The Champagne Effect

The Champagne Effect - Oneshot

Bruce was so tired. He was tired of getting hurt every night. He was tired of hiding it the next morning. He was tired of hearing Alfred's lectures. He was tired of pretending to be playboy Bruce Wayne. He was tired of being tired, of never actually getting even five consecutive hours of sleep. A part of him was even tired of being Batman. He really was tired.

But more than anything, he was tired of trying not to be human. Of ignoring his broken ribs as he did anything, from laughing as Bruce to fighting as Batman. Of pretending he was never afraid of anything. Of pretending he didn't care about the people that surrounded him: Alfred, Dick, the members of the Justice League. Hell, even that Wally kid had started growing on him. He was tired of hiding that he had a heart.

He was tired of being in denile, too. Bruce was a good swimmer, but even he got tired (undoubtedly do to the fact that he was a human being with actual limits that he never seemed to acknowledge). Eventually, he couldn't keep himself afloat in that river in Egypt, and now he was drowning in all the lies he fed to the world and to himself everyday.

The lie that he was apathetic to people he actually cared about. The lie that he was straight. The lie that Batman had no time for petty things like Love. The lie that he was too busy saving Gotham, saving the world, to care about somebody on that level.

The lie that Batman couldn't fall in love.

Of course he had tried not to. He had done everything in his power to avoid it. He ignored him, distanced himself from him, avoided him like the plague, was rude to him in an effort to receive the same treatment back, told himself over and over again that the long list of cons greatly outweighed the short pile of pros, most of which might never exist, so it was only logical to avoid those messy things called feeling. He reminded himself that it was foolish to fall in love, because anything that falls ends up braking. Batman, and Bruce Wayne too, had broken far too many times to risk it again. It was far too dangerous to fall, to risk it. The only way it was safe, the only way he could consider entertaining the possibility of allowing these feelings was if he was sure he would be caught when he eventually fell. Batman was too heavy for the average person to catch.

But Superman was above average. Superman was very strong. And Superman excelled at catching people who fell.

In the end, Bruce could do nothing about it. He fell. He fell for those eyes as blue as the sky. He fell for that curly piece of hair that never seemed to stay wherever Superman swept it away. He fell for that dazzling smile, for the genuine concern every time Batman sustained the slightest injury, for the Southern drawl that would cling to his voice whenever he was out of the suit and just being Clark Kent. He fell for those muscles that were definitely strong enough to support him, to be there when he needed help lifting the insurmountable burden that was Gotham. He fell for the strong chest that Bruce knew could take his weight if he needed someone to lean on. Oh, how he fell.

It was a fall he wasn't sure he could survive.

You see, Superman could only catch him if he knew Bruce was falling. It wasn't as if Bruce would tell him of these sticky feelings he couldn't seem to rid himself of. He couldn't inform the indestructible alien of just how human Batman was. No, he would continue to fall in secret. And that meant no one would know when to catch him. Not even the man who could see through walls and hear the flap of a butterfly's wings from across three lanes of rush hour traffic. Not even Reporter Clark Kent who's job it was to find out every little fact, every juicy detail.

No. Batman was doomed to fall. To fall, alone, with no one there to catch him before he shattered and splintered on the ground.

Bruce was so tired.

That was the reason why he was there, in his room at the Wayne Manor, draining an entire bottle of champagne. Champagne is the drink of victory, of celebration, so it felt quite ironic to be drinking it when he felt so much like he was failing. Truth be told, it was the weakest spirit Bruce Wayne possessed, and he knew he'd have to go on patrol as the Caped Crusader that night. He wouldn't let himself get so completely drunk that he was incapable of protecting his city.