low light
The world is filled with blinding colors after the washed-out black-whit-egrey and everything hurts, but still he holds his arms out obediently when the Batman takes out the cuffs.
x
Langstrom has always had the Batman in the back of his mind. The idea of him, at least. Of the fear he strikes into the hearts of Gotham.
Now he has...his actual words. Don't do this, Langstrom, as he prepares the next formula. Don't go down this road again, when he wakes up in ripped pants on top of a roof somewhere, mouth filled with the taste of copper.
He isn't mad, at least not in that way. They aren't true words, and they aren't from the awful Noise that twisted his thoughts and controlled him.
He realizes, after stepping out of Arkham into daylight for the first time in months, that the Batman changed from a warped inspiration to a conscience.
x
He stumbles over his words when the Batman comes to pick up the antidote. He hasn't slept for more than three hours in two days, and anything resembling a brain-mouth filter has dissolved.
"Remember when the Penguin had that sonic-device?" He desperately hopes so. As short as the experience had been, it had been more horrific than all the time at Arkham. It may have been nothing more than routine to the Batman.
"When I had your voice in my head, it was-I felt-" Better. Saner.
Safer.
The Batman pauses, silhouetted against the moon. Langstrom can't see his face.
"I-wanted to say thank you. For not...doing anything. For not taking me as a pet."
He sits on his bed and puts his hands over his eyes. He doesn't look up for a long time, and when he does, the Batman is gone.
He feels foolish for expecting anything else.
x
He keeps an eye on the news. He starts another scrapbook, and it's much neater than the old one. Less mad scribbles of whatever he's thinking at the time, more coherencey. It's harder than he expects.
He hunts down old articles in the library and tapes them in neatly. He finds newer ones with Batgirl and Robin, hesitates, puts them in too. They don't seem nearly as frightening, but that isn't the point anymore. The Bat in the back of his head doesn't seem to care.
(He isn't sure what the point is now.)
x
Langstrom gets laid off.
He shouldn't be surprised. He may be smart, but he's a criminal and a meta, a perfect target. The word "former" doesn't mean much.
He spends his days curled up under green blankets, and spends sleepless nights staring at where the Batsignal flashes on and off.
x
Mr. Wayne, I realize my research was
Dear Mr. Wayne, I would like to apologize for my conduct under your
Dear Mr. Wayne, I don't have anywhere to
He crumples the papers up and flings them into the dumpster outside.
x
The idea that the Batman still has that sonic device, that he can still control Langstrom if he regresses and again turns into ManBat is a comfort, even if he can't be sure if it's true.
Strangely, the thought makes him feel secure enough to keep him from experimenting again.
x
He ignores the knocking. When it doesn't go away after several minutes, he throws the blankets off and stumbles to the door.
He doesn't know who he's expecting, but Bruce Wayne and his adopted son is definitely not it.
They talk for a while. Rather, Wayne talks, the boy looks around his apartment with mild interest, and Kirk apologizes over and over again until he's hit with the words "You can have your job back" and falls silent.
He remembers his first true transformation as if it were yesterday, and the circumstances. He's stunned.
He agrees to be watched, agrees to do the paperwork properly and on time.
As Mr. Wayne nods and stands to leave, he can't help but ask why.
"Do you remember Clayface? Ethan Bennett? He was a good friend of mine, still is. He's in Arkham, but I trust him, and I know how hard his life is going to be once he gets out." Blue eyes harden and peer into his red. "I've decided to trust you too, Langstrom. Do you think I'm making a mistake?"
"No! No, Mr. Wayne. I'll be on my best behavior, I swear. I've put-I've put all that behind me."
"Good. I'll see you on Monday, then?"
"Yes, of course-"
x
His goal was to be feared, and he is. It doesn't feel much different than before. Strange glances in the hallways, people moving out of his way. The freak with the red eyes turns into the freak with the chemical-made wings.
His research on sonar goes as well as it ever has. He's not allowed so many bats this time. In the lab, cameras train themselves on his back, and the Bat in his head is quiet.
It's lonely, but he's used to that.
x
Langstrom hears the voice in his head through a door. Cold, serious-safe.
When he slips it open just a crack, he sees Batman and Batgirl and Robin framed against a window for half a second; he blinks and sees Mr. Wayne, young Grayson, a girl he hasn't been introduced to.
He doesn't remember getting back to his lab. Doesn't remember sitting down and curling his fingers through his hair.
He should have known. He should have known. He should have known.
After a while, he stands shakily and gathers his supplies to leave.
Halfway down the hall, he slams into Mr. Wayne and hits the ground hard.
"Are you alright?" he asks, reaching down.
His mouth goes dry. He stares at the proffered hand for several seconds before grabbing it, being pulled up. He shakes his head a little and averts his gaze, suddenly convinced that if their eyes meet he'll know that he knows.
"Doctor Langstrom?"
"Mr. Wayne," his mouth says from far away. "I-I-I haven't been feeling well today s-so I think-is it alright if I go home?"
He feels those blue eyes sharpen and look at him more closely, noting the sweat on his face, the trembling of his hands, a thousand other things that even Langstrom hasn't noticed because oh god he's the Batman.
"...You don't look well. Go ahead."
"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," he says in a half-gasp and walks past.
Suddenly, with a strange lilt to his words: "Will your bats be alright?"
He freezes. "I left the windows open. They-they know their way out and in. They'll be fine." He hurries away before any more questions can be asked.
Mr. Wayne looks after him until he's out of sight.
x
He watches the shadows on the walls change as the sun sets and the streetlights flicker on. The window is wide open, and a moth flutters its way in and circles around near the ceiling.
Fifteen minutes after midnight, the shadow of the Batman stretches across the floor.
Before he can speak, he chokes out "I know."
The eyeslits narrow.
"I-I-I didn't mean-ever since the debacle with Penguin, I've had your voice in my head-and today, and Wayne Industries-I'd know it anywhere,anywhere. I know. I know who you are." He can't bring himself to add Mr. Wayne, because that would make the situation all too real.
"Slow down. Explain."
He sucks in a breath and explains to the best of his ability. About the sonic device. About his conscience theory. About the accidental evesdropping on the way back to his lab.
"I'm sorry," he finishes in a weak voice. "I didn't mean to figure it out. I didn't..." he tugs his hands through his hair and leaves one tangled in the white strands.
"You won't tell anyone." the Batman says.
"I-I would never," he says to the floor, and it's true.
"I'm choosing to believe that." And the shadow's gone.
x
Two evenings later, he finds his original Batman scrapbook leaning against the window.
He goes back to work right after.
x
The sky is a particular shade of red only Gotham nights posess, and the nameless girl who is Batgirl shows up in his lab.
"Robin doesn't trust you, but Batman seems to, so I came here."
"What-"
"We need some help with a villain that uses sound-and hey, you're already part bat. You might as well be in the Batfamily already." She smiles weakly, and the Batman in his head murmurs a yes, and he's ready to step into his new life.