jscrawls

Part 29: what next?

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The scent of smoke still lingers in the air, acrid, slightly sweet, and damning.

Barbara and Tim are still talking as they rush around the living room, laptops are being set up, coasters pushed off the coffee table to make space, Tim stumbles on Barbara's chair and spills soda all over the very expensive rug….. without so much as pausing to look at the mess.

cassandra is curled on an armchair with a judging expression aimed at the others, she’s holding an ice pack to her leg from some fight she got into with (name) in the backyard that bruce hadn’t even known about. there’s way too much slipping past him these days.

it's all a head rush to the shaken man.

J’onn is sitting next to him on the sofa, the same spots where he sat with (name) during an investigation And comforted the person who looked like his spouse. The same room they'd argued in over their reckless actions with his youngest.

Honestly with the context he now has? He's relieved that worse didn't happen in front of Damian.

Condensation drips onto his lap from a glass of water someone shoved into his grasp, but he doesn't react or set it down. He knows he needs to sober up, drink the damn water and clear his mind so he can deal with this properly. Be the responsible adult in this situation, (even if everyone in the room is grown) it's what he does. He takes charge because he's the one who can remove all emotion and be objective in any situation, or at least that's what he tells himself. he can be objective, he will be objective and rational and intelligent.

…He can't seem to untangle any of his thoughts to do anything but keep repeating what he saw.

(Name) Wasn't his (name), but they were at the same time. Their childhood, their family, their school life, college and the following internships and the trips to study out of the country, Their first meetings. he saw it from their perspective in his minds eye, even felt brief flickers of their emotions that they associated with the memories.

It's all still in their mind, but so is something new and very confusing. This would've been easier if they weren't still them.

there was something dangerous in their body, a cold war assassin from a different timeline. that was the only explanation for everything so different and wrong with those memories, they wore the same face, used the same name, but they were from somewhere very, very different than his world. aliens attacking the universes populations, government produced metas running rampant, public identities, unbelievable cruelties to the young, he cant get the picture out of his head of a child being given a gun and told to point it at a man.

he’s no stranger to weird timeline shenanigans, he knows about the batman who laughs timeline, the dark justice league timeline, the thomas wayne batman, the different realities where each of his children have taken up his mantle after his death.

but (name) comes from a place with no justice league, no gotham, no bruce wayne.

no version of him was in their life, that he could tell from what j’onn showed them anyways, they were a loner in all the worst meanings of the word. alone, no bonds beyond some redheaded woman, they were just existing to be violent without their own cause. just taking whatever work is pointed at their boss.

“bruce?” a voice snaps him to attention, j’onn is still staring at the zippo they brought in like some kind of fucked up evidence of this whole nightmare, the martians long emerald fingers keep rubbing over the face of the metal over and over, contemplative more than fearful, for some reason. it gives bruce pause for a moment.

he sighs deeply, lowering the water to the coffee table (in-between cords and caffeine sources) he wipes his damp hand on his pantleg a few times before he speaks. “…j’onn, what do you think of all this? i think i…”

he doesn’t finish the thought, i think i need guidance for once. he can’t look vulnerable in front of tim and barbara right now, when they’re already freaked out and jumping to conclusions about him being too emotionally compromised to deal with….whatever this is.

jonnz turns his gaze on him then, eyeing Bruce’s fingers twisting into the fabric of his clothes over his thigh, before he looks at him with that unreadable crimson stare. “you’re sweating.”

bruce almost runs a hand through his hair out of habit, but he reaches for the untouched water instead. “i wasn’t talking about my situation, you’re a detective, you saw into their head, what do you make of this?”

the silent give us something to work with. goes unsaid, but it’s very much felt. bruce can feel the others listening, barbara shifting towards them, tims clenched jaw as he hunches over a monitor, cassandra just straight up stares.

j’onn turns his head to glance at the zippo again, the burnt tarnish slowly rubbing away and revealing a heat tint in blues and purples.

“do you trust me to actually make a judgement, or do you just need to hear someone speaking calmly.”

bruce is annoyed that he hesitates for a moment, what does he actually need here? does he want j’onn to pass a a sentencing on his spouse-this case? or does he just want a distraction while he tries to figure out where he’s supposed to stand here. is he a husband? or a vigilante?

j’onn glances up before bruce can figure out what to spit out, but its not at bruce.

the martians bloody gaze stares at the doorway to the living room, and for a moment? bruce thought (name) was gonna walk in like always with that same clipped expression they wore these days, but no, instead the hall squeaks (shoes?) then damian stomps in at a quick pace.

”you!!” damian practically shouts as he locks onto tim, already pointing at him with a snarl twisting his expression into something enraged.

tim blinks in genuine confusion as he twists his torso away from his laptop. “me?-ack!”

the room collectively flinches as damian grabs a decorative candle off the fireplace shelf and lobs it at tims head.

j’onn is somehow already on his feet, but damian isn’t done yelling. “you freaking asshole! what the hell did you do!? why is (name) gone?”

bruce steps between the boys before anything else can be thrown, he tries to raise his hands and coax things to something a little calmer. (and lower volume.) “damia-”

but he gets cut off before he can hope to finish.

“no! i want to know why the channels are sending emergency alerts, and the bat chat is blowing up with some bullshit about tim catching a spy!?”

barbaras head whips around and she gives tim a flat look. “did you really take all the credit for my research leading to this?”

tim huffs, gingerly pressing a cold soda to his forehead dramatically. “feel free to reap the rewards too, there’s more candles.”

bruce tries again to mediate. “damian, stop yelling at your brother and listen to us. this is actually very serious, (name) isn’t….they’re not fully themselves right now, okay?”

he steps around the cords and wires hanging off the coffee table, and crosses the room to put a hand on his sons shoulder.

damian pauses for a moment, then, his face scrunches and he crosses his arms and turns his face away. “you smell like alcohol, you decided to get drunk over this?”

a flicker of sheepish embarrassment shoots through bruce, but he doesn’t flinch away or pull his hand back. “….that was before anything happened, and I’m very much in the right mind. now focus on the actual pressing issue for me.”

he tries to get damian to look at him, but tim speaks up behind him with a painfully sarcastic tone. “yeah, there’s a whole ass dopple-ganger slash ghostly possession wearing our parents body and running around the world right now. but let’s throw decorations at each other instead of dealing with it.”

cass shoots tim an unreadable look from her sprawled position in the armchair.

“i told you they’re not a threat, they fight like they just want to live, not to kill us.”

“they didn’t try to kill you, that’s great and all that cass. but they weren’t being super gentle and careful in the hospital when they tried to stab red robin in the neck, and are we forgetting that they brutalized that guy in the parking lot?”

damian leans around bruce to snap at tim huffily. “are you gonna hold onto that forever? you lived you dramatic dork. and that ”guy” was a crook trying to kidnap me and assault them. and he only lost a tooth! you do that every damn night with your stupid under-trained bo staff and nobody bats an eye at it! you only care about that and bring it up constantly because it fueled your vendetta.”

barbara groans into her hands loudly, the ginger slides her fingers under her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose tightly. “well, we weren’t wrong to be wary of them…”

cass chimes in again. “they’re probably frightened wherever they are, they shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“i kinda agree, we should focus back on finding them so we can monitor them and figure out how to fix them-” barbaras sentence is cut off by another interruption from damian.

“don’t talk about them like a dog that ran away from home, and what do you mean fix them?”

barbara glares sharply at damian, and this time he looks a bit sheepish for his quick outbursts.

she straightens up and fixes her glasses before fixing the room with a stern look. “i’m not saying that (name) is a dog, or malfunctioning, but they are hiding something very, very dangerous about themselves. we can’t ignore that part, and we can’t pretend that wayne manor wasn’t compromised.”

damian waits a moment to make sure she’s done speaking this time, then he steps around bruce to stand closer to the group. “….you guys still haven’t explained what exactly happened.”

cass is the one who speaks up next. “martian manhunter read (name’s) mind, we saw some things from another timeline….they’ve been through a lot.”

“yeah, a lot of bodies.” tim mutters quietly as he reaches for his drink again with a small scowl still on his face.

cass doesn’t even pause before she turns her head and speaks dryly.

“so have i. Will you hunt for me?”

the mood in the room falls a little more somber, somehow. not out of shock obviously, but remembrance that this isn’t a removed issue for some of the members of the bats.

the silence stretches for just a few seconds, then damian clears his throat quietly. “can i see the….other timeline stuff?”

his gaze flicks to the martian, and suddenly everyone else remembers that the poor man has been witness to all this bickering and family drama playing out.

said alien glances at the boy, then his blood red eyes lock on bruce. “i can, but your father has something to say first.”

bruce blinks, of course he’s being put under the spotlight. damned mind readers…

he returns to the couch and sits with a grunt, trying not to think about how he always sat on the left side beside his- “i’d like to wait and just show the others all at once, if you can wait for a bit, i want the whole group up to date on this….”

bruce looks at damian.

“i want us all to talk about this on even footing, to make a plan for our next steps….and i want all the bats ready to take in (name) if they see them.”

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A/n: been a while since I did a different POV huh? The candle part was my favorite scene for some reason so I hope y'all are okay with the Tim abuse 😔 anyways thx for reading and I manifest a good day for y'all! 💙

Part 28: no rest this time!

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You were still shaking as you came to a sudden stop to lean against an old brick building.

Your fingers were all hot, your arms tingled with numbness while your legs were the opposite sting of pain and too much feeling. You were gonna be sick, you were certain you were gonna throw up this time, you're a total mess and you know it, blood spackled rumpled shirt, bruises dot your skin from Cassandra's little test, and you can discern that you've got a manic look on your face to go with your heaving chest.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you're hit with yet another fractured memory that isn't yours, the ache behind your eyes makes you want to drop to the dirty ground, just what the hell did that Martian do to you!?

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“are you sure this is safe? I don't think anywhere in Gotham counts as normal soil condition.”

The muttered words make you roll your eyes and let out yet another sigh, your head whips towards the speaker while you keep your pace up. “I checked it all out last week, even did a macronutrient test, it's the perfect place to test the hardiness of it.”

Your boot catches on a vine, and you stumble into a tree trunk right after you finish speaking.

Her total silence behind you is telling.

“…look, there's water, plenty of sunlight and shade, the swamp provides great nutrients and organic matter. And there's even some old ranger shack thing out here, so observation will be a lot more comfortable. Okay?”

Your huffy muttering sounds more and more defensive even to your own ears, but you've already put the time and resources into this to think about quitting now. So, you keep trekking through leaf loam and snagging roots with stubborn determination.

After walking into multiple spiderwebs, and tripping one more time on a stump that you could've sworn wasn't there before, you finally spot the building up ahead through the trees.

It's all overgrown with ivy, and the old radio tower looks like it's gonna collapse from erosion and decay, but the lodge style building is still standing strong, windows look to be intact and everything.

At last, you turn and look at your sweaty companion behind you. The redhead gives you an unreadable look from behind her glasses while she shifts her backpack straps uncomfortably.

You jerk your head towards the building pointedly, “well? What do you think. Ready to call this place our temporary home?”

She gives the building an assessing look, them glances at you once again, lips pursed in such a way that you know she's holding a lot back. “…is there even bedding here? Water?”

You gesture flippantly at the place, turning on your heel to stubbornly walk closer. “There's at least one bed, and there's solar power, we'll figure out the water thing.”

The redhead gapes at you and quickly scrambles after you. “Hold on, one bed? Possibly no running water? This isn't a-a sleepover, (name)!”

her boots crunch dry leaves loudly behind you in her quickened haste, twigs and moss making the terrain dangerously uneven. it’s perfect in your eyes.

You ignore her outrage. “sometimes science is uncomfortable, this is nothing compared to what we'll walk out of here with anyways. Are you willing to live for your work? Or are you caving as soon as *you're* the one who's a little inconvenienced? Now let's go see if we can't break in here, a little poison ivy won't kill you, Pam.”

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you hate every bit of this, the ache behind your eyes and the sting of pain and leftover adrenaline in all your extremities, why did this have to happen now? you weren’t ready to leave! you didn’t have any concrete plans, no identity or bunker to lay low in. no backup or extraction plan, you’d naively thought that waking up here with nothing to work with was your rock bottom worse scenario.

now here you are, alone, mind compromised and your next moves guessable to someone with any intelligence. you don’t have supplies or tech to work with here, not even decent clothing or a tactical bag. you loathe this feeling of helplessness, it makes you feel utterly incompetent after all your years of infiltration missions.

what would natalia do in this situation? she’d no doubt be securing some type of safety first and foremost, probably running off to barton’s farm in your old world.

the memory of the blonde archer makes you roll your eyes as you lean against the brick wall, the idiot would be offering you a pullout couch and some nasty microwave pizza right now…

you jerk away from the wall, eyes roving the place you’re in critically.

industrial district, a few old factories and warehouse looking buildings dot the land like ugly rusted stalagmites, a few brick homes dot the empty spaces in-between the overgrown concrete lots, not the best cover, but it looks like there’ll be less chance of full security camera coverage out here.

you stalk closer to the homes as inconspicuously as you can, avoiding looking at them and keeping your head down pointing at the sidewalk. a dog barks from inside a fence, the clang of a garage echoes in the distance, this place is still clearly lived in, just normal people going about their lives while you’re trying not to lose your everything in broad daylight.

something catches your eye, there in a side yard, laundry strung out on a line, no visible car in the driveway.

it’s easy to slip over the rusted chain link fence and snag an unmarked jacket off the line, before returning to the sidewalk like nothing happened. it’s at least clean, a bit big but that’s an advantage when you want to disappear completely, it’ll cover the blood flecks on your shirt anyways, and the big hood makes you feel just a bit secure.

now for somewhere to hide out and see what happens next.

maybe you should follow your fractured memories to that cabin?

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moving through gotham in the daylight is dichotomous between feeling much lighter than gotham’s nightlife, and a quiet terror in the back of your mind that you’ll be recognized be someone. a mix of wary paranoia and curiosity for the city you’ve resided in for so long.

the people out and about are moving with the casual urgency of a busy life, work, shopping, loitering at restaurants or other places of rest and convenience, a few kids gossip loudly about the fires outside a 7/11, they’re clearly ditching school just based on the uniforms. you’re tired, really tired at this point. getting your ass kicked and your mind thrown through a blender wasn’t on your itinerary for the day, and all the walking on an empty stomach among the normal crowds isn’t improving a damn thing. you seriously doubt any of these people feel like they’re being hunted by unseen forces at every corner.

you can’t keep your eyes away from fire escapes, alleyways bathed in shadow between tall buildings, rooftops looming above, the clear skies, anyone walking a little too slow, you avoid traffic cams and security feeds above shops as much as physically possible, but there’s only so much you can do in a metropolis city like gotham.

it’s plain stressful.

between the crowds and the bad traffic spots, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the window of a shop, some little artisan bistro that you don’t bother reading the full name of. you look rough, bags line your eyes and make you look exhausted, (you are) your clothing is rumpled, and you look pale and drawn out compared to your usual tone. your gaze subconsciously drifts to the mark on your temple peeking out of your stolen hood, that stupid wound from your last moments of normalcy here….or you mean the last moment before you died and occupied this body?

you turn away from the glass and move, heading for the edge of the city. thinking about this too long makes your chest ache.

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it’s far too humid under your jacket as you drop down on an overgrown bench overlooking an old rotten gazebo, the sun is dangerously close to dipping by now, and you’re still not at the damn station, or even near the swamp, maybe your memories were too unreliable to actually find it anyways. you seriously miscalculated how far you could move in one day in this battered body, no enhancement, no muscle training beyond aesthetic, and you’re stiff as steel beams from the soreness.

you feel old.

you stare out at the lake as sunlight dances over the surface like orange and gold silk, it’s actually quite pretty…

you’re really thirsty. you should’ve nabbed some type of supplies from the city, you were just too paranoid and worked up to even think about ducking into any stores (where you could be trapped or cornered) and now you’re paying yet again for your idiotic response to high stress.

you let yourself groan and slump further down on the bench with a deep sigh, tucking your hands behind you to lean back on, then you hiss softly as a bramble digs into your thumb.

you shake your hand out and wipe the speck of blood off on your pants, your gaze wanders over the calm water again as you try to relax your legs and stretch out the cramps, breathing exercises help.

tilting your head back, you shut your eyes and just settle into the slight comfort that rest brings you, you can figure things out after you take a little rest right?

your muscles soften, your breathing softens as the ache in your everything lessens to a dull knot that you can actually ignore, you’re just tired.

and relaxed.

you’re too relaxed.

the landscape is too calm, you try to move your legs just to stretch and get up, but something snake-like has curled around your ankles.

your brain briefly flashes back to chains, a chair, a test of loyalty and your servitude. your breathing spikes despite the complete calm in the rest of your body, you need to get away from-

“you look a little held up.”

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A/n: I'D LIKE TO APOLOGIZE FOR THE DELAY AND NOT ANSWERING COMMENTS! somehow I got logged out of my accounts when I tried to add my laptop on so I am VERY SORRY FOR THAT Y'ALL!!! Anyways I hope y'all like the chapter! I've put off this part for WAYY too long since the last Pamela chapter 😭 I can't believe this is almost at thirty parts now wth!? I hope y'all have an amazing day/night and remember to drink your water! 💜🩵💜

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Part 27: the green Mile

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You didn't want to wake up after that.

Not to the brightness overhead, or the loud noises echoing in your skull that sounded suspiciously like shouting. You just wanted a few minutes of silence.

You were pulled from that strange mental place by a hand, disjointed murmurs, gentle squeezing around your fingers. For just a moment you're back at the beginning of all this, before you woke up and your life spiraled out of your control in ways the red room couldn't even prep you for.

You were still outside when you peeled your eyes open, the sun burning overhead blindingly bright like a bulb in an interrogation room. You don't remember falling to the ground, but here you were sprawled out like a sitting duck. Something squeezes at your fingers again, and you realize to your horror that you're laying in someone's lap. Horrified blue eyes meet your gaze as soon as you tilt your head back.

Bruce's expression says it all, the sheepskins been yanked off.

You want to get away, hide until this world forgets your name and face, run until your wounds tear open and fester with rot. But you're frozen locked in horrified silence with Bruce while voices argue around you.

Vaguely, you register Tim's voice. ’can I call you–’ no, he's not your boy. He's an obstacle.

Cassandra is still here, responding in blunt tones the way she always does, even after everything that happened today, it's like she didn't expect better from you.

You hear another woman, the creak of a chair, Barbara?

You squeeze your eyes shut as pain spikes in your head, you thought it was bad before, but after your brain was scrambled and all the sordidness of your soul was mucked up for everyone to see, it feels like something's cracking your brain open slowly, like an egg cracking into a pan.

You need to move, escape, fight, something, you'll scramble for anything but the defeat of being truly, irrevocably compromised. and losing your last purpose.

Your breath catches in your throat, Bruce squeezes your hand tighter. You loathe how it feels like a noose closing around you inch by inch. The faint scent of alcohol still clinging to his breath makes you nauseous as you try to make your uncooperative body do something. Slowly you feel bile rising up your throat, the voices grate in your ears like screeching nails, or the screeching cylinder of a gun dropping too fast and tearing skin. You feel like you're not getting enough air, what did they do to your lungs?

Your fingers gouge into the scratches on your chest before you realize what you're doing, the external pain distracts you, the blood welling under hand pulls you out of your mind just enough to register the other presence there.

you know who and what he is, you did your research on this worlds version of the avengers in all your free time between physical therapy and the constant naps. Martian manhunter, an extraterrestrial superhero with crazy abilities like the people in your old life, inconceivable strength like hulk, speed like quicksilver, could change his cellular structure to phase through objects like vision.

and of course the scarlet witch’s mind reading ability.

you were so fucked, he’s here just hovering in the air above you all, but his focus was on you. you could feel his red eyes staring at you, assessing your panic on the ground with the same clinical detachment that one has when watching an insect writhing under his boot. you couldn’t force yourself to look at him as you dig your fingers into your own blood, the sticky feeling is sickening to your already queasy constitution, it reminds you too much of your final seconds in your old world after the jump.

you force yourself to hold your breath for five seconds, tensing your entire body as hard as you can to force the norepinephrine out of your system, it works enough that you can focus on the yelling.

“-this is a clusterfuck, this is so damn wrong, i KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG! I told you guys that something was going on with them!” Tim sounds like he’s on the verge of his own panic attack, for a brief moment you want to tell him how to calm himself, he’s just scared. but you can’t help your enemies after they’ve extracted your brain from your head.

“i didn’t see anything that made this their faut, no orders to spy on us. did you? i was also right.” Cassandra speaks flatly, almost annoyed at the situation.

you have to rack your memory for what happened just before you got your memory scrambled like egg whites, the fight with the young woman, her apparent assessment of your whole character just based on your hesitance to take her out. you have no idea how to even think of the young lady right now, it doesn’t help that you’re fighting off a total nervous system shutdown level panic attack.

you were taught how to die, not to lose all hint of secrecy and privacy in the safety of your own mind.

“it doesn’t matter if they weren’t told to, they compromised all of us just based on a bruise, they can’t unknow what they learned, what would they do with that information now that they’re caught with their pants down?” Barbara practically groans the words out, you can just picture the woman digging her nails into the wheel grips of her chair out of stress, you can’t even blame her for her fear. anybody in the world would be terrified of a black widow.

“i could fix this situation.” the unknown deep baritone voice makes you lock up like you were just frozen in ice like the captain, you hear fabric fluttering as he suddenly draws closer.

he’s going to reach into your mind again, he’s gonna erase your memories of the bats altogether, the martian is going to do something inconceivably horrible to you. your hammering pulse suddenly pounds in your ears so loud that you can’t hear another word uttered by anyone, you feel bruce shifting, you need to do ANYTHING-

your body jerks away from him, blood soaked nails scrabble at the perfectly manicured lawn as you try to push yourself away from all of them, how fitting, you’re crawling backwards from your own punishment like a coward.

you vaguely register tim watching you, bruce climbing to his feet unsteadily, but your main focus is on the caped man approaching you, his hands up like he’s trying to catch a wild animal. you always thought of yourself as almost inhuman, something that had half the soul beaten out of it young, but at this moment? it seems your humanity crawls to the surface in the face of your terror.

“-move, don’t move.” the martian speaks calmly, though you barely make out half of what he’s saying, your back bumps the sturdy back wall of the manor, you’ve cornered yourself. you’re scrambling for anything, fingers smearing blood on bricks as you search for something that you already know won’t work.

your fingers find cold glass, an abandoned whiskey bottle that you took from an irresponsible drinker just a short while ago, life was so much easier just a few moments ago. you don’t think, just throw the fragile glass on the concrete and scramble for your zippo in your pocket.

you barely register the burst of light, the martian shouting something behind you as you sprint like a greyhound into the trees covering the fence line. you can’t make yourself question anything as your trembling hands haul you over a fence…

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A/n: sorry this one is so short, it was just fitting to end it off right there! 😓 Widow is now officially a runaway, the manor is a thing of the past (for now) wonder what they'll do 👀

A/n putting an authors note at the top to clear any confusion with this chapter, this is entirely all flashback memory stuff and it's not current happenings, I know sometimes the dream stuff trips people up sorry! 😊

Part 26: fractured glass.

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You had never hunted quite like this before.

You've tracked soldiers, infiltrated multiple organizations both small and significant, even tailed royalty making visits to his brother in the United States.

But another black widow? Never.

You wouldn't have to, if the wretch hadn't defected in the middle of a mission. Now you're tasked with your worst job yet.

Your heart pounds like a drum in your chest as you look at the photo one last time, just before you shred it and drop it to the snowy ground far below. Flaming red hair, green eyes, slightly tall for a woman, bullet wound just above the hip, according to the reports. the black widow symbol on her belt was a blaring disrespect to everything she betrayed.

The files called her the greatest student the academy ever created, the smartest, the fastest in the field, the most balanced between information gatherer and ruthless assassin. She was everything that every trainee was supposed to be, the golden standard of a perfected killer. your handlers just called her a coward.

You've been on her trail for weeks, stalking the abandoned complex for hours on end from blocks away, it's completely ironic, in your opinion, that she'd dare to set up a safehouse so close to the motherland statue. The concrete construction of a sword wielding woman, left hand stretched out towards the people.

Maybe she's making a statement.

As soon as your feet hit the icy ground, the zippo lighter flicks towards a cigarette caught in your teeth. The metallic click of flicking the zippo open and closed is soothing in its similarity to other noises, you don't actually smoke, too much DNA left laying around. But it's a damn decent cover for why someone would be slipping out of their home at this late hour.

No one pays you mind, heavy coated people hover outside of shops, a woman carries groceries on her arm while complaining about some rowdy tourists into her Bluetooth. You stroll past a group of young adults that are trying to lure a litter of kittens out from behind a dumpster in the mouth of an alleyway. It's jarring sometimes, what people will prioritize when they've got free will. A puff of smoke clouds the air in front of you as you idly wonder, would you have been one of those dumb young people playing with dirty strays?

No time to think about other lives, you think to yourself as you snuff out the cigarette against the building and pocket the filter, then silently slip behind the building.

You're not here for her, despite some of the higher-ups wanting her dead as much as they want her returned, she's not even here. You're just looking for any little piece of evidence or tech, anything you can use to possibly access her data.

Strategic homeland intervention, enforcement and logistics division.

The bastard's have been funding her new toys since she dropped out, maybe you'll get lucky and find one left out.

The back door is pitifully easy, the rusted hinges made it more difficult to open than the damned lock. the buildings entirely dark as soon as you poke your mirror in, supposedly no electricity in the place so you rely on the memorized floor plans from the last time it was commercially renovated to get around. A small complex that was once an four unit apartment, a small convenience store made up the ground floor. Though now it was just dusty toppled shelves down here, and a single candy wrapper that moves as you disturb the place.

You're not worried about footprints, enough people poke around the place out of boredom to make that a moot point of worry. You make your eyes unfocus and look around the dark, dirty room.

Tiny blinking red dot, just under a wall mounted shelf.

Well that's something you can work with.

You light up another cigarette as you stroll right past it, blowing smoke at the camera as your own little screw you to whoever watches the footage back.

The stairs are a little too solid underfoot, they don't creak and groan like the floor does on the first level. Either her organization is bad at renovating, or the black widow left it like that intentionally so she could move silently when she hears steps below her, a true spiders web.

You wonder why she left, as you stalk the bare bones upper level. What makes the perfect mutt bite it's handler? Did she see herself as too great for the jobs she was given? Did she want to be recognized and named for her work? You've been picturing her as the slightest bit narcissistic, a creature that knows it's pretty and more poisonous than everything else around it.

The first apartment is empty, not even any old furniture to accompany the peeling newspaper wall covers. so is the second one across the hallway, but the third, the back left one? Sparce furniture, too new for the condition of the downstairs. You clear the place with weapon drawn before you return to the front room. The desktop in the middle of the living room table looks too easy, it's suspicious. like a rat trap baited with peanut butter. you'll look at it last if nothing else is available.

You flip through the books on the small shelf, no hidden book compartments, no notes, and it's just misc titles, Tolstoy, dostoevsky, lermontov,

You pluck a random title off the shelf and flip to the more worn section at random.

’there was no one like me and I am unlike anyone else. i am alone, I thought, and they are EVERYONE.’

You raise an eyebrow at the underlined quote, red ink blotting on the page. just what is the spider trying at here?

You put the book back in place and walk the room, they left the newspaper on the walls like in the other units, probably hiding who-knows-what n the walls. If you had time and a team, you'd rip through every inch of this building down to the foundations. You settle for just peeling the countertop MREs open and dumping every single one into the sink, and then carefully flipping over every piece of furniture that isn't bolted down.

A single piece of paper is taped to the underside of the couch when you tip it on its back, you nearly tear it in your haste to grab it. What you find just frustrates you to hell and back, a single smiley face drawn in pencil is all that's on the paper. You nearly crumple it into a ball and throw it into the messy sink, but you just take a breath and shove it in your pocket. You'll look for invisible ink later before you rip it up and burn it.

The rooms a mess, and you're standing in the middle of it and feeling annoyed and frustrated with yourself. The computer is starting to look more tempting by the minute.

You return to the bedroom doorway, hand resting on the frame as you survey the rooms layout for a second. Small plain bed and a dresser next to it, this window is the only one not boarded up that you've seen. Not the smartest–

Something metal is pressed against the base of your skull, cold as the outside air and very much about to kill you. A voice behind you plays at deep and sultry, though it's tinged with barely concealed exasperation.

”Looks like you're compromised, black widow.”

Natalia alianovna Romanova was going to kill you.

🔹🔹🔹

the lecture hall was still unusually warm in the early evening sunlight after everyone filtered out, the weather was unusually warm this year so you’d taken the risk to open a window to air out the scaled room despite your wall terrarium full of macodes petola being light sensitive. the little colorful beauties could take a little rough trod for an hour or two while you graded works and swept up.

you ducked under a hanging basket stand by the mosquito curtains and weaved your way between rows of benches to grab your spray bottle, pausing for just a moment to frown at a candy wrapper half stuffed under some liquid fertilizer. were you teaching little children who don’t know what a rubbish bin is? you snatch up the offending colorful plastic and stuff it into your pocket before huffing and grumbling on your way back to the opposing wall. maybe it’s time to become the strict asshole professor you were always meant to be, you’re about three dirty candy wrappers and a cigarette butt shoved in another rain water catch from falling to the dark side.

“at least none of you ever contaminate my sterile containers…” your quiet words echo in the warm glass enclosure as you spray your jewel orchids, careful to not drown them as you check the humidity gauge.

“do you always talk to them?”

the voice makes you flinch, that man is far too quiet in those polished leather penny loafers.

“mister wayne, here with more questions?” you try not to sound too dry as you turn to face him, the golden evening sun catches on his glasses and nearly makes you squint in a scowl, you definitely don’t come off too friendly when he stops in.

apparently it’s tolerable, because the man just nods and adjusts the reflective shades up onto his hair and nods slowly, his gaze slides between you, in your slacks and work apron, and your carefully maintained arboretum. “mhm, if you’ll have me for a few.”

he gestures his head at your desk, already striding towards it before you could say yes or reject him, the arrogance of that man makes you roll your eyes behind his back, and follow after him after covering your plants up.

you drop down at your desk, pulling your mini trash can out from under it to dispose of the earlier garbage while he makes himself comfortable in the spare rolling chair. you try not to sound too impatient as you speak. “i take it this is still about that experiment? i’ve told you twice now that i backed out of that whole thing early on, and i even submitted multiple forms to the faculty about ethics concerns…”

the man was as persistent as the detectives were with his questioning, honestly it pisses you off that he keeps coming back. your class was starting to whisper, and you hate being caught up in the rumor mill with some nosy billionaire poking his face where it doesn’t belong.

he shifts, pawing through his hair and nearly knocking his sunglasses askew in an uncharacteristic show. “actually, i just had questions about your….” his gaze flicks around the room, tall windows allow golden light to bathe the desks and wall mounted tools and maps in a warm honey-bright glow. just behind the desk was a chalkboard covered in drawings of a….life cycle of a fungus? “….your class.”

you blink stupidly for a moment, your defensive posture twitching like he’d just hit the wrong dialogue script here, though you quickly regain yourself and reach into one of your desk drawers and pull out a pack of sanitizer wipes to scrub at your hands. “…you mean my lesson plan? i didn’t take you for the green thumb type, mister Wayne. please don’t take that any way.”

yeah you’re not getting any awards for complex social expertise, this is why you talk to your plants.

the man nods again, his gaze returning to meet yours. “i’d agree with that assessment, you could say i’m even a touch….over all the green stuff.” he pauses, clearing his throat and dropping his gaze to your desk like he’s suddenly intrigued by the crumbled moss tears dirtying it. “…i mean no offense to your plants.”

okay, so he’s bad at this too. the realization nearly makes you laugh in his face at just how awkward the two of you are, you must be rubbing off on him.

“i think they’ll forgive you this time, just don’t make a habit of it. plants can hear y’know.”

your attempt at humor just makes the man sigh exasperatedly like you just told him the suns out while it’s blinding him.

“yeah, i’ve heard that before.” he speaks so exasperatedly that you almost want to ask what made him so pissed off at grass, but he continues before you can form the words. “i uhm, i actually came here to ask you something on behalf of someone…”

he shifts again, starting to reach for his hair before he seems to catch himself and drops his hand back to his thigh. asking you a question on behalf of someone, huh? related to your class? you lean forward on your elbows and try to figure him out. “well, what did they want to know? i’ll help if i can, can’t make any promises though. my specialty is agriculture and environmental science. if you’re looking for freaky ecology geneticists, look on the gotham PD’s most wanted list.”

he tenses for just a moment, jaw clenching before he meets your eye again, you find yourself weirdly admiring his jawline before he speaks and pulls you out of your brief daydream.

“….my son failed his horticulture experiment, completely flubbed it. killed the whole pot. i tried to help him redo it….but i’m not exactly an expert. figured might as well ask an actual expert for tips, because i have literally no clue what the fuck i’m doing.”

the man looks so stressed as he drags a hand down his face, that you put pause on your burning questions about his apparent child. when did he manage that? you really don’t keep up with local celebrity gossip enough, because wow.

focus, he’s asking for something. “umm….what was the experiment? i’m guessing soil PH tests or documentation of the lifecycle of something? give me some details mister wayne.”

he looks totally relieved at your seeming willingness to help him out with his admittedly odd request.

“please don’t call me that, just call me bruce.”

🔹🔹🔹

“can i ask why you’re babysitting me today?”

he doesn’t look at you as he snaps yet another question at you, as if you’re gonna change your answer. the stubborn man just wants to hear his own voice as he welds something small at his desk.

banner looks away from you as you set your gun down, the cleaning oil still staining your fingers. “because you two need supervision.”

you don’t even say it to be cruel, not really. but stark still slams his iron helmet down on his workbench and spins his chair to face you with that familiar grimace in his lip, banner speaks up before stark can properly start. “tony.”

stark pauses, jaw clenching as he rolls his eyes, you know a million quips are on his tongue that he only swallows for his friends sake. he takes a breath, toning himself down a notch before he continues on.

“brucie, i thought we both agreed that captain eyepatches daycare services were getting out of hand, the choke-collar is starting to chafe a bit.” stark scratches at his neck theatrically, all the while he eyes your weapons without even hiding it.

banner shoots him a tired glance from behind his glasses, though your lack of reaction seems to put him off and make him back down a bit, you know he agrees with the annoying one.

you give him the flattest, most done expression as you can muster while he whines. “funny, you seem to get into as much trouble as a toddler with drain cleaner when you’re alone. maybe a full-time sitter wouldn’t be misplaced? they could cut your sandwiches for you.”

banner ducks his head to hide a small snort by disguising it as a grunt, stark just narrows his eyes at you with something close to petulance. “i can cut my own crusts and pour my own apple juice, thank you very much.”

“good job, what kind of sticker do you want?” you wipe your hands off on one of their shop cloths, you might throw it at stark in a moment if he doesn’t behave.

stark snaps right back just as quick. “gold star, i want the big puffy ones too. spend the extra money on me.”

he leans forward with an elbow on his knee, his left hand scratches at his goatee in a repeated motion as he studies you from head to toe, something’s on his mind, clearly. which is a total coinflip if it’ll be something smart and productive, or something that’s just meant to vex and grate on everyone else in the vicinity.

it makes you focus on him, mirroring his pose with your elbows on your knees and your hands clasped loosely. “…you’re in a mood, just feeling extra cuddly with me? or are we gonna use our words like intelligent adults.”

you’re baiting him, he’ll either snap at you with something else ridiculous and sassy or he’ll put on his big boy designer shades and just tell you to leave because you make him uncomfortable. banner watches in silence from his cluttered work desk, his body language is all tension in the shoulders and jaw, just the same as always. you know they don’t want you here, not after what just happened after the last mission and fury, the anger and flying accusations after a building collapsed, fury laying down the law and demanding mandatory extra team training by the end of the month. fury was personally seeing to it that our schedules were revised, and of course, stark and banner treat you like an extension of the director.

“i don’t get you, y’know that? captains easy, all that self-righteous and fake humility rolled up into one perfect beefcake of a man, i can relate to pickle-man here. were like two misunderstood and handsome geniuses in a pod.” banner immediately rolls his eyes at that, but stark keeps going.

“i can even figure out Thor, to a degree. big hammer, little brain and a cape, what else was he supposed to do but show up all us lowly puny mortals? but you? i got nothing, i don’t see why you don’t just…disappear to some distant land with buckets of money and a hit-list, or whatever you do for fun. you just exist here, floating along like this is all there is to life.”

you try not to narrow your eyes at him, he’s feeling a little philosophical tonight, playing at reading you for a change. maybe he thinks it’ll psyche you out. “i could ask you all those same questions, why are you sitting in a smelly lab instead of taking your fiancée on nightly trips to different continents. maybe you’re not the only person here who likes having a job.”

surprisingly, stark doesn’t sass you back or comment on how you dodge the question, he just stares at you, long and hard.

“…don’t you get lonely? no friends, no hobbies, did you ever want kids?”

you don’t like this sudden inquisitive side of stark, not at all. you roll your eyes as your gut clenches in a discomfort you’ll never acknowledge, you should nip this in the bud before he starts asking if you want to go to pet shelters or something. he’s supposed to be snappy and distrusting, just like banner…

“…that’s not something black widows get to have, ever.”

you’re better off like this anyways, you’re not exactly nurturing. you’d fuck up any normal person who was unfortunate enough to try to care about you beyond repair, connections were for people who’ve never pulled the trigger.

🔹🔹🔹

the place is cold.

that’s the first thing you noticed as you descended the narrow steps into the cave that Bruce has talked so much about, immediately after that, is the amount of noise in the place. there’s a constant echo of humming electricity in the multitude of caverns, a constant creak of steel platforms swaying ever so slightly, the constant drip of water somewhere in the distance, you even hear the quiet chittering of bats somewhere.

bruce leads you down, but for a moment you’re struck by how dark and isolated it feels, it’s not lively and warm like your old place, it feels more like a hidden hive, than a base of noble intent.

bruce pauses, perhaps sensing your discomfort with the enclosed space as he looks over his shoulder up at you on the steps above him. “…are you ready for this?”

of course he asks that, you know he doesn’t just mean walking down into the place, it’s what it represents. the cave is where bruce can be his real self, without the fake arrogance, or the cowl. there’s no one to perform for here, and he wants you to be part of that now.

your eyes flick around the place just a few steps below you, strange artifacts sit in displays like weird trophies, or reminders. metal boxes line a wall behind a large desk, monitors covering the thing, you’ve never seen one before, but you can guess at a supercomputer when you see one. you even think you can half see on another lower platform, a sort of gym area. foam mats visible from where you both stand on the stairs, it’s not the open and green spaces you’re used to, but it is all bruce.

you meet his eye and slowly nod, taking another step lower into his space.

“yeah, show me where the bat stuff happens.”

🔹🔹🔹

the ground was so cold, you could’ve sworn that vormir wasn’t this bad just a moment ago.

you cant hear a thing, not after the wind rushed past your ears and that strange yelling cut out just a second ago. was it a second? a moment? the stone feels like its cradling your skull, maybe it is. something dark crawls over the fingers visible in the dust outstretched around you, the blueish-purple haze of the sky makes it hard to even identify, but the smell tells you after a moment, coppery and sharp. did you do it again? you don’t remember anyone recent.

shame still fills you enough that you wish you could curl up and hide, who was it? what did they look like? who would mourn their loss? you just hope it was quick for them.

the fingers twitch, it’s so damn cold. maybe you deserve this though. a creature like you doesn’t deserve the comfort of hiding in the shadows like a vermin, whoever is spotlighting you won’t let you cover up your latest sin.

the light is getting brighter, purple giving way to orange. is someone looking for you? you don’t want them to see you, not like this with the blood slowly coating your fingers and the taste filling your mouth, you just want to lay here in darkness and the quiet.

but the light is still there, getting brighter and brighter until you feel it on your cold limbs, your chest, your head. it stings against your face, your pulse slowly throbs against your temple the brighter and harsher it gets.

you wish it’d go away, you want to hide away before damian screams again- damian?

🔹🔹🔹

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I think the first thing they really appreciate is also something that bothers them, that being the way Bruce keeps an airtight lid on his personal life despite being a public figure, it's no secret how much widow despises being exposed to the public eye due to how they grew up/were treated once they defected from Hydra. The manor and cave become a bit of a sanctuary for them, and even if they never outright say it they do appreciate how much Bruce and the family in general work to maintain that false image.

It also drives them nuts when they're trying to learn something genuine about the man, where does he draw the line in the sand between reality and fiction? when did he go to college? Why did he? When did Damian happen and who the hell are the tibetan monks? Widow wants to learn their secrets. It's in there nature to covertly learn secrets and the fact that it's hard with Bruce pisses them off beyond belief.

Another thing they like about the man is his willpower, it's kinda weird even to them but watching this non-enhanced man go out night after night in a bat costume in objectively the worst city in America is….. Well it says a lot about the guy, but one thing widow takes away from it is the fact that Bruce is a kindred spirit in his dedication. Of course widows idea of dedication is kinda skewed towards ‘finish it or die, another will just take my place if I fail’ so that'd probably spark a very concerned conversation if they ever talked about it-

Widow really likes when they can just talk, I know that doesn't seem right since I write them as very closed off, but honestly they just like his intellect. They like that they can talk about nearly anything and he can keep up with the topic. And unlike a certain other billionaire I don't see Bruce acting like he's above them, sure they disagree on things but I don't actually see widow as someone who gets pissy about different opinions. At most they get defensive if it feels like a pointed lecture or something, which I think Bruce is similar so it works out for them *most* of the time.

As for things they find cute, they do like how he interacts with the kids, especially Cassandra. I don't mean this in any kind of weird way but widow watches the gentleness he uses for her despite her past, the easy corrections and the moments he reassures Cass that she's more than what she was made for, It hits widow somewhere deep and uncomfortably emotional. The first time widow was invited with Bruce to watch Cass’ ballet recital, and they watched the pride in his eyes the whole night, widow thought it was genuinely cute, they probably tease him about being a better girl dad or something but they're actually having a moment in their head.

I think I've said this one before and it's not canon at all, but I always write Bruce as a fancy coffee guy. Cold brew and Starbucks all the way give that man a harmless vice instead of pretending he's so above other humans he doesn't even consume sugar. Anyways I think widow pays attention to his food and drink habits and notices things like that, oh it's cute how he'll pretend he's ONLY going out to get macchiato’s with extra salted caramel and whip for Barbara and Stephanie. but why are there three of them Bruce? Widow starts to pay attention to his body language when he's antsy and eventually they can tell when the man is caffeine deprived and doesn't realize it, they'll go out of their way to go get some food he likes and the stupid coffee for him just because. Bruce doesn't even know he has a tell and it really catches him off guard.

The final thing is another one that is both endearing and annoying to widow, and that's Bruce reading them just like they read him. It's frustrating because widow feels like it's harder to hide what they're feeling and thinking and sometimes they get in their head and feel like he's going to judge them. Widow has a very messed up sense of self after all. The way they find it endearing is because it reminds them of Natalia. Nat didn't let them get away with hiding their feelings and often pushed them out of their comfort zone to acknowledge what's on their mind and now that they're separated, widow honestly misses that. They're almost flattered that Bruce feels close enough to them to accurately read them and call them out on bottling things up.

🔹🔹🔹

It'd been a simple visit, short and to the point after Duke and Damian were called into the principals office in school, as the only guardian at home at the time of the phone call you'd kinda had no choice but to go. You were too curious what happened anyways so you hauled ass down town while sending a brief text to Bruce about your departure.

It wasn't anything half as serious as you'd thought, ~~hoped~~. Damian just got into a stupid fistfight in the lunch hall and Duke joined in as soon as his class ended and he'd walked in. There wasn't even any blood.

Of course you acted stern and questioning with the principal and some assistant teacher watching the three of you, kids aren't supposed to beat the snot out of each other right? It was a simple visit.

Until you walked the two boys out to your car.

Honestly you're proud of yourself for not throat punching the random that jumped out from behind a car with a camera in hand, snapping pics and recording you on their phone while asking pushy questions. It was infuriating how entitled to your time random people feel just because you're *technically* a public figure. ~~At least they're not calling you a monster here.~~

“no comment.” Was the only thing you repeated when the man kept shoving his phone in your face like a damn microphone while you elbowed past him with the boys in tow, why would you tell a random stranger why you're at a school? Why would anyone need to know why you're grabbing your boys?

The stupid man then proceeded to shove his phone right in dukes face and snap a photo, the disrespect and the surprised look on Duke's face was enough to have you smack the phone out of the guys hand and pull the boys to the car while ignoring his indignation. That damn creep shouldn't be taking photos of minors on school property anyways.

Your grip on the steering wheel was tight the entire drive home, even when you stopped to get the boys frozen yogurt, the two question you a few times but eventually drop it when you don't give an answer, but you don't even really understand it yourself. It was just some guy who thought he'd get a few views, you've literally lived through half the universe dying, why did this get you worked up?

Bruce been eyeing you since he got home, the telltale pinched brow and swiveling head only irritates you further and makes you wanna go for a long jog. ~~Or maybe smack him a little.~~ You *know* he's going all Batman on you in his mind, even down in the cave when you're beating a punching bag like it owes you something, he's slowly suiting up close by just to keep watching you, idly tightening the straps on his wrist braces just slow enough for the sound to drive you kinda nuts.

“your stance is too wide.”

His calmly spoken call is near enough to have you whirl around on him, is he trying to piss you off to get you to talk to him?

“I know how to hit things, thank you very much.”

You know his game, and you're not in the mood to play twenty questions about your *feelings*. No you're just fine with hitting a leather bag until your hand wraps start to pinch, maybe if you imagine that stupid man's face on the bag you'll feel better.

Bruce stands up from the bench to pace over to you, placing himself just behind the bag so you'd have to look at him to keep using it. Honestly without the cape or utility belt on you kinda think his skintight suit is even funnier looking, it just looks wrong without the dramatic flair. You tell him just that and he just rolls his eyes at your little jab before ultimately ignoring it to continue his lecture. “Funny, but you're still leaving yourself open with that stance, I don't think anyone likes getting kicked between the legs.”

“if anyone ever manages to land a kick on me there then they better have a damn good cup on, I'll tell you that much.” You stubbornly keep your focus zeroed in on the punching bag. Yet despite your grumbling and general irritation with his critique, you still tighten your stance up. Better to not tempt him to put your reflexes to the test.

He crosses his arms, damn him you know he's fully focused now.

“…should I start taking wild guesses here, or do you wanna tell me why you're pounding sand all pissed off?”

With a huff you pause, leaning around the bag to give him your dirtiest look. “Guess first, I wanna laugh at your terrible choices.”

He sighs at the taunting tone, but still steps closer and studies you closely for a moment before speaking. “Well….You were fine this morning before I left…. You seemed fine when you texted me…. I'm guessing it was either the principal questioning you, or the YouTuber Duke mentioned…?”

Damn, you should've guessed one of them would mention the encounter, you turn your focus back to the punching bag and resume your stance, but before you can start swinging again Bruce steps half in your way. “(Name). Come on don't just ignore this. Something happened and I *just* want to talk about it for a bit, can you at least tell me what bothered you?”

He gives you a pointed look that makes it clear he's not dropping the issue just yet, he's as stubborn as you are unfortunately.

With an exaggerated huff you straighten up again and start to peel your left hand wrap off. “….I dunno. Wasn't the school officials or anything like that.”

Your words are terse, hesitant in a way that isn't your normal.

Bruce nods slowly as his eyes flick over your form, lingering on your freshly exposed knuckles for just a second before he looks at your expression. “So it was the man taking videos?”

You just shrug a shoulder and look away to focus on your hands. “…. No, I guess-i don't really know why he bothered me. I've been in all kinds of interviews and photographed without my knowledge before, he didn't even ask disparaging questions. Something about him just pissed me off.”

You abruptly turn away to drop the hand wraps in the laundry system, your steps slow even as you have the unexplainable urge to avoid Bruce. Or at least avoid this conversation, you feel *silly.* Foolish for letting a random civilian bother you, he was just a guy asking a local minor celebrity for an interview, being a bit weird with the pics of the equal celebrity status children, but that's their normal. But that's not **your** normal is it?

Bruce suddenly steps in front of you again, a cold water bottle in hand that he offers to you. “you're allowed to be annoyed with pushy strangers, y'know.”

You almost turn down the drink, but decide otherwise when you lick your chapped lips. It'll give you something to do with your hands anyways. “…. I'm aware, B. I just mean that-the incident was so minor, I've been through actual-ugh, I feel like I'm not even explaining myself well now.”

A huff escapes you as you lean against a stack of crates and crack the lid on the water, taking a long swig to wet your palette before you speak again. “I've been through a lot of very difficult, hard to comprehend things, this should mean absolutely nothing to me.”

Bruce tilts his head like a cat studying you, his expression is hard to read right now but it doesn't annoy you like it usually would, you don't wanna know what he thinks of you like this.

“maybe you felt unprepared.”

His blunt statement nearly makes you roll your eyes. “I'm always prepared.”

“I meant emotionally, you felt like you were stuck between public courtesy, and keeping the kids safe from harassment at school. At least going off what they told me…”

“I'm not emotionally fragile enough to lose it over….. Ugh, can't even take my anger out on things around here without one of you playing psychoanalyst on me. Come shower with me before you go into town.”

Bruce gives you a mocking salute. “Yes Captain.”

He's already trying (and failing) to take off his wrist straps and boots as he follows you.

🔹🔹🔹

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