Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Pairing: Batman and the Flash.
Rating: Rish.
Notes: Hi. If you haven't watched, or read through a somewhat thorough summary of "A Better World" you might not get this. So, just to reiterate, this is from the Justice League cartoon, and I tried to take the characters from that, and make them as true as possible.
Superman had relished destroying the robot copies of himself. The Flash would have been amused, but the whole place scared him. All the inmates had identical scarring—two small dots on their forehead. Lobotomized, and seriously, what the fuck. Like Arkham wasn't freaking enough—they, they themselves had to go freaky and Superman—Flash wanted to hug him, but he wasn't sure that was such a good idea, given the circumstances.
Once they had left the Flash felt a little better, but every time he glanced towards Green Lantern and Hawkgirl his stomach hurt, ached like he needed a hug from Dick or Bart or that lady who made the good deli sandwiches down his street. Or like that time he had a stomach ache, and then drank too much Pepto to get rid of it, but really that only made it worse.
And then, in the Batcave, it was disconcerting to watch the two Batmen talking. Flash purposely stood close by and listened to them, and since neither one seemed to care, he stepped closer. The Flash got to where he shoulder was comfortably resting against his Batman's, and even though there were two Batmans, and even though their conversation mostly went over his head, he was comfortable enough to wish Batman would let him fall asleep on his shoulder. His Batman's shoulder, of course, and he had stopped wondering long ago why he felt safe and comfortable with Batman. He inspired people's trust, even as he kept files on them and their weaknesses, because he kept people safe that way.
Flash wondered what Batman, his dimension's Batman, would do if Flash just fell asleep on his shoulder. He'd fall asleep standing up for that, because contact was contact and with his Batman, he'd take whatever he could get.
He might settle for the other Batman in a pinch, which was what this—this entire fucked-up thing— certainly was. He did have that cool shiny thing on his chest, too, and that swishy cape of the shiner material. And now hold on, because his Batman was, admittedly, a creature of the night. Why did this place's Batman have the shiny?
There was a lull in the conversation around him, and without thinking, "Non-Bats?" They both looked toward him, his Batman with something that might have been amusement, which made the Flash want to vibrate a little. "Why'd you change your uniform's material to something shiner? Isn't that, like, not conducive to what you do, with it being all...reflecty?" His Batman was now looking at him in an appraising fashion, like 'Hey, you know a big word. Go you,' only he'd probably word it a lot more like look-who-probably-read-dictionaries-for-f un-as-a-kid, big-words-are-fun. Or he'd be terribly efficient, and leave the Flash it interpret a single grunt. That thought made him smile, and his smile got even wider as the other Batman, Shiny Batman, looked confused. "You know, lurking in the shadows, hiding and being all mysterious and secretive-y, waiting in dark corners to scare bad guys and puppies and children?" Flash explained.
"I have a dog." His Batman said, like that negated all of the last bit of what Flash said. The Flash rolled his eyes.
"I know, Bats. Seen it, took it on a walk, know it's more of a kitten than a dog." He looked over to see his Batman looking a little indignant, because Ace was no kitten, even, for the sake of their non-argument, if he had once been a puppy. The other Batman looked...intrigued? Like, so this was what could have happened if their Flash hadn't died. "But doesn't the shiny defeat your purpose?"
"My purpose is still the same, Flash." Shiny Batman's voice, of course, was identical to Flash's Batman's. Freee-eeee-eeeaky. "I just don't have to hide from the light anymore." And Flash felt without actually feeling—more knew than anything else—his Batman stiffen. Somewhere, Two and a Half Men's theme song was playing, 'Men, men, men, men, menly, men, men, men, meeeeeeeeen' and Flash fought the urge to run.
"Who's hiding?" His Batman asked, and Flash put a hand on his arm, like 'Hey, you don't hide. You kick ass ' He was glad that his suit was fire-proof and heat-resistant. It had to be, of course, because of how fast he ran, but it would also come in handy if the Batmen started trying to blow each other up. But Batman wouldn't blow up stuff in a Batcave, any Batcave. Unless, you know, it was like an experiment or something.
Non-Batman didn't glance at his Batman's direction, which, somewhere in his mind, the Flash knew was an intentional slight designed for himself—his other self. Flash was happy his Batman ignored the Shiny Bats.
"Flash, could I have a word with you?" Flash looked away from his up close study of his Batman's jaw-line—the man had a five o'clock shadow, and Flash wanted to rub his knuckles against it, or his tongue—to look at the other Batman.
"What?" Flash asked. It really was weird looking at one Batman, kind of perving on one Batman, and having another talk to you. Like, caught in the act, but not because none of the can read minds but fuck, wouldn't that be scary?
"A word, please." And with that, Shiny Batman walked a away. Stunned, a little, and kind of confused, Flash watched him for a moment, and then turned to his Batman.
"He must know I want to talk to you about this." Flash said, and looked toward his Batman. "You're him, kind of. What's he want?" Flash asked, and his Batman shrugged, his eyes narrow under his cowl as he looked at the other him. "Ooh-kay. Should I go?"
"If he wanted to harm you, he could have done it already." His Batman said, which the Flash figured was true. And maybe meant to be reassuring, because it almost was. What the Flash found more comforting was that people would here him scream, and that it would echo.
He had been making echoes earlier, but his Batman had stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a "Shh." Sometimes he wondered if Batman knew he did things just to get a little contact from Batman, but then he knew of course he didn't because Batman would not condone anything like that, or even remotely resembling any sort of fraction of anything that could be almost flavored like that.
He sped over to Shiny Batman. "What's going on, non-Bats?" Shiny Batman turned around and strode away, like he expected Flash to follow. Flash pivoted, and waved a silent what-the-hell-do-I-do-now wave at their Batman, who just shrugged. Maybe shrugged. It was hard to tell with the cape, from far away, because it was gloomy and dark and the cape blended. Flash sighed and followed the Shiny Batman.
Shiny Batman was lurking in the shadows in one of the many alcove things in the cave. "I hope you understand that when you get back to your own dimension, my team won't be how—how your team is." Flash knew he was planning on continuing, but duh.
"The fact that you're taking the time to tell me this is very telling, non-Bats." Flash smiled, but Shiny Batman frowned.
"I'm trying to warn you, Flash. I know your Batman said that he and I are essentially the same, and proved it with the code." That got Flash's attention, because yeah, but whatever. "He's right, in a way. But we've all been fundamentally changed because of what happened to you, to our version of you. And it could still happen." Flash blinked, and then realization dawned on him.
"Your team wouldn't do that. And I won't let it happen, and neither will my team. I'm your conscience." He said, smug, and truly believed it. He knew his teammates. If losing him once had eventually pushed them this far, how far would killing him again push them? They were smarter than that. They cared about him more than that.
Shiny Batman must have known what was going through his head. "They would do that. Green Lantern might not be able to bring himself to kill you," Flash tensed, got ready to argue because, hey, none of them would kill him, "But this is our world now, and you dying caused it. It's our world, and we know that it's right for us," He seemed to gear himself up, "without you. Very few of them would hesitate to set about the catalyst that would start your world to change like ours."
"Yeah?" Flash knew Shiny Batman was telling the truth. Knew it, and hurt over it. He refused to believe it. "Being you, I assume you have a list of the people I should watch out for the most, and since GL didn't make the cut...?"
And suddenly, Shiny Batman looked sad, severe, and angry. The emotions were so open, and so expressive, that even with the obscuring cowl Flash could see. And that was weird, and scary, in itself. "Hawkgirl misses you more than you'll know, as do most others." Non-Batman paused, "And Superman—he's the one you should avoid at all costs. You are no longer of any use to him." Flash heard what he said, but it didn't register, at first. And then, slowly...whoa. No.
Those words hurt, because Superman was the one he felt the safest with. Superman was someone he could trust to always have his back, because he was Superman. He, because GL hardly counted anymore, was one of the only people who'd let Flash get away with a hug. Hugs, man "No," Flash said. "I don't believe you. I don't believe he could do that." And he knew that. Superman was Superman, and it was as simple as that. No, Superman was Superman was Clark Kent and Superman. Who hugged him, willingly, and carefully, and was Superman.
Shiny Batman let out a frustrated sigh. "You've seen what's he's capable of, Wally. Here." He waved his arm, and the Flash knew he wasn't just encompassing the cave with it. And then—
"He'd never—did you just call me Wally?" Batman, his Batman, never called him Wally. Even on those rare movie nights with Dick and Tim, and Bruce, with Alfred's popcorn. Ok, that's a lie, but still. The times he called the Flash Wally were few and far between, when Wally had cajoled and whined and persuaded—and eventually stopped calling Bruce, Bruce, and only called him Batman. Then he called a truce, Bruce for Wally. Bats had drawn the line when Wally had come up with increasingly creative names for him, like Batface and Batso.
Damn, and he'd never seen Batman—Shiny Batman—either one, that angry with himself, like he let something important slip, seriously important, like his secret identity to the New York Times. "That isn't the point. You have to take care of yourself," Shiny Batman, along with new, his shiny gadgets, may have augmented his speed, because Flash didn't even see the jabs to his chest by a gloved finger coming. "Because—" And then the finger was a hand, flat on his chest, and Shiny Batman wasn't—couldn't—continue.
The Flash had never been so confused in his life, so disappointed and unhappy yet happy to know he was meaningful, and scared, scared more than anything, ever. And then, a near-hysterical giggle bubbled up from his throat, because he knew what Shiny's hand on his chest meant, why it was shaking. He knew, non-Batman didn't have to continue. He opened his mouth to say that, but it was swallowed by Shiny Batman's lips, suddenly on his, and for Flash, a door opened. And a light-bulb clicked on, and choirs of angels sung, and his dick was instantly hard because he had been waiting for this for years.
He gasped as, moments later, Shiny Batman pulled away. Flash forced his lips to move. "Did he—does he know you are doing this?" The 'he' the Flash spoke of was his Batman, and Flash knew Non-Batman would know that, and sure enough, Non-Batman shook his head, meaning no, no he did know. "But." Deep breath. "But he does feel the same way you do?" Shiny Batman tried a step back, and Flash took a step forward. Shiny Batman, now in the shadowed alcove, cornered, nodded his head. But duh, because they were the same person. Sort of. "How do you feel?" Flash knew he sounded hopeful, but he didn't care. A Batman had just kissed him, and his dick was hurting.
Shiny Batman seemed to just now realize that he wasn't going to have an angry Flash shout 'Murder Rape ', and seemed overwhelmed, but still fully able to be uncooperative. "If you really want to know, you should ask him." Flash's head was spinning, and he wondered, in a way that was idle for him, if Shiny Batman, and his Batman for that matter, knew just how difficult it was to get any information at all out of them. "He'll tell you if you ask." Yes. Of course he would. And then he and Flash could curl up on his couch and watch Mary Poppins, eat kettle-korn, and make out and rut like teenagers in the Flash's apartment.
"Kiss me again." Flash said, and leaned in closer. He hadn't even gotten a taste, a good feel of lips and teeth and tongue. There had been no teeth and tongue and that, that wasn't going to work.
"I'm not him, Flash." Batman, not his Batman, put a hand on his chest. Not a lingering one, but a firm, don't-you-move-one-more-inch hand. "You are going return soon, and we have to finish this conversation." Shiny Bats' voice was stern, and all Flash wanted to do was make out with his Batman in this corner. No, that wasn't all, he wanted, actually, but he'd take what he could get.
"We've had it. I'll be careful. Is there any way I can send you a postcard letting you know I'm safe?" Shiny Batman and his Batman can make this sound, this angry, 'oh my fucking god take something seriously NOW' sound, kind of a quiet growl, and it made Flash hurry up to say, "I'll be careful. Seriously, I promise. But please, please now let me ask something?" He waited, nearly, until Shiny nodded. "When I get home, when my team and I get to our dimension, will he kill me if I just went and..."
"It would be better to talk to him first." Shiny said, exasperated and clearly uncomfortable. Yeah, like Flash cared. Well, much.
"But I'm so much better at just doing something, and you Bat-types don't do the heart-to-hearts well. Like, at all. I remember with Nightwing when he caught on to my crush on you way back, he was all," Flash spread and waved his arms, flailing a bit, "freaking out and totally couldn't—Non-Bats? Are you OK?"
"Just...out of curiosity; when did that conversation occur?" Shiny Batman asked, and Flash knew that tone of voice. At least, he thought he did; it was the voice his Batman used whenever you said something interesting, that he really didn't want to ask about but wanted to know, like despite himself or whatever. Flash loved pulling that out of him; it made him want to vibrate.
"A few years ago. But, like, since I need practice sharing with you..." The Flash thought. He could feel Shiny Batman itching to get back with the rest of the company, but he didn't know whether he could face his Batman yet without a shit-eating grin and a boner. "I've probably had a crush on him since I was 17." The other Batman's eyes widened, then narrowed. "It became...more-ish a few months after I joined the Justice League," Flash tried not to emphasize League, "and—yeah." Batman—Non-Batman—knew how long he'd been in the League. He could do the math, and he could guess how Flash was feeling, now, after watching his Batman save people and be alone and be heroic and be hot, so, so hot with that body under that kevlar.
"And you've had feelings for him all of this time." Shiny said, like it was hard to believe, or like he couldn't believe it. Maybe like he wouldn't believe it, and Flash almost wanted to take it back, but he was already nodding. He didn't want to imagine want Shiny Batman was feeling, because it probably felt like the worst sort of waste and pain and time.
Shiny Batman just nodded back at him and, almost entirely in shadows, made his way out of the corner and back to the rest of the group. Flash waited an entire three seconds before following. The shoulders of Non-Batman seemed their normal, tense self, but Flash imagined he saw something else, a pained strain running through them. The sight of his Batman made Flash feel better, like it always did, because he was such a thirteen-year-old girl.
Just before they returned to the group, Non-Batman turned to him. "Don't forget what I told you." Flash snorted.
"Don't worry, I'm not likely to." The Flash said, looking at his Batman, and noticing that his Batman was looking at him, expectantly. He started toward him, but the other Batman grabbed his wrist.
"I meant about my team." The gripped on his wrist tightened as Flash, without thinking, tugged. Shiny Batman didn't seem to want to let go. The other Batman, his Batman, was watching the exchange closely, ready to intervene.
"I—yeah." Flash remembered, but he hadn't ever really forgotten. It was just that things—Batman things, Bruce Wayne things, bed things—seemed more important. They weren't really, but it was more fun to think about. And harder to get out of his head. "I remember, I know. It's—I promised."
Shiny Batman let go of his wrist reluctantly, and Flash gave him a look, a thankful and thoughtful look, before speeding over to the his Batman. He noticed something that confirmed what Shiny Batman said; he was standing close to his Batman, but his Batman stepped closer, and their elbows brushed together. Maybe not confirmed it, but made the Flash absolutely certain with no reasoning whatsoever.
But maybe it was just coincidence, and Flash looked over to the other Batman. Shiny Batman just shrugged, and turned away. He must have had a sad, apathetic look on his face, because his Batman's hand was on his elbow now, his body so close Flash could feel body heat. He was talking, but it was—oh. Talking.
"Eh, what'd you say?" The Flash asked, looking at him. Wow, he actually smelled really good, like leather and gun powder and expensive cologne and sweat. Flash wanted to lick him, lick his jaw.
"I asked you what was wrong." Batman asked, frowning. The hand on his elbow tightened, and then was gone.
"He, uh, nothing. Hey, listen," Flash fidgeted, and forced himself to look at Batman square in the eyes. Eye-holes. "When we get back, after we send those not-us's packing, can I talk to you?" He refused to duck his head, like he would have a few years ago, when Dick was still Robin, and he was still Kid Flash.
Surprise flitted over Batman's features, and he glanced toward his counterpart. Shock then, and anger; Flash looked over at the other Batman, and saw him nodding. The Flash's Batman's hand was back on his elbow, gripping, hard. Flash refused to wince. "I wouldn't have chosen to tell you."
"Ever?" Flash asked, and he knew it was true. His stomach hurt a little, because he wanted it, and he knew his Batman wanted it. And he knew, now, that his Batman would have denied himself, and out of what? Safety? Necessity? Masochism? Nono, Flash wasn't going to let that happen.
"Yes." Batman nodded, and let go of Flash quickly, when Flash's hand came up to squeeze his arm.
"I know now. And I want it and I want you, and you," Flash jabbed his finger against Batman's chest, "You and I are going to talk—"
"Flash." His Batman interrupted. "We'll discuss it when we get home." He stepped back, and it was all the Flash could do to not step forward.
"But," he started to say, because he knew how Batman worked, straightforward about things, but those were necessary thing. Things he deemed necessary. Relationships and sex and love—those things, he denied.
"I promise we'll discuss it, Flash." His Batman said, as gently as his voice got, and Flash nodded. They wandered over to Green Lantern and Superman, and Flash noticed that Batman didn't let him out of his sight.
When they finally returned to the Watchtower, Batman seemed resigned to the fact that the Flash was going to be his red shadow, until they spoke. As Batman walked to his quarters, the Flash followed him, whistling, and Batman wondered, idly, why he had even agreed to have this talk. It might have had something to do with, when in that other Batcave in that other dimension, seeing the Flash visibly restrain himself from hugging him, and that—
Batman was used to ignoring his wants and his needs. He wanted a lot; world peace, to not have to be Batman, Alfred's white chocolate and cranberry cookies, Flash in his bed. Not necessarily in that order. He took what he could get, and that was war, patrol every night, Alfred's cookies at least once a week, and watching the Flash from afar.
Once they got to his quarters, Batman paused when about to punch his code in, and the Flash slipped in front of him. "Let me try, I think I still remember it." Batman watched the code be punched in faster that the speed of sound, and tried to think of nothing.
That was shot to hell when the Flash grabbed his hand, and tugged him into his own rooms. "I'm changing the code as soon as you leave." Batman said, because he was. And the Flash was leaving soon; Batman was going to see to it.
"Who says I'm leaving?" The Flash challenged, and Batman remembered that one of the Flash's most attractive—and infuriating—qualities was that he fought tooth and nail for things he believed in. Batman was suddenly weary as he watched the Flash close the door behind them.
"I do, as soon as I managed to convince you that the idea of this," small, efficient gesture towards the two of them, "is a bad idea." Because it undoubtedly was. Flash sat on Batman's bed, and Batman really wished he had made it before he left; Flash was looking like he wanted to crawl under the covers.
"But it's not a bad idea." The Flash said, and Batman loved how good he looked as he stretched out on Batman's bed. Loved it, and hated it. "It's a good idea. It's an idea I've had for years, Batman, Non-Bats said I should tell you all of this."
"Did he, now." The Flash had this idea, the idea of them, for years—and apparently, that other version of him had convinced the Flash that this was a good idea. Batman wished he'd punched him a little more, but then, maybe from where he sat, in a world without the Flash, it was a good idea.
"He—well, he kissed me," Flash started, but Batman interrupted before he had the chance to even think about what he was going to say.
"He what?" Batman asked, but it was more of a demand, and the Flash was looking entirely too smug. It was the kind of smile Batman wanted to kiss of his face, harsh and biting to his lips and tongue. And then the Flash grinned, but a quick bit of irritation crossed his face, and he pulled off his hood, and those blue eyes made everything ten thousand times harder on Batman.
"He kissed me, and called me Wally. Well, he called me Wally, and I called him on that, because it's such a chore to get you to, and then he kissed me." Batman was sitting in his computer chair, looking down at the Flash's—Wally's earnest blue eyes, and a part of him wondered why he was fighting this. "He said I should ask you how you felt, rather than just run up and kiss you."
At that, Batman snorted. "I'm glad you listened to him." He tried to understand how that other Batman felt; he couldn't imagine not seeing Wally at least once a week. That was the only way he could keep the way he felt to himself. He saw Wally enough to be content with his occasional company. Less content, actually, and more resigned. But it was his choice. But if something happened to Wally, and if Wally was suddenly not there, it would—
"I—Batman, Bruce," Batman stiffened, but continued to listen. "I've been in love with you since I was, like, 19. I've wanted you since I was 17. D—uh, Nightwing has been awkward whenever we're in the same room because of how I've felt, for like, years." And, that made sense, because Dick-as-Robin had gone to the Tower for Titans business once, and then when he came back with Kid Flash, he'd been awkward enough to warrant one of those rare, how-you-doin' talks with Bruce. That made everything a little worse, actually.
But the important part was that Wally said 'love,' and meant it. Batman could tell he meant it, because of the sincerity in his voice and the honestly in his eyes, and how he flopped up into a sitting position so he could lean forward earnestly. And Batman—Wally was right when he said that he knew that Batman wanted it. Wanted him.
And—and the main reason Batman wasn't willing was because of the threat of future pain. He protected himself well, by not letting people in, but this had been unavoidable. And was he really willing to cause pain to someone he felt—something for? Something strong, and deep, and hot and painful—and he wasn't going to say it or admit it easily as the Flash had, as Wally had, but he was sure it was love or something like it. And that—it—it wasn't going away.
Frustrated, he pulled off his cowl, and heard Wally gasp. "I—Wally. Promise me something." Bruce asked, and licked his lips. He needed a drink.
"Anything." Wally said immediately, trust evident and not lacking and it made Bruce's heart ache.
"If this happens, it won't distract you." Wally nodded, and then shook his head, almost in one continuous movement. Bruce waited, trying to quell the odd nervous excitement he felt, and trying to not think of how nice it would be to press Wally down onto his bed and keep him there, to thrust against him until—
"I don't pay attention in meetings, anyway. Mostly I think about licking your stubble, when you haven't shaved for a little. Like now." And then, Wally was up close to him, wet tongue and hot breath against his face, licking up his jaw. Before he could stop himself, Bruce caught Wally's lips with his own, and thrust his tongue into Wally's mouth. Wally moaned, and Bruce was sure he should stop, but then Wally straddled his thighs and he could feel Wally's dick. It was hardening rapidly, and he was vibrating in Bruce's arms.
Bruce pushed Wally up, then, and stood. Wally sprawled himself out on the bed and tugged off his shirt, and Bruce leaned down to lick and bite across his chest, enjoying Wally's taste and the feel of his jumping and vibrating, and the way his hand felt running through Bruce's hair.
Wally pulled him up and kissed him, trying to feel him through the Batsuit, making frustrated noises. Bruce pulled back to unclasp, unzip, undo his belt and suit and Wally, naked and leaning forward on his bed in a split second, caught his jaw-line in a series of bites and licks up to his mouth again. "God, Bruce, please," Wally panted against his mouth, and Bruce really, really liked how Wally never shut up, now.
"What do you want, Wally?" Bruce asked, his belt off and stripping out of his shirt. He ignored the pain of twinging muscles and bruises and cuts, and sighed as Wally, who was scarless due to his speed, licked across his scars on his chest, over to a nipple. Wally worked his way over Bruce's chest as Bruce stripped, murmuring over scars and careful of bruises, and Bruce knew, now, that this was the best idea he could ever have.
Wally looked up at Bruce when he asked the question, and didn't even pause. "Everything, I want everything, oh god," He pulled Bruce on top of him, kissing and wriggling and spreading his legs around Bruce's hips, and when Bruce took Wally's cock in his hand, he had to grin a little at Wally's greed. Everything was what he was exactly willing to give.