Genres: Challenge, Drama
Warnings: Torture, disturbing imagery, major character death
Summary: Bruce and Clark are trapped in a nightmare of pain.
Date Of Completion: July 8, 2009
Date Of Posting: July 10, 2009
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 430
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: Written for mithen’s ShuffleFic Challenge B at worlds_finest. Prompt: Beg For Me.
Everything was gray, the roaring in his ears combining with pounding that made him nauseous.
Thoughts drifted through Bruce’s head like wisps of fog, jumbled as he tried to remember….pain throbbed somewhere, and he felt like he was floating.
Something cold and heavy banded his wrists and neck, and his back was against a rough stone wall. A burnt smell hung heavy in the air, mixed with something cloyingly-sweet.
He struggled to open his eyes, but they were sooo heavy...
His body went rigid as pain flared again, something warm trickling out of his mouth.
Or was he just dreaming it?
Fragments of memories tumbled through his head: a dirty alley and the cloying smell of blood, the comforting hand on his shoulder on a gray, drizzling day at the cemetery, two coffins stark against green grass, bright flash of yellow silk over rooftops, the rustling and squeaking of bats in a dark cave, a smile from the man in red-yellow-and-blue, warm and loving…
His heart ached as he tried to remember.
He forced his eyes open.
A dank cell, torches flickering…he could see Clark on his knees, his cape and costume shredded…how could that happen?
Shadowy shapes were at the far end of the cell, one of them hulking in the center, thick arms crossed. A voice boomed out.
“Beg for him!”
Clark answered but Bruce couldn’t hear him, the sound of the ocean roaring in his ears. He felt pain again, and someone screamed.
Bruce struggled to look at Clark, who was crawling toward the shapes, and suddenly, Bruce knew.
Darkseid, Granny Goodness, and the host of scum who hated Clark and could hurt him.
Terror choked Bruce. He wanted to move, but he was too weak.
His head drooped and he saw his shredded costume, his black cloak in tatters, his body red hamburger.
He lifted his head and saw Clark kneeling, his hands clasped as his body trembled with weakness and pain, skin hanging off the bone of his right arm. Mocking laughter echoed off the walls.
Don’t beg for me, Clark. They’re going to kill us, anyway.
Bruce felt himself drifting away as he heard another scream.
Not him this time?
He struggled to call his lover’s name, but the pain was too great, every nerve ending on fire, the smell of charred flesh and blood heavy and sickly-sweet, the voice booming again in mocking triumph.
As darkness closed around him, he prayed fervently that Clark would die quickly and join him as the roaring in his ears grew deafening…
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