Work Text:
Bruce carefully trimmed another section off his Chinese elm, sculpting the bonsai with the practice and elegance only mastered through years of training, from masters who'd shaped the small trees for generations.
He snipped off another miniscule leaf, taking note of the shape, and the style. It symbolised peace, elegance, love. He stepped back, moving his hands on his hips to avoid digging into his side with the shears, and looked on it with a sense in his chest, something warm. Almost pride. He had had this tree himself for nearing a decade, but it was much, much older.
Perfect.
A crash rained down through the top of the sun room, scraping the metal framework, and colliding in his perfect garden with a resounding boom.
The pot tipped, ever so slowly, as Bruce had been staring at the cause of the boom out the window, and slapped onto the floor.
Smash.
''Fuck,'' Bruce said to himself, rubbing his grubby forefinger and thumb over his nose. He shucked his gloves, putting them on the counter as he shoved the the clippers into his work apron, dusting the sweat of his hands on the jacket and rolled up his sleaves a bit further, scraping his elbows, and made his way out side to the pile of burning... something or other awaiting him outside.
He stared down at it, in a similar posture to how he had done the plant. He tilted his head, and glared it down like it had murdered his offspring.
Meteor, alien or space junk?
How had his life come to this, he swore to G-d.
''Ahem?'' he cleared his throat pointedly. He was a night owl. It was ten o clock. It was too early for this spacey bullshit.
If it answered, alien. If it didn't, likely a lesser problem. This was as far as his planning had gone so far, but he was capable of thinking on his feet. Occasionally.
''Eh-HEH?'' he tried again, tapping his fingers on his hip.
The pile cracked open an eye. Shit.
The flames started dying down as whatever rubble was covering it started to burn away, and it rolled slightly in the dirt-hole it had created.
Bruce took a tentative step back, slipping his hand into his pocket around the clippers. A noble sword for the dark knight: garden scissors.
A low groan emanated from the pile, and as the surface material burned away, it slowly revealed the creature-or-whatever-it-was, to be blue.
Wait. He had seen that colour before- but where...?
The pile moved two great limbs, slowly revealed to be wings, and spread them out to their greatest extent, shivering in the early morning air.
It was like the snapping mainsail of a sloop, they were entirely massive, probably over twenty foot in length.
It rolled its great head, piercing blue eyes locking with Bruce's almost as is it had intended to destroy Bruce's bonsai, bastard.
It was definitely tempting fate, but Bruce couldn't help inching closer. It was like a storm, the blue of its irises, convalescing slowly into something fragile, calmer, a lighter blue as its pupil largened and shortened, almost as if it was still adjusting to the light, or perhaps a concussion.
Its toothy grin widened, like a ground snapping open with the shake of an earthquake, leaving jagged, perfect rows of white rock, and a forked tongue hissed over the space between, almost a hiss of pain.
He made his way over again, slowly walking towards the burning pile- no, smouldering DRAGON, and tentatively reached a hand over towards it.
He knew the thing must be almost forty feet, from snout to tail, with fin like ridges covering portions of it's body, such as it's cheekbones to collar, and along its glittering blue flank. it had twisting golden horns and a red back-stripe which emerged on its head and followed through the entirety of its body. He slowly, ever so carefully, placed a hand on its muzzle, the one without the clippers, and felt it murmur a purr into his hand.
'Bruce...'
He felt the low, small voice boom around his head like the ringing of a gong.
He tensed, looking back down at the huge creature, starting in incredulity, ''Clark?''
It had only been a few hours before, but it seemed much, much longer. The heart of a battle, fighting over the centre of Metropolis. Sky demons? Space monkeys? Hal Jordan? It was something similar, a small army, and quite grotesque. Clark curled his lip uncomfortably in a vague sense of disgust.
''Zatanna!'' he called out, over the sounds of the blasting, the electrical snapping, and the fires.
''Fucking busy, Superman, what is it?'' the tactful Zatanna crowed.
He had to take a minute from punching lizard-space-monkeys, slapping one quickly out of his face, and out of the way, before running a hand through his hair, breathing deeply to stop himself from screaming at the wizarding-wonder.
''I think these thing- eugh- I think these things, I dunno, smell weird?'' he said. He couldn't place it, couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something smelled off with them.
''Smells... weird,'' Zatanna rolled her eyes, ''No wonder you work in Journalism, Supes; my, the linguistic masterpieces you spin.''
''Shut up,'' he ground out.
''Man, is that how you won that Pulitzer? Well deserved, Mr Man.''
''Shut it.''
''You know I literally create magic with my words, say, Supes, do you have that skill as well? Because I think you'd be amazing at teaching Hogwarts Preschool.''
''Zatanna!''
''Aw, the Man of Steel doesn't have thicker skin? Grow some scales, Supes.''
''What kind of metaphor- wait, Zatanna, behind you!''
''Mm-? OOF-!'' Zatanna wheezed as a huge monkey-lizard flew directly into her back, knocking the wind out of the floating sorcerer.
''Zat- EuGH!'' the same happened to him rather quickly.
''I- fucking- HATE magic,'' he whispered to himself, as he scraped himself off the roof, and patted down his knees to wipe some of the concrete-dust from them.
''I hate logic,'' Zatanna murmured.
''Girl, same,'' Superman said, leaning hard into the sassiness of the situation, as the magic monkeys made him bend to Gravity's laws.
''Pick a damn side, Supes.''
''Man, I love phone boxes,'' he said, after he picked one up out of the ground with a sharp tear of electrical cables, and smashed it over a monkey-lizards head.
''Monkey-Lizard!'' he screamed, sounding like Inigo Montoya making someone prepare to die.
''Kowakian!'' Zatanna screamed, as she fly-kicked a monkey lizard in her fishnets.
Man, Clark thought to himself, I wish I could pull those off.
''What?'' he screamed over the sounding of howling and cackling as he punched another flying monkey in the face, and back into the space-hole from whence it came.
''Sort of like a furry lizard! But it's magic and from space!''
''Save that for the conventions, Zatanna!''
''What?''
''Furry lizard- never mind,'' he said, gripping another one of these hairy fuckers by the neck and shaking it around, throwing it back through its... hole.
One grabbed Superman's wrist with its prehensile tail while he had it gripped, and started using it to hit superman in the face.
It squealed something that sounded suspiciously like, 'Stop punching yourself, stop punching yourself'. But, really, it could have been anything.
He gripped it by the blue, furry ring of mutton-chop hair around it's head, and hurled it back up like punting a volleyball.
''Yes, go, Supes! Knock it back through the space vulva!''
He blanched, stopping mid air for a second before regaining his composure when a Kowkian performed a well executed Yop-Chagi to the side of his face.
''It isn't a rift- so much as they're being born from it! Some sorcerer is using our atmosphere to produce them in this world from some inanimate item in theirs- like a. A. A haunted doll?''
Superman shook his head, ''So I'm fighting Chucky?''
''We. If it helps to simplify, sure?'' she screamed, as she sent three more back with a bright bolt of pink light and a string of inversed words.
''So where are we sending them?'' he said, throwing back up an armful.
''I dunno, wherever the fuck a wizard lives?''
Superman nodded sagely, ''Ah, a castle.''
''Castle indeed.''
''Or like, I guess, a basement.''
''Not the time for semantics right now, Supes- woah!''
''Zat, what is it?''
One of the Kowakians had grabbed onto her boot where she stored her back up wands, and was trying to pull it off.
''Shit, shit, shit,'' she said, as she kicked the snivelling thing in the face and scored a perfect goal.
''That's lucky-,'' he said, before quickly being grappled by a huge one, using his neck like it was wringing a tea-towel.
''Zatanna!''
''Hold on, Supes!'' she yelled back before raising her wand. In the meanwhile, the other Kowakian had made away with her wand boot, ''Mother Fucker!''
''Language,'' Clark choked out as it tightened its grip.
''Wait, the thing making these guys so smart is their monkey brain- stay very, very still, Supes!'' she said, raising her wand again.
''What are you going to do, Zat?'' he spat as the Kowakian started cutting off his air supply.
''Fles enitnepres sti otni msinagro siht ekam!'' she screamed, pointing the wand at the pair.
''Zatanna!'' he screamed, as the Kowakian knocked him into the beam, and he was hit with the full blast of it.
''Shit,'' she murmured, in a tone reserved for the mundane task of forgetting to turn the drier off, or picking the wrong box dye.
Meanwhile, Clark's body twisted and contorted, stretching huge appendages in places he didn't even want to think about, as his skin hardened and scaled, and his features - for a moment, he thought it was cyanosis- before it kept getting bluer-
''Well, shit,'' Zatanna said.
'Shit indeed,' Clark tried to say, looking down at his new, scaly body. Who wakes up un the morning assuming, oh yes, I'm going to end up a 40 ft blue dragon today?
It came out more as a strangled growl, as his tail flicked indignantly. His pupils blew wide at the sight. He attempted to chase it.
''Well, fuck, Supes, sorry. Slip up- one sec-,'' in that moment, Zatanna was grabbed by another Kowakian, and it attempted to drag her back up towards the - space vulva- ...
''Shit-shit-shit-shit!,'' she screamed, trying to beat the Kowakian off of her with the handle of her wand, before regaining her common sense, and shooting it straight up at the sky.
Clark could only assume the lizard-monkey had zapped itself off his back when he transformed into a 18-wheeler sized serpentine behemoth. An understandable reaction, he supposed. But, at the moment, there was a huge, blue tentacle, and he must chase it.
''Goddamnit, Supes: FOCUS!'' she yelled at the top of her breath, before looking at the quickly gaining space, well, that, and made a swift decision. She was going in there anyways, might as well take the rest with her.
''Don't worry, Supes, I'll come back and change you back soon! Just- eh- hang in there kitty!'' she 'reassured', as she cast her wand at the sky, screaming a spell.
''Avluv lacigam eht ni teg ,srekcuf-ecaps yeknom eht fo lla!'' she yelled, and a huge, pink glow spread and illuminated the entire scene, as the light wrapped tendrils around each and every single one of the floating Kowakians, now screeching out their lungs, and Zatanna, Kowakians and all, were now sucked into the space-vulva-portal.
Whelp, the creature that was Superman now thought as he looked up at the quickly sealing sky-tear, and the final burst of pink sparks as it shut with a sense of finality.
Flapping awkwardly in the air, still trying to get used to his own new body, he could only think, well, oh shit.
The flight out of Metropolis was less easy. He kept getting distracted by his own reflection, attempting to fight the mysterious other dragon, before realising and flying off with a huff, and what, on a mammal, likely would have been reddened cheeks.
He crashed into at least one building on his retreat, thankfully mostly abandoned, being a Saturday, but luckily all that was damaged was the one deserted floor. And the windows. And the railings. All the desks in that floor of the sky-scraper-
Also, as he flew over Gotham, attempting to get back to the one place he assumed he'd find some safety and rationality in all of this, he saw a man in a thick, red helmet stare at him from a rooftop, before quickly pulling a gun on him, saying, ''Oh, shit!''
Clark would have reiterated if he currently had working vocal chords. He called and squawked at Red Hood, loud enough to send the man off his feet, and falling down onto the roof with a soft, but venomous, 'oof', and Clark couldn't find it in his heart to overly care, as the man had just attempted to shoot him, bullet flying off uselessly in the air behind him and embedding in a brick structure.
Clark couldn't stop - literally couldn't stop - he did not know how to LAND this thing - when he passed by a birthday he was sure was happening below-
''Ah, Ms Anastasia Joyous Snuffleupagus Bartholemew II,'' a very wealthy-sounding voice said, ''Happy Birthdays, and many jubilations on this, your 8th year, of your birth.''
The small girl clapped her hands excitedly together, bedecked in a huge Disney-princess dress, all skirts and ruffles.
An equally wealthy sounding man wrapped on arm around his daughter's shoulders, carefully avoiding any of the glitter that could have besmirched his $2000 pressed suit, and glanced at his slurring wife, with crimped, blonde hair and a Diana-inspired dress, on her fifth glass of champagne, saying, ''Go ahead, dear, blow out the candles.''
The girl took a deep breath, and blew out all of the eight decadent candles atop the 13 tier cake, almost all of them actual cake and not rice-crispy flavouring layers, to a huge laughter and applause from the mad-hatter-esque birthday party (barty- for Bartholemew, the silk banners rang), themed to the nines, and executed outside in the couples' 12 acre grand manor gardens. She cheered and whooped from atop her stepping-stool.
Then she seemed upset.
''Ah, mother, father, please, I wish to do this again!''
''Don't say your wish, dea-'' a prim, if heavily inebriated female voice began.
All of a sudden, a huge, belching sound emanated from above, like some mercurial, gassy sky-god, and the entire cake lit on fire.
''Yay!'' screamed the little girl, clapping to herself, as the entire gathered party of mainly stock holders looked on in drunken shock.
There was a solitary, dejected kazoo sound.
Eugh - something had happened to him, whether he had choked on air, or if he was simply readjusting to his own, new lungs, he wasn't quite sure, but he just hoped the little girl was alright. He just wasn't sure how he now had the ability to COUGH FIRE.
He was almost upon the manor, when he was sure he was going THROUGH it.
Damn, he was not good with the steering on this thing yet.
As he was crashing into the grounds behind Wayne manor, covered still in the rubble of the one sky-scraper building, he looked behind hisself- oh, look, a tail-
And he smashed into the ground, instantly setting himself on fire with a quick bark of fear.
A voice- he knew that one? Hm, he sounded angry.
As Clark blearily opened one sky-blue eye, he was pretty sure he understood why. He had almost entirely collapsed in the top-half of Bruce's sunroom, and left a gaping hole in the activity area of Bruce's rose garden, which was still vaguely on fire.
He shut his eye again for a moment, before Bruce prodded him, in the nose.
Euagh- he tried to convey, but it came out more as a soft, sensual purr, and he winced in embarrassment despite himself.
'Bruce,' he tried to convey, but he thought it fell flat without an actual, usable voice.
''Clark?'' Bruce asked, incredulously and wide eyed for a moment, before rubbing up and down Clark's muzzle softly.
''Well, shit.''
'Well, shit, indeed,' Clark reiterated for the second time that day. Bruce looked at him as if he heard and understood every single word, oddly.
''Oh shit, we're going to have to fix this,'' Bruce Wayne said tiredly, hiding his pair of clippers like Clark hadn't seen the the whole time, rolling his own dish-plate-sized eyes, and Bruce pinched the spot between both eye-brows with two vaguely dirty fingers, stroking up and down Clark's hide softly with the other.
'Well, I don't disagree with that.'
Bruce pinched at his side, in a jesting fashion, and Clark crowed happily.
