FIC: Bat-Fashion Disaster
Title: Bat-Fashion Disaster
Continuity: Comics
Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne
Warnings: None
Summary: Dick and Damian come across Bruce's teenaged design notebooks.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1100
Note: Follows up from Sharp Dressed Bat.
"Damian, I don't think you should be doing that." Dick Grayson sighed to himself and wondered if he should just make a recording of that to use and save his voice. "You should be working on your science project."
Damian, still in his hooded cape, was squatting in front of a safe set into the cave wall, twirling the dial and listening to it intently. "You won't let me do anything interesting for my science project, so I am forced to find other ways to stretch my intellect." Dick was forced to admit that he had vetoed Damian's first four science project ideas, but he stood his ground that "How to Deliver Maximum Pain with Minimum Effort: A Study of Pressure Points," "Necrotoxins vs. Neurotoxins: Comparing Brown Recluse and Black Widow Venom," "Tensile Strength of Assorted Garrote Materials," and "Deathtraps for Dummies" were not good ideas for a middle-school science project.
Now Damian was sulking and fiddling with a safe. "Besides, if Father didn't want me to get into this, he wouldn't have left it out here in the open. Nor would he have been so entirely calm and composed when I asked him what he was putting into it last week."
It was probably better if he got it open while Dick was there to minimize the damage, rather than sneaking back later and opening it unsupervised, so Dick kept one eye on him while running his lab tests. It took a little over thirty minutes, but eventually he heard the safe open with a soft and ominous click.
"Hmm," Damian said, rummaging. "Red Kryptonite, magic wands, death ray, death ray--freeze ray! Really, Father, how droll--some kind of chalice, presumably magical or something, and--what's this?"
"Looks like an ordinary notebook to me," said Dick, nudging the door shut again as Damian fished out the notebook--better not to keep the Red K out now that Bruce was dating Clark.
"Exactly," hissed Damian. "So it must be something very important."
Dick peered over his shoulder as he opened it, feeling his eyes widen as the pages turned to reveal adolescent Bruce Wayne's early prototypes for the batsuit: garish Gothic masks, sweeping shoulder hooks, and approximately three million spikes. Damian was unnervingly still and silent as he leafed through the pages almost mechanically, and Dick bit his lip, torn between laughter and dread at the eventual explosion from the little ninja.
The last page fluttered shut and Damian let the notebook fall closed. "Grayson," he said in a very small voice. "My father--these pictures--" He shook his head, overwhelmed. "I never knew that--that my father was so--"
Dick braced himself.
"--I'm not sure the English language has words for it," Damian said. "It's just--" He waved his hands helplessly, overcome.
"Unbelievable?"
Damian looked peeved. "Really Grayson, you think I couldn't have come up with a mundane word like 'unbelievable'? It's certainly that, but it's so, so much more. It's--the word I'm looking for is closer to--"
"...Angular?" Dick tried again.
"If you're just going to mock me, Grayson, your presence is not welcome," Damian sniffed. "I mean--my God. Did you see these sketches?"
"I was looking over your shoulder, yes."
"And? What do you think?"
"Well, they certainly left me...speechless," Dick said.
Damian leapt to his feet. his eyes shining. "Yes! Exactly! Such style! Such flair! Oh, this was a man who understood what it was to use terror against his foes," he said, shaking the notebook with glee and looking very much like the pre-teen he was, although Dick tended to forget it.
"I don't know, Damian," said Dick, "They don't look very practical."
"Practical? These are art, Grayson! Was Picasso impractical? A fighter of true skill would not be impeded by these small embellishments. But then, I wouldn't expect you to understand," he snorted, gesturing at the severe red and black of the Nightwing costume.
For a brief moment, Dick almost regretted that he had managed to keep all images of his earliest Nightwing costume from falling into Damian's hands. Almost.
"I don't understand why my father abandoned these," Damian was saying. "I really think I could work some of these ideas into the Robin costume."
Images of Damian with chitinous silver boots and a cape twice as long as himself froze Dick in horror, and the moment was made complete by hearing the grandfather clock swing open and Bruce and Clark's voices coming down the stairs.
"Father!" Damian ran across the cave, brandishing the notebook up at them. "What is the meaning of this?"
Bruce's eyes widened, then narrowed in a glare that was divided equally between Clark and Dick, both of whom shrugged and gave him their best "Don't look at me" grins.
"Well, I was...very young," Bruce started, almost apologetically, but Damian cut him off.
"I had no idea you had such vision when you were my age. What happened? When did you become so determined to be as boring as possible?" Damian frowned at the drawings. "Though you don't have any spikes on the masks themselves. A grave oversight--think of how impressive that would look. One can already see the signs of you bowing to convention, even in these brilliant sketches." He made a tsking sound, shaking his head. "It's sad, really."
"I...do have some regrets," Bruce muttered as Clark and Dick shared goggle-eyed looks of delight.
"It's settled, then." Damian wheeled on Dick. "Grayson! I shall do my science project on the effects of embellishments on aerodynamics and prove once and for all that one needn't be bland to be an avenger of the night. Scientific proof!" He nodded fiercely at all of them, jaw set. "And then I shall redesign my Robin costume to be a thing of truly awe-inspiring grandeur!" He stomped upstairs, shouldering past Clark and Bruce, still clutching the notebook. Turning at the top, he announced, "Thank you for the inspiration, Father! I shall make a reality the vision you tragically failed to achieve!"
The door clicked shut and a long silence filled the cave.
Bruce put his hand to his forehead as if it pained him. "Is he...was he serious? Or is he upstairs right now laughing at all of us?"
Clark shot Dick a smirk and clapped Bruce on the shoulder. "Well, if it's any consolation...I'm absolutely certain he's not laughing at all of us."
Continuity: Comics
Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne
Warnings: None
Summary: Dick and Damian come across Bruce's teenaged design notebooks.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1100
Note: Follows up from Sharp Dressed Bat.
"Damian, I don't think you should be doing that." Dick Grayson sighed to himself and wondered if he should just make a recording of that to use and save his voice. "You should be working on your science project."
Damian, still in his hooded cape, was squatting in front of a safe set into the cave wall, twirling the dial and listening to it intently. "You won't let me do anything interesting for my science project, so I am forced to find other ways to stretch my intellect." Dick was forced to admit that he had vetoed Damian's first four science project ideas, but he stood his ground that "How to Deliver Maximum Pain with Minimum Effort: A Study of Pressure Points," "Necrotoxins vs. Neurotoxins: Comparing Brown Recluse and Black Widow Venom," "Tensile Strength of Assorted Garrote Materials," and "Deathtraps for Dummies" were not good ideas for a middle-school science project.
Now Damian was sulking and fiddling with a safe. "Besides, if Father didn't want me to get into this, he wouldn't have left it out here in the open. Nor would he have been so entirely calm and composed when I asked him what he was putting into it last week."
It was probably better if he got it open while Dick was there to minimize the damage, rather than sneaking back later and opening it unsupervised, so Dick kept one eye on him while running his lab tests. It took a little over thirty minutes, but eventually he heard the safe open with a soft and ominous click.
"Hmm," Damian said, rummaging. "Red Kryptonite, magic wands, death ray, death ray--freeze ray! Really, Father, how droll--some kind of chalice, presumably magical or something, and--what's this?"
"Looks like an ordinary notebook to me," said Dick, nudging the door shut again as Damian fished out the notebook--better not to keep the Red K out now that Bruce was dating Clark.
"Exactly," hissed Damian. "So it must be something very important."
Dick peered over his shoulder as he opened it, feeling his eyes widen as the pages turned to reveal adolescent Bruce Wayne's early prototypes for the batsuit: garish Gothic masks, sweeping shoulder hooks, and approximately three million spikes. Damian was unnervingly still and silent as he leafed through the pages almost mechanically, and Dick bit his lip, torn between laughter and dread at the eventual explosion from the little ninja.
The last page fluttered shut and Damian let the notebook fall closed. "Grayson," he said in a very small voice. "My father--these pictures--" He shook his head, overwhelmed. "I never knew that--that my father was so--"
Dick braced himself.
"--I'm not sure the English language has words for it," Damian said. "It's just--" He waved his hands helplessly, overcome.
"Unbelievable?"
Damian looked peeved. "Really Grayson, you think I couldn't have come up with a mundane word like 'unbelievable'? It's certainly that, but it's so, so much more. It's--the word I'm looking for is closer to--"
"...Angular?" Dick tried again.
"If you're just going to mock me, Grayson, your presence is not welcome," Damian sniffed. "I mean--my God. Did you see these sketches?"
"I was looking over your shoulder, yes."
"And? What do you think?"
"Well, they certainly left me...speechless," Dick said.
Damian leapt to his feet. his eyes shining. "Yes! Exactly! Such style! Such flair! Oh, this was a man who understood what it was to use terror against his foes," he said, shaking the notebook with glee and looking very much like the pre-teen he was, although Dick tended to forget it.
"I don't know, Damian," said Dick, "They don't look very practical."
"Practical? These are art, Grayson! Was Picasso impractical? A fighter of true skill would not be impeded by these small embellishments. But then, I wouldn't expect you to understand," he snorted, gesturing at the severe red and black of the Nightwing costume.
For a brief moment, Dick almost regretted that he had managed to keep all images of his earliest Nightwing costume from falling into Damian's hands. Almost.
"I don't understand why my father abandoned these," Damian was saying. "I really think I could work some of these ideas into the Robin costume."
Images of Damian with chitinous silver boots and a cape twice as long as himself froze Dick in horror, and the moment was made complete by hearing the grandfather clock swing open and Bruce and Clark's voices coming down the stairs.
"Father!" Damian ran across the cave, brandishing the notebook up at them. "What is the meaning of this?"
Bruce's eyes widened, then narrowed in a glare that was divided equally between Clark and Dick, both of whom shrugged and gave him their best "Don't look at me" grins.
"Well, I was...very young," Bruce started, almost apologetically, but Damian cut him off.
"I had no idea you had such vision when you were my age. What happened? When did you become so determined to be as boring as possible?" Damian frowned at the drawings. "Though you don't have any spikes on the masks themselves. A grave oversight--think of how impressive that would look. One can already see the signs of you bowing to convention, even in these brilliant sketches." He made a tsking sound, shaking his head. "It's sad, really."
"I...do have some regrets," Bruce muttered as Clark and Dick shared goggle-eyed looks of delight.
"It's settled, then." Damian wheeled on Dick. "Grayson! I shall do my science project on the effects of embellishments on aerodynamics and prove once and for all that one needn't be bland to be an avenger of the night. Scientific proof!" He nodded fiercely at all of them, jaw set. "And then I shall redesign my Robin costume to be a thing of truly awe-inspiring grandeur!" He stomped upstairs, shouldering past Clark and Bruce, still clutching the notebook. Turning at the top, he announced, "Thank you for the inspiration, Father! I shall make a reality the vision you tragically failed to achieve!"
The door clicked shut and a long silence filled the cave.
Bruce put his hand to his forehead as if it pained him. "Is he...was he serious? Or is he upstairs right now laughing at all of us?"
Clark shot Dick a smirk and clapped Bruce on the shoulder. "Well, if it's any consolation...I'm absolutely certain he's not laughing at all of us."