(no subject)

[icarus_chained]

 I'm in a strange, short-post-y kinda mood. So here's another spur-of-the-moment fic. 

Title:  The Madness of Others
Rating:  PG-13
Characters:  Bruce/J'onn, friendship, kinda pre-slash
Summary:  There is one part of Bruce's pain that J'onn has yet to understand in it's entirity. He wants to rectify that.
Warning:  Screwy. Really.

The Madness of Others

It had often been said of Bruce, of Batman, that he was as insane in many ways as the criminals he hunted. That he belonged in Arkham as much as they did. Even among the hero communities, the rumours circulated, especially among those who, at one point or another, had seen him hunt in his city, or follow Gotham criminals out into the wider world. Not those who knew him well, of course, but perhaps even they had once held that grim view of their comrade, the first time he crossed their path.

J'onn did not believe it. He never had. He had caught a glimpse, that first time, before Bruce had known to shield against him. He had known from the start that Bruce was not as those human monsters were. He had seen the true heart of the man, the courage and well-shielded compassion that lived in him.

And yet, he knew that Bruce was affected by them. Infected, maybe, by the amount of time he spent getting into their minds, learning their thought processes. Engaging, in a way, in a kind of telepathy. Night after night, the Batman's mind followed theirs along dark and twisted paths, trying to see the future through an intimate understanding of their dark intentions. And it showed itself at times, that understanding of evil, and it was frightening to see. Most of their comrades chose to ignore it, to wave it aside as part of the mythos of the Batman, and allowed their thoughts to linger on that rumour. That the Bat belonged in Arkham.

Over the years, J'onn had come to understand and empathise with the many pains Bruce held close. They had always understood each other, in a way that few others understood either of them. Their pasts mirrored each other in a lot of ways. The loss of family, of children. The realisation that the safety of home and people was an illusion at best, that everything you thought secure was in fact as tentative as a soap bubble on the winds of life. The understanding of what it was to be alone, even among friends. He understood so much of Bruce.

But as their friendship deepened, as the faintest hopes of something more began to blossom in his heart, J'onn wanted to understand more. To understand all, if he could. And to understand Batman, you had to understand Gotham, and the darkness that lived there. You had to understand the insanity of an institution that many said the Batman should surrender to. You had to understand Arkham.

So that once, he had tried. That once, he had stood at Arkham's gates, without the knowledge of the man he knew would never condone the attempt. That once, he stood at the gates of hell and opened his mind, for the barest of seconds, to the maelstrom that lived within it.

And was overwhelmed.

Misery, thick and wailing, poured out into him. Anger. Gibbering fear. Broken psyches and buried dreams, the glimmerings of who the monsters had once been, the chattering screams of possessive demons crying out against any intrusion. The despair that clung to the very walls of the place, that seeped into the bones of all who walked within them, prisoner and jailor alike. Minds painted with the lurid colours of atrocities past and anticipated, pain and hatred feeding on each other with vicious delight, hammering into him. Drowning him.

And then, a shield. Hands around his shoulders as a mind like a blue sword cut through the gabbering darkness, as clear lines of intellect and understanding drew a demarcation between the madness and himself, as a cold and terrified voice called his name in the storm.

J'ONN!

And the black wave broke, and pulled back from him, and the shadowy brilliance of Bruce's thoughts embraced him, the blue of intellect and the white of hope, and the grey determination that skirted that black border so very finely, so precariously, and never fell. And J'onn knew for sure, finally and irrevocably, that Batman did not belong in that terrible place. And never, never would.

He turned to face his friend, to face the angry, confused eyes hidden from the world by white lenses. He did not ask how the other had found him, how he had known. There was no thought of angry posturing between them, no admonishment for trespassing. Only the plea of a heart that could not understand why he should choose to hurt himself so, should open himself up to everything Bruce strove so hard to keep from them.

And he did strive for it. J'onn knew in his heart of hearts that Bruce would cheerfully dive headlong into madness, into the worst humanity had to offer, if it would only keep those he viewed as brighter from the clutches of the darkness. The risk he took, the line he skirted so closely, the looming threat of Arkham as Batman's final resting place, all of it was to keep those brighter souls from falling. Bruce did not just walk the boundary. For many, he had become it.

He reached out then, to another who walked in the grey world of the borderland, to one who understood the dangers of touching other minds, who lived in the shadow of madness that loomed eternally over them. He reached out in mute appeal for understanding, wanting to show this man that he was not alone, that he was understood. Wanting to explain that all he had wanted was to see, to know what threatened his friend. So he could help hold it back.

Bruce stared at him, their instinctive connection trembling between his desire to embrace what J'onn was, what he offered, and the age-old need to protect, to shield. And then the darker man sighed, in weary acceptance, and pulled him close in a steady, heartsore embrace, the fine tendrils of his thoughts wrapping securely around J'onn's, the weary beat of his human heart a solid thump in the Martian chest. J'onn dipped his head to rest it atop his friend's, embracing him, wrapping the warmth of his understanding around Bruce's pain, and nearly weeping as it was accepted, finally, by the other man.

A high, sharp cackle broke the silence of the night, and they raised their heads to look back up at the looming ediface before them. At the seat of madness. J'onn reached out, tentatively, Bruce's stern and watchful consciousness a welcome guardian, and touched the mind that laughed at them. Touched the wild, humour-filled despair of a madman who had looked out into the night and seen his nightmare, standing at the border of his world, held back from the final precipice by the embrace of a friend, a soulmate. Looked out and seen his guardian, forever watching over the mad, and forever beyond their reach.

And when Bruce touched that mind, and a pity rose in him to match J'onn's compassion for the brokenness they looked upon, the Martian knew a moment of such contentment and love that a shadow of it flowed down through him and into that shattered psyche, and the desperate laughter for a single moment rang true and whole. And Bruce turned in his arms, and laid a gentle finger on his lips, and promised softly that their understanding would not be in vain. The strength of him poured into J'onn, met its partner, and held on tightly.

The darkness called, the Gotham night crying out for its champion, and J'onn knew that then was not the time. But the clasp of a strong hand and the touch of a shadowed mind let him know that there would be others. Let him know that there was a chance that their understanding was more than friendship, that the clasp of another soul would be willingly given and accepted. That Bruce could understand him, and accept being understood in return.

J'onn smiled fiercely out into the darkness. Let the madness come, all the black insanity of the world. He would be waiting. And he would not be alone.

Neither of them, now, would ever be alone.