DC comics own all

Detournement
an Elseworlds tale.

Jay Tryfanstone

Elseworlds: owing more than a little to Neil Gaiman's
interpretation in Batman: Black and White

From his vantage point the girders laddered into infinity, an Escher pattern of moonlight and structure counterpointed by the small, wheeling shadows of night-flying creatures. The warehouse was vast, great skylights illuminating the barren concrete floor and the driven piles of columns that reached and arched, blind, to an unforgiving sky. He tested the decal line once more. It never seemed to get easier, the opposition of bound muscle and human faith to this unforgiving, gravity bound world. He’d read the comics. This was not flight. This was a stretch of effort that strained and popped each muscle, pulled each tendon, twisted and stretched each bone in his body.

It was time.

He tightened his grip on the lycra/hemp mix line (not nylon, never nylon, they’d tried it once and he’d been out of action for a month, cursing the wreck of hands scalded and reshaped by the melting chemical) and took one last glance at his landing point. "X marks the spot," he thought to himself grimly, and, once more, flexed the powerful muscle of his thighs and took off into space.

Half way down, wind beginning to shape the pulling cape behind him, he realised he wasn’t going to make it. Something was off about his angle, a stray gust of wind from a broken skylight, maybe, too late –

He hit the ground awkwardly with a crack of bone on concrete, tried to absorb the force by rolling, caught then by the bracers on the cape, felt pain, sharp and familiar, spiral from his left leg.

"Oh shit," he thought.

From the shadows around the landing point he caught the first soft murmur of concern, heard the soft pad of urgent footsteps coming towards his prone body. Tender hands lifted the cape from his shoulders, gently unclipping the forged titanium clasps, stripping the confining, betraying folds.

"You OK?" came the soft-voiced question.

"Left leg broken again, I think," he grunted.

"We’ll get the medics. Just-"

The owner of the voice turned away. His eyes shut, shaming heat behind the lids, he couldn’t see the concerned crowd he knew was gathering.

"Something about the bracers-"

"Maybe we went a bit overboard on the weight, it’s supposed to look-"

"Fabric too heavy? I wondered if that kevlar mix was-"

"Didn’t really billow the way we wanted-"

"More joints in the frame?"

"But wouldn’t that push it out of shape?"

"Well, it’s back to the dr-"

Heavier steps.

"Want a hand?"

The voice was deep, gravely, a bitter dark chocolate mix. He knew that voice. It was as like to his own as any one – two – three – human voices could be.

"Cheers."

Strong, gloved hands pulled him upright, his weight supported on a frame of sculpted muscle.

"Thanks, mate."

"Hey, been there, done that."

"There’s times when I think it’s just not worth it."

"Come on, Bats – saving the planet, thrashing the villains, getting the lady?"

"You know what my insurance premiums have gone up to?"

The caped figure beside him laughed.

"Should have gone for my job."

"No way, man. At least I get credit for what I do."

"Yeah, but look what they put you through."

The caped man pushed open a battered door. Stale air curled round the two figures, twisting round them with a scent of old carpets, stained furniture, unwashed windows.

"You should have seen Clooney’s motorhome," grunted the rescuer, depositing his burden on one of the battered chairs in the portacabin.

"You know I don’t get to go on the movie sets." His leg supported on the seat, and the first sick pain fading, Batman looked up. "Heh."

Across the room, a caped figure looked up from the old comic he was reading.

"What is it this time?"

"Left leg again. You should be so lucky."

"You think `toons don’t hurt?" A brief smile, more of a grimace, crossed the other man’s face. "You any idea how difficult it is to be this guy? At least you get to go home, take the costume off. Me, I’m him all the time, dark and brooding, y’know? Man, I’d give a fortune to have some real time fun, sink some beers, pull a few chicks, know what I mean?"

Efficiently strapping Batman’s injured leg, the caped rescuer chuckled.

Batman cast him a weary glance. "It’s the car, right?"

They finished together. "Chicks dig the car."

"Oh, give me a break," the `toon said.

Finished, the caped rescuer lent back with a sigh. "What’s on the board for next week?"

"Uh – I’m up, I think, Frank Miller again – I hate those bloody colours, could do with sunglasses. Not much for you – photos for Batman and Superman on Tuesday. `Toon?"

"Haven’t checked yet. Betcha there’ll be something."

"Always is," the caped rescuer commented.

"Hey, could be worse," Batman added. "That fanfic guy, says he hasn’t had a break in years. At least my wife knows what I look like."

"That’s a point," the rescuer said. "You seen film slash recently?"

"Nah," Batman replied. "Never was around much, anyway. Those guys give me the creeps."

"Homophobe."

"Oh come on, brother, this is the twenty first century! It’s just that they never seem to do anything, but, you know..."

The `toon looked up. "I should be so lucky."

"Give it time, my friend," said the caped rescuer.

"Give it time, my arse. You know the rules. DC specs – no sex on site."

The caped rescuer commented, equably, "They do have the kids to think about. Remember the fuss about the X-men?"

"Yeah, well, that’s Marvel for you. Talking of kids, I’d best get this leg into emergency and home before the kids get in from school." Batman paused, glanced up at the ceiling. "Is she finished yet?"

There was a knock on the cabin door, and a tousled head appeared.

"OK guys, it’s a wrap," the technician says. "Writer says thanks for your time, she appreciates it, seeing as she’s never worked with you lot before."

The injured Batman stands up. "Heh, it was a laugh. I don’t often get to work with these guys. Tell her next time the slash bunnies leave her alone – "

Film Batman laughs. "Be carefulm" he says. "You know she killed him off in the last one."

`Toon Batman looks up. "Yeah, but was it him or the old lady? Even she doesn’t know."

They chuckle together.

"Dinner at my place on Thursday?" says Film Batman.

Fin.