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iphoenixrising · 5 years

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For 900 Followers! Dr!Tim: Arkham Breakout

So, there was once upon a time this Ask aaaaand then this Ask. Then babe asked how things are going for a certain Dr. Drake, so...you know, it’s really a standard Wednesday when he’s literally caught in the middle of a massive Arkham breakout :D

Some day, he’s really going to have to reevaluate his life choices.

Volunteering for rounds at Arkham Asylum is definitely going to be on the list for review.

Sure, at the time, no one else from Mercy General was stepping up to volunteer (honestly, you’d have to be a patient here to willingly step up for this assignment. It’s fine, he’s been called worse).

Sure, he might have gotten friendly with some of the less insanely deranged inmates because really, considering how many times some of them had come through his ER to be patched up after a confrontation with one of the Bats, it was only a matter of time before they knew him by name.

Sure, he actually started to like wandering around the halls, talking with the inmates when they weren’t clutching stab wounds, contusions, and broken everything.

Sure, he might have been doing some side research on MacGregor's Syndrome (just some fun with genetics and incurable diseases), so the guards let him talk with Victor Fries a few times. And though short, their conversations were amazing, giving him a second thought about cryogenics.

Sure, maybe he enjoyed sitting outside Poison Ivy’s cell to ask her questions about her publication on cellular regeneration in plant hybrids.

(He brought her a sad, droopy orchid in thanks. She was actually smiling when he left, so he’s already got a resource when he needs it.)

Sure, he didn’t think it was dangerous enough to mention it to Dick or Jay.

The sounds through the Bluetooth in his ear, the lowly muttered curses from the Red Hood, the muffled boot falls, the rev of a massive engine, all of it is soothing in the fact they’re on the way to help him out here. Ass-kicking vigilantes for the win. But, still.

He’s well aware there’s going to be some conversations about why the hell he’s in Arkham in the first place once this is all over.

None if it makes him feel any better about the current sitch, not when the Joker, Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, the Clock King, and Poison Ivy are moving through Arkham Asylum’s cafeteria, looking like a whole lot of shit has hit the proverbial fan in the works.

How do I keep getting myself in these situations? Is the real question here.

But Dr. Drake just focuses on the emergency at hand, fumbling through his doctor’s bag for more gauze with one bloody glove since what he’s pressing against the awkward stab in Jim Newman’s belly is already saturated, and his other hand is in mid-stitch.

He gives a customary glance to where the Mad Hatter is rolling around on the floor after someone took out his face with one of the trays.

The mashed potato mess is going to be such a pain in the ass to clean up later. Tim is pretty sure the perpetrator is one of the Hatter’s previously employed thugs, probably pissed off his 401-K got cancelled when the last heist didn’t really pan out.

Really, bad guys don’t have good medical insurance. Shouldn’t that just be, you know, a requirement?

He stays hiding behind his circle of protectors with the snatch-and-stich, most of whom are still tensely watching the progression of the Rogue Gallery through the general population, probably wondering if even one of those crazy fucks has some kind of mind-altering drug, high-test explosive, or some other painful way to die hiding in their jumpsuits.

Tim tries to make it fast, feels the pressure of the situation just by glancing down at Jim’s terrified eyes rolling back while he gets his side sewn back together without general anesthesia. It probably beats bleeding out all over the floor, but Tim knows that’s little consolation. At least the scar won’t be too bad.

(Probably.)

The guard with the nasal fracture in the circle with them is crouching low, fingering his side arm, looking pretty on the edge of terrified himself at the group of other guards with their hands up, prodded in the back with their own guns by some inmates that have obviously chosen crazy to side with.

Perfect.

They’re probably all going to die.

“Well, well, boys. We have a golden opportunity here,” the Clown Prince of Crime chorts with his sickening smile, makes Tim literally cringe with two more to go.

Even if his hands are shaking and the comm in his ear blanks out because they must be on the way (please, God, let them be on the way), Tim is quiet about it when he presses a fresh gauze pad from the already opened package and tapes that sucker in place without drawing too much attention to himself.

Mike Monohan, an inmate in his circle of protectors, plays a mean game of Uno, and flicks his fist open to a flat hand, the international sign for stay back and shut up.

Staying back and shutting the hell up it is.

“We could have so much fun now that we have the Warden here with us,” the Joker is saying, gesturing to the narrow-eyed Warden thrown down on the floor, right on top that wasted pasta salad.

While the rest of the formerly-fighting, raging inmates are wary and listening, Tim crab-walks back, finger over his mouth aimed at Jim. Sliding his arms under the inmate’s, he slowly, quietly, starts pulling his patient back in short bursts, trying to get them under a table without catching anyone’s eyes.

Dr. Crane has found his mask, is pacing around the frozen inmates and guards with the creepy mask, and the Clock King is standing behind the Joker like some kind of Enforcer.

Dr. Fries is leaning against the wall in his suit, the freeze gun holstered.

Dr. Isley is close to him, the two of them talking low whenever the Joker’s back is turned.

Harvey Dent shoves the Warden down on the floor, gives him a very pointed No moving, or it’s curtains for you.

Shauna Belzer waits serenely behind the Joker, the sock puppet on her hand snickering, eyeing the inmates over his shoulder.

Temple Fugate is tapping his foot impatiently, the glint by his right side is a pocket watch.

The inmate’s face is almost white with the effort to slide under the heavy table, even with Tim to help push him under.

“Fun, boss?” One of the inmates eagerly pushes through the frozen crowd, “is it the kinda fun what might break us outta here?”

“Chucko!” The Clown seems happy to see his previous henchmen, and from his point crouching by the edge of the table, Tim can see that sick smile gets wider. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hiya, boss,” the orange-clad henchmen seems just as happy to see the villain, “M’ sorry Mister Joker, but the cops took away my mask.”

“That’s all right, Chucko! The Gotham City Police never did have much of a sense of humor, but we’re all going to have a little fun before we break out of here anyway, huh huh huh.” It’s kind of sick how the Joker pats the henchmen on top the head like a dog, even worse considering the henchmen grins dopily back.

“As long as we stay on our time table,” Fugate interjects, “we have approximately one hour and thirty-seven minutes before the next shift arrives. Less if anyone makes it to the control room and radios for help. The, we will have Police and Special Forces descend upon us. Not to mention the Bat and his brats.”

“Hu-hu-hu, I guess you’ll have to keep an eye on the time, then, won’t you, Tempy?”

The Ventriloquists’ sock scrunches up, “we need to be out of here as soon as possible, Clown. I have a very important person to pick-up out of a locker in the bus station.” Which explains the sock instead of the creepy puppet, Ferdie.

Two-Face sneers at the circle of inmates effectively shielding the shaky doctor from first glance, turns to look at the gathering of other super villains, “I want out of this shit-show, Joker. I don’t get out, you are gonna have a bad fucking time on the inside. Any questions?”

But unruffled as ever, the Clown Prince of Crime just smiles at the group, eyes taking in the terror from half of the inmates, “of course, of course, Harv. We all want out, don’t we? And we’re going to do just that!...After we have play a little game with the Warden and his numbskull guards. Won’t that be worth sticking around?”

A hand tugs at Dr. Drake’s scrubs, and he glances down at the injured inmate, his eyes probably wide and terrified as he feels hearing the Joker talk about shit like games–

(Not fun for the whole family. Really, just your faces getting cut off, no big deal.)

“– gotta get to the infirmary and hide,” Jim hisses up at him, “who knows what they’ll do to ya. All of ‘em are nuts.”

“I can’t just leave,” he whispers back, eyes for the real problems here.

“Doc, there’s nothin’ you can do against these guys. They’re the real deal, and they will straight up murder you. I work for Two-Face, and you don’t wanna dick around with him.”

He’s listening, but his eyes are all for Fugate helping Jervis Tetch to his feet, trying to see if he’d broken his face in the first round of rioting–

And the idea, the plan, on how he could get everyone in this cafeteria out of this alive is right in his brain pan. Risky, but really the only shot he can think of.

“Stay down no matter what,” he tells Jim, pats the inmate’s hand gripping the hem of his scrub top, “I think I’ve got a way out of this.”

His legs shaking, knees knocking, Tim pulls away from Jim’s grip and takes a few steps closer to the inmates hiding him. He pockets the comm in his ear, leaving it on for when his vigilante boyfriends might actually make an appearance.

He takes a deep, trembly breath, watches intently as Fries walks over to look at what is obviously a very broken face.

“He probably has a nasal fracture,” Tim says loudly, cringing internally when everyone, everyone turns and stares right at him. “I’m a doctor. I can help.”

Mike is glaring at him, eyes narrowing in displeasure that he gave himself away, but, you know, thwarting break-out attempts means he needs to be able to move around the baddies.

None of that stops the painful lurch in his chest when that sick grin is absurdly delighted.

“Oh! I guess that answers that question, doesn’t it?” The Joker throws his head back to start laughing.

“What question?” One of the inmates interrupts the maniacal peals of laughter, looking around confused.

The shiny barrel, one of the guard’s side pieces, goes off like a bomb exploding, and the body drops with a hard thud in the sudden silence.

“That’ll teach you. Never ruin the punchline!”

And that sickeningly delighted grin turns on him, the barrel with a whisp of smoke still curling from the barrel.

“And as for you, well, I suppose there is a doctor in the house!” The laughter is loud and manic, echoing off the walls, a cacophony of insanity.

But.

Tim sees Victor Fries straighten noticeably, and hopes that maybe he can play his cards right to avoid getting himself killed.

“This is really going to hurt. There might be pain meds in the Infirmary, but I have no idea. I’m not permanent staff here,” he tells Jervis Tetch and Temple Fugate, gloved up at, looking critically at the mess that is currently the Mad Hatter’s face. “We can also check if they have a portable X-Ray because you are seriously going to need it.”

Tim clicks off the penlight and palpates the swollen area gently, “from what I can tell without any secondary evidence to support it, is you have a crack in the maxillary, which is why your eye is almost swollen shut. Yes, the swelling will go down, but cracking a bone this close to your eye could mean shards are going to cause more problems than you would want to deal with if you like being able to see.”

And even if the Mad Hatter is–

One. Scary. Mind-Controlling. Psychopath.

– his squashed face is obviously panicked.

“If you are a doctor as you say, then you will fix it – or you shall pay.”

“Mr. Tetch, I don’t know if Arkham is even equipped to do major surgery. Without the right tools, I could run the risk of permanently blinding you.”

He finally releases the swollen area, completely bullshitting with a straight face and intense eyes (he’s done more complex surgeries in a few back alleys and rooftops, but no one really needs to know those details), pointedly takes the villain’s pulse while glancing at his watch.

“Not to even mention your risk of infection here. Considering the number of organic material that could get into an incision on your face, it’s too much of a risk here at Arkham. There’s a reason why the Warden stopped allowing major surgery on inmates twenty years ago. One of them being nearly impossible to keep a sterile enough room in tact after the many escape attempts.”

Temple Fugate makes a strangled noise he covers up with a cough.

“Next issue is appropriate staffing. You’ve got RN’s, psychiatrists, one other medical doctor. But to be honest with you, Dr. Isley would be the best choice to keep you under during general anesthesia, taking her knowledge of chemicals into account, I mean. But, we run the risk of infection since her current state was caused by a combination of pesticides. That is not enough people to assist during major surgery and monitor your vitals while you’re under. If you code while you’re on my table, I don’t have enough qualified people to bring you back.”

While the Mad Hatter goes pale, blinking his good eye, Tim folds his arms over his chest and gives the villain his most sincere look.

“Your best bet to save vision in that eye is to take two inmates in an Ambulance and have them drop you at the hospital. They can say you got in a fight and the on-call here told them to get you to Gotham General immediately. Their OR has more state-of-the-art equipment than Mercy, and they could reconstruct your ethmoid flawlessly.”

He breaks a disposable ice pack and works it with his gloved hands, gently applies it to the area, and picks up the villain’s limp hand to hold it himself.

Jervis tries to slouch his eyebrows down, but flinches at the pain radiating from his injury, holds the ice pack tighter.

“After all those fights with the Bats, this certainly won’t be my last.” The neuroscientist mutters to himself, “Very well, Doctor, I’ll take my business into the city as you suggest, but don’t think this gets you any immunity from that pest.” And well meaning head nod to the Joker, gun still at his side while the Warden of Arkham is tied to a support pole in the center of the cafeteria.

“Perish the thought,” he closes up his doctor’s bag, giving the villain a wave before going back to where the inmates injured in the dinnertime scuffle were laid out on tables waiting for him. He figures it’s fine because he’s pretty sure he know how to handle that guy.

(Again.)

He leaves Fugate and Tetch to talk out the details, relieved neither of them realizing he dropped the tiny tracking device from his stethoscope in the band of Tetch’s hat when he turned the villain’s face to look closely at his injury.

He’s on his way to his next emergency because Jim is breathing hard and rapidly losing color, surrounded by four other inmates, but the dangerous gangster slash lawyer hovering by Jim’s hand is the real danger, not the muck they call potato salad still painting the walls.

“All right, let me through,” while he’s sliding between Rodney the Hammer (for obvious reasons) and poker-playing macrame enthusiast, Big Earl McCalister (a name from Jay’s life in the Narrows).

He re-gloves, puts his Arkham-specific bag down by Jim’s shoulder and unwinds the steth to check the usuals.

“Doc,” is the deep rasp of Two-Face’s I’m not happy tone. “This is one of my guys, you get me?”

“Read you like a book,” he replies without looking up, checking the skin around his stitches, “none of that changes the fact I don’t have what I need to help him.”

Tim curses softly, eyes going to Jim’s, noting the profuse sweating. The blade went in at least two inches, so they could be looking at intestinal perforation, which he is in no way equipped to handle in the fucking cafeteria of Arkham Asylum. He could possibly do a peritoneal lavage verify fluid out of his bowel is spilling into his abdominal cavity, but the slight swelling and discoloration are sure signs Jim needs laparoscopic surgery.

Now.

“I need you to listen to me,” he starts haltingly, but a hand on his forearm stops Dr. Drake cold.

Like he’s in a horror movie, his eyes go to where Two-Face has leaned over the injured thug on the table, and the ruined side of his face is prominent enough for him to see the excessive scarring.

“Yer gonna tell us what you need to take care of my man here,” is a not-fucking-around kind of dangerous, making Tim suck in a deep, deep breath just to try and keep himself calm.

(They’re on their way. They’re coming for him. They wouldn’t leave him here.)

“He needs an actual hospital with medical staff,” falls out of his mouth firmly, “I don’t have the people or equipment or the surgical staff I need to operate on him here. What I can tell you is that his lower intestines have probably been punctured, and he’s going to die of sepsis shock in less than an hour if we can’t get him into an OR.”

The sickly yellow eye narrows on him, assessing, and the pilfered gun in the gangster's other hand makes a soft click.

“There’s an ambulance here somewhere. Arkham has one for emergencies. Your guys can take it to Gotham General and no one would be the wiser,” Tim shrugs and looks back down at his patient. “As is, you can threaten me all you want, but attempting surgery here, is only going to end up in infection and probably death. I have no supplies of blood, IV fluids, antibiotics, or qualified staff. The nurses and MDs you do have here are good, but not trained at all for major abdominal surgery. There’s no way I can open him up and repair the perforation without killing him.”

And it’s a tense moment when Tim finally looks up at the gangster’s face, his own jaw set

“Then we gotta get ‘im out,” and Two-Face looks down at Jim Newman’s face.

Jim, eyes glassy with pain, reaches out a bloody hand, “ ‘Face?”

“Yeah, yeah. No worries, Jimmy. We’re gonna take care a’ ya.” And in what is an impossible-to-predict move, the burned side of the gangster’s face tries to lift up in a half-smile.

“M-My little Tracey, ‘Face. If I don’t–”

“Hey,” and it’s Tim drawing the sluggish eyes, “we’re going to get you taken care of, right?” And he glances up at Two-Face, swallowing hard, but keeping his gaze steady.

“Yeah,” the mass murderer looks back at him, an assessing something in his bulging eye, “yeah, we are. You, Doc, you gonna tell my man Vinnie what ‘cha need, and he’s gonna get it.”

The hulking thug still in his orange jumpsuit steps up to Jim’s side while Two-Face makes his exit, going straight for the laughing mad man gleefully shoving pies in the Warden’s face.

“Is your real name Vinnie?” Because honestly, his mouth is going to get him every damn time.

The thug just smiles.

Welp, okay then. “I need a gurney to transport him to the ambulance. I’m going to check his wound and re-wrap it.”

He’s already reaching in the bag for more gauze pads, pulling back the layers he’d already applied, checks the skin around the stitches, wishes he had a cuff to get Jim’s systolic pressure but estimates it’s down to 80 and dropping.

All it takes is for Vinnie to nod and two lackeys are scrambling to get down to the infirmary.

“Thought...thought I told ya ta get gone, Doc,” Jim wheezes, gritting his teeth as Tim gentle presses just his fingertips against the slight swell.

“Couldn’t leave you,” he replies without looking away.

After long seconds when he hurriedly pulls a syringe and antibiotic, hoping to give them some time then scrambles for a notepad and pen, scribbles instructions quickly while muttering aloud, “administered augmentin...probable perforation of intestine or bowel…”

He scribbles something at the very bottom and tears the paper off his notepad, slides it in Jim’s jumpsuit pocket.

“Make sure the ER doctors get that. It tells them what I’ve already given you so they don’t mix other antibiotics or painkillers.”

He pointedly ignores the fight breaking out between Two-Face and the Joker, but notices Vinnie turns completely away to watch the proceeding shouting match ending in guns pointed at other another.

“Fuckin’ stand down Clown, or I’m gonna make ya a stain.”

“C’mon Harve! Where’s your sense of humor? Ha ha ha haaa!”

“He’s going to get us out of here you ass!” Crane shoves his creepy mask right in Two-Faces peripheral, something probably dangerous clenched in the fist behind his leg.

“We can get ourselves out,” Belzer replies serenely, “we’ve all done it before after all.”

“That means we need to get going,” Fugate is pulling Tetch along with an arm over his shoulder, the other holding the ice pack against his face. The pocket watch makes an appearance, and Tim tapes fresh gauze pads down, mentally preparing to roll Jim off the table and shove it over if bullets start flying.

(Please, please, please hurry.)

Vinnie seems to get the tension suddenly in the room, milling inmates all freezing in place, eyes for the boatload of crazy in the center of the cafeteria by the salad bar.

“But we were just starting to have some fun!” The Joker almost screams, gesturing wildly with the gun to the hacking Warden.

“As usual,” Dr. Isley sighs, calmly walking in the middle of the two villains in the middle of the showdown, “you aren’t using your brain.”

“C’mon Red! I know you want to get out and visit our little Harl, but we have a golden opportunity here!”

Tim sucks in a hard breath when Dr. Isley’s eyes narrow dangerously, and oh God, oh God, oh God.

His eyes dart to the corner of the salad bar where Dr. Fries is leaning, the goggles over his eyes not showing at all what he’s thinking. But, but, Tim notices the ice gun is not longer in the holster at the side of his leg, instead it’s in hand with the doctor’s finger on the trigger.

A subtle shift, upper body moving because that suit has got to be heavy, and Tim isn’t imagining Dr. Fries is looking right at him around the Joker’s back.

Tim’s eyes shift down to his patient, muscles tightening in preparation for something.

“That’s enough,” is robotic through the suit’s speakers, kind of like Jay’s syths Tim thinks crazily when his heart starts to pick up when the Joker tilts his chin down and narrows his eyes right back at Poison Ivy and Two-Face.

If he wasn’t suddenly terrified about a Rogue Gallery Throw-Down, he would be fanboying right through the mashed potatoes.

“Stay out of it, Freeze Pop,” the Joker’s voice is low and utterly fucking terrifying.

“This accomplishes nothing but waste precious time,” Freeze deadpans, “it gives us less time to get far enough away from the Batman.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to remedy!” And the Joker straightens, easily lowers the gun, smiling right at Two-Face’s shiny .45. “We just take some hostages along for the ride.”

Because, of fucking course, the Joker’s head swings over to stare him right the fuck down.

“Especially Gotham’s little darling, here! Why my stars and garters! I believe it’s the indomitable Doctor Drake! AH HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!”

And his heart jumps right up into his throat, choking him on his next breath.

Leaning to talk out of the corner of his mouth, the Joker’s eyes are all for the frozen civilian, “He was on the news, Harve, remember? The little do-gooder on the bridge.” The low drop of the Joker’s tone on that word, on bridge, hits Two-Face in the right way, making the gangster’s attention shift.

(Oh shit. This is bad, getting more bad, getting so, so, so bad.)

“That was you?” The other gun falls and Two-Face turns on him while the Joker is doing that cliche steeple-fingers-and-look-insane kind of thing, and that just really makes him want to take a step back. He should probably run, but it’s more likely Two-Face would shoot him in the back if he tried, so he’s got no other choice but to improvise.

With the copper taste in the back of his mouth, with the possibility he’s about to die horribly depending on the level of utter crazy in the room right now, Tim Drake straightens his spine, crosses his shaky arms to hide the fact.

“There were children, Mr. Dent. Children that didn’t deserve to die on a collapsing bridge.”

Jim Newman tenses on the table under him, still going pale, still on a ticking clock, and some of the other inmates are cowering back. The Ventriloquist looks eager to see what happens, her sock puppet whispering in her ear; Scarecrow, the Mad Hatter, and Clock King are looking at him intently, uncomfortably so. Poison Ivy sighs and arches a put-upon brow.

“I patched people up and put them in cars to get off the bridge. Your bombs did what they were supposed to do,” is more accusatory than he feels. “I just tried to keep the victim count down.”

“The other one didn’t go off. You have something ta do with that, Doc?” The question suddenly very, very important to how the next six seconds are going to go.

So Tim calculates what he’s going to say for a split second, “I was being hit with debris and pulling little girls out of cars,” which is true, “I only saw the Batman for a few minutes, and I didn’t have anything to do with another bomb.” Mostly true. B already knew it was Two-Face before Tim ever got a surprise ride on the Batplane courtesy of the blood-loss-and-shock express.

The new train leaving the station is I-might-die-in-Arkham-Asylum.

All Aboard

“Now Harve,” the Joker starts, tisking.

“Shut-up, Clown,” because the glint is the famous coin appearing in Dent’s unblemished hand.

Some crazy instinct makes him step away from the gurney, eyes all for the inevitable flip, hoping, praying his luck is going to hold out long enough to get a message out to the ER staff and stall long enough to keep them here until the vigilantes make a dashing, in-the-nick-of-time entrance, and really just save the day.

(Please please please save the day.)

“Got a fifty-fifty chance, Doc. I’m hoping ya got some extra luck.”

His breath gets caught in his chest at the twing when the coin rolls off Two-Face’s thumb into the air, is hyper-focused in the moment, doesn’t even notice Victor Fries straightening from his slouch to watch the proceedings. Fixes his eyes on the palm of that ruined hand–

–and the arm holding the gun slowly, surely rising.

The coin doesn’t make it back to that hand, gets slapped out of the air instead, and the gangster actually chokes.

“You-you son of a–!”

“Harve, Harve,” and for the first time, Dr. Drake can say he’s seen the Joker actually frowning, miffed that his plan is going sideways, anger simmering under the insanity, but it just goes to show he’s special kind of psychopath when he stretches his neck out to put his face less than an inch from the ruin side of Two-Face’s, and smile.

It’s telling how the Joker doesn’t even flinch at the cold rage across from him.

“He has more potential in the ‘hostage’ category, than the ‘dead’ category, Harve, and we need a nice little nest egg.” One white finger carelessly, comically pushes the barrel of the gun down to the ground with that sickening grin in place. “You and I both know–”

The he-he-he literally makes Tim’s skin crawl.

“–those caped do-gooders roll over for a nice hostage.”

The stare-down is like something you read about– the Joker is intense while Two-Face glares silently back, that yellow eye fixed.

The inmates around the Rogue Gallery are shifting, trying to stay out of the way in case the guns come back into play, and everything Dr. Drake has been trying to do seems to go immediately, irrevocably sideways.

The stand-off is interrupted when one of the inmates hurriedly scoops up the coin and brings it back, holding the scratched surface up, presenting it like a gift.

Two-Face doesn’t bother looking at the inmate, just snatches the coin, eyes narrowing on the Joker’s grin.

“As much as I fucking hate you, Clown, you got a point. We’re gonna need some leverage.”

“Oh, you flatterer. You don’t have to hate so much that I’m right, hu hu hu. Good! Now we can get this show back on the road and execute the Warden, right?”

The childish stomp jars Tim out of panicky brain-freeze, lets him suck in a choking breath at the crazily entertaining back-and-forth, and his knees wobble a little in weakening relief.

(He keeps himself calm by running through the last year of crazy shit he’s gotten his hands into since he’s been dating certain adorable, entertaining, and very, very late, vigilantes. He’s been up against some of these psychopaths, ninjas, and is the go-to guy for every kind of strange alien bacteria Booster Gold could possibly pick-up during his travels.)

Out of his peripheral, he sees Dr. Fries slouch back, head turned and looking at him, utterly unreadable with the goggles and glass dome.

The Ventriloquist, however, is pouting like she’s missing out on a good show. Great. At least someone wants to see him dead in the next few minutes.

“You have approximately forty-five minutes before the next shift will begin showing up for work,” Temple Fugate inserts, “and we need people to drive our Hatter friend to the hospital along with Dent’s right-hand man. It’s a perfect cover to get us through the gates without alerting authorities. Thus, whatever you intend to do, do it now.”

The impatience draws the Scarecrow’s attention, “expediency is preferable, ladies and gentlemen. I still have reserves hidden in Gotham, and I don’t need Bats on me before I get to them.”

“Fantastic!” The Joker laughs loudly, back arched, “then we get to–” and he spins on the heel of his spat, finger out to point at the Warden still tied up in the center of the cafeteria, pie remnants dripping off him.

But the Joker trails off with a “eww,” when the Warden is obviously gasping for air, his lips turning an unnatural shade of blue.

Like his life wasn’t hanging in the balance a few seconds ago, Tim snatches up his bag without looking away from the distressed Warden and takes off around the table while the guys waiting for Vinnie’s signal with the gurney move in to load up Jim Newman.

He skirts around the inmates, and already has his stethoscope in his ears, listening to the sickening sound of arrhythmia.

“He’s going into cardiac arrest!” Tim turns to shout at the gathered criminals, and his eyes slide up to the panicked Warden.

“...heart attack...last year,” the Warden gasps weakly, leaning into the ropes.

The Joker sputters, “I can’t kill him if he’s already dying! Where’s the fun in that?!”

And it’s a terrifying moment when the villain stalks up next to him to glare in the distressed Warden’s face, pointing a finger like he’s berating a naughty child.

“You’d better not shuffle off this mortal coil until I have the perfect joke to send you out!”

Tim ignores the villain fairly vibrating with anger, and keeps calculating, rooting around in his bag for a similar medication to the one he gave Nightwing back when the fear gas almost killed him, one that will help thin the blood and hopefully make sure the Warden survive the night.

He fills the syringe and quickly injects the Warden in the side of the throat, not bothering to waste time untying him to look for a vein.

“This medication is hopefully going to put him back to a normal rhythm,” Tim fills in as Dr. Crane, Dr. Isley, and Dr. Fries join their little pow-wow. “I don’t know any of his history to know if this is going to even work–”

Dr. Fries gets closer to the Warden, goggles seemingly fixed on his face, “do you have a history of arrhythmia, or a family history of heart problems?”

Still gasping for air, the Warden just nods.

“Give me a few details,” the villain demands. “Start with your parents.”

To Tim’s surprise, Dr. Isley and Dr. Crane listen intently to the Warden’s details about his family medical history while Tim keeps two fingers on the Warden’s pulse and listens closely, hoping the uneven pitter-patter evens out to at least under 100 beats per minute.

“I doubt they have an echocardiogram here,” Crane snarks to Isley when the Warden is gasping and Fries turns to a random inmate, demanding water and aspirin immediately.

“Of course not,” Dr. Isley sighs with a shake of her head, “anything more involved than a bandage is too much for these nitwits to handle.”

Multitasking like a boss, Tim looks at the biologist, psychologist, and geneticist over his shoulder, “there’s not even an electrocardiogram here to monitor his sinus rhythm. There might be defibs in the infirmary if we hit worst case scenario–”

“Those were removed the last time we broke out,” Scarecrow shrugs nonchalantly. “I think someone used it on a guard.”

Ivy steps up, fingers moving in a gimmie motion until Tim hands over his stethoscope. “It’s still faster than 100 per minute. What was that you injected? Beta blockers?”

“Yes, Dr. Isley,” he accepts his stethoscope back, not mentioning how there was a little more than just Beta blockers in that syringe.

“Good,” and she turns back to her fellow non-medical doctors that seem to have opinions on treatments. “If they get him to Gotham General in time, they can perform–”

“For now, we must get him down and elevate his feet. The staff can take necessary measures from there,” Fries is already behind the Warden, untying the ropes. “It will give them time to escape without impeding treatment.”

“Agreed,” Crane and Isley turn together and very pointedly stalk toward the mass of inmates still standing around the cafeteria waiting for how this little sitch is going to pan out.

The Joker and Two-Face flank them, making it an utterly terrifying meeting of bad guys.

“Listen up,” Crane makes a terrifying figure even still in his orange jumpsuit. “You are going to let the medical staff treat the Warden. If any of us find out he died, then there is going to be a reckoning.”

The Joker’s laugh punctuates the severity of the message.

“We’re the ones that get to kill him, understand? And once he’s back to his normal, healthy self, we’ll give this another go!”

“Until then,” Poison Ivy’s eyes glint dangerously, “we expect everyone to behave.”

Tim is helping Dr. Fries lay the Warden on his back, “since when has everyone been moonlighting as MDs?” He asks breathlessly while Ivy heards the full-time medical staff away from the general population and closer to the panting Warden.

“You would be surprised how much time one has for reading in here,” Fries fills in. “On a different note, I am impressed with your latest article on McGregor’s Syndrome.” Fries holds a hand down to help him stand, “Nora’s case is too far advanced, but your preliminary findings are exciting nonetheless.”

Shaky, Tim allows the medical staff he’s familiar with take over with the Warden and accepts Dr. Fries’ hand. “Everything is based off your research, so really, I’m the one that should be grateful for your help.”

The supervillain makes a humming noise and squeezes his hand, “whatever you do,” is low, just between the two of them, “do not antagonize any of them. You will make it out of this alive if you are careful, Dr. Drake.”

The hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest really has nothing to do with things that are hilarious.

“Staying alive is my top goal tonight,” but the bravado doesn’t cover up how badly his hands are shaking.

“We shall see if you manage to accomplish it,” Fries deadpans as the huddle of supervillains breaks up.

While he’d been assessing the Warden, Jim Newman has been loaded onto the gurney, already prepped for the ambulance ride, and the Mad Hatter’s ice pack finally melted, so he’s really feeling the need to be in a hospital with plenty of nice narcotics.

“We are out of time,” Fugate flips his watch closed, facing the rest of the escaping Rogue Gallery, “we leave now or risk getting caught.”

“Well, when you put it that way–” and the Joker turns on him, reaches out to wrap bony fingers around Tim’s wrist, clenching down tight. “I suppose you’re out of time too, right Doc?”

Two-Face has no problem getting close enough that Tim can see the residual scarring, can trace the deep grooves, wonder if a second try at plastic surgery would be helpful or destructive at this juncture in the supervillain’s life. “You don’t make trouble, you’ll see tomorrow. We have an understanding here?”

“Yes,” he replies breathlessly in the face of two utterly terrifying murderers. “I’m going to do what you say.”

“Stay smart and I’m not gonna have to flip for you again.”

And as Tim manages to snatch his doctor’s bag while he’s pulled behind members of the Rogue Gallery, he closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, hopes Dick and Jay can follow wherever in the hell the villains are taking him.

Which is to the ambulance bay where two rigs and a car with Arkham Asylum on it are housed. He almost facepalms when the keys are hanging up on a wall hook.

Temple Fugate is already dressed in EMT clothing while Crane takes off his mask to put on another set as Jervis Tetch and Jim Newman are loaded in the back.

Shuna Belzer hops in the driver’s seat of the other ambulance while Tim is shoved up into the rear by Joker and Two-Face. Dr. Isley and Dr. Fries join him, sitting on the opposite bench with the empty gurney between them.

“Now, now, good Doctor,” the Joker’s manic grin is even creepier in the lighting, the madman holding the doors almost closed. “If you try to misbehave, our Plant Queen and Freezy Pop are going to have to spank you for being naughty. And trust me, kid. You don’t want that kind of spanking.”

Tim’s eyes are wide as the doors close, his chest getting tight when the Joker locks him in, and for the first time since this whole mess started, his eyes feel heavy and hot without an emergency to focus on (but he still has a plan). All he can do is blink rapidly, try to stop it before it starts, before he gets a little hysterical about everything.

(What if they just leave you here?)

At this juncture, he has no idea what their plans are for him, if he’s riding along just to get shot in the head and left in a ditch somewhere outside Gotham City limits, or if the nice psychopaths really might let him go.

With all of them, it’s a 50/50 really.

(A toss of Two-Face’s coin...)

So he doesn’t feel bad leaning over, bracing his forearms on his knees, one hand over his eyes to keep Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley from seeing it while the ambulance roars to life and jerks forward.

“You did well back there,” Poison Ivy’s voice floats over his head, makes him look up with his nose still pink and eyes still watery. “Most doctors are intimidated around criminals like us. You are...a refreshing change.”

“Everyone is a person when they’re sick or injured,” he replies lightly, scrubbing at his face.

He doesn’t see her mouth curl up in a smile. “Criminal or not doesn’t matter in my line of work.”

“He is quite accomplished,” Fries isn’t looking at either of them, idly staring out the windows in the ambulance doors. “Anyone taking on genetics would have to be.”

“Hm,” Dr. Isley hums, “a simple medical doctor also taking on genetics–”

“Botany isn’t that much different,” he defends lightly, eyes narrowed.

It’s telling when the terrifying criminal leans forward, one fist braced on her knee, and draws him in with the history of Physiology and the mind-blowing chlorokinesis.

She pauses when he calls her Dr. Isley respectfully when he disagrees, and eventually even Dr. Fries joins them on the discussion when they move to microbiology.

It’s close enough to talking with colleagues that he almost forgets about the whole hostage thing for a few minutes while the ambulance rolls down from the mountains and splits ways with the other rig going toward Gotham General while their rig is heading toward Midtown, probably to pick up that puppet the Ventriloquist was yelling about.

He’s in the middle of arguing mitosis with Dr. Fries when the obvious sirens cut through the air. The ambulance jerks forward, accelerating.

Tim doesn’t hit the floor, but only just.

Dr. Fries opens the small window to the front, “what is going on?”

“We’ve been made, Tasty Freeze,” the Joker snarls with the EMT cap pulled over his forehead. “Someone ratted us out!”

“Step on it, Bells. Get us gone,” Tim hears Two-Face saying.

The sock puppet on her hand turns to look back at Fries. “Might wanna buckle up, kids! It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

In a creepy movement, Fries and Isley turn to him.

“Sit down down and hold on,” Isley tells him, wiggling her fingers. Something up her sleeve moves, worms down her hand and fingers while Tim watches with clinical curiosity.

Tim gasps, watching the small plant growing under her mental coaxing, the long stem dividing, wrapping around the bolted legs of the bench he’s sitting on and form a makeshift harness around his shoulders and chest.

When he expects the vines to be thorny and coarse, terrifyingly restrictive, it’s actually kind of okay. The plant is warm and alive almost a heartbeat against his chest and arms, securing him to the bench.

The sirens on their ambulance start to wail and the Ventriloquist shoves her foot on the gas to make the rig lurch and speed faster, dodging around traffic.

“Where are you going?!” He can hear the Joker shriek, “the docks are that way!”

“I told you,” is the nasally voice of the sock puppet. “We’re going to get Ferdie first!”

“Oh no,” Dr. Isley mutters a second too late.

Because the Joker reaches over and jerks the wheel out of the Ventriloquists hands, yelling “getting away from the cops first, idiot!” and the ambulance careens sideways, skittering across the busy highway and smashing into a sedan minding its own business, and a tire on the rig blows while the villains in the front are fighting over control.

So Tim expects the rig to to smash into something, maybe even flip over and skitter across the pavement while the plants keep him from being thrown all over the back. He doesn’t expect Poison Ivy to lunge across the empty gurney just before the ambulance is airborne, throwing her arms around him, and shoving his face in her shoulder to protect him from the next few minutes of grinding metal and breaking glass.

The side of the ambulance splits on impact, twisting metal cuts through the vines holding him, severing the makeshift harness, and not even the remaining tendril could keep him and Dr. Isley from being thrown out of the rig onto the hot Gotham street.

The jolt of the landing drives the breath out of him, is when he slams his head hard enough that moving immediately is a real bad idea. The road rash is going to be shitty, but the blood in his eyes and woozy quality to life once he can raise his head probably means he’s just hit concussion city.

“D-Dr. Isley? Dr. Fries?” Sounds rough from his throat, sounds choked.

He’s dizzy when he pushes himself up, trying to keep from vomiting at the abrupt turn his stomach takes when he sits up, blinks at the the too-bright street lights.

Dr. Isley is laying a few feet from him on her side, breathing but not moving.

“No! No, no, no,” but his limbs feel heavy and sluggish when he tries to stand up and fails. He settles on hands and knees because at least he’s not going to throw up now, so he’s already winning for the night.

“Dr. Isley!” But he’s already assessing before he even touched her shoulder to roll her over, shaky hands assessing her neck, cracking open her eye lids, and by some miracle, he’d been wearing his Arkham-Only medical bag when they were thrown from the ambulance in the first place.

It proves to be moot when Pamela’s eyes flutter over while he’s taking her pulse and blinking rapidly to keep his vision clear, trying to be gentle but firm when he presses on her belly, and looks over every inch of her jumpsuit to make sure he hasn’t missed any indications of injuries.

“Oh thank God,” he whispers when her eyes dart up to him, and Tim leans back just a little to swipe his forearm over his eyes to make sure he doesn’t, you know, cry all over a patient.

“Dr. Isley, are you able to sit up? Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?” He doesn’t realize he’s gone from taking her pulse to holding her hand.

“No,” she replies faintly, pushing herself up, “I believe I’m all right.”

“Okay...okay, that’s good. That’s so good, but I’ve got to check on Dr. Fries and the others. Just-just call for me if you start to feel worse, or sleepy or anything! I’ll be right back.”

Standing the second time is really a win when adrenaline hits him somewhere in the spine, and that small secret smile of hers convinces him she doesn’t have any serious injuries. But the vines flattened and slightly writhing under her makes him hope they cushioned her fall.

He uses all the strength in his weak arms to pull at the ambulance doors until they damn things open, and he can see Dr. Fries laying in a sprawl of metal suit and limbs, weakly gasping since the glass dome of his helmet has been broken.

“Dr. Fries!”

And the concussion has to take a back seat for the moment because time really isn’t on their side.

His brain starts working while he makes his way back into the ambulance, stumbling before righting himself, and gripping the villain under both arms, straining to drag him out of the ambulance and lay on the Gotham street.

The dome has a broken piece with frigid air escaping, and with the goggles askew, he can see the pupils are almost blown.

“Hold on, hold on,” he’s chanting and pulling everything out of his bag, searching for–

Duct tape and a Bolin Chest Seal.

Without any idea if the seal can stand-up to the frigid temperature of Dr. Fries’ suit, Tim makes his hand stop shaking to peel the backing off and apply it around the broken area, ripping the duct tape with his teeth to help reinforce the cracks.

Dr. Isley falls to her knees beside him abruptly, watching him apply a final strip. Together, they hold their breath while his breathing evens out and the visible eye flutters.

Luckily for them, police cars and a legit ambulance are quickly closing in on the carnage, so he can finally, finally, rest.

–or would have, but Two-Face kicks the door to the front of the wrecked rig open and stands out with the gun still in hand.

“It was you,” the gangster is dragging one foot, snarling wildly, “you got us caught. I shoulda gutted ya back at the nut house while I had a chance!”

The Joker woozily climbs out after him and just face plants into the street, something slurry like “anyone get the number of that bus?” while Shauna Belzer is already running away from the scene with the sock puppet leading her way.

“Harvey,” is a warning in Dr. Isley’s tone.

“Shut up, Pam. You know it was him!” The gun is wavery, but Tim is still one hundred percent sure the shot is going to be accurate enough to be bad news for him. “There ain’t no other way!”

“I was in the back the whole time,” he tries, subtly sliding an arm up in front of Dr. Isley, and the other over Dr. Fries. “There’s no way I could have alerted anyone about anything.”

“I ain’t taking anymore chances on you, no more flips, no more hiding, just curtains,” and the hammer goes back–

The next second, a blast of light takes over the sight of the gun barrel pointed at his chest, and the gangster’s hand and weapon are instantly encased in a block of ice.

“What the hell!?”

Dr. Fries pushes himself up, his freeze gun in hand, the seal around his domed helmet still working to keep him breathing. “It would be in poor taste to allow you to kill the young man that saved my life, Dent.”

Wearily, Dr. Fries drops the freeze gun while Two-Face falls to his knees with the heavy block encasing his fist and the gun.

Tim automatically winds his arm around the shoulders of Dr. Fries’ suit, helping the villain stay upright while the slamming of brakes and opening of doors signal the GCPD to the rescue.

Commissioner Gordon himself questions the young doctor, eyeing him critically when he insists Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley weren’t really trying to escape, but went along with the Joker’s plan to make sure he, the civilian, didn’t wind up dead.

“I’ve worked with Dr. Fries before,” and even though he told the young uniform no about the blanket and ride to Gotham General, he’s regretting it now because he’s starting to get cold his head is aching, “I published a paper about McGregor’s syndrome a few months ago. Early stage treatment. He helped me with the background, so yeah, he didn’t want me to get hurt. And Dr. Isley protected me when the ambulance flipped over. If there were trying to escape, they wouldn’t have saved me, or stopped Two-Face from killing me.”

“All right then, Doctor,” Gordon eyes him while he closes his little notebook, “I’ll have a word with the judge and the Warden. He’s fine by the way, and asked me to thank-you. He’s in Gotham General, about to go into surgery.”

“What about Jim Newman?” He asks quickly, rubbing his arms when a light dusting of rain makes him even colder.

“They were still working on him last time I checked, but everything looks good from what they said.”

And since the Commissioner is taller than him by at least a few inches, he can look over Tim’s head to signal another officer to their little pow-wow on the back of the intact ambulance.

Tim had immediately waved the gaping EMTs off to pick up Two-Face and Joker, had slapped a bandage on his own head and did a quick saline wash of his road rash.

He’d personally helped Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley into another ambulance, his expression troubled when the double-doors closed on them, and the rig took off through Gotham. It had been enough for him to seek out the Commissioner and tell him exactly what had gone down tonight so Poison Ivy and Dr. Freeze wouldn’t face further jail time.

(The flutter in the night, gold and black of Robin’s cape, or well, maybe he’d just imagined it. He’s got a pretty rocking concussion after all.)

Detective Renee Montoya is someone he’d worked with on more than one occasion. When she whistles low at the obvious damage, he knows the bruises are probably going to be beautiful tomorrow.

“Montoya, Dr. Drake doesn’t want to go to the hospital. Can you give him a lift when you head back to the station?”

“Absolutely, Sir–”

“To Arkham,” he interrupts blearily, “my car is still there. I need to pick it up.”

Both cops arch a brow at him, but Tim just stares back without further comment.

“All right. To Arkham it is.” Montoya grins at him and crooks a finger, leads him to her car sitting on the outskirts of the accident.

And really, Detective Montoya is a kind soul, stops long enough to get awful drive-thru coffee for him to sip on while they drive back to the Asylum, and she listens intently as he tells the story with a little more depth the second time.

“I’m glad you aren’t badly hurt, but you still should consider going to the hospital, Tim–”

“That’s not necessary, Detective.” Concussions not withstanding, he thinks as he sips his coffee. “I would probably go to work instead of rest anyway, so moot point even I went to Gotham General instead. But, I mean, how did the GCPD get control of Arkham and come after us so fast? I didn’t expect anyone to come after us.”

Except certain masked vigilantes, but, you know, prison breaks are really time consuming.

Montoya side-eyes him again. In her career, she’d brought more than one perp into Mercy Hospital’s ER, guarding handcuffed suspects, usually sporting a variety of injuries tangling with the Bats of Gotham. More than once, it was her or Bullock or another cop on one of Dr. Drake’s gurneys bleeding out, and the guy was absolutely unshakeable, pulling miracles out of his ass.

So yeah, she knows the Doc and his odd tendencies to get tangled up in too many...situations. Many of which lead right back to the city’s resident vigilantes.

(As a detective, she put together at least seven incidents in the last 24 months connecting their good doctor with the Bats. Crane taking over the hospital, kidnapped by the Joker, the bridge. Reported sightings of JLA members in Gotham hovering over Mercy General, and she would bet her badge it was the superheroes bringing their Batman to see Drake. Then the question as to why else would the Batman come out during the day and save what appeared to be one person? Unless that person was his personal physician. Not to mention that time someone got a few pieces of security footage with a Robin that was...taller, not as smooth jumping from rooftops. Oddly enough, some unknown masked crusader running with the Red Hood chasing this, what, fourth kid wearing the tunic? Given the evidence, Renee has theories.)

She might smirk a little at his very obvious deflection, but it also triggers every instinct she’s cultivated as a cop in Gotham City.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, Doc, but it looks like the night crew had a hand in settling down things at the Asylum. Not to mention we got a call from the Head Nurse of the ER at Gotham General about a note you apparently left. That was probably after an anonymous tip to the station made us aware the Clock King, Mad Hatter, and Scarecrow were on their way to the hospital in disguise.”

He smiles into his coffee and appreciates the blasting heat all the way back up to the madhouse on the hill. She notices he doesn’t ask who the night crew is, and just adds it to the list of evidence.

It nice when Montoya walks him back inside, apparently not trusting him to get through to the infirmary at the back of the Asylum and get the keys to his car without another incident.

(She probably has a good reason.)

He makes an effort to keep it together in front of the detective when they make their way through the throng of police officers, extra guards, and personnel filling the hallways. The itch on the back of his neck could be the events of the night catching up to him, the anxiety on the edges of his consciousness that looks a lot like smeared cream corn and stab wounds, aching palms and exhaustion in every bone of his body.

It could also be how closely Montoya is watching him while they walk further into the compound.

His keys are on the same hook by the keycard access door, and it’s finally a spark of luck when a uniform on the premises catches her on their way in, pulls her aside to talk about something. (“They were here from what the inmates say,” the uniforms tells her low, “Red Hood and Nightwing were pretty brutal this time. The Bat had a hard time wrangling them in.”)

He gives a small wave with keys in hand to let her know he’s on the way out.

She puts a hand on the uniform’s shoulder to pause their conversation and give him another long look. “You should get some sleep, Doc. Take a few days off. I’ll bet you’ve got some… people looking out for you that will agree with me.”

For absolutely no reason, his face starts to get warm. “Thanks again for the ride, Detective.”

With her card in his pocket (not that he doesn’t have a collection of them from GCPD back on his desk at Mercy), he calmly adjusts his bag over the blood stains on the side of his scrubs and makes sure his badge is visible.

He keeps it the fuck together when he walks out of Arkham through the thinning throng like nothing is out of place, like he hasn’t just gone through half of the Rogue Gallery and lived to tell about it.

He absolutely doesn’t notice the vigilantes going through a particular vent as he starts down the maze of hallways to get the fuck out.

His battered Civic (because the nice car is only for special occasions, why chance getting it blown up?) looks more like safety than he’s ever associated with it before. Maybe that’s why his knees abruptly go out on him when he’s at the driver’s door, but it’s fine, fine to just take some time to sit, get his lungs full of air for the first time since this shit-show started.

(They had to take care of things like good saviors of the city and he survived, he’s good. He’s good. He’s good. He’s going to go home, make coffee, get a shower, and wait up for them to ask how the night went on their end. Just as soon as his knees get strength again–)

The crunch of gravel somewhere behind the car is what shakes him up from the blank time since he sat (fell) down to now. Before he can be up and moving, it’s Jason, his boyfriend, kneeling there beside him instead of the dangerous vigilante, the Red Hood.

He barely registers when Jay reaches for him, wraps him up in a tight embrace, talks gently against his hair

(“S’all right, Baby. Gotcha all caught up now, don’t I? Time ta go home, yeah?”

“J-Jay, what-what are you...?”

“Sorry, Timmy. They already gotcha out by the time we got here, n’ by the time we got those fuckers back in their cells, we gotch word there was an accident and GCPD was on the scene! Dick lost his fucking mind when we heard it over the radio.”

“O-Oh. It’s...it’s okay. I’m okay. I-I’m okay.”

“Mmhm. We’ll be the judge a’ that, won’t we, Baby?”)

It’s so easy to slot himself against the front of Jay’s body, the leather against his cheek is cool and worn and the smell of brimstone, gives him a reason for another deep breath.

It’s so easy for Jay to slide the driver’s seat back to make room for longer legs, to maneuver Tim in the passenger seat and buckle him in without complaints, stupidly lifting him instead of helping him stand.

E - we’ll go with Edmund, he thinks lazily when exhaustion sets in and the movement of the car keeps him aware enough to know Edmund isn’t going to be the worst concussions he’s ever had, so the night ends on a high note after all.

It’s better because Jay drives with one hand while the other has a grip on his wrist that is just this side of a little too tight, just what he needs to be able to drift because that hold is safe. At some point he’s burrowed down in the Red Hood’s famous leather jacket with the belt over his chest, and it smells like Gotham and brimstone enough to keep him grounded, so all he has to do is stare at the comm in Jay’s ear and drift.

“I got ‘em, Dick. He’s movin’ but he needs one hell of an aftercare hour if ya know what I mean.” Pause.

“Get the fuck off this wave, Demon. Ain’t nobody asked yer ass nothing anyhow.”

Another pause and a side-eye.

“There’s blood on ‘im, Alf, don’t look life-threatening, bruises n’ scrapes more n’ likely. Prob’ly a concussion ‘cause he ain’t trackin’ well, are ya Baby?”

He’s down in a soft, sleepy place, doesn’t feel like he really has to answer if it brings him closer to the surface. He manages to wiggle his fingers up to rub at Jay’s wrist, checks in as well as can really be expected.

Seriously, it’s been a rough fucking night.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. S’okay, baby, ya done good t’night, yeah? Me n’ all the Bats are proud as fuck, you feel me? Some a’ the worst of the worst n’ ya kept the body count low. Whazat? Naw, Dickie, we’re almost there. Gonna be waitin’ on us? Not you, Rob, got school inna morning, ain’t cha? Time fer little birdies ta go back ta the nest.”

Tim cracks his eyes open when the soothing roll of movement finally stops, but Dick is already there opening his door, barefoot with sweats and a hastily thrown-on t-shirt, bodily lifting him even though he’s all kinds of awake now.

“Oh my God,” and those arms get so, so tight.

(It feels so nice.)

“C’mon, put me down,” is huffed more by habit than conviction because really, he’s good with the damsel in distress act this time.

“You’re taking years off my life, Tim, and I’m a seasoned vigilante,” is about as deadpan as mother-hen Dick Grayson can get.

“If I ain’t a’ died already, ya’d be getting me close t’ it,” a soft kiss to his forehead, “no more gettin’ caught up with murderin’ psychos.”

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

“Apparently, it ain’t been stickin’.”

He hums a little and lets his eyes flutter closed again, lets them talk over his head while they take the fire escape up just to slide in his window.

He rouses enough to get a shower, tries pushing them bodily out the door to stop hovering, but it’s not like that’s going to happen.

It’s still feels really nice when they’re absolutely gentle with him, sliding his clothes off, touching the bruises and road rash with soft, hurt noises. It gets worse because he takes the time to really wash in case there’s residual debris, finally gets pulled under the hot water with a wall of muscle and security bracketing him in.

Jay washes his hair while Dick holds him by the hips, the two of them talking gently about what happened after they left the Cave and headed to the Asylum for pound the baddies into pudding time.

They had just worked their way to the cafeteria when they get word some of the Rogues escaped in ambulances, alerting the GCPD while they wrangled inmates back to their cells and took care of the captive staff.

B himself took the Warden to Gotham General once they had things well in hand, and the bats monitored the police radio when mentions of the accident heading toward Dixon with Gordon on scene. Rob jumped outta the big car fast enough to intercept GCPD to see Tim moving. It’s more hilarious than it should have been when Jay clucks his tongue and tells him to stop making friends with bad guys.

“I ain’t saying Pam n’ Vic are bad ta have on yer side,” a wet kiss to the top of his head, “but why don’t cha stick wid’ Ives and leave ‘em ta us?”

Dick is kneeling down gently washing his battered knees, “not to mention the conversation we’ll be having tomorrow about why we didn’t know you were moonlighting at Arkham and working with Victor Fries.” The warning in his tone makes Tim just sighs and lean back against Jay’s chest to let the two of them hold him up.

“Demon brat’s got something ta say ‘bout it, too,” said in his ear, “little asshole was worried as fuck. Don’t let ‘im tell ya any different.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow, let him know I’m okay,” and he absolutely will, if anything, to avoid Robin showing up at Mercy with another sandwich and soup to shove at him.

“Good idea, Baby. He was fighting like hell until we found out you weren’t even there.”

He doesn’t laugh at the insinuation, but he might just snicker a little.

He manages to step out on him own, but Jay takes the towel from his hands to get his back and Dick lifts him by the hips to set him on the sink so they can put salve and gauze on his injuries themselves.

They keep him distracted through the process with easy kisses and updates on Jim Newman, Hatter’s face, and Fugate’s excuses of coercion because, “I’m clinically insane. Of course I went along for the ride.”

They tell him they’re sending Pam a nice fern and Victor some data sets from B’s own trials with McGregor’s since it’s just good manners to thank supervillains for saving innocent civilians. He mumbles back about pasta salad and guns in his face. How playing Uno with some of the inmates has somehow made him cool enough not to die during a breakout, which they should take as a win considering the circumstances.

He must look about as bad as he feels because they get more gentle when he finally gives them what they desperately want, details about what went down. It’s woozy ramblings more than his usual high-level short and sweet because Shauna Bellzer is probably still out there looking for Ferdie, because the Joker apparently remembers him and is actively checking out shit like YouTube, and because now Two-Face is probably going to want him dead since that whole bridge fiasco is a point of contention.

He might wobble enough or sound shitty enough for Jay to take it as a reason to steer him toward the couch and cuddle the hell out of him, do that thing where he kisses the back of Tim’s neck in the right spots to make him shiver.

Dick runs a hand through his hair while he answers B’s wave with the last tag-up of the night, listens to the Dark Knight ranting about the clean-up at Arkham and going over the damn place yet again to check how the crazies keep escaping. But whatever Dick says in reply is lost on him when the world around him gets fuzzy at the edges again. He doesn’t realize how tight his hands are fisted in Jay’s shirt until fingers are trying to massage them open.

He might mumble something payment in kind because really? He did the job for them this time. One less shit show for them to fight (you’re welcome), so he really does deserve cuddles and warm showers dammit.

He totally earned it this time.

Dick eventually hangs up and unapologetically smushes him further down against Jay and coos softly, so he might have said it out loud, but can’t be bothered to care when he finally sinks down, comfortable and safe with that he’s just suddenly–

–out.

When he blinks again, arms over his hip and warm bodies bracket him in. It’s still early enough for him to sigh and sink back down for a few more hours, the ache in his bruised muscles secondary when his bed is full. It’s enough for him to sleep without nightmares of guns in his face and echoing laughter.

And if they wake him up with kisses to his stomach and chest, with bare hands sliding under his pajamas, with oh so gentle lovemaking, with talking against his throat and hip about how relieved they are, how brave he is, how strong he is, how he really oughtta have a Kevlar suit all his own and a domino on his face just on principle.

If they coddle and cuddle him, demand he tell them everything again from the beginning, take him back to the bedroom when his chest stutters at the most frightening parts, if they make him stay close until nightfall when they have to move into the shadows and be the protectors Gotham City needed. If they argue with him about resting instead of leaving to run the Gauntlet at Mercy with Steph and his team. If they check in on him half-way through the night and maybe just kidnap him for an hour to check his knees and the road rash. If they make him take two aspirin and drink a bottle of water, claim mid-patrol sandwiches for the win.

If they tell him they love him before they go back to it and leave him on the roof of the hospital with a fully belly and stars in his eyes, mouth still swollen from their kisses–

–then he’s going to to back to work with a stupid smile on his face and fight harder to save lives, to beat back the darkness of Gotham in his own way. He’s going to run until his lungs are on fire and his legs are wobbly. He’s going to answer calls from fucking space, and race the clock when the heroes of their world are facing mortality and need a doctor with hobbies. He’s going to keep track of the ninjas spying on them and be a safe place when the night life is killing his most important people. He’s going to do everything he can to keep moving. He’s going to fucking fight the good fight and it’s going to be by his choice every time.

Because this?

This is his life.

#winter writes #900 Followers #dr!tim #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #Rogue Gallery #dc comics #dickjaytim #I'm so proud of this fic #I can't even tell you #bad ass civilian tim #my fic #my writing #long post

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hysterialevi · 7 years

Text

In the Smoke pt. 25 (Cobblebats)

From Oswald’s POV

“Oz?” Bruce froze in the doorway, staring at me. “What are you doing here?”

I bit my bottom lip nervously, checking to see if Gideon was still there. And sure enough, the sniper was perched not too far away, rifle cocked and ready in case anything happened. I tried to ignore him, and pretended as if he weren’t there.

“Hey, love,” I approached Bruce as casually as possible. “Mind if we talk for a minute?”

He glanced back into the manor out of uncertainty, staying silent for a moment.

“Erm,” Bruce held up his car keys, “I’m actually on my way to meet someone right now...but I guess I can spare a second or two. What’s going on?”

I gazed at the ground, letting out a breath.

“I just...I thought ‘bout what you said back at the park; about your father, about the Children of Arkham, and...” I paused for a moment, causing Bruce to lean forward slightly, coaxing for me to continue with curious eyes, “...and you’re right.”

Bruce tilted his head a bit, obviously a little surprised at what I just said.

“I’m right?” He repeated. I nodded.

“I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realize it, but the Children of Arkham...we’re hurting people more than we’re helping them. What’s the point in trying to take over Gotham if we’re just gonna destroy it in the process? We can’t keep carrying on like this. Otherwise, the entire city’s gonna end up declaring war on itself...which is probably exactly what Lady Arkham wants.”

Bruce crossed his arms. “So...does this mean you’re not with them anymore?”

I sighed. “As much as I care about Vicki, you’re far more important to me. If you’re out, then so am I. You need help with anythin’, just lemme know.”

He thought for a second, eyeing me up and down.

“Actually, I might need you for what I’m about to do. If you’re willing.”

“Shoot.”

Bruce walked past me, gesturing for me to follow.

“Like I mentioned earlier, I’m going to meet someone now. Well, that someone happens to be Harvey.”

I almost chuckled aloud. Isn’t that convenient.

“Even though Harv and I used to be close,” Bruce continued, “I have no idea what kind of man the drug’s turned him into. He could still be friendly towards me just like before, or he could want to murder me on sight. If that turns out to be the case, I don’t want to fight an insane, six-foot-four man on my own. I’ll need help. Your help.”

I stepped next to him. “You got it.”

He smiled at me, grabbing my hand and leading me to the car. “Thanks, Oz. C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

CITY HALL

Once we arrived at City Hall, Bruce began to lead me to the rooftop where Harvey was supposedly waiting for him, our shoes clanking on the tall, metal staircase as we squeezed through its narrow rails.

Along the way up, I made sure I was at a safe distance before activating my earpiece and whispering to Gideon as the sniper tailed us from the shadows, prowling through the darkness. So far, Bruce didn’t seem to suspect anything, and Gideon was more than well-hidden. Now was my chance.

“Gideon,” I said under my breath, “make sure you have a clear shot of the roof. Dent’s up there, and I can’t say how he’ll react one he sees Bruce decided to bring me along. It might not be pretty.”

Gideon responded almost immediately, his already raspy voice scattered by mild static. “I’m on it. Just say the word if you need a bullet sent his way.”

After a couple of minutes, Bruce and I finally reached the top of the stairwell, standing in front of the exit as we braced ourselves for what was about to come. Bruce placed a hand against the door’s surface, turning to me.

“Maybe...maybe you should wait here,” he suggested. “For now, at least. I don’t wanna send Harvey into a rage just yet.”

I leaned against a nearby wall, nodding. “Makes sense. I’ll be here if you need me.”

Bruce took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing. Wish me luck.”

From Bruce’s POV

Forcing myself through the double-doors, I stepped out into the chilly night and moved to the center of the roof, only to spot Harvey standing at the opposite side. His back was facing me, and jumping from his hand every now and then was his prized coin. He hadn’t noticed me yet.

I quietly walked up behind him, careful not to trigger another psychotic episode.

“Um,” I cleared my throat awkwardly, shoving my hands into my pockets, “...Harv?”

Before I even had a chance to react, Harvey had whipped around and aimed the barrel of a gun directly to the middle of my forehead, panting anxiously.

“Jesus!” I exclaimed in a panicked tone, throwing my hands up. “Harvey--it’s just me!”

One he got a better look at me, and actually figured out who I was, Harvey’s expression softened with worry as he instantly lowered the weapon and yanked me into a random hug.

“Oh my god--Bruce,” he tightened his hold on me, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you. But I can’t be too careful these days. The Children of Arkham...they’re ...they’re everywhere. Crawling all over the city, preparing to strike at any moment. I have to be ready to defend myself at all times.”

I pulled back from the embrace, still a bit dazed from what just happened.

“Don’t...don’t worry about it.”

Harvey holstered the gun. “Anyway, what did you wanna talk about?”

I walked alongside the mayor as he approached the edge of the roof, gazing at the view of the city while we conversed.

I got straight to the point. “I’ve been told you’re trying to seize my father’s estate. That you want to throw us onto the streets. Why are you doing this, Harvey? I thought we were friends.”

He weaved the coin between his fingers. “We are, but this isn’t about us. I have to do this for the good of Gotham. That’s why I’m taking your money, your home...everything. It’s time your father started paying his debt to this city. I’m sure you understand. And...actually...”

Harvey closed the distance between us until we were only inches apart as he brought a hand up to my face, caressing the side of it in a loving manner.

“That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. Obviously, once I’ve taken the estate, you won’t really have a place to stay anymore, will you? So I was thinking...what if...what if you stayed with me?”

I was silent, a little surprised by the offer.

“We could always be together, then,” Harvey went on, “I’d have you at my side, and you’d have me. You’d be safe from these terrorists, too. I promise. I won’t let the Children of Arkham get a hold of you like they did at the debate ever again. I can protect you.”

Thinking of what to say, I covered Harvey’s hand with my own, gently lowering it from my cheek as he stared at me intently, waiting for a response. I could barely make eye contact with him.

“I appreciate the offer, Harvey, but I’m afraid I can’t accept.”

His lopsided smile immediately vanished at that. “What? W-why not?”

My eyes fell to the floor in guilt. “I just can’t abandon my dad like that. As tough as he is, he needs my help right now. If I allowed this to happen--if I allowed you to take both me and his home away, he’d be devastated. You might not care, but I do. Even though he’s done some terrible things, he’s still my family. I love him.”

After a long pause of thinking, Harvey’s tender gaze hardened into an infuriated glare, and a sense of worry started to spark inside me.

“A-and what about me?” He whispered, the heat of rage just bubbling beneath the surface of his voice. “...do you...do you even love me?”

I froze for a second at the sudden aggressiveness in his tone, and before I knew it, Harvey had violently snatched me by the collar, dangling me over the edge of the roof as the sounds of busy traffic blared underneath me. One little slip, and I would be dead.

“What the hell are you doing!?” I yelled, struggling to break free. He only pushed me further back.

“Your silence says it all,” Harvey growled savagely. “You never loved me! You’ve just been using me, like everyone else in this goddamned city! Even after everything I’ve done for you, you whore!”

No longer caring about discretion, I called out to Oz, desperate to get away from the crazed mayor.

“OZ!” I shouted, hoping he could hear me. “GET OUT HERE!”

From Oswald’s POV

Slamming the doors open, I bolted out onto the rooftop at the sound of Bruce’s voice, only to find him being held over the edge by none other than Harvey himself. The mayor jolted his head in my direction.

“You again...!?” He shook Bruce in his grasp. “Stay back! One more step, and I drop him!”

Just then, I heard Gideon speaking to me.

“What the fuck’s going on down there? Should I shoot him now?”

“No,” I hastily answered, “do not shoot. He’ll drop Bruce if you do. Understand?”

No reply.

“Gideon,” I repeated, “are you listening to me? I said don’t shoot!”

Still, nothing. Goddammit. I’d have to solve this myself.

Steadily inching my way towards Harvey, I tried not to provoke him any further.

“Harvey, let Bruce go. He’s not the one you’re after. We all know it’s me who you want to kill. So leave him outta this, and let’s settle this for good.”

Harvey refused. “Bruce is just as bad as his father--betraying Harvey’s trust, playing him like a fool...I don’t know what he ever saw in him. He was always too weak to push him away, even if it was for his own good, but now, he’ll see him the way I do. A stain on Gotham.”

It was clear that diplomacy wasn’t going to work with him, so I decided to take a more threatening approach.

“You think I’m playin’ games? I’m not fuckin’ around, Dent. Let. Him. Go. Otherwise, you can say goodbye to what’s left of your pathetic face.”

That seemed to get his attention, but he still held onto Bruce. He let out a sadistic laugh.

“You come here, thinking you have the upper hand,” Harvey pulled out a walkie-talkie. “But the truth is, you’ve already lost this war.” He pressed the button. “...do it.”

After a second of silence, the blast of an explosion suddenly erupted in the distance, sending a bright, orange flash throughout the pitch-black sky as an entire city block started going down in flames.

At first, I wasn’t too concerned about the chaos, and I managed to stand my ground...until I realized exactly where the explosion occurred. It was in the East-End of Gotham, where the Children of Arkham’s HQ was. I could’ve sworn my heart stopped beating at the idea, and I nearly charged at Harvey on the spot. A low laugh emitted from the mayor.

“You should see the look on your face,” he taunted, turning to Bruce. “I can’t wait to see how you’ll react to this.”

Just before he could let the man go, Bruce’s eyes popped open in shock as he began struggling frantically, his gaze nailed on a location above us.

“Look out!” He warned Harvey, shoving him out of the way. “Sniper--!”

But it was too late. With a deafening gunshot, Bruce came to an abrupt halt, tightly clutching his abdomen as his whole body went limp, and a ghastly blood stain began spreading across the fabric of his hoodie. He took one last, loving look at me before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud, both Harvey and I paralyzed in place at what had just happened.

“...B-Bruce...?” I whimpered. No response.

“Bruce,” I said again, weakly running over to his body. “Bruce...!”

Still, he was motionless.

I brought him into my arms and tried shaking him awake, desperate for any sort of reaction, but only got silence in return. I buried my face into the crook of his neck.

“BRUCE!”

#cobblebats #batman telltale #bruce wayne #oswald cobblepot #harvey dent #fanfic #story

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theabominableblogger · 6 years

Text

Rewatching “Batman” (1989)

Decided to rewatch this classic before I watch the new Justice League movie that’s out this week

I, for one, am so glad Danny Elfman brought the Batman theme back into “Justice League”

*jams out to the Batman theme*

JACK NICHOLSON

Billy Dee Williams! And he’s only in it for like 5 minutes

Jack Palance!

Oh my gosh, I forgot Prince did music for this movie

Aaaand it’s the Batman symbol!

Matte painting! Matte paintings everywhere!

Why do they always portray Gotham as freaking packed? I know it’s supposed to be a bustling metropolis but this is too much.

Why yes, random family, let’s take a shortcut through a shady ass alleyway.

What the...

Batman, brought to you by American Express

*Batman floats down behind the robbers* Eeeyyyy!!

*Batman gets shot* Welp, he’s dead. End of movie. Cue end credits music.

Gotta take your sweet ass time revealing your cape...

He raises his arms so high in the air in order to do it.

“I want you to tell all your friends about me.” “What are you?!?!?” I’M BATMAN! DAAAA NA NA NAAAA NAAAAA

Lando?!?

Mayor Borg?!?!?

“People of Gotham City, I [Harvey Dent] am a man of few words.” Nah, he’s a double-crossing, no-good swindler.

All righty, unpopular opinion time: I don’t like Jack Nicholson as the Joker. I just don’t. He’s just... Jack Nicholson in clown paint. Plus they establish him as a character before he becomes the Joker.

Oh, and of course, they name the Jack Nicholson character “Jack”

So who’s the Lieutenant character again?

Heelllooo shady lookin’- oh it’s Jack Nicholson.

Bob the Goon!

Matte painting!

This movie should be subtitled “Matte Paintings: The Movie”

Oh my God, Lando, what did they do to your hair?

Eeeeyyy!! Bob Kane!

“Vale, will you marry me [Knox]?” “Nope?” “Wanna buy me lunch?” “Maybe.” “I eat light!” Pffftt....

Story time: the Quidditch coach/captain of the team here at college (who is notorious for being a flirt) asked me to buy him supper one time before practice. I knew it was a joke but I told him “Nah, you gotta earn it” and I was applauded by the team

Obligatory purple Joker suit!

Obligatory Joker card!

Why is it such a big deal that Jack Nicholson is involved with that one particular moll?

You gotta hammer it in that Jack Nicholson’s gonna become the Joker

Why is there a casino set up in Wayne Manor?

Michael Gough!

Why is Vicki Vale dressed like she’s getting ready to be married?

I like that we don’t actually meet Bruce until like 20 minutes into the movie. Plus they establish him as a mystery character- technically the main characters at the beginning of the movie is Knox and Vicki and then it shifts to Batman. And then again, we don’t get a lot of background on either Batman or Bruce.

I never really had time to appreciate how great Michael Keaton is as Bruce Wayne but dang he’s good. And I love the reasoning behind this casting: there’s no way he could be seen as Batman and when we do find out, it’s a big shock.

Holy crap, how many cameras are set up around the manor?

Oh my gosh, Bruce has reading glasses!

Sound stage!

FreEEEZZZEE!!!

AN: I’m only 25 minutes into this movie. We gots a bit to go because I’m such a motormouth

Boom goes the dynamite!

Yes, let’s have a police shootout in a chemical factory! Great plan, guys!

Man, Gary Oldman’s Commissioner Gordon would be on the ball when it came to this situation. Pat Hingle’s Commissioner Gordon just stands around and gives orders

Um, officers, you’re walking into a puddle of toxic chemicals...

In all seriousness though, I want Jack Nicholson’s hat

Never have I seen a smirkier Batman than Michael Keaton’s Batman

Well there’s also Kevin Conroy’s Batman

*Jack Nicholson falls into the chemical vat* Welp, he’s dead. End of movie. Cue end credits music.

AXIS

Why were Jack Nicholson’s fingernails dyed green from the chemicals? I know it’s comic book logic but still...

This scene in the dining hall is my dad’s favorite scene in the movie.

That is an impossibly long dining table.

Aaww, they’re having dinner with Alfred in the butlers’ quarters!

“Alfred’s great. I [Bruce] couldn’t find my socks without him.” Cue in Batman: The Animated Series, Joker literally cannot find his socks because Harley’s not there.

That is no way to take bandages off properly, Jack...

Mirror... MIRROR!!

“You see what I have to work with here.” Yeah, those are some shitty surgical tools there, buddy.

Oh, throw that shoe, Bruce

“Who the hell are you?” “It’s me [the Joker].” *sings* IT’S MEEEEEE

“Jack? Jack is dead, my friend. You can call me.. Joker! And as you can see, I’m a lot happier!”

This freaking circus music though

*Bruce and Vicki cuddle while sleeping* Cue Bruce going “Aw man, I can’t enjoy spending time with this awesome lady because I gotta brood, man.”

WHY IS HE UPSIDE DOWN?!?!?

WAIT ‘TIL THEY GET A LOAD OF ME!

Why the hell is Jack Nicholson dressed like that?

What kind of hand buzzer is that?!?

HAVEN’T YOU HEARD THE HEALING POWER OF LAUGHTER? NOW GET OUTTA HERE!

YOUUU... ARE MY NUMBER ONEEEE... GUUUYYYYYY!!

How does Bruce Wayne AKA Batman not notice Vicki trailing him from his house to Crime Alley?

Random mime... more random mimes...

Why is Bruce just standing there? Ooohhhh... wait a minute.. there’s this whole schindig about him recognizing Jack later in the movie

There is literally no reason why Jack Nicholson becomes the Joker since he’s already been established as Jack Napier before the whole ACE Chemicals thing.

THIS TOWN NEEDS AN ENEMA!

Alfred just wants some grandkids, gosh dang it

How the hell did you get those pics, Vicki?

Oh my God, I hate that this Joker has this weird crush on Vicki. I hate it so much.

“I’m in a mind to make some mooky.” Ugghh...

Oh my gosh, the Smylex commercial

Oh my gosh, the newspeople aren’t wearing any care products... pfftt...

What kind of cake foundation does Joker have? That’s like the stuff we had to wear in high school

That waiter just addressed Vicki as “sir”

Did Joker write that message in crayon?

That elderly couple is dead after falling off the balcony like that

LET’S BROADEN OUR MINDS!

*jams the crap out to “Party Man” by Prince*

*One goon paints over a bust* Hey look, it’s the Jared Leto Joker

What the crap is this music that plays? It plays during one of the trailers for “The Shape of Water”

Oh wait, it’s the theme from something called “A Summer Place”

I quote the “one dollar bill” quote all the freaking time at my house.

The prosthetic work on Alicia looks pretty sweet, I gotta say

Oh, a little song.. a little dance... Batman’s head on a lance...

Oh my gosh, I forgot how much Kim Basinger screamed in this movie

They even color coded the cars for Joker’s goons

*The police get involved in an accident involving a farmer’s market truck* NO, NOT THE CABBAGES!

There is no way in hell that Vicki only weighs like 108

Remember when the Batsuit was made out of rubber, you guys?

*Crazy, sword-wielding guy goes after Batman* Seriously? Did you not see “Raiders of the Lost Ark?”

For the Batmobile, it looks like they made the toy first before constructing it for the movie

Gotta love that Danny Elfman score...

*Vicki tries to see under Batman’s cowl* Yo, Vicki, don’t distract Batman while he’s driving

The Batcave!

Why is there just this one random bat hanging out in a bird cage?

Forgot that Michael Keaton literally could not turn his head in the Batsuit

Oh my gosh, how short is Michael Keaton here?

Oooohhh nice transition!

How the hell did Vicki end up back there?

Gotta admit, that’s a nice apartment

“You see, my life is really...” Batsy!

JUST TELL HER YOU’RE [Vicki] BATMAN!

I like how Bruce walks right by the fire poker in order to get a freaking tray to hit Joker with

YOU WANNA GET NUTS?!? C’MON, LET’S GET NUTS!

EVER DANCE WITH THE DEVIL IN THE PALE MOONLIGHT?

“Never rub another man’s rhubarb.” What?

There is no way in hell that Bruce deflected that bullet with the tray

Matte painting!

“Can you hear me? Just the two of us.” *sings “Just the Two of Us” by Will Smith*

Gotta admit, Michael Keaton’s Batman has an awesome thinking/pensive face. It’s probably the eyebrows that help

What is it with families being targeted by random gun-wielding criminals in abandoned alleyways?

There’s no way that that’s Jack Nicholson playing young Jack Napier

Nevermind, it’s some dude named Hugo Blick

*scats the Batman theme obnoxiously out of tune*

Batman’s belt just slipped. Never gonna un-see that

Why is it that every time this Batman is in the Batsuit and glaring at somebody, he looks like he’s really constipated?

Seriously, is there not a bathroom in the Batcave?

Is this another Prince song?

So where exactly did Joker find the time to find all of this stuff and prepare for an impromptu 200th anniversary parade?

The Batplane!

Matte painting!

“Me? I’m giving away free money!” And it looks faaaaakkkeee...

Something is up with that clown balloon’s nose... just saying...

Yeah, lets go after the Joker’s goons with a baseball bat, Knox. That’ll go well.

I love the sounds all the buttons make on the Batplane dashboard

“My balloons. Those are my balloons! He stole my balloons!” Iconic.

Hahaha he [Joker] used Bob the Goon as a step stool off the parade float!

*The Batplane pauses in front of the moon* Eeeeyyy!!

*Joker pulls out the gun with the really long muzzle out of the front of his pants* No comment

Again, why is Vicki Vale dressed like she’s either getting ready to get married or go to a wedding?

“Better make it ten [minutes].” What makes this awesome is that ten minutes actually goes by both in-universe time and movie run time. My dad actually timed it the first time I watched this with him.

Mad respect to Tim Burton for the aesthetic in this movie, I gotta say

The eyebrows on Batman’s cowl strangely match Michael Keaton’s. Was this intentional?

*Joker “dances” with Vicki* Now see the last time I recall Joker dancing with somebody was the 5 second long Alex Ross scene with Harley Quinn in “Suicide Squad”

Unpopular opinion time: I like Jared Leto’s Joker better than Jack Nicholson’s Joker *gets bombarded with hate mail and darts*

Eugghhhh Vicki’s pulling a freaking Jasmine from “Aladdin”

“You wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses now, would ya?” Cue Wreck-It-Ralph

How the hell did Joker pull Batman and Vicki off the roof like that?

Oh my gosh that 80s falling effect

Yeah no, from that drop, the Joker’s body would be a freaking mess

“The reign of crime [in Gotham City] is over.” BWAHAHAHAHAHA

Oh hi Billy Dee Williams!

You know what would be awesome: if Kim Basinger had a cameo somewhere in the Batman solo movie directed by Ben Affleck. Just saying

Yoooo....

#batman #1989 batman #jack nicholson #Michael Keaton #billy dee williams #danny elfman #vicki vale #joker #commissioner gordon #kim basinger #the blogger reacts #bruce wayne #prince #Tim Burton #jared leto

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hysterialevi · 7 years

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In the Smoke pt. 27 (Cobblebats)

From Bruce’s POV

Relaxing in Cobblepot Park, Oz and I sat away from the rest of the people there, enjoying our solitude together as we watched the sun lower in the sky. We had both just finished a tiring day at school, what with the bullies and all, and decided to take refuge in our favorite hang-out area while Oz nursed the new wound on the bridge of his nose.

“Are you okay?” I asked Oz. He nodded, wiping a trickle of blood off with his tissue.

“I’m fine.” He didn’t sound like he meant it, but I went along with it.

“We’ve gotta do something about these bullies, Oz. We can’t just let them keep bothering you. It’s only gonna get worse if we sit here and do nothing.”

Oz sniffed, crumpling the tissue in his hands. “And what can we do, Bruce? Hm? Tell me. You’ve seen them. They’re twice my size, and there’s like, five of them. I mean, I’ve thrown my fair share of punches in the past, but not even I can handle a fight like that. And the school sure as hell isn’t helping. I’m trapped.”

I took the tissue from Oz, gently dabbing the blood off his face. “Then find a way out.”

For a while, the two of us sat in silence and simply enjoyed the view in front of us as Oz thought about what I just said, biting his lip in concentration. He looked up at me.

“...Let’s run away, Bruce,” Oz said, swinging his legs back and forth as we relaxed on top of a brick wall.

I paused for a second. “Wait, what?”

He grinned. “You heard me. Let’s leave Gotham, and never come back. Let’s go. Right now.”

I honestly couldn’t tell if he was being serious or just playing around.

Resting my elbows on my knees, I gazed at the sunset in the distance, pondering the suggestion as a cluster of leaves flew by with a gust of wind.

“We’re just kids, Oz,” I replied. “As much as I wanna get out of here, I don’t know if we could.”

Oz let out a sigh. “Well, we’re never gonna find out if we don’t try, are we?”

I turned towards him. “You seriously wanna leave?”

His playful mood switched off, and the grin on his face turned into a frown. “Yes. Forever. This city’s done nothing but ruin my life. Mum’s stuck in Arkham, Dad’s drowning himself in whiskey, we’re about to lose our home, and I’m sick of those bullies at school. There’s no reason for me to stay.”

Oz scooted closer to me, lowering his voice. “You’re all I’ve got left, Bruce. I don’t want Gotham to take you away too. So let’s leave before that happens.”

I thought about it for a while as Oz eagerly stared at me, waiting for an answer.

“Let’s do it.”

“What?”

Springing my eyes open, I found myself back at home, lying in bed safe and sound. Most of the bedroom had been shrouded in darkness, and the moonlight outside did little to get rid of it, but with the help of a nearby fireplace, a cozy, orange glow kissed the walls and floor, warming the place up perfectly. How did I get here?

Twisting underneath the blankets, I spotted an exhausted Oz sitting by my side, his eyes glued onto me in confusion.

“...what?” I asked. He blinked, dumbfounded.

“You said ‘let’s do it.’ ...What are we doin’?”

I brought myself up to a sitting position, dragging a hand through my hair.

“Oh, sorry. I was just having a dream.” I smiled at him. “It was about you, actually.”

Oz chuckled. “Yeah, most of ‘em will be from now on. I tend to leave a mark on people.” He put on his “flirt” face. “What was goin’ on in your dream? Were you fantasizing about how charming I am? How irresistible my devilishly good looks are?”

I stared at him. “You were ten.”

He thought for a second. “...as in...a ten outta ten?”

I threw one of the pillows at his face. “You’re impossible.”

He let out a laugh, holding onto the pillow. “That’s why you love me.”

“Among many other reasons.”

After a moment of falling into silence, Oz suddenly closed the distance between us and brought a hand up to my cheek, almost pressing his forehead against mine.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Bruce. ...When Gideon shot you earlier, I thought...I thought you had been...killed. It...sort of scared the livin’ shit outta me.”

I gave him a puzzled look. “Wait, what? Gideon shot me? When?”

“You don’t remember? When you was talking to Harvey.”

I pushed Oz’s hand down, a sense of concern growing in me. “You mean...on the rooftop? What was...what was Gideon doing there? I thought I only brought you along.”

The pieces clicked in my head.

“Wait a minute. You...were after Harvey, weren’t you...? You used me to get close to him; to distract him--and Gideon was supposed to be the killing blow.”

Oz was speechless. That could’ve only meant one thing. I was right.

“Are you fucking serious, Oz?” I snapped. My outburst caught him by surprise. “Even after everything we’ve been through, you’re still helping those piece of shit Children of Arkham? And Harvey? I know the man’s done some fucked up things, but killing him isn’t the answer.” I slid a hand down my face. “I guess what you said was right, about some men never changing. I thought I was finally getting through to you. Evidently, I was wrong.”

Pushing him away, I shook my head in disapproval and stood up from the bed, only to keel over at a sudden pain searing through my abdomen.

“Hey, hey,” Oz rushed to keep me from falling, “easy, love. Gideon may have missed your head, but he still got you pretty good. And I know you don’t like sitting still, but I’ve gotta keep an eye on you ‘till you’re feelin’ better.”

A little reluctant to let Oz help me, I plopped back down on the bed. “How did you even get in here, anyway? How did I get here?”

“Your dad jumped in,” he explained. “Took down Harvey’s men before they could kill me. We’ve...agreed to call a temporary truce. For your sake. He’s asked me to watch over you while he deals with Dent.”

I guessed that was something. “Nice to know I have to get shot if I want you guys to get along.”

Oz hesitantly reached for my hand. I didn’t pull back.

“Bruce...I’m sorry. I know I’ve said that a million times before, and it probably don’t mean much to you anymore, but I’m being serious now.”

I gave him a “go on” look. He took a breath.

“I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you, or gone after Harvey like that. I can see now that the Children of Arkham are just plain terrorists. I...” Oz stared at me for a moment, furrowing his brow in guilt, “...I owe it to you to be a better person. I just don’t know how.”

Tightening my grip on Oz’s hand, I leaned forward a bit.

“You’ve always been a good man, Oz, if a pain in the ass. I could see it even when we were just kids. You were just led down the wrong path.”

Oz scoffed. “And what’s the ‘right’ path, exactly?”

“You’re looking at the man who murdered Gotham’s previous mayor. Do you really think I know?” I sighed. “Truth is, I haven’t found it yet either.”

A smirk grew on my face, and I gently grabbed Oz’s chin. “...But I’ve got the strangest feeling it’s somewhere with you.”

Smiling back at me, Oz chuckled softly. “Not sure if I’m the best influence,” he got closer, “but I won’t stop you.”

Before I knew it, Oz had wrapped his arms around me and pressed his lips against mine, practically entwining the two of us as I remained in place, lightly stroking the side of his arm.

Neither of us said a single word and only savored the moment, melting into each other’s embrace as the night carried on without us, and our worries vanished for just a second. To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure what to do, and without Oz leading me, I probably would’ve been as still as a statue. This was the first time I’d ever been in a position like this, and with every passing minute, my thoughts only became more tangled.

Without even realizing it, I slowly started to lift the hem of Oz’s shirt up, sliding my hand underneath and allowing it to roam for a while when, suddenly, he broke the kiss.

I quickly retreated my hand, afraid that I had gone too far.

“Erm--is...is everything okay, Oz?” I asked, a little embarrassed. Oz shook his head.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I just...” he gestured to my wound, “...are you sure you’re up for this? You’re not exactly in a...good condition.”

I glanced down at the slightly stained bandages. “I’ll be all right. Don’t worry about me.”

“If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

I put a hand on each side of Oz’s face. “I’m okay. I promise.”

Playfully rolling his eyes, Oz finally let the subject go with a grin and resumed the kiss, gradually pushing me down towards the bed’s mattress as more and more of our clothes mysteriously ended up on the floor. And despite all my reassurances, I could tell he was still being extra careful with me, worried that I’d fall apart if he held me too tightly.

Pausing for a second, Oz glanced down at me from above, practically levitating himself so that he wouldn’t touch my wounds.

“You sure you’re all right with this?” He checked. I let out a quiet laugh and only pulled him closer, loosely locking my arms around his neck.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Now shut up and kiss me, dammit.”

He chuckled, tenderly looking me in the eye. “Love you too, Bruce.”

I snuggled my head in his bare chest, holding on as if my life depended on it. I let out a content sigh.

“Love you more.”

#cobblebats #batman telltale #bruce wayne #oswald cobblepot #harvey dent #fanfic #story

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hysterialevi · 7 years

Text

In the Smoke pt. 16 (Cobblebats)

From Bruce’s POV

THE NEXT MORNING

Waking up to the sound of birds chirping, I found myself bundled up in a tangle of blankets as I rubbed my eyes, blearily gazing around the dim room. It was only eight in the morning, and judging by the empty, cold spot next to me, Oz had taken his leave while I was asleep. I wasn’t surprised, exactly, but I had to admit that I was still a little disappointed.

And to be honest, Oz seemed a lot more...different...last night. I didn’t know if just dreamt the whole thing, or if it actually happened, but something about him was significantly more caring than usual. Like he was truly concerned for my safety. It wasn’t very often that I got to see his more human side, and the fact that he so openly showed it to me made me think something bad occurred. Well, whatever it was, I just hoped that Oz was all right.

Dragging myself out of bed, I trudged over to the wardrobe and pulled out the first shirt I grabbed before sluggishly making my way downstairs, the sound of the TV quietly breaking the silence. It was a cold and crisp morning, and after getting some well-needed rest, I felt much better compared to yesterday, even though some minor symptoms of the drug lingered.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I saw no sign of my father or Alfred--and actually--it looked rather empty in the manor at the moment. There was no light in the slim gap underneath the door to my father’s office, and I didn’t hear any other voices besides the ones coming from the TV. I guessed no one was home.

Well, maybe not no one.

Entering the living room, I found a man relaxing in the plush couch as he watched the TV, holding an all-too-familiar silver pistol in his hand.

“...Oz?” I called out. His head snapped towards me.

“Ah,” Oz stood up from his seat, placing the pistol on the coffee table, “g’morning, sleeping beauty.”

“You stayed.” I happily said, earning a somewhat bashful smile from him.

“Not for the whole night,” he quickly replied, almost like he didn’t want to admit that he was being kind for once. “I left for a second to see Lady Arkham after you fell asleep, but, uh...yeah. I came back. Didn’t want you to wake up alone, and all that.”

I looked around the manor. “What about my dad? And Alfred? They didn’t see you?”

He shrugged. “No one was here to see me when I returned. Though, I did overhear your dad talkin’ on the phone with someone before he left. Somethin’ to do with Falcone. Maybe they went to see him.”

I crossed my arms, scowling slightly. “He would, wouldn’t he? Even after telling me he wants to help this city.”

Oz solemnly brought his eyes to the family portrait. “And even after what happened with your mum, too.” He let out a sigh. “Some men never change, Bruce. No matter what. They just live out the rest of their lives as the same person, doing the same things, around the same people. Those men are dangerous.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. My father’s living proof of that. So are his ‘colleagues.”

Oz walked closer to me, holding my hand. “Well, they won’t be living proof for long. Lady Arkham’s told me that she has a new job for you. Something a lot bigger than what you did at the debate.”

I scoffed playfully. “You mean bigger than murdering Gotham’s mayor?”

Oz leaned in, grinning mischievously. “Better, too. You’re gonna help me take down Falcone. For good. I’ll give you the details later, back at HQ. Lady Arkham wants to discuss the plan personally with us. For now, let’s just enjoy the peace and quiet while we still can--”

As if on queue, the doorbell suddenly rang, causing Oz’s expression to flatten. I chuckled.

“You were saying?”

He gestured to a nearby hallway, starting to wander off. “I’ll be hiding there. You go on and greet your guest.”

Once Oz was completely out of sight, I hurried over to the front door, taking a second to straighten my shirt and wake up a bit before opening it, only to find the last person I wanted to see at the moment.

Harvey.

Shit. I mentally groaned. Why now? Out of all times to visit, why now?

“Harvey?” I said out of surprise, putting on my best fake smile.

The mayor was out of his typical, formal attire today, and wore a casual sweater instead, holding a small, paper bag in his hand along with a cup of coffee in the other.

“Hey,” Harvey replied shyly, blushing. “I--I brought breakfast. Can I come in?”

I worriedly glanced over my shoulder at Oz’s hiding spot.

“I, ah...don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“Just for a minute,” he gently persisted. “I really need to talk to you. If you still want me to go, I’ll go. But I just have to get this out.”

I mindlessly bit my lip nervously, hesitantly letting Harvey inside. “...s-sure. Erm, thanks for the breakfast.”

“No problem,” Harvey placed the bag on the dining table. “It’s the least I could do for you.”

Purposely standing in front of the hallway Oz was hiding in, I tried to keep Harvey distracted.

“So um, what did you want to talk about?”

He exhaled tiredly. “Nothing too particular, actually. I’ve just been a bit...stressed out recently. Needed to see a friendly face, you know?” Harvey frowned a little. “I’ve also been a tad paranoid about...you.”

I quirked a brow. “Me?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of stupid, to be honest, but I guess I’m just worried that this,” Harvey gestured to his face, “might scare you off.”

I titled my head slightly, giving him an empathetic look. “I’m not gonna leave you because of one, little burn, Harv.”

He laughed softly. “It’s not really ‘little,’ but I still appreciate the thought--”

The man abruptly paused mid-sentence, his eyes gradually widening with every second as he stared behind me, frozen.

“Uh, Harvey?” I checked, dumbfounded. “You...you okay?”

He held out a shaky hand, pointing at the coffee table as I followed his line of sight. He was looking at Oz’s pistol.

“T-that gun,” Harvey breathed out. “I...I recognize it. I saw it at the debate. It belongs to Penguin!” He flicked his eyes back to me, bewildered. “Why do you have Penguin’s gun, Bruce? What is it doing here? Is he around!?”

Harvey’s more paranoid side jumped out again, just like when I spoke with him at City Hall, and he began pacing around the living room in fear, holding his head in his hands.

“No no no, no,” he rambled frantically, “not again, not again. Oh god, not again.”

I cautiously approached him, carefully laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Harvey, it’s all right,” I reassured. “You’re safe--”

“--Safe!?” He suddenly roared at me, his voice much lower and raspier than before. “I’m not an idiot, Wayne. Not like Harvey. I know Penguin’s here! And no one’s safe when he’s around! Where is that masked lunatic!? Tell me! I’ll rip him to shreds!”

“Harvey,” I repeated, “you need to calm--”

He violently snatched me by the collar, yanking me towards him until our faces were mere inches apart.

“TELL ME!”

“Hey!” Oz aggressively called out from the hallway, emerging from his hiding spot as he joined the scene. “Get your hands off him.”

Practically throwing me to the floor, Harvey averted all his attention to Oz as if I weren’t even there, smiling maniacally.

“Ah, and there he is,” Harvey began to prowl towards him. “Oswald. Cobblepot. The notorious Penguin. I should’ve known it was you. It all makes sense now. You’re going to suffer for everything you’ve done.”

Oz stood his ground. “You’d better get outta here, Dent,” he warned. “And fast.”

“Or what?” Harvey fired back. “Harvey won’t be pushed around anymore. No, he’s gonna make them pay! Everyone who thought they could hurt him and get away with it! Starting. With. You.”

I quickly got back on my feet, grabbing the bigger man by the arm in an attempt to restrain him.

“Harvey, don’t!”

Out of reflex, he carelessly swatted me away, slamming his fist directly into my face as blood trickled down my nose. That seemed to snap him out of it for a second.

“Bruce!” He apologetically exclaimed, digging his fingers into his hair. “I’m...I-I’m sorry.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped.

“Up until now, Harvey’s been weak,” he growled, falling back into insanity. “He’s been afraid.” Removing the prosthetic, he revealed the horrific burn behind it as Oz let out a gasp.

“Holy shit.” He whispered.

“This...this is the monster they all know that you are,” Harvey continued scolding himself as he circled around the room, stopping at the family portrait. “Embrace it!” He threw a punch at the painting, shattering the frame’s glass.

“No, no!” Harvey hissed, tearing himself away from the damage he’d just dealt as he turned to me and Oz. “Oh, god. This is what you wanted to see, isn’t it, huh? The freak!”

“Harvey...” I said sorrowfully, unsure of what else to do.

Before Oz or I could react however, Harvey had torn the portrait off the wall with an enraged shout and hurled it towards Oz, fortunately missing him but harming the frame even further.

“Jesus, Harvey!” I yelped, frightened at the vicious change in his personality. All traces of his original self had all but disappeared, and right now, it seemed like there was no breaking him out of this psychotic episode. He slipped out a coin from his pocket.

“Of course, gotta be fair about this,” Harvey snarled, twirling it between his fingers. “Can’t play favorites. They both deserve it. One way or another. How about we flip for it?”

I shook my head. “This isn’t funny!”

“No...” he ignored, “no...it really isn’t.” Tossing the coin into the air, a wicked smile came to his wretched face once he saw the result.

“Bruce,” Harvey announced. “Looks like you’re first!”

Like an angry bull, he suddenly charged towards me with a ferocity I’d never seen, letting out a madman’s yell as I stayed paralyzed in place like a deer in headlights, unable to move.

Before Harvey could even touch me though, Oz had already thrown himself in front of the mayor and tackled him onto a nearby table, restraining him with a surprising amount of ease.

“Always getting in the middle of things...!” Harvey taunted, forcefully shoving Oz off as he returned his attention to me and prepared to attack.

Hastily grabbing the closest object, I held it defensively at him, backing away slowly.

“Stay the hell away from me!” I shouted. He closed the distance between us, his shadow towering over mine.

“The call’s already been made!”

Once again, Oz intervened and pulled Harvey backwards, only to receive a fist to the face. As a result, the mayor wagged his head as if he were trying to shake the voices out, coming back to reality for a moment.

“No...! I...I don’t want to hurt you...this isn’t...!” He wandered into the kitchen, resting his hands on a counter for a second as he eyeballed a steak knife, eventually picking it up.

“Harvey, put the knife down!” I exclaimed, but to no avail. He turned around, raising the weapon with a devilish grin. Oz protectively bolted in front of me.

“Bruce!”

Switching back to his other side, a pang of realization hit Harvey as he buried his face in his hands, staring at the knife with uncertainty until he flung it into a wall, almost tearing his own hair out.

“He’s gonna hurt someone!” Oz said to me. “You know we can take him out.” He glared at the mayor. “Have you lost your bloody mind!?”

Even though I knew it was a risky decision, I voted against fighting Harvey and attempted to take a more gentle approach, my heart thumping in my chest as I tried to bring his temper down.

“Harvey,” I looked him directly in the eye. “You need. To calm down!”

“What are you doing?” Oz blurted out.

Unfortunately, my attempt failed, and Harvey simply continued his rampage, staring at me with dagger eyes and clenching his fists. “No going back now.”

He threw a number of punches at me, his knuckles just barely missing my face as I stepped away from him, trying to avoid the attacks.

“C’mon, Harvey! That’s enough!”

Completely disregarding me, the mayor heavily lurched at me again, causing both me and Oz to leap out of the way as he collapsed onto the table, awkwardly splitting it in half under his weight. He didn’t get back up.

For a while, Oz and I just stood there in shock, gaping at the wreckage around us and at the man who caused it all, both of us at a loss for words while Harvey remained on the floor.

“Oh...god...” the mayor finally said, sniffling. He gazed up at me in desperation, tears flooding his eyes. “...please,” he begged. “I don’t wanna be alone, Bruce.” Harvey fell to my feet, sobbing uncontrollably. “Please, not with him...! I can’t...oh, god, I can’t listen to him!”

Exchanging looks with Oz, I tentatively knelt beside Harvey, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not alone. I’m right here. Okay?”

“I am. I am...I am...” He got up from the floor, heading for the front door in defeat. “My fault. All my fault.”

“Harvey, don’t.” I tried to block him, only to be pushed away.

“Bruce,” Oz said as the mayor skulked off, “I--I don’t think we can help him. Not on our own. He needs a professional.”

“He’s my friend, Oz. I won’t abandon him.”

Harvey opened the door, glancing back at me. “It’s okay, Bruce...I’ll go...I don’t deserve your help. Or your love.”

His voice returned to a growl. “...Go off with your tail between your legs.” His eyes widened at the abrupt change. “I’m sorry...”, Harvey cried, “I’m so sorry.”

“Harvey!” I called after him, but he was already gone.

Standing in the middle of the broken living room, my eyes fell to the floor in despondency as Oz caressed the side of my arm, wiping the blood from my face.

“You all right, Bruce?”

I gulped, afraid that if I uttered even one word, I would burst into tears.

“I don’t wanna turn into that, Oz.” I whimpered, staring at my blue veins. “I don’t wanna become like that. But it’s gonna happen anyways, isn’t it? I’m gonna go crazy. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Without saying a word, Oz pulled me into a tight embrace, never letting go.

“You’re a good man, Bruce. Good just like your mum was. And no matter how much the drug damages you, I won’t forget that. Your descent into madness may be inevitable, but we still have time to make things right before that happens.”

Looking up at Oz, my sorrow slowly grew into a hungry desire for vengeance, wanting to destroy everything my father had built over the years and everything he created, including that goddamned drug. It had harmed enough people already, including Esther, Harvey, and even myself. It was high time he got a taste of his own medicine, and I was more than happy to be the one to deliver it.

“Then let’s get to work,” I said. “Falcone won’t live to see the end of this week. Whether he’s ready or not.”

#cobblebats #batman telltale #bruce wayne #oswald cobblepot #harvey dent #fanfic #story

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hysterialevi · 7 years

Text

In the Smoke pt. 10 (Cobblebats)

From Thomas’ POV

Sneaking through the auditorium, my drones quietly followed alongside me, hovering in the shadows as the debate carried on. So far, there had been no sign of Penguin or his men, and things were relatively peaceful, but I knew that wouldn’t last long. This debate was just a time bomb waiting to go off, and if I didn’t find Penguin before then, both Hill and Dent were dead.

Hopping from one beam to another, I suddenly caught the thick stench of blood and gunpowder, a sense of caution starting to grow in me. Looking down to find the source of the morbid odor, I spotted a grotesque pile of corpses lying in a room, and it was surrounded by a group of unfamiliar men. It didn’t take too much effort to recognize the GCPD uniform adorning the bodies, but I had no idea who the others were. Most-likely, they belonged to Penguin. Shit.

Activating my earpiece, I switched the line over to Gordon.

“Gordon,” I whispered, “I found one of your patrols. They’re dead. They’ve been killed by who I assume to be Penguin’s men.”

The lieutenant cursed. “Christ. That explains why they haven’t been responding. What about Penguin? Have you seen him anywhere?”

“Not yet. Though, I bet if I could get a hold on one of his men, I might be able to pull some info out of them.”

Gordon sighed. “I guess we’ve got no other choice at this point, do we? It’s clear that neither Hill nor Dent are leaving the debate anytime soon, and we don’t have long until Penguin decides to blow this place off the map. All right. Do what you gotta do. I’ll continue to keep watch on the perimeter--make sure no one tries to sneak in. Keep me updated, would you?”

“You’ll be the first to know if anything--”

“So sorry, ladies and gents,” out of nowhere, a boisterous voice on the TV interrupted me, causing me to snap my head towards the screen. I could see Penguin waltzing onto the stage, strutting like he didn’t have a care in the world as he approached the center. “As you might’ve guessed, there’s been a change to tonight’s program.”

Penguin stopped in his tracks, aiming a gun at the moderator. “First order of business--” a violent splash of blood sprayed from the back of the man’s head with a loud bang as he collapsed to the floor, and a choir of screams emitted from the crowd, “--firing the moderator!”

“Batman?” Gordon checked, “you still there? What’s going on?”

“It’s Penguin--” I hastily replied, “he’s just killed the moderator.”

“What!? Goddammit. We gotta get in there. Now. Do whatever you can to keep the people safe. My men and I will be there as soon as possible.”

“Understood.” I switched over to Alfred.

“Alfred, Penguin’s just begun his attack on the debate. I need you to pilot the drones while I deal with his men.”

“Of course, sir. Whenever you’re ready.”

Taking out a smoke grenade, I tossed the weapon into the room below and clouded up the air while Penguin’s men darted around in confusion, giving me the chance to leap down and deal with them up-close. I hurled a number of Batarangs in every direction, and used the grapple-gun to slingshot furniture directly into them, slamming them against the walls as they fired random bullets out of panic.

Dodging their reckless attacks, I bulldozed towards them and threw a flurry of punches, knocking them out one by one as quickly as I could while Penguin continued to terrorize the debate, parading around the stage like it was a damn play.

Once the smoke finally cleared up, I saw one of Penguin’s men weakly dragging himself across the floor in an attempt to reach his walkie-talkie, extending a wobbly arm out. Before he could get any closer though, I simply stomped my foot on his neck and applied just enough pressure to send him into unconsciousness, leaving me alone in the room.

“We need a new moderator,” Penguin announced, stepping off to the side to find a ‘volunteer.’ “You there! You’ll do!”

At first, I wasn’t incredibly concerned about what Penguin was doing at the moment, and focused all my attention on my current task, but when I saw who he had brought with him on stage, my heart nearly leapt out of my chest.

Being manhandled around and held at gunpoint by Penguin, was none other than my son, Bruce. He looked like hell, and judging by the multiple bruises on his skin, it was obvious that he had been beaten to some extent before the debate.

Clenching my fists, I felt a surge of anger flash through me and I almost tried to jump through the TV screen just so that I could strangle Penguin for what he did. He was going to regret targeting my son, and if I had any say in it, he was never going to do it again.

On the bright side though, at least I knew that Bruce was still alive. That meant tonight was my only chance to save him, and I’d be damned if I didn’t take it.

From Bruce’s POV

Oz shoved me towards the front of the stage with an iron grip, making sure that everyone could see me--especially Harvey--and at some points, it almost felt like he forgot we were just acting. I didn’t know what Oz’s plans with Harvey were, but just by glancing over at the man, I could tell that he was about to start flipping tables while Hill was just frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

“Go on, then--” Oz gave me a little nudge, “--introduce the candidates!”

I said nothing in return, just like he told me to do earlier, and kept my mouth shut as everyone nailed their gazes onto me, waiting to see what he had planned next.

Oz leaned in so close that he was right next to my ear, his breath tickling my neck.

“Stage fright, huh? All right, I’ll get you started...but this is your show.”

He flamboyantly gestured over to Hill with insincere excitement, dragging me along with him. “On the left--hard of heart, soft in the gut--our down and dirty incumbent, Mayor Hill! And on the right--always smiling to your face--our despicable DA, Harvey Dent!”

To my surprise, before Oz could continue, Harvey spoke up.

“...bird...mask...guy,” he blurted out awkwardly, “...whatever your name is--”

This man is the District Attorney, I told myself. This is the man running for mayor.

Oz almost lost it right there, but regained his composure. “Call me Penguin.”

“Yes, of course,” Harvey complied. “Penguin then. We will play your game--just, please,” he looked over at me with an amount of care I’d never seen in anyone else other than my own parents, “let these people go.”

I could practically feel Oz smiling under his mask,. “Oh, I wish it were that easy, Dent. But, you see, this city’s got a real problem when it comes to tellin’ the truth. Lie after lie, those at the top of Gotham only get worse with each passing year, and its citizens are still blind to the hypocrisy, but not anymore.”

Oz took out a syringe of the same blue chemical we saw in the footage with his mother and pointed it directly at my neck, the needle just kissing my skin.

“I’m giving you one chance, Wayne. Tell everyone the truth about what your family’s done--what you father’s done--and why you’re really so bloody powerful. Do this, and I might just let you go.”

I did my best to look frightened, and the audience actually seemed to buy it. Our plan was working.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stuttered. “My father’s done nothing.”

He threw a light punch to my stomach, but it was enough to make me cough. Oz was definitely stronger than he looked.

“This,” he exclaimed, “is why Gotham’s so full of corruption! Because no one’s brave enough to spill the truth. Too damn worried about protecting their own reputation.” He flicked the side of the syringe. “Sorry, mate, but it looks like I’m gonna have to force it outta you.”

Oz pushed my head slightly so that he could access my neck easier, and prepared to stick me with the insane drug, until Harvey nearly threw himself over the podium, interrupting the procedure.

“Wait!” He reached an arm out.

Judging by Oz’s reaction, this was exactly what he had in mind. “Ah, got somethin’ to say, Dent?”

Harvey cautiously inched his way to us, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Please,” he begged, “don’t...don’t hurt him. If you must take someone, then take me.”

Wait. I paused. This was not a part of the plan. No one ever said anything about drugging Harvey--or at least, they didn’t to me. I glanced back at Oz in bewilderment, silently asking for an explanation from my “captor,” only to be ignored as he pushed me off to the side.

“Your compassion will be the end of you, Dent.” Oz said.

Harvey lowered his head in shame. “...I know.” But he wasn’t done yet.

Striding across the stage and over to me, all of us observed his next movements in heightened curiosity as he warmly approached me, leaving only mere centimeters between us. Harvey gently grabbed my hand and began stroking my cheek with the other, rendering me all but immobile. What the hell was he doing?

“...I can’t believe it’s taken this for me to say it,” Harvey whispered in a mixture of sorrow and regret, “but...I love you, Bruce.”

It didn’t look like anyone else was able to hear what he just said, but the news hit me like a truck of guilt. Here I was, taking advantage of one of my closest friends, and luring him into a trap that was most-likely going to kill him, and he just admitted to loving me. What kind of monster was I?

Even after Harvey let go of my hand, I remained motionless and wide-eyed, blinking in shock as the other man allowed Oz to dose him with the drug.

“...no,” I shook my head at Oz, no longer okay with where this was going, “wait--”

Before I could object any further, Roland wasted no time in pulling me off the stage and restraining me with nothing but his own, raw strength. For a moment, I tried to struggle out of his insane grasp, only to have my arms bent in painful directions as a warning.

Having no intentions to get injured, I stayed confined in Roland’s hold, helplessly watching as Oz jabbed the needle into Harvey’s flesh, causing his veins to transform into an aggressive blue and his body to start twitching. What had I done to him?

Just then, the doors to the auditorium blasted open, revealing a line of police officers in the entryway with Gordon in the middle. The other Children of Arkham immediately went to work and started attacking them, a storm of bullets bolting through the air as civilians scurried around in panic, all hell breaking loose within the span of a few seconds. And as if things weren’t chaotic enough already, Batman himself suddenly jumped into the scene as well, swatting our men away like they were flies.

Overwhelmed by the hectic turn of events, I sat off to the side of stage, paralyzed in place even though Roland had released me long ago, watching the hurricane unfold, until a familiar scream reached my ears.

Whipping around, I saw Harvey lying defenselessly on the wooden floor with Oz towering above him, about to smash a detached, searing-hot spotlight directly onto his face. Breaking out of my stupor-like state, I hopped up from my position and began sprinting towards the two of them in hopes of preventing what was about to be a horrible accident--that was--until I was yanked downwards by an unknown assailant, and practically engraved into the floor beneath me.

Straddling me in order to keep me from escaping, Hill locked me in place with his own weight, and snatched the syringe Oz had used earlier, staring at the small amount of liquid that still remained in the tube.

“He’ll kill both of us if one of us doesn’t tell the truth!” Hill babbled in a frantic tone. “I’m sorry, Bruce. This has to be done.”

Not even having the time to resist, a prick of pain abruptly stung my arm, and my vision started to blur with a blue tint as the world around me spun in a slow, disorienting manner, Hill’s figure duplicating in front of me.

I had no idea what was happening or where Oz had gone, but all the noise in the auditorium had blended into a frenzied, echoing mess, and an uncontrollable spark of rage began to ignite inside me.

“...Bruce...?” Hill’s voice bounced off the walls of my skull like a bell.

Without even meaning to, I grabbed at the man’s neck with a level of strength I didn’t know I contained and hurled him under me, switching our positions.

“You,” I growled in almost an inhuman tone as I gripped his collar, “you killed my mother...!” I slammed the back of his head into the floor. I could hardly recognize myself. “You took her away from me!” Another slam. “You’re a murderer...and you’re going to pay...!”

As if my body had a mind of its own, I found myself throwing punch after punch at Hill, unable to stop as my knuckles only got more bruised and bloody, the mayor gaping at me with terror in his eyes, his life draining from them.

No, I mentally shouted at myself, what are you doing!? Stop!

Despite all my attempts to resist it, I kept on beating the fallen politician and only continued to ravage the swollen pulp that was once his face, hammering his head into nothing but a red mush.

Stop, I yelled once again.

I couldn’t.

Stop!

I could hear the voices of other people trying to pull me off, including Gordon and my own father, screaming at me in desperation, but to no avail.

STOP!

Suddenly, my vision started to darken, and I felt myself weakening with every passing moment, my body finally giving in to the drug as I collapsed into unconsciousness, and the world turned black.

#cobblebats #batman telltale #bruce wayne #oswald cobblepot #harvey dent #fanfic #story

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