Author: Summer Starr
Disclaimer: I don't own DC, WB, or the like. That means Static Shock, JL, Teen Titans, Batman, Superman, or any other villains or heroes that you might notice are not mine, and in no way reflect the company's motto.
Warnings: Slash (Virgil/Richie, GL/Flash, Supes/Bats, others), Alternate Universe, Crossover
Author's Note: If some characters seem OOC, then it's my fault because I don't have as good a handle on them as I'd like. I will say that getting into Martian Manhunter's head is extremely difficult, especially since he's a telepath. And I'd like to give a big Thank You to all of those who've reviewed. I love feedback. It makes me smile.
Ratings: M
Title: Like A Dream
Like A Dream
Chapter Four
He may have been Martian Manhunter, but sometimes he wished he was just J'onn J'onzz again. He wished for a lot of things, though. Such as Home.
Sometimes, he missed Mars, not because it was his home, but because it was so much... quieter. Humans, for the most part, did not realize how loudly their thoughts projected out to him. Their incessant, selfish mental babbling was enough to drive the most steadfast hero to insanity.
But, as much as he missed life on Mars, and its semi-communal living, he knew that he could never go back to it. Darkness blinds as easily as extreme light, and as much as the constant noise of other people's thoughts distracted him, utter silence would kill him.
To keep himself balanced, the Mars native tried to tone his telepathy down to its barest flittering touch along the many different minds around him. Sometimes, if it became a bit too much of a strain -not- listening, he would pick out different Defenders, or sometimes their Chosen, to listen to. Of course, this activity also allowed him to take free 'lessons' in Human Culture. Or at least, what passed for human culture among the Defenders.
Tiredly, J'onn opened his eyes again. This... this was his new Home, and it was up to him to deal with that.
Around him, there were several humans working on various control stations, monitoring the living environment on the station. Unlike a planet, a space station had to be watched overly closely because the slightest drop in a given gauge could mean life or death for some members of the crew. Granted, the same could be said for the planet spinning below them, but no one wanted to imagine that their world was so very fragile.
No one wanted to be reminded that life was so fragile.
He knew where his thoughts were going. He knew the path well. And because he did, he was able to predict his mental ventures. Turning, he found Superman positioned over a console. He hesitated for only a moment before approaching the red-caped Defender. They had a lot in common, more than some of the other Defenders. They were among the last of their people, the last living embodiments of their planet. They were Defenders for an adopted world. Some might even consider them brothers, though they did not do so. Still, there was no need for hesitation on his part. "Superman..."
"Yes, J'onn?" the Kryptonian asked, not even looking up from the readout that was being printed for him.
"I need to rest. I will return later."
"All right. I'll take over here," Superman nodded, taking charge without really needing to. There were other Defenders on the bridge, all equally capable of taking charge.
Without a second thought, the green-skinned alien phased through the floor. He flew down corridors, through walls, through floors, until he was safe. Once the comforting walls of his room, which could be seen as a lab but was mostly just his retreat, he sat down on a round mound of cushions. His mimicry of the human visage dissolved around him, and he was once more in his own, natural body.
And then he let his mind... drift.
Some minds were chaotic and quiet, a reflection of dreams and musings. Others had very clear thoughts, very clear minds, very clear desires. Sadly, they were all reflections of each other, in some way...
'...What is it going to take to make her like me...?'
'...I miss Momma...'
'...I could really go for a pizza right now...'
'...How does it go? How does it go? What are the lyrics? Hell, what's the name of the damn thing...?'
'...What should I wear? Maybe the teal dress? What does he like...?'
'...another mission, another day, and another chance to fail. I know they're waiting for me to fail. I just know it...'
'...If I have to clean this room one more time, I'm gonna scream!'
'...That's not it. That's not it. That's not it...'
'T… T… Tr… Tr… Tran… Tran... Damn, the music selection here is just too much…'
'...I wonder what Wonder Woman would do in a situation like this...?'
'...Why isn't there anything good to read anymore? Why can't I be entertained anymore...?'
'...When I get my hands on that rat-bastard, I'm gonna kill him. I swear I am! Who does he think he is, stealing Attack of the Killer Zombies III before I've gotten a chance to play it...?'
'...bet Flash isn't the fastest in bed. I bet he likes to take his time there. I bet he'd be totally willing to go -real- slow if given the right... partner. Ooh, look at how he smiles. And he's so affectionate! Always touching his friends, like Lantern. I bet he'd be -great- in bed...'
'...I need a shower. Three showers and I still smell bad...'
Humans could seem so selfish at times. So incredibly selfish. And yet, they were so alone in their minds, so alienated from each other. It really was no surprise that they thought only of themselves. They really couldn't think of others first, as they had only their own thoughts to go on.
His musings were interrupted, though, when he came to a familiar ticklish buzzing sensation. It was a familiar feeling, one he received whenever he tried to read the minds of the more electrically charged members of the Defenders. J'onn was not sure if he wanted to investigate further, as he knew that Static's mind was often times less than informative, but sometimes... sometimes, it proved to be oddly entertaining.
Merging his mind with that of Virgil's, he was able to see, to hear, to taste, to feel, to know all that the dark-skinned hero was experiencing.
The first thing that the Martian noticed was the utter quiet of the room. Usually, when the young Defender was awake, he had some sort of jarring noise playing in the background. But this time, there was no sound in the background. Or rather, the sounds were so soft, so dull, that it was only because the electric hero was focusing on them that J'onn was able to hear them. Amazingly, the teenager had no thoughts clouding his mind, just... just emotions. Raw emotions. J'onn/Virgil licked his lips as he looked through the semi-darkness of the room. There was another figure in the large bed, a standard issue sized bed, who was sound asleep.
Richie. His name was Richie. He was Virgil's age. He was from Virgil's home. He was... similar in so many ways, yet so different. The paler figure was turned away, his fists tucked up under his chin and his hair in complete disarray. The covers were pulled up to chest level, but even without sight, J'onn/Virgil knew that the other male was in the only piece of clothing he really owned, which was the Chosen's sarong, and it had ridden up to his middle during the night. There was the feel of warm, bare flesh under the covers.
J'onn/Virgil raised his hand, brushing dark fingers lightly over Richie's cheek before smoothing through almost translucent short locks of hair. Soft. So very soft. All of him was.
J'onn was taken aback by how... gentle the young man was being. The blatant desire Virgil felt for his Chosen was evident to the Martian, like a peppery taste in his mouth. But even though there were no clear thoughts of warning or restraint, Virgil was being so... delicate. It was... unusual.
Virgil leaned down, unknowingly taking his mental passenger with him, and brushed his lips over Richie's shoulder. J'onn could feel the slide of smooth skin over lips that were not his. Could taste the slightly cool flesh as Virgil ran the tip of his tongue over a small patch. Instead of continuing to kiss his Chosen, as J'onn expected him to do, Virgil leaned back and got out of bed. His mind began to buzz with overt thoughts again, as he made himself be as quiet as possible, trying not to wake the blond.
Removing himself from the increasingly loud, jarring thoughts that echoed with a static-like tickle, J'onn tried to move on to other minds. But in his mental travels, he continued to think on that moment, when Virgil had just been -looking- at his Chosen.
As if Richie had been a gift.
As if nothing in the world was quite as precious.
There was a restraint there from which some of the teenager's fellow Defenders could learn. Not a conscious, overt thought, rather it was... something else. J'onn had been in many minds, especially when he was 'new' to Earth and unable to suppress his telepathy quite as well as he was able to now. He knew that others would be embarrassed if they knew that he had been spying on them, even if it hadn't been by his consent. But then, his people shared an open consciousness. Nothing was 'private', so to speak. They shared in each other's love, basked in the transmitted affection. Here, though, things were done differently. People horded their emotions, and then twisted them into selfish creations.
That wasn't to say that all of the Defenders were selfish, self-loving individuals. It was just unusual that he found it in someone so... young. Not even Robin—who had been trained by Batman himself, whom many considered to be the embodiment of restraint—showed such inclinations.
But then, Batman wasn't as restrained as many imagined him to be, either. Batman, for whom Wonder Woman cared, yet who slept with Superman if only for a 'good lay' as some of the humans would say, but who remained as emotionally detached as J'onn himself did. The Night Terror was bottled violence, and when the bottle broke, there was pain and terror and suffering involved. Which was why Batman released the pressure of his self-imposed cage by any means he deemed necessary, whether it was hunting down criminals or through carnal delights. J'onn knew of Batman's escapades, both in the training rooms where he trained without the safety on whenever he was alone and able, and when he sought out sexual partners. Not because he broadcasted these things, because of all those within the Fortress, Batman was the only person that J'onn could not read. No, the Martian knew these things because Batman went to such great pains to... hide them.
Though was it really hiding the facts when everyone knew them?
The green-skinned male pulled his mind from its random flight, pulled his thoughts to himself, and then pulled them into himself. His red eyes glowed faintly in the dim light as he began to meditate.
-o0o-
Virgil had never mastered the art of taking a cold shower. Even when he was living back in Dakota, when he had to share the single bathroom with his Pops and his sister Sharon, he had always managed to take at least warm showers. Cold showers... were just unpleasant.
He had made sure to close the door to the bathroom before he had turned on the light, trying to let Richie sleep for as long as he wanted to. Why he took such precautions he really wasn't sure, as it wasn't like the blond had that much to do during the day. Still, he was being careful. Virgil leaned his head forward, letting the hot water rush down his back, some of it streaming to his chest and abs before snaking around his legs.
He really needed to get off.
Seriously.
It didn't help that Richie was lying practically naked in his bed, all soft and warm and comfortable. It didn't help that he knew that the little white strip of fabric that was supposed to be clothing was acting as nothing more than a belt. It didn't help that Virgil really just wanted to run his hands all over Richie's skin. It didn't help that he wanted to follow the touching with—
No, it didn't help. At. All. Because he wasn't going to get off.
It was tempting, though. Tempting to just reach down and—
'No!' Virgil mentally chastised himself. He wasn't going to. He was NOT going to. At least, not any time soon.
But he really, really wanted to.
And really, what was stopping him? Other than the fact that Virgil knew he wouldn't be able to keep quiet, and he didn't want to wake his bed partner even though there -was- a closed door between him and the blond. Or the fact that he didn't want Richie to give himself over out of a sense of obligation or duty. That... That wasn't cool. That wasn't what he wanted. Virgil knew that he probably wasn't the most romantic of guys, but he still wanted someone to come willingly, voluntarily to his bed.
Okay, so he really wanted -Richie- to come willingly and voluntarily to his bed. Though some might argue that by offering himself up as a Chosen he -was- coming willing and able, that didn't ring true in Virgil's mind.
Growling softly to himself, he quickly picked up the bar of soap. Time to go to a tutoring session, and then to patrol. This part of being a teenage Defender was left out of the tour books, though there really wasn't a good reason for it. The life of a Defender was pretty good, if one was completely out of high school and was on a payroll instead of an allowance. But he wasn't, and being a Defender could sometimes get in the way of studies. Going to school at the Fortress meant that he didn't have to go to class for eight hours, then study, then patrolling, and then get a few hours sleep. No, it meant most of his time was invested in patrolling, with taking a few classes during the week.
The room where each of the teenage Defenders learned had several desks, with computers. There were also several private tutors in those classrooms. There weren't any books, as books took up too much space in a location where space was at a premium, especially when printed material could just as easily be typed up on a computer screen.
No uncomfortable chairs. No teachers unaware of other responsibilities. No heavy books to lug around. No other students in 'class' with him, unless they were getting tutored by another teacher who happened to be in the same room with him.
Of course, there were also no vacations unless one was out saving the galaxy, and really, did those count as vacations? And there was still homework. Virgil didn't bring his homework home, though. He doubted he'd ever get any studying done with Richie anywhere near him. There was also the fact that he didn't want Richie to know that he was still in school. He seemed upset enough that Virgil was on an allowance. Virgil knew that Richie had gotten his G.E.D., as was the minimum requirement for all applicants who wanted to become Chosen.
Some Chosen didn't have a degree when they arrived, though. Like Robin. Special cases.
Robin started out as Batman's Chosen. But he wasn't the first, and he wouldn't be the last, and everyone knew it, including Robin. Batman had picked him up off the streets—from God only knew where because neither Batman nor Robin were talking about it—and brought him to the Fortress. Brought him to this life. But there came a point when Robin was no longer a Chosen, when the Night Terror decided that he was something... else. A budding Defender. All Robins became Defenders. That was just the way it went. First, there was NightWing, and then there was Oracle, and then there was Batgirl, and then there was... Robin. No rhyme to Batman's selection. No reason as far as Virgil could detect. All were young, nimble, intelligent, scrappy kids.
Kids like him.
Only without the superpowers.
Virgil turned off the water. Opening the fogged up glass door, he reached for a towel.
On the upside, if he managed to pass a course, he didn't have to take tutoring sessions on it. It took everything he had to pass Latin. 'Who speaks Latin these days?' Virgil had also managed to pass all of his sciences and math classes up to the college undergraduate level. He was very proud of that, especially as he was only a junior at the time.
But, that was last year. Now there was Literature. Deciphering poems was harder than figuring out where Ebon's latest hide out was. And one couldn't forget his below acceptable grades in world history. If only he could find a way to make the class -interesting-! It was just so... dry. And dead! And boring!
Virgil checked the clock. He had a few more moments to dress, run down to the cafeteria, grab some food, and then rush over to his tutoring session. And in two and a half hours, he'd be flying the electric currents over the streets of Dakota, just in time for the midday bell to ring at Dakota High.
Sometimes, he missed it. Missed hanging out with 'normal' teenagers. Missed going to the arcade. Missed real school, afterschool activities, sports in general, and regular living in particular. But then there were other times when he wouldn't trade his life for anyone's. Could he really give up flying? Fighting crime? Helping others?
Finished dressing in his Defender garb, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Could he give up being a Defender and go back to being regular ol' Virgil Hawkins?
Could he give up living in space with his heroes? Could he move back planet-side? Could he stand getting a real, meaningless, boring job? Could he settle for what the rest of the world had when he could be... When he could be -this-?
A Defender.
A -hero-.
Slipping out of the bathroom, he paused to let his eyes adjust to the gloom of his room. And when he was finally able to make out the dull gray haze of shadows and shades, he noticed Richie was still asleep, and was resting on his stomach. The sheet was tossed down to his lower back, and he had one arm thrown out to the side, as if reaching for him.
Could he give up being a Defender? Could he give up being a hero? Could he give up his reward for being a hero, which was Richie?
'Not in -this- lifetime.' Virgil grinned, pulling on his mask as he slipped out of the room. He slung his shield over his shoulder as he exited his, and Richie's, room.
Life was good.
-o0o-
The corridors of the Fortress were well lit, with very few shadows allowed to rest anywhere. The bright lights were constantly on, and if it were not for the clocks that littered the rooms, no one would have been able to tell if it was 'night' or 'day'. Granted, each person had to deal with their own time zones, and the clocks in the rooms reflected that.
For Bruce Wayne, AKA Batman, it should have been early morning. Almost time for him to finally be able to rest. Villains had a habit of keeping late nights, and rarely surfacing during the morning and afternoon hours, the occasional bank robbery notwithstanding. Which was just as well. It allowed him some time to sleep. However, he had one errand to run before he would be able to rest. A very important, private errand.
Unfortunately, in the Fortress, nothing was ever private.
Crime was enjoying a lull in Gotham, which made the menacing Defender cautious. When the criminals were quiet, it meant that they were up to something. When he had built the Fortress, one of the rules of being a Defender was that everyone had to file paperwork. And though each and every Defender seemed to hate the chore, they all knew from whom the order came, and they all diligently, if reluctantly, filed the needed information away. Even Batman had to fill out the necessary datasheet. He sent the information with a press of a button and waited for the pieces of data to join their brethren. Later, when his mind was clearer, he would return to see if there was anything pertinent to any ongoing investigations. He would look for any kind of pattern that might give a clue as to what the criminals of Gotham were up to.
In the meantime, while there -was- a break, he intended to use it.
Sitting at his console on the main bridge, Batman brought up Static's daily routine. One eyebrow arched under his mask as he noticed the large amount of field time the young Defender had been clocking. Almost nine-hour days out in the field, two for studies, and the rest was for... whatever he wanted them to be. Most young Defenders only clocked time when they were called for special missions or when they were running practice drills.
But then, most young Defenders weren't in charge of protecting their own city. And certainly none were in charge of protecting a city as... volatile as Dakota.
Batman gave a small smile. This could work to his advantage.
With a few deft keystrokes, Batman pulled up all the available information that he could on one Richard Oswald Foley, AKA Richie. In his mind, Batman shrugged off the more familiar name. For him, it would be safer to refer to the boy as Richard. He didn't stop with the basic information provided by the application for the Chosen Program, either. He went deeper, checking medical histories, how often he used his library card, what grades he made when he was in school, how often the police had been to his house and for what reasons. He then checked the marital status of his parents, their work history, their financial status, their school records, their family connections, and their medical history.
He kept the blond's picture on the screen, even as dozens of information pop-ups appeared. Each document was a little piece of the puzzle that made up the entire picture of who Richard was.
"He's a little old for you, isn't he, Bruce?" came a soft-spoken reprimand. Superman was standing right behind the darker figure, looking at the screen with a slight frown. He knew that Batman was far more intelligent than almost, if not everyone, who resided within the Fortress, including himself. However, it didn't take a super genius to figure out what the super sleuth was up to.
Without concern, Batman retorted, "So are you."
Clark Kent, known to most as merely Superman, rocked back a step. He knew that Bruce could be as heartless, as cold, and as vicious as any of their numerous foes. He knew it, and for the most part, he remembered it whenever he went seeking the other male. That didn't stop him from always being surprised when that cool disregard was turned on him. Some considered him a fool for thinking that by reaching out to him, by offering what Bruce said he wanted, that he might somehow tame the beast within him. But that never happened. Bruce would always remain as he was.
Hard. Jaded. Alone.
Superman warned, his voice increasingly soft, "You know you can't touch him. Not without Static's permission."
"That won't be a problem."
With narrowed eyes, Superman spun around and walked off.
Batman listened from his station, briefly closing his eyes as a tension headache began to form. He didn't need Clark's bitchiness -or- his possessiveness. He had helped Clark make this group of heroes, the Defenders, partly to get the red-caped flyer out of his hair, but also because it was a sound idea. Clark was a good man, full of ideals and hopes and dreams. But, sometimes, he could get a bit too righteous and domineering. Having other super-powered people around would, in theory, give the Kryptonian enough problems that he could micromanage to his heart's content. He knew that he didn't need Clark as a lover. What he needed was—
Forcibly derailing that thought, Batman saved what information he had on both Richard and Static to a flash drive. Then, he went hunting.
He knew what the rest of the Fortress thought of him. He knew that some held a wealth of disdain and disgust for him, while others looked upon him with open fear. There were some that did their best to be friendly, such as the Flash. There were others that looked to him with respect but without the need for approval or the usual fear, such as Green Lantern and Static, as well as his own protégés.
However, there were few people that Batman sought out. And of those people, they usually had a specific function in his life; he needed them for a specific reason and at a specific time. After they had fulfilled their use to him, he always found it very easy to let them go, to let them move on with their lives.
There was one person that he rarely sought out, though. One person whose company he enjoyed but rarely took the opportunity to enjoy. One person on the station he respected enough not to... With narrowed eyes, the Gotham Defender continued forward. If there was one thing Bruce knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was that relationships always ended badly for him.
The twisting hallways did nothing for Batman, as he had designed them to be somewhat confusing. He had made sure to take advantage of every little advantage the layout of the Fortress could offer. There was no point in allowing potential enemies an easy-to-navigate system, and if a person were here long enough, they would learn. Or, more to the point, they would find a map or at least learn how to use the computer consoles that were strategically placed along the hallways.
Having printed out Virgil's schedule, Batman knew precisely where to go. Due to the hour, and the fact that most of the other teenagers preferred to have later classes, Batman passed not a single soul on their way to or from the classroom. When he arrived, he noticed a few teachers sitting at a communal desk, talking in soft tones, with another sitting next to the dark-skinned hero. As soon as he stepped into the room, all activity stopped. Even Virgil looked up from his monitor.
"I need to speak with Static. -Alone-."