tushanshu_logs | Bat-nanigans

Entry tags:

Bat-nanigans

Characters: Batman and ~~his next Robin~~ Stiles. CLOSED.
Date: After the Late October Teen Wolf Invasion
Location: Roof of Stiles' suite.
Situation: Stiles has finally been told that his father was kidnapped - and then saved from - a certain baddy. As a result, he has a very public panic attack on the network.
Warnings/Rating: Spoilers for Teen Wolf season 3A. Bat-stalking. Daddy angst.

***

Stiles has a feeling that this time, being at the turtle head wouldn't help. He's beginning to suspect he spends way too much time up there anyway, wallowing in the peaceful vibes. Was it possible to become addicted to the inner peace a giant turtle can bring?

Better than Klonopin. Which was what Stiles was rocking today. Three full tabs. His head felt a little floaty, but he kinda needed it, thanks. It kept his heart from turning his chest cavity into a drum circle.

He's sitting on the roof of his suite, having climbed up there free-style. (How do you think he got on Scott's roof all the time? He was a house-climbing expert by now.) He's reeling from the triple whammy of the last few days. Lydia. His dad. And Derek telling him about Scott's Alpha status.

But the thing that's haunting him is his dad. Kidnapped by the Darach. Nearly sacrificed in her (her? the Darach is a her?) insane lust for power and revenge. His dad. Who he worked so hard to keep safe, to keep out of the supernatural bullshit that plagued Beacon Hills. And he's honestly furious with Scott and Isaac for not telling him sooner. He can't stay angry, of course. Not with Scott, and not really with Isaac anymore, either. But tonight, he's turned off his computer, called out sick from work, and is hiding. Sure, he can't hide from werewolf senses...but he can certainly try to grab some alone time.

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Derek sighs, rolling his gaze over to Stiles, because a, he doesn't get that reference and b, did you really just elbow him, Stiles, really? His own butt is cold on the bench they're seated on, wrapped up in his own warm clothes, despite the fact that he runs hot. The cold didn't bother him anyway, for the most part, and he's not as bundled up as Stiles.

"Why am I here, again?"

Derek has never played Pokemon. What a shocker. Rolling his eyes right back, he smirks at his...friend? Yeah, settle for friend for now.

"You're here to make sure I don't do something stupid. And to help me track a guy over what could be miles of uninhabited turtle. We catch this guy? We might just prevent a gang war. Which would be good for everybody, including you. So. Shh."

That first part of his speech is really the important part, because god knows Stiles is capable of some truly epic spazzing.

Derek throws him a pointed look. "I think staking out an apparently dangerous person is a stupid idea. And yet here you are doing it anyway."

"He's not dangerous!" he protests. "I have it on very good authority that he'll run a mile before he'd fight us. But I don't have this."

On that last word, he reaches up and literally boops Derek on the nose with his forefinger.

"You can track him by scent. I can't. So in case I lose him, I need you. Get it?"

Derek resists the urge to pretend to bite at Stiles' finger.

Okay no he doesn't. He comes about a millimeter from nipping at Stiles' skin.

And of course, even after all this time knowing each other, Stiles flinches away from that.

"Oh my god," he groans, yanking his hand back. "Down, Rex. Jesus, you could have taken my finger off, you jerk! Wouldn't that look great on my resume with Batman? Sorry I lost track of the guy you needed me to find, I was bleeding out from the stump where my forefinger was."

"Then don't put it in my face," he replies flatly, with a huff. "He's right there. You don't need me to track him."

"Okay, let me put it this way."

He's scowling at Derek now, inspecting his finger for invisible damage.

"Would you rather be here to keep an eye on me? Or have me and Scott and Isaac running around alone into the middle of a potential gang war?"

Derek huffs out an irritated sigh, because Stiles has him there, and Stiles probably knows it.

"You shouldn't be doing this in the first place."

He don't gotta like it, he's just gotta do it. That's one of the tenets of Matches Malone. He's always been a tough sumbitch, the guy who makes the most out of a situation by being in the right place at the right time. He's like snake oil, always in and out of a fight before anybody knows the fight's even bein' had.

There's a reason he's survived so long in the Gotham underworld, and it's the same one he's found a place to thrive here. Get in with a few local mob bosses, it ain't so hard to make yourself useful if you go in knowing the score. It's with this in mind that Matches has ingratiated himself to the Keeliai underworld over the last few months.

But it's made him a few enemies, too.

And tonight, those enemies are following him.

Matches plays it easy, chewing absently on the stub of his match-end. Bruce knows Stiles (and one of his associates) is nearby, but their presence only complicates matters. Likewise, he knows he's getting himself into an ambush, he only hopes he can talk his way out of it before Stiles feels the need to get involved.

And odds are, he will try to get involved. He's too much like too many of the people he's trained not to. Bruce keeps his posture casual, stops a few times along the way, flips a juulan to a homeless kedan (who's a plant, he's well aware) and carries on down the various allies that make up the less-travelled arteries of the city.

He's ready for an attack, when it comes. One kedan steps out of the alleyway with a crowbar (a crowbar, vicious irony) and swings, trying to take out his knees. It's not a hit, then, it's intimidation, possibly interrogation, but not murder.

Bruce shifts, takes the hit on the stronger long bone in the thigh, and goes down hard and clumsy. He feels the bone crack, and grimaces. It's not bad, but still. As Matches, he scrambles backwards until he's up against a wall. Three kedan, plus the 'homeless' one he correctly assumed was a plant, and there are two others on the fire escape above.

Matches keeps his hands in the air, and in his rough Brooklyn drawl, says, "Hey now, I don't want no trouble. Wallet's in the inside pocket've my jacket, it's got plenty of cash, don't want no trouble, boys, just let me on my way and we'll call 'er even, hear?"

If he fights, he gives away his identity. He has three darts against his wrist, each capable of taking down a kedan, a smoke-bomb hidden in the heavy, gaudy ring on his right hand. All he needs to do is thumb off the (fake) jewel and throw it at the ground with enough force to rupture its covering, and the pepper-smoke bomb will ignite and blind and confuse his enemies. No. He has to talk his way out of this. Too much risk.

But the kedan aren't in the mood to talk. The ringleader, notable by his exaggerated bravado and the high ridge spines that flare along his temples, leans down to take the match from between his lips, and he then flattens his foot against Bruce's shoulder, heel digging in right below the acromioclavicular joint. He puts enough pressure on it to hurt, and Bruce isn't wearing body armour, the mob boss he went to see tonight was the sort that patted down his guests no matter how well he trusted them.

(Bruce dislocated that shoulder three nights ago, the aggravation of the joint is like a kick to the guts, the jolt of pain is sharp and intense. Nothing he can't ignore, but it makes 'Matches' yelp.)

"Hey, hey, easy, fellas! I told you we can work this out, see?"

The kedan who took the match just smiles, flicks the match to one side, and steps out of the way in time for the one with the crowbar to take a swing at his ribs. With the kedan's body between Stiles' line of vision and Bruce himself, he shifts, half-blocks the blow along his forearm, but there's going to be no escaping the worst of this, and he gets ready to get back to his feet for a fight.

Edited 2013-11-21 19:46 (UTC)

Stiles is about to comment back to Derek ("Seriously, dude, are you kidding me? Have we MET? My name's Stiles, I get into everything, remember?") when Matches makes his move. Stiles whaps Derek across the chest with his arm, and then flails up to his feet to follow his mark.

"Shh! Doesn't matter. Okay, game on. You mess this up, Derek, and I'll put mountain ash around your house so you can never leave again. C'mon."

His heart's pounding with excitement, with the need to prove himself. He's not just the spazzy son of the sheriff with werewolf friends; he's more than that, he's good at this. He's always figured this stuff out first, that's why Scott's transformation wasn't a disaster. Stiles had been there from the beginning to help him. That's what he did best.

Right up until the fists start flying.

"Oh, shit."

He reacts badly at first, skidding initially to a halt about fifty feet away. Don't be seen. Don't get involved. But he can't let an innocent man (or not so innocent) get the crap kicked out of him while he does nothing. And he's sorely regretting not bringing his weapon after all tonight.

"...Derek! We gotta help him!"

Derek's not sure what's going on, at first; one second Stiles is next to him, and the next he's flailing and whipping his arms around before darting off.

After a second, Derek follows, coming to a halt behind Stiles, watching with a frown. One hand comes up to grab at Stiles' collar.

"Not we. You stay put."

"What?! Dude, no!"

He's already struggling against Derek's grip, flailing his arms around and spinning off kilter by his collar, which chokes him for a moment as the material bunches up in Derek's fist.

"Lemme go, I've been training! I know what I'm doing, come on! You can't take on seven guys single-handed!"

And it was indeed seven guys...although now two of them had noticed Stiles and Derek, and were headed right toward them. With two rather heavy bat-like objects, and one had a length of chain wrapped around his knuckles. Or were those part of his fist to begin with? Kedan physiology was mysterious that way.

"Ooooooooh shit! Derek!"

He's still working the odds when two of the kedan notice the new arrivals, and Bruce frowns in annoyance. Damnit, he'd hoped to keep this contained. He steps into one of the remaining opponents, taking a body shot in exchange for flinging a smell flechette at one of the kedan going after Stiles and his plus one. Bruce isn't going to take any chances with them, Stiles is nowhere near ready for a fight and the other is an unknown.

The dart hits its target in the back of the neck, and instantly the kedan becomes sluggish, sways and drops. It's a fast-acting compound, and Bruce's mouth twitches into a briefly grim smile before he goes back to trying to wheedle his way out of the situation, offering bribes and platitudes to the ringleader that remains.

"Watch me," he hisses, shoving Stiles to the side and away.

Derek can hear the guy offering anything to his attacker. Derek can also see that this isn't going to stop any time soon, and he doesn't bother stopping, taking out the remaining guy with a well placed punch to his face. The fact his buddy dropped to the ground for seemingly no reason wasn't lost on Derek, but he had other things to worry about; namely making sure this guy didn't get murdered while keeping his secret.

He stalks forward, and comes to a halt just a few feet away from Matches and his "friends".

"Hey," he calls out, raising his chin just a little. "Pick on someone your own size."

Stiles takes the tumble as Derek shoves him off to the side, with hardly a squawk of protest. He skids on his ass across an unforgiving road, and ow damn it, Derek. He's just raising his head, looking back up, as Derek drops the other guy.

...Okay, that was hot.

Struggling to his feet, Stiles winces at the bruise he's gonna have, when he hears a shuffling behind and to his left.

Ah. They missed one. A really, really large Kedan emerges from another nearby alley between two shops. Barehanded, thank god. And Stiles freezes for one split second. That's enough. The Kedan swings a fist, connects, and now Stiles is the one who's had his bell rung, down for the count. He hasn't been punched like that since Gerard Argent, and holy crap did it hurt. Blackness threatens the edge of his vision as he drops with a grunt. Apparently the Kedan think 'picking on someone their size' means sucker-punching a lanky teenager.

As soon as Stiles takes the hit, the act falls away from Bruce as if a breaker's blown in Bruce's persona. Though it risks the Matches identity and the sixteen months he's spent building up his contacts in that guise, he stops trying to mitigate the damage of the fight and starts meting out his own. One sharp blow to the approximate location of the solar plexus drops the kedan nearest to him with a blow that can shatter concrete, and Bruce snarls at Stiles' friend, "Get him out of here, now!" His voice is like a whipcrack, sharp and hard and every inch the tone of a man used to being obeyed without question.

Another of the kedan tries to grab him and manhandle him with an over-the-shoulder grip, and Bruce casually breaks its arm and kicks out its knee simultaneously. Five left.

Derek is torn. On the one hand, what the hell, this Matches guy showed no sign of being able to do that while they were watching him. He's kind of in awe. On the other hand, he heard Stiles go down, and knew the other kedan was still over there, possibly considering finishing the job.

Derek has loyalties, and he knows where they lie. Matches is on his own, for now.

The kedan standing over Stiles doesn't last long. Derek doesn't kill him, but the bruised throat and the broken arm he gets from Derek lifting him up and tossing him aside like a ragdoll will probably make him wish he did, for at least a few days. Derek crouches at Stiles' side.

"Stiles!"

He groans from his position on the ground, forcing himself to stay awake and conscious. And he blearily looks up at Derek, shaking himself and blinking rapidly.

"Did you get the number of the truck that hit me?" he mumbles around a swollen cheek, reaching up and gripping at the front of Derek's shirt to stay upright, levering his face close to Derek's. Although he's not entirely out of it; he hears that barked order from "Matches" and immediately recognizes the tone of voice. That voice, he knows that voice. That gravely voice that issues orders like it's no big thing.

Batman, you're a freakin' idiot.

"Don't wolf out," he whispers, barely audible over the fray, but easy enough for a werewolf. Now that he knows Batman is here, he will not, will not let Derek expose himself. Not like this. "Be careful..."

Edited 2013-12-17 03:59 (UTC)

The fact that the boy ignores his order doesn't go unnoticed, and Bruce's snarl turns irritated as one of the remaining kedan tries to casually disembowel him with the swipe of one clawed hand. Bruce grabs the kedan's arm, viciously dislocates its elbow and throws it to the ground in one deft motion.

And then the motion detectors he'd set up in the nearby allies go off, ringing a warning in the small earpiece hidden beneath his hair. Reinforcements.

Bruce drops the single standing kedan and moves to the boys. He does a quick check of Stiles, assessing damages. Nothing he won't live through. "There's more of them coming. We have eighteen seconds. If you're any kind of friend to him, you'll do as I say."

Derek narrows his eyes at Matches, tensed and ready to spring. There's something off, but he can't pin it, and doesn't have the time to try. Stiles is hurt and needs to see a doctor, and Derek starts lifting him up, slinging Stiles' arm over his shoulders.

"Make it fast."

He doesn't sound happy to be listening to this guy.

He's still reeling from the punch, but he's cognizant enough to point one (slightly wavering) finger at Matches.

"You. Are an assbutt. And we're gonna talk about this, assbutt. Come on, let's get the hell out of here. All of us. And don't gimme that crap about covering our butts, assbutt. Come on!"

He's already tugging on Derek's arm, and stumbling comically as he does. Yep, still a bit woozy, thank you Susan.

He thumbs the jewel off the ring on his hand. The smoke bomb will give them enough time to retreat, there's a storehouse the next alley over they can disappear into so that Bruce can better take stock of Stiles' injuries. He times it until the first kedan arrive on the scene, and then he drops it to the ground and breaks the glass capsule beneath his bootheel with one caveat, "Don't breathe."

Assbut. Really.

He covers their retreat and guides them both until they're where they need to be, and then Bruce pushes a single brick inward in the wall and a small, narrow door slides open in the alleyway. "Inside. Both of you."

He's all but carrying Stiles in the direction indicated, sliding into the doorway with one last glance back at Matches. He doesn't like this, and it shows; he's careful in how he handles the injured human, but he gives Matches the occasional glance, like something is off, something Derek can't quite put his finger on, and he doesn't like it.

Yeah, he's not taking that lying down. As Derek carries him into the darkened and dim warehouse, Stiles' mouth is (of course) running eighteen miles a minute.

"This is such a stupid set-up that I cannot believe I didn't even see it coming. You used that! You used me! You knew I'd be all gung-ho to be tested and try something and prove that I could do this crap that you got yourself jumped by a bunch of Kedan gangsters. Oh my god you're an idiot sometimes!"

Although he's using the constant barrage of words to stare as hard as he could. His vision was still a bit blurry from the pain, and it was dark out, but he was trying to see the shape of Batman's ears, the tilt of his jaw, the outline of his lips. That false mustache though, it obscured so much of his face, and those dark sunglasses covered the rest.

"Are you hurt? Seriously, if you're hurt we have to get you to a doctor, like, right now. I'm fine, I've been punched harder and worse than this by a crazy old psychotic who liked to play with electricity and knives, this is nothing, I'm worried about you, Batman."

Posting order Stiles, Derek, Batman

okay fudge the posting order LOL

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wow actionspam who invited you.

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