Chapter Text
That mission had been close. Too close. (Well, from Bruce’s perspective, everything is always a close call. Just because you think you’ve succeeded doesn’t always mean it’s the case.)
He’s getting off track. Right. Mission debrief.
Bruce and the Justice League had busted down a Meta-human kidnapping operation in Metropolis. Inhabitants from nearby homes anonymously reported hearing muffled cries and seeing men clad in all black heading in and out of an outwardly abandoned warehouse. Unfortunately, the civilian eye can only spot so much; when surveying the perimeters of said building, there must have been snipers — how many, Bruce isn’t entirely sure — but one of them almost had the hit on Oliver, and he quietly thanks himself for installing the audio amplifier into his cowl when he hears the cock of a rifle. He barreled toward the man mid-sentence like a wolf at full sprint, and they both tumbled in a flurry of limbs and capes. Oliver had been spooked, but okay.
Bruce had figured that would be the end of it, but even now, as Superman prattles on about how there could be other branches of the organisation, Oliver still has that uneasy look on his face, like Bruce had done something so outrageous. Would he prefer to be shot dead?
Just as Diana chimes in on the conversation, something about conducting further investigation, Bruce pauses his thoughts. And that thought train spirals into another, more fearful one. A singular red dot finds its way onto Barry, who is stupidly oblivious to it, sipping his disgustingly high-calorie beverage.
No. No! How could they have been so blind?
You only have a second to act. It’s life or death!
How could they have broken into headquarters? Had Superman not detected their heartbeat? What if they’re wearing lead? Is the Justice League’s headquarters security truly infallible? Was this all planned?
It’s only a second of thoughts and questions zooming around his head before the quick-witted vigilante in him makes the decision. Bruce hurls his 220-pound body towards Barry, spilling sticky soda all over him. The two hit the ground like a drunken sack of potatoes, with Bruce directly on top, unintentionally pinning him. Barry gasps, and everyone else halts their chatter. “Bat-Batman?! What gives?!”
Bruce pays him no mind. He can always get another soda. He sprouts upwards, head bobbing around, seeking to survey the room for anything odd. Superman raises an unsure hand. “Batman? What’s wrong? Did you see something?” If even one of the Worlds Finest superheroes had not seen the red dot aimed at their comrades head, then he’ll need to give them some serious training in spatial awareness. ( Once he finds the goon overzealous enough to try to score a hit on the Justice League, that is.) He scans the direction from which the dot came, but all he sees are the mildly concerned and amused faces of his teammates.
Barry groans, peeling himself upright. “Have you spotted something that intrigues you? Shall we be on guard for a hazard?” J’onn says, looking in Batman’s direction, in an effort to gauge his mysterious cryptid friend’s intent. Bruce feels he cannot answer until he figures out what exactly he’s dealing with, so he remains silent, feeling somewhat stumped. The others share this notion, also looking, well, mildly stumped.
Until it happens again. The accursed laser dot has decided Oliver would be its victim again. It swerves very casually towards him, as if to bait Bruce, no, the Batman. Keep trying to catch me. Keep trying to save them. You’ll never find me.
Bruce, God, he takes the damn bait. He wastes no time and, in an admittedly animalistic manner, pounces on his unknowing friend. Everyone either gasps, shrieks or flinches when the heroes both careen onto the floor in an ungraceful knot of arms and legs.
“What’s wrong with him?!”
“Batman!”
“Calm yourself!”
“Why’s he—“
The cacophony of voices around him are brought to a halt, thanks to the boisterous laugh that escapes Hal. It devolves into a series of snappy and unbecoming cackles that Bruce ignores. All he can think about is the potential sniper on their grounds, how he’s failed to catch them, how they could strike again, and how he might not make it the third time.
Clark, feeling a tad bit sorry for Batman, walks over and carefully pries the man off of Oliver as if he were peeling a koala off a tree branch. Oliver isn’t faring any better either; the man is a stuttering mess as he tries to understand what just happened.
He holds Batman by his shoulders, gently trying to get an answer out of him, very much unaware that Bruce’s mind is in a realm of its own. “Batman, you need to talk to us if something’s wrong! What is it? Did— Did you see something?” The rest cease their conversation and await Batman’s version of a response, but the man just shuffles out of Clark's grasp and returns to his worrying.
“Didn’t expect that to escalate so much.. Um.” Five other heads snap to Hal’s direction and glare daggers at him when they see that it’s a laser pointer that’s causing their friend so much trouble. A laser pointer!
Clark hoists Oliver back to his feet, who is looking somewhat befuddled. “A laser pointer? Seriously? What’s next, catnip?”
“You might be onto something there–”
“Don’t– Don’t even think about that! He could have scratched me or something!”
“Agreed. No laser pointers during meetings of any kind, seeing how it riles him up so.” Bruce can hear J’onn’s thoughtful words, but doesn’t really hear them. He looks in the direction of where the laser came from, near the ceiling. All he can see are the lights, the ledges, and the.. Vents!
“I did not know Batman’s species also had the tendency to follow lasers. Perhaps it is connected to his affinity for shiny objects?” Wonder Woman thinks aloud. J’onn looks at her with a thoughtful agreement.
If Clark is even paying attention to the surrounding conversation, he does not make it known. He stares Hal down with his own sloppy attempt at the Batglare and crosses his arms like a disappointed father. “Apologise.”
Hal stares at him like he’s grown a fourth head.
Clark, no, Superman, repeats himself. “Apologise!”
The Green Lantern’s eyes fall towards Batman. He looks pitiful. The guy is surveying the room, looking mostly in the direction of the overhead vents for whatever reason. Then it strikes him. Wait.. What if he’s still looking for the laser?!
Hal had heard on the internet that if a housecat were to “never catch the laser”, it could lead to frustration, self-doubt and even depression. They would assume they were not a good hunter, and thus fall into a despair no cat (or bat) deserves to endure. Crap. He assumed initially that it would squeeze a good laugh out of his teammates and entertain Batman, but he hadn’t realised how tense it would make him if he never caught it. He didn’t plan that far.
He clears his throat, putting what he hopes to be a grounding hand on Batman's shoulder. He turns around, still looking antsy. “I uh, didn’t realise you liked catching the laser so much. Still, it was pretty inappropriate of me to shine it during debrief, and I didn’t mean to get you so riled up, so sorry.” Hal recites his words in his mind, then continues. “Buuut if you ever feel like chasing that laser, let me know, because you’re an awesome teammate, friend and coworker!”
It’s a success. It has to be. But what happens next says otherwise.
Batman’s jaw tightens. Something flickers across his face before he just... Walks away. He leaves the meeting room entirely, not even giving Hal another chance to explain his case.
All the rest of the team can do is sit there and wonder what the hell just happened.
—
Displays a major fixation with bright, moving lights. It seems to be a very strong instinctual urge that takes priority over other matters, like the debrief, which he is usually very attentive to.
[Entry by Superman]
— Is it just me, or he looked kinda frustrated when he couldn’t spot the laser? What if he doesn’t know it can disappear?
[Entry by Barry]
— ..I think I might have a theory.
[Entry by Hal]
—
Hal went home that day, mulling over the interaction with great consideration and even did some research. How does one help their teammate — who just so happens to be a bat Cryptid — fit in and feel comfortable?
It took him a while to figure out his approach, but he thinks he has an idea. He stands at the head of the meeting table, where Superman would normally be. Beside him is a flipchart reading “Operation Bat Enrichment 101” and under that is a crudely drawn Batman frolicking about in a field of flowers. He’s gathered everyone for a ‘not vital but somewhat needed get-together’ as he’d put it.
Clark and Diana look at the flipchart, then at each other with mild curiosity on their faces. If Hal didn’t know any better, he would assume they were communicating their thoughts to each other via spooky mind powers. He hopes not.
Barry and Oliver both look at him like he’s lost his mind. J’onn, on the other hand, seems resigned to it all, postured like a worker after a 12-hour shift.
Hal collects his bearings before speaking. “I’m sure you’re all wondering why I gathered you all here. Well, let me start by introducing you all to Exhibit A: Our current Batman.” He flips to a printed image of security camera footage. It’s a snapshot of Batman sprawled on top of Barry, their bodies very uncomfortably mashed together in a mess of sticky soda. “There’s a very simple reason as to why he reacted the way he did. He’s wired to enjoy and seek out the hunt above all, so if it meant catching the laser, he would jump across a room and cause Barry to spill his drink.”
“The laser which you–”
“Ah- ah. Save it for after I’m done.” Barry pouts like a child being denied candy, but hushes up nonetheless.
Hal flips the page to a sloppily drawn picture of Batman, gleefully holding a dead rat in his mouth. “Now–”
“Hal, he’s not a cat. You know that, right?” Clark studies the other man carefully with a look of disbelief and mild offence on Batman's behalf.
“Well, your honour, Batman can shed his skin, purr, chirp, and you’re telling me he doesn’t enjoy a good hunt every now and then?” Clark opens his mouth, as if to make a point, but he’s dumbstruck. Who knows what Batman doesn’t do?
Hal takes his silence as his cue to continue his educational TED talk. “Anyways, I believe that if we want a happy and healthy Batman on our hands, we need to channel these.. Urges.. in an entertaining and fulfilling way. In other words, we provide him with enrichment!" He eagerly flips to another diagram, of Batman chasing a trail of shinies, and stands next to it like it’s the Mona Lisa. “Any questions?”
Two hands shoot up. Diana and Barry. Oliver can feel his soul exiting the building. Why, oh why is Diana playing along with this!?
Hal calls on Barry first, who looks mildly annoyed. “Are you telling me you kept that laser pointer with you during yesterday’s mission, and waited until debrief just so you could do that?” Well.. maybe. Hal purses his lip. He can’t exactly tell the truth because he’d be proving Barry right.
“Ahem. Please keep our questions on the topic at hand.” Barry grumbles obscenities under his breath.
Finally, Hal points his stick at Diana, who looks genuinely invested in his speech. She speaks. “Say we entertain his primal urges. What sort of ‘enrichment’ activities could be provided? Have you anything in mind?”
An actual insightful question! An almost devilish smirk creeps onto his face, and Hal flips the flipchart to another page. It’s Batman and the rest of the Justice League, circled and hand in hand. He’s prepared his whole life for this. “I’m glad you asked, Diana. Allow me to begin explaining my first proposition...”
—
The sheer number of rooms in the Justice League’s headquarters means Bruce can disappear from the public eye and get some work done. That is one of the few perks of being a member of this ragtag team. There’s a lack of his children’s typical muffled chatter that he hears scattered throughout the manor, nor is the low wir and hum of the Batcomputers' advanced machinery present.
Don’t get him wrong, he loves his children to the moon and back, but sometimes, pure and utter silence can do wonders for someone already so stretched with his work. It’s a good thing he’s finally finished, he thinks, as he tucks his laptop into the bag under his cloak.
Bruce is out of the room, and now that he’s finished with his work, it’s all he can think about. How the Green Lantern came to the conclusion that he would enjoy a game of ‘laser-pointer.’
It’s all too embarrassing NOT to think about, and his reaction hadn’t made anything better. Seriously, if one of the snipers had snuck into headquarters, Bruce would have been doing them a favour. A life-saving favour!
He’s just about to mull over a good way to clear this horrible misunderstanding when he sees it.
The corridor of headquarters is usually sparse of just about anything, so he can’t help but raise an eyebrow when he sees the glistening pieces of rubbish dotting the floor.
Honestly.. You would expect the world’s finest heroes not to litter! Looks like he’s adding a lecture on the impacts of littering to his ever-growing list of corrections he needs to make with these people. Bruce picks up piece after piece, bundling them all up in his arms. At the fifth piece does his suspicion begin to grow; who makes this much damn litter?
To his horror, above on the support columns lining the ceiling, he sees the telltale glisten of more litter, beckoning him to get up there and pick it up.
How oh how does litter get up there?!
At this point it’s beginning to be pretty obvious that something’s up, but Bruce finds himself at somewhat of a standstill. Someone left this here intentionally. Would picking it up be playing into their scheme? What if this is some sort of prank?
But.. he can’t just leave it there! He imagines it would make work for the new cleaners maintaining headquarters especially harder than it has to be, not to mention how unsightly it is. If he’s playing into some immature prank, fine. Okay. He can live with that. He just doesn’t want to create needless work for other people.
So, he makes the decision. Bruce grapples upwards and clambers onto the support beam like a cat finding its footing on a fence. He grabs the litter, feeling a sense of triumph. He’s not entirely sure why.
Come 10 minutes later, he’s still there. Bruce spent this time scaling support beams for additional rubbish, surveying the floors, and checking other rooms for whatever reason. The mess, he notes as if he were conducting a formal assessment, is isolated to this corridor only, contained and deliberate. Do they think they’re being subtle?
He picks up another wrapper, intent on being thorough. He stifles the occasional yawn.
He stretches slowly towards the end of the corridor, where a sharp turn lies. He hopes the mess ends there.
Bruce braces himself for what he’s about to see, but he certainly didn’t expect.. Just what in the world is this supposed to be?
On the ground, surrounded by a circle of pink glitter, is a tub of.. Choco pudding? From its initial appearance, one could argue it’s harmless, and no doubt delectable. The tub is packed full of a pudding flavoured after a Choco biscuits signature frosting, with biscuit dust pattered on top. If that wasn’t enough, another biscuit lies wedged within the pudding, flaunting its chocolatey goodness.
Bruce takes a tentative step closer, then another, and another. He’s face-to-face with the pudding. But his eye snags on something curious. A note? He raises it closer. “Hiya Bats! This is for your prize for being such an awesome teammate!” Large, cheerful handwriting sits beside a scribble of Bruce, no, Batman, who’s making this oddly smiley facial expression that Bruce wants to erase from his memory at once.
He looks at the note. Then the pudding. Then the note. Bruce doesn’t sense any nefarious intent, and whoever did this probably wanted to ensure he would find the dessert. But of all the things.. Littering? Would coming up to him face-to-face and handing him the dessert be so difficult?
Actually, scratch that. He certainly cannot picture himself doing so without any issues.
Besides, it’s fine, right? He’s feeling a bit famished anyway, so it’d be perfectly acceptable to take it, right? Bruce’s eyes skim the area one final time, in the same manner one would do so before preparing to commit a grave misdeed.
The coast is clear.
Bruce takes off with the pudding, completely forgetting to dispose of the litter, and failing to notice two pairs of eyes peeping from a door slightly ajar.
—
Anyone who had seen the Batman that day, would be privy to quite the sight. J’onn, and even the others, could feel the mellow waves of happiness that wafted right off the man, Choco pudding in one hand and the other cradling a pile of... Rubbish?
—
Activities involving mystery or imminent reward appear to engage him most acutely. He looked pleased with the prize. I would also be pleased if I were in his position.
[Entry by Martian Manhunter]
- Right, I’m sure you would... And the shiny bits of junk? Totally had him mesmerised.
[Entry by Hal]
—
Clark stands beside the counter, dragging the spatula through the brownie batter while Diana holds a comically large cookbook, — which nobody knows how it even ended up in headquarters — and Barry vibrates in position, drooling at the sight of the batter like a rabid dog. They, or Clark, had been at this for a solid 30 minutes. He hadn’t heard it at first, of course, he’d been too busy ensuring the brownies would be absolutely perfect for Barry (even if the speedster would gobble it up in two seconds flat) But now a hand rubs at his temples. The noise is beginning to chisel at his eardrums, persistent and thin, as if a very persistent cricket were chittering in his ear.
Diana looks him over like an open book. “Is something amiss?”
“No? I’m not sure? I think I’m hearing something, but I can’t figure out where it’s coming from.” Barry stops his vibrating to look at his friend thoughtfully.
Clark continues. “Sounds like a rattlesnake decided to play house in my ear.. I don’t think I can unfocus from it with how insistent it’s being.” He puts the batter down.
“A strange rattling, you say? Perhaps we should investigate.” The other two men nod in agreement, and the search is on.
It doesn’t take long before they see Batman emerging out of another room. He hurtles past them, skittishly looking from side to side as if he were crossing a road. Bundled up in his arms is the culprit behind the incessant noises Clark had been hearing.
Surely, Clark has to be dreaming. How on earth did cat toys find their way to the Watchtower?
Batman must share the same notion, because it appears he had also been searching for the source of the sound. Small, fur-covered mice toys that emit a skittery noise are gathered in his arms.
“Looks like we found our noise!” Barry zips towards Batman in a flash, raising a hand to take a toy directly out of the pile to examine. Clark can only shake his head with disappointment. When will Barry learn?
“Barry—“
Clark swears he sees Batmans cloak puff up around him protectively as he edges away from the speedster, shoulders closing in on his catch. He flashes his canines in a defensive manner and hunches backwards.
Barry retracts his hand.
Diana tries a different, more gentle approach. “What is it you have found?”
Batman wordlessly extends his arms to show her the pile of toys in his hands, looking proud of himself.
“I see. Clark has heard the sounds, and he believes there could be more. It’s odd, though, how did they get on the Watchtower?” She thinks aloud. Batman’s ears flicker, and he’s off, presumably to hunt the last of them. Clark can hear it too. There’s more?
“Would it be so difficult not to try grab things right out his arms? You know he doesn’t like that!”
“Sorry, sorry, Supes!”
“Friends, look.”
The two superheroes cease their banter. Across the hall, they can see Batman, who is on the move. His ears wind and twist, before settling on an elevator to his right. He dives right in. Clark is no cryptid, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t also slightly curious about the ‘cat-toy mystery.’
“Should we... follow him?” Not that I’d make a habit of trailing fellow teammates, but–”
“Already in!” Barry is somehow already pressed against the wall beside the elevator button. It’s as if he read Clark’s mind! “What are we calling this? Bird watching? No— bat-watching!”
“Honestly, you two can be such children sometimes.” Clark knows Diana well enough to know that she is jesting, a light smirk gracing her face. It’s time they follow the Batman!
With a quick sweep of X-ray vision, Clark locates Batman’s floor before the elevator doors have fully closed. When they open again, the three of them step out into the quiet. The Watchtower is.. Large. Huge, even so, on a normal day, the only sounds up here are the low hum of machinery and the distant shift of gears settling into place.
Today is not a normal day. (Three esteemed heroes revered by the world for all their mind-blowing accomplishments are following Batman around like a bunch of glorified National Geographic explorers!)
Clark hears it again. That same odd chittering, threading through the mechanical hum like it belongs there. How many more of these toys are there?
Diana raises a hand. Two fingers, then a sharp gesture forward. The universal signal for move, quietly. Barry mimes zipping his mouth shut with great solemnity, and Clark nods.
From a safe distance, they watch. Batman moves methodically: checking rooms within a certain radius, peering behind doors, lifting a potted plant to check behind it, or simply standing in the doorway of a maintenance corridor, staring at a crew fixing a leaky pipe with an intensity that makes two of them visibly uncomfortable. After a solid two minutes of very enriching staring, his ear twitches, and he makes his way towards an empty lab.
The room is packed. Shelves of tiny bottles and scientific apparatus lining every wall, countertop islands cluttered with equipment, and cabinets left slightly ajar. A mess, obviously, but nothing of significance to Batman, Clark believes.
Batman circles the room vigilantly, like a dog sniffing for a buried bone. He stops at an unassuming shelf and begins taking each item off of the shelf and placing it on a nearby island. Once clear, he heaves the shelf sideways, and fishes something out from behind it. It’s... another cat toy, and presumably the last. He places it in his pile, which lies undisturbed by the door.
“You think that’s the last of them, Supes?”
“I think so..”
Batman begins the arduous process of reassembling all the items on the shelf, and, goodness, it might just be because Clark has a bleeding heart, but Batman looks so solemn. He can see it now, Batman looks like a poor cat caught in the rain, exhausted from the day’s hunt and ready to slink back into hiding. So diligent in ensuring everything is meticulously put back where it belongs, unaware he has an audience.
It would be indecent to keep watching and not lend a helping hand.
“Come on.” Clark steps forward. “We should help him. I’m done playing explorer.” Before any of the others even cross the door, Barry eagerly speeds over, disregarding the hundreds of times Clark had told him to be patient with Batman.
“Bats!” Batman startles, dropping the stack of petri dishes in his hand. It clatters to the floor, and Batman thwips around so fast it looks like he has super speed.
“Sorry, sorry!” Barry raises his hands, crouching slightly, as if to appear less of a threat. For being someone who has a general inability to stay still for more than five seconds, he does a good job of doing so now. “You uh, need a hand with that? I can do it in a flash.”
Batman’s white eyes narrow to slits, glaring a hole right through Barry’s sorry mug. He steps back with a low whistle. Barry takes that as permission to assemble the shelf. True to his word, he finishes it in, well, a flash.
Clark appears in the doorway with Diana, who waves at Batman in a carefree manner. He speaks. “Have you figured out how they ended up here? Seems you’ve been–” a glance by the pile at the door, “_-busy.” Batman shakes his head no.
Okay. At least they’re not alone in this.
Diana steps in, smiling. “The three of us have been baking. You’re welcome to take a break and join us, if you’d like. Or simply try the finished product.”
“You like brownies?” Barry asks.
Batman stops. There is a brief, genuine pause; the kind that suggests the question is being taken seriously. They watch with bated breath as Batman's thought process shows on his face, eyes dropping to the pile of cat toys in his hands, before settling into his usual poker face.
He shakes his head, and he’s gone.
—
Bruce walks out of the room, feeling somewhat embarrassed. Whoever decided it would be a good idea to place literal cat toys all around the Watch tower knows how to give him a headache. He won’t let this prankster spread needless clutter around an important space station that’s for important superhero work only. The nonstop chittering noises coming from these toys have been driving him mad.
He’s not laughing. He’ll find the perpetrator, sit them down and drum it into them that this type of thing is childish and unneeded! In the meantime, however, he has to deal with all these toys.
—
Hypotheses confirmed: Batman enjoys games involving mystery, and stimulation of his sensitive hearing proves beneficial to his enrichment. He has found every single toy hidden on the Watchtower and has brought them with him. — to wherever he lives. Success!!
[Entry by Hal]
— That was you?!
[Entry by Superman]
__
Somewhere in Gotham, where the wind swoops just a little harsher, where the skies are gloomier, is a humble animal shelter. A narrow brick building sandwiched between a laundromat and a convenience store, its sign weathered to the point of near illegibility. By all means, it is unassuming and undeserving of any major attention.
Which is perhaps why, when the Dark Knight materialises from the shadows of the adjacent alleyway and sets a box of cat toys quietly beside the front door, the few people who happen to witness it are not entirely sure of what they’ve seen. They watch in awe as his cloak catches the wind, cascading behind him in an otherworldly manner, like something alive. He’s gone in a blink, swallowed up by the darkness he came from.
By the time anyone thinks to reach for their phone, there is nothing left to photograph but a box of cat toys.
Inside the shelter, a cat presses it’s nose to the window.