Rating: T
Where else can I find this story? All five parts are on the first page of Part 5 of the original Young Justice Anon Meme on LiveJournal.
Hero
Masks, Part V
Chapter 8: Plop, Plop, Plop
When they get back, the TV is off and the house is silent. Conner's heart jumps into his throat. "Ba—Bruce Wayne, is he…?" he can't bear to finish the thought.
Mr. Kent, who's back in clean clothes, is the one that answers. "He's alive, for now; they took him to Gotham General."
Artemis adds, "Superman got him breathing—or laughing at least."
"And the Joker?" Wally asks.
"He got away," Mr. Kent answers through gritted teeth. Mr. Kent looks exhausted and pale. Suddenly, Conner remembers that Batman is Mr. Kent's friend, or at least, Bruce Wayne is.
In the night though, when he can't sleep, he does get out of his bed as quietly as he can, and then he does run all the way to Gotham General. Superboy's been working with Batman for years now, and he knows enough of stealth, he thinks, to get to see Bruce Wayne without anyone noticing. But it turns out, he doesn't need stealth, because Robin calls him on the comlink as he gets near Gotham. Robin just gives him a short instruction: "Meet me in front of the hospital's main entrance. Come in civies."
Richard Grayson is the one waiting for him in front of the hospital. Now, he doesn't know how he managed to miss the resemblance when he met Dick at the Planet, and then he remembers. Oh. At the Planet, Dick had said one day they'd laugh. He doesn't feel like laughing now, and from the looks of it, neither does Dick.
"Wally said you figured it out."
Conner nods.
"How?"
"The way Superman said his name."
Dick nods. "That's a new one." The boy—and without his bright costume and cocky smile, Dick looks so much smaller—looks absolutely exhausted.
Dick leads Conner into the hospital. There are police officers stationed outside Bruce Wayne's room. A fat one out of uniform bars the door.
"It's ok, Detective Bullock," Dick says, "this is Conner Jones. He's a friend of mine. A friend of Bruce's."
The fat cop, Bullock, looks at Conner, as if though appraising him, but then steps aside and lets them in. There are no flowers in the room—of course, Poison Ivy—leaving it bare and sterile. An old man is standing vigil. Conner recognizes him as the old man who made his birthday cake and bullied Batman into eating. He didn't remember him being quite so old, but he'd been wearing a domino mask then, and maybe it had just been hiding the wrinkles around his eyes.
Batman—Bruce Wayne is lying in the bed. He's tethered to ten machines, things going in an out of him, and they have him in a thick vest that expands and contracts rhythmically. He doesn't look like Batman.
He looks up at Robin.
"He's going to be OK, right?"
Robin's eyes—they're blue—are swimming. "I… they… they don't know. No one's ever survived Joker Venom without receiving the antidote; people who don't get it in time usually don't make it. The only reason Bruce is alive is because Superman wouldn't let him die—but by the time they got him her, the toxin had already metabolized the toxin and the antidote wasn't any good. We don't know what kind of damage Joker Venom does beyond causing the victim to laugh themselves to death. They've got him on dialysis and muscle relaxants so he doesn't keep laughing." Robin sinks into a chair and buries his face in his hands. "Right now, he can't even breathe by himself—that's what that vest is—it's like an iron lung."
"Biphasic cuirass ventilation," Conner says automatically in what Wally has dubbed his Wikipedia voice.
Robin nods.
Conner looks at Batman. Batman has never exactly had a tan, but now for the first time, Conner notices how pale he is. Without the Batsuit he's less imposing, smaller, frail. He thinks back to what he thought about Bruce Wayne before he knew he Bruce Wayne was Batman. He'd thought he was a jerk; but now he understands why he was so angry with Mr. Kent. Mr. Kent had published the information Superman had stolen from Batman—from Bruce Wayne. And then, the LexCorp problem had put so much pressure on Batman's company and his alter ego. Conner remembers overhearing Alfred tell Mr. Kent over the phone that the increase in business was impinging on Mr. Wayne's nighttime activities. He'd thought that had meant his activities as a playboy; now he realizes that he'd meant his activities as Batman; Batman protected Gotham and ran the Justice League while Bruce Wayne ran around Gotham and ran a multi-billion dollar conglomerate empire. And he was only human.
Joker wouldn't have gotten the upper hand if Batman hadn't been so exhausted and sick. All because Superman wanted to get Lex Luthor behind bars. Conner would rather have Lex Luthor running free than have Bruce Wayne lying in this hospital bed. He hates Superman, except, of course, that Superman saved Batman's life just now.
"Have they found the Joker?"
"No."
"Wasn't he in Arkham?"
"He was supposed to be," Robin answers. Gordon's looking into it. I've already hacked into Arkham's records—he was there this morning and he was supposed to be on some pretty hardcore antipsychotics that left him in a near catatonic state."
"So, someone switched his meds?"
"Yeah. They didn't change the prescription."
"It couldn't have been an accident," Conner says.
Robin laughs. "No. Not with the Joker. He's one of the highest security patients."
"So it was intentional."
"That's the theory. In the past, Joker and Harley have bribed people in Arkham to facilitate his escapes… but Joker was catatonic and Harley was angry with him over something he'd done to Poison Ivy."
"But wait," Conner says, "She was with him. She wasn't angry…"
"She was angry before he broke out, not after. Harley's particular brand of insanity means that she can't stay angry at the Joker whenever they're in the same room. Once, he tried to spray acid on her face, and then beat her to a pulp and threw her off a moving train. She was in a full-body cast, didn't hear from him for two years, helped Batman with a bunch of profiling, got declared sane, and then, he showed up on her doorstep with some dead roses and in fifteen minutes they were back at the Hahacienda making whoopee. But she'd been ranting about him earlier today—she was livid until he showed up to break her out."
"Outside job."
"It would appear so."
Conner sits down and locks his eyes on Robin's. "You must be thinking what I'm thinking…"
"That Lex Luthor's threatened Bruce Wayne…"
"He has the means and the motive. He's already tried to get rid of Bruce Wayne once before, and now, more than ever, he has a reason to do it; he thinks Bruce Wayne is responsible for Mr. Kent publishing the article, and beyond that, his company's bleeding business. The Clown didn't want money. He went straight for Bruce Wayne."
Robin sighs. "That was Superman's theory too."
"Maybe Superman's not as stupid as we thought."
"Or maybe Superman's obsessed with Luthor. There's no proof."
Conner thinks back to everything he knows about Luthor and wonders if they really need proof. There's no doubt Luthor would do it and could do it. This, after all, is the only man who has ever made Superman bleed.
His heart skips a beat.
He doesn't know how he missed that detail. Doesn't know how Batman missed that detail.
"What's wrong?" Robin asks. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."
"Lex Luthor is the only man who's ever made Superman bleed," Conner says slowly.
"Yeah. Him and Darkseid."
Conner notices the old man—maybe this is Alfred?—has his eyes on him. But they're tired and old and completely inscrutable.
It's hard for Conner to breathe. He gets up. "I… I have to go. Call me when he gets up?"
But he doesn't wait for an answer. He runs to Metropolis, faster than he's ever run before, to talk to the only man who has ever made Superman bleed.
It's the middle of the night and well past visiting hours, but Conner plays the "Son of Superman" card, so the weary night guard agrees to ask Luthor if he's willing to talk to Superboy. They tell him ten minutes later that Luthor will see him, but it's not until another twenty minutes have elapsed that they bring Luthor to him, and it's pretty clear Luthor was asleep. It doesn't make the man less terrifying, and Conner's hairs stand up as he walks into the room and sits down across the desk from him.
"I'll admit, Superboy," Luthor says calmly, "after our last meeting, I didn't think I'd ever see you again." Conner doesn't dignify that with an answer, so Luthor continues. "It's the middle of the night. What was so urgent?"
"You hired someone at Arkham to switch the Joker's meds and set him after Wayne."
Luthor rolls his eyes. "I don't have to listen to this. Especially not without my lawyer. If the League wants to level baseless accusations at me, they can do so during normal business hours when my lawyers are present, and not before."
"This isn't the League. This is me. And it's not a baseless accusation."
"I don't work with the Clown. No one in their right mind would. And I can promise you, Superboy, there's absolutely no proof of anything you're accusing me of, so if that's all, I do think I'll get back to my beauty sleep."
"I know it was you. Clark Kent's protected and hard to get to, and your company's losing business like a hemophiliac bleeding out. This stunt will give you time and vengeance.
"But that could indeed wait 'til morning. It's not really why I'm here."
"Ah, then do pray tell, what brings you here to my humble abode of the moment at this ungodly hour?"
"You're the only man who's ever made Superman bleed," Conner states.
Luthor smiles like a shark. "It's not a secret. The Alien bleeds red."
"You lied to me."
Luthor's eyebrow goes up and he crosses his arms. "Oh?"
"You asked me if I was Superman's bastard. You knew exactly what I am!"
"Is that so?"
"Yes. Because you're the only person to have made Superman bleed. No one else has access to his genetic material."
Luthor leans back. Then he laughs and snorts out of his nose. "Alright. There's no law against cloning aliens, so I'll admit it. I hired Desmond to clone me a Superman. And look at you Kr, almost as good as the real thing. Not quite, of course. You're weaker than he is, slower. Red sunlight drains you faster, and kryptonite hurts you longer. And of course, you can't fly. But a good-enough copy, all things considered."
Conner swallows hard. "All things considered?"
"Oh, I spent years trying to clone Superman from those precious few drops I drew. LexCorp engineers spent billions of my money trying and failing. All those, poor malformed monstrosities we had to put out of their non-sentient misery. The best we got was a horrible monster we ended up calling Bizarro. It started out looking enough like Superman. And like Superman it was faster than a speeding bullet, and more powerful than a locomotive, and it could fly. It could talk, at the beginning. It was clever. But then, after three months clone degeneration began to set in and its tissues began to fall apart. Its mind went first, which created quite a problem, because we ended up with a crumbling creature with the intellectual capacity of a three year old and Superman's powers. The final fight with Superman ended it. Nothing else came even close.
"I still have photographs of the creatures, if you'd like to see your older brothers."
Conner doesn't answer. He's having trouble breathing, and it's only the fact that he's x-rayed Luthor that lets him know the man hasn't got any kryptonite on him.
"Then, I heard about Dr. Desmond and his Washington-based cloning lab and his wonderful chimeras. He'd had some excellent successes making super powered creatures, so I gave him the last bit of Superman's DNA and half a billion dollars and he made me my little weapon. And he did it. I don't know how, but he stabilized Superman's DNA and made my weapon. A pity the League stole it, but at least it sends shivers up Superman's spine, and given that it couldn't take Superman in a fight, I'm not sure it was such a loss after all."
Conner has a feeling that he should want to punch Luthor. He's stronger than Luthor. Luthor doesn't have any kryptonite or red sunlight lamps. But that doesn't keep his heart from racing, pumping adrenalin and terror in his veins. Suddenly, Conner is very, very sorry that he came to see Luthor.
As if sensing the quickening of his heart, Luthor leans forward, and Conner instinctively recoils several feet away from him.
"What do you think Superman would say if he knew? Hmm? If he knew that I paid five hundred million dollars to have Desmond make you so I could have you kill him?
"Or, do you think he knows, and that's why you make his skin crawl? Why, when red kryptonite relieved him of his inhibitions, his first thought was to destroy you like the sin against nature that you are?"
"You're not going to get away with this," Conner says, too bound up in terror, too busy trying to keep above the rising tide of panic, to realize how pathetic he sounds.
Luthor lets out a resounding belly laugh. "Oh really? What, am I a Saturday morning cartoon villain now? Or are you angry with me for giving you life? I made you. You belong to me. That's why Superman hates you. You're nothing but a thing; a pale imitation and mockery of the original. Certainly, you're not human, but you're not even an alien. You're just the mild success of a deranged man who went on to turn himself into Blockbuster. You're not alive. You're not a person. Just a broken toy who serves no purpose whatsoever, a collection of bits and pieces strung together by science; Frankenstein's monster."
Conner thinks he could cry, except he knows he can't, can't let himself cry in front of Lex Luthor, even as Luthor laughs at him.
"Do you think the boys who broke you out of Cadmus don't know this? Do you think they're your friends? More likely they're just pretending, using you until you begin to break down too. I'll have to give Desmond this; I had thought you'd degenerate sooner.
"Do you want to hear how it happened to Bizarro? First, well first his brain began to rot. He forgot his name and purpose, but only just enough. 'Me am Superman'. The stupid thing: caught cops for speeding while they were engaging in a high speed police chase. Nearly killed a man for 'wrestling' with a woman. Tried to keep Lois Lane safe by keeping her hidden away, but forgot to feed her. Then his skin started to rot and fall of in chunks. It lost its color and fell, plop, plop, plop in bits and pieces. His teeth fell out, one by one, and still he continued to grin his stupid toothless grin. 'Me am Superman. Me am love Lois. Me am save boat. Me heat vision am stop oil spill. Why boat people am screaming?' His liver began to fail and his eyes turned yellow. Until all it took was a single punch from Superman and the thing died and went back to Hell, where it belonged.
"So, where do you think you'll begin to fail first? Hmm? Personally, I think the powers will go first. You're not as strong as Bizarro was. Though, it wouldn't be surprising if the central nervous system began to fail first. Maybe you'll go blind. Maybe you'll go stupid. 'Me am Superboy. Me am love Martian girl. Me hug her really hard with all my strength. Me keep her warm with heat vision.'
"And I think it'll hurt. Bizarro was in pain. So much pain. Not that he could understand. But don't worry, Superboy, because you're such a poor weapon, I'm sure Superman will still be around to put you out of your misery when you need it. Or maybe your little friends could do it for you. All it would take would be a well-placed punch at the right time. Kid Flash could probably work up enough momentum. Or a kryptonite arrow. A kryptonite Batarang. You know, Batman always keeps kryptonite on him. Maybe he'll do it. Maybe he'll be the one to put you to sleep."
"Enough!" a strong voice yells out. Conner jumps up and turns around. It's Mr. Kent at the door, and he looks livid. "That's enough. Superboy, don't listen to a word he says. He's a mad dog." The guards come in after Mr. Kent and take Lex Luthor away. Conner sort of can't move. Breathing is still hard. His throat hurts and his eyes are swimming.
Mr. Kent kneels down in front of him. "Superboy, listen to me, it's OK, he's gone now."
Conner's lips tremble, and the tears begin to fall down his cheeks. "He made me," he says quietly. "Lex Luthor made me, as a weapon, to kill Superman. And then he… he…" Conner can't finish the sentence. "He lied to me. He said, said I was Superman's bastard, when he knew, knew full well what I was, because he made me. Superman knew what I was. A monster. That's why he hates me."
Mr. Kent cups Conner's face. "No, no, of course not Superboy. Superman doesn't hate you. He just… didn't know how to react."
"He said I was going to fall apart. That my skin would fall off! Plop, plop, plop."
"He can't know that. He said it himself—he doesn't know how Desmond did it. Bizarro lasted only three months—you've been around for years. It's going to be fine."
"He… he… said I'd hurt M'gann."
"And Luthor's said Superman would destroy the Earth. He's the monster. Not you. And I can prove it. Batman's a smart guy. Maybe the smartest guy in the world. And he's an excellent judge of character, right? He has to be, to be the leader of the Justice League. The most powerful people in the world trust him completely. And he trusts you, right? Do you think, for a second, that Batman would let you anywhere near Robin if he thought you were a monster?"
Conner just sobs. Mr. Kent frowns. He seems to realize words have failed him. So he just takes Conner in his arms and holds him tight. "Luther's the monster," he says. "He likes hurting people for fun. You're not a monster. You risk your life every day, to help people and to help your friends. You're a hero. Better yet, you're a charming boy. My parents love you. And if Superman had known what I know now, I promise you Superboy, things would have been very different."
M'gann and the bioship are waiting outside.
Hello! Conner! He wants to slap his head. Of course Clark Kent wouldn't be able to show up in Metropolis that quickly without M'gann's bioship. Conner can't believe he didn't realize it sooner, and he's so angry with himself that it almost makes him cry, which at this point isn't hard because his eyes are still teary and red and his throat still hurts, and it's hard to speak.
He doesn't really want M'gann to see him like this. Doesn't want to appear weak in front of her, but more than that, he just doesn't want to have to explain to her what Luthor told him. Doesn't want to have to tell her that he's just a weapon created by Lex Luthor from Superman's stolen DNA for the sole purpose of destroying Superman because Luthor's a sick fuck. More than anything, he doesn't want to tell her about the other failed clones, or about Bizarro, or about how he's probably going to fall to pieces one day.
And then, M'gann just looks at him, her eyes are so full of love and sadness, and he stumbles away from Mr. Kent and into her, digs in face into her neck, buries it into her red hair, and begins to sob again in earnest. And she just holds him tightly and strokes his hair.
Mr. Kent helps them into the bioship. M'gann has to let him go, just for a second so she can give the ship instructions, but then she sits down and he sinks at her feet with his head in her lap as she strokes his hair.
The bioship lands on the terrace of Bruce Wayne's penthouse. M'gann and Mr. Kent help him out and into Bruce Wayne's bed, and Conner can't help but feel useless, because he's supposed to be protecting Mr. Kent, not the other way around.
Mr. Kent brings him a glass of warm milk and a slice of chocolate cake, probably only stored in the pantry because it's Batman's pantry, and Batman is always prepared for everything. Conner takes a drink and a bite, but he's got no appetite, and Mr. Kent takes it away, and M'gann just lies in bed with him, planting soft kisses on him and stroking his hair until he falls asleep.
He wakes up screaming, thrashing about, with both M'gann and Mr. Kent struggling to restrain him. His nightmare—Cadmus—gives way to reality and he blanches at the thought that he could have hurt M'gann. Luthor said he would.
He resolves not to sleep, perhaps never again, because he's not sure he'll ever have another night's sleep without a nightmare like that. But M'gann can tell what he's thinking, not even, he thinks, because she's a telepath, but because she knows him so well.
[That's not going to work, Conner,] she tells him silently, [you have to sleep sometimes.]
[No I don't. Maybe. Maybe Kryptonians don't need to sleep.]
[Kryptonians need to sleep and dream, just like humans and Martians and all creatures with souls,] M'gann answers. She runs her hands along the lines of his jaw and cups his chin, looking into his eyes. [And you can't let Luthor hurt you. He's a wicked man. If you let him hurt you, that gives him power over you. He doesn't deserve it.]
She presses her lips to his, softly. [This is something Martians do,] she lets him know. [If you want to stop it at any time, you can.] And she kisses him more deeply. He returns the kiss. As she presses against him, he can feel her opening up—the feeling doesn't make any sense, except it feels right. It's like her skin is stripped away and then all there is is her-the very essence of what makes M'gann M'gann, and she feels like sunshine and chocolate and laughter and brisk summer breezes, and M'gann. He feels himself doing it to, though he has not idea how it's happening, only that it feels wonderful and beautiful and exciting, and now he can't even remember why he was upset, doesn't even understand how he could be upset, when he's blending into M'gann and M'gann is blending into him, until, for an instant of perfect clarity, they're one soul.
When it's over, he feels a sweet exhaustion heavier than any he's ever felt before. It carries him into oblivion, and at least for that night, he's at peace with himself and the universe. And if he dreams at all, he dreams of M'gann and sunshine and summer breezes.
Author's Notes: Lex sure is a terrible person, isn't he? As you know if you've read my previous A/Ns, I started this story long before Lex Luthor appeared on the show. I'm struck now by how much more passionate and volatile he is in this story than he is in the show and in my other fanfics that try to more accurately portray YJ's take on the character.
I'm also struck by the fact that this chapter does not end on any kind of cliff-hanger. Looking back at it, I wonder if that's anti-climactic. or if a breather is good.