The Joker Speaks
Nov. 23rd, 2011 07:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trista_zevkiaFic title:The Joker Speaks, part 2
Author name: Trista_zevkia
Artist name:Suavebastard
Beta: Ecto-Gammat
Genre: slash, and art!
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.
Chapter 1
Clark didn’t take off his suit before heading for Wayne Manor; he was going to the front door and Bruce expected Clark to use the front door. Superman came in the cave entrance. It was irrational, since this Bruce didn’t even know him, but it was a rule Clark was accustomed to. This time, he made sure to see the top of the house and notice the satellite dishes and solar panels hidden from view. A very paranoid person had even made efforts to hide those signs of habitation from an aerial view. Clark grinned, because he knew who that paranoid person was.
Landing on the helicopter pad he used the complex instructions to let himself past the electronic locks and into the house. A quick scan showed the house was as deserted as it looked and Bruce was beneath the basement. Clark felt silly for thinking Bruce would be anywhere else and for not checking when he was here last night.
It was eerie walking through Wayne Manor without one of the family showing him the way. (Alfred should have at least found him to offer him a drink). It was quiet, and even colder than the autumn temperatures outside. The decorations were all gone and the few furnished rooms had matching furniture; large, heavy pieces of plain wood with rounded edges, instead of the stylish pieces that should have been there. Clark was reminded of furniture in prisons and mental institutions; made so you couldn’t hurt yourself and couldn’t pick it up to hurt someone else. But Bruce wouldn’t need that kind of stuff, would he?
The grandfather clock that should have blocked the cave had been moved and a beaded curtain hung in its place. Clark reached out to touch it, carefully. The beads weren’t Kryptonite and didn’t set off an alarm that he could hear. Clark considered that since Bruce was alone, he didn’t feel the need to hide the entrance. Still, the glittering beads creeped Clark out and he passed them as quickly as he could. The stairs were still there, but most of the cave was empty. The sight of the monitors and computer equipment assured Clark that a version of Bruce was still down here.
A large table held the remains of meals and beside it was a folding cot with filthy sheets. Clark made it over to the large chair in front of the computers and had to step around it to see Bruce. The grimy mass of dull black hair resting on the computer console came with a smell that made Clark’s eyes water. Only Clark’s knowledge that he couldn’t be infected by Earth borne diseases made him reach out and touch what looked like a shoulder under that hair. Bruce’s instant alertness wasn’t there, this Bruce muttered and slowly turned his head to look at Clark.
“It’s not my time of the month, so fuck off.” Bruce muttered before closing his eyes again.
Confused, Clark shook Bruce’s shoulder again. “Bruce, I need to talk to you.”
“No you don’t. Just take your samples and go.”
“What samples?”
Something of Clark’s confusion must have reached Bruce, for he picked up his head to glare at Clark. “You’re not here to check up on my health, take some samples for Daddy?”
“No. I need to talk to you.”
“Talking is a new approach, I’ll give him that.” Bruce’s eyes were still the same blue, but bloodshot and glazed.
“Who?”
“My dad. Your pimp.”
“I don’t have a pimp! I mean, I came to talk to you on my own.”
“Like you could get in without his help.” Bruce’s hand dismissed Clark, even as he leaned back in his chair. His shirt fell of his left shoulder, showing bones that skin hung off of. Pale skin that was never exposed to light or the kind of fights that left him scarred. Given the scrawny look of Bruce, exercise and nutrition were also not part of Bruce’s routine.
Clark swallowed, trying to get away from his desire to fix his friend. The other timeline would do that for him. “He did give me the codes, but that’s it.”
“The front door code that is linked to the master bedroom lock, where you can get your supplies in order to take your samples before a new code is automatically established for the front door; so you only have one chance to get what you need out of me before leaving, all the while hoping I don’t use this chance to escape. That code?”
“I don’t really know what you’re talking about. I want to talk to you about alternate timelines.”
“What day is it?”
The shift in topic made Clark stop to think about it. Then he had to remember a night had passed while he researched this timeline. “The twenty-first.”
“I thought so, and Dad sends in his minions on the fifteenth. Screw it. In deference to his unexpected creativity, I’ll play along.” Bruce folded his hands in his lap, and tried to look like a businessman. “What can I help you with?”
“I am from an alternate timeline, and would like to get back there.” Clark stopped, waiting for the reaction such statements got out of most people. The silence proved Bruce still wasn’t most people, so Clark moved on. “The Joker used a magical gun to change your ‘bad day’, as he called it. He altered that night in the alley and changed the world in more ways than I can tell you.”
“I’ll have to put a spell book with my kryptonite.”
Another pause as Clark caught up with Bruce. He couldn’t suspect Clark was Superman already, could he? “What?”
“You remember the old timeline, so you were at the focus of the change.”
“So? I’m a reporter; it’s my job to be near important things.”
“Clark Kent, reporter from the Daily Planet, raised in Smallville, born on Krypton, gets ill when near pieces of his home planet. Real name Kal-el, main enemy Lex Luther, unhealthy obsession with Lois Lane.” Bruce rattled off these facts in an emotionless voice, without pausing to breathe. When he curled his index finger at Clark, a stunned Clark moved forward. “If you lie to me, I won’t help.”
“No problem, I prefer honesty!” Clark was grinning as he straightened; thrilled to find Bruce was still Bruce under that bundle of rags. “You found all that out with an internet connection?”
“No, I’m telepathic.” Even the condescending sarcasm made Clark grin, which made Bruce raise an eyebrow. “Why did the Joker want to correct my bad day?”
“He didn’t know about it specifically, as you were disguised.”
“I was some jock hero?” Bruce threw back his head to laugh.
Clark took a step backward, trying to run from the chills crawling up his spine. Bruce didn’t laugh, didn’t laugh so easily. But it was the familiar cadence that made Clark want to run: Bruce was laughing like the Joker.
“Problem, reporter boy?”
“No, no problem. Just not sure how much I can tell you without making things worse.” Clark could tell from the way Bruce was staring at him that his rambling wasn’t very believable. “I should go, do some more research.”
“You muscle bound bastard!” All humor was gone, and Bruce turned his raging anger on Clark. He jumped to his feet and tried to rush Clark, but collapsed on his second step.
Stunned, Clark left the distance between them and reached out with his senses to see how Bruce was. His heart was pounding, but in a weak way so different from the Bruce Clark had learned to hear. His breathing was shallow, centered in the right side of Bruce’s chest. A quick x-ray showed weak bones and only one lung, in an emaciated body.
Sure Bruce wasn’t faking, Clark scooped up his unconscious body. A bit of eye laser, and the bat gate had a hole big enough for the two of them to fly out. Bruce didn’t need the cold surrounding the Fortress and the Watchtower was closer, so Clark headed there. The bundle in his arms made Clark want to cry, it was so light and fragile. On the few occasions he’d held Bruce this way, Bruce had been severely injured, but still a strong presence in Clark’s arms. Clark fought back his emotions and concentrated on the Watchtower.
As he approached, he could see a tour bus letting out on the front steps. Batman had crushed the idea when it was mentioned, citing security concerns. Flash had said it was because Batman was anti-social and wanted people to be scared of him. Everybody had expected Batman to glower and threaten Flash for saying such a thing, but Batman agreed with Flash and went back to his original point about security. In the end, his Justice League had voted against public tour.
This League wasn’t so concerned with security, proven by Clark’s ability to land on the roof and walk to medical without having to prove his identity. No electronic keypads or biometrics to keep unwanted visitors out. Medical wasn’t centrally located, where anyone entering from either the roof or the ground was equally distant from it. Clark had to x-ray the building, and found it was under the top three floors of apartments for the JL. Glad Bruce was unconscious and not witnessing this mistake, Clark sped to medical. Getting into the tiny room, Clark laid Bruce on the only table and called for J’onn telepathically.
“Clark?” There was confusion in J’onn’s response, increasing Clark’s own.
“Yes, it’s Clark. I need your help in medical.” It was weird to think that; J’onn usually called him Kal.
“I am coming. Has something damaged your comm.?”
Clark considered that this timeline must not use J’onn’s telepathic abilities much. “No, I just wanted to keep this between us.”
“How are you injured?”
“I’m not.” Clark reached for the excuse to not talk about himself, or why he was so confused. “My friend is, he’s malnourished and dehydrated. He stood up suddenly and passed out, so I don’t know what to do for him.”
The door opened behind him; Clark turned and watched J’onn walk in. He was in his human disguise, with a tool belt strapped to his waist. Clark tried to suppress his surprise, as his J’onn would have floated his green self through the ceiling, but J’onn still caught Clark’s emotion.
J’onn tilted his head at Clark, but moved over to begin assessing his patient. “Remove his shirt, so I may take blood and start an IV.”
Clark did as instructed; hating the way Bruce looked under the rag. J’onn carried over a tray of needles and tubes, so Clark moved aside. Looking for something to distract himself, Clark saw the sink. Fixing a bowl of warm water, Clark got a hand towel and returned to Bruce. When J’onn moved away with his vials, Clark started washing Bruce’s exposed skin.
“Who is this friend?” J’onn asked, as he found a place to insert the IV. “You feel strongly for him, I can feel that even as you work to suppress it. Yet you have never mentioned him before, or felt for anyone as deeply.”
“Set the IV up, and I’ll show you.”
“You would allow me to look into your mind?”
“Yes.” Clark didn’t let himself ask, but J’onn heard it anyway.
“Normally you would not, because Green Arrow trusted me and I failed to prevent his death.”
“Failed to prevent is not the same thing as caused, J’onn. I can’t blame you for that.”
“The IV is in, and I have a few minutes while the blood is being centrifuged.” J’onn stepped back from where the bag of fluid hung, dripping into his patient. “Now will you explain the difference in you?”
Clark set the bowl aside, and dried Bruce with a gentle, warm breeze. Once that was done, he turned to J’onn and showed him who Bruce was. He tried to only think of Batman and the altered timeline, but Bruce kept showing through. His dark sense of humor that took Clark years to understand, or how Bruce was so used to only showing people what he wanted them to see, that he couldn’t show his true self.
With a start, Clark forced himself to show J’onn the events in the warehouse, knowing he could spend years trying to explain Bruce to someone. When it was over, Clark pulled back into himself. Turning back to Bruce, Clark gave him a quick haircut and beard trim with his heat vision. It wasn’t pretty, but it was shorter, and easier for Clark to wash.
“I will help you return to your timeline, as I understand the value of true love.” J’onn spoke decisively as he moved to the blood work; Clark froze with the cloth dripping on Bruce’s head.
“Love? We’re not lovers J’onn.”
“But you love him so much; why have you not told him?”
“We’re just friends, and I’m straight.” Clark answered, hoping that would be enough of an answer. Gently he began to rub the cloth through Bruce’s tangled mass of hair.
“Perhaps you need to explain to your heart that Bruce is off limits because of your sexual preferences.”
Clark stopped moving, hand resting on Bruce’s head. They were just friends, right? The reason Clark hadn’t been able to make a go of it after years of pining for Lois was his schedule, it had nothing to do with loving Bruce more. That’s why she hadn’t been in his apartment last night, because even in this timeline his schedule didn’t leave enough time for her.
“You told me you broke up with Lois because you wanted children and she did not.” J’onn added as he put a tube of blood into a machine.
“Are you suggesting that I only put up with Lois as a surrogate for Bruce? I know they have a lot in common, and Bruce is even more difficult than Lois. But that doesn’t mean I only think of Lois as a softer version of Bruce.”
“I said no such thing. It was your mind that made that connection.”
Clark turned to explain that whoever had the idea it still wasn’t true when the lights went out.
J’onn sighed. “I was endeavoring to correct that electrical fault when you called. It is obvious I did not succeed.”
“You get Bruce comfortable, and I’ll go see to it.” Clark returned the cloth and bowl to the sink, trying not to think of how much J’onn and Bruce worked together on such things.
“He seems an intriguing individual, and I would appreciate the assistance with maintaining the Watchtower.” J’onn seemed to be accepting the alternate timeline as easily as everyone else Clark had told. “I was working here.” J’onn sent the image of the crawlspace to Clark’s mind, including instructions on how to get there.
Clark shook his head and went to work. Bruce and J’onn were much better at this stuff than he was, but Clark knew the basics. A little friction between his thumb and forefinger got the covering on the wires to melt, fused the wires together and Clark was able to see the electricity move down to the next fault in the wiring. Slow, tedious work but he had concentrate or risk losing the electricity for the whole building. J’onn needed the electricity to fix Bruce, or at least make him well enough so Clark could talk to him about that night in the alley.
“Superman sounded weird last night.”
His name brought Clark out of his work trance; he had to stop to see where he was. The crawlspace was above the rec-room, where Flash was laying on the couch and Shiera was making a fresh pot of coffee. Flash only stayed still when he was injured, so Clark looked and saw an ice pack on Flash’s ankle. Both wore their masks, even in this refuge from the real world. Flash responded to her statement as he flipped channels.
“He’s just stressed.”
“He should show it then, instead of trying to convince the world he’s perfect.”
“People need heroes, Hawkgirl.”
“What good will he do the world when he goes crazy from taking too much on?”
“Maybe you should throw him down and screw his brains out. Let me watch and I’ll tell you if it helps enough to do it again.”
“Maybe I should beat your brains out with my mace. It’s not like you use them.”
“I…” Flash paused, something much more immediate grabbing his attention. “What is that smell?”
“Oh, I smell it now. Did something die in the walls?”
“I’m not dead.”
Shiera and Flash yelled, both turning to the new voice in the room. Clark knew the voice and started looking for an exit from the crawlspace.
“Who are you and how did you get in here?” Shiera demanded.
“Don’t know, don’t care.” Bruce was calm, but Clark still headed for the exit as quick as he could.
“Did you escape from a hospital?” Flash’s voice said he was reasoning with a crazy person.
“If you took the time for a proper stretch a couple of times during the day, you wouldn’t injure yourself so much.”
Clark paused halfway out of the crawlspace, remembering when Bruce had first told Flash that. His Bruce had even taught Flash the movements he’d thought would help the most.
“Thanks for that. Now, who are you?”
“Don’t patronize me, Speedbuggy.” Bruce growled, no longer calm.
Clark moved again, speeding down the hallway.
“I say we beat him bloody and then ask questions.”
“Shiera, Hawkgirl, last of the Hawkpeople. Temper like a junk yard dog.”
Clark stopped behind Bruce, covering his mouth with a firm hand. Bruce dropped out of the hold, rolling to his back and staring up at Clark. With his head on the ground, Clark couldn’t stop Bruce’s mouth without it getting awkward. Clark dreaded what Bruce might say, knowing how that mouth had gotten him in so much trouble before. But, before, the Batman had been able to keep Bruce and his smart mouth safe.
“Who are you?” Shiera asked.
Clark glanced at her, to explain Bruce was his friend, but saw Shiera and Wally were looking at him. “I’m Clark.”
“Superman, they want to know you’re Superman.” Bruce said, allowing Clark to hope that’s all he’d say. “The suit and glasses confuse stupid people, like a Jedi mind trick.”
“Did this jerk discover your secret identity and try to blackmail you with it?” Flash asked, coming to a quick conclusion.
Clark put his glasses in his jacket pocket to buy himself time to answer. “He’s figured us all out, but blackmail wasn’t part of his plan.”
“What was his plan?” Shiera asked, frowning at Bruce.
“Yes, Clark. What was my plan?” Bruce smiled up at Clark, who tried not to see the strange expression.
“I don’t know. But I do know that I need his help.”
“With what?” Flash let his confusion and derision show. “Disguising yourself as a homeless bum?”
“I have a mansion, Wally, that I’ll be glad to shove up your ass.”
Clark stepped on the other side of Bruce, blocking him from Wally’s sight. He held out a hand, which Bruce stared at. “Come on Bruce. Let me take you back to medical.”
“Why?”
“To make you feel better.”
“Waste of fluids if you fix things the way you want.”
“Yes, but to fix it I have to talk to you.”
“Like you’re doing now?”
“I thought it would be a hard conversation.”
“You won’t care about my comfort after you find out what I did to your pet Martian.” Bruce giggled.
Clark didn’t let the giggle grow into the disturbing imitation of the Joker’s laugh. He grabbed Bruce, holding the slippery man to his chest as tight as he dared; Flash ran with him. J’onn back in his Martian form, scrubbing at his skin with a towel under the emergency chemical shower. He saw them enter and glared at the figure in Clark’s arms.
“That man is insane. I do not think you will get your answers out of him without telepathic assistance.”
Clark put Bruce on the table, but couldn’t hold him down and restart the IV. While he tried, Flash had to find out what was going on.
“What he do to you?”
“The lack of body fat makes him cold and his joints ache from lack of cushioning. I gave him a chemical hot pack, to ease the ache and warm the metal table. He used the needle from his IV to puncture the hot pack and proceeded to throw it on me. My skin still burns when the water stops.”
“If you can’t stand the heat, don’t give strangers chemicals.”
Clark flinched, knowing that when Bruce sounded that way he usually said things that made sense. Hawkgirl entered the room and stared at the scene before her, so Clark decided to have her help. “Flash, Hawkgirl, would you two hold him down while I try to get the IV back in?”
With disgust evident on both their faces, even with their masks still on, they moved in to help. Clark had to move to Bruce’s other arm, but managed to get a new IV started. Moving back to his other arm, Clark bandaged the hole where Bruce had pulled out the original IV. “Bruce, I can catch you; don’t try to run away while I’m standing here.”
“Fine, I’ll wait until you have to take a leak.”
A sort of agreement, so Clark accepted it. “You can let go.”
Flash and Hawkgirl carefully let up on Bruce, and moved away from the smell. They didn’t leave the room though; too curious about what was going on.
“Bruce, tell me, tell us, about that night in the alley.”
“Well, it wasn’t everything I expected, but it was something that needed to happen.” Bruce was thinking about his words, without an increase in heart rate that usually accompanied lying. “So I went to this tough biker bar, total stereotype of a place, macho straight guys in leather. Went in, bought a round of shots for the whole place with cash, which got everybody to notice me. Put a great song on the jukebox, and did a strip tease on top of the bar. They were so angry, started calling me all sorts of things and beating on me. When they figured I was almost dead, they tossed me in the alley. About six of them came out we had a gangbang.”
“Bruce? What are you talking about? Why did you do that?”
“Therapy. It didn’t work; once I healed I still wanted to fuck Tommy. Dad was so mad at his little faggot of a son, he wouldn’t even let me explain I like women too.”
“I spoke to him; he loves you no matter what your sexual orientation!”
“He loves Mother. He wants grandkids, not more broken sons.” No lie here either; Bruce believed he was nothing more to his father than a repository of Martha’s genes. “Grandchildren with Martha’s blue eyes and charming personality.”
“Bruce, forget about that. Help me, and none of this will have happened.”
“I told you about the alley, what else do you need?”
“Wrong night, different alley. My mistake for not being more specific.” Clark tried to smile, but gave it up as not worth the effort. “I need to know about the night Mrs. Wayne was killed.”
“Can’t say Martha, because that makes you think of Martha Kent, right?”
“Yes, Bruce, it hurts to think about my adoptive mother dying.” Clark ignored the way the League turned to look at him, surprised at how much he was sharing with this stranger. “My birth mother is dead, so I do understand how you feel.”
“Oh, you know how it feels to watch your mother die, saving your father, only so he can blame you for not doing more? How many times did he ask, if I could save him, why couldn’t I save her? Did you know she was the one who wanted a kid, stopped taking birth control and didn’t tell him so she could get pregnant? How the only thing they ever fought over was the abortion she wouldn’t have? Did your birth father spend years telling you this?”
“Bruce, I’m sorry, just let me make it right.”
“Make it right, kill my father.”
Clark stared, unable to believe what he had heard. Batman held life sacred, and this Bruce wasn’t lying when he said that.
“Kill him and I’ll tell you everything.”
“Bruce, I don’t kill.”
“Then I won’t tell you!”
“Oh, man, this is so screwed up.” Clark closed his eyes, rubbing at his eyebrows. Did he want to promise something he couldn’t do? The truth usually worked for him, but would it work on Bruce? With a deep breath, Clark focused in on Bruce. “Your father died in the other timeline. Help me fix this, and he’ll be dead.”
“Sneaky sneaker, telling me what I want to hear.” Bruce began to laugh; the Joker laugh that terrified Clark.
J’onn messed with the IV, and a second after he stood back, Bruce stopped laughing. He faded away, eyes closing as he slipped into unconsciousness. The Joker grin on his sleeping face caused Clark to shiver; before he looked to J’onn. Clark had been so concerned with Bruce he hadn’t even noticed when J’onn got out of the shower and changed to his human form.
“Forgive me Superman. He was distressing the entire room and we need to know what this is about.”
“That wasn’t payback for the chemical bath?”
“I will admit to a visceral satisfaction, but that is not the reason.”
“I could use some food. Join me and I’ll explain.” Clark walked out the door, feeling people following him. His teammates, strangers, thinking he was insane for bringing Bruce here. Grabbing food at random, he found a place to sit. A deep breath, and he began explaining, looking anywhere but at their faces. When he finished, he risked a look. J’onn was impassive as always, but Flash and Hawkgirl looked ready to sign Clark over to a mental institution. Clark grinned, feeling better that someone was reacting the way they were supposed to.
“While you digest that, I’m going to visit the Joker.” Clark moved, and was in the air before anyone could speak. They all knew this was a bad idea, so why waste time talking about it?
sBSbBs
Author name: Trista_zevkia
Artist name:Suavebastard
Beta: Ecto-Gammat
Genre: slash, and art!
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.
Chapter 1
Clark didn’t take off his suit before heading for Wayne Manor; he was going to the front door and Bruce expected Clark to use the front door. Superman came in the cave entrance. It was irrational, since this Bruce didn’t even know him, but it was a rule Clark was accustomed to. This time, he made sure to see the top of the house and notice the satellite dishes and solar panels hidden from view. A very paranoid person had even made efforts to hide those signs of habitation from an aerial view. Clark grinned, because he knew who that paranoid person was.
Landing on the helicopter pad he used the complex instructions to let himself past the electronic locks and into the house. A quick scan showed the house was as deserted as it looked and Bruce was beneath the basement. Clark felt silly for thinking Bruce would be anywhere else and for not checking when he was here last night.
It was eerie walking through Wayne Manor without one of the family showing him the way. (Alfred should have at least found him to offer him a drink). It was quiet, and even colder than the autumn temperatures outside. The decorations were all gone and the few furnished rooms had matching furniture; large, heavy pieces of plain wood with rounded edges, instead of the stylish pieces that should have been there. Clark was reminded of furniture in prisons and mental institutions; made so you couldn’t hurt yourself and couldn’t pick it up to hurt someone else. But Bruce wouldn’t need that kind of stuff, would he?
The grandfather clock that should have blocked the cave had been moved and a beaded curtain hung in its place. Clark reached out to touch it, carefully. The beads weren’t Kryptonite and didn’t set off an alarm that he could hear. Clark considered that since Bruce was alone, he didn’t feel the need to hide the entrance. Still, the glittering beads creeped Clark out and he passed them as quickly as he could. The stairs were still there, but most of the cave was empty. The sight of the monitors and computer equipment assured Clark that a version of Bruce was still down here.
A large table held the remains of meals and beside it was a folding cot with filthy sheets. Clark made it over to the large chair in front of the computers and had to step around it to see Bruce. The grimy mass of dull black hair resting on the computer console came with a smell that made Clark’s eyes water. Only Clark’s knowledge that he couldn’t be infected by Earth borne diseases made him reach out and touch what looked like a shoulder under that hair. Bruce’s instant alertness wasn’t there, this Bruce muttered and slowly turned his head to look at Clark.
“It’s not my time of the month, so fuck off.” Bruce muttered before closing his eyes again.
Confused, Clark shook Bruce’s shoulder again. “Bruce, I need to talk to you.”
“No you don’t. Just take your samples and go.”
“What samples?”
Something of Clark’s confusion must have reached Bruce, for he picked up his head to glare at Clark. “You’re not here to check up on my health, take some samples for Daddy?”
“No. I need to talk to you.”
“Talking is a new approach, I’ll give him that.” Bruce’s eyes were still the same blue, but bloodshot and glazed.
“Who?”
“My dad. Your pimp.”
“I don’t have a pimp! I mean, I came to talk to you on my own.”
“Like you could get in without his help.” Bruce’s hand dismissed Clark, even as he leaned back in his chair. His shirt fell of his left shoulder, showing bones that skin hung off of. Pale skin that was never exposed to light or the kind of fights that left him scarred. Given the scrawny look of Bruce, exercise and nutrition were also not part of Bruce’s routine.
Clark swallowed, trying to get away from his desire to fix his friend. The other timeline would do that for him. “He did give me the codes, but that’s it.”
“The front door code that is linked to the master bedroom lock, where you can get your supplies in order to take your samples before a new code is automatically established for the front door; so you only have one chance to get what you need out of me before leaving, all the while hoping I don’t use this chance to escape. That code?”
“I don’t really know what you’re talking about. I want to talk to you about alternate timelines.”
“What day is it?”
The shift in topic made Clark stop to think about it. Then he had to remember a night had passed while he researched this timeline. “The twenty-first.”
“I thought so, and Dad sends in his minions on the fifteenth. Screw it. In deference to his unexpected creativity, I’ll play along.” Bruce folded his hands in his lap, and tried to look like a businessman. “What can I help you with?”
“I am from an alternate timeline, and would like to get back there.” Clark stopped, waiting for the reaction such statements got out of most people. The silence proved Bruce still wasn’t most people, so Clark moved on. “The Joker used a magical gun to change your ‘bad day’, as he called it. He altered that night in the alley and changed the world in more ways than I can tell you.”
“I’ll have to put a spell book with my kryptonite.”
Another pause as Clark caught up with Bruce. He couldn’t suspect Clark was Superman already, could he? “What?”
“You remember the old timeline, so you were at the focus of the change.”
“So? I’m a reporter; it’s my job to be near important things.”
“Clark Kent, reporter from the Daily Planet, raised in Smallville, born on Krypton, gets ill when near pieces of his home planet. Real name Kal-el, main enemy Lex Luther, unhealthy obsession with Lois Lane.” Bruce rattled off these facts in an emotionless voice, without pausing to breathe. When he curled his index finger at Clark, a stunned Clark moved forward. “If you lie to me, I won’t help.”
“No problem, I prefer honesty!” Clark was grinning as he straightened; thrilled to find Bruce was still Bruce under that bundle of rags. “You found all that out with an internet connection?”
“No, I’m telepathic.” Even the condescending sarcasm made Clark grin, which made Bruce raise an eyebrow. “Why did the Joker want to correct my bad day?”
“He didn’t know about it specifically, as you were disguised.”
“I was some jock hero?” Bruce threw back his head to laugh.
Clark took a step backward, trying to run from the chills crawling up his spine. Bruce didn’t laugh, didn’t laugh so easily. But it was the familiar cadence that made Clark want to run: Bruce was laughing like the Joker.
“Problem, reporter boy?”
“No, no problem. Just not sure how much I can tell you without making things worse.” Clark could tell from the way Bruce was staring at him that his rambling wasn’t very believable. “I should go, do some more research.”
“You muscle bound bastard!” All humor was gone, and Bruce turned his raging anger on Clark. He jumped to his feet and tried to rush Clark, but collapsed on his second step.
Stunned, Clark left the distance between them and reached out with his senses to see how Bruce was. His heart was pounding, but in a weak way so different from the Bruce Clark had learned to hear. His breathing was shallow, centered in the right side of Bruce’s chest. A quick x-ray showed weak bones and only one lung, in an emaciated body.
Sure Bruce wasn’t faking, Clark scooped up his unconscious body. A bit of eye laser, and the bat gate had a hole big enough for the two of them to fly out. Bruce didn’t need the cold surrounding the Fortress and the Watchtower was closer, so Clark headed there. The bundle in his arms made Clark want to cry, it was so light and fragile. On the few occasions he’d held Bruce this way, Bruce had been severely injured, but still a strong presence in Clark’s arms. Clark fought back his emotions and concentrated on the Watchtower.
As he approached, he could see a tour bus letting out on the front steps. Batman had crushed the idea when it was mentioned, citing security concerns. Flash had said it was because Batman was anti-social and wanted people to be scared of him. Everybody had expected Batman to glower and threaten Flash for saying such a thing, but Batman agreed with Flash and went back to his original point about security. In the end, his Justice League had voted against public tour.
This League wasn’t so concerned with security, proven by Clark’s ability to land on the roof and walk to medical without having to prove his identity. No electronic keypads or biometrics to keep unwanted visitors out. Medical wasn’t centrally located, where anyone entering from either the roof or the ground was equally distant from it. Clark had to x-ray the building, and found it was under the top three floors of apartments for the JL. Glad Bruce was unconscious and not witnessing this mistake, Clark sped to medical. Getting into the tiny room, Clark laid Bruce on the only table and called for J’onn telepathically.
“Clark?” There was confusion in J’onn’s response, increasing Clark’s own.
“Yes, it’s Clark. I need your help in medical.” It was weird to think that; J’onn usually called him Kal.
“I am coming. Has something damaged your comm.?”
Clark considered that this timeline must not use J’onn’s telepathic abilities much. “No, I just wanted to keep this between us.”
“How are you injured?”
“I’m not.” Clark reached for the excuse to not talk about himself, or why he was so confused. “My friend is, he’s malnourished and dehydrated. He stood up suddenly and passed out, so I don’t know what to do for him.”
The door opened behind him; Clark turned and watched J’onn walk in. He was in his human disguise, with a tool belt strapped to his waist. Clark tried to suppress his surprise, as his J’onn would have floated his green self through the ceiling, but J’onn still caught Clark’s emotion.
J’onn tilted his head at Clark, but moved over to begin assessing his patient. “Remove his shirt, so I may take blood and start an IV.”
Clark did as instructed; hating the way Bruce looked under the rag. J’onn carried over a tray of needles and tubes, so Clark moved aside. Looking for something to distract himself, Clark saw the sink. Fixing a bowl of warm water, Clark got a hand towel and returned to Bruce. When J’onn moved away with his vials, Clark started washing Bruce’s exposed skin.
“Who is this friend?” J’onn asked, as he found a place to insert the IV. “You feel strongly for him, I can feel that even as you work to suppress it. Yet you have never mentioned him before, or felt for anyone as deeply.”
“Set the IV up, and I’ll show you.”
“You would allow me to look into your mind?”
“Yes.” Clark didn’t let himself ask, but J’onn heard it anyway.
“Normally you would not, because Green Arrow trusted me and I failed to prevent his death.”
“Failed to prevent is not the same thing as caused, J’onn. I can’t blame you for that.”
“The IV is in, and I have a few minutes while the blood is being centrifuged.” J’onn stepped back from where the bag of fluid hung, dripping into his patient. “Now will you explain the difference in you?”
Clark set the bowl aside, and dried Bruce with a gentle, warm breeze. Once that was done, he turned to J’onn and showed him who Bruce was. He tried to only think of Batman and the altered timeline, but Bruce kept showing through. His dark sense of humor that took Clark years to understand, or how Bruce was so used to only showing people what he wanted them to see, that he couldn’t show his true self.
With a start, Clark forced himself to show J’onn the events in the warehouse, knowing he could spend years trying to explain Bruce to someone. When it was over, Clark pulled back into himself. Turning back to Bruce, Clark gave him a quick haircut and beard trim with his heat vision. It wasn’t pretty, but it was shorter, and easier for Clark to wash.
“I will help you return to your timeline, as I understand the value of true love.” J’onn spoke decisively as he moved to the blood work; Clark froze with the cloth dripping on Bruce’s head.
“Love? We’re not lovers J’onn.”
“But you love him so much; why have you not told him?”
“We’re just friends, and I’m straight.” Clark answered, hoping that would be enough of an answer. Gently he began to rub the cloth through Bruce’s tangled mass of hair.
“Perhaps you need to explain to your heart that Bruce is off limits because of your sexual preferences.”
Clark stopped moving, hand resting on Bruce’s head. They were just friends, right? The reason Clark hadn’t been able to make a go of it after years of pining for Lois was his schedule, it had nothing to do with loving Bruce more. That’s why she hadn’t been in his apartment last night, because even in this timeline his schedule didn’t leave enough time for her.
“You told me you broke up with Lois because you wanted children and she did not.” J’onn added as he put a tube of blood into a machine.
“Are you suggesting that I only put up with Lois as a surrogate for Bruce? I know they have a lot in common, and Bruce is even more difficult than Lois. But that doesn’t mean I only think of Lois as a softer version of Bruce.”
“I said no such thing. It was your mind that made that connection.”
Clark turned to explain that whoever had the idea it still wasn’t true when the lights went out.
J’onn sighed. “I was endeavoring to correct that electrical fault when you called. It is obvious I did not succeed.”
“You get Bruce comfortable, and I’ll go see to it.” Clark returned the cloth and bowl to the sink, trying not to think of how much J’onn and Bruce worked together on such things.
“He seems an intriguing individual, and I would appreciate the assistance with maintaining the Watchtower.” J’onn seemed to be accepting the alternate timeline as easily as everyone else Clark had told. “I was working here.” J’onn sent the image of the crawlspace to Clark’s mind, including instructions on how to get there.
Clark shook his head and went to work. Bruce and J’onn were much better at this stuff than he was, but Clark knew the basics. A little friction between his thumb and forefinger got the covering on the wires to melt, fused the wires together and Clark was able to see the electricity move down to the next fault in the wiring. Slow, tedious work but he had concentrate or risk losing the electricity for the whole building. J’onn needed the electricity to fix Bruce, or at least make him well enough so Clark could talk to him about that night in the alley.
“Superman sounded weird last night.”
His name brought Clark out of his work trance; he had to stop to see where he was. The crawlspace was above the rec-room, where Flash was laying on the couch and Shiera was making a fresh pot of coffee. Flash only stayed still when he was injured, so Clark looked and saw an ice pack on Flash’s ankle. Both wore their masks, even in this refuge from the real world. Flash responded to her statement as he flipped channels.
“He’s just stressed.”
“He should show it then, instead of trying to convince the world he’s perfect.”
“People need heroes, Hawkgirl.”
“What good will he do the world when he goes crazy from taking too much on?”
“Maybe you should throw him down and screw his brains out. Let me watch and I’ll tell you if it helps enough to do it again.”
“Maybe I should beat your brains out with my mace. It’s not like you use them.”
“I…” Flash paused, something much more immediate grabbing his attention. “What is that smell?”
“Oh, I smell it now. Did something die in the walls?”
“I’m not dead.”
Shiera and Flash yelled, both turning to the new voice in the room. Clark knew the voice and started looking for an exit from the crawlspace.
“Who are you and how did you get in here?” Shiera demanded.
“Don’t know, don’t care.” Bruce was calm, but Clark still headed for the exit as quick as he could.
“Did you escape from a hospital?” Flash’s voice said he was reasoning with a crazy person.
“If you took the time for a proper stretch a couple of times during the day, you wouldn’t injure yourself so much.”
Clark paused halfway out of the crawlspace, remembering when Bruce had first told Flash that. His Bruce had even taught Flash the movements he’d thought would help the most.
“Thanks for that. Now, who are you?”
“Don’t patronize me, Speedbuggy.” Bruce growled, no longer calm.
Clark moved again, speeding down the hallway.
“I say we beat him bloody and then ask questions.”
“Shiera, Hawkgirl, last of the Hawkpeople. Temper like a junk yard dog.”
Clark stopped behind Bruce, covering his mouth with a firm hand. Bruce dropped out of the hold, rolling to his back and staring up at Clark. With his head on the ground, Clark couldn’t stop Bruce’s mouth without it getting awkward. Clark dreaded what Bruce might say, knowing how that mouth had gotten him in so much trouble before. But, before, the Batman had been able to keep Bruce and his smart mouth safe.
“Who are you?” Shiera asked.
Clark glanced at her, to explain Bruce was his friend, but saw Shiera and Wally were looking at him. “I’m Clark.”
“Superman, they want to know you’re Superman.” Bruce said, allowing Clark to hope that’s all he’d say. “The suit and glasses confuse stupid people, like a Jedi mind trick.”
“Did this jerk discover your secret identity and try to blackmail you with it?” Flash asked, coming to a quick conclusion.
Clark put his glasses in his jacket pocket to buy himself time to answer. “He’s figured us all out, but blackmail wasn’t part of his plan.”
“What was his plan?” Shiera asked, frowning at Bruce.
“Yes, Clark. What was my plan?” Bruce smiled up at Clark, who tried not to see the strange expression.
“I don’t know. But I do know that I need his help.”
“With what?” Flash let his confusion and derision show. “Disguising yourself as a homeless bum?”
“I have a mansion, Wally, that I’ll be glad to shove up your ass.”
Clark stepped on the other side of Bruce, blocking him from Wally’s sight. He held out a hand, which Bruce stared at. “Come on Bruce. Let me take you back to medical.”
“Why?”
“To make you feel better.”
“Waste of fluids if you fix things the way you want.”
“Yes, but to fix it I have to talk to you.”
“Like you’re doing now?”
“I thought it would be a hard conversation.”
“You won’t care about my comfort after you find out what I did to your pet Martian.” Bruce giggled.
Clark didn’t let the giggle grow into the disturbing imitation of the Joker’s laugh. He grabbed Bruce, holding the slippery man to his chest as tight as he dared; Flash ran with him. J’onn back in his Martian form, scrubbing at his skin with a towel under the emergency chemical shower. He saw them enter and glared at the figure in Clark’s arms.
“That man is insane. I do not think you will get your answers out of him without telepathic assistance.”
Clark put Bruce on the table, but couldn’t hold him down and restart the IV. While he tried, Flash had to find out what was going on.
“What he do to you?”
“The lack of body fat makes him cold and his joints ache from lack of cushioning. I gave him a chemical hot pack, to ease the ache and warm the metal table. He used the needle from his IV to puncture the hot pack and proceeded to throw it on me. My skin still burns when the water stops.”
“If you can’t stand the heat, don’t give strangers chemicals.”
Clark flinched, knowing that when Bruce sounded that way he usually said things that made sense. Hawkgirl entered the room and stared at the scene before her, so Clark decided to have her help. “Flash, Hawkgirl, would you two hold him down while I try to get the IV back in?”
With disgust evident on both their faces, even with their masks still on, they moved in to help. Clark had to move to Bruce’s other arm, but managed to get a new IV started. Moving back to his other arm, Clark bandaged the hole where Bruce had pulled out the original IV. “Bruce, I can catch you; don’t try to run away while I’m standing here.”
“Fine, I’ll wait until you have to take a leak.”
A sort of agreement, so Clark accepted it. “You can let go.”
Flash and Hawkgirl carefully let up on Bruce, and moved away from the smell. They didn’t leave the room though; too curious about what was going on.
“Bruce, tell me, tell us, about that night in the alley.”
“Well, it wasn’t everything I expected, but it was something that needed to happen.” Bruce was thinking about his words, without an increase in heart rate that usually accompanied lying. “So I went to this tough biker bar, total stereotype of a place, macho straight guys in leather. Went in, bought a round of shots for the whole place with cash, which got everybody to notice me. Put a great song on the jukebox, and did a strip tease on top of the bar. They were so angry, started calling me all sorts of things and beating on me. When they figured I was almost dead, they tossed me in the alley. About six of them came out we had a gangbang.”
“Bruce? What are you talking about? Why did you do that?”
“Therapy. It didn’t work; once I healed I still wanted to fuck Tommy. Dad was so mad at his little faggot of a son, he wouldn’t even let me explain I like women too.”
“I spoke to him; he loves you no matter what your sexual orientation!”
“He loves Mother. He wants grandkids, not more broken sons.” No lie here either; Bruce believed he was nothing more to his father than a repository of Martha’s genes. “Grandchildren with Martha’s blue eyes and charming personality.”
“Bruce, forget about that. Help me, and none of this will have happened.”
“I told you about the alley, what else do you need?”
“Wrong night, different alley. My mistake for not being more specific.” Clark tried to smile, but gave it up as not worth the effort. “I need to know about the night Mrs. Wayne was killed.”
“Can’t say Martha, because that makes you think of Martha Kent, right?”
“Yes, Bruce, it hurts to think about my adoptive mother dying.” Clark ignored the way the League turned to look at him, surprised at how much he was sharing with this stranger. “My birth mother is dead, so I do understand how you feel.”
“Oh, you know how it feels to watch your mother die, saving your father, only so he can blame you for not doing more? How many times did he ask, if I could save him, why couldn’t I save her? Did you know she was the one who wanted a kid, stopped taking birth control and didn’t tell him so she could get pregnant? How the only thing they ever fought over was the abortion she wouldn’t have? Did your birth father spend years telling you this?”
“Bruce, I’m sorry, just let me make it right.”
“Make it right, kill my father.”
Clark stared, unable to believe what he had heard. Batman held life sacred, and this Bruce wasn’t lying when he said that.
“Kill him and I’ll tell you everything.”
“Bruce, I don’t kill.”
“Then I won’t tell you!”
“Oh, man, this is so screwed up.” Clark closed his eyes, rubbing at his eyebrows. Did he want to promise something he couldn’t do? The truth usually worked for him, but would it work on Bruce? With a deep breath, Clark focused in on Bruce. “Your father died in the other timeline. Help me fix this, and he’ll be dead.”
“Sneaky sneaker, telling me what I want to hear.” Bruce began to laugh; the Joker laugh that terrified Clark.
J’onn messed with the IV, and a second after he stood back, Bruce stopped laughing. He faded away, eyes closing as he slipped into unconsciousness. The Joker grin on his sleeping face caused Clark to shiver; before he looked to J’onn. Clark had been so concerned with Bruce he hadn’t even noticed when J’onn got out of the shower and changed to his human form.
“Forgive me Superman. He was distressing the entire room and we need to know what this is about.”
“That wasn’t payback for the chemical bath?”
“I will admit to a visceral satisfaction, but that is not the reason.”
“I could use some food. Join me and I’ll explain.” Clark walked out the door, feeling people following him. His teammates, strangers, thinking he was insane for bringing Bruce here. Grabbing food at random, he found a place to sit. A deep breath, and he began explaining, looking anywhere but at their faces. When he finished, he risked a look. J’onn was impassive as always, but Flash and Hawkgirl looked ready to sign Clark over to a mental institution. Clark grinned, feeling better that someone was reacting the way they were supposed to.
“While you digest that, I’m going to visit the Joker.” Clark moved, and was in the air before anyone could speak. They all knew this was a bad idea, so why waste time talking about it?
