theknightshift | open post (nsfw)

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It isn't that Steve forgets about Bruce. It's more that when shit hits the fan -Tony, Peggy dying, the accords being signed - he forgets that he had personal belongings being auctioned off, much less that there'd been an offer made to buy them.

Whether being fugitive drives prices up or down, Steve definitely doesn't have the bandwidth to care about.

What he does have the bandwidth to very much care about is finding somewhere to be until he can get enough information to get his people out of the floating, high security prison they were put in when they refused to sign. And time to get a plan together for what he's doing with them after that.

The offer to let Bruce know if he could help? That one he definitely remembers. Doesn't like needing it, but he has next to no other options. Not like 'wanted criminal' is a position he's got a lot of experience with.

He does have sense though, both tactical and otherwise. Which is why his people are in a high security prison floating in the ocean, and Steve isn't. It's also why he calls from a disposable phone and number.

All he says, though, is "I could use a drink." Steve can't get drunk and he's pretty sure Bruce doesn't drink. He's just going to have to hope Bruce is either secure in his security or just spits out an address - or both. Reading between the lines he knows Bruce will do.

But it's not both. I just like you.

The first night in Germany is quiet. Bruce didn't sleep, even though he should have. He's jet lagged and exhausted, but he keeps himself awake until the small hours of the morning, when the sun is beginning to rise. That's when he slept for a handful of hours. When he wakes, it's still morning and he gets up to make himself some coffee.

The penthouse where they're staying is a luxurious one with a great view of the city's skyline. The Expo would be held in the ballroom downstairs so they wouldn't have far to travel, thankfully. Lucius would be responsible for the finer details of the trip. Bruce would be responsible for the party. And his date.

Bruce knows his sleep schedule isn't exactly normal, so he does not disturb Steve when he gets up. At least he tries. He's able to move quietly and efficiently around the kitchen, preparing a bit of breakfast.

And that is where Steve will find him, sitting at the table coffee mug in hand while he reads the paper and checks the news back home.

[Perhaps, just perhaps, Jason has some issues with "communication". Less about what he wants; shockingly he's clear about that. Rather, about when he might "drop by" for what some might call "a visit" but most would call "blatant arson."

He would never burn the manor down.

You know.

On purpose.

Just some light arson here.

He's very casually come into the cave when Bruce is away, and started hunting down some accelerants, and after finding them, he is casually surrounding his memorial with them. He's pretty pleased with himself, and he knows he only has a little while - maybe even only minutes - but he doesn't expect the Batmobile back this fast. When Bruce is coming out of the car, he's got his crowbar in one hand, hefting it to break the glass.

He's mostly dressed in his armor but his mask is on his bike near the entrance to the cave.]

'sup.

[One of the few benefits of being dead is that he doesn't have to attend a single event for rich people ever again.

Sure, he was okay at it as a kid, when Bruce would protect him from the worst of the snobbery and some of the people who would attend would give Jason pats on the head and Alfred would slip him the extra good snacks. But by the time he was fourteen it started feeling old, boring, and mostly just irritating. And now, he would rather chew off his own leg.

But attending like this? This is actually a lot of fun.

The gala is in a ballroom with a glass ceiling - incredible - meaning that Jason can stage a really dramatic entrance and exit. He gets to use his glass cutter that he kind of made himself. He gets to come after Brucie.

Honestly it's like Christmas.

When he descends on the gala, the screaming announces him in a way that's actually kind of pleasing to the ear. Some dude has private security, and that's a tranq dart to the ex-military dude's leg, oh, he's down, and Jason's modified voice is booming.]

I'm just here for Wayne!

[And with that he grabs Bruce around the waist, punches someone who is trying to stop him, and tugs his line.]

When the auction ends, Blake does well to hide his mild shock and disappointment at the outcome. It's a lot of money — he's not sad about that — but the bidding war that had taken place had left him feeling an undue amount of scrutiny, not to mention renewed concern over whatever expectations might come with this unexpected outcome.

Because the money's for the kids, he tells himself it's fine. The winning bid goes to a notoriously kind woman — her family is old money out of Russia — and while he thinks her plans will be fine, he's been told it's all meant to be standard: A photograph, a sit down meal with suitably pleasant conversation (translated professionally), and a visit to the orphanage where Blake grew up to wrap up the evening.

Blake will hate it, but he'll endure.

Truth be told, he was kind of hoping to ride a motorcycle, eat some cheap food, and maybe see where the night went with Bruce. He'd almost hitched his entire wagon to that star when he'd slipped into the crisp, clean tuxedo and presented himself on stage like a gussied up blue ribbon prize bull.

When the last of the arrangements are made, with ceremonial checks signed and proctored applause long died off, Blake catches Bruce in the hallway outside the dining hall.

"So, this is awkward," he says, only half-joking as he scrubs at the back of his head. He'd started the night pretty excited, but now he's more jittery than anything. Too much caffeine, too much attention, not enough room to fidget when the suit is exactly his size.

Edited (clarity) 2025-04-12 00:20 (UTC)

[He probably should call someone - anyone - else. Getting a face full of some new designer drug wasn't part of the plan, but he was undercover and he felt obligated to go with it or his cover would be blown.

An hour later he's still at this club, and he's feeling like his skin is going to boil off or like he's going to dissolve, or both, and all he wants is Bruce. He can't even figure out why. He's never felt like this, like he's going to absolutely lose his mind if he doesn't get-

-so he makes the call, slipping a hand onto his phone to let Bruce know he needs a pick up and he needs it soon, handing over his coordinates with a press of a button.

When Bruce does show up, Jason is on edge of the dance floor with glitter covering miles of bare skin. He's wearing short shorts, and a shirt that looks painted on, and he's got someone's hands on his hips, but there is a look to him that seems more manic than anything else.]

[ continued ]

[ Bruce puts a hand on Dick's back, bracing himself so he doesn't sway too much when he's finally upright. Pain spears through him, and for once he groans quietly against it. The car swerves in close and the doors slide open, ready for them to climb in. ]

Jones has a tracker. Do not lose him.

[Peaceful isn’t a word one would use to describe Oswald Cobblepot.

He’s not even sure he’d recognize the feeling himself.

But for the first time in a long time, he at least looks the part, curled up on one of the plush leather sofas under a canopy of umbrellas and ice-blue neon lights. Worlds away from the jazz band, playing on without missing a beat; from the chatter and the clipped, haughty laughter of the Lounge’s clientele.

This isn’t a man whose workaholism, drinking, and less-than-ideal sleep patterns have caught up to him yet. Oswald is still young. Still determined and able to push through pain and every ‘no’ life throws at him, fighting for his right to exist, to thrive, to build something lasting in a city in a near-constant state of upheaval.

It’s just a man who trusted the drink in his hand, like he has dozens of times before. A paranoid, hypervigilant man soon to confront the reality of having been neither paranoid nor hypervigilant enough. Soon to reckon with surviving - being allowed to survive - more than just a few whispers and sidelong glances over flutes of champagne.

For now, he sleeps. His face slack and soft. Almost childlike. One hand clutching what is decidedly not a pillow.

The ache in his leg wakes him in the small hours of the morning. But it’s the exhaustion that’s overwhelming: a woolly-brained heaviness that makes even the idea of moving unthinkable. Frowning, he nuzzles his human-shaped pillow, mumbling into it. Something about mother, some half-hearted protest. There’s always something to do, somewhere to be, because Gotham never sleeps. But wedged between the back cushions and billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne, he decides the city can wait.]

[Jason knows when the contract for his life - well, Red Hood's life - goes out because he is friends with several assassins who let him know that his name came up on the list. Jason considers it - it's a 50k contract, which is, you know, offensive, his life has to be worth way more - and eventually decides it's not worth worrying about.

He probably should have let Bruce know, but he also knows Bruce has his own contacts. He's on a stakeout, just him, Alice (his favorite sniper rifle, brought for her scope more than her ability to kill a man) and a bag of Nerd clusters, and he's chilling on the roof of the Park Row branch of the First Gotham Bank watching an apartment over on the other side of the street when he feels eyes on him.

He looks up from where he's sitting and rolls his eyes.]

Oh look.

It's the night.

It's only been a week since Tim had asked for space, and it seemed, on the surface, like Bruce had acquiesced. It wasn't like Tim didn't know the guy could still have a hundred trackers squirreled away on him that he didn't know about, and he still wasn't exactly sure there wasn't a video of that night on the roof after Ivy's, but it's been quiet, and Tim was---

Lonely.

He was lonely, okay? Kon was off-planet with Supergirl, Dick was with Bart and Kori handling Titans business for some big case in Guatemala, Barbara was helping The Birds, and even Gar was out of commission lately - dating, of all things. It wasn't like any of them were the kind of connection Tim was looking for either; he loved his friends and family, but they wouldn't fill the hole inside him right now that it felt like Bruce had left.

So Tim went to the clubs again. Sue him. He knew better, but if his one vice was getting too drunk and making out with a hot guy at a leather bar (and maybe blowing him in the bathroom...), then it was pretty tame compared to what some of the other got up to.

He was still more than a little tipsy walking home, but not tipsy enough not to be on high alert when he realized the door to his bathroom was ajar and he felt the presence of someone else in his penthouse apartment. He slid past the kitchen island, palming out the bo staff that fit seamlessly into a hidden compartment and getting a good grip on it as he flipped the lights.

"----Bruce?" His shoulders slumped out of the defensive pose.

Ultimately, Bruce keeps his word. The night does turn out to be a long one after a drug bust leads him into a deeper conspiracy, but it's something that would need more time and research and investigation. Something he isn't going to get done in one night, despite his best efforts. So for once, just this once, he'll set it aside for now.

It's early morning by the time he makes it back to Tim's apartment, slipping in the same way he had the first time. He's exhausted and isn't entirely careful about shedding the suit. It ends up in a heap on the floor by his bedroom door. The bed dips under his weight and whether Tim is there or not, Bruce is asleep the second his head hits the pillow.

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