Pairings/Characters: (this chapter): Clark/Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Brendan, Edmund Caldwell
Series Notes: In the 23rd century, Earth is a technologically-advanced society that practices the ancient institution of slavery. A Great Trial crashes down upon the House Of Wayne. Can Bruce and Clark’s relationship survive? Will the Family’s strength be enough to see them through this Time of Fear and Darkness? The entire series can be found here.
Genres: AU, Drama, Slavefic
Rating: (this chapter): NC-17
Warnings: Mutilation, disturbing imagery, torture
Summary: Clark learns what it means to be at the non-mercy of Edmund Caldwell.
Date Of Completion (First Draft): October 27, 2008
Date Of Posting: October 9, 2009
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 877
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Claws at me
With bloody talons.
Hear the screams
Of the tortured
You are next.
HEAR THE SCREAMS
Clark was shaking, the cold seeping into his bones. He was naked in the Darkness until a harsh voice said, “Put this on,” coarse cloth scratching his skin. He put it on, pulling the hood over his head, shadowing his face, and began to walk, toward a pure and beautiful Light.
He cringed at the Light, feeling dirty, skulking in the shadows as yearning gnawed at him. Suddenly he heard Bruce’s voice. Joy leapt up in his chest as he ran toward the beloved voice.
There was matching joy in Bruce’s voice, and Dick and Alfred and Brendan were close behind him, Clark reaching out his arms, his hood falling back.
The expressions of joy turned to horror, then revulsion. They all took a step back, Clark stopping, confused, then he saw himself in the full-length mirror, suddenly naked as the coarse robe fell away.
His right eye was gone, blood and viscous liquid weeping down a once-beautiful face as scars criss-crossed his face and burned on his body, marked with the knife slashes and teeth marks of his captors, his body starting to break up and float away on the cold lake…
Clark jerked awake, shaking with the scream still stuck in his dry throat as his body trembled violently.
He could still taste Edmund Caldwell in his mouth.
Disgusted, he let his rage take over.
It was better than the fear.
He entertained himself with thoughts of revenge, trying to loosen his bonds, but of course Caldwells were proficient in bondage.
I have to stay alive. Bruce and Dick will come for me. They’ll figure it out. I have to do my part.
No matter how disgusting it is.
He tried to relax, which was, of course, impossible.
He strained to hear anything. If Edmund’s sons arrived, he would be in deep trouble.
Footsteps approached and Clark tensed, fear curling around his gut as the door opened.
“Ah, my sweet slut. Resting comfortably?” Edmund sounded very cheerful. He came around the bed and sat down on the edge, running his hand over Clark’s chest and stomach.
Clark waited, preparing himself for another attack.
“Here, drink up.”
Despite his wariness, Clark greedily drank the water that Edmund offered as the old man held his head.
Clark swallowed, eager to get the taste of Edmund out of his mouth.
Edmund patted his thigh. “Bruce does like the pretty ones. That circus slut of his will grow up to be something quite lovely.” Clark’s insides went cold, then his stomach flipped as Edmund smiled. “I have a treat for you.”
Edmund rose from the bed and left the room.
No, no, no. Please…whatever’s up there…whoever’s up there…help Bruce find me. Please. Please!
Clark’s resolve was wavering. He knew he’d been fairly lucky as a slave. Despite his memory loss, it was a good bet he’d been well-treated growing up. The slavers’ doctor had certified that he was a virgin, and since he was in his twenties, that suggested a high form of protection. Even though he had suffered at the hands of the slavers and auction guards, he knew it still wasn’t as bad as some slaves’ suffering.
I have to be strong. I have to be.
Edmund wheeled in a…tray…a…?
Wondering what the old sadist was up to, Clark remained silent.
“Harrison and Hallliburton will be here soon. Business can be irritating at times, but of course, is necessary.” Edmund plugged in the small portable set. A vidcorder was on top of the TV. “Your Master knows that, I suppose.” Edmund sat back down again and absently rubbed Clark’s buttocks. “They call him Prince, but of course that’s absolute rubbish.” He stroked Clark’s inner thigh. “Prince! Tabloid nonsense. He’s about as royal as you are.” He traced Clark’s pelvic bone. “My family’s been here as long as the Waynes. Silly fools crowning him the Prince of Gotham. America has no royalty.”
Edmund leaned back, staring at the shutters covering the window. Clark could do nothing but wait, trying to calm his wild nerves.
“He really has nerve, you know. Allowing himself to be called ‘Prince’. Arrogant bastard.” He looked down and smiled at Clark. “Prince’s Pet,” he sing-songed.
Clark’s blood ran cold at the gleam in Edmund’s eyes.
Please hurry, Bruce.
Edmund patted his thigh and stood. “It must be boring to lay around here all day and stare up at the ceiling with nothing else to do. I have a little show here you might find interesting. Help answer any questions you might have about what you’ll be doing soon. You might want to take notes.”
Edmund turned on the TV and left the room.
Puzzled, Clark watched as a disc began to play.
Horror dawned as he realized what he was watching: a disc of Edmund and his sons ‘enjoying’ their slaves, different sessions going by in a kaleidoscope of disturbing images, then slowing down, desperate pleas for mercy laughingly ignored.
When the screaming began, Clark squeezed his eyes shut.
He couldn’t block out the screams.