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schizoauthoressTitle: All Our Best Men Are Laughed At
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: set after "The Death of Superman", goes AU from there.
Warnings: lots of canonical character death, broken grief process (your mileage may vary, but probably an over the top OOC reaction from one person in particular), eventual clonecest
Prompt/Fill: First sentence and general story idea provided by M.G. Nemesi on Tumblr.
Word Count: 1210
Summary: The nightmares are worse these days.
Word of the Day: profluent, adjective: Flowing smoothly or abundantly forth.
All Our Best Men Are Laughed At: Part One
“I dream of you. Scream myself awake, sometimes. Don’t you ever hear me?” Bruce demands. The rain is coming down in sheets, but young man at the edge of the roof doesn't seem to notice, and Bruce won't let himself show discomfort either, though he longs for the safety of his cape and cowl.
"What's there to hear?" the young man -- little more than a boy, really -- asks. He doesn't turn around, but he tilts his head in a strangely familiar manner. As if listening for something.
"Me." Bruce says intensely. He takes a step forward, and a sudden gust of wind blasts across the rooftop. There is a flash of red -- or was it yellow? -- around the boy's shoulders. A cape he hadn't noticed before? But it is gone, swallowed by the darkness in the next instant. "You left me. You left all of us."
Laughter. No one but the most misguided, favor-seeking socialite would call it sweet, but they had, when the boy was alive. Bruce freezes.
This can't be real.
"I didn't leave you, Bruce," the boy says, but it's not just his voice speaking. "You let me die."
The words hit him like physical blows, and Bruce shouts, "No!"
The wind screams, and the boy tilts forward, leaning over the edge of the roof, into empty space. For a moment, he's not a boy, but a man -- not a man, but an alien... and an explosion rocks the building. Bruce is running before he even realizes it, hands outstretched...
"You let me die, Bruce!" Jason shouts, in his costume of red and green and gold, gone all too red with blood; blood that the rain won't wash away, will never wash away. Bruce leaps for him, tries to grab his hand --
And the fire comes up between them -- they're not on a Gotham rooftop anymore, but in the wreckage of an Ethiopian warehouse, and Jason is already cold in his arms. Bruce screams, and he cries, great wracking sobs that he couldn't let out from under the cowl, and he flings curses at the harsh blue of the sky. They are curses meant to be heaped on his own head, only his... because he failed Jason. He failed Jason just like he failed...
"Bruce." Another voice he knows he can't be hearing. Bloodied, broken hands reach out for the boy, and he can't resist as Superman pulls Jason out of his grip. "I've got him now."
"Oh, God..." Bruce whispers, and he's not sure if it's a prayer or another curse. "Clark, I can't do this..." He looks up.
Somehow, even though his face is broken and torn by Doomsday's fists, Clark's smile is the same. Gentle and warm as the sunlight.
"I can't do it either, Bruce. Not anymore."
"Don't leave me!" Bruce cries, lunging forward on instinct. But Superman can fly, and he flies out of reach, Jason's broken-doll body cradled in one arm. Jason's bare foot swings with the motion, hits Bruce's hand, ice-cold. "Don't take him away! Clark! No!"
****
"Clark!" Bruce shouts, flailing against his blankets. He comes awake in the next moment, breathing hard and all too aware of his surroundings. He is in his bedroom in the manor, and the only other soul in the too-big place is Alfred. Oh, he hopes he hasn't wakened Alfred.
He pushes aside the bedding and just sits for a while, head in his hands. There's an angry, traitorous voice inside him insisting that 'this is what happens' when you care about people -- they leave you. Bruce tries to shove that voice aside, but thoughts are not moved as easily as blankets and sheets.
He's sleeping less and less these days. It's barely past five thirty in the morning, and he's running on about two hours of sleep, but he can't face the idea of going back to bed. Bruce doesn't want to risk dreaming again.
It only takes a few minutes for him to decide that staying in the manor is a bad idea. It's not that much longer before he's in the Batcave.
****
It's safe in the Batcave. He doesn't have to think about the empty spaces in his life -- they don't press upon him as insistently here. It's like the dark down here swallows up the empty, or fills it, or something -- in any case, he can breathe easier.
He moves to the Batcomputer. Batman won't be going back out tonight, but he does have things to check up on. His fingers rapidly tap out an inquiry. The computer takes a while to process the request, but eventually sends back a negative response.
Bruce lets out his breath in an angry huff. It should be working. Why isn't it working?
The motion sensors in his room have been tripped, as a flashing alert at the bottom of the screen tells him. Perhaps he did wake Alfred -- or the old man is merely beginning his day -- but he doesn't want to face him. Not right now.
"Full genetic breakdown..." Bruce murmurs, glaring at the report onscreen. His thoughts, once again, turn self-flagellating, 'You're smarter than this. You're better than this. Figure it out!'
****
The answer, when it comes, is obvious and beautiful.
The cloning process is inadequate for dealing with Kryptonian DNA. By its very method, it introduces an instability to the alien genetic code that leads to breakdown. The Kryptonian samples must be stabilized by human DNA in order to survive the process intact.
Bruce reads the information on the screen and laughs with disbelief. It's so perfect. He hides his face in his hands and laughs, and cries. He cries, and it's grief and relief all at once, tears he can't stop. He can only let them run their course.
An alert flashes on the screen and triggers an audible low buzz of warning, and Bruce hurriedly wipes off his face and pulls up his cowl before his new Robin pulls into the Cave.
Tim can't know about this. No one can. (Bruce is almost sure that Alfred doesn't know, but even if the old man does, he is just about the only person Bruce can trust to keep this secret.) Batman closes the program window and pulls up information on their current case.
****
Now the danger of discovery is greatest, growing along with the clone in his containment tube. Every single status check shows that the hybrid genetic code is holding stable. Bruce cannot -- will not -- let anyone sabotage this.
He knows he can't grow his best friend back to life in a tube. He knows this boy won't be his lost son returned to him. But it will have to be enough.
The child is far too young to be released yet, even with the accelerated growth rates of a developing clone. Bruce places his hand flat on the glass, knowing this and still longing to touch -- longing to confirm with his own senses that the child lives and breathes. The boy's face is mostly Clark's, but the shades of Jason in his features make Bruce's heart ache.
No. Not his lost son.
But Bruce can't help already loving the child.
*-*-*-*-*
Part Two
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: set after "The Death of Superman", goes AU from there.
Warnings: lots of canonical character death, broken grief process (your mileage may vary, but probably an over the top OOC reaction from one person in particular), eventual clonecest
Prompt/Fill: First sentence and general story idea provided by M.G. Nemesi on Tumblr.
Word Count: 1210
Summary: The nightmares are worse these days.
Word of the Day: profluent, adjective: Flowing smoothly or abundantly forth.
All Our Best Men Are Laughed At: Part One
“I dream of you. Scream myself awake, sometimes. Don’t you ever hear me?” Bruce demands. The rain is coming down in sheets, but young man at the edge of the roof doesn't seem to notice, and Bruce won't let himself show discomfort either, though he longs for the safety of his cape and cowl.
"What's there to hear?" the young man -- little more than a boy, really -- asks. He doesn't turn around, but he tilts his head in a strangely familiar manner. As if listening for something.
"Me." Bruce says intensely. He takes a step forward, and a sudden gust of wind blasts across the rooftop. There is a flash of red -- or was it yellow? -- around the boy's shoulders. A cape he hadn't noticed before? But it is gone, swallowed by the darkness in the next instant. "You left me. You left all of us."
Laughter. No one but the most misguided, favor-seeking socialite would call it sweet, but they had, when the boy was alive. Bruce freezes.
This can't be real.
"I didn't leave you, Bruce," the boy says, but it's not just his voice speaking. "You let me die."
The words hit him like physical blows, and Bruce shouts, "No!"
The wind screams, and the boy tilts forward, leaning over the edge of the roof, into empty space. For a moment, he's not a boy, but a man -- not a man, but an alien... and an explosion rocks the building. Bruce is running before he even realizes it, hands outstretched...
"You let me die, Bruce!" Jason shouts, in his costume of red and green and gold, gone all too red with blood; blood that the rain won't wash away, will never wash away. Bruce leaps for him, tries to grab his hand --
And the fire comes up between them -- they're not on a Gotham rooftop anymore, but in the wreckage of an Ethiopian warehouse, and Jason is already cold in his arms. Bruce screams, and he cries, great wracking sobs that he couldn't let out from under the cowl, and he flings curses at the harsh blue of the sky. They are curses meant to be heaped on his own head, only his... because he failed Jason. He failed Jason just like he failed...
"Bruce." Another voice he knows he can't be hearing. Bloodied, broken hands reach out for the boy, and he can't resist as Superman pulls Jason out of his grip. "I've got him now."
"Oh, God..." Bruce whispers, and he's not sure if it's a prayer or another curse. "Clark, I can't do this..." He looks up.
Somehow, even though his face is broken and torn by Doomsday's fists, Clark's smile is the same. Gentle and warm as the sunlight.
"I can't do it either, Bruce. Not anymore."
"Don't leave me!" Bruce cries, lunging forward on instinct. But Superman can fly, and he flies out of reach, Jason's broken-doll body cradled in one arm. Jason's bare foot swings with the motion, hits Bruce's hand, ice-cold. "Don't take him away! Clark! No!"
****
"Clark!" Bruce shouts, flailing against his blankets. He comes awake in the next moment, breathing hard and all too aware of his surroundings. He is in his bedroom in the manor, and the only other soul in the too-big place is Alfred. Oh, he hopes he hasn't wakened Alfred.
He pushes aside the bedding and just sits for a while, head in his hands. There's an angry, traitorous voice inside him insisting that 'this is what happens' when you care about people -- they leave you. Bruce tries to shove that voice aside, but thoughts are not moved as easily as blankets and sheets.
He's sleeping less and less these days. It's barely past five thirty in the morning, and he's running on about two hours of sleep, but he can't face the idea of going back to bed. Bruce doesn't want to risk dreaming again.
It only takes a few minutes for him to decide that staying in the manor is a bad idea. It's not that much longer before he's in the Batcave.
****
It's safe in the Batcave. He doesn't have to think about the empty spaces in his life -- they don't press upon him as insistently here. It's like the dark down here swallows up the empty, or fills it, or something -- in any case, he can breathe easier.
He moves to the Batcomputer. Batman won't be going back out tonight, but he does have things to check up on. His fingers rapidly tap out an inquiry. The computer takes a while to process the request, but eventually sends back a negative response.
Bruce lets out his breath in an angry huff. It should be working. Why isn't it working?
The motion sensors in his room have been tripped, as a flashing alert at the bottom of the screen tells him. Perhaps he did wake Alfred -- or the old man is merely beginning his day -- but he doesn't want to face him. Not right now.
"Full genetic breakdown..." Bruce murmurs, glaring at the report onscreen. His thoughts, once again, turn self-flagellating, 'You're smarter than this. You're better than this. Figure it out!'
****
The answer, when it comes, is obvious and beautiful.
The cloning process is inadequate for dealing with Kryptonian DNA. By its very method, it introduces an instability to the alien genetic code that leads to breakdown. The Kryptonian samples must be stabilized by human DNA in order to survive the process intact.
Bruce reads the information on the screen and laughs with disbelief. It's so perfect. He hides his face in his hands and laughs, and cries. He cries, and it's grief and relief all at once, tears he can't stop. He can only let them run their course.
An alert flashes on the screen and triggers an audible low buzz of warning, and Bruce hurriedly wipes off his face and pulls up his cowl before his new Robin pulls into the Cave.
Tim can't know about this. No one can. (Bruce is almost sure that Alfred doesn't know, but even if the old man does, he is just about the only person Bruce can trust to keep this secret.) Batman closes the program window and pulls up information on their current case.
****
Now the danger of discovery is greatest, growing along with the clone in his containment tube. Every single status check shows that the hybrid genetic code is holding stable. Bruce cannot -- will not -- let anyone sabotage this.
He knows he can't grow his best friend back to life in a tube. He knows this boy won't be his lost son returned to him. But it will have to be enough.
The child is far too young to be released yet, even with the accelerated growth rates of a developing clone. Bruce places his hand flat on the glass, knowing this and still longing to touch -- longing to confirm with his own senses that the child lives and breathes. The boy's face is mostly Clark's, but the shades of Jason in his features make Bruce's heart ache.
No. Not his lost son.
But Bruce can't help already loving the child.
*-*-*-*-*
Part Two
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no subject
on 2012-04-15 15:45 (UTC)no subject
on 2012-04-15 16:03 (UTC)I'm so pleased. And starting to think that the only Bruce I can write is either Pre-Crisis or utterly broken. XD
no subject
on 2012-04-16 20:44 (UTC)no subject
on 2012-04-16 21:08 (UTC)Kon did appear! Well... alt!Kon... but the clone Bruce made is gonna be the only "Superboy" for this AU. <3