Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2309636.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Gen, M/M, F/M
  Fandom:
      Batman_(Movies_-_Nolan), Batman_-_All_Media_Types, Superman_-_All_Media
      Types, Iron_Man_-_All_Media_Types
  Character:
      Batman, Tony_Stark, Superman/Clark_Kent, Pepper_Potts, Lois_Lane, Carmine
      Falcone, Joe_Chill, Alfred_Pennyworth, Selina_Kyle/Catwoman, Jim_Gordon,
      Lucius_Fox, Leslie_Thompkins, Bruce_Wayne, OCs, Jonathan_Crane, Ra's_al
      Ghul, Harvey_Dent, Barbara_Gordon, Thomas_Wayne, Martha_Wayne
  Additional Tags:
      Childhood_Sexual_Abuse, Childhood_Friends, Canon-Typical_Violence, Sexual
      Violence, Non-Consensual_Spanking, Non-Consensual_Drug_Use, Non-
      Consensual_Blow_Jobs, Torture, Emotional/Psychological_Abuse, Explicit
      Language, Master/Slave, Friendship/Love, Anal_Sex, Oral_Sex, Sexual
      Assault, AU
  Series:
      Part 1 of Black_Butterfly
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-09-15 Completed: 2014-10-24 Chapters: 30/30 Words: 136785
****** Black Butterfly ******
by abcd
Summary
     Eighteen years after the murder of the entire Wayne family, Carmine
     Falcone has acquired all of their fortune and holds in his iron
     clutches both Gotham’s business and criminal world. As the gates of
     the former Wayne Manor open to celebrate Falcone’s triumph, Tony
     Stark vows for revenge, Clark Kent is charmed by Falcone’s slave,
     Batman continues his three year war against Falcone’s rule and
     Gotham’s corruption, and the legendary Black Butterfly spreads her
     wings, shadowing Gotham’s destiny.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Tony Stark was standing before the whole wall window overlooking the nightly
Gotham, mesmerizing with her thousands little lights contrasting the alluring
darkness of the gothic buildings emanating threat with the evil statue
forms which patrolled the humid streets from above .
He bought this luxurious penthouse, spending an abundant amount of money, but
it took him several months before deciding to visit his new acquisition and the
dark city.
Years ago he was always anxious to visit the city – he was a child then and
enthusiastic to come and visit his friends, the Waynes and especially, their
only son, Bruce who despite their age difference was his closest friend . He
was thrilled then, he admitted sarcastically to himself, because his only touch
of Gotham was his rapid passing to the Wayne Manor, nothing more; her darkness
and evil not even a mental image to his full of engines and inventions mind.
He downed a huge gulp of whisky from the half empty bottle. He had a lot this
night, although not in a party contrary to his fame and habbit. He didn’t come
here to party; here he was sober, dark as his surroundings, as his thoughts and
his emotions. He was a little drunk, he needed that, and he could admit this at
least to himself. But he couldn’t stop his reminiscences flooding his otherwise
blessed mind.
Memories of a little boy with dark hair and blue eyes like nobody else’s. A boy
of exceptional beauty and sharp intellect that although six years
younger rivalled his own . Bruce. Bruce with a glint in his strange beautiful
eyes every time he was coming to the airport with Alfred to welcome him. Bruce
with whom he made plans of going to college and then continuing their studies
together, always together, because, although he was younger than Tony, he was
brilliant enough to be accepted in grades above his age.
Memories of playing at the Manor’s grounds were clouding his mind. Playing with
the younger kid, delighted by his laughs, playing with him, although he
otherwise found such games childish and boring. But nothing was boring with
Bruce and he savored every moment – it was the greatest gift his father,
unknowingly, made him, when he brought him along to a business meeting with
Thomas Wayne.
The greatest gift became the greatest curse however, when everything was lost.
Everyone thought him of having everything, but he didn’t – there were times
that he felt like the poorest man on earth; like now.
He felt his heart beating tiredly, painfully. He knew that the amount of
alcohol he consumed already was to blame – he needn’t be a genius to understand
that after all – but he didn’t want to stop. He tore the already loosened tie
from his neck and threw it to the shining floor without leaving the city from
his glowering eyes. He was indeed a genius, the heavy irony of his taunting
mind was being cruelly painful.
 
“What do you want to be when you grow up, Tony?’’
He had laughed with the question, but the way the setting sun played with the
fervent interest in his little friend’s eyes made him eager to answer.
“An engineer, a chemist and a physicist’’
The child laughed innocently and he was drowned in his melody.
‘’These are too many, Tony!’’
“I can be a dozen other things, as well, Brucie, and that before my twenties’’
he raised his head and his predatory eyes shone smugly.
But his little friend just nodded.
“Yeah...you are a genius. I heard dad saying it.’’
His friend’s delighted acceptance of his superiority made him suddenly humble.
His hand brushed like a feather the soft brown hair of the boy.
“You are a genius, too. Alfred told me that you already are two grades above
your age. In this rate we will be in the same college.’’
Bruce seemed happy hearing this.
“So, what will be for you, Bruce?’’ he asked because the boy was too shied from
Tony's praise to say anything.
Bruce’s eyes were brighter than the summer sun, when looked him with fervent
enthusiasm.
“A medical doctor, like my father!’’ he answered full of pride.
Tony had moved his head in disbelief and mild disappointment.
“Brucie, this is a complete waste of intelligence. A doctor is way too easy and
mediocre…’’
“There’s nothing mediocre about saving people’s lives! My father takes me with
him at the free clinic, every weekend. He and Dr Leslie treat people who don't
have money to pay the big hospitals and I help them’’ he sounded dead serious
and proud for his role in the clinic. “Men, women and children come there lil
and beaten – the free clinic is at Narrows where criminals rule, but my father
says that the people there have more need than in the rest of Gotham. The
people that come there wore ragged clothes and they are skinny; so starved that
barely walk… Last week I saw a little child crying because she didn’t eat in
two days… and a boy with his bone protruding, bleeding all over the clinic:
some thugs thought it funny to break the boy’s arm…”
Tony felt his spine froze and his stomach clench but his little friend’s eyes
were too warm with love and pathos, looking at the horizon where sea was
petting the distant shore.
“This place… Narrows”, he commented with cracked voice, “isn’t for little
children…”
Bruce turned shocked to his friend. His eyes were full of hurt, like he was
betrayed by Tony.
“My father knows the best for me!” yelled angrily. “And… And I ‘m important
there…” he continued calmer, a little uncertain. “I help my father and Leslie,
at first, only with minor errands – fetching cotton, medicines, syringes… - but
then my father taught me things and I talk with the kids who come frightened in
the clinic and they listen to me… They trust me, Tony, and return to the clinic
to see me…”
His beautiful bright eyes pleaded with him to understand and Tony couldn’t stop
a smile forming in his face.
“My father sustains ten shelters for the poor and homeless in the Narrows. They
serve three meals a day daily for hundreds of people. Some days my mom takes me
with her and we serve them… How many shelters your father finance?”
Tony coughed in his fist.
“None. We don’t have poor people in Malibu…” answered full of confidence.
“Are you sure?” Bruce obviously wasn’t.
“I haven’t seen any…” he laughed carelessly, but he felt embarrassed by his
stupid answer.
Bruce sensed his friend’s uneasiness and hurried to make him feel better.
“I’m sure that when you see a human being in need of help, you’ll help him
better than I do – you’re so intelligent! You’ll make miracles! Do you want to
come with me  to the clinicthe next time?!”
His frail face was so beautiful and his seriousness was so solid that he only
nodded, satisfied that he had provoked this reaction from this wonderful boy.
Bruce hold tight Tony’s bigger hand with his cute fingers and smiled to him,
all the gold from sun’s rays in his happy eyes.
Loud clicks echoed to the outwardly silence of the vast room and he knew who
was it, so he didn’t turn. He neither had the power nor the willingness to
confront her.
The annoying sound stopped right at his side, he could hear clearly her
agitated breaths. But she didn’t speak, she, despite her disapproval,
understood him, sympathized with him, she cared about him.
‘’What is it, miss Potts?’’ he turned his burning, impatient eyes to her
beautiful face.
She exhaled heavily.
“Miss Potts? Oh, Tony, this city is unhealthy for you. You are not yourself.”
“Or maybe I am!” He yelled, irritated, although he knew that it wasn’t her
fault.
She brought her long hand on his shoulder. She loved him more than he deserved,
he reminded himself. He looked hesitantly in her concerned eyes.
“It’s been fifteen years, Tony. Let him rest…” her voice was a whisper; she
understood his love for his little friend and didn’t want to sound insensitive.
“How can I, Pepper? How can he be rested, when this filthy city didn’t even
bother to find his body? When they let his body being eaten by rodents and…”
his voice was too deep in his heart to manage to ascent his throat; he
gulped more of the liquid in the bottle to find his famous irony. “I got
nightmares for years after their killings. I’d hear his cries for help, as the
roaring waters of the sewers were carrying him away, I felt his little legs,
trying desperately to keep his body to the surface, his cuffed hands,
stretching in the steel, struggling to be freed, his tiny heart aching by the
frantic rhythm, as the merciless waters sucked him, his lugs burning from the
lack of oxygen and his rosy, tiny lips struggling for some air, his nose
breaking from the rush of water and his beautiful eyes spilling their last
tears; as the dark claims him, he is calling me in vain to save him. Even now I
often see him gagging, as the wastes are filling his throat…”
“Oh, Tony…” she couldn’t find anything to say, because she knew that there was
no comfort for him.
“He died a horrific death, because some monsters wanted money … And I, the
powerful me”, laughed, “can’t even visit his empty grave, now that Falcone put
his thugs guarding the grounds …”
This time even whisky couldn’t make his voice float back. Pepper saw with awe
his eyes watering and a shiver travelled her spine. She took his head in her
hands and brought it to her chest – it was the first time she saw him crying,
in pain that wasn't bodily and her heart wasn’t ready for that. She kissed his
hair.
“This city holds nothing for you anymore, Tony. Bruce and his parents are dead
and now Falcone has the complete control of the Enterprises and the Manor at
his disposal. Bruce is alive in your memories and your heart and that is what
counts. You don’t have to keep co-operating with Wayne Enterprises now that
that scum has the control and who knows into what he will turn it. Why did you
buy this penthouse? Why are you keeping ties with Wayne – no! - Falcone
Enterprises and this city? Why are you continuing hurting yourself?”
He raised his head from the haven of her chest and looked her in the eyes with
his focused, determined eyes.
“Revenge’’
***** Chapter 2 *****
 
Three years later
Wayne Manor’s  full illuminated majesty shone into the winter atmosphere. It
was the first time after eighteen years that the old mythical building was
opening its heavy wooden doors to Gotham’s elite and the gardens glittered so
much that the snow covered bushes gave the impression of being adorned with
diamonds. Luxurious cars stopped and went away, emptying their abundant dressed
and stupidly enveloped in jewels, occupants. Priceless silk and Italian leather
graced the shining marble path that led to the ballroom, diamonds and rubies
deflecting in thousand little shines the blinding light from the enormous
chandeliers that the new owner embroidered with amethysts and citrines.
“Mercy, dude! This is the third 18 karat gold, huge ‘F’ and we are still
outside! The guy is a fucking asshole!’’ the young servant who was opening the
car’s doors for the guests said smirking to his colleague, his voice mixed with
the melodies the orchestra played.
The other shrugged.
“He does whatever he wants… And you don’t want any of his thugs hear you…”
The first servant scanned worriedly their surroundings and run to open the door
of a black Mercedes.
“It was about time someone exploited this magnificent Manor. Falcone should
have moved here eighteen years ago, when the Waynes sold their fortune to him,
but he was so respectful to them that not only waited fifteen years to put his
emblem to the property, but also remained three more years away from his
property. And some people consider him a filthy mobster – oh! People’s envy!
They can’t stand a worthy man climbing the social rank! And look what he has
done to this mausoleum: everyone knows that Waynes – God rest their souls! –
were snobs and considered themselves better than the rest of us just because
their family was ancient, so they were keeping their Manor obsolete to remind
us of their royal ’’ her thin, sketched brows rose almost to her hair “line.
Ha! I’m happy this house breaths again fresh air, thanks to its new owner…”
Lois Lane and Clark Kent, reporters of the Daily Planet and part of the media
herd that Falcone invited to his grand opening, listened frowning to the
annoyingly garnished old lady with the high-pitched shrill of a voice. Lois
rolled her eyes to Clark who scribbled hastily the old lady’s statements in
order to take Lois away before she unleashed her sharp tongue.
“Gotham’s aristocracy”, she muttered disgusted to Clark, just a second away
from the old lady’s hearing ability, and he downed a large sip of the glass he
grabbed from a passing waiter.
“They accept among them a mob rat that stole Waynes’ money and property, as
long as he offers them a little bone, meh! They already gave him Waynes’ place
among them – Waynes! The family that had been benefactors of this city for
centuries!”
“Don’t forget that he is Gotham’s Emperor: he is the richest man and he
controls most of the city’s financial sector.”
“Not to mention the city’s underworld…” her laugh was full of poison. “I’m sure
that the majority of this ‘’decent’’ folk was satisfied by Waynes’ murders and
their son’s disappearance!” she gulped her champagne.
Clark’s worried eyes roamed the place, searching if someone had heard.
“You don’t know that, Lois” tried to reason with her. “And you can’t accuse
Falcone”, he whispered the name, “of stealing their money and property. The
entire paperwork was legitimate and…”
She looked him like she had heard a fish meddling with nuclear physics. He
thought that her eyes would pop out from their sockets if she continued to look
him like this.
“The Waynes sold their entire fortune, while their financials were blossoming,
and especially to HIM? A scumbag drenched in shit?”
“The allegations against him were never proved.”
“Now, you‘re kidding me… Has ever anything being proved in this city? And, as
soon as Falcone grabs all of their fortune, they suddenly are murdered by a
common thief, while leaving the Opera? Come on, Clark; it’s common sense …”
“I know, I know, but when you can’t prove it, you will only get a huge lawsuit.
If the city looked more into it…”
Lois spread her arms to the room, sn0rting. Some people glanced at her and
immediately continued their meaningless discussions.
“The city? This city? Nice one, farm boy! The police commissioner along with
the DA and the Mayor and most of the city’s judges are here to honor the host
and the rest of Gotham’s elite are here hungry to see if the rumors are true.”
“About Bruce Wayne.”
She was more serious now. Clark straightened his glasses.
“They heard that Falcone has a whore that might be Waynes’ lost son and instead
of investigating it, since it would prove that this bastard killed them, they
just crawled here to feed their curiosity. Disgusting people! I will be
relieved when I return to Metropolis!” she rolled her eyes.
“Do you honestly believe that Bruce is alive?”
“Of course not!” she almost drowned with her champagne. “Police found his blood
along with his parents’ bodies and although they didn’t find the body, it is
almost certain that his parents’ killers finished off the kid and threw his
body in the sewers, where the poor kid in pain and panic had managed to run to.
Why would any killer keep alive  his victims' child and thus the only eye
witness of the crime?”
Clark slowly nodded. Sorrow bit his throat: an eight year old child killed
mercilessly because of a man’s greediness…
“I’m sure” Lois continued her speech, “that Falcone himself spread the rumour,
in order to show off his new possession – the whore he bought. And these people
came like sheep to devour the spectacle…”
“Their butler is still here, serving Falcone…” he mentioned hesitantly,
directing her with a head gesture where a white haired man served Tony Stark.
“I mean if his masters’ murders were even by suspicion Falcone’s doing, don’t
you think that he would have pressed the police to keep researching, or at
least left the city? And Tony Stark kept his dealings with Wayne, I mean,
Falcone Enterprises; it seems to me that he doesn’t suspect Falcone.”
She sighed with disapproval.
“Yes, a butler and an egoist with no other care but his orgies… This city is
doomed and everyone busying himself with her is an idiot.”
“Like us here…” admitted Clark.
“I‘d rather be in the streets hoping to get a glimpse of Batman.”
“You still believe in this fairytale? He, allegedly, appeared three years ago
and we don’t have anything of him except some deranged descriptions of beaten
criminals and some foggy pictures,” laughed. “You’ll be luckier with Bigfoot!”
“I guess he is not as media friendly as our Superman!”
“He would have changed his stance, if he met you!” his attempt at a joke was
immediately burned out by her dark scowl.
“Fairytale or not, he is the only one doing something to clean this shithole.
He ruined many of Falcone’s ‘businesses’ and made many of his thugs run for
their lives and away from this city.”
“Without testifying against their boss, however…”
Lois’ opened lips closed, before uttering what she was going to say, when the
soft music the orchestra played was abruptly stopped, a sure sign that the big
boss was here. The entire ballroom silenced and everyone’s eyes was on the huge
main stairway, where Carmine Falcone surrounded by his bodyguards was
descending, his stony image ridiculously mixed with the stupid garlands that
adorned abundantly the priceless, ancient wood.
“Welcome, my dear friends…”
But Clark didn’t manage to hear anymore of Falcone’s speech to his guests,
because Lois nudged his enormous, clumsy body to point something. Her movement
was so sudden that he spilled half his drink on a guest who hurried to get
close to the stairway. She pinched his arm, as if he wouldn’t have noticed
otherwise.
“Have you seen anything more beautiful?” she asked too professionally.
“Definitely, Falcone is showing off!” he exclaimed straightening his overlarge
glasses.
In stark contrast to Carmine Falcone’ s raw form dressed with a ridiculously
expensive tailored suit that cried to be transferred to another body and the
cacophony of his square mountain shaped ‘bodyguards’ – thugs with the hyena’s
face -, a young man was following herded by Falcone’s gigantic right hand.
Clark estimated him around 26 years old, but his face looked younger. He was
approximately 6’ 1’’ tall with a body so harmonically sculpted, every muscle in
such perfect size and form that Clark thought of the ancient Greek statues.
However, once his gaze fell upon the boy’s face, he forgot the body – it was a
perfect blend of masculinity and softness, the cheekbones’ sharpness
underlining the warm almond shaped eyes that were shining like the
multicoloured gems of the room, but with such a sweetness that magnetized the
eyes more than the gems in the room.
The young man was pressing his lips out of uneasiness but he couldn’t hide
their cute shape and light pink colour and Clark was certain he wanted to run
his hands through his soft dark locks that surrounded perfectly groomed his
gorgeous face – it was easy for Clark’s super hearing to catch the boy’s crazy
heartbeat.
However, his engagement with the frantic heartbeat brought his sight zooming to
his broad chest. With a rush of hot blood, he gazed at the soft skin that was
dressing the well defined chest and then the fine muscles that adorned his
belly. His tailored clothes cried as well as Falcone’s, but to be ripped off so
this magnificent body could be exposed to everyone’s greedy eyes, thought Clark
and angry with himself averted – not effortlessly – his gaze before it went
lower .
“If he wasn’t so shy and frightened, he would look like a royal or at least a
high-paid model”, murmured Lois. “Look how these Gothamites undress him with
their eyes; I’m sure they aren’t hearing anything from Falcone’s speech… Oh!
Falcone will blow from satisfaction…”
“He doesn’t look like a whore, does he?” he asked hesitantly.
“Maybe that was the reason Falcone chose him… except from the obvious, of
course…” she winked. “Now, excuse me, but I have some job to do” shoved in his
hand her flute of champagne and headed to the flock of aristocrats. “And you,
too, farmer!”
Clark left both of the glasses to a passing tray and approached the half –
drunk by now Gothamites to catch something of interest. No such luck! Their
chats were completely boring and Falcone with his company of colleagues was
unapproachable, walls of meat hindering even the sight. Only Tony Stark didn’t
attend the associates’ cycle; he remained in his corner alone, awkwardly sober,
his eyes focused.
Of course, he could hear everything, but Falcone and his associates were far
too smart to speak about anything remotely shady in there – besides, most of
his chatterers were congratulating him about the party and his new possession.
Their hard laughs and pointedly hungry stares on the young man interrupted
their dirty jokes about Falcone’s toy and Falcone was beaming proudly, his
greasy face getting sweaty.
And after he swallowed his third flute of champagne in a row –not drunk but
surely highly spirited -, he started to share with them details from his
bedroom. How the muscles in the boy’s body would stretch and ripple, when he
tied his wrists on the bedpost and ripped his clothes off till leaving him
completely naked. How he would feel the boy’s vein in the neck pulsing,
radiating a rare aroma, when he covered him with bites… Or how soft and
delicious was the boy’s skin between the thighs, when he devoured him with his
tongue and teeth…
Clark felt sick and walked away among the guests – after all, he could catch
anything interesting from a distance as well. How could they think and utter
such filthy things about this being? He wasn’t a whore, he knew it…
“What an ass!” a giggling drunk guy a feet away said to his friend, who was
staring unashamed at the young man’s back in the further corner of the room.
“Falcone knows his shit! I haven’t seen a better shaped ass in a man…”
“And a woman!’ the other yelled amused.
“Shame that Falcone teased us without showing us the bare truth!”
“He just wants to make us envious… He is very possessive of his property!”
“I don’t blame him! If I had him naked in my bed every night, I wouldn’t have
shared him even with myself!” his crow of a laugh was like vomit.
“Imagine what Falcone orders him to do with these rosy lips…”
Thankfully, Lois grabbed his hand and drove him away from the crowded ballroom,
passing the ridiculous round shaped blue crystal fountain in the middle of the
room that was spurting French aroma instead of water.
“Clark, you are flushed!’’
Now, he reddened even more. He choked in his saliva.
“It’s just that I’m bored and annoyed.”
She agreed.
“It’s the most boring party I ever attended, with the exception of the little
gem there. Everyone is talking about Falcone’s money and his shining toy.’’
Clark nodded.
“Tell me about… I'm sick of hearing about his ass from the men…”
“Women are talking about other parts of his anatomy, too…” she sniggered. “What
am I going to write in my article? About the boy’s ass? Now, that isn’t a bad
idea – it surely would make a lot of issues with a couple of good shots from
Jimmy.”
“What are they saying about the Bruce Wayne rumor?”
“Nothing at all. They are so stunned with Falcone’s toy’s beauty that they
forgot all about poor Bruce, not that they were remembering him much… Falcone
achieved his goal, that’s for sure!”
“And there’s Tony Stark” pointed Clark with a finger.
Lois turned her face to his direction, her eyes sparkling from professional
curiosity.
“Now, that’s the gist of the night! The number one playboy and party – animal
attends the greatest event of Gotham’s entire year, as if…, ALONE, without
three, two or at least one of his super model bimbos; drinks only one glass of
wine and broods the whole night, while the atmosphere smells so heavy of decay
that he must have been feeling exactly in his element! Either he is sick, or… a
reporter’s treat…”
Clark’s eyes were compassionate.
“He was a childhood friend of Bruce Wayne. He spent more summers in this same
manor, than he has in his own house. It must hurt him, seeing the manor handed
to another owner, especially when this owner is…”
“The same owner who now has Wayne Enterprises with which he continues to have
business deals. C'me on, Clark; don’t be so sentimental, especially, with Tony
Stark!”
He didn’t consider her words. Instead, gestured towards Tony Stark who was
crossing the ballroom.
“I think he came to test the Bruce Wayne rumor – he still wants to believe that
his friend somehow lives…”
Tony Stark completely sober, looking determined ahead, walked through the
chatting companies, ignoring their calls with a hasty, desperate pace. Clark
could hear his raging heartbeat, as Tony gazed at the young man sitting alone
in the velvety sofa.
“No, Clark, don’t be so naive…” Lois exasperated. “He is fucking anything
moving, of course he wants this excellent piece of… well, and here we go again!
– ass. Good luck with the Vulture.”
“What Vulture?”
“That one” she gestured to a man shadowing a frightened servant – he had a
white, tense face with a vulture – like long nose and his blond ponytail made
even more menacing his rectangular head that was dominated by his small
predatory gray eyes, one of which had a white, deep scar across the eyelid and
the brow. Although he was perfectly shaved and dressed with expensive clothes
and shoes, he cried of violence and savageness, as every member of Falcone’s
trustees.
“You mean Joe Chill.”
“I prefer the ‘Vulture’, it suits him perfectly, unlike his Italian clothes…He
hadn’t let the poor kid from his sight the entire night, nobody approaches him,
and even when Alfred attempted to give the boy a glass of wine, Chill grabbed
the flute, ousted Alfred and gave it himself, like he was throwing a mould
piece of bred to a mutt.”
However, Tony was now standing in front of the young man. His eyes so intense
that it seemed like he was trying to X-Ray the tilted downwards smooth head.
The young man was stroking reverently the flame red velvet of the sofa, having
shut out the rest of the world, when utterly jumped, sensing someone so close.
The man’s irises of melted sapphire and emerald were cast only for a second in
Tony Stark’s unshaven, shockingly kind face, before falling to the floor,
clearly scared because a stranger approached him. In fact, his blazed eyes
flew for an instance to the spot where the Vulture was berating the sweating
servant.
“I’m Tony Stark” his voice was unrecognizable from sweetness and his eyes
glittered, as if they were ready to spill tears. “I’m Mr. Falcone’s associate.”
The young man didn’t raise his eyes, instead kept glancing between Vulture and
Falcone, trembling with his already elevated heartbeat speeding more.
Tony offered his hand for a handshake.
“Don’t be afraid, please. I want only to hear your name.”
The youth raised his mesmerizing irises to look hesitantly at Tony who smiled
attempting to reassure the boy, but his eyes became burning carbon, when the
man he was talking to, was suddenly yanked in his feet by an iron hand
clutching his arm.
It was the Vulture who had crossed the vast room with violent strides as soon
as caught Stark speaking to his boss’s property.
“Stop botherin' Mr Stark, ya useless piece of…” he shrieked to the trembling
young man, who didn’t dare look upwards or say anything.
“He wasn’t bothering me, I was talking to him, idiot!” Tony’s hands became
eager fists. “Leave him alone, you‘re hurting him!”
Chill obviously not knowing how to react to Stark’s rage and unable to answer
to the insult the way he usually did – with his fists or knife -, sinceStark
was a precious business partner of Falcone, he tighten even more his hold on
the boy’s arm, causing his weak moan.
“Mr Falcone is lookin' for ya and ya are slackin' off!” his hand had risen to
strike, clearly in his familiar way of treating the boy, ignorant in his cloud
of fury of the shocked expressions of some guests who witnessed the scene.
Chill’s white big scar across the right eye danced frantically.
Lois let a little yell and Clark was on the point of rushing on the henchman,
when Tony caught Chill’s raised hand an inch before it made a heavy contact
with the boy’s porcelain face. He was ready to give the thug a taste of his own
medicine, when the boy steeled his liquid eyes in Tony’s crazy ones.
“Please, Mr Stark…” he whispered with a smooth voice that resembled rippling
silk.
And Tony, numb, let Chill’s hand escape from his iron grip and the young man
being manhandled away from him to the spot where Falcone was laughing with his
most trusted partners. Nobody was looking anymore. Tony clenched more his fist,
pressing his lips into an angry line. He ignored Alfred, who in the mean time
had approached and was trying to tell him something, and rushed outside in a
storm of emotion and dizziness.
“Now, that’s better!” exclaimed Lois thrilled. “I have to speak to him, stay
here!”
Clark obliged and as soon as she disappeared, chasing Stark focused on the
corner where Falcone was reprimanding his little toy who was flinching on the
verge of collapsing. His heart hurt in sympathy. Forced his ears to listen, but
Falcone didn’t say much, only that he would settle the matter later, and left
Vulture with the boy. The thug was smirking and his crooked teeth looked
exactly the same as the huge tooth he had dangling from his ear.
For the rest of the night the Vulture never left the boy alone and Clark was
urged by Lois who was disappointed by Stark’s sudden disappearance, to follow
her into exploring the Manor’s gardens where Falcone and his trustees had
retreated. She hopped to get something worthy out of the boring night.
Upon returning to the emptying ballroom since guests had started to leave, he
was fighting his drowsiness and cold feet together with his headache from Lois’
unstoppable bickering for their failure to find neither Falcone nor any of his
associates.
“We lost the big fish for the second time! Ughh! I feel so frustrated that I
want to hit someone…”she had said, looking at him and he fled.
He scanned lazily the room one last time, because he had already decided
to follow Lois to their hotel for a bad night’s sleep. One last glimpse to the
boy for good night, he indulged himself, but to his surprise the corner the
young man was secluded with his guardian dog was empty.
“Perhaps, the Vulture took him upstairs” he said to himself and a drunken
Gothamite gazed at him laughing.
However, he discovered the Vulture at the garden chatting with a police man who
had escorted there the police Commissioner. Intrigued, roamed with his
sensitive sight the upper levels of the Manor and the other rooms for Falcone's
toy that now must be alone. He found the form he wished for in the round
veranda at the back side of the Manor.
His feet led him there, before he even formed the thought. The boy was gazing
River Liberty' black waters that was raging against the private Wayne – now
Falcone – shore. Although, the sea was near a mile away, the subtle smell of
salt stroke Clark’s nose. He noticed that Falcone’s toy yanked his head
upwards to gaze at the full moon and saw the frozen wind petting the soft brown
locks. The youth's heartbeat wasn’t so rapid anymore and he sighed, letting his
head drop.
“It’s nice to be home” Clark said without knowing the reason and the young man
shocked turned quickly to his direction. “Even when this home belongs to
someone else now…”
The boy’s eyes were confused and… menacing?
“It’s not my home…” he whispered with the same tamed voice he had talked to
Stark.
“I can help you” Clark covered the space that separated them in a few strides.
“I’m a reporter.”
The youth's eyes were completely unreadable and pierced Clark's who felt
carried away into a complex labyrinth as the colours that trimmed them.
“He doesn’t want yar help, Mr Kent!”
The young man's eyes detached from Clark’s and the reporter exhaled
disappointed for the interruption from Joe Chill's snarky smart - ass voice. He
looked again at the face of the young man who went pale and turned to face the
Vulture.
The Vulture approached them and to Clark’s annoyance ran his rough palm to the
boy’s frozen face, stilling his mocking eyes on Clark.
“He is a whore, Mr Kent, a retarded whore an' Mr Falcone from good heart saved
'im from the shit he was floatin'; he was givin' blow jobs to scums for a piece
of stale bread. Write that in yar rag.”
“Oh, of course, and I’ll underline that your boss did it without any exchange!”
A flash of amusement crossed the boy’s irises undetected by Chill, who furious
with Clark  grabbed the young man's upper arm and dragged him inside the Manor.
Clark watched the cruel man manhandling upstairs the youth whose name didn’t
manage to learn; certainly to Falcone’s bedroom. He sighed and looked at the
horizon that minutes before was stroked by the boy’s eyes. Time to go to the
hotel, he murmured, an article and an enraged Lois await me…
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     I'd like to thank everyone for reading, commenting and leaving kudos.
     Your feedback is very encouraging to me.
Falcone entered the master’s bedroom of the former Wayne Manor on a stride,
followed by Alfred who seemed completely numb. He had just escorted his last,
most esteemed guests, and now the magnificent building was to his disposal to
do as he liked.
He found Chill waiting him sprawled on the big leather armchair in the corner
of the room, having trapped in his stare Falcone’s toy that was standing in the
middle of the room hunched, as if he was waiting his execution. The big square
glass of bourbon in Chill’s big hands was almost empty.
He had taken off the boy’s expensive jacket and his tie and had left him only
with the white silk shirt that had its first three buttons undone, leaving in
plain sight the swan neck and some enticing part of fine sculpted chest. He was
smiling with his crooked way, enjoying the toy's down cast desperate eyes.
As soon as Falcone entered the room, he jumped to his feet and rushed to his
boss’ side.
Falcone was furious and immediately grabbed both of his toy’s arms twirling him
to face him. But the boy didn’t dare to look him.
“If ya think that, because I brought ya here, ya became something more than a
useless shit, ya're wrong! Defying me in my own house an' trying to ridicule me
in front of my guests!”
“I didn’t…” the youth's voice barely made it out of his throat.
Falcone shook him violently.
“Look at me when I’m talking to ya! An' I didn’t say ya could speak, ya filthy
worm! Tony Stark?! Ya were talking to Tony Stark from all people! What did
ya try to do?”
“Nothing… I swear… He came to me…” his eyes, puddles with unshed tears, tried
to warm his boss’ cold eyes.
“I’m not stupid, ya know: maybe ya are an idiot, but I’m not! Ya pretended to
not notice to allow him to approach ya. Ya could have left! An' because of ya,
Joe almost was hit by the arrogant bastardo!” his spit rained the boy’s face,
who flinched every time Falcone’s shrill voice rose more. “An' now, I must call
Stark to apologize!”
“I’m sorry…” the youth whispered, knowing already that he was going to be
punished whatever he’d say.
Indeed, Falcone’s meaty hand fell like a stone to his face and his shaking legs
didn’t need more to stop supporting his weight. The only thing he could see now
was the fibres of the modern priceless carpet and Falcone’s shining 1,000
dollar shoes. His mouth was full of iron tasting liquid and his nostril was
bleeding.
“Ya 're ‘sorry’ for what exactly? Yar flirt with Stark or yar escape to the
balcony when Joe left ya for a minute? Ya wanted to make a jerk out of me an;
him, right? Show that ya can outsmart us?!”
He just moved his head negating, feeling with dread his hair being uprooted by
an iron hand. His body was rapidly raised in front of his maddened boss, the
Vulture keeping him upright, twisting cruelly his drenched in sweat locks.
“I wasn’t feeling alright… and… I just wanted some air… Please…”
“Shut the fuck up! Ya disobeyed my orders! Ya didn’t get permission, an' acted
as if yar free to decide for yarself!”
The boy stayed silent, his head dizzy from the blow, Falcone’s yells and his
terror.
“Ya 're my toy! Say it!”
He shook him so strongly that the blood from his split lip stained his shirt.
Falcone didn’t stop until his eyes met his own.
“I am your toy.”
“Master!” yelled and the boy closed his eyes.
“I am your toy, master.”
“Ya 're my slave”
“I am your slave, master.”
“Yar life doesn’t worth anything an' yar only value is when ya satisfy me. An'
today ya did not!”
The boy’s eyes bulged, understanding Falcone’s intention. And as an affirmation
he felt the cold metal of Falcone’s gun pressing his temple. Drops of sweat ran
his beautiful face, as Falcone’s frantic breaths attacked his face and
Vulture’s fist pulled more his hair, steadying him. He heard the metallic click
cracking the silence of the vast room and closed his eyes, tiny teardrops
playing through his long eyelashes.
“Master Falcone, if I may…” Alfred’s wax statue by the huge oak door went two
shades paler.
“No, ya may not, jeeves, shut the fuck up!”
The young man was listening to Falcone’s heavy exhales, as the heavy scent of
expensive champagne beat his lower cheek. And then, the gun’s cold metal was
caressing softly his moistened by sweat and tears cheek, his heartbeat becoming
crazy.
Falcone brought the barrel of the gun to the boy’s slightly open lips.
“Lick it!” he ordered, breathing in his ear, frost covering the boy’s spine.
He tried to control the sobs that have been stuck in his mouth and willed his
tongue to cover the barrel’s surface, pressing the nausea that was swirling in
his stomach.
Falcone laughed evilly and Chill unnoticed stroked the boy's soft locks that
were out of his hold.
“Suck it!” Falcone’s arousal was so obvious that the boy shivered and obeyed.
He took the barrel in his trembling, unwilling mouth and sucked, closing his
eyes resigned.
“More!” the plumb man screamed, rubbing his groin to the boy’s pelvis.
He complied, teardrops running uncontrolled his cheeks. He felt his mouth
filling with saliva, making his breaths strained. He tried to ease somewhat the
metal in his mouth, in order to swallow the saliva, but the Vulture
yanked violently his head and Falcone pushed the gun deeper in his throat,
completely blocking the air from his lungs and making his gag reflect act. But
the more his desperate body struggled to throw the hostile object, the more his
master pushed the barrel.
He felt the oxygen in his lungs ending, the saliva drowning him and his bulging
eyes opened, only to see through a liquid curtain the Grey Wolf laughing. The
gun was withdrawn in an instant and the young man collapsed on his knees,
coughing like he was spilling his lungs. Despite the dizziness the lack of air
had caused, he could sense his master’s blazing eyes raving his kneeled,
shaking body.
“I’ll give ya the punishment ya deserve, so that from now on ya won’t even dare
to think disobeying me!” he nodded to Chill.
The Vulture grabbed the boy’s trembling hands and putting one wrist upon the
other, pinioned them with a leather strap until the bone cracked. His
cold insane eyes met the young man’s panicked ones. He took him by the leather
and made him stand.
Falcone had reached the huge vanity and was mussing the contents of the
large bottom drawer.
“Take off his pants!” Falcone ordered Chill, while still studying the drawer’s
contents with his back turned to him.
The thug more than willingly unbuckled the young man’s belt and undid the
button and the zip. With a violent movement that made the boy froze brought his
pants down to his ankles and then threw them away. In his enthusiasm to obey
his boss, he took off the boy’s shoes and socks, as well, the missing big toe
from the toy’s left foot a strange cacophony.
“Now, position him!” Falcone was now facing his henchman with a crop in his
hands.
The boy’s heart gave a violent jolt and his breath caught in his throat, but
the Vulture manhandled him to the big armchair, forced him to bent over the
armrest of the armchair and spread him on his stomach upon the armrests of the
chair, letting his bound hands and legs hang to the floor. The boy tried to
control his breaths when he felt Chill’s frozen brutal hands lowering his
underwear to the ankles and then away from his sweating body.
Falcone took off his black jacket and threw it to his trustee’s hands. He
rolled meticulously his sleeves. Then, like a hungry wolf, approached his toy
and with his greasy fingers traced his exposed, smooth ass, making the boy
close his eyes, trying desperately to battle the panic that made his heart
pound.
“Everyone at the party was impressed by yar ass” his cruel voice had a low tone
that was sicker and more menacing than his yells, “and surely everyone in
Gotham will be imagining the things I’m doin' to this piece of art. I wonder,
however, if anyone’s mind will think of that…”
“Please…” the youth's cracked voice tried to plead with his master, but a harsh
sound of thick leather, ripping the air dispersed the petty sound and instead,
a shuddering cry of pain accompanied the wet moan of gashed flesh.
“Dear God…” breathed Alfred, fighting a wave of nausea.
Chill sniggered.
The young man squeezed his eyes and clenched his fists to fight the burning
pain.
Falcone let the air of the room irritate the wound for a moment and then raised
his crop, striking with all his might the tempting buttocks, causing a second
louder cry. The young body convulsed, as a current of acute pain penetrated his
cranium.
The strikes were repeated three more times, and his master devouring the sight
of the reddening porcelain flesh, stopped to caress the boy’s flooded with
tears cheek. His face was hot and his eyes shut, while his breath was turned
into pants interrupted by groans.
“Look at me…” he said softly and he immediately obeyed. “Ya know ya deserve
that, don’t ya?” the boy nodded exhausted and Falcone smirked satisfied. “When
yar punishment ends, ya'll have understood that nobody can take ya from this
hell. I am the Lucifer an' ya'll have to pleasure me with every way I want,
without even thinking of anything else… Because I know every fucking thought
ya have in yar cretin head an' I’ll make ya wish ya'd never have been born,
understood?! I thought I made ya wish that alread' but seems ya forgot!”
He clenched the drenched in sweat locks and uplifted the boy’s red face. The
youht only nodded, begging with his melted eyes. Falcone let his head fall and
continued his heavy blows, thrilled by the boy’s yells and the spasmodic moves
with which the suffering body tried in vain to escape. The beautiful head
jolted with every blow, the eyes maddened by the flaying of his tender flesh
and his throat’s veins outstretched to screams that couldn’t ease the pain.
Falcone’s aroused body desired to fuck him this very moment, but he was
unwilling to spare the boy from the torture.
His possession was trying to catch his breath between the whips, but Falcone
didn’t want to indulge him. He began to strike the crop without intervals,
strengthened by the desperation the punished body showed. The short exhales
became faster and faster, as the crop was maiming, and the Grey Wolf licked his
lips imagining that the spectacle was an orgasm which he never had seen from
his slave.
The boy knew that his master enjoyed his desperate screams and really tried to
force his sore throat to keep energizing his voice, but as the little pieces of
his flesh and drops of blood were blown to the air, nausea was filling his
throat with bile and exhaustion won his willingness to pleasure.
After a stampede of grazing strikes, only sobs were heaving the defeated body.
He felt his rear as if hot melted iron was spread upon it. His master stopped
and he begged his burning lungs take some air in.
Falcone looked satisfied what he did. The perfect ass was now a wide, angrily
blackened wound with intersected deep gashes crossing it, leaking hot blood to
his inner and outer thighs.
The richest man in Gotham covered with lazy strides the distance to the vanity,
let his painted with blood and molten flesh crop reverently and turned to his
trustee and his servant.
“Leave!”
Chill smirking, gazed once more the stretched body , which was shaking by waves
of hot pain and quite moans, and grabbed Alfred’s upper arm to oust him and
himself out of the room.
“Stand up!” the big boss ordered quietly, when they were alone and, although
the battered boy wanted to oblige, he only managed to crush on the floor.
Horrified by his weakness to obey his master’s order, he hastily willed his
body to stand on his knees, his bound wrists hanging powerless between his
naked legs, which were covered only by the hem of his now ruined white shirt.
He didn’t have the courage to look up where his master stood in front of him.
Gotham’s Emperor cupped the fine jaw in his palm and yanked the frightened face
so that the exhausted eyes looked at his calculating gaze. He clutched his tied
wrists and raised his slave, dragging him violently towards the vast bed. He
shoved him upon the feathery mattress and the boy knew what was next.
Falcone opened the drawer in the nightstand and seized his favourite knife. The
young man’s eyes went wide but he didn’t dare move from where his master threw
him, his body was completely powerless from the merciless beating and his hands
fell limp upon his shirt - covered stomach. He watched the older man taking
hold of his wrists and raising them above his head, stretching them to the
point of tearing his armpits to tie them with a rope to the bedpost. He pressed
his eyes to stay closed, however the meaty hands that ripped opened his shirt
and the rush of air hitting his sweaty chest forced him to open them.
The Gray Wolf panting from arousal left for a moment the bed and his slave's
delicious body. With fast, clumsy, almost angry movements the older man removed
the clothes from his horny body, till he was completely naked. He rushed back
to the mattress, pinning without further ado the boy’s hips between his fat
legs and dived all his weight on the squirming body underneath him, rubbing
painfully his half erect member on the tight belly.
His sausage fingers delved into the messy wet silk of the boy’s locks, ruffling
them savagely, rocking with his strokes the pliant head on the pillow. Flabby
lukewarm lips were covering with saliva his high cheekbones following the curve
of his fevered face to the big deep purple stain his blow had left to the lower
cheek – he sucked the velvety lips, leaving them wet with hot saliva, before
invading the already abused mouth with his cow – like tongue.
The young man knew better than try to resist his master’s barbaric
ministration, besides his hold in his hair didn’t leave him any chance of
movement. So, he was forced to swallow the excess of saliva his master’s greedy
mouth were flooding his mouth with and tried to breath as best as he could with
the huge tongue invading his throat. Disgust, however, was filling his organism
more than the bitter saliva, as the plump, heavy body above him continued his
slow, torturing friction. He was ready to shut his eyes in an effort to stop
the sick feelings waving his flesh, when Gotham’s Emperor yanked his head up in
a sudden, retching movement to get better access for his bruising lips to his
slave soft neck .
The only view the youth could have was the grand black and white painting
Falcone had over his bed. It was depicting him completely naked lying on his
stomach with his legs barely bent to highlight his protruding buttocks that
stood half opened in a clearly suggestive manner. The black silk sheet’s waves
in contrast with his porcelain body, his face resting peacefully on his
sculpted arm with his lids half covering the alluring, aroused eyes. His master
had hired a famous painter, but the artist soon became nervous because his
‘’masterpiece’’ couldn’t be finished since the model – which made him thrilled
at the beginning – had the wrong expression and wouldn’t relax. So Chill
provided them with some ‘experimental’ and highly unauthorized drug and the
model became co-operative…
A whine left his throat, when sharp teeth sank into his neck and the weight
upon him began a crazy dance, crushing his own body and covering him with
stinking sweat and genetic fluids. He felt numb and tried to move a little his
muscles, making his master yanking stronger his head and bitting another spot
and then another, creating a trail of little wholes and blood at the side of
his neck.
He was panicking as his head was pushed more to the back, straining more his
breath and bringing his neck to the breaking point; when he was relished, a
sigh escaped his mouth. However, his momentary comfort was crushed by the mouth
that was devouring his breasts, causing his stomach to clench from the humid
heavy air his master was exhaling on his flesh.
He moaned when yellow teeth bit his erect from his arms stretching nipples
until they spilt blood that his master licked greedily. His savage hands roamed
possessively his toned torso, stabbing his long fingernails in the curves of
his muscles. The cavernous mouth was now gulping his flat stomach, and the boy
couldn’t help but shiver and writhe, his master’s huge, tense erection
horrifying him, as if this was his first time.
Falcone stopped the sucking wheezing, grabbed his knife from the nightstand and
cut the priceless white shirt that still covered the boy’s back. Delighted by
his unhindered contact with the tender, tight, young muscles, he kept rubbing
punishingly, spreading, at the same time, the long legs. The boy cried when his
master cast numerous bites inside his hips and his fingers clenched to fight
the pain and the shame he was feeling, because he was moaning and his master
was happy for it as his fully erection showed.
“Ya didn’t earn yar comfort today…” he said, eyes insanely happy, as he showed
him his knife. “I won’t hurt my dick, though, in yar tight hole…”
“Please…” he managed to whisper, through his frantic breaths.
“I’ll prepare ya for me.”
“Please… No”
He yelled when the flat, metal handle of the knife was shoved with a quick,
crude move in his body. His master sniggered and stroked the boy’s groin,
unfazed by the lack of any arousal; the despondent twitching that came from the
knife's hilt inside his slave's body was the show he had longed for. He
withdrew a little the hilt and then thrust it again deeper, relishing the weak
cry and the jerking of the tied body. He twisted the object, causing so much
friction that scratches were curved on the tender flesh and the boy’s body
writhed agonizingly, like a dying fish on the sand.
“When I get fed up by ya, I’ll send ya to one of my brothels an' I’ll set
cameras in yar room to watch scumbags fucking ya in every sick way they know…”
The wolfish man couldn’t resist the delicious sight of those sculpted,
glistening with hot sweat, muscles rippling, flexing helplessly against the
broad metal object stuck in his hopelessly narrow cavity. He abandoned the
knife deeply inside the stretched muscle and roamed with his brutal hands the
painfully stretched torso rubbing cruelly and then sucking his slave's
pectorals like lollypops.
“The demon was right” Falcone panted through his aroused heartbeat, looking his
possession in the eyes. “It doesn’t matter ya're not Bruce Wayne: everyone
envies me for having ya in my bed, under me…”
The boy’s fingernails had long ago broken, sinking desperately at the expensive
wood of the headboard to fight the pain in his body, when his master dragged
the knife's hilt out of his anus. However, he couldn’t persuade his heart or
his abused bottom to relax, because looking at his master and hearing his
shrieked exhales knew that he was ready.
He barely managed to clench his tied fists on the bedpost as Gotham’s Emperor
turned him on his stomach, spreading even more his legs with his meaty pliers
of hands, bruising his hips. A hand stroked his hair and with a sudden twitch
forced his head to the side, so that his face couldn’t be hidden in the fluffy
pillow. He felt with dread the edge of his master’s length filling his
stretched opening and gritted his teeth just as Falcone thrust his full length
in his narrow channel in one angry movement, grunting threateningly.
His exhales were ragged from the excruciating pain and he was hoping against
hope that, at least he would be cherished a moment to adjust. In vain. The Grey
Wolf immediately started pushing in and out, steadily increasing his speed and
force, never releasing the aching hips, stretching even more the tied body and
causing a little blood to leak from the boy’s flesh mixed with the heavy
bleeding of the deep gushes on his buttocks.
“Ya wanted Stark’s dick inside ya ass, eh?” he asked accusingly but with a hint
of mocking in his ear and then bit like a real wolf the earlobe. “Answer,
yacock – thirsty slut!”
He opened his eyes tiredly and with his tears escaping, pleaded with his ruler.
“No…” his voice was hoarse.
Falcone’s mouth sucked his tear - drenched soft cheek.
“Oh, yeah… Ya wanted Stark’s cock in ya an' when y' didn’t get it, ya settled
with the enormous reporter’s tool, ya insatiable bugger! But the only one
ya'll get is this!”
He thrust again even more aggressively, making him shut his eyes defeated,
wishing his master will soon finish before the scratches in his body tear him
apart.
“Ya belong to me!” he barked and yanked once again his head to the air, making
his body an arch so he could drill deeper, the friction burning the boy’s
flesh.
He could only sob silently, while the hammering of his body continued. Now, he
was sure that at any moment his muscle would be ripped open, but Falcone
wouldn’t release his protesting hair, his roaring breaths reminding a lion
feasting on a deer. He pulled his hair more and tauten his body arch, making
him believe that he would break his waist and with a savage cry of victory, he
unleashed his hot liquid, burning his irritated flesh.
He threw him on the mattress and settled his own sweaty, heavy weight upon the
body underneath, without extracting his cock. Instead, he continued rubbing
himself to the boy’s too smooth, immobile flesh, that started jerking as the
salt sweat and Falcone’s ministrations irritated the open gashes in his rear
end.
Falcone grinned satisfied by the friction and the blood wetness from the
scratches inside the boy’s ass, raised a bit and gave a powerful slap to the
abused buttock. His toy screamed and writhed, desperately trying to escape the
shooting pain, but his master, sniggering, felt aroused by the massage the
fleeting movement unwillingly gave to his penis, so he pinned the trembling ass
to his body and with new energy started slapping brutally the open wounds,
filling the vast room with splashing sounds.
The youth fisted hopelessly the bedpost in the hopes of enduring the pain; his
wrists already swollen from the tight bond. He sank his face in the pillow,
biting the fabric, as his master kept slapping his ass, using his tortured body
to harden his half erection.
Falcone grabbed his locks and forced him to release the fabric, positioning his
face to the side. His mouth swallowed his ear.
“Ya like to get laid, don’t ya? Ya make anything to have yar hole staffed, eh,
ya horny bitch!” exclaimed to the boy’s glistening, expressionless eyes,
feeling his length rock hard again.
 
***** Chapter 4 *****
 Superman was sweeping Gotham for hours, determined to find the elusive figure.
He tried hard to get some sleep in his hotel, after finishing his article with
Lois, but it was futile. The boy’s eyes were in his mind like burning sticks,
calling him with their distant melancholy.
He even flew to the Falcone Manor's grounds to make sure that Gotham’s ruler
wouldn't punish the boy for their short chat; he was ready to act if necessary.
What the meaning of being Superman, if you wouldn’t help a defenceless man,
after all? The Vulture seemed rather menacing to him, as was manhandling the
boy upstairs.
He saw and heard Falcone’s guards, he heard the butler pacing at his room, his
heart heavily beating and his cup of tea having gone cold hours ago. He sensed
another two presences in the Manor: Falcone and his boy. He eavesdropped. Not
exactly, since his super hearing can’t be controlled, can it? But the only
sounds that came from the master bedroom were of sex – Falcone was enjoying his
possession’s tempting body… And he was roaring, yelling dirty words to the body
under him and laughing in his orgasm… He could hear even the rubbing of his
cock inside the young body, the wet sounds of his mouth sucking the porcelain
flesh. He was hearing the boy’s moans and his desperate sobs… He resisted the
urge to use his extraordinary sight to peek.
And the Vulture’s brute words echoed in his ears:
“He doesn’t want your help. He is a whore.”
So he left, disappointed and aroused. He couldn’t interfere. He hadn’t any
proof that there was any violation of the law – the boy was definitely of age
and there was no abuse, just his own obsession. With a whore. The boy was doing
his job, giving pleasure to his billionaire owner and being rewarded with
money, expensive clothes and jewels. He was stupid to waste his time this way.
And he was still soaring, hours after, replaying the boy’s racing heartbeat
which as many times as he was replaying the sound, didn’t manage to persuade
himself that it was from arousal and not from panic. He saved ten people from
getting robbed or raped and mad with himself, decided that he ought to focus:
he was Superman, his duty was to protect people not to indulge his … He must
find Batman to make his stay at Gotham worthy.
He heard an explosion and the heavy smell of smoke attacked his nostrils. He
turned midair and flew rapidly to the Sheal docklands.
A tanker offshore was aflame, giant tongues of fire licking the metallic beast
that roared like a wounded dragon. He stormed into the inferno, desperately
searching for signs of life or at least human bodies, but there was none.
Bizarre…
Reaching the cargo hold, a strong odor engulfed him and he found himself in a
dense cloud of dust. Only it wasn’t dust… He coughed and opened his eyes that
he had shut to avoid the invading specks. He swallowed. In front of his eyes,
covering the entire burning surface were ripped sacks with thin white dust
loitering the space. He tasted a pint. Heroin.
The snake of fire was now rapidly embracing the edges of the cargo and the air
was poisoned.
Superman left the already sinking ship, his outfit smoked and tattered. His
face covered with ashes.
His eyes suddenly located a black figure, hunched above a huge horrible
gargoyle, ‘adorning’ an old derelict building. He was gazing at the lightened
by the burning ship horizon and his long black cape was dancing around him from
the breeze.
He approached from behind to stay unnoticed till he’d decide otherwise.
“What do you want?” the black figure said without facing him.
It was a grave voice, heavy with calm power and menacing authority. He felt as
if he was a witness to an underworld deity surfacing to their world to claim
those belonging to him. He even had horns in his head – no they were ears.
“To speak to you” he wasn’t a Gotham’s superstitious criminal to be petrified
by this presence.
Although the fact he wasn’t able to hear the man’s - if this was really a man -
 heartbeat was a bit disconcerting. A damn extraordinary costume, he thought
and walked towards the dark figure that still wasn’t gracing him with an
acknowledging glare.
The silence was annoying.
“It was you that set the tanker on fire”.
“That’s a super realization” a hue of irony in his growl.
“I didn’t find anyone inside.”
“Because all of them are bound on the dock, watching the view”.
“You destroyed evidence. You could have called the police.”
“There is not any police in Gotham.”
“You don’t know that!” he said fuming.
He was taken aback by the Batman’s swift and gracious movement that brought him
in front of Superman. The cowl was covering most of his face and he had lenses
as eyes, but Clark understood that he was irritated.
“Gotham is not YOUR city. Everything you know is useless here.” He was a little
shorter and leaner than him, but that didn’t make him any less commanding.
His outfit was breathtaking, underlining every muscle in his toned body.
Dressed to resemble a bat, but he felt no urge to laugh at him, because the man
was sending an aura of a bat-like God, not at all human. This was an impression
that was reinforced by the fact that as his cowl, his suit was impenetrable by
his acute sight, not leaving even to Superman any hint that he was a human.
Lead. The man knew his job and had loads of money at his disposal.
“Two days ago”, continued the Dark creature, confident in his impenetrable
castle, “Gotham Police searched the tanker and didn’t find anything blameable:
last night, the Commissioner Loeb was drunk, laughing cordially with Falcone at
his Manor and tomorrow one tone of heroin would have been flooding the streets
of Gotham, Metropolis and the rest US.”
“The tanker was Falcone’s?”
“It belonged to Wayne’s fleet.”
“I can assist you.”
“Your powers are of no use here.”
Superman swallowed his pride, reminding himself that Gotham was no ordinary
city – was the capital of corruption, the heaven of criminals and the paradise
of bribe and ‘dirty’ high ranking civil servants. Really, this was hardly a job
for Superman…
“I understand, but I want you to count on me for whatever you need.”
The expressionless face just nodded and turned to leave, but Superman had a
request that couldn’t resist making.
“There’s something…”
Batman stopped and stared at him with his white eyes.
“What do you want?” he snapped.
“Falcone has a boy…”
“And?”
“Can you help him?”
“Falcone’s whore?”
“I… think that he is not a… whore” he felt his face turning an embarrassing
shade of red, under the other’s scrutiny and for the first time he wished for a
cowl.
“And what is he?”
Now, he was unable to find the word to match his thoughts.
“You heard the rumours.”
“About Bruce Wayne?” he was stern as ever but Superman could sense his scorn.
“The boy has the Wayne characteristics and the age fits…”
Batman cut it with a non nonsense gesture.
“He is not”.
“How can you be sure?”
“I am.”
“We must investigate it.”
The artificial eyes of the cowl seemed in some weird way angry. However, he
wouldn’t lower his glare nor would rest his case.
“We are not. He is not Bruce Wayne.”
Now, it was his turn to be furious with the stubbornness of the dark figure.
“You can’t know for sure, maybe he is still alive and we can help him! Damn
it!”
The creature before him studied him for a moment.
“I’ve already investigated. Bruce Wayne died eighteen years ago. The killers
shot first the boy, but his mother trying to protect him, covered him with her
body and was hit instead. Thomas Wayne tried to catch his wife but the killers
executed him. The boy panicked and ran, they shot him, wounded him, but he kept
running. Confused by his horror, the boy headed for the sewers, instead of the
street. Weakened, his pursuers caught him. However, they didn’t finish him off:
they handcuffed him and threw him to the filthy waters. His cries for help
didn’t last more than few minutes and everything ended there.”
Superman’s heart was an aching fist in his strong chest – he had seen pictures
of the child, he couldn’t imagine anyone so cruel to let him die so
agonizingly.
“How do you know?” his voice was hoarse.
“Witnesses. A former member of the gang and homeless people.” His voice seemed
bored.
“It was Falcone, wasn’t it?”
He craned his head, like pitying Superman.
“Good luck, proving it. I don’t know anyone important enough who would care to
find and punish the Waynes’ murderer. They didn’t even try to find the boy’s
body… Not that they would find anything.”
“I can search for the remains of the body, even now…”
“Good luck, then. But I must warn you the sewers end to the ocean, so if you’re
not willing to look into fish’s stomachs, use your… peculiar set of skills to
something really important. I prefer to occupy myself with breathing people.”
“So you can help the boy…” he swallowed his disapproval for the man’s cynicism.
Batman’s lips became a hard line.
“I expected Ms. Lois to have taught you that melodrama and romanticism don’t
apply to the real world, Mr. Kent!”
Superman’s eyes were wide from shock. How could he have guessed? Was it so
obvious?
“How?” he rasped.
But he wasn’t granted with an answer, as if the dark figure was telling him not
to question his intelligence. Clark pressed his lips together fighting the urge
to punch him.
“I know you help the working girls of the Narrows, you can help him, too.”
“I help only those who can be helped.”
His tone was full of finality and his turn to leave set the signature. Superman
boiling inside crossed his arms at his chest and raised his head. His
frustration was urging him to mock the leaving man.
“Your suit is ridiculous, you know? Why bats?”
Batman’s back stayed stiff for a moment and then the man fell to the void;
Superman flew to the edge to catch him, but the man was already soaring to the
cloudy menacing Gotham sky with his cape spread like winds and the maneuvers of
a true bat. He might be enraged with the man’s belittling behaviour, but he
couldn’t stop himself from admiring the huge black bird that miraculously
vanished in an instant, as if he were truly a ghost…
“Why bats?” Superman’s mocking question echoed to Batman’s ears.
The 5 year old boy was sound asleep with his rosy lips half open, exhaling
softly. His almond shaped eyes were covered by eyelids with the long eyelashes
feathering the cheekbones that already gave signs of how high would be. Tony
was gazing at him with tenderness, obviously his friend needed the sleep:
otherwise, he wouldn’t have fallen asleep while they were playing at eleven
o’clock in the morning.
A sharp bird cry carried his attention to the Palisades’ clear sky. It was a
hawk and it was beautiful how it flew so gracefully. Weak sobs came to break
his peaceful gazing and he turned to Bruce who was writhing, scared. A
nightmare.
He carefully touched the boy’s shoulder and petted it softly.
“Bruce, wake up, is okay.”
The boy retched violently and the 11 year old Tony took him in his arms and
held him tight, rubbing his hand soothingly at his fragile back.
“Shhh… It’s Tony… I’m here… You’re safe…”
The little boy opened his confused eyes and seeing his friend, glued himself in
Tony’s chest. Tony ruffled the boy’s soft brown locks.
“What did you see?”
The boy’s liquid eyes filled with unshed tears focused on Tony’s sparkling
ones. Tony couldn’t fight a wave of warmth flooding his heart.
“Bats…” the boy murmured.
Tony smiled reassuringly.
“"You don't sleep well those days, huh?"
Bruce just moved his head in negation.
“Every night bats scratch my window and glower at me…”
Tony would have laughed wasn’t for his friend’s distraught.
“Now” he tried to soothe his friend, “don’t bats have anything better to do
than watch you sleeping?”
“They attack people; they tear their necks and drink their blood.” He answered
matter of factly.
Tony made the connection.
“Where did you hear all these, Brucie?” Tony’s carbon eyes glittered with too
much cleverness and some amusement.
“In a movie…” the little one answered, embarrassed.
Tony nodded.
“I don’t think that it was one of the movies Alfred allows you to watch, huh?”
The boy averted his eyes and looked the grass.
“He was sleeping. Mom and dad were at a fundraiser and I went to the study and
watched the movie.”
“While Alfred forbade it…” his voice was berating and the little boy lowered
his head. “You are a sneaky, wicked, little brat” he said forcing his voice to
be stern and not amused.
Bruce raised his head and met his eyes with his jaw set, in a totally Bruce
expression.
“I. Am. Not. A. Brat.”
“Bats seem to have different opinion!” he failed to swallow the chuckle, as
Bruce’s eyes bulged. “Come on, Bruce, you are way too old to believe to these
crap movies” he couldn’t continue teasing his friend, when the younger boy was
so upset.
“I am 5, Tony!”
Tony scratched his head, yes, he was only five. He always forgot that.
“Okay, scratch that. Too intelligent to believe these bullshits. Did you read
the encyclopaedia on bats? Such movies are full of lies and exaggerations to
cause terror.”
The boy nodded, but kept his brown head lowered. Tony understood that reading
the article on bats didn’t help him. He sighed.
“Okay, little guy, wait here…”
Bruce’s hand wrapped his own, stopping him. His eyes scared.
“Bats are nocturnal, Bruce!” Tony sounded more impatient, than he wanted but
Bruce released him, putting on his brave face.
Ten minutes later, he found Bruce on the same spot, his tiny legs crossed,
gazing the sun approaching the centre of the clear blue sky. He ran to him and
slumped beside him. Bruce immediately noticed his palms that enfolded
something.
“What's there?”
Tony opened his hands cautiously and Bruce jerked back.
“A bat!”
“Yeah, a bat! A harmless, sleeping little bat… Look at her. Come closer!”
Bruce’s curiosity or scientist interest won his hesitance and he leaned towards
Tony’s hands gazing at the sleeping creature ardently. Certainly, not afraid.
“Open your palm!”
The boy eyed him questioning, but obliged. Tony let slowly the bat on the tiny
hand that twitched a little but it was stabilized in an instant. His rosy mouth
was agape.
“Come on, touch it!”
Bruce gestured ‘no’ with his head, but Tony wouldn’t let the opportunity go
waste. He took Bruce’s tiny hand to his own and brought it above the creature’s
back, looked in the eyes of his young friend and laid the small fingers on the
frail black back. Soon, Bruce was petting the little animal without Tony's hand
leading.
“She is like velvet” he exclaimed mesmerized. “she is beautiful!”
“Your taste on beauty is rather strange, dude, I hope it changes when you grow
up!”
But Bruce was smiling at his friend’s teasing comment.
“They’re like rodents and their wings remind of a pterodactyl.”
Tony laid his back on the thick grass and made his arms a pillow for his neck.
“Maybe a pterodactyl and a rat slept together and gave birth to these charming
little fellows” sighed.
Bruce gave him a light punch in the belly and Tony exclaimed in fake agony.
“Tony, stop teasing me! I know about Darwin’s theory of Evolution!” he yelled
with mocked insult.
“Of course, you would know… Do you know that bat’s bone brings good luck?” he
stretched to get the bat, but Bruce moved his hand.
“No! Who would believe such nonsense, Tony? It’s childish!”
“Okay, Mr. wise guy… Now, give her to me to take her back. We must get back,
before Alfred comes to get us.”
“I’m not giving her to you, you’ll kill her…”
“But you’re afraid of bats!’” obstinate little brat.
“The fact that I’m scared of them doesn’t mean that she has to die…”
Tony sighed.
“Come with me then…”
Bruce had followed him hesitantly, holding the frail creature in his trembling
little hands. They entered the little cavity Tony had found the bat in and the
boy gasped: the ceiling was black and was rippling, divulging winds and little
rodent heads. Bats.
“They are thousands!” he whispered and got even closer to Tony’s safe chest.
“I guess… They look like giant butterflies, huh?”
Bruce nodded, staring awed at them.
“Yeah. Black butterflies…”
***** Chapter 5 *****
Detective Jim Gordon was driving silently his civilian car, through the wet
streets of Narrows; the car wasn’t his, it belonged to a friend of his who died
years ago, so he used that car when he didn’t want to be identified.
Some minutes ago a downpour had tried to clean the filthy, soaked with urine,
rotten trash and blood area . In vain. As the waterfalls from the sky stopped,
the stench became more acid, more skin saturating.
He drove sternly with his eyes focused on the glass in front of him, as the
windshields wipers were dancing monotonously, shoving the last drops of water
from his range of vision.
He didn’t want to cast even a fleeting glance to his surroundings, because
nothing ever changed, because every night he patrolled those streets, almost
three decades now: from his first night as a rookie police officer, the view
and the people were inexplicably the same.
The derelict multi-storey buildings where so many desperate, unfortunate souls
were crammed stayed stubbornly erect. They encased souls which happened to find
themselves in Gotham and even worse without the means to scrape out a dignified
life. Never painted, never cleaned, never without spread junk everywhere.
Shaky, dull lights barely illuminating the unhinged windows and loud, enraged
voices from people arguing, blended with idiotic sounds from an open TV set,
the only entertainment those people could afford.
The pavements an assortment of all kinds of nationalities selling and buying
each other’s merchandise: drugs, guns, whatever could be sold and bought. Women
with heavily make up on their too young or too old faces and lightly dressed,
despite the wild Gotham winter, or men, - because Gotham accepted everyone’s
peculiarity, as long as he/she had the right amount of money to offer. And cars
were stopping for a few seconds, someone from the pavement’s occupants
approached and then was swallowed by the metallic animal and the pavement
calmed, until the next buyer stopped by.
Homeless people and beggars thrown between rotten vegetables and valuable
merchandise, fought to withhold the cruel winds and snow of this city,
tightening desperately their hold on the rags they called clothes and their
‘blankets’, some stale newspapers or thick paper from boxes. Some ‘lucky ones’
afforded one or two bottles of alcohol from the dealers, choosing the warmth
from the full stomach, eventually found dead the next morning and piled into a
whole with Gotham’s non-existent souls.
However, there was a time when the Narrows seemed to breathe a little oxygen
with hope being transfused to the empty veins of this doomed area. It was
eighteen years ago, when Thomas and Martha Wayne’s efforts to revitalize the
area and the people peaked. The free clinic was full working, equipped with
modern and opulent material and highly skilled people – its financier and his
little son two of them. His wife had established many beautiful shelters giving
accommodation, meals and protection to those in danger.
Wayne had persuaded the Mayor – offering the operating expenses and donations
for the Mayor’s campaign, of course – to clean the streets, renovate the street
lighting, give public transportation to and from the central city and bring
police departments in crucial spots of the area. The multi-millionaire offered
hundreds of jobs to unemployed in their area and parks started to grow.
But all these abruptly stopped, when the Wayne family was murdered. The
financing was cut and the Mayor took everything that could be taken from the
area to sell it or put it somewhere else, public transportation ceased and
police left the area to its ‘indigenous’. The premises were looted and used by
those left behind: crooks, addicts, whores, homeless people who found
themselves once again unemployed. The only thing that remained as a depressing
reminder of those years was a huge rusty signboard announcing the project and
the founder; riddled now by the elements’ marks and bullet holes, only a few
letters still distinguished...
The criminal organism of Narrows breathed again and started moving and
ensnaring everything. A beast that its organs were controlled by many small
wanna-be villains, nothing more than small ranking ‘civil servants’ to Carmine
Falkone’s ‘public sector’, attributing to Gotham’s Emperor millions from the
pennies that the Narrows' pour souls bled to gain, or sold everything they had,
including themselves, to satisfy their ruler, because nobody was fool enough to
displease him. Those who did became a horrific example exhibited to instil
discipline to those who might have thought to escape.
Himself would have been one of this macabre ‘examples’, three years ago; due to
his fault to attempt stopping a thug that proved to be one of Falcone’s
‘sergeants’ from raping a little girl; because Jim had worked hard to be a
policeman to do that exactly and sometimes it was difficult to forget it,
although deep in Gotham’s shithole. The young girl was saved, probably to be
raped or bought another time, but he had targeted himself.
The next night he was again assigned to the ‘shit shift’, as the few, very few
decent policemen still called it, because the others, the vast, too vast
majority, were happy to patrol the Narrows for the goodies: bribes, free
merchandise and treats, like quick, free sex with a girl of their liking. It
was awkward, even for Gotham’s Police, an officer to be assigned the same
patrol area two days in a raw. He had understood that he had displeased some
important person in the office and when he saw Lieutenant Flass taking his
partner’s place for the night, his stomach became a knot.
When, after stepping down from the car to check the suspicious movements in an
alley, found himself surrounded by at least ten giants and Flass ‘mysteriously’
don’t answering his calls, he knew he was the next to be displayed to the
Falcone ‘modern art’ exhibition. And when the guy from last night sniggered to
his face, shaking mockingly to him a can with gasoline, Jim knew that the
thing was personal and he was to die a gruesome death.
But he was going to give a hard time to his killers. He grabbed the guy’s hand
holding the gasoline and twisted it with all his dexterity until the can was
crushed down. The ‘sergeant’ yelled infuriated and Jim angry himself sank his
fist to his stomach, yielding him in two. The others shocked by the unexpected
resistance stayed viewers for a couple of seconds but then they were all at
him. He tried with all his might and skill – he wasn’t Superman after all -,
kicking, punching, butting, even biting, but they were too many and enormous.
He was immobilized by two iron hands, stretching his arms backwards, and
another one started to pound him with his fists. He knew that he was going to
be smashed, but their leader stopped them.
“I want him to feel everything…” he slurred with delicacy and opened the can’s
seal.
Jim had squirmed in the hands of his captor, but a blow to his jaw stopped him.
He saw, his eyes widened, his personal vendetta raising the can with the
gasoline, ready to drench him.
And then, like an invisible hand had intervened, the ‘sergeant’ was drenched
with his own gasoline that had fallen all over him, as his hand lost its hold,
because a flat blade pierced his wrist, angry cries living his mouth, as blood
and gasoline ran his sleeve.
Everyone, including Jim, turned to stare to the alley’s opening, but only the
Gotham’s thick fog was twirling, as if a ghost was slowly taking its solid
form. Jim knew they were thinking the same thing, because the arms that held
him started to shake. A loud explosion behind them, made all of them to jump,
the ‘sergeant’ clenching his hand to stop the bleeding and the others bringing
out their guns, only to be met with smoke. Gordon would have laughed with their
bewildered expressions, if he hadn’t the same expression in his face: ghosts in
Gotham? This was all that they needed in this city… Wait, he didn’t believe in
ghosts!
A bodiless head appeared with a thunder sound amongst the smoke waves, a
hellish head with horns and two light schisms as eyes. Gordon knew better than
stay among the thugs, so taking advantage of their terror and amazement, he
slipped unnoticed and just watched.
Not that he could catch everything… All was happening rapidly, like when a bolt
tears the sky and vanishes in a second. A devilish head fell upon all of them
and silently as a fire cycles a line of trees, invisible fists and legs were
smashing them, causing their screams of agony and wonder. Some of them tried to
react, but the creature kept catching their attempts before they even started,
using every time the assailant as a catapult against his own partners. Flashes
of fists, elbows, knees and kicks crushing into human flesh and bend bones
exploded in front of Jim’s eyes and he just levelled his amazed glasses.
In two minutes, the alley was decorated with nine twitching but unconscious
bodies in strange ankles and in the centre of them a proud, imposing dark
creature stand. Jim, although the smoke had almost dispersed, could only see
parts of his black clad silhouette. He was like a statue of a powerful God,
dressed in his heavy black armour with his long black cape flowing behind him
as the cries of night. His head was an amalgam of human flesh and bat. His
abysmal eyes were cast for a second to Gordon, estimating, and he felt his
spine being run by frozen water.
But the dark creature turned his attention to Falcone’s ‘sergeant’ who had
collapsed to the cement, losing too much blood and being petrified by the way
 in an instant he was left all by himself against a menacing… presence. Seeing
the creature walk towards him with a stony expression to the only thing human
on him, his lips, he immediately felt for his gun with his trembling non
wounded hand. He clumsily fisted it and pointed it to the black statue towering
him, which with an almost bored slap threw it away. Then, with the confidence
of a God leaned above the panicking man, fisted him by the throat and hovered
him, shoving him to the stained with urine wall.
The man’s already ragged breath was caught to his constricted pipe and his
eyeballs widened, as if he was looking devil himself claiming him to the hell.
He opened his mouth to swallow some air, but it didn’t help. Jim stroked his
throat in empathy.
A lighter shone in the black creature’s free hand and he held it for the thug
to see. The thug, having just a few minutes before, the same intention,
squirmed desperately, trying to beg. His drenched with gasoline body, wet now
with his body fluids.
“A taste of your medicine...’’ the well formed but emotionless lips opened and
words came out cold, menacingly, sounding like the rattling of chains in Hell’s
dungeons.
And Falcone’s man started to twitch desperately to escape the iron clutch on
his throat and run, but he only managed to hurt more his throat and now he was
crying, like a frightened child, like the girl he yesterday attempted to rape.
The black armored demon leaned the lighter closer to the sobbing man’s head and
the man was now begging even though his throat was constricted, and Jim had to
avert his eyes, because as much as he was grateful for being rescued from a
painful death, he didn’t want the same death being inflicted to the very same
man who had meant to burn him alive. A shriek tore the heavy air of the alley
and Jim prepared himself for the hair rising cries and the vomiting smell of
burning flesh.
Nothing happened. Only silence painted with the man’s quiet sobs. Jim opened
his eyes.
The lighter had vanished and the dark statue was holding Falcone’s ‘sergeant’
by the lapels.
“Mention again this man’s name and I’ll haunt your every breath! Come ever near
him and I’ll make you feel Hell’s flames on Earth long before you meet your
master!’’
The rattling voice was angrier now and the white eyes piercing the man’s
panicked eyes, as if tearing his brains apart. And suddenly the man was freed,
collapsing to his knees, like showing his submission to this creature. He was
shivering, unable to make a move.
“Leave!’’
The man, unknown how, found the strength to stand in his jelly legs and run for
it, without looking back.
Jim followed the fleeting figure and when he turned, the creature was standing
in front of him, staring at him solemnly, despite his artificial eyes.
“Are you okay?’’ he was asked and Jim was startled by the concern in the hoarse
voice.
“Y...yes’’ he stuttered. ‘’Thank you..., but Falcone will kill me anyway...
Nobody escapes when Falcone wants him dead...’’
“Falcone doesn’t know anything about this: it was Julliano's personal revenge.
He won’t try anything ever again...’’
“Who are you?’’
But before his eyes with a whooshing sound the creature vanished.
The next day, Julliano, Falcone’s ‘sergeant’ fled Gotham. Perhaps, Falcone
discovered his hideout and executed him for his ‘betrayal’ – he never found
out. The next day, although Falcone’s frantic order was the incident to be
buried, Gotham was muttering about a night demon, haunting mean streets.
Everyone was slurring about a giant bat or a bat-like deity, the Batman.
Nobody remembered Jim’s presence in the alley and he was left unbothered,
although Flass sometimes tried to discover what had happened, that is, how he
was still among the living. But he didn’t bug him, neither the rest of
Falcone’s thugs of that night: they might be scared of Falcone but a ghost that
beats the shit out of giant thugs and makes Julliano flee wasn’t something to
not consider.
He had met the man (now he was sure he was a human being, or... almost sure)
several times after that night. The man would appear out of thin air – like he
was trying to kill him by heart attack, since he saved his life – and gave
instructions – orders – to help people which Falcone had targeted, to leave the
city. Always with a subtle way so that Jim’s interference won’t be detected and
his true colors – “you are a good cop’’ he had said to him once - remain
hidden, so that he and his family won’t be in danger.
“But I am a cop. I want to do things to stop them!’’
“And you’re doing... You won’t be of help, once dead. And your family doesn’t
deserve to suffer. Once the time comes, you’ll act...’’
That had happened a couple of times. Not too many times, because Batman’s
appearances were rare, but efficient, always at the right moment to cause the
gravest disaster to Falcone’s businesses. Like tonight when he sank one
of Falcone’s tankers loaded with heroin; he heard it to the Police’s frequency
– it was the same tanker the police investigation team “didn’t find anything
blameable’’ in, but everyone in GCPD knew otherwise.
He glanced sideways to his passenger, who was still pale but had regained his
composure, feeling somewhat safe, even though they were in the belly of
Falcone's kingdom. Batman asked him to help the man run away by the usual
pathway. Of course, his ghost ally chose the best moment to save the man: when
Falcone’s Empire would be jerking like a wounded snake and nobody would have
the interest to hear the beaten up henchmen who attempted to assassinate the
man – besides, the poor fellows will need some days before being conscious
again, moreover to speak.
But he had to question his ally in this. He knew the man; he was a low ranked
thug whom they used for many dirty works: beatings, drug dealing, trafficking.
Perhaps he was a bait so Falcone could catch those who were helping his enemies
evade him.
“He is a good man’’ the dark figure had answered with conviction, that even the
former thug himself didn’t share.
“I beg to differ! He works for decades for Falcone! He is in every shit
Falcone’s Empire trades! He could lead them to us! Do you understand? You
endanger us!’’
He instantly knew that if he could catch a glimpse of the man’s real eyes they
would be insulted.
“He intended to leave Falcone’s mob. He wanted to for decades’’ his voice was
lowered for a second and the former thug looked him curiously, ‘’he was
snitched and they ambushed him to kill him. If, however you don't believe me,
I’ll do it myself.’’
It was the longest phrase he had heard Batman say. Jim was afraid, but his
ally’s confidence made him somewhat calmer.
The man, as if sensing the cop’s in civilian thoughts, gazed at him hesitantly.
“I’m not a rat; they were going to kill me for trying to leave them. He saved
me – I, honestly, don’t know why – I know I don’t deserve it. And I don’t know
why he said I am a good man… I did things… But the worse thing is I watched
horrible things without doing or saying anything…’’
Jim looked him and the man’s face made him feel for him. He had something
innocent, decent, although Falcone’s dirt was still covering his hunched body.
“If he said you are a good man, then he knows something.’’
The man waved his tired face and looked at his knees. His wife had died from
cancer some years ago and his son, a graduate lawyer in Greece, had changed his
name, after learning the truth about his father; so now the thug could try to
leave the shithole of Falcone’s ‘jobs’ without putting anyone other in danger.
Gordon’s tiny ancient car turned into a small alley and parked in front of a
rusty door, barely fitting an average adult man. Garbage bins were littering
both sides of the door, the stench as unbearable as in every part of the
Narrows.
Jim gestured to the man to not move and stepped down from the car, scanning the
dark alley for anything threatening, but he found none, except than a skinny
black cat, seeking for some scraps in the bin. He knocked on the door in the
secret code and waited.
Two minutes and some footsteps approaching the door later, a wave of sounds
answered him. He gave the code’s continuation and he heard the lock opening and
the heavy latch being dragged upon the surface, before seeing the familiar
solemn face of Dr Thompkins welcome him.
Her aging, but pleasant face was beaming with determination, although Jim knew
that she was tense, full aware of how dangerous was what they were doing.
However, she never thought of stopping using her free clinic as a safe haven
for those threatened by Falcone’s viciousness and for working girls who wanted
to run away from Gotham and their pimps.
The free clinic that had been blossoming before the Waynes’ murders, thanks to
Thomas Wayne’s generous financing and work, survived through very harsh times,
when nobody was willing to pay for Gotham’s ‘lost souls’ and Falcone’s low
ranking scums chose to display their ‘bravery’ to the weak, smashing the
clinic’s obsolete and scant supplies. But Leslie never yielded, never deserted
her full of warm memories clinic and her beloved people, scattering her little
savings to keep Thomas’ effort alive.
Ten years ago Tony Stark started running Stark Industries, after his father’s
death, and continued his father’s co-operation with Falcone’s (now)
Enterprises. It was then that the eccentric billionaire decided to revitalize
the late Waynes’ dream. Despite his generous financing, only a minimal amount
of the money reached Leslie’s hands, so the little clinic remained in the same
insufficient condition. But both Leslie and Stark knew that if they protested,
the clinic would be permanently closed.
“Hi. Nice time you chose to stroll this charming part of the city.’’
“He has cargo for you’’ he answered cryptographically, because in this city
even black cats talked.
She craned her head to the car and nodded. Jim gestured to the man to come. The
former thug obliged hesitantly and greeted the good lady, who he already knew,
as a man of Falcone’s and a dweller of the area.
Leslie raised her brows to Jim, questioningly. She, also, had recognized the
man.
“He says that he was planning to leave Falcone and they tried to kill him. He
wants him to be out of the city the usual way.’’
“He is crazy, loading us with thugs, when there are innocent people in imminent
danger, who will be dead, if he is a snitch!’’ she was whispering but she was
furious as her inflamed eyes yelled. “Not to mention what will happen to us!’’
Jim shrugged. He understood her fears, since he had pointed the same things
only a couple of minutes ago.
“He guarantees that he is a good man, although even the guy himself doesn’t
agree…’’
“He can’t be a good man if he was a Falcone man!’’
The man had lowered his eyes.
“I’m not a snitch, Dr Thompkins. I swear it, though I understand that this has
no value…’’
Jim turned his eyes to Leslie frustrated.
“He guarantees for him. He wouldn’t put us in risk if he wasn’t sure…’’
Leslie nodded and opened more the door for the man to enter. She was not fully
persuaded, but acknowledged Jim’s reasoning and the fact that the more they
procrastinated, the more they endangered themselves.
“Goodnight! If we don’t see each other again, it was nice to meet you and an
honor working with you.’’ She shut the door without waiting his answer.
Jim hurried to his car and left as he had come, without lights, and checking
for watching eyes before igniting the engine. He would have liked to sigh with
relief, but in this city nothing was ever finished.
Leslie reluctantly led the way for the man. She stopped at the end of a
corridor, more dilapidated and shakier than the rest of the clinic and her hard
working hands sensed the dirty wall. The man jerked when after a while a sudden
noise revealed the lines of a small door.
She unlocked the door and lit her small flashlight.
“Be careful and step wherever I step.’’
Behind the door, a long flight of old steps was hovering. The man followed
Leslie’s steps and found himself in a narrow corridor, forged by mother -
nature centuries ago; he shivered not only from the piercing cold.
The floor was wet and slipping, so he was walking, holding his breath. Bats
were screeching and Leslie was silencing them.
They stopped in front of a wooden door and she unlocked, waving for him to step
in. He was reminded of a cell – he was arrested once, before the Waynes’
murders, when Falcone wasn’t running the city, but it was a minor accuse, so he
was bailed out. A small bed with a couple of folded blankets, an even smaller
table, a toilet and a sink.
“I know that our premises aren’t worthy of Falcone’s, but they’ll save your
life…’’ her voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Although, I can’t be sure for our
lives, too… You’ll stay here for a couple of days and then, after the proper
preparations are done, we’ll get you out of here.’’
“Thank you, Dr Thompkins’’ he said stuttering.
“Thank him…If you find him, of course… He considers you a good man…’’ she
shrugged. “I hope for your shake and ours you really are…’’
And she left, locking the door behind her. The man sank in the coat and hunched
his head. He was alive, away from Falcone’s clutches, safe in this cave – at
least, for the moment. He should have been relieved, even temporarily, but his
heart ached, the way it was aching all those years at Falcone’s pay roll, when
he didn’t leave, despite what his conscience was telling him.
His son’s yells sounded strangely similar to his conscience’s protests, when he
found out his father’s ‘occupation’ and how much stained the money paying his
studies was. He screamed to him that he’d rather being a beggar to the streets,
than being the son of a Falcone thug, that he’d rather have a starving family
than a family fed on blood. When he tried to apologize, to say that he didn’t
want the things he had done, his son had laughed cruelly at how ridiculous was
what he had said and calmly but freezing declared that from now on he wasn’t
his son…
He had never seen him again; however he was informed by a distant relative that
his son was living now in Greece, finishing his training as a lawyer.
And Batman considered him a… good man… His bitterness filled his laugh and he
shook his head.
The only decent thing he could recall of all his useless life was giving a
chocolate and some home - made pie to a little child.
 
***** Chapter 6 *****
His wrists were aching, kicking desperately the leather that kept them tightly
bound, and his arms were numb, leaden, stretched too much for too many hours.
He has awoken hours before, managing to sleep only for a few hours, but he
didn’t want to open his eyes, afraid of what he could trigger if his master
figured out that he wasn’t sleeping anymore.
His entire body stiff ached, making him feel like it was longer than the 6’ 1’’
it had. His back and waist were sore and covered with throbbing bruises and
bite marks, exactly like his neck that was protesting even at the feathery
touch of the silken pillow. But what were unbearable were the pangs on his rare
end. It felt twice its size and the gushes screamed in his ears; the
unstoppable stinging from everywhere  were torturing his mind like electric
currents. And as if the suffering from the wounds in his buttocks wasn’t
enough, his opening was crying too. He could feel every scratch inside and the
dried blood irritated his abused flesh, along with the dry semen that covered
his insides and inner thighs. He couldn’t close his thighs, but he was afraid
to attempt it too, because his inflamed, swollen flesh would be aggravated,
even by flesh’s touch.
The itching was a torture. His back was coated with a heavy dry substance, and
yelled to him to remove it. He remembered that his master had used his back to
rub himself and then ejaculated all over him.
He fought to coax his eyelids to continue covering his eyes, but the more he
was awake, the more the senses from his body flooded his brain. The bites in
the deep gushes became more vicious, the big swollen bruise covering his lower
half cheek was drumming insistently, and he couldn’t delay it more so he opened
his eyes whining.
He drowned the whines, when he heard the broad door opening. He was expecting
the berating voice of his master, but the footsteps were light and the
breathing soft and soon he could see the old butler, looking at him gently.
“Good morning, young master!’’ the butler said to him soothingly, as if he was
talking to an ill child. “Let’s see how these things are undone’’ he muttered
and started meddling with the boy’s bindings.
The young man twitched with the intention of resisting and groaned, as his
entire body roared in agonizing pain. The butler gazed at him concerned.
“My master… Maybe he doesn’t…’’ the panic in his voice couldn’t be concealed.
“Please, calm down, young master, master Falcone ordered me to assist you to
get ready.” He reassured him. “Ah! There it is!’’
He had found the way to untie him, but the youth wasn’t relieved. Get ready for
what? The butler released his wrists, however kept holding the young man’s
wrists to spare him the pain of having his arms fall abruptly and crush even in
the softness of the pillow; the butler knew that the young man would be unable
to support his arms numb as they were from the bad blood circulation. The old
man massaged them carefully.
“It pains, young master, but in a few minutes it’ll be better.’’
The boy’s warm eyes pierced the butler’s eyes filled with gratitude.
“Thank you, sir. But I’m not a master… anything but that…’’
“That is for me to decide, young master’’, he smiled, his gentle caring fingers
treating the abused skin like it was the most precious thing for him. “And it’s
‘Alfred’ not ‘sir’ ‘’.
The boy didn’t answer; only as soon as the butler touched carefully his hands
to the mattress, he rushed to cover his naked body with a silk sheet. However,
upon seeing the awful state of the bed and its coverings, stained with blood
and dry semen, he flushed.
“I’m sorry, sir…” he whispered and the butler who was opening the curtains
turned to him, his face pained.
“It’s nothing you did, young master, please, do not be sorry. But please, call
me Alfred; it will be a pleasure for me.”
He nodded, tightening the sheet on his suffering body.
“I‘ll prepare your bath, it won’t be long.”
After last night’s pain and humiliation, the good old man’s words and his
gentle presence was coaxing his raging heart to beat a little calmer,
cherishing some peaceful moments and some leniency towards him. He searched for
his clothes and found them scattered to the vast room. He attempted to raise
his body from the mattress, leaning on his still sensitive hands to make
himself more decent for the kind butler. He gritted his teeth to fight the pain
from everywhere his flesh contacted with material and forced his trembling legs
to touch the floor. Then, he put all his quivering strength to his palms and
inhaling deeply, forced his feet to support his weight.
A merciless wave of dizziness hit him along with the aggregated pain from every
tiny spot of his body. The room suddenly darkened and he fell.
His impact was rough and he groaned, but two caring hands hugged his torso and
cautiously uplift him.
“What have you done, sir? You should have waited for me. Now, you irritated
your wounds…”
“I’m sorry…” he mumbled and without being aware of doing it, sank his aching
face to the butler’s shoulder.
Alfred felt a warm wave flooding his heart, sensing the boy’s desperation and
embarrassment that forced him to dress himself. Even now, he could feel
the boy's trembling hands  flexing, trying to support his body so that he
wouldn’t burden him.
“Just lean on me, young master.”
“I’m too heavy.”
“I beg your pardon, sir, I’m far stronger than I look and you are lighter than
you appear.”
Alfred could feel the mute groans of the boy, as they crossed the bedroom to
the spacious bathroom and despite his reassurances the young man was pushing
his stiff from the suffering and the effort body, shuffling his feet, in order
to spare the old butler from his entire weight.
The bathtub was huge and the water was sending tempting steam to the room. The
boy was huffing from the effort and Alfred took the sheet from his clenched
fist, making the body underneath flinch.
“Now, we’ll get you to the bathtub… ”
The boy hugged Alfred’s neck with both his still rigid hands, trying to help
the butler to uplift him. But the old gentleman was indeed stronger than his
appearance told. However, as the hot steam made contact with his tortured
flesh, the boy twitched, wanting to avoid the hot water. Alfred stared at the
boy’s fret eyes.
“It’ll sting a lot, young master, but in the end it’ll relieve you.”
The boy, holding the butler’s gaze, nodded determined and Alfred lowered him
gently to the water. A sharp sob escaped the young man’s chest and the old
butler, stroked softly the dark locks.
“Would you like my assistance, sir?”
He moved his head in negation, still trying to control his rugged breaths.
“I’ll tidy up the room, prepare some breakfast and I’ll be back, so, please,
don’t try anything yourself, just sit and wait for me.”
“Thank you…”
The kind man smiled warmly and turned to leave, but the boy stopped him.
“A…”it was difficult to call the man only by his first name.
“It’s Alfred, sir…” he encouraged him.
“Alfred, for what my master wants me to be ready?” he asked, forgetting for a
second his angry pains.
“Mr. Chill will come to escort you.” The butler's kind eyes  flooded with
sympathy, seeing the boy’s terror upon hearing Chill’s name. “Would you like
anything else?”
He moved his head in negation and the butler left him.
Chill’s name made his wounds hurt more and his heart clench. He wanted so much
to be left alone for a couple of hours! He felt the tears gathered in his eyes
and he inhaled deeply to stop them – tears didn’t help, did they?
The hot water in the tub smelled so wonderfully and the rich foam was so smooth
on his stiff body. The butler, Alfred, must have put essences in the water,
because there were many different odours. Inhaled again and exhaled slowly.
Alfred was right: the pains were still there, showing their teeth, but a
magnificent relaxing feeling was washing his insides, leisurely and soothingly…
It was an excruciating pain that spiked him right through the skull and
reminded him of his body and what this body made him. He sighed. He knew that
people goggled at him, because they considered him beautiful. He even realized
that they were undressing him with their eyes and his master was delighted that
everyone adored his possession.
But he wanted to flee and hid in the darkest corner, so that nobody could see
him, nobody could touch him… No matter what the others thought, he found his
body ugly, disgusting and would have done anything to be something else,
something neutral, something that no one would notice… A speck of dust… Without
pain, or shame… A substance just floating in the air with nothing else around,
just silence and peace… In a perpetual non existence… Just floating in the air,
every sense leaving him, every molecule of his body absent…
“Young master?”
Two affectionate hands raised his head cautiously from the marble and the young
man opened his eyes confused. He had dozed off, lulled by the tender stroking
of the hot water. Who knows for how long … He didn’t scrub himself. His eyes
met regretfully the old man’s own.
“I’m sorry… I just… didn’t sleep well… and the water was so… I’m sorry I didn’t
scrub myself…”
“Don’t apologize, sir, I understand. Besides, you would have been dirtier, if
you had scrubbed yourself with this water…”
 Indeed, the water in the tub had taken a dark shade of red from his wounds and
the other dirt that had been removed from his filthy body.
Alfred emptied the tub, rolled his sleeves to the elbows and putting his hand
under the boy’s armpits, helped him stand. Then, opened the shower and
supported the shaking body, while clumsy hands scrubbed carefully every inch of
flesh under the hot waterfall. In the end, Alfred shampooed the boy’s hair,
massaging feathery, because he knew how abused the scalp was, even though the
boy didn’t let a single moan, only struggling to support his weight on the
wall.
Alfred turned off the shower and tightening again his hands' grip around the
boy’s torso, took him out and muffled him with a fluffy towel to dry him and
then helped him put on the warm, dark blue bathrobe.
“Thank you, Alfred…” was the only thing the boy muttered all this time and the
old butler support him to the bedroom.
The king size bed was tidied up as the entire room and on the square table
under the window with the sea view was laid a tray with breakfast. The
delicious smells from the plates should have made his mouth salivating, but,
instead, his stomach gave a torturous twirl.
“Maybe you’d rather something else, young master?” Alfred asked concerned,
having caught his painful grimace; he eased the boy to the seat where he had
put an extra pillow to spare him the pain from his angry gashes on his
buttocks.
The boy’s eyes were cast full of warmth to the lined face of the butler.
“No, Alfred, they seem delicious, but I feel… my stomach…”
“You should eat something, young master. You haven’t eaten since yesterday’s
lunch, and then you barely had some bites. You won’t last much with such an
attitude.”
He didn’t tell anything. He looked at the tempting pancakes and the bowl full
with honey and hesitantly started to eat drinking small sips of the fresh
orange juice.
“That’s more like it, sir. Eat and then I’ll tend to your wounds.”
“No! It…it isn’t necessary…”
Such agony and such fear in those gorgeous eyes made Alfred pity the boy.
“It’s alright, sir, you have nothing to be ashamed of. And master Falcone wants
some marks to be… concealed.”
The young man cringed at the name and continued eating silently his food. He
didn’t eat much but it was something.
Alfred with a neutral expression on his face treated the deep gashes in the
boy’s rear end, attaching stitches to the most savage ones and swallowing the
pain and the embarrassment that radiated from the flinching body under his
care. Some gashes had been almost closed, but some others still had liquid in
them. He then covered with make up the wide blue-purple bruise to the lower
cheek, muttering that some ice the right moment would have made miracles. Then,
he did the same with the most feral bite marks at the frail neck and lastly, he
covered the scratches the leather had left to the porcelain skin of the wrists.
He sighed, closing the case with the makeup set.
“Maybe a visit to the hospital would be more appropriate…”
But the frightened and resigned look in the sapphire – emerald eyes persuaded
him to drop the issue. Instead, he went to the bathroom to wash his hands and
came back, holding a couple of pills that he offered to the young man.
“Muscle relaxants and painkillers” said reassuringly to the boy’s hesitant
hand. “They’ll help you withstand the day.”
He crossed the room and brought a glass of water from the table by the window.
Then, while the boy swallowed the pills, he checked once again the clothes he
had prepared for his young master. A dark blue flannel suit with a light blue
shirt matched with a dark blue tie stripped with fine silver stripes and black
leather shoes. Also, he had readied a long black cashmere overcoat for the
young man, because the weather was extremely cold today.
When the boy finished with the pills, Alfred assisted him to get dressed. He
was more relaxed, a sign that the painkillers was doing their job, but the
flinching didn’t stop. He guided the young man in front of the body-length
mirror to admire his reflection however the boy averted his gaze as soon as it
met his icon.
“Alfred” hesitance was evident in his soft voice, “there will be people where
master wants me to be?”
“I think so, young master” he answered, sensing the boy’s discomfort of being
so soon displayed again to the greedy eyes of Gotham, and continued combing the
thick, brown hair that shone, as silk ripples were stirred by the ebony comb,
one of the few relics that survived after his mistress’ murder.
His young master was once again dozing off, relaxed from the tenderness of the
butler’s movements, when the doorbell made him jump. He looked at Alfred.
“That would be Mr. Chill.” He answered the questioning look placidly.
Chill was well dressed and obviously very satisfied with himself and when he
cast his hungry eyes on the boy’s cowering figure, his jaw dropped and he
whistled.
“Those who say that a good fuck makes you shine are right! Come on, sunshine,
you have to brighten someone’s life!”
His voice was heavy with irony and sarcasm and Alfred watched him, as he took
the boy by the upper arm and dragged him to the car, repulsion clear in his
otherwise impassive face.
 
Journalists were swarming the Falcone Enterprises' press room and the fuss was
unbearable, as people were chatting about the possible content of the big boss’
statements. Everyone has learnt about the sinking of his tanker at the Gotham
bay and by now the entire Gotham and Metropolis was raving.
Falcone was frantically talking with his associates, pretending to be collected
and uncaring whenever he realized that some journalist was watching. Gotham’s
Mayor Hady along with the Police Commissioner Loeb had attended, waiting
patiently for the Emperor to grace them with his acknowledging glimpse. While
Tony Stark, having briefly exchanged a handshake with Falcone when the later
had welcomed him, was fervently talking with his assistant, the striking in her
light brown suit Miss Potts.
Lois Lane and Clark Kent were talking with their Gotham colleagues about the
latest events and Stark’s presence in the Press Conference. They were ready to
leave the city, when they were informed about the tanker’s sinking and notified
that Falcone had arranged a Press Conference, concerning the latest
developments. Perry, of course, has been raving on the phone about an elaborate
article and some pictures – last night’s report was already a mass hit for the
Daily Planet.
“Thanks to the pictures of the boy Jimmy shot, the circulation has set a new
record.” Lois whispered to Clark’s ear. “Unfortunately, I don’t see him here
today: some pictures of him would be beneficial for the Daily Planet – not that
I like our newspaper being a gossip mag, but I won’t mind a salary raise…”
“Maybe now that he displayed his toy and everyone is envying him, the Grey
Wolf decided to keep him strictly for himself” Clark, having already sat in his
seat and playing with his note book, answered bad tempered, since last night’s
happenings were still twirling in his mind.
Falcone was moving and the press beast stirred with excitement. He, however,
ignored their calls and after exchanging some words with Hady and Loeb, took
his place behind the podium, a stern expression in his crying - mob face and a
menacing glare in his wolfish eyes that his calm phony smile couldn’t hide.
He raised his hand in a gesture of silence and everyone sat at their
prearranged seat. Carmine Falcone, despite his eighteen years of fraternization
with Gotham’s Elite, still preferred to do some things in his way, without
middlemen.
“Every one of ya already knows that the tanker F411 of the Falcone Enterprises
was sunk last night at Gotham Bay. Thank God, the tanker’s crew made it to
abandon the ship, literally at last moment, and saved their lives, swimmin' to
the decks.”
Clark bit his lip, because he knew that this was a blatant lie and continued
tapping the keys in his keyboard mechanically.
“After interviewing our crew and after the investigation conducted by Gotham’s
Police Department, to which I’d like to express my deepest gratitude for their
imminent reaction and assistance, myself and the Police Commissioner have come
to the conclusion that today’s disaster was the deed of no other than the
vigilante so called Batman.”
Lois giggled under her breath and only Clark was able to hear her.
“…have come to the conclusion…”
But the reactions of Gotham’s reporters were full of rage. The people of Gotham
who survived every day at the mean streets, under the oppression of Falcone and
his employees, respected and had their faith laid on this elusive figure, but
Gotham’s journalists were a caste pampered and richly paid by Gotham’s Emperor,
in order to stroke his ears and propagandize his good intentions and deeds. So
Batman was something of a red flag for them as much as for their boss, because
he was a threat to the existing way of things. And now they undoubtedly would
fill their rags with lectures about the menace this… being was for their,
otherwise, angelic city…
“This man’s latest stand has cost Falcone Enterprises forty three million
dollars in vessel’s worth, one hundred million dollars in cargo’’ Clark raised
for a second his gaze to Falcone and Lois nodded: she was so smart that
apprehended what the cargo was, “and a crucial delay on our duties – a delay
that will be a blow to our city’s struggling economy, as it defames the pride
of this city’s entrepreneurial field, my blossoming Enterprises. But I want the
good people of Gotham to not fret: I won’t make job cuts – I don’t want any
innocent soul in this city pay for this man’s lunacy. On the contrary, with the
full support of Gotham’s loyal Commissioner and the city’s honorable Mayor, I
declare that everyone who attributes with any useful information to  this
dangerous man's arrest  will be rewarded with 500,000 dollars. Also, the one
who captures Batman dead or alive will get 1,000,000 dollars.”
Now, the entire room was a roaring animal, with reporters taking pictures and
attempting to have their questions answered.
“Falcone has lost much more money than the bounty he put on Batman’s head. And
not from ‘entrepreneurial field’ loss. Oh! He is so pissed that I want to
laugh!” Lois exclaimed.
Clark on the other hand wasn’t so happy.
“Falcone plays the good guy and I’m afraid he’ll affect the desperate ones…”
“Oh, Clark, the desperate ones know Falcone far better than you and me to buy
his bullshits!”
“Yes, but the money is too much and Batman will be faced with many people just
trying to better their lives, offering his head to Falcone…”
Lois looked at him and Clark understood that she saw his point.
“Our esteemed psychiatrist and head of the Arkham Asylum, our finest mental
institution”, Falcone continued after the uproar ebbed, “Dr. Crane reckons that
our proud city is faced with an extremely dangerous terrorist, who suffers from
– what he calls, I hope I say it right – a schizoid personality disorder with
deliria of megalomania during which he believes that he is saving the world. By
destroying public and private property and killing innocent people, as he
proved last night. So, it’s everyone's duty, not only ours, the Gotham’s
elite’s, but also of every single good citizen of this city, to stop this man
and put him where he belongs: in Arkham Asylum under scientific care.”
It was the time when everyone in the room was applauding the beaming Falcone.
The Mayor and Police Commissioner were clapping more enthusiastically than
anyone and Tony Stark was just fuming, ignoring Miss Potts’s nudges.
“Thank you, my friends, but the applause goes to each of ya and to every good
citizen of this beautiful city, who struggles to survive…”
“And thanks to ya finds it very hard to…” Lois whispered.
“And to show to everyone how much I care for our city and its people and how
wrong is what people like this menace do, we’ll present to ya today our project
for the gentrification of our most suffering area, the Narrows!”
Gotham’s reporters gaped – nobody knew anything about this – and Lois and Clark
exchanged intriguing glances.
“For the proper announcement I call to the podium my good associate and above
all, friend, Mr. Tony Stark!” he smiled broadly and applauded, urging the other
Gothamites to do the same.
Stark stepped to the podium, taking the place of Falcone.
“A decade ago, when I took the leadership of my father’s industries, I started
financing a free clinic in the Narrows. It was the free clinic a friend of mine
introduced me to, presenting to me the ugly face of life that I didn’t even
imagine that existed. This friend died at a very young age and the dream, his
own and his parents', was to give to people less fortunate than us a
qualitative life; that dream died with him. Ten years ago I began to finance
this clinic, believing that I was doing my duty to honor my friend’s memory.
But I was wrong. Financing the free clinic was helping but it wasn’t enough.”
He inhaled deeply, exchanged a quick but determined glance with Miss Potts,
glared at the reporters who was fed by his every word and continued.
“After much consideration and having the infinite support of Mr. Mayor here and
Carmine, we decided to realize the project I entrusted to Gotham’s finest
people. The goal will be to establish an energetic system of structures and
services at Narrows’ heart where the inhabitants will be able to run to, in
order to not only find protection and the necessary for their survival, but
also to educate themselves and then be employed so that they won’t ever again
be victims of mob’s recruitment.
“The structures will include a centre for abused women and children, shelters
for homeless, schools specialized in adults’ re-education and smooth
readjustment to society. Also, police departments will be positioned in the
area’s most highly rated in criminality points, ensuring the safety of the
people who want to escape.
“Miss Potts and Mr. Fox in due time will present you the pattern of the
project, as well as every relevant detail: where you’ll notice that special
care has been given to the renovation of the existed from Thomas Wayne’s work
parks, as well as to the creation of gyms, recreational centres and libraries.
Furthermore, with Dr Leslie Thompkins’ free clinic at the center we’ll extend
the health provision of the area, increasing the equipment, the supplies and
the personnel. Moreover, the structures will be staffed with expert
professionals such as medical doctors, social workers, psychologists, teachers,
librarians etc and the police officers who will serve at the area will pass
special training and get special benefits.”
The silence in the Press Room was deafening and the expressions on the faces of
Gotham’s Press shocked. Tony hadn’t expected anything less.
 “The initial cost will come up to one hundred million dollars and the budget
estimates that the yearly operational cost will be approximately twenty million
dollars.”
Hearing the numbers considering the project a murmur was spread across the
room. Some sarcastic laughs rose.
“Lost money!” some yelled.
Tony half smiled, he expected such reaction.
“This is an investment that I don’t expect to lead to material gain. However, I
was told some time ago that there’s nothing mediocre about saving a man’s life,
so now I believe that if some lives are saved thanks to my money, I’d be deeply
rewarded. And now, I want to express my gratitude especially to Carmine, who
kindly and generously agreed to grand me the existing premises and the plots
that belong to the Falcone Enterprises.” He shook Falcone’s hand with one of
the broad, shining smiles he used to his public appearances.
“I wonder what Falcone took as exchange for those derelict, useless buildings
he left to rot after the Waynes’ murders…” Lois said to Clark sceptical.
“On the other hand Stark puts firmly his foot in Gotham…” Clark pointed out.
“Where’s the real Tony Stark?!” a sneering reporter yelled.
“Mr. Stark!” a Gothamite reporter yelled. “You invest so much money in the
Narrows, in Gotham. I wonder why? You know that it could be disastrous. Why do
you care about Gotham?”
Tony looked at the reporter and then to the room’s entrance.
“Maybe a big part of my heart is deep inside Gotham…” his voice was heavy with
pathos. “The complex of structures and the project as a whole will be named
Bruce Wayne Haven”.
Clark followed Stark’s intense piercing gaze and he found it focused on
Falcone’s toy who was just entering the room accompanied by Joe Chill.
***** Chapter 7 *****
“I want the less fortunate of Gotham to know that even though they never met
him, Bruce Wayne had them in his golden heart and provided for them; despite
his untimely death, he nspired people otherwise cold and insensitive, like me,
to feel for those people.”
He averted his gaze from the dashing young man only when he noticed some people
starting to move their heads to that direction. Pepper sensing Tony’ s
discomfort and worry for the reporters’ indiscretion that would unsettle
Falcone's boy, started applauding and in an instant everyone did the same,
struggling to get a statement, instead of discover what Stark was looking at.
However, Lois caught Clark’s movement and whistled upon seeing the young man
ushered to where Falcone was standing.
“He is more gorgeous in the day light, eh, Clark?”
Clark doggedly gazed at Lois, leaving alone the boy.
“Obviously, Falcone plans to abuse the boy’s appeal for his prestige… And Jimmy
will have his chance to take some photos.”
Lois, who was still following the young man and his chaperon with her witty
eyes, exclaimed.
“Poor boy is limping! Falcone surely continued the party after hours…”
Clark turned surprised at the spot where Chill was leading the boy. Indeed, he
was limping. Clark scanned the boy’s legs and concluded that it was only a
strain, a natural consequence as the beautiful muscles were covered with
finger-like black bruises, revealing the greediness and brutality of the boy’s
proprietor.
Just as he was ready to stop his scanning before it became very inappropriate,
he caught an angry shadow at the lower end of the young man’s hips. Concerned,
he continued upwards to widen his eyes in shock. The entire area of the boy’s
statuesque buttocks were blackened, covered with lashes, some of them so deep
that they were stitched but the stitches were half tore, dripping blood, while
the shallower ones were half dried, half opened again. He was forced to correct
his glasses, gulping his aversion. The boy must be in agonizing pain. How he
didn’t find out last night? He must have come to the Manor grounds after the
brutal spanking…
Lois ignorant to all these leaned more to Clark’s ear.
“Oh, God! The Vulture fucked the boy…”
Clark was so surprised that jerked involuntarily, causing some curious glances.
“How can you…”
“Boy’s clothes are a little bit rumply, not too obviously but I doubt good,
meticulous, perfectionist Alfred would have let his young…” she searched the
right term, “master leave with an imperfectly pressed suit. And the boy’s hair
is a little ruffled, his tie askew and most important, his beautiful eyes are
haunted… As for Chill he radiates triumph and his eyes are gleaming like a
satiated hyena. Now, I feel disgusted!”
But Clark didn’t need all this elaboration. His acute smell detected Chill’s
scent on the boy’s velvet skin, marring his own intoxicating aroma. And he
could hear the young man’s heart beating too desperate, too resigned, as if his
heart wanted to escape from the fine sculpted chest that encased it.
Chill unnoticed under the applause for Stark’s announcement and the frantic
attempts of the reporters to get the attention of the important people in the
room, led the limping boy to his owner who was engaged in deep conversation
with the Mayor, the Police Commissioner and Tony Stark.
Falcone acknowledged them with a very annoyed grimace.
“Ya’re late!”
Chill fisted the boy’s upper arm and smirked sarcastically.
“The Prince her' is retarded in anythin' he does!” he sniggered.
“Come on, Carmine” Hady intervened with condescension, “if his delay is to
blame for this stunning result, I think you shouldn’t berate the poor thing! He
is absolutely fabulous! This blue suit makes his eyes shine like sapphires!”
Falcone glared at him, disgruntled about the Mayor’s unwanted mediation, but
the Mayor was still laughing and the grey wolf decided to go along.
“If I don’t berate him, he is going to ride on me…”
“Now, Carm”, Loeb decided to participate, “I think that you would beg for him
to ride on you!”
Falcone’s cycle erupted in giggles, except for Tony who scowled and fisted his
hands, seeing Falcone’s toy turning a shade of ash.
“I don’t have to beg him for anything!” Falcone exclaimed arrogantly and
grabbing one handed the boy’s waist, dragged him violently to crush upon him.
Without letting the astounded boy take a breath, groped the back of his head
and sinking his fingers in the silken sea of dark locks, brought his open mouth
on the boy’s and started sucking ruthlessly, like a greedy baby his mother’s
breast.
Pepper strengthened her hold on Tony’ s upper arm.
After two minutes of abuse, Falcone released his toy, only to tighten his hold
on his shoulder, keeping him glued upon his body.
“Lucky man!” the Mayor patted him on the shoulder.
Pepper sensing Tony’ s temper rising to unexplored heights decided to take
matters in her hands.
 “Mr. Stark, you have an appointment in half an hour…” she raised her voice so
to be heard by everyone.
“Gentlemen, work!” it was amazing how nonchalant and teasing his voice was,
concerning his inner turmoil. “I regret to leave your charming company, but
this lady is quite vicious, despite her cute appearance. Carmine, we’ll be in
touch…”
“Of course, Tony, I’m looking forward to our next meeting.”
Clark watched Tony Stark and his assistant leaving the Press Room followed by a
storm of questions and camera flashes.
“He doesn’t look very happy, does he?” Lois said slyly and dragged Clark to the
direction of Falcone’s giggling company.
“What are you doing?” he asked her exasperatingly.
“Taking what I want, of course” and waved to Jimmy to follow them.
Some bulky guys instantly blocked their path, when they approached too much,
but Lois unfazed gestured to the big boss.
“Mr. Falcone!” she yelled until she got his attention, “Lois Lane from the
Daily Planet!”
The big boss scattered the mountains blocking the reporter only with a stare
and Lois with her gang reached the inner cycle.
“Our esteemed guest reporter” Falcone recruited his clumsy civility, “I hope
you have a nice time in our Gotham.”
“Certainly and your last night reception was wonderful, but I’d like, if it is
possible, to have a little interview and some pictures for the Daily Planet.”
Falcone beamed satisfied for the attention.
“I’m afraid that I don’t have the time for an interview – ya have to settle
with the statements Mr. Stark and I made and wait for the detailed Press
Release and the thorough presentation of the project. As for pictures, to that
I don’t have any objection. I know that yar paper increased considerable its
circulation with my precious gem’s pictures!” he squeezed more the boy on him
and Clark was sure that he created new bruises on the boy’s pale skin.
“Pieces of art attract people, even if they are marred…” Clark scowled and
sapphire-emerald eyes stared at him widened with innocent inquiry.
Falcone, however, looked at him almost hostile, before wearing his civilized
mask.
“Oh! Mr. Kent is here too! How can ya speak about marred art referring to my
impeccable gem? Do ya see any… scratches?”
Clark was tempted to elaborate on the scratches he knew, but the boy’s pleading
stare and Lois’ warning glare, persuaded him to laugh.
“Indeed, Mr. Falcone… You got a flawless piece of art.”
Jimmy started shooting his camera and Falcone tightened his hold on the young
man.
“Aren’t you worried about Gotham’s conservative Elite’s reaction towards your…
relationship with a man, especially, when he is so much younger?” Clark asked
coldly.
Falcone’s company giggled and Falcone himself laughed arrogantly. Instead of
answering, he pawed the boy’s soft cheek with his entire stubby palm.
“I heard scholars sayi'g that angels don’t have a gender – I believe the same
for beauty. An' when I have the chance to snatch such beauty, I don’t let
anything to spoil it for me. After all, I think that nobody in Gotham thinks
ill about me having this boy – ya saw it last night -, on the contrary, I’m
sure that they’d kill to be in my shoes…”
Now, Gotham’s finest were chortling and Falcone kissed once again the rosy
lips, posing for Jimmy’s camera.
“What was all this about?” Lois asked after Falcone ordered the end of the
‘photo shoot’, leaving for his office, never letting his toy escape his
crushing embrace and with the Vulture following.
They were at the Falcone’s Enterpises’ vast foyer and Jimmy was perusing the
photos he had taken, while Lois was radiating curiosity.
“What?” Clark pretended the innocent.
“You acted like you’re jealous!”
“Nonsense!” he defended himself. “I acted as a journalist, exposing an abusing
bastard!”
Lois pressed her lips in a tight line.
“I know he is a bastard, but there’s no proof of abuse and you almost ruined
our preferential treatment.”
“I never had you for a hypocrite, Lois!”
“Oh, boy! You’re in love!”
Clark knew that arguing with Lois was a lost battle and just sighed and scanned
the flooded with coming and going employees and citizens. A figure caught his
eye and excused himself from his colleagues who left for their separate paths:
Jimmy to send the photos to the Daily Planet and Lois to Stark’s penthouse
hoping to get some statements without her Gothamites colleagues' annoying
presence.
Clark hurried his steps.
“Mr Fox! Mr Fox, please, wait!”
 
Falcone stepped out of the elevator as soon as the door opened to the 50th
floor, his cruel palm now fisting the boy’s hair and his other hand groping the
heavily abused ass under the layer of long coat and pants. The Vulture was
following on step, smirking.
“Leave!” he angrily ordered his young secretary and strode to his office door.
The young man’s leg bend, unable to tolerate more dragging, and Falcone
clenched more brutally his locks, forcing him to stand. His groping hand
brought in front of the boy’s face accusingly.
“Ya're bleeding, ya moron! This fool old man was supposed to tend to
yar wounds!”
“He did” he answered. “It is my fault they reopened…”
Falcone jerked the boy’s head and gritted his teeth.
“I know it’s yar fault, ya lousy bitch!”
But as Chill opened the door to the prodigious office, their eyes were
surprised by the presence behind the enormous oaken desk. It was a gorgeous
girl no more than 26 years old, but with a confidence in her stance that had
nothing to be jealous of a mature dame.
Falcone scrutinized her with his gray eyes, irritated by her presence in his
office that supposedly was the most heavily guarded place in this tower. He’ll
definitely fire those idiots or even better kill them. But for the moment she
wasn’t a threat, her relaxed attitude and her seductive red smile vow for that,
so he stopped Chill’s hand from grabbing his gun.
“So itchy, your employee, Mr. Falcone!” the girl purred her rich, perfectly
shaped lips pouting.
“How did ya pass the security?” the big boss asked sternly.
She grimaced, showing her disappointment and leaned her impressive, wine-red
tight velvet cleavage towards the grey wolf who appreciated the fact that the
fabric covered only the half of her round shaped breasts.
“There are more important and interesting things than this, Mr. Falcone. I
reckon that you’ll forget and…mmm… forgive my… intrusion, as soon as we discuss
the purpose of my visit…”
She pushed the revolving chair and with the grace of a cat she righted herself
and moved snaky and fearlessly to the spot where the three men stood.
Her lithe body waved leisurely with every step her long, sculpted legs made on
the five inches razor sharp stilettoes; her curves were highlighted , clearly
defined under the stretch of the red-wine velvety dress that covered barely her
thighs. Her porcelain rich breasts were pushing the confines of the fabric. Her
long straight ponytail was stroking carelessly the entire length of her back.
She halted right in front of Falcone, who was still holding his toy. Her
emerald green eyes were sober and shone with confidence.
“I have something you definitely want…”
Falcone smiled slyly scanning slowly her enticing body.
“Of that I’m certain, my dear!”
She laughed revealing her flawless teeth.
“You’re very greedy, handsome! And that’d have been more truthful, if your hand
wasn’t pawing his – admittedly – delicious buttocks!’’
The Vulture who was watching till now fuming silently burst forward, his glare
full of animosity.
“I say we throw her out of her', right in the bottom of Gotham’s river!”
However, the girl just chuckled, her long thin fingers touching in mock shock
her rosy cheek; her flawless red painted nails shone to the dim light of the
cloudy midday, that slithered in the room through the wall-length windows.
“Now, now, is this the way a fine strong gentleman, like you, treats an
innocent girl, like me?”
Falcone laughed, amused by the girl’s fearlessness and waved Chill to retreat.
“The fine lady is right, Mr. Chill.” He took her hand in a parody of gallantry
and lightly kissed it. “Where are yar manners? Take him an' wait for me in
Adagio.”
He shoved his toy towards Chill and the henchman grabbed his upper arm.
“The poor thing is limping” the girl commented “maybe he is ill?”
But Falcone was indifferent, closed the door behind the departing men and
gestured to the armchair in front of his desk for her to sit. She sat crossing
her long legs, revealing a wide area of her tempting thighs and Falcone sat in
his leather chair behind the desk.
“Who are ya?” he asked her without further ado.
She smiled broadly.
“Is that really necessary, handsome?”
“Ya know who I am. The fair thing is I know who ya' re, too.”
She leaned daringly towards him.
“I doubt that fairness is what matters to you…”
Falcone rose from his chair and he leaned across the desk towards her.
“Yar. Name. Dear.”
“Selina Kyle.” She purred, her heavy eyelashes playing seductively with the
sparkles of her emerald eyes. “Now, do you want to know what I brought to you,
or I should go to someone more practical and less curious?”
Her young almost child-like face turned into a determined stone, meaning every
word. The grey wolf sat again and knitted his fingers upon the shining oaken
surface.
“Speak.”
“You know the Black Butterfly?”
Falcone erupted to rough, sarcastic laughs, but Selina could see his eyes
flooded with a dark greediness.
“The legendary 150 carat Black Diamond that is exhibited in Smithsonian’s
National Museum of Natural History?” his loud laugh was limited to a nasty
smirk. “Who are ya taking me for, Missy? Firstly, I know that no robbery has
been attempted at the said Museum for ya to push me a cheap copy an', secondly,
I don’t trade with thieves an' especially with frauds! Ya can go now, before I
call security!”
But the young woman, instead of getting unsettled, changed her crossing leg and
stared Falcone in the eye with a confidence that made the big boss gape.
“Oh, indeed, I’m talking about the legendary 150 carat Black Diamond, but not
the one at the Smithsonian’s Museum…” she let the words come out of her mouth
slowly and easy.
Falcone frowned, his grey eyebrows knitted tightly together.
“It doesn’t exist!”
She once again stretched her perfectly painted red lips to a victory smile.
“I beg to differ, handsome, since I happen to own it…”
He slithered his meaty tongue on his lips and supported his back on the chair’s
leather.
“The other half of the legendary 300 carat Black Diamond…”
“Who had the shape of an open- winged butterfly and was dedicated to the
ancient Greek goddess Nemesis, the deity of night, ghosts and revenge; the one
that ancient writers claim that shines like a star in the darkness and once the
light falls upon it, the entire color spectrum appears. After a grave
earthquake that devastated the goddesses’ sanctum, the unique diamond was
vanished, only for the half to be discovered by archaeologists after many
centuries. The other half’s destiny remained a mystery and the legend has it
that the one who will unite the two parts will have the generous gifts of the
goddess and will be able to control the powers of the ghosts to exact revenge
on the evil…” she stopped her narration to scrutinize Falcone’s fervent eyes.
“An' ya have it… Oh! It’s too good to be true!” he waved his head in disbelief.
Selina brought her hand inside her V sized cleavage and from the spot where her
breasts united extracted an object, folded in a black velvet fabric. Falcone’s
breath was caught in his lungs not only from Selina’s tempting motion but also
from expectance.
Selina gestured to Falcone to cover the windows and when with two claps of his
hands the room was drenched in darkness, she positioned the object on the desk
and uncovered it.
Falcone’s eyes were two huge baloons, his mouth agape and his breaths ragged.
It was better than its twin at the Smithsonian’s. Its size was almost a human
fist’s and its edges were pointed like the wing of a butterfly. Black as night
but its shine at the dim light of the table lamp was dazzling unlike any modern
processed black diamond he’d ever seen. He flexed his hand to touch it, but the
young woman stopped him.
“You are used to grab whatever you want, but you’ll have to pay for this.”
He smiled benevolently.
“Ya don’t expect me to buy it without being sure about its authenticity.”
She pointed a tiny flashlight that Falcone didn’t see where she had it hidden
and the ray of light crushed on the gem. Falcone started to laugh delightedly,
when a wide range of colors from velvet to deep red danced upon the wall.
“Black absorbs every color…” Selina pointed and covered again the diamond in
its velvet blanket, before vanishing it to her bust.
Falcone clapped once again and the dirty cloudy light from Gotham’s midday
entered the room. He was sweaty and Selina almost could hear his elevated
heartbeat.
“How much do ya want?” he asked barely holding his saliva; his rough mob accent
coming out unhindered by effort to pretend the civilized.
Selina touched her cheek with a red nailed finger in a gesture of deep
thinking.
“Let’s see, we have a 150 carat perfect, authentic Black Diamond extremely
elusive and unequalled by anything known. Not to mention its archaeological
value, his rarity, the legend that follows it and all that jazz. Hmm… I say 5
millions are a reasonable price, if you are interested, of course…”
“My dear”, he started smugly, “ya know that black diamonds don’t worth so much
in the market…”
She smiled confidently.
“The black diamonds in the market, as we both know very well, are nothing like
this – not to mention that the majority of them are artificially black: perfect
clarity, perfect color, perfect glow that surpasses every other known diamond,
separating the light into the entire iris’ spectrum. Plus, his unique history…”
“Where did ya find it?” he diverted from the theme of the money.
Selina became grim in an instant.
“I think that it doesn’t have any importance to you. Are you interested or
not?” she rose from her seat.
Falcone hurried to rose too.
“Of course, I am. I’m certain ya already knew that I am an avid collector of
rare an' beautiful gems an' this gem is… This gem is every collector’s dream.
I’ll buy it, but first I want my gemologists to examine it.”
Selina gave a sly, coy smile.
“Notify your gemologists to stand by and I’ll let you know when and where.”
Falcone smiled too and extended his hand for a handshake. The young woman
looked contemptuously at the greasy, busty hand, considered it for a moment and
then with a shrug shook it, although her bright smile didn’t reach her too
solemn eyes.
 
***** Chapter 8 *****
Lucius Fox, a very likeable African-American in his mid fifties stopped and
looked the approaching clumsy figure intrigued but also with a hint of
displeasure. Probably, he had noticed the journalistic ID that was pinned on
his oversized jacket.
However, he smiled politely, when Clark reached him.
“Mr. Fox… thank you for waiting…” he exhaled tired. “Ah! Clark Kent for the
Daily Planet”.
“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Kent, but I’m afraid I don’t do interviews. Honestly, I
don’t think there’s anything interesting about my person to justify your time.”
The polite man hit the elevator button, calling it, clearly dismissing the
reporter.
“What about the ‘Bruce Wayne Haven’?”
Fox’s broad smile instantly faded from his wrinkled face at the mentioning of
the project, though Clark was in doubt if it was the project or purely the name
of Bruce Wayne that evoked that reaction. His sparkling eyes gained a solemn
expression, even though a smaller smile resurfaced.
“What about that?” his voice was playful but Clark could detect a flicker of
fatigue.
“Tony Stark just announced a colossal project concerning the redevelopment of
the Narrows and he referred us to you and Miss Potts for the elaborated
details.”
Mr. Fox was nodding thoughtfully, but he didn’t say anything, when Clark
finished, waiting the question.
“You are the Falcone Enterprises’ representative for the project.”
“Only because Mr. Stark was adamant about this.” The man stared at the
elevator’s indicator, but the shaft was in another level. “And you’ll be
informed about the presentation’s day and hour in due time.”
“Mr. Fox, off the record: Mr. Falcone didn’t want you involved in the project,
did he?”
Lucius removed his stare from the elevator’s indicator and pierced Clark with
his intelligent eyes.
“Off the record, Mr. Kent?” he smiled kindly but in a non – nonsense – to - me
way. “Oh! I wish I could believe you!”
Clark pressed his lips in a tight line and decided to show his true intentions.
“After the Waynes’ murder, you didn’t believe that Thomas Wayne sold everything
he had to Falcone and you ordered a thorough investigation, blocking the
acquisition of the Enterprises’ control by Falcone.”
Fox frowned, his thick gray-brown brows hiding the lightness of his lively
eyes.
“And then I stopped the investigation, giving my consent to the handoff of the
Enterprises’ control to Mr Falcone.”
“To confine yourself to the administration of the Research and Development
Department of Wa… FalconeTech, and to a minor part to the Enterprises’ board.”
Fox stretched his noticeable stature and put his hands in his pants’ pockets.
“Where do you want to end up, Mr. Kent?” his voice has lost every pinch of
humor.
“I believe that you were forced to accept Falcone’s rapid acquisition of Wayne
Enterprises. I believe that you never fall for the sale of Wayne fortune to a
mob boss…” Clark stopped abruptly, as Fox’s hand was raised.
“I’m still at Falcone Enterprises, am I not? And I’d suggest you don’t
insinuate things you can’t prove. Now, if you don’t have anything to ask…” he
looked pointedly to the elevator’s indicator that showed that the shaft was
approaching.
“Alfred Pennyworth is still at Falcone’s service, too…” Clark said sharply,
catching the fleeting something in Fox’s face.
At this instance, the elevator doors opened, revealing Chill and Falcone’s toy.
The Vulture had a strong hold on the boy’s upper arm and the youth was looking
resignedly to nowhere, his shining eyes heavy with unidentifiable emotion.
Chill cast a sneering look at Fox and Clark, clenched more his fingers on the
boy who huffed as the iron fingers dug his flesh. But the chaperon kept his
hold and dragged the boy away from the two men.
Clark noticed the disapproval flooding Fox’s face, opened his mouth to say
something, but the good man gestured to him to not bother and entered the
elevator shaft with a peaceful expression that Clark understood that covered a
storm. The doors closed and the elevator started its descending to the
basement, where the Research and Development Department resided – a perfect
place to exile someone unwanted who, however, had enough shares to make it
impossible to be eradicated from the board.
He waved his head and remembered Chill and the young man, barely catching their
hasty figures as they were heading for the foyer’s toilets. His curiosity –
occupational integrity – won and he followed.
Chill threw violently his ‘ward’ to the sink counter and while the young man
was struggling to regain his balance, he ripped the cashmere overcoat off of
him and cast it carelessly to the floor.
“Please” the boy breathed “someone might come in…”
But Chill unfazed locked rashly the bathroom’s door and returned to the place
where the boy had managed to stand, despite his panic, and was now looking
desperately at his warden.
The Vulture frantically breathing grabbed the boy’s upper arms and turned him
face first to the counter, his groin pressing strongly the young man’s
suffering ass. His hand grasped the boy’s jaw and forced his face upwards, so
that he could see in the sink’s mirror the reflection of the pale shaking from
fear and pain young face. His other hand was unbuckling speedily his ‘ward’s
belt and then with one swift, violent movement lowered his pants and underwear.
The boy flinched, his flinching instantly turning into desperate jerking as
Chill clawed the deepest of the gushes on his buttocks. His fists clutched the
porcelain counter; his body was trying to escape only to be crushed painfully
on the hard surface by his tormentor’s hips. Chill deepened his clawing, while
his other hand tightened around the boy’s jaw, forcing viciously the distorted
from the pain face to look at the mirror; Chill was devouring the trapped
youth's winces.
The handle’s opening movement, made Chill cover the boy’s mouth with his palm,
not from worry of him calling for help but to mute his pained moans. The handle
moved two-three more times and ceased: the one that wanted to use the toilet
obviously decided to use another of the building’s bathrooms.
Chill released the boy’s mouth and continued his brutal ministrations,
reopening the wounds and making Falcone’s toy writhe in agony, his eyes
watering and drops of sweat raining his forehead.
“Please, Mr. Chill, sir…” he whispered and Chill delighted swallowed his ear.
“Boss gave ya what ya deserve” he chuckled in his ear, “drooling over foreign
dicks in front of our eyes…’’
His fingers pushed crudely at the boy’s tortured flesh, making him whine.
Clark, who was walking towards the foyer after finding the bathroom's door
locked, heard the whine and halted. He turned on his heels and stopped right
before the locked door, listening, holding his breath. He didn’t want to use
his acute vision, unless it was necessary.
“Ya know what turns me on the most?” Chill whispered in the boy’s ear but Clark
could hear him more than clearly. “Yar screams of pain, yar gorgeous body being
tortured an' ya jerking desperately, trying to sooth yar suffering… Like ya do
now…”
The face in his hand jerked, as his finger stabbed deeply in the gush, and
Chill clenched more violently the youth's cheek to steady him, aroused by the
agony in his shining eyes.
“I had to use a whore last night, because of ya, but I wasn’t satisfied till I
fucked ya two times in a row at the forest… And then at the Press Conference
the way they all were gogglin' at ya…”
He started running with his drooling mouth the beautiful neck he was twisting
painfully, so that the entire length was exposed to him.
“Bruce Wayne Haven…” he sniggered, removing rashly the jacket from the boy’s
shoulders and throwing it to the floor. “Have ya heard a more stupid name?
Bruce Wayne…”
He sank his teeth to the delicious flesh demandingly and the younger man
nodded, trembling. Chill undid the tie from the boy’s collar and stretched his
both arms behind the back, brought the one wrist upon the other and pinioned
them with the silken tie. He turned the boy so they were facing each other, and
while pinning him to the porcelain counter, he unbuckled his belt and lowered
his trousers and underwear. He rubbed his hardening length on the boy’s groin,
groaning at the velvety sensation and yank the boy's head, fisting the soft
hairs, to taste hungrily his sweaty, scared vein up to the jaw.
The young man felt with the same, despite the years, feeling of dread, Chill’s
full erection on his groin and the bruising mouth massaging brutally and
urgently his face. Chill’s hands grabbed suddenly his waist and his heart
jumped desperately, as his body was uplifted to be crushed viciously on the
wall. As much as he tried to swallow it, he yelled from the abrupt pain on his
back and head.
The yell made Clark sweat more: he was already sweaty from the sounds of a
starting intercourse and ashamed, he was ready to depart, but this painful yell
made him really look through the door, determined that if Chill was torturing
the young man, he’d intervene, even if it was clumsily, as clumsily as
everything Clark Kent did.
The Vulture had stripped the younger man, leaving him only the light blue
shirt, and had pinned him to the wall, his own lower half completely naked. He
was spreading with his iron hands the boy’s hips groping them brutally and once
he settled himself inside the young body, moved his hands from the trembling
buttocks, forcing hastily, violently the young man’s legs to fold around his
thighs – Clark jolted in surprise seeing the void at the youth's left foot in
the place where the big toe should have been. When Chill got what he wanted –
the bare legs brushing his naked thighs, his crude hands crushed the boy’s
waist to the wall, as he pushed his dick with one swift movement deeper in the
body he had at his mercy.
The young man’s hushed whine and his shut, full of hopelessness eyes made
Clark’s heart cry in sympathy but he couldn’t interfere. He was able to see the
poor thing’s hands twisting in agony trapped in their silk restrains and for a
moment closed his eyes.
Chill’s thrusts were now pure punishing, causing the boy’s wounded buttocks to
scrape painfully to the rough wall, mute cries imprisoned by gritted teeth and
swallowed by Chill’s full with viciousness huffs and shouts; his savage hands
revelling the young flesh fondling his entire torso under the shirt.
“The way that stupid reporter, Kent, was staring at ya made me wanting to throw
ya to the floor and fuck ya till I tear ya apart only to watch his ridiculous
expression…”
Clark straightened his askew glasses, gulping the saliva that had aggregated to
his mouth. If only the Vulture knew…
The beautiful head was now hitting uncontrollably the wall in the crazy rhythm
of his guard’s ruthless thrusts; his heart a trembling, scared muscle and his
exhales filled with resigned moans.
“I know that ya enjoy it painful, ya greedy little slut… Ya like yar asshole
stretched and scratched, don’t ya?”
He clenched his hands around the fine waist and swatted the young shivering
body on the wall, continuing his hammering more frantically before loudly
ejaculating.
The giant thug, still huffing, letting his penis inside the young body, raised
slowly the hem of the shirt and savoured with his wet mouth the tight flesh of
the belly, not hesitating to sink his pointy teeth, causing the boy’s writhing.
“Yar belly is as tight as yar asshole…Yar a fine piece of whore, who each time
satisfies me so much, as if I am taking yar virginity. My cock drilling
yar body, making ya cry from pain…”
He brought his hands at the boy’s nipples and tortured them with his cruel
fingers and, after being satisfied by the lowered head of his boss’ toy,
extracted himself and let the boy crush to the floor on his knees, breathing
heavily, trying to hold back his groans.
Clark fought the urge to smash the door and take the young man in his arms, as
the stained by blood wall reminded him of the pain he was suffering.
But Chill was smirking at the being kneeled before him. The filthy whore was
gorgeous: his silken locks drenched with sweat, stuck at his forehead and
temples, his spectacular eyes watered by teardrops sparkling behind their long
eyelashes, his mouth half opened, struggling to gain enough air and his shaking
hands tied behind his back, toning up the artistically sculpted muscles of the
torso that squirmed seeking some salvation from their suffering.
“Clean me up!” he ordered and the boy’s down cast eyes met the giant’s
merciless ones.
Clark watched with horror the younger man drooping on his suffering legs and
starting without objection leaking the sniggering man’s member, cleaning it
meticulously.
It took only a couple of minutes for Falcone’s henchman to be once again
aroused, the boy’s slithering tongue with his soft and warm lips, causing
goosebumps all over his spine. He grasped the dark locks and pressed his
strengthening length to the boy’s mouth, quashing his instinctual attempt to
escape. Chill having immobilized the younger man’s head, started to thrust in
his throat that agonizingly was retching to remove the foreign object and draw
some air to his lungs. The panicked eyes were wide from lack of air, as Chill
pushed savagely to his throat one more time, leaving his fluids inside the boy,
holding him tightly till he downed all of it.
He shoved the abused head to the floor and laughing self approvingly at the
boy’s coughs, got dressed. Then, he clutched the young man’s upper arm and
heaved him, bending him on the counter, relishing the frightened shuddering at
the new touch.
Clark watched the cruel man violating the younger man’s body once again,
cleaning him with one of the bathroom’s towels and then dressing him with his
discarded at the floor underwear and pants.
“Yar hair is a mess…” he said sarcastically and opening the faucet, lowered the
boy’s head under the running water. “An' yar pretty face is like ya were just
fucked!” he laughed and washed his face with his palms. “We don’t want Falcone
suspect anything, do we?”
“No…” the young man whispered, as the giant dried his hair and face with
another towel and then groomed his hair with his fingers.
Only then, Chill untied his wrists and adjusted the tie to his collar. He
ordered him to put his socks and shoes and finally, he dressed him with the
jacket and the overcoat; upon finishing he stared at his doll.
“Oh! Ya are truly gorgeous, aren’t ya?” he sucked once more the rosy lips.
Clark left hastily, cursing himself for watching all these, like being
hypnotized, deeply ashamed that he belittled himself to a pervert and upset
that he couldn’t decide what to do. He inhaled deeply. Gotham was toxic to him
and he must leave as soon as possible.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Catwoman stood on a rooftop in the Narrows several feet above the filthy
streets. The freezing cold was covering the streets, twirling like mist,
moisturizing everything and especially the poor souls that were confined to
buildings’ corners, enfolded in rags, in the vain hope that they would warm
their bodies and cracked hearts.
She wore her costume, the leather embracing her lithe body, like a second skin,
keeping the cold outside. She had zipped the upper half of her costume up to
the neck for better protection, but her full lips, colored a brightly red were
moving subtly sending small clouds of white air to the night sky. Her sparkling
eyes from the mask’s wide openings stroked the ugly Narrows and their
insignificant people: her neighborhood, her people.
It was impossible to not stop and gaze at the boring happenings of these
streets. The homeless people were waiting passively for another frozen night to
pass, just looking at the littered pavement, resigned to their fate, either to
wake the next morning or be dead: no matter… Just to end their life of endless,
copied days full of famish, cold environment and cold stares, thugs’ abuse and
robbing of their pennies from beggary, despair…
She closed her eyes and waved slowly her head. She had vowed to be strong,
indifferent to all these, however every time she crossed that area to go to the
meeting point, she couldn’t help herself. She felt distressed, a painful hollow
desperate feeling deep in her gut, exactly as every Narrows’ inhabitant felt.
Because, although she had managed to afford a little apartment to a little
better site of this area, she was still one of these people; her childhood was
full of the filth and the cold this night emanated.
She sighed and determinedly averted her head to go where she was meant to.
Hopeless cries of protest and then of pain hit her ears, not the fake cat ears
of the mask but her human ones. Her 5 inches stiletto boots grazed the cement
of the old, weathered roof top and she looked at the street.
The usual thing. A pack of Falcone’s thugs was engaged in a tormenting game
with a beggar. The beggar was so much covered with rags to be protected from
the cruel cold, that Catwoman couldn’t detect the gender, but the voice seemed
female. She told herself that it was a lost battle: she may save him/her
tonight, but tomorrow night that she won’t be here, the thugs will be back and
take their anger out to the poor beggar.
The distant echo of a punch and the slumping of the beggar’s body at the
pavement, made her forget all her thoughts and jump from the rooftop, using the
windows sills and her agility to land graciously on the street, right behind
the laughing gang.
“Ya occupy Mr. Falcone’s pavement an' he lets ya mess his property with
yar filthy, unworthy presence, so ya owe him a rent. An' ya have the nerve to
say ya don’t have money?!”
The alcohol scenting man grabbed the beggar’s upper arm and shook violently the
poor being.
“Ya have the best spot for beggin' an' ya dare lie that ya don’t have money,
ya filthy worm?!”
The rag that covered the head and almost the entire face of the beggar fell
from the jolt and Catwoman saw a familiar, although wrinkled now, face. A
woman.
The thug raised his muscled hand and started downing it, aiming at the scared
woman’s face, when his hand was stopped by a sudden power. The only thing he
managed to do was groan, before his hand was turned to his back in a twist that
surely dislocated his shoulder.
“Pick someone to your size, handsome!” two velvety red lips purred in his ear
and then he heard nothing more, due to a smart blow to a spot that instantly
left him lying unconscious.
The thug’s partners, overcoming the initial surprise, stormed upon her, but
they were no match for her. It took her two minutes to incapacitate them with
smart kicks and blows that the thugs didn’t even manage to see, and now she was
looking down to them, smiling smugly.
“Falcone’s standards has reached bottom…”
The heavy breathing of the still scared woman made her approach her and kneel
beside her.
“Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to harm you… You are safe…”
The woman’s familiar eyes met her masked face: she wasn’t persuaded but the
dressed up woman had saved her.
“I…I…had…” she was so cold that her teeth were cluttering, instead of making
sounds, “I had… some pennies… from… from… some… bystanders… but… I… bought…
some…some… bread. I…was… so… hungry…”
“I know you were…” her voice was cracked.
“They are starving” the twelve year old girl said to the skinny boy who was the
same age as she; she glanced frowning at the woman and the baby in her arms on
the opposite street.
They were chatting as every night in the safety of the enormous garbage can on
the alley where the back of Falcone’s cabaret looked. The girl stared with
sympathy her too skinny friend and his immobile arm.
“Of course, you're starving, too…” she whispered regretting her previous words.
“She has a baby…” the boy answered, as if this made her hunger more urgent than
his own. His eyes focused on her own, full of such warmth she hadn’t seen
again.
“She worked at one of the offices Wayne made in the Narrows to give people like
her some money. She had a little apartment and at some point she married
another employee of the same office. Then, after all these were shut down, her
man abandoned her, when he learnt that she was pregnant and soon she was kicked
out of the apartment, because she didn’t have the money for the rent. She
delivered the baby at Dr Thompkins’ free clinic, but the doctor barely sustains
the clinic and ishe can't anymore help people the way she wants. So, Beth lives
in the street with the baby, begging for some pennies to make a living for
herself and her baby, but Gothamites, especially, in these district are
merciless; they have their lives and their own problems…” she shook her head
resigned.
“We must help them!” the boy’s beautiful eyes shone in a way that she hadn’t
seen in them again.
He seemed determined and happy for his decision but the girl knew better than
to let him do what he thought.
“I’ll snatch things from the orphanage…”
She was living in Gotham’s orphanage, a grim, derelict building that resembled
more  of a prison than a place for children in emotional pain. So, early on she
managed to find every way to escape the building, whenever she wanted, and
explore the hostile city. It was one of these escapees that met her with her
friend.
“No, you don’t!” he demanded, his cripple arm hurting him from the determined
movement of his body. “The orphanage has very few things for the children, now
the money has stopped. If you steal from there, you’ll be denying the children
necessary things! And if they catch you, they’ll punish you, maybe even throw
you out.”
“Big deal!”
She sighed in frustration. Her friend and his ideals! He should look at his
messy self rather than the others. However, his deep concern for the others was
touching even for her.
“Then, how we’re supposed to help them?” she exasperated.
Her friend pierced her eyes with his feverish ones.
“I’ll take things from the cabaret’s storage: they have so many things there
that they won’t notice…”
“Are you fucking crazy?!” she cried and the boy looked panicked towards the
cabaret. “Are you fucking crazy?!” she lowered her tone, being as much
frightened as he.
“Don’t say ‘fucking’!”
“I’ll say whatever I want” she snapped stubbornly. “And you are FUCKING crazy!
Stealing from Falcone? You’ll be in very deep trouble if he suspects anything!
And you were worried that I would be punished in the orphanage!” she rolled her
eyes exasperated.
He lowered his eyes at his dead arm, a shadow passing his irises, but
immediately he stared at her in the same determined way.
“I’m in deep trouble whatever I do or don’t do… At least, if Falcone punishes
me, this time it will be worthwhile! Tomorrow, I’ll bring food and anything
else I’ll manage to find.”
“You have only one working hand, how do you expect to do it?”
The boy just smiled to her and winked, making her roll her eyes.
“You’re impossible!” she mouthed to him, although she liked too much that
smile.
He only waved ‘good night’ and opened the heavy door, soon swallowed by the
monstrous, evil building. At least, tonight for the first time he was smiling.
The next night, the girl was waiting behind the enormous garbage bin the same
time as usual. Her eyes glittered, when the huge backdoor opened, her friend
barely managing to keep the door opened with his entire side, till he slipped
his skinny form, dragging with his one good hand the daily garbage load of the
cabaret. His bonny chest was heaving with exhausted exhales. The girl knew that
the burden was too much for a 10 year old kid with only one hand operating.
She scanned her surroundings and leapt to help her friend reach the garbage
bin. She didn’t expect him to manage stealing anything from Falcone’s storage –
actually, she hoped that her friend thought reasonably and forgot his
intentions.
But his beaming under the dirt face told her otherwise. He urged her and they
instantly were hidden by the metal mass. He looked once again to the silent now
building and relieved that nobody was watching, gave her a trash bag, that he
had hidden behind the huge shack with garbage they burdened him to throw.
The girl eagerly opened it and smiled when she under the dim light of the
public lantern, made out a loaf of bread, cheese, milk, fruits, rise and some
tin cans.
“You’re really crazy, aren’t you?” she burst out, although her happiness was
evident and she purposely didn’t use the word ‘fucking’.
He met her loving eyes, took her hand and inside her palm left some notes. Her
eyes widened.
“You… you stole Falcone’s cash register?!” she paled from terror.
He looked around them frightened and gestured for her to be lower.
“Of course not! How could I?”
“Then where did you find the money?”
“It doesn’t matter…” he mumbled, his eyes avoiding hers.
She held his shoulders determined and shook him to look at her. He grimaced,
because the abrupt shake made his cripple hand  cry in agony.
“It does matter! How?”
“From Falcone’s thugs!” he snapped, irritated that he had to speak about it.
“Sometimes they are getting really… close and it is easy to scrape something
while they …”
The girl dragged him in her chest and petted his unwashed, messy hair. She felt
her eyes watering.
“This is awful… I’m sorry…”
However, he stroked her arm with his own and raised his head, his eyes tough
and indifferent, although she knew otherwise.
“They don’t go too far…”
The girl considered it awkward that he was trying to comfort her.
An angry yell cracked the silence and her friend jolted upwards; she was able
to feel his frail spine shuddering.
“Don’t tell her that I…” he began to say but a second angrier yell made him
rush back inside, just waving her good night.
She was urged to start her career, when a couple of months later they caught
the boy on the act and punished  him brutally; at the same time making him
unable to not only have access to the storage, but also get out of the horrible
building. She knew that they had imprisoned him however that didn’t discourage
her from coming every night at their bin, expecting him anxiously and leaving,
when one of the staff brought out  the garbage. And as the nights went by she
began to be scared that they might have killed him.
She entered silently the dark room, illuminated only by the dim light emanated
from the screen of the laptop on the small desk. In front of the screen, a
shadow was tapping the buttons softly but with determined efficiency. He didn’t
turn but she was positive that he knew she was there.
“You’re late.” The strong but calm voice said without turning, absorbed in his
work.
“And you were worried?” she purred teasingly. “You know I’m too tough for
Falcone’s boys.”
“Of course, you are, but we still live in Gotham…”
She crossed the room graciously literally a cat and stood beside him.
“I saw Beth in the street” he nodded, “I saved her from some ‘tough’ boys who
were collecting the ‘rents’.”
“Thank you” his beautiful eyes left the screen and pierced her eyes sparkling
in the dark , full of gratitude.
After almost two months, she saw him again. His form was skinnier than before,
although he walked with a pride quite unfit to his condition. The rags he wore
were more battered and stained with dry blood. His hand maneuvered the huge
garbage sack even more difficult than before. His face was covered with nasty
bruises, some of them so old that were yellow and some others an angry black,
showing that they were recent. He had dried blood at his nostrils and lips, and
his eyes shone among purple – black were haunted, so haunted that he didn’t
notice her and jerked in surprise when he found himself face to face with her.
His effort to smile made her heart ache.
“It’s nice to see you again… I thought you won’t come here again…”
“I won’t leave you!”
He just lowered his eyes.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” she was angry, because he doubted her
statement, because she was also afraid that maybe some day she'll have to leave
him.
“Eventually, you’ll have to leave me… It’s okay… You shouldn’t be held back,
because of me…” her eyes widened and her friend, understanding that she was on
the verge of tears, smiled and changed the subject. “How did they scrape all
this time? I was afraid that the baby would have…”
“I was helping them: I was giving them food and money.”
His eyes widened in horror.
“How?” he whispered.
“The way you did…” she answered defiantly.
“You stole from the orphanage?”
“Forget the fucking orphanage: I left.”
His eyes sank, like what he heard was worse than the beatings he suffered.
“You are very young to live in the streets… Nobody will protect you.”
The girl laughed sarcastically.
“And the orphanage protected me? Don’t make me laugh! And I don’t need anyone’s
protection!”
“Maybe they would have found you a good family…”
“I don’t need a family! And there’s no good family for an orphan!” she was
irritated, but fought the urge to just leave, because she knew that he said all
these out of concern for her and that her angry departure would hit him even
harder than his tormentors.
As if he understood what was going on in her head, he didn’t insist.
“Then where did you find the money?’’
“Stealing from people, like Falcone and rich guys who don’t give a damn about
us – they have so much that they didn’t even notice that the money isn’t there
anymore. And Beth and her baby need that money…”
His maimed, too thin face was instantly shadowed, his swollen, bruised eyes
down cast. The girl felt her cheeks burning from anger – she understood how
upset he was, how sad, and that was outrageous.
“Why is it so bad, when I do it, and when YOU do it, is alright?!’’
She pushed his jaw up to look her in the eyes and he cringed from the pain,
although her touch was feathery. His eyes widened from fear because her voice
was loud.
“Because you deserve better…” he answered with his smooth, kind voice. “You can
have a good life, away from all this, there’s hope for you…”
She caressed his dirty hair and she felt sick, when her fingers met lumps of
dried blood. She kissed his hot from the swelling cheek.
“You deserve more than that, as well…” her voice was croaky and she was angry
with herself, showing weakness when her friend needed comfort. “I’ll take you
with me away from Falcone and Gotham!’’
He stroked her cheek with his one operational hand and smiled reassuringly.
“I can’t come with you. If I run away with you, they’ll chase us and won’t stop
until they find us and then, they’ll kill you, or worse, make you like me…”
“Listen…”
He silenced her pressing gently his fingers on his lips.
“You know that I can’t escape this and you know that you should forget me and
live a better life – you have the chance!”
“Never! I’ll never let you alone. I won’t ever leave, if you are not free.”
He just pressed his busted lips into a thin line, without saying anything but
she knew that he disapproved.
“I almost forgot!” she said and brought out of her pants’ pocket a sandwich
folded in foil. “They cut more your food, didn’t they? Eat it! Hide it in your
clothes and when you are left alone in your…” she knew it was a tiny cell but
she didn’t want to mouth it, “eat it.”
He just gestured negatively.
“I can’t, thank you very much, but I can’t. Chill…” his voice was choked, but
she figured out everything. What Chill did that would reveal her sandwich under
his clothes. “He’ll know that I meet someone…”
“I’ll kill him, I swear, one day I’ll kill him and Falcone!”
The boy stared at her with terror.
“No, please. You are far better, than that… You are not a killer… You are not
like them… Please…”
His cracking voice made her heart broke.
“Eat here, then… You need to eat, you are growing and you need…’’ she changed
the subject, her eyes scanning his bonny form.
He opened the foil and began eating with large bites, hastily, wanting to
please his friend.
“How will you live alone?” he whispered between his chewing.
“Don’t worry about me, I am a tough nut.”
Chill’s shrilled yell made the boy drop his last piece of sandwich and she
hugged him to console him, even though she knew that this would stand for
nothing, when Chill would grasp the little boy. But he smiled to her, although
her fingers aggravated by mistake the one month old lashes in his back, which
nobody cared to cover with a new T- shirt.
“I took her to Dr Thompkins. She will hide her and provide her with food and
medical treatment.”
“That’s very good.”
“But she wants her daughter…”
“Jessica works as a whore for Falcone”, he answered flatly, without stopping
his work. “She hasn’t seen her mother in years and I doubt she wants to…”
“It’s a pity because poor Beth did everything to raise her.”
“I know, I know…”
“Thinks are a bit easier for Leslie now that Stark sticks his foot firmly at
Gotham and the Narrows”, he didn’t comment, so she continued “do you honestly
believe that he cares about the people of the Narrows, or is it just a ruse to
expand in Gotham?”
He didn’t answer at first, but the pressing of the keys stopped.
“I think he means good…”
“Oh!” she gestured in exasperation. “You always want to see good in others,
even if it doesn’t exist…”
“I wasn’t wrong before, was I?” he turned once again and took her hand in his
own.
Catwoman put her other hand on his shoulder and he looked her. She left a
sandwich in foil beside the laptop.
“You keep feeding me…” he smiled.
“You insist on neglecting your needs…” he returned to his work. “How is it
going?”
“Soon I’ll manage to uncover every off shore account Falcone has.’’
She leaned on the desk.
“Falcone asked for the Smithsonian Black Butterfly, too, as you predicted… he
offers the triple of what he paid for the lost piece.”
“Of course, he did… He is greedy and arrogant, believing himself invincible.”
“They call him ‘Gotham’s Emperor’, don’t they?” she was staring her long nails
absent minded.
“Hubris1, ati2, nemesis3”.
She crossed her hands at her chest.
“The lost Black Butterfly is in his hands” she said in deep thought.
“As we wanted it to be…” he answered, his voice among the soft pressing of the
keyboard determined and unfazed.
“I hate it that he looked so smug, when grasped the beautiful gem..., so self
satisfied... And his eyes were salivating. I swear it was like I was seeing the
saliva. I admit that until the moment I was out of their firing range, I was
sure he’ll try to kill me to get back the 5 millions. How did you know that he
wasn’t going to?”
“Because I knew he would want the match piece, too, and you are the most
capable and disposable person to do it – nobody will connect you with him...
He’ll take the money after.”
“When he rubs me out...” she commented indifferently. “Then he’ll have the
Black Butterfly united, his money back and the thief dead, unable to snitch his
employer: just perfect! However, the idea that he has the lost piece of the
Black Butterfly unnerves me. Are you sure?’’ her voice was warm, full of
concern. “It is so precious…”
“It will return to its proper owner, in the end, when its purpose will be
fulfilled”, he was confident, so she didn’t insist.
 
Clark was still sitting at his office at home, finishing his article. The only
light in the dark was the illuminated screen of his laptop and the flashes of
the multicolored lights of the vivid Metropolis that keep her frenzied rhythms
even at the first hours of the morning. He clicked on save and minimized the
window. He opened a folder at his desktop and the gorgeous face of Falcone’s
toy welcomed him. He selected one of the newer photos Jimmy has taken at the
event following the presentation of “Bruce Wayne Haven” and the entire screen
was full of mesmerizing beauty.
He didn’t visit Gotham after that incident at Falcone Enterprises’ toilets.
Thankfully, Perry sent Lois alone and she didn’t insist on taking him along,
understanding his unwillingness to be there again so soon. So, he just read
Lois’ report on the presentation of the colossal project, Fox’s and Potts’
statements and saw the photos from the reception Falcone hosted on the tower’s
grand reception hall.
He was glad he stayed away from this young man. His presence was awkwardly too
numbing and charming for him and he considered himself better than falling for
a whore…
A whore… No, as he was looking at his piercing eyes although they were always
down cast he didn’t believe it. Despite the fact he witnessed his… use not only
from Falcone, but also from Chill, he didn’t believe him a whore. He had
something different, something intriguing, a secret that he wanted so much to
uncover…
He could hear Lois laughing at his naivety… But he was sure, he was fascinated
by this young man; he wanted to know everything he hid in his mystic eyes. And
he knew he couldn’t rely on Batman for help – he certainly, wasn’t giving a
damn about Falcone’s slave. Although his first impression of the Batman wasn’t
the best, he was relieved that Falcone’s bounty on his head hadn’t been
fruitful, since Batman’s appearances were so elusive that even Superman
couldn’t locate him in time, but at the same time so effective that Falcone’s
‘businesses’ suffered.
He had hoped that keeping distance from Gotham would have erased the boy’s
influence on him, but it was almost ten minutes that he was gaping in front of
his screen and now as he realized it, he sighed. Just close the window, his
logical brain urged him, but his emotional brain didn’t let him, pushing him to
stay engaged with this mysterious being and unfold every layer of his secrets.
Why, for instance, he didn’t manage to discover him in any public archive? Why
nobody knew his name, like the boy was nothing else than a laboratory creation
to satisfy his owners? He wanted to meet him again but alone, in the hopes that
he will say something to him; maybe manage to take a hair for a DNA test to
find if the boy was… No, he knew that Chill was his personal chaperon, never
letting him out of his side, or… He didn’t even want to remember what he saw
through the bathroom’s door.
How smooth his legs and buttocks looked, shining from the sweat, how his silken
locks were glued to his forehead and temples; how the Vulture made him moan and
groan in pain, how his rosy lips stroked Chill’s cock; how the boy’s watered
eyes with their deep melancholy were sometimes cast at the door, looking
intensely, as if he knew that someone was watching his humiliation, his
suffering…
Clark felt ashamed because this humiliation, this suffering was seen by him
greedily and aroused him then and every time he recounted those moments with
his enhanced memory. For pity’s sake, the boy was suffering, his gashed
buttocks bleeding, while that awful man was enjoying the pain he caused! And
his heartbeat was so desperate that it was a miracle that the boy didn’t suffer
a heart attack…
And he, the savior of human lives was just staring, like a pervert, not having
the decisiveness to stop the rape… It was a rape, right? Or just the boy’s work
was to satisfy clients with kinks? Idiot! Even if he was a whore for his entire
life, they didn’t have the right to wound him like this – who knows if some day
they didn’t kill him in the peak of their lust?
His acute hearing caught desperate cries for help and alarms screaming like
angry harpies. Focusing more, he figured out that it was a huge explosion in a
tanker sailing in the Atlantic Ocean.
He changed his clothes in a spin and dived from the window to the solace of the
open sky, the cold pleasantly numbing his tortured mind.
Chapter End Notes
     1. Hubris:means extreme pride or self-confidence. When it offends the
     Gods of ancient Greece, it is usually punished.
     2. Ati: The sudden confusion of the mind send by the Gods to arrogant
     prople.
     3. Nemesis: the spirit of divine retribution against those who
     succumb to hubris (arrogance before the gods). The Greeks personified
     vengeful fate as a remorseless goddess: the goddess of revenge.
***** Chapter 10 *****
“What is it again, ya stupid worthless rag?! Again?! Why ya didn’t inform me
earlier, ya dorks?! I’m coming there so better start yar prayers!” Falcone
pushed the off button in his smart phone and those surrounding him wondered how
the frail thing didn’t broke.
He was at the underground parking of Falcone Enterprises in front of his grand
silver Rolls Royce with his bodyguards and Chill, ready to return to his Manor
after a very dull and frustrating meeting with the board. He was already
immersed in thoughts of his hot king sized Jacuzzi, eating caviar and having
his toy along in the water giving him pleasure – the casual but still
expensively dressed young man who waskept tightly pressed upon his side
inspiring him endlessly. When the fucking phone rang and he knew that it wasn’t
for good.
His goons have messed things up again. The last shipment of smuggled guns was
mysteriously lost from their safe warehouse, while nobody noticed until now.
Until now! He was certain that it was again Batman’s doing. The bastard was
still destroying his perfectly planned and executed works, not mentioning the
money he spent to keep happy his friends at the police; and all these despite
the crazy bound he had put on his head. He had spent a lot of money to buy
those weapons from China and he was to be paid ten times their cost to resell
them to gangs all over the States and Mexico – he already had taken the
deposit. And now, he lost what he paid and what he would have been paid
resulting in him being faced with his displeased customers! Instead of being
cringed, this freak multiplied the number and the severity of his hits!
“What happened, boss?” Chill asked.
Falcone cast a hungry look at his slave, petted the boy’s upper arm that he was
clutching, and regretting leaving the emerald-sapphire seas of the young man’s
frightened eyes, from his master’s anger, he stared at Chill.
“We must go to Warehouse 32. There was a flood.” He answered cryptographically.
“Shit!” Chill exclaimed.
“I must go there immediately to kick some butts...”
The Vulture’s eyes were on his boss’ side, where the young man stood crushed by
Falcone’s one armed hold.
“I’ll take him to the Manor” he eagerly offered.
But Falcone refused with a head movement.
“I need ya with me.’’
“An' what will be of him?”
“Flass is patrolling the area, call him right now.”
Chill made the call and Falcone began giving orders to his bodyguards, never
loosening his hold on the young man.
A patrol car invaded the deadly quiet parking in high speed and immediately the
crying siren was silenced. It stopped near the gathered men and in a moment a
plumb police Lieutenant stepped down from the vehicle and hurried to Falcone.
“What’s up, boss?”
“I need ya to do a job for me, since I an' Chill are busy.”
“Sure” his small, wicked eyes detoured to the young man at Falcone’s side, but
instantly focused again on the boss.
“Ya'll take my precious gem to the Manor – this city is full of thieves an'
crooks, I can’t let my property unguarded...” he laughed and Flass mimicked
him.
“Has anything happened?” the Lieutenant asked with concern.
“Nothing of Police’s concern. Ya just take the boy to the Manor.”
“Okay, boss” Flass’ eyes showed that he got more than Falcone wanted to let be
known.
Falcone brought his boy in front of him and stroked his perfectly groomed dark
locks that felt like silk between his fingers.
“I will be looking forward to come to the Manor to be compensated for the day’s
mess...” his thick, blubbering lips captured the young man’s mouth massaging
brutally, both his large hands cupping the pale face.
Chill’s vulture eyes stared the scene, missing Flass’ fascinated look.
Falcone’s bodyguard – driver was ready to start the other subtler, destined for
cases that demanded secrecy, car of his boss and Falcone released the captured
mouth, allowing the boy to breathe. His greedy hands left the young man’s face
and pawed lustily the tempting, firm buttocks deliciously highlighted by the
slinky, designer’s blue jean.
“Be prepared for me, little gem” he whispered to his ear “I want ya to be ready
to please me...”
The young man brought his timid, bright eyes to his master’s face and nodded.
“I’ll be, master.”
Falcone smiled broadly and gestured to Flass to approach, reluctantly loosening
his grasp at the youthful flesh to pass his ‘little gem’ to the Lieutenant,
appreciating that Flass didn’t touch the young man only showed him to the
patrol car.
The boss signalled to his henchmen to enter their car and he embarked his own;
the bodyguard that held the door opened to him, closed behind him and
followed the others in the car.
Flass opened the door respectfully to Falcone’s boy and after he sat, closed
and walked to the driver’s side. Only then, Chill entered last of all the
henchmen’s car and ordered the driver to leave.
The Police Lieutenant waited until the Falcone’s convoy left the parking and
started the engine, following the line to the building’s exit to the road.
The youth was used to feel uneasy constantly, so at first didn’t find the
emotion worrying, but as the time went by and instead of approaching the
familiar road to the Manor, the route looked entirely unknown the knot in his
stomach became tighter. The unfamiliar policeman although seemed to have his
eyes on the road and the passing cars that were becoming fewer and fewer with
every moment that passed, was glimpsing fleetingly at him, drenching him with
an unexplained terror.
“Sir, I don’t know this road...” he finally found the courage to point.
The Lieutenant’s greasy, bearded face turned fully to him, the small round eyes
beaming sarcastically.
“This is a different road to the Manor. What are you afraid, beautiful? You’re
with the Police!” his shrill laughter made his spine shiver and he’d have run
out of the car, if it wasn’t in full speed.
Despite his reassurances, after half an hour the Manor was nowhere to be seen
and the road, though covered with trees and plants that were covered with snow
and particles of ice, was unfamiliar and Flass was lowering the car’s speed.
When he saw the Lieutenant’s hand leaving the wheel and moving towards him, he
reflexively grasped the safety belt’s clasp, craving to free himself.
The car was brought to an abrupt halt and his body was violently crushed to the
seat by the belt. Before he even recovered from the jolt, Flass’s massive fist
was clenching his throat, cutting his air supply with bruising strength and at
the same time preventing him from moving.
“Didn’t anyone tell you that unfastening your belt while the car is speeding is
illegal?” Lieutenant’s hostile voice was filling his face with the nasty scent
of cheap tobacco and sarcasm, while he felt the cop’s other hand digging
greedily inside his thighs which he was trying, in vain, to keep them closed.
He decided that it’d be better to let the cop be absorbed in pawing his inner
thighs and when the clench at his throat was a bit loosened, he brought his one
hand to the belt’s clasp, while the other was at the doors handle. Then, when
Flass’ prickly facial hair grazed his soft cheek, with a sudden movement both
unfastened his belt and opened the door, slipping his body under Flass’ weight
and to the snow covered forest floor.
Managing to take a free inhale, he tried to balance and run, only to discover
that his ankles were confined by two hands that forced him to crush face first
to the snow covered soil. Flass pinioned the young man’s thighs between his own
and grasped the lapels of his leather jacket, tearing it off his torso and
throwing it away.
He felt the freezing cold invading his back along with his crushed face which
was immersed into icing snow and his chest which was drenched in cold water.
Suddenly, his head was uplifted by an iron fist uprooting his hair. He moaned
and his assailant forced his back to arch bringing his ear to his stinky mouth.
“The car was warmer but if you insist, I’ll humor you…”
He let his hair and grabbing the boy’s upper arms, he turned him on his back;
the boy was facing now Flass’ lustful face. He tried to use his hands to repel
him but the cop cinched his wrists and pinned them on the ground above his
head. The young man attempted to free his legs in hopes of using them but the
force holding them was unyielding.
Flass was now breathing in his pale face, a triumphant, evil smile digging his
plumb cheeks.
“You’re a whore and I am your client! I have tested every whore in the Narrows
and you're one of them, so stop pretending the virgin!”
“Please, sir... Let me go...” he couldn’t shake off the cop’s hold, so he tried
to reason with him.
“Is that how you turn on Falcone and Chill? Begging them?” he laughed and ran
with his lukewarm tongue the boy’s entire cheek, sending a wave of sickness in
his stomach and a shiver in his spine that had nothing to do with the snow
soaking his black wool blouse.
The entire weight of Lieutenant Flass was now pressing and choking his body,
the cop’s groin rubbing stubbornly his own, his hands still outstretch above
his head with Flass’ hold on his wrists becoming bone – crushing, as his
arousal increased.
“Please” he mumbled desperately as the pain and discomfort flooded him “Mr.
Falcone will kill you...”
A yell of pain burst out of his lips, when instantly Flass grunting furiously
blew his heavy fist at the boy’s nose, sending his head crushing on the
unwounded cheek, only to repeat the blow to the other side of the face, causing
the bleeding nostril to meet crudely the soil, and his lip to be ripped.
“Are you threatening me, you fucking slut?!”
He tried to negate, moving his head, but his head was numb with pain and his
mouth full of iron tasting liquid so he didn’t respond, keeping his eyes shut
to avoid the man’s rage.
Flass satisfied by the boy’s submission, settled his entire weight on the
compliant young body and began massaging the delicious neck with his full lips,
covering the flesh with saliva and marks from his beard while his hands were
searching insatiably the boy’s covered by wet cloth torso.
“After all, we’ll tell Falcone that it was Batman that attacked us and fucked
you, won’t we?”
The young man was breathing strenuously, squashed from his assailant’s mass and
his punishing gropes and angry kisses; the pressing erection making his heart
race.
Suddenly, the cop rose a little, gripped the hem of the boy’s blouse and with a
swift movement dragged it over the head and through the arms, letting it at the
ground. The flesh under him jerked from the freezing cold’s rapid attack and
Flass’ hungry eyes gaped at the perfectly sculpted body, he whistled.
“Wow! Clothes don’t do justice to you... Oh! My poor thing!” his cruel fingers
squeezed punishingly the erected from the severe cold nipples, his chuckle
causing more shivers to the body under him. “Don’t worry, my precious whore,
I’ll warm you up!”
His palms descended slowly and painfully from the cold breasts to the abdominal
muscles, appreciating the unexpected gift Falcone made him; grunts
started leaving Flass’ mouth as his erection demanded immediate satisfaction.
His sweaty, despite the cold, hands unfastened the young man’s belt and with a
hasty movement, he stripped completely the boy’s hips and thighs.
Falcone’s toy felt the cold’s merciless piercing at his pelvis and Flass’
guffaw slapping his ears before panicking by flooding senses of massive hands
grasping his genitals and playing with them . For the first time he remembered
that his numb from the freezing cold hands were unrestrained and he grasped the
man’s head, trying desperately to remove him from his crying pelvis.  
Flass enraged by the sudden resistance, smashed his fist two consequent times
at the boy’s ribs and seeing him defeated, grasped his frail wrists
effortlessly and once again pinned them above the boy’s head, clenching them
painfully until even the faint jerking completely died. Then, he raised his
hand, still pinioning the wrists with the other, and slapped the already
bleeding face a couple of times till the head stayed immobile at the side,
small sobs leaving the busted lips.
The cop still grunting, his rage unreduced, put his hand in a secret pocket
inside his leather jacket and brought out a small gun that wasn’t on police’s
ammunition catalogues. He petted the boy’s sweaty cheek with the cold metal and
glued the gun’s barrel at his temple.
“Open your eyes, you filthy scum!”
He obeyed, his eyes glistening with tears.
“If you don’t do your job, I’ll make a nice little hole here’’, he pressed
harder the barrel to make his point clearer, “and after, I’ll fuck your corpse
– from what Chill told me there’s no big difference, anyway! And then I’ll tell
your boss that Batman killed you to mock him”, he shook violently the boy’s
head, “so, how it be? Dead or alive?”
His eyes were glazed; his lips unmoving and the Lieutenant pressed even more
the gun barrel, causing a small dipple to form on his skin.
“Speak! You will be a good bitch and take it nice and happily?”
He whispered something, but the man pressed the metal more, demanding him to
speak louder.
“Yes...”
Flass laughed and stashed the gun back. Then, he hurriedly unbuckled his belt
and lowered his pants and underwear, freeing his erection. His barbaric hands
snatched the boy’s thighs and forced them to spread, his demanding fingers
playing with his entrance, making him close his eyes in despair. A weak whine
escaped his swelling lips when three frosty, large fingers entered him suddenly
and the whine became a cry when the fingers started playing painfully with his
tight muscle.
“What’s the matter, slut? You prefer my dick? I won’t disappoint you...’’
“Please, sir, please, stop...”
But Flass withdrew his fingers and put them on the boy’s lips, simultaneously
bringing his hungry length at his trembling entrance, eager to invade him.
“Leak them, bitch, suck them while I’m tearing you apart...”
A rush of air shook the atmosphere, making the boy’s trembling body shiver more
violently and he opened his pale lips to obey his tormentor.
“No, he won’t!”
It was a strange male voice, but for the young man the only thing that mattered
was that his body was free from the heavy mass that was crushing him and he
could breathe a little easier.
Flass in a second found himself half naked being uplifted by the lapels of his
jacket, his legs dangling in the air, his pants and underwear ridiculously
stacked at his ankles.
“S...Superman?” he asked in disbelief, managing at last to steady his vision
into focusing on the force that was attacking him. “What...?’’ what was he
doing here? “But I’m a police officer!” he exclaimed offended.
Superman’s clench on his jacket became stronger and Flass fret as he felt the
anger radiating from the being in front of him.
“You’re not a police officer, you’re a rapist! Nothing better than the
criminals you’re supposed to stop!”
The boy was hearing an incomprehensible fuss due to the buzzing in his head
from the blows he got and his frenzied heartbeat drumming in his ears, but he
snatched the chance to elevate his upper body, although the pain and the
numbness from the cold were torturing, and with his clumsy, hasty fingers
brought his underwear and jean on his hips to make himself decent. However he
failed to zip up the fly because his frozen fingers were incapable for such a
fine movement.
"Don’t you ever again dare to lay a finger on him!” Superman roared and Flass
paled on the verge of fainting.
“No, never, never!” he tried to emphasize his promise, moving frantically his
head. “I swear!”
“I’d have taken you to the Police but giving the city we are in either you’d be
free, or dead in ten minutes for what you did...”
He threw the plumb cop on the ground.
“Leave!”
He turned his back to the squirming man struggling to dress in his underwear
and pants and walked to the hunched form of the young man who was tightening
his hands around his mid, scared and obviously in pain. Superman’s gut became a
knot from sympathy.
Falcone’s toy stared at the stranger’s red boots but didn’t dare to look more,
nor he said anything; he was ashamed and didn’t know what the man’s intentions
were.
However, Superman kneeled by him.
“Don’t be afraid” he said to him soothingly “you’re safe now.”
The patrol car’s engine roared and the car burst out in the road. The boy’s
sparkling eyes followed the car’s course and then settled on the stranger’s
kind face.
“Thank you, sir” he whispered his teeth rattling.
“I didn’t do anything. Oh!” he exclaimed realizing that the boy didn’t
recognize him. “I’m Superman.”
Those unique sapphire-emerald eyes dived into Superman’s unearthly blue ones
and made the Kryptonian feel like melting.
“I know... I saw you once on TV...”
Once? He was on the verge of asking but he shook himself, reminding himself of
the fact that the boy had other ‘duties’ and his master probably didn’t indulge
him the ‘luxury’ of watching television.
“Try to relax” he said kindly to the youth who was still panting. “Inhale
slowly and deeply from your nose…”
But as soon as he pronounced that his eyes narrowed on the blood running from
the youth's nostrils and lips to line his bare neck. His face was brutally
battered and some dark locks dripping icy water were glued to his wounds.
“I’ll take you to a hospital” he exclaimed urgently and made to take hold of
the young man’s upper arms to lift him.
But the fragile being flinched, looking him with dread in his eyes, although
trying to hide it.
“I’m fine… please…” he whispered and both knew that it was a lamentable
reassurance, yet Superman complied to calm him.
Instead, he focused his eyes on the young man’s face, causing him to be
unnerved.
“I’m just seeing if you have a concussion,” Superman soothed him, “thankfully,
you don’t have. Let me see your ribs…”
He had noticed how the boy was clutching his side and wanted to be sure that
there was nothing serious. However, when Superman gently touched the young
man’s arm to signal him to let him examine his side, the youth tightened more
his hold.
“It’s nothing, really…” his melancholic eyes travelled upwards to meet
Superman’s eyes to persuade and plead with him.
“Okay, okay…” he agreed to appease the young man before him. “But we must at
least clean those wounds and put some ice, otherwise the swelling will be
huge…”
He took feathery the boy in his arms and in a second brought him to the side of
a small creak that he had seen just before came across them. The water was
turned into ice but his heat vision melted the ice and he took the water in his
palm and washed the wounds in the boy’s face. Who flinched from the contact
with his aching flesh but didn’t say anything.
As Superman was bringing the water to his wounds, his steel hands involuntarily
brushed the hot from the beating flesh and the boy’s eyes looked him curiously
and a little worried. His skin was so smooth that it felt like velvet, so soft,
so vulnerable and so gashed by Flass’ cruelty. He regretted not giving the rot
cop a taste of his own medicine.
Only when he felt the boy shivering at his hands, he woke up from his reverie.
The youth was almost naked in this freezing cold for too much time that he must
be facing hypothermia. Hugged him once again, ignoring not without remorse, the
boy’s cringe and took him to the place where his clothes were scattered.
However, he was disappointed to discover that both blouse and jacket were
soaked wet and icy.
The youth didn’t look upwards when Superman returned with his clothes and the
man of steel knelt beside him and took gently his hand that covered his beaten
sideto scan the bruised area.
“Three ribs are cracked, the two are older…”
The boy covered nervously his side and averted his eyes to the ground. His skin
was purple from the cold so Superman didn’t hesitate anymore.
“Your clothes are icy soaked: you will surely get sick with pneumonia if we use
them, so…”
He unclasped his red cape and muffled the shivering body; then he took feathery
the beautiful face in his palms and blew his icy breath right on the wounds, in
hopes of preventing the swelling. The boy didn’t flinch this time, sedated by
the sudden warmth of Superman’s cape; so he continued turning the icy air he
was applying to the wounds into hot on the soaked locks till they were once
again dried.
“Now we can get you to the Manor for a proper treatment…”
“He will be mad at me…” his voice was steady due to the cape’s protection from
the cold, but Superman could catch the dread.
He brushed his fingers on the boy’s soft hair and the youth stared at him
curiously.
“It wasn’t your fault… You didn’t do anything wrong… It was his doing… You have
nothing to fear, I’ll tell him everything.”
However, the young man averted his eyes from Superman’s and waved his head
before lowering it.
“He attempted to rape you!” Superman tried desperately to comfort the cowering
being.
“You don’t understand…” he whispered “I’m a whor…”
Superman couldn’t tolerate to hear that ugly word being mouthed by this man for
himself. He pressed softly his fingers on the boy’s lips to stop him.
“You’re not that, don’t say it…”
“You don’t know anything about me!” the boy shouted and he was more surprised
himself than Superman from what he had done.
He lowered again his head.
“Tell me your name, then...’’
“I have many names... Each one calls me whatever he wants...” he answered
indifferently.
“Your eyes are like star sapphires the way the emerald green waves through the
blue so can I call you ‘Star’?” the man of Steel put as much sweetness as he
had in his voice.
The boy shrugged.
“I am called much worse...” Superman could detect a flicker of smile in the
velvety voice.
“I can take you far away from all that, you can start a new life. I’ll protect
you – I’m Superman,” he smiled, “Falcone won’t find you.’’
He didn’t raise his eyes, only moved gently his head.
“I can’t leave…” he said with cracked voice. “Please, take me to the Manor…”
Superman was flabbergasted, more saddened than disappointed. Yet he couldn’t
force him to do what he didn’t want, so complied with his wish. Embraced his
waist with his hand and uplifted him from the frosty ground,
simultaneously with his movement to stand. He tightened his one arm hug to
transfuse to him some of his warmth and boosted himself to the air, feeling the
frail body plunging more to his body.
“Are you afraid of heights?” he asked softly but his ‘passenger’ just
nestled his face to Superman’s chest, making the man of steel feel momentary
paralyzed. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall…” and he tightened more his hold
on him, feeling the racing heart relaxing upon his own.
Falcone Manor was already full lit as the evening was descending; the sky a
gray depressing color had folded the entire Gotham area into a semidark
atmosphere. Snowflakes started to fall leisurely on the already ice covered
scenery.
Superman even from his spot several feet above the ground could make out the
fuss in the Manor’s grounds. Falcone’s guards were agitated but not from his
approach, because despite the heavy security of the place, the Manor wasn’t
‘Superman proof’. As he was descending in front of the Manor’s main entrance,
he felt the boy shivering more violently, his temperature risen above the
normal – sign of a developing fever.
Only when they saw Superman grounding on the marble’s landing, the guards took
notice of his presence and rushed there. But Falcone caught them in that,
opening himself the huge oaken door welcoming his unexpected visitor. His
ominous gaze fell immediately on the muffled in Superman’s cape shivering form
of his slave who cringed in the superhero's hug.
“Superman, what a pleasant surprise! An' with my missing little gem...”
Superman saw the old butler coming hurriedly to the door, his nonchalant face
radiating worry to those that could see through.
“I was returning from Connecticut where a central bridge collapsed and I
heard,” his concerned eyes petted the dark head nested in his chest, his
hesitation overran, “his pleads.’’
Falcone’s face reddened.
“Pleads?! What?”
“He was attacked. His assailant attempted to rape him.”
“Rape? Him?’’ Falcone pronounced the words like they were incompatible
concepts.
At this moment the young man stirred and turned his face towards Falcone who
was literally outraged seeing his face battered. Alfred paled but remained a
wax statue.
Falcone rushed and grabbed the boy from both his shoulders, forcing him to look
him in the eyes. He shook him violently and the boy moaned, piercing Superman’s
heart.
“Who did it? Who dared to lay his hands on my property?!” remembering
Superman’s presence, he hastily changed his demeanor. “Who did that to you, my
poor boy? Where was Flass?”
Both Superman’s ‘Star’ and Superman himself hesitated to reveal the culprit’s
name, knowing that probably this would be his death sentence, but Falcone
wasn’t stupid.
“He did it, didn’t he?! I trust him with my little gem and he... The bastard!”
he was boiling inside however he was smart enough to not let the hero learn his
true intentions. “Ya can’t trust anyone with yar property anymore, eh
Superman?”
“You can report the incident to the police so that he is brought to justice.”
“Of course, I will” he nodded but Superman knew that he had no intention of
doing that, “Gotham’s Justice, after all, does a remarkable job.”
He stroked in a mock gentle gesture the soft dark locks.
“Are ya alright, little gem? He boxed ya rather brutally.”
“He doesn’t have a concussion but he has three ribs cracked and probably a bad
case of cold so perhaps it’d be better if you take him to a hospital...”
The boy writhed in his master’s hands and his feverish eyes pleaded with him.
“No, master, I’m alright!”
Falcone smiled and made a consenting gesture to Superman.
“Let's not disturb more the poor thing. Alfred,” he turned to the silent man,
“take the boy an' prepare a hot bath for him to warm him up an' clean him from
Flass’ filth...”
With a sharp movement, he took the red cape from the young body and handed him
over to Alfred’s care.
“Of course, ya'll honor me and have dinner with us, Superman” he said smiling
politely, handing the cape to him “is the least I can do to express my
gratitude for saving my precious little gem.”
Superman’s gaze was following Alfred’s form who was supporting the young man as
they were climbing the stairs. He knew better than to believe Falcone’s
politeness. On the contrary, he was sure that along with Flass’ filth he was
eager to erase Superman’s scent from the boy’s body, too.
“Please, I only did my duty. Unfortunately, I must return to Metropolis.”
“Surely, ya have a planet to protect...” his tone was serious but Superman read
the irony waves in Falcone’s right hemisphere. “However, I’d like ya to know
that if ever ya need anything, ya can ask: I never forget those that made me a
great favor.”
Superman half smiled and took off, casting a last longing stare at his ‘Star’
being helped by Alfred to get into the bathtub at the small bedroom right
beside the master’s bedroom. The last he caught from the Manor that boiled with
activity was Falcone’s voice at the cell calling Chill.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Jim Gordon charged to the back door of his small house, his police gun clutched
in his hand, caution in his moves as he approached the door. Frantic, noisy
knocks had scared his family’s peaceful evening gathering and he tried hard to
restore the previous tranquillity to his family, although he was worried
himself. He was keeping a low profile, as his ally suggested, but it wasn’t so
difficult for Falcone’s thugs to discover his secret actions; they were
networked in the entire city, everywhere, anyone could be a possible rat, happy
to offer his/her services to Gotham’s Emperor.
On the other hand, if this was the case, then why not killing him in the street
with a lot of witnesses to solidify Falcone’s reign of terror once again?
Unless... No, he didn’t even want to consider that Falcone would punish his
entire family for his deeds, in order to make them a very coaxing example of
what happens to those that defy him... A shiver ran his back.
“Come on, Jim, get a grip” he berated himself “they would have broken the door
and you would have been already dead...”
He was in front of the door, covered in the nook, and was focused on the small
glass window of the back door to make out who was the urgent ‘guest’. Because
there was only one shadow and very itchy.
“Jim, please open the door! It’s me, Flass!”
The voice was certainly Flass’ but his tone had nothing of the bossy, arrogant
police Lieutenant and Falcone’s dog. He was mortified, his voice cracked and
anxious; Jim able to hear him panting.
“Please, Jim...”
Jim sighed and put his gun back in its case. Balanced his glasses on his nose,
pulled the latch, unlocked and faced a quite unrecognizable Flass, all sweaty
and with his hair messy, looking nervously around as if he was to be attacked
at any moment. Jim noticed that his pants were awkwardly hitched.
  Upon seeing Jim, his face beamed like he has seen his guardian angel – if
Flass cared about something like this.
“Oh, Jim! I’m sorry I’m bothering you but...” he looked again around “but
you’re the only one who can help me” his panting was more intense due to his
hastiness to utter the words as quickly as possible.
Jim frowned.
“What do you mean ‘help you’? As far as I know you don’t need anyone’s help.”
“No, no, no, listen” his panic made him jolt every time a car passed the street
in the front of the house. “I did something...”
“You did a lot of things...” Jim’s voice was full of hints, although his
reasoning was telling him not to agitate Falcone’s dog; however Flass' presence
here and his behavior gave Jim a new confidence.
“I know, I know, you’re right...” he admitted, “but they’ll kill me!” Flass
decided that he didn’t have the luxury of delays.
“Who?” Jim couldn’t believe his ears.
“Falcone. His men are looking for me right now... I... I struggled to avoid
them, but they’ll find me... Please, Jim!”
“Falcone is your real boss. You work for him and he values you. You consider me
a fool?”
Jim’s suspicious look manifesting his purpose to close the door to his face
forced the corrupted cop to confess.
“I did something and infuriated him...”
“No way” Jim waved his head and moved to close the door.
“I tried to fuck his boy-toy, are you happy?”
Jim stared at him astounded.
“Fuck?” he asked irony coloring his voice because of Flass’ stubbornness to
minimize his crime.
Flass turned rapidly to the distant direction of the street as a car sped. He
blinked and looked at Jim again, sweeping his sweaty forehead with his palm.
“Rape, okay? I tried to rape the fucking whore!”
Jim’s scold irritated him.
“He is a whore, alright? It’s not a big deal!” he answered but Jim made a move
to close the door, panicking him. “Okay, okay, the boy resisted and I hit him
and I was wrong, I was an animal, a bastard, an asshole, but Falcone will kill
me for touching his thing...”
“And you came here to jeopardise my family, you selfish pig?!” it was Jim’s
turn to be enraged.
This man was unbelievable! After he had led Jim to Falcone’s thugs’ ambush and
stayed indifferent to them trying to kill him, now that his hide was at stake
he came here to endanger Jim and his family, because he couldn’t control his...
He forced the door with all his might but something blocked it from being
closed. It was Flass’ foot, his face begging.
“Please, Jim, help me. I know you despise me, but you don’t like people getting
killed.”
Jim sighed.
“I can’t help you.”
“Yes, you can. I know you’re friends with Batman. But I never betrayed you
because I knew they’d torture you to learn his secrets and then kill you and
your family. You can ask him to save me...”
Jim coughed, choked from his own saliva.
“You must be petrified to make up such a story! I’m not a friend of Batman’s –
I don’t even know if he really exists!”
“I know he saved you from Falcone’s ruffians and...”
Jim cut him abruptly.
“I don’t know what you are talking about!” he exclaimed irritated. “You are
scared about your ass but don’t try to drag me into this! You dag your own
grave, when you attempted to rape the boy... Do you want to save your skin?
Leave Gotham, because I doubt that Batman will care to save a rapist...”
Jim knew better than admit that he indeed was Batman’s part-time partner. Who
guarantees that Flass was really in danger and all this wasn’t just a trap to
make him reveal his role? He lived in Gotham and this city was full of hell
holes ready to swallow you, if you were mindless enough to step into them...
But even if he wanted to help Flass – accepting that he was facing a death
penalty - and notify Batman about a potential victim, how was he supposed to do
it? He didn’t have a phone number, did he?
Flass blinked at him once more defeated and turned to leave Gordon’s house,
acknowledging that it was pointless and he was losing his time.
“Good luck...” Jim whispered at Flass’ retreating back and closed the door to
reopen it instantly, “wait! Flass, wait...”
The plumb officer stopped abruptly and regaining his courage approached Jim,
his eyes sparkling with hope.
Jim hesitated. He knew that if Flass was pretending, he’d be in deep trouble
and probably his family too, but his instinct which never failed him, told him
that it wasn’t an act. He couldn’t let a man be butchered by Falcone’s thugs,
even if this man was the corrupted Flass who attacked someone and tried to rape
him.
“I don’t have any connection with Batman” at least, he would secure this part,
“but I won’t let you be killed, although what you did was despicable...”
Flass nodded eagerly but Jim was sure that he didn't have any remorse about
what he did.
“There’s an old apartment building, deserted almost a decade now. Is near
Arkham Asylum...”
“Yes, yes, I know it...”
“Take the key” he opened the drawer of the little table by the door and pulled
out an old little key, “it belonged to a friend of mine that died in an
accident. The apartment is at the basement, no 3. Go there and stay hidden for
a couple of days, until things cool down, and then leave Gotham...”
“Thank you, Jim’’ Flass panted somewhat relieved “I’ll never forget this...”
“Go now and follow the sewers, the dens of the homeless and cover yourself...”
“I’ll do. Thank you, Jim, thank you...” he continued to mumble gratitude till
his form was out of his house’s limits and his voice hushed.
He closed the door, moving his head disbelievingly, outraged with himself. He
risked himself and his family for Flass from all people! He confessed his
defiance to Falcone and even if Flass was indeed hunted, it wasn’t certain that
he’d escape his hunters and won’t tell them who tried to help him. His head was
so heavy that he gladly would dispose of it – besides, such a stupid head
deserved to be cut! And his chest ached.
He walked slowly to the living room but his wife caught him in the corridor.
Her eyes were privy.
“It was Flass, right? He fall out with Falcone and you helped him to escape his
former boss’ wrath, didn’t you?’’
Her wits some times were unnerving but he couldn’t lie to her. She didn’t
deserve that and actually her reprimand was the least of the punishments he
deserved for his foolishness.
“Forgive me, sweetheart...” he apologized preparing himself for a slap.
He was astonished though when Barbara hugged him and kissed him on the lips.
“It was the right thing to do, although reckless and... stupid but you are a
good cop and a good man and I love you for that... You couldn’t have let a man
die light-heartedly; you’d have been miserable and I along with you... I’m
proud of you...  for the amount of time we have to be still alive... So let’s
eat the cake while we still can...”
 
Falcone was immersed in his king size, round shaped Jacuzzi bath-pool, enjoying
the massage the hot bubbling water was making to his relaxed body. He was
gulping the frosty imported champagne from the crystal flute that reflected the
purposely lowered blue lights of the huge room. In front of him a whole wall
bullet proof window gifted him with an abundant view of the River Liberty’s
upset dark sea; the silver fool moon glittered the dark waters whenever wasn’t
hidden by the dense clouds of the blue-black winter sky; some sparkles from the
ice particles upon the branches which were left purposely there to create a
natural frame, while a rectangular modern fireplace at the wall on the right
side of the pool warmed the impression of the snowy scenery.
His eager eyes were cast at the dark blue crystal door of the room, in his
left, radiating from delight when the gracious form of his boy knocked
hesitantly, opened and slipped silently into the covered with dark blue granite
floor. A black silk robe was the only cloth hugging his youthful body, drawing
every detail of his artistic sculpted silhouette.
The boy stood before him at the edge of the pool waiting his orders.
“Take it off of ya”
His toy immediately untied the silken belt from his waist and let the fine
fabric slip from his shoulders to his wrists and then to the dark blue granite
surface.
Falcone brought the fine flute to his lips and sipping the golden liquid
admired the view in front of him, marred only by a bruise at the ribs, some
finger shaped marks in his thighs and some black bruises with dried blood on
his face. He gestured to him to descend the pool steps and approach him.
The young man obediently stood before him, towering him, his beautiful eyes
staring his master’s face like a scared puppy, the long lashes brushing
charmingly the fine cheekbones.
“Turn over” he ordered and now he was facing the boy’s wide back and his round,
temptingly protruding ass.
He left his flute on the silver tray and grabbed the boy’s waist, lowering his
hands slowly, conquering the velvety but firm flesh of the enticing buttocks,
moaning satisfied by the sensation.
“I can’t blame Flass for desiring this fine piece of ass... but laying his
filthy hands on it is a completely different matter – besides, Adam lost
Paradise for this!” his craw laugh echoed terrifyingly at the space and with a
sudden, violent move sat the boy between his spread legs.
He enclosed the young chest with his arm and jerked him to glue on his body. He
tightened his grip and his hand started to paw hungrily the tight chest, while
his other hand enveloped the flat belly groping greedily. His large fingers so
brute and hurting that the boy moaned, causing Falcone’s desire to flame; his
mouth devouring the bruised cheek from the ripped corner of the lips to the
high cheekbone. Now it was Falcone’s turn to groan though from pleasure.
“Oh, ya're so hot... Literally; ya're burning but I like it so much that maybe
I’ll keep ya ill...just to pretend that ya're a human being.”
He nuzzled the point where the jawbone meets the neck, pushing the boy’s head
to the side to have more comfort to suck the pale flesh until it bruised; his
hand feeling its way to the boy’s groin, touching and pushing possessively.
“What he did to ya?” he whispered demandingly in the young man’s ear, leaking
at the same time.
Except from some whines caused by Falcone’s squeezing and clenching at his
genitals, nothing else came out from the boy’s mouth.
“He sucked ya like I’m doing now?” he asked benevolently and his toy, sensing
that if he continued not answering, his master would be mad at him, just
nodded. “He pawed yar balls and dick like I’m doing?” another nod this time
with gritted teeth and closed eyes since Falcone’s grip down there became
vicious.
His hand which was pinioning the young man's chest fisted his locks and jerked
violently his head.
“What else he did to ya? Tell me!” Falcone’s teeth were gritted. “Or I’ll
believe that ya liked it... an' ya know what I’ll do if I think that ya enjoyed
it...”
The clench was uprooting his hair and his heart was pounding.
“No! I didn’t enjoy it, I tried to resist...”
“Oh, my poor baby...” his voice was full of mock sympathy. “So what else did he
do? Speak! He fucked ya?!”
His master’s roaring was as much painful as his grasp at his hair and groin.
“Only with his fingers...”
Falcone’s hand left his groin and travelled to his rear end.
“How many?” he whispered menacingly in his ear biting the lobe. “One?” the
young man writhed when the large finger entered him in one swift move and the
grey wolf stretched more his neck making his hold on the captured hair stronger
to still him. “Two?” this time the writhe was faint but the moan louder. “Or
maybe three?” three large fingers were unbearable, especially after the
previous rough treatment.
He screamed but his master was unmoved. Sniggered and twitched his fingers
painfully, loving the feeling of the agonizing young flesh squirming on his
body.
“Yes, master. Please, don’t...” he gasped and Falcone’s laugh was an explosion
of malignity.
“Now, I’m positive ya didn’t enjoy it: ya are used to getting straight to the
point...”
Rapidly, he grasped his toy’s waist and turned him to face the pool’s wall,
still on his knees. He pinned him to the porcelain surface, spread his thighs
and holding tightly his waist with both hands penetrated him with a violent
thrust, causing a hopeless yell.
He nuzzled the boy’s nape.
“You smell deviant” he whispered and started thrusting with all his rage for
the bastard who claimed his property; with all his strength and weight,
satisfied by his toy’s whines of pain, reaffirmation of his rule. “First, that
bastard Batman stealing my weapons and humiliating me to my customers and now
this worm tryin' to trespass my property!” he pounded the boy’s body which was
crashed on the porcelain surface, raving his pants of pain. “They try to make
me unconfident for my rule on this city... However, when I see yar naked body,
when I do whatever I want to this gorgeous flesh, when I make ya cry
desperately from my strength then I relive my triumph! I feel my invincibility
ripple in my veins; Gotham’s Emperor is alive!’’
He let a triumphant roar and his fluids flood the boy’s insides. The young man
was completely immobile trapped in front of his master’s mass, the porcelain
wall painful to his flesh, his shallow breaths mixed with faint sobs. Falcone
brushed the boy’s locks almost affectionately and kissed his shoulder.
“Now, ya can sleep, little gem...”
 
Flass was on his back on a mass of garbage, his broken nose bleeding, his eyes
glazed from terror gaping at his assailants. He had gone to the apartment
Gordon sent him but in a moment of panic he thought it wiser to leave the
building and run away from Gotham. A grave mistake; he only made a couple of
blocks and came across a gang of Falcone’s thugs scouring the city for him.
They immediately trashed him in their van and brought him to this filthy alley
where Chill with a few henchmen awaited. His broken nose was Chill’s welcome,
two broken ribs his next.
“That was how ya yielded Mr Falcone’s boy to defile him, how does it feel now?
His flesh an' bones are way finer than yars an' ya wanted to smash them...’’
the giant scolded him, his scar on his eye making his evil stare more ominous.
“Forgive me, Chill, I’m sorry... I got carried away by him... He is... You
know...”
His eyes widened ready to burst out of their sockets, his heartbeat frantic.
Gotham’s Emperor was entering the alley with slow, sure steps illuminated by
his huge car’s spotlights, his hands by his sides, his eyes half closed shining
like fires, a crude half smile on his lips.
“He is, Flass, he is... But ya knew he is mine. He tried to repel ya but
ya beat him an' continued intending to humiliate me by violating what is
mine...” his voice was low but poisonous; every word highlighted tearing the
heavy atmosphere, like a thunder.
“Forgive me, boss, I regret it... Forgive me, I know I’m a worthless scum but
I’d served you good and I’ll continue doing so...”
“Yar cries are pathetic... When my boy pleaded with ya to stop, ya mocked him
an' just battered him to hush him.” He slowly walked his way to the garbage
mass where Flass lay, his henchmen opening the way to him.
“Please, boss, please...” his pitiful cries were more hysterical as Falcone
came nearer and the demonic glint of his frosty grey eyes was more visible.
“I trusted ya with my property an' ya tried to destroy it, making me owe to no
other than fuckin' Superman!”
“I regret it, boss, I regret it, please!”
“An' I regret  what I am to do...”
He turned slowly to Chill, sniggering at Flass’ begs. His one bossy gesture was
enough for Chill to take out from his long coat his favorite blade: an one foot
long knife with three inches handle made of curved with strange symbols wood
and a huge seven inches long and two inches broad silver blade, which shone in
the distant public lanterns' foggy light  and the smile of the full moon.
Chill’s toothy smile towards Flass shone even more, although some stray clouds
covered the full moon that until then lighted the alley.
Flass screamed, as Falcone took his place clearing the area for Chill to act,
his hands crossed as he watched pleased the cop’s ultimate terror.
“Which fingers did ya use to penetrate my boy?” Falcone asked indifferently,
Chill at the same time towering Flass’ trembling mass his cleaver petted by its
master like a fluffy little animal.
“No, boss, please! Please! Chill is...” his panic made him think telling
Falcone about what Chill was doing to his pet but the giant’s snarl persuaded
him that even if he bailed from Falcone, Chill would kill him instead; not that
the big boss would believe him.
“Don’t try to vilify any other, Flass; it’s pathetic!” Falcone laughed
sarcastically. “Show me the fingers ya used, or Chill will cut all of them...”
Flass’ tear stained face paled even more and he sobbed hysterically, presenting
to Falcone three shaking fingers to avoid having all of his fingers chopped.
“Ya see?” Falcone smiled benevolently, radiating malevolence, “it wasn’t so
difficult, was it? Chill, cut them an' then chop his dick and balls...” ordered
as if he was ordering his meal in a restaurant.
Chill grasped Flass’ outstretched hand, the mortified man yelling for
forgiveness, for mercy, wanting to kick with his legs but finding them
paralysed from fear; Chill’s silver blade grazed his skin that already started
to stain from his blood. Urine smell filled the small space and Flass’ pants
were drenched.
“Filthy scum!” Falcone exclaimed disgusted; his thugs sneering at Flass’
lamentable sight.
Pitch black. Light nowhere. The public lanterns and the car’s lights
simultaneously out. Nobody could see anything. A sharp hissing jerked the
absolute silence of the bewildered henchmen and their boss. A loud clang and
Chill’s surprised yelp made Falcone jolt, his hand clutching his hidden gun in
the inner pocket of his coat; his eyes blinked madly to adjust to the deep
darkness.
A sharp pain at his wrist threw the gun from his hand, his other hand fisting
immediately the scratch a sharp object left on his skin. The clouds ran on the
sky and a silver bizarre light illuminated progressively the small alley. A
demonic black horned head staring at him with its flaming eyes was the first
thing Falcone saw: a scream burst out of his mouth before the demon lowered his
black armoured hand at the mob boss’ head launching him to a wall.
“Kill him!” roared Falcone to his henchmen.
But as soon as the thugs moved to attack the black demon their ankles were
clenched into rope loops which rapidly dragged them to the air, hanging them
upside down; nets unfolded instantly immobilizing their hands and the more they
fought to be free the more the steel fibered ropes tightened.
Chill realizing that his favorite blade was discarded by the black armored
creature, rushed to meet him forgetting Flass who gaped at the scene.
Batman’s white eyes stared at him, his whole presence emanating tranquillity
and amusement at Chill’s evident fury. His human lips lay in an easy line.
Chill his fists clenched at his sides stood right before him. He was towering
the other man by two inches and his bulk gave him confidence.
“Look at the idiot who dresses as a giant rodent!” he sniggered. “I was looking
forward to take yar bones for good luck!”
“Pity you don’t have anything worthy on you for me to take...”
“Kill him, ya moron!” grunted Falcone stroking his throbbing by the blow head.
Chill’s giant fist rushed to smash the man’s head but was met with thin air
while an unbelievably painful blow at the guts almost made him bend. But the
giant gritted his teeth and avoided the bat’s second blow, blocking the
unprecedentedly strong hand. His head butted the horned head but was once again
met with air, his ribs screamed from a whole palmed crushing hit.
Fuming because this creature had managed to hit him already two times while he
failed, stabbed the first black his eyes caught, beaming at the realization
that he managed to hit him at the stomach. However, his sense of triumph was
erased when a stampede of invisible fists bombed his abdominal muscles, forcing
the giant to slightly hunch giving the black clad being the chance to sink a
vicious fist to his mouth and then another one to the other side, saliva and
blood spurting to the air.
A thundering sound ripped the alley and the bat stopped for a friction of the
second, a bullet from Falcone’s emergency gun stuck at his back. He gave a side
glimpse to Falcone’s astounded face and threw another flesh bomb to the
Vulture’s jaw sending him staggering. A second similar sound distracted him
from the giant and made him turn to face Falcone’s still slumped form.
Falcone’s stubborn hand kept the gun pointing to the dark creature starting
shaking when the statuesque form turned towards him unfazed by the bullets
without a sign of pain. The Grey wolf’s face was contorted from rage peaking
because his bullets  that  he was sure they found their aim didn’t make
anything to yield the freak and Chill had relented, letting the monster assault
him.
He continued pushing the trigger raining the walking bat with bullets, yelling
furiously as his opponent was approaching with confident strides as if the
bullets didn’t bother him. His gun clicked empty, the statue still erect.
The bat’s white artificial eyes looked at him; his lips as if belonged to a
statue, revealed nothing of their owner’s emotions if he was indeed a human and
not an emotionless robot. His foot came rapidly like a bolt and kicked the
empty gun away from his hand and Falcone’s face reddened from powerless rage.
“What are ya, ya fuckin' freak?!”
“Nemesis...” he answered his hoarse voice even, emotionless, a cube of ice.
Panic was invading like a flood Falcone’s brain when suddenly the imposing
figure flickered, his knees bending as two giant fists dag in his kidneys and a
log-like arm pressed his neck in a chokehold, taking advantage of his momentary
weakness.
“I’ll plaster ya, I’ll unmask ya an' then I’ll skin ya alive...” Chill’s
bleeding mouth sniggered at Batman’s head.
But despite his henchman’s advantage, Falcone was dread to see that the being’s
visible face didn’t show any sign of fear or even discomfort.
A black elbow plunged into Chill’s stomach, yet the giant gritted his teeth and
made his hold on the bat’s trachea stronger. The elbow smashed once again his
stomach and this time his hold loosened giving the bat the chance to grab
Chill’s neck, flipping him over his head and crushing him back first to the
wall.
Chill’s breath caught in his lungs from the rapidness of the move but mostly
from his shock to be manhandled so easily by someone. His back was screaming
from the impact. He tried to uplift himself but the bat snatched him by the
lapels and to the Vulture’s and Falcone’s utter disbelief he heaved him making
their height difference even bigger.
Chill kept his menacing stare, although the scar on his eye was stained with
sweat – he didn’t want to show his fear despite his panting. Yet the bat’s
unnerving steel expression made his blood freeze inside his veins awaiting a
lethal blow, when the black clad arm rose. Instead a delicate hit in his neck
made his legs paralyze; a glimpse of the demonic figure shining in the fool
moon’s rays the last thing before consciousness left him.
The Batman left the Vulture’s gigantic mass slumped and fisting his hands
returned to Falcone’s spot.
“Ya're a dead... whatever!” the mob boss exclaimed transforming his raging
dread into threat.
Batman’s only answer was a sharp punch on the face that made Falcone collapse
unconscious. He stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable and then
walked towards Flass who couldn’t decide if he should be relieved that he was
rescued or panicked because now was his turn on the Bat's list.
“Thank you!” he tried to mollify the being that uplifted the giant Chill like a
rag. “I knew that you wouldn’t let them...”
A slap in the head was the only thing needed to send the cop to
unconsciousness.
Batman turned his back and strut to the alley’s exit imposingly, the captured
in the net thugs making their best to not remind him of their presence.
“You can show yourself.” His husky voice said to the air of the deserted
street.
In front of his eyes, the blue and red clad familiar body of Superman landed,
his arms folded on his chest and his face grim.
“You saved the rapist but you don’t give a damn about his victim.”
“Damsels in distress is your area of expertise”, he answered nonchalant making
to continue his route, no doubt to climb to some rooftop.
But Superman stopped him floating again before him.
“I took a couple of hairs from him today...’’
“Nice, now you can make a charm...” Batman snapped exasperated because he was
in a hurry to leave.
“I mean that we can perform a DNA test so to figure out if he really is...”
The dark figure didn’t even let him finish.
“How? Compare it with what sample?” his impatience was evident, clearly he was
considering this completely useless.
“Police must have the evidence of that night – we can compare his DNA with the
Waynes’”
Batman lopsided and Superman felt his hidden eyes looking him disbelievingly.
“I’ll do it myself, if you don’t want to help me!” Superman's answer sounded
even to himself childish.
Batman once again motioned to leave uninterested.
“You can waste your time however you want...”
But Superman was before him once again.
“I heard many gunshots and giving that you don’t carry a gun they were aiming
at you. You’re covered in bullet halls, are you alright?”
He shrugged.
“As you can see.”
“I can scan you for injuries...”
But the man didn’t even care to answer making his way to avoid him.
“You just escalated your quarrel with Falcone; he’ll make everything to capture
and kill you even if he has to burn entire Gotham to nose you out. You’ll need
my help...”
Batman’s white flashes pierced him for a moment, Superman feeling that he was
X-Raying him, as if he had the exact powers with him. And then Batman just
nodded.
“You accept my help?!” he exclaimed flabbergasted.
“Take Flass and hide him; he’ll be brought to justice but not Falcone’s
justice.”
He sidestepped Superman and readied his peculiar grappling gun, pointing
upwards.
“Why don’t you want to help Falcone’s slave? He is suffering, he is a victim of
Falcone’s; he doesn’t want to live like this...”
Batman craned his head to the side and Superman felt his unseeing eyes scolding
him. He shot his gun and he vanished in an instant, some bizarre thing
preventing Superman from finding him again from his body’s heat: the lead in
the buildings’ walls conveniently chosen by the bat to elude him effectively.
 A deep frustration and disappointment was eating his chest and mind because
this man didn’t share his thoughts and emotions about the ‘Star’. Batman was
indifferent, even disgust by the same human being that fascinated him and
occupied his thoughts.
He was ready to fly when he remembered Flass; with disgust entered the alley
unfazed by the thugs’ callings to release them and to the unconscious forms of
Chill and Falcone. His eyes turned to Flass and his mind brought back the
unsettling image of the battered ‘Star’ naked under this awful man who was
forcing himself to this pure, despite his history, young man.
And then his immaculate memory flooded his body with the sensation of this
frail beautiful body trembling cold and shocked from what he just experienced;
his soft rosy lips half closed exhaling hot air on Superman's chest making him
feel pleasantly paralyzed, the boy’s fear of heights gifting him the precious
present of providing a safe nest to this marvellous body.
Despite the memories of the boy’s suffering, he lifted Flass’ unconscious form
and moved to keep his word to help Batman.
 
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Dolcetto one of the oldest and most cherished creations of Gotham’s Emperor was
all lighted, buzzing like a hive full of bees, as every night; its premises
filled with esteemed clientele, despite the spot where the cabaret was located,
in the middle of the Narrows. However, even the most aristocratic of the
patronisers who enjoyed the boss’ favor knew that they didn’t have anything to
fear when the Grey Wolf was protecting them.
Though Falcone gained an envious position in Gotham’s elite and one would
expect him to leave behind anything that could connect him with his shadowy
past, his triumphant ascend and his later dominance in every aspect of Gotham’s
life gave him such confidence that he didn’t feel the need to desert to
oblivion his hard-made possessions, especially the most beloved, like Dolcetto.
So the old cabaret was still alive and kicking, its huge multicolored neon
label brightening daily the moody area, the happy music and songs a cacophony
to the homeless people and beggars who a few feet away struggled to survive the
night... A huge rectangular building – it started much smaller but as its
owner’s fortune increased so did its size – its ground floor consisting of two
parts: a small round stage where the orchestra and the various ‘starlets’
performed, the rest space covered by tables and couches. The upper level was
hosting the owner’s office and the small rooms where the clientele enjoyed more
personal entertainment. There was a huge basement that contained the cabaret’s
storage and rooms for clients of more peculiar tastes…
Even though Falcone had many high thriving businesses, his little jewel, one of
the oldest pieces of his collection was still one of the top; always satisfying
his esteemed and not so esteemed clients with its fine ‘products’ anime and
inanimate.
The Grey Wolf was isolated to his old office in the cabaret, having welcomed
properly his most important clients of the night and entrusting them to his
experienced entertainers, male and female. He was already standing for fifteen
minutes in front of the small bullet proof fume window looking to the opposite
building where his old headquarters were, before he acquired the Wayne
Enterprises’ control and of course moved his headquarters there. He was still
using this humble little office for his more secrecy needy business.
He sighed. Left the window and sat at the huge leather throne - like chair
behind the desk, taking in his hands affectionately his latest acquisition
which was sparkling in the half light the reading lamp gave to the room.
His hands stroked its sharp edges containing the 150 carats of its weight; his
fingertips tiptoeing its crystal clear surface where the light was trapped for
a friction of the second to be liberated divided into every color of the
spectrum – a truly unique black diamond sparkling like a white one equaled only
by his mate in the Smithsonian’s Museum.
The one half of a Black Butterfly, the one half of a bat... His fingers
tightened around the earth’s most enduring material until he felt the edges
prickling his flesh. A bat...
He still had on his face the marks of his encounter with the giant flying
rodent although five days had passed; a gauze covering the cut his sharp symbol
left on his wrist. His symbol so alike his most precious possession, when he’d
have its mate at his hands, inside the impenetrable treasury hidden behind an
undistinguished tile in this office's floor.
He was constantly replaying in his mind the moments in the alley, the way this
man... this whatever neutralized his mightiest warrior; took undeterred the
entire load of bullets his gun contained and beat him as if he was a petty
being, an unworthy beggar or a housewife. He had humiliated HIM, the Gotham’s
Emperor; although he had put a bounty on his head. He not only remained alive
but also struck his businesses and humiliated him. And the filthy rags and TV
stations of Gotham and Metropolis was recounting daily since then how the
insane vigilante attacked Gotham’s most esteemed citizen and howled for his
apprehension and punishment; only managing to fuel his feelings of humiliation
and wrath.
Nemesis; this was the word the freak used. He petted the invaluable gem its
shine lightening his boiling brain. Nemesis was the ancient Greek Goddess to
whom this gem was dedicated; the legend saying that the one who will reunite
the two mate pieces will have the generous blessing of the Goddess. Not that he
believed in fairytales but he wanted the other piece and after the incident
with the human – if he was a human – bat, his desire became demanding,
tormenting, obsession-like; a strange distorted belief conquered his mind that
if he had the Black Butterfly whole, his invincibility would have been whole
again; he’d be able to eradicate his opponent.
The intercom’s beep disrupted his thoughts. Chill who was also recovering from
his wounds and mostly his tarnished self-esteem and fuming for revenge,
notified him that Crane was here for their meeting. He told him to wait ten
minutes and then bring him to the office.
He folded carefully the black diamond in its black velvet pouch fighting its
alluring aura that wanted to coax him to keep it uncovered and pushed his desk
a bit to see the tile that bed his titanium treasury. He gave the complex digit
code and then put his thump in the socket; when the green light flashed, he
leaned his head so that the software recognized his iris and after a second a
faint click said him that he could lift the door.
One hundred gems of various shapes, sizes and colors welcomed him with their
shining smiles. All of them rare tokens of earth’s hard work bought or stolen
to satisfy his eyes and his inflaming desire to capture anything valuable that
will make the others envy him.
He laid reverently the gem in its place and closed the door that immediately
made a strong sealing sound. Then he put the tile in its place and pushed the
desk on its right spot. He sank in his chair just before the knock at the door
was heard.
“Come in.”
The Vulture, his crossing the eye scar still raw, showed Crane in the office;
their silhouettes making a sharp contrasting impression. Falcone smirked
looking haughtily at the tiny doctor who returned the sarcasm strutting the
space till the boss’ desk, clenching his leather briefcase as if it was a
lethal weapon.
“How are you, Mr Falcone? I see you’re recovering fine from your... adventure
with Gotham’s wildlife...” his irritating voice was radiating glee; his brows
so much uplifted that almost touched his hair.
“So fine that I’m looking forward to a chance for me to show it...” he answered
his glare meeting the doctor’s light blue eyes. “Sit down, Crane.’’
The doctor sat at the uncomfortable chair in front of Falcone’s desk, clearing
his throat, acknowledging the giant’s towering presence behind his back.
“Did ya bring the drug?”
Crane coughed again.
“Yes.”
“Is it ready? My clients are impatient people. An' me too...”
“It is ready but first I want my money’’ his voice was slightly shaking,
wanting to manifest demand but failing as the imposing figure behind him cast
its shadow on him.
The Grey Wolf leaned on the desk towards him, his eyes shining benevolently,
the threat just lurking.
“Now, Crane, if someone heard ya, would think ya don’t trust me an' that would
have been a stain to the image of Gotham’s Emperor, wouldn’t it?”
Crane straightened his tie; his eyes restless.
“Of course, I didn’t mean to show distrust” he softened his tone.
Falcone laughed and rest his back on the chair’s back.
“Of course, ya didn’t. We have a very reliable cooperation, right? Chill, bring
the briefcase.”
The giant complied. He opened the small cabinet, withdrew a brown leather
briefcase and handed it to his boss. Falcone opened the briefcase showing the
contents to Crane whose eyes sparkled greedily. And suddenly the mob boss
dropped the lid and the fat packages of notes and their tempting scent were
vanished.
“The money is here, as ya can see, expecting what ya were ordered to produce.
My worldwide clientele is waiting.”
The skinny doctor was agitated from the lost view of the money. He fixed again
his tie, although there was no need, and cast his eyes on Falcone’s face.
“What you asked is ready – you saw its effects on my patients; a powerful sex
drug that makes the one taking it begging to be fucked by his/her rapist, the
body manifesting the effects of a peaking arousal irresistible to reasoning or
inhibitions. And I have all the quantity you ordered ready at the Asylum just
waiting the date of the delivering. It’s really up to you.”
The Grey Wolf nodded his eyes heavy with thoughts.
“Okay, okay, Mr Scientist,” he exclaimed his irritation for the doctor’s
arrogance hidden under his saturnine tone. “Tomorrow evening at 21:00. My vans
will be there, yar loonies will load the merchandize an' I’ll give ya the
money. Do ya have any of this with ya?”
Now, Crane confident from the sealed sale gave Falcone a crooked half smile his
eyes full of knowing irony.
“Oh, I have. But I wouldn’t think of a man like you needing that pill to cause
orgasm to your object of desire...”
Gotham’s Emperor jerked from his chair, his eyes leaking blood ready to
dismember his prey, his fatty lips pressed to a tight line, his clenched fists
already smashing the timeworn desk.
Crane cringed, his eyes looking the floor.
“Of course, you don’t need the pill for that; it is just that you are a man
with increased demands that can’t be satisfied by an incompetent lover...”
He brought his briefcase on his lap, opened it and gave Falcone an envelope.
“Chill, show Dr Crane the exit.”
Chill who was looking inquiringly at his boss stood by Crane’s side and the
doctor needn’t more to understand that his presence wasn’t wanted anymore so
he followed quietly.
As soon as he was left alone, Falcone looked the small envelope containing the
pill and called Chill on his cell phone.
“When ya finish with Crane, bring in the boy.”
From the incident with Flass he was taking the boy almost everywhere he went.
When at Dolcetto, like tonight, after he showed him off to his esteemed
customers, he stored the boy to one of the upper levels' rooms, two trusted men
guarding the door.
The door to his office was knocked with Chill’s way and the giant brought in
his boy, strikingly dressed since he was accompanying his master to a public
place. The Vulture discreetly left the place.
The boy cast his sparkling eyes to his master’s slumped form. After the
encounter with Batman that left him with a wounded face and egoism, Falcone
became even harsher to him than before. He was name calling him all the time –
of course, when no outsider was witnessing -, cursing and beating him
mercilessly before fucking him so violently that he wished for the beatings...
As if everything was his fault; that was what his master believed: if he hadn’t
become the victim of Flass’ assault, Falcone wouldn’t be there when Batman
struck.
 He felt numb, scared of what was awaiting him. And his master, although from
that day became moodier and (someone could say) distressed, now seemed more
awkward, absorbed in the envelope he held.
The Grey Wolf raised his sinister eyes and for the first time acknowledged him.
“Strip” he ordered him almost tiredly accompanying the word with a bored
gesture.
He obeyed, getting the expensive clothes off his body without irritating
delays, and in a few minutes he stood completely naked in front of his master.
“Oh, God!” he whispered exhaling in wonder “ya're absolutely gorgeous, don’t
ya?”
He ruffled his hands in his grey subsiding hair, his eyes shining with a
predatory glee.
“Lie down on the sofa.”
He gestured to the brown leather sofa at the far wall and he walked there.
“On yar back” he breathed “yar arms stretched above yar head.”
His toy did exactly what he ordered and Falcone approached the sofa fighting
the urge to start ravaging once again the velvety flesh. But tonight he had
other plans...
He took the fine jaw in his palms and sapphire-emerald puppy eyes looked him
imploringly.
“Open yar mouth.”
When the young man obeyed him, he slipped Crane’s pill in the soft mouth,
pushing it with his fingers to his throat, until he was certain that he
swallowed it. He brushed his large hand on the boy’s firm chest and down to his
flat belly, and resisting the temptation returned to his desk chair.
The young man saw the wolfish eyes of his master scrutinizing his body, the
expectation painted in his entire form. He didn’t understand what he was
expecting, why he didn’t just fuck him: what he gave him? But his body felt hot
like when he was burning from fever a couple of days ago and his heart was
pounding not the usual frightened beating, a different one more demanding, more
exhausting that forced his breath to accelerate. An angry continuous flapping
at his groin demanding by sending hot melted iron to his genitals. His entire
torso trembling as the white fire was eating his guts, hot sweat covering his
skin making it stick to the leather aggregating his need.
He was feeling his cheeks flaming, his foggy eyes watering, trying to find his
master, his fists above his head clenching and unclenching to the painful
rhythm of his frantic heartbeat and his groin’s urging demands. His aching body
writhing searching in vain for some soothing; his neck stretching to emanate
needy moans, his flesh begging for a merciful touch, his legs slithering upon
each other to provide some friction... He moaned louder, desperately; his
sparkling irises almost completely covered by his dilated pupils, gaped at his
master’s glee for his torture, realising that this was his punishment for
causing his name’s disgrace.
Falcone was devouring the sight in front of him. The gorgeous body that he had
in his disposal at any time presented him with a delicious show he had never
again witnessed. Writhing like a gracious snake, radiating hot with his sweaty
flesh glistening to the desk lamp’s dim light at every arching spasm of his
torso, reminding him of the half Black Butterfly he petted a few minutes ago.
The swan neck stretching to elicit siren-like moans and whines, calling him,
begging him to ravage this enticing, open body which was trying in vain to
offer some relief to itself by rubbing its legs together to sooth its trembling
entrance.
The puppy eyes deliciously dark from the dilated pupils pleaded with him behind
their long lashes to spare him from the torture; they glittered seductively
among the hot emanating drops of sweat that covered his entire face sticking
his dark locks in the flesh, gifting a marvellous frame to this beautiful face.
Gotham’s Emperor unclasped his yellow 18 karat gold Rolex and laid it to the
desk. Walked with slow, confident steps to the sofa that carried the squirming
body; the boy’s agony was evident in his hopeless effort to keep his hands to
their place above his head and not use them to relieve his flesh. His panting
frenzied, his chest was heaving violently dragging his entire body to a crying
whine, the almond shaped eyes which were closed smoothly, opened abruptly when
he sensed his presence above him.
“I have yar body whenever I want but tonight I demand ya to beg to get what I
give. Tonight ya'll offer me the pleasure of yar reciprocation; ya'll live up
to me. Tonight, ya’ll be completely mine...”
His large fingers pinched and rubbed the youth's erected, aroused nipple,
making him moan his body arching to get more. Falcone smiled malevolently and
cupped with his large palm the boy’s smooth penis, the only part of his body
not aroused. The young man shut desperately his eyes and clenched violently his
fists, grunting, his entire body writhing.
“Yar dick is completely crippled... Ya must be grateful I don’t give a
shit about that...”
The Grey Wolf stroked the sweaty cheek, his gleeful eyes ravished by the puppy
eyes focused on him.
“Ya have to beg, my little gem...”
A merciless electric current pierced the youth's desperate body and his feet
pushed the leather underneath jolting his agonizing body, a complaining moan
erupted from the stretching lungs.
 “Please, master, I beg you...” he whispered, his eyelashes brushing his
sculpted cheekbones tiredly but seductively for Falcone.
His master captured greedily the boy’s half opened lips with his own, sucking
the hot air from the burning chest.
“Louder...” he whispered wryly to the feverish rosy lips.
“Please, master...” he cried with his voice cracked from his rasps. “I beg
you... Please... I can’t bear it...” his eyes were teary and shone among sweaty
tempting flesh.
Falcone satisfied pulled his jacket and threw it on the floor, his tie next.
His hasty fingers unbuttoning harshly his shirt, his other hand already
stroking the begging torso which shivered violently, causing his master’s
triumphant smile. He climbed the sofa still dressed and pinned the young man’s
restless hips between his own; the boy’s sweat was running all over the adorned
with amazingly shaped muscles flesh, between his thighs, stroking Falcone’s
nostrils with a mystic irresistible smell… His penis was throbbing but he first
would get what he wanted; he pushed cruelly the bucking hips of his toy and
ascended the fine muscled torso with his palms, making the air being caught in
his slave’s lungs.
He captured in his palms the youth's jaw, hefting the burning face; his
fingertips pushing the drenched locks from the boy’s shut eyes.
“Look at me…” roared and the boy’s exhausted but absolutely disarming eyes
focused on his master’s mocking face. “What do ya want me to do to ya?!”
The young man closed his eyes, the gasping breaths betraying his fatigue.
“Please…” he sobbed hopelessly.
“What do ya want me to do to ya?!” he shook violently the boy’s head, rubbing
his groin to the aroused flesh, making the writhing more intense.
The young man’s flaming eyes pierced his master.
“Fuck me…” he panted moaning.
Falcone dropped his hold on his toy’s head, laughing maniac full of
satisfaction as he started disposing his shirt. It was unnerving how this
youth with one word managed to dissolve every concern and insecurity those last
days marked him with; this boy was truly his living triumph, reminding him of
his mighty.
The violent squirming underneath him dragged him from his reverie.
“Patience, hungry bitch, I’ll give ya what ya want…” he smiled but the smile
froze on his lip as he realized that the boy’s eyes had widened from terror,
his neck stretched to its capacity, the rosy lips purple from lack of oxygen.
His toy was choking, his heart stampeding so much that he could hear every
frantic beat. Short, pressed throaty gasps the only gain from the boy’s
agonizing efforts to inhale. He was dying and Falcone didn’t know what to do to
stop it.
The door of his office burst open, Falcone too dazed to notice the tower of a
man who entered imposingly the space. However, as soon as the man took in the
facts in front of him, he rushed pushing Gotham’s Emperor from the young body.
He took abruptly the young man in his arms and the youth's sweet pleading eyes
stroke him with their soft surrender.
“You won’t die!” the charming man said firmly and fixing his lips upon the
boy’s half opened ones gifted him with a lifeline.
He heaved him from the sofa and holding him tightly he ran to the attached to
the office bathroom where he kneeled the boy in front of the toilet. He hugged
him with one arm forcing the semi conscious head to lean above the cubicle and
pushed his fingers to the boy’s throat, provoking a violent jolting; some vomit
spurt from his mouth.
The young man’s head fell exhausted ready to sink into unconsciousness or more
but the man brushed softly the soaked locks and uplifted his head.
“You must not surrender, is that clear? Hold on…”
He continued forcing the youth to vomit until the only thing that came out was
transparent liquid. Then, he raised him carefully and brought him in front of
the sink where he washed the spent mouth and shoved a little strange looking
pill to the boy’s throat making sure he swallowed it. Instantly, the stampede
of his heartbeat relaxed, progressively reaching normal levels. But the
exhausted young body having no strength collapsed in the man’s powerful hands.
He hoisted him as if he was a little child, paying special care to the head,
and brought him back to the office, touching him to the sofa under Falcone’s
gape who having overcome the initial shock was fuming.
“I’ll kill that bastard Crane! He poisoned my boy!” 
“Actually, you did that” the man answered obviously not afraid of Falcone; his
focus on taking the youth's pulse and then somewhat relieved took out his long
coat and muffled the unconscious body in it.
“What do ya mean?” Falcone asked without any rage in his voice as he faced the
towering man.
“Crane gave you his new sex drug and you forced the boy to take it. Of course,
you didn’t think to accompany it with some alcohol – these drugs are made to
act through alcohol, without alcohol and in a virgin organism can cause even
death.”
“Is he alright?”
The 6’ 3” tall man raised the young man in his arms.
“He’ll be. Now, we’ll take him to the Manor.”
Alfred stared flabbergasted the mountain of a man in front of him, especially
since his master followed him breathless; but as soon as he made out the form
he was carrying in bridal style his face paled.
“Lead me to his room” the stranger ordered and Alfred complied since Falcone
didn’t seem to have any objection.
To the butler’s surprise the man carried the youth to the bathroom sitting him
in the small bath tub, fumbling with the faucets. Alfred recovering from his
shock rushed to help him opening the warm water, only to have the man stop him.
“The cold water” and seeing that the English butler won’t let him open the cold
water “he suffers the effects of an unauthorized pill.”
“Then we should take him to a hospital” the butler answered confidently.
The stranger stroked the pale white face of the young man, his eyes worried
from the coldness that settled on his flesh. He turned to Alfred’s as pale
face.
“If we take him to the hospital, he’ll fall to a coma or die. I gave him
something and if you follow my instructions, he’ll recover in a couple of days…
But we need to urge his organism to fight: cause a high fever to excrete the
substance of his body – I already provoked vomit but some of this must have
been absorbed. Trust me; weren’t for me, he’d have been already dead.”
Alfred opened the cold water and the stranger made it sure to drench the
youth in it until the moment the unconscious form started shivering. Then, the
man heaved him and Alfred folded him to a cotton fluffy towel to dry him.
The butler followed the man to the medium sized bed where he laid the boy,
checking his raising temperature and muffling his body with as many blankets as
he found. He extracted another pill from his jacket and shoved it to the boy’s
slow breathing throat. He ruffled once again the messy hair making Alfred look
unsettled.
The man turned to him and gave him a velvet pouch.
“It contains a very rare and precious plant.”
Alfred opened it and looked distrusted at the black dry seeds.
“Every hour you’ll boil one pinch to a cup of water for 4 minutes and you’ll
give it to him to drink – if you do as I tell, he’ll live, otherwise he’ll die
and his death will be on your hands…” he said ominously but with a strange hint
of deeper knowledge. “I will be coming to see his progress” he reassured the
old butler before he turned to leave.
Alfred stared at the departing figure annoyed, then at the ugly seeds and then
at the burning unconscious form on the mattress. He waved his head defeated.
The imposing man crossing the pompous Manor with the ease he would cross his
own house, found Falcone at the huge salon of the ground floor. He was sipping
an expensive whiskey through a crystal rectangular glass. He turned surprised
to his guest whose presence sensed only when he approached him.
“How is he?”
“Do you really care? I think that you don’t value what you have otherwise you
wouldn’t test Crane’s poisons on him.”
The Grey Wolf filled another glass with the same liquid he was drinking and
offered it to his guest. His guest negated it with a gentle gesture.
“I consider him precious; I didn’t test Crane’s pill on him, he had already
tested it” he downed another big gulp, “by the way, thanks: if ya weren’t
there, he would have died.”
The handsome brown haired in his fifties man raised an eyebrow disbelievingly
and without answering strode nonchalant and sank in a grand throne - like ruby
velvety armchair. He crossed his legs and knitted his fingers in front of his
face, watching Falcone. He pointed his long index finger to the mob boss’ face.
“I see you have troubles with that crazy vigilante” he didn’t make an effort to
hide his amusement.
“Everything is under control!” Falcone snapped annoyed by his irony.
“It doesn’t look so...”
“It is so!”
The lion like man shrugged smirking delighted.
“I see that Tony Stark fell for your generosity…”
Falcone sat at the armchair across his guest, irritated because he was feeling
like being minimized in his own house, .
“Oh! He melted from my offering of these rubbish buildings… Ya're right but how
his obsession to…” he laughed “honor his friend’s memory serves us? I don’t
want Stark in my city!”
The man sniggered.
“You don’t expect that Tony Stark will stack in Gotham, do you? He will soon
get bored.”
“Ten years have passed from his father’s pass when he took over the
corporation’s control an' his interest in Gotham hadn’t worn off; on the
contrary...”
The man changed elegantly his crossing leg and looked his host obviously
tolerating him.
“Let him do his job and we do ours...” he answered impatiently.“Besides, you’ll
have the chance to snatch a great part of his charity money, like you did
before. The fact is that now he owes you or at least now he’ll be softer with
you, more trusting. And that’s crucial for what I want...”
The Grey Wolf’s eyebrows frowned. So that was the reason he had returned to
Gotham, apart from unnerving him with his undoubted authority; because even he
knew better than displease this man.
“What do ya want me to ask from Stark?”   
The aristocratic man smiled satisfied and leaned his head towards Falcone.
“A weapon.”
Falcone laughed but his guest detected his uneasiness due to his fear of
failing him. Gotham’s Emperor waved his head in disbelief.
“Ya know that Stark abandoned every weapon manufacturing an' he is adamant
about creatin' new weapons; an' considering this weapon would be given to me –
he may be softer towards me however he knows better than trust me regarding
weapons – his refusal is certain. An' ya know how I regret to disappoint ya...”
“Sure, you’ll regret to disappoint me...” the lion smiled threateningly and
Falcone twitched. “But I’m sure that you have something that he wants
desperately and for that he’ll satisfy your request – except if you won’t
perform as you must...”
Falcone jumped from the armchair and leaned towards his guest.
“I have always taken care of yar interests; ya don’t have any complain from
me...”
“Neither do you; my money and alliance have granted you undisputed rule over
Gotham.”
He stood, casting his royal shadow upon Falcone’s cowering mass.
“Give Stark whatever he asks as exchange” he ordered, turning his back to the
mob boss leaving with confident wild-feline strides the spacious salon.
“I will, Ra’s, I will...” Falcone reassured his departing figure wiping off
with the back of his hand the sweat drops from his forehead.
Chapter End Notes
     Back story is coming.
***** Chapter 13 *****
His skinny ragged form shuffled through the basement’s corridor’s half light –
the light bulb towards his ‘room’ always broken -, tripping from his hastiness
to reach his destination. He was already so tired that his legs disobeyed him
as if his waist - down body was out of his control... But he had other chores
to do before he was allowed to sleep to his stony, frozen ‘room’.
Signora Bruna surely was waiting for him, furious for his delay and if she was
unhappy with him, she’d inform Falcone for his naughtiness and then... Hell
bursts... Oh! Signora Bruna, a thin woman no more than 45 years old, was very
strict with him and sometimes mean to the point that happily would exaggerate
her complaints about him only to provoke Falcone to enforce on him the
punishments she couldn’t.
His hairs had erected along with a dominating shiver in his spine that had
nothing to do with the stabbing cold of the basement. He rubbed his throbbing
from pain crippled hand. He knew that this pain showed that his hand was still
alive, although a heavy, dead log hanging at his right side, but times like
this when it pained him as if it was pierced all over his length with hot iron
blades, he wished that it was completely dead. Only the thought of having to
sweep and mop the entire ground level with his one operating hand while the
other tortured him mercilessly was discouraging him on the edge of tears.
Sometimes when he was cleaning the floor his mind without his will was reliving
old scenes of a movie-like life. When he was playing carefree while the house
was filled with the intoxicating smell of fresh cinnamon cookies which were in
the kitchen table waiting for him to finish his games. When his only sorrow was
thinking about the tortured souls that flooded Dr Leslie’s clinic and his
mother was taking him to her sweet embrace to comfort him, promising that
things will get better for all the people. But things got worse for everyone;
six years now... How he was missing her comforting, relaxing, fixing everything
perfume...
However, his tears never helped him; only entertained his owners and worsened
his calamity. He swallowed the bulge that had been stuffed in his throat and
steadying his exhausted feet moved for the stairs that led to the ground level.
He was 14 years old, he was alive; ‘what for?’ the gleeful voice inside his
head taunted him ‘to continue entertaining them with your pitiful sobs and
cries?’
He was so absorbed in the voice’s malice that he didn’t notice in time the
figure that was descending the stairs bumping into his mountainous mass and
causing the cane the mass held to crush in the floor. His mind immediately went
to Chill; Signora Bruna enraged by his delay sent him to bring him upstairs.
Big troubles...
“Forgive me, sir, I didn’t do it on purpose...” he didn’t want to tremble but
his terror was obvious; his thin frame shaking as much as his voice.
The stranger, because now that the light of the only lighting lamp fell on him
he saw that he wasn’t Chill, grabbed his waist and dragged him to the wall
where the shadow covered everything – it was a pleasant surprise to him that
the man’s moves didn’t cause any pain to him.
He looked confusedly at the man’s beautiful face although he was towering him
by at least 6’’ but he was used to that. The man was at his forties, his
features elegant but the boy was reminded of a lion; his eyes a dark grey.
“Please, sir, I have work to do... I must go...” now his fear of being punished
became certainty as the delay dragged more. “If you want ‘something’ from me,
you can ask my master...”
He tried hopelessly with his only hand to slip the man’s hold but was pressed
to the wall, carefully like the stranger didn’t want to hurt him. He closed his
eyes expecting the beatings he always got whenever he made the mistake to
displeasure one of the masters. He opened them hesitantly a couple of seconds
later when he didn’t felt any new pain.
The stranger’s kind eyes were piercing his confused ones.
 “I know who you are...” he whispered confidently and strengthened his hold on
the panicked child who writhed desperately.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the boy hissed, panting more as his
struggle to get free was exhausting him more and more until he surrendered to
the stranger’s hold.
As soon as he felt the boy relaxing, the man tore the shabby sleeve that half
covered his deformed arm and scrutinized his dead limb; the boy cringed.
“I won’t hurt you... Don’t be afraid...”
He took gently the arm and extended it feeling with his other arm every single
spot. He insisted on the points where the arm was disfigured the most. The boy
inhaled sharply from the pain and pressed his lips.
The man brushed tenderly the monstrous hand and the pain ebbed away. He smiled
benevolently to the boy’s wet eyes.
 “Do you want me to fix your arm?”
The boy’s eyes widened but he hid his terror.
“I don’t know if my master would...”
“Forget your... master” the word was heavily loaded with sarcasm “I ask you.
Well, do you want?’’
The boy moved his head disappointedly and laughed bitterly.
“It is cruel to mock a poor kid like this, sir” he remarked pointedly, his
frightened eyes suddenly sparkling defiance.
The man smiled satisfied from the boy’s attitude.
“Do you want to have again a fully operating arm like before?” he repeated
patiently.
“It needs a complicate surgery and many months of physiotherapy and still it
won’t be restored to his former state.”
The man’s eyes sparkled amused and he smiled kindly.
“I have to break it to bring the bones to their proper position, it will be
excruciatingly painful but your arm will be fully restored. Do you want me to
heal it?” his voice was soothing, his eyes full of compassion.
The boy didn’t hesitate though he didn’t know the man: besides, he had nothing
to be afraid, what worse could happen to him? Die? He wasn’t sure if living
like this was the better choice he had.
“I do!” he said determined to the man, his eyes piercing the eyes of the
stranger with pride.
The man took out from an inner pocket of his long cashmere coat an intricate
dagger with a glistening even in the shadows blade, making the boy cringe.
“You have been threatened and cut many times with knives, right? You have
nothing to fear from this knife; it is called ‘The Blade of Justice’. It’s
blade the legend has it that is made by diamonds, its handle curved by
Alexander the Great himself on wood from the earth’s most ancient olive tree, a
gift of Athena, the Greek Goddess of War and Wisdom, to her favorite warrior.”
The boy’s greedy eyes were absorbing with a beautiful flame the information.
The man’s face was mirroring the boy’s fascination as he stroked reverently the
hilt; he showed it to the boy.
“I’ll put the hilt to your mouth; as soon as I say ‘now’, you must bite with
all your power the wood. The pain will be unbearable and we don’t want your
screams to alarm them.”
The boy nodded and the stranger laid gently the beautiful hilt across the small
lips; the boy’s sparkling eyes taking in the many curved symbols, the ancient
Greek symbol of Helios with the 16 rays and lions guarding it.
“Now!”
The pain was more than excruciating, thousands of hot iron rods piercing
simultaneously inside his brain, flooding his eyes with tears, deafening his
ears and crushing his nose. He stabbed his teeth with all his quivering
strength and ordered himself to not yell, his heart hammering in his chest, his
stomach nauseated but without anything to throw up.
When his already thin stamina was ready to abandon him and force every scream
he pressed in his lungs to explode, a pleasant paralyzing feeling flooded his
fatigued body.
The man cupped in his enormous hand the boy’s head to support it and dislodged
tenderly the hilt from the shaking mouth. He looked proudly the bite marks on
the ancient wood.
“You are a very brave kid; now, your teeth marks will be companions to
Alexander’s... Hold on a bit more to tie your arm...”
He took his cane, a masterpiece made of silver and ivory that he had discarded
carelessly when he saw the boy. He stretched the arm – the pain intense but
nothing short of the previous – upon his profoundly expensive cane and bound
the throbbing flesh tightly with the silk scarf he wore around his neck.
“What are you doing here?!” an angry male voice came like a thunder in a
peaceful summer night and the boy immediately realized it was Chill’s.
He was surely sent by Signora Bruna to fetch him and his fury was emanating.
But his weary eyes saw the giant’s eyes fill with fear when he recognized the
man who was occupying the boy.
“Mr Al Ghul, sir...” he mumbled.
But the boy’s legs didn’t last more, the exhaustion from the day’s work, his
hunger and the previous piercing pain, draining every fibre of energy he had.
He witnessed himself collapsing conscious and unconscious at the same time, two
strong hands stopping his fall enfolding him in a warm embrace.
“Where is his room?” he asked – commanded Falcone’s henchman who obediently led
the way for the lion man with the semi conscious boy at his powerful arms; his
small fevering face sank in the man’s chest.
Chill halted in front of a small rusty door that resembled the door of a cell,
he unbolted and let in the stranger, who needed to bend in order to pass the
frame .
The man looked disapprovingly around. A choking small space barely containing a
man’s reclining body, actually a cavity with a huge stalactite at the centre,
some bats hanging from the stony ceiling. The air was frowsty, the cold bone
crushing. His eyes brushed the boy’s half asleep face.
“Not even a mattress?” he inquired sternly the giant who didn’t answer.
There was a shabby blanket and he feathery laid the boy on. The exhausted eyes
explored the man’s eyes on the verge of unconsciousness.
“Where’s his blanket?”
“Under him...” came Chill’s flat reply.
The man gritted his teeth furious and stabbed the giant with his grey eyes. He
didn’t hesitate a moment and pulled his long coat fof his frame and muffled the
boy with it minding his bound arm.
“Thank you, sir...” the boy exhaled and his exhausted eyes closed; the last
thing he heard as a distant echo was the man’s order to Chill to take him to
Falcone.
 
He didn’t know how many hours he had stayed asleep but the sure thing was that
he wanted to stay like this more, maybe his entire life. He remembered an
imposing man, a kind man who carried him here in his strong arms but he wasn’t
sure if all these had really happened or he just dreamt them – besides, the big
stalactite behind his back and the screeching bats were still there testifying
that nothing had changed. Yet the warmth that enveloped him, so unusual for his
reality, stemmed from an expensive huge long coat and his hand bound on a
beautiful cane with a silk scarf persuaded him that the things he remembered
from... he wasn’t sure when, really had happened. And he didn’t want to let
this warmth desert him...
However, the violent hands that shook him apparently had other opinion and
their opinion was that mattered.
It was the Vulture; who else could have been? The first image his sleepy eyes
met when awakening came crushingly. Chill grabbed his healthy hand minding his
bound other arm and lifted him at his feet which were still unsteady from
sleep.
He caped him with an oversized coat, lowering the hood to his face and loaded
him to a car silently without a single curse...
The car stopped abruptly in front of a dashing illuminated with hundreds lights
building which looked like being extricated from a fairytale;  the golden
Italics over the archaic pillars that framed its entrance were dissolving the
fairytale magic: ‘Grand Hotel Palace’.
His chaperon grasped his hand and dragged him to the hotel’s pompous foyer
magnetizing the disgusted by the boy’s filth stares of the rich clients who
swarmed the space.
Chill unfazed asked an impeccably dressed employee something that the boy
didn’t catch sank as deeply as he could in his hood. They embarked the
elevator, the employee gaping contemptuously at the teen till the elevator’s
doors closed.
“Ya do whatever he wants!” Chill roared as they were crossing the endless
spacious corridor, the boy’s feet enjoying the rare feeling of something so
smooth under his feet, the velvet carpet caressing him.
“Yes, sir’’ he whispered wondering why the giant bothered to tell him that as
if he had any saying on the proceedings.
His chaperon knocked gently the door and after hearing the elegant voice
permitting him to do so, he entered with slow steps full of awe. The boy was
certain that this awe had nothing to do with the vastness of the room or its
luxury, but had everything to do with the man sitting elegantly cross legged to
a huge armchair; the size of the chair only increased the impression of the
lion-like man. He was dressed with a plain silk white shirt and dark grey
flannel pants, but despite his casual clothes his royal air radiated.
“You can leave” the man said with disdain to Chill without even looking fully
at him, but the giant just bowed his head and left.
For the first time since their short history the boy felt a shiver through his
back upon realizing how powerful and dangerous this man must be to cause fear
to Chill and his master. And he was here unprotected; a sacrifice to a mighty
God. His good arm instinctively brushed his bound one.
The man, ‘Al Ghul’ Chill had called him, as if reading his thoughts and
emotions, smiled kindly to him and beckoned to come close.
He obeyed raising his head; what worse he could do to him than what the others
did?
Al Ghul appraised him, his eyes smiling more than his thin lips and the boy
noticed how smooth his brown hair was, unlike his own spiky from the dirt.
“How is your arm?” the man asked with real concern “it aches too much?”
“No, I mean, it aches but it is nothing compared to the pain before...”
Al Ghul nodded and rose from the chair, his gracious commanding posture
towering the boy who unwillingly cringed, fully flinching when the man’s
enormous hand took the cape from him, throwing it disgustingly on the thick
Persian carpet.
“Do you know why are you here?’’
The boy just nodded swallowing a bitter, prickly knot that was shutting his air
channel.
The man squatted so his face was at the level of the boy’s face; he cupped
tenderly the fragile jaw and brought the fret eyes in front of his own.
“I asked you from your... master to persuade him that my interest in you was
only carnal.’’
The boy’s expression said to him that he didn’t care for his deeper motives,
only for the result which was the same.
Al Ghul petted his hair and looked his petting hand repulsed.
“Thankfully, I had them prepare the bathtub...”
 The boy’s confused eyes looked at him as he stood and led him to the colossal
bathroom that was shining like a jewel: fine porcelain and silver faucets along
with granite tiles embroidered with Swarovski crystals blinded for a second the
boy’s unaccustomed to so much light eyes.
A gentle brush on his shoulder told him to move to the vast round shaped
porcelain tub which was already filled with water slightly colored by the
bubbles and the oils, a mesmerizing sum of odurs making him dizzy.
The older man grasped the lapels of his filthy ragged worn shirt and with a
swift move ripped it in two, taking it off from his thin torso minding his
bound arm. The boy’s eyes were down cast as the man did the same to his old
sweat pants, now his naked body squirming violently from his frantic heartbeat.
The man ran his large hand all over the boy’s skinny torso.
“Relax, child, just relax...”
He lifted the frail body in his arms and laid it gently in the tub, keeping the
hand in the splint out of the water on the tub’s wide wall. He felt the tense
body melting at the impact with the hot water, the boy’s eyes shut in delight.
“When was the last time you had a proper bath?” he inquired politely but the
boy didn’t answer not even opened his eyes. “They don’t let you wash yourself?”
he insisted softer.
The teen opened reluctantly his eyes and pierced him.
“Sometimes Signora Bruna takes me to the shower but most times she forgets and
I don’t remind her, because she...”
Al Ghul nodded with sympathy.
“She is a nasty, unkind woman, isn’t she?”
The boy didn’t answer; his eyes unreadable.
“I won’t rat you!” the older man laughed but he sobered immediately. “Stay
here, you need some time to get rid off of all this filth from your flesh. I’ll
be right back...”
He returned a few minutes later and after rolling his sleeves, he washed the
boy’s dark locks with an expensive shampoo that intoxicated his nostrils,
relaxing his body farther. It took a considerable amount of time for him to
clean the mess of the teen’s hair, his moves massaging the frail head causing
the young frightened heart to beat so slowly as if the boy was on his parents’
bathroom.
With the same paralyzing gentle movements the older man cleaned meticulously
the young body not hindered by the boy’s jerks when his hands reached more
private places. Then, he supported the exhausted by the water’s relaxing power
body and rinsed the foam from him. He uplifted him and muffled him with a huge
fluffy towel, at the end dressing him with a bath robe.
Upon returning to the lounge of the hotel apartment, a generous meal awaited
him on the curved wood table; his stomach roared appreciatively on the sight.
The man’s grey eyes were savoring the sight of the boy greedily eating the
delicacies in front of him.
When the boy ate his dessert, the lion-like man took a delicate crystal flute
full with a golden bubbling liquid and touched it to the boy’s rosy lips.
“Drink...” he ordered mildly the puppy eyes which were focused inquiringly to
his face.
The boy sipped a bit of the liquid and coughed, the older man brushing
soothingly his robed back sending warmth that enhanced the effect of the
champagne. The boy felt the rubbing hands finding the lapels of the robe and
lowering it slowly to his wrist and to the chair, stripping his torso and
following his pelvis.
With a firm yet gentle move he heaved him in his arms and carried him to the
attaching bedroom; a giant room with a king sized rectangular bed with a high
ivory bedpost curved with bizarre, beautiful arabesque covered with expensive
ivory colored silken beddings and matching big, feather-stuffed pillows. The
room had a large Victorian vanity made also from ivory and matching nightstands
and wardrobe; the entire space atmospheric semi -lighted with secret lighting
from the four corners of the room, the heavy velvet ivory colored curtains shut
the blinking lights from the neighboring buildings which was the only thing
reminding the outside world.
The man touched the boy’s limp naked body on the dream-like soft mattress and
then climbed on the bed, straddling the immature body, his eyes scrutinizing
the innocent face under him.
“Your master will know if I don’t touch you; he penetrates you daily, doesn’t
he?”
The boy just nodded; his eyes stony, reluctant to show his dread.
The man massaged the boy’s trembling chest, his hands careful and gentle
feeling his protruding ribs.
“Do you drink any milk?” the boy didn’t say anything, his eyes withdrawn. “Any
meat? What they feed you?” he snapped irritated but not from the kid’s silence.
“Bread” he answered fearing the man’s obvious displeasure “once a day.”
“What about all these leftovers from the cabaret’s kitchen?” his exasperation
was terrifying.
“Mr Falcone’s thug’s dogs need to eat...”
“You are physically blessed and those idiots keep marring you; as soon as I
start sculpting you, your beauty will be irresistible, an unbeatable temptation
to everyone; a sin that everyone would be happy to succumb to...”
For the first time the boy stirred violently wanting to rise; his eyes were
inflamed, his teeth gritted.
“No!’ he snapped “I don’t want to!”
The man calmly touched his palm on the boy’s neck and pinned him gently to the
silk. He leaned his face over the boy’s face.
“Whether you want it or not, you’re already a whore, child!” he hissed. “I can
make it to be useful... Besides, it’s not up to you to decide, is it?!”
A frozen wave whipped the boy’s entire back and he nodded.
Al Ghul appeased ruffled the dark still wet locks, his lips caressing the
frozen eyes.
“I promise you that today it won’t be painful...” he breathed to those eyes and
started discarding his own clothes scattering them to the floor until his body
was bare naked in front of the boy’s stare who became terrified by the man’s
large muscled body which emanated mighty power and his enormous length already
half erected.
The man felt the young body shaking under him, the until then relaxed heart
racing. His large hands brushed tenderly the boy’s cheeks and neck to the small
shoulders.
“You just need to relax, child...”
His massaging moves covered the young torso and his full hot lips did the same
thing to the boy’s nipples, licking delighted the bony breasts giving special
attention to the place of the stampeding heart, descending to the boy’s navel;
he felt the young body still rigid and recruited his hands to massage the hips
and then the thighs to the feet making the boy at last close his eyes, moaning
unwillingly when abruptly the enormous hands were fondling his inner thighs, a
warm tongue slithering his penis and testicles, his torso writhing from the
unfamiliar sensation.
His moans satisfied the man who withdrew and smiling with his eyes to the boy’s
flushed face turned him on his stomach, carefully touching the tender
healing arm to the mattress. The young body started trembling again from fear,
aware of what was coming. But those magic hands started massaging his back from
his rigid neck to his tired shoulders to his ribs to his waist to his buttocks,
covering the still scared flesh with soft soothing kisses.
When his massaging hands spread the skinny legs the young body jerked as if
trying to flee, the hard erection touching intimidating his flesh. Al Ghul’s
lips were instantly in his ears hushing him, spreading a warm paralyzing wave
throughout his brain, numbing him.
His face was laid to the opposite side so that the man could see his face; his
breathing was agonizing despite the paralyzing effect and the nightstand drawer
opening and closing echoed loudly to his buzzing ears. The man’s heavy mass
somewhat lifted.
A strange cold sensation in his anus made him squirm; the man’s hand pinning
gently his waist to the cold slithery sheets, the cold sensation moving
progressively inside him a finger spreading the cold substance to his flesh. He
twitched more, the finger unrelenting, the man’s wet lips kissing his sweaty
cheek.
“They never used that before penetrating you?”
The boy shut his eyes and the man continued to explore him, his gasping more
violent as the fingers with the substance increased in number inside him.
“This will make it easier for you...” he whispered to his closed eyes; the
boy’s long eyelashes were drenched with teardrops and his skinny fist clenching
the silk.
His clench became stronger when after the temporary relief of the fingers’
withdrawal the man forced his erection in him, part of it he realized. The
man’s iron hands were keeping his thighs wide spread in order to open his
entrance enough to contain his cock’s head yet the erected member was tautening
his opening to its limits, a piercing pain making his whole body jerk trying to
escape.
“Relax...” the beautiful voice brushed his ear, his hands steadying stubbornly
his trembling thighs.
After a while, he continued with another part of his length, gifting him again
a minute to adjust repeating like a mantra his instruction – no, order – to
calm down. But he couldn’t; as the length of the foreign flesh inside him
increased, the pain became worse; his cavity strained crying desperately for
release.
“Please...” he mumbled not to the man invading him, not to anyone, knowing that
his fate wouldn't change whatever he might say.
“If you don’t calm down, you’ll be wounded; you’ll bleed” Al Ghul said to him
warningly a shade of anger clear.
“I always bleed...” the boy whispered, recounting the innumerable times he was
screwed and then tossed to his cell bleeding from a tore anus, the other day
forced to rise, endure the pain and coax his trembling legs to stand and
execute every chore his masters ordered. “It doesn’t matter, really...”
And then the man thrust his entire length with one powerful move overcoming the
tightness of his cavity and was too much for him. His fist clenched with all
the power he had but his scream wasn’t drowned. The man’s member was enormous
for his body, his tissue was breaking and its screams were panicking him and
making his heart blow in his ribs. He immersed his face in the sheets, biting
desperately the fabric to shut up his screams as his raw flesh was trying to
push the foreign object out only managing to enhance the pain.
“If you don’t relax your muscles, this will be as painful as every other time
and I have to admit, worse. What are you doing now only increases my pleasure
and your torture” And hearing the boy’s desperate sobs, he petted again the
nape of his neck. “You can’t relax on your own, right? How old were you when
they first fuck ... raped you?”
The boy’s sobs became louder and he stubbornly bit the fabric to mute them.
“How old?” the man’s voice was cracked but demanding.
The boy opened his eyes and looked at the man’s face leaned upon his own face.
“Nine...” he answered angrily that the stranger forced him to admit it.
Then the man’s hand touched something in his neck and instantly the stretching
in his rear seemed to ebb, leaving only a feel of heavy load. Only then the man
started his thrusts slowly strengthening and deepening, his moans and roars
filling the semi darkened room. The boy felt his sweat spurting on his clean
body along with the older man’s who was gasping and roaring louder as his
thrusts became more difficult for his small body to bear; the iron hands
keeping his shaking thighs stretching open and steady for him to thrust with
all his need. He had the feeling of being impaled.
Suddenly, a strange pleasant feeling flooded his writhing body and a loud moan
escaped his salivating mouth as Al Ghul stroked his soft penis.
“They crippled you, child” he said with honest sadness in his deep voice. “He
made you unable to feel the proper satisfaction; he destroyed some nerves
endings...”
However, he didn’t stop touching with his cock the same spot that gave him the
pleasant feeling he never had before.
When the man exploded inside him with a roar of pleasure and triumph, his whole
body was exhausted, sore and drenched in sweat, his breaths rapid; his heart
jumping frantically, his face sank in the soft mattress, tears running his hot
cheeks.
The man’s heavy mass covered his shaking body; the now smooth member still
inside him. The man's one hand stroking his soaked hair, the other his crippled
arm, while his lips were caressing his ear lobe coaxing his eyelids to cover
obediently his spent eyes, as he felt the man’s cock throbbing again eagerly...
The next time he opened his eyes the heavy ivory colored velvet curtains were
opened the grey melancholic sky of Gotham sending in its poor light. A deep
impairing exhaustion was numbing every sense except for the pain in his lower
back. However, he was clean and judging by the fresh smell of bath foam and
shampoo he had been bathed while asleep. Also, he was dressed with black silk
pajamas, the fabric so expensive that his skin was aroused every time it made
impact; his arm in a proper medical splint.
“Good morning” the deep baritone welcomed him with a smile and a small bed
table was put upon his feet loaded with the delicacies of a full breakfast.
“Eat, child, your development is already thwarted and we must make up for the
lost time.”
He looked him disbelievingly.
“I can’t eat all this, I’m sorry... I mean, thank you for your kindness but...”
“At least drink the milk and the orange juice and eat whatever you can”
His face was full with sincere concern, his eyes blocking the entire room like
hypnotizing him; “I’ll always be taking care of you” the last words of the man
echoing in his paralyzed mind...
The eyes dissolved suddenly and he was staring at a bedroom but not the same.
He was confused and in deep discomfort, his eyes heavy and his head aching, the
heat unbearable. He tried to rise but two gentle hands laid him back on the
mattress.
“Please, don’t move, young master. Everything is alright...”
“Alfred?” he asked hesitantly, recognizing the voice but unable to remember how
he came here.
Alfred brought something cold to his lips and he detected through his eyes’
haze the brim of a cup, full with an ominous looking green liquid. He tried to
detach his head but Alfred was adamant.
“Please, young master; is for your own good, Mr Al Ghul gave it. Drink it and
you’ll be fine again...”
Alfred’s voice was desperate and his own heart clenched with sympathy for the
good man. He sipped the brew, although his bitter burning taste made him
twitch. Before he even finished the cup his eyelids became too heavy for him to
keep open so still feeling Alfred giving him the remaining liquid he
surrendered to the peace the darkness was promising, too paralyzed to care.
***** Chapter 14 *****
Harvey Dent was a sturdy young man, fair haired with clever lively black eyes.
He was tall and his broad shoulders and overall physical appearance reminded
more of a rugby player or a street thug (if you didn’t see his mild face) than
a member of the Metropolis’ US attorney’s assistants.
Superman with his hands crossed on his broad chest was watching him, leaving
the bar across the US attorney’s headquarters where he and his colleagues
frequented. He had seen the man a couple of times as Clark Kent when some of
Lex Luthor’s activities caught the eye of the federal justice and had formed a
positive impression about the kind but formidable when justice was at stake
young man.
He came to Metropolis a couple of years ago to make his internship as a lawyer
and from then he managed with his ingenuity and hard work to establish a very
good position, his young age considered, in the US attorney’s office and
everyone was certain that he would have a brilliant future in serving justice.
However, Superman was troubled about the fact that he didn’t find anything
about the man’s origins, except some vague birth place in his ID – he was an
orphan or this was what he had stated at the services’ archives and he didn’t
know his parents’ names; he was raised by an orphanage that closed long ago and
his archives lost. Too convenient, in his humble opinion, because he knew some
things about babies fallen from the sky and if Harvey Dent wasn’t another lone
survivor of a Krypton-like planet, he surely had some skeletons in his
closet...
But he had a job to do, so he followed him discreetly flying undetected. The
routine young attorney went straight to his house, a small apartment in a
sparing neighbourhood of Metropolis without a special view apart from the night
sky and the opposite building’s back side, since his cheap apartment was in the
back of the building which suited fine Superman’s purpose.
The fair man stayed for a while inside and then opened his bedroom’s window to
drink his milk gazing at the night sky before sleeping. However, his mild eyes
became suspicious as if he had sensed somehow someone watching him.
Superman decided that it was time he showed himself floating in front of the
open window. Harvey jumped surprised.
“Superman!” he barely managed to keep his exclamation low.
“Hello, Mr Dent, I’m sorry to disturb you in such an inappropriate time.”
“Oh! No, not at all! It’s just...” the man searched for some words to cover his
surprise.
“Can I come in?”
“Yes, yes, of course, come in!” and he opened wide the window which was a
miracle how managed to permit Superman’s enormous body pass; Harvey ruffled his
hair embarrassed for his small window and the inconvenience it caused to the
hero. “Mmm... Sorry for that but the wage of a low ranked attorney...” he
laughed and closed the window, lowering the blinds.
“It doesn’t matter, Mr Dent.”
“Can I... can I offer you something?” the young lawyer asked hesitantly still
confused about Superman’s presence in his house and puzzled about what he
wanted.
“No, Mr Dent, thank you very much. I need to talk to you about... business” now
was Superman’s turn to sound his uneasiness.
“Me?” he exclaimed his brows risen in surprise “please, have a seat” he showed
him to his worn couch, impeccably clean as his entire apartment, “and please,
call me Harvey.”
Superman smiled kindly and sat; Harvey sitting at the cheap mismatched blue
armchair at the side of the couch eyed curiously the things the superhero dag
out of his cape. Superman offered them to him but he hesitated, looking him
bravely straight in the eyes.
“What’s this?”
Of course, he was seeing the pack of cased in black silicone CDs but he wanted
first to clarify what they contained and the purpose before taking them in his
hands.
“The proof of Falcone’s guilty in an endless series of felonies” or at least
that he was told...
The young lawyer’s face shone, yet he inhaled deeply to steady his enthusiastic
heartbeat and behave rationally. He pierced Superman’s clear blue eyes.
“Our office can’t intervene in Gotham unless...”
“There is a federal offense. I know,” Superman interrupted him “however, the
data in these CDs concern federal crimes.”
Dent though he didn’t like to be interrupted nodded his head but didn’t relent.
“You aggregated the data?” his question was a rhetoric one; he knew already the
answer and detected a flicker of uneasiness in Superman’s eyes. “Who found
these data, Superman?” it was so easy for him to forget his awe in front of the
superhero and become the professional interrogator.
“What’s so important in knowing this?’’
“Its importance is vast; I must know if the informant is credit and can be
trusted. Do you know how many allegations with false data the office gets every
day?”
Superman’s eyes became steel as his title; his demeanor emanating power and
respect.
“Batman.”
Now Harvey’s eyes widened, he ran his hair with his hands and rose from his
seat. He knew about Batman; although the being’s existence was an urban legend
of Gotham his activity was known in Metropolis, especially in their office
which despite not interfering, kept watching. Of course, as a man of the law
should be against him and hoping for his arrest, but as a pragmatist man of the
law, he and many of his colleagues were happy that someone was giving Falcone
hard times and maybe urge him to make a mistake in order for them to intervene.
Hell, if he had the craziness and bravery, maybe he would have chosen the same
path!
He opened the bottle of cheap bourbon and sipped from his immaculate clean
glass.
“Do you want me to take evidence which are the product of vigilantism?” he
asked his voice unreadable, his back still turned to his unexpected guest.
“I ask you to take evidence which are the product of a research and a good copy
paste to a disc and which will lead to Falcone’s conviction and Gotham’s
liberty...” and Star’s salvation,,, he thought seeing again the young man’s
cringe when he proposed to take him away; if Falcone didn’t get convicted and
imprisoned, the beautiful Star will never dare to live...
Harvey downed the entire liquid of his glass with one mere gulp and refilled
it.
“Why me?” he demanded, the alcohol erasing his awe and hesitation.
Superman stood and approached him.
“I guess he somehow learnt that you are a very capable US attorney and that you
have a special interest in Gotham.”
Harvey jerked like an attacking snake.
“As every young aspiring US attorney. Gotham is every man of the law Holy
Grail; convicting Falcone for a federal offense – various offenses – the great
boost for a career in law enforcement... And I am just a law rank assistant;
why he didn’t approach someone else?”
He just shrugged.
“I can’t know Batman’s reasons or thoughts” he laughed “he barely talks unless
for demanding. But I’m sure he trusts you more than any other in your office
and trusts that you will listen to him...”
“Listen to him about what?” he asked perplexed.
“The data in these CDs are very grave but they will be burned aces, if used in
inappropriate time...”
The young man listened fascinated and nodded.
“He will alarm you when you must make your move. Until then you scrutinize the
data and prepare the ground...”
Harvey’s heart was beating frantically from anticipation; his eyes glistening
to the dull light of the reading lamb at his small desk, since lounge, study
and kitchen were crammed in one space.
“Good night, Harvey” Superman said to him. “We’ll be in touch: Batman and I
have faith in you...”
And with that he opened the window and slithered out to Metropolis’ sky which
was  celebrating as every night with thousands multicoloured lights, Harvey’s
legs suddenly trembling from a crushing burden on his shoulders but his lips
pressed in determination as his hand that was grasping the discs .
 
Tony stretched at his vast, cloudy bed, the silk welcoming his numb from sleep
naked body. He yawned extremely loud indecisive whether he should rise or turn
side and sleep some more. Besides, it was a particularly good night’s sleep!
“Good morning, master Tony” the artificial voice hurried to decide for him.
He grunted as an answer and grudgingly stood from the bed, hurried to his
luxurious bathroom for a quick shower and wore hastily his casual dark blue
sweatpants and his tee with Garfield’s sniggering face on it; he brushed
affectionately the arc reactor. The sun was shining outside his whole wall
window laughing with the glistening from a million playful golden spots sea; a
scenery that elevated his already light mood so unlike the gloom of... No
nothing gloomy for today.
“What do you want for breakfast, sir?”
“The usual, Jarvis.”
He stepped out of his colossal room and stride barefooted on the shining floor,
like he did yesterday.
“Where are you going, Tony?” Pepper’s irritated voice caught him at the door’s
threshold. “You have a very important meeting with our Japanese collaborators.”
‘What?!’ he mouthed grimacing unseen by Pepper.
He turned bored to face her, feeling like a teenager having being caught
breaking out of his room to go fuck. He was sure that she already knew but her
irritation had to do with him not informing her, trying to sneak out on her and
once again burden her with the whole obligation.
“Mom, is not what you think...” he mocked her his stare challenging, his voice
serious.
“Tony, stop playing! Where are you going?”
“You know and you are delaying me, so...” he touched reassuringly her forearms
and moved to leave. “You know I blindly trust you.”
But she held his hands, her eyes deadly serious and stern.
“I go where I have to be!”
“Gotham.”
“Yes. You heard that tonight Falcone will load his merchandize and send his
vans to their destinations – I must stop the drug being distributed. You
understand...”
Pepper nodded biting her ruby lips, her always strict eyes softening.
“Be careful”
“Am I not always, gorgeous?” he fleetingly kissed her lips as if scared of
being slapped and winked mischievously before departing, his smart ass laugh
echoing at the roll of Pepper’s eyes that he caught on a glimpse.
It was a night of great fun! Such nights he was somewhat content. Like when he
had frantic drunk sex with those two – or maybe three? – models in that Jacuzzi
pool in the hotel’s roof garden... Unforgettable times! And those babes were
unbelievable! He wished he remembered their names or at least their faces...
He watched the procession of Falcone’s vans which of course bear the huge ‘F’,
leaving the fenced yard of the great loony bin and waited till they were at a
secure distance from the institution; he didn’t want collateral damage, that
is, no innocent inmates injured. And then he dropped the first missiles at a
close proximity from the vans but not so much as to cause deaths or injuries.
He just wanted to make the drivers and the accompanying thugs desert the vans
and search the area – no populated - because Tony chose his hitting time
carefully so to not cause panic and casualties;  Falcone was so powerful and
arrogant that the transit of illegal drugs was scheduled to cross the centre of
the city.
“Bingo!”
As he had estimated the lads with their automatic weapons ready left the vans
and approached carefully the spots were the explosions happened. Tony scanned
the vans for any remaining man but found no traces of life.
And then he started the fest.
“One and two and three and four and, five...” he counted sing-song each number
signalling a missile launch and a loud explosion; the chain of explosion only a
second behind his counting.
The dumbfounded thugs with idiot expressions in their panicked faces tried to
find the source of the bombarding, unable to recognize a human form due to the
heavy darkness that he took care to establish to the area shutting every
lighting source. They just showered the source of the fire with bullets,
emptying their loads.
It was awkward; a complete silence disrupted only by the screeching sounds of
the burning, completely destroyed cargo and vehicles and the thugs’ frantic
heartbeats and rasping. Tony couldn’t decide if they were more scared of the
assailant or their boss whose wrath would be a sight to be seen as soon as he
heard the news.
When the thugs were sure that no man or whatever could have survived that
onslaught started their hesitant approach gradually taking courage and
relaxing, coming closer and closer to his den.
“Boo!” he yelled and attacked all of them at once.
The funniest part of the night; he loved to beat up bad guys using every inch
of his lethal body, head, hands, elbows, knees, legs... Like dancing rock with
all the party’s girls and his arc reactor under the suit shaking and shining
like an old disco ball.
Only that these dames didn’t last too long and the dance ended soon...
Crane’s enormous laboratory in the middle of the Asylum’s yard was the next
stage. He used only two missiles and left the chemicals do the rest, seeing
amused the inmates who were still in the common room of the building swarm the
windows to enjoy the spectacle, exclaiming jubilant and applauding, obviously
thinking that it was a firework show. Tony in the backstage bowed graciously
and sent air kisses to his admirers, turning to leave as soon as the guards
came rushing to tame the fire, the good doctor storming himself the yard with
his face distorted by ultimate shock and distraught. Actually, he was to pity
him unless you knew what he was up to in his baby...
Anyway, he’d return home soon, hopefully shortening the ‘Pepper lecture’ and
then... Sleep... Every time he stepped foot on the soil of this city, he was
drained...
Tony shook his head to clear the bitter thoughts that wanted to blacken the joy
from his blow on Falcone.
“Jarvis, put ‘That’s Life’ full volume.”
Upon entering the shining vastness of the kitchen, his dancing strode was
abruptly sank, when he saw Pepper’s elegant, endless posture with her long legs
crossed, high heels threatening but sexy at the same time, leaned over her
notebook, her long nailed fingers flying over the keyboard.
“Jarvis, down the volume” she ordered, looking Tony with her eyebrows risen.
“Party pooper!” he scratched his sleepy head and filling his cup with strong
espresso took a seat by Pepper’s side, making an attempt to kiss her smooth
cheek but her glare persuaded him to retreat hastily. “Good morning!”
“Try ‘good afternoon’...”
“Oh, well, it was an intense night, although I had better ones, like then on
the Statue of Liberty with... how was his name? Do you happen to remember?”
She returned to her notebook indifferently.
“Keeping your orgy records is not in my job obligations.”
“Maybe I should add it... with a wage raise of course” he tried to appease her
“it would have spared me a lot of ... inconvenience and slaps...”
“It’s enough that I have to visit Gotham so often to take care of your business
there” she snapped at him without stopping her work.
He half bit his cupcake and left the other on the plate sobered.
“Is it so unpleasant for you?” he asked concernedly.
She left her work, took a deep breath and pierced him with her eyes.
“Not so much unpleasant as it is for you but having to do with Falcone’s slugs
and being forced not kick them in the balls is frustrating...”
“Is Mr Fox...”
“No, Mr Fox is charming, the one of a few good things in this job, apart from
the benefit for the people.”
Tony patted her back.
“I know but you did an amazing job with the equipment; weren’t that equipment,
now Falcone would have flooded the clubs all over the States and the world with
a highly dangerous drug – not to mention the millions he would have gained...
Thank you, Peps” and he found the chance to kiss her cheek.
She laughed.
“If that’s your ‘thanks’, then you should thank Lucius when you see him again
at the official beginning of the works.”
Tony looked her puzzled.
“What Lucius has to do with the equipment?”
“He caught me in the act just before your special crew was to come. He told me
to call off the crew and helped me plug in the equipment and set it in motion.
He also told me to pass to you that such... sensitive matters aren’t settled
with stray crews...” she smirked and continued her work.
Tony shook his head impressed, smiling as childhood images of the good man came
to the fore. However, he cringed on the thought of having to kiss Lucius’
cheek.
“He is a genius: a real fox, as his name. My father tried many times to lure
him to Stark Industries but Fox is too loyal. I remember when he was touring us
to the Wayne Enterprises’ workshops with Bruce, that little slug charming him
by pouting his rosy sweet lips to not let me show off my knowledge...” he
laughed affectionately “And Leslie? Did you meet her?”
“Of course, her cooperation is crucial for the project, especially since her
free clinic will be the centre of the medical department of the project. She is
a very capable, strong woman and I enjoyed working with her, especially since
she doesn’t hesitate to kick Falcone’s scums’ asses and put them in their
place; her clinic has been many times the object of those bullies’ activity but
she held her ground all these years without yielding: she is very brave and
admirable...”
“Good ol’ Leslie...” he smiled reminiscently “I remember one time in her clinic
when she caught me and Bruce...”
Pepper stopped abruptly her typing and turned to him her eyes widened from
outrage: really scary to him. He made an offended grimace.
“For pity’s shake, Pepper! How much pervert you take me for?” a thought came to
his mind and looked down like a child apprehended in a mischievous act “don’t
answer that...”
“I know you’re not a paedophile, Tony, otherwise I’d have chemically
emasculated you and throw you in jail myself...”
He scratched his goatee.
“Thank you, Pepper... I guess...”
“But you were 12 years old” she continued her disrupted line of thoughts.
“Exactly, I was a child!” he protested because she thought that of him.
“You started your sexual life at ten, for God’s sake!”
“Okay, now you berate me for my rapid development and my flooding
testosterone!” she rolled her eyes and Tony worried that she would fall from
the chair “He was like an angel, Pepper” he whispered “even a crazy oversexed
teenager like me couldn’t defile him...” he took in Pepper’s sympathetic look
and immediately changed the subject. “Anyway, she caught us trying to sneak to
her medical files and chased us and on our panicked retreat we stumbled on a
large cabinet full of dossier and files... Oh! It was a complete mess...” he
moved his head “She grabbed us from our ears and dragged us to Thomas.”
Pepper was now smiling tenderly.
“What were you looking for?”
“It was Bruce’s fault, actually... He had a friend, a little girl from Narrows
 and she was ill and he wanted to know what she had.”
“And?”
“Thomas told him eventually that his friend had cancer... However, the Wayne
family covered the vast expenses for her therapy and the girl was cured. I
think the little rascal fancied her: he was visiting her every day, offering
her stuffed bears and sweets – actually, it was nauseating...” he cringed at
the thought.
Pepper returned to her work.
“Because you are an insensitive pig unable of tender feelings that doesn’t make
human feelings nauseating!” she missed his mouthed ‘Ouch!’
He resumed eating his cupcakes, sipping his coffee, gesturing to the AI to play
again the same song and at the end intrigued at what Pepper was doing so
devoted so much time.
“Assets? Balance sheets? Tax returns?”
Pepper gawked at him her head lopsided.
“The list of guests for your great annual party. And that’s worse than any
balance sheet and tax form!”
Tony hoped from his seat, the cup in his hands to be refilled, ready to go to
his workshop.
“Make sure to invite Falcone!” he told Pepper at the kitchen's threshold.
She exploded and Tony was sure that a stiletto shoe would be launched to his
head.
“What! You’ll bring that scum here, in our city? In your house?! Are you crazy?
What I am saying, that’s granted... Are you stupid?”
He sniggered at her irritation, his wicked eyes shining amused.
“C'mon, Peps... Where are your philanthropic sentiments? The man is facing a
very stressful period in his life and we should offer him some solace, some
recreation to see that he is not alone... Besides, I pretend to be his chum
after his generosity; if he hadn’t offered us the buildings, I wouldn’t have
the pleasure to cause him such a loss... I feel obliged to the man!” he teased
“And actually, you are the one who nudges me all the time to be more
responsible with my business partners, to have human feelings of compassion...
Ciao, bambina!”
And he left the kitchen singing loudly the lyrics of ‘That’s Life’ accompanying
Frank Sinatra.
Pepper followed his departing form unable to get angry with him, because he
knew that Tony invited that filthy mobster in hopes of seeing again that young
man who was causing him so much turmoil and bringing back so many tormenting
childhood memories...
 
This time Selina was on time in the meeting point. Her emerald eyes stroked
affectionately the back of the sitting man; once again the small laptop’s
screen the only light source in the tiny room; his eyes were scouring endless
lines of digits that bear no sense or interest for her, except her worry about
her friend’s health.
“This time I’m punctuate”, she broke the room’s silence smugly, leaving by his
hand a sandwich.
He left the screen and looked at her, the darkness of the room unable to
conceal his love for her that flooded his eyes.
“Thank you” he said gesturing to the food.
She sat on the shabby inconvenient wooden chair and crossed her long shapely
legs. Her friend put a CD on the laptop and his fingers started flying over the
keyboard. She yawned; all these as crucial as might be, were more than boring
for her – she preferred action and the wide sky, even if this sky was Gotham’s
gruesome one.
“The din from the distraction of Falcone’s vans is soaring Gotham’s media
boosted by the explosion that destroyed completely Crane’s laboratory; everyone
is talking about terroristic attacks made by the same culprit” Selina started.
He was still immersed in his work but his raised eyebrow showed to her that he
was listening.
“Of course, they don’t say what these vans contained or what Crane was creating
in his equipped and fund by Falcone Enterprises laboratory” he pointed out.
Selina scrutinizing her long flaming red nails raised her both eyebrows in
irony.
“Oh! Of course, they inform the good people of Gotham and US that the vans were
carrying medical supplies which were meant to be sent to various suffering
countries...” her silk but sharp sarcasm vibrating in her voice. “As for the
laboratory, Dr Crane” her sarcasm was now peaking “was developing a new
revolutionary drug for curing hallucinations caused by schizophrenia”.
“These ‘suffering countries’ include Metropolis...” he stopped pressing keys, a
small window informing him about the progress of the data transfer to the CD,
his face turned to fully watch her.
“Are you alright?” she asked seeing his face.
He smiled reassuringly, his white teeth the only distinct feature of his
otherwise covered in shadow face.
“I’m fine... Stop worrying about me.”
“How can I?” she waved her head but sensing that he won’t stay on the issue
whatever she might say, returned to the previous discussion. “Both Commissioner
Loeb and Mayor Hady stated that they are certain that this is Batman’s doing to
revenge Falcone for increasing the bounty on his head.”
The shadow nodded.
“And now Falcone and his right hand are scouring the city to found and catch
Batman themselves!” he chuckled.
“Ah! I forgot to mention” she laughed “Crane gave an entire speech in front of
the cameras about how much the mental instability of Batman deteriorates with
frantic speed and that he becomes progressively more dangerous for Gotham and
her citizens.”
The shadow smiled and winked; Selina was so used to his expressions that could
detect them even in the darkness of this room.
“Crane must be furious about the destruction of his ‘masterpiece’; at least, he
has his payment to rebuild his laboratory, in order to give people the pleasure
to burn it again...”
Selina stood and walked gracefully to the small window, looking through the
blinds the alluring dark charm of the roaring Gotham, because this city was
more vivid when the sun set than in the daylight.
“In one month’s time a huge tanker of his was sank, then his smuggled guns were
vanished, leaving him to deal with the wrath of some of the most dangerous US
and Mexico gangs which are also valuable allies to him, then he was beaten by
Batman: himself and his number one henchman, and now his entire merchandise of
the new drug is dust... This is what I call a huge loss of money, credibility
and esteem.”
Her friend took a bite from the sandwich she brought him and approached her.
“And someone is plucking shares and assets of the peripheral corporations
Falcone Enterprises have founded worldwide (some of them at least shady),
trying to beat his absolute control in the board.”
“How is the one connected to the other?” her thin eyebrows frowned.
He smiled.
“Falcone obviously didn’t bother to read his Enterprises’ charter” his sarcasm
was heavy. “The one that controls the peripheral concerns and firms gains
approximately a 10% of the entire Enterprises and is granted of an important
position and a crucial vote to the board.”
“Can one person have the control of all these companies? It must be too
difficult to find every single company Falcone Enterprises have in every corner
of the world. Not to mention gain their control.”
“You’re right. It is indeed difficult for an outsider to discover or locate all
these small and medium sized companies – however, it is not so difficult when
the person IS an insider and thus has access to data which with a considerable
amount of intelligence can lead to the uncovering of all these raw gems...
Besides, the potentiality of one person taking over all these companies – even
minuscule as it is - is the reason they avoid to sell all the shares and assets
to one person or organization.”
“Then how he did it?”
He seemed impressed.
“There are many different organizations, institutions and little companies that
are buying lately shares and assets that the peripheral companies of Falcone
Enterprises are abundantly offering – consider that the share’s offerings of
these companies fuel significantly the core of the Enterprises and with the
latest developments Falcone needs money. But” he gestured with the head “if you
follow the trails – as I did -, although brilliantly covered, you are led to
one single source...”
Selina’s breath was caught in her lugs.
“Which is...?”
“I was too close, but he/she became aware of my presence and tried to locate
me, so I withdrew and covered my traces.”
“Too bad Falcone didn’t take seriously the legends about the Black Butterfly
and the Goddess to whom it belongs; it seems like the gem brought him a lot of
misfortune...”
 “I think that now he reveres the legend more; actually, he is obsessed with
the gem, right?”
She turned to his direction her eyes sparkling satisfied.
“He increased his requests and his offers to me for giving him the Museum’s
half.”
The shadow nodded smirking.
“Since he wants it so much, I think that we should give it to him, if you, of
course are you willing to...I don’t want to put your life in danger.”
She looked him lopsided, considering him with mock offense her blood red juicy
lips pouting.
“Please, honey... I’m doing this job from my ten; plus, I have the greatest
hacker of the world with me!”
He just turned to the window raising a little the blind and gazing at the
ominous buildings.
“You’re overestimating me, Selina” his voice was grave and she snorted from his
low self-esteem “but I’ll do everything to assist and protect you...”
She pressed gently his shoulder with her elegant hand.
“I know you will but you should rest a bit, otherwise you’ll collapse; please,
take care of yourself” her tone was so different from her usual snarky and
smart-ass attitude.
He just put his hand upon hers, smiling reassuringly.
***** Chapter 15 *****
In the blue - black enormity of the roaring Pacific Ocean a hill stood aflame,
sparks of multicolored light columns piercing vividly the mild- cold winter 
Californian sky, dancing in the rhythms of the loud modern music the famous
band was playing inside Tony Stark’s dashing house. A stark contrast to the
nature’s silence.
The impressive marvel of modern architecture was lazily stretched across the
steep rock, its whole wall windows shone blinding from the soft lighting of the
spacious rooms. Its glass, stone and metallic body was vibrating with the
beating speakers and the dancing feet of dozens of people, guests in Tony
Stark’s grand annual party, infamous for their frantic exuberance, as well as
for their intemperance.
People were scattered all over the vast premises carrying flutes with all kinds
of expensive booze, dancing, discussing or fondling in the house’s convenient
nests. Everyone craved to be invited to the event of the year, since it was a
ticket to publicity, acknowledgement: being invited in this meant that you were
in the good spirits of the eccentric host, and a night of good, exhausting fun,
since the host took special care in adorning his party with models,
supermodels, and starlets, all of them too eager to enjoy their one night’s
fame, achieving, if possible, the goodwill of a powerful man or woman to boost
their career.
Journalists of various gossip magazines and sites were swarming the entrance of
the estate in a framed space, in order to not exert much pressure to the guests
- to capture the famous and less famous guests, only few of them having the
luck to be accepted inside were all the juicy things happened. Since the guests
of Stark’s parties always found themselves eventually intoxicated or at least
high spirited, the tongues were very loose, willing to share their well kept
secrets – it wasn’t random that these parties always made the news either with
some information slipped by a drunk guest or the scandalous deeds of the host.
Various luxurious cars were parked from the valet boys, their owners arrogantly
showing off the last models they drove. Sport cars for the younger, more
conservative ones for the mature; flaming Ferrari’s, sullen Lotus’s, classic
Aston Martins, sleek Lamborghini’s, brooding Mercedes’: all of them arousing
the impressed yells of the journalists and a downpour of flashes; all of them
had one thing common: their ridiculous high price.
An imposing new but royally in her posture silver Rolls Roy’s slithered
graciously the steep road leading to Tony Stark’s bright house, causing a new
buzz between the flock of paparazzis with her shining under the spotlights
beauty. The car stopped having passed the framed area that kept away the
annoying flock and the driver, a perfectly dressed square – formed, pure
muscled giant caught the valet’s progression to his boss’ side of the car and
opened himself, his respect evident.
A plump tall man in his late fifties emerged buttoning his expensive tailored
jacket, indifferent to his employee’s servility and the loud cacophony of the
journalists who recognized him; he strut towards the entrance where Pepper
Potts was welcoming the guests. He shook hands with her and she led him
politely inside; the cloud of songs, chats and loud already drunken laughs
enveloping his strange to all this form.
 His wolfish eyes focused on a Tony Stark already half boozy with his bow tie
askew, his cheeks marked from lip-shaped crayon, his eyes glistening wickedly
as he was saying something to the band’s lead’s ear, the crystal flute with
champagne trembling dangerously from his amusement.
As soon as the newcomer walked in the spacious room where the main party was
launching, he stood abruptly, the tones of Niro Lassano’s Godfather’stheme
flooding the space, everyone’s eyes turned to the man who was immediately
recognized as being Gotham’s Emperor. Pepper bit her lips but Falcone continued
unfazed, enjoying the attention he gathered, although his brooding face didn’t
forget the events of the last days; Tony laughing benevolently, with two busty
aspiring starlets at his sides hurried to welcome him.
He offered cordially his hand for a handshake, Falcone taking it somewhat
coldly.
“Oh! C'mon, Carmino chum!” he patted his back tough “Don’t tell me you don’t
like it! This melody is attached in people’s minds with your fatherland.”
And Mafia, Pepper thought and parted letting Tony to his own devices.
“Where’s your toy?” he asked as he ushered Falcone to the grand round shaped
extension who hovered to the cliff’s edge offering through the glass wall a
breath-taking view of the ocean; he pretended  having not noticed the young
man’s absence from the first instant.
“He recovers from a mild food poisoning an' I didn’t want to tire him with such
a big flight” he answered taking the flute one of the starlets offered him.
Tony pouted in mock sympathy, covering his true concern.
“Poor thing! It was a great chance to play with the other kids!” his
intoxicated laugh echoed.
Falcone just sipped his champagne, fuming inside because he had to tolerate
Stark’s bullshit whilst he had so many urgent matters pressing him. All because
Al Ghul wanted to.
“Don’t worry, Carmino – have your name any relation to Carmina Burana?” Tony’s
drunken eyes shone for a fraction of the second wickedly, arresting the
mobster’s rolling eyes “what I was saying? Oh, yes! Don’t worry, your chum Tony
will take care of you...” He presented to Falcone one of his dates, a juicy
tall beauty with long black hair and almond shaped brown eyes “She is Monica –
unfortunately, not Belucci, my sweetie is married and has a baby now – but this
one aspires to be...” he winked “Besides, she has the... assets, do you agree?”
Falcone gave his upper arm to the impressive woman and nodded.
“Monica, hon” Tony exclaimed to the starlet taking Falcone to the illuminated
pool, another dashing model taking her place immediately at his side “do your
best! Carmino is used to the crème of the crème...”
She laughed confidently and dragged along her new date.
Falcone ended up on an unbelievably convenient sofa with his arms full with
gorgeous bimbos who were laughing stupidly and his hand clutching Stark’s
expensive brews from all over the world. His escorts knowing too well the
Gotham’s Emperor’s fabulous wealth and power were, unlike his little gem, too
eager to evoke the Grey Wolf’s arousal, their busty lips sucking his neck and
their snake-like fingers professionally rubbing his dick, anxious to go with
him to the private spaces of the house where the guests completed the nights’
entertainment.
He was reciprocating, pawing the young women’s offered breasts that protruded
from too large cleavages , their hips and thighs, leaking the willing necks,
wishing he had taken the boy with him so to watch these bitches devoring his
toy’s enticing body.
However, although his groin was more than willing, he couldn’t follow the
ladies in the private rooms, because he had a mission; a mission that had
nothing to offer to him except than keeping his powerful ally satisfied. And he
hated it; Hell, he was Gotham’s Emperor and still had to indulge a crazy
terrorist... But he needed him.
So he was spending this promising night doing mundane things such as discussing
potential deals with dumb entrepreneurs and watching the wrecked Tony Stark
doing everything he could to magnetize the guest reporters and the other guests
with his non senses.
He was deliriously dancing on the round shaped blue colored hovering stage in
the rhythm of club music, accompanied by his now four chicks and three
brunette, tanned and masculine young men. He was rubbing his lacking the jacket
body to their bodies, changing constantly partners. His bow tie was some time
during the night lost and his free neck was kissed by more than one pair of
lips simultaneously, his exclamations of cheer unashamedly inviting more.
At a moment he emptied his flute of champagne to the spot where the tempting
breasts of his African-American dame united and drank from there, one of his
male partners rubbing his groin to Stark’s ass.
Falcone rolled his eyes – use a room, he thought – and delved his face to his
Italian escort’s vast cleavage, causing an extremely enthusiastic giggle from
her that made him miss his boy’s reluctant, deep in shyness moans. How he was
to talk to Stark about the thing Al Ghul wanted, when he was whacked and loaded
both in men and women?
But then, after the scandalous dance ended, he saw Stark having unbuttoned the
half buttons of his light gray shirt; the glowing... think on his chest was
exhibited like a trophy. He had two of his chicks hugged and was followed by
the others, as he strut to the private rooms.
Falcone grabbed his own women and followed.
The room was another colossal round projection of the building literally
hanging to the void, the glass wall so transparent that seemed to not exist at
all. A gargantuan Jacuzzi pool bumbling; the end of it giving the impression of
the water spilling to the cliff; its occupants so highly absorbed in their
sexual activities to even cherish a glance to the host and his escort that
entered the low lighted in red saturation room, already discarding his shirt on
the floor and making an elegant dive in the water, splashing his cohort who
hastily followed him, laughing.
Falcone with a determined move took off his jacket, his tie and shirt next,
descending the pools’ stairs only with his silken boxers; his dates at his
heels.
Stark was too busy sucking and leaking women and men of his company alike, his
eyes heavy and dark not from the alcohol but from an insisting deep pain not
caused by anything physical, but his frustration that demanded satisfaction;
his mind torturously was bringing back two missing sweet, innocent eyes. He
thought that drinking and urging his hedonism to the limit would sooth his
pain, but vainly. If Falcone had brought him here, maybe he would have managed
to speak with him alone, having sent a beauty to distract the mobster. But the
youth was ill and he should take that scum’s word that it wasn’t something
serious. Maybe Falcone took out his wrath about his deed on the helpless young
man and that was the reason... He sighed and his male companion took it as a
signal to move his lips lower to his under the water abdomen.
Tony jerked; that was Falcone in the same pool, closing. He tittered.
“Carmino chum, move ahead! Come to our company and bring your angels along!”
The Grey Wolf was there immediately; Tony pushed gently the guy who tried to
suck him and gestured to the older man to take his place. The older man rushed
there.
“You don’t have in mind to fuck me, do you?” Tony frowned mockingly but erupted
in a giggle when he saw the angry impression in the man’s face.
He whistled to a passing waitress and took two flutes of champagne, giving the
one to his ‘chum’.
“I have Italian wine, if you prefer... But my preference is Greek wines, no
offence...” he winked.
“No offense, Tony, personal tastes an' all that jazz... Besides, my throat is
used to the most expensive imported champagne...”
Tony rolled his eyes and caught Falcone’s eyes gawping at the arc reactor.
“I know, I know, my shaggy muscled chest is a sight to be seen and not only
seen... Is that right, honey?” he asked the African-American model that was
stroking his thighs under the water’s surface and she laughed seductively.
“I was looking the arc reactor; is a marvel of science. Ya should have been
nominated for a Nobel prize...”
The percent of alcohol in his blood was so high that Tony didn’t feel any
hesitance to laugh loudly at this pitiful attempt to flatter him. He patted the
older man’s back.
“You know me, old chum, I’m a modest man, hating showing off...”
“But it’s a waste of ingenuity that ya distanced yarself from weapon
manufacturing.”
Tony’s fabulous mind, despite the numbing effect of alcohol, started running,
his eyes sparkling. So that is what the mobster wanted...
“I’m earning too much from other activities to miss the gain” he pretended to
not have understood “besides, I’m against that from my early years and when my
father died I made it the Industries ’s policy – and my adventure made me
adamant to that.”
Falcone leaned closer and Tony felt disgust.
“It’s not only the profit, the money, ya surely feel that...”
Tony felt like Faust when Mefistoffelees was trying to temp him to sell his
soul.
“It’s the rush of adrenaline when ya create something that has enormous power;
that can define the destiny, that can give ya rule, that can make terrorists
hide at their holes an' save thousand human lives...”
As if you care... Tony thought but pretended to listen interested.
“Why not creating weapons in order to protect peace from those who want to
oppress people? Why not being the object of awe from billions of people?”
Tony disgusted by all this hypocritical speech decided to cut the crap.
“And what you have to do with world peace and protecting innocent lives?” he
laughed as if the alcohol was talking but his laugh was venomously sarcastic.
Falcone’s face was covered by a menacing shadow, yet he chose to let it pass.
“Together we can make a change; ya saw it in what we achieved in the Narrows.
Our collaboration in this can have the same success; I proved to ya that I
care. The weapon I ask ya to make for me will save millions of lives!”
Tony calculated Falcone’s hungry eyes; his desperation to take what he came for
evident in his raspy voice.
“You know I don’t create means of killing...” he told his voice completely
sober.
“It’ll be only for warning purposes; the one who will have this weapon will
make the bad people of this world rethink their actions!”
Tony moved his head.
“I can’t trust anyone with such power... Some people already tried to make me
do that with more...‘persuasive’ ways but I refused to comply. What makes you
think that I’ll accept now?”
“I can give ya whatever ya want...” Falcone whispered in his ear having decided
to play his last ace at the face of the impending failure.
“I want your boy!” Tony’s decisive voice having lost even the slightest trace
of drunken jubilance told to Falcone’s face.
He saw the Grey Wolf moving uncomfortably, obviously not liking the proposed
exchange.
“Ya don’t expect me to give him to ya for a weapon?” he hissed.
“You don’t expect me to create a powerful weapon and giving it to you without
taking something of value – and you don’t have anything else I want!” snapped
Tony.
The men’s exchange and tone was so different than the light beginning that the
cohorts of the two men had vanished to the enormity of the Jacuzzi pool.
Falcone was red with rage and apprehension, his face sweaty. He would never
ever lose his toy but Al Ghul’s wrath if he failed him would be something of...
worry. He had to treat carefully.
“Okay, Tony, no need for grudges” he smiled benevolently but Tony could easily
sense the hatred “I’ll share my dream with someone else... A pity, really, but
I won’t give my little gem to anyone; he is too precious to me to handle him as
a tradable thing.” His smile turned to something ominous “however, now I know
yar immense interest in him, I’ll keep him away from ya... I don’t want him
being the reason of yar turmoil: seeing him, desiring him an' not being able to
get him... I promise ya, my... chum” his sarcasm was like the hissing of a
snake ready to attack “ya'll never see him again!”
The Gotham’s Emperor distanced himself eager to leave, his eyes full of cruel
satisfaction.
“Wait!” Tony exclaimed.
Falcone stood and turned to face Tony, a smile of triumph making his face truly
Mefistofelic.
“I’ll make your weapon” Tony’s eyes were determined and dark “for a night with
him...”
The Grey Wolf looked relieved.
“When do ya want him?”
“In a few days I’ll come to Gotham for the official start up of the
construction works for the project. I want him then for an entire night.”
“An' ya'll have him.”
 
The first nudges of awakening hit his numb mind; although he was feeling much
better now, the effects of the green brew was causing him a sweet exhaustion
and paralysis making him not wanting to leave the soft mattress and the warmth
of his velvet blankets.
He sensed a presence in the room, a strange feeling that someone was watching
him and he opened his eyes worried; the deep darkness of the room welcomed him.
“Alfred?” he asked hesitantly and instantly a storm of painful to his awakening
eyes white light attacked him.
He covered his eyes with his forearm to protect them and slowly looked.
Across the bed, watching him persistently, sat on an armchair, was him; his
silver-ivory cane loosely at his hands. The lion-like man rose elegantly and
strut to his bed.
“I see you woke; very nice...”
He touched the boy’s forehead with his palm and then put his two fingers at his
jugular, taking his pulse; the effect of his long hands paralyzing to his still
weak body.
“You are almost full recovered” he said his face illuminated from satisfaction
“however...”
Ha sat at the mattress, took the cup emanating steam from its hot content and
holding carefully the back of the youth's head to help him drink it, smiling
tenderly on the young man's disgusted grimace.
“It’s not valued for its taste but for its curing abilities; it saved your
life.”
He remembered in a mist what had happened at his master’s office at Dolcetto;
his agonizing need, his master’s greedy touches, the sudden pain in his heart,
the clench of his lungs and the vein effort to breath, the feeling of dying and
then this lion-like face breathing life to him and taking him in his arms
carrying him somewhere.
“Thank you, sir” he said his head bowed in gratitude and servility.
Al Ghul petted his hair and cupped gently his jaw, lifting the still pale face
to have the youth's eyes looking into his.
“You are too priceless to let you die...”
And he lowered his head brushing his lips to the younger man's pitted from
fever lips.
“Falcone is at Malibu.”
The youth eyed him.
“Stark invited him to his great annual party. He will ask him to do something
for me...”
The unique sapphire-emerald eyes focused on him with wonder.
“And Falcone will give him for exchange whatever he asks” the eagle eyes
pierced the boy’s ones with strictness and sarcasm “...Which is you.”
The man cringed from panic and Al Ghul grabbed his head in both his hands
immobilizing him.
“No...” he whispered to the powerful man and tried to move his head in
negation.
Al Ghul shook violently the brunette head and then held it tightening his grip,
forcing the boy to look him in the eye.
“For a night – we don’t want to lose you for more time. You will do whatever he
wants; you’ll make him happy for creating what I want.”
He just nodded as much as the older man’s hold permitted him, but Al Ghul’s
grip didn’t loosen.
“Is it necessary to remind you of some things we ‘discussed’ in the past?” the
threat was clear as a thunder in the midnight sky.
“No, sir; it isn’t...”
The lion-like man appeased kissed tenderly the young man’s forehead and
pressing gently his upper arms, laid him flat on the mattress. The beautiful
eyes were focused on the older man’s face above his own so close that his
exhales were caressing his skin.
“I missed you...” the older man breathed kissing lightly his eyes, his long
beautiful fingers feeling gently his cheekbones, his cheek, his lips to slip
into the younger man’s mouth.
The young man knowing what he ought to do started sucking the fingertips; his
tongue brushing the older man’s long fingers making him close his eyes and moan
appreciatively.
“I’ll take you from Falcone and have you with me all the time – he doesn’t
deserve you...”
He threw his jacket on the floor and then his tie, unbuttoning fast his shirt
that soon accompanied his other clothes on the wooden floor. He took off the
blankets of the young body, revealing a pliant body clad in dark blue silken
pajamas.
His dextrous fingers gently unbuttoned the shirt of the pajamas and the fabric
ran like water to the mattress exposing the young man’s artistic sculpted
torso. The older man closed his eyes inhaling the young body’s perfume, his
palm flat on the warm skin of the belly.
“You still smell like a child; like the first time I claimed you...”
His gentle hands explored meticulously, scientifically the lines of his
perfectly shaped muscles and lowered slowly the younger man’s pants and
underwear, the young body completely still under his touch, his breath caught
and his heart racing, as if he was prey and a hungry predator was testing him;
a predator that with the slightest move would feast him...
The older man’s large hands were fondling the soft but firm thighs, like he was
visiting again something highly cherished that he was forced to lose for a
considerable time. When the massaging fingers touched expertly his hip and
groin, the young man unwillingly writhed and Al Ghul smiled tenderly.
“Your body remembers and longs for my touch...” he petted the soft dark locks,
his pride shone in his eyes.
He leaned his body upon the younger man and devored his lips, extricating his
aroused groin from every cloth that choked it, his penis eagerly hurried to
taste the enticing flesh under him, rubbing demandingly.
Al Ghul’s commanding lips were tracing his stretched neck, his hands pawing his
breast and hips, ordering him to open for him. He obeyed, the older man’s
enormous body, although he wasn’t 14 years old anymore crushing him, as the
large erected member settled inside him. His eyes turned to the ceiling as the
older man began his powerful thrusts, moaning and whining to satisfy him but
his thoughts were dominated by one thing: he’ll be given to Tony Stark...
 
***** Chapter 16 *****
The flight to Gotham seemed to drag and drag, despite the luxury and the
comfort Tony Stark’s jet offered...
Its owner, a glass of whiskey clutched in his hand his eyes gazing
indifferently the clouds of the night sky, was counting every minute of
tormenting Pepper Potts’ lecture. His devoted assistant sat at the cosy seat
opposite her boss, her long shapely form leaned towards him, as if she wanted
to prevent his escape although in thirty thousand feet above the ground.
“You cut a deal with devil! What were you thinking? Your stupid abuse of
alcohol will eventually destroy you and not only you! What were you thinking?
Why create a weapon for this mobster and who knows who else is behind him? You
have everything! You don’t need anything from them; you suffered torture to not
give lethal weapons to inappropriate hands and now you willingly agreed to do
it? Why are you cutting deals without my presence? Say something! I’m furious!”
He didn’t answer; his eyes heavy with thoughts. He just sipped his whiskey.
Pepper waved her hand in front of his face.
“Say something! Explain or I swear I quit as soon as we land: I won’t work for
a weapon manufacturer who collaborates with mob and... who knows who else!”
Her eyes flamed with that decisiveness that every time told Tony  that she
meant business and was adamant.
“I don’t regret it, Pepper” he answered piercing her enraged eyes with his
solemn ones. “I knew perfectly well what I was doing... If, however, you insist
on quitting, I can’t change your mind, although you know that I’ll be
distraught.”
“Sure! Until you find a new supermodel to ease your ‘pain’...”
Tony looked her with his attempt on puppy eyes.
“You know how much I love you...”
Pepper rubbed her forehead; she knew that he loved her... in his bizarre way
and how much he needed her, because despite his careless, airhead attitude, he
was a deeply sensitive human being, his psyche’s traumas unhealed by any arc
reactor. And she cared so much for him; she always fought for his interests and
his well being: surely, the wage was more than generous but she could easily
find something as good paying. However, if she ceased to be listened to by him
and he obstinately chose shady deals, she would happily leave and never look
back.
She sighed.
“What was the bargain?’’
Tony straightened his loose posture and looked her serious.
“A night with Falcone’s boy.”
Pepper’s eyes widened so much that Tony was afraid that they would pop out and
prepared himself for the explosion.
“You... you...” she was so mad that her usual eloquence had abandoned her. “You
sold your soul for a night with Falcone’s toy?! As soon as we land in Gotham go
surrender yourself to Arkham!”
Tony licked his dry lips; he wanted Pepper to understand.
“It is the only way to speak with him alone, without interruptions and without
the threat of others...”
His assistant shook her head in a mix of exasperation, understanding and pity.
“You tried again to speak to him and he didn’t even say his name to you...”
“Because that motherfucker, Chill, intervened” he leaned towards her to point
his argument “he was among those brutes; he was afraid to speak to anyone. You
weren’t there; if you have seen him, you would have understood my point. If I
am alone with him in a secure place, he’ll talk to me.”
Pepper crossed her arms and stretched to touch the seat’s back with her own.
“Assuming that he is ...”
“Bruce” he hurried to finish for her.
“And if he is not? What possibilities there are that the murderer or the
murderers of his parents let him live? Especially, since there are witnesses
that say that the boy was tossed in the sewer’s wastes handcuffed? How are you
coaxed to turn over all these, only by seeing a young man of the same age and
some resemblance?”
Tony raised his fingers in front of his face towards Pepper, in a gesture of
appeasement.
“I’m not coaxed, Pepper. I see your points and I’m constantly thinking those
things from the night I first saw him. But... there is an uncertainty... a
tormenting doubt... What if he is, Pepper? What if he is Bruce and I’m once
again abandoning him?”
“You never abandoned him...” she pointed out, her voice touched but keeping its
authoritative quality. “You couldn’t have done anything; you weren’t even in
Gotham when it happened.”
He just waved his head showing that this was an entirely internal matter that
couldn’t be settled by anyone except himself.
“Anyway, if he is Bruce, by a strange eccentricity of life, how can you expect
me to not stretch every chance there is to help him? If he is Bruce, he is in
the claws of Falcone from all people, Pepper!” he leaned his back on his seat.
Her eyes were tamed and seemed wet; only the thought of someone being at the
hands of that awful mobster clenched her heart.
“Maybe he has amnesia, maybe he is terrified” Tony continued looking at the sky
“maybe... I have thought thousand possible causes... If I offer him the sense
of security, if I speak to him, maybe he remembers or finds the courage to
admit it...”
Pepper saw his eyes shine with a child-like enthusiasm.
“And then I’ll take him from there and let Falcone searching his toy and his
weapon!”
She hated doing that but she had to.
“And if he is not?” her question sounded cruel even to her own ears and Tony’s
slightly slump hurt. “If he, indeed, was Bruce, don’t you think that Alfred,
being constantly close to him, would have found out? Wouldn’t he have told you
and asked your help to save him?”
Tony gulped the rest of the liquid in his glass and looked determinedly away
from Pepper’s clever eyes, not wanting her to see his fear that she was right,
because these were his thoughts too and the persistent fear in his guts.
“What will you do then?” she insisted.
“If the young man wants to escape, I’ll help him, even if he is not Bruce and
of course I won’t create the weapon. There’s no chance Falcone takes the
weapon.”
Pepper didn’t share his certainty but Tony always had some plan.
“Dr. Thompkins organized a little party for the area’s children, giving the
occasion. Presents and groceries would be given to them and their families” she
decided to change the subject to relieve somewhat her boss.
He looked interested and curious.
“She didn’t ask for more money...”
“Someone donated a million dollars to her clinic with that purpose and to help
financially some families in urgent need.”
Tony’s eyebrows rose to his forehead.
“A philanthropist in Gotham and especially for Narrows? Who’s that person?”
Pepper shrugged.
“She doesn’t know; the donation was anonymous, she just found the money in her
account after she received an anonymous letter informing her that the money was
credited to her account; the letter also had the donator’s wishes.”
Tony moved his head in disbelief, his disbelief even bigger at the view of the
approaching Gotham astonishingly beautiful under the first golden rays of the
rising sun.
 
It was an awkwardly beautiful day for Gotham with an insanely happy sun
shining, despite the fact that it was the middle of winter and Gotham was a
city known for brutal winters, even summers.
The working orgasm of the last month had reached its peak and the Narrows
manifested a near normal impression that could trick the ignorant viewer. An
unusual activity, nervousness and jubilant anticipation were radiated from the
mean streets and the grim apartment buildings. Even some children’s laughs
echoed to the menacing area, as if today was a different day; a day that
permitted the less fortunate people of the Narrows to breathe some normality
and hope that this could become permanent.
Near Dr. Thompkins’ free clinic, renovated now and freshly painted, a huge
stage had been placed, an auditorium emanating solemnity at the edge looking to
the square that was newly built; behind the auditorium stood the empty seats
awaiting their esteemed occupiers. A few feet from the stage Dr. Thompkins has
looked personally into creating with the help of some local volunteers a huge
space with tables and seats, where food and refreshers would be served to the
kids of Narrows along with their presents. The catering company was already
there finishing the tent's adornments that was protecting the tables from the
elements.
A considerable police force was since morning patrolling the entire Narrows and
especially the premises of the event to discourage any wrong doer.
On the right side of the stage a white fabric was covering something big, its
rectangular shape protruding.
“People start to gather” Pepper said looking out from the brand new window near
the modern entrance to Dr. Thompkins’ clinic.
Tony ran his hand through his raven hair and looked his reflection in the small
round shaped mirror he extracted from his long coat.
“I’m dashing as always, ready to awe the crowds again! My boy, you rock!”
Pepper rolled her eyes, impressive as always in her business black and white
suit her black stilettos hitting the shining tiled floor from exasperation.
“What?” he asked her with innocent eyes.
“Tony, you are in the Narrows, not Oscars!” a teasing but still imposing female
voice answered him.
Tony turned and happily acknowledged the warmly familiar and respected figure
of Leslie Thompkins. Truth be told, after the murders’ of the Wayne family he
didn’t keep any bonds with Gotham until his parents’ deaths when he continued
his father’s deals with Falcone and taking advantage of this he started
financing Leslie’s clinic. However, he was ashamed to admit that he avoided the
doctor even then.
Yet now that he was seeing her again, her stern and concerned face the same as
then, her hair hastily groomed into a bun, her glasses underlining her wise
eyes, a warm wave of nostalgia flooded him. He covered the space that separated
them with two strides and squeezed her in his embrace.
The doctor’s eyes, Pepper could see, was as moved as Tony’s; she was patting
Tony’s back, as if she was meeting again her long gone son. Leslie was dressed
with a formal business suit too strange for her figure that was almost always
dressed with a worn jean and a plain blouse . She coughed and loosened the
embrace.
“Tony, cut the crap with me; your charm has no effect to an old lady that knows
you from when you couldn’t reach the top shelf of the file’s cabinet.”
“Not that now he can...” Pepper remarked snidely, taking out some of her
frustration for his latest achievements.
Tony raised his hands in surrender.
“Now, ladies, not two on one; is against fair play.
“Hello, Virginia dear” Leslie shook cordially hands with the red hair “how are
you holding on with this charming but outraging boy?”
Pepper shook her head with her eyes saying everything and Leslie smiled.
Tony looked at them insulted.
“Girls, you are too unfair with me... I’m doing something for my fellow human
beings, for pity’s sake; can’t this be considered as a mitigating fact?”
Leslie looked him above her lowered glasses and Tony was once again 12 years
old, the finger of the older woman pointing him sternly but her face was
radiating her affection for him.
“I know you too much, Anthony Stark; do you think I hadn’t figured out that the
only reason you were coming at the free clinic was because Bruce was asking you
to?”
“Okay, okay” Tony answered mildly “I confess; I wasn’t interested about other
people’s well being till Bruce spoke to me and I admit that the things I do
here is mostly to honor his memory, because I know that he would have done all
these and more, if...”
Leslie patted tenderly his upper arm.
“I know you so well that I can see that your arrogance covers the wonderful
person you are; you weren’t aware about the misery of this world but it wasn’t
your fault and as soon as you learnt it, you can’t forget it...” Tony smiled to
her “of course, the ‘Bruce factor’ helped... Now, tell me what did you offer to
Falcone in order to let you lay foot in the Narrows?”
Tony raised his eyebrows.
“He’ll get his...‘taxes’ from all the money that will flow here.”
“And you? You surely plan something more than simply benefit the people of
Narrows.”
“Me? You know what innocent guy I am...”
“Mr. Stark, I can always grab you from the ear, like...” her strong voice
cracked abruptly when memories invaded her mind.
Tony swallowed hard; this environment was too heavy. He licked his lips that
felt dry.
“Did you learn who made the donation?” he asked wanting to change the subject.
Leslie shrugged.
“No, he/she took particular care to keep his/her identity secret. It seems that
you inspired others to do good to this city.”
Tony leaned to her ear.
“Don’t let that be known; it will destroy my good reputation.”
“We must go” Pepper said “I think that the officials are here and people are
waiting.”
Tony straightened his lapels and his tie.
“It’s show time!”
 
Jim Gordon was assigned to guard the area where the grand start up was
happening along with hundreds of other GCPD’s officers. He was watching
cautiously the mass crowd for potential thugs among them, although he was sure
that since the event was under the auspices of Falcone, nothing would happen:
the thugs and yobs were his army after all.
He heard the speeches of everyone, raising his eyebrows in sarcasm at the
hollow, hypocritical grand words of Gotham’s Mayor and his pal, Falcone: about
their love for this city and the importance of the Narrows and its people. He
was full of admiration listening Leslie’s fierce speech and sympathy for Tony
Stark because he could sense that the billionaire’s words were sincere, as much
as his love and pain for his friend. He was certain that he saw a small
teardrop slipping his eye, when he took the white fabric off the great
signboard which detailed the project’s cost and its backer, his eyes brushing
tenderly the huge letters reading ‘Bruce Wayne Haven’...
Jim Gordon noticed the discreet presence of Lucius Fox gazing with an
unreadable expression the signboard; his marginalisation continued even though
he was the one of the two heads of the project.
Tony Stark was heading to the place where the fest for the children was
launching, the band playing jubilant children’s songs, following Leslie
Thompkins and his assistant, when he turned on his heels and stormed to
Falcone’s spot who was talking with his right hand henchman.
Jim noticed that he was angry.
“Why he isn’t here?” heard him demanding from Falcone.
“Calm down, Tony” the Gotham’s Emperor soothed him his sarcasm vibrating “he’ll
be at yar penthouse at nine o’clock in the evening as we agreed but if ya don’t
keep yar end of the deal, ya'll never see him again, understood?”
Stark seemed furious from Falcone’s attitude but only nodded, his fists
clenched, obviously swallowing his anger, and stride to Leslie and his
assistant.
Jim shook his head in disbelief and disappointment; those rich people only
cared about their satisfaction and were making anything for it, even treating
people like inanimate objects.
Suddenly, a big guy with oversized glasses and a jacket that could make even
his own jackets feel proud for their state was in front of him. He noticed the
press ID he wore. What did a journalist want from him? He wasn’t fond of their
caste.
“Nice day today, Officer, don’t you think?”
“I suppose for Gotham’s standards...”
“What do you think of the ceremony?”
Jim felt irritated and alarmed. So many questions to a mere police officer were
a strange thing.
“What do you want, Mr Kent? If you want an interview there are more important
people than me.”
The reporter looked flushed by the Detective’s straight tone. But he felt that
Jim Gordon was a trustworthy man: if he was a shady person, he wouldn’t be
still a Detective; that fact alone proved that he wasn’t in the good graces of
Loeb and therefore Falcone.
“You were one of the policemen who arrived first at the Waynes’ murder scene.”
Jim inhaled deeply, clearly trying to be patient but his unwillingness to speak
about that was obvious.
“What is your purpose, Mr Kent?” the eyes of the Detective were clear.
“With the occasion of the grand opening of the works for the ‘Bruce Wayne
Haven’ I intend to write an article about the murders and I was wondering about
the evidence from the crime scene.’’
Jim motioned his head in disbelief and brought his hand in his hair.
“It’s been 18 years, Mr Kent...”
“Yes, but the case remains unsolved – the murderer or murderers were never
found and the body of the little Wayne...”
The Detective cut him abruptly.
“You believed the rumour, right?”
Clark flushed even more: the man was very clever and he tried to hoax him and
now he wouldn’t trust him. He decided to open his cards even now.
“You don’t?”
The man at his mid forties closed his eyes.
“He is at the age Bruce Wayne would have been if had survived and his
characteristics are of the Wayne family and if we could make a DNA test to
compare this man’s DNA with the Waynes’, we could figure out...” Clark added.
Jim sighed.
“Mr Kent, the evidence of this case and many more were destroyed in a fire
approximately fifteen years ago at the GCPD’s headquarters.”
The reporter looked really distraught.
“That is... odd.”
Jim smiled bitterly.
“No, Mr Kent, that’s Gotham.”
He motioned to leave but the reporter held his upper arm.
“You don’t believe that little Bruce could have survived?”
Jim felt suddenly too tired. He pierced the reporter with his exhausted by
eighteen years of disappointment and dying dreams.
“I can’t answer that, Mr Kent; I honestly can’t. I wish the boy did survive...
But I wonder if living to be...” he inhaled deeply “what this boy of Falcone’s
has been forced to be...” he lowered his head and when he looked up again, he
was collected. “I’m sorry, Mr Kent, but I must return to my duty...”
Jim hurried to distance himself from Kent and when he found himself alone, he
raised his head at the upper part of the signboard and sighed.
The young officer Jim Gordon was patrolling the Narrows near noon; a tough
work, although lately things were getting better after Thomas Wayne’s announced
plans to revive and give hope to the people of the area. Mob was still holding
its ground, mocking the billionaire idealist for his naivety to believe that he
could take the Narrows from mob’s control. It was a tough shift but Jim was
full of energy and dreams about his work as a policeman and the honest concern
shown by a rich man who easily could turn away his gaze from all this was
fuelling his zeal.
His partner had gone to take some sandwiches and Jim was waiting in the car
when something caught the edge of his eye. He turned his full attention to the
spot.
It was a kid no more than 8 years old but screamed that he wasn’t a kid of the
Narrows; his clothes although not flashy was clearly expensive and his entire
demeanor betrayed him. The boy was looking around him not afraid but confused;
he was lost. Jim felt a rush of panic.
He opened the door, locking and ran to the boy’s spot. The kid looked at him
worried at first but his rigid body relaxed as he took in his police uniform.
Jim smiled benevolently and saluted him, the boy’s soft almond shaped eyes
focused on Jim’s face and smiled as well.
“Are you lost, son?”
The boy flushed.
“I know the area, sir; I was visiting a friend of mine but...”
“You got lost” he finished for the boy.“This area is like a labyrinth; you get
lost easily, for that you must not walk in these streets alone” he didn’t want
to panic the boy, pointing out what could have happened to him, if Jim hadn’t
found him.
The boy nodded.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Bruce” Jim noticed the boy’s unwillingness to divulge his surname; obviously
he was told to do so by his wealthy parents.
“I am Jim, Officer Jim Gordon” he hurried to introduce himself to soothe the
child.
“Nice to meet you, sir” he answered politely and bowed slightly his head.
“Where are your parents, Bruce? Do they know that you left?”
The kid lowered his eyes.
“No...’’ the boy looked embarrassed that he hadn’t informed his parents about
his depart. “My father had much work to do and I... I didn’t want to bother
him...”
Jim felt sympathy for the child’s embarrassment, squatted and looked the boy in
the eyes.
“It’s okay, son, don’t feel bad but you should not walk in this area alone.”
The boy encouraged by the policeman’s gentleness, looked him in the eyes.
“I have many friends who live here and my father says that this area will be
heaven when his project it’s finished.”
A thought crossed Jim's mind and immediately his blood ran cold in his veins.
“Who is your father, son?”
“Thomas Wayne” his voice was uncertain because, Jim realized, the boy was so
clever that caught his uneasiness and dread.
My God! The little Prince of Gotham was wandering alone in the Narrows with
every kind of robbers, abusers and rapists at large... He should be calm to not
panic the kid; he was safe now, he was with the Police.
“And where is your father now, son?”
“At Dr. Leslie Thompkins’ free clinic.”
“Okay” he smiled “we are going there now.”
He stood and touched the boy’s shoulder leading him to the patrol car, but the
boy seemed rigid once again.
“Have you ridden a police car again?” Jim tried to make him calm down.
Little Bruce shook his head that he didn’t.
“Do you want to?”
“Yes, sir” his voice was hesitant.
Gordon showed him his budge.
“I am a true police officer, you are safe...”
The kid pierced him with his exceptionally beautiful eyes.
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t want to make you think that I distrust you. I just...
My father will be very angry with me... I know that it was childish to leave
like this...”
Jim wanted to smile with the child’s mention of his act as ‘childish’ as if he
was an adult, but remained serious and winked to him.
“I’ll talk to him...”
His partner, Officer Donald Peak was already seated in the car looking around
for his friend. Upon seeing the child with Jim, choked on his coffee –
obviously he was better informed about Gotham’s elite. He turned to the back
seat where Jim fastened the boy’s seatbelt.
“Is that... is that Bruce Wayne?”
Jim looked him pointedly but the boy stared at the other police officer calmly.
“Yes, sir; I am he.”
“Mmm... Officer Donald Peak” he stuttered and Jim rolled his eyes.
“Nice to meet you, sir” the boy bowed slightly his head.
Donald opened his mouth to ask something but Jim glowered at him and the older
man stopped without even starting. He didn’t want to panic the kid; the boy was
already upset because his father would be angry at him, he didn’t need to know
what horrific dangers were lurking from which he had just escaped.
Leslie Thompkins’ free clinic was shining clean and freshly painted, people
going in and out. Jim opened the car door for the boy and Bruce thanked him
politely. The people who were passing by were gawping at the police man –
police officers weren’t much appreciated in the Narrows because in the vast
majority of the cases either they were bought by the mob and bullied the locals
or even if they weren’t bought, they treated people with contempt, putting them
to the same sack with the outlaws that tormented them. But most of them were
saluting cordially the little Prince and the boy seemed a bit more relaxed.
“People are very nice to me here” he said to Jim in a confidential tone “and I
don’t feel threatened; that was the reason I left the clinic... But there are
bad people, too, and I acted childishly...”
“You are a very good boy, Mr Wayne.”
“Please, call me Bruce” the boy smiled warmly to Jim and he mimicked him.
“You are a very good boy, Bruce, and I’m happy you love people so much; I hope
you’ll continue to but you have to be cautious.’’
The 8 year old boy looked him solemnly and nodded.
“It will be enough if I give you my word?”
Jim laughed warmly.
“It’ll worth a million!”
“Then I promise you, Officer Gordon.”
“Call me Jim.”
The boy smiled revealing his white shining teeth, a void in the left down jaw
where the new teeth haven’t grown yet.
“I promise, Jim.”
They turned to the corridor which led to Dr Thompkins’ office but as soon as
they turned, they were welcomed by a scene of fuss. A man at his mid thirties,
whom Jim immediately recognized from the papers and TV as Thomas Wayne, his
back turned to them was in the middle of some dumbfounded members of the
clinic’s staff: nurses, doctors and security men.
“How can a little child be lost from the clinic without anyone noticing?” he
was clearly shaking from dread but he was restraining himself from yelling at
people. “He can be anywhere... Oh, my God! He can...”
The people around him were looking sympathetically but unable to sooth him;
obviously, they had already searched the clinic and the surrounding area
without any luck.
Little Bruce clutched Jim’s hand. And then, as from instinct, Thomas turned to
their direction and his eyes widened in utter relief and happiness. He ran to
their spot and fell to his knees in front of his son, crushing the boy in his
hug, his raven head into the boy’s shoulder.
“Oh, Bruce, oh, Bruce!” his beautiful hands were ruffling with despair the
boy’s soft locks.
Eventually, he cupped the boy’s head with both hands and kissed him on the
cheek.
“Are you alright?” he whispered, trying to hold his tears seeing that the boy
was at the verge of tears too.
“I’m sorry, dad... I didn’t want to...” his voice was cracked a sob disrupting
his words.
“Don’t cry, son, please, don’t cry... Are you alright?’’ his hands not waiting
for an answer were searching the boy’s little body for any wounds or injuries.
“I’m fine, dad, thanks to Officer Gordon; he found me.”
It was only then that Thomas Wayne took in his presence; his dark blue eyes
focusing on Jim’s face and his uneasiness for intruding such a moving exchange
evident. Thomas stood taking along Bruce inestled n his hug and offered his
hand to Jim for a handshake.
“Thank you, Officer!” Jim shook gladly his hand “I’m grateful; Bruce is the
most precious thing in my life – along with Martha -, weren’t for you, I don’t
know what...”
Jim’s eyes pointed Bruce to Thomas, as if reminding him that the boy shouldn’t
be terrified and Thomas stopped shocked.
“I did only my duty, sir; you don’t have to thank me.”
Thomas turned to Bruce.
“Promise me you won’t do it again” his voice wasn’t angry or threatening,
instead Thomas was almost pleading with his little son.
“I promise you, daddy, I’ll never make you worry again. Please, forgive me...”
Thomas kissed again the boy’s rosy cheek and lowered him to the floor.
“Mary” he called a nurse from the crowd that was looking touched the scene
unfolding “could you take Bruce to the cafeteria for a juice? You must be
thirsty, little troublemaker...”
The boy smiled relieved seeing his father calm again and took the hand the
nurse offered him with a smile; just before following the nurse to the
cafeteria, he turned to Jim.
“Thank you for everything, Jim! Would you come again?”
“I will, Bruce, I will” he smiled wholeheartedly to the boy and mimicked his
goodbye gesture.
Thomas, when saw the boy vanishing behind a corner, sighed and stared at Jim.
“Are you sure he didn’t...? I’ll examine him after he relaxes a bit, but ...”
“No harm was done, Mr Wayne.”
“Thank God!” he inhaled deeply “I won’t bring him again; it was stupid to bring
Bruce here – I am bringing him here with me fsince he was 5 years old and he is
quite fond of the place and the people; he feels safe and this is very
dangerous. I’ll tell Martha not take him at the shelter... He will be
distraught but better than...” he didn’t finish not wanting even to think what
could have happened to his child.
“Mr Wayne, if I may offer my opinion...” Thomas nodded and Jim continued “don’t
take the boy away; his presence here does wonders to the people, he is like a
ray of hope: a rich little boy so good and considerate for the less fortunate;
I saw it here just now. Your son is the core of your effort, the example; the
greatest proof of your sincerity... And the boy loves the people; don’t take
him away, don’t estrange him from pain and misery and the struggle against
them.”
Thomas Wayne nodded solemnly, the things Jim was telling him were his thoughts
as well.
“You just need to be careful and maybe in a couple of years a boy would be able
to wander the Narrows without being in danger.”
Thomas Wayne, the richest man in Gotham and one of the richest in the world,
patted Jim’s shoulder friendly.
“People like you are rare, Officer Gordon; I hope someday Gotham has more
people like you...”
Jim felt his face flushed.
“Thank you, sir. I... I must return to patrol now, my partner awaits me” he
saluted him.
“If you ever need something from me, you can ask for me – I won’t ever forget
the good you have done for my family.”
“It was my pleasure, sir...”
One month later the Wayne family was murdered outside the Opera House and Jim
was there when the Police found the frozen, bloodstained bodies of Thomas and
Martha, the blood of little Bruce there but the body nowhere. They followed the
blood path and were led to the sewers where some homeless people testified that
the boy was caught by its pursuer, handcuffed and tossed to the rushing waters.
Yet they couldn’t find the body, not that his superiors had showed much
fervour...
He looked the name at the huge signboard and saluted once again.
“I’m sorry I failed to keep my promise, Bruce...” he whispered, a tear
dripping from his eye.
***** Chapter 17 *****
It was the first time in his 14 year life that Tony felt so enraged; surely, he
was mad many times at his father, but this thing he was feeling was worse. He
was not just angry, his heart beating fast and heavy, but also he felt
betrayed, his whole life turned over, collapsed in need of starting again from
new bases. It was like a huge canon ball had hit his body and left a painful
gap.
He stood before the large window of his bedroom at Wayne Manor, his hands
crossed so tightly in his chest that it pained, gazing the winter scenery of
the vast estate. Tomorrow it was scheduled to leave for Malibu after spending
half of his Christmas vacations there but he couldn’t wait to depart.
The stupid brat had lost his favourite tools! Those rare tools that he had
bought with his own pocket money when he was 5 years old: it was his first tool
set and the most beloved; he had been saving months, bereft of everything to
raise the money for this special tool case and the idiot kid had lost them!
He was so happy to show him the special tool case he was so proud of to own and
the little jerk chose to play with him snatching the case and making Tony chase
him. And when he caught him, he didn’t give him the case but tried to pose
resistance, holding back and jerking the case from him until the handle slipped
from his tiny hand and the case floated for a second and in front of Tony’s
panicked eyes started falling to the cliff’s bottom.
Oh! He didn’t know how he restrained himself from hitting the dolt! He just
looked the rocky bottom and stormed to the Manor’s direction, his teeth so
clenched that he was sure that they would crack. He wanted to cry, his ears
ringing from the rushing of blood, making the little shithead’s yells white
noise.
Alfred was astounded seeing him like this, returning without the little brat
but he wisely didn’t say anything. He asked him to bring his meals at his
bedroom; he didn’t have any intention to see again the little creep: he was
certain that he was jealous because Tony managed to buy something so special
himself, he envied Tony’s pride and content and for that he dropped his tool
case in the cliff...
Those hours were passing too slowly and he wanted to leave and never come
back...
Gently knocks on the door disrupted his internal rant; it must be Alfred
bringing his dinner. He told him to enter.
“May I come in?” a hesitant trembling very familiar voice brushed his red ears.
“What. Do. You. Want!” he snapped and turned to his direction, his fists
clenched.
The boy’s entire posture was hunched, his face lowered but Tony could see his
red eyes and his pale features; the boy was distraught but he deserved that for
the bad thing he had done!
“I know I am a brat and you probably don’t want to see me again...” he hadn’t
raised his eyes from the floor, his hands behind his back.
“Congratulations! That’s a discovery only a genius could have made!” his
sarcasm echoed inside the huge bedroom and Bruce swallowed hard.
“I... I know it’s not the same but, please, take it...” he brought his hands to
the fore, a rectangular pack roughly wrapped in a brown paper offered to Tony
who sniffed at it. “I don’t expect you to forgive me... but, please, accept
it...”
Tony didn’t even approach nor changed his expression, his dark eyes coldly
staring at the 8 year old child who hunched more. No, I won’t pity you, you
little rascal!
“I know you hate me and you are right but I destroyed something yours and I
just want to compensate... I’ll leave immediately, please, Tony, take it...”
Tony uncrossed his hands, he inhaled deeply, his effort to keep his calm
evident.
“You can’t compensate for what you did, you little jerk!”
Bruce bit his rosy lip and Tony saw some red; he lowered slowly, as if he
didn’t want to cause his exasperation, the package to the floor and without
daring to look at his friend turned to live, his tiny shoulders shaking.
“What is this supposed to be?”
The boy stopped at his heels and raised his wet with unshed tears eyes to his
stony ones.
“A... a little gift... Please, Tony...”
The boy squatted, took the package and offered it, piercing Tony’s eyes
pleading.
Tony unwrapped it and saw the old chiselled rose-wood music box he knew that
Bruce loved so much; the boy had bought it with his pocket money two years ago.
He opened it and the sweet melody of Bruce’s favourite lullaby filled the
space. Inside the box lay the exact tools that had been tossed to the cliff.
“My pocket money was enough only for the tools; I found them one by one in
different stores, they didn’t have them in a case... So, I put them in this
box: I love that box and I want you to have it... for the bad thing I did to
you...”
They were the exact tools he had lost.
“How did you find them?” he asked like interrogating because he wasn’t ready to
let go of his anger.
The boy flushed.
“Alfred helped me... I told him what I did to you...”
“He told you off?”
“Not as much as I deserve...”
Tony huffed sarcastic, unappeased. As he was fiddling with the tools, his
fingers touched something of paper; he took it cautiously. It was the picture
Bruce’s mother had shot some days ago with her Polaroid: he was giving the
little boy a one hand hug, the two of them laughing in front of the huge
Christmas’ Tree in the great salon.
                                            “To Tony, my best friend who I’ll
love my whole life,
                                    Bruce”
“Please, forgive me, Tony... Don’t write me off...”
Tony felt his eyes watering. He left the package on the table.
“C'mere, little guy...”
The boy ran to him and crushed in his chest; he was shorter than Tony and his
hands engulfed Tony’s waist, the small head sank in his chest, trembling from
tears.
“Please, Tony, forgive me and let me be your friend...” his voice was cracked
from fear and despair.
Tony’s heart clenched; he was the stupid, the brat, the asshole. He made Bruce
cry! Bruce cry...
“You forgive me, Bruce; I was cruel: no inanimate object worths more than
you... Forgive me, little guy...”
Bruce’s grip on his waist tightened, as if he was afraid that the appeased Tony
was a dream that would evaporate and his brunette head sank deeper in his
friend’s chest, shaking more from tears of relief. Tony bowed his head and his
lips kissed softly the silken brunette locks: he had made Bruce cry...
Twenty days later a phone call in the middle of the night and a distraught,
barely muffling his sobs, Alfred informed him – after apologizing for the
inappropriate hour but he didn’t want Tony to learn it from the news :Thomas
and Martha were found dead and Bruce was missing, his blood leading to the
sewers...
The sweet melody of the old lullaby was flooding the enormous room and Tony’s
mind, the wooden music box open in his hands: the two laughing boys in
the photo trying to steal a smile from him in vain.
The wintery Gotham in front of his penthouse’s whole – wall windows was already
drenched in darkness and fake little lights, but his eyes were seeing nothing
except the picture in the box; his mind racing.
He heard the echoing clicks of Pepper’s stilettos and two other soft, hesitant
feet; he didn’t turn nor close the box to stop the calming music.
“Mr Stark, your guest has arrived...” Pepper’s cautious voice cracked the
melody.
“Thank you, Miss Potts; you can take the rest of the day off” he said without
turning and heard the loud clicks gradually fade till the sound of the private
elevator’s doors signalled her departure.
A quite breath, as if he didn’t want to bother him with even this imperceptible
sound, was the only thing accompanying his own heart’s loud drum.
“Come closer” he said calmly, trying to make it not sound as an order.
His guest immediately obeyed, clearly used to satisfy his... superiors’ wishes
instantly.
“Do you like that music?” he inquired softly with his hand brushing the picture
and then hiding it in his jacket’s inner pocket.
Obviously, he wasn’t accustomed to such questions or generally on being asked
his opinion about things.
“Well?” Tony insisted, turning a bit his head to his direction but not
entirely.
“It’s very beautiful...” a hesitant velvety voice answered and Tony’s legs were
paralyzed, his heart pounding.
“It’s an old lullaby for babies... The favorite of a friend of mine...”
He turned abruptly, his perfectly tailored dark grey suit accompanied by a
light grey shirt minus a tie framing his determined figure; his eyes darker
than usual from his exploding inner turmoil softened immediately before the
young man. His beauty highlighted by an impeccable black suit with a silky
white shirt without a tie, was painful to see...
The young man’s unique eyes were staring at him shining but without anything
more than acceptance of what was to come; what his master had told him to do.
“Do you know why you are here?”
 “I do, sir.” His eyes sparkled in Tony’s night eyes.
“Call me Tony” he hurried to say and feeling like he had ordered him closed his
eyes regretful “please...” he added.
“As you wish.” He seemed to think it under Tony’s insistent stare and finally
“Tony.”
Tony felt his heart flooding from a deep soothing warmth. He approached the
young man and he seemed to struggle to not cringe.
“Do you like it?” he showed him the music box he was holding.
“I don’t know...”
Tony petted affectionately the flowers sculpted on the rose wood, his eyes lost
somewhere in the past and then fixed on the young man’s beautiful face.
“This isn’t a proper answer to such a question; you either like it or not.
Hell! It’s not nuclear physics!”
Damn! He was being harsh.
“I guess... I like it” he swallowed hard as if he didn’t want to utter it.
Tony smiled.
“It is a relic; a beloved gift from a friend: he gave it to me as a token of
his love and friendship, although it was his most beloved music box because
this lullaby was his favorite – his mother used to sing it to him; he had
bought it with his pocket money...”
He searched the youth's eyes but those eyes were always so melancholic that he
couldn’t identify a difference.
“Please, have a seat” he showed him the light golden-colored sofa that was
facing the burning rectangular fireplace which covered a fifty inches space on
the wall.
The young man obliged, sitting on the edge of the couch obviously nervous. Tony
closed the lid and the sweet melancholic melody stopped; he laid the box
affectionately to the glass table in front of the couch.
“This melody brings a lot of memories, beautiful and painful; you see, my
friend died a few days after he gave me his most valued possession...” his
clever eyes caught the young man flinching “he was eight years old...”
“I’m sorry for your loss, sir...”
“Tony” he closed his eyes tiredly and rubbed the bridge of his nose “you will
call me Tony”.
The young man just nodded, gulping with discomfort, as his owner for the night
approached him slowly.
“He would have been your age, if he was alive... Bruce.”
The young man jerked and Tony touched gently his shoulder, looking straight in
his eyes, making him sit again.
“I’m not your friend, sir.”
Tony closed again his eyes, his face flushed.
“It’s Tony. TO – NY!”
“I’m sorry, Tony” his voice was trembling and Tony felt a knot in his stomach.
“I’m sorry, Tony, but I’m not your friend; I’m not Bruce Wayne.”
Tony raised his eyebrows, ready to smile.
“If you are not then how do you know to whom I refer?”
The younger man smiled bitterly and lowered his head.
“I’m completely stupid but I still have my hearing; I know about the rumors and
I’m sorry that this caused you more pain...”
Tony noticed that he didn’t use his name and that left a void in him; the way
he was saying his name had a wonderful effect on him, something like a new
hope. He sat beside him and took the young man’s hands in his.
“You have the same age, the same characteristics; you have a considerable
resemblance to your parents, Bruce...”
“It’s just a coincidence...” he answered without raising his eyes, his hands
too cold in Tony’s.
Tony cupped the younger man’s face in both his hands and pierced the
exceptionally beautiful eyes with his flaming carbons.
“Bruce, you have the most unique eye color” he tried to avert his head but Tony
didn’t let him “I haven’t seen such beautiful extraordinary eyes in anyone and
anywhere in this planet.”
The boy not being able to escape Tony’s hold shut his eyes.
“It’s just a coincidence; a painful coincidence. I’m not your friend.”
Tony shook the young man’s head with all his frustration for his stubbornness
to keep refusing the obvious.
“Look at me, Bruce!” he opened his eyes frightened for his owner’s outburst and
Tony wanted to cry for causing him fear but he had to insist “Listen to me; I
know Falcone treats you badly, that he threatens you, that you are scared of
him, but – no, don’t close your eyes, please, look at me. But you are safe now;
I won’t let anyone touch you again. I’m Tony, remember?” he laughed and the
noise was almost a sob “I was always there when something frightened you and I
chased the fear every time...” he swallowed a sob “Listen; this place is a
fortress: nobody enters or leaves if I don’t want him to. Nobody will come near
you, if you don’t want to... I’m powerful, Bruce, I can take you away, I can
protect you, it will be like then, do you remember?” his voice was desperate as
his eyes were frantically, crazily looking for a sign of acceptance, of
recognition “I’ll take you away from this hell; nobody will harm you ever
again... Let me save you, Bruce...”
He lowered the brunette head to his chest – the youth was taller than him but
his demeanor made him look like a child. He tightened his hold, because the
feeling of him on his body made his cold blood warm up.
“My name is not Bruce” the boy said slowly in his chest.
Tony felt his spine freezing, his heart becoming pure cold metal like the arc
reactor; his pain, his disappointment and his emotional exhaustion stronger
than his frustration. He let the young man’s head leave his chest. He looked
him in the eyes with wet, surrendered eyes.
“Then what IS your name?”
He looked puzzled.
“I have many names; they call me whore, slut, bitch and other things you don’t
have to hear...”
The young man’s voice was indifferent as if he was saying the most neutral
thing. Tony laughed sarcastically.
“You don’t remember your name but you insist that you are not Bruce...” he
motioned his head in disbelief “why are you doing that to me, Bruce? You don’t
know how it was all these years, believing you dead and now that you are alive
you deny me the ultimate happiness of having you again. Why?!” his voice was
menacing, his grip on the side of the youth's neck bruising, the beautiful eyes
scared.
“It would be cruel to let you believe that lie; I’m not Bruce Wayne” he
whispered ready to undergo Tony’s outburst of rage.
Tony motioned in negation; his face red, his eyes maniac.
“Your boss ordered you to do whatever I want, didn’t he?” Tony felt that he was
losing control but he couldn’t help it.
The youth just nodded.
“Then, you are whatever I want and I want you to be Bruce, you understand
that?”
He just nodded, his body trembling. Tony grabbed his upper hand and dragged him
to his giant bedroom next to the salon. He sat him on the king sized round
shaped bed and lowering violently the black jacket to his broad shoulders, he
took the fabric off the youth's torso and threw it  to the floor. The young man
had his sapphire-emerald puppy eyes focused on his own knees, a porcelain doll
in Tony’s hands.
A thought crossed Tony’s fervent mind; he dropped on his knees and pulled the
shining black leather shoes off the young man’s feet.
“Bruce had a birth mark on the big toe of his left foot; something like a
leaf...” he dragged the black sock from the left foot, his eyes shining with a
new flame.
What he saw made his heart be ripped apart: where the big toe should have been
gaped a void. The big toe was missing. Tony cursed; how convenient!
“They have chopped your toe, right?” he said exhausted by the stampede of hope
– disappointment cycles; he raised his sad eyes and looked the lowered eyes of
the young man. “They wanted to prevent anyone from recognizing you. It doesn’t
matter; I don’t need any proof, only your saying it’s enough for me: say it...”
The youth swallowed hard and looked him timidly.
“I’m not...”
Then it dawned to Tony; the rumor spread by Falcone himself, the beautiful boy
with Bruce’s features, his refusal to tell Tony his name, Chill’s brutal
behaviour, the big toe chopped so that it can’t be proved that he is Bruce but
neither that he is not; to keep Tony at a constant uncertainty, constantly at
the edge so that when Falcone asked him for the weapon, he would be enough
desperate to accept only for a night with this young man... He had been fooled!
One of the most intelligent people of the world has been tricked by a common
mobster and a whore! How could he even consider that this pitiful... thing
might be his Bruce?
He could hear his crazy heartbeat drumming in his ears; his anger was out of
control and this useless thing kept staring him with that stupid eyes void from
any emotion he always found in his Bruce’s eyes: love, affection, devotion...
He pushed the youth and crushed him on the light- gold silk sheet. He pinned
his hips with his thighs.
“Are your eyes fake, as well?” he asked menacingly, his fingers examining the
boy’s eye sockets with rough movements.
“No, sir...” he answered shyly without any attempt to escape the rough
treatment; a willing pray.
“Tony, you stupid whore! It’s Tony!” he yelled and the boy’s eyes shut.
Tony tossed his ridiculously expensive jacket carelessly to the floor. His dark
eyes were filled with revenge; he was fooled, they took advantage of him to
make him cooperate to their plans.
“I paid for you too much; you must repay me!”
The young man felt Tony’s rage and pain vibrating his whole body, the
billionaire’s fingers hastily unbuttoning his shirt and pushing the fabric down
at his hands to reveal his torso. He could feel the suffering eyes of the man
instead of crying feasting upon his naked flesh, his feelings of betrayal
wanting revenge. His own heart was clenched for the man’s excruciating pain
which pain although not physical was worse than any torture of the flesh. He
could feel Tony’s body aroused; after all these years of being constantly
fucked he could easily detect the signs... He closed his eyes.
“Oh! I will enjoy that you are not my friend!” Tony exclaimed satisfied by the
view but the young man could understand that he was internally crying because
his every hope was squashed for good.
He felt Tony’s aroused body lie on his own cold limp body careful despite his
burning anger.
“For an advertised whore you are quite unresponsive; is that how you are for
your boss, too, or this is for the other clients?”
He brought his concerned eyes in the man’s vengeful ones.
“It doesn’t bother him...”
Tony laughed hatefully.
“I’m not a necrophiliac neither I have a rape kink; I gave so much for a
defective useless whore...” now his laugh was bitter, self-mocking and the boy
felt his heart breaking.
“I’m sorry, Tony, I don’t know how to... But if you are so kind to tell me what
to do, I’ll do it...” he wanted to soothe the man, to ease somewhat his pain
though he knew that it was impossible.
Tony closed his eyes; despite his wrath he couldn’t not feel the youth'd fear
and suffering which underneath his grudge against him, could sense that was
only from compassion for Tony...
“Just shut up!”
The boy obeyed instantly, Tony detecting years of ‘discipline training’; he
savored the beautiful face under him, the high harmonic sculpted cheekbones,
the straight cute nose, the rosy lips letting gently the air fill the lungs,
the velvety eyelids which half covered the glistering eyes, the long eyelashes
brushing the flesh. His fingers dived in the rich, silken ripples of the boy’s
brunette locks and petted them with need, the feeling smoothing to his
tormented mind.
He rested his unshaven cheek to the youth's porcelain clean shaved one and
relished in the softness.
“You’re soft like a child...”
The young man had his eyes closed, caged in his own mind he could hear a deep
voice taunting his heart: your beauty will be irresistible to everyone...
Tony’s lips opened to swallow the corner of the boy’s half opened rosy lips and
his nose digging the smooth flesh caught a mystic aroma: fresh baked cinnamon
biscuits, orange, hibiscus and an intoxicating human perfume more beautiful
than anything flowery or fruity or artificially made. He inhaled deeply his
mind paralyzed...
“I tell you, Tony, that I’m quite good in this!” Bruce’s lips were protruding
stubbornly and Tony loved getting on his nerves.
The older boy laughed.
“Martial arts? What your father was thinking?”
“He wanted me to know how to defend myself! He wants to protect me!”
Tony crossed his hands in his chest; his annoying know-all expression stony
settled in his teenage face.
“Lost money. If he wants to protect you, he better hire more bodyguards who
know their shit!”
The boy’s eyes were inflamed; Bruce had already forgot the unfortunate event
that led to Tony’s anger and their reconciliation five minutes ago and now
everything was like nothing had ever happened – and Tony was grateful.
“My sensei is very proud of me and he says that I’ll be a great student!”
Obviously, the 8 year old was very proud of his new activity and his progress,
but the teenager Tony loved to tease him to see his smooth cheeks flushed.
“Of course, he says so; your father’s money is so sweet... You’ll be lousy!”
“Why?!” the boy growled.
“Because you care so much for people and you are so softy that you won’t hit
anyone however mean he might be because you wouldn’t want to hurt him...
Bruce... Lee!” his mocking laugh was loud and irritating.
The little boy rushed on him and with a dextrous move took Tony’s leg from
under him making the taller boy lose his balance and let a surprised yell. But
as he was falling he was cunning enough to catch his tiny assailant and take
him along. The little boy was upon him and Tony switched their places, lying
Bruce on the floor under him.
The little boy fought to turn Tony over, his teeth gritted, but Tony laughing
arrogantly pinned him. Bruce was looking at his face with eyes filled with
defiance.
For the first time since he first met him four years ago, Tony noticed how
enticingly beautiful his little friend was: with his almond shaped shining
sapphire-emerald eyes, his cute nose, his velvety cheeks and those pouty rosy
lips. His locks seemed like made of silk. And the way the little boy was
jerking his body to free himself woke bizarre desires in him for the body he
had at his disposal. Some of his peers, who had seen photos of Bruce, had
whistled and smiling wickedly insisted on Tony meet them with the child...
But no... Bruce was his... He carefully leaned his body on Bruce’s and brought
his face above the boy’s, his lips caressing the flushed from the futile
struggle cheek, his hands already under the little boy’s shirt searching the
unripe but so soft flesh. He closed his eyes breathing Bruce’s aroma: fresh
baked Alfred’s cinnamon biscuits, orange and hibiscus – Martha’s chosen bath
foam for her Prince – and Bruce’s flesh’s intoxicating perfume.
His lips were opened upon Bruce’s lips ready to devor them, his hands feeling
the frail ribs when he opened his fervent eyes and two widened child’s eyes
were focused on him innocent, confused, intrigued yet trusting and devoted.
Tony’s heart gave an abrupt jolt and Tony started laughing, tickling
mercilessly the little boy who couldn’t stop his giggles.
Tony looked him seriously in the eyes, trying to drown a wave of self-hatred
for what he almost did, and the boy stopped laughing  with a smile lingering;
he was looking his friend with love.
“You’ll be a gorgeous man, Bruce...”
Tony jerked violently from the youth's body: the young man’s eyes were closed
but Tony knew that he was seeing the same thing; he left the bed standing
dumbfounded in front of the hugewindow that was half covered with golden
colured curtain; his head clenched in his hands.
The young man opened his eyes and looked distraught the man’s hunched figure.
He sat on the bed’s edge.
“Forgive me, Tony... Whatever I might have done, I won’t do it again...”
Tony turned to his direction, his eyes filled with tears.
“You don’t have to ask for forgiveness, Bruce; I am the one who should
apologize...”
He rushed to his side and dropped to his knees, his hands taking the
youth's face, bringing their foreheads to touch.
“Because you are Bruce, you are my little lost friend and they tortured you,
they intimidated you into submission and I... I just did what they do: got mad
at you without trying to understand; my rage not letting me see that you
couldn’t do otherwise; that you are trapped and confused. I almost... I spoke
badly to you; I cursed you like your captors do... I almost... Oh! Fuck!”
The young man was feeling Tony’s heart beating as frantically as his own.
“Forgive me, Tony, for hiding from you... for tormenting you like this...” his
voice was drown in his throat; his heart’s pounding defeating every other
function of his body.
Tony brought the brunette shaking head to his chest, his hands holding the
brunette silky sea of locks to not let anyone take him away from him again; his
friend’s eighteen year exhaustion radiating in his embrace.
“I won’t let anyone touch you again” he breathed in Bruce’s trembling head
“I’ll protect you; I’ll take you away from this nightmarish city and all these
will be nothing more than a bad dream, like when you were a child...”
Bruce raised his head a little and Tony held his shoulders.
“Please, Tony...”
He smiled tenderly, his eyes teary.
“You don’t have to plead for anything, Bruce; not now, not ever...”
“I can’t leave” he saw Tony’s mouth stretching to speak and touched his lips
with his fingers to stop him “you must understand...” he motioned his head in
despair “there are so much things to explain...”
Bruce’s eyes were deep in sadness and Tony frowned; he was so exhilarated, so
unbelievably happy that he wanted to transfuse this to his friend.
“You’re alive, Bruce! That’s the only thing that matters! Alive! I’ll take you
to Malibu with me, you’ll be the Prince of Malibu; everything I have will be
yours, too, and we’ll avenge your parents’ murders and your...” he couldn’t
decide which would be the proper word. “Falcone will be punished, I already
have set his destruction in motion – and now I’ll secure you and...”
Bruce’s eyes shone piercing Tony’s enthusiastic ones.
“I can’t leave, Tony” his voice was sad but decisive.
“It’s about Alfred, I know; don’t worry, we’ll take him with us.” He smiled his
entire relief and happiness in his eyes and Bruce felt awfully for
disappointing him “You have nothing to be afraid of; now that Tony is here, he
will beat every bad guy.”
Bruce closed his eyes, his fatigue flooding him; there were so many things that
Tony didn’t know and didn’t understand. How could he explain all these to him?
How could persuade him to let him return to his tormentors? He knew that that
will break his good heart... His head fell from the burden and Tony took gently
his jaw uplifting Bruce’s face, frowning at his friend’s unreadable eyes.
“You have to let me go, Tony” his voice was solemn and strong “for everyone’s
sake...”
“Never! You know that I’m more powerful than Falcone; he tortured you from your
childhood and you see him like a god, but he is not; he is just a filthy
mobster that bullies innocent and powerless children. Your friend has nothing
to fear from him and the same goes for you, too.”
Bruce seemed ready to faint and Tony ran to the mini bar and brought him a
glass of water.
“Falcone is the least...”
Tony on his knees staring with adoration his resurrected friend jumped from
surprise; a shiver running his spine. What horrors had his friend been through
all these years? And how could he fight all these dragons and persuade his
friend to escape his cage?
He just caressed Bruce’s hair.
“Then tell me and I’ll fight it...”
“Trust me, Tony; I must not leave. Not now. You have to trust me... There are
so many things... so many things... and I’m so tired...”
Tony could hear his friend’s heart pounding fast and heavily and made the
mental note to take him to his cardiologist as soon as they arrived in Malibu.
But for now he considered best to stop tormenting him anymore with questions
and let him rest: he will have plenty of time to learn all the cruelty and
unimagined horrors Falcone had imposed on Bruce.
He massaged his friend’s tired shoulders and brought him a pair of flannel
pyjamas with Garfield on them. Bruce looked him inquiringly.
“You will sleep here” he was certain that for eighteen years his friend hadn’t
had the opportunity to sleep peacefully. “My pyjamas are a little small for
you...” he scratched his head seeing his friend’s limbs being too large for his
clothes “how did you manage to end up taller than me?”
Bruce scanning himself on Tony’s small for him pyjamas laughed carefree and
Tony relished the sound, his heart finally unclenching a bit, hope that things
could still be in some extent fixed flying in his chest.
Bruce looked him hesitantly.
“You would want to learn...”
Tony nodded his negation.
“No, tonight you will rest and forget everything” his friend lied slowly on the
comfort mattress eyeing him cautiously as if he was afraid that Tony was a
dream and suddenly one of his tormentors would take his place.
Tony muffled Bruce’s settled in foetus position body with a velvety blanket and
brushed Bruce’s face that was turned to his direction .
“Close your eyes... Tonight no demon will disrupt your sleep; tonight I’ll
protect you from everything. Tonight I’ll be here all the time guarding you
like I didn’t all these years...” Tony’s voice was hoarse from compassion, he
could sense how much pain his friend was under.
Bruce’s velvety eyelids had already covered his exhausted eyes; his heart
somewhat calmer.
“You were always there, Tony...” he whispered.
***** Chapter 18 *****
It was the time of the night that Dolcetto was blowing with energy; loud
jubilant music, dancing feet, a buzzing cloud of incomprehensible chats
from dozens of clients and giggles of the professionals who adorned the
clientele's tables. It was the perfect time for what they wanted to do; he
always did it in that particular time, when everyone was preoccupied with
something: clients, employees and thugs the same level drunken. Nobody would
descend the stairs leading to the cabaret’s storage.
Tonight, he had to bring Selina along, because his crippled hand was crucifying
him and he wouldn’t manage to gather the food all by himself. He felt bad for
bringing the girl inside that horrible building due to the fact that she would
be in grave danger if someone saw her there; especially, with him. But Selina
wasn’t afraid, she was very brave.
He opened the door to the storage room and Selina gaped; it was a huge room
covered with successive floor to ceiling big wooden shelves with every kind of
food: heads of different types of cheese that were bigger than their heads,
huge pieces of bacon and ham, loafs of bread, condensed milk, baskets with all
the fruits they knew and other things that Selina didn’t see again in her life.
Enough food for the children of the orphanage to feed for a month and good
feed; not the inadequate portions they served...  On the far wall of the room
enormous wooden barrels were positioned in rows.
“Italian imported fine wine” he explained.
There was also a row with hanging from hooks fresh meat that Selina couldn’t
nor wanted to distinguish and a big, tall, metallic bloodstained table where
obviously the meat was chopped.
“I told you that here is so much food that they don’t even notice the scraps I
take for Beth and the baby!” he was happy because he could show his friend how
easy was so that she won’t worry about him.
“I don’t know, Bruce” her voice was restrained and worrisome “I have a bad
feeling about this... Maybe we should go.”
He looked her in the eyes.
“And what about Beth and the baby?” he understood his friend’s fear, he was
afraid too “You can leave and I’ll bring the food...”
He saw her eyes flaming angrily in the dim light of the only light bulb they
had ignited .
“I won’t let you alone! I’m not afraid; I’m not afraid of anything!”
“Hush, Selina...” he whispered.
They started loading the plastic bag Selina brought with cheese, bread, bacon,
fruits and milk; their enthusiasm and fear competing in a united frantic
heartbeat.
They were almost done, when the door opened suddenly with a loud noise and
closed, footsteps approaching.
“Hide...” he breathed to Selina’s ear and she immediately took cover behind a
barrel, realizing horrified that her friend didn’t follow her but remained in
his spot.
She mouthed to him to hurry but he didn’t move and Selina froze figuring out
his plan to secure her escape.
“No!” she mouthed to him but it was too late.
A giant with a blond ponytail whom Selina knew too well grabbed Bruce’s injured
hand and turned the boy to look at him, shaking him so violently that the girl
thought that her friend would scatter. She saw his teeth glistening in a cruel
smirk.
“I knew that ya're the thief, ya disgusting sonovabitch! Ya don’t like the food
we give ya, motherfucker?” Chill was clenching Bruce’s already suffering hand
and the boy was squirming, his eyes and teeth clenched fighting the
insufferable pain.
“Please, sir...” his voice was cut from a whine of pain “I was hungry...”
Selina squeezed her mouth with her palm to not scream, when the giant’s
enormous fist fell like a thunder on Bruce’s little mouth and the boy crushed
to the opposite wall from the fierceness of the blow.
Chill walked slowly to his shivering mass; he sniffed at him.
“Do I look like a fool, ya filthy scum?! Ya need so much food to satisfy
yar belly?”
He kicked the boy’s stomach and Bruce was on the air before crushing again to
the floor which was already stained from the blood dripping from his ripped
lips.
“Where ya're giving the food?!” his voice had dropped the sarcasm and was just
pure threat.
Bruce raised timidly his throbbing head and looked him pleadingly, his working
hand trying to comfort his agonizing stomach.
“To nobody, sir... Please... I was just hungry...”
The man kicked him again on the ribs this time sniggering. Bruce cried.
“So ya're not grateful for the food yar master tosses to ya, ya piece of shit!”
He cinched the nape of the boy’s neck and turned him to face him, his large
hand now tightened around Bruce’s neck; Selina could make out the tears in her
friend’s eyes from the lack of air and was pressing more her palm to her mouth
as the gigantic fist was hammering the little boy’s belly, his screams audible
despite his constricted air pipe, his body writhing desperately, the pain too
much, the blood spurting from his mouth.
“Please, sir...” he managed to whisper between the screams of pain and Chill
was laughing with glee, shifting his fist’s activity to the boy’s immobilized
head.
Bruce’s eyes didn’t pre-empt to close before the giant’s fist was rapidly
falling upon the sensitive flesh; his weakened head steadied by Chill’s choking
grip on his neck to take more punches on the nose and mouth covering the cruel
hand and his own skin with hot blood.
Selina had counted at least a dozen punches on her friend’s blood covered face
and the giant, never stopping smirking, lowered once again his fist on Bruce’s
mouth, at the same time releasing the boy’s throat, causing his crushing on the
opposite wall.
Chill approached his pray satisfied by the view of the 10 year old convulsing
and moaning from the pain, huddled up in foetus position.
“Thieves, especially those who bite the hand that feeds 'em, make me sick!” he
roared and his heavy foot sank with a disgusting wet sound in Bruce’s gut.
An iron hand grabbed violently his hair and a second one his pained hand and
yanked him to the air. His already swollen eyes made out Selina’s hunched
figure behind the barrel and his heart stopped from panic for her safety.
Chill dragged him easily to the butcher table and heaved him upon the cold
metallic surface, bending him so his legs dangled unable to reach the floor.
No, Selina was watching... She shouldn’t see this... She must use the
opportunity to escape...
‘Go’ he mouthed to her, seeing her proud  eyes sparkling with tears her hand
keeping her mouth shut; his despair a drowning wave as he felt the giant’s
crude hands lowering his loose pants and his underwear.
“Spread yar legs, ya sonovabitch!”
He obeyed; the thought that if Chill was engaged in this, his friend would be
able to escape soothing his agony.
Chill’s demanding brutal hands clenched crushingly his thighs and spread even
more his buttocks, stretching him to his limits.
‘Go’ he mouthed once more to Selina and she nodded, the last thing he saw as he
ducked his face to the filthy metallic surface feeling the giant’s tremendous
member taking place in his entrance; his body jwas erking weakly to avoid the
invasion but a loud blow to his buttock and an even firmer hold in his spread
thighs, immobilized him.
The man shoved his whole length in him in one rapid, violent thrust and he
screamed from the horrible, tearing pain; his screams reduced to childish cries
making his body tremble, entertaining Chill to hysterical laughs. And then, he
started his pounding, withdrawing for a bit and pushing harder and deeper,
fisting his hair, devoring his sobs that were sometimes becoming sharp,
desperate screams, as the man’s length was tearing his narrow opening and his
insides, the blood running freely in his inner thighs and to the floor.
“Please...” he pleaded; his swollen, throbbing eyes full of tears.
Chill yanked his head uprooting his hair.
“I’ll chasten ya, bunghole’’ and using his hold as support he thrust with all
his might in his tight anus, the table’s edge hurting his already beaten belly,
his anus torn even more, his spread legs trembling and his trapped body
squirming.
His horselaugh echoed through the large room and increased his pain and his
heart’s writhing. He was unable to stand anymore of this punishment, when he
started a frantic rhythm of thrusts, his enormous hand still holding his head
yanked to its painful limits.
The door suddenly opened and Bruce’s half closed, desperate eyes recognized
Julliano who surprised at first, took in the scene and sniggered.
“Enjoy yourself, Joe!” and closed again the door, Chill peaking his rhythm
gleeful from Bruce’s whines.
His hands gripped viciously the boy’s thighs to stop the writhing and shoved
his length one last time deeper and stronger, releasing his fluids inside his
battered body which jerked weakly. Chill dropped his head at the metallic
surface, zipped his fly and dressed him hastily.
“Now, boss will learn yar crime an' punish ya as ya deserve! Walk!”
He threw him to the floor and he wanted to obey but his legs wouldn’t bear him
and he collapsed. Chill grabbed his crippled hand and manhandled him to
Falcone’s office.
“He is the thief” he told to his boss and Falcone swatted his already
bloodstained face knocking him over the floor.
“Ungrateful brat! I spared yar life, I feed ya and how ya repay me? By stealing
from me! Ya're completely rotten; yar parents spoiled ya but I’ll make a decent
man of ya! Tie him to the table!”
Chill happily uplifted him and dropped him on the table face first; then he
spread him and tied his each limb to the table’s corners. Falcone’s heavy steps
approached him but he didn’t want to open his eyes. The mobster fisted his hair
and jerked his head.
“There’s only one way to bring a rotten child to the right path...” he let the
boy’s head drop and in front of the terrified eyes took out from his pants his
heavy leather belt.
He closed his eyes desperately as the leather howled and then crushed on his
back a loud scream leaving his exhausted throat as the excruciating pain
flooded his body – the merry melodies and the seducing giggles drowning the
sound; he was crying like a baby and he was ashamed of that but as the whips
continued  progressively faster and stronger, he just wanted the pain to stop,
to pity him... But his pleas only made his master to belt him faster,
simultaneously chuckling or cursing him.
He fainted... When he opened his eyes, they had untied him and tossed him on
the floor.
“Take this filthy rat from here!”
Chill heaved him from the crippled hand making his hold torturing and dragged
him to his cage; he shoved him violently and his ragged back crushed painfully
to the big stalactite. The giant took his hands and stretched them above his
head bounding them to the stalactite; his hand yelling in agony. He prayed that
he would leave then but the thug instead brought out of his jacket another rope
made a loop and leashed his throat, his mean eyes enjoying his terror. He
tightened the loop enough to constrict his breath but not enough to asphyxiate
him and bound the rope to the rope tying his hands on the rock so that if he
moved, the loop would tighten more...
He was shivering from the icing cold, the exhaustion and the pain all over his
body. Chill brushed his shaking jaw.
“Of course, ya won’t get bread an' water for four days; so ya'll appreciate
what ya had an' be more respectful to yar master...” the tears that were
flowing from his eyes satisfied  the giant and he left locking the old, rusty
door.
Bruce was feeling every part of his body aching unbearably making him begging
his body to faint but to no avail. On his knees, his scoured back being
scratched by the rock, his anus stretched and torn, were bleeding, forcing his
tired body to shake pleading for soothing however only managing to choke him
more.
His blood was forming little puddles and with panic he saw the bats hovering in
his cage approaching interested. The rodents landed close to him and walked to
his spot, their eyes hungry for his warm blood.
“No, please...” he begged remembering horrified how the hungry bats were
tearing apart wounded, bleeding humans “please, don’t...” he cried and tried to
drag himself away but his restrains stopped him. “Please, leave...” he closed
his eyes as the bats were even closer to him, his sobs his only company.
‘Bruce, you are too clever to fell for that!’ a cheery familiar warm voice told
him encouragingly and he didn’t feel so lonely; as if his friend had come to
visit him again.
“Tony...” he whispered the name of his friend “Tony...”
The cage dissolved and instead he was in a luxurious hotel room, dressed in
beautiful clothes for the first time after... it seemed like never had
happened, his crippled arm in a splint.
“Do you want to avenge your parents’ murders?” a seductive deep voice said to
his ear “do you want to punish Falcone for what he did to you?”
“Yes, sir, I do...” he whispered, the lion-like man’s eyes shining with
satisfaction.
Upon arriving at Dolcetto, Al Ghul lowered the hood that covered Bruce’s head
and led him to Falcone’s office. Bruce could catch with the corner of his eyes
the personnel of the cabaret and Falcone’s thugs gawp at him, barely
recognizing him. Al Ghul smiled cunningly to him.
“I told you that your beauty will be irresistible; and I haven’t even
started...”
Falcone’s eyes widened in delighted shock when he saw Bruce well dressed,
meticulously cleaned and groomed.
“Give him to me and the entire Gotham will be envious of you for possessing
him.” Al Ghul’s mefistophelic voice tantalized Falcone. “Your pleasure from him
will be unsurpassed.”
“Give him to ya?” the mobster asked suspicious and Ra’s smirked.
“To train him; to sculpt his blessed by nature body...”
Falcone laughed.
“Ya don’t honestly expect me to give him for ya to take him to yar god-
forgotten country?”
“Of course not. I’ll train him whenever I’ll be in Gotham and my people will be
doing it when I’m absent...”
Falcone motioned his head in disbelief.
“Ya train assassins, Ra’s...”
Ra’s sat on an armchair and crossed casually his legs.
“He is too cowardly to be an assassin; he doesn’t have the potential. But... He
has the potential to be an extraordinarily beautiful whore, sculpted by me to
offer you with his divine body unbelievable pleasure.”
Falcone’s eyes scrutinized his body with desire. A crooked evil smirk cracked
his greasy face.
“Okay, Ra’s, do yar best!’’
The place was in half darkness, the dim light of several candles in their
sockets on the walls the only source of light, since the spacious completely
bare room had no windows.
His breath was laborious; his hands were shaking from the overexertion to
uplift his body from the cold, cement floor, his former crippled hand
protesting loudly since not completely recuperated but he ignored it, unwilling
to manifest weakness to him whose heavy massive foot was pushing his naked back
all way through the hundred push-ups he had already done.
“One hundred” the masked man who was replacing Ra’s in his training when he was
abroad (which was very often) counted as he was doing from the first repeat
after he managed to raise his body on his hands. “You may stand up now” he took
his foot and he was sure that the traces from his jackboot was engraved on his
skin.
He stood, bowed his head in respect and hurried to cover his bare torso with a
cheap tunic. He was tying the cord around his waist, when he caught his
trainer’s sarcastic stare, his intense brown eyes the only visible thing from
his covered with black silky fabric face. He was sniggering.
“Why are you so hasty to cover yourself? Your beauty is the only valuable
aspect of you: a useless garnish, your only purpose giving sexual pleasure to
your masters...” his deep voice heavily accented attacked his ears.
Bruce just swept his sweaty forehead with his fist and didn’t hurry to answer;
besides, there was no need. He knew the masked man’s contemptuous opinion for
him, his eyes always sniffing at him during his nineteen months’ training. He
turned his back and went calmly to the corner of the room where a bottle of
water awaited him to quench his thirst.
“You don’t even answer... You have nothing to say because it is the truth: you
would never be even a mediocre fighter, because you are a whore. Your parents
only worthy of bringing up a little begging whor...”
Bruce was on him without the masked man even realizing the motion, his feet
unbalancing his trainer, his head crushing in his groin; his hands although the
right one was still impaired grasped his trainer's arms in an unbeatable
hammerlock, pinning him face first on the floor. He could feel his trainer’s
jerking to get free but he twisted more the masked man’s hammer hands – the
masked man was stronger and better trained than him with years of experience
and Bruce knew that if he escaped his hold, he would pay; his trainer’s gasping
testifying his wrath.
Claps echoed throughout the room and Bruce and his trainer saw Al Ghul standing
beside them amused, obviously having entered without anyone noticing.
“Let him go, child” he said softly and he obeyed bowing to him as soon as he
stood.
The masked man followed with a rapid movement his eyes upset and embarrassed.
“I told you, Bane, that he has potential; he is made of the good stuff.”
Bane’s rage was evident.
“He just caught me off guard; he knows that is a lousy fighter and uses the
coward’s ways!”
Bruce didn’t speak, his eyes lowered to the floor, his face flushed.
“If he caught YOU off guard then he is better than I considered him... Leave
us!”
Bane cast a glance of pure ire on Bruce and left. Once alone, Ra’s approached
more, his delicate but lethal fingers taking gently his jaw and uplifting his
face. Bruce looked him with devotion and respect and Ra’s covered his lips with
his hungry mouth, his tongue licking Bruce’s soft mouth walls.
Ra’s’ hands engulfed possessively his waist and dragged him to lean his back on
the wall, never stopping devoring Bruce’s mouth and then neck, forcing him to
stretch so that his master had all the access he wanted.
He felt the lion-like man’s hands untying the cordon from his tunic and
throwing the fabric on the floor, his mouth violently feasting his still sweaty
breasts.
“Oh, Bruce... Your sweat smells like the rarest priceless aroma...”
His tongue was expertly tasting his shapely torso making his sculpted muscles
ripple arousing more his greedy mouth. His shaking fingers untied the cordon
holding his loose pants and the cloth collapsed to his feet followed by his
underwear. Bruce kicked them aside because he knew that his master was
impatient. Indeed, Ra’s spread his thighs and invaded him with his fingers, his
mouth examining every fold his abdomen muscles were forming to end to his
testicles, teasing him with his torturing tongue. Bruce felt awful because he
was aware that Bane’s contemptuous eyes were looking from the secret spying
window.
He closed his eyes; his body was enjoying the feelings even impaired, since
Ra’s knew his body better than even himself, but his guts were clenched
painfully. He didn’t want to be touched moreover in this way; he felt ashamed
as much as with his other owners, because he was hearing Bane’s words branding
him with hot iron in their right: a whore giving pleasure... He wanted to
escape Al Ghul’s hold and his fingers, tongue, mouth... his everything that was
conquering his body... But Ra’s helped him... healed his crippled hand... He
was training him to escape Falcone... He owed him...
Ra’s’ familiar length invaded him met with the same as always resistance which
he every time squashed with a too violent, angry thrust bringing his entire
member deep inside making Bruce moan.
“Bring your legs around me...” his smooth deep voice ordered and he obeyed, his
master immediately started pounding him with the rapid rhythm his spectacular
body and strength enabled him to, his enormous hands supporting pawing greedily
Bruce’s buttocks.
He was roaring like a real lion appreciating his pray after a long time of
starvation, Bruce scared of his frantic appearance, Ra’s thrusts painful, his
hands’ grip in his rear end bruising. An endless punishing thrusting stampede
later, Ra’s let his fluids fill him keeping himself immersed in Bruce’s body,
his hot lips finding his sweaty cheeks.
“I missed you so much, child” he whispered “when we finish with Falcone and
Gotham, I’ll take you with me and never let you go...”
He jerked violently, his eyes widened in bitter surprise and Ra’s made the grip
on his upper arms vicious. The demon’s eyes were mocking, his voice a torment.
“Did you believe that Gotham would be spared? Gotham is the Apocalypses’
Babylon; the modern time Sodom and Gomorrah – and you know how God’s justice is
served: through fire and iron!” Bruce felt his whole body frozen, a panic
attacking his fret heart, urging him to flee but Ra’s hold was unbeatable. “Did
you really believe that you would be restored to your...” he sniggered “throne?
That you would be the Prince of Gotham again? You are not him anymore; he died
and left you in his place: my creation, my masterpiece, my slave!”
He was in a dark alley a couple of blocks away from the silent Dolcetto,
scanning cautiously his surroundings. It was too easy to escape his cage after
he discovered that little natural burrow leading from his jail to a wide net of
underground cavities one of them ending here.
His heart was beating with agony and enthusiasm altogether. He was free and in
a couple of hours he would be away from all his torturers and with Tony. He had
notified Alfred to wait for him to leave together; he wouldn’t let Alfred
behind to their revenge, as for Selina, they didn’t know about her, so she
wasn’t in danger – he would find a way to communicate with her.
After thorough inspection, he was sure that nobody was there; he stood
carefully from his squatted position and moved silently as a shadow...
A sudden rush of air, a fierce force at his legs and the world, as his heart,
was turned over. He was tasting the dirty, dry cement his face grazed as the
force pressed him crushingly to the ground; he tried to throw his assailant
from him but his right hand was twitched in a vicious grip behind his back, his
waist smashed on the ground by an iron knee. He gritted his teeth and tried
once again to escape but an unbelievably strong hand grabbed his hair and
jerked his head backwards.
“You thought that six years of training would make you better than your master
and capable of outsmarting him?” a too familiar wet mouth whispered with malice
and joy in his ear.
Now he was doomed.
“Falcone was right; you are an ungrateful brat!”
“No, master...” he tried to appease him but Ra’s skilled hand touched him and
his lungs were instantly empty of air, he desperately gasping for some oxygen.
Ra’s dropped him on the ground writhing for air and grabbed again his former
crippled arm, twitching it mercilessly. His other hand touched him again and
air flooded his agonizing lungs giving him life and cough.
“I healed your useless arm and this is how you show your gratitude. I’ll make
it again as I found it, only this time I shall pulverize its bones so that it
could be never restored!” Ra’s fingers had already been transformed into
pincers crushing his arm bones.
“No, master, please... I just... I didn’t stand it anymore... Falcone and Chill
were constantly... and I couldn’t... just couldn’t... please...”
“The pain is your fault! I taught you how to relax your muscles, to leave your
body!”
He screamed as Ra’s pressed viciously his arm.
“I can’t, master... I can’t manage to... Please, forgive me...”
Al Ghul’s considerable weight was applied to his smashed body, his master’s
head breathing his hair’s scent.
“On your hands and knees!’ he ordered sternly and he obeyed, relieved that Ra’s
had let go of his crying arm.
He knew what his angry master would do to him so he wasn’t surprised when his
rear end with a creepy ripping sound was assaulted by the spring cold bare
naked from any cloth.
The lion-like man captured his buttocks and spread them without any pretence of
gentleness, invading cruelly his enormous dick to his narrow, completely
unprepared channel. He screamed; his voice swallowed by Gotham’s indifference
and Ra’s’ roaring laughter.
“You think that what Falcone and Chill do to you is painful? I’ll manifest to
you what is PAIN!”
Indeed, Ra’s Al Ghul with his unmatched knowledge of the human body guided his
thrusts in a way that his thrusting power seemed to Bruce ten times stronger,
his insides feeling like being branded with hot metal, his stretched anus being
torn with every motion, his hips bones and waist feeling like breaking. His
hands and knees barely tolerated the pain and trembled; his will was the only
thing that kept his body the way his master wanted it. His heart was aching
from the frantic beat and he was rasping, whines and sobs shamelessly escaping
him. His master breaking his nipples between his fingers, his blood painting
his master’s punishing length and his thighs.
“You thought that you could escape and go to your petty friend; you thought
that that filthy rich moron could protect you from me...” his mean loud laugh
became his whole world, his entire trembling existence. “But put it firmly in
your pretty little head: nobody can protect you from me, because I am The
Demon’s Head and you are mine! I’ll kill horrifically your every loved one and
I’ll have you watching; Alfred, Thompkins... Selina...” Bruce jerked; he knew
about Selina... “Tony...”
“No!” he yelled not caring about the pain his master would inflict in him.
“Don’t hurt them! Please, master, it’s my fault! Nobody else’s... Please,
master, punish only me...
Ra’s sank his teeth ruthlessly in Bruce’s soft neck till the blood was running
to the cement. Bruce knew that Ra’s wasn’t a vampire but his master had learnt
about his fear of bats’ ripping his neck and now he was using it to punish him.
“I will, child, I will punish you...”
Some days later Chill manhandled him to Falcone’s office at Dolcetto, where a
small plasma TV was tuned to CNN, broadcasting a video, clearly amateur with
the image stained with snows. What he saw made his heart stop and his legs cut
like trees; Chill supported him chortling.
Tony, 12 years older than he remembered him, but still so familiar was tied to
a chair, his hands bound to the chair’s back; his beautiful, beloved face was
battered and he was bleeding from the corners of his lips, his nostrils and a
nasty deep cut over his left eyebrow. He looked at the edge of fainting; a big
wound in his chest gushing abundant blood.
“No!” he yelled, his eyes flooded with tears.
 
***** Chapter 19 *****
“Please, no, stop! Don’t hurt Tony, Tony!”
Tony hurried to take tenderly his friend’s head in his hands, trying to wake
him up from the nightmare, hushing him and caressing his tear soaked cheeks.
“I’m here, Bruce, I’m here; it’s only a nightmare. Hush... Nobody can harm you
now... Tony’s here...”
But he was writhing in his hug, his beautiful, brilliant eyes haunted by the
nightmarish images which Tony could still detect there. He rubbed soothingly
his back, as he was doing then, far back, when they were two kids. However,
Bruce’s eyes were focused on his glowing light blue arc reactor unseeing
anything else.
“It’s my fault...” Bruce said with steady voice and Tony was uncertain if his
friend even acknowledged his presence. “Forgive me, Tony...”
Tony cupped Bruce’s face in his hands and lifted it gently so that his friend
could see his eyes.
“You did nothing, Bruce, nothing is your fault.”
But his stare was again on Tony’s arc reactor his fingers touching tenderly the
cold metal as if it was his whole world.
“I did that to you” Bruce told with solemn, sad voice, his eyes and fingers
never leaving the glow in Tony’s chest.
Tony for the first time in his life felt panicked; Bruce was delirious, those
monsters destroyed his brilliant mind. Desperate, he took again the brunette
head and gently, as if he was afraid of breaking it, brought it to face him.
“Bruce, I want you to listen to me: it was only a nightmare; I’m here now.
This...” showed him the arc reactor “has nothing to do with you, it isn’t your
fault. It was some assholes terrorists that did it, but they were punished.”
The younger man was hearing him with attention, his eyes sober but he motioned
his head negatively.
“They weren’t mere terrorists, Tony.”
“You can’t know that, little guy” he smiled to him reassuringly.
“It was the League of Shadows” he distanced himself, looking at the floor “and
their leader Ra’s Al Ghul.”
Tony stared at him agape.
“How? How do you know about them?” he motioned to touch his shoulder but Bruce
made a small movement and didn’t let him.
“Ra’s Al Ghul found me at Falcone’s cabaret; he knew who I am, he healed my
crippled arm...” Tony opened his mouth to ask about this but Bruce stopped him
“he offered to Falcone to... sculpt my body but in reality he was training
me...”
“Training you?” Tony’s hedgehog hair was more raised.
Bruce looked at him his expression stony, cold.
“To be an assassin” Tony’s eyes were ready to pop out “he intends to destroy
Gotham and having me execute Falcone.”
“No, no, no, you are not a killer...”
“I am what he wants me to be; a spying whore, his sex toy, an assassin... But
let me finish. Six years of training made me believe that I could escape
everyone; I had contacked Alfred and I intended to leave Gotham and come... to
you” Tony nodded. “But he found me; he punished me and warned me that if I ever
tried again to get away from Falcone and him, he’d kill everyone I love:
Alfred, Leslie, Selina”  Tony opened his mouth to ask who Selina was; “a friend
of mine who was supporting me all these years – and you... A couple of days
later they forced me to watch the video with you being tortured by them. Ra’s
wanted to make you create a mass destruction weapon – the same he will ask for
exchange for that night with me – and to punish and warn me...”
Tony stood and ruffled his raven locks, inhaling deeply, his heart heavy. Bruce
was gazing at him with his eyes determined and apologizing at the same time.
“They did that to you because of my disobedience; if I hadn’t tried to run
away, if I wasn’t so spineless, if I hadn’t tried to save my hide...”
Tony rushed to his friend’s side and held his upper arms comfortingly.
“How many horrors life shoved to you?” his eyes were filled with tears “how
many monsters exploited you? It was nothing you did, little guy...” his lips
kissed tenderly his friend's forehead “now I’m stronger. I notified my
helicopter and before dawn it will land on the roof to take us to Malibu...”
Bruce jolted as if a whip had hit his back; his eyes were angry.
“You don’t understand, do you?!’’ his voice was hoarse, commanding “you didn’t
hear anything I said to you!”
Tony looked him awestruck; suddenly the scared 26 year old toy had vanished. He
didn’t know how to react to this rant: he wanted to take his tortured friend
away from everything that hurt him but he understood that he was upsetting him;
he could hear Bruce’s heart beat in agony.
Bruce saw his friend’s confusion and stood from the bed, approaching him shyly.
“Forgive me, Tony, for yelling at you... I was the cause you were tortured and
now I’m yelling at you when you are so happy to have found me again... I
guess...” he smiled bitterly “they destroyed me; I’m not your Bruce anymore...”
Tony looked at his hunched shoulders; his eyes were sad. He hugged his friend,
wanting to hide him in his chest and erase all these years of pain and
humiliation. To heal his friend’s deep wounds.
“You are my Bruce... Don’t ever say that to me again” he was crying, he was
crying for real, Bruce inside his embrace after eighteen years, alive
“Everything will be okay, little guy; we are together again...”
Bruce was also crying silently, the brunette head trembling, feeling that he
had found a haven in his Tony’s hug.
“You must let me return, Tony” he whispered “I don’t want to leave you either,
but if we are carried away now, everything will be in vain – I know you plan
something: if you take me away now, Falcone will escape and Gotham will remain
under his rule and Al Ghul will find me and kill you and our friends... Trust
me, Tony; if we be a little patient, soon we’ll have nothing to fear. Trust me;
Falcone’s downfall is near...”
Bruce’s eyes were shining coaxing his friend but Tony bit his lip.
“How do you expect me to just stand and look them taking you away, when I
know...”
His friend’s soft fingers touched his lips.
“Don’t worry about me” he smiled to reassure him “I am a trained assassin after
all...”
Tony still wasn’t convinced; holding Bruce in his embrace, feeling his
heartbeat on his chest, his long lost beloved warmth and his aroma was a
blessing he didn’t want to part with, especially when he knew what Falcone will
do to him and the dangers which were lurking around his friend.
“Two days” he inhaled deeply “if in two days Falcone is still at large, I’ll
storm the Manor, break his every bone along with that ox, Chill, and I’ll take
you to Malibu.”
“Deal!” Bruce answered enthusiastically and his stomach gave a noise; he smiled
embarrassed.
Tony laughed.
“I’m hungry, too, Brucie. Time for breakfast, although a little early...”
Despite the fact Tony was ignorant about cooking, wanted to take care of Bruce
himself so he prepared some milk, orange juice, some cake that Pepper had
brought yesterday and cinnamon biscuits from the super market.
Bruce smiled seeing the delicacies his friend made for them.
“So in eighteen years apart from physicist, chemist and engineer, you became a
cook too! Now that’s a surprise...”
“Don’t tell, Pepper; she won’t let me forget it...”
Gotham was petted by the first light blue colours of the imminent dawn, the
dark blue still dominant on the sky; the moon on his falling path and the
public lights of the city looked tired from their all night work; the first
sounds of activity touching the penthouse as they were devoring the breakfast
Tony has served, relief not yet fully achieved.
“Bruce, I don’t want to tire you with too many questions...” he really didn’t
want but his questions were too many and burning.
“Go ahead, Tony.”
“How? I mean...”
“How came and I’m alive?”
“Yes, there were eye witnesses that testified that you were tossed into the
water and... Falcone paid them to confirm your death?”
“People told the truth; I was indeed dropped in the water and the people
scattered scared so they didn’t see what happened. They played with me” he said
bitterly but with steady voice “and then when they decided to finish me off,
Falcone stopped them; he decided to keep me alive...” and taking in Tony’s
puzzled stare “I was his trophy; a living token of his triumph...” his voice
was flat without emotion but Tony could detect the pain of eighteen years of
unstoppable pain.
He didn’t know what to say to soothe his friend and Bruce smiled to him
reassuringly, continuing his food.
Tony frowned and Bruce winced; it was too early to come and get him. However,
Tony knew that his private elevator wasn’t accessible but to one other than
him.
Pepper walked cautiously at the deserted vast salon, looking for any sign of
life, her stilettos clicking echoing to the silence.
“Pepper, in the kitchen!” Tony yelled and Bruce seemed a bit embarrassed but
Tony rising from the table patted him affectionately.
Two minutes later Pepper Potts entered the kitchen impeccably dressed and
groomed despite the early hour. She took in the proceedings, understanding but
respectfully not speaking. Tony approached her and beamed.
“Pepper, I’d like to introduce you my best, my dearest, my most beloved friend
Bruce Wayne.”
Pepper’s eyes widened, she stared first at the young man at the table and then
to her employer.
“So he really is, then! Oh, my!” she brought her palm at her mouth.
Bruce rose from the table and approached the shocked young woman, offering his
hand.
“I’m very glad to meet you, Miss Potts and I’m grateful for what you are doing
for Tony.”
She shook his hand cordially and smiled.
“Please, call me Pepper, Mr Wayne; I admit it’s a tough job working for Tony,
but it has good benefits.”
“Call me Bruce, Pepper.”
“I should have figured out immediately; Tony doesn’t give his Garfield pyjamas
to anyone...”
Bruce laughed.
“Of course, it’s Garfield after all...” his voice was innocently mocking.
Tony offended intervened.
“I beg your pardon, lady and gentleman: it’s a very rare sketch of Garfield, a
collector’s treasure!”
“That changes everything, then.’’ Pepper smirked. “Do you want me to notify the
helicopter to be ready?” she added her usual seriousness back.
Bruce turned his eyes on Tony and he lowered his to avoid Pepper’s questioning
stare.
“No, Pepper, you don’t need to call the helicopter...” he answered his
assistant and she barely swallowed her surprise.
The sun flooded the room with his first golden rays signalizing the starting of
a beautiful day, but the mood in the kitchen was gloomy.
“I must get ready” Bruce said hesitantly but decisive “they’ll be here in two
hours... Can I use your bathroom for a quick shower?”
Tony raised his eyes from the floor and smiled to him.
“You don’t have to ask, Bruce.”
Pepper came closer to Tony as soon as Bruce entered Tony’s bedroom, closing the
door behind him. Her demeanor was strict and demanding.
“What are you doing, Tony? You did all these to find out if Bruce is alive and
now that you have him here, you will surrender him to these horrible people?”
Tony’s hands were clenched to his hips, his head low from an unseen burden;
Pepper’s words stung, because the same words were boiling inside his mind. He
ruffled his hair and looked at her irritated.
“Do you think that I wanted it this way? Is Bruce’s decision!”
“Yes, but he’s been constantly abused for eighteen years, his emotional state
is ... turbulent; he considers these people almighty and he is afraid for
himself and for you and he is sacrificing himself.”
“His reasoning is incredible; he explained to me the situation and he knows
things from inside. He says that it’s a matter of time and if we rush things,
will destroy everything...’’
“And you believed him?”
“We are ready, Peps. I don’t know what Bruce means or if it is legit, but my
blow to Falcone is ready to launch; in two days, whatever happens, the world
may be upside down, I’ll storm the Manor and I’ll take him away, once and for
all.”
Pepper, her hands tightened around her ribs her eyes moved, nodded.
It was fifteen minutes later that Bruce dressed in his clothes from yesterday
came out of the bedroom, finding Tony in the salon sat at the oaken bar,
gulping bourbon; his eyes unreadable, focused on nothing. Pepper was checking
her e-mails on her tablet and cast a sweet smile to him that Bruce returned.
He approached Tony and rested his hand on his friend’s tired shoulder. Tony
turned and looked him, his eyes taking again their playful, carefree nature.
“It’s too early for alcohol, Tony...” he said softly.
“Oh, my! Now, I’ll have two nannies! You’re dashing, little guy, even without a
beauty sleep; tell me your secret!”
Bruce laughed in a way that Tony was reminded of the little child he played
with.
“I’ll tell you, big guy. In due time.”
A buzz in the intercom made all of them jerk, Tony leaving the stool taking a
posture very similar to a defence position, Bruce on the other hand was deadly
calm.
Pepper answered the intercom and looked at Tony with dread.
“Chill is here...” for the first time in the years Tony knew her, she was
pleading for what to do.
“It’s too early!” Tony’s exasperation and despair was painful to hear.
“Please, Pepper” Bruce’s calm voice answered her imploring eyes “tell them to
let him come.” His hand brushed Tony’s trembling head, as Pepper her eyes
determined did what Bruce asked her to. “Everything will be okay, Tony, trust
me, please; I never lied to you, did I?”
Tony raised his eyes and licked his dry lips; he was supposed to encourage
Bruce not the other way around; his friend was the one who would have to face
these monsters again. He smiled and held Bruce’s upper arms.
“Never, Brucie, never.” He pressed his lips together in a tight line, Bruce’s
eyes were sparkling with happiness and Tony knew that it was for his sake.
“Promise me that you won’t let them touch you again...”
There was no chance he could manage that, Bruce knew it.
“I promise you, Tony” he had to reassure him even untruly.
The elevator was approaching with its low but all of a sudden creepy sound and
Bruce detached himself from Tony not wanting to alarm Chill that something was
different. Tony understood the reason but it still hurt.
Chill entered the space; his eyes searching like a true Vulture, his scar upon
the eye sharp in the morning light.
“Good mornin', Mr Stark” his voice full with sarcasm hit Tony’s ears “I hope
ya had a wonderful night” he looked pointedly to Bruce who hunched.
“Very much” Tony answered icy his black eyes shining like flaming diamonds.
“Happy to hear. C'mon, pup, yar boss is whistlin'!”
Bruce obediently came to him and the Vulture grabbed viciously his upper arm
and dragged him. This was too much for Tony who rushed there his whole body
radiating rage and power.
“You’re hurting him, you motherfucker!”
Pepper cringed.
“Ow! Someon' had a really spectacular night!” Chill sniggered “Well done, kid,
ya charmed Tony fuck-everythin'-that-moves Stark; ya're a better whore than I
thought!”
Tony’s fist exploded on its own accord, Chill’s nose spurting blood, while the
giant’s hand rushed to his coat’s secret sheath, where Bruce knew that he hide
his enormous blade. Tony’s hand rapidly moved to do something but Bruce with an
almost invisible motion was in front of Chill; his hands raised to the giant’s
chest appeasing.
“Mr Falcone will be waiting...”
The Vulture roared, but sensing that anything else would be stupid to do,
snatched Bruce’s arm deliberately more violently than before and manhandled him
to the elevator, Bruce purposefully avoiding Tony’s defeated eyes that were
focused on his departing figure ; it was too painful to bear it.
The elevator doors closed with a hissing and Tony hid his face in his hands; it
was like losing him forever all over again. He felt two warm, loving hands
engulfing his exhausted shoulders and a kiss in his hair. He uncovered his face
and looked Pepper with gratitude, his eyes red.
“In two days you’ll be together again and this time forever and without
monsters lurking.”
He kissed her soft cheek.
 
Bruce was seated in Falcone’s Audi, one of the cars he used for his less
exhibitionist businesses beside Chill who was driving absorbed in his cursing.
Tony’s defeated eyes as the elevator doors were closing haunted his mind; he
caused his friend more pain but there was no other way... Maybe if things went
well, he could make up for all the suffering he caused to Tony. For the time
being he had to keep his feelings in a secluded area of his mind – like he was
constantly doing for eighteen years – and think.
The car jolted abruptly and Bruce was forced to abandon his thoughts. He took
in where were they; it was an underground parking still empty due to the early
hour. He saw Chill’s gigantic figure getting out of the car and coming to his
side and his heart sank. Not so soon! He thought in exasperation and despair.
But the giant opened the door, unfastened Bruce’s seatbelt and dragged him like
a puppy out of the car. Bruce was instantly slammed on his chest and stomach to
the metallic side of the car, Chill’s body pressing him.
“I couldna sleep all night thinkin' that asshole shovin' his dick inside ya an'
ya moaning  for more” his creepy voice whispered in his ear.
Bruce felt with disgust the Vulture’s groin rubbing at his buttocks, the
giant’s erection demanding satisfaction. He closed his eyes.
“Was he better than me?” he asked madly “maybe he made yar soft dick” his hand
dived into his underwear petting crudely his member, at the same time rubbing
furiously his groin “harden at last?” Bruce motioned his head in negation to
appease him, pressing desperately his eyes.
The man sneered.
“I knew that yar whorish asshole doesn’t appreciate delicate dicks like his; a
filthy slut like ya needs only rough treatment by trumps like me...”
He opened the flyer of Bruce’s pants and let the fabric accumulate to his
ankles, his hands too hasty to lower his underwear. Bruce’s heart beat crazily,
the enormous greedy hands already spreading him, the huge erection impatient
finding the familiar way to his anus, the too familiar yet still unbearable
pain flooding his body as the foreign object stuffed him to his limits.
Although he was trained to leave his body and being away from the pain, he
never took the hang of it; always suffering in agonizing piercing pain as
during his first time...
His body was flailing to avoid Chill’s impalement motions but the mammoth mass
was crushing him to the metal, permitting him only grunts and moans.
“Ya're mine, little Prince; I claimed ya first, never forget that!” Chill’s
crooked teeth were gritted, his voice the same nightmarish voice that haunted
his days and nights and terrified him when a crippled child.
However, he didn’t care as much for the crucifying pain and the humiliation; it
was nothing new, after all. His sapphire-emerald eyes were focused on the
opposite wall but in reality  looking into Tony’s defeated eyes and his own
broken promise.
“Forgive me, Tony...” he said silently with his voice shaking from the
thrusting moves that was smashing his whole body on the car’s surface.
***** Chapter 20 *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter is rather big; I thought to divide it but it would have
     been mean to you. I'm truly anxious about this chapter and the
     following chapters; I hope it'll live up to your expectations and
     will not be a big disappointment...
Falcone Manor stood proudly in the centre of the vast snow covered Falcone
estate, a gem with hundreds facets sparkling to the winter's thick darkness
despite the fact it was only nine o’ clock. The fool moon was looking
menacingly the earth.
At the master bedroom of his Manor, Falcone was relaxing sat in his throne -
like armchair, dressed only in his silken robe, smoking a Cuban cigar, its cost
the monthly income of a poor family. He was sipping his favorite ridiculously
expensive champagne, pleased from his life, since he had achieved what that
crazy bastard demanded and now he was free to enjoy his little treasure which
he would have in his hands in a couple of hours. He would be the owner of the
most elusive, rare, ghost-like gem in the world, the Black Butterfly; the whole
gem, his legendary other half already in his possession.
He felt content, he felt invincible, because if he could be the owner of a
goddess’ gem, then he had nothing and nobody to fear; his reign undisputable
and indestructible. The cracking sounds of the burning logs inside the huge
stone fireplace were lulling his ears, while his eyes were pampered by the
enthralling image of Bruce Wayne’s body.
His living trophy, his most precious anime gem, clad in just a white shirt and
black trousers was standing in front of him obediently; ready to satisfy his
every wish, timid under his master’s wolfish evil stare.
The Grey Wolf downed a sip of frozen champagne and gave his order with just a
flicker of his clenching the cigar fingers; he knew that the boy was perfectly
trained to his orders.
Indeed, he immediately started to unbutton slowly his white shirt under
Falcone’s eyes flaming anticipation as the boy’s long and lean fingers undid
the last button. His gracious hands took gently the lapels of the shirt and
opened the two halves of the fabric till they reached his pale velvety
shoulders, letting the fine fabric slide his sculpted upper arms to his wrists
and then to the floor.
As many times as he saw this statuesque, god-like torso, Gotham’s Emperor still
gaped; the boy was a wonder, truly nature blessed. He perused the young flesh
for any marks left by yesterday’s night with Stark and he was glad there was
none.
He nodded and his slave brought his hands on the black leather belt unbuckling
it and then undoing the button at his trousers, the fly next. He just pushed
ethereally the expensive cloth and it brushed his long, muscled legs ending up
at his bare feet.
Falcone gulped a large quantity of the golden liquid at once, sweat drops
already on his forehead as his hungry eyes centred on the black silken boxers,
the only thing covering the tantalizing body. He sucked deeply his cigar and
nodded, a flicker of embarrassment making the boy’s eyes even more desirable.
Bruce’s hands, though he didn’t want them to, trembled manifesting their own
will, but he forced them to slid to the underwear’s waistband and lowered it
slowly to the middle of his hips – Falcone twisted in his armchair huffing and
puffing – and then with a swift motion to his ankles. He pushed the clothes
that were cluttered at his feet away and stretched his naked body for his
owner’s satisfaction.
“Madonna Mia!” he exclaimed in Italian the living breathing thing unbelievably
better than the masterpiece depiction of him hanging above the headboard of the
bed “I’ll never get bored of you; you are a charmer... C'mere, little gem.”
Bruce approached him shyly, his heart beating in protest but he had to tolerate
it for a little more, he promised to his rebelling body.
The Grey Wolf petted his firm protrude buttocks his other hand searching his
inner thigh.
“Get on your knees” Bruce obeyed “kiss my feet; show me your gratitude for
allowing you to live.”
He let his entire body lay in the floor like a giant worm and started spreading
gently kisses to the entire surface of his master’s feet, hearing Falcone
rasping and exclaiming in Italian.
“Suck my toes, precious...”
His stomach was twisting, the bile reaching his reluctant mouth but he
swallowed hard and leaning his face on the foot took the older man’s big toe in
his mouth, his entire body retching but his tongue licking the disgusting flesh
in his cavity. Falcone sighed, his hand reaching his aroused groin as the boy’s
hot, soft tongue was licking his every toe like a loyal kitten.
With a rapid motion he untied his robe’s fabric belt, pushing the silk from his
demanding erection and fisting the boy’s silken hair made him rise and dragged
him to sit on his lap, leading Bruce’s legs to spread enveloping his hips.
The older man’s erection desperately searched for the desired opening and with
a thrusting movement found the cavity that he was craving for. His powerful
hands grabbed the young man’s waist and he pushed into him.
“Dance on my dick...” his humid breath ordered between the wet kisses he was
delivering to the young stony chest.
Bruce moved his body slowly, snaky, tantalizing, making Falcone feel his heart
beat heavily from heavenly pleasure, his rasping laborious; this would be a
nice way to die, thought the Grey Wolf, experiencing the symptoms of a heart
attack but filled with pleasure; his member being massaged in a way he hadn’t
ever known.
His hands snatched the boy’s shoulder blades and without stopping his fairy
dance, forced his torso to make an arch so his greedy mouth could devor his
stretched covered with flavuring hot sweat flesh.
“How is it being fucked by yar parents’ slayer? Giving him heavenly pleasure,
thankin' him for murderin' them, by gifting him the body of the last Wayne?”
his voice was sarcastic, deep taunting, soaked in his trembling flesh.
The young body in his hands went instantly rigid, the hot sweat frosty, the
dancing movements stopped as did the boy’s breath. The mobster irrupted in
evil, gleeful laughter, grabbing Bruce’s wet locks and forcing him to look his
flushed, greasy face.
“Do ya remember what day is today?” the beautiful eyes became a stormy sea “The
day that I owned ya, the day I became the Gotham’s ruler, the day I snatched
everythin' Wayne had – even his only son!”
He started a frantic stampede of thrusts, the boy’s face iron kept in front of
his sneering victorious face.
“Ya took yar mother’s beauty. I would have fucked her before killin' her, but
she was stupid!”
Bruce’s eyes closed and Falcone strengthened his hold as he ejaculated inside
the young body. He rose from the armchair keeping the young man glued on him
and threw him on the bed laid on his stomach; he took Bruce’s hands and
handcuffed him on the headboard.
“We’ll celebrate the anniversary all night long!”
Bruce kept his calm, his eyes steady on the wall; we’ll celebrate, he thought,
but not as you believe. But the time was passing ruthlessly and the movements
must start; and the explosion that would signalize the beginning was at a young
lawyer’s hands. His heart kicked his rib case.
Falcone was already on top of him, rubbing his meaty body, laughing and the
bile that was aggregating from the beginning was pushing his guts as his
merciless mind repeated the mobster’s mocking words: the last Wayne.
Falcone’s smart phone sang and Bruce’s heart gave a jolt of hope. The older man
answered it, frustrated by the disruption.
“What!” he snapped and a panicked voice bombed his still numb from the arousal
ears with incomprehensive rant. “Speak slower an' clearer, ya dolt! What IRS? I
dealt with IRS!”
Bruce’s spirits were flying.
“The United States Attorney’s office! What! They have information about off
shore accounts?! They are there?”
Bruce could feel the older man’s body shaking from rage and an emotion he had
long forgotten: fear; his large hands unconsciously clenching the young man’s
locks.
“An' what 'bout Asian markets?! What do ya mean the shares are dropping,
yesterday they were rising... What? They found some shady businesses?”
That was a surprise for Bruce, but a pleasant one.
Falcone relieved him from his weight and stood hastily.
“I’m comin' at Dolcetoin a minute! Don’t do anythin', ya idiot! Wait for me an'
notify that moron Earl to be at the Falcone tower to delay them!”
He was dressed in five minutes, his eyes leaking blood, the Grey Wolf ready to
eat raw meat, but Bruce was smirking inside.
“I’ll be back before ya know it, little gem, don’t leave!” laughed although
without the previous vigor, because he didn’t untie him before leaving the
room.
Bruce waited till the roar of Falcone’s Ferrari was gradually vanished and fast
but cautiously dislocated his thumbs freeing his hands from the handcuffs; he
reset his thumbs and stormed to the bathroom, his stomach wanting to at last be
relieved sending him to kneel in front of the cubicle to throw up its contents.
“Young master!” Alfred’s calm but concerned voice entered puzzled the grand
room “Is everything alright?”
He came out of the bathroom, his mouth washed, a bathrobe covering his naked
body.
“I’m alright, Alfred.”
Alfred seemed unconvinced and rushed to help him in case he needed it, but he
patted reassuringly the shoulder of the beloved old man, smiling to him. He
stormed out of the room without being dressed and Alfred followed him a coat in
his arms.
He caught Bruce the moment he was feeling hastily the wall at the far end of
the wide corridor; a crack opening the brick wall like a page of a book, a path
immersed in impenetrable darkness welcomed him.
Alfred laid the warm coat on his young master’s shoulders affectionately and
Bruce cherished him a loving look.
“Please, be careful, master Bruce” his voice was cracked and Bruce held his
wrinkled hand.
“There are people who are risking more than me...”
“And they do it gladly!” the good man’s eyes were sparkling.
“And that’s the worst, Alfred... Please, as soon as I leave the cave, go there
and stay there; if something goes awry...” he hesitated under the panicked eyes
of his beloved Alfred “find Tony and stay with him; he’ll protect you...”
He leaned and kissed affectionately Alfred’s tear drenched cheek.
“Thank you for everything...” he told him and instantly was swallowed by the
menacing darkness of the secret passage.
“I didn’t do anything, my child... Good luck!”
 
Catwoman with her sleek, skin tight uniform slithered through the immaculate
clean, glistening even in the low light of the alarm system corridors of the
Smithsonian’s Museum. She just came out from the complex ventilation system,
her meticulously studying of the elaborated blueprints and alarm’s settings
that Bruce had hacked from the central security computer helped her navigate
herself and not being stack in the most narrow pipes – a trap for the ambitious
thieves - and now she had Bruce’s smooth, relaxed voice in her pointy cat ears
giving even more detailed instructions.
The cute thing loved her so much that wouldn’t have left her work uncovered no
matter what. Her heart flooded with affection; after all these ended, she’d
give him a sucking kiss.
Bruce using the advanced technology Lucius had given him and his own hacking
intelligence which gave him sight into the security cameras of the building,
warned her to take cover because a guard was approaching; she obliged, her lean
body invisible behind a huge sarcophagus. The guard pointed his flashlight to
every possible point and left certain for the safety of the exhibits.
Selina came out from behind the creepy mass and smiled to the guardian’s
departing figure.
“Sorry, handsome!” she mouthed and moved catlike, her long legs to the opposite
direction where the gem’s display reside.
In front of her she knew that lay the impervious system of laser beans ready to
barbeque the stupid that will attempt to pass it. Bruce had given her the
pattern but there was also a hidden camera always watching.
“Wait” she heard his sexy voice. “All clear” he told her after ten seconds and
she knew that he hacked the system feeding the security camera with a pack of
scenes with the peaceful night hall.
Now was her turn; she flexed her agile, cat-like muscles. She inhaled deeply.
“Girl, show time!”
She used her feet to boost her body to the air in an arch that would have made
jealous a professional athlete of gymnastics, avoiding the first net of unseen
laser beans to dive like a snake to the floor sliding under the next lower net
and between the tiny spaces that the interwoven beans made and then jumping
instantly her palms giving her impetus to fly above the high wall the next net
formed. She knew that her special suit would protect her from the major impact
from the beans, but a hit would betray her presence.
She huffed in relief her beautiful eyes looking behind her at the invisible
labyrinth of laser beans. Now it was the last part before touching the glass
case were the half Black Butterfly was smiling to its admirers. The scanning
foreign human presence ‘shower’; her suit was equipped with a non
commercialized substance that erased every indicator a human body emanated. She
made a hesitant step and smiled, Bruce’s voice giving her the okay to continue.
She was standing in front of the desired gem the seeming glass case the only
thing separating her; in reality, the case was made by a secret material that
it melted with even a light touch, thus blowing the alarm. It was handled only
with energy field after the Museum closed for the visitors.
She pushed a secret sense spot in her gloves and a blue glow illuminated the
space between her palms. She brought her hands at the two sides of the case
without fleshly touching it and held her breath as she made a hovering motion.
Her eyes glistened when the case moved, slowly uncovering the inhabitant. When
the case were enough raised, she kept it airborne with her one hand, having
increased the power of her glove’s field, on the upper side and her other hand
snatched the gem leaving a black button-like object on its place, put it inside
her suit and with both hands lowered carefully the case.
“All clear” Bruce’s voice said to her ear “you made it faster; the guard is
still in the other sector. Go.”
The returning seemed easier to her, the satisfaction from the tiny load making
her fly.
Upon dragging herself outside the huge building, she cast a fleeting gleeful
glimpse to the peaceful, unaware foundation and walked proudly to the point of
meeting.
She instantly caught the familiar gigantic figure, waiting impatiently, a
briefcase clenched in his raw hand. Certainly, the helicopter was waiting for
taking them back to Gotham.
Chill welcomed her with a creepy smile, showing his crook teeth.
“I see ya're still alive...”
“And kicking, handsome” she answered with sarcasm and hastiness. “Is this my
money?” he nodded to the briefcase.
He smirked and opened the briefcase, revealing a sea of green bills. Selina’s
eyes sparkled.
“And the helicopter?”
“Waitin' for us, dear...” his voice was full of irony “now, show me the gem.’’
“I think I’ll call a cab; you know what they say about strangers’ cars and the
rest...”
She brought her hand to the secret case in her suit and brought out the little
priceless stone which shone although around them was pitch black.
Chill smiled satisfied but wickedly as well; his praying eyes had scanned the
Museum’s building for any turmoil and found none, obviously they haven’t been
alarmed about the missing gem and since nobody was following her – as his men
reassured him -, then it meant that she had deactivated any locating device the
gem could have. The cat had done a splendid job and now deserved her payment.
He stretched the hand clutching the briefcase towards her and she made the same
with the gem. She grabbed the money the same time he took the Black Butterfly.
She smiled and turned to leave.
“Not so fast, pussycat...”
Selina gaped at his hand which was holding a gun pointing to her; how he
managed to do this without her taking notice? Her smile faded but Chill’s
radiated.
“Sorry, darling, but no loose ends...” he pushed the trigger two times in a
row, targeting Selina’s chest.
Her eyes widened in terror and pain as blood spurted from the place of her
heart and her legs stopped abruptly supporting her body. She collapsed to the
dusty alley, her blood forming already a small puddle at her side.
Chill approached and looked for a pulse. When he found none smiled.
“Cops must find somethin', right? Ya have Mr Falcone’s thanks!” he laughed and
spoke through his cell to his men upon the roof to descend; they had a
helicopter waiting and a boss eager to brush his new treasure.
 
Superman was floating above Gotham; Batman had notified him through his
personal number as Clark Kent to be ready for tonight and he complied without
doubting the strange man’s saying, relying on the fact that the Bat was
fighting for justice and they both have the common goal to send Falcone to
jail.
Clark hadn’t any misconception about his relationship with the ice-cold man;
they were just collaborating for a mission, nothing more – the Bat didn’t like
him, he had only scold and contempt for him but feelings were mutual. Clark had
the worse impression for the man under the mask: arrogant, paranoid, cynical,
cruel; whenever he recalled what this man said about his Star, he wanted to
punch him – the Bat surely was considering this frail, beautiful being as
nothing more than an object (barely any different with what Falcone thought of
his toy), if he was sparing even a thought about him at all... He was sure that
if it was up to Batman, the boy would end up in prison for prostitution.
But Clark wasn’t cruel, he knew his Star’s worth and he wouldn’t let him suffer
more...
His oversensitive hearing caught low voices from the ground.
“What exactly are we waiting for?” he heard an impatient male voice.
“The signal for the big boss’ downfall, do you want to be part of it, don’t
you?” he recognized Jim Gordon’s voice, the other one was Harvey Bullock.
So the Bat brought more people to the plan. He scrutinized the people that were
scattered to the area but clearly formed a knot, an awaiting knot. Apparently,
Batman had asked from Gordon to assemble Gotham’s PD’s finest, the few that
weren’t rotten... What had the Bat planned? A war? He was completely insane and
he continued to listen to him without the bastard entrusting him with what was
going on...
Now something else caught his hearing from a considerable distance.
“The trace of the Black Butterfly has reached Gotham and is heading for the
Narrows. What are we going to do?’’
“It’s a federal offense, we go ahead; it’s high time the FBI enters this
shithole” it was a familiar voice; Harvey Dent.
“We ask Commissioner Loeb’s assistance?”
“Commissioner Loeb is under investigation for collaboration with the mob and
international terrorism. At last, we have proofs! You’ll meet Detective Jim
Gordon and his reliable team to guide you; he is waiting you at Lincoln’s
Bridge. Special Forces will be at the city but they’d be preoccupied so you’ll
rely to Gordon’s team; this hell has more devils lurking.”
“Roger!”
So the Bureau was finally in Gotham and with proofs for Falcone and his
associates. The Bat wasn’t so insane after all... He didn’t care that he didn’t
trust him with the plan, it was enough that he was here to ensure that scum’s
defeat.
He rushed to the Narrows; he knew what the Black Butterfly was so he knew for
what to look for.
He located it on one of the newly constructed buildings of the ‘Bruce Wayne
Haven’ and there were more suspicious looking objects, loads of them: AK-47
Kalashnikov and some other types of automatic rifles that he never saw again.
His face distorted with disgust and his fists clenched; so that was the reason
that that filthy scum Falcone accepted so easily to give the derelict buildings
for Stark’s project: to use them to cover his shady ‘businesses’. The best
coverage: a charity project hosting weak and innocent people; he was defaming
the name of Bruce Wayne, as if it wasn’t enough that he had taken his life...
He stormed to the structure where the gem was sparkling innocently but alluring
catastrophe too; several men – Falcone’s thugs laid unconscious in various
spots and a man was laying unconscious in the corridor, as well. Clark didn’t
need to approach his mass to understand that he was that monster Chill. But he
was in a hurry, because a very familiar form had the gem in his hands and was
heading for the exit of the building, now reaching the space where the boxes
with the ammunition were positioned. Clark was there before he could leave the
building with the gem.
“Are you stealing evidence?” he asked furious.
The Bat turned to his direction, already aware of his presence but surprised by
his question.
“What are you saying?” his voice was even hoarser with offense.
“You’re taking away federal property and evidence of a crime; FBI is coming and
you try to hide the gem. Why? I thought you wanted to bring Falcone’s downfall
and now you are hiding the proof of his guilty?”
The Bat moved his head in disbelief and pressed his lips.
“You idiot alien! I’m not hiding it; I just brought it to the right place for
the FBI to find the weapons... I caused the little explosion that alarmed the
Smithsonian’s staff that the gem was stolen and I triggered the transmitter on
the gem for them to locate it.”
“Then, you trapped Falcone; you stole the gem and brought it here to frame him
up. He has done so many crimes that you could send him to prison for but you
preferred to create a crime; you are truly insane! Falcone will go to jail but
you will go as well!”
He rushed to the caped man to capture him but the Bat was in an instant absent
from his spot, Clark catching thin air.
“I didn’t frame him!” the Bat said angrily and Clark saw him several feet away
from his previous spot.
How did he manage that? Clark thought, but he was so enraged that he didn’t
want to waste more time. He used his full capacity of speed to catch him; no
man could avoid him when he was so quick. Yet his thirsty for retribution hands
met again thin air.
“Let me explain to you” Bat’s voice was calm and not at all sneering and Clark
consider it a sign of discomfort.
“Too late for that! I trusted you! You had your chance to speak to me but you
didn’t! You just used my trust to break the law!”
He looked frantically around him and found him at the opposite direction from
him laying respectfully the rare gem upon a box with red huge capital letters
reading ‘FALCONE ENTERPRISES’. Clark’s eyes sparkled triumphantly; now was his
chance to catch him unprepared. Stormed on him and this time he felt something
solid to his hands and a momentary sting somewhere at his nape that made his
powerful muscles sense like being liquid, making his body crash to the floor,
Batman’s statuesque body on him.
“What did you do? Are you a murderer too? Kryptonite?”
Batman’s visible face didn’t betray any sign of triumph or glee; he was solemn.
“I’m not a murderer and I didn’t use Kryptonite; it’s just a pressing point to
give me time to speak to you.”
Superman gritted his teeth.
“I didn’t frame Falcone: his greediness did that. I gave him the lost piece of
the Black Butterfly but he wanted the piece the Museum had too. So, I used his
greediness against him; it was time his greediness brought ordeal to him
instead of other people. He ordered the theft of the gem, he killed for it and
everything was his own decision.”
Superman’s eyes twitched nervously.
“You have an associate who stole the gem and now he is killed because of you?”
Batman’s tight lips loosened.
“She’s alright; we knew that they would want to dispose of her after they got
the gem and we took the necessary precautions.”
“Why all these? The information you gave Harvey Dent were enough to start the
investigation on Falcone’s activities.”
“That investigation will drag; Falcone’s lawyers could easily procrastinate
Falcone’s arrest until their client fled. We needed something rapid and for FBI
to penetrate Gotham and took things out of the local corrupt Police’s hands,
there should be a federal offense.”
“The theft of a museum’s exhibit...” Superman nodded.
“Exactly.”
Superman thought that he saw a flicker of a smile there.
“But the stolen Black Butterfly was only the start; I wanted the FBI to found
this armoury in order to have the proofs for another one of Falcone’s federal
crimes and also to stop the imminent bloodshed.”
“Imminent bloodshed?” Clark was dumbfounded.
“League of Shadows a terroristic group of self-called world saviors are
since years in Gotham knitting their webs to eradicate the city and its
inhabitants in a display of ‘deviant’ punishment of corruption and decay.”
Superman made to ask something but the Bat interrupted him.
“Harvey has the information and has used his office’s power to send Special
Forces to catch them but if I hadn’t uses the gem, FBI wouldn’t have found the
ammunition and Falcone wouldn’t have been connected to them and second, the
Special Forces can’t manage to catch them without your help; that’s the reason
I asked you to come.”
Clark felt his muscles revitalized; probably the Bat didn’t estimate right his
Kryptonian quick recovery.
“They are trained as impressively as you?” he asked coyly.
“They are highly trained...”
A surprised huff left his lips as Superman snatched his upper arms; he rose
swiftly and pinned him to the wall. He tried to resist frantically, straggled
to find an opening to free himself but the alien was unrelenting; his beautiful
strangely blue eyes smiling with glee.
Superman was feeling the powerful body pressed on his own go rigid and writhing
like a giant serpent but this time he wouldn't retreat; he wouldn’t let the
annoying man escape him no matter how bruising his hold needed to be.
“Why you didn’t tell me your plan? You don’t trust me, do you?” he demanded.
“I trust you” he was completely calm and unfazed by the fact he was trapped “I
didn’t tell you because I knew that you wouldn’t approve, you being so moral
and law abiding and that you would want to do it your way which would have been
disastrous.”
Superman motioned his head in negation, his eyes dead serious.
“No, you don’t trust me; you don’t trust anyone and you believe that you know
the best way for everything, that you are better than all of us, you arrogant
bastard!”
The artificial white eyes were focused on his and Clark could feel the true
eyes underneath being sad; the beautiful shaped lips half opened in confusion.
Suddenly, a strange urge took the better of Clark and he rushed his lips on
those proud lips, devouring, wrestling the defiance, the resistance, his tongue
defeating the Bat’s tongue that wanted to shove him out of his mouth. Finally,
relishing the incredibly soft lips and the hot mouth; the powerful muscles
under his steel grip relaxed, the entire body pliant... trembling from fear?
His heart jolted as he felt those rosy lips shyly massaging the invincible
mouth that was conquering them.
Clark’s hands of steel searched desperately for an opening in the man’s suit,
his need to feel that body mysteriously unbeatable; he wanted to smell him, to
taste him... to see his face. His hands touched the cowl and pulled but there
was no give.
He withdrew his lips to let the man breathe, his eyes still closed.
“I need to see your face...” Clark’s heart beat crazily and he opened his eyes
to be met with the bricks of the unpainted wall; the Bat had slipped.
He turned afraid that the man had gone but he saw the black caped statue a few
feet away from him, his back on Clark; his shoulders hunched.
“You should teach me how you do that...” Clark attempted to relax the tense air
between them but he stopped abruptly seeing the gloved hands touching the base
of the cowl a green light glowing for an instance – Clark was sure that it was
a system of fingerprints’ recognition that allowed only the Bat to remove the
cowl. The Bat slowly, hesitantly was pulling the cowl off of his head,
revealing a thick drenched in sweat, sea of short hair.
The Bat clutching the cowl turned his face to Superman and the man of steel was
goggling, being aware of his own stupid expression. His head moving slowly in
utter disbelief.
“No... It can’t be...” his crystal clear strong voice was hoarse and faint.
“You wanted to see my face but you weren’t ready to see the truth?” his voice
was sarcastic but had a little sadness in it.
The voice was smooth as always, not gruff and strict. His magnificent eyes
looking at him filled with pride and strength, their endless sorrow just a
shadow in their sparkling. His Star manifesting his entire shine.
“Who are you?” Clark had to ask because he felt the entire world slipping under
his legs, Falcone’s toy, his broken Star standing in front of him dignified,
imposing, emanating power and self-confidence, but gorgeous and alluring as
ever.
“It is easier to say who I was” his voice was solemn and steady but Clark was
able to feel the bitterness.
“Who were you, then?”
“Bruce Wayne, son of Thomas and Martha Wayne” his eyes were on Clark’s but
seeing away.
“You were lying to me!” betrayal was heavy in his voice and his eyes.
“No, I wasn’t; Bruce Wayne died that night and I am what’s left from that
innocent child.”
“How is it possible? How can you be... I mean it needs hundreds of thousands
just to...”
But Bruce covered again his head with the cowl hastily, a red signal lighting
in his wrist.
“We need to go; FBI and Jim are here and I am an outlaw...”
He ran out of the vast room and to the corridor where he jumped from the space
where a window would be made. Superman followed him determined to get his
answers.
He located him straightaway and he knew that that was because Bruce wanted him
to; otherwise it would have been impossible. He was perched in one of the ugly
ancient gargoyles that ghosted the streets from above and his posture hunched
watched the building right opposing them where Jim Gordon and his elite squad
was leading the guys with the FBI credential on their back. He was sure that
the Bat was absorbed in the proceedings, anxious about the outcome and the
lives involved – Superman smiled; as if there was any danger, since Batman had
already knocked out the henchmen that were guarding the premises.
However, as much absorbed as he was, Batman rose graciously and landed on the
rooftop, facing Superman.
“You would want your answers” his voice was neither the voice of the fragile
Falcone’s toy nor the throaty one of Batman.
“If you want to give them; I don’t want to push you...” he flushed “in
anything” he added hastily.
Batman shrugged.
“Go ahead.”
He didn’t know how to start; there were a million of questions that tormented
him and he knew that there wasn’t much time.
“It was you from the beginning?”
“Yes” his voice was firm, steady and detached.
“How? I mean Falcone has the entire Wayne fortune...”
Batman inhaled and Clark wished he could see those eyes.
“Martha Kane’s fortune”
“Martha Kane?’’ he had heard the name but now he couldn’t recall.
“Kane is the family name of my mother; her family wasn’t as rich as the Waynes
but their wealth was considerable. Falcone didn’t care about Martha’s fortune,
he demanded only Thomas’; I guess he thought that Thomas had absorbed it after
the marriage in his fortune or the mobster simply sniffed at it. Anyway” he
seemed impatient to end this “her fortune was treasured in a high security
vault in a Swiss bank and Alfred was the only person, other from my parents,
who knew its existence; Martha had entrusted him the key.”
Clark’s eyes widened and Bruce marvelled their uniqueness and warmth.
“Then why Alfred didn’t withdraw the money, grab you and escape Gotham?”
Batman waved his head.
“If only it was so simple! If Alfred could, he would have taken me from Falcone
immediately and raised me with his own money...” his voice was warm with
affection for the loyal butler. “But Falcone had me tightly wrapped in his
clutches, always guarded and locked. Plus, he was watching Alfred and if he did
a move that he would consider suspicious..., he threatened Alfred that he would
kill me instantly. Now, about the money; my mother was very cautious: she
wouldn’t risk the money she had for her only son to be acquired by the wrong
people if they managed to take the key from Alfred. So, her vault except from
the key, needed my right hand thumb’s fingerprint to open...” his artificial
eyes were scrutinizing Superman’s shocked face.
He turned his attention to the street under them where police officers were
already dragging handcuffed semi-conscious thugs. Superman approached him eager
to hear more.
“Then how you got the fortune?”
Batman slowly averted his gaze from the street and brought it at Superman’s
curious eyes.
“The fortune came to our possession no sooner than when I was 21 years old. I
was trained by then and...”
“Trained?!”
“By the League of Shadows and Ra’s Al Ghul himself; he knew who I am and
trained me to use me for his purposes to make a demonstration of his almighty
power of destroying Gotham and slaying Falcone. So, when I realized that I
couldn’t escape Gotham, because Ra’s would rather kill me than letting me go, I
decided to work from inside; Alfred had already told me about the money, when
we planned to escape Gotham. With my training and using the underground cave
labyrinth of Gotham I could reach whichever location I wanted undetected...”
“Then why not leaving Gotham using that underground network?”
He looked tired; he made some steps, Clark allowing him the space he sensed
that Bruce needed.
“Because if I ran away, even if I could take Alfred with me, there were other
people that I cared about that Ra’s would kill and, at the end, he would
capture me again. And...” he pressed a hidden sensor-button in his cowl and the
captivating true eyes were staring at him “I didn’t want just to get away
anymore; I wanted to avenge my parents’ murders, destroying Falcone, bringing
him to justice and taking back my father’s fortune.”
Clark nodded.
“I gave my fingerprint to Lucius Fox.”
“Lucius Fox? He knew that you were alive?”
“Not at first. But during the years the wise man understood from Alfred’s
demeanor and waited patiently the right chance to help me. If Alfred had
scheduled a trip to Switzerland, he would have aroused suspicion but Lucius
would not...” he inhaled deeply his eyes patrolling the street bellow where
police and FBI were cleaning the scum. “My mother’s vault was loaded: bars of
gold and silver, some millions in cash and the legendary lost half of the Black
Butterfly...” he lowered his eyes and Clark cringed feeling his sorrow “My
mother saved me a second time...”
His amazing eyes were glistening with unshed tears as he raised them to Clark’s
eyes.
“Lucius used the money and his intelligence to help me create my suit and the
gudgets; we needed two years to create Batman’s suit and its assets, because we
had to be very cautious so that we didn’t raise any suspicion.”
“And how you slipped from Falcone? I mean he...”
“You’re right; he used to spend his entire nights fucking me, but there were
nights that he quickly screw me and then attended to his more important works
or some newest sexual interest – that’s the reason Batman’s appearances were
scarce. On these occasions, I was either left in my cell at the basement of
Dolcetto from where I easily went out, since I discovered a natural burrow or
in the Manor which is a heaven of secret passages. When I was imprisoned in
Dolcetto, I was using the caves under Leslie’s free clinic – she learned that I
am alive when Alfred asked her to do some tests on a blood sample of mine,
because he was afraid of me having being infected after so many...” he stopped
abruptly a little flushed “and when Falcone took me to the Manor, I found a
huge cave there... Of course, Alfred helped me some times covering me... Three
years I was trying to make Falcone’s and his thugs’ life difficult and save as
many lives I could, giving the limited opportunities I had and at the same time
I was searching and gathering evidence about Falcone’s crimes and the League of
Shadows.”
“And the Black Butterfly?’’
“I had at my disposal the most precious, the rarest gem in the world that every
collector would give his soul to have and Falcone is an avid gem collector and
his soul is already taken... So when I had the needed data almost gathered, I
sold him the lost half, through Selina, knowing that his greediness would
demand the gem at the Smithsonian’s too – the triggering event which would have
given the FBI the jurisdiction to intervene in Gotham’s issues, since if things
were left local, Falcone would have remained unscathed...”
Batman’s eyes were now focused on his gloves, watching some indicators.
Simultaneously, Clark saw the FBI agent in charge holding in his hand the
precious gem, his eyes celebrating.
“Now we have the Butterfly and the proves, let’s get the big fish!” he said
beaming to his colleagues and Jim’s team.
Superman was beaming too. He turned his eyes to his Star’s eyes to be met with
the artificial lenses.
“You did it!” he exclaimed with enthusiasm.
“No, I didn’t, not yet; Chill somehow slipped and we have the League of
Shadows...” his voice was a bit pleading and a bit demanding.
“You can count on me; we’ll fight together...” this idea made Clark’s body hot.
But Batman motioned to the rooftop’s ledge.
“I’m sorry, I have to return to the Manor; Falcone will be there.”
“How you know?”
Batman smiled bitterly.
“He would want to take with him his trophy wherever he’ll hide; I must be there
when he hears the news about the Black Butterfly.”
He was ready to jump to the Gotham’s grim but clear from clouds sky where a
fool moon was shining. But Superman wanted to know something more before
parting.
“Star?” he asked hesitantly and Batman stopped in his trucks and looked at him.
“Would you have let Flass rape you?”
“I had to” he snapped “it’s what I’m doing eighteen years now.”
“And when you...” he felt shy but Batman’s impatience was radiating from his
whole body “When you nestled in my arms were you pretending?”
“No. All these years, I never had a warm hug around me after... after the
dread... It was a nice feeling...”
And he dived at the void, a gracious black butterfly spreading his determinant
wings above his beloved city.
***** Chapter 21 *****
Clark was still standing at the rooftop’s ledge watching Batman flying away
from him as if he was afraid that he would fall and waited to catch him. At the
same time he had his ears set off for any signalling of the Special Forces’
attack on the League of Shadows' hideouts.
Suddenly, another sound like a small stealth plane caught his attention and he
turned to the other side, ready for attack.
“Easy, big guy, I’m on your side!”
It was a red-golden android; two lenses in the place of the eyes, no human
flesh, but the voice although distorted was human. He searched and under the
heavy alloy discovered indicators of human life. What was that?
The robot having noticed Superman’s frowned eyebrows motioned his head in
amusement in a too human gesture and the metal instantly vanished, revealing a
beaming Tony Stark.
“Close your gape mouth, buddy, it will get too much air!” he commented in the
too familiar mocking voice and Clark felt irritated.
But Tony Stark unfazed by his irritation moved to the same ledge Superman was
one minute before and looked warmly to the dark spot.
“He is a sight to look, isn’t he?” he asked Superman but didn’t avert his gaze
from the vanishing spot.
“Did you know?” Clark asked and Stark turned his stare to him.
“What? That he is Bruce Wayne or that he is Batman?”
“Both.”
Tony laughed and motioned his head in negation.
“I learned that he is Batman eavesdropping – yeah, I am a bad boy” he
pouted seeing Superman’s glare “your discussion and I recruited Iron Man to
help things with that League of...” he scratched his head “whatever – I have
unsettled businesses with them and their leader... The little guy is very
secretive and stubborn which helped him survive so I’m glad for it. He
confessed that he is indeed Bruce only a day before and only after I almost...”
Superman hissed; he knew Tony Stark and his hairs stood on edge.
“You almost what...”
Tony waved his head disbelievingly.
“You don’t want to know...”
And indeed Clark didn’t want to know, although he suspected...
“I had the impression that you were the Batman.”
Tony smiled coyly, his brow raised.
“Nah! Black isn’t my color, it doesn’t outcry my deviant features. I prefer
golden and red... I admit that sometimes I hit Falcone’s ‘businesses’ – as when
his drug loaded vans were destroyed - but that was after the ‘Bruce Wayne
Haven’ when I managed to settle a complete system of tracking in one of the
buildings we have our headquarters in; until now I was just absorbing
information from Falcone Enterprises to acquire his hundreds of minor companies
and expose his dirty activities. In Asia they have already pressed charges
against him andFalcone's shares have sunk.”
He regarded Superman lopsided and pressed his index finger on his yellow-red
Superman mark.
“If you have something... hm... dirty on your mind about my friend, I must warn
you to treat carefully” he taped his finger for emphasis on the steel chest
“I’ll tear apart everyone that will even think to hurt him, understood?” he
taped his finger stronger and immediately withdrew it, sucking it like a child.
“From what are you made of? Steel?”
He activated his iron suit and before covering his face with the metallic
helmet, he looked Superman.
“Let’s go; this is a job for... Iron Man!” he smirked, covered his face and
launched.
Clark rolled his eyes and followed.
“Will you come or I’ll have all the fun and glory?” Stark's voice chirped.
 
Falcone entered furiously the Manor, triggering the complex security system of
the grounds. He laid carefully the briefcase he was holding at the couch and
sank beside it, inhaling deeply. This was a nightmare, it must be; how else
could be explained that in a matter of hours his absolute rule was in question.
How can the IRS, the FBI had discovered his hundreds of offshore accounts? And
that idiot Earl said that they blocked every account they discovered and that
they will initiate investigation for money laundering!
However, he had time, time to aggregate as much money he could – he already had
ordered the massive sale of his shares in the Asian markets, now that they
still had some value – snatch his treasury of gems, his trophy and run away to
a paradise island with no expedition agreement with the United States.
Having regained some of his calm, rose from the couch, filled a crystal square
glass with expensive cognac and drank a huge gulp, closing his eyes.
His smart phone’s ringing made him jump; what now? He felt disgusted by his own
fear; he was the Gotham’s Emperor, damn it! WAS... no, still is. He was free to
regain his powerful status in another country.
It was Chill’s number. He suddenly remembered; the Black Butterfly, yes... He
was to meet with Chill to take the gem but due to the latest developments, he
forgot it – the truth was that he preferred the safety of the Manor...
“What is it, Chill? I know I didn’t come to the meeting, but ya have to bring
the gem to the Manor; we’ll get the Prince an' leave the country, I have the
jet ready.”
He paused as the panicked voice of his henchman sank in.
“Repeat! How can the FBI have found out the gem’s location since ya said that
they didn’t even notice the theft? They found the weapons! Fuck! An' they have
the gem?! Shit! Shit! We're leaving immediately then! We were set up; that
bitch was working for someone else to catch me! Go to the place of emergency,
I’ll snatch the boy an' come. We must not lose time!”
He finished the call and turned to the grand stair intending to go to the
master’s bedroom to drag the boy along him. But the last Wayne was standing on
the landing, fully dressed in jeans and shirt, his stare proud and stern
completely contrasting what he was used to. His slave’s posture made him
feel... threatened? Falcone stood dumbfounded and gaped at him.
Bruce started descending the stairs with the grace and pride of a true Prince.
“How ya're untied? That old bastard untied ya?”
“Watch how you speak about Alfred!”
“Ha! The little whore threatens me! What, ya sonovabitch? The fool moon
affected you? Come! We're outa here.”
The Prince of Gotham was standing a step above him and was sniffing at him.
“You won’t go anywhere; the FBI is on its way...”
The mobster laughed sarcastically waving his head in disbelief.
“Ya at last lost it completely, too much fucking for yar noble ass... I said,
c'mon!”
He motioned to snatch Bruce’s upper arm but the young man with a sudden move
which Falcone didn’t even see avoided his grip, making the older man lose his
balance and retreat in confusion, the boy following him.
A thought crossed Falcone’s mind and his eyes narrowed to a slid.
“Ya did all that, didn’t ya? Somehow ya gave them the information... This is
yar revenge for me killing yar parents an' usin' ya as my slave...”
Bruce’s eyes were two flaming seas, looking Falcone in a way that made the
mobster flinch. He without even realizing it was retreating to the couch where
he had left the briefcase with the priceless gems, Bruce always following like
a haunting ghost.
“You wasn't afraid of anything; you wanted to get the Black Butterfly although
it belongs to Nemesis, the goddess of revenge and ghosts...” Bruce smiled, a
smile so icy that Falcone cringed “But you don’t fear ghosts, do you? However,
tonight is a night of ghosts...”
Falcone unwillingly glimpsed at the huge window in the Manor's ground level  
where the fool moon was visible smiling self-righteously, and menacing. He
turned furious to his slave.
“Ya're not a ghost; ya're Bruce Wayne! I killed Thomas an' Martha Wayne an'
spared ya  to have my living trophy to keep my triumph fresh! I own ya, as I
own everything yar father had, ya fucking slut!”
Bruce smiled satisfied, his eyes glistening with triumph.
“You don’t own anything! And now you admitted your crime nationwide...”
Falcone looked around him frantically for cameras and not finding any, erupted
in a mean laugh.
“Oh! I wish Thomas would be able to see his son now; a crazy little whore!”
The younger man didn’t answer just clapped once his hands and the huge 50
inches plasma TV opened to CNN, their own figures on the screen. The mobster’s
face reddened and drenched in sweat.
“I’m still in my fortress; those stupid cops can’t overcome the security
system...”
Bruce’s eyebrows rose in sarcasm; his hands crossed nonchalant on his chest.
“When the security systems are activated and now they aren’t...”
Falcone gawped at the cars’ headlights which were just stopping abruptly in
front of and around the Manor, heavy feet already pressing the main entrance –
they had approached in dead silence.
“How...” he croaked.
“Even someone as stupid as me can learn how to deactivate the alarm, when he
has seen it many times...”
A cloud of uniformed people, Jim Gordon and a FBI agent at the lead stormed the
Manor’s ground level salon, their guns at their salient hands.
Falcone recalling his youth as a full time mobster, rapidly took out his secret
gun from the inner pocket of his jacket and grabbing Bruce’s upper arm dragged
him in front of him, his body a human shield, his arm crushing Bruce’s
throat; he brought the gun’s barrel at the young man’s temple. Bruce made his
body pliant as were doing so many years due to the fact that he didn’t want to
let the men of law aware of his true abilities.
“Back off!” Falcone screamed to the officers tightening his grip on Bruce.
“Falcone, it’s over; you can’t go anywhere: you are a federal criminal now” Jim
Gordon tried to reason with him his gun pointing uncertainly to the mobster but
having the young man’s body between “let Mr Wayne go” the last Wayne’s familiar
even after eighteen years eyes on his own.
Falcone flinched on the mention of the name: they knew, everyone now knew the
true identity of his slave; himself having admitted it in front of cameras
broadcasting nationwide. He motioned his head in negation, smiling like a
maniac.
“Ya don’t want him dead, do ya? Dying twice in a lifetime is too much, isn’t
it?” the hand holding the gun pressed more Bruce’s temple and the youth cringed
from the pain.
Jim’s eyes cringed too from sympathy; his agony for the young man obvious.
“You can’t escape; what do you think you’ll gain by killing him?” his voice was
steady, hiding his inner agony.
Falcone tightened more his chokehold making Bruce moan.
“I can escape and ya'll let me and won’t follow me, because the boy will die
and ya don’t want that...”his eyes were glowering with satisfaction “He was my
ticket to become the Gotham’s Emperor and now he will be once again my ticket
to get rid of ya idiots and be free!”
They looked indecisive; the situation was urgent: they wanted to arrest that
scum but they didn’t want to risk Bruce Wayne’s life in front of million people
watching.
“Decide now!” Falcone yelled and Bruce paled more “He lives or he dies?!”
His finger tightened on the trigger, his sweat revealing his nervous state and
his instability; his patience was over and he wanted his revenge, Jim and the
others had seen what happened as did the entire States through CNN – they knew
that Falcone didn’t have anything to lose and was playing his last ace. Jim
gestured to the agent beside him to lower his gun and the rest did the same.
“Okay, just don’t harm him more.” Jim said.
“Toss yar guns away!’’
He smiled broadly as policemen and FBI agents did as he told.
“Ya see, little gem, I haven’t lost my power” he sniggered on the shivering
man’s ear. “Cuff him with yar handcuffs!” he ordered Jim.
The Detective brought out his handcuffs and approached carefully to not
irritate the mobster. Falcone with a violent movement turned Bruce’s back to
Jim’s direction, his gun always pointing the boy’s head.
“Go ahead!”
Jim took carefully the boy’s hands, brought them behind the back and closed the
metal around the wrists; his own hands trembling. He knew that by doing that,
he was denying the young man of any chance to defend himself – not that he
could otherwise.
Falcone turned again the boy, his hand now holding the briefcase with his
treasure of gems. He embraced viciously Bruce’s waist, the gun on his temple.
Bruce’s eyes met the worried, kind eyes of Jim Gordon and his mind for just a
second travelled back, when he was an innocent 8 year old who thought that
Narrows was safe to wander... Jim tried to smile to him reassuringly but Bruce
knew that he must not show that he wasn’t afraid of Falcone and his gun.
“Now” Falcone roared to Jim “walk before us an' tell them to clear the path to
my car: any bullshit will be answered with a bullet to this pretty little
head.”
“Okay” answered Jim “just calm down; the boy doesn’t have to pay...”
“This is up to ya, idiot! Move!”
Falcone was following Jim’s path under the door stares of the men of the law,
smiling triumphant and tightening his hold on the last Wayne’s waist and his
finger on the trigger.
Jim made sure, as he was ordered, that nobody attempted to thwart Falcone’s
procession to his Ferrari and the Grey Wolf when no agent was near pushed the
Detective shoving him to the ground, getting in the driver’s seat dragging
along Bruce to sit at the seat next to him.
Jim raised his eyes to the mobster.
“Let the boy go, Falcone. You’ll get away so what for keeping him? Eighteen
years aren’t enough?” the police officer’s voice was pleading and caused
Falcone’s sneer.
“He is mine; he would have been dead, weren’t for me! His life belongs to me to
decide what to do with it!”
Jim cringed from the malevolence in Falcone’s words and shut his eyes from the
rush of air the Ferrari’s acceleration caused, praying for Batman to do
something.
Falcone was steering the wheel, his other hand loosely keeping the gun on
Bruce’s direction. His self confidence was back and roaring as his laughter,
the briefcase with his treasure at the backseat; his little gem bound and
powerless beside him.
But Bruce had already freed his hands: one of the first things Ra’s taught him.
When Falcone turned sniggering to him, he in a rapid motion grabbed his head
with both hands and downed it with all his rage upon his jerked knee.
Falcone yelled surprised and the wheel slipped from his shocked hand, the gun
jumping from his other. Bruce rushed to the wheel, but the car was already out
of the road, the thick bushes thankfully intercepting its frantic course, the
crush however still hard, the car finally stopping lopsided; Bruce’s eyebrow
had a deep gash from the impact with the vehicle’s door, his legs trapped from
the deformed car’s front.
Falcone found the chance to sink his massy fist on Bruce’s kidney evoking his
scream and disentangling his body from the young man’s felt frantically for his
gun, his leg simultaneously kicking with hatred Bruce’s ribs.
“Ya're more than the pathetic toy, eh? Ya were pretending! Never mind, I’ll
finish the job tonight; at the anniversary!”
He clutched his gun with an exultant yell and was ready to shoot Bruce’s
supposed trapped body when the young man’s leg astonishingly powerful found his
chest and send him along with the unhinged door to the forest’s floor, the gun
flying to the air.
Bruce dragged his body from the wrecked car’s frontal and stood; his face
bloodstained but his eyes glistening with wrath at the place where Falcone’s
heavy mass was slumped. He approached him slightly limping but so imposing that
Falcone didn’t believe his eyes.
The mob boss with blood running from the gashes the accident had caused on him
and sweaty from the dread of seeing how wrong he was to underestimate his toy,
searched with trembling hands for his second emergency gun but as soon as his
hand made to clutch the handle, the last Wayne’s foot kicked his hand with so
much force that the gun jumped too far away and the Grey Wolf panicking
realised that he had smashed the bones of his hand.
He goggled at the man who until a couple of hours was at his mercy to do as he
liked; his eyes shaking from fear were swallowed in the icy seas of those
unfamiliar now eyes which were piercing him thirsty for revenge.
Bruce surged at him and grasping his lapels raised him to the air. His teeth
were gritted, his face distorted from the ire, a dark shadow covering his
features, his flaming eyes the only distinguished feature on his face.
“You killed them although you had already taken everything they had; while they
did everything you told them to... You killed them only to satisfy your
greediness and blood thirst. You kept me alive to torture my parents even in
death, by extending their death by killing me every day and every hour and
every minute. Humiliating and torturing me, killing my innocence to reaffirme
your victory every day by rubbing the face of the last Wayne in the shit... You
spared me that night to have the pleasure to use me as an object, to seeing me
grovel at your feet, a pitiful being for you to laugh at and enjoy your power
over the last thing my father begged you to leave him; his son: beating him,
degrading him and violating his body. You enjoyed your victory for eighteen
years, now is my turn...”
His fist fell like an iron to Falcone’s gut who bent but Bruce didn’t allow
him, dangling him like a rag, his fist crushing to his meaty mouth which so
many times ravaged his body making him feel ashamed, disgusted with himself...
Blood, saliva and teeth exploded from the mouth that haunted his nightmares at
his frosty cell.
His knee jerked and smashed Falcone’s genitals, this time the mob boss crying
like a little boy, like little Bruce when the Gotham’s Emperor desired to
conquer his small body to reassert his victory over Thomas Wayne who dared to
challenge him on his kingdom, the Narrows. Bruce felt all the emotions that
tortured him during each molestation and every rape of those eighteen years,
flooding again his whole body; his heart bending from the burden as Falcone’s
body. He let his ‘master’ collapse on his knees before him shaking from fear
and convulsing from pain: his knee probably strained his dick.
How do ya feel that yar parents’ slayer fucks ya? The last Wayne being my
whore?
He pressed his eyelids on his eyes and gave a twirly kick to Falcone’s head
that smashed him on the wet grass sobbing; he could have easily killed him with
that kick, if he wanted to, but that man didn’t deserve to die.
“Please” the big boss begged the last Wayne’s emotionless eyes.
“I was always begging you, remember?” his voice was a piece of metal. “Begging
you to stop belting me, beating me, fucking me, shattering me... I was only 8
years old, Falcone, and I considered every man good... and you destroyed me...
On your knees!” he ordered menacingly.
Falcone hardly obeyed, his face tear and blood soaked, his mouth half opened
throwing up blood, saliva and sobs. His working hand holding his smashed hand,
his terrorized eyes looking his slave as if he was looking an almighty deity.
“Look in my eyes!”
Falcone made to obey but he couldn’t stand the weight of this stare and what
was hidden there, he averted his gaze. But Bruce grabbed his hair and forced
him to look him in the eyes.
“You don’t even bear to look at me; to look at what you created... a monster.
Do you remember Bruce Wayne’s eyes the day you captured him?’’ he smiled
bitterly “No? Neither do I...”
He lifted his hand in the air in a position ready to give a lethal strike and
Falcone opened his mouth to plead but he didn’t manage to control his voice.
Bruce lowered his hand with the power of the aggregated powerless anger, pain,
shame and desperation of eighteen years; Falcone pressed his eyes shut waiting
the final blow... That never came...
He opened his eyes cowardly and saw the last Wayne holding the half Black
Butterfly reverently in his hand. The young man showed the gem to him.
“It belonged to my mother who died to protect me from your man’s bullets; you
didn’t think that she had her own fortune... But her fortune brought you down
on your knees!”
He turned his gaze to the fool moon gazing them from the clear sky.
“I miss her so much... Every moment, every hour, every day of my worthless,
lamentable life I was missing her, I was missing both of them and I wished I
had died with them that night...”
Falcone didn’t dare to raise his eyes, trembling uncontrollably.
“I won’t kill you; you destroyed me, you shattered me but you didn’t make me a
murderer like you! And now that everyone knows your crimes and you admitted
them, you will spend the rest of your life in prison and maybe you’ll
understand the depth of your crimes.”
Police sirens cracked the peaceful area and Bruce could distinguish the
flashing lights of the speeding police cars approaching them fast. He kneeled
to the wet ground, hiding the Black Butterfly in his pants’ pocket a second
before Jim Gordon rushed from the first vehicle to his direction.
The Detective held the upper arms of the young man searching his eyes.
“Are you alright, son?” he said focusing on the bleeding gash on his eyebrow.
At the same time FBI agents handcuffed Falcone and were dragging his relieved
for being saved from Bruce mass to one of the cars, listing his rights. While
some others searched the big boss’ Ferrari finding his gun and the briefcase
with the valuable gems minus the half Black Butterfly whose existence nobody
knew.
“I’m fine, Detective Gordon.’’
“You still remember me, Mr Wayne?” Jim smiled touched.
“It’s Bruce” the young man smiled to him his puppy eyes sparkling.
“It’s Jim, Bruce, and I will take you to a hospital” he took off his jacket and
covered carefully the shivering young man’s back which was dressed with only a
shirt.
“No, please, I want to return to the Manor; Alfred will be worried...” his
trembling hand clutched desperately Jim’s lapel.
“Fine, son, calm down. But tell me who saved you from Falcone; he was quite
beaten...”
“I’m... I’m not sure, Jim... it was a shadow... something black... I think it
was the Batman...”
Jim smiled and helped the last Wayne stand on his feet and supported him to his
patrol car.
“I’ll leave some agents guarding the Manor, because many of Falcone’s henchmen
are still on the loose and till we have them in custody, you should be safe.”
Jim’s honest concern touched Bruce’s cold from the confrontation with Falcone
heart. He just nodded letting the kind man help him into the car.
Alfred was waiting for him, his agony evident but he didn’t speak until his
young master deactivated the secret cameras although Lucius had already stopped
the intercepting emission.
“Master Bruce, are you alright?” Alfred rushed to his side, his eyes scanning
the blood on his face.
“I’m alright, Alfred; Falcone is in FBI’s custody” Alfred seemed relieved and
Bruce understood that his loyal friend was terrified that he had killed the
mobster “but I must leave immediately” he focused his eyes on the butler’s
concerned, warm ones. “Chill is still free.”
Bruce ran to the secret passage and Alfred watched his figure with deep concern
and sighed; he wished that long night to be over soon so his tortured master
could rest. At last.
***** Chapter 22 *****
Iron Man along with Superman, a rather funny view if of course you had the mood
to look at the sky, were soaring Gotham for any hostile presence. Their attires
were quite battered: Tony’s iron clad like moon’s surface was covered with
small craters and marks of burnings while Superman’s spandex was torn in
places. The League’s resistance was more than considerable and if they weren’t
there, surely the Special Forces would have many casualties. Bruce was right;
these men were highly trained which made no surprise the fact that their leader
wasn’t found; probably having fled already.
They were patrolling the city which was a war theatre without their citizens’
knowledge , hoping to locate more of Falcone’s thugs following the information
Bruce had given them and Tony had gathered.
“You see what I’m seeing?” Tony asked Clark having enabled the zooming system
in his helmet.
“I am; the one is Chill and there’s another figure approaching him from the
shadows...”
“Batman... That rascal! He is stretching himself thin; he should have stayed to
the house after smashing Falcone!”
Clark sighed.
“You tell him that...” he exclaimed resigned.
They didn’t watch but they had heard from the police’s and Special Forces’
frequency what had happened: Falcone’s public admission of his crime, his
attempted escape with Bruce as a hostage and the saving of the day by... the
Batman.
And now Batman was approaching the giant; and Superman knew how much suffering
and pain that horrible man had caused to Bruce...
He dived, Iron Man following him.
Chill was looking around him worried, his face was flushed from the running and
his constant effort to avoid the suddenly too many clean law enforcers. His
rasping violent, his hand clutching desperately his gun.
He tried to go to the place where the jet was supposed to wait him and Falcone
with his toy but upon arriving there, he located many agents who had surrounded
the jetport and were waiting them with their guns ready.
From that moment started his marathon to avoid capture and find a way out of
the hostile city, his rage boiling in his mind. All these were Batman’s deeds:
he had knocked him unconscious and took the damn gem so that the FBI will find
it; the FBI that he had lead to their city and their storage of weaponry.
He knew that Falcone had been arrested; he had confessed the Waynes’ murders
and their son’s captivity live to the whole nation, a wicked trap set by the
Prince. And then Falcone tried to escape arrest by taking hostage his former
slave, only to be stopped by the same man that brought their distraction.
He heard a light sound from the shadows behind him; and he didn’t need anything
more. He turned.
From the shadows emerged slowly with confident strides the imposing figure
Chill expected. The black clad man approached him and Chill smiled wickedly,
pointing his gun at him.
“I knew that ya'd come; ya can’t resist me, after all...”
He sniggered but his snigger remained unfinished because Batman hammered his
mouth with his gloved hand, blood spurting from the giant’s mouth, his tooth
earring dancing frantic.
Chill with a confident motion swept his mouth with his palm; his eyes shining
with irony and menace as always did when staring at him. His nightmares didn’t
need anything more than this stare...
“Oh! Ya're already in business’ mood... Okay!”
He uplifted his gun again in high speed but the armored man was faster and
kicked the hand with his accelerating foot; the force so much that Chill fell
on the ground along with his gun that jumped away from him.
“Ya don’t like guns, eh?’’ he asked sarcastically “to tell ya the truth me
neither...”
With a sudden, unseen movement he took out his huge cleaver and used his tower-
like body as a catapult against Batman who staggered surprised but kept his
balance though the razor-sharp blade cut viciously the visible part of his
face. The blood blew like a fountain and spilled Chill’s face who laughed.
“The feel of yar blood is amazing! Oh! I marred yar beautiful face?”
He stroke again, trying to find a vulnerable spot in Batman’s suit to stab his
cleaver but the black clad man was avoiding him agile like a snake and when
Chill exclaimed in frustration, he plunged his iron fist to his stomach. The
giant yelled surprised and the Bat hammered his jaw throwing him a couple of
feet away flat on the cement.
Chill didn’t let the pain make him release his cleaver. On the contrary he
clenched it furiously as the black statue stood in front of him casting upon
him his shadow.
“Get up!” the Bat ordered him.
“Ya don’t want an advantage, huh? Ya're so arrogant to believe that ya can
beat me easily!”
He slithered his body to the rooftop’s edge and Batman followed him, his
artificially glare emotionless and menacing. Chill gritted his teeth with
outrage: nobody was going to make him cringe.
“Ya doesn’t scare me, ya dork!” and with the power and the invincibility of
madness he charged against his opponent, one of his legs tangled to the
Batman’s leg, his enormous body falling dragging him along.
Batman pushed him but he although repulsed for a second stubbornly glued again
on the black armored body, bringing his cleaver with a cry of triumph to smash
Batman’s cowl. But his impetus was thwarted, a gloved hand squeezing his wrist
repelling the blade from his head.
Chill recruited every inch of strength he had to bend the black gloved hand,
seeing with glee his opponent’s teeth clenched from the effort to resist the
giant’s power. He could feel Batman’s hand trembling ready to yield when a
sudden piercing pain at his ribs made him jerk. Batman’s other hand was bombing
his ribs and exploiting Chill’s shock, tried again to throw him off his body,
the giant taking him along to his backwards movement; the two of them rolling
entangled on the rooftop, the Vulture finding the chance to slice with his
lethal blade any part of the suit he could reach, finally managing to find a
vulnerable spot.
Bruce cringed as the blade cut deeply his gut and a wave of dizziness momentary
rushed his eyes. That was what his opponent needed to roll him over, pinning
him to the cement, Batman's head hanging to the void twenty levels upon the
ground.
Chill was beaming, his blade brushing the blood from the gush on the Batman’s
jaw.
“I can force ya under me even in this ridiculous suit; I want to see yar face
to make at last what I didn’t all these years!”
His blade grazed the material of the cowl without managing to penetrate it and
Bruce kicked him with his leg in the groin, tossing him several feet away
yelling in pain. He stormed furious on him and kicked the cleaver. His
artificial eyes glared at his distorted from pain and fear face and
pinioned him with his bleeding body to start pounding wherever his fevering
eyes focused in their lucid state. Chill’s words burning his mind, the giant’s
sneering laugh from all these years haunting his ears, his body feeling the
brandings Chill’s hands had left on him.
His teeth were gritted but his roars escaped to the peaceful winter nature, his
rasping more like a wild animal’s snarl; Chill’s whines and cries of pain only
white noise.
“Batman!” he heard a very familiar voice calling him and his blood stained fist
stopped mid air.
He turned around as if he was in a trance; it was Superman and Iron Man but his
voice was Tony’s. Tony’s. He lowered his head and stood, taking in Chill’s
battered face, his body certainly as much beaten. He stared at his friend’s
white lenses on his metallic helmet and on Superman’s clear blue eyes which
were shocked.
But he could see behind them Selina slithering her leather clad lithe body from
the building’s exit to the roof; her chest bearing the red stain feigning
blood, her half face covered but her eyes sparkling with concern.
Chill’s shrill sarcastic laughter wounded the silence, followed by his cough.
Bruce turned slowly to his direction.
“Gotham’s kindergarten has a gathering! What? Ya thought I didn’t recognize ya?
C'mon, little slut! I would recognize yar body anywhere; ya see I raised that
body, everyday for eighteen years! I recognized ya from the first time ya laid
yar fists on me... The poor traumatized kid had created a strong persona to
find haven when the pain an' humiliation were too hard to stand an' gradually
the haven became a man himself; a man who was avenging the beatings he had by
beating bad guys! An' I was fucking both the Prince and the Batman!” he laughed
haughtily. “Oh! Ya can’t imagine how satisfying was that, little slut, like our
first time, do ya remember?”
Bruce was completely immobile, his breath imperceptible, his fists clenched at
his sides; both Clark and Tony numb from shock. But Selina remembered.
A little girl of 9 years old wandering Gotham’s mean streets! Super! She had
managed once again to evade the guards of the orphanage and now she was
breathing the sweet air of freedom. She could go wherever she wanted; she knew
how to hide herself, besides she was just an orphan of the Narrows, her
presence unworthy of even noticing.
She loved Gotham’s alleys especially those away from the Narrows where the
atmosphere seemed a little different, a little more normal and warm. But this
alley although in the Midtown had the same sense as the alleys in her
neighborhood. It was behind the Opera and she entered from curiosity and for
covering because she thought that a police patrol car had noticed her.
She stood at her heels abruptly when her sensitive ears caught a faint rasping,
like sobs wanting to hide themselves in exhales; she immediately covered
herself behind a trash bin and looked at the alley’s centre.
It was a skinny hunched form, the tiny body writhing from the spasms of crying.
The one hand was very awkward: misshaped, malformed and hanging like a log at
the side, the other holding tightly a lonely pathetic rose – certainly stolen
or from some bin, Selina thought. The head was lowered upon the half-wiped off
white police drawing of two lying bodies as if it was seeing the real people
not the weathered cement.
The head rose for a second to draw air to the lungs and Selina saw that it was
a boy of her age. He was very dirty and his clothes ragged and filthy as him
but Selina could recognize him. She had seen him many times the last year in
the news on the brand new TV the Wayne funding had equipped the orphanage with.
Everyone was saying that he was dead; murdered along with his parents – now she
remembered it – in this same alley before... Oh my God! Today was the day that
the Waynes died but their son was here alive despite what they were saying.
And he was filthy and skinny and tattered and crying, crying so discreetly as
if he was scared that someone would hear him.
“I’m sorry, mom, dad... I’m sorry; it was my fault you died... and I still
live...’’ the boy inhaled deeply as if he was choking “I... I don’t want to...”
a sob drowned his voice “I want to be with you, I want to come where you are; I
can’t stand it, the pain, the name calling, the hunger, the loneliness...” he
swept his tears with his palm “I'm sorry for being so coward; you both were
brave and strong and you’d be ashamed of your son being so...’’ he burst in a
wave of strong sobs and whines and laid the tattered as much as himself rose
upon the sketched bodies “forgive me, I couldn’t bring something better... you
- you deserve much better but I...” he inhaled again as if he was drowning “it
was the only one I found in... in... garbage...”
His small body collapsed upon the cold cement, his working fingers brushing
affectionately the white lines drawing his parents’ heads; Selina’s heart was
breaking, her tough – she brag about her coolness – eyes flooded with tears,
her palm pressing her mouth so that her sobs wouldn’t be heard and scare the
boy, but she was sure that Bruce couldn’t hear anything other than the gunshots
that killed his parents.
“Mom, dad, I miss you so much... please, take me with you... I don’t want any
more of this life without you... I miss you...’’
His rosy lips touched the dirty cement and Selina knew that the boy was kissing
his parents’ faces...
Selina jumped from the sudden intrusion of an angry roaring car in the dark
alley; she thought to cry to Bruce to run but she couldn’t betray her presence
here not that the boy could escape, since the car from which bulky men were
getting out was blocking the only way out. But Bruce didn’t move as if nothing
of this world could penetrate his world made by his heart’s craving.
A giant man with Vulture – like features, his unmarred face glistening at the
headlights of the car, his long blond ponytail stroking his enormous back
rushed to the boy. He grabbed the boy’s crippled arm and hoisted him to the air
his legs dangling; the boy's face distorted from the excruciating pain in his
arm that kicked him violently out from his reverie.
“Ya sonovabitch, here ya're! Ya thought ya could outsmart us?!”
The boy’s tear flooded eyes looked confused and terrified at the man’s cruel
face.
“I... I didn’t, sir... I just...”
“Ya just sneaked out!” and holding with one hand the boy brought the other to
strike his face causing the nostrils and little lips to bleed.
The giant satisfied from the boy’s scream turned his stare to the place where
the sketched bodies were; his eyes focused on the tattered white rose and
holding the boy from the crippled arm went there.
“Oh, my poor boy...” he mocked sympathy “it’s the anniversary, huh?
Ya remembered them an' came here to honour them, ooooh! With this rose?” he
erupted in mean laughs. “Where did ya get it, ya filthy thief?! Ya snatched it
from the cabaret?” he shook the child so violently from the pained arm that
Bruce whined.
“I didn’t steal it, I swear...” he panted “I don’t steal...”
“Then?” he looked better at the rose and sniggered “from the... garbage? Ha!
Ya honor yar parents with garbage?! Oh! They’ll be very proud of their brat...
On the other hand, they were garbage themselves what would their son be?”
Selina gritted her teeth with hatred for the brutal man but smiled when Bruce
exasperated from the insult to his parents raised his small leg and with all
his anger stabbed his foot on the man’s groin who cried and bent letting his
hold on the boy who immediately ran to the alley’s exit.
But the exit was blocked by the car and the three men who were watching with
their hands crossed on their chests. The boy looked confused for an escape
route through the human wall but a mocking leg tripped him up, his skinny body
collapsing with force on the ground; the mocking foot pressing the kid’s head
on the cement drowning his efforts to rise.
Selina was watching with dread but unable to do anything. The giant having
recovered from the kick, walked to the spot where his comrade was compacting
Bruce’s head. He squatted confidently and gripped the boy’s crippled arm, his
friend pulled out his foot and the giant heaved Bruce who looked at him
terrified.
“Please...” he tried to appease the man who stony faced dragged him to the spot
where his parents laid dead one year ago and crushed the boy to the wall.
He took out of his coat a huge cleaver and Selina gasped; her eyes widened.
“Remember this blade?” he asked sneering.
The boy closed his eyes and nodded.
“Remember what this blade did to yar toe?”
Tears ran away from Bruce’s eyes and Selina understood that he remembered.
“Tonight, I’ll do what I didn’t do that night...” his blade bigger than the
kid’s head grazed his face with the sharp edge.
The boy was writhing from fear at the giant’s hold in his throat and little
whines were blocking his breaths.
The giant however instead of skinning the boy’s face, scanned the boy’s skinny
body.
“Ya're a beautiful brat, eh?’’ and with one slice of his blade cut the boy’s
shirt, the skinny torso half revealed. “I wonder what Falcone waits...” he
whispered in the boy’s ear “to come of age?”
He turned abruptly the boy face first on the wall and his hands undressed the
kid’s rear end. Selina tightened more her hold on her mouth, her body shivering
as much as little Bruce’s who was confused about what the man wanted to do to
him.
“Please, sir...’’ he mumbled not knowing but feeling that it was something
horrible.
But the man only laughed and with his enormous arms pawed the boy’s thighs and
stretched them, little Bruce squirming scared, Selina sharing his terror.
Selina saw the man unzipping his fly and Bruce’s desperate loud scream made her
heart cry. The boy was whining loudly and screaming as the horrible man was
pushing strongly in the boy’s body and Selina could see the blood running to
the skinny legs and to the ground.
Bruce’s smashed body was convulsing but the man’s power was unrelenting as were
his movements that every time caused more loud and heart-breaking cries that
made Selina’s eyes drip and the men watching indifferently laugh, muffling the
screams and whines.
“Call yar mommy to save ya” he demanded to the closed eyes of the desperate
boy.
The kid didn’t make any movement indicative of having heard and the man thrust
more viciously making him scream louder.
“If ya don’t call yar mommy, I’ll tear ya apart!” he whispered menacingly.
“Mom, please! Mommy!” the boy’s whining voice cried; his eyes on the cloudy
sky.
“Now call yar daddy...”
“Dad!” a yell louder than all the previous jerked the tiny body and there was
only whines.
“They won’t save ya ; they don’t give a shit about ya! They hate ya; they're
disgusted by ya; they detest ya because ya lived an' they died because of
ya...”
He withdrew letting the exhausted body fall to his knees writhing and jerking
from the pain, the cruel words that got branded on him and the sobs; his blood
a small puddle under him. The giant closed his fly smirking satisfied.
The cruel hand raised Bruce while the other hand raised the boy’s clothes on
the trembling hips. He dragged the crying boy and tossed him to the car’s back
seat, stepped in, followed by the others and the car sped, Selina following it.
She discovered the car in front of a cabaret, Dolcetto its name, dead silent
since it was empty of customers. She heard angry yells and climbed to the
second floor, looking from the window inside an office.
A plumb man was standing in front of the kneeled exhausted Bruce Wayne.
“Ya worthless worm! Ya spoiled rotten brat!” his massive hand slapped violently
Bruce’s face tossing him at the floor and Selina brushed her cheek from
sympathy.
The bossy man took in the blood in Bruce’s pants.
“What’s this?” he asked the giant.
He shrugged.
“He is beautiful, too sweet for Gotham’s alleys. Some street punk found him
before us an' showed him what happens to little red riding hoods in Gotham!”
The wolfish man grabbed the boy’s hair and heaved him, his angry mouth at his
down casted dead eyes.
“Yar virginity was mine to take!”
Bruce didn’t say anything, not even acknowledging the menacing presence, his
eyes haunted as his mind.
The plumb man threw the boy to the giant’s feet.
“Tie him to the table; I’ll teach him manners since his ruffian parents
didn’t.”
Selina watched as the man tied the pliant body to the table and the other man
belted him mercilessly; the boy squirming and screaming for the second time in
this night but only for a couple of minutes. After those minutes he just
whined, too exhausted to even cry.
She was watching the cabaret every night since then to see Bruce Wayne and she
finally saw him after a week. When she told him that she knew who he was, he
ran inside the building, as he did the second night she showed herself to him.
But the third night he finally listened to her only nodding silently when
Selina asked him if he wanted her to come again.
“Do you think that because ya covered yarself with these whatever material, I
won’t see the scared shitless little brat?”
Chill’s irritating sneer pushed Selina out of her memories. He was taunting
Bruce; even now he was still tormenting him; and her friend was just staring
him with his artificial eyes estimating the man; his fists clenched at his
sides.
The giant’s croaky laugh made Bruce’s back shiver not from fear but from habit;
there were too many years and too many moments of absolute terror for him to
manage to erase completely any impact the man had on his body. But he was not
scared of him, he was disgusted and his disgust was so much that numbed his
limbs; though he wasn’t sure if the disgust was for Chill or more for himself
increased by the fact that Tony and Clark were hearing, were learning what
their friend was...
“Because ya beat bad guys ya think yarself more than the little slut ya're?
Batman is a slut!” he yelled “I was fuckin' him whenever I wanted to! Oh!
Yar precious parents will be very proud that raised a lunatic and a whore; of
course, they weren’t any better: yar father a lunatic an' yar mother a wh...”
Batman’s fist broke Chill’s jaw; the giant didn’t even catch the blur of the
motion, the intense pain the only evidence that anything had happen to him. And
Batman was shadowing him, his lips emotionless, the gash Chill’s cleaver left
still bleeding slowly. He casted a contemptuous artificial glare to the slumped
man and motioned to leave.
“Ya don’t even dare to look at me with ya true eyes, ya coward cock – sucking
brat!” Chill yelled ignoring the pain from his jaw, not wanting to let Bruce
go; he laughed grudgingly. “Ya don’t dare, because yar pretty eyes are
terrified; ya use these lenses to hide yar scared child’s eyes, because yare
still mortified by me, because I'm still the evil dragon that nobody saved
ya from, little Prince! An' I’ll be forever!” his laughs were unbearable to
hear.
Tony made a step forward; enough with this monster, he wouldn’t permit anyone
speak like this to his friend. But Superman halted him, gesturing to Bruce who
was turning to Chill’s direction.
“What? Ya don’t like hearing that? I’ll say it for my entire life! Ya have to
cut my tongue to stop me an' I bet that even the view of this blade makes
ya piss yourself!”
Batman didn’t say anything, just squatted graciously, took the huge cleaver
from the ground and regarded it. Then, he turned his glare at Chill and
decisively brushed the spot in his cowl that deactivated the lenses, leaving
his feverish eyes piercing the giant’s.
Were the eyes of a dead man, their sparkle the only thing that reminded that
they belonged to someone alive; Chill felt his blood going icy cold. That were
not the scared puppy eyes of the boy he was fucking; they weren’t even the eyes
of someone enraged. These were the eyes of someone neither alive nor dead: a
ghost thirsty for revenge. Chill looked horrified at his blade in Bruce’s hand
which shone in the night like being submissive to the man holding it. The
giant’s eyes widened in terror when Batman tightened his grasp on the cleaver’s
handle and his other hand caressed the blade.
“No...” the giant pleaded.
“B, don’t...” Tony tried to persuade his friend not to shatter more his mind.
But Batman holding the cleaver with his hands on its edges downed it with all
his rage upon his knee, shattering the blade in hundreds of little shreds. He
tossed the wood of the handle to the ground and turned his back, walking away.
Tony sighed in relief and Superman tried to hear his Star’s heartbeat
forgetting that his suit was impenetrable even to his hearing. Only Selina saw
Chill tear-eyed, his remaining teeth clenched with hatred despite the throbbing
pain of his jaw, bringing out suddenly his emergency gun aiming at Bruce’s back
which was still too close.
Bruce jolted from his thoughts when two gunshots hit his ears which sounded
like bomb explosions in the silent night . He turned abruptly and saw Chill’s
gigantic body slumped in the cement, two bullet holes in his heart flooding the
surface with blood. His eyes were crystallized from shock.
He searched the rooftop and Tony and Clark did the same. Bruce’s pained look
fell knowing to Selina’s stretched hand still clutching the smoking gun. And
for the first time he felt the pain of the wound Chill’s blade had made in his
gut.
One day I’ll kill Chill... the little girl spat again.
His sorrowful eyes met Selina’s steel eyes and he just turned his hunched back,
stormed to the edge and flew away. Superman ran to the edge yelling to him and
when he didn’t manage to halt him with his call, followed him.
Selina lowered the gun, her eyes saddened but not regretful.
Tony approached her; he was grateful to her for stopping this man from shooting
Bruce, because although his suit was bullet proof, there was always the chance
a bullet from a close proximity find a vulnerable spot.
“Thank you” he said to her.
She looked him defiantly in the eyes which were visible because Tony
deactivated the helmet.
“He hates me now...”
“No, he doesn’t. He loves you too much, Selina; he told me that you were his
only friend during these years...”
She looked at him, sniggering herself.
“Then it is worse: he hates himself for ‘making’ me kill a man...He always
thought too highly of me...”
She walked to Chill’s body and stared at it with repulsion. She spat his
distorted from ultimate terror face. Tony followed her stare.
“What did you saw Chill doing to Bruce?” he asked tenderly.
Selina looked at him, her eyes moisturized.
“This is Bruce’s secret to tell...”
“You know that he won’t tell me. And I want to help him” Tony’s despair was
more than evident in his voice, his concern as well.
Selina pressed her lips in a tight line.
“If you want to help him, then you’ll wait for him until he is ready to tell
you... He doesn’t know that I saw...”
And with two strides she covered the distance to the edge of the roof and dived
to the void, leaving Tony deep in thought watching  her graceful safe
landing...
 
***** Chapter 23 *****
 
“United States are watching with shock and awe the latest developments in the
city of Gotham. Two hours ago, Carmine Falcone, the so-called Gotham’s Emperor,
admitted live in an intercepting broadcast that he is responsible for the
murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne and that he was keeping prisoner their son,
Bruce Wayne, who was declared dead after his disappearance the same night his
parents were murdered. The former richest man of Gotham was arrested after
trying to flee police and FBI holding hostage the last Wayne. Unconfirmed
information wants Falcone’s arrest being achieved with the aid of the local
vigilante, the elusive Batman.
At the same time, a huge operation of FBI and Special Forces is in progress
during which the FBI agents discovered the stolen priceless black diamond, the
infamous Black Butterfly, that was found in the possession of Gotham’s arrogant
boss...”
Bruce came out of his bedroom, wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants, his hair
still wet from the quick shower he took; the wound at his gut hastily tended by
himself as was the gash on his jaw and the other one on his brow from the car
accident, after returning to the Manor through his secret passage avoiding
being detected by the guards Jim Gordon had left around the Manor. Thankfully,
Clark was caught in disarming a gang of Falcone’s henchmen and surrendering
them to Jim’s police force and he didn’t find the man waiting for him at the
Manor.
He didn’t have the mood to see anyone. This long lasting night had ended and
had ended as he planned it; justice won, he had won. However he didn’t feel
jubilant, not even high spirited; instead he had a huge void in his chest, he
didn’t feel anything. Chill was dead and Selina had killed him because she had
witnessed what he had done to him in the cabaret’s cellar... It was his
weakness that made his friend a killer...
The voice of the CNN’s newscaster was all of a sudden unbearable to hear.
“Alfred?!”
Probably, his loyal friend was watching anxiously the news to learn the latest
developments. But the salon was empty, he could see it as he was descending the
main stair; maybe the good man went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of
tea. Alfred was exhausted from all these.
He clapped his hands and the salon sank in silence and he was relieved; he
needed desperately a little silence.
As he was walking towards the couch a sudden sharp prick surprised him and he
touched the nape of his neck, his legs instantly unable to support his body
dragging him to collapse at the thick carpet. The paralysis of his legs spread
in a flash to his entire body except his head. He was even aware of his lungs’
function.
He heard a confident, light pair of feet walking towards him and he raised his
eyes though he already knew who was there. He gritted his teeth pushing his
body to react but in vain.
“I wouldn’t advise that, Bruce; exerting yourself will only make the effects...
graver” his face was radiating with triumph although Bruce could detect his
wrath.
“You poisoned me” it wasn’t a question.
Now Ra’s was standing in front of him looking him with a warm, lenient smile
that made Bruce’s mind shiver.
“No, child, you’re too precious to die; it’s only a paralyzing extract to bend
your resistance but it can be lethal if you are too stubborn and try to
overcome its impact or if I don’t give you the antidote in a few hours...” his
voice was gleeful “But, don’t worry, Bruce, we’ll be on time aboard my personal
jet...”
Bruce motioned in negation his head, the only part of his body not paralyzed
and raised his eyes to the lion-like man’s face.
“No...”
Ra’s squatted beside his head, his sarcastic eyes on Bruce’s.
“I told you that as soon as we finish with Gotham and Falcone, you’ll come with
me. Of course, you defied me, you fooled me to achieve your own goals at my
expense; you are a sly man, Bruce. I saved you and you showed your gratitude by
betraying me.”
His hand brushed tenderly his student’s sweaty cheek but the young man jerked
his head away.
“You didn’t save me, you just trained me to use me for your own purposes to
make a sick show of justice’s victory in Gotham by slaying with your horrific
weapon millions of people” he stopped to inhale, exhausted “If you had cared
for me, if you truly wanted to save me, you would have freed me from Falcone’s
enslavement. But you didn’t; you just used me as a whore to spy on him,
intending on making me at the end execute him in front of the cameras. You’re
no better than Falcone!”
Ra’s fisted Bruce’s hair but not as violently as he was expecting and yanked
the young man’s head.
“And you destroyed everything I had carefully planned for years, letting and
encouraging Falcone to immerse this corrupt city to the outmost of man’s decay
and immorality so to make the example more powerful. My finest creation stabbed
me in the back... If I knew how capable you are, we would have achieved wonders
using your charm and your brain but I underestimated you and your intelligence.
I believed you tamed after what I did to your precious friend and I believed as
everyone else that this... Batman was another ridiculous super secret plan of
the government to save Gotham; how could imagine that you had the means to
create all these: was Fox, right? The missing part of the equation... – I
didn’t reckon you were so intelligent and I paid that. But now I’ll mend it;
I’ll destroy your mind – Crane has many interesting inventions at my disposal –
to the point where you will be only capable to express your servility to me.”
He smiled “you were so close, child, so close to victory and that is your worse
punishment; to be again a slave when you were just a breath away from your
throne...”
He let Bruce’s head touch gently the carpet and heaved easily the young man’s
limb body in his powerful arms in bridal style.
“Time to go, child, you can say good bye to your city.”
“He won’t go anywhere!” a stern heavy British-accented voice pierced the salon
and Ra’s turned smiling confidently to see the straight posture of Alfred
Pennyworth pointing him with a gun. “You monsters did enough to this child!”
“Oh! The fine gentleman sir Pennyworth!” Al Ghul’s voice was heavy with sarcasm
and Bruce’s eyes from his arms looked to Alfred terrified. “You must have been
feeling terribly guilty that you failed to save him all these years” he taunted
the old man devoring the flicker of emotion in his blue eyes.
But the gentleman tightened his grip on the gun’s handle.
“Lay master Bruce on the couch” he ordered coldly recruiting his training as a
butler.
Ra’s amused obeyed, Bruce’s eyes pleading with him.
“Your butler honestly thinks that he can intimidate and yield me with a petty
gun!”
“Please, don’t hurt him, Ra’s...”
“It’s ‘master’ from now on, child.”
“Get away from him!” Alfred ordered the sight of another one tormenting Bruce
intolerable.
“Gladly, sir Pennyworth!” he mocked him and Alfred suddenly lost him from his
eyes.
He blinked his eyes and searched the space for the enormous man. When he didn’t
find anything, thinking that Al Ghul had left, moved towards his young master
but instantly a stormy force tackled him sending him to the floor and holding
with a bone crushing strength the wrist which held the gun.
Alfred saw the absolutely calm face of the lion-like man and felt a shiver in
his spine. He didn’t care about himself but if he couldn’t stop Al Ghul, Bruce
would be once again captive to a horrible man. Thus he clenched his teeth and
used every bead of his power and love to free his hand from his hold.
But it was a lost battle. Ra’s Al Ghul was invincible; a formidable force even
to trained warriors. Alfred’s hand didn’t stand more and bent, the gun slipping
to the carpet and Al Ghul threw it away. His smile was pure evil.
“You thought, idiot butler, that with a gun you would intimidate Ra’s Al Ghul
and save your little master? You’re ridiculous, old man, and you’ll pay your
audacity!” his massive fist smashed Alfred’s face two times in a row making the
man’s face blood stained.
Ra’s lethal hands were on Alfred’s throat and instantly the good man felt the
air being negated to his lungs. He didn’t care about himself; his only pain as
his eyes were darkening was that Bruce won’t escape this man. Bruce, his
beloved boy, he had been bereft so many years of his smile, his laughter, his
eyes... Bruce’s eyes were the only thing he was seeing...
And Al Ghul’s heavy mass was somehow lifted from him, air filling again his
burning lungs. He had died? He heard sounds of struggle and he forced his rigid
neck to that direction; what he saw made his heart clench.
Bruce was choke-holding Al Ghul but his legs were barely supporting him, his
hand too weak to stop the leader of the League of Shadows who sank his elbow in
the young man’s gut which was already wounded by Chill’s cleaver and stained
Bruce’s t-shirt with blood. Bruce groaned feeling the wound opening again but
tried to tighten his hold on his mentor’s neck although his mind’s power over
his body was ebbing rapidly. Another hit of the elbow made his numb body detach
from Ra’s and he was instantly upon Bruce’s body pinning him to the floor,
fingers glued together and stretched in the air above the young man’s throat
ready to blow one finishing strike.
“I taught you well how to bend your body to your mind’s will, eh Bruce? But you
should have known better than trying to defeat your teacher!” his hand raised
more to get more impetus.
Bruce’s eyes were on the older man’s cruel eyes.
“Just don’t hurt anyone else... Everything was my doing; punish me, nobody
else.”
Al Ghul’s ready to kill hand loosened and instead brushed the younger man’s
sweaty cheek.
“I’ll punish you, child, you can be sure of this.”
He pulled out of his jacket’s inner pocket an innocent looking white pill and
opened Bruce’s mouth with his fingers, pushing it to his throat.
“Swallow it” he ordered him and he obeyed knowing that if he wanted Al Ghul to
spare his loved ones, he should be, at least now, obedient. “And now we have to
hurry, because your stupidity decreased the time you have.”
He motioned to raise him in his hands, Bruce’s body again completely paralysed.
“What did you give me?”
“Deos, courtesy of Dr Crane: eighteen years of terror compacted in this little
pill” the young man’s eyes widened “you will entertain me during our trip...”
he smirked.
“No, he won’t!” a stentorian, determined male voice broke the Manor’s silence.
Al Ghul amuzed smiled confidently and stood slowly, not hurrying to turn to
Superman’s direction who looked at Bruce’s face to reassure him that now he was
here everything would be okay but his Star’s eyes were scared and Clark was
certain it wasn’t just the pill’s effects; his Star was scared for him. Maybe
Bruce was in such desperate state due to the fact that Alfred was badly beaten,
lying a couple of feet away from him struggling to raise himself.
“The little alien is your friend, Bruce?!” Ra’s exclaimed happily “I told you
that you would be irresistible for everyone, and now I see that this goes even
for powerful aliens...”
“I won’t let you hurt him anymore!”
Al Ghul was laughing now irritatingly amused.
“Bruce belongs to me; I saved him, I formed him – his life is mine.’’
“You won’t take him!’’ Clark tightened his fists infuriated: how could all
these people handle his Star like an object, as if he wasn’t a human being with
emotions  in such pain.
The older man opened his arms widely to the sky.
“Oh! That is what I call love! Child, you are better than I thought: a really
esteemed whore!”
“Shut your mouth!” he couldn’t bear hearing that sneering man uttering insults
to Bruce especially when he put him in this dangerous condition; he was seeing
his Star trembling and sometimes moaning as if terrible things were happening
to him. And were happening inside his mind.
Now, Al Ghul abandoned his amusement because he wouldn’t have an alien speaking
like this to him.
“And who do you think you are, stupid alien, to order Ra’s Al Ghul? Do you
consider yourself better than me because you happen to have some ‘super
powers’?” his eyes were shining like a lion’s before his arrogant prey. “I
assure you that I’ll bring you to your knees and I’ll leave with your precious
whore!”
Superman had had enough; he hated this arrogant evil man and Bruce was
suffering and he knew that only this man could stop this; and he would force
him to do it. So he rushed against him with his inhuman speed.
But when he expected to impact with Al Ghul found only air and he remembered
how Bruce had evaded his attack a couple of hours ago. A shiver pierced his
back: if Bruce was capable of doing that, imagine what his mentor would be
capable of... But he wouldn’t let fear stop him, he was Superman and he was
fighting evil no matter what.
He used his acute senses and located Ra’s behind his back smiling with his
annoying arrogant self confident grimace, entirely nonchalant from his fight
with Superman. He surged once again only to be faced with the same lamentable
result; he was rasping from frustration.
“Well? Is that all?” Ra’s smirked from the landing of the stairs and Clark
found the opportunity with a motion faster than the blink of an eye to tackle
him, both crashing from the long flight of stairs.
Superman found himself pinning Ra’s to the carpeted floor; the man never
stopping smiling sarcastically. Enough, he thought and downed his head aiming
the man’s head with enough force to leave him unconscious but not kill him.
However, for the first time in his life, his crash on a human body caused him
considerable pain, while the demon was laughing more amused than ever.
“Has anyone spoken to you about the infinite power of the mind, ignorant alien?
Is what allowed our friend there to be beaten by Falcone and then flying around
Gotham and causing troubles to everybody. I didn’t realise he was Batman until
the Special Forces and you stormed to every hideout the League of Shadows had
in this city, showing to me that a filthy rat had informed you and then
everything connected – stupid from me to underestimate him, it won’t happen
again...”
The demon headbutted Superman’s head and taking advantage of his confusion
tangled his legs with his and twisted him so that Ra’s was now above him.
“The mind’s power, my alien friend, can increase the body’s force and stamina
to levels that meet your ‘super powers’, if, of course, you’re trained enough
to unleash that absolute power.”
His hands were now on his throat and Superman was actually feeling the pain,
the constriction of his air pipe, the watering of his eyes and behind the
watery curtain Ra’s satisfied expression. No, he must not be defeated by him;
use your own mind, Kent. He tried to concentrate using the imposed by
asphyxiation trance in his mind to gather his powers.
“Please, stop...” he heard from somewhere far away his Star’s desperate voice
pleading with his former mentor for his sake.
“I’ll teach him some useful lessons, Bruce...”
And that fleeting distraction of Ra’s was the window Superman waited. He
grabbed the man’s incredibly strong hands and snapped them off of his throbbing
throat, air’s return more than welcomed, and before the demon took in what he
had done, he headbutted him sending him to crush on the grand oval wood table
that broke in two.
Superman stood on his feet, feeling the power rushing again through his veins
but Ra’s was erect too, still amused and Clark was flabbergasted; any other man
would have showed signs of considerable pain after that hit.
“Bruce, you start to enrage me; stop intervening... My dear alien, you make too
much noise: we should be grateful that the Manor is an excellently sound proof
building and the fine gentlemen of the FBI didn’t come inside risking their
lives in the middle of our quarrel.”
Clark saw his hand moving rapidly to his jacket and he instantly knew that he
was going to use something lethal; he used his heat vision to hit his hand and
stop him but as soon as the red rays left his eyes a brilliant blade met them
in front of Ra’s’ flesh and the fire was deflected to the wall burning a hole
there.
Al Ghul showed to the astounded Superman the dagger that had beat his heat
vision.
“The Knife of Justice: its blade is made from diamond, earth’s most resilient
material. You see, my friend, earth has many secrets that can neutralize your
powers.”
No more bragging... Clark thought and he rushed once again to him, intending to
end this as soon as possible. But upon reaching his target in super speed the
man’s hand awaited him causing his accelerated body to be repelled. He managed
to float only to lose his balance and fell heavy to the floor. That was
impossible, unless... He raised his eyes laboriously, his body already crying
in agony as his heart beat exhausted in his throbbing chest.
A green glowing little rock was radiating in the demon’s hand, his glistening
eyes savoring Superman’s defeat.
“I came prepared. You see, I study every possible enemy and I detected
Superman’s... ‘interest’ in my priceless whore” he said calmly and squatting
before his convulsing body let the rock slip towards his eyes.
Then he raised his elegant body and strut to the place where Bruce was laid,
his beautiful eyes sparkling from terror. Ra’s kneeled beside him.
“Please, you’ll kill him... He is too good; he doesn’t deserve to die...”
“Don’t worry, Bruce” Al Ghul said soothingly to his ear and brought out a small
metal box that Bruce although in a mist knew that it was from lead “as soon as
we leave, your butler will put the stone in the box and your... aspiring lover
will be as new” he tossed the box near Superman’s writhing body and his hand
caressed the young man’s forehead, pushing away some strand locks that had
stuck in the sweat.
“Please, don’t...” Bruce screamed terrified by some monster his mind and
Crane’s pill created and Al Ghul’s touch increased, and the older man
perceiving it as a denial to his advances, slapped him violently.
Bruce erupted in sobs and whines that made both Alfred’s and Clark’s blood ran
cold because it wasn’t the crying of a man but of a little boy.
“I’ll cut your hand from the shoulder!’’ an angry voice yelled and Al Ghul
turned irritated by the new interruption.
“Your friends will cause your death...”
He stood and fully acknowledged the fuming Tony Stark who was looking at him
having deactivated the helmet but keeping the rest of Iron Man’s armor; his
eyes had lost every trace of his usual playful mood.
“Now the gang is completed” Ra’s remarked slyly “Mr Tony Stark. Another spoiled
brat who defaults on his word. You owe me a weapon.”
“And you owe me your kicked ass, you loony motherfucker! We have an unsettled
score from Afghanistan and another one from what you’ve been doing to Bruce.
Give me the antidote!”
Al Ghul smirked.
“I don’t have it with me, you foolish cock. The only way for Bruce to live is
to take him with me.”
“Forget it, I’ll make the antidote” Tony snapped and shot him three times,
using a special silencing system so to not arise the FBI agent’s attention,
crashing him to the wall to finally slump to the floor.
Tony deactivated the whole armor and rushed to Superman taking the Kryptonite
and hiding it to the leaden box. Superman breathed relieved and Tony patted his
shoulder. He turned to Alfred but the old man had finally managed to stand on
his feet, so he focused on the super being that didn’t seem so super anymore.
“Are you okay?”
Clark just nodded and Tony ran to Bruce’s side who was writhing in agony but
not saying anything. Tony cupped Bruce’s face in his hands.
“I’m here, little guy; nothing of what you see is real. Please, open your eyes
and look at me.’’
His voice obviously had a soothing effect, because the quivering body relaxed
and Bruce opened his eyes shyly regarding the man in front of him.
“It’s Tony, your friend, remember?”
Bruce smiled exhausted; his breaths short and unsteady.
“It’s too late, Tony...’’ he whispered calmly “I lost.”
“No, you didn’t!” he lifted him and touched him on the couch; he stroked gently
his friend’s cheek.
Alfred supporting Clark’s considerable weight approached Tony, his eyes
saddened but not defeated.
“That villain indeed doesn’t have the antidote on him” he informed Tony “I
searched him.”
Bruce convulsed as if someone was beating him and Tony felt his eyes watering.
“I’ll bring help, stay with him and don’t let him give up! I’ll take that worm
to the police; unfortunately I didn’t shoot to kill...”
He activated his suit, snatched Al Ghul’s unconscious body and flew from the
open big window.
Clark sat on the armchair beside the couch, infuriated by his inability to do
anything since his powers needed some time to return and tense from Bruce’s
writhing and sobbing that Alfred seated by his side was trying to sooth with
his warm words of affection.
Tony was back in ten minutes, his face flushed from agony, his both hands
occupied, Lucius Fox in one, Leslie Thompkins with her briefcase at the other.
Leslie rushed to the couch as soon as her feet touched floor and Lucius with
Tony followed her.
Leslie pushed Alfred and took his place on the couch immediately taking Bruce’s
frantic pulse; he opened his eyes feeling her touch.
“Mom...”
“No, Bruce, I’m not your mother, I’m Leslie; do you recognize me?”
He nodded and Leslie opened her briefcase bringing out a syringe and Lucius
captured Bruce’s eyes to avert his attention from Leslie’s ministrations on his
arm’s vein.
“Mr Wayne; it’s Lucius Fox.”
“I know, Mr Fox. I’d like to thank you for everything...”
Lucius waved his head and smiled warmly as always.
“You know that you don’t need to thank me.”
“Yes, I do. I don’t have enough time...”
“Bruce, we know that you never quit... We’ll make it again...”
Leslie gestured to Lucius that she was ready and gave him the vial with Bruce’s
blood. Lucius took it and grabbed Tony’s upper arm, the young man too absorbed
in his friend.
“We have to go, Mr. Stark, to my laboratory; I have the proper equipment there.
We’ll save him!”
But Tony fell on his knees and took Bruce’s hand in his; his friend’s eyes
casted on him affectionately.
“We’ll make it, little guy; wait for me, okay?”
Bruce nodded smiling warmly.
“Tony?” Lucius interrupted hesitantly and Tony decisively grabbed Fox and flew
away.
Leslie immediately turned to Alfred, the thermometer still in her hands marking
her patient’s increased temperature.
“Alfred, bring an ice pack; we need to control his temperature.”
“You can’t administer him something?”
“I can’t risk it, Alfred. I don’t know what substance that man used and there’s
a chance whatever I administer him, worsens his condition. We can only stall
the process, soothing him till Lucius and Tony analyze the substance in Bruce’s
blood, synthesize and bring the antidote... Meantime, I’ll stitch this nasty
wound in his belly” she was looking the reopened wound having raised the hem of
Bruce’s T-shirt “it’s a good think he won’t feel the pain...”
Alfred returned astonishingly quickly for his age bringing not only the ice
pack but also water for Leslie to clean the blood covered flesh.
Clark was watching hopelessly, feeling his body recharging slowly; he still
felt completely useless as Bruce’s trembling became worse and his eyes focused
somewhere Clark couldn’t see, burning.
Thomas and Martha Wayne was walking towards him, dressed as that night in the
alley behind the Opera House. Their eyes were warm, filled with love. But they
looked indecisive to the exit.
Bruce knew that they couldn’t be real but tonight was a night of ghosts and he
didn’t want to lose them again.
“Mom, dad! No! Don’t leave me! No!’’ his body was writhing violently; his neck
was stretched in whines and cries, his eyes spilling tears.
Alfred took his head in his hands and caressed tenderly the burning flesh;
Bruce opened his glistening terrified eyes and recognized his beloved Alfred.
“Alfred, I must go with them...”
“No, Master Bruce, you must not!” Alfred was stern but Clark could detect his
tears.
Martha was now sitting beside him, her too soft hands on his face, her
beautiful sweet eyes regarding him with adoration.
“I missed you so much, my little angel; why didn’t you come with me? I was
waiting for you all this time.”
“Yes, Bruce, we were waiting for you but you didn’t come...” Thomas was leaned
above him; he wasn’t angry but eager.
“They wait for me... Eighteen years they have been waiting for me and I
betrayed them; I caused them pain...” his voice was choked by sobs between the
words.
“No, my dear boy, you didn’t cause them any pain; they love you more than
anything...”
“I have their blood on my hands, Alfred” he said and looked his paralyzed
hands, Martha’s eyes following his gaze. “I must stop disappointing them, I
must follow them; they want me to, I see them talking to me... and it is so
peaceful... I want to go with them...”
Alfred shook his young master’s head forcing him to focus on him.
“What you see isn’t your parents, is only a horrible hallucination. They don’t
want you to follow them!”
Bruce’s eyes filled with tears. Martha’s smile couldn’t be fake; it was the
same he remembered, but Alfred wouldn’t lie to him. He saw his father’s face
covered by a shadow of anger for his son’s hesitance.
“You already left us once, son, but we forgave you although we should have
hated you.”
Martha’s tender eyes started glowing, a menacing red flame taking the place of
his irises and her face began to change form; she was angry with him and her
beloved face was replaced by a horrific giant bat head.
“Because they hate me!” he sobbed. “They hate me because they died and I
abandoned them...”
“No, my dear boy, no. They love you, they wanted for you to live! They don’t
want you to die, please...”
Bruce looked at Alfred confused. He wanted his parents to love him, to not be
angry with him; he wanted his mother’s face back.
“It is so much easier with them... There is no pain, no shame, only peace; I
want to sleep, Alfred, I need to rest; my mind aches so much...”
Leslie took his unfeeling hand and forced him to look at her.
“Young man, I’ll slap you in the face if I have to! You won’t succumb, do you
understand? Thomas and Martha would never want you to die!”
He seemed to relax and Clark inhaled relieved; he hoped that Fox and Tony will
come at any moment before Bruce deteriorated.
“It’s so cold!” Bruce exclaimed.”The water is so cold and filthy and it chokes
me, I can’t breathe! I’m cold, so cold, please!”
“Alfred, get some blankets!” Leslie said immediately “his temperature decreases
rapidly!”
But the blankets didn’t manage to sooth Bruce’s frozen body and soul; his mind
having returned to the Gotham’s sewers when he almost drowned.
“It’s frozen in here and I’m cold... I can’t stand so much cold...”
Leslie sighed.
“Indeed, his temperature is too low...”
“What can I do?” Alfred asked desperately.
But Clark interrupted.
“My cape is very warm and my body although still recovering from the
Kryptonite, is warmer than the human body... So if you agree, I could...”
Leslie nodded and rose from the couch. Clark sat and his heart sank sensing
Bruce’s body completely limb and frozen, as if he was already... No, he
wouldn’t permit that. He removed his cape and tucked Bruce’s body into it and
then hugged him, bringing the brunette head to nestle in his chest, like that
day he saved him from Flass.
“I’m here, Star, can you feel me?”
Bruce’s eyes didn’t open and Clark tightened his embrace trying to transfer the
pace from his strong heart to Bruce’s fainting one.
“You can’t die, Star; it’s unfair.” Bruce’s heart was losing gradually more
beats and Clark was panicking.
He grasped his Star’s face in his palms and shook it almost violently; he must
make him look his face to remember. Bruce’s tired eyes as if he had sensed his
panic and terror opened slowly regarding him with affection and seriousness.
“I’m already dead...” he whispered to Clark’s watering eyes.
“No, you are not! You are alive and I hold you...” Clark brushed gently some
locks that have been stuck on his cold now forehead. “His body’s temperature is
close to normal levels” he whispered to Leslie and Alfred who were watching
shocked.
“Thank Goodness!” Alfred exclaimed but Clark understood that the kind man
wasn’t relieved.
Bruce’s eyes were shining and Clark felt once again bewitched, but those eyes
were so sad that his heart ached.
“Your eyes are so beautiful like the sky over the Palisades on a sunshine
summer day” Bruce told him and Clark was sure that his Star wasn’t
hallucinating for now but this appraisal shouldn’t make him happy. “It’s been
too long since I last saw that sky... It was so warm then...”
Clark held him closer to his body to warm him up and Bruce’s head nestled in
his chest. Clark stroked his hair trembling.
“You’ll be seeing that sky all the time, Bruce; and you won’t be cold ever
again, I promise.”
“You are too warm and too bright and too pure...” he soughed in Clark’s chest
and something was warning Clark that this wasn’t just a compliment. “Too warm
and bright and pure for me... I’m dark and cold... and I must return to my
cage: it is always frozen and dark, what I deserve and the bats make me company
always; I spoke to them and they answer me... Tony was right: bats are not a
danger to me, they are friends” Clark closed his eyes, horror returning to
clench his heart. “I’m so tired... I need to sleep... to rest... I must return
in my cage to rest...”
Clark could feel without seeing the terror that had captured Alfred and Leslie,
their elevated heartbeats accompanying his own. He caught with the corner of
his eye Alfred hiding his face in his wrinkled hands. No, he couldn’t let Bruce
slip from his hands like this, not now, not after everything.
Once again he took his face and forced the head which leaned backwards to be
stabilized and shook him to open his eyes; his heart was pierced when a
complaining weak whine left Bruce’s lips.
“You hear me? Tony and Lucius we’ll be here any moment now – you can’t let them
down, can you?” his Star’s eyes flooded with tears “you must hold on for all
your friends; Tony, Lucius, Alfred, Leslie, Selina...”
A sob shook Bruce’s almost warm chest.
“She... she did it because of me... because she saw... My fault... Everything
is my fault...”
Clark rested his Star’s exhausted head at his chest and stroked soothingly his
hair; he was keeping him warm but he felt his heart beating too slow, too
tired.
“She is alright, Star, she loves you and waits to see you again strong and
healthy... Don’t leave us now... Don’t leave me, Star...”
Bruce focused his sparkling though a bit glassy eyes on Clark’s face who felt
his hopes revived by the man’s effort to raise his head. But Bruce’s breath was
too laboured.
“The poison affects his lungs’ function...’’ Leslie whispered, tremor vibrating
her always steady voice.
Clark didn’t hear her despite his super hearing because he was absorbed in
those eyes and the rosy lips which were moving.
“I’m sorry, I can’t fight anymore...”
His head fell backwards although he was still breathing and Clark hurried to
support it, cursing Tony for not coming. Leslie rushed to take Clark’s place to
help Bruce stay alive.
A sudden whoosh of air and massive feet landing to the thick carpet made
everyone turn their heads to the place where Tony and Lucius landed, already
knowing who were there and hope shining in three pairs of eyes. Tony’s face was
jubilant and Leslie stretched her hand and snatched the syringe Tony gave her,
ready for use.
She pressed the needle to Bruce’s neck’s vein when the young man turned his
half closed eyes to regard his best friend who had kneeled by the side of the
couch beaming, his fingers caressing Bruce’s once again cold cheek.
“We made it, little guy!”
Bruce smiled warmly to him.
“Thank you, Tony” he tried to raise his paralyzed hand but failed “for
everything...”
His eyes closed softly and his head rolled. Tony immediately grabbed the numb
head and shook it.
“No!’ he cried “No, little guy, you promised me! You promised me, damn it!”
Clark although always found Tony’s laugh irritating realized that his crying
was more disturbing, as he was clutching his friend’s head in his heart’s
place, rocking him desperately.
“You promised me!”
“And you need to suffocate me for it?’’
Bruce’s smug but tender at the same time voice was the sweetest sound for
everyone in the room and Clark felt his powers fully restored although he knew
that that wasn’t true.
Tony uplifted his friend’s head to delve into his still a bit glassy eyes. He
was laughing, as if he had gone crazy. His hands were ruffling Bruce’s locks,
who although was pained from his Tony’s ministrations didn’t protest but was
smiling at Tony’s celebrating eyes.
However, Leslie was there. She made a signal to Alfred and he took gently Tony
away for Leslie to examine Bruce.
“Your organs’ functionality returns slowly; your pulse is almost normal as your
temperature but we need to observe you, administer you some nutrients and let
you rest” she said pointedly to Tony’s direction who was laughing with Alfred.
“Of course, Leslie dear” the playboy finding again his mood and facial color
appeased her “I, myself, will take him to his bed. The master bedroom, Alfred?”
The exhausted gentleman motioned his head.
“No, master Anthony, too many bad memories, neither ‘his’ bedroom. It’s better
to take him to my bedroom temporarily.”
Tony took Bruce’s still half paralyzed body in his arms, tenderly minding his
head and ascended the stairs; Clark felt a nasty twinge of jealousy. Alfred and
Leslie followed Tony.
Lucius who had stayed behind patted his shoulder.
“He will be alright; and from now on his life will be better. Don’t worry, Mr
Kent.”
“I surely hope so, Mr Fox” suddenly he took in the use of his name “How did you
know?”
Lucius smiled with his unique smart and at the same time kind way.
“I was working with Bruce from the beginning of Batman; we... researched you
from the start and adjusted Batman’s suit to your abilities. It wasn’t so
difficult to figure out your true identity: the features, the body structure,
the extraction of the glasses, the peculiar eyes, the exclusive articles on
Superman’s activities, the awkward adoption of a non existing boy by the
Kents...”
Clark flushed.
“I should be more subtle...”
“Caution is always needed.” He patted him friendly “but I think that your
secret is safe; Bruce’s mind and mine – if you allow me – aren’t ordinary and
we were both in the business of secret identities to be a little oversensitive
to cues...”
Clark smiled and looked the first light blue colors of the dawn entering the
Manor from the open window.
“I must return to Metropolis to be sent by my editor to cover the latest events
in Gotham.”
“I must leave too; there are many things still to do, but unfortunately my...
taxi is too occupied with making Leslie’s job difficult to take me home and I
wouldn’t want those fine FBI gentlemen  who guard the grounds to acknowledge my
presence here. So we’ll use Bruce’s underground tour to Gotham and then the
emergency car I have taken to the cave for such occasions. I’ll give you a
ride to Metropolis, after I give you a more... casual pair of clothes.’’
“Are you sure that you have clothes in my size?”
Lucius smiled revealing his white teeth.
“My nephew is a rugby player so you won’t have a problem.”
Now that everything was over, Clark was flooded with many small questions.
“Bruce knows how to drive?” he asked as Lucius led him to the secret passage of
the first level’s corridor.
The lively man laughed.
“I taught him myself but I’d never trust him to drive me home... He is a little
daredevil for my tastes!”
 
***** Chapter 24 *****
Gotham woke up in an uproar; TV stations were replaying again and again the
video of Falcone’s admission of his guilt for the Wayne’s murders and the long
lasting captivity of their son who everyone in the city knew as his toy;
followed by his failed attempt to escape arrest holding the young man hostage,
his attempt failing after the assumed intervention of Batman. Between the
constant replays of the video, the newscasters pretending to be shocked by the
Gotham’s Emperor’s crimes were recounting the details of FBI’s thunder
operation in Gotham for the recovering of the stolen Black Butterfly diamond
which was stolen from the Smithsonian’s Museum in Washington after Falcone’s
orders.
The operation led to the discovery of a huge load of weaponry made by Falcone
Enterprises with the purpose to be used by international terrorists, who after
a careful sweeping movement of the Special Forces assisted by Superman and one
unknown ‘super hero’ were apprehended in several hideouts inside the city that
they intended to completely destroy in a delirious ‘act of justice’.
Carmine Falcone was under FBI’s custody as well as the majority of his
henchmen, while his right hand man was found dead probably after an inter –
henchmen browl. The city was temporarily under federal control, since Police
Commissionaire Loeb was arrested for assisting and covering illegal activities
and the same fate had the Mayor Hady. Jim Gordon who had helped with his team
of ‘clean’ police officers was temporarily in charge of Gotham’s police
officers who weren’t implicated in crimes and Falcone’s payroll and along with
the FBI agents that remained in the city were restoring peace and security to
the troubled city.
However, what made the greatest impression and got the most attention of the
local, national and international media was the ‘resurrection’ of the Wayne
heir and the assumptions of how he had survived. What all of them had in common
was the pictures of the 8 year old Bruce in juxtaposition with the young man
who were dragged everywhere by Falcone: the analysts highlighting the
similarities or some grumpy ones the differences.
Alfred’s old Rolls Royce was crossing the streets of the churning Gotham, the
gentle butler driving his young master and Tony Stark to the Falcone tower.
Alfred was constantly casting worried glances to Bruce who was silently
watching the people at the street discuss the latest developments.
Tony was speaking with Pepper at his smart phone to affirm that everything was
ready. He was also staring at his friend, trying to interpret his thoughts and
emotions.
“You know, Bruce, Alfred and Leslie are right: you should have stayed in bed to
fully recover. We could have delayed the meeting.”
Bruce turned and his pale, spent face, although Chill’s cleaver’s gash and Al
Ghul’s blow’s bruise was meticulously covered with make up  was filled with
determination and strength.
“No, Tony, we couldn’t; we can’t leave the company in turmoil, we have to
settle things to restore tranquillity to the employees and stability to the
company’s shares. My rest could wait.”
Tony nodded, although not entirely persuaded that his friend’s rest and
recuperation could wait. But he was there and he would make sure that Bruce
would be alright.
The radio station that Alfred had tuned was broadcasting the latest updates but
Bruce was too occupied in his thoughts to pay attention.
“The claimed leader of the terrorists who was delivered heavily injured to the
police by a mystery super hero  has passed away an hour after his transfer to
Gotham’s General Hospital, as the Police confirmed...”
Bruce jolted upon taking in what he heard and Tony looked at him.
“Yes, I forgot to mention with all the fuss of the last night” he realized that
his friend was paler “What? Don’t tell me that you are sorry for him!”
Bruce lowered his eyes for a bit and then looked Tony.
“He, indeed, saved me, Tony. If he hadn’t come into my life, I would still be
with a cripple hand sweeping Dolcetto’s floor and waiting Falcone to order my
death. He was insane, he took advantage of me but at the beginning he treated
me gently, he took care of me; he gave me hope...”
Tony motioned his head disbelievingly.
“You know, these are symptoms of Stockholm’s Syndrome: you were enslaved by him
as much as by Falcone; he didn’t care for you, he just used you for his
purposes. He was willing to let you die, if he couldn’t have you for himself,
for pity’s sake!”
Bruce didn’t answer, only turned again his gaze to the awakening Gotham, a
sight he had eighteen years to see, brushing the place of the covered bruise
Ra’s’ blow had left.
“I don’t believe he is dead...” he said absent minded.
“Because he bragged that he was a demon? C'mon, little guy, the man was a
lunatic and you a scared child; he wanted to impose terror in you to see him as
a God and not dare to escape him!” Tony answered impatiently and Bruce turned
and looked him just for a second and continued to stare at the window.
Chill was escorting him for his training, Gotham’s sky grimmer than usual was
crying all day, his tears flooding the filthy streets and pavements; people
hunched under their umbrellas were heading hurriedly to their gloom houses
after a day’s work.
He dared to turn his eyes a bit around to caress the beloved city of his
parents, the city that claimed them and ragged him... There was a small store
with newspapers and magazines at the corner and the crammed people there caught
his attention; they were impressed by something.
And as Chill dragged him to pass the corner, he was able to see what they were
bumbling about. Tony’s cheerful, beloved face was beaming for the press,
manifesting a glowing metallic thing on his chest as if it was a medal of honor
and not the reminder of torture; a torture he knew that was his fault, his
punishment more painful because it was imposed to his most beloved friend who
had to rely on this metal thing to survive.
He felt the need to sigh but the covered with black silk face of Bane who came
to receive him from Chill, since they didn’t want to let Chill know where their
bases were, made him rigid and ready for fight.
They entered the derelict for an outsider building to be in a big space
reminding a dojo.
“You’ll report to me; Ra’s Al Ghul is abroad. Your ruffian friend’s escape cost
many and valuable lives...”
He just bowed his head in respect and servility, but Bane snatched his right
hand and twisted it behind his back, smashing him to the unpainted brick wall.
Bruce clenched his teeth; his hand still sensitive after Ra’s rough treatment,
but didn’t react. He didn’t want to risk his master’s wrath in any way, so let
Bane cause him pain; at least, the masked man was interested only in this use
for his body.
“Ra’s should have punished you harder; if I were him, I would have chopped you
in tiny pieces and given you to the dogs to feed!”
“But you are not!” a slightly amused but stentorian voice entered the deep
silence of the room and Bane released him, his uneasiness evident.
“Leave us!”
Bane’s glare pierced Bruce and he just lowered his head.
Ra’s, his hands behind his waist, approached sniffing at him. Bruce didn’t dare
to raise his eyes and felt Ra’s’ silver-ivory cane touching his chin and
yanking gently his head.
“Now, that Stark escaped, you will think that you can find refuge to him...”
He motioned his head in negation, without speaking before taking the
permission.
“You can speak, child.”
“No, master, I don’t believe that; I’m yours to do as you wish just...” he
swallowed “don’t harm anyone else, please.”
Al Ghul leaned and kissed his supported by the cane chin and then his lips.
“How is Falcone advancing the construction of my weapon?”
“He doesn’t do anything, master” he looked him in the eyes “ during your
absence he was discussing with gangsters from Mexico and Colombia for gun
smuggling and import of drugs.”
Ra’s smiled kindly.
“He isn’t worthy of my trust, is he?’’
“No, master, but I’m sure you know this already...”
He felt his master’s hand in his nape only a fraction of the second before his
head was jerked violently backwards.
“Are you trying to make me hurry his execution? You crave so much to decapitate
him, don’t you, child?” his hot lips ravaged his neck, his teeth grazing his
delicate skin, making his spine frozen remembering his torn neck after his
failed attempt to escape.
“I crave to do what you want me to do, master” he focused humbly his eyes on
his master’s .
 Ra’s let his cane fall to the floor and brought his hands to Bruce’s waist;
lust flaming his eyes.
“Master, Falcone has enlist in his collaborators Dr Jonathan Crane, the head of
Arkham Asylum” he wanted to delay Ra’s’ advances as much as possible.
Ra’s’ eyebrow rose impressed.
“My other spies didn’t report that... What he wants with him?’’
“He claims that the doctor is a very keen chemist, ingenious in making new
drugs with complex effects to the human body – the doctor is eager to do
anything to secure funding for his experiments; he wants money but mostly to
experiment and discover the human brain’s capacities.”
Al Ghul heaved him with a swift motion to his arms.
“You are precious, my little whore; I knew that your abilities would be very
useful in our fight for justice...”
He laid him flat on the floor and his hands surged under his shirt. His
master’s eyes sparkling satisfied by his information but mostly for Bruce’s
sure submission. Bruce closed his eyes trying to use his master’s instructions
to escape his praying hands that were undressing him.
Tony sighed, realizing that his friend wouldn’t open his heart and mind easily
and he was clumsy making it even more difficult.
As the old aristocratic car took the turn to Falcone tower, Bruce acknowledged
the  flood of  whirring like a busying hive reporters and photographers outside
the impressive skyscraper . They were there because of the events of the
previous night and the scandal of the shadowy businesses in Asia which led to
the shares' sharp dive  in the Asian markets and today were already falling
rapidly in European and US markets. They were waiting for the members of the
board and soon he would be ‘assaulted’ by them.
Indeed, the huge crowd as soon as perceived the grand Rolls Royce stopping in
front of the building, rushed there curious about the passengers.
Tony took Bruce’s hand in his and squeezed reassuringly, smiling to his
friend’s determined gaze. Then, he hoped off the car drawing the frantic
reaction of the reporters and photographers who were at a loss for his presence
here. He hoped to give some time to Bruce to get out of the car peacefully.
In vain. When Alfred opened the door for his young master and the last Wayne
emerged, the ‘beast’ roared and stormed on him with their microphones pointing
to him like loaded guns, their questions bombing him mercilessly and Tony
wished for his Iron Man suit to save his friend.
“It was indeed Batman that saved you from Falcone?”
“Was your deed the wiring of the Manor and the trapping of Falcone?”
“Why Falcone let you live?”
“What will you do now?”
But suddenly Harvey Bullock and Rene Montoya, two of the most trusted
colleagues of Jim Gordon, were there as if from thin air and repelled the
annoying flock. Bullock winking to the young Wayne.
“Jim had a hunch that you would be here today...”
Clark was admiring his Star emerging from the car like a true Prince; his
impeccable new suit giving to his striking figure an imposing air. But it was
his posture that made him different from the scared, too shy boy-toy of the big
boss. His facial wounds were invisible to the strangers however the bags under
his eyes cried his exhaustion and his difficult night.
Bruce unfazed from the roaring of his multi-national colleagues focused his
beautiful, emanating determination eyes for a second on the huge ‘F’ on the
building his father had established and Clark was sure that he would tear it
apart with his bare hands, as soon as he had the chance. He continued his march
to the building’s entrance accompanied by Tony Stark and the two police
officers, and he was so jealous of having to stay with the annoying company and
not being among the supportive escort.
A moment before he entered the building to meet Tony who already was speaking
with Miss Potts and Mr Fox, Bruce turned his gaze to Clark’s place, as if he
had sensed him. Clark focused his eyes on his Star’s sparkling ones and his
Star smiled to him warmly, making the cameras flash to capture that smile
ignorant that this smile was only for him.
Lucius Fox rushed to Bruce and shook his hand, the reporters bursting into
questions about the meaning of that gesture, but the good man patted the young
man on the back, ignoring the reporters and escorted him inside.
“We could have cancelled the meeting of the board, Mr Wayne’’ Clark read
Lucius’ lips.
“We couldn’t, Lucius” Bruce smiled to the man reassuringly “don’t worry about
me.”
Clark’s colleagues were transferring the latest development to their stations,
making assumptions about the ‘resurrected’ Wayne’s presence there, and he made
the same thing to Perry using his iPhone – Lois, to her disappointment was on a
mission to IMF’s convention.
“He is just visiting his father’s company or there is more to this?” one
reporter was saying to the camera “And Tony Stark’s presence here is
intriguing, since the billionaire may be a major collaborator of the former
Falcone Enterprises but he isn’t a member of the board. However, the young
Wayne’s ‘resurrection’ signalizes the death of his father’s company since
Falcone's activities had caused a major dive to the value of the company’s
shares and it is certain that financial ‘sharks’ like Lex Luthor won’t lose
their time to take the control of the failing company. So Bruce Wayne may have
gained his freedom from Falcone’s imprisonment but won’t have the esteemed
position of his father in Gotham’s society and financial sector...”
However, Clark was certain that Bruce – the Batman – had another ace in his
hands, especially since Luthor wasn’t present in the board meeting.
Employees at the foyer were looking at Bruce’s direction, making him feel
awkward. Some of them were old enough to know him since he was a child and were
casting him sympathetic glances, while some younger who knew him only as
Falcone’s toy were looking at him confused and suspiciously.
The members of the board were already seated discussing in high tones what had
happened and the crisis that was threatening their interests. Dagget especially
who had already the 10% of the shares was agitated, flushed and sweaty,
irritated that he failed to catch the weather and exploit the situation to his
interest.
An abrupt silence fell to the vast space when Lucius opened the door for Tony
and his assistance and finally Bruce, showing them to the endless glass
rectangular table. Many eyebrows raised in surprise and annoyance, Dagget among
them. But some others were hesitantly smiling to the young Wayne’s direction.
“What is he doing here?” asked Dagget sharply pointing to Bruce. “And where’s
Earl, he is the CEO after all!”
“I’m afraid that Mr Earl is... currently unavailable; you see he is under
arrest for many indecent things.’’ Fox replied amused from the man’s
irritation. “As for Mr Wayne’s presence here, I must remind you that this is
his father’s company, Mr Dagget”
“Was, Mr Fox, was; he doesn’t have any connection to us anymore. He can live in
the Manor, take whatever the courts decide that belong to him from Falcone but
he has no business here –  we have enough problems without a sick traumatized
puppy among us...”
Some laughed and some looked at him scornfully. But Bruce’s posture was proud,
his eyes steady, unyielding and determined.
“I don’t see any puppy here, Mr Dagget, but if you wonder about my presence
here, I’m here with the same interests as you... If not more...”
Dagget looked at the young Wayne, frowning his brows.
“Falcone has left you his shares? You admittedly have served him more than
satisfactorily all these years, after all...” he laughed sarcastically and some
others did the same.
Bruce touched Tony’s upper arm to calm him down.
“The barest nobility demands to have our guests to sit” Fox intervened “please,
have a seat, Mr Stark, Miss Potts, Mr Wayne” he showed to Bruce the head seat
of the table.
Dagget fumed.
“This is an outrage. We have our company hanging by a shred and you waste our
time with non senses. They aren’t board members so get them out to start
business!”
Fox was sober, his loose expression in an instant replaced by solemnity and
strictness.
“The board meeting can’t be done without its main share holder and the
representative of the abroad companies.”
“The main share holder is in jail and the abroad companies haven’t a
representative because there isn’t one person who has their control.”
He took in suspiciously Pepper Potts giving to each board member a huge folder
ending up to him.
“Unfortunately, Mr Dagget, you are wrong” Tony smirked “I have the control of
the abroad companies and interests of Falcone – now Wayne – Enterprises!”
“That’s impossible!” the man exasperated.
Tony laughed.
“The papers in the folder Miss Potts gave you prove that it is possible...”
Dagget perused the data and reluctantly nodded.
“Okay, okay, so Stark owes a place among us... I guess this corporation has
many dire days ahead to struggle. That didn’t change the fact that this... boy
must leave.”
Bruce pierced him with a solemn gaze and Dagget realized that the toy wasn’t
exactly a toy.
“The board meeting can’t be held without the owner of the company.”
“There’s no owner at the moment!”
“You have him in front of you, Mr Dagget” Bruce snapped “I have the 51% of the
shares in my possession and I think that this makes me the owner of this
company!”
Now, Tony was delighted, making a gesture more appropriate for a pitch than a
board room, evoking Lucius’ smile. The other members were dumbfounded, but
Bruce’s observing eyes though caught in a stare contest with Dagget, saw Mr
Fredericks, a rather familiar and sympathetic figure from his short childhood
gleaming with pride.
“How?” Dagget demanded unable to believe that this boy had managed to beat him
in buying Falcone’s diving shares.
“There’s no creativity in this, Mr Dagget” Bruce shrugged innocently but his
voice vibrated with cleverness. “I bought them...”
“Where did you find the money? You were nothing but a wh... toy, a petty slave,
unless Falcone was paying for your... precious services...”
Bruce felt Tony in the seat behind him writhing and touched his hand
reassuringly, Pepper doing the same.
“My mother has left me the Kane fortune” his eyes were flames in Dagget’s
enraged eyes.
The middle aged man waved his head in disbelief.
“What worse can happen to this company? First a mobster and now a... How we can
be sure that he is indeed the lost son of the Waynes? We trust the words of a
filthy mobster?”
It was Lucius’ turn.
“The fact is that Mr Wayne has the majority of the shares in his hands – you
have the files in front of you. As for his identity, you know that the evidence
from the Waynes’ murders had been destroyed. However, Falcone kept as trophies
from his... feat Mrs Wayne's pearl necklace and Mr Wayne’s wallet with their
blood on them; he had taken the items from  their owners' dead bodies to
persuade everyone that their murders were a mere robbery gone wrong. Their
sample is at the moment crossed with Mr Wayne’s so that any doubt will be
erased.” He nodded to Bruce and he smiled.
“Even if he is a Wayne” Dagget snapped and Tony was boiling “and even if he has
the 51% of the shares this doesn’t give him the position of the president; he
knows nothing of the business and he will be bad for the company’s flailing
image. The only thing he knows is dropping on his knees and sucking...”
Tony was on him before he could finish his sentence; his wrath impossible to be
restrained anymore, his flaming eyes seeing only red and Dagget’s sarcastic
face, his hands heaving him from the lapels ready to smash his face.
But Bruce was instantly there, his warm steady hands touching Tony’s shoulders.
“Please, Tony, don’t...”
This voice he couldn’t ignore, Tony realized reluctantly and slowly turned his
angry eyes to Bruce’s face, letting Dagget from his grip and returning to his
seat without looking at Bruce who returned at the table’s head but didn’t sit.
“I know I have no experience and I know that my... reputation isn’t the best...
But I love this company because it is my family’s creation and my father
cherished it all his life. I think that the best for this company is to have
back the name ‘Wayne’ on its title so that everyone forgets the bad eighteen
years. I don’t have the experience but I have all of you to help me save this
company and restore it to its past glory.”
Lucius stood from his seat.
“I think that anyone being in the dire position Mr Wayne was and achieving not
only to free himself from a tyrant but also to reveal his tyrant’s crimes and
gain back his father’s company, is able enough to be honorably accepted among
us. He managed to thwart Lex Luthor from snatching Falcone’s shares and the
company so I believe that having again a Wayne who ‘came back’ from the dead as
our president will help our company resurrect, too.”
Dagget who was still fixing his jacket and tie after Tony’s attack, casted a
smug glaze at Lucius.
“I’m sure that he didn’t achieve all that by himself; you and that Pennyworth
helped him: he wired the Manor and you intercepted the frequency, the rest was
a matter of luck and coincidence; everyone knew that FBI had a grudge on
Falcone, so when that idiot mobster stole the diamond, jumped on the chance and
if that vigilante who everybody knows that is a government experiment hadn’t
interfered, the boy would have been dead once again. So don’t exaggerate his
abilities. His abilities may be remarkable to other... fields” he looked
somewhat apprehensive at Tony who was fuming silently “but not in this field!”
He downed the water of his glass. Lucius unfazed and amused by his rant, turned
to the other members.
“Regardless of Mr Dagget’s objections, the fact remains that Mr Wayne has the
majority of the shares...”
“51% is not enough for the position of the president; he needs the support of
other shareholders...”
“And he has it” Mr Fredericks raised his respectable voice and looked Dagget
contemptuously and then Bruce nodding. “Bruce, you have my support and thus the
support of the 8% of the shares – I trusted your father and now I lay my trust
in his son. I’m happy you are again among us.”
Bruce nodded pressing his lips together not wanting to look tender but his
emotion was obvious in his eyes.
“And, of course, my support” said Lucius “and that of another 5%”.
Pepper pushed Tony who stood still without looking at Bruce.
“My support and thus my 15% go to Bruce, too. You’re lucky he is here at this
moment of despair for the Enterprises; Stark Industries will assist Wayne
Enterprises to get over this storm but only if Bruce is the president.”
And he left the room without even turning to look at his friend. Bruce was
distraught by his attitude but unable to run behind his friend before the end
of this meeting.
“Well” Lucius beamed to the board and especially to Dagget “Mr Bruce Wayne has
the 51% of the shares and his presidency is supported by a sum of 79%, among
them the significant percent of the aboard companies. So, I say that we can
applause the Wayne Enterprises’ new president and grant him with our support to
fight that crisis.”
The board members applauded but this applause didn’t elevate Bruce’s heavy mood
and as the members of the board one by one shook his hand congratulating him
his only thought was Tony’s wrath. Because he knew that his friend was angry
with him.
 
***** Chapter 25 *****
As soon as the meeting room was empty from the other board members, Bruce found
a hasty excuse to leave Lucius’s and Pepper’s company and hurried to the
corridor. He asked the employees he met and they told him where to go.
Tony was in the end of the corridor gazing at the opposing skyscraper but his
eyes were emotionless, seeing at nothing and Bruce felt a painful clench in his
heart because he knew that his friend’s distress was his fault. He walked
slowly to his place and when Tony didn’t do any motion of acknowledge, touched
tenderly his shoulder.
“What I did wrong, Tony?’’
Tony turned to him and glared.
“You don’t even know what you did, do you?”
Bruce felt his body numb and cold like when Ra’s’ poison was killing him. He
lowered his eyes.
“It is because I stopped you from hitting Dagget? Tony, he doesn’t deserve...”
But Tony didn’t let him finish, grabbed his upper arms.
“Like Chill didn’t deserve to die and for his sake you made Selina  believe
that you hate her? And she helped you go through all these!”
Bruce’s eyes widened in shock.
“I don’t hate her, I... I was just trying to...”
“What?! To belittle your friends, the people who love you, in front of
ruffians? You think that you are a moral compass for all of us? You may
implement your moral authority on Gotham’s outlaws but we are your friends, we
deserve better than being degraded by you in front of strangers as if we are
little children that don’t know what they are doing! Have you ever thought that
you may be wrong?”
Bruce felt his face losing its color. He was just shaking his head, his hand
ruffling his hair. He looked at Tony’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, Tony, I honestly am... I am not more moral than any of you” he
laughed self mockingly “anything but that, I... I am completely rotten... I...”
Tony swallowed hearing Bruce saying those words; a pang pierced his chest. But
his friend didn’t want Tony to be sad. Bruce laughed but Tony understood that
he was pretending.
“I was trying to protect Selina and you; I’m ridiculous” he snapped “it was
ridiculous: me trying to protect you... I couldn’t even protect myself...
Forgive me, Tony, please...” his sparkling eyes were pleading with Tony’s.
He lowered his head and turned, leaving in quick strides Tony alone and the
tycoon from Malibu sighed: they were the same eyes.
“Daddy!” a cheerful sweet child’s voice entered the vast room where Thomas
Wayne was shaking hands with Howard Stark, Tony beside him.
Tony looked to the entrance of the luxurious congress room and saw a tiny child
no more than 4 years old running on his small feet to Thomas Wayne, an
impressively beautiful elegant woman following him slowly laughing.
Thomas Wayne kneeled and hugged the child.
“We were heading to the Manor when he insisted on seeing you...” the woman
answered to Wayne’s questioning look and the man rose taking the boy with him
and kissed her.
“He insisted?”
“I admit: not only him!”
Thomas remembered the presence of his guests and blushed.
“Martha, this is Mr Howard Stark and his son, Anthony. Howard, Anthony, this is
my wife, Martha, and my son, Bruce.”
The adults shook hands and did the same with Tony. Thomas touched Bruce’s tiny
feet on the floor.
“Bruce, this is Anthony, Anthony, this is Bruce.”
Tony stretched his hand and the kid took it smiling sweetly and Tony hated
sweets.
“I’m happy to meet you, Anthony!”
“You're like a kitten, kid!” Tony laughed.
The human ball’s sweet eyes glistened as if they were angry and Tony felt
amused by the little guy’s reaction.
“I’m not a kitten, I’m a boy” the kid kept his calm.
“Yup, you’re right” answered a smartass Tony “a male kitten!” and laughed.
The little guy ground his teeth and while Tony was sniggering he kicked him on
the calf causing him to bend.
Thomas snatched the child and dragged him away from Tony; his kind face red
from embarrassment and anger. He heaved the boy holding him by the upper arms
and looked him sternly in the eyes.
“What you did was rude and mean, Bruce, and you’ll be punished!” the boy
lowered his eyes. “Tonight you won’t have dinner; you’ll go to bed without
eating!”
The boy looked him pleading.
“But, dad, Alfred is cooking cinnamon biscuits and...”
“Then, the lesson will be learnt better, young man!” Thomas was determined and
gave the kid to his mother.
She took him, looking at him sternly but ready to cry with him from sympathy
and the boy cringed to her chest.
Tony couldn’t stand it.
“Come on, Thomas” Howard said before Tony could open his mouth “don’t punish
him, is such an adorable child and Tony can enrage even adults, when he wants
to.”
Thomas shook his head in denial.
“Bruce must learn to control his anger and that there are boundaries he should
not cross.”
The little guy hid more in his mother’s chest and she although didn’t say
anything was rubbing consolingly his tiny back.
“No, Mr Wayne, please” said Tony “it wasn’t Bruce’s fault, I provoked him; it
was mean of me to play with a little kid's feelings. Don’t punish him. If he
won’t eat, I won’t eat either from guilt...”
Thomas smiled relieved and Tony understood that he didn’t want to punish his
little son who was looking shyly and curiously at Tony from his mother’s nest
of a chest.
“Bruce, what we say?” Martha’s sweet voice asked the child.
“Thank you, Anthony...” the boy’s voice was as sweet as his mother.
“And?” Thomas added sternly.
“I’m sorry I kicked you, Anthony...”
Tony laughed.
“It was nothing, little guy, I had worse playing with my friends; and it’s
Tony.”
Martha lowered the boy to the floor and his unique colored eyes focused on him.
“Bruce, take Tony to the cafeteria for a juice” Thomas said to his only son and
Tony followed his lead.
People on their way to the cafeteria which were at the top level of the
building were saluting the small boy, ruffling his hair; the little guy touring
Tony too serious for his age, but the elevator button to the top floor which he
couldn’t reach despite how much he stretched, ruined his adult posture.
Tony half grinning pushed the button.
“Thank you, Tony!”
“You’re welcome, little guy!”
“It’s Bruce!”
Tony chuckled at the boy’s solemn expression.
The waitress of the cafeteria upon seeing the pint-sized child left the bar and
hurried to their direction, kneeling in front of Bruce tousling his shining
locks and kissing him on the rosy cheek. Tony felt jealous: the girl was very
pretty and barely 20 years old; probably a college student working to pay her
studies.
“Hello, Tina, how are you?”
“Hi, Bruce, I’m fine, thanks. What about you?”
“Fine thanks to Tony here; Tony, this is Tina, she is studying to be a doctor.
Tina, this is Tony Stark.”
Tony shook the pretty girl’s hand and Bruce asked her to bring them two glasses
of orange juice.
“Beer for me, Tina”
“No alcohol for minors, sir...” she smiled and went to the bar, Tony appraising
her round shapely ass.
The boy looked at him with widened eyes, not understanding and Tony took his
tiny hand.
“Oh! C'mon, little guy, I have so much to teach you!”
Tina brought their juices and Tony annoyed from her denial of his wish for a
beer stared at her departing moving enticingly ass.
“Why are you looking Tina there?” Bruce asked him confused.
“You're too young to understand...” Tony dismissed him with a wave of the hand.
“No, I'm not!”
Oh! The little guy was too obstinate.
“Tell that to your legs that don’t reach the floor!” he snapped.
“Height isn’t indicative of someone’s age!” the smartass replied.
“Yup, but I bet you're still wearing diapers when you sleep!”
The boy blushed and Tony couldn’t hold his laugh, which caused him a sharp pain
in the shank where the kid’s foot kicked him.
“Oh, you're sneaky!” Tony said but the older boy was laughing more amused by
the kid’s nerve “is not that bad; I was wearing too at your age... You have a
strong kick, kid...”
Bruce took him to the Research and Development department to introduce him to a
friend of his. His friend was a very tall African – American with a bright
smile always on his lips and shining kind eyes.
“Lucius!” the kid yelled and ran to him who immediately squatted to the boy’s
level.
“Good evening, Mr Wayne! You came to inspect your company?”
Bruce looked him confused.
“No, I came to see you and meet you my new friend, Tony Stark: he wants to see
your lab.”
Tony was surprised to hear the little boy calling him ‘his friend’ but he liked
it.
“Nice to meet you, Mr Stark!” the kind man said warmly and took Bruce in his
hug, raising his impressive posture.
“Nice to meet you too, Mr Lucius”
“It’s just Lucius” the man laughed and looked at Bruce’s eyes “you know how to
choose friends, Mr Wayne!”
He was searching for Bruce, but his friend was Batman and when he wanted to
vanish, nobody could find him. Finally, Lucius told him that Bruce was at
Earl's former office; he didn’t want to use Falcone’s office – the office of
Thomas Wayne – before that office was restored to its Thomas Wayne era.
He knocked softly and when he didn’t receive an answer, entered. His friend was
gazing at Gotham from the medium sized window; his eyes serious and grim seeing
at his nightmarish past and full of responsibilities future. His hands were in
his pants’ pockets.
Tony coughed hesitantly and Bruce turned.
“Can I come in?”
Bruce smiled and nodded.
“I was harsh on you, Bruce; I was carried away from my anger at this dork and,
I suppose, the tension of all these last days...”
“Don’t apologize, Tony; you were right. I’m selfish: I believe that I know what
is best for the others, while I don’t even know the best for me...”
“You’re not selfish, don’t say that for yourself: you are the most selfless
person I know.”
Bruce motioned his head negatively and smiled; his eyes expressionless, like
the lenses on his cowl.
“You don’t know anything about me, Tony; I’m not the 8 year old innocent child
you knew. There are too many things between that kid and me that I doubt we are
the same person anymore.”
“Then tell me all these things, Bruce” he held Bruce’s upper arms and looked
him in the eyes “tell me what I don’t know; help me to understand!”
Bruce averted his eyes.
“I can’t, Tony, I’m sorry... The Bruce you knew died that night and I... can’t
tell you about... these. It’s better you don’t know...”
“You think that if I learn what happened all these years, I’ll stop loving you?
I’ll change my opinion for you?”
“No, Tony, no; I know that you’ll love me no matter what...” his voice was so
steady that Tony was surprised.
“Then...”
“I just can’t release the demons... I just can’t... I’m sorry...”
Tony dragged him to his chest; his heart heavy for his friend, his despair
torturous because he felt entirely useless.
A knock at the door disturbed them and after Bruce’s calling, Pepper entered
the office.
“I don’t know about you, boys, but I’m starving; I called Alfred and he is
waiting at the parking to drive us to a good restaurant.”
Tony winked at her.
“That’s a truly splendid idea, my precious!”
But Bruce wasn’t so thrilled.
“You go; I’ll eat something here.”
“You already started to sniff at us, your Majesty?” Tony teased.
“Falcone was showing me off to all these ‘good’ restaurants and I’m not in the
mood right now with all these reporters following me...”
Tony patted him on the back.
“I know a nice cosy restaurant that Falcone would have never gone to; it’s the
place I always go when in Gotham.”
Indeed, it was a small clean restaurant at a quiet neighborhood of the Midtown
and they had avoided the cannibals who were waiting them outside the Wayne
tower frantic to learn details about the rapid movements of Bruce that made him
the president of the Wayne Enterprises – media around the world was already
raving. So everyone was calm, Alfred accompanying them after Bruce’s
insistence.
However, as they were entering the premises a guy who Bruce recognized as one
of Falcone’s paid reporters stormed at them his recording phone on his hand.
“A statement, Mr Wayne.”
“Not now, sir.” He said calmly and tried to follow Pepper and Alfred who were
already inside.
“How do you like the title of my article? Being a Prince after being a Whore!”
he sniggered and Bruce went rigid.
But the guy’s sarcastic smile froze on his lips as Tony smashed his mouth with
his fist.
“That we’ll cost you one million dollars, Stark!”
Tony found his noise this time.
“Now is two million dollars! Back off, before I make you a billionaire,
asshole!”
They entered the restaurant and walked to the table Pepper and Alfred were
already sat, looking them curiously, as Tony was looking discreetly at Bruce
who was entirely calm like nothing had happened.
They ordered and Bruce excused himself heading for the men’s room.
Alfred turned on Tony, eager to finally learn what happened.
“An asshole from Falcone's paid reporters insulted him. I broke his filthy
pan.”
“Oh, my God!” Pepper exclaimed “Those bastards!”
“How did he react?” Alfred asked worriedly.
“He didn’t” Tony moved his head.
Bruce hurried his pace as soon as he knew that his friends couldn’t see him and
entered the bathroom relieved, as if he had escaped an invincible enemy. His
heart was racing; thankfully, nobody was there. He inhaled deeply from his nose
and exhaled slowly to steady his shaking. Then, he walked to the sink to wash
his face; his face that was looking at him through the square mirror. Only that
this wasn’t Bruce Wayne’s face, was the face of a corpse, half-eaten by worms
and half mummified.
He wrapped his torso with his training tunic indifferent and unfazed, as if he
was an ordinary person just waking up to go to his job. Al Ghul was already
standing half naked, not hurrying to cover his endless torso, still sweaty from
his orgasm.
“Come to me, child” he ordered and Bruce his head bowed manifesting respect and
submission approached him.
The older man took Bruce’s face in his palms and pierced the shy eyes.
“You gave me once again pleasure, child, but this doesn’t prove your obedience;
you know that after your sin, I’ll never trust you again.”
“Please, master, forgive me...”
“You know I can’t do that, child” he smiled benevolently but Bruce knew better
“Go find Bane.”
“As you wish, master.’’
Al Ghul ruffled Bruce’s sweaty hair.
“I want to reward him for his loyalty to me. You will grant him your body...”
Bruce’s eyes widened in horror, his entire body frozen “and I’ll watch.”
“But, master, he hates me...”
The older man laughed, his eyes shining satisfied.
“Then, you’ll have to... persuade him” he fisted his locks fiercely “because
your master wants to see you getting fucked by someone else...”
“Falcone and Chill do it every night, master, you can...”
The hold became iron.
“Do you want to infuriate me again?” his voice was low but poisonous and he
just moved his head.
He found Bane at the vast, bare training room; he was naked above the waist,
sweat drops all over his enormous body, his face covered with the silken mask
as always. He turned as soon as he heard the shuffle of Bruce’s feet; his eyes
scolding him because he knew what he was doing with their master.
“Are you done?” he asked sarcastically and Bruce fell on his knees, starting
kissing the man’s bare feet. “Stop that, you slut, I’m not one of those
salivating for you...”
But Bruce didn’t stop although his shame was killing his heart and poisoning
his mind; if he didn’t satisfy Ra’s, someone innocent would pay again. His
hands enveloped his trainer’s calves and caressed as if his life was depended
on that – and really was, not his life but someone else’s.
Bane grabbed his upper arms and lifted him, so Bruce’s eyes were looking on his
cold, angry eyes.
“Your master ordered you to come to me; he wants to watch you getting fucked by
me...” he laughed “and you loathe me, you’re disgusted by me but you’ll do it,
because that is what you are: a whore!”
Bruce could feel his venomously breath, even behind the fabric.
“He wants to reward you for your loyalty...” he answered, his voice steady.
“With you?” he sniggered. “Why not? I had worse bitches than you...Strip!”
He obeyed and he saw Bane’s eyes sparkling with lust although the masked man
wanted to sniff at him.
“Lie on the floor!” and when Bruce obeyed, he kneeled having Bruce’s thighs
between his legs and took the younger man’s arms, tied the wrists together and
stretched them above his head, immobilizing them by bounding the rope at a
wooden column.
Then, he rose, bent Bruce’s legs to the knees and bound the ankles so that they
stayed spread. He stared between Bruce’s thighs and laughed mockingly.
“Ra’s fluids are still inside you!”
Bruce’s body was already shaking from shame, from utter humiliation, he closed
his eyes wishing for this to end soon. He felt Bane’s heavy body lay upon his
own cold, bare naked, his erection already blooming from his subordinate’s
humiliation. His brown sneering eyes were on his.
“Since Ra’s wants to watch his whore being fucked, let’s give him what he
wants!” he breathed in Bruce’s pale face.
His brutal hands squeezed his torso’s muscles, so strongly that forced him to
moan; his head resting to Bruce's neck like he was absorbing Bruce’s heat. He
breathed slowly and raised his head, piercing Bruce’s expressionless eyes with
his mocking ones.
“You’ll see me as I truly am’’ he unwrapped the silken scarf from his head,
showing Bruce his disfigured face.
His malformation was horrible but Bruce didn’t care. His face from the
cheekbones to the jaw was a deep brown suffocated mass, the bones’ angles
protruding aggressively, no flesh underneath the skin, while his mouth had no
lips, only white teeth in two rows. Like the skull of a long dead man.
Bane’s eyes searched Bruce’s for any trace of discomfort.
“I spare the paid whores of this spectacle but you are inferior to them…”
“A decent doctor could restore some of the damage” Bruce told him without
managing to get rid off of the concern that his father always had for people in
pain.
But Bane clenched his jaw and yanked Bruce's face to touch his damaged one.
“Why would I want to restore it? To be good looking? You are outstandingly
beautiful and look what you are… Kiss my face…”
He brushed his lips to the marred cheek, the rough, dried surface cold to his
flesh. Bane closed his eyes.
“You’re really good at this, aren’t you? This is why they have your body
enslaved; besides is your only worth… Kiss my lips…”
He didn’t have any lips and Bruce’s lips were caressing his teeth, grazed by
their sharpness. Bane was scrutinizing his eyes for any sign of disgust.
“You’re not disgusted by me” he laughed and his hands pawed Bruce’s exposed
hips “you’re so full with disgust for yourself that there’s nothing left for
the strangers…”
Bane’s member was fully erected now from Bruce’s lips’ massage on his damaged
face; it was a feeling on his face that Bane had many years to feel.
“Beg me for what your master ordered you to achieve” he said spreading with his
large hands his already open thighs.
“Please”
Bane’s member was so massive as Ra’s’ and the man was purposely causing him
more pain than the pain his master usually caused him and his body convulsed,
trying instinctively to escape, his bound hands fisted, but Bane dragged him
violently to his body. He thrust inside Bruce viciously making the younger man
yell.
“You may be extremely beautiful but actually you are a decaying carcass, a
corpse eaten by thousands of worms and you see it without the need of a mirror.
Beg me to fuck you, say my name, pretty!” he added sarcastically.
“Please, Bane, fuck me…”
Bane’s thrusts had his entire beasty power and his swollen erection was
bursting his insides; the man gritting his teeth with pleasure, his crude
fingers crushing his nipples. His evilly gleaming eyes were absorbing greedily
Bruce’s immense pain and his desperate effort to suppress his grunts of
suffering.
“Don’t hush your pain; I want to devour your pain, your humiliation! Moan,
yell, cry for me!”
A yelp left Bruce’s mouth as Bane withdrew his erection and shoved it again
with all his might, laughing maliciously.
“How do you stand yourself, whore?” he asked mockingly “I would prefer to slay
myself than live the way you do, being everyone’s hooker; the hole for
everyone’s pleasure! I taught you a hundred ways to kill someone with your bare
hands…”
He pushed his fingertips to Bruce’s eyelids to the limit of doing damage and
then his fingers surrounded the younger man’s Adam’s apple and squeezed until
his eyes filled with tears from the lack of air.
“But you don’t have even the decency to finish such an unworthy existence; you
love your hide even if it is the hide of a slithering worm ” he roared pushing
stronger punishing his insides. “Your parents will be very proud of their son!”
his laughter penetrated him more branding than his length. “Even dead, they are
seeing us and they are seeing you every time you give your body, they see you
now, moaning for me, begging to be fucked!”
Bruce’s head rolled to the side; his emotional stamina drained. They were
watching him, they were watching him due to their love for him and they were
seeing him like this: naked, with his legs widely opened, fucked by a vulgar…
No, not this.
Bane’s teeth brushed his sweaty cheek, his hot breath burning his eyelids that
covered his eyes, as the older man ejaculated in him.
“You wish you had died with them that day, you feel dead, you crave to die but
you are too spineless to do it yourself or provoke someone else to do it, so
nobody will cherish you with death. You are too entertaining…”
He left Bruce’s frozen body and stood.
“Untie yourself!” he said contemptuously and left the room, casting a robe to
his sweaty body.
Bruce did what he was told, raised his body laboriously, because his will
wasn’t there and put on his discarded clothes. He returned shuffling to the
room from where his master watched.
He found Ra’s waiting for him, beaming, his eyes glistening with his pure evil
satisfaction and he kneeled before him, his head bowed. Ra’s ruffled his locks
affectionately; grabbed his upper arms and lifted him gently. He kissed his
sweaty, cold cheek.
“Your aroma is more intoxicating after sex” he inhaled deeply. “You satisfied
me completely, today. You’re forgiven, child!” he smiled to Bruce’s hopeful
eyes. “But from now on you won’t be warm with that man, Pennyworth” Bruce felt
his spine more frozen “Even if Falcone brings you two near, you must forget him
and make him forget about you, as well. You’re not his Bruce anymore, you’re my
Bruce only. You can’t have two fathers, Bruce; I’m your father, child. If you
continue to show affection to that butler, I’ll kill him.”
Bruce shook his head negating.
“Besides, it has no meaning letting the man be affectionate to you, when you’ll
be taken for ever from here, when Gotham and Falcone is finished. It’s inhuman
to cause him the pain of losing you for a second time.”
“I’ll do whatever you want, if you spare him and the other people I love.”
“I just watched that, child…” his cold laugh grazed his dead heart.
When their order came and Bruce was still in the bathroom, Tony stood and
rushed there. He opened the door hesitantly and found Bruce immobile in front
of the mirror, his eyes expressionless and dark.
“Bruce? Are you okay?” he walked to him and put his hands on his shoulders.
“Are your wound reopened?”
“He was right, Tony...” he said in a low menacing voice.
“What?” at first he didn’t realize what Bruce meant but then it dawned on him
“No, he wasn’t, Bruce, the bastard wasn’t right; you were abused brutally, you
were forced...”
“You don’t know that, Tony, you weren’t there! I’m a whore and everyone in
Gotham knows that and I know it! And that won’t ever change...” he didn’t turn
to look at Tony.
Tony’s eyes were looking his friend’s empty eyes in the mirror.
“You’re just emotionally tired. Don’t listen to assholes like him; he and the
likes of him are the whores – not you; you are the most pure person of the
world!”
But Bruce’s eyes didn’t change. On the contrary, they seemed more withdrawn.
“I need the night to come; I need to become him, I need to breath!”
Tony held his shoulders and turned him to look in his eyes.
“Not yet, Bruce, you are exhausted, you’re wounded and you haven’t fully
recuperated. Please, Bruce, promise me that you won’t be out yet. I and our
friend will take care of matters on the streets until you’re fully recovered.”
“I can’t promise that, Tony, I need it!”
“Just not yet, Bruce, it’s a suicide to risk everything now; let some days
pass. Think of Alfred and all of us.”
Bruce nodded and after inhaling a couple of times deeply, followed him to the
table, smiling charmingly to everyone; Tony doing the same. However, Pepper was
reading something in her tablet, mumbling inside her teeth.
“What?” Tony asked her.
“They arrested Crane for experimenting on Arkham Asylum's patients and for
unauthorized creation of dangerous drugs – temporary Police Commissionaire
Gordon had information and evidence of his deeds...”
“I guess Batman couldn’t stand the torturing of those poor souls...” Bruce
commented.
“I guess he didn’t...” Pepper answered.
Tony coughed, sensing that the mood had became gloomy.
“You'll come to Malibu and you along, Alfred. Bruce needs a little tan; not
that he can compete with my deviant color...”
Bruce laughed carefree.
“I wouldn’t even dream of it, Tony! But I must settle some things first and
there’s Falcone’s trial.”
“Already?” Peppers asked.
“Harvey Dent called me earlier and told me that the Supreme US court will
assemble in a week and I’m the main witness against Falcone concerning the
murders...”
“It’s too soon...”Alfred remarked.
“They want to end as soon as possible with Falcone due to the severity of the
case and... I think that it is better that way.” Bruce answered.
Tony shook his head and looked Alfred behind his fork. They shared the same
uncertainty about the chosen time of the trial.
“Ha!” Peppers exclaimed enthusiastic “The shares are finally stabilized with a
rising tendency: our Press Release about our support to Wayne Enterprises and
their new President, the news that Tony holds the 15% of the shares and that
Bruce is the new President were warmly welcomed by the markets. And they
changed already Falcone’s name with Wayne at the title – it seems that the
mobster didn’t have many friends in the field.”
Bruce smiled and inhaled relieved. Tony patted him on the back.
“I told you that I’m high valued on the market!”
Pepper rolled her eyes.
“Your surname is high valued not your... charming character, Tony!”
Tony raised his eyebrows mock-hurt.
“That, my friend” he winked to Bruce “is called ‘female adoration’, she is
crazy about me! The professor will teach you everything!”
“Don’t you dare ruin Bruce, Tony...” the red head mock threatened him.
 
***** Chapter 26 *****
Chapter Notes
     Someone told me that my writing has many flaws and mistakes,
     especially concerning naturality in the dialogues, so I'm sorry for
     that and any other inconvenience and I'd like to thank you for
     reading the story, despite all that.
Lois was wiping her tears with Clark’s handkerchief as they were exiting the
courtroom at the Justice Hall of Metropolis where the Supreme US court was
assembled to try Carmine Falcone. Clark was keeping his tears behind his eyes
though his entire existence was trembling ready to explode.
‘You will always be my whore!’ the stinking criminal had yelled just a minute
ago as he was dragged chained to the Metropolitan Police’s cells; his wrath
aimed at his former captive, his former slave who had just finished his
torturous endless testimony.
Harvey Dent who was appointed as this case's prosecutor, due to his successful
administration that lad to Gotham’s Emperor’s arrest, was insistent in
revealing every detail of the man’s cruelty and Clark was many times during the
testimony ready to storm the US attorney to let his Star alone. He was still
angry with him. But his Star was so brave...
“He is so brave...” Clark jerked believing that his thoughts burst out from his
exhausted by the unbelievable brutality mind, but it was Lois who exclaimed.
Clark just nodded; he didn’t want to disclose every adjective he was having in
his mind describing Bruce.
“I expected him to crack at some point – his testimony lasted many hours – but
he continued to answer Dent’s challenging questions and elaborate whenever
needed, calm and collected during the entire plight.”
“And when the Judge concerned asked him if he needed a break, he denied it.”
Clark commented nonchalant.
Lois blew her nose.
“But eventually the Judge was forced to make a recess, because some members of
the jury were at the edge of fainting or vomiting... Such inhumanity! If I had
the nerve, I’d kill that bastard!”
Clark nodded absent minded; the same urge flooded him many times during the
five hours Bruce’s testimony lasted. He gladly would abandon his Superman role,
if it was for punishing this man as he deserved... But his Star didn’t want him
a killer, even for Falcone; his Star valued human life even if that life was
Falcone’s, otherwise he would have killed him with his bare hands.
“And Alfred with Stark were hearing all these...” Lois’ moved voice woke him
“oh! What can they do to heal that soul? They must feel completely helpless...”
Clark knew the sentiment because he was feeling the same.
“Where is Bruce going?” Lois asked and nudged Clark to the opposite direction
of the building’s exit where they were heading.
Clark looked at his direction puzzled. Bruce was approaching a hunched man sat
in a bench.
The hunched man hearing the quiet footsteps raised his head and Clark
recognized one of the witnesses against Falcone, a former henchman who was
targeted by the Grey Wolf when attempted to leave his gang. Batman had saved
him.
The man took in Bruce’s shy smile and Clark saw his eyes gleaming with tears.
 He saw the skinny boy dragging his surely beaten exhausted body to the stairs
leading to the basement; his crippled arm hanging like a piece of wood from his
shoulder, evidently hurting the boy more today than the other days. And he knew
that after everyone went to their beds, the boy would be sweeping and mopping
the cabaret before finally resting at his frozen cell...
He knew that the boss was giving him only a piece of bread each day and the boy
was starving as his tiny for his age body proved; he was surprised that the boy
was still alive...
He couldn’t stand this. Okay, he was a thug, he was an outlaw, a bastard that
beat his boss’ targets and collected ‘taxes’ and he respected his boss’ wishes,
but he couldn’t bear seeing a little boy so hungry and abused – the boy didn’t
do anything wrong after all, he just happened to be born a Wayne: he was at the
warehouse when Chill brought the kid after he had kidnapped him...
He rose from his corner unseen by his half drunken ‘pals’ and approached
hastily, so that nobody notice him, the boy who upon seeing a thug coming near
him flinched, withdrawing as much as he could at the corner, his sparkling eyes
defeated. He knew that many of his ‘pals’ were molesting the child when found
him alone in some corner of the cabaret. He had seen many of them pawing and
sucking the boy.
The boy looked him for a second at the eyes, as if pleading with him, and then
casted them in the floor, remembering that in this place there was no room for
pity for him.
He squatted before the frightened child but didn’t touch him.
“I won’t touch you, son; don’t be afraid...”
The boy raised a bit his sweet eyes but didn’t dare look him in the face.
He brought out of his pocket a small cheap chocolate that he had bought for his
own son and offered it to him, but he didn’t make a move to take it.
“Take it; I know you are starving. Unless you’re allergic to chocolate, do you
remember if you are?”
The boy shook his head negatively.
“Hide it and eat it, when you’re alone. I’ll try to bring you some real food
tomorrow. You are... how old? 11 years?” the child nodded “as my Ares...” he
smiled.
The boy’s eyes pierced him with a flame of interest.
“Ares? As the ancient Greek God of War?” the boy asked excited.
“You know? What a clever boy you are! Yes, indeed. We are of Greek origins, we
came in Gotham for better luck but...” his eyes were lowered for an instant.
“Anyway, Ares is at your age and he is almost twice your height and weight. He
eats three meals a day and many snacks in between.”
The boy’s head sank and the thug's heart clenched with sympathy. Surely the
poor boy was remembering the good years of his prematurely ended childhood when
his parents were providing him the proper food. He ruffled the boy’s hair and
he was happy that he didn’t cringe.
“I’ll try to bring you food every day, whatever I can... Hold on, son, maybe
something will change... maybe... maybe Mr Falcone’s rage ebbs and he gives you
more food and a better room...”
But the boy’s eyes weren’t convinced yet he didn’t cry. He took hesitantly the
offered chocolate.
“Thank you, sir” he said his voice full of gratitude although the chocolate was
really cheap.
Some days later, they noticed that the boy had gained some weight and Chill
tried to find who gave him food, beating up the kid. But the boy didn’t divulge
anything, enduring the slaps and blows but denying till the end that anyone
gave him food.
After that he didn’t dare to approach again the poor boy; he had his own kid to
think… But the boy didn’t even cast a glance to his direction, not wanting to
betray him to Chill, who was constantly watching the boy.
“Mr Wayne, forgive me…” he said taking Bruce’s hands in his “I didn’t do
anything to help you, I just watched and shrugged it off… I’m sorry…”
“I have nothing to forgive” Bruce tightened his hold to the man’s hands and sat
beside him. “You couldn’t have achieved anything but causing your death and
leaving your kid an orphan… You helped me, showing me kindness…’’
The man looked at Bruce’s face.
“Someone called me and said that a job is offered to me by the Wayne
Enterprises and that I won’t be imprisoned because you vouched for me…”
“Indeed, Mr. Petrou. We need good people like you; and Gotham also…” he patted
the man’s back.
“Thank you, Mr. Wayne, but I’m not worthy of such kindness; I should be in
jail, I must pay for my crimes.”
“Your testimony against Falcone was crucial and with the testimonies of Flass
and Falcone’s victims his conviction is certain; so you are more than worthy of
a second chance. You are a very good man, Mr. Petrou and I’m glad I met you
even in such dire conditions.”
He shook once again the man’s hands.
“I’ll see you at the Wayne Tower.”
 He smiled to the man and stood to walk to the building’s back exit.
“Mr. Wayne!”
It was Harvey Dent, but the young attorney didn’t come nearer from where he
stood some feet away from Clark and Lois, so Bruce covered the distance. Mr.
Petrou looked at the young attorney sadly.
“I hope he apologizes” Lois said to Clark who unlike her was hearing
everything.
“For doing his job?” he commented but he shared Lois’ grudge.
Harvey hurried to shake Bruce’s hand, smiling warmly.
“Thank you, Mr. Wayne; your testimony was the tombstone of Falcone’s. You are
very brave.”
Bruce smiled and shook his head dismissing the praise.
“I’m not, Mr. Dent. I just narrated the facts.”
“You are very modest. By the way,” Harvey ruffled his own hair embarrassed “I’d
like to apologize for being so… insistent on details; I understand that it was
awful for you but…”
Bruce smiled reassuringly to him but Clark knew that his soul was in turmoil.
“You did your job, Mr. Dent, and I’m glad you did it in the best possible way;
please, don’t worry about me.”
Harvey didn’t seem convinced and Clark wasn’t either.
“You know” Harvey said changing the subject “I’ve been promoted.”
“This is very pleasant; you certainly deserve it.”
“They positioned me in Gotham temporarily until a new clean DA is elected and
the city finds her” he thought to say ‘normality’ but normal for Gotham wasn’t
a good thing “peace.”
Bruce nodded.
“That’s splendid news for Gotham: the city and her citizens need a formidable
and reliable man of law. Gotham deserves a second chance, as this man over
there” he showed with his eye Mr. Petrou at the bench. “He was trapped in
Falcone’s payroll to secure his family’s survival but he is a good man; he
showed me kindness and helped me risking his life. He tried to escape Falcone
and the mobster would have killed him, weren’t for Batman.”
Harvey nodded; of course, he knew all that; he had examined the man.
“I trust him so much that I vouched for him to not be imprisoned and I gave him
a decent job in Wayne Enterprises, so that he finds his peace but…
Unfortunately, some years ago, his son, a proud and dignified young man upon
learning that his father worked for Falcone left him and since then he didn’t
see him again – and his wife died from cancer… If I was a detective, I’d have
tried to find his son and tell him how great his father is and how much he
helped a weak child to see a bit of light in the dark. And I’d have pleaded
with him to give a second chance to his father…” he patted Harvey’s upper arm
“Have a lovely day, Mr. Dent”
He smiled to a dumbfounded Harvey Dent and turned to the opposite direction,
which led to the Justice Hall’s back exit.
“Why is he going from the back exit?” Lois asked.
Clark sighed.
“Obviously, he wants to avoid the carnivorous pack of our colleagues in the
front.”
“But Alfred and Stark went that way and he must not be alone after all this.”
Clark agreed with her.
“Maybe he has told them and they wait for him…”
“Look Dent!” she nudged Clark.
The young attorney approached shyly Mr. Petrou at the bench and the middle aged
man raised his humble eyes and looked at him fret.
“Dad…” Harvey whispered and squatted in front of the man.
“Ares… How I missed you!”
Harvey hugged the man and Mr. Petrou cried on his son’s broad shoulder.
Clark’s heart flooded with warmth and Lois’ curiousness peaked.
“What is that?!”
“That, Lois, is a man’s grandeur!”
 
Bruce was walking at Metropolis’ crowded streets, so crowded that they didn’t
take notice of Bruce Wayne among them, absorbed in their daily routine and
worries. He needed to walk alone and breathe; the sun shining although still in
winter. This city was so different than Gotham: shiny, bright, cheerful;,
far from the nightmares.
He would return to their hotel soon, he didn’t want to cause dread to his
friends, though they mustn’t be afraid because now he had nothing to prevent
him from defending himself. He just wanted to clear his mind and return to them
relaxed; he hated to be gloomy while in their presence: they didn’t deserve to
suffer because of him. As Selina who he didn’t manage to find, although he had
searched to apologize, – probably, she left Gotham thinking that the man for
whom she risked her life hated her.
He didn’t know Metropolis, so he let his legs carry him wherever they wanted;
he would take a cub to the hotel.
Children’s laughter and chatting caught his cloudy mind. He looked puzzled; a
school yard.
“I’m here to take you home, Mr. Wayne; I’m Joe” a cheerful voice and two even
more jubilant eyes welcomed him, when he approached the Wayne Enterprises car
that was parked in front of the school yard as every day after the school’s
dismissal.
But the man wasn’t Alfred; he hadn’t seen him again. He was tall, too tall,
even for someone older than his own 8 years and his body was of a giant, like
the rugby players he saw at TV; he had a long blond ponytail and a tooth
earring was dangling on his ear. He had the Wayne Enterprises’ employee uniform
and the hut, but his smile created a cold feeling in his belly.
“Where is Alfred?” he asked frowning.
“He accompanies Mrs. Wayne to some errands.”
“Then I’ll wait for my father” he snapped stubbornly.
The unknown employee smiled carefree but Bruce felt awkward.
“Your father is in surgery and will be there for many hours.”
“I’ll call him!”
He brought out his cell phone from his school bag and called his father’s cell.
He waited patiently but after several attempts, only the answering machine
spoke to him. His innocent eyes were looking at the man’s amused face, the
answering machine repeating for the third time the same thing.
“I told you that your father is busy.”
But Bruce didn’t answer and called instead Leslie’s office, but she didn’t
answer either. His little heart began beating disappointed. His mother’s phone
was inaccessible, too; he knew that in the homeless’ shelter the reception was
bad.
He pushed the button to stop the call and stared at the man, his little eyes
disappointed and confused, but he didn’t want to enter the car with that
stranger.
“What we do, little Prince?” the man said carefree but Bruce thought that he
sensed irritation.
“I’ll call Wayne Enterprises.”
“What a clever small child!” the man laughed “Well done, kid, you must not get
in strangers’ cars. Call Mr. Earl, he’ll affirm to you that I work two years
now for your father and you can trust me and we, at last, go home.”
Bruce didn’t fell for the man’s praise but Mr. Earl reassured him that Joe was
indeed working for them two years now and he had sent him to pick him from
school, since Alfred was preoccupied escorting his mother. Bruce closed the
phone somewhat relieved and raised his eyes to the man’s unmarred face which
was beaming.
“Well, Mr. Wayne? Do you trust me now? Can we go?”
The boy bowed his head.
“I’m sorry, sir, I doubted you…”
“Oh! It doesn’t matter” Joe waved nonchalant opening the back door for him “you
are a very bright young man” he fastened the seatbelt around Bruce’s tiny body
“you are doing well to be so cautious; there are many bad people and your
father has enemies.”
“Enemies?” the boy agape asked the man as he was taking his place at the
driver’s seat.
His father was so good that everyone loved him; he couldn’t have enemies, only
friends. He gazed at the passing street and the people, as he loved to do, but
this street was unfamiliar.
“This is not the road Alfred takes …”
The smiling man turned his head to him.
“There are many roads that lead to your Manor, Mr. Wayne.”
Bruce felt again uncomfortable.
“I want the same road!” he thought that he sounded like a spoiled brat but he
didn’t care.
The man kept smiling.
“A horrible accident happened in that street and the traffic has stopped. This
is the reason Mr. Wayne is so preoccupied and couldn’t come himself to take you
from school, he is treating injured people.”
He tried to feel soothed but he couldn’t; suddenly, the seatbelt was
suffocating him. He wanted so much to reach home.
He looked outside hoping to see the trees and bushes that covered the scenery
towards his home. But he was met with ugly, grim buildings and loitered
streets. The car was taking him to the Narrows; he jerked.
“Why are you taking me to the Narrows?” he struggled to not sound panicked.
Joe turned back calmly, smiling soothingly.
“I thought you wanted to see your father to calm down; we go to Leslie
Thompkins’ free clinic.”
But the streets were unfamiliar and he could see the sea.
“No, we are not! Where are you going me?” he rushed to take his cell from his
school bag to call for help.
But Joe turned the wheel abruptly and Bruce lost his balance, the cell jumping
away from his hands, sliding to the front seats away from him. He brought his
shaking from panic hand to unclench his seatbelt and the man steered once again
swiftly the car and the belt hurt too much his chest. He coughed.
The man turned to him; the smile vanished from his face.
“You better be a good kid, brat. The doors are locked and if ya continue trying
to cause troubles, the only thing ya'll manage is me smashing yar cute pretty
face!” he roared “Do ya want that?!”
Bruce knew that he couldn’t do anything while the car was in full speed; he’ll
only manage to wound himself and then escape would be impossible. He was doing
self defence lessons so he could try to flee, when the stranger stopped the
car. So he swallowed and relaxed in his seat.
“Good boy!”
He was watching eagerly their surroundings to orient himself when he’d escape
but that part of the city was completely unknown to him. There were endless
rows of old warehouses and he could see the sea. He was taking him to the
decks.
The man led the car inside a huge warehouse and Bruce could see many people
waiting there with guns in their hands – he shuddered. A man around forties
stood imposing among the others and as they were approaching, the boy noticed
his wolfish characteristics.
He was scared and he wanted his parents and Alfred and Tony to rush there and
take him away but they didn’t know what had happened to him, so he must save
himself.
The car stopped and Joe stepped out, coming to his side and opening the door.
He bent to unfasten Bruce’s seatbelt and the boy kicked him in the face, as his
sensei had taught him, causing the man to fall backwards. He rushed to the
bright exit of the building but several barrels of automatic rifles blocked his
way aiming at him, the sounds of arming creepy, and the door to the building
closed, hiding the sun and burying Bruce’s hopes.
He felt a cruel hand clenching his upper hand and forcing him to look at Joe’s
bruised by his kick face; the man was furious and his teeth shone.
“Ya know what these things” he pointed to the guns “do to bad kids like ya?” he
shook him violently and Bruce nodded his eyes ready to cry .
The man dragged him in front of the wolfish plumb man who was laughing.
“So, the little kitten is a kicking tiger! Bring him inside, Chill!”
They dragged him to a small bare room with only one short chair. Chill under
the eyes of the wolfish man shoved him to the chair and grabbed his small hands
pulling them behind; the chair’s back between them stretching them painfully.
He moaned.
“Shut up! Ya kicked me in the face: I should have smashed yar little bones,
little shit! Ya're lucky yar father has money!”
The wolfish man laughed and kept laughing delighted while the man, Chill, tied
his wrists together with a grazing rope, then bound his upper arms to the
chair’s back’s bars and at the end he tied his ankles separate, each one at a
different leg of the chair. He had tied him too tightly; it hurt so much that
he looked pleading at the wolfish man’s eyes.
“Please, sir, untie me…”
But the wolfish man raised his massive hand and slapped his face, the force of
the blow such that tossed him along with the chair to the floor. His eyes
immediately burst into tears, the wolfish man leaving the room laughing louder.
Chill raised the chair and settled it in the middle of the room.
“Suits ya!’ he hissed in his ear and left the room locking and a click from
outside sank the room in darkness and Bruce’s heart to despair.
But he was a big boy now; he must not act childish, he must not cry for his
mommy although he was already missing her, he must do something. So he
struggled with his restraints, but he had bound him too tightly and every
movement bruised and scratched his skin. And soon he was exhausted and in pain,
while his bounds were unyielding.
He felt disappointment crushing his heart and mind, yet he gritted his teeth;
maybe he’d find a chance. Maybe these men take the money and let him free to
return to his parents.
His stomach gave a grumbling sound; he was so hungry… It must have been hours
since they grabbed him from the school: if he were home, he would have eaten by
now and started his homework or he would have been speaking with Tony on the
phone. Tony… He will laugh at his face when hears how easily they kidnapped
him… No, Tony will be distraught and mad at those men, if he finds out.
The chair’s metallic back was piercing his back and the restraints cut deeply
his flesh and his face was swelling from the blow that horrible man gave him;
he was feeling his whole body numb and protesting, complaining for some rest.
And he wanted to sleep; to sleep and wake up at his bed, his mom consoling him
after the nightmare. But how could he sleep on an uncomfortable chair, with his
limbs in binds and so much cold?
However, his eyelids were very persistent and he let them cover his tired eyes.
A rough sound jerked him from his restless, dreamless sleep and his sleepy eyes
were welcomed by cruel white light and a sniggering Joe.
“The little Prince likes our premises?” he mocked him and Bruce hated that he
was calling him ‘Prince’.
The giant didn’t wait for an answer and squatted in front of their prisoner, a
market croissant in his hand; its smell so torturing for Bruce’s hungry stomach
that his mouth was salivating.
“Are ya hungry, kid?” he smiled evilly and Bruce nodded. “Ya eat these things
or yar parents feed ya only caviar?’’
“I do, sir.”
The man brought the tantalizing food to Bruce’s mouth but as soon as the child
opened his mouth to take a bite, he pulled it away. Bruce’s eyes sank and he
looked at the mocking man; Alfred would have never played with his hunger.
“Yar parents haven’t taught ya manners? Say the magic word!”
“Please, sir”
“Good boy!” he brought again the food to the kid’s mouth and this time let him
eat it but forcing him to stretch his head to manage to reach it. Actually, it
was more laborious than soothing.
Then, he opened a bottle of water and gave him to drink. He was drinking like
he had been walking in a desert and finally had found an oasis, yet he still
noticed the man’s index finger brushing his cold cheek.
“Ya'are a very beautiful child, more beautiful than the pictures show ya...”
He laughed, closed the bottle and threw it to the floor, standing to leave the
room.
“Please, sir’’ Bruce hurried to stop him before leaving and he turned curious
“may I use the bathroom? Please?” his eyes were pleading and Chill nodded.
He squatted again, untied his legs, staring Bruce warning him not attempt to
kick him again and closed his ankles in a pair of handcuffs. Then, unbound his
upper arms and raised him, grabbing him from the lapel of his jacket, without
releasing his wrists.
The giant dragged him through a filthy, smelling corridor to a small bathroom
and led him to stand in front of the stinking cubicle. Bruce felt his stomach
sick with disgust but he knew that if he protested, he’d be left to pee
himself. However, he couldn’t expect him to do it with his hands tied on his
back, could he?
“Please, sir, if you could tie my hands in front so I could...”
“No, way, tiger!”
He chortled and Bruce felt with dread the man’s large hands unbuckling his belt
and then unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers. He trembled and his body
jerked instinctively but Chill pressed him with his mass to the toilet and
lowered the boy’s trousers and underwear, leaving him completely exposed. It
wasn’t the dire cold that froze his heart.
His tremor worsened when the giant’s hand took his penis and his fingers
started to caress his flesh.
“Ya like that, kid?” his voice was deep.
Bruce had his eyes closed; it was the most humiliating thing he experienced and
the worst moment of his life. He felt his cheeks flushed and his heart racing.
“No, sir, please stop...”
“I never touched a Prince before... Ya're so soft like melt chocolate...”
Chill’s other hand was stroking his testicles and he wanted to scream for help,
but he knew that no one would care and the man would be furious.
“Well, kid? Ya asked for the bathroom...”
But he couldn’t, not while the man was holding him and... A sudden violent slap
on his buttock made him yell and relieve himself.
“Maybe ya want to do something more?” he asked sarcastically and laughed when
Bruce wide-eyed shook his head in negation.
The man dressed him hastily and dragged him to his cell where the wolfish man
was waiting.
“Tie him! Ya'll speak to yar dad, brat; aren’t ya happy?”
Bruce’s heart jumped excited although he was once again tied to that rough
chair. He would be soon at his home and his mom and Alfred would tuck him to
sleep.
“I have something precious to ya!”
The Wolf said to his cell and Bruce thought that that was a very pathetic
phrase, too much cliché – he had heard the same phrase in many movies he
watched with Tony.
“Oh! Ya're too clever, Mr Wayne! I’m sure ya're too clever to reassure the
police that ya've found yar son and that everything was a big misunderstanding
and not attempt to alarm them or anyone else to try locate us: ya know how
rotten Gotham's police is. I’ll find out and then ya'll find the carcass of
yar sweet little Prince in the garbage bin in front of Wayne Enterprises.” He
paused for a couple of seconds “Okay, ya'll speak to him!”
He came near Bruce and pressed the phone on his ear, his father’s voice the
gentlest caress he ever had.
“Bruce, are you alright? Did they hurt you?”
“No, daddy, I’m fine... I’m sorry, daddy...”
“You did nothing wrong, my son. Don’t be afraid; you’ll be soon home. Mommy is
here...”
But the Wolf took away the cell and put it to his ear.
 “Now that’s an excellent question: what I want? Well, they say that a child is
the most precious thing for a parent... So, if ya don’t want little Bruce being
cut to tiny pieces – or maybe ya prefer to replace him with another child? –
ya'll give me everything: the Manor, the company’s shares, the bank
accounts...” He paused again and his face reddened “Isn’t it easy and it’ll
take time?” he pressed the button ending the call.
He paced for a minute fuming and stopped abruptly, his gaze burning Bruce who
immediately flinched.
“I’ll show yar father how easy it could be...”
He gestured to the giant and left his cell; Bruce trembling for what was to
come.
They returned after some minutes and Bruce looked puzzled at them setting a
camera opposite him. Another man switched on the camera and the wolf beamed.
Chill smiled creepily to Bruce’s confused eyes.
“Don’t tell me ya're afraid of cameras? Ya're a celebrity after all!”
“Mr. Wayne, I think that ya already know who I am and how ruthless I am. I got
yar little son and ya the things I want. Ya say that if I want to take what I
wish, it’ll take time.” He leaned to the lens of the camera “Now I’ll
demonstrate to ya that I, Falcone, am an impatient man and that unlike ya I do
things rather quickly...”
He made a signal to Joe and he approached the chair where Bruce was tied,
kneeled and took off the boy’s left shoe and sock revealing his tiny foot, his
big toe distinctly embroidered with a small birthmark who resembled a leaf.
“Is yar blade sharpened?” Falcone smiled evilly.
Chill nodded and pulled out of his coat a huge cleaver, its blade bigger than
Bruce’s head and with his other hand snatched the boy’s bare foot.
Bruce understood and his heart stopped; his breaths frantic.
“No, please, please, sir...”
Falcone turned to the crying little boy and smiled satisfied.
“Is yar father’s fault, bambino...”
“No!” Bruce tried desperately to free his foot from the giant’s clench but he
hadn’t any difficulty to steady him.
His blade grazed his toe spilling a little blood and the boy closed his eyes,
his heart aching from the crazy beats.
“Please!”
A scream pierced the room when his begging was answered with the blade invading
his flesh, cutting the base of his toe up to the middle. His body was trembling
uncontrollably, his foot convulsing to avoid the excruciating pain, his
pants like an asthma attack. His screams and whines flooding his throat as the
blood was dropping abundantly to the floor.
“No, no, please... It hurts!”
“Finish the job!”
Falcone ordered and Joe pushed his blade punishingly slow till the end of the
soft flesh, the small toe dropping to the giant’s enormous hand and Bruce
yelling, crying and writhing in his ties until exhausted let his head fall to
his spent chest.
Falcone took the bloodstained piece of flesh and presented it to the camera.
“As ya see, I can be really quick, so ya must be the same level quick, if
ya want some piece of your little Prince to be left...”
Bruce was consumed by darkness unable to make out anything more; there was only
pain and heartbeats in his mind even when he fainted.
***** Chapter 27 *****
Bruce blinked and the pavement where he was walking now was less crowded; some
people turning and looking at him, impressed by his expensive suit but
otherwise without recognizing... Or maybe recognized him: in the corner was a
stand with newspapers and magazines, the Time’s full cover page with his face,
taking the entire front row of the stand; The Prince returns to his throne: How
the pawn checkmated the King read the title in the right side of the picture.
Just when he turned that corner to avoid his face, a girl was watching at her
tablet the Daily Planet’sweb page where a formidable Lois Lane was recounting
what happened during his testimony and butchering Falcone on a live broadcast.
The girl sensing someone passing raised her eyes and looked at him, her
expression immediately saddened and compassionate. Bruce realized that now
everyone knew the truth about him. He hurried his strides to evade people.
He didn’t know if hours or days had passed; a man had come sometime and took
care of his maimed foot. At another instance they tried to feed him but his
body was so tense and his heart so weak in tremor that he couldn’t eat
anything. Nor sleep. He just let his sweaty, although the room was cold, head,
hung on his chest; his foot throbbing and aching all the time.
They rushed in and untied him from the chair and even let his hands free. He
caressed his aching, swollen wrists as they were dragging him to a car, the
giant and Falcone to either side of him. His red tear drained eyes looked out
of the window the street; they were heading to the Midtown.
He looked longingly outside the normality of the illuminated cars passing them,
going to their homes, to their families and he wished with all his heart that
he’d be at his bed tonight.
The car took a turn and stopped inside a dark deserted alley. He jumped upon
seeing his parents standing at the middle of the alley waiting, his father
holding a huge pack of papers and his mother fisting her hands at her sides.
Falcone opened the door and stepped out of the car. Bruce made a hasty movement
to follow forgetting completely his wounded suffering foot but the giant’s hand
pinned him violently to the seat.
The Wolf strutted to his parents, stopping before his father and smiling self
confidently. Bruce saw his father pressing his lips in a tight line and his
mother fuming ready to rip the mobster to pieces.
“Brought the paperwork?” Falcone told Thomas.
“You brought Bruce?”
Falcone turned his head towards the car and nodded. The giant took Bruce by the
upper arm and brought him out for his parents to see, Martha struggling to not
rush to him, Bruce writhing among Chill’s iron hands which were keeping him
glued to his gigantic body. Martha enraged that the thug had his filthy hands
on Bruce’s small body, made a mental note to give the boy a hot, sanitizing
bath to clean him from those men’s filth.
The mobster made a demanding gesture, stretching his hand and Thomas gave him
the papers.
A second car entered the alley and stopped right beside Falcone’s. A man
stepped down, buttoning indifferent his jacket and approaching Falcone.
Thomas’ and Martha’s eyes widened shocked.
“Earl?! You bastard! You betrayed us and endangered Bruce!”
“You did that, Thomas, by throwing so much money to the Narrows, putting my
interests in jeopardy and degrading me by not making me the CEO of the company.
Mr. Falcone will right this injustice and make the Enterprises bloom.”
“This is insane!” Thomas exclaimed.
The mobster looked impatient; tossed the papers to Earl.
“Make sure everything is okay!”
The keen entrepreneur and lawyer didn’t need much time to affirm that
everything was legitimate – the Wayne fortune ‘sold’ to Carmine Falcone, Thomas
Wayne’s signature on the papers. The mobster turned beaming to his henchman.
“Give the child to his mother”
Bruce needed only the slight loosening of the giant’s hold to rush to his
mother who kneeled to the filthy cement mindless of her expensive coat and
dress, her arms opened to envelope her little son in her warm and safe hug.
She tightened her embrace as she felt her child shivering not only from the
cold, his small head nestling in her chest, wanting but being unable to relax
so that tears of relief wash out his terror. Her hands were rubbing the
fragile, shaking back; her lips kissing his dirty hair. The boy’s small fingers
sensing her back desperately to be certain that she was real; his tiny heart
was racing and Martha feared for his health.
She took Bruce’s face in her hands and kissed his cold, drained from the
harshness cheeks, her eyes shedding the tears her son couldn’t.
“I’m here, Bruce, mommy is here and won’t let anyone hurt you again. My baby,
my angel...” she kissed him again unable to get enough of him “It was only a
nightmare, sweetie, you will forget it; we’ll leave this awful city and we’ll
go to Malibu: there is always sunshine and the sea is warm and we’ll be close
to Tony” she was smiling broadly desperate to see her son relaxing and smiling
to her, to regain hope “You and Tony will be every day together from now on, do
you want that, baby?”
Bruce smiled a bit hesitantly and nodded and Martha hide his head to her chest,
crying with sobs.
Falcone sniggered at the scene.
“What a touching scene! Chill, kill the boy!”
Bruce didn’t understand what happened; he was suddenly drowning in a nightmare.
Martha pushed him behind her and her body jerked violently four times, each
time the giant’s gun spilled fire and roared. His widened in terror eyes
watched his mother collapsing to the ground, his father rushing to her,
screaming her name, one of the fires finding his body on the chest sending him
beside his beloved wife’s dead body, writhing from agony and emotional pain.
Bruce, his knees unable to support his body, crawled to them. His eyes filled
with tears upon seeing glassy his mother’s warm sweet eyes which a second
before were warming him up; these eyes were staring at nothing. Her loving
chest was flooded with warm blood. His father, his mouth filled with gargling
blood and his eyes full with love for his son, turned to him.
“Run, Bruce...”
“No, I won’t leave you!” his sobs were drowning his words.
“We love you, Bruce, run! Run!”
His father struggled to raise his body, covering his son who stood in his feet
and crying started running, his eyes still on his parents, seeing Falcone
executing his father.
“Stop the boy!” the mobster cried and his driver started firing on his fleeing
small body.
Bruce cried louder feeling an excruciating pain at his arm and immediately
another one, bashing his arm and making his legs trembling more. But his father
wanted him to run, so he kept running without seeing anything, the water in
front of his eyes covering the world; a world that ended.
‘Run, Bruce!’
His father... His father was dead, his mother, as well... their blood flooding
the alley, their eyes cold, their hearts that loved him stopped. His mother was
holding him a minute ago... his father was talking to him... and now they
weren’t there, they ceased to exist... He lost them forever, they won’t speak
to him again, they won’t caress him, they won’t kiss him... He won’t see them
again... No, it can’t be... I lost them... I’m alone... I want to go with
them...
He stopped abruptly. His heart was beating exhausted, his legs were weak, his
arm ached horribly and he felt the blood running to his clothes. I must return
to them, I left them alone...
But he didn’t know where he was; people were assembled around flaming barrels
and others were slumped on the ground and they were regarding him with
animosity, as if he was their enemy – he was everyone’s enemy now, he was alone
and the world was cold and vicious... A roar was flooding the area.
Bruce kept dragging his feet; he wanted to be with them, he wanted to find
help. Maybe if he found Jim... But Jim could be anywhere, at his house. Or
Leslie... Maybe Alfred could help him, but Alfred would be at the Manor waiting
them to return... But his parents would never return...
His legs refused to move any longer and his heart and his mind... He was cut
like a tree, sank to the ground, the rushing waters of the Gotham’s sewers
deafening him. He wanted so much to sleep, to rest and wake up in his bed...
His wounded arm was clenched violently and was turned to his back along with
his other hand, handcuffs closing around his wrists – they found him. He was
hoisted and the sneering face of the giant filled his shattered world.
“Yar parents had a quick death; ya won’t...”
 He was tossed to the freezing waters, the iron hand still clutched his hand,
the filthy liquid flooding his mouth halting his breath and hitting mercilessly
his body. His lungs were burning, he struggled to breath, in vain; his eyes
bulged from agony, his mother’s glassy eyes in front of him and then... Air was
stroking his drenched body, his lungs breathing and coughing. But without even
sating his hungry lungs, he was again under the water, fighting desperately to
free his hands, his exhausted legs kicking the vicious waters as the water was
filling his mouth and throat.
He was again in the air, Chill laughing at his agonizing face for a second and
then submerging him again keeping him under the surface squashing his body’s
panicked resistance which was squirming for air. When his eyes began to darken
defeated, the giant’s hand heaved his almost dead body and smashed it to the
wall.
He brought out his huge cleaver and touched it to the side of his face, grazing
it.
“Remember what this blade made to yar little toe?”
Bruce was breathing laboriously, he just wanted to rest, to stop all this, to
die, to be again with his parents.
“I’ll flay yar sweet face from yar head an' then I'll pierce yar little belly
button an' pull out yar bowels...”
He felt the huge blade which covered his entire face cutting his flesh. Soon,
the pain would be over...
“I want him alive!” he heard a yell, a voice distorted by his buzzing ears.
 
He was dragged to a shabby building but he didn’t care; he was ready to
collapse but his body was punishing him and didn’t let him faint.
They laid him to a metallic examination table and a man with white robe, like
his father wore (his heart was pierced by the thought), approached him, smiling
wickedly.
“You kept the boy alive?”
“Remove the bullets and stop the bleeding.”
“Fine. I’ll aneasthetize the area or else he’ll die from the pain; he looks on
the verge of it, anyway...”
Bruce felt a sting and a soothing feeling filled his arm and he wished this
could happen to his entire body. The doctor cut the sleeve and started
operating; Falcone approached his lying body and caressed his cold cheek.
“What a beautiful boy!” he exclaimed.
“And he is all yours...” the doctor smiled his eyes shining cunningly. “Do you
want me to fix his broken bone?”
“No, there’s no need for that.”
The doctor finished his job and Bruce was once again moving in a haze, the
world around him a blur, his eyes glassy as his mother’s. They entered a
building with glazing letters on his entrance and then they were descending
stairs. They stopped and a rusty sound hit his numb ears. He was tossed to the
floor which was stony; he didn’t want nor could move, besides something was
pushing his back.
The only think that he could distinct was some black things hanging upside down
which all of a sudden squirmed and started flying around him, as if they were
welcoming him to his new world... And he felt like crying but he couldn’t cry;
the sobs a gigantic knot inside his throat aching and choking... His new world,
a world without his parents, without anything, without life...
The sun was blindingly shinny and happy. A man was selling hot dogs in his
stand and children were all over eating, chatting and laughing. Bruce smiled.
“This is yar lunch, bum!’’ Signora Bruna tossed him his bread after she ordered
him to kneel.
He was starving and exhausted as every day after that night he abandoned his
parents, more than a year ago. He took the bread in his hands and realized that
it was moldy; always his bread was moldy but today was complete with it. He
looked it disappointed, turning it and searching for something that could be
eaten.
Signora Bruna laughed evilly.
“Will ya eat or I must call Chill?”
Bruce shivered only on the mention of the name; his body, especially his rear
end still aching from what he did to him on the alley, in front of his parents’
grave. He scratched the mold with his filthy nails but seeing that there wasn’t
a chance he would find anything not moldy, started eating it indifferent to his
mouth's protests and his stomach’s retching waves.
A thug entered the kitchen, singing.
“Hey, Julliano” Signora Bruna welcomed him and they were kissing passionately,
but Bruce didn’t care; he must eat his bread before Chill comes.
Julliano approached curiously his kneeled form.
“I didn’t know Falcone pickin' up strays; an' that is faulty, too” he leaned
and looked Bruce closer “he is cute despite all the filth an' thinness...”
He cupped Bruce’s jaw and yanked his face and then his entire body, shoving him
to the wall. The man grabbed the boy’s waistband and lowered his sweatpants and
underwear to his knees and stared his genitals. He stroked his penis and
Signora Bruna laughed delighted.
“He's like velvet!” he exclaimed and his other hand pawed his bonny buttocks
“but his little ass is lousy.”
Bruce had his eyes lowered to the floor wishing once again to be mentally dead
so that he hadn’t any connection with the environment. The man continued to rub
his genitals moaning and then took Bruce’s good hand and touched it to his own
groin which was hard.
“Ya feel that, kid?”
Bruce nodded, his cheeks red and the man opened his fly and pulled out his
dick, bringing the boy’s hand on the flesh; Bruce tried to avert his hand but
the man crushed his wrist.
“Now, pet it as if it was a puppy!”
“Do it, bum, or else Mr. Falcone will whip ya until ya crap yar pants!” Signora
Bruna threatened her eyes taking in with greed the boy’s hand stroking the
man’s erection that grew more and more till it spurt its contents on the boy’s
hand.
The man threw him to the floor, the boy’s eyes shocked and defeated. He tucked
himself in and turned to Signora Bruna.
“Give him a fresh piece of bread for reward to learn what he can earn with his
handiwork!”
“Mr. Lucius Fox, the new CEO of the Wayne Enterprises, made the following
statement concerning the rising of the corporation’s shares after the crisis of
last week...” Bruce heard as he passed by a store with his window display full
with TV sets.
“Mr. Lucius Fox board member of the Wayne Enterprises blocked the the company’s
control acquisition by Mr. Carmine Falcone, initiating a thorough investigation
of the circumstances that led to the swift sale.”
Bruce heard Signora Bruna's radio as he was mopping the floor before the
cabaret opened for his clientele.
Falcone entered his cabaret fuming and cursing, his murdering glare focusing
instantly to the boy mopping the floor on his knees with only one hand. He
stormed at him and snatched his crippled upper arm causing him excruciating
pain.
He didn’t understand why, he hadn’t done anything wrong. 
Falcone dragged him to his office and threw him to the floor on his knees, his
badly whipped back piercing his mind and blinding his eyes. His owner slapped
him hard on the face knocking him down.
Bruce rose shyly his crying eyes to the mobster’s furious face, seeking to
appease him.
“I didn’t do anything bad, sir... I swear. I... I did all of my chores...
Signora Bruna can tell...”
But his effort to sooth his owner only made him roar and blow his large fist on
his nose which immediately exploded in rushing blood. Bruce couldn’t understand
if he had done something wrong or his master was just in the mood of making him
suffer and cry.
The mobster fisted his dirty hair and yanked his blood stained head to make the
kid face him.
“I won an' that bastard tries to block my triumph!” his teeth were grating
“fortunately, I got ya to compensate for the frustration that idiot caused me!”
He heaved him from the hair and pushed his shaking body face first to the table
and Bruce was scared that he would whip him again, his wounds from a couple of
days ago still bleeding some times when irritated.
But Falcone was taking his shabby pants and underwear down in a fast movement
and Bruce was feeling absolute terror, because he was reminded of what Chill
did to him in the alley in front of his parents’ bodies. Why they were doing
that to him? That was more painful than Falcone’s belt...
“Please, sir, don’t...” he dared to plead in a desperate hope that maybe he
would make the man feel for him; he was still in pain at that part of his body.
However, his master rubbed his large body to his skinny one and fisted again
his hair, arching his aching back to bring his face close to his lips.
“Ya sneaked out to get fucked by street punks an' ya refuse that to
yar master?!”
“I didn’t...”
He didn’t manage to say anything more because the enormous mouth of the mobster
captured his lips and ravaged them, sucking them and finally biting them to the
point of bleeding. Then, he let him crash on the table, the boy hearing with
paralyzing dread the sound of his fly.
“Please, no, sir, please!”
But the cruel demanding hands were on his shivering buttocks making him spread,
his mean flesh rushing in him, reopening the old wounds and stretching his
small body. He screamed and he cried and he whimpered desperately.
“Please, sir, stop; it hurts so much...”
Falcone’s teeth gritted and his hands clenched his buttocks bruising, his
tormenting flesh invading him more, his tiny bones crying in agony as he did.
“I want ya to pain, little bastard! I want ya to suffer; I want ya to cry; I
want ya to curse yar name an' yar parents... Every time someone of them annoys
me, ya'll face unendurable pain an' I’ll enjoy it!”
He started pushing him, thrusting, pounding, roaring like a dragon; hurting his
insides more, his fingers tearing his clenched flesh. He rested his
whirling head on the table, his eyes closed, his heart throbbing, his stomach
sick, his injured hand crushed under his body and his blood dripping from his
torn anus. He was sobbing silently, whispering his begging but knowing that
nobody was going to feel sorry for him.
Falcone extracted himself from his body and made him kneel on the floor, naked
and tear soaked. He didn’t dare to raise his eyes from the floor, his anus
insufferably aching and his heart beating so fast that his breath was laboured.
“Look at me!” he ordered and his eyes were met with his boss’ intimidating
length “Take it in yar mouth an' suck it!”
He didn’t understand what that meant; he looked with his confused eyes his
master’s horrific face and the mobster laughed evilly.
“Oh! Ya pretend the virgin, don’t ya? Open yar sweet little mouth!”
Bruce obliged his lips trembling and the mobster took his penis and shoved it
to the boy’s small cavity that was filled to its limits.
“Now, milk it as ya did with yar mom’s titty!”
Bruce felt his cheeks hot and tried to satisfy his boss, sucking the too much
flesh, the air reaching difficult his lungs. He felt the flesh becoming longer
in his mouth, blocking his throat and his eyes widened in horror.
Falcone laughed and grabbed his hair to steady his convulsing for air head,
repeating what he did to his rear end in his stretched mouth till he flooded
his mouth and throat with a thick liquid forcing him to swallow it. He let the
boy collapse to the floor coughing for air and fixed his clothes.
“Chill!” he called when he was decent enough and Bruce’s working hand hastily
brought his clothes up to cover his bleeding anus. “Take him to his room!”
Upon crashing to the stony floor of his ‘room’, he was semi conscious, in pain,
in shame, in despair, in disgust and cold, too much cold; he wanted to be
blessed with sleep but the bats which adorned his ceiling flied towards him to
say goodbye to him before they went out to the open sky.
“Please” he whispered “please, find Tony and tell him that I’m here and I’m
cold and I’m hungry and I... I’m in pain... and that I need him to come and
take me from here...”
A bat which had his mother’s eyes nodded and flew away with her comrades.
“Young master Bruce; will you honor me to be the first to taste the freshly
baked cinnamon biscuits?”
The stony cavity was filled with the intoxicating smell of cinnamon and milk.
“Oh! You have a friend with you, young master!”
“This is my new friend, Anthony Stark, I kicked him and dad wanted to punish me
and not let me eat your biscuits but Tony persuaded him to let me get away with
it!”
“Is that so, young master? Then, your new friend should honor me and try first
my biscuits; he deserves that, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, Alfred, he deserves that!”
The bat which smiled like his mother returned and approached him. She whispered
to him that Tony shed tears when he heard, but he has classes he can’t miss and
he is sorry but he can’t come now, but in a month, when he will have finished
with his classes, he will come and take him away from these people and will
bring him to Alfred and then he will be sleeping again in a soft bed and eating
freshly baked cinnamon biscuits, as many as he likes... But he must hold on...
It will be only a month...
Bruce’s eyes leaked new tears.
“Brucey, you are too clever to fall for that...”
Bruce felt something solid just before colliding with it; he ruffled his hair
and sighed tiredly. Where was he? He looked around. It was an alley, a
Metropolis’ alley but as dark and creepy as the alleys in Gotham. And he was
deep inside it, the exit on his back.
“It started in an alley and it will end in one!”
***** Chapter 28 *****
Tony was pacing the hotel room's vast lounge, a glass filled with whiskey
clutched in his hand. He was feeling useless, he was feeling enraged: Bruce was
missing! Just like that! He stepped out of a courtroom full of policemen and
reporters, ignored him and Alfred and just vanished in a city! Alright, Bruce
wasn’t 8 years old and was ingenious and more than capable of defending himself
but now it was several hours since then and he hadn’t returned nor called and
his emotional state after that tormenting testimony must be turbulent. He
shouldn’t have left him alone! It was his fault...
He looked at Alfred who was standing before the window, seemingly calm but his
crossed on the chest arms emanated worry and agony.
“Maybe we should call the police or the hospitals...” Tony said wanting to
crack the silence.
Alfred’s lined face turned to him, his eyes kind as always.
“I called Mr. Kent asking him if he had seen Master Bruce and he said that
his... ‘friend’ will search for him. It is better your...’friend’, Master
Anthony, doesn’t make an appearance here.”
Tony ground his teeth and ruffled his hair, ready to explode. He hadn’t calmed
after what he heard Bruce recounting on the court in his steady and stoic voice
– and he doubted that he would ever feel calm again or whole. And now this
wounded, bleeding man was alone in the streets, wandering; that fucking Dent
reopened his wounds and left him walking...
He threw the glass on the wall smashing it, roaring. Alfred looked at him with
sympathy and hurried to clean the mess, but Tony stopped him raising his hand .
“Don’t! Why, Alfred?” his eyes were demanding.
Alfred stared at him puzzled.
“Why you didn’t inform me that he is alive? I’d have taken him from their
clutches and he wouldn’t have had to suffer all these torture! You told it to
Lucius and Leslie, why not to me, as well?”
Alfred lowered his warm eyes.
“I didn’t tell them; circumstances did it. And you were just a teen, master
Anthony...’’
Tony exploded.
“Even when a teen, I was the ingenious I am now!” he screamed to the calm but
miserable old man “I’d have found a way to save him, to spare him the torture!
How could you stand it knowing what he was suffering?! How could you live with
the knowledge that Bruce was daily raped and crucified by those monsters?!”
Alfred’s eyes were filled with tears, his hands fisted; his British cool
demeanor leaving its place to a tremor.
“I wasn’t standing it! I am not now! I was dying every day knowing that my boy
was in their hands, suffering, hungry, in pain, in distress, in terror, cold!
Do you think that I didn’t want to take him myself and flee to a place where
nobody would touch him again?!”
“Then why you didn’t?” Tony asked touched by Alfred’s distress but not
completely soothed.
“I wish I could, but they’d have killed him only with the suspicion of me
speaking to anyone and they were always guarding the poor boy. You can’t
understand, Master Anthony, and I’m grateful you were spared of that...”
The kind man left the room in a haste, Tony looking at his departing figure
lopsidedly.
Alfred sat at the couch in the bedroom, as he was sat in another couch at the
Manor’s salon when they called him to inform him about the murders of his
masters and Bruce's disappearance. Recalling the dreadful last days...
Martha was distraught, pacing the salon like a caged tiger, without knowing
what to do but wanting to began doing anything. Thomas was questioning on the
phone the stuff of the school for gifted children master Bruce attended. And
Alfred was standing near the wall, watching like a statue, in agony but trying
to be the cool mannered butler he was trained to be.
“Where is Bruce?” Martha demanded when Thomas hanged up, her eyes inflamed.
Thomas took a deep inhale.
“Every member of the stuff says that Bruce was picked up by an employee of the
Wayne Enterprises, the car had the Enterprises’ identifiers.”
“Bullshit!” Martha snapped. “It’s 10 o’ clock in the night and Bruce is missing
for eight hours! He could be...” she clenched her head “No, he must be alright;
they just want money. Why would they harm a little child?”
Alfred could answer that people didn’t need a reason to inflict pain to others
but he didn’t want to upset more his lady, especially when he preferred to be
persuaded by her reasoning.
“What did police said?”
Thomas sighed.
“That they are scouring the city but it probably is nothing of worry...”
“Assholes!” Martha cursed and both Thomas and Alfred looked at her shocked. “I
shouldn’t have taken Alfred with me...”
“It was that horrible car accident that kept me in the surgery but I notified
Earl to send someone trustworthy to pick Bruce from school; and Earl says that
the man he sent works two years now for us and is clean.”
Thomas ruffled his hair and Alfred thought that if he strengthened a bit more
his hold, he’d uproot his locks. Martha looked at the phone eagerly.
“Why aren’t they calling to tell us how much money they want?”
Thomas hugged her and brushed her hair.
“They want to panic us, to make us crazy so we comply immediately to everything
they demand.”
“But we’re already crazy; have they any doubt that we’ll pay whatever they ask
to take back Bruce?”
Alfred felt a deep sympathy for the young couple, their only child missing, his
fate unknown.
The phone's ring was like a bomb. Martha attempted to grab the receiver but
Thomas took it instead.
Alfred and Martha were listening eagerly to the exchange and the young mother
jumped when Thomas’ voice became sweet and relieved exclaiming the most
beautiful two syllables of her son’s name.
“Tell him that I love him and that he'll be soon with us again!” she almost
yelled hoping that the child will hear her.
Her eyes widened in horror when Thomas stayed frozen the phone loose in his
hand. Alfred’s heart jolted.
“What happened, Thomas?’’
“They hanged up... He asked to give him everything I have and I said that this
is not something easy and that I need time and” he turned his shocked eyes to
Martha’s pale face “he hanged up!”
Martha fumed and Alfred thought that she would hit her husband but she
restrained herself, forcing her lungs to breathe slowly.
“Everything will be okay, they’ll call again; they want the money, they won’t
hurt Bruce, will they?” she pierced her husband with her stare.
Two hours had passed and nobody had moved from the salon, waiting eagerly for a
ring of the phone. Thomas sat on the armchair and was reluctantly drinking some
tea Alfred had made for them but Martha didn’t touch, pacing endlessly, arms
hugging tightly her ribs because her insides burnt from agony.
The ring came but it was from the main door and the initial agitation ebbed
instantly. It was midnight and they weren’t expecting any visitors and Thomas
had already called the Police to stop searching because everything was a huge
misunderstanding, doing exactly what the kidnapper demanded...
Alfred opened the door to see the familiar face of an employee of the company’s
delivery department. Someone had left a parcel for Mr. Wayne and said that Mr.
Wayne was waiting it, so he brought it, despite the late hour.
Alfred thanked the young man and gave the parcel to his master who opened it
hastily; it was a DVD case and a little box which had ‘For Mrs. Wayne’ written
on it.
Martha took it curious and apprehensive at the same time, a bad feeling in her
chest.
She didn’t scream; only her eyes widened in horror.
“No...” she whispered because her suffering didn’t leave her more voice.
Thomas hurried to her and Alfred approached discreetly, seeing what the poor
parents were seeing: a piece of brutally cut flesh, bloodstained, black-purple,
deep black -red at the edge where the blade cut it, the blood drops still
dripping; with a small leaf-like smudge at the part bellow the nail. The big
toe of a small child, the birthmark giving proof of the body from which was
ripped off.
Thomas rubbed his distraught wife’s back and helped her sit.
“Alfred, please...”
But he was already there offering his madam a glass of water; he offered her
also a handkerchief but she didn’t need it, her eyes decisive and strong.
Thomas put the disc to the DVD player and sat beside Martha.
It began with a blurry image which gradually cleared to focus to a child
brutally bound to a metallic chair; his eyes were shocked and his sweet face
pale; his brunette locks dishevelled and his school uniform wrinkled.
He felt a punch in his gut seeing his young master in this state, at the mercy
of such awful people; scared and hopeless, his little heart undoubtedly beating
like a frightened little kitten’s.
He looked at the couple on the couch; their faces were distorted from dread and
anger.
Alfred saw the TV screen filling with the face of a disgusting man, Carmine
Falcone his name, who threw up his anger and threats, but it was his words to
his henchman that made Alfred cringe and the agonizing parents stop breathing.
The horrible giant – his body in dire contrast with Bruce’s small, defenceless
figure – grabbed the boy’s left foot and removed the shoe and the sock, and
Martha instantly understood and made a sound between sob and outrage; the giant
pulled out a huge cleaver affirming her terrifying hunch.
Thomas motioned the remote control to stop the DVD, but Martha halted him.
“If Bruce suffered this, I will too!”
Alfred’s eyes widened inside their sockets as the giant’s tremendous hand kept
easily immobilized the child’s little foot which was writhing desperately to
escape his horrible fate and he felt his own foot twitching in his shoe. But
the blade started cutting the soft flesh, the boy’s yells and whines making the
butler’s heart shatter. Bruce was pleading with them to stop but they were
merciless.
The man cut slowly the small toe till the middle and for a minute let the boy
convulse and cry, extending his and his parents’ agony, his blood a small
puddle at the filthy floor.
And then even slower the giant with the ponytail ended his job, the small piece
of flesh in his enormous hand; Bruce’s sweaty, breathless head slumped at his
chest, small whines and sobs heavy with pain heaving his tiny chest.
Martha’s hands were in her mouth, her eyes crying along with her little son.
Thomas was embracing her to encourage her but he was trembling: such cruelty
was a shock to him who his entire life was saving people’s lives and relieving
them from pain.
Martha shoved his hand away and stood, Falcone’s last words before the horrible
video ended echoing to the vast salon’s dead silence.
“Give him everything!” yelled Martha. “The fucking Manor, the damn company;
every penny we have! I want my baby back! Do you hear me?! I want him back to
bath him, dress him in his most loved pyjamas, tuck him in bed, lullaby him and
kiss him before he sleeps!”
Alfred wanted the same things and was sure that his fguilt ridden master wanted
the same.
Martha felt Thomas’ infinite guilt and regretting her enemy tone rushed to her
husband and hugged his hunched shoulders. Thomas raised his down casted eyes
and looked at her wife with gratitude in his tearful eyes. 
“It’s my family’s heritage, Martha...”
“Bruce is your and my family’s heritage... Give the monster whatever he wants
so we have our baby back; he is in unbearable pain, Thomas, scared, confused
and feeling that we have abandoned him. Please, Thomas, give him everything
immediately! Even my fortune if he asks it... We’ll make it; you are an
esteemed doctor and I’m educated” she smiled sweetly “we’ll leave this city,
we’ll work and Bruce will be with us again and nobody would touch him ever
again. He’ll be calm and carefree like every child in the world should be.
Please, Thomas, don’t let them torture more our angel...”
Her eyes were teary and smiling encouragingly and Alfred knew that Thomas
couldn’t resist those eyes. He stood decisively, caressed his wife’s cheek and
kissed her in the lips. He took the telephone and dialled his lawyer’s number.
“George, I want you to prepare the necessary paperwork for me to sell
everything I have to Carmine Falcone.”
The lawyer whose family was for decades working for the Waynes’ interests, of
course was astonished; after all, Wayne Enterprises’ shares were racing at the
markets so his client had no urgent need for money.
“I don’t want your opinion! How many days? You can’t finish it sooner? Okay...”
He hanged up the phone and looked at Martha.
“It’s done...”
She nodded.
Another two hours passed for the kidnappers to make the call they all were
waiting for; the bastards wanted to torment more the poor parents.
“In two days you’ll have everything you asked. Just don’t torture Bruce,
please...” Thomas pleaded with Falcone and the cruel mobster just finished the
call without answering.
The exchange was arranged to take place in the alley behind the Opera House.
The Waynes would attend the performance sat in their private box to not cause
any suspicion and then at the middle of the act would exit the building from
the back door – they would let be known that their son will come later with
their butler.
Alfred just didn’t like it. He asked from his masters to be there too, they
thanked him but refused: they didn’t want to risk Falcone’s displeasure if any
of his instructions was disobeyed. So Alfred would wait at the Manor.
He opened the door for his masters, craving to follow them but knowing that it
was impossible, so he just wished everything goes well and at the end of the
night they’d have Bruce with them.
Martha stood in front of him before she followed her husband at the car. She
brought out of her coat’s pocket a key and gave it to him.
“This is the key to my vault in Switzerland; this is to secure Bruce’s life if
anything happens to us” Alfred opened his mouth to say that nothing
would happen but Martha stopped him. “You’ll keep Bruce and raise him and with
this key you and him will go to the bank and open the vault – it needs Bruce’s
right thumb fingertip to open. I know you love him like your own child and that
he will be happy with you, so the money is my thanks to you...” she smiled.
“Mrs. Wayne, everything is going to be fine and Bruce will be with us in a few
hours and if... if ever Bruce needs me to...” he just couldn’t say it “I’ll do
it gladly with my own money...”
“I know, Alfred; for that, I give you the key and my only son’s guardianship:
you know where we keep the papers...”
She turned to leave but stopped.
“Cook some cinnamon biscuits for him – you know how much he loves them; he’d
need them when we come home...”
She hugged the butler and hurried to the car, her heart as Alfred’s tied in a
knot from agony.
He cooked the biscuits and left the plate on the kitchen’s counter for his
young master to find them as soon as the smell would hit his nose. Like the
times he cooked the delicacy before the kid returned home from school; Bruce
would storm the kitchen and Alfred would put him to sit on the stool, the child
looking at each biscuit greedily unable to decide which of them to eat first.
But the hours drag and Alfred was slumped on the couch with the apron still on
him, waiting as the biscuits on the plate...
And then the phone’s ring pierced him and he jumped surprised. He wished it
could be good news but his guts were clenched. It was a police officer, Jim
Gordon, and the name was familiar to Alfred but his crazy heartbeat just fogged
his mind.
Thomas and Martha were found dead behind the Opera House and their son,
although his blood was mingled with theirs, had disappeared so the Police was
following the blood trails to find him. The young man said that would keep him
updated.
The receiver stayed loose at his hands minutes after the call was ended. It
can’t be. Just it can’t be... He was speaking to them just a few hours ago;
they went to give the mobster what he demanded. Why? Why they did that? And
Bruce...Where was the child? He witnessed his parents’ murders and now –
wounded, Gordon said that his blood was in the alley, too – was wandering the
enemy city, panicked, confused, in shock and in pain... Poor child! He felt
tears flooding his eyes and persuaded his numb legs to motion for him to take
his car and search for Bruce.
But the phone halted him, turning his blood to a frozen stream.
It was Jim again, his voice flat. Bruce’s blood trails stopped in Gotham’s
sewers and homeless people who dwelled there told them that the boy was caught
by his pursuers and was tossed to the rushing waters... They would make
anything possible to find his body...
“I’m sorry, Mr. Pennyworth...” the young man was distraught and Alfred
struggled to find some air in his lungs to express his gratitude for the man’s
effort.
“Thank you, Officer Gordon’’ he managed to articulate at last, his legs barely
supporting him.
He looked around; all of a sudden, the Manor’s so familiar outline was strange
and cold, empty like a violated grave. And he was the guardian of memories...
Memories of a baby’s cries, a mother’s lullabies, a father’s advice and efforts
to be stern, of children’s happy laughter...
He walked without knowing what he was doing or where he was going; his eyes
caught the plate with the biscuits he had made for his little master.
“Alfred, you will always make me cinnamon biscuits, even when I grow up?”
He sent the plate to the wall, smashing with a loud explosion; he sat at the
same stool he used to put Bruce to eat or watch him washing the dishes. The boy
was dead along with his parents and he couldn’t change that; he wouldn’t see
again any of them but for their dead bodies before the funeral...
The funeral had ended and the last mourners’ cars were leaving the grounds,
leaving the haunted house and the haunted butler. He was standing in Bruce’s
room, caressing the boy’s toys. Tony didn’t manage to catch the funeral – Earl
decided to hurry the whole thing – but he was to come in the evening to say
goodbye to his little friend...
For whom they didn’t even cared to continue the search for his body, declaring
him dead and announcing that the efforts were unsuccessful and more effort is
futile... Futile... They left his little body unburied, to rot in the ocean,
alone... They buried an empty casket and the tombstone with his name covered an
empty grave... Empty as Alfred’s heart.
That awful man took everything his masters had, everything he had demanded and
afterwards he killed them all. Now the Manor will be his, as well as the
company and the money. No, he won’t permit it; he owed it to his masters’ and
Bruce’s memory: the man, who killed them, would pay for his crime.
He had already secured in a lawyer all the evidence that proved that Falcone
had kidnapped Bruce Wayne, so if the mobster killed Alfred as well, the truth
would be revealed regardless. He was ready to travel to Metropolis and testify
everything he knew to the FBI, since Gotham’s Police would bury everything and
him along.
The door bell woke him from his thoughts; he descended the stair. Probably, it
was Master Anthony who arrived sooner than he was expecting him.
The man he faced as soon as he opened the door made him furious. It was the
mobster, the same man that through a cold video ordered a small child’s toe to
be chopped, to force his parents give him everything they had.
The plumb man with the wolfish features made a few steps inside but Alfred
halted him from walking more. Falcone raised his brows in fake wonder.
“Ya won’t show me inside?”
Alfred pierced him with his icy eyes, his teeth were clenched with his entire
hatred and pain.
“No! You have no business here!”
“But I’m the owner: I have the legit paperwork” he said mock innocently.
“You’re not; you’re a bloody kidnapper, blackmailer and murderer of small
children and I will secure your conviction.”
Falcone smiled wickedly.
“I can kill ya, too...”
“Of course, you can, but you can’t kill the truth” Alfred’s eyes looked at him
with disgust “Everything I know and the evidence are in a lawyer’s hands and as
soon as he learns that I’m dead or disappeared, he’ll deliver the folder to the
federal justice. You won’t get away with that, even if you kill me!”
Falcone lowered his eyes and motioned his head amused.
“Ya're a very clever man, Mr. Pennyworth, an' really brave” Alfred could detect
the sarcasm in his words “But...” he pressed his lips “what if I don’t kill ya,
but someone else?”
Alfred frowned and Falcone gestured to his car’s direction, a giant man
emerging dragging along something muffled in a blanket. His mind paralyzed.
Falcone sidestepped Alfred and walked towards the grand salon, looking around.
“It needs work...” he exclaimed.
But Alfred was focused on the giant with the blond ponytail and his burden.
“Chill, come in!” Falcone yelled and his henchman obeyed “Now, Pennyworth,
close the door: we have things to discuss.”
Alfred did it, a suspicion nudging his mind.
“Uncover yar load, Joe”
The man pulled off the blanket and young master Bruce was in front of him,
alive, breathing, but... The boy wasn’t himself: his eyes were down casted and
his right hand was rigid, bound with dirty blood stained bandages, his clothes
half dried, half soaked in water, his face dirty as his hair.
“Master Bruce!” Alfred exclaimed and the boy looked at him, his eyes shining
for an instant but then dark and hollow again, taking in the Manor but knowing
that now wasn’t the safe haven, his home.
Falcone and Chill laughed loudly and mean.
“Master?” Falcone mimicked his voice “does he look like a ‘master’?” Chill
pulled the shocked child on his enormous body and Bruce shook from terror,
making Alfred clench his fists. “Well, Pennyworth, to set things right: I
spared the boy’s life an' now he is mine, but if ya do even a thought of
revealing it to anyone or contact any authority, I’ll shoot the boy an' let him
be eaten by the rats – alive! So, if you want to be a good butler an' keep
yar...” he laughed “master alive, ya'll keep yar mouth shut an' stay at the
Manor serving me so to watch ya. Understood?”
“He needs medical treatment.”
“He had a doctor. Now about what I told ya: I’m clear enough?”
Alfred looked at the child’s eyes which were unfocused but as if sensing a look
of love returned to the present and took in his beloved Alfred. His eyes were
pleading with him to save him from these horrible people. But he couldn’t, the
only thing he could do was stopping Falcone from killing him as he did with his
parents.
“Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Master. I'm yar master now!”
“Yes, master!” Alfred said burying his true feelings.
Falcone gestured to the giant and they turned to leave. His little master
casted him a look of affection and despair, just before being once again
covered with the blanket.
Alfred ran to the window to watch Bruce as he was shoved to the backseat of the
car and when the car vanished, he collapsed in the chair. He should be relieved
that the boy was alive but his whole body was tense, his stomach a knot; he
didn’t know if being alive was the best thing that had happened to him.
 
It was noon. Alfred was standing outside the back side of Dolcetto, Falcone’s
cabaret where he was told that the mobster spent his days. It was more than a
year since he last saw young master Bruce and from then he wasn’t allowed even
a glimpse of the boy. He could be dead; Falcone wasn’t a man of his word after
all. So he decided to take matters in his own hands and force them to show him
the boy.
He approached carefully the building, he didn’t want to be noticed yet: maybe
he managed to see Master Bruce without their presence.
He could hear a female angry voice berating someone; the room at the back side
must be the kitchen because he could hear boiling liquid and smell food.
However, there wasn’t a window and he couldn’t see anything.
“Ya stupid bum! Ya think ya cleaned the floor?! The whole store is covered with
yar blood! The clients will be disgusted!”
The one who was berated didn’t dare to defend himself.
“Yar torn asshole bleeds all over after the party Mr. Falcone made on ya last
night!” the woman laughed mean “He fucked ya an' then used the dildo to punish
ya; it was really big, eh? ‘No, master, please, I can’t; it hurts so much!” she
mimicked mockingly a  voice “Yar screams an' begs were very funny to hear an'
turned on Julliano... An' then Chill couldn’t resist yar stretched little ass
an' fucked ya too... Oh! Ya're doing extra hours last night, huh? That doesn’t
mean ya'reexcused from yar chores in daytime, or that ya can spread yar blood
drops all over, disgusting bum!’’
Alfred was shocked and flinched when he heard a clear slap and a small mass
dropping to the floor; it was a child he realized with a jolt.
“Ya'll clean again the whole fuckin' floor an' if I find anywhere yar blood,
I’ll tell Mr. Falcone an' he’ll shove to yar ass a bigger dildo this time;
yar ass will stay agape forever an' ya'll never close yar legs again! Beat it
now!”
Alfred heard small legs shuffling and his eyes filled with tears. His young
master was growing up in an environment where he was watching other children
being molested and abused. He must see Bruce to remind him that there was a
world outside this horrible place.
He opened as silently as he could the huge back door and entered the building.
He didn’t know where to go or where could they hold Bruce. Suddenly, his ears
caught a mumbling sound that was somewhat familiar; the muffled sounds were
making a song and he knew that song: it was a lullaby, Master Bruce’s favorite
lullaby.
He followed the sound, running, his heart racing. He reached the cabaret’s main
hall where a slumped, tiny figure was mopping the vast floor on its knees, the
one hand hanging like a dead burden to the side. Its clothes dirty and shabby.
It was a boy; his boy. His eyes casted to the floor, mopping as hard as his
hand permitted him, his pale lips moving slightly, singing the lullaby his
mother sang to him; his muffled voice steady, too steady for a distraught
little boy and Alfred knew that he was deep in shock or even mentally
unbalanced.
“Master Bruce!” he exclaimed and ran to him.
The boy raised his eyes and looked at him expressionless and Alfred realized
that Bruce was somewhere else and didn’t recognize him. Instead, Bruce's body
went rigid at the sound of his name.
“It’s Alfred, Master Bruce! Alfred!” he kneeled in front of the child and he
saw his eyes finally acknowledging him.
“Alfred?’’ he whispered hesitantly, as if he believed that he was a
hallucination.
“Yes, Master Bruce, Alfred...” he wrapped the tiny boy in his arms and felt the
small body tense and making a fleeing movement before relaxing exhausted in his
embrace.
Alfred rubbed the boy’s back reassuringly but he realized that he was powerless
to sooth him and the blood on the boy’s ragged pants confirmed the horrible
thought that was created when the boy cringed and tried to flee his touch . He
ground his teeth, his guts burning: Bruce was the child in the kitchen, the boy
that was molested in such terrible way.
“What’s going on her'?!”
A grave menacing voice shouted behind Alfred’s back and Bruce flinched and
detached from his hug, withdrawing scared, trembling: the poor boy's eyes
bulged and Alfred could see that he wasn't breathing.
Alfred recognized the man as being the one who chopped the boy’s toe and
brought him to the Manor after the funeral. He was Chill and Chill last
night... touched young master Bruce!
His rage surpassed any reasoning and any lesson in tranquillity his butler’s
training included and his fist exploded on its own accord to find that
monster’s eye, throwing him to the tables. He stormed upon the thug's fallen
body, ravishing the view of his brow and eyelid being deeply gashed by the one
carat diamond on his ring; he tarted hitting him, the only thing in his mind
Bruce’s dead eyes.
“Now, now, let’s cool down!” a cold sarcastic voice halted his raised fist
“Before something really bad happens!”
He recognized Falcone’s voice and stood straightening his jacket, turning to
face the mobster. His eyes widened. The man was holding Bruce, his arm on the
boy’s waist pinning him to his body, his gun’s point at the boy’s too pale, too
skinny cheek. He saw with disgust the man’s holding hand fondling the boy’s
body, Bruce shuddering, his eyes widened in terror.
“Pennyworth, I don’t remember calling ya here an' ya're creating a fuss! I
should punish the boy for yar stupidity to defy me but... but I’m a lenient man
an' I won’t... However, I hope that this doesn’t happen again or” he yanked the
boy’s head with his gun “the boy will have difficult times...”
“He already has! You took everything, why are you torturing an innocent child?”
“It’s yar fault! That jerk Fox thwarts me from gaining the control of my
company! An' when ya give me trouble, the boy will suffer! So, go persuade him
to stop the bullshit or else the boy will get a huge hole in his head.
Understood?”
He was clutching possessively the writhing boy’s waist, causing the child’s
eyes to scream silently. Alfred bit his lips and nodded.
“Please, sir, you’ll take the company; you already have everything. Give me the
boy: I’ll take him far away and you’ll never hear of us again: I’ll raise him
as my own son – please, give him to me. Nothing of all these is his fault; he
is just a small child: he has suffered enough...”
Falcone laughed amused.
“Oh, yes! An' when he becomes a man, he’ll return for revenge! No way, butler!
I asked everything Wayne had an' that is the last an' most precious thing he
had; his only son. Do as I say if ya want him not suffer more! Get out now!”
Alfred turned to leave but his eyes were on Bruce’s desperate eyes which were
looking to him as if he was his only connection with life and now was cut. He
swallowed hard, trying to smile reassuringly to the tortured child but he
wasn’t able to...
Chill’s curses for his eye and Falcone’s orders to Bruce to continue his work
vibrated the building even when Alfred got outside. The Gotham sky seemed to
him even more sullen than usual.
 
Master Bruce’s beautiful shaped young body  that radiated strength approached
him by the secret passage not leaving the darkness but gesturing to him to get
in too. He followed his master till they reached the huge cave underneath the
Manor.
He had so many questions, he wanted to learn what happened and Bruce didn’t
came to their agreed appointment to break away of the city. But upon seeing his
face, he understood a lot. His face was haunted; he didn’t have any marks of
abuse – thank God – but his aura emanated suffering.
“Master Bruce, are you alright?”
The young man tried to smile but it was a failed attempt.
“I’m not a ‘master’, Alfred, don’t call me that... and I’m fine.”
But his voice was uncertain.
“What happened, Master Bruce?”
“Stop calling me ‘master’!” upon realising that he had raised his voice he
lowered his eyes regretful “Please, Alfred...”
“Why you didn’t come?”
The 20 year old man ran a hand in his hair.
“They discovered me; Al Ghul did. They must be watching the Manor and saw me
talking to you...”
“My God!” Alfred brought his palm at his mouth. “He tortured you?”
“It’s nothing, Alfred; but we must not meet again” and seeing Alfred’s dread
“we can meet only underground; they don’t know about the tunnels or the burrow
in my cage: Ra’s thought that I evaded Falcone’s thugs and got out of the
building using the tricks he taught me to be undetected. It was my mistake,
Alfred; I felt too confident and resurfaced just a few blocks away from the
cabaret; and they were watching the area around Dolcetto. And to punish me,
they captured Tony and tortured him...”
“No; those terrorists in Afghanistan were...”
Bruce lowered his head.
“Do you understand now why we can’t show our true emotions to them? Ra’s
doesn’t want me to act as Bruce Wayne nor to accept your affection , and I must
oblige to persuade him that I submitted to him or else more people I love will
suffer...”
Alfred looked at him touched but afraid of what will hear.
“Alfred, if Falcone ever brings me near you, you must not show me any
affection, you’ll treat me as a stranger – and I’ll do the same... It’s the
only way... You’ll be safe...’
“I don’t care for myself, Master Bruce, you know that! If I get the chance to
be with you again, I’ll try to give you the warmth you were bereft of so many
years – I can’t be indifferent to you, you know that!”
“You are my only family, Alfred” the young man said piercing him with his
sparkling eyes “if I lose you, too, I won’t stand it; because it’ll be my fault
like their deaths” Alfred opened his mouth to dismiss that belief but Bruce
halted him “please, Alfred: if we want to have a chance to live our lives in
the surface, we must pretend that we submitted to them, in order to fool them
and avoid more suffering. We can be ourselves only underground. ”
Alfred’s eyes were watering.
“I’ll gladly spend the rest of my life underground if that means that I can be
with you, Master Bruce.”
Bruce nodded his eyes shining from unshed tears.
“I know, Alfred, me too... But promise me, please; these people must pay.
Promise me...”
He hurried to catch his young master seeing him shaking; noticing from the
proximity the bags under his eyes and his paleness. He touched his forehead and
the young man ran a fever. He helped him sit on a rock.
“What is it, master Bruce?”
“Nothing important, Alfred; just a little fever, some dizziness, some marks on
my skin...”
Alfred paled, his heart stopping abruptly: not that, too! He brought out of his
jacket a syringe and Bruce smiled.
“What’s this?”
“I wanted to do this from the first time you came to me. You were never
examined by a doctor all these years, right?”
“No, a doctor wasn’t on the package of the vacation...” Bruce smiled light-
heartedly. "Only when things got extreme..."
“I’ll take a blood sample and I’ll take it to Leslie...”
“She’ll figure out!” he said panicked.
“She won’t tell anyone...”
“She won’t but she’ll be in danger...”
“She won’t be, young man, and maybe she doesn’t care! Raise your sleeve.”
Bruce obeyed and watched Alfred as he was extracting the blood from his vein.
“Alfred, I thought it: we must follow a different path to gain our freedom and
bring Falcone to justice; I can’t just leave the city: Ra’s will find me and
the consequences will be grave ” he focused his eyes on Alfred’s “We need
Lucius Fox to help us implement the plan.”
Tony found Alfred sitting on the couch of the bedroom, the old man absorbed in
his thoughts, his wrinkled face moved. Tony felt a punch in his stomach. His
behavior was inhuman. If a person other than Bruce suffered too much, that
person was Alfred.
He touched his hand on the man’s shoulder and Alfred raised his tired, worried
eyes.
“It wasn’t your fault, Alfred; you couldn’t have done anything more than what
you did. I acted like an asshole, I’m sorry. You suffered more than anyone... I
doubt I would have stood this torture...”
“How should I help him, Master Anthony? I don’t know what he suffered all these
years; I only had some glimpses of that and I can imagine. He suffers and tries
to not burden us with his pain. He was alone all his life... Bats his only
company... Thank God, that young girl was there. And he feels alone even now
with us on his side; I feel totally useless, master Anthony, and now he
disappeared...’’
“We’ll find him, Alfred. I promise. Everything will be fine; he’ll learn to
trust people again. We’ll teach him to...”
***** Chapter 29 *****
Bruce turned to the spot where the voice came. The light from outside that
invaded the alley from the entrance was blocked by a tower -like human body,
his amused face illuminated by the sun on his back, but at the same time dark.
He had his ivory-silver cane touched on his shoulder and was approaching Bruce,
smiling self-confidently and menacing.
Bruce wasn’t surprised; he knew that he’d come again to find him, thirsty for
revenge, but he wasn’t afraid anymore. He knew the man better than he thought
that he knew his student.
Ra’s was standing now in front of him, towering him, his glare mocking, but
Bruce didn’t flinch nor his eyes twitched or lowered. He was just looking at
the familiar face unfazed, his eyes defiant; his lips in a tight expressionless
line.
“Ha! I will finally deal with Batman! My honor!” he laughed and made a small,
mocking bow.
“You’ll finally deal with the real Bruce...” he snapped.
“Oh! Batman is the real Bruce then?” he waved his head in negation “I don’t
think so; as a matter of fact, I think that Bruce Wayne doesn’t exist – he died
eighteen years ago. You are the leftovers I picked up and shaped.”
“You wish!”
The demon laughed delighted by the menacing sparkle in the young man’s eyes
which were almost black bearing no resemblance to the puppy eyes his abused
student looked him with.
“You are too arrogant when facing someone that is immortal!”
Bruce snorted yet his face didn’t manifest any sign of amusement, keeping its
stern quality.
“Now, who is the arrogant? You’re not immortal.”
“I survived your friend’s fires, didn’t I? I’m still standing, live and
powerful as ever, because you can’t kill a demon!”
Bruce’s lips twitched.
“You’re a demon only in devilry, nothing more. You just use Aristotle’s
ingredients for the legendary ‘Water of Immortality’, which you call ‘Lazarus’
Pit’ to heal lethal wounds: you managed to find one of the missing scrolls from
the destruction of Alexandria’s Library and you use it to fortify the myth that
you are immortal.’’
Ra’s’ amusement left his face, his eyes darkening. He brought his cane to touch
Bruce’s cheek and his former student continued piercing him with his eyes
unfazed.
“You are wicked! You managed to learn my secret” he half smiled “Indeed, I use
this ancient wonder to heal the fatal wounds inflicted on me by my enemies – I
did the same thing that night; my people at Gotham’s General Hospital declared
me dead and put a disfigured body in my place. Then, they took me to Metropolis
and administered me the elixir.”
Bruce nodded.
“I underestimated you so much! Oh! Bruce, if you have showed me your true
magnificent abilities, we’d built a better world, a world of justice and
benevolence!”
The young man’s eyebrows rose.
“Justice and benevolence in a world you rule? I’m certain of the opposite;
you’re not a man of justice, you’re just a tyrant who likes to dress his
malignity with a cloak of righteousness. The truth is that you only care about
your desires but you’re so cowardly that you need to justify them by calling
them ‘justice’.”
His hand incredibly fast slapped the cane from his cheek, his teacher failing
to hold it before it crashed to the ground.
Ra’s’ face was reddened; his creepy calm gone.
“I taught you everything you know to serve justice and you used that knowledge
against me!”
His student’s eyes were like blades.
“You taught me in order to serve you not justice. You taught me to spy your
enemies, to become one with the environment and make my presence unnoticed, to
hear through walls and see through doors. You taught me how significant justice
is for the world’s balance and survival and I served justice by spying you:
justice’s worst enemy!”
“You insolent worm! You stabbed me in the back, believing that you could
eradicate me’’ his eyes were sneering “but I’m still alive, here, to finish
what was left undone that night in the alley behind the Opera House.”
Bruce’s body was tense, his eyes studying his former mentor and now mortal
enemy, steady, icy cold, his face a sculpted rock.
“Bane was right: you’re a carcass wandering around and meddling with people’s
plans. You wish you were dead, you crave for death to come but you’re too
spineless to cause it yourself or provoke someone to do it. I’ll do it for you,
child; I’ll give you salvation!”
His fist came like a thunder to Bruce’s face but he managed to catch it just an
inch before making contact with his flesh. His eyes hadn’t even flinched and
Ra’s enraged from the blocking of his attack, moved his head to crash it on his
student’s but Bruce just wasn’t there and the demon stopped abruptly.
However, before Bruce found his balance in his new position, Ra’s was there,
bringing his entire shank to smash the young man’s ribs who although used his
hand to decrease the fortitude of the attacking lib, bent a bit as his mentor
found the sensitive bones.
Ra’s exploded in a cry of triumph seeing the young man’s grimace and fisted
Bruce's hair, yanking his head.
“You think that you saved Gotham? That from now on Gotham would be a paradise
city that my justice won’t touch? When they find the raped, massacred body of
the newly ‘resurrected’ Bruce Wayne, the city will fall again in corruption and
rot, and I’ll annihilate the city and kill your friends, making the world see
that injustice and corruption won’t be forgiven!”
His lips grazed his ear.
“You won’t kill nobody; ever again!”
His elbow sank in his former mentor’s liver and Ra’s cried from the unexpected
force of the blow, while Bruce caught the hand that was uprooting his locks and
squeezed a spot in the wrist, paralyzing the older man’s entire arm. His leg
flexed like a spring and kicked the demon to the wall’s direction.
But Al Ghul stopped his crashing impetus and landed on his feet completely
relaxed; his feeling fingers searched his paralyzed arm’s wrist and finding the
spot Bruce touched, recovered its abilities. Bruce turned to look at him
meeting his former mentor’s eyes inflamed with wrath and amusement. The young
man knew with whom he was dealing so he wasn’t surprised or apprehended by his
swift recover.
The demon without a second breath surged against the younger man with his
shining teeth uncovered.
“I’ll tear your throat as you dreaded all your life!”
Once again Bruce wasn’t there for Ra’s to smash him and the older man screamed
from frustration, giving the opening to his former student to hit him at the
nape of the neck, making his entire body numb, his towering body slumped on the
ground. He motioned to chokehold him but Ra’s simply vanished as he himself had
done before with the only difference that Al Ghul’s imposing body wasn’t
visible, even though his skilled eyes were scanning the alley.
Ra’s was elated from Bruce’s inability to locate him and raised his formed as a
flesh- blade hand to shatter the younger man’s neck. But Bruce kneeled suddenly
tricking the demon and catching his wrist, trying to throw him to the wall.
A piece of iron squashed his neck and legs like giant snakes enveloped his body
asphyxiating him, his bones yelling in agony, his breath caught in his lungs.
Ra’s grabbed his hair and jerked his head to the side, slithering his tongue on
his cheek.
“Beg me to spare you, child; beg me to let you breathe, to not pulverize your
bones… Promise me that you’ll serve me the rest of your life humbly” the young
man gritted his teeth, trying to slip from the demon’s hold. “You’re dashing
with this suit” he whispered with lust in his ear “Armani, isn’t it? Your
butler’s choice, I’m sure. Maybe I spare both of you and have him dressing you
for my pleasure…”
“I’ll never beg you!” he tried to take a hold of his mentor’s arms but
Ra's constricted more his air pipe making his mind dizzy.
Ra’s forced Bruce’s body to fell on the ground and turned him on his back, so
that he could look at his triumphant smile.
“I won, Bruce!”
His lips was upon Bruce’s lips but the younger man averted his head and
convulsed with all his stubbornness to escape Ra’s’ body. He ground his teeth
but then smiled.
“I’ll have the pleasure to make Batman submit; a captured tiger… Oh! Bruce,
this is even better…”
His hands invaded under his shirt and groped his torso greedily. Bruce jerked
violently.
“Get your hands off of me!” he ground his teeth.
The demon laughed, his glare pure evil.
“Then it’ll be death; I’ll tear your throat with my teeth and I’ll fuck you
while you’ll be bleeding to death…” he hissed, his head above Bruce’s.
A sharp, blinding pain on the forehead smashed Ra’s triumph and in the second’s
astonishment a mighty foot kicked his groin and ejected him to the far wall.
Bruce was instantly standing, his forehead bleeding, looking his tormentor
without fear, decisively and inhaling slowly and collected. Al Ghul rose
immediately to his feet, his own forehead blood stained, his wrath emanating
and without further ado charged like a real lion on the young man, his hands
ready starting to pound as soon as he felt the flesh in hitting distance.
But Bruce used his knowledge of Ra’s’ movements, after so many years of
training with him, to block each punch with a flicker of a second between them,
unable to see the hands but feeling, hearing and guessing where the next punch
will be.
The demon was infuriated; his every lethal punch thwarted by hands that he
couldn’t see. He realized that Bruce was a far better student than he thought
and he should exert himself to make him succumb to him. He jerked his hand
towards Bruce’s throat but the younger man once again blocked him and with
shock felt his opponent’s foot immerging to his stomach. He retreated and
became one with the shadows, waiting the right moment to catch his pray, amused
by the young man’s inability to find him.
But suddenly a solid, power emanating body was suffocating him, pressing his
torso, restricting his breath and his movement, two iron legs keeping his
ankles ‘bound’.
“You’re better than I thought even in my wildest dreams, child…” he struggled
to say “how you found me?”
“You are forcing yourself on me constantly since I was 14 years old; my body
knows your body better than I’d want; my body recognizes yours without seeing
it; recognizes your smell and when you cover your smell, recognizes your aura,
your thoughts. My body knows your body and if I want to, I can breathe whenever
you breathe and move whenever you move…’’
“My desire, my pleasure became your weapon” he laughed “you used well my advice
about a good whore’s work.”
Bruce felt a sharp sheering pain at the chest and a warm liquid running to his
shirt, numbing his arm. He saw a shine in the dark as Ra’s used his momentary
weakness to escape his hold, the ‘Knife of Justice’ at his hand. His legs were
snatched under him and the enormous mass of the older man carried him to the
ground once again pinning him under his weight, the lethal blade aiming his
head.
He caught Ra’s wrist and absorbed his impetus that would have pierced his head
with the blade. The older man’s eyes were shining like a maniac.
“No more games, child! You’ll die from the ‘Knife of Justice’ because you
insulted Justice!”
The too sharp peak of the dagger was almost grazing Bruce’s forehead despite
his effort to hold back his former mentor’s hand. His teeth were gritted and he
was covered with sweat, the gash at his chest stinging. He forced his other
hand to leave the ground and stretching his fingers, he hit with all his might
with his fingertips Ra’s’ heart making him stagger.
The young man jerked and rolled his former master under him, twisting the older
man’s hand and finding the spot to paralyze the hand and snatching the
legendary dagger. He brought the dagger to Ra’s’ shocked eyes.
“You’re unworthy to use Justice’s name! You offended the Gods; you exploited
the name Demon, hoisting yourself among the Gods: Demon was the ancient Greek
word for deities and you took it for yourself and made it synonym of the devil;
you used the Knife of Justice, the dagger of Alexander the Great, to kill your
enemies – ‘HUBRIS’ – You used the idea of Justice to torture and kill innocent
people, to become a tyrant intimidating the planet, aiming at gaining a
horrific weapon to enforce your rule to the world – ‘ATI’ ! And now, you’ll
face ‘NEMESIS’!”
Ra’s’ eyes had lost any hint of humor but they were deep in irony.
“And you’re Nemesis?”
Bruce’s eyes weren’t the eyes Ra’s knew; the boy’s eyes two dark lakes,
expressionless, steel, cold, non human and Ra’s for the first time in his life
felt fear. He couldn’t catch a heartbeat from his student’s body, even a breath
and the demon was paralyzed.
“I have in my possession the lost piece of the Black Butterfly, the Goddess’
sacred symbol; the one that the legend has it that the one that holds it has
the blessing of the Goddess. And I protected the second piece to not fall in
the hands of the Goddess’ enemies…” Ra’s’ eyes were huge, his heart feeling a
strong clench “I was raised by the bats because you didn’t serve justice and
let Falcone get away with my parents’ murders. Bats raised me, they showed me
the tunnels and the caves and the way to break from my cage; the bats, like the
Black Butterfly, the bats of Nemesis… And now you tried to kill me with the
‘Blade of Justice’ but you said that the dagger's hilt has now my teeth’s marks
all over it. You said that I’m not Bruce Wayne; you’re right: for people like
you who exploit justice and do crimes in the name of Justice I’m Batman, the
kid bats shaped; I’m the night! I’m the hand of the Goddess that watches the
night and forces the Gods’ punishment upon the arrogant, like you! I’m
nemesis!”
Ra’s rasping agonizingly caught with trembling hands Bruce’s holding wrist to
snatch the dagger and turn it against the young man. But Bruce’s eyes shone
angrily resisting the older man’s strength and Ra’s pushed him, their bodies
rolling until a cry of agony pierced the alley.
The young man’s eyes looked among his drenched in sweat locks Ra’s’
crystallized in utter terror glassy eyes. The dagger’s blade in Bruce’s fisted
hand was dripping warm blood, a huge gaping hole in the place where the demon’s
heart was beating until then .
Bruce detached his body under Ra’s’ dead burden and stood on his shaking legs,
the dagger glued at his hand; his eyes having regained their usual color and
spark. He managed to do two steps before his flailing legs collapsed dragging
his exhausted body with them. His eyelids covered his eyes decisively.
 
 
He was crawling at the endless grass of the Wayne Estate, the Manor towering
from afar. The sun was shining jubilant above him, butterflies flying around
him and intoxicating smell of flowers was brushing his small nostrils – the
spring had won Gotham’s cruel winter! He was no more than 3 years old yet he
was quite quick when he moved with his hands and knees, like a little kitten as
his mom was teasing him.
She was there sweating to follow him crawling too, trying to catch him and
Bruce suspected that she was pretending...
He felt her soft hands grabbing his waist and her fingers tickling him.
“I got you! Now, little guy?”
He burst in giggles unable to tolerate the tickling fingers; besides his mom
knew the spots where he was more sensitive. He rolled unable to stay on his
hands and his mother continued tickling him, she laughing more loudly than him
and he, even too young, knew that he was the reason she was so happy. He heard
seagull’s cries and his eyes focused on the cloudless, blue sky; two seagulls
were flying high near the sun. He was speechless from their beauty, his young
eyes widened, his mouth agape.
“Mom, can I fly, too?” he asked shyly but full of hope.
“Yes, you can!” a male voice invaded and Bruce felt his body leaving the ground
and being floating; it was his happy father’s voice who came to find them after
his shift in the hospital.
And he was making Bruce fly, his small hands spread like wings, his legs
straight and flexed. His eyes were wide opened to see the world from above, his
small lips smiling carefree: the blue of the sky and his mother’s happy eyes
his whole existence. And then he was laughing, his father laughing too and
Bruce wanted to see him so much but the spring’s breeze was irritating his
eyes, so as he turned his head to see his father, tears were flooding his eyes
and he couldn’t distinguish his father’s features. He fought to clean the tears
from his eyes to see him but the features he saw weren’t his father’s, they
were someone else’s. He was...
“Superman!” he exclaimed and jolted only for the hero to tighten his hold on
him.
He realized that they were airborne, the scenery under them unfamiliar.
“Easy, Star; it’s me.’’
The Man of Steel was smiling to him benevolently as always and his eyes were
full with warmth.
He suddenly felt the sting of the slash on his chest and his head throbbing, a
piercing pain crushing his forehead competing with his protesting ribs for his
attention.
“Why are you here?” his memory was a bit foggy but he was sure that he hadn’t
called a flying cub.
“I found you in an alley. You were sleeping.”
An alley. Of course. Ra’s Al Ghul. They fought and he had...
“You must take me to the Police” he said decisively to the young man holding
him.
Superman looked at him puzzled; he surely thought him delirious.
“What for?”
“To turn myself in. I killed a man.”
Now Clark understood and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them
again, his stare at Bruce’s face had all the compassion that made Bruce hate
himself.
“You mean a demon.”
“He was a man naming himself ‘demon’, but still a man. And I killed him.”
“You were defending yourself, Bruce. It must have been a hell of a fight. Your
clothes are soaked in your own blood, your skull is injured at the forehead and
your ribs the same. Al Ghul was worse. You saved yourself, your loved ones and
millions of people.”
Bruce averted his eyes.
“That is for justice to decide... I... I became like them; my father would have
been ashamed.”
Superman sighed; the man had morals of steel.
“When there’s no body, there’s no killing...”
Bruce looked him shocked.
“Then he is not dead: he slipped away again.”
“No. When I located you, there was Ra’s’ body and two people above him: a
masked man and a young woman.”
“Bane.”
“That is what the woman was calling him.’’
“Then how they didn’t kill me? I was...”
“Sleeping” Superman was smiling tenderly “they sensed me approaching and
preferred to take their dead leader, than risk being apprehended.”
“But if they took him, they will revive him with the ‘Water of Immortality’ –
it’s how he was so rapidly healed from the wounds Tony inflicted on him.”
The Man of Steel motioned his head.
“I don’t know about that... water” obviously, he thought that Bruce was
suffering the effects of a concussion “but they were saying that the damage
caused by that weapon was irrevocable.”
Bruce jerked in his arms and Superman held him stronger to not fall.
“The Knife of Justice – I stabbed him with that!”
Clark nodded to his Star’s flaming eyes.
“It’s what they were telling and when I ran to you” he blushed “your hand was
clenching a dagger, the same dagger that deflected my heat vision at the Manor.
It’s funny...” his face was thoughtful “You know, the blade was kind of glowing
in your hand, as if” he laughed awkward “as if it was happy – silly, eh? But
when I took it from your hand, it stopped glowing...”
Superman was looking at his eyes questioning but he had withdrawn, the events
in the alley returning, his memory rebuilding his own words to Ra’s, before the
demon tried to gain the control and turn the dagger against him. He shuddered,
feeling again the sense of the wooden handle in his hand as if the weapon had
its own volition.
Clark was looking at him concernedly. Bruce suddenly realized that the sun was
setting. Hours had passed since he left the Justice Hall without saying
anything to Alfred and Tony.
“Alfred must be sick with worry...” he sighed, his hand touching his forehead,
gaining its share of blood.
“And Tony Stark, too.”
Bruce closed his eyes with self loathe.
“I behaved like...”
“An eight year old?” Clark’s melancholic voice hurried to add; his
compassionate eyes reminding Bruce that he had heard everything at the
courtroom, as well.
“Like a brat!” he snapped, because he didn’t want Clark believing that his
‘runaway’ was a result of him becoming again the weak, beaten boy. That he was
once again vulnerable, ready to shatter in the first breeze.
Superman understood; he didn’t want Bruce to think that he pitied him. Hell, he
was admiring him, Lois and everyone in the office, too. But Bruce hated himself
and believed that anyone who knew will be disgusted by him or worse: will pity
him. His Star’s eyes were piercing him as if he knew what he was thinking and
Clark decided that he must tell something.
“Alfred called me after you didn’t meet them at the hotel and asked me if I had
seen you; I told him that you had left from the back exit of the building and I
offered to search for you, because I thought it better Iron Man not showing up
at Metropolis the same time Tony Stark was there.”
Bruce nodded calmer and Clark could detect in his brain activity that he wasn’t
upset anymore.
“We are not going at the hotel.” he stated.
“No. I called them when I found you and they will wait at the Manor. At first,
I thought to take you to a hospital but your condition will bring a lot of fuss
with the trial and all these... And the same goes for the hotel, too; imagine
Superman bringing a bloodstained Bruce Wayne in a luxurious hotel” Bruce
blinked “so, we decided that it would be best if I took you to the Manor.”
Bruce didn’t comment, Superman’s, Clark’s hands holding him were making his
body react. He knew that the young man would never hurt him in any way, but his
body still refused to hear his reasoning: men’s hands were always men’s hands.
And he was tired, so tired of everything that was inside him, tired of himself,
but he didn’t want to show that to Clark. It wasn’t Clark’s fault; he was kind
and good. And Bruce was Batman and Clark should forget what he heard in the
courtroom to respect him again. He wasn’t weak anymore; he wasn’t the little
boy with the crippled arm.
“You defeated your mentor that is powerful warrior that almost killed me” Clark
said staring at him with adoration – Bruce felt dread; it was like he had read
his thoughts. “You are free now; you triumphed over all your enemies. Your
loved ones are safe and life is yours!”
Bruce averted his eyes because he couldn’t stand the happiness he was seeing in
those clear eyes, the honest love. He didn’t want Clark to see that he wasn’t
even content.
The sun was blood stained as his shirt and was flooding the sky with his red
golden agony, some pink clouds highlighting the glory of the ‘dying’ sun.
“So beautiful!” he exclaimed and Superman chased his eyes till he captured
them.
“How long it’s been since you last saw a sunset?” he breathed in his ear.
“So long that I had forgotten there is a sunset and it’s so beautiful...”
Bruce was withdrawing again and Clark was afraid of that, so he strengthened
his hold enough to remind him that he wasn’t alone but not to cause him pain,
although he knew that his Star was more than capable to tolerate pain. Yet he
didn’t deserve to suffer anymore. His eyes were met with Bruce’s and he was
once again fascinated by their unique colour, the emerald little stars
glistening inside the sapphire blue: the innocence, the decisiveness, the pain,
the suffering, the strength, everything there. The golden and blood colours of
the sky playing jubilant with the stormy seas...
“It’s beautiful only because I see it in your eyes...”
But Bruce sensing Clark’s body’s signals turned his face to the sky to avoid
the young man’s feelings. He let himself being drowned like the sun in the
bleeding golden sky.
“It’s majestic...”
Clark saw the vast Wayne Estate approaching and nudged lightly Bruce to admire
the view. But the tense body was now relaxed in his arms and Clark panicked
turned his Star’s face to him, although every indicator of the tempting body
was normal.
He was sleeping; just sleeping and Superman stood midair enchanted not wanting
to move, not wanting the time to pass to a different ugly experience. His
velvety eyelids had covered softly his exhausted eyes and the long eyelashes
were brushing his sharp cheekbones. His cheeks were hot from the low fever he
was running and so deliciously sweaty, his rosy lips were moving subtly to
exhale air; some locks had stuck on his sweaty face and were framing his
beauty. So beautiful and vulnerable at the same time. His acute memory
repeating what his Star had been through as himself had described it in the
courtroom and replaying what he saw Chill doing to him in that bathroom... He
shuddered at the thought that these were happening to him constantly from his
childhood... A little wounded kitten being tortured by those that captured
it...
His lips found Bruce’s half opened sleepy lips and he was absorbed in the
softness and sweetness; an electric wave running his spine, his hands taking
Bruce’s pliant body in bridal style without letting his lips. He wanted to
touch his burning flesh, to make love to him so to show him that this act
wasn’t shameful and torturous.
No, he couldn’t do this. He remembered the terror in Bruce’s eyes when he was
ready to tolerate Flass’ rape; it was real terror despite the fact that he was
making his heart a rock to fight the disgust. He detached his lips; he was
wounded and his ministrations should be gentle like touching a delicate flower
or else he would shatter him worse and then the Batman would exile him forever.
Bruce trusted him from the start; he wouldn’t betray his trust only to satisfy
his urges. He’d wait as long as it takes, while being his friend and comrad.
The body in his arms was shivering from the cold of the ending winter or some
nightmare he didn’t divulge to anyone. He muffled his Star with his cape like
he did that day. Protectively.
“I won’t let anyone harm you again; even myself...” he whispered to his
forehead bearing the dried blood from his confrontation with the last demon of
his hell. Though Clark knew that the demons would be always alive inside him...
He descended to the landing of the Manor’s central stair in front of the main
entrance careful to not wake Bruce.
Alfred opened before he even thought to ring the bell and immediately enveloped
his young master with his love and concern; the blood all over Bruce’s body
draining his face from any color.
Tony rushed there following Alfred. The playboy’s face wasn’t playful.
“What happened?’’ he asked worriedly.
But Alfred preferred to lead the Man of Steel inside.
“I found him in an alley; Ra’s Al Ghul attacked him and...”
“So Bruce was right, the bastard didn’t die that night! He is a real demon,
then?”
Alfred didn’t care if Al Ghul was immortal or a demon or anything.
“You saved him?”
Superman looked tenderly at Bruce’s tattered but so calm in sleep form.
“No. He won the demon; he squashed him” his pride was radiating. “When I
reached the alley, Al Ghul was dead and Bruce was sleeping...”
“Sleeping?!” Tony exclaimed dumbfounded but Alfred halted him.
“Please, sir, bring him upstairs; he must be cleaned and well rested. And you,
Master Anthony, please call Leslie: he has many nasty wounds.”
“Thankfully, he hit his head but he doesn’t have a concussion’’ Clark added and
followed Alfred to the main stair and then to the master’s bedroom.
“It is the first room we changed to its previous form; exactly as it was before
the murders of his parents. I didn’t want anything reminding him of the abuse
he suffered here.”
“And that?” he gestured with his head at the large painting with the completely
naked and drugged Bruce lying seductively on black silk.
“This is for Master Bruce to do as he wants”
He led Clark to the enormous shining bathroom and the Man of Steel laid
Bruce gently inside the bath tube. Alfred started to undress him but then,
after tossing aside the jacket, began to unbutton Bruce’s shirt, he was
reminded of Clark’s presence and looked him sternly.
“What? Don’t you need any help?” but his blush betrayed him.
“No, Master Kent, I won’t need any help. You may go downstairs to have some
refreshment” Superman’s hunched figure turned to leave “and not peering with
super vision!”
“Yes, sir...” Superman mumbled and left hurriedly. He was so obvious?
When Clark reached the grand salon, Leslie was ascending the stairs after
saluting him cordially.
He found Tony waiting for him his hand hugging the fireplace, a glass of whisky
on his other.
“Do you want some?” he asked the Man of Steel.
He negated with a gesture.
“What exactly happened in that alley?” Tony asked with steady voice but Clark
could detect his upset.
“I don’t know, only Bruce knows. I just came there when everything had ended.’’
“Ra’s’ body?”
“Two of his people took it – thankfully, they sensed my arrival and didn’t
touch Bruce.”
Tony nodded and pressed his lips together.
“Thank you, Superman” he said. “And how we are to protect Bruce from him?”
“He won’t come back; he is dead” Tony looked at him intrigued “he was stabbed
with that strange knife he had; I guess he tried to kill Bruce with that and
Bruce managed to resist and during the fight, Al Ghul got stabbed. But really,
only Bruce knows. However, I heard his people saying that this damage caused by
this dagger can’t be healed, even with their means.”
Tony detached himself from the fireplace and Clark felt that something was
coming for him.
“I know you want him, I mean I am a very experienced man and your... desire is
evident.”
Clark flushed once again.
“I... It’s not...”
Tony stood in front of him and although shorter than him, Superman felt that
the billionaire towered him.
“You think that you have feelings for him?” his posture was demanding and Clark
didn’t like it but the man cared for his friend, especially after all these
horrible things he heard Bruce revealing.
“I don’t just ‘think’; I’m sure!”
Tony smiled and rubbed his brow.
“Do you know how many times people are sure and then treat their ‘loved one’ as
a shitbag and hurt him or her?
Clark understood what he was implying.
“You know because you’re one of them?” he snapped.
Tony laughed.
“You’re right! I’m the worst example but I’d never put a traumatized soul in
more torture by promising him love, showing him love, only for me to transform
to a monster.”
“I’d never!” Clark roared insulted.
Tony looked upstairs and Clark understood and lowered his head.
“I’d never cause pain to him” he said low “I’d rather die than hurt him or let
anyone hurt him ever again.”
Tony nodded and sighed.
“You’ll ask me to leave him alone? To never come near him again?” Clark
demanded.
The playboy lowered his head.
“Of course, not, I’m not the cruel bastard you think me but don’t you dare
press Bruce into something he is not ready for or will hurt him.”
Clark moved his head in disbelief.
“I don’t think that I can press him” he looked pointedly at Tony reminding him
that they were talking about Batman “in anything.”
“He is emotionally vulnerable; his emotions although he hides it well are his
greatest weakness. Don’t you dare use that!”
“I won’t, I promise you. Do you have feelings for him?” he wanted to ask him
that for a long time now.
Tony sighed and rubbed his hands in his face; then looked again at Superman.
“Do I have feelings for Bruce? He is my best friend, I believed him dead for
eighteen years and during these years my chest was under the same tombstone
that had his name on; I was willing to kill and die to save him when I found
out that he is alive and I’m still. He is still the little angel he was then...
The innocence I didn’t have...”
“Are you in love with him?” Clark’s voice was harsh from agony.
Tony didn’t speak, just pierced him with his black shining eyes.
“He is too good for me; too pure for me to even think carnally of him. But...”
he made a gesture “but that doesn’t mean that you have my blessing to lay your
hands on him – let him have his peace. He needs friends not people seeing him
as a body to...”
“He is not that for me” he wanted to make the man understand but he knew that
Stark couldn’t trust anyone with his bleeding friend. “I promise you, Mr.
Stark, I won’t make anything to upset him; if I do, I’ll gladly let you feed me
a kilo of kryptonite.’’
“My friend” Tony’s eyes shone wickedly “if you hurt Bruce, I won’t need you to
let me do it...”
 
Alfred bathed gently, soothing, cautiously his young master’s sleeping body,
giving special care to his wounds that – thank God – had already stopped
bleeding. And when Leslie came, they took him to the large bed and tended to
his wounds properly; Leslie administering a mild sedative to allow him the
resting sleep he needed so much. Then they both dressed him with the brand new
pyjamas Alfred had the pleasure to buy for him and muffled him with blankets.
When Alfred was alone, he looked with adoration his boy’s sleeping, completely
relaxed face and brushed him softly to not disturb his long delayed rest.
“I have something from your mother, Bruce; I know it delayed eighteen years and
I know that it’s not the same...” his eyes were tearful.
He leaned above the young man’s covered with bandages forehead and touched his
trembling lips to the patch of flesh that remained uncovered; his lady’s teary
eyes thanking him for fulfilling her wish.
***** Chapter 30 *****
Chapter Notes
     I'd like to thank all of you for reading, commenting and leaving
     kudos. I, especially, want to thank CompletelyBatty for accompanying
     me constantly in this journey and giving me inspiration, motive and
     encouragement with her epic comments.
     I hope you had a good time reading, despite the fact the subject was
     rather tough.
It was so warm and soft there and nothing was disturbing or upsetting him; he
didn’t want to leave this place but his body sent him messages that it was
rested and wanted to be active again. Some rigidity bothered his well trained,
used to constant vigilance muscles.
He opened his sleepy eyes. He was at the large bed of the master bedroom
covered with fluffy, warm blankets, his body on a loving mattress – he had
forgotten how good it felt... Thank Goodness, everything was real and not a
dream! He could feel the flexing of the flesh where the slash on his chest was
stitched and his head felt restricted. He motioned to rise.
But two caring hands touched him to the mattress.
“No harsh movements, Master Bruce; you don’t have something serious but caution
is always needed.”
It was Alfred and he was smiling affectionately; Bruce he had built this scene
with his imagination so many times... That he would open his eyes and he’d be
on his bed, Alfred there reassuring him that everything was okay and it was
only a dream and his parents wait for him to have breakfast. His eyes blurred.
“Master Bruce, what is it?” the kind man asked him worriedly.
“Nothing, Alfred; don’t worry” he didn’t want Alfred calling him ‘master’, he
wasn’t anyone’s ‘master’, especially Alfred’s, but the good man, his beloved
friend, wanted to call him that and Bruce couldn’t take that from him; he had
caused the good man so much suffering.
“Now that you are awake, I’ll make some breakfast; I was giving you water and
some milk during your sleep but you’ll need solid food.”
Bruce felt his cheeks for stubble but his skin was smooth.
“How many days I was out?’’ it must be many days, if Alfred had to give him
water and milk.
Alfred smiled reassuringly.
“You were sleeping; Leslie was giving you mild sedatives to have all the rest
you needed. You were sleeping three days.”
“Three days?!” that was outrageous and a surge of urgency made him move swiftly
to stand up but Alfred patted him on the shoulders. “Why I don’t have any
stubble?”
The loyal man smiled.
“Alfred, you don’t have to serve me!”
“Who spoke about serving? It was my pleasure, sir.”
Bruce’s eyes caught the vase on the table at the centre of the room and the
flowers in it.
“You brought me... flowers?!”
Alfred laughed and Bruce felt his heart melting because his good friend was
relaxed and happy.
“No, this is Master Anthony’s deed; he sends flowers every day to compensate.”
Now Bruce was puzzled: what he missed these three days? And Tony sending
flowers?
“Compensate for what?” his eyebrows were frowned.
“For leaving. Some urgent matters in Malibu needed his presence there and he
couldn’t avoid it.”
So Tony wasn’t there, that realisation filled his mind with disappointment like
when he was too young and Tony returned to his own home after their vacations
together.
Alfred seeing his saddened eyes, hurried to raise his young master’s spirits.
“He ordered me” Bruce smiled at the use of ‘ordered’ “to tell you that he waits
you in Malibu as soon as you wake up from your beauty sleep.”
“And you as well...” the young man added. “But I can’t leave now; Lucius is
already too exhausted fighting with all these and I left him alone to handle
the mess, while I was... sleeping! I must go to the Wayne Tower immediately.”
“I assure you that Lucius is not exhausted; on the contrary, he looks ten years
younger. Giving his best self to the company that is once again yours revives
him; he was anticipating it all these years, from the moment he suspected that
you were alive. Those three days he was calling every day to ask about you and
he told me that it was better that you took a ...leave, because journalists of
every known and unknown newspaper or TV station are flooding the street outside
the Wayne tower, waiting eagerly for you.”
Bruce nodded; his eyes heavy.
“Of course, the testimony...” suddenly the warm bedroom had become icy cold.
“They want to ask more, to see how a ragged and beaten thing behaves...”
Alfred swallowed.
“They’ll learn that you are far more than a ‘ragged and beaten thing’;
actually, they are quite naive if they believe that you are only that.”
Bruce scratched his head that was a bit foggy from the long sleep. He wanted
Alfred to regain his carefree and light demeanour.
“Superman brought me here, right? I remember him flying me here but at some
point I must have slept...”
Alfred seemed amused.
“Yes, Superman brought you here and he was eager to help...” he smiled witty to
Bruce’s too solemn eyes. “Mister Kent was calling three times a day to be
informed about your condition” he saw with concern his young master lowering
his head as if a burden was there. “And a lovely young lady was coming twice a
day to see you...”
Bruce’s lowered head jolted, his eyes shining jubilant.
“What lovely lady?”
“You know many lovely ladies, handsome?” a sly but amused female voice entered
the room from the window and Bruce saw thrilled Selina having just descended
from the window sill.
“Lovely but surely a bit strange at her preferred entries...” Alfred remarked
raising his eyebrow.
But Bruce jumped from the bed and ran to her, his face radiating. She was
wearing tight jeans and a wool blouse that was seen from her unzipped short
leather jacket.
“I know only one lovely lady and I don’t want to meet any other!” he hugged her
affectionately. “I thought you left Gotham, believing that I was angry with
you! I’m sorry I behaved like this...”
Alfred felt like intruding to something belonging to the two youths, so he
stood and moved to the door.
“Miss Kyle, would you delight us with your company during breakfast?”
“Oh, Alfred, you know that I can’t resist your cooking... But if I continue
eating here, I won’t fit to my suit!”
The man winked.
“Cats always fit to their fur...”
Bruce smiled at his butler, as he was leaving the room.
“I see that you are quite accustomed to Alfred’s cooking; he told me that you
were coming twice a day to see how I was doing...”
She nodded.
“I wanted to kiss the Sleeping Beauty to wake you up but your guardian angel
was adamant about the Prince’s virtue...” she purred.
Bruce laughed and it sounded to him like it burst from a stranger’s mouth.
“You know, Selina, I wasn’t angry with you; I just felt that you’re so good
that you didn’t deserve to have the burden of a death on your shoulders...”
Her smile was crooked.
“I assure you, Bruce, I don’t feel any burden; I’d have felt that burden if
this horrible man had lived and continued to brag about what he did to you!”
Her beautiful eyes were inflamed with hatred.
“I wanted to be your knight who kills the dragon, even late...” her soft hand
caressed his cheek and he kissed it tenderly. “Don’t hate yourself, Bruce, for
what I did. Contrary to what you believe, his death made me feel a better
human...”
“Why were you hiding from me?” his voice was hoarse.
She waved her head and sighed.
“I wanted to give you some time and to myself as well...” she smiled “You gave
a job to Beth and you paid the bail for her daughter’s release from jail. I
found Jessica and took her to Beth; it was heartbreaking, Bruce, to see them
together again – they won’t be homeless and hungry again. Now they can hope for
a new life that you gifted to them...”
Bruce motioned his head denying the praise.
“People deserve to live a peaceful, happy life.”
Selina's stare searched and found his eyes.
“The same goes for you.”
He didn’t answer, just pressed his lips and Selina with dread understood that
he didn’t believe that there was hope for him. She took his head in her hands
and pierced his eyes with hers.
“Promise me that you’ll try to live again...”
Bruce smiled; his uneasiness emanating.
“I fought to regain all these, to free myself, to send Falcone to justice; I’m
alive and I have my friends around me!”
Her clever eyes weren’t fooled but she was in uneasiness herself for what she
had to tell him. She released his face.
“I donated the four million dollars left from Falcone’s payment for the Black
Butterfly to the orphanage hoping that now that a Wayne will be at its board of
directors, the money would be used to make orphan children happy.”
Bruce smiled.
“Once you told me that I see the good in other people even when it doesn’t
exist and you meant yourself. Now you refute yourself and I’m so happy for it!
And you gave the other million to Leslie for the children of the Narrows. But,
Selina, you should have kept a portion of the money, you deserve it.”
She motioned her head in negation.
“I don’t want his money; I think it better if his money for once is used for
giving happiness to less fortunate people.”
“You’re right. Selina, come to work with me at the Enterprises: I need a person
like you.”
“You need a bodyguard?” she mocked him.
“Whatever you want!”
Selina made some elegant strides away from him, hesitating to say what she had
to tell him. She looked around and her stare was captivated by the big painting
above the headboard; her eyes glistened.
“That’s very beautiful! Of course, the flesh and blood model is even better but
it is very close... What will you do with that?” she asked Bruce that had
approached her.
“I’ll burn it myself!” he answered; his hatred poisoning his voice. “Falcone
hired a famous painter to make that painting and they drugged me to take that
horrible pose!”
She looked the painting lopsided.
“I don’t find the pose so horrible – I mean if you forget about the
circumstances...”
Bruce cupped her jaw to look him.
“Come on, Selina, why are you avoiding answering my proposition?”
“Oh! Bruce, you don’t need me so much anymore, don’t make it more difficult
than already is...”
Suddenly, he understood. He knew Selina almost all his life and she knew him as
well.
“You’re leaving!” the pain was under his steady voice and pierced Selina.
“Bruce, I told you that I wouldn’t leave before you were free and safe. And now
you are and have many good people on your side...’’
His eyes were saddened.
“I can’t have everything, right? He smiled. “Not even my good friend who gave
me hope all these years, who kept me alive and guarded my remaining sanity...
And now that I want to spend with her moments without fear and pain... I must
lose her...”
His eyes had tears and Selina couldn’t hold her own, she brushed his cheek and
kissed him.
“Hush. I’ll return; you can’t lose me, sweetie, even if you wanted to. But I
need to travel, to see new places, to be...”
“Free...” Bruce added and Selina felt his guilt for keeping her in Gotham so
many years.
“Bruce...”
He smiled sweetly and decisively buried his emotions inside him.
“You’ll be remembering me or my memory would be unpleasant to you?”
“You mean the first time I saw the Bat? I admit it was somewhat scary. I prefer
seeing your face and your real eyes. You will be always on my mind, Bruce, and
when I come back, I’ll have so many things to tell you!” her smile was radiant.
“About your thefts?’’ he asked somewhat sternly.
“Only on those who deserve it, I promise.”
He nodded smiling.
“You’ll take care of yourself and be careful, right?”
“Am I not always, handsome?” she caressed his hair. “When I come back, I’ll
expect to hear about your heart’s awakening, about the lucky one...” she
winked.
But Bruce just shuddered and felt his spine frozen.
Alfred’s calling from downstairs made both jump. For an instant they were once
again behind the huge garbage bin outside Dolcetto and were chatting. And
although irrational they felt some nostalgia because that moments of their
chatting was like they were alone in the world and every dragon and demon and
death just wasn’t there; wasn’t lurking outside their secluded little world
fenced by a garbage bin.
Selina felt a painful knot in her throat and she knew that Bruce was feeling
the same. She took his right hand, the one that she always was afraid of
touching to not cause him pain.
Bruce smiled at her confidently.
“You don’t want your cinnamon biscuits to get cold and I don’t want
that either! Let’s see who’s gonna eat most of them, handsome!”
“Everything is going to be fine, right, Selina?”
“That’s a promise, Bruce!”
 
Clark was walking the Wayne Estate grounds, ascending the small hill, and the
breeze was tousling his hair; the wet grass brushing his shoes. He had come
after leaving the office to make sure that Bruce was fine; Leslie and Alfred
were all the time watching him like guardian angels but he wanted to see for
himself that his Star was recovering well – well, not only that...
Although he came dressed as Clark Kent, he preferred the flying way because it
was faster and nobody could see him. Alfred told him that Bruce was at that
hill and now Clark was seeing him clearly.
He was kneeled in front of his parents’ and his own grave, his hands brushing
his mother’s and his father’s tombstones and despite the fact he had his back
on Clark, he was sure that his Star wasn’t crying. At the bases of each of the
two graves laid a beautiful, shining bouquet of white roses.
“Mom, dad, forgive me...” he heard him saying with his steady voice.
Clark didn’t want to be an intruder to this scene, although he was sure that
Bruce had sensed his arrival.
“That grave isn’t needed anymore...” he felt his own voice like a thunder in
the peaceful area.
Bruce was on his feet instantly, his face stony but Clark could sense a flinch
that had nothing to do with surprise or fear. He wore plain jeans and a black
cashmere sweater, clothes that struggled to hide his body’s beautifully shaped
muscles but in vain. He was well rested and his body didn’t emanate signals of
exhaustion even though he still had the wounds of the last days and the shadow
over his eyes.
He looked at the grave with his own name in its tombstone puzzled but after a
second his face relaxed in an awkward smile.
“It never passed my mind...”
Clark could think the reason for that but he didn’t want to upset him.
“Alfred told me that I would find you here...”
Bruce casted his eyes on the tombstones with his parents’ names; they were
dripping affection.
“Yeah, I always wanted to bring them some decent flowers.” He laughed “I never
had the chance to honor them as I should...”
His pain made Clark’s legs approach him without his volition.
“You honored them every moment of your life, Bruce. They are proud of you!”
Bruce focused his eyes on Clark’s.
“Your parents, both biological and foster, can be proud of you but not mine...”
his eyes returned to the tombstones expressionless. “They saved me while I was
the reason they died; my mother’s fortune gave me the means to defeat my
enemies. The Black Butterfly...”
“The one that was returned to the Smithsonian’s?”
His Star looked him again and Clark felt warmer although his body’s temperature
was always above the human temperature.
“No, the lost one that forced Falcone to make the wrong move. It was my
mother’s inheritance; she, once, had helped the people of an impoverished area
in Greece to make their life better; she had financed the build of a school and
a hospital and covered the expenses for the treatment of a child that had been
gravely injured; my father performed the complex surgery. The people gifted the
Black Butterfly to her expressing their gratitude; they didn’t know its value,
they thought it a charm for protection. My mother didn’t want to take something
so valuable but she didn’t want to sadden them, so she took it with the
intention to return it. It was the one half of Nemesis’ symbol, the sacred
diamond dedicated to the Goddess of deviant revenge against the evil. Having
that stone in my possession helped me defeat Ra’s who was infatuated with myths
and legends. The stone must return now to its rightful owners...”
“The Smithsonian’s Museum?”
Bruce smiled.
“No, the people of Greece; they gave it to my mother for protection and in the
end it saved her son. I think they deserve to take it back; it’s their
inheritance, after all...”
Clark suddenly remembered his other reason for coming. He brought out of his
overlarge coat something folded in a fabric and offered it to Bruce and he
unfolded it. It was the ‘Knife of Justice’, its blade shining, having kept not
even a drop of Ra’s’ blood.
“It belongs to you...”
“No, it just used my hand to besstow justice. I want you to give this and the
half Black Butterfly to their people. They are both too precious to be kept by
one person.”
“Why you don’t deliver them yourself? They should know who their benefactor
is.”
Bruce’s eyes shone on Clark’s.
“It’s better if Superman does this, otherwise it would be revealed what really
happened and my true part in all this.”
Clark nodded. Of course. He hadn’t thought of this; nobody should even suspect
the true magnificent abilities of this man.Bruce’s face was raised, letting the
subtle breeze caress him; his eyes were closed in an expression of calm and
pleasure, inhaling air deeply in his strong chest and Clark suddenly envied an
element…
“When this breeze hits my face, I have the illusion that I can start my life
all over again…” he smiled bitterly without opening his eyes.
“But that is happening!”
Bruce opened his eyes abruptly and looked him, his eyes dark and unreadable but
certainly not optimist.
“I didn’t have the opportunity to thank you, Clark. For everything” he changed
the subject, his hands were on his waist and his eyes were on Clark’s face
which flushed.
“I didn’t do anything, only assisting; I was just following” he laughed “your
orders and your intelligence. I’d have done anything for you...” and sensing
his Star’s uncomfortability decided to stop this line of conversation. “What
will happen to Batman now that Falcone’s reign is over?”
“He will continue to watch over Gotham. Falcone and Ra’s may be neutralized but
this will bring to the fore new candidates for the position of the Gotham’s
underworld’s leader – and that means new ordeals for Gotham’s innocent people.
So Batman must be ready... Besides, I need at least one part of me to be
respected...”
Clark jolted in surprise; so, Bruce thought that he wasn’t respected, that he
was only pitied by the others.
“That’s not true!” he protested.
“People is either disgusted by me or pitying me, regarding me like a ragged,
powerless, raped being. A victim; Do you know how it is to be a victim and then
being treated like one, as if that is your entire personality?” He laughed self
mockingly “Of course, I shouldn’t complain because this is useful if I want to
keep my secret.”
“No, Bruce, you’re wrong; the vast majority of the media praise your courage
and strength to survive all these without losing your mind and managing to
smash your captor and your parents’ murderer – they don’t know every detail
otherwise their praise would be greater. All my colleagues speak for you with
absolute admiration; Lois’ eyes are tearful every time she makes entire
speeches for your bravery and she doesn’t know about Harvey and his father...
Even Luthor’s newspapers and TV stations make specials for you and your
fascinating character and story!”
Bruce frowned.
“Lex Luthor? I know him: he had some jobs with Falcone but he despised the
businessman from Metropolis because his aspirations to take over his
Enterprises were too obvious. Ra’s used Luthor’s knowledge about you to prepare
himself to confront you. I don’t like his... ‘praise’.”
Clark shrugged and sighed.
“Maybe even he is charmed by you...”
Bruce closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, his hands tightening on his waist.
“Listen, Clark, I know what you feel... I...I spent my entire life being the
receiver of other bodies’ signals and... and I understand...”
“Bruce, I don’t...”
But his Star manifesting his decisiveness and personality raised his hand
halting him.
“Let me finish, please. You saw me as a defenceless being in need of being
saved and protected – and I’m grateful for your kindness, believe me. Falcone
advertised me boosting my physical characteristics and this along with my
vulnerability, the mystery surrounding my existence and your natural goodness
made you feel as if you..." he stopped shaking his head "Oh! I’m not good in
this...”
Clark felt a wave of frustration; he understood what Bruce was trying to do.
Maybe Stark had talked to him.
“Stark spoke to you?”
Bruce waved in the negative.
“What has Tony to do with this?”
“He thinks that I’m like those monsters and I’ll hurt you.”
“No, no, Clark, Tony and I didn’t talk from the day you brought me here. I’m
sure he doesn’t believe anything like this for you; he is just overprotective.
But the one who really is in risk is you.”
Clark was confused.
“Please, understand, Clark; I don’t want you to be hurt...”
“Me? Hurt?”
“I can’t be what you want, Clark” he was looking at Clark’s puzzled eyes which
were staring at him pleading.
“How can you know what I want?”
“I feel it every time you have your hands on me; when your body touches mine. I
see it in your eyes... But I can’t, I’m sorry. I’m darkness and you are light,
I’m dirty and you’re pure. There’s only ice inside me...”
“You said once that I am warm; maybe, if you give me the chance, I could melt
the ice” Clark laughed, his turmoil and sorrow evident.
Bruce exhaled and averted his eyes.
“If you melt the ice, I’ll cease to exist; like the snowmen Tony and I were
making at Christmas...”
Clark was tired of hearing about that Stark.
“Tony, Tony, Tony! Always that Stark!” he grabbed Bruce’s upper arms and he
didn’t resist “If you don’t want me, because you prefer him, say it clearly;
I’ll understand, but don’t use all these!”
Bruce’s eyes were full of astonishment and shock.
“No, I don’t love Tony the way you think; he is my best friend, my brother” he
slipped easily from Clark’s grip and the broader man felt ashamed that had been
so aggressive with his Star. “I can’t love anyone this way, Clark, and I don’t
want a good man like you to be hurt. You deserve something better, something
purer, like yourself...”
Clark’s trembling hands made to touch his Star’s locks but he avoided him.
“I’m filthy, Clark; every day of my life my body belonged to other people who
did whatever they wanted to me. Filthy things, disgusting things... Believe me;
you deserve something better than Falcone’s, Chill’s and Al Ghul’s
leftovers...”
Clark was speechless and Bruce was looking at him resolutely, his eyes steady,
even indifferent when he was degrading himself.
“I have nothing to offer anymore; they took everything my body had to give. I
can’t give happiness to anyone, not even to myself.”
“That’s not true. You made all of us happy with your return; you reunited
Harvey Dent and his father, you helped so many people escape Falcone’s wrath,
you saved even that worm Flass... You... you are the purest person I ever met.
The most kind, selfless, brilliant...”
“I can’t love the way you want me to, Clark!” he yelled. “I’m a cripple,
emotionally and physically, why is it so difficult for you to understand? My
heart can’t love as you deserve and my body...”
Clark sighed. He felt drops of sweat on his forehead.
“They didn’t cripple you, there’s nothing missing, except than your left big
toe... When I found you in the alley and I was afraid of what had happened to
you, I scanned you..." he halted abruptly blushing "I’m sorry for that.”
Bruce shook his head.
“I can’t function sexually; I can’t have an erection. I’m like a dead body. Al
Ghul tried with every possible way to make my body respond – and believe me; he
knew the human body better than anyone - but it was futile.”
Clark smiled.
“Bruce, they were raping you from your nine years; of course, your body
wouldn’t react to them. But if you let me try...” he made a motion to touch him
but his Star cringed and avoided him.
“No, Clark, I just can’t. And you’ll suffer. You’re blessed with long live and
you’ll have only few decades with your mate. Those few years must be happy. You
can give endless happiness to someone and you deserve someone who can give
something back.”
“You gave it a thorough thinking’’ Clark grinned bitterly.
“I’m not that person, Clark. Your sun will be quenched by my darkness...
Please, be happy...”
“How can I be happy without...”
Bruce rubbed his wounded forehead.
“You’ll find someone worthy, someone who won’t cringe whenever you motion to
touch her or him, someone who won’t panic whenever you look at him with lust,
someone who won’t feel disgusted even with the thought of you loving his or her
body, someone who whenever you believe that you give him your love and
happiness won’t feel Falcone’s cruel hands instead of your gentle ones, Chill’s
sneering eyes instead of your kind ones, Al Ghul’s punishing thrusts instead of
your pleasant ones, Bane’s teeth instead of your velvety lips...”
He didn’t lower his head, his stare was emanating strength.
“Please, Clark, understand...”
Clark nodded. He would never make his Star reliving all these terrible
experiences.
“Do you want me to leave and never come back? I’ll do it, but don’t plead with
me: you’ll never plead with anyone anymore...”
Bruce lowered his head and when looked him again his eyes were sorrowful.
“No, Clark, I want you as my friend. I want to” he laughed “be happy with your
happiness... because you deserve it... I know that now it’s painful but
eventually you’ll see that is better that way.”
Clark could feel the emotion that Bruce wasn’t allowing to emerge not wanting
to hurt him further.
“You deserve happiness too, Bruce, and I’d give everything to...”
“My happiness is seeing other people happy... Alfred is coming...” Bruce said
and Clark was dumbfounded that he didn’t hear him first.
Alfred reached them huffing and puffing, weeping his sweaty face with his
handkerchief.
“I guess years are passing too fast... Master Wayne, Mr. Fox called and asked
for you to contact him about the Press Release regarding the ‘Bruce Wayne
Haven’ – Mr. Kent, I hope you join us for dinner.”
“It will be my pleasure, Alfred” but his eyes searched Bruce’s for affirmation.
“What about ‘Bruce Wayne Haven’?”
Bruce smiled.
“Now talks the reporter in you... Of course, it must change name: Tony agreed
with Lucius to rename it. I think that ‘Thomas and Martha Wayne’s Haven’ is
better. Now, excuse me, Clark, I must call Lucius; I’ll see you at dinner.”
Clark’s stare followed his enticing form as he descended the small hill towards
the Manor, the thought that he’d never touch his naked hot flesh and hear his
moans of pure pleasure and love, piercing his heart, mind and body.
“He avoids ordering the destruction of ‘his’ grave...” Alfred sighed, his eyes
on the small tombstone.
Clark left his reverie and turned to the kind man.
“He believes that this grave is his haven; where he truly belongs. He feels
like he is indeed buried there...” Alfred’s pain and powerlessness colored his
suddenly exhausted voice.
“A living dead” Clark sighed “that’s what he believes for himself...”
 
Jim Gordon was staring the cloudless midnight sky of Gotham; the moon was
beginning her cycle and Gotham as well. Streets were peaceful and people the
same; a new fresh air was reviving the tired city which was breathing without
the big burden of Falcone’s reign of terror. He even at the roof could hear
laughs from the street above and songs by jubilant youths who now felt secure
enough to wander the still littered streets who everyone knew that soon would
be clean too.
He brushed the huge spotlight which pointed to the sky and beside the new moon
drew the figure of a bat. The symbol of their hope for a better future; their
salvation. Jim thought of using that to call his ally and maybe friend – maybe
the Batman would like it as a means of communication; he didn’t want the Dark
Knight to think that now Jim was promoted had forgotten him.
“Nice sound for a city.”
Jim jumped hearing the hoarse voice behind his back and turned clutching his
heart.
“It is.” He understood that his ally referred to the carefree laughter. “But,
don’t do that; it’s a pity after all these to die from heart attack!”
Batman’s lip twitched.
“Congratulations” he rasped to the humble man.
“For being the temporary Police Commissionair? I think that this is too much
for me...” he sighed “I prefer being on the street, fighting.”
Batman considered him lopsided.
“You’re a brilliant man, Jim. I admire your modesty but we must think the best
for Gotham and her people; and you’re the best for this post.”
Jim shook his head; the responsibility burdening more his already tired
shoulders.
“I’ll help you, Jim; you can always count on me.”
Jim raised his eyes to Batman’s artificial ones. He looked somehow relieved.
“Thank you, Batman. And I want to thank you for saving Bruce Wayne: if you
weren’t there, I don’t know what that scum would have done to him...”
“I just wanted Falcone.”
“His conviction is more than certain but the testimonies of his victims we’ll
take time and we arrested the so called ‘Signora Bruna’; she was a pimp and a
really cruel woman: she didn’t hesitate to abuse and torment Falcone’s victims.
Harvey Dent is determined to gain the most severe sentence for her and the
likes of her and that will be easy now that the girls who Falcone had in the
‘work’ will testify against her; especially, since Mr. Wayne paid the bail for
them and will grant them education and jobs...”
Batman just nodded lukewarm.
“Bruce is a good kid.”
“Suffering builds character.” Batman answered coldly.
“No he was like this since he was a child...” Jim’s voice was full with warmth
and memories. “He is truly a wonderful young man and Gotham will thrive with
him.”
“I hope so.” He was cold – he wanted to be all that but he was afraid of the
failure; that maybe he would fail the people of Gotham, that he’ll fail to
prove himself worthy of his name. “Very clever” he patted the spotlight.
“I don’t have a phone number...” Jim shrugged. “They say that you are a secret
experimental project of the government for controlling criminality...”
“And what do you say?”
Jim shrugged and then fixed his eyes on Batman's face.
“That you love the city; only someone with deep love for a city would risk his
life every night without expecting any gratitude or reward but facing mocking,
contempt and hunting... You’re the guardian angel of us...”
But his ally was already off the rooftop and flying and Jim stared feeling
confident now that the man was still there, supporting him and the city.
 
“FBI’s and Gotham’s police’s raid to Dolcetto, Falcone’s notorious cabaret and
the headquarters of his shadowy businesses, revealed the cell where the hideous
villain held Bruce Wayne for eighteen years abusing the child with brutality
that the human brain can’t bear. GCN’s camera got inside the Wolf’s den and
opened the door of the horrific cell that hosted an innocent boy’s nightmarish
childhood...”
Bruce opened his eyes which were steady despite the elevated heartbeat and
storm that these sounds evoked inside him. He could hear Alfred’s voice
ordering people to switch off the TV set immediately. He rested his head at the
fluffy pillow and brought his knees to his chest.
The heavy curtains were covering the daylight to offer him some more rest but
it was only 7 o’clock and he was wake.
Someone knocked gently the door to his bedroom and he answered knowing that it
was Alfred.
“You are already wake, Master Bruce? I’m sorry for that; I told those people to
switch off the TV set but I see that I was late.”
“It doesn’t matter, Alfred. Which people?”
“The crew for the renovation; it’ll take some time to erase that man’s marks
from this noble house.” And your soul, Alfred thought. "I’ll replace them.”
“No, Alfred, people need jobs, but keep an eye on them.”
“I’ll make your breakfast, unless you prefer to sleep in.”
“No” he rose from the beddings “I must go to Wayne Enterprises; it’s outrageous
to leave Lucius to make all the work and I want to see my father’s name again
at the tower’s front.”
“As you wish. I’ll have served your breakfast by the time you finish your
shower.”
The young man smiled to his beloved friend.
“Thank you, Alfred.”
Alfred motioned to leave but stopped on his trucks.
“Speaking about that man’s marks, I took the liberty to give his monstrous
furniture for charity; it’ll make some decent money if sold...”
Bruce nodded.
“But concerning that painting...”
“It won’t be sold!” his eyes flashed angrily “I don’t want anyone to see me
naked, ever again!” but taking in Alfred’s understanding soothing eyes, lowered
his tone “Today I’ll burn it myself...”
Alfred sighed.
“I’m afraid that this is impossible, Master Bruce, because the painting isn’t
here anymore.”
Bruce focused his eyes on the place where the horrible painting was; all these
days he avoided turning his gaze there because he didn’t want to see himself
again in such a state.
Alfred was right; the painting was missing and in its place stood a piece of
paper.
He climbed the bed and took the note.
                        Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!
  Has anyone ever told you that when you’re sleeping, you are like an angel?
I’m sorry for taking the painting but I couldn’t stand the thought of something
 containing such beauty being destroyed. So, since I can’t take the model with
me, I’ll take his portrayal for the cold nights, when the silver line will warm
                                up my heart...
                                Till the next time, you’ll be always on my mind
                                                                   Your Selina.
She had come when he was asleep and he didn’t sense her, even when she snatched
the painting above his head. He sighed; Selina! His Selina... He felt a stream
of warmth in his heart, watering his eyes.
Alfred patted him on the shoulder and smiled.
“She is a remarkable young lady!” and lowering his voice with understanding
“She’ll come back, Master Bruce, she is your friend. She knows that you are not
alone anymore and you have people around you who love and care for you.”
The caring man opened the curtains before leaving the room and Bruce gazed at
the rising sun. It was like the sun was smiling to him trying to persuade him
that, indeed, today was a new, different day, a new start and he ought to be
happy and hopeful for the future. Gotham's sun seemed trying to melt the ice
inside him, like Clark had asked him to let him try to do...
  Works inspired by this one
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!