PG-13 for very mild, non explicit, non descriptive sex
Disclaimer: No offense about the Catholic school girls remark. And everybody
basically belongs to DC/WB/Time Warner except Jean-Xavier, Aidia, the Wayne
Brothers, and the young woman. And Tigger belongs to Disney. If anyone has any
complaints as to why Superman can breathe in space, well too bad, it's an
elseworlds. Also Superman's thoughts on The Creator aren't meant to offend
either. All other clothing mentioned belongs to various name brand
companies that are specified throughout story.
*That afternoon*
Terry unlocked the door of the apartment he shared with his little brother Matt
and his mother Mary. Falling back over the arm of the couch he undid his suit
jacket and threw his tie across the room. Why did his mother insist on
waking him at seven that morning for church?! Then she'd persisted to go
shopping at the mall for a new outfit for Matt, as all his clothing was
"practically in threads". She was too much of an exaggerator in his
opinion. So what if one of his shirts had a tear in it, he was eight, what did
it matter? He'd only just now convinced her that he should get home, so he
could get to work early and all.
Sighing, Terry rose from the couch and dragged himself to his bedroom, and
entered without turning on the lights. Stripping quickly, he found himself
unbelievably thankful that he'd invested in such heavy blinds. They blocked out
the daylight so efficiently.
Crawling under the covers, he buried his head under his pillow and waited for
comforting sleep. "Terry?" a voice asked somewhere behind him.
Terry jumped, bumping his head on the shelf above him, causing his alarm clock,
and various little space-takers to fall on him. Turning over, he groped in the
darkness, his hand catching what distinctly felt like a leg. "Who are
you?!" he asked falling out of the bed and crawling backward. Trying
desperately to get up, he somehow half-crawled, half-stumbled to the light
switch.
"It's me Melanie." the voice replied just as he turned the lights on.
"Nice boxers." she said referring to the Tigger boxers he wore.
Terry blinked painfully in the sudden brightness, and stared at the young girl
before him. She was sitting in the corner of his bed, with her arms wrapped
around her knees, the remainders of a bruise slowly melting away from her face.
"Max told me where you lived so I could give you back your jacket."
she said, the jacket lay next to her.
"What happened to you?" he asked, coming forward and reaching for the
colored mark around her eye.
Melanie ducked under his arm, and sat back on the wall. "Got into a fight
with some Catholic school chicks that's all. You know those girls are real
b****es sometimes."
Terry nodded with a small smile, not really believing her but not letting it
show either. Quickly he sat down, and covered himself with his blanket.
"So what's been going on?" she asked with a bright smile, "You
left so early yesterday, missed all the fun."
"I had to work." Terry said with a shrug.
"On a Saturday?" she asked cocking her eyebrow.
"Yeah, the guy's a total grouch, but he beats hanging out at home all day
making nothing you know?"
"Yeah, I guess. So who do you work for?"
"Bruce Wayne." Terry said shrugging again.
"Really?! The billionaire? Geez, what I wouldn't give to be in your
shoes."
"On the contrary, you're in a much better position in my opinion."
"Contrary?" she said biting her lip in a smile. "My aren't we
proper."
"That's what I get for hanging out with him all day." Terry said
leaning back.
"What's he like? Any kids, you know that whole thing? I heard he was a
real slut back in the day."
Terry laughed heartily, "Well I wouldn't say slut exactly, but he had his
far share of chicks running around for him. He once described it as 'chickens
with their heads cut off' at how excited they were when he was around."
Melanie laughed, "So he's not married your saying."
"Actually, he's divorced, that much I read. He used to be married to
Selina Kyle, and then to Helena Bertinelli. I don't know much about those
though. He has sons, three, I met the youngest yesterday."
"What's he like?"
"Goofy. A complete three-sixty from his dad. But they get along well.
Bruce is a lot more relaxed when he's around."
"Ohhhhh, any chance of my meeting him?"
"For what?" Terry asked raising an eyebrow.
"Ooooh we're not jealous are we?" she asked tapping his mouth with
her forefinger.
Terry relaxed, then sighed. "I don't know." he answered his smile
returning.
Melanie leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, "I don't think you'll
have to worry about him stealing me away, he can't be half as sweet as
you."
Terry blushed and bowed his head. Melanie took his chin into her hand and
turned his face. Gently she pressed her lips to his, relaxing inch by inch into
the kiss.
Terry was obviously nervous, his entire body was rigid. Melanie pulled away and
pushed him down onto the covers. "Relax." she said as she straddled
him.
Terry stared up at her, his face blank, mind racing. Was she trying to do what
he thought she was? What if she could tell that he'd never done anything like
this before?
He watched as she pulled her shirt over her head, and threw it to the floor.
Yeah, she was, she definitely was going to try to have sex with him.
Terry felt his mind go numb, as she took his hands and placed them on her
waist. Slowly his fingers trailed over her waist band, and then to her belt buckle.
He was surprised to find she wore crisp white boxers over her briefs.
She quickly climbed off of him and went to his door. Locking it, she flicked
off the light and rejoined him.
"You've never done this before have you?" she asked, not to be mean,
but merely to find out his status.
"No, no I haven't." Terry said with a nervous laugh.
"Do you have any condoms?"
"Actually, yeah, my dad used to drag me to the store every now and then
and make me buy them. He wanted to make sure I was being safe when the time
came."
He felt her smile without being able to see her face, as he reached into the
nightstand drawer.
She waited patiently as he unwrapped, and took a few minutes to get it on. She
took the time to finish undressing, and then crawled under the covers with him.
She waited again as he pulled his underwear all the way off, then she slowly
guided him into her.
Then for the next few hours she introduced him to the wonderfully frowned upon
world of teenage sex.
**
**May 2013**
Jean-Xavier sat on in a chair on the balcony overlooking the vast ice desert
his grandfather's complex sat on. He had spent the last hour pouting and
sighing and basically anything to symbolize how bored and lonely he was. There
was nothing a seven-year-old could do for fun around the place. Everything was
for the grown-ups, and Aidia wasn't much company. She was a girl, and girls
were gross and stupid and just about anything that could be considered icky.
"What'cha doing?" asked a calm smooth voice behind him.
"Father!" Jean-Xavier exclaimed, standing immediately, then bowing
his head.
"What's the matter, you look sad young friend." Clark said with a
tired smile.
Jean-Xavier raised his head, meeting his father's eyes, "You are always
away, I'm bored."
Clark scooped the young boy up into his arms and set him down on his right
shoulder. "Why don't we go for a ride huh?"
"Where?" Jean-Xavier asked sounding as if he didn't much care.
"Hold on tight chum." Clark said as he took flight.
Jean-Xavier looked worriedly about himself as they climbed higher and higher.
Although he knew his father would never harm him, he still felt scared.
Despite his fear, he still laughed as the freezing altitude air tickled his
exposed flesh.
Soon the two found themselves floating high above the earth, the great sphere
riding the belt of gravity the sun possessed. Jean-Xavier watched
enthusiastically as massive swirls of clouds enveloped the atmosphere, and the
blue waters darkened and lightened throughout their perspective oceans.
"I brought you up here when you were a baby Jean." Clark said
suddenly, his voice filling the vast infinite gap of space.
Jean smiled, his eyes shining as brightly as any of the stars that surrounded
them in all directions for infinitesimal distances.
"I wanted you to know that the only thing greater than yourself is
universe, and God."
"Father, I thought God was in the clouds, but we're up here, where is
he?"
Clark shrugged, "I can't really say, all I know is someone put this great
wonder up here don't you think?"
Jean nodded, "Grandfather says that God put the three of us on earth to
cleanse it of humanity's ignorance. Is that true?"
"I'd rather say we're saving humanity from themselves. But of course, your
grandfather and I don't always see eye to eye on that subject." Clark said
casting his gaze onto the earth below. "But I don't want you worrying
about that. Just enjoy this. This is our special place, just the two of us
okay. No one else comes up here. Is that agreed chum?"
"Yes sir." Jean said with a smile.
**Present Day**
Jean-Xavier quickly ran his eyes over his surroundings,
large fluffy bed, thick carpet floor, mahogany this, gold that... Yes, this was
the kind of room his dear sister loved to spend the night in. He stood
barrel-chested, bearing the sheild of his father embroidered into the Kevlar
fabric of his suit. He smiled warmly as he beheld her slim figure, legs spread,
and arms over and under her pillow, sheets twisted almost violently around her
torso. And of course Ali lay on his back slumbering right next to her. She
never went anywhere without the little puff-ball.
The one thing she persisted to do every night, whether she was expecting
someone or not, the thing that bothered him the most about her personality: was
that she always slept nude. Thank God for comforters, he only knows what a
shock people might come across without them.
Smirking, he turned away from her and took a deep breath. Letting out in a
rather large yell, he said, "Top of the afternoon to you sister!"
He smiled as he listened to her react, he could almost feel the jolt in her
bones as she tumbled out of sleep. He quietly sidestepped a pillow, then turned
to see her bundled nicely in her bed linen.
"What is the matter with you brother, I know you have more sense than
that!" she said in French, watching as Jean doubled over laughing to
himself.
Luckily for her, and the rest of the hotel, he had a rather soft, beautiful
laugh. But if a joke got too funny, he let his vocal cords go, quite
thunderously. His father Clark often joked that he could shatter a mountain
with the force of his laugh.
She huffed and climbed out of the bed, gathering the sheets behind her, and
taking them with her into the bathroom along with her already assembled outfit.
Jean walked to the bathroom door, and listened to the shower water run,
imagining the condensation as it stuck slick to the mirror, just ready for
childish fingers.
"What time is it?" his sister called from the shower stall.
"Oh I'd readily say about six or so. What'd you do? Stay up 'til ten this
morning?" he didn't much care for using fully proper English when he was
in the company of his sis'.
"It is not your concern dear brother." she said through the door as
she turned off the water.
He waited outside the door for several more minutes, noticing out the corner of
his eye that Ali still had awoke, and almost falling backward as the door
suddenly opened behind him.
"So," she said leaning against the doorframe, "did you fly here,
or did you fly here?"
"Actually the former, it's hard to get a hotel when you look like
this." he said taking the stretchable fabric between his forefinger and
thumb.
She smiled and kissed him on the cheek, "I missed you dear brother."
"Missed you too." he said with a broad smile. "So, what're we
doin' huh? I mean, why's Grandfather got us hunting around this mammoth
proportioned city looking for three specks in the paint?"
"I do not know, I thought you had a better idea than I." she said as
she found a pair of sandal heels that matched her outfit.
"Where're you going dressed like that?" he asked knitting his brow in
surprise.
"You and I never have any fun; I thought maybe we could go out and see
what American clubs are like. The last one we went to was French, and that was
three years ago. It will be fun, I promise."
"If I remember correctly, and I think I do, I have business to attend to.
Besides, you're too proper for clubs. They'll sniff you out like a drug dog to
marijuana."
"Where do you get those expressions from?" she asked as she pulled a
waist-length Calvin Klein dirty-denim jacket out of her suitcase.
Jean twisted his face, "Who did you speak with already?"
"Selina Kyle and the Batman, although he is kind of… Silly is a good
word, no?"
"Silly? I thought the almighty Batman was supposed to be the
greatest thing since palm pilots? There shall be no other gods before Batman
is supposed to be the only man other than my father to be at Grandfather's
side?" Jean spat bitterly, "Grandfather only went on about him to us
every single second of the f**king day."
She stared at him, eyes cut, her face reddened with anger, "That boy
is not my father! He only knocked himself unconscious on a bloody poster last
night!"
Jean turned away towards the window, "So if he's not the great bloody Batman,
who is he?"
"He's some kind of replacement or something, I don't know. I think he
might be working for him."
"But you said in the e-mail this morning that he was working for a guy
named Bruce, who may or may not be Bruce Wayne."
"I knowwwww. You are really starting to get on my nerves. I have
done my part, all I have to wait is for their consent, and I'm done. You
on the other hand have to speak with Wayne. Today."
Jean turned and nodded his goodbye, then left out of the large bay window his
sister had used the night before.
**
Jean looked down at his body, frowning at his outfit. Sure
he was the more outgoing of the two, but between his sister and himself, she
was a much better dresser. He'd picked out a white baseball tee with a
black collar, black sleeve ends, and the team name: "Zero's" splayed
across the chest. Over that he wore a black button down cowboy shirt with black
and gray embroidered flowers on a white background, separated by cord thread
barriers from the solid black torso. His cuffs were unbuttoned just like his
sister preferred to do. Below that, he wore black Dickies pants, and converse
all stars, black as well. Finishing the outfit was a bucket hat, predictably
black also.
Pressing the button to the intercom, he began to feel even more self-conscious.
Even though he knew it was just some old man that for some reason his
grandfather had demanded be at his side in his final hour, he also knew that in
his prime Bruce Wayne had been the man in Gotham. The guy probably had
every shirt made by Versace tailor made for him and all that crap. Jean-Xavier
sighed as a voice came over the intercom:
"Party central?" said a young voice.
"Huh?"
"Sorry." *ahem* "Wayne Manor?"
"This is Jean-Xavier Head-Kent, I was asked to speak to your father, by my
grandfather… May I come in?"
"Hold on, I'll ask the DJ."
"What?"
"I'll ask my dad!" the voice said with a laugh.
Jean tapped his foot against the clay earth impatiently, waiting for the voice
to come back."
His answer came in the form of sliding gates, "Well, here goes old
boy." Jean said trying to calm himself down. "It's all riding on
you."
Jean walked
timidly through the double door entrance to Wayne Manor, finding himself become
even more nervous. Although the manor was dwarfed considerably by his
grandfather's complex, it was soaked in an aura of suffering and despair. Jean
removed his hat and nodded at the young man who had answered the door.
"Hello, I'm sorry I didn't catch your name." he said, his deep voice
trembling slightly.
"That's because I didn't throw it." the young man returned, his voice
cold and unwelcoming.
Jean shivered; he sounded no where near like he had on the intercom. "I'm
sorry; did I do something to upset you?"
The young man just frowned at him and walked away, Jean noticed he was
clenching his fists. The manner in which he did so suggested it was a reflex to
anger. "Where am I supposed to go?" he asked.
"The dining room, there are two people in there who would like very much
to have a word with you." the man said as he disappeared down a hallway.
Jean scratched the top of his head, worry etching across his face, he'd known
this was going to be a bad idea. What did they want to speak with him about, he
didn't know anything. And besides, the guy hadn't even told him where the
dining room was.
After several minutes of searching, he found a large room, it's curtains drawn,
bathed in the shadows. From what he could make out in the dense darkness, there
was a huge mahogany banquet table that took up a good amount of the room.
Hundreds of framed portraits and photographs lined the wall on one side, and
the wall parallel to that held four bay windows. Another wall held a large
fireplace. At the far end of the table sat two figures, opposite to each other,
a larger figure he guessed was
Jean swallowed, and shifted uncomfortably, the intensity of the moment doing
nothing to calm him.
"Why are you here?" asked a cold, harsh voice, obviously
Jean jumped, shaken by the disdain he felt
"I know that!"
"Uh, I-I don't understand, what do you mean 'hasn't he taken enough?' I
don't know what you speak of." Jean said, becoming violently afraid that
he might vomit.
The figure stood in the darkness, making his way slowly across the room. Jean
stepped back, afraid that
Jean began to breath fast, wondering somewhere in the back of his mind when the
woman was going to speak, and what the old man had to say. It never occurred to
him that he had never said his grandfather's name.
"Sit."
"Your grandfather, Ra's Al Ghul, he took something from me, something from
us," he said gesturing to the woman, "That can never be replaced. Our
daughter Aidia Ava Wayne. He stole her from us. From this house!"
Jean's mouth fell agape; he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "There
must be some kind of mis— my grandfather would never…"
"SILENCE! You will NEVER interrupt me, especially to defend that
man!" Bruce roared, turning and pointing directly at Jean's heart to
illustrate his anger. "That man took away everything that made me who I
am, my family, my life. All of it! Gone! I missed being able to raise my little
girl. My child! That, I will NEVER forgive." he growled.
Jean sat frozen in horror, doubt and all kinds of emotions rushing through his
brain. He'd known Aidia had mysteriously appeared at the complex when he was
two. She was but a month younger than him, and horribly shy. They told him she
was his half-sister, and at his young age, he didn't ask any questions, soon
forgetting that she hadn't been there all along. His father made no moves to
treat her as a daughter, but never harshly either. It was as if everybody knew
something he didn't. It all made sense now, but for some reason his mind
wouldn't acknowledge it as truth. "You're lying." he stated simply.
Bruce's face went stone still, and expressionless. He stood straight, and bore
his eyes into the man before him. "I beg your pardon?" his tone
unidentifiable.
"Bruce..." the woman said, finally speaking, "He doesn't know
what your talking about, this is all coming as a shock to him."
Bruce ignored her, and walked up to Jean's chair. Leaning down to him, "I
beg your pardon?" he insisted, all color gone from his face.
Jean heard himself talking, but didn't know where the words were coming from,
"You're obviously mistaken, you must be speaking of another child, and
besides, you can hardly prove it was my grandfather who kidnapped her.
What would he want with your kid?" Jean said, his mind screaming 'You
idiot!'
Bruce's hand grasped the shoulder of the chair harshly causing it to tilt back
off the floor. "You come to my house and DARE call me a liar?! You sonofa*****..."
Jean stayed sure, staring unblinkingly into the man's eyes, feeling himself
becoming more and more aware of the truth.
"Bruce!" the woman insisted appearing at his side. She took his arm
and pulled him away.
Jean watched as he calmed considerably, suggesting that she had an influence
over him that few had. He was glad at that moment for his gift at reading
behavior, he knew that the man was no longer angry enough to hurt him. Jean
stood and took up his hat, which had fallen to the floor. Placing it on his
head he turned to them, "You're just a crazy old fool you know
that?!"
Bruce stared back at him, expressionless once again, then turned back around to
the woman. He said something Jean didn't bother to overhear, and went back to
the table to sit.
The woman gave him a fleeting look then went to the window, staring vacantly
out over the waters of
Jean felt someone tap him on the shoulder. Turning around, a hard fist collided
with his nose. Being half-human, he of course fell to the floor. Jean heard the
woman and Bruce gasp in surprise. Gritting his teeth, he reached up and wiped
blood from his nose. He knew without looking up that it was the young man from
before.
The man jerked him to his feet by his cowboy shirt, and held him a few inches
away from his face. "Don't you EVER speak to my father that way
again!" he said, his voice near a whisper.
Jean didn't move, he could easily knock this guy through four walls easy, but
he knew he'd crossed a line, he'd do the same for his dad.
"Tell your grandfather we want her back, NOW!" the guy said, his eyes
tearing.
Jean's face softened, the guy was hurting bad. "Look, I really don't know
what you're talking about. I-I-I've gotta go..." he said, pulling away,
and running past.
Once reaching outside, he ripped the clothing off of his body, exposing the
skintight suit. Taking to the air, he rushed faster and faster through the
atmosphere, feeling the heated friction of atoms and neutrons, and the
desperate freezing of the zero gravity air erupting on his skin. Curling into a
ball, he fell through the last protective layer, and into the space around him.
His tears slid from his eyes, floating around him. He was alone in this place,
not sure of anything he'd ever been told.
Not even sure if he was himself.