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Heroes of the Squared Circle 47: The Belt is Vacated
Title: The Belt is Vacated
Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Jean Paul Valley
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion (click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count 2100
Summary: The Dark Knight is revealed to be Jean Paul Valley, leaving the championship belt without an owner. Who will hold it next? Luthor has a plan...
Promoters have to be part casting agent, part scriptwriter, and part enforcer, deciding not merely who wins each match, but the manner of the win and the way it lays the foundation for the next match. The story arc is the bloodstream of the promotion, a current that leaves some talents mired at the bottom of the card and others carried to the top. Mixing and matching wrestlers is an art form in itself, since it has to factor in elements like personal chemistry, style, and fan appeal. --Shaun Assael
“Just keep it clean,” said Bruce, clapping Dick Grayson on either shoulder. “Don’t let it get personal.”
Dick looked grim, but managed a smile. “I won’t make it personal if he doesn’t make it personal.”
“Dick…”
“Bruce, he said things about my parents I can’t forgive him for. I’m a professional, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy to be facing him in the ring. The sooner this is over, the better.”
Clark watched Dick stalk away, stiff-legged as an angry cat. “Are you sure it’ll be okay? Jean Paul and Dick in the ring together?”
“Jean Paul knows this is how the story needs to end,” Bruce said. “I think he’s...at peace with this.” He contemplated that statement for a moment. “I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him at peace.”
“...this is not the Dark Knight I worked with!” Nightwing’s voice echoed through the hushed arena. “This is not the Dark Knight who was a mentor to me--who was like a father to me!” He turned in a circle, glaring off into shadows. “And if you are not the true Dark Knight, that belt you wear around your waist was never yours! I demand you come out and face me, you pretender! You imposter! You sham champion!”
From her perch on the back of the couch, Selina made an uncomfortable noise. “I’m not sure I’d go goading him quite so much,” she muttered.
Since his blow-up in the locker room, Jean Paul had made himself scarce; he had gone to Luthor’s office and they had talked together behind closed doors for a long time. Then Luthor had talked to Dick Grayson behind closed doors for a long time. “He wants me to be the Dark Knight,” Dick had said to Clark and Bruce after, sounding dazed. “Valley will vacate the belt and I’ll pick up the cowl.” He gave Bruce a rather worried look. “If you were ready to wrestle, I would never--”
His voice cut off as Bruce threw his arms around him. “You’ll be a great Dark Knight, Dick,” he said. “At least until I come back,” he added, cuffing Dick on the shoulder.
Clark shook off the memory of the tears in Dick’s eyes to watch Nightwing’s wary glare follow the Dark Knight as he stalked to the ring, all spikes and malice. Valley had added, as the final touch, golden claws to his gloves: they glinted as he silently pointed at Nightwing, a threat and a challenge.
“All right,” Nightwing yelled, “Come here and fight me, you coward!”
The Dark Knight climbed into the ring and the bell rang as they locked up.
As Dick had promised, the match stayed professional, though there was a leashed ferocity in both men’s moves that indicated that their grudges were far from forgotten. Watching them, Clark felt sadness wash over him: the greatest matches were always intimate, fluid, the result of two souls working in harmony. This match would be memorable for the storyline it capped and the storyline it launched, but the fight itself was devoid of passion between the wrestlers. There was no connection, no transcendence, no catharsis.
“Such a waste,” Bruce murmured next to him, and Clark looked over in surprise to hear his thoughts echoed. “They could have been so great together.”
Clark reached over and wrapped his fingers around Bruce’s. He felt the tendons beneath his touch tense, felt the reflex to push away in public galvanize Bruce’s muscles.
Then Bruce took a deep breath and smiled at him. And didn’t break the touch.
The Dark Knight had Nightwing on the ropes, the heavy armored blows leaving him reeling. But Nightwing came back, his agility making it possible to dodge the slower Dark Knight with a series of breathtaking moves that left the audience gasping. Nightwing nearly pinned his opponent once, then twice; the audience counted with the ref in a frenzy, groaning when the Dark Knight got his shoulders up and pushed Nightwing off.
The Knight was clearly growing frustrated, even worried. He lashed out and managed to catch Nightwing in a submission hold, twisting his legs under him; but with a desperate burst of strength Nightwing managed to make it to the ropes and grab one of them. The ref gestured to release the hold, and for a moment the Dark Knight did nothing but glower at him without letting go of Nightwing. The ref quailed, but insisted that the hold had to be broken, and with a snarl of frustration the Dark Knight let him go.
It took Nightwing a moment to recover from the brutal hold, but he finally backed the Dark Knight into a corner, then retreated to the far corner to unleash a series of backflips that should have ended with a blistering kick to the head.
But at the last second, the Dark Knight countered the move, sending Nightwing spinning into the referee. The ref fell over, seemingly unconscious, and the crowd gasped: moments when the referee was distracted or unconscious were always the most fraught of any match, a chance for foul play to go unseen or pins to go uncounted.
Nightwing staggered to his feet, and the Dark Knight, looking at the unconscious referee, grabbed the championship belt up from the corner and smashed Nightwing in the face with it.
A ripple of shock went through the audience as Dick reeled backwards; when he raised his head again blood was trickling profusely from a cut in his forehead, gashed there by the heavy metal belt.
Dick smiled slowly, and Clark could see the glee sparkling in the eyes behind his mask. "Always the showman," murmured Bruce next to him. "He knows getting some color is the best possible visual." His voice was cool and objective, but his hand had tightened on Clark's at the sight of Dick's bloody face.
The two of them stood there in a frozen tableau for a long moment as the crowd growled for vengeance against this villainous deed. Dick let the blood pool and drip until it was streaking down his face like tears, and then he raised his voice and the arena instantly fell silent to hear his words:
"You have tainted the belt with your cowardly act," he said, and the Dark Knight looked down at the belt, at the smudge of scarlet smeared across the etched gold. "If you have ever valued what that belt stands for, be honest--do you truly feel that you deserve to wear it?" He leveled an accusing finger at the Dark Knight, standing stock-still in the middle of the ring. "Do you feel that you deserve to wear that cowl?"
After a long, silent moment, the Dark Knight knelt and put the belt down in the middle of the ring. For a long moment he looked down at it. Then he lifted his hands and removed the cowl as well.
The crowd murmured with outrage as Jean Paul Valley's golden hair and rugged face were revealed: they didn't know the true identity of the Dark Knight, but they knew the former Azrael wasn’t him. Jean Paul put the cowl down next to the belt, then looked at Nightwing for a long moment before turning and leaving the ring, ushered out by the boos of the crowd.
With Jean Paul gone, the jeers died down to a hush as attention turned back to Nightwing, standing alone in the ring. Moving to the center, Nightwing looked down at the belt and the cowl. The arena lighting darkened slowly, leaving him in a spotlight like moonlight, and Clark smiled, thinking of Tim directing the lighting crew in the back.
The cameras zoomed close enough to catch the small smile on Nightwing's face. Then, ignoring the belt, he stooped to pick up the cowl.
He held the cowl in front of him, looking into its blank eyes, and a chant started in the crowd: low at first, but gaining steadily in strength until it rang in the rafters.
"Put it on! Put it on! Put it on!"
Nightwing gazed up into the darkness, resolution etched into every line of his bloodied face. That was where the broadcast would end, Clark knew; the arena lights dimmed shortly after and Dick slipped away in the darkness.
"Nice cliffhanger," Bruce said as a smattering of spontaneous applause broke out in the common room. "Good work," he added as Dick came into the room, a hastily-taped bandage over one eye. The applause strengthened at the sight of him, and Selina made a sharp wolf whistle of appreciation.
"Where's Jean Paul?" said Clark.
Dick shrugged. "He took off already. Walked from the ring out into the night."
"In full gear?" Bruce shook his head with a wry chuckle. "And here I thought I had a lock on Most Melodramatic Wrestler in the DCW."
“Congratulations on becoming the new Dark Knight,” Lex Luthor said to Dick, strolling into the room. “Now we just need to figure out what to do with this.” He hoisted the heavy golden championship belt above his head, and everyone’s eyes followed it. “Technically it belongs to Bruce, of course, but he’s not healed yet and I’m not going to go without a champion until he comes back.”
“I didn’t expect you to,” Bruce said.
Luthor ignored him. “But since it’s been vacated, I can’t just hand it to a random person, either. So what we’re going to do is have a tournament to determine the new belt holder.”
He patted the belt and for a moment there was silence in the common room. Then Bruce said what they all were thinking:
“And who’s going to win?”
Luthor’s mouth curled at the edges. “I haven’t decided yet,” he said.
“No,” said Bruce, “I think he means it.” He swirled his coffee around in the mug, watching it intently.
“Oh come on. That’s just bad booking,” said Tim. He and the rest of the group that were becoming known as the “bat-clan” were sitting at a local coffeeshop, talking over Luthor’s decision in quiet voices. “Don’t start a storyline if you don’t know where it’s going to end.”
“Look,” said Clark, leaning forward, “The roster’s a mess right now. With Bruce, Jean Paul and the Kryptonian currently not wrestling, he’s lost three of his best contenders. Hal, John, and Sinestro have all held the belt too recently. Most of the rest of the roster doesn’t have the look that he likes in his champions--I know it’s ridiculous,” he said to Steph as she rolled her eyes, “But it’s established fact that he prefers big, muscular, clean-cut guys. Well, he’s going to have to try something new. I think he wants to try something new, but he doesn’t know what will work.”
Barbara’s eyes were narrowed, considering. “So he’s going to have a tournament--not to determine who the best wrestler is, but to determine who gets the strongest crowd reaction.”
Clark nodded. “He wants to see who can energize the audience best.”
“Waiting until the last second like that--that’s crazy,” said Steph.
“Or brilliant. Or both,” mused Bruce. He looked at Clark, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Either way, I’m just sorry we won’t be a part of it.”
“Such bullshit,” came a voice behind Bruce, and Jason Todd turned around to grin at all of them. “Good to see you back, old man,” he added to Bruce, and they clasped hands briefly.
“He always shows up when we get together,” complained Steph loudly. “It’s as if someone is telling him where we are.”
Tim had the good grace to look sheepish.
”As I was saying,” Jason said, “Don’t give me that bullshit about you not being part of the action, Bruce. You’ll find a way to be part of the drama, and you know it.”
Bruce lifted his coffee cup to his lips and smiled enigmatically behind the rim, his eyes meeting Clark’s. “If things go as I expect,” he said, “I won’t have much choice.”
And that was all he would say on the subject.
Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Jean Paul Valley
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion (click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count 2100
Summary: The Dark Knight is revealed to be Jean Paul Valley, leaving the championship belt without an owner. Who will hold it next? Luthor has a plan...
Promoters have to be part casting agent, part scriptwriter, and part enforcer, deciding not merely who wins each match, but the manner of the win and the way it lays the foundation for the next match. The story arc is the bloodstream of the promotion, a current that leaves some talents mired at the bottom of the card and others carried to the top. Mixing and matching wrestlers is an art form in itself, since it has to factor in elements like personal chemistry, style, and fan appeal. --Shaun Assael
“Just keep it clean,” said Bruce, clapping Dick Grayson on either shoulder. “Don’t let it get personal.”
Dick looked grim, but managed a smile. “I won’t make it personal if he doesn’t make it personal.”
“Dick…”
“Bruce, he said things about my parents I can’t forgive him for. I’m a professional, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy to be facing him in the ring. The sooner this is over, the better.”
Clark watched Dick stalk away, stiff-legged as an angry cat. “Are you sure it’ll be okay? Jean Paul and Dick in the ring together?”
“Jean Paul knows this is how the story needs to end,” Bruce said. “I think he’s...at peace with this.” He contemplated that statement for a moment. “I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him at peace.”
“...this is not the Dark Knight I worked with!” Nightwing’s voice echoed through the hushed arena. “This is not the Dark Knight who was a mentor to me--who was like a father to me!” He turned in a circle, glaring off into shadows. “And if you are not the true Dark Knight, that belt you wear around your waist was never yours! I demand you come out and face me, you pretender! You imposter! You sham champion!”
From her perch on the back of the couch, Selina made an uncomfortable noise. “I’m not sure I’d go goading him quite so much,” she muttered.
Since his blow-up in the locker room, Jean Paul had made himself scarce; he had gone to Luthor’s office and they had talked together behind closed doors for a long time. Then Luthor had talked to Dick Grayson behind closed doors for a long time. “He wants me to be the Dark Knight,” Dick had said to Clark and Bruce after, sounding dazed. “Valley will vacate the belt and I’ll pick up the cowl.” He gave Bruce a rather worried look. “If you were ready to wrestle, I would never--”
His voice cut off as Bruce threw his arms around him. “You’ll be a great Dark Knight, Dick,” he said. “At least until I come back,” he added, cuffing Dick on the shoulder.
Clark shook off the memory of the tears in Dick’s eyes to watch Nightwing’s wary glare follow the Dark Knight as he stalked to the ring, all spikes and malice. Valley had added, as the final touch, golden claws to his gloves: they glinted as he silently pointed at Nightwing, a threat and a challenge.
“All right,” Nightwing yelled, “Come here and fight me, you coward!”
The Dark Knight climbed into the ring and the bell rang as they locked up.
As Dick had promised, the match stayed professional, though there was a leashed ferocity in both men’s moves that indicated that their grudges were far from forgotten. Watching them, Clark felt sadness wash over him: the greatest matches were always intimate, fluid, the result of two souls working in harmony. This match would be memorable for the storyline it capped and the storyline it launched, but the fight itself was devoid of passion between the wrestlers. There was no connection, no transcendence, no catharsis.
“Such a waste,” Bruce murmured next to him, and Clark looked over in surprise to hear his thoughts echoed. “They could have been so great together.”
Clark reached over and wrapped his fingers around Bruce’s. He felt the tendons beneath his touch tense, felt the reflex to push away in public galvanize Bruce’s muscles.
Then Bruce took a deep breath and smiled at him. And didn’t break the touch.
The Dark Knight had Nightwing on the ropes, the heavy armored blows leaving him reeling. But Nightwing came back, his agility making it possible to dodge the slower Dark Knight with a series of breathtaking moves that left the audience gasping. Nightwing nearly pinned his opponent once, then twice; the audience counted with the ref in a frenzy, groaning when the Dark Knight got his shoulders up and pushed Nightwing off.
The Knight was clearly growing frustrated, even worried. He lashed out and managed to catch Nightwing in a submission hold, twisting his legs under him; but with a desperate burst of strength Nightwing managed to make it to the ropes and grab one of them. The ref gestured to release the hold, and for a moment the Dark Knight did nothing but glower at him without letting go of Nightwing. The ref quailed, but insisted that the hold had to be broken, and with a snarl of frustration the Dark Knight let him go.
It took Nightwing a moment to recover from the brutal hold, but he finally backed the Dark Knight into a corner, then retreated to the far corner to unleash a series of backflips that should have ended with a blistering kick to the head.
But at the last second, the Dark Knight countered the move, sending Nightwing spinning into the referee. The ref fell over, seemingly unconscious, and the crowd gasped: moments when the referee was distracted or unconscious were always the most fraught of any match, a chance for foul play to go unseen or pins to go uncounted.
Nightwing staggered to his feet, and the Dark Knight, looking at the unconscious referee, grabbed the championship belt up from the corner and smashed Nightwing in the face with it.
A ripple of shock went through the audience as Dick reeled backwards; when he raised his head again blood was trickling profusely from a cut in his forehead, gashed there by the heavy metal belt.
Dick smiled slowly, and Clark could see the glee sparkling in the eyes behind his mask. "Always the showman," murmured Bruce next to him. "He knows getting some color is the best possible visual." His voice was cool and objective, but his hand had tightened on Clark's at the sight of Dick's bloody face.
The two of them stood there in a frozen tableau for a long moment as the crowd growled for vengeance against this villainous deed. Dick let the blood pool and drip until it was streaking down his face like tears, and then he raised his voice and the arena instantly fell silent to hear his words:
"You have tainted the belt with your cowardly act," he said, and the Dark Knight looked down at the belt, at the smudge of scarlet smeared across the etched gold. "If you have ever valued what that belt stands for, be honest--do you truly feel that you deserve to wear it?" He leveled an accusing finger at the Dark Knight, standing stock-still in the middle of the ring. "Do you feel that you deserve to wear that cowl?"
After a long, silent moment, the Dark Knight knelt and put the belt down in the middle of the ring. For a long moment he looked down at it. Then he lifted his hands and removed the cowl as well.
The crowd murmured with outrage as Jean Paul Valley's golden hair and rugged face were revealed: they didn't know the true identity of the Dark Knight, but they knew the former Azrael wasn’t him. Jean Paul put the cowl down next to the belt, then looked at Nightwing for a long moment before turning and leaving the ring, ushered out by the boos of the crowd.
With Jean Paul gone, the jeers died down to a hush as attention turned back to Nightwing, standing alone in the ring. Moving to the center, Nightwing looked down at the belt and the cowl. The arena lighting darkened slowly, leaving him in a spotlight like moonlight, and Clark smiled, thinking of Tim directing the lighting crew in the back.
The cameras zoomed close enough to catch the small smile on Nightwing's face. Then, ignoring the belt, he stooped to pick up the cowl.
He held the cowl in front of him, looking into its blank eyes, and a chant started in the crowd: low at first, but gaining steadily in strength until it rang in the rafters.
"Put it on! Put it on! Put it on!"
Nightwing gazed up into the darkness, resolution etched into every line of his bloodied face. That was where the broadcast would end, Clark knew; the arena lights dimmed shortly after and Dick slipped away in the darkness.
"Nice cliffhanger," Bruce said as a smattering of spontaneous applause broke out in the common room. "Good work," he added as Dick came into the room, a hastily-taped bandage over one eye. The applause strengthened at the sight of him, and Selina made a sharp wolf whistle of appreciation.
"Where's Jean Paul?" said Clark.
Dick shrugged. "He took off already. Walked from the ring out into the night."
"In full gear?" Bruce shook his head with a wry chuckle. "And here I thought I had a lock on Most Melodramatic Wrestler in the DCW."
“Congratulations on becoming the new Dark Knight,” Lex Luthor said to Dick, strolling into the room. “Now we just need to figure out what to do with this.” He hoisted the heavy golden championship belt above his head, and everyone’s eyes followed it. “Technically it belongs to Bruce, of course, but he’s not healed yet and I’m not going to go without a champion until he comes back.”
“I didn’t expect you to,” Bruce said.
Luthor ignored him. “But since it’s been vacated, I can’t just hand it to a random person, either. So what we’re going to do is have a tournament to determine the new belt holder.”
He patted the belt and for a moment there was silence in the common room. Then Bruce said what they all were thinking:
“And who’s going to win?”
Luthor’s mouth curled at the edges. “I haven’t decided yet,” he said.
“No,” said Bruce, “I think he means it.” He swirled his coffee around in the mug, watching it intently.
“Oh come on. That’s just bad booking,” said Tim. He and the rest of the group that were becoming known as the “bat-clan” were sitting at a local coffeeshop, talking over Luthor’s decision in quiet voices. “Don’t start a storyline if you don’t know where it’s going to end.”
“Look,” said Clark, leaning forward, “The roster’s a mess right now. With Bruce, Jean Paul and the Kryptonian currently not wrestling, he’s lost three of his best contenders. Hal, John, and Sinestro have all held the belt too recently. Most of the rest of the roster doesn’t have the look that he likes in his champions--I know it’s ridiculous,” he said to Steph as she rolled her eyes, “But it’s established fact that he prefers big, muscular, clean-cut guys. Well, he’s going to have to try something new. I think he wants to try something new, but he doesn’t know what will work.”
Barbara’s eyes were narrowed, considering. “So he’s going to have a tournament--not to determine who the best wrestler is, but to determine who gets the strongest crowd reaction.”
Clark nodded. “He wants to see who can energize the audience best.”
“Waiting until the last second like that--that’s crazy,” said Steph.
“Or brilliant. Or both,” mused Bruce. He looked at Clark, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Either way, I’m just sorry we won’t be a part of it.”
“Such bullshit,” came a voice behind Bruce, and Jason Todd turned around to grin at all of them. “Good to see you back, old man,” he added to Bruce, and they clasped hands briefly.
“He always shows up when we get together,” complained Steph loudly. “It’s as if someone is telling him where we are.”
Tim had the good grace to look sheepish.
”As I was saying,” Jason said, “Don’t give me that bullshit about you not being part of the action, Bruce. You’ll find a way to be part of the drama, and you know it.”
Bruce lifted his coffee cup to his lips and smiled enigmatically behind the rim, his eyes meeting Clark’s. “If things go as I expect,” he said, “I won’t have much choice.”
And that was all he would say on the subject.
no subject
The moment with Dick in the spotlight with the cowl was beautiful, I could picture it perfectly, with the crowd chanting and everything.
And I agree with Bruce, the bad blood between Dick and JP is such a waste...maybe one day they'll be able to mend their fences?
no subject
It's funny, right after I posted this it was announced that (apparently legitimately) Triple H has said he has no idea who'll win next week's Royal Rumble and wanted all the wrestlers to try and "make their case" in the ring for the next couple of weeks! It's so weird, I know decisions sometimes get made on the fly but it's kind of strange to actually see it.
And I agree with Bruce, the bad blood between Dick and JP is such a waste...maybe one day they'll be able to mend their fences?
Sadly, Dick and JP's conflict is going to be a key problem in the future! I planned it all out way before I found out you had giant soft spots for both Jean Paul and for Shawn Michaels, so I apologize in advance--suffice to say that Dick is going to be Bret and JP Shawn in a pretty key event... :S