"He's a good kid," Clark said just the once before digging in. Because he didn't know what else to say. He felt--

God, he felt like a broken toy. He was supposed to be one thing, supposed to be Clark Kent, supposed to be Superman. Instead, he felt like a scared child. A scared child who could demolish a city block if he was in the right mood. Everything he'd become Superman to avoid being.

Some tiny part of him wondered if he would heal before Bruce realized he wasn't what he used to be. If he'd get better before Bruce was disappointed in the alien monster that'd come back instead of the inspiring hero who'd disappeared. Or even just the gentle reporter who loved horses and sent money back home to his mother. He didn't feel like either of those things right now.

He felt unworthy. Unworthy of this room, of Bruce's affection and care. An impostor.

So for right now, he ate somewhat mechanically and tried not to let his fear overwhelm him. He couldn't do that. Fear made him violent. He didn't want to be violent. He didn't have to be. He was somewhere safe. He was somewhere safe where he could be Clark again, Superman again.

At least, he hoped.