Heroes of the Squared Circle 50: Spectacle
Title: Spectacle
Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Conner Kent, Tim Drake, Cass Cain, Billy Batson
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 2200
Summary: The first two matches in the tournament are held, and Dick makes a request of Bruce.
In wrestling, a man who is down is exaggeratedly so, and completely fills the eyes of the spectators with the intolerable spectacle of his powerlessness. --Roland Barthes
"Gaze into the eyes of the serpent, Captain Marvel. Gaze into the face of a cold-blooded killer." Copperhead lifted a yellow python toward Billy Batson's face. "Gaze into the eyes of your inexorable doom!"
The snake, it must be said, seemed more sleepy than inexorable, but Captain Marvel recoiled quite satisfyingly, staggering away from Copperhead to the far side of the ring. "You lunatic," he gasped.
A distinct air of schadenfreude hovered around the common room backstage as the monitor showed a close-up on the beads of sweat on Captain Marvel's brow. "You see," Copperhead explained as he held up the python, its tongue flickering toward the unnerved Billy Batson, "I have learned how to connect with the serpent, to channel the spirit of the snake. Do you feel its power?"
Marvel retreated another step until his back was against the ropes. "Yes, yes," he whimpered convincingly. "I feel it. Now get it away from me!"
Laughing maniacally, Copperhead handed the snake to the ring announcer, who seemed entirely unconcerned to be handling it. The bell rang and the match began.
“Who’s going over in this match?” said Big Barda, watching as Captain Marvel delivered his Lightning Stomp.
Harvey Dent, already in his makeup (he was going with purple today, with a contact lens turning his left eye a lurid yellow) shrugged. “Luthor called them into his office yesterday to let them know, but neither of them has said.”
Barda laughed. “Then Copperhead is winning. Come on, she added at Harvey’s curious look. “If Marvel were going over, do you really think Batson would have shut up about it?”
“Good point,” said Dent. He turned his gaze back to the screen. “Suddenly I’m enjoying this match a lot more.”
"Are you ready?" Clark asked Tim, who was buckling and re-buckling his boots.
"It's not like I'll actually be doing the wrestling," Tim said. "It's just a run-in to save Conner."
"My hero," swooned Conner, and Tim stopped fretting over his footwear long enough to sock him in the arm.
"But it's your first match as Robin at the Dark Knight's side," said Clark. "That's important."
Tim's hands on the boot buckles wavered a bit. "Don't remind me," he muttered.
"You'll do great," said Dick. He was lounging in a chair in full Dark Knight gear, somehow languid and alert at once. "We're gonna make a great team and show Luthor what we've got."
"Hah!" Big Barda gloated as a triumphant Copperhead draped his python on Billy Batson’s chest. Batson was supposed to be unconscious, but Clark could see his eyelids flickering uneasily as the snake coiled up on his chest. "That's for Max Lord and all of the JLI, backstabber."
“That’s some big talk from the son of that megalomaniac Kryptonian!” yelled Two-Face, towering over the Metropolis Kid. Conner wasn’t a short person, but Harvey Dent made him look oddly tiny, looming above him.
“You’re all wrong about the Kryptonian!” Conner yelled back, shoving him into the ropes. “And even if I did have a psychopath for a father, I’d still be able to make my own choices, and I’d choose good!” He hurled himself forward, kicking Two-Face down and then getting him into an armlock. “Unlike you!”
"Mouthy brat!" Two-Face snarled as he struggled to get out of the armlock. "I'll teach you a lesson about choices!" He shrugged off the hold with some effort--in reality, the match had been surprisingly even--and launched a withering barrage of attacks on Conner, who struggled valiantly until he was thrown against a turnbuckle and "concussed." He staggered around the ring, shadow-boxing vainly, until Two-Face delivered his trademark double-powerbomb.
Conner lay on the mat, twitching slightly, and Two-Face put one hand on his chest, the very lightest of pins. The referee started the count--and at “two,” Conner managed to just barely lift one shoulder, clearly operating on instinct alone. Grinning, Two-Face let him break the pin, then started to brutally kick and pummel him around the ring as the ref and the crowd yelled at him. “Why should I choose to end the fun?” he screamed at them, and lifted Conner’s limp body up for another powerbomb.
The ref gestured frantically and the bell rang at last. “The winner, by K.O., Two-Face!” cried the ring announcer.
“Oh, I’m not done here,” growled Two-Face, and slammed the Metropolis Kid down on the mat again. Conner landed with all his limbs gone loose, his mouth lolling open, unresponsive to even the shrieks of the crowd as Two-Face scooped him up once more.
The boos shifted like quicksilver into cheers that shook the floor as the Dark Knight rushed the ring to confront Two-Face, followed closely by Red Robin. With a laugh, Two-Face tossed Conner aside to land with a sodden thump. “Is this truly the Dark Knight?” he said, his face stretched in a taunting leer. “I think not! I do believe you’ve shrunk in the wash, caped crusader!” He drew a line in the air between them. “I’m sorry, you must be at least this tall to ride the--”
The Dark Knight launched himself at Two-Face and the crowd roared its approval as Dent’s taunts were abruptly cut off. They brawled around the ring until Two-Face had the Dark Knight on the ropes and Red Robin tackled him from behind. Two-Face swatted at him in annoyance, bashing him into the turnbuckle.
“You,” Two-Face snarled at the Dark Knight, pointing at him. “You’d better hope I never meet you one on one in a fair fight here in the ring! I will destroy you, do you hear me?” His face twisted under the grotesque makeup. ”Destroy you!”
His music hit and he strode up the ramp and away, as the Dark Knight checked on a dazed Red Robin and the paramedics arrived to help the Metropolis Kid.
"So, Mr. Wayne. It's been a long time." Even from their sheltered spot backstage, Clark heard the crowd's reaction as he held the mic up for Billionaire Brucie, resplendent in a sharkskin suit and glossy wingtips. Some of it was boos for the return for a long-absent heel, but mixed in were enthusiastic cheers by the audience members who knew that Billionaire Brucie and the original Dark Knight were played by the same man. “To what does the DCW Universe owe the pleasure of your return?”
Brucie dusted off a lapel and beamed at Clark. “I remember you! Didn’t you use to wear overalls?”
Clark bit his lip and managed to continue with a straight face: “Yes, I did. I went back to journalism school and--”
“I miss the overalls,” Brucie sighed. “That suit doesn’t flatter you at all.”
The banter was as familiar as a comfortable pair of shoes (or, Clark supposed, overalls)--they hadn’t even practiced this promo. They hadn’t needed to.
Bruce went on: “I’ve been talking to Harvey Dent backstage as he’s recuperating from being ganged up on by that despicable Dark Knight and his little flunky Red Robin.” He waited as the ripple of knowing laughter from the audience died down, one eyebrow quirked innocently. “You may know Harvey is an old friend of mine, quite an old friend.” Clark nodded. “He’s also a lawyer, and he asked me to tell you that he plans to sue the Dark Knight for assault.” He turned to address the camera directly, ignoring Clark. “Get ready to face the wrath of our legal system, Mr. Dark Knight! I’ll have you know that--”
“Hey!” Brucie broke off to glare frostily at Red Robin, who had bulled his way into the shot. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” said Red Robin. “What Dent was doing to the Metropolis Kid was already assault, and it’s not wrong to stop something like that!”
“Oh, you adorable lad,” said Brucie, patting his cheek and getting his hand slapped away for his efforts. “You shouldn’t be hanging out with that Dark Knight character. He’s a bad influence on today’s youth, I tell you. What is this world coming to? Tsk tsk,” he concluded, articulating the sound absurdly.
Red Robin jabbed a finger at his chest. “The Dark Knight stands for something, unlike you!”
Brucie looked after Red Robin as he stormed away. “Kids today,” he sighed. “They don’t understand that standing for something might mean having to take the fall for something else.”
“That’s all well and good, Mr. Wayne, but you never did answer my question,” said Clark Kent.
Brucie blinked at him. “Question?”
“Why have you come back to the DCW?”
“Maybe I missed your handsome face, did you ever consider that?” Brucie flashed a dazzling smile at him, the old familiar one from the days when Billionaire Brucie and Country Clark Kent had done their shtick together.
Clark smiled at him. “Why thank you, Mr. Wayne. I may have missed yours as well.”
Bruce blinked again--less theatrically this time. Then he smiled once more. “You’re a charmer, Kent. I see why they keep you around, even if you never could wrestle worth a damn.”
The crowd’s “oooooh” trailed after him as he wafted out of the scene.
“Twitter’s buzzing about the return of Billionaire Brucie,” Selina said with a grin from her chair in the common room. “The dirt sheets are chattering about it too. Speculation is that the original Dark Knight will be back soon.”
“When the time is right,” said Bruce, shooting a grinning look at Dick Grayson.
“Wow, Billionaire Brucie,” said Tim Drake, looking up from his Magic: The Gathering game he was playing with Conner. “I remember watching the JLI and seeing him in action. Didn’t think I’d ever be working with him, though.”
“Remember all those amazing feathered capes?” Steph Brown said wistfully, propping her chin in her hands.
Bruce shot Clark a wry look which was easy to read: Yes, we appear to be getting old.
Steph sighed. “I used to dream about going to Wayne Manor for a ball, wearing a tiara and diamonds…” She broke off at Tim’s look. “Okay, I figured out it was kayfabe eventually! Don’t tell me you didn’t think it was real at first, doofus.”
“I was never that much of a mark,” Tim said loftily, but his eyes were twinkling.
Clark opened his mouth, then closed it again. Now that he’d seen the Manor, met Alfred, it was hard to remember that not everyone knew about Bruce’s secret. He glanced over at Bruce, who was frowning slightly, but Tim and Conner were arguing about a fine point of the card game now and the topic had shifted.
“Ask him.” The quiet voice hardly carried over the argument; Clark looked over to see Cassandra Cain standing behind Dick Grayson, tapping him on the shoulder. “You said you would.”
Dick scrambled to sit upright. “That’s right, I did!” he exclaimed. “Bruce, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
Bruce looked wary. “Yes?”
“Some of the new guys--they were hoping you’d give them some extra pointers--mic skills, ring work, the whole deal. I mean, you did a lot to train me and they…” He shrugged. “They were kind of hoping you’d hand on some of that to them, too.”
“How many people are we talking about?” Bruce was still frowning, but he no longer looked worried about the direction this might be going.
Dick started to count on his fingers. “Um, definitely Tim, Steph, Cass. Helena said she might stop by. A few of the newer wrestlers: Harper, Luke, Bilal. Barbara might come and give the girls some extra pointers on the women’s side.” Cass, Tim, and Steph were all pretending not to be listening intently. “Nothing formal, you know. Just some extra help.”
Bruce grimaced. “There’s only so much mat time at headquarters. I mean, I guess we could look into finding another space…”
“Ted Grant’s got a gym in Gotham,” said Clark. “I bet he’d let you use his ring.”
Bruce shot him an annoyed look. “I’d have to do scheduling and stuff. I’m no good with that.”
“Babs told me she’d be willing to do all that. You should see her spreadsheets, she’s a wizard,” said Dick.
“Look,” said Bruce. “I’m not really a...people person. You’d all hate me after the first day.”
Tim snorted. “If Jason were here, he’d say we all pretty much hate you already anyway, and what’s that got to do with teaching?”
Bruce cast Clark a look that could almost be described as “pleading.” Clark shrugged and looked innocent, and Bruce sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “This just seems like a terrible idea.”
“Okay, Bruce. Take some time, think it over. No rush,” Dick said, standing up and heading for the door.
But when he got there, he turned and gave the younger wrestlers a reassuring wink and a thumbs-up behind Bruce’s back.
Tim stifled a small cheer, and Cass and Steph gave each other high fives.
Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Conner Kent, Tim Drake, Cass Cain, Billy Batson
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 2200
Summary: The first two matches in the tournament are held, and Dick makes a request of Bruce.
In wrestling, a man who is down is exaggeratedly so, and completely fills the eyes of the spectators with the intolerable spectacle of his powerlessness. --Roland Barthes
"Gaze into the eyes of the serpent, Captain Marvel. Gaze into the face of a cold-blooded killer." Copperhead lifted a yellow python toward Billy Batson's face. "Gaze into the eyes of your inexorable doom!"
The snake, it must be said, seemed more sleepy than inexorable, but Captain Marvel recoiled quite satisfyingly, staggering away from Copperhead to the far side of the ring. "You lunatic," he gasped.
A distinct air of schadenfreude hovered around the common room backstage as the monitor showed a close-up on the beads of sweat on Captain Marvel's brow. "You see," Copperhead explained as he held up the python, its tongue flickering toward the unnerved Billy Batson, "I have learned how to connect with the serpent, to channel the spirit of the snake. Do you feel its power?"
Marvel retreated another step until his back was against the ropes. "Yes, yes," he whimpered convincingly. "I feel it. Now get it away from me!"
Laughing maniacally, Copperhead handed the snake to the ring announcer, who seemed entirely unconcerned to be handling it. The bell rang and the match began.
“Who’s going over in this match?” said Big Barda, watching as Captain Marvel delivered his Lightning Stomp.
Harvey Dent, already in his makeup (he was going with purple today, with a contact lens turning his left eye a lurid yellow) shrugged. “Luthor called them into his office yesterday to let them know, but neither of them has said.”
Barda laughed. “Then Copperhead is winning. Come on, she added at Harvey’s curious look. “If Marvel were going over, do you really think Batson would have shut up about it?”
“Good point,” said Dent. He turned his gaze back to the screen. “Suddenly I’m enjoying this match a lot more.”
"Are you ready?" Clark asked Tim, who was buckling and re-buckling his boots.
"It's not like I'll actually be doing the wrestling," Tim said. "It's just a run-in to save Conner."
"My hero," swooned Conner, and Tim stopped fretting over his footwear long enough to sock him in the arm.
"But it's your first match as Robin at the Dark Knight's side," said Clark. "That's important."
Tim's hands on the boot buckles wavered a bit. "Don't remind me," he muttered.
"You'll do great," said Dick. He was lounging in a chair in full Dark Knight gear, somehow languid and alert at once. "We're gonna make a great team and show Luthor what we've got."
"Hah!" Big Barda gloated as a triumphant Copperhead draped his python on Billy Batson’s chest. Batson was supposed to be unconscious, but Clark could see his eyelids flickering uneasily as the snake coiled up on his chest. "That's for Max Lord and all of the JLI, backstabber."
“That’s some big talk from the son of that megalomaniac Kryptonian!” yelled Two-Face, towering over the Metropolis Kid. Conner wasn’t a short person, but Harvey Dent made him look oddly tiny, looming above him.
“You’re all wrong about the Kryptonian!” Conner yelled back, shoving him into the ropes. “And even if I did have a psychopath for a father, I’d still be able to make my own choices, and I’d choose good!” He hurled himself forward, kicking Two-Face down and then getting him into an armlock. “Unlike you!”
"Mouthy brat!" Two-Face snarled as he struggled to get out of the armlock. "I'll teach you a lesson about choices!" He shrugged off the hold with some effort--in reality, the match had been surprisingly even--and launched a withering barrage of attacks on Conner, who struggled valiantly until he was thrown against a turnbuckle and "concussed." He staggered around the ring, shadow-boxing vainly, until Two-Face delivered his trademark double-powerbomb.
Conner lay on the mat, twitching slightly, and Two-Face put one hand on his chest, the very lightest of pins. The referee started the count--and at “two,” Conner managed to just barely lift one shoulder, clearly operating on instinct alone. Grinning, Two-Face let him break the pin, then started to brutally kick and pummel him around the ring as the ref and the crowd yelled at him. “Why should I choose to end the fun?” he screamed at them, and lifted Conner’s limp body up for another powerbomb.
The ref gestured frantically and the bell rang at last. “The winner, by K.O., Two-Face!” cried the ring announcer.
“Oh, I’m not done here,” growled Two-Face, and slammed the Metropolis Kid down on the mat again. Conner landed with all his limbs gone loose, his mouth lolling open, unresponsive to even the shrieks of the crowd as Two-Face scooped him up once more.
The boos shifted like quicksilver into cheers that shook the floor as the Dark Knight rushed the ring to confront Two-Face, followed closely by Red Robin. With a laugh, Two-Face tossed Conner aside to land with a sodden thump. “Is this truly the Dark Knight?” he said, his face stretched in a taunting leer. “I think not! I do believe you’ve shrunk in the wash, caped crusader!” He drew a line in the air between them. “I’m sorry, you must be at least this tall to ride the--”
The Dark Knight launched himself at Two-Face and the crowd roared its approval as Dent’s taunts were abruptly cut off. They brawled around the ring until Two-Face had the Dark Knight on the ropes and Red Robin tackled him from behind. Two-Face swatted at him in annoyance, bashing him into the turnbuckle.
“You,” Two-Face snarled at the Dark Knight, pointing at him. “You’d better hope I never meet you one on one in a fair fight here in the ring! I will destroy you, do you hear me?” His face twisted under the grotesque makeup. ”Destroy you!”
His music hit and he strode up the ramp and away, as the Dark Knight checked on a dazed Red Robin and the paramedics arrived to help the Metropolis Kid.
"So, Mr. Wayne. It's been a long time." Even from their sheltered spot backstage, Clark heard the crowd's reaction as he held the mic up for Billionaire Brucie, resplendent in a sharkskin suit and glossy wingtips. Some of it was boos for the return for a long-absent heel, but mixed in were enthusiastic cheers by the audience members who knew that Billionaire Brucie and the original Dark Knight were played by the same man. “To what does the DCW Universe owe the pleasure of your return?”
Brucie dusted off a lapel and beamed at Clark. “I remember you! Didn’t you use to wear overalls?”
Clark bit his lip and managed to continue with a straight face: “Yes, I did. I went back to journalism school and--”
“I miss the overalls,” Brucie sighed. “That suit doesn’t flatter you at all.”
The banter was as familiar as a comfortable pair of shoes (or, Clark supposed, overalls)--they hadn’t even practiced this promo. They hadn’t needed to.
Bruce went on: “I’ve been talking to Harvey Dent backstage as he’s recuperating from being ganged up on by that despicable Dark Knight and his little flunky Red Robin.” He waited as the ripple of knowing laughter from the audience died down, one eyebrow quirked innocently. “You may know Harvey is an old friend of mine, quite an old friend.” Clark nodded. “He’s also a lawyer, and he asked me to tell you that he plans to sue the Dark Knight for assault.” He turned to address the camera directly, ignoring Clark. “Get ready to face the wrath of our legal system, Mr. Dark Knight! I’ll have you know that--”
“Hey!” Brucie broke off to glare frostily at Red Robin, who had bulled his way into the shot. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” said Red Robin. “What Dent was doing to the Metropolis Kid was already assault, and it’s not wrong to stop something like that!”
“Oh, you adorable lad,” said Brucie, patting his cheek and getting his hand slapped away for his efforts. “You shouldn’t be hanging out with that Dark Knight character. He’s a bad influence on today’s youth, I tell you. What is this world coming to? Tsk tsk,” he concluded, articulating the sound absurdly.
Red Robin jabbed a finger at his chest. “The Dark Knight stands for something, unlike you!”
Brucie looked after Red Robin as he stormed away. “Kids today,” he sighed. “They don’t understand that standing for something might mean having to take the fall for something else.”
“That’s all well and good, Mr. Wayne, but you never did answer my question,” said Clark Kent.
Brucie blinked at him. “Question?”
“Why have you come back to the DCW?”
“Maybe I missed your handsome face, did you ever consider that?” Brucie flashed a dazzling smile at him, the old familiar one from the days when Billionaire Brucie and Country Clark Kent had done their shtick together.
Clark smiled at him. “Why thank you, Mr. Wayne. I may have missed yours as well.”
Bruce blinked again--less theatrically this time. Then he smiled once more. “You’re a charmer, Kent. I see why they keep you around, even if you never could wrestle worth a damn.”
The crowd’s “oooooh” trailed after him as he wafted out of the scene.
“Twitter’s buzzing about the return of Billionaire Brucie,” Selina said with a grin from her chair in the common room. “The dirt sheets are chattering about it too. Speculation is that the original Dark Knight will be back soon.”
“When the time is right,” said Bruce, shooting a grinning look at Dick Grayson.
“Wow, Billionaire Brucie,” said Tim Drake, looking up from his Magic: The Gathering game he was playing with Conner. “I remember watching the JLI and seeing him in action. Didn’t think I’d ever be working with him, though.”
“Remember all those amazing feathered capes?” Steph Brown said wistfully, propping her chin in her hands.
Bruce shot Clark a wry look which was easy to read: Yes, we appear to be getting old.
Steph sighed. “I used to dream about going to Wayne Manor for a ball, wearing a tiara and diamonds…” She broke off at Tim’s look. “Okay, I figured out it was kayfabe eventually! Don’t tell me you didn’t think it was real at first, doofus.”
“I was never that much of a mark,” Tim said loftily, but his eyes were twinkling.
Clark opened his mouth, then closed it again. Now that he’d seen the Manor, met Alfred, it was hard to remember that not everyone knew about Bruce’s secret. He glanced over at Bruce, who was frowning slightly, but Tim and Conner were arguing about a fine point of the card game now and the topic had shifted.
“Ask him.” The quiet voice hardly carried over the argument; Clark looked over to see Cassandra Cain standing behind Dick Grayson, tapping him on the shoulder. “You said you would.”
Dick scrambled to sit upright. “That’s right, I did!” he exclaimed. “Bruce, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
Bruce looked wary. “Yes?”
“Some of the new guys--they were hoping you’d give them some extra pointers--mic skills, ring work, the whole deal. I mean, you did a lot to train me and they…” He shrugged. “They were kind of hoping you’d hand on some of that to them, too.”
“How many people are we talking about?” Bruce was still frowning, but he no longer looked worried about the direction this might be going.
Dick started to count on his fingers. “Um, definitely Tim, Steph, Cass. Helena said she might stop by. A few of the newer wrestlers: Harper, Luke, Bilal. Barbara might come and give the girls some extra pointers on the women’s side.” Cass, Tim, and Steph were all pretending not to be listening intently. “Nothing formal, you know. Just some extra help.”
Bruce grimaced. “There’s only so much mat time at headquarters. I mean, I guess we could look into finding another space…”
“Ted Grant’s got a gym in Gotham,” said Clark. “I bet he’d let you use his ring.”
Bruce shot him an annoyed look. “I’d have to do scheduling and stuff. I’m no good with that.”
“Babs told me she’d be willing to do all that. You should see her spreadsheets, she’s a wizard,” said Dick.
“Look,” said Bruce. “I’m not really a...people person. You’d all hate me after the first day.”
Tim snorted. “If Jason were here, he’d say we all pretty much hate you already anyway, and what’s that got to do with teaching?”
Bruce cast Clark a look that could almost be described as “pleading.” Clark shrugged and looked innocent, and Bruce sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “This just seems like a terrible idea.”
“Okay, Bruce. Take some time, think it over. No rush,” Dick said, standing up and heading for the door.
But when he got there, he turned and gave the younger wrestlers a reassuring wink and a thumbs-up behind Bruce’s back.
Tim stifled a small cheer, and Cass and Steph gave each other high fives.