Work Text:
When the last bad guy goes down before she can so much as look at him, Spoiler whirls on the Batman to jab a finger at his chest. “I had that,” she gripes.
He looks at her, and she can feel the judgment, the dismissal he’s about to use to try to make her shut up and go away. He’s done it before. She beats him to the punch, drawing herself up to stand on her toes and then craning her neck back to glare him in the eyes. “You can’t come in and steal my fights,” she says, “they’re MY fights, and I’m picking them for a REASON!”
Robin takes a step forward from the other side of the rooftop, and she rounds on him, lets her cape snap high with the turn and her anger. “You,” she seethes, unsatisfied with his tiny flinch, “you said he’d leave me alone. You SAID I could do my own thing.”
His shoulders are hiked almost as high as hers, but she can’t make out his expression, can’t decide whether he’s afraid of her or ashamed of his mentor. “I said Gotham had room for all of us,” he counters, low, twitching slightly as his cape is caught in the breeze still flaring her own. “And there is. We can help you—“
She shrieks at him, an involuntary warning, so when she swings a fist he’s well prepared to duck away. Her followup kick would have landed squarely to his ribs, no matter how he tried to dodge, except his whole form fizzles and reappears a step to the left; she yells again and lets her momentum carry her to the ground, lets herself dissolve into nothing and reappear with a snarl right above him. He twists in a way he shouldn’t be able to, catches her, and his legs sink into shadow and her weight catapults her too far; she flips back and almost lands a strike to his shoulder, in time to almost dodge one to her knee.
She’s never fought another Mask before. It’s exhilarating.