For Stacy, who asked for Bart and another DC boy, in a story about Bart rutinely ruining his socks. That's not quite the case, but... this is what happens when I write fic at three am. It's . . . odd. *grins*

"Hey, Bart, I--" Kon froze, mid-air, hovering over the youngest speedster. He tilted his head first one way, and then the other.

Bart ignored him.

"What are you doing?"

"Learning to darn," Bart answered absently, flipping through the book again before picking up needle and thread and going back to the sock he held awkwardly.

Kon watched him for another moment. Beside Bart was an entire pile of socks, twisted out of shape by thread. "I thought you learned everything super-fast."

"Well, I can read the books really fast . . ." Bart said, frowning. He held his current sock up.

It looked like a deranged caterpillar.

Bart frowned, dropped it into the pile of destroyed socks, and pulled a fresh one out of a bag.

Kon landed softly, hands in his pockets. "I guess you probably wear them out pretty quick, huh? All that running."

"No," Bart said casually.

"No?"

"No."

Kon stood there. Bart kept trying to darn. When the next one looked like some sort of cloth origami, Bart turned back to the book.

"So how do you ruin them?" Kon asked.

"I use them as slingshots," Bart said, trying to thread a needle.

"Slingshots?" Kon repeated dubiously.

Bart nodded.

Kon folded down to the floor, sitting cross-legged. "You're really weird."

Bart nodded.

Kon picked up a sock, paused, and said, "These are clean, right?"

Bart nodded.

"Let me see that book . . . " He spent several minutes studying the pictures of a woman darning, then picked up an extra needle, threading it with his TTK, and started trying to sew.

"What are you guys doing?"

Neither Kon nor Bart looked up at Robin, standing with his arms folded under his cape. "Darning," they said together.

"Darning?" Robin repeated.

Bart nodded. Kon said, "He goes through his socks really fast."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense. All the running and everything . . ." Robin murmured.

Kon just shook his head.

"No?" Robin asked the back of the boy's skull.

"No."

"Slingshots," Bart explained.

Robin was silent.

Bart held up a sock that looked more like a bridge than a sock. Kon held up a sock that looked more like a traffic jamb.

"You two are sad," Robin snorted, settling down onto the floor. "Give me one of those."

Several minutes passed in silence, broken only by occasional curses when Bart stabbed himself with his needle, or the sound of the pages in the book being flipped.

There were footsteps. None of them bothered to look up. The footsteps stopped beside Kon. He still didn't look up.

"What are you doing?" Beast Boy asked.

"Darning," Robin muttered. He scowled at his sock, which looked more like Winston Churchill than a sock, and tossed it in the reject pile.

Beast Boy stood there for a long time. "I guess with all that running--"

"Slingshots," the three of them said in unison.

There was a moment of silence.

"This is the weirdest team ever," Gar muttered. He started to walk away. Faintly, the words drifted back to them, "Where'd I put my camera?"

Kon snorted. "Just try it, BB."

There was concentrated silence once again.

Then something flashed.

Kon looked up. Bart looked up. Robin looked up and scowled mightily. "Would we ever live this down?" he asked.

"Do you really want Nightwing to know?" Kon responded.

"Shit."

As one, they jumped up and tore after Gar.

--End

Back to the Batcave
Back to the living room