Chapter Text
Rip was going to kill him. He was actually going to kill him. He couldn't even believe what Booster was doing. ‘Meet a Mammoth’ The stupid ridiculous bastard had actually brought a wooly mammoth into the 21st century and was currently standing in the middle of a public park charging $5 a person for a so called ‘photo-op” He slammed his hand onto the teleporter controls. A faint blue glow enveloped him, and in the next instant, he materialized not in the park, but directly behind Booster Gold's flimsy ticket booth.
Booster, ever the oblivious showman, didn't even notice the arrival. He was too busy flashing his pearly white, million-dollar smile at a line of onlookers. He was about to open his mouth to scold him but a second booming baritone voice beat him to it.
“MICHAEL JONATHON CARTER! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!”
Rip turned to see the trinity approaching. They looked about as amused as he was.
Booster froze, his million-dollar smile instantly vanishing. The sound of his full name, booming and authoritative, was enough to make the time-traveling hero's blood run cold. He slowly turned, the garish blue and gold of his uniform seeming to dim under the collective disapproving gazes.
The Trinity stood there, a formidable sight. Superman, with his hands on his hips, looked less like the Man of Steel and more like a deeply disappointed father. Wonder Woman had her arms crossed, her expression a perfect blend of exasperation and disbelief. And then there was Batman. His face, as always, was a stone-cold mask, but the sheer intensity of his stare felt like a physical weight pressing down on Booster.
“S-Supes! Wo-Wo! B-Batsy! Wh-what a surprise!” Booster stammered, his voice cracking like a teenage boy's. He tried to project a winning charm, but it came out as a pathetic squeak. He gestured nervously at the woolly mammoth tied to a nearby oak tree. “Just, you know, a little historical conservation effort! Educational, really! Think of the science!”
"We're thinking of the temporal paradoxes, Michael," Superman said, his voice dropping to a low, warning rumble. "And the public endangerment. And the blatant profiteering." He took a slow, deliberate step forward, and Booster instinctively took one back, bumping into the flimsy ticket booth. Rip stepped over joining the Trinity at Wonder Woman’s side and crossing his own arms.
“Booster.” Rip said “We are bringing that mammoth back where you found it. Go get it ready for transport now!”
“Yeah, sure thing, Rip,” Booster mumbled, the swagger completely gone. He quickly walked over to the woolly beast. He patted its massive, furry flank, whispering a quick apology. “Just a little historical field trip, big guy, nothing personal. Back you go.”
Rip sighed deeply while booster was distracted “what am I going to do with him.” he muttered.
“He hates spankings” Batman proffered casually.
Rip’s jaw dropped. He turned to Batman, who looked completely unfazed. Then glanced at wonder woman and Superman. A silent request for their input.
“The are very effective.” Superman mused somewhat sheepishly as if embarrassed to be talking about it.
Diana nodded “He deserves one too.” she added.
Rip blinked, his jaw still slightly ajar, taking in the collective, unexpected agreement of the Trinity. He wasn’t sure which was more shocking: Batman volunteering information about someone’s punishment preferences, or Superman and Wonder Woman concurring with such casual conviction.
“You are suggesting I– I spank him?” rip replied in shock.
“I don’t care what you do.” batman said with a shrug “He is getting one when he returns to the watchtower after putting that thing back regardless.”
Rip rubbed at his temples. ‘He hates being spanked.’ The bat had said it so casually, like it was a matter of fact. Sky is blue, grass is green, Booster Gold hates spankings. But that was easier said then done for Rip. Technically Booster was his Dad. or he would be at least. That was always the sticking point, wasn't it? The temporal paradox of his own existence was the very thing that made disciplining his charge so difficult. It was his father and only he knew it. He had plenty of memories of his father spanking him, but spanking his own father?
“I will think about it…” rip said
Meanwhile batman walked over to booster and pinched his ear tweaking it painfully and pulling Michaels taller frame down to his level so he could whisper into his ear.
“When you’re done with the animal, Michael, you will meet us at the Watchtower.”
Booster shivered, not from the cold of the snow still in the mammoths fur, but from the low, gravelly timbre of the Bat’s voice. Batman's words were a promise and a warning rolled into one, and the tweak of his ear was a painful, non-verbal exclamation mark. Booster didn’t need to ask what was waiting for him at the Watchtower. The way Superman and Wonder Woman had looked at him, the way Batman had spoken, it was all too clear. He was going to get a spanking—and a serious one, by the sounds of it.
“O-of course, B-Batsy,” Booster squeaked out, trying to subtly rub his throbbing ear. He forced a smile that didn't reach his terrified eyes. “Gotta make sure the big guy gets home safe. I'll be there. Pr-promptly.” He swallowed hard, the word Watchtower ringing in his ears like a death knell. He avoided Rip’s gaze, which felt heavier than Superman’s. He knew his heroic swagger was gone for the day, replaced by a deep, stomach-dropping certainty of the painful reckoning to come. He turned his attention back to the mammoth, desperate to put off the inevitable trip back to the league’s headquarters. The moment he'd brought the massive creature here, he'd sealed his fate. Now, all he could do was stall. Which historically only made things worse.
“What the hell were you thinking?!” rip hunter yelled once he had dragged Booster Gold back into the time sphere after returning the mammoth
Booster, slumped miserably in the co-pilot seat, didn't even flinch. “I was thinking… five dollars a photo? That’s good money, Rip! I Need the money I–”
“Don’t you dare try to rationalize this, Michael!” Rip cut him off, his voice dangerously low now. “You endangered the timeline! You caused a public spectacle!”
“Don’t call me Michael, rip! You know i don’t like that!” he whined
Rip didn’t so much as flinch at the petulant protest. His expression remained a mask of controlled fury. “I will call you by whatever name I see fit when you act like an irresponsible child, Michael.”
“That’s not fair!” Michael shot back, his voice cracking slightly. He tried to pull away from the wall, a desperate, futile movement against the sheer force of Rip’s authority. “ I am flat broke man! Cant even afford rent broke! I needed a hail mary! Why are you always so dramatic about everything? I could call you your real name too! if i knew what it was!”
Rip rubbed at his temples. First Booster had run off and caused a time paradox, and now he was acting like a petulant brat about it. Rip closed his eyes, a low, frustrated growl rumbling in his chest. It was his father. His stupid, reckless, well-meaning, incredibly frustrating father. The same father who had taught Rip everything he knows about Time Travel and protecting the Time-line only for rip to have to go back in time and teach Booster everything he would have to know to be able to teach him in the first place. It was a real chicken or the egg situation and it was giving him a head ache.
Rip finally opened his eyes, the weariness in his gaze fighting with the cold resolve of his expression. “We’re done arguing, Michael,” he said, his voice flat and final, “You violated the timeline. You endangered the public. And you behaved with the recklessness of a teenager. That is the reality of the situation.”
He slammed his hand down on the console, initiating the automated docking sequence for vanishing point. Booster flinched, not from the sound, but from the tone. The fight had gone out of him, replaced by a hollow dread. He knew that voice. It was the sound of an authority figure who had reached the end of their rope.
“I’ve tried logic, I’ve tried reasoning, I’ve tried yelling. It obviously has not gotten through that thick skull of yours. So now when we get back to Vanishing point I am going to try something else.”
“No! Not that! You can’t! I mean… Batman was kidding about that! He was joking! it was an inside joke! You- You know how much of a kidder he is!”
Rip's expression was utterly devoid of humor, the controlled fury from moments ago hardening into cold resolve. “Do I look like I’m kidding, Michael?” he asked, his voice now dangerously soft. Michael instinctively recoiled. The cocky bravado was completely gone, replaced by naked fear. He seemed to be desperately looking for a way to escape.
“Skeeeets” booster whined “Tell Rip it was a joke and spankings don’t work on me because uhh I like them!”
Rip's eyes, already narrowed with frustration, flickered to the small, hovering sphere of Skeets. The robot was silent, its single blue light blinking with a steady, impartial rhythm.
“Skeets, is that correct?” Rip asked, his voice flat and perfectly calm.
“Correction, Mr. Hunter,” Skeets stated, his synthesized voice a cool, analytical monotone that cut through Michael’s desperate whine. “My files indicate the subject, Michael Jon Carter, has an acute aversion to being spanked, and that they are highly effective as a deterrent. I can bring up audio-video recordings of his past disciplinary sessions if that would be useful.”
Rip’s jaw, which had been tight with fury, relaxed slightly, the cold resolve in his eyes deepening. He hadn't been absolutely sure—the paradox of their relationship, the sheer audacity of Batman's casual offering of this information—had clouded his judgment. But Skeets, the impartial, all-knowing repository of Booster Gold's historical data, had just confirmed it.
“No, Skeets,” Rip said, his voice quiet, almost dangerously calm. “That won’t be necessary.” He stepped forward, his shadow falling over the miserable figure of Michael slumped in the co-pilot seat. He reached out a hand and, with a firm, unforgiving grip, took hold of the collar of Booster's garish blue and gold uniform.
“Stand up, Michael.” Rip’s voice was a low command, stripped of all the earlier frustration and replaced with a steely, non-negotiable authority.
Booster squeezed his eyes shut, a small, pathetic whimper escaping his throat. He didn’t resist the pull on his collar, not truly. He was too defeated, too scared, and too resigned to his fate. He didn't dare meet Rip's eyes, staring instead at the worn, metallic floor of vanishing point. Planing an escape plan. He was a former quarter back, he was fast, he could make a break for it! Run and find somewhere to hide! He didn't wait for a second thought. The sheer terror of what was coming—the discipline—overwhelmed his sense of self-preservation. Booster Gold lunged, his long legs pumping instantly into a full sprint across the bright, silent floor of Vanishing Point. Run! Find a closet, a utility hatch, anything! His mind screamed a frantic, illogical plan to somehow lose the Time Master in his own fortress.Rip Hunter watched the flash of blue and gold streak out of his Time Sphere and across the sterile white floor of Vanishing Point’s docking bay.
“He uhh… Panics sometimes.” Skeets explained, almost sounding embarrassed on boosters behalf.