Batsis Stories, Imagines, & One-Shots

Tag. You're It.

"Shit, shit, shit," she hissed, ducking behind the metal crate in the warehouse as bullets whizzed above and beside her. Her fingers felt along the side of her ribs, sliding easily and she pulled her hand into her vision, seeing them slick with crimson. "Ah fuck." She pulled a small black device from her belt and flicked the top off, aiming it to her gunshot wound. Pressing the button, she bit back a cry of pain as a freezing cold aerosol spray hit the wound, but it was effectively sealed, and she tossed the can once it was empty.

A bullet ricocheted from the metal beam adjacent of her, striking near her foot and she yanked her leg in, narrowly avoiding any more. She had to get out of this. If she stayed any longer, she was going to get pumped full of lead by turrets and militia members. Of course, Bruce would send her to an overrun military compound without backup.

She almost puked right then. Did I just think I can't do this? Frowning, she pressed the side of her cowl and watched the world light up in a blue wave. She could see the turrets and the soldiers from her side of the crate. I need to move. This crate isn't going to hold for much longer.

Her fingers felt along her belt for the last of her flashbangs and she looked through the crate. I can throw the flashbang. It'll disorient the soldiers long enough that I can take out the two automated turrets before—

An explosion blew out the wall behind the turrets and men and she watched in stunned silence as the militia members dropped, throats slit, and the turrets were dismantled. It all happened within seconds and whatever had done it was darting around in her vision, but it was scrambling her detective mode and she jerked away from the crate. Whatever this was—was not taking prisoners.

She clambered to her feet and started sprinting for the exit, a hand going to her ear. "Batman this is Widow-Maker, come in!" she only heard static returned, and she felt the panic set it. "Batman, come in! The target's been eliminated but not by me! I'm engaged in—"

Something darted from the corner of her eye, and she barely had time to react when it collided with her, hard enough that it knocked the wind from her lungs and sent her to the floor. She rolled onto her stomach and coughed, shifting when it came at her again.

"What the fu—"

"Your detective mode won't help you see me." Their voice was modified. "It's funny that Bruce still uses the same wavelengths to communicate on." They stomped down at her, and she rolled out of the way, sliding along the floor to kick their legs out from underneath them.

"Who are you!" she shouted when they dodged her and she climbed to her feet, hitting the side of her cowl. The blue world fell away, leaving her in the dark and she saw them. Their eyes were glowing blue and so was the tri-clasp on their chest.

"Take a guess, (Y/N)." She felt the breath leave her lungs at the use of her name and they caught it. "Surprised? I know everything about you. Name, age, birthday, birthplace. All your hopes and dreams."

(Y/N) was honest to God terrified. Bruce could handle his emotions so much better than she could, especially when someone discovered his identity. But whoever this was? She didn't know them, and she was scared that she was looking at her end.

"Who. Are. You."

"That's not a guess."

She pulled the Ka-Bar from her thigh and flashed it. "I don't want to guess who you are, but I'll tell you this—come any closer, I'll kill you."

They chuckled and the robotic shrill sent shivers up her spine. "You don't kill people, (Y/N). You've always been too soft to do that."

Glaring at the blue slits, she threatened, "Come closer asshole and you'll see how soft I am."

"Oh, I already know how soft you are." They gestured to her, at least she assumed they were and remarked, "You've put on a few extra pounds since we trained in the desert."

(Y/N)'s hand holding the knife faltered and completely baffled, she said, "Kh—"

Her words were cut off as something ricocheted off the knife, knocking it from her hand. "Don't."

She glared at him. "Don't tell me I can't say your name. I'm not the one who insulted you that night, Ghost-Maker." Bending down, she picked up the knife, sheathing it. "What do you want?"

"To fight."

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. "I'm not Bruce." The slits started getting closer and she stood up. "I'm not going to fight you, Ghost-Maker."

"You will." He said and she stared into the blue lights as he stopped in front of her, chest to chest. "You want to."

"Want and will are two very different things." She stared him down. "Hit me if that's what's going to sail your ship, but I'm not going to hit you back."

"Why not?" he asked. "Aren't you mad that I killed your target?"

(Y/N) snorted. "Really? You think I'm mad that a despot got his throat slit? Hardly." She pulled a flare from her belt and struck it, watching his form appear in the light. "I guess that means I should say thank you for the save."

His eyes drifted from hers to the flare in her hand. "You carry magnesium flares with you?"

"You don't?" she countered and then tsked at him. "Ghost-Maker that's poor planning. Don't you know that you might need light sometimes?"

"I know what you're doing." He griped at her, and she smirked.

"What? I'm not doing anything."

"You're trying to annoy me."

(Y/N) reached out, poking him in the stomach. "Well, from how annoyed you sound...it's working." She tossed the flare to the ground and walked towards the exit.

"I like your name...Widow-Maker."

"Thanks. I like yours too, Ghost-Maker. By the way..." She grinned back at him. "Tag. You're it."

"Son of a—"

And she was gone.