Brothers part 42
3/29/06 01:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyooo! the Previous Parts have pictures from their trip--look, it's Mikey...wow. Can you actually do that and still breathe? Ever again?
Bruce jerked awake from a deep sleep. “Crap! I’ve got to get to the train station—my parents are waiting for me!” He jumped up, ignoring the groan behind him.
“Shit, shit!” He dashed to the sink, jammed a toothbrush in his mouth and brushed viciously--*crapcrapcrap!* He spit and mostly hit the sink, *crap!* ran over to the desk chair, snatched up a pair of jeans and hopped up and down on one foot, tying to slide into them quickly. He snapped them shut as he shoved bare feet into boots, held his arms up and sniffed—not too bad. He peered down at his tee shirt. Nothing on it, good for one more day. He grabbed a shirt from the chair.
“Hey, that one’s mine,” a sleepy voice said.
Bruce ran over to the bed and grabbed the shirt rolled up on the foot of it. He kissed the occupant of the bed, quickly and a little off center from his cheek.
“Can you straighten up a little before you leave, Kev—do you mind?”
“Who me? After last night? It’s the least I can do.”
Bruce smirked and shoved his wallet in his pocket. He picked up the room keys and jingled them “Should I leave them or not?”
Kevin sat up and scratched wildly, dragged his fingers through his hair. He grinned at Bruce. “Yeah. Leave them.” He swung his legs over the bed and reached for the shirt Bruce tossed to him.
Bruce grinned back. “Good. I’ll see if I can get my parents to spring for lunch for you too, okay?”
“Cool, that sounds good. Now get out.” He threw a pillow at Bruce and Bruce laughed, and ran out the door.
*****
Martha and Jonathan walked out of the train station, into bright afternoon sun. They were arm in arm and both of them smiling. This weekend promised to be an adventure for them. Not only were they looking forward to seeing Bruce, but they planned to be good to themselves in a way they hadn’t for some time. Martha looked forward to the play they planned to see, dinners in good restaurants and spending time together, just the two of them, in one of the most romantic hotels that Metropolis had to offer.
Jonathan watched Martha as she strolled along and marveled how beautiful she was, as beautiful as the first day he met her. Her hair glowed in the sun, her cheeks were pink, her eyes danced with excitement. Even after all these years, he still couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have her love. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “What do you think---we have time for coffee before Bruce shows up? You know he works on a different schedule than the rest of us.” He mock frowned and Martha laughed.
“Oh, there’s a coffee shop, we can watch for him from there—and there’s a branch of our bank. Let’s get a little extra money. You know Bruce isn’t going to come out and ask but…. “
Jonathan laughed. “Of course not. He’s just going to look like a wounded puppy until we offer out of the kindness of our hearts. “He smiled a little, thinking of his own college days. “And we better get money for lunch, let’s find some place where they serve big portions.” He remembered being hungry all the time. Jonathan sighed. It was all changing so fast. Bruce’s first year in college, Clark a sophomore in high school—time was flying. It seemed just yesterday Bruce was starting high school, all nervous and afraid of doing the wrong thing. Now here he was, at MetU, and not a kid anymore, beginning to make his own way in the world.
*****
Bruce dashed down the street towards the station. He was nearly twenty minutes late—maybe more, he grimaced. Pop would be in full lecture mode already, and he’d planned that the day would go smoothly—and if he was lucky, lucratively. Not that money was important. He broke into a wide grin. Not much. He laughed as he ran across the street. They knew damn well he was going to hit them up.
He was in view of the train station when he noticed the police barrier edging the block. Cops were directing traffic away from that section of the street and traffic was snarled around the barricades. Bruce looked over, wondering at all the police around the bank—had there been a robbery?
He slowed down, finally stopping next to a young woman, crying and twisting her hands. She looked at him, but her eyes weren’t really focused on his, she babbled as she wrung her hands. ”I went to pick up lunch and—this happened. He’s got them in there, he won’t let them go.”
“What—what happened?” Bruce asked and something cold clawed up his back…he gripped the young woman by the shoulder and shook her, gently, trying to get her attention. “What’s going on?” he asked.
It seemed a dozen voices responded at once, everyone wanting to tell what they saw--
“He’s holding the people in the bank hostage—my friends, my friends are in there—“
“Some freak in a mask—he’s threatening to kill everyone in the bank unless they let him go!”
“It—it was clowns, they had balloons…and then--”
“We thought they were clowns, something for the kids--”
His eyes kept going to the familiar logo over the bank’s glass doors.
Bruce shook his head and began to back away from the crush of people at the barricades. He needed to go to the station and get his folks; they must be waiting for him. Bruce turned, ready to walk away. He shouldn’t make them wait much longer.
Shots rang out and the crowd screamed, and Bruce stumbled. For a moment, he was somewhere dark and wet and pearls flew everywhere and the sound of gunshots echoed in his head.
Police were everywhere—the crowd surged against and back from the barricade and the pop-pop of gunfire rose above the shrieks.
All dead, Bruce heard. All the hostages….
He fought his way back through the crowd, to the barricade. He knew. In his heart he knew, but he had to see. He threw himself at the barrier, his head pounding, almost blind with rage and fear. Hands reached out to stop him, he made ready to fight through, and a soft, serious voice said, “Don’t do it, son.”
A firm grip on his arm, warm and strong, held him back. He came back to himself and looked up into a square calm face. The brown eyes behind big horn rim glasses were full of sympathy. “Just wait, let us do our work, son.”
Bruce nodded, kept nodding as the crowd surged against the barriers. Bruce felt as if he were being pulled along, as if he were drowning in the noise of sirens and engines and the shriek of voices. The doors of the bank burst outwards and he watched him being pulled through the gauntlet of police, the murderer. The murderer was grinning, wincing as the officers holding him yanked his arms viciously. His head swiveled from side to side as if he were searching the crowd, grinning--laughing when the hands holding him got rougher.
He was painted like a clown, pink streaks under the white where the makeup was smeared, a wild wig sticking out all over, strands pasted here and there to his face, his red mouth was painted into a too wide smile and nothing about him was funny.
Bruce jerked against the tight grip on his arm, and hated the hand that held him back, the press of people on all sides, hated the police for being in the way, but most of all, hated the monster being dragged through the street. What he felt was so pure, so intense it filled him like fire, made him feel dizzy and hot all over. Nothing made sense to him, nothing except the eyes that met his when the killer turned his way-- flinched at the sight of Bruce—it was slight, but Bruce saw it. Fear. It rippled over the white streaked face and then—the head tilted back and a maniac smile twisted his features again The look became gleeful, monstrous, possessive.
Ten years had passed, and time had eaten any softness the face may have had, clown white obscured features but the eyes were the eyes of the man who’d killed his parents and now, had killed his parents again.
The man looked at him and licked his lips, his thick red tongue slid around them like he tasted something delicious. The last thing Bruce saw of him before they slammed the door to was the flick of bloodstained coat –tails.
tbc, soon as Lex stops acting up.
Bruce jerked awake from a deep sleep. “Crap! I’ve got to get to the train station—my parents are waiting for me!” He jumped up, ignoring the groan behind him.
“Shit, shit!” He dashed to the sink, jammed a toothbrush in his mouth and brushed viciously--*crapcrapcrap!* He spit and mostly hit the sink, *crap!* ran over to the desk chair, snatched up a pair of jeans and hopped up and down on one foot, tying to slide into them quickly. He snapped them shut as he shoved bare feet into boots, held his arms up and sniffed—not too bad. He peered down at his tee shirt. Nothing on it, good for one more day. He grabbed a shirt from the chair.
“Hey, that one’s mine,” a sleepy voice said.
Bruce ran over to the bed and grabbed the shirt rolled up on the foot of it. He kissed the occupant of the bed, quickly and a little off center from his cheek.
“Can you straighten up a little before you leave, Kev—do you mind?”
“Who me? After last night? It’s the least I can do.”
Bruce smirked and shoved his wallet in his pocket. He picked up the room keys and jingled them “Should I leave them or not?”
Kevin sat up and scratched wildly, dragged his fingers through his hair. He grinned at Bruce. “Yeah. Leave them.” He swung his legs over the bed and reached for the shirt Bruce tossed to him.
Bruce grinned back. “Good. I’ll see if I can get my parents to spring for lunch for you too, okay?”
“Cool, that sounds good. Now get out.” He threw a pillow at Bruce and Bruce laughed, and ran out the door.
*****
Martha and Jonathan walked out of the train station, into bright afternoon sun. They were arm in arm and both of them smiling. This weekend promised to be an adventure for them. Not only were they looking forward to seeing Bruce, but they planned to be good to themselves in a way they hadn’t for some time. Martha looked forward to the play they planned to see, dinners in good restaurants and spending time together, just the two of them, in one of the most romantic hotels that Metropolis had to offer.
Jonathan watched Martha as she strolled along and marveled how beautiful she was, as beautiful as the first day he met her. Her hair glowed in the sun, her cheeks were pink, her eyes danced with excitement. Even after all these years, he still couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have her love. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “What do you think---we have time for coffee before Bruce shows up? You know he works on a different schedule than the rest of us.” He mock frowned and Martha laughed.
“Oh, there’s a coffee shop, we can watch for him from there—and there’s a branch of our bank. Let’s get a little extra money. You know Bruce isn’t going to come out and ask but…. “
Jonathan laughed. “Of course not. He’s just going to look like a wounded puppy until we offer out of the kindness of our hearts. “He smiled a little, thinking of his own college days. “And we better get money for lunch, let’s find some place where they serve big portions.” He remembered being hungry all the time. Jonathan sighed. It was all changing so fast. Bruce’s first year in college, Clark a sophomore in high school—time was flying. It seemed just yesterday Bruce was starting high school, all nervous and afraid of doing the wrong thing. Now here he was, at MetU, and not a kid anymore, beginning to make his own way in the world.
*****
Bruce dashed down the street towards the station. He was nearly twenty minutes late—maybe more, he grimaced. Pop would be in full lecture mode already, and he’d planned that the day would go smoothly—and if he was lucky, lucratively. Not that money was important. He broke into a wide grin. Not much. He laughed as he ran across the street. They knew damn well he was going to hit them up.
He was in view of the train station when he noticed the police barrier edging the block. Cops were directing traffic away from that section of the street and traffic was snarled around the barricades. Bruce looked over, wondering at all the police around the bank—had there been a robbery?
He slowed down, finally stopping next to a young woman, crying and twisting her hands. She looked at him, but her eyes weren’t really focused on his, she babbled as she wrung her hands. ”I went to pick up lunch and—this happened. He’s got them in there, he won’t let them go.”
“What—what happened?” Bruce asked and something cold clawed up his back…he gripped the young woman by the shoulder and shook her, gently, trying to get her attention. “What’s going on?” he asked.
It seemed a dozen voices responded at once, everyone wanting to tell what they saw--
“He’s holding the people in the bank hostage—my friends, my friends are in there—“
“Some freak in a mask—he’s threatening to kill everyone in the bank unless they let him go!”
“It—it was clowns, they had balloons…and then--”
“We thought they were clowns, something for the kids--”
His eyes kept going to the familiar logo over the bank’s glass doors.
Bruce shook his head and began to back away from the crush of people at the barricades. He needed to go to the station and get his folks; they must be waiting for him. Bruce turned, ready to walk away. He shouldn’t make them wait much longer.
Shots rang out and the crowd screamed, and Bruce stumbled. For a moment, he was somewhere dark and wet and pearls flew everywhere and the sound of gunshots echoed in his head.
Police were everywhere—the crowd surged against and back from the barricade and the pop-pop of gunfire rose above the shrieks.
All dead, Bruce heard. All the hostages….
He fought his way back through the crowd, to the barricade. He knew. In his heart he knew, but he had to see. He threw himself at the barrier, his head pounding, almost blind with rage and fear. Hands reached out to stop him, he made ready to fight through, and a soft, serious voice said, “Don’t do it, son.”
A firm grip on his arm, warm and strong, held him back. He came back to himself and looked up into a square calm face. The brown eyes behind big horn rim glasses were full of sympathy. “Just wait, let us do our work, son.”
Bruce nodded, kept nodding as the crowd surged against the barriers. Bruce felt as if he were being pulled along, as if he were drowning in the noise of sirens and engines and the shriek of voices. The doors of the bank burst outwards and he watched him being pulled through the gauntlet of police, the murderer. The murderer was grinning, wincing as the officers holding him yanked his arms viciously. His head swiveled from side to side as if he were searching the crowd, grinning--laughing when the hands holding him got rougher.
He was painted like a clown, pink streaks under the white where the makeup was smeared, a wild wig sticking out all over, strands pasted here and there to his face, his red mouth was painted into a too wide smile and nothing about him was funny.
Bruce jerked against the tight grip on his arm, and hated the hand that held him back, the press of people on all sides, hated the police for being in the way, but most of all, hated the monster being dragged through the street. What he felt was so pure, so intense it filled him like fire, made him feel dizzy and hot all over. Nothing made sense to him, nothing except the eyes that met his when the killer turned his way-- flinched at the sight of Bruce—it was slight, but Bruce saw it. Fear. It rippled over the white streaked face and then—the head tilted back and a maniac smile twisted his features again The look became gleeful, monstrous, possessive.
Ten years had passed, and time had eaten any softness the face may have had, clown white obscured features but the eyes were the eyes of the man who’d killed his parents and now, had killed his parents again.
The man looked at him and licked his lips, his thick red tongue slid around them like he tasted something delicious. The last thing Bruce saw of him before they slammed the door to was the flick of bloodstained coat –tails.
tbc, soon as Lex stops acting up.
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