Action and Re-Action 5: Abduction
Title: Abduction
Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Brainiac
Continuity: Comics, set during Action Comics #3 ( scans) and #4 ( scans)
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Metropolis is under attack--and Superman is appalled to find Bruce right in the middle of it all.
Word Count: 1800
Notes: Action and Re-Action is a series retelling the new versions of Action Comics and Justice League with a Superman/Batman angle. All chapters and notes on the series available here.
Nothing major had changed in Metropolis: one man recanting his accusations was hardly enough to convince the whole city to turn around and embrace Superman. There were still protests, still angry faces on the television and on the streets. But when someone screamed "alien!" at him, Clark was able to remember Bowman's apology and just keep moving. When a snide news commentator suggested that the world would be better off without freaks in capes, he remembered Bruce Wayne's gleeful grin and changed the channel with a shrug.
"I haven't given up yet," he told the picture of his parents, his hands gentle on the worn frame. "Thanks for believing in me. I think--I think I've found some people here who believe in me too." He thought of Lois Lane's fierce news stories defending Superman, Jimmy's bemused friendship.
Bruce Wayne's passionate eyes and wry smile. Bruce's strong, calloused hands and the feel of his tongue in--
Clark put the picture down hastily, as if his parents could read his thoughts through his touch on the picture frame. He wasn't sure how his parents would have reacted to Bruce Wayne, or the idea of their son kissing him. His wealth and status probably would have bothered them more than the fact he was a man, though.
I just want what every mother wants--for her child to be happy, his mother had said in an elliptical but affectionate conversation, prompted perhaps by noticing the way Clark looked at the leading man in the high school play. I just hope someday you can find a person who really understands and accepts you, who knows your heart and loves you as you deserve to be loved.
Clark sighed as he pulled on his hoodie. The strange thing was, he began to feel like Bruce Wayne understood him better than anyone else: his doubts and hopes, the things that made him angry. The things that inspired him to fight.
Bruce didn't even know his name.
We are who we make ourselves into.. What was he making himself into? What was Bruce making himself into? And could they do it together?
Clark pulled his thoughts back to the here and now. He had an interview with the owner of the Factory for Tomorrow in an hour. Time to stop daydreaming about handsome millionaires and start preparing for some hard-hitting investigative journalism.
: : :
"Hard-hitting journalism," he thought a few hours later, wasn't usually quite so literal.
The robot reeled back from Superman's punch, emitting a high-pitched squeal that made his teeth hurt. The factory owner was gibbering as his factory turned against him, Clark's ears were filled with a deafening clatter announcing that Earth would be stored and preserved, and at least Lois and Jimmy were on their way back into the relative safety of the city. Superman lashed out, crushing another robotic arm into scrap, whirled--
And saw out of the corner of his eye Bruce Wayne standing at the end of the Queensland Bridge.
Clark froze for a second and the robot landed a good punch on the side of his jaw. Staggering, he blinked tears out of his eyes and the figure in an immaculate cashmere coat resolved back out of blurriness. Bruce was directing traffic over the bridge; as Clark stared he broke off to scoop up a little girl and help her into her mother's desperate arms in the back of a fleeing pickup truck. He wasn't even looking at Superman.
The robot was pulling on his cape now. Superman whirled, seized it, and hurled it into the bay. He stared around for more attackers, but the robots were walking off now, droning about gathering artifacts. At least they were ignoring the steady stream of people. "Bruce!" yelled Superman, leaping over the Planet news van to get to him. "What are you doing here?"
Bruce frowned at him and finished helping a scooter clear a path and flee into the city. "I guess this is our bridge, isn't it?" he said. "I mean, three meetings here in two weeks, it must be destin--"
He broke off as Superman grabbed his arm. "You're in danger here, you have to get out," Superman said, urgency making his teeth click together on the consonants. "Get into the city, where you'll be safe."
That maddeningly careless grin. "I just came in for a meeting, and found myself in the middle of all this!" He turned to gesture at the marching robots. "It's quite exciting--hey!"
Superman swept Bruce up, ignoring his protest, and bounded over cars and trucks to the far end of the bridge, into Metropolis city. He was going to get Bruce to--
"Put me down," said a quiet and icy cold voice. "Right now."
Superman stopped, blinked, and put Bruce down. "But--you're bleeding." He hadn't seen it until Bruce turned his head a moment ago, but there was a long gash over his right ear; blood spattered the creamy collar of his jacket, dripping slowly from the dark hair.
Bruce raised a hand to his ear, then peered at his red-stained fingers, his expression vaguely surprised. He looked back up at Superman, and his gaze was clear, direct, and devoid of any good humor whatsoever. "Get this through your skull--you do not pick me up like a load of laundry and carry me away from where I have chosen to be, where I need to be. Ever."
There were shouts from the other side of the bridge, far behind them. "I'm sorry," Superman gasped, backing away toward the sound, still staring at him. "It's just--you're the only person who seems to understand me, and I can't bear the thought of you--of you--" He touched the bloody stains on Bruce's shoulder, then leaned forward without thinking and pressed his lips briefly to Bruce's fierce, tense mouth. "My name is Clark," he whispered. "I just wanted you to know."
Then he whirled and ran away from Metropolis, toward the sounds of battle, not daring to look back.
: : :
Clark.
A car honked at the idiot standing in its way, and Bruce Wayne moved to the side of the bridge, still staring after the caped figure heading away toward the mainland. Superman's name was Clark.
Wasn't that reporter who had come to see him--
Was that possible?
Bruce tried to summon a memory of Clark Kent of the Daily Star and discovered that beyond a vague impression of horn-rimmed glasses and clumsiness, nothing about the man had stayed in his memory. This alone was so shocking--that a man trained in detection and analysis wouldn't remember a face--that Bruce found himself stunned into wild surmise.
Far off, he could see Superman fighting with a robot even bigger than the others before it. This one seemed to have a human face. Bruce took a step toward the mainland, then two. Cars inched by him, honking, their occupants cursing or weeping. He didn't notice them.
He could help Superman. Even without his belt of gadgets, he knew he could help. But only as Bruce Wayne. He had no mask, no way to hide his identity. He'd have to reveal all his training, come out into the open and operate in the light, throw away all his plans.
My name is Clark.
Superman was huddled on the ground, his cape held up like a fragile shield against a hail of death.
You're the only person who seems to understand me--
He was running now, his steps coming faster, not bothering to look awkward or winded. In the distance, blows were falling like rain on Superman's head and shoulders.
I can't bear the thought of you--
He vaulted over a motorcycle, ignoring a cry of protest. He was almost to the fight, already working out angles of attack in his head. He could cut loose that banner above the street, blind the android for a second, buy Superman--buy Clark--a little time to recover, and then--
Running at full speed toward Superman, he slammed into an invisible barrier.
He reeled backwards, his ears ringing with the force of the impact, then flung himself forward again in shocked disbelief, only to be repulsed once more. There was a strange humming noise in the air. He could hear people screaming, but the sound of the battle between Superman and the robot was strangely muted. He reached out until his hand encountered the barrier: transparent and unyielding. Cutting him off from the mainland. Cutting him off from Clark.
As Bruce Wayne stared, the world beyond the barrier swelled into gigantic proportions. The distant figures of Superman and the robots became Titans framed against a nightmare skyline. Then there was a sickening vertigo in the pit of Bruce's stomach, a sense of blurring transition as they shot upward, stars fading into existence as the blue was leached from the sky.
There was a spaceship looming above them--a ship the size of the Eastern seaboard. It dwarfed Metropolis entirely, too large to process. All around him, people fell to their knees, crying out and weeping. Bruce could feel his nails cutting into his hands as his mind reeled, grappling with the change in scale. No. The ship wasn't huge. Superman hadn't become a giant.
Metropolis--and all the people inside it--had become tiny.
A hatch opened above them, gaping wide to swallow the city. So smoothly that nothing was jarred, Metropolis was placed on a stand.
A terrifying silence fell across the city, broken only by distant sirens and the sound of sobbing.
Bruce stepped forward, his hand out until he encountered the barrier again. It felt different now. Harder. Colder. Like glass. Beyond it, distorted and looming, he could see the vague shapes of other bottles, other cities with delicate fluted spires or squat honeycombed structures.
"Planet 205 survivors," announced a voice like static and ichor, coming from all around them. "You have been filed and preserved. In one hour, the process will be complete and irreversible."
They were in the vacuum of space, perhaps beyond the exosphere. Far beyond the reach of a man who could leap even tall buildings. A man who was perhaps dying, pummeled to death far below, as the alien voice continued reassuringly:
"Welcome to the collection."
----
( Part 6)
Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Brainiac
Continuity: Comics, set during Action Comics #3 ( scans) and #4 ( scans)
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Metropolis is under attack--and Superman is appalled to find Bruce right in the middle of it all.
Word Count: 1800
Notes: Action and Re-Action is a series retelling the new versions of Action Comics and Justice League with a Superman/Batman angle. All chapters and notes on the series available here.
Nothing major had changed in Metropolis: one man recanting his accusations was hardly enough to convince the whole city to turn around and embrace Superman. There were still protests, still angry faces on the television and on the streets. But when someone screamed "alien!" at him, Clark was able to remember Bowman's apology and just keep moving. When a snide news commentator suggested that the world would be better off without freaks in capes, he remembered Bruce Wayne's gleeful grin and changed the channel with a shrug.
"I haven't given up yet," he told the picture of his parents, his hands gentle on the worn frame. "Thanks for believing in me. I think--I think I've found some people here who believe in me too." He thought of Lois Lane's fierce news stories defending Superman, Jimmy's bemused friendship.
Bruce Wayne's passionate eyes and wry smile. Bruce's strong, calloused hands and the feel of his tongue in--
Clark put the picture down hastily, as if his parents could read his thoughts through his touch on the picture frame. He wasn't sure how his parents would have reacted to Bruce Wayne, or the idea of their son kissing him. His wealth and status probably would have bothered them more than the fact he was a man, though.
I just want what every mother wants--for her child to be happy, his mother had said in an elliptical but affectionate conversation, prompted perhaps by noticing the way Clark looked at the leading man in the high school play. I just hope someday you can find a person who really understands and accepts you, who knows your heart and loves you as you deserve to be loved.
Clark sighed as he pulled on his hoodie. The strange thing was, he began to feel like Bruce Wayne understood him better than anyone else: his doubts and hopes, the things that made him angry. The things that inspired him to fight.
Bruce didn't even know his name.
We are who we make ourselves into.. What was he making himself into? What was Bruce making himself into? And could they do it together?
Clark pulled his thoughts back to the here and now. He had an interview with the owner of the Factory for Tomorrow in an hour. Time to stop daydreaming about handsome millionaires and start preparing for some hard-hitting investigative journalism.
: : :
"Hard-hitting journalism," he thought a few hours later, wasn't usually quite so literal.
The robot reeled back from Superman's punch, emitting a high-pitched squeal that made his teeth hurt. The factory owner was gibbering as his factory turned against him, Clark's ears were filled with a deafening clatter announcing that Earth would be stored and preserved, and at least Lois and Jimmy were on their way back into the relative safety of the city. Superman lashed out, crushing another robotic arm into scrap, whirled--
And saw out of the corner of his eye Bruce Wayne standing at the end of the Queensland Bridge.
Clark froze for a second and the robot landed a good punch on the side of his jaw. Staggering, he blinked tears out of his eyes and the figure in an immaculate cashmere coat resolved back out of blurriness. Bruce was directing traffic over the bridge; as Clark stared he broke off to scoop up a little girl and help her into her mother's desperate arms in the back of a fleeing pickup truck. He wasn't even looking at Superman.
The robot was pulling on his cape now. Superman whirled, seized it, and hurled it into the bay. He stared around for more attackers, but the robots were walking off now, droning about gathering artifacts. At least they were ignoring the steady stream of people. "Bruce!" yelled Superman, leaping over the Planet news van to get to him. "What are you doing here?"
Bruce frowned at him and finished helping a scooter clear a path and flee into the city. "I guess this is our bridge, isn't it?" he said. "I mean, three meetings here in two weeks, it must be destin--"
He broke off as Superman grabbed his arm. "You're in danger here, you have to get out," Superman said, urgency making his teeth click together on the consonants. "Get into the city, where you'll be safe."
That maddeningly careless grin. "I just came in for a meeting, and found myself in the middle of all this!" He turned to gesture at the marching robots. "It's quite exciting--hey!"
Superman swept Bruce up, ignoring his protest, and bounded over cars and trucks to the far end of the bridge, into Metropolis city. He was going to get Bruce to--
"Put me down," said a quiet and icy cold voice. "Right now."
Superman stopped, blinked, and put Bruce down. "But--you're bleeding." He hadn't seen it until Bruce turned his head a moment ago, but there was a long gash over his right ear; blood spattered the creamy collar of his jacket, dripping slowly from the dark hair.
Bruce raised a hand to his ear, then peered at his red-stained fingers, his expression vaguely surprised. He looked back up at Superman, and his gaze was clear, direct, and devoid of any good humor whatsoever. "Get this through your skull--you do not pick me up like a load of laundry and carry me away from where I have chosen to be, where I need to be. Ever."
There were shouts from the other side of the bridge, far behind them. "I'm sorry," Superman gasped, backing away toward the sound, still staring at him. "It's just--you're the only person who seems to understand me, and I can't bear the thought of you--of you--" He touched the bloody stains on Bruce's shoulder, then leaned forward without thinking and pressed his lips briefly to Bruce's fierce, tense mouth. "My name is Clark," he whispered. "I just wanted you to know."
Then he whirled and ran away from Metropolis, toward the sounds of battle, not daring to look back.
: : :
Clark.
A car honked at the idiot standing in its way, and Bruce Wayne moved to the side of the bridge, still staring after the caped figure heading away toward the mainland. Superman's name was Clark.
Wasn't that reporter who had come to see him--
Was that possible?
Bruce tried to summon a memory of Clark Kent of the Daily Star and discovered that beyond a vague impression of horn-rimmed glasses and clumsiness, nothing about the man had stayed in his memory. This alone was so shocking--that a man trained in detection and analysis wouldn't remember a face--that Bruce found himself stunned into wild surmise.
Far off, he could see Superman fighting with a robot even bigger than the others before it. This one seemed to have a human face. Bruce took a step toward the mainland, then two. Cars inched by him, honking, their occupants cursing or weeping. He didn't notice them.
He could help Superman. Even without his belt of gadgets, he knew he could help. But only as Bruce Wayne. He had no mask, no way to hide his identity. He'd have to reveal all his training, come out into the open and operate in the light, throw away all his plans.
My name is Clark.
Superman was huddled on the ground, his cape held up like a fragile shield against a hail of death.
You're the only person who seems to understand me--
He was running now, his steps coming faster, not bothering to look awkward or winded. In the distance, blows were falling like rain on Superman's head and shoulders.
I can't bear the thought of you--
He vaulted over a motorcycle, ignoring a cry of protest. He was almost to the fight, already working out angles of attack in his head. He could cut loose that banner above the street, blind the android for a second, buy Superman--buy Clark--a little time to recover, and then--
Running at full speed toward Superman, he slammed into an invisible barrier.
He reeled backwards, his ears ringing with the force of the impact, then flung himself forward again in shocked disbelief, only to be repulsed once more. There was a strange humming noise in the air. He could hear people screaming, but the sound of the battle between Superman and the robot was strangely muted. He reached out until his hand encountered the barrier: transparent and unyielding. Cutting him off from the mainland. Cutting him off from Clark.
As Bruce Wayne stared, the world beyond the barrier swelled into gigantic proportions. The distant figures of Superman and the robots became Titans framed against a nightmare skyline. Then there was a sickening vertigo in the pit of Bruce's stomach, a sense of blurring transition as they shot upward, stars fading into existence as the blue was leached from the sky.
There was a spaceship looming above them--a ship the size of the Eastern seaboard. It dwarfed Metropolis entirely, too large to process. All around him, people fell to their knees, crying out and weeping. Bruce could feel his nails cutting into his hands as his mind reeled, grappling with the change in scale. No. The ship wasn't huge. Superman hadn't become a giant.
Metropolis--and all the people inside it--had become tiny.
A hatch opened above them, gaping wide to swallow the city. So smoothly that nothing was jarred, Metropolis was placed on a stand.
A terrifying silence fell across the city, broken only by distant sirens and the sound of sobbing.
Bruce stepped forward, his hand out until he encountered the barrier again. It felt different now. Harder. Colder. Like glass. Beyond it, distorted and looming, he could see the vague shapes of other bottles, other cities with delicate fluted spires or squat honeycombed structures.
"Planet 205 survivors," announced a voice like static and ichor, coming from all around them. "You have been filed and preserved. In one hour, the process will be complete and irreversible."
They were in the vacuum of space, perhaps beyond the exosphere. Far beyond the reach of a man who could leap even tall buildings. A man who was perhaps dying, pummeled to death far below, as the alien voice continued reassuringly:
"Welcome to the collection."
----
( Part 6)