Milk_Is_My_Drug
patreon
Chapter 55: The Sleep Over
🕑 Added 2025-06-03 09:19:29 +0000 UTCIt was the weekend, and for once, Ashborn had no reason to return home. Not because there was nothing waiting for him, but rather because there was too much.
Ace, oddly intrigued during a casual conversation in school, had asked what a sleepover was. That was all it took. By midday, Courtney Whitmore had rallied the girls in her friend circle and declared it a mission. There would be a sleepover. There would be snacks, blankets, horror movies and matching pajamas.
So, Ashborn did what any man would do when facing a full scale teenage girl operation: he fled.
His solution? A bar.
Ashborn wasn’t exactly the drinking type, but he could appreciate the strange peace that came from sitting in a dimly lit booth, surrounded by the chatter of strangers.
What he didn’t expect, however, was to run into her.
“ASHY!” came the unmistakable voice.
Ashborn didn’t even have time to blink before a figure in civilian clothes, jeans, loose red tank top, hair tied into pigtails, grabbed his arm and dragged him to a nearby booth like they were old drinking buddies. No makeup, no dramatic eyeshadow or lipstick. Just Harley Quinn, raw and very real.
She shoved him down into the booth beside her and flagged down the bartender without so much as a hello.
“You’re a long way from Gotham,” Ashborn remarked, eyebrow raised.
Harley slumped into the seat beside him with a sigh. “Don’t wanna remember Gotham.” She took the shot the bartender set down in front of her and downed it like it was water. “Not tonight. Maybe not ever again.”
Ashborn studied her silently for a moment, then leaned back and folded his arms. “So… what’s wrong, Harley?”
She laughed, bitter and sharp, then leaned forward and began ranting in that fast, emotionally unfiltered tone she had perfected.
“How much time ya got? First, I get forced, and I mean forced, into some shady suicide squad nonsense. Wetwork for Uncle Sam, great perks, total crap retirement plan. Then I get out, I think I can go back to him, ya know?”
Ashborn already knew who him was.
“And what does that son of a hyena do?” she continued, slamming the table. The glasses jumped. “He’s all obsessed with a broody Bat. Won’t shut up about ‘Oh, Bats this’ and ‘Bats that’. I swear, I dress up all sexy, try to rekindle what we had, and he’s watching footage of their last rooftop tango like it’s his wedding video!”
She slammed her glass down again, and the table groaned under the abuse.
Ashborn couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned in slightly, voice low and deliberate.
“I’ve always said,” he began, “what Joker feels for Batman? That’s not just hate. That’s not a rivalry. That’s obsession, devotion... infatuation in its rawest form.”
Harley blinked, glass halfway to her mouth.
“I mean, think about it,” Ashborn continued, fanning the flames with a gentle smile. “Theatrics. Costumes. Elaborate emotional monologues. Who writes love letters in the form of gas bombs? Joker does. You weren’t just a third wheel, Harley. You were an uninvited guest to a romantic tragedy.”
Her eyes widened, stunned, but not entirely in disbelief.
Ashborn nodded toward her. “He dragged you into their twisted love story, and didn’t even bother to let you in on the plot.”
“Son of a—!! I should kill Batsy!” Harley hissed suddenly, cheeks flushed and voice hoarse from booze and emotion.
Ashborn shook his head. “Pointless.”
She glared at him, confused.
“You kill Batman, and all you do is shatter Joker’s heart in a way he’ll never recover from,” he said quietly. “He’ll hate you. He’ll cry. Not because you betrayed him, but because you robbed him of his great unspoken confession. Of all the things he never got to say. All the games he never got to play.”
Harley looked stunned. Then slowly, she nodded.
Their conversation, intense and emotional as it was, had not gone unnoticed. The bar had grown quieter as the pair continued talking, their voices rising and falling like the waves of a drunken opera. What started as background noise had turned into a centerpiece performance.
Ashborn didn’t lower his voice. “You’ve been the third wheel in a madman’s unspoken love triangle.”
And the crowd listened. People were beginning to turn toward them.
Harley sniffled. “That bastard never even bought me a flower. You know what he did bring me once? A crowbar. Said I could use it if I was mad at him. That’s not romance, that’s therapy with blunt objects!”
“Honestly,” Ashborn continued, swirling his glass, “I think the world would’ve been better if the Joker just confessed his feelings. Might have saved Gotham a few explosions.”
A few leaned in, murmuring to one another. One man at the bar whispered, “Wait, are they really in love? I always thought it was weird…”
Another patron shouted, “I knew it! Batman and Joker are totally in love! It all makes sense now!”
Before long, the entire bar was consumed by the theory. A group of burly patrons next to the jukebox raised their glasses and toasted to “the poor girl dragged between two emotionally constipated idiots.” Another declared Batman “a coward in a cape” for not being honest with his feelings.
Harley was halfway into her fifth drink, her mascara-less eyes shining with strange vindication as one drunk guy leaned over and said, “You deserve better, girl. Leave them both. Find a nice guy. Or gal. Or whatever. Just not them.”
By the end of the night, Harley Quinn had gathered a small army of half-drunk sympathizers, barflies, bouncers, even the bartender, who mourned her stolen love life and condemned both Batman and the Joker as “toxic man-children who need therapy, not sidekicks.”
Harley sniffed, holding a tissue someone had passed her. “Thanks, guys… You’re all real sweet.”
In the end, Ashborn paid the tab with a crisp bill and watched Harley accept a greasy napkin number from someone who promised to “write emotional poetry” for her.
As the two stepped out into the cool night air, leaving behind a mob of strangers loudly discussing how Batman and Joker were the tragic couple no one asked for. Harley leaned on Ashborn’s shoulder, giggling.
“Y’know,” she slurred, “I think I feel… better. Still wanna kill someone.”
Ashborn didn’t break stride as Harley clung to his shoulder, still humming a tune that probably only made sense in her head.
“I got a better idea than killing someone,” he said calmly.
Harley stopped walking and she turned to look at him, genuinely curious. “Yeah? Whatcha got?”
Ashborn’s expression didn’t change much, but there was a glint in his eye. “Why not do something that actually hurts them, emotionally. Be better than them. Either become a hero greater than Batman... or start your own crew of villains and run circles around Joker’s mess.”
There was a long pause.
Then Harley blinked once… twice… and burst into laughter.
“You’re insane,” she cackled, gripping his jacket. “That’s a fantastic idea! Not the hero part—ew—but the crew. Yeah, yeah, my own crew. Like a girl gang. But funnier. Deadlier. Shinier.”
Ashborn gave a small smirk. “You’d be their boss. Joker would lose his mind seeing you succeed without him.”
“Ooooh,” she said, eyes lighting up like a slot machine on a lucky pull. “I like that. Ashy, how ‘bout it? You wanna be my sidekick? Right-hand man? Bring the coffee, press the buttons, maybe stab someone for dramatic effect?”
Ashborn chuckled, gently prying her arm off his shoulder. “Tempting. But I’ve got a company to run, and a daughter I need to take care of. Still, I appreciate the offer.”
Harley fake-pouted, sticking her tongue out. “Boooo. Pity.”
Then she grabbed his arm again, yanking him down the block with renewed energy. “Okay! Okay. I’m thinking loud outfits. Maybe a theme. Ooh, circus? Nah, too Joker-y. Hmmm… glitter bombs? Wait, no—owls. Owls with daggers. Ooh, or just big, scary women who can toss cars—”
“Have you considered inviting Poison Ivy?” Ashborn interrupted mildly, letting her rant flow into more actionable channels. “She might not join, but she’s loyal. And powerful. Could be a close ally.”
Harley actually stopped this time, eyes wide with recognition. “Pam. Ohhhh, yeah! Pammy! She has been always super sweet to me. Sends me plants sometimes. Real ones. Not the man-eating ones.”
“Good start,” Ashborn said simply. “Reach out. Build smart. Don’t be a copy of Joker’s chaos, be your own chaos.”
Harley was quiet for a heartbeat… then grinned wildly. “Ashy, if this works, I might just name a hyena after you.”
“I’m honored,” Ashborn said with a nod.
And under the city’s flickering streetlights, with empty liquor bottles in the gutter and a full moon overhead, Harley Quinn danced her way into her next act, with Ashborn watching, just close enough to enjoy the madness, and just far enough to avoid the fallout.
That night, the father and daughter duo each found themselves in wildly different versions of a sleepover. Ace, wide-eyed and curious, experienced her first innocent night of giggles, ghost stories, and way too much candy with Courtney and her classmates, pillows flying and whispers shared beneath blanket forts. Meanwhile, Ashborn ended up in a dimly lit hotel room with none other than Harley Quinn, a known villain, sprawled out across the bed in mismatched socks and ranting about world domination plans between sips of cheap wine. Two sleepovers, one pure, the other chaotic, but both filled with fun.
Comments
Lord Of the Mysteries
Nice One
Brayan Marin
Jajajajaja, me encantó este capítulo
