Pairings/Characters: (this chapter): Clark/Bruce (Bruce does not appear in this chapter), Dick, Alfred, Jackie Star, Roy/Johnny, Harold Allston, Deb Shelton, Brad Stryker, Sam Elkins, Jim Gordon, Carl Medgar
Series Notes: In the 23rd century, Earth is a technologically-advanced society that practices the ancient institution of slavery. New superheroes appear on the scene as the Abolitionist Movement gathers strength. Meanwhile, Lex gets his heart’s desire while long-held secrets begin to spill out of the Manor. Nothing will ever be the same again.
The entire series can be found here.
Genres: AU, Challenge, Drama, Slavefic
Challenge Category: Section E (Slavefic)
Rating: (this chapter): PG-13
Summary: Clark heads off trouble.
Date Of Completion (First Draft): August 30, 2009
Date Of Posting: November 22, 2010
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1724
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Written for my 2010 DCU Fic/Art Bondage Challenge.
Author’s Note: I deliberately used the term ‘Indian’ instead of ‘Native American’ because I figured that a Government as oppressive as the one in this universe would not care one whit for what a group of people wanted to call themselves, especially this group, considering their circumstances.
Crisp and caring.
They stave off
The Angel of Death
THE ANGEL OF DEATH
Clark put a blanket over a sleeping Dick. The boy was curled up in one of the uncomfortable chairs but was tired enough to sleep even there. Last night’s patrol had been a busy one, wearing the boy out.
Bruce was at work, but his slaves were well-guarded. Alfred was sleeping, and Jackie Star came in to check on her patient. The television was on low volume, playing the fire in Boston and Wonder Woman’s rescue of the brownstone tenants. Jackie checked Alfred’s vitals and glanced up at the TV.
“She’s really a wonder.”
Clark grinned. “Your sister got the first interview with her, didn’t she?”
Jackie smiled proudly. “Yes, she did.”
“She has as much talent as Lois Lane, doesn’t she?”
“Oh, yes. She knows Ms. Lane.”
Clark cocked his head. “That must be quite a meeting of the minds.”
Jackie laughed. “Very. Both women are extremely strong-willed.”
“I got that impression when I met her.”
“Ah, then you know." Jackie made a last check on Alfred. “Do you need anything?”
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
Jackie smiled at the sleeping Dick, leaving the room quietly.
Clark was relaxed, keeping watch over Alfred and Dick. He was grateful for the guards close by. He didn’t expect to undergo any problems, but one never knew, especially as a slave.
Clark read while his charges slept, and was startled by a figure suddenly appearing at Alfred’s bedside.
I didn’t hear him come in at all!
He recognized the dark-haired man as one of the paramedics who had treated Alfred.
“Hi, just thought I’d check on him.” Johnny smiled. “Seems to be doing better.”
“He is.” Clark noticed the jewelry that Johnny wore. “That’s beautiful beadwork you’re wearing.”
Johnny hesitated a moment, then said, “Thank you.”
The bracelets that Johnny wore were white beads, tiny beads of yellow, red, blue, green, and purple threaded through the jewelry. It matched the collar he wore and set off the slender man’s brown-eyed beauty.
Suddenly Clark realized what he was looking at, touching his own rainbow manacles.
Artistic slave jewelry…but, that means slaves can be firefighter/paramedics? I must have been too distracted to notice him wearing these at the house. I don’t think his partner was wearing any.
Clark suddenly felt embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I have an addled memory. Sometimes I don’t know things.”
“It’s okay.” Johnny smiled a crooked grin. “Yes, slaves can be firefighters/paramedics.” The guy was good at reading minds! “Since I’m Government-owned…” he noticed Clark’s look of confusion “…I’m half-Indian. Indians are automatically slaves. The Government keeps us on reservations but loans us out when necessary.”
“Oh.” Clark didn’t know what else to say. “I, um, so you were trained as a firefighter?”
Johnny nodded, smoothing a strand of raven hair back from his face. “Originally I was trained as a pleasure slave, but after…well, I couldn’t function as one for awhile, so I was trained as a firefighter.”
Johnny moved in front of the window, his face shadowed as his body was backlit. Clark shivered at the matter-of-fact way that the other man had spoken of injuries that had knocked him out of his primary function.
Johnny moved again, and this time he was smiling. Clark could see why this slender young man had been originally been a bedslave.
“Roy saw potential in me and pushed to allow me paramedic training. Now I’m his partner at Station 51. It’s a great bunch of guys there. Captain Stanley is my Primary Master, since he’s in charge, but Roy is my Intimate Master since we frequently go out on calls alone.”
The way Johnny’s eyes lit up as he spoke about Roy made Clark suspect that he shared the same kind of relationship that Clark did with Bruce.
His instincts were confirmed as Dr. Allston and Roy DeSoto entered the room.
“How’s Alfred doing?” asked the blond paramedic.
“Much better,” said Clark, clearly seeing the look of adoration in Johnny’s eyes. Maybe the paramedic felt safe revealing it in front of a fellow slave. Dr. Allston was busy checking on Alfred.
“Great. Hey, Junior, ready for some lunch?”
“When it comes to food, you’re always ready!” Roy’s blue eyes sparkled as Johnny laughed.
Johnny joined Roy, who smiled at him with some adoration of his own and patted his partner’s lean stomach, murmuring fondly, “Bottomless pit,” as Johnny grinned. Roy gently squeezed Johnny’s hand, then put an arm around his shoulders.
“’Bye, guys,” said Clark, the paramedics waving as they headed for the cafeteria.
Harold checked on Alfred, glancing over at Clark. “How are you today, young man?”
“Fine today, thank you, Dr. Allston.”
“Good.” Harold wrote on Alfred’s chart. “I think that Alfred will be able to go home very soon.”
Harold smiled. “Always enjoy delivering good news.” He patted Clark’s shoulder and continued his rounds.
Clark dozed, half-aware of a nurse coming in. She took Alfred’s vitals, wrote on his chart, and turned slightly.
Clark’s blood froze as he recognized the nurse who had been hostile to him outside of the men’s room.
He pretended sleep, watching her through slitted eyes. He didn’t trust her for a second.
She put the chart back at the foot of the bed and left the room, Clark breathing a sigh of relief. He stood up and checked Alfred, relieved again to see his friend untouched.
He glanced at Dick and decided to get something to drink. He asked Brad to come with him, and Sam stayed to keep watch over Dick and Alfred.
He and Brad walked down the hall to the vending machines, Clark choosing three sodas, shyly asking the security man, “Would you and Mr. Elkins like sodas?”
Brad smiled slightly. “That would be fine. Coke for me and 7-Up for Sam.”
Clark proudly paid with his own money, grateful for the wages that Bruce gave him. Brad took the cans for Sam and himself, and Clark juggled his as Brad escorted him back to Alfred’s room.
Clark felt comfortable with both Brad and his partner. Bruce had rigorously vetted every man and woman who would be assigned as personal bodyguards to his slaves. He wanted no slave-haters or sadists. He always did extensive background checks on all security for the estate, but had triple-checked these personnel teams. As a final precaution, Bruce had insisted that his slaves tell him if there was any abuse.
Clark trusted Brad, who had been nothing but courteous to him. That was why when they passed a room and Clark saw Nurse Shelton bending over a moaning manacled man in bed, he clutched Brad’s arm.
“Mr. Stryker,” he whispered urgently. “There’s something odd about that nurse. She’s hostile toward slaves.”
A silver eyebrow lifted, but Brad put the cans into his jacket pockets and strode into the room, seeing the glint of light on a needle. “Hey!” He grabbed Shelton’s arm.
“What the fuck?” she screamed.
Brad wrenched the needle out of her hand. “Odd using a needle. I thought hyposprays were all the thing,” he drawled.
Shelton snarled and fought like a tiger. Clark rushed in, the soda cans dropping with a loud rattle, and Brad said, “Glad for the help,” allowing Clark to lay hands on the freewoman.
She jerked away as Clark’s hand reached for her.
“I don’t want those filthy slave hands on me!”
“Tough,” Brad said. “Odd attitude for a nurse working in an S.A. hospital.”
She swore and he shoved her up against the wall, Clark taking the handcuffs off the bodyguard’s belt and snapping them on Shelton’s wrists as Brad pulled her arms around her back.
“What the fuck are you doing? Get these fuckin’ cuffs off me!”
“Sorry, Nurse. Something’s fishier here than a New England lobster wharf.”
Clark couldn’t help but grin. He hurried over to the bed. “Are you all right?”
The middle-aged man groaned. Clark realized that the patient was woozy from medication.
“Call Jim Gordon, kid.”
Clark nodded and hurried out, going to the nurses’ station. Cellphone use was forbidden within the hospital.
“What’s all the ruckus in Room 106?” asked a sharp-eyed nurse.
“Master Wayne’s Security Chief has a nurse in custody. He asked me to call Commissioner Gordon.”
“What!” A thin nurse pushed her way to the desk. “What do you mean, ‘in custody’?”
“She tried to use a needle on the slave patient in 106.”
“Crap,” said the first nurse. “Call the Commissioner.”
Clark picked up the landline.
Jim came personally. Brad Stryker coolly handed over the raving Deborah Shelton.
“How she got through the screening process is curious,” Jim said.
The Chief Administrator of the hospital, a grim-faced man in an expensive suit, bristled at Jim’s comment. “Our screening process is impeccable.”
Jim raised an eyebrow. “Then why did Nurse Shelton slip through?”
Carl Medgar took a step forward. “It was not our fault.”
“Mr. Medgar, I’m not going to argue with you. This woman tried to kill that patient. If you check your records, you may find more incidents such as this. Have you had an inordinate amount of slave patient deaths? Unexplained reactions to drugs?”
Medgar glared. “I wouldn’t know.”
“You’re right, you wouldn’t know. But I will. I’m going to have a team of detectives comb through your records with a fine-toothed comb.”
Medgar scrunched up his bulldog-like face as he sputtered, “You can’t do that! I’ll speak to Mr. Wayne!”
Jim smiled. “You do that. I’m sure he will be very interested in slaves being abused and possibly murdered in the hospital his family founded and he finances.”
Medgar went pale, then abruptly turned on his heel and went to his office.
Jim went down to Alfred’s room, speaking to Brad outside at the door, then went inside.
“Good job, my boy,” Jim said to Clark, who beamed. “You’ve got a good eye.”
“Thank you, Commissioner.”
“Everything okay here?”
“Wonderful, Commissioner!” Dick said, standing close to the bed.
“Good.” Jim smiled at Alfred. “Carry on, gentlemen.”
Jim left the room, confident that Bruce’s slaves were well-protected.