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30/300

Louis drifted between sleep and awareness, the steady hum of rain against the windows a constant backdrop. Voices reached him through the haze, muffled at first but growing sharper as his senses stirred.

"...Look at him." Harley's voice, low and tense, cut through the fog. "He's not like us, boss."

"Obviously," came Harry's reply, his tone lighter, teasing. "He's prettier."

Louis' brow furrowed slightly, but he kept his eyes closed, his sluggish mind grappling with the strange dynamic unfolding nearby.

"If you push him too far..." Harley drawled. "He's gonna break."

Harry scoffed, the sound almost amused. "What? You going soft for my little hero?"

There was a pause before Harley responded, quieter this time. "Maybe I just don't like seeing him bleed."

Louis shifted again, the soft creak of the couch betraying him. Both voices stopped abruptly, and he felt the weight of their attention settle on him. He let out a faint sound—a low groan—and forced his eyes open, blinking against the dim light.

Harley was sitting in the chair by the couch, his legs stretched out, though he'd gone rigid at Louis' movement. Harry stood a few steps away, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp green eyes fixed on Louis like a spotlight.

The weight of that gaze made Louis' pulse quicken. It wasn't hard to tell Harry was angry—his silence was as loud as a shout.

"Well, look who's decided to join the conversation," Harley said lightly. "How you feeling, birdie?"

Louis blinked up at him, his mind still catching up. "Like I got hit by a truck," he muttered, his voice raspier than he expected.

Harry's eyes scanned Louis with an unreadable expression. "You're alive, aren't you?" he quipped. "Don't get greedy."

Louis' gaze flicked back to Harry, and the sight of him—still standing stiffly, his eyes narrowed slightly—made Louis' throat tighten.

"You've been out for a while," Harley told him, leaning back in his chair. "Gave us all a scare."

"Not all of us," Harry interjected, his tight expression enough to make Louis flinch. The deliberate detachment in his tone stung and Louis couldn't help the way his gaze dropped, like a scolded child.

Harley's grin faltered slightly as he stood. He rolled his shoulders like he was brushing off the tension. "Alright," he said, standing smoothly and grabbing his jacket. "That's my cue to leave." He paused as he moved closer to Louis, his hand brushing lightly against the top of Louis' head. "Try not to make a habit of this, yeah?"

He shot Harry a faint grin as he moved past him, heading for the door. The click of the door closing behind him echoed in the silence, and for a moment, the only sound was the rain tapping against the windows.

Louis shifted uncomfortably, his hand curling weakly around the blanket draped over him. His gaze flicked up cautiously, meeting Harry's narrowed eyes.

The air between them was heavy, and Louis could feel the tension knotting his chest tighter with every passing second.

"Was that supposed to be smart?" Harry's voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet like a whip.

Louis winced faintly. "I—"

"What were you thinking?" Harry snapped, cutting him off before he could finish. He stepped closer, his presence suddenly looming over Louis as he stood near the couch. "You couldn't wait," he continued, his voice cold but sharp with anger. "Just had to play hero, didn't you?"

"I thought I could—"

"That's the problem," Harry interrupted sharply. "You thought. You're not here to think, sweetheart. You're here to follow orders.

Louis winced, his chest tightening as the sting of the words settled over him. "I was just trying to help," he said weakly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, congratulations," Harry said dryly, folding his arms over his chest. "You did an excellent job," he hissed.

Louis looked down and swallowed. "Did you catch him?"

The Joker huffed out a laugh, nodding. "No thanks to you."

The remark hit harder than Louis expected, and he felt his throat tighten as he bit down on the wave of emotion rising in his chest.

"Harry," Louis' voice was soft.

Harry seemed to catch the flicker of hurt in Louis' eyes because he let out a slow, frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

Louis turned away, trying to shift upright but hissed as pain flared in his side.

Harry's hands moved instinctively to Louis. "Easy," he scolded, his voice low, almost soothing as he crouched at Louis' side. His fingers brushed Louis' shoulder, lingering as he steadied him. "Don't push it."

There was a short pause before Louis spoke up again.

"Did he say anything?" Louis asked quietly, his voice cracking slightly. "When you caught him."

Harry pulled back from Louis, lingering close to the sofa. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Dead men don't talk, sweetheart," he replied smoothly.

Louis' eyes widened slightly. "Wait—you just... killed him? I thought you said that you needed info!"

Harry let out a soft, sharp laugh. "You think I'd let him live after what he did to you?" He crouched just slightly to meet Louis' eyes. "He had about three seconds to apologise before I tore him apart."

Louis recoiled faintly, the raw emotion in Harry's tone freezing him in place.

"Oh, that bothers you?" Harry mused, his voice a low, venomous drawl. "Good. Maybe think about that next time before running off to play hero."

Louis' throat tightened, his hands clenching at the edges of the blanket. "I was trying to help," he repeated.

"And look where that got you." Harry straightened, his sharp gaze flicking over Louis with clinical precision. "Bleeding out in an alley like some amateur. That's what happens when you don't listen."

Louis' breath hitched slightly at Harry's tone. He glanced away, his words hesitant. "How did I... how did I get here?"

Harry blinked, momentarily thrown off by the change in topic. Then a faint grin tugged at his lips, sharp and teasing. "Apparently, I'm stronger than I look," he said, his voice deliberately casual, as if brushing the act off as inconsequential.

Louis' brow furrowed slightly, his gaze flicking to Harry's face. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came, his cheeks burning faintly as the memory of him saying those words surfaced. He looked away quickly, trying to focus on anything else.

Harry didn't say anything and the silence settled upon them like a cloak.

Louis' head lolled slightly against the back of the couch, his focus wavering. His eyelids felt heavier with each blink, the room's warmth lulling him into a haze.

"Hey," Harry's voice was firm. "Don't drift off again. You're not getting out of this conversation that easily."

Louis' lips twitched into a faint, lazy smile, his eyes half-lidded as he glanced toward Harry. "Sorry," he murmured, the word soft and slurred, carrying no real apology.

Harry's frown deepened but he was already closer, studying Louis' pale, tired features.

Louis shifted, his hand coming up to rest against Harry's arm. His palm, fleeting and clumsy, patted Harry a few times before falling away as his body relaxed completely.

Harry froze, his gaze flicking down to where Louis' hand had rested before returning to the boy's face. The soft, apologetic smile still played on Louis' lips, even as his eyes fluttered shut and his breathing evened out.

For a moment, Harry said nothing, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and something reluctantly gentler. He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

"Stupid little hero," he muttered, his voice low and fond. The words barely carried over the sound of rain against the windows but they lingered in the air like an unspoken promise.

Harry watched him for a beat longer his sharp green eyes fixed on Louis' peaceful face as the tension in the room gave way to a quiet calm.

Then, suddenly, his lips pressed into a tight line as he straightened abruptly. He shoved a hand through his hair, his movements sharp as though shaking off something unwelcome.

Harry pushed himself back, spinning on his heel and striding out of the room. The click of the door behind him cut through the silence like a final word, leaving Louis alone to the steady rhythm of rain against the windows.

***

The rain pattered against the corrugated metal roof of the warehouse, a sound that seemed to echo louder in the heavy silence of the room. A single hanging bulb cast dim light across the long metal table, the shadows stretching like ghostly fingers over the faces of the men gathered around it.

The stale scent of cigarette smoke and grease hung heavily in the air, clinging to the dull grey walls that framed the warehouse.

Harry sat at the head of the table, his posture deceptively relaxed, one leg draped lazily over the other. The soft scrape of a blade twirling between his fingers was the only noise competing with the rain, a rhythmic metallic whisper that seemed to fray the edges of his crew's nerves.

Harley stood off to the side, leaning against a stack of crates. The flicker of amusement in his eyes was as faint as the movement of the toothpick he rolled between his teeth. He watched the room like a casual observer at a play, waiting for the moment the curtain would drop.

"Well?" The Joker's voice cut through the silence.

"Falcone's gang is all but done, boss," Vic reported, his tone sharp with nervous energy. "The ones who didn't scatter are either six feet under or they're with us now. No resistance left."

Harry smirked faintly, twirling the blade between his fingers. "Efficient," he remarked, his tone laced with mockery. "I like that."

Vic nodded, relief flickering across his face as he continued. "And Jax? He's shaping up. Real eager to please."

Harry's smirk widened. "Oh, I bet he is."

Another henchman, a burly guy named Drew, chimed in. "He's been tagging along with the clean-up crews. Says he wants to prove his loyalty."

Harry leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table as he regarded Drew "Of course he is," he remarked, spinning the blade faster. "He knows what happens to pets that don't play nice."

The crew exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared respond.

Vic cleared his throat again, shifting the conversation. "There's talk of an auction. Out of town. Big players, high stakes. Could be worth checking out."

Harry raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening faintly. "And what am I supposed to do with a room full of rich idiots bidding on overpriced baubles, Vic? You think I need more paperweights?"

Vic shifted nervously. "It's not just trinkets, boss. There's... interesting stuff up for grabs."

"Is there?" Harry drawled, twirling the blade. "Go on. Thrill me."

Vic exchanged a glance with one of the others before pulling a folded paper from his pocket. "Alright, let's see..." He opened it, his finger tracing down the list. "There's a pair of Fabergé eggs. Gold, jewelled, real delicate."

Harry rolled his eyes, snorting. "Oh, I bet Gotham's thugs are drooling over that one. Eggs. Fascinating."

The crew chuckled nervously, and Vic hurried to the next item. "A rare painting. Stolen years ago. Worth millions."

Harry yawned theatrically. "If I wanted wall art, I'd commission something explosive."

Vic frowned, scanning the list. "Uh... a vintage safe. No one knows what's inside, but the safe itself is worth—"

"Let me guess," Harry interrupted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Worth a fortune? A mystery wrapped in a riddle?  Spare me, Vic. What else?"

Vic nodded, moving on. "There's talk about Falcone accounts—encrypted— and maybe... um... rumours of...a certain ledger?"

Harley burst out laughing. "Oh, let me guess, every greasy wannabe in town's frothing at the mouth for Falcone's grocery list?"

Harry turned to him with a sharp smile before his gaze flickered back to Vic. "Falcone's ledger, hmm? And who's the auctioneer?"

Drew piped back up. "Some out-of-town players. European types. They're dealing in other big-ticket items too—artefacts, weapons, blackmail, tech scavenged from abandoned military projects."

Harry's lips twitch into a faint smile. "Blackmail and bombs. Adorable. Next."

Vic hesitated, his finger pausing near the bottom. "There's... a drive. Supposedly tied to Wayne Enterprises."

The blade in Harry's hand stilled mid-spin. His smirk faded slightly as the faintest flicker of interest crossed his face.  "Wayne Enterprises?" he repeated, his voice soft but dangerous.

Vic nodded quickly. "That's what the word is. Codes, grant approvals, maybe money trails. Could be big leverage."

Harry leaned forward slightly, his green eyes glinting. "Now you have my attention."

A low murmur passed through the crew, the tension in the room thickening. And then, faintly, a voice broke through the silence.

"-I'm sure he'd put those pretty eyes to use" Dean snickered to the man next to him, his tone low but carrying just enough to reach Harry.

The Joker tilted his head, his knife flipping sharply to point at him. The room went deathly silent, the tension thick and suffocating.

Dean paused in his tracks, swallowing as the whole room turned to face him.

"Oh don't stop now," Harry said, his tone light and teasing, though his eyes glinted with something far deadlier. "I love a good joke. Share it with the class."

Dean paled, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "It was nothing, boss," he stammered. "I—I didn't mean—"

"Pretty eyes," Harry murmured, his smirk returning but far sharper, colder. "Sounds like you were talking about my little bird."

Dean shook his head immediately. "That's not—"

"No?" Harry cut him off. "Are you saying he doesn't have pretty eyes?" he asked. "I don't like liars, Dean."

"No, I mean-" Dean choked out. "I just meant that he..."

Harry's face darkened. "He what?"

Dean quivered. "I didn't mean anything by it, boss," he promised. "Just—just about the drive. Thought maybe The Robin—well, it's Wayne Tech, right? He might bat his eyes to make a grab for it." He swallowed, his words coming out hoarse. "Maybe it's not best in his hands. He's new, and we—"

"Ah," Harry leaned back in his chair, the blade resuming its lazy spin. "Loyalty is a tricky thing," he mused. "Good thing to be cautious about, wouldn't you say?"

Dean nodded frantically. "Yes, boss. Exactly!" he exclaimed."That's all I meant."

The Joker hummed softly, his green eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "Want to prove yours?"

Dean froze, his throat bobbing nervously. "Always, boss. Anything you need."

Harry's grin was back. "Good boy," he praised. "Go shoot yourself in the foot."

The tension in the room exploded into silence.

Dean's face drained of colour. "B-boss—"

"Did I stutter?" Harry raised a brow.

The man fumbled for his gun, his hands shaking. Harley chuckled, watching the scene with lazy amusement.

Harry held up a hand just as the man aimed at his foot. "Wait," he instructed. "You're really going to do it here? In front of such distinguished company?" He gestured to Harley, who grinned. "Show some class."

Harley snorted, twirling his toothpick between his fingers. "Oh, I'm all for a show."

Harry shook his head, mockingly disappointed. "Outside. Now."

The henchman nodded frantically and rushed out the door. Moments later, the sharp sound of a gunshot echoed, followed by a pained cry.

The remaining crew sat in stiff, uneasy silence, their gazes firmly on the table.

Harry tapped the blade against the metal surface, his smirk returning. "Anyone else got something to say about Robin?"

A chorus of hurried responses followed, each man tripping over the other to affirm their loyalty: "Nope." "Solid as a rock." "Wouldn't dream of doubting him."

"Love that guy," one muttered.

"Trust him with my life, boss," another added quickly.

Harry's chuckle was soft and sharp. "That's what I thought."

Harley let out a low whistle, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, looks like we're all on the same page now. Isn't that nice?"

The room fell quiet again as Harry leaned back, his sharp green eyes scanning the faces before him. "Keep an ear out for this auction," he said softly. "And if anyone sees a pointy-eared pest snooping around, I want to know immediately."

"Still no sightings, boss," Vic said quickly. "Looks like Batman's lying low."

Harry hummed, the blade spinning lazily in his fingers. "Interesting," he murmured. "Let's see how long that lasts."

The meeting wrapped shortly after, the men filing out in silence. Harley lingered by the door, his grin faint but knowing.

"So, I'm guessin' the whole 'out of town' thing's not high on your bucket list?" Harley said, his voice teasing.

Harry turned, meeting Harley's gaze as he stood. "I have better things to do than rub elbows with European amateurs."

"And yet..." Harley teased.

"And yet," Harry continued, making his way to the door. "If we're going to remind Gotham who runs this city, maybe it wouldn't hurt to remind the rest of them too."

Harley grinned. "Could be fun to rattle their cage," he said, his smirk sharp. "And," he drawled. "Wayne Enterprises."

"Wayne Enterprises," Harry repeated lowly.

There was a beat of silence before Harley asked. "Speaking of Wayne stuff, how's feathers?" The toothpick in his mouth twitched as he spoke.

"Alive," Harry replied smoothly. "Sulking." He let the knife spin once more before catching it. "What's new?"

Harley let out a short laugh as the two of them exited the building. "Think he's up for a trip outta town?"

Harry tilted his head slowly. "We'll see," he muttered.

They were greeted with a treacherous downpour. Gotham's skyline was a grey mist entangled with heavy rain.

"C'mon, boss," Harley replied, pulling his hood tighter around his face. "If anyone can make it fun..." He gave Harry a playful nudge.

Harry rolled his eyes, a faint smile on his lips as he glanced toward the rain-soaked skyline. "Fun, huh?"

Harley grinned. "You know you love a good show."

Harry's gaze lingered on the city, his expression turning more contemplative. "Gotham's always been my stage," he murmured. "Let's see if the rest of the world's ready for an encore."

The rain battered harder against them. Harley gave a low whistle, his grin widening. "Now that's the spirit."

Harry's smirk returned, sharper now. "Let's give them something worth remembering."

***

Louis sat on the wide window seat, his knees drawn to his chest, gaze distant as if trying to chase something just beyond his reach. The city stretched out before him, indifferent to his mood, its sprawling skyline outlined faintly by the grey clouds smothering the horizon.

He looked small—almost childlike—the bandages wrapped around his side hidden by the oversized sweater slouched over his shoulders. His arms were locked around his knees, and he rested his chin there, unmoving.

Harry lingered in the doorway, silhouetted by the hallway light. He made no move to announce himself, arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. His sharp green eyes flicked over Louis, studying him like a puzzle someone had dropped halfway through solving. Louis' usual sharp edges seemed dulled, his focus lost somewhere outside the window. The silence felt heavier somehow.

Finally, Harry knocked against the open door, the sound light but enough to jolt Louis from his thoughts. "You look like something out of a tragedy," he drawled.

Louis didn't look up as Harry approached him.

Harry tilted his head, closing the distance slowly. "I mean, the pose? The stormy background? Points for dramatic flair, sweetheart."

"Did you want something?" Louis asked, his voice faint but edged with just enough irritation to hold some fight.

Harry paused a few feet away, leaning against the corner of the window, arms crossed as he studied him. "Can one not check on the wounded?" he remarked.

Louis sighed. "I'm fine," he muttered.

Harry's sharp gaze narrowed slightly, his lips curving into a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, you're doing a remarkably convincing impression of someone who isn't."

Louis turned his head toward him, an eyebrow arching faintly in challenge.

Harry frowned faintly but pushed closer, stopping just beside the window. "What're you looking for out there?"

"Nothing," Louis said quickly, his voice sharper than he intended. He sat up straighter, his shoulders bunching in tension.

A slow smirk pulled at Harry's lips. "Hmm," he murmured, studying Louis closely. "Convincing. Really." He leaned against the frame beside him, pretending to ponder. "But you're not looking out for a certain bat, are you?"

Louis finally turned to him, his glare faint but firm. "Leave it."

Harry held his hands up, though his smirk lingered. "Alright, alright. Just asking. Calm your feathers, Robin."

The room settled again into silence, the rain picking up slightly against the window. Harry's gaze lingered on Louis a beat longer before his tone shifted, softening just enough to slip beneath the surface.

"What's wrong, then?" Harry pressed.

Louis turned to him again, one brow quirking. "Apart from being stabbed?"

Harry's smirk returned. "Glad to see you haven't lost your charming sense of humour. I was about to file a missing person report."

The corners of Louis' mouth lifted in a fleeting smile but just as quickly it was gone, fading back into the hollow stillness that settled around him like a fog.

"There," Harry murmured, his voice low, almost to himself. "For a moment, the clouds parted." His gaze stayed fixed on Louis. "What happened?"

"Stop," Louis muttered, shifting to look back out the window. "I'm fine."

Harry leaned closer, his shadow spilling over Louis. "I've heard some lies in my time, sweetheart," he said with a faint smirk. "But that might take the cake."

Louis rolled his eyes but didn't respond, his attention firmly on the city below.

Harry sighed but didn't let up. "Alright. Let's start easy then. How's the injury?"

Louis shrugged, still not meeting his gaze. "Still there."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Very funny," he quipped.

"I'll be fine," Louis replied.

"I hope so," Harry said casually, straightening slightly. "You know how hard it was to find you?"

Louis side-eyed him. "What?"

"You think Gotham's just crawling with perfect partners?" Harry continued, gesturing dramatically. "Nah, sweetheart. I searched high and low," he continued. "I scaled all the rooftops. Every shady alley. All the dead-end bars. Questioned every misfit and miscreant I could," he ranted. "And what do I find?"

Louis finally turned fully to him, his expression vaguely amused. "Do tell."

"Moody," Harry started, his lips quirked faintly, delighting in Louis' silent irritation. "Stubborn. Reckless. Impulsive. Always has to have the last word. Self-sacrificial. Absurdly annoying—"

"Anything else?" Louis interrupted flatly, though his lips twitched faintly like he was fighting a smile.

"Oh, yes," Harry said, his voice lilting as he counted on his fingers. "Unreasonably sarcastic. Impossible to keep still. Prone to heroic nonsense despite overwhelming odds. Guilt complexes the size of Wayne Tower—"

Louis folded his arms, fixing Harry with a look. "Anything positive?"

Harry pretended to think, tapping his chin theatrically. "Hmm."

Louis rolled his eyes but didn't interrupt.

"Not bad on the eyes," Harry finally offered, smirking.

Louis' cheeks flushed faintly. "Anything useful?" he pressed, his tone flat but with an undertone of amusement.

Harry cocked his head, his sharp green eyes narrowing like he was truly giving it thought. After a beat, he shook his head. "Nope. Sorry, sweetheart, I got nothing."

A single quiet laugh escaped him. "Unbelievable," Louis muttered, his tone filled with mock exasperation.

"There," Harry said with a light click of his fingers as he pointed in Louis' direction. "See? Told you. Still in there somewhere."

The air shifted as Louis turned back to the window, his arms folding tighter around himself, the brief levity draining again as his smile faded.

"Hey," Harry said softly, leaning toward him. "You're doing that thing."

Louis didn't turn to look at him. "What thing?"

"The thing where you lock yourself away, throw the key into the Gotham River, and let the world pass you by." His tone was lighter but still firm. "I hate that thing."

Louis huffed. "I don't do that," he murmured.

"Sure you do," Harry said smoothly. "It's your thing."

Louis didn't reply, his posture shrinking slightly into itself.

"Don't," Harry pressed quietly. "I've worked way too hard to keep you in one piece to let you mope on me now."

Louis blinked innocently. "You?" he teased. "Hard work?" he repeated. "That can't be right."

"See, this is what happens when you pass out," Harry replied with a smirk. "You miss me scooping you up, carrying you heroically through the rain. It was a moment, sweetheart. Practically a Hollywood romance."

Louis huffed another faint laugh but shook his head.

Harry tilted his head, studying him for a moment. "You're really gonna milk this injury, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"Suit yourself," Harry quipped lightly. He turned toward the door. "But don't drag it out too long. You're no good to me like this. And..." He glanced back with a teasing grin. "You're getting eye bags. Terrible look on you," he teased. "Ruins the whole energetic hero thing."

Louis rolled his eyes as Harry slipped out of the room but as the quiet returned, the city lights outside his window felt dimmer. His gaze drifted back to the rain. He didn't move from the windowsill.

Hope you enjoyed!

Thoughts on the auction?

Why do you think Louis is slipping into himself? What's wrong with him?

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