Doll House – 8 Black.
Have a thing.
…
…
"Where is the brat?" Hal muttered for what felt like the hundredth time. Sure the comment had come in different variations previously, kinder terminology being used for the 'brat' when his search first began. As the search stretched on the language became a little less family friendly, but Hal was yet to break out any swears. There was still time left for that.
The limited information Bats had given him before sending him into Central City to locate Noire wasn't helping matters. Hal counted himself lucky that the kid wasn't a speedster or teleporter – he could hover but no faster than he could run so Hal was confident in his assumption that Noire would be lurking somewhere in Central City.
Still the kid was notorious for slipping away unseen, he was a literal shadow at times. The only person better at vanishing into small dark spaces was Batman and he did it with no superpowers at all. Then again Hal's poor track record with finding a Bat that didn't want to be found wasn't exactly encouraging him.
After having scanned through the familiar streets of Central City for some time, Hal cut off his ring's power and lifted himself up above the city. From the sky the city seemed impossibly darker, the small flickering lights not doing much to help his situation. If Noire wanted to disappear, night was the best time to do it.
Part of Hal, a loud and rebellious part of him said he ought to leave the kid to his teenaged hissy fits – let him lurk and brood until he was as depressing as Spooky was. That section of his mind was the most vocal and the one Hal frequently spoke with, but it was the smaller, quieter voice in the back of his mind that Hal most often acted on, and right now it was worried. Noire was still just a kid, a stupid reckless kid with a messed up aging mechanic.
And right now, he was a kid without a parent.
Noire for all his bravado and bitter comments was probably beginning to feel that loneliness by now. After all, this was the same kid that had at one point required Barry to sit with him until he fell asleep and even accepted Hal's presence for the light his ring provided when Barry absolutely could not be there. Hal couldn't say they were his fondest memories; Noire did have a terrible habit of kicking him when he thought that Hal assumed he was asleep. Little shit.
But none the less, Barry's exhausted face lighting up in utter delight when he came home to see Noire fast asleep with Hal by his side was enough to keep the Lantern from childishly taking revenge on the spiteful boy. That and a few other things but they were thoughts pushed to the back of Hal's mind and he had no intention of revisiting them tonight or any other night.
It was nothing Hal couldn't fly off.
"Come on kid." Hal muttered, gaze sweeping over the city once again. "Where are you hiding?"
Bats had instructed him to check the local community college that Noire frequented for classes, hoping to catch the kid lurking around after hours just so he didn't have to go home. When the ring found no signs of a creature matching Noire's genetic make up – which was easily identifiable at close range – Hal had to try different locations that Batman had rattled off for him.
Hal had flown over various construction areas, places Noire would sometimes lend his hand at hard labor on the off chance he could make a few dollars. Hal still remembered when he first began these little errands, when he was smaller he'd done the traditional children jobs – mowing lawns, helping elder citizens with household chores, cleaning cars, fetching groceries and the like. Barry had been positively glowing with parental pride as he watched the boy help the community – sometimes Hal thought Barry forgot that he was not Noire's father, but he dared not ruin the illusion.
It was not in his nature to pry and Hal did all he could not to come across as calculating and callous as Batman did – but even he had to take a step back from time to time and really look at Barry's behavior. To the speedster it must have seemed like he'd actually raised Noire from childhood and while that was technically true – they'd only been living under the same roof for nearly a year. Noire aged quickly, the process slowing the older he got – Barry only got maybe three months with Noire as a child.
In a way that was a relief, it bypassed a lot of the tantrums a child would have but Noire had yet to fully shake the feeling of a cranky teenager as he neared his adult body. Hal still remembered the panic Barry had flown into when he thought Noire would age too rapidly and die before he'd even had a full two years of life with Barry. It had been a concern at first – if Noire kept aging as quickly as he had been he wouldn't have made five years before dying of old age.
Of course Batman was always there to pull the metaphorical pin on Barry's panic. He had a fairly solid theory on how Noire would age. While there were some holes in it, he got most of it right and the knowledge that Noire would most likely outlive his guardian – as every child should according to Barry – helped to settle the whole situation. During the entire ordeal, Noire hadn't seemed worried in the slightest. As if death was just another part of his day, although in the early days Noire didn't seem to care about much so it was difficult to tell if the idea had really bothered him or not.
Hal couldn't help but feel a little frustrated – Barry could have just taken his word for it instead of the Bat's. Okay, sure – he didn't have any data or theories compiled with god damn flow charts – but he knew!
Hal knew Norie would be fine because that's just the type of creature he was – but he couldn't argue that point with Barry without going off into a spiel about how he knew that. Granted he had about six separate lies he could have picked from that were all perfectly believable and explained everything in a neat little bow – Hal just didn't fancy lying to Barry when he could help it.
As superheroes there did tend to be a common theme of deceit among them no matter what they did – secret identities being the most prominent of these necessary lies. Hal was much more comfortable knowing his teammates real names now days, but it hadn't always been like that.
Still perhaps Barry could be Noire's surrogate father – the kid had never had a real father to begin with. It was one of those rare occasions where the father had not died, or just up and bolted – Noire had not technically been born and there had never been a father. Just a creator that he so happened to name mother. That always seemed odd to Hal – with how young their 'mother' had been. Hal knew that both her boys would have outgrown her by now – she would have liked to see them all grown up.
Just like any of their parents would, Hal liked to think that his father would be proud of the man he became. Maybe a little reckless if one was to believe Batman's lectures – but a good man all the same.
A good man that was not about to leave some lost child out on his own for another night – no matter how much of a brat the kid was.
"Alright Noire." Hal muttered under his breath, bringing his ring up watching at the familiar green hue glinted almost mischievously. Hal had not yet ruled out the possibility of the rings having their own little quirks just yet. "If you're not at home, and you're not at work or school – you only have one hiding place left."
He didn't want to go, but Hal planned to have a stern word with the brat about running off without any way of contacting him. Hal was no Batman but he was fairly confident in his own lecture skills when the time arose. So with a small, reluctant smile, Hal set off towards Central City's borders. With a clear idea where he was going and a certainty that the kid would be there, Hal made short work of the travel across the city – there was no traffic in the sky after all, really helped things along.
When the small grassy patch of land came into sight, Hal wasted no time setting himself down back on the earth and with a quick look to make sure no one was watching, stripped himself of his Lantern uniform back down into the civilian clothes his ring covered over. Noire might hate his face, but he hated the uniform even more and the last thing Hal needed was for the kid to lash out at him for offending his eyes with the green. Hal quite liked his uniform and having Noire constantly refer to it as a 'costume' was one of the many things the kid liked to say just to grate on his nerves.
As the now powered down Lantern passed through the rusty gates surrounding one of the smaller cemeteries in the city, he couldn't help but grimace at just how run down the place was. Some of the older graves that no longer had visitors were left to suffer under the rapid growth of moss and grass. A few were even cracked in places where the plant life took quick advantage of any weakness to grow out of. It was just a place in need of an extensive renovation. Even the newer graves didn't look very impressive, but in a way this was a place made for quiet rest. The people placed here rarely had living relatives and it was uncommon for anyone to visit – which is why when Lacie died, Batman had suggested it.
There had been quite the argument over the whole thing. After all those that had known Lacie before her passing argued she should be buried where she was born – far, far away from Central City. But it mattered very little, the stone slab sitting in this cemetery dedicated to the girl was just that – a stone. There was no body, after the rubble had been cleared they never successfully found her remains, at least nothing they could put into a casket. So under the ground her tombstone was place upon was nothing but empty soil.
Ultimately the tomb had been placed in this location for one reason alone – Central City was the place her children had chosen to live in. They might have been created in Gotham – but Central City was home and where her boys were – Lacie ought to be as well.
Which is why Hal wasn't surprised in the slightest when he saw Noire curled up against the familiar white stone. The boy looked like he'd tried to properly curl in on himself, legs pulled up to his chin with his arms wound around them to keep them steady, but somewhere down the line he must have dozed off and his grip failed him. Rather than toppling over however, Noire's body had simply gone lax against the stone as if it was a comfort to him while he slept.
In all honesty Hal couldn't decide between provocative the kid or sitting down next to him and letting him continue to sleep. Neither would be a wise choice – he still had work to do and finding Noire was only step one. All the same he felt a small wave of relief when he saw the kid was unharmed and he hoped to see Barry in the same state.
Letting a small sigh slip out, Hal approached the sleeping boy with his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. Noire looked much less unfriendly when he slept, less like he was seconds away from trying to bite Hal for standing too close. But Hal couldn't claim the kid looked calm when asleep, rather his face looked a little bit restless and uneasy. He'd heard people say that when sleeping people would relax and appear younger, but he didn't see any of that tranquility on Noire's sleeping face. He looked terrified to Hal and he wasn't sure if fear was a better alternative to sadness.
"Come on kiddo." Hal murmured as he gradually eased down into a crouch in front of Noire. "Time to get up." He was bold enough to reach forward and pat Noire's cheek maybe a tad too roughly.
The resulting groan and shift of Noire's shoulders got a laugh out of Hal, it was like stirring a grumpy cat. It took a bit more coaxing before Noire's eye opened and for just a moment Hal was thrown off guard. The kid didn't have his contacts in, his red eyes did sometimes startle even Hal. The cemetery setting and dim lighting added to the illusion and for just a moment Noire looked like a ghost sleeping beside his own grave. Not a thought Hal would share with the kid.
"Jordan…?" Noire was still groggy but when he uttered Hal's name there was a distinct tone of distaste. Well at least that was familiar.
"The one and only, up you get kid." Knowing the boy was still half out of it Hal reached down to grab him by the shoulder and help ease the younger man back onto two unsteady legs.
"What are you doing here?"
"What no hello?" Hal asked, feigning hurt. "Even after I searched up and down Central City for you – how cruel."
There was a moment of silence as Noire tried to shake off his doziness and Hal had to quash the urge to ask just how long Noire had been sleeping there. It was a slow process but gradually Noire caught up with his surroundings, turned to look in Hal's direction with a suspicious expression.
"Barry sent you?" He asked slowly, a weariness in his tone that almost got Hal to fib. It wouldn't be the first time Barry asked Hal to help him find Noire. When he was still young the kid did tend to vanish without warning.
"Not quite. Batman actually." Then like any kid that knew they were in for it, Noire tensed and groaned at the mention of Batman. Oh sure, when Hal got called in by Barry for help Noire couldn't care less but if it was Batman that was looking for him – it suddenly became a problem. Hal was feeling a little unappreciated here.
"Where is Barry?"
Hal was a little surprised by Noire's question. The tenseness in his shoulders remained as he spoke and Hal realized that Norie might not be so worried about getting scolded. Slowly, as if he was fighting off a headache, Noire began to apply pressure to his temples, eyebrows furrowing together tightly as he tried to focus.
"He…I went back to the house." Noire began slowly, as if piecing together a memory he'd accidentally shattered. "We had a fight, so I left to cool off – but when I tried to go back, I couldn't get the doors open. I thought he locked me out, thought he was still angry – but even when I tried to hidden key he thinks I don't know about – it didn't unlock."
With every piece of the memory Noire put back together, the boy's words began to fall out of his mouth quicker, becoming mashed together in a hurried mess. This was what Noire sounded like when he began to panic, Hal realized with a jolt of alarm.
"I tried hitting it – I tried breaking it, nothing. I couldn't get in. The windows, the back door – all of it was impossible to get through. Even the chimney was closed off. We never…Barry never shuts that damn thing. It gets so cold because of the draft, but he never shuts that stupid chimney. What if he's not coming back? What if Barry doesn't want-"
"Aright, alright, I get it." Hal tried to console the kid as his frantic words turned into a tremble in his body, probing fingers becoming more like claws against his temples as he began to panic. Gently he grabbed hold of Noire's shoulders, momentarily pausing to gradually pull his hands away from his head before the kid unintentionally scratched himself.
"I get it Noire. It'll be okay, Spooky is already looking for Barry – relax."
Then much to Hal's shock, Noire slumped against him, grabbing fist fulls of his shirt as he sought out some sort of comfort. The kid must have been in a bad place to come to him for that comfort.
"I said horrible things to him." An understanding settled over Hal as he listened to Noire's smile voice. They'd had an argument before Barry went missing, no doubt they'd both said things they hadn't really meant – that's just how people fought. "I didn't…I didn't mean to."
"I know kid." It wasn't just empty words Hal was dishing out to Noire, he really did understand. Barry might have taken to the pedantic father roll more quickly than anyone could anticipate – but Noire had gotten attached to Barry even faster than that. Hal always knew, with no doubt in his mind, that to Noire – Barry was the single most important person in the world. Perhaps rivaled only by his own brother.
It was surprisingly easy to fall into a comforting tone with the boy. Hal lifted on hand to smooth back Noire's hair and even though the kid would probably deny ever turning to Hal for comfort, he hugged tighter to the Lantern's body.
Despite all of Noire's bitterness – Hal didn't dislike him and seeing any kid on the verge of tears was unacceptable. Hal just wished that Noire would eventually ease off on his aversion towards him one day in return.
"Tell anyone and I'll kill you – I swear I will." Ah – there was the response Hal knew best from the kid. Noire muttered even as he pressed his face into the warmth of Hal's shirt.
"I believe you." Hal mused, teasing Noire a little bit but not daring to push him too far with how terrified he currently was.
Hal glanced back towards Lacie's tombstone and couldn't decide if he felt judged by it or not. Here he was comforting her son and he still felt like he was doing inadequately – perhaps Hal thought Laice expected too much of him.
"Why did you come back here?" Hal asked after a moment of quiet consideration. "When you couldn't get in the house – why did you come here?"
"Didn't know where else to go. I wanted to see her." Noire's mumble was muffled almost to the point of being inaudible but Hal caught the thickness in his voice. Noire really was still such a brat – so easy to get him to cry. Unwilling to drag a sniffling child anywhere, Hal resigned himself to simply soothing Noire until he was ready to go.
It was such a childish thing to do. Even now Noire ran to his mother when he was scared or hurting.
"I know kiddo." Murmuring the comforting words to Noire, Hal squeezed the younger man's shoulders gently. I miss her too, was on the tip of his tongue but that was a story for when Noire was older. When they were both ready to hear it.
…
…
Barry was pretty sure he was sleeping. Fairly sure that he must still be out cold after that tumble from the window – but despite knowing this the rest of his dreaming self was adamant that this was very real. Caught between the two Barry had little hope of coming to a conclusion or waking up any time soon, and so he just continued to dream. His dreams consisting of memories, only making it harder to distinguish between being awake and asleep.
"Noire what are you doing down there?" It was a sweltering hot Summer day the first time Barry found Noire laying flat against the grass of their front yard – eyes fixed on the sun hanging lazily overhead.
In truth Barry had been worried Noire's eyes might be burning – the kid hardly ate, didn't sleep much and generally didn't require the same treatment as a human but even his eyes had to hurt a bit looking at the sun, right?
"Do you think that the moon is lonely?" Noire was still so small back then, he'd only just gotten use to Barry being around and it was still very testy waters they'd been treading. In those early days Barry had been thrilled whenever Noire would speak with him, even if it was only about menial things like the weather – but occasionally he would throw out something odd like this.
Despite the question being unexpected, it was not unusual in the slightest. Noire was at that age – physically at least – where he would begin to wonder about those strange little things. This wasn't even a question that Barry had never heard before, it seemed like at one point or another every child wondered if the moon felt like it got the short end of the deal with it's and the sun's set up.
In some ways it made perfect sense. Night was a time associated with the darker feelings, things like fear and loneliness were common in the dark of the night. While the sun was associated with warmth and light – all the positive things of the day to come. Games to play, friends to meet – a childhood to have.
"Not at all." Barry answered easily, plonking himself down on the grass next to his mildly surprised looking ward.
Occasionally Barry had to fight to keep up the appearance of a confident, self-assured adult. When he was a child adults always seemed to speak with this certainty that he now found similarly in the way Bats spoke – Barry was nervous that he wouldn't pull it off like the adults of his childhood had. As much as their confidence had frustrated him from time to time, there was comfort in it. Knowing that at least someone had the answers or could find them if Barry didn't. It did not come as naturally as he'd expected it would now that he was the adult – but Noire didn't seem to notice in the slightest.
"How can you be so sure?" His eyes had been so large when he looked at Barry on that day. A child looking to an adult they trusted for some sort of worldly wisdom. Barry could have told Noire he knew the moon personally and there was every chance the kid would believe him. The thought brought about a swell of amusement in Barry's chest and he felt his face warm into a smile. It was tempting but he didn't dare pull the kid's leg that much – not to yet anyway.
"Because the moon has the sun." Barry told Noire happily. "How could it lonely?"
"But…the moon never gets to see the sun." Noire replied sullenly, lifting his hand high above his head to stretch out his fingers like he could touch the sun. But his fingers were just too short and the planet too far away – Noire seemed discouraged by the distance. "The moon can't touch the sun, it can't reach it. Even if it could – no one likes the moon like they do the sun. I'm sure it must be lonely."
"Noire, do you know how we see the moon?" His tone softened when speaking to Noire. Barry wasn't an idiot, he knew that Noire was feeling some sort of relation to the moon. Perhaps he thought of his brother who he could not longer see, someone he felt so terribly separated from. Regardless of how innocent and stupid a conversation his seemed – Barry refused to make light of Noire's feelings.
"It glows." He answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world and Barry couldn't stifle his little laugh. Noire tossed him a dirty look, angry that he was being laughed at when he was so sure that he was right about the moon.
"Well not quite." He tried to apologize with his tone and eyes alone. "The sun gives light to the moon for it to reflect back onto Earth. That's like they're touching right?" A ridiculously dumbed down version of the truth behind how their planet worked but still a bit closer than Noire's glowing theory.
"It gives the moon light?" The unadulterated awe in Noire's voice had warmed Barry's heart and even though he wished Noire wouldn't look at the sun quite so closely – the admiration behind his stare kept Barry from chiding him.
He had thought he did a good job that day.
Even though Noire didn't quite look like he accepted that explanation, he'd smiled at Barry – and damn him Barry couldn't help but smile back. Noire had never really been a proper child, even when comparing him to the more emotionally stunted Bat boys – Noire did have an uncanny feel to him. Barry would never say it frightened him but sometimes when Noire stared at him, unblinking with those large red orbs stuck right in the middle of his face – Barry felt a small chill.
It was stupid to feel guilty for it but it was equally ridiculous to have that slight unease in the first place. In a way it felt like he was failing Noire, because rather than offering him all the love in the world without an reservations, Barry did pull back sometimes. He never meant to but there were moments when Noire's eyes didn't remind Barry of the cranky little kid he raised and instead struck him deep down to his core, pulling up memories of a very different set of red eyes that had monitored him through ever moment of his childhood.
The feeling was always fleeting, quickly chased away by a smile or some sort of flicker of affection in Noire's gaze – but some nights the chill remained. Noire's eyes were so big, full of questions and childish thoughts – to Barry they looked almost as innocent as Wally's had when he was that small. He clung onto that notion; it helped to fight away the similarities between Noire's eyes and the red tinted gaze of the yellow speedster that haunted his head.
"The moon must love the sun." Noire had said later that night, when he thought Barry was too busy with the dishes – dishes that he probably could have saved a cleaning if he let Noire refuse to eat again – to notice his murmurings.
He'd returned to his usual quiet self as the day progressed, so hearing him speak had actually startled Barry and it took a few seconds to realize the boy wasn't addressing him at all. He was huddled up against the open window – a steaming cup of hot chocolate in his hands and a blanket wrapped around every inch of himself that Noire could manage to cover.
"The moon is so dark and cold, but the sun is all bright and shinny – it sorta hurts to look at."
I knew it. Barry wanted to sigh but opted instead to just remain silent and scold Noire if he tried looking at the sun again.
"But I really like the sun. I honestly do." Noire continued hastily like he wanted to reassure the invisible presence he spoke to that he did not dislike the sun – even if it burned. "You never did tell us about the sun and moon. I know you would have – eventually. We needed more time…"
Concern gradually began to crawl up Barry's spine. He knew Noire was talking to his deceased mother and he wasn't sure if it was the healthy progression for a child after the loss of a parent. When his mother had died Barry had been so caught up in rage and grief – blinded by guilt and the fear that the person behind her murder would come back for him eventually to really try that method of grieving. It wasn't until he was much older at his mother's tomb that he'd sometimes talk to her without any real belief she'd say anything back.
Briefly the thought of therapy crossed Barry's mind but remembering his own horrendous experience with that sort of help, Barry quickly tossed the idea aside with perhaps just a bit too much bitterness in the decision. Noire would grow out of the habit he was sure, and even if he didn't it wasn't a problem unless he thought his mother might really talk back. That would trump Barry's aversion to therapy.
"You know, I thought the moon might hate the sun. Hate that it was so bright and happy while it was so gloomy. I thought I might…maybe." There was a pause and Barry didn't realize he'd stopped washing until the silence caused his hands to abruptly jerk back into motion. The ensuing clatter and splash of a plate seemed to be what Noire was waiting for – he'd been listening to make sure Barry was still busy.
Why did that bother Barry so much?
This was like a pray, it was private so obviously Noire didn't want Barry to hear. Even as he told himself that was all there was to it, that familiar chill had returned. In an effort not to tip Noire off to his eavesdropping again, Barry kept on washing the plates and cutlery – maybe a tad too loudly. It made listening difficult but Barry was positive he heard what Noire said next.
"I think that the moon would want to own the sun."
The chill penetrated Barry's very bones – lingering long after the plates were dry and stacked away and this time when Noire smiled at him – it did not chase away the biting cold in the pit of Barry's stomach.
"Something wrong Barry?"
Noire asked him when he'd accidentally found himself blindsided by Noire's eyes as he entered the living room. They didn't glow, he'd never known Noire's eyes to do anything strange like that. But in the dimly lit living room, with his back to the window with the glow of the moon filing in around his frame, Noire's eyes seemed to shine – catching Barry and holding him in place as an unfamiliar spike of dread rushed up the length of his spine.
Because this time, just for the few seconds when Noire had him pinned without any intention of doing so with a simple glance – Barry didn't see Noire at all. He couldn't find the innocence he loved to see in Wally's eyes and could find in Noire's when he searched for it. Instead Barry was faced with a very different gaze, but no less familiar.
When he looked at the Reverse Flash these eyes were the ones he saw. Perhaps they lacked the violent loathing Reverse held onto and they were nowhere near as mirthless – but there was something in there that Barry recognized. Noire didn't hate him like the yellow speedster did, but there was something ravenous in his eyes that was the same.
"You look pale." Noire continued gently, his voice rarely rising above a subdued, soft volume. Usually it made Barry think he was shy or unsure – right now it only unsettled him further. "Should I call Batman for you? You called him for me once when you poisoned me."
"P-Poisoned?" Barry sputtered, mortified by the word even though he knew Noire hadn't meant it quite like that. He had poisoned Noire unintentionally the first time he cooked for him – he just hadn't paid enough attention to how well the food was cooked. It was an accidently – everyone knew that. Forcing himself to laugh, Barry rubbed the back of his neck, hoping he might be able to flatten the hairs down. "Well you cooked tonight, right? So it's all safe."
"Of course. I wouldn't poison you." And he smiled just a little bit, so sugar sweet that it was beginning to rot.
"I promise."
He didn't realize he'd taken a step back from Noire until the boy took a step forward. He wasn't looking so small anymore, not the boy he'd been talking to out on the lawn earlier that day. He was the Noire he'd been fighting with before the doll house.
"Barry." Noire's voice wasn't questioning anymore and Barry backed up further.
He knew it, deep in his gut, that this wasn't real. A distorted memory maybe, but this had never happened. Noire would never. Barry's head was clearing fast, breaking away from whatever little illusion he'd been trapped in. This wasn't real and it wasn't even close to as convincing as the doll house was. Now that he focused the world seemed to grow fuzzy at the sides, anything he wasn't directly looking at losing all detail. Eventually the only thing that still appeared solid was Noire.
"Barry." Noire tried again, voice sounding a little more strained and desperate as he reached out with one hand towards Barry. It was just some sort of dream he was in, it wasn't real and the more Barry focused on that single little thought the more the dream began to break away at the edges. Fizzling out until it began to fade and become transparent against the light of the waking world.
The next time he heard his name it didn't come from Noire and it wasn't a dream.
"Allen."
And finally he was free, pulled from the murky dreamlike state by a familiar growl calling his name.
Barry wished he had woken with a start rather than the bleary-eyed, stiff start he got. Groaning low in his dry throat, Barry reached for his head when the sharp aching of his skull fully hit him. The rest of his aches and pains took longer to appear, his joints and back screaming a particularly loud protest as his mind began to reboot.
"You were talking in your sleep." Barry released a second groan, this one directed at Batman when he heard the man talking to him. Of course he'd still be with the replica Bat. He hadn't found a riddle of completed a challenge so there was no hope of proceeding. Throwing himself out a window wasn't what CM was looking for but the man no doubt had a giggle at his expense.
The echo of keys being punched down rapidly and the occasionally thrum or beep from monitors was the only other sound that reached Barry. He knew without looking around that he'd be in the Batcave, or at least a variation of it. It was almost comforting to wake up on the metal slab that Bats used as a medical bed and the usual echo of computers through the cave was a welcome relief.
"What were you dreaming about?" He didn't even ask Barry if he'd been dreaming, the Bat knew and Barry wondered if it was because when he had nightmares he spoke out loud as well.
"A memory." Barry answered slowly, his voice dry and scratchy to match how beaten the rest of him was currently feeling.
"I figured as much." Not really listening to the man's steady voice drone on, Barry rest his head back against the flat of the metal table. His body was chiding him for throwing himself out a window like an idiot and all he could do was try to close his eyes and wait it out. Eventually his muscles would forgive him enough to function again.
"No." Barry was up again in a violent jolt as Batman slammed his hand down on the table next to his head. The loud bang resounded through the cave and painfully echoed in Barry's still aching head – it was a better wake up call than any alarm clock he'd ever owned.
"Don't sleep." Batman continued, ignoring the small heart attack he'd just caused Barry to have. "If you sleep, you'll dream. Just like everything else here – he has a way to see into them and he'll twist them. Best not to let him get inside your head. There's every chance he'll be able to rework your own memories. You wouldn't even know the difference – they become fact."
"How…" Barry gulped down a much needed breath of air, ignoring how his ribs protested to the expanding of his lungs. "How long have you been here?"
Now that there was little hope of him actually being able to rest, Barry was able to twist his neck enough to see the Bat. The angle was a little disorientating, but even in the dark of the cave he could make out Batman's outline as he returned to the glow of his monitors. Even though he must have known they were just as fake as the rest of this world, he must have taken some sort of comfort in their familiarity. When his question registered with the man Barry noticed how his shoulders abruptly tensed then just as quickly fell slack.
He looked exhausted, a look he had not often seen on Batman. Barry knew before he even asked that the answer was 'too long', but he had to speak the question out loud. He struggled to imagine how many memories Batman had been forced to watch become nightmares before he'd decided sleep was strictly off limits. His memories were not so kind to begin with.
"Time moves differently in this world and the outside world." The man answered slowly, laying his hands down flat on the keyboard without actually going to type anything.
"How do you figure?" It was a diversion from Barry's real question, but he dared not try to pry the answer out of him.
"Because by now your friends would have come for you if the flow of time matched the real world." Batman turned to glance at him, as usual the small motion held a greater meaning and Barry caught it faster than Batman probably expected him to.
"You believe me?" Barry asked slowly, not believing his own ears. "You believe I'm real?"
"Real enough for now." Not the most comforting answer but the best Barry was going to get. Barry couldn't fight off the smile despite his efforts and his genuinely delighted expression seemed to satisfy Batman for the time being. "I do not believe either of us to be fake."
Barry wanted to tell batman that he was probably wrong but he couldn't bring himself to do so after Bruce had made an allowance for him and believed that Barry was real. His doubt must have shone through however, because Batman gave a frustrated sigh and explained a bit further.
"You were familiar with the concept of the multiverse, my theory is simply – we are both real and belong to separate universes." Listening to Batman talk like this was definitely reassuring. It did still remind Barry of being spoken to like a child but the sheer familiarity of his delivery kept the speedster from feeling humiliated.
"Why would CM grab someone from another universe? Can he do that?"
"No. That is not within his abilities." Batman answered slowly, pulling something up on his computer monitor. Barry recognized it as notes, Batman usually had whole files dedicated to single villains – this must have been the Crooked Man's. In comparison to other villains they'd dealt with there was a limited amount of information – probably due to the man's death.
"The theory I've cultivated states that this realm exists outside of any single universe – a shared pocket dimension. Following that logic, the Crooked Man from your world and the one from mine would use the same-"
"Doll house." Barry supplied dryly. His contribution got a curious look from Batman and Barry could just see the man raising a brow at him under the cowl. In response Barry gave a careless shrug. "The name fits."
Without lingering on the implications of the name, Batman turned back towards his computers and flew into his detective, boss mode. Barry was getting a briefing and he was probably fighting off a concussion – he wished Bats would slow down for just a second.
"—doll house." Batman relented. "As such it's entirely possible that we're both completely real and the chosen players of our world's respective Crooked Men."
"You said before that messing with the multiverse isn't something he can do – what else do you know? Because from my Batman – my Batman – told us, he was a completely normal human before he died. Well…normal in the sense that he didn't have the ability to make friggin pocket dimensions."
"He was, at least before his death. This Crooked Man is not the one from back then – the same body maybe but hardly the same man."
"From what information I have gathered the Crooked Man has in some way been able to gather info on our lives. At first I thought he might have monitored us individually but he has insight to things he would not have gained from monitoring either of us. However that could just be a well formed lie – there is every chance the scenarios and people we've encountered have falsified memories with incorrect facts. That said their intel is…unsettling."
Without interrupting Batman, Barry began to drag himself upright. Occasionally a his of pain or grunt slipped past his efforts to remain quiet but Batman didn't stop if he heard them.
"Ruling out the possibility of the Crooked Man having scoured through our collective memories, we have no choice but to accept the worlds he places before us as fact until we find all his riddles. From my experience he always places the riddle and often the answer with the person he chooses to replicate. So here is my question; what were you doing at the children's home?"
"Bats." Flash gave a long suffering groan, resisting the urge to shout in frustration. "We've already been over this. I didn't-"
"Barry." The man's voice cracked like a whip, cutting Barry off before he could begin to vent. "I'm not asking you why you wanted to be there, I am asking you why he put you there. Multiverse or not, the Crooked Man decides where we end up and why. What connection did that place have to you? I know for a fact you never…my Flash never set foot in that building. Think Barry."
Tired and wrung out to very nearly his limits, Barry took a moment to just breath and try to think. It was more difficult than he'd expected, his mind wasn't so much full as it was empty. The distant buzz and need to drive on forward were the only constants inside his skull until he forced himself to pursue more elaborate thoughts.
At first he could only think of the memory that he'd dreamed of. It made him flinch thinking about it but Batman's explanation told him that it wasn't really how that memory went. He was sure he told Noire about the moon, positive the boy spoke to his mother – but had the other stuff, the less innocent parts - been real? Trying not to dwell on it, Barry pushed further, looking into what he knew about CM and the children's hospital. He remembered Len, thought about what he knew about CM from the news article and fragments he'd gathered.
"I…thought it was where he grew up." Barry admitted, already knowing he was wrong according to his Batman. "I thought maybe I could find the thing that sent him down this path – find what had made him this way."
An acknowledging grunt from the Bat was all he got as a prompt to continue but from the corner of his eye Barry saw the man typing, maybe typing down what Barry was saying. "We found a news article about the children's hospital in the last room – he left it for us to find so I thought he was trying to tell me something."
"You were looking in the wrong place." Batman smoothly cut in. "The article involved the home, yes. But the thing you should have focused on was the owners."
"The grinchy looking couple?" He was too tired to soften his comment, not that Bats cared. "You said you bought it off them."
"I did." It was subtle but Barry cause the hesitant note to Bat's tone. "I said a lot of things back there."
"Yeah." Barry's eyes narrowed on the man. "Yeah, you did Bats."
To the man's credit he hardly even blinked at Barry's increasingly furious tone. Instead Batman kept at his computer, ignoring the hostile glare he was getting from his guest.
"Our timelines are not the same – you can hardly expect me to-"
"You basically told me to let my friends die in my place, or did you forget that little detail?" He obviously hadn't just by looking at the way his tensed at Barry's accusation. "Should have let Noire die – that's what you were getting at back there right? Where do you get off telling me I didn't know the kid I raised and then telling me to leave him for dead?"
"You don't know the child you raised – you barely raised him at all Flash."
"Maybe in your universe, but back home I-"
"What's it been? A year, two?" Barry wanted to snap something back at the infuriatingly level headed man but he had nothing to respond with, technically he had only been looking after Noire for a few months. His silence was telling and Batman's dry laugh was what he got for his transparency. "Not even that then?"
"Yeah, I'm sure you're a god damn expert on the matter. Like everything else." It was a weak rebuttal but it was also all Barry currently had. In an effort to not appear weak while they argued, Barry hoisted himself up onto his feet and off the metal table. Only to stumble when his body declared itself not yet ready to take on the task of carrying its own weight.
He was hardly surprised when Bats caught his weight with one hand steadying him by his shoulder. It was obvious he would fall without the small assistance, but Barry tried to shrug him off all the same. But as always, if Batman didn't want to let go there was very little Barry could do to convince the man otherwise. The little spill had only agitated his throbbing skull and Barry had managed to just make himself look more ridiculous in front of this version of his friend.
"You're angry." Batman told him flatly, using that patronizing tone that Barry was positive he wasn't even aware of. "But now is not the time to fight – we both need the same thing so put your childish anger on hold for a little longer. Fight it out with your Batman when you have the luxury of time to waste."
"No point." Barry growled back. "My Bat would never say that shit. He'd never keep stuff like that from me. From the team."
"Is that so?" There was an undeniable note of grim amusement to that question and Barry could do little more than scowl at the man that steadied him.
Batman gaze him a quick appraising look before making a small amused sound at the back of his throat. The man then gradually let Barry hold his own weight, allowing him to rest back against the side of the table in order to stand.
"Lacie Harlow." The name caused Barry to look back up at the man questioningly. Batman only gave him a side-glance in return. "You never met her in your timeline. She died before you had the chance, correct?"
"Yes." Barry slowly admitted, not liking the tone Bats was using. It felt less like a lecture and more like a confession. Briefly Barry remembered some of the man's more feverish ramblings when they were at the children's hospital. "But you did know her?"
"I did, he did. Your Batman. Our timelines appear to be all but identical up until the point of your death. I'd estimate in your time line you'd have been dead for five months already if our timelines had not diverged. For us it's been well over two years. This means that I can – with a considerable level of certainty – speak on behalf for your Batman up until five months ago."
Barry wanted to ask why he would. If he and Bruce shared the same history until the point where their individual universes split into different directions – one with a living Barry and one without – why would this Batman want to tell him his counterpart's secrets? Perhaps it was confession, something he had to get off his chest – but that didn't fit the Batman Barry knew.
No, this was strategic. Barry just hadn't figured out how yet.
"When I met Lacie, the creatures you know as Black and White did not yet exist. They were still just a thought, an intention – the idea some small girl had made up in her head. I did not meet her as Batman – I was Bruce Wayne at the time." A sigh. "I had approached her because I suspected she wasn't human, thought she might pose a threat or become an ally. She was neither in the end – just wanted to live in that little home with the other children and play human until her time was up on Earth."
Bruce was toying with the edge of his cowl, and Barry wondered if he was considering removing it. He'd said he did this as Bruce Wayne and not Batman, it was possible that wearing the cowl while reliving these memories felt wrong to the man – like a lie. Regardless he did not take off his Batman persona as he spoke, only his voice gave away it was the man talking rather than the Bat.
"She got one year, a solid year before she was dead and those two boys were left on a planet they didn't belong to. They were dangerous, I saw that. They had the potential for great evil – in light of that I thought it best to monitor them. Of course Alois was always slippery, vanished for a few months before I found him again and he was exactly as I feared he'd be. Noire was easier – I had hoped by sending him to live with you, with Barry – he'd grow up normally."
He paused now, fingers falling deliberately away from his cowl as he looked at Barry properly. "For a while it worked. I kept an eye on the two, made sure you didn't accidentally poison him again."
"I keep telling you people I didn't poison him." Barry lamented in frustration. It was only the slight upward twitch of Bruce's mouth that told Barry he'd even been heard.
"But then you died."
Abruptly Barry had new questions. He had died in their world, that meant Noire really hadn't been raised by him. Their Barry never got the chance. Those questions hadn't sprung into his mind the first time Bats told him his that version of him had died – he'd been too preoccupied thinking about the Justice Lords to even consider what had happened to Noire. Batman easily continued on, not needing to be prompted to elaborate.
"Noire was shattered. The League broke down into the Justice Lords – we were all affected by what happened to the Flash. Noire was still just a boy, not yet fully in his teenaged body – and so I did the only logical thing, and took him in."
"You?" It was probably insulting how shocked Barry sounded with one simple word.
"Yes." Flat, unapologetic. "The only other possibility besides myself was Jordan and that would never have worked out. They were both reckless and irresponsible – not to mention their distaste for one another would have made it a nightmare. Only I knew Noire's history, I had the connection to him and so he became my responsibility. When he joined the Justice Lords, I-"
"You let him join the Lords?" There was that insulting tone again.
"I assume you have not let him join your League then?" He stated it like a fact. "It was not my idea, I wanted the boy as far away from the team as possible – but Superman insisted he be an asset. At that point no one questioned Superman, so of course it happened."
"What did you do to him?"
Batman stopped, looking at Barry again and registering the grim expression on the man's face. Barry had never asked about Noire when he'd demanded to know what happened to the Justice Lords because…well he didn't expect the boy to be there. But if he had been that meant he would have been guilty like the rest of them. Unless…
"Did…did he help you? I mean, you said you took him in after I died – thanks for that by the way – so he must have helped you." Batman said nothing and Barry's chest tightened painfully. "Come on Bats, why you being so tight lipped all of a sudden?"
"I would advise you not let your Noire into the league." Final.
"You…you can't be serious?"
Batman didn't look at him anymore and instead began to gather up his belt and gadgets from the table next to the batcomputer.
"Hey! Bats don't just ignore me here." Barry demanded, his headache reminding him to use his inside voice until it was ready to subside.
Frustratingly he was ignored while Batman readied himself to leave. Barry still felt sick as a dog but staying here would do him no good – they had to find that riddle and get out.
"Where are you going?" Barry asked dryly when Bruce strode past him.
"We are going back to the children's home." Batman clarified. "The riddle is there."
"We already checked there." The currently speedless, speedster protested tiredly. "It wasn't there."
"The riddle is in motion. One of the Crooked Man's fakes is carrying it. Find the fake, find the riddle – it'll be at the children's home."
"How can you be so damn sure?" Batman opened his mouth to answer and Barry's hand shot up to silence him. "Never mind, never mind. You're Batman – of course you know. Other universe or whatever – but still Batman."
The stare he got was as blank as Batman could make it and then without a word he turned away from Barry and began to walk again. The silent order to follow eventually got Barry to fight through his migraine and series of sore joints to follow after the other universe version of his friend.
He'd gotten too many things he needed to talk about with his own Bruce now. Starting with trust issues – he would need to give Batman a lecture of his own about the importance of trusting his friends. There was every chance this Batman was not at all like his in the fine details but Barry struggled to buy that. They were too similar, this Batman did and said things that didn't sit well with Barry – but that could all be chalked up to the tragedy of what happened in his universe.
Still Barry didn't think his Batman could be so ready to give up on his teammates. To be so dismissive of friends like Noire and Clark…
"I did go by the way."
The sudden comment from Batman took Barry off guard, but the Dark Knight hadn't even halted in his stride through the batcave. It took Barry a moment to get his legs to keep moving after the older man.
"Did what?" Barry grumbled back at Batman, voice coming out a little too sharply at he prodded his aching head. Again batman didn't so much as slow down when he spoke to Flash.
"Visit him."
Even the fine details were all coming up Batman.
Just great.