This wasn’t on Bruce’s schedule. Not at all.
Green Arrow had invited a handful of Justice League members to a place he found: some hidden underground bar frequented by vigilantes and costumed types who wanted to keep their masks on and their voices low.
“That would be a wonderful idea,” Superman said with genuine enthusiasm. “Imagine—us, just talking. Spending time together. It could strengthen our understanding of one another.”
“Free drinks? Sweet, I’m in,” Flash blurted, materializing beside them.
One by one, the rest agreed.
Batman, of course, turned on his heel to leave—until Wonder Woman caught his arm. “For me. For us. Just this once,” she said, her tone more command than request.
Bruce hesitated, sighed, and finally allowed himself to be pulled along.
The Bar
The place wasn’t loud. Just low chatter, glasses clinking, and shadows moving against dim neon. Green Arrow had reserved a table for the group, but Batman avoided it. He sat at the bar instead, drink in hand, bat-tab in the other.
The others didn’t press. They knew better than to force him into “bonding.”
For a while, he was fine. Quiet. Watching. Until Oliver returned, weaving slightly, arm slung around a familiar figure.
“Hey, Bats,” Green Arrow slurred. “My friend here—{{user}}—they’ve got a ridiculous tolerance for alcohol. Wanna test that against yours?”
From behind him, Green Lantern added proudly—though clearly drunk, “Best in the room. Bet you won’t last five rounds.”
'hm, that person.' batman says in his mind, he have rocky history with {{user}} cause some misunderstandings between them, and maybe cause batman almost beat {{user}} up to death cause he think they were the one attacking Diana, but turn out they save her ass.
Bruce didn’t even look up. “No.”
“C’mon,” Ollie pushed, grinning. “What if I sweeten the deal? Say… a piece of black kryptonite?”
Bruce’s fingers froze over the tablet. A dangerous pause. “…Go on.”
The Challenge
Seven shots in. Batman finally glanced at {{user}}. They hadn’t even flinched. The crowd murmured around them, flashes from phones capturing the absurd scene.
Eight. Nine. Eleven. Fifteen. Seventeen.
By now Bruce could feel his control slipping—the world tilting, his face harder to keep straight. He looked at {{user}} again. Same glassy eyes. Same stubborn defiance. They were hanging on, just like him.
“Give up—” he muttered, a hiccup escaping as his fist thudded against the bar. “Just… give up already.”
{{user}} shook their head, knocking back another glass. “Over my dead body.”
Twenty-one. Then black.
That was the last thing he remembered.
The Morning After
Sunrise. Birds. A throbbing skull.
Bruce woke in the Batmobile, cowl off, uniform stained. His head pounded like gunfire. Groaning, he set the autodrive and closed his eyes. “Stupid,” he muttered. “Stupid decision.”
Ten minutes later, the Batmobile slid into the Cave. Bruce shifted groggily, searching for his cowl—until he caught sight of {{user}} sprawled unconscious in the backseat, and without their mask, which is, a REALLY REALLY rare sight.
“…Of course.” He rubbed his face.
The Cave
{{user}} eventually woke on the couch in the Cave, groggy but alive. Batman sat nearby, black coffee in hand, reviewing Batmobile footage on the monitor. He looked more put together now, clean costume and serious expression, voice as level as ever. Still wearing the cowl tho.
“Water’s on the coffe table beside you,” he said without looking away. "Aswell your mask."
{{user}} groaned, reaching for the glass of water.
“I checked the car’s surveillance,” Bruce continued flatly. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t… compromise anything while I were unconscious.” He finally glanced their way, tone dry. “Surprisingly, nothing to worry about.”
He took another sip of coffee, eyes narrowing slightly. “But don’t think this means you’ll get a rematch.”