Heroes of the Squared Circle 34: Inferno Match
Title: Inferno Match
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Bane, Dick Grayson, Helena Bertinelli, Pamela Isley, Selina Kyle, Harley Quinn
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion ( click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count 4100
Summary: A show in Santa Prisca: Jason's first match against the Joker, Dick's debut as Nightwing, and an inferno match between Bane and the Dark Knight.
Note: Extra thanks to rdfox for some hints about Joker and Jason's match!
I honestly can't describe what goes on in my head when I'm out there. People who don't wrestle can't possibly understand it. When I'm in the ring, I don't feel any pain. I'm in another world out there. . . . It's almost as if I'm two different people--Superman and Clark Kent. --Eddie Guerrero
"Remember: follow his lead. It'll be a short match, you're not supposed to be a challenge to him yet. Joker's brilliant, so trust his instincts and you won't go wrong."
Jason nodded, shifting from foot to foot like a boxer before a match. Robin's music hit, and Bruce clapped him on the back and sent him out.
The low rumble of the crowd that greeted him was slightly unnerving. The Peña Duro arena was a circular series of balconies, set close to the ring to mimic a prison, and the crowd noise was an immediate and living thing in such an inclosed space.
"And opposing him," announced Bane with a sweep of his hand--he always played ring announcer for his own shows, a merciless god of combat, "The Harlequin of Hate, the Mountebank of Menace, the Dandy of Death--" With each sobriquet the crowd noise leapt in volume; apparently the Joker was quite popular among the "inmates of Peña Duro. "--The Clown Prince of Crime himself, the Joker!"
Joker went out, waving and acknowledging the crowd's cheers.
"Tough crowd," murmured Clark to Bruce. "Do they always cheer the heels?"
"Santa Prisca's the smarkiest place I've ever wrestled," said Bruce as the cheers shifted to deafening boos when Robin got the first blow in on the Joker. "I warned Jason that this would probably happen."
Jason didn't seem to care that the audience was rooting for Joker. He was sweating in the tropical heat, but wearing a fierce grin that nearly matched Joker's fixed and manic glee. And not just their smiles were matched, Clark realized as they moved around the ring: Jason's sinewy grappling style highlighted Napier's flexibility and litheness.
The match was going well and reaching the end--it was just a warm-up for the big matches, anyway, when it happened: in the middle of a submission hold Joker twisted just so and Clark saw Jason's face go still as it does when real pain happens.
"Son of a--" Bruce bit the word off into an angry growl. "Dislocated shoulder," he muttered, watching Jason.
"Tap out," yelled the Joker, shrill enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd. "That'd be funny, don't you think?"
Robin bit his lip hard, then threw off the sinewy weight of the Thin White Duke of Death, rolling to his feet, his arm dangling awkwardly. He bared his teeth at the Joker, then slingshotted himself off the ropes, hurling himself at him. Joker was ready with his finishing move, the Punchline--he grabbed Jason's head and used his own momentum to slam him into the ring, where he lay still.
Bruce released a long breath as Joker wiped an imaginary tear from his eye and removed the flower from his boutonniere, casting it out into the audience with a graceful bow. "Time to go out and pick up the pieces," he muttered.
With a swirl of cape, he rushed out toward the ring, stopping only to trade bitter glares with the Joker. He knelt at Robin's side, helping him to his feet. Robin shook off his hands, radiating pain and pride in every line of his body, then limped away on his own.
From the middle of the ring, the Dark Knight watched him go, then whirled to address Bane, watching as always from his box seat in the corner. "Bane!" he cried. "What coward stays above the fray, refusing to risk his skin in the ring?"
The crowd muttering coalesced, ugly and rough, but Bane held up a hand and it died back down. "Does the Dark Knight wish to face me?" he called down.
"Would you dare?"
Now Bane threw back his head and laughed at the contempt in the Dark Knight's voice. "You challenge me? You may as well challenge the tide, or throw taunts at the avalanche. Both shall sweep you away without even trying, and as for me--" He gestured, and flames burst from the turnbuckles in fiery columns at his command, bathing the Pit in garish light, "--I shall break you!"
They had Jason's shoulder bandaged and in a sling by the time Bruce made it back to the common room. Bruce stopped to talk to him briefly, then swung on the Joker, who was sitting with his feet propped up on a table.
"You've got a lot of nerve," he gritted. "His first match, and you deliberately dislocate his shoulder." He towered over the grinning Joker. "I ought to--"
"Oh come on, Bats," chortled the Joker. "Can I call you Bats? I think we're close enough for that by now--anyway, you heard the kid on the plane! He said we were fake! I couldn't let that stand. And I gotta say, I'm impressed! He coulda just tapped out when I pulled his wing, but he got up and let me deliver the Punchline like a trooper." He stood up and clapped Jason on his good shoulder. "Are we even, kid?"
Jason grinned at him. "I thought it was pretty funny, actually."
Joker threw back his head and crowed with laughter. "See? No hard feelings," he said to Bruce. "He's a good worker. I foresee some hilarious storylines together."
"You do know his definition of 'hilarious' is pretty loose?" Bruce said as he and Clark sat down next to Jason.
"Nah, it's good," said Jason. "He's brutal. I can appreciate that. I think we can do some angles that'll really set me apart from Dick." He grinned: "You weren't kidding about the crowd. What a bunch of hardcore maniacs."
"Mi public," sighed the Joker. "If only the unwashed masses on the mainland had half of their taste. I'd move down here permanently, but frankly the DCW needs me too much. The sacrifices I make."
"You seemed to handle getting booed pretty well," Bruce said to Jason, ignoring Joker's how-I-suffer-for-my-art monologue.
"Hey, I don't mind getting booed," Jason said. "It's if people yawn that I've failed." He nodded at Clark. "At least you'll finally have a chance to get cheered for a change."
Was it so obvious he hated being a heel that even the new kid could tell? "No such luck, actually," Clark said. "I'm fighting one of Bane's right-hand men, so the crowd will be behind him. But I'm fine with being a heel, really."
"Sure," said Jason. "Sure you are." he seemed, belatedly, to realize that this could be taken as rude, and hastened to add, "I mean, you're good at it, no doubt about that." He cleared his throat, appeared to decide that discretion was the better part of valor, and went back to arguing with Joker.
Clark's match against Trogg went off without a hitch--Trogg was a burly wrestler with a slow but inexorable style, so not a lot was required of the Kryptonian but to look like was exerting himself in fighting him. The crowd was behind Trogg all the way, and when he finally managed to choke the Kryptonian into submission, throttling him with a camel clutch until the Kryptonian lost consciousness entirely, Brainiac shrieking impotently outside the ring, the crowd ate it up.
"So perish all who oppose my might, and the power of my right-hand man," boomed Bane as the Kryptonian's limp body was dragged out by a triumphant Trogg and two helpers.
Backstage, Clark scrambled out of the Kryptonian bodysuit and into his reporter seersucker suit as quickly as he could. "Wish they wouldn't put the two gimmicks back to back," he panted to Bruce as he re-arranged his hair and pulled out the red contacts. "I think Luthor just likes to make me suffer."
"Possible," Bruce agreed blandly. "Now get out back there so you can get bodyslammed by a girl."
"You mean a woman wrestler, and Pamela can probably press more weight than you can, as well you know. As an attempt at humiliation, you're going to have to do better than that."
Bruce tangled one black-gloved hand in his hair and leaned close to his ear. "I'm saving all the best material for later," he growled, very low and very dark. "There," he added cheerfully, releasing Clark. "Now you look ready for an interview with Poison Ivy: rumpled and flushed."
Clark took a moment to adjust his trousers, rather glad for a change that they were baggy , and shot a glare at Bruce, who looked entirely unrepentant.
Then Clark Kent, intrepid reporter, headed to the interview area for his spot with the Gotham Sirens.
"So, you don't feel...uncomfortable wrestling in front of a lot of prisoners?" Clark asked Ivy, Harley, and Catwoman.
"Men are all brutes," Ivy sneered as Catwoman looked bored and Harley got distracted in the background by a large moth banging around the light bulb. "Slaves to their natures. They are beneath our notice. We are here to focus on the real threat: those self-righteous killjoys aligned with Batgirl."
Catwoman had gone back to being a brunette--"For symmetry," she had explained to Clark. "They've got a blond, a brunette and a redhead, so we need one of each too." Now she ran one hand lazily through her black curls and stretched luxuriously. "We're done pussyfooting around with them," she snarled. "Tonight we're coming at them with claws bared."
"I brought licorice!" Harley chirped out of nowhere, popping up in between her friends with a bag of black licorice whips. "Want some, girls?"
Ivy and Catwoman took a whip: Catwoman to snap playfully at Harley, Ivy to suck on while staring directly at Clark. "What are you staring at?" she said as Clark tugged on his collar, looking flustered.
"N-nothing," stammered Clark, blushing furiously.
Ivy looked at him without expression a while longer, then grabbed him without warning and tossed him in a bodyslam. "Gross," she said, wiping her hands off on her bodysuit as if she'd been forced to handle toxic waste. "Come on, girls, let's find some worthy opponents."
The camera zoomed in on Clark's dazed face, glasses askew, as the Sirens sauntered toward the ring.
One of his better interviews, he thought. He was getting the hang of timing and the meek mannerisms--to be honest, they came more naturally than the strut and swagger of the Kryptonian. And it was always fun to use your skills to make other wrestlers seem tougher and stronger.
The match itself went great: Clark had been concerned about the audience--apparently female wrestlers were almost unheard-of in Santa Prisca--but aside from a few appreciative wolf whistles they cheered for the Sirens like they had all the other heels, booing the faces so vigorously that Power Girl almost got into a scrap with an audience member and had to be pulled away by Huntress.
The "Three on Three" match was perfectly made for these two teams. They tagged in and out at a dizzying pace, changing strategies depending on who they were up against, never letting anything get boring. Batgirl caught Harley with her Daredoll Drop and for a moment it looked like they were going to make short work of the Sirens, but then Catwoman distracted the ref and Ivy blew spores into Batgirl's face, causing her to cough so badly Harley had a chance to recover, and the match went on. At one point Harley pulled her trademark comically large sledgehammer out from under the ring and the audience went nuts, but she got so busy posing and preening with it that Power Girl was able to ready her Power Punch and level her.
"Really rough crowd," Huntress said as she squeezed liquid out of her hair backstage after their hasty retreat. "Yuck." She sniffed her black tresses with her nose wrinkled. "I guess I'm relieved it's just beer they were throwing at us."
"I thought they were awesome!" Harley squealed, throwing her hands in the air and jumping around.
"You would," Huntress grumbled.
Clark looked away from the friendly argument to the corner where Dick and Bruce were in animated conversation. Bruce had the cowl on, and Dick was wearing the costume with the popped collar and golden accents, gesturing as he explained something. They were both smiling--Dick's his open, wide smile, and Bruce's the small pleased smile he had when he was enjoying himself and didn't quite realize it.
Dick spotted him looking and waved him over. "Wait until you see the match Bird and I have planned," he said. "Bane's got me booked to win, even." He grimaced. "Usually Bane wouldn't book one of his lieutenants to lose against a mainlander, but apparently Bird messed up a catch a little while ago and he's been in the doghouse ever since." A sly grin. "Or should I say the birdhouse?"
"I don't think you should," said Bruce solemnly, and Dick threw back his head and laughed.
"Anyway," he said more seriously, "it's my first match in this costume, my first match really as Nightwing. I've got some new moves ready for it. Promise me you'll watch it?"
"I wouldn't miss this one for the world," said Bruce, just as if he didn't find video of every single one of Dick's matches and watch them over and over, explaining to a patient Clark what Dick had improved on since the last one..
"Fantastic!" Dick leaped to his feet, did a quick handspring off a chair, and headed for the entrance to the arena.
"He'll be coming back to the DCW soon," Lex Luthor observed, strolling over to where Clark and Bruce were watching the monitor as Bane exhorted the crowd. "And not just him. He's tipped me off to a lot of fresh new talent he's been working with, and I'm thinking about expanding the sidekick gimmick. Adds a lot of inter-generational angst, taps into those visceral anxieties about parents and children, you know?"
"Dick's not a sidekick anymore," Bruce said as Bane introduced his henchman, Bird, who entered with his trademark falcon on his wrist before sending it soaring into the rafters.
"Certainly not, we replaced him," Lex said. "But how about Kid Flash--Wonder Girl--Aqualad--Speedy. A special division for young wrestlers with talent, fast moves, a daredevil style. I'm thinking of calling it the Titan division."
Clark frowned. "The other three are obvious, but who would Speedy be paired up with?"
"Green Arrow," Bruce said.
Lex looked slightly surprised. "How did you know?"
"Because you've given 'sidekicks' to most of the wrestlers you like least, and Green Arrow is near the top of that list."
Lex looked torn between annoyance and admiration. "Of course, I made sure you got the first one."
"Of course." Bruce held up his hand, cutting off further conversation, as Bane started to speak:
"And facing him, hailing from the soft and hedonistic city on the mainland, Gotham, is the masked vigilante known as Nightwing!"
The crowd muttered angrily as Nightwing came down the ramp. Halfway down, he did a sudden rolling somersault, coming up running until he leaped into the ring.
"This match," intoned Bane, "Is a Falls Count Anywhere Match! The ring is only the beginning of the torment for Nightwing, for Bird shall pursue him inexorably wherever he may flee. No place is safe for the Gotham whelp!"
"Whelp," murmured Bruce. "Nice word. Resonant."
"Defeat him, Bird! Or suffer my displeasure!" Bane gestured for the bell to be rung, and the match was underway.
It started in the ring, and it was quickly clear the bird theme was an accurate one: both were whipcord-fast, lithe and agile wrestlers, skilled at pulling off moves from the ropes and the turnbuckles. Soon enough, Bird decided that he would have more of an advantage fighting among the crowd, and he dodged out of the ring with Nightwing in hot pursuit.
They fought up the steps, the crowd surging around them. Bird threw Nightwing down the stairs and he tumbled in a barely-controlled fall, ending in a heap near the bottom. The seething crowd closed around him for a moment, and Clark felt Bruce's shoulders tense. But then he re-emerged, sprinting up the steps in pursuit of the fleeting Bird.
Soon they were up in the first balcony, trading punches and throws with abandon. Nightwing jumped up onto the rail of the balcony, balanced precariously, running along it like a tightrope with nothing but a sheer drop on one side. Bird jumped up to intercept him and they weaved and bobbed, and then Bird landed a solid punch to his jaw.
Nightwing wobbled, wavered, and then plunged backwards off the balcony into thin air.
Clark heard the crowd gasp, felt Bruce jump to his feet as Nightwing fell, his body tracing a line of pure grace through the air as he made a full rotation, dark hair flowing. He landed on his back next to the ring on the padded floor, and for a moment there was nothing but silence as he lay still. Then the crowd burst into cheers--partly for Bird's apparent victory, and partly for the skill of the fall. The ref leaned over him briefly, then stepped back, shaking his head, and Clark felt Bruce take a harsh breath. The fall had gone off as planned and Dick was uninjured, otherwise the ref would be calling for medical attention.
"Impressive," Luthor said. Clark looked over to see his eyes bright as he looked at Dick lying on the floor. "He told me he was going to show me something special tonight. He was right."
Bird raced down the stairs to reach his fallen opponent and pin him. But as the referee got to the two-count and the crowd noise peaked, Nightwing kicked out and staggered to his feet, weaving but indomitable. The crowd shrieked, no longer seeming to care who was the face and who was the heel, as he pursued the panicked Bird until at last Nightwing leaped from a table to knock Bird out and pin him for the three-count. An infuriated Bane castigated the fallen Bird as Nightwing limped back up the ramp to his music and the delirious rage of the crowd.
"Hard match to follow," said Bruce. "Guess Bane and I will have our work cut out for us."
"Be careful," said Clark. "Fire doesn't care about kayfabe."
"Neither does gravity, and we've always beaten that." Bruce held out his fist for Clark to bump and was gone.
"We've done as you demanded, Bane!" growled the Dark Knight. "We fought your lackeys, and now it's time for me to take you down."
"Oh," purred Bane as he strode to the ring, "You are still angry that I pitched your fledgling against the Joker, are you? He shall heal and learn from the experience. You, on the other hand--"
He gestured, and on cue the turnbuckles burst into flame once more. He entered the ring moments before the flames spread to enclose the whole ring. The two of them stood surrounded by flame, and the bell rang out over the crackling of fire.
Clark watched as the two circled each other. It would get increasingly difficult to breathe as the flames pulled oxygen from the center of the ring, as the temperature rose. Bruce was wearing his full cape for the match, and even knowing it had all been treated with fire retardant didn't make Clark feel much better. With each blow and bodyslam the flames leaped in response, an angry roar.
The match was slow-paced, deliberate: it fit their styles, but also neither wrestler wanted to risk getting too close to the flames before it was time for the finale. Clark could see sweat trickling from beneath Bruce's cowl, sheening his chest. A throw went just a fraction off and Bruce's cloak came terrifyingly close to the fire: Clark heard Jason and Dick simultaneously make small sounds of worry, and for a moment the two of them shared a sudden, entirely understanding look.
It was time for the backbreaker, Bane's finishing move and the segue into the sequence in which the Dark Knight would be set on fire. After a flurry of steady offense by the Dark Knight, Bane grabbed the caped wrestler, lifting him up. For a long moment he held him there, a show of brute strength. And then with a roar of fury he brought the Dark Knight down across his knee.
It was beautifully executed, so much so that Clark found his heart in his throat: there were no referees in the flame-encircled ring to check on him and give medical assistance if necessary, what if, what if…
But Bane bent over the Dark Knight, and as he did, his opponent grabbed him and dragged him down. Clark felt a sigh of relief shake his body: the match would have ended if Bruce were truly hurt. Nothing left now but the flames--oh, that's all, he thought grimly to himself.
Bane seized the Dark Knight and forced him back against the flaming barrier, inch by agonizing inch. It had to be searingly hot, and Clark winced in sympathetic pain as the treated cloak finally ignited. Bane hurled the burning Dark Knight from the ring, and the Dark Knight staggered up the ramp through the howls of the crowd, flames creeping up his cape, defeated.
Bane stood alone and victorious in the ring, but Clark didn't see his triumphant conclusion, because he was rushing to where Bruce was being hosed off with fire extinguishers and smothered in blankets. He heard someone yelling "Are you okay?" in a hoarse voice, and realized abruptly it was him.
Bruce peeked out from the blankets swaddling him, his hair and eyelashes touched with foam. "Worried about me?"
Clark's knees went oddly wobbly, and he sat down on the floor next to Bruce. Some of the other wrestlers gave him strange looks; he ignored them. "Damn it," he muttered. "That backbreaker move looks--"
"--Amazing, I know," said Bruce. "It's an honor to receive it." He hissed as the medical staff gingerly removed his singed cape. "I'm going through a lot of these, aren't I?"
"Are you burned?"
"That's what I get for playing with fire," Bruce said cheerfully.
"You've got a few first-degree burn patches," Dr. Cross said in his distinctive Norwegian accent. "Nothing too serious."
"Lucky me," said Bruce.
"Excellent match!" Clark looked up to see Bane towering over them as they sat on the ground; reflexively he jumped to his feet as if to defend Bruce from him, then stopped, feeling foolish.
Bane helped Bruce to his feet. "It was a pleasure to lose to you," Bruce said. "You'll have to take your turn sometime."
Bane threw his head back in dark laughter. "Indeed, brother," he said. "One day I shall come to Gotham. I shall face you down on your home turf. And there--"
He pointed at Bruce and Clark felt a superstitious shiver go down his spine.
"--I shall break you!" thundered Bane good-naturedly, and everyone but Clark laughed.
"No more inferno matches," Clark said, smoothing aloe onto Bruce's bare back.
Bruce was lying on his stomach, gazing out at the ocean through the billowing curtains, thick with salty air. He turned his head to grin at Clark. "You're cute when you're over-protective," he said.
"I just...didn't like seeing you on fire."
"I've been on fire since we first wrestled together," Bruce murmured, closing his eyes. For a long moment they sat there in silence, Clark's hands moving on Bruce's skin, the sea air blowing over them. "You're not even sweating," Bruce complained in a lighter tone.
"It's not that hot."
"Clark, it's sweltering." Bruce cast him an annoyed and affectionate look; Clark's resilience in hot weather was infamous. "You're like some kind of Superman."
Clark laughed. "Superman?"
"Well, I prefer that translation of Übermensch. Less daunting." He laughed low in his throat and recited: "The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Ah, my brethren! Of what account now are the gods to me!"
"Are you quoting Nietzsche to me? Is this your idea of pillow talk?"
"It would be a good wrestling name," said Bruce dreamily. "Ye wise and knowing ones, ye would flee from the solar-glow of the wisdom in which the Superman joyfully batheth his nakedness!" He smiled at Clark, slow and beautiful. "Joyfully bathe thy nakedness in the solar-glow, my Superman!"
Clark did not need a second invitation.
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Bane, Dick Grayson, Helena Bertinelli, Pamela Isley, Selina Kyle, Harley Quinn
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion ( click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count 4100
Summary: A show in Santa Prisca: Jason's first match against the Joker, Dick's debut as Nightwing, and an inferno match between Bane and the Dark Knight.
Note: Extra thanks to rdfox for some hints about Joker and Jason's match!
I honestly can't describe what goes on in my head when I'm out there. People who don't wrestle can't possibly understand it. When I'm in the ring, I don't feel any pain. I'm in another world out there. . . . It's almost as if I'm two different people--Superman and Clark Kent. --Eddie Guerrero
"Remember: follow his lead. It'll be a short match, you're not supposed to be a challenge to him yet. Joker's brilliant, so trust his instincts and you won't go wrong."
Jason nodded, shifting from foot to foot like a boxer before a match. Robin's music hit, and Bruce clapped him on the back and sent him out.
The low rumble of the crowd that greeted him was slightly unnerving. The Peña Duro arena was a circular series of balconies, set close to the ring to mimic a prison, and the crowd noise was an immediate and living thing in such an inclosed space.
"And opposing him," announced Bane with a sweep of his hand--he always played ring announcer for his own shows, a merciless god of combat, "The Harlequin of Hate, the Mountebank of Menace, the Dandy of Death--" With each sobriquet the crowd noise leapt in volume; apparently the Joker was quite popular among the "inmates of Peña Duro. "--The Clown Prince of Crime himself, the Joker!"
Joker went out, waving and acknowledging the crowd's cheers.
"Tough crowd," murmured Clark to Bruce. "Do they always cheer the heels?"
"Santa Prisca's the smarkiest place I've ever wrestled," said Bruce as the cheers shifted to deafening boos when Robin got the first blow in on the Joker. "I warned Jason that this would probably happen."
Jason didn't seem to care that the audience was rooting for Joker. He was sweating in the tropical heat, but wearing a fierce grin that nearly matched Joker's fixed and manic glee. And not just their smiles were matched, Clark realized as they moved around the ring: Jason's sinewy grappling style highlighted Napier's flexibility and litheness.
The match was going well and reaching the end--it was just a warm-up for the big matches, anyway, when it happened: in the middle of a submission hold Joker twisted just so and Clark saw Jason's face go still as it does when real pain happens.
"Son of a--" Bruce bit the word off into an angry growl. "Dislocated shoulder," he muttered, watching Jason.
"Tap out," yelled the Joker, shrill enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd. "That'd be funny, don't you think?"
Robin bit his lip hard, then threw off the sinewy weight of the Thin White Duke of Death, rolling to his feet, his arm dangling awkwardly. He bared his teeth at the Joker, then slingshotted himself off the ropes, hurling himself at him. Joker was ready with his finishing move, the Punchline--he grabbed Jason's head and used his own momentum to slam him into the ring, where he lay still.
Bruce released a long breath as Joker wiped an imaginary tear from his eye and removed the flower from his boutonniere, casting it out into the audience with a graceful bow. "Time to go out and pick up the pieces," he muttered.
With a swirl of cape, he rushed out toward the ring, stopping only to trade bitter glares with the Joker. He knelt at Robin's side, helping him to his feet. Robin shook off his hands, radiating pain and pride in every line of his body, then limped away on his own.
From the middle of the ring, the Dark Knight watched him go, then whirled to address Bane, watching as always from his box seat in the corner. "Bane!" he cried. "What coward stays above the fray, refusing to risk his skin in the ring?"
The crowd muttering coalesced, ugly and rough, but Bane held up a hand and it died back down. "Does the Dark Knight wish to face me?" he called down.
"Would you dare?"
Now Bane threw back his head and laughed at the contempt in the Dark Knight's voice. "You challenge me? You may as well challenge the tide, or throw taunts at the avalanche. Both shall sweep you away without even trying, and as for me--" He gestured, and flames burst from the turnbuckles in fiery columns at his command, bathing the Pit in garish light, "--I shall break you!"
They had Jason's shoulder bandaged and in a sling by the time Bruce made it back to the common room. Bruce stopped to talk to him briefly, then swung on the Joker, who was sitting with his feet propped up on a table.
"You've got a lot of nerve," he gritted. "His first match, and you deliberately dislocate his shoulder." He towered over the grinning Joker. "I ought to--"
"Oh come on, Bats," chortled the Joker. "Can I call you Bats? I think we're close enough for that by now--anyway, you heard the kid on the plane! He said we were fake! I couldn't let that stand. And I gotta say, I'm impressed! He coulda just tapped out when I pulled his wing, but he got up and let me deliver the Punchline like a trooper." He stood up and clapped Jason on his good shoulder. "Are we even, kid?"
Jason grinned at him. "I thought it was pretty funny, actually."
Joker threw back his head and crowed with laughter. "See? No hard feelings," he said to Bruce. "He's a good worker. I foresee some hilarious storylines together."
"You do know his definition of 'hilarious' is pretty loose?" Bruce said as he and Clark sat down next to Jason.
"Nah, it's good," said Jason. "He's brutal. I can appreciate that. I think we can do some angles that'll really set me apart from Dick." He grinned: "You weren't kidding about the crowd. What a bunch of hardcore maniacs."
"Mi public," sighed the Joker. "If only the unwashed masses on the mainland had half of their taste. I'd move down here permanently, but frankly the DCW needs me too much. The sacrifices I make."
"You seemed to handle getting booed pretty well," Bruce said to Jason, ignoring Joker's how-I-suffer-for-my-art monologue.
"Hey, I don't mind getting booed," Jason said. "It's if people yawn that I've failed." He nodded at Clark. "At least you'll finally have a chance to get cheered for a change."
Was it so obvious he hated being a heel that even the new kid could tell? "No such luck, actually," Clark said. "I'm fighting one of Bane's right-hand men, so the crowd will be behind him. But I'm fine with being a heel, really."
"Sure," said Jason. "Sure you are." he seemed, belatedly, to realize that this could be taken as rude, and hastened to add, "I mean, you're good at it, no doubt about that." He cleared his throat, appeared to decide that discretion was the better part of valor, and went back to arguing with Joker.
Clark's match against Trogg went off without a hitch--Trogg was a burly wrestler with a slow but inexorable style, so not a lot was required of the Kryptonian but to look like was exerting himself in fighting him. The crowd was behind Trogg all the way, and when he finally managed to choke the Kryptonian into submission, throttling him with a camel clutch until the Kryptonian lost consciousness entirely, Brainiac shrieking impotently outside the ring, the crowd ate it up.
"So perish all who oppose my might, and the power of my right-hand man," boomed Bane as the Kryptonian's limp body was dragged out by a triumphant Trogg and two helpers.
Backstage, Clark scrambled out of the Kryptonian bodysuit and into his reporter seersucker suit as quickly as he could. "Wish they wouldn't put the two gimmicks back to back," he panted to Bruce as he re-arranged his hair and pulled out the red contacts. "I think Luthor just likes to make me suffer."
"Possible," Bruce agreed blandly. "Now get out back there so you can get bodyslammed by a girl."
"You mean a woman wrestler, and Pamela can probably press more weight than you can, as well you know. As an attempt at humiliation, you're going to have to do better than that."
Bruce tangled one black-gloved hand in his hair and leaned close to his ear. "I'm saving all the best material for later," he growled, very low and very dark. "There," he added cheerfully, releasing Clark. "Now you look ready for an interview with Poison Ivy: rumpled and flushed."
Clark took a moment to adjust his trousers, rather glad for a change that they were baggy , and shot a glare at Bruce, who looked entirely unrepentant.
Then Clark Kent, intrepid reporter, headed to the interview area for his spot with the Gotham Sirens.
"So, you don't feel...uncomfortable wrestling in front of a lot of prisoners?" Clark asked Ivy, Harley, and Catwoman.
"Men are all brutes," Ivy sneered as Catwoman looked bored and Harley got distracted in the background by a large moth banging around the light bulb. "Slaves to their natures. They are beneath our notice. We are here to focus on the real threat: those self-righteous killjoys aligned with Batgirl."
Catwoman had gone back to being a brunette--"For symmetry," she had explained to Clark. "They've got a blond, a brunette and a redhead, so we need one of each too." Now she ran one hand lazily through her black curls and stretched luxuriously. "We're done pussyfooting around with them," she snarled. "Tonight we're coming at them with claws bared."
"I brought licorice!" Harley chirped out of nowhere, popping up in between her friends with a bag of black licorice whips. "Want some, girls?"
Ivy and Catwoman took a whip: Catwoman to snap playfully at Harley, Ivy to suck on while staring directly at Clark. "What are you staring at?" she said as Clark tugged on his collar, looking flustered.
"N-nothing," stammered Clark, blushing furiously.
Ivy looked at him without expression a while longer, then grabbed him without warning and tossed him in a bodyslam. "Gross," she said, wiping her hands off on her bodysuit as if she'd been forced to handle toxic waste. "Come on, girls, let's find some worthy opponents."
The camera zoomed in on Clark's dazed face, glasses askew, as the Sirens sauntered toward the ring.
One of his better interviews, he thought. He was getting the hang of timing and the meek mannerisms--to be honest, they came more naturally than the strut and swagger of the Kryptonian. And it was always fun to use your skills to make other wrestlers seem tougher and stronger.
The match itself went great: Clark had been concerned about the audience--apparently female wrestlers were almost unheard-of in Santa Prisca--but aside from a few appreciative wolf whistles they cheered for the Sirens like they had all the other heels, booing the faces so vigorously that Power Girl almost got into a scrap with an audience member and had to be pulled away by Huntress.
The "Three on Three" match was perfectly made for these two teams. They tagged in and out at a dizzying pace, changing strategies depending on who they were up against, never letting anything get boring. Batgirl caught Harley with her Daredoll Drop and for a moment it looked like they were going to make short work of the Sirens, but then Catwoman distracted the ref and Ivy blew spores into Batgirl's face, causing her to cough so badly Harley had a chance to recover, and the match went on. At one point Harley pulled her trademark comically large sledgehammer out from under the ring and the audience went nuts, but she got so busy posing and preening with it that Power Girl was able to ready her Power Punch and level her.
"Really rough crowd," Huntress said as she squeezed liquid out of her hair backstage after their hasty retreat. "Yuck." She sniffed her black tresses with her nose wrinkled. "I guess I'm relieved it's just beer they were throwing at us."
"I thought they were awesome!" Harley squealed, throwing her hands in the air and jumping around.
"You would," Huntress grumbled.
Clark looked away from the friendly argument to the corner where Dick and Bruce were in animated conversation. Bruce had the cowl on, and Dick was wearing the costume with the popped collar and golden accents, gesturing as he explained something. They were both smiling--Dick's his open, wide smile, and Bruce's the small pleased smile he had when he was enjoying himself and didn't quite realize it.
Dick spotted him looking and waved him over. "Wait until you see the match Bird and I have planned," he said. "Bane's got me booked to win, even." He grimaced. "Usually Bane wouldn't book one of his lieutenants to lose against a mainlander, but apparently Bird messed up a catch a little while ago and he's been in the doghouse ever since." A sly grin. "Or should I say the birdhouse?"
"I don't think you should," said Bruce solemnly, and Dick threw back his head and laughed.
"Anyway," he said more seriously, "it's my first match in this costume, my first match really as Nightwing. I've got some new moves ready for it. Promise me you'll watch it?"
"I wouldn't miss this one for the world," said Bruce, just as if he didn't find video of every single one of Dick's matches and watch them over and over, explaining to a patient Clark what Dick had improved on since the last one..
"Fantastic!" Dick leaped to his feet, did a quick handspring off a chair, and headed for the entrance to the arena.
"He'll be coming back to the DCW soon," Lex Luthor observed, strolling over to where Clark and Bruce were watching the monitor as Bane exhorted the crowd. "And not just him. He's tipped me off to a lot of fresh new talent he's been working with, and I'm thinking about expanding the sidekick gimmick. Adds a lot of inter-generational angst, taps into those visceral anxieties about parents and children, you know?"
"Dick's not a sidekick anymore," Bruce said as Bane introduced his henchman, Bird, who entered with his trademark falcon on his wrist before sending it soaring into the rafters.
"Certainly not, we replaced him," Lex said. "But how about Kid Flash--Wonder Girl--Aqualad--Speedy. A special division for young wrestlers with talent, fast moves, a daredevil style. I'm thinking of calling it the Titan division."
Clark frowned. "The other three are obvious, but who would Speedy be paired up with?"
"Green Arrow," Bruce said.
Lex looked slightly surprised. "How did you know?"
"Because you've given 'sidekicks' to most of the wrestlers you like least, and Green Arrow is near the top of that list."
Lex looked torn between annoyance and admiration. "Of course, I made sure you got the first one."
"Of course." Bruce held up his hand, cutting off further conversation, as Bane started to speak:
"And facing him, hailing from the soft and hedonistic city on the mainland, Gotham, is the masked vigilante known as Nightwing!"
The crowd muttered angrily as Nightwing came down the ramp. Halfway down, he did a sudden rolling somersault, coming up running until he leaped into the ring.
"This match," intoned Bane, "Is a Falls Count Anywhere Match! The ring is only the beginning of the torment for Nightwing, for Bird shall pursue him inexorably wherever he may flee. No place is safe for the Gotham whelp!"
"Whelp," murmured Bruce. "Nice word. Resonant."
"Defeat him, Bird! Or suffer my displeasure!" Bane gestured for the bell to be rung, and the match was underway.
It started in the ring, and it was quickly clear the bird theme was an accurate one: both were whipcord-fast, lithe and agile wrestlers, skilled at pulling off moves from the ropes and the turnbuckles. Soon enough, Bird decided that he would have more of an advantage fighting among the crowd, and he dodged out of the ring with Nightwing in hot pursuit.
They fought up the steps, the crowd surging around them. Bird threw Nightwing down the stairs and he tumbled in a barely-controlled fall, ending in a heap near the bottom. The seething crowd closed around him for a moment, and Clark felt Bruce's shoulders tense. But then he re-emerged, sprinting up the steps in pursuit of the fleeting Bird.
Soon they were up in the first balcony, trading punches and throws with abandon. Nightwing jumped up onto the rail of the balcony, balanced precariously, running along it like a tightrope with nothing but a sheer drop on one side. Bird jumped up to intercept him and they weaved and bobbed, and then Bird landed a solid punch to his jaw.
Nightwing wobbled, wavered, and then plunged backwards off the balcony into thin air.
Clark heard the crowd gasp, felt Bruce jump to his feet as Nightwing fell, his body tracing a line of pure grace through the air as he made a full rotation, dark hair flowing. He landed on his back next to the ring on the padded floor, and for a moment there was nothing but silence as he lay still. Then the crowd burst into cheers--partly for Bird's apparent victory, and partly for the skill of the fall. The ref leaned over him briefly, then stepped back, shaking his head, and Clark felt Bruce take a harsh breath. The fall had gone off as planned and Dick was uninjured, otherwise the ref would be calling for medical attention.
"Impressive," Luthor said. Clark looked over to see his eyes bright as he looked at Dick lying on the floor. "He told me he was going to show me something special tonight. He was right."
Bird raced down the stairs to reach his fallen opponent and pin him. But as the referee got to the two-count and the crowd noise peaked, Nightwing kicked out and staggered to his feet, weaving but indomitable. The crowd shrieked, no longer seeming to care who was the face and who was the heel, as he pursued the panicked Bird until at last Nightwing leaped from a table to knock Bird out and pin him for the three-count. An infuriated Bane castigated the fallen Bird as Nightwing limped back up the ramp to his music and the delirious rage of the crowd.
"Hard match to follow," said Bruce. "Guess Bane and I will have our work cut out for us."
"Be careful," said Clark. "Fire doesn't care about kayfabe."
"Neither does gravity, and we've always beaten that." Bruce held out his fist for Clark to bump and was gone.
"We've done as you demanded, Bane!" growled the Dark Knight. "We fought your lackeys, and now it's time for me to take you down."
"Oh," purred Bane as he strode to the ring, "You are still angry that I pitched your fledgling against the Joker, are you? He shall heal and learn from the experience. You, on the other hand--"
He gestured, and on cue the turnbuckles burst into flame once more. He entered the ring moments before the flames spread to enclose the whole ring. The two of them stood surrounded by flame, and the bell rang out over the crackling of fire.
Clark watched as the two circled each other. It would get increasingly difficult to breathe as the flames pulled oxygen from the center of the ring, as the temperature rose. Bruce was wearing his full cape for the match, and even knowing it had all been treated with fire retardant didn't make Clark feel much better. With each blow and bodyslam the flames leaped in response, an angry roar.
The match was slow-paced, deliberate: it fit their styles, but also neither wrestler wanted to risk getting too close to the flames before it was time for the finale. Clark could see sweat trickling from beneath Bruce's cowl, sheening his chest. A throw went just a fraction off and Bruce's cloak came terrifyingly close to the fire: Clark heard Jason and Dick simultaneously make small sounds of worry, and for a moment the two of them shared a sudden, entirely understanding look.
It was time for the backbreaker, Bane's finishing move and the segue into the sequence in which the Dark Knight would be set on fire. After a flurry of steady offense by the Dark Knight, Bane grabbed the caped wrestler, lifting him up. For a long moment he held him there, a show of brute strength. And then with a roar of fury he brought the Dark Knight down across his knee.
It was beautifully executed, so much so that Clark found his heart in his throat: there were no referees in the flame-encircled ring to check on him and give medical assistance if necessary, what if, what if…
But Bane bent over the Dark Knight, and as he did, his opponent grabbed him and dragged him down. Clark felt a sigh of relief shake his body: the match would have ended if Bruce were truly hurt. Nothing left now but the flames--oh, that's all, he thought grimly to himself.
Bane seized the Dark Knight and forced him back against the flaming barrier, inch by agonizing inch. It had to be searingly hot, and Clark winced in sympathetic pain as the treated cloak finally ignited. Bane hurled the burning Dark Knight from the ring, and the Dark Knight staggered up the ramp through the howls of the crowd, flames creeping up his cape, defeated.
Bane stood alone and victorious in the ring, but Clark didn't see his triumphant conclusion, because he was rushing to where Bruce was being hosed off with fire extinguishers and smothered in blankets. He heard someone yelling "Are you okay?" in a hoarse voice, and realized abruptly it was him.
Bruce peeked out from the blankets swaddling him, his hair and eyelashes touched with foam. "Worried about me?"
Clark's knees went oddly wobbly, and he sat down on the floor next to Bruce. Some of the other wrestlers gave him strange looks; he ignored them. "Damn it," he muttered. "That backbreaker move looks--"
"--Amazing, I know," said Bruce. "It's an honor to receive it." He hissed as the medical staff gingerly removed his singed cape. "I'm going through a lot of these, aren't I?"
"Are you burned?"
"That's what I get for playing with fire," Bruce said cheerfully.
"You've got a few first-degree burn patches," Dr. Cross said in his distinctive Norwegian accent. "Nothing too serious."
"Lucky me," said Bruce.
"Excellent match!" Clark looked up to see Bane towering over them as they sat on the ground; reflexively he jumped to his feet as if to defend Bruce from him, then stopped, feeling foolish.
Bane helped Bruce to his feet. "It was a pleasure to lose to you," Bruce said. "You'll have to take your turn sometime."
Bane threw his head back in dark laughter. "Indeed, brother," he said. "One day I shall come to Gotham. I shall face you down on your home turf. And there--"
He pointed at Bruce and Clark felt a superstitious shiver go down his spine.
"--I shall break you!" thundered Bane good-naturedly, and everyone but Clark laughed.
"No more inferno matches," Clark said, smoothing aloe onto Bruce's bare back.
Bruce was lying on his stomach, gazing out at the ocean through the billowing curtains, thick with salty air. He turned his head to grin at Clark. "You're cute when you're over-protective," he said.
"I just...didn't like seeing you on fire."
"I've been on fire since we first wrestled together," Bruce murmured, closing his eyes. For a long moment they sat there in silence, Clark's hands moving on Bruce's skin, the sea air blowing over them. "You're not even sweating," Bruce complained in a lighter tone.
"It's not that hot."
"Clark, it's sweltering." Bruce cast him an annoyed and affectionate look; Clark's resilience in hot weather was infamous. "You're like some kind of Superman."
Clark laughed. "Superman?"
"Well, I prefer that translation of Übermensch. Less daunting." He laughed low in his throat and recited: "The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Ah, my brethren! Of what account now are the gods to me!"
"Are you quoting Nietzsche to me? Is this your idea of pillow talk?"
"It would be a good wrestling name," said Bruce dreamily. "Ye wise and knowing ones, ye would flee from the solar-glow of the wisdom in which the Superman joyfully batheth his nakedness!" He smiled at Clark, slow and beautiful. "Joyfully bathe thy nakedness in the solar-glow, my Superman!"
Clark did not need a second invitation.