Pairing: Cross over QAF and DC Comics
Rating: R for ridiculous. Also, be warned there be potty mouth here.
Warnings: Severe stupidity and some naughty language
Feedback: Hell, yes.
This story is a shameless MarySusie, a piece of fluff shed like a dog's winter coat…or in Susie's case, like a tick. Unbetaed; all fleas are mine. And yes, the real Susie is, indeed, mine.
If You Knew Susie…
It was one of those days when you don't even want to look out of the window—dark, wet, thunder crashing so loud that you can feel it in your chest and the occasional blast of lightning directly over head. It was one of those days when you just wait for the power to go out and know it's just a matter of time before you'll be digging through a drawer looking for the candle stubs.
Brian had even shut down the computer to protect it from the surges that were probably on the way. The satellite reception was a tragedy and even the DVD was acting up.
Another clap of thunder slammed about two feet about his head and he imagined that he could even smell the ozone.
He was on his way to the fridge to get the last beer when he heard the elevator clanking it's way up the shaft, stopping at his floor with that final squeal that always made him wonder if this was the day it plunged to the basement. It was probably Justin home from the PIFA wars. He'd been bitching nonstop about the 'dumbass' design professor who seemed to have made the humiliation of Justin and the whole Rage concept her personal crusade. "You call this 'art', Mr. Taylor? With this lay out? With this color selection? And may I remind you that shock value is a cheap commodity. I suggest you rethink your commitment to your craft, dear."
Brian heard some noises out in the hall, as though Justin was trying to talk someone into coming in and not leaving. One of his socially challenged friends, no doubt, afraid of meeting the sugar daddy.
Whatever.
Twisting off the cap of the Lowenbrau he was seated back on the couch with a magazine when the door finally slid open, screaming and reminding him that the tracks needed to be oiled yet again.
He spoke without looking up. "They cancel classes?" PIFA never cancelled classes. The twat was cutting again.
"The power is out from Pitt up the hill to Shadyside so they told us to go outside and embrace nature's fury or some shit like that." Justin was up in the bathroom but came back down in less than a minute. He was carrying something wrapped in one of Brian's Porthault towels. He looked up at that—was the twat actually drying his schoolbooks in imported cotton? No—he was talking to the towel, practically cooing at it. Odd, even for Justin. Another clap of thunder crashed and the towel started visibly trembling.
Oh, Christ. An animal. Everything Brian hated in one package—small, dependant, cute and probably not housebroken.
Shit.
He looked at Justin and lifted one eyebrow, demanding an explanation without saying a word.
"She was dodging traffic on Forbes. I found her hiding under a car and—Jesus, I couldn't just leave her there, she would have been killed."
The small, furry face with an expression of terror looked at him. It—she—appeared to be beagle-ish, but only to some degree. The dog was obviously a mutt. She had the big brown eyes all puppies have along with adorably floppy ears. She was soaking wet and trembling. She looked to be about the size of a grown cat.
Brian despised her on sight.
"That thing isn't staying here."
"Well she has to for now at least."
"Bullshit—it stays here and it will never fucking leave. Give it to you sister, I'll even drive you over."
"They're visiting my grandparents. They won't be back for a week."
"Give it to Daphne."
"She allergic."
"And you're not? You're allergic to air, for God's sake. Give it to your father—that should be good for a laugh."
"Yeah, right."
"I mean it—that thing isn't staying here. Give it to Hunter—you two can bond over the fucking thing."
"Come on, Brian, you won't have to do anything. I promise. You won't even know she's here."
"I'm not doing anything now and I know she's here."
Justin sat down on the couch, cuddling the animal. "She's just a baby—what do you think we should name her?" Brian just raised an eyebrow. "Fine, don't even say a word. I'll think of something. Will you at least watch her while I get her a bowl of food or milk or kibble or something?" No answer. "Will you make sure she doesn't fall and hurt herself?"
"Get the fucking food."
Justin crossed over to the kitchen, smirking slightly.
The puppy, struggling to get out of the confines of the toweling almost fell off the couch before Brian made a quick move and caught her. He brought her closer to him, holding her the way he would hold Gus—gently but firmly—and saw for the first time that she was half starved and had a choke chain knotted around her neck. It was much too tight and there was no way to easily get it off her. Standing up with the dog in his arm, he went over to the drawer that held his tools, the ones he used now and then for small jobs around the loft, and pulled out a pair of wire cutters. With the smallest of yelps, the collar was off and the mutt was licking his face, tail wagging.
God, dog slobber, it was disgusting.
Jesus, he hated animals.
Brian looked up to see Justin smiling at him, holding a bowl of dog food and gesturing for the dog with the other. Handing her (yes, it was a female) over, Brian watched the thing clean out the bowl and two refills before, with a swollen belly, making it's way over to his feet, sniffing, curling up with her nose on his toes and going to sleep almost immediately.
One look and Justin was removing her to a folded blanket on the floor.
The rest of the evening passed fairly uneventfully—other than Justin cleaning up several messes the stupid thing made on the hardwood.
It was that old cliché…garbage in, garbage out. And he was amazed at the amount of shit one puppy could produce. Incredible.
"Put some fucking newspaper down."
"I did. She sniffed at it but I think she's afraid of it."
"Afraid of newspaper?"
Justin shrugged.
"She pees where the paper isn't? Jesus. Lock her in the bathroom."
"Brian, she's just a baby and…" A look. "Okay."
An hour later the whining and scratching began. Not able to stand it after forty minutes without stop and with Justin obliviously dead asleep, Brian opened the bathroom door. The still nameless dog ran out and with a supreme effort jumped on the bed, settling in next to Brian's pillow. It was clear that the mutt needed a bath, along with her other charms.
The next morning she hadn't moved. Maybe she was dead. No such luck. She opened her eyes, yawned, licked Brian's face and jumped down to the un-news papered floor where she peed gallons. Christ.
Getting some rags from the cleaning lady's stash in the kitchen, Brian sopped up the mess, noting that the finish on the floor had been affected.
Fuck.
If he had to pay to have the damn floor refinished he kill the fucking dog—and Justin right after.
"Justin—wake the fuck up. Your fucking dog needs a fucking walk."
"Hmm…umm…yeah…umm…Okay." Moving like a corpse, Justin pulled on a pair of cargoes, a tee, shoved his feet in his sneaks and pulled on the ugly ass ski jacket from last year. Picking up the mutt they went out, back inside of ten minutes.
Brian had the coffee started when he came in. The dog made a beeline for her food dish, inhaling everything in it and looking for more. Justin obliged. In twenty minutes she left an odious pile in the shower, which Brian found when he tried to bathe.
"Justin…"
"I'm on it."
"I thought you walked the fucking thing."
"I did. She didn't do anything. I think she was scared."
"Christ."
Justin cleaned up the mess while Brian stripped the sheets. He was damned if he was going to sleep on dog fug again.
That's when he saw them. Dozens of them. Jesus H. Fucking Christ.
Fleas.
The damn bed was infected with fucking fleas.
Hauling Justin and the dog into the jeep without explanation, Brian dropped both of the off at a neighborhood vet he'd noticed happened to be on the next block. He mentioned, through gritted teeth, that neither would be welcomed back until the mutt was bathed and deloused.
Next he pulled out his cel and found an exterminator, asking them get to the loft as soon as was humanly possible. He would meet them.
Walking into the loft the phone was ringing. Shit. "Yes?"
"The vet says that she's the right age to get fixed and she needs all of her shots, too. Is that okay?"
"What is this going to cost?"
"About $400 for everything. We can pick her up tomorrow after the surgery and all."
"…"
"Brian?"
"Just fucking do it."
The exterminator arrived, told him that he should stow any opened food in the fridge and that all of his dishes and glasses and silverware would have to be washed after they were done. Oh, and he would have to clear out for at least six hours.
Oh, great.
Brian did as asked, waited till the man did his thing then set the alarm, locking the door behind them. Next he went over to the diner to get his delayed breakfast. Justin took his order, smile in place.
"The vet said that she's five months old and she's just getting her adult teeth. That's how they can tell and, Oh, I named her. Susie. Susie was my best friend before Daphne."
"You think you're keeping her?"
A stunned, hurt look.
"She's not living in my loft. No fucking dog is living in my loft."
"You got a dog, sweetie? I love dogs." Deb had been listening.
"You can have her." He sipped his coffee.
"I can't keep a dog, sweetie, you know that. Vic is deathly allergic to them. You bring it over to visit, though, promise?" The next fifteen minutes were spent with Justin telling everyone in the place about his new acquisition, how cute she was, how smart (?), how adorable, how friendly, how sad her lot had been until yesterday—you'd have thought he brought home the fucking Dalai Lama instead of a stray mutt.
The next day, the loft debugged, the dishes and all utensils rewashed, the food restored to wherever it lived and the sheets changed, Brian was ready to sit down to Thai delivery when Justin squealed the door opened with the mongrel—with Susie—in a carrier. Released on the floor by the kitchen counter, she immediately peed on the floor, yelped and ran over to Brian on the rug, who was about to tuck into his dinner. She jumped onto his lap, licking his face with her dog breath.
She jiggled his arm, the container of slimy noodles tipped over.
The dog had her dinner.
"Justin—fuck me."
"I'll order more. As soon as I finish cleaning this up." He was dealing with the pee.
The phone rang. "Bri? Where are you?"
"…Too easy, Linds."
"I take it you forgot that you promised to watch Gus tonight?"
"Oh, fuck me. I'll be right over."
"Don't bother. We're late, asshole. We'll drop him off at your place. See you in ten minutes." She hung up on him before he could protest. Well, hell. He had said he'd watch the kid. Fine. What was one more infant?
Too few minutes later the door squeaked open again and three year old Gus poured in. "Daddy!" He hurled himself onto his father, only noticing the whimpering after several long seconds.
"Daddy! A puppy!"
"He's a surprise, Gus, she's all yours."
"Daddy! I love her, I love her, I love her!" He was close to smothering the animal who was looking worried about imminent death—again.
"Sweetie, Daddy was wonderful to get her—?—for you, but she has to live with Daddy and Justin. okay?"
"NONONO!" Lindsay left, leaving Brian to dig himself out of the hole of his own making.
This started the two-hour tantrum that ended only with Gus crying himself to sleep, the mutt wrapped in his arms like a living, breathing stuffed animal.
When Gus finally woke up hours later Brian explained to him that Justin would keep the dog for Gus and even though she lived with Daddy and Justin, everyone would know that Susie was really Gus' dog. Not happy but knowing that after seeing the look on his mother's faces this was the best he could hope for, Gus managed a smile and hugged the animal all night…other than when she got up to pee and poop on the floor.
Justin restrained his smirk at breakfast. Susie would stay.
"But you're taking that fucking thing to obedience school, you got that? And if she isn't house broken inside of a week, I'll fucking shove a cork up her…two corks."
They spent the afternoon in the park, the dog pooping every ten feet—or so it seemed and the rest of the time cringing and hiding behind Justin. In the several hours they had her outside they discovered that she seemed to have an extreme fear of hats, long coats (though jackets were all right), men, children, other dogs and water. When confronted with any of these she would do her damnedest to escape, succeeding too often to hide under a car, behind a tree, under a bush...
The dog was a loser with a capital 'L'.
Gus adored her.
The weeks passed, all too slowly as far as Brian was concerned. Justin took Susie to puppy obedience school where she spent the entire class time hiding under a chair.
They took her to Jenn's one night when they went for dinner and she spent the meal hiding under the table. They took her to Debbie's for a family dinner and she ended up hiding under the deck, causing Justin to have to crawl in after her.
She would crawl down under the covers at about four in the morning, lick Brian's feet for ten or fifteen minutes then fall asleep there, her butt pointed up towards the pillows.
She begged at every meal.
When frightened or startled her eyes would bug out so far the whites showed all the way around the dark brown.
She was incapable of learning a single command and Brian took to call her Susie DD…Susie Dumbdog. The name stuck.
She couldn't even sit when you told her to.
The animal was dumb as a brick. They debated if she had even learned her name. No one was sure.
When asked, the vet said that her face was likely crocked due to a severe blow—the result of being kicked or hit in the face—when she was an ever smaller puppy. It had probably caused brain damage. Honestly; she was retarded.
Susie truly was a dumb dog.
She was also becoming a fat dumb dog. In fact she was becoming so fat that her neck's circumference was larger than her head's; therefore she could slip out of her collar at will. It was impossible to keep her on a leash—which she was also afraid of, so it was fortunate she was too nervous to stray more than ten feet from Justin.
When faced with an oncoming car she would stop dead in its path and stare at it, excited—"hey, it's a car! I love cars! You see it? It's a car!" The drivers inevitably had one of two reactions; they would either say, usually through gritted teeth "Would you please move your dog" or smile with, "Y'know—I used to have one just like that one…"
She was a disaster and Brian was at the end of his patience. He tried everything he could think of to mitigate the problem, but nothing worked. No one was willing to take her, Justin and Gus were unwilling to give her up and Brian's floors were a nightmare.
Finally, finally, salvation came in an unexpected form.
"Brian? Are you still having problems with that dog?" Jenn had stopped over to see if Justin wanted to help her start the Christmas shopping but he was running about an hour late and wasn't back to the loft yet.
His answer was a look. Long-suffering and fed up.
"Well, a client of mine mentioned just today that he was looking for a puppy for his son. He said their old dog finally died and the boy was really missing the thing so I was thinking that maybe…"
"Justin would never forgive me—or you. C'mon, Jenn, impossible to understand as it is, he loves the idiot."
"Well…" She hesitated a moment. "Actually he thinks she's becoming a pain in the ass, he just didn't want to admit it to you."
That 'lil shit.
"And I promise that she'd have a good home. This man is quite wealthy and has a huge estate she'd have the run of. The boy is about thirteen, loves animals and he promised me that he's very gentle with them."
She paused and Brian had a prick of worry—this was sounding too perfect. "There's a 'but' here, isn't there?"
She gave him a Jenn look, kind of measured ad a little apprehensive. "Well, he's not local so Susie would have to be moved to his main home and live there with them. And he needs an answer quickly because it's almost Christmas and he's only in Pittsburgh until about noon tomorrow, then he's going back for the holiday. She'd have to be packed to go first thing in the morning so I can take her to his hotel before the rest of his luggage is taken to the airport."
Damn, this would be perfect. He'd get Gus a kitten or something and if Justin was really tired of the mutt…"You're sure she'll have a good home?"
"I should have such a good home."
"It's a deal."
A year later he saw the picture in USA Today on the page of national news. Datelined Gotham; there was a picture of a chunky beagle-ish dog wearing a cape attached to its collar. It wasn't a good photo, blurry and not very big but it stood out like neon to Brian, crooked face and all.
Jesus H Fucking Christ. She was standing between Batman and Robin.
Susie was the new Batdog.
4/20/06
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