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Then Be Batman [DC SI]

Reader mode
Bruce Wayne introspection on whether or not kill Ennis Austin was palpable felt in this particular case and would not like definitely won't be Ennis right now, if Batman finds him again. True f Batman succeeded everytime he would know the stakes emotionally speaking, he wouldn't be a proper Batman. ( accreditation SebazuD).
Although Bruce Wayne Si getting that ghosting down with the Bat grappling hook is a work in progress, but still has style in the early 90's era.
At least Bat mite was a good brother to talk him down from spiraling from that line of thinking.
Whilst the public know of the myth of the Batman is real in Gotham City area.
Continue on
Cheers!
 
Glad to know you're alive, and have come out of some serious events in decent-ish shape. Be well, and thank you for writing anything.
 
I'm curious if power includes the Party System.

Mostly because I think Bat Mite probably loves teamups.
 
I know that Mr mxyplxyt or however it's spelled will be able to know that he's not originally bruce but what about superman
 
Arkon said:
Superman doesn't know Bruce to come to the conclusion someone switched bodies with him.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
Right now yes but i was asking if he would be able to find out; bruce was physically unable to tell alfred about the situation. Because of the parallels in higher forces watching them I was wondering if clark might be an exception
 
Last edited:
Chapter 6
  • Threadmarks
    • When the women and children showed up, I had been there for hours. They found me using a pole handled scraper to remove acoustic from the ceiling on the bottom floor. Acoustic is the pebbly stuff they spray on internal ceilings as texture and to stop echoes. It's cheap and easy to apply, but also sort of soaks up smoke and grime and water.

    What else was I going to do?

    I already stank of fire and smoke, even after I took off the bat costume. I had apparently gotten pretty scorched at some point when I was going through the burning building, and while my outfit was fire resistant, there had been damage to some of the 'placeholder' components. It was just the version one suit, after all, and not everything was made of super advanced materials yet.

    I was kind of disheartened, so instead of taking a shower and going to sleep, I just grabbed one of my big box vans and hit a big box hardware store the moment it opened. I grabbed pallets of cleaners and tools and hit the women's shelter early.

    Unfortunately, not even billions of dollars could hire a local cleanup crew on twelve hour's notice, at least not without really throwing my weight around, and I wasn't willing to do that. One would be available in another day, though.

    Mostly, I just felt the need to do something. After the failures of the night before, tackling something I knew I could handle felt pretty good. I had all the bottom floor, and the hallways of the second floor, scraped before eight AM, and had most of the debris shoveled up before the women arrived.

    "Bruce Wayne?! What are you doing here so early?" Mrs. Rusen exclaimed when they walked in.

    "Coping."

    I can't tell if I was gratified or embarrassed that every woman, every adult present, just kind of nodded in understanding and started helping out.

    We got the less physical people to cleaning up stuff, and I grabbed the teenage boys and a few of the women and started hauling the appliances into the back of the big box truck.

    Some enterprising Gothamites had stolen a couple of the appliances left out on the street from the day before, as well as all of the furniture I'd left out there. Both of the scorched stoves and refrigerators had gone missing, despite this being one of the nicer, safer neighborhoods.

    Several people expressed shock and anger at people who would steal from a women's shelter, but I settled them down when I explained that I'd deliberately left that furniture outside so we didn't have to haul it off ourselves, that I was buying new stuff. Desperate people willing to steal sooty appliances were probably willing to clean them up and use them, or sell them to a pawn shop that would. And if they weren't willing to clean it up, having a stinky, grody stove was its own punishment. Not to mention the sofas and chairs.

    The better appliances and the stuff made of wood had been moved back inside before I left for the night. Using some furniture moving gear, dollies and even a small electric pallet jack I'd brought, we got everything that needed cleaning loaded up in the big box van.

    It was kinda funny. I'm not a leader of men. Or women, for that matter. But I ended up with my own sort of crew while I worked. All four of the teenage boys, one teenage girl who was clearly a bit of a tomboy and had refused to babysit, and the black woman who clearly didn't trust me.

    Her name was Katrina Doyer, and she had two fading black eyes, a healing lip, and some missing teeth, in addition to various bruises here and there. I caught her hitching in pain more than once, but I had to back off and respect her insistence on being one of the furniture movers despite it all. She had a six year old son who was back at the hotel. She'd also taken the teenage tomboy under her wing, and was clearly watching over her.

    Considering that the teenager, Fina Wilms, was seventeen, cute as hell, and had all the boys tripping over themselves to show off for her, I didn't blame her. She was probably also wary of any attention I might give her, because poor Fina had instantly developed a crush on me.

    I was 6'6" and handsome, with a chiseled jaw and comic book hero body. I was also rich and fixing their problems. Several of the women lingered and made comments, actually.

    It was sort of repulsive. I'd done alright in my first life, I'd been flirted with before, but never to that degree, and never with that kind of undercurrent of desperation. Mrs. Rusen was actually extremely helpful in that regard, showing the kind of insight you want in someone whose job is managing people.

    Fina wanted to show off how tough and strong and adult and independent she was. So did all the boys. They got in each other's way beautifully.

    Katrina was much more interesting.

    "Forty seven percent," I told her.

    "No," she replied in horror.

    "Yep. And it took putting our own people in at almost every single level in almost every single Gotham based charity to get that far. Just over half of all the money, more than sixteen million dollars last year alone, disappears into a rat's nest of corruption and inefficiency," I explained. "Take Mayor Bernard. By himself, he is not legally corrupt. But he does play the political game, and there's any number of inefficiencies that result from that. That's normal, though. Every city has that sort of issue."

    The box van I had driven over was big enough to park a car in and still open the door to get out of, and that was before it had been modified with expanding sides and roof. It barely fit down narrow streets, and was actually at the limit of what was legal before it had to have a wide load sign and a pair of chase cars. We managed to get every single piece of furniture from the first two floors into it.

    "There's also the usual suspects of kickbacks, buddy-buddys, quid pro quo, and occasional actual embezzlement in department heads, finance, the city council, and the like. Most of which is either tiny amounts, or actually legal. Stupid people rob stores and go to jail, smart people rob everybody and get voted in for a new term, right? Where Gotham is noteworthy comes from a mix of low level and mid-level corruption you don't see in most cities."

    I closed the rear doors to the van and started the process of raising the hydraulic ramp into its travel position.

    "The way it's supposed to work is, if a simple clerk steals a hundred bucks, they get caught and fired. And if a supervisor steals a thousand bucks, they get caught, fired, and prosecuted. But in Gotham, for some strange reason-"

    -the Court of Owls, the magical evil sleeping beneath it, Doctor Gotham, the actual mafia-

    "-it just gets accepted. The clerk steals a hundred, gives his supervisor sixty of it, and keeps working. The supervisor pays for her groceries with a department credit card. The office boss may or may not care at all, because he's giving himself a ten grand bonus using budget adjustments. Anyone who objects gets fired, maybe even framed. Anyone who really tries rocking the boat gets a visit from a mafia leg breaker, because the mafia is often either involved, or just for hire. Everyone's in on it at some level, even if, for most of them, it's just turning a blind eye. That's why the cops don't even really go after the officials behind it all. The situation is fucked-"

    STOP!

    Hwaaa?!

    Suddenly, Bat Mite was there, hanging in midair, grabbing my face with his little cartoon mitts.

    "YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" he ordered.

    I could see that the world around me was frozen. Katrina appeared to be still staring at me in horror, despite Bat Mite being between us. Close to the door of the building, several of the boys had been grab-assing, waiting on me to finish closing the cargo van, but were now frozen mid-motion. Even cars on the street had stopped.

    "Can't…?" I asked vaguely.

    "Okay, you can, but you shouldn't!" Bat Mite insisted again. "Look at her. Look at her!" he all but screamed. "You're not explaining the difficulties of your duty, you're just disillusioning someone who, despite everything, still had hope in her heart! You're taking your misery out on the people around you!"

    I looked at Katrina. Not with Observe or anything like that, just with my ordinary eyes and the experience I had of being a cynic.

    Shit.

    He's right.

    I think, for Katrina, the knowledge had killed one of her secret hopes: that if the right person had just woken up and started changing things, everything would get better. Mrs. Anderson had buckled down and just got meaner when she'd been truly disillusioned. Katrina…

    Well, Katrina was like me. The true, original me. The one who'd been confronted by the shit of the world, and lost motivation.

    Who went through the motions, but had lost the drive long ago, and just got worse from there on out.

    The one who had died bitter and alone.

    Being Batman hadn't changed that. Not really. Not fundamentally. A change of expression, not kind. Even without the health problems and the brain chemistry problems and the situation problems… well, the phrase 'learned helplessness' comes into it. Or maybe unhealthy coping mechanisms. Or maybe even other things I'm not able to self-diagnose.

    I had to stop and turn away.

    "Listen, man, when I said I was available to talk, I was serious, okay?" Bat Mite continued, floating behind me. "I kinda expected you to talk to me this morning, but you never slowed down."

    I sighed. Didn't say anything.

    "Look, I get it. I'm the biggest Batman fan in the multiverse, I know how he gets. The recrimination, throwing himself into the work, that kind of thing. And if it was just that, maybe I wouldn't say anything. I'm walking a fine line here, you know. Helping without dominating. There are Rules, after all."

    Yeah. He'd explained some of it to me when we first met. It's like dealing with the Q. They police their own. Godlike powers, not actually much agency, because the alternative is worse.

    A lot worse.

    Bat Mite is going to a hell of a lot of effort on my behalf, and I can not allow myself to forget that. I have no idea what this is costing him. He won't allow me to know.

    "But this… you can't involve the civilians. You can talk to your peers, your mentors, even your sidekicks about your problems and doubt. But not the regular people. Don't take it out on them, please," he continued. "Build her up! Inspire her, send her to school, put her in charge of a charity or get her to run for mayor or something, but don't break her down. It's not right. That's not who Batman should be."

    I walked over to a stoop and sat on it. I still didn't say anything.

    What was I to say?

    He was right.

    But at the same time, I didn't know how to handle it. What to do next, the motivation to move on, the grit to fix it. According to my character sheet, I've got all of those things… but it's… it's hard to describe. Extrinsic vs intrinsic.

    The evil is in me.

    This is why the bad things wanted me to be Batman. Not because of my rage, or my intrusive thoughts, or anything like that.

    But my depression.

    Batman is almost unbeatable-

    -except by Batman.

    Tears started forming in my eyes.

    Goddamn it. Just… goddammit.

    I've been given everything Bruce had and more, and I can't even get through my second goddamn night of actually being Batman before breaking down. Hell, I didn't even make it through my first night without fucking up so bad someone died because of it. Second night, too, come to think of it.

    "Bruce Wayne usually spends a couple of years or more going out as a vigilante before he puts on the mask. People always die. No one can save everyone. And you… wait, what do you mean, second night, too?"

    It took me a minute to figure out that I'd spoken that last bit out loud.

    "The old guy? Heart attack? If I'd been more gentle with him, maybe, I don't know…" I trailed off.

    "Bruce, that guy lived," Bat Mite said with mild but fond exasperation.

    "Bullshit," I spat back. "I did CPR for like ten minutes. His heart was not beating."

    He shook his head. "You performed CPR for twenty three minutes and nine seconds. And his heart beat for every one of those, because that's what CPR does, you silly hero."

    Hah?

    "You kept his blood flowing and oxygenated. The fire medic would have given up in five minutes. You kept him alive until the actual ambulance got there, and the paramedic gave him nitroglycerin, adrenaline, and amiodarone. He went into VF, and they used shocks to get it beating normally. Honestly, he shouldn't have given him the nitro, he should have given him- but I digress. He lived. So did his wife."

    I gaped at the tiny, near omniscient being.

    "Did you save him?" I asked.

    "Only insomuch as I helped you be there in the first place," Bat Mite denied. "The Rules are the Rules, but your origin as an Outsider means I can fudge them a bit. But no, Bruce. You saved him. Seven people and a dog would have died in that fire, and the perpetrators would have succeeded in their insurance scam, if not for you." He paused. "Oh, yeah, you need to swing by there today. Chewy the mini-schnauzer got left behind when his owners were carried to the hospital, and none of the other residents noticed. He's got until tomorrow before he gets picked up by the pound."

    "…Noted," I replied. The little dog had tried to savagely tear into my ankles and calves, but he was just protecting his family. Can't blame him for that.

    "I assume you're going to set them up in an assisted living facility?" Bat Mite asked.

    "Yeah, that had been the plan. Well, the old woman, since I thought the man died."

    "Right. You'll need to keep the dog for about three weeks until you get Rosanna set up. Swing by the hospital this afternoon and offer to pay for their medical bills, and they'll keep her in the same room as Bill for 'observation' until then. That'll give you time."

    My mind whirled. I needed to call Alfred, and have him see about finding the other people as well. I was already paying for hotel stays for these fire victims, I could afford a few more. I looked up, and Bat Mite was smiling at me.

    "Feels good, doesn't it?"

    "What?"

    "Saving people."

    I sighed. "Bat Mite, I'm doing more for these people as Bruce Wayne than I am as Batman."

    "Bruce Wayne didn't break into a burning building and save seven lives. And a dog. Bruce Wayne didn't record the arsonist and the guy paying him. Bruce Wayne can't save Gotham alone."

    He paused.

    "And neither can Batman. You have to be both, man. Even a lot of Batman variants forget that. You're the first I've really focused on that's swung too far towards the Bruce side of the equation, but I get where you're coming from."

    I scrubbed at my eyes. "It's just so goddamn stupid. Why do I have to put on a furry fetishist suit to help people?"

    "Well, really, you know why, but let's break it down. Batman did it so he would become a symbol of fear, but also of justice, to the criminals of Gotham. Then it snowballed from there, and you know perfectly good and well that without Batman, there's a very high chance the Earth will fall. Conquered or destroyed from without, and within. Both directly, and through the efforts of the heroes he helps, trains, supports, and saves. But, while ordinarily, there wouldn't actually be anything preventing you, specifically, from, say, putting on an owl themed suit, or power armor, or even a pretty pretty maid outfit like Maid-man, you made the deal with me, but also Bat. I can run your Gamer system, but I can't pay the bill. You need Bat, too, so you have to hold up your side of the deal."

    Bat. The totemic spirit of bats as a group. Bat is not a powerful totem. There's less than 1500 different species worldwide, and they're neither majestic herbivores or powerful carnivores or clever omnivores. They're widely considered disgusting or diseased, and the only thing they have conceptual advantages over are caves, night, darkness, and moths.

    Killer Moth has never, and will never, win any real victories over any of the Bat-family.

    They're decently equipped for fear and vampire themes, but unfortunatly terribly, terribly weak. But for a superhero that goes out at night, that's not a bad combo. Ninjas, real ninjas, generally got murked by samurai in a straight fight, but ninjas don't fight fair. And Bat, well, liked Batman. Bats, the animal, didn't give much of a shit about him, since he neither ate bats, nor was eaten by bats, but the totem spirit got a big, big burst of belief and respect because of Batman. In the worlds where the totem wasn't eaten by the Hyper-adapter, it provided a lot of little bennies, mostly by shooing low level magics away from the notoriously magic-averse Batman.

    I wasn't going to get the same benefit, but I got the Gamer system out of it, which is a pretty damned good trade.

    "You're a mascot character, Batman," Bat Mite added. "Takes one to know one, right? Didn't you dress up as that stupid green boll weevil fursuit in college?"

    "No, I broke up with the girl first, I know you know this," I disagreed. Long story, but I've done as much stupid shit while chasing skirt as many other men, so let's leave it at that.

    "You mean she broke up with you."

    "Whatever," I said, rolling my eyes.

    "Don't you feel better now?" Bat Mite asked. "Yes, someone died on your watch, but it was not, and I repeat, not, your fault. Technically, a bunch of people died yesterday, and those weren't your fault either. You will always have failures. Not even the Justice Lords tyrannical police state could totally stop murder or accidental deaths. Yes, you've got a big job ahead of you, and I completely respect that it feels overwhelming. Batman, the iconic Batman, really is special. But you're not bad. You're not destined to be a failure. Actually, I think it's rather fascinating to see how much you're putting into the Bruce Wayne side of things. That's good! That's absolutely a good thing. I respect it, even. I've heard people say that Batman is the real person, and Bruce is the mask, and I agree with that, at least in relation to many of the Batmen across the multiverse, but it doesn't have to be that way."

    He swooped over to sit beside me, and continued.

    "That's the best part about this, you know? I don't mind helping you with the Gamer system. I don't mind at all. You're trying. And the change in approach is refreshing. Yes, you do have to go out as Bat-man, but it's totally okay to not do it every single night. You don't have to patrol like a beat cop, especially not if you're using that time to save people in other ways. Remember, Batman may be the real person, but even he often forgets that he put on the mask to save other people." Bat Mite gestured over at the shelter. "The average Batman would throw fifty grand at the place and turn away. But here you are, personally pushing a mop! Driving a truck! Bruce Wayne can be a hero, too!"

    "The average Batman wouldn't be doing those things because he doesn't have time to do them, Bat Mite. Opportunity cost, dude," I countered.

    "Pffsh, don't give me that," he denied emphatically. "As if making sure people have a place to sleep and food to eat isn't the actual point. As if there are better things to do. Sure, it takes a lot of training and daily work to be able to be Batman, but that doesn't apply to you! You've got the Gamer system! You HAVE the time. And even if you didn't, it's still one of the best things you can do. You are inspiring these people, you doofus! A single man can't save Gotham, much less the world, but you're not just one man! You're the tip of a spear made of Alfred and Lucius and Harold and, potentially, Katrina and Fina and all the other good people of Gotham and the world and the universe."

    He was getting more and more animated, waving his arms and gesturing with his hands, and he even jumped up and started pacing back and forth on the street.

    "You lead the way, Bruce! You make the breakthroughs that allow the ones behind you to follow! This is exactly what you're supposed to be doing! You're not failing! You've never failed until you've given up. But you were making a big, big mistake with Katrina. She's not as strong as she pretends to be, but that's only because she's broken! That piece of human trash that she was dating bruised more than just her flesh. But you don't try to stand on a broken leg! Let it heal, then you can rely on it! Damn it, Bruce! You can do this! Inspire, lead, and support, and you will win way more than a thousand victories!" he said, mangling a Sun Tzu quote I recognized a bit.

    "I'm sorry," I said.

    "Don't apologize to me, apologize to Katrina!" he snapped back. "Wait, don't do that. No. No, I'm not mad at you, Bruce. Not mad. I'm not even disappointed. You're doing a good job, especially for who you are. I'm coaching you, Bat-man. That's why coaches have time-outs, right? That's what this is. A time out. Guidance. A pep talk. You can absolutely do this, you just need to correct your stance, correct your posture, help change your approach. I'm behind you, Bruce. Believe in the me, who believes in you!"

    How could I say no, in the face of that? Kamina's speech was weaksauce compared to the passion Bat Mite put into every word.

    I nodded. I paused, and I nodded again, holding a finger up for him to give me a moment.

    I glanced over at where Katrina was still frozen. I had to think a moment. I had to prepare to talk to her again.

    I had time. I don't know if Bat Mite had accelerated me, or froze everyone else, or what, but what he gave me was time. Time for self-recrimination, true, but that would be wasteful, and spitting on his help. I had to step up. I had to be a hero.

    I had to believe. I had to be Batman.

    After a bit, I got up, stretched a bit, rubbed my eyes, and then nodded.

    "Thanks, Bat Mite."

    "Hey, no problem. Well, nothing I can't handle," he bragged a little. "Chin up, Bruce. You've got some good news coming this afternoon. Real good news. And, you know, I've got a surprise for you tonight. Something that might help you out a bit. Just keep doing what's right, and you'll make it. If you're ready to talk to Katrina again, just resume your former position."

    I nodded and went back to the controls for the hydraulic ramp on the truck. I felt a little bit of pressure as Bat Mite invisibly adjusted my position.

    He winked at me. "Remember, good news this afternoon, and a nice surprise tonight. I'm going to erase the last minute of Katrina's memory. Don't worry though, it'll all seem seamless to her. Now go out there and hero, hero."

    It still took me a few moments to decide on what to say again, where to start over. And then-

    "-every city has that sort of issue," I found myself saying. I stopped, because that had been weird.

    Katrina was kind of staring at me with big brown eyes. When I didn't immediately resume talking, she kind of scoffed and said, "So you're telling me this is normal?" She gestured around her. "This?"

    I shook my head as the hydraulics started whining, having reached the end of their travel. The ramp was up and the doors were blocked. I looked over as all of the teenagers of the crew came and added to my audience.

    "No. It's not normal. Some aspects are normal, but, uh, you see…" I had to stop and shake my head again. "Sorry. Lost train of thought there for a moment. No, what I'm saying is, nothing is ever perfect. But Gotham… Gotham's biggest problem is that there are certain people, and groups of people, who sit in positions of power, and enforce a status quo that brings them money and keeps them in power. And they use their power and their money to punish anyone who tries to make it better. As a result, even the good people of Gotham have a kind of learned helplessness. They've given up."

    I stepped away from the truck and gestured around.

    "Most people aren't fighters. They're not leaders. And that's fine. It's enough for most people to just go about their lives, so long as they're decent. But you do need some leaders, and the actual leaders of Gotham have been systematically taken out. I don't mean killed, though certainly some have. I mean corruption, giving up, and just being worn down and marginalized. I mean, it's very difficult to start a grassroots campaign to root out corruption, when you have to work all day, every day, just to provide for your family. Being an activist takes time, and even with volunteers, who are increasingly rare because they have their own problems, it always takes some money. Usually a lot more than you'd think. But even with money, which I have, it takes time. And it takes people. More time and more manpower than any one man can provide."

    "So what do we do? I mean…"

    "Is it fixable?" I asked for her. "Absolutely. Not overnight, but it's fixable."

    "But how?" one of the boys asked, though I don't think he really understood what he was asking, since he'd missed the first part of the conversation.

    That was fine for my purposes, though.

    "I'll tell you what I'm doing to fix it," I replied quietly, making my audience draw closer to hear me. "I'm looking for leaders. Yes, I'm going around and spending money on fixing shelters and feeding people and all kinds of charity stuff. But if that was all it took, Gotham would be one of the greatest cities in the world. No, the reason I'm out here, pushing mops and buying stoves, is I'm looking for the next leaders. The people at the bottom, who have had no choice but to acknowledge that everything is fucked."

    There were gasps and a few giggles at my profanity.

    "People who can't close their eyes and pretend that things are alright. People who are willing to set up and start putting in the work. Look, I'm rich. I'm fabulously rich. But I'm still just one man, and for that matter, there's a lot of things I, personally, can't do. Time, or skill, or whatever. No, I want to find the people who have the will, but not the time or money. People who don't have time, because they don't have money. Because, again, I've got money."

    I got some nods. A few boys even looked excited. Katrina looked somber.

    I pointed at her. "Katrina, you stepped up to fight the fire. You stepped up when trying to fix this mess. Will you be one of my leaders? I'm going to fight the bad guys from the top. I'm making allies and building cases and designing solutions, and I'm going to be paying for nearly all of it myself. But unless I have a place to stand, I can't topple the towers. I can't replace embezzlers and corrupt politicians unless I have someone to replace them with. Because otherwise it'll all degenerate into anarchy, and not only will nothing get done, it'll all get worse."

    "Just… why hasn't anyone stepped up before now?" Katrina all but demanded, not answering my rhetorical question asking her if she would be a leader.

    "People have," I replied. "People like Mrs. Anderson, the head of this charity. They're out there, fighting the good fight. Pushing back. But they've been in need of money, and help. Help we can provide."

    "So what do I need to do?" she asked again.

    I smiled. "Well, for now, I need you to drive the passenger van, and follow me out to my house so we can clean up this furniture. Once we've got the shelter back up again, we'll have some breathing room to make more plans. Short term, you should probably see a doctor. And a dentist."

    "I don't have dentist mon- oh."

    "Yeah. I've got it. We'll get you taken care of. And then figure out how to take care of others, right? I don't know what role you'll have. Maybe, you'll be a part of the cleanup crew I'm going to send to all the shelters. Maybe you'll end up running one. Maybe you'll teach. Maybe you'll run for mayor." I shrugged. "Really, it's up to you."

    I turned to the teenagers.

    "Really, it's all up to you," I repeated. "I can't fix everything by myself. What I can do is give you a choice. A chance. I'll make sure every one of you gets the education you need to be the person you want to be. And together, we'll clean up this city, whether it wants to be or not."

    I tried not to see the fervor shining in a few sets of eyes. I had to not let my cynicism, my disillusionment with leaders infect these kids who still had some hope. I'd spent a big chunk of my life hoping to find a leader worth following, and been disappointed every time. This time, I would MAKE some leaders worth supporting.

    My impostor syndrome, my pessimism wasn't going to save the world.

    But maybe there really were things I could do that would.

    "Great," I announced. "I'm inviting you out to my manor. We're gonna get this furniture cleaned up in a space where we can work. Being out here on the sidewalk is terribly inconvenient."

    Wayne Manor had its own car wash. Separate but attached to the big underground garage where Thomas Wayne kept his fleet, it had the same floor space as a normal person's house. You could park six cars in it and have room to work. It wasn't automated in any way, but instead had pressure and steam washers. It was perfect for spreading out the furniture and appliances and washing them down, without being in the damned street.

    I made arrangements for Mrs. Rusen to order food for everyone, as I didn't think I'd be back in time. Katrina was going to drive the loaner van, with the kids, and I'd drive the box truck. We headed for Wayne Manor.

    As I drove, I considered my other looming problem.

    I'd been considering asking Katrina to be my date for the upcoming gala, but the morning had convinced me not to.

    Katrina did have a spark. She had some fire.

    But Bat Mite was right; that fire was half extinguished. I had no doubt her mouth, her willingness to argue back, had gotten her a lot of pain throughout her life. She was quick to question, but she backed down fast when I replied to her. Part of that, I'm sure, was our relative power disparity.

    The other part of that was that she was clearly still recovering from getting the shit beat out of her by her ex-boyfriend. She was quick to step up, to get me to focus on her, instead of the kids, especially Fina, but she subconsciously expected the worst.

    Especially from a giant like me.

    No, Katrina probably had the courage to accept my invitation. But she wouldn't be able to hold her own, not among the truly privileged. They'd regard her as a pity invite, a performance piece, because she would be. It'd torpedo her reputation among the elite, if she ever did run for mayor or something. I think, out of everyone I knew, only Mrs. Anderson had the kind of personality that would be able to hold her own at the gala.

    Fuck.

    I've heard that the nicer celebrities often have trouble dating outside people on a similar social level. I mean, shit, I'm a powerful man, physical, economically, socially, and personally. Although I still kind of hate social interactions, pulling on the batman multiversal gestalt with the Gamer system gave me all of the tools I needed to handle people, solo or in groups.

    And thank Bat Mite for that! I'd never be able to do the social stuff without it!

    But it does make me feel kinda awkward. None of these people are my peers. None of them are 'named characters', people I know from the setting. I hate using the term NPC for real people, but it does sort of fit. Katrina is not going to put on a domino mask and a cape and start punching muggers by the light of streetlamps.

    On the other hand, let's turn it around and say I could find a 'named character'. Bruce has dated plenty over the years, and there's a great deal more besides. Vicki Vale would be a good bet. She's her own character, generally speaking even more so than Lois Lane.

    There's two problems.

    One, she's still in college, working on a journalism degree. Bruce graduated early, Vicki didn't. She's just straight up not available.

    Two, she is a named character. I've never really 'shipped' her and Bruce. Was always a Catwoman fan. But that gets into the problem.

    How the fuuuuuuuck am I supposed to interact with these people I know too much about? The only situation I can liken it to is if I were to suddenly meet a celebrity. I've never been much for celebrities. I don't follow celebrity gossip, and I've never really been a fan of a real person. I don't lust after pretty actresses or musicians. I recognize attractiveness, but that thing where some people find famous people super irresistible just because they're famous has completely missed me.

    Actually, it hits me the opposite. 'Hi, I parasocially know many things about you. Can I be a part of your life?'

    That makes me cringe hard. I mean, I have a hard enough time connecting with normal people, adding that kind of disconnect to an interaction means it's functionally impossible for me to handle.

    And these 'canon' characters… it's much the same. I kind of dread actually meeting Superman. It's bad enough dealing with Alfred and Lucius and Allnut.

    I like Catwoman, I like Selena Kyle.

    As comic characters for Batman to interact with.

    And now here I am, Batman. I haven't actually looked for Selena Kyle yet. What the FUCK am I supposed to do if I find her? She's an independent woman, she doesn't need some black costumed savior to swoop in. Nor does she need some parasocial fan who wants to interact just because he likes her.

    And dating? Forget it. Back when I did fanfiction, the whole 'self-insert, date your favorite waifu' sort of thing… I didn't mind reading it, though it's a bit cringe. But I never wrote it, because I literally could not imagine doing it.

    Now that's kinda biting me in the ass.

    I care a lot about consent. Agency. I don't want to bring a pet. I don't want to Elon Musk it and just use wealth and coercion. And I also don't want to parasocial it with someone I 'know'.

    God, it had been literal minutes after my last pep-talk, and I was already spiraling again. But dammit, I'm not gonna let this get me down. I'm gonna do the right thing. I'm going to ask for help.

    "Bat Mite, what would Batman do for a date?" I asked.

    "For the gala?" he verified.

    "Yeah." I briefly explained my dilemma, from power disparity to the issues of meta knowledge.

    "Oh that's easy," he replied with a relieved tone. "I was worried you were going to ask something hard. Your problem is that you're treating this like either an event with a guest, or an actual date. To any of the good Bruce Waynes, this would be a fairly straightforward transactional thing. If you just want sex, you hire a hooker. If you need someone for a higher class of interaction than just sex, you go for an escort. And if you take almost all of the actual sex out of the equation, you go for the next tier."

    I glanced over at my mentor, and returned to driving.

    "Bring a model, silly."

    I just have to bring a model.

    D'oh.

    "Now, it's still functionally a transactional thing," he lectured me from his higher dimensional point of view. "But with models, you don't want to make them feel like a prostitute. You don't just hand over cash for the experience, you buy them jewelry and clothes. There's a nice gift bag for the gala, right? That and some diamonds and you're golden. Some will see that as a contract, and offer sex afterward, especially if you spend enough on them. Some will just want you to be their Sugar Daddy, and offer sex to keep you around. But fundamentally, they will understand that you're hiring them to be at a place and look pretty for other people. That's their job! They won't resent you for that."

    Huh. Although there's a bit of disconnect in seeing Bat Mite, who's rather cartoony, talk authoritatively about prostitution, I can't say that it's bad advice. It makes a lot of sense, actually.

    "Thanks, Bat Mite."

    "It's what I'm here for, bud. Thanks for asking." He patted me on the shoulder and disappeared.

    Hire a model. Of course, that's exactly what Bruce Wayne would do. A transactional exchange with no feelings on either side, payment for services, and exactly the right social appearance. Excellent. It's great to have that problem solved.

    I don't know any models, but that's probably not a big deal. I'll talk to Alfred about it later.

    For now, I had to ride herd on five teenagers and a woman at the manor. Clean up some furniture, maybe order a bunch of pizzas for lunch.

    Oh, and go pick up a dog.


    xxxxxxxxx


    AN: As promised, this is where SIBruce starts really getting his head out of his ass. Bat Mite is best 5th dimensional being. Mister Mxyzptlk is an asshole. Chapter seven is up on my patreon, but the upcoming chapter eight is where he gives canon a big ol kick with the first of his efforts to derail one of Batman's rogues. It was originally supposed to be a part of seven, but it's running long.

    Next up, though, I'm going back to Ice Pie for two weeks.

    Personally, I'm doing better. Thanks a bunch to the people who signed up for patreon and donated money through ko-fi. I can definitely make it through the unexpected bills of this month now.

    Nugar | creating Original Fantasy and/or Scifi, and occasional fan proje | Patreon

    I have a Ko-Fi now.

    https://ko-fi.com/nugar
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Can someone please get Bat mite award for Best MVP player in the Batman verse.
    Every Batman needs a Batmite Coach.
    Of course, Batmite knows about professional prostitution ethics for the Bat Clan , which Bruce Wayne Si was overthinking it for a date at the Gala.
    It's all transactional up with the no strings attached to your Bruce Wayne Si.
    Where would Bruce Wayne Si be without Bat mite , Mr Mxy has got competitive for best extra dimensional Being.
    Continue on
    Cheers!
     
    Nugar said:
    When the women and children showed up, I had been there for hours. They found me using a pole handled scraper to remove acoustic from the ceiling on the bottom floor. Acoustic is the pebbly stuff they spray on internal ceilings as texture and to stop echoes. It's cheap and easy to apply, but also sort of soaks up smoke and grime and water.

    What else was I going to do?

    I already stank of fire and smoke, even after I took off the bat costume. I had apparently gotten pretty scorched at some point when I was going through the burning building, and while my outfit was fire resistant, there had been damage to some of the 'placeholder' components. It was just the version one suit, after all, and not everything was made of super advanced materials yet.

    I was kind of disheartened, so instead of taking a shower and going to sleep, I just grabbed one of my big box vans and hit a big box hardware store the moment it opened. I grabbed pallets of cleaners and tools and hit the women's shelter early.

    Unfortunately, not even billions of dollars could hire a local cleanup crew on twelve hour's notice, at least not without really throwing my weight around, and I wasn't willing to do that. One would be available in another day, though.

    Mostly, I just felt the need to do something. After the failures of the night before, tackling something I knew I could handle felt pretty good. I had all the bottom floor, and the hallways of the second floor, scraped before eight AM, and had most of the debris shoveled up before the women arrived.

    "Bruce Wayne?! What are you doing here so early?" Mrs. Rusen exclaimed when they walked in.

    "Coping."

    I can't tell if I was gratified or embarrassed that every woman, every adult present, just kind of nodded in understanding and started helping out.

    We got the less physical people to cleaning up stuff, and I grabbed the teenage boys and a few of the women and started hauling the appliances into the back of the big box truck.

    Some enterprising Gothamites had stolen a couple of the appliances left out on the street from the day before, as well as all of the furniture I'd left out there. Both of the scorched stoves and refrigerators had gone missing, despite this being one of the nicer, safer neighborhoods.

    Several people expressed shock and anger at people who would steal from a women's shelter, but I settled them down when I explained that I'd deliberately left that furniture outside so we didn't have to haul it off ourselves, that I was buying new stuff. Desperate people willing to steal sooty appliances were probably willing to clean them up and use them, or sell them to a pawn shop that would. And if they weren't willing to clean it up, having a stinky, grody stove was its own punishment. Not to mention the sofas and chairs.

    The better appliances and the stuff made of wood had been moved back inside before I left for the night. Using some furniture moving gear, dollies and even a small electric pallet jack I'd brought, we got everything that needed cleaning loaded up in the big box van.

    It was kinda funny. I'm not a leader of men. Or women, for that matter. But I ended up with my own sort of crew while I worked. All four of the teenage boys, one teenage girl who was clearly a bit of a tomboy and had refused to babysit, and the black woman who clearly didn't trust me.

    Her name was Katrina Doyer, and she had two fading black eyes, a healing lip, and some missing teeth, in addition to various bruises here and there. I caught her hitching in pain more than once, but I had to back off and respect her insistence on being one of the furniture movers despite it all. She had a six year old son who was back at the hotel. She'd also taken the teenage tomboy under her wing, and was clearly watching over her.

    Considering that the teenager, Fina Wilms, was seventeen, cute as hell, and had all the boys tripping over themselves to show off for her, I didn't blame her. She was probably also wary of any attention I might give her, because poor Fina had instantly developed a crush on me.

    I was 6'6" and handsome, with a chiseled jaw and comic book hero body. I was also rich and fixing their problems. Several of the women lingered and made comments, actually.

    It was sort of repulsive. I'd done alright in my first life, I'd been flirted with before, but never to that degree, and never with that kind of undercurrent of desperation. Mrs. Rusen was actually extremely helpful in that regard, showing the kind of insight you want in someone whose job is managing people.

    Fina wanted to show off how tough and strong and adult and independent she was. So did all the boys. They got in each other's way beautifully.

    Katrina was much more interesting.

    "Forty seven percent," I told her.

    "No," she replied in horror.

    "Yep. And it took putting our own people in at almost every single level in almost every single Gotham based charity to get that far. Just over half of all the money, more than sixteen million dollars last year alone, disappears into a rat's nest of corruption and inefficiency," I explained. "Take Mayor Bernard. By himself, he is not legally corrupt. But he does play the political game, and there's any number of inefficiencies that result from that. That's normal, though. Every city has that sort of issue."

    The box van I had driven over was big enough to park a car in and still open the door to get out of, and that was before it had been modified with expanding sides and roof. It barely fit down narrow streets, and was actually at the limit of what was legal before it had to have a wide load sign and a pair of chase cars. We managed to get every single piece of furniture from the first two floors into it.

    "There's also the usual suspects of kickbacks, buddy-buddys, quid pro quo, and occasional actual embezzlement in department heads, finance, the city council, and the like. Most of which is either tiny amounts, or actually legal. Stupid people rob stores and go to jail, smart people rob everybody and get voted in for a new term, right? Where Gotham is noteworthy comes from a mix of low level and mid-level corruption you don't see in most cities."

    I closed the rear doors to the van and started the process of raising the hydraulic ramp into its travel position.

    "The way it's supposed to work is, if a simple clerk steals a hundred bucks, they get caught and fired. And if a supervisor steals a thousand bucks, they get caught, fired, and prosecuted. But in Gotham, for some strange reason-"

    -the Court of Owls, the magical evil sleeping beneath it, Doctor Gotham, the actual mafia-

    "-it just gets accepted. The clerk steals a hundred, gives his supervisor sixty of it, and keeps working. The supervisor pays for her groceries with a department credit card. The office boss may or may not care at all, because he's giving himself a ten grand bonus using budget adjustments. Anyone who objects gets fired, maybe even framed. Anyone who really tries rocking the boat gets a visit from a mafia leg breaker, because the mafia is often either involved, or just for hire. Everyone's in on it at some level, even if, for most of them, it's just turning a blind eye. That's why the cops don't even really go after the officials behind it all. The situation is fucked-"

    STOP!

    Hwaaa?!

    Suddenly, Bat Mite was there, hanging in midair, grabbing my face with his little cartoon mitts.

    "YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" he ordered.

    I could see that the world around me was frozen. Katrina appeared to be still staring at me in horror, despite Bat Mite being between us. Close to the door of the building, several of the boys had been grab-assing, waiting on me to finish closing the cargo van, but were now frozen mid-motion. Even cars on the street had stopped.

    "Can't…?" I asked vaguely.

    "Okay, you can, but you shouldn't!" Bat Mite insisted again. "Look at her. Look at her!" he all but screamed. "You're not explaining the difficulties of your duty, you're just disillusioning someone who, despite everything, still had hope in her heart! You're taking your misery out on the people around you!"

    I looked at Katrina. Not with Observe or anything like that, just with my ordinary eyes and the experience I had of being a cynic.

    Shit.

    He's right.

    I think, for Katrina, the knowledge had killed one of her secret hopes: that if the right person had just woken up and started changing things, everything would get better. Mrs. Anderson had buckled down and just got meaner when she'd been truly disillusioned. Katrina…

    Well, Katrina was like me. The true, original me. The one who'd been confronted by the shit of the world, and lost motivation.

    Who went through the motions, but had lost the drive long ago, and just got worse from there on out.

    The one who had died bitter and alone.

    Being Batman hadn't changed that. Not really. Not fundamentally. A change of expression, not kind. Even without the health problems and the brain chemistry problems and the situation problems… well, the phrase 'learned helplessness' comes into it. Or maybe unhealthy coping mechanisms. Or maybe even other things I'm not able to self-diagnose.

    I had to stop and turn away.

    "Listen, man, when I said I was available to talk, I was serious, okay?" Bat Mite continued, floating behind me. "I kinda expected you to talk to me this morning, but you never slowed down."

    I sighed. Didn't say anything.

    "Look, I get it. I'm the biggest Batman fan in the multiverse, I know how he gets. The recrimination, throwing himself into the work, that kind of thing. And if it was just that, maybe I wouldn't say anything. I'm walking a fine line here, you know. Helping without dominating. There are Rules, after all."

    Yeah. He'd explained some of it to me when we first met. It's like dealing with the Q. They police their own. Godlike powers, not actually much agency, because the alternative is worse.

    A lot worse.

    Bat Mite is going to a hell of a lot of effort on my behalf, and I can not allow myself to forget that. I have no idea what this is costing him. He won't allow me to know.

    "But this… you can't involve the civilians. You can talk to your peers, your mentors, even your sidekicks about your problems and doubt. But not the regular people. Don't take it out on them, please," he continued. "Build her up! Inspire her, send her to school, put her in charge of a charity or get her to run for mayor or something, but don't break her down. It's not right. That's not who Batman should be."

    I walked over to a stoop and sat on it. I still didn't say anything.

    What was I to say?

    He was right.

    But at the same time, I didn't know how to handle it. What to do next, the motivation to move on, the grit to fix it. According to my character sheet, I've got all of those things… but it's… it's hard to describe. Extrinsic vs intrinsic.

    The evil is in me.

    This is why the bad things wanted me to be Batman. Not because of my rage, or my intrusive thoughts, or anything like that.

    But my depression.

    Batman is almost unbeatable-

    -except by Batman.

    Tears started forming in my eyes.

    Goddamn it. Just… goddammit.

    I've been given everything Bruce had and more, and I can't even get through my second goddamn night of actually being Batman before breaking down. Hell, I didn't even make it through my first night without fucking up so bad someone died because of it. Second night, too, come to think of it.

    "Bruce Wayne usually spends a couple of years or more going out as a vigilante before he puts on the mask. People always die. No one can save everyone. And you… wait, what do you mean, second night, too?"

    It took me a minute to figure out that I'd spoken that last bit out loud.

    "The old guy? Heart attack? If I'd been more gentle with him, maybe, I don't know…" I trailed off.

    "Bruce, that guy lived," Bat Mite said with mild but fond exasperation.

    "Bullshit," I spat back. "I did CPR for like ten minutes. His heart was not beating."

    He shook his head. "You performed CPR for twenty three minutes and nine seconds. And his heart beat for every one of those, because that's what CPR does, you silly hero."

    Hah?

    "You kept his blood flowing and oxygenated. The fire medic would have given up in five minutes. You kept him alive until the actual ambulance got there, and the paramedic gave him nitroglycerin, adrenaline, and amiodarone. He went into VF, and they used shocks to get it beating normally. Honestly, he shouldn't have given him the nitro, he should have given him- but I digress. He lived. So did his wife."

    I gaped at the tiny, near omniscient being.

    "Did you save him?" I asked.

    "Only insomuch as I helped you be there in the first place," Bat Mite denied. "The Rules are the Rules, but your origin as an Outsider means I can fudge them a bit. But no, Bruce. You saved him. Seven people and a dog would have died in that fire, and the perpetrators would have succeeded in their insurance scam, if not for you." He paused. "Oh, yeah, you need to swing by there today. Chewy the mini-schnauzer got left behind when his owners were carried to the hospital, and none of the other residents noticed. He's got until tomorrow before he gets picked up by the pound."

    "…Noted," I replied. The little dog had tried to savagely tear into my ankles and calves, but he was just protecting his family. Can't blame him for that.

    "I assume you're going to set them up in an assisted living facility?" Bat Mite asked.

    "Yeah, that had been the plan. Well, the old woman, since I thought the man died."

    "Right. You'll need to keep the dog for about three weeks until you get Rosanna set up. Swing by the hospital this afternoon and offer to pay for their medical bills, and they'll keep her in the same room as Bill for 'observation' until then. That'll give you time."

    My mind whirled. I needed to call Alfred, and have him see about finding the other people as well. I was already paying for hotel stays for these fire victims, I could afford a few more. I looked up, and Bat Mite was smiling at me.

    "Feels good, doesn't it?"

    "What?"

    "Saving people."

    I sighed. "Bat Mite, I'm doing more for these people as Bruce Wayne than I am as Batman."

    "Bruce Wayne didn't break into a burning building and save seven lives. And a dog. Bruce Wayne didn't record the arsonist and the guy paying him. Bruce Wayne can't save Gotham alone."

    He paused.

    "And neither can Batman. You have to be both, man. Even a lot of Batman variants forget that. You're the first I've really focused on that's swung too far towards the Bruce side of the equation, but I get where you're coming from."

    I scrubbed at my eyes. "It's just so goddamn stupid. Why do I have to put on a furry fetishist suit to help people?"

    "Well, really, you know why, but let's break it down. Batman did it so he would become a symbol of fear, but also of justice, to the criminals of Gotham. Then it snowballed from there, and you know perfectly good and well that without Batman, there's a very high chance the Earth will fall. Conquered or destroyed from without, and within. Both directly, and through the efforts of the heroes he helps, trains, supports, and saves. But, while ordinarily, there wouldn't actually be anything preventing you, specifically, from, say, putting on an owl themed suit, or power armor, or even a pretty pretty maid outfit like Maid-man, you made the deal with me, but also Bat. I can run your Gamer system, but I can't pay the bill. You need Bat, too, so you have to hold up your side of the deal."

    Bat. The totemic spirit of bats as a group. Bat is not a powerful totem. There's less than 1500 different species worldwide, and they're neither majestic herbivores or powerful carnivores or clever omnivores. They're widely considered disgusting or diseased, and the only thing they have conceptual advantages over are caves, night, darkness, and moths.

    Killer Moth has never, and will never, win any real victories over any of the Bat-family.

    They're decently equipped for fear and vampire themes, but unfortunatly terribly, terribly weak. But for a superhero that goes out at night, that's not a bad combo. Ninjas, real ninjas, generally got murked by samurai in a straight fight, but ninjas don't fight fair. And Bat, well, liked Batman. Bats, the animal, didn't give much of a shit about him, since he neither ate bats, nor was eaten by bats, but the totem spirit got a big, big burst of belief and respect because of Batman. In the worlds where the totem wasn't eaten by the Hyper-adapter, it provided a lot of little bennies, mostly by shooing low level magics away from the notoriously magic-averse Batman.

    I wasn't going to get the same benefit, but I got the Gamer system out of it, which is a pretty damned good trade.

    "You're a mascot character, Batman," Bat Mite added. "Takes one to know one, right? Didn't you dress up as that stupid green boll weevil fursuit in college?"

    "No, I broke up with the girl first, I know you know this," I disagreed. Long story, but I've done as much stupid shit while chasing skirt as many other men, so let's leave it at that.

    "You mean she broke up with you."

    "Whatever," I said, rolling my eyes.

    "Don't you feel better now?" Bat Mite asked. "Yes, someone died on your watch, but it was not, and I repeat, not, your fault. Technically, a bunch of people died yesterday, and those weren't your fault either. You will always have failures. Not even the Justice Lords tyrannical police state could totally stop murder or accidental deaths. Yes, you've got a big job ahead of you, and I completely respect that it feels overwhelming. Batman, the iconic Batman, really is special. But you're not bad. You're not destined to be a failure. Actually, I think it's rather fascinating to see how much you're putting into the Bruce Wayne side of things. That's good! That's absolutely a good thing. I respect it, even. I've heard people say that Batman is the real person, and Bruce is the mask, and I agree with that, at least in relation to many of the Batmen across the multiverse, but it doesn't have to be that way."

    He swooped over to sit beside me, and continued.

    "That's the best part about this, you know? I don't mind helping you with the Gamer system. I don't mind at all. You're trying. And the change in approach is refreshing. Yes, you do have to go out as Bat-man, but it's totally okay to not do it every single night. You don't have to patrol like a beat cop, especially not if you're using that time to save people in other ways. Remember, Batman may be the real person, but even he often forgets that he put on the mask to save other people." Bat Mite gestured over at the shelter. "The average Batman would throw fifty grand at the place and turn away. But here you are, personally pushing a mop! Driving a truck! Bruce Wayne can be a hero, too!"

    "The average Batman wouldn't be doing those things because he doesn't have time to do them, Bat Mite. Opportunity cost, dude," I countered.

    "Pffsh, don't give me that," he denied emphatically. "As if making sure people have a place to sleep and food to eat isn't the actual point. As if there are better things to do. Sure, it takes a lot of training and daily work to be able to be Batman, but that doesn't apply to you! You've got the Gamer system! You HAVE the time. And even if you didn't, it's still one of the best things you can do. You are inspiring these people, you doofus! A single man can't save Gotham, much less the world, but you're not just one man! You're the tip of a spear made of Alfred and Lucius and Harold and, potentially, Katrina and Fina and all the other good people of Gotham and the world and the universe."

    He was getting more and more animated, waving his arms and gesturing with his hands, and he even jumped up and started pacing back and forth on the street.

    "You lead the way, Bruce! You make the breakthroughs that allow the ones behind you to follow! This is exactly what you're supposed to be doing! You're not failing! You've never failed until you've given up. But you were making a big, big mistake with Katrina. She's not as strong as she pretends to be, but that's only because she's broken! That piece of human trash that she was dating bruised more than just her flesh. But you don't try to stand on a broken leg! Let it heal, then you can rely on it! Damn it, Bruce! You can do this! Inspire, lead, and support, and you will win way more than a thousand victories!" he said, mangling a Sun Tzu quote I recognized a bit.

    "I'm sorry," I said.

    "Don't apologize to me, apologize to Katrina!" he snapped back. "Wait, don't do that. No. No, I'm not mad at you, Bruce. Not mad. I'm not even disappointed. You're doing a good job, especially for who you are. I'm coaching you, Bat-man. That's why coaches have time-outs, right? That's what this is. A time out. Guidance. A pep talk. You can absolutely do this, you just need to correct your stance, correct your posture, help change your approach. I'm behind you, Bruce. Believe in the me, who believes in you!"

    How could I say no, in the face of that? Kamina's speech was weaksauce compared to the passion Bat Mite put into every word.

    I nodded. I paused, and I nodded again, holding a finger up for him to give me a moment.

    I glanced over at where Katrina was still frozen. I had to think a moment. I had to prepare to talk to her again.

    I had time. I don't know if Bat Mite had accelerated me, or froze everyone else, or what, but what he gave me was time. Time for self-recrimination, true, but that would be wasteful, and spitting on his help. I had to step up. I had to be a hero.

    I had to believe. I had to be Batman.

    After a bit, I got up, stretched a bit, rubbed my eyes, and then nodded.

    "Thanks, Bat Mite."

    "Hey, no problem. Well, nothing I can't handle," he bragged a little. "Chin up, Bruce. You've got some good news coming this afternoon. Real good news. And, you know, I've got a surprise for you tonight. Something that might help you out a bit. Just keep doing what's right, and you'll make it. If you're ready to talk to Katrina again, just resume your former position."

    I nodded and went back to the controls for the hydraulic ramp on the truck. I felt a little bit of pressure as Bat Mite invisibly adjusted my position.

    He winked at me. "Remember, good news this afternoon, and a nice surprise tonight. I'm going to erase the last minute of Katrina's memory. Don't worry though, it'll all seem seamless to her. Now go out there and hero, hero."

    It still took me a few moments to decide on what to say again, where to start over. And then-

    "-every city has that sort of issue," I found myself saying. I stopped, because that had been weird.

    Katrina was kind of staring at me with big brown eyes. When I didn't immediately resume talking, she kind of scoffed and said, "So you're telling me this is normal?" She gestured around her. "This?"

    I shook my head as the hydraulics started whining, having reached the end of their travel. The ramp was up and the doors were blocked. I looked over as all of the teenagers of the crew came and added to my audience.

    "No. It's not normal. Some aspects are normal, but, uh, you see…" I had to stop and shake my head again. "Sorry. Lost train of thought there for a moment. No, what I'm saying is, nothing is ever perfect. But Gotham… Gotham's biggest problem is that there are certain people, and groups of people, who sit in positions of power, and enforce a status quo that brings them money and keeps them in power. And they use their power and their money to punish anyone who tries to make it better. As a result, even the good people of Gotham have a kind of learned helplessness. They've given up."

    I stepped away from the truck and gestured around.

    "Most people aren't fighters. They're not leaders. And that's fine. It's enough for most people to just go about their lives, so long as they're decent. But you do need some leaders, and the actual leaders of Gotham have been systematically taken out. I don't mean killed, though certainly some have. I mean corruption, giving up, and just being worn down and marginalized. I mean, it's very difficult to start a grassroots campaign to root out corruption, when you have to work all day, every day, just to provide for your family. Being an activist takes time, and even with volunteers, who are increasingly rare because they have their own problems, it always takes some money. Usually a lot more than you'd think. But even with money, which I have, it takes time. And it takes people. More time and more manpower than any one man can provide."

    "So what do we do? I mean…"

    "Is it fixable?" I asked for her. "Absolutely. Not overnight, but it's fixable."

    "But how?" one of the boys asked, though I don't think he really understood what he was asking, since he'd missed the first part of the conversation.

    That was fine for my purposes, though.

    "I'll tell you what I'm doing to fix it," I replied quietly, making my audience draw closer to hear me. "I'm looking for leaders. Yes, I'm going around and spending money on fixing shelters and feeding people and all kinds of charity stuff. But if that was all it took, Gotham would be one of the greatest cities in the world. No, the reason I'm out here, pushing mops and buying stoves, is I'm looking for the next leaders. The people at the bottom, who have had no choice but to acknowledge that everything is fucked."

    There were gasps and a few giggles at my profanity.

    "People who can't close their eyes and pretend that things are alright. People who are willing to set up and start putting in the work. Look, I'm rich. I'm fabulously rich. But I'm still just one man, and for that matter, there's a lot of things I, personally, can't do. Time, or skill, or whatever. No, I want to find the people who have the will, but not the time or money. People who don't have time, because they don't have money. Because, again, I've got money."

    I got some nods. A few boys even looked excited. Katrina looked somber.

    I pointed at her. "Katrina, you stepped up to fight the fire. You stepped up when trying to fix this mess. Will you be one of my leaders? I'm going to fight the bad guys from the top. I'm making allies and building cases and designing solutions, and I'm going to be paying for nearly all of it myself. But unless I have a place to stand, I can't topple the towers. I can't replace embezzlers and corrupt politicians unless I have someone to replace them with. Because otherwise it'll all degenerate into anarchy, and not only will nothing get done, it'll all get worse."

    "Just… why hasn't anyone stepped up before now?" Katrina all but demanded, not answering my rhetorical question asking her if she would be a leader.

    "People have," I replied. "People like Mrs. Anderson, the head of this charity. They're out there, fighting the good fight. Pushing back. But they've been in need of money, and help. Help we can provide."

    "So what do I need to do?" she asked again.

    I smiled. "Well, for now, I need you to drive the passenger van, and follow me out to my house so we can clean up this furniture. Once we've got the shelter back up again, we'll have some breathing room to make more plans. Short term, you should probably see a doctor. And a dentist."

    "I don't have dentist mon- oh."

    "Yeah. I've got it. We'll get you taken care of. And then figure out how to take care of others, right? I don't know what role you'll have. Maybe, you'll be a part of the cleanup crew I'm going to send to all the shelters. Maybe you'll end up running one. Maybe you'll teach. Maybe you'll run for mayor." I shrugged. "Really, it's up to you."

    I turned to the teenagers.

    "Really, it's all up to you," I repeated. "I can't fix everything by myself. What I can do is give you a choice. A chance. I'll make sure every one of you gets the education you need to be the person you want to be. And together, we'll clean up this city, whether it wants to be or not."

    I tried not to see the fervor shining in a few sets of eyes. I had to not let my cynicism, my disillusionment with leaders infect these kids who still had some hope. I'd spent a big chunk of my life hoping to find a leader worth following, and been disappointed every time. This time, I would MAKE some leaders worth supporting.

    My impostor syndrome, my pessimism wasn't going to save the world.

    But maybe there really were things I could do that would.

    "Great," I announced. "I'm inviting you out to my manor. We're gonna get this furniture cleaned up in a space where we can work. Being out here on the sidewalk is terribly inconvenient."

    Wayne Manor had its own car wash. Separate but attached to the big underground garage where Thomas Wayne kept his fleet, it had the same floor space as a normal person's house. You could park six cars in it and have room to work. It wasn't automated in any way, but instead had pressure and steam washers. It was perfect for spreading out the furniture and appliances and washing them down, without being in the damned street.

    I made arrangements for Mrs. Rusen to order food for everyone, as I didn't think I'd be back in time. Katrina was going to drive the loaner van, with the kids, and I'd drive the box truck. We headed for Wayne Manor.

    As I drove, I considered my other looming problem.

    I'd been considering asking Katrina to be my date for the upcoming gala, but the morning had convinced me not to.

    Katrina did have a spark. She had some fire.

    But Bat Mite was right; that fire was half extinguished. I had no doubt her mouth, her willingness to argue back, had gotten her a lot of pain throughout her life. She was quick to question, but she backed down fast when I replied to her. Part of that, I'm sure, was our relative power disparity.

    The other part of that was that she was clearly still recovering from getting the shit beat out of her by her ex-boyfriend. She was quick to step up, to get me to focus on her, instead of the kids, especially Fina, but she subconsciously expected the worst.

    Especially from a giant like me.

    No, Katrina probably had the courage to accept my invitation. But she wouldn't be able to hold her own, not among the truly privileged. They'd regard her as a pity invite, a performance piece, because she would be. It'd torpedo her reputation among the elite, if she ever did run for mayor or something. I think, out of everyone I knew, only Mrs. Anderson had the kind of personality that would be able to hold her own at the gala.

    Fuck.

    I've heard that the nicer celebrities often have trouble dating outside people on a similar social level. I mean, shit, I'm a powerful man, physical, economically, socially, and personally. Although I still kind of hate social interactions, pulling on the batman multiversal gestalt with the Gamer system gave me all of the tools I needed to handle people, solo or in groups.

    And thank Bat Mite for that! I'd never be able to do the social stuff without it!

    But it does make me feel kinda awkward. None of these people are my peers. None of them are 'named characters', people I know from the setting. I hate using the term NPC for real people, but it does sort of fit. Katrina is not going to put on a domino mask and a cape and start punching muggers by the light of streetlamps.

    On the other hand, let's turn it around and say I could find a 'named character'. Bruce has dated plenty over the years, and there's a great deal more besides. Vicki Vale would be a good bet. She's her own character, generally speaking even more so than Lois Lane.

    There's two problems.

    One, she's still in college, working on a journalism degree. Bruce graduated early, Vicki didn't. She's just straight up not available.

    Two, she is a named character. I've never really 'shipped' her and Bruce. Was always a Catwoman fan. But that gets into the problem.

    How the fuuuuuuuck am I supposed to interact with these people I know too much about? The only situation I can liken it to is if I were to suddenly meet a celebrity. I've never been much for celebrities. I don't follow celebrity gossip, and I've never really been a fan of a real person. I don't lust after pretty actresses or musicians. I recognize attractiveness, but that thing where some people find famous people super irresistible just because they're famous has completely missed me.

    Actually, it hits me the opposite. 'Hi, I parasocially know many things about you. Can I be a part of your life?'

    That makes me cringe hard. I mean, I have a hard enough time connecting with normal people, adding that kind of disconnect to an interaction means it's functionally impossible for me to handle.

    And these 'canon' characters… it's much the same. I kind of dread actually meeting Superman. It's bad enough dealing with Alfred and Lucius and Allnut.

    I like Catwoman, I like Selena Kyle.

    As comic characters for Batman to interact with.

    And now here I am, Batman. I haven't actually looked for Selena Kyle yet. What the FUCK am I supposed to do if I find her? She's an independent woman, she doesn't need some black costumed savior to swoop in. Nor does she need some parasocial fan who wants to interact just because he likes her.

    And dating? Forget it. Back when I did fanfiction, the whole 'self-insert, date your favorite waifu' sort of thing… I didn't mind reading it, though it's a bit cringe. But I never wrote it, because I literally could not imagine doing it.

    Now that's kinda biting me in the ass.

    I care a lot about consent. Agency. I don't want to bring a pet. I don't want to Elon Musk it and just use wealth and coercion. And I also don't want to parasocial it with someone I 'know'.

    God, it had been literal minutes after my last pep-talk, and I was already spiraling again. But dammit, I'm not gonna let this get me down. I'm gonna do the right thing. I'm going to ask for help.

    "Bat Mite, what would Batman do for a date?" I asked.

    "For the gala?" he verified.

    "Yeah." I briefly explained my dilemma, from power disparity to the issues of meta knowledge.

    "Oh that's easy," he replied with a relieved tone. "I was worried you were going to ask something hard. Your problem is that you're treating this like either an event with a guest, or an actual date. To any of the good Bruce Waynes, this would be a fairly straightforward transactional thing. If you just want sex, you hire a hooker. If you need someone for a higher class of interaction than just sex, you go for an escort. And if you take almost all of the actual sex out of the equation, you go for the next tier."

    I glanced over at my mentor, and returned to driving.

    "Bring a model, silly."

    I just have to bring a model.

    D'oh.

    "Now, it's still functionally a transactional thing," he lectured me from his higher dimensional point of view. "But with models, you don't want to make them feel like a prostitute. You don't just hand over cash for the experience, you buy them jewelry and clothes. There's a nice gift bag for the gala, right? That and some diamonds and you're golden. Some will see that as a contract, and offer sex afterward, especially if you spend enough on them. Some will just want you to be their Sugar Daddy, and offer sex to keep you around. But fundamentally, they will understand that you're hiring them to be at a place and look pretty for other people. That's their job! They won't resent you for that."

    Huh. Although there's a bit of disconnect in seeing Bat Mite, who's rather cartoony, talk authoritatively about prostitution, I can't say that it's bad advice. It makes a lot of sense, actually.

    "Thanks, Bat Mite."

    "It's what I'm here for, bud. Thanks for asking." He patted me on the shoulder and disappeared.

    Hire a model. Of course, that's exactly what Bruce Wayne would do. A transactional exchange with no feelings on either side, payment for services, and exactly the right social appearance. Excellent. It's great to have that problem solved.

    I don't know any models, but that's probably not a big deal. I'll talk to Alfred about it later.

    For now, I had to ride herd on five teenagers and a woman at the manor. Clean up some furniture, maybe order a bunch of pizzas for lunch.

    Oh, and go pick up a dog.


    xxxxxxxxx


    AN: As promised, this is where SIBruce starts really getting his head out of his ass. Bat Mite is best 5th dimensional being. Mister Mxyzptlk is an asshole. Chapter seven is up on my patreon, but the upcoming chapter eight is where he gives canon a big ol kick with the first of his efforts to derail one of Batman's rogues. It was originally supposed to be a part of seven, but it's running long.

    Next up, though, I'm going back to Ice Pie for two weeks.

    Personally, I'm doing better. Thanks a bunch to the people who signed up for patreon and donated money through ko-fi. I can definitely make it through the unexpected bills of this month now.

    Nugar | creating Original Fantasy and/or Scifi, and occasional fan proje | Patreon

    I have a Ko-Fi now.

    https://ko-fi.com/nugar
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    The Mc not realizing he perfectly embodies who bruce wayne is
     
    State of the Nugar
  • Extras
    • This is not a chapter, sorry. Next chapter is about 60% and moving slowly.


    Sorry and thanks to everyone in my patreon who's put up with no chapters for the past months. I'm writing, but it's very slow.


    And last month, actually, shit, two months ago, when I was actually making real progress... Boom. Another one. Officially a ministroke for now, but there's some indication that it was a real stroke, just like the two I had a year ago. Almost exactly a year ago, actually. Weird. Again, they think a drop in blood pressure caused my blood vessels to slam shut for a while.


    Fucked me up good. In some ways, not as bad as last time. In some ways, worse. Less permanent true damage, but this time it hit my cognition and memory, not my sensory and motor. Couldn't think straight, forgot some words. I haven't played videogames, I haven't written, I haven't talked to my closest friends online more than about a dozen times since this happened.


    So I've given up. I've filed for disability. Docs say I'll probably get it... eventually. Arkansas generally denies the first attempt every time.


    Meanwhile, I got hit with a surprise big bill from a specialist that medicare denied. I hate to ask.... But I'm desperate. If you have any spare cash, considering that we're all hurting, I would appreciate the help. Ashamed to ask, gotta.


    For ease of use, and avoiding Patreon's enshittification, Ko-fi is probably the best platform to use.


    Support Nugar writes on Ko-fi! ❤️. ko-fi.com/nugar


    In addition to my patreon already being basically a charity at this point, I need one time support. There's nothing new on patreon, new meaning posted in the last half year or so, but there's stuff on there that hasn't been publicly posted. And some of it was bits, story starts and the like. I've posted the best two to my bits and pieces thread, starting here. https://forum.questionablequesting....ts-and-pieces.9020/?post=9033107#post-9033107


    But if you do prefer to support me with a little bit over a longer term, patreon is still available.


    Nugar | creating Original Fantasy and/or Scifi, and occasional fan proje | Patreon


    Thanks for everything, hope you check out bits and pieces.


    Mentally, I am actually doing better. Therapy works, amazingly enough. I just gotta get disability going, and put out some damned chapters of stuff.
     
  • Extras
    • Yeah, writing a fic about Bats is tough... like, really damn tough. I actually had somewhere bits and pieces of my own trial on writing about si in batman, and in order to make it authentic I read books about criminalistics, deduction and induction ways of thinking, logic and etc... found different cases of murder, how actually criminals work in the web and outside of it... did you know that human trafficking is actually more prosperous in 21 century than it was in the past? You have actual websites to buy people... Holy Jesus, I've gone through many eye opening experiences that my whole world crumbled into dust... our world is a one Hell of a place, we definitely need to be better than we are right now

    edit: wish you a healthy lifu...
     
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