FFFC: Fandom Battle

A multi-fandom echange wherein the idea is to post as many 100-word minimum fics (or creative equivalent in other mediums) for one of four different fandoms each week. Each separate fanwork will earn a point and the fandom with the least amount of fanworks created will be knocked out of the challenge!

Week One
Week Two
Week Three
Week Four
Week Five
Week Six

Emotionally Compromised

Summary: A different take on Kirk’s awakening in Into Darkness
Warning(s): Spoilers up to and including Star Trek: Into Darkness of the alternate timeline movies; references to violence and death; AU
Pairing: Spock/Kirk

###

Being dead shouldn’t hurt this much.

Kirk groaned and forced his eyes open. The first thing he noticed was the fact that he was in the medical area. The white walls and bed, along with the strong stench of disinfectant that irritated his nose and the steady sound of machines beeping, helped to clue him in to that fact.

Kirk let out a low groan and rolled his head to one side, catching sight of Bones as the other man ran a scanner over his body. They locked eyes with each other and Bones nodded. “You’re going to be sore for a while, but you should make a full recovery. So long as you don’t strain yourself too much.”

“You say that like I won’t listen to you.” Kirk tried to smile, but he had the feeling it didn’t come across as sincere as it should. Especially not if the way Bones shook his head and sighed was any indication. Closing his eyes, Kirk breathed in deep and asked, “So why aren’t I dead? Pretty sure the amount of radiation I absorbed should have killed me.”

“You could thank Khan for that. If he were still here to thank.”

At the familiar calm voice, Kirk carefully rolled his head to the other side and locked eyes with Spock, sitting on a chair next to his hospital bed. “You killed Khan?” Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t be surprised if so. Spock might be half-Vulcan, but he was also half-human…and that human part of him made him emotional. No matter how much he tried to hide and pretend that he felt nothing.

Spock met his eyes and said, simply, “No.”

“Oh.” Taken aback by the blunt response, Kirk let his head drop back against the pillow. He wouldn’t tell Bones or Spock, but he was tired. And aching all over. He should really be happy to be alive…but really, all he wanted was to sleep. He just didn’t have the energy to pretend he was fine about Spock being so unaffected by what had happened to him.

Of course, Spock was here in medical bay with him, rather than doing any one of his many duties he  had to have been left with.

Bones snorted softly, his next words breaking into Kirk’s self-reflection. “Came damned close to it.”

“I am certain you would have done the same if our positions had been reversed, Doctor,” Spock stated.

“No arguments from me there,” Bones agreed.

Kirk rolled his head carefully to the side to focus on Spock. “Really? You were emotionally compromised? Because of me?” He felt warm inside. It was surprising, really. The two of them hadn’t got off to the best start on their first meeting, but now?

Well, Kirk had known they were friends. But this knowledge that Spock had been prepared to kill Khan, for him, made him feel good in a way he hadn’t expected to.

Spock looked back at Kirk, looked into his eyes, then looked past him at Bones. “Can you give us some privacy?” he requested.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me to leave my patients,” Bones muttered.

“Wait, how many patients are there in here?” Kirk braced his hands on the mattress and levered himself up, trying to look around the room.

Bones pushed him back down. “Just you right now.”

“Oh.” Kirk let himself get pushed back as he said, “I’ll be fine, Bones.” He smiled at his friend. “Maybe if it was anyone else here with me, but come on. It’s Spock. Even if I was inclined to get up, he’d never let me without calling you to give me a lecture.”

“He’ll be all right, Doctor,” Spock said calmly.

“Hmm.” Bones looked at both of them before finally nodding. “If anything changes, if he tries to leave, let me know,” he informed Spock, before walking away.

Kirk tried to watch Bones leave, but his neck ached too much to keep his eyes on the other man and he let his head drop back against the pillow. “So is this the part where I prepare for a lecture from you?” he asked wryly. “This is probably the best time you’ve got to make sure I listen. I don’t really want to walk out of here and have Bones ticked at me.”

“He’s not ‘ticked’ at you, Jim. He’s worried about you.”

There was a strange, nearly unrecognisable note in Spock’s voice and Kirk turned his head to the side to look at him. Spock’s face was as calm and expressionless as ever, but the hitched tone in his voice suggested he might not be as emotionally unaffected as he’d pretend. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me, Spock. I’m sure a whole lot of problems would be solved for you if I wasn’t here.”

“Do you really think I’d be happy if you were dead?”

Kirk closed his eyes as he gave the question the consideration he felt it deserved. “Maybe not happy,” he finally allowed. “But I was willing to sacrifice myself because it was the right thing to do. I thought like a Vulcan. I would have thought you’d be happy about that.”

“You thought and reacted like a Vulcan,” Spock allowed. “And I thought and reacted like a human. All I could think of was getting revenge. All I could think of was that you were dead.”

Kirk flinched, unable to help but react to the knowledge he’d come so close to dying. Actually had died. And while dying itself didn’t scare him, the fact that nothing had been waiting for him when he was gone did scare him. He didn’t remember anything between losing consciousness and waking up in the medical bay. “So you were emotionally compromised?”

“I was emotionally compromised. Because of you.”

Kirk opened his eyes when he felt long, cool fingers wrap around his hand. He looked down at his hand, clasped in Spock’s, and then up at him. “I made you emotionally compromised?”

“I thought you were dead.” Spock said the words again, but they were uttered in a low, pained voice as he gripped Kirk’s hand that bit tighter. “I lost control. Because I thought you were lost.”

“So you’re telling me that you actually like me?” Kirk grinned. He used the hand that wasn’t being held to push himself up, arching his head up to press his lips against Spock’s.

The Vulcan’s lips were soft and warm and Spock kissed back. They stayed like that for a few moments until Kirk lost his energy boost and had to flop back onto the bed. “Damnit. I can’t even kiss you,” he complained.

Spock’s smile was tiny, but lit up his entire face…at least as far as Kirk was concerned. “Then perhaps I should do the work this time.” He lowered his head and pressed his lips against Kirk’s.

Relaxing into the kiss and bringing his free hand up to cup Spock’s face, Kirk couldn’t help but think, despite everything, this had all been worth it.

The End

Infected

Summary: In-universe meta. A report is broadcast to Starfleet from the USS Griffin. The crew has become infected
Warning(s): Minor spoilers for Star Trek alternate movies; space horror; people infected with a virus that makes them bleed and eventually kill themselves

###

Science Officer’s Log. USS Griffin. Stardate 41335.1
We beamed down onto a new planet today. It wasn’t just new to us; it was entirely new to Starfleet. We were all excited about being able to report back on finding a new planet. But there was a strange glitch in the ship’s computer when we entered the solar system. It didn’t last for long, but the flickering loss of power made the whole crew nervous and on edge.

But exploring the planet was something we were all excited for. I was beamed down onto the planet’s surface, along with the security team.

A scan of what we found on the planet didn’t show any signs of humanoid life. So I began to collect samples. Everything was going as smoothly as it should have done. The security team was keeping watch with weapons at the ready. I could communicate directly to the Griffin and let the Captain know of any problems.

But the problem that occurred was so small. So…so impossible to predict.

It was when I was taking a cutting from the violet-coloured grass that I felt it. A sharp pain in my knee. When I raised my leg, I saw that I had inadvertently knelt on an insect. And in retaliation, it had bitten or stung me.

This insect was long and thin, like a wire, coloured the same as the grass that bent under our feet and then sprang up as soon as we moved on. It was latched onto my knee and I could see that one end of it was buried under my skin through the hole it had made in my suit.

The away mission was cut short. I was beamed up separately and immediately rushed through decontamination and then to medbay. All throughout, the insect clung on. Doctor Leroy had to use a pair of tweezers to fully remove the insect and then put it away for later study.

There was only a small drop of blood left on my knee and no visible mark, but Captain Connor instructed I be quarantined for the appropriate amount of time as per Starfleet regulations.

Science Officer’s Log. USS Griffin. Stardate 41335.2
One of the security team members who escorted me to the planet is very sick.

He was dragged into the adjoining room to mine in the middle of the night. I was woken by his screaming. Even through the reinforced glass, I could hear him. So loud.

I couldn’t see much. The entire med team surrounded him, or so it looked like. What little I could see of his skin was weeping blood. It stained the floor and the walls. Surely too much to be contained within one person’s body?

And still he screams.

Science Officer’s Log. USS Griffin. Stardate 41335.4
The screaming has stopped.

I wish I could say that’s a good thing. The med team did what they could for him, but eventually left him alone. I don’t blame them. Even with the glass muffling the worst of the sound, I could still hear it.

The sound made my skin crawl and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. But I think I would almost prefer that to his condition now.

The blood has been cleaned from the floor and walls, but it continues to drip from his skin. He sits on the bed in his room and just stares into mine, his skin ashen and grey. He looks like corpse, but I can see his chest rising and falling. But the worst thing of all?

All he does is smile.

Science Officer’s Log. USS Griffin. Stardate 41335.8

It’s spreading.

On all sides, they surround me. Blood drips from their skin. Smiles are fixed on their faces. It starts with the screaming and the blood seeping from every pore of their body and then…strangely calm, while the blood drips from hands and feet and they grin their chilling smiles.

I have food from the replicators brought to me, but it’s obvious that the crew who are not infected are nervous and scared. I’ve heard them whispering and casting me nervous glances. There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that the planet is the cause of the infection. Despite our protective clothing, something came back on the ship with us.

The security team were the first ones to be reduced to this state, but it’s sweeping through the ship. At least half of the crew is locked away, but more and more are succumbing.

I almost prefer the screams. The silent grins make my skin crawl.

Science Officer’s Log. USS Griffin. Stardate 41336.1
The virus, or whatever it is, doesn’t seem to differentiate between species. Almost three-quarters of the crew are now infected.

And there’s a third stage to the virus.

I noticed it first with David, the one who carried the original infection. He was still smiling that chilling smile, but instead of sitting on the bed and staring at me, he stood up from the bed, walked to the glass…and began to bang his head against it.

And he did it again. And again.

Don’t think I did nothing. I demanded that the computer send help. I begged, screamed, pleaded. Banged on the glass to try and stop him from hitting his head.

Nothing worked. And by the time anyone came to try and help…it was too late.

Where the insect burrowed into my skin is now itching and there’s a red mark that’s formed. Like I’ve had a reaction to something. But honestly, compared to what’s going on with the rest of the ship, a reaction to the insect sting is a minor thing.

But perhaps it’s an answer to why I’ve so far remained unaffected by this rapidly spreading virus.

Science Officer’s Log. USS Griffin. Stardate 41336.3
Captain Connor came to see me today. At least, I assume it was the Captain. It was difficult to tell, because as he stood outside my room, staring in at me, I could see he was bleeding from his nose and his ears. The crimson fluid stood out so starkly against his dark skin.

“Everyone’s infected now.”

The words carried as clearly to me as if there were no barriers between us.

I stood up from my bed and walked over to stand directly in front of him. On either side of me, the rooms were filled with the infected in various states. They were either screaming or banging their heads against the walls.

There simply wasn’t anyone left to try and stop them from eventually killing themselves.

“I’m not,” I said.

“We don’t know why.” The Captain’s breath hitched. He breathed in sharply. “And we can’t afford to risk you carrying the virus away from this solar system if I arranged to have you enter an escape pod. Even assuming that anyone could pick you up.”

White-hot fear exploded in my stomach and I slammed my hand against the wall. “You can’t just leave me here!”

“We have….” He was fighting to get the words out. “We have no choice.”

“I have a family! I have a home to go back to! I’m the only one not infected. You can’t keep me a prisoner. I’ll be the only one alive here on a ship filled with the dead!”

He dropped to his knees, blood beginning to trickle out of his eyes. The whites were crimson now and when he looked up at me, he wasn’t focusing anymore. Not on anything. “Computer.” He spat out a globule of blood onto the floor. “Unlock the door. Let…let Calista Deakins…out….” And then he started screaming.

The door to my prison was opened. But all that was in front of me was the dead.

Science Officer’s Log. USS Griffin. Stardate 41336.9
I have exhausted every attempt to escape. Before the infection took him, Captain Connor made sure that I couldn’t access the escape pods. I’ve tried everything. And in the meantime, I have found no other crew member who has avoided infection.

There is only one thing I can do. I’ve bypassed the security firewalls set on the computer and I’m broadcasting these coordinates to Starfleet.

This is where I am. I can’t die out here on the Griffin. Whoever picks up this distress signal, come and find me.

Calista Deakins, Science Officer of the USS Griffin, signing off.

The End

Did You Ever Wonder…?

Summary: With a somewhat clearer mind than usual, Klaus is curious about the fact that Ben has aged along with him
Warning(s): Spoilers for season one of The Umbrella Academy; minor spoilers for season two; references to violence and canon character death; dysfunctional family

###

“Did you ever wonder how you got to be old?” Klaus asked the question suddenly as he lounged on the couch, sunglasses half-slid down his nose. For once, he didn’t have any of his followers in the room with him, so he could talk freely to his brother without having to think up an excuse as to who he was talking to. Not that his followers would question him out loud, of course, but he often noticed the curious looks they’d give him when he did talk to Ben. Or one of the other dead. And when he was feeling particularly magnanimous, he’d sometimes make up stories that really had nothing to do with who he was talking to.

“I’m not old,” Ben protested, sounding injured. “If I’m old, you’re old.”

“You know what I mean.” Klaus peered at his brother over the top of his sunglasses. “I don’t know why I never thought about it before. But you haven’t stayed the same age you were when you died. Are you growing the same rate that I am? Cause that’s gonna suck when I’m an old man. I know you won’t feel the pains of growing old, but it’ll still suck if we’re still the same age when I’m old. Right?”

Ben looked down at his own body and when he looked up at Klaus again, he was frowning, eyes narrowed in confusion. “I never thought about it before,” he admitted. “But you’re right. I’ve been aging along with you.” He leaned back against the wall and placed his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. “So what are we going to do?” he asked.

Klaus shrugged and drained half of the contents of his glass, feeling a pleasant buzz from the alcohol as he swallowed it down. “What else?” he retorted. “We’ll stay here. Get rich. Be worshipped. Maybe even get over some of my daddy issues,” he muttered under his breath.

Ben seemed to hear him either way, as he said, “I think getting over any of your issues will take more than just going back in time and forming a cult.”

“It’s not a cult!” Klaus protested. “I never asked for it.”

“But you never told them you aren’t what they think you are.”

“I’m the closest they’ve got to it,” Klaus muttered under his breath.

Ben shook his head and sighed. “That’s not what I was talking about anyway.”

“It’s not?” Klaus waited, but when his brother didn’t elaborate, he pressed, “So what were you talking about, then?”

“The rest of us are going to get here to this time eventually,” Ben said. “I can’t go far enough away from you to look for them. I’m tied to wherever you are.”

Klaus waved his hand airily. “They’ll find their way to us eventually. Or we’ll find our way to them. When it’s the right time. The universe will move towards the right path, with or without help from either of us.”

Ben stared at him for several long moments before he finally, slowly, shook his head. “I can’t tell if you’re buying your own bullshit or not.”

“It’s not bullshit!”

Ben stood up and began pacing up and down the room. “We don’t know what we’re doing here, Klaus. There’s no sign of Luther, or Five, or any of the others. And you’re running around playing sex guru instead of trying to figure out how to stop the end of the world!”

“But the world ends in 2019,” Klaus pointed out, in what he thought was a reasonable tone. “We were there when it happened. We watched it happen. So until we find the others, we can just party. Enjoy life. Or death, in your case.”

Ben shook his head. “What if we change the past by coming back here, Klaus? What if things go even worse when or if we finally go back home? What if the world still ends, in spite of our best efforts to stop it?”

Klaus opened his mouth to make another jokey, sarcastic retort, but then he took note of the tone of Ben’s voice. The perpetual frown that was creasing his brother’s forehead. “Shit, you’re really worried about this.” He blinked a few times and looked longingly at the empty glass he’d set down on the table. “Maybe….” He hesitated, but the suggestion died in his throat. He couldn’t tell his brother to move on. Didn’t want Ben to leave. Selfishly wanted him to stay by his side. Even if he thought he should say the words go into the light…they wouldn’t leave his lips. So instead, he said, “Look, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll ask my followers to keep a look out for the others. It shouldn’t be that hard. None of them are as good at fitting in as I am.”

Ben laughed, though there was very little humour in it. “You’re not good at fitting in, Klaus. You were just lucky enough to fall in with the right people.” He hesitated. “The others might not be so lucky.”

“That’s all assuming they ended up in the same year as we did and that Five didn’t scatter us all in separate decades. Or even separate centuries,” Klaus muttered morosely.

Ben stopped pacing and eyed him. “I almost preferred you in a drugged, drunken haze.”

“I definitely prefer that.” Klaus glanced at the huge window, catching a glimpse of one of his followers. He didn’t know the man’s name; didn’t really bother to learn most of their names. He’d just forget them all eventually.

Ben followed the line of his gaze and sighed. “We don’t have any privacy.”

“Like we ever did back in our time.” Klaus pushed the sunglasses back into place and pushed himself to his feet. “But you don’t have to worry, Ben. None of them will pay any attention to what I say to you.”

“No. All they’ll do is stare at you adoringly and lap up your words like they’re the water of life.” Ben shook his head. “You’re getting too caught up in all of this, Klaus. Don’t forget what we’re really here for.”

Klaus waved his hand and then picked up his empty glass with the same hand. “I know what our mission is, bro. But right now…I need a drink. Another drink. Stop worrying so much, Ben, Things will fall into place. It’s destiny.” He didn’t wait for a response from his brother and walked to the sliding door.

Ready to return to his adoring public.

The End

Goodbye

Summary: An in-depth look at Ben’s thoughts, emotions and relationship with Vanya before he leaves for good
Warning(s): Spoilers for seasons one and two of The Umbrella Academy; references to violence; references to canon character death
Author’s Note: I know the scene was shorter in the episode, but…I just wanted to give them a bit longer to say goodbye

###

Ben closed his arms around Vanya and held his sister. For the first time in a long time…in longer than he could ever remember…he held onto his sister. As his soul splintered and broke and he felt the tether, that had held him to this plane of existence for so long fracture and fray, he held onto Vanya tightly and felt the tears fill his eyes. Felt them spill over.

This was different than how it had felt when he’d hugged Diego in Klaus’ body. This felt more intimate, somehow. Their very souls were embracing.

It didn’t last. It couldn’t last. Even if he wanted to, even if he desperately wanted to stay with his sister; to stay with his family. He couldn’t stay with them. He had to leave. He had to go on; had to go towards the light.

He’d put it off for far too long.

“Will you do something else for me?” Ben whispered, as he held onto his sister and tried to hold on for as long as he could. Tried to stop his soul from running like water trickling through his fingertips.

“Of course.” Vanya hugged him tighter and looked up into his face. “Anything.”

Ben smiled and looked into her eyes. He was still crying, but being here and with his sister made him happy. Filled him with joy. “I’m so glad that I could see you one last time,” he whispered.

Vanya let out a choked sob and hugged Ben tighter. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“It’s okay.” Ben closed his eyes. “But…can you tell Klaus something for me?” He cleared his throat. Had to swallow several times, otherwise the grief would overwhelm him. He remembered Klaus calling him back. Asking him to stay. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the look on his brother’s face. And he’d be lying if he claimed he didn’t know that Klaus blamed himself for Ben not moving on.

Ben had never been able to bring himself to admit the truth to Klaus.

Vanya was watching him; waiting for him to respond. Waiting for him to tell her what he wanted her to do. And he needed to tell her. And as soon as he said those words, he knew that he’d disappear. He wouldn’t be able to see them again. Not Vanya, not Klaus. Not Luther, or Five. Diego or Allison.

He was still selfish enough to want to hold on to his siblings for as long as possible. To hold onto his sister for as long as possible.

“I miss you.”

Ben looked at Vanya’s face, into her eyes, and smiled gently. He gave her a gentle squeeze and admitted, “I miss you too. I miss all of you. But I’m glad I can talk to you again this one last time.” And it was true. Even though he was hurting, even though he knew he could never go back…he knew it was worth it just to have this opportunity to…. “I can say goodbye to you properly.”

Vanya’s smile was tiny and trembling, but it was still there. “I never got to say goodbye to you when you died. I’m glad we can say goodbye now.” She hesitated. “What if I can’t stop myself, Ben? What if I destroy the world? What if I can’t control it?” She swallowed visibly. “I was so dangerous, Dad had to get Allison to…to….”

“I believe in you.” He couldn’t hold on any longer, but he had to tell her this last thing. “Tell Klaus something for me?” he whispered in her ear. “Tell him that I chose not to go into the light.”

And then he was gone.

The End

You Make Me Feel

Summary: Set after the events of Star Trek: Into Darkness. Spock admits how he feels to Kirk
Warning(s): Spoilers for Star Trek: Into Darkness; AU; references to violence
Pairing: Spock/Kirk

###

“I am glad you’re alive.”

Spock’s words cut through Kirk’s ramblings. They’ve already established the away mission. Kirk has decided on who will be going to the planet below and is now just talking about what they might find down there. It’s as good a time as any for Spock to put voice to the feelings that he’s only just beginning to realise he has.

The words cut through and stop Kirk mid-ramble. He blinks, looks around at the rest of the crew, who aren’t listening; haven’t been paying attention since he’s given them their orders. Really, Spock’s the only one still paying attention to Kirk.

And now that he’s spoken, it’s clearly left Kirk speechless.

Spock waits, but when Kirk doesn’t seem inclined to speak up, Spock decides that it’s on him to explain. Perhaps he wasn’t clear enough? Has he been misunderstood? Or do humans not talk about how they feel where others can hear? Spock has only recently allowed that he feels; it took watching Kirk die and facing life without his friend to realise just how much the human truly means to him.

It’s no longer possible to block off his feelings. Hasn’t been since the first moment they met, if Spock is truly honest with himself. Of course, his emotions towards the human were negative to begin with, but perhaps that attraction has always been there and it has taken nearly losing Kirk for Spock to admit to himself and out loud, to Kirk, just how he feels.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” Spock says the words again and takes a step closer to Kirk. It’s not that he’s unaware of the rest of the crew all around them, just that they’re not an immediate priority. His focus is on Kirk.

“Yeah.” Kirk swallows visibly. Drops his eyes from Spock’s face and looks around at the rest of the crew members, who are still not looking at either of them. Then, he focuses on Spock once more. Stares into his eyes. “Really?”

“Do you think I am lying?” Spock tilts his head to one side; studies Kirk’s face, looking for any clue that might give him an insight into Kirk’s mind. That might help him to better understand the man.

“No, of course not!” Kirk’s response comes out a bit too quickly, perhaps. He looks around at the rest of the crew and then says, “If we’re going to talk about this, whatever this is, maybe we should move somewhere a little more private?”

“By all means, Captain.” Spock walks towards the door leading to the bridge and it opens. He steps out into the surprisingly deserted walkway. Footsteps and the door sliding closed behind him had him half-turning, mouth opening to speak.

Kirk’s lips land on his, the kiss a harsh, desperate clash of teeth, lips and tongue. It’s not comfortable and it’s certainly not gentle, but it feels real. And Kirk’s body against his is solid and muscular, nothing like how Uhura had felt in Spock’s arms.

When Kirk breaks the kiss, Spock’s hands grip his hips firmly before he can pull back. Their eyes meet and Kirk breaks out into a wide, impossibly bright smile. “Been wanting to do that since we first met.”

Spock cocks his head to one side. “Really?” he asks doubtfully. “There was a lot of tension between us at that time.”

“Yeah.” Kirk looks up at him from out of half-lidded eyes. “Do you want to show me again how happy you are that I’m alive?”

Spock doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he draws Kirk in once more and their lips meet once more.

And this time, there’s no clash of teeth. This time, the kiss feels natural and comfortable.

The End

My Liege

Summary: As Boromir lays dying, he decides not to hide his true feelings any longer
Warning(s): Spoilers for the Fellowship of the Ring; AU; violence; some descriptions of wounds
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir

###

He’s dying.

Boromir knows it. Can see that same knowledge in those who remain of the Fellowship. Even if they will not say the words out loud, they know. They all know.

The elf, Legolas, is half-turned away. The part of Boromir not overwhelmed by the pain wonders if seeing a man dying is disturbing to the elf. Legolas has faced death before, of course. All of them have. But killing in the heat of battle must be very different to watching someone die once the battle lust is over.

Boromir’s vision is a red haze. Not the haze that fills him when he’s in the middle of fighting. He feels himself drift away, carried on a wave of pain and weakness. For a few moments, the agony ebbs; he feels calm. At peace. And if this is what death really feels like, he decides it’s not bad. Not something to fear. His only worry comes from thinking of Faramir; how his brother will take the news of his death.

And then his chest erupts into sharp agony and his whole body arcs up, his eyes opening wide as a series of curses fight to get past his tightly clenched teeth.

“Hold him.” The hoarse order comes from Aragorn, who is leaning over Boromir, obscuring his chest and the wounds from his view.

But whatever the ranger is doing hurts. White-hot agony runs down Boromir’s body and he pants for breath, writhing to get free.

Why won’t they let him die in peace?

Boromir can’t see the ones who hold him, but he can feel the strength in their grip as they hold him down.

His flesh tears and he cries out, the pain intense enough to make his eyes water. His fingers scrabble to find purchase; his nails sink into skin and someone’s voice curses.

The pain lessens to a more manageable level and he pants for breath as he lets go of the flesh he’d grabbed. Aragorn raises his head and Boromir can see down the length of his own body. The arrows are gone; his wounds appear to be bound, although they throb horribly as his heart beats.

“Will he live?” Gimli’s voice comes from somewhere behind him.

“Yes.” Aragorn’s response is given in a calm, unwavering voice. He uses the water from his waterskin to wash the blood from his hands, washes Boromir’s blood from his hands, as he looks at Boromir. “You will live.”

“You should have let me die.” Boromir’s voice is a hoarse whisper. He struggles to push himself up; Gimli’s thick hand holds him down with little effort at all and he looks up at the dwarf, his eyes pleading. “You have to rescue the little ones! I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop them from being taken.” His struggles grow more desperate, but only for an instant before exhaustion and pain overwhelm him. “You have to save them,” he repeats.

“We will.” Aragorn’s voice is strength and authority. He leans forward and Boromir assumes the man, his king, will kiss his forehead, as he did before taking care of his wounds. Instead, Aragorn’s lips brush against his for a brief, tender moment before he pulls back.

Boromir’s whole body flushes and feels warm and neither have anything to do with the wounds he’s sustained. He licks his lips, tasting Aragorn on them, and murmurs, “I don’t want to risk slowing you down.”

“You won’t,” Aragorn promises. “Rest now. Recover your strength. We’ll find the little ones.”

Something about the calm, authoritative note in Aragorn’s voice allows Boromir to relax. He looks at the other man trustingly and nods. “I will obey you, my liege.” He closes his eyes and slips into unconsciousness quickly, still able to taste Aragorn on his lips.

The End

It Lasts Forever

Summary: Legolas speaks to Gimli about his past relationship with a dwarf
Warning(s): Spoilers for the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit movies; AU; violence; references to canon character death
Pairing: Legolas/Kili

###

“Do dwarves live more than one life?” The question had been playing on Legolas’ mind for some time now, but this was the first time he’d allowed himself to actually ask the question.

“Are you asking because of someone in particular?” Gimli’s expression was curious as he focused on Legolas.

They’d fought alongside each other and formed a friendship based on the brotherhood that wrought, so Legolas felt safe in telling Gimli what no other had been told; what no other knew of him. “His name was Kili.” As he spoke the name out loud, for the first time since that fateful battle, he thought of Kili’s face. The cocky arrogance of the dwarven archer, that had given way to pain when he’d nearly succumbed to the poisoned arrow from the orc.

“Kili, Thorin’s nephew?” Gimli asked.

“Unless there was another Kili I didn’t know about.” Legolas lowered his eyes in thought. In memory. “I know of men who have lived more than one life, but not heard the same of dwarves.” He shrugged. “I suppose it’s too much to hope for that I might see him again.”

“How did you meet?”

At the question, Legolas looked up and into Gimli’s eyes. He saw no hint of mockery or disgust, but still, it took him a few moments to put voice to his thoughts. “My father imprisoned Thorin and his company. They escaped in barrels, floating down the river.” He allowed himself a tiny smile, a hint of amusement, at the memory, although it was overshadowed by grief. “They were attacked by orcs, one of whom wounded Kili with a poisoned arrow.”

“And you helped him?” Gimli asked.

“I do not know how to explain it,” Legolas admitted. “I don’t know where the source of the connection we felt came from. All I know is that when I learned of the poison, I had to act. So I tracked them down, tracked him down, and I healed him.” He hesitated, knowing that what had happened between them afterwards was only for him to know about. “The only time we had together was what little there was before the battle.”

Silence fell between them.

It was Gimli who finally broke it. “There are no stories of dwarves who have returned from death, but there is a dwarf I know who is rumoured to be a reflection of Kili. An archer with no equal.” He paused. “I don’t know if he truly is Kili returned, or if he remembers his past life if so, but there’s nothing to stop us from finding him. And you can see for yourself if you think he might be the one you cared for.”

“Yes.” Legolas smiled at Gimli and retrieved his pack. “I would like that,” he said honestly. “If you are ready, we can leave straight away.” He tried not to sound too impatient, but if the chuckle that Gimli gave was any indication, he hadn’t succeeded.

“I’m ready,” Gimli said. “And maybe as we journey, you can tell me a little bit more about him, as I saw very little of Kili or his uncle and brother before they left.”

The End

Nightmares

Summary: Even as an adult, Diego sometimes has nightmares
Warning(s): Spoilers for the first season of the Umbrella Academy; violence; AU

###

He wakes with the iron tang of blood in his mouth from where he bit his lip in his sleep to stop himself from crying out. It’s been a long time since he’s had any nightmares. Not since moving out…and no matter what any of the others might think, he didn’t run away. He doesn’t run from anything. But getting out of the house and away from Reginald? He had to do that if he had any hope of keeping his sanity.

Not that any of them have much of that left.

As Diego’s eyes adjust to the darkness, he can see her. Her blonde hair gleams in the darkness. It’s comforting, although he wouldn’t admit that out loud to anyone else. It’s comforting how, even among the chaos that his life has become, there is one constant left.

Mom.

She sits next to his bed; not touching, because she knows, perhaps better than anyone, how he will react to an unexpected touch. But now that he’s awake, he reaches across the tiny gap between them and grips her hand tight. Like he used to as a child. “Did I wake anyone else?” His voice is a hoarse rasp, betraying that he couldn’t quiet the screams.

Her other hand reaches towards his face and he leans into her palm as she strokes his cheek. “The sound only carried to my room,” she whispers.

“Because you’re the only one who listens.” He closes his eyes and lets his mother’s touch soothe what others can’t. He wants to grip her hand tighter. Knows that she wouldn’t mind. That it won’t hurt her. He wants to cling to her again, like he’s a child.

But he’s too old to go running to his mother like he’s a child still. He can accept comfort from her, but he can’t hide behind her. He’s an adult now and has seen so much worse than what his father put them all through.

Her hand strokes over his forehead, soothing away the tension headache that’s formed in his temples. She leans over and brushes a kiss against his forehead. “I love you, Diego.”

He smiles without opening his eyes. “I love you too, Mom.” He opens his eyes and looks into hers. It’s the middle of the night and he can tell her what she needs to hear. “Dad’s gone now. He can’t make you stay here. You can leave. Go anywhere you want.”

Her smile is gentle, but still sad. “This is my home, Diego. It’s all I’ve ever known. Where would I even go?”

“You could leave with me.” He continues to look into her face, tempted to tell her the truth. To tell her the real reason Five’s come back. Maybe she can help them. He’s just selfish enough to want to leave with her, with all of them, and get them to safety. But there’s nowhere they can go to get away from the end of the world. And even if it was possible, he couldn’t run away.

He doesn’t really think of himself as a hero. He just needs to do the right thing. No matter what it costs.

“Maybe you can stay here, Diego. And we can still be together.” She kisses his forehead and strokes his hair. “Go to sleep. I’ll stay here. Just in case you have any more nightmares.”

“I won’t have another nightmare,” Diego states with certainty, even as he closes his eyes. He doesn’t need to say the words to her. He doesn’t need to tell her that just being here for him is enough to make him feel better.

Because she already knows. And he can close his eyes and sleep, secure in knowing that his mom is with him. And despite how fucked up the whole family is, he’s not alone right now.

The End

Trust Is Hard

Summary: Set after the Tower of Babel storyline. Clark tracks down Bruce
Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers for the Tower of Babel storyline in the comics; references to violence; AU

###

Bruce wasn’t surprised that it was Clark who’d come after him. He wasn’t even surprised that Superman had figured out where he was. After all, out of the members of the Justice League, it was Clark who knew him the best.

Bruce just wasn’t sure why he was now facing Superman in the guise of Clark Kent, sitting across from him at a restaurant Bruce hardly ever came to now.

“You left.” Clark spoke the words in a soft tone, even as he scanned the menu he held in his hand. “You walked out of HQ without waiting for a response from any of us.”

Bruce glanced down at his plate. It was a fairly simple meal. The restaurant wasn’t one most people would associate with him. It was small and homely, rather than posh and expensive. It was perhaps one of the only places he felt he could relax, even if he couldn’t truly be himself.

After what had happened, after his files had been used against the people who had trusted him, he couldn’t face going back to the mansion. Couldn’t face taking on the mantle he knew everyone outside expected him to wear. Whether it was Bruce Wayne, the rich playboy, or Batman…right now, he just needed to forget that he’d been responsible for his friends being hurt; having their powers taken away from them or turned against them in the worst possible way.

But Clark was here. And if nothing else, he deserved a response. Even though Bruce wasn’t sure what the other man was expecting. After all, it wasn’t like he didn’t know how the Justice League would vote. “I thought I’d save you the task of telling me I was out of the League,” he answered, keeping his voice low; even though there was no one close enough who could hear their conversation.

“You don’t have a lot of faith in us.”

Bruce finally raised his eyes to Clark’s face, looking into the other man’s eyes. He shook his head and allowed himself a small, humourless smile. “I have plenty of faith in you. In all of you. But I also know that none of you will be able to trust me again.” He hesitated, but this was Clark; and Superman was the one Bruce had always felt closest to. “None of you will be able to look at me without seeing that I was responsible for the suffering you all went through.”

Clark nodded and set the menu down, then pointed to Bruce’s plate. “Are you going to eat that? Because if not, I think we should go back to Wayne Mansion and talk.”

“You want to talk?” Bruce took in a deep breath. He knew Clark wasn’t looking to hurt him, but maybe it would be easier if he did. Bruce wasn’t a stranger to pain. And if Superman did want to harm him, Bruce wouldn’t stop him. Wouldn’t fight back. Because he owed Clark way too much.

“Yes. I’d like to talk.” Clark’s voice was low and reassuring; his eyes focused on Bruce’s face, even though he was clearly also keeping his attention on who and what surrounded them.

“Yeah. Okay, then.” Bruce pushed back from the table and walked towards the exit of the restaurant. At the same time, he quickly sent a message to his driver.

By the time they got outside, the car and his driver were waiting for them. Bruce glanced at Clark, even as he stepped over to the vehicle and opened the door. “Do you want to talk back at the mansion?” he asked.

“Is that where you’d feel most comfortable?” Clark asked in return.

Bruce only shrugged, not putting voice to what he was thinking: that he wasn’t expecting his comfort to take any kind of priority. He got in the car and waited for Clark to join him before saying, “Wayne Manor.”

“Very good, Sir.” With no further comments, the driver began heading in that direction.

Both Bruce and Clark were quiet during the journey. Bruce couldn’t bring himself to speak; wasn’t sure what Clark planned to say to him. He didn’t think it was necessary for Clark to say anything more than that Bruce was out of the League, but if there was more that Clark needed to say to him, Bruce wouldn’t protest.

He owed the other man that much, at least.

Neither of them spoke or moved until the driver parked outside Wayne Manor. Then, Bruce got out of the car and walked to the door, aware of Clark following close behind him.

“Is Alfred here?” Clark asked, as soon as they were inside the mansion with the door closed behind them.

Bruce shook his head. “He has the day off today.” He turned fully to face Clark, looking into the other man’s eyes. “What do you need to say to me?”

“Shall we talk inside the main room?” Clark nodded towards the doorway.

Taking a deep breath and knowing that he wouldn’t be able to stop Clark should the other man decide to hurt him, Bruce walked into the main room and sat down on the couch. He looked up as Clark stepped over and sat down next to him, close enough that their legs were close together. It made him feel slightly less alone that Clark was willing to be close to him…but he still felt a stab of guilt, remembering his responsibility in harming the members of the League. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Clark sat in silence for a moment or two before saying, quietly, “I know you’re sorry. I understand why you kept those files on all of us and I also understand that you never intended for them to be used. Not unless there was a real need to.”

“But…?” Bruce prompted, when Clark fell silent.

Clark took a deep breath and looked directly at Bruce, into his eyes. “You feel responsible and guilty for what happened to all of us. I came to see you outside of the League because I want to talk to you as a friend. Not as a superhero.”

“Are we still friends?” Bruce asked quietly.

“As far as I’m concerned? Yes,” Clark answered honestly. “What happened doesn’t change things between us, Bruce.”

“Maybe they should.” Bruce swallowed and looked away as he spoke the words. He wasn’t a stranger to feeling guilty, but this was the first time he felt guilty because he’d hurt his friends, hurt people he cared about.

Clark sat silently for a few moments before he said, in a quiet voice, “We always had a good relationship, Bruce. I’m not angry or upset with you for what happened. I can’t say that I’d willingly go through it again, but I understand why you did it.” He paused before adding, “I also understand why you feel guilty. I’d like to help you with that. If you feel like you can trust me enough.”

Bruce snorted softly. His first instinct was to say that he didn’t trust anyone. But that wasn’t entirely true. And it wasn’t exactly fair to Clark. After all, they were friends even outside of the Justice League. Still…. “How do you plan to help me?” he asked in a low voice.

“Spanking,” Clark answered. “I’m talking about spanking you.”

Bruce’s first instinct was to laugh. To accuse Clark of not taking it seriously. He opened his mouth to respond in his normal deflecting way. But then he caught Clark’s eye, saw the serious expression on his friend’s face, and swallowed hard, looking away. “You want to hurt me.”

“I want to help you.”

Bruce stared at the carpet, unable to look into Clark’s eyes. He couldn’t deny that he felt guilty. Couldn’t deny that he was struggling to deal with the fact his own actions had led to the rest of the League experiencing their weaknesses being turned against them. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice low and tense. “If I…if I let you do this, will you forgive me? Will it repair things between us?”

“I don’t need to spank you to forgive you, Bruce.”

Bruce raised his eyes to Clark’s face, seeing the honesty and openness there. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself fighting,” he admitted quietly.

“You don’t need to worry about your reactions, or about holding back on them. Because I’ll be able to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. And you won’t be able to hurt me.” As he spoke, Clark reached out and grasped Bruce’s shoulder, pulling him in close.

Swallowing hard, Bruce allowed himself to be positioned across Clark’s lap. He shifted slightly to get more comfortable, aware of Clark’s arm wrapped tight around his waist. The other man was holding him still against his stomach and Bruce’s backside was the highest point of his body.

The first strong smack caught Bruce by surprise with how hard it was. He couldn’t help letting a quiet groan when the second and third smacks also landed, Clark’s hand finding a new spot on his backside each time it landed.

Despite the fact his pants were in place, Bruce could still feel the sting and burn of the smacks as Clark settled into a pattern, working over every inch of his bottom, from the crest down to mid-thigh. By the time Clark had covered every inch in the stinging smacks twice over, Bruce was wriggling like a worm caught on a hook, letting out gasps or moans whenever Clark’s hand found a particularly sensitive spot.

Clark didn’t speak, just continued to smack firmly. It was almost worse, that he didn’t say anything. It let Bruce get inside his own head and think about exactly why he was in this position. To think about what he’d done and the fact that his own actions had caused his friend so much distress and pain.

By the time Clark had started over from the third time, Bruce couldn’t stop his breath from hitching. Tears filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He’d suffered through worst pain and not shed even a tear, but this wasn’t about the physical pain. This was about him hurting his friend…and Clark deciding to step in and help him with his guilt.

But despite his best efforts, Bruce couldn’t stop himself from squirming in response to the smacks. And while he couldn’t be sure, it felt like Clark was now smacking that bit harder and faster and he couldn’t stop his legs from jerking in response. Not kicking, not quite kicking, but his body was reacting despite his best efforts. Even though he believed he deserved this and didn’t actively want to get away, his body was still trying to shift from the burning, throbbing pain.

But it didn’t matter how much he writhed and squirmed. It didn’t matter how much his legs jerked. Clark kept him in place, kept smacking his backside…as if Bruce wasn’t moving at all.

Eventually, the pain of the spanking and his own feelings of guilt became far too overwhelming. Bruce slumped over Clark’s lap, the tears coming hot and heavy. But he wasn’t crying because of the pain from the spanking. It hurt, but he was overwhelmed by the emotions that he could no longer keep buried below the surface.

When Bruce slumped limp over his lap, Clark paused and began to gently rub his back, speaking in a low, caring voice. “I don’t blame you for what happened, Bruce. I know you never intended for any of us to be hurt.”

Fighting to stop the tears, Bruce whispered, in a hoarse voice, “But the others don’t feel the same way.”

“They don’t know you as well as I do. It’s going to take time for them to be able to trust you again. But you will be able to earn that trust back,” Clark promised. “It might take a while, but I have faith that you’ll prove to them that you’re truly sorry.”

“And until then, I’m out of the League.” Wiping at the tears that stained his face, Bruce pushed himself up slowly.

“Only temporarily,” Clark replied. “Think of it as more of a grounding than permanent expulsion.”

“So first I get spanked. Now I’m grounded.” Shaking his head, Bruce gingerly sat down next to Clark, biting his lip as his backside throbbed. “What am I, a rebellious teenager?”

Clark wrapped an arm around Bruce’s shoulders, giving him a comforting hug. “Just give it time. They’ll forgive you eventually. Trust me.”

Bruce relaxed against his friend and sighed. “I do trust you,” he admitted quietly.

And for now, that was enough.

The End

Needing Help

Summary: After the events of season one, Dick talks to Bruce and gets help from him
Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers for the first season of Titans; references to violence

###

Dick sighed, knowing that he needed to leave…to join the others…but he hesitated. He remembered, full well, what had triggered his descent, his fall, in allowing himself to fall under the control of Trigon. He remembered what they’d all done to Garfield; and even though he hadn’t been in control of himself and knew that Garfield didn’t blame him, it was hard not to feel guilty. Hard to forget what he’d done.

“Are you all right, Dick?”

Dick blinked and focused on Bruce at the question. He could tell the older man was worried. Bruce Wayne was good at hiding how he really felt from most people, but Dick had always found it easy to read him.

He supposed the same could be said of Bruce being able to read him.

Dick could only hold eye contact with Bruce for a few moments before he had to look down. Guilt felt like a hollow pit in his stomach and he didn’t even try to hide it as he admitted, in a low voice, “Not right now, but I will be.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Swallowing hard, Dick looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. “I don’t even know where to start,” he whispered, strong emotion making his voice hoarse.

“Start wherever you need to. Even if it’s at the end and you work your way back to the beginning,” Bruce said.

“I feel guilty,” Dick admitted, after a moment. Glancing up at Bruce’s face, he added, “But I guess you already figured that out.”

“Your guilty expressions haven’t changed that much since we last saw each other.”

“I guess they haven’t.” Dick drew in a deep, shaky breath. “I attacked Garfield,” he admitted quietly. “It wasn’t just me…and I know it was because I wasn’t in control of my own actions…but that doesn’t make me feel any less guilty.” And while Garfield had healed, Dick had seen the after-effects of the injuries. And that had made him feel even worse.

Bruce was silent for a few moments before he said, “I can tell you that it wasn’t your fault. I’m sure Garfield has told you the same thing when you apologised to him. But I also know that feelings of guilt don’t go away that easily.”

“I guess you would.” Dick looked down at his hands before asking, “So how do you deal with things?”

“You’ve seen a lot of my coping mechanisms,” Bruce replied. “Taking in criminals, the bad guys, helps. So does working on my projects.” He paused before saying, “There are times that nothing I can do works. And when it gets to that point, I have a close friend who helps me. Someone I trust to step in and help me when the guilt becomes too much to handle.”

“Who?”

“Superman.”

“I guess if anyone’s that trustworthy, it would be him,” Dick said quietly. He shifted position slightly, looking down at his hands and then up into Bruce’s face, breathing in deeply before he asked, “Would you help me in the same way?”

“You don’t even know what form the help will take,” Bruce said quietly.

“It has to be better than the way I’m feeling right now.” And maybe it would even help Dick stop feeling guilty for believing the worst of Batman, even if it had been while he was under Trigon’s control.

“It’s spanking.” Bruce’s voice was as calm and composed as if he was saying it was raining.

Dick winced, staring into Bruce’s eyes for a moment before he swallowed and looked away once more. “You’ve never…. I never….”

“I’ve never used it on you,” Bruce commented. “And I wasn’t expecting to ever use it on you.”

“I need help,” Dick whispered.

“Then you need to follow my instructions exactly.” Bruce sat back on the chair. “Come and lay across my lap. If you’re sure you want this kind of help.”

“I’m not sure I want it, but I am sure I need it. Or that I need help, I guess.” Dick stood up and walked over to Bruce’s side. He eyed the older man’s lap, reflecting it didn’t look all that comfortable, and then lowered himself over Bruce’s lap.

This was an entirely new situation for Dick. He shifted position slightly, not sure what to do with his hands. In the end, he placed one on the floor and hesitantly wrapped his other hand around Bruce’s ankle, trying to make his body relax as he carefully controlled his breathing.

Bruce rubbed Dick’s lower back for a few moments and when he lifted his hand, Dick couldn’t help but tense up.

The first smack landed on his right buttock and Dick jumped, hissing out a sharp breath. The second smack was delivered to the opposite side of his backside and he gasped quietly.

Dick had been in fights and had been hurt before. He wasn’t a stranger to pain. But as Bruce settled into a pattern of swats, going down to mid-thigh, he found the repetitive smacks harder to take than being injured in a fight.

Even though his pants were in place, the swats were strong enough to sting at first and then settle into a burning sensation as Bruce began to smack again from the top. Dick’s eyes filled with tears and he took a deep breath to try and stop himself from sobbing.

After two such circuits of swats, Dick couldn’t stop himself from beginning to squirm over Bruce’s lap. When the third set began, his legs started to jerk in response to the sting that was lasting past the initial swat that had been delivered.

As Bruce continued, Dick felt a terrible weight form in his chest. The weight of guilt was almost too much to bear and as his entire backside began to sting and burn, he burst out, “I killed you!”

Bruce paused, his hand resting on Dick’s back.

Struggling to catch his breath, feeling the tears running down his face, Dick whispered, “When I was under Trigon’s control. It…I could have stopped it. I was in another world. Another life. It was good at first and then…I went to Gotham. And in that world, inside my mind, you’d crossed over the line I know you’d never cross.” His voice dropped to a whisper and his breath hitched as he said, “I fell under Trigon’s control because I killed you.”

Bruce didn’t say that it had only been inside Dick’s mind. He didn’t say that he understood. He didn’t say anything. But he acted. He tugged Dick’s pants down and resumed spanking, this time a little bit harder and faster.

Dick squirmed, unable to hold back the tears as Bruce swatted with only the thin layer of Dick’s boxers between bare skin and his palm. And this time, when Bruce went down to his thighs, he was swatting bare skin and the pain was so much more intense; but also, everything just felt more.

“I’m sorry, Bruce.” Dick fought to get the words out and then slumped limp over the older man’s lap, crying quietly.

Bruce tugged his pants back into place and then helped Dick to stand up, before standing himself and wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug.

It had been a long time since Dick had hugged Bruce. Not since before he’d left Gotham and the mantle of Robin behind. He wrapped his own arms around the other man and hugged him tight. “Thank you.”

Bruce just nodded before asking, “Are you feeling any better?”

“Enough to say that the spanking worked.” Dick paused to think about it. “Not enough to say I’d rush to go through it again.”

“If it’s helped you even just this once, I’d say it’s worth doing.”

Almost reluctantly, Dick let go of Bruce and took a step back, wiping at his eyes. “I need to leave now.”

“Of course,” Bruce answered. “You know where I am if you need me.”

Dick smiled. “I’ve always known.” He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked away from Bruce Wayne for the second time…but this time, it was in a much happier state of mind.

The End

Turned Around

Summary: AU to The Dark Knight. Before Harvey Dent can cross the line, Batman stops him
Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers for the first two movies of the Dark Knight trilogy; references to violence; AU; references to canon character death; some references to a maimed person

###

Bruce was grieving. He’d lost Rachel. The Joker had taken her away from him and, because of his manipulations, Harvey Dent now lived instead of the woman Bruce loved. And he wouldn’t have chosen to let Dent die, but if he hadn’t been tricked, they could have both been saved.

Bruce believed that with every fibre of his being and the fact he’d been unable to save her cut deeper than any blade could have.

He didn’t know why he was here. Why he was walking through the corridors of Gotham Hospital. Not as Batman, but as Bruce Wayne. He didn’t really want to see the man who now lived where she had died. Was even more certain that Dent wouldn’t want to see him either.

And yet….

Here he was. Walking to Harvey Dent’s hospital room. With no clear idea of what to do or what to say. He felt cold inside. Cold and numb. He hadn’t grieved properly. Wasn’t even sure how to grieve. Hers wasn’t the first death he’d faced, but it was the first one that had cut this deep since he’d lost his parents.

Finding out where Dent had been taken had been fairly easy. Finding out which room the man was in had been a little more difficult; or would have been, if it was anyone other than Bruce seeking him out.

Now, he was standing just outside the door that led to Dent’s room. Now, he was silently questioning why he was here. Harvey didn’t want to see him, surely? Was it better to let the man hide away and lick his wounds in peace?

But he’d come this far already. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t, turn back now.

Bruce raised his hand and knocked on the door.

There was no response. Maybe Dent was sleeping. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t want visitors. Maybe it would have been better to come as Batman. At least then, Dent could be assured of justice being served by the caped crusader.

Would it make him a coward if he turned back now?

Bruce stared at the closed door for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he moved. Finally, he pushed the door inwards and stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Harvey Dent lay in the bed, face turned away so that Bruce could see the burned side of him. It had to be painful, but the man didn’t stir. Didn’t look towards Bruce, even as he snarled, “I don’t want to see anyone.”

Bruce moved until he was standing by the bed. Looking at the wounded man, he said, quietly, “I miss her too.”

Dent snorted softly and continued to stare at the window. “I don’t know why you’re here. You should leave.”

“I can’t.” Bruce glanced at the door, making sure it was still closed, and then sat down on the chair next to Dent’s bed. “Don’t let this turn you into something you’re not.”

“And what would you know about that?”

Bruce was reluctant to reveal his true identity to Harvey Dent. Perhaps he would have considered it before, but now that Rachel was gone, Dent was changed. Different. And it wasn’t just about half of his face, half of his whole body, being burned. He’d changed inside, too. Maybe he wasn’t the same man he had been, but there was a much darker path he could go down.

“I know plenty about it.” Bruce leaned forward slightly. “You’ll let this grief and pain you’re suffering turn you into something you’re not. Believe me, I know.”

Dent finally rolled his head to look at Bruce, glaring at him from the ruin of his face as he demanded, bitterly, “And what could a playboy like you know of it?”

Perhaps it would be easier to tell Dent his identity. Harvey was a good man; perhaps better than Bruce. Rachel had cared for him and that meant something.

But Bruce didn’t think that Batman was who Harvey Dent needed right now. Equally, though, he didn’t feel the playboy was right to deal with the other man either.

Perhaps what Harvey needed was a combination of the two.

Bruce stood and walked over to the door, very deliberately locking it.

“What are you doing?” Dent asked, in a voice that held only a slight hint of curiosity.

“I’m giving us some privacy.” Bruce walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. Then, he reached out and grasped Dent under the arms; pulled the other man forward across the lap he’d made.

Dent wasn’t a small man by any means, but by the time it seemed to occur to him to struggle, Bruce had him in position, arm twisted up behind his back, and was beginning to rain down the first of many heavy smacks over the hospital gown Dent wore.

“What the hell, Wayne?” Dent began to struggle and squirm as the smacks landed on target, each one falling with a loud clapping sound that echoed through the room. “What do you hope to achieve by doing this?!” he demanded.

The man’s squirming and wriggling caused the hospital gown to hike up enough to leave the lower part of Harvey’s buttocks and the tops of his thighs bare and vulnerable. Bruce began to smack the bare skin and heard Dent voice a litany of vicious curses.

It took several more series of smacks before the cursing stopped. Dent lay over Bruce’s lap; not struggling, but not accepting, either. “Why are you doing this?!” Frustration filled his voice.

“Because you’re a good man. Maybe one of the best I’ve ever known,” Bruce replied. “Because you can’t let this grief and pain take that away from you.” He lightened the force of the smacks a little, though kept them at the same steady pace. “I admire you and how much you’ve done for Gotham. And I know why the Joker did what he did. He wanted to turn a good man into something twisted and dark. To bring you to your knees, in the same way he hopes to with Gotham.” He paused. “You don’t have to let him win.”

“Maybe it would be easier if I did,” Dent whispered. “It certainly wouldn’t hurt as much.”

Bruce moved his spanking hand a little lower and began to focus more smacks to Dent’s sit spots and thighs. Several more of those and he heard the tears start. “I know how much it hurts,” he murmured. “I know how painful it is. But she wouldn’t want this for you. I don’t want this for you.”

Whether it was the words, the position, or the pain from the smacks, Bruce didn’t know. But Dent’s body went limp and he began to sob, hard.

Stopping the spanking, Bruce began to rub Dent’s back. He couldn’t help but wince at the force of the sobs, but hoped those meant that the grief could be let go and not fester like a wound that hadn’t healed properly.

Finally, Dent pushed himself up. Tears still ran down his face, both the ravaged side and the other, but the look on his face was calm. Almost peaceful. And he looked straight at Bruce as he said, “I won’t be able to go back into the public eye like this.”

Bruce nodded in understanding and came to a quick decision. “Then maybe you would be willing to help me put a stop to the Joker’s plans.”

“And how do you intend to do that? For that matter, why you and not anyone else?”

Bruce looked straight at Dent as he said the words that would change the trajectory of their lives forever. “I’m Batman.”

The End

Golden Path’s End

Summary: Sequel to I’m Innocent. Set at the end of God Emperor Dune. The Emperor is destroyed…or is he?
Warning(s): Spoilers up to and including God Emperor Dune; AU; references to violence; some sexual scenes
Pairing: Leto II/Nunepi

###

“My Lord? Sire, can you hear me?”

The words permeated through Leto’s mind. Whispered through his subconscious. Wakened parts of him that he’d thought had died.

The sun’s rays beat down hard on him and Leto rolled over, trying to get away from the burning heat. He remembered enough to know that was unusual. That the heat shouldn’t be affecting him. It didn’t affect him before.

He couldn’t move much of his body, but it felt much lighter than it had in the past. He felt a light, gentle touch on his face and forced his eyes open, looking up into the anxious face of Nunepi, The man he loved was almost unrecognisable, as Nunepi was dressed in simple clothes for surviving in the desert rather than the finery he’d been clothed in since the first time he’d come to Leto’s court.

“My Lord?” Nunepi’s brows drew together in worry.

Leto reached up and placed his hand on Nunepi’s face. “Not the Emperor anymore,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m free. At last.” He’d expected the freedom to only come from death, but he wasn’t going to complain that his life was now his own.

“I know.” Nunepi’s smile was open, if a little shy, as he said quietly, “We need to get out of the sun if we want to stay free and not burn.”

Leto’s fingers trailed over Nunepi’s cheek and down towards his lips, brushing his thumb across the other man’s lower lip. He hadn’t been able to touch or hold Nunepi as he travelled along the Golden Path. He hadn’t been able to be tender or gentle with the man who had declared his loyalty and intent to stay by Leto’s side, no matter what. He gently gripped Nunepi’s head and brought it down, swiftly kissing the other man on the lips before releasing him again. “I don’t know how well I can walk.” Leto slowly pushed himself up, smiling when Nunepi leaned down and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, helping him to stand.

Looking round, Leto could see that it was only the two of them. He leaned heavily on Nunepi, letting the other man take his weight. “It’s finished.” In spite of himself, a note of sadness crept into his voice. He’d spent thousands of years working towards the end of this path. Everything had built up to this moment…but he should have died. That was the ending he’d been expecting.

He wasn’t sure what to do with himself now.

Nunepi was quiet as they walked towards shelter and out of the sun’s heat. Well, Nunepi was walking; Leto was stumbling along the ground, leaning heavily on the other man.

Once they were under shelter, Nunepi helped Leto to sit down on the ground and then sat opposite him. Sunlight gleamed through the trees that rose above them, the light playing over his face and casting shadows over him. “What do you need? Food? Water?”

“I haven’t eaten anything other than spice in a long time,” Leto whispered. “I don’t think I even know what food tastes like now.” He focused on Nunepi and reached out, stroking his thumb over the other man’s cheek and lips. “I can touch you now,” he whispered, a note of awe creeping into his voice.

Nunepi smiled and slanted his head to the side, kissing Leto’s palm. “I can touch you too. More easily than I could when your body was that of a sandworm.” He paused and asked quietly, “You never expected to survive the end of the path, did you? So there’s no plan of where to go next.”

“Did you have any plans of where to go next?” Leto asked.

“I was planning to stay by your side no matter what, even through death.”

Leto leaned forward and kissed Nunepi’s lips, pressing a bit deeper and feeling the other man yield to him. He gently nipped Nunepi’s lips and when the man opened up for him, he pushed his tongue into Nunepi’s mouth.

They kissed like that for several long moments. Leto slid his hands down Nunepi’s shoulders, drawing the other man closer and situating him in his lap. His body felt shockingly weak, but if nothing else…at least he could hold onto the man he loved. At least he could kiss him. Touch him.

Nunepi finally pulled back from the kiss and rested his head on Leto’s shoulder, closing his eyes. “Do we have time to figure out our next move?”

“I don’t know,” Leto replied honestly. “My ability to see the future is gone now. Everything after this point is an unknown.”

“It’s just like the rest of us,” Nunepi commented. “Now our future is unknown.” He kissed the side of Leto’s neck.

“You look very different in clothes more suited to outside,” Leto commented, his hands gently squeezing Nunepi’s hips.

“They’re certainly more comfortable and suited to the environment we’re now in. But I still enjoy wearing the finer clothes.” Nunepi shifted slightly in Leto’s lap.

The other man’s wriggling was sending messages to a part of Leto’s body that had died when his body had turned fully to that of the sandworm. He glided his hands down Nunepi’s body, rubbing over the other man’s thighs and down his legs. “I think you might look just as good out of these clothes.”

“Are you sure?” Nunepi pulled back enough to look into Leto’s eyes. “I won’t lie and say that I don’t want it, because I do. I can give myself to you completely. I can touch you. You can touch me. But we don’t have to rush into anything. I’m content to be with you like this.”

“Maybe I’m not,” Leto said quietly.

Nunepi smiled and lowered his head. “Would you like me to remove your clothes, Sire?”

“I told you. I’m not the Emperor anymore. You don’t need to use titles. Just Leto.” He slid his hands up under Nunepi’s tunic, stroking and caressing the bare skin of the other man’s chest.

“Leto, then.” Nunepi smiled, watching him from beneath lowered eyelashes. “Would you like me to touch you?”

“We can touch each other.” Leto pulled Nunepi’s tunic loose, baring the other man’s chest and stomach, and began to caress and squeeze the bare skin that he’d revealed.

As Nunepi ran his own hands over Leto’s chest and slid them up under his shirt, Leto decided…he liked venturing out into the unknown.

The End

If Only You Saw Me

Summary: Irulan writes her private thoughts and desires
Warning(s): Spoilers for Dune and Dune Messiah; AU; some references to violence
Pairing: Paul/Chani; hinted at/desired Paul/Chani/Irulan

###

If they could only see me.

I know that my only place here is to cement Paul’s rule as Emperor. That’s the only reason I was taken as his wife. Perhaps I could even take a lover, if I chose. If I wanted to have intimacy. If I wanted to have someone to touch me, or to look at me, with kindness. To speak to me as if I was more than just a tool; a means to an end.

There are many who would willingly become my consort, no matter that they fear the new Emperor. Paul is far kinder to them than they deserve. They whisper about him. They spread rumours about him. They dare not defy him openly, but they whisper about him. And they whisper about his Fremen concubine, Chani. Not just the Bene Gesserit, but also the Spicing Guild. That Paul Atreides is the one who now controls the spice and the universe is, to them, as strong an abomination as his sister, Alia.

The Bene Gesserit want me to work against Paul. They want me to report on his actions. To influence his behaviour, so that they can control him through me.

The idea is so absurd as to be laughable. What possible influence could I have over the new Emperor? My life now is to be a tool, perhaps even a weapon, to be wielded against those who would try to usurp Paul. It is not much different to what my life was before the rebellion and before my own father was removed from power. After all, my life had been mapped out for me. Even who I would marry, before my father was overthrown and lost all of his power and influence.

Perhaps I could visit my father. Maybe I would bring him some form of comfort. More than likely, though, he would rail at me and demand I use my own influence to get him power and control. Not that different to my sisters, who want me to make demands on Paul so that they can cling to whatever power they’ve found.

I have enough demands on me as it is. And I have a far greater loyalty to Paul and to Chani than anyone could ever truly understand. After all, why would I be loyal to the man who had forced me into a loveless marriage? Who uses me as an advisor, but not as someone he could ever trust or show affection to?

My feelings are my own and not to be revealed unless I can be certain they might be returned and that they won’t be used against me. If the Bene Gesserit knew that I had feelings for Paul Atreides…that I had feelings for Chani…they would realise I was compromised. That I was no longer their tool. And if they couldn’t use me, then they would use someone else. Another tool. Perhaps they already had one, ready to step in as soon as they thought I was going to fail.

That was why it was all the more important that I play my part. That I act in a role. The Bene Gesserit couldn’t know the truth. Neither could Paul or Chani. Did the Lady Jessica know? Or Paul’s strange sister, Alia Atreides? If either of them are aware, they haven’t acted on that knowledge.

It’s a fine line I’m walking here. I have to avoid raising any suspicion. I have to play the part of the bitter princess who wants power and wants vengeance. I play one role for the Bene Gesserit and one role for Paul and Chani. And neither of the roles that I play now are who I truly am.

As much as I wish things could be different, as much as I wish I could be really and truly happy…I know that that is not possible.

The End

Facing Reality

Summary: Follows Dysfunctional Family. Arthur tries to adjust to life in Wayne Mansion
Warning(s): Major spoilers for the movie Joker and minor spoilers for the character of Batman; AU; mentions of violence; descriptions of a mentally ill person; spanking

###

Bruce had stayed out all night again.

Arthur sat at the dining room table, turning the bottle of pills over and over in his hands. It would be time for a refill soon. Time to see his therapist and talk to her about his latest violent fantasy. About the memory of hot, sticky blood that had stained his hands red. It might have washed off, but he could fill the stain lingering inside his very soul.

“He’ll come back.”

Alfred’s voice drew Arthur out of his musings and he glanced up at the other man who protected Bruce Wayne while the youngster found his feet as Batman. The caped crusader. How would people react if they knew that he was just a kid, barely into his twenty-first year?

“He shouldn’t stay out so late.” Arthur focused on the pills in the bottle. Tipped it upside down and watched as two white pills landed on his palm.

“How long has it been since your last episode?” Alfred asked.

“Is that what we’re calling them now?” Arthur murmured. He sighed. Thought back to the last hallucination that had troubled him. At least, the last hallucination he’d known about.

He was learning to recognise them. The biggest clue came from the blurred edges. Reality was much sharper. He still hadn’t managed to bring himself out of one of the hallucinations, but recognising when he was in one was the first step in finding the solution.

At least, that’s what he’d been told by those who were treating him.

“Three days ago.” Arthur finally answered Alfred’s question in a morose tone, tipping the pills into his mouth and swallowing them down with half of his glass of water. A laugh bubbled up from his throat and he didn’t try to stop it. Didn’t try to hold it in. Just rode the wave and closed his eyes once it was finished.

“The periods between them are getting longer,” Alfred commented.

“That’s assuming I haven’t mistaken other occasions for reality when they’re really hallucinations,” Arthur muttered. He still wasn’t entirely certain this whole living in Wayne Mansion, with his little brother, wasn’t some big delusion. According to his therapist, the fact that he wasn’t certain was a good sign. In the past, he’d believed in his delusions wholeheartedly.

He was learning tricks and tools to tell the difference. Had been talking with his therapist about signs to look out for. Clues to tell if he was trapped inside a hallucination or not.

Arthur drained the rest of the glass of water as he heard the front door open and then close. He glanced up and towards the kitchen door as Bruce walked into the room, his movements stiff and jerky.

“What happened?” Alfred stood from the kitchen table and walked over to the younger man.

“I was in a fight.” Bruce touched one yellowing bruise on his cheek and winced visibly. His eyes sought out and found Arthur’s as he said, in a more uncertain voice, “I won, though.”

Arthur closed his eyes, forcing down the laughter that bubbled up with a wrench of will he hadn’t considered possible before. It was a reaction, but it wasn’t the reaction he wanted to give. Wasn’t the reaction he wanted Bruce to hear.

When he opened his eyes again, Alfred had guided Bruce towards the chair opposite Arthur and pushed him down. There were some minor cuts and scratches that stood out vividly on Bruce’s pale skin and Alfred immediately set about treating them, ignoring the way the younger man winced and tried to pull away from his touch.

Watching the proceedings, Arthur found his gaze drawn to a mark on the side of Bruce’s neck. He leaned forward and ran a finger over the almost perfect imprint of teeth that stood out starkly against skin. “You got bitten?”

Bruce gave a half-shrug. “I was fighting with a bunch of crooks hyped up on drugs. They acted more like animals than humans. A few got in lucky strikes.” He winced as the bite mark began to be cleaned by Alfred, pulling back slightly.

“Stop fidgeting,” Alfred muttered. “Mouths carry a whole lot of bacteria inside. It needs to be cleaned.”

Bruce swallowed and held still, eyes focusing on Arthur. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

It was times like now that Bruce showed just how young he really was. He bit his lip and lowered his gaze, glancing up at Arthur from beneath his lowered eyelashes.

Arthur sighed and sat back slightly, raking a hand through his hair. “What happened to calling the police and letting them handle it?”

Bruce frowned. “Most of the police are nearly as corrupt as the criminals who roam the streets of Gotham.”

“Not all of them. You need allies, kid. You can’t continue on fighting alone.” Arthur leaned forward slightly, barely paying attention as Alfred finished treating the injuries and quietly slipped out of the kitchen. “I’m accepting help dealing with my issues. You need to learn to accept the same.”

“I don’t have issues,” Bruce muttered, staring at the table.

“You and I both know that’s not true.” Arthur pushed back from the table, giving himself enough room. “Come here, little brother.”

For a few seconds, Bruce just stared at Arthur. Long enough that it seemed like he might refuse. That he might get up and leave the room. Finally, though, he shoved his chair back from the desk. He stepped round to Arthur’s side and carefully lowered himself into place over his lap.

Arthur waited as Bruce settled into position. When his little brother was no longer squirming in place, Arthur placed one hand on his lower back and then lifted his other hand, bringing it down in a firm smack at the crest of Bruce’s backside that he then repeated.

The younger man drew in a sharp breath, but held himself still and rigid as Arthur covered his entire backside, down to mid-thigh, in the stinging swats. Then, taking a tighter grip on his brother, he began again from the top, covering skin that had already received attention once.

“Ouch,” Bruce muttered, his legs beginning to jerk. “I’m sorry!”

“If you’re sorry, why do you keep on acting so reckless and dangerous?” Arthur let his hand land harder on the words he emphasised. “You need to change your behaviour, rather than put yourself at risk and then be sorry after the fact.”

“Someone has to act!” Bruce protested, continuing to writhe and squirm in place over Arthur’s lap. “I have to do something.”

“So you work with the people who aren’t corrupt. You can’t tell me that there’s not one single police officer who hasn’t been corrupted.”

“But they can’t do anything!”

Arthur tugged his brother’s pants down and resumed smacking Bruce’s backside, over his boxers. “Maybe they can’t do anything alone, but they can with Batman on their side. Even if you have to operate outside the law, you can still call in anonymous tips. Or ask me or Alfred to do that. Not get yourself hurt or beaten up during a fight.” With the last sentence, he began to steadily smack the bare skin of Bruce’s sit spots and thighs.

Bruce squirmed frantically for a few moments and then slumped limp over Arthur’s lap, beginning to sob quietly. “Okay!” he burst out. “I…I’ll try.”

Arthur delivered one final smack and then stopped, rubbing Bruce’s back for a few moments before he carefully tugged the pants back into place and then helped his brother to stand, wrapping his arms around the younger man and hugging him close.

Bruce quickly grabbed onto Arthur and pressed his head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sob before relaxing into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll try and do better. For you.”

“Thank you.” Arthur rubbed his hand down Bruce’s back. He still wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t some kind of big illusion…but for right now, it didn’t matter. This reality was better than the one he’d been in before, real or not.

The End