You grin at your second oldest son, “And why is me going for a spa weekend crazy?”
Jason scowls, “Not that! You leaving Penelope with Dick! She likes me more.”
From down the hall you hear Dick yell back, “She does not!”
You do your best to hide your chuckle but you don’t quite succeed. Straightening you sling your duffle bag over your shoulder and say, “Dick is in charge because I can trust him to keep the fighting to a minimum. When I come back from this weekend I would like all of my children to be alive and intact without any internal bleeding. And Jason, as much as I love you sweetheart, you like to stir the pot.”
Jason crosses his arms against his chest and asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You grin. “That I know it was you who broke Tim’s computer and not Damian. And that you tricked Tim into thinking it was Damian so that a fistfight would break out in the middle of the New Year’s Gala, so that you could sneak off without anyone noticing. I’m here to tell you that I did notice.”
Jason just shrugs, “Alright so I don’t like Tim and the demon spawn all the time, but I love my sister, and if Dick has her he’s going to invite Barbara over and they’re going to place make believe house, and I’ll die from fluff overload.”
You kiss your son’s cheek, “Then I suggest not stirring the pot next time.”
Without another word you leave the room, a pouting Jason on your heels. You make your way downstairs and let out a sharp whistle. The boys come into the foyer a minute later.
Setting your bag on the floor you lay out the rules. “All right I will be gone a week. This spa I’m going to doesn’t allow electronics, so it is next to impossible to reach me. I’ve left a number to be used in emergencies only. As in the world is ending, not someone stole your poptart. Your dad and Alfred are also out of range. They’re with the League, trying some new physical therapy they’re hoping will help.
“I’ve left Dr. Lee’s number on the fridge, along with Commissioner Gordon’s, who has agreed to make surprise visits to make sure you’re all doing what needs to be done. AND NOT STIRRING THE POT.” Your eyes flicker to Damian and Jason for a minute before you continue, “Also Dick, sweetheart, as much as I love you you’re not in charge.”
You watch your oldest son’s eyes go wide as you reach over and take Penelope from him, as Jason let’s out a sharp laugh. “What, why?”
You smile, “Hun, the minute Barbara comes in you go all love struck, and if you’re focusing on her and Penelope and in Jason’s words ‘Play house’ I fear that the manor would burn down and I do not want to explain that to Alfred.” You ignore Jason’s “Hah!” and keep going, “So I called in the big guns.”
You watch the girl slip out of the shadows without a word. You watch as Damian begins to scowl, not because he’s unhappy but because he hadn’t sensed her. Smiling at your oldest daughter, you give Cass a quick hug before handing Penelope over. The girl takes the infant with a smile. You can’t help but grin at the sight of your two girls.
Picking up your bag you simply say, “Cass has permission to use force if needed. I highly suggest following the rules. Bye kids.” And with a wave you leave.
You slink into the car, and begin your drive. Instead of driving towards a spa you make your way into the city. You head through it straight into the slums. You pull the car up to a less than stellar bar. You park it, grab your bag, and then lock it.
The beep draws more than a little attention. It’s a nice car, a payday kind of car, and had you been anyone else, it probably would have been gone even quicker than Jason could get the tires off the Batmobile.
But you are you, and that’s why when a rather large goon steps in your path, you don’t even hesitate to drop him to the ground. Ruthlessness is prized here. Coldness treasured. Slipping inside the bar you let your new life fade away and slip into your past. It’s comfortable, if not a bit dusty, and as you drop your bag on the ground and it lands with a thud eyes turn towards you, and you meet all of them head on.
Floyd is sitting in the corner of the bar, guns on the table, a smirk on his face. It takes less than a minute for him to stand up and make his way over to you. His arm wraps around your shoulder and says, “Our Baby Girl is back.”
You smile as a cheer goes through the bar, and for the first time in forever your eyes land on your best friends. Harley and Ivy are there, smiling, and slightly behind them, sticking out like a sore thumb is your brother Captain Rick Flagg.
He’s dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, and looking more uncomfortable than a cat in a dog fight. Your eyes meet his, and he tips his head just a smidge, he’s here for you. They’re all here for you. They might be a bunch of villains but they stick by there own, and make no mistake you are one of them.
A/n: Fun fact. The part with the itch teenager actually kind of happened to me. The last comeback the reader had I said to the girl who was being a bitch. Lets just say I out bitched her. The bullying thing were things I went through too as a kid.
Your entire life was spent looking up to people who you saw as prettier or of better human quality than you. Having issues with your physical and spiritual appearance was your forte.
There were the kids at school. Who picked and pulled at the little tightly wound curls resting on your head. Saying you were ugly and different because your hair wasn’t straight like there’s. To fix the issue, you asked your single parenting father to straighten your hair.
“I want to be like them daddy.” You’d say while looking in the mirror. Attempting to flat iron your 7 year old hair with a straightener that was off.
In middle school you were one of the few kids who didn’t wear any form of makeup. Uncle Sam and Cas had been building up your confidence over the summer between 5th and 6th grade. But no amount of love could’ve helped with the daily challenges you faced.
Teenagers and pre-teens alike would poke at your face. Making fun of the unruly amount of freckles it held on the surface. The nickname “polka dots” became how people remembered you. As though they need a small reminder of you and the mane of curls wasn’t enough.
It seemed as though everyday of your junior high days was spent with a hood on and a face hanging low. The second Dean noticed this he pulled you out.
“Baby, why didn’t you tell me you were having problems?” Dean was crouched down to your level. Brushing away each crooked tear that fell from your green and brown eyes and simultaneously cleaning the fistful bruising that hugged your eye.
“I thought you would be mad at me.” You looked up into his eyes, watching as they released a tear at the sight of his bruised child. “It’s okay, Daddy.” Reaching up, you wiped his tear away and pulled yourself into his chest.
When high school came around you were far from ready to deal with people. Especially teenagers. They were royal dicks. So rather than sending you to a public school, you and Dean talked about straight homeschool. Which worked out well. You got to attend hunts more often. Of course you weren’t allowed to help too much, overprotective dad and such. Life had been dialing back to normal for you. Well- as normal as it could be for a Winchester. Up until now.
You, your dad, and Uncle Sam pulled up to a house. All of you were going to go inside and do the normal routine. Ask questions. Anything weird. Blah blah blah.
Three teenage girls sat on the porch. Glaring at you and then talking to one another before smiling happily.
“Dad, I think I’ll stay in the car.” You said, all the while never breaking eye contact with the small bundle of girls.
“What? W-” Sam nudged his brother mid sentence. Directing his attention to the girls who were too judgmental for their own good. “They’re not going to say anything to you.” Your dad sighed out with sympathy.
“They don’t have to…” you broke the eye contact you had with them before turning your head completely away from the window.
“You really think some petty teenage girl is going to say anything even remotely offensive when two big guys with guns are with you?” Your Uncle had his arm drooped over the black leather seat. Making it so he was looking right at your hanging face.
“Teenage girls are mean.” Taking your head, you dramatically laid it back onto the seat. Letting out a deep breath of air as it hit.
“So be mean.” Dean piped up, causing you to lift your head with a furrowed brow. “You’re a teenage girl. So if they want to bitches- just out bitch them.” He smiled at you just as you smiled at him.
“Really?” You took one final glance at the girls who were clearly pointing at you and laughing.
“Really.” They both say at the same time. It honestly freaked you out how they did that on occasion.
There was no need to say anything. The three of you reached for the door handle nearest to you and swung it open. The entire walk up to the front door, you never broke eye contact with one of the girls who seemed to be the culprit behind it all.
The two suited men beside you had no issue getting past the girls. It wasn’t until you tried that one of them stood up and stopped you dead in your tracks.
“Sorry. No trash dressed hoodlums allowed.” She snickered. Feeling proud of herself. Your dad and uncle instantly turned around with their eyebrows raised.
“Guess being a hoodlum would be better than being you.” You tried to push past her but her force drove you down the three steps with a stumble. Driving you to land straight on your ass.
Dean was about to snatch the bitch up by her hair no doubt, but Sam stopped him.
“Don’t talk to me like that lowlife. I had a concussion and can’t take your shit.” The girl spat out. Crossing her arms as though she won.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” You pushed yourself upwards and onto your feet before walking over to her and getting right in her face. “Did you hit your head on the gear shifter?” The girl was more surprised you said that then you were.
Without a problem, you pushed right by the girl and made your way up the stairs for a second time. Stopping before landing in the deck.
“Anything to say lemmings?” You asked with confidence in your voice. Both of the girls shook their heads before moving off the steps completely.
“When I said be a bitch- I didn’t think you’d…you know.” There was a large hint of proud parenting on Dean’s face.
“I think these pigtail braids might be too tight.” You laughed out, causing you both to smile just as Sam knocked on the door.
“when will it be done” tate would complain. “soon.” tate huffs and stomps around the kitchen. he picks stuff up and flicks it uninterestedly. he definitely doesn’t have the patience for waiting for this meal. he gets whiny and then starts kissing your cheek, “that’s not going to make this go any faster”
kit would be running around you pecking kisses and trying to distract you. he could care less about dinner. he would lunge to kiss you and you’d flick flour in his face, at which point you’d both crack up. unfortunately that would only make him want to kiss you more. needless to say dinner would be burnt that night.
kyle would definitely be a dorky lil shit. he’d run around like a bored little kid asking, “is it ready yet” to which you’d reply, “just like i said thirty seconds ago.. no” then to occupy himself he’d start making the food act out little movies. like he’d grab a carrot and a potato and be like, “did you commit the murder?! tell me, don’t make me bring out the big guns!!” then he’d use a little girl voice, “no no it wasn’t me officer!” he would finally notice that you stopped everything and were watching his little production and he’d giggle embarrassedly and then because he loved attention, give you a big bow.
you two don’t really make dinner, you eat it with everyone else. jimmy would never be able to concentrate on the food, rather on how you eat it. he loved watching you lick your plump lips and would constantly play footsie with you. amazon eve would mutter, “oh god, they’re doing it again. get a room!!” and throw a piece of food at you.
you would have a lavish meal with james and he’d give you that look that told you he wanted you… now. he would just push everything off the table and strut over to you. he’d pick you up and lay you on the table. you two would have at it. after as you are pulling your clothes back on ms evers walks in and sighs, “every night this week, ill get the bleach..”