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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"For drugging yourself, or getting me back to normal?" because he knew exactly what the Sandman's specialty was. He had a feeling the answer was the former instead of the latter.

"An alternative to the drug I'm using." He was - perfectly calm, and only partially because he was tranquilized. He lifted his eyebrows at Clark. "You aren't going to get back to normal. You're going to get better."

"Not good enough," and he knew he was being unrealistic. He knew he was being ridiculous. If anyone else had gone through what he'd gone through, if anyone else were having these PTSD reactions, then he'd understand in a heartbeat. But he didn't have that luxury. The world didn't have that luxury.

There was a complex system of thoughts and filters and mechanisms that were important for being Superman and they had to go back into working order as soon as possible. And none of them allowed for a Superman who didn't know how to hold back properly.

"Yes, Clark. Keep being frustrated, impatient, and angry with yourself. I'm sure that will speed things up."

Irony? He would do exactly that and it probably would get him to where he wanted to be faster. He, however, was someone who had to push his boundaries both psychologically and physically every day. Not just push them, but outright defy them. Break them, ignore them, surmount and overcome them.

That was the exact opposite of what Clark needed to do - or had ever needed to do, given who he was and what he was capable of.

"There is no shortcut for building walls, creating new filters, and rewiring instinctive reactions. That's time, training, exposure and practice. It's work, and being pissed off with yourself isn't going to get it done faster."

Edited 2015-12-12 20:53 (UTC)

"And what if Darksied shows up before I'm ready?" came his answer, and Bruce was probably expecting it. Had been expecting it.

"What if the Joker gets out or Two-Face stages something and you're not at top form because you're trying to keep yourself tranquilized for me? I'm putting... so many people in danger right now, Bruce. I can't feel good about that."

"You don't need to feel good about it, but feeling bad about it doesn't change anything." He was being pretty brutal with this, but it was all true and patronizing Clark wasn't going to help anyone.

"If Darksied shows up, you do the best you can with what you have to work with and we're all glad you're here at all. If Joker or Two-Face tries something I'll handle it, just like I have handled it when the reason I wasn't in top form was a head injury, blood loss, pneumonia, or whatever other asinine thing was going on. Meanwhile, we work on it.'"

Edited 2015-12-12 21:31 (UTC)

Clark looked him straight in the face then and it was clear he wasn't happy. And he wasn't feeling anything but bad about it, but-

"Then we go downstairs and spar."

A moment before

"No red sunlight."

He couldn't do this as a human. He wasn't human. If this had reminded him of nothing else, it was how very not human he was.

"For a start."

He didn't even acknowledge the remark about not using red sunlight, or anything similar. Learning to handle himself neutered was pointless. What Clark had to learn to handle and worth with was an entirely different set of circumstances. He needed to re-establish boundaries and limits for himself, not have them imposed by being under another son.

"And after that, you spar against Jason."

"Only if Jason agrees to it freely," was the immediate response. He hadn't exactly expected that. He'd thought that Bruce might pull in Dinah or even Diana. But he would work with Jason... if Jason was ready for it.

"I won't force the issue with Jason, but if he isn't interested then Dick. After that, we'll consider some of the League. People you'll have to use your abilities against."

But to start with, regular old humans - and humans that Clark cared about.

A pause and then... a nod.

"Only if this goes... reasonably well."

Bruce was the one he trusted. Both to fight against and survive, and to know how well he'd done. He wasn't going to be happy with it. He knew that. He knew how poor his responses were right now. Or rather, how inhuman. He'd had a lifetime of living at a fraction of a fraction of his power, even when things got a bit rough. Every fight with Superman started with him using the minimum amount of power necessary. Or what he thought the minimum would be. And then he'd slowly increase his output.

Right now, without Bruce as a gauge of danger, he was terrified he might destroy... well, everything. Because his immediate response was to attack at his highest speed, his greatest strength. And the planet wasn't even designed to withstand that, let alone another living being.

Bruce nodded. It was agreement rather than 'giving in', because that was his intention all along. He could have gone the other direction, really, and there was some rational in that - giving Clark the opponent most likely to survive him if that went wrong - but Bruce was going the exact opposite.

He wasn't doing it thoughtlessly.

The people closest to him, and the most vulnerable, moving further outward to those that were more dangerous and bigger threats, requiring more power to be defeated. In the end, that was where Clark was going to have to be able to check himself. With people he cared nothing about, but required much, much more to stop than any human.

It was... acclimation.

He studied Clark for a moment, then blinked a few times and stood up.

"This will be good for me, too," he said, as he started to move. It would be. He was going to have to work harder than usual with no adrenaline response to speak of. He needed to learn to compensate.

"We should have Alfred on standby," he insisted as he started following Bruce. "Just in case. Someone. Someone with medical training."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

He didn't slow down, much less stop, just kept heading for the cave. Where Alfred was not, and would not be for numerous reasons including the fact that Bruce loved Clark but also loved Alfred and liked Alfred in one piece.

"Unless you mean have him be generally aware of the possibility, in which case he already is."

"That's... what I mean," because Clark didn't want the older man within, well, the possible blast radius.

"Just... prepared."

"He is."

Nothing more than that, because Bruce was - neither overly concerned nor unrealistic. Once he got downstairs, he took long enough to walk away, take off his watch and roll up the sleeves of his shirt, but that was all that he did by way of preparing. No cowl, no armor, no weapons. Especially, most importantly, no cowl.

Not. Yet.

Next time, maybe. Depending on how well Clark did, it might not even be the Batman Cowl.

But for now he backed away into a wide open space and waited on Clark. Didn't speak again, didn't ask if he was ready, didn't ask Clark to come to him. Just waited for Clark to turn and face him.

The moment Clark did, it was going to be on, and only one of them was going to be pulling their punches. At least one of them was hopefully going to be.

Sparing wasn't just about strength. It was about skill. And while he might have started his journey as Superman utterly untrained, he'd since had plenty of instruction. Between Wildcat, Wonder Woman, Batman himself, Black Canary, and the various holo programs available to him at the Fortress, he was no slouch even outside of his powers.

And the one thing true of all forms was that they required focus. Concentration. Control.

This wasn't just about his strength. This was about his ability to fight. This was about not being a liability in the field. And given the number of ways to take him down, take him out, or remove his powers, that was just as important as controlling his strength.

He settled back into a stance, got his breathing in order, and finally turned around to face Bruce.

Bruce didn't treat Clark like he was a powder keg who was liable to explode. He didn't hold things back, didn't cautiously test limits to see where Clark was. He observed, yes, reactions and actions and time between and how much skill Clark used and which skills were present in how he fought.

He did much the same with himself, seeing how much his reaction time was down, gauged just how sluggish he was in general.

Mostly, though, he just went after Clark. Went after Clark with intensity and ferocity, like this was a regular sparring session between the two of them, or maybe even something a little bit more than that. He pushed at him, came in close, made demands for responses and didn't let up unless he was made to.

It was skill and form and function and, yes, a fight.

The first attack was the most dangerous. This was where Clark's triggered response was to kill and it was only the familiarity of Bruce's present that kept him from sending the other man through the cave wall. Once they started, once they were really sparing, it felt less dangerous. Less terrifying. There was a rhythm to the blows, a flow to the fight...

He settled into the familiarity of it, let himself fall into the dance, and it almost seemed okay.

Almost.

Then there was a sound, a roar of something at the entrance to the cave, a roar that sounded almost like an animal in the echoes of the darkness and Clark reacted--

A reaction he countered by flying to the ceiling and smashing through a stalactite instead of Bruce's skull. He breathed in deep, in and out, in and out, and stayed floating at the ceiling before looking down at Bruce.

Dammit. Dammit.

Bruce tilted his head and looked up at Clark, his expression unreadable.

"Good." He didn't sound overly effusive, but he was pleased and his voice reflected that. "Now come down again."

"As soon as I... can."

His hand was still in the rock.

"I didn't... stop."

He was breathing hard, but not from exertion. From staying where he was. Because he didn't want to go and see what had caused the roaring, wasn't even looking, because he didn't want to be angry at it. Or anything. Because he needed to calm down.

"You're still here. You stopped."

He moved away from Clark though, to check the cave's opening. What he expected to find was effectively nothing - wind, water, and rock all coming together in sound, but he wasn't entirely unprepared for being jumped by a rogue tiger or something.

Because it was his life and he never actually was.

No. No rogue tiger. Instead, just inside the outermost entrance is a motorcycle and atop that motorcycle is Dick Grayson. Who looked... incredibly apologetic.

"Hey, Bruce. Sorry about-- I was coming by to see if I could help with anything, considering everything with the big guy, and then Alfred told me I wasn't supposed to go into the cave right now so I stopped."

There was a moment's pause before his head tilted.

"Are you on something right now?"

Edited 2015-12-13 16:19 (UTC)

Dick had better look apologetic, because in spite of the chemically induced calm, Bruce was not happy. Happy to see Dick, but also frustrated because Clark was up to his elbow in rock.

"Your bike sent 'the big guy' through the ceiling." A pause, for effect. "Literally." Well, more or less literally. Not all the way through. "Yes, I am on something."

"My bike?" because the math in that particular equation did not make sense in his brain. He looked down at the machine in question.

"He's heard my bike a thousand times. He's helped me fix it up more than once. How'd my bike send him through the ceiling and why are you on something?" He squared his shoulders a little.

"I know I'm off in Bludhaven with my own life and everything but it'd be nice to hear something every once in a while before I stumble into it and send Superman through the ceiling."

for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

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