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mithenTitle: My Hand Touching Your Hand
Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 1900
Summary: The Injustice League gains in power, and neither Superman nor the Dark Knight can seem to find allies.
I’mma reach out right now, I want you at home to know my hand is touchin’ your hand for the gathering of the biggest body of people in this country, in this universe, all over the world now, reachin’ out because the love that was given me and this time I will repay you now. --Dusty Rhodes, “Hard Times” promo
“No,” said Clark.
“Oh come on,” said Bruce. “It’ll be fun.”
“Well, sure it would, but--that’s not the point,” protested Clark. “You’re the former heavyweight champion, Bruce. The tag team division is a major drop down the card for you.”
“Don’t run down the tag division,” Bruce chided him. “Besides, I’m just coming back from a severe injury. You’re starting over with a new gimmick. It makes perfect sense we’d start off in the tag team division, so why not be on the same team?” He shot Clark a glance out of the corner of his eye. “You know, we’ve never tagged together,” he said. “The only time we even came close was when you were pretending to be the Dark Knight that one time, and that wasn’t the same at all. This is a great chance for our characters to build a relationship together.” He looked away. “Of course, if you’d rather they didn’t have any kind of relationship together…”
Clark whacked him with a pillow. “I’m just saying you can do better,” he said.
“Better than you as a partner?” Bruce’s smile was as beautiful as a perfect moonsault. “Never.” He nodded, all business again. “We’ll talk to Mark and Grant tomorrow and see about possible storylines.” Rolling onto his back, he looked up the ceiling as if he could already see it all playing out like a movie. “It’ll be great.”
“The following match is set for one fall, and it is for the tag team championship!” called the ring announcer.
The challengers stood in one corner of the ring, sneering: Captain Cold and Heat Wave, gunning to take back the titles that had once belonged to them.
Roy Harper held up his title belt, not quite taunting the two heels, and shared a grin with his partner, Wally West. “Team Lightning Arrow’s going to take care of you two in no time flat,” he said just before the bell rang.
It was a good match, with a fair amount of back and forth offense on both sides, but it quickly became clear that the champions had the edge. They were younger, faster, more fired up. Captain Cold and Heat Wave grew more and more desperate, and the crowd was baying for their blood. It looked like West was about to pin Heat Wave, when a sharp wolf whistle split the air and a slender figure with bright blue hair ran down to the ring to start arguing with the referee. As Killer Frost distracted the ref, Captain Cold cheerfully grabbed a chair and jumped into the ring to whack Wally West’s arm a few times. He was out of the ring, the chair tossed away, by the time the referee turned back around, and despite the furious protests of the crowd, he clearly saw nothing amiss in the situation. As Wally clutched at his arm and Roy Harper screamed at their opponents from his corner, Heat Wave made the pin--and the tag team championship belonged to them once more.
Killer Frost linked arms with Heat Wave and Captain Cold as they waltzed up the ramp together, the titles held above their heads in their free hands. “Long live Injustice!” she cried before they left to the shrieks of a maddened crowd, leaving a broken Wally West and infuriated Roy Harper behind.
The backstage camera revealed an agitated Dark Knight pacing back and forth in the locker room in his cowl and cape (no one ever seemed to find it unusual that the Dark Knight never removed them, even backstage). “We have to do something!” he announced to a group of wrestlers with dispirited postures and downcast eyes. “This so-called ‘Injustice League’ is ruining matches, destroying careers!”
“And you’re here to tell us we’ve got to band together against them? Really? You?” said Hal Jordan after a long awkward silence. “You’ve never worked with any of us, you’ve always been the lone wolf, and now suddenly you’ve discovered teamwork is a great thing? Forgive me if I don’t buy in,” he said. “I’m going to get Sinestro for what he did to John, but I’ll do it on my own.” He brandished his ring and slammed out of the room.
The Dark Knight appealed to the remaining wrestlers. “Look at who holds all the titles--Captain Cold and Heat Wave hold the tag team title, Cheetah practically robbed Wonder Woman of her title, John Stewart ended up hospitalized after Mongul took the United States Championship from him--members of the Injustice League hold all of them but the heavyweight title!”
“And that one’s held by your boy,” said Orion sullenly, standing in the corner with his arms crossed.
“Dick is his own man, he’s not mine,” The Dark Knight snapped.
“Oh, so even he won’t work with you anymore,” Orion said with the air of a person making an airtight argument. “Why should the rest of us?”
The Dark Knight looked around the locker room. “We worked together at the Royal Rumble to defeat them, we proved it can be done. Who’s with me?”
No one made eye contact with him.
There were shrugs all around, and the other babyfaces--Flash, Aquaman, Orion, Mr. Miracle, Green Arrow--wandered off without looking at the Dark Knight, leaving him standing alone in the locker room, glaring after them.
Next week it was Green Arrow who caught the brunt of the Injustice League’s wrath. The camera caught him pulling into the parking lot of the Star City Auditorium, getting out of his green Arrowmobile (it was a Volkswagen Bug) with his duffel bag, and heading toward the backstage door, when suddenly a shadowy figure leaped out and punched him in the face. He fought back valiantly, but his enemy had the element of surprise and soon enough had him hobbling on a badly hurt leg.
“Good luck with that fight against Amazo,” smirked Deathstroke as he dusted off his hands. “And long live Injustice!”
As a wincing Oliver Queen held ice to his calf, Superman was holding forth to the same set of babyfaces that the Dark Knight had been appealing to in vain last week. “Green Arrow didn’t have a chance! against Amazo after that! Are we all going to just stand around and let those honorless cowards destroy us one by one?”
“Hey,” the Flash said, holding up a finger, “You were working for Brainiac just a little while ago, buster, don’t think we’ve forgotten that!”
“But I--” Superman sputtered, “He was controlling me! I’ve broken free!”
“How gullible do you think we are?” Aquaman growled, and pushed past him and out the door. The others followed, leaving only Green Arrow behind. Superman went to help him to his feet, but Queen shook his hand off.
“I can fight my own battles, Kryptonian,” he said, and was gone, leaving a stricken Superman gazing after him.
Another match against the Toyman, another match in the low-mid-card. Clark didn’t mind, though--in a way it was almost a relief, having the pressure off him for a time. He’d be climbing back up the card soon enough, he knew that. And for now--
As Toyman ground his face into the turnbuckle, Clark caught sight of a group of kids in the front row, decked out in Green Lantern gear from head to toe, cheering and waving for him--not because they were Superman fans per se, but because he was the good guy and they wanted him to win. Superman struggled back to punch Toyman in the face a few times, and as he did Winslow Schott closed one eye in what might have looked like a wince to anyone else, but Clark knew what it meant: I saw them too. Let’s do this.
Superman’s brief flurry of offense came to an abrupt end when Toyman suddenly caught him in the Silly Putty, a hold that contorted his body and caused titanic agony, graven on his face. Clark could hear the kids crying out shrilly: Come on! Come on! You can do it! When he finally broke free, clearly weakened and staggering, Toyman kicked him hard in the ribs and sent him tumbling out of the ring, then followed him outside to deliver a stinging cuff to his face.
Dazed, reeling, on the edge of total defeat, Superman stumbled backwards away from Toyman--and collapsed to the floor directly in front of the troop of Green Lantern fans.
He sagged there, gasping for breath, the picture of broken defeat, and he could feel small hands touching his head, touching his bowed shoulders. The children put their hands on him, and he could feel them willing him to get up, to be strong, to keep fighting, please, keep fighting. He reached up with one shaking hand and felt each of them touch him like a talisman, like a sacrament and a benediction, a gift of energy from them to him. A gift.
Toyman threw back his head and laughed, an unhinged peal that broke off suddenly as Superman surged up and forward as if re-energized, renewed by the touch of the faithful. The crowd shrieked with joy, and Clark heard the children behind him gasp with wonder as he delivered a roundhouse punch to the Toyman that sent him staggering backwards. Superman rose up from certain defeat and trounced the Toyman, throwing him back into the ring and pinning him for the three-count and the bell. Schott threw an arm over his face as if in chagrined defeat; from its cover he smiled briefly at Clark, a satisfied and complicit grin: We did good.
Clark let the ref raise his hand, rolled out of the ring to high five the Green Lantern fans. “I couldn’t have done it without you!” he yelled over the cheers, and watched their eyes light up.
“Nice work,” Bruce said later, draped across him on an uncomfortable hotel couch. “You gave those kids a real treat tonight.”
“Mm,” Clark said thoughtfully. “It goes both ways.” He was still feeling a strange, giddy afterglow: as if he had briefly been a conduit for an incandescent faith and hope and love.
“Of course it does,” said Bruce. He took Clark’s hand and rested their palms together, their fingers lightly touching. “That’s what it’s all about, you know, this whole business. Heroes that you can touch--feel their sweat, see their tears and their blood. Heroes that can hear you and gain strength from your voice. An abstract idea of Justice or Villainy or Courage, given a body that can be broken or triumphant right before your eyes.” He laced his fingers through Clark’s and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.
“My hand touching your hand,” he whispered.
Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 1900
Summary: The Injustice League gains in power, and neither Superman nor the Dark Knight can seem to find allies.
I’mma reach out right now, I want you at home to know my hand is touchin’ your hand for the gathering of the biggest body of people in this country, in this universe, all over the world now, reachin’ out because the love that was given me and this time I will repay you now. --Dusty Rhodes, “Hard Times” promo
“No,” said Clark.
“Oh come on,” said Bruce. “It’ll be fun.”
“Well, sure it would, but--that’s not the point,” protested Clark. “You’re the former heavyweight champion, Bruce. The tag team division is a major drop down the card for you.”
“Don’t run down the tag division,” Bruce chided him. “Besides, I’m just coming back from a severe injury. You’re starting over with a new gimmick. It makes perfect sense we’d start off in the tag team division, so why not be on the same team?” He shot Clark a glance out of the corner of his eye. “You know, we’ve never tagged together,” he said. “The only time we even came close was when you were pretending to be the Dark Knight that one time, and that wasn’t the same at all. This is a great chance for our characters to build a relationship together.” He looked away. “Of course, if you’d rather they didn’t have any kind of relationship together…”
Clark whacked him with a pillow. “I’m just saying you can do better,” he said.
“Better than you as a partner?” Bruce’s smile was as beautiful as a perfect moonsault. “Never.” He nodded, all business again. “We’ll talk to Mark and Grant tomorrow and see about possible storylines.” Rolling onto his back, he looked up the ceiling as if he could already see it all playing out like a movie. “It’ll be great.”
“The following match is set for one fall, and it is for the tag team championship!” called the ring announcer.
The challengers stood in one corner of the ring, sneering: Captain Cold and Heat Wave, gunning to take back the titles that had once belonged to them.
Roy Harper held up his title belt, not quite taunting the two heels, and shared a grin with his partner, Wally West. “Team Lightning Arrow’s going to take care of you two in no time flat,” he said just before the bell rang.
It was a good match, with a fair amount of back and forth offense on both sides, but it quickly became clear that the champions had the edge. They were younger, faster, more fired up. Captain Cold and Heat Wave grew more and more desperate, and the crowd was baying for their blood. It looked like West was about to pin Heat Wave, when a sharp wolf whistle split the air and a slender figure with bright blue hair ran down to the ring to start arguing with the referee. As Killer Frost distracted the ref, Captain Cold cheerfully grabbed a chair and jumped into the ring to whack Wally West’s arm a few times. He was out of the ring, the chair tossed away, by the time the referee turned back around, and despite the furious protests of the crowd, he clearly saw nothing amiss in the situation. As Wally clutched at his arm and Roy Harper screamed at their opponents from his corner, Heat Wave made the pin--and the tag team championship belonged to them once more.
Killer Frost linked arms with Heat Wave and Captain Cold as they waltzed up the ramp together, the titles held above their heads in their free hands. “Long live Injustice!” she cried before they left to the shrieks of a maddened crowd, leaving a broken Wally West and infuriated Roy Harper behind.
The backstage camera revealed an agitated Dark Knight pacing back and forth in the locker room in his cowl and cape (no one ever seemed to find it unusual that the Dark Knight never removed them, even backstage). “We have to do something!” he announced to a group of wrestlers with dispirited postures and downcast eyes. “This so-called ‘Injustice League’ is ruining matches, destroying careers!”
“And you’re here to tell us we’ve got to band together against them? Really? You?” said Hal Jordan after a long awkward silence. “You’ve never worked with any of us, you’ve always been the lone wolf, and now suddenly you’ve discovered teamwork is a great thing? Forgive me if I don’t buy in,” he said. “I’m going to get Sinestro for what he did to John, but I’ll do it on my own.” He brandished his ring and slammed out of the room.
The Dark Knight appealed to the remaining wrestlers. “Look at who holds all the titles--Captain Cold and Heat Wave hold the tag team title, Cheetah practically robbed Wonder Woman of her title, John Stewart ended up hospitalized after Mongul took the United States Championship from him--members of the Injustice League hold all of them but the heavyweight title!”
“And that one’s held by your boy,” said Orion sullenly, standing in the corner with his arms crossed.
“Dick is his own man, he’s not mine,” The Dark Knight snapped.
“Oh, so even he won’t work with you anymore,” Orion said with the air of a person making an airtight argument. “Why should the rest of us?”
The Dark Knight looked around the locker room. “We worked together at the Royal Rumble to defeat them, we proved it can be done. Who’s with me?”
No one made eye contact with him.
There were shrugs all around, and the other babyfaces--Flash, Aquaman, Orion, Mr. Miracle, Green Arrow--wandered off without looking at the Dark Knight, leaving him standing alone in the locker room, glaring after them.
Next week it was Green Arrow who caught the brunt of the Injustice League’s wrath. The camera caught him pulling into the parking lot of the Star City Auditorium, getting out of his green Arrowmobile (it was a Volkswagen Bug) with his duffel bag, and heading toward the backstage door, when suddenly a shadowy figure leaped out and punched him in the face. He fought back valiantly, but his enemy had the element of surprise and soon enough had him hobbling on a badly hurt leg.
“Good luck with that fight against Amazo,” smirked Deathstroke as he dusted off his hands. “And long live Injustice!”
As a wincing Oliver Queen held ice to his calf, Superman was holding forth to the same set of babyfaces that the Dark Knight had been appealing to in vain last week. “Green Arrow didn’t have a chance! against Amazo after that! Are we all going to just stand around and let those honorless cowards destroy us one by one?”
“Hey,” the Flash said, holding up a finger, “You were working for Brainiac just a little while ago, buster, don’t think we’ve forgotten that!”
“But I--” Superman sputtered, “He was controlling me! I’ve broken free!”
“How gullible do you think we are?” Aquaman growled, and pushed past him and out the door. The others followed, leaving only Green Arrow behind. Superman went to help him to his feet, but Queen shook his hand off.
“I can fight my own battles, Kryptonian,” he said, and was gone, leaving a stricken Superman gazing after him.
Another match against the Toyman, another match in the low-mid-card. Clark didn’t mind, though--in a way it was almost a relief, having the pressure off him for a time. He’d be climbing back up the card soon enough, he knew that. And for now--
As Toyman ground his face into the turnbuckle, Clark caught sight of a group of kids in the front row, decked out in Green Lantern gear from head to toe, cheering and waving for him--not because they were Superman fans per se, but because he was the good guy and they wanted him to win. Superman struggled back to punch Toyman in the face a few times, and as he did Winslow Schott closed one eye in what might have looked like a wince to anyone else, but Clark knew what it meant: I saw them too. Let’s do this.
Superman’s brief flurry of offense came to an abrupt end when Toyman suddenly caught him in the Silly Putty, a hold that contorted his body and caused titanic agony, graven on his face. Clark could hear the kids crying out shrilly: Come on! Come on! You can do it! When he finally broke free, clearly weakened and staggering, Toyman kicked him hard in the ribs and sent him tumbling out of the ring, then followed him outside to deliver a stinging cuff to his face.
Dazed, reeling, on the edge of total defeat, Superman stumbled backwards away from Toyman--and collapsed to the floor directly in front of the troop of Green Lantern fans.
He sagged there, gasping for breath, the picture of broken defeat, and he could feel small hands touching his head, touching his bowed shoulders. The children put their hands on him, and he could feel them willing him to get up, to be strong, to keep fighting, please, keep fighting. He reached up with one shaking hand and felt each of them touch him like a talisman, like a sacrament and a benediction, a gift of energy from them to him. A gift.
Toyman threw back his head and laughed, an unhinged peal that broke off suddenly as Superman surged up and forward as if re-energized, renewed by the touch of the faithful. The crowd shrieked with joy, and Clark heard the children behind him gasp with wonder as he delivered a roundhouse punch to the Toyman that sent him staggering backwards. Superman rose up from certain defeat and trounced the Toyman, throwing him back into the ring and pinning him for the three-count and the bell. Schott threw an arm over his face as if in chagrined defeat; from its cover he smiled briefly at Clark, a satisfied and complicit grin: We did good.
Clark let the ref raise his hand, rolled out of the ring to high five the Green Lantern fans. “I couldn’t have done it without you!” he yelled over the cheers, and watched their eyes light up.
“Nice work,” Bruce said later, draped across him on an uncomfortable hotel couch. “You gave those kids a real treat tonight.”
“Mm,” Clark said thoughtfully. “It goes both ways.” He was still feeling a strange, giddy afterglow: as if he had briefly been a conduit for an incandescent faith and hope and love.
“Of course it does,” said Bruce. He took Clark’s hand and rested their palms together, their fingers lightly touching. “That’s what it’s all about, you know, this whole business. Heroes that you can touch--feel their sweat, see their tears and their blood. Heroes that can hear you and gain strength from your voice. An abstract idea of Justice or Villainy or Courage, given a body that can be broken or triumphant right before your eyes.” He laced his fingers through Clark’s and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.
“My hand touching your hand,” he whispered.
(no subject)
Date: 2015-07-04 06:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2015-07-10 11:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2015-07-14 06:14 am (UTC)It's very nice to see the Batman character being the one issuing the rallying "we should all team up!" cry, very rare and refreshing. And I absolutely cannot wait for his and Clark's tag team run.
(no subject)
Date: 2015-07-16 09:59 am (UTC)The tag team division is where all the real character building happens in wrestling, as far as I'm concerned! You learn SO MUCH MORE about a person watching them interact with another person...it's so important! I hope and pray someday WWE will have a women's tag division...