Doll House – 10: Who Would Do It?
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Batman hears them before he sees them.
It is difficult not to overhear the curses and bickering being shouted across the dead night sky. He'd been waiting a while for the two, but even if they'd been unexpected, neither Lantern nor Black had the faintest idea how to uphold the concept of stealth. Were they currently on a mission – Batman would have been furious.
But as it was, while the two came tumbling, spitting and snarling at one another, out of the sky – Batman stood by idly and observed. Hal was by no means a child, having come into his adult years long ago – but he gave quite the illusion while trying to outrun Black like two children trying to one up each other. Black was physically still young, not quite a child maybe, but young enough to be confused for one and technically he wasn't much more than a toddler in years spent on the planet. So perhaps it was less embarrassing to see him acting as such – Batman still would not have been so lenient with him had the situation been different.
"Lantern!" Black snarled furiously, actually going to far as to take a swipe at his Justice League escort. His anger directed primarily at the Green Lantern's constructs that acted as a sort of travel platform. It would have been considered innocent and helpful – perhaps even considerate – had the construct not also formed a set of cuffs around Black's feet, keeping him stuck in place. Had Hal been feeling a little more vindictive he might have made the construct a net – just to add insult to injury. "Get your damn light show off me this second or I'll-!"
"Cool your jets, kid." Hal shot back with a smile that was anything but apologetic. "You're still injured, just let the adults look after you."
"Injured?" Black barked back furiously. His retorts being nothing short of juvenile. "When I get out of this I'll god damn injure you!"
Batman was inclined to agree with the Lantern – and damn Black for putting him in that position – it was very clear that Black wasn't moving to his fullest. The child had always fared better in the air then the on ground, despite his best efforts to master gravity and the human method of walking with two feet firmly planted on the Earth. But as he and Hal approached Batman – still oblivious to his observing them, the unperceptive idiots – the Dark Knight could clearly see where Black's path in the sky faltered and dropped unexpectedly. He was lagging in a sense – because it must have hurt to move through the air with his usual ease. It was akin to a human limping after being injured.
He had a fair guess as to why he was stumbling in such a way. Perhaps his multiple collisions with the manmade structures during his fight with his little brother had healed – human injuries did not inconvenience the monochrome brothers in the same way they might other creatures. However, Bruce had seen how White's tail had struck Noire in the back repeatedly. Those wounds would still be as fresh in his mind as they were on his body.
In Bruce's ear a foreign com link cackled into life, bringing a nasty little snicker with it.
"There was no need for that." Bruce muttered flatly to the person on the other end, there was no need to explain what he was referring to. White would be watching this from somewhere as well. Batman then got a very clear mental image of White smirking on the other end. Knowing the male he'd been sitting crouched over some vantage point, chin resting lazily against his hands as he listened to Batman chide him.
"Nonsense." White drawled on the other end of the com, his voice cutting cleanly through Noire and Hal's bickering. "I barely grazed him."
Another look at Noire's discomforted expression and occasional wince told Batman otherwise. He knew that White was simply baiting him and so he kept silent. For his response, White snorted in amusement on his end but thankfully fell silent as well.
The younger monochrome brother had not warmed to this idea immediately, the thought of only being able to observe from afar. One would think he was used to this way of life by now – maybe that was why White disliked it. But even White knew that appearing in person would do more harm than good. Noire would go at him the second they locked eyes, and it would waste precious time. Besides, Alois was – in his own words – Bruce's dirty little secret. Of course that wasn't a lie, but it made the terminology no less repulsive. Batman knew what he could afford to tell and what was his to know – for now Alois was no threat to anyone besides his brother and even that was not really a problem – he wouldn't kill Noire. So the League didn't need to know where he was – Bruce wasn't keeping anything important from them.
That was his justification.
It was weak at best.
"The kids are waiting." White prompted, and without a verbal response Batman rose up to his full height – finally catching the notice of the two airborne idiots.
"Spooky!" Hal exclaimed in a tone that was a mixture of surprise, relief and amusement. The amused undertone a lingering effect of his annoying Black no doubt. "About time." He added as if Batman had not been the one waiting on them.
With Noire still anchored to his construct, Hal set the both of them down on solid ground only a small distance from where Batman had lingered in the shadow of the trees. The suburban area that Flash lived with didn't offer much in the way of looming shadows, nothing like what Batman found in Gotham and he'd found himself feeling exposed without his city's graces. The sooner this ended the better.
"Where have you been?" Batman breezed past Green Lantern, making a beeline for Black. If being ignored bothered Jordan, the man wisely kept it to himself. One of the scarce examples of Hal ever being clever.
The boy stumbled back inelegantly, trying to back peddle faster than he could place his feet just to put some space between him and the disapproving Bat. It almost seemed unfortunate that Hal's construct had given him his feet back, and it didn't take long for Black's clumsy retreat to end with him tripping over his own frantic feet. The boy was on the ground, staring up at the looming figure of Batman before the first excuse could leave his lips.
"I asked where you have been." Batman repeated coldly, his tone all ice – the voice that criminals knew when dealing with the Batman. The echoing buzz of White's laughter in his ear said that the male approved and that alone was almost enough to have Batman soften his voice. Almost.
Noire's eyes were huge when staring up at him, looking alarmingly like the gaze of a red-eyed owl. The kid wasn't trembling just yet but Batman didn't think it would take much to make him shake where he sat on the unforgiving ground.
"I…I was-" Noire's tongue must have felt like lead in his mouth, and Batman noticed how he brought his legs and arms in a little closer to his torso, trying to shield himself from Bruce's disapproval.
"Monochrome!" Noire winced under Batman's snarl, and gradually his gaze lowered to the ground. A scolded child.
"Say," White's voice crackled unwelcomingly in his ear and Batman made no indication that he'd heard anything. White went on anyway. "why are you digging into my big brother so much?" There was an unfriendly note to White's tone that suggested his amusement had finally given away into anger. Batman paid the snarling of the protective runt little mind and focused on the brother currently in front of him. He could puzzle out Whites bizarre possessive behavior later. For now it was filed away in his mind simply under the tagline 'I can bully my brother, but you can't.'
"You were the last person to see the Flash." Batman went on, addressing Black while answering White in the same motion. Multitasking came easily, especially when the two in question had such similar mindsets – no matter how much they'd deny it. "Before he vanished you were with him. Before all this started you were both in a fight with your brother. So tell me Black – where have you been?"
Each word was punctuated with a further cringe from Black, until the meaning behind the Bat's demands finally sank in. Then the boy surged forward with the sort of urgency that Batman had seen civilians flee from collapsing buildings with.
"I didn't!" He sputtered, hands flying up to make nonsensical gestures that were probably meant to prove his innocence. To him they might have meant something but his gestures were never fully carried out, just like his broken defenses were never properly finished. "I would never—You know I'd never do anything to…!"
To Bruce's surprise the young man's gaze flicked between himself and Hal – looking for some sort of sign he had someone on his side. Between the two of them – excluding White on the other end of the com – everyone there knew Black's defenses were pointless. Bruce knew that Black was not to blame for the Flash's disappearance. At least in the sense that he was not behind it.
But his defenses, claims of 'never', were less watertight. Bruce looked at the frantic boy and again wondered if there was really no way he might have done something like this. If there was a chance he could – a thought for another day.
"Batman, please I-!" Black looked at him imploringly, trying to find some sort of hope that the Justice League founder believed him. "I'd never hurt him – I swear I wouldn't!"
"Black." Bruce cut across the boy sharply, putting an end to his thoughtless ramblings. "I need you to think. Listen to what I am saying, and think." Noire, for all his faults, could at least be silent and observant when need be. He was quite good at silence actually – a trait Bruce would have been grateful should the others decide to take pointers from. Hal for a start.
"You were the last person to see the Flash. You left his home the night you fought with your brother. Since then no one has seen or heard from the Flash and until Lantern found you tonight-" A small noise from Hal told Bruce that he wanted a bit more recognition – he would have to wait. "-you have not been heard from either."
Noire's red eyes were starting to widen, beginning to understand what Bruce was getting at. "So, I will ask you again – where have you been Black?"
He understood now, between the time that he and Flash had parted way, there was a large chunk of time unaccounted for. Hal had contacted Bruce over the com link to tell him where he'd found Noire – the location as not unusual in the least. But for that long? That many hours, in a cemetery? It was not only unusual but it seemed like at least someone would have seen him. The cemetery was hardly a bustling area of the city – but surely one person might have stumbles across him. But instead there was nothing, not a single sighting or mention of Noire until Hal found him. Batman didn't like that very much.
"I…tried going home." Now he began to understand, listing off what he remembered in simple terms to Bruce. To piece together what they were missing. "Tried to go back, to apologize." A snort from Hal echoed Bruce's thoughts – an apology was unlikely. Thankfully Noire only tossed Hal a dirty look, not lashing out beyond that.
"But when I got there – I couldn't get in. I tried busting in, I was…worried." His tone suggested he meant to say he was scared and only pride stopped him from doing so. "I panicked when nothing worked – so I tried to bust the door down and…"
"And?" Bruce prompted when Noire fell silent. The boy didn't immediately answer, instead he only shook his head and stared, wide-eyed at the ground.
"I was back at the cemetery. Everything just got hazy, and I was so tired. I just couldn't move, my body didn't want to – so I slept there. That's the last I can remember."
"Noire." Bruce spoke to him gently, even using his true identity, that seemed to alarm Noire more and the boy looked at him in a familiar way. The same glance he'd give Bruce whenever Barry panicked and called the man over for whatever reason. The sort of stare Noire gave him when he thought he was in danger rather than trouble. Still just a scared little child under all that other nonsense. "That was a whole day ago."
"If someone drugged my brother-!" Alois's furious voice cut away to static as he began to shout something that the com wouldn't pick up. The sound was loud enough that the earpiece simply went to static and Bruce couldn't make out all the angry words being used. Perhaps that was for the best.
But the angry brother had a point, Noire could have been under the influence of some drug. The monochrome brothers were impervious to some things humans fell victim to – Bruce was yet to try the effects of some more insidious drugs on the pair. He knew they could get sick from eating bad food, and Noire had even fallen ill once of a natural cause – they were hardly invulnerable so it was possible that certain drugs could have the same effects on them as human victims. In some cases the effects may even be worse than what humans suffered. However Noire didn't mention anyone else. No needle, no cloth around his mouth and nose – simply coming into contact with Barry's door.
"How did you try to break in?" Bruce continued calmly, trying not to fuel Noire's rising panic. He needed a bit more information, details, and he wouldn't get any of it if Noire had a panic attack.
"I…" He gulped, the trembling had finally started and it had nothing to do with Bruce's presence. "I tried to push it open with my hands and when that didn't work I tried to break it with my shadows. I hit it with just one – just enough that I thought the hinges would break."
Bruce hummed thoughtfully and stood back to his full height, thinking about what Noire said.
"Physical contact did nothing?" Noire shook his head in confirmation and Bruce's eyes narrowed under his cowl. So it was only when Noire tried to use his powers to open the door that he was thrown back to the cemetery in a daze. They could test this theory by going to Barry's and having Noire knock on wood as it were, however that risked him being thrown into whatever state he'd been in before. If that made him violent or unable to control his actions he might very well hurt someone – so Bruce resolved to think a little more before making any firm decisions.
For now he knew that there was some reaction to Noire's power as opposed to physical force – that could be useful information.
"On your feet Black." The boy scrambled to comply and Bruce almost regretted not offering him a hand. He couldn't be too doting. "We'll go back to the house – and this time we'll think before we act."
There were a thousand different criticisms Bruce had of Noire Harlow right then. But most were put on the backburner in favour of focusing on Barry's safety and a few were discarded all together when he saw how distressed Noire was. Once everyone was once again safe – then Bruce could rip into the two of them for their carelessness.
"Lantern, Black – you will both meet me there." Batman continued, reaching into his belt to retrieve his grappling hook. This area of Central City didn't have quite the same built up area he preferred, but it would be enough.
"Hey, hold up a second." Hal stepped forward, looking like he had a complaint ready. But Bruce had already shot the hook and taken off, not willing to wait and listen to the Green Lantern's petty gripes. He only just caught the sound of Hal groaning as he left, they knew where Barry's house was – only a small distance from here – but Bruce needed to have his own room to speak aloud to the other, invisible fourth person present.
He needed to be three more houses over before stopping, ducking down between two homes and waiting in the darkness till he saw the light of Hal and Noire pass overhead. He couldn't hear any arguing this time, so either they were both quiet out of concern or Hal had made a construct to gag Noire.
A few more second passed before Bruce brought his gloved hand up to gently place pressure against the communicator, keeping it quiet as he could. When you knew men that could hear a passing conversation almost a whole world over – you did tend to mind your words just that little bit more. Thankfully Clark's focus was not likely to be on him right now, best keep it that way.
"Monochrome White." There was an answering hum on the other end, it didn't sound quite like Alois was bored, more like he was thinking deeply. "What is your take on this?"
A pause. Silent and a touch too heavy. Then finally White let out a sigh and it sounded as if he was slumping back wherever he was seated. Weariness – Bruce could understand that.
"An impenetrable house?" White drawled and Bruce could easily imagine how the young man's eyebrows would draw together tightly. "Sounds like you ought to call that fly boy of yours."
It took a great deal of effort not to get irritated by that comment, and begrudgingly, Alois may have a point. A stupid, ill thought out, heavily sardonic, point.
"You think brute force will open it?" Batman replied, allowing just a touch of cynicism in his own voice. In one of his better moment, Alois chose to ignore that tone.
"Do any of your crazies fit this sort of thing?" White asked, listing off the basic possibilities. Batman grimaced, simply because he was the only one there to know he'd done it. His crazies, as Alois put it, were capable of most anything between them all. It was hard to pin down a simple pattern. In some respects it was obvious – Scarecrow could always be traced back to fear and the inner workings of the mind. Two-face was overly attached to those coins of his and the idea of justice. Calendar man liked dates – go figure. Poison Ivy had very distinctive pollens and plant related crimes. Her poisons were entirely different to Scarecrows fear toxin or the Jokers laughing gas, and in turn theirs were different from everyone else's. So yes, in some ways it was easy to identify their work.
In other ways…it was nearly impossible. The Joker might have a few running gags so to say, a few obvious markers – but the things he did, the reasons he did them – if any at all – were so varied that it was hard to always pick it right. It wasn't unusual for the Joker to do something that could be traced back to another super villain's style – at least for the less experience. Batman was one of the unfortunate few that almost always knew when it was the Joker – it was something that came with familiarity. He dearly wished that he'd never had to become so familiar with anything related to the Joker.
But a house that couldn't be entered, and a missing superhero? That didn't immediately fit any of Batman's ones. Add on top of that some sort of drugged state and the leaving of a lesser hero in a cemetery – and things got even murkier. It didn't fit anyone; there was no significant date for someone like calendar man, no money to be gained by Penguin – nothing plant related for Ivy. Zasz would have cut Noire to bits and pieces and there was no way that Mad Hatter would have taken Barry – he didn't fit the 'Alice' he needed. Perhaps if the vigilante that had been captured in the house was someone other than Flash – it could have been the Joker. Not his usual style, but he lashed out on occasion – just for a good laugh.
However Bruce knew he was still in Arkham, hoped it would stay that way indefinitely this time. Unlikely. Also the Joker was hardly shy when it came to taking credit – if he'd been the one to do this, his name would be all over it. Noire wouldn't be so unscathed in a cemetery either; there'd be something. Something that left Joker's fingerprints on it.
"Unlikely." Batman finally decided. He wouldn't rule anything out until he had a bit more information, but this didn't look like anyone of his villains. "It's more likely one of Flash's. That group, the Rogues, is it possible that they-?"
"No." The sheer venom in the word surprised him. It was as though Alois had taken every ounce of insult, anger and force he could muster up and put it all behind one word. For a few seconds Batman analyzed that response, it felt a little too hasty – too offended. "The Rogues wouldn't touch this. It's not their work."
Yes, that was definitely too personal. Bruce quickly ran his mind over what he knew of the Rogues and what he'd come to know about White recently. He was hardly a member, didn't run in their circles and Bruce couldn't remember a time where White had outright worked on a heist with them. However it was not unusual for White's name to pop up when the Rogues did move, information trading, the occasional assist – no matter which way Bruce looked at it, White had a hand in the Rogues somewhere. To what extent and why he couldn't say just yet.
For now it could be useful – Alois might not have the same database of information on the criminals like Batman did, but if he knew them personally then it could be of value. Mirror Master had been known to cause problems in the past, partnering up with types even less savory then the Rogues but this didn't quite fit him either. The Rogues had an even firmer set of signatures than the Arkham inmates. If it had to do with the cold – Lenoard Snart was probably involved. If something was set ablaze – it was Heatwave, something coated in gold – Golden Glider. Their names were their identifiers – none of them read 'impenetrable house man.'
That would be an awful name.
"Fine." Batman eventually allowed and he wouldn't have minded seeing White's surprise when he gave so easily. "If not the Rogues then who else in Central would do something like this?"
This time the silence that followed was thicker, more telling. Alois took a small breath and it felt like he was counting the seconds before speaking, like he wasn't sure if he should or could say what was on his mind. Then finally, the breath was released and Alois spoke.
"I have an idea." The words were quiet and biting. Alois sounded equal parts bitter and uneasy. It was almost something like fear. "Around Central lately there's been this…thing." He continued, voice hardly becoming more encouraging. "I've caught sight of it from time to time, lurking around the Flash's house."
"White – details. What does it look like?" Batman demanded.
"It looks like the Flash." Alois answered sharply. Bruce highly doubted White's frustration was actually directed at him. "As in I can't properly see it – it's fast. I thought it was the Flash at first, but its colours are all wrong – it's yellow. Like gold running through the streets."
Batman felt both relief and dread flood through him. So Thawne was back in their time then. Eobard Thawne hadn't showed his face in this century for a long time – long enough that they'd almost begun to hope he was truly gone. The dread of his return would affect Barry far more than it did Bruce – it would be like hearing the Joker had returned after a long, blissful silence. Horrifying, but deep down – predicable.
However – this was not something Thawne could set up surely. He was a speedster, not a magician.
"No." Batman answered finally. "The thing you saw isn't behind this. Speedsters might mess with timelines and run across oceans – but they are hardly magical." Alois grunted on the other end, not exactly a sound that inspired great relief. It sounded to Batman like Alois was more alarmed by this. His thoughts confirmed by the next small question that slipped out of Alois's mouth.
"Then what is it doing?" Batman thought it would be best not to comment on how small Alois sounded, how much he could sound like his brother when he was afraid. "Why is it here? Why was it looking into my brother's room…?"
A small chill ran down Bruce's spine and he decided to look into this new found information as soon as possible. Barry would need to know at some point – but Bruce wanted to do his own investigating first. Barry would panic and maybe do something foolish – he needed a level head to deal with this and right now Bruce could hardly consider anyone in their team level headed.
"One problem at a time." Bruce reasoned as he pulled his grappling hook out again, this time ready to head to Barry's house.
"Hey, Bats." Alois's voice had not yet fully pulled out of its quiet state and Bruce made a point to focus on where he was firing his grappling hook more than the child speaking to him. They looked like adults but both those boys were hardly old enough to look after themselves. Lacie would have been appalled at him – for letting them both fall into disarray as they had. The imagined scorn of a dead girl stung more viciously than it should have. "I do have one more idea. If you're willing to hear me out."
He was dearly tempted to refuse. For White to ask permission, it probably meant that it involved something nasty – but as of right now they were running out of leads.
"I'll consider it. Speak fast."
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The ground was coming up too quickly, at too great a distance. Batman only had a few seconds to calculate all of this as well as factor in Barry's weight – conclusion? This was going to hurt.
Bracing himself best as he could, Bruce kept his arms curled protectively around the currently speedless speedster. Had he still had his grappling hook things might have been made easier on the two of them – but even if he had, the Crooked Man made sure that he'd have nothing to latch onto until he was in the next stage. Hitting the ground was part of the game after all.
Barry must have realized that they weren't going to slow down as the smaller male curled in Bruce's arms slightly. He was hardly a coward but instinct was most likely ruling all of his actions at this point and right now Bruce's body made for a protective shield between him and the ground. That was fine – pain Bruce could handle.
And when his shoulder connected firmly with the stone floor under them, following by a snap and crack, Bruce was reminded just how much 'hurt' he could endure. The first hit was not nearly the worst of the fall, his shoulder exploded into white-hot pain and a quick mental note was made. Something was probably broken.
It was unlike the Crooked Man to damage his playthings; at least in Bruce's experience it was not in the man's nature to damage them before the trials could begin. He was still nursing some tender ribs after the second floor – an unfortunate run in with a replica Red Hood. At the very least it had not been Allen's body that made the first contact with the ground.
The second hit with the floor was less sever but there was still so much force and speed behind their tumble that both Barry and Bruce got tossed along the ground. Places where Bruce's suit had already been torn in previous encounters left his skin exposed to the unforgiving drag – easily ripping open what vulnerable skin it could find. The scrapping of the uneven gravel like flooring under them began to tear at more than just skin. Gritting his teeth, Bruce tried to keep a hold of Barry but when a part of his gauntlet broke free. The savage pull on his arm jerked Bruce's hand away from Barry and even as he fought to once again find his grip, Barry's body came loose.
A small grunt of pain was all Bruce heard when Barry's body final made its first honest connection with the ground, but thankfully the man did not roll too far and suffered very little punishment. Bruce's own body eventually slid to a halt just a few meters away. There was a moment where Bruce did not even attempt to stand, didn't bother trying to pull himself together. Instead he lay where he'd come to a stop and took stock of all his possible injuries. His shoulder was still the biggest trouble but he had already guessed the extend to which he'd been injured there, instead his mind moved onto the places where the gravel had pulled flesh free from the muscle. Trying to see just how deep or extensive the grazing was.
It took maybe thirty seconds for Bruce to make a mental list of just how many places on his body was now without the top layer of skin. Thankfully most of his suit had stayed firm and while the skin underneath felt raw – it would remain unbroken. The places where his suit had failed were the areas that were beginning to show traces of red. Matted with small rock shards and dirt, the wounds – while not life threatening – would become infected if not cleaned and covered soon. The likelihood of seeking medical attention any time soon was low and Bruce knew he'd have to find another solution – at least until this ridiculous game ended.
Satisfied that the small tumble had not caused him any lethal injuries, Bruce finally pulled himself into a sitting position. He had to bite back an agonized groan and then when upright, fight off a wave of nausea that was quickly chased by a blossoming headache. Bruce had faired through worse.
"Barry." The name came out almost without his consent, raw and rough to his own ears. Instinctively Bruce looked up for the speedster and was relieved when he spotted the man still laying down only a small distance away. He could not see all of Barry, but he did not see any blood and the speedster's chest was rising and falling steadily – that was enough comfort for now.
Getting to his feet was more of an ordeal than sitting up had but this time he made no sound. Control came back quickly; his body just needed a bit more time to come around. Ignoring his body's various complaints, Bruce began to make his way towards Barry. His first checking glance had reassured Bruce that Barry was not gravely injured but his continued none responsiveness was troubling him now.
Reaching out for the fallen man, Bruce tried again to get a response out of him. "Barry, are you-"
Perhaps he should have expected it when a wall slammed down between Barry and himself. The hand that he had reached out for Barry was whipped back to his side, only just avoiding getting caught by the abrupt rising of the barricade.
A glass wall.
Bruce's blood ran cold as his mind shot back to the last time the Crooked Man had put him and another in a scenario like this. Wasn't once enough?
Only now did Barry begin to stir, looking very much like he was only just able to pull himself out of unconsciousness. "Wha-? Bruce?" His voice was thick and Bruce was worried maybe he had not been able to successfully shield the younger man from the fall.
"Now then." When the Crooked Man's hissing voice broke into the air, Bruce's teeth ground together so hard he was sure that this time they might just crack under the force. "Now that we're all here – how about we continue?" The tone of the man's voice was hardly comforting. Bruce hadn't heard the Crooked Man properly livid before, but this quiet honey sweet seething was probably the closest he was going to get to it.
"The two of you thought you could cheat me? In my game?" There was less honey and more venom in each biting word. "I made this game especially for you – all for you. And how do you repay me? By cheating and lying like a pair of snakes!"
"We didn't!" Barry protested angrily, apparently having come back to himself enough to be insulted by the mad man's accusations. Bruce would have rolled his eyes had he not been wearing his cowl. It felt wrong to roll his eyes while in the Batman attire – but it was terribly tempting. Only Barry would bother debating the comments of a mad man.
"You did!" The disembodied voice hissed back childishly before taking a moment to compose itself and continue at a marginally more civil tone. "But seeing as I'm so generous I won't disqualify you. Besides, I'd hate for the pair of you to miss out on this."
Bruce straightened his back out at the Crooked Man prattled on, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice.
"You're a coward." The silence that followed Bruce's simple comment was perhaps one of the iciest he'd experienced. Not a word was spoken but Burce could practically feel the concealed man seething. The truth must have stung more than he'd expected. "You could have stepped in at any time, changed anything to suit your needs. As you said, this is your game. But you didn't. Instead you hid and waited, vainly hoping we'd leave."
Humans were incredibly foolish creatures. Bruce knew that better than most, not simply from observing his allies and enemies ridiculous habits but also from taking the time to study his own choices and motions. People were so incredibly alone in their own heads, it was just their own voice in there echoing back familiar sentiments and justifications. Realistically there was nothing to fear in there, it was about as safe as one could get without the intrusive, prying fingers of a physic.
Yet for some reason there was still fear and a sort of divide in their heads. Humans created things to blame and scorn in their own mind, call it what you will 'the devil', 'temptation' – the evil 'me'. It hardly mattered, the interesting thing was that it seemed to exist in there and act as a scapegoat for all the hosts anger. To blame themselves and somehow avoid all fault in the same moment. I wasn't myself was such a popular term for a reason.
It seemed the Crooked Man was no stranger to these falsified demons. His, however, took a slightly different form. It wasn't a small malicious voice in his head that bothered him, instead it was the remains of his conscience that concerned him. So he'd hidden when the Lacie duplicate appeared, recoiling into some dark space where he wouldn't have to face that lingering human sentimentality. Just so he wouldn't have to see her face or hear her voice – a coward's choice.
Did that exist in everyone? Maybe not. Bruce briefly thought of the monsters he'd met, some couldn't possibly have that little niggling uncertainty. Thoughts of the former Joker filled his head and Bruce did his best to dismiss the mere possibility, but when a red cape came to mind – well maybe it was possible.
Really, humans were so predictably moronic. Creating and sectioning parts of themselves off as if it could somehow stop being part of them.
"Is that what you think, Bat?" Crooked Man's voice returned, cracking furiously. "Fine. If you won't play nice you can be the Flash's challenge."
On the other side of the glass wall, Barry looked up towards the sky as if that was the source of the Crooked Man's voice. The speedster had gotten close to the wall, touching his hands along it like he was looking for some imperfection. Bruce felt a small swell of pride that he very much kept to himself.
"A riddle and a challenge," Crooked Man continued, voice biting and spiteful. Bruce felt that playing nice was off the table for everyone.
"So here is your riddle."
Somewhere Bruce swore he heard something dropping into the area behind him. Judging by the metallic echo it was a weapon of some kind, unless the man had taken to dropping random slips of scrap metal around. Even that could have been made to work as a weapon.
"And here's a challenge."
This time Bruce swore out loud as the floor underneath his feet unexpectedly shifted. He only managed to step off the danger zone when the space was uprooted from below. The large slab of earth lifted a bit higher into the sky and a tiny spark of recognition crossed Bruce's gaze. He hadn't seen ground lifted up like that in a while – about as long as the Lords had stopped existing.
When the massive slab of earth came hurling at the Bat, he flung himself out of the way, shooting a grappling hook off into the darkness. It found purchase and Bruce let it jerk him out of the path of destruction when the wire tried to coil up. It was very nearly too little too late and Bruce felt a few loose pieces of debris bounce off his suit as he evaded the potentially lethal attack.
It was a mistake to look up, a fault in his judgment to bother looking for a familiar face. He knew well enough that the Crooked Man would put any face in front of him if it might make him falter. Despite this, it was a reflexive glance upwards and Bruce saw what he already guessed.
"Superman."
There was a fleeting moment where Barry felt like something fortunate had just happened. The usual flood of relief at seeing Superman's familiar form. It was short-lived as all of Bruce's comments about 'his' Superman came back into Barry's head. That and even if it had been the Superman from Barry's universe, this was the Crooked Man's creation, it would just be some twisted up version of what he already knew.
Barry felt the distinct lack of his speed again; the emptiness where the speedforce usually raged through his veins left him feeling cold and helpless. He could outrun Superman on a good day – today wasn't even going to cut it as a simple bad day. But that wall was still between them. It separated Superman from Barry and while he wasn't sure he believed any construct could properly keep Superman at bay, if the Crooked Man wanted the wall it was there to keep Bruce and Barry apart, not to keep a duplicate in.
That wall was there to keep Barry from being able to reach Bruce and just as efficiently kept Bruce inside with the duplicate. His mind had not fully shaken off the memories of the fake Len he'd come across and seeing such a familiar structure alone sent a icy shiver down Barry's spine.
"Bruce!" It must have been sentimental on his part to feel anything for the Batman from another reality. But how could he turn a blind eye when this man was just as alive as the one Barry knew back home. A different world, not his own in any sense – but that man standing on the other side of the divide facing down a familiar face – that man was still a life.
Barry couldn't let it just slip through his fingers.
"And begin." No sooner than the disembodied voice cackled into life, the super fake had lunged for Bruce.
True to his role as a Batman of any universe, Bruce was quick on his feet. Diving away from the man before he could crush Bruce between himself and the ground. The floor itself didn't fair much better, smashing and crumbling to bits under this version of Superman's hands.
"This isn't fair!" Barry shouted, as if somehow he might be able to reason with the man that watched from somewhere in the darkness. "You're suppose to challenge me as well, you can't put all this on Bruce!" He could practically see the Crooked Man bristling with agitation at his accusations. Well his mind had to conjure up an imagined version of him seeing as Barry had very little to actually go off appearance wise. "I thought you played by the rules Crooked Man."
"Don't name me a cheat!" The voice spat furiously. "On each side of the wall there is a challenge for you both, once the riddle is found either can answer. I am nothing if not fair in my games!" Clearing his throat in an effort to regain composure, the monster took a few seconds to calm himself before continuing. In that short pause Barry caught sigh of Bruce very nearly getting struck by the fake Superman.
Bruce was fast, and impressive. No one on earth – his or any other – would deny this. However Superman, even a mere fake, could not be out maneuvered in these conditions. It was a quietly accepted fact that should Superman lose his moral compass and rules, he could probably kill anyone and anything that came up against him. Even Bruce knew this; maybe he knew it better than anyone else – especially this version of Wayne.
It was a matter of time before Bruce ran out of room to dodge or trick Superman with small fake outs. Only a matter of time before the man was captured and killed right in front of Barry.
Not again. Not another person dying just beyond his reach. He was too slow to save anyone, and Barry knew that if he couldn't find something other than speed to help him, he was always going to be too slow.
"Please." Barry blurted out into the empty space that he addressed as the Crooked Man.
Humming almost thoughtfully the disembodied voice did not speak for a few more seconds following the accidental plea Barry let out. "If you want to save him so bad, all you have to do is kill someone else. Either of you can complete this challenge – just kill your enemy and save a friend. Simple." Except it wasn't simple and he god damn knew that.
Frustrated and feeling more pressed for time than he could remember feeling in the past five years of his always being late, Barry took off in search of his own 'challenge'. With no idea what he was going to do when he found it. Killing someone had never been on the table, not for him and certainly not to Bruce.
They just didn't do that.
The arena that the Crooked Man had dumped them into was similar to the maze of doors Barry first found himself lost in. Although it was considerably smaller judging by the fact that Barry never fully lost sight of the glass wall and even if it did vanish behind a wall at some point it only took him another turn to be able to see it again. Somewhere in the mass of hotel looking hallways and lackluster bedrooms – there had to be something to help Bruce. The Crooked Man for all his wicked little game ideas seemed to have a consistent habit of ruining himself. Barry just had to find what the fault in this level was.
Preferably before Bruce got his brains bashed in by the replica.
While Barry rushed around the seemingly empty halls looking for anything that might help in someway, Bruce had his hands full just staying out of reach. Despite the dire state of the situation, it did offer a rare opportunity to further scrutinize the Crooked Man's games. The replicas that Bruce had seen as near perfection in their detail were showing cracks in more than just the tweaking of their goals and methods.
As the fake Superman wrenched his fist free of the wall he'd only moments ago slammed into in a vain attempt to crush Batman, there was enough time for Bruce to get a proper look at this replica. Like those before it, the thing was visually perfect from his own memories of the man of steel. Even the hard line of the man's brow, bent down in a seemingly permanent scowl matched the expression Superman had started to wear more frequently when the Justice Lords were first introduced to the world.
The details were all there and should the fake open its mouth Bruce knew it would spill out things he already knew. It'd talk to him in a familiar voice and rattle of things that for all intents and purposes should have been a secret. Bruce had considered the possibility that the Crooked Man was dipping into his and by extension, Barry's minds. Picking apart their memories to make these imitations. But after having met Barry and talked briefly about things they did and did not know – it became rather obvious that the Crooked Man had access to information that was closed off from both his chosen captives.
Which meant he was probably picking through other people's minds. Bruce was no stranger to preplanning; actually he prided himself on the study and analysis that took place before any major action or decision. He had not expected it of a supposedly dead man, especially when his memory of the Crooked Man stated that he was frivolous and simple minded at best.
But he had been patient. For how long had he remained shielded behind his deceased status to quietly find the things he needed. How many people's dreams had he gleefully intruded on just to drag up scraps of information? The sense of being violated was one that Bruce couldn't give much time to stew on when the fake was turning to face him again – eyes that should have been blue blazing red.
Yes, Crooked Man had done his research and for the most part his replicas were impressive visions of the people he'd chosen to use as puppets. However he lacked control.
The puppets were given too much free reign even within the confines of the Crooked Man's domain. He made them almost too well and he was a weak man at his core – a coward that relied on others to do everything for him. He created almost perfect imitations of life and then they slipped out of his control. Time and time again they moved beyond their given parameters. The Robins Bruce had encountered became too emotive when prompted correctly, even the replica Red Hood caved into the memories that the Crooked Man had gifted him with. He gave them years of memory, of thought and feeling – but no time to adjust to it.
He was a fool.
"Superman." The fake was surprised. If Bruce had to hazard a guess, he had not expected the Bat to talk with him. It was difficult to stifle the bitter grin that wanted to form on his mouth. He let himself get wrapped up in words. The real Superman was just the same, an idiot to the end.
Against the man of steel there were better things to fight with than fists. Bruce had very little in this arrangement, but he still had his words. Superman had always fallen victim to his words – the fake should be no different.
"Bruce." The fake answered stonily, as if speaking his identity aloud would somehow give him the advantage.
"Not Batman?" Bruce retorted, keeping his own tone mostly flat. Superman had the best hearing this side of the universe; the slightest inflection in pitch or rate of his heartbeat would tip him off to Bruce's temperament. It had taken a lot of effort to control those things to the point that even Superman was guessing what his intentions were. Perfect. When gadgets and fists would not work, anxiety and uncertainty undoubtedly would.
"Because there's no one else around to hear you say it?" He continued almost casually, going so far as to take a step towards Superman. Oh, and Bruce was confident that for a moment he saw the fake tense – guarded but not quite afraid. Even in such horrible circumstances, Superman was weary of him. Him, a simple human. It was viciously humorous in a way. "Funny, you never once called me Bruce within earshot of another living soul." Now he knew he saw Superman's eyes narrow, flickering dangerously and so he put the final nail in the coffin. "I wonder why that is."
The slight dip into mockery was enough to get Superman moving again. As if he could punch away Bruce's implications. His bullheaded, enraged movements were predictable but Bruce knew he'd be caged in sooner or later. This time Superman got closer to snagging him and Bruce retreated to the cover of some of the broken pillars left scattered around by Superman's previous, rather excessive entrance. The darkness would not hide him for longer than a few moments at a time, Superman needed only to calm down and focus and he'd find Bruce in a number of ways. Super hearing catching his heartbeat, x-ray vision, finding his body pressed up against the stonework.
But the odds of the man calming down enough to do so were slim.
"Damn it, Bruce! Stop hiding in the shadows you treacherous snake!" His shouting really wasn't going to help him focus. Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes, he remembered this spiel. Always the same accusations, throwing names faster than Bruce thought the man was actually thinking them. His flare for dramatics had translated into the fake it seemed.
Betrayal ran deep, Bruce understood that. But if they were going to get caught on this– they'd betrayed humanity first.
"We were friends. Partners." He was still going on, as if somehow he might get some sort of sympathy from the Bat. If the real Superman failed, a fake was not going to fair any better. Idly Bruce wondered how much Superman wanted him to see the world through his eyes. As if he was still looking for some sort of approval from the Bat. He'd never get it.
From the corner of his eye, Bruce could just see Barry's fleeting form rushing through the maze that the Crooked Man had placed on his side of the glass. Briefly concern for the other man crossed his mind, which was fairly unreasonable when he was the one on this side of the glass with a murderous kryptonian.
What was he looking for? Bruce's eyebrows drew together tightly as he watched Barry disappear around another corner. He was rushing around as if he might actually be able to find something to get them out of this bind. Bruce didn't feel quite so optimistic. Distantly he could hear Superman breaking something, probably acting out of anger while Bruce kept his cool. Optimistic maybe not, but that did not mean that Bruce was willing to let Superman pull his heart right out of his chest.
"Don't ignore me, Bruce!" Seemed his time was up. Without bothering to check over his shoulder, Bruce lunged away from the wall. Using the pillar as something to push off and throw some distance between himself and the place he'd just been sitting. It was barely a second later that spot was buried under the remains of the pillar as Superman practically smashed through it.
There was a comment in the back of his mind about the super powered man being clingy even in a replica form but Bruce decided he liked his spine not broken – and thus kept it to himself.
Continuing to backup, Bruce could feel the last of his hiding places beginning to slip away. It was unlikely that he'd be able to put much distance between them as Superman got more and more agitated.
He was no fool; he knew how this game was supposed to play out. This might as well have been the Crooked Man's punishment for the stunt they'd pulled in the last level. It didn't help that Batman felt very much that this version of the Crooked Man was the one that had dragged Barry into the game – not the one that had snatched him. He could ponder how they'd ended up with Barry's monster rather than his if he survived. But for the time being that meant that the Crooked Man most likely wouldn't be too perturbed should Bruce die here. Barry was the real target.
But a game was a game and no matter what world, the crooked man couldn't resist.
A small resistance met Bruce's heel as he took another cautious step backwards. It felt solid but it wasn't rubble or debris from the areas that Superman had demolished in his superhuman hissy fit. A quick daring glance down and Bruce realized what it was – the thing that he'd heard dropping into the stage when the Crooked Man first announced the new game.
The riddle?
Superman was still nearing him, most likely thinking that no matter what it was that had captured the Bat's attention, it wouldn't be any sort of threat. Except the thing that Bruce had stepped on was familiar to him. A simple, small, black box. It was just the right size and shape and Bruce could swear he could even see the small scuff on the side from where the box used to clip against the sharp edge of one of his utility belt cases.
A cold chill raced down Bruce's spine when the weight of what the Crooked Man had given him truly sunk in. In an effort not to let his churning stomach stop him from moving, Bruce quickly snatched up the box. The weight was just how he remembered it, he hadn't held this particular box in what felt like a life time. Not since Superman back in his world had been locked away.
The replica pause, looking at Bruce with that very nearly digested sneer. It was the look of superiority that had no place on that face, Bruce had seen it more often than he wished to recall. It was foolish to be feeling nostalgic at a time like this, but Bruce couldn't help but think back to a time when Superman's face hadn't been quite so foul.
Back when he'd been Clark Kent at his core.
"What are you doing, Bruce?" Superman asked, sounding more quietly frustrated than amused. Like he was dealing with an disobedient child whose antics had finally worn their welcome. "Can't you for just once in your life see reason? Why do you always have to be so damn stubborn?"
He hadn't recognized what was in Bruce's hand. Good, if he had then maybe he'd realize that he should kill Bruce immediately rather than waste time speaking. Bruce was doing no better, he should have used the life line he'd been given without a second thought but he knew this game too well. Someone had to die.
If it were Bruce that died under Superman's unforgiving hands – it would be a simple death. But that wasn't what the Crooked Man really wanted, if it were he wouldn't have set the game up this way. Bruce knew now what Barry would find on the other side of the glass. A familiar face he dreaded seeing. Someone that the world would be better without, someone Barry Allen might just hate.
Someone he could be tempted to kill if it meant saving Bruce.
A hero never kills, one of the Crooked Man's rules. If broken it would result in an immediate game over. It was now that Bruce realized there was truly no way for both he and Barry to win this round. One of them would lose, be it by death or murder.
"Ha, check mate I suppose."
Superman just had enough time to look confused before Bruce clicked the box open and the green light flooded out form under its lid.