[FIC] DC Comics: Learning to Fly [1/3]
Fic title: Learning to Fly
Author name: regasssa and evocates
Artist name: skykissesthesea
Pairing and/or characters: Clark Kent/Batman
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Word count: ~20,000
Summary: Clark Kent runs away from home to escape the unwanted attentions of Prince Lex of House Luthor, and runs straight from the frying pan to the fire. But there might be more to this 'Batman' than the eye sees...
A/N: skykissesthesea is wonderful to work with, and please leave her feedback for her awesome art! ♥ I have to confess that while I posted this, regasssa worked a lot harder on the fic and the editing.
The night was dark and thunder was rolling softly in the distance. Lightning flashed every few seconds, coming ever closer as the storm front evolved, and the air itself trembled. This was one of those nights that legends were made of.
Crack-ka-boom
Lightning split the clouds, illuminating a tall, dark building. The Wayne Manor. The gates were closed tight, as they had been for longer than the husbands of the forest could remember, the hinges half-rusted from disuse. It was said that the Prince still lived here, even as the kingdom and the towns forgot about their monarchy and instead took up the democracy that ruled the land of Gotham. They remembered the Prince nonetheless, spreading legends about his ice blue eyes, his perpetual sneer, his unkindness and rough demeanour--that he would turn an old woman away on a cold, stormy night like this one. They said that he had no heart, no care for anyone but himself, a cruelty for which he bore a curse.
The thunder struck again.
Batman stood at his window, looking outwards. A night of legends it might be, but to him, it was like any other night; a night without hope. He turned away, walking further into the castle, to where there was no light. No light to see what had become of him; the form in which he was destined to one day die.
His feet made faint, clicking noises on the hardwood floors.
Far away, up the path, a hapless soul wandered closer.
Clark Kent was a young orphan with stories of his own. Found by his parents in a cornfield, he had spent his childhood dreaming of a life far away from the tiny village of Smallville; a life of romance and adventure. He was a bright, light-hearted soul, and everyone in the village would smile and wave at him when he picked up supplies for their little farm, or groceries to bake his mother's sweet apple pies.
It was just that bright lust for life - that passion - that had brought the hungry eye of Lex Luthor, the Prince of Metropolis, to lust after him, and Clark knew that the only way to escape the Prince's clutch was to leave Smallville altogether, to go outside of its monarchy and enter as a stranger into the foreign lands of Gotham, across the water.
The storm was roaring and bitter, rain threatening to spill at any moment, and the lightning struck down with a vicious crack, bringing down a bough to block the path behind him and, making Clark's horse rear and bolt and scream underneath him. He held on by effort alone, fought the racing gallop for control, then climbed down, his heart thundering, and lead the horse on through the storm, into the dark night toward what had seemed, in that flash, to be a castle.
The Prince's castle.
The gates when he reached them were solid with ancient rust, twined and knotted shut with weeds and vines, and beyond them the large windows stood dark and empty. To Clark it was clear that there was nobody here, and if that was the case, then they surely wouldn't mind if Clark came in; if he and his horse slept in one of the old, cobweb filled stables, and left when the storm had passed.
It took all of his - and Lois' - effort to open the gate, the horse pushing her head right down and driving her hooves deep into the mud for traction. Eventually the huge gates shifted enough to allow the two of them inside, though the wind - was that the wind? - blew the gates shut behind them after they entered.
In the stables Clark found old straw, but didn't trust the dried, dusty hay not to make the horse sick, instead picking apples from the tiny orchard and getting half drowned as the heavens opened for his efforts. Only then, with the horse fed and happily chomping, and a couple of apples in his own pocket, did he break with good manners and slip through a servant's doorway into the castle itself, still dripping wet and looking for somewhere to get dry, or perhaps some clothes to change into.
The castle was dark, eerie and terrifying. He felt watched.
"Is someone there?"
Nobody replied, and Clark chastised himself, furiously. 'Come on, Clark. It's just your imagination. There's nothing to be afraid of, it's just an old castle.'
Up in the tallest tower of the West Wing, the Batman lurked, arched over his tiny looking glass; his eyes and ears to the outside world. He had long since stopped looking, telling himself furiously that the world out there no longer mattered, that he would not linger in something that he could no longer be a part of, but the castle had tingled when it had been touched, and he had felt it too. Something new.
It had been years - decades even - since someone had even tried to enter the castle. And here was this boy - this beautiful boy - with eyes of the deepest blue; the same magical, inhuman blue of the rose in its jar in the room at the furthest corner of the castle. He picked the apples in the orchards without the branches rearing at him for the offence, startling because as Batman well knew, the tree hadn't even let him do that for years, and he was the Lord of the Manor.
He watched the boy as he took every step. His youth made Batman feel old. He had been trapped here, alone and never aging, time marked only by the setting and rising of the sun each day and the slowly falling petals of the rose that was by his bedside.
You will only be saved when someone falls in love with you.
And yet he had been given the appearance of a monster. Perhaps one might say that his appearance now fit his insides, for he had always been monstrous, ruling his kingdom with an iron fist. Now the kingdom was no longer his own, his people deciding to rule themselves instead, and he was trapped in this castle, forced to watch them as they lived their lives without the ability to join in. To lead them. To be able to breathe the same air.
Mistakes. He had all the time in the world to dwell on them now.
He lid his eyes as he watched the boy slip into the castle, waved his hand. Immediately, the hallways began to light up, torches ignited in flame, oil lamps hissing to life. The hallways would lead him to one of the sitting rooms in the castle, where a loud fire was already roaring, burning nonexistent wood. Batman closed his eyes, pressed his hand against the walls, and let the walls themselves connect him to this monstrous stage, watching as Alfred - the Manor that had once been a man - worked his magic.
He wondered what a boy like this, so beautiful and so pure, was doing here. Wondered why he had chosen the servant's entrance, of all things, when the main doors hadn't been locked for years. Waiting for the answers, Batman swore that he would watch and see--not interfere, for who would stay any longer if confronted with the great Batman, a beast created for fear? In the mean time, Alfred created a meal of soup and bread - simple farmer's fare - it forming from midair, hot and waiting on the table.
He was a silent presence in the castle, never able to speak, his spirit imbued in the stones itself. Still efficient, still knowing nonetheless. Alfred still hoped that perhaps someone would one day be able to love Batman, still hoped that they would both be able to return to the form that was once their own.
His Prince, turned into a giant, monstrous bat--someone must be able to love him. Perhaps it would be this boy.
Deep down in the corridors, the cold, empty castle was coming to life.
Every step Clark took, the more alive the castle seemed to be. The walls were warmer rather than the cold of before, and someone had been through and lit all of the torches recently, guiding the way through the house, through to a warm, grand room with a roaring fire.
Common sense told him that something strange was at work here. That maybe, like Hansel and Gretel, he should run away from such a good thing presented to him so openly, without a face to link it to, but the fact was that the warm room was just what he needed, and the food that lay on the table... Soft bread, warm soup; it was more than he had hoped for.
Clark gathered both up and carried them over to the fire, stripping off his soaking top and even wetter pants and hanging them across the guard that kept the coals from spitting out into the room. Shivering, and immensely cold, he pulled himself as close to the fire as he could, and after one more wary glance around began to eat, swallowing down the soup while it was still hot, then picking his way through the still-warm bread.
When he was done, and much drier, but still almost naked, he turned to look around, wondering where the servants were that had brought the food, curious about who lived in a castle like this, and kept it so beautifully clean.
He took the apple from his pocket and raised it up.
"I hope you don't mind. I took a few apples from the orchard. I--I've travelled a long way, from the distant realm of Metropolis, and my horse and I are lost, hungry, and frightened by the storm."
He looked about again, then placed the apple down on the table top as though in some kind of exchange. An apology for taking what didn't belong to him.
"If there's anyone there, please. I only wish to thank my lord for his hospitality."
From the faraway shadows that linked them the Batman looked on. He made sure that he was comfortable, and drank in the sight of his wary traveller, hungry to please him.
There was caution in the boy's steps as he followed the lights, but he ate nonetheless. Batman was glad, but it was a distant sort of feeling, because he was entirely caught up by the miles upon miles of flawless, bronzed skin revealed by the clothing that the boy so nonchalantly took off. He was in an alien place, with no answers to his questions, with food that had no server, and yet for some reason he was brave enough to expose himself so thoroughly. To leave his back open without any armour to protect himself. For a moment, Batman wondered if the boy was foolish, or simply far too trusting.
But he couldn't deny that his beauty struck him, and struck him hard. It had been years - or decades, he couldn't remember exactly - since he had seen another human being, and yet the first to walk into his life had such a perfection of form that Batman was starting to wonder if his mind was simply playing tricks on him. If the boy was but a mere illusion, conjured up by his mind in a desperate attempt to hold onto hope. To hope for something better than this continuous, unbroken loneliness. To hope for some kind of salvation before the rose's petals fell and Batman died to leave behind a legacy of a haunted castle.
He couldn't show himself. Not yet. He would only terrify the boy as he was- he might wish to thank Batman for his hospitality, but the moment he saw him... Batman had no illusions of what he looked like. The monster that he was, now.
Instead he only looked further, and sparked his power over the castle again. The lights started to come to life again, leading to a well-furnished guest room with a large canopy bed. A single thought, and Alfred obliged, letting loose the chiffon blinds that surrounded the bed.
At the same time, the wardrobe opened of its own accord, and large sleeping clothes laid themselves out on the chair near the bed, along with a folded towel.
Back in the sitting room, Clark raised his eyes, looking up into the deep corners of the room as he waited for a sign; something to show that he wasn't alone. The sign - the apple - rolled towards Clark on its own. It was his. There was no need to apologize.
Stay.
Clark caught it before it could fall off the table, and raised his eyes again, trying to peer between the air and somehow pick out an invisible man. A something that could have moved the apple. There was nothing there.
"Magic?" It was the only explanation. "There's someone there, isn't there? Are you saying that it's okay?" The lights seemed to glow a little brighter for a moment, then dimmed again, and Clark broke into a grateful, bright smile.
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
Pulling the apple to his chest, Clark stepped back, gathering his still damp clothes from where they rest beside the fire, and setting off along the freshly lit corridor, curiosity guiding him.
"Where are you taking me?"
Along the hall, up a set of stairs and into a beautiful, glorious bedroom. Clark couldn't help his shock, mouth falling open. The room was as large as the ground floor of his father's house, back at home, and the bed was huge, and elegant. It was clear that he was meant to sleep here.
"I couldn't possibly..."
He glanced around, completely starstruck, then carefully folded and put down his clothes, stepping over to touch the outfit. It was for sleeping in, obviously, but it was of a rich, expensive fabric; something more expensive than all of his wardrobe at home put together.
"I don't even know how to begin to thank you." And he reconsidered, because the beginning was obvious: "Thank you."
The apple went down on the bedside cabinet, and quickly, unselfconsciously, he stripped out of the last of his wet clothes and pulled on the dry ones, gratitude playing every moment in his smile. They were perfect. Suddenly he was very aware of how tired he was. The bed felt soft and embracing, unlike the hard ground he'd been sleeping on in his travels, the straw mattresses in the inns. He yawned.
"I... Just for tonight, okay? I don't want to impose."
The boy's glee seemed to light up the whole house, and Batman felt his own breath catch in his throat. His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment he felt the sun against his back; the sun that he had not felt against his skin for decades. His lips parted, teeth and fangs gleaming in the candlelight of his rooms, and in this moment - in this one second between the inquisitive look on the boy's face and his gorgeous smile - Batman fell in love.
It was utterly ridiculous. He didn't even know the boy's name, and he would be leaving tomorrow, wouldn't he? Leaving this haunted castle and its monster--no. No. Batman couldn't imagine letting him leave. Not now.
He drank in the sight of him as he undressed again. Miles upon miles of unblemished skin and those eyes... Batman raised a hand, and curled his fingers in. The canopy shut, closing around the boy's figure even as the lights in the castle dimmed until only the lightning outside provided a source.
But Batman's eyes were suited to the dark, and he wasn't exactly using his eyes to look, anyhow. Every article of furniture in the house was his eyes, and he watched the slow flutter of the boy's eyelids as they shut; he watched the pink lips part as he breathed; watched his tiny, unconscious smile. He had beautiful hair, falling all over his face, lending an even more ethereal quality to his looks.
Batman closed his eyes and knew he was lost.
He couldn't let this boy leave. He couldn't. Because if he did, then Batman would snap the rose into half and tear out all the petals himself.
No. No he couldn't.
In the morning, the canopy would be closed still, but Alfred had pulled the curtains open. There would be a pair of silk slippers on the side of the bed, and the smell of freshly-cooked bacon and eggs and sausages would be waiting in the sitting room once more. The apple from last night would be polished to a shine, and sitting beside the plate - a dessert ready.
In the morning, the lonely orchard would be filled to brimming with trees and fruits. Golden and red apples, brightly coloured oranges and lemons... fruits of every kind, blooming even in winter, their brilliance stark against the white blankness of the falling snow.
In the morning, the gates of the castle would be locked, and nothing in the world would allow them to be opened. If the boy tried to climb them- no, no he wouldn't.
His horse would be trapped and left behind, and the Master of the Castle knew that the boy would not leave her to die.
* * * * *
Clark rose in the very early hours of the morning, when the rain that had fallen torrentially during the night had finally stopped, leaving behind puddles and wet grass, the smell of ozone clinging to the castle itself. He picked up his apple, pulled on the slippers and head down to the sitting room, following the scent of bacon.
Again he thanked the castle and its unknown owner, and again he ate without hesitation; without question, and once he was done, and dressed, and still holding the apple close to his chest like a memento rather than food, he set off to groom and tack his horse, and lead her up the path toward the gates.
They were locked.
Nothing he could do would open them, and there was no key to be seen. The servant's entrance, too, was locked tight. The walls were high and impenetrable, and though he could climb over them...
"It's okay, Lois," he reassured, softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
The horse whinnied gratefully to him as he took off the saddle and bridle, letting her loose in the grounds and heading back up to the castle with the heavy saddle hung over his arm. His boots were already wet with mud, which he was careful not to track into the stables when he reached them again.
Setting down the saddle, he head back into the house. Someone had locked the gates, that was for sure, which meant he wasn't alone here.
"Hello? I'm very grateful for what you've done for me, but am I a prisoner here? I don't even know your name." A pause. He hadn't given his own either, had he? "Mine's Clark. What's yours?"
There was no fear. No fear in the boy- in Clark's eyes, even when he tried the gates and they did not give. No fear, only faith, smiling at his jailer like it was a mistake. He obviously knew that there was a chance for him to be a prisoner, and yet he had remained so calm.
Was he particularly stupid? No. There was no dullness in those blue eyes, only a certain sense of caution. Had he, for some reason, managed to stumble upon a beautiful man who had no sense of fear? Who was not cowed by the size of the Manor, by the invisible servants, by how the castle itself seemed to move on its own, without anything to guide it?
For a second, Batman let himself have that hope. That this boy who had captured his heart with a single smile might not be afraid of him. That he would not cringe back from a giant bat that could speak. That he would not hide away. That he would be able to see Batman beyond the monstrous outside, and somehow learn to love him.
That one day, the rose in the jar would disappear, no longer needed.
He held onto the courage tight. It was a single line of light, and Batman threw open the windows of his room. His clawed feet stepped on the ledge, and he threw himself outwards, his leather wings flapping out and catching the currents. He was at the back of the house, watching Clark through the leaves of a tree, and he was absolutely silent as he swooped down underneath, letting the shadows hide him until he was almost directly behind Clark.
It had barely been a few minutes since he had first introduced himself. With Batman's luck, he had used those few minutes to learn to be afraid. But... He took a deep breath, and held on tight to the hope.
"B--" no, not his real name. Not in this form; not for a long time. Not while he was still lingering back, half-hidden by the shadows with only his red, monstrous eyes that could be seen in the dark.
"I'm the Batman, and you've trespassed my castle," his voice was low, roughened by vocal chords that should have never been in the body of a bat. "You took my hospitality, and in return, you will stay here until I decide that you go. "
No. He shouldn't be saying any of this--
"I am the Lord of the castle, and you will obey me. "
Clark had almost decided to give up. The trip back through the castle was going to be a lonely one, heading back toward his room, trying to keep the wary smile on his face. He would look for the owner of the castle there, try to implore him for his freedom, for the key to the gate. Part of him knew that he was imprisoned here, that something selfish and hungry wanted to keep him forever, but another part of him insisted that if whatever it was was sentient, that he could beg for his freedom.
He was just a poor farmer's son, already on the run from the mage Prince Lex Luthor, trying to avoid being captured and imprisoned because he was an adventurous soul. He didn't belong here, trapped behind high walls, and he would go mad imprisoned like this.
He was losing hope when he heard a sound behind him, and when he turned he was confronted by a vast man bat; a creature with clawed feet and bright red eyes, with a voice as rough and low as gravel.
For a few seconds, Clark's horror and fear crossed his expression. He stepped back once, twice, recoiling from the beast.
No. No, he couldn't be afraid. He mustn't back away. He had to beg for his freedom. So he swallowed down on his scream, forced himself to hold his ground, and then after a moment stepped forward again, even though he was shaking minutely.
"My Lord. You have been most generous--" His breath shook. It trembled. "--But I am afraid I cannot stay. I will not be your obedient prisoner." He lowered his head, even though good sense told him to keep his eyes on the bat. A monster like that, who knew what it might do? "I will pay you what I can for the kindness that you have shown me, but I am a poor man; a farmer's son. I have very little of my own to give."
There was one thing. Resentfully, sadly, Clark reached into his breast pocket and produced a pocket watch, holding it out toward the bat.
"Here, take it. It is all I have."
Every sign of fear that Clark showed crushed the hope within Batman. Shattered it into pieces sending it falling to the ground like little pieces of glass. And with every breath Batman took he felt like those broken hopes were cutting into his skin, slashing against his heart, causing him to bleed and bleed even though no blood welled in the invisible wounds.
He was a fool. Clark's eyes already condemned him for being a monster, and he had fulfilled that expectation with his demands. For a long moment, he could only stand still, frozen in his place with an expression of chasm-like regret, watching him take two steps back, listening to Clark's stuttering words. He took a breath, his chest heaving, and he knew that it would look even more ridiculous like this. Even more monstrous, the morning's light unforgiving as it shone down, delineating every single edge, every single detail of the monster.
Batman took a step back, then quickly a step forward. He refused to give in - he was the Lord here, the Prince even though the lands had long forgotten that they were once a monarchy. He looked at Clark for a long moment before his wing swept out, knocking the pocketwatch away hard enough for the thing to skid along the ground.
There was true injury more than fear in Clark's expression at that. He heard the sound of it slipping through grass, and then the plop as it fell into the pond. It was the only memento he had of his family, with a tiny engraving from his parents on the inside:
Dearest Clark, we will always be with you no matter what. Your loving parents, J&M Kent.
Batman had decided. If he was judged to be monstrous, then he would be. If he was judged to be nothing else, then so be it. If Clark feared him, there was nothing he would do to change that opinion. If Clark hated him, then all the better. He just needed to stay here; stay here and even though hope was entirely crushed, Batman could still watch him. Look at him and hope that when he wasn't there, Clark would smile. That even if he cowered in Batman's presence, Batman would do everything he could with the Manor to make him happy. But right now? He was a monster, wasn't he?
He was nothing more than a beast, impervious to injury of emotion; monstrous and wanting for nothing more than the blood from Clark's throat. So be it. Stepping forward, he loomed over Clark, his wings spreading out to encompass him entirely. The sun was blocked out like this, and he used his shadows to swallow him up.
"You will stay here. It will not be a choice, " and he grinned, a vicious, cruel expression. If he was to be a monster, then--
"Or is there anyone from your village that you will sacrifice? A parent? A sibling? A friend? A lover?"
Beneath that menace, Clark's eyes were only sad. They met the monster's quietly, unflinchingly as the dark wings swept around him. This wasn't right. This wasn't the hospitality of the castle, quietly begging him to stay, desperate and sad and lonely. It was monstrous. It was angry. But it wasn't right. Did he want to be hated? Clark didn't think so. The breath he took, the step back, the deliberate hardness of his words. It was an act, wasn't it?
Clark raised his chin, raised one hand and placed it on the beast's chest, where he thought that his heart should be.
"You know that I would never exchange my freedom for another's. I have no choice, because you do not choose to give me one. My Lord is cruel and bitter." He dropped his hand down. "And I am but a slave to his will, a prisoner in his house. But know this, my Lord: you cannot cage a blackbird and still expect it to sing."
Batman's heart skipped a beat - even in this monstrous form, despite the rumours of the people in the forest, he had a heart that beat - at the feel of Clark's hand against his chest. He looked at him with red eyes, fixing a glare on him, all feral light and viciousness, desperately trying to get him to back down, to move away.
My Lord is cruel and bitter.
And the Beauty was clever as well; clever and observant and fearless and kind.
Of course he was. He was; he had been since his youth, and it had only worsened as he grew, as he realized that there was none in the world who would be willing to love him while he looked like this. He needed this love, and without it, he would die, so someone should simply give it to him. He should be able to buy it, to force it. He was a Prince, after all, and it should come freely, for what was love but another commodity? That one mistake had cost him his kingdom, cost him everything he had except for a castle, a rose, and the eternal presence of Alfred.
He nearly snorted. He should have known that it was too perfect. Clark was far too perfect.
And he was stepping back, breaking the contact and turning around, huge wings folded at his back, leather-smooth. "The blackbird will simply have to get used to his cage." He paused, and could not resist the overt kindness that laid beneath his own chest; in his heart. "Your meals will be provided. Just be in the sitting room during meal times."
He hesitated.
"There is a library, in the second floor. Do with it as you wish."
Clark, for all his fear, refused to back down. He wouldn't move away. After the first surprise he was fearless, defiant, and he knew inherently that like a spider in a bathtub the Batman was more afraid of him than he was of his monstrous form, his deep, growling voice.
He was almost prepared for things to end with the order, but then the monster added that he would be fed, that the library was open to him, and the draw of books - they did not have many on the farm - was such that it diverted him a little. He held his breath, expecting more, and when the monster only walked away he subsided, looking back up toward the castle - toward his prison - bleakly.
* * * * *
Weeks passed like that. Weeks, where he would go to meals on his own, read books in the library until his eyes hurt, look after Lois and then go to bed. Weeks in which the loneliness begun to sink in, weeks in which he longed to see someone, even if it was the Batman, so that he didn't have to be on his own any longer.
He explored the house as best he could; as best he could, because there were certain doors that couldn't be opened, certain places he couldn't go. He called for the beast several times, but it didn't appear. Over time, he only grew sadder, lonelier. He became homesick, and eventually he began to refuse to leave his room. Not to read, not to see Lois. He stared out the window at the land beyond the walls of the castle for hour after hour, missed mealtimes, slept with his head against the windowsill.
Like the blackbird in the cage, his spirit began to die.
And Batman watched it. He watched his spirit dimming, watched as Clark grew lonelier and lonelier; watched as he felt the aching emptiness that was also within Batman. It was a pain that he would never wish on his worst enemy, much less the boy that he had grown to love. He could only watch him as he wasted away while hiding in his own study, ignoring the calls of his own name. Watching as the rose in its jar start to fade; its petals falling and becoming ash.
He couldn't see him. Not after their first meeting; not after how Clark had recoiled from him. But keeping Clark here was killing him. He was starting to refuse to eat, and Batman watched him as he stared out to the place where he was forbidden to visit, and he made up his mind.
One night, as Clark still slept against the windowsill, Batman went to him. His wing stroked against the perfect cheek, feeling the flutter of his lashes- and somehow he managed to manoeuvre Clark up into his arms without waking him. The monstrous form had its uses, after all. He had enough strength to carry him down the stairs, past the front door, forcing it open even though Alfred tried to shut it to him.
Then, he placed Clark against a tree on the grounds, facing the gates. Lois - the horse - he led next to him, with her saddle on and chewing happily on an apple. Batman watched him as he slept, and he wanted - wanted so badly to reach out to touch, to kiss - but no human would want a monster's touch like this. Especially when they were defenceless; especially when they were vulnerable in sleep.
Batman forced the gates open, and started to walk away.
He would die, he knew that now. He would waste away in this castle, in his study, looking out to where Clark had gone. Perhaps one day he would find a way to release Alfred from his curse, so that he could be a man instead of a castle. Perhaps one day he would lose enough hope to go to Clark's room, to look out the window he once had gazed out upon, and snap the rose with his own hands.
It would be better; better than seeing the loneliness and sadness and pain in Clark's eyes. Better than keeping him here, selfishly, and causing him to die here, in a dark castle that should have never tried to imprison such brilliance.
Better.
After all, no one would miss a Prince long-forgotten.
------
When Clark woke, sleepily, he almost didn't believe what he saw. The gates were open. A week before Christmas and the gates were open, and Clark slid onto Lois' back and urged her out into the forest without hesitation, without even a second thought for the castle or the beast behind him. He revelled in the feel of the wind in his hair and the sound of hoof beats beneath him. The trip home seemed shorter, with joy in his heart, but after Christmas, after the joy of the season had worn off and it was all bitter cold, he began to think of the beast, alone in his castle. He began to wonder what had become of him, and why he had let Clark go.
Home was lovely. The smell of cinnamon and spices filled the air. His mother's baking, the smell of wood on the fire, the sound of carols sung in the village. The cheer left an odd melancholy in Clark's heart; one that he had never felt at this time of year before. For all the hot wine he drank, he could never get warm, and he found himself sitting by the window more often than not, looking sadly out toward the land of Gotham.
His mother, always keen to the changes in him, noticed instantly of course. She touched his hair and sat beside him. His parents were the only ones who knew the entire story.
"You miss him, don't you? I shouldn't be saying this. The least I want is for you to go back there and end up trapped again. I love you too much. But I know that I can't stop you. This...is who you are, Clark. You help people. And you're never going to be happy until you know there's nothing wrong. Until you know that you did everything you could for him, monster or not. He showed you compassion, and you can't find it in yourself to fault him for that."
His father said "I love you, son. But you gotta do what you gotta do."
Stories of Clark's return reached the castle of Lex Luthor. The Prince sent out scouts to try to discover what had happened to Clark while he was gone, but all they could hear were snatches of a story. Of a secret. Something about a giant bat, and a magic castle, but nobody could find out any more. Not knowing frustrated Lex. This was his realm, after all, and he should know these things. They were his to know! There were no secrets that he didn't have the right to, as monarch.
So when Clark spotted Lex's pagaent of horses miles away from Smallville he knew that it was time to leave Metropolis. Time to travel back, and find out what had happened to the Batman. He set off into the January snow, treked around the great sea, leading Lois after him, and he found himself in the Batman's forest, deep in the black heart of Gotham, frightened by the sounds in the night.
The wolves were hungry. And they were coming for him.
So he ran.
* * * * *
For Batman, Christmas was already a melancholy time of the year. It had stopped having meaning to him even before he turned into a beast. When he was still human, it was a party for his people, to celebrate the birth of Christ with joy and love. For children to play in the snow and for the monarch to be seen at least once every year; for the poor to have food and warmth and light. It was a time for his people to come out from the cold, and for Batman to watch them even though the chill had settled into his heart a long time ago. Even though the chill would never leave, even now, when he was heartless.
His pride took so little time to break that he wondered why he had even bothered to try to fool himself. Batman left his own study for Clark's room after the first day of trying to keep away. He closed his eyes and tried to smell the sheets, trying to catch the elusive scent of sunshine and grass- but there was nothing there. Nothing except for his own bitterness.
He took up Clark's old post, sitting at the window and looking out, wondering if he could see Smallville if he really tried. In his hands he held the pocket-watch that Clark had left behind the first day, turning and turning the metal in his hand and trying to fool himself that he could feel Clark's warmth from the cold metal. The watch no longer showed the time; silt from the pond had filled up its insides, and the hands were frozen on that moment where Batman should have shown compassion--and hadn't.
Alfred was worried--of course he was. In the study, the rose was steadily dying, and Batman was feeling weaker and weaker as a result. It was harder to wake each morning, and even harder to want to. Clark was gone, taking Batman's heart with him, and he honestly doubted that there would be anyone else who would drop into the castle. Anyone who could love a monster.
He was a fool to believe otherwise in the beginning. To have hope.
Weeks passed, so much that Batman had stopped noticing the castle, the skies, the forest out at which he stared. He strained to catch a glimpse of Clark, to see if he was happy; but he was home, and he must be. At times he thought that he could see him, a spectre haunting Batman's steps, lingering outside the window, but then he would blink, and the ghosts would disappear again. Disappearing with the moon behind the clouds, his voice chased away by the howling of the wolves.
It was another night of ghosts, Batman knew. The song of the wolves in the forest, the lightless skies. Batman stared out emptily into the night, his wings folded around his body as if needing protection. And there, he could hear, preternaturally sharp, Clark's voice. Like a haunting, now he would say the words he had said that time; add to them the words Batman knew he had considered. About cruel lords and monsters, except--
Except Clark was crying for help.
part two
Author name: regasssa and evocates
Artist name: skykissesthesea
Pairing and/or characters: Clark Kent/Batman
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Word count: ~20,000
Summary: Clark Kent runs away from home to escape the unwanted attentions of Prince Lex of House Luthor, and runs straight from the frying pan to the fire. But there might be more to this 'Batman' than the eye sees...
A/N: skykissesthesea is wonderful to work with, and please leave her feedback for her awesome art! ♥ I have to confess that while I posted this, regasssa worked a lot harder on the fic and the editing.
The night was dark and thunder was rolling softly in the distance. Lightning flashed every few seconds, coming ever closer as the storm front evolved, and the air itself trembled. This was one of those nights that legends were made of.
Crack-ka-boom
Lightning split the clouds, illuminating a tall, dark building. The Wayne Manor. The gates were closed tight, as they had been for longer than the husbands of the forest could remember, the hinges half-rusted from disuse. It was said that the Prince still lived here, even as the kingdom and the towns forgot about their monarchy and instead took up the democracy that ruled the land of Gotham. They remembered the Prince nonetheless, spreading legends about his ice blue eyes, his perpetual sneer, his unkindness and rough demeanour--that he would turn an old woman away on a cold, stormy night like this one. They said that he had no heart, no care for anyone but himself, a cruelty for which he bore a curse.
The thunder struck again.
Batman stood at his window, looking outwards. A night of legends it might be, but to him, it was like any other night; a night without hope. He turned away, walking further into the castle, to where there was no light. No light to see what had become of him; the form in which he was destined to one day die.
His feet made faint, clicking noises on the hardwood floors.
Far away, up the path, a hapless soul wandered closer.
Clark Kent was a young orphan with stories of his own. Found by his parents in a cornfield, he had spent his childhood dreaming of a life far away from the tiny village of Smallville; a life of romance and adventure. He was a bright, light-hearted soul, and everyone in the village would smile and wave at him when he picked up supplies for their little farm, or groceries to bake his mother's sweet apple pies.
It was just that bright lust for life - that passion - that had brought the hungry eye of Lex Luthor, the Prince of Metropolis, to lust after him, and Clark knew that the only way to escape the Prince's clutch was to leave Smallville altogether, to go outside of its monarchy and enter as a stranger into the foreign lands of Gotham, across the water.
The storm was roaring and bitter, rain threatening to spill at any moment, and the lightning struck down with a vicious crack, bringing down a bough to block the path behind him and, making Clark's horse rear and bolt and scream underneath him. He held on by effort alone, fought the racing gallop for control, then climbed down, his heart thundering, and lead the horse on through the storm, into the dark night toward what had seemed, in that flash, to be a castle.
The Prince's castle.
The gates when he reached them were solid with ancient rust, twined and knotted shut with weeds and vines, and beyond them the large windows stood dark and empty. To Clark it was clear that there was nobody here, and if that was the case, then they surely wouldn't mind if Clark came in; if he and his horse slept in one of the old, cobweb filled stables, and left when the storm had passed.
It took all of his - and Lois' - effort to open the gate, the horse pushing her head right down and driving her hooves deep into the mud for traction. Eventually the huge gates shifted enough to allow the two of them inside, though the wind - was that the wind? - blew the gates shut behind them after they entered.
In the stables Clark found old straw, but didn't trust the dried, dusty hay not to make the horse sick, instead picking apples from the tiny orchard and getting half drowned as the heavens opened for his efforts. Only then, with the horse fed and happily chomping, and a couple of apples in his own pocket, did he break with good manners and slip through a servant's doorway into the castle itself, still dripping wet and looking for somewhere to get dry, or perhaps some clothes to change into.
The castle was dark, eerie and terrifying. He felt watched.
"Is someone there?"
Nobody replied, and Clark chastised himself, furiously. 'Come on, Clark. It's just your imagination. There's nothing to be afraid of, it's just an old castle.'
Up in the tallest tower of the West Wing, the Batman lurked, arched over his tiny looking glass; his eyes and ears to the outside world. He had long since stopped looking, telling himself furiously that the world out there no longer mattered, that he would not linger in something that he could no longer be a part of, but the castle had tingled when it had been touched, and he had felt it too. Something new.
It had been years - decades even - since someone had even tried to enter the castle. And here was this boy - this beautiful boy - with eyes of the deepest blue; the same magical, inhuman blue of the rose in its jar in the room at the furthest corner of the castle. He picked the apples in the orchards without the branches rearing at him for the offence, startling because as Batman well knew, the tree hadn't even let him do that for years, and he was the Lord of the Manor.
He watched the boy as he took every step. His youth made Batman feel old. He had been trapped here, alone and never aging, time marked only by the setting and rising of the sun each day and the slowly falling petals of the rose that was by his bedside.
You will only be saved when someone falls in love with you.
And yet he had been given the appearance of a monster. Perhaps one might say that his appearance now fit his insides, for he had always been monstrous, ruling his kingdom with an iron fist. Now the kingdom was no longer his own, his people deciding to rule themselves instead, and he was trapped in this castle, forced to watch them as they lived their lives without the ability to join in. To lead them. To be able to breathe the same air.
Mistakes. He had all the time in the world to dwell on them now.
He lid his eyes as he watched the boy slip into the castle, waved his hand. Immediately, the hallways began to light up, torches ignited in flame, oil lamps hissing to life. The hallways would lead him to one of the sitting rooms in the castle, where a loud fire was already roaring, burning nonexistent wood. Batman closed his eyes, pressed his hand against the walls, and let the walls themselves connect him to this monstrous stage, watching as Alfred - the Manor that had once been a man - worked his magic.
He wondered what a boy like this, so beautiful and so pure, was doing here. Wondered why he had chosen the servant's entrance, of all things, when the main doors hadn't been locked for years. Waiting for the answers, Batman swore that he would watch and see--not interfere, for who would stay any longer if confronted with the great Batman, a beast created for fear? In the mean time, Alfred created a meal of soup and bread - simple farmer's fare - it forming from midair, hot and waiting on the table.
He was a silent presence in the castle, never able to speak, his spirit imbued in the stones itself. Still efficient, still knowing nonetheless. Alfred still hoped that perhaps someone would one day be able to love Batman, still hoped that they would both be able to return to the form that was once their own.
His Prince, turned into a giant, monstrous bat--someone must be able to love him. Perhaps it would be this boy.
Deep down in the corridors, the cold, empty castle was coming to life.
Every step Clark took, the more alive the castle seemed to be. The walls were warmer rather than the cold of before, and someone had been through and lit all of the torches recently, guiding the way through the house, through to a warm, grand room with a roaring fire.
Common sense told him that something strange was at work here. That maybe, like Hansel and Gretel, he should run away from such a good thing presented to him so openly, without a face to link it to, but the fact was that the warm room was just what he needed, and the food that lay on the table... Soft bread, warm soup; it was more than he had hoped for.
Clark gathered both up and carried them over to the fire, stripping off his soaking top and even wetter pants and hanging them across the guard that kept the coals from spitting out into the room. Shivering, and immensely cold, he pulled himself as close to the fire as he could, and after one more wary glance around began to eat, swallowing down the soup while it was still hot, then picking his way through the still-warm bread.
When he was done, and much drier, but still almost naked, he turned to look around, wondering where the servants were that had brought the food, curious about who lived in a castle like this, and kept it so beautifully clean.
He took the apple from his pocket and raised it up.
"I hope you don't mind. I took a few apples from the orchard. I--I've travelled a long way, from the distant realm of Metropolis, and my horse and I are lost, hungry, and frightened by the storm."
He looked about again, then placed the apple down on the table top as though in some kind of exchange. An apology for taking what didn't belong to him.
"If there's anyone there, please. I only wish to thank my lord for his hospitality."
From the faraway shadows that linked them the Batman looked on. He made sure that he was comfortable, and drank in the sight of his wary traveller, hungry to please him.
There was caution in the boy's steps as he followed the lights, but he ate nonetheless. Batman was glad, but it was a distant sort of feeling, because he was entirely caught up by the miles upon miles of flawless, bronzed skin revealed by the clothing that the boy so nonchalantly took off. He was in an alien place, with no answers to his questions, with food that had no server, and yet for some reason he was brave enough to expose himself so thoroughly. To leave his back open without any armour to protect himself. For a moment, Batman wondered if the boy was foolish, or simply far too trusting.
But he couldn't deny that his beauty struck him, and struck him hard. It had been years - or decades, he couldn't remember exactly - since he had seen another human being, and yet the first to walk into his life had such a perfection of form that Batman was starting to wonder if his mind was simply playing tricks on him. If the boy was but a mere illusion, conjured up by his mind in a desperate attempt to hold onto hope. To hope for something better than this continuous, unbroken loneliness. To hope for some kind of salvation before the rose's petals fell and Batman died to leave behind a legacy of a haunted castle.
He couldn't show himself. Not yet. He would only terrify the boy as he was- he might wish to thank Batman for his hospitality, but the moment he saw him... Batman had no illusions of what he looked like. The monster that he was, now.
Instead he only looked further, and sparked his power over the castle again. The lights started to come to life again, leading to a well-furnished guest room with a large canopy bed. A single thought, and Alfred obliged, letting loose the chiffon blinds that surrounded the bed.
At the same time, the wardrobe opened of its own accord, and large sleeping clothes laid themselves out on the chair near the bed, along with a folded towel.
Back in the sitting room, Clark raised his eyes, looking up into the deep corners of the room as he waited for a sign; something to show that he wasn't alone. The sign - the apple - rolled towards Clark on its own. It was his. There was no need to apologize.
Stay.
Clark caught it before it could fall off the table, and raised his eyes again, trying to peer between the air and somehow pick out an invisible man. A something that could have moved the apple. There was nothing there.
"Magic?" It was the only explanation. "There's someone there, isn't there? Are you saying that it's okay?" The lights seemed to glow a little brighter for a moment, then dimmed again, and Clark broke into a grateful, bright smile.
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
Pulling the apple to his chest, Clark stepped back, gathering his still damp clothes from where they rest beside the fire, and setting off along the freshly lit corridor, curiosity guiding him.
"Where are you taking me?"
Along the hall, up a set of stairs and into a beautiful, glorious bedroom. Clark couldn't help his shock, mouth falling open. The room was as large as the ground floor of his father's house, back at home, and the bed was huge, and elegant. It was clear that he was meant to sleep here.
"I couldn't possibly..."
He glanced around, completely starstruck, then carefully folded and put down his clothes, stepping over to touch the outfit. It was for sleeping in, obviously, but it was of a rich, expensive fabric; something more expensive than all of his wardrobe at home put together.
"I don't even know how to begin to thank you." And he reconsidered, because the beginning was obvious: "Thank you."
The apple went down on the bedside cabinet, and quickly, unselfconsciously, he stripped out of the last of his wet clothes and pulled on the dry ones, gratitude playing every moment in his smile. They were perfect. Suddenly he was very aware of how tired he was. The bed felt soft and embracing, unlike the hard ground he'd been sleeping on in his travels, the straw mattresses in the inns. He yawned.
"I... Just for tonight, okay? I don't want to impose."
The boy's glee seemed to light up the whole house, and Batman felt his own breath catch in his throat. His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment he felt the sun against his back; the sun that he had not felt against his skin for decades. His lips parted, teeth and fangs gleaming in the candlelight of his rooms, and in this moment - in this one second between the inquisitive look on the boy's face and his gorgeous smile - Batman fell in love.
It was utterly ridiculous. He didn't even know the boy's name, and he would be leaving tomorrow, wouldn't he? Leaving this haunted castle and its monster--no. No. Batman couldn't imagine letting him leave. Not now.
He drank in the sight of him as he undressed again. Miles upon miles of unblemished skin and those eyes... Batman raised a hand, and curled his fingers in. The canopy shut, closing around the boy's figure even as the lights in the castle dimmed until only the lightning outside provided a source.
But Batman's eyes were suited to the dark, and he wasn't exactly using his eyes to look, anyhow. Every article of furniture in the house was his eyes, and he watched the slow flutter of the boy's eyelids as they shut; he watched the pink lips part as he breathed; watched his tiny, unconscious smile. He had beautiful hair, falling all over his face, lending an even more ethereal quality to his looks.
Batman closed his eyes and knew he was lost.
He couldn't let this boy leave. He couldn't. Because if he did, then Batman would snap the rose into half and tear out all the petals himself.
No. No he couldn't.
In the morning, the canopy would be closed still, but Alfred had pulled the curtains open. There would be a pair of silk slippers on the side of the bed, and the smell of freshly-cooked bacon and eggs and sausages would be waiting in the sitting room once more. The apple from last night would be polished to a shine, and sitting beside the plate - a dessert ready.
In the morning, the lonely orchard would be filled to brimming with trees and fruits. Golden and red apples, brightly coloured oranges and lemons... fruits of every kind, blooming even in winter, their brilliance stark against the white blankness of the falling snow.
In the morning, the gates of the castle would be locked, and nothing in the world would allow them to be opened. If the boy tried to climb them- no, no he wouldn't.
His horse would be trapped and left behind, and the Master of the Castle knew that the boy would not leave her to die.
* * * * *
Clark rose in the very early hours of the morning, when the rain that had fallen torrentially during the night had finally stopped, leaving behind puddles and wet grass, the smell of ozone clinging to the castle itself. He picked up his apple, pulled on the slippers and head down to the sitting room, following the scent of bacon.
Again he thanked the castle and its unknown owner, and again he ate without hesitation; without question, and once he was done, and dressed, and still holding the apple close to his chest like a memento rather than food, he set off to groom and tack his horse, and lead her up the path toward the gates.
They were locked.
Nothing he could do would open them, and there was no key to be seen. The servant's entrance, too, was locked tight. The walls were high and impenetrable, and though he could climb over them...
"It's okay, Lois," he reassured, softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
The horse whinnied gratefully to him as he took off the saddle and bridle, letting her loose in the grounds and heading back up to the castle with the heavy saddle hung over his arm. His boots were already wet with mud, which he was careful not to track into the stables when he reached them again.
Setting down the saddle, he head back into the house. Someone had locked the gates, that was for sure, which meant he wasn't alone here.
"Hello? I'm very grateful for what you've done for me, but am I a prisoner here? I don't even know your name." A pause. He hadn't given his own either, had he? "Mine's Clark. What's yours?"
There was no fear. No fear in the boy- in Clark's eyes, even when he tried the gates and they did not give. No fear, only faith, smiling at his jailer like it was a mistake. He obviously knew that there was a chance for him to be a prisoner, and yet he had remained so calm.
Was he particularly stupid? No. There was no dullness in those blue eyes, only a certain sense of caution. Had he, for some reason, managed to stumble upon a beautiful man who had no sense of fear? Who was not cowed by the size of the Manor, by the invisible servants, by how the castle itself seemed to move on its own, without anything to guide it?
For a second, Batman let himself have that hope. That this boy who had captured his heart with a single smile might not be afraid of him. That he would not cringe back from a giant bat that could speak. That he would not hide away. That he would be able to see Batman beyond the monstrous outside, and somehow learn to love him.
That one day, the rose in the jar would disappear, no longer needed.
He held onto the courage tight. It was a single line of light, and Batman threw open the windows of his room. His clawed feet stepped on the ledge, and he threw himself outwards, his leather wings flapping out and catching the currents. He was at the back of the house, watching Clark through the leaves of a tree, and he was absolutely silent as he swooped down underneath, letting the shadows hide him until he was almost directly behind Clark.
It had barely been a few minutes since he had first introduced himself. With Batman's luck, he had used those few minutes to learn to be afraid. But... He took a deep breath, and held on tight to the hope.
"B--" no, not his real name. Not in this form; not for a long time. Not while he was still lingering back, half-hidden by the shadows with only his red, monstrous eyes that could be seen in the dark.
"I'm the Batman, and you've trespassed my castle," his voice was low, roughened by vocal chords that should have never been in the body of a bat. "You took my hospitality, and in return, you will stay here until I decide that you go. "
No. He shouldn't be saying any of this--
"I am the Lord of the castle, and you will obey me. "
Clark had almost decided to give up. The trip back through the castle was going to be a lonely one, heading back toward his room, trying to keep the wary smile on his face. He would look for the owner of the castle there, try to implore him for his freedom, for the key to the gate. Part of him knew that he was imprisoned here, that something selfish and hungry wanted to keep him forever, but another part of him insisted that if whatever it was was sentient, that he could beg for his freedom.
He was just a poor farmer's son, already on the run from the mage Prince Lex Luthor, trying to avoid being captured and imprisoned because he was an adventurous soul. He didn't belong here, trapped behind high walls, and he would go mad imprisoned like this.
He was losing hope when he heard a sound behind him, and when he turned he was confronted by a vast man bat; a creature with clawed feet and bright red eyes, with a voice as rough and low as gravel.
For a few seconds, Clark's horror and fear crossed his expression. He stepped back once, twice, recoiling from the beast.
No. No, he couldn't be afraid. He mustn't back away. He had to beg for his freedom. So he swallowed down on his scream, forced himself to hold his ground, and then after a moment stepped forward again, even though he was shaking minutely.
"My Lord. You have been most generous--" His breath shook. It trembled. "--But I am afraid I cannot stay. I will not be your obedient prisoner." He lowered his head, even though good sense told him to keep his eyes on the bat. A monster like that, who knew what it might do? "I will pay you what I can for the kindness that you have shown me, but I am a poor man; a farmer's son. I have very little of my own to give."
There was one thing. Resentfully, sadly, Clark reached into his breast pocket and produced a pocket watch, holding it out toward the bat.
"Here, take it. It is all I have."
Every sign of fear that Clark showed crushed the hope within Batman. Shattered it into pieces sending it falling to the ground like little pieces of glass. And with every breath Batman took he felt like those broken hopes were cutting into his skin, slashing against his heart, causing him to bleed and bleed even though no blood welled in the invisible wounds.
He was a fool. Clark's eyes already condemned him for being a monster, and he had fulfilled that expectation with his demands. For a long moment, he could only stand still, frozen in his place with an expression of chasm-like regret, watching him take two steps back, listening to Clark's stuttering words. He took a breath, his chest heaving, and he knew that it would look even more ridiculous like this. Even more monstrous, the morning's light unforgiving as it shone down, delineating every single edge, every single detail of the monster.
Batman took a step back, then quickly a step forward. He refused to give in - he was the Lord here, the Prince even though the lands had long forgotten that they were once a monarchy. He looked at Clark for a long moment before his wing swept out, knocking the pocketwatch away hard enough for the thing to skid along the ground.
There was true injury more than fear in Clark's expression at that. He heard the sound of it slipping through grass, and then the plop as it fell into the pond. It was the only memento he had of his family, with a tiny engraving from his parents on the inside:
Dearest Clark, we will always be with you no matter what. Your loving parents, J&M Kent.
Batman had decided. If he was judged to be monstrous, then he would be. If he was judged to be nothing else, then so be it. If Clark feared him, there was nothing he would do to change that opinion. If Clark hated him, then all the better. He just needed to stay here; stay here and even though hope was entirely crushed, Batman could still watch him. Look at him and hope that when he wasn't there, Clark would smile. That even if he cowered in Batman's presence, Batman would do everything he could with the Manor to make him happy. But right now? He was a monster, wasn't he?
He was nothing more than a beast, impervious to injury of emotion; monstrous and wanting for nothing more than the blood from Clark's throat. So be it. Stepping forward, he loomed over Clark, his wings spreading out to encompass him entirely. The sun was blocked out like this, and he used his shadows to swallow him up.
"You will stay here. It will not be a choice, " and he grinned, a vicious, cruel expression. If he was to be a monster, then--
"Or is there anyone from your village that you will sacrifice? A parent? A sibling? A friend? A lover?"
Beneath that menace, Clark's eyes were only sad. They met the monster's quietly, unflinchingly as the dark wings swept around him. This wasn't right. This wasn't the hospitality of the castle, quietly begging him to stay, desperate and sad and lonely. It was monstrous. It was angry. But it wasn't right. Did he want to be hated? Clark didn't think so. The breath he took, the step back, the deliberate hardness of his words. It was an act, wasn't it?
Clark raised his chin, raised one hand and placed it on the beast's chest, where he thought that his heart should be.
"You know that I would never exchange my freedom for another's. I have no choice, because you do not choose to give me one. My Lord is cruel and bitter." He dropped his hand down. "And I am but a slave to his will, a prisoner in his house. But know this, my Lord: you cannot cage a blackbird and still expect it to sing."
Batman's heart skipped a beat - even in this monstrous form, despite the rumours of the people in the forest, he had a heart that beat - at the feel of Clark's hand against his chest. He looked at him with red eyes, fixing a glare on him, all feral light and viciousness, desperately trying to get him to back down, to move away.
My Lord is cruel and bitter.
And the Beauty was clever as well; clever and observant and fearless and kind.
Of course he was. He was; he had been since his youth, and it had only worsened as he grew, as he realized that there was none in the world who would be willing to love him while he looked like this. He needed this love, and without it, he would die, so someone should simply give it to him. He should be able to buy it, to force it. He was a Prince, after all, and it should come freely, for what was love but another commodity? That one mistake had cost him his kingdom, cost him everything he had except for a castle, a rose, and the eternal presence of Alfred.
He nearly snorted. He should have known that it was too perfect. Clark was far too perfect.
And he was stepping back, breaking the contact and turning around, huge wings folded at his back, leather-smooth. "The blackbird will simply have to get used to his cage." He paused, and could not resist the overt kindness that laid beneath his own chest; in his heart. "Your meals will be provided. Just be in the sitting room during meal times."
He hesitated.
"There is a library, in the second floor. Do with it as you wish."
Clark, for all his fear, refused to back down. He wouldn't move away. After the first surprise he was fearless, defiant, and he knew inherently that like a spider in a bathtub the Batman was more afraid of him than he was of his monstrous form, his deep, growling voice.
He was almost prepared for things to end with the order, but then the monster added that he would be fed, that the library was open to him, and the draw of books - they did not have many on the farm - was such that it diverted him a little. He held his breath, expecting more, and when the monster only walked away he subsided, looking back up toward the castle - toward his prison - bleakly.
* * * * *
Weeks passed like that. Weeks, where he would go to meals on his own, read books in the library until his eyes hurt, look after Lois and then go to bed. Weeks in which the loneliness begun to sink in, weeks in which he longed to see someone, even if it was the Batman, so that he didn't have to be on his own any longer.
He explored the house as best he could; as best he could, because there were certain doors that couldn't be opened, certain places he couldn't go. He called for the beast several times, but it didn't appear. Over time, he only grew sadder, lonelier. He became homesick, and eventually he began to refuse to leave his room. Not to read, not to see Lois. He stared out the window at the land beyond the walls of the castle for hour after hour, missed mealtimes, slept with his head against the windowsill.
Like the blackbird in the cage, his spirit began to die.
And Batman watched it. He watched his spirit dimming, watched as Clark grew lonelier and lonelier; watched as he felt the aching emptiness that was also within Batman. It was a pain that he would never wish on his worst enemy, much less the boy that he had grown to love. He could only watch him as he wasted away while hiding in his own study, ignoring the calls of his own name. Watching as the rose in its jar start to fade; its petals falling and becoming ash.
He couldn't see him. Not after their first meeting; not after how Clark had recoiled from him. But keeping Clark here was killing him. He was starting to refuse to eat, and Batman watched him as he stared out to the place where he was forbidden to visit, and he made up his mind.
One night, as Clark still slept against the windowsill, Batman went to him. His wing stroked against the perfect cheek, feeling the flutter of his lashes- and somehow he managed to manoeuvre Clark up into his arms without waking him. The monstrous form had its uses, after all. He had enough strength to carry him down the stairs, past the front door, forcing it open even though Alfred tried to shut it to him.
Then, he placed Clark against a tree on the grounds, facing the gates. Lois - the horse - he led next to him, with her saddle on and chewing happily on an apple. Batman watched him as he slept, and he wanted - wanted so badly to reach out to touch, to kiss - but no human would want a monster's touch like this. Especially when they were defenceless; especially when they were vulnerable in sleep.
Batman forced the gates open, and started to walk away.
He would die, he knew that now. He would waste away in this castle, in his study, looking out to where Clark had gone. Perhaps one day he would find a way to release Alfred from his curse, so that he could be a man instead of a castle. Perhaps one day he would lose enough hope to go to Clark's room, to look out the window he once had gazed out upon, and snap the rose with his own hands.
It would be better; better than seeing the loneliness and sadness and pain in Clark's eyes. Better than keeping him here, selfishly, and causing him to die here, in a dark castle that should have never tried to imprison such brilliance.
Better.
After all, no one would miss a Prince long-forgotten.
------
When Clark woke, sleepily, he almost didn't believe what he saw. The gates were open. A week before Christmas and the gates were open, and Clark slid onto Lois' back and urged her out into the forest without hesitation, without even a second thought for the castle or the beast behind him. He revelled in the feel of the wind in his hair and the sound of hoof beats beneath him. The trip home seemed shorter, with joy in his heart, but after Christmas, after the joy of the season had worn off and it was all bitter cold, he began to think of the beast, alone in his castle. He began to wonder what had become of him, and why he had let Clark go.
Home was lovely. The smell of cinnamon and spices filled the air. His mother's baking, the smell of wood on the fire, the sound of carols sung in the village. The cheer left an odd melancholy in Clark's heart; one that he had never felt at this time of year before. For all the hot wine he drank, he could never get warm, and he found himself sitting by the window more often than not, looking sadly out toward the land of Gotham.
His mother, always keen to the changes in him, noticed instantly of course. She touched his hair and sat beside him. His parents were the only ones who knew the entire story.
"You miss him, don't you? I shouldn't be saying this. The least I want is for you to go back there and end up trapped again. I love you too much. But I know that I can't stop you. This...is who you are, Clark. You help people. And you're never going to be happy until you know there's nothing wrong. Until you know that you did everything you could for him, monster or not. He showed you compassion, and you can't find it in yourself to fault him for that."
His father said "I love you, son. But you gotta do what you gotta do."
Stories of Clark's return reached the castle of Lex Luthor. The Prince sent out scouts to try to discover what had happened to Clark while he was gone, but all they could hear were snatches of a story. Of a secret. Something about a giant bat, and a magic castle, but nobody could find out any more. Not knowing frustrated Lex. This was his realm, after all, and he should know these things. They were his to know! There were no secrets that he didn't have the right to, as monarch.
So when Clark spotted Lex's pagaent of horses miles away from Smallville he knew that it was time to leave Metropolis. Time to travel back, and find out what had happened to the Batman. He set off into the January snow, treked around the great sea, leading Lois after him, and he found himself in the Batman's forest, deep in the black heart of Gotham, frightened by the sounds in the night.
The wolves were hungry. And they were coming for him.
So he ran.
* * * * *
For Batman, Christmas was already a melancholy time of the year. It had stopped having meaning to him even before he turned into a beast. When he was still human, it was a party for his people, to celebrate the birth of Christ with joy and love. For children to play in the snow and for the monarch to be seen at least once every year; for the poor to have food and warmth and light. It was a time for his people to come out from the cold, and for Batman to watch them even though the chill had settled into his heart a long time ago. Even though the chill would never leave, even now, when he was heartless.
His pride took so little time to break that he wondered why he had even bothered to try to fool himself. Batman left his own study for Clark's room after the first day of trying to keep away. He closed his eyes and tried to smell the sheets, trying to catch the elusive scent of sunshine and grass- but there was nothing there. Nothing except for his own bitterness.
He took up Clark's old post, sitting at the window and looking out, wondering if he could see Smallville if he really tried. In his hands he held the pocket-watch that Clark had left behind the first day, turning and turning the metal in his hand and trying to fool himself that he could feel Clark's warmth from the cold metal. The watch no longer showed the time; silt from the pond had filled up its insides, and the hands were frozen on that moment where Batman should have shown compassion--and hadn't.
Alfred was worried--of course he was. In the study, the rose was steadily dying, and Batman was feeling weaker and weaker as a result. It was harder to wake each morning, and even harder to want to. Clark was gone, taking Batman's heart with him, and he honestly doubted that there would be anyone else who would drop into the castle. Anyone who could love a monster.
He was a fool to believe otherwise in the beginning. To have hope.
Weeks passed, so much that Batman had stopped noticing the castle, the skies, the forest out at which he stared. He strained to catch a glimpse of Clark, to see if he was happy; but he was home, and he must be. At times he thought that he could see him, a spectre haunting Batman's steps, lingering outside the window, but then he would blink, and the ghosts would disappear again. Disappearing with the moon behind the clouds, his voice chased away by the howling of the wolves.
It was another night of ghosts, Batman knew. The song of the wolves in the forest, the lightless skies. Batman stared out emptily into the night, his wings folded around his body as if needing protection. And there, he could hear, preternaturally sharp, Clark's voice. Like a haunting, now he would say the words he had said that time; add to them the words Batman knew he had considered. About cruel lords and monsters, except--
Except Clark was crying for help.
part two