(FIC) Infinite (Bruce, PG-13)
This ficlet (drabblet?) was double the length but... it was... I don't know, gave away too much. So I trimmed it. And trimmed it. Aaand then trimmed it some more. I'm not sure if it makes sense outside my head anymore, so, uh, sorry? Bruce got all Groundhog Day on me, and not in a good way. Also, you all probably know how much I love Owlman.
Title: Infinite
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Bruce Wayne
Word Count: 640
Warning: Post Final Crisis, sort of. AUish. Mostly me just playing with Morrison's landscape. Not in an exceptionally happy way! Unbeta'ed. Point, I correct!
Summary: There are times when dying is not the worst thing in the world.
He’d never wanted to take a life.
But then, things rarely develop in ways that have anything to do with what he wants. He does what he has to do, what needs to be done.
He'd never been one for metaphysical considerations. It just had seemed a waste of time. The dead are dead, and they live on in memories, but that’s all he can be sure of. He has seen too many things; people coming back to life, people living forever, ghosts, living dead and…
He has killed a god, so he thinks he’s excused for not having any special beliefs on the Beyond.
He wakes up on Earth, and everything seems to be okay, which means that it isn’t. Odd, how the quality of light can tell him so much, especially when he has been away from it for so long.
He can tell it's way before Darkseid, and Granny Goodness, and torture. It's way before fire, and madness, and the cold darkness that kept him from falling apart. It was before Jez, before everything went to hell and back. Again.
He runs into himself and tries to give the other Bruce warning of all that is to come. He doesn’t know what to say, though he tries. At least the first dozen of times.
After a while, it becomes obvious that all warning is futile. He’s trapped in a loop, never having enough information. Too much had been put into motion well before his point of arrival.
It’s three months before his apparent death, and each time he sees himself slip into darkness and failure without being able the do much. Each time everything changes just enough that he’s never on time or in the right place to affect the final outcome.
He observes. He’s starting to feel quite mad. Pain, frustration, loneliness. He’s an outsider now, out of his time. Every time he goes back to the starting point -it’s three months before his apparent death again, and maybe this time he’ll get it right- he feels a little more unstable. Maybe he’s just a piece of a larger plan, being shaped into what they need him to be. Maybe he’s still in Granny Goodness Parademon labs. Maybe he’s still lost in the darkness that kept his mind from shattering.
He’s not sure of what is real and what isn’t, this time around. It all seems like a dream. He doesn’t want to be alone anymore, he needs to make sure he’s real. Do something different. Approach the problem from a different angle.
Three months isn’t a long time, but he has resources. He didn’t quite plan for this contingency, but he planned for others that required much of the same. He needs funding that can’t be tracked, and he knows his self in this timeline has his hands too full to notice the activity.
He dons the cape and the cowl. The goggles cover his eyes completely, which is a good thing. If the eyes are the mirror of the soul, then he’s clearly in the need of some redemption. He smiles, and that’s a little wrong too. It doesn’t matter.
He adjusts the plated feathers of the cape. They don’t fall quite right on their own, he’ll have to make modifications to the costume, but overall, he thinks its fine. He’s an Outsider now. He won’t intervene. He’ll bide his time, wait and see, maybe there’s a way out of the loop yet.
It gets easier every time he has to start over.
He doesn’t know if the Omega beam is reflecting Darkseid’s will, or his own, or just a cruel joke of the universe. At this point, the only fate worse than dying is living forever.
He’s going to find a way out of it, somehow.
He has all the time in the world.
Title: Infinite
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Bruce Wayne
Word Count: 640
Warning: Post Final Crisis, sort of. AUish. Mostly me just playing with Morrison's landscape. Not in an exceptionally happy way! Unbeta'ed. Point, I correct!
Summary: There are times when dying is not the worst thing in the world.
He’d never wanted to take a life.
But then, things rarely develop in ways that have anything to do with what he wants. He does what he has to do, what needs to be done.
He'd never been one for metaphysical considerations. It just had seemed a waste of time. The dead are dead, and they live on in memories, but that’s all he can be sure of. He has seen too many things; people coming back to life, people living forever, ghosts, living dead and…
He has killed a god, so he thinks he’s excused for not having any special beliefs on the Beyond.
He wakes up on Earth, and everything seems to be okay, which means that it isn’t. Odd, how the quality of light can tell him so much, especially when he has been away from it for so long.
He can tell it's way before Darkseid, and Granny Goodness, and torture. It's way before fire, and madness, and the cold darkness that kept him from falling apart. It was before Jez, before everything went to hell and back. Again.
He runs into himself and tries to give the other Bruce warning of all that is to come. He doesn’t know what to say, though he tries. At least the first dozen of times.
After a while, it becomes obvious that all warning is futile. He’s trapped in a loop, never having enough information. Too much had been put into motion well before his point of arrival.
It’s three months before his apparent death, and each time he sees himself slip into darkness and failure without being able the do much. Each time everything changes just enough that he’s never on time or in the right place to affect the final outcome.
He observes. He’s starting to feel quite mad. Pain, frustration, loneliness. He’s an outsider now, out of his time. Every time he goes back to the starting point -it’s three months before his apparent death again, and maybe this time he’ll get it right- he feels a little more unstable. Maybe he’s just a piece of a larger plan, being shaped into what they need him to be. Maybe he’s still in Granny Goodness Parademon labs. Maybe he’s still lost in the darkness that kept his mind from shattering.
He’s not sure of what is real and what isn’t, this time around. It all seems like a dream. He doesn’t want to be alone anymore, he needs to make sure he’s real. Do something different. Approach the problem from a different angle.
Three months isn’t a long time, but he has resources. He didn’t quite plan for this contingency, but he planned for others that required much of the same. He needs funding that can’t be tracked, and he knows his self in this timeline has his hands too full to notice the activity.
He dons the cape and the cowl. The goggles cover his eyes completely, which is a good thing. If the eyes are the mirror of the soul, then he’s clearly in the need of some redemption. He smiles, and that’s a little wrong too. It doesn’t matter.
He adjusts the plated feathers of the cape. They don’t fall quite right on their own, he’ll have to make modifications to the costume, but overall, he thinks its fine. He’s an Outsider now. He won’t intervene. He’ll bide his time, wait and see, maybe there’s a way out of the loop yet.
It gets easier every time he has to start over.
He doesn’t know if the Omega beam is reflecting Darkseid’s will, or his own, or just a cruel joke of the universe. At this point, the only fate worse than dying is living forever.
He’s going to find a way out of it, somehow.
He has all the time in the world.