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person4Title: Get It
Fandom: Justice League Unlimited
Pairing: light Flash/Trickster
Notes: For June Fic-a-Day. Also, if you know comics Trickster but missed the one episode of JLU he was in, he's a very different character there.
He knew that the others didn't really get it.
Well, okay, that probably wasn't totally fair. Superman, as practically goodness personified in a six-foot-something body, probably did, at least to some level. And, weirdly, sometimes he got the feeling that Batman did too, even though 'Batman' and 'understanding' weren't usually words he though of as going together, unless it was in a sentence like 'Batman has a great understanding of how to kick the butt of anybody he thought might ever someday possibly maybe turn out to be a threat.'
So maybe some of them did get it. But he knew that even more of them just didn't get why he insisted that he was the only one who could bring Trickster when the guy went a little crazy. Crazier.
If it had been Grodd, or Captain Cold, or anyone who could actually be dangerous it would have made sense to them. If it had been somebody he had a vendetta against, if Trickster had so much as lured his puppy to the darkside and stolen his date to the prom, they would have exchanged understanding glances with each other behind his back as he took off, and not questioned the way he felt.
Of course, in either of those cases he wouldn't have been at all surprised if they ignored his wishes because they would've thought he wasn't being rational about it, so all in all it was better that they just saw Trickster as a giant joke.
• • •
He bypassed the field of whoopie cushions scattered all over the street entirely, zooming around the block, coming to a stop at Trickster's side, where the other man was grinning gleefully at the cushions.
"Whoopie cushions. Classic." He leaned forward towards Trickster, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "What's the trick this time, James?"
Trickster giggled (really, there was no other word for it, even though he was a man older than Wally himself) and exclaimed, "I've got you this time, Flash! When you step on one of my special whoopie cushions, they'll release a burst of flame that will make that spandex suit of yours go up like a fireball! We'll see how fast you run when you're flash-fried!" He giggled again at the horrible pun.
"Man, you really got me this time, James. My goose is cooked." He slung an arm over Trickster's shoulder and flashed him an easygoing smile. "Now, how do we get these things up without the fireball? Wouldn't want anybody else accidentally setting one off, right? They'd just be wasted on someone who didn't appreciate the trick."
"Oh, they just need to be picked up by the flap," Trickster said, retrieving one for Flash, apparently perfectly happy to reveal the weakness of his trap.
"All right! Why don't you get the left side of the street, I'll get the right side, you get the left, and when we're done, hey, I heard there's a Jim Carrey marathon playing at the theater downtown. After we're done here, how about I grab your medication then go see a show before I get you back to the hospital? I know you like the guy."
Trickster made a face as he went about picking up cushions. "Already took my pills today."
"Really? You're not lying to me, are you James? Are they trying something new on you?" Trickster nodded, and Flash made a mental note to make sure the hospital knew the new medication wasn't working and he hadn't just managed to skip it. "All right then, we can head straight to the movie instead."
It was a little annoying to gather the cushions up at the same speed as a normal person when he could have them all off the ground and away in no time, but he forced himself to do it, keeping up a steady stream of chatter about what he thought of the various movies to keep Trickster focused on the sane side of life. It was important, he knew. He had to make sure there was plenty of time for everyone who'd gathered around hoping for a show to see that Trickster was helping out of his own free will and that nobody had been hurt and nothing harmed. That was always the one thing that kept the poor guy living comfortably with the normally mentally unstable people instead of getting locked away with the real supervillains.
• • •
The thing that the others never got was that you couldn't respond to Trickster in the normal, hit them until they fall down then tie them up for the police, way.
When he stopped taking his pills (well, even when he was taking them, but then he gained the little mental voice that reminded him that something like pool was also a game, and one that was a lot less likely to get him in trouble), he saw supervillainy as a game. If you found him before he set up whatever his newest trap was, you won. If he got his plan ready first, he won. Either way, as soon as the winner was decided he became perfectly happy to clean up whatever mess he'd made and go back to the hospital. He'd even do it on his own if you didn't have time to keep an eye on him, although Wally usually tried to hang out with him for a little while if he could. Give the guy some positive reinforcement for giving up easily.
But if another member of the League went after Trickster and didn't get that you didn't need to be rough with him, he didn't know what would happen. Trickster might end up deciding that if the heroes were going to break the rules of the game, he didn't need to follow them either. And from there it would just be a downhill slide into real supervillainy, which was the last thing Wally wanted to see happen.
• • •
"Looks like your roots are starting to grow out there," he said as they walked through the hospital's halls towards Trickster's room, reaching out to tweak a pink lock while nodding to a passing orderly. "Haven't had a chance to dye it lately?"
Trickster grumbled under his breath, the only part loud enough to make out, "...say I can't have chemicals..."
Flash flinched exaggeratedly, "Oh, ouch. Don't they know that a guy has to keep himself looking good? Hey, you get back to your room and wait a second, and I'll take care of that for you."
He dashed off to the nearest drugstore, zipping to the haircare aisle then jogging in place in front of the more out there colors. "Let's see... bubblegum, neon, electric... who ever heard of pink electricity?" he muttered to himself as he looked back and forth between boxes. Finally he settled on one that seemed to be about the right color and dashed to the counter, which was thankfully free of any other paying customers. He'd been worried that he might get caught in a line. "Just this please," he said, tossing the box down.
The girl at the counter (cute, but a little too young), gawked at him, then at the box, and he got the distinct feeling that she was going to start spending her free time checking out pink haired guys in the hopes of being able to tell people someday that'd she'd 'figured out the real identity of The Flash!'. Well, everyone needed a hobby.
As she finished up checking him out and handed him his bag she finally seemed to get over her shock enough to blush and stammer, "Can I... um... may could you give me a..."
Taking pity on her he grinned rakishly and snagged the receipt out of his bag. "An autograph? Sure thing!" he said, even as he scrawled one out on the back of the receipt and handed it to her. Then he was gone.
"Hope you weren't waiting too long," he said when he reached Trickster's side again. He was at the door to his room, not even having made it all the way there in the short time Flash had been gone. He reached out to slide his hand into Trickster's hair, changing the movement into a friendly ruffle that nobody would think twice about even as he made it. "We'll get that hair of yours fixed right up. Nobody's gonna worry if I'm the one with the dye, right?"
• • •
The other thing that none of the others got was that Trickster wasn't a joke, no matter how he acted or how harmless he might be at heart. His tricks worked, exactly the way he said they would, and though he always laid them out in an obvious and easily avoidable way, and even though he always built in a way to dispose of them again safely, if anybody ever stumble into one of them accidentally it wouldn't be pretty.
And Wally didn't really want any of the others to figure that out. Well... Batman probably already had somehow, since that was what he did, but he'd apparently decided to stay out of it, so he just didn't want any of the others to figure it out. Because if they did, they'd stop thinking of him as the Flash's weird hobby and start seeing him as a viable threat.
And he wasn't, Flash was sure. As long as you played the game with him, as long as you treated him with kindness, there was nothing to worry about. The guy usually didn't really have a malicious bone in his body--or at least more of one than anyone else--he was just a little disconnected from the world and decided that playing supervillain against superhero was just an even funner version of cops and robber or cowboys and indians.
He was positive about it.
• • •
The next time Trickster escaped, he found him sitting on the edge of a rooftop in the middle of the night, contemplating a rubber chicken and a can of silly string. He wasn't in costume, which was always a good sign. He smiled a friendly grin when Flash sat down on the edge next to him, holding the items up for him to see. "Flash! Robot rubber chicken with eyelasers or supersticky silly string, which do you think would be better to make to lead you to your doom?"
"Gotta go with the string, James," he said, after a moment making a show of serious thought. "Slow me down and you've got me." 'And we don't want you getting the wrong sort of attention by shooting lasers around,' he didn't say, anymore than he said, 'Hell, maybe you've even already got me; I don't make this much of an effort to get to any of the other rogues as soon as they hit the streets again.' "But you know, it's gotta wait until next time. I win this time."
Trickster seemed content with that. "Good show, Flash, but I'll get you next time!" He swung his legs against the wind, but Wally didn't worry about the possibility of him overbalancing and falling over the edge. The rest of the costume might still be in a trunk somewhere, but Trickster had his shoes on his feet and nothing was going to happen to him. Wally really wasn't sure how anybody could think Trickster was just a stupid joke when he was able to invent things like them. "Do we have to go back to the hospital now?"
Flash thought about it, leaning back to look up at the sky. It was a gorgeous night out, the air warm and the sky so clear that he could even make out a couple of stars through the light pollution of Central City. Without thinking about it, he slung an arm over Trickster's shoulder, and if it as a little too low around him and curled a little too tightly to be entirely nothing more than friendly, it didn't really matter. They were the highest thing in blocks; nobody could possibly see it. "Nah, not just yet," he said. "You can have a couple more hours of freedom, if you want it. Don't worry, James, you won't get into any trouble. I'm with you."
Fandom: Justice League Unlimited
Pairing: light Flash/Trickster
Notes: For June Fic-a-Day. Also, if you know comics Trickster but missed the one episode of JLU he was in, he's a very different character there.
He knew that the others didn't really get it.
Well, okay, that probably wasn't totally fair. Superman, as practically goodness personified in a six-foot-something body, probably did, at least to some level. And, weirdly, sometimes he got the feeling that Batman did too, even though 'Batman' and 'understanding' weren't usually words he though of as going together, unless it was in a sentence like 'Batman has a great understanding of how to kick the butt of anybody he thought might ever someday possibly maybe turn out to be a threat.'
So maybe some of them did get it. But he knew that even more of them just didn't get why he insisted that he was the only one who could bring Trickster when the guy went a little crazy. Crazier.
If it had been Grodd, or Captain Cold, or anyone who could actually be dangerous it would have made sense to them. If it had been somebody he had a vendetta against, if Trickster had so much as lured his puppy to the darkside and stolen his date to the prom, they would have exchanged understanding glances with each other behind his back as he took off, and not questioned the way he felt.
Of course, in either of those cases he wouldn't have been at all surprised if they ignored his wishes because they would've thought he wasn't being rational about it, so all in all it was better that they just saw Trickster as a giant joke.
He bypassed the field of whoopie cushions scattered all over the street entirely, zooming around the block, coming to a stop at Trickster's side, where the other man was grinning gleefully at the cushions.
"Whoopie cushions. Classic." He leaned forward towards Trickster, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "What's the trick this time, James?"
Trickster giggled (really, there was no other word for it, even though he was a man older than Wally himself) and exclaimed, "I've got you this time, Flash! When you step on one of my special whoopie cushions, they'll release a burst of flame that will make that spandex suit of yours go up like a fireball! We'll see how fast you run when you're flash-fried!" He giggled again at the horrible pun.
"Man, you really got me this time, James. My goose is cooked." He slung an arm over Trickster's shoulder and flashed him an easygoing smile. "Now, how do we get these things up without the fireball? Wouldn't want anybody else accidentally setting one off, right? They'd just be wasted on someone who didn't appreciate the trick."
"Oh, they just need to be picked up by the flap," Trickster said, retrieving one for Flash, apparently perfectly happy to reveal the weakness of his trap.
"All right! Why don't you get the left side of the street, I'll get the right side, you get the left, and when we're done, hey, I heard there's a Jim Carrey marathon playing at the theater downtown. After we're done here, how about I grab your medication then go see a show before I get you back to the hospital? I know you like the guy."
Trickster made a face as he went about picking up cushions. "Already took my pills today."
"Really? You're not lying to me, are you James? Are they trying something new on you?" Trickster nodded, and Flash made a mental note to make sure the hospital knew the new medication wasn't working and he hadn't just managed to skip it. "All right then, we can head straight to the movie instead."
It was a little annoying to gather the cushions up at the same speed as a normal person when he could have them all off the ground and away in no time, but he forced himself to do it, keeping up a steady stream of chatter about what he thought of the various movies to keep Trickster focused on the sane side of life. It was important, he knew. He had to make sure there was plenty of time for everyone who'd gathered around hoping for a show to see that Trickster was helping out of his own free will and that nobody had been hurt and nothing harmed. That was always the one thing that kept the poor guy living comfortably with the normally mentally unstable people instead of getting locked away with the real supervillains.
The thing that the others never got was that you couldn't respond to Trickster in the normal, hit them until they fall down then tie them up for the police, way.
When he stopped taking his pills (well, even when he was taking them, but then he gained the little mental voice that reminded him that something like pool was also a game, and one that was a lot less likely to get him in trouble), he saw supervillainy as a game. If you found him before he set up whatever his newest trap was, you won. If he got his plan ready first, he won. Either way, as soon as the winner was decided he became perfectly happy to clean up whatever mess he'd made and go back to the hospital. He'd even do it on his own if you didn't have time to keep an eye on him, although Wally usually tried to hang out with him for a little while if he could. Give the guy some positive reinforcement for giving up easily.
But if another member of the League went after Trickster and didn't get that you didn't need to be rough with him, he didn't know what would happen. Trickster might end up deciding that if the heroes were going to break the rules of the game, he didn't need to follow them either. And from there it would just be a downhill slide into real supervillainy, which was the last thing Wally wanted to see happen.
"Looks like your roots are starting to grow out there," he said as they walked through the hospital's halls towards Trickster's room, reaching out to tweak a pink lock while nodding to a passing orderly. "Haven't had a chance to dye it lately?"
Trickster grumbled under his breath, the only part loud enough to make out, "...say I can't have chemicals..."
Flash flinched exaggeratedly, "Oh, ouch. Don't they know that a guy has to keep himself looking good? Hey, you get back to your room and wait a second, and I'll take care of that for you."
He dashed off to the nearest drugstore, zipping to the haircare aisle then jogging in place in front of the more out there colors. "Let's see... bubblegum, neon, electric... who ever heard of pink electricity?" he muttered to himself as he looked back and forth between boxes. Finally he settled on one that seemed to be about the right color and dashed to the counter, which was thankfully free of any other paying customers. He'd been worried that he might get caught in a line. "Just this please," he said, tossing the box down.
The girl at the counter (cute, but a little too young), gawked at him, then at the box, and he got the distinct feeling that she was going to start spending her free time checking out pink haired guys in the hopes of being able to tell people someday that'd she'd 'figured out the real identity of The Flash!'. Well, everyone needed a hobby.
As she finished up checking him out and handed him his bag she finally seemed to get over her shock enough to blush and stammer, "Can I... um... may could you give me a..."
Taking pity on her he grinned rakishly and snagged the receipt out of his bag. "An autograph? Sure thing!" he said, even as he scrawled one out on the back of the receipt and handed it to her. Then he was gone.
"Hope you weren't waiting too long," he said when he reached Trickster's side again. He was at the door to his room, not even having made it all the way there in the short time Flash had been gone. He reached out to slide his hand into Trickster's hair, changing the movement into a friendly ruffle that nobody would think twice about even as he made it. "We'll get that hair of yours fixed right up. Nobody's gonna worry if I'm the one with the dye, right?"
The other thing that none of the others got was that Trickster wasn't a joke, no matter how he acted or how harmless he might be at heart. His tricks worked, exactly the way he said they would, and though he always laid them out in an obvious and easily avoidable way, and even though he always built in a way to dispose of them again safely, if anybody ever stumble into one of them accidentally it wouldn't be pretty.
And Wally didn't really want any of the others to figure that out. Well... Batman probably already had somehow, since that was what he did, but he'd apparently decided to stay out of it, so he just didn't want any of the others to figure it out. Because if they did, they'd stop thinking of him as the Flash's weird hobby and start seeing him as a viable threat.
And he wasn't, Flash was sure. As long as you played the game with him, as long as you treated him with kindness, there was nothing to worry about. The guy usually didn't really have a malicious bone in his body--or at least more of one than anyone else--he was just a little disconnected from the world and decided that playing supervillain against superhero was just an even funner version of cops and robber or cowboys and indians.
He was positive about it.
The next time Trickster escaped, he found him sitting on the edge of a rooftop in the middle of the night, contemplating a rubber chicken and a can of silly string. He wasn't in costume, which was always a good sign. He smiled a friendly grin when Flash sat down on the edge next to him, holding the items up for him to see. "Flash! Robot rubber chicken with eyelasers or supersticky silly string, which do you think would be better to make to lead you to your doom?"
"Gotta go with the string, James," he said, after a moment making a show of serious thought. "Slow me down and you've got me." 'And we don't want you getting the wrong sort of attention by shooting lasers around,' he didn't say, anymore than he said, 'Hell, maybe you've even already got me; I don't make this much of an effort to get to any of the other rogues as soon as they hit the streets again.' "But you know, it's gotta wait until next time. I win this time."
Trickster seemed content with that. "Good show, Flash, but I'll get you next time!" He swung his legs against the wind, but Wally didn't worry about the possibility of him overbalancing and falling over the edge. The rest of the costume might still be in a trunk somewhere, but Trickster had his shoes on his feet and nothing was going to happen to him. Wally really wasn't sure how anybody could think Trickster was just a stupid joke when he was able to invent things like them. "Do we have to go back to the hospital now?"
Flash thought about it, leaning back to look up at the sky. It was a gorgeous night out, the air warm and the sky so clear that he could even make out a couple of stars through the light pollution of Central City. Without thinking about it, he slung an arm over Trickster's shoulder, and if it as a little too low around him and curled a little too tightly to be entirely nothing more than friendly, it didn't really matter. They were the highest thing in blocks; nobody could possibly see it. "Nah, not just yet," he said. "You can have a couple more hours of freedom, if you want it. Don't worry, James, you won't get into any trouble. I'm with you."