Work Text:
A Bent Piece of Metal
by jij
“Clark—be careful!” Batman felt the panic edge his voice, pushing it higher than it should be. He staggered sideways and Superman grabbed him to steady him.
“What? Be careful? He’s a clown, Bruce. How dangerous can he be?”
Batman stared at the Kryptonian. At his first glimpse of their ambusher—the narrow white face, rictus grin,and viridian hair—he had felt like a circuit had snapped in his head, sending a jolt of adrenaline through him. He had never seen this bizarre figure before, but he knew, and knew with every atom of his being, that the “clown” was deadly.
Yet Clark hadn’t felt a thing. Bruce was mystified. How could someone who had obviously been a mortal enemy to Batman in another life mean nothing to Superman? It was unthinkable. It implied that the two of them could possibly be something other than brothers in some other world.
That thought terrified him more than the menacing maniac in front of them.
He put out a restraining arm. “Trust me.” The grinning man in front of them was waiting patiently. Batman looked long and hard at him, then nodded. “I remember you. I thought you died.”
A low chuckle, with undertones of hysteria. “I thought I did too. But it’s amazing what a little death will do for your perspective, isn’t it? Lets you see how things really are. Or should be.”
Batman’s unease grew until it felt like it was consuming him. Where were the exits in this room? He checked them compulsively. It would take him five seconds to get to that door, seven and a half to get to that window. “You chose to jump in that acid. We’re not responsible for—“
“You’re not responsible? Not responsible? You?” Now it was full-blown hysteria in the laugh, and something more. The white face in front of him cocked to one side and eyed him almost...affectionately? Cold chills ran down his back. What was going on here? “Oh Bats. Wherever and whenever you are, one thing you will always be is...responsible. And I”—the figure waved a gloved hand grandly—“I am also responsible. I would hardly be doing my civic duty if I failed, even here, to do what I do best.” A flash of green light behind them.
Green light!
He tried to push Clark out of the way, but he was still feeling confused, he wasn’t thinking clearly. He heard Superman’s choking gasp, then felt something land on him from behind. The room dimmed out around him as he head footsteps approaching.
“Don’t worry, Batsy, I’ll be gentle with him.” Dragging noises. “Come on, ya big lug. Show’s about to start...let’s not disappoint our audience...”
When he came to, he was on the floor of the warehouse. Still alive.
And alone.
: : :
As a boy growing up in the 31st century, Mekt Ranzz had read an old Earth book that had described a situation as “having a tiger by the tail.” Research had determined that a “tiger” was an extinct Earth feline, and the term meant roughly “to be in a situation which you thought would give you power, but which now is going to be very dangerous to escape from.” He hadn’t fully understood the term.
Since coming to 21st century Earth he had learned a great deal about tigers, and about power. He felt he understood the proverb quite well now.
“You told me you killed them all! You told me you got rid of anyone that you knew you would be a threat to us! He’s got Kryptonite, he’s got Clark, and this is all your fault!” Bruce’s voice cracked.
Lightning Lord, Cosmic King, and Saturn Queen stood silently together in front of the star-filled window of their tower and watched their son pace the room with savage, snapping strides, their faces filled with sorrow. On a telepathic wavelength locked tightly against anyone else, thought buzzed between them.
{{What do we do what do we do whatdowedo?}}
{{Don’t panic, Laevar. Don’t panic.}}
{{Don’t panic? Eve, have you happened to notice that the goddamn Batman is furious at us? The goddamn Batman that we trained to be a killer?}}
{{You’re his father, Laevar. You were the first to comfort him when his birth parents died. Talk to him. Calm him down a bit.}}
{{You’ve got to be sprocking kidding me.}}
Mekt broke into the conversation. {{Right now I think our top priority should be getting our son away from that madman. Focus on that. Don’t dwell on...the future.}}
Only a heartbeat had gone by. Cosmic King stepped forward and held out a hand that shook only the tiniest bit. “Bruce...son...” Batman whirled on him and Laevar backed up half a step. “We eliminated everyone we knew. We got most of them! Lex Luthor, Harvey Dent, Pamela Isley, Toby Manning--all those threats are gone. We did everything we could to make the world safe for our children—we did!” he cried as Batman rounded on him angrily. “But we had to know the name, Bruce. And no one knew the Joker’s real name.”
“The Joker?” Batman seized on the name. Now he had a label, something to attach to the threat. He continued to pace, but some of the anger had gone out of his stride, just enough to let his parents feel safe again.
“What do you intend to do?”
“What do you think I intend to do, Mother? He’s got Clark. He’s hurting Clark right now. ”
Saturn Queen kissed him gently on the forehead. “Please be careful.”
: : :
Batman kept the Joker in view as the other man slipped and dodged through the abandoned amusement park. He was fast and devious, but Batman was not going to let him get away. He had to get to Clark.
Eventually the Joker ducked into a dark, cavernous attraction, Batman right behind him. Metal and wood turned beneath his feet, construction materials for a repair project that had never finished. Sickly green light flickered ahead and he made his way to it.
The Joker waited there, crouched like a spider next to Superman. Clark’s eyes were closed and he seemed to be unconscious. A chunk of Kryptonite was fixed to the wall near him, glimmering in the lamplight. The Joker dodged a batarang deftly, giggling to himself.
“The Tunnel of Love! I knew you’d follow me here. How fondly I remember that magical time long ago in the Tunnel of Love, just you and me, years from now on a cold dark night that never happened.” Wherever Batman struck, the Joker seemed able to predict his moves and not be there. A gloved fist hit Bruce’s temple and he backed up a bit, that irrational fear thundering in his veins. The Joker cocked his head, birdlike, and grinned at him.
“Where are your parents, little boy? All alone in the dark again?” The grin vanished for a moment, to be replaced by an equally grotesque mask of sympathy. “They don’t really love you, you know. Or they do love you, but they love you like I love you.” A batarang thunked into the wall behind him; he hardly even moved. “Not like he loves you.” Another batarang hummed past him. This one left a trail of blood along one pallid cheek. The manic grin returned, but the white brow was furrowed and his eyes were angry. “Look, bucko, I’m actually trying to warn you here. Because I love you, kid, really I do, and I love this world you’ve made here. It’s a scream, a laugh riot! And the best joke of all is I’m finally going to get what I’ve always wanted.”
It was time to put a stop to this crazy monologue. Clark was lying there hurt, maybe dying. He had to end this. Bruce feinted left, went right, tumbled, dodged a blow, and came up with his fist hard in the Joker’s stomach, savoring the “whumph” of air. They tumbled to the floor together. Batman ended up on top, his hands wrapped around the Joker’s neck. “The only thing you’ll be getting from this world is death at my hands!”
The Joker cackled. “Oh, we are going to look back on this some day and...”
Batman grabbed the first thing he saw on the rubble-strewn ground that might make this job quicker, help him get Clark back to safety faster. A bent piece of metal.
A crowbar.
As he raised it above his head, the Joker’s eyes widened. “Now that’s funny!” he chuckled appreciatively just before the first blow fell.
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Notes: I swear, I will very soon be off this dark jag of violence and disturbing imagery. Two stories from now, I promise: chocolate cake, Clark in jeans and a sweatshirt, loads of UST. But for the moment Jen's fic is a dark, dark place.
I am never writing the Joker again if I can possibly avoid it. He's an SOB to write. If his voice works at all, credit needs to go to DaMo on this one. He had to change just about all the dialogue I originally wrote for him.