a question of ownership

[bossymarmalade]

Bruce zetas aboard the Watchtower, and steps off the pad, looking around. The summer heat has taken it’s toll on Bruce—in the past few weeks, the suits—civilian and otherwise—the sweating.. he’s down at least ten pounds, maybe more. The armor shifts as he walks out of the transport bay and towards his personal quarters, transecting the satellite. He stops, moving towards the cafeteria, entering through the doors marked, clearly: EXIT.

Ollie comes out of the kitchen as Bruce enters in his usual manner; he’d been craving a fried egg and bologna sandwich and didn’t trust the kitchen staff, a group of perplexed aliens, to make it the way he wanted it. The plate’s teetering in his fingers when he comes through the swinging doors, and it’s only through fast reflexes that Ollie doesn’t drop it as he swerves to avoid Bruce. “Jesus,” he grunts, and manages to get through “look where you’re—” before he recalls the last conversation they’d had and stops, awkwardly.

Bruce reaches out to still Ollie—it’s instinct now, seeing the ruffled mess of blond hair, floating around his head—eyes moving to the plate he’s holding. He drops his hands, and nods, murmuring: “Watching.” He moves his hands out, placing them against the door, and still them, before shifting over towards the coffee maker, not out of Ollie’s sight. Not just yet.

Ollie grinds his teeth together for a while, staring at Bruce, and then looks down at his plate and the still-warm sandwiches. Sighing, he moves over to the coffee area, holding the plate out. “Take one,” he orders, gruffly. “You look like you need it.”

Bruce glances at the sandwiches and up at Oliver. He’s in the suit, the cowl, but still attempts to soften the lines of his mouth when he declines: “Too rough to digest,” he states, and then adds. “Thanks.” He turns back towards the machine, setting about cleaning it as he looks around at the cafeteria again.

Ollie can’t, on top of everything else, help but feel a little rejected by this no matter how much he tries to tell himself that it’s not that big a deal. “Fine,” he says after a while, and gets a cup of coffee for himself from the other machine, fixing it before retrieving his plate. It’s that kind of shit, where every little thing seems excruciatingly important. “See you around,” he says as he heads off towards the tables.

Bruce asks, at Ollie’s retreating back. “Alright?”

Ollie pauses, turns. “What? What all right?”

Bruce looks at him. “You. Alright?”



Ollie has never been good at lying, even when he chooses to do it on purpose, maliciously. This isn’t that. But it’s still not the truth when he meets Bruce’s eyes, says levelly and in a calm voice, “I’m fine. I’m working, I have things to do, I’m fine.”

Bruce keeps his gaze, and does not allow his vision to falter. He takes in Ollie’s expression, the color of his cheeks and skin, the depth of the lines around the edges of his eyes, the state of his mouth, his lips. Bruce lingers there, unblinking, his own countenance calm.

Ollie stays still for as long as he can manage before impatiently snapping, “/What/.” Much longer and he’s gonna start fraying, he can feel it, and he’s been putting a lot of energy into keeping things together and functioning without Bruce and Kate, too much to have any to spare.

"I’m sorry."

Ollie takes a breath. “Yeah,” he says, squashing down his instinctive response to open up to the apology. “You said that before, when you were telling me how much I’d insulted you.”

Bruce nods. “I’m sorry for that, too.” He moves back, towards the coffee maker, because the cleaning cycle had finished.. His motions are methodical, without thought.

the joker jumps up and down on the balls of his feet, as he emerges from the underground subway station, flanked by a woman on his left—Harley, no doubt, from the pink laced high-tops—and three men on his left. He lowers the hood of his jacket and takes in a deep breath, his smile crackling across his face. “Smell that, lady and gentleworms? The smell of PROGRESS! Of industry! Ayn Randian-orgasms slathered and mixed into concrete and asphalt and.. justice!” He guffaws at this last point, and looks at the three men, easily twice as tall as he is, triple his weight—in each—and his grin glints in the light. “..go make things interesting, boys.”

Ollie puts down his cooling sandwiches and coffee, reaching out to touch Bruce’s shoulder. “Bruce,” he says. “Stop that. Come talk to me, if we’re gonna talk.”


Bruce sets down the coffee mug he had been using to filter the water through, at the feeling of Ollie’s fingers against his shoulder. His lashes flutter, his lids lowering just a touch and he exhales, turning to look at Ollie. “Yes, Ollie?”

Ollie rubs his thumb along Bruce’s sleeve, where he’s just barely keeping physical contact. “Do you understand?” he asks, voice quiet but urgent, a desperate hope making his eyes dark. “Do you understand how much that hurt me, Bruce. To hear that from /you/, after everything we’ve shared and what we mean to each other.”

the joker leans against Harley as the men move out, down the street in front of them as they stroll, the financial district of Gotham still awake at this time of night but not so much that anyone stops to look at the hooded man—he is lithe to the point of being waifish, Harley’s curves and dimples of flesh only serving to accentuate this fact—as he ambles down the sidewalk. “It’s not raining. It should be raining.”

Harley giggles. “We can make it rain, if you want, puddin’.” the joker ignores her and whistles sharply at the men. “Hurry it up, hurry it up, hurry it up.”

Jason glares up at the light polluted Gotham sky, smoke from his own cigarette slowly drifting up to join the smog overhead. His stay in Star hasn’t stopped his patrols. Though he would rather be most anywhere else, it’s still home. He drums his fingers on the helmet he has tucked under one arm as his gaze drops to scan the streets below. Something feels off, but he couldn’t say what. It’s a feeling that’s been coming and going since the Parade of Tears, one that he usually attributes to his typical paranoia. Still, he can’t quite make it go away. Letting out a breath, he lets the cigarette fall from his lips and crushes it under his boot as he tugs his helmet back on. Out of a need for rebellion that he won’t admit to, he starts moving from rooftop to rooftop away from the area Bruce had assigned, coming to a stop atop a large financial building. Looking down into the streets below, he freezes. From up so high, it’s hard to make out the figures below, but there’s something about them that sends a shudder through him and makes him stay completely still as he continues to watch.

Bruce pulls back from Oliver’s touch, but only so that he can remove himself from the comfort of it, to look at the pain in the other man’s eyes. He nods, and backs it up with a short, soft: “Yes.”

But Ollie doesn’t let Bruce retreat from it. He moves forward as Bruce moves back, reaching out to grasp that sleeve again. “I believe you,” he says. “This time, I believe you.”

the joker feels the hairs on the back of his neck ruffle and he looks up, suddenly, nostrils flaring as he takes in a deep breath. The streetlamps flood his skin, pale as a sheet of paper, lips cracked and chapped, split at the edges, his eyes hidden under the hood. “..fee fi fo fum,” he whispers, softly, his lips unfurling across the lower half of his jaw like a shotgun blast, teeth jagged and yellowed under the redness of his mouth.

Harley looks up, when he does, and mumbles. “Mister J, we got company?”

Jason moves back from the edge of the building so quickly he nearly stumbles. So much for paranoia. Even from his perch high above, there’s not mistaking that ghost white skin and nightmarish smile. He fumbles, trying to grab at his gun, but he can barely pull it from the holster, his hands shaking so badly, he nearly drops it twice.

the joker moves over to one of the men, the closest one, and grabs one of the automatic rifles, pulling it out of the holster and firing, randomly at the roof. “PEW PEW PEW!”

Harley narrows her own eyes, and unholsters her own gun—a tommy gun, strapped to her back—bringing it down to slap it into her other hand.

Bruce doesn’t attempt to dislodge himself again from Ollie’s touch, but remains where he is, his gaze moving to settle on the lines around the archer’s eyes. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t so much as breathe in the aftermath of what the other man says.

Ollie raises his hand to smooth back Bruce’s hair, then lets his arm drop. “Okay,” he says, voice going back to a more normal register but stronger, some of its old decisiveness and drive instead of the flat affect he’d cultivated of late. “All right. We’ve got work to do, and I need to eat those—” he points at the sandwiches, “—and if you wanna join me that’d be great, and if you don’t, then I’ll catch up with you later. Whenever you need me.”

Bruce doesn’t touch on what he will or will not do, if he will join him or not. Instead, he asks, quietly. “Have you seen Kate?”

Jason flinches at the sound of each shot, though only a few actually come close to him. Taking a few deep breaths, he tries to steady himself to minimal success. Knowing his hands are still trembling too much to get off a good shot, he pulls several small smoke bombs from his belt and hurls them towards the Joker and his little gang. He then fumbles for his phone, sending out a text to all contacts. [mass text]: s.o.s. joekr finaical district need backup asap

the joker watches as the smoke bombs go hurtling up and over the building, and when they crackle against the pavement, he pushes down his hood and takes off like a shot. If Bruce is a bruiser, a boxer, made for the long haul, the Joker is as fey as they come, light, his legs taking him towards the fire escape faster than the smoke can release from the pellets. He looks up, and shouts. “IS THAT YOU?!”

Ollie nods. “We have a luncheon in LA to go to in a couple days,” he reports. “I figure it’ll give her something more active to do than stew over when Walter’s gonna strike next.” He picks up his plate and coffee. “Have you seen her recently?”

Bruce blinks, his Adam’s apple bobbing for a moment before he speaks. “A luncheon, you—” He clears his throat, and shakes his head. “I don’t think she needs to see me.” His phone buzzes, but Bruce doesn’t look down at it. Not just yet.

Ollie pokes Bruce with the edge of his plate. “Of course she does, don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “There’s more to the luncheon than that. But I gotta eat, and then we’ll talk, all right?” He smiles, and it feels, suddenly, like it’s been months since he last smiled at Bruce. Remembering what it feels like is enough to bring his appetite back.

Jaime gets the text, but doesn’t actually check his phone until ten minutes later. Oh, wow, bad time to ignore it. txt>​ dude u ok??

Jason [text]: not really [text]: hiding and hoping he just moves on cant really shoot straight right now

Jaime txt>​ why didnt u just book it dude do u want me to head ovr

Jason [text]: its also hard to aim a grapple right now and im up on a fucking huge building [text]: only if you can turn invisible so he doesnt spot you coming

Jaime txt>​ actually i can do that kinda so i mean offer stands if u want it im serious (He says as he’s heading towards a zeta — but he’s not going unless Jason actually wants him there. So.)

Jason [text]: seriously? [text]: thats just cheating [text]: ill be fine just need to remember how to breathe

Jaime txt>​ ya ok its more like density shifting or smth but same idea kinda txt>​ u sure??

Jason [text]: thought that was a martian thing [text]: yes [text]: no [text]: i dont know [text]: dont want to risk him seeing you and doubling back [text]: thinking isnt really easy right now sorry give me a sec

Jaime txt>​ i am kinda partially alienish i guess?? txt>​ its okay take ur time dont do anything dumb if u need me u have my number obv

Jason [text]: i dont think having an alien attached to you makes you an alien [text]: not doing anything except hyperventilating a little [text]: i just need to wait it out and not think about things [text]: i need distractions can you talk to me? just about anything

Jaime txt>​ hey i said partially alienish i never said i was full on martian txt>​ or reachian w/e txt>​ uhhh txt>​ i finally finished reading all the comics i got from comiccon?? txt>​ in other news im a giant nerd idk if u knew txt>​ whatd u have for breakfast

Jason [text]: still dont think thats how it works [text]: i dont think i did [text]: what comics? if you say batman im mocking you forever [text]: uh i cant remember i dont think i actually ate anything today i sort of forget to sometimes

Jaime txt>​ hey man the thing lives in my brain i think it counts txt>​ hey ok so i might think batmans kind of a jerk but i still like his comics txt>​ and blue beetle might of shown up in one txt>​ u have any idea how weird it is to see urself in a book txt>​ they made me some random white dude tho thats kinda lame txt>​ id ask how u forget to eat but im kinda doing that to txt>​ whats ur fav breakfast

Jason [text]: guess hes probably less of a jerk in comic form [text]: thats really weird and stupid and i thought your secret id was kinda not that secret [text]: see its not that weird other stuff just happens and eating doesnt seem important until youve been starving for hours [text]: uh anything with bacon really and i make kickass pancakes

Jaime txt>​ no hes still a jerk in the comics but they make his brooding less broody txt>​ and he actually says full sentences instead of just single words or grunts not true to life at all txt>​ it isnt but thats mostly like localized in tx idk if its really spread plus i dont think they ever got my name txt>​ eating is important tho esp when it involves bacon txt>​ u can cook??

Jason [text]: guess it would be hard for him to be the main character in a comic if he never said anything [text]: well they should at least know what you look like [text]: bacon is a very important food group yes im well aware [text]: why is everyone always surprised about that? [text]: yeah i can cook i started learning how when i was about five

Jaime txt>​ he had black hair i guess that counts for something txt>​ ya its kinda surprising u just dont seem the type yk txt>​ u seem more the type to survive off of vodka beef jerky and dry cereal u get me txt>​ not even good dry cereal something like plain bran flakes

Jason [text]: you should sue [text]: i get you but the funny thing is thats way more nightwing than me pretty sure all he eats is cereal [text]: but he gets the ridiculously sugary stuff [text]: shit i think theyre doubling back

Jaime txt>​ dude seems like he could eat nothing but lucky charms weirdly fitting txt>​ dude u better just book it or at least stop texting theyre gonna see ur phone

Jason [text]: im wayt he fuck up on a building i dont think theyre gona see it [text]: bright red helmet though that theyre probably going to see

Bruce exhales, and continues to fiddle with the coffee maker. He doesn’t offer anymore speech, his hands moving over the gears and edges of the machine as he sets it up for a cleaning cycle, pulling out his phone. He reads through the first two, before landing on the third, on Jason’s, and his feet are moving before he realizes he’s pushed off the counter and is half-jogging to the zeta.

Jaime txt>​ then gtfo of there, he replies, still kind of just lingering near the zeta. Still not going unless Jason stops responding or asks, so. txt>​ maybe invest in a mask for the helmet txt>​ wait thats dumb isnt it

Ollie runs up next to Bruce after a few minutes, keeping stride with him, a sandwich jammed in his mouth as he slings on his bow and quiver. Once they’re strapped on he takes the sandwich out and says, “I’m coming with you.” The SOS had gone out to everybody, and Jason IS kind of Ollie’s responsibility, after all.

Jason is clutching at his phone like a lifeline as he tries desperately not to start hyperventilating again. He tugs off his helmet, suddenly feeling strangely claustrophobic in it, though he doesn’t move an inch out of his hiding spot. [text]: did you miss the part where i cant aim a grapple for shit rigth now? [text]: would be kind of redundant since i wear a masak under it [text]: backup would be great btw

the joker has climbed to the top of the building with Harley, tapping the edges of exposed pipes with the muzzle of his semi-automatic. “..bats, bats like to hide, and their little birdies do, too,” he says, his words low and sibilant as he continues to walk, clanking the gun against the metal. “..but not when i come out to play.”

Bruce doesn’t argue, already punching in coordinates, his expression transformed from what it had been while he had been talking to the archer: the edges of his lips are hardened, a straight, pale line, eyes glittering behind the cowl.

Ollie bolts the last of his meal by the time the zeta transport fizzles them out, frizzles them back in again to the solidity of Gotham, hard beneath their boots and acrid on the tongue.

the joker pauses, his head tilting to one side, as his grin grows, broad and toothy in the darkness, and when the next words slide sickly from between his teeth, hissed and soft: “..’cept for you, little birdy,” he lowers himself down, bouncing again as he crouches. “Heeeeereeeee little birdy bird.”

Harley looks down and over at the Joker, hefting her gun up in her arms, checking the ammunition.

Jaime txt>​ i thought u had a backup plan or smth idk ur a friggin boyscout txt>​ omw. He takes that as an invite and armors up, stepping into the zeta and taking to the air once he’s out. He’s not sure why he’s so antsy about this, Jason’s still pretty far off the list of people he likes. …And speaking of, the scarab picks up the other two that decided to join in. Huh. “Uh. Hey,” he says, flying over and sort of awkwardly hovering a few yards away from them.

Jason silently pulls a gun from his belt, back still pressed against the air conditioning unit on top of the building. It’s not the best cover, but it’s the best he has given the circumstances. He bites at the inside of his lip, trying to silently will the Joker to just leave. Somehow he’s pretty sure it’s not going to do any good. Quickly, he grabs his grappling hook instead, firing at the next building over as he kicks his helmet back towards the Joker. He leaps off the building as he hits the self destruct button, his helmet detonating.

Harley pushes the Joker out of the way before she herself tumbles over and off towards the side of the building, lifting the tommy gun and firing at Jason as he flees. “Scare ‘em out of the brush!”

Bruce had chosen the zeta pad across from the police tower, north of the financial district. He doesn’t bother to look up at Jaime, or over at Oliver, and instead, he moves off the raised platform and out of the concrete and steel enclosure around it, out into the humid Gotham air. Off, in the distance, he hears the faint boom of the explosion—too far for him to see, just yet—and he begins to run, removing the grappling gun from his belt and firing it off, launching himself across the space between the further buildings, taking the others at running jumps.

Jason manages one hell of a lucky shot, the hook catching the edge of the balcony of the next building over. Unfortunately, that’s where his luck ends. One of Harley’s bullets strikes his shoulder, and two more find a place in his right leg, nearly making him lose his grip on the grappling gun. He barely manages to haul himself over the railing and then smashes through the glass door, quickly trying to find a better hiding place inside.

the joker laughs as he tumbles over, head over heels, slamming into the edge of the parapet on the roof, rising up to his feet. “Come back..” He begins, and then bellows as he rises up. “COME BACK! WE JUST STARTED!”

Ollie looks over at the boom sound too, narrowing his eyes. “Christ,” he mutters, then calls to Jaime, “You done any recon? Are there civilians we need to protect?” Over the comms, he tersely tells Jason, “Red Hood, backup’s on the way. Keep moving, whatever you do.” Figuring the Blue Beetle suit can keep up, Ollie starts to make his way across the rooftops too; it’s easier in Gotham than in Star City, with the older buildings and the density of them in the downtown core.

Jaime kind of expected that. He gives Ollie a sheepish half-smile that melts away when he hears the boom. “No, I just got here,” he replies, bolting off and keeping pace in the air. “I don’t see anyone else in the buildings, other than — two unknowns up top with Jason. Or — not with him, he’s on the move.”

Bruce speaks over the comms. “Green Arrow, I need you—” He pauses, a grunt filtering over as he tucks into a roll on a particularly steep rooftop, before anchoring a foot at the edge of a tile, jumping off and landing before he continues: “Get to Red Hood. He’ll need—” And this time the words don’t stop because of action, but because Bruce is nearly there, seeing the muzzles flashes in the dark.

Harley looks over at the movement in the distance, her eyes narrowing and she moves over to the Joker, who is still firing up at the sky like he means to shoot the stars from their cradle. “Party crashers, late to the party, sir!”

"Trying to," he hisses back when Ollie’s voice sounds in his ear, the tone mostly due to the pain in his leg and his already labored breathing. "Moving just got a little harder." Still, he doesn’t slow down. The building he crashed into is filled with a number of offices with heavy desks and a number of filing cabinets. He tries to knock as much furniture over into the path behind him as he desperately looks for a way out. Finding the door to the stairwell, he tugs at the handle, cursing under his breath when it barely moves. With no time for lock picking, he viciously kicks the door open and nearly jumps down the flight of stairs, giving the next door the same rough treatment. "Stuck in some building," he says, tapping his comm. "Gonna try and find a less visible way out."

the joker moves over to Harley, and jumps up, onto her back, wrapping his legs around her. “Tally-ho, valiant steed!” He brandishes the gun about, digging his heels into her hips, urging her forward.

Harley ‘oofs’ when the taller man lands on her, and grunts: “..gonna make it..” She half-sings, strangled, as she walks over to the edge of the building, reaching down onto her own belt, producing an enormous grappling hook. She shoots it off, watching the rope spindle out and then shrieks when the rope catchesm pings, and sends them both shooting off the edge of the building and swinging into the building.

Ollie shifts the direction he’s headed in as he taps into his comm. “Hood,” he says, “wherever you get out, head north towards Elliot Square. I’ll catch up with you along the way.” He signals to Beetle after giving these directions, saying, “You know how to make yourself real visible, right? See if you can make a scene anywhere but along those blocks headed north, help give Quickdraw a chance to scarper without getting hunted down.”

Jaime blinks at first. Quickdraw? Scarper? Uh. Context clues. …Right. “You really think they’ll go for me over him?” he asks, unsure. He’s no master strategist, but he’s pretty sure if the Joker plus one are hunting Jason down… well. They aren’t going to turn around for some fireworks. “Plus, I’m faster—”

the joker jumps off of Harley when they land on the other side of the building, reaching into the small pack that rests above the rise of her rear, patting her side, idly, as he pulls the first grenade out, teeth ripping the pin out. “Bye baby BUNting, daddy’s gone a—” he begins, before he stops. “Chicken wings, where’d you go, you stopped the party before it started.” He moves through the shattered and glass and toppled furniture, before he gets to the busted door and drops the tube down the stairwell. He turns, and ducks, plugging his ears with his fingers.

"You draw more attention than I do. And I know Gotham better than you do." Ollie reaches a gap that’s too far for even a running jump, and readjusts his route again, taking the fire escapes down to ground level. "But I don’t have time to discuss this in committee, Blue. Do what you need to do." He vaults onto a dumpster and over a chain-link fence, clambering up another set of fire escapes to keep making his way across the rooftops, northward.

Jason hears the grenade falling down the stairs above him and swears under his breath. Sprinting out of the stairwell, he throws himself around a corner and behind a heavy wooden desk, arms flying up to cover his head.

the joker arches an eyebrow and looks up when nothing explodes. He makes a face, lower lip puckering up and peers over the banister of the stairwell and down, at the tube, that is emitting a steady stream of bubbles. “…ohhhh, I grabbed the wrong—HA.” He jumps up and grabs at the stairwell, flying over to land on the steps and go running down, crowing. “I GRABBED THE WRONG ONE.”

Jaime huffs a little. “Right,” he repies, speeding up towards Joker and Co. Okay, distraction. What’s distracting? He’s prety sure it has to be up close and personal — okay, idea. Kind of destructive, but idea. One arm bulking out into a cannon, he mumbles phasers set to stun to himself before shooting a few baseball-sized plasma balls at the building, shattering windows on a few floors. Uh. Oops.

the joker ‘s voice switches over as he continues down the stairs, kicking the tube out of the way. “..grabbed the one wrong, didn’t i.” He tilts his head, listening carefully, even as Harley remains on the top floor, waiting for the first of the cavalry. His steps are soundless, mute little whispers as he bounces the next grenade in his hand, looking up when the windows shatter from the Beetle’s cannon. He grins and pulls the pin on this one, tossing it into the room he suspects Jason is in.

Jason curses quietly again when the expected explosion doesn’t come. Of course. Gun in hand, he glances about the small office he had dived into. There’s only one door, which kind of sucks, but there is a window… which suddenly shatters. Well, that’s weirdly convenient except for the small piece of glass that catches his cheek. Should’ve kept the helmet. When the second grenade rolls in, he doesn’t hesitate, quickly jumping out the window, barely catching himself on the fire escape across the alleyway, his already wounded shoulder throbbing in protest. If that grenade was another dud, he might scream.

the joker remains where he is, even as the grenade explodes, his hair and the loose material of his pants and clothes flapping from the gust of air that rushes out at the expansion of heat and flame. He remains still, motionless, even as the room explodes behind him.

Ollie vaults down to grab onto Jason, hold him steady from falling off the ironwork he’s clinging to as Batman goes past them in the other direction. “We gotta move,” Ollie says shortly, and he’s hustling Jason into the building, kicking in a window so they can make their way through the office — empty at this hour of the night, although the alarms go off instantly — out and up the stairs, heading to the rooftop. “Beetle’s there too, but we gotta get you somewhere safe and patched up.”

Bruce sees the flash of the explosion and doesn’t hesitate: from where he is, on top of the building, moving through the shells of the bullets on the roof he jumps down onto a fire escape before climbing over the wrought iron side and dives headfirst into the open window of the building across the way, glass crunching under his weight as he rolls on his shoulder, feeling the sharp pang of bullets bouncing off his armor as Harley opens fire.

Harley doesn’t stop shooting at the Batman, walking backwards, towards the staircase, keeping her finger depressed on the trigger even when he rolls, disappears into the darkness. Panting, she calls out. “Ever think about changin’ up your color scheme, Bats?” She licks her lips, continuing to back up. “A little bit of pink, or red, might brighten up your complexion, you know..”

the joker licks his lips, sucking on the loose, chapped skin, and begins to walk towards the window, to where Jason had jumped, spotting Green Arrow, his arm wrapped around the younger man. He lifts his semi-automatic and starts firing again.

Jaime closes in but stays outside, not sure if he’d be better helping out up here or making sure Ollie and Jason actually make it out. He keeps an eye on them — and the Joker — still hovering outside the window. Is it okay if he fanboys a little at Batman? Internally.

Bruce is crouched, motionless, behind one of the toppled desks, watching Harley as she backs up, uncaring of what the woman does, his breathing silent. The explosion hadn’t come from this level, he knows that, it had come lower, and when the gunfire begins, Bruce angles his head at the noise before rising up. And moving.

Jason flinches when Ollie grabs him, but makes no move to shake him off. There’s a very faint wince whenever his right foot touches the ground and his teeth catch the inside of his cheek hard to hold back any sound. “Right,” he says, voice a little strained. “Think Harley’s still on the roof, dunno where the rest of their guys went though. He hears the sound of the gun behind them and moves without thinking, yanking Ollie down and out of the way.

Bruce plants his hands against the edge of the desk, muscles firing in his biceps and shoulders to launch himself up and over it, pivoting his hips so his legs straighten, gloved fingers sliding over the edge of the desk as he pushes himself and slams into Harley’s body, sideways, forcing her grip on the gun to loosen, enough so he can wrench it from her, forcibly.

The mark of any still-living non-meta vigilante worth their salt is the ability to get the fuck down when the familiar riptide of semi-automatic fire opens up, and Ollie doesn’t blink when Jason’s first instinct is exactly that. The two of them grab cover where they can find it, smashed up under a long L-shaped desk, and there’s nothing to do but wait it out. “Minute he stops firing,” Ollie shouts over the sound of the building alarm, the frenetic staccato of the bullets, “we head for the door over there.”

the joker isn’t a very good shot, but makes up for it with quantity, spraying bullets at the two of them, the shells clattering against the ground below them, tinkling musically. “STEP RIGHT UP, win yurselfs a prize, we’ve got duck on the menu and..” he stops, and looks over at the man in green, actually noticing who it is and cups a hand to his mouth, hollering. “OLIVER QUEEN. IS THAT YOU??” He sounds delighted.

To speed this along, though, he twists onto his side, instructing, “Shut your eyes,” and fires a white phosphorous arrow in the rough direction of the gunfire. It sparks and flares bright, bright white in the darkness, blindingly so for anybody looking at it.

Harley goes crashing back when Batman slams into her, the air knocked outta her in one fell whoomp but doesn’t let go of the gun. Instead, uses the man’s solid grip on the thing to duck underneath his wrists—out of the strap that holds the weapon—plant a foot on his knee and scrabbles her legs up his armored leg and hip, slithering between Batman’s arms—she hooks her hands onto his wrists— to slam a knee into the bottom of his chin, keening a quiet little victory noise when his head rocks back, teeth snapping, only letting go when she’s untangled, and she goes running down the staircase.

Jaime catches sight of the flash, squinting. Okay, that’s either really bad or another distraction. “You guys okay?” he asks, tapping into the comm frequency. “Batman’s duking it out with Harley—” Just like in the comics, he needs to stop being such a nerd. “Nope, take that back, she’s bailing down the stairs.”

Bruce ‘s mouth fills with the bright taste of new pennies, and he snarls, pulling the gun forward at the same moment he brings his knee up, bending the straight narrow barrel of the gun down over the armored cap. Gloved fingers reach into the clip, jamming the ability to make any sort of quick fix, and he grips the magazine in his hands as he stalks after her, down the stairs. Metal creaks as he splits the cylinder between his palms, bullets clattering down the stairs as he goes.

Jason does as Ollie says, shutting his eyes tightly. “We’re okay, but pinned down. If you can knock the gun outta the clown’s hands, that’d be awesome. Just need enough time to get out,” he replies.

the joker has turned away from the bright light, so he sees when Harley comes racing down the stairs, her eyes wide, breath ragged, in a way that only means. One. Thing. His expression brightens, eyes going dark and he laughs, bright and hard, even as he reaches into her pack again, when she’s close enough. “Ohhhh, he’s finally come out to play.”

Ollie leaves Jason to update Jaime, hollering back out the window, “The one and only, Clownface! Didn’t think you’d see me out on this side of the continent, huh?” He shoves Jason slightly during the lull in the gunfire, pointing at the door. “I’ll stall him,” Ollie hisses to Jason, then continues yelling, “So far I can’t say this town knows how to treat its guests right!”

the joker shouts back, over his shoulder, in sing-song. “We only like the NATIVES, bowboy, wouldn’t you agree, Harley?”

Harley laughs nervously, swinging the pack around as she looks back, over her shoulder. “Yeah, but howsabout we do this homecoming on a more level meetin’ ground, puddin’, whaddya say?”

Jason stumbles at the shove, his wounded leg nearly giving out for a moment. Quickly, he steadies himself and moves towards the door, lingering for a moment, glancing back at Ollie before tapping his comm again. “Blue, I’m heading for a window on the east side of the building. Think you can pick me up there?”

Bruce moves down the stairs, to where the room has been gutted with the explosion, his gaze lifting to Harley before it lands there. On him. Twice in one night, Bruce feels his feet moving, before he realizes where he’s going, his vision disconnecting from the active parts of his brain, not stopping until his boots are sliding against soot, his hands moving against the front of the other man’s hooded jacket, lifting him up and off his feet. Somewhere, in the deeper recesses of his mind, he feels Harley’s hands move around him. His teeth grind against each other, the whites stained yellow as he bares them. “WHO LET YOU OUT?”

"I dunno if I can hit the gun," he replies — and then it goes eerily quiet. No more shooting? They’re not dead, but — "He stopped, are you guys — y’know, still okay?" he asks, feeling a little useless. And then he gets Jason’s voice in his ear — okay, maybe he won’t be completely dead weight. "Yeah, you just — I’ll be there, hang on."

the joker laughs, delighted, and curls his hands around Batman’s fists, bare fingers—pads long since rid of the ridges of fingerprints— sliding softly over kevlar and leather, working between the knuckles as he chokes out: “..ohhh, come.. n-now, Batsy..” He coughs, and tilts his head down, as the hood slides back over his hair. “..it’s no fun asking question you know the answers to.”

Ollie lunges up and stations himself against the window they’d smashed through, bow drawn, arrow nocked up and aimed through the window of the other building, where he can make out three figures moving around, slamming up against each other. “I got you, B,” he says through the comm, although what Batman can hear and be cognizant of is anybody’s guess.

Harley is most definitely wrapped around Batman, clamoring up his spine and attempting to get at him: teeth, nails, the edges of her very tall boots. She hits pressure points, the edges of joints, and even begins to search her pack for another grenade, but he’s motionless.

Jason stops at the window, breaking it with a swift kick that nearly knocks him off balance. Holding the windowsill tightly, he leans out of it, trying to spot Blue Beetle. “Alright, just pick me up and drop me on the next building over, I’ll be fine. I can’t do shit, but they could use you for backup.”

Bruce hears Ollie, but it’s as if it’s from underwater, and might as well be: his eyes narrow in the cowl and he steps closer to the edge of the building, extending his arm out, the Joker’s feet slowly drifting over the jagged ridge he had created, Bruce’s arm his umbilical to terra firma. He repeats, his voice low. “How did you get out.” A flicker of thought, brightening his eyes, and he asks. “Who are you working for.”

Jaime rounds to the other side of the building, waiting for Jason to show up. His eyes keep flicking back over to the others, through the glass and metal — they’ll be fine, right? Yeah. They’ve done this a few hundres times. No big deal. Spotting Jason, he drifts up and holds his arms out, if a little awkwardly. “You — whoa, nice bullet collection. Let’s go, c’mon.”

Ollie breathes in, then out, and his arrow flies as if guided by that breath; aimed for the meat of Harley’s thigh and full of tranquilizer, and Ollie has another arrow on his string before it even hits. There’s no point shooting at the Joker himself, not yet. If it comes down to it he will, but not yet, not with Bruce deep in the throes.

Harley scrambles down, off of Batman, to where the Joker is dangling, and attempts to grab at him, the gun, anything to pull him back and she keens at Batman, plaintively. “Put him down, he’ll talk, just bring him inside—” And the arrow hits her, and she cries out, hand reaching down to curl around the shaft sticking out of her leg.

the joker ‘s face wrinkles in pleasure when Batman continues to speak, expression trained on him, eyes unmoving from the other’s, even when Harley is struck. “..looks like you’ve gone and got yourself the—” His voice slips into a mimicked child’s voice. “—growed-up—” And back, into the shifting tones of his normal voice. “—kinda sidekick,” his voice drops, into a soft little shush of words and sound: “..flushed little twinks to a full-on bear, you must—” He chokes, when the man’s iron-clad grip tightens around his throat, and he starts to laugh, raucously.

Jason scrambles out of the window with a few soft, pained hisses and grabs at Jaime’s arms. There’s an urge to cling that he fights, instead he just loops an arm tightly around Jaime’s shoulders. “Thanks.” His voice is still strained and more breathless than he wants it to be. The bullets are something he can handle, the pain almost familiar. It’s the phantom aches that are the problem, old wounds and scars stinging like they’re being made anew.

Bruce pushes his thumb into the man’s windpipe, and his voice pitches up, into a heavy, booming growl, as he takes another step out, his arm moving the both of them to the edge, half-shouting as if to drown out the nasal drone of that laugh, and he begins: “Tell me WHO you—”

Jaime isn’t going to comment on the strain. He can tell Jason’s all sorts of messed up, inside and out. “De nada.” He wraps an arm around Jason’s back, the other one going for the back of his knees as he takes off, up towards the roof of another building. “Think they’re okay?” he asks nervously, glancing back towards the others before settling down on the roof and setting his cargo down slowly.

the joker lifts his hand, slapping his fingers against the inside of Batman’s wrist, and pushes a small single button remote against the hard metal of the gauntlet. His eyes narrow, grin ripping across his face, and he murmurs: “..ahh, Bats, come on..” His expression stills, the laughter draining and he meets his eyes. “It was you.” He thumbs the button, and reaches down to unzip his hood, dropping out of it, and down, as half a dozen explosions occur at once, filling the night sky with enough flame to make it day.

Jason clutches at Jaime’s shoulder, trying to take slow, steadying breaths to regain his composure. It doesn’t help. As soon as Jaime sets him down, his legs give out and his sinks down to his knees. Glancing back over at the sight of the fight, he bites at the already raw inside of his cheek, a slight taste of iron on his tongue. “Dunno. Not like B hasn’t fought ‘em before.” Of course, every time before, he had the manor intact and usually hadn’t been running himself beyond ragged.

Bruce shouts, in fury and rage as the man near-literally sheds his skin, and manages to grab onto him, by an arm, but when the explosions hit, the building shudders underneath and he loses his grip, and effectively, loses him as well. He reaches a hand up, snarling into the comms: “He’s on the ground.” The building creaks again, but does not move.

Jaime opens his mouth to reply — but suddenly everything’s really bright and he’s not so sure everything’s peachy. “Hey — hey, estas bien?” Anyone. Either.

The first instinct is to go after the Joker, when Ollie sees him slipping out of Batman’s grasp; but then the explosions happen, each one overlapping the roar of the one before it, and he’s rocked back on his heels. “On it,” he barks over the comm, and swings out of the window, dropping to the ground below. There’s nothing that comes more easily to Green Arrow than a hunt.

Jaime txt@dick>​ uh u busy?

Dick kicks the perp trying to crawl away in the knee to still him as he responds. [TEXT] Not really. What’s up?

Jaime txt>​ long story short jason got shot a few times and we went to star to get him patched up but hes barricaded himself in another room txt>​ i dont wanna punch the door down maybe ull have better luck coaxing him out txt>​ unrelated but do u really eat nothing but cereal

"What?!" The guy under his boot looks up to answer him, but Dick just digs his heel into his shoulder and ties him up. [TEXT] On my way. < 5 min. [TEXT] Fill me in.

Jason is locked in the bathroom and working on trying not to hyperventilate as he digs a bullet out of his leg.

Jaime sighs, slumping against the door a little. txt>​ long story slightly less short he ran into the joker an harley txt>​ batman and green arrow showed up to help but it was kinda late txt>​ last i saw i think ga was chasing the joker who im pretty sure blew up most of the financial district txt>​ dk where batman went but he texted me so hes not dead

Dick [TEXT] Shit.

Jaime lowers his phone and knocks again. “Dude, seriously, open. Ollie’s gonna be mad if he comes home and finds out he’s missing a door.”
Jaime txt>​ ya no kidding

Dick arrives ten seconds later. “And, no, I do not.” He nods towards the door. “In there?”

Jaime glances down at his phone, and then up at Dick. That was fast. “Yeah,” he replies, rapping his knuckles against it again. “Think he put something in front of it, too.”

Dick nods and knocks gently on the door. “Jay? It’s Dick. Let me in, I can help.”

"I’m. Fine," he calls between panicked breaths. Even if he tried to get up to open the door, his legs would probably just give out on him.

Dick jiggles the handle. “Yeah, you sound it. Is it just locked, Jay?”

"No." He doesn’t explain anything more, but the small chest of drawers he managed to shove in front of the door before collapsing should be pretty easy to notice.

Dick pushes on the door, but, of course, it doesn’t give. “I hate doors that open in. You can’t even pop the hinges.” He digs into a boot pocket for a small amount of plastique. “This should do it, though.” He glances at Jaime. “Unless you’ve got a neater way?”

Jaime srcunches his mouth up to the side. “I didn’t want to pick it because — y’know, kinda figured he’d open it eventually,” he replies. “Or — try to pick it, anyway. Dunno if GA’s got some weird locks. Also didn’t want him coming home short a door.”

Dick shrugs. “He’s had worse. I’ll pay for it.” He shoves the tiny amount of explosive in the cracks of the door where the hinges should be. “It’s gonna blow, Jay, so brace yourself.” Then he grabs Jaime and pulls him back before it detonates.

Jaime protests a little, but backs away when Dick pulls him, mumbling something about ‘this wasn’t my fault if he blames me I’m gonna flip’ before it goes off.

Jason continues digging at the bullet in his leg with one of his own knives, only pausing when Dick warns about the explosives. He curls in on himself, tugging his knees to his chest, eyes wide and for a second it almost feels like he’s right back in that warehouse: the explosives, the phantom pains, and he can just about hear the clown’s mad laughter in his ears. Now in a full blown panic attack, he wraps his arms around himself, pressing as tightly into the corner of the room as he can, whole body shaking as he gasps, unable to get enough breath.

Dick catches the door as it shifts from the blast, twisting it out of the latch to pull it from the doorway. Once he catches a glimpse of Jason curled up on himself, however, he passes (half-throws, but whatever) it to Jaime and climbs over the dresser. “Hey, Little Wing, it’s OK. It’s me, I’m here. You’re OK.” He reaches out for him as me moves closer, not wanting to startle him more.

Jaime catches it and sets it down against a wall. Well, at least nothing else broke. Maybe an explosion wasn’t really the best way to uh, go about getting the door open, though, he thinks as he steps into the threshold and leans against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Jason flinches at the sound of Dick’s voice and slowly looks up at his outstretched hands. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, words barely more than a whisper. He presses his forehead back to his knees, muttering the words over and over again. Maybe if he says it enough times it’ll be true.

Dick sets a hand gently on Jason’s shoulder, letting his palm rest for a moment before curling his fingers around him. “You’re going into shock, Jay. Just breathe. We can do this together, OK? You took care of me, now I’ll take care of you. That’s what a big brother does.”

Jason tries to do as Dick says, working to slow down his breathing to a more normal rate. Reaching up, he clutches at Dick’s hand, though he otherwise remains curled up tight. “C-can’t. Can’t breathe,” he stutters when his attempts seem to do little to make things any better.

Dick cups his head with his other hand. “You can do it, Jay. Let’s try together. Breathe in with me. Hold it. Breathe out.” He lifts his fingers to curl them with Jason, hoping it helps him feel more secure.

Jason twitches at the touch, but doesn’t pull away from it. He squeezes Dick’s hand hard as he follows the coaching. Deep breath in and hold… and let it out. Slowly the shaking of his shoulders stops as the panic fades. It’s not all gone by a long shot, but it’s a start.

Jaime feels like he’s intruding. He’s just gonna… uh. Get water. Yeah, that sounds good.

Dick smiles. “That’s good. Good. Keep doing that, Jay.” He looks Jason over, trying to asses his wounds. “Jaime. Can your scarab, like, scan people for injuries and damage?”

Jason manages a faint nod and continues with the slow even breathing. The injuries to his leg aren’t bad, though he may have just made one a bit worse by going at it with shaking hands and a very sharp knife. His shoulder’s a bit more damaged, but he can barely tell the new pain apart from the old memories. So Jaime’s scan will probably be a lot more helpful than his own assessment.

Jaime hears his name and backtracks to the bathroom, empty cup in hand. “Uh, yeah,” he replies, tilting his head a little. “One in the shoulder, two in the leg — that he’s carved up with a knife. Didn’t get the bullets out, just kinda… wow. Uh. …Other than that, his potassium’s kinda low.” His eyes flick up to Jason briefly. “Eat a banana,” he adds before going and actually filling the cup. And maybe grabbing two more.

Dick nods to Jaime and sighs, kissing Jason’s temple as Jaime leaves for water. “You’re a mess, little brother. Don’t worry, we’ll get you patched up. But first we oughta get you some painkillers.”

Jason mumbles unintelligibly, though it sounds vaguely whiny. He’s feeling slightly dizzy now, probably a mix of the pain and injuries and earlier breathing difficulties. “Jus’ a few painkillers,” he insists weakly.

"Yeah, just a few. Don’t want you getting all loopy on us or anything." He’s also pretty sure Jason should be drinking and/or eating something right about now, but that would probably be best left for after the bullets are out in case he can’t keep it down. "When Jaime gets back, will you let me start tending the wounds?"

Jaime hears his name again and rounds the corner, setting three glasses down on the little dresser still blocking the door. “Whatever you’re saying about me, I didn’t do it.”

Dick nods his head to call him over. “I need you to help hold him. I’m gonna get Ollie’s medical stuff, and then we’re gonna get those bullets out, but I can’t do all that and keep him still enough.”

Jason lifts his head up, trying to use the wall behind him as a sort of pillow. “M’kay. Should let Blue dig out the bullets though, he’s got… fuckin’ alien magic shit goin’ on.” He probably doesn’t need painkillers to make him loopy at this point.

Dick nods to Jaime. “Or we can do that, too.”

Jaime nods in return, stepping over the dresser and kinda awkwardly sidling up close. “Uh. I’m good with either one, I mean — you’ve done this more than me.” A pause. “I mean, probably. Since I’ve done it… never.”

Jason looks up at Jaime, eyes a little dazed. “Fixed my leg when it broke, an’ that was a helluva lot messier ‘n this.” Or it would have been if he hadn’t taken a knife to his leg. As of now it might be about even.

Dick smiles. “Well, I’m gonna be using small forceps and digging into a very sensitive and wounded part of his flesh, or, if you can get your scarab to make some sort of, like, tiny tweezer magnet thing, that would probably work, too. Whatever you think will work fastest.”

Jaime opens his mouth to reply, but then the scarab goes off and he just groans, rolling his eyes. “He wasn’t telling you how to do your — it was a suggestion. You need to — just, callate.” He huffs a little, and rubs at the back of his neck. “I — we can do the tiny tweezer thing. Not sure about a magnet, but it’s — yeah? Yeah. That was its plan all along, apparently,” he replies dryly.

Dick blinks— because the whole ‘talking to something no one else can hear’ thing is still kinda weird— but smiles. “Great! No offense, I was just seeing that we were on the same wavelength.” He rubs Jason’s back. “How d’you feel, Jay?”

"Tired," he replies. There’s a few other feelings going on at the moment, but for the most part, he’s just drained. The panic and fear will return later, as will the pain, but right now he’s just exhausted.

"Then we’ll be quick, Jay. You can sleep soon."

Jaime smiles a little awkwardly and scoots a little closer, armoring his hand up. “You, uh. Gonna take some aspirin or something?” he asks a little hesitantly as his index finger thins out into something that looks like… well. Tiny tweezers and a magnet with a little clamp. This is probably gonna hurt.

Dick pulls some painkillers from one of his pouches. “This should help dull it. Squeeze my hand, Jay. That’ll help, too.”

"Mm, probably should." With a mumbled ‘thank you’ he takes the pills from Dick and swallows them dry. He grabs Dick’s hand and leans his head back against the wall, eyes trailing over Jaime’s face. "Yer eyes ‘re pretty," he says softly. And then his own eyes slip shut as he passes out.

Jaime glances over at Jason just in time to get a free compliment. He blinks a couple of times, brows furrowing as Jason just kind of… passes out. Well, that was… uh. Something. His eyes flick over to Dick, brows still furrowed. “…Oookay.” At least it’ll be easier if he’s passed out! Wham bam, thank you ma’am, Jason is metal-free.

Dick shrugs. “Bullets’ll do that to ya.”

Jaime grins a little, holding the bullets out towards him, cupped in his palm. “They make you hit on people? Weird side effect.”

Dick grins back and pulls out an evidence bag. “You don’t want to know all the people I hit on when delirious from pain. It wasn’t pretty.”

Jaime manages a chuckle as he dumps the slugs into the bag, his other hand armoring down. “Is it weird that I’m not surprised? Because I’m not.” He pauses. “You’re probably better with the whole stitching thing. I only passed Home Ec because the teacher knew my mom.”

Dick snorts and pulls out his kit, starting the stitches with the worst wound. “Weirdly, my high school never offered Home Ec, but then, I had a Jack-of-all-trades butler who taught me mot of the things I needed to know. Plus, y’know, all the basic field medic training….”

—- —- —-

Ollie gets home late in the morning, streaked and smeared in blood, sweat, oil, and dirty water; probably other fluids he doesn’t want to think too closely about. He gets in and calls, “Jason? You here? Dick still with you?” He moves through the house, stripping off pieces of his work clothes as he searches for Jason, gloves dropped through the hallway, belt tossed in his office.

Dick is passed out near Jason and an empty cereal bowl, twitching slightly at the sound of Ollie’s voice.

Ollie finds them due to the blasted-out door propped neatly up in the hallway, and stands there taking off his boots as he waits for one or both to wake up. By the time he’s taken off one boot, though, he figures he’s waited long enough, and drops it with a heavy, loud thunk. “You two okay?”

Dick jumps, hitting the bowl and sending it rolling across the floor. “What?! Oh, yeah. Hey, Ollie.”

Ollie gestures around with his other boot. “This the thing with the door that Jason texted me about? What the heck happened? It looks like you got him patched up pretty good.”

Dick blinks over at him, then back to Jason, and nods, the night before coming back to his still-catching-up brain. “Oh, yeah, I had to blow it off the hinges. He’d barricaded himself in the bathroom with the dresser, wouldn’t let us in. Jaime helped.”

"Hmm." Ollie bends to take a closer look at Jason, the way he’s bandaged up, and straightens with a nod. "Good work, Dick. He was probably … pretty rattled, huh? After running in the Joker and all." He fixes Dick with a faintly inquisitive look; Ollie, like many Leaguers who are Bruce’s peers, knows the basics of what happened but not the nitty-gritty. Not the details of how Jason came to fall under the Joker and a crowbar and an end that stunned all of them.

Dick nods,. “Yeah, he had kind of a panic attack last night. I think the shock was getting to him. He tried to dig out one of them on his own.” He presses his lips together. “I think I didn’t help blowing up the door like that, but I got him calm, at least.”

Ollie shrugs, the motion aborting itself halfway as he winces. “You gotta make things a little worse to make ‘em a lot better, sometimes,” he says. “Listen, I need a shower, but I need to eat something first before I keel over under the hot water. Come with me to the kitchen, do me a favour, heat me something up.”

Dick hops up, gathering his bowl with a swift motion. “I guess I missed all the action. Anything you’re hungry for, I can probably heat.”

Ollie heads back to the kitchen, sinking down on one of the chairs at the table with a stifled groan. “All the action’s probably gonna be in the days after, as Gotham loses its collective shit over its financial core being hollowed out. You Gothamites are gonna be staving off martial law, from this point, Dick.” He waves at the fridge. “I think there’s some mashed potatoes and meatballs in there, those would be great.”

Dick grimaces. “Bruce texted about it. Well, we’ve done it before, we can fight it off again. Probably.” He rifles through the fridge until he finds the food. “Sure thing. How long were you out there?”

"Have some yourself, if you want, there’s plenty." Ollie leans back in the chair, linking his fingers and stretching his arms out. "From the time Jason’s APB went out last night to oh, let’s say — now." He rolls his shoulders out. "It’s been a really fucking long night. I’m glad you could be here with Jason, and…" Ollie slings one elbow over the back of the chair, turning a little to look at the other man. "How’re /you/ doing with all this, anyhow? Two of your brothers back from wherever, one gone off again, and all the attacks on the bunch of you."

Dick nods thanks and starts heating up the food, adding a little water to the meatballs to get them moist. ‘I’m all right. Better than them, I guess. I’m just… I’d rather we all be together, safety in numbers and all that, but I also kinda want everyone out of harm’s way, y’know?” He leans back against the counter, bracing himself on his forearms. “That’s such a weird balance we have. Do I want them where I can find them and they could get hurt, or do I want them safe but far away? And, either way, what do they want?” He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

Ollie stares at Dick through his fingers for a moment, hands slowing to a stop as he rubs his face; then he laughs, a crack of noise shaded with a bitterness he tries to keep back. “Sounds like we’re in kinda the same place,” he says. “I’m also … fine.” Ollie spreads his hands out against the table, shaking his head. “How did that all turn out, anyhow?” he asks, then elaborates more carefully, “…a while ago when we talked, you were thinking about some stuff that Shado kicked up for you. Your experiences. With Tarantula. Did you talk to somebody about it? Work through it?”

Dick scrunches his mouth to one side, not far enough to hide the wry upturn of one corner of his mouth. “It, I mean, not really? I’m OK. I sorta talked to Zee about it, and then just thought about it for a while. It’s….” He taps his heel rapidly against the floor, scrubbing his mouth with his hand. “I’ve been trying to not think about it for now without making it the kind of not thinking about that sneaks up on me. I just haven’t figured out how I feel about all of it yet.”

"I hate to say it, but — you’ve got a lifetime to figure it out." Ollie makes a face after he says this, like he’s trying to get past the taste of the words in his mouth. "And what about the, uh, the killing? How’s it going trying to reconcile that? Even knowing that you were doped up for the Peterson thing."

Dick taps his heel even faster. “I just can’t let myself do it again. I can’t undo it. I wish I hadn’t said what I did to Bruce, but I just have to… accept what I’m capable of and not let that eat me alive.”

Ollie sits up straighter at the table, eyes going wide, eyebrows lifting. “Fuck,” he says, somewhat incredulously. “Dick.”

Dick blinks, staring wide-eyed back at Ollie. “What? Is that… not right?” Great job on the not looking for approval, A+, Grayson.

Ollie gives one of those cracked laughs again, only this time, there’s a fissure of pleasure running down the middle. “I mean — it took me years to get to that place in my head, after I killed people, accidentally /and/ on purpose. Years! I faked my own fucking death and hid in an ashram! I went into a downward spiral that ended up with me alienating everybody I loved!” He grins, slouching in his chair again with a hungry look at the microwave when it dings. “It took me years. A /decade/, at the very least. I’m fuckin’ impressed.”

Dick sighs in relief a little louder than he meant to, and smiles sheepishly. “As long as we got there, right?” He pulls the food out of the microwave, not bothering with a potholder and only slightly winces when he realizes that wasn’t the best of ideas. Still, he gets the food to the table with extra plates without too much burning. “I think I got all my alienating done in one quick text, so maybe I just condensed it all.”

Ollie dishes the food out into two servings, swiftly, although it’s more out of how much his mouth’s watering than efficiency. “Accept what we’re capable of and not let it eat us alive,” he repeats, almost to himself. “It’s perfect. Covers a multitude of sins, too.”

"I hope it does. That’d be awful if I had to find a new phrase for every terrible thing I did." He digs into his food, burying one of the meatballs in his potatoes as he looks without looking at Ollie. "How’re things with you and Bruce? Seemed tense, last time I saw you together."

Ollie huffs, lips in an open circle as he tries belatedly to cool the too-hot spoonful of potatoes he’d just inserted into his mouth. “We’re okay,” he says, pausing to swallow. “Things are still tense. Might be for a while yet. But, y’know — that’s how it goes, sometimes. At least we made a little bit of headway before we had to go face down the goddamn /Joker/.” He cuts a meatball in half, then quarters. “It’s still surreal seeing that fucker. He’s almost urban legend status to us non-Gothamites, y’know. Like the mutated armadillo that lives in the Gotham sewers and emerges to eat car tires.”

Dick snorts. “Believe me, I would so much rather have an arma— What armadillo?” He hadn’t been out of Gotham so long nobody told him about that, right? “I wish he was just an urban legend. Or even— and, yeah, I know this is gonna be very ‘back in my good ol’ days’, I get that— I really wouldn’t even mind his old ‘out to trick Batman and Robin’ motif instead of just trying to kill everybody.”

Ollie chews for a while, thoughtfully. “You think something happened to him?” he wonders. “The Joker, I mean. To make him more vicious and brutal. More crazy.”

Dick lets out a long breath through his nose and shakes his head. “I don’t know. I can’t really see why his sense of humor would change so much to make him how he is now unless something did happen, but what that might be….” His mouth purses like he just ate something rancid. “Then again, it’s all so much more personal now. He targets us, he targets Bruce, it doesn’t feel random ‘for the lulz’ anymore. Maybe that’s what changed.” That line of thinking, however, makes him uncomfortable in the worst ways. Too much Gordon Godfrey “vigilantes causing the crime they fight” for his taste. He eats faster, trying to distract himself with food.

"Slow down, you’ll choke," Ollie says automatically, although he’s eating just as rapidly and voraciously. "Yeah, I mean — not that I think that if Joker’s gone through some kinda shit that it would excuse any of the atrocities he’s committed, but it makes you wonder, right?" He snorts, reaching for the butter dish to dollop a chunk of it into his potatoes. "I mean, hell, you talk to any of the villains and it’s like they’ve all got a sad, sad story on standby to roll out for anybody who asks, about how they’re misunderstood and persecuted and it’s sooooooo unfaaaaair."

Dick snorts, doing his best to not look like he’s also coughing on his food. “Personally, I have trouble giving sympathy for the ones who make themselves out to be saints beforehand. Y’know, helping kittens and old ladies across streets before, WHAM! Sudden villainy.” He grins. “I wonder if that’s what they did in Arkham all the time, come up with who had the harder life and the best story. First one to make Harley cry gets dibs on the escape route.”

Ollie had started out grinning and snickering at Dick’s suppositions, but by the time he reaches the end of his thought, Ollie’s back on more serious ground again. “Escape route,” he says direly. “They had one of those, all right. What’s the news on Arkham, anyhow? Back to skeleton operations, or are the re-captured inmates still getting taken to Blackgate for holding meanwhile?”

"Blackgate as far as I know, but I’m not really on the Arkham loop. It looked pretty bad. I think maybe they’ve got some of the lower level patients back?" He shrugs. "It’s amazing how people as well known as most of them are able to hide out so much. Even in a city the size of Gotham, you’d think someone would see and say something." He pops the last meatball in his mouth before remembering something else, shoving it in his cheek to try and talk around it. "Read a report of Humpty Dumpty out Coast way or something? Maybe they’re leaving."

Ollie gets up to get a couple of green teas out of the fridge for them. “I’ve been picking ‘em up all over the country,” he says. “Maybe that was a proviso of getting out of the asylum — they had to scatter, cause mayhem, make it hard for them to all be rounded up quickly.” Ollie takes a long drink and then looks at Dick. “Or it’s just

the Joker insisting that they leave Gotham to be his exclusive playground.”

Dick makes a face up at Ollie because, yeah, that does seem most likely. “Sadly, it wouldn’t surprise me. Things usually aren’t as fun when you have to share them with the littler kids and this definitely feels like a ‘big players only’ kind of deal.”

Ollie snorts. “Gotham won the villain popularity contest? Must feel pretty lucky.” He scrapes the last bits of potato out of his plate. “Then again, they’re Gotham-grown, so I suppose it’s only fitting.” But the levity falls flat, on the heels of this latest bout of destruction, and Ollie sits back, cupping his tea bottle in both hands. “Christ. We better catch this maniac soon, or there’ll be no Gotham to save.”

Dick grimaces. “As bad as this is going to sound, at least if we can contain him in Gotham, we have some kind of control. Not much, but….” He takes a drink, shutting his eyes to focus on the liquid, the temperature, the flavor, anything that doesn’t remind him of the mess that is quickly becoming his hometown. When he opens his eyes again, nothing feels any different.

Ollie makes a sympathetic noise. “Not a very cheerful subject,” he says. “But then it’s hard to be cheerful, with the fuckin’ Sword of Damocles hanging over your heads.”

"Pretty much." He can’t help but hum it a little, though, as he finishes scraping his plate clean. "How does it feel? Being out as Green Arrow?"

Ollie considers. “When I was in Seattle with Dinah, it wasn’t a secret then,” he says. “So it’s not an entirely new feeling, people knowing who I am. But this is a bigger scale, y’know? More media spotlight, more interest in it. More, I dunno … /commercial/, somehow.” He looks out the window, at the city around them. “Mostly positive, at least here in Star. Haven’t been in Gotham enough lately to know if it makes a difference there, although…” Ollie shifts in his chair, uncomfortable at the memory. “Joker called me by name. That was unsettling as hell.”

Dick looks over, eyes wide. “That is. That’s super unsettling. That really makes it feel personal, doesn’t it?”

Ollie licks around his mouth, grimacing. “Yeah. It’s something you never ever want to hear, that’s for damn sure.” As if this reminds him, Ollie looks down at himself, rubbing his hand over the grime on his tunic. “I better go take that shower I mentioned before this junk calcifies on me.” He gets up from the table and drops a hand on Dick’s shoulder, shaking it. “I’m glad you were here when I got back. I needed this talk. Been feeling lately like I’ve got nowhere to unload it all.”

Dick clasps the hand on his shoulder and smiles up at Ollie. “Any time. You’re more than welcome to come unload on me when you need it.” He lasts maybe two seconds before facepalming at himself. “Could’ve picked a better choice of words, considering, wow. You know what I mean!”

Ollie snorts, flicking Dick’s ear with his finger. “Don’t feel like you gotta run off,” he says, “but if you’re gone by the time I’m out, I’ll catch up with you later.”