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