Work Text:
A/N: ALL THE FEELS
This fits in along my ‘Apokolips In Red’ timeline after ‘Murphy’s Law’ and you don’t need to know too much to follow along. Just know that Red Lanterns develop A/B/O traits and have similar culture behind their actions. I’ve made quite a bit up, but I recommend EvilPixie’s insanely amazing works, I leaned on that structure a lot.
-
Becoming an Omega Red had left an indelible mark on Bruce, it made him into something he never could have been prepared for. It wasn’t just a shift in culture or in bodily construction, it was the terrifying ability to create despite a lifetime of destruction.
Ignatha had described him as intersex, that such often happened to those Red Lanterns who did not present in concert with their biological gender or whatever passed for it in their species. Omega presented as a primary female, Beta remained static to their original build, and Alpha were the primary male. Thank goodness for Ignatha, the Red Lantern with more patience than seemed possible, who had taught him balancing meditations and everything he’d so desperately needed to know.
Between his legs, tucked away just behind his balls, was now a tight little pussy full of folds and muscle. It was an entirely new sensation for him, when his development had finished and left him feeling vulnerable in ways he simply never had before. With these disconcerting new structures he could take everything he needed to produce viable young and drive his husband utterly insane with… love. Clark had loved him before he could become pregnant and Clark loved him just as much even now, able to bear children. The ‘L’ word was still touchy ground for Bruce but he found he enjoyed Clark’s version of it. No matter how coddled and overfed and lazy their relationship had made him… it was Clark, and Clark was worth it.
Acquainting himself with these new organs had been interesting, all MRI scans in the Cave and obstetrics and blood tests. Alfred had insisted on helping, no matter how much Bruce’s bodily changes had frightened Bruce himself. The old butler would gladly drag him by the ear the moment he caught wind of such insecurities. Diana had also been an invaluable aid, helping him understand what it meant and how it felt to have all these extra parts. It had been an embarrassing few conversations but she knew what it meant to be a woman more than most people in his life. Hell, losing his parents at such a young age meant he’d missed out on the infamous ‘talk’ and so he’d bridged the gap with textbooks and observations. Bruce was beginning to realize that there was a lot more to these things, more than just dry clinical definitions and emotionally stunted experiences with contracted targets and convenient two-legged alibis.
Eventually, satisfied that his ward was not going to spiral into some feverish episode of self-loathing, Alfred, Diana, and Clark had simply stepped aside to afford him the privacy he needed. Several less than safe Google searches later and trying to find the right angle with a mirror, he’d managed to see the thing. It was average size, if a bit small for his overall physique, sensitive to touch and ensconced in pale folds the color of dusky roses. It engorged with his estrous, all but oozing slick and full of heat enough to steam in the Gotham cold. Thankfully, he did not bleed like a human female but the entrance was almost stenotic due to his abnormal presentation and demanded great care. Clark absolutely adored that Bruce would trust him with such a sensitive, delicate, and important new structure. He would spend hours opening his partner up to take his cock and drive Bruce to the brink of insanity every time. An Omega in heat, on every biological level, demanded penetrative sex and the flush of hormones that came with it. Be it the Alpha hormone saturated cum of a rutting Red or the release that came with orgasm, Omega needed intimacy on a level that would have terrified Bruce if he didn’t have Clark. Birth control was a must during heats and condoms would only worsen the matter; deprive him of that warmth and light he needed so badly. Clark, an absolute deviant and wasn’t that a surprise, had come up with a novel number of ways to get him that Alpha hormone.
He and Clark had worked hard to develop a kind of sterilizing tablet, something to prevent conception, made from the Cave’s technology. A single dose would make for a safe heat and would wear off after a week. Bruce was only ever truly fertile during his heats and each resulting child had been thought out, wanted, and much loved.
They had four children now. Timothy and Richard were getting stronger every day, Cassie, their first and so far only girl, was as brilliant as Bruce could have ever hoped. Jason, their youngest, was a force to be reckoned with and willful to a fault even as a toddler. Bruce loved it and Clark saw the man in his son, his eyes fiery with all of Bruces spirit. Each child had been carefully examined to make absolutely certain that the Lantern curse and it’s biological quackery hadn’t been passed on to them; so far so good.
-
It was almost a year after Jason was born and Bruce had taken a terrifying turn.
It started with a missed heat, Bruce turning pale and uncharacteristically clinging to Clark at every opportunity. The man was desperate to get Clark’s scent all over him as though embarrassed by his own. The press were quick to latch on and merciless in their vulture-like need to find every crack imaginable in both Brucie Wayne and Batman. He would refuse to go up to the Tower now and Superman’s duties only exacerbated the issue. Bruce had begun refusing to eat, burying himself in his work as CEO of Wayne Enterprises and as Batman.
By the time he had begun snapping at his mate and adoptive father, everyone was worried.
Bruce’s disposition only continued to worsen over time, in ways so unlike his previous episodes of seclusion. He had always been prone to seeking out solitude but this was beyond that mournful ache. Clark had tried everything he could, his own complexion becoming frail enough for Diana to step in and demand he take time off. “Something is wrong Kal, focus on your mate and leave the League to me.” Diana had teamed up with Shayera on that one, Dinah stepping in to remain on-call for when the situation came to a head. God bless the League and all the women that made it sane.
By the time Bruce had begun snapping at their pups and stress nesting, the time for seclusion had come and gone.
Clark had watched Bruce turn in on himself, meeting Alfred’s desperate eyes across the table with a nod, before shooing everyone out of the dining area and taking Bruce up to his room. The second the Omega caught wind of his own scent he became distant and shaken, refusing to enter his own bedroom. Clark pushed on, listening to Alfred cooing to Jason as Timothy watched with disturbing intelligence.
Everyone knew something was wrong.
-
Bruce was a terrible Omega.
Bruce had hidden from his own Alpha, given away his ring, hidden from his own scent, and from his own pups.
Hiding his own blood.
Clark, his beautiful mate who was so much too good for him, had lifted him and held him and sat on their bed with him in his lap. Bruce couldn’t bring himself to scent the man back, the stench of miserable Omega making him nauseous. His Alpha did not deserve to bear the mark of an Omega so defective he couldn’t even initiate a forehead touch or a calming sighing purr. He was an Omega that would not present, an Omega that forced his Alpha-not-Alpha to navigate a gauntlet of emotional baggage for every heat.
An Omega that couldn’t even-
“B, you know I can hear you when you’re overthinking. All those gears turn’in.” Clark smiled as he held Bruces’ bulk to his chest, tears in his eyes as their gazes met.
-
Clark was a terrible Alpha.
Clark wasn’t even really an Alpha, he wasn’t even a Red Lantern, just holding the manufactured synthetic Alpha hormone Bruce’s body needed made him feel like nothing he could do would ever be enough. Bruce had given up so much for him; throwing himself upon Darkseid to destroy their greatest enemy and allowing himself to be removed from the League to save Clark’s own reputation after their affair got out. After all that, Bruce had not only been forcibly inducted and mutated by the Red Lantern ring and its horrible influence but had allowed himself to be further altered so as to bear a weight typically beyond his gender and his species.
Hell, Clark couldn’t even smell an Alpha Red coming when they weren’t in rut, watching Bruce’s face contort with the pull of pheromones was usually their only warning. Clark was practically blind to them and it had very nearly cost them everything on a number of occasions. Bruce had done so much for them but Clark was powerless in ways that had nothing to do with sunlight.
No Red Lantern Alpha would respect their union.
No Red Lantern Alpha would respect their resultant bloodline, their children, or suffer the intrusion onto their own line.
The last time Clark had tried to overcome this… deficiency, he had tried dosing himself with modified synthetic Alpha hormone that Kelex had been beyond loath to make. It had made him irritable, nauseated, buffeted him with foreign senses only made worse with his superhuman powers. He’d started drooling a thick and foul saliva that made a mess out of everything it came in contact with and became prone to bouts of near uncontrollable anger. The damnable serum had even triggered some latent rutting impulse even Jor-An wasn’t able to explain away as anything less than an embarrassing hangover.
Non-regulation, he was non-regulation, strange and prone to emotional instability and weird antiquated genetic hangovers and- Eventually Bruce had figured out what he was trying to do, taking him aside to their secret little ‘nest’ on the WatchTower and held Clark just as Clark was holding him now.
“Clark.” They sat with each other on his bed, Bruce lifting his chin to meet his eyes. “I have a giant green tyrannosaur next to a giant penny in a high-tech cave beneath my mansion… and you are worried that you are too weird for me. I’m a hermaphrodite Clark; I have a pussy… please tell me more about how strange you are.” Facing Bruce’s deadpan expression was so much easier than it should have been. “Are- are you cracking a joke?” The older man’s gaze did not change. “I purr, I heat, I have given birth to twins. What about this is normal?” Neither of them could stop the chuckling that overtook them, nuzzling into one another’s embrace.
Clark gazed gently into eyes the color and beauty of hoarfrost and silver, kissing his forehead and humming softly.
“You are my partner, Clark, just as you are; and I will settle for nothing less.”
“You are my partner, Bruce, just as you are; and I will settle for nothing less.”
Clark repeated those words, breathing them kindly into the wispy dark curls of Bruce’s hair and punctuating every few words with the crack of an Alpha lo-stick. They were small, thin as a pencil, and when cracked they produced the calming Alpha pheromones that Clark couldn’t. He smiled, kissing Bruce’s forehead as they trembled in each other’s arms. Humming a familiar tune, Clark rocked him gently as Bruce, his amazing and indomitable mate, started to shake with shallow hitching sobs. Bruce didn’t cry like everyone else; he was too proud and often lacked the emotional capacity to do so. When it happened he shrank into himself, becoming quieter and smaller as though caught in some terrible regression. Dinah had said it was ok so long as he didn’t try to hurt himself and that it was the great trust in their bond that allowed him to do it at all.
Clark would be damned if he wouldn’t live up to that trust.
“Shhhhh…” Clark shushed kindly, quietly, running his fingers through Bruce’s hair and taking his hand in his other. Clark brought that hand to his chest, helping Bruce to feel his heartbeat so as to ground him, to help him bring down his own. Dinah had taught him so much, all the ways to help his mate through his darker days, and Clark couldn’t thank her enough. “Breathe with me B…” He cooed softly, helping even out jerky hyperventilation into safer, longer breaths. Helping Bruce to cry the way he needed to but didn’t know how to.
-
Alfred was a terrible Father.
After Thomas and Martha Wayne were killed, an event he will always lay at his own feet, Alfred had spent every waking moment he could tending to the small child left behind. He had held him through sobbing and shaking, cleaned him of blood and bandages in showers, and forced him to eat and drink when all a seven-year-old boy had wanted most was to be left in that alley with his parents. Alfred had never been what Bruce had needed and still blamed himself for that awful night. He had tried and tried, night after night, until a man in a suit had ruined everything all over again.
He could have attacked the bastard, could have pushed harder, done more, run away with his ward in tow.
He had not.
Alfred had watched that man take his boy away, watched them drive off, watched them give Bruce to Thomas’ unscrupulous older brother.
Alfred had let them take Bruce away, he had let him down again, just as he had now.
Finding the bloody towels stuffed into the hazmat incinerator in the cave, Alfred didn’t need any further information to know what had happened.
-
“I- I’m sorry, I couldn’t- I should’ve- I-“
One hitching breath at a time, the story spilled from Bruce like terrible water to pool with the tears streaming down his face. Two weeks ago, Superman was expected back from helping with emergency repairs on a distant satellite whose unique construction had required cooperation with several disparate government agencies. The situation had been delicate but it was all worth it to be able to meet Clark on the WatchTower. Superman is an imposing figure, all muscle and power and the scent of ozone, but Clark, beauty incarnate smelling of their world’s own endless horizons, was a wonder in of himself. Bruce always looked forward to whatever reunion lay ahead. Yes, he was up on the Tower several days early with the flimsy excuse of pencil pushing but Hal was drowning in it anyway so it was good enough. Besides, he wanted to look into the nesting area that Cyborg was making. The poor man was very book-smart but the end product was going to need an Omega’s touch to make it work. If he was going to bring his pups here, Bruce wanted to sniff out every angle and every problem.
Batman stood in the hangar bay with, what was to him, barely restrained excitement. If one looked close enough they may have even found the hint of a genuine smile. Diana had caught on the moment they’d greeted each other as he waited for Clark. Bruce’s latest heat wasn’t showing any signs of approach; no claw-like nails, no sensitivity to smell, no itching or slicking or sharper teeth. This usually meant that there was a high chance that he’d become pregnant again and was so foolishly excited to tell his husband.
That was when everything went to hell.
Bruce shook apart like collapsing scaffolding as he recounted his shame to Clark, who nuzzled into his neck and whispered all the sweet little things that made him forget about the outside world. The shipboard air had become thick, soupy and biting with an offensive odor that burned in his sinuses. He could hear Hal in the distance and the rumbling affirmations of Ignatha, the massive male Nox that seemed a mishmash of leonine and reptilian traits. Their voices seemed somehow distant, Hal didn’t sound happy in the slightest, like he’d been forced to deal with an uninvited guest he couldn’t turn away. Bruce balked at the approaching stink, Ignatha was nowhere near this irresponsible with his scent. Ignatha was a low-level Alpha Red who had been instrumental in helping Bruce come to terms with ending up with what was essentially the world’s worst superpower.
Alpha, Beta, and Omega… and horrible unstoppable rage.
A Red Lantern, a mid to low-level Alpha approaching his rut, must have entered the area at some point. Bruce did not have his ring, trusting it to Clark as both his wedding ring and vow for their shared humanity. Bruce kept Clark’s Kryptonite ring and Clark kept Bruce’s Red Lantern ring, together they grounded each other. These rings represented all of their respective fears and just how far they would go to keep those nightmares from becoming reality. Bruce hated his Red Lantern Ring, as both Bruce Wayne and Batman, the thing representing inhuman strength at the cost of unbridled destruction. He had raged and blasted the world before, tearing up a chunk of Gotham in the process, and would never allow himself to do it again. This tether to his humanity, however, had a cost.
Bruce didn’t remember much of the encounter in solid ways, everything about Red Lanterns always seemed to boil down to discordant sensations and a fervent need for action. The bay had become far too small for its size, full of noise and people and the scent of Red. The Alpha, his species beyond Bruce’s ability or desire to recall, was broad shouldered and pushy. He had been drooling at Bruce’s scent; an Unclaimed and fertile Omega ripe for the taking and left behind by his mate. Bruce did not succumb so wholly to Alpha pheromone as he used to, having learned ways to circumvent the psychological and physiological pull. Mind and body, however, can be vulnerable in ways unique to each of them.
“Hello Misery.”
The huge alien hulk had chuckled low, slotting his almost muzzle-like face into the crook of Bruce’s neck just above his Omega scenting gland. He had shivered head to toe, the Lantern all but licking at his neck and smearing a sticky foaming spittle onto him as he went. Big hands and thick fingers tipped in needle-like claws traced the frame of Bruces body and he could do nothing to stop it. His legs had rooted to the floor, his frame locking up and demanding he present as a horrible heat built up in his body and clutched at his abdomen.
Being an Omega meant being a creature twisted to be dominated and bred in the endless cycle of violence that defined what it was to be a Red Lantern.
Few were strong enough to break this cycle.
The heavy thud of rapidly approaching footsteps was the last push that snapped him out of it, what was visible of Bruce’s face behind the cowl contorting into a snarl. The ‘Batsuit’ as Flash had dubbed it, had built in claws and they were retractable and long and sharp… and they could pierce stone and steel. These claws were built to scale sheer concrete and rain-soaked brickwork, rip away armored plates, and anchor his body despite windshear and vortex. They did the same to the alien’s face, just in time for Ignatha to come barreling down the hall and body-slam the bastard straight into a wall. Bruce wasn’t all that keen to be separated from the alien, more than willing to tear a few more chunks out of him, but Diana and Hal had been determined to run off with Bruce in tow. Bruce had thrashed the whole way, howling madly, before Shayera had grabbed him by the sides of his face and forced him to focus and calm down. It was one of the wildest losses of emotional control they had ever seen from Batman and it was terrifying.
Yes, Bruce had successfully refuted the brainless young Alpha, but as he hadn’t done so entirely under his own power the challenge for ownership could still be considered valid.
Bruce hadn’t cared.
The damage had already been done.
Bruce was a terrible Omega.
-
Watching Bruce break down was always a harrowing and awful experience, something Clark would do anything to keep from happening. He listened as the man recounted being pulled away by Diana and all but hiding with Shayera, his self-appointed adoptive mother, who had been instructed by Ignatha to hold onto him as Bruce calmed down. He had told them about Omega ‘dropping’ and how they could panic until they collapse, becoming dangerously vulnerable and sick. He had told him that he may need an Alpha hormone shot from the med bay and fever and nausea would follow soon. Ignatha’s admission to this new fact of Bruce’s biology had felt like a betrayal, like some horrible naked piece of him had been bared to his closest allies. As far as Bruce was concerned he had made an absolute mess of things, embarrassing himself and the whole of the League. They’d even had to help him through a shower, to clean the oily Alpha stink from his armor and skin.
Ignatha had refused to allow himself to enter the room they were practically hiding in, Shayera’s quarters on the Tower, despite the call to action that was an Omega in distress. To an Alpha, that pheromone trail was a declaration of clan-war and every thick quill on his body had stood on end. He was not Bruce’s Alpha or his packmate, maybe a confidant at best, and did not want to push an already frightened Omega. That did not stop him from terrorizing everything and everyone dumb enough to get anywhere near their location. Omega hormone shots were enough to take the edge off for Ignatha, bringing much needed calm and clarity. Alpha and Omega needed each other down to a biological level and it stung Bruce’s pride, straight through the heart of his autonomy.
The other Alpha was confined to the medical wing where his own shots would bring the idiot around. Young and new to the Curse that was The Butcher’s rings; thank god the man had been too dumbfounded to reach for his own ring. Red Lanterns butting heads was always an exercise in mass destruction. Hal had just been furious, throwing every book of Green Lantern law straight at the alien’s gob smacked face until he was buried by the paperwork alone.
Several hours of meditative breathing later, and Bruce had been impatiently insistent on leaving. Bruce had all but destroyed the suit he had been wearing the moment he’d run back through the Zeta and returned to the Cave.
Clark couldn’t help but feel this was all his fault, cradling Bruce as he wept in small ways over the horror of that missed heat three days after the ordeal. It must have been word of Clarks return that had set it off, some kind of panic attack or delayed drop.
Bruce had become physically ill, he’d been terrified, locked himself away as his abdomen had cramped, and blood and amnion had trickled down his thighs. No amount of time showering or scrubbing at his skin in the Cave could remove the scent of Alpha-not-my-Alpha from his body. His mate could not be allowed to smell another Alpha on him or see that he had invited the stench into his own home like some kind of whorish animal. His husband didn’t deserve to be saddled with such a Misery of a terrible Omega.
A ‘Misery’ was slang for a miserable low-level Omega, a failure that stank of uselessness and sadness, a barren thing that was worse than worthless.
Steam had made the rocks cold and damp and the whole of the cavern itself had seemed like some awful maw. Freezing and burning, Bruce had collapsed against the wall and slid down to sit on the pooling water beneath him as the decon-shower continued to drench him head to toe.
Bruce had recounted to him that, desperate as he had been to clean away the blood, finding the tiny barely formed thing on the tiled floor of the stall had been its very own kind of hell.
Rutting Alpha hormone, a claim slathered onto his body and into his senses, had caused him to miscarry.
“It was- all my fault- all my fault. I s-should be stronger than this- I-“
Bruce keened, long and loud, all the sounds he’d tried so hard to bury bubbling up from his chest. It was a terrible broken thing, he could feel it dredge the pain constricting his chest to come out and spill all over no matter how embarrassing. Clark didn’t even give that thought time to develop, almost sensing it as the smell of distressed Omega finally began to fill the room enough for him to detect. He kissed Bruce on the forehead again and again, determined to eke out that rot in all the ways he’d learned from Shudia that horrible morning in Crime Alley.
“No Bruce, never, never your fault, my beautiful, wonderful mate. My partner, my husband, mine. I’m such an idiot, oh B-”
Bruce had vomited up every ounce of self-loathing, every sentence filled with recrimination and fear. Clark held him through it for hours, draping himself over Bruce, kissing him senseless and infinitely grateful for every tear the man chose to share with him. It was a baptism by salt and they kissed away every last wound together.
“We’re a mess aren’t we?”
“I wouldn’t have us any other way.”
-
Clark was practically scenting Bruce, running his hands through Bruce’s hair as Alfred listened to the awful story from the hall. Clutching the blood-stained towel and pushing down his emotions, Alfred straightened back into the familiar posture of British propriety he’d shielded himself with for as long as he could remember.
“Bruce, I could never hate you. I could never blame you. I love you and I am going to show you what that is supposed to mean, again and again until the day we die.”
Walking away from the threshold of Bruce’s room had hurt on a physical level but Alfred knew that his ward was finally in good hands. Alternating between evening chores and checking in on the two, several hours had come and gone and so had that blessed private moment he would thank Clark for until the end of his days. They had shed their tears as they’d needed and were simply sitting in the dimly lit bedroom holding each other, recovering.
The old butler pinched the bridge of his nose, begging himself for strength and composure, before moving down the hall to catch four pups who were up far past their bedtime. Timothy froze mid-sneak and gave him a stubborn look that said he knew something was wrong and wasn’t going to sit it out. Richard and Cassie were there with him, full-on ‘puppy eyes’ they must have picked up from Flash. Jason just looked furious… which was the usual for him; bull-headed and defiant and all but daring the old man to even try to scruff him right now. They were far too young to be so smart, and they were definitely his son’s children
Alfred nodded in agreement, picking them all up and marching straight back, into the master bedroom with zero pomp or subtlety. His boy had suffered enough, Alfred would not leave him to it, not anymore.
It became an almost literal dog pile and the effect was immediate. Richard, Jason, and Timothy were all over their Omega mother, babbling and chattering as they pulled and climbed and Clark shouted in surprise as he tipped over. Cassie sat next to Alfred on the edge of the oversized bed, smiling openly at her parents before patting Clark on the head with affection and approval. Bruce, eyes bloodshot and utterly embarrassed, had a frightened expression as his eldest set a hand to each side of his face and made him lock gazes. Richard was puffed up like an angry cat, huffing pointedly before touching his forehead to his mother the same way his mother had for him after a bad day. “No crying in the dark.” It was a demanding tone; the same Bruce had used on him after he’d tried to hide a broken toy or run away from a fight at school. Bruce couldn’t help it, he half sobbed and half laughed, gathering his pups in his arms despite Jasons protests and wriggling. He caught Clark too, pulling Alfred into the growing heap with a decidedly undignified yelp and drowning himself in the scent and warmth of everything and everyone that made life worth living.
Tears of despair and fear of abandonment had become tears of sadness, and now those drops of emotion became tears of joy. Lost in a mob of squabbling pups, Bruce and Clark knew everything would be ok, that their family would stay strong.
That was when the call came.
-
It had started with the funding, Luthor going through every possible route and every single branch and turning over every stone down to the pebbles. No one knew finances quite like he did; all the ways they could be curried and laundered and led astray. It was this knowledge that led him to the unutterable and undeniable truth… the Justice League accepted no dodgy dollar, no crooked penny, and no string of attachment nor suffered any caveat for favor. Whoever had pulled together their funding did so with a vapid honesty and simplicity and indisputable harmlessness that would put Brucie Wayne himself to shame. That was how Luthor ended up on the WatchTower, how he had swallowed his pride and waded into the international waters of the space station.
It was how he came to see himself, standing in a docking bay, watching the stars roll by with an air of tranquility he did not often know. It was how he came to see Batman and thus how he came to see himself.
Batman would always be a source of pain for him, few things incite such torment as witnessing someone who could so easily have been you. Luthor hadn’t quite understood it at first, but losing your arm to a Red Lantern can make a man examine his life like few other events could. Coming back from that battlefield, bereft of so integral a piece of his own flesh and autonomy, had forced him into introspection in ways that Superman could never have managed. Superman forgave too readily and shouldered his enmity too well. Simply put, Luthor had faced his own mortality and returned to an empty world more hollow than he’d ever realized it was. On Apokolipse and on the Polyphemus, things had gone by so fast and the memory of it all was distorted by everything that had happened. Luthor had faced death there but that death was impersonal, the next time he would face death it was very much personal. He found death, stared it in the eyes, eyes full of hate and rage and the promise of torture. Looking into the face of evil, then into the face of hatred and rage made manifest, Luthor finally learned to recognize that face. It was a look he’d seen in the mirror, day after day, and never once on the face of his most loathsome enemy.
Luthor, now able to recognize the emotion for what it was, had only ever seen sadness on Superman’s face.
Sadness for him.
No lover soothed his ego without motive, no servant met his needs without payment, and no person looked to him for guidance or comfort or offered even the slightest reprieve without a cost. Luthor had been so obsessed with human progress, his own egotistical wants and affirmations, that he had surrounded himself with a shell of humanity that was cold comfort and selfish and wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Looking in a mirror and seeing one’s father is perhaps yet more painful than seeing one’s own enemies staring back at you. The veneer of society, for Luthor, had been cracked and exposed and what lay beneath was an emptiness he could only now understand.
That was how he came to the WatchTower, alone and in possession of only a single arm. All of his other hired hands had left him, disgusted and abused and scenting weakness, and Luthor finally saw the day where money couldn’t buy everything. All things came at a price, distilled down to its very own currency… until now.
Money, finally, could not buy everything and no amount of grit would bridge the gap. This in and of itself was a world-shattering revelation, his understanding of reality ripped loose and shaken free like the roots of some noxious weed. He’d always known life wasn’t fair, had conspired to twist things around him to his favor no matter how cruelly. Just like Superman, whose power was a matter of birth, Luthor and the power he had accumulated to himself by sheer determination… just couldn’t make it work.
It really was all just a shitshow.
A giant of a man, Luthor now saw how small he really was.
Things here really were just that simple, no ulterior motives, no hidden agendas, no dastardly plans or self-aggrandized heights of depravity. It was all just people, people trying to make things work in a way that felt right. It was, in all of its ways, more real than anything Luthor had ever done in his life. Humanity itself had left him behind in the past and moved on to the future.
Luthor was not going to cry to the heavens, there were no lofty aspirations or goals left in him, and so he walked the Tower as just one man among many and set his wants aside. To do so was to bring down every wall, every expectation, every defense. His entire life was built on pushing forward, on never slowing down and never stopping and always centered around getting what he wanted. Here he could not get what he wanted, a common occurrence over the past several years and one that was a bitter pill to swallow.
Hal, the resident Green Lantern that stood as head of their sector independent from human authority by nature of his bestowed status, had bent the knee and allowed Luthor to follow with an escort. They had no choice in it, the Tower was open to everyone. Luthor, ensconced in a small mob of humanity and guarded by Mercy, by the only person who hadn’t been chased away by his vehemence, followed the tour in silence.
He’d followed them from one place to the next, one station to another, been given free reign and free purchase in his wanderings. He’d seen with his own eyes what ran counter to his grasp on reality… when they came to the hangar bay and laid eyes on a loathsome shadow. Luthor considered himself something of an expert at finding out just what makes a man tick, what can be bought and manipulated, but this was something so disgustingly simple and clean that he would have laughed and spat and cursed had it come from anyone else. Having your body burned and beaten bloody, your ambitions ripped apart and your understanding of reality torn open, having every ounce of your strength amount to ash and your very flesh shorn off; it all meant that you eventually had to respect the thing that did it. One way or another, seeing gods cut off at the knees into the shapes of men had a way of breaking bits of you.
Batman, a visage Luthor would never forget, was standing in the hangar bay, longing but patient, when the world went to hell.
Luthor didn’t quite know what it was that finally broke him, it could have been seeing the one person that had torn him apart on every level being torn apart so easily himself. It could have been the casual cruelty of it, maybe even the stark reality of watching the one man that had so thoroughly brought him back to earth be so utterly defiled. Whatever it was, the scene had not sat well with him… so Luthor did what he did best and schemed. He researched and planned and manipulated and came face to face with just how little his world mattered to the galaxy at large. Luthor was no longer a big fish in a small pond, he was a goldfish in a pit full of snakes and he would not allow it. Luthor was the very best and the very worst of everything that humanity had to offer and this would not stand.
Besides, the look on Superman’s face when the trap sprung would be more than worth it.
True vengeance.
-
They were arguing just inside the main hall past one of the hangar bays, halfway to the medical wing. Cyborg could practically hear Hal’s teeth grinding as a low Alpha growl reverberated down to him.
Things had only gotten worse after Bruce’s sudden turn; there was an Omega that was open for claims now, proven vulnerable. Word gets around quickly among the Lantern Corps and that idiot Alpha’s clan was already beating down their door. That Alpha, Tra’an, was fairly low ranking in the pack and as his claim had been ‘partly’ refuted and not consummated, things hadn’t turned violent just yet. Tra’an was Fourth Rank, a low-level pack Alpha more than subject to their internal hierarchies. His clan was relatively large but had only one Omega to their name and were more than eager for another breeder.
Which was just one more reason why Cyborg could see Hal was halfway to decking the Red he was arguing with. Luckily, it was the pack’s Lead Alpha, Kraven, who had come swooping in. This was good news because most Alpha’s of any lower rank knew better than to challenge their pack leader. It was bad news because their claim now had more legitimacy to it. Victor spared a glance to the young Omega seated on her knees to her Alpha’s left side. She was pregnant, her Omega scenting gland marked by sharp teeth and sharper fangs, held proudly on display. Her form was demure, if wiry, and she neither spoke nor made eye contact, huffing like she’d been insulted somehow by Victors searching gaze.
It wasn’t polite to let one’s eyes linger.
“You, Green Lantern, are no arbiter of the affairs of the Red and you have already demonstrated your ineptitude handling Omegas. They require pack, they require an actual Alpha, and yours has neither. I am well within my rights to claim.”
“And I told you to take that shit and shove it straight back up your ass! Batman is claimed by Red Lantern law and wed by Earth law-”
“The Red recognizes no rejection not refuted properly and functions outside of Earth’s governments-”
Ignatha had warned him that Bruce may have been pushed into a shock heat by Tra’an, and he’d been on his way to get more supplies before he’d bumped into the scene. Fortunately, from the looks of things and the clan name they were dealing with, Atrocious wouldn’t be able to extend a claim through theirs. It had been… less than reassuring to hear that the unforgivable bastard had been able to shake all charges against him. Converting Bruce into a high-level Omega had been necessary to shoulder the burden of their expanding populations. Two heads of the Red Corps rather than just the one; the Butcher’s Horns always came in pairs.
Learning that the man had weaseled out and escaped again had left them all reeling by factor of technicality.
Atrocious had simply been doing his job after all.
Hal had spent no less than fifteen minutes in a carefully soundproofed Lantern construct screaming himself stupid.
Atrocious wouldn’t be after their Bat anytime soon, chased away by half the League, so they would have to deal with this contender for now. The pack, one of the lead packs of the clan, was a loose-fitting group of scowls and appropriately blustery posturing. Even Victor could smell the blood-tinged musk of angry Alpha despite the distance between them. There were four of them, two Alpha’s, a Beta, and the Omega. He had little doubt that there were at least two or three more Beta’s snooping around the ship, trying to sniff out Bruce’s scent trail. Ignatha had been more than glad to mark every surface with the oily Alpha hormone rich glands of his cheeks and arms to stink the place up as much as possible. Bleach also helped, burning sensitive noses, and Flash had gotten every nook and cranny, absence of punishment duty or not.
“Not properly refuted! Like hell! Bats had that idiot of yours wrecked well before Ignatha came by.”
Shock heats were dangerous, Agent was already helping with the beginnings of it, all saline drips and antipyretics, anti-seizure drugs, heart medications and hormone shots at the ready. It had already been almost five hours since Victor had been informed, weeks and days after the event itself, and sometime after Clark had been able to tease out the story of just what had happened and reconcile. As painful as it had been, they’d had to reach out, as symptoms were beginning to show. Shudia had leapt to help her human mentor working with J’onn to ease the torment in his bondless soul and the horror of miscarriage. He wasn’t caught in that deadly illness yet but no one was taking chances.
“Do not mention that embarrassment’s name. He is clanless and packless, those without such physical bonds have no claim to anything, let alone an Omega.”
“The Bat is a fucking human being and has rights here whether you like them or not.”
Victor could hear footsteps; they were forceful and quick and the exact reason he’d wanted to get to their group first.
“Really? Over half of your species thinks everything female is inferior, an object, they treat their dogs better than their bitch-”
Clark, still smoldering from Earth’s atmosphere, was on the warpath with eyes lined in crimson. Hal neither noticed nor cared, he’d had a long-standing hatred for some of his own species and gotten into trouble for it enough back on earth. Right now though, Victor needed to keep this diplomatic mess from becoming an interstellar insult the likes of which could start a clan war.
“Superman, Kal, slow down and think about this ok? You’ll play right into their hands if you don’t.” It didn’t help, even knowing that every word was true. If Bruce couldn’t fend for himself and wasn’t protected by an Alpha, then he would be considered clanless and packless and it was everyone’s responsibility to fix that. Victor put a hand to his shoulder, squeezing gently to ground him. Clark didn’t want to be up here, he wanted to be with his husband who he couldn’t help because he wasn’t an Alpha and didn’t produce the hormones he so desperately needed. Clark, however, was not going to let this stand.
Superman stood to his full height, the muscles of his body tense, already having rounded up and contained three snooping Beta’s in the restricted Zeta Station sector. They’d gotten close, too close for comfort.
“You come into my territory, assault my husband, and now you want to walk off with him like you’re doing him a favor!?”
“Of course we are doing him a favor!” The Red sneered at him, his companions jockeying behind him as Tra’an drooled at the fresh scent of Omega that lingered on Clark’s body.
“Omega are made to breed, they are weaker and prone to foolish and impulsive behavior, they must be looked after and kept appropriately. There is a reason Omegas can neither inherit nor walk unbonded. The Unclaimed you’re determined to drive barren can’t think for himself and this is proof!” He was outright yelling now, the Alpha’s booming voice taking on a commanding air and tone that had the Omega at his feet meeting Clark’s gaze and glaring like he were an insect. She was the picture of propriety, dressed in thick robes and Lantern ring glittering, but she met his eyes and found him wanting. “The Omega hides in a broken nest and begs, yet the Omega’s body recognized true Alpha blood and bucked your abominable claim on his body!” International fallout be damned; Clark pulled his fist back for a punch that would knock that bastard’s head clean off.
“Ahem.”
No one present recognized the voice, it was reserved and humorless and all the tones that screamed ‘lawyer’ and demanded their consideration. Victor, still hanging on to Clark’s bicep with all of his strength, let go of the breath he’d been holding before getting his feet back on the floor. He was thankful for the break but a man in a suit like that was always trouble.
He was tall, wore a no-nonsense business suit and tie, and had the kind of gaze typically only found in the company of politicians. Four more lawyers flanked him, two on each side, carrying thick briefcases and a set to their shoulders that bespoke self-importance. Victor could tell from a glance that whoever they were working for was being charged quadruple digits by the hour.
Looking past them, Clark saw the face of the man he’d been wanting to rip to pieces for years now. Eyes that were once outlined in red were now consumed by hellfire as he met Luthor’s flat gaze from across the hall.
“We’re here on behalf of the defendant.”
Counting to ten was not going to work on this one, Hal eyeing the lead box at Victor’s belt.
“What defendant?”
If Luthor thought he could just waltz up here on the Tower to get Clark’s husband kidnapped by remand as part of a claim-
“Superman.”
…………
What……
………...
“What?”
Pure dumb shock had the crimson receding from Clark’s vision.
“My name is Alexander Leland, of the Leland Brothers Law Firm, and I am here on behalf of my client, Mr. Luthor, to speak in defense of the accused.” To say that absolutely no one had the slightest idea what was happening would be an understatement. Kraven squared his shoulders, eyeing the man for his impudence, and opened his mouth to speak… before the clack of his teeth met the sound of a tape recorder. “This conversation may be recorded, international law is the specialty of my firm and no misunderstandings will be allowed. I see that the defendant, Superman, is accused by the plaintiff, Pack Alpha Kraven, of negligence concerning the Omega in his care.”
Absolutely stunning.
“My employer has requested that these events be scrutinized. With all due respect to rule of law, in this instance the laws of the United States of America, as well as the Sol System Accords and with special attention paid to both Green and Red Lantern laws. Due diligence has been given with regards to these legal proceedings.”
How in the hell this law firm had gotten their hands on compendiums of established laws, carried by the four men behind him in neatly sorted folios and books, concerning Green and Red Lanterns and the Sol System and U.S. law was mind boggling.
“Studious reference of codified Red Lantern Law, particularly chapter ninety-three of Inter-Clan Disputes Resolutions volume four, subsection D5, must be considered by those parties involved.
Absolute mad lad.
Kraven looked like he’d bitten into a lemon, the Omega at his feet standing up straight just at his back, all propriety and judgement, looking down on her nose at the human. She bit back a sigh, her scent turning bland in the other’s senses. Clearly, some people were quickly becoming intolerable.
Lawyers had a way of doing that.
Betas could only do so much to calm a situation, Kraven’s First Rank pack Beta drawing himself up as the other Alpha moved to protect their discontented Omega. “If you would explain? Legal texts are as fine as you may like but ours is a people of strength that has little to do with limp paper.” Alexander nodded his head, not shying away or even acknowledging the less than subtle jab at his profession. “As is demonstrable in the texts themselves. For the moment, I will forgo reminding you of your low-level Alpha’s rutting assault, an action considered incitement by several codes of law. Batman, as shown by the WatchTower’s security systems, having come to refute already by at least seven more codes; not to mention quite a few new Omega rights initiatives, is well within established practice to maintain autonomy.” Hal himself was having trouble keeping up but recognized a few.
Bruce, though considered by more antiquated legal systems as clanless and packless and endangered, was obviously alive and well. This, denoted by Modernity in Red as written and studied by several reputable courts of Red and Green Lantern jurisdiction, meant that his needs were met satisfactorily, if somewhat unorthodoxly. This, combined with his current state as an Omega in distress, having been pushed into it by a near-rut Red, defined Tra’an’s actions as an attack, maybe even a sexual assault. As dangerous aggressors with no formal claim, having wedged themselves into the situation by brute force, their actions could be considered abusive.
“The Omega in question is considered packless only by archaic principal overturned no less than fifty-seven years prior to my client’s case. The Justic League, wherein the Omega is seconded to, meets all definitions of non-traditional clan structure and is legally representable as such. This, combined by marriage to a reputable figure that has proven his means to care for the Omega, also stands enforceable as a non-traditional pack or family unit. In the spirit of the process of discovery, my firm is more than able to provide all necessary reference materials.”
Suddenly, they had no leg to stand on.
“Extrapolating from several sources; Red Clan Authority as penned by Sector Judge fifty-three; chapter seven verse nine subsection twenty, as well as Clanlessness Defined and the precedent set by numerous plaintiffs with particular note of Clan Tyr vs Clan Rhune; the plaintiff’s case can be argued to burden of proof. The defendant has been functioning independently of traditional Alpha claim for at least six years now, the Omega’s needs met by artificial needs, rendering your seizing of such assets pointless and unprovoked.”
Hal used his ring to pull up swathes of legal texts and precedents for reference alongside every quoted law and procedure, filling the hall with corroborating evidence and codified neutral inter-clan relations. The panels of multiplying indictments glowed malevolently when Alexander raised his hand. “That will be unnecessary Mr Jordan, we have the associated documents ready.” They did indeed have them at the ready, the four silent suited men at his back opening their multiple briefcases full of certified authenticity.
Absolutely beautiful, Kraven and his Beta going speechless, Hal could have cried tears of joy at the site of so many respected documents. Even the damn ink smelled like authority, crisp and neat, each sheaf of papers stamped with complex seals denoting respected institutions.
“Furthermore, regarding the legitimacy of Kal-El’s claim to Batman as his legally wedded spouse, a status backed up as a counter claim to yours by Kryptonian law as well as that of Earth and Green Lantern law, the claim you set is null and void by factor of succession.” Alexander’s voice took on a booming, imperious tone, as if some horrid judgement waited behind the strike of a gavel.
Somewhere out there, the Yellow Corps was missing a kindred spirit.
“The plaintiff was first claimed by Kal-El, but disputed legally by a second party, Atrocious of the Red Lantern Corps, during the defendant’s First Estrous cycle, though without recognized formal conclusion. Law of succession in claims clearly states that Red Lanterns must settle their claims in such order. You must first petition Atrocious and, depending on the victor, you must then petition Kal-El.”
Checkmate.
Clark… fuck it, there were no words. It was both the most conniving interpretation of obscure law he’d ever seen and truly abominable in all the best ways. He’d been one-upped in a way that would last a lifetime. The offending Reds were now caught flat footed, on the cusp of a clan dispute with not only Clark, but the League and maybe even Atrocious himself. Several books thrown later and Clark was still stuck standing there, mute, utterly flabbergasted and completely unrecovered.
Lex Luthor’s greatest revenge.
It felt like a blur, the offending party kicked off the station, banned from the Sol System WatchTower for life on pain of trial by combat and trial by law, and trial by trial. They’d been formally charged, briefed, arraigned, technically extradited, and been forced to settle the case with a hefty fine by jurisprudence for infringement and malfeasance, with a heaping helping of estoppel, fiat, and litigation.
In the end, walking beside Victor and back toward the Zeta Station, Clark with arms full of supplies could barely comprehend everything that had just happened.
Hours later, Bruce’s fever having been stamped out by their quick action, Clark relayed his experience to his husband…
Alfred looked like he’d been kicked in the crotch, the kids had no idea what any of the fancy words meant, and Clark and Bruce just stared at each other. The looming specter of shock heat and Omega drop became a distant thing, what had happened hadn’t made any of this right or easy by any means. The humiliating ruling and ensuing barring of the clan was a cold comfort for the child they never got to meet and the cruelty of it all left a bitter taste with no way to make it palatable.
“Weyl thit.” Jason had summed it up quite well with his first ever sentence, Bruce giving the toddler the hairy eyeball for his profanity. He shook his head, gathered them all into his arms and pulled everyone into his makeshift nest to plop down with him. He scented each of them, mother-henning them to distraction, a hot cup of hormone spiked tea and the whisps of Alpha lo-stick still hanging in the air. He kissed Clark as they lay together in a pile and Alfred squirmed indignantly; the three of them had mourned enough and that was that.
-
Years later, Lex Luthor recognized for a Superpower none of them could match, four shots of whiskey down, Bruce couldn’t help but howl with laughter. Clark still looked like he wanted to burst into flames, leaning in to ruffle his thick brunette hair with all its strands of gray.
Because of course Luthor’s superpower would be lawyers.
Wayne Manor echoed with the happy squeals of children again.