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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"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."

"You have a phone, too, Dick," he said, blandly.

"The reason for both is the same: He's had a rough time of it, and his... startle response is exaggerated." Startle response. Kill it response. Same thing.

That also totally explained why Bruce was sedated. "Do you want to come in, or stand out here talking about him while he listens in, whether he wants to or not?"

Well, that gets a flat look.

"I'm not the one who's trying to help his significant other get over what sounds a lot like PTSD." When his life threw him a curveball worth Batman's notice, he'd call home. Till then--

"And yeah, I'm coming in. You want a ride back to the main cave?"

"I would have called you soon, anyway. We're going to need your help."

At some point, but not immediately and the fact that him being drugged wasn't being questioned more was a relief. It meant he could move along with whether or not he wanted a ride.

No, no he did not. Ever. He did the driving, dammit.

It wasn't his bike.

Sending Dick ahead meant Clark and Dick alone in Clark's current state, and the noise from the bike.

"Why don't you park and we'll both walk."

Dick looked over at Bruce, took in that strange odd quality to his eyes that had tipped him off to the drugging, and slowly pulled himself off the bike. Then, quietly, even if there was no point to it in some ways--

"That bad?"

His eyes are definitely strange, and strange is the only word that can be used to describe it. He's usually sharp, observant, calculating and that reflects in his eyes. At the moment he's... not entirely those things. They're there but as muted and muffled as he feels.

"He'll be all right, and he's better than he was, but at the moment a bit of consideration is a good idea."

He is all, all, too aware that Clark can hear them.

It's weird and Dick resolutely doesn't like it because Clark is apparently twitchy as a cat and Bruce is... not on point. And while he knows more than anyone that Bruce is not perfect, that Bruce is not even close to perfect, that his parental figure is not a God...

It still unnerves him. A lot.

"Of course. If anyone deserves consideration, it's Big Blue." No. "Clark. I really am sorry about the bike thing."

"I know you are. I knew you would show up sooner or later; I should have warned you."

He rubs his eyes between his forefinger and thumb, because they're dry and a bit gritty. Then pulls out his phone and slows the pace of his walking so he can text. He isn't even going to send it, so there's no vibration or alarm.

He came close to killing Jason. Use caution in there.

The look of abject surprise is easy enough to read before he picks up his own phone to start typing.

"You're busy. I get that. And I probably should have called ahead. I just figured... get there. See what I could do."

Is Jason all right? How close? How did that even happen?

"We're working on him regaining control and setting boundaries. We were in the middle of a sparring session when you arrived. Once we've worked it out between us, I think it'll be your turn."

He just kept talking and typing at once, though not with as much ease as he would have managed without the drugs he had onboard.

Jason was angry and went after him. He grabbed Jason by the throat and pinned him to the wall. Not bad, from anyone except Clark.

I'll talk to Jay. What sets him off? Standard PTSD ramped to Superman?

"Well, it's been a while since Clark helped me with my sparring," he said easily enough, "so I guess I can return the favor. Red sun room or just..."

Am I swinging without a net?

Because he's fine with that. His eyes met Bruce's to make sure he knew he was fine with that. Clark needed help, he was there.

"No. He's trying to learn to control his reaction and set boundaries for himself and to work within them. Being taken down to human norm defeats that."

Dick would have a net, though. Bruce would take risks with himself and he knew he took risks with his kids, but that didn't mean they were the same risks or same level of risk. He'd be around, with Kryptonite at the ready. A bit more than Alfred was around, now.

Yes.

And the drugs are because I'm acting as a walking white noise machine and focal point. No one can afford for him to respond to my adrenaline responses, too.

"Makes sense," Dick agreed with a nod as they got closer to the main room. "I can do that. He still rocking that weird Kryptonian martial arts thing?"

What're you on? Just the usual horse tranqs Alfred uses when you're being difficult or something special?

"His fighting style hasn't changed much, in and of itself, but we've only just started. It will be a bit before we're ready to bring you in, but we should have a better idea by the time we do."

Bruce stretched himself out, rolled his neck and shoulders before he answered.

Lower doses of what Alfred uses. Hawkins offered to come up with an alternative. If I develop too much tolerance to these, I'll consider taking him up on it.

Let's hope it doesn't go on that long. Then again, I'm amazed you haven't already gotten a tolerance to them.

That came with a faint smirk. He knew how often Alfred had to, er... make recommendations regarding to Master Wayne's plans.

"That's cool. You mind if I go see Jay and Alfred while you guys are finishing up?"

for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

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