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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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."

Bruce actually snarls at that, the force of his displeasure is stark and immediate. One could almost argue that the temperature's dropped several degrees, should anyone present be susceptible to the posturing.

"That was unplanned. I would never endanger you or your allies like that. You charged in against your training and every order I've given you."

I'm worried about you, Batman. Not words he's accustomed to hearing, and Bruce thusly ignores them. He's fine. He's always fine, if annoyed.

Derek holds back his own snarl, and his momentary confusion and anger at what Stiles had said about psychotic old people was forgotten in the wake of this... guy yelling at Stiles. Granted, Derek knew he was right. Stiles had ran in without provocation, a stupid idea no matter what way you swung it, but Stiles was kind of sort of pack, and that made him Derek's problem, not this guy's. His nostrils flare a bit as he resists the urge to even just flash his eyes, just a little.

He's surprised by how calm and even his voice even comes out. He doesn't like this guy's posturing.

"Yeah, well, you don't know Stiles very well then, do you? The second you tell him not to do something, he's already got ten ways mapped out to do it." And, alright, his voice starts taking on a small edge of steel.

"If you were able to handle it yourself, why'd you drag him into it to begin with?"

"Hey, hey! Whose side are you on, anyway!?" he squawks at Derek, pointing a finger at him. Welp, this has turned into a total cluster fuck. Of course it has, Stiles is involved.

But then he turns back to Batman, frowning now, forgetting his need to recognize the face without the cowl. Not now, not when he has to defend his actions suddenly, damn it.

"Oh? So you trained me to let innocent bystanders get the crap beaten out of them? I don't remember that part of the syllabus, Mr. Miyagi! I can't just stand by when somebody was about to get a WWE level smack-down. I didn't know it was you! You said, we don't kill! Right? So part of that is not letting people get killed. Even if they're completely stubborn assholes wearing really bad fake mustaches."

Bruce says nothing. Instead, he tilt his head, studying Stiles intently. Then, to Derek, "His assignment was observation, nothing more. Which he knew." And disobeyed. There is only one circumstance in which he allows those undergoing his training to disobey his orders, and this is one of them. Regardless of whether or not 'Matches' could take care of himself--

(He thinks about Stephanie, just before Black Mask captured her--)

-- Is irrelevant. To Stiles, "Your choice was fundamentally the correct one. In the future, you need to trust that I've considered every possible angle and accounted for it. Understood?" It's praise, however faint, and from someone as demanding as Bruce it's rather remarkable for that reason alone.

Derek blinks once, and then twice, and then scowls.

"You're joking, right?"

There's a long moment where he's trying to absorb that praise. Glancing back and forth between his Alpha and his Adopted Father-Bat. Whatever. And then he grins huge, his eyes lighting up brightly.

"Nope, no joke. Derek, Batman. Batman, Derek Hale, who also lost his family due to a psychopath. Not even sorry, you have everything in common. And I hope you two can eventually be friends. In the meantime, seriously. Do you need to see a doctor, Bats? We'll make that happen right now if necessary."

If Bruce dislikes Stiles dragging his family history into this, there's no indication of it on what little there is visible of his face. Instead, he growls. "I'll live. This place will be safe for now, you two should stay here while I scout the area."

"No." And Derek is firm in this, scowling at "Matches", and he'd physically put his foot down if he thought that would get his point across. "I'm taking him home."

He glances at Stiles again, and while he's fine, so far, he got hit in the head pretty hard. There were no outward signs of internal bleeding, and Derek couldn't smell anything, either, but another blow wouldn't do him any good.

"Oh my god, that wasn't your cue to start a pissing contest!"

He actually spins on Derek now, waving one finger at him. His pupils are normal sized, which is a good sign, and he's not slurring his words at all.

"I am fine. He's scouting the area to find us a safe route out of course. Shut up and put a little trust in somebody for once in your life!"

Bruce remains silent, he's not particularly interested in the rejoinder one way or another, as he has every intention on acting on his own regardless of what the other boy says. The bit Stiles says about trust makes him stiffen, just a little, but he doesn't otherwise react. Instead, he turns away from both of them and heads for one of the windows. He vaults up to it effortlessly, without a trace of pain or broken ribs, and then pushes it open and slips outside, soundless.

The man sneaking out the window isn't unseen by Derek, and he raises an eyebrow at that, and then at Stiles, waiting for him to finish his diatribe.

"You want me to trust someone who just climbed out the window and left us here without saying a word?"

Pot, meet kettle.

He spins to where Batman was last, and then huffs out an impatient sigh.

"He's coming back!" he protests, frowning a little bit. "And by the way? Pissing off Batman? Not exactly a Grade A bright idea there, you know. Hello."

He slumps down against a nearby wall, sliding down it until he's seated, heels tucked up against the backs of his thighs. But then he smiles a bit and looks up at Derek.

"Thanks for getting the guy that got me. That was pretty awesome."

Bruce slips back into the room, having been gone only minutes. Part of his contingency plans involves, at any given time, being able to throw the gangs off his scent for his own purposes, and the traps he's set up to that effect seem to be holding for now. He looks between both of them, briefly silent, then, "It's safe. If you leave now you'll avoid any trouble." Then he fixes Stiles with a singular look, hard to discern behind Matches' dark shades. It seems to convey what he doesn't say aloud - that they'll be having words later, and that Stiles won't necessarily like them.

Derek opens his mouth to reply to Stiles, but closes it the minute he hears Matches-- no, Batman-- come back, looking right at him as he does so. His nostrils flare a little bit, jaw set, and he reaches out to put a hand on Stiles' shoulder. His grip is firm, and Derek makes the intention clear: I don't trust you to take care of him.

(Derek barely trusts himself to take care of Stiles, but someone has to, someone has to make sure he's okay and alive and can get home to his family.)

"He'd be fine, anyway. He's with me."

At that grip on his shoulder, he glances up at Derek, and smiles quietly to himself. But then he sobers; he doesn't want either Derek or Batman to see that smile.

"Yeah, okay, that wasn't at all creepy and possessive. You're both the prettiest, and you're both going to take care of Stiles. Oh, wait! Stiles is gonna take care of Stiles. I'm not a fainting princess or anything."

He gets back to his feet, shaking off Derek's hand, and pointing a finger at Bats.

"Get to a doctor. Promise me."

Except Bruce definitely saw it, and files it away under 'things to investigate later'. Because he's the goddamned Batman, gosh. The sarcasm he leaves alone, no need to remark on or encourage the attitude, but Derek's assertion that he can look after Stiles is an interesting one. It betrays a remarkable amount of confidence for a boy who looks barely out of his teens himself to have, and the way he handled himself in that fight-- training of some sort, he'd warrant.

Another investigative point.

The order (order, really?) to find a doctor, he summarily ignores as well. "Stick to Feran Street, there's a contingent of undercover police that frequent the cafe there, they're like to step in if there's further trouble."

And just like that, he's gone.

Derek turns to Stiles, gesturing to the spot Batman was just in.

"You want me to trust that guy."

Stiles sighs, a heavy and put-upon sigh. This was just his life, apparently. Of course, narrative convention being what it is, it only makes sense that Derek and Batman wouldn't get along.

"Let's just go home?" he asks wearily, shaking his head in denial. Whatever, Der. Whatever.

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