The complete list of punishable offenses committed inside Wayne Manor, November 2018:
sprayed “pest repellant” every time a sibling entered the room
failed to warn family members of the presence of reporters (note: siblings in costume forced to hide in the pantry during forty minute interview)
snuck out while grounded, left window open during a rainstorm
purchased and consumed three dozen oatmeal creme pies
commanded dog to drool on sibling’s casework
refused to participate in obligatory nap hour
repeated escape attempts during obligatory nap hour (note: four instances) (further note: interrupted other family members’ naps)
inappropriate language re: obligatory nap hour
insufficient wound care
extreme spoon hoarding, complained about lack of spoons in the kitchen (note: search of guilty party’s room found 27 spoons, further 9 in adjoining bathroom)
Clint was unwrapping a sandwich, poking through the wrappings like there was a bomb inside ready to go off. (Sam was hoping there wasn’t a bomb ready to go off, literally or metaphorically, ‘cos Banner was up from the labs today and the guy had a temper.
Eventually he extracted a slip of paper and placed it carefully on the desk as he munched on his sandwich – tuna mayonnaise, cucumber, red onion, that was an effort sandwich, and Clint didn’t look like the effort type.
“Your honey make you lunch?” Sam asked, and Clint choked on a piece of cucumber.
“Um,” he said, “I guess you could call him that?”
“So what’s with the note?” Sam continued, curious beyond belief at the way Clint side-eyed it, wary as all hell.
“He thinks he’s funny,” Clint said. “Read it.”
Sam picked up the note, which was written on the corner of a pizza menu, looked like, in almost-dried-out Sharpie.
“’And I said hey,’” he read out, and Clint joined in dolefully, “‘what’s going on.’“
“The hell?” Sam asked, and Clint made a face.
“Every goddamn day he earworms me.” He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, and carefully picked out a text on the screen that was spiderwebbed with cracks. Upside down, it looked like it said ‘u sick son of a bitch’. “And then he laughs his ass off at me when I come home whistling.”
“Aaw, c’mon,” Sam said, “how the hell hard can it be to resist?”
By end of day every poor bastard in the precinct was singing.
theproblemwithstardust 