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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Jason saw the touch coming, accepted it and the squeeze along with the words - and let it stay there for another second or so in silence before he stepped back. That wasn't personal, he was just less touchy than even Bruce.

"Yeah, well, unless we're going to start fucking, you've got some leverage with him you don't have with me, so you might not wanna push your luck." Blunt? Yep. Crude? Yep. "But the real answer's that you were right. I'm tired. Otherwise, yeah, I'm okay."

Clark could tell the difference. It meant he wasn't terribly bothered when it happened.

"I'll stop bothering you, then, and let you get some rest," and his tone was still gentle, but also a bit more friendly. "But if you get up in a few hours, we're probably going to be down in the den. Bruce discovered that I never got to play many video games as a kid so... we're going to be pulling a few out while I readjust."

He gave Jason a hopeful smile.

"You'll probably be the only person to ever trounce Batman and Superman at Mario Kart if you decide to drop by."

"...I'll keep it in mind," he said, with some confusion.

He might show up. He might not. Sort of depended on how curious he got, how sure he was video games were all that were happening and if he stayed awake. Also depended on how he felt about Bruce in that fifteen minute block and if he was more jealous than curious.

But he'd keep it in mind.

And leave.

While Bruce got out of the shower to check security footage before he gave himself a heart attack.

Confused was much better than angry or hurting. And a maybe was much better than a no. Clark just nodded and turned around to head back down to the cave, figuring that he'd make sure Bruce didn't electrocute himself running out of the shower to check and make sure his son and his partner didn't attempt to murder each other. Again.

"Jason might join us down in the den for video games once he wakes up," Clark announced as he made his way down.

Bruce did not electrocute himself, but he was far more damp and half-dressed than he'd usually be in the cave, much less at the equipment that let him check in.

When Clark spoke, Bruce moved away to return to his towel so he could at least make his hair stop dripping.

"Then I suppose we're going to be playing video games in the den," Bruce said, dryly.

"After some sleep, I'm sure," because Bruce had just gone out. And he'd had maybe a two hour nap earlier? He'd need at least a little sleep.

He watched Bruce drip for a moment before looking at the slightly damp console.

"I wasn't planning to eat him, Bruce. I just know that using you as an intermediary too much won't help things in the long run. I saw my chance and I took it."

"I wasn't worried about him being eaten." Admitting that was uncomfortable - more uncomfortable than the reverse would have been. Why? Because Clark was loved but he was a full grown adult he didn't feel the same kind of responsibility with.

Jason... he just felt like he was failing all over the place. More after tonight.

"And why is that?" he asked, keeping his voice gentle. It was a question and very much not an accusation.

"Because he took a swing at you today, and pushed a man off a roof tonight." Seriously, how was that even a question, Clark - said his tone, quite clearly.

"And yet," voice still soft, tone quite clear in pointing out that perhaps this needs rethinking, that the obvious is never really obvious, "I'm the one who nearly killed him. His swing, however angry, had no chance of really hurting me."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm not-- it's not my place to give advice. I'm not a parent." He did enough of a half-assed job with Kara that he knew he wasn't even close. Superman he might be, but Superdad he was not. His influence on Dick not withstanding, he didn't have nearly the experience that Bruce did. "I'm not even Superman right now. But I can speak as someone who loves you, Bruce. And someone who knows a little bit of how your mind works.

"You seem the most lost with him when he acts the most like you. You with..." he glanced over, "without the control. And--"

He didn't know how to say this.

"Stop buying your own act."

What was he supposed to say to that? He understood people and psychology - even understood himself - well enough to know that Clark calling out the similarities was accurate. He even understood what Clark was trying to get across when he told Bruce to stop buying his own act.

The problem was, Bruce didn't have the first idea what that looked like or meant. That didn't give him the key to help Jason. Bruce didn't know how to help himself and never had. The only thing that he'd managed amounted to training, self-control, rigid boundaries and a target.

That was clearly, clearly not working with Jason.

And he didn't have the first idea what to do about that. He didn't know what would have pulled him out, or what he would have wanted or needed at that stage in his life except an 'acceptable' target.

So he looked at Clark, and didn't get angry or lash out. DIdn't argue or fight with him because Clark wasn't wrong but there wasn't a solution there that Bruce had the ability to access - and Bruce knew it.

"Sometimes, Clark, you give me more credit than I deserve or can live up to." That was all, before he turned to grab a shirt and pull it on over his head.

Clark was careful to move slow, careful to only touch lightly for a moment before making his hands more solid on Bruce's skin as he settled his hands on either side of Bruce's hips and gave a light squeeze.

"It's a failing we share," he said mildly before letting his forehead rest against Bruce's shoulder. "But maybe I can help."

Because if there was anyone who knew how to see past that act, if there was anyone who knew how to love someone not in spite of but because some of those difficulties, and if there was anyone who'd do anything for him... well, Clark was definitely up there. There were a couple of others (Alfred came to mind) but Clark was up there at least.

Bruce wasn't quite sure why Clark was being so careful with him right now, but he was willing to take it - even if acceptance came with bemusement.

He looked down at himself, and the patina of bruises - from old, faded yellow to fresh bruises that were still purpling on his skin. The scars that criss-crossed and seamed his skin in various stages of healing and severity, and thought about Jason and actually just - did not know.

Clark was up there, yes, but Jason wasn't really him and the situation wasn't his own and he wasn't sure he wanted to see Clark torn apart by a teenager, and he knew he didn't want to see the teenager torn apart by anyone or anything, including himself and Gotham.

"Maybe." He kissed Clark's temple. "We'll all have Mario Kart, anyway."

And that was it before he was backing off physically, to head for upstairs. They'd also have sleep because yes, he was tired.

Clark nodded and followed along behind him, a step or two back to give him room without a word said on the matter. Bruce was tired and Bruce needed sleep. Clark wasn't tired but he wasn't opposed to sleep, whether it was beside Bruce or across the hall from him. For the moment, he'd follow and see what Bruce wanted.

Bruce didn't think about Clark waiting on an offer. He just... went up stairs and headed for his bedroom. He assumed Clark would follow him, but if Clark didn't that was fine, too.

Either way, he was going to bed in his own room and trying to get at least three or four hours of sleep before he needed to wake up and tackle the business and figure out when to fit in Mario Cart and making sure Clark got better and tried to figure out something for Jason.

Clark wasn't waiting for an offer so much as he was waiting to be told or shown that Bruce wanted space. In the absence of a request, he was going to go by Bruce's behavior earlier and assume that Bruce wanted him around for the foreseeable future. It wasn't the first time he'd been in the bed, after all. And if Clark was honest with himself, really honest, he didn't want to be all that far away from Bruce either.

Bruce pulled his shirt off again once he was in the room, closed the blinds and curtains, set his alarm for a time four hours out and then -

crawled into bed and fell asleep with an arm over Clark.

Clark watched Bruce for a moment, smiling just a little at the other man, frowning just a little at the marks on him, and closed his eyes. He wouldn't sleep for a bit, but he was much happier to focus on the arm over his chest than things he'd never be able to prevent.

The alarm went off way too soon (from Bruce's perspective) and he started trying to burrow under Clark to get away from the sunlight and necessity of waking up. Even trying to escape the loud, annoying, buzzing.

Man was chronically sleep deprived. That he woke up like a cranky toddler shouldn't be a surprise.

That he woke up like a cranky toddler was one of Clark's greatest joys. Even he wasn't entirely sure why that was; he figured it had to do with seeing him utterly unguarded and reacting purely to what he wanted without eight tons of intellectual bargaining and worry involved. Bruce Wayne was a cranky toddler when he woke up and given his contributions to the world, the world could kindly soak its collective head if there was a problem with that.

Or so said Superman. Also, Clark Kent.

Who was happy to reach over and turn off the annoying noise while simultaneously blocking out the evil wicked sunlight come to ruin his day. He'd wake up Bruce with a hand gently running through his hair and if it meant they were down in the den a little later, it wasn't as if Jason had gone to bed much earlier. And teenagers slept forever. They'd certainly beat him down there regardless.

Bruce needed to get up. He had a business to run, even if most of that was done by someone else. He had shit he needed to check on, too.

He still didn't rouse easily. He growled and grumbled and grumped and burrowed closer to Clark and generally pitched a very subtle fit about the fact that he had to wake up - and he did have to wake up.

Fortunately, Jason didn't so at least that wouldn't be a problem for a few more hours.

"I hate morning."

"I'd noticed," he said with a wry little smile in his voice. And he left it at that. He knew Bruce had things to do, so he couldn't let him sleep. But he could try and make the waking the least terrible it had to be.

He gnawed slowly at Clark's shoulder, grateful that Clark was at least there. That made waking up much less unpleasant - both in presence and in lack of absence. They weren't the same (somehow.)

He stretched out, while continuing to basically using his partner as a chew toy, and then groped to grab his phone from the nightstand.

Clark, unable to quite help himself, used the opportunity presented by Bruce reaching for the phone to nibble at his shoulder.

Bruce grunted at Clark, but it was an appreciative sounding caveman grunt. Even while he draped over the guy and kept checking his texts, voice mail, and emil from the phone.

for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

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