Chapter Text
So, 
derryderrydown and notpoetry were having this discussion.
It included:
notpoetry: He'd make friends with Aziraphale and then decide Crowley was more fun.
and
derryderrydown: And Bruce would be flailing madly when Jason first turned up. Because Jason would be in full angelic raiment.
and
notpoetry: I really think a Batman/GO xover would suitably break my brain. (Full version here.)
I may have made some suggestions in the comments. And then it occured to me it that if I was planning to post any others, this might be a better place, so...
"Basically, Aziraphale claimed Canada, Crowley claimed most of the old Soviet bloc, and they both take credit for the West Coast," Jason said.
"How very interesting," Alfred said. "And please take your sword off the table."
"Sure," Jason said. "Same thing with most of Scandanvia. And-- damn," he concentrated a moment on his sleeve, recently dipped into a cup of tea, until the stain was miracled away. "These things are not practical. I don't know how they used to manage the smiting in the old days."
"Perhaps you could change into something more appropriate." Alfred coughed. "Master Bruce did preserve many of your old clothes."
Jason shrugged and looked at Bruce. "I think we need to give him a little longer to accept it, before I go digging through my memorial." He waved a hand in front of Bruce's face. "You with us yet?"
There was no reply, although Jason thought he saw some eye-movement.
Alfred gave a discreet cough. "Perhaps you could borrow something of Master Timothy's? I really do feel he'll find it easier to cope when you're no longer wearing the chiton."
Next, Aziraphale visits the tower.
***
Aziraphale looked at them, smiling brightly. "So, Tim tells me your gifts came from gods."
Cassie looked at him. "Yeah, the God Ares."
"No, the god Ares." Aziraphale corrected.
Cassie shot him the look of someone who, having being raised lapsed Catholic, has since been cheerfully active in her involvement with Greek Gods, only to be confronted with a suspiciously Judeo-Christian angel. "That's what I said. The God Ares."
"Not God. The god. Ares is a god," Aziraphale said, slowly enunciating the punctuation.
Cassie shot a panicked look at Tim for help. "You know, Kory has some Tamaran books," he said. "They might be the only ones left."
"Really? Do you think she'd mind if I take a look?" Aziraphale said, disappearing off in search of the library.
"Thanks," Cassie said. "That was *weird*."
"No problem." Tim shrugged. "If it wasn't for Batman, I wouldn't have been able to hear the capitalisation either."
And another non-prophecy bit, back in Gotham.
***
"Bruce, this is important. Aziraphale could recall me if he thinks it's bad for me to be here."
Bruce's eyes dart up for a moment. It's a movement that's covered by the mask, but the mask doesn't mean anything to Jason's eyes now. "Back to-- Heaven?" And the slightest pause before the H word, just enough to show Bruce still isn't comfortable with it.
"Probably not that far," Jason admits. "But Canada, maybe. New Zealand, Norway, the Solomon Islands." He made a face. "Australia if he really thinks I need to be punished."
"What's wrong with--"
"We're not talking Sydney, here, Bruce. Not Cairns. Not even Melbourne. Like Melbourne *suburbs*. Or worse. One of those little satellite new towns around Canberra." He shudders.
"Just-- please." He looks at Bruce pleadingly.
Bruce has always had difficulty refusing Jason. "Fine. We'll have tea in the library, not the drawing room."
Jason breathes a sigh of relief and closes his eyes in the temporary bliss of a crisis averted, before a new concern makes an appearance. He opens his eyes. "And you know, if you have any Wilde first editions, you could just, you know, leave them lying about. And move any books where you've cracked the spine down to the Cave. Or not there, he might want to go there. Maybe into..."
Then some more prophecy bits. burntcopper said
:snoooorrrrt:
Oh, god, now I'm getting the horrible suspicion that Bruce is so going to leave the ones commenting in fashion sense in there for the Leaguers.
"Restrain thy consumption of thee littel bifcuits, for they shall make thee fatte like unto a carthorse, green one."
"Here. I had the computer scan and collect prophecies based on likely targets. These are the ones are aimed at Arsenal."
Dick raises an eyebrow. "You couldn't send them to him directly?"
"Done, but I don't trust him to read the important ones." Bruce taps at the highlighted sections on the printout.
"Thy Clothes shalle be thy Undoing. The Chappes shall chafe and rub thee Rawe, and thy Foe shall feare thee Notte," Dick reads. He looks up. "How many of these are about his costume?" He catches Bruce's grimmer than usual countenance. "You know, for someone who use to let me go about in green panties..."
"I didn't design the first costume," Bruce says, but Dick can tell that behind the mask, he's not meeting Nightwing's eyes.
~ ~ ~
Roy looks at the highlighted sections
"What is this? 'Few can weare Purple and be Admiréd, and ye are Notte Lex Luthor'? 'Looke thee to Friends for Guidence, but even Nytte-Winge has chosen his garbe well of late and Connor does fitte right well his Costume. But be warned, for Grace shalle suggest Clothes of Easie Acesse, and thy Enemies will Grabbe at Bindings and Caste their Blowes at Exposéd skin'? Man, what does she have against my costumes."
"Not all of them," Dick says. "I think she liked that red one. And you know, maybe if you spent a bit longer choosing one, you wouldn't be changing it so often."
"You sound like Dinah. Did you highlight these bits?"
"Batman did it." Roy looks up and catches Dick's eyes. "He has issues. Costumes are part of them."
Roy rolls his eyes, flicks through and then stops. Dick raises one eyebrow at the grin crossing Roy's face. "You found something good?"
Roy's grin grows wider. It's a little sleazy, but Roy's smiles have a tendency to do that, whether he means them to or not. "Something like that. Can you keep an eye on things here? I've got something I need to take care of."
Dick nods. Roy leaves, careful to take his prophecies with him. Dick shakes his head, then digs in his bag for the emergency copy he made on the way there. Flicks through until he finds the page he thinks Roy was looking at, and smiles.
"If thou Goest home nowe, Ollie and Mia Shalle be training in thee Forest, and Connor shalle be Alone. He has manny Teachinges and Strange Philosophies, and in their Absence and he shall followe the School of Nature and Meditate upon the Worlde Naked"
And then I did this for non-heroes.
***
"And ye shall choose between Lilith and Cain, and Lilith shall give poisons and wine, and Cain shall waxe wrath with ye, and thy choice shall be in madness, for both are such. One shall give poisoned mouth to ye, but the other shall only give poisoned wordes. And thou muste choose between thy Mad Foole and thy Mad Queene. Lie not to thyself, for they arre Selfish in Their Needes, and bothe may Brekke you in their Carelessness, yet only One Shalle try to Heele thee after. Thou knowest which."
"Is that the book Batman dropped?"
Harley nods. Her face is stiff with the effort not to cry. It feels almost like it does when she's made up, grease-paint plastered on, so it feels like her face would crack if she switched expressions.
"Anything useful?" Ivy says. Her voice is the same as always; slightly low, slightly husky, and sharp-edged.
Harley shakes her head. "Nah. Didn't tell me I didn't already know." She stands up and lets the book fall onto the floor of her cell. "So, you got a plan for the next break-out?
And lastly, this Tim/Kon prophecy bit:
***
"Thee Passworde is the Name of the Cabinne he visited as a Childe," Kon reads out loud.
Tim nods and types it in. The screen flashes red and they're in.
"You ever think it's weird that you only get the work prophecies," Kon says, while Tim enters code.
"I'm in the illustrations. Unless Nightwing left out a lot of information about the job description of the Titans, I'm pretty sure what we're doing in there doesn't count as work," Tim says absentmindedly.
Kon shrugs. "Yeah, but it's not aimed at you *specifically*. Most of the ones I think are about me are kind of personal business. Private, not public."
"Arguably. Page 389, third prophecy down."
Kon flicks through the page. "The Windowe of a Cobblers will not conceal thy Lewde Acts, Kon-El, for thy Lovers are Swifte and Subtle in their Escape, yet ye..." He read the rest in silence.
"Might be personal, but it's definitely public. Technically, a public act of indecency," Tim says, smirking even though he knows Kon can't see it.
"Dude, it's your fault for not telling me it's a bad idea. Will be. Would have will been, 'cause I'm not going to do it *now*. Am I?"
Tim grins and types faster.
I am a little odd and easily led.