Batman - Oneira 4
Title: Oneira
Author: Shaded Mazoku.
Email: herukatto@hotmail.com.
Part: 4/?
Disclaimer: Characters and some background belong to DC comics and Warner Bros. I’m merely playing in their sandbox for a while.
Warnings: None.
Rating: PG for now.
Summary: “Keep some souvenirs of your past, or how will you ever prove it wasn't all a dream?”
-Ashleigh Brilliant
Pairing(s): Wayne/Crane…
Fandom: Batman (mix and match)
Notes: Still rather AU, yes. And lookie! It's not dead yet!
Chapter 1* Chapter 2* Chapter 3
Dinner proved to be strangely pleasant. Much to Bruce's surprise, Crane was very good company. He was very observant and had a rather wicked sense of humour that was very entertaining when it wasn't used against him. He'd known, of course, that Crane was intelligent, but it was different actually having a friendly conversation with him than just reading facts off of his file.
Not Crane, he reminded himself. Jonathan. If the two of them were truly friends, and by now he was starting to believe that, it was just natural to call the man by his first name. Besides, calling him Jonathan distanced him from the Scarecrow.
“A shame you can't remember her expression,” Jonathan was saying, grinning as he sipped his wine. “It was a riot.” Bruce couldn't remember an expression, no, but he suspected it was partially because he'd been too busy thinking to pay attention to Jonathan's latest tale.
Jonathan shook his head. “Sometimes, I could swear you've got ADD, Bruce,” he commented, spearing a piece of broccoli with his fork. “If I hadn't seen all too often how well you can concentrate when you try, of course.” He smiled, and popped the vegetable into his mouth.
Bruce returned the smile. “Sorry. I think I'm still a little out of it from the accident.” He couldn't actually remember anything about his accident, but it was a logical conclusion that it was the cause of his confusion.
“Head injuries are certainly tricky,” Jonathan agreed, placing his utensils neatly on his now empty plate. “They tend to linger somewhat.”
Bruce nodded. The trickiness of head injuries had been one of the main reasons he'd chosen to order water with his meal instead of wine. He wasn't sure why he knew so much about injuries if his life as Batman had just been a trauma-induced dream, like it seemed, but Jonathan verified that his knowledge was in fact correct about this. Jonathan was the one with a medical degree, after all.
“So,” Bruce said, looking at the other man. “In your professional opinion, do you think I'm delusional?” He was actually quite curious about the answer to that.
Jonathan removed his glasses and absently rubbed the bridge or his nose. Bruce could vaguely remember his friend once complaining that his glasses tended to pinch quite badly, mostly because he also had a vague recollection of planning to get him a better pair for Christmas sometime.
“I don't think you're truly delusional, no,” Jonathan said, meeting Bruce's eyes with his. “I think that the head trauma you've suffered, in combination with the stress of your work the last few months, has caused you to have some very odd and very realistic dreams. Much in the same way as some patients recovering from a stupor will report having vivid dreams during the stupor. Now, I'm a psychiatrist, not a neurologist, and thus can't tell you the exact details of what a hit to the head does, but it's not unheard of that head trauma causes changes in a person.” He smiled. “I once had a patient who was hit over the head with a book and who was in constant good mood for three weeks straight.”
That seemed likely, Bruce supposed. Considering the amount of mind-meddling Batman had to deal with it, be it real or imagination, it was obvious that the human mind was capable of strange things. He fell silent, contemplating that for a while. Was it possible that he had just imagined Batman? When he thought about it from a logical point of view, that did seem the more likely case.
Jonathan sighed, putting his glasses in his coat pocket. “At any rate, you seem to be recovering remarkably fast.” With a sudden smile, he laced his hands together and rested his head on them. “Then again, you've always had a thick head.”
Bruce chuckled. People did seem to agree on that trait of his, so he guessed there had to be some truth to it. It was the one impression most people he knew well always remarked on. His parents, Alfred, Jonathan, Harvey, most of the girlfriends he'd ever had; they'd all noticed that.
“Still, you should take it slow for a while,” Jonathan advised, “and not strain yourself unnecessarily. I'm sure they'll be able to build the stable without you, at least until Sunday.” There was almost a sad tinge to his voice as he spoke.
The stables again. “Why are we building a stable?” Bruce asked, unable to remember his family ever having owned a single horse. Neither of his parents had ever been much for the typical rich man's sports that horse sports typically was, and Bruce himself knew which end of the horse was which and that was it. “And what happens on Sunday?” He asked, absently waving a waiter over to order a cup of coffee.
“The stable is largely a WayneCorp undertaking to provide better things for the youth of Gotham to do than hang around on the streets. It'll offer affordable riding lessons, as well as riding for the disabled and a few private stable places for people who wishes to own a horse without having to go out of their way to do so.”
“As for Sunday...” Jonathan waited for the waiter to finish taking their orders before continuing, sitting up a little more straight and blinking in surprise at Bruce. “You mean you can't remember that either?” He asked. Oddly enough, Bruce could almost detect a hint of happiness in his voice as he asked.
“Can't say I do, no,” Bruce replied, watching the other man. Sometimes, Jonathan's body language was just odd. “Something important?”
Finishing of his glass of the wine, Jonathan sighed again. “You could say that, yes,” he murmured, any further comment interrupted by the arrival of the waiter, bringing Bruce his coffee and Jonathan a cup of sweet-scented tea.
Sipping at his coffee, Bruce smiled at Jonathan. “Are you going to tell me what I forgot, then?”
Jonathan waited calmly until Bruce had put the cup of coffee back on the table. “Sunday is the day Ms. Andrea Beaumont returns from her trip to France,” he said. “Remember her? Your fiancée?”
Yes, I have my reasons for using Andrea, not Selina or Rachel. In a non-Batman universe, it makes more sense, since they're from similar backgrounds and it'd be an "socially acceptable" marriage. I prefer comicbook Selina, who definitely wouldn't be socially acceptable and Rachel... ...Well, I just can't stand her. XD
Author: Shaded Mazoku.
Email: herukatto@hotmail.com.
Part: 4/?
Disclaimer: Characters and some background belong to DC comics and Warner Bros. I’m merely playing in their sandbox for a while.
Warnings: None.
Rating: PG for now.
Summary: “Keep some souvenirs of your past, or how will you ever prove it wasn't all a dream?”
-Ashleigh Brilliant
Pairing(s): Wayne/Crane…
Fandom: Batman (mix and match)
Notes: Still rather AU, yes. And lookie! It's not dead yet!
Chapter 1* Chapter 2* Chapter 3
Dinner proved to be strangely pleasant. Much to Bruce's surprise, Crane was very good company. He was very observant and had a rather wicked sense of humour that was very entertaining when it wasn't used against him. He'd known, of course, that Crane was intelligent, but it was different actually having a friendly conversation with him than just reading facts off of his file.
Not Crane, he reminded himself. Jonathan. If the two of them were truly friends, and by now he was starting to believe that, it was just natural to call the man by his first name. Besides, calling him Jonathan distanced him from the Scarecrow.
“A shame you can't remember her expression,” Jonathan was saying, grinning as he sipped his wine. “It was a riot.” Bruce couldn't remember an expression, no, but he suspected it was partially because he'd been too busy thinking to pay attention to Jonathan's latest tale.
Jonathan shook his head. “Sometimes, I could swear you've got ADD, Bruce,” he commented, spearing a piece of broccoli with his fork. “If I hadn't seen all too often how well you can concentrate when you try, of course.” He smiled, and popped the vegetable into his mouth.
Bruce returned the smile. “Sorry. I think I'm still a little out of it from the accident.” He couldn't actually remember anything about his accident, but it was a logical conclusion that it was the cause of his confusion.
“Head injuries are certainly tricky,” Jonathan agreed, placing his utensils neatly on his now empty plate. “They tend to linger somewhat.”
Bruce nodded. The trickiness of head injuries had been one of the main reasons he'd chosen to order water with his meal instead of wine. He wasn't sure why he knew so much about injuries if his life as Batman had just been a trauma-induced dream, like it seemed, but Jonathan verified that his knowledge was in fact correct about this. Jonathan was the one with a medical degree, after all.
“So,” Bruce said, looking at the other man. “In your professional opinion, do you think I'm delusional?” He was actually quite curious about the answer to that.
Jonathan removed his glasses and absently rubbed the bridge or his nose. Bruce could vaguely remember his friend once complaining that his glasses tended to pinch quite badly, mostly because he also had a vague recollection of planning to get him a better pair for Christmas sometime.
“I don't think you're truly delusional, no,” Jonathan said, meeting Bruce's eyes with his. “I think that the head trauma you've suffered, in combination with the stress of your work the last few months, has caused you to have some very odd and very realistic dreams. Much in the same way as some patients recovering from a stupor will report having vivid dreams during the stupor. Now, I'm a psychiatrist, not a neurologist, and thus can't tell you the exact details of what a hit to the head does, but it's not unheard of that head trauma causes changes in a person.” He smiled. “I once had a patient who was hit over the head with a book and who was in constant good mood for three weeks straight.”
That seemed likely, Bruce supposed. Considering the amount of mind-meddling Batman had to deal with it, be it real or imagination, it was obvious that the human mind was capable of strange things. He fell silent, contemplating that for a while. Was it possible that he had just imagined Batman? When he thought about it from a logical point of view, that did seem the more likely case.
Jonathan sighed, putting his glasses in his coat pocket. “At any rate, you seem to be recovering remarkably fast.” With a sudden smile, he laced his hands together and rested his head on them. “Then again, you've always had a thick head.”
Bruce chuckled. People did seem to agree on that trait of his, so he guessed there had to be some truth to it. It was the one impression most people he knew well always remarked on. His parents, Alfred, Jonathan, Harvey, most of the girlfriends he'd ever had; they'd all noticed that.
“Still, you should take it slow for a while,” Jonathan advised, “and not strain yourself unnecessarily. I'm sure they'll be able to build the stable without you, at least until Sunday.” There was almost a sad tinge to his voice as he spoke.
The stables again. “Why are we building a stable?” Bruce asked, unable to remember his family ever having owned a single horse. Neither of his parents had ever been much for the typical rich man's sports that horse sports typically was, and Bruce himself knew which end of the horse was which and that was it. “And what happens on Sunday?” He asked, absently waving a waiter over to order a cup of coffee.
“The stable is largely a WayneCorp undertaking to provide better things for the youth of Gotham to do than hang around on the streets. It'll offer affordable riding lessons, as well as riding for the disabled and a few private stable places for people who wishes to own a horse without having to go out of their way to do so.”
“As for Sunday...” Jonathan waited for the waiter to finish taking their orders before continuing, sitting up a little more straight and blinking in surprise at Bruce. “You mean you can't remember that either?” He asked. Oddly enough, Bruce could almost detect a hint of happiness in his voice as he asked.
“Can't say I do, no,” Bruce replied, watching the other man. Sometimes, Jonathan's body language was just odd. “Something important?”
Finishing of his glass of the wine, Jonathan sighed again. “You could say that, yes,” he murmured, any further comment interrupted by the arrival of the waiter, bringing Bruce his coffee and Jonathan a cup of sweet-scented tea.
Sipping at his coffee, Bruce smiled at Jonathan. “Are you going to tell me what I forgot, then?”
Jonathan waited calmly until Bruce had put the cup of coffee back on the table. “Sunday is the day Ms. Andrea Beaumont returns from her trip to France,” he said. “Remember her? Your fiancée?”
Yes, I have my reasons for using Andrea, not Selina or Rachel. In a non-Batman universe, it makes more sense, since they're from similar backgrounds and it'd be an "socially acceptable" marriage. I prefer comicbook Selina, who definitely wouldn't be socially acceptable and Rachel... ...Well, I just can't stand her. XD