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punchdrunkdoc · 10 months

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Hi honey how are you? I read your Battinson story and I am completely in love with the way you write. the details, the dialogues, the way you show each character's personality is incredible. I wanted to ask if you have any tips for new writers? English is not my native language and I find it very difficult to write references, information that makes sense (like everyday things that make sense to happen in a city in the United States, medical terms, slang and such) even if I read a little of the comics and the movies deliver some information, when we are going to write our own history it is so difficult to build a universe

Thank you for your lovely comments about Just Breathe, and I'm so glad you liked it!

My imposter syndrome always goes into overdrive whenever I get asked about writing, because I don't really consider myself a proper writer - I just do this for fun and I'm fumbling through the process as best I can.

But here's what I did to get to the point of writing Just Breathe - I hope it helps you in some way:

I started out small.

When I first started writing my own stories (after literally decades of reading other people's fanfic) I started really small. There was no way I could have tackled a 90000 word novel with plot and characters and backstory and all the references you mentioned straight off the bat. So I wrote an 800-word fic which was basically one character's inner thoughts.

No dialogue. No action. No setting the scene. Just thoughts.

In my next fic, I tried some dialogue. And a single setting - nothing complicated that needed research, just a beach.

Then I wrote a story with a couple of scenes, each in a different setting. Nothing complicated, but I got some practice creating locations with words.

And on it went. You can go on AO3 and see the progression - building up to writing Just Breathe was gradual. I challenged myself with each new fic to try something new - plot, fight choreography, creating original characters, etc.

My first attempt at a big sprawling original story with an original character and some world building wasn't all that successful (in terms of reader engagement, but also in how much I was happy with the product). So I tried again with Just Breathe - and I'm really proud of how it turned out.

But I cheated a bit. I'm a pathologist, so I made Beth a pathologist. It was easy to write someone who has a similar job to me. If she was an aerospace engineer, I would have really struggled! But I did what all writers are advised, and which I'll advise you as well - write what you know. Create a character that has your job. Set your story in your home town. Practice with the familiar, before moving on to the unfamiliar.

Which I've done for my latest fic Tabula Rasa. The OFC has a life and job that is VERY different from mine, so its taking a lot more research. A LOT!. I google everything! Probably more than I need to. Things like, what does a beach house in Maine look like; what do you call the metal thing you use in abseiling, what bus routes go through Danbury, Connecticut. I watched you tube videos of MMA fights and Aikido tutorials and tried to describe the movement of their limbs. I looked up chemical names so things sound scientific and correct even when I'm talking pseudoscientific nonsense. I took virtual walkthroughs on google maps to look at buildings in Hell's Kitchen so I could describe them in the fic.

My search history is varied and weird and LONG!

And once this fic is finished, I have my next challenge already lined up (in fact I've already written the first few chapters): It'll be an epic story set partly on a completely fictional planet, where all the world building will be up to me and my imagination.

I'm terrified, but excited!

So in summary (if you're still reading this long ramble!), my 3 pieces of advice are:

Start small, and gradually challenge yourself to go bigger

Write what you know, before moving on to what you don't

Google everything!

#Thanks again for getting in touch #it was fun trying to distill my writing process #such as it is!#fanfic writing #tabula rasa #just breathe

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moonlitdesertdreams · 2 years

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Take care

Request: From Anon- can you do something where Batman saves the reader from getting hurt??? maybe on the streets or something idk- all you!

A/N: Thanks to the anon who sent me an ask and nudged me to write. This doesn't have a whole lot of fluff or angst (I know, very unlike me) but is just more a generic Bruce/Batman saves the reader and does Batman stuff.

Summary: Picking up clothes from the dry cleaner is supposed to be an easy chore, but this is Gotham and you're married to Bruce Wayne. You were a fool to think it'd be anything but interesting. F!reader x Bruce Wayne | Batman

Tags: Bruce Wayne x Reader, Bruce Wayne, Batman, The Batman, Battinson, DC Universe, fluff, Batman x Reader, Batman 2022, pattinson!batman, dc imagines, batman one-shot

WARNINGS: none, just some canon-typical violence and swearing (terrifying, am I right?)

Words: 2.5k+

Gotham’s shadows were more than dangerous.

Writhing in the dank alleyways and drowning in the never ending rain, they were alive. Filled with violence and treachery and brimming with evil intent.

You knew this, but it had sure as hell been a long time since you’d experienced it first hand.

Gagged and blindfolded, tied to the other patrons of the dry cleaners, you could only wait as time ticked by. You had pressed your emergency beacon connected to Bruce’s phone as soon as the masked men had entered, but now you had no way to monitor it. His words from that afternoon bounced around in your skull- ‘be careful’.

When you were first tied up, it was still too light for Batman to make his evening debut. However, quite some time had passed since then, even though you couldn’t currently gauge the level of light outside.

So, good news: it was only a matter of time before Batman would show up.

Bad news: your captors were beginning to search the wallets and purses they had collected.

On any other day, it probably wouldn’t matter. Your name was known, but most likely not enough to catch the attention of robbers. But today? Today was the one day you had to take Bruce’s credit card for all of the dry cleaning.

‘Damn. My card’s frozen.’

‘Take mine. It’s on the counter.’

And you knew without a doubt, that was going to stir up commotion. Muffled whimpers and pleas echoed around the room, while some sat in defiance, unwilling to bend a knee at the city’s poisonous inhabitants.

Your hand was held tightly in that of another woman; a young mother desperate to return home to her children who had begged for mercy when a gun was pressed to her head. Each time she shook with a new sob, you squeezed her hand and hoped it provided some sense of comfort despite the bleak situation.

“What the… this a joke?” You heard one of the men mutter aloud before footsteps paced around the counter.

“Jesus. Who’s pocketbook is that?”

Footsteps thundered towards your position, and the woman beside you squeezed your hand so tight you were sure it dislocated a few knuckles. Returning the gesture, another cry slipped around the gag in her mouth. Light flooded your eyes as the blindfold was torn from your face.

Fluorescent white lights were not ideal post-blindfold, and you squinted through the discomfort. Two black ski masks stared back with pupils dilated so wide you could practically smell the drops in them.

“This your pocketbook?” On your right side, the skinnier man waved it near your face.

“Sorry, I’m having a hard time adjusting, the lights are really bright.” You refused to play their game. You might not have been a masked vigilante, but you weren’t about to give into thieves and robbers terrorizing the public.

It gave you a brief moment to look past the storefront window. The sun had set, and the street in front was blocked by two police cars. Red and blue lights flashed through the downpour outside, and officers milled about outside, walking back and forth on the sidewalk behind ballistic shields. Taking note of the fully automatic guns set aside on the counter, your lip twitched.

“Stop playin’ games, lady. We know this is yours.” The skinny guy said, shoving the purse into your lap.

“And we know this is you.” Now speaking from your left side, the other robber held up his phone screen towards you, displaying a picture snapped by the paparazzi of Bruce and you leaving his birthday party two weeks prior. The headline read: ‘EXCLUSIVE: Our personal birthday interview with the mysterious Mr. and Mrs. Bruce Wayne.’

“I bet we could get a lotta cash for Bruce Wayne’s pretty little squeeze, ay?”

There it was. Biding time would be easier now- no way would they try and kill the hostage bringing value to their current situation.

“I’m not sure he likes me that much.”

Both men exchanged glances before standing up and skittering back to the counter. Your stomach dropped at their hushed voices. While you might be safe, it didn’t mean everyone else was. It was a few seconds before the men rushed back over, one now holding a gun from the counter.

The skinny guy hauled you to your feet, untying the rope restraining you to the others. “Come on, gorgeous. We’re gonna go talk to the pigs outside.”

As much as you’d like to put on a kung-fu show and beat them to a pulp- you didn’t know kung-fu, so that was out of the picture- there wasn’t much more you could do than allow them to lead you to the door. You prayed Bruce - Batman - was out there in the shadows, waiting for his moment to strike.

You were ushered through the door first, a pistol raising to your temple as skinny guy hunkered behind you. Guns were drawn from all directions, including the police. The aggression incited your captor to wrap an arm around your neck and press the barrel of his pistol more firmly into delicate skin. You breathed a sigh of relief as Lieutenant Gordon stepped from the midst of them, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Stand down, guys. Let him talk.” Gordon said your name before a soft look was cast in your direction. “Are you alright?”

“Never been better.” You managed. Nothing was visible beyond the spotlights on the GCPD cruisers. There were no shadows to examine for movement, and no way for you to seek out your possible savior.

“Good.” Gordon then locked eyes with your captor. “What do you want?”

He fumbled for a moment before tossing something towards Gordan. It took your eyes a moment to realize it was Bruce’s credit card, the metal pinging against concrete as it clattered to the ground at Gordon’s feet.

“Five million. A million for each of us. And this pretty thing goes home safe.” He trailed the gun down your cheek and against your jugular.

There was a moment where your tough-girl facade faltered and the terror you felt seemed to boil over, but you tried your damndest to hold a straight face. You felt the involuntary tug downwards near the corner of your mouth and heat flush your cheeks but refused to cry while Skinny was tossing you around like a ragdoll.

Gordon’s eyes fell to yours after looking at the card. You nodded, instinctively clutching at the arm around your neck. “My phone’s in there. He’ll answer.”

Now, if this were any other city, you were sure it would be a drawn-out conversation. The whole ‘we don’t negotiate’ line would undoubtedly be applied here, and you would be concerned the suspect would shoot you on the spot. But this was Gotham. To say criminals were catered to was an understatement. In spite of everyone’s best efforts, they still ran the city.

“Get us the phone.” The Lieutenant directed. “We’ll contact Mr. Wayne.”

Unable to filter words in your current mental state, you spoke. “Next thing you know he’s gonna want a helicopter out of the country.”

Not surprisingly, Skinny was upset by the ridicule.

“Didn’t ask for your comment, bitch!”

The gun swung towards your face faster than you could react, and it collided like a shotgun blast with your right eye. Stars spun in your vision and you squeezed your eyes shut to avoid any further disorientation. Commotion broke out then- yelling from inside of the cleaners and muttering from the police. Gordon shouted something about medical.

You weren’t absorbed enough in your injury to assume the chaos was all because of his swing at you, so you forced now-sore eyes open. A very different street stared back at you; cruiser lights flashed red and blue, but the fluorescent white glow from inside the store was gone.

Upon Skinny swinging around, you noticed the spotlights only illuminated a small section inside the store, reflected by dirty glass and unrelenting raindrops. Movement was visible, though Skinny guy’s shaky hold on your neck made it hard to pinpoint what was happening.

“The hell’s goin’ on?!” He yelled towards the building.

The bell jingled when the door squeaked open. You waited for the robbers to emerge, fearing the worst for the other hostages who were trapped inside. Throat thick with barely restrained emotion, you swallowed a sob.

Much to your surprise, it was the hostages who came out of the door, tripping and scrambling over each other to get away. They ran past you despite the gun still pressed to your head, beyond the safety of the police line.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Skinny guy yelled, jamming the pistol into your skull.

You yelped at the pressure, sure it would leave a goose egg there to compliment the black eye.

“Get me my fuckin’ money, or I swear to Christ I’ll blow her brains out!” His words were wild, shouted towards the police, who appeared just as confused as you.

“Let her go.”

Your head dropped in relief at the gravelly voice behind you. Skinny guy spun back towards the store, forcing you to stumble in an uncoordinated circle. Sure enough, perched on the sloping edge of the roof like a life-size gargoyle, was the Batman.

You were sure you’d never been more glad to see Bruce in the Bat suit before.

“Stay there, freak! You think I’m afraid to pull this trigger?”

It’s important to note: you have the same level of firearm expertise as you do kung-fu. Zero.

Nonetheless, you’d seen enough action movies to recognize the sound of a gun cocking. Especially one firmly placed to your head. An icy concoction of fear and panic surged in your veins, and you focused on the familiar shape of Bruce’s face underneath the mask. His head dipped in a miniscule nod.

“What do you want?” Batman asked.

The fear chewing on your psyche prompted tears to bubble over your eyes, and you instinctively clawed at the arm around your neck when it tightened.

“Money! What does anyone want in this fuckin’ city?” He waved the gun around wildly then, giving you a moment without the barrell against your face. “If people like this shared it, we wouldn’t be here!”

You still had Bruce pinned with your gaze, though your captor was jerking between him and Gordon.

“She’s not the problem.”

Cloaked in shadows, Batman crept to the edge of the roof. The tears were more readily dripping from your eyes now, a painful sting in the right one reminding you of the blow you’d already taken.

“You’re mad about money so you’re gonna kill an innocent woman to make up for it?” Gordon said.

You furrowed your brow, stumbling again as you were wrenched to face the Lieutenant. The jerking kicked your fear into hyperdrive, and a muffled sob made its way up your throat. Head pounding and heart dropped into your stomach, you tried to stay steady on the concrete beneath you.

“None of you can preach on what’s right!” Skinny yelled, stomping through puddles and potholes as he moved about wildly.

Gordon’s hands were still held up, and he stayed quiet, attempting to placate any rash decisions. When Skinny attempted to turn back towards Batman however, Gordon piped up again.

And then, your brain moving at half speed, it hit you. Bruce was smart, and allowing Gordon to take control was just a diversion; if you knew anything it was that Bruce’s obsession- addiction- to Batman would never allow someone else to take control of such a situation.

“-what I said! If I don’t have my money in the next twenty minutes, someone’s gonna be dead!”

A horrendous cracking sound filled your ears, and you were thrown to the ground as Skinny collapsed. Nothing was computing but escape, and you did a pitiful crabwalk away from your now-unconscious captor.

“Hey, hey-” Hands dipped beneath your armpits and tried to lift, but you jerked away as adrenaline flooded your body.

The sound of your name in a familiar voice shot through the fog like lightning, and you slowed down momentarily. Lifting your gaze, you found the Batman standing over you, green eyes frantically darting across your face.

Forcing yourself to swallow his name as it sat on the tip of your tongue, you simply allowed him to pull you to your feet. His gloved hand lifted to trace your throbbing eye socket, coming away with shimmery blood droplets. Gordon’s approach stopped the exchange from growing any more intimate, Bruce’s hand dropping from your face like a stone in water.

“Mrs. Wayne! Are you alright?”

The Lieutenant clasped your shoulder and draped you in a foil shock blanket before glancing back to where his officers were detaining Skinny. You managed to dip your head in a less than convincing affirmative manner, eyes still tracing the outline of Batman’s cowl. Familiar green peered back at you from dark sockets.

“Yeah, just shaken up.” Instead of continuing to stare down Bruce like a creep, you rotated to Gordon.

“Well, let’s have EMS get you checked out. That eye is gonna start bruising before you know it.”

The Lieutenant then exchanged a nod with Batman. “As always, thanks.”

Never having the opportunity to observe their relationship first hand, you smiled softly. Even as his alter-ego, it was nice to see Bruce appreciated. Even nicer to see him interacting with others, but that was aside the point.

“Same.” You chirped, catching both mens’ attention. “Nice to meet you, Batman.”

Much to your satisfaction, the faintest of blushes crept up his cheeks. “You as well, Mrs. Wayne.”

“Ma’am?”

Paramedics were making an awkward approach, and Gordon waved them forward. You hugged the foil blanket close as they did and allowed the nearest to examine your face.

“Take care.”

You pulled away from the medic, but the Batman was gone. He’d vanished into the shadows of Gotham, leaving you with Lieutenant Gordon and two very-confused looking medics.

“He does that.” Gordon informed the three of you, “Let’s get you in the rig where it’s dry.”

A barrage of medical questions and a few very nervous ‘Mrs. Wayne’?’s later, you were signing paperwork with the paramedics and awaiting Gordon’s approval to leave. Gauze was taped to your cheek, and you held a soft gel icepack to the injured eye.

“I’ll get the boss over here for you.” The younger medic- Craig, he’d told you- took your signed paperwork and tucked it into the passenger seat. “Here’s your bag while you wait. One of the officers gave it to my partner.”

“Thank you, Craig.” He smiled brightly and climbed from the rig, leaving one door ajar.

And on a ledge protruding from a few buildings down, you swore a gargoyle was facing the rig. A very familiar, very lively looking gargoyle. You couldn’t help the wide smile that split your face, and lifted your fingers in the smallest of waves.

Buzzing from your bag made you glance down, and you pulled the offending cell phone from your purse.

Bruce: take care, mrs. wayne

Eyes lifting back to the darkness outside, they found the ledge vacant. Gordon chose that moment to appear, leaning into the truck door.

“Do you have someone you can call, Mrs. Wayne? I’ll be happy to get in contact for you.” Concern was evident on his face, and his fingers drummed on the doorframe

“Yeah, Lieutenant. I’ve got someone.”

As always, if you enjoy please like/reblog and check out my links for more :)

Masterlist | Send me ideas

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne #Batman #The Batman #Battinson #DC Universe #fluff #Batman x Reader #Batman 2022 #pattinson!batman #dc imagines #batman one-shot

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vigilvntes · 2 years

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hiii again! lawyer!reader anon here once again. (also, I hope I'm not being annoying about this and other related asks to this, I'm just really intrigued by this idea atm and I always LOVE hearing your input, not just on this but with other people's ideas too. 💜)

so, I keep up with another thought/scenario that involved lawyer/hero!reader and her relationship with adrian + also a bit of Battinson too because...I love the idea of that specific trio with that specific reader. got her, himbo bf and handsome bats. anyway, let's say Y/N and adrian have been living with eachother in an apartment and it's been really nice. sometimes she'll invite bruce/batman over for a nice dinner or help with any specific cases. it's odd too because maybe he'll come back from missions and he'll still have the batsuit on, adrian will walk and is all like: babe!! why is batman standing in our living room!?!? despite him knowing it's bruce under there he'll still feel threatened at times lol.

PLEASE IM LOSING ITDJDHFBF

no but can you imagine adrian walks out of the bathroom like he's just been in the shower or something and he sees this huge fucking black mass stood over you and he fucking yelps and picks up the nearest object and throws it at bruce and it just bounces off the armour and bruce is like ?????? and once adrian gets his glasses on he's like "ah shit sorry dude my bad" and reader is just like ,,, sigh i am so sorry bruce sit down i'll make us some coffee

and like the dynamic between the three of then w would be so fucking funny because reader and bruce are heroes. bruce doesn't kill, he's explicitly clear about not killing and i think reader would TRY not to kill unless it's necessary but adrian,,,, hoo boy. they'll take someone out and adrian will be like "okay let's finish him" and both bruce and reader would have to be like NO DONT YOU DARE!!!!!! and like , the chaos if bruce ever took adrian out with him in gotham at night like maybe reader has some work to do so she's like bruce i'm begging you please entertain him and bruce is like sighs. fine. so adrian joins him and they're patrolling the streets and bruce literally has to snatch a gun out of adrian's hands to stop him from shooting some fuckin graffiti artist or something like 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

also side thought . threesome. i think adrian would be so down for it bc i hc him as someone who's down for threesomes if he knows one or both parties well enough so i think he'd definitely trust battinson with the reader and he also definitely wouldn't say no to some action that's NOT out in the streets <3

#everyone be quiet liz is speaking

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scaryscarecrows · 3 years

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It’s Okay to Eat Fish, ‘Cause They Don’t Have Any Feelings

AN: Or, HOLY SHIT I’M SO STOKED FOR BATTINSON OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD--

Ahem. Potential early encounter/identity confirmation/whatever with Batman and Scarecrow. Title from Nirvana’s ‘Something In The Way’ (sound familiar?). Happy Halloween. Bruce is still new (obviously), and, as in Year One, is a bit of a ‘lucky amateur’.

* * *

Bruce ignores everything Alfred has ever told him about ladies, their bedrooms, and being a gentleman when he slides open the bedroom window on the third-floor apartment.

It’s a mid-grade one; not in the middle of Crime Alley, but nowhere near the Diamond District. The elevator works, and the neighbors are quiet, but the security cameras don’t move and the motion lights are broken.

Good.

He’s not sure if he hopes Jonathan Crane is the Scarecrow killer or not. On one hand, that would be this case finished. On the other hand, Kitty Richardson had been so sure her boyfriend would never do such a thing. She’ll be devastated. Bruce will have to live with that.

But then again, he wants this case finished. He wants to catch this lunatic, whoever he-or she, he supposes-may be. The bodies are random; some homeless, some not, suggesting these are crimes of opportunity. But their faces…

Some of them have...harmed themselves, in some way. But all of them share the same expression of frozen terror. Their last moments were horrifying, and Bruce cannot let this continue.

The bedroom is sparse; a bed, two nightstands, and a bookshelf filled with worn spines ranging from Stephen King to Agatha Christie. Further investigation turns up a modest closet with shoes and clothes and a jewelry box. The bathroom is similarly uninteresting, the only really personal touches being a little dish with a man’s cufflinks in it.

Hm.

A noise in another room catches his attention and he moves silently into the hall. The lights are out in the living room, but not the kitchen, and he can just see a small shape reflected in the television screen. Richardson is home.

She wasn’t supposed to be home.

Bruce is not about to waste this opportunity.

She’s sitting on the counter, legs swinging a little, and clearly waiting for the electric kettle to finish. Richardson looks a little like a doll; bird boned and thin, with big, shiny brown eyes and red lips. She’s short, too, five feet at best.

Yes, she looks very much like a doll.

“What are you doing here?” She jumps off the counter, hand going for the acrylic knife block near the kettle. “How did you get in?”

“Where is Crane.”

“At work.” She scowls, but then the kettle chimes that it’s done and just like that, the scowl is gone. “Tea?”

“Tea.” Crane is likely at work; there’s only one mug on the counter. “Most people don’t offer me tea.”

“I’m British, Batman. We’re all trained to offer tea, in case the Queen comes by.” Her tone is serious but those shiny, shiny eyes are laughing at him. “Tea or no?”

“No.” His internal Alfred tsks disapprovingly. “Thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” Hot water goes into the mug and Bruce catches a hint of Earl Grey. “It’s not so bad that you’re here, really. I found something you might want to see.”

He steps out of the doorway. Richardson sets the stove timer, muttering about always forgetting she’s made tea, and goes into the darkened living room to turn on the lights.

The living room has four bookshelves, floor-to-ceiling ones on the north wall. The television takes up a wall of its own, and there’s two end tables near the couch. It takes Bruce a few seconds to pinpoint what seems off to him, but then it hits; no pictures. Not even a graduation photograph.

“I wasn’t looking, you know,” Richardson’s saying as she drags a small step stool out from between the bookshelves. “Not for anything silly. I was looking for my tea, which I’d left somewhere, when I saw a book I didn’t remember us having, and when I went to pull it out...where is...oh!”

Bruce doesn’t see what book she has, and it doesn’t really matter; the second-left shelf clicks and opens, leading into an unlit room. Richardson hops off the stool and goes inside, still chattering away.

“You wouldn’t believe what I found in here...come in, come in, it’s fine...Jonathan always thinks he can hide things from me. He never learns. But look! Look at this.” The lights are not on, and there is no apparent switch. But she’s gone straight to a table and picked up...a gift. A polka-dot wrapped gift with a bright red bow on top. “I don’t want anything for my birthday this year, I said. I don’t care, I said. And he does this to me! One of these days, I’ll really have to kill him for not listening.” Those red lips curve up in a bright smile. “Think I should open it?”

She knows.

“Where. Is. Crane.”

“I told you, he’s at work.” She hops up on the table, swings her legs again, and suddenly leans over. The room is flooded with light. “He’ll be home soon.”

It’s a small room, a little bigger than his closet at home. The table in the middle has beakers and a handful of petri dishes on it, and there’s a small fridge on the far side. But what Bruce is interested in is the chair in the corner. It’s big, and there’s straps and handcuffs on it, and he can see bloodstains from here. There’s a little rolling cart next to it with empty bottles and what look like surgical instruments-are, that’s a scalpel, he can see it from this angle-on it.

Richardson’s fiddling with the bow, lower lip between her teeth.

“I can’t imagine what it would be…” She gives the box a shake. “You don’t suppose he really did have John Lee’s head taxidermied for me, do you?” She looks at him anxiously. “I was mostly joking when I said that…”

John Lee had been identified via fingerprints, as his head had been missing. The bloodwork had confirmed the presence of what the GCPD has been referring to as Fear Toxin.

“This isn’t a game,” he growls. “Tell me where he is.”

“What would I even do with a head? Men.”

“I’m not. Asking. Again.”

She shrugs, gives the box another shake.

“Turn around.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I,” a voice rasps in his ear. Bruce whirls just as the lights go out. The living room lights are out now, too, but he can just make out the spindly form of Jonathan Crane, who has his arm out like a pointing, judgemental statue.

WHOOSH!

Don’t breathe.

It’s too late; the gas, white, bitter and thick, coats his tongue and throat and nostrils and stings his eyes. He coughs, trying to get it out (hoping to get it out) and Scarecrow laughs.

“Surprise!”

The shadows in the living room grow and crawl towards him, moaning and crying.

Not real. They’re not real.

“Who d’you think he is?” Richardson’s voice is distorted, simultaneously right in his ear and miles underwater.

“Let’s find out.”

No.

He kicks out at what is either a clawing, crying shadow or Scarecrow. It staggers back, cursing, and there’s a sudden, sharp pain in his knee. One of the shadows flings itself at him, wraps its arms around his waist.

“WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I DIED?”

“I.” Can’t be real, it can’t be real… “I’m sorry.”

“WHERE WERE YOU!”

The tall shadow comes at him again. Bruce elbows the hanger-on away and--window. The window. If he can get outside, the shadows won’t follow him.

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO COME!”

“MY SON DIED BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T THERE!”

CRA-ASH!

Glass knicks his face and clings to the suit, but the cold night air does wonders. He sticks the landing on the fire escape, but then he makes the mistake of looking up.

The shadows are following, climbing over each other in an attempt to get to him first. He can’t let them get to him. He’s not sure why, exactly, but he can’t let them get to him.

A car is speeding towards the apartment. If he can get on that, he’ll be safe, they can’t catch the car.

“FACE ME!”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU COME?”

They’re starting to fall. One of them just misses the fire escape and hits the pavement with a sickening splat!, but it gets back up almost immediately.

The car’s close enough. It has to be. He won’t be so lucky again.

“Where are you, Batman?”

He jumps.

THE END

#Battinson #Batman #Bruce Wayne #Jonathan Crane #the Scarecrow #Kitty Richardson #fic #happy Halloween!

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