(FIC) Turn of the Tide
There. My anger has been exorcised. Batman shall die like the rest of us, and you know what? He's still my hero.
Fandom: DC
Characters: Batman, Two Face
Rating: R
Summary: He went without fanfare, and so the world moved on.
Warnings: Death-fic. Unbeta'ed.
Word Count: 437
AN: Bruce is just a man, and no one is indispensable. Also, humanity is like cockroaches and we refuse to change or die.
Turn of the Tide
It wasn’t a grand event. No alien invasion, no Justice League mission, not even a big rogue team up.
It wasn’t something surprising, either. No small-time crook getting lucky, no accidental explosion in the night.
In the end, it was just the short straw, the odds finally catching up with him. It could happen to any of them, any night: Nightwing, Robin, Huntress, Batgirl. Any of them could die. Some of them had.
In the end, it was simply Batman’s turn. One of the hundreds of plans the Arkham regulars plotted out finally got the best of him. He was outnumbered, as usual, he fought hard, as usual, and he fell like never before.
His hands were broken and bleeding under the mismatched shoe of Two Face. Batman stared at Death in the eyes, and saw everything he had fought for on the face of his long lost friend: the chance to save others from pain was over; the fight for the good side of humanity was ending with a gun pointed to his unprotected face.
Each breath could be his last, and his lungs were on fire, cracked ribs digging into his flesh. There was pain, but not even excruciating pain, nothing out of the ordinary. He would go the way he had lived, in the middle of the never ending fight.
It wouldn’t make a difference. He had no regrets.
Two Face shot. The sound of gunfire resonated in the warehouse, present only for those there, and only for a moment. Then it was gone, only the memory of gunpowder remaining, gunpowder and an expanding pool of blood on the floor. Two Face told his henchmen to leave, staring at the body of his old friend, unable to look away.
Once he was alone in the dark, Two Face fell to his knees and wept. He clutched the cowl he had removed earlier, his sobs echoing in the shadows.
A few minutes later, he stood up, his black and grey/white and black mismatched trousers stained with blood, and walked towards the door. He stood there for a moment, a silhouette against the night sky, the trophy cowl still in his hand. “Goodbye, my friend,” he whispered.
He closed the door.
Life went on. The world didn’t end. Gotham had other heroes to protect her.
The Batman cowl ended up mounted in a wall in the Iceberg. The rogues threw loops at the mount, and if they didn’t miss any of their shots, their drink was on the house.
Jason Todd killed Two Face two months later.
There was never another Batman.
The tide kept turning.
Fandom: DC
Characters: Batman, Two Face
Rating: R
Summary: He went without fanfare, and so the world moved on.
Warnings: Death-fic. Unbeta'ed.
Word Count: 437
AN: Bruce is just a man, and no one is indispensable. Also, humanity is like cockroaches and we refuse to change or die.
Turn of the Tide
It wasn’t a grand event. No alien invasion, no Justice League mission, not even a big rogue team up.
It wasn’t something surprising, either. No small-time crook getting lucky, no accidental explosion in the night.
In the end, it was just the short straw, the odds finally catching up with him. It could happen to any of them, any night: Nightwing, Robin, Huntress, Batgirl. Any of them could die. Some of them had.
In the end, it was simply Batman’s turn. One of the hundreds of plans the Arkham regulars plotted out finally got the best of him. He was outnumbered, as usual, he fought hard, as usual, and he fell like never before.
His hands were broken and bleeding under the mismatched shoe of Two Face. Batman stared at Death in the eyes, and saw everything he had fought for on the face of his long lost friend: the chance to save others from pain was over; the fight for the good side of humanity was ending with a gun pointed to his unprotected face.
Each breath could be his last, and his lungs were on fire, cracked ribs digging into his flesh. There was pain, but not even excruciating pain, nothing out of the ordinary. He would go the way he had lived, in the middle of the never ending fight.
It wouldn’t make a difference. He had no regrets.
Two Face shot. The sound of gunfire resonated in the warehouse, present only for those there, and only for a moment. Then it was gone, only the memory of gunpowder remaining, gunpowder and an expanding pool of blood on the floor. Two Face told his henchmen to leave, staring at the body of his old friend, unable to look away.
Once he was alone in the dark, Two Face fell to his knees and wept. He clutched the cowl he had removed earlier, his sobs echoing in the shadows.
A few minutes later, he stood up, his black and grey/white and black mismatched trousers stained with blood, and walked towards the door. He stood there for a moment, a silhouette against the night sky, the trophy cowl still in his hand. “Goodbye, my friend,” he whispered.
He closed the door.
Life went on. The world didn’t end. Gotham had other heroes to protect her.
The Batman cowl ended up mounted in a wall in the Iceberg. The rogues threw loops at the mount, and if they didn’t miss any of their shots, their drink was on the house.
Jason Todd killed Two Face two months later.
There was never another Batman.
The tide kept turning.