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mithenTitle: World's Finest
Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lex Luthor, Heat Wave, Captain Cold, Dick Grayson, Superboy, Tim Drake, Jean-Paul Valley
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 2200
Summary: Superman and Batman search for a missing Superboy--but will they lose their chance at the tag team titles because of it?
At the best live shows, you enter a euphoria of utter absurdity, and to analyze and interpret risks spoiling the pleasures of watching vivacious young men momentarily escaping civilization’s discontents (not to mention their own). --Thomas Hackett
“He’s unstable,” said Dick Grayson, his voice low and dangerous.
Lex Luthor looked up from behind his desk--his real desk, not the set they used for “Lex Luthor’s” promos. “Can the champion not speak for himself?” he asked, his voice mild as he looked at Clark and Bruce on either side of Dick.
“Are you sure Jean-Paul is in a...a good enough place to wrestle again?” said Clark before Dick could respond. “He was really struggling there, at the end.”
“Unless he’s changed, he’s not good for the locker room,” Bruce said. “He was a polarizing champion.”
“And what will he ever be able to do to convince you he’s changed?” Luthor said. “Mr. Grayson, be honest--you have personal issues with him. You resent that he was chosen to be the Dark Knight instead of you, and you hold it against him that he was champion without, as you think, earning the title.”
“That’s not it at all,” said Dick. “He was bad for morale, he was a terrible leader. He took unnecessary risks in the ring, risked hurting the people he was working with.” He grimaced for a moment, then went on. “The only personal grudge I have with him is what he said about my parents.”
“Personal grudges have no place in--”
”He blamed my parents for their own deaths!” Dick snapped. “He said they died for nothing, for a glitzy, empty show. That’s not the kind of thing I can just forgive and forget.”
“And you in turn blamed his father for driving his brothers to early graves,” Lex said. “You were very close to your parents,” he observed after the room was silent for a moment. “You had a...warm and supportive relationship with them. Not everyone does.” Something glimmered behind his acid-green eyes and was gone. “Jean-Paul struggles with demons you can’t understand.”
“As long as he doesn’t cause problems in the locker room, I’m sure Dick will have no problems with him,” Clark said. “Right, Dick?”
“Of course not,” said Dick, but his eyes were troubled.
“It’s a clue!” Batman announced backstage, holding up a strand of black hair, and Superman rolled his eyes for the camera to catch. “Now I just need to figure out where this footprint next to it came from…”
“Guys,” said Jimmy, stepping into the camera and holding out a microphone.
Superman jumped and snapped “Where did you come from?” Batman, lost in thought, didn’t even seem to notice.
“Over there,” Jimmy said vaguely. “Anyway--Superman, Batman--”
“--Don’t call me that,” muttered the Dark Knight.
“If you aren’t there when the bell rings tonight against Heat Wave and Captain Cold, you’ll forfeit the match and your chance at the titles. Aren’t you worried that your attempt to find this missing wrestler will cost you the match?”
“Mr. Olsen,” said Batman, and his voice was deeply ominous, “Kon-El is Kal’s--Superman’s--son.”
“Well, clone, really,” said Superman, with the air of a person being scrupulously honest. “Half-clone.”
Batman shot him a look and went on, “Practically his son, and he’s gone missing. I’m not putting the match above the life of a family member.”
For a startled beat, Superman just blinked at Batman. Then he burst into a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Dark Knight,” he said.
The Caped Crusader looked at him for a moment. “I suppose you can call me Batman if you want,” he said grudgingly. Then his eyebrows went up as a thought struck him. “And I believe I know where they’re holding Superboy,” he said. “Follow me!”
Together they charged out of the frame, leaving Jimmy behind to say “Good luck getting back in time for the match…”
Superboy spit out his gag as Superman and Batman--accompanied by a concerned Robin--undid it. “I know who did it!” he said. “I know who had me kidnapped!”
“You saw them?” cried Superman.
“Who was it?” demanded Batman.
“Tell us!” chimed in Robin as he untied Kon’s arms.
“It was…” Superboy paused dramatically. “The Mysterious Figure!”
All three of his rescuers sagged. “Yes, Superboy. We already knew that. But who is the Mysterious Figure?” said Batman with commendable patience.
“Oh. I don’t know,” said Superboy.
“No time for this!” cried Robin. “You two might still be able to make it back to the ring in time for the match! Run!”
The two wrestlers bolted out of the screen again, leaving behind a bewildered Kon and exasperated Tim.
Heat Wave and Captain Cold were beaming in the center of the ring, chatting with the referee, who was looking at his watch. The announcers were explaining that since the challengers weren’t they, soon they’d start the match and give them a ten-count to show up before losing by countout.. The audience was uneasy, seething nervously. At one level they knew that the faces would make it, but at another--the one that really mattered--they weren’t sure. They had seen the heroes rescue Superboy, but where were they now?
“Ring the bell and start the ten count!” yelled Heat Wave, and the referee shrugged and called for the bell to be rung, then started the count. The crowd noise lifted as the count went upward toward ten, surged, become nearly unbearable--
And then the first notes of Superman’s theme song rang out, underpinned with the gloomy base of Batman’s theme.
The crowd came to their feet simultaneously as Superman and Batman charged into the arena, a long rippling wave of humanity craning their necks to see them.
Superman jumped into the ring an instant before the ref held up both hands for the ten count.
“Damn it!” yelled Captain Cold, literally stomping a foot in frustration. “We were promised--”
What he was promised never became clear, because the bell rang and a furious Superman immediately launched himself at Captain Cold, punching him square in the face. The crowd shrieked approval, and from the turnbuckle Batman yelled support, and the match was on.
Clark could tell right away that it was going to be a good match. For the first time, Superman and Batman were allowed to be truly working together, and it was as if a circuit had finally been completed between them. It felt so good to be tagging Bruce in without hesitation, to be able to urge him on when he was in the ring. When the Dark Knight was caught in a painful-looking chinlock, Superman turned to the crowd and threw his hands in the air, exhorting the crowd to cheer for him. And oh, they did. It was as if they had been yearning for Batman and Superman to get along as much as Bruce and Clark had, and the roar was almost deafening.
But in the end, even teamwork was not enough. Superman stumbled in a key moment, weary from their rush to the ring, and Captain Cold exploited it to lay him out in the middle of the ring. The crowd groaned as the heel champions retained the titles, but fell silent as Superman staggered to his feet, gesturing for a mic.
“You’ve won today!” he called after the retreating, gloating champions, and they turned around at the top of the ramp to look at him. “But you could only win by threatening innocent people, you could only win through lying and cheating. I don’t think you understand--Batman and I will never rest until we’ve taken those titles away from you, because you don’t deserve them.”
Captain Cold waited for the swell of cheers to subside before yelling out contemptuously, “Oh, and you think you do?”
“I know we do!” shot back Superman without hesitation. “And I know we do because we’re a team now--a team that values family and friendship over fame and fortune, that values human life above titles and championships. Together, we’re unstoppable--the finest in the world!”
“The world’s finest,” said Batman from next to him. He put an arm around Superman’s shoulders. “We’re the World’s Finest.”
And from that day forward, they were.
Jean-Paul caused no problems in the locker room. He even pulled many wrestlers aside and quietly apologized for the times he worked stiff with them or pushed them too hard, and locker-room resentment of him gradually died down into grudging acceptance. Without the pressure of the championship title, driving him, he reverted to the quiet engineering student Clark remembered, the snarling obsession banished--for now, at least.
But he never apologized to Dick Grayson.
Batman and Superman continued to chase after the tag team titles, always falling just a touch short through duplicity and treachery on the part of the champions. Every time they failed, the audience got more involved, more eager to see them win. The message boards stopped talking about how the two of them were wasted in the tag team division and soon enough were talking about a tag team “renaissance.” Dick Grayson stayed an incredibly popular heavyweight champion. The Mysterious Hooded Figure continued to organize the heels, terrorize the faces, and cackle with glee behind its voice-synthesizer. Everything seemed to be going well in the DCW.
“I had dinner with Garth and Wally last night,” Dick said, frowning down at his hamburger. “Did you know Max Lord is starting up a promotion in California?”
Clark put down his drink. “I didn’t,” he said.
Bruce shrugged. “I’d heard rumors.”
“San Francisco based,” said Dick. “He’s approached some of the younger wrestlers here.”
“But DCW is the best,” said Conner. “Why would they leave?”
Tim snorted. “DCW is the best for a certain type. If you’re not tall and rippling with muscle, you’re pretty much doomed to the midcard--it’s true,” he said somewhat defensively toward Clark and Bruce.
Clark grimaced and didn’t deny it.
“But Dick’s heavyweight champion, and he’s hardly--hey,” Conner said, dodging a thrown napkin from the champion’s direction. “But if he’s made it--”
“I’m unusual,” said Dick. “Lex was under a lot of pressure from the fans to make me champion, especially after his hand-picked Azrael didn’t work out. Plus--” He broke off and looked uncomfortable. “He’s always kind of looked out for me since my parents died working for him.”
“You deserve that title,” Bruce said quietly.
“I know I do,” said Dick, “I’m just saying that I might have only gotten a shot at it because of external pressures, though. Lex isn’t likely to promote another lighter guy. There’s a glass ceiling for kids like Garth and Wally, and they can feel it. I can’t really blame them for wanting to leave for a place that values them more. And this new promotion, the Titans--it sounds like it’s going to be a lot more focused on storytelling and on the high-fliers, a more lucha style, you know? Hell, it sounds like a place I could really--” He broke off and took a bite of his burger instead of continuing.
“So who’s Lord approached?” Bruce said.
“At the DCW--Wally, Garth, Roy, Donna, Kory. He’s also scouting some of our friends from Sora. Garfield, Raven, Terra.”
Bruce whistled low between his teeth. “That’s an impressive roster. And would leave a big gap in the DCW midcard. I hope Lord’s learned to manage his money better than in his JLI days--I’d hate to see your friends going without paychecks, no matter how brilliant a writer and booker he is.”
“I’m sure they’re all aware of his reputation. But there are more important things than money, sometimes,” said Dick, and Bruce raised his eyebrows and nodded.
“Has he approached you?” Tim said, looking at Dick.
“No,” said Dick. He opened his mouth, closed it again. “No,” he repeated.
“--of course Dick wouldn’t lie,” said Bruce later, as they lay together on their Galveston hotel bed, sweating under a rattling air conditioner. “But you’ll notice that doesn’t rule out Lord asking him by proxy, sending out feelers through Garth or Wally.”
Clark frowned. “Dick’s at the top of the DCW right now,” he said. “He wouldn’t leave.”
“Dummy,” said Bruce affectionately. “Not everyone is motivated by fame and fortune, you know that perfectly well. Dick’s an innovator, a leader. He could shine with the Titans in a way he can’t here.” He looked thoughtful. “And the fact that Lex feels protective of him eats at him more than I’d realized. I think at some level he feels Lex gave him the title out of pity.”
Clark snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe you haven’t noticed this,” Bruce said, “But people aren’t always rational.”
“Except for you, of course,” Clark said.
“Except for me,” Bruce said, utterly deadpan. “For example, I have only the most rational of reasons for believing that of all the great things we’ve done and have yet to do in our careers, we’re going to be remembered most for this tag team title run.”
“Oh?” Clark wrapped a leg around him and dragged him close. “And what are your entirely rational reasons for this belief?”
“That together we are indeed the finest in the world,” Bruce said with a smile.
“The World’s Finest,” Clark agreed.
Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lex Luthor, Heat Wave, Captain Cold, Dick Grayson, Superboy, Tim Drake, Jean-Paul Valley
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 2200
Summary: Superman and Batman search for a missing Superboy--but will they lose their chance at the tag team titles because of it?
At the best live shows, you enter a euphoria of utter absurdity, and to analyze and interpret risks spoiling the pleasures of watching vivacious young men momentarily escaping civilization’s discontents (not to mention their own). --Thomas Hackett
“He’s unstable,” said Dick Grayson, his voice low and dangerous.
Lex Luthor looked up from behind his desk--his real desk, not the set they used for “Lex Luthor’s” promos. “Can the champion not speak for himself?” he asked, his voice mild as he looked at Clark and Bruce on either side of Dick.
“Are you sure Jean-Paul is in a...a good enough place to wrestle again?” said Clark before Dick could respond. “He was really struggling there, at the end.”
“Unless he’s changed, he’s not good for the locker room,” Bruce said. “He was a polarizing champion.”
“And what will he ever be able to do to convince you he’s changed?” Luthor said. “Mr. Grayson, be honest--you have personal issues with him. You resent that he was chosen to be the Dark Knight instead of you, and you hold it against him that he was champion without, as you think, earning the title.”
“That’s not it at all,” said Dick. “He was bad for morale, he was a terrible leader. He took unnecessary risks in the ring, risked hurting the people he was working with.” He grimaced for a moment, then went on. “The only personal grudge I have with him is what he said about my parents.”
“Personal grudges have no place in--”
”He blamed my parents for their own deaths!” Dick snapped. “He said they died for nothing, for a glitzy, empty show. That’s not the kind of thing I can just forgive and forget.”
“And you in turn blamed his father for driving his brothers to early graves,” Lex said. “You were very close to your parents,” he observed after the room was silent for a moment. “You had a...warm and supportive relationship with them. Not everyone does.” Something glimmered behind his acid-green eyes and was gone. “Jean-Paul struggles with demons you can’t understand.”
“As long as he doesn’t cause problems in the locker room, I’m sure Dick will have no problems with him,” Clark said. “Right, Dick?”
“Of course not,” said Dick, but his eyes were troubled.
“It’s a clue!” Batman announced backstage, holding up a strand of black hair, and Superman rolled his eyes for the camera to catch. “Now I just need to figure out where this footprint next to it came from…”
“Guys,” said Jimmy, stepping into the camera and holding out a microphone.
Superman jumped and snapped “Where did you come from?” Batman, lost in thought, didn’t even seem to notice.
“Over there,” Jimmy said vaguely. “Anyway--Superman, Batman--”
“--Don’t call me that,” muttered the Dark Knight.
“If you aren’t there when the bell rings tonight against Heat Wave and Captain Cold, you’ll forfeit the match and your chance at the titles. Aren’t you worried that your attempt to find this missing wrestler will cost you the match?”
“Mr. Olsen,” said Batman, and his voice was deeply ominous, “Kon-El is Kal’s--Superman’s--son.”
“Well, clone, really,” said Superman, with the air of a person being scrupulously honest. “Half-clone.”
Batman shot him a look and went on, “Practically his son, and he’s gone missing. I’m not putting the match above the life of a family member.”
For a startled beat, Superman just blinked at Batman. Then he burst into a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Dark Knight,” he said.
The Caped Crusader looked at him for a moment. “I suppose you can call me Batman if you want,” he said grudgingly. Then his eyebrows went up as a thought struck him. “And I believe I know where they’re holding Superboy,” he said. “Follow me!”
Together they charged out of the frame, leaving Jimmy behind to say “Good luck getting back in time for the match…”
Superboy spit out his gag as Superman and Batman--accompanied by a concerned Robin--undid it. “I know who did it!” he said. “I know who had me kidnapped!”
“You saw them?” cried Superman.
“Who was it?” demanded Batman.
“Tell us!” chimed in Robin as he untied Kon’s arms.
“It was…” Superboy paused dramatically. “The Mysterious Figure!”
All three of his rescuers sagged. “Yes, Superboy. We already knew that. But who is the Mysterious Figure?” said Batman with commendable patience.
“Oh. I don’t know,” said Superboy.
“No time for this!” cried Robin. “You two might still be able to make it back to the ring in time for the match! Run!”
The two wrestlers bolted out of the screen again, leaving behind a bewildered Kon and exasperated Tim.
Heat Wave and Captain Cold were beaming in the center of the ring, chatting with the referee, who was looking at his watch. The announcers were explaining that since the challengers weren’t they, soon they’d start the match and give them a ten-count to show up before losing by countout.. The audience was uneasy, seething nervously. At one level they knew that the faces would make it, but at another--the one that really mattered--they weren’t sure. They had seen the heroes rescue Superboy, but where were they now?
“Ring the bell and start the ten count!” yelled Heat Wave, and the referee shrugged and called for the bell to be rung, then started the count. The crowd noise lifted as the count went upward toward ten, surged, become nearly unbearable--
And then the first notes of Superman’s theme song rang out, underpinned with the gloomy base of Batman’s theme.
The crowd came to their feet simultaneously as Superman and Batman charged into the arena, a long rippling wave of humanity craning their necks to see them.
Superman jumped into the ring an instant before the ref held up both hands for the ten count.
“Damn it!” yelled Captain Cold, literally stomping a foot in frustration. “We were promised--”
What he was promised never became clear, because the bell rang and a furious Superman immediately launched himself at Captain Cold, punching him square in the face. The crowd shrieked approval, and from the turnbuckle Batman yelled support, and the match was on.
Clark could tell right away that it was going to be a good match. For the first time, Superman and Batman were allowed to be truly working together, and it was as if a circuit had finally been completed between them. It felt so good to be tagging Bruce in without hesitation, to be able to urge him on when he was in the ring. When the Dark Knight was caught in a painful-looking chinlock, Superman turned to the crowd and threw his hands in the air, exhorting the crowd to cheer for him. And oh, they did. It was as if they had been yearning for Batman and Superman to get along as much as Bruce and Clark had, and the roar was almost deafening.
But in the end, even teamwork was not enough. Superman stumbled in a key moment, weary from their rush to the ring, and Captain Cold exploited it to lay him out in the middle of the ring. The crowd groaned as the heel champions retained the titles, but fell silent as Superman staggered to his feet, gesturing for a mic.
“You’ve won today!” he called after the retreating, gloating champions, and they turned around at the top of the ramp to look at him. “But you could only win by threatening innocent people, you could only win through lying and cheating. I don’t think you understand--Batman and I will never rest until we’ve taken those titles away from you, because you don’t deserve them.”
Captain Cold waited for the swell of cheers to subside before yelling out contemptuously, “Oh, and you think you do?”
“I know we do!” shot back Superman without hesitation. “And I know we do because we’re a team now--a team that values family and friendship over fame and fortune, that values human life above titles and championships. Together, we’re unstoppable--the finest in the world!”
“The world’s finest,” said Batman from next to him. He put an arm around Superman’s shoulders. “We’re the World’s Finest.”
And from that day forward, they were.
Jean-Paul caused no problems in the locker room. He even pulled many wrestlers aside and quietly apologized for the times he worked stiff with them or pushed them too hard, and locker-room resentment of him gradually died down into grudging acceptance. Without the pressure of the championship title, driving him, he reverted to the quiet engineering student Clark remembered, the snarling obsession banished--for now, at least.
But he never apologized to Dick Grayson.
Batman and Superman continued to chase after the tag team titles, always falling just a touch short through duplicity and treachery on the part of the champions. Every time they failed, the audience got more involved, more eager to see them win. The message boards stopped talking about how the two of them were wasted in the tag team division and soon enough were talking about a tag team “renaissance.” Dick Grayson stayed an incredibly popular heavyweight champion. The Mysterious Hooded Figure continued to organize the heels, terrorize the faces, and cackle with glee behind its voice-synthesizer. Everything seemed to be going well in the DCW.
“I had dinner with Garth and Wally last night,” Dick said, frowning down at his hamburger. “Did you know Max Lord is starting up a promotion in California?”
Clark put down his drink. “I didn’t,” he said.
Bruce shrugged. “I’d heard rumors.”
“San Francisco based,” said Dick. “He’s approached some of the younger wrestlers here.”
“But DCW is the best,” said Conner. “Why would they leave?”
Tim snorted. “DCW is the best for a certain type. If you’re not tall and rippling with muscle, you’re pretty much doomed to the midcard--it’s true,” he said somewhat defensively toward Clark and Bruce.
Clark grimaced and didn’t deny it.
“But Dick’s heavyweight champion, and he’s hardly--hey,” Conner said, dodging a thrown napkin from the champion’s direction. “But if he’s made it--”
“I’m unusual,” said Dick. “Lex was under a lot of pressure from the fans to make me champion, especially after his hand-picked Azrael didn’t work out. Plus--” He broke off and looked uncomfortable. “He’s always kind of looked out for me since my parents died working for him.”
“You deserve that title,” Bruce said quietly.
“I know I do,” said Dick, “I’m just saying that I might have only gotten a shot at it because of external pressures, though. Lex isn’t likely to promote another lighter guy. There’s a glass ceiling for kids like Garth and Wally, and they can feel it. I can’t really blame them for wanting to leave for a place that values them more. And this new promotion, the Titans--it sounds like it’s going to be a lot more focused on storytelling and on the high-fliers, a more lucha style, you know? Hell, it sounds like a place I could really--” He broke off and took a bite of his burger instead of continuing.
“So who’s Lord approached?” Bruce said.
“At the DCW--Wally, Garth, Roy, Donna, Kory. He’s also scouting some of our friends from Sora. Garfield, Raven, Terra.”
Bruce whistled low between his teeth. “That’s an impressive roster. And would leave a big gap in the DCW midcard. I hope Lord’s learned to manage his money better than in his JLI days--I’d hate to see your friends going without paychecks, no matter how brilliant a writer and booker he is.”
“I’m sure they’re all aware of his reputation. But there are more important things than money, sometimes,” said Dick, and Bruce raised his eyebrows and nodded.
“Has he approached you?” Tim said, looking at Dick.
“No,” said Dick. He opened his mouth, closed it again. “No,” he repeated.
“--of course Dick wouldn’t lie,” said Bruce later, as they lay together on their Galveston hotel bed, sweating under a rattling air conditioner. “But you’ll notice that doesn’t rule out Lord asking him by proxy, sending out feelers through Garth or Wally.”
Clark frowned. “Dick’s at the top of the DCW right now,” he said. “He wouldn’t leave.”
“Dummy,” said Bruce affectionately. “Not everyone is motivated by fame and fortune, you know that perfectly well. Dick’s an innovator, a leader. He could shine with the Titans in a way he can’t here.” He looked thoughtful. “And the fact that Lex feels protective of him eats at him more than I’d realized. I think at some level he feels Lex gave him the title out of pity.”
Clark snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe you haven’t noticed this,” Bruce said, “But people aren’t always rational.”
“Except for you, of course,” Clark said.
“Except for me,” Bruce said, utterly deadpan. “For example, I have only the most rational of reasons for believing that of all the great things we’ve done and have yet to do in our careers, we’re going to be remembered most for this tag team title run.”
“Oh?” Clark wrapped a leg around him and dragged him close. “And what are your entirely rational reasons for this belief?”
“That together we are indeed the finest in the world,” Bruce said with a smile.
“The World’s Finest,” Clark agreed.
(no subject)
Date: 2015-09-04 06:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2015-09-05 08:44 pm (UTC)