Super Friends

Dick sits on Clark’s couch, his head down to hide the look of horror on his face as he listens to Steve recount last night. He shouldn’t be shocked. Torture has always been a possibility when dealing with the monsters they encounter on a nightly basis. Permanent damage though…His stomach churns. They have been lucky so far. The only lasting damage they’ve ever had from their nightly pursuits have been scars. Not pretty, but survivable. What’s worse though, is that it’s not Batman suffering, it’s Bruce Wayne. The thought of Bruce being tortured without even having the mask to hide behind hurts more than Dick thought it would.

Clark sits beside him, not hiding the dark look on his face. He’s still too pale and Dick sees him wince when he moves too fast. Every time Dick sees the poorly hidden grimace, the feeling of unease in his chest only worsens. Superman isn’t supposed to wince.

Clark stands up. Worry makes him want to move, to help, to do something. But the painful tug on the stitches across his stomach reminds him just how little he can do at the moment.

“What are some of the other properties left on the list?” He asks.

“There’s not many,” Steve says, “and the ones left, aren’t very conducive to housing a prisoner. We may have to start looking for other leads in tracking down Bruce.”

              “Lois and I can start tapping our contacts. See if we can rustle anything up.” Clark says.

              “Good, Bucky and I will knock out the last of the known addresses just to be safe.” Steve says.

              Dick bites down hard on his lip. He wants to go with them. It’s taking all of his self-control to remain in his seat. And honestly, would it really be the worst thing in the world if Robin were seen in Metropolis? Would anyone even notice him standing next to heroes like Superman and The Captain? Still, he holds his tongue, only because he knows it’s what Bruce would want. For now, at least, he won’t risk his or Bruce’s identity. Superman and The Captain are more than capable of handling the situation.

              As the next few days pass, Dick struggles to cling to that optimism, but with every bit of bad news he feels it slipping from his grasp. Bucky and Steve search every inch of each property on the list and come up empty handed, while none of Clark’s contacts are talking. Luthor must be paying them very well.

              “We’ll find him.” Clark assures him for the third time that night. But despite his words he looks grim, far grimmer than Superman ever should. Once again, Steve and Bucky have gathered in Clark’s cramped apartment. The list lays on the kitchen table, the last address crossed off with an angry black line. A waste of time that they don’t have to spare. Disappoint and worry permeate the room.

              Dick pulls his eyes away from the list to give Clark a weak smile. His stomach hurts.

              “Now what do we do?” Dick asks. The adults look at each other in a way that does nothing to help the churning in Dick’s gut. What if there is no plan? What if they give up? Dick can’t give up on Bruce. He won’t.

              “We expand our search.” Steve says, “A man as rich as Luthor must have properties outside of Metropolis.”

              It’s better than nothing, and certainly better than giving up, but it will take weeks, possibly even months to gather that sort of information. Who knows how long it will take to thoroughly investigate them? Bruce doesn’t have that long. While Dick feels confident in saying that Bruce is one of the strongest people he has ever met, but nobody can withstand torture indefinitely.

              Bucky must read the look on Dick’s face because he speaks up.

              “That will take a while, and we don’t exactly have a lot of time to spare.”

              Dick flashes him a grateful look.

              “The our only other option is a direct confrontation with Luthor.” Steve says. Dick sits up straighter. The air in the room thickens with tension. He knows Superman has been reluctant to confront Luthor directly. Too many prior clashes between the two has only made Luthor more paranoid and devious in his schemes. And if Luthor suspects they are getting too close, who knows what he’ll do to Bruce. Still, with dwindling options, Dick thinks it’s worth a chance.

              “I’m for it.” Bucky says, breaking the silence.

              “It won’t work. Luthor is too smart for it to be tricked out of him and we aren’t going to hurt him for the information.” Clark says firmly. Dick holds his breath looking back at Bucky.

              “Don’t need to hurt him, just scare him.” Bucky says. There’s something in his voice that makes the hairs stand on the back of Dick’s neck stand up on end. Bucky stands rigidly by the window, his eyes dark. Though just a human, there’s something about the look in his eye that makes Dick feel like Bucky may just be the most dangerous man in the room. It’d be unnerving if not for the fact that Bucky’s on his side.

              “Luthor doesn’t scare easily.” Clark responds. Bucky’s face goes hard.

              “Luthor’s not afraid of Superman. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t scare easily.” He says.

              “Buck.” Steve says, His tone holds both concern and a warning. They stare at each other, having a private conversation that neither Clark nor Dick can understand. Dick used to be able to have those kinds of conversations with Bruce. So much can be conveyed in just a quick glance when you know the other person well enough.

              Bucky finally says, leaning back in his chair, “Someone needs to confront him.”

              “I agree,” Steve admits, “but I think this calls for a gentler approach.”

              A slight smirk edges its way across Bucky’s lips, “Natasha?”

              At Steve’s nod the smirk grows wider.

              “Luthor won’t know what hit him.”

              “Who?” Dick asks, his eyes darting between them. A glance at Clark tells him that the man doesn’t look as opposed to the idea as he did a minute ago.

              “A friend of ours.” Steve says.

              “And she’s cracked harder nuts than Luthor,” Bucky adds, “She’s a real professional at this sort of thing.”

              “A professional?”

              “An ex-Russian spy,” Steve clarifies, “and she’s gone toe-to-toe with hydra operatives and Norse gods and I’ve never seen her fail”

              Dick’s eyes widen. A Russian Spy? Where did Steve meet people like that? Dick is pretty sure that even Bruce hasn’t met any spies. Hope squeezes his heart with a renewed sense of optimism.

              “Give me a day to contact her and get her up to speed.” Steve says. He stands up and heads to the door, Bucky follows. And just like that another meeting of their incomplete Justice League draws to a close.

              Steve rubs his eyes, trying to wipe away the exhaustion hiding behind them. Last time he had spoken to Natasha she had mentioned an undercover job in Albania. He can only hope that she’s wrapped that up by now so she can help find Bruce. If not, they’ll have to confront Luthor without her expertise which Steve doesn’t want to risk doing while Luthor still has a hostage. A nudge on his arm draws him out of his musings.

              “I’m going to the shelter.” Bucky says and there’s a stormy look in his eyes that Steve knows won’t go away until he’s spent a few hours of doling out bowls of kibble and cleaning litter boxes.

              Steve lets him go with a nod and continues back to his apartment. Dark storm clouds hang overhead and a chilly wind ruffles through his hair. He sighs. Bruce gone, Clark hurt, Dick terrified for Bruce though hiding it admirably, and Bucky’s peace interrupted and his trauma brought to the forefront. It would be an understatement to say that things aren’t going well. But then again, Steve thinks wryly as he unlocks his apartment door, that’s a familiar state of being for him.

The moment Steve steps inside his apartment he knows something is off. Silently, he reaches for his shield which is tucked away behind the couch next to the door.

              “It’s alright Steve. It’s just me.” A familiar voice calls from the dark kitchen. Steve lets his hand drop in relief. Matt comes out the kitchen, deftly stepping over one of the cats.

              “Sorry to startle you, but I went to Tony said it was okay to wait for you here.” Matt says, “I wanted to talk to you about the contract.”

               “What did you find?” Steve asks, an odd mix of tension and hope rising in him.

              “Your friend Bruce Wayne is a paranoid man. Genius, but definitely paranoid.” Matt says. Steve doesn’t fight the slight grin that forms at Matt’s words. He’s not fond of Bruce’s choice to play airheaded playboy as part of his civilian disguise. Mostly because he doesn’t think it’s good for Bruce’s mental health to constantly be playing a role, but also because it means that Bruce rarely gets the accolades he deserves for being a genius.

              “Trust me I know, but what act of genius did he do?”

              “Page 50, paragraph 4, subsection C12 of clause 6B,” Matt recites, “All transfer of titles, company owned assets totaling over $1,000,000 in value, or company stock of similar value must be signed off by company owner, Bruce Wayne. All signings are to be done in the presence of Alfred Pennyworth. Any signature found to not meet this standard will be considered invalid. If Alfred Pennyworth is indisposed than Jim Gordon shall stand in his place.”

              Steve takes in the paragraph.

              “So Luthor can’t force Bruce to sign away his company,” He says slowly. Matt gives him an encouraging nod.

              “Because they would need Alfred as a witness and Alfred could testify that Bruce only signed under duress.”

              “It’s very clever, though I’ve never heard of a businessman going that far or being that paranoid in protecting his assets.”

              “Bruce is something else.” Steve says, but his mind is on the clause. Alfred would of course testify if Bruce came to him covered in injuries and asked him to sign off on signing away his business, but Steve knows that there are many ways to break someone without leaving scars. Even if Alfred did testify that Bruce’s state of mind had been compromised due to mental torture, would his word be enough without some sort of physical proof of injury? Steve doubts it. The average person doesn’t have a proper understanding of how damaging psychological torture can be.

              “Thank you.” Steve says. Matt stands up, “I have an early morning trial I need to prepare for, but I’ll keep you informed if I find out anything more.”

              Steve walks him to the kitchen.

              “One more thing, does ThunderCorp mean anything to you?” Matt asks. Steve shakes his head.

              “You might want to look into it, a lot of the assets are going to LuthorCorp, but a lot of the money is going to ThunderCorp.”

              “We will. Thank you, again.” Steve says sincerely. At Matt’s nod he pushes a button and red light floods the kitchen. As if fades, Steve is left alone with nothing but his worries. Steve grabs the phone off the wall and calls the shelter first. After a few rings with no answer he hangs up. No doubt the phone hadn’t been heard over the cacophony of animals. Not for the first time Steve misses the convenience and prevalence of cell phones in the twenty first century.

              Steve dials Clark’s number next. Clark picks up on the second ring.

              “Matt was here.” Steve says the moment he hears Clark’s voice.

              “We’ll be right over.” Clark says. After hanging up Steve tries calling Bucky once more. Again, the call only rings. Steve racks his brain for anything about ThunderCorp. It sounds vaguely familiar, but nothing useful comes to mind.

              Clark and Dick barge in minutes later with windswept hair, not even bothering to knock. Dick’s face shines with worry as he shifts from one foot to the other. A duffle bag is slung over his shoulder. Steve looks at it and then raises an eyebrow at Dick. With a guilty look in his eye and a defiant grimace, Dick holds the duffle bag tighter. Steve sighs. It’s one thing to apprentice in vigilantism under Bruce’s watchful tutelage, but to send him out after someone like Luthor – and with Bruce’s life already on the line – is too dangerous.

              “What did he say,” Clark asks. Steve quickly fills them both in to what Matt uncovered.

              “Does ThunderCorp mean anything to either of you?” Steve asks.

              “It’s a newer company,” Clark says, “but to my knowledge it doesn’t have any connections to Luthor. In fact, I think there was an article in the paper a few days ago about them.”

              “Could they be a shell company for Luthor?” Dick asks. Two sets of eyes turn to him in surprise.

              Dick shrugs, “I occasionally pay attention when Bruce talks about business stuff.”

              “It’s a possibility” Clark admits.

              “Then let’s check them out.” Steve grabs his shield. In an instant Clark is wearing his cape and setting his glasses down on the kitchen counter. It amazes Dick how a simple pair of glasses can hide Superman from the world. He had once asked Bruce if Superman had any chameleon powers to explain is natural ability to blend in when not in uniform. Bruce had chuckled and denied that was part of Superman’s skillset. Looking at Superman now, with all traces of Clark Kent gone, Dick thinks Bruce might have been wrong.

              “Wait! I want to come.” Dick says. Damn his secret identity. He’s sick of doing nothing while Bruce, his partner, his father, is being tortured. He has to do something.

              Steve and Clark exchange looks and even before either one speaks Dick already knows that the answer is no.

              “Please!” Dick begs, “He’s family.”

              “I know,” Steve says scrubbing his face, “and trust me, I understand better than you realize, but you can’t just go running into danger.”

              Even to his own ears the words ring hollow. If only Bucky could hear him now.

              “Wait here and let Bucky know what’s happening when he gets back.” He adds.

              Dick opens his mouth to argue more and then slams it shut. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he scowls. Suddenly, he launches himself at Clark. Hugging him tightly he buries his face into his shoulder.

              “Bring Bruce home, okay?” He mutters.

              After a moment of surprise, Clark hugs back.

              “I will.”

              Dick steps away, a worried frown etched in his face as he watches them leave. As the door shuts behind them the frown drops into a slight smirk. He unzips the duffle bag and from beneath his neatly folded costume, pulls out a device. It’s small and has a green screen at the top and buttons and nobs at the bottom. After a few adjustments the screen lights up. It pings as it registers the tracker he slipped on the underside of Clark’s cape.