Doll House – Imperfect Sentiments.
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…
It hardly took a second for the stone to cripple Superman.
Seemed kryptonite worked just fine in the Crooked Man's universe as it did back home. Bruce watched on impassive, as Superman stumbled away. He was falling to the effects of kryptonite immediately and as the man of steel dropped to his knees with a thud – Bruce idly wondered if his final move in the Crooked Man's game would be to take a life of a former friend.
A hero never kills. He knew that, it was that niggling thought in the past that had driven him from the Justice Lords. But this was fine; Bruce didn't feel much like a hero. He couldn't remember the last time he had.
"Superman." The trembling man looked up in alarm as Bruce approached him. The effects of the green stone seemed worse than what Bruce remembered, perhaps the Crooked Man had tweaked the game to be this way. To make murder physically easier for Bruce. "What am I doing? Maybe I'll finally see your reasoning. You should be pleased."
He said it to force a flickering terror into the alien's eyes. It was there, just as he'd hoped and so Bruce let the box drop from his hand, allowing it to crash to the ground, abandoned. The kryptonite fell with the box and landed a small distance from the both of them, left out in the open. As Superman looked between him at the stone as if he were mad for having discarded his greatest weapon and possibly only hope of besting the man of steel physically, Bruce leisurely lowered himself into a fighting stance.
"You'll have to make me see it your way. Evenly matched this time." Bruce wasn't sure if what he was doing was right or wrong. His sense of justice felt far away, but there was one thing he could hold onto. He was going to get Barry back to his world. Back to a place where his team was still a team and Clark Kent still existed with a kindness he could only now remember.
His fists tightened, clenching and unclenching as Superman dragged himself back up to his feet. There was a time where he felt so disorientated and apprehensive that he had not been able to tell who was doing the right thing. Unsure if his sense of justice was truly any less warped than Superman's had become. But just as back then, regardless of how uncertain his footing was, Bruce knew that standing still was not an option.
He had to keep moving forward.
One way or another, Barry would not be dirtying his hands nor dying in this round. Bruce had accepted that already, and now all that was left was for them to see which of them would manage to kill the other first. He'd lost, Bruce understood this – but that was fine he still had one last move to make before the game ended for him. He just needed to decide who was going to die for that move.
Him or Superman.
While Bruce had planned to make the choice before Barry fully realized there was a choice at all, the game was not tipped in his favour. Barry was running out of ground to cover on his end and his lungs were finally beginning to voice their complaints along with his aching legs. He'd found nothing but hallways and doors, most of which he didn't bother to try after his last experience with them.
"Just…got to find the one…" Barry puffed, coming to rest against the hallway wall for a moment to catch his breath. While he braced himself against one of the many possible doors for a moment of rest, Barry felt something.
It was distant as first, almost too soft to really catch. It was akin to static brushing over the nape of his neck, drawing a shiver out of the man when he fully registered the sensation. The moment he really spotted it, Barry's heart leapt into his throat. It was faint but he knew that electrical thrum – it was the speedforce.
He rarely felt it on the outside, brushing up against his flesh as it passed by him. It belonged inside his blood, coursing through him like a live wire, but right now it was simply in the air around him. Loose and easily slipping through his fingers. His speed was still impossible to reach out for and tap into, but somewhere the speedforce was thrumming away inside something.
Forgetting the soreness of his legs, Barry began to follow the feeling. It was a much slower process than he was quite ready to accept. A practice of almost feeling through the air, fingers outstretched as he sought out where the tingling sensation was at its strongest and like this Barry followed something like a path. It never once occurred to him that maybe the Crooked Man had set this up, some sort of diversion. This felt like it fell beyond his capabilities, not unlike the fragment of Lacie was beyond his control – or the whims of the replicas he made. The speedforce existed beyond his control and while he could remove it from Barry – he could no more control it than anyone else.
Even speedsters were not in control of the energy that fueled them. If they were not cautious it could swallow them whole, drag them right out of time and into the empty spaces in between. The speedforce at times appeared fickle and malicious to Barry, like any strong force of nature it was not worth trying to have dominion over it. It would take what it wanted regardless of human intervention.
Right now Barry felt that what it wanted was him. It had taken him once, run through his entire body in a lightening bolt and given him his speed. The thought of being separated from it by force had been traumatic, but Barry had never really thought what the strange force would do without its vessel.
With all this running through his otherwise murky mind, Barry followed the faint path it had made for him. As it twisted and turned he began to feel as thought what he followed through the halls was less of a path and more a memory of the movement of the speedforce. Like someone had run through here with it trailing behind him or her – a speedster.
The path had ended just as Barry considered this; it had deposited him right in front of a door. It was unimpressive and unremarkable – just like all the others – but he knew without a doubt it was the one. This was where his trail had led him and Barry was now convinced a speedster waited on the other side.
One of CM's replicas? Almost definitely. Had the Crooked Man really managed to make a speedster replica? The distant echo of solid stone crashing into the ground reminded Barry that he'd been able to replicate Superman – a speedster was hardly out of the question.
Despite knowing this, Barry couldn't stop here. There was only one way and it was forward. So with a deep breath Barry pressed his hand flat against the door and pushed. It was not latched shut and there wasn't a hint of resistance, as it swung open without a sound. Not even the classic door squeak that he'd come to expect of all the Crooked Man's gimmicks. He had probably been a horror movie fan at some point.
The room looked exactly the same as the one he'd found the fake Hal in back in the first stage. Bare, save for a few key essentials and knowing what he did now, Barry wondered if this room had once belonged to the Crooked Man. It looked depressing, lacked personality of any kid it hardly looked lived in at all. Barry refused to feel bad for CM at this point but…he did file the thought away for later, just in case.
Inside the room was dark, there was a light switch by the door but it hadn't been flicked – the person inside had chosen to keep it off and Barry didn't dare touch it yet. Deeper inside the room, where the light pouring in from the doorway didn't quiet reach, Barry could just make out someone's form sitting on the bed inside.
They person sat with their hands clasped firmly and their head bowed. Even from this distance Barry could see they were shaking. Not a human tremble, but a speedster's tremor. The figure was vibrating faintly, their hands shaking the worst of all and for a moment Barry was at a loss. Part of him had expected an immediate attack but instead he found this. His heart clenched in anxiety – he would have welcomed an attack rather than risk another experience like what he'd gone through with the fake Len.
As the figure continued to shake, the speedforce obviously circulating through their body, Barry noticed small sparks occasionally flying from the speedsters clenched hands. As if they may take off running at any moment and were simply storing the lightening energy. That was fine; it wasn't really a concern – at least until Barry noticed the particular colour of those sparks.
It was red.
"Flash?" The person rasped and Barry flinched back instinctively. With the first step taken, Barry continued back another two – not that it would help should the man suddenly decide to move. The speedforce was in the air, in the speedster sitting in that room – but not with Barry. He hadn't been without his speed when facing this man, not since he was just a child. He was afraid.
"I know its you." The speedster continued quietly, not a way of speaking that Barry associated with the murderer. "Even without the suit…I know you." That comment drew Barry's attention to the yellow suit he'd come to recognize on the man, be looked the part but he wasn't quite acting it. Neither of them was in their correct skin to be facing one another.
"Thawne." The man's head lifted a bit at his own name coming out of Barry's mouth. It took a moment, but slowly the speedster began to shake his head, the motion becoming more frantic and furious with every passing second. Barry didn't know what to make of this – nothing in these movements reminded him of Proffessor Zoom. But it was his voice Barry was hearing, the same red lightening he knew so well.
"No. No! That's not right." Before Barry could properly wrap his brain around whatever hysteria had grabbed the man, Thawne moved. Barry hadn't seen a speedster move when he was stuck at a human pace before, and he was beginning to understand why people were always so alarmed by his abrupt presence or movements.
One moment he was looking into the dark room, trying to size up the man inside, then there was a blur of red and yellow, then nothing but white hot pain racing up his spine. He didn't feel the impact when his body collided with the wall opposite the room – just the pain – but what he did feel was cold fingers wrapping around his throat and dragging him up against that same wall.
The sensation of having the air forcibly knocked from his lungs and then being denied the ability to draw in another gulp of air to fill his empty lungs left Barry squirming just on the edge of suffocation. It had all gone down in a matter of seconds and Barry hadn't seen a single one of Thawne's movements, only the end result of his pinned up position.
"I am supposed to be the Flash!" Thawne was speaking, snarling at Barry with the occasional shake to emphasis his point. Very little of it was actually getting through to Barry, his head swimming with the possibility of a concussion and lack of oxygen to his brain.
Of all the ways he could die – this one actually wasn't that absurd. The Reverse Flash, or Professor Zoom – which ever he felt like being called on that day – had always made it pretty clear that he wanted to be the one to kill the Flash. Barry had always known that it was a possibility, more so than any one of Cold's Rogues getting to him. They might be criminals that constantly gave him a run for his money, but Thawne seemed to exist on the sole purpose of ending Barry. That type of loathing was unparalleled.
As his head got fuzzy, beginning to go into a frenzy the longer air was not readily accessible, Barry could still distantly recall the argument he'd had with Noire before all of this.
"What the hell would you know? You, perfect Barry – bloody – Allen!" The kid sounded mad in his memory – Barry would have laughed if his throat wasn't currently being forced shut – Noire always sounded angry. "Everyone loves you, have you ever had someone hate you a day in your damn life?" His vision was blurring horribly but Barry could just make out the snarl on Thawne's face, to him that looked like the perfect picture of hatred. If he'd been able to, he would have taken a picture to show Noire he knew exactly what it felt like.
It sort of felt like death right now.
Through the small contact Barry could feel the full force of the electrical feeling he'd followed here. It twisted against his skin and suffocated him more so than Thawne's fingers around his throat seemed to. It felt wrong. The speedforce, even in Thawne had always felt alive and sharp – something wild. However this variation of it seemed to be sick in a sense, writhing and pulsating unevenly as if it were not in its correct form.
The roaring in his head was beginning to grow louder and the longer Barry went without air the closer he got to unconsciousness. But even with the darkness curling at the corners of his vision, Barry realized what was wrong with the speedforce here. This was a replica, not the Eobard that Barry knew – and more importantly it was a badly made knock off.
The Crooked Man had failed in this one, it was imperfect.
Some of the fear faded knowing this was not the real Eobard Thawne, even with the fakes fingers choking the life from him, it somehow felt less gut wrenching when he knew it wasn't the actual man that had killed his mother in front of him. That did nothing to console his screaming lungs or fading consciousness however.
"But I…" Suddenly the pressure was easing off and a moment later the force that had held Barry to the wall was gone, leaving him to collapse to his hands and knees – gagging on the air he too hastily tried to draw into his chest.
While Barry gasped and coughed, letting his body do all it could to return to a normal breathing pattern, the fake Reverse Flash backed away from him. It wasn't until Barry forced himself to look up that he noticed the replica was speaking rapidly under his breath. He was watching a man with a familiar face from his nightmares; practically fall apart in front of him.
What had the Crooked Man gotten so wrong with this replica? It didn't act much like the Thawne he knew. Besides the hand around his throat – which admittedly felt very familiar – nothing else fit. It took a few haggard breaths before Barry's brain was functioning enough to begin really hearing what Thawne was babbling about. Even then he didn't find any sort of understanding in it.
"No, that's not right either. I wanted to meet the Flash – I liked the Flash." Thawne's voice was strange as well, not just the words he was spilling. Barry could see very clearly that he was vibrating again, muscles jerking every now and then as he blurred in and out of Barry's sight. If Barry had to pick a word for this bizarre type of melt down, he'd say that the replica was glitching.
"But I hate the Flash!" Eobard lamented, face held in his hands at the vibrating got worse. "I know I do…but I was the Flash wasn't I? I was….I know I was! But I was also Eobard, and Zoom-gah! I don't know which it is!"
With only the bruises he was going to definitely have after this and the lingering memory of Thawne's fingers around his neck, Barry began to creep back up using the wall as a steady surface to help him. Thawne was having some sort of break down right in front of him and Barry decided that it was definitely more unsettling than if the replica had been a perfect imitation of the usual monster.
The Crooked Man had placed this replica here for a reason – as the challenge. But looking at the violently shuddering mess in front of him Barry didn't find himself looking at a challenge. What was it CM expected him to do with….this?
Then the fake was looking at him. Barry tensed under the stare, not entirely sure if he should expect another throttling or not. Still shaking violently, the Eobard look alike slowly turned his gaze towards the room they'd come out of, then back to Barry – some sort of calculation going on inside his head.
"What…" He began, sounding unsteady even in his voice but no less determined. "What is it that given one, you'll have either two or none?"
When Barry just kept staring at the unhinged fake, he began to gesture angrily. As if the Flash's stupidity was the most aggiating thing on the planet. "He gave it to me!" Thawne snarled, trying to get Barry to understand what he was trying to give him. "The words you needed, he gave them to me."
Had Barry not been marveling at how incredibly fragmented and unstable this replica was it would have sunk in quicker what it was trying to give him. "The riddle." Barry blurted when it finally dawned on him. "He told you the riddle." Thawne nodded firmly in reply and Barry couldn't help but think that this fake was broken enough to have given the riddle away by accident.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Not the most elegant way to phrase a question but straight to the point. "Why are you all…glitchy?" He asked with a rather vague sweeping gesture towards the entirety of Eobard.
The man laughed. The sound was actually close enough to the real Reverse Flash's laugh that Barry recoiled a bit. "I'm from the twenty-fifth century." Thawne said simply and when Barry didn't immediately understand the man's face twisted into a familiar sneer. "Pieces of me are missing. He can't reach the future…so he can't know everything there is to know. So now I'm…confused." He concluded, the final word coming out miserably.
"I hate you." Eobad added harshly, fixing Barry with a sharp stare that was one hundred percent the man he knew. "I hate you so damn much. But at the same time I idolize you and then sometimes I am you! Do you have any idea how confusing that is?"
"Really can't say I do buddy." Barry's input was evidently not needed, because Thawne just went right on ahead with his ramblings as if Barry hadn't said a word.
"Then there are black spots in my memories. I didn't even exist until the first time I appeared in your backwater century." Even with his flawed imitation, Thawne was still rude. "The only thing that seems to exist is you. Chasing you, ruining your life, watching how you grow up – everything revolves around the Flash." There was a pause and Barry did try not to let himself be made too uncomfortable by the man's comments about observing him. To an extent Barry knew that Thawne had been stalking him through timelines, through his whole childhood – just to see what ways he could make the scarlet speedster suffer. Hearing it out loud gave him no peace of mind.
The replica seemed to be thinking about something carefully for a few seconds before he looked back at Barry with a curious expression on his face – not one Barry saw too often on Thawne. Though to be fair he was usually caught between psychopathic rage or superior smugness.
"Did any of it work, Flash?" He asked not quite amused but not far off it. "Is your life miserable? Your memories painful?"
"That is none of your business." Barry snarled back. He was getting too caught up in the imitation. Bruce was still out there somewhere dealing with his own replica that was definitely trying to kill him. Barry had to find a way to save him – but he couldn't take his eyes off the man that killed his mother. Fake or not.
"I suppose I'll take that as a strong maybe." Damn this smug prick.
Somewhere back in the direction Barry had come, there was a distant crash, like a large amount of stone had suddenly been smashed. The sound was far away but the ground under them gave a little tremor, which didn't seem like a good sign to Barry.
Thawne looked less perturbed by the distant chaos and leisurely glanced in the direction it sourced from. The fake was still shuddering and glitching but he had settled a bit since having been able to reaffirm his existence – as flimsy as it was – through his own words. Barry was staring in dread down the same path that Thawne was and so he didn't notice when the man's red gaze slid back over his way.
He couldn't remember many things about himself. What his favourite colour was, where he'd grown up, what his parent's faces looked like – if he'd liked them or not. He was incomplete, and had so very little to go off – all he had was this boy sitting in front of him like a caged rat.
A large, vicious part of himself was pleased to see the wretched expression on his enemies face – and the rest? Well it was a little more reluctant to even look at Barry let alone feel joy at his misfortune. His enemy, his hero – a confused identity crisis – regardless of what it was, Thawne knew that this person, for the time being, had to keep existing. He'd cling to that when everything else was a chaotic mess of memories and timelines.
Funny, he looked completely unremarkable. This was the kid that Thawne had based his life around? This terrified, ragged child was somehow of importance to him even centuries down the line, and somehow became known as this century's fastest man? It all seemed rather ridiculous, but what would he know? He'd only been alive for a few hours at most, waiting in that dingy little room for something to come and let him out.
He was just some cog in another person's plan. That didn't sit well with him, any version of him.
"You're supposed to kill me." Eobard announced carelessly, savoring the way Barry jumped in alarm at the mere sound of his voice. Amongst the memories of adorning the red suit as the Flash and looking forward to meeting his hero – there were plenty of memories providing reasons to enjoy the Flash's discomfort. The moron then had the senselessness to look horrified by Eobards rather simple statement. Hadn't he realized this yet?
Cocking a brow in the younger man's direction, Eobard let his disdain play out on his face. It felt right, easy, like it was an expression he actively wore. "Did you not know?" Barry shuffled uneasily and Eobard was sure he must have had some idea of what he was meant to do. It seemed like he hadn't quite wrapped his brain around the idea and had just acted without thinking through what the end goal was – typical.
"You do know it would be easy for me to kill you right now instead." He continued, rather enjoying the small flinches and reactions he got out of the boy. "Wouldn't effect my timeline, I wouldn't cease to exist – well no more than I will in a few minutes anyway." Eobard approached the powerless Flash while speaking, closely observing how he pressed himself close to the wall as if it might give at the last moment and allow him escape.
He'd closed the distance between them and as Barry cringed away from him, Eobard's hand began to vibrate. The recognition of what was to come played out on Barry's face but he didn't close his eyes, didn't shy away from the sight of the Reverse Flash preparing to tear out his heart in one clean cut. Bravery was a quaint trait but it did him little good in this instant. "It would be easy."
Barry's jaw clenched as his hands balled into fists but he said nothing. He had nowhere to go, no speed to fight with – he was in the best position Eobard could have ever wished for, and yet…
"It'd be a mute point." Eobard chuckled, lowering his hand much to Barry's obvious surprise. "Even if I killed you now, it wouldn't fulfill any of the real me's wishes. Additionally, instead of just me, we'd both cease to exist and everything I worked for in your timeline would be erased. Besides," Eobard sneered down at the Flash. "He's no where near done with you just yet – still things left to do with you."
"Why you-!" Barry lunged forward like he planned on punching him but without his speed he was about as threatening as a lame kitten. Eobard easily shifted out of his attack range and behind him, a small shove and the Flash was left sprawled out over the ground in a less than flattering manner. Still the young man grit his teeth and snarled at him – Eobard was almost impressed. Among his mess of memories there were a select few that troubled him – one included an expression much like that on the Flashes face.
As he broke another Reverse Flash's neck.
Unpleasant, but an essential memory to hold onto. If one did not remember their mistakes they would surely happen again – a pity that his outer world counterpart would have none of the memories he was making right now. In fact the only person that would remember he even existed in this small space would likely be the Flash – for now that would have to appease him.
"Come on then." Barry looked at him with a healthy amount of distrust as his life long nemesis offered him a hand up. "You can't die here by some nobody's doing. When you die, it will be because of me." Barry still didn't take his hand and Eobard laughed. "Well, maybe I won't kill you – but there's still things left to take from you, so hurry up and show me the Flash I know."
"You don't make a compelling argument." The Flash grumbled irritably but reached out to take his hand all the same. For the briefest moment Eobard froze when the Flash took his hand. The smallest part of his memory screaming out that this was incredible – the Flash was going to work with him, acknowledge his existence – he promptly squished that smaller Eboard Thawne. If anything was to get done it had to get done with the Reverse Flash – not some fanboy from the twenty fifth century.
Despite his efforts, a small almost genuine smile had formed on his face as he pulled Barry back to his feet. Maybe it would be alright to indulge himself a touch, pretty soon he'd no longer exist – what harm could it do?
"I don't suppose you'll tell me all about your nefarious plans then?" Barry asked once he was back upright, still giving Eobard that faintly furious look. The yellow speedster couldn't help but think that expression was amusing more than it was intimidating.
"And ruin all the fun my future self will have? Not likely." He did consider giving the Flash a hint here and there. Be it from lingering feelings of sentimental attachment from his younger self, or the need to gloat – he couldn't say. But on the off chance it might hinder his other self somewhere in the main timeline, Eobard kept those thoughts to himself.
"Worth a shot." Well, maybe he'd let something slip. Just to see the scarlet speedster squirm.
"Always the optimist."
Another explosion, this time sounding a bit more like a proper explosion caught both the speedster's attention. Sudden optimism seemed to be a fairly generous term. Judging the alien's strength from his own limited knowledge, Thawne guessed that the bat wouldn't last long. After a moment of careful consideration however, he adjusted his opinion on that matter.
"My thoughts are influenced by the Crooked Man." Eobard announced dryly, the thought alone somewhat insulting. So little of what he currently was belonged to himself – it would be better if this wretched version of himself stopped existing soon, but not before ensuring the Flash returned to his own world safely. What an absurd situation, having to help the Flash. If his usual self could see them now he'd be livid.
That first calculation wasn't his. Eobard remembered having observed the Flash's allies from time to time. He'd seen what the Bat was truly made of and in turn decided exactly how a match with him and the kryptonian would play out in a number of different instances. In too many of those scenarios – the alien lost.
He had briefly entertained the idea of turning the man of steel against their team. An idea that others in this century had as well. Needless to say, after watching their poor performances Eobard decided against it. Better to keep the other heroes at an arms length. He was only here for Barry, better to stay out of the other's hair where possible so as to avoid incurring their ire.
Regardless this told him he would need to tread carefully in his own head to not mistake the Crooked Man's influence for his own true thoughts.
"So why aren't you trying to kill me?" Barry asked suspiciously and Eobard couldn't push down the vicious smile that curled on his lips.
"If I were trying to kill you the Crooked Man's will would have nothing to do with it." Somehow Barry still managed to look shocked by him, even when he obviously knew Eobard's distaste for him. Amusing as that was he knew that teasing the Flash would get them no where fast. "As it is however, he does not want you dead. He would much rather you kill me with your own two hands."
"Why is that?" This time Eobard looked at Barry with surprise, more along the lines of disbelief and scorn than the scarlet speedsters expression had been.
"Because you'll lose, clearly." The idiot didn't look completely enlightened by that comment and Eobard had to bite back the urge to groan. The Flash had proved himelf to be smart beyond his years and yet somehow he could still make that confused puppy expression better than anyone Eobard had ever encountered.
"Mr. Allen, when a hero kills someone do you know what that does?" He didn't wait to watch Barry fumble for an answer. "First and foremost it erases their image as an icon of hope, of what the best of humanity could be. It destroys the idea that killing the problem can never be a solution. However, more important to your current predicament – it removes their title as a hero according to the Crooked Man's rulebook. So use your head for a moment Flash and think. Why on earth would he put you in a position that forces you to kill me – a fake of the man you hate the most – or see a friend die?"
There was some semblance of understanding crawling onto the hero's face and Eobard decided that would have to do for now. The echoes of a fight were growing increasingly distant, more muffled and drawn down to a lower scale of destruction. It was advantageous to have snippets of the Crooked Man's consciousness interwoven into his existence, it helped him to know what the man's intentions were.
The pathetic fool.
"Time is up, Flash." He told the currently speedless hero dryly. He'd be too slow to get back in time, Eobard could help with that.
Perhaps when he shot forward to scoop Barry up in his arms, he should have done so with just a touch less enthusiasm and if Barry screamed out in alarm it was not his fault he grinned. It was habit, relics of one version of himself that refused to go away.
The same part of him that thought Barry's neck looked perfectly breakable currently. The other two sections of his mind furiously bit down that urge until it was hardly a threat. Among the three shard of personality he'd been given by the idiot that made him, Eobard managed to make a fourth variation and for now he acted as that hybrid personality.
He didn't have the time to warn Barry anyway, he shouldn't complain seeing as Eobard was depositing him exactly where he needed to be within a matter of seconds, rather than the minutes it would have taken Barry to get back to the glass barrier. Watching Barry squabble to get his bearings again once dropped in front of the wall was also mildly amusing, if not just a touch frustrating. He was a speedster, he should be able to recognize when he'd been moved by another – even if he was stuck at a human pace.
On the other side of the glass was the Bat, looking very much like he needed a rest, and another fake in the form of Superman. The green glow on the ground had to be kryptonite, which explained why the fake currently had a bloody lip and nicely forming bruise on his cheek. Barry was just getting to his feet when it really sunk in for Eobard, he needn't worry – the Bat was going to fulfill the challenge. Barry would pass onto the next round without any trouble.
Barry did not seem to share this sentiment as he slammed a fist against the glass wall uselessly.
"What are you doing, Bruce?" He screamed, his voice probably reaching the two on the other side, though neither paid it any attention as their fight continued. "Bruce!"
It didn't concern Eobard either way, but Barry looked distraught. Continuing to hit the glass like it might actually give under his hands, Barry tried to shout to the black clad hero time and time again – each time being met with silence. The thought of Batman killing Superman must have bothered the Flash greatly, enough to prompt this display, or perhaps it was the knowledge that if Batman killed someone he'd 'lose' this game and the Crooked Man would win.
Either way Barry looked frantic, so much so he forgot about Eobard by his back.
The Flash was distressed. Eobard thought idly, watching on mostly without emotion but the longer that thought circled his mind, the more his youngest mindset began to latch onto it. The Flash was upset, the person that helped him to feel hope when he was a child, the same man that he thought of a friend despite the centuries between them. His friend was upset.
"Flash, the riddle I gave you?" Eobard prompted calmly, watching on in mild fascination as the pair on the other side of the glass attacked one another. Either of them could die without troubling him too much, but Barry was upset and so Eobard stepped in.
For a moment Barry just stared at him, eyes wild with panic but slowly it sank in for him. Then like a light bulb had been switched on in his head, the man began to shout anew – with different words spilling out of him.
"There's always a choice!" Barry screamed and for the first time since he started to speak, the Bat responded. Not verbally but in his posture. A slight tense and pause in his body before he was forced to move aside from one of Superman's punches. "You always have a choice, Bruce!"
Faintly, Eobard smiled to himself, the riddle wasn't a hard one but it was still pleasing to see the Flash figure it out when he actually tried.
For Bruce's part, he'd much rather Barry hadn't chosen those particular words to say while he was knuckle deep in a fist fight with the weakened kryptonian. He hadn't been thinking while he and the fake exchanged blow after blow, he'd been acting on instinct alone – it hadn't mattered which of them won provided Barry manage to pass onto the next level unharmed.
But there he stood, on the other side of the glass – shouting about choices while his own challenge stood idly behind him. Barry had already made his choice – he wasn't going to kill his challenge.
Knowing this comforted Bruce to some degree, knowing that the Flash from his memory perfectly matched the boy on the other side of the wall. But it also meant that there was really no choice – no matter what Barry thought – Superman had to die. Should he survive, Barry would be left with the challenge and even if he never once laid a hand on the fake with intent to kill – he'd be trapped here forever.
Yes, there was a choice. Bruce had already decided on his.
There was a distinct thud as Superman's back met with the ground. A single swift kick had swept Superman's legs up from under him, followed by a palm slammed flat against his chest and the hulk of a man collided with the ground roughly. Superman's face was already forming into a snarl when Bruce lunged at him again, not willing to let him get back up. The struggle between them was brief, even with his greater body mass, Superman didn't know how to work himself without his powers there to give him an edge. Idiot should have listened to Bruce when he insisted the league train for situations where they had no powers.
It was mere seconds before Bruce had Superman's wrists in his own, pinned down securely above his head. With both legs rested on either side of the trapped man's torso – making kicking a bit more difficult for him. Seeming to realize how thoroughly pinned he was, Superman stopped his initial struggles to glare up at Bruce. Somewhere in their fighting, his suit had been further damaged, leaving one side of Bruce's face fully exposed. When Superman actually took the time to look, Bruce knew he saw him flinch.
"Release me." He snarled, still sounding very much like a Justice Lord as opposed to Clark Kent. Bruce disliked his and squeezed a bit tighter than he had to, he could almost feel the man's bones grinding together under the pressure. If he broke Superman's wrists now it would be a needless cruelty. "Gah! Damn it, Bruce! Stop!"
And for a moment he did. The grip eased off to simply being a way of grounding the superhuman but it no longer seemed painful. That plea sounded too close to a friend he once knew, Bruce tried not to let that disturb him. This wasn't his friend, hadn't been in years. He hadn't meant to hesitate and it seemed that Superman noticed the small flinch as well – took it as a good sign.
"We don't have to do this Bruce." He urged, not struggling at all now that he had Bruce listening. Barry's cries were more distant now, Bruce's attention focusing into tunnel vision, not on Superman but on the little green stone laying a small distance away. Not even a full arm's length from where they'd fallen.
"Bruce?" He was reaching for the stone, almost without realizing it. Superman didn't take long to catch on and his struggling began anew. For a moment Bruce struggled to keep his position, fighting to keep the larger man down. But when his fingers curled around the shard of kryptonite and dragged it closer – the struggling got weaker until it stopped completely when Bruce had the poisonous rock mere centimeters away from Superman's face.
The alien replica cringed away from the light; it must have felt nauseating to be this close to the rock. Bruce saw no reason to drag this out – he had no interest in torturing Superman. But that did not make him move any faster than he already was and for a few seconds Bruce just stared down at Superman's distressed expression.
"You wouldn't." Superman sputtered frantically, taking quite the tone shift with Bruce. His eyes shifting between the kryptonite and Bruce's impassive expression – whatever he saw in Bruce's eyes was enough to push Superman into a more pleading tone. "Bruce, you wouldn't!"
When he said nothing in return, Superman continued to panic. Forcing himself down onto the ground as if he might somehow be able to escape from the rock Bruce was holding. "Please Bruce. We…We're friends, aren't we?"
Bruce's expression softened a bit, unable to ignore how those simple words felt like a punch in the gut. He looked at the man under him and tried not to see Clark, tried to see only Superman. Focus on the white on his uniform that just looked wrong, pay close attention to the lack of humanity – see through the lie that was Clark's face. It was difficult
"We are."
Superman's eyes lit up a little bit, clinging onto that answer with some hope. Then Bruce placed the shard of kryptonite over Superman's heart and smiled.
"It's because we're friends."
As the kryptonite plunged into Superman's chest, both he and Barry seemed to scream out at the same time. One in agony and the other simply trying to put a stop to things he had no control over. It was horribly easy to push the stone through the alien's chest, it felt far weaker and smoother than human flesh meeting a knife and Bruce tried not to focus on just how easy it was. He'd always held onto the mentality that one life could be justified but then after that you could just keep finding reasons to justify death. One, then two, eventually hundreds of lives became acceptable if you could only justify it to yourself.
Superman had made that mistake and Bruce guessed it was his turn now. Or maybe not.
"Because we're friends," He promised quietly, past the agonized noises the fake was making. "I'll come and visit you."
Without the strength left to properly fight, Bruce released Superman's hands. The man immediately grabbed for his wrist, the grasp was weak and did nothing to console Bruce. Superman clung onto the hand that kept the kryptonite buried in his heart but he didn't try to pull it away so much as once. Not a single tug, he simple held on.
It would be foolishly sentimental to feel anything for the fake's death but Bruce did. A draw back to being human was that even with the most pointless, ridiculous emotions, he still felt them. So as Superman's breathing grew ragged and slower, Bruce reached out to hold his hand. He had not been expecting the small squeeze he got in return.
Surprised he looked back at Superman's face and for the briefest moment he saw the man smile at him. Not Superman's sneer, just Clark Kent's small, gentle little smile. If Bruce had to give it a name he would have called it relieved. Long ago Clark had given him the kryptonite that was now buried in his chest, entrusted it to him so that if ever he got out of control – Bruce could be the one to end it.
Despite everything, it hurt. Bruce lowered his head until it rest against Clark's chest, listening to his breathing slow and when he felt the man give his hand one more little squeeze with the last of his strength, no one could have faulted him for letting a single tear slip free.
"I'll see you soon, Clark." He promised in a whisper and that was it.
…
…
It was over.
Eobard saw the moment the other fake's heart stopped. He felt no loss for his brother creation. The Superman fake had carried out its role far better than Eobard had – he was aware that his design was faulted. The Superman replica had been perfect – that was why it currently lay dead on the ground. Had Eobard been a perfect toy he to would have goaded the Flash in certain ways into killing him. It was so deeply wired into his programming that even now he had thoughts of threatening, mocking and promising the Flash all sorts of things that would have him break his neck again.
All he really needed was a fake iris to attack – but the Crooked Man couldn't make that many fakes at a time. Fortunate for Eobard in hindsight.
Then there was movement on the other side of the wall. The Batman from another world slowly gathered himself to his feet, composing himself far better than Eobard expected should have been humanly possible. He took a moment just to look at Superman's still body and Eobard couldn't help but wonder what went through his head – nothing that he would understand most likely.
He'd never cared enough about someone to really mourn their death, or maybe he had and the Crooked Man just hadn't been able to drag those memories over into the fake. But it was unlikely given all the other memories he had. It didn't seem like he'd ever loved someone a day in his life outside of his Flahs obsession – which was hardly love.
Eventually the Batman turned to face them, taking brief note of Eobard before focusing on Barry who was still standing at the glass wall – trembling.
"This is where we part ways." He said evenly, as if it were nothing more than an observation on the weather. "I imagine that from here I'll go to the Crooked Man for judgment – you keep going forward, Barry."
"Bruce…" The Flash's voice sounded broken from all his screaming and even the simple uttering of the man's name came out pathetically.
"Don't." Batman replied calmly. Eobard thought that maybe, maybe it sounded comforting. Somewhere under all that cool indifference. Maybe. "This is fine."
Behind Batman their side of the world began to change. Brightening until it seemed to be nothing but empty whiteness. Batman turned to glance at what seemed to be the end of his own world and the final moments of the game he'd been participating in. There was little reaction beyond a faint upward twitch of his mouth – not nearly enough to be considered a smirk let alone a smile. Still it was more emotion than Eobard was accustomed to seeing on the Dark Knight's face.
"Don't worry." He urged gently. "I have to head home anyway, someone had got to keep an eye on Gotham. You need to get back to your own world, back to your team. They need you." Then much to Eobard's shock, the Bat turned to glance at the pair over his shoulder and grinned. "As for me, I have a promise to keep."
It was only a few seconds later that the massive wall of light met with Batman's body and in an instant he was gone with everything else on that side of the wall. The fake's body, the destroyed arena they'd fought in, all of it was gone in the blink of an eye. Nothing was left behind and Eobard knew that soon everything the Crooked Man had created would end the same was – in nothing.
Barry had stopped shouting, sinking to his knees in front of the still standing glass wall even though there was nothing on the other side anymore. Eobard felt the faint urge tugging him towards Barry, to offer comfort – that little voice he kept smothered most of the time still insisted the Flash was the only one that could ever be considered his friend.
The occasional heave of Barry's shoulders told him that the younger man was crying. How many of the Crooked Man's games had resulted in the Flash shedding tears? Was it really worth all of this just to get a hero at the end? The Flash was already a hero – no challenge the Crooked Man could set would change that.
Most infuriating was the fact that even with the riddle answered correctly, Barry had gained nothing. Eobard knew the riddle was designed to hurt rather than help, the Crooked Man was still bitter over whatever had upset him in the previous round. If Eobard really focused, shifted through the mess of memories that were mostly his, he could almost find the Crooked Man's memories of the previous stage. The Crooked Man had been rifling around in his head, Eobard had simply returned the favour.
When he found it, he almost laughed. Of course he'd be hiding from his own humanity, Eobard found it horrible amusing and perhaps a little ironic that the Crooked Man handled his conscience worse than Eobard's real world counterpart did. The coward was hiding away and is manifested into the form of a murdered girl – how pathetic.
"It's over, Flash." Barry had to keep going now and Eobard knew that he would. That was just what the Flash did. "You can't help them now."
"Did I ever help them?" Eobard very nearly recoiled at the tone the Flash spoke with. Among his many memories, that voice didn't immediately stick out to him in any of them. Was that…hopelessness?
Even when Eobard had mocked Barry with the murder of his mother, the childhood misfortunes and tragedies – he'd never adopted that tone. Anger and sorrow, sure but actual crushing hopelessness was a new one. The one he had been looking for?
It gave him no satisfaction now. He hadn't given Barry reasons to speak that way, it hadn't been his work that forced the speedster to that level of bleakness – it was his by right. The Crooked Man couldn't have that accomplishment – Eobard wouldn't let him.
"You listen here, Flash." Eobard reached for the Flash's shoulder, intending to shake some sense into him. What he'd seen was simply another world Batman killing a fake Superman – it meant nothing! No matter what Barry's heart said, it wasn't real.
Just as his fingers brushed against the material of Barry's shirt, the ground shifted violently. Eobard, in an attempt to keep his footing stumbled back a touch, unintentionally putting distance between him and the Flash. The ground tremors only got worse and in the back of his head, where the instincts he had thanks to being made by the Crooked Man, Eobard realized this meant that the stage was ending – it was over.
His existence was coming to an end.
Jerking back into motion, Eobard tried to run away from the collapsing slabs of concrete under his feet, only to find that not only did his speed not come to his aid – but his feet hard budged. He was being anchored in place by an unseen force, he did not need to ask to know it was the Crooked Man's doing. He was no longer needed – just another item to break away with the rest of the stage.
Gripped with an overwhelming sense of panic, Eobard again reached for the Flash – more urgently this time. "Barry!" His shout did draw the Flash's attention, the man having not shifted an inch from where he sat hand pressed against the wall. But when he looked over his shoulder to see Eobard caught in what seemed to be a large section of collapsing ground, he came alive again.
Without a word, Barry lunged to his feet and rushed for Eobard. It took a second before he realized that Barry was trying to help him. The Flash was trying to save him. That was a new feeling, a new memory the real him would never have. A pity – it was a rather bizarre one to have.
For a terrifying second Eobard thought that the Flash would be too slow in this human form, but just as the ground under his feet gave away and he began to fall, Barry caught his outstretched hand. He felt the moment Barry really felt his weight and struggled to keep a firm grip on his hand but amazingly they did not both fall into the void. Instead Barry managed to hold onto him and remain on a firm surface – keeping them both safe for a moment.
"Hm." Eobard tensed when he heard the Crooked Man's void humming from within the emptiness below him. "Looks like there's a fault in your design." He commented, as if the other fakes would simply let their lives be snatched away from them without trying to escape. Even if it was futile, he had to try.
"CM!" Barry ground out and Eobard was currently in no position to berate him for calling the Crooked Man so childishly. "Stop pulling him down!"
It was only when Barry commented on it that Eobard felt a distinct downward pull that had nothing to do with gravity. It felt as it there were a set of firm hands around his ankles, dragging him down and for all the effort Barry put into holding him up, they managed to tug down twice as hard. Only then did Eobard properly realize how pointless it was to fight, even if he escaped then what? As soon as the Crooked Man's world ceased to exist he'd have no where to go. It was unlikely he was made of real flesh and blood – if he tried to exist in the human world more likely than not he'd just fade out of existence as nothing more than a fleeting memory.
"You're part of a game, you're not a human being." The Crooked Man commented, as if he was picking through Eobard's thoughts. Which was not impossible all things considered. "Even if you were, you'd not be worth saving. I've watched you, seen what you do out there. It'd be better if you not exist."
Barry was struggling to hold onto him, using both hands to try and fight against the force pulling Eobard down. His expression was a terrible mix of concentration and desperation, it was obvious he was fighting a losing battle.
"I've watched you watch him." Crooked Man continued, lowering his voice to a hiss and Eobard was sure that only he could hear it. "Seen you creep into the house at night like a nightmare – stand over their bed while they sleep and wrap your hands around their neck. Just for a moment – you monster."
That memory he definitely had. Eobard remembered doing those things but it hardly felt like it was him doing it. He had never done anything outside of the Crooked Man's game – it wasn't him! He didn't kill Barry's mother, it wasn't his hands that wrapped around Noire's throat in the dead of night – he wasn't that man.
He wasn't even the boy that idolized the Flash and wanted to meet him so badly he'd chase him through time just to catch a glimpse of the man that gave him hope. He hadn't lived long enough to really discover what he was – he had only been born today for Pete's sake! Having the memories of a killer and a fanboy didn't make him responsible for their sins.
But none of that mattered now, he wouldn't be anyone soon and there'd be nothing left of him.
"Flash." Barry jerked his head up to look at Eobard, still struggling to keep ahold of him. "Do me a favour. Not as Eobard Thawne, or Professor Zoom – just as the replica you found in that little room not even an hour ago. Just remember that I existed for a little bit, understand?"
"N-No!" Barry grit out, digging his fingers into Eobard's wrist. "I can…I can still get you out of here. I can save you!"
And Eobard smiled, almost laughing. At least when he stopped existing he would not have to feel anything – Barry would live with this forever. He couldn't even summon up enough of the parts of him that hated Barry to find that satisfying.
"Not this one Barry." He said quietly, letting his fingers loosen a bit as more pairs of invisible hands grabbed onto his legs. He'd be gone soon. "You can't save everyone, Flash. But keep trying, that's what makes you so damn infuriating. Don't give up just yet."
He saw it in Barry's unmasked eyes – he knew that it was over and it almost hurt to see that expression.
The moment his hand slipped from Barry's grasp, Eobard felt his chest seize up violently with a momentary fit of panic. But as he started to fall, without the need for those tugging hands and saw the only world he'd known for his short life, it was easy to feel calm. Perhaps this is what the other fake felt when they died, but more likely this is what it had felt like for that other Batman. Knowing that even if he died or stopped existing, that he was leaving Barry behind with the memory of his life.
Knowing that the Flash was going to keep moving forward was enough for him and so when Eobard felt the empty space gathering around his back, he let his eyes slide shut and smiled to himself. It was worth everything just to know that Barry would make his way to the Crooked Man eventually.
When it was all over, the ground completely gone and Barry left to drop into the final challenge, the worst part of it all was the fact that Barry was now alone.
With nothing but his regrets and memories to keep him company.