Alfred picked me up once again, shuffling me through the blindfolded pre-training ritual. This whole "Batcave grand entrance" charade was getting old. But I played along, allowing him the satisfaction of guiding me through the endless twists and turns of the mansion.
Who knows, maybe it was some psych evaluation, a test to see if I'd crack and willingly spill the beans about seeing through walls. Or perhaps they got a kick out of the theatrics. Either way, Bats wasn't fooling anyone. He knew about my X-ray vision, I could feel it in my gut. But he was playing his cards close to his chest, the manipulative bastard. One day, I'd call his bluff. But for now, that trump card stayed safely tucked in my back pocket until I figured out how much these guys could be trusted.
Finally, the shuffling stopped. Alfred, with his usual grace, peeled the blindfold off and handed me the training suit. "Dress in the suit, young sir. Master Bruce shall join you shortly," he intoned. A curt nod, and then he vanished back through the metal door.
It struck me how much trust they put in me. Here I was, surrounded by enough weaponry to arm a small army. Your average citizen from the Narrows would be sorely tempted to swipe a grenade or two for some extra cash on the black market. Hell, even I felt tempted for a hot second.
Slipping into the tactical gear, I plopped down in the leather chair near the giant monitor. Swiveling idly, I took in the massive cave. The walls rose high, merging seamlessly with the pitch-black ceiling above. The only light came from the freaking IMAX screen in front of me, dwarfing my childhood bedroom ten times over. It was like being in a high-tech man cave, minus the cozy recliner and popcorn machine.
Yesterday's training was a whirlwind of adrenaline and near-disasters. I had already come close to turning the cave into a heap of broken machinery. This time, I vowed to keep my powers in check. No need to be the one responsible for turning the 'Batcomputer' into a high-tech paperweight. Couldn't have Bruce Wayne regretting the day he let this wild creature into his glorified man cave.
Waiting for the Dark Knight was a nerve-wracking experience. Jitterbugs danced in my stomach. My senses were on high alert, tuned to the faintest creak and rustle around me. What new hell awaited me today? The answer arrived without warning as the Bat materialized before me. The shock of his stealth almost sent me tumbling from the chair. He had managed to sneak up on me like a shadow in broad daylight. Houdini ain't got nothin' on this guy.
"Clark," he rasped. A tense silence stretched between us before he spoke again. "We've gauged your strength. Now, it's time to channel it with precision." His piercing gaze pinned me in place. "Control is paramount."
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "Yeah, uh, right," I stammered, feeling a flush creep up my neck. "That... that's my main issue. My, uh, powers... they tend to go haywire when my temper gets the best of me."
I tried to peek under his dark cowl, searching for a hint of understanding. Normally, the world was a symphony of details for me. Faces were like billboards, emotions flashing bright and clear. Peering beneath the cowl wasn't difficult, just a constant, unnatural switch flipped on. But Batman gave nothing away. It was frustrating – having the ability to see right through things, yet with him, seeing absolutely nothing.
"Unchecked emotions," Batman growled, interrupting my thoughts. "With your level of power, it's a dangerous weapon. It's crucial to reign them in. We'll work on finding that balance."
I nodded, feeling like a kindergartener being lectured by the principal. Being compared to a dangerous weapon wasn't exactly the ego boost I needed either. I wanted to believe there was more to me than just raw power waiting to go awry.
With a subtle inclination of his head, Batman beckoned me to follow him to the training area, his cape billowing behind him. We arrived at a large chamber filled with an array of unfamiliar tech and imposing weight racks. In the center stood a long table, meticulously set with... crystal glasses.
The sight sent a shiver down my spine. I had lost count of the number of 'glass' glasses I had inadvertently shattered at the dinner table, courtesy of Jake's relentless taunts.
"Resilience Test," the Bat announced. "We'll see how external stimuli affect your control, using these... indicators." He tapped a finger against a glass, the sound uncomfortably high-pitched.
He started pacing towards a nearby monitor. "Once we identify your triggers, we can train you to manage them."
Suddenly, he was back in front of me, a high-tech gadget glinting in his hand. "Cardiac sensor," he stated flatly, holding it out towards my chest.
"Uh, sure. No problem." I fumbled with the zipper at the neck of my suit, the chill air brushing against my exposed skin. My heart rate ticked up a notch, Batman's proximity amplifying my already mounting stress.
I held my breath as Batman placed the device on my chest, its cool touch sending a jolt through me. It was an odd sensation, akin having a tiny octopus suction-cupped to my pecs. The Bat studied the device, his face unreadable.
"Good," he said calmly. "This will help us keep tabs on your heart rate during the test."
"Got it," I replied, pulling the zipper back up and securing the straps around my neck.
"Keep in mind, this is a simulated session," he stated firmly. "The questions I'll be presenting are solely for the sake of the exercise." He paused, letting his words sink in. "So, no need to take anything personally."
I nodded, appreciating his clarity and the reminder that this was a controlled environment. After all, it wouldn't be the first time Batman had resorted to unconventional methods to bring out the best in people.
Trying to steady my nerves, I inhaled deeply, drawing in the cavern's distinct scent—a fusion of metal, damp stone, and faint traces of ozone.
He placed a crystal glass in my hand. With utmost care, I wrapped my fingers around the slender stem, my focus narrowed on not turning it into a pile of shards. The thing felt impossibly fragile.
"In order to identify your triggers, I need to ask you some questions," he explained. "This might touch on personal matters. Are you prepared for that?"
Doubts started to gnaw at me. Baring my soul to a stranger in a bat cowl felt like a terrible idea, but the alternative was even worse. I had no other choice. The discomfort of vulnerability was a small price to pay. It paled in comparison to the potential danger my untamed powers could unleash. A resolute nod sealed the pact I made with myself. I squared my shoulders and braced myself for the impending inquisition.
Batman retreated to the monitoring station. The all-too-familiar sensation of being a lab rat crept back. A specimen trapped in a psychological experiment.
"Let's begin," he said. "Who holds the greatest sway over your world?"
My mind went straight to Helena—that cocky smirk when she challenged me, the stolen moment on the campus lawn, the way my body went rogue the second our skin brushed. A rush of warmth flooded my cheeks. The stupid monitor was probably recording the whole damn symphony of my traitorous heart.
"Sway, huh?" I muttered. Thinking fast, I needed to conjure an appropriate answer. No way in hell am I bringing up the way his own daughter set my insides on fire. That would undoubtedly be a one-way ticket to Awkwardville.
"It's gotta be my mother," I finally blurted, "No matter how many times I screw up because of this... this thing... she's always there. Picking up the damn pieces, patching the mess I leave behind. Can't imagine what I'd do without her."
As I spoke, my vitals steadied on the monitor—heart rate stable, no noticeable fluctuations.
"Hmm," Batman mused, eyes darting across the data. At the same time, a barely-there stutter in the cave's usual background hum caught my ear, like a record needle skipping mid-song. My head snapped up, brow furrowing. Had his heart just... skipped a beat? Before I could chase the thought, Batman cleared his throat.
"Can you think of anyone else?"
Jake's obnoxious face barged into my thoughts, instantly squeezing my chest. Even the damn monitor seemed to chime in with a mocking beep, like some electronic jester.
Taking a moment to compose myself, I fought the urge to crush the delicate crystal in my hand. I shifted my gaze, refusing to meet Batman's shadowed eyes.
"Yeah," I finally choked out, my eyes focused on my feet. "There is someone else."
Batman's silence urged me to continue.
"My stepdad," I reluctantly confessed. "Jake."
His name left a foul taste in my mouth. A flicker of recognition, barely perceptible, crossed Batman's brow. Did he stumble upon my stepdad during his stalking mission?
"What's his story?" he prodded.
My throat constricted. This wasn't therapy, but the dam holding back all the crap Jake had put me through was threatening to burst. The monitor could record all it wanted, let it broadcast my rage to the whole damn city. I didn't care.
"He's...a leech," I snarled. "He sucks the life out of everything he touches, especially me. Thrives on making me feel like some kind of abomination, like this goddamn curse is all my fault, like... like I shouldn't even exist."
"I see," Batman responded calmly. "And how does that make you feel, living with him?"
The monitor flashed erratic spikes in my heart rate. Memories assaulted me – a barrage of hurtful words, the ghost of his backhand burning on my cheek, the way he'd shove me till the world went dark. All punctuated by the crackle of green lightning in his fist.
Living with Jake made me want to rip the walls down with my bare hands, tear the house apart brick by freaking brick, and use the debris to bury that fucker's smug face six feet under.
My vision swam with a dangerous heat, my knuckles burning with the urge to unleash my frustration on something, anything.
I felt a subtle tension seep into my fingers. A faint crack resonated, catching my attention. I glanced down at the crystal glass in my hand, its surface marred by a nearly imperceptible fracture, snaking its way through the stem.
I forced my grip to relax and sucked in a deep breath, trying to yank myself back from the edge. Before I said something I'd regret later, or worse, did something that would confirm Batman's worst suspicions.
"Living with Jake," I replied, with a bitter smile, "It's like walking through a minefield... Every damn step feels like it could be the one that sets him off."
"He knows all my buttons," I continued, choosing my words carefully. "Like he's got a damn manual on how to tick me off."
As I spilled my guts, Batman's gaze remained locked on the monitor, analyzing every subtle fluctuation of my heart rate.
"And the worst part..." I let out a ragged humorless laugh. "The bastard enjoys it. He gets off on pushing them all. Every. Single. One."
The cavernous silence enveloped us once again.
"Ever just lost it?" Batman finally probed, his eyes drilling into mine.
My heart constricted. "You've seen what I can do," I replied, recalling yesterday's exercise. "Acting on impulse isn't exactly an option for me."
There had been that one time. That single, horrifying moment when he'd hurt Mom. I'd completely lost my shit, grabbed Jake by the throat, felt the fragile bones in his neck start to give... and almost– I winced at the close call I had narrowly escaped. It was a miracle I hadn't squeezed. But other than that, I had managed to keep myself in check, at least in recent years.
Batman's masked face betrayed no emotion as he took note of the shift in my vital signs.
"And tell me, Clark," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "In those darkest moments with Jake, when you feel...helpless... what does he mean to you? What do you really want to do to him?"
A surge of anger gripped me. "He means squat to me," I sneered. Jake was nothing but a speck on the windshield of my life, a worthless parasite sucking the very essence of joy from my existence. Given half a chance, I'd serve him a heaping plate of payback for every single tear shed, every scrape of the green rock against my skin, every scar etched on my soul.
The glass in my hand creaked and quivered, unable to withstand the pressure. Finally, it exploded into a shower of glittering fragments with loud CRUNCH.
I stared dumbfounded at my empty hand, the remnants of the glass glinting in the light. My breath hitched. My body had once again betrayed me. I'd failed the test.
Silence stretched again before a low rumble broke it.
"You've taken hits most wouldn't walk away from," Batman acknowledged. "And yet you've held onto your humanity. We can work with that."
Humanity. The word hung in the air. Was he suggesting that I was on the verge of becoming a full-blown monster? I didn't need a leather-clad crimefighter to remind me of that. But as our eyes met, I caught a glimmer of hope. Maybe I wasn't a complete lost cause after all.
"I'd like you to take another glass."
Ah, yes, another round in this twisted therapy session. I complied, delicately picking up the fresh piece of glassware.
"Find your anchor," Batman explained. "Something real. The texture of the glass, its coolness, the weight in your hand. Focus on that. Don't let the memories yank you back in."
As the exercise progressed, Batman shared his arsenal of tactics and strategies. He guided me through memories, triggers, all the landmines Jake had planted in my head, honing my ability to resist their grip. He taught me to redirect my thoughts, to detach myself from the emotional onslaught, a mantra repeating in my head: Don't react. Don't react. He prodded, provoked me, trying to make me crack.
"Your mother," he said. "Has she ever been a target for your stepdad?"
The mere mention of her sent a jolt of rage through me, a primal urge to rip something apart. But this time, I took a steadying breath, immersing myself in Batman's guidance. As I exhaled, I visualized the anger dissipating, the tightness in my muscles loosening. It was a conscious act of self-control, a reminder that I held the power to choose how I responded to the triggers.
"Oh, he's tried," I growled. "But that son of a bitch won't lay a finger on her. Not while I'm still breathing. I won't let him, no matter what it takes."
A muscle flickered in Batman's jaw. It was gone as fast as it appeared, replaced by his usual unreadable mask. I hoped this meant my progress didn't go unnoticed, but it was always hard to tell.
Glass after glass, it became easier to let the anger slide off me. Sure, there were times when it flared up, when the triggers would hit a nerve and send a white-hot jolt right through me. But this time, I dug my heels in and refused to let it take over.
In the end, I stood there, surrounded by shattered remnants of what once held absolute power over me. A wave of something that felt suspiciously like pride washed over me. I locked eyes with Bats, and even though neither of us said a word, there was a respect hanging in the air. There was still work to be done, but damn, we had come a long way.