Work Text:
Bette: hey r u guys going to that charity auction
Kate: Which one?
Bette: idk the one on saturday? i think it's hosted by the wallaces
Kate: Oh, yeah. I'm going in place of my dad.
Bette: omg me too
Bruce: I will be in attendance as well.
Bette: u talk like a fuckin britsh bitch
Bruce: British*
Bette: mmimimimimimimi im bruce and i can spell and im from jersey but i talk like im from fucking ENGLAND
Bruce: What's wrong with the British?
Kate: Everything, Bruce.
Bette: YEAH BRUCE
Bette: FUCK THE BRITISH
Bruce: See you on Saturday, Bette.
Bette: :D
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Mary Elizabeth Kane often spent her nights in the South End of Gotham as Flamebird, a vigilante known for helping all those in danger of being trafficked. Katherine Kane followed a similar routine in the West End of Gotham as Batwoman. Kate was more focused on messing with the gangs that called the West End "home." And, of course, there was Bruce Wayne. The Batman. Batman fought outlandish rouges all over the city with his partner, Robin.
None of the cousins knew that the others were vigilantes, but they all disliked each other's alter ego. Batwoman despised the fact that Flamebird and Robin were kids. She hated that Batman had let a (then) nine-year-old become a vigilante. Flamebird hated that both Batman and Batwoman treated her like a child, even though she was eighteen. Batman found it abhorrent that there were other vigilantes in "his city." Robin detested being treated like he was twelve (he was fourteen. Big difference, if you ask him).
However, on Saturday night, there would be no caped crusaders gracing Gotham's rooftops, as they would all be attending the Wallace Industries Bi-Annual Charity Auction for the Disenfranchised Children of Gotham City. They've got to get a better name for this thing, Bette thought as she climbed the stairs to the event. It's too damn long. As far as she could tell, she was the first of her family to arrive. She grabbed a champagne flute and made her way towards the dining tables, attempting to find where she had been seated.
Bette had just found that her family was seated at table number seventeen when she heard a large commotion from the entryway. She was willing to bet a fair sum of money that Bruce had just arrived at the event. This was surprising, Bruce almost never arrived before Kate did. Bette set her glass down and pulled out her phone.
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Bette: hey we're at table 17
Kate: Got it, thanks. I hit traffic, so I won't be there for like fifteen more minutes
Bette: smh i can't believe you let bruce get here before you
Kate: WHAT
Kate: My reputation is ruined.
Kate: What will Betsy think?
Bette: probably that you're dramatic. or ruining the family name on purpose. take your pick
Bruce: Ruining the family name is her go-to.
Bette: TRUE
Bette: yo bruce is dick here? send him over if so i don't wanna socialize yet
Bruce: He's on his way
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"Hey, Betty," Dick bounded up to Bette cheerfully.
"Hey, little man. How's it going?" She pulled him into a quick hug and motioned for him to take a seat.
"I'd rather be asleep right now," He moaned mournfully. Bette understood his sentiment; she'd much rather be leaping across the South End, or at the very least, be watching Downton Abbey reruns. She patted his shoulder.
"At least you don't have a to-do list from your father. I've got to hand out at least 15 of his business cards and bid a certain amount on whatever he wrote down. Honestly, it'd be less trouble if he just came himself,"
"Well, why didn't he?"
"Betsy probably told him I needed to be seen in the spotlight on my own now that I'm eighteen." Bette rolled her eyes. "He's such a mama's boy." Dick snickered at his cousin. The two of them made idle chit-chat for a while, both putting off their required mingling. Bette was about to finish off her champagne when she felt a tap on her shoulder and glanced up. A man she'd never met before was staring down at her.
"Are you, by chance, a member of the Kane family?" the man asked. Ah, the perks of wearing "Kane Blue" at formal events.
Each of Gotham's aristocratic families had its own designated color for formal occasions. The Kanes had navy blue, the Waynes had dusty red, the Drakes had dark green, the Wallaces had pale yellow, the Cobblepots had burnt orange, and so on. By wearing these specific colors to events, the socialites become easily identifiable. If you needed to do business with a certain family, all you had to do was scan the room for whatever their family color was. In short: it was iconic.
"Yes, sir," Bette rose out of her chair to shake the man's hand. "I'm Mary Elizabeth, here on behalf of my father, Arthur Kane." The conversation was nothing of interest, just a representative of LexCorp who wanted to get in touch with Kane Industries. Bette gave him a business card but knew nothing would come of it; the Kanes refused to work with Luthor or any of his associates. 1 card down, 14 to go. Dick had left the table while she was doing business, which Bette supposed was her cue to start walking around and interacting with fellow rich people.
She had handed out thirteen more cards, making her nearly done with her networking requirements when she heard a familiar voice behind her, "... and this is Arthur's daughter, Bette,"
Bette whirled around to see who had mentioned her and found herself face-to-face with Kate Kane. Well, not exactly face-to-face, as Kate was a good five inches taller than Bette. "Oh!" Bette exclaimed, "Hi, Kate. I didn't know you were here already!"
"I've been here for a while; I just haven't run into you yet. This is Louisa Watson. She's new to Gotham," Kate gestured to the very short woman in a black dress in front of her. Bette shook hands with Louisa while giving her a relaxed (albeit very rehearsed) smile.
"Lovely to meet you, Louisa."
"I was just telling her about Uncle Arthur's branch at Kane Industries when I saw you. I figured you'd know a bit more about that than I would." Kate explained. Bette nodded and began to give her spiel about K.I. Louisa took a business card at the end of the talk, which subsequently marked the end of Bette's networking for the evening. Thank goodness, because it was getting increasingly more difficult to find someone the Kanes didn't already do business with.
Bette made her way to the table, where she found Dick and the Drake kid playing Minecraft: Pocket Edition together. She plopped down in her seat next to Dick, exhausted from dealing with Gotham's elite. Without taking his eyes off of his phone, Dick greeted her and introduced her to the nine-year-old sitting next to him. "Welcome back, Betty. This is Tim Drake. Tim, this is Bette Kane." Tim waved at her and she waved back. He opened his mouth slightly, as though he had just had a huge realization, but closed it quickly and returned to his game. Bette brushed it off, took her phone out of her pocket, and opened Twitter.
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bette's private lol
@betterthanbette
who tf created networking. i hate it. it's the worst way to spend a saturday night.
barbara
@barbarag
common socialite L
●・○・●・○・●
"Well, aren't you three a social bunch," Bette started and stared at Bruce. He looked exactly as he did at every other public event. Bette had told him he needed to spice up his closet, but he was a creature of habit. Kate materialized next to Bruce, yet again scaring Bette. For someone who snuck up on criminals on the regular, she sure was easy to scare. Not that her cousins would know that. Bette worked very hard to keep her identity secret; if anybody in her family found out, they'd not only throw a hissy fit, but they'd make her retire Flamebird immediately.
She put her head down on the table and groaned. "Is it auction time yet?" Bruce chuckled and patted her back.
"Not for another hour, kiddo." He slid into the chair that Tim Drake had vacated sometime in the past minute and glanced at Dick's phone. He was blowing things up while in creative mode. Typical teenage boy, Bette thought. Kate sat down next to her and, after a minute of slightly awkward silence, started a conversation.
"Well, the weather's been shit."
Kate was perhaps not the best at small talk. Bette rolled her eyes sarcastically, "If Grandmother were here, she'd have an aneurysm over you swearing in public." Bette made her voice shrill and nasally, imitating the old woman, "Such language is not becoming of a lady, Katherine! Your father ought to wash that mouth of yours out with soap!" Kate snorted and joined in on the mockery.
"Now, Mary Elizabeth! You should respect your elders, young lady. You're my most promising grandchild, and I won't have you going around being disrespectful," Bette chuckled at Kate's dead ringer for their grandmother.
"Betsy's going to hear about this at her Sunday lunch club, you know," Bruce interrupted. Kate rolled her eyes and told him she'd suffer the consequences of Betsy's wrath. The conversation slowly continued, and they somehow ended up talking about the different Gotham vigilantes.
Bruce was clearly a Batman fanboy, saying how Batman's mission was so important, no one really understood him, he was trying to clean up Gotham. Kate opposed his view, saying he was just bringing more outlandish crime to Gotham and that he really shouldn't be allowing children in costumes to run around the streets of the most dangerous city in the country. If Batman claimed to be one of the only things keeping Gotham from tearing itself apart, Kate posited, then surely he could tell two kids that they had no business being superheroes. At this point, Bette jumped in to defend herself.
"Isn't Flamebird eighteen? She's totally within her rights, as a legal adult, to be a vigilante."
Dick looked up from his game suddenly. "Well, being a vigilante isn't legal. But Flamebird has been around for two-ish years, meaning she was like sixteen when she started." Bette opened her mouth to retort when Kate cut her off.
"Starting at sixteen is much better than starting at nine. I still can't believe Batman allowed Robin to start at such a young age."
"Well, I don't see Batwoman getting Robin or Flamebird to quit," Bruce frowned. Kate scoffed.
"Batwoman doesn't act like a god amongst men, Bruce. Batman does, but he can't seem to control two kids. How is the public meant to believe he can keep the city safe if he can't tell kids no?"
Everyone paused at this point. Bette grumbled that Flamebird was not a kid and Bruce shot back that "Eighteen is hardly an adult. Oh, and don't even get me started on..." Dick put his head on the table, clearly having heard this particular speech before. Bette sighed and pulled out her phone, momentarily checking out of the conversation.
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bette's private lol
@betterthanbette
some families argue over politics at a dinner table. mine argues over vigilantes. #getmeoutofhere
cissie
@arrowettestan
are you at least winning the argument
bette's private lol
@betterthanbette
no one's winning. bruce is just ranting now. i wanna go home.
●・○・●・○・●
Nothing came from the cousins' "discussion." They drifted into an uncomfortable silence that no one really attempted to break. The speeches and auction occurred (Bette got outbid on everything on her father's list except for an original Van Gogh painting. Her father would be pleased with this; he was a big Van Gogh fanatic). The cousins bid their adieu and left the Wallace Industries Bi-Annual Charity Auction for the Disenfranchised Children of Gotham City.
It was several months later, after they had gotten over themselves and mended fences, that the three of them met on the rooftops of Gotham in their masks (Robin was nowhere to be found. Bette presumed he had homework). Flamebird had been staking out an apartment she thought was running a trafficking ring when Batwoman showed up. Apparently, the gang she was trying to uproot was also taking shelter in that apartment building. An hour into the stiff quietude, Batman appeared. He said he had been researching a suspected trafficking ring and a gang and that they led him here.
Flamebird and Batwoman were appalled that he had stepped into their areas of expertise, because how dare he. Who does he think he is? In any case, they let him sit with them. The heroes may have had their qualms with each other, but they could still tolerate each other enough to work together. When the inevitable fight in the apartment building occurred, they all had each other's backs.
Well.
Almost.
Flamebird spun around and was met with a crowbar to the face. She fell to the floor and became essentially useless. Batwoman and Batman adapted quickly, knowing they could worry about her later. Bette had a splitting headache and her vision was clouded over. She could feel the blood running into her hair and let out a feeble sigh. If she had to guess, she would say she had a concussion and a pretty gnarly cut in her head. Awesome, she thought bitterly. I'll totally need stitches. I hate doing stitches on myself. Once the other two vigilantes had taken out the rest of the men, they stood over Bette, discussing what they should do.
"I have someone who can fix that cut on her head. We'll have to take her mask off, though." Batman growled. Point to Batman, He cares about protecting my identity.
"Doesn't seem like the type of thing you should do without her consent." Batwoman countered. Point to Batwoman.
"You want me to find her emergency contact?" Batman asked sarcastically. Minus one point for Batman. He's at zero. Batwoman sighed. If Bette could see her eyes, she would bet that they had been rolled incredibly hard. Grandmother always told her when she was little that if she rolled her eyes too much, they'd roll out of her head.
"No, Batman, I'm saying that even if she's concussed as hell, you should still ask her if she wants your guy to give her stitches and reveal her identity. It's her choice." Batwoman has two points now. She's in the lead. Bette felt herself getting propped up, the Batman kneeling in front of her.
"Flamebird. You most likely have a concussion and a severe head wound. I have someone who can expertly stitch up your head, but we would have to take off your mask to do so. Batwoman thinks I should ask if you want us to do this."
Bette mulled it over. Well, she didn't really believe in her ability to suture herself at the moment. It's not like Batman and Batwoman would rat her out to her family. "Go ahead," she slurred. "Only if Batwoman comes, though. She's winning." The two bats exchanged a confused look for a moment before shrugging it off. Flamebird had a concussion, who the hell knew what she was talking about.
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Bette was in... a cave? Batman takes this whole bat thing seriously... She was gently set on a hospital bed. Batwoman brushed Bette's hair back from her face in a way that reminded her of Kate.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Batwoman asked quietly. Batman must've gone to get his mystery suture man when she wasn't looking. Bette nodded, which hurt more than she'd like to admit.
"I don't think I'd be able to do it by myself, you know?" She whispered. Batwoman nodded. "My cousin is always telling me to ask for help when I need it, so I figure now's a good time to follow her advice for once."
An old man appeared next to Bette's bed. He looked vaguely familiar, but Bette couldn't place it. She sighed, not keen on delaying the unavoidable. She peeled off her mask, and every one next to her gasped.
"BETTE?!" Batwoman and Batman yelled simultaneously. Bette winced, confused.
"What? Stop yelling, oh my God. How do you know my name?" Everything was suddenly far too bright and far too loud.
"BETTE, WHAT THE HELL!" Bette just stared blankly at Batwoman, who tugged off her cowl.
"Kate? What the-" Bette was so confused. Was this real? What in the world was going on? She turned to look at Batman, who was staring at the two of them. He sighed heavily (he sighed a lot, Bette noticed) and pulled off his cowl as well. Bette gazed unblinkingly at her oldest cousin and gave up on trying to reason with the world. "What the fuck is happening?" Bette whispered. Kate and Bruce were yelling at each other, which really, really did not help Bette fight off her headache.
She screwed her eyes shut and curled into herself. She knew she must look incredibly childlike, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care. The old man next to her (Alfred, Bette reminded herself. It must be Bruce's butler) coughed and brought the two cousins to silence.
"I believe," he said quietly. "That this fight might be best taken elsewhere. Somewhere where there isn't a concussed person in need of medical attention present." Bette cracked one eye open enough to see the guilty looks on their faces. They looked like kids who had just been caught sneaking candy before dinner. They marched elsewhere, whispering amongst themselves.
"Thank you," Bette began, but Alfred shushed her. He began to close the wound on her head in silence. Afterward, he had Bruce take her to one of the guest rooms where she could sleep off the pain. Bruce told her that Kate was also staying the night and that he'd notified Uncle Arthur that Bette was with him. She gave him a weary thumbs-up and then promptly passed out.
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It was late afternoon before Bette graced one of the living rooms in the Wayne manor with her presence. "Soooo..." she began. Her head was still killing her, but she knew they'd have to have this incredibly painful and awkward conversation at some point.
"Kate and I had out most of our... grievances last night. However, Mary Elizabeth," Bette cringed at the use of her government name. "Why on Earth would you become a vigilante at sixteen?" Bruce asked incredulously.
"We've had this conversation as Flamebird and Batman," Bette muttered. "I know you're old but I didn't think your memory was that bad."
"Old-? Bette, I'm thirty."
"Yeah, old."
Bruce sighed. He could see the way the rest of the conversation was going to go.
"Bruce, I don't care that you're Batman, Kate's Batwoman, and Dick's Robin. I care that you don't try and stop me from being Flamebird. I care that you don't treat me any differently now that you know who I am. I won't treat you guys any differently, but please do not pull the 'baby cousin' card. I'm an adult-" Bruce scoffed, but Bette plowed on. She had practiced this speech in her head a million times before leaving the guest bedroom. "I am an adult, Bruce. You can't change the fact that I started when I was sixteen, that's in the past. And you've been letting Dick parade around Gotham in that ridiculous Robin costume for five years. I'm older, I'm wiser, and I should not be treated like I'm more fragile than someone four years younger than me."
Bette took a deep breath. She'd really like to go back to bed now. Bruce sat in his chair in silence. Bette had no clue where Kate was, but she was sure that Bruce could give her the SparkNotes version of her small speech. She was satisfied with herself.
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bette's private lol
@betterthanbette
gamers i am not feeling very swagalicious rn
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Flamebird, Batwoman, Batman, and Robin stood on a rooftop, looking over their city. It was windy and rainy, because of course it was. It was Flamebird who broke the stoic silence.
"Guys, we look really fucking stupid. Why are we posing? There's nothing to pose for, we just look stupid." Robin laughed loudly.
"I'm always telling B that! We just stand on roofs and look ominous. For what?! He's so dramatic!"
Batwoman snickered, and Batman scowled. The sound of a fight on the street could be heard from their position. Flamebird grinned at Robin, "Race you." She took off, leaving Robin calling out how unfair she was. She cackled. She could hear three pairs of boots following behind her as they ran to save the city.
At first, she'd been wary about how things would go as a crime-fighting family. It was nights like these that gave her the confidence that they'd all be just fine.