The Cages In Our Minds, part 2
by KungFuNurse

Disclaimers: These guys have DC stamped on their unmentionables.  I checked.
Spoilers: None, Set in comic-verse
Another big thanks to ‘rith for the inspiring fanfic.
Warnings: Adult only for gore and violence.  Slashy M/M themes.  Sorta kinda underage warnings…but Bruce isn’t actually eight you know…oh just read it.
Archive: Yup! Just let me know where to go look for it.
Feedback: Please let me know if you liked this story.  I’m still new at this and want to get better.

kungfunurse@visi.com

*_*_*_*_*_*_*
 
Batman:

The creeping-dead things hissed and slithered in glee. Bruce had exactly three pearls left.  Sticky and smeared with his dead father’s blood, his mother’s pearls had thinned out the mob of nightmares.

But there seemed to be an endless amount of the dead things.

Batman had a superiority complex, the young boy decided.  Oh, sure, he could see Batman getting worked up over Jason Todd, and even those little boys that had frozen to death under the bridge last winter.

But what about this guy?  An older man, well dressed and affluent, dead of a heart attack when terrorists had invaded the Gotham Art Charity Ball.

Did Batman think he could take responsibility for every death in his town?  Was he supposed to be God or something?

Bruce scrunched up his face and shoved a pearl into the gaping mouth in front of him.  The rotting socialite looked like he was sucking on a very sour lemon, then fell apart in a whiff of darkness and loss.

Two left.

Bruce had been eight when his parents had died.  And he was eight, now, as he faced his alter ego’s demons.  His father’s blood was hemming him in, close to his shoes.  If he took a step in any direction the pool of gore would soak into his souls.  Both of them.  Madness would be the only certainty after that.  Bruce wondered what an insane Batman would look like?  He wondered if anyone would even notice.

A high pitched sound, and then a stinging thud on his wrist made Bruce cry out.  A batarang had nailed his hand, knocking his last two pearls into the blood.

Jason Todd laughed and taunted.  “Comin’ to get you little boy!”  A snicker, eerily like the one that came with his parent’s death.  “Do you miss your Mommy?  Oh, poor ‘ickle Brucie…”

Bruce flattened himself to the theater wall.  His sharp blue eyes stared unblinkingly into the nightmare hoard. He would go mad, or he would die.  Perhaps both.  But he was Bruce Wayne.  And he had sworn an oath on the grave of his parents never to let the darkness make him weak again.

The nightmares closed on him, and Bruce had time for one last wistful thought.  He had really wanted that Zorro cape.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Superman and Green Lantern:

Clark glanced at Kyle, trying not to be obvious.  The younger man was upbeat, humming a little tune as they marched merrily into the void.  Under that, though, was pain.  Loss.  Darkness that the emerald green glow in his eyes and on his hand only made deeper.

Kyle was a Green Lantern.  One of the chosen few who had the will to wield the most powerful weapon in existence.  But unlike Batman, whose will was just as impressive, Kyle struggled for the light.  Struggled to match the horrors and deaths he’d seen with a brightly burning fire that would sear a weaker man’s soul to ashes.

Kyle was incredible.

The closer the two came to the throng of creeping-dead things, the brighter Kyle blazed.  Flame erupted from his ring, licking over his paint smeared hands and up his arms, igniting his hair in a corona of dark green power.  The deep emerald eyes burned with intense heat as the humor drained away to be replaced with battle ready alertness.  Kyle was all fire and green edged shadows as he strode towards the nightmares.  Towards Bruce’s nightmares.

Clark paused, turning his head to catch a faint noise. A whimper of sound, harsh breathing, the scrabble of fingernails on brick.

Bruce…oh Bruce we’re coming…

“Hurry!”  he yelled at the fierce warrior ahead of him, and let loose with a salvo of pure white energy. Already emerald fire arced and burned through the throng, raising screams of pain and terror.

“I see him!”  Kyle gasped.  A piteous, dirty-faced urchin clung to his leg and with huge, begging eyes, tried to start eating his flesh.

“God!  God Clark!!  He’s trapped!”

“Can you...?”

“I’ve got it!  Help him!”

Kyle was an El.  Clark trusted him.  Trusted Kyle to keep the dead throng off of Clark while he rocketed towards the faintly glowing marquee of the old theater.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Batman, Superman, and Green Lantern

Bruce stared his death in the eyes.  He stared and shivered and fought to keep from cringing as the first fingers pulled and tore at his clothes.  He would not scream.  He would not cry.  He was too old for that.  Father would be so proud…

Bruce glanced to his right.  Two dead prostitutes and their pimp were devouring his father’s corpse.  Cocaine overdose, all three.

The scream started to well up in his throat.  The blood started to squick under his shoes.  So this was how it all ends.  No Mommy.  No Daddy.  No Batman.

Bruce looked back into the nightmare’s face.  Tried  to look, but the blinding white light stabbed at his eyes and made tears run from behind scrunched up lids. Anger and Love and Fierce Loyalty poured from the sky, making the nightmares screech and smoke and finally slither back into the darkness.

Bruce forced one eye open and peered up into the light.  He saw a familiar face, kind blue eyes, and a hand held out for him.

“Hi Bruce,” the glowing man murmured.

“Took you long enough,” Bruce snapped.  “I’m surprised you even found your way out of your own head.”

Clark smiled gently and floated a little closer.

Bruce shuffled his feet and almost fell in the slick blood.  It was the smile.  It…unnerved him.  It was so…warm, so accepting.  As though it was okay to be mad after someone had tried to kill you.  Almost as though it was okay to be...to be Bruce.  Bruce's lip trembled.  Then held his arms up in a mute appeal.

Clark swept Bruce up and held him tightly.  He pressed the young boy’s body close as he cradled and rocked and crooned to the sobbing child.

After a time, Bruce felt his hair being stroked, oh so gently.  Then one big hand brushed his cheek.  Bruce gasped.  The white fire from Clark’s skin mixed with Bruce’s tears to burn away the last smears of blood from his face.  Bruce curled around the delicious warmth and held close to Clark’s neck as the alien carefully removed one shoe, then the other.  When Bruce nodded, Clark dropped the bloody things into the red pool below them.

Bruce didn’t need them anymore.  He knew where his soul was, and it wasn’t about any stupid pair of wingtips either.

Clark turned slowly in the air and surveyed the street.  Kyle was beating back the last of the dead throng, green determination setting the streets and sky afire.

“Clark?”  a hesitant voice by his ear.

“Hm?”  Clark looked down into deep blue eyes.  Blue, blue and so old.  So ancient with pain and loss and the never-ending mission.  An eight year old’s face with eyes that had seen centuries of darkness by the time their owner was a man.

A soft, warm mouth pressed against Clark’s.  Hot little breaths tickled his skin.  Bruce dropped light, sweet kiss after kiss on Clark's parted lips, the small mouth asking a question. Quietly, gently, Clark captured Bruce's lips and returned the kiss.  Yes, Bruce. Just…yes.

Clark could feel Bruce's heart speed up.  His scent, still Bruce but muted with childhood, made Clark shift a little.  He wanted to feel Bruce’s sharp little teeth.  He wanted Bruce to be flushed and sweaty because of him.  A surge of hot fire ran through Clark's belly.  “Mmmm...Bruce....”

Bruce blushed and broke the kiss, only to bury his face in Clark’s neck.  He’d been meaning for that to go differently.  He had dreamed about taking Clark.  About forcing Clark to acknowledge Bruce's power, his dominance.  He knew the end was coming for Clark’s marriage, even if it seemed Clark was unaware.  And Bruce had been planning…something.

Not this.  Not this sweet, quiet surrender...

Clark sighed and snuggled the small form closer.  It was just as well Bruce had pulled away.  They really were too close to Bruce's nightmare.  In Bruce's mind, he was still just a little...young.  And besides, it felt good, so very good to hold him close.  Clark savored the intimacy that a fully adult, emotionally scarred Bruce had so rarely allowed him.

Kyle strode towards them.  He was wreathed in green fire and grinning from ear to ear.  Bruce stared at the young Lantern, not welcoming the interruption.

“Hiya Bruce!”  Kyle gave him a jaunty wave.  Then he kicked off of the ground and joined them as they floated above the pavement.  “You know, kid, you’ve really got to talk to your other half about cleaning up this place…”

“That’s enough,” Bruce snapped, immediately attacking with his voice.  "You little snot.  How dare you belittle Batman?"  Kyle’s eyes narrowed and his grin vanished.  Clark’s arms shifted uncomfortably around him.

And as suddenly as his anger had come, a new emotion swamped him.  He felt himself blush harder but this time with shame.  Kyle had risked his life and sanity for Bruce.  These weren’t his nightmares, it wasn’t his fight.  But here he was.  Not Batman, who should have come, who should have cleaned this place up.  But Kyle.  Kyle and Clark.

Bruce lowered his eyes.  He could stare down the bleakest, most desolate nightmare more easily than he could face the anger and hurt in those green eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.  “I…you know.  Sorry.”

He looked up again to see something new dawning in Kyle’s gaze.  Something…softer.  Maybe Kyle wasn’t as unperceptive as Bruce had always assumed.  

Kyle reached out and ruffled Bruce’s hair.

“That’s okay, kiddo.”  Kyle spoke gently.  “You’ve had a rough night.”

Bruce hated it when people messed up his hair.  It took forever to make it look nice for Mother again.  Except, he decided, maybe this was OK.  Kyle could muss his hair.  Just tonight.

“Speaking of rough nights…” Clark murmured, the sound rumbling through his chest and into Bruce.

“Right!”  Kyle said.  “So, Bat…er…Bruce, what’s the deal?”

Bruce, still musing about hair and the dubious merits of defending Batman, replied absently.  “I assume you’re asking about the concurrent dream anomalies and parallel imaging otherwise non-telepathic sentients are experiencing?”  He moved to straighten his bangs out. Just a little.

“Exactly,” Clark chuckled.  Kyle looked confused.

“Well, I’d have to recommend going to an expert,” Bruce continued.  He pointed with the hand not clasped around Clark’s neck.  A faint reddish glow was visible over the horizon to the west.

“J’onn?”  Clark asked.  Kyle’s face cleared in understanding.

“Since we’re going to need a telepath, he seems the logical choice,” the young voice stated.

The three of them set out, floating quietly through the air towards the red sand dunes of a forgotten world.

Kyle glanced behind and saw Jonathon Crane, Harley Quinn, and John Corben skipping along the street, arm in arm, behind them.  Harley was dragging a dead Joker fish on a leash.

“Why are the Scarecrow, Harlequin, and Metallo singing about little green wizards?  And what’s with that tinny looking hat Corben’s got on?”

Bruce peered over Clark’s shoulder at the trio.  “Don’t ask.  God knows I never do.”


Cages Part 3

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