seriousfic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
seriousfic) wrote2007-11-27 11:09 am
seriousfic) wrote2007-11-27 11:09 am
Fic: The Dead Talk Back (And Back And Back And Back) (sassy angst)
Title: The Dead Talk Back (And Back And Back And Back)
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake
Warning: Angst
Word Count: 1,514
Summary: In the end, Stephanie was a good soldier. Batman will remember her. But the war goes on.
There were nights when even the criminals didn’t come out. A hunter’s moon watched Gotham like an eye without iris or pupil; mist rolled over the city like the tide claiming Atlantis. Those who had someone to stay in with stayed in. Bruce knew Dick and Barbara were together, just as he knew Tim was out there alone.
From the cave, Bruce directed Tim’s flight like a falconer with a hawk. Robin flew straighter now, even if he acted like his wings were clipped. Stephanie, Jack Drake, the clone… they were distractions.
“Wow, that’s dark, even for you,” Steph said, her feet up on the console.
Batman ignored her… mostly. “This place invites that kind of darkness.”
“Which place is that?” Steph canted her head this way and that, her blonde ponytail flipping around her face like a fish caught on a hook. “The Batcave, Gotham… your head?”
“All of the above.”
Steph kicked off the computer and spun in her chair, knees drawn up to her chest. “Brucie made a joke! I’m touched.” She grew serious as her spin slowed to a stop. “But not really here, which you do know, right?”
“Of course.”
The chair had stopped facing away from Batman, so Steph reversed herself and perched her arms on the back of the chair. “Juuuust checking. You know, it’s kind of insulting for you to think that you can predict what I would say to you if I hadn’t died. You are kinda notoriously inept at ‘getting me’, after all. I’m sure you can think of a million times you tried to predict me and failed.”
Batman stopped typing. He’d just realized that he’d stopped indexing case files and subconsciously called up Steph’s file. It listed her as... “I thought you would make a good Robin.“
“Ouch.” A crash. Batman turned to see the chair had toppled over and Steph was nowhere in sight. “The dead have feelings too, you know.”
Upset and confused, Batman stood. He left the computer behind and went to the crime lab, feeling the eyes of the darkness on him. “I’ll leave twice the flowers next time I visit your grave.”
“You’re getting sentimental in your old age.”
Steph was, of course, waiting for him. She was seated on the spectroanalysis machine, legs crossed, hair loose to frame her face like curtains by an open stage. Out of spite, he pictured her with blood. The wounds would be there and there and there. In his mind’s eye, she became the corpse reality had made her. Eyes glazed over, the stare of fish wrapped in newspaper. Blood dried under coarse, uncaring bandages. Tears disrupting the mask of settled blood over her face, like runny mascara. A half-melted wax figure, commemorating a life not fully lived.
”So, does this mean I’m a good soldier, like Jason was?” Steph asked with a leaden tongue. “Do I get to be the perfect little martyr, or do I get to keep all those flaws and foibles.“ Dollops of thick blood escaped her mouth each time her lips parted.
Batman willed her back to being the lively presence she was in… life, but didn’t answer. The Gotham crime labs were overworked and by doing some work himself, he could shortcut their efforts.
Besides, the crime lab was furthest away from… her
On a railing over a deep, dark abyss, Steph did a handstand into a cartwheel into a one-handed handstand.
“As long as you’re nostalgically idealizing me, I want longer legs, C-cups, and a Cindy Crawford dimple. And why do I want you thinking of me sexy? Ewww.” She seated herself on the railing, for a half second, then toppled backward to lock her knees around the rail. She hung bat-like over the hole, her cape unfurled beneath her. “So, however you choose to remember me, what am I supposed to do? Assuage your guilt or make it guiltier or what?”
Batman left the chemicals to percolate and the results to compile. The odors were getting to him anyway; he could see Steph’s nose wrinkling. “In the end, you were a good soldier. I will remember you. But the war goes on.”
He didn’t look back. But her voice followed him in echoes.
“Is this the part where I fade away to make room for the Ghost of Christmas Present?”
“You can stay as long as you want,” Batman told the cold air, the stuffy air, the air that blew in his face and carried the scent of death.
“As long as you want, you mean. All in your head, ‘member?”
“It’s easy to forget.”
She was waiting for him, as she always was, in the glass tomb that encased her costume. Her voice was clearest here, as if the memorial acted as a parabolic chamber.
“Not for me,” Steph said, her voice no longer echoing. “I’m thankful that you want to honor my memory, but you really think the best way to do that is to sit around, feeling like shit?”
“Your revenge from beyond the grave,” Batman said drolly.
“It gets old,” Steph replied snippily. Her presence seemed to subdue itself and Batman slowly began to walk away from his reflection in the memorial’s glass. The voice stayed with him like a shadow. “You think I wouldn’t forgive you after a while? Forgive yourself. Let me rest in peace.“
“It’s not just you. It’s Tim, and your family…” Batman gritted his teeth. “Your child, who’ll never have a chance to know her mother.”
“You think beating yourself up will make any difference to them?”
“It will to me.”
“And now I’m an obligation.” Steph threw up her hands and Bruce abruptly realized she was walking alongside him in lockstep. Appropriate, for a Robin. “Great. I love being remembered that way.”
Batman wheeled on her, as vehement as he’d ever been. “That’s the weaker side of me talking. In reality, you’d want me to learn from my mistakes.”
Even in death, Steph seemed two feet shorter than him. None the less, she was in his face. “Your biggest mistake is taking responsibility for everything… and blaming yourself for it.”
“You’re trying to tell me it’s not my fault,” Bruce said, almost hopeful.
Steph made a tiny gesture with her arms, almost a shrug, and walked away from him before doing a sad little pirouette. “I made my own choices. I have my own regrets.” She came to a stop, looking back at him. Blood trickled down past her hairline and over her face. “Don’t turn me into some wind-up toy that went wrong because you didn’t pat me on the head enough. You played dirty pool, but I played along. We’re both to blame for how that turned out.” The blood, question mark-like, scalloped between her eyes and aside her nose, then down over her lips and off her chin. “I want to be remembered, but I don’t want my memory to be a bad one. Who would?” She smiled, revealing blood-stained teeth. “Except for Jason, and he’s kind of an ass.”
“I noticed,” Bruce said, as surprised as anything to find her was grinning.
Then Steph had an arm around his waist in something like a hug. She was shrinking, folding in on herself, and Bruce’s breath caught in his throat.
“Remember me, Bats. Not my death. Me.”
“I remember…” Batman looked up at the memorial, lit up like a beacon from across the cave. “I remember your hope. And mine, in turn. You were the first since Dick to make me feel that way.”
It had been a nice feeling, while it lasted.
***
When Tim came back from patrol… home, really… there was impact marks like cigarette burns in his bulletproof cape, and knife scars on the Neoprene of his suit. One of the stitches had popped on his vest. And the left quadrant of his mask was frayed, possibly from a blow of some sort. Batman stood in the middle of the cave, watching as Tim parked the motorcycle and came up to join him. Tim would know that Batman waiting for him like this was a break in the pattern, something that had to be investigated. And true to form, Tim came up to join Batman in his roost. He lost the cape and mask along the way. As always, his boyish good looks were sucked in to the black holes of his eyes, old beyond old, and putting him more in place here than he could earn with another seventeen years.
He followed Batman’s gaze to the memorial case, gone but not forgotten. In Bruce’s gloved hands was the suit Stephanie had worn had Robin, the green and red hanging from his fingers like bizarre fruit.
“Why?” Tim asked, too numb to put much anger into the question.
“I thought it was well past time we celebrated her life instead of fetishizing her death.” Batman turned and, gently, pushed the suit into Tim’s hands. “All the time we served together and I barely knew her. Tim, I want you to tell me about Stephanie Brown.”
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake
Warning: Angst
Word Count: 1,514
Summary: In the end, Stephanie was a good soldier. Batman will remember her. But the war goes on.
There were nights when even the criminals didn’t come out. A hunter’s moon watched Gotham like an eye without iris or pupil; mist rolled over the city like the tide claiming Atlantis. Those who had someone to stay in with stayed in. Bruce knew Dick and Barbara were together, just as he knew Tim was out there alone.
From the cave, Bruce directed Tim’s flight like a falconer with a hawk. Robin flew straighter now, even if he acted like his wings were clipped. Stephanie, Jack Drake, the clone… they were distractions.
“Wow, that’s dark, even for you,” Steph said, her feet up on the console.
Batman ignored her… mostly. “This place invites that kind of darkness.”
“Which place is that?” Steph canted her head this way and that, her blonde ponytail flipping around her face like a fish caught on a hook. “The Batcave, Gotham… your head?”
“All of the above.”
Steph kicked off the computer and spun in her chair, knees drawn up to her chest. “Brucie made a joke! I’m touched.” She grew serious as her spin slowed to a stop. “But not really here, which you do know, right?”
“Of course.”
The chair had stopped facing away from Batman, so Steph reversed herself and perched her arms on the back of the chair. “Juuuust checking. You know, it’s kind of insulting for you to think that you can predict what I would say to you if I hadn’t died. You are kinda notoriously inept at ‘getting me’, after all. I’m sure you can think of a million times you tried to predict me and failed.”
Batman stopped typing. He’d just realized that he’d stopped indexing case files and subconsciously called up Steph’s file. It listed her as... “I thought you would make a good Robin.“
“Ouch.” A crash. Batman turned to see the chair had toppled over and Steph was nowhere in sight. “The dead have feelings too, you know.”
Upset and confused, Batman stood. He left the computer behind and went to the crime lab, feeling the eyes of the darkness on him. “I’ll leave twice the flowers next time I visit your grave.”
“You’re getting sentimental in your old age.”
Steph was, of course, waiting for him. She was seated on the spectroanalysis machine, legs crossed, hair loose to frame her face like curtains by an open stage. Out of spite, he pictured her with blood. The wounds would be there and there and there. In his mind’s eye, she became the corpse reality had made her. Eyes glazed over, the stare of fish wrapped in newspaper. Blood dried under coarse, uncaring bandages. Tears disrupting the mask of settled blood over her face, like runny mascara. A half-melted wax figure, commemorating a life not fully lived.
”So, does this mean I’m a good soldier, like Jason was?” Steph asked with a leaden tongue. “Do I get to be the perfect little martyr, or do I get to keep all those flaws and foibles.“ Dollops of thick blood escaped her mouth each time her lips parted.
Batman willed her back to being the lively presence she was in… life, but didn’t answer. The Gotham crime labs were overworked and by doing some work himself, he could shortcut their efforts.
Besides, the crime lab was furthest away from… her
On a railing over a deep, dark abyss, Steph did a handstand into a cartwheel into a one-handed handstand.
“As long as you’re nostalgically idealizing me, I want longer legs, C-cups, and a Cindy Crawford dimple. And why do I want you thinking of me sexy? Ewww.” She seated herself on the railing, for a half second, then toppled backward to lock her knees around the rail. She hung bat-like over the hole, her cape unfurled beneath her. “So, however you choose to remember me, what am I supposed to do? Assuage your guilt or make it guiltier or what?”
Batman left the chemicals to percolate and the results to compile. The odors were getting to him anyway; he could see Steph’s nose wrinkling. “In the end, you were a good soldier. I will remember you. But the war goes on.”
He didn’t look back. But her voice followed him in echoes.
“Is this the part where I fade away to make room for the Ghost of Christmas Present?”
“You can stay as long as you want,” Batman told the cold air, the stuffy air, the air that blew in his face and carried the scent of death.
“As long as you want, you mean. All in your head, ‘member?”
“It’s easy to forget.”
She was waiting for him, as she always was, in the glass tomb that encased her costume. Her voice was clearest here, as if the memorial acted as a parabolic chamber.
“Not for me,” Steph said, her voice no longer echoing. “I’m thankful that you want to honor my memory, but you really think the best way to do that is to sit around, feeling like shit?”
“Your revenge from beyond the grave,” Batman said drolly.
“It gets old,” Steph replied snippily. Her presence seemed to subdue itself and Batman slowly began to walk away from his reflection in the memorial’s glass. The voice stayed with him like a shadow. “You think I wouldn’t forgive you after a while? Forgive yourself. Let me rest in peace.“
“It’s not just you. It’s Tim, and your family…” Batman gritted his teeth. “Your child, who’ll never have a chance to know her mother.”
“You think beating yourself up will make any difference to them?”
“It will to me.”
“And now I’m an obligation.” Steph threw up her hands and Bruce abruptly realized she was walking alongside him in lockstep. Appropriate, for a Robin. “Great. I love being remembered that way.”
Batman wheeled on her, as vehement as he’d ever been. “That’s the weaker side of me talking. In reality, you’d want me to learn from my mistakes.”
Even in death, Steph seemed two feet shorter than him. None the less, she was in his face. “Your biggest mistake is taking responsibility for everything… and blaming yourself for it.”
“You’re trying to tell me it’s not my fault,” Bruce said, almost hopeful.
Steph made a tiny gesture with her arms, almost a shrug, and walked away from him before doing a sad little pirouette. “I made my own choices. I have my own regrets.” She came to a stop, looking back at him. Blood trickled down past her hairline and over her face. “Don’t turn me into some wind-up toy that went wrong because you didn’t pat me on the head enough. You played dirty pool, but I played along. We’re both to blame for how that turned out.” The blood, question mark-like, scalloped between her eyes and aside her nose, then down over her lips and off her chin. “I want to be remembered, but I don’t want my memory to be a bad one. Who would?” She smiled, revealing blood-stained teeth. “Except for Jason, and he’s kind of an ass.”
“I noticed,” Bruce said, as surprised as anything to find her was grinning.
Then Steph had an arm around his waist in something like a hug. She was shrinking, folding in on herself, and Bruce’s breath caught in his throat.
“Remember me, Bats. Not my death. Me.”
“I remember…” Batman looked up at the memorial, lit up like a beacon from across the cave. “I remember your hope. And mine, in turn. You were the first since Dick to make me feel that way.”
It had been a nice feeling, while it lasted.
***
When Tim came back from patrol… home, really… there was impact marks like cigarette burns in his bulletproof cape, and knife scars on the Neoprene of his suit. One of the stitches had popped on his vest. And the left quadrant of his mask was frayed, possibly from a blow of some sort. Batman stood in the middle of the cave, watching as Tim parked the motorcycle and came up to join him. Tim would know that Batman waiting for him like this was a break in the pattern, something that had to be investigated. And true to form, Tim came up to join Batman in his roost. He lost the cape and mask along the way. As always, his boyish good looks were sucked in to the black holes of his eyes, old beyond old, and putting him more in place here than he could earn with another seventeen years.
He followed Batman’s gaze to the memorial case, gone but not forgotten. In Bruce’s gloved hands was the suit Stephanie had worn had Robin, the green and red hanging from his fingers like bizarre fruit.
“Why?” Tim asked, too numb to put much anger into the question.
“I thought it was well past time we celebrated her life instead of fetishizing her death.” Batman turned and, gently, pushed the suit into Tim’s hands. “All the time we served together and I barely knew her. Tim, I want you to tell me about Stephanie Brown.”
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Someone please send this message along to DC.
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I...kind of love Bruce a lot for being strange and self-reflective enough to imagine that Steph would say that to him. :)
“I made my own choices. I have my own regrets.” She came to a stop, looking back at him. Blood trickled down past her hairline and over her face. “Don’t turn me into some wind-up toy that went wrong because you didn’t pat me on the head enough. You played dirty pool, but I played along. We’re both to blame for how that turned out.”
The shifting between the "living" and the "dead" Steph was really nicely done and fits the mood so well. I really like the way this piece doesn't romanticise Steph (or at least, when it does, is quite aware that it's doing it!), how it really tries to dig in to understand her as a person and not just a symbol or an empty costume. Very, very good.
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If you'd prefer not to, would you mind if I posted a link to your fic over there?
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I mean that, it really was. Steph treading the line between being herself and being the figment, the way various things reflected on Batman's thoughts (her little acrobatics idealizing her to be more like Dick), the resolution. It was wonderful.
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