trista_zevkia (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trista_zevkia) wrote2011-11-23 06:51 pm
trista_zevkia) wrote2011-11-23 06:51 pm
Entry tags:
The Joker Speaks
Fic title:The Joker Speaks
Author name: Trista_zevkia
Artist name:Suavebastard
Beta: Ecto-Gammat
Genre: slash, angst, and you have to go to the second page to see the art, because I'm evil like that!
Pairing and/or characters: Bruce/Clark
Rating: PG-17
Word count:about 13,500
Warnings: Talk of a gangbang, attempted sexual assault, Slash sex
Summary: Joker decides to fix Batman's bad day. It's irritates Superman something awful.
A busy weekend had settled down into a quiet Sunday night. Most of America was asleep and Clark considered joining them. Hovering in the atmosphere, he listened and heard nothing that required his attention. Relaxing a little, he listened to the heartbeats of Ma and Pa Kent; both asleep, but with that little murmur that had the doctors so worried about Pa. He went through a list of people he cared about only to find them all asleep. One heart left to check on, though if that individual knew he was being monitored he would have something, probably very impolite, to say about it.
If Batman was asleep, Clark was defiantly going to bed. But Batman wasn’t asleep; his heart was pounding like a hummingbird’s. Clark was on his way to Gotham before he worked out exactly where that frightening sound was coming from. A change of his hearing and he could hear what Batman heard; high, shrill laugh that grated down his spine and sent chills into his heart. A happy Joker was never a good thing!
“You know, Batman, you really are very beautiful like this. Do you have a camera I could borrow?” A brief pause while Batman responded silently. “You do, but you’re not going to lend it to me? You’re so distrustful! Well, pretty pretty, I thought up another way to make this memorable.”
The Joker was laughing again, but under it Clark heard an impossible sound. It sounded like a zipper being opened… the Joker’s zipper. Clark had to punch through a brick wall to get into the warehouse, only to have to find the entrance of a tent lab inside the large open space. Ripping through it might make it collapse, making it harder to get to Batman. He assessed what he saw as he flew at the Joker, picking him up and hurling him away from Batman. Laughter was cut off by a grunt of pain as Superman turned to Batman for an explanation.
Batman looked like he had decided to wrestle an overly large beanbag chair and lost. His head and bits of limbs stuck out at weird angles. It was bright pink and Clark could see where the Joker would have found it amusing. He might have laughed himself if the Joker’s unnaturally white penis hadn’t have been half an inch from Batman’s mouth, held at just the right height by the pink beanbag thing. Superman stared at him so long that Batman got annoyed enough to speak first.
“Your heat vision might be just the thing to get me out of this.” He waited expectantly, but it appeared that Superman left his brain back wherever he had come from. “No worries, Superman. I’ll get myself out of this, capture the Joker and come back for your newest statute later.”
His right hand was sticking out of the pink mass and started wiggling as Batman tried to make good on his words. The movement must have helped, because Clark was suddenly back to himself. Heat beams sliced through the strange material until Batman was able to pull himself free.
“Sorry, I guess I was just overwhelmed by what I saw when I came in.”
Batman pulled out a portable welding torch, which Superman eyed distrustfully. What was Batman about to do with that? Batman turned, knelt and used it to free the bit of cape that was still in the goo.
Superman relaxed enough to ask. “So, what was this all about?”
“Joker’s newest mine. It was actually disguised as a used cotton candy tube.” Batman was taking samples of it as he talked, “Gather him up for the police.”
“I meant, you know, why was he trying to…” The image flashed up and Clark worked to kill it, only to notice that Batman hadn’t been struggling as the Joker moved in. That was even more disturbing. “You’ve been caught in worse situations before, so why were you letting him get that close?”
“People thinking with their reproductive organs are easier to overcome.”
“But he was almost in!”
“Do you have any idea what I would have done to him if he did get in?”
“Oh! I know! Pick me, pick me!” The Joker was back on his feet, one hand in the air waving like an overeager kid on his first day of school. The other hand held what looked like an old fashioned pistol. Batman tensed at the sight, readying for a fight, and even Superman knew better than to underestimate whatever the Joker held.
“I told you to get him.”
“Oops?” was all Superman felt he could say.
“Hey! I’m the one with the loaded gun here!” Joker sounded mad at being left out of the conversation, but his hand was out of the air and touching his flagging erection. “Batman would have let me get just far enough in, so when he bit and ripped I would have exploded from joy! But Superman had to ruin our fun! It did you no good, Supes; it actually gave me time to figure out the differences between you two.”
Superman risked a quick glance at Batman, noticing he was using the conversation to get into a better position to attack from. Superman decided to be the distraction Batman expected him to be. “What’s that, Joker?”
“Supes, can I call you Supes? I bet you were raised in Idaho, while my Batman is a creature of the city. You had a loving family, Supes, a world of hope and joy and ice cream socials, a world that Batty should have had. The only thing that separates you and my darling Bat is one bad day!”
“Interesting idea.” Superman could admit to that, especially if nodding and looking thoughtful kept him from showing how close the Joker was to the truth.
“So I’m going to do the world a good deed! I’m going to fix that; give Batty back his good day, his ice cream social, with this toy I borrowed from Abra Kadabra.”
The old fashioned gun was aimed at Batman, so Superman moved in to grab the Joker. The Joker, as if capable of timing Superman, waited to the last possible second to turn the pistol on Superman. A laughing Joker fired, point blank, in Superman’s face.
Superman could handle a bullet, but this was magic. Instead of a chunk of lead bouncing off his eye, a cloud of lightning and the smell of ozone passed around Superman. When it cleared, he was in a deserted warehouse, completely alone. Switching on the JL comm., Superman forced himself to sound calm.
“Batman, do you hear me?” The silence was too long, so he tried again. “Batman, this is Superman. Respond please!”
“Superman, this is Flash. Who are you trying to contact?”
Superman counted to ten before responding. A very fast, silent count to ten. “Batman, from Gotham.”
“Gotham? You know better than to go to there. That place made everybody crazy; that’s why they abandoned it.”
“Right.” Whatever the Joker did got rid of Batman, Superman would just have to fix that. “Right you are Flash. I just need to fly around and clear my head.”
“Okay, let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.” was all Superman said. Similar situations over the years had taught him not to give out too much information; it only confused the situation and irritated people. Even if miserable, people were still reluctant to learn their lives were a lie. If he were here, Batman would insist on finding out what the Joker had changed. But the person behind the Superman shield knew his first priority was Bruce.
Taking stock of the situation, Clark rose into the air while listening for Bruce’s heartbeat. When he didn’t hear it, he took a calming breath and tried again. Listening away from himself in an increasing circle, he heard insects and animals where Gotham should have been. Gaining altitude he looked and confirmed that the city was dead. It looked like the earthquake had passed some time ago and no one had been there to push for its rebuilding. Clark didn’t like this one little bit, but before he let the panic set in he flew to the Manor.
As he closed in on the Manor, he thought maybe he had taken a wrong turn and gone to the county prison instead. A new thirty foot fence was topped with razor wire, but contained only a stately home in need of repair. No lights in the windows, ornamental plants gone wild and no signs of life. Licking his lips, Clark flew to the cave entrance, and found it blocked.
Fallen rocks and wild plants covered the entrance, but it was the horizontal iron bars that stopped Clark cold. It was a bat-gate, designed so bats could come and go, while people were kept out so as not to disturb the bat’s slumber. No need for a human sized entrance, because there were no humans here, and there had never been a Batman. The Daily Planet would hold answers, so Clark fought back the emotions and raced for Metropolis.
Bizarrely, Metropolis looked exactly the same as when he left. His apartment was the same, and when he opened his laptop, it pulled up the same article he was working on before he left for patrol. A search of the Daily Planet website pulled up a couple thousand pages of articles about Wayne, so Clark clicked on the most recent. It was an interview with Thomas Wayne from his penthouse apartment in Metropolis.
Thomas Wayne, Bruce’s father, but no mention of Bruce or Martha. Had the mugger killed Bruce and Martha but left Thomas to kneel in their blood? Clark ran a search for Martha Wayne before his imagination could get too worked up. Those articles were years old, and it took a while for the search engine to pull something up. Clark had to use the things Bruce had taught him over the years about patience to wait those seconds to find out what had happened.
The PDF loaded and Clark read the words without breathing. Mugger, alley, shot Martha first, turned the gun on Thomas. Eight year old Bruce had launched himself at the mugger, and intercepted the bullet meant for Thomas. Mugger fled, and Dr. Wayne was unable to revive his wife, so he turned to his son. The bullet had destroyed much of his left lung and Bruce had spent the next six months in hospitals. But he had lived, his brain intact, and Clark allowed his shoulders to relax.
There were articles on the anniversary of that event, articles about the court trials when they caught the bad guy, and one about Bruce graduating with double PhDs in engineering and mathematics at twenty-four. He was a genius, a prodigy with great things expected of him, in a world where he didn’t have to hide it. Thomas retired from being a doctor to run Wayne Enterprises, and profits soared to astronomical heights.
No other articles that mentioned Bruce came up, no matter how Clark searched. No Dr. Bruce Wayne working at NASA, no Batman, no Brucie partying with starlets, no Mr. Wayne fighting to rebuild Gotham after the Earthquake.
Insanity is defined as doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. Clark could hear Batman growling out that Einstein quote, so he did as Bruce wanted and changed tactics.
The articles on Superman were Lois’s usual glowing reports. Lex was president but now owned The Daily Planet. The Joker ruled part of Los Angeles, known as La La Land. No Robin, as there was no Batman, but Richard Grayson was killed trying to avenge his family. None of Bruce’s other children had found themselves the subject of newspapers, which could be good or bad.
The JL headquarters was a building in Washington, D.C., but Clark could only find twenty living members in his searching. Oliver Queen had been killed by a bomb on his private plane, and the Green Arrow was never heard from again. The ambassador from Themyscira had warned Man’s world to leave them alone and returned to her island. Battles the League had won were not won as quickly as Clark remembered, and a greater destruction was evident in the world.
As the dawn light reached into his apartment, Clark closed his computer and thought about what he had learned. All the things that were different because Bruce, the loner who wasn’t even a full time member of the League, simply wasn’t the Bruce he had been. All these changes and Clark wasn’t at all surprised.
Batman had been crucial in so many battles, scary smart and a creative thinker on his feet; detective skills that would have impressed Sherlock combined with an unbelievable physicality. Brucie was a toy and not worth wasting thought on. But Bruce had been so much more than both of his aspects. And a life without that trinity was inconceivable, incomprehensible and simply not something Superman would allow. With a dawn flight to recharge, a shower and change of clothes, Clark Kent made some phone calls and set out to fix the world.
sBSbBs
The pushiness that Lois had down to an art was used by mild mannered Clark to get his interview with Thomas Wayne at 1 p.m. Waiting until next week was out of the question, and he had to inform the secretary that he knew her nasty little secret. Superman wouldn’t lie, unless it was an emergency. He didn’t know the woman but everybody had a nasty little secret, a lesson Clark had picked up from both Lois and Bruce.
Clark arrived a half hour early, and Thomas arrived a half hour late, so he got a solid hour of hateful glares from the secretary. He offered her only friendly smiles in return; this was for her own good after all. Finally, she gave him a contemptuous command Batman would have appreciated.
“Mr. Wayne will see you now.”
His guts churned in funny ways as Clark stood and headed for the door. All the times he had heard that, it had been Bruce, only Bruce, waiting for him. Batman didn’t belong in the fluorescent lights of the office, and Brucie wasn’t necessary when they were alone. So once the door closed, Clark and Bruce had been able to talk, without masks or other restrictions.
Now Clark had to smile at the strange man with the familiar last name. The same man who had Bruce’s frame under his aging body and silver hair. His eyes were a muddy brown, which helped Clark focus. He didn’t know what he would have done with Bruce’s eyes staring at him from a stranger.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Kent, but I will admit to being surprised. My secretary worked you in, but wouldn’t tell me what you wanted to discuss that was so urgent.”
“It’s hard to explain, but I need to find Bruce.”
The charming smile faltered when Mr. Wayne heard the name. “Bruce who?”
“Your son, Bruce Thomas Wayne.” Thomas stiffened, much like his son would when he was trying to hide something. Clark’s guard was defiantly up now, and he listened for the coming lie.
“My son is none of the press’s business. I have made it completely clear to you people over the years that he is off limits!” That much was genuine anger, but as a reporter Clark knew he would have had to push for the reasons behind that statement if Mr. Wayne hadn’t continued. “If it will fend you vultures off a little while longer, Bruce is at a private sanatorium in Switzerland. You know the way out.”
“I do, and I also know that’s a lie.” The increased heartbeat was the truest thing Clark heard in Thomas Wayne’s statement. “Where is he really?”
“How dare you call me a liar! I’m calling security if you don’t leave right now!” Thomas didn’t move, either to stand in real anger or reach for his phone. He was bluffing, wanting this handled quietly.
Clark wanted this quick and efficient, and he had just such a way to get compliance. He needed Bruce and in his world Thomas Wayne was dead. So, if Thomas knew about him and Clark fixed things, Thomas could only mention it to other dead people. Harsh, but necessary. In a quick movement, he was in his Superman suit and standing beside Thomas.
“Mr. Wayne, I had hoped to do this politely. I’m Superman, and I need to find Bruce.” Mr. Wayne gaped at him for a minute, and then sagged back into his chair. His all business voice was now tired and sad.
“What’s he done now? He hasn’t hacked into the Justice League systems again has he?”
Clark tried not to laugh; in the real world Bruce had designed the League systems. “I can’t speak to that, I need his help.”
Now Wayne was confused. “You expect Bruce to help with something? What?”
“The Joker messed with the timeline and Bruce is the key to putting it back.” Clark wasn’t sure what else to say, so he settled for a shrug.
“My Bruce?”
“Yes, sir. Bruce Wayne, son of Thomas and Martha Wayne of Gotham.”
“Another timeline, huh?” Clark nodded at Thomas, hoping not to have to ask his own question again. “Bruce said time travel was possible, but none of the experts believed him. In this other timeline, Bruce is…? How is he?”
“He’s important in many ways. He’s a hero, who I’m proud to fight alongside.”
“Bruce, a hero! It’s kind of funny in a way, he used to be my hero, when he saved my life.”
“Why ‘used to be’? What changed?” Clark asked. Thomas wouldn’t be able to say what was different, but that night in the alley was still the pivotal moment of Bruce’s life. Clark needed to gather all the information he could; he’d piece it all together later.
“I spoiled him rotten, blind to the brat I was raising. Until Alfred, our head butler, resigned in protest. I was left to deal with the nightmare Bruce had become on my own, and by then it was too late to fix him. He resented the changes, and grew to hate me.” Thomas paused to take a drink out of the water on his desk. “He applied for early admission to college and I gave him a credit card and let him go. He was too immature, and the freedom broke something in him. He never came back to me.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Clark was sorry, sad that Bruce still didn’t have the family he wanted so badly. “What was he like as a kid?”
“He was a normal kid; very smart, but he played and acted silly. I couldn’t have predicted that night.”
“The attack in Crime Alley?”
“Right, that night in the alley. Martha didn’t even scream, and I froze, too scared to breathe. There was lightning close by, and then the gun went off; I was so sure I was dead. But Martha fell while I stood and the gun was turned on me. Bruce did something strange. He moved, attacking an armed man. No childhood awkwardness, but fluid and graceful; like he knew exactly what to do to get that gun. He beat a full-grown man into dropping that gun and running, but was shot in the process. Things were never the same after that.” Thomas was slipping into his thoughts, his mangled past, but Clark needed him to talk now.
“Mr. Wayne, I’m sorry to ask, but why do you remember lightning?”
“Huh? Right, the lightning. It was strange because it was a perfectly clear night and too cold for heat lightning.”
Clark sighed. “That confirms it; Bruce is the key to this.”
“Superman, in the other timeline, is Martha alive?”
“Sorry, but no.”
“I hate living without her. Wait, am I alive?” Clark swallowed heavily; he had hoped that question wouldn’t come up. Thomas saw his hesitation and his eyes got very big. “I’m not, and that’s why Bruce is worth something.”
“I don’t know about this timeline, but in mine everything he does is to honor your memories. He loves you deeply and hopes you’re proud of him.”
Thomas’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I guess I’m just not destined to see that. Go ahead and let me die, so you can fix your timeline. Just tell him, I’m proud of him as he fights for what’s right. But what’s important is that I love him, in any timeline, and I hope he’s happy.”
“I will, Mr. Wayne, but first I have to find him.” Clark could admit to being more than a little surprised at how well Thomas was taking all this, but was thankful for it.
“Are you sure? I know he’s a hero in your time, but here Bruce is something else. Crazy or lost, I don’t know. None of the doctors had a clue what was wrong with him; they just agreed he was someone you had to watch.”
“Bruce is brilliant, and just talking with him helps me figure out what to do.” Clark couldn’t help the amusement and affection in his voice for his friend. Now Thomas’s smile did reach his brown eyes.
“That’s the way it was with me and Martha. A simple conversation was enough to get us to see things in an entirely different way. Bruce wouldn’t leave her, even when we abandoned Gotham after the quake. He’s still in the manor.”
“Wayne Manor? I flew out there, it was deserted. I thought it had been converted into a prison or something.”
“It has, a prison for Bruce.”
“What?”
“He kept escaping from all the sanatoriums I sent him to! They’d find him in the woods or living on the streets a couple of months later, half dead. He told me he couldn’t take having all those people around him; I asked what else I was supposed to do with him. It was his idea, and he set up the inside. I just had all the exits sealed and built the wall.” Thomas had another sip of water, something dark clouding his eyes.
Clark thought about how easily his Bruce could get out of the Wayne Manor prison.
“He’s got electricity and internet, so he still gets into trouble; hacks into things just to see if he can, or because he gets bored or who knows why. A lump sum and a rumor that he’s in a mental health facility, and his troubles go away. I hope he’s not as alone in your time, not condemned to some self imposed exile.”
That question Clark hadn’t expected and he blushed at the answer. “He tries, Mr. Wayne. Pretends he’s a loner, but he’s adopted kids and works with two different teams.”
“But kids and teammates don’t fill your arms when you sleep.” Thomas sighed heavily, but picked up a pen and wrote a long note. “These are the security codes and instructions to get you into the Manor. When you fix the timeline, tell him that I want him to be happy. As a parent he should understand this. But I cannot accept that happiness means isolation, not even for him.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.” Clark changed back into his civilian clothes before taking the note. Thomas grinned at that bit of super-speed.
“Good luck, Superman.”
Clark grinned as he settled his glasses and walked out the way he had come. He was Superman and Bruce was his friend, what did he need luck for?
sBSbBs
Chapter 2
Author name: Trista_zevkia
Artist name:Suavebastard
Beta: Ecto-Gammat
Genre: slash, angst, and you have to go to the second page to see the art, because I'm evil like that!
Pairing and/or characters: Bruce/Clark
Rating: PG-17
Word count:about 13,500
Warnings: Talk of a gangbang, attempted sexual assault, Slash sex
Summary: Joker decides to fix Batman's bad day. It's irritates Superman something awful.
A busy weekend had settled down into a quiet Sunday night. Most of America was asleep and Clark considered joining them. Hovering in the atmosphere, he listened and heard nothing that required his attention. Relaxing a little, he listened to the heartbeats of Ma and Pa Kent; both asleep, but with that little murmur that had the doctors so worried about Pa. He went through a list of people he cared about only to find them all asleep. One heart left to check on, though if that individual knew he was being monitored he would have something, probably very impolite, to say about it.
If Batman was asleep, Clark was defiantly going to bed. But Batman wasn’t asleep; his heart was pounding like a hummingbird’s. Clark was on his way to Gotham before he worked out exactly where that frightening sound was coming from. A change of his hearing and he could hear what Batman heard; high, shrill laugh that grated down his spine and sent chills into his heart. A happy Joker was never a good thing!
“You know, Batman, you really are very beautiful like this. Do you have a camera I could borrow?” A brief pause while Batman responded silently. “You do, but you’re not going to lend it to me? You’re so distrustful! Well, pretty pretty, I thought up another way to make this memorable.”
The Joker was laughing again, but under it Clark heard an impossible sound. It sounded like a zipper being opened… the Joker’s zipper. Clark had to punch through a brick wall to get into the warehouse, only to have to find the entrance of a tent lab inside the large open space. Ripping through it might make it collapse, making it harder to get to Batman. He assessed what he saw as he flew at the Joker, picking him up and hurling him away from Batman. Laughter was cut off by a grunt of pain as Superman turned to Batman for an explanation.
Batman looked like he had decided to wrestle an overly large beanbag chair and lost. His head and bits of limbs stuck out at weird angles. It was bright pink and Clark could see where the Joker would have found it amusing. He might have laughed himself if the Joker’s unnaturally white penis hadn’t have been half an inch from Batman’s mouth, held at just the right height by the pink beanbag thing. Superman stared at him so long that Batman got annoyed enough to speak first.
“Your heat vision might be just the thing to get me out of this.” He waited expectantly, but it appeared that Superman left his brain back wherever he had come from. “No worries, Superman. I’ll get myself out of this, capture the Joker and come back for your newest statute later.”
His right hand was sticking out of the pink mass and started wiggling as Batman tried to make good on his words. The movement must have helped, because Clark was suddenly back to himself. Heat beams sliced through the strange material until Batman was able to pull himself free.
“Sorry, I guess I was just overwhelmed by what I saw when I came in.”
Batman pulled out a portable welding torch, which Superman eyed distrustfully. What was Batman about to do with that? Batman turned, knelt and used it to free the bit of cape that was still in the goo.
Superman relaxed enough to ask. “So, what was this all about?”
“Joker’s newest mine. It was actually disguised as a used cotton candy tube.” Batman was taking samples of it as he talked, “Gather him up for the police.”
“I meant, you know, why was he trying to…” The image flashed up and Clark worked to kill it, only to notice that Batman hadn’t been struggling as the Joker moved in. That was even more disturbing. “You’ve been caught in worse situations before, so why were you letting him get that close?”
“People thinking with their reproductive organs are easier to overcome.”
“But he was almost in!”
“Do you have any idea what I would have done to him if he did get in?”
“Oh! I know! Pick me, pick me!” The Joker was back on his feet, one hand in the air waving like an overeager kid on his first day of school. The other hand held what looked like an old fashioned pistol. Batman tensed at the sight, readying for a fight, and even Superman knew better than to underestimate whatever the Joker held.
“I told you to get him.”
“Oops?” was all Superman felt he could say.
“Hey! I’m the one with the loaded gun here!” Joker sounded mad at being left out of the conversation, but his hand was out of the air and touching his flagging erection. “Batman would have let me get just far enough in, so when he bit and ripped I would have exploded from joy! But Superman had to ruin our fun! It did you no good, Supes; it actually gave me time to figure out the differences between you two.”
Superman risked a quick glance at Batman, noticing he was using the conversation to get into a better position to attack from. Superman decided to be the distraction Batman expected him to be. “What’s that, Joker?”
“Supes, can I call you Supes? I bet you were raised in Idaho, while my Batman is a creature of the city. You had a loving family, Supes, a world of hope and joy and ice cream socials, a world that Batty should have had. The only thing that separates you and my darling Bat is one bad day!”
“Interesting idea.” Superman could admit to that, especially if nodding and looking thoughtful kept him from showing how close the Joker was to the truth.
“So I’m going to do the world a good deed! I’m going to fix that; give Batty back his good day, his ice cream social, with this toy I borrowed from Abra Kadabra.”
The old fashioned gun was aimed at Batman, so Superman moved in to grab the Joker. The Joker, as if capable of timing Superman, waited to the last possible second to turn the pistol on Superman. A laughing Joker fired, point blank, in Superman’s face.
Superman could handle a bullet, but this was magic. Instead of a chunk of lead bouncing off his eye, a cloud of lightning and the smell of ozone passed around Superman. When it cleared, he was in a deserted warehouse, completely alone. Switching on the JL comm., Superman forced himself to sound calm.
“Batman, do you hear me?” The silence was too long, so he tried again. “Batman, this is Superman. Respond please!”
“Superman, this is Flash. Who are you trying to contact?”
Superman counted to ten before responding. A very fast, silent count to ten. “Batman, from Gotham.”
“Gotham? You know better than to go to there. That place made everybody crazy; that’s why they abandoned it.”
“Right.” Whatever the Joker did got rid of Batman, Superman would just have to fix that. “Right you are Flash. I just need to fly around and clear my head.”
“Okay, let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.” was all Superman said. Similar situations over the years had taught him not to give out too much information; it only confused the situation and irritated people. Even if miserable, people were still reluctant to learn their lives were a lie. If he were here, Batman would insist on finding out what the Joker had changed. But the person behind the Superman shield knew his first priority was Bruce.
Taking stock of the situation, Clark rose into the air while listening for Bruce’s heartbeat. When he didn’t hear it, he took a calming breath and tried again. Listening away from himself in an increasing circle, he heard insects and animals where Gotham should have been. Gaining altitude he looked and confirmed that the city was dead. It looked like the earthquake had passed some time ago and no one had been there to push for its rebuilding. Clark didn’t like this one little bit, but before he let the panic set in he flew to the Manor.
As he closed in on the Manor, he thought maybe he had taken a wrong turn and gone to the county prison instead. A new thirty foot fence was topped with razor wire, but contained only a stately home in need of repair. No lights in the windows, ornamental plants gone wild and no signs of life. Licking his lips, Clark flew to the cave entrance, and found it blocked.
Fallen rocks and wild plants covered the entrance, but it was the horizontal iron bars that stopped Clark cold. It was a bat-gate, designed so bats could come and go, while people were kept out so as not to disturb the bat’s slumber. No need for a human sized entrance, because there were no humans here, and there had never been a Batman. The Daily Planet would hold answers, so Clark fought back the emotions and raced for Metropolis.
Bizarrely, Metropolis looked exactly the same as when he left. His apartment was the same, and when he opened his laptop, it pulled up the same article he was working on before he left for patrol. A search of the Daily Planet website pulled up a couple thousand pages of articles about Wayne, so Clark clicked on the most recent. It was an interview with Thomas Wayne from his penthouse apartment in Metropolis.
Thomas Wayne, Bruce’s father, but no mention of Bruce or Martha. Had the mugger killed Bruce and Martha but left Thomas to kneel in their blood? Clark ran a search for Martha Wayne before his imagination could get too worked up. Those articles were years old, and it took a while for the search engine to pull something up. Clark had to use the things Bruce had taught him over the years about patience to wait those seconds to find out what had happened.
The PDF loaded and Clark read the words without breathing. Mugger, alley, shot Martha first, turned the gun on Thomas. Eight year old Bruce had launched himself at the mugger, and intercepted the bullet meant for Thomas. Mugger fled, and Dr. Wayne was unable to revive his wife, so he turned to his son. The bullet had destroyed much of his left lung and Bruce had spent the next six months in hospitals. But he had lived, his brain intact, and Clark allowed his shoulders to relax.
There were articles on the anniversary of that event, articles about the court trials when they caught the bad guy, and one about Bruce graduating with double PhDs in engineering and mathematics at twenty-four. He was a genius, a prodigy with great things expected of him, in a world where he didn’t have to hide it. Thomas retired from being a doctor to run Wayne Enterprises, and profits soared to astronomical heights.
No other articles that mentioned Bruce came up, no matter how Clark searched. No Dr. Bruce Wayne working at NASA, no Batman, no Brucie partying with starlets, no Mr. Wayne fighting to rebuild Gotham after the Earthquake.
Insanity is defined as doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. Clark could hear Batman growling out that Einstein quote, so he did as Bruce wanted and changed tactics.
The articles on Superman were Lois’s usual glowing reports. Lex was president but now owned The Daily Planet. The Joker ruled part of Los Angeles, known as La La Land. No Robin, as there was no Batman, but Richard Grayson was killed trying to avenge his family. None of Bruce’s other children had found themselves the subject of newspapers, which could be good or bad.
The JL headquarters was a building in Washington, D.C., but Clark could only find twenty living members in his searching. Oliver Queen had been killed by a bomb on his private plane, and the Green Arrow was never heard from again. The ambassador from Themyscira had warned Man’s world to leave them alone and returned to her island. Battles the League had won were not won as quickly as Clark remembered, and a greater destruction was evident in the world.
As the dawn light reached into his apartment, Clark closed his computer and thought about what he had learned. All the things that were different because Bruce, the loner who wasn’t even a full time member of the League, simply wasn’t the Bruce he had been. All these changes and Clark wasn’t at all surprised.
Batman had been crucial in so many battles, scary smart and a creative thinker on his feet; detective skills that would have impressed Sherlock combined with an unbelievable physicality. Brucie was a toy and not worth wasting thought on. But Bruce had been so much more than both of his aspects. And a life without that trinity was inconceivable, incomprehensible and simply not something Superman would allow. With a dawn flight to recharge, a shower and change of clothes, Clark Kent made some phone calls and set out to fix the world.
The pushiness that Lois had down to an art was used by mild mannered Clark to get his interview with Thomas Wayne at 1 p.m. Waiting until next week was out of the question, and he had to inform the secretary that he knew her nasty little secret. Superman wouldn’t lie, unless it was an emergency. He didn’t know the woman but everybody had a nasty little secret, a lesson Clark had picked up from both Lois and Bruce.
Clark arrived a half hour early, and Thomas arrived a half hour late, so he got a solid hour of hateful glares from the secretary. He offered her only friendly smiles in return; this was for her own good after all. Finally, she gave him a contemptuous command Batman would have appreciated.
“Mr. Wayne will see you now.”
His guts churned in funny ways as Clark stood and headed for the door. All the times he had heard that, it had been Bruce, only Bruce, waiting for him. Batman didn’t belong in the fluorescent lights of the office, and Brucie wasn’t necessary when they were alone. So once the door closed, Clark and Bruce had been able to talk, without masks or other restrictions.
Now Clark had to smile at the strange man with the familiar last name. The same man who had Bruce’s frame under his aging body and silver hair. His eyes were a muddy brown, which helped Clark focus. He didn’t know what he would have done with Bruce’s eyes staring at him from a stranger.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Kent, but I will admit to being surprised. My secretary worked you in, but wouldn’t tell me what you wanted to discuss that was so urgent.”
“It’s hard to explain, but I need to find Bruce.”
The charming smile faltered when Mr. Wayne heard the name. “Bruce who?”
“Your son, Bruce Thomas Wayne.” Thomas stiffened, much like his son would when he was trying to hide something. Clark’s guard was defiantly up now, and he listened for the coming lie.
“My son is none of the press’s business. I have made it completely clear to you people over the years that he is off limits!” That much was genuine anger, but as a reporter Clark knew he would have had to push for the reasons behind that statement if Mr. Wayne hadn’t continued. “If it will fend you vultures off a little while longer, Bruce is at a private sanatorium in Switzerland. You know the way out.”
“I do, and I also know that’s a lie.” The increased heartbeat was the truest thing Clark heard in Thomas Wayne’s statement. “Where is he really?”
“How dare you call me a liar! I’m calling security if you don’t leave right now!” Thomas didn’t move, either to stand in real anger or reach for his phone. He was bluffing, wanting this handled quietly.
Clark wanted this quick and efficient, and he had just such a way to get compliance. He needed Bruce and in his world Thomas Wayne was dead. So, if Thomas knew about him and Clark fixed things, Thomas could only mention it to other dead people. Harsh, but necessary. In a quick movement, he was in his Superman suit and standing beside Thomas.
“Mr. Wayne, I had hoped to do this politely. I’m Superman, and I need to find Bruce.” Mr. Wayne gaped at him for a minute, and then sagged back into his chair. His all business voice was now tired and sad.
“What’s he done now? He hasn’t hacked into the Justice League systems again has he?”
Clark tried not to laugh; in the real world Bruce had designed the League systems. “I can’t speak to that, I need his help.”
Now Wayne was confused. “You expect Bruce to help with something? What?”
“The Joker messed with the timeline and Bruce is the key to putting it back.” Clark wasn’t sure what else to say, so he settled for a shrug.
“My Bruce?”
“Yes, sir. Bruce Wayne, son of Thomas and Martha Wayne of Gotham.”
“Another timeline, huh?” Clark nodded at Thomas, hoping not to have to ask his own question again. “Bruce said time travel was possible, but none of the experts believed him. In this other timeline, Bruce is…? How is he?”
“He’s important in many ways. He’s a hero, who I’m proud to fight alongside.”
“Bruce, a hero! It’s kind of funny in a way, he used to be my hero, when he saved my life.”
“Why ‘used to be’? What changed?” Clark asked. Thomas wouldn’t be able to say what was different, but that night in the alley was still the pivotal moment of Bruce’s life. Clark needed to gather all the information he could; he’d piece it all together later.
“I spoiled him rotten, blind to the brat I was raising. Until Alfred, our head butler, resigned in protest. I was left to deal with the nightmare Bruce had become on my own, and by then it was too late to fix him. He resented the changes, and grew to hate me.” Thomas paused to take a drink out of the water on his desk. “He applied for early admission to college and I gave him a credit card and let him go. He was too immature, and the freedom broke something in him. He never came back to me.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Clark was sorry, sad that Bruce still didn’t have the family he wanted so badly. “What was he like as a kid?”
“He was a normal kid; very smart, but he played and acted silly. I couldn’t have predicted that night.”
“The attack in Crime Alley?”
“Right, that night in the alley. Martha didn’t even scream, and I froze, too scared to breathe. There was lightning close by, and then the gun went off; I was so sure I was dead. But Martha fell while I stood and the gun was turned on me. Bruce did something strange. He moved, attacking an armed man. No childhood awkwardness, but fluid and graceful; like he knew exactly what to do to get that gun. He beat a full-grown man into dropping that gun and running, but was shot in the process. Things were never the same after that.” Thomas was slipping into his thoughts, his mangled past, but Clark needed him to talk now.
“Mr. Wayne, I’m sorry to ask, but why do you remember lightning?”
“Huh? Right, the lightning. It was strange because it was a perfectly clear night and too cold for heat lightning.”
Clark sighed. “That confirms it; Bruce is the key to this.”
“Superman, in the other timeline, is Martha alive?”
“Sorry, but no.”
“I hate living without her. Wait, am I alive?” Clark swallowed heavily; he had hoped that question wouldn’t come up. Thomas saw his hesitation and his eyes got very big. “I’m not, and that’s why Bruce is worth something.”
“I don’t know about this timeline, but in mine everything he does is to honor your memories. He loves you deeply and hopes you’re proud of him.”
Thomas’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I guess I’m just not destined to see that. Go ahead and let me die, so you can fix your timeline. Just tell him, I’m proud of him as he fights for what’s right. But what’s important is that I love him, in any timeline, and I hope he’s happy.”
“I will, Mr. Wayne, but first I have to find him.” Clark could admit to being more than a little surprised at how well Thomas was taking all this, but was thankful for it.
“Are you sure? I know he’s a hero in your time, but here Bruce is something else. Crazy or lost, I don’t know. None of the doctors had a clue what was wrong with him; they just agreed he was someone you had to watch.”
“Bruce is brilliant, and just talking with him helps me figure out what to do.” Clark couldn’t help the amusement and affection in his voice for his friend. Now Thomas’s smile did reach his brown eyes.
“That’s the way it was with me and Martha. A simple conversation was enough to get us to see things in an entirely different way. Bruce wouldn’t leave her, even when we abandoned Gotham after the quake. He’s still in the manor.”
“Wayne Manor? I flew out there, it was deserted. I thought it had been converted into a prison or something.”
“It has, a prison for Bruce.”
“What?”
“He kept escaping from all the sanatoriums I sent him to! They’d find him in the woods or living on the streets a couple of months later, half dead. He told me he couldn’t take having all those people around him; I asked what else I was supposed to do with him. It was his idea, and he set up the inside. I just had all the exits sealed and built the wall.” Thomas had another sip of water, something dark clouding his eyes.
Clark thought about how easily his Bruce could get out of the Wayne Manor prison.
“He’s got electricity and internet, so he still gets into trouble; hacks into things just to see if he can, or because he gets bored or who knows why. A lump sum and a rumor that he’s in a mental health facility, and his troubles go away. I hope he’s not as alone in your time, not condemned to some self imposed exile.”
That question Clark hadn’t expected and he blushed at the answer. “He tries, Mr. Wayne. Pretends he’s a loner, but he’s adopted kids and works with two different teams.”
“But kids and teammates don’t fill your arms when you sleep.” Thomas sighed heavily, but picked up a pen and wrote a long note. “These are the security codes and instructions to get you into the Manor. When you fix the timeline, tell him that I want him to be happy. As a parent he should understand this. But I cannot accept that happiness means isolation, not even for him.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.” Clark changed back into his civilian clothes before taking the note. Thomas grinned at that bit of super-speed.
“Good luck, Superman.”
Clark grinned as he settled his glasses and walked out the way he had come. He was Superman and Bruce was his friend, what did he need luck for?
Chapter 2