stands_for_hope | for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

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for 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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He nodded, because yes, she was happy he was alive. And angry at him for terrifying them. And promising him that he owed her a shopping spree. And that had been so wonderful...

But he wasn't ready to go home yet. He wasn't ready to be around his mother yet. Not with how twitchy he was. She had a tendency to swoop in with affection and if he hurt her because of it--

No. Not yet.

"I'm glad to hear it," and he was proud of how even his tone was. "It seemed like... well, like you two were good for each other."

He looked up at Jason finally.

"And you? How are you doing?"

Clark was trying so hard to be disarming and it was just ramping Jason up, almost in spite of himself. He was angry and hurt and he wasn't getting anything but normal from Clark. He'd started to trust this guy and-

He threw the punch, and - just didn't even speak first.

Clark didn't move so much as suddenly, Jason was against the nearest wall with Clark's hand at his throat holding him a foot off the ground. Clark himself looked startled, wild eyed, like he hadn't expected this result and his hand was shaking just a little. Clark looked like he wanted to move, like he wanted to put Jason down, but he wasn't quite sure how his hand worked at the moment and there was just as much likelihood that the command to let go would snap the boy's neck as it would release him.

Finally, after he was sure, after he was sure his hand would obey him, his fingers released and Jason was free to drop to the ground. Clark, for his part, swept back, shaking, and curled in on himself with a noise like a wounded animal. He hadn't wanted that. He'd never wanted that. He'd never hurt one of Bruce's kids. He'd NEVER hurt one of Bruce's kids, ever. He never wanted to hurt anyone, but especially not one of Bruce's kids. Oh god. Oh god.

Jason was pretty damned comfortable at being picked up by the throat and pinned against the wall. Oh, he didn't like it, his hand came up and wrapped around Clark's wrist while Clark had him there in automatic reaction but he didn't panic. He felt, instead, some kind of sick satisfaction.

Then Clark let him down and was back across the room curled up like a kicked dog and what the hell was he supposed to do with that? Except feel guilty in spite of himself.

And then be mad about feeling guilty.

Fortunately he was spared from anything happening by Bruce coming back. Just in time to ask, "What the hell happened?"

To which Jason's response was a typical "Nothing" and slamming out of the room. Bruce stared after him, even as the door was swinging way too hard toward the slam. He put the food down and went to Clark, instead.

Clark shook his head, but didn't look up.

"Go to Jason," and it came out in a bit of a croak. God, what if he'd made a mistake. What if he'd hurt the boy? What if he'd killed--

No, no, couldn't think like that. Can't think like that. He hadn't. He hadn't. He wouldn't and he hadn't.

"Make... make sure he's all right."

He finally managed to make himself look up at Bruce.

"Please."

Bruce was not okay leaving Clark like that, but he had to trust that Clark was an adult who could handle himself.

He knew damned well Jason was neither adult or capable of handling himself also he went. But only after promising, "I'll be back."

If Clark wasn't there when he got back, the world was going to come down.

Clark would be there. He'd be there, curled into the corner as he went through a breathing exercise from his childhood and kept his hands over his eyes. Make the world small. Make the world small and swim towards his mother's heartbeat. Swim until the world made sense again.

Jason had lashed out because he was hurt. Because Bruce had been hurt. Because Kara had been hurt. Because he had been hurt. Jason had lashed out and he had responded... inappropriately. So very inappropriately. He'd responded like he was being attacked. He couldn't do that. Not when nothing short of a damn missile actually was an attack.

By the time Bruce would come back, Clark would be uncurling from his corner and pulling his hands away from his eyes as he breathed in and out, slow and steady, and straightened his spine from the feral crouch he'd been in.

It didn't take long for Bruce to figure out why Jason had lashed out at Clark. He'd wanted to his Clark himself.

That didn't make it acceptable, so while he made sure Jason was in one piece he also ripped him a new one - metaphorically. Actually ended up butting heads with him hard about it, and probably not doing Clark and Jason's relationships any favors, but that crap was not okay.

On top of it all, he'd warned Jason to use some caution and had been dismissed entirely.

To Jason, Bruce was choosing Clark.

To Bruce, Jason had been an idiot and there wasn't much excuse for that kind of lapse.

It didn't end well, but it ended with him going back to Clark.

He closed the door behind him, much more reasonably. "He's fine."

Clark just nodded and slowly, tentatively, started walking over to the food Bruce had brought. He was hungry, after all.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Bruce did not approach Clark, but gave him space to make his way to his food. "He is also an idiot who knew better. That wasn't your fault, Clark."

He turned to look at Bruce and his eyes were haunted.

"I should have let him hit me. I was going to.

"Then I almost snapped his neck."

He swallowed, looked away, and pulled the lid off of the platter of food before he spoke again.

"He can't hurt me. I can kill him in an instant. He's a kid. I'm an adult. It's my fault."

"So maybe next time he'll think twice about punching an adult he's been told needs some space. " He moved slowly toward Clark and god he was an asshole because when it came right down to it.

Maybe Jason was right.

Maybe he was choosing Clark.

He'd never forgive himself if he'd done that but Clark. Yeah, he could move on.

"It won't happen again. From anyone. And it wasn't your fault."

Clark, however, would never forgive himself. Not if he'd done that to any innocent, but especially not if he hurt a child. And there was never a moment when he didn't think of Jason as a child, no matter how capable he was or how angry or anything.

He wasn't going to argue, though. There was clearly no winning that argument and he didn't-- he really didn't want to fight. He wanted to eat his food and curl up in his bed and more than likely worry over the idea of ever being Superman again because right now, he couldn't even imagine being unwound that far.

"I'm just glad he's all right," Clark finally said as he picked up his plate and his fork and made his way over to the bed to sit.

Bruce picked up his glass - and that wasn't meal replacement anything, it was just, apparently, water, and carried it to the bed and sat down beside Clark. Clark, meanwhile, had food Alfred had prepared and was waiting for him - which was vegetarian, hearty, and came with pie.

He did not tell Clark that while Jason was fine Jason was now questioning bruises on Bruce that hadn't been there last night and wasn't going to. He'd dealt with it and would keep dealing with it.

"So am I."

"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.

Bruce drank his water and let the silence be for a beat or two, before he said anything.

"He is." Then he let that hang, for just another moment. The space of a - his- heart beat. "Angry. Defensive. Mistrustful. On edge. He isn't safe. Fundamentally wounded." Sound like anyone, Clark? "He just needs... hope, I think, more than anything." He was talking about Jason, he really was. He was just talking about more than Jason, too.

He took another drink of water, a longer one, then leaned backward to set the glass on the nightstand. "He doesn't have much of a foundation for that." You do, Clark. "I wish I knew how to help him, but I don't have much foundation for it, either." That last was just about Jason, at least.

He had no idea how to help that kid.

It took him a moment looking down at his own fork to see that his hand was shaking again.

"And you think... I... can help with that?"

He didn't mean to sound so astounded at the idea. But he couldn't help it. He barely felt like he could help himself, let alone an angry kid who kind of hated him at the moment. Normally, he'd have looked at that as a challenge, something to overcome. As it was--

"Bruce, right now, I'm amazed you can even touch me. I attacked a child."

"You pinned an angry teenager who attacked you to a wall." Whatever Clark had almost done, he hadn't actually done much. "An angry teenager who had been told to give you space, and who might not be much of a threat to you but is a fully capable fighter."

As for the rest... Bruce looked at Clark's hand shaking and then back to Clark's face. "I don't know if you can or not. I don't know if he'll let anyone help him. I certainly don't expect you to. He's mine and my responsibility." HE didn't want Clark to overextend himself, at all. Or to risk and feel failure. "But he's a good kid in spite of the shit."

And Clark was a good man in spite of the shit.

Clark put the fork down and put his hands to his eyes, rubbing hard. He didn't want to cry. He really didn't want to cry, even if it felt like he was going to anyway.

HE had no reason to cry, after all. He was fine. Or he should have been fine. He should have been just fine, but he wasn't, and that was just--

That was just something he needed to fix. He had to get better. He had to get better at getting better. Anything else was, well, unacceptable. For Jason. For Bruce. For Kara and his mother and everyone else. He had responsibilities. He had people who depended on him, a world that depended on him. He had no right to be this broken, shambling, crouching thing that attacked a sad and angry child for the crime of feeling hurt.

No right.

"He was just... upset. On your behalf, on Kara's... on his own. He'd--" he swallowed "he let me in and then I went and died on him. He had every right to be upset."

"To be upset, yes. Not to be throwing punches." His voice was calm and level, but after watching Clark struggle like that he gave up on subtlety. "And you have every right to not be okay right now. Stop comparing yourself to someone who'd literally never gone to hell and punishing yourself for not measuring up."

Bruce loved the man. He wasn't reaching out and touching out of respect for Clark - not fear, just respect. But he loved him, even if he'd been every bit as furious as Jason had been. Bruce just held his shit together better.

And... loved him a whole lot more, to tell the truth.

He didn't so much chuckle as make a sad, huffing sort of noise. An almost-laugh, deep in his chest, weary and more than a little sad.

"And if I never measure up?"

"You aren't ever going to measure up, because what you're trying to measure up to doesn't exist outside your mind and never really has. You'll learn to live with it." It was blunt, but it wasn't unkind.

Bruce was, in spite of everything said about him and how he operated and even the sheer hypocrisy of what he was saying (the standards he set for himself were beyond grueling) coming from him, a strongly, deeply, innately, compassionate man.

"And I'll keep loving you. You know that."

Edited 2015-10-05 04:23 (UTC)

He sucked in a breath that felt like fire along his throat before opening his eyes and looked over at Bruce. Then, with a smile that was only a little sad, he reached over and tugged him closer for a soft kiss.

"I don't deserve you. I never did. But now, I think... I'll just be thankful."

Bruce accepted the kiss with equanimity, and then pulled back with a soft, totally inelegant snort. "No, you don't deserve me," he agreed, in a tone that implied he was using those words very differently. "Finish your food. Eat your pie. Sleep. We'll take tonight when it comes."

He had plans for his plans. He had plans now. He was smart enough to keep his mouth shut about them.

He recognized the difference and gave Bruce a warm smile for it. They always thought the other one could do better. Maybe that was just how love worked.

"Yes, dear," he said with mock fatigue. Which was kind of amazing considering how much actual fatigue he had to choose from.

for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

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