(FIC) Age of heroes (Batman, PG-13)
Quick story that jij helped me shape up after a lot of thinking about Earth 51. Thanks to Dan and Jen for the beta! *prods wombat for coda*
Title: Age of heroes
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Batman, Superman, Jason Todd.
Spoilers: For Earth 51.
Warnings: Death fic. But then, this *is* Earth 51.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1000+
Summary: What happened to the other heroes in Earth 51?
ETA: damos is a master of the death-fic, and wrote a Coda for this: Echoes of the Last Age. <3 Dan!
Age of Heroes
The room is cold, much colder than the rest of the Cave. A low hum drowns every other noise, the muted note steady, unchanging.
Frozen in time.
He stands in front of the case, gloved hands fisted by his sides. A wind current picks up his cape, bringing motion to the otherwise-still chamber. Outside, a storm is raging. Thunder and rain, like screams and tears from the sky, a clamor for the heroes lost. Bright. Loyal. Brave.
His breathing is calm and slow. He broke once, long ago, the lesson finally learned. The world will destroy all that is good, a monster born every second. Thieves, murderers, rapists, torturers, warmongers, terrorists, assassins. All it takes is one bad day. Sometimes, not even that. Grief or a sense of entitlement, boredom, lust or greed. Humankind is plagued by monsters, and yet they can’t be brought to care. The good people turn away, letting the monsters do as they please.
And the heroes, the good and the just… the innocent… the only ones that cared…
Destroyed, consumed, like dry kindling in a raging fire. Madness and crime took Batman’s partner, Bruce’s son, just like it took everything else from him, and he broke. He can’t believe anymore, can’t find hope for such a world, can’t trust people to bring themselves to care about their own destiny, their own safety and happiness.
He can’t leave the decisions in their hands anymore. They had their chance, and they failed. Failed him, failed Jason, failed the hundreds of thousands that have died before, victims of humanity’s own atrocities, man against man.
Bruce has fought as legend and myth against men and monsters.
It has cost him his family, his joy.
It wasn’t just Joker that killed Jason Todd. It was hope and trust that enabled the kill. It was the people of Gotham, who would never sentence Joker as the mass murderer he was. It was the system that would let him out time and time again. In a perfect world, Bruce wouldn’t have had to turn into a killer, wouldn’t have had to cross the lines he never meant to cross.
But hope has failed him for the last time. He will never let another hero fall, won’t let another child full of hope die horribly at the hands of a monster.
He reaches out, touching the cold case, the figure inside it a frozen statue. Pale skin like marble, the bright colors dimmed in the harsh, cold light.
“I’m not sorry,” he whispers, fingers tracing the outline of a black curl over the glass. “You won’t understand. You never did. Once the last monster dies… you’ll be free. Free to protect a world that finally deserves you. They won’t stop the madness, and we couldn’t, either.” His hand falls, leaving a trail of clean glass as he wipes the condensation on the case.
“I did what I had to do. It will be a better world. But they still need you.”
His eyes are fixed on the dark hair and the full lips of the man, the strong line of his wide shoulders, the symbol of hope on Superman’s chest. He’s mapping the image, hoping to brand it into his mind. He wants this to be the last thing he sees when he goes. It would be a kind passing, if he could grab on to this, the beloved image of one he has long left behind.
“It’s better if you hate me. They will trust you, and you won’t have to lie to them. I know there will be others. Madmen and monsters. They just… they never stop. But you will be there to stop them, and I will have left a legacy of fear. Of possibilities. I hope it’s enough.”
He sighs, seeming defeated for a moment, but the moment doesn’t last; he squares his shoulders again, ruthless determination in every fiber of his body.
“It has to be enough. Don’t let it go to waste.”
Batman turns around, leaving the cold hall, the black cape rustling behind him. Darkness falls over the room, and he never comes back.
---
Morning comes to Gotham with ghastly news. Arkham has been raided, sleeping gas deployed inside the facilities. The already thinning staff and the wardens were removed before the levels of toxicity turned lethal, while the criminally insane -the monsters that plagued Gotham’s streets and the nightmares other cities dumped in the infamous Asylum- lay all dead on their beds.
They are not the first, nor the last.
Gotham breathes a little bit easier.
---
Seeing Jason alive does nothing to change Batman’s plans. That his son -his joy, his heart- is still alive in another world, another life, doesn’t make his death any less real, or the Joker any less guilty.
Batman has killed those without possibility of redemption, in hopes that those that can find it will be moved to do so. He laid Harvey Dent’s body on the floor of a warehouse a month ago, saying goodbye to a man he had, for a long time, saved hope for. There is no turning back. Jason told him Bruce Wayne is dead, that he had turned into everything he had vowed to fight against, and Batman can’t find it in himself to explain that he’s only doing what needs to be done.
This is not revenge, even if it started as that. Batman never wanted to be jury, judge and executioner, but he can’t let any more innocents die. Jason’s death could have been prevented if he had stopped hoping earlier. Now hope is frozen, the winter of the heart keeping it asleep, waiting for a spring that he knows will come soon.
One last monster, and hope will thaw, ready to inspire greatness again.
Batman catches a glimpse of Kal before Ultraman kills him, and he smiles.
His vitals stop, his body begins to cool, and a signal is sent to the Cave. The room with the cases comes alive, the low hum of machinery stops, the stasis broken. One by one, the heroes breathe again, flesh and clay, guardians and champions from distant planets, metahumans, Batman’s own first son.
On the battle field, Jason Todd cradles the body of the last monster while a new age of heroes dawns on Earth 51.
Title: Age of heroes
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Batman, Superman, Jason Todd.
Spoilers: For Earth 51.
Warnings: Death fic. But then, this *is* Earth 51.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1000+
Summary: What happened to the other heroes in Earth 51?
ETA: damos is a master of the death-fic, and wrote a Coda for this: Echoes of the Last Age. <3 Dan!
Age of Heroes
The room is cold, much colder than the rest of the Cave. A low hum drowns every other noise, the muted note steady, unchanging.
Frozen in time.
He stands in front of the case, gloved hands fisted by his sides. A wind current picks up his cape, bringing motion to the otherwise-still chamber. Outside, a storm is raging. Thunder and rain, like screams and tears from the sky, a clamor for the heroes lost. Bright. Loyal. Brave.
His breathing is calm and slow. He broke once, long ago, the lesson finally learned. The world will destroy all that is good, a monster born every second. Thieves, murderers, rapists, torturers, warmongers, terrorists, assassins. All it takes is one bad day. Sometimes, not even that. Grief or a sense of entitlement, boredom, lust or greed. Humankind is plagued by monsters, and yet they can’t be brought to care. The good people turn away, letting the monsters do as they please.
And the heroes, the good and the just… the innocent… the only ones that cared…
Destroyed, consumed, like dry kindling in a raging fire. Madness and crime took Batman’s partner, Bruce’s son, just like it took everything else from him, and he broke. He can’t believe anymore, can’t find hope for such a world, can’t trust people to bring themselves to care about their own destiny, their own safety and happiness.
He can’t leave the decisions in their hands anymore. They had their chance, and they failed. Failed him, failed Jason, failed the hundreds of thousands that have died before, victims of humanity’s own atrocities, man against man.
Bruce has fought as legend and myth against men and monsters.
It has cost him his family, his joy.
It wasn’t just Joker that killed Jason Todd. It was hope and trust that enabled the kill. It was the people of Gotham, who would never sentence Joker as the mass murderer he was. It was the system that would let him out time and time again. In a perfect world, Bruce wouldn’t have had to turn into a killer, wouldn’t have had to cross the lines he never meant to cross.
But hope has failed him for the last time. He will never let another hero fall, won’t let another child full of hope die horribly at the hands of a monster.
He reaches out, touching the cold case, the figure inside it a frozen statue. Pale skin like marble, the bright colors dimmed in the harsh, cold light.
“I’m not sorry,” he whispers, fingers tracing the outline of a black curl over the glass. “You won’t understand. You never did. Once the last monster dies… you’ll be free. Free to protect a world that finally deserves you. They won’t stop the madness, and we couldn’t, either.” His hand falls, leaving a trail of clean glass as he wipes the condensation on the case.
“I did what I had to do. It will be a better world. But they still need you.”
His eyes are fixed on the dark hair and the full lips of the man, the strong line of his wide shoulders, the symbol of hope on Superman’s chest. He’s mapping the image, hoping to brand it into his mind. He wants this to be the last thing he sees when he goes. It would be a kind passing, if he could grab on to this, the beloved image of one he has long left behind.
“It’s better if you hate me. They will trust you, and you won’t have to lie to them. I know there will be others. Madmen and monsters. They just… they never stop. But you will be there to stop them, and I will have left a legacy of fear. Of possibilities. I hope it’s enough.”
He sighs, seeming defeated for a moment, but the moment doesn’t last; he squares his shoulders again, ruthless determination in every fiber of his body.
“It has to be enough. Don’t let it go to waste.”
Batman turns around, leaving the cold hall, the black cape rustling behind him. Darkness falls over the room, and he never comes back.
---
Morning comes to Gotham with ghastly news. Arkham has been raided, sleeping gas deployed inside the facilities. The already thinning staff and the wardens were removed before the levels of toxicity turned lethal, while the criminally insane -the monsters that plagued Gotham’s streets and the nightmares other cities dumped in the infamous Asylum- lay all dead on their beds.
They are not the first, nor the last.
Gotham breathes a little bit easier.
---
Seeing Jason alive does nothing to change Batman’s plans. That his son -his joy, his heart- is still alive in another world, another life, doesn’t make his death any less real, or the Joker any less guilty.
Batman has killed those without possibility of redemption, in hopes that those that can find it will be moved to do so. He laid Harvey Dent’s body on the floor of a warehouse a month ago, saying goodbye to a man he had, for a long time, saved hope for. There is no turning back. Jason told him Bruce Wayne is dead, that he had turned into everything he had vowed to fight against, and Batman can’t find it in himself to explain that he’s only doing what needs to be done.
This is not revenge, even if it started as that. Batman never wanted to be jury, judge and executioner, but he can’t let any more innocents die. Jason’s death could have been prevented if he had stopped hoping earlier. Now hope is frozen, the winter of the heart keeping it asleep, waiting for a spring that he knows will come soon.
One last monster, and hope will thaw, ready to inspire greatness again.
Batman catches a glimpse of Kal before Ultraman kills him, and he smiles.
His vitals stop, his body begins to cool, and a signal is sent to the Cave. The room with the cases comes alive, the low hum of machinery stops, the stasis broken. One by one, the heroes breathe again, flesh and clay, guardians and champions from distant planets, metahumans, Batman’s own first son.
On the battle field, Jason Todd cradles the body of the last monster while a new age of heroes dawns on Earth 51.