Doll House – In A Smile
Have a thing.
I apologize for this thing. It got out of hand.
The next thing will be better – I hope.
…
…
Begrudgingly Flash had to admit that Batman was right.
Not like there had ever been any doubt.
The trudge back to the children's hospital had been purposefully silent and Barry noticed that the streets were void of life. In a sense this was like padding between locations and Barry almost laughed out loud when he realized they were essentially on this world's loading screen.
Nothing so much as twitched as they marched through the streets of Gotham. There wasn't a single passerby, not one backstreet mugging or stray cat to screech at them as they walked. The world was completely and utterly void of life. The Crooked Man did not fill up the empty spaced with fakes, if it was a lack of care or ability Barry couldn't say.
Batman had become very quiet as they trekked through his city. To him it must have been even more uncanny, knowing a place so intimately only to have the very soul of it gouged out, leaving behind the lifeless replica they walked through. Barry thought about trying to strike up conversation, maybe bug the man a bit just to unload some tension but thinking about what Batman might say – Barry through better of it.
The man walking ahead of him lived a life where he turned his back on his friends, had raised the boy Barry was suppose to look after and lost a dear friend. Barry wasn't entirely sure how to approach he man, worried if he was too forward Batman would snarl and snap like an injured creature. He wanted to reassure the man – no – to convince the man that his world wouldn't turn out like theirs had.
But the solid set of his shoulders and finality of tone told Barry there was little hope of that.
It almost felt like this Batman hated him. But then again...his Batman sometimes felt like that as well - the Bats just didn't like people much. Some things apparently don't change over worlds.
By the time they reached the familiar boarded up building, Barry had almost run out of ideas for this Batman. If he'd been all bad it wouldn't be so hard but there was still so much of Bruce in him. He still believed in justice, still cared for his allies even after they'd turned their back on everything they had once fought for as a team.
Still visited an angry man in a kryptonite-coated cage.
Barry never asked what he did when he went to see Superman. Didn't ask if they spoke, if they were still friendly towards one another. He didn't ask, but he imagined all the same. Wondering if Superman was still kind and just a little bit dorky, wondered if he still looked at Bruce and smiled with the light of the sun or if he scowled instead.
Was Superman so changed in the Justice Lord's reality that he'd truly kill one of their own – a friend? Barry decided he didn't want confirmation and so he did not ask.
He had been so deep in thought that when Batman abruptly and silently came to a halt Barry almost bumped into him. Walking had become automatic after enough time and while his body was beginning to shake of his aches and pains – the sudden stop brought a familiar aching back in his legs. He had fallen from a window – it was a miracle that he'd been able to come away as good as he did. A greater miracle was the fact Batman hadn't insisted on bed rest. He might have if the situation had been different.
"Uh...Bats?" Barry spoke up when he noticed Batman just staring at the building, not moving to enter. "We going in or…?"
"Stay close." Was all the answer Barry got and then like he'd never stopped in the first place, Batman was entering the building without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
Barry moved to follow but briefly his eyes flicked up to where Batman had been staring. He'd been looking up at the roof, in the exact space Barry's delirious mind had told him someone was watching him when he fell from the window. Knowing that a small shudder went down Barry's spine, perhaps he hadn't been quite so delirious with pain as he'd first thought.
Following Bats inside quietly Barry didn't stop to look around this time and instead stuck close to the man's flank. No doubt they'd both done a thorough search of the place the first time they'd been here and they'd both come up empty handed, but Batman seemed to be walking with a renewed purpose. Barry recognized this as one of those times where some sort of new understanding had fallen into the man's lap and he was chasing after it without hesitation. He'd later claim it was obvious, a clue they should have seen earlier but had somehow missed because they'd done something wrong. Been too hasty, looked in the wrong places – all sorts of rookie mistakes he'd be sure to train out of them later.
Except for this Batman there'd be no later, no training with a team he no longer had. Barry would have to suffice for now.
Batman took them up to the second floor and then up to the third, bypassing all the children's rooms, play areas and kitchen area. He instead took them up to the furthermost room, which seemed to be a mix of an office and lounge area when Barry checked it. The set up eventually made sense to Barry, it was where people could come and talk to one of the children. Maybe they funded them for charity or were looking to adopt one of the younger kids. The older children had a hope of going into foster care but adoption became harder with each year they stayed in the home.
Barry hadn't found much of interest in the room when he checked it. The filing cabinets had been emptied and the desk only had a few dust bunnies and forgotten mints in the draws. However when Batman silently pushed the door open this time, the room was not quite so empty. There was a body in it.
For a brief, chilling moment Barry thought it would be a corpse, something CM set up for them to find as some sick joke, but slowly he realized the body was very much alive.
Sitting quietly on one of the lounges, the one that faced the doorway the two heroes were currently standing in, there was a young girl. She was white as a sheet, even her hair and eyes seemed sapped of colour – having lead Barry to believe she was a ghost or body at first, but when the sound of the old door creaking open alerted her to their presence, the translucent girl looked up with a ready smile.
The expression was so bright and warm, like the smile someone would wear when finally meeting with a long lost friend once again. Despite himself Barry felt nervous in front of the girl's beaming expression, it was disarming to see such a genuinely kind look cast his way after his other experiences in the Doll House. The girl wasn't surprised to see them and judging by the cup she was holding in her fragile hands – she'd been waiting for some time.
Taken off guard Barry could only stand there dumbly staring into the room. Batman had no such difficulties and glided easily into the room, walking calmly over to the set of lounges the girl was sitting at. Barry could hardly believe his eyes when the Bat sat down opposite the girl as casually as he might have set himself down at a Justice League meeting.
"Please." He did not jump when the girl's quiet voice spoke up. Honestly he didn't. "Sit."
His eyes followed her tiny hand as the stranger gestured to the seat between the two lounges. Batman had sat in the middle of the lounge and Barry tried not to be insulted by the idea that the man wasn't willing to share.
When Barry didn't immediately move the girl smiled gently, as if deciding she didn't want to push him into anything. Realizing he was still just standing there, Barry jumped to join the pair at the coffee table – still without the slightest clue as to what was going on.
As he eased himself down into the chair between the two, Barry noticed the tea set the girl had put on the table. He assumed she put it there because it most certainly had not been in the room last time he was in it. He expected to see some tea in the cups or at least in the teapot but when Barry looked at the delicate set he realized with a small shiver that not only was it empty, there was cobwebs and dust piling up in the individual cups.
Barry glanced wearily at the cup in the girl's hands and decided he didn't want to know what was in hers.
"You're in your suit." Again the girl's sudden speaking alarmed Barry. She spoke so quietly, almost a whisper but it was a gentle voice and Barry found himself wondering why CM would make a fake like her.
Briefly he thought of Len and the game that involved him having to die. Barry did not want this brittle little thing to be another fake CM wanted to see break. Even if they weren't real, Barry didn't think he could stand to see a child die. Especially not with a smile like that.
"Bruce." The girl continued, tone almost chiding. "Must you really be the Batman right now? I assure you, you won't need it. I knew you as Bruce after all."
"Sorry, sorry – I gotta cut in real quick." The glare Batman gave him when Barry decided he absolutely had to speak was scathing. But he continued, ignoring the frustrated Bat. The girl looked at him as well but she didn't seem to have much of an expression at all. "Sorry, hi, I'm Barry – we haven't met?"
Perhaps he was being a little too rude, a little too forward – but they'd just sat down for a dust tea party without so much as a hello, how do you do. Barry didn't recognize the girl – so she must have been a fake from the other Batman's reality, but if that was the case then he was wasting precious time here.
"I know who you are Barry Allen." The girl smiled with a quiet chuckle, the sound impossibly more fragile then the rest of her. "Crooked Man does not think too highly of you, but from what I've gathered you've done wonders for my dear boy."
"Your dear boy…?" If she meant Batman, Barry was going to either have a heart attack or laughing fit.
"Flash." Batman said curtly, tossing him another hard stare from under his cowl. "This is Lacie."
Just like that it fit, clicked into place. The children's home had been Noire and Alois's home when their mother was alive. The fake the Crooked Man had made for the children's home was not himself nor Batman – it was the girl that lived here. He'd made a replica of a dead girl – the girl he killed. There was something just a little too nauseating about that.
Lacie's smile was something like a secret while she looked at Barry. Very suddenly Barry felt like he was on trial, this was Noire's mother – and he was the man who took her son in. Barry didn't have the faintest idea how to talk to this girl.
"I am not really her." Lacie mused wistfully. Perhaps having guessed Barry's thoughts when she saw the panic on his face. "I am well aware that I am dead, this existence is just something like a memory. But perhaps even it will be of use to the pair of you."
"You have the riddle." It was not a question when Batman spoke and while his stare was still intimidating, Lacie did not seem perturbed.
"I do. The Crooked Man can scarcely keep secrets from me. Would you both like to hear it?" She asked, looking between them as if they really might refuse. Satisfied that their silence was approval to continued, Lacie gave a small happy sigh and set her cup down in her lap. Then as if she was reciting a song from memory, Lacie's white eyes slid shut and she murmured the riddle out loud.
"Each morning I appear to lie at your feet, All day I will follow no matter how fast you run, Yet I nearly perish in the midday sun. Who am I?"
Opening her eyes again Lacie peered at the two of them before beaming a small delighted smile. "It's one of his gentler riddles, I much prefer this one."
"You're not like any of the fakes I've seen before." Barry blurted before he could help himself. The girl seemed so ghostly, like she would break if he so much as touched her. All the other's had felt solid, grounded in reality but Lacie didn't feel like she didn't exist anywhere at all.
"I am not one of his. At least not one he desired to make. I am nothing more than a lingering thought in his head, something haunting him. As such he will not venture close while I am near. It's strange – I think he might actually be afraid of me."
"Afraid?" Barry repeated curiously. It felt silly to still be wondering about his captor but Barry couldn't seem to help himself. Lacie's eyes sparkled at the question but her expression remained fairly grim.
"Guilt and regret can be a powerful thing. Even the Crooked Man feels them." Lacie answered with a small lift of her shoulders. "His memory is in tatters but there are some things that even his ruined mind cannot fully block out. I am just one of them. I'd like to think of myself as some shred of humanity left in him."
Batman had been quiet after hearing the riddle and when Barry noticed he seemed to be thinking a small spark of hope shone in his eyes. Batman was likely the smartest person on the Justice League – he had Riddler as an enemy for Pete's sake. This would be a piece of cake. The man seemed to take note of Barry's staring and let out a small sigh.
Not exactly a comforting response.
"You have the answer?" Lacie inquired casually and Batman nodded. "Excellent, you only need to complete the test now. Please, go ahead."
Silence.
"Um, hey Batman – this is the part where you answer and we leave?" Barry prompted but Batman remained eerily quiet and Barry was beginning to worry he might just attack him again. That seemed to happen a fair bit when Batman fell silent.
"Bruce…" Lacie sighed wearily. "It's okay, go ahead. You know I'm dead."
"I…" The man paused, shoulders shifting uncomfortably as if he was truly struggling with something. "I just want a moment."
What Batman was asking for didn't really sink in for a few seconds for Barry. But slowly he recognized the set of the man's jaw, the familiar way he sat, leaning forward with hands clasped in front of him – like the weight of the world was on his shoulders again. The urge to get up and leave stuck him harshly, this felt too intimate – this was something important to Batman and Barry felt like an intruder. But neither he nor the…memory, told Barry to go and he dared not move - thinking it would break the fragile still that had fallen over the three of them.
Lacie did not rush Batman as he took his time, no doubt thinking over exactly what he wanted to say and what he should say. In a sense this was something like a cheap way to deal with grief. To speak to the afterimage of a dead girl he'd once known, Barry thought about Noire speaking to his mother's gave – it was a comfort to both the Bat and boy it seemed.
"He…grew up fast." Batman began slowly. "They both did, just like you told me they would. We-…you have a tombstone in Gotham Cemetery, I took him to visit he still thinks about you."
As he spoke, Bruce reached up to remove the cowl. The rest of his suit was left untouched with but his comment about being Bruce Wayne when he met Lacie still seemed important to the two of them. He wasn't Batman when he was in front of this girl.
"Noire was a good kid, Alois was a bit more trouble." Bruce admitted with a dry chuckle. "Neither was easy. Noire still won't eat much, still likes to make nests up in high places. Alois went into hiding for months at a time, but even he would come out of the woodworks when something went wrong."
For her part in all this Lacie was listening intently. Barry couldn't imagine what it was like to hear about her own children growing up, being unable to actually see them. She'd never see them fall in love or get jobs – raise a family. None of it. But Barry would, at least he hoped so. It almost felt unfair that he was able to witness something this memory wasn't able to.
"Crooked Man's collective memory of my boys is…hazy." Lacie admitted reluctantly. "Some good, some bad – but even with his ill temperament clouding the memories, I can still see you two. I want to thank you both, for protecting my boys. For keeping my secrets all this time, Bruce."
A relief rushed over Bruce and Barry saw his tense muscles slowly relax. He realized when Bruce became quiet again that his talking about Lacie's children had been his version of nervous rambling. That seemed to fit, even when uneasy the Bat remained composed, if it had been Barry he would have been a stuttering tangent filled mess.
Lacie looked at Bruce with that same understanding smile and she even laughed quietly as the man opposite her calmed down. It was as if she'd given him what he'd been looking for, some indication that he had not failed to keep his promise. Barry would always admire just how seriously Bruce took his word.
"Miss?" Barry didn't cut in quite so sharply this time and even though the girl was so small he couldn't help but use the title with her. It felt like when he'd talk to civilians as the Flash. "I'm sorry but can I ask something? You…well you made Noire and Alois – I just never really understood how…?"
"I'm only a memory, I'm afraid I can only tell you what the Crooked Man knows of me. How he came to know so much…I can't say. His head is so cloudy." On the opposite lounge, Batman shifted as if uncomfortable. No doubt he was sill trying to piece together just how CM had come across all this information. The possibility of him being a psychic seemed increasingly possible.
"From what he knows, I am a spectral child. Or at least I was when I was still alive. Now I'm not even that." The cup that she hadn't so much as taken a sip on was finally abandoned on the coffee table and Barry's stomach turned a bit when he saw that it to had webs in it as well as the addition of an actual spider. He didn't look long enough to decipher if it was alive or not.
"Spectral children do not have babies like humans and other earth creatures do. When we wish to create new life we pass on the life we have. Usually a pair is required to create one new life – of course killing the two creators in the process." Barry had a comment about how horrible that whole set up was on the tip of his tongue but Batman was giving him that look again. Even without the cowl he did have a way of freezing people with that stare.
If Lacie noticed Barry's horror about how her people passed life onto the next generation she made no comment. "But Noire and Alois were not spectral children, I was fortunate my body survived the year it took to make them. It was unfortunate it ended the way it did. I had hoped I'd pass away quietly, something easier on the boys."
"You were sick." The realization didn't hit Barry like he thought something like that would. It was more like a cold understanding settling in his stomach. "You were dying."
"I was lucky." Lacie replied flatly. "Most of us do not get to meet our creations. I had a whole year with my boys. Of course I was still worried about what would happen when I was gone. I was fortunate to meet you Mr. Wayne. I knew you'd make sure they were looked after."
"That's why you sent Noire off with me?" Barry barked at Bruce, eyes wide as he stared at the silent Batman.
"We'll need to move soon." Batman decided, not bothering to answer Barry. He never had to explain his reasoning behind choosing the Flash to look out for the little shadow. They made sense, more so then anyone else on the league. Bruce had been worried Noire would turn out twisted and bitter – so he'd sent him to Barry. He had faith in Barry's heart, thought it could sway the boy and help him grow into a kind person.
Bruce could only hope that was what would happen when this Barry returned to his world. The Noire from his own world had never gotten the chance to grow up with Barry, thanks to Bruce he'd only lost another parent.
"You're right." Lacie agreed grimly. "Crooked Man will only sit back so long before he decides to throw some sort of twist into the game. Answer the riddle and pass into the next arena."
"But the challenge." Barry began uncertainly.
"Was completed when neither of you killed one another." Lacie clarified evenly. "I imagine he was hoping one of you would be forced to kill the other to escape or alternatively decide to stay in the delusion. I'm not so sure he wants you to win anymore. He always said he wanted to make worthy heroes for the world…but I believe this is just out of spite."
"You'll have to forgive me, I stole this stage from him." The admission came with a guilty but unremorseful smile. "I wanted to meet the two of you, just one last time. I wanted to hear about my boys from you. I'm afraid that I cheated you out of one of his challenges when I brought you together."
"You're responsible for the merging of the two different worlds?" Bruce confirmed in a grim way, like he'd already figured it all out before hand.
"I influenced what little I could, nothing more than that." That was neither a denial nor confirmation and no body tried to push for a more solid answer. Some things were better left alone.
Bruce was reaching for his cowl and Barry had the overwhelming feeling of a looming goodbye. To this stage, to this girl, to this Bruce. But it would mean he was a step closer to home.
Barry had moved quickly to follow Bruce's lead. Standing to his full height Barry couldn't help but take another look at the ghost like girl they'd been talking with. She looked impossibly small, defenseless and fragile. But the longer he looked at her, the more Barry could see aspects of her sons in her face. Noire definitely had her delicate form and Alois seemed to have gotten her defined features and elegant fingers. Her boys didn't perfectly resemble their small-bodied creator but Barry was still able to find parts of her in them.
It would have made Noire happy to hear so – he would tell him one day.
"Your answer?" Lacie's eyes followed Bruce as the man stood, once again slipping into his Batman persona. It looked flawless, like he'd slid into a second skin, or maybe Batman was closer to his true face than Bruce Wayne was now days. "To the riddle?"
Again Bruce hesitated, he certainly had an answer but they both stood there with the knowledge that once it was given they'd be leaving. Batman was always ready to put the mission first – but even he needed to have a moment to himself from time to time. As if wishing to reassure the man she'd known in life, the memory smiled kindly at Bruce. A small sign of encouragement.
"Each morning I appear to lie at your feet." Bruce began to recite the riddle dutifully. "All day I will follow no matter how fast you run. Yet I nearly perish in the midday sun. Who am I?"
A pause, and then Bruce smiled with a quiet laugh of disbelief.
"I am your shadow."
Those words acted as a sort of trigger in hindsight.
At first there was relief in Lacie's answering smile – knowing that they'd answered correctly had Barry beginning to smile as well. They'd succeeded and another stage would end – he was just a bit closer to getting home and he was amounting more and more reasons to get back. He had things he wanted to ask some and things he had to tell others. Barry couldn't waste another second.
However at the same time something else happened. Just as the smile began to tug at the corners of his lips – the world around them was thrown into disarray.
The moment Bruce uttered the answer, a horrible sound ripped through the air. Tearing straight through Barry's head, leaving vibrations in his chest as the sound roared around them. Barry took a blind step back, feet struggling to find balance on the rumbling ground – and the sound just got louder.
Horrible, furious – screeching, it took Barry a few bleary seconds to realize that the horrendous echoing was a voice. The scream that tore its way through the entire stage was so detached from the voice Barry knew as the Crooked Man, impossibly less human than the man in bandages – how was he expected to recognize it immediately?
His fingers were clapped firmly over his ears but the screaming seemed to find its way into everything. Through the cracks between his fingers, past the protective cup of his palms and into his brain. CM was shrieking and if Barry had to place a name to the quaking of the ground and screaming – he would have labeled it as a tantrum.
"You cheats!" The words came through the screaming, just as distorted and jumbled as the shrieking had been. "You nasty little sneaks! Tricksters!"
Barry's head was aching so bad he thought he might just pass out, the pounding of his pulse was the only calm, constant sound among the rest of the chaos. But besides that he was all but deaf to all other outside stimuli – but he still had his eyes.
Past the howling and rumbling of the ground, Barry could see everything clearly. More crisply than he'd ever seen anything in his entire life. The world was breaking apart. It was not unlike the way the previous stages had disintegrated, parts of the wall and ceiling came flying off in all directions as if they were subject to a child's angry, prying fingers. The floor faired no better, falling away in unceremonious clusters. Barry's foot almost went with a piece of floor that crumbled right out from under him.
Beyond the rapidly shattering room, Barry could see just a glimpse of what he guessed was what CM kept outside of the stage walls. It was not quite darkness, more a murky mess of watercolors. Grimy browns and purples mingling and molding together to form nonsensical shapes. It was disgusting, absolutely revolting – and Barry could not stop staring.
When the world had first started to decay, collapsing as the Crooked Man's fit of rage continued – Bruce had planted his feet firmly on the ground. He did not know how much the other world Barry had experienced in the way of exiting stages but this did not seem terribly different from the others – perhaps a tad more violent but ultimately just another door opening. Bruce planned to simply stand his ground, look for the best way to proceed without being crushed by one of the many falling fragments of wall.
He had been content to play it cool, ignore the horrible sounds raging in his head, making him deaf to all else – but he had not accounted for Barry. A glance at the other world's Flash reminded Bruce that he did have to account for the young man – he could not disregard him as he might have a fake. Perhaps it was not his concern – it was not his Flash nor his world. The world this man came from was one he could almost scoff at, because it was so perfect.
It might have been cruel to be envious of Barry, given he was in this game just as Bruce was. But it was difficult not to cringe when looking at the man with the same face as his dead friend. They smiled the same, said the same impossibly ridiculous things and they shared a common fault of being too self-sacrificing.
Briefly Bruce thought of the day he'd lost their Flash. Even as the ground began to give away and the lounge he'd only moments ago been seated on disappeared into the abyss below. He thought of that day, the premature celebration of another successful mission. He hadn't been smiling at the time, even though these sorts of idealistic memories dictated that everyone ought to be smiling in some perfect moment before ruin. But no, he hadn't been smiling. Batman so rarely smiled in earnest – instead he'd been reprimanding Superman about something. It felt so trivial and pointless looking back on it now, remembering how Clark had smiled sheepishly and promised to try and do better. Remembering the softer person his friend had once been. Batman hadn't been looking at the Flash when it happened, hadn't registered the danger like the scarlet speedster – hadn't been able to react in time.
There was a shout, a sudden rush of air and a deafening crack, followed by the most degusting squelching sound. He later realized that wet noise was Barry's chest being pulled open. Batman whirled around to look, already running through countless possible scenarios that could have caused the sudden disturbance – none of them had ended with the Flash dead. But when he turned and looked that's what he saw. Barry's suit was red, one would have thought blood would be lost in the bright colour – somehow it wasn't. The blood was thick, dark and glistening against the suddenly seemingly dull red fabric. Flash's body had been hunched protectively around the delicate form of his once ward.
Batman remembered telling him to look after Noire no matter what.
He regretted those instructions in that moment.
No one could have reacted fast enough – no one but Barry. They'd all agreed that was the case, that no one could have stopped a speedster but another speedster. No one had expected the Reverse Flash to show, no one had known he was involved until he ran his hand straight through Barry's back – bringing his heart out the other side. How could they have known? Batman should have – everyone expected him to be flawless. To be able to see all possible threats – to keep them safe.
So why hadn't he?
In a single moment, without even knowing it – they'd lost everything. The aftermath was gradual. Like a horrible, unstoppable beast it had overcome them in a matter of years. First was the grief and the anger – the first criminal to die at the hands of Superman a result of that rage. Then came the loss and confusion and Bruce was left with a young, wounded Noire Harlow to raise. Then finally there came the Justice Lords.
Just like that, Bruce's world was lost with the final nail in the coffin.
Now he sees his former best friend behind bars with a snarl on his face and loathing behind blue eyes. Now the child he once entrusted to his dead friend, the same child that had been entrusted to him, was a source of guilt and regret for him. The team they'd worked so hard to assemble and mold into a symbol for justice, , had become a force of fear and oppression. Everything had crumbled into pieces.
This Barry, this other world – they were in essence – things that Bruce could no longer have. When he looked at Barry, recognized him not as a fake but as a living, breathing reminder of his failure – Bruce had never hated him more than he had in those past few hours. Even now as the fake world they stood on broke apart and Bruce looked over at the other man who seemed to be in a trance, there was a nagging thought dominating the back of his mind.
Push him.
Bruce knew that these games were made to be delicate; if Barry fell in any direction besides the intended door the Crooked Man would make for him – that was it. He'd die. The small, dark desire began to claw its way to the forefront of Bruce's mind. It changed its tone when Bruce rejected it, substituting the terrible thought of 'push' to 'take'.
Take him. Take everything.
Why not? That selfish part of Bruce's mind wondered for him. Why shouldn't he have Barry? Why shouldn't he have that other world? He knew himself well enough, he could find a way to follow Barry to his world – find his other world counterpart and replace him before the other even knew he existed.
It would be easy to have it all back, everything that had once belonged to him. Barry alive, Clark smiling – everything could go back to the way it was before the Flash died. He could see his promise to the spectral child fulfilled properly – watch over the Harlow boys until there was no guilt eating away at the back of his mind. It would be so easy.
That same selfish thought; why shouldn't I have it?
Barry was still stuck staring outside of the game boundaries; Bruce had learnt not to even glance their way because they had a habit of ensnaring the mind. It acted like a drug to pacify the intended victim as they were transported to another stage – Batman did not like to be twisted in such a way. But Barry was inexperienced and had not realized the danger. Now he stood on the edge of oblivion, not realizing that a few more seconds and he'd been taken away with the rest of the stage. Barry did not realize that all it would take was one small shove and Bruce could take everything from him.
Bruce reached for him. His gloved fingers splaying out as they sought to find purchase on the younger man's body. All it would take was one single shove, to kill him or to steal their world – whichever he fancied more. Bruce needed only follow Barry as he fell and drag them both through the final stages of the Crooked Man's game. Barry would trust him, even if he was weary of him now, it was simply in Barry's nature and with Bruce looking like someone he trusted already – it would be easy. His fingers just brushed against Barry's arm as the ground he was standing on began to give out under him.
Push him!
And Bruce grabbed hold of Barry, pulling him in one swift jerk, to safety.
"Barry!" To his own ears the call was muffled, the roar of the world shattering making it all but impossible to hear anything else. If Bruce hadn't felt his lips move to form the name he wouldn't have been sure he'd shouted it at all. He wouldn't hear a word of it, Bruce knew but he still urged Barry to snap out of the daze he'd been in. "Barry, look at me!"
Under his hands, Barry was shaken and only just now beginning to blink out of the haze he'd been trapped under. Realizing he'd almost fallen into the abyss, Barry's hands shot up to cling onto Bruce's arm, his fingers desperately clutching at him. Without being able to speak to Barry, Bruce did all he could to reassure the man and held him a little closer, allowing him to cling as he caught his breath.
He hadn't pushed Barry. Bruce knew he could have, could have taken anything he wanted. He had the means to do so but when he looked down at the startled man in his arms and thought of the bright, hopeful world he was to return to – Bruce couldn't. Simple wouldn't.
Bruce wanted to protect both of those things that no longer belonged to him.
With Barry safely in his grasp, Bruce turned to look at what remained of the room they'd been in. A few patches of solid ground and wall remained but they were vanishing quickly into the darkness under their feet. Bruce knew that they wouldn't have ground at all soon enough – so he had to make a choice. It felt like he should struggle with it more, just like he felt like he should have been more tempted by his desire to take rather than protect.
But it just wasn't.
"Go on." Bruce's gaze snapped up to look at the lingering figure of Lacie. Through the horrendous roaring, her small voice chimed clearly in his head – she was part of the Crooked Man, so her voice was able to carry through his rage. A single drop of calm among the sea of discord. Bruce again wondered if she was truly the Crooked Man's final shard of compassion.
The delicate girl's body was beginning to break apart like the rest of the world. Small chips began to fracture and fall off of her, parts of her face and hair were cracking like fine china. Soon she'd be gone with the rest of this world. But even as she decayed in front of him, fading back into whatever recesses of the Crooked Man's mind she'd been conjured from – Lacie spared them a kind smile.
"You can't stay here much longer." The girl slid out of her seat as the table and her tea set fell through a gap in the floor to vanish below. The lounge she'd been siting on did not fair much better vanishing not long after the table had. Lacie didn't seem to pay the crumbling world any mind, just as she ignored how parts of her cracked and turn to dust with every step she took towards them.
Bruce felt like he ought to cringe away from Lacie when she reached out towards him with porcelain hands. He could see the spidering cracks spreading out along the palms of her delicate hands, some pieces crumbling from her hands only to be washed away with the wind as dust. Bruce knew feeling sentiment of any kind for the ghost of a girl was foolish – she'd been dead for years – but just as Barry was dead, seeing them in this solid form still struck Bruce deeply.
Just as her cold fingers grazed past his cheeks in a small form of fondness, Bruce's truly desired words slipped out. "I'm sorry." The words were a buzz to him, inaudible over the rest of the carnage but Lacie's face softened like she heard all the same.
Lacie's hands were almost how he remembered them, smooth, soft and unendingly giving. Only now they were riddled with imperfections, he could feel each chip and crack against his rugged face and each felt painful to him. When Lacie had first touched his face in this way, she'd been alive – properly alive. Before the illness stole her strength, before her skin began to resemble paper more then flesh. The illness had stolen everything from her except her face. Her eyes were still shinning, glowing with a warmth Bruce could hardly find anywhere else. In the past he'd found it in Clark and in fleeting glances from friends – but it had been years since he'd seen it, now he found it again in a ghost.
Just how closely had the Crooked Man observed those eyes to have them so perfectly captured in this ghost? Did that capture him in the same way they did to others, had he watched them turn dully as she died? Bruce would ask – when he made it to the end of this game, he'd be sure to pry the answers out of the man. Even if he got them out with a scream on the man's broken lips.
He knew that Lacie would never agree with such methods. She'd give him that concerned little frown and gently chide him – ask him to be more gentle. Her compassion was wasted on him, on the man who killed her – on everyone. It was the reason she was dead, the reason she stood there in front of him breaking apart like glass.
"I'm…so sorry." His apologizes slipped out unbidden, and Bruce found himself unwilling to hold them back. The things he'd always meant to say. To apologize for letting her die, for failing to protect her boys – for every promise he'd broken. Not just to her, but to Clark, who he should have stopped before the Justice Lords became a reality. To Barry, for failing to keep them safe – even to those troublesome monochrome brothers. To himself – for every promise, each word and vow he'd broken.
But Lacie didn't care.
"All that pain, I can still see it in your eyes." Bruce looked up without realizing he'd dropped his gaze. Barry looked between him and Lacie, eyes wide and alight with confusion. He didn't understand and Bruce scarcely understood himself. But he remembered these words – the first time she'd said them to him. "I am sure you didn't wish for all this."
Her hands, ever gentle against his face were still breaking away but she paid it no mind. Instead Lacie simply looked up at him warmly. If Bruce had to describe it, she'd have called her the sun – shinning brightly even as her fate chased up her heels. Because if she could just smile for them – maybe it would not seem so bad, maybe it would not hurt so much. Again Bruce thought of Clark, when his smile had been brighter than hers, when even the sun had paled in comparison – he'd smiled at him like this, because Bruce rarely smiled back.
Without realizing he'd wanted to, Bruce reached out with the hand not firmly around Barry's shoulders, and clutched one of Lacie's hands. The small delicate hand was crumbling under his fingers, but he only held onto her more tightly. This was another goodbye, another person he'd see fade from his life – but she smiled at him as it happened. To reassure him, just so that she did not leave another unhappy memory with him.
"You are stronger than you believe, and deserve to be happier than you are. But you'll be alright." Lacie continued gently, her voice lyrical in comparison to the screeching around them. Bruce knew the end to this, he'd heard her say it when they met – back whens he still drew breath and when he still had hope left. He had not expected to hear it now – now when it felt like the words no longer rung true. But she said it still.
Then she withdrew her hands, the simple gentle motion surprised Bruce more than when the hand he'd held broke off entirely. It crumbled away into dust, leaving Bruce with nothing but the glittering remains of what had been her fingers and Lacie with only one, fractured, hand remaining. She took that hand and pressed it flat against Bruce's chest plate and with that same gentle expression on her face – pushed him over the edge.
"Lacie!" Bruce shouted her name without meaning to, reaching out into the empty air ahead of him as Lacie and what remained of the structure began to grow small above him. But he could still just see her, and watch as she fully began to break away. He hadn't been able to properly apologize to her – there were things he still wanted to say. Things he wanted to tell a girl he barely knew, maybe it was what she represented to him. Because when he thought of apologizing to her, he saw everyone else he wished to ask forgiveness from.
"You'll be alright." Her voice murmured from somewhere overhead and Bruce swore he could hear her smile. "Because you're still in there."
Bruce closed his eyes – because he didn't want to see it when her body finally broke into pieces and the remains got taken into the air as dust. His hand wrapped round Barry's head, holding him close so that the speedster wouldn't see it either. A silly thing to guard him from but Bruce did it all the same. But even as the last of the replica disappeared into the air, Bruce didn't mourn like he thought he would. There was no punch of grief in his gut, because there was something comforting in the smile he'd been given.
The air was whipping past him, snatching up his torn cape and pulling it tight around his body and Barry's. The speedster still clutched to him tightly as the fell and Bruce kept one arm firmly around him during the descent. They were falling down the same path, through the same doorway – Bruce knew that it was Barry's and he knew that if he continued down that temptation would return.
That need to take from Barry and his world – but even if it returned now, Bruce felt it would be a hollow desire. Because in the first time since this game began – Bruce wanted to return home. Not the same duty driven slug through the dollhouse he'd been carrying out until now – instead it was a real desire to return to the world he knew. It was broken, hopeless – but he had to get back to it.
"Too late now." Bruce murmured with a bemused smile as he held Barry secure against him, not quite willing to call the hold a hug. "Just one more round."
Then he would leave Barry – send him on his own way back home and head back to his own world. Just one more round and they'd part. Bruce thought of how he'd last seen his Flash, broken and bleeding as he shielding a friend. Then he thought of Lacie the last time she'd been alive, turning away from him and leaving with the knowledge she'd never see him again. When he thought about them both – Bruce remembered something he'd overlooked.
A stupid, simple smile.
They'd both known that death was snapping at their heels and when Bruce looked at them – once as a business man and then as batman, a friend and an ally – they smiled at him. Barry's mouth had been bloody and he was obviously in pain as Batman shouted his name running to try and help, despite it being too little too late. Lacie had been crying the last time they met and even though Bruce tried to understand why she was sad, she wouldn't say. Their expressions were so wretched – but they'd shone all the same. How such horrible faces could appear to shine so brightly was beyond Bruce, but they'd both been wearing those smiles with the same single message.
'You'll be alright without me.'