100YoP Chapter Two "Some just feel it more keenly." (Patreon)

You know what the hard part of dealing with Two Face is? The fact that  you never know where to look. Do you look him in the eye? Which one? Do  you look away? Doesn't that leave the chance that he'll take offense  anyways and just shoot you?

Half of henching is surviving your boss. Never mention to Ventriloquist  that the puppet's a puppet, don't laugh at the Penguin, don't solve  Riddler's riddles before Batman, don't let Mad Hatter put one of his  fucking hats on you, and never, ever work for the Joker. For Two  Face, it's easy. Do what he says, don't mention the burnt half to either  personality, and in an odd change from usual fare, don't be too stupid.

Most Gotham Rogues are in it for... well, they've got as many reasons as  there are bullets in Gotham parents, but the most common reason is that  they've got something to prove. They have to show that they're the best, the smartest, the Bat's true opponent.

As you can imagine, this runs against the fact that no one can do everything on their own, and so they require minions.

The compromise? Act stupid. Be the dimwitted lackey. If a villain ends  the job thinking its a wonder that your brain has enough function in it  for you to walk around, you're probably gonna get hired again.

Sometimes being smart helps you move further up, if they're more the  'Mob Boss' type rather than the 'I've got you now, Batman' types. The  difference between Black Mask and Scarecrow, if you will.

Two Face is... an outlier. He contains multitudes, you could say, if  you're not afraid of poking fun at a poor man's mental illness.  Sometimes he acts like the first type, sometimes the second. Sometimes  he's organized, sometimes he just wants to burn the world. It's all a  coinflip, literally.

And the thing is that he knows he's hard to work with. I've gotten to  know the guy, as much as anyone gets to know their boss. One time he  held a friend of mine at gunpoint and flipped a coin to decide his fate,  and the next day he gave him a bottle of wine and apologized, saying  that sometimes he gets away from himself.

Dent knows that he can't be surrounded by idiots, so he doesn't ask for  halfwit goons that carry heavy things for him. He doesn't need to  console himself with the knowledge that while he may not be able to  construct a whole death trap on his own, at least we'd be helpless  without his directing. He was a District Attorney, for fuck's sake. He  knows his worth. And he knows his trouble.

Two Face is, in his own way, a reasonable boss. By Gotham standards, at  least. The risk of getting shot is there, but I'm pretty sure office  drones have higher mortality rates than his permanent goons.

Which is why the best approach for my plan was to walk up to his office, knock, and wait to be let in.

"Come in," a gruff voice called out. Once I did, I found Two Face with  both sleeves rolled up, reading glasses turned on, looking over what  seemed to be papers full of finance gains and losses. "Ah, Sam. I was  going to call you in, thanks for coming."

Hm. Polite speech, planning his next moves, but both sleeves were  rolled up and his voice was gruff. Dent had the upper hand right now,  but Two Face was gaining ground quick. If things got too agitated then  he'd probably fall into the more feral side.

Still, he'd probably handle this with grace. I looked at the healthy  side's eye so Dent knew I was talking to him, cleared my throat, and  said, "I assume you want to ask me about the warehouse?"

Dent nodded, though he turned back to his finances. "The Bats somehow  found out where all the vans were going and intercepted them, and all  the bombs were defused before they were done. Except yours."

Okay, he's got suspicions. Time to lie by telling part of the truth.

"Batgirl swooped in," Dent looked over his half-moon reading glasses,  his eyes clearly noting the lack of breaks all over my everything.  "There was a fight--you remember I practice some martial arts?"

"Yes, I remember," Dent said, "Butcher's tournament, right? You took first place. It was a good fight."

Part of me was flattered that he'd attended, or that he remembered. The  rest knew that he knew that no matter how good I was for a random goon, I  wasn't beat Cassandra motherfuckin' Cain levels of good.

"Thank you, sir," I said. "I think she was tired from another fight, or  maybe she was just surprised that I actually had some formal training,  but I distracted her for like five seconds. Which is all that Mike  needed to put a gun to one of the crates."

Dent sighed and put his fingers under his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, "Shit."

"Yeah." I sighed, "Luckily we'd already spread the crates around, so  only one blew up right then. By the time I could see, hear or move  again, Batgirl was gone, so I got myself to Butcher's place and got  patched up."

Dent looked me critically, then went back to his finances, making some  notes with a red pen on the corner of a page, then taking a blue pen,  crossing those notes off, and making some new ones. After a while  letting me stew, he said, "I'm glad you managed, Sam. I'll add some  hazard pay to your next check, and a bonus for giving Batgirl hell.  Maybe you'll pull it off again, eh?"

"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk about, sir," I said, and  for a moment I had the weird urge to take off the hat I wasn't wearing  and grip it nervously. Something about the office and the 1920's gang  aesthetic, I guess. "I'm afraid I have to turn in my two weeks notice."

Dent blinked, took off his reading glasses and looked at me fully, fingers intertwined. "May I ask why?"

His expression was... polite, if a bit sad and resigned. Like he knew what I was going to say before he asked.

"The job was 'move and stash'," I told him, and he closed his eyes.  "Now, I know there ain't no one responsible for what happened there  except Mike, and I can't exactly blame a dead man. But the job is the  job, and I can't live with it changing on me without one word of  warning. Literally can't live with it, if I'd been one inch closer last  night."

Dent sighed, hung his head, then looked at me with a grimace on both sides. "I... I almost told you. The scheme, I had to do, but I realized I hadn't told Butcher and so you probably didn't  know. But then I remembered your rules about innocents, and you being  there was the only reason I felt comfortable having Mike on the job,  so..."

"So you flipped for it."

"So I flipped for it," Dent sighed.

Something about the total resignation to who he was hurt me, and I felt  the need to offer some comfort despite the troubles he gave me. Not like  I could really blame the man, when what screwed me over was something  deeper than the parts of him that dealt with the world.

"... it's okay, sir," I said. "We're all slaves to ourselves. Some just feel it more keenly."

Dent looked at me, chuckled, and grabbed a clean sheet of paper. "I like  that, I'm gonna take it to my guy in Arkham next time I pass by."

In a fit of worry, I asked, "It's not still that Hugo Strange creep, is it?"

"Nah, he got the boot," he said. "Thanks for asking, Sam."

"Just checking," I said.

With a start, I remembered what was in my back pocket and handed it  over. Dent took the folded paper with a bemused expression, and looked  at me quizzically.

"It's my two week notice," I said. "So you can have it in writing."

Dent unfolded, looked at the paper, chuckled, and refolded it to set  aside on one of his drawers. After that, he stood up, walked around the  desk, and offered his hand for me to shake. "I'm gonna miss having you  here, Sam. You brought a real sense of class to the team."

"I did my best, sir," I shook his hand. "And don't fret. You don't got to worry about that stopping until the two weeks are up."

"And you don't have to worry about that bonus I mentioned." Dent  answered, "I've already decided to make it part of your severance  package, no coin flip required."

That was even better than I expected. I smiled, thanked him, and walked  out so I could continue my preparations for robbing the poor bastard.

{[X]}​

"Billy! Hey, Billy!" I raised my hand and waved my best friend over. "Come over here, man, I gotta talk with you."

Billy, in a matter typical of himself, dropped what he was doing (not  literally, since he was carrying a box of grenades) and rushed on over.  "What's up, Sam? Need me to talk with Two Face about what happened last  night?"

William "Billy" Priest had been my friend for twelve years now. When I was a kid, I wasn't too  comfortable with other kids on account of the previous life thing, but  Billy had that sort of affable personality that you had to ward off with  a gun. Six years old, he found me reading Good Omens and just went  'yeah, I'm gonna befriend this fucker'. All those years later, and he'd  grown to be sharp, tough, cool under pressure and with over a decade of  henching that left him with enough skills and connections that he could  do almost any job.

But he was born poor, so his only way to go had been crime, and now he  was tied so deep in the shit that there was nowhere else for him to go.  Same as me.

Still, he'd found a way to thrive. Between all the friends he made and  the reputation for competent, efficient work he cultivated, he had  formed the Goonion. The union for goons.

No, I am not kidding. The crazy motherfucker rallied up everyone he knew  from the job, including me, and organized a huge city-wide strike until  the villains started handing out benefits. What, you thought Riddler  always gave dental? That was the fucking Goonion's work, and next time a  Bat punched you in the mouth and forced you to swallow your denture,  you better thank your lucky stars that Billy Priest was on the job when  the job needed doing.

Joker had tried to hire some strikebreakers, but he didn't account for  how when you try to cross the picket line in an inherently violent line  of work, you might end up with a picket shoved straight up your ass.

Literally in Mike's case. Fucking boot licker, there's a reason no one was mourning the loss.

Anyways, Billy was the head of the Goonion, and I'd been there from Day One, so it hurt that I had to do what I had to do.

"No, no, I dealt with that myself." I looked around to make sure no one  was listening in, and whispered, "Listen, Billy, I gotta leave the  Goonion."

"What?!" he whisper-shouted. "Sam, you can't leave, you're my right hand guy!"

... I was? I guess I did do a lot of solids for him. Whatever, I shook  my head and explained, "Billy, it's not that I wanna leave the union,  it's that I'm leaving the job."

"The job? You're not gonna be a henchman any more?" Billy dragged  me deeper into a corner and leaned in to whisper, "Sam, you're talking  about leaving the game."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"This isn't a joke, Sam! All the shit you've seen, all the shit you know-"

"I'm taking a job under Butchie, helping out in the kitchen," I said.  "You know I can cook, and everyone knows that Butchie wouldn't let me  say a goddamn thing I shouldn't."

"Okay, that's bullshit, you've been doing stupid shit that Butcher didn't want you to do since you met him."

"Yeah, but everyone knows they can trust him, and they know he trusts me, so everyone 'knows'  that I can be trusted," I said. The thing about Billy is that while he  was good at politics because everyone liked him, he was bad at politics  because he liked everyone. Didn't catch the subtle plays because of it.  So I explained, "It's not what I do, Billy. It's who I know and who I  blow."

"I don't need to picture you blowing Butcher."

"It's a common saying."

"In your gay bars, maybe."

"Fuck off."

Billy chuckled, and I knew I put his mind at ease. At least a little.

"Still, you'll be missed, man." He looked at me. "So what are you gonna be doing?"

"I told you, work at the kitchen."

"Okay," he said, "But what are you gonna be doing?"

I poked at my cheek with my tongue, considering him. "... can't tell you if you're not in."

"Then I'm in."

No hesitation. I love this guy. "Butcher's in too, just warning you."

"No problem, Butchie loves me."

{[X]}​

"What's fuckwit doing here?" Butchie asked me, pointing at Billy as he sat next to me in his office.

"He wants to help me out, I already explained everything."

He gave Billy a long look, sighed very heavily, and looked at me, "If we end up in jail, you're bringing me some toilet wine."

"I don't know how to make toilet wine," I said.

"You'll either learn or get traded for cigarettes, bitch."

"Damn, okay."

Bill tried to cut in, "Not that this isn't delightful-"

"You're getting traded on the first day, just on principle," Butcher informed him.

"... right. Moving on, what even is the plan here?" Bill asked me. "You  said you wanted to go against villains, but what's the actual idea?"

"Rob 'em. Rob 'em blind, each and every mothafuckin' one of 'em," I replied. "I'm thinking Two Face first."

"Payback for the warehouse mess?" Billy ask.

I waved it off, "Hell nah, that's just part of the job. Dent can't help  what happens when he flips the coin, and he's giving me a bonus for it  anyways."

"So why?"

"'Cause it's convenient," I shrugged. "I got two weeks of time to  observe, plan, and know what he's gonna be doing. And if you're helping,  that twice as much I can get out of my planning time."

"If you're pulling out of the hench job, you're not gonna be able to do this again," Billy pointed out.

"True. But this one is meant to be easy," I said. "For future jobs, I'm  gonna need a crew. And to get a crew, my name needs some rep behind it.  So I need to do a job. So, an easy job that looks complicated at a  distance."

"Which isn't necessary now," Butcher cut in. He gestueed at Billy, "Now  that White Shadow is here, can't he just put a word out with that  fucking union of his? Save you all the trouble."

Butcher took to calling Billy my 'white shadow' from the way he followed  me everywhere. Billy seemed to think it was affectionate despite  Butcher's assurances to the contrary.

I shook my head before Billy could offer. "No way. The head of the  Goonion using his position to make a crew explicitly to fuck over  villains? The villains would rebel. Hell, the Goonion would tear itself  apart."

Billy and Butcher both granted the point, so Billy moved on to the next part. "And how are you going to take Two Face's shit?"

"Haven't worked out all the details yet," I admitted. "That's what the next twelve days or so are for."

Butchie frowned. "Twelve?"

Billy rolled his eyes. "Church Sunday comin' up, right?"

I nodded, unashamed.

Butcher chuckled, "Ah, yeah. How's Sandra doing?"

"Still too good for you, Butchie," I answered, making him chuckle  harder. "Ignoring the fat motherfucker here present-" He told me to fuck  myself between laughs, "-I've got the first step clearly laid out.  Something that'll give me a leg up for the rest of my career."

"What's that?" Billy said.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and showed him the pdf.  He saw it, frowned, checked it was real, had his jaw drop, and looked at  me. "You can't be fucking serious."

"Surely am," I smiled. "A superpower auction, sponsored by some  mysterious individual in Metropolis with shit taken right from STAR Labs  themselves, right as I'm leaving my ol' line of work. It's shit like  this that almost make me believe in God, man."

It was obviously Luthor, too. He'd recently gotten out of jail for the  thousandth time and hadn't regained control of LexCorp yet, so he was  probably doing this to pad his wallet and create some confusion to  distract the League when every schmuck with some money to their name  started making waves with their shiny new metas.

He thumbed through, seeing what was being sold. "What are you getting?"

"Don't know yet," I confessed. "Butchie here is taking care of it, which  is the only reason for why I'm taking 'im with me next Saturday while I  do my thing. What you see there is just a sample of all the available  goods."

"Still... this stuff is expensive, man," he said. "I mean, the laser eye implant alone is ninety thousand."

"I've got some savings, and Butchie is throwing in a couple kay, because he loves me so much."

"Don't lie to the boy, Sammy," said Butchie, in a futile and ignored attempt to mantain his image as a ruthless gangster.

Billy chewed his cheek and nodded, "I'll throw in fifty kay too. The better you get the better we do when we go out, right?"

I smiled. "So you're really in, then?"

Billy looked at my phone, let out a breath, and handed it back. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, brother."

I clapped his hand and brought him in for one of those manly,  hands-clasped hugs. We started doing it because we both thought it  looked silly, but now it was like a real thing. Always remember, doing  things ironically is the gateway drug to doing things unironically.

"Well, if we're doing this, we're starting it old school," Butchie said, already pouring three shots.

He took one and stood up, and we imitated him.

Butcher held out his glass and said, "Gentlemen, to new opportunities."

Billy Priest clicked his shot glass against Butchie's and said, "To taking shit from the villains."

My glass joined theirs in the middle. "To us, whoever we may become. And to the defeat of anyone that comes against us."

We tapped the glasses on the table and drank, and so began our covenant.

{[X]}​

I was on my way back to the apartment when I saw Crystal, standing  outside and rubbing her arms to keep warm in the cold autumn night.

"Ms. Brown?" I called.

"Sammy!" she smiled a little when she saw me. "H-hey, thank goodness you're here. I f-forgot my keys and-"

I was already taking off my jacket and handing it to her, "Yeah, don't  worry about it. Actually, I had a solid to ask of you. I'm gonna be out  of town this weekend, so..."

"Church Sunday already, huh?" Crystal smiled at me. "I'll watch your place, Sam, don't worry."

"Much appreciated," I said, then facepalmed and hurried to open the door  for her. "Gah, where are my manners? Come on, let's get you inside."

"Thanks a lot, Sammy," she said, smiling at me.

"Just being neighborly, ma'am."

We walked up the stairs, she went to her apartment, and I went to mine.  It was a two bedroom, one bathroom apartment, pretty sparsely decorated  unless you count shelves full of books on every wall as decoration. One  couch, one poster of Andres Calamaro I inherited from my mom (framed and  signed by the man himself) and a coat rack made up the rest of the  furniture on my living room. In my bedroom was my laptop, bed and  nightstand.

Opening the window to the fire escape, I found my tupperware and first  aid kit, which I took back inside. After that, I sat my ass down on the  windowsill and had myself a smoke, just losing myself in the haze of  cannabis as I watched the lights of Gotham's many lives moving to and  from, as cars honked and ambulances rushed from despair to hope.

The door to the Brown apartment was slammed open and shut, and I heard  my neighbor shout at Crystal for daring to come inside before he got  back from shopping. Crystal, to her credit, started shouting right back.

That's when the next window over opened and Stephanie stepped out,  wrapped in a purple sweater and holding a cup of tea that steamed in the  autumn air. She looked at me for a moment, before huffing and sitting  on her own windowsill, taking a sip of her tea.

And so we sat there, listening to the argument and watching steam and smoke from leaves raise into the night.

Eventually, Stephanie finished her mug, opened her window again, and said, "Nice talk, Reyes."

"You too, Brown."

And she went back inside. And later so did I.

The shouting didn't stop for hours.

{[X]}​

The car ride between Gotham and Metropolis was fairly short for a move  between two cities with so many differences, and mine was done early in  the morning punctuated by El Tesoro, from the argentinian muscial group El Mató un Policía Motorizado.

"Fucking what?"

"El Mato un Policia Motorizado," I repeated.

"What's that mean?"

"He Killed a Motorized Cop."

"Who did? What motorized cop?"

"It's just a band name, Butchie."

He scoffed. "You know, shit like this is why your country is always getting its shit took."

"Our overly complicated band names? That's why my motherland is overexploited, Butchie?"

"Yes," Butcher said, with total confidence. "If you had snappier band names, Argentina would be a global superpower by now."

"We got a band named Sumo."

"Okay, one band-"

"And one named Pez."

"What's that mean?"

"Fish."

Butcher clicked his tongue, "Man, that ain't a catchy name. A catchy  name's gotta have heart, Sam. It's gotta be like... like The Swallows.  Or Ruff Endz!"

"You can swallow this ruff end," I muttered.

"Don't make me smack you, boy."

I rolled my eyes as Butcher continued his lecture on what constituted a  catchy band name. Thankfully, we soon reached the city and I drove  around the streets until I found my mom's apartment. I'd found her one  near the Daily Planet, since if anything was going to go down near her  house I wanted Superman on it on the double.

I took my bag from the back seat and looked at Butchie. "Okay, you can fuck off now."

"Yeah right," he said, quickly running his fingers through his hair and  trying at a presentable look. He pulled some rings from his pockets and  put them on, as well as pulling a chain from under his shirt and rolling  his sleeve back enough that a golden Rolex could be seen. "How do I  look?"

I stared at him. "Like I'm going to shoot you if you don't cut it out."

"Man, shut up and ring the bell," he said. "Don't know why I even ask you. I know I look good. The Butcher always looks good."

"Virgen misericordiosa, dame paciencia que si me das fuerza lo mato," I muttered, walking over to ring the bell.

"Hello?" came my mom's voice over the intercom.

"Hola, mama-" That's as far as I got before the intercome shut off, and I walked back over to the car.

"She on her way?" Butcher asked, still fidling with his necklace.

"Yeah." I said. Then, after rolling my eyes, I helped him adjust his chain.

"Thanks, Sammy."

"Go fuck yourself."

I heard footsteps rushing in the lobby, and the door was thrown open so my mother could shout out, "Sammy! Pichón, ¿como estas?"

"Hey, ma," I widened my arms and caught her as she wrapped me in a hug. "Come on, let's use English for the gringo's sake."

"Don't patronize me, boy," Butchie said, before turning to give his best  'charming smile' to my mom. "Hello, Sandra. I'd say you look beautiful  as ever, but I'm thinking you must have done something with your hair  because you look even better than usual."

"Mr. Daniels, please," my mom demurred, "Don't tease, you know I'll blush."

"And I would consider myself lucky to see it."

"I hate this," I said. "I hate everything about this."

"Shut up and take your bag to the apartment, dear," my mom said, tossing  her keys at me without looking. "I was hoping to catch up with your  friend."

"If he keeps this shit up he's not gonna be my friend much longer," I muttered, taking the bag and going anyways.

Damn Latino programming. Can't ever say no to my mom.

Now, the way these things usually go, I have dinner with my mom, we  catch up over her cooking, next morning we go to church (neither of us  believe much, but she likes the sense of community and I like seeing her  happy, so fuck it), go have coffee somewhere she likes, spend the day  walking around as she tries to convince me to move into, go to her  apartment, I cook dinner, and early Monday I leave for Gotham again.

And so it went. She cooked her award-winning galician pie (it didn't  actually win any awards, except in the hearts of those that tried it),  we bonded, she told me about her work as a teacher, I talked about how  I'd be facing a career change soon but that she shouldn't worry about  her money, she told me I didn't have to keep sending the money, I told  her it wasn't about having to, it was about wanting to. We revisited  some old arguments, remembered old times, laughed, and eventually I went  to sleep on her couch.

Next morning, I was wearing my sunday best and walking my mom to church  (standing on the side of the street, letting her hold my elbow, matching  my steps to her shorter legs) when I saw a girl.

Green hoodie, torn black jeans, leather jacket and gloves, short black  hair and brown eyes. Not to mention that if the way those jeans hugged  her thighs was any indication, she was thiccer than a milkshake. If this  had been a movie, I probably would have fallen into slow-mo as the  corners of my vision got pink and cheesy music started playing.

What happened instead was that I recognized the pattern of her facemask  as she discreetly pointed at it while adjusting her hood, nearly shat  myself, and hurried for an excuse as she tilted her head towards an  alley and went to meet there.

"H-hey, ma," I said, "I think I saw a friend of mine, you mind going ahead while I say hi?"

She gave me a scrutinizing look, probably realized I was full of shit, but nodded and went ahead without another word.

Taking my cue, I rushed to the alley and as soon as I saw Batgirl I tried to punch her in the face.

She dodged and put me in an arm bar, obviously, but I think it was the principle of the matter.

"What... are you... doing?" she asked, each word slow and carefully put together.

"What am I doing?" I asked. "What the fuck are you doing?! You really gonna call me out on a Sunday fucking morning when I'm with my mom?!"

My indignity was so full-hearted that it seemed to surprise her. She let  go and started to stand up while I kept calling her out.

"Of all the ridiculous shit... look at this!" I gestured at my suit.  White shirt, black tie, black waistcoat and a black jacket. It was the  most expensive outfit I had, I wore it once a month, and now it was  covered in alley dirt and filth. "This is my sunday best, man! How the  fuck am I supposed to walk into a church like this?! My mom's catholic,  man, they already think I'm going to hell for breathing witthout a  license from God, now this?!"

Batgirl said "Sorry" as she looked down, painting a picture of a chastised child so accurate that I couldn't be mad at her.

Luckily, I knew who I could be rightfully angry at. "Are you still wired?"

She looked up, and I made a gesture of someone gabbing and pointed at my  ear, then hers. She nodded, so I put out my hand. She looked at it for a  while, then took a black thingie out of her ear, which I took and put  in my own ear.

As I did, I could hear a female voice saying, "-andra do not give him  your comms! Batgirl I forbid you from- aaand she gave it to you."

"Yeah, listen, I don't know who is at the other side of this, and I  don't give a fuck," I said. "Now you're on your side and I'm on mine,  and we can do a lotta shit to each other and it's all in the game. I get  that. But the game stays in Gotham, understand?"

"Wh-" she (probably Oracle) seemed baffled, "Who- What makes you think you can boss me around?!"

"Bitch, my sense of common fucking decency, that's what!" I said, "Ain't  no one so down low to bring the game into a Sunday motherfucking  morning! You're supposed to be heroes, man!"

She coughed, "I, uh, well, we just needed to know-"

"No!" I said, "I don't care what you needed to know, I don't care what  you have to ask, you can't bring that shit in here. Man, what if my mom  heard this shit?! The woman raised me on her own! She did the best she  could! She thinks I work at a goddamn restaurant, and I aim to keep it  that way! You really gonna expose me to her like that?! Because you  couldn't wait one damn day to ask me your shit?!"

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't think-"

"No, you didn't think, did you?!" I took in a deep breath to keep  shouting, and I heard someone laughing in the background. "Who the fuck  is laughing?! Does this seem funny to you, motherfucker?!"

A male voice rang out, barely holding back more laughter, "N-no, I'm  sorry, this isn't funny. It's just that I told Oracle here that we could  just wait until you got back instead, but she insisted maybe you were  planning something in Metropolis."

"Fuck's sake," I sighed. "... okay. The fuck you wanna know?"

"That easy?" he asked. Was it Nightwing? I couldn't remember what his  voice sounded like exactly, but it was probably him judging from the  fact that he was capable of laughter. "Weren't you all pissed just now?"

"Yeah, well you already pulled this shit, so what the fuck, right?" I shrugged, then looked at Batgirl.

She was just kinda staring at me, unblinking, so I winked and blew a kiss at her, which made her flinch and blush.

"Uh..." Nightwing's voice pulled me back, though I let Batgirl see me  give her legs a last appreciative look and smirk before turning away.  "R-right, so... do you know anything about a power auction?"

"The one that's totally being held by Luthor? Yeah, I heard somethin'," I said. "It's in person, right?"

"Yeah, but it's a masquerade-type deal," Nightwing said. "We could sneak  in, but Luthor is providing some gadgets that completely alter  perception of people. Couldn't recognize your own face if you wore one  of those."

"Hrm," I scratched my chin. "So you get people to tell you who they are."

Oracle scoffed, "Yeah, like it's just that easy."

"People are always lookin' to network," I said. "Give me a minute, by  Monday I'll have a list of names. Probably won't be able to get  everyone, but should be a help."

There was a moment where I heard their muffled voices arguing, like they  covered the microphone and were talking with each other. I spent the  time making eyes at Batgirl, who'd started to inspect my own body.

Oracle's voice tuned in again, "Why--stop checking out Batgirl--why are you so willing to help out?"

What a weird question.

"... 'cause fuck 'em?" I shrugged, as Nightwing laughed again. "I dunno,  like, I got my own thing going on but even I know just having a bunch  of dumbasses suddenly gain power is just gonna mean chaos and death for  everyone. I live in Gotham too, man, I don't want it to get more fucked up. I got people to look after."

And also I wanted the Batfamily focused on all the other fools getting powers and not on this fool as he got powers, but mainly the other things.

"A man must have a code, huh?" Nightwing asked.

"Oh, indeed," I said, a smile coming to my face.

"... alright," Oracle decided. "Batgirl will swing by your home on Monday night. You better have that list ready."

"For sure," I said. I went to take out the earpiece, but paused and looked at Batgirl.

She titled her head at me.

I walked a little away and said, "Is she gonna be wearing her Batgirl outfit?"

"What?" Oracle said.

"No, 'cause like, it was good on her, but skintight black latex is one  thing and the current outfit is another thing," I gave her a slow look,  "Like, can I put in a request? Sexy nurse, maybe?"

Nightwing laughed again, even harder.

"Just give her the damn earpiece back," Oracle sighed.

"A'ight, I was just kidding," I took it off and mouthed 'I wasn't' at  Batgirl, whose face was now atomic red. She took it back, but weirdly  didn't put it back on. "Something wrong?"

She took a deep breath, looked me in the eye, and said, "Why... saved me?"

I considered the question. Was it because she saved me? Because I was a  fan? Because I didn't think skintight black latex was my thing until I  saw her? Because she was a hero? With so many reasons... it was easier  to say "Why wouldn't I?"

She looked at me, a little surprised, then her face went very neutral and she nodded at me.

"Right," I nodded back. "See you around, cutie."

At mom's church, I had to say that I got mugged. I caught a few jokes  about Gothamites all thinking Metropolis was soft until we actually came  here, but since none of them knew how to treat Joker Toxin, I was gonna  claim superiority on them all. I also caught some comments about how  that wouldn't have happened if I didn't style my hair like a thug, but I  like my short mohawk so fuck 'em.

After the service ended, I sent Butchie a text explaining that he should  network and learn as many names as possible while not actually saying  why over text. He seemed to understand, because that night I got two  messages from him.

"Package secured" and "Got 14 namws *ma,es **NAMES"

I sent back two that said, "good job" and "learn to use your phone, fucking dinosaur"

The day went back to normal after that, I talked about what I hoped for  the future (minus all the crime parts) and she told me of this art class  she was taking and how she hoped to show off some of her works. Night  came and went, I made lamb stew for dinner, she said I had surpassed  her, I almost cried like a bitch, and the next morning Butchie drove us  home.

... after he had me sit and wait in his car for half an hour as he flirted with my mom.

Fucker.

"It's good to be on my way outta that hellhole," Butchie said as we hit  the road. "Don't know how Sandra can live there without going blind,  everything's so damn shiny."

"Tell me about it," I sighed. "So... you gonna tell me what I got?"

He grinned at me, "Check under your seat, you're gonna love this."

"What, are you turning into Oprah?" I muttered as I did so.

Butchie scoffed, "I wish, bitch has got it made. I'd be lucky to be Oprah."

"Wouldn't we all," I said, pulling a silver briefcase out from under the  seat. At Butchie's direction, I put in the code and found that it held a  single glass box, inside of which was a red and blue spider.

Which of course made me scream like a bitch and close it shut as Butcher cackled.

"Butcher, what the fuck?!" I shouted at him. "Did you waste the auction to get something that would scare me?!"

"Nah, I thought about it, but nah," Butchie pointed at the briefcase,  though he didn't take his eyes off of the road. "That little beauty  right there contains a chemical in its venom that'll do some fuckshit  with your DNA. By the end of it, you're gonna be a straight up  supersoldier. Strong, fast, tough, and maybe even crawl on walls."

I opened the briefcase again, then closed it when I saw those eight beady eyes staring at me.

Okay, on one hand Spider-Man powers would be fucking sweet. On the  other... "And me being an arachnophobe has nothing to do with you buying  this?"

"Man, after all I've done for you. When are you gonna give me some  trust, huh?" he complained. "That was the best we could buy with the  money we had!"

I looked at him and raised an eyebrow, even as he kept staring forward.

He drove in silence for a minute before quietly adding, "... one of the best we could buy."

"Ah-hah!"

"Oh, quit bitching, it's too late anyways," he forced it open with one  hand, grabbed the glass box and put it in front of me until I grabbed  it. "Open the damn thing, let the nice bug bite you, and when you wake  up you'll be in Gotham with superpowers!"

I made a face, but slowly opened the box just a crack and put my thumb  inside. As it didn't immediately bite me, I poked its face (oh god why was it hairy) until it bit me, at which point I closed the damn thing and put it back in the briefcase.

"... so?" Butchie asked. "Feel any different?"

"Yeah, like I got bit in the fucking- why is everything purple?"

That'd be when I passed out and had a weird dream about giant spiders.