Hidden Meanings

The group Jason stayed with wasn't fixed; the members came and went like the wind. But his twelfth year was the worst one it had ever been in the city, and people–including especially the ones in Jason's group–kept dropping dead. In the end there was only Jason, who was so so so sick of being abandoned.

But Jason was as stupid as he was lonely, so when a woman unexpectedly appeared before her, claiming to be his birth mother who had been obliged to give him up in the past due to her work, and who now that she could take him back immediately went to do so?

He went with her. He figured if he died, at least he wouldn't be doing it all alone.

And surprise surprise, Jason did die.

Not, mind you, before three years passed. Yeah, Jason was the most surprised about that too–he had always been the one to survive when others had died, but he genuinely didn't expect to live that long either.

Jason's mother Sheila Haywood was a scientist. She used to work for the government–decidedly for something shady–but was now operating by herself. Just her, plus Jason who deduced that she had taken him in to be an assistant that she could overwork for no pay.

Jason stayed on with her, despite everything, until he turned fifteen and there was a zombie apocalypse that Sheila casually revealed she had known from the start considering her research had been to find its cure.

Cut Jason some slack; he did help her with the research, but all he did was grunt work. Not even in his wildest dreams did he anticipate anything like a freaking zombie apocalypse moreover its cure!

Yeah, anyway. The zombie apocalypse happened and Jason got infected and killed for it, then had his zombie-virus-infected body experimented on by Sheila until she finally buried him.

Honestly, at that time, if Jason's whole life had ended like that, he wouldn't have minded much. At least he didn't die alone or get abandoned by someone again. He even got a grave out of it!

But of course, Jason then revived. Worse, it was as a zombie in basically every way–except at the tiny corner of his mind that remained cognizant.

Worst, he met you.

You baffled Jason so much at the beginning. Who saw a zombie in a zombie apocalyptic world and took it as a pet instead of killing it? At least running away from it?

Well, you specifically probably couldn't run away. That was another thing that baffled Jason: how weak you were. Someone as weak as you should have abandoned Jason died a long time ago, yet you managed to survive. Only by the skin of your teeth, granted, but you did manage to survive all by yourself.

(He never told you this, but it actually pleased Jason to know you were alone like him.)

(It pleased him even more that you chose to stay with him, then still a zombie, rather than join the other human survivors.)

A third thing that baffled Jason was what he later learnt was the System, in some unknown way attached to you, providing you with both highly valuable materials and information. In his unintended road trip with you, Jason slowly put things together: that you were not from this world, that you were here on a mission to save this world, and that you needed Jason to do it.

Other people might get angry upon learning they were approached only for help. Jason, however, remained as stupid as he was lonely, and his first instinct was to feel afraid.

Would you abandon Jason too once your mission was completed?

...

Of course you would.

Of course you did.

Jason still struggled anyway. Still screamed and fought and tried his best to get to you, to reach and pull you into his arms and never let go of you ever again, the two of you getting killed together by the zombies be damned. Jason could've been happy to have his torn corpse indistinguishable from yours to the point the two of you had to be buried together.

But you were such a selfish little bitch, you just had to abandon Jason, didn't you?

Well, no matter. Jason hadn't spent all his time just researching the cure to this damn virus–

(Sometimes he wondered if it had been his fault that you left him. He knew your mission required him to find the cure, couldn't he have pretended that he couldn't do it? But he was too scared you would be the one to face the consequences, that you would suffer because of Jason, so he didn't.)

–he had also been looking into the System.

With his eyes shining toxic green, as he was dragged into the helicopter away from your now torn apart body, Jason made his plan.

He would contact the System. He would get the System to bring him to wherever you were. He would find you there. And then?

He would lock you up and make sure you would never get to abandon Jason ever again.

In retrospect, you had no reasons to run.

After all, if it had indeed been Jason (yes it was, not even nine years in four other worlds could've made you forget him) it wasn't as if there was any grudge between the two of you, right? You could've just–stayed. Talked to him. Hell, maybe you could've even experienced strolling down a street full of living human beings with him and no zombies around for the first time!

However, your instinct said no–that you had to run away. You hadn't survived a full decade as a transmigrator without listening to your instinct.

So you ran and ran without stopping, absently noting with smug glee Jason's astonishment at you now being so quick and agile, until you lost him and locked yourself up in your house with a genuine sigh of relief.

For an entire week you stayed in your house the whole time, not even venturing into your garden. By the seventh day, though, you heard a kitten's high-pitched panicked meow in the garden, and was lured into finding it.

Sue you, you were a softie for cats.

The poor thing was thin, almost disconcertingly so, though it was still full of life–evidenced by its loud and constant meowing. You fed it milk and bits of tuna from your fridge, which reminded you that you badly needed to buy groceries for yourself if not the kitten.

You could get the groceries delivered, of course, even order stuff for the kitten online. But you figured you should get the kitten checked up...

...and, to be honest, you'd been stir-crazy being home for the whole week.

Thus, throwing caution to the wind, you brought the kitten with you to the pet clinic.

The pet clinic was part of a pet shop, along with a pet salon, a pet hotel, a pet cafe, and an animal shelter. A very big and busy place, but of decent quality and affordable rates.

(Just because you had your inheritance back now didn't mean you no longer had any sense of money.)

As it turned out, the kitten was disconcertingly thin enough–despite its thankfully hearty appetite–that the vet advised letting it stay at the clinic overnight. You agreed, of course, then turned to the shop area, figuring you might buy the necessities today so that tomorrow you'd only have to pick the kitten up.

You got kitten kibbles, two pet bowls, a litter box with its filler and scooper, firmly resisting the urge to get toys that you knew from the internet that the kitten most likely would ignore in favour of literal trash. You decided you'd get it a collar tomorrow, along with its pet carrier.

So far, all was fine and dandy. You paid for and gathered your purchase then turned to one side, where a doorway led to what appeared to be the shelter area. You were only turning that way to face the exit, but right then, a young teenage boy walked through the doorway and stopped dead at the sight of you.

The boy had black hair and warm brown skin, which made his vivid green eyes stand out. He was frowning, but his hands were obviously careful and gentle as they cradled an adult cat purring out a storm.

The boy, by the way, was someone you knew:

Damian, from your second world.

Alfred Hitchcock's violin suddenly started playing.

A/N: Hope you guys like this one! Ngl I wasn't expecting to finish so soon lmao I was reading this almost 300k words fic of Peter Parker in Gotham.

Please leave replies or send asks! I crave validation 🙏

Out of better ideas, you went to Jason's grave. Not that it was easy–far from it, actually. You were so damn weak that the shambling zombies were almost able to match your pace, and your arms felt like they could fall off the sockets when you wielded anything heavier than a pencil. Not to mention the nauseating sight of the rotting, maggot-infested zombies themselves, and the fact that in this world you could hardly just walk to a store to buy supplies or ride the bus to your destination.

Thankfully, the System also gave a mini mission of killing zombies in exchange for rewards, though you weren't able to choose said rewards yourself. You killed your first zombie and was rewarded with a freaking Molotov cocktail. You used it to kill an entire room full of zombies and received a sturdy leather jacket. You killed at least three more before finally getting a bottled mineral water.

By the time you dragged your sore, weak, filthy body to the cemetery, you had lost count of how many zombies you had encountered and taken down. When you saw yet another zombie here, literally clawing their way out of a grave, it was only sheer exhaustion and your weak body that made you instinctively hide instead of kill them.

It wasn't until the System pinged in your mind with a congratulations, Host! for making contact with Jason Todd that your brain realized what was happening.

Ohhh. So that was Jason. And he wasn't dead so much as undead, apparently?

...you were still majorly fucked. How on Earth were you supposed to help Jason Todd the zombie in finding a way to save this zombie apocalyptic world?

In the end, you just helplessly followed Jason as he stumbled around like an extremely messed up deer. You actually herded him with a stick, steering him away from both his fellow zombies out of fear it'd ignite his so far undisplayed lust for brains and the few thankfully existing human survivors out of fear they'd kill him too.

Thanks to that, you couldn't afford teaming up with the said human survivors. Had it not been for your mini mission of killing all zombies aside from the one you were herding, you would've long since died of starvation or something else. Once you mastered the art of herding Jason the zombie, however, you quickly grew accustomed to doing everything with him as company.

You ate while keeping an eye on him, locked him up in a locker or some such place before settling down for a nap directly in front of the door, even washed up and changed clothes with him in the same room as you. Maybe your mind had grown messed up what with all the zombies you had to kill, or maybe it had been like that since you were dying in your original world, but honestly? After a while, you grew rather fond of Jason.

He was your emotional support zombie now. In this zombie apocalyptic world.

Yeah, you were so fucked.

Days after days, weeks after weeks, months after months passed just like that: with you surviving, killing zombies, and herding Jason. You even got into the habit of talking aloud to him–initially just when you had him firmly locked up in a closet or something and you could lean back on the door and pretend you were chatting with a friend who was comfortably leaning back on the other side, but it quickly became basically all the time when you realized Jason seemed to... listen? He wasn't insistently shambling around for something out there while you rambled about every subject that crossed your mind anyway. And when you found a copy of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein at one of your zombie hunts (look at how you'd grown; you used to constantly cower and shake in fear like a hunted bunny) and began reading it out loud to Jason, you swore there was an intelligent light in his eyes.

Eventually, amongst the food, medical supplies, weaponry, and other rewards from the System, you acquired a most valuable info:

Lazarus water.

Better known as the potential cure to this zombie apocalypse!

The zombie apocalypse actually began due to a deadly combination of corporate greed, corrupt government wanting to conquer the world, and what you'd like to think were misguided instead of evil scientists too preoccupied trying to figure out if they could to wonder whether they should. They more or less accidentally made the zombie virus which immediately infected some of their own members, and due to improper handling, it managed to break containment and spread into the rest of the world.

Another group of scientists had been working on a cure for the zombie virus from the beginning, but one by one they'd become infected as well, thus the project was naturally abandoned–or so it seemed to everyone in the know except for the omniscient System. It informed you that a single scientist had survived long enough to create the cure, this Lazarus water. It wasn't a perfect cure by any means, but the System guaranteed that it was good enough to cure Jason.

That made you so happy you actually pulled the still zombified Jason into a tight hug. No need to worry about being bitten by him there; you had long since muzzled him.

It would be so awkward if Jason remembered everything–or at least this one thing–once you got him back alive, but you decided that was problem for future you.

It was rather anticlimactic, in the end. You found an abandoned bike with a sidecar, which you put Jason into, and drove it to the laboratory where this Lazarus water was kept. There was a second of bemusement when you found out there was a whole pool of the stuff, but that actually made it more convenient. Unceremoniously, you shoved Jason into the pool.

He let out a voice that for a living person might be a yelp, went under for a second, thrashed around for a minute, then finally hoisted himself out of the pool. Formerly vacant, dim, dead blue eyes now tinged green like Lazarus water but focused and bright and alive alive alive, staring back right at you.

You never thought yourself a dramatic person, but considering everything, you deemed it fitting to properly greet him with:

"Welcome back to life, Jason Todd."

Jason tore off the muzzle from his face. With a voice raspy from disuse, the first thing he said to you was:

"You're a perverted freak, Reader S."

...yeah, your bad for the muzzle.

After that, you began traveling with Jason again. Still surviving and killing zombies, only this time there was no herding Jason. For the first week at least you had been continually surprised to hear him respond when you were chattering. The first time he shushed you, you were so offended that you just gaped at him for half a minute.

"You know, my memory as a zombie might be fuzzy, but I do remember you duct-taping my mouth because I kept making noises when you wanted to sleep."

"That never happened, dude. Your mind must have hallucinated it or something."

It was an adjustment, but... a good adjustment. You didn't realize how much you had longed for proper human interactions until you finally had it. Jason the human was–well, human. He made jokes (mostly dark, zombie-related ones), either got amused or offended at your response to said jokes, teased you for your weak body because your now thirty-five points out of one hundred were still decidedly below average, squabbled with you over who slept on which side and other petty details. If you could ignore the world being what it was, it was as if you and Jason were just two ordinary friends on an ordinary road trip.

Of course, the world being what it was, the two of you encountered plenty of un-ordinary things too. You experienced fighting back to back with Jason, driving fast as he shouted directions into your ear, even (embarrassingly more than once. Or twice. Or thrice) nearly falling to your knees from exhaustion only to be hurriedly picked up and thrown over Jason's shoulder as he carried you to safety.

More importantly, you experienced actually carrying out your mission in helping Jason save the world.

You had taken everything you thought might be important from the lab. Jason, upon seeing one of the papers scribbled all over with scientific formulas you couldn't hope to comprehend, had frowned before murmuring, "I know these stuff."

You raised an eyebrow. "You do?"

Jason shot you a warning glare, to which you responded with a perfectly mature tongue poke. But hesitantly, he added,

"I do. I've seen these. I–understand these."

Implied but not spoken: He might be able to perfect the Lazarus water cure with them. He might be able to save this world. You might be able to finish your mission, then perhaps the next and the next ones before finally coming back to your original world, leaving Jason.

You didn't hesitate to tell him, "Then let's try perfecting the cure."

(You didn't hesitate to do so, but you would've hesitated if asked to tell what you were feeling.)

Finding Jason took three months. Herding him until you found out about Lazarus water took three more months. Being the 'provider' for the two of you as he worked on the formulas took yet another three months, after which Jason's research came to the stage where he'd require more resources including test subjects, so you and he sought out a group of survivors.

Time flew by without you realizing it, moreover properly appreciating it. On the day marking an entire year you had spent on this world, there were three major occurrences:

First, Jason perfected the cure.

Second, the base you were in got invaded by the largest number of zombies you'd ever seen here. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of them somehow had managed to gather unobserved by anyone in the base and break down the barricade, pouring in and immediately going for the kill.

Third, the System suddenly and unexpectedly told you:

[Congratulations for the first successful mission, Host! You will be moved automatically to the next world in one hour, or at any point starting from now if preferred. A friendly reminder that your body here will drop dead right afterwards, so you might want to find someplace convenient for it!]

What the everliving fuck. This bitch of a system never even hinted at something like that during your whole year living here?!

Before you could spiral, Jason's voice screaming your name brought you back. Your head snapped towards him. He was standing, struggling while four of the other survivors tried their best to haul him into a waiting helicopter–over one hundred metres away from where you were standing, with a mass of the zombies swarming between.

Jason was screaming your name, refusing to go unless they brought you too.

He looked terrified.

Oh.

Oh, Jason.

Absently, you recalled one of the rewards you received from the System: a one-use ability to teleport something to anywhere you choose. You'd never had the need to use it, until now.

Now, you used the ability. You teleported your copy of Frankenstein to Jason.

The book hit Jason in the chest hard enough to make him pause in his struggle. He instinctively caught the book before it could hit the ground, his green eyes staring wide at it before snapping towards you in horror.

Could you have done something else? Something better?

Perhaps. You couldn't think of any, though.

You just smiled, waved, and mouthed 'Stay alive' to your friend. Then, as the zombies began to swarm you to the point you could no longer see him, you told the System to take you away.

Your body probably hadn't even hit the ground when the zombies tore it apart.

In the present time, in your original world.

You looked at Jason.

Jason looked at you.

You sucked your boba tea.

Jason gave both books in his hands to the cashier.

You chewed the tapioca balls.

Jason paid for his now wrapped books.

Finally, you threw your now-empty cup into a nearby trash can and dashed.

Behind you, Jason shot out of the bookstore and ran after you like a wolf hunting a rabbit.

"READER S, YOU GET BACK HERE!!!"

A/N: I think I slayed it with the story 😎 Tell me if I did, guys, and lie to me if I didn't. I need the validation to survive.

Hope you guys like this story! Let me know if you want to be tagged 💕

Once upon a time, you were just an ordinary person living an ordinary life.

You had an ordinary family, attended an ordinary school, harboured ordinary hopes and fears, and looked forward to have an ordinary happy future. Then you turned nineteen, and gods or demons or whatever higher being up there suddenly decided fuck this one human in particular. In one fell swoop, your life turned into a nightmare.

...no need to dwell on it. Suffice to say, your life became perfectly awful until you were on your last breath, when the System appeared with an offer you couldn't–wouldn't–didn't refuse: to be a quick transmigrator hopping from one world to another, accomplishing missions as assigned by the System there, in exchange for all your wishes being granted.

To tell the truth, you hadn't even thought for a second that you would've been able to do it. You just figured you had nothing else to lose, so why not?

Wasn't as if your life hadn't become hell on Earth by that point anyway. You didn't mind leaving it.

To your own astonishment, however, you found yourself–not a genius, no, nor a prodigy either... But you were decent. Good enough. While it was decidedly not smooth sailing, nevertheless you were able to complete missions after missions, worlds after worlds, until here you were now: in your original world again.

Alive. Healthy. Proven innocent of all that you'd been falsely accused of and amply recompensed for it, on top of having your inheritance back and your degree now proudly displayed on your wall.

It didn't undo any of the suffering. It didn't erase the memories. It didn't prevent the nightmares that still woke you every other night, shooting up sitting and shaking and pressing your fist against your heart beating loud.

But it did settle something within you. As you strolled down the street, head held up proud as you browsed the shop windows, listening to music on your earphones and sipping on boba tea, a wave of contentment washed over your whole body.

Finally, you thought, lips subconsciously curving into a soft smile as you stared into a secondhand bookstore, finally you had your happy ending.

Then you accidentally locked eyes with a man inside the store, a copy of Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre and another of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice in his hands as if (or indeed) he were contemplating which to purchase.

Rather incongruously, the man didn't look the type to read that kind of books at all. He was tall and buff, with a tight-fitting black t-shirt, a brown leather jacket, and combat boots that looked like they had seen if not participated in actual combat. There was a tuft of white hair at the centre front of his otherwise black hair.

But what made you nearly choke as you inhaled the tapioca balls in your boba was the fact that you recognized the man.

It was Jason, from the very first world you transmigrated to.

...and whom you might or might not have 'died' in front of, in order to leave that world once your mission there was done.

...and who, judging from his rapidly paling face and widening eyes, recognized you back.

How odd, you suddenly felt like you were in danger.

A/N: This is inspired, admittedly, from two BL novels, A Wave of Exes Came Looking for Me. What to Do?! and The Scum Shou’s Survival Guide. I never actually finished reading the latter and already forgot the former's story though lmao

Anyway just thinking of a (now retired) quick transmigrator reader who 'died' in front of their mission targets a.k.a the Batfam before leaving each world... only to finally return to their original world and find the now yandere Batfam having reverse isekaid there too. Lol. Lmao even. Rip to them.

Let's leave the Riddler to grapple with the devastating fact that his name (ending with -er while riddle and joke are kinda related nouns) and gimmick (kidnapping people for a deadly game) can be easily confused with the Joker's and are thus unoriginal. On part 1 we've seen reader forgetting the Batfam's names, but you know how they also easily forget people's faces? And in relation to that, how much the Batfam resembles each other?

Add one plus one, and we have reader mistaking the Batfam for each other.

Dick, picking up reader from school to score brownies point with them: Reader, baby sibling! C'mere, I'm driving you home!

Reader: Oh wow, thanks, Bruce!

Dick: (stops in place) (turns to reader in horror) Pardon...?

Reader: (also stops in place) (turns to Dick in uh-oh-I-said-the-wrong-name guilt) ...wasn't that the name on the billboard with your face on it?

Dick: That was Bruce... Our father...

Reader:

Dick:

Reader: Oh. Uh. Our father... looks young?

Dick, gently clamping reader's shoulders: Look me in the eye and tell me honestly. How old do I look to you

Reader guiltily looks away. Dick books an urgent appointment with a dermatologist.

Reader: Come on, Tim, Jason! Just pick a movie, it'd be dawn by the time you two finish arguing!

Jason: Whoa, finally? You got the right names, kid!

Reader: I did? (suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of achievement) I mean, of course I did, duh!

Tim, squinting suspiciously: No no no, wait a minute... My intuition says there's something wrong

Jason: Oh shut up, what could be– holy shit, no way

Reader: ?

Jason: Hey, reader. Which of us do you think is Jason?

Tim: Which one is Tim?

Reader: (sense of achievement turns to dread) I–

Jason & Tim: Which one is which?

Sadly, reader proceeds to misidentify them. Movie night is cancelled as Tim and Jason brawl over the insult of being mistaken for each other.

Damian: Father wants us to gather in his study

Reader: Oh, okay. Thanks for telling me

Damian: (grabs reader's elbow) You did not say my name

Reader: ...ah

Damian: (lightly squeezes reader's elbow in warning) My name?

Reader, unsubtly tugging away: Uhh you know what Shakespeare says, right, what's in a name, such a thing doesn't matter, you're still my little brother whom I love very much–

Damian: My. Name.

Reader: ...

Damian: ...

Reader: ...

Damian: ...

Reader: ...Tim?

A moment later, Bruce hears from his study, "SOMEONE HELP! THE LITTLE ONE IS TRYING TO TATTOO HIS NAME!!!"

"I WOULD NEVER HAVE TO DO THIS IF NOT BECAUSE OF YOU! HOW DARE YOU MISTAKE ME WITH DRAKE OF ALL PEOPLE!! MY NAME IS DAMIAN!!!"

"ANYONE HELP, I CAN'T HOLD ONTO HIM ANYMORE! HE'S GETTING THE SWORD TO SCAR HIS FOREHEAD WITH HIS NAME!!!"

Tim, elsewhere: I'd be insulted by those two's reaction having their names mistaken for mine. But honestly I'm just as insulted here

The solution to this? The Batfam wearing clothes with their names written on them. At the very least, name tags.

Reader's best friend, comforting the Batfam: It's okay, Reader's always like this. They only remembered my name the first time because we had to wear these 8 by 12 name signs hanging from our necks for the whole orientation period. And even then after the weekend they still had to steal a glance at the name tag on my uniform

Reader: Sowwy, bestie 😔💔

Don't worry (?) though, reader also still regularly forgets the Batfam's names.

Dick: This morning, reader called me Elmo. Apparently they remembered Jason calling me Big Bird and their mind immediately associated it with Elmo

Tim: The day before yesterday, reader called me Him–like, the friggin' Powerpuff Girls' villain Him. Yesterday, they called me Jim right when Jim Gordon the police commissioner was dropping by. He laughed at me. And today, because they heard Jason call me Timberly, they somehow came to the conclusion that I would definitely be named Kimberly!

Dick & Tim, turning towards Jason: That's why we are hosting this intervention, to stop you from addressing us by misleading nicknames ever again

Jason, squirming out of the mummy-like rope binding while vigorously worming his way across the floor: You will pry my right to nickname you lot from my cold dead fingers–

Alfred:

Reader:

Alfred:

Reader, vaguely recollecting Alfred's surname is related to money a.k.a. Penny: Dollar...? No, wait, you're British. ...Poundsterling?

Alfred, tired: That was not even a surname, Young Mx

Life is just hard for forgetful reader, man. Have pity on them 💔

Eh-nee-way, first we gotta go back to the time Deathstroke (🫳💀💕) was training you, back when you were hiding abroad from Batman and his fearsome Bat-adoption papers. Among other things, Deathstroke also gave you a list of people and/or organizations you should not offend yet, with a stern warning that you shouldn't treat the list as a checklist.

You didn't do that, of course! Geez, what did he think you were?

You used it as a bingo card 💕

"If that kid is doing something stupid again I'm not going to help them." –Slade Wilson, a.k.a. Deathstroke, one (1) full minute before covertly looking up your location

"Whatever you say, Slade. Pink Robin's having manicure with Lady Shiva in Paris, by the way." –William Wintergreen, Deathstroke's butler slash mentor slash probably life and work partner

Fast forward to when you were fourteen. Robin the Third had just debuted but was already being quite the nuisance, constantly breaking into your beloved container unit of a home to ~enlighten~ you about the greatness of Robin the First like a kind of door-to-door missionary. No matter how many times you threw him into the sea and robbed him, he just kept coming!

At one occasion, you were so annoyed by him that after bodily wrestling him into submission, you didn't release the guy but instead took him hostage, holding him at knifepoint (your guns were out of bullets 💔) and shouting at Batman via comms to fetch HIS Robin the Third and keep him away from you lest you do something you'd regret.

Little did you anticipate, this admittedly reckless move would awaken Robin the Third's attraction towards you that would last to this day even if he still hasn't realized the truth himself. What a little freak. You could've been mutuals on Tumblr.

...holy non sequitur, Batman. Sorry, guys! Where were you again?

Oh yeah, you were fourteen. Four years and going as a merc. Well, Robin the Third was being so annoying to you then, so after Batman came to pick him up and you had a mini heart attack realizing what you'd just done everything, you wisely decided to flee abroad just until the Bats were too occupied to forcibly try to adopt you again.

Throwing a dart blindfolded at a world map, you chose your destination, which unbeknownst to you back then was one of the bases belonging to the League of Assassins. Which in turn was one of the names on the bingo card list Deathstroke gave you.

Oh well, whatever. You planned to lie low anyway.

The very next day, you broke into the League's compound.

You needed your enrichment ♪ヽ(*´∀`)ﾉ

All the fics, novels, comics, films, games, etc you brought with you: You've promised to devote yourself to me on this vacation, you scumbag!

You didn't mean to do anything... well, much beyond sightseeing and taking selfies at the League's compound, prommie. Pinky swears, even! But as the proverb says: Man proposes, God disposes. When the path you were taking branched out into four options, you naturally went eeny-meeny-miny-moe, your left hand covering your eyes as your right moved wildly over the four options.

Then you stopped, opened your eyes, and saw that you were pointing at a suddenly appearing group of assassins.

Welp. Insert a Looney Tunes chase scene here.

You dashed here, took a turn there, swung up into a vent here, cannonballed down a hole (?) there, all the while dodging swords and other weaponry thrown your way, not forgetting to pocket the ones that took your fancy and thus having the cries of 'Thief!' added to the ones of 'Intruder!'.

If they didn't want you to take their things, they shouldn't throw them around, geez 🙄

Eventually, your exploration led you landing on top of a dissected child's body.

A vivisected child's body, you corrected yourself as said child proceeded to choke and tear up.

"Oh my gosh! Sorry about your organs, kid!"

Never let it be said that you are unsympathetic and merciless. Unless it's to a potential client or one of your regular ones, in that case please do go ahead and add that you drink the blood of virgins and eat the flesh of babies or whatever. You have a reputation to keep.

Not in front of the kid, though, you didn't. So as soon as you noticed that he had both wrists and ankles shackled to the operating table as well as his mouth gagged–in addition to, you know, his body cut open like a frog in biology class–you figured you could do a Good Deed™ and rescue the kid.

You even made sure to ask him first, "Hey, I'm gonna blow up this joint 'cause lots of people here desperately wants me, wanna come with or get blown apart alongside them?"

He nodded rapidly, which of course meant he was excited for freedom.

You couldn't carry him piggyback considering his exposed organs, and you needed at least one of your hands free to defend the both of you, so you just moved him (very carefully! Kiddo didn't even whimper! 10/10 bedside manner for you!) onto a nearby gurney on wheels. You also raided the closet for medical supplies–suture threads and needles plus antiseptic and painkiller, most importantly–and just because it happened to be there and aroused the oh-shiny magpie instinct in you, a vial of some hopefully-not-radioactive glowing green liquid.

Later you would learn that said liquid, Lazarus water, was jealously guarded by the League and could fetch a fortune in the black market. Sadly for you, you only learnt this from Deathstroke while he was lambasting you for your 'foolish, reckless, yadda yadda' actions and after you let Respawn drink it.

Oh yeah, the kid's name was Respawn. Other people might at least blink at the name, but you had grown up a street rat with acquaintances named anything from Antichrist to Zipper. And of course, your mentor's professional name was Death-freaking-stroke.

Back to your grand escape with Respawn, at the time still only 'the kid'.

You tossed him the med supplies and sincerely told him, "Try to stitch yourself back together. If you can't, I also got a stapler. I'd offer duct tapes too, but I just have this washi tape."

The kid looked as if he thought you were crazy, but you generously interpreted it as he was awed by your obvious competence and badassery. As he wordlessly began suturing himself, you held onto the headboard of the gurney, put one foot on the bar connecting the wheels right below the aforesaid headboard, then clicked a button on your phone.

The next moment, you used your other foot to push the gurney, with you and the kid forward.

The next next moment, a loud BOOM sounded from a distance, followed by a force of hot air propelling the gurney forward even faster. The kid let out a frankly adorable high-pitched noise, only drowned out by your whoop of exhilaration.

Who needed rollercoasters when you got this!!!

😱🏥🛏️ 😆🌬💥💣

↑

Modern hieroglyphic depiction of the scene, hospital and person in bed substituting a gurney because apparently there's no emoji for it yet

"HELL YEAHHH!!! AHAHAHA!!! LET IT BURN BURN BUUURRRNNN!!!"

"AAAAHHH YOU CRAZY BASTARD LET ME GO AAAHHH!!!"

It was most heartening to witness the formerly silent, timid little boy blossom into a bold and expressive young man. Could this be what Miss Charity felt seeing you grow up over the years?

The two of you got out of the compound without looking back. Not precisely because cool guys don't look back at explosion so much as because the guys at said compound (those who didn't get caught in the explosion, at least) were furiously chasing after you. You loaded the kid plus all the stuff you'd stolen into a jeep conveniently parked nearby, hotwired said jeep, and hit the gas, away from the League of Assassins' compound.

Once you were in the clear, the kid–who had stitched himself up pretty nearly despite all the screaming then–gave you another look.

Vehemently, not a little petulantly, he said, "You're crazy."

"Not completely wrong," you genially agreed. With a grin, you introduced yourself, "I'm Pink Robin! Mercenary, at your service!"

Respawn: ...and that is why I'm the superior little brother of Pink Robin

Damian: Fuck you

A/N: The poll result is yes, so I'll be updating the betaverse masterlist to include Pink Robin and Guide series! Tomorrow tho, tonight I got a banging headache 💕

Btw, here's another poll for you guys: