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 can taste it, smell it... feel it in the tremors under his lips, the heat of the body against his. He's as solid as a rock, more solid than he's been since he'd returned; Bruce throws himself back and it might as well be against the wall.

"I'm not playing," and that came with something low and growling, something needful.

"Now tell me. Tell me how to make you feel good the way you want."

Bruce knows exactly what he wants. He's thought about it, dreamed about it, and fantasized about it. He doesn't have a vague idea, he has graphic, detailed, vivid images and ideas. He knows so intimately that he can all but feel it and -

And none of it has to do with feeling good, by any sane definition.

He growls in return, tense and - defensive. "I want my blood under your nails and in your teeth, Clark." Yep, defensive and he's using this as a weapon. It's true, but he's still - using it as a weapon. If he can make Clark leave, shock him into leaving, then he's prepared for it and in control of it. "I want to be black, blue, broken and taken apart. You impaling me? That thing that shocked you so much, left you so guilty you could hardly stand yourself? Had you been in your right mind, you wouldn't have been capable of it. It might almost have been enough for me." He jerked forward and away, let go of Clark's hand or tried.

"Dick wanted to see you before he left."

Edited 2015-12-14 03:18 (UTC)

He'd had the words ready, to tell him that he could have those things, the exact things he wanted to murmur into Bruce's ear as his nails sliced into Bruce's skin. He'd been ready to just... let go. Give Bruce what he wanted. Whatever it is he wanted. Finally be and do and give the other man what he needed.

And then Bruce jerked away. Let go of his hand. And the spell was broken. The moment was gone. Everything that had started to feel under control, held in his hand, slipped away.

And he was so angry, so goddamn angry, that he was shaking.

Fine. Fine. Fine. He wasn't a man anymore. He was just a broken thing to be placated, to be fixed, to be coddled and sated so he didn't destroy anything. Kill anyone. Everything he'd always feared he'd be, now he was. Useless. Useless and destructive. Literally better dead than alive. Less trouble.

His fists clenched tight, tight enough that his own nails bit into his skin. His own blood dripped down between his fingers, sluggish and unaccustomed to running outside of his body.

"I'll be... in my room. No more farce for the day."

And he was gone.

Bruce was a hyper-intelligent genius and one hell of a detective, but he completely misread Clark's response. He couldn't... make the leap, when he'd already expected most of that. Expected Clark to want nothing to do with him and to retreat, be disgusted with him, even.

Bruce regretted it, badly, but what he regretted was the wrong thing.

He regretted the honesty.

He stood in the empty cave for a bit, picked up the throwing stars from the cave floor methodically and put them back where they belonged and went upstairs, because Clark....

He couldn't find Clark. He couldn't help Clark.

Maybe Dick could.

Not him.

Dick ran into him while he'd been heading down to the cave but he backed up immediately. He could see some Shit Had Gone Down and while he was used to just letting Bruce handle it, the fact that he knew the strain that Bruce was under with the drugs and with Clark meant that that wasn't an option.

"Bruce? Bruce, what... happened? Why're you coming up? I thought you wanted me to--

"Bruce?"

Thank you, Dick, for being you and for being loyal to someone who really had never managed to do a single damned thing to earn that loyalty. For having a good heart, and the capacity for compassion and ability to show it in spite of the life you have lead and the man who raised you's emotional hang-ups. Thank you for your impeccable sense of timing and uncanny ability to read that jackass.

He stopped moving when Dick backed up, just maintaining distance.

"Clark is angry. I'd suggest you give him time to cool down, but he needs to be found if he's on planet. Track him down, take the jet. He's probably at the Fortress."

"Angry?" because that was... generally not Clark. Unless something terrible was happening, anyway. And what could Bruce do to make him angry? Clark knew Bruce, he knew the kind of shit Bruce pulled. Clark, weirdo that he was, even thought half of it was endearing, which Dick couldn't quite manage. He usually tapped out at 'sighing'.

"What the hell happened down there? Did you have a fight and kick him out or something or--" he paused, though, because he could tell that whatever it was, Bruce was devastated.

"I'll find him. Does he still have his communicator on? You can track him with that, can't you?"

"Disgusted might be a better word," Bruce conceded, almost entirely without emotion. "He finally woke up and realized I wasn't what he thought I was. He had his communicator on."

Devastated was a good word for it, though for anyone else he was - mildly blank and possibly depressed. "You shouldn't have trouble tracking him."

Oh, and also he should care: "How was your... talk with Jason?"

"That's not what happened," and the second it pops out of his mouth, Dick realizes two things: one, that what he's saying is absolutely true and two, that it's going to redirect some of the inevitable anger towards him. And honestly, he's all right with that.

"I talked to Clark after you two got together. I don't know what the hell you guys were talking about, but short of eating babies for breakfast, there's nothing you could do to convince that guy you're not the best thing since sliced bread."

And he figures he might be able to save his own bacon if he switches topics so that's where he goes. Because no matter what he says, Clark's going to have to be the one to fix that. He can only do so much for the two of them, though honestly, he's glad to do it. He's watched them both most of his life, seen how much they mean to each other. He knows how intensely they care about one another and he cannot believe, cannot believe that there was anything Bruce could do that could ruin things to that extent.

"And Jay's just fine. Worried about the both of you, not happy you're drugging yourself but join the party, we have free booze here, so what else is new?" Beat. "Did he really kick your ass in Mario Kart?"

"Fortunately, this is both on par with eating babies for breakfast, and not something you and I are going to discuss," he says, with a bit more snap in his voice.

He lets it go, though, which is honestly more a result of the sedatives than it is the result of good sense. Those sedatives are relatively near wearing off and he knows almost immediately and without having to think that no matter where Clark is or how he feels about Bruce (and it's so justified) that he'll keep using them for as long as it takes, because Clark needs... something steady and stable in the world and this is the only way Bruce will ever be able to be either.

"Booze and drugs probably shouldn't be mixed," he says, moving along, "and yes, he kicked my ass at Mario Kart. You should play with him so he can kick yours."

He follows along, pulling out his cellphone to start the tracing program for the League communicators. He can't help making a triumphant little noise as he locates Superman.

"Bruce, seriously."

He runs up to show him the screen.

"He hasn't even left the house. He's in the room across from yours."

He turns around and goes back down into the cave, so he can take another damned tranquilizer dose - dry, because he's goddamn Batman and he does not need water - before he says anything.

"Good, then I don't have to let you touch the plane. Go talk to him."

Yes, Dick, clearly that's the answer. "You're good with people. Go be good with people at him."

This is the face of someone who's getting you a goddamn cheese wheel for Father's Day, Bruce. And the growl of a someone who's turning around and heading for the room across from Bruce's to see if Clark makes any more goddamn sense.

He likes cheese. He hates Father's Day. It's sort of a wash on the punishment/reward front, but as long as Dick is going, Bruce isn't going to complain. He is going to go right back to one of the workstations, hold his head in his hands and wait for drugs to kick in.

And time precisely how long it takes, so there's no risk of gaps, and minimal overlap.

Also because it means counting seconds and watching the passage of time, rather than going to eavesdrop.

It takes roughly 10 minutes.

"You're both stupid and I'm not playing courier after this," is the first thing Dick says, as soon as he's within the cave itself. The acoustics in this place are amazing, so the words travel well enough.

"Go upstairs. He doesn't think you're disgusting. In fact," he trots down a couple more steps, "he seems to think you rejected him." A couple more steps before he pauses just short of the main platform.

"I told him that was ridiculous. I hope I wasn't lying to the poor man. He looks... well, about as rough as you do."

Ten minutes is roughly long enough for those drugs to start kicking in, and maybe he should have waited a bit longer because he swears there are two of Dick and he can't properly feel his fingers.

He's careful when he gets up but then snorts. "I expect to see you back here more often." Is he going to be able to work out what's going on with Clark like this? Sure. He can do anything, any time, anywhere. He's fucking Batman.

Who is disgusting and what the hell Clark thought-

Wait, no, that needs to happen upstairs. Which might actually take him a little longer than usual to manage. "What do you mean I rejected you?"

He can do anything, any time, anywhere. Like simultaneously bring about the desire to set him on fire while also making Dick want to give him a big hug that he knows will only make Bruce feel awkward. Fucking Batman.

"You didn't reject-- dammit. No. No way," and he was there then, looking at the drugs that Bruce was using and checking the dosage amounts and-- "You dosed up. You seriously dosed up while I went to go talk to Clark and now you're not even understanding basic English. Goddammit, Bruce--"

He runs a hand through his hair, then two.

"Okay, I'm going to talk really slow and make things really really clear: Clark does not think you're disgusting. Whatever you told him, he was fully prepared to agree to it before you pulled away and he thought you were rejecting him. He's terrified that he's never going to get better and even I can tell he thinks he's being a burden to everyone at the best and a danger to everyone at the worst. He's freaking out because he thinks you saw how much that place mangled him and you don't want him anymore."

Sigh.

"Did you get any of that?"

Bruce lifts both of his eyebrows at Dick and, yeah, the eyes below them are pretty goddamn glassy, but:

"Whatever I told Clark, he was fully prepared to agree to it before I pulled away and he thought I was rejecting him. He's terrified that he's never going to get better, and even you can tell he thinks he's being a burden to everyone at best and a danger to everyone at worst. He's freaking out because he thinks I saw how much that place mangled him and I don't want him anymore."

He paused. "Do I need to go further back or are you willing to accept that being drugged doesn't actually mean stupid?" NO, he was stupid on his own.

Message received but he still - He still didn't know if he could do this. Maybe. He'd try, but the rest of it. God. Clark.

Yes, Bruce, he knows you have an eidetic memory.

"Now did you actually comprehend any of that or can I go see if Alfred made cookies for me?"

No, that was too cold. He was here for the both of them, and he'd be here until they got whatever shit was between them figured out.

"He looked heartbroken, okay? Almost as heartbroken as you do."

Yes, the both of you are literally the saddest thing he's ever seen. Why do you ask?

Dick, prepare to get an education about just why you don't ask Bruce questions while he's on drugs, particularly after he's given you an answer and he's had a really emotional... not even night, but how long now? Since he thought Clark was dead?

"I comprehended it just fine. We had a discussion about sex. My sexual habits are twisted. I'd prefer to keep him away from that. Apparently he decided that meant I didn't trust him. Go. Eat. Cookies. Dick."

And with that he is headed back up to find and talk to Clark.

Seriously. Truth can be a weapon.

Everything can.

Including truth.

And that, as they say, is that.

"All right," he says dubiously, clearly not pleased about being unable to assure himself that the old people aren't being stupid at one another.

"I'll probably be in with Jay. Have to take him down a peg on Mario Kart or I'll never hear the end of it."

He heads for the door before turning back, just the once.

"Go easy on yourself, Bruce. And if you need me, you know where to find me."

Then he's gone, not with super speed but fast enough.

In his room, Clark has been pacing in between looking at his bed and wanting to punch something. Dick had come up and he'd kept it together then, but when they'd actually started talking... well, if it what Dick was saying was true, it certainly cast the conversation in a different light.

And he was here. He hadn't left. Bruce would appreciate that, hopefully.

Bruce appreciated that Clark was there - though it had originally surprised him. He knocked lightly at the door but knew Clark knew he was there and didn't wait for permission, just walked in.

"I trust you. I have always trusted you. I will always trust you."

The second Bruce entered, Clark just... froze. Paused. Swallowed for a moment before turning his head to look at Bruce.

"I never said you didn't."

Though he could hardly imagine anyone trusting him right now. He was a step up from a caged animal. If that.

That isn't the reaction he expected and he's silent for a long moment, then: "Why do you think I rejected you?" He stopped. No, not quite. "What is the reason you think I rejected you for?"

for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

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