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The stillness and calmness of the Outer Space outside the tinted windows of the Watchtower offers a clashing contrast with the chaos currently happening inside. For a group of superheroes supposed to be humanity’s greatest, they sure aren’t composed. Bruce briefly considers breaking one of the Watchtower’s windows and let himself suffocated in deep space. It’ll be more peaceful than whatever is happening now. He lets out a sigh that goes unnoticed as the rest of the League are shouting their arguments. Barry and Hal are this close to throw hands like his two youngest sons.
What is this about, you wonder? For heroes as good and important as them, it surely must be some very delicate subject that could divide them like this. If you think so, congratulations, you fell straight into the lies feed to you by the Justice League propaganda. Because, as heroics they are, they are before anything else, children. Children stuck into superpowered adult bodies. A very dangerous and foreign concept, I’m afraid. So no, the Justice League is not arguing about the protection of the Earth or how the capitalism is the root of every problem mankind has to face, but about a stupid game of Fuck, Marry, Kill.
Bruce sighs again. A migraine is forming at the forefront of his head. When they agreed to play games, this wasn’t what he had in mind. He was thinking more board games, especially ones he’s good at like monopoly or Scotland yard. Some cards game, Uno really is universal. Something normal and fitted to the adults, and heroes, they are. Instead, Bruce feels like he has been teleported back to his teenage and young adult years. Drunk dormmates taking shots after shots before a frat party, vicious plays of Never Have I Ever mixed with Truth or Dare and yes, Fuck, Marry, Kill. He had to play and lean into those games (which were way funnier when you were intoxicated with alcohol) for the sake of Brucie and he hated every single second of it. When he had left college, he thought it was finally over. It was, very unfortunately, not.
“All I’m saying is that if you are the kind of person that decided to kill Zendaya in a Fuck, Marry, Kill, you’re not to be trusted!” Barry is yelling, almost too fast to understand.
It is, in fact, too fast to understand but as the legendary Flash has been repeating that argument for about five minutes straight, it is not complicated to guess what words are going out of his mouth, even if it’s at an inhuman speed.
“And I’m saying that you are totally bonkers to want to kill Ryan Reynolds!”
“Sorry man, I love him but Zendaya always come on top.”
“She shouldn’t.”
“She should!”
“Shouldn’t.”
“Should.”
Great, now they are battling like actual toddlers.
“How about we change the persons and go for another round?” gently suggests Diana with the subtlety of an elephant.
“I agree”, adds Clark who seems weirdly entertained by Hal and Barry’s debate.
Bruce didn’t know it was possible for grown ass men to be this passionate about Fuck, Marry, Kill. You learn something new every day. But in this case, the world’s greatest detective would have preferred to stay ignorant. As in, as dumb as Brucie Wayne. Blissfully stupid. Alas, his coworkers have decided to make his life hell on Earth. Hal and Barry stop leaning their elbows on the table and settle back more comfortably on their chairs. They still are throwing each other dirty looks, but nothing that would degenerate in a fist fight. Diana has a tiny smile on her face and J’onn grows more confused by every second that passes. Oliver just watches but Bruce can see the mirth in his eyes. Bruce can’t help but sighs again.
“If you sigh one more time, you’re going to deflate. You really hate fun, Spooky”, grins Hal who clearly has caught on his annoyance.
Bruce doesn’t embarrass himself with an answer. He just glares at Hal who just grins wider. No one gets under his skin the way this Green Lantern can. He grits his teeth. Clark, sensing Batman is figuring out how to kill Hal and making it look like an accident, calls for a change of names. And round they go again. One actress that Bruce has spoken to maybe three times in his life; Kate Middleton; and a singer he has never heard of. Every member makes their choices. Nobody asks Batman to do his. Bruce finally feels like he can relax, as Barry and Hal are not at each other’s throats, and the atmosphere of the room has somewhat cool down. It is a mistake. A huge mistake. He should have known better to trust his ridiculous, immature, coworkers. As soon as the names leave Barry’s mouth, his blood turns into ice. Thankfully his poker face is truly remarkable and he only lets his heart skips a beat before he takes control over it again. Damn meta-humans, aliens and goddess with their enhanced senses.
“Fuck, Marry, Kill, Margot Robbie, Bruce Wayne and Harry Styles.”
The room is suddenly filled with oohs and aahs. As if the game takes an interesting turn. It does, in a sense, Bruce thinks but not in the way everybody else imagines. He mentally hits himself, of course that could happen. He sometimes forgets that his playboy persona is famous. Very famous, known by everybody and their mothers. Hal pretends to fan himself with his hand when an embarrassed smile turns Oliver’s lips upward.
“I don’t even have to think about it”, says Hal, and Bruce knows he is going to hate what follows. “I’ll kill Harry Styles, marry Margot Robbie and fuck Bruce Wayne. I mean, have you seen the guy? He didn’t get his playboy reputation from nothing. He must be fucking like a Greek god.
Right now, Bruce Wayne just wants to lay face down in a dirty street and die. Of course, Hal would say something like this. He has never wanted to strangle him more than now. Oliver is next and Bruce prays to all the gods he doesn’t believe in that his friend would choose to kill him. For respect, please. He doesn’t. He protests a little bit before talking, saying he shouldn’t take part since his civilian identity is friend with Bruce, but as every member of the League emits different grunts of “protest, he caves in.
“I’d kill Harry Styles too, sorry buddy but you can’t compete against those two. I’d probably fuck Margot Robbie and then marry Bruce, for the money you know.”
“You’re already rich, Oliver”, remarks Diana with an eyebrow’s raise.
“More money doesn’t hurt”, he shrugs.
The goddess mumbles something under her breath that suspiciously looks like “I’d never understand mankind…” And Bruce wants to go “same”. Still, he is a least a little glad that Oliver didn’t go into great details for justifying his choices. Something Hal seems unashamed and unafraid of. Barry goes with the same choices as Hal and looks a little sad at the idea to kill Harry Styles. He doesn’t elaborate, thankfully.
“I’d marry Margot Robbie, she seems like a really sweet girl”, smiles Diana, “and I guess I’d kill Harry Styles and fuck Bruce Wayne. If his reputation is true, it’ll be a fun night.”
Et tu, Diana? Thinks sourly Bruce. Betrayed by a literal goddess. He thought his airhead reputation would be enough to make her choose to kill him, but no. Something must be wrong with the League members’ hormones. Batman is on the edge of getting up on his feet to check the plants decorating the room to see if they are not covered in Poison Ivy’s pollen. Instead, he just has to accept that his coworkers’ heads are made of nothing but air and TV static. J’onn declines his turn. Bruce thanks him with a rapid nod. He’s pretty sure the Martian knows his civilian identity. It’s difficult to hide things from a telepathic specie. Clark goes next. Please, end this madness.
“I feel sorry for Harry Styles but he has to go. He isn’t at the same level as the others. I would spend the night with Margot Robbie and I would marry Bruce Wayne.”
Fuck. Why does no one want to put him out this misery? But if Bruce thought that was bad, he’s entirely unprepared by what is gonna follow.
“Really Clark? I’d thought you’d be more an eat the rich type of person”, Green Lantern raises an eyebrow.
Bruce wants to hit him with a metal chair and put him in a coma. Clark has a slow and predatory smile and all of Bruce’s internal alarms scream in alert. He braces himself.
“Oh, I intent to.”
All hell breaks loose. Barry vibrates so hard he falls off his chair. Diana has a clear, brief laugh that ripples in the air. Hal is looking awfully proud of Superman and he can’t stop grinning like an idiot. Even Oliver chuckles and J’onn smiles. That’s it. He quits, right here, right now. If he grits his teeth any harder, they’d break. Bruce wishes to bury himself alive as Clark explains that he wants to fuck Bruce Wayne to Kansas and back. Unfortunately, the attention of the room suddenly turns to him.
“And you, Batman?” asks Oliver, surely the Dark Knight of Gotham has an opinion of its golden Prince.
“I’d prefer to pass”, he growls very uncomfortable.
If he were less confident in the design of his suit, he’d think that the ventilation of it has shut down.
“Come on Spooky! You can’t pass on that one!”
“It’ll be fun, don’t you have saved him already? He gets kidnapped like three times in a month!”
Bruce scans different solutions very fast. He chooses the one that would cause the most chaos. As a treat after this absolute disaster. They deserve what’s coming after them.
“I’d marry Margot Robbie, fuck Harry Styles and kill myself.”
Shouts of protests erupt.
“You can’t do that!”
“It’s not the game!”
“Play correctly!”
Bruce smiles slowly. He puts his hands to his face and takes off his cowl. He places it on the table and threads his fingers through his hair to push them back into place. The Justice League is so silent, they might have been dead.
“Except, I did play correctly.”
All their reactions are priceless. Oliver’s eyes are almost falling off as he tries (and fails) to superpose his mental image of his dumb friend and his stoic coworker; Diana doesn’t even seem uncomfortable and smiles brightly; Barry vibrates with so must strength that Bruce is scared he’d fall through the floor; Hal looks ready to get lost in Deep Space and Clark has blushed so hard he’s as red as his suit. J’onn sighs.
“How… how… what?”
“How come you’re Bruce Wayne?!”
“I think I’m about to pass out.”
“You trust us enough to reveal your identity!”
Bruce can’t help but barks a laugh.
“I’m going back to Gotham, my butler is waiting for me for dinner, but it was nice knowing how each of you would either fuck or marry me. Goodbye!”
When he tells the story at dinner, his kids explode in joyous and contagious laughter that lasted for at least ten minutes. Even Damian seems amused. The Justice League’s members can’t stand to look at him in the eyes for an entire, blissful week. And, what if Brucie Wayne spots Clark Kent, the humble and bumbling reporter, and gives him a flirtatious smile and obviously checks him out so that he would cause Clark to blush like there’s no tomorrow and to drop all of his belonging, and that he feels a pleasant warmth inside his chest, that would be no one’s secret except his own.