FIC: "JLA: Necessary Force" (Part 15: "Valley of the Shadow of Death" - Last Half)
And here is the second half of Part 15 of Necessary Force! (Finally!) Hope it was worth the wait ... *blush*
(The first half of Part 15 is here)
JLA
“Necessary Force”
by Paxwolf
Note: This fanfiction story originally was begun some years ago, and is therefore set current to the (comic book version!) JLA lineup at the time, specifically during the Grant Morrison and Mark Waid runs on the title, and with certain details from that era still intact. It is therefore ‘old’, and has taken several years to see fruition, and therefore be aware that certain discrepancies and dated information - in terms of continuity - may still be contained within.
Disclaimer:The Justice League of America and its associated characters are owned and copyrighted by DC Comics and Time Warner. No income is being generated by the Internet publication of this story. (Which really is quite a pity as I am dirt poor - and it would be oh so fun to be able to earn a living playing in DC’s grand Playground! (Lucky, lucky pro writers and artists!!) Original characters do also exist in this fic and I suppose that might make them owned by me. ;-)
Warnings: Violence, Some Language, and Mature Themes. Readers’ Discretion is advised.
Thanks To: mithen, without whose skilled beta-reading and sweet encouragement this epic may never have been posted, and to Kungfunurse for some of the original beta-reading, and to the kind and helpful (years-long!) feedback supplied by the gracious Gwil and the lovely Janet Coleman Sides, both of whom stepped out of their own fandoms (Stargate:SG-1 and Gatchaman respectively) in order to read about the denizens of the DC Universe.
Also thanks to damos for icons and techie services rendered.
Summary:When a powerful terrorist threatens the safety of the planet, the Justice League must go to extremes to stop him, and Superman and Batman may have to make the biggest sacrifice of all.
All Previous Parts of the Fic can be found here, on the Main Page! (or you can scroll back a few entries!)
Summary of THIS Part: The League takes over an Ayestrom-controlled outpost, and in his fatigue and fear, Batman is forced to remember a recent disturbing and evocative encounter with Superman, where the frightening content of his long hinted-at dreams is revealed, which may have deadly consequences for the Man of Steel and the League.
Part XV:
“Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death”
(B)
“I … see,” Batman said finally, voice equally soft.
He said nothing for several minutes, peering at the black city, then looked back at Superman, who sat still as death, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He drew a breath of his own.
“I see why you…” He shook his head. “All right. All right. But Clark, as horrid as these dream images are, they are just that: dreams. And death happens. It’s a fact of life. You know it. I know it. You’ve certainly dealt with loss before. And failure. I’m not saying it’s easy, or fair. But these ones, these deaths you watch, they aren’t real.” Superman looked at him, eyes weary, haunted. Batman himself swallowed and went on. “Of course you’re going to dream of everyone you love dying. Of course you dream you can’t save them. It’s a great part of what you fear. It’s a part of who you are. Such dreams are probably natural. In fact, they’re probably considered fairly normal, even healthy, for anyone in our particular field. Especially for someone - I won’t mention any names - with a particularly strong Messiah Complex.” He waited, but Superman did not rise to the bait. His attempt at a lighter tone faded away. He looked intensely at Superman. “They’re not real, Clark.”
Superman only nodded, face bleak. “I know that, Bruce. Of course I know that. And it’s not exactly the first time I’ve experienced bad dreams, you know.” A humourless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But these … they’re different. So absolutely clear, and so incredibly vivid. So terribly detailed. And I feel so … so completely conscious in them. So awake, so alive, in the worst possible way.” He looked at Batman helplessly. “I can’t tell in the least whether I’m awake or asleep. Not the slightest bit. It doesn’t matter if I know they’re not real now. They are very real then. Real to me.”
He breathed in deeply as he struggled to articulate what the dreams were like. “It’s as opposite to lucid dreaming as one can get. I’m so awfully mired in the dream, that I can’t tell it’s not the real thing. And even if I could, it wouldn’t make any difference. I’m always, ALWAYS so … so damned helpless in them! No matter how hard I struggle, how desperately I fight, how loudly I scream, or threaten, or bargain, or … or even beg, there’s nothing I can do to stop the horror. No matter what I do. Not with all my powers, not with all my strength. I can’t do anything to stop it! I can’t … my God, I can’t stop the killing. I can do absolutely nothing, Bruce. Nothing.”
Superman visibly shuddered, his hands clenching convulsively around his biceps. Batman’s scowl darkened.
This was bad. Worse than he had imagined. And what could he possibly do to help? He was no psychotherapist. And these were unusually powerful nightmares. It was of little wonder that Superman had resisted sleeping for so long!
He couldn’t imagine a worse scenario, nightmare or not. But still, even as that thought rose in his mind, his gaze was dragged back to Superman at his next barely distinguishable words.
“And then … and then, after all that is done, and everyone I know is … d- gone, I am …” Superman suddenly cut himself off, as if abruptly realizing where he was, and with whom. Batman stiffened.
There was more? It got worse?
“And then?” he prompted, more gently than he’d spoken in a very long time. He steeled himself for the answer, knowing it was best for Superman to get it out, all of it, to have any chance at a modicum of peace.
But Superman just shook his head, lowering it to stare at his boots.
“And then I wake up.” He shrugged, as if he’d merely been relating a simple, everyday, mildly engaging narrative.
Batman looked at him, gaze level. He didn’t miss the way Superman avoided his gaze, or the minute trembling that Superman was fighting so hard to control.
“No,” he said flatly. “You don’t.”
Superman lifted his eyes, the regret and then the anguish clear at Batman’s emphatic tone.
“Do you.” It was not a question.
Superman did not answer.
Batman paused just for an instant, and then shifted even closer, meeting Superman’s eyes in a level stare. Still Superman said nothing, but it was he who broke the stare, lowering his head to look at the ground.
Batman let out a determined breath. “Clark.”
Superman continued to find the ground in front of his boots compelling.
Surprising even himself, Batman reached impulsively out to grasp Superman’s chin in a gloved hand, tilting it up until their eyes met again. The shock in his eyes at Batman’s action was clear.
“There’s more. You need to tell me, Clark. Tell me everything.”
Superman stared back at him for a long moment, the pain and terror suddenly so evident in the clouded depths of his usually clear gaze, even in the washed out darkness surrounding them, that Batman nearly drew back in spite of himself before Superman abruptly closed his eyes. Batman tensed, preparing for Superman to wrench his chin out of Batman’s hold and fling himself out into the dark sky. It was obvious that Superman wanted to do so. It was clear in every line of his tense, trembling body. But somehow, he did not. He stayed in place, and Batman did not relent, and did not let go.
“Yes, Bruce,” he heard Superman say at last, voice barely a whisper. “You’re right. There’s more.”
And Batman suddenly felt a strange rush of fear course through his own heart, as if it had physically jumped from Superman to himself through the touch.
“Go on,” Batman urged anyway, knowing the necessity.
No, he wasn’t going anywhere. He would wrest these demons from Superman himself if he at all could.
Superman inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, mouth tightening still further, as if readying himself to face hopeless battle. “After everyone I … after everyone … is dead, the dream becomes more … personal.”
Batman frowned. What could that mean? How much more personal could a dream get than being forced to watch the horrible deaths of everyone you knew and loved?
“Tell me,” he repeated gently.
He felt the tremor run through Superman’s body and carefully withdrew his hand, releasing Superman’s chin, but this time Superman’s gaze did not drop but held onto his almost fiercely, like a lifeline, as if he could find the strength there to continue. He watched him take another deep breath.
“The attention of the principal … person or … or being that is causing all of this suffering, seems to shift away from the others and exclusively to … to me.” He swallowed. “This … thisthing is so vast, so incredibly powerful. It oozes a sense of what I can only describe as sheer evil.” He looked almost guiltily at Batman. “I know that sounds so melodramatic, but…” Batman just shook his head, and after another hesitation, Superman continued. “It radiates wave upon wave of … black malice, of vicious, sadistic intent. I can literally feel its malevolence, like a living, breathing, slimy thing.” Disgust lined his mouth. “It makes my skin crawl. Even now.” He shuddered, remembering. “And it has an awareness, an intelligence all its own. I can clearly feel its ruthlessness, its utter satisfaction and pleasure at the suffering it is inflicting on its victims. At what it knows it’s doing to me.” He swallowed, and then, his jaw hardening, he fell silent for a long moment before glancing up at Batman. “You don’t want to hear any more. Trust me.”
“Yes. I do,” Batman said immediately, with more certainty than he’d expected. He shook his head at Superman. “And you need to express it, to get it out, Clark. You need to face it. It’s the only way you’ll be able to deal with it.”
Superman shook his own head. “No. I don’t think I do. You’ve heard enough.”
“I don’t care about what I’ve heard. I care about what you need to still tell me.”
“I can’t.”
He saw the mask begin to slip over Clark’s carefully controlled features.
Well, that wasn’t going to work with him. He knew all too well about masks.
“You are not going to escape this, Clark,” he said forcefully. “You have to face it head on. Tell me.”
“I … you don’t understand, Bruce. I can’t. You don’t …”
When he saw Clark begin to withdraw into himself, Bruce knew he couldn’t allow that to happen, and took him off guard with his sudden lean forward. He gripped Superman’s shoulders, harshly, almost shaking him in his urgency. “Don’t run away now, Superman. Tell me. Tell me!”
Superman shut his eyes, murmuring “No”.
Batman, feeling a strange sense of desperation, gave him a harder shake. “Don’t the hell tell me no after all that!”
Then he felt Superman go rigid, with more than tension, and saw him open his eyes to stare at him.
The look that he met was almost not human.
And all at once, Batman knew he was dangerously close to crossing a line with Superman right then. A line that once crossed there might be no coming back from. He knew he was too close to breaking an unspoken agreement of undefined boundaries. Of breaching one wall too many.
He was demanding access to an intimate part of Superman, of his life, of his mind, perhaps even of his soul, and was honest enough with himself that if their positions had been reversed, he would not likely grant that access lightly or easily.
But right then, he was also honest enough with himself that he knew that with Superman, with Clark, - with Kal - he might just be willing to grant that access. And he hoped that Superman would respond in kind.
But he also knew that if he kept pressing, in Superman’s present weakened state, he was in equal danger of pushing his partner past the point of physical self-control, so frayed and so beaten had he become. The Kryptonian was too balanced on the edge, precariously tipping to one side then the other, so close to breaking point at that moment that Batman could feel his own pulse pounding with terror.
I’m NOT going to lose him. Not now.
It didn’t matter that this was no safe place for anyone to be, even a … friend.
Especially a friend who sometimes wasn’t one. And with the history of volatility that their relationship had, and the ups and downs and hurts and betrayals …
He shook his head at himself violently. Such dark thoughts he did not need right now. And Superman needed him now. Clark needed him.
Kal … needed him.
So he would force the issue, despite the danger to both of them. He knew his action was necessary. And deep down, even in the midst of his sudden awareness of how complicated their ties really were, and at how much risk he was placing their … was it truly a friendship? … and how much physical danger he might be in, he realized a newer truth.
He had asked Clark if he had trusted him. And he had been answered.
He trusts me.
And he himself? He forced himself to look directly at the issue. And answer with all the honesty Superman surely deserved.
Yes. He did trust Superman.
Yes.
He trusted him. Deeply. Implicitly. Without reserve.
Enough that he could and would do this for his … what? His ally? His comrade-in- arms? His partner and teammate? Was he truly his friend?
Batman didn’t know, didn’t usually care to examine his feelings that closely. He just knew that he was one of the very few - if not the only one - who could and would press on, and therefore be able to help.
He could help Kal deal with the trauma he was inflicted with, and with the nightmares that had chained him in their tortuous grip. He alone could do it, and so he alone would.
So Batman did not back down, even when he saw the sudden flare of deadly crimson flame in Superman’s shadowed eyes, the visual proof of his own terror and resistance to Batman’s reaching too far into his self, to his insistence on confronting the truth within Superman’s private, debilitating, all-encompassing nightmare.
He reached in, and grimly held on, meeting the Kryptonian red glare with a determined one of his own.
He would dare to put that trust to the test.
After several long, heart-racing seconds of rigidity and rage, where Batman was implacable and Superman fought against his desire to escape, to lash out at the source of renewed pain, the fire in Kal-El’s eyes banked. Finally, Batman watched as his normal blue-within-blue colour returned.
But those eyes now seemed saturated, worn, and washed out. And showing more signs of a tiring battleground than ever.
Batman abruptly felt the straining, flexed muscles beneath his hands go limp, and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and he felt Superman fall forward against him, not quite a collapse, not quite an embrace. He held still another moment, pressed close against Kal, feeling the staccato-quick beating of that alien - and oh so human - heart against his chest.
He felt Clark suddenly sag back against the steel support column, looking utterly exhausted, like every erg of energy that the sun had ever lent him had leaked out somehow, never to return. Except for the quick rise and fall of his chest as he panted slightly, he didn’t move a muscle. Batman caught at his own breath, realizing his own chest was heaving, and released him, sitting back on his heels.
He looked into Clark’s still open eyes and saw Superman returning, slowly, Kal fading slightly, the remnant of his fury giving way to the truer emotions buried beneath layers of duty, concern, compassion, fear, self-denial, and pain. He wasn’t overly surprised to see the stark terror that had lain revealed beneath the rest; he’d have been surprised had there been none. But he was shocked to see the shame.
“I’m so sorry, Bruce,” Superman said finally, leaning his head tiredly back against the Globe’s supportive strut.
Why shame?
“As am I,” Batman said, knowing at Superman’s flicker of surprise how rare it was for him to apologize. He nearly smiled. Then looked seriously at his companion. “You know I don’t mean to pry unnecessarily, to truly invade your privacy. You know why I am doing this.”
Superman hesitated, and after a moment, nodded, closing his eyes. “I know,” he said simply. “And I … thank you for it.”
Batman nodded slowly too, not sure himself how to process the feeling of relief that swept over him at those words. At the feeling of … hope they engendered.
Then he shifted a moment, and gritted his own teeth. It wasn’t over yet.
“And these … dream images. They’re so great, so powerful, that they’ve begun haunting you in waking life. Haven’t they?”
Superman opened his eyes and regarded him silently for a long moment, as if debating something within himself. Then he gave a tight, short jerk of his chin.
So.
Batman drew a breath. “I know how difficult this is, Clark,” he said, relentless, hating it, “but you need to tell me what you don’t want to. You need to describe what else happened - happens, in the dreams.” He saw the way Superman’s mouth tightened again, and the way the muscles in his neck began to go rigid. “What else are you trying to hide? Even from yourself?”
“I’m not …”
“Clark.” Batman’s voice was firm, but he could see he wasn’t reaching him. He steeled himself. “Superman.”
The name of the hero seemed to draw Clark back from the edge. It seemed to remind him of his duty, of his responsibility. Struggling for a long moment, he finally sighed, and dropped his head down. His arms folded over his chest, defensively, Batman noted, fiercely hugging himself.
“You’re really not letting this go, are you?” When Batman just gave a small, dangerous smile, completely relentless, Superman grimaced. “Fine. Fine. You win.”
Batman frowned. “No. I don’t. We both do. Trust me on that.”
Superman gazed at him. “I do,” he said softly, and Batman suddenly wanted to run himself from the enormity of all he could see in that gaze. He anchored himself, fumbling with a small bottle on his utility belt and handing it to Superman.
“Drink,” he ordered, and after a moment, Superman took it, eyeing it warily.
“It’s not a truth serum or something, is it?”
Batman snorted. “Do I need one?”
Superman smiled, but it was a pale imitation of his usual one. “Not anymore.” He popped the top off, tilted his head back, and drank. “’S good.”
“Alfred’s concoction. A hydrating stimulant.” At Clark’s look he shrugged. “His own variation on Gatorade.”
“Ah.”
Batman took the bottle back and placed it back in his belt before turning to steadily pin Superman with his own gaze. “You need to tell me the rest.”
Superman’s eyes slid away to study the darkness. “I know,” he said, voice quiet but steady.
Batman wanted to close his own eyes at the notes he alone could detect in that thunder soft voice. Pain for all the world to hear if it only had the ears to hear.
“You’ve said it has killed pretty much everyone you know in front of you,” he began, hating himself for flaying the raw wounds so mercilessly. “And then?”
Superman winced slightly, and his face closed down, and for a moment Batman feared he wasn’t going to let go after all.
“Kal,” he said, whisper soft, and Superman flicked a startled look up at him and then gathered himself, obviously understanding what it cost Bruce to say that name, and understanding the need.
“And then.” Kal’s mouth worked for a second soundlessly. “And then it … smirks down at me, amused at my struggles, at my raging and helplessness and grief at the … the things it’s done.” He swallowed again. “I can’t really describe it well with words.”
“For a Pulitzer class journalist and prize-winning novelist,” Batman said dryly, trying to lighten things a moment - and how unusual was that? “That’s pretty sad.” But Clark only pushed out a small breath of air in acknowledgment, and didn’t smile. “Here, though, you’ve only got an audience of one, Clark. Don’t worry about it,” he said gently, throwing as much reassurance behind the words as he could. “You just need to tell me.”
“Yeah.” But he still hesitated a long moment before continuing.
Batman waited, and this time did not interrupt, cursing himself for his failure to make things easier for Clark. And then Clark began to speak, in a low monotone, staring at a point in the air in between them unseeingly. “After … being forced to witness the suffering and deaths of … of practically everyone I know, with Lois, and … a few certain others … dying again and again in front of me, listening as they cry out my name, screaming for me to save them … as they blame me for … not stopping it, for not rescuing them … god …” Superman swallowed audibly. “It … it becomes even … more. More … I don’t know … more terribly overwhelming. More. I can’t seem to process what’s happened. I think I’m in shock. I can’t tell it’s not real. I think it is. I think the world’s come to an end. I’m screaming, I think. I’m lying on the ground. But I can’t move very much, no matter how I fight.
I’m pinned down, but I can’t see any restraints. But I can certainly feel them, cutting into my flesh. And then, just for an instant, I’m free. I spring immediately up and to my feet, and then leap into the air. Only I can’t fly. Not anymore. I try to focus my will with everything I’ve got, and push myself to fly, to go up into the air, but it doesn’t work. It doesn’t work! I can’t understand. It’s like gravity has chained me down, and the very earth has reversed. I can’t fly. I … I crash back down to earth. I manage to pick myself up, and then turn to run from all the carnage, all the … the bodies.
The smell is terrible. The sounds are worse. I can’t help them. So I … I try to run.” His face held all the agony of the world as he huddled there, remembering.
Batman lifted a tentative hand. “Clark …”
“But I’m slammed off my feet by something I can’t see,” Superman said, words coming faster, now relentless himself. “I’m knocked back down to the ground, and held there. I try to fight back, but it’s useless. Whatever it is, it’s so much more powerful than I am. Physically stronger. In every which way stronger. It’s … laughing at my attempts to get free, or to lash out at it.”
He paused to draw breath, and Batman silently willed him to not stop. Not now.
He didn’t. “All I can then see, all I can hear and smell and taste and sense, is the presence of this malevolent entity, bearing down on me. It stinks of degradation, of evil, of power corrupted absolutely. I can hear nothing else but its horrid laughter, pounding in my ears, and … inside my very mind. And then it starts to speak. It taunts me, makes promises and threats, too terrible to repeat.”
He stopped again, and Batman saw how his hands clenched spasmodically on his arms. “And I can feel nothing else. It’s around me, over me, touching me. It takes such awful pleasure with inflicting pain. It delights in hurting me, over and over, unceasingly. I can’t stop it. It’s such overwhelming agony that I can’t even breathe. It feels so real. I believe with all my heart that it is real, that it’s really happening, and I can’t snap out of it. I am seared to the bone, made absolutely helpless, so very, very … vulnerable.” His teeth clenched together so hard that Batman could hear the creak of his jaw. He reached forward without thinking this time.
“Clark …”
But Superman was already continuing, unseeing eyes hard and bright in the darkness. “The worst injuries and wounds I’ve ever received, the worst torture I’ve ever undergone, the worst exposures to Kryptonite poisoning, it’s all nothing compared to this. And it’s not just physical. The pain reaches down to the core of me, to my heart, mind, and to my very soul. Everywhere there is pain. And no matter how hard I fight, how hard I struggle, there is no end. No escape from it.” His gaze sharpened and Batman realized he had focussed once more on the real world. “It is more powerful than anything we’ve ever encountered, Bruce. I know it was the dream, but … “ He shivered suddenly, as if cold. “It’s so powerful. I can’t do a thing to save myself, just as I couldn’t do anything to save the others.” He sighed, exhausted. “And then, the pain eases, just the littlest bit. And I’m again aware of the … this thing, this being that controls the world.”
Superman swallowed, and dropped his eyes.
“And?” Batman asked, gently, after the pause had gone on for several minutes. Superman did not look up, but after a moment, his monologue resumed.
“It … this thing … it’s smiling. It tells me I’m … I’m its property now. I am still trying to resist somehow. And then it … peels away all of my remaining defences as if they’re nothing. Layer by layer, exposing my innermost fears and thoughts and weaknesses and … and hopes and dreams. Everything about me is laid bare. And … and my clothes are stripped away. I’m being held down … it feels like my very skin is stripped away, bit by bit ... and … and…”
Superman’s voice fell away completely, and he shook for a moment, fighting a losing battle for control.
Batman felt a surge of bile creep up his own throat and stretched out a hand without conscious effort to grip Superman’s forearm tightly. After a few seconds of harsh breathing, their eyes met and Superman mastered his voice again.
“The … invasion of my body, of my mind, of my innermost being … it’s so absolute, so completely encompassing that … I am lost. The … thing that has me in its grip … it’s everywhere. It’s taken everything from me. All of my memories are gone too, and all my connections to anyone or anything. I’m alone. Completely, terribly alone. Except for it. It’s seeped into every pore, every thought, filled every part of me. There is nothing of me left unhurt, unsullied, untouched. Unsoiled. Nothing.”
Batman felt the horror coil in his insides like a palatable thing. He watched Superman squeeze his eyes tightly shut, feeling more helpless himself than he had in a very long time.
The trembling had begun again, uncontrollably.
Oh, Kal …
“I’m here,” he said, after a moment, feeling like it was the most useless thing in the world to say, but having nothing else at hand. “You’re not alone.”
Since when did he not know what to say? How stupid, stupid …
But Superman looked up, and the look of sudden gratitude, warming the eyes that had terrifying gone so cold, made him want to … what?
“I know,” Clark was saying softly. “I … know. Thank you, Bruce. That … means more than you can know. It … took everything from me. It stripped me of everything. I … ”
Overshadowing misery suddenly swallowed the shimmer of gratitude. The despair in Clark’s face wrenched with beating black wings at Bruce’s own heart.
“Don’t,” he began roughly, and then stopped.
Don’t what? What would he have said?
“I’m sorry,” Superman whispered, drawing back into himself.
“Don’t be sorry,” Bruce hissed, surprised by his anger, “You haven’t …”
But Clark was talking again, slowly, not having heard Bruce, and again Bruce was jolted with that feeling of loss, of how very far away Superman again seemed. “But there, in that place, I am so alone, always, except for … it. All the emptiness of the world cannot possibly be as heavy as the weight that descends on me then. I … am gone in a way I’ve never been, after my worst defeats, my most horrible of failures. The despair after it’s finished with me … it’s crushing me. It is crushing me until I am nothing. It gloats. It IS. Powerful. Terrible. Absolute.”
He hesitated, and then shut his eyes. “And then I realize the truth: that it won’t ever be finished with me. Never. I’m its greatest prize, its greatest conquest. There won’t be any end to the suffering. Not for me. It makes me understand this. It’s laughing at me again, mocking me, chiding me for having been foolish enough to try to resist it, to deny its will. It’s so delighted in me being … so overcome, so defeated, … so helpless, so undeniably … its.”
Superman did glance up now, and for the first time, Batman saw the hint of wetness glimmering in his eyes. “It … I’m … oh, God … I’m its possession, Bruce,” his words came out as a harsh whisper, broken and anguished. “It now … owns me. To do with as it pleases. Everything I am has been claimed by it. Everything. I belong to it. Body and soul.”
No longer able to hold back the tears, Superman let them course down his face, where they made rivulets in the grime he had smeared there what seemed like a lifetime ago.
But he held onto Bruce’s gaze as if the universe itself would not pry him free. After an eternal second of sheer pain and wrenching shame pouring out of those depthless, singular eyes, Batman felt his own gut heave in protest, even as Superman abruptly tore his arm out of his grasp and flung himself to the side, vomiting uncontrollably onto the ground.
Batman let his hand slowly fall and listened to the sound of Superman being sick for several long, unbelieving moments.
His mind still whirled with shock.
And rage.
This … this was so much worse than he had thought. This was more than just simple nightmares, a production of stress or fatigue or anxiety. The sheer violation …
No wonder Superman had woken up screaming, no wonder he’d been pushing himself beyond even superhuman limits to stop the crisis enveloping the world, no wonder he had been refusing to sleep no matter how exhausted he grew. This recurring … dream, if that’s what it was, was enough to send anyone off the deep end. In fact, he was certain that if it had been anyone less than Superman, he or she would have been a non-functioning, babbling mess by this point. Only Clark’s inner strength and resilience were saving him from a complete breakdown. Or complete catatonia.
He twisted his head and watched, teeth set, as Superman finally was able to stop throwing up, as he gasped for breath, and as he wrenched his back straight in obvious effort.
His head bowed, Superman leaned forward onto his thighs, fine tremors throughout his body still visible. The torn-apart cape was useless for hiding anything now, the ragged red strips stirring defeatedly in the freshening wind.
Batman shivered. He hoped the cape wasn’t metaphoric.
Batman had been in many battles alongside Superman. Together they had faced countless villains, fought unnameable foes, stopped immeasurable evil - all over the world, off planet, and even on the mystic plane. He had seen Superman pushed to his limits. He had seen him exhausted. He had seen him wounded.
He had seen him die.
But never had he seen him so stretched to the breaking point as he did right at that moment.
And for the life of him he didn’t know what to do about it.
Superman knelt there in the dirt, facing away from him, shoulders shaking, struggling to suppress the audible sounds clawing their way from his throat.
Batman’s own throat constricted painfully.
At last Bruce rose and stepped over to him. He hesitated a moment, and then laid a warm hand firmly on his back.
“It’s all right,” he said, feeling the hated helplessness rear its ugly head again. But he forced himself to continue. “It’s over.”
Superman didn’t reply, and only continued to shudder slightly. Batman sighed.
“You did well in telling me, Clark, in telling me all of it.” His voice he kept quiet, soothing, not an easy thing for him. “I know how … difficult that was for you to do.” Difficult, he thought with a mental snort. That’s an understatement. “Don’t be…”
He stopped himself. Don’t bewhat?
Don’t be afraid, I’m going to make it all better? Don’t be ashamed, you, of all people? Don’t despair, because there is still hope in this world? Don’t believe it to be real, when it’s obviously not and yet it obviously isall the same time?
Everything he could say would only sound at best trite, and at worst, patently untrue.
He sighed again. It wasn’t he who had the gift of speech, no matter how Clark might protest it. “There is no shame in admitting what this has done to you.” No, he thought fiercely, there is no need for you to feel shame. None at all. “But you can’t keep going on this way. You need to deal with this.”
After a moment, he felt Superman draw in a shaky breath. “I know, Bruce.” He didn’t look up at him. “Of course I know that. The world needs Superman.”
Damn the world! Bruce wanted to shout, but he said only “For your own sake, too, Clark.”
Superman typically waved off the comment. “I need to find a way around this, or through this, I know. But these dreams … they’re so damned real. How ...?”
“I’m convinced that they are more than dreams,” Batman interrupted. Superman finally raised his head, glancing up at him in puzzlement. “No mere dream, nightmare or not, would affect you so profoundly,” he went on darkly. “Not you. With all that’s been going on, it’s quite likely that this is something far more insidious than simply your subconscious fears and insecurities manifesting themselves as particularly intense and horrific nightmares.”
Superman blinked up at him. “What?”
“Think about it.” Batman moved around him to face him. “Isn’t it too much of a coincidence that you are being practically crippled with these - let’s call them visions for now - at the same time that the League is embroiled in a conflict with a vastly powerful - and quite mysterious - new enemy? One whose weapons and minions alone have proven able to physically harm even you, and get right underneath your invulnerability?” He folded his arms and snorted. “I think you’ve worked with me enough to know how much I believe in coincidence.”
“Well …” Superman nodded thoughtfully, mustering more control over his stretched-to-the-breaking-point emotions, and over his traitorous body.
He forced himself up from his knees, and swayed slightly on his feet.
Batman reflexively caught him under the elbow and steadied him as Superman regained his equilibrium slowly, in more ways than one. Superman cast him a thankful but troubled look that he couldn’t quite read. He let go, and stepped back carefully.
“To tell the truth, Bruce,” Superman said softly, after a long moment, “I think I’ve avoided talking to anyone about this partly because I’ve been … been afraid that it would make it more real somehow. That it wouldn’t just all be in my head. And that someone else might recognize the dreams as more than simple nightmares. I … I didn’t want to face what that might mean.”
Batman nodded. “That explains why you’ve been avoiding J’onn too.”
“Yes.” Superman inhaled slowly, putting a hand against the support strut of the globe, and looked over across the city to where tendrils of pale smoke still drifted in the night breeze. “Because if they’re more than dreams, then…”
“They might be premonitions?” Batman asked, studying him closely.
Superman shut his eyes with a small grimace. “I know how ridiculous that sounds …”
“Except you’ve experienced pre-cognitive dreams in the past,” Batman finished. “Dreams that have come true.” Superman shot an amazed look at him. “Once right before you were ‘possessed’ by the inter-dimensional being called Dominus, and ended up, under his influence, declaring yourself ‘king of the world’ …” Superman winced. “… and again more recently right before the devastating Imperiex War. Both series of premonitional dreams came into being.”
“I’m not even going to ask how you know about all that,” Superman said, and Batman gave an enigmatic smile. “But … you’re right about them.” He swallowed and shuddered uncontrollably for a moment before mastering himself. “And if this is similar…”
“Then we will stop it,” Batman said firmly, his own eyes alight with fiery determination. “We’ll put an end to it all. I promise you.”
Their eyes met. Superman said nothing, but his face conveyed a universe’s worth of telling until at last he looked down at his hands, lifting them to his gaze, flexing them as if in pain.
Batman watched him, and hesitated a moment. “Clark, I am beginning to suspect that this may prove to be some sort of psychic - and psychological - assault upon you.”
“What?” Then Superman began to shake his head. “That’s rid-“
“Is it?” Batman’s voice was hard. “What do we know about Ayestrom? Or his people?” He met Superman’s eyes. “We need to talk to J’onn. Maybe a mental shield can be erected and…”
“No.” Superman shook his head emphatically, hands clenching. “No. I don’t want anyone else to know about this.”
“He doesn’t have to know the details,” Batman said patiently. “You know he’ll respect your privacy. As will I,” he added as an afterthought. “You need to get through this, and you need to be able to sleep. We don’t know how long this crisis will continue, Clark. We need you. And he’ll be able to help.”
For a moment, Superman didn’t answer.
“Clark …”
Then Superman compressed his lips tightly and finally gave a short, sharp nod. “Okay.”
“You’ll … talk to J’onn?” Batman asked, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice.
At that, Superman looked at him again at last, a slight lifting of the corners of his mouth evident. “Yes, Bruce.”
Batman nodded back, hiding his relief. With J’onn on his side, helping Superman would prove that much easier.
He looked back at Superman, who had stepped back from him as he gazed over the vista, making it difficult for Batman to see, the smoke obscuring the stars above, the mammoth shadow of the Planet’s globe spilling onto the Kryptonian, casting him in darkness.
And the thought suddenly struck him how small he looked right then, with the whole city, the whole world, stretching in an enormous panorama behind and over him.
The weight of the world …
How incongruously defenceless he suddenly appeared.
Impulsively, Batman stepped forward and reached out a hand again to lay it on Superman’s shoulder.
“These nightmares will not come to pass, Kal.” His tone was emphatic. “I will st… the League will stop it. Everyone will be protected. Even you.” Especially you, he thought, but he did not voice the sudden thought aloud. “I swear it.”
Superman twisted around to face him directly, his eyes sombre and still haunted, the remnants of his confessed nightmares still swirling darkly in their azure depths.
At long last he drew a deep breath and straightened, squaring his shoulders. He stepped back and as Batman let his hand fall away, he could nearly literally feel the strength and the will of the man build up again right in front of him.
He could also feel Superman’s shields snap up again, his walls of protection once more securely in place, eroded and torn, but far from crumbled. And the barrier between them was once more solidly there, formidable, insurmountable.
Scowling, he drew back, and tried to shake off the strange sense of loss that it somehow evoked.
“No, Batman,” Superman now said, eyes hardening into chips of blue ice. “I swear it. I will never fall to evil, not this new force, nor to any other. No matter how powerful, or how much it takes to push back. We will stand fast against it. And I, and you, and the League, will protect everyone who needs it, be it school kids, our friends and family, the general populace, or even our fellow heroes. And this evil will certainly not prevail against us. Not now. Not ever.”
Batman agreed grimly, privately impressed once more by the force of will and courage radiating from the Man of Steel, never so well deserved an appellation. He experienced a certain sense of relief too that Superman had not broken, broken where many another man would have under the terrible onslaught he had been forced to endure for so long. What he had endured … alone.
They would need his strength to fight the malignant evil now making its presence distinctly felt in the world, and Superman himself would likely need it to survive himself, and to not lose hope.
“Damned straight,” he growled aloud, concealing his mounting concern as he locked gazes with Superman, who then drew a deep breath of the night air, and forced the intermittent trembling to fade completely from his tall frame. He smiled a grim smile. “I told you that you were stronger than you knew.”
Superman turned and met Batman’s eyes squarely. “I am not an island, Bruce. Together, we are stronger. Alone, I might shatter. But with … with the team, my own strength, my own willpower is magnified.” He had been about to say something else, Batman was sure of it, and he filed that away for future examination. “It’s a big part of why the JLA exists. And you’ve no idea how grateful I am for it.”
Batman allowed a rare true smile to escape. “I might.”
Superman looked at him and then slowly smiled back, a genuine smile this time, and it was as if a beam of bright sunlight had suddenly arced down from the heavens to light up the rooftop.
“Thank you, Bruce,” he said softly, and extended his hand.
For a moment, Batman stood frozen, staring at him, and then slowly reached out his own hand and clasped Superman’s with it.
Then, as if neither could hold the gaze or handshake any longer, both simultaneously turned and leapt off the roof of the Daily Planet, each on their way to continue their fight in the never-ending battle, and ultimately find and defeat this newest evil making its presence felt in the world, be it Ayestrom, personal nightmares and demons, or not.
Batman released a long, frustrated sigh as he stood, remembering that night. He shifted against the warehouse wall, once more seeing the darkened slat-metal walls in front of him instead of that dark rooftop a week ago.
Clark …
He closed his eyes and tried to suppress the memory of how much seeing Superman’s fear and suddenly very great sense of vulnerability had shaken him.
He focussed instead on how Clark had faced his terror, and beaten back his own despair. Even in his line of work, brushing shoulders with heroes and brave men and women every day, rarely was he privileged to witness such courage and spirit. And suddenly he was very proud to have Superman as his friend. And he wasn’t about to let that friendship down. Not in this lifetime. Or any other.
Kal …
Bruce swallowed and opened his eyes.
The darkness of the warehouse stared back out at him. But it no longer drove down upon him in waves of pressure. The darkness and silence was soft, was easy, was oh so peaceful.
I could stay here.
The thought came to him unbidden, whispering to him from the comfort of the darkness.
Not return to the Watchtower, or to their base camp, or to the League.
He was so tired, and the strain so immense. He wouldn’t have to deal with Superman’s danger, or his friend’s fear. Or his own fear. Or with any feelings of his to do with Kal.
It was almost tempting. He looked out at the darkness.
He squashed the temptation.
He pushed away from the wall, letting a small sigh of his own escape him, gazing into the darkness. And then he turned around, pulled open the door in a decisive move, and strode out into the cold night air.
No more hiding.
He was not going to let Kal’s nightmares come to pass. No way in hell would he do that. Not if it took a lifetime’s worth of effort. He would get him back.
He will be safe.
It was time to get back to work.
----
.
To Be Continued. (soon!) :-)
All previous Parts to this fic can be found right Here, on the Main Page.
JLA
“Necessary Force”
by Paxwolf
Note: This fanfiction story originally was begun some years ago, and is therefore set current to the (comic book version!) JLA lineup at the time, specifically during the Grant Morrison and Mark Waid runs on the title, and with certain details from that era still intact. It is therefore ‘old’, and has taken several years to see fruition, and therefore be aware that certain discrepancies and dated information - in terms of continuity - may still be contained within.
Disclaimer:The Justice League of America and its associated characters are owned and copyrighted by DC Comics and Time Warner. No income is being generated by the Internet publication of this story. (Which really is quite a pity as I am dirt poor - and it would be oh so fun to be able to earn a living playing in DC’s grand Playground! (Lucky, lucky pro writers and artists!!) Original characters do also exist in this fic and I suppose that might make them owned by me. ;-)
Warnings: Violence, Some Language, and Mature Themes. Readers’ Discretion is advised.
Thanks To: mithen, without whose skilled beta-reading and sweet encouragement this epic may never have been posted, and to Kungfunurse for some of the original beta-reading, and to the kind and helpful (years-long!) feedback supplied by the gracious Gwil and the lovely Janet Coleman Sides, both of whom stepped out of their own fandoms (Stargate:SG-1 and Gatchaman respectively) in order to read about the denizens of the DC Universe.
Also thanks to damos for icons and techie services rendered.
Summary:When a powerful terrorist threatens the safety of the planet, the Justice League must go to extremes to stop him, and Superman and Batman may have to make the biggest sacrifice of all.
All Previous Parts of the Fic can be found here, on the Main Page! (or you can scroll back a few entries!)
Summary of THIS Part: The League takes over an Ayestrom-controlled outpost, and in his fatigue and fear, Batman is forced to remember a recent disturbing and evocative encounter with Superman, where the frightening content of his long hinted-at dreams is revealed, which may have deadly consequences for the Man of Steel and the League.
Part XV:
“Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death”
(B)
“I … see,” Batman said finally, voice equally soft.
He said nothing for several minutes, peering at the black city, then looked back at Superman, who sat still as death, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He drew a breath of his own.
“I see why you…” He shook his head. “All right. All right. But Clark, as horrid as these dream images are, they are just that: dreams. And death happens. It’s a fact of life. You know it. I know it. You’ve certainly dealt with loss before. And failure. I’m not saying it’s easy, or fair. But these ones, these deaths you watch, they aren’t real.” Superman looked at him, eyes weary, haunted. Batman himself swallowed and went on. “Of course you’re going to dream of everyone you love dying. Of course you dream you can’t save them. It’s a great part of what you fear. It’s a part of who you are. Such dreams are probably natural. In fact, they’re probably considered fairly normal, even healthy, for anyone in our particular field. Especially for someone - I won’t mention any names - with a particularly strong Messiah Complex.” He waited, but Superman did not rise to the bait. His attempt at a lighter tone faded away. He looked intensely at Superman. “They’re not real, Clark.”
Superman only nodded, face bleak. “I know that, Bruce. Of course I know that. And it’s not exactly the first time I’ve experienced bad dreams, you know.” A humourless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But these … they’re different. So absolutely clear, and so incredibly vivid. So terribly detailed. And I feel so … so completely conscious in them. So awake, so alive, in the worst possible way.” He looked at Batman helplessly. “I can’t tell in the least whether I’m awake or asleep. Not the slightest bit. It doesn’t matter if I know they’re not real now. They are very real then. Real to me.”
He breathed in deeply as he struggled to articulate what the dreams were like. “It’s as opposite to lucid dreaming as one can get. I’m so awfully mired in the dream, that I can’t tell it’s not the real thing. And even if I could, it wouldn’t make any difference. I’m always, ALWAYS so … so damned helpless in them! No matter how hard I struggle, how desperately I fight, how loudly I scream, or threaten, or bargain, or … or even beg, there’s nothing I can do to stop the horror. No matter what I do. Not with all my powers, not with all my strength. I can’t do anything to stop it! I can’t … my God, I can’t stop the killing. I can do absolutely nothing, Bruce. Nothing.”
Superman visibly shuddered, his hands clenching convulsively around his biceps. Batman’s scowl darkened.
This was bad. Worse than he had imagined. And what could he possibly do to help? He was no psychotherapist. And these were unusually powerful nightmares. It was of little wonder that Superman had resisted sleeping for so long!
He couldn’t imagine a worse scenario, nightmare or not. But still, even as that thought rose in his mind, his gaze was dragged back to Superman at his next barely distinguishable words.
“And then … and then, after all that is done, and everyone I know is … d- gone, I am …” Superman suddenly cut himself off, as if abruptly realizing where he was, and with whom. Batman stiffened.
There was more? It got worse?
“And then?” he prompted, more gently than he’d spoken in a very long time. He steeled himself for the answer, knowing it was best for Superman to get it out, all of it, to have any chance at a modicum of peace.
But Superman just shook his head, lowering it to stare at his boots.
“And then I wake up.” He shrugged, as if he’d merely been relating a simple, everyday, mildly engaging narrative.
Batman looked at him, gaze level. He didn’t miss the way Superman avoided his gaze, or the minute trembling that Superman was fighting so hard to control.
“No,” he said flatly. “You don’t.”
Superman lifted his eyes, the regret and then the anguish clear at Batman’s emphatic tone.
“Do you.” It was not a question.
Superman did not answer.
Batman paused just for an instant, and then shifted even closer, meeting Superman’s eyes in a level stare. Still Superman said nothing, but it was he who broke the stare, lowering his head to look at the ground.
Batman let out a determined breath. “Clark.”
Superman continued to find the ground in front of his boots compelling.
Surprising even himself, Batman reached impulsively out to grasp Superman’s chin in a gloved hand, tilting it up until their eyes met again. The shock in his eyes at Batman’s action was clear.
“There’s more. You need to tell me, Clark. Tell me everything.”
Superman stared back at him for a long moment, the pain and terror suddenly so evident in the clouded depths of his usually clear gaze, even in the washed out darkness surrounding them, that Batman nearly drew back in spite of himself before Superman abruptly closed his eyes. Batman tensed, preparing for Superman to wrench his chin out of Batman’s hold and fling himself out into the dark sky. It was obvious that Superman wanted to do so. It was clear in every line of his tense, trembling body. But somehow, he did not. He stayed in place, and Batman did not relent, and did not let go.
“Yes, Bruce,” he heard Superman say at last, voice barely a whisper. “You’re right. There’s more.”
And Batman suddenly felt a strange rush of fear course through his own heart, as if it had physically jumped from Superman to himself through the touch.
“Go on,” Batman urged anyway, knowing the necessity.
No, he wasn’t going anywhere. He would wrest these demons from Superman himself if he at all could.
Superman inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, mouth tightening still further, as if readying himself to face hopeless battle. “After everyone I … after everyone … is dead, the dream becomes more … personal.”
Batman frowned. What could that mean? How much more personal could a dream get than being forced to watch the horrible deaths of everyone you knew and loved?
“Tell me,” he repeated gently.
He felt the tremor run through Superman’s body and carefully withdrew his hand, releasing Superman’s chin, but this time Superman’s gaze did not drop but held onto his almost fiercely, like a lifeline, as if he could find the strength there to continue. He watched him take another deep breath.
“The attention of the principal … person or … or being that is causing all of this suffering, seems to shift away from the others and exclusively to … to me.” He swallowed. “This … thisthing is so vast, so incredibly powerful. It oozes a sense of what I can only describe as sheer evil.” He looked almost guiltily at Batman. “I know that sounds so melodramatic, but…” Batman just shook his head, and after another hesitation, Superman continued. “It radiates wave upon wave of … black malice, of vicious, sadistic intent. I can literally feel its malevolence, like a living, breathing, slimy thing.” Disgust lined his mouth. “It makes my skin crawl. Even now.” He shuddered, remembering. “And it has an awareness, an intelligence all its own. I can clearly feel its ruthlessness, its utter satisfaction and pleasure at the suffering it is inflicting on its victims. At what it knows it’s doing to me.” He swallowed, and then, his jaw hardening, he fell silent for a long moment before glancing up at Batman. “You don’t want to hear any more. Trust me.”
“Yes. I do,” Batman said immediately, with more certainty than he’d expected. He shook his head at Superman. “And you need to express it, to get it out, Clark. You need to face it. It’s the only way you’ll be able to deal with it.”
Superman shook his own head. “No. I don’t think I do. You’ve heard enough.”
“I don’t care about what I’ve heard. I care about what you need to still tell me.”
“I can’t.”
He saw the mask begin to slip over Clark’s carefully controlled features.
Well, that wasn’t going to work with him. He knew all too well about masks.
“You are not going to escape this, Clark,” he said forcefully. “You have to face it head on. Tell me.”
“I … you don’t understand, Bruce. I can’t. You don’t …”
When he saw Clark begin to withdraw into himself, Bruce knew he couldn’t allow that to happen, and took him off guard with his sudden lean forward. He gripped Superman’s shoulders, harshly, almost shaking him in his urgency. “Don’t run away now, Superman. Tell me. Tell me!”
Superman shut his eyes, murmuring “No”.
Batman, feeling a strange sense of desperation, gave him a harder shake. “Don’t the hell tell me no after all that!”
Then he felt Superman go rigid, with more than tension, and saw him open his eyes to stare at him.
The look that he met was almost not human.
And all at once, Batman knew he was dangerously close to crossing a line with Superman right then. A line that once crossed there might be no coming back from. He knew he was too close to breaking an unspoken agreement of undefined boundaries. Of breaching one wall too many.
He was demanding access to an intimate part of Superman, of his life, of his mind, perhaps even of his soul, and was honest enough with himself that if their positions had been reversed, he would not likely grant that access lightly or easily.
But right then, he was also honest enough with himself that he knew that with Superman, with Clark, - with Kal - he might just be willing to grant that access. And he hoped that Superman would respond in kind.
But he also knew that if he kept pressing, in Superman’s present weakened state, he was in equal danger of pushing his partner past the point of physical self-control, so frayed and so beaten had he become. The Kryptonian was too balanced on the edge, precariously tipping to one side then the other, so close to breaking point at that moment that Batman could feel his own pulse pounding with terror.
I’m NOT going to lose him. Not now.
It didn’t matter that this was no safe place for anyone to be, even a … friend.
Especially a friend who sometimes wasn’t one. And with the history of volatility that their relationship had, and the ups and downs and hurts and betrayals …
He shook his head at himself violently. Such dark thoughts he did not need right now. And Superman needed him now. Clark needed him.
Kal … needed him.
So he would force the issue, despite the danger to both of them. He knew his action was necessary. And deep down, even in the midst of his sudden awareness of how complicated their ties really were, and at how much risk he was placing their … was it truly a friendship? … and how much physical danger he might be in, he realized a newer truth.
He had asked Clark if he had trusted him. And he had been answered.
He trusts me.
And he himself? He forced himself to look directly at the issue. And answer with all the honesty Superman surely deserved.
Yes. He did trust Superman.
Yes.
He trusted him. Deeply. Implicitly. Without reserve.
Enough that he could and would do this for his … what? His ally? His comrade-in- arms? His partner and teammate? Was he truly his friend?
Batman didn’t know, didn’t usually care to examine his feelings that closely. He just knew that he was one of the very few - if not the only one - who could and would press on, and therefore be able to help.
He could help Kal deal with the trauma he was inflicted with, and with the nightmares that had chained him in their tortuous grip. He alone could do it, and so he alone would.
So Batman did not back down, even when he saw the sudden flare of deadly crimson flame in Superman’s shadowed eyes, the visual proof of his own terror and resistance to Batman’s reaching too far into his self, to his insistence on confronting the truth within Superman’s private, debilitating, all-encompassing nightmare.
He reached in, and grimly held on, meeting the Kryptonian red glare with a determined one of his own.
He would dare to put that trust to the test.
After several long, heart-racing seconds of rigidity and rage, where Batman was implacable and Superman fought against his desire to escape, to lash out at the source of renewed pain, the fire in Kal-El’s eyes banked. Finally, Batman watched as his normal blue-within-blue colour returned.
But those eyes now seemed saturated, worn, and washed out. And showing more signs of a tiring battleground than ever.
Batman abruptly felt the straining, flexed muscles beneath his hands go limp, and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and he felt Superman fall forward against him, not quite a collapse, not quite an embrace. He held still another moment, pressed close against Kal, feeling the staccato-quick beating of that alien - and oh so human - heart against his chest.
He felt Clark suddenly sag back against the steel support column, looking utterly exhausted, like every erg of energy that the sun had ever lent him had leaked out somehow, never to return. Except for the quick rise and fall of his chest as he panted slightly, he didn’t move a muscle. Batman caught at his own breath, realizing his own chest was heaving, and released him, sitting back on his heels.
He looked into Clark’s still open eyes and saw Superman returning, slowly, Kal fading slightly, the remnant of his fury giving way to the truer emotions buried beneath layers of duty, concern, compassion, fear, self-denial, and pain. He wasn’t overly surprised to see the stark terror that had lain revealed beneath the rest; he’d have been surprised had there been none. But he was shocked to see the shame.
“I’m so sorry, Bruce,” Superman said finally, leaning his head tiredly back against the Globe’s supportive strut.
Why shame?
“As am I,” Batman said, knowing at Superman’s flicker of surprise how rare it was for him to apologize. He nearly smiled. Then looked seriously at his companion. “You know I don’t mean to pry unnecessarily, to truly invade your privacy. You know why I am doing this.”
Superman hesitated, and after a moment, nodded, closing his eyes. “I know,” he said simply. “And I … thank you for it.”
Batman nodded slowly too, not sure himself how to process the feeling of relief that swept over him at those words. At the feeling of … hope they engendered.
Then he shifted a moment, and gritted his own teeth. It wasn’t over yet.
“And these … dream images. They’re so great, so powerful, that they’ve begun haunting you in waking life. Haven’t they?”
Superman opened his eyes and regarded him silently for a long moment, as if debating something within himself. Then he gave a tight, short jerk of his chin.
So.
Batman drew a breath. “I know how difficult this is, Clark,” he said, relentless, hating it, “but you need to tell me what you don’t want to. You need to describe what else happened - happens, in the dreams.” He saw the way Superman’s mouth tightened again, and the way the muscles in his neck began to go rigid. “What else are you trying to hide? Even from yourself?”
“I’m not …”
“Clark.” Batman’s voice was firm, but he could see he wasn’t reaching him. He steeled himself. “Superman.”
The name of the hero seemed to draw Clark back from the edge. It seemed to remind him of his duty, of his responsibility. Struggling for a long moment, he finally sighed, and dropped his head down. His arms folded over his chest, defensively, Batman noted, fiercely hugging himself.
“You’re really not letting this go, are you?” When Batman just gave a small, dangerous smile, completely relentless, Superman grimaced. “Fine. Fine. You win.”
Batman frowned. “No. I don’t. We both do. Trust me on that.”
Superman gazed at him. “I do,” he said softly, and Batman suddenly wanted to run himself from the enormity of all he could see in that gaze. He anchored himself, fumbling with a small bottle on his utility belt and handing it to Superman.
“Drink,” he ordered, and after a moment, Superman took it, eyeing it warily.
“It’s not a truth serum or something, is it?”
Batman snorted. “Do I need one?”
Superman smiled, but it was a pale imitation of his usual one. “Not anymore.” He popped the top off, tilted his head back, and drank. “’S good.”
“Alfred’s concoction. A hydrating stimulant.” At Clark’s look he shrugged. “His own variation on Gatorade.”
“Ah.”
Batman took the bottle back and placed it back in his belt before turning to steadily pin Superman with his own gaze. “You need to tell me the rest.”
Superman’s eyes slid away to study the darkness. “I know,” he said, voice quiet but steady.
Batman wanted to close his own eyes at the notes he alone could detect in that thunder soft voice. Pain for all the world to hear if it only had the ears to hear.
“You’ve said it has killed pretty much everyone you know in front of you,” he began, hating himself for flaying the raw wounds so mercilessly. “And then?”
Superman winced slightly, and his face closed down, and for a moment Batman feared he wasn’t going to let go after all.
“Kal,” he said, whisper soft, and Superman flicked a startled look up at him and then gathered himself, obviously understanding what it cost Bruce to say that name, and understanding the need.
“And then.” Kal’s mouth worked for a second soundlessly. “And then it … smirks down at me, amused at my struggles, at my raging and helplessness and grief at the … the things it’s done.” He swallowed again. “I can’t really describe it well with words.”
“For a Pulitzer class journalist and prize-winning novelist,” Batman said dryly, trying to lighten things a moment - and how unusual was that? “That’s pretty sad.” But Clark only pushed out a small breath of air in acknowledgment, and didn’t smile. “Here, though, you’ve only got an audience of one, Clark. Don’t worry about it,” he said gently, throwing as much reassurance behind the words as he could. “You just need to tell me.”
“Yeah.” But he still hesitated a long moment before continuing.
Batman waited, and this time did not interrupt, cursing himself for his failure to make things easier for Clark. And then Clark began to speak, in a low monotone, staring at a point in the air in between them unseeingly. “After … being forced to witness the suffering and deaths of … of practically everyone I know, with Lois, and … a few certain others … dying again and again in front of me, listening as they cry out my name, screaming for me to save them … as they blame me for … not stopping it, for not rescuing them … god …” Superman swallowed audibly. “It … it becomes even … more. More … I don’t know … more terribly overwhelming. More. I can’t seem to process what’s happened. I think I’m in shock. I can’t tell it’s not real. I think it is. I think the world’s come to an end. I’m screaming, I think. I’m lying on the ground. But I can’t move very much, no matter how I fight.
I’m pinned down, but I can’t see any restraints. But I can certainly feel them, cutting into my flesh. And then, just for an instant, I’m free. I spring immediately up and to my feet, and then leap into the air. Only I can’t fly. Not anymore. I try to focus my will with everything I’ve got, and push myself to fly, to go up into the air, but it doesn’t work. It doesn’t work! I can’t understand. It’s like gravity has chained me down, and the very earth has reversed. I can’t fly. I … I crash back down to earth. I manage to pick myself up, and then turn to run from all the carnage, all the … the bodies.
The smell is terrible. The sounds are worse. I can’t help them. So I … I try to run.” His face held all the agony of the world as he huddled there, remembering.
Batman lifted a tentative hand. “Clark …”
“But I’m slammed off my feet by something I can’t see,” Superman said, words coming faster, now relentless himself. “I’m knocked back down to the ground, and held there. I try to fight back, but it’s useless. Whatever it is, it’s so much more powerful than I am. Physically stronger. In every which way stronger. It’s … laughing at my attempts to get free, or to lash out at it.”
He paused to draw breath, and Batman silently willed him to not stop. Not now.
He didn’t. “All I can then see, all I can hear and smell and taste and sense, is the presence of this malevolent entity, bearing down on me. It stinks of degradation, of evil, of power corrupted absolutely. I can hear nothing else but its horrid laughter, pounding in my ears, and … inside my very mind. And then it starts to speak. It taunts me, makes promises and threats, too terrible to repeat.”
He stopped again, and Batman saw how his hands clenched spasmodically on his arms. “And I can feel nothing else. It’s around me, over me, touching me. It takes such awful pleasure with inflicting pain. It delights in hurting me, over and over, unceasingly. I can’t stop it. It’s such overwhelming agony that I can’t even breathe. It feels so real. I believe with all my heart that it is real, that it’s really happening, and I can’t snap out of it. I am seared to the bone, made absolutely helpless, so very, very … vulnerable.” His teeth clenched together so hard that Batman could hear the creak of his jaw. He reached forward without thinking this time.
“Clark …”
But Superman was already continuing, unseeing eyes hard and bright in the darkness. “The worst injuries and wounds I’ve ever received, the worst torture I’ve ever undergone, the worst exposures to Kryptonite poisoning, it’s all nothing compared to this. And it’s not just physical. The pain reaches down to the core of me, to my heart, mind, and to my very soul. Everywhere there is pain. And no matter how hard I fight, how hard I struggle, there is no end. No escape from it.” His gaze sharpened and Batman realized he had focussed once more on the real world. “It is more powerful than anything we’ve ever encountered, Bruce. I know it was the dream, but … “ He shivered suddenly, as if cold. “It’s so powerful. I can’t do a thing to save myself, just as I couldn’t do anything to save the others.” He sighed, exhausted. “And then, the pain eases, just the littlest bit. And I’m again aware of the … this thing, this being that controls the world.”
Superman swallowed, and dropped his eyes.
“And?” Batman asked, gently, after the pause had gone on for several minutes. Superman did not look up, but after a moment, his monologue resumed.
“It … this thing … it’s smiling. It tells me I’m … I’m its property now. I am still trying to resist somehow. And then it … peels away all of my remaining defences as if they’re nothing. Layer by layer, exposing my innermost fears and thoughts and weaknesses and … and hopes and dreams. Everything about me is laid bare. And … and my clothes are stripped away. I’m being held down … it feels like my very skin is stripped away, bit by bit ... and … and…”
Superman’s voice fell away completely, and he shook for a moment, fighting a losing battle for control.
Batman felt a surge of bile creep up his own throat and stretched out a hand without conscious effort to grip Superman’s forearm tightly. After a few seconds of harsh breathing, their eyes met and Superman mastered his voice again.
“The … invasion of my body, of my mind, of my innermost being … it’s so absolute, so completely encompassing that … I am lost. The … thing that has me in its grip … it’s everywhere. It’s taken everything from me. All of my memories are gone too, and all my connections to anyone or anything. I’m alone. Completely, terribly alone. Except for it. It’s seeped into every pore, every thought, filled every part of me. There is nothing of me left unhurt, unsullied, untouched. Unsoiled. Nothing.”
Batman felt the horror coil in his insides like a palatable thing. He watched Superman squeeze his eyes tightly shut, feeling more helpless himself than he had in a very long time.
The trembling had begun again, uncontrollably.
Oh, Kal …
“I’m here,” he said, after a moment, feeling like it was the most useless thing in the world to say, but having nothing else at hand. “You’re not alone.”
Since when did he not know what to say? How stupid, stupid …
But Superman looked up, and the look of sudden gratitude, warming the eyes that had terrifying gone so cold, made him want to … what?
“I know,” Clark was saying softly. “I … know. Thank you, Bruce. That … means more than you can know. It … took everything from me. It stripped me of everything. I … ”
Overshadowing misery suddenly swallowed the shimmer of gratitude. The despair in Clark’s face wrenched with beating black wings at Bruce’s own heart.
“Don’t,” he began roughly, and then stopped.
Don’t what? What would he have said?
“I’m sorry,” Superman whispered, drawing back into himself.
“Don’t be sorry,” Bruce hissed, surprised by his anger, “You haven’t …”
But Clark was talking again, slowly, not having heard Bruce, and again Bruce was jolted with that feeling of loss, of how very far away Superman again seemed. “But there, in that place, I am so alone, always, except for … it. All the emptiness of the world cannot possibly be as heavy as the weight that descends on me then. I … am gone in a way I’ve never been, after my worst defeats, my most horrible of failures. The despair after it’s finished with me … it’s crushing me. It is crushing me until I am nothing. It gloats. It IS. Powerful. Terrible. Absolute.”
He hesitated, and then shut his eyes. “And then I realize the truth: that it won’t ever be finished with me. Never. I’m its greatest prize, its greatest conquest. There won’t be any end to the suffering. Not for me. It makes me understand this. It’s laughing at me again, mocking me, chiding me for having been foolish enough to try to resist it, to deny its will. It’s so delighted in me being … so overcome, so defeated, … so helpless, so undeniably … its.”
Superman did glance up now, and for the first time, Batman saw the hint of wetness glimmering in his eyes. “It … I’m … oh, God … I’m its possession, Bruce,” his words came out as a harsh whisper, broken and anguished. “It now … owns me. To do with as it pleases. Everything I am has been claimed by it. Everything. I belong to it. Body and soul.”
No longer able to hold back the tears, Superman let them course down his face, where they made rivulets in the grime he had smeared there what seemed like a lifetime ago.
But he held onto Bruce’s gaze as if the universe itself would not pry him free. After an eternal second of sheer pain and wrenching shame pouring out of those depthless, singular eyes, Batman felt his own gut heave in protest, even as Superman abruptly tore his arm out of his grasp and flung himself to the side, vomiting uncontrollably onto the ground.
Batman let his hand slowly fall and listened to the sound of Superman being sick for several long, unbelieving moments.
His mind still whirled with shock.
And rage.
This … this was so much worse than he had thought. This was more than just simple nightmares, a production of stress or fatigue or anxiety. The sheer violation …
No wonder Superman had woken up screaming, no wonder he’d been pushing himself beyond even superhuman limits to stop the crisis enveloping the world, no wonder he had been refusing to sleep no matter how exhausted he grew. This recurring … dream, if that’s what it was, was enough to send anyone off the deep end. In fact, he was certain that if it had been anyone less than Superman, he or she would have been a non-functioning, babbling mess by this point. Only Clark’s inner strength and resilience were saving him from a complete breakdown. Or complete catatonia.
He twisted his head and watched, teeth set, as Superman finally was able to stop throwing up, as he gasped for breath, and as he wrenched his back straight in obvious effort.
His head bowed, Superman leaned forward onto his thighs, fine tremors throughout his body still visible. The torn-apart cape was useless for hiding anything now, the ragged red strips stirring defeatedly in the freshening wind.
Batman shivered. He hoped the cape wasn’t metaphoric.
Batman had been in many battles alongside Superman. Together they had faced countless villains, fought unnameable foes, stopped immeasurable evil - all over the world, off planet, and even on the mystic plane. He had seen Superman pushed to his limits. He had seen him exhausted. He had seen him wounded.
He had seen him die.
But never had he seen him so stretched to the breaking point as he did right at that moment.
And for the life of him he didn’t know what to do about it.
Superman knelt there in the dirt, facing away from him, shoulders shaking, struggling to suppress the audible sounds clawing their way from his throat.
Batman’s own throat constricted painfully.
At last Bruce rose and stepped over to him. He hesitated a moment, and then laid a warm hand firmly on his back.
“It’s all right,” he said, feeling the hated helplessness rear its ugly head again. But he forced himself to continue. “It’s over.”
Superman didn’t reply, and only continued to shudder slightly. Batman sighed.
“You did well in telling me, Clark, in telling me all of it.” His voice he kept quiet, soothing, not an easy thing for him. “I know how … difficult that was for you to do.” Difficult, he thought with a mental snort. That’s an understatement. “Don’t be…”
He stopped himself. Don’t bewhat?
Don’t be afraid, I’m going to make it all better? Don’t be ashamed, you, of all people? Don’t despair, because there is still hope in this world? Don’t believe it to be real, when it’s obviously not and yet it obviously isall the same time?
Everything he could say would only sound at best trite, and at worst, patently untrue.
He sighed again. It wasn’t he who had the gift of speech, no matter how Clark might protest it. “There is no shame in admitting what this has done to you.” No, he thought fiercely, there is no need for you to feel shame. None at all. “But you can’t keep going on this way. You need to deal with this.”
After a moment, he felt Superman draw in a shaky breath. “I know, Bruce.” He didn’t look up at him. “Of course I know that. The world needs Superman.”
Damn the world! Bruce wanted to shout, but he said only “For your own sake, too, Clark.”
Superman typically waved off the comment. “I need to find a way around this, or through this, I know. But these dreams … they’re so damned real. How ...?”
“I’m convinced that they are more than dreams,” Batman interrupted. Superman finally raised his head, glancing up at him in puzzlement. “No mere dream, nightmare or not, would affect you so profoundly,” he went on darkly. “Not you. With all that’s been going on, it’s quite likely that this is something far more insidious than simply your subconscious fears and insecurities manifesting themselves as particularly intense and horrific nightmares.”
Superman blinked up at him. “What?”
“Think about it.” Batman moved around him to face him. “Isn’t it too much of a coincidence that you are being practically crippled with these - let’s call them visions for now - at the same time that the League is embroiled in a conflict with a vastly powerful - and quite mysterious - new enemy? One whose weapons and minions alone have proven able to physically harm even you, and get right underneath your invulnerability?” He folded his arms and snorted. “I think you’ve worked with me enough to know how much I believe in coincidence.”
“Well …” Superman nodded thoughtfully, mustering more control over his stretched-to-the-breaking-point emotions, and over his traitorous body.
He forced himself up from his knees, and swayed slightly on his feet.
Batman reflexively caught him under the elbow and steadied him as Superman regained his equilibrium slowly, in more ways than one. Superman cast him a thankful but troubled look that he couldn’t quite read. He let go, and stepped back carefully.
“To tell the truth, Bruce,” Superman said softly, after a long moment, “I think I’ve avoided talking to anyone about this partly because I’ve been … been afraid that it would make it more real somehow. That it wouldn’t just all be in my head. And that someone else might recognize the dreams as more than simple nightmares. I … I didn’t want to face what that might mean.”
Batman nodded. “That explains why you’ve been avoiding J’onn too.”
“Yes.” Superman inhaled slowly, putting a hand against the support strut of the globe, and looked over across the city to where tendrils of pale smoke still drifted in the night breeze. “Because if they’re more than dreams, then…”
“They might be premonitions?” Batman asked, studying him closely.
Superman shut his eyes with a small grimace. “I know how ridiculous that sounds …”
“Except you’ve experienced pre-cognitive dreams in the past,” Batman finished. “Dreams that have come true.” Superman shot an amazed look at him. “Once right before you were ‘possessed’ by the inter-dimensional being called Dominus, and ended up, under his influence, declaring yourself ‘king of the world’ …” Superman winced. “… and again more recently right before the devastating Imperiex War. Both series of premonitional dreams came into being.”
“I’m not even going to ask how you know about all that,” Superman said, and Batman gave an enigmatic smile. “But … you’re right about them.” He swallowed and shuddered uncontrollably for a moment before mastering himself. “And if this is similar…”
“Then we will stop it,” Batman said firmly, his own eyes alight with fiery determination. “We’ll put an end to it all. I promise you.”
Their eyes met. Superman said nothing, but his face conveyed a universe’s worth of telling until at last he looked down at his hands, lifting them to his gaze, flexing them as if in pain.
Batman watched him, and hesitated a moment. “Clark, I am beginning to suspect that this may prove to be some sort of psychic - and psychological - assault upon you.”
“What?” Then Superman began to shake his head. “That’s rid-“
“Is it?” Batman’s voice was hard. “What do we know about Ayestrom? Or his people?” He met Superman’s eyes. “We need to talk to J’onn. Maybe a mental shield can be erected and…”
“No.” Superman shook his head emphatically, hands clenching. “No. I don’t want anyone else to know about this.”
“He doesn’t have to know the details,” Batman said patiently. “You know he’ll respect your privacy. As will I,” he added as an afterthought. “You need to get through this, and you need to be able to sleep. We don’t know how long this crisis will continue, Clark. We need you. And he’ll be able to help.”
For a moment, Superman didn’t answer.
“Clark …”
Then Superman compressed his lips tightly and finally gave a short, sharp nod. “Okay.”
“You’ll … talk to J’onn?” Batman asked, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice.
At that, Superman looked at him again at last, a slight lifting of the corners of his mouth evident. “Yes, Bruce.”
Batman nodded back, hiding his relief. With J’onn on his side, helping Superman would prove that much easier.
He looked back at Superman, who had stepped back from him as he gazed over the vista, making it difficult for Batman to see, the smoke obscuring the stars above, the mammoth shadow of the Planet’s globe spilling onto the Kryptonian, casting him in darkness.
And the thought suddenly struck him how small he looked right then, with the whole city, the whole world, stretching in an enormous panorama behind and over him.
The weight of the world …
How incongruously defenceless he suddenly appeared.
Impulsively, Batman stepped forward and reached out a hand again to lay it on Superman’s shoulder.
“These nightmares will not come to pass, Kal.” His tone was emphatic. “I will st… the League will stop it. Everyone will be protected. Even you.” Especially you, he thought, but he did not voice the sudden thought aloud. “I swear it.”
Superman twisted around to face him directly, his eyes sombre and still haunted, the remnants of his confessed nightmares still swirling darkly in their azure depths.
At long last he drew a deep breath and straightened, squaring his shoulders. He stepped back and as Batman let his hand fall away, he could nearly literally feel the strength and the will of the man build up again right in front of him.
He could also feel Superman’s shields snap up again, his walls of protection once more securely in place, eroded and torn, but far from crumbled. And the barrier between them was once more solidly there, formidable, insurmountable.
Scowling, he drew back, and tried to shake off the strange sense of loss that it somehow evoked.
“No, Batman,” Superman now said, eyes hardening into chips of blue ice. “I swear it. I will never fall to evil, not this new force, nor to any other. No matter how powerful, or how much it takes to push back. We will stand fast against it. And I, and you, and the League, will protect everyone who needs it, be it school kids, our friends and family, the general populace, or even our fellow heroes. And this evil will certainly not prevail against us. Not now. Not ever.”
Batman agreed grimly, privately impressed once more by the force of will and courage radiating from the Man of Steel, never so well deserved an appellation. He experienced a certain sense of relief too that Superman had not broken, broken where many another man would have under the terrible onslaught he had been forced to endure for so long. What he had endured … alone.
They would need his strength to fight the malignant evil now making its presence distinctly felt in the world, and Superman himself would likely need it to survive himself, and to not lose hope.
“Damned straight,” he growled aloud, concealing his mounting concern as he locked gazes with Superman, who then drew a deep breath of the night air, and forced the intermittent trembling to fade completely from his tall frame. He smiled a grim smile. “I told you that you were stronger than you knew.”
Superman turned and met Batman’s eyes squarely. “I am not an island, Bruce. Together, we are stronger. Alone, I might shatter. But with … with the team, my own strength, my own willpower is magnified.” He had been about to say something else, Batman was sure of it, and he filed that away for future examination. “It’s a big part of why the JLA exists. And you’ve no idea how grateful I am for it.”
Batman allowed a rare true smile to escape. “I might.”
Superman looked at him and then slowly smiled back, a genuine smile this time, and it was as if a beam of bright sunlight had suddenly arced down from the heavens to light up the rooftop.
“Thank you, Bruce,” he said softly, and extended his hand.
For a moment, Batman stood frozen, staring at him, and then slowly reached out his own hand and clasped Superman’s with it.
Then, as if neither could hold the gaze or handshake any longer, both simultaneously turned and leapt off the roof of the Daily Planet, each on their way to continue their fight in the never-ending battle, and ultimately find and defeat this newest evil making its presence felt in the world, be it Ayestrom, personal nightmares and demons, or not.
Batman released a long, frustrated sigh as he stood, remembering that night. He shifted against the warehouse wall, once more seeing the darkened slat-metal walls in front of him instead of that dark rooftop a week ago.
Clark …
He closed his eyes and tried to suppress the memory of how much seeing Superman’s fear and suddenly very great sense of vulnerability had shaken him.
He focussed instead on how Clark had faced his terror, and beaten back his own despair. Even in his line of work, brushing shoulders with heroes and brave men and women every day, rarely was he privileged to witness such courage and spirit. And suddenly he was very proud to have Superman as his friend. And he wasn’t about to let that friendship down. Not in this lifetime. Or any other.
Kal …
Bruce swallowed and opened his eyes.
The darkness of the warehouse stared back out at him. But it no longer drove down upon him in waves of pressure. The darkness and silence was soft, was easy, was oh so peaceful.
I could stay here.
The thought came to him unbidden, whispering to him from the comfort of the darkness.
Not return to the Watchtower, or to their base camp, or to the League.
He was so tired, and the strain so immense. He wouldn’t have to deal with Superman’s danger, or his friend’s fear. Or his own fear. Or with any feelings of his to do with Kal.
It was almost tempting. He looked out at the darkness.
He squashed the temptation.
He pushed away from the wall, letting a small sigh of his own escape him, gazing into the darkness. And then he turned around, pulled open the door in a decisive move, and strode out into the cold night air.
No more hiding.
He was not going to let Kal’s nightmares come to pass. No way in hell would he do that. Not if it took a lifetime’s worth of effort. He would get him back.
He will be safe.
It was time to get back to work.
----
.
To Be Continued. (soon!) :-)
All previous Parts to this fic can be found right Here, on the Main Page.