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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-05
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2,194
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1/1
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Ghosts

Summary:

Stephen both reviled and revered the solitude of his sanctum.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Ghosts
by Veinglory

Stephen both reviled and revered the solitude of his sanctum. The dark, close space illuminated only by the mystic sphere.  The orb of Agamoto reflected the earth and the unquiet ether that crept across its surface. The Sorcerer Supreme sat impassively behind his familiar walls.
 
The ether was a little perturbed over Gotham.  Some minor working, a summoning of little note.  However, Lady Jennifer had been badgering him to attend the charity gala there tonight.  He rang for Wong to attend him.
 
 *

Wong, a good servant but a poor friend.  He wanted a sorcerer supreme with quiet dignity and infallible wisdom, like the ancient one.  Instead he had lost his fiancee, Imei, to the oversights of a poor western substitute. They were mired behind walls of culture and failure.  Wong still served and well and without resentment, but nothing more.
 
Stephen had failed also in his marriage bond.  Clea came always second to the art, and now they had separated for all time.  Clea reigned the dark domain, and he served earth.  It was a blessing in the end, the sham their partnership became.  She could only leave him, and he could only let her.
 
Wong knocked civilly and entered only when bid.
 
"I will go to the gala, after all," Stephen said.  "Do not expect me back before noon tomorrow."
 
"Shall I pack?"
 
"No, I don't need anything."
 
If only that were true.  He stood and stroked the surface of the glowing globe.  As Wong withdrew he lowered it within its protective case, and all light was doused within the room.
 
*****
 
Bruce Wayne smiled and nodded, silently cursing the vapid mummery of it all.  No inkling of his distaste or disinterest sullied his charming veneer.  Time passed rapidly, as he employed the usual flatteries and evasions.  Flawless, in the bar mirror, surrounded by a circle of smiling and attentive faces, can this be me?
 
His pager alerted him when the sensor in the police archive detected the file being opened, the old file relating to his parent's murder.  The hidden atomizer has sprayed an imperceptible isotope marker, and hopefully the camera had captured the image of the unknown inquirer.  Batman quivered to investigate, but Bruce Wayne had duties of his own.  This was the highlight of the social calendar, he could only stay.
 
The pager vibrated again, at a higher setting.  It had detected the marker.  Unbelievable luck given the half-life of the chemical and his own obligation to remain, his prey was here, within feet.  He looked up into two impassive, milky blue eyes.
 
"Stephen, this is Bruce Wayne; Bruce, Dr Strange."
 
Bruce turned his most charming smile on Lady Jennifer, then back to the interloper so clearly indicated by the miniaturized detector in his pager. Dr Strange was behind a shield of polite interest, wearing one of those, lovely-to-meet-you-but-don't-get-too-close smiles.
 
The judge's oldest daughter bounded up, her satin gown in disarray.
 
"Oh Penny, you are monopolizing the two most eligible bachelors in the room," she gushed.  "Who will dance with me?"
 
Stephen almost flinched in the face of such youthful enthusiasm.  Bruce schooled his face better than that, he was going for older-brother-amusement, and enough to put her off without looking like a cad.  Mercifully, Jennifer grabbed the girl and immediately steered her off towards some candidates closer to her age.
 
Social eticate meant Bruce was in charge of Stephen now, very pleasing.  
 
"The mezzanine is quieter," he said, lifting two flutes off a passing tray, and leading the way.  He found a fairly secluded area, almost behind the grand banner that hung from the immense domed ceiling of the galleria. He began on the firm ground of social discourse...
 
"I gather Penny has already squeezed you for a donation...?"
 
Stephen shrugged.  "Empathy is not my strong point but I don't think you are any more interested in this event than I am.  We are both obligated to attend, you just seem to be making a rather better job of pretending to enjoy it."
 
Bruce smiled uncertainly, and check no-one else was within hearing distance.
 
"I always hate these things, I always have, but as far as I know you're the first one to notice."
 
"Walls," Stephen said mildly.
 
"Masks," Bruce replied.
 
"Well," Stephen said.  "Having established that, it is going to be difficult to make small talk."
 
Bruce felt an immense feeling of fellowship to the slender doctor, almost drowning his suspicions about his accessing of the police files.  Stephen stood by his side contemplating the colorful confection of the dance floor.  His eyes were vigilant, and observer of a world he did not participate in.  For a moment Bruce could imagine holding Stephen, kissing him, and damn the whole trivial crowd below.  
 
 Stephen smiled ruefully, put his hand over Bruce's where it rested on the  banister, and leaned towards him conspiratorially.
 
 "We could just be silently dark and brooding up here together."
 
 "I can't be dark and brooding during work hours," Bruce replied in sotto voice.  "They would take away my 'bon vivant' card and throw me out of  'Socialites United'."
 
 Beverly popped up between them...…
 
 "Boys!" she declared, as if that settled some long running conversation the three of them had been having.  She looked left and right, then clutched Stephens arm.  "Oh, a waltz!" she declared dragging him off towards the dance floor.  
 
 Stephen glanced back once, Bruce gave one of his patented charming smiles and waved him on his way.  Foolish thoughts, and too much champagne.  He went in search of the judge, that scrooge could afford a much larger donation...
 
 *****
 
Stephen slept most of the day.  He had tried to circle back to Bruce, but that man lived in the center of a social maelstrom that was murder to penetrate, and Beverly had been persistent.  Not to mention her two sisters.  
 
The apparition played on his mind.  Someone was simply and effectively summoning three earth bound ghosts to reenact a tragedy.  Invoking them gradually but compulsively from their rest.  He had to identify the ritual and break it, or no dismissal would banish them.
 
One touch was enough to convince him Bruce was involved, perhaps unwittingly.  A fortunate coincidence, meeting him.  The police files had been empty of any mention of an incident at that site.  The paper however had revealed all once he had search for Bruce's name.  
 
Bruce, for all his surface frivolity was not likely to be in the ouji board set, this did not seem like a deliberate ritual.  Maybe some habit of remembrance, and immense strength of feeling was enough to be dragging back these people to reenact their deaths.  
 
 As it grew dark the smog of Gotham made for a beautiful dusk.  Stephen gathered his cloak of levitation around him and went in search of Bruce. He had trouble finding him, as if this Bruce was a very different one to the man he had met last night.  That man, such a strong mask he had made of his public persona, but how vulnerable behind it...…
 
Stephen brooded as he searched, on how he felt almost swamped by the sheer physical presence of Bruce Wayne, unfooled by the desperately frivolous role he played.  How it would feel to lean into that strength, to step behind the mask and find the beating heart behind...…
 
He touched own lightly on a rooftop, somewhere near... In the dark crevice of the alley a monstrous creature shimmered.  The torso of a woman and the body of a scorpion.  The dim lights shimmered on its silver form as the automaton flowed down toward Batman on a hundred subtle articulations. The damage of their battle was clear on the walls, in the distance a police siren wailed.
 
Batman's last cable snapped, the severed ends shooting through the air like whiplashes.   An invisibly swift blow threw Batman against the far wall, shattering a window in the deserted warehouse, he lay stunned.
 
Stephen cast the Shards of Gelim-Tor as he stooped out of the sky, to grabbed the half-limp body even before it fell.  The scintillating missiles bit deep into the monster's circuitry, raising sparks and screams, the creature's whole body thrashed in defiance casting them off like a rain of glass.
 
Stephen grasped the larger man and fled, not entirely escaping the thrashing tailed of the scorpion which rent the cloak and gashed his leg. The effect was immediate, the fibers of the cloak flowed together again quickly, but Stephen's mind became foggy.  Free from its command the cloak faltered, and they barely rolled over the parapet onto the roof.  
 
 *****
 
Batman clawed his way free from the arcane cloak, and struggled to the edge of the roof.  The scorpion was striking randomly, some limbs limp and others shaking with ague.  He pulled out a mini-grenade and tossed it with casual accuracy, stilling the beast for good.  He had to find the source of those rampaging mechanisms soon, or deaths would follow.
 
The cloak cradled Dr Strange like a sentient cocoon.  His eyes closed, and pale face like a death mask.  Although the wound was not visible, blood shone on the surface of the roof.  Batman felt a chill of fear; he administered the anti-venom he had devised, and hoped it had been soon enough.
 
The day's research had taught him much about Doctor Strange, and the night's brief events, much more.  He summoned the 'copter and called ahead to Alfred.  Necessity made Stephen a guest, regardless of his own reservations.
 
*****
 
Stephen floated up from sleep to a lesser darkness.  He could barely discern the silhouette slumped on the chair beside him, but the profile of the batmask was distinctive.
 
"Back to masks again," Stephen murmured.
 
Batman straightened.  "Meaning?"
 
Stephen reached to his own chest, but found nothing but the sheet that covered him.  "Somewhere around her is an over-sized piece of costume jewelry know as the all-seeing eye.  Given how long I've had it, it should not have taken me so long to see that Bruce had a Bat shaped shadow."
 
Bruce pushed back the cowl.  "..And Alfred went to all that trouble of recreating a passable bedroom down here in the cave."
 
Stephen flexed his fingers and moved his arms.  Stiff, but undamaged, he sat up.  On the dresser the cloak of levitation stirred slightly in the windless air, on top of it rested the eyes and his other ritual clothes.
 
"That's one spooky accessory," Bruce said.  "It took some convincing to make it let you go."
 
Stephen smiled.  "It's not modeled after a creature of the night but it has its moments."
 
Stephen reached over and put his hand on Bruce's forearm.  He felt the muscle jump under his palm and withdrew.
 
"Sorry," Stephen said.  "I'm from Greenwich Village, we're a touchy-feely lot."
 
He frowned; he was doing it again.  Almost within moments of meeting he was diminishing the connection, building the walls. He put his hand back and looked up into Bruce's dark eyes.  No Batman sternness, no socialite sparkle, a moment of intense possibility.  Bruce leaned over and kissed him.  He wrapped his arms around those broad shoulders and... an alarm sounded.  
 
"Batman this is Nightwing, over.  One of those things is rampant on main and heading for the hospital... Batman, where are you dammit!"
 
Bruce recoiled has hand settled on the mask.  "Another time?"
 
Stephen smiled sadly, we can hope, he though.

Batman spun and ran for the launch pad.
 
*****
 
It rained with concentrated intensity.  Bruce bought two fading blooms at the corner, red roses.  
 
Nightwing and he made a seamless team, tracking the creature to its lair and destroying the whole conspiracy.  A team as flawless as any machine, until they talked and Bruce fell back on his own old habits of stubbornness and silence.  He returned to find Stephen had been called away.  Limping off through some inter-dimensional portal to deal with a time-rift over New Zealand.  Hardly enough time to leave a message with Alfred, that he would be back 'when he could.'  
 
Each footstep brought him closer to the scene that had in much way made him what he was.  That formative tragedy.  Each step like a word on a contract, sealing him in his bitterness and isolation.  At his side a flash of color appeared; gold red and blue.
 
"Stephen?"
 
"Nothing like a rift in reality to ruin you week," the sorcerer quipped uneasily.
 
Bruce faltered, and looked down the road.  The force of the rain redoubled, but it did not touch them.
 
"Would you go with me, a moment?" Bruce said.
 
Stephen seemed to bite back some remark; he paused, and nodded.  They continued side by side to the murder scene.  Bruce stood a while, and somehow he did not remember that night.  He saw his mother, as she would wish to be remembered, laughing in the sun.  His father looking down at him and smiling as they walked hand in hand.  
 
Bruce turned and offered the roses to Stephen.  "Free tonight?" he asked.
 
"Yes," Stephen replied, "We all are."
 
As the rain diminished a warm wind rose from the street towards the heavens, and the sun shone.
 
 
end

Notes:

This orphaned work was originally on Pejas WWOMB posted by author Veinglory.
If this work is yours and you would like to reclaim ownership, you can click on the Technical Support and Feedback link at the bottom fo the page.