This one came out of left field, so to speak. I really don't know what to say about it, so I'll just say:

1) Batman is pretty OOC in this fic, though its not outside of the realm of possibility that he might act like this.

2) The Flash is cool, and a really versatile character to play with.

3) I like M & M's.

Thanks! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I swear officer, I didn't know she was only 17 at the time! Oh wait- I own no part or parcel of DC or Cartoon Network. But really, I didn't know.

Labels

Batman and Superman, known to the world as Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent respectively, were busy assembling new teleporter relays when Clark, who had been trying to work up the nerve to say something to Bruce for the past half hour, finally came out and said what had been on his mind.

"Bruce, we have to talk about something." Clark clearly didn't want to talk.

"Bruce..."

A sigh. "...alright. What?"

"Well Bruce, you know that when I bought you that label-maker for Christmas I knew you would put it to good use..."

"...as I have. Do you have a point coming?"

"Well, its just that...we've been receiving complaints."

"Oh really...what type of complaints, and from who?"

"Well," Clark said, deliberately leaving out names just in case Batman decided to track those names down later, "there's been complaints from the staff about the unusual amount of labels all over the Watchtower. For example," As Clark pulled a label from his pocket, "the...Bat-Monkey?"

Again. "The Bat-Refrigerator?"

And again. "Here's one from Nightwing...the Bat-former-sidekick?"

And again. "The Bat-Javelin, which I suppose would be the Batwing..."

And again. "From Alfred...ah, the Bat-Surrogate-Father-Figure-but-Also-Butler..."

And again. "Alfred again...hey, I didn't know you play baseball...the Bat-bat..."

And again. "From the men's washroom, the Bat-Urinal..."

And again. "From Robin...the Bat-current-sidekick-at-least-until-you-die-or-I-replace-you...wow. I mean...gee...you really have to spell it out?"

"Alright, I get it. I'll stop posting labels all over the place."

"What?" A definite edge there, in his tone.

"...and maybe take off some of the labels that people are complaining about?"

Bruce leveled a Bat-glare (which he would have probably labeled, if it had a surface which to affix a label to) at the Man of Tomorrow, and Clark put up his hands in defense; it may not have been heat vision or the Omega Effect, but he still didn't want to be on the receiving end of that glare.

"Hey, all I'm saying is that people really tend to object when you start sticking labels to them too! For example, when you stuck that label to me that said Bat-Human-Shield?"

Bruce almost restrained a snicker there, though Clark noticed.

"Hey, that hurts! I know this is just your...quirky (near-nonexistent is more like it, Clark thought) sense of humor playing out, but if you don't quit it its not just going to be me talking to you! Diana saw the label you stuck on her, and she was not amused!"

"What?"

"Clark. I didn't stick any labels on Diana."

"Ah." Uncomfortable silence for a couple of seconds, and then, "Well, that's good, because I wouldn't want to think that you thought of her as the," And he pulled another label out of his pockets, "Bat-Piece-of-Ass."

(Cut to the Flash, sitting in his room, giggling to himself, a new label-maker on his desk)

"Heh...sucker...one point for Wally in the battle of minds!"

Just then, Batman burst through the door to the Flash's quarters, and, faster than even the Flash could react in his startled state, threw a knockout gas pellet at him.

The Flash breathed deeply of the gas before he knew what it was that he was breathing in, and the last thing he saw before drifting to unconsciousness was the eerie smile of the Batman. Somehow, that smile was worse than any frown or
glare.

The Flash awoke to find that he was hanging upside down from a ceiling somewhere in the Watchtower. He couldn't discern more than that, as he was wrapped completely in the white tape used by label-makers and was facing a wall, on which was scrawled,

Have fun trying to get down, Flash.

P.S. If you want to wait, the ropes hanging you from the ceiling should lose integrity in about...8 hours? 9? Who knows these days. These Bat-Ropes just keep getting better.

Wally tried to yell for help, but found that he couldn't vocalize.

...damn. Well played, Batman! Well played indeed! I shall have my revenge, though. So sayeth the Flash!

Somewhere, at that very moment, Batman smiled, though if you asked him why, he couldn't tell you.

Okay, cool. So, that's it. Go home. Or to bed. Whatever.

Leave a review though. Because if you don't...the terrorists win. Or the communists. Whichever one you hate more.