Chapter Text
“Master Bruce. I see you have regained consciousness again. How do you feel?”
Bruce had kept his lids half-closed for a few minutes, observing the scene from under his eyelashes. He was in the med area of the Batcave, lying on the bed, his limbs and torso held by the restrainers and his body connected to the monitors. His left wrist was in the cast and his ribs and face ached, but otherwise he seemed to be unhurt. There was lingering evidence of the mess as if somebody had wrecked the room and then the place was put hastily in order to hide what had happened.
“I presume I have been restless”, Bruce tried instead of others, perhaps suitable words. “What was it this time? Poison Ivy?”
“A new patch of Scarecrow’s fear toxin, I am afraid.”
“One I have no tolerance against”, Bruce mused. “I seem to be in diapers. So it has been several days.”
“That’s correct. Do you recall what happened?”
He had been following a lead. It had been a small time pusher, which kind he usually left to the police to deal with, but two people had died already of his inferior drugs, and he wanted the guy stopped before the situation got any worse.
The pusher had been easy to find. Too easy, as it had turned out. The set-up had been a trap to lure him in, to give Scarecrow a chance to play with his new formula.
He had been careless like a damn rookie. He had hardly gotten back in the Batmobile and hit the auto drive. That much he knew for sure. Bruce tried to sit up, momentarily forgetting he was in limb restraints. “Yes, Alfred. You can let me go now.”
“As you said the last time, Master Bruce.”
That made his worry spike up again. “I did?”
Alfred showed him the recording. It had taken the old butler and two of his boys almost fifteen minutes intense fighting to finally restrain him. He had attacked them clumsily but with the savage indent, seeing not his family, only monsters the gas produced.
“Tim has a bad form. You are all holding yourself unnecessary back, trying not to harm me.”
“Indeed”, Alfred admitted, his voice crisp with sarcasm before he continued with softer tones, “What did you see?”
What had he seen? The usual. Perhaps his visions should have told him he was hallucinating, but on the other hand his life was nothing like a funny park ride. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish between his nightmares and the reality.
In Bruce’s drugged mind place, the Joker had captured his family and tortured them, here in the sanctum sanctorum of the Batfamily. There was a huge dinner table and his boys had been bound into their chairs. Their faces were only bloody masses of muscle and bone when Joker sorted their skinned face masks, trying them on and making Alfred guess who was who before the killer clown turned to Bruce, asking him to beg for their lives.
Oh, how Bruce had begged! Joker had asked him to cry out for Superman. He had done so, while Joker started with his youngest, the only one who was Bruce’s own flesh and blood, but who still felt less his son than the others. All this time Bruce prayed the alien false god who refused to hear his pleads until also Alfred had gotten the foul treatment and there was only his dearest boy left, his smiling, flying Richard.
The machine on his left let out an alarm. Alfred took a tablet to read the results. “Your blood sample seems to be clear. Or in your case, between the normal readings at least.”
“So it was a false negative the last time. You let me go too early.”
Alfred’s gaze met his eyes, fearless like always as he unlocked the restrainers. “I am afraid I didn’t bother to do the testing. You sounded like yourself.”
“It was then I hurt one of you, didn’t I? What happened?”
“You managed to kick Tim. He got a mild concussion.”
As he had said, Tim had had a bad form. Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, taking off the drip before he removed the diaper, which seemed unused. “You all should know better.”
The sarcastic tone was back again, bringing some friends with it. “Thank you Master Bruce.
They all heard you, by the way.”
How he had hollered for Kal to help him, Alfred meant. “You let them.”
Alfred sighed, which was an unusual display of emotions from the stoic Englishman. “This was a family matter. I didn’t totally believe it at first. As you warned us when the alien made his first public appearances, he puts up a wholesome, humane front.”
Bruce could have said so many things, but nothing came out. He still hoped, but the realistic and calculating part of his brains had already realized this was something more serious than his family getting to know about his interpersonal matters. The house rule was not to cry out for Superman, but Bruce had done a little more than that. Or not even little. Much. Much more and even here at the manor when Bruce and Kal had the whole place in their disposal. During those rare occasions they always acted like teenagers left home alone for the first time.
“Now that I have seen with my own eyes the deepness of his deception… I lack the words, son.”
“It is all right”, Bruce said, blood pulling away from his lips which felt too tight over his teeth. The other side of his brain was seeing Kal, flying in the main hall, pulling Bruce with him, in a manner they could never display themselves in public, even with their clothes on. Alfred was now gazing him with an equal measure of empathy and anger, even if the latter was not focusing on Bruce. Alfred had washed and changed him when he had been sedated unconscious. The old man was used to see his scars, but Bruce had kept some of his latest additions a secret, which now turned out to be unfortunate. After Bruce had asked enough times, Kal had used a stencil and his heat vision, covering with the crest of El some of Bruce’s ugliest mementos of the battles lost.
That wouldn’t be too bad. Embarrassing though, when one thought about the place of his new sign, but Bruce knew his family. Kal tramp stamping him with his symbol could be easily seen in a more sinister light even without the usual set of fingertip shaped bruises in his inner thighs and hips. Had he mentioned the Joker by his name when he begged and cried him to stop hurting his boys? Or was he just asking somebody to stop and then shouting after Superman?
His family had gotten lots of solid looking evidence, which still led them to the wrong conclusion. Too bad Bruce usually had the right one, even this time when he hoped fiercely he would be wrong.
“You initiated the Superman Protocol”, Bruce said. “You did that without consulting with me.”
The answer was clear on Alfred’s face, and Bruce’s heart made a few panicky beats before the years of training calmed the organ down again. “You are all still in one piece, so your plan had to be a success. Show me.”
“Master Bruce”, Alfred denied when Bruce stood up and headed to the part of the cave which included the newest constructions, rooms or cells with special arrangements. The cells were made for particular visitors. The first one was for Joker. If something happened, something so bad he couldn’t be safely returned to Arkham Asylum, this would be the place for the clown prince of crime for the rest of his natural life.
The one in the back was the latest addition. It was a cubicle, covered with lead and hidden red sun lamps, which would leave a Kryptonian powerless. The panel besides the door told Bruce the cell had an occupant. Kal hadn’t come to his help in the hallucination, but he had come in reality, and his family had used the protocol Bruce had constructed to take down the most powerful being on the earth.
He didn’t need to take care when he opened the cell door. He knew what he would find, even if he still had a foolish hope he was dreaming, living in his nightmare and nothing of this had happened for real. That part of him could be proud of the ruthless and cunning behavior of his family, but every other part had hard time to keep him together. His breath wanted to hitch and his eyes to water as he looked at the still body of his lover. His Kal. His sun.
Kal was in his familiar uniform, but he seemed sunken. His eyes were closed and face looked so dry it was starting to mummify. Bruce was afraid to touch him, in fear his skin would rip off under his fingers. He didn’t find pulse. A throbbing panicky feeling was now like a howling blizzard inside Bruce, but nothing of his turmoil could be seen in his appearance as he wrapped Kal in his cape and lifted the body. It lay still and too light in his arms as if Kal was only a husk a butterfly leaves behind.
Alfred’s squeezed his shoulder. His words prickled Bruce’s ears, horrible in their tenderness. “As you predicted, kryptonite dust and red sun lamps took away his ability to heal. It is over, my son. That monster will hurt you never again.”
“Yes. You have done enough. Now is my turn.”
Alfred nodded. He stepped aside when Bruce took fast but economic steps which brought him to the equipment side of the cave. He put Kal carefully down and started dressing himself. Bruce had studied several months with the monks of an ancient order of silence. His self-discipline was impeccable when he wanted it to be. Why to shout at his mentor or broke things, when this was Bruce’s own fault?
Alfred didn’t know about Clark Kent. He had no idea Kal had a mother or friends. He didn’t know what he meant to Bruce. There had been only a few facts Bruce had decided to share with Alfred and the others. For his family Kal was a powerful alien which came by like a well-trained dog every time Justice League needed hard muscle. He had been friendly thus far, but as easily he could not be. Alfred had thought he had enough evidence from the latter.
Sky over Gotham was covered with clouds like always, dark shapes hiding the life-giving force of Kal’s powers. After he carried his precious cargo to the Batwing, there was nothing more to do than to chase the sun and pray. Bruce didn’t believe in the benevolent being watching over his life, but maybe the being who watched over the last son of Krypton was different. Perhaps that being was listening, even granting an occasional wish.
“Rao”, he whispered, not knowing how to continue. What was in his mind was only a child’s wail beside his dead parents, hiccuped pleads for them to raise from the pavement and come home with him.