Rating: T-ish (?)

Warnings: Crack concept, crack setting, crack crack crack. And more crack. And Sanzo and Gojyo's potty mouths.

Word Count: ~7800 (complete)

Pairings: Established Gojyo/Hakkai, Gojyo/Hakkai/Sanzo (supposedly [but not actually] one-sided—because boys are dumb), mentioned Batman/Flash, Raven/Starfire (because writing crack gives me an excuse to throw in all my favorite pairings).

Summary: He's not scary-crazy the way Luthor or the Joker are, or even vaguely insane like most of the other villains the League faces. Sanzo's quiet and a bit moody, smokes like a particularly cantankerous chimney, and gives Dick the impression that in this case, still waters really do run deep. If it is Sanzo orchestrating these takeovers, they're going to have a problem.

Disclaimer: I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

Notes: This crossover idea belongs to the marvelous GreyLiliy from her story Justice for All, and I'm borrowing it with permission. Being a Marvel girl at heart, I have little shame regarding the mashing of the DC timelines that occurs within.

Additionally, this can be seen as a sequel to my other Saiyuki fic, Sharing, but that one's basically G/S/H threesome porn and it's not necessary to read it. Basically? Sanzo pines. Grouchily. Even in bed. Also, yes, this thing admittedly got…a bit away from me. I'd forgotten why I don't write crack, okay? When I do, I just can't stop.

Paper Airplanes

Sanzo takes a deep drag of his cigarette and exhales a plume of smoke into the bare room. Outside the wide window the sun is shining and a squirrel is grooming itself on a branch of the tree. There are flowers blooming and birds chirping and probably puppies and kittens rolling around in the grass out of sight.

Sanzo just wants to shoot something.

Twenty-five years of living in this new time, and he still isn't used to it. All his memories, all his experiences since that very first life spent in Heaven have carried over, building on each other with each successive reincarnation, and Sanzo's sick of it all. Truthfully, he was sick of it all after that time with Gyumaoh, but Kanzeon is an unsympathetic bitch and he hates hir with a passion.

Especially for sticking him with these three again.

"Sanzo, I'm hungry," Goku whines, and Sanzo has to close his eyes and take another long drag on his cigarette to keep from getting monkey blood all over the floor. Not that he cares, but Hakkai will give him that deeply disappointed look and be sad and put-upon until Sanzo either cleans it up—not likely—or apologizes—never going to happen. It's simpler just to restrain himself.

It's possible that Sanzo's years of living with stuffy old monks have managed to stay with him, even so many lifetimes later. He's not used to this modern world, can't bring himself to care about its conveniences and shortcuts and backdoors into what he's used to being accomplished with a bit of hard work. At the end of a long day playing Genjo Sanzo, ruthless business shark of the corporate world, all Sanzo ever wants to do is go home, strip off his choking suit, and smoke a cigarette.

Gojyo accuses him of being a crotchety old man, and maybe he is, but Sanzo's not about to admit it.

"Now, now, Goku," Hakkai says brightly, beaming that infuriating don't-you-love-me-for-humoring-you smile that makes Sanzo want to do something drastic, or stupid. Or drastic and stupid, which has never been a combination that fit him particularly well. He is, after all, the—sometimes sole—rational member of their little madhouse.

He'll definitely lose all claim to that title if he lunges across the table and kisses Hakkai. Or Gojyo. Or both of them.

Damn it, but this is a stupid, infuriating infatuation that just will not die.

So many lifetimes, and his feelings for the idiot kappa and the smiling madman are still going strong. Sanzo hates it.

Somewhere, the Bitch is laughing hir ass off.

"Hey, Your Prissiness," Gojyo drawls, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Got anything to add?"

Sanzo blinks, takes another drag of smoke to buy time, and looks back down at the folders. Eight faces stare back, seven caught unawares in various heroic moments and one bald man with angry eyes, and he feels his lip curl automatically. There's no Gyumaoh in this time, no noble demon prince trying to revive his cursed mother, no Goddess of Mercy stepping in to point them in the direction ze wants them to go. Only a world of wolves and lambs, with the latter entirely at the mercy of the former.

Sanzo's never done well playing the lamb, and he's certainly not about to start now.

He takes another breath of smoke and blows it out towards the bright blue sky, for a moment imagining he's in another time, another place, with a gong about to sound the call to prayer.

But there's just an airplane, somewhere high above, leaving a matching trail of vapor behind it, and Sanzo pushes the thought away.

"Don't be stupid," he orders, not looking back at his three companions. "Get it done and don't get caught."

Goku whoops, Gojyo grins, and even Hakkai looks smugly pleased.

Yeah, Sanzo thinks, allowing himself the faintest of smiles. They do well as criminals. And maybe it's not surprising—all them have toed the line through their repeated lives, never quite falling but always able to—but it's just a bit…reassuring, to have something new after so many years of endless consistency.

"This is gonna be awesome," Goku cheers, bouncing in his seat the way he usually only does for meat buns. "We're gonna rule the world!"

Sanzo rolls his eyes and lights another cigarette.

In the space of only two months, Lex Luthor practically disappears from the business world.

He hasn't gone quietly and willingly, either, Batman reflects, staring at the files on the screen in front of him. Luthor's company is slipping out of his grasping fingers more and more each day, like sand, as his assets dry up and his allies are eaten alive by this new Tenshi Kaigen International that's popping up everywhere. Matters in Luthor's other business world don't seem to be going well, either. There's a new player in the game, someone just as ruthless as Luthor and with far less of a focus on mind-games and petty grudges.

In other words, even more dangerous than Luthor.

It's far from comforting, even if something inside Bruce takes great pleasure at seeing Luthor go down in a ball of flames. The two events are also far too conveniently timed to be coincidental. This is a two-pronged attack, or Bruce will eat his cowl.

"Stop thinking so hard," a dry voice behind him says. "I can see the smoke."

Robin is, currently, on vacation from the Teen Titans, and Bruce wonders if it's petty to wish he'd choose somewhere else to lounge about while his team takes time with their families and the reserve Titans are watching Jump City. It probably is, but he does it anyway. He's gotten used to the silence in the mansion, only occasionally interrupted by Clark deciding he needs to be dragged out to "socialize."

"I thought the Tamaranean girl got back today," Bruce responds, hoping that hormones will make an adequate distraction.

To his surprise, though, Dick turns pale and then goes crimson. "Yeah," he manages after a moment of horrified silence, studiously avoiding Bruce's eyes. "I, uh, can I hang out here for a few more days? 'Cause apparently Raven also got back early and, um, when I called, they were…" He trails off, clearly groping for words, and Bruce is beyond amused at the implication. Last he knew, the Tamaranean princess and his ward were dancing around each other. Presumably, Raven got tired of it and took matters—and Starfire—into her own hands.

"Yes?" he prompts, just to see Dick turn redder.

Dick has been learning to glare from his half-demon teammate, if the dark look he levels at Bruce is any indication. "Indisposed," he grits out, eyes narrowing. "They were indisposed and I'm going to have to delete all of the interior security footage before Cyborg can get back and have an aneurysm."

Bruce snorts softly to himself, even as he turns back to his monitor. "Tell Alfred," is all he says.

"I hate you," Dick complains, but he comes to hang over Bruce's shoulder regardless and squints at the name at the top of the screen. "Genjo Sanzo?" he asks. "That big-shot who's supposed to be at the opening of the new museum wing this afternoon?"

Bruce grunts an affirmative.

"That museum wing opening Bruce Wayne's actually going to show his face at?" Dick persists.

It seems someone's been hacking into his calendar. Bruce makes a mental note to update his security and nods. "Tenshi Kaigen International is headed by three men," he answers. "Sanzo is CEO, with controlling interest in the company, and Hakkai Cho and Gojyo Sha are his deputies. The three of them and Sanzo's eighteen-year-old ward, Goku Son, control the entire company, and they're all on the guest list. It's too convenient an opportunity to pass up, especially with the way they've been decimating Luthor's empire since they established themselves here."

"Have you got backup?" Dick demands, because apparently working with a team has made him into a mother hen. He must catch Bruce's look, because he rolls his eyes right back and threatens, "I'll call Superman."

Bruce levels him with his hardest stare. "You won't."

They glare at each other for a long moment.

"I won't," Dick finally concedes. Then he grins, wicked and crafty and Bruce has exactly no idea where he got any of that from. "I'll call Flash. You know Barry's been hanging around the Tower lately? I'm sure he'd love to give me his uncle's number—"

"I will ship you back to Jump City with postage due," Bruce growls, but even he knows when he's beaten. He gets up to pull an earpiece from a nearby shelf and tosses it at his sidekick. "Back down here by one o'clock. The opening is at three. Get Alfred to check your tux."

Dick grins in victory. For his sake, Bruce pretends not to see it.

Dick's already regretting asking to come—which was, pretty much, what he had done, the roundabout method notwithstanding. Bruce has this whole weird I-have-a-raging-man-crush-on-you-but-you're-too-pu re-for-me-to-tarnish thing going on with the Flash, and as amusing as it is to poke at, Dick knows Bruce would never drag Flash into something that requires subtlety and tact. It just isn't in the speedster's nature.

But the people here are so incredibly boring that they make Brother Blood seem interesting and imaginative. The wing being opened is a statuary garden, classical all the way up to modern, and beautifully landscaped, but the guests are all bigwigs with far too much jewelry and too few brain cells, and Dick's about to bump into a waiter and get champagne spilled on himself just to have a way to escape.

And to top it all off, neither he nor Bruce have been able to spot their main target yet. In fact, the only one of the Tenshi Kaigen founders they've seen so far is Gojyo Sha, flirting with a couple of supermodels near the half-hidden bar. There's no sign of the others, and the sun is already going down. Dick's about ready to call it an unsuccessful night.

A flash of orange against the darkening blue sky catches his eye, and he looks up to see a brilliantly orange paper airplane sail through the air, carried on the wind. It turns a graceful loop and then lands in a tree on the far side of the garden.

It's an impressive throw, and an impressively folded paper airplane to be able to make it that far. Dick turns, retracing the flight path and trying to triangulate the source. He finds it after a few moments of looking—the edge of the museum roof, a place that is most definitely not open to the public.

That alone is enough to make him curious.

Finding a path up to the roof is easy enough—even someone without an acrobat's training could do it. What does surprise him is the tall, slender man with a monocle who's leaning against a tree at the foot of a small flight of maintenance stairs. He's got messy dark brown hair and green eyes, and he smiles as Dick approaches.

Another orange paper airplane drifts over their heads, and Dick glances away from the man—Hakkai Cho, and this is why he and Bruce haven't been able to find the deputy CEO anywhere, because he's pulling a Dick Grayson move and hiding from the party—to watch it go.

When he looks back, Cho's smile has softened just a bit, becoming something just slightly more meaningful than polite.

"Go on up," he tells Dick cheerfully, nodding towards the stairs. "He's in about as good a mood as you'll ever find him, I think."

Confused, but willing to play along, Dick nods and heads up. The stairs end a little ways on, but from there it's easy enough to hook a foot in the rough stone of the wall and haul himself up onto the roof by way of a handy gargoyle. He pauses there for a moment, wondering who he'll find up here—he's never known another Gotham socialite to ditch a party quite this emphatically—and then takes a quick look around. There's smoke curling up from across the roof, right by the ledge overlooking the garden, and he makes for it after another moment of hesitation.

He's just in time to see a third paper airplane raised into the air and then tossed away with a practiced flick of one elegant hand.

"Good arm," he comments, hopping off the roof proper and sinking down beside the culprit. "Though you could probably get arrested for littering that way."

The man snorts, and Genjo Sanzo is a lot younger than Dick had expected, even after seeing a couple of blurry press-shots taken on the sly. He's prettier, too—and it really is 'pretty,' in a way that would probably make a woman jealous, with that golden hair and fair skin. His formal clothes, like Cho's, have a faintly Chinese cut to them, which is odd given the men's coloring.

Sanzo takes another slow drag of his cigarette, and then drawls, "What? Batman takes time out of saving the world to brutalize litterers?"

Dick tries to imagine it, Batman going after a little old lady for dropping a candy wrapper, and grins. "Maybe," he offers. "He's got to be crazy anyway to run around dressed like that, so who knows, right?" Mocking Batman in polite company has become second nature by now, an easily-erected smokescreen, but Dick would be lying if he said he didn't get at least some enjoyment out of it.

There's a long, nearly incredulous pause, and when he looks around, Sanzo is staring at him.

His eyes are so purple they probably put violets to shame.

At length, Sanzo snorts again and reaches for the stack of orange papers beside him, which look suspiciously like the invitations all the guests handed in. He sticks his cigarette in his mouth and folds the paper with quick, deft fingers. Another pause, thoughtful this time, and then he hands it to Dick before taking another for himself.

Dick stares down at the gift for a long moment, then raises an eyebrow at the supposed ruthless businessman who's destroying Luthor's empire without a second thought. Sanzo catches the expression and raises one in return, before tossing his own plane out in a graceful, looping spiral.

"It's a prayer," he says. "If you want it to be."

Tracing the sharp, careful lines, Dick asks, "And if I don't?"

Sanzo shrugs, apparently uncaring, and stubs out his cigarette. "Then it's just a stupid paper airplane."

This is the man they're supposed to be watching? This is the man who's giving Lex Luthor a nervous breakdown?

Sanzo folds two more planes, handing another to Dick before sending his out over the heads of the socialites below. There's something incredibly divorced from reality about looking at them all from up here, and Dick can't say he minds. He takes a breath and turns the second airplane around in his fingers, then hefts it in his hand and thinks of Raven and Starfire, and how…happy they had looked, once they'd recovered from their mortification (on Star's part) and disgruntled irritation (on Raven's).

He might make a wish as he tosses the folded paper out on the breeze. Maybe it's even a prayer. He doesn't really have enough experience with such things to know, and Sanzo looks calmly accepting either way.

They keep throwing planes until Sanzo runs out of papers to fold, and then the businessman rises to his feet like this was just another meeting, picks up his discarded jacket, and leaves without a sound, even to Dick's trained ears.

Dick glances down at the last remaining airplane, the first one Sanzo had given him, and tucks it into the pocket of his coat. He's smiling, just a bit, and the tightness that's been in his shoulders since he realized that he'd lost something he'd never even really had is gone.

Sanzo might be a vicious bloodthirsty bastard, but he's an okay guy.

Bruce is waiting when Dick gets back to the ground, no sign of Hakkai Cho anywhere to be seen. He watches Dick make his way down the steps, all bur twitching with impatience—because Batman is inhumanly patient about everything but the people close to him—and finally growls, "Well?"

Dick looks across the garden, at where, if it weren't entirely dark, he could probably see a tree dotted with splashes of orange like some kind of deranged decorating scheme gone awry. He smiles. "Well, I met Sanzo."

Bruce's flat look says he's entirely unimpressed. "And?"

Dick shrugs. "And he's probably human? He didn't exactly whip out his phone and start babbling about a secret plan for world domination. We should probably find out his goal, but I think if we don't get in his way, he'll be just fine tearing Luthor apart and then ruling the business world with an iron fist."

"If that's all he's interested in, I won't care," Bruce says, steering both of them towards the waiting car. "But it's the second part of this that's got me concerned. The part where someone's taking over all of Luthor's less legal activities, too, and they're not leaving many traces."

Admittedly, that is a bit worrying. Dick thinks about Sanzo, about the lean muscle concealed under thin dress clothes, and frowns. "Think it's Sanzo doing both takeovers?" he asks, trying to reconcile the idea of a man who folds and throws paper airplanes with a vicious criminal intent on overturning two whole empires. It's…worryingly easy. Sanzo, for all his silence and plain, unadorned words, doesn't strike Dick as being entirely…domesticated. Or maybe 'civilized' is more the word he's looking for. Maybe just 'civil.'

Yeah, probably 'civil.'

He's not scary-crazy the way Luthor or the Joker are, or even vaguely insane like most of the other villains. Sanzo's quiet and a bit moody, smokes like a particularly cantankerous chimney, and gives Dick the impression that in this case, still waters really do run deep.

If it really is Sanzo orchestrating both takeovers, they're going to have a problem. And if Sanzo's two subordinates are anything like him, it's going to be a very large one indeed.

Hakkai is waiting in the car, idling by the curb, when he sees Sanzo stalking out of the museum and down the wide steps. It's jarring, for a moment, because even after so very many lifetimes Hakkai expects to see white robes and a golden crown, an ageless scroll draped carefully over his shoulders. Instead, he's presented with a slim, severe figure in black, lightened only by the golden hair pulled into a low tail and the fair skin that's nearly eerie in the dimness.

He's still beautiful, though. That's never changed.

There was a time—a long time ago now, their first turn with reincarnation and facing Gyumaoh—when Hakkai had thought something between Sanzo, Gojyo, and himself had changed. A single night together, the three of them, and it had been everything he and Gojyo had wanted. But then events had tumbled forward like an avalanche, Sanzo captured for his scroll and the rest of them racing to save him, only to arrive moments too late. They'd died there, too, mission completed—all but Goku, who still refused to say what had happened to him, what happened to him every time in the gap between their reincarnations.

One night for the three of them, and Hakkai and Gojyo—always together, always a pair, because death and rebirth have nothing on their feelings—have never broached the subject since. Surely, if Sanzo had wanted more than a single night of release, he'd say something. He'd have said something in the many, many years since.

It has also, Hakkai suspects, been longer for Sanzo than anyone else, because there are gaps in Hakkai's memory that cover whole lifetimes. Maybe it's because he was never able to remember himself in those times, or he simply wasn't reincarnated, but he's mentioned things about these time periods to Sanzo sometimes, and the priest knows them, lived them.

Hakkai didn't, or can't remember them, and that means Sanzo was alone for those times, aware of the universe and cut off from any friendly face, any understanding. Hakkai can't quite imagine what that was like.

Abruptly, Hakkai realizes he's annoyed. He throttles it down and smiles, though judging by the wary look Sanzo gives him as he slides into the passenger seat, the priest can tell. Sanzo's always been one of the few to see right through to Hakkai's heart, and he's never been entirely sure he likes it.

"Geez, Sanzo-sama," Gojyo complains from the backseat, irreverent as ever. "We've been waiting ages. What, did you have to fix your makeup, princess?"

Sanzo's fingers twitch, doubtless wanting to reach for the Smith & Wesson he still carries, as faithfully as ever. Or, to give him the benefit of a doubt, the harissen, which Hakkai had carefully taken away from him before the party for fear of incidents. As it is, he counts himself lucky that Sanzo was feeling pleasant enough to simply hole up on the roof with two packs of Marlboros and a stack of pilfered invitations.

"Shut up," Sanzo growls, glaring at Hakkai murderously. He slumps back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and muttering under his breath about concealed carry laws and permits and inter-city violence.

Hakkai's fairly certain he doesn't want to listen more closely. He simply smiles at the valet, who appears mortally offended that Hakkai insisted on both parking and retrieving the car himself, and pulls out into Gotham's evening traffic. When he's no longer afraid they're about to be sideswiped or rear-ended for such an affront, he looks over to see Sanzo watching him narrowly. It's not quite a glare, but it's hardly a happy expression.

"Yes?" he asks cheerfully. "Something you needed, Sanzo?"

"You let that kid up," Sanzo says, tone caught somewhere between perplexity and annoyance. "I know you were playing guard dog again; why'd you let him by?"

Ah. That. "Bruce Wayne's ward, you mean?" Hakkai wonders if that's going to come back to bite them—after all, Bruce Wayne and Wayne Enterprises might become targets in the near future, depending on their actions regarding Lex Luthor. So far, they've stayed out of it, but if they try to prop up the flailing giant, Hakkai knows that Sanzo will have no mercy. Not that he has much to spare, anyway.

Sanzo's look says he understands very well that Hakkai is stalling, and he snaps, "Yes. Him."

Truthfully, Hakkai isn't entirely certain why he let the boy up to see their prickly leader. Maybe it was the boredom on his face; maybe it was simply his honest curiosity in the face of one of Sanzo's longstanding quirks.

Maybe it was because Hakkai wanted to go up himself but never quite managed to gather the courage.

"Was it so terrible?" he asks instead of saying any of that. "Like it or not, Sanzo, you're a part of this social elite now—"

"We," Gojyo cuts in with a disgruntled grumble. "We are now a part of this flock of peacocks, and don't think I'm about to forget that this was all your idea, Sanzo-sama."

"—and you're going to have make at least a few connections," Hakkai continues with dogged cheer, ignoring the interruption. "You could do far worse than a tie to Bruce Wayne."

"Tch," Sanzo scoffs, looking away the way he always does when Hakkai's made a point he can't contest. He fingers the pack of Marlboros in his pocket, but Hakkai's long since beaten it into both his and Gojyo's heads that this isn't the jeep and they're not allowed to smoke inside of it. The pack never comes out, and Hakkai smiles to himself, inordinately satisfied. He's well aware that no one else in their little group would ever dream of denying Sanzo something and having him comply.

"Goku?" Sanzo asks restlessly, eyes flickering over the buildings slipping past them as they head for the condo the four of them share.

Gojyo checks his watch. "He's got four minutes to the next check-in," he says. "Last one was on time, and he said he'd located the hideout." A pause, and when Hakkai glances back, Gojyo's frowning worriedly. "Sanzo," he offers after a moment of heavy silence, and he's uncharacteristically serious. "You're sure you're good to go through with this? This plan is…"

Insane, Hakkai wants to finish for him. Stupidly risky. Just plain stupid. More akin to something Gojyo himself would come up with than what we expect from you.

Though, as far as that goes, Hakkai still remembers the centipede demon, the feel of Sanzo's neck so fragile and breakable under his fingers—an act, just an act, but nevertheless a reckless move Hakkai doesn't think he'll ever entirely recover from.

The steering wheel creaks under his grip, and Hakkai loosens it quickly, controlling himself.

Sanzo shoots him a quick, indecipherable look, and then glances in the rearview mirror to look at Gojyo. "If you get me killed, I'll fucking haunt you," he threatens, but there's no heat to it. Sanzo is putting his trust in them, and they can do nothing but live up to it.

Hakkai sees the same knowledge in Gojyo's eyes, the same acceptance, half a second before they're run off the road by a big black van.

When the alert comes in, Bruce and Dick are halfway back to the mansion, and they listen to the police scanner rattle out the details through a spattering of static. Billionaire businessman Genjo Sanzo abducted from his wrecked vehicle after being overtaken by an unregistered van, his two companions battered but mostly unharmed, left at the scene. Whereabouts unknown, APB out, be aware.

"Alfred," Bruce says—unnecessarily, because they're already pulling off beneath a silent overpass.

"Yes, sir," Alfred answers, eyes on the road ahead. "If you'll just check the trunk, Master Bruce, Master Dick."

"Alfred, I could kiss you," Dick mutters, ducking out of the car and seizing his costume. He ducks behind the car to change, and Bruce follows him out.

"Good night, Alfred," he tells the older man, and the butler favors him with a faint smile.

"Indeed," he says. "Good hunting to you, sir."

The Batmobile meets them at the next intersection, and then they're heading for the scene of the accident. Bruce is quiet, and Dick is fidgeting next to him, usual poise abandoned.

"You think it was Luthor?" he asks at last, the question all but bursting out of him.

Bruce nods slowly, eyes fixed on the road. "Yes," he says shortly. "I'm just surprised it hasn't happened before." And really, that's probably only because Luthor's been trying to settle this in the business arena, to prove he can, rather than showing he has to resort to underhanded deals and glorified muggings to get rid of an opponent. If Bruce's suspicions are correct, Luthor will probably show up in person to gloat, making this a perfect opportunity to catch him red-handed. Maybe the man will be cautious, but Bruce has his doubts. Luthor's been backed into a corner, and he's already light on sanity in the best of situations. Now, with Sanzo at his mercy, he'll be feeling reckless.

"Batman to the Watchtower," he growls.

"Watchtower," Jonn answers almost instantly. "What is wrong, Batman?"

Jonn's been briefed on the situation—the whole League has; they've just been waiting for a moment like this. "Luthor's making his play," Bruce tells him. "I'm going to need backup. Is anyone available?"

"Lantern and I can come," Diana offers. "We'll meet you shortly." She signs off, and Bruce has to appreciate the Amazon's directness. She's a good teammate.

Ahead of them, flashing police lights illuminate an overturned Audi and a stretch of empty road, and Bruce comes to a stop. Dick out of the vehicle before he can say anything, approaching one of the officers. Bruce watches him go, and then heads for the ambulance parked off to the side. Two men are being hovered over by the EMTs, but from the looks of it, neither is in the mood for it. The brunet keeps waving them off with an eerie, serial-killer smile fixed firmly in place, and the redhead is scowling. Sanzo's business partners, and Bruce has to wonder why they weren't taken as well. Maybe Luthor only has eyes for the leader, though; he's never quite understood the concept of 'equal partners.'

"Mr. Sha, Mr. Cho," he murmurs in greeting, just barely above a growl.

The brunet—Cho—looks up, and that unnerving smile never wavers. "Ah," he says, just this side of merry. "The Dark Knight himself is helping to find Sanzo. We're honored."

"Ouch!" Sha snaps as a medic, clearly out of patience, slaps a bandage over the cut on his head. He glowers at the man, then turns the expression on Bruce and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well?" he demands. "Have you found Sanzo yet?"

By all accounts, these three men know each other from high school, and yet these two are still calling their CEO—and, supposedly, their friend—by his last name? That's interesting, and Bruce tucks it away for later consideration. Right now, he focuses on Cho, because the man looks more reasonable than his companion. "We're trying," he acknowledges. "Do you have any way to track him? Monitoring devices? Anything?"

Cho and Sha both seem to hesitate, holding what looks like a silent conversation as they exchange glances. Then Cho nods slowly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his smartphone. "Sanzo has…a chip," he says, sounding reluctant. "In his watch. We've never told him, and we agreed to never give the frequency out in case…"

He doesn't need to elaborate, and while Bruce wants to ask why they haven't informed the police, he understands that, too. Gotham's police force is hardly free of corruption, and a homing beacon tied to one of the richest men in the world is enough to tempt almost anyone.

"You'll have it back as soon as we locate Sanzo," Bruce promises, as Cho pulls up a map of the city. He takes the phone and meets the serious look Cho levels at him.

"Bring him back in one piece, Batman," Cho says quietly, and Sha makes a noise of low, growling agreement.

There's a reason Bruce usually leaves the rest of the League to deal with civilians, and this is it. He nods, because that's all he can do, and retreats to the Batmobile. Dick's already waiting, the scowl on his face telegraphing his lack of information. Bruce tosses him the phone and orders, "Plug that in and get a location. Hopefully Sanzo's still wearing his watch."

Judging by the way the signal's moving, and the speed, he still is. Bruce heads for the docks.

He doesn't see Sha and Cho slip away from the accident as he rounds the corner, the two figures fading silently into the night.

Diana and the Green Lantern meet them there, coming in to land quietly on the warehouse roof. Bruce beckons them over to indicate the high window, their best entrance, and Lantern carefully cuts out the glass. Bruce is the first through, Dick a silent shadow behind him, and the four wordlessly separate, fanning out to search through the towering, maze-like stacks of crates.

Bruce is the first to hear something, a low murmur of voices ahead of him, and he pauses to activate his communicator. "I've got something," he murmurs, just barely louder than a breath. "Southern quadrant, row fifteen, block six."

"Right behind you," Lantern acknowledges, and the others aren't far behind him. Bruce slips through the stacks, towards a pool of golden light spilling out into the path. He quickly clambers up to the top of the crates, because no one ever remembers to look up, and then slides close enough to see what's happening.

Sanzo is still alive, which is the first thing Bruce notices, even if he's looking rather worse for wear, bruised and bloody. His features are set, though, and his eyes glitter with what Bruce guesses is suppressed fury.

"Well, Mr. Sanzo?" Luthor demands, stalking closer, and there's a matching fury on his face, barely contained. He grabs Sanzo's chin, forcing his head up, and growls, "What have you got to say for yourself?"

Sanzo spits in his face, and it's bloody, but it's more than adequate as a statement. "You're a fucking unimaginative bastard," Sanzo snarls right back. It's so tightly contained that it vibrates in the air, like there's some kind of power behind it. The blond bangs shift, part, and just for an instant Bruce can see a ruby red dot in the center of the man's forehead, like an Indian bindi, only more gem-like. "Kidnapping? You'll—"

"Don't tell me I'll never get away with it," Luthor interrupts, and he takes a step back as he wipes his face slowly, deliberately. He's smirking. "I already have. You disappear and I get back what I lost. Those failed ransom attempts are always so tragic, aren't they?"

There's a long pause, and then Sanzo lets out a breath and leans back in the chair where they've tied him, muscles forcibly relaxed. That tight, vibrating fury is all but gone, buried under layers of careless indifference and iron control. He scoffs, harsh in the breathless quiet, and regards Luthor with heavy-lidded violet eyes. "Walk away," he orders, and there's something ancient and untouchable about him, even clad in a tattered suit, the collar gaping and buttons ripped. There are bruises on his shoulders, where they're visible around the edges of the sleeveless undershirt he's wearing. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into with this, Luthor."

There's a hush in the air, and Bruce takes immediate note of the fact that the hair on the back of his neck is standing up. He wants to shiver, even though the temperature is still fairly balmy for Gotham. This is—

He must shift, or move, or something, because Sanzo's eyes are right on him suddenly, even in the darkness. Then the man looks away, gaze dropping back to Luthor, but Bruce can't move. No human has eyes that good, not unless they're using some other sense to assist. And yet…

A shadow flashes through the air, small and impossibly quick, and one of the lights goes out. Bruce stiffens, even as one of Luthor's goons cries out. Luthor spins, suddenly off-guard, seeking the source of the noise. But more footsteps are approaching, deliberate and even, and Bruce is hardly surprised to see Cho and Sha step out into the open space.

There's a long, heavy pause as the two men stare at their friend, and Bruce narrows his eyes, trying to see what's made them stop. He looks back at Sanzo, and—

Oh.

Sanzo's shirt is ripped, and whoever tied him up had taken his belt, so his pants are low and loose around his hips. His face is battered, his hair has come free from its tail, and Bruce has seen assault victims look much the same. Sanzo could be one, for all he knows. Luthor's hiring standards seem to sink a bit lower every year.

A low his pulls his attention back to the two men. Cho is tense, the air around him all but crackling, and Sha is drawn as taut as a violin string. "Sanzo," Sha says, dark and angry, something almost broken in his tone. His fingers open and close on empty air, as though trying to grasp something that isn't there.

Sanzo looks at them for a long moment without speaking. Then he nods, just once. "Go ahead," he orders, and that's clearly what it is. Then he sinks back further in his chair, lips moving soundlessly—a chant? A mantra? Bruce can't make it out, can't figure out the language, but it's hardly important at the moment.

Cho shifts his balance, rocking back on his heels, and one hand comes up to brush aside the messy brown hair falling over his ears. He's wearing cuffs, Bruce notes with some surprise, because they certainly don't fit with his geeky bookworm image.

Another cry from Luthor's goons, and now Luthor is looking ever so slightly nervous. There's a gun at his waist and he goes for it, blindingly fast for a human, but—

Three silver cuffs hit the concrete floor with a cheery tinkle. At the same moment, a crescent-shaped blade on a long chain cuts through the air in an impossible trajectory, aiming for the remaining goons as they pour in through the stacks, and the lights go out completely.

In the darkness, there's a sound like a thousand fluttering wings, or maybe it's a vast rustling of paper.

Gojyo's never been much of one for dramatics that aren't his own, but even he has to admit, the monk and his pet monkey have pretty amazing timing. He's got yokai eyes, so he can see in the dark enough to avoid the Maten Sutra as it comes to life, enough to know exactly where the slime-ball in the suit who snatched Sanzo right out from underneath them is going to move. Hakkai can see him too, if the gashes in the man's chest are anything to go by, but Gojyo's feeling a thousand miles away from lenient right now. Sanzo smells like anger and killing intent and just the faintest edge of deeply buried terror.

They've been together for lifetimes now, and while even a few millennia will never be enough to get Sanzo to open up about his past, what time they've had has been enough to learn his triggers.

Even if this wasn't rape, some bastard threatened it. Some bastard wanted to, tried to, enough to remind Sanzo of what happened or nearly happened to him before, as a child.

Very little makes Gojyo angrier than that, and judging from the screams, Hakkai feels the same way.

With a whirling rustle, the Maten Sutra fades back into a simple scroll and clatters to the ground at Sanzo's feet. The darkness dwindles with it, pale fluorescent light creeping back over the warehouse as Gojyo stumbles over to Sanzo, who's still tied to the chair. It's the work of a few seconds to cut through the tape, and Sanzo actually accepts the arm he offers to get to his feet once he retrieves the sutra, a sure sign that he's hurting. It makes something dark bubble up in Gojyo's chest even more than before, and he has to clamp down on it. Yokai are possessive bastards, and Sanzo's been theirs since once night spent together in a cheap inn, even if he'll never admit it.

This—this is the closest they've come to real danger, danger to Sanzo, in a very long time, their plan is in tatters that are only just clinging to the original framework that will get the Justice League off their backs, and Gojyo had forgotten what this was like.

He doesn't like it at all.

There are bodies on the ground, and Goku's crouched near them, eyes glittering. The monkey doesn't like this, either. Hakkai is calmly replacing his limiters, and there's a shape on the floor in front of him, in the remains of what might once have been a suit. Gojyo can't tell if Luthor's still alive, and truthfully, he'll only care if he is. Good riddance, and all that.

"Sanzo!" Goku says, and there go the wide, shiny eyes full of worry. "Are you all right?"

"Shut up, monkey," Sanzo says without any heat at all. He even deigns to ruffle Goku's hair as Gojyo helps him towards the exit. Hakkai falls into step beside them, close to Sanzo's other side, but they all stop short when Sanzo stills at the edge of the circle of light.

"It was self-defense," he says, raising his voice. "They kidnapped me, and my companions got me back. Nothing more and nothing less."

A shadow moves, detaching from the surrounding darkness and revealing itself to be Batman, watching them with narrowed eyes. "Hardly 'nothing more'," he says gruffly. "You're all—"

"We're with Sanzo," Gojyo cuts in impatiently. "And he's with us. Fuck off."

Batman says nothing, but he doesn't try to stop them as they keep walking towards the doors.

Wonder Woman is watching him when they reconvene, having all seen the showdown. "They're dangerous," she says.

Bruce thinks of the looks on Sha and Cho's faces when they arrived. He thinks of his counterpart in the Justice Lords, and the look on his face as he bolted from the control room at the sound of Flash's heart monitor flat-lining.

"Yes," he agrees. "But not to us. Not yet."

It's likely Sanzo is the one behind the criminal takeover, but they can't prove anything—that's how Luthor's gone unpunished for so long, though that's apparently no longer the case. And yes, Bruce doesn't like letting an enemy go free, especially one that can kill without a flicker of remorse. But at this point, they have no choice. It's out of their hands.

When he turns around, Dick is holding an orange paper airplane, turning it over in his hands. He sees Bruce's look and smiles just a tiny bit.

"It's a prayer," he says, tucking it away again. "Or a stupid paper airplane. I haven't decided yet."

It means something to Dick, at least. Bruce lets it go.

Sanzo wakes up in tangle of limbs piled on a too-small mattress, reminiscent of a morning several dozen lifetimes ago, just before everything went entirely to hell. This time, though, there's no yokai attack outside, no Kougaiji making one last-ditch and successful attempt to capture both Sanzo and the sutra. Just sunlight and warmth and Gojyo's hair all over his face, Hakkai sprawled out over his back and ridiculously heavy for someone so lanky and bony.

"Bastards," Sanzo grumbles, but even he's willing to admit that it's halfhearted at best, and he doesn't make any attempt to extricate himself. It's not like he's had a choice about this, anyway.

Though if the idiots have really been thinking about it for this long already, and they've never said anything, it's their own damn faults and he should probably wash his hands of them entirely.

Gojyo makes a soft huffing noise and curls closer, somehow winding his arms under Hakkai's body and around Sanzo's waist as he pulls the priest closer. Sanzo rolls his eyes and endures.

Kanzeon's laughing hir ass off somewhere, he just knows it. With a low growl, he flips hir off and closes his eyes again, letting himself be smothered.

He can always shoot them later.