trista_zevkia (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trista_zevkia) wrote2011-11-23 07:49 pm
trista_zevkia) wrote2011-11-23 07:49 pm
The Joker Speaks
Fic title:The Joker Speaks, part 3
Author name: Trista_zevkia
Artist name:Suavebastard
Beta: Ecto-Gammat
Genre: slash, but I'm making you work through a fourth page for the art, because it's totally worth it!
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
Chapter 2
LA didn’t seem that different as Clark closed in on it, still filled with movie stars and people too pretty to be natural. It was only as he got close to the middle that Clark noticed the changes. The army was stationed around the largest fence Clark had ever seen. Machines sampled the air at strategic points around the circular fence, with scientists constantly monitoring the results. A mix of neon signs, Christmas lights, store letters and lamps repeated the words La La all the way around the fence.
Clark looked below the surface, wondering why La La Land still had electricity. Joker had set up shop where LA’s water, sewage and electricity lines crossed. They couldn’t cut off La La Land’s utilities without the entirety of Los Angeles going dark. It was more than luck; it was planning. Joker’s schemes had a plan, even if the rest of the world couldn’t see it, but not like this; this was something Batman would do.
More freaked out than he wanted to admit, Superman went to stop a carjacking on the freeway. A robbery in a jewelry store had Clark looking at the loose jewels, glittering across the workbench. He was reminded of a beaded curtain, blocking the exit from the Batcave. Bruce had taken apart millions of dollars in family heirlooms to keep his bats from getting lost in the house.
Thomas had been more right than he knew. Bruce was lost, without a purpose in life, but it wasn’t a living father that had taken that purpose from him. Superman stopped six more crimes before he got over the desire to kill the Joker, who had done such damage to Bruce. Determining how he had managed such damage would take a lot longer, so Clark flew into La La Land.
There were people here, managing to live under Joker’s control by brutalizing their fellow survivors. Clark ignored it, pushing ahead to the main problem; finding out if this Joker had the magic gun and what he would do to change the world. A giant clamshell in an open air auditorium, in the center of La La Land, was Joker’s throne room. He stared out over empty seats, laying across the armrests of his throne. A scepter was tucked beside him, but he looked unarmed and bored. Superman floated into Joker’s line of sight, but kept level with him.
“Have you come to fight me, and save my subjects from my mad rule? I’m ready you know, for your entire fugly league.” Joker bounced up to stand on his chair, scepter in his hand. “Look at my toy!”
Joker touched the top of his scepter, and a series of devices sprang out. Tiny darts laced with chemicals, a flame thrower poking out the bottom, knives with fancy edges and more chemicals, it did look like Joker was ready for an attack by the entire Justice League.
“Joker… are those toenail clippers?” Clark asked, more out of disbelief than it being important.
The Joker shrugged. “I had the space. I also had the space for this!” A panel in the top slid aside, and the cold pain of Kryptonite reached out to Superman.
Landing, Clark held out a hand. “Joker, I just want to talk to you.”
“Talk? What could you possible offer me, the king of all this?”
Joker had what most criminals seemed to want; power and control over a bunch of people. Yet he was eager to fight and had looked very bored when Clark flew up. Clark had never seen Joker bored before, as he always had Batman to scheme against.
“I can offer you a worthy opponent.” Clark lowered his hand, trying not to show how the Kryptonite was making him feel. He still took a deep breath of relief when it stopped. The Joker had closed up his scepter, and now looked at Superman with interest.
“Go on.”
“He’s as smart as you; good with chemicals, so he can make antidotes to your toxins. He’s trained in all forms of combat, and so graceful. But you’re hard to predict, hard to read, so you can take him, occasionally even beat him.”
“I can do that dance with any of you do-gooders.” Joker slouched back into his chair, disappointed with the offer.
Clark pushed away the part of him screaming about this being life and death, not dancing. Except, he was seducing Joker, trying to get him to wish for Batman back, which itself was like a dance. “But a dance is even more fun with a special partner. This one, he has no sense of humor and a strong moral code. He won’t kill, not even you. Can you imagine how fun it would be to dance with him?”
“Break his moral code, show him how crazy it is to care about other people?” Joker did perk up at that, actually focusing on Superman.
“Show him that there is only the two of you, locked in an eternal dance of destruction; only the two of you matter.”
“Oh, Supes, you do paint a beautiful picture! Now tell me, what’s the shipping and handling of this marvelous life you’re selling?”
“There’s a magical gun, an old pistol that can make your dream come true. Do you have it?”
“No, why do you think I do?”
“You used this gun to get rid of your worthy opponent, and only I remember him.”
“Why would I do such a crazy thing, if he was as special as you say?” Joker was frowning in concentration, or frowning as much as he could with his face permanently etched into a smile.
“I don’t think you meant to, but magic has a will of its own.”
“Then what did I mean to do, my mean old self?”
That was the question Clark was hoping Joker could answer for him. “You fired it at me, so I don’t know. I’m not your worthy opponent, and I don’t know why you wanted to stop me.”
“You interfered in the dance, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“On more than one occasion?”
“Yes.”
“So he can’t be that great if he needs your help.”
“He doesn’t need it; I just can’t help but provide it.” Clark shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, he tells me off for doing so.”
“Oh, ho! What to my wondering eyes should appear? Is he as special as all that?”
“Yes, you’d do anything to break him, to make him into you.”
“No, no, no Superman. You repeatedly butted in to our dance, so I removed you. Pointed a gun at your invulnerable thick head and kicked you out of our dance.” Joker licked his lips, staring at Superman like he was an idiot. “Are you sure you’re not the key of steel?”
“No, Batman is the key to this, it was his life that you changed.”
A brief laugh, and the Joker mimicked Superman’s voice, shoving his own words back at him. “Magic has a will of its own.”
“You wanted me out of his life, your life. The magic knew the best way to do that was to change him, so I wouldn’t know him!”
“That’s right, he can be taught!” More laughing, and Superman lifted off.
He was done with the Joker, having found out they key to this, now he needed to find the gun and set the world right.
“Oh, Supes?” The Joker’s voice called to him, but Joker hadn’t raised his voice.
Clark stopped, knowing Batman was the only one who talked to him in normal tones, expecting him to hear. The rest of the universe yelled to get his attention, even knowing he had super hearing. He didn’t yell back, just waited to hear what else the Joker had to say.
“When you save this Batman, give him a kiss from me.”
Clark flushed, flying away. If he was this obvious in the real world, how come no one had ever said anything before? Why hadn’t he noticed he was in love with Bruce?
sBSbBs
Clark flew back to the League headquarters, hoping someone there would know of the pistol, or a similar magical device. It would be best to use the pistol to counteract its magic, but Clark recognized that might not be possible. Arriving at the Watchtower, Clark went directly to medical. Bruce looked asleep under a pile of blankets, while J’onn floated beside him in a meditative posture.
“What did you learn from your meeting?” J’onn whispered the question to Clark, and Clark almost laughed.
“It’s strange to hear you whisper. If you wanted to be quiet, why not say it into my head?”
“Members of the League were nervous about my abilities, so a vote was taken. I accepted that vote, and agreed to only use my telepathy when all other methods of communication failed.”
“Take a look.” Clark closed his eyes, waiting until he felt the presence of J’onn in his head. Then he used his eidetic memory to show J’onn a similar meeting.
Batman asked questions about J’onn’s abilities, about limitations and long term side effects. The questions eased other people’s fears, and he still had more to ask. Batman was asking about the probability of J’onn’s brain being hacked when Green Lantern interrupted. He called Batman a paranoid jerk, and the rest of the League began talking. J’onn’s abilities were voted in to use, because Batman had asked the questions other people feared.
J’onn sent Clark a mental thanks before pulling out of his head. Back in his body, J’onn stared at Bruce, wondering about the man in that fragile body.
“It’s very hard to sleep while being studied by little green men.” Bruce muttered, eyes still closed.
Clark shoved the grin off his face before replying. “Sorry to wake you, Bruce, but I need your help.”
“I don’t talk to my jailers.”
“You’re not in jail. We’re trying to help you.”
“Restraints are so helpful.”
Clark stepped forward to look. Bruce’s hands were wrapped in the padded cuffs that normally hung under the table.
J’onn laid a hand on Clark’s arm, stopping him from releasing Bruce. “He is a threat to himself and others.”
Clark gave a sad smile. “I know, but I need his help to find the pistol that did this.”
“Was it a pistol or a gun?” Bruce asked from the table, eyes still closed.
Clark started to ask what the difference was, but remembered who he was talking to. Crazy or not, Bruce could still lecture like a college professor trying for tenure if given half the chance. “Really old style but in pristine condition. Wooden handle, with silver trim, smaller than I think of old guns being. Single barrel, not a revolver, had the hammer sticking way up from the top of the gun.”
“Oh, that.”
“That?” Clark leaned over Bruce, hoping the universe would be nice enough to let it be this easy. “Do you know where it is?”
“Let me up.” Bruce said again, but this time his voice was soft and tired.
Clark opened the restraints and helped Bruce sit up.
Bruce pulled the blankets off and reached down to unhook his feet. “The Philadelphia Derringer was a pocket pistol made by Henry Deringer in the 19th Century. This type of gun was named after the maker, but imitations carried the misspelling that stuck as the name, Derringer, with two r’s. A favored gun of assassins because of its small size for the time, its most famous target was Abraham Lincoln.”
“Are you saying this gun was used by Booth?”
“That’s the story I heard. Booth’s desires for his old country back, the shock of the nation after hearing of the attack and a touch of Mary Lincoln’s insanity all infused the gun, in that illogical way of magic.” Bruce had gotten to his feet, and now he played with the medical supplies as he lectured. “I tracked the history of Booth’s Deringer and the times it was used. Because it’s a one shot pistol, it was limited to one spell at a time. The people who used it never seemed happy with the results and often killed themselves shortly after.”
“Perfect, Bruce!” Clark wanted to hug Bruce but knew it wouldn’t be appreciated, so he just grinned at Bruce’s back. “Do you know where it is?”
“Sure. I tracked it down to see if it would alter the life of one Martha Wayne. In the end I gave it up as being too unpredictable.” Bruce grunted, as if in pain. “It’s at my place, as Daddy well knows.”
“Great! We’ll go get it and fix the timeline before you can blink.”
“You do that, Clarky. Here’s your sample.” Bruce laid something on the countertop and moved to stare out the window.
Clark tried to catch up with Bruce’s reasoning, as he walked over to see the sample. Some white substance in a syringe sat next to a second empty, used syringe. “What sample?”
“Genetic material. Dad will pay enough for it to fix up this building, but you’ve only got four hours before the sperm die.”
J’onn spoke while Clark tried to understand the evidence before him.
“My understanding of human anatomy suggests a needle to the scrotum would be rather painful.”
“Not as painful as living a human life.”
Bruce’s words sent Clark’s eyes to the empty syringe. Clark spun around to look at Bruce. “What was in the other syringe?”
“Nothing.” Bruce replied calmly, with just a hint of a smile on the edges of his mouth. “Absolutely nothing.”
Clark remembered investigating a crime scene with Batman. Cops and forensics had already been there, so Clark hadn’t expected them to find anything and said so. Batman had snorted. ‘There’s always something, even if it’s just air.’ The machine in his hand had beeped, finding traces of fear toxin the cops had missed. Clark x-rayed Bruce even as he yelled.
“J’onn, air embolism, left upper arm!”
J’onn moved, grabbing plastic straps to carry to Bruce. He applied several to Bruce’s arm, while Bruce frowned at him. Holding Bruce’s right arm down, so he couldn’t undo the straps, J’onn spoke to Clark.
“These tourniquets are for drawing blood. They slow down the blood flow but do not stop it. Clark, there is no way to stop an air embolism from entering the blood stream.”
“And when it hits my heart, my brain will finally shut up and let me rest.” Bruce added in a dreamy voice.
Clark scooped Bruce into his arms, the left arm crushed to his chest. Clark wanted that arm to have to fight for every drop of blood that went in or out. “J’onn, fly with us. He might have kryptonite with Booth’s gun.”
Clark cut a hole in the side of the building and took to the sky without waiting for a response from J’onn. He held Bruce and went as fast as he could, not knowing how long he had Bruce’s expertise on his side. Clark muttered to Bruce as they went, not really expecting to be heard over the sonic speeds he was reaching. He only slowed down when they were at the cave and it was risky to fly too fast.
“We’re here Bruce. Where’s the gun?”
“In my vault.”
“I didn’t see a vault earlier, not like the one I expected anyway.”
“Change expectations.”
“Not as helpful as a description, but I’ll look.” Clark switched to x-ray vision, scanning the cave as he flew into the main area.
“Daddy’s home.” Bruce said, his voice deadly calm.
“Talking to your bats again?”
“No, Dad’s here, upstairs. The lights go red when he visits.”
“It’s okay; I find that gun and everything will be fine.”
“You’ve got your sample; you can stop pretending to care.” Bruce’s voice wavered between petulance and anger, still believing all this was a trick by his father.
Clark turned Bruce’s face so he had to look at Clark’s eyes. “I find that gun, and I swear I’ll prove to you it’s not an act.”
“Northeast corner of the cave, a small tunnel so you’ll have to crawl; about a hundred yards in the fissures start. Third fissure in the rock, small lead lined safe.”
“Wait here, Bruce.” Clark laid Bruce on the filthy cot, but hated to leave him alone.
“Go, Clark, I will keep him from removing the tourniquets.” J’onn’s voice, echoing in Clark’s head where it should be.
Clark ran the direction Bruce had given him. The tunnel was a tight fit, but Clark could see the small safe in front of him. Assured that Bruce hadn’t lied to him about where it was, Clark moved forward. He wanted to shove his way through, but knowing that could cause the rock to collapse kept him to a steady crawl. It might have felt like forever as he crawled, but digging the safe out of tons of rock would have taken much longer.
Author name: Trista_zevkia
Artist name:Suavebastard
Beta: Ecto-Gammat
Genre: slash, but I'm making you work through a fourth page for the art, because it's totally worth it!
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
Chapter 2
LA didn’t seem that different as Clark closed in on it, still filled with movie stars and people too pretty to be natural. It was only as he got close to the middle that Clark noticed the changes. The army was stationed around the largest fence Clark had ever seen. Machines sampled the air at strategic points around the circular fence, with scientists constantly monitoring the results. A mix of neon signs, Christmas lights, store letters and lamps repeated the words La La all the way around the fence.
Clark looked below the surface, wondering why La La Land still had electricity. Joker had set up shop where LA’s water, sewage and electricity lines crossed. They couldn’t cut off La La Land’s utilities without the entirety of Los Angeles going dark. It was more than luck; it was planning. Joker’s schemes had a plan, even if the rest of the world couldn’t see it, but not like this; this was something Batman would do.
More freaked out than he wanted to admit, Superman went to stop a carjacking on the freeway. A robbery in a jewelry store had Clark looking at the loose jewels, glittering across the workbench. He was reminded of a beaded curtain, blocking the exit from the Batcave. Bruce had taken apart millions of dollars in family heirlooms to keep his bats from getting lost in the house.
Thomas had been more right than he knew. Bruce was lost, without a purpose in life, but it wasn’t a living father that had taken that purpose from him. Superman stopped six more crimes before he got over the desire to kill the Joker, who had done such damage to Bruce. Determining how he had managed such damage would take a lot longer, so Clark flew into La La Land.
There were people here, managing to live under Joker’s control by brutalizing their fellow survivors. Clark ignored it, pushing ahead to the main problem; finding out if this Joker had the magic gun and what he would do to change the world. A giant clamshell in an open air auditorium, in the center of La La Land, was Joker’s throne room. He stared out over empty seats, laying across the armrests of his throne. A scepter was tucked beside him, but he looked unarmed and bored. Superman floated into Joker’s line of sight, but kept level with him.
“Have you come to fight me, and save my subjects from my mad rule? I’m ready you know, for your entire fugly league.” Joker bounced up to stand on his chair, scepter in his hand. “Look at my toy!”
Joker touched the top of his scepter, and a series of devices sprang out. Tiny darts laced with chemicals, a flame thrower poking out the bottom, knives with fancy edges and more chemicals, it did look like Joker was ready for an attack by the entire Justice League.
“Joker… are those toenail clippers?” Clark asked, more out of disbelief than it being important.
The Joker shrugged. “I had the space. I also had the space for this!” A panel in the top slid aside, and the cold pain of Kryptonite reached out to Superman.
Landing, Clark held out a hand. “Joker, I just want to talk to you.”
“Talk? What could you possible offer me, the king of all this?”
Joker had what most criminals seemed to want; power and control over a bunch of people. Yet he was eager to fight and had looked very bored when Clark flew up. Clark had never seen Joker bored before, as he always had Batman to scheme against.
“I can offer you a worthy opponent.” Clark lowered his hand, trying not to show how the Kryptonite was making him feel. He still took a deep breath of relief when it stopped. The Joker had closed up his scepter, and now looked at Superman with interest.
“Go on.”
“He’s as smart as you; good with chemicals, so he can make antidotes to your toxins. He’s trained in all forms of combat, and so graceful. But you’re hard to predict, hard to read, so you can take him, occasionally even beat him.”
“I can do that dance with any of you do-gooders.” Joker slouched back into his chair, disappointed with the offer.
Clark pushed away the part of him screaming about this being life and death, not dancing. Except, he was seducing Joker, trying to get him to wish for Batman back, which itself was like a dance. “But a dance is even more fun with a special partner. This one, he has no sense of humor and a strong moral code. He won’t kill, not even you. Can you imagine how fun it would be to dance with him?”
“Break his moral code, show him how crazy it is to care about other people?” Joker did perk up at that, actually focusing on Superman.
“Show him that there is only the two of you, locked in an eternal dance of destruction; only the two of you matter.”
“Oh, Supes, you do paint a beautiful picture! Now tell me, what’s the shipping and handling of this marvelous life you’re selling?”
“There’s a magical gun, an old pistol that can make your dream come true. Do you have it?”
“No, why do you think I do?”
“You used this gun to get rid of your worthy opponent, and only I remember him.”
“Why would I do such a crazy thing, if he was as special as you say?” Joker was frowning in concentration, or frowning as much as he could with his face permanently etched into a smile.
“I don’t think you meant to, but magic has a will of its own.”
“Then what did I mean to do, my mean old self?”
That was the question Clark was hoping Joker could answer for him. “You fired it at me, so I don’t know. I’m not your worthy opponent, and I don’t know why you wanted to stop me.”
“You interfered in the dance, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“On more than one occasion?”
“Yes.”
“So he can’t be that great if he needs your help.”
“He doesn’t need it; I just can’t help but provide it.” Clark shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, he tells me off for doing so.”
“Oh, ho! What to my wondering eyes should appear? Is he as special as all that?”
“Yes, you’d do anything to break him, to make him into you.”
“No, no, no Superman. You repeatedly butted in to our dance, so I removed you. Pointed a gun at your invulnerable thick head and kicked you out of our dance.” Joker licked his lips, staring at Superman like he was an idiot. “Are you sure you’re not the key of steel?”
“No, Batman is the key to this, it was his life that you changed.”
A brief laugh, and the Joker mimicked Superman’s voice, shoving his own words back at him. “Magic has a will of its own.”
“You wanted me out of his life, your life. The magic knew the best way to do that was to change him, so I wouldn’t know him!”
“That’s right, he can be taught!” More laughing, and Superman lifted off.
He was done with the Joker, having found out they key to this, now he needed to find the gun and set the world right.
“Oh, Supes?” The Joker’s voice called to him, but Joker hadn’t raised his voice.
Clark stopped, knowing Batman was the only one who talked to him in normal tones, expecting him to hear. The rest of the universe yelled to get his attention, even knowing he had super hearing. He didn’t yell back, just waited to hear what else the Joker had to say.
“When you save this Batman, give him a kiss from me.”
Clark flushed, flying away. If he was this obvious in the real world, how come no one had ever said anything before? Why hadn’t he noticed he was in love with Bruce?
Clark flew back to the League headquarters, hoping someone there would know of the pistol, or a similar magical device. It would be best to use the pistol to counteract its magic, but Clark recognized that might not be possible. Arriving at the Watchtower, Clark went directly to medical. Bruce looked asleep under a pile of blankets, while J’onn floated beside him in a meditative posture.
“What did you learn from your meeting?” J’onn whispered the question to Clark, and Clark almost laughed.
“It’s strange to hear you whisper. If you wanted to be quiet, why not say it into my head?”
“Members of the League were nervous about my abilities, so a vote was taken. I accepted that vote, and agreed to only use my telepathy when all other methods of communication failed.”
“Take a look.” Clark closed his eyes, waiting until he felt the presence of J’onn in his head. Then he used his eidetic memory to show J’onn a similar meeting.
Batman asked questions about J’onn’s abilities, about limitations and long term side effects. The questions eased other people’s fears, and he still had more to ask. Batman was asking about the probability of J’onn’s brain being hacked when Green Lantern interrupted. He called Batman a paranoid jerk, and the rest of the League began talking. J’onn’s abilities were voted in to use, because Batman had asked the questions other people feared.
J’onn sent Clark a mental thanks before pulling out of his head. Back in his body, J’onn stared at Bruce, wondering about the man in that fragile body.
“It’s very hard to sleep while being studied by little green men.” Bruce muttered, eyes still closed.
Clark shoved the grin off his face before replying. “Sorry to wake you, Bruce, but I need your help.”
“I don’t talk to my jailers.”
“You’re not in jail. We’re trying to help you.”
“Restraints are so helpful.”
Clark stepped forward to look. Bruce’s hands were wrapped in the padded cuffs that normally hung under the table.
J’onn laid a hand on Clark’s arm, stopping him from releasing Bruce. “He is a threat to himself and others.”
Clark gave a sad smile. “I know, but I need his help to find the pistol that did this.”
“Was it a pistol or a gun?” Bruce asked from the table, eyes still closed.
Clark started to ask what the difference was, but remembered who he was talking to. Crazy or not, Bruce could still lecture like a college professor trying for tenure if given half the chance. “Really old style but in pristine condition. Wooden handle, with silver trim, smaller than I think of old guns being. Single barrel, not a revolver, had the hammer sticking way up from the top of the gun.”
“Oh, that.”
“That?” Clark leaned over Bruce, hoping the universe would be nice enough to let it be this easy. “Do you know where it is?”
“Let me up.” Bruce said again, but this time his voice was soft and tired.
Clark opened the restraints and helped Bruce sit up.
Bruce pulled the blankets off and reached down to unhook his feet. “The Philadelphia Derringer was a pocket pistol made by Henry Deringer in the 19th Century. This type of gun was named after the maker, but imitations carried the misspelling that stuck as the name, Derringer, with two r’s. A favored gun of assassins because of its small size for the time, its most famous target was Abraham Lincoln.”
“Are you saying this gun was used by Booth?”
“That’s the story I heard. Booth’s desires for his old country back, the shock of the nation after hearing of the attack and a touch of Mary Lincoln’s insanity all infused the gun, in that illogical way of magic.” Bruce had gotten to his feet, and now he played with the medical supplies as he lectured. “I tracked the history of Booth’s Deringer and the times it was used. Because it’s a one shot pistol, it was limited to one spell at a time. The people who used it never seemed happy with the results and often killed themselves shortly after.”
“Perfect, Bruce!” Clark wanted to hug Bruce but knew it wouldn’t be appreciated, so he just grinned at Bruce’s back. “Do you know where it is?”
“Sure. I tracked it down to see if it would alter the life of one Martha Wayne. In the end I gave it up as being too unpredictable.” Bruce grunted, as if in pain. “It’s at my place, as Daddy well knows.”
“Great! We’ll go get it and fix the timeline before you can blink.”
“You do that, Clarky. Here’s your sample.” Bruce laid something on the countertop and moved to stare out the window.
Clark tried to catch up with Bruce’s reasoning, as he walked over to see the sample. Some white substance in a syringe sat next to a second empty, used syringe. “What sample?”
“Genetic material. Dad will pay enough for it to fix up this building, but you’ve only got four hours before the sperm die.”
J’onn spoke while Clark tried to understand the evidence before him.
“My understanding of human anatomy suggests a needle to the scrotum would be rather painful.”
“Not as painful as living a human life.”
Bruce’s words sent Clark’s eyes to the empty syringe. Clark spun around to look at Bruce. “What was in the other syringe?”
“Nothing.” Bruce replied calmly, with just a hint of a smile on the edges of his mouth. “Absolutely nothing.”
Clark remembered investigating a crime scene with Batman. Cops and forensics had already been there, so Clark hadn’t expected them to find anything and said so. Batman had snorted. ‘There’s always something, even if it’s just air.’ The machine in his hand had beeped, finding traces of fear toxin the cops had missed. Clark x-rayed Bruce even as he yelled.
“J’onn, air embolism, left upper arm!”
J’onn moved, grabbing plastic straps to carry to Bruce. He applied several to Bruce’s arm, while Bruce frowned at him. Holding Bruce’s right arm down, so he couldn’t undo the straps, J’onn spoke to Clark.
“These tourniquets are for drawing blood. They slow down the blood flow but do not stop it. Clark, there is no way to stop an air embolism from entering the blood stream.”
“And when it hits my heart, my brain will finally shut up and let me rest.” Bruce added in a dreamy voice.
Clark scooped Bruce into his arms, the left arm crushed to his chest. Clark wanted that arm to have to fight for every drop of blood that went in or out. “J’onn, fly with us. He might have kryptonite with Booth’s gun.”
Clark cut a hole in the side of the building and took to the sky without waiting for a response from J’onn. He held Bruce and went as fast as he could, not knowing how long he had Bruce’s expertise on his side. Clark muttered to Bruce as they went, not really expecting to be heard over the sonic speeds he was reaching. He only slowed down when they were at the cave and it was risky to fly too fast.
“We’re here Bruce. Where’s the gun?”
“In my vault.”
“I didn’t see a vault earlier, not like the one I expected anyway.”
“Change expectations.”
“Not as helpful as a description, but I’ll look.” Clark switched to x-ray vision, scanning the cave as he flew into the main area.
“Daddy’s home.” Bruce said, his voice deadly calm.
“Talking to your bats again?”
“No, Dad’s here, upstairs. The lights go red when he visits.”
“It’s okay; I find that gun and everything will be fine.”
“You’ve got your sample; you can stop pretending to care.” Bruce’s voice wavered between petulance and anger, still believing all this was a trick by his father.
Clark turned Bruce’s face so he had to look at Clark’s eyes. “I find that gun, and I swear I’ll prove to you it’s not an act.”
“Northeast corner of the cave, a small tunnel so you’ll have to crawl; about a hundred yards in the fissures start. Third fissure in the rock, small lead lined safe.”
“Wait here, Bruce.” Clark laid Bruce on the filthy cot, but hated to leave him alone.
“Go, Clark, I will keep him from removing the tourniquets.” J’onn’s voice, echoing in Clark’s head where it should be.
Clark ran the direction Bruce had given him. The tunnel was a tight fit, but Clark could see the small safe in front of him. Assured that Bruce hadn’t lied to him about where it was, Clark moved forward. He wanted to shove his way through, but knowing that could cause the rock to collapse kept him to a steady crawl. It might have felt like forever as he crawled, but digging the safe out of tons of rock would have taken much longer.