“No,” Tobirama says again, though he already has a sneaking, sinking suspicion that he’s going to lose this argument, as he does the vast majority of his arguments with Mito. Then, because sometimes the only way to undermine Mito's crazy is to match it, he adds, “If one of us is Batman, the other has to be Robin, and I look terrible in pixie boots.”

“Oh?” Orochimaru asks sweetly, trying to judge the room they're in. Some sort of military headquarters, predictably. “They let me keep my doctorates? How kind. But I assume this wasn’t a test of how many low-level guards I could put in the morgue—” “Three,” the younger soldier standing at Danzō’s shoulder cuts in, righteous anger darkening his features. “Three in the morgue, six in the hospital.” “Oh my, you caught me on an off day.” Orochimaru gives the young man his best flirtatious smirk. “Come back tomorrow and I promise, I’ll at least double both counts.” (Or, that Suicide Squad!AU no one asked for and no one wanted, but I wrote anyway. I'm not sorry.)

Aka everyone is a superhero or a sidekick or a damsel in distress in true comic style. Includes terrible hero names, almost everyone wearing spandex (Sakumo why must you be sensible and break the mold you nerd), ridiculousness, secret identity fails, and all of my favorite crack pairings. I would be sorry, but that would require a sense of shame and I misplaced mine long ago.

As Haku sends them roaring away from the dock, Asuma's powder ignites, sweeping a cloud of fire across the side of the prison. It clings like napalm, settles on the stone and starts eating through it, and Asuma slouches back into his seat next to Zabuza with a satisfied smile. “Pretty good for a night’s work,” is his verdict. Ino laughs, leaning forward as her long hair whips out behind her. “Asuma-sensei, did you find a partner?” she asks delightedly. “In prison?” Shikamaru mutters judgmentally.