— three batarangs (mini, small, medium)

— earring studs with transmission to the batcave [includes biometric monitoring and feedback]

— three pairs of advanced contact lenses [includes biometric monitoring and hidden cameras, includes audiovisual feedback to the batcave[

— burner phone, including easily chargable battery

— basic anti venom

— tracking device

cup of joe.

It's his tenth day here, in Sedona. In that time Michael has noticed a few things: that the centers they have are surprisingly well kept and clean; that like he suspected, Joseph isn't the type to take advantage of his followers the way he's witnesed many other cults do; that there's a hum to the air that tells him that someone is watching besides him whether it be superntaural or not; and that inexplicably, he can always find Joseph's eyes on him, can always feel him leaning closer or being drawn to him in ways that he can't help but to return.

He thinks sometimes, that Joseph can see through the layers of Matches to Michael and Bruce. Other times, he thinks Joseph is searching for something else, someone else when he lays eyes on him, and sometimes, he thinks that Joseph is just pleased that there is someone among him who is willing to lift their eyes to his, someone willing to not back down or truly see him as an equal, not a follower. And perhaps, something else, that word that is still about a select few in the world, the few who know that there's more than one identity with them.

That's what the email had said. That he was a shifter, like Michael. Like Connor.

That isn't the focus though. The focus is crafting a blend of lie and reality into a performance, one that looks and feels real. To let the little things he's learned to control loose: allowing himself the chain smoking, to let the Jersey accent keep flowing from his mouth, to sip cups of coffee, to sit closer to Joseph. Allowing himself to lean closer to him, talking about the sunlight, about the things in life that were and were not real.

There are other people who've come with him: ex-cons who seem to actually sink into the loose peace; a girl who seems to always look at the maps of scars on Joseph's back whenever she gets a peak; a man who seems to weep whenever the subject of the wings are brought up; a squirrely guy who Michael suspects isn't nearly as clean as he's trying to pretend to be.

He doesn't suspect that one of them has been dosing the coffee. Not when he sips it, bit by bit, trying to wake up. Not perking up until he sees Joseph come down, seeing the tattoos he has, and offering him a cheerful smile, not knowing that in just in an hour or two, his vitals are going to start to go haywire.

In this moment, he just says, "Mornin' Joseph. You have a good sleep?" And gives Joseph a smile that he knows disarms him just so.

little talks

He doesn't think Joseph is used to be caught by someone else. That's one thing about Bruce and Michael that's consistent even without the abilities, the training: they both learned how to walk silently in their own homes at young ages. Bruce, because home was a tomb that he didn't want to disturb and then because it aided him in the streets. Michael, because being caught in places he wasn't supposed to be at home lead to his foster father shouting at him at best and at worst going to school with a bloodied lip and a swollen eye.

It's one little amusement they can keep though, the ability to startle people, to not let them know he's been watching the whole time. In this case, it's Joseph who he's been watching for a few minutes: how he's been observing the new people who've filtered into the compound, his roving eyes looking at them one by one, the things he says to himself, and the way his fingers twitch and skitter. He only moves deliberately once, letting Joseph startle at the sound of a lighter, looking away as he concentrates on the cigarette. He pretends not to see Joseph turning in surprise, even though when he looks up, their eyes catch as they always seem to now in crowded rooms or otherwise. "Oh, hey. Sorry, came up here 'cause the desert wasn't agreein' with me t'day. You want one?"

He never says yes, including now. "I still don't like the taste." He takes in Matches, leaning against the wall. "What didn't agree with you, Matches?"

He pretends to mull it over, and chooses as ever, a mix of things. "Didn't sleep too good last night. Sometimes beds get too soft after being in the pen for so long." The cigarette glows as he takes a drag. "Dreamin' about my Ma again. Never goes well."

Joseph's eyes fully catch his in that moment. "Your mother? Is she alright?"

It hangs in the air. What he knows and what he doesn't know. "No. Died when I was eight. Someone wanted her jewelry, went wrong in front of me." Michael decides not to play it off, keeping his voice soft, exhausted. "I, uh. Y'know, always thinking about why her. Why not me. Why not both."

In Joseph's face, something flickers. Recognition.

checking in.

"It took me awhile to find a good spot," Michael says over the phone, knowing he has exactly three minutes to make contact. "I'm still trying what I can here—how's our client?"

Terry gives a small sound over the phone. "He's not as frail as you thought he'd be." That had always been the worry for him; that for all the time it was taking to be here, that the older man might pass away. The more time that Michael, that Matches spends out here, he knows he needs a reminder. That there's a bit of a time limit on here, that there is someone out there waiting for him to bring Joseph home. Someone outside of himself that cares for the man here, drapped by his own grief and demons.

As the days have gone on, it's become a challenge to remember that. That the evenings he has here out in the desert, the days spent at the pool, at Joseph's side aren't just for nothing. That it's not just about him waking up to have a cup of coffee and cigarette with him, that it's not just about trying to assure him that he doesn't have to hurt himself, that it's not just about how good it feels to eck out a true smile from him, or enjoy him at his side.

It would be selfish to not remember that. And at the same time, he finds himself concentrating more on gently pushing against Joseph's words, finds his body turning closer to his, finds himself reaching out to touch him, finds that he says more truths than lies.

And leave it Terry to remark, "And you're not as far away from this as you think you are, old man."

dose.

Someone is holding him, pressed against their body as much as they can. Cradling him, like how his mother used to cradle him in her arms when he was sick and she was scared he might die in the night even though they had good doctors, even though Pops is a doctor. Stroking his hair the way she used to, only their hand is bigger, palm rougher and it feels as if it's touching a part of him that hasn't been touched in a long, long time and all he can do is try to press closer to the body, press closer to the warmth, try to stop the sensations rioting in his brain, making his body twitch, the labored breathing.

I didn't want this to happen again. I didn't want this to happen again. He's talking and the words don't make sense and of course they do.

The voice that replies to him is soothing, deep. It's okay. I'm here, I'm right here. No one's going to hurt you. Signals flare, criss cross in his brain. Is he in a hotel, and Halia is there, holding a flute of champagne, and his vision is blurring? Is he in the house of his foster parents, holding his sides while they look for him in the house, angry that the state check has come late? Is he in the alley way, his mother dead, his father's eyes staring up at the sky? Is he in the Batcave, the Joker venom in his veins, Terry yelling for help? Is he Michael? Is he Bruce? Is he Matches?

He doesn't know that his coffee cup is being inspected or that it's Joseph talking to him softly or that he's saying things he wouldn't normally say, talking about things he's told no one before. Doesn't know that he's gripping onto Joseph so tightly that it's making other people angry, suspicious, doesn't now that when tears track down his face, it's Joseph wiping them away.

Only knows that when he's cradled closer, it's all not so terrifying anymore.

jerry.

He knows what mercy looks like, what interest looks like. He waits until they've left, that second nervous system, those watchful eyes and says, "You want the truth?"

Joseph's eyes keep on his. Michael turns on the phone, letting the screen come back up. On it, comes over what he and Terry had agreed on as the back up plan, a photo popping up and he lets Joseph see the screen: the photo of Jarro, only it's of him in his pet form. The cat with huge eyes and huge ears. "His name's Jerry. Had a program in the pen to take care of strays. Didn't feel right dragging him out here, so I gave him to a neighbor to look after him." He allows Joseph to take the phone, to flick through the photos of the not-quite-a-cat. Ones of him curled up with Jerry on the couch, another of him in a sweater staring petulantly at the camera, another one of him scratching his belly. "I just wanted to see if the kid was okay."

there's not any real honor in the scars that he bears on his back, not in comparison to joe's. sometimes when he feels joe's fingers on his scars, touching those old reminders, he thinks of how he can explain them to him. the things that were done to him by people who he should've called real parents. hunger he used to lie with while they argued over details of witsec, the appreciation he had when the marshal had given him snack after snack, under a suspicious look. that he should've told the man before he'd left—even though things were fine in the end, carried away to a family that does love him.

michael though, just hums in the bed, saying, "feels good, joe. don't stop."

in flight movie options

THE SNOWS OF KILIMANJARO (1952). — The life of celebrated American writer Harry Street (Gregory Peck) flashes back before his eyes as he lies dying from a wound suffered at the foot of Tanzania's Mount Kilimanjaro. As he is tended to by his traveling companion, Helen (Susan Hayward), he recalls many things: his first wife and Paris literary inspiration, Cynthia Green (Ava Gardner) ; his second wife, Countess Liz (Hildegarde Neff) ; and his formative years with uncle Bill (Leo G. Carroll).

THE BIG SLEEP (1946). — Private investigator Philip Marlowe (Humphrey Bogart) is hired by General Sternwood to help resolve the gambling debts of his wild young daughter, Carmen (Martha Vickers). Sternwood's older daughter, Vivian (Lauren Bacall), provides assistance when she implies that the situation is more complex, and also involves casino owner (John Ridgely) and a recently disappeared family friend. As people linked to the Sternwoods start being murdered, Marlowe finds himself getting ever deeper into the case.

NO WAY OUT (1950). — Robbers Ray Biddle (Richard Widmark) and his brother are shot and taken to the local hospital. There, the two are treated by Dr. Brooks (Sidney Poitier), the hospital's only black doctor. The brothers assault Brooks with racist slurs. And, when his brother ends up dying on the operating table, Ray accuses the doctor of murdering him. Blind with rage, Ray works to turn the white community of the city against Brooks, who finds an unlikely ally in the dead man's widow, Edie (Linda Darnell).

matches malone, in sedona

everything in it's right place — radiohead

holy dread — clint mansell

the dull flame of desire — björk & antony

carlos — Abel Korzeniowski & Shigeru Umebayashi

overjoyed — bastille

icarus — bastille

signs — bloc party

this is a trick — ††† (Crosses)

ritual — ellie goulding

song title — artist

song title — artist

song title — artist