Clark Kent (
stands_for_hope) wrote2015-09-29 07:42 am
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knightbynight: For now and hereafter...
[some time after the events here]
Superman and Batman were partners in more than a work sense. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent were an adorable (if mildly ridiculous) couple. Kal-El of Krypton and a man who defied any definition outside of the single letter 'B' made time on weekends, worked around world crises and teenage tempers, and occasionally fell into bed together when the stars aligned. Thankfully, they aligned relatively often.
Wayne Manor received a delivery of organic produce and baked goods once a week from a small, independent farm in the heartland. Lois Lane was a little less likely to agree with snide comments about the uselessness of Bruce Wayne, especially after seeing the utter madness that was Clark's desk after a few weeks. The texting habits of a certain blond teenager in Kansas rose sharply... and in parallel to that of a certain former street punk in Gotham.
Life was... well, it was good, even if it was also Life. Until it wasn't. Until everything changed.
They all had enemies, of course. But the problem with Superman's enemies was that they were coherent enough to decide to team up. And crazy enough to use the kind of weaponry that could make whole cars just vaporize into nothing.
Crazy enough to point that weapon at a somewhat-pinned Batman and a Wonder Woman who was digging him out from the rock. Crazy enough to point that weapon at Batman.
Bruce.
B.
Clark didn't even make the choice. His heart made it for him. The beam shot out of the Toyman's mechanical monstrosity and Clark flew, the pain of the beam itself nothing on the fact that he was leaving Bruce behind. That his vision of them as old men together would never happen. That he was leaving behind a world that needed him.
The guilt that, if it meant saving them, saving him, he didn't regret a thing.
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And in that moment, under the spray in the Batcave's shower, entwined with Bruce as closely as two beings could be, Clark made a decision.
"Bruce," he said quietly, "I want something. Can I have it?"
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He was not being a high school english teacher with that, just himself. He didn't know what Clark wanted, but if there was a way... Bruce had the will.
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"Superman belongs in Metropolis. He'll always belong in Metropolis," he said with a deep breath in. "But I think... Clark Kent should move to Gotham. After whatever he was doing..." and he waved a hand because he'd been far too preoccupied between saving the world and everything else to come up with what in the living hell his alter ego would have been doing, "wherever-"
He swallowed and tipped his head up finally to look Bruce firmly in the face.
"I think Clark Kent realized what's important in life. So..." he lifted his chin further, just enough, "if you can stand to have me here, I'd happily take a room. It's not as if we can't avoid one another if we need to. If you can't, I'd... like some help in getting an apartment. I'll manage something with the Gotham Gazette even if I have to pander Pulitzer bait at them for weeks. I'm not too proud for it."
His hands ran along Bruce's shoulders, and his eyes flicked there, unsure.
"So... can I have that?"
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In fact, it wasn't something Bruce ever anticipated being an issue. He never, ever, expected Clark to want to live with him in any capacity. Stay with him occasionally, visit for a few days the way Bruce had gone to the farm, yes, but move in? No. Not something he'd seen coming.
But.
"I'd rather have you close right now, anyway. If you want to move out, later, I'll help you find an apartment of your own. If you decide to go back to Metropolis to live as Clark, later, that's okay, too, but for now and as long as you want: of course you can stay here."
Was that cold? He didn't mean it to be, but he was a bit drained himself. Not bad, just a bit drained.
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"Good. Good." A little nod. Solidifying things. Settling down. "That's what I want."
He breathed out, long and low, and glanced upwards through the cave. It was going to be just about dawn soon. Just about.
"The sun should be ready for me any minute now. If you wanted to head up."
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Jason wouldn't be up yet, but the towel would be an okay temporary measure. Besides, Clark had nothing here to wear. Bruce's clothes would fit, but that was a consideration for later.
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"Opinions on the beard?" he asked suddenly with a lift of his chin. The hair he was reasonably certain he'd be cutting, but he wasn't sure on the beard. Especially if he'd soon be stinking up a bathroom that someone else had to attend to.
All the same, the towel was wrapped around his waist accordingly. The scars looked... less terrible on his water-soaked skin. Just a little less like he'd been badgered, foxed, and lightly grizzlybeared.
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He dried himself off in a very, very perfunctory way and went to grab a pair of exercise pants and dragged them on on to cling slightly to damp skin. "Please." He held his hand out to Clark. "Later."
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"All right."
Then he looked down at one of the scars, the particularly nasty one on that very hand.
"They don't hurt. So you know. They haven't since I got back."
But he didn't wait to start walking out of the bathroom and made a point to float up the stairs towards the indoor entrance at a decent pace. The floating was mostly to ensure that the towel didn't move too much.
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Save one very specific scar, left by CLark's mouth, which was statement to a very different thing.
He led Clark out of the bathroom to the lift that would take them upstairs. Was there a faster was up and out? Yes, but this was the most direct.
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He was home. That meant he'd be all right. He knew that, down to his bones. He was with Bruce and Bruce loved him and the world would keep turning and he'd punched Vandal Savage in the face repeatedly.
...he really hadn't deserved it since ultimately, the man had seen the error of his ways and had helped him to return to his own time, but it had been somewhat cathartic. And given what he'd been planning, he'd deserved it. Now, anyway. His future self probably would approve.
As they rode the lift up, Clark glanced around thoughtfully, considering some of the logistics since Bruce had said yes.
"Is everyone else here going to be all right with things?"
He was mostly thinking of Jason.
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Because Bruce had priorities, and Alfred had foresight that was, while far from psychic, actually pretty damned aware of who Bruce was and what was happening.
Jason would just suck it up because he was a jealous, possessive, kind of angry jerk but he'd just had to deal with Bruce falling apart -badly- with Clark gone.
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"Have you mentioned--" he breathed in deep before looking out of the lift and out into the manor. "Have they heard I'm alive again? I'd... rather no one think I'm a ghost."
He tugged on the beard again.
"A scruffy ghost."
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He didn't care if they thought Clark was a ghost. Which meant that, at least, the moment those lift doors rolled back Bruce was walking out and headed straight for yet another set of stairs, to get them out and up.
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"Any idea where you're going to be putting me?"
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Basically, it was the family wing.
He kept walking, keeping an eye on Clark and just narrowly not keeping a hand on him as they went up, and up, and up, toward being able to open that final door and into the dawn.
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"One day we'll figure out how to tap into whatever strange psychic power Alfred and my mother use. Thankfully, they use their powers for good."
But his eyes, to be fair, were on the door in front of them. Clark wouldn't hesitate once they reached it, more for Bruce's sake than for his. As soon as the door was open, he'd be in the sunlight.
"I've... got a couple of spots on my hips. Will it be a problem to, er--"
Remove the towel once they're outside?
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He went outside, himself, hand touching Clark lightly between the shoulder blades. "Just heal."
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His skin once more held a faint golden glow as if he was lit from within, his hair no longer scraggly and limp but dark and full. He spread his arms and lifted up on his toes, then just a little higher, before breathing out slowly and reaching over to start slipping the towel back on.
He breathed in deep, filling up his chest for a moment before exhaling out into the sky and turning to Bruce.
"Better?"
He certainly felt better.
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Bruce loved it, though that only showed with a slight smile on his face.
He found himself wondering, just a bit, at the hypocrisy of demanding Clark do this and his discomfort at the thought of Clark being hurt and scarred when that was what Bruce was, ever day of his life. Except, really, that was who Bruce was and very definitely not who Clark was meant to be.
"Better," he agreed, tiny smile still playing around the edges of his mouth. "Much more you - and I think the beard can stay for a bit, though you might want to tame the hair." It was said dryly, but accompanied by him padding on bare feet across the rooftop to stand behind Clark.
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He rolled his shoulders, flexed his back and arms in the light, then finally let himself relax onto flat feet.
"I'm assuming the bathroom nearby has a few mirrors I can use?"
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"Enjoy it with me?"
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Inane, given the strength of his feeling and all that had happened but reassuring (to him, at least) for that.
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"Oh no," he pointed out with a little grin, "half the fun in sleeping in your bed is being awake to watch you fight the morning sunlight like a wasted college student."
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