fun, new extra-curricular activities. And he hasn’t startled me into judo chopping him in the throat. Yet. …kindahopingthatone’snotoffthetable … But this is the first time he’s left since I got dropped off.”

I feel like I should be insulted. I’ve gone almost a month without alerting the parent that actually knows jack about me. I can probably make it four days without putting up an ‘I’m Spoiler, and I’m going to GET you, my pretty!’ banner.

“Throttling is still on the table though? I bet I’d like it better this time than last time. Kind of would rather do it myself if we’re being totally honest. There’s so much wrong with all those other plans I like. Can’t even, though.”

Limo he eliminated himself, fortunately. Which is good. Because he knows all the reasons why that would probably have been a bad plan. Starting with ‘sore thumb,’ and ‘target for enterprising criminals.’

“You’d never get your coffee. I’d drink it. And it sounds like I’m out of the Robin gig anyway. Glad I didn’t get those shirts made. That would have been awwwwkward.”

Tim: “Bzzzt. Wrong, at least about some of that. It made a big difference. I couldn’t do the things Batman does. Not even close. I was compensating, constantly. Trying to hold it together like a magician, but being the Batman is a lot more than smoke and mirrors. Some of the people the Batman deals with are better than others. They’re intelligent, observant, and stable. Insane, sure, but they have the tools to exploit weaknesses. Two-Face would have caught on to all the things you did and more. Joker would have noticed in a heart-beat. Hell, from what I hear Penguin didn’t even believe it was the real Batman and he never even encountered me. So all he had to go on was second hand rumors and news clippings from Central City.”

What bothers me is that I know that I’m right, but I also know that Stephanie is too. Which is why I stop trying to prove myself right and accept what she’s said as her belief. She’s giving me what might be the only compliment that I heard about my amazingly short stint as the Caped Crusader. “I.. well… I know that the Batman was supposed to scare the bad guys, but at one time Bruce wanted the Batman to be about more. He saw it as a chance to give the City hope to believe in. I wanted to find that again. The City needs it, but so does the World. Our country is in a bad place. We don’t need our heroes giving our kids nightmares right now.”

“Oh. Uh. You didn’t mean… you meant I was different with you, specifically didn’t you?” Now I’m scratching at the back of my head a little uncomfortably. “Well. Uh. You see. I didn’t want you to be in this life. So I was trying to scare you away from it. But you didn’t scare easily. Or at all really. Then you made it through that first week with Canary and… you deserved a chance that Bruce never gave most of us.”

“Yeah. I mean. You’re barely skirting by in half of your classes. Who the hell would believe you won a scholarship, am I right?” When I flash the smile it’s because I’m giving as good as I’m getting for once. No somber, stoic Batman gaze that doesn’t react to any of her jokes. Just a quick return on the investment, with one of my own. “Yeah. So Limo was out. Scholarship was out. But I’m happy to re-evaluate the throttling plan. As long as we can negotiate. How about throttling is allowed, but only if you throat punch him with my half-full coffee cup, while wearing the intern skirt? If you can manage that I’m all in.”

Oh, I’d be laughing too. If it weren’t for the state of my ribs. Or my shoulder. One knee. Possible concussion. Yeah, no. I’m going to keep my belly-laughter to a minimum for now, thanks. “I wouldn’t cancel my order for those shirts yet, if I were you. But. Eggplant and Red Robin sounds like a dynamic duo of it’s own. Ugh. Nevermind. That just sounds like what one of those terrible fast-food joints at the Mall tries to sell for ten bucks a plate.”

Steph: “What do I know, right? I’m no seasoned, grizzled quadruple black belt that can do a Wuxi finger hold. Yet. I’m just one of the many non-criminal shmucks that happens to have the crummy luck of living down here. And believe me. I never cared how tall Batman was. Just that he was there. It is about more than making assholes wet their pants. It’s about people in the worst, most hopeless parts of Gotham thinking that someone out there cares what happens to them, and is willing to do something about it.”

Woah. Down, girl. I realize my tone is starting to get…heated. Impassioned like I’m about to go on a rant to outdo my infamous soapbox speech when the school couldn’t find money in its ‘budget’ to maintain the coffee machine in the cafeteria anymore. Seriously. We’re teenagers, not idiots, and we know how vending contracts work. Clearing my throat, I pull myself back before spreading my hands with another shrug.

“When I was little, I used to sneak out on the fire escape and watch, because I really wanted to see… uh. You know what, nevermind. I don’t need to tell you about that. But, erm. Yes. I did mean with me. I guess you could have been different with everyone, but…wasn’t there. Small frame of reference. I kind of get the impression that all of you got the disapproving looks and then… here you are anyway.”

Because something was more important to them, too. Than any head shaking or judgement that came their way. I don’t know the specific reasons. Not for a single one of them. I don’t really need to, though. The determination and dedication is pretty easy to read. None of them are doing this because someone made them, they’re doing it because they need to. For probably all kinds of different reasons, that amount to the same thing. Showing up. Kicking ass. Apparently getting their asses kicked sometimes, if lame-wing Red Robin here on my couch is any gauge. Lame-wing Red Robin who very nearly gets me to rise to his teasing bait. Skating by in my classes. Hmph! My life would have a lot more sleep in it if I were just skating by with my school work. It’s a good thing I’m probably done growing already, or all the caffeine I’ve been inhaling might end up stunting something important.

“That seems like a really complicated, super situational set of terms.”

And I’m pretty sure someone will throttle my Dad, hopefully me someday, without any sort of hoops or agreements to go through. I can even bypass the throat punches, satisfying as that sounds, I just want him in jail where he belongs, and without the satisfaction of succeeding in his plan. Whatever it might ultimately be leading to.

“….yuuuuum…. ahem. Sorrynotsorry. I’ve been holding that in like. For a month.”

Hopping off the couch cushion, the gameboy’s shoved in the front pocket of my sweatshirt, with a moment spared to look at what the channel surfing had actually landed on. Hallmark channel and its countdown to Christmas. So many sappy movies. So many unrealistic stories. So much of an awful train wreck and oh God I need to leave right now, it’s sucking me in… spinning rather forcefully back to facing Tim, I jerk my thumb towards the narrow staircase in the back of the living room.

“So. Uh. You feel free to watch Romance at Reindeer Lodge …GodwhydoIknowthat… if you’re sticking around. I’m going to go see if I can’t find any of the things the douchemonster doesn’t want me to see in here. He was both super in a hurry to leave earlier and super unwilling to leave me here. The leaving clearly won eventually. Not that I blame him..”

Tim: What does she know? Well, the irony is that she seems to know quite a bit. Maybe not how to hack the NSA. Probably not how to pull a finger print off a car door without a kit or tape. But she knew all about how to get information without having to go through the City Planner’s office. She caught on to her Father’s machinations. It took very little for her to see the patterns and piece together that Red Robin and Timothy Wayne have the same jawline. How much does Cassie know? Maybe a whole lot more than the rest of us give her credit for.

She’s strolling down memory lane when all of a sudden she stops. Now a smart boy lets her finish doing as she will and changing the subject, but I’ve never been accused of being smart when it comes to the Ladies. “… you really wanted to see the Batman? Funny story. I did the same thing. Except one night, I actually did see him. Robin too. It was something special too. Every second of that first meeting is emblazoned in my mind.”

“Of course, it had to be. Given than I spent the next two years of my life examining the memory from every angle.” Watching her, as she is watching me and the rest of the room, leaves me with a canted head, plus a whole lot of refusing to let that be the end of this line of talk. “The only disapproving looks that I ever got were from the Batman himself. See, I didn’t have what you have. There’s no skeleton in my closet. No dead family member. No criminal undertow that pulled me in to all of this. So when I tried to make this my life? I didn’t just get old no, Steph. I’m one of the ones who got told to get out or else.”

“But. I wouldn’t give up. I couldn’t. I didn’t know why then and I don’t now. I just couldn’t stop myself. There was something driving me to help these people. Help people like you. Do something better. Make the world nice for about thirteen seconds. Batman only took me in after I kept going, and going, and almost got my entire family killed. He saved them. Saved me. He looked me in the eyes and knew it’d happen again. But that he might not be there to save them next time. So he took me in, like I took you in. He did it to drive me to fail, to wash out. I never gave up and I see those qualities in you too.”

“Those qualities and half-a-case of snark, a side of shade and two spoonfuls of spite. She’s got Red Robin jokes. Swell. Remind me again, Eggplant. Where’d you get that first cape of your’s?”

Then she’s up and starting to what? She’s going to snoop in to her father’s things. Pfft. As if she’s leaving me here when she’s doing that. Someone has to oversee, to make sure she’s not overlooking something. Albeit with some very ginger movements and more than a little grumbling about how I’d just gotten comfortable. “So. No skirt. No coffee. No romantic movie. No throat punching. You’re really making this in to a terrible date…. Gasp!.. and now I know the secret origin of the Spoiler name.”

Steph: I don’t need to know how to hack the NSA, either. Didn’t need to know how to do a lot of things before the last few weeks, though. I just have the skills and attention to detail that living in a place like this makes you acquire if you want to get out of it on the other side with only a mild case of psychological trauma. I pay attention. I listen, even when it seems like I’m not because I’m. Well. Me. And I store away those things I’ve heard and seen for later, on the off chance that I’m going to need them. I’d brought myself up short of sharing some sappy/embarrassing childhood memories, so color me more than a little surprised when he steers that bull back around to share his own instead of just trying to get me to spill mine. Still. I’m pretty aware that my face is flushing a little at admitting it.

“Yeah. I really wanted to see Batman. Probably would have had better luck in that neighborhood if I’d done more than just…watch the moon for a silhouette like he was Santa Clause or something. I mean. It’s the Narrows. Odds were always pretty good for a showing.”

And then when I finally did see the Bat? It was in my living room. Happy Birthday to Stephanie! I realize he’s spelling out what makes him tick, his why, and despite being pretty open about mine, probably to the point of dead horse abuse, I hadn’t really expected to get his. So maybe it wasn’t the change in outfit that changed our interactions after all. Just. Situations changing. Seems I wasn’t completely wrong either, about the projecting. But at least it’s not in a bad way. I remind him of himself. I guess for most people, that’d be reason to try and bully someone out of something. Maybe doubly so if you weren’t sure if you chose the best path or not. I purse my lips for a half-second when he talks about his parents because… he says Batman saved them but he was adopted by Bruce Wayne. Which means something happened to them after that, at some point. You don’t get adopted by someone when your parents are still alive. Even if they’re awful.

“I borrowed it from school. Also I’m really only one spoonful of spite. Maybe one and a half if I’m cranky at my Mom. You don’t have to get up, whiner. Don’t let me keep you from your sappy holiday movie. There’s a bag of peas in the freezer over there, Mr. Made It a Horrible Date All On His Own. And I told you the origin like. The first time I met you. Wait. Why are we talking about dates…”

I rather intentionally start wandering off on that last question because. That was out loud where it shouldn’t have been and boy. All the mortifying things I ever said to ‘Batman’ I have a feeling are about to start creeping back up again. Clearly I need a do-over with the New Batman, whoever that is. He might not have outright said there was one but… connecting the dots that have been put out for me there. Not actually up the stairs, instead I’m ducking around into the space behind them, peering at the super awesome, and super seventies wood paneling on the wall.

“Right..about…”

I look behind me, of all places, to the tiny little nook of a kitchen. Take a step to the left so that I’m even with the sink, and then another forward until I’m pushing against the wall. There’s a give to it. I can feel it. It’s a crappy old building so that’s going to happen some even on solid walls.

“…Here. Do they all do this?”

I guess I could be asking about the hidden doors, which I’ve now located, and pushed open so it swings out of the way and reveals a staircase.

“…not the lairs. I mean. You have a lair. The insanity. Exact same things, over and over again, thinking that this time? Oh, man, this time they’re totes going to win?”

It’s not the same house that we lived in when I was eight, but this whole neighborhood is basically cookie cutter, cheap ass row houses, crammed together with no originality or variation. I watched from the sink in a different, but totally the same, building while freaking Cluemaster got Batman’s fist fed to him, basically where I’m standing now. Right outside the door to his secret ‘lair.’ Clearly there’s just some things he can’t be bothered to be original about. At least right now he’s living alone. Except one weekend a month.

Tim: “Truth is, if he knew you were looking? He probably avoided being seen. Bruce never saw himself as the Inspiration he hoped to be. He hoped, but he grew up not far removed from a generation of Heroes that took the blame for everything that went wrong.”

He then lived long enough to see History repeat itself.A fact that is never going to settle well with me. I mean, how could it? Whatever has happened to him, I have to carry the knowledge forward that Bruce never got to make the Batman in to the Hero he always wanted to be. Or rather, he never knew the Batman was that Hero. Clearly some of us knew differently. Two prime examples right here. But then we’re a product of the Narrows. Where Heroes come in the worst shapes and sizes, because normal Heroes get chewed up and spit out here. There’s no Supermen down here, is there?

My Parents survived my first little effort to become a Super-Hero. She’s right though. Eventually something happened. I should have known that it would. You can’t live this life and come out of it unscathed. Truthfully, I’d known that intellectually. I just didn’t understand that it might not be me, directly, that would pay the price for my choices in the end. Sometimes your weakness is the people you love, who can’t defend themselves from the enemies you make of the world around you.

“Truthfully? Yeah. Most of them do. You can almost set your watch by some of them. It never really stops them from being Dangerous though. They make the same choices, same mistakes, but there is always a wrinkle. They’ll spend their time in jail wondering about what they did wrong. So when they get out, they correct their one mistake. The really bad ones. The Jokers of the World. They’re the ones who really make it rough. Because they never do the same thing twice. Each time you encounter them, it might be the same old smile or joy buzzer, but it’s like you’re meeting someone new under the hood each time.”

By the time I’m done talking she’s found the lever for her Dad’s secret lair. I feel like I should be joining her, but I’m moving a bit slow for more reasons than one. “I did not make this a horrible date, I brought you presents and everything. I was all ready to snuggle in with Hallmark movies, cheetos and lime soda, but you’re all ‘Secret Evil Lair’ and totes ignoring my torn rotator cuff, bruised sternum, separated ribs. Multiple contusions and lacerations.”

Steph: “That sounds better than I just never saw him because he didn’t fly across the moon when I was looking up there. Also less like I was six.”

Though the truth is, even after I saw him up close and in person, I still kept looking. I’m not looking for a light switch. In my experience, these houses like to make you trek to the bottom of the perilous stairs before you actually get a chance to find one. Plus, even if there was one up here? I may pretty much hate my Dad, and he may pretty much suck at everything, but this has all seemed very much more… long game than anything else I know of him doing before. Not just a bank heist. Not just a jewelry store robbery. Not just smuggling something into and out of a warehouse again. it’d been all those things, like some elaborate sort of shell game and it’s enough to have me a little…paranoid. Or maybe the image of Nightwing zapping the hell out of Canary is still fresh enough in my mind that I don’t want to touch much of anything.

So I’m pulling my cell phone out of the pocket the gameboy disappeared into, and turning on the flash to check the landing. Technically a lot more care and caution than I use like. Ever. But it’s my Dad’s place. I’m the only one in here. I’m going to be the obvious conclusion to draw for ‘who done it’ if he noticed his stuff is messed up.

“…like Clock King…? Heh.”

I couldn’t help it. Really. Some of the loons in Gotham are just an incredibly special brand of…whatever the hell that is. The rest of the world? They get the grand and destructive sounding baddies. Here we get a range. From ludicrous, to insane, to oh God please never let me get within two blocks of that out in the dark.

“At my Dad’s house. Also that sounds completely awful and intriguing at the same time.” Clarify, Steph. “The cheetos and lime soda combo. Not the snuggling and romantic movies. Which I have never even vaguely considered. Ever. Nope. I offered you frozen peas. And sitting there while I do all the hard work.”

I assume he’s just teasing about the whole date thing. Over and over. See? Mortifying moments coming back to bite me, just like I knew they would. If there was any way to make me feel more brave about trooping down into the evil lair of doom? Clearly, this is the tactic to take.

“Seriously, what did you do? Try to chest bump a moving semi? How do you even get that suit on with one arm? Not. That I’ve been checking out the suit. And you in the suit and… I have my own suit, I know how hard they are to get on with two arms okay? …stop looking at me…”

Going downstairs now. They’re rickety, but not actually as bad as the ones that go up. I don’t know if that’s from lack of use to creepy (presumably) basement, or because he’s actually been taking care of them. He hasn’t been here that long, six months?Maybe? I admittedly didn’t exactly keep track of him, or where he was, until he’d interjected himself back in my life again. Rudely. I might add. Once I reach the bottom, I shine my light around the space. It’s. Rather disappointingly empty, honestly. No doomsday devices. No ominous flashing lights. A table with some chairs, which is I assume the one that was up here last time I came in announced. A stack of long, slim cases with handles on them. I’d been kind of hoping for something… concrete. Incriminating. At the very least his computer which isn’t down here, and it wasn’t upstairs. I already looked.

Tim: “Really? You have a whole Arkham Asylum and you zero in on Clock King? That guy is terrible. I mean, your Dad’s like an A-Lister in comparison.”

If I sound incredulous? It’s because I am. The reference to one of the Worst in the whole Rogue’s Gallery is enough to have me dropping the subject. Not to mention, dropping down the chute behind Stephanie. The good arm is all I need to let myself down in a landing that doesn’t make every bone in my body feel like it’s being broken all over again. While this isn’t fun, I couldn’t very well let Stephanie come down here and be locked away in some insipid death trap of doom.

The moment I’m on my feet, grimace not withstanding, a flick of the wrist turns on my suit’s spot-light. It’s enough to illuminate most of the ‘Evil Lair,’ and then some. It also has scanning technology built in to it. While it does it’s work, “You know. Some girls would think it romantic. Having a boy trying to rescue them from being trapped in their Dad’s place, under house arrest. Bringing them presents and keeping them from dying.. to boredom. Not you, no sir.”

Wah wah wah you were so mean to me wah wah, she says as he gives her a half-million dollar suit. The Batman? He takes her to a Sewer and a Police Impound, but nooo. I’m offering hallmark movies and super-computers. All I get is some frozen peas and a musty basement.”

How exactly do I answer her question anyway. I mean there’s the truth and then there’s the truth. Neither of which is really appealing, one of them is slightly more mortifying than the other. If only slightly, truth be told. The actual -thought- of what happened, makes me wince a whole new level of wincery. In for a penny, in for a pound right? She might as well learn something from my mistakes and oh were there a lot of them.

“It’s a long story, but the short version is that I threw myself down two flights of stairs. On top of a fully armed Ninja, while I was wearing a three piece suit. To protect a Female Dance troupe from certain death at the hands of Deathstroke, Penguin, his men and the League of Shadows. Let’s just skip the part where I did that, after disarming a missile and slipping one of Penguin’s bodyguards a roofie.”

“How was your night, last night?”

Steph: “Oh, c’mon! I was riffing off the set your watch thing… Jokes, Boy Wonder! Jokes! Or at the very least bad puns. Very bad puns. Seriously. You’re going to have to lighten up if this date thing’s going to continue…”

As traps of doom go? This one’s pretty uninspired. A let down, even. For all the secret door and hidden basement set up that should have led to something we probably didn’t want to stumble into, I’m starting to think maybe I would have been better off with lime soda and cheetos (…seriously, that flavor combination…). Luckily for Tim, I’m not looking at him, his mostly graceful landing or the resulting owie pain face that he makes because I’m using my own two eyes and the light on my phone which…gets dwarfed by his suit’s light, which nearly blinds me a half second later when I turn around to look at the source.

“Well, I’d order a pizza, but the door’s bolted, and assuming they even brought the pizza complicated instructions like ‘throw a rock at the window’ or ‘just hand it to the mostly friendly vigilante’ are probably going to make them not bother. Talk about not enough bang for that buck…”

I’d been hoping to get to at least claim some sort of discovery or progress for my weekend, because I assumed they were all otherwise out there. Busy. Fighting the good fight. Trying to weed out some assassins, and sort out the Joker situation, because lets face it. Potential or not that is all way above my pay grade right now. But there’s nothing down here. Maybe my Dad’s smart enough not to keep anything incriminating on the premises but if that’s the case, why even have something like this? There’s push pins in the walls, like there used to be something there. Tiny scraps of torn paper beneath them that I go on tip toe to look at. They could have been maps. Maybe the blue prints we assumed were taken from the city buildings, if that ever was even a thing.

But there’s nothing to find. Not for his scanner even. Just dust that suggests things were here at some point, cleared in a rectangle on the table, or on the empty shelves on those walls. I’ve crouched down in front of them, getting ready to flip open the clasps and check inside when I pause to squint over at Tim. Then I laugh. Infinitely amused, until it starts to trail off.

“…oh, you’re not kidding are you? Yikes. Well. Um.”

How was my night? God was that a dare, a sincere question because he cares or are we starting a game of one upsmanship I’m totally going to lose. My serious answer is about to sound awfully stupid compared to his.

“I babysat three kids under the age of six, and then played ignore the not-so-super-villain. Your night might have been less stressful. At least I got paid, though!”

Tim: “Worst puns ever. You’re terrible at this flirting thing. Where’d you learn how to interact with Boys? Super-Villain school for the internal and external monologue?”

As good as Pizza might otherwise sound, I’m a little surprised to find nothing. Even if it was just a little something, I was thinking that we’d find at least a monument to his own greatness. Finding nothing is actually a little more suspicious than finding something, because this leaves us with some questions. Like for example: Did daddy dearest figure his daughter would go snooping? Or maybe, Steph was wrong and her Dad had learned from his previous mistakes. This is left unsaid, because I’ve already said what that could mean. The ones who learn are the actual scary ones. It happens to be what sets them apart from the other riff-raff.

I can’t even tell you the last time one of the dumb ones graduated to the class of smart ones though. This is a change and I’m wondering how closely it ties to what happened with my Father. “Hold on. Are you telling me a deadbolt lock is all it takes to keep you in line? Boy, if I tell Canary that I could have saved her a whole month of beating you up, by just locking you in your bedroom with a deadbolt. She’s really going to kick my ass.”

“Seriously. Flight of Stairs. Dance Troupe. Black Canary in a mini-skirt, with her nails and hair done. Deathstroke. Ninjas and Mobsters. Faux Penguin, plus two Penguin Actuals. One of which was armed with a rocket, the other with a flame thrower. I may or may not have gotten a pass made at me by one of a set of triplets. That’s the one I roofied.”

Offering little more than a shrug and a smile. Given her own descriptive weekend, I might not even trade her night for mine. She’s new to this not-a-game we’re all playing. Might as well prepare her for the insanity of the life she’s about to lead if she keeps going down this path. Also a good chance to remind her of the important parts of life.

“Yeah. Would you believe that’s not the most exciting weekend I’ve had this month? I rescued the Flash from a guy that could become any element he touched. Then fought a living computer virus. What I was done with that, I got a plane with Wonder Woman. Yet, my idea of being told to hit the sidelines and take a night off? Was bringing you a present and watching old movies. You won’t even bring me Coffee or let me see you throat punch someone. Mini-skirt not withstanding.”

Steph: “More like the local chapter of All the Guys I Know Are Douchebags or Drug Dealers or Both, with remedial courses in Ain’t No One Got Time for That. Next time there’s a break in Canary Beating Me With My Own Stick 101, I’ll ask her if she can give me some pointers. And then clarify I meant on boys before she stabs me with something.”

Not to mention the summer section of Daddy Issues, but we don’t like to talk about those. Why am I being held responsible for flirting skills?! This wasn’t in the syllabus. I’m also not totally sure I know what to do with this teasing and joking from him. This isn’t usually a problem for me! I’m a sassy, independent girl child! Right? Yeah. No. I’m just going to keep trying to run with this whole date is a a not-serious joke thing, but he sure is using it for all it’s worth. My make-believe classes may have trailed off into muttering by the time I actually flip the two toggles and lift one of the lids, revealing a…

I don’t know what the hell this is that I’m looking at. A pair of metal tubes, that almost look like the collapsible staff I’ve been learning to fight with, except there’s some kind of electronics on it. The whole thing looks…delicate despite being metal, with a clear toggle that I assume would be an on/off switch that I really want to push but… the thin shred of common sense I’ve still got in my head says Stephanie, No! There’s no cord that I can see. Battery operated?

“No. I already picked it to make sure I could if I had to. Or there’s the windows. The horrible parental figure that’s nominally in charge that I assumed would probably not be gone long was a much bigger contributing factor. Since. Y’know. That hand. Trying to not tip it.”

Scowling a little, though it’s much more at what I’m looking at in the case, which seems to be in all of the other five matching ones, I pull a face at Tim as I fish the gameboy out again, fiddling with it until I work out how to apply the microbes he talked about. Asking would have been faster but that’s me. Stephanie Brown. Not the best at anything, but pretty good at figuring shiz out. I kind of want to give Red Robin one of these suckers to go try and puzzle out what it does, but that would be a noticeable loss. Guess we’ll just have to settle for what he can tell from looking, and seeing where they go.

“You do realize you’re not exactly making going out with you sound like a super smart play, right? Maybe the musty basement and frozen peas are the universe trying to jump start my sense of self-preservation. Also, I’m betting you didn’t actually know what to do with yourself, and this was probably like…option three or four. When we’re done down here though, if you really insist, I can make you some coffee and then punch you in the throat.”

There’s a haughty sniff as I straighten up to a standing position in front of the cases, giving my blonde hair a toss.

“Except a finger jab is much more effective.”

Tim: “I’m pretty sure you just called me a Douchebag,” which from the sound of my voice may actually be a first time for me. “Since we know I’m not a drug dealer. If you’re going to ask a girl for pointers on how to flirt with guys, Canary is definitely the one to give it.”

Unless you’re wanting to actually have more than a night’s fun with the guy in question. Not for nothing, but her brand of flirting happens to be very direct. To the point. No holds barred. Let’s get it over with sort of flirting. I’m not even sure what Dinah would do with the sort of flirting that is the ‘Take me home to meet the Parents’ kind of stuff. Oh, wait. Yes, I do know what she’d do. My jaw throbs at the consternation of what just might happen if Stephanie pursues that line of training.

I should warn her! Oh, right. She just called me a douchebag and offered to punch me in the throat. Kid gloves are off at this point in the dancing with sarcasm. I’ve moved over to let my suit take a full scan of the place. “Quantum Particle Scans could, in theory, give us a time-displaced map of what was here as much as a week ago. If only I’d been allowed to finish that paper, but noooo. I needed to go out. Live in the world. See the people I was saving. Meet people with like minded ambitions. Now we’ve got to wait on good old detective methods. Like running this through the Nest computers.”

“I’m going to need to take these scans to the Nest, directly. PennyOne is disconnected. Until we find out what got in to the Bat-System computers. He’s not on site at my bunker and we’re keeping it off the Grid, so that whatever or whoever is hacking in to the Bat Cave systems can’t get in to mine remotely. I feel a little blind out in the field, but I forgot to mention that someone dropped a Jet on Black Canary and Red Hood too.”

All of this is true, also it’s information that she didn’t have. I’m sharing, while also explaining to her that I’m going to need to take this information back to the base directly. Not just ask the man in our ears what we’re seeing. It’s also meant to tell her why I’m not just reading information off my Heads up Display. The computers in my suit are good, but they lack the database access to cross reference nearly enough information to tell us what we’re looking at. Not without going online and risking infiltration. Which sounds like a terrible idea right these days, more and more.

What comes next is a small smile, the sort of smile that’s far more ‘I told ya so,’ than anything else. “You’re right. I’m not, Steph. Part of me likes the idea, though. The other part still thinks I need to scare you in to running away, so you give this all up. Because I’ve got this innate desire to protect people. That innate desire grows in leaps and bounds, when I get to know the person I want to protect. Then you add in this White Knight complex. You’re lucky I’m not locking you in an ivory tower, that you’d have to climb down your own hair to escape from Goldilocks.”

“My point is. A guy would be crazy not to want to go on a date with a girl like you. But. I’m also trying to convince you to go have a normal life with a normal boy too.” My stream of conscious comes to a rather abrupt halt, as I look at the readings on the things we’re looking at. Every time I think this all can’t get any more weird, something new comes up. “Seriously. I’ve got to take these scans back to my Nest. You want to pick the locks, leave a note for your dad that you went out for Pizza with a Boy? Nothing too suspicious about that, is there?”

Steph: “Ehhhh…”

I waggle a hand back and forth at him. Like maybe that’s what I meant, and maybe he is, maybe he’s not. Jury’s out. Tim as Batman wasn’t a Douchebag to me. Tim as Red Robin before now kind of was. I’m still not entirely sure what to make of this one, maybe he’s being nicer to me now because he knows that I know who he is. Figured it out on my own and everything. Didn’t catch on to the whole Batman part until I was told, but in my defense he had a voice modulator and a much more covering mask on. Seriously. Look at him. That jawline and that little dimple in his chin? Erm. Yeah. Subject at hand. Retort! Retort, Brown!

“You did just admit to roofy-ing a waitress. Of the two, douchebag might have been the better category to fall into. In the sake of fairness, and because you did bring me a sick Pokemon gameboy, I don’t really know you. So. Maybe you can skirt past being stuck in either one. For now.”

Sure, I know his name. Both of them. Which can tell you a lot about someone when one of those parts is sorta famous, and the other is an urban legend, when you mix in some heavy google usage and social media stalking…which I totally haven’t done… but knowing about a person doesn’t mean you really know them. I know I’m not the sum of my parts. Or I too would be a douchebag and a drug dealer.
Quantum Particle Scans? Is…that a thing? Is he kidding and this is something pulled out of his ass or is that an actual thing? Because it sounds freaking fantastic. Like. I know someone that would be tripping balls over the concept. So I’m left falling back on that looking at him like a weird bug bit, as I watch him…presumably scanning the boxes. I can’t tell from here.

“…what the hell! Seriously! Why are you even here? They’re okay, I assume?”

Also WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL IS GOING ON? Ninjas and Joker problems are one thing, but it’s like someone got hold of the board of cosmic bad and flipped all the switches because. Screw it, right? I’ve thrown up my hands in exasperation at this new wrinkle in the lives of the Bat Family. I don’t want to ask if it can get worse. Gotham will say ‘hold my beer’ and then we’re all forked.

“Wait. What?”

Really? Now I’m pinching the bridge of my nose, before I close the case again, making sure it’s settled exactly where it had been in the first place. Like maybe that’s going to rein in whatever…the heck is going on with my night now, and this conversation as a whole. He likes the idea of …what? Going out? Is that what he really just said? I’m still stuck torn between figuring this is some really long game method of humiliating me and…what’s my option B exactly? I’m just…openly boggling at him because he’s saying nice things again. No black cowl on or anything. You know what? I’ve got nothing.

“Normal life with a douchebag or a drug dealer? Yeah. Hard pass.”

Wait. Was he doing my shtick and thinking out loud? That’s my best explanation, so I just turn around to troop back up the stairs.

“Teenage rebellion against the father I don’t want to spend time with, and make sure every fifteen seconds or so he knows that? You know..it’d probably be more suspicious if I didn’t. Lock picking and pizza it is.”

Arthur-

– Steph

No. Really. That’s what gets scrawled on the back of the first piece of paper I find. Girly cursive handwriting, hearts for the dots on my I’s and everything.

Im-pound the Alarm

by Michele | Nov 11, 2017 | Chronicles

Steph: Spoiler Alert: I didn’t finish my homework.

Getting down from the rooftop wasn’t actually all that hard. It could have been easier if people around here were more than passingly concerned with building codes and someone had bothered to replace the fire escape that should have emptied into the alleyway. There was one, at one point, because once I finished watching Batman doing his thing (..i.e. made myself stop watching because don’t be a creeper, Stephanie…) I had found the remnants of it. Must have been the victim of some disaster or other in the neighborhood, though who knows when. I think Big Red might be using part of it down there for some kind of prop, and…yeeeeugh.

Instead of the easy way down, I’ve got to find another one. There’s some death defying stunts involved, like jumping to the adjacent building during which I overcompensate for my book bag and almost fall on my face but hey. Better than shorting it and landing on top of Big Red and ‘her’ new friend. By the time I get down, the parts that once were my phone are long gone, I’ve definitely, definitely missed the bus and resign myself to the walk to the apartment that Mom and I stay in. Don’t worry. The longer trip was plenty of time for me to rehash like. All of my interactions with ‘Batman,’ except for the one that happened on my 8th Birthday. So, basically all the ones where it was me possibly making a jackass out of myself. Especially with my little side trip on the way.

Ugh. That conversation about who Timothy Wayne would or wouldn’t date. How awkward was that? I mean, not at the time. I just thought it was kind of weird/funny that I was having a conversation with Batman that wasn’t about beating people up or hunting people down. Gotta give the guy kudos though, because even with the weird things I’d noticed? I’d never thought it was Red Robin under there. And as soon as I’d seen and heard what Timothy Wayne looked like? I’d put those two together. They all maybe should emulate the batcowl a little more. Or at the very least, the growly voice generator. It had actually been the voice that gave it away for me on the other ‘secret identity.’

I’m more or less berating myself out loud by the time I’ve gotten up the building’s flights of fire escape stairs. Ours has one. That’s how you know we moved up in the world. Which turns into my head being a little too turned on to really focus on what I’m doing. I eat. I drink a whole lot of not so great coffee. I manage to do at least a draft of my paper for history class and by then it’s getting dark. Or more importantly by then my mother’s left for her shift at work and won’t be here to see me sneak back out. The trip to my suit? Is made with a bigger dose of paranoia this time, just in case the friendly neighborhood Batman decides to repeat his earlier trick.

I’ve gotten faster at suiting up. The cold is a pretty good motivator to get my ass inside of the insulated, always just right temperature armor. Seriously. If I could get away with wearing this all day I totally would. There’s a little extra giddyup in my step as I mosey in through the hidden garbage chute entrance in the alleyway. Digging into one of my millions of utility pouches (…seriously, this is like….the clown car of storage pockets…) and thrust out a folded up piece of paper like it’s a trophy.

“Drury’s still a stupid name. Bee-tee-dubs. But I know where he is!”

Wait. This paper is college ruled…damn it, that’s my graded math homework. I grabbed the wrong sheet at my house.

Tim: Recently Dinah Lance told me that the ‘Bat Cave’ wasn’t the cave under the Manor. It’s the base where Batman operates out of. Which was her way of telling me that for however long I’m wearing this suit? The Robin’s Nest is actually the Bat Cave and I need to start thinking about it like that. A recent discussion with Richard, left me with the certain information that I should maybe embrace what Dinah said. Because apparently the Bat Cave had been, in some way, broken in too. Violated. The Nest, because of my desire to be separate but equal, was not part of that same network. Making it secure, for now. Though it was never meant to be the Cave. The ‘Base’ for those of us who want to work in the city. It lacks the armament -and- the security of the Cave.

It makes up for those things in being spacious. Build originally to be a storage depot. It is centrally located in Gotham City. Built over the top of a small monorail system that was originally created for the underground railroad, then updated during the time of prohibition. Only to be updated again more recently, to allow for expedient travel between various points across Gotham. Between the ability to travel across the city quickly and the access to a storehouse of gear? It was perfect for me to build in to a base away from the cave. Then to turn that in to a hide-away training center, that Dinah now uses more than I do.

When Spoiler finally arrives she’ll find me on the second tier. Above the area where she spends most evenings being beaten like a drum. Arms crossed, I’m gazing intently at one of the multiple large view panels. They’re not truly monitors, but more carbon-fiber plastic, that works as receptacles for holographic displays. The effect is that there is a bevy of screens in all directions, but they take up little to no space. Projectors in the floor cast visual data up, in to the films, which then cast the holographic displays all around the ‘Batman.’

My super power? Nerdery.

“Good. We likely need something to do tonight. Dinah is on an assignment. She needed to work off some steam,” if Stephanie looks closely, she’ll see that I’m watching Canary in the midst of sparring with Nightwing. Playing the video repeatedly, at the point where Dinah loses consciousness. “Rather. I needed her to work off some irritations in a way that didn’t involve breaking bones that belong to you.”

“When she is not beating you or Roy to a pulp, she’s been keeping tabs on the Red Hood and Joker. The two of them are, surprisingly, doing more to keep the criminal element of this City in line than I’m even remotely capable of.” A gesture of my hand to another screen, displays other monitors. Several of which are the drones that were dispatched to keep an eye on Wally West’s family. While another displays an attack on the Metropolis Museum of Science and History. “Did you ask PennyOne for help or did you score that A on your own?”

Steph: I haven’t exactly done a lot of wandering around in here before now. I’m never in here alone and unsupervised for one thing, but the other is that either I show up and there’s some investigative ass-kicking to do that leads to leaving the ‘cave,’ or I’m immediately put to work on that demonic training dummy of Dinah’s. Or against Dinah herself. Bottom line, I’m always busy when I’m here. There’s no monitors up here that he’s working on, not regular ones at least, but the reality is way cooler. I crane my head back and forth at the side of one of them, seeing how thin the film is and how crisp the display is just the same. No wonder he always knows what’s going on, these can’t be security camera feeds, or traffic ones. Way too clear and sharp. Also not the right kind of angle What are they coming from?

“Uhhhhh…”

Is he really watching Dinah get knocked out over, and over? Is that NIghtwing she’s fighting? He’s not even touching her when she goes down. I’m a little wide eyed, because I know how events go if I actually manage to hit her, even if she let me. There’s an immediate lesson in reversals and punishing your opponent for taking an opening. She just drops like a convulsing sack of… I don’t know what. I’m pretty sure no one’s ever compared Black Canary to a sack of anything. My brain won’t even compute other than to whistle between my teeth.

“…somebody’s in troooooouble… and. That one looks kind… serious…also can you write me a sick note to get out of Canary Class for the next. Oh. Forever?”

Pointing at the semi-imploded museum, is that Metropolis? Why does he even have that one? As far as I can tell the rest are in Gotham, which makes sense for the Bat to be aware of. There’s others that might be somewhere else. Looks too nice to be Gotham, but I haven’t a clue where they are. What I do know is he’s probably right about her needing to not be here. She hasn’t broken any of my bones yet but there’s been a few times that I thought she might have. I bet she’s pissssssssed, and it’s bad enough being her punching bag when she’s in a good mood.

“Yes, I take my costume home in the morning and wear it while I’m doing my Pre-Calc.”

Oh, the sarcasm. How I love it. It lasts about as long as needed for me to finish stuffing my math homework back into the pocket it came from, which takes a lot more effort than it probably should have. Ultimately, I just cram the thing in and tug the flap down without actually checking to see if I have the paper I meant to bring along as well.

“I get all my own grades, thankyouverymuch. There’s only one small problem… I mean. It might not be a problem for Batman, I dunno. He’s at the precinct near my school. Want to guess what they picked him up for this afternoon?”

Tim: Yes. He is in fact watching Dinah be knocked out, over and over. What isn’t quite clear is why, at least not at first. To the naked eye I’m merely watching Black Canary being humiliated. To someone that might be able to see the angles though? I’m taking in so many other things. Watching the entire thing play out. Listening to what is said, seeing how Dinah reacts. Her impressions, Dick’s fishing expedition. The action is almost superfluous to what I’m actually witnessing.

“Hrm. Yes, he’s in trouble but I’m not entirely sure that Canary is the one he has to worry about,” pointing to the ‘action’ as it replays again. “Escrima Sticks. He’s using them and she doesn’t even question it, because they both understand that she is the superior hand-to-hand combatant. They’re an equalizer. Using them as a weapon was fine, because Canary wanted a challenge. His use of them as technology though, was more or less cheating. He’s opened a door that he might not be able to close, but the problem is… Canary hasn’t stopped yet to ask why did he do that?”

“Right now? I think she believes he did it to get one over on her, but that’s the emotion thinking. He said it was time for him to train her in something. Then he cheated. He wanted Canary to start thinking this way. He wants her thinking that someone is going to cheat, not play by our normal rules. One she realizes what Nightwing was trying to ‘train’ her, I fear that everyone is going to need that sick note.”

Metropolis, Gotham, the Twin Cities of Central and Star. The Batman was always aware of the goings on in the world, because you never knew what might play in to something that would work it’s way down to Gotham. Despite how I’m dressed, I’m not the Batman. I wasn’t supposed to be the Batman. I’ve had my focus on the world beyond Gotham since I was fourteen. Then Bruce sent me away, out in to the world to ‘make nice’ with people of extraordinary abilities. As Batman, right now, I’m not nearly as focused on Gotham as I should. How can I be, when the things on these monitors is so important to the Country or even the World?

A shake of the head has me re-focusing. Bringing myself out of those thoughts and back to the here and now. The weight of it all presses on me. As does the certain knowledge that I should be there. Helping Cassie, Wally and Freddy, but I can’t be because I’ve got to help my actual Family, here in Gotham. Ugh. Tripping on my cape, thwacking my head with the Batmobile. Those are things that should tell me this ‘Job’ isn’t right for me, but they don’t. Because someone has to be Batman. What tells me that I’m doing the wrong thing right now? Is that I’m standing here doing nothing, while the people I’m counting on to save the world? Need my help.

“You realize that it’s less humorous when there’s a high statistical probability that you’re actually telling the truth and cheating? It has taken you a month to read a single instruction manual, but you scored good on a Math Test?” The imperious tone is matched by a down the nose look, which only breaks slightly as I cluck my tongue and another little motion of pointing to a specific windowed monitor screen. “Relax, I’m teasing you. I know you don’t cheat. I’ve been watching you too.”

“Guessing is what people do when they don’t have access to the GCPD databases, due to a working relationship with the Commissioner. So you can either tell me or I can find the answer.” Taking a small breathe, with a long, loud exhale. Centering myself and releasing the tension that was about to consume me. “I didn’t mean to be so short, sorry. There is a lot going on and I’m feeling the weight of the Cowl a little more acutely than normal.”

STeph: So, I understand what he’s telling me. It’s English, after all, which isn’t my best subject but still. Parts of it are connecting dots, like why Dinah went down convulsing even though I couldn’t see Nightwing tasering her or anything. Built into the sticks. Note to Steph: Don’t handle the man’s stick. Ahem. I’m also pretty sure she’d roundhouse kick him, Batman or not, if she caught him watching this over, and over and … that’s probably why it’s happening now and not when she could potentially walk in on him like some naughty boy doing something he shouldn’t be. While Mom’s away…. I can’t say if he’s right about what Canary thinks or not, because for someone who’s so seemingly open, she doesn’t actually give away a whole lot. And I don’t see her discussing this particular event with me.

I just see me getting my ass beat even harder, since someone thought she wasn’t prepped for someone cheating.

“Uh, yeah. Maybe send her on some kind of relaxation retreat for a week or… I dunno. That looks like therapy going on right there.”

Jabbing a finger at the screen that shows what I assume is current Canary, and I wince over what’s about to happen to her opponent right before it does happen, because I saw this move the other day. Only this time I’m seeing a demonstration of what happens when she’s not playing nice with the scrub she’s trying to teach how to not die.

“…you guys have issues up in here. Just saying.”

And I know about issues. An assessment I’d probably redouble if I knew his inner monologue right now, but I’m instead left with just my own and picking up on the tension which has zero to do with me. I guess it could just be general Batman tension. He’s kind of an intense figure. Even when whacking his head on the Batmobile. Right now I can only guess how many things are going through his head, and I’m pretty sure most of them are probably more important than what my Dad’s up to, even if it is big for him. I mean. Look at the Metropolis museum right now… which I’m doing while I harumph at him for the tease.

“Maybe next time you should write your manuals with people who don’t have triple degrees in… engineering and mechanics and who knows what else in mind. Run it through a focus group first. I’m a doer. Not a reader. Also that’s creepy.”

And I kind of figured otherwise the timing was a little too coincidental earlier. And a little too during the day. Now he’s taking all the fun out of my discovery, which earns a sigh out of me, and that may have also been an eyeroll. Though. Really. I was just looking at that other screen. Way over there. I hear him doing it, too. The sighing. I mean, there may have been an eyeroll too but I wasn’t looking. There’s just a little less jaggedy energy coming off of him than there was a second ago. I’m actually pretty surprised by the apology. Double surprised since he’s apologizing to me. No. Stephanie. Don’t look around like he might be talking to someone else…

“Maybe if you shorten those ears up it’ll help. Anyway.”

Maybe not the time for jokes, but I don’t know what else to do with that right now. He’s got to be under a lot of pressure though, I mean. He didn’t look that old and no I did not facebook stalk Timothy Wayne. I really didn’t. Yet.

“Expired license tabs. I’m pretty sure you can get away with most things short of murder in that neighborhood. They actually brought Drury Walker in, in cuffs, for expired stickers. Which seems a bit extreme, but also secondary. I recognize him. He was at my Dad’s place.”

Tim: We have issues up in here? Why hello Mr. Pot, meet Ms. Kettle. Though you’d never know from the impassive look upon my face that I was even thinking such a thing. One mustn’t disagree with that assessment. We do have issues. Plural. Maybe even second, third or fourth editions of those issues to boot. Leaving me to also wonder if there’s any value to this sort of collection, because we’ve likely cornered the market on it. I’m not entirely certain that Stephanie means this as on the nose as she says it, but given her budding reputation?

A relaxation retreat? That one is enough to get a little smirk out of me. If I booked her for something like that, I’d book Stephanie to be the one to tell her. Because I sure as shit am not going to be the guy delivering that news. Not only would it be wasted money, but there’s also a level of insult that is implied to that which Canary would not pass over. She’s hone in on it and eventually make you pay. Dramatically. One way or the other. She’s good at doing things like that, which is why I typically devote a significant amount of forethought to staying off the ‘Piss off Canary’ radar.

“Whoah. Shots fired. You want me to dumb down the user manual? I’m pretty sure there’s a few people who venture in to my lair here, who would say I need to pick a higher quality bearer for the suits.” Giving her a little pointed look, as I’m almost but not quite firing back on her. “When I gave you the new costume, I believed you could handle learning how to use it. I felt the same way about introducing you to Dinah. So far you haven’t let me down. Though you’re working on making my six month plan in to a six year plan.”

The information she offers is curious. It is also curious as to how she came by this information without access to the GCPD records. This young girl is resourceful. I’ve been impressed the entire time, but she never ceases to make it more so. This information does mean that our ‘Mark’ is in custody. Easy to access. Easier to do it without anyone knowing too. Working at my gauntlet for a moment, I start to call up all the information on Mr. Drury that the GCPD does have on him. Where he’s being held. Who he’s being held with.

While the computer works to retrieve that information I spare another glance at the Monitors with Metropolis all pulled up. “We can pay Mr. Drury a visit. Has Canary started teaching you interrogation tactics 101 yet?”

Steph: “Unless there’s a whole lot more people ‘venturing’ in here than I’ve seen..” Yeah, finger quotes. What of it? I’m pretty sure one does not just venture into the Batcave. “… that’s a pretty small potential group. And I’m pretty sure if one of them was Dinah I would have been told straight to my face. Right before she punched me in it.”

I don’t know for sure how many are in this whole Batfam, though. You live in Gotham, you get passingly familiar with the regulars but given that I know now this isn’t the original Batman, and that it’s the former Red Robin wearing it I can’t say for sure how many different times there’s been a hand-me-down situation going on. I just see who’s here when I’m here. Or what I just saw there on that security monitor, played over and over and over…God. I hope they don’t watch my blooper reel like that.

“Six month plan for…what exactly? If you told me that two weeks ago I don’t think I would actually have believed you.”

Because it seemed to be pretty clear at the time that I was given the suit on the off chance that it would keep me from dying in the near immediate future. Tim as Red Robin wasn’t exactly encouraging. Begrudging would be the better one. Like, fine if I have to do this I will but I’m going to be grumpyface about it the whole time. Also I’m going to have my lady friend kick your ass in the hopes that maybe you’ll give up. Then there’s been Tim as Batman who’s actually been…basically the total opposite in pretty much every way. I mean. Pep talks. Actually taking me along on mission stuff. I’m still hedging my bets on which one’s more what he actually thinks about me.

Clearly though, him not believing in me back then or not hadn’t actually stopped me. It wasn’t going to, either, because another handy trait us Narrows kids pick up is self-sufficiency. Especially if your parents are useless. As for how I came by the information about Drury Walker, it’s in this case a whole lot more dumb luck/right place, right time than it was any stroke of great detective chops. Kind of like how I stumbled on this entire thing in the first place. I went to the station to report my phone cause y’know…what did it hurt? And I saw him. Recognized him. I suppose I could take kudos for resourcefulness when it came to the photocopy of the intake papers I’d ‘procured’, but given that I apparently didn’t even bring them? Not going to brag about that.

I also don’t miss where he keeps actually looking.

“Unless she interrogates someone by repeatedly punching them… noooo, I don’t think so. Is. That something you need to go…I dunno. Handle? Not Walker. That. I mean. I can go…” Do what exactly Steph, break into the police lockup? “…search his car solo or something.”

Tim: “Six month plan on you being ready to not even need the suit,” comes the answer without a hint of hesitation. “Stephanie, the costume and the things that come with it? They’re props. Tools. I want you to be able to use them, of course, but when I invited you here? I did so with the intentions of either you washing out or getting good enough to not need better gear in the first place.”

“You seem to not really get it. Why you’re here, I mean. I understand that, too. Not like anyone has been extremely informative with you. That’s part of why we had the discussion we did earlier. You’ve been asked for an awful lot and in return admittedly you’ve gotten a three quarter of a million dollar costume and technology. But other than that all you’ve gotten is verbal and mental abuse. Which you could get from your Father. I’ve been hoping that you understood why, but I suppose I shouldn’t just blindly hope you realize that at first I needed to see if you were serious. Then I needed to know if you could handle doing this. Not to mention there was also some question of whether you were part of an elaborate ruse of your Father’s.”

“The long and the short of it is that -I- was testing you. Not for skill but for other things. Skill can be gained. Heart and Soul can not. I’ve been working on a six month plan to have you ready, but that was before I realized what you’d stumbled on to. Now we’re working off of more like a ‘Oh, shit, let’s go do this’ game-plan.” Finally turning away from the monitor that’s had my attention so much and giving it entirely to her. “Two weeks ago, I didn’t believe you. So I can hardly blame you for what you’re saying.”

The wince comes because I don’t like that she was able to read me. To see that I’m intent upon what is happening in Metropolis. Or rather, what isn’t happening. Wonder Woman, Flash and Semi-Shazam should be out in the streets kicking Isis’ ass. But they’re seemingly AWOL. I don’t like this at all. Once more though, I’m smart enough to recognize that I’m legitimately incapable of assisting them right this second. The person I can help is standing right next to me.

“Canary’s interrogation tactics are scarier than her fighting. One minute she’s seducing you. The next minute she’s crushing your soul. And then comes the laughter, to let you know what a sad sack you are.” Reaching over first to key off the monitors, then to take hold carefully of her shoulder in order to turn her towards the Batmobile. “How about as a reward for finding Drury, you drive this time.”

“See? Like this. Soul crushingly terrible laughter.. hahahaa… Like I’d let you drive. You can barely see over the steering wheel, Robin.”

Steph: “Ouch. I mean. Unless it takes me six years to try every single one of the functions twice it shouldn’t be that long…”

And I’m picking it up a lot faster now that I know it’s all built into the onboard computer. If he’d made a youtube tutorial it would be even faster. I’ve always been a lot better at figuring things out every way except by written instructions. Whether that’s a demo I can watch, or some trial and error. The latter is a bit hit and miss when your clothes can taser you. Also. Why the hell would I ever need shark repellent? Now that’s a burning question I haven’t asked, because I’m half convinced it’s some sort of joke.

“Props and tools that all of you guys use, though. Well. Not Canary. And I’m pretty sure if she thought the cold was worth the advantage she’d go like. Withoutcompletely.”

There’s a bit of a strangled sound at the price tag because I don’t think that he’s joking, actually. Or maybe it wasn’t a ‘bit’ and was a completely clear ‘hurrk!’ sound in my throat. It’d almost be enough to make a girl not want to wear the thing anymore, but can’t put a price tag on your life…yadayada… and since he’s got multiple suits of his own, on top of the other ones here in the Cave? I guess he can probably afford it.

“Welp. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t need you to believe me. Aaaaaaand that came out a lot snarkier than I actually meant it to for once. Because don’t get me wrong, it’s great that someone does.”

Someone else’s belief just was an absolute non-factor in whether or not I was going to continue to pursue thwarting my stupid Dad and his stupid plans. I could try and seize on what he said about the verbal and mental abuse, and turn it into some kind of guilt trip but that’s not exactly my style. It would also require talking about all the many and varied reasons why I absolutely hate the man. I guess I can even see why he might have thought I was in on the whole thing from an outside perspective but if he knew me, he’d know there’s just absolutely positively zero way. Like. Less than a snowball’s chance in Hell on an extra hot hellish day. But he didn’t. Know me that is. Knowing all about someone or something on paper doesn’t really help you with the things that matter.

He either doesn’t want to talk about Metropolis, or why he’s so absorbed in it, or it’s not a pressing concern right now. As he turns my by my shoulder, my head kind of swivels on the pivot of my neck as I look at him over my face mask like he’s lost his batbrains. Really? Is he serious right now? I barely got my learner’s permit that long ago, and I don’t think he’s entirely old enough to count as my ‘adult’. But. Who’s gonna question Batman and what he does in his fancy Batmobile, right? Blue eyes narrow at him with a huff.

“…ugh. Not every learning experience has to be traumatic you know. Seriously. Issues. And it’s Spoiler.”

Tim: “Heh. It’s funny, I used to say that too. Even though I did want someone to believe me. Believe -in- me. I can’t tell you how hard it was to keep believing in myself, when no one else believed in me. My birth parents kept telling me to give up my efforts to become a Super Hero. I was eight at the time. Then I wanted Bruce to believe in me, but he kept telling me to give it up too. Eventually, even though I kept saying I didn’t need anyone to believe me.”

We’re not the same type of people though. She’s doing this all for different reasons than I ever had. I was trying to do something with my intellect. If I’d been born fifty years earlier they would have called me a code-breaker. Enlisted me in the military. Treated it like a super power. I can see the patterns. See them in everything. What Bruce had to learn, over the course of his entire teenage years, I had a gift for. Deductive Reasoning. Also known as the Sherlock Holmes syndrome, for those who follow the path in to criminology. But for me? That was a bit to restrictive. I want to see the pattern in everything. The big picture, not some small window frame.

The way I shrug, even as the big bad Batman, is meant to give her an out. “Don’t apologize that time. Everyone is different. I never needed validation, but I desperately needed someone to believe in me. To tell me that I wasn’t crazy.”

“Rule Numero Uno. Batman’s Sidekick? Is Robin. Even if he or she doesn’t like it. You’re just going to get frustrated fighting it. No one is going to accept Spoiler right now, but if you give it time and don’t let on that you’re bothered by it? Eventually you’ll earn everyone else’s respect. Then you’ll be Spoiler.” That same hand upon her shoulder gives an encouraging squeeze. “You may not need anyone to believe you, Steph, but you do need people to buy in to you. Until you’ve earned their respect? You’re just … Batman’s Sidekick. Robin.”

“Not every learning experience has to be traumatic? Wait. Are you serious? Damn. Someone should have told me. I’m going to give my Agent a call. Just as soon as we’re done breaking in to a Police Impound Lot and maybe interrogating a lifer.”

Steph: “I don’t know. I kind of just opened with knowing I was bananas for putting on drama department…and I use that term real loosely… and sporting goods store bargain bin finds and going out my window at night. Gotham is crazy. I’m pretty sure most of the sane weirdos move away first chance they get.”

My perspective is a little different though, I guess. Not only because of why I started doing this, but because of where I started from. I don’t know why that NIghtwing dude, or Canary or even Batman started. Kind of iffy on Arsenal’s motivations, too, other than he and Dinah clearly knew each other already and he’s apparently got a kid (…which actually makes me kind of pissy, but not the current subject…). Timothy Wayne apparently wanted to be a superhero. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than me just wanted to futz with my Dad. Possibly more honorable. Probably more crazy. I grew up watching the other side of the hero curtains from the ‘privacy’ of my own living room. That kind of skews everything from there forward, I think.

“…no, then I’ll probably be Purple Robin. Which isn’t even the right color. Because this is definitely more eggplant…”

That was partly to myself. But partly not. Given that he apparently graduated from ‘Robin’ by tacking a color word onto it, and then up to Batman Level. I can already see it, if I let this go. I’m Spoiler! No, no you’re that Robin guy. I’m not a guy. All the Robins are guys. It’s a thing. Sigh. Not totally sure how I feel about this ‘sidekick’ thing, either. I mean. How long’s that going to last? Until we bust my Dad? I’m not even sure I want to go or not after that but.. guess we’ll see when we get to that door. For now though, I just start moving towards that fancyass car of his. Which he’s not letting me drive.

“Oh, I’m always serious Batman. Dibs on shotgun.”

Like that wasn’t the seat I’m relegated to by not being the driver.

Tim: “Excellent. You’re the Eggplant Robin. Kudos on you for putting your own spin on it.”

Oh, she thinks that just because I’ve let her know who I am, that she is free from the dry sarcasm of the Batman? Not happening. I take what she said, try it on literally and now? Now she gets to wear what she started. Unlike her, people are going to listen to me and apply that. “I know you’re trying to be funny, but I once had this same discussion with Bruce. When he agreed to teach me, he told me the same things. That I could go out there and call myself anything I wanted, but if I was going out there with him? I’d be seen as the next Robin. So he told me to take ownership of it, put a twist on it.”

“I was never ‘Robin,’ so I took the things I liked about those who came before me. Then added my own flavor to it.” She’s moving towards the Batmobile, but before she gets quite there she’ll have to pass by the cases. This isn’t the actual BatCave, so she’s not going to see the numerous ones like under the Manor, because the only suits on display here are ones I’ve built recently or ones in actual use. The various versions of my own personal costume are there though. “The point is. As long as you’re going out there with me, while I’m the Batman? You’re going to be seen as Robin. If you don’t take ownership of it, it’s going to take ownership of you. You’re going to spend so much time railing against it, it’ll become a distraction for you. Instead of being a distraction for them.”

“That’s important, Stephanie. Even if you think I’m just maneuvering you. You have to take stock of this. Canary’s costume, if you can call it that, is all about directing the eyes away from the fact that she’s one of the top ten best fighters in the world. The Bat-suit is all about having the advantage of scaring the hell out of the cowardly criminal lot before I even throw a punch. You’re new. Unproven. They’re going to see you with Batman and either you’re going to own what that makes you or they’re going to tease you. If they’re teasing you, then they’re not respecting or afraid of you. So now you’re the one behind the eight ball, instead of them.”

By the time we’re both to the Batmobile, I’ve said my piece on this topic. It’s here choice ultimately. Freed then to focus on what we’re doing, this time there’s no stumble getting in to the car. No bobble of the elongated horns getting caught in the roof mechanism. I’m still not comfortable being the Batman, but each time I make a mistake I’ve dedicated myself to learning from it. I think that’s my only hope. That and hopefully not making a mistake that I won’t get the chance to learn from.

Next stop? Police impound.

Steph:

“What did you <i>want</i> to call yourself?”

I may have stuck my tongue out at Batman. What good’s a mask that covers the lower half of your face, if not for disguising things like that? Or. You know. Actually hiding the most identifiable parts of your <i>face</i>. Something I would say these guys all need lessons about but clearly it’s worked for them up until now. And to be fair, I hadn’t noticed that Batman <i>was</i> the same guy. This cowl of his is shaped different. His voice is clearly modulated by something in there. I’m also not going to continue to <i>argue</i> with <i>him</i> about it, because… clearly he’s ready for it. Maybe I won’t really have any conversations with anyone outside of <i>here</i> about it either. Not like I introduce myself to the bad guys. The suits are awesome to look at though, even if they’re not nearly as cool hanging up there as they are when they’re in use.

In the cases, they’re just clothes. Clothes that cost more each than probably the entire gross income of a six block radius around my apartment. And there’s a <i>lot</i> of people in those apartments. I guess it doesn’t matter what anyone else calls me. I’ve been called <i>a lot</i> of things so far in my lifetime and a lot of them weren’t super great. Just so long as they don’t try to make me put on the red and green. I’m not trying to look like a Christmas Elf out here. And hey, both of us are clearly getting better at this whole entering the vehicle thing. I’ve got nothing to razz him about, a little bit to my dismay. I’ll have to settle for my private face making victory.

“Soooo.

After-School Special

by Michele | Nov 7, 2017 | Chronicles

Steph: Ah, the good old days. When I lived on the other side of the river there, in what amounted to a war zone on a good day, and descended into full classification on a bad one. Sometimes with little to no warning or difference between the two. Yeah. Not the greatest place to have a childhood. Leaves you really well acquainted with the timing of looking away from something you don’t want to see, because you get something of a sixth sense for when it’s about to happen. That gut feeling that makes your brain decide now’s a great time to look at the sky, what you can see of it, or to check if your shoe’s been tied (…ahaha. Shoelaces. Like we could afford those. I mean. I’m kidding. I had shoe laces. Could tie them and everything…) properly or not.

By good and old I mean, boy am I glad Mom cleaned up enough that we don’t live in the Narrows anymore. Now we’re just Narrows Adjacent but it’s a step up. My school just sucks instead of being shut down due to riots, Joker Venom, or rampaging death squads half the year. The walk home is a bit less fraught with peril, and no one’s even tried to mug me for my phone this week. Things are coming up Stephanie Brown! Snugging my backpack straps a little more tightly over my shoulders, I let out of a huff of air that blows blonde hair out of my face, before finishing suiting up.

Not as Spoiler. It’s way too early in the day for that kind of thing. My gear preparations are only for the trudge and maybe bus ride home. Bag? Check. Overloaded with all the books I need to get my homework done early and free up my weekend for ass-kicking and baby sitting (…not at the same time. Hopefully…). Ear buds? Check. One in, one dangling over my ear so it doesn’t totally block out the sounds around me. It’s a fine line, ignoring the drug dealers and other asses that want to get you in on something or other, and being able to hear if you’re about to get jumped. Beanie tugged over my hair and down? Check. All that’s left is to push play, picking up where the random shuffler left off this morning before school and getting on my way.

I wear a disguse, I’m not just your average Jane. The super doesn’t stand for model, but that doesn’t mean I’m plain…

Hah. Funny because it’s so appropriate! One girl revolution. That’s me. If you ignore all the rest of the people that my revolution got lumped in with. I can’t really say they joined mine. Pretty sure as far as the hierarchy of Gotham goes? I’m trumped in basically ever sense of the word. I walk quickly, because it gets the blood going faster, and because if I want to have any prayer of trimming my ‘commute’ I have to hustle to get to the bus. One short detour down this alley right here and…

Neeeope. That’s Big Red. I assume that’s someone Big Red is treating to the five dollar special. But does Big Red’s customer know that Big Red isn’t called that for ‘her’ hair color? Burning questions… probably answered at someone’s visit to the clinic in a week or two. Gross. Spinning on my heel, the pivot that I’d only just started to take my short cut sends me right back the way I was going in the first place. Time to walk even faster. Without that, it’s double or nothing that I get a ride.

Tim: Yoink!

Criminals have felt this sensation before. A sudden reversal of their gravity. Up is down, down is up. It’s hard to distinguish between the two until your mind wraps itself around the fact that you’re not just upside down. You’re upside down and hanging twenty stories up. Suspended via a tether line of nylon cording that has just enough bunjie effect to it that you’re not immediately needing a trip to the hospital for something being dislocated. The sudden acceleration makes for disorientation on top of the upside down, topsy turvy world you’re living in for about ten minutes.

When this happens, it’s quick. Sudden. Often planned around when would be the most surprising moment. Not merely for you, but for everyone around you. One moment you’re there. The next moment you’re gone. Vanishing, not unlike the Batman, but without the dignity of it being within your control. The blood rush of the experience is nothing next to the terrifying realization that you’re face to… upside down face… with a vision of terror for most Criminals. Those who find themselves in this position are rarely left with their bodily functions.

She isn’t left hanging there for long. This isn’t about torturing a criminal. I’m also not one to make an effort of abusing her, like Dinah does. Not that I’m even old enough to be a teacher like her, but I’d like to think I would be able to impart knowledge without beating the unmitigated fuck out the person I wanted to teach. Scare them? That’s another matter entirely. Once I’ve hefted Stephanie up high enough that she can see me?

“This is when you’re at your weakest, when you’re pretending to be Stephanie Brown. Student. Daughter. Once your Father realizes who he’s dealing with. This is when he’ll come for you first.” Lifting the cable closer, pulling her in like a fish on the line until I’m nearly looking her eyes to upside down eyes. “And if he thinks that you’re not weak. He’ll find someone you care about that is. Not someone Spoiler cares about. Someone you care about.”

Steph: Don’t scream, Stephanie! It only eggs them on if they know you’re scared. Totally ruins all your tough girl credit, plus this close to school chances are someone saw what just happened. There’s only so many safe bus stops, and so many routes that don’t have skeevy drivers that lead to ‘show me on the doll’ conversations. Play it cool. Even though your feet just yanked out from under you and you were pretty sure that you were just about to smash your face on the sidewalk and…

“Auuugh!” Yeah. Nope. That was a totally and completely undignified sound that you just made. “..ggggh! My bag!” Nice save.

I keep my arms tucked in, in an effort to hang onto the thing for one of two reasons. A: It might make a pretty good bludgeoning weapon if I need it, and B: I kind of doubt my books would survive the fall. Plus someone would probably steal them, which means extra hours borrowing one from the chained up copies in the school library and that’s wasted time. All thoughts actually running through my head as I spin and bounce on the end of the line.

Tek.

Not so much, unfortunately, on the phone that was in my pocket. Clearly the earphone jack isn’t up to the task of catching it, leaving me to watch it tumbling towards the ground, the last little bit of the song in my ears. And I’ll be everything that I want to be, I am confidence in insecurity… ironic? Appropriate? Who knows. The weird angle of the diminishing sidewalk, and the now lonely end of my headphones that go to nowhere, leading me into letting out an enormous sigh. It’s not that the tumble of the phone and my tunes sobered me up so much as… my brain’s finished doing flips in my skull, settled into being upside down and… it’s really not as novel an experience for me as it probably should be.

What? So I snagged myself on my own grapple once or twice (…it was definitely twice…), and who else uses those things around here? Not as many people as you’d think, because while they’re pretty damn awesome they’re also borderline suicidal. I’m just not actually totally sure why this is happening right now. Guess I can throw out the window the whole ‘maybe they at least don’t know what I look like thing.

“Heeeey… Batman…?” Like it’s a question, though I crane my head sideways to try and get a less upside down look. “Fancy meeting you…uh. Here.”

So much for Bats being the one not into traumatizing me as a learning experience. He’s just bypassing the physical, despite the whole blood rush and adrenaline punch in the gut I’m definitely not hurt, and going straight for psychological object lessons. Which. Really could have been delivered and understood at a different point in the day. So. Why now? Did I mess up somewhere that it became necessary or is this just normal welcoming procedures?

“Pretending to be… look. I don’t know how it works for the rest of you but.. I’m not pretending to be Stephanie Brown. And not saying I’m calling like… BS on you but there’s not much he could do to my Mom that he hasn’t already done to her.”

I guess it’s not just her though. I definitely never brought any friends home to meet my folks in elementary school, but I still have them. There’s the possibility he might figure out who one of them is.

Tim: “Yes. Pretending.”

She’s strung upside down and that puts her in a serious disadvantage, but it’s also one that she’s handling pretty well. This isn’t what I expected, but I should have. I saw the way she handled herself that first night. It was pure spite, the way she ignored her near-death encounter with a wall-line, getting down off that building the first time. How many times has she been trapped, either just like this or close enough? Those white slits of the Batman mask actually narrow in accusation that she probably takes back to my words. Pretending.

“One day you were Stephanie Brown. Young woman, with a hard life. You lived through the Narrows. You survived. It made you tough, durable. Not like the other people in Gotham. But you were still a young woman. A girl. You lived in a world where your Mom spent every night looking for her next fix and her Dad was having his teeth knocked out by Batman. Your’s was world of tumult and turmoil, but it was a life that took you from Durable, Tough, to something else.”

With a tug, she’s brought over the edge of the roof and let down far more gently than Dinah would do. Released, but as bound as she was at the end of the tether. “One day you saw it. You caught the pattern. Maybe it was a stroke of luck. Bad Luck. You saw something you shouldn’t. Something you couldn’t un-see. Whatever it was. However it happened. On that day, you started putting the pieces together differently. You were tough, durable, but suddenly those street smarts you got from the Narrows took a leap forward.”

“When your Father got out of Blackgate, he promised that everything would be different. Your Mother got cleaner. Things took a turn. But you couldn’t un-see the patterns. You couldn’t escape the simple fact that you were seeing the world differently. That you saw through the Clues and got a glimpse of the Game he was playing.”

“It doesn’t matter Why, Stephanie. It doesn’t matter When or How. Maybe I’m off by an inch in the deduction, but the logic is firm regardless. The day you saw the pattern, the day you recognized what your Father was doing? You stopped being a scared, durable but little girl. Maybe you made a choice or maybe it was made for you, but the moment you put on a Mask and decided to take a stand? Little Stephanie Brown, the Victim. Became Spoiler and now you pretend to be here, to make it through the day. You pretend to be normal, to get your homework done. To hustle to lessons with Canary.”

Looming over her more and more, as if emphasizing that point. That she isn’t the little girl anymore. “Argue with me. Tell me I’m wrong. Then think back to that day. When I came in to your House. When these fists beat your Father for his crimes, right in front of you. Remember how scared you were then and think about right now. Right this second. When anyone else in this City would have pissed themselves three times in the last couple minutes. Tell me again about how you’re not pretending to be someone you’re not anymore.”

“Then. We can get back to why I’m here. To the people you care about. To the things in your life that aren’t quite so durable as you. What do you do, Stephanie, when your Dad realizes who’s spoiling his fun. When he puts the needle back in Mom’s neck, to make her help him get to you. Stop pretending to be Stephanie. Be the Spoiler. Look at the angles. Who can he hurt to get you?”

“Then we know who to protect.”

Steph: The Narrows does that to you. Makes you into something I guess. There’s a pretty wide variety of options, with the most polar opposite being ‘dead’ or ‘motivated to gtfo.’ Some of the inbetween ones are things like brainwashed, addicted, or recruited. I like to think I’m on the most chippy, cheery side of the scale. Only a certain kind of person wants to stay in that kind of Hellhole, and that’s someone that’s benefiting from it. Which is why I’m fairly sure that’s why my Dad still lives in the same place that Bats kicked his teeth in, before sending him off to jail. Again. I guess he needs some memory motivation. Or revenge.

Clearly he doesn’t believe me that I’m not pretending. His face just got all squinty in a way that a mask that covering shouldn’t really be able to do. Batmagic, I guess. Or more likely, after spending a lot of time messing around with my own suit, something in the built in tech. Still. He’s being almost complimentary, which is not really what I would have expected from Batman a couple weeks ago. Weirdly enough, he’s been the most encouraging and least punishing out of the crew in that basement that I’ve met so far. This kind of seems more like a Canary move to me. Usually her ambushes are limited to practice time, but I’ve kind of wondered when she’s going to turn up, trip me on the sidewalk and then Nelson laugh at me and vanish.

This kind of upstages that by a wide margin. And as I’m swung over the roof proper, the way that I tuck and duck my head? Says I was clearly expecting him to do what Dinah probably would have and just let me drop like a sack of potatoes. Potential concussion be damned, right? Some squirming gets me sat in a more upright position, and I let go of my fingers’ death grip on my backpack straps to flick the useless earbud out of my ear, and out from under my knit hat.

“Uh… not really arguing but you do know what happens to you if you don’t hustle to lessons with Canary, right?”

She finds new degrees to make your night miserable, that’s what she does. And also teaches you to not be late ever, ever again. That’s kind of her modus operandi as a teacher, I’ve learned. Making your body, on instinct, want to never, ever, ever repeat a mistake again. Because mistakes hurt. I actually have let him monologue at me with very little interruption though. I may be sassy, but I’m not stupid, and he’s clearly got something he wants to say. Hence. My rude and sudden removal from the sidewalk and the way I’m being treated. I’m also not entirely sure that telling him he’s not totally right is going to matter a whole lot. Maybe they think I’ve got some longer reaching plan than I really do. I want to mess up my Father’s plan. His life. I want to make sure he goes back to jail and stays there. For. You know. The maximum time allotted until the place is full and they let him go on good behavior in favor of someone more outwardly psychopathic. Spoiler was supposed to be a tool, what I was pretending to be and not the other way around.

“I did go to the bathroom before Math. So. I’m okay in that department…. you didn’t need to know that… I was also like… eight. It was my birthday. By the way. So. Thanks for that.” My tone says there’s really no blame or hurt feelings. Really. There’s not. It was kind of par for the course even then. “Also not… really the point, huh?”

Whether I agree about what’s pretend and what’s not, really doesn’t matter because I do agree that there’s the potential there for other people to get hurt. Which I knew. Hence the mask and the name. Shrugging my shoulders is an unconscious gesture as I think.

“I mean. My Mom. The obvious one. Random Gothamite citizens because I don’t have to care to not want them hurt.”

That was the point. To keep him from hurting anyone else. It sounds better than saying I was doing it because I was mad he broke one too many promises, and I was going to punish him for it. This mental inventory isn’t making me feel super great though, let me tell you. Not out of worry but because it’s kind of bringing to my attention the lack of super great besties that I may have.

“…I feel like I should point out you can be a cool kid without having lots of close friends for my ego’s sake. My friend Harper? Maybe her brother.”

Tim: “No, because if the Canary was training me I wouldn’t be late enough to find out.”

There’s looming for effect and then there’s a point where you’re doing it more to scare someone than make a point. I’m not trying to scare Stephanie. If anything it’s quite the opposite. I wanted her to come to terms with the realistic point of view that she’s pretending to be Stephanie Brown. The girl next door. If you live in the Narrows and Mary Jane happens to be the girl that can bust your nose if you look at her wrong. I wanted Steph to take a look at the world around her. To see that she’s created Spoiler, become Spoiler and that so long as she is Spoiler the best way to hurt her is through hurting the people she cares about.

The way I’m offering my hand to her is also something the Canary wouldn’t do. Or at least, if she did it there’d most surely be a sweep kick to follow it up with. I’m all too well acquainted with Dinah Lance. She never trained me, but I’m the observant kind. “A life of solitude may insulate you, but it doesn’t protect you. In fact it could be even more dangerous than having weaknesses to protect.”

“This life? It is a juggling act, Stephanie. We dance between keeping our loved one’s safe, through secrets and deceit and needing to keep our loved ones close so that we have a reason to keep struggling.” Once she’s on her feet, instead of knocking her down as Dinah might do, I take her by the shoulders and square her to me. “I asked you what happened when you solve the case. Do you go back to being Stephanie Brown? Can you lay down the Mask? Or does that desire to protect others call to you? If you keep going down this path, it isn’t going to get easier.”

“You might be a solo act at School, but you’re going to be part of something in that Cape. Something larger than just being a vigilante, clue catching, case solving ‘Spoiler Alert.’ You’re going to be a member of a team and if you’re on the team you’re part of the Family. That’s going to mean something to the rest of us. It already does.”

“Which brings me back to the point. The real point. Stephanie Brown is tough, resilient, durable and street smart. The people she loves are what root her in reality. They’re what keep her from becoming her Father. Spoiler, has those same people. But the people she loves are weak points. Shatter Points for people like Cluemaster to attack. To exploit. They are the people who will drag her down. To be the Spoiler, you must learn to dance between the Cape and the Mask. Especially if you’re going to be one of those weak points for people like Dinah Lance and Timothy Wayne.”

Steph: “Because you know what would happen.”

I mean, Batman strikes me as a ‘Batman is never late, he arrives exactly when he means to’ type of guy. But clearly he knows the Black Canary or I have to assume they wouldn’t be working together. Probably has the whole rundown on her, just like they did on me, and have been working together a while. There’s a kind of familiarity you get with a person after a while, even if you’re not close to them. That’s like how you interact with people at school, or probably a job. They’re something else, like what I’ve never really seen before myself. Not in person, anyway. Television is a much better place to see working relationships for me than in my own life.

And. Yeah. I’m totally eyeballing that offered hand with a look of high suspicion, even as my hand starts to move to take it. Then stops, remembering how, y’know, he just yo-yo-ed me up off the street. I’m totally missing the bus now. This is about where it would get whacked during practice. Or I’d get swung at. Or if I didn’t have my feet under me enough to support rising, when I’m part way up she’d let go. Or kick. So many variations, and every time I start to expect one, she comes up with something new. My life is basically like one of those awful, punishing video games that Harper and I would play sometimes where it’s just dying over, and over again until you learn all the things to do or not do.

Except it’s just hitting instead of dying. Small mercies, right? I’m being turned to face him head on. And right side up, and I adjust my slightly skewed hat as I am Telling me some stuff I knew. Or that I was starting to figure out, and then some others that didn’t really occur to me. You have a big head, Stephanie Brown. And little arms. And I don’t think you thought this plan through… I don’t think that was totally the message. But it’s definitely what I’m hearing right now.

“I. Um. I guess I didn’t think it that far out. I saw something and I wanted to stop it, and I didn’t expect anything else during or after it.”

I mean, who goes out there all notice me, senpai! and expects that the Bat’s going to pick them up? Or one of the Bat’s Batbuddies (…actually the more I think about it, all the other people kind of have a bird motif going on. Boy. Does the name ‘Spoiler’ sure scream NOT AFFILIATED…). Especially when they know upfront that your father is one of the city’s repeat bad guy offenders. Friends close and enemies closer, or do they just think that whatever risk I might pose to them is mitigated by how easily they could remove that problem?

I’d be offended but. Come on. Batman just fished me out of the sidewalk in broad daylight (…eh… I guess sun’s kind of going down. Ish…), and I’m stupid or unobservant enough to think that Black Canary is actually fighting full tilt with me. Yeah, she hits hard, but she’s only hitting hard enough to hurt. I’m pretty sure she could end me with a pinkie finger applied to the right place. I know where I stand there. Or. I thought I did. It already does? Now, that I didn’t expect and the way my head cocks like a big eyed puppy that’s just heard a sound it doesn’t understand probably makes that pretty clear. And. I don’t actually know what to say about it either. I just figured I was…well. Not that. For sure.

“So. It’s more Pandora’s Box than when one door closes another opens, huh? What do you do then? Just not make those friends? Cut off from them for their own good? That sounds crappy. And lonely. While being constantly on alert for…wait…”

He said Timothy Wayne and not in the terms of no Stephanie, this is my firm trying to convince you you’re wrong about something voice, but like. Conversationally. Like Timothy Wayne is someone who’d give a rats ass about me and my life, or would even know me, like Dinah the Black Canary does.

“HaHAH!”

Oh. Well. Hey. Both fists up in the air, and sounding all triumphant a little louder than I should have are… a thing right now and after a blink or two I lower my arms and flush, looking a little sheepish but… still freaking triumphant.

Tim: Because I know what would happen.”

This is not so much a repeating of what she says, but a confirmation of her being right about that too. Black Canary isn’t so much just teaching Stephanie how to fight, but how to survive. Which is really just an addition to the traits she has picked up on through life in the Narrows. Learning to fight is a natural step in to survival, but so is meeting expectations and confirmation of the drive needed to succeed. Each thing Canary does has a purpose, though some of them may be veiled in meanness or spite or even mockery. They’re each a step towards the overall goal of Stephanie Brown living to joke another day.

If that meant Canary had to dissuade this girl from doing this? She would. Vehemently. If it meant encouraging her, Canary would find a way to do that too. Steph doesn’t need encouragement though. She has that in spades. Just as she has this sense of miraculous adventure and inner monologue. Tools that will help her beat out the fatigue on a mental level. Which is why Canary actually lets her run her mouth as much as she does. She sees that as a tool to be used later, cultivated and grown in to something as potent as a Canary Cry.

“You acted on an instinct,” once more confirming what she has said, more so than adding my own impressions to it. “That instinct is going to either wither away or bloom. I’ve been watching you. Closely. But even if I hadn’t been, you already told me what was important to you. Everyday. Average. People. Because you don’t want to see them hurt.”

“So if you could intervene. You would. So, this is where you can mull it over all you like but the end result is simply the same. When this is over and the dust clears. You’re never going to be able to let go of these tools you’re being given. Because doing so is going to mean doing nothing, the next time you’re faced with the choice of whether to act, to save a life… or keep listening to the music and tune out the world. It sucks to be a one-earphone kind of girl. Never being able to tune out the world, for fear of missing something vital.”

Once more she’s picked up on a thread. A hint that I’ve sat before her. This time the clue had been to the life of Bruce Wayne. “That is actually one road to travel. Isolation. Cutting yourself off and away from all the people who might suffer for being near you. Spending your life in the constant agony of paranoia. For a long time that was the Way of the Bat, but I’d like to think that somewhere along the way he began to turn the corner. To see what it was to have friends and family. To embrace them, not as weakness but as the strength that they can provide you.”

“Yes. Cutting yourself off from the world keeps the world safe from those who would take aim at it. But it isolates you away from the very thing you’re protecting. It robs you of the motivation, I think we all need to persevere and continue to fight when there’s nothing else worth fighting for.” Pausing at the adjacent edge of the building that I’d pulled her up to, one foot braced to step over the side. “When Bruce Wayne wore this mask, he spent years keeping the world at arms length. All the while this world fell apart around him.”

“I’m not going to be a better Batman than my father was, I’m just not good enough, but I am going to be a better Man. I’m not going to keep the world or you at arms length, while it all goes to hell around me. I’m going to make the world a better place, by keeping my friends close. By embracing my weaknesses and making them a strength to rely upon. My father made mistakes that I’m not going to repeat, I see the same drive in you.” The same grappling line that was used to snare her is fired off towards a building across the street. “Timothy Wayne wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He too was born in the Narrows And he isn’t Red Robin.”

“I’m Batman.”

Steph: “If I’m being honest…” And I mean. It’s Batman. He’s kind of meant to scare the honest out of you. Into…you? “… that sounds awful. The withering away part.”

Because that means, what? That eventually I’d just stop caring if I saw something wrong? Like turning a blind and yicked out eye to Big Red and the venereal ‘sharing’ she does to dumb dumbs that come down here thinking they’re going to get something cheap, but on a bigger scale? How do you even balance that when you live in a place like this, where I passed at least fifteen crimes of various severity going on since the last school bell rang and I’m barely into my trip home. And it’s not dark yet, when the real bad comes out to play. But decent people intervene, when it’s something they can make a difference in, right? The good Samaritans that throw themselves at robbers, or to push people out of the way of something hurtling at them.

They also get themselves killed a lot, too. Guess it’s a good thing I’ve got a fancy suit with some built in body armor and a whole lot of keep you alive kind of gadgets. But I don’t always have the suit. Like now, or the rest of the bulk majority of my day. That was the point he was making.

“Okay, but the music could make for a kickass soundtrack in some sort of crime fighting montage. Just saying.”

Or, you know. It would have, before it was shattered into pieces on the pavement. And then the husk probably stolen to try and scam for parts or an insurance claim. Jokes on them. Probably still not worth much even as parts. Also… how long as he been watching to have caught on that I only actually put in one bud? Clearly since I left the front steps of the high school. That’s not the only thing I’m picking up on though. Talking about how crappy being alone can be, and referring to himself as… him. Third person. Not actuallyhow the Bat has talked like. Ever. He’s not talking about himself. He’s talking about someone else. A different Bat. No wonder he seemed shorter, because Bruce Wayne was…

“Holyshitballs, Bruce…” My voice is climbing in pitch and excitement and subsequently volume before I rein that in by clearing my throat and continuing as I turn to face him again. “…Wayne was Batman? That… explains so much about…”

Where the Batman had gone lately, for one. The height is secondary. Why I’d thought he was dead, because he was. All of the subsequent weirdness and maybe even why my stupid, stupid Dad had chosen now to try and strike up some capers again. Also, all of the money that had to be required to fund stuff like the Batmobile. And Timothy Wayne being Red Robin of course makes that much more sense. Does that mean that the rest of the ‘Wayne’ heirs are in on it, too? He’d talked about a family, I’d thought that was proverbial. Maybe it’s totally literal. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait…

I’m hearing what he’s saying, even as my brain’s speeding a mile a minute through what he’s saying. His Father? Oh crap. Oh crap. Which way is this going? Now we’re back around, actually talking about Timothy Wayne, who I didn’t know was from the Narrows, and I guess we’re going to go through this no, he’s not Red Robin even though…come on. With that jawline and that dimple, I’m not stupid. I realize I’m standing there looking a little dumbly, eyes tracking the fired grapple almost absently. Jesus, Stephanie. What do you even say to that? You should probably start with a ‘I’m really sorry to hear about your Dad,’ or a thanks and a thumbs up for the After School Special Batervention. Which had info I needed to hear.

Instead what comes blurting out of my mouth is…

“But he was Red Robin! I knew it! I mean. You were Red Robin and…”

One fist is tapping absently on my hip as I blow out a long, slow breath of air.

“Aaaand…I’m going to finish walking home now and rehashing all the really potentially embarrassing things that I didn’t realize I was saying the last week. Awwwwwwkward…”

Out loud voice, Stephanie. Like the whole discussion about who Tim Wayne would or would not date. But seriously. What the actual fuuuuuuuuuuu just happened?! I feel like I passed some kind of test, and slipped another ring into some circle of trust thing, because I don’t understand why I was just told that. The last part. That is. Not the first parts. So I wouldn’t keep digging? I wasn’t really trying to… you know what. Just go with it.

Tim: “It does sound awful, doesn’t it? We’re not talking about morality that you can put in a jar in the back of your fridge. This is something that doesn’t survive living in a world where you accept the terrible things all around you.” The Batman does scare a little honesty out of people, but then he also gives it back in spades. Sometimes even more blunt than a Black Canary fist. “It withers literally, until a part of you dies. Everything good goes away and then what are you left to live for?”

The grappling hook has found purchase on the building across the way. Higher than this one. Giving both clearance and room to swing from. The sound of it clasping upon the frame is a tell-tale one of my being ready to move on. To leave this place and let Stephanie get back to her walk home. She’s talking about music and fight montages, but I’m not clowning around about this. For once the Batman has it’s teeth sunk in deep, I’m not playing around about what we’ve been discussing. I’m making a point, several of them in fact, but one prevailing thought that I want to be utterly sure she doesn’t get the wrong clue about.

“That is difference between people like you and people like your Father. You see a weakness, a failing and you want to fix it. To save people. Your father, people like him. They want to exploit it. To use it for their advantage. When I asked you what happens after you’ve solved this Case, I wanted to know if you were doing this for a good, but selfish reason. You couldn’t answer me. So you weren’t ready to know, even though you thought you had it all figured out.”

“Today? When faced with fear, when confronted by the prospect of someone else exploiting your weaknesses, you knew who was important.” That gloved free hand extends, gesturing out over the skyline of Gotham City before us. “The everyday, average citizen of Gotham. You said you would want to save them from being hurt. You named your Mother and them.”

“You followed the clues. They lead you to your Father’s current antics. You followed the clues. They lead you to Timothy Wayne. What does your answer, today, tell you about the future, Stephanie? Where do the clues lead you, when you think about what happens after this case?” That same hand which was making some gradiose gesture out over the city, then comes full circle back to her. Palm out, waiting in offering. “It’s a simple choice. Take the blue pill and the story ends. You father goes to jail. You give back the suit. You go, take care of your mom. Turn away from your gifts, the training you’re enduring.”

“Or you take the Red Pill and who knows? Every Batman needs a partner. Someone to watch their back. To see the clues in a different way. To keep the darkness from consuming them. Someone who will tell them when their horns are too long or calls them for tripping on their own cape. It has to be a partner that can’t or won’t keep their mouth shut.”

Steph: Is that really what it comes down to? The difference, in a nutshell? I mean. Batman was, and clearly still is, a scary dude. Even though it’s apparently been different dudes. These guys don’t exactly go out wringing their hands and asking nicely if the bad guys would maybe, possibly, just this once consider not doing whatever it is they’re doing. They’re knee deep in the violence that gets doled out as deterrent and punishment, and as a means of stopping people that have no problem with hurting someone else to get what they want. It’s a simple enough distinction of ‘us’ vs ‘them.’ With ass, and life, on the line. Sometimes probably even for people who don’t give a crap about you, or what you’re doing for them. Maybe they don’t even know.

“Huh. I guess I did.”

Well. That was nice of him. Spelling out the test that I did, in fact, pass. Without even trying to, which I guess makes it an even better one. You can always lie, and cheat, on tests if you know that you’re taking one. I don’t know that this is the kind of life that I would have picked out. What they do every night. But the way that he’s phrased it I guess that I did. Accidentally. A wrong thing for the right, and also wrong, reason that’s opened my eyes to that other side of things. You can’t unsee it. You can’t ignore it. Like knowing a magician’s trick and never being able to enjoy it for the showmanship it is once you’ve caught on.

“The little guy kind of gets a raw deal around here. Someone’s gotta stick up for them. Preaching to the choir I guess. Anyway. I was told before that the red pill might come with a bike soooooooo…”

Adjusting my backpack straps again, and jiggling the contents to get them settled better after their upsidedown trip up the building (…man am I glad I fixed that zipper this morning…), I purse my lips a little. I’m not sure that I take care of my Mom, so much as I’m not at home when she is, and sometimes I share my waffles in the morning (..who’m I kidding. I don’t share waffles. You never touch a girl’s waffles..) when I pretend like I only just got up, while periodically sweeping the house for any kind of drug paraphernalia. The wagon’s clearly a very easy thing to fall off again, as I’ve seen from my parents. Repeatedly. In Dad’s case, I think it’s more like sabotaging the wagon, parachuting off of it and shooting it with a rocket launcher on the way down, though.

“… you tripped on your cape and I missed it? Augh! It’s definitely a won’t. I mean. I can keep my mouth shut. Sometimes. If I want to. Obviously I’m in total control of what comes out and doesn’t come out and…yeah. Okay. You look ready to go. Positive outlook, and a running mouth, though! I’m your gal.”

There’s a pair of thumbs up flashed, as I realize I think I just threw myself out as a Batman Sidekick and I can’t decide if that’s the single most awesome thing I’ve ever done, or if it’s the dumbest sounding one but. Hey. He brought it up. Not me. I’m not actually sure which version of this guy is the one to expect going forward. He kept up with the pep talks, even after the spilled identity which is a pretty drastic change from every interaction I had with him when he was wearing red. Guess we’ll find out shortly, won’t we?