A/N: My response to helloyesimhere's Justice League gift to me.

Bruce steps out into the dank recesses of the Batcave, takes one look, and sighs. He does so only because A) no one else is around, thus his image is not ruined, and B) this is really rather getting out of hand. He eyes the pink monstrosity. Very out of hand. This is ridiculous.

There, – Bruce suspects glued with something Barry came up with himself, therefore going to nigh impossible to remove – glomping his entire computer system, is a fuzzy, neon pink, skin. The kind used to protect your laptops, should you ever drop them, except this one is huge, and Bruce knows it's not for any sort of 'protection'.

It's hideous.



Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose.

It's revenge, plain and simple.

He thumbs a specific button on his League phone. A tinny ring echoes through the cave's crevices. It goes on for a half a minute, then: You've reached Flash! Please, leave a message. Bruce hangs up, tries again, and still gets no answer. He strides over to the eyesore remnants of his computers and checks the local news.

No new metas or threats in, or near, Star City.

He tries Barry again.


A growl escapes – it is by no means a whine, not even close.

He heads back upstairs.

This has gone on long enough.

Time to make Alfred switch sides.

He finds the older man in the kitchen with….Bruce falters. Barry. The speedster is sitting casually, eating a foot-long sub-sandwich. Bruce's right eyes twitches.

"You made my computers a blanket."


"A pink blanket."

"Uh-huh." Barry licks some mayo that's starting to drip off the end of his sandwich. He's eating at human speed for some reason.

"I thought we had settled this."


"Barry!" Let it be known to all, that Bruce is still not whining. He's…negotiating strenuously.

"You let me go to Themyscira in jeans and a tee-shirt!"

"I didn't know!"

"I trusted you. 'Wear your best', you said. 'It'll be fine', you said. Yeah right! I looked like some drunk hobo that hadn't washed in two weeks."

"…you did wash before you – "

"Bruuuce!" Barry sends him an evil eye.

"It turned out fine," Bruce argues. "Besides, you've had your revenge."

"It doesn't equal out yet."

Bruce pales at that. "You've tie-dyed my cars – both the night one, and Mustang –, trolled my facebook pages, rigged my phone to blare My Little Pony at all hours, and roped Alfred into supplying you with my passcodes for the cave."

Bruce shoots the traitor an injured look.

Alfred raises a cultured eyebrow. "Evening the playing flied, Master Bruce."

Bruce rolls his eyes. He's not gotten any help in this terrorizing.

Diana is fully on Barry's side, even though she's quick to reassure Barry her mother never thought less of him for his attire (but other people might, so she blames Bruce anyway). Clark is amused…and claims to be 'busy'. Victor keeps saying he wants in on it. And Arthur says they're all nuts, and then helps Barry flood his office at Wayne Corp with still flapping fish.

Bruce looks to heaven for inspiration. He can't function like this. True, he should've double checked the kid's luggage, but, in his defense, he'd just gotten of a sixteen-hour shift of dealing with the Joker. His A-game was severely lacking.

"What's it going to take?" he asks.

Barry glares. "Jeans and a tee-shirt."

"I'll give you something for future, emergency trips like this."

"To meet a queen."

"And access to some higher tech for your suit."

Barry blurs, and then is inches from his face, grinning. "Pleasure doing business with you, sir."

He darts away.

Bruce scowls at Alfred. "I blame you for enabling him."

Alfred accepts the accusation with poise and a smirk. "Of course, sir. Shall I arrange the tailor visit? I believe two suits, and some custom pants would be due."

Really, Bruce is the victim in all this.

I couldn't help it. This called to me. :D