Still Beautiful.
Chapter One: Those who are Mistaken.
Perhaps the worst thing was that he had seen it coming. He had foreseen the darkness ahead, the pain, the worry, the tears. The only thing that went wrong in his prediction was that in every theory it was Wally staring out of the window, it was him pretending everything was okay and Wally freely showing his sorrow.
He had watched Wally for years, watched and observed him carefully, ever since he joined the Teen Titans. He wanted him a few years after, fell in love a few years later. But he had never touched, always kept his distance. He had always watched from a distance and promised himself a thousand times he would remain there. For that which never started, could also never end. And things always end, but never beautifully, gracefully, happily. Not in this world. Not when it involved him.
For years he had sealed off his heart, denied everything. For eternity he would have, because, he knew, those who are connected to Batman will always experience pain. They would always be broken in the end. No one he knew was unharmed, undamaged. Not for long.
Perhaps it was Karma. Perhaps it was destiny.
Or perhaps it was just bad luck. Bad timing, coincidence.
He didn't know which of these options would make it worse. He knew none of them made it better.
All he did was love once. All he did was fall in love just this once. The only mistake he ever made only lasted a few seconds, but it already had the power the ruin his entire life.
-- -- --
When he spoke, he hoped almost desperately the exhaustion, but, more importantly, the fear didn't sound through his voice. If it did, the stoic Martian didn't show it on his face.
"Can you locate him now?" It was a question he feared, dreaded, because the answer to it was already known, carved in his mind in the most painful of ways. He asked it as soon as he had heard signs of struggle at the other end of the line. Wally's end.
He also knew, somehow, that the answer would remain the same. The eyes of J'onn glowed and for the first time, it unnerved Batman, but he didn't look away. His fists were clenched tightly at his side, as he calmly (or so he hoped) looked at the alien in front of him. By his side stood Superman, who never truly understood the need to hide his true feeling and was, in a very human gesture, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Batman almost believed that any second now, he would start biting his nails and pulling his hair. A sting of pain flashed through his chest as he thought of the way Wally would have laughed at that thought.
He refused to think he might never hear that laugh again. Simply refused to.
"I am in his mind now, but…" his voice almost echoed in the empty room, heavy like a death sentence. Batman suppressed the urge to sigh in relief. At the very least, Wally was still alive. Superman did jump up and Hawkgirl, Diana and John were at their side in seconds.
He didn't want to know. Didn't want that sentence to finish. Ever. "But?"
"He appears to be drugged… There are no clear thoughts… only fragments…"
"Tell me everything you see J'onn." His voice became so much harsher, so much colder and he clenched his fist so hard he knew he was digging his nails in his palms so deeply they would have drawn blood – if he hadn't been wearing the gauntlets, of course. "Anything might hold a clue to where he is." Anything.
He nodded, barely perceptible. He still didn't want to know, half-afraid of what he might hear.
"Darkness. It's dark."
Blindfold. Isolation room. A basement. A warehouse. A garage. Somewhere out of the city. In his head, thousand of possibilities pop up.
"A buzzing sound. A laugh."
Joker.
"The scent of mint. The colour of fire."
His mind went blank.
J'onn grabbed his head and grimaced in pain. Superman held him, as if he was going to collapse on the spot.
"Is that all?" and he honestly hadn't meant for it to come out so disapproving, so full of annoyance, but it did. Superman glanced up at him, threw his best impression of a glare his way, but Batman wasn't fazed. Not in the least.
"My apologies," said J'onn. "It was too intense… I couldn't…"
"What was?" Hawkgirl snarled and Batman wished she hadn't asked, couldn't care for more information. The realisation of that was almost painful. What a shame it was, a rebellion against his own rules. But he'd rather die. He'd rather die than to hear Wally was doing it. Slowly.
"His pain." He said it softly, his voice a mixture of shame, empathy and the want not to tell this. But the question was asked and therefore answered. Batman resisted the urge to draw in a sharp breath. Hawkgirl let out a frustrated, angry half-yell, half-groan and Diana made a sound as if she was going to start crying. Green Lantern stayed silent. Too silent. Superman avoided looking at them.
What a mess. They were already like this and Wally was only missing for eleven hours. Eleven hours too many. Eleven hours because of him.
He turned around and with his head held high, pretending as if nothing had touched him at all, he started walking away.
"Where are you going?" Diana's voice cut through his mind, but he wasn't sure he could do much explaining.
"Away," was all he answered. He halted in his steps. "And don't even think about interrupting me, unless absolutely crucial." About Wally. Only about Wally.
Diana stuttered a protest, but Batman closed the door behind him. Rubbed an armoured arm over his eyes and was almost surprised to find no tears. He wondered if Wally was crying. Wondered if he still could.
He made his way to the landing bay, ready to go back home, but slowed in his steps as he sensed someone behind him. He wasn't in the mood for this. He turned around sharply.
"J'onn?" he snarled, his voice caught between a question and an insult.
J'onn grimaced slightly, a tiny change in his posture, but to him it was a full-blown look of desperation. Batman didn't feel guilty for being the cause of it, just glared at him sharply, willing him to talk without having to ask a question first, not sure his voice could take much more without breaking in weird places. They stared at each other in silence, J'onn's discomfort so clear it was almost painful. For a second his face changed, as if he was going to talk, but he didn't.
"Yes?" he resisted the urge to rub his temples. Pain flashed through his head like burning metal.
"I did catch something else…" the Martian started.
"Then tell me." Every word carefully articulated, as if he was talking to a mentally impaired child.
"It was a name. A dark fabric fluttering, like a cape, the sound of wings against… rocks and… a name."
Batman raised his eyebrow, to prompt him further. His hands were steady, but inside he shook. The sound of wings against rocks. Like a cape. He could put two and two together, but still. "Yes?"
"Bruce."
Just like that, the world shattered underneath his unsteady feet, as if the ground he stood up never existed. Just like that the dull pain in his chest and head multiplied tenfold.
"I see." He said it as if he had never heard the name before, and he detested himself for it. The way he still rationalised, still put other things first.
Wally had thought of him, even now, a thought prominent enough in his mind to make J'onn perceive it. Wally had thought of him, of him and him alone and he still cared about other things more.
"I didn't mention it before, seeing as it might give away certain secrets." J'onn could put two and two together as well. He simply nodded as an answer, turning away, not bothering to thank. The migraine was eating away his brain now and he could barely restrain himself from groaning out in pain. Anger flared up. An enormous amount of self-loathing.
He got in his Bat-plane and started the engine, leaving J'onn and the Watchtower and too-concerned people behind. Wondered when exactly it was things started slipping away from him so much he couldn't keep control of them.
The Earth looked pathetically small as he approached it from space, and between the stars lay nothing but infinite darkness.
-- -- --
"Superman here. Do you copy, Batman?"
His fingers wrapped around the controls tighter. He could ignore the call. Ignore everything. Because. Because he always did. Because he couldn't handle much more, because, for fuck's sake, it was Wally and...and... Andall he had to do was not answer, but still, always --
"Yes. What's the problem?" He could practically feel Superman -- No. Clark-- flinch. They both knew what he meant to say was what's your problem.
"I… Uhm, I kind of heard what J'onn said and …"
"Eavesdropping isn't very polite, Clark," and he made sure to emphasize his name, to emphasize his need to end this conversation right now and right here. Because he couldn't. Didn't. Not the end. Not the part where he would spill the words.
He loves you, Clark would say and he would sound cheery and happy and Bruce would just feel sick and his head was aching. Aching. To a point beyond return. No painkillers in the whole world could ease the pain. Nothing could. And what was the goddamn point of breathing, again? And...and...
"I didn't mean to! I just… I can't just turn off my hearing." It wasn't really an apology. Bruce knew because the conversation didn't end there. Didn't end in shame. Could never end in sorry and then nothing.
"You have proven to be rather selective in your hearing at times," he replied, hoping the anger sounded through more than the desperation, hoped he sounded firm and stern and in control of things and... Control. That was such alaughable concept. He could not control anything.
"Well! I, I just…" he could hear the sigh, imagine the crimson blush, the way he was squirming right now. Because people were predictable and he had this all figured out, all under control except that was the biggest, most pathetic lie of all. He wondered how it would feel to jump out of the plane now, to be consumed in the Earth's atmosphere, to be burned to the bone. To be anything but this.
Superman's voice sounded annoyed. "But that's not the point and you know it!"
"What is the point, Superman?" And he honestly didn't know. What was the point, to any of this? What was the point of years of training, of gadgets and tactics and knowing almost every language in this godforsaken world and being him? What's the point in installing tons of surveillance cameras in Wally's room, in hiding tracers in his suit if in the end, the outcome was still the same?
"The point is… that…" he didn't seem to sure, but Bruce – Batman – knew where this was leading.
"That, because Flash happened to think of me, I am suddenly too emotionally involved and I should back off, let you handle it?" He was too exhausted not to laugh, because that was what this all was, just a tasteless joke and he knew this would be turned into a game and he knew he couldn't let this be so personal but... But this was personal. Because this was Wally.
It stayed silent and Batman wished Superman would never open his mouth again. Ever. Lose his voice right now, right there, just because. Because.
"Actually… Yes."
Go fuck yourself. He didn't say it. Wanted to. But didn't. Back off and leave me alone. He wondered if it would be any use denying what Wally meant to him. He had done so for a very long time. A few more … hours, days, weeks… Forever? It couldn't hurt. Wouldn't hurt. Because he was Batman. And that... That should be important. One way or another.
"Bruce, please. We'll do this your way, okay? You know, be… rational about this." Batman did not like were this was going. At all. He wanted to smash the comm. link. Break it down. Destroy everything.
"I. Am. Fine. I can do this." He said it with so much conviction he could almost believe himself. He vaguely remembered the times when he did. The times where he thought his dark cape and armoured suit and thick, thick cave walls could protect him from a fear he couldn't name, the times where he believed he could not lose, not if he stayed ahead of everyone and so he did, but all of it was… Just so naïve. He still lost what he loved most. Every single time.
"Bruce! Stop that! You are not fine and, honestly, right now, I don't think you'll ever be again. Because, you… you…" fell in love with him was what would come next, but Batman cut him off.
"Flash just thought of someone, Superman," as unconvincing as that sounded. "He just happened to think of me. He probably thinks of all of us now. Wishing we were there, saving him." Save him.
"You can't do it, can you?" There was a laugh. A bitter one. He felt a shiver at the base of his spine. He didn't know when Clark had started laughing that way, but he was sure it wasn't before he had met him. "You just cannot be honest about this. You just cannot not lie to me."
"People always lie." It is only human. He didn't add. Could not. Should not.
"Flash doesn't." And it was a blow he took directly to his gut. Then there was the sigh. The whole this is not going the way it should sound and the voice was persistent. "He knew your name."
"So do you." He wanted to deflect, but knew he couldn't. He didn't want anyone to realise what it meant. His name. Wally knew his name. In the midst of what, no doubt, was hell, Wally still remembered his name. It shouldn't have made him feel as sick as it did.
"Yes, but... Bruce. Don't make this too hard on yourself. I'm not saying you should stand by idly and do nothing, but..."
But he had no idea. No idea at all. How hard it was. To lose. To keep losing. To always, always, always lose. To never gain, to never love, to be him, to survive, to not make it all personal, to have dreams about gunshots and mothers covered in blood and fathers who couldn't protect.
"I am the only one who can do this, Superman. I am the only one who can save Flash now. And I will."
A voice that wasn't his, but his entirely. He took out the comm. link before Superman could answer and watched it break between his thumb and his index finger.
The sound like the snapping of bones.
-- -- --
He didn't know. Didn't know where else to go. Didn't know where his feet had been leading him, except he had known all along. Except he knew everything and nothing.
He stared through the window of a little flat. Fifth floor. Wally's room.
He should go in. Except that he shouldn't.
He had to go in. Except that he couldn't.
He opened the window, still unlocked and swung himself inside. He hesitated with the light switch, not used to using it, not used to being like a burglar when he didn't have to be. He had the key.
Oh God, the key.
His stomach made a painful twist, migraine flashing through his head like lightning, the contents of his stomach making their way upwards, but he swallowed it back, harshly and he flicked on the light and –
The room was bathed in white light, as he closed his eyes against it, harsh like the sun, cold like winter. Wally's flat, so small, so fragile. He carefully stepped over the paper scattered around, the broken glass. He turned to the door.
A blur materialised in the room, a window opened. Wally had his phone pressed against his ear just as quickly. Took off only his cowl, not bothering with the rest of his costume. Dialled a number. Smiled. Laughed.
He slowly walked backwards, staring at the table.
Hopped on the table. Swung his legs like a child. Talked still.
"But Bruuuu~ce."
No, he mouthed silently. Shook his head, clenched his fists, fought against the burning behind his eyes. Knew the tears wouldn't fall. Knew there wasn't anything left. At all.
"'S'kay, really… I understand. And you can hold that sigh right there, Brucie-boy, for I know you're going to be all sarcastic about –"
The tranquillizer dart hit him from behind. Dropped his mobile phone. Green eyes panicking slightly. Green eyes.
He inhaled sharply.
A hand covering his mouth with a cloth. Inhaled more of the sedative. He kicked high, wailed his arms, struggled, fought. Always did. Never gave up. Somewhere in the process hit his attacker hard enough to have the grip released.
The bloodstain was disgustingly large. He stared at it, stared endlessly. Closed his eyes, but the image was still projected on his retina, memorised forever.
Fell to the ground. Tried to stand up, to run away, run to somewhere safe.
The knife flicked open, stabbed into his side. He screamed, loud, bled on his own carpet, bled all alone. The cloth on his mouth again.
He bit his lip until he drew blood. The pain the only sign he was still there.
And then he stopped fighting. He went limp and continued bleeding.
He stared into the broken surveillance tape.
The Joker laughed and waved at the camera. Broke it after.
The phone call had come afterwards. Message for Batman. Well, hello there, Batsie! Seems like I have your lover-boy. Let the game begin! The panic in his voice. The screaming, the losing of control, the realisation he would never gain it back. He had already lost.
The trail of blood told Batman that the Joker pulled him right through the front door. His hand trembled on the doorknob and that fact made him almost panic, but he breathed instead.
Inhaled and exhaled. Laid himself down on Wally's bed, simply because he could. Because it was so damn easy to pretend Wally's warmth was still there, lingering in the sheets, lingering in the house, even when it was destroyed and empty. When he closed his eyes he could feel him, see him and for a second, it was all he was holding onto.
A thread like silk, begging to be cut. But he clutched to it, helplessly, powerlessly, like a child.
He grabbed Wally's iPod from his night table and pushed in one earplug, leaving his comm. link in. He played the first song on it, the volume to the loudest. Turned the music so loud until he couldn't even think. The baseline became his heartbeat and the voice screaming something in a raspy voice about how to change the world ripped through his head, loud enough to make the thoughts vaporise before they could come into existance.
-- -- --
His fist collided with a strong-muscled chest and he felt the rib break. He retracted his hand in a fluid motion and launched his foot at exact the same spot. More snapping. More breaking.
Batman needed the destruction. The blood on his hands. His hands only. Because this was Batman. All he ever was, all he ever should be.
A shadow, a surprised gasp, broken ribs, bruises everywhere, blood splattered on the streets and then nothing. Just a few thugs tied up and the police arriving when everything was done. Then darkness. Justice. In a sense.
As soon as he watched the police do their job, because he waited, always, or at least as many times as he could, because he didn't trust them, not fully, his mind wanted more blood, more pain, more suffering.
If he had been slightly more insane than he already was, he would've opened a prison just for the sake of beating all the prisoners to a bloody pulp and returning them.
He turned around, judged the distance between the buildings, decided it was short enough to jump and did so. Disappeared into the night, as if he had never existed. He wasn't sure he did. He knew he existed, because this world was real, too cruelly so. He knew because his heart was beating, his muscles slightly aching, his feet moving, his hand dirtied by blood.
But it wasn't being alive. It wasn't surviving either. It wasn't not getting killed at all.
It was something. Something meaningless.
Today he loved Gotham for being filled with crime. Today, every punch felt like therapy. Today. Only lasted so long.
He kicked another nameless face into the dirt, blood on the pavement. No rain would wash it away. Nothing could ever wash away the sins. Plastered, carved. For eternity.
-- -- --
"Don't kill the messenger," an eerie voice chirped from the darkness.
Batman tensed, his fingers slightly tensing around the batarang he held before he threw it in the direction the voice had come from. There was no one screaming.
"Depends on what message he brings," he replied, searching the building with his eyes. I'll kill anyone right now, he didn't say. He pressed his back against the wall and slowly walked further.
"Ooh! But you're not going to like this one bit," the voice laughed in response.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Locate the voice.
The lights were out, the few that had been there in the first place. The concrete floor was wet at some places he had noted. It was an old, abandoned warehouse he was standing in and he tried not to concentrate on the stench. The moonlight created shadows. Boxes were piled up everywhere he looked, chains hanging from the ceiling. The dust lay so thickly on them he had to be careful not to touch anything and give his position away.
His foot touched something and he glanced down. He carefully stepped over the bottle of broken glass.
"Come, come, follow me," another laugh and a door swung open. Two batarangs followed soon, but there was no screaming. He waited, observing the door. He couldn't see quite everything, but it appeared safe.
"You have to follow," the voice said again, and he could have sworn it came from everywhere, from his very own mind. "You have to follow the light."
With batarang in hand, he slowly made his way to the door. He didn't push it open further, but simply slid in, scanning the little room. More boxes, more dust, more chains from the ceiling. A shadow. The moonlight created a spotlight for a table. A laptop placed upon it.
Carefully, he stepped towards it. Slowly, he reached out and --
He felt it coming before it was there, like a breath in the back of his neck, like a hunch, like the heat of an explosion already done. The voice. He turned around and launched a kick at the man's stomach, hard enough to kick make him cough before he pushed himself back up.
And laughed.
Something like anger, something he couldn't quite control ignited in his brain and he kicked again, harder. Placed his foot on his chest, shoving him upward the wall, watching him struggle. Helplessly. The man continued laughing.
"Did the Joker send you?"
A laugh. "Don't kill the messenger!" Laugh.
"Answer. The. Question," he snarled, eyes glaring.
The man laughed. Laughed still. Batman pressed his feet harder toward the wall, as if forgetting the man's chest was still between it, making him gasp for air, gasp in excruciating pain.
"Did the Joker send you?! What message do you bring?!" His leg trembled in control. How easy it would be to cut off his air-supply. Just a fast kick. Just a satisfying crunch.
"Yes, yes," the man gasped now, his voice hoarse from pain, but laughing still. "The message…" he pointed to the table behind Batman. He didn't flinch, nor turn around.
He opened his mouth to snarl another question, but then the man laughed, once, twice, loudly, gasped and tensed against Batman's boot. The walls echoed the laughter. The man went limp against his foot.
Figures. Even though Batman had realised the man was poisoned by Joker's Venom, he had thought he would at least have a little more time. He retracted his foot, the man falling lifelessly to the ground.
Slowly, he turned to the laptop on the table that looked like it was going to fall apart any second now. Flicked it open. A part of him told him he should only open it in the cave, to look more closely, but another – more important and irrational part – told him that was just stupid and he needed to know right now because this was about Wally. About his Wally.
The message clicked open by itself and Batman – No, he thought as the message revealed itself to be a video message and he saw Wally's slender, naked, bleeding form hanging from chains, in this moment he was very much Bruce.
Wally struggled against the chains, but it was off. It was slow and aching and his mask was off and there was blood all over his body. Bruce clenched his fist.
There was a laugh and then the Joker's face. A knife in his hand. "Well, hello there Batsie! " he chirped happily. On the mention of the name Wally whimpered and struggled harder, but still off. The cuts on his body weren't healed quite yet, some of them still bleeding. "Seems like I have captured the one and only Flash! You see, he isn't quite as fast as he thinks he is, isn't he? … Or maybe that had something to do with the sedative?" He found that tremendously funny. Bruce pressed a fist against his mouth, grateful for the lack of contents in his stomach. That laugh–
"What is it about him you like?" he continued, and laughed again. The knife traced the muscles on Wally's body. He struggled and whimpered and squirmed and bit his lips. "You sure like them young. Is this kid even out of college?" Another laugh. "But you understand, I can hardly have you corrupt our youth and turn them into people like you, without a sense of humour, can I now?"
Bruce bit his lip until he drew blood. His head hurt like it was going to explode.
"Well, now. How about I, say, re-educate the kid, while you try to force your humourless self to find me?" he laughed. "Let the game begin! And I have the feeling it's going to be a good one!"
Bruce flung the laptop close again.
In the distance, the clocks of Gotham bellowed a song into the dark night.
-- -- --
He had them meet in the Cave instead of the Watchtower, since it was easier that way, better. Especially since they would leave him alone sooner.
He showed them the tape, explained what had happened. When the laughter subsided in the Cave, the silence was painful.
When the words came, he wasn't surprised. He had expected Superman to say them, but Diana's carefully rehearsed, polite pep-talk starts in exactly the same, horrid way.
"Batman, everything will be –"
He caught the hand she had meant to place on his shoulder before she can, wrapped his fingers around her bracelet, hard, hoped it hurt, hoped it hurt like hell. In a second, he was on his feet, ignoring the way her blue eyes looked deeply wounded, the way everyone else is staring at him, how the words died in the air around them.
He won't accept them. He won't let it be said.
"Let me tell you one thing." His voice controlled, everything restrained, the way it always was, the way it always should be. His fingers trembled around her wrist. "It won't be okay until we find him. Flash won't be okay."
Diana stared at him, eyes blue, lip trembling, the perfect picture of hurt, sorrow, suffering.
"I only wanted to –" Her mind kicked into gear once more, anger taking over, like a child's. Muscles tensed.
"Don't."
Just don't. It was all he said, but it seemed to be enough. He let go of her wrist and her hand slumped back to the side of her body uselessly. He knew she wanted to yell, scream, but he also didn't care. He was tired, his head ached and all he wanted was to sleep while knowing Wally was safe and the only thing he was probably never going to do was sleep while not knowing Wally was alive for certain, let alone safe.
And it was all his fault. He was to blame for all this, for his own suffering. He had screwed up and Wally had to pay for it. It was his mistake and –
"We'll just give him whatever he asks for," Diana broke the silence once more. "If he took Flash as a hostage –"
Batman shook his head, wearily, willing her to shut up, just shut up. To understand, not assume.
"That's where you're wrong." The words like acid in his throat, the lack of denial like burning, burning right through his very essence, right through everything, reducing all to dark, useless ashes.
Diana went silent. The world went silent, silent like death. Fear like holding breaths. This second was eternity. This breath he inhaled was damnation.
"Flash is not a hostage."
His fist slowly clenched.
"His life is the stakes in the Joker's newest game."
-- -- --
Noooooot that much to say about this one, I guess. Except a huge thank you to xRae_Asakurax again for BETA'ing! Please review? The more action filled parts will start after this chapter, I guess XD Seems logical XD
Uuuuhm. I changed my summary but it still sucks XD
Hope you enjoyed!
-- Jazy.