Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was always something, wasn’t it.

Hal scrubs his hands across his eyes, pulling down harshly and wishing, not for the first time, that he was back Earth-side, snuggled up on his couch with nothing but a cheap six-pack and trashy daytime TV for company.

But no. Instead, here he was, several-thousand light-years away from his cozy, if cockroach-infested apartment, listening to the low-pitched bickering of the two primary factions of Kahloans argue over who had more of a right to their planet’s resources and government.

And the other Lanterns thought humans were bad when it came to warring with their own species.

No, the Kahloans definitely had to have humanity beat. At this point, their species had been in a civil war since the first fish had made the mistake of evolving legs on Earth, but for some unknown, god-forsaken reason, they had finally decided to attempt to create peace between the two warring factions.

And for that, they had asked (more like demanded) for the arbitration of the Green Lantern Core. Somehow, (Hal was blaming Kilowog for this one), that duty had been forced onto him. And then when they had heard about that, the Kahloans, who were obsessed with status and power, had latched on to the fact that he was a member of the apparently-now-intergalactically-famous Justice League and had begged (read: demanded under pains of death) for the Justice League to function as their negotiators of justice and peace.

With no other choice, Hal had been forced to relent, and had made the long, cold return trip to the Watchtower to recruit the league for a peace-creating mission.

But he had forgotten one thing: the League was now one member bigger.

And now, here he was, watching in quiet shock as Batman, the newest and most reluctant member of the League who Hal was knew was an asshole and could only suspect was a vampire in disguise, forced (in near-fluent Kahloan, no less) the two leaders towards the harshest, yet most fair compromise Hal had ever seen.

Hal still wasn’t over that. During the first hour of the flight over, which had taken less than a week with the fastest intergalactic travel equipment the Watchtower had, Spooky had approached Hal in that dark, almost-robotic manner of his and had asked for a transfer of everything Hal’s ring had on Kahloan culture and language onto a dark, sleek tablet that he’d unfolded from somewhere on his apparently infinite belt.

Hal had laughed a bit, because Kahloan culture and language was something so obtuse and confounding to anything Earth had to offer, but after Spooky had just stood there silently, his intense white lenses beaming into Hal’s soul for almost an entire minute, he’d had to relent, just to get the gaze off his back (he hadn’t been able to relax for the rest of the day, not after experiencing what Barry had dubbed the Batglare for such a prolonged time).

But then the Bat had disappeared somehow on a three-room ship, and when he’d reappeared, he was speaking almost fluent Kahloan, even if, according to the ring, it was a bit formal and had a strange accent, as humans didn’t have the vocal cords to quite make the growling overtone the Kahloans did.

Spooky came frighteningly close, though.

That was another point towards vampirism in Hal’s book, even if Barry was arguing for him being some sort of demonic representation of the hell-hole that was Gotham city in the first place, which was a ridiculous argument. There were some lines Hal couldn’t bring himself to cross, even if he himself used a near-magic ring to battle intergalactic monstrosities every other week.

A man had to have lines in this business, if he wanted to stay sane.

And Hal was about to cross a different line, listening to Anakonn’i, the leader of what roughly translated to the “Divinely Chosen” faction, who were the traditionalists who believed they had complete rights to the resources and control of the planet, who wanted to cut off all communication with the larger galaxy and return to their more “natural” ways as a species.

Anakonn’i, who Hal still didn’t know the gender of because of the way Kahloans presented, was practically stomping around, their neck frills changing color and ruffling with distress and anger as Batman stood between him and the leader of the other faction, who’s thick, scaled tail lashed harshly from side to side.

As best as Hal could figure and translate to the rest of the League, who all seemed as tired as him from the several days of tradition, war-games, feasting, and general introduction to the negotiations before they even began to start, they had finally come to an agreement, but were now arguing over the best way to formally seal the compromise in a way that would satisfy both parties.

Because they were a warrior culture, the Divine faction wanted to seal the deal with what was basically a pretend war, designed to bring a sense of victory to both sides as their new symbol of unity was raised across the land and tattooed into the backs of the leaders and generals of both sides.

But the Nature faction wanted nothing to do with that – even a fake war would mean too much death for their culture, and because they were smaller than the Divine group, it would be more unfair to their people to lose so many warriors, even to such an honorable sort of death from their perspective.

So they were arguing, and as their voices raised and their many hands twitched towards the ceremonial weapons clasped to their sides, Hal could feel a breaking point beginning to form.

And he had no idea what to do.

If they (he) failed at this negotiation, the Kahloans would launch back into their civil war, disrupting not only their galaxy’s trade and relationships but possibly the universe’s, as Kahloan splinter groups would rally and start to pirate and raid once again, all under the name of supporting their faction.

Kahloan raids were devastating – Hal had once helped clean up the aftermath, and he still had nightmares about the wreckage and bloodshed, on occasion.

The council had made it very, very, very clear that Hal could not fuck this one up, so he pushed his way forwards again and made eye contact with Batman, who he was pretty sure was frustrated, even if there were no physical tells Hal could read.

Slowly, with enough time to let the ring translate each sentence, Hal asked, “Please, what will it take to come to this agreement? What other options are you willing to consider, most Honorable and Vicious Ma’hinna?”

The Nature leader’s eyestalks shifted towards him, bouncing slightly. Hal was grateful for all his exposure to alien species, because it helped him repress a shiver as the general’s neck followed, turning far further than a human could ever survive.

Their voice a drawn-out hiss, they responded. “My faction, as is honorable for us, will not consent to such an insult and inequality as an ‘Ulei War. If no other option is presented, we will leave these insulting negotiations and crush our opponents into the sea-foam, where they will be forgotten forever by the histories of our song-keepers.”

Anakonn’i shouted in insult and rage, and drew their shimmering, sword-like weapon, moving forward as Hal leapt backwards with a yelp.

Apparently that was a bigger insult than he had been expecting.

Hal mourned his job as an intergalactic space cop for a second, but just as things were about to get really ugly, Batman was between the two again, hands up and black cape swirling as a distraction that got both of the leaders to slow down.

How he was still wearing that full getup in this humid, sticky heat, Hal had no idea. Even Clark, Superman himself, was wearing the light, almost silk-like garments that wicked heat away that their hosts had offered.

But then he was speaking Kahloan again, his low timbre commanding attention, and both leaders came to be still, although the glares they were sending each other didn’t inspire much confidence in Hal.

“What about the Heʻenalu? I know it is an old tradition, from your people’s earliest memories, but wouldn’t that be a way to bring peace? A revival of something from before the war signaling its end?”

Hal had no idea what Spooky was going on about, but the frills of both generals flashed silvery-green, their representative color of interest and excitement

One of Anakonn’i’s hand jumped to their mouth, rubbing sharp claws gently over his scales in what Hal knew was a pensive gesture. Ma’hinna lowered their weapon in turn, and laughed, deeply, saying “Oh, terran, you are much more learned in our practices than we expected. You know what this would entail, yes?”

Spooky nodded solemnly, and then Anakonn’i bared their shark-like teeth in a blistering smile. Hal wished he knew what was going on, and when he met Shayera’s confused eyes, he had to just shrug. Whatever Spooky was doing, it was working, so Hal would just let him go with it.

Bats spoke again. “Honorable Anakonn’i, as it seems Heʻenalu is acceptable to Honorable Ma’hinna, would you accept this as the symbol of your compromise and the end of the war?” Hal was still blown away by his use of Kahloan, but was grateful for it. Spooky’s use of it had brought the generals’ respect for their interference up by at least 50%, and Hal was willing to take anything they could get when dealing with such volatile parties.

Teeth still bared, Anakonn’i grinned wider and scanned the League, eyes lingering, almost mockingly, on Hal. “Yes, negotiator, this is acceptable to my party.” Their tone made Hal’s stomach drop.

Somehow, he didn’t feel confident in their quick acceptance of this deal, as every other even slight compromise had taken hours of deliberation and eye-numbing negotiation. But Spooky nods, and slowly, he says, “Then, as the tradition dictates, the Heʻenalu will take place at eclipse, on the cycle it was decided upon.”

The opposing generals’ eyes rake over at each other for a tense set of heartbeats, and both curl forwards in their culture’s version of a nod, crossing their many arms over their torsos and bending their eyestalks forwards, before retreating back to their respective parties, apparently to plan or prepare for whatever it was Bats had called for – what had he said? Henalu? Honolulu?

Hal let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and he was pretty sure Clark did the same beside him, as Spooky turned back and stepped close to where the rest of the League was waiting.

Barry, of course, tried to jump him first, a million questions spilling out of his mouth, overlapping in the way only a speedster could manage.

Bats just stood still, letting the sounds rush over him, before there was a pause as Barry realized he wasn’t responding at all.

Then Clark opened his mouth to try, and Spooky shook his head harshly, grunting “Hn” to cut him off.

And then he was walking away, his dark, heavy cape closing around him as he stalked back towards the lodgings they had been provided, boots somehow leaving barely any prints in the black sand under their feet.

Clark released a breath and tipped his head back, staring up at the orange sky like he was praying for patience. Hal could relate – Spooky’s gruff nature tended to have that effect on people.

Barry turned his attention to Hal. “What was that? Did Spooky figure their problems out?”

Hal didn’t want to admit he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t lie to his best friend. “He got them both to agree to some cultural practice from before the war, called it like, Honolulu or something, but it seemed to satisfy both groups, at least.”

Diana frowned, crossing her massive arms. “I do not feel confident in this. The first leader, the bigger one, they seemed entirely too pleased with this option. I do not feel like it is truly a good decision. We need to know what this really is, and we need Batman to explain. Come, let us discuss it with him.”

With that, she turned around, striding powerfully after the dark knight.

Hal, Shayera, Clark, and Barry all sighed simultaneously. Getting Batman to be a real team player was always a struggle, but for this, good god, it was going to be rough, especially because Batman would be disgusted, or at very least miffed, by their lack of knowledge and preparation for dealing with this culture.

It wasn’t their fault he seemed to be a robot – how could any real person be able to learn so much in five days? Did the man not sleep?

Shayera buried her sandals in the sand and stretched her wings upwards, voicing the thought in all of their heads. “Well, this’ll be fun.”

Barry smiles brightly though, always the optimist, and says, “At least we can eat more of that sweet fruit-stuff now that we’re done talking for the day!”

That brought a smile to Hal's lips. Barry, man, always thinking about his next meal.

Together, they took off after Diana, Clark commenting happily, once again, on how pretty the dual suns were reflecting on the glistening purple ocean around them.

That was the thing though. This planet was 94% water, and the species were primarily aquatic creatures, and meeting on land was their way of choosing a “neutral meeting ground.” But that didn’t mean Clark had to keep freaking commenting on it. Geez, Hal knew Supes was a boy scout, but damn, could the man please find anything else to talk about?

Humming noncommittally, Hal slipped into the elevated, open-air rooms they had been provided.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Batman’s work ethic. Honestly, the man had learned an entire language and culture just to help with this mission, and there was no way Hal could complain about that without seeming like a total jerkoff.

But to hijack the entire negotiation and cement it with something without even asking him, the Lantern, who’s literal job was this negotiation? That was going far past just toeing the line. That was looking at the line, scoffing at it, and then sprinting a thousand miles beyond it without asking for anyone else’s opinion.

He huffed as he saw the Bat, who was already doing something(?) on his tablet in the corner he had claimed for himself.

“Spooky, what the hell did you just get us to agree to?”

The Bat’s vacant white eye-lenses met Hal’s eyes, and, with no inflection, replied “Heʻenalu.”

Hal wanted to pull his hair out. Getting answers out of this bastard was like pulling teeth.

“And what, pray tell, does that mean?”

If the Bat was any less professional as a coworker, Hal swears he would have rolled his eyes. Hell, maybe he did, and Hal couldn’t see it under that unnerving, soulless mask. Instead, Spooky just straightened his spine even more and frowned, like Hal’s question was the dumbest thing he’d heard in his entire lifetime.

“A traditional form of sports-like negotiation native to all forms of Kalhoan culture, one that has been used for both entertainment and as a replacement for minor skirmishes throughout their cultural history.”

It was a textbook answer, but it missed the nuance of what Hal was really asking, because of course it did. Briefly, Hal wondered if some cosmic entity was screwing with him, because dealing with this guy was a nightmare.

He could feel his temper spiking as he replied. “Okay, cool, but what does that mean for us? Why do both Wonder Woman and I have a terrible feeling about this? What the hell did you actually get them to agree to?”

Next to him, Diana nodded firmly. Hal was grateful for the support.

Batman’s white, blank eyes narrowed slightly. Hal wondered how in the hell they did that – there was no way they were his actual eyes, right?

Slowly, he says “Do you not have access to their cultural histories via your ring?”

Hal huffed. Technically, he did, but if Bats fucking knew, why wasn’t he just explaining?

“Just,” Hal forced air sharply through his nose to keep from screaming, “please explain, if you know.”

Bats nodded, once, and then began to talk, his voice gravely and somehow even more emotionless than Hal had ever heard it before, while still managing to be patronizing, like Hal was a toddler learning what a circle was for the first time.

“In the Kahloan histories, several great conflicts have been solved by the use of Heʻenalu between warring parties.” The Bat stood and pushed between Diana and Hal without touching either of them, walking to the massive window behind them. He gestured to the purple sea beyond them, continuing with “As best as is comprehensible from my quick study of the culture, this practice involves a surfing-like competition between all parties involved in the negotiation. Each faction sends a representative to compete, and if all champions impress a panel of elder-judges enough with their talent, bravery, and connection to the kaheawai, or movement of the ocean, then the compromise is confirmed as law and the competitors are allowed to continue to live.”

Hal was silent for a moment as he let the words process through (that was probably the most he’d ever heard Bats talk in one sitting). Supes was a bit quicker on the uptake, even if Hal hadn’t noticed him enter the room.

“Batman, what do you mean by ‘each faction’?” The boy scout’s brows were furrowed.

Blankly, Batman replied, “Each faction involved in the compromise.”

“Does that include us?” Supes asked.

Batman nodded stoically, and Hal threw his hands up in frustration. Of all of the freaking missions Aquaman, their literal king of the sea and basically-a-waterbender to not come on, it was the one where a surfing competition would quite literally decide the fate of the peace in this section of the universe, not to mention — wait.

Did Spooky just say that some people wouldn’t be allowed to live if they failed to impress a group of elders?

“What do you mean,” he ground out, “that they’ll be allowed to live?”

“Honorable deaths,” Batman started, “are important to this species. If we fail to perform, we will be put to death as a way of managing the failure that will result from these negotiations. However–”

Hal interrupted. He was just lucky he wasn’t screaming and that somehow his voice was nothing but barely controlled rage.

“You mean to say that you, without consulting any members of this team, you got two warring factions to agree to something that we have no control over, and if it fails, all of our work will go straight out of the window and we will die as a result of this failure?”

Batman’s lips thinned as he pressed them together, his jaw tensing just slightly. “No. Only one of us, the competitor, will die, if they fail to succeed. And there was no other option – the negotiations were deteriorating and this was the only viable manner of ensuring peace.”

At least three voices protested this, Diana and Clark and Barry all trying to argue back as Batman just stood there mulishly, ignoring their overlapping arguments.

Then there was a pause, and Hal managed to interject the only thing going through his mind at the moment: “And you said this was surfing-like? Have you looked at that ocean out there? I don’t think we’ve seen waves shorter than thirty-five meters, and that’s on the calm days. Do you know how to surf because I don’t think any of us do, and our water-guy is several million light years away, on Earth!”

Looking at him like he was an idiot, Batman’s hands disappeared under his cape, making him a formless shadow once again. “I know how to surf.”

The words didn’t process in Hal’s mind.

This was Batman, the Dark Knight of Gotham, the dingiest, most frigid city in New Jersey. Nobody surfed in Jersey, hell, nobody went near the water for risk of dying of cholera or dysentery or whatever new ailment Jersey was facing, because it was the devil’s state.

So why in god’s name would this goth-ass, terrifying vampire be able to surf? Was he messing with them? Was he covering for the fact that he panicked and forced them into a deal where someone on the team would have to die to cover for his mistake?

Hal realized he was laughing, chuckling, really. This felt surreal, like he was being pranked. He’d wake up and everything would still be unsolved, the negotiations would still be happening, but at least they wouldn’t have agreed to a to-the-death surfing competition with an alien species literally designed to live in the hostile ocean surrounding them.

“You,” he says between deep breaths, “are going to surf against Kahloans, the water-based, designed-for-balance, oceanic creatures, and expect to do well enough to survive?”
Batman just nodded, grunting “I will start practicing today, start getting a feel for these wave patterns in particular.”

And apparently Batman had decided that was enough, because he just fucking turned and left, disappearing almost the second he was out of the building.

Hal ran his hands through his hair and turned to face the rest of the League with exasperation. They looked just as worried as him, and Barry seemed to be vibrating, his edges just barely blurry as he paced slightly near the door.

Hal whirled towards Supes, finger brandished at one of the strongest people in possibly the entire universe in anger. “You! You’re the one who suggested we bring that, that absolute bastard on this mission, and now look at where we are! We’re going to ignite a war between these two factions bigger than what was happening before!”

Clark’s face falls as he whispers “Language.”

Hal felt bad for all of two seconds, having to fight the urge to fall prey to the Man of Steel’s unnaturally good puppy-dog eyes (he could literally kill people with a look, how was that so freaking persuasive??).

Diana crossed her arms (seriously, how were they so buff?). “I, for one, am glad that there is a chance for peace. We have been getting nowhere for too long, and for us to finally have found a solution is good.”

Face pale, Barry says, “But if we don’t, no, if Bats doesn’t win, he’ll die. What’ll we tell Gotham?”

Hal laughs, maybe a bit meanly. “Most of Gotham doesn’t think Bats is actually real, anyways. It won’t really matter. What will matter, though, is if Spooky fails because he’s overestimating his ability to surf against a culture literally designed for the sport, and then, out of offense, the rest of the Kahloans decide to kill us too, just because they like to spill blood!”

Clark stiffened, huffing, “I don’t think they’d really do that, would they? They seem like they really do want peace.”

Everyone ignored that, except for Barry, who dashed over to pat Clark on the shoulder, like he was consoling a sad, old dog.

“I don’t think Batman would underestimate his ability,” Diana started. “He is a practical warrior and strategist. Often, his plans are already decided to work before he even begins to implement them.”

Hal didn’t want to agree, but he could see her point.

It was infuriating, actually, how the Bat could be ten steps ahead of everyone around him yet never bother to explain how or why he was.

Diana was still going, though, saying “So we should trust him, this time, but we do need to have a conversation about teamwork. But I am most excited to see what this ‘surfing’ is! We do not practice this form of battle on Themyscira.”

“Oooh,” says Barry, his hand shooting up like an eager schoolchild. “I can explain it to you!”

Diana looked delighted as Barry pulled her away, gesturing wildly to the ocean and beginning to explain, probably very poorly, because he was a midwesterner who’d been to the ocean barely twice, what surfing was. Shayera shrugged at Hal and followed them, obviously interested but unwilling to show it, as she always was about new, strange Earth-culture things.

Hal scrunched his eyes and turned to Clark, who just sighed in that old-timey way of his. “I think we just need to have some faith, Lantern. Batman is smart, he wouldn’t do something to endanger the team that he isn’t sure will work.”

Hal wasn’t so sure, but instead of saying so, he just scoffed, “I’m going for a walk,” and then took off, leaving Clark hovering awkwardly behind in the hut.

He just had to move for a bit, think this through with a clear head so he didn’t end up just trying to pummel Batman again (that never went well for him, he knew. His mind tried to flash back to the first time they met, when Spooky had stolen his ring with such ease, leaving him vulnerable. embarrassed and confused, and he shoved that back down to the darkest part of his mind, where it couldn’t bother him).

One cycle on this planet was approximately 10 Earth hours. That was all Hal could think about as he came back from his stress-flight, because that meant that the League had less than 3 hours before the next eclipse, when the freaking peace-keeping surf competition would happen, deciding the fate of this section of the galaxy for the next several thousand years.

Yeah, no pressure.

As he finally makes it back to the edges of the land where they were staying, deeply grateful for his natural ability to navigate because it was so easy to get lost on such oceanic planets, he sees a group of Kahloans waving him down, their many arms circling rapidly.

With a sigh, he changes course, but keeps his pace slow and steady. There’s no desire to spend more time with these people than necessary, if he’s being honest. Not to mention, the competition is happening in less than two hours now.

But as he alights, white boots sinking deep into the loose sand, he notices something strange. These Kahloans aren’t fully adult – no, their carapace is dull and camouflaged to the shallows of the ocean, the type of coloration designed to protect young predators until they’re old enough to defend themselves.

This is strange within itself, as Hal hasn’t seen one Kahloan who wasn’t of age yet. As a people, they’re deeply defensive of their youth, as they are the future generations needed to keep each group alive as the war continues to rage.

But these little ones are chittering at him, their strange, gravely language washing over him too fast to understand, until one of them grabs his hand and begins to bodily drag him with much more strength than he was expecting.

He lets himself be pulled, but that’s mostly just because he’s afraid what would happen if he accidentally offended or hurt one of the children by trying to escape.

This goes on for a minute, until they round the corner of the beach and are suddenly surrounded by a multitude of Kahloans, all sitting and watching something, occasionally cheering and raising their hands in disjointed unison, creating an odd-wave like effect that reminds him of the last time he got to see Coast City Sharks play.

His brain immediately tries to remind him of the stadium’s nachos, and he has to mentally readjust as the children around him point aggressively towards the sea.

The dual suns are setting on the horizon, so he can’t really see what they are looking at until he brings his hands up to shield his eyes.

And then – oh shit.

An absolutely massive Kahloan is out on the water, floating casually on what does indeed seem to be a surf-board like structure, if only much larger and maybe a bit sharper towards the ends.

They’re bobbing gently, riding up and down for half a second before rolling forwards fluidly at some signal Hal can’t see, paddling for one, two, and then rising gracefully just as the water behind them lifts off, growing to a towering wave in seconds as the surfer cuts gracefully across the water, board weaving up and down.

The surf is white, just like at home, but the way the Kahloan moves is like nothing Hal has ever seen – and he’s from SoCal, so it isn’t like he hasn’t seen good surfing before.

But this is something else.

The Kahloan moves across the board and the water like a dance, performing artful tricks and dipping in and out of the barrel of the wave in an intricate mix of speed, balance, and jaw-dropping turns.

The wave is an absolute monster, so this ride lasts longer than a minute, and each second and round of successful tricks makes Hal’s heart sink deeper into his stomach, because if this is what Spooky has to beat, then they don’t stand a single chance.

Finally, it ends, with the surfer performing an impressive double backflip off the lip of the wave, arms coming around to form a dive so perfect the water doesn’t even ripple as they disappear below its surface, board being swept away in the final, crushing break of the wave.

All around him, the people cheer, hands waving excitedly as they chant what Hal assumes to be the surfer’s name.

The children are screaming even louder now, joining the chants, and Hal wants to join them, even if his screams might not be the excited ones everyone else was expressing.

But then they go silent, and Hal instinctively freezes as a long, dark shadow swoops across him from behind.

His first instinct is that it’s Spooky.

As he whirls around to gesture at the Kahloan surfer, who’d made their way back to their board now and were paddling ashore, and give Batman a piece of his mind, the words die in his throat.

Because, yeah, that is Spooky, but what the actual hell?

Hal quickly lists off the things he knows about Spooky: 1) He’s supposedly just a normal human man who apparently just likes to cosplay in what has to be million-dollar furry fetish gear. 2) He’s probably allergic to color. 3) Spooky would rather kill himself than ever reveal anything about himself not directly relevant to putting criminals behind bars, much less express a real emotion.

These facts are important, Hal has to remind himself, as his gaze sweeps over the man in front of him.

Because god-damn, those abs probably make even Superman feel like he has to hit the gym.

And now the only reason Hal now knows this is because Spooky is standing behind him, clad in only what appears to be compression leggings and his cowl.

The look shouldn’t work, but Hal’s brain is still lagging a bit, so he has to admit Spooky is somehow pulling it off.

He’s holding a surf-board too, just casually propped under one (rippling, corded with muscle, scarred) arm and off to the side.

It’s gorgeous (not as gorgeous as the man in front of him, Hal’s brain helpfully responds, and he has to swat that thought down with all of the determination of a Green Lantern), all carved and waxed wood, bright turquoise and orange runes from the local writing system etched down the sides.

Hal’s brain finally catches up, because Batman is frowning at him, rasping “Lantern?” Hal gets the distinct impression that if Bats had been Supes, he would have been waving a hand in front of his face.

Praying his face wasn’t on fire, like he thought it was, or at least that Bats would interpret it as sun exposure or exertion from this heat, Hal forced his eyes to meet the soulless cowl to respond.

“Hey, hiya Bats, yep, what’s up?”

Plush lips (how had he never noticed how soft Bat’s lips looked before?!) deepened into even more of a frown.

“I was just asking if you would tow me out past the reef, to where the competition will be taking place.”
And ooh, for all of Hal’s newfound revelations about The Batman, he can’t resist such easy ammunition.

“Asking me for a favor, Bats? What, your first time experiencing direct sunshine for more than an hour making you soft?” And Hal swears he can feel the eye twitch from here.

It isn’t that he doesn’t know the gravity of the situation. No, if anyone knows just how much shit failing this negotiation will get them into, it’s Hal.

But he just can’t resist the teasing. So sue him, he copes with galaxy-sized pressure with humor.

Bats sighs, drawing himself up in a manner that probably would have been intimidating, if he had been swathed in that massive shadow he calls a cape. This time, it just serves to allow the light from the dual suns to ripple softly across the shiny scars across his absolutely ripped chest, and Hal has to take a second to remind himself to breathe.

“If you are unavailable, Jordan, I can always ask Superman.”

And if that wasn’t a barb, coming from him. With the rest of the League, they’d shared names and used them casually in private because they’d told one another their identities out of trust, out of friendship.

It was nice to have people who understood your responsibilities as a hero in your corner, but it was especially nice to have people who could know you as both a hero and a civilian. The League could be that for each other.

But not Batman, oh no, heaven forbid anyone even get close to his secret identity. He wouldn’t even let them near Gotham, but for some reason it was fine he knew all of their identities from the first moments they had started operating.

That always hurt a bit – the lack of trust, the refusal to join the League fully, preferring to only work as a part-timer who barely seemed capable of direct communication that wasn’t explaining plans or directing orders.

Hal couldn’t decide if it was because not-Dracula had a superiority complex or what, but it did piss him off a bit.

But this wasn’t the time for it, he did know that much. “No, no, I can take you. Just out past the reef?”

Bats nodded. “I assume you’ve seen surfers towed before, on the beaches near Coast City. Do you need an explanation of how it is normally done?”

Hal nods, and violently resists the urge to bite back with a question of whether or not Bats actually knew how to surf, because everything, and he means everything, is riding on this.

He is aware. He’d spent most of his errant and wild youth emulating the SoCal surfer boy aesthetic, and once had been towed out to the big surf with some friends in the middle of the night.

It had been fun, but he hadn’t been the best at surfing at the time, so he mostly just remembered the following bonfire and party, where he’d gotten probably just a bit more drunk than he should have.

But nonetheless, he could do this for Batman.

He tried not to think too deeply about why he was so willing to do this without arguing just a bit more (maybe because it was the first time Batman had asked him to do something, instead of just telling?). But that wasn’t the point right now.

Right now, he just had to get Bats out to sea so he could practice for an hour before a competition that could literally kill him started.

He took to the sky, willing a jet-ski construct to form behind him, and then sat on it, moving deeper into the ocean and then willing a board hitch to form behind him.

Turning and grinning over his shoulder, he called “Okay, Bats, hop on!”

Slowly, Bats waded out, locking his board to the hitch and then laying across it, all controlled movements and coiled muscle.

Hal’s mouth goes dry as he looks at the Batman’s rippling back shifting, the muscles only amplified by what seemed like war paint in bright, tropical colors swirling across his shoulders and down the smooth curve of his spine.

His eyes try to drift further, so instead he looks back up, locking onto the bright swirling patterns that were definitely what he was admiring, yep. But he must have made some sort of strangled, confused noise, because the Bat’s head jerks up, eyes narrowed. Then they relax slightly.

“The paint is from their elders – it’s required for the negotiating party to wear it during the competition. As best as I can gather, it's an honorific in their religion while simultaneously functioning as an identifier, to make species that aren’t as naturally colored as the Kahloans stand out more against the ocean.”

Hal manages to squeak out an “Oh” and then forces his head forward. Quickly, he pulls out of the calmer bay, towing the Bat out towards the massive swells in the distance.

Now, there are two Kahloans on surfboards, each sitting casually on their boards and obviously chatting, even if Hal can’t hear them over the crash and boom of the waves.

He wants to make conversation, but Bats seems to be scanning the waves, busy trailing his hands through the water and tapping out rhythms on his board, and Hal doesn’t want to mess up his method or rhythm or whatever it was surfer bros were always going on about.

The Batman himself, the Dark Knight of Gotham, a surfer bro? Hal wished his phone was charged, if only to get photographic evidence of that (and definitely nothing else).

“Here is good,” Spooky growled, and Hal shifted the construct to a stop. “You can go back to the shore. Collect the rest of the League and bring them to this beach in 45 minutes, as that’s when the competition will commence. You will all need to be there for Heʻenalu to begin.”

“Um, are you sure about this, Dracula?” Hal asked. “I mean, just look at those waves.”

Just beyond them, waves easily forty meters tall were breaking, roaring and crashing like nothing Hal had ever seen on Earth before.

The Dark Knight just nodded. “Hn.”

From what Hal had learned, that type of grunt was an affirmative, coming from Bats.

So he released the construct, relishing the feeling as the light shattered around him, dancing in the humid air.

Hovering for an awkward second, he found his words stuck in his throat as Bats readjusted himself to the lack of support from the hitch.

“Hey, Bats?” He started. The intense eyes of the cowl found his own again, but this time Hal didn’t shiver. “Good luck out there, you know? A lot is riding on this.”

Bats nodded slowly, and Hal nodded back, turning and zipping back towards land.

He wanted to stay and watch, but Bats was right. He had to gather the League and make sure all of this was ready to go to finally ensure the peace would go through.

All he could do now was trust.

It took too long to gather the rest of the League.

Barry, Diana, and Shayera had apparently been waylaid by a group of massive dolphin-octopus hybrid creatures that Diana had immediately declared friendly and Barry had immediately fallen in love with, on account of their wide, innocent, and obviously intelligent eyes.

Clark had been distracted by helping to build new house-like structures suspended over coral reefs in the form of open-air habitation the people used during the cold season in the ocean. Communication had been hard, but once he’d figured it out, it seemed the boy scout was eager to help in any way he could, moving massive sheets of pliable limestone and dried concrete-like pillars under the directional guidance of the locals.

So tracking them down had been a struggle, but once they had been found and brought together, an air of seriousness settled over them as they made their way to the competition beach.

It was Shayera who finally asked the question that was undoubtedly on all their minds.

“What do we do if Batman loses, and they decide to kill him for it?”

Hal bit his lip. Clark replied instantly, almost yelping “We can’t let him die! It might be their custom, but if that happens I’ll grab him and fly away, back to the Javelin. It wouldn’t be right.”

Barry bounces nervously in place, shivering in a way that reminds Hal of his Grandmother’s old chihuahua, a cursed creature referred to only as “devil” in the family. “If that happens, then we’ll all need to run, because Batman said they are a warrior culture, and if they lose Bats, they might try and kill all of us in retaliation.”

Hal grimaced. “I think we’ll just have to let their justice run its course.” He didn’t like it, but it was the only way this worked, logically. If they failed, and Batman died for it, negotiations could still potentially continue, possibly allowing for galaxy-wide peace. If Batman failed and then didn’t die, per their rules, the negotiation would be shut down completely, and they’d lose any chances at peace for the next thousand light-years.

Superman gasped and Diana frowned, pensively. Shayera’s wings melded tighter to her back, a sign of her clear discomfort, but she nodded, saying “I agree. Batman is a fighter, and he understands the culture best out of all of us. He knew what he was agreeing to.”

Clark looked stricken, and opened his mouth, but Diana was faster. “Unfortunately, they are right, Clark. We have to let justice take its course on this planet. All we can do now is pray for favor and luck from the gods, and that Batman truly does know what he is doing in taking on this challenge.”

And that was that, because they were there.

The two decorated generals welcomed them with fanfare, sitting comfortably in the shade under a massive pavilion that definitely hadn’t been there thirty minutes ago, when Hal had left the beach.

In fact, everything had changed, with the species segregating themselves into two distinct groups, both factions sitting on opposite sides with opposite colors painted across their faces and the backs of their hands.

Before each group stands the surfers from earlier, each covered in one faction’s war paint and holding their boards buried into the sand beside them.

And between them is Spooky, his leggings wet and clinging even more than before to the most powerful set of thighs Hal has ever seen. Somehow, he has more paint on now, curling down his arms and across his pecs in swirling, careful designs.

He should look small, Hal thinks, next to the easily eight foot Kahloans, but he doesn’t. Instead he looks regal, powerful, commanding, like he belongs there, framed against the purple ocean and the black, sharp sand.

Hal swears he hears Supes’ breath catch in his throat, and files that away under things to be thought about when the fate of an entire sector of the galaxy isn’t in jeopardy.

And then they’re dragged through another set of ceremonies, things that they’ve come to expect over their six days they’ve spent negotiating here.

There’s a round of speeches, a round of drinks, another set of speeches, a traditional song and dance from each faction, and then another round of drinks, clinked together roughly to indicate trust and an absence of poison.

Hal is just grateful they aren’t that alcoholic to humans – it would be miserable to try and negotiate anything here, with how much this species drinks.

And then, finally, the council of elders is announcing the rules for the Heʻenalu.

Hal translates lowly for his teammates as they speak.

“Each champion will be brought to the area of the largest waves by the negotiating party and will be allotted one ride. This ride will be judged on talent, bravery, and connection to the kaheawai. If sufficient blessing is present, the kaheawai will be strong enough to bring peace between us! The negotiating party will go last, and a maliken shell will be flipped to decide between the parties.”

The shell was brought out, sides were called.

It was all moving so fast now, Hal thought.

And then he was bringing the first competitor out, this one leaner and brighter than the first.

They don’t talk shit here, which Hal can appreciate as the ride goes smoothly and in silence, even if a bit of banter might remove the pressure mounting in his throat and chest. When indicated, he lets the Kahloan go, and then zips back to sit next to the Leaguers on the elevated pillows they had been provided.

Everything is silent except for the ocean.

The Kahloan floats, ducking under wave after wave, obviously waiting for something specific.

And then they’re in motion, and Hal feels his heart catch as they stand up smoothly, beginning to weave up and down, sliding sharply across the edge of the wave and sending bright spray up into the air.

Above them, the sky begins to darken. It’s eclipse time, as the planet’s moon makes its daily trip to block one of the dual suns, making the sky turn an odd dim color, like dusk, as the weaker light of this red sun loses the help from its bright white sister.

The surfer pulls off an aerial twist, and the entire beach erupts in applause and cheers.

Another spin launches the surfer into the air, this time coupled with another impressive twist. The council is nodding to one another in their odd manner, marking down notes in scrawling runes in the sand and grinning their shark-like smirks.

Hal just feels more tense, and a look at the rest of the League confirms the same feelings for everyone else as well.

The surfer disappears into the barrel of the wave, and for a moment only a shadow is visible, and then they’re back, cresting the wave and dancing on the board, flipping their feet and doing what Hal is sure has to be just showing off.

But the crowd goes wild, and behind them, even the generals let out soft murmurs and clicks of approval.

At least something is going right.

The surfer dips back into the barrel, and when they come out, they’re turned backwards on the board, learning and making powerful cuts through the wave, all without looking. The spray sparkles like diamonds in the dimming light, and next to him, Barry whispers a choked “wow” that Hal can’t help but agree with.

This surfer’s turn is over far too soon, as they reach the end of the wave and dismount gracefully, leaping up into a perfect dive just like Hal had seen earlier, disappearing under the purple surf with nary a drop of displaced water.

Diana and Shayera immediately turn and are talking to each other, low tones that Hal can’t hear over the absolute ruckus the Kahloans launch into as the surfer reappears from under the water, paddling gracefully to their board to prop themselves up and wave with many arms back at the beach.

That’s his signal to tow the surfer back in, so he zips over, eager to get this over and done with because the longer it takes, the higher his anxiety is going to get.

The ride back is quick, and the next surfer is already waiting in the shallows.

As a former military brat and actual pilot, Hal can appreciate the efficiency these people show in getting things done when it comes to the actual action.

When he’s back on his pillow dias, he turns and finds that this champion has wasted no time. They’re already up, gliding through the water like they were born to be there.

Hal isn’t sure he’d ever seen a human surf like these Kahloans do. To be honest, he only ever knew casual surfer bros from the relatively small waves in SoCal, but this? This is far beyond any of the surf tricks he’d ever seen in his life.

From the concerned look on Superman’s face, he thinks Clark would be inclined to agree. But Spooky hasn’t shifted. He’s watching stoically, so still he could be mistaken for a corpse as he stands with his back turned to the league.

Hal thinks about Spooky going out on the ocean, falling into those massive waves, and failing. He thinks of the council gnashing their shark-like teeth in disappointment, then chopping off Spooky’s head with some huge ceremonial sword or something. His stomach drops.

Slowly, he turns and makes side-eye contact with Clark, whose hands are clenching and relaxing sporadically, a clear sign of nerves as Superman realizes that he can’t change what’s about to happen, god-like powers or no.

Hal flicks his chin to the suns above. They’re still swathed in the warm red light of the eclipse, meaning that Superman might not even be able to fly right now, at least not until the other sun comes back to resupply his energy reserves.

In response, Supes’ head swings slightly left, a clear indication that he’ll be useless until the bright sun is back. Hal grimaces, and makes the hand signal for Diana, then Batman, and then retreat.

Clark’s eyes go wide in understanding, and he passes the message along like some demented, life-on-the-line game of telephone.

Hal had hated learning the Batman/League specific versions of military hand signals combined with basic ASL, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t come in handy (the Barry in Hal’s mind laughs at that. Heh. Handy).

The entire team catches Hal’s eyes in understanding. They feel it too, now.

They’re going to run, if Batman fails, and they’re going to take Batman with them or die trying.

Hal might pay for it later, but to save a teammate?

He thinks of the blood on his hands, the soldier he’d shoved off his body in the heat of an afternoon day.

Anything, he thinks. Anything to save a teammate.

And then it’s time.

Hal pulls the other surfer into the roaring approval of the crowd. Apparently, something had gone very right, because this one receives a standing and stomping ovation, a cloud of black sand rising as hundreds of feet pound into the beach.

Spooky wades into the water, clearly expectant, as Hal floats, frozen just a bit. At least the anxiety is helping his mind stay professional, he thinks wildly, before kickstarting himself into following.

As he tows Batman out to sea for the second time that day, he finds himself babbling, just a bit.

“And if you need any help, yeah, just call for Diana and she’ll come get you, and we’ve already planned to escape if this goes poorly, don’t worry about it, we won’t let your precious Gotham go without its oh so dark-and-broody protector, and–”

“Lantern. You can let me go, now.”

“Oh.” Spooky’s right, they’re definitely at the right place now, at the beginning of the biggest waves. Hal has to rise as he does, bobbing gently over the first swell of what will eventually be a monster. He doesn’t leave, though, even as the construct dissolves softly, leaving the Dark Knight floating in the surf, supported by only his board.

“Jordan,” Spooky starts, and this time it isn’t necessarily cruel or cutting, barely harsh even. Just deep, smooth, almost calming. Hal wonders if maybe he’s hallucinating. One hand sneaks to his arm to pinch, just in case, as Spooky continues, “Stop worrying. This will be fine. I promise. Just go back.”

And well, if that isn’t downright charming, for Bats, but Hal does as he’s told.

He’s not sure if they’d get in trouble for cheating or the like if he stayed longer anyways.

Bats isn’t up by the time Hal is settled back on his pillows.

He isn’t up for the next several minutes, either.

Another few moments. The light surrounding them begins to brighten, as the moon’s edge begins to slip past the second sun, revealing brilliant light.

Behind them, the generals grumble.

“Come on, Bats,” whispers Barry.

Shayera shifts forwards, impatiently tapping her thigh, where her mace would be if weapons of that type were allowed for the negotiating party to wear.

Hal can’t help but agree – Batman’s missed several waves that seemed plenty big enough or good enough for a good ride.

But maybe that’s his strategy. Hal wouldn’t put it past Bats to know their backup plan, and to be waiting until Superman was recharged enough to put their heaviest hitter back into play, just to help ensure both their success and his life.

And then it happens. Out on the water, illuminated by the brightening light and the swirls of paint, Bats shifts low, carving a horizontal path against a swell that comes out of seemingly nowhere.

He paddles briefly with it, until a base begins to form, and Hal is just happy to recognize basic surfing technique, because it means Bats wasn't lying about at least knowing something about surfing.

And then he’s up, a speck on this massive wave.

He cuts up, sending spray flying as he carves up the growing face of the wave, and then, abruptly, slows down by pressing forwards, shooting backwards and disappearing just as the edge of the wave crashes down, forming the beginnings of the tube.

Hal wants to choke – of course Spooky would feel the need to disappear immediately, even during a surfing competition.

Supes actually does choke, lurching forwards a bit as Barry’s hand finds his shoulder, to remind him not to screw everything up.

The beach is dead silent.

And then, out of nowhere, he’s back, absolutely blitzing out of the tube and leaning up, flying up the face of the wave and into a massive leap, easily getting fifteen feet of air as he spins the board in a complete 360.

Hal’s jaw drops, just a bit, as he sticks it, perfectly slipping back onto the face of the wave.

Then he’s right back to it, bringing himself up into a clean ride of the top to the wave, and then he walks to the front of the board in what Hal clearly recognizes as a hang ten, as his body causally leans back before darting backwards to bring the board back down.

And holy shit, is Batman good at surfing.

He dances across the wave in a faster, lighter manner than the Kahloans did.

It’s a different style, sure, but that makes sense. Bats is a big dude, but he probably only weighs about half as the massive Kahloans, with their rippling muscles and thick shells. So it makes sense his style is less powerful and more artsy, but goddamn, if it isn’t beautiful.

Hal’s SoCal surfer friends would have killed to be able to do this.

And then the Bat is back at the top of the wave, board flying underneath him in what Hal clearly recognizes as a kick-flip.

Behind him, the Kahloan generals make a muttering sound Hal’s ring can’t pick up.

Next to them, the Council makes clear frowns, one member throwing up their many hands in a confused and frustrated gesture.

Hal isn’t sure what’s wrong, because this is clearly just as impressive as what their champions had been doing.

Beyond that, though, Spooky has just pulled off a flip and kept his feet connected to the board, and now some of the Kahloans across the beach are beginning to cheer.

It starts off slowly, pockmarked and isolated between groups and individuals, but as Spooky pulls off carve after carve and trick after trick, the sound grows until it's just as approving of a roar as it had been for both of the previous champions.

Hal can feel his chest and throat unclench, and a quick scan of his teammates shows the same thing, if not more awe displayed across their faces than Hal was certainly showing right now.

Who knew the vampire had it in him?

And then Batsy flings himself into the air, somehow going completely horizontal against his board and twisting in a perfect aerial, before righting himself and somehow sticking the landing!

Hal whoops at that, loud and clear, and Diana follows suit, leading the League in a wild cheer as Batsy carves back up, slowing down and speeding up in a clear attempt to regain some control and leverage over the speed.

And then, Hal swears he looks at them. He’s too far away to make out such details such as Batman’s cowl, but he swears Batsy looks at them as they cheer. For half a second, he entertains the idea that maybe Batman smiled at their show of support, but then quickly chases the fantasy away. Batman? Smiling during a mission? What a ridiculous notion.

And then it’s the coupe-de-grace, and Hal can still barely wrap his mind around the fact that Bats can somehow get better at surfing as the man pulls his board through a tight circular maneuver, building momentum, and then launches himself into the air, pulling off a perfect frontflip before landing directly on his board.

He wobbles for a moment on the edge of the wave, and Hal holds his breath.

But then the landing sticks, and Hal cheers louder than before, his own cheers drowned out by his teammate’s and the surrounding Kahloans, as they all begin to stand, stomping their feet into the ground and raising a cloud of dust even bigger than the one for the last champion had been.

Hal sneaks a look behind him, and even the generals seem impressed, one baring their shark-like teeth in a clear grin.

The council is nodding amongst one another, some seeming resigned, but all writing in the sand with the same symbols they’d used for the other champions.

Hal could feel the excitement building – Batsy just had to end this thing, and they’ll have done it!

And end it he does, as he crests the wave one last time, leaping off his board in an elegant swan dive and completely disappearing behind the wave as the last of it crushed down in a mass of sea foam and salt spray.

Hal is on his feet in a second, dashing off to go pull Batsy from the sea, because what the hell man! All the guy had said was that he knew how to surf, not that he was like, the Lebron James of the surfing world (so sue him, he doesn’t know any famous surfers).

He finds Bats quickly as the man pulls himself smoothly towards his bobbing board, and then quickly pulls him towards shore.

He doesn’t really know what to say, but he’s pretty sure the Bat isn’t even breathing that hard, which, like, no fair, but there isn’t anything to say really, until they know that the peace is secured.

And then, only then, will Hal be maybe-sorta tempted to ask for some lessons.

When they get there, the Kahloans crowd up immediately, chanting a word that doesn’t translate into anything English has an expression for, and Hal is separated as they crowd around Batman, pulling his board from his hands and pushing against him like a crowd of fangirls to Harry Styles, who Hal is pretty sure is still relevant.

Barry is by Hal’s side in an instant, mouth and eyes still wide with shock. He’s speaking too fast for Hal to understand, and he can only catch bits and pieces like “ohmygod” and “amazingsoamazing,” so he turns to the rest of the team, who show up half a second later.

Diana is smiling broadly, and claps Hal on the shoulder just enough to make him wish his bones were a bit younger. “I think Batman has secured us a victory in this peacekeeping mission! Let us rejoice!”

Clark is grinning too, they all are, really. It really had been impressive.

Hal goes to respond, but a sudden hush falls over the crowd as the elders raise their hands. Hal’s jaw snaps shut, and the anxiety begins to boil in his stomach, because the cold, dead fish-eyes of this elder do not look excited to deliver whatever it is they’re about to say.

The ring translated to Hal, and Hal to the team, as they speak, saying “This was a Heʻenalu for the songs of our histories! Today, three champions, one from each of the grand factions and one from the negotiating party successfully demonstrated their connection to the kaheawai in a sufficient manner! From this day forward, this day will be marked as the brokerage of peace on our planet! May the lights of the suns’ rays guide our days, and the bonds of our people be brought together as one!”

All around them, Kahloans cheer, embracing one another and jumping up and down. Hal’s stomach seemed to float as he turned back to his team, so bone-deeply relieved it was a wonder he didn’t sink to his knees there and then.

Clark grins and begins to hover, even, as the two opposing generals clasp arms, pulling each other into an odd, prolonged chest bump, apparently signifying their rivalry was over as their parties began to intermingle, making odd, clicking laughs and smiling at one another.

And then the elder is in Hal’s face, hissing, pulling him up towards him, to whisper sharply in his ear, “You have brought peace in a way that has never been done before, Lantern. We will remember this as long as our species exists in the galaxy.”

And Hal blue-screens, at that, and the elder slips away, content in their half-warning half-celebration.

Quickly, he asks his ring to search for a result: a successful completion of a Heʻenalu challenge by an outside species or mediating party.

The ring spun for a moment, and came up with a clear, definitive answer: it had never been done before. No species had ever been able to surf to the Kahloan’s standards, and all attempts had resulted in continuation of war and the execution of the failed champions.

Oh, he could feel his blood pressure rising.

He whirls, stormy face sending Barry stumbling back as he tries to quickly pinwheel out of the hug he was clearly going for.

“Hal, what’s wrong? We won, peace was declared, we should be happy?”

“Oh,” Hal ground out, “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. This competition? It’s never been won before! It’s never brokered peace before, like Bats heavily implied it has! He, he, ugh!”

“What?” Barry asked, obviously shocked.

“Yeah! It’s never been done before, and he just didn’t bother to tell us that!”

Shayera was there suddenly, rage glinting in her shockingly green eyes. “He did what?”

“Exactly,” Hal screamed, enraged.

And, scanning the crowd, there he was, his dark cowl sticking out like a sore thumb among all of the taller, more brightly colored Kahloans.

Hal stalked forward, feeling Barry and Shayera fall into a flanking pattern behind him. The support was reassuring.

“You,” he shouted, poking a hard finger into the Bat’s solid chest, earning himself a confused head tilt, “Are an absolute bastard! You knew that this had never been done successfully before, and you still went through with it? What the hell dude!”

Bats looked down. Hal could almost sense him formulating his response, putting one word in front of another.

“Yes,” Bats said, like he was confused, “but it did work. Peace was achieved. Their standards of performance were met.”

Hal wanted to deck him. “That’s not the point, Spooky!”

Bats was silent. Hal forced air harshly through his nose before continuing.

“The point, idiot, is that you didn’t tell us, your team, that this had never been done before! That you were attempting something that has never gone well for anyone throughout all of intergalactic history, at that!”

Bat’s head straightened, and Hal could feel the loss of his gaze as his cowl turned more towards the sea.

“No, don’t answer that. I don’t care. How are we supposed to work as a team if you’re doing stuff like this? How are we supposed to trust you, Bats?”

Bats froze a bit at that, and made that little half-aborted motion with his hands that Hal thought was meant to shift his cape in front of him.

Slowly, like rocks being put through a blender, Bats responded. “Hn.”

“Oh, is that it?”

Bats turns to leave, but Hal isn’t done. He grabs his shoulder, reaching up and forcing Bats to look back at him.

Obviously, Bats allowed him to move him like that, because as he thinks about where his hand is, on that rock solid shoulder that's definitely too close to the most perfect human pec he’s ever seen, he has to realize just how absolutely built The Batman really is.

So he jumps back, cheeks flaming and coughing awkwardly once to clear his throat and give his head a moment to clear. Barry sends him an awkward side-eye, one that definitely implies more understanding and realization that Hal is happy with, but that’s something for later.

“I’m just saying you have to share stuff like this with the class, dude.”

Spooky’s head shifts just slightly, and then he sighs, longsuffering. “It wouldn’t have changed anything. At this point, it was the only option, and as it was my suggestion, it was more honorable and looked upon more favorably than it would have been when they had offered it. If you had done research, you would have known that this culture forces this method of negotiation every time they create peace. They like war here, it is what they are built on, what they truly desire. By doing this, and surpassing their expectations without tipping them off, actual peace could be ensured.”

And Hal can see the point in his words, even if his face burns with a different kind of embarrassment and anger now.

“But that still doesn’t mean you needed to keep this a secret! I know you ‘are the night’ or whatever, but sometimes it's nice to be kept in the loop.”

Batman grunted again, and stepped back, once, twice, and disappeared into a crowd of crushing Kahloans.

Hal threw up his hands and turned to Barry. “Fucking ninja. Why do I even bother, man?”

Barry shrugged, and threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling him down slightly.

“I don’t know, dude, but at least we won, right? Look, we party tonight, and then we go home tomorrow morning, yeah? Don’t let the Bat bring you down!”

Hal nodded, and Barry took that as permission to drag him towards the tables that had unfolded from seemingly nowhere, brimming with what was definitely food and that bright, sparkling drink from the first days of negotiations that Hal had been craving ever since.

And if he spent a little too much of that night thinking about the way Spooky’s biceps curled or the way he could surf like a god, well, that was something he’d have to work through over a six-pack once he got back home.