Heroes of the Squared Circle 54: Euphoria
Title: Euphoria
Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Harvey Dent
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion ( click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 3500
Summary: The DCW begins to plan a Royal Rumble, and Nightwing and Two-Face square off for the championship belt.
What is portrayed by wrestling is therefore an ideal understanding of things; it is the euphoria of men raised for a while above the constitutive ambiguity of everyday situations and placed before the panoramic view of a univocal Nature, in which signs at last correspond to causes, without obstacle, without evasion, without contradiction. --Roland Barthes
“Tonight,” announced Glorious Godfrey from backstage, throwing an arm out wide, “We witness the culmination of the tournament to decide who shall bear the champion’s gold! Whose strength of will is paramount! Who shall be the ruler of all of the DCW! Will it be the mighty and glorious Two-Face?” He paused to let the boos of the crowd build. “Or will it be the scrappy, plucky Nightwing?” As the audience cheered, he pulled a face. “Yes, well. The unwashed masses have spoken, but the only factor that truly matters is the strength of sinew of the warriors tonight!”
He took a few steps toward a cloth-covered object on a table, smiling benignly. “But first, the lottery for the order of next week’s Royal Rumble! Now, for the benefit of--” he coughed delicately, “--the less enlightened among us, a Royal Rumble is a gruelling gladiatorial combat that only the strongest can survive. Thirty wrestlers, pitted against each other in mortal combat! Only if a wrestler is thrown over the ropes and both feet hit the ground is he eliminated. And yet there is as well an element of luck, for each wrestler enters at 90-second intervals, in an order to be chosen randomly this very evening!”
With a flourish, he whisked the cloth off to reveal a lottery machine. “Each wrestler in the Rumble will arrive to pick a ball that reveals the order of precedence. May the lucky and the strong flourish, and hail mighty Darkseid!” he finished hurriedly as the camera cut away.
“Gimmick matches,” Clark said with some distaste, glancing up at the monitor from the table in catering.
“You’ve just never forgiven Max Lord for that tuxedo match,” Bruce said absently as he put far too much pepper in his soup.
“It was embarrassing,” Clark muttered.
“Well, a Royal Rumble is gimmicky, sure, but it has some great opportunities for storytelling, so I don’t mind. Sh,” Bruce said as Clark opened his mouth again, “It’s Dick’s promo.”
Clark sighed slightly and focused on the screen, where the promotional video to set up the match between Nightwing and Two-Face had just started: a subtle sepia wash and slow-motion editing making it clear that this was a recap of long-ago events, just in case the presence of Dick Grayson in his Robin costume wasn’t enough. “My first match as your partner in the DCW, golly!” announced Robin at the side of the Dark Knight, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We’ll kick that deranged, duplicitous doppelgänger’s behind!" He smacked his fist into the palm of his hand, grinning, but the Dark Knight looked concerned.
"You shouldn't take Two-Face lightly, chum,” said the Dark Knight, resting his hand on his sidekick’s shoulder. "Harvey Dent is one of the most dangerous foes I have ever encountered, and you should never underestimate him." He shook Robin's shoulder lightly, warning him. "I don't want you to get involved, do you understand me?"
"Awwwww," sighed Robin, looking downcast. "But I--"
"Don't argue with me," said the Dark Knight, his voice rough."You stay out of the way."
After a moment, Robin nodded, but it was clear he had not taken his mentor's words to heart. And indeed, as the vignette continued the audience saw well-remembered events unfold once more on the screen. Once again, the Dark Knight hung on the ropes, beaten and battered. Once again, as the two lackeys currently in his employ, Duo and Dos, continued to assault the helpless Dark Knight, a transcendently furious Two-Face raged out into the audience, seizing an "innocent bystander" and putting him in a headlock. "This is all your fault, Dark Knight!" cried Two-Face, preparing to deliver his devastating finisher to the struggling audience member. "You have driven me to this!"
Clark watched as the promo package showed a young Robin charging toward the ring, his yellow cape fluttering behind him. The crowd popped hard for him as he grabbed Dos and put him in his own headlock, but he was brought up short by an imperious gesture as the villain tightened his hold on the struggling audience member.
“Make your choice, Boy Wonder!” yelled Two-Face, his voice augmented eerily in post-production. “Release my minion (Dos looked somewhat peeved at being called a “minion,” but Two-Face charged on), and I’ll let this sap go. That seems...balanced, don’t you think? There’s a pleasing symmetry to it.”
The camera caught a glimpse of the Dark Knight’s face as he struggled to warn Robin, but Robin couldn’t see him. “Very well, Two-Face,” he said as a bead of sweat slid down the side of his face, “I’ll let him go if you let your hostage go.”
“That seems fair,” Harvey said smoothly. He waited, smiling, as Robin released Dos.
And then he lifted the flailing, screaming audience member and smashed him into the barricade before scooping him up to deliver the Janus Smash, leaving him twitching on the ground. Two-Face stalked over to where Robin was still standing, frozen in horror, and grabbed him by the throat. “I think I’ll make an example of you, boy,” he sneered, and hurled him into another barricade.
As harrowing images of the beat-down Two-Face delivered that day flashed by, the announcer’s voice intoned: “Since then, the boy has become a man. But his mistake still haunts him. Is Nightwing man enough to face his oldest enemy and win the most coveted prize of all?” The gleaming gold insignia of the DCW filled the screen. “Find out…tonight!”
“Luthor might have his doubts about Dick as champion, but he sure makes a damn fine promo,” said Bruce under his voice to Clark as the camera moved to the first match of the night: Pamela Isley taking on Batgirl. He pulled up his cowl. “Well, I’m up for the lottery next.” He grabbed his fork and stole a bite of Clark’s cheesecake, grinning. “Catch you later, brother.”
The Dark Knight’s lips narrowed as he looked at the ball he had plucked from the machine, the bold “1” emblazoned on it. “What a shame,” smirked Godfrey. “You’ll have to outlast twenty-nine other wrestlers to win the Rumble! A bad break for you.”
From slightly to the side, Gorilla Grodd heaved a long-suffering sigh. The former wrestler had been brought in recently to provide play-by-play to contrast with Glorious Godfrey’s color commentating. Now he ran a hand through his thinning hair, shrugged the simian-heavy shoulders that gave him his nickname, and muttered, “As if I didn’t just watch you rig this--” Godfrey elbowed him in the ribs and he rolled his eyes but subsided.
“Yessiree,” Godfrey intoned smugly as the Dark Knight swept his cape around him and exited stage left. “That number-one spot is a serious disadvantage. Too bad for the Caped Crusader.”
The Dark Knight, it was noted on the message boards after the show, looked notably unconcerned about the terrible disadvantage he would be working at.
It was the last promo of the night before the main event, and the crowd was clearly restless as they waited to discover the fate of Nightwing against his nemesis. The Kryptonian stood behind Brainiac, his arms folded, glowering into the middle distance.
“But what is in it for me” Professor Ivo was saying to Brainiac. “Why would I allow your Kryptonian to trade numbers with my all-powerful wrestling android, Amazo?” He gestured behind him at the well-sculpted wrestler with his red hair cut into a neat widow’s peak, his arms crossed in a perfect mirror of the Kryptonian. “Changing from thirty to twenty-six would be to lose quite a large advantage, after all.”
“Now, Professor Ivo,” Brainiac said with a slimy smile. “I think it’s time some of us more…intelligent members of the DCW need to learn to work together. Pool our resources, as it may be.”
“Intelligent? You’re a sideshow fortune teller! A quack!” Ivo snapped.
“Oh, I think you’ll find that I’m much more than that,” said Brainiac. He touched his temple and Ivo’s eyes went wide as he clutched at his head. “Does the enormity of my true nature begin to dawn on you, cretin?” Amazo lurched forward at the sight of his creator’s distress, but the Kryptonian moved to block his way. The crowd had stopped rustling now, breathless at the idea of these two juggernauts meeting.
“Stop!” gasped Ivo, both at Brainiac and at Amazo. “I bow to your superior intellect...for now,” he added under his breath. “I’m willing to give the Kryptonian the coveted number-thirty slot in the Rumble if you will share with me some of your knowledge.”
“This seems an equitable trade,” said Brainiac. “Oh, I ask one other thing of you, Professor,” he said, halting Ivo in his tracks as he attempted to retreat.
“Yes?”
“If the Dark Knight is still in the Rumble when Amazo enters the ring--”
“Oh come now,” scoffed Ivo. “That would require outlasting twenty-five wrestlers. Even the Dark Knight isn’t--”
“--if it were to happen,” Brainiac went on as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “I must demand that Amazo focus all his energy on eliminating the Dark Knight from the ring. He is to throw him over the ropes at all costs, do you hear me? The Dark Knight must not be allowed to confront the Kryptonian.”
Ivo cast a questioning look at the Kryptonian’s impassive face, then shrugged. “All right, Brainiac. I’ll make sure Amazo takes him out. You have nothing to worry about.”
“It’s true,” muttered Brainiac sotto voce as Ivo and Amazo left the scene. “I have nothing at all to worry about--as long as the Dark Knight never gets a chance to talk to the Kryptonian again.”
The camera zoomed in on the Kryptonian’s expressionless face as the scene faded out.
Two-Face glared across the ring at Nightwing, his face split in half by his bizarre paint--Harvey had gone all-out on the paint for this match, and it looked more gruesome than ever before. Turning his “good” side toward the camera, he said, “Look, Grayson, I worked with your parents. You’re a good kid.” Then with an eerily fluid movement, he twisted his head so the glaring monster half of his face pointed to the camera. “But I’m gonna rip you in two tonight!”
The Harvey side faced forward again: “You’ve grown up a lot. Your mentor would be proud.” A twist and Two-Face snarled, “That’s why it’ll rip his heart out to see you crushed under my heel! You’re a weakling, you’re puny, you’re soft--”
“--and although I admire your pluck,” finished Harvey, this time looking straight at the camera so both sides of his face were addressing Nightwing, “I’m afraid I’m not going to let it stop me from beating the hell out of you.”
The words sounded even more chilling spoken in Harvey’s cultured tones, but Nightwing grinned at him, a flash of teeth. “I may be close to half your size, but I’m double the man you’ll ever be, Harvey.”
Two-Face gritted his teeth at the use of his true name. “You insolent runt!” he snarled, and leaped forward.
It was obvious from the beginning that the two were, despite the size difference, evenly matched. What Nightwing lacked in muscle, he made up for in agility, skill, and sheer mad inspiration. The match showcased the strengths of both wrestlers--when Harvey hurled Dick halfway across the ring with his Coin Flip, Clark heard a gasp go up from the crowd. But it was nothing compared to the pop when Two-Face stood on the announcer’s table, taunting Nightwing, and Nightwing launched himself from the turnbuckle like an avenging angel.
For a brief moment the world seemed to stop. Clark heard Bruce suck in a tiny breath. And then Nightwing slammed into Two-Face and sent both of them smashing onto the table.
Harvey’s face contorted with pain--the legit kind of awkward, annoyed pain that marked an actual injury--and a babble of discussion broke out in the common room. “Was it his shoulder?” Selina asked.
“No, one of the monitors caught him on the back,” said Diana. “Watch the replay.”
Indeed, in slow motion you could see how, as Harvey caught Dick and fell backwards, one of the monitors on the table gashed into his upper back. There was a trickle of blood running down the small of his back now.
“Well, that’s a hell of a lot better than tearing a muscle,” Billy Batson observed. On the screen, Two-Face turned on the monitor and kicked it with a level of spite that was probably unfeigned before swinging back to kick Nightwing, who was collapsed against the steps.
“Do you think they’ll shorten the match?” said Kon.
Tim laughed. “Not on your life. They’ll go the full time no matter what.”
Despite the blood, Two-Face showed no sign of letting up on Nightwing. Dragging him back into the ring, he began to pummel him, tossing him like a rag doll. “Here it is,” murmured Bruce. Harvey delivered two elbow drops. Then two clotheslines. Then two legwhips.
The camera caught a glimpse of Dick’s exhausted face, and the dawning realization on it: driven into an incandescent fury, Two-Face was doing every move doubled without realizing it.
“Good work on the camera,” Bruce said.
Nightwing staggered to his feet. As Two-Face moved toward him, he didn’t even dodge; Two-Face caught him up and flipped him so his feet pointed up toward the ceiling before dropping him into a vertical suplex that shook the ring.
Clark could hear the announcers yelling about how Nightwing must be too exhausted to move, that he hadn’t even tried to dodge that move. Nightwing got to his feet again--and this time, as Two-Face stepped forward to deliver the same vertical suplex once more, he was ready for it, knew exactly when Two-Face would be open and vulnerable.
With a twisting arm throw, he used Two-Face’s own momentum to throw him to the mat. In an instant, he had his foe in the Flying Grayson hold, torquing his body into an arc of pain.
The crowd went wild as Two-Face struggled to break the hold, clawing madly toward the edge of the ring. His face, turned so the “evil” side showed, contorted even further with pain and with loathing as he dragged himself, inch by painful inch, toward the ropes. If he could just reach them the referee would call for the hold to be broken--
But Nightwing dragged him back into the middle of the ring, away from safety. Dick’s face was contorted with effort, his shoulders bunched with urgency as he held Two-Face in place, kept putting the pressure on his body. “You can’t beat me!” Nightwing yelled, his voice barely carrying over the sound of the audience’s screams. “I don’t care how big you are, I don’t care how strong you are, I don’t care that you don’t believe I can beat you--you’re going to tap out!” Clark glimpsed a glint of tears in the eyes beneath the blue mask, and at his side he heard Bruce murmur Dick’s name as if it pained him.
For a long moment Two-Face struggled against the hold, pain and fear twisting Harvey’s handsome features under the gruesome paint. The crowd surged and roared like surf. “Almost there,” whispered Bruce. “Almost there…”
Slowly, Two-Face turned his head, as if even that slight movement caused him untold agony. He twisted his neck until the unmarred half of his face was showing. Then he raised his hand and slammed it onto the mat: once, twice, three times. He had submitted to the man who had once been the Boy Wonder. Nightwing was the heavyweight champion of the DCW.
Confetti.
Fireworks.
Fifty thousand voices cheering.
Nightwing stood in the middle of the ring as confetti and streamers fell around him. The referee brought him the belt, gold and heavy and gleaming in the hectic light of the pyro. He hoisted it above his head with an exhilarated smile, the conquering hero soaking in the adulation of the crowd.
Then he looked down at the belt, and Clark saw his face crumple as it sank in, as he realized that this was his. That Luthor had--impossibly, unbelievably--decided to put his faith in a slender acrobat with charisma and attitude. That he had achieved everything that Bruce and his parents had ever dreamed of for him. That he was in the history books forever.
Dick Grayson fell to his knees in the middle of the ring and wept, and the thousands in attendance, the millions watching at home--they wept with him too.
“Do you think he’ll notice if we clear out of the celebration party a little early?”
Clark looked from Bruce to Dick Grayson, surrounded by all his friends. Donna and Kory were beaming, Garth and Wally and Garfield were goofing off, and Victor and Roy looked like they were planning on ambushing him and hoisting him on their shoulders for the third time that evening. Barbara was taking pictures and Tim seemed to be posting to Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook simultaneously. Clark knew without checking that Jason would be trolling him in the comments in all three places. Everyone else was milling around, chatting or coming up to congratulate the new champ--even Harvey was being gracious about his loss and seemed to be planning his new angle (and perhaps vicious revenge) with Ivy and Harley in the corner.
One of the only people conspicuous by his absence was Lex Luthor, who had quietly shaken Dick’s hand after the match, told him he’d had a good match, then disappeared as if watching Dick celebrate was somehow difficult for him. Yet the DCW had booked this room and a caterer, and that open bar was all due to Lex. Baffling as always, Clark thought, shaking his head.
Dick was grinning, the gold belt shining around his waist an incongruous weight against his sharp blue suit coat.
“I’m not sure he’d notice if there was an alien invasion,” Clark said.
Bruce smiled. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Whenever you are.”
“Let me give him our regards.”
He went over to Dick, and his friends backed off to let them talk. Bruce brought his forehead to Dick’s, cradling his head, and spoke to him for a while. Dick nodded and wiped at his eyes, then hugged him, sending a smile and a salute Clark’s way as well.
Bruce stepped away from Dick, but didn’t return to Clark right away. He went over to Harvey Dent and clapped him on the shoulder. Clark couldn’t hear him over the chatter of the party, but he could read “Thank you” on Bruce’s lips, see the wry smile Harvey gave him as they shook hands. Only then did Bruce came back and clap him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”
They were in Washington DC that week, and the summer air was humid and muggy. Clark and Bruce were in suits that quickly grew damp and sticky in the heat; Bruce took his coat off and slung it over his shoulder as they walked along the river. “I know I’ll sleep better tonight,” Bruce said. “Wonder if Lex will.”
“You think he did this for John and Mary?”
Bruce tilted his head. “Not for them, per se. Dick’s the real thing, the best choice, he knows that intellectually. But his gut--his gut’s all mixed up about Dick. He hates that Dick’s still here, still a reminder of his mistakes. And he wants to make it up to him at the same time. Sometimes I wonder…” He shrugged. “Dick grew up in the DCW. Lex watched him grow up, saw how much Dick’s parents loved him. His relationship with his own father was...not like that. Maybe Lex envies him that.”
Clark sighed. Then he forced himself to brighten: being morose wasn’t going to help anything. “Hey,” he said, punching Bruce lightly on the shoulder. “You still haven’t met my parents yet.”
“It’s true,” said Bruce blandly. They walked for a while in silence. Eventually Bruce cast a sidelong glance at him out of the corner of his eye. “Have they ever been to a show?”
Clark laughed. “Now that you mention it, they’re planning on coming to the next Metropolis show.”
“Good,” said Bruce. “If we play our cards right, if this Royal Rumble next week goes well--”
He turned and beamed at Clark, the boyish smile that always made Clark want to kiss him.
“They should be there when Superman makes his debut.”
Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Harvey Dent
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion ( click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 3500
Summary: The DCW begins to plan a Royal Rumble, and Nightwing and Two-Face square off for the championship belt.
What is portrayed by wrestling is therefore an ideal understanding of things; it is the euphoria of men raised for a while above the constitutive ambiguity of everyday situations and placed before the panoramic view of a univocal Nature, in which signs at last correspond to causes, without obstacle, without evasion, without contradiction. --Roland Barthes
“Tonight,” announced Glorious Godfrey from backstage, throwing an arm out wide, “We witness the culmination of the tournament to decide who shall bear the champion’s gold! Whose strength of will is paramount! Who shall be the ruler of all of the DCW! Will it be the mighty and glorious Two-Face?” He paused to let the boos of the crowd build. “Or will it be the scrappy, plucky Nightwing?” As the audience cheered, he pulled a face. “Yes, well. The unwashed masses have spoken, but the only factor that truly matters is the strength of sinew of the warriors tonight!”
He took a few steps toward a cloth-covered object on a table, smiling benignly. “But first, the lottery for the order of next week’s Royal Rumble! Now, for the benefit of--” he coughed delicately, “--the less enlightened among us, a Royal Rumble is a gruelling gladiatorial combat that only the strongest can survive. Thirty wrestlers, pitted against each other in mortal combat! Only if a wrestler is thrown over the ropes and both feet hit the ground is he eliminated. And yet there is as well an element of luck, for each wrestler enters at 90-second intervals, in an order to be chosen randomly this very evening!”
With a flourish, he whisked the cloth off to reveal a lottery machine. “Each wrestler in the Rumble will arrive to pick a ball that reveals the order of precedence. May the lucky and the strong flourish, and hail mighty Darkseid!” he finished hurriedly as the camera cut away.
“Gimmick matches,” Clark said with some distaste, glancing up at the monitor from the table in catering.
“You’ve just never forgiven Max Lord for that tuxedo match,” Bruce said absently as he put far too much pepper in his soup.
“It was embarrassing,” Clark muttered.
“Well, a Royal Rumble is gimmicky, sure, but it has some great opportunities for storytelling, so I don’t mind. Sh,” Bruce said as Clark opened his mouth again, “It’s Dick’s promo.”
Clark sighed slightly and focused on the screen, where the promotional video to set up the match between Nightwing and Two-Face had just started: a subtle sepia wash and slow-motion editing making it clear that this was a recap of long-ago events, just in case the presence of Dick Grayson in his Robin costume wasn’t enough. “My first match as your partner in the DCW, golly!” announced Robin at the side of the Dark Knight, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We’ll kick that deranged, duplicitous doppelgänger’s behind!" He smacked his fist into the palm of his hand, grinning, but the Dark Knight looked concerned.
"You shouldn't take Two-Face lightly, chum,” said the Dark Knight, resting his hand on his sidekick’s shoulder. "Harvey Dent is one of the most dangerous foes I have ever encountered, and you should never underestimate him." He shook Robin's shoulder lightly, warning him. "I don't want you to get involved, do you understand me?"
"Awwwww," sighed Robin, looking downcast. "But I--"
"Don't argue with me," said the Dark Knight, his voice rough."You stay out of the way."
After a moment, Robin nodded, but it was clear he had not taken his mentor's words to heart. And indeed, as the vignette continued the audience saw well-remembered events unfold once more on the screen. Once again, the Dark Knight hung on the ropes, beaten and battered. Once again, as the two lackeys currently in his employ, Duo and Dos, continued to assault the helpless Dark Knight, a transcendently furious Two-Face raged out into the audience, seizing an "innocent bystander" and putting him in a headlock. "This is all your fault, Dark Knight!" cried Two-Face, preparing to deliver his devastating finisher to the struggling audience member. "You have driven me to this!"
Clark watched as the promo package showed a young Robin charging toward the ring, his yellow cape fluttering behind him. The crowd popped hard for him as he grabbed Dos and put him in his own headlock, but he was brought up short by an imperious gesture as the villain tightened his hold on the struggling audience member.
“Make your choice, Boy Wonder!” yelled Two-Face, his voice augmented eerily in post-production. “Release my minion (Dos looked somewhat peeved at being called a “minion,” but Two-Face charged on), and I’ll let this sap go. That seems...balanced, don’t you think? There’s a pleasing symmetry to it.”
The camera caught a glimpse of the Dark Knight’s face as he struggled to warn Robin, but Robin couldn’t see him. “Very well, Two-Face,” he said as a bead of sweat slid down the side of his face, “I’ll let him go if you let your hostage go.”
“That seems fair,” Harvey said smoothly. He waited, smiling, as Robin released Dos.
And then he lifted the flailing, screaming audience member and smashed him into the barricade before scooping him up to deliver the Janus Smash, leaving him twitching on the ground. Two-Face stalked over to where Robin was still standing, frozen in horror, and grabbed him by the throat. “I think I’ll make an example of you, boy,” he sneered, and hurled him into another barricade.
As harrowing images of the beat-down Two-Face delivered that day flashed by, the announcer’s voice intoned: “Since then, the boy has become a man. But his mistake still haunts him. Is Nightwing man enough to face his oldest enemy and win the most coveted prize of all?” The gleaming gold insignia of the DCW filled the screen. “Find out…tonight!”
“Luthor might have his doubts about Dick as champion, but he sure makes a damn fine promo,” said Bruce under his voice to Clark as the camera moved to the first match of the night: Pamela Isley taking on Batgirl. He pulled up his cowl. “Well, I’m up for the lottery next.” He grabbed his fork and stole a bite of Clark’s cheesecake, grinning. “Catch you later, brother.”
The Dark Knight’s lips narrowed as he looked at the ball he had plucked from the machine, the bold “1” emblazoned on it. “What a shame,” smirked Godfrey. “You’ll have to outlast twenty-nine other wrestlers to win the Rumble! A bad break for you.”
From slightly to the side, Gorilla Grodd heaved a long-suffering sigh. The former wrestler had been brought in recently to provide play-by-play to contrast with Glorious Godfrey’s color commentating. Now he ran a hand through his thinning hair, shrugged the simian-heavy shoulders that gave him his nickname, and muttered, “As if I didn’t just watch you rig this--” Godfrey elbowed him in the ribs and he rolled his eyes but subsided.
“Yessiree,” Godfrey intoned smugly as the Dark Knight swept his cape around him and exited stage left. “That number-one spot is a serious disadvantage. Too bad for the Caped Crusader.”
The Dark Knight, it was noted on the message boards after the show, looked notably unconcerned about the terrible disadvantage he would be working at.
It was the last promo of the night before the main event, and the crowd was clearly restless as they waited to discover the fate of Nightwing against his nemesis. The Kryptonian stood behind Brainiac, his arms folded, glowering into the middle distance.
“But what is in it for me” Professor Ivo was saying to Brainiac. “Why would I allow your Kryptonian to trade numbers with my all-powerful wrestling android, Amazo?” He gestured behind him at the well-sculpted wrestler with his red hair cut into a neat widow’s peak, his arms crossed in a perfect mirror of the Kryptonian. “Changing from thirty to twenty-six would be to lose quite a large advantage, after all.”
“Now, Professor Ivo,” Brainiac said with a slimy smile. “I think it’s time some of us more…intelligent members of the DCW need to learn to work together. Pool our resources, as it may be.”
“Intelligent? You’re a sideshow fortune teller! A quack!” Ivo snapped.
“Oh, I think you’ll find that I’m much more than that,” said Brainiac. He touched his temple and Ivo’s eyes went wide as he clutched at his head. “Does the enormity of my true nature begin to dawn on you, cretin?” Amazo lurched forward at the sight of his creator’s distress, but the Kryptonian moved to block his way. The crowd had stopped rustling now, breathless at the idea of these two juggernauts meeting.
“Stop!” gasped Ivo, both at Brainiac and at Amazo. “I bow to your superior intellect...for now,” he added under his breath. “I’m willing to give the Kryptonian the coveted number-thirty slot in the Rumble if you will share with me some of your knowledge.”
“This seems an equitable trade,” said Brainiac. “Oh, I ask one other thing of you, Professor,” he said, halting Ivo in his tracks as he attempted to retreat.
“Yes?”
“If the Dark Knight is still in the Rumble when Amazo enters the ring--”
“Oh come now,” scoffed Ivo. “That would require outlasting twenty-five wrestlers. Even the Dark Knight isn’t--”
“--if it were to happen,” Brainiac went on as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “I must demand that Amazo focus all his energy on eliminating the Dark Knight from the ring. He is to throw him over the ropes at all costs, do you hear me? The Dark Knight must not be allowed to confront the Kryptonian.”
Ivo cast a questioning look at the Kryptonian’s impassive face, then shrugged. “All right, Brainiac. I’ll make sure Amazo takes him out. You have nothing to worry about.”
“It’s true,” muttered Brainiac sotto voce as Ivo and Amazo left the scene. “I have nothing at all to worry about--as long as the Dark Knight never gets a chance to talk to the Kryptonian again.”
The camera zoomed in on the Kryptonian’s expressionless face as the scene faded out.
Two-Face glared across the ring at Nightwing, his face split in half by his bizarre paint--Harvey had gone all-out on the paint for this match, and it looked more gruesome than ever before. Turning his “good” side toward the camera, he said, “Look, Grayson, I worked with your parents. You’re a good kid.” Then with an eerily fluid movement, he twisted his head so the glaring monster half of his face pointed to the camera. “But I’m gonna rip you in two tonight!”
The Harvey side faced forward again: “You’ve grown up a lot. Your mentor would be proud.” A twist and Two-Face snarled, “That’s why it’ll rip his heart out to see you crushed under my heel! You’re a weakling, you’re puny, you’re soft--”
“--and although I admire your pluck,” finished Harvey, this time looking straight at the camera so both sides of his face were addressing Nightwing, “I’m afraid I’m not going to let it stop me from beating the hell out of you.”
The words sounded even more chilling spoken in Harvey’s cultured tones, but Nightwing grinned at him, a flash of teeth. “I may be close to half your size, but I’m double the man you’ll ever be, Harvey.”
Two-Face gritted his teeth at the use of his true name. “You insolent runt!” he snarled, and leaped forward.
It was obvious from the beginning that the two were, despite the size difference, evenly matched. What Nightwing lacked in muscle, he made up for in agility, skill, and sheer mad inspiration. The match showcased the strengths of both wrestlers--when Harvey hurled Dick halfway across the ring with his Coin Flip, Clark heard a gasp go up from the crowd. But it was nothing compared to the pop when Two-Face stood on the announcer’s table, taunting Nightwing, and Nightwing launched himself from the turnbuckle like an avenging angel.
For a brief moment the world seemed to stop. Clark heard Bruce suck in a tiny breath. And then Nightwing slammed into Two-Face and sent both of them smashing onto the table.
Harvey’s face contorted with pain--the legit kind of awkward, annoyed pain that marked an actual injury--and a babble of discussion broke out in the common room. “Was it his shoulder?” Selina asked.
“No, one of the monitors caught him on the back,” said Diana. “Watch the replay.”
Indeed, in slow motion you could see how, as Harvey caught Dick and fell backwards, one of the monitors on the table gashed into his upper back. There was a trickle of blood running down the small of his back now.
“Well, that’s a hell of a lot better than tearing a muscle,” Billy Batson observed. On the screen, Two-Face turned on the monitor and kicked it with a level of spite that was probably unfeigned before swinging back to kick Nightwing, who was collapsed against the steps.
“Do you think they’ll shorten the match?” said Kon.
Tim laughed. “Not on your life. They’ll go the full time no matter what.”
Despite the blood, Two-Face showed no sign of letting up on Nightwing. Dragging him back into the ring, he began to pummel him, tossing him like a rag doll. “Here it is,” murmured Bruce. Harvey delivered two elbow drops. Then two clotheslines. Then two legwhips.
The camera caught a glimpse of Dick’s exhausted face, and the dawning realization on it: driven into an incandescent fury, Two-Face was doing every move doubled without realizing it.
“Good work on the camera,” Bruce said.
Nightwing staggered to his feet. As Two-Face moved toward him, he didn’t even dodge; Two-Face caught him up and flipped him so his feet pointed up toward the ceiling before dropping him into a vertical suplex that shook the ring.
Clark could hear the announcers yelling about how Nightwing must be too exhausted to move, that he hadn’t even tried to dodge that move. Nightwing got to his feet again--and this time, as Two-Face stepped forward to deliver the same vertical suplex once more, he was ready for it, knew exactly when Two-Face would be open and vulnerable.
With a twisting arm throw, he used Two-Face’s own momentum to throw him to the mat. In an instant, he had his foe in the Flying Grayson hold, torquing his body into an arc of pain.
The crowd went wild as Two-Face struggled to break the hold, clawing madly toward the edge of the ring. His face, turned so the “evil” side showed, contorted even further with pain and with loathing as he dragged himself, inch by painful inch, toward the ropes. If he could just reach them the referee would call for the hold to be broken--
But Nightwing dragged him back into the middle of the ring, away from safety. Dick’s face was contorted with effort, his shoulders bunched with urgency as he held Two-Face in place, kept putting the pressure on his body. “You can’t beat me!” Nightwing yelled, his voice barely carrying over the sound of the audience’s screams. “I don’t care how big you are, I don’t care how strong you are, I don’t care that you don’t believe I can beat you--you’re going to tap out!” Clark glimpsed a glint of tears in the eyes beneath the blue mask, and at his side he heard Bruce murmur Dick’s name as if it pained him.
For a long moment Two-Face struggled against the hold, pain and fear twisting Harvey’s handsome features under the gruesome paint. The crowd surged and roared like surf. “Almost there,” whispered Bruce. “Almost there…”
Slowly, Two-Face turned his head, as if even that slight movement caused him untold agony. He twisted his neck until the unmarred half of his face was showing. Then he raised his hand and slammed it onto the mat: once, twice, three times. He had submitted to the man who had once been the Boy Wonder. Nightwing was the heavyweight champion of the DCW.
Confetti.
Fireworks.
Fifty thousand voices cheering.
Nightwing stood in the middle of the ring as confetti and streamers fell around him. The referee brought him the belt, gold and heavy and gleaming in the hectic light of the pyro. He hoisted it above his head with an exhilarated smile, the conquering hero soaking in the adulation of the crowd.
Then he looked down at the belt, and Clark saw his face crumple as it sank in, as he realized that this was his. That Luthor had--impossibly, unbelievably--decided to put his faith in a slender acrobat with charisma and attitude. That he had achieved everything that Bruce and his parents had ever dreamed of for him. That he was in the history books forever.
Dick Grayson fell to his knees in the middle of the ring and wept, and the thousands in attendance, the millions watching at home--they wept with him too.
“Do you think he’ll notice if we clear out of the celebration party a little early?”
Clark looked from Bruce to Dick Grayson, surrounded by all his friends. Donna and Kory were beaming, Garth and Wally and Garfield were goofing off, and Victor and Roy looked like they were planning on ambushing him and hoisting him on their shoulders for the third time that evening. Barbara was taking pictures and Tim seemed to be posting to Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook simultaneously. Clark knew without checking that Jason would be trolling him in the comments in all three places. Everyone else was milling around, chatting or coming up to congratulate the new champ--even Harvey was being gracious about his loss and seemed to be planning his new angle (and perhaps vicious revenge) with Ivy and Harley in the corner.
One of the only people conspicuous by his absence was Lex Luthor, who had quietly shaken Dick’s hand after the match, told him he’d had a good match, then disappeared as if watching Dick celebrate was somehow difficult for him. Yet the DCW had booked this room and a caterer, and that open bar was all due to Lex. Baffling as always, Clark thought, shaking his head.
Dick was grinning, the gold belt shining around his waist an incongruous weight against his sharp blue suit coat.
“I’m not sure he’d notice if there was an alien invasion,” Clark said.
Bruce smiled. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Whenever you are.”
“Let me give him our regards.”
He went over to Dick, and his friends backed off to let them talk. Bruce brought his forehead to Dick’s, cradling his head, and spoke to him for a while. Dick nodded and wiped at his eyes, then hugged him, sending a smile and a salute Clark’s way as well.
Bruce stepped away from Dick, but didn’t return to Clark right away. He went over to Harvey Dent and clapped him on the shoulder. Clark couldn’t hear him over the chatter of the party, but he could read “Thank you” on Bruce’s lips, see the wry smile Harvey gave him as they shook hands. Only then did Bruce came back and clap him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”
They were in Washington DC that week, and the summer air was humid and muggy. Clark and Bruce were in suits that quickly grew damp and sticky in the heat; Bruce took his coat off and slung it over his shoulder as they walked along the river. “I know I’ll sleep better tonight,” Bruce said. “Wonder if Lex will.”
“You think he did this for John and Mary?”
Bruce tilted his head. “Not for them, per se. Dick’s the real thing, the best choice, he knows that intellectually. But his gut--his gut’s all mixed up about Dick. He hates that Dick’s still here, still a reminder of his mistakes. And he wants to make it up to him at the same time. Sometimes I wonder…” He shrugged. “Dick grew up in the DCW. Lex watched him grow up, saw how much Dick’s parents loved him. His relationship with his own father was...not like that. Maybe Lex envies him that.”
Clark sighed. Then he forced himself to brighten: being morose wasn’t going to help anything. “Hey,” he said, punching Bruce lightly on the shoulder. “You still haven’t met my parents yet.”
“It’s true,” said Bruce blandly. They walked for a while in silence. Eventually Bruce cast a sidelong glance at him out of the corner of his eye. “Have they ever been to a show?”
Clark laughed. “Now that you mention it, they’re planning on coming to the next Metropolis show.”
“Good,” said Bruce. “If we play our cards right, if this Royal Rumble next week goes well--”
He turned and beamed at Clark, the boyish smile that always made Clark want to kiss him.
“They should be there when Superman makes his debut.”