Hello thereee~~ My dearest I saw ur Halloween ask prompt game thing-
Dick and Jason (ofc lol) taking reader out trick or treating and bullying bc they never have. Huehuehuegoodstuff~
Then maybe funnily at the end (otw home idk lol) loud lighting aka thunderstorm scares the pair XD.
Well, hello 👻. What a nice ask we have here. I understood the wording in a way that Jason and Dick tease the reader for never trick-or-treating as a child, so that's what I wrote. Enjoy 🖤
The air was crisp and smelled faintly of burnt sugar and decaying leaves. Perfect Halloween night.
You looked down at your costume, feeling a little silly. It wasn't the costume itself, but the context. You, a perfectly mature adult (well, close enough), were about to go door to door and ask for fun-sized candy with two of Gotham's most highly trained vigilantes.
"Alright, newbie, costume check," Jason demanded, leaning against the door frame, his Red Hood helmet gone and replaced by a pair of cheap plastic vampire fangs. He wore a plain black turtleneck and jeans under his black and red cloak, his hair slicked back. He looked remarkably like Bruce right now, even though he was adopted. Always did. But you knew saying that would earn you purple nurple.
He looked you up and down, whistling in approval. "You really went all out, huh?"
You shuffled your feet, feeling a little self-conscious. When they first offered to take you trick-or-treating, you were ecstatic, mostly because of the costume part, and spent days creating your costume. Your very own version of Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas. Complete with red wig and black and white shoes. You just hoped the blue paint could be washed off. The costume looked good, and you felt good. But now, as you stood there, it made you realize how crazy this was.
Dick, however, was pure, unadulterated enthusiasm. He was vibrating in a ridiculous, meticulously sewn Captain Comet suit that looked ten sizes too small and five sized too loud. "Don't listen to the Grinch," Dick said, clapping you on the shoulder. "The costume looks great! But are you ready for the tactical assault?"
"I thought we were just asking for sweets?"
Jason snorted, straightening up. "That's what civilians do. We are maximizing ROI. We have a hard twenty-block radius to cover before the rain hits, and I am not leaving without at least three pounds of Reese's.
"See?" Dick chimed in, pulling a sleek, oversized pillowcase from behind his back - which looked suspiciously like a pillowcase stolen from Bruce's guest wing. "Jason and I have been doing this since he was 14. We were experts. You, however, have never gone trick-or-treating."
"I grew up somewhere that didn't really celebrate," you mumbled. "I don't know the etiquette."
Jason gave you a condescending look. Etiquette? It's two words: 'Trick or treat'. Then you hold the bag open. Don't engage in conversation. Don't compliment the décor. And for God's sake, don't say 'thank you' if the person only offers those gross taffy chews."
"Ignore him," Dick whispered, looping his arm through yours. "Just smile and look cute. It's all about the charisma points. Let's go."
The first block of flats was a masterpiece of suburban horror - cobwebs everywhere, a strobe light flashing, and a motion-activated demon roaring from behind a garbage can.
Your heart rate immediately spiked. You froze three steps from the porch.
"Go, go, go!" Jason hissed from the sidewalk, already looking impatient.
You take a deep breath, walk up the steps, and deliver your line. "Trick or treat."
A kindly woman in a witch hat beamed at you, dropping two full-sized chocolate bars into your bag.
"Whoa," you said, genuinely surprised.
"That's a pretty costume. Are you a doll?" The woman asked you.
You smiled awkwardly at her. "Sort of... I'm supposed to be Sally from the cartoon."
The woman smiled even wider. That's amazing! You look great!"
That compliment was enough to give your confidence a boost. Once the door closed behind her, Dick clapped his hand on your shoulder. "A perfect 10/10! See? Easy! The trick is not making with the moving props."
"Amateur," Jason muttered, moving past you and knocking on the door next to you. He just stood on the porch, holding out his massive, aggressive pillowcase with a bored expression until the poor man who opened the door panicked and dumped in half his bowl.
"Jason!" Dick scolded later, as they power-walked you down the pristine sidewalk of Gotham Heights, the safest and most profitable neighborhood in the city.
"What? I’m efficient. They are clearly holding back on the good stuff." Jason paused, rummaging through his pile. "You know, for someone who patrols the Narrows and faces down guys with rocket launchers, you look absolutely terrified every time a suburban dad tries to high-five you. Relax, newbie."
"It’s the sheer number of kids," you defended, pulling your costume cloak tighter. "It's overwhelming."
"It’s great training," Dick insisted, snatching a miniature Snickers from your bag when you weren't looking. "It forces you to operate in a high-density, low-visibility environment while carrying essential, sugary cargo."
You spent the next hour falling into a rhythm. Dick was the cheerleader, shouting compliments at the homeowners and distracting them while Jason snaked around the side of the porch, checking for unattended candy bowls. You were mostly there for moral support and to serve as a distraction.
You were cutting through a poorly lit alley shortcut Dick swore would save you six minutes—"Trust the acrobat, I know the shortcuts!"—when the weather decided to turn grim.
The earlier breeze had become a fierce wind, whipping leaves around your ankles. The sky, which had been black, was now a deep, swirling indigo, heavy with unspent water.
"Maybe we should just head back," you suggested, adjusting the strap of your increasingly strained candy bag.
"Nonsense," Jason scoffed, though he did glance worriedly at the darkening clouds. "We still haven’t hit the street with the lawyer who gives out small electronics."
"He gives out earbuds, Jay, not iPhones," Dick corrected, his voice slightly tight. He hated bad weather; it ruined his traction.
They continued their debate—Dick arguing for the purity of traditional candy, Jason arguing for the superior value of consumer goods—as you exited the alley and stepped onto a large, empty street lined with towering oaks.
The wind suddenly stopped. Every sound seemed to drop away. The air went thick, silent, and metallic.
Jason had just grabbed Dick's Captain Comet helmet, trying to wrestle the last Starburst out of Dick's hand, when the sky above them split open.
It wasn't just lightning; it was a blinding, instantaneous flash of white-blue light so close it felt like it had pierced the ground right next to them. Before the light had even faded from your vision, the thunder crashed—a single, massive, explosive sound that vibrated not just in your ears, but in your chest cavity.
Jason and Dick reacted instantaneously, trained by years of battlefield reflexes.
"Cover!" Jason yelled, dropping his candy bag and hitting the dirty pavement, rolling away behind the nearest tree trunk, his cloak fluttering after him.
"Incoming!" Dick shrieked, executing a terrifyingly fast, full-body flinch that sent his pillowcase of chocolate flying into the gutter. He didn't roll; he slammed his back against the nearest oak tree trunk, flattening himself as if a sniper had opened fire, letting out a high-pitched sound that was definitely not a groan.
You stopped dead, eyes wide, feeling the adrenaline flood your system—not from the loud noise itself, but from the completely hysterical reaction of the two supposed heroes.
When the echoes of the thunder finally died away, only the sound of heavy breathing and wind remained.
Jason slowly uncurled from the fetal position, his face pale and covered in dirt. Dick slid down the tree trunk a few inches, peering around the wide base of the trunk with wary, dilated eyes.
They stared at each other. They stared at the candy bags on the ground. Then, they both looked at you.
You stood there, perfectly still, holding your bag of loot, utterly unharmed.
An awkward, agonizing silence stretched.
"Did... did you guys just scream?" you asked, trying very hard to hold back a laugh.
Jason instantly scrambled back to his feet, dusting off his hoodie with unnecessary vigor. "Scream? No. That was a tactical vocal flare. Distract and conceal."
"Yeah," Dick agreed, smoothing down his Captain Comet suit, which was now sadly smudged with tree sap. He avoided looking at the gutter where his chocolate lay. "It's a high-frequency alarm signal we use to locate each other in dense urban environments. Standard operating procedure."
"Right. You both dropped to the ground and yelled because of a tactical alarm signal," you deadpanned.
Jason snatched his bag off the ground, suddenly aggressive. "Look, we’re out of uniform, alright? Our senses aren't calibrated for non-lethal threats! It startled me."
"It startled us," Dick corrected, pushing Jason’s arm. "Jay, help me get the bag out of the gutter."
You couldn't help yourself with your next line. "Well, I guess some of us are just better at handling the scary parts of the outside world, aren't we? Maybe you guys need more practice."
Jason squinted at you, his mouth opening to launch a scathing retort.
A single, fat drop of rain splattered against the plastic vampire mask in his pocket.
"Forget the lawyer," Jason snapped, grabbing your arm and Dick's. "We’re running. Now."
And with a speed reserved for escaping enemy fire—or, apparently, getting caught in a mild thunderstorm—the three of you bolted from the street, sprinting back the way you came, leaving the chaos, the rain, and the faint, ringing echo of the thunder behind.
