Batman - Oneira 6
Title: Oneira
Author: Shaded Mazoku.
Email: herukatto@hotmail.com.
Part: 6/?
Disclaimer: Characters and some background belong to DC comics and Warner Bros. I’m merely playing in their sandbox for a while.
Warnings: None.
Rating: PG for now.
Summary: "Dreams say what they mean, but they don't say it in daytime language." - Gail Godwin
Pairing(s): Wayne/Crane…
Fandom: Batman (mix and match)
Notes: No, not dead yet. I just have a lot of things taking up my time.
Chapter 1* Chapter 2* Chapter 3* Chapter 4* Chapter 5
Bruce locked himself in his study when he came back.
It wasn't that he wouldn't have been delighted to spend more time with his parents, he really would, but he had a lot of thinking to do. This whole situation was starting to really mess with his mind, because he couldn't separate dream from reality any more.
One one hand, he had vivid memories from his life as Batman. Very vivid. If he looked at himself, he could see scars on his body and pinpoint exactly which fight with which enemy he'd gotten them from. He could remember the feeling of swinging through the chilly Gotham nights, the air icy against the unprotected parts of his face.
But on the other hand, the scar on his thigh he'd gotten from one of the Joker's razor sharp cards, he also remembered having gotten from walking into the busted fender of his car after he accidentally drove into a cast iron bench. He had claw marks on his back that he might have gotten from Catwoman, or he might have gotten them from foolishly showing off for Andrea at a circus show, volunteering to help out with lynxes.
Sighing, he grabbed a notepad and a pen and started writing down the stuff he was actually certain about, along with a comparison of the two different set of memories he had. If he was ever going to figure this out, he needed a clear head, and right now, his mind was so cluttered it wasn't even funny. Once again, he decided he'd better ask Jonathan sometime.
It was utterly frustrating, though. As Batman, he'd always had an extremely focused mind, and now he couldn't seem to focus on anything. At least not on his memories, which was what he really needed to focus on, because the uncertainty of it all was slowly driving him mad.
Insanity had always been one of his biggest fears. It still was. Especially the idea of slowly loosing his mind without being able to do anything at all about it. Being trapped in a mind that was spiralling slowly downwards, leaving him the same sort of wretch as the villains he might have caught once. The whole Batman thing was balancing precariously on the thin line between sanity and insanity, and it had always scared him. Not enough to make him give up, though he'd certainly wanted to a few times, but more than enough to make him acutely aware of the risks.
He had to constantly keep watching himself so he wouldn't slip up.
Getting a break from that was a blessing. But it was hard for him to believe that it was true. He didn't exactly have a good record when it came to blessings. They usually ended up being poison apples.
The very idea that all his usual foes were not insane, but stable individuals in a safe and peaceful environment was really too good to be true. A world where Harvey was sane and happily married, where he was good friends with Jonathan and had friendly arguments with Pamela Isely over environmental politics was not a world he'd ever expected to see, and definitely not to live in. He had no idea how to handle it. Safe, sane and happy friends, and a family who never died. A childhood not spent wondering why, but instead spent playing Cowboys and Indians with Harvey and Thomas Elliot.
It seemed almost impossible to begin to take in.
Groaning, Bruce slumped further into his chair and buried his face in his hands. This was just too confusing.
A knock on his the door brought him out of his daze. “Yes?” He called, looking at the closed door.
“You have a visitor, Master Bruce,” came Alfred's voice from the other side of the door, sounding slightly bemused. “She's most insistent, I might add.”
She?Andrea wasn't returning for another two days, and he wasn't sure who else it might be. His memory was still sketchy at best, but he was fairly sure he didn't have that many female friends. The only ones he really remembered were Grace Dent and Pamela Isely, neither of which he spent all that much time with, and he doubted either of them would come there uninvited.
Bruce got up and walked over, unlocking the door. “Let her in, Alfred.”
Almost immediately, a blonde blur slipped past him and into the room, seating herself on his desk. “Hiya, Bruce,” she chirped, waving cheerfully at him.
Blinking, he watched her dazedly for a while, before the appearance matched up with his memories. “Dr. Quinzel?” She didn't quite look like he remembered, but at the same time, he did, and damn if that wasn't causing a headache of dimensions.
She laughed. “Damn, Jonathan wasn't overdoing it when he said you'd gotten your head all scrambled,” she said with a chuckle. “Of course, he didn't quite use those words, but you know Johnny. He talks like a text book.”
She didn't like it when people called her by her last name outside of work situations. He remembered that now. She'd scolded him for it before. “Harley,” he tried again.
That got him a grin. “That's better. No need for formalities.” She kicked her legs playfully. “Jonathan said you were having some odd dream issues, and guess who took courses in dream analysis?”
Bruce couldn't help but smile. Harley had always had infectiously good humour. “Do you really think that analysing my dreams can help me?” He'd never thought much of the idea of dreams having important messages, but he supposed it was possible. There was quite a lot of evidence of the subconsciousness having information the rest of the brain was unaware of.
Harley eyed him. “Well, it's kind of hit or miss. It really works wonders for some people, for others it does nothing. But look at it this way; it can't really hurt, can it?” She pulled a notepad out of her bag and held it up for him to see. “What do you say?”
With a sigh, Bruce went back to his chair and sat down. “Where do we start?”
Author: Shaded Mazoku.
Email: herukatto@hotmail.com.
Part: 6/?
Disclaimer: Characters and some background belong to DC comics and Warner Bros. I’m merely playing in their sandbox for a while.
Warnings: None.
Rating: PG for now.
Summary: "Dreams say what they mean, but they don't say it in daytime language." - Gail Godwin
Pairing(s): Wayne/Crane…
Fandom: Batman (mix and match)
Notes: No, not dead yet. I just have a lot of things taking up my time.
Chapter 1* Chapter 2* Chapter 3* Chapter 4* Chapter 5
Bruce locked himself in his study when he came back.
It wasn't that he wouldn't have been delighted to spend more time with his parents, he really would, but he had a lot of thinking to do. This whole situation was starting to really mess with his mind, because he couldn't separate dream from reality any more.
One one hand, he had vivid memories from his life as Batman. Very vivid. If he looked at himself, he could see scars on his body and pinpoint exactly which fight with which enemy he'd gotten them from. He could remember the feeling of swinging through the chilly Gotham nights, the air icy against the unprotected parts of his face.
But on the other hand, the scar on his thigh he'd gotten from one of the Joker's razor sharp cards, he also remembered having gotten from walking into the busted fender of his car after he accidentally drove into a cast iron bench. He had claw marks on his back that he might have gotten from Catwoman, or he might have gotten them from foolishly showing off for Andrea at a circus show, volunteering to help out with lynxes.
Sighing, he grabbed a notepad and a pen and started writing down the stuff he was actually certain about, along with a comparison of the two different set of memories he had. If he was ever going to figure this out, he needed a clear head, and right now, his mind was so cluttered it wasn't even funny. Once again, he decided he'd better ask Jonathan sometime.
It was utterly frustrating, though. As Batman, he'd always had an extremely focused mind, and now he couldn't seem to focus on anything. At least not on his memories, which was what he really needed to focus on, because the uncertainty of it all was slowly driving him mad.
Insanity had always been one of his biggest fears. It still was. Especially the idea of slowly loosing his mind without being able to do anything at all about it. Being trapped in a mind that was spiralling slowly downwards, leaving him the same sort of wretch as the villains he might have caught once. The whole Batman thing was balancing precariously on the thin line between sanity and insanity, and it had always scared him. Not enough to make him give up, though he'd certainly wanted to a few times, but more than enough to make him acutely aware of the risks.
He had to constantly keep watching himself so he wouldn't slip up.
Getting a break from that was a blessing. But it was hard for him to believe that it was true. He didn't exactly have a good record when it came to blessings. They usually ended up being poison apples.
The very idea that all his usual foes were not insane, but stable individuals in a safe and peaceful environment was really too good to be true. A world where Harvey was sane and happily married, where he was good friends with Jonathan and had friendly arguments with Pamela Isely over environmental politics was not a world he'd ever expected to see, and definitely not to live in. He had no idea how to handle it. Safe, sane and happy friends, and a family who never died. A childhood not spent wondering why, but instead spent playing Cowboys and Indians with Harvey and Thomas Elliot.
It seemed almost impossible to begin to take in.
Groaning, Bruce slumped further into his chair and buried his face in his hands. This was just too confusing.
A knock on his the door brought him out of his daze. “Yes?” He called, looking at the closed door.
“You have a visitor, Master Bruce,” came Alfred's voice from the other side of the door, sounding slightly bemused. “She's most insistent, I might add.”
She?Andrea wasn't returning for another two days, and he wasn't sure who else it might be. His memory was still sketchy at best, but he was fairly sure he didn't have that many female friends. The only ones he really remembered were Grace Dent and Pamela Isely, neither of which he spent all that much time with, and he doubted either of them would come there uninvited.
Bruce got up and walked over, unlocking the door. “Let her in, Alfred.”
Almost immediately, a blonde blur slipped past him and into the room, seating herself on his desk. “Hiya, Bruce,” she chirped, waving cheerfully at him.
Blinking, he watched her dazedly for a while, before the appearance matched up with his memories. “Dr. Quinzel?” She didn't quite look like he remembered, but at the same time, he did, and damn if that wasn't causing a headache of dimensions.
She laughed. “Damn, Jonathan wasn't overdoing it when he said you'd gotten your head all scrambled,” she said with a chuckle. “Of course, he didn't quite use those words, but you know Johnny. He talks like a text book.”
She didn't like it when people called her by her last name outside of work situations. He remembered that now. She'd scolded him for it before. “Harley,” he tried again.
That got him a grin. “That's better. No need for formalities.” She kicked her legs playfully. “Jonathan said you were having some odd dream issues, and guess who took courses in dream analysis?”
Bruce couldn't help but smile. Harley had always had infectiously good humour. “Do you really think that analysing my dreams can help me?” He'd never thought much of the idea of dreams having important messages, but he supposed it was possible. There was quite a lot of evidence of the subconsciousness having information the rest of the brain was unaware of.
Harley eyed him. “Well, it's kind of hit or miss. It really works wonders for some people, for others it does nothing. But look at it this way; it can't really hurt, can it?” She pulled a notepad out of her bag and held it up for him to see. “What do you say?”
With a sigh, Bruce went back to his chair and sat down. “Where do we start?”