1: First incision
All I know is a door into the dark.
Seamus Heaney
The forge
No song intro this time. Spawns honour.
DC continuity is (starting) a few minutes into (and continuing a few days after) the last chapter of Tower of babble.
The moon
8:30am US time
JLA watchtower
"How well do you know him?"
Wally West's eyes shone inside the open eye holes of the Flash mask.
Holes that allowed a glimpse of the person underneath, confirmation that there was a soul under a skin that could resist air friction that could wipe out anything close to demilight speed level. A person inside.
Not like Bruce's.
Not like Batman's.
"Or I guess more to the point, how well does he know you?"
Superman continued to stare at the majestic waste land of the moon, whishing the two way blacked out glass blocked more than just the suns light.
The sun.
Food. Drink. Lover. Mother. Warmth. Comfort.
This entire incident made him seek refuge from the very source of his strength, literal and figurative.
In brightest day, in blackest night…
…No evil shall escape my sight.
What of betrayal?
The shield felt like an anchor. Dragging his spirit.
How does Captain America handle this? Did he ever have to?
What have you done Bruce? What have you done? Was it because of the ring?
Darksied had come so close, the parasite had tried to suck him dry God knew how many times, and there was no lack of telepaths and manipulators.
It had been a safe guard, that was all, a just in case. Had that been the cause of it all? What if he did go bad, what if Diana or Lantern or any of them did stop being the hero and became one of the countless legions of people who had no insight into how special their powers were?
Or rather did and though that made them more special than everybody else.
And any one with that view got taken down, hard, by Batman.
The league though…God the league. How could he not let them know?
How could he not think of the possibility that something like this would happen?
He probably had.
The files had probably been hidden deep within the confines of the cave, locked in a vault, if they had been on paper, or hidden in an encrypted file in the most hidden folder of the bat computers database. Batman would prepare for anything, every single possibility taken into account.
Which meant if someone found one he hadn't considered, they were extremely dangerous and the fallout near lethal.
Al Ghul had swept through them like a tidal wave, and when they washed up there had been almost nothing left but scars.
Al Ghul's scars. Bruce's methods.
"Well enough to know better than any of us how you'll vote?"
And knowing that this was someone who had taken what was essentially the most dangerous of secrets and turned them into a weapon, could they ever really turn their backs to him again? Let alone trust him?
Superman breathed in. Every time he closed his eyes he could feel the "Red Kryptonite", the agony and what went deeper. The betrayal.
He breathed out.
Opened the door.
Saw the empty table where Bruce should have been.
"Yes."
Gotham city
11:00am
"Guilt by association. Every body in your sphere is getting the hairy eyeball."
He didn't turn around. He didn't need to.
The same fire in her father's voice burned in hers. As it would in her eyes.
He just stood there, back to the screen, trying to continue modifying the batarang. He could still feel them though, tearing through the shreds of his cowl they weren't trying to burn away.
Is this how the trash feel when I waste a glance on them?
No. It wasn't.
They didn't know what he was, not really.
Man? Demon? God?
Hardly.
Oracle was different. He knew exactly what she was. And she had a good enough understanding of him to know how to attempt something with him where Nightwing and Robin would not.
Iron focus and resolve bent a fraction for almost the first time since Jason's death. He had to say something.
"If they're smart, they can turn that into a streng…"
"Are you even listening to me?"
The speakers almost shook. Then breathe, rattling through them. Making the emotion all the more raw.
"What you've done has had such a ripple effect."
Understatement. The league, the Titans, Young Justice…small but important parts of his promise, his war for Gotham taken near global.
You never realise how important something is until it's not there anymore.
He didn't say anything, just continued to modify the batarang.
His wings had almost been clipped. And what she said next ripped them apart.
"If you meant for that to happen, admit it right now. If your not sorry about how all this went down, tell me so now. Say something."
He couldn't ignore that, couldn't pretend to ignore it.
He turned to her, stared at her. He wanted to shout, to yell. How dare she say something like that, how dare she! Did she believe him to be that cold blooded? That heartless? Was that what they all thought? Diana? Tim? Dick? J'onn? Clark?
Almost everyone who saw him as he was believed that, saw the knife edged drive that went straight through anything in it's path. But none of them save a close few knew why. And they couldn't see where it put him. How it made him one of the few "mortal" heroes among near gods. They hadn't been there when Clark gave him the ring, had been associated with the murder of a small time Gotham extortionist, felt the doubt, because anybody, anybody, could loose that battle once out of ten times. They hadn't seen gaping abyss left in the graves of his most loved, stolen and violated. Hadn't seen the snake skin glint in Al Ghul's eye as their coffins dangled over the atrocity of the Lazarus pit. What would he have given for them? Really given? He'd given them vengeance and memory, and how long would that really last? Would he really have given them life…so he didn't have to do this anymore? What would they have done? What would any of them have done in the same position?
He wanted to say all this. But he didn't.
He cut the feed and went back to the damn batarang.
How did you do it father? How did you face the looks on everybody's faces when the lights went down and the body was rolled away to the morgue, bleeding a trail of shame? How could you face them when despite your best efforts, despite the fact it wasn't your fault, you still failed?
I am not naïve. I have not been since I was eight years old. I know you were not invincible. I'm not.
I've fought for your memory, tried to keep it alive without it been acknowledged.
It has become buried in the mantle of the bat, and no matter how far I go on, it's Batman that's still here and your not. My darkness has taken your light.
I believed this war (and it is a war, no matter what Clark says) was the only way, the only refuge for what was Bruce Wayne. That something could be achieved in the names of Thomas and Martha Wayne.
Bane, the quake and No mans land have put all that into question.
A detective is supposed to solve a case, bring the guilty to justice for the innocent, yet every one case I solve has another ten counterparts in sixty seconds.
Can even Clark help a world like that?
I'm beginning to see a way that I could.
He would not approve. I do not approve…yet recent events…
The whole idea, if I ever do undertake it, is not to be taken lightly. It might be better to see it as a new form of medical aid. With Gotham, and myself, as the test subject for the first operation of it's kind.
Crime is a disease. Almost a cancer.
It may be long past time to make the first incision…
Well…that's that for now. This is going to get more complex as I go, but then some people like that kind of thing. This, hopefully, heralds the completion of my work on Harbingers third chapter, when I will hopefully be able to truly present this fic as a worthy addition to Bat fiction everywhere. Until then review, you lazy bastards, or the next chapter of will contain a "Holy (insert object/person/ culture reference/ hetro or homo sexual/ popular teenage phrase of choice)Batman!"