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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"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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Was he comfortable? Not entirely. Clark had been gone too long for him to be completely comfortable. Of course, the lack of comfort was largely in the sense that he wasn't taking Clark's presence for granted.
"I fight it less when I've gone to sleep in it to start with."
He rested, ever so slightly, more heavily against Clark just so he could feel more of him. He was going to stop chatting about things that didn't matter soon. Probably.
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"I think, baring something catastrophic, Superman's public return to Metropolis is going to need to wait a few days. I'm a bit too twitchy to be brandishing heat vision around civilians quite yet."
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He was prepared to take care of Clark, yes, enough so to even let being called cute slide.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
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"There's not much to talk about. I was in a post-apocalyptic future under a red sun. I spent a few weeks cold, hungry, tired, and away from everyone and everything I care about, hoping that I could get help once I reached the Watchtower. I got help. I came home. There's nothing..." he licked his lips, pressed them together hard. "There's nothing to do about it. There's not much to discuss. I'm home now. Problem fixed."
But his eyes were just a bit distant as he looked out from the manor.
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Then he thought about the number of things Clark didn't push him about.
So he left it alone.
Mostly.
"If you change your mind, you know where I am."
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And it was clear enough that it wasn't that he was looking for the words, but that he was looking for the most delicate words. The ones that sounded best.
"I don't want to hurt anyone."
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"I think it will take you a bit longer than a few days to completely recover, but I'll make sure they know to be careful."
He didn't think Clark would ever entirely recover. There was something fundamental about Clark's trust in himself and those around him that had been shattered. Yes, Clark had faced danger that could end his life before, but that wasn't the same. It wasn't even close to the same.
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"I need the couple of days to adjust to my strength again," he explained, his voice mild, matter-of-fact. "Get my control straightened out. The awareness will take longer, but the priority is to make sure I don't accidentally send someone through a wall or cave in someone's skull."
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"Why are you avoiding looking at me?"
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"Because seeing my scars hurts you," he admitted quietly, "and I promised myself when this all started that I wouldn't lie to you."
And I'm not all better. I don't remember how to be that way yet.
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"You manage to survive being in my presence. I suspect I can manage the same for you." He was very, very fair in most things, if almost never to himself.
He wasn't talking about physical scars. Nor was he talking about things that had happened before Clark knew him and were just part of who he had always been.
"I am not the general public, Kal. I don't need you to be untouchable and perfect."
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"I just don't want to hurt you anymore right now," and the words came out rough, "I hurt everyone. So much."
He sucked in a breath and looked over at Bruce, his eyes wet.
"Ma's like me. Or I'm like her. I could feel her holding fast, keeping herself from crying on the phone. And you... I know why you were angry. And I know--" the words were cut off. He tried again. "I don't regret what I did, but that doesn't mean I don't feel like garbage for putting everyone through that. Putting you through that."
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