Rare Pairs Challenge Fic (Prompt 10)
May. 22nd, 2018 10:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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1_million_words community is devoting the month to rare pairs (defined as pairs that are rare to the author).
What I have written is probably not a rare pair in the fandom, but it is a Dynamic Duo that I have never written before.
This is complete and utter crack!fic and abandons canon in the first sentence.
Written for the prompt - "We get caught together, we face death together, we do this every week."
BOY WONDER
I was twenty-three, just out of the Police Academy, when Chief O’Hara and Commissioner Gordon selected me for an assignment that would change my life forever. I was to go undercover at the high school. Gotham City was rife with crime and the GCPD worried that the local supervillains would start recruiting minions from Gotham High.
I wasn’t from Gotham originally and I needed a guardian of some kind to list on the registration papers. The Commissioner contacted a friend of his, Bruce Wayne, who agreed to give me a place to stay in exchange for some assistance with some odd jobs.
Odd jobs… I expected I’d do some kind of housework or car maintenance, but he had Alfred for those things. What I didn’t expect was to be some kind of tight-wearing freak in a mask.
I will admit the Bat-cave is cool and the Bat-mobile is one sweet ride.
Not that he ever lets me drive the beauty. It’s all “Passenger seat, Robin. Fasten your seatbelt, Robin.” It’s 1966, what kind of square wears a seat belt. He is seriously ruining my reputation. I have been given seven lectures on car safety since I got here.
When Bruce handed me my costume, I didn’t think he was serious. I looked like a circus freak. He confessed that’s where he got the idea, watching some trapeze artists at the circus. There was an “R” on the front of it. He gave me the alter-ego of Robin. I could have been the Crow or the Raven or the Hawk. But no. The suit was orange and yellow so Robin it had to be.
I’m not saying that Batman’s costume was any better, and he had the silly ear thing to go with it, but at least it looked sort of manly. You may as well have put little wings on mine.
He was so into the whole thing- the costumes, the secrecy, the gadgets. Sometimes, I would let myself get carried away with the fantasy. I actually did more crime-fighting in a costume without a gun than I did on my actual undercover assignment for the police force.
There were so many villains around this town and each one had a crazy plot. Most of the plots were robberies, but some of the criminals were into mind-control. Honestly, with the amount of robberies that went on, I was surprised that they didn’t hit Bruce’s mansion every other week. Apparently the two things that Gotham City wasn’t short on were criminals and ridiculously wealthy people. I found I wasn’t minding pretending to be the latter. Mansion living was something that I got used to in a hurry.
It seemed that we were getting called on the Bat-phone by the GCPD every week. Some new villain would be laying down obvious clues to their identity and their next move. There were times that I watched Gordon and O’Hara turn to Bruce and I could see the vacant look behind the mask. None of the crooks seemed to be rocket scientists so their tracks could have been followed by a small child. I would spell out the clues to the others and we would be in pursuit.
And invariably we’d wind up, like we were now, dangling from some precipice above the city while the Riddler or the Penguin or the Joker would laugh maniacally in the background. I identified our present tormentor as the Joker. “Holy clownshoes, Batman,” I said. The first time we’d gotten into a situation like this, I shouted the F-word at the top of my lungs. That garnered me a lecture on proper speech and how a gentleman should behave.
I would swear that there was something about the costume that transformed Bruce into a sanctimonious prick because usually he was a pretty fun-loving, albeit quiet sort of guy. But as soon as that suit was on, it was like he was in some silly competition with Superman for role model of the year. I guessed I should just be glad that I didn’t live in Metropolis. I had no idea how my fellow Academy graduate, Jim Olson, managed it. What a drag.
Batman was unflappable when it came to our regular predicaments. He’d say, “This is nothing new to us, Robin. We get caught together, we face death together, we do this every week.”
That wasn’t the only thing that happened every week. We’d find ourselves stuck with death closing in and Batman would say, “Robin, get the Bat-thingy from my utility belt.” Grappling hook, boomerang, switchblade, whatever it was it would always be positioned in the same spot right next to the Bat-tool that I wanted to get my hands on.
I was very careful during the object retrieval process because lectures on inappropriate touching ranked right up there with monologues on cursing and seat belts.
Once we were free and had an intense fistfight that would wind up with the bad guys incapacitated long enough for the police to arrive and arrest them, we would go back to Wayne Manor and wait for the whole cycle to start up again.
I wished that we could have a week where we weren’t strapped to a conveyer belt with a buzzsaw at the end of it, or dangled over a tank of piranhas, or locked in a room hearing a constant hissing sound as mysterious vapors poured out of the ventilation system.
I wouldn’t have minded a weekend at the beach or Bruce’s hunting lodge, just the two of us, no Alfred or Aunt Harriet to interrupt us at an inconvenient time. Maybe, just maybe, Bruce would see me as Dick Grayson instead of some Boy Wonder.
1_million_words community is devoting the month to rare pairs (defined as pairs that are rare to the author).What I have written is probably not a rare pair in the fandom, but it is a Dynamic Duo that I have never written before.
This is complete and utter crack!fic and abandons canon in the first sentence.
Written for the prompt - "We get caught together, we face death together, we do this every week."
BOY WONDER
I was twenty-three, just out of the Police Academy, when Chief O’Hara and Commissioner Gordon selected me for an assignment that would change my life forever. I was to go undercover at the high school. Gotham City was rife with crime and the GCPD worried that the local supervillains would start recruiting minions from Gotham High.
I wasn’t from Gotham originally and I needed a guardian of some kind to list on the registration papers. The Commissioner contacted a friend of his, Bruce Wayne, who agreed to give me a place to stay in exchange for some assistance with some odd jobs.
Odd jobs… I expected I’d do some kind of housework or car maintenance, but he had Alfred for those things. What I didn’t expect was to be some kind of tight-wearing freak in a mask.
I will admit the Bat-cave is cool and the Bat-mobile is one sweet ride.
Not that he ever lets me drive the beauty. It’s all “Passenger seat, Robin. Fasten your seatbelt, Robin.” It’s 1966, what kind of square wears a seat belt. He is seriously ruining my reputation. I have been given seven lectures on car safety since I got here.
When Bruce handed me my costume, I didn’t think he was serious. I looked like a circus freak. He confessed that’s where he got the idea, watching some trapeze artists at the circus. There was an “R” on the front of it. He gave me the alter-ego of Robin. I could have been the Crow or the Raven or the Hawk. But no. The suit was orange and yellow so Robin it had to be.
I’m not saying that Batman’s costume was any better, and he had the silly ear thing to go with it, but at least it looked sort of manly. You may as well have put little wings on mine.
He was so into the whole thing- the costumes, the secrecy, the gadgets. Sometimes, I would let myself get carried away with the fantasy. I actually did more crime-fighting in a costume without a gun than I did on my actual undercover assignment for the police force.
There were so many villains around this town and each one had a crazy plot. Most of the plots were robberies, but some of the criminals were into mind-control. Honestly, with the amount of robberies that went on, I was surprised that they didn’t hit Bruce’s mansion every other week. Apparently the two things that Gotham City wasn’t short on were criminals and ridiculously wealthy people. I found I wasn’t minding pretending to be the latter. Mansion living was something that I got used to in a hurry.
It seemed that we were getting called on the Bat-phone by the GCPD every week. Some new villain would be laying down obvious clues to their identity and their next move. There were times that I watched Gordon and O’Hara turn to Bruce and I could see the vacant look behind the mask. None of the crooks seemed to be rocket scientists so their tracks could have been followed by a small child. I would spell out the clues to the others and we would be in pursuit.
And invariably we’d wind up, like we were now, dangling from some precipice above the city while the Riddler or the Penguin or the Joker would laugh maniacally in the background. I identified our present tormentor as the Joker. “Holy clownshoes, Batman,” I said. The first time we’d gotten into a situation like this, I shouted the F-word at the top of my lungs. That garnered me a lecture on proper speech and how a gentleman should behave.
I would swear that there was something about the costume that transformed Bruce into a sanctimonious prick because usually he was a pretty fun-loving, albeit quiet sort of guy. But as soon as that suit was on, it was like he was in some silly competition with Superman for role model of the year. I guessed I should just be glad that I didn’t live in Metropolis. I had no idea how my fellow Academy graduate, Jim Olson, managed it. What a drag.
Batman was unflappable when it came to our regular predicaments. He’d say, “This is nothing new to us, Robin. We get caught together, we face death together, we do this every week.”
That wasn’t the only thing that happened every week. We’d find ourselves stuck with death closing in and Batman would say, “Robin, get the Bat-thingy from my utility belt.” Grappling hook, boomerang, switchblade, whatever it was it would always be positioned in the same spot right next to the Bat-tool that I wanted to get my hands on.
I was very careful during the object retrieval process because lectures on inappropriate touching ranked right up there with monologues on cursing and seat belts.
Once we were free and had an intense fistfight that would wind up with the bad guys incapacitated long enough for the police to arrive and arrest them, we would go back to Wayne Manor and wait for the whole cycle to start up again.
I wished that we could have a week where we weren’t strapped to a conveyer belt with a buzzsaw at the end of it, or dangled over a tank of piranhas, or locked in a room hearing a constant hissing sound as mysterious vapors poured out of the ventilation system.
I wouldn’t have minded a weekend at the beach or Bruce’s hunting lodge, just the two of us, no Alfred or Aunt Harriet to interrupt us at an inconvenient time. Maybe, just maybe, Bruce would see me as Dick Grayson instead of some Boy Wonder.
