Chapter Text
Clark went straight to the manor, skipping his debrief at the Watchtower. He had received a message from Dick as soon as his communicator got back into Earth’s signal range. Hal had shrugged him off, telling him to make sure Batman knew it was Superman breaking protocol, not him, so Spooky can’t say shit to him when their report is turned in late. Clark nodded, giving the man a shaky smile before taking off at superspeed. It was uncommon for him to get called to Gotham, and the text seemed urgent and bordering on cryptic. He didn’t even try to figure out what the brief message foretold, just followed the directions to meet at the Batcave ‘asap.’ In bat-speak, that basically meant someone was dead or dying. They never asked for help, and never for it quickly. He could count on one hand the number of times that Batman or one of the boys had called out for Clark, and one of those was because the first Robin wanted to just see how long it would take him to respond for a bet (which Bruce thoroughly chided him for). That same boy, now a man, texting him for emergency assistance was almost unheard of.
On arrival, he saw three of the boys and Alfred waiting for him in the cave. No Bruce though, or Damian. He tuned out to try and hear where they were in Gotham, but only picked up Duke on patrol. He heard the girls as well, they were with Barbara in the manor above. He heard their steps come racing towards the grandfather clock. He made eye contact with Dick, gaze only briefly crossing over the others before settling on the oldest child.
“You called?”
They were divvied up into teams. Clark would take Dick, Stephanie, and Jason with him to the LoA. Barbara would stay in the cave to manage the tech and monitor communications with the support of Alfred, Tim, and Cass. Duke would remain on patrol so Gotham was not completely defenseless. Tim had already come up with the rescue plan, drained his energy to make it full proof and dig into the schematics of the place with Cass’s help. She was not happy about staying behind, especially when Jason was just as susceptible to flashbacks as she was. Dick had to sit her down and explain that it wasn’t just that risk, it was that she was too dangerous to risk. What if Ra’s knew a way to bring her back to her old mindset before she met the family? What if she was turned against them by magic or some chemical means? Clark would be in and out quick due to his superspeed, something even Ra’s wouldn’t have a great defense against without pre-planning. Jason could be taken down by the combined efforts of Steph and Dick, even if it would suck. And Jason was more likely to become animalistic, not calculated like she would be. She still hated it and only calmed when Barbara asked her to standby, her memory of the LoA would be useful if the away team got turned around in the compound. It could be the difference between mission success and failure.
Dick hadn’t even wanted Jason to come, but he and Cass were outvoted by the others. And he had to admit that having another person there wouldn’t be overkill. They were in their stealth suits, even though they would not be stealthy at all. The plan was to basically smash and grab; revenge could wait. Clark was in the customized suit Bruce had built for him, black and gray and lined with lead. Mask and suit equipped with automatic, retractable defenses at the mere presence of kryptonite. The flashy suits would remain in the cave. The priority was getting them back. He just hoped they weren’t too late.
Bruce was led back to Talia’s room. His stomach flipped against the sharp movements through the corridors and he gagged a bit before being placed onto the large bed. He didn’t throw up though, which he was grateful for until Talia joined him on the bed. He swayed next to her, still upright.
“Lay down, Bruce.” One hand settled on the nape of his neck, tapping at his atlas vertebrae with her pinkie, brushing over the bruised skin with care she had not displayed the night before. He was on edge, still trying to keep his nausea in check and play along with the demons holding him hostage. The hand moved down to rest on his clavicle, chilled skin responding with goosebumps. She pushed him down lovingly, the covers underneath him different, changed in the time they had been downstairs. They were still unreasonably soft, but not like the cool ones in his master bedroom at the manor. They itched against his back, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead and chest—which was starting to feel tight. He was at her mercy again, and he was just hoping she would keep the…intimacy…to a minimum. He sucked in a shaky breath when she moved horizontal, laying on her side and propping her head up as she considered him. Her eyes were lidded low, mouth in a sultry lilt. He stayed frozen next to her, without the strength to even turn his head. His left hand twitched where it lay, fingers tingling and grasping at the comforter where Talia couldn’t see.
“Shhh…it’s okay. Relax.” I fucking can’t, Talia. She leaned in to run a hand through his hair and he trembled in anticipation. Don’t. Please don’t. She just stayed there for a second, soft strands slipping through her deft fingers, tips of her sharp nails lightly scratching his scalp. It should’ve felt nice. It burned.
“Ta-Talia…I’m—” I’m hurt. I don’t want this. I’m begging you.
“I know. I’ll take care of it.” Nononono.
“Don’t.” He sucked in a breath, “Ple – ” She swept her legs underneath her, sitting up and muffling his words with a kiss, deep and suffocating against his bruised lips. He choked down the whimper in his throat, eyes hot with unshed tears. So sick of crying. Fucking stop it. You’re the Batman. You’ll survive. You have survived. He hiccupped when she pulled back, the air stale and searing his bruised larynx. Poison stuffed down his trachea, running like Gotham river water into his lungs. Don’t fight. Just wait for Alfred. Alfred will make it better. She grabbed the hem of his sweatpants, pulling the material down and revealing his limp, bruised cock. The soft material felt like sandpaper dragging down his backside.
“Do you want a reward?” she crept towards him, hands reaching to massage his aching biceps. Her mouth latched onto his sensitive tip, chafed and painful with the prolonged, rough treatment. He whined into the makeshift gag, a thick strip of a canvas-like material that appeared from nowhere and was shoved between his teeth and knotted at the back of his head when she got annoyed with his loud pleading. He shook his head desperately. He just wanted them to leave him alone. He wanted her to stop. He wanted Alfred and was disoriented enough to cry out unintelligibly for him, nothing but muffled begging getting through the gag.
When she took it out after another painfully dry orgasm, she whispered to him,
“Now, don’t stop making those noises, okay? I want to hear you enjoy it.”
He didn’t feel like begging anymore.
He felt like begging now, he felt like screaming and crying all over again and it was silly because he knew it wouldn’t be as bad this time around. The men were outside—they would stay outside as long as he behaved—and she was already being so gentle with his injuries as she rucked his bottoms down and left them at the foot of the bed. She tenderly swept her hands over his wrapped wrists, crossing them over his head.
“Do you need help keeping them there, Beloved?” Yes.
“N-no.” He closed his eyes, tight enough that it hurt. Her hand was cool against his cheek, her breath hot against his lips as she closed in. They were interrupted before her lips reached their destination.
SLAM
The heavy wooden door banged against its supports, the sound inviting shock as Talia jumped up and reached for her concealed daggers. Bruce pulled his arms back down, ignoring the penetrating ache the abrupt movement summoned. A gunshot was fired, aimed at the dagger that had appeared in Talia’s hand. In slow motion, he recognized…
“Jas’n?”
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!” the anger built up into a crescendo and Jason unleashed another shot as Talia rolled forward. Bruce could’ve collapsed in relief, and he did as he saw his oldest son flip forward to knock his tormentor back. Dick loved to taunt his enemies, throw out a quip as he twirled in the air only to land a destructive blow at their weakest point. He wasn’t joking now. He was just a force of nature as he kicked backwards out of her range, leaving her with a bloody nose and furious expression. Another shot was fired in the confined space and then she was clutching the side of her thigh, only twisting out of range quick enough to avoid the shot aimed at her knee.
“Don’t you dare move, bitch.” Dick snarled, a matte black escrima stick clutched tight, the current buzzing to match the tension in the room. Bruce clutched at the comforter, weakly pulling at the material to cover his nakedness as he stared at his sons. His heart jumped into his throat when Talia grit her teeth, prepared to vault forward before another shot ricocheted, hitting her in the calf. He flinched at the piercing noise and tried to call out, tried to tell his sons to stop. To just take him out of here and leave her. But the words wouldn’t come, and he wiped a trembling hand across his watery eyes. A laugh bubbled out of him, spilling like gravel on cement. Every eye in the room darted to him, his sons looking incredulous, Talia scorned. Dick grimaced.
“Superman, don’t bring—” the man zoomed into the room, specks of blood staining the gray of his sleeve’s cuffs as he dropped Steph onto her feet, Damian clinging to his back. Uninjured. The relief Bruce felt was enough to bring him to tears, but he didn’t think he had stopped crying since he was brought into this room the first time.
“He was going to SAY don’t bring Damian. Fuck, man.” Jason complained, unimpressed as a wide-eyed Clark covered Damian’s eyes at superspeed while shuffling their positions. But the damage had been done and the boy tried to crawl off the alien.
“Father!” He struggled in the man’s grasp and Clark was reminded of a very angry, wet kitten as he grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt and held him against his chest to obscure his vision against the lead-lined symbol. Talia remained on the floor, the shot to the calf bleeding a lot faster than the graze to her other leg. Stephanie divested her of any remaining weapons, fury making her hands shake.
“Of course, he has become so weak as to rely on his flock of children.”
“Shut up, you fu—”
“Beloved, if you truly didn’t want to be here, you should have just said so. No need for the dramatics.”
Bruce was dumbfounded at the delusional words. Steph had heard enough. She finished off the search with a brutal roundhouse to the face, leaving the woman unconscious on the floor. The room was quiet for beat.
“D’ck?” Bruce sounded so small. Dick was still seething, close to finishing the job. He knew Jason felt the same way. But time was of the essence, and they had them both. They needed to leave. His father called his name again and he jerked out of his thoughts.
“B! Oh my God, B. I’m so sor—”
“P’nts?”
“Oh! Oh yeah—um.” He looked around the room, trying to see if his clothes were anywhere. Jason thrust a pair of sweatpants at him, eyes looking anywhere but Bruce. Dick felt them and recognized the material. He had his own couple pairs, the brand perfect for comfort whether he was exercising or just lazing around. He and Jason had stolen these from Bruce multiple times before being gifted their own. Bruce had the comforter pulled over him slightly, just enough to hide his lower body.
“Did you want—should I…?” Did Bruce want Dick to put them on for him? He was so private, and he didn’t know if B even wanted to be touched. Clark looked antsy, still holding a struggling Damian, but now his little brother was crying and oh God Dick was in way over his head and they needed to leave before Ra’s sends reinforcements.
Jason spoke with the kind of authority he should not have needed to possess at his age.
“Superman, get Spoiler and Damian out of here first.” The boy shrieked in displeasure, banging his fists against the man. Clark wiped the hurt and anger off his face and switched quickly to determined. Steph gave Talia one more kick to her profusely bleeding calf, then jumped onto Superman with a two-fingered salute. He tightened his hold on the boy and grimaced.
“Back in a jiff.”
They were alone with their father and Jason looked at the man with concern Dick had rarely ever seen leveled at the man.
“B? You with us?” His father had obviously been drugged as well as…assaulted. They had walked into what looked like the start of another assault. He did not look well, pale and about two seconds from throwing up. Dick barricaded the door, sliding a heavy dresser in front. He heard yells from down the corridor. Reinforcements. Confirmed through Oracle’s voice in the comm.
“They’ve got more coming through. Ra’s has live video feed into that room.” Jason and Dick’s eyes scanned the room, spotting at least three cameras in separate corners of the room. They were quickly demolished by several batarangs. The heavy dresser was shot back a couple inches by assassins that were now at the door. Dick dropped the pants and focused on the incoming attack, grimacing in apology to his father. Honestly, it didn’t even look like Bruce remembered the pants. Instead, he was trying to get off the bed, wrapping the bedding around himself before tumbling to the ground. At least he was covered. The dresser shoved back another couple inches. Come on, Clark.
Glass exploded inwards as Superman burst through the window. The man’s eyes were red, losing the hue in seconds as he clocked everyone’s positions in the room. He seemed to have made a calculated decision and was quickly swaddling Bruce, ignoring the cries of pain from the man. He floated for a second in the middle of the room, knees bent and calves facing the ceiling. He urgently motioned with his head, wincing at the sound of the dresser getting toppled over.
“Legs! Get on!”
Jason and Dick had never obeyed a command so quickly, jumping onto Clark’s bent legs and holding on for dear life as they tore through the roof and out into the crisp air. A minute into the journey, Clark slowed down some, and then they were cruising into the cave in what seemed like no time at all.
Cass and Alfred were standing in the med bay, a medical bed and cot set up and ready for any patients. Damian was already placed on the cot, but he jumped up at their entrance and evaded Alfred’s care. Clark froze, a Bruce burrito in his arms. The man groaned in pain, eyes glassy. Cass immediately ran to her father, reaching for him. He flinched away and she felt a horrible anger stir in her gut. Bruce looked apologetic.
“Ok’y, i’s kay, Cassie.” He tried to reassure her, a shaky smile appearing. “Jus’ strt’led.” Tentatively, she reached forward again. When he didn’t flinch, she silently layed her forehead against his, eyes closed and a firm hand gently gripping the back of his neck. Clark moved forward after the moment, placing Bruce onto the medical bed, comforter and all. Damian raced to his dad’s side, face swollen and puffy from crying, eyes red.
“Father…Father I’m—”
“Shhh…s’okay, baby. Did good.” Bruce was still wrapped up tightly, and it was making him uncomfortable. He was starting to feel trapped. Luckily, Alfred knew him well. He gently moved Damian to the side and beckoned Dick and Jason over.
“Master Jason, would you please escort Damian to the showers? After he is clean, we can treat the cuts and bruises.” At being treated like a child, Damian puffed up and prepared to argue. Jason and Dick muffled their smiles.
“Pennyworth, I do not need treatment and I do not need a babysitter when I am perfectly capable of taking a shower myself.” He glared at Jason, as if he was the one subjecting him to the perceived indignity.
“Tater tot, come on. Don’t make me dunk you into a bath instead.” Jason stepped forward teasingly. Damian looked downright affronted.
“Tt. Fine. You may stand outside while I wash myself.” The pair walked away and Tim stepped away from the computer, shyly approaching. “Glad to see you back, B. I’ll uh…let you have some privacy.” He nodded awkwardly before stepping away, clearing the area with Babs, Steph, and Cass. Leaving just Dick, Bruce, Clark, and Alfred in the immediate area. They could hear the showers, the sound of running water echoing against the vast cave walls. Alfred clapped his hands softly.
“Okay, Master Bruce, let’s get you unraveled from that monstrous blanket.” Suddenly, Bruce didn’t feel like getting out the confines of the comforter. His nakedness was still felt despite the large covering. But he nodded anyway. Clark stepped back and let Dick and Alfred move Bruce out of the blanket, replacing it with a thin medical sheet across his lower body. Bruce managed to stifle some sounds of pain, but not all. Each time one of them heard the man exhale just a little too roughly, they paused before Bruce nodded for them to continue again.
Bruce was relieved beyond words, but also ashamed. He saw the misting of Alfred’s eyes and the watery smile his oldest was trying to bravely hold; it was going to undo him. He already felt the tears once again pricking at the corner of his eyes and all he wanted to do was curl up and sob without company. The blanket was too thin and he felt like it wasn’t just Superman that could see through it if he wanted. He was surrounded by people he loved and who loved him in turn, but he couldn’t even look any of them in the eyes. He was bare chested, the marks of his victimization on display. He felt his throat tighten and blindly reached to the side, a small bin appearing in a rush of air. Acid and bile splashed against the bottom of the receptacle, burning his nostrils and esophagus. Everything still felt blurry and far away. The lights bright and sounds distant, even as Alfred called to him and rubbed his back soothingly. Alfred. Alfred will make it better. He felt a sob bubble up, lips twitching as he tried to suppress the onslaught of emotions. The shame, betrayal, and hurt that he was subjected to. The unfairness of the situation and his inability to filter the rising tide of feelings that threatened to overwhelm his composure.
“It’s okay, my boy. It’s okay.” A sob was ripped out of him at the same moment he made eye contact with his father. He launched himself to the side, into the older man’s arms as he felt the sobs wrack his body. He felt more than heard Clark and Dick leave the area, their steps soft but he could swear he felt them reverberating through the frame. But that could have been his own shaking.
“Alfred. I-I…”
“Shh, its okay. I’ve got you.” He didn’t care about how much the position hurt his sides, or how his cries just made his throat ache. He didn’t care about the bruises or aches or the fact that the bed underneath him was starting to grow wet with what he assumed were tears opening back up from his sexual assault due to the quick movements of the rescue. He gagged and Alfred just held him tighter, coming closer so he wasn’t leaning so far off the bed. He didn’t know how long they stayed there, just knew he felt wrung out at the end of it and like his eyes wouldn’t stay open. He felt Alfred stiffen suddenly.
“Master Bruce, you are bleeding.” He blearily looked at the man, followed the gaze to his lap. “I should—we need to address your injuries.” He felt a spike of panic in his stomach, adrenaline flushing the haze of drugs from his system.
“No…its—its not that bad.” Alfred’s mouth drew into a tight line, eyebrows pinched. Pitying. He didn’t want that pity. “My boy…” he grasped Bruce’s hand, so gentle that it made his heart hurt and throat clog with some emotion he couldn’t quite name. “We must treat it. Whatever happened will not make me love or respect you less.” He didn’t realize he had been looking down until Alfred’s papery hand settled on his cheek.
“Please, let me help.”
“Grayson.” Damian was wearing a large sweatshirt, one of Todd’s, as well as Tim’s sweatpants. He didn’t want to wear anything formfitting right now, choosing comfort over style. Todd stood next to him and raised an eyebrow when the younger boy paused to speak.
“Dami, you aren’t getting out of getting looked at. Especially when you’ve been gone for days.” He shook his head.
“No. I must tell you—father may not…disclose…certain injuries. I—” Tim appeared by the lockers, joining the group silently. Dick took on a sympathetic look, and Damian worried that it was for him and not his father. “—I saw…I know that…” Damian steeled himself with a shaky sigh. The words would not come to him.
“Father should not feel shame for what was done to him.”
Dick winced. He didn’t want to say it out loud, but everyone knew he had been sexually assaulted by Talia. If not from the mission itself and seeing Damian’s mom on top of their father, then from the injuries at the very least. The fact that he was brought into the cave naked and disoriented, flinching away from Cass. Basically his favorite child. He didn’t need Damian to tell him any more and could already see how the boy was struggling to say the words. Jason put a comforting hand on his youngest brother’s shoulder.
“I agree, Dami. But we know about how—how Talia may have…” Damian shook his head and made fleeting eye contact with his other brothers before continuing.
“No, that’s not…not what.” He breathed out again. “It wasn’t just…my mother.” Dick took a step back and Tim’s already pale complexion somehow lightened more. Jason stiffened next to him. “There were others…men. Four.” Todd cursed under his breathe, retracting the hand and gripping his hair with both hands. Damian couldn’t blame him for moving away. He was also disgusted with himself. He shouldn’t try to downplay his fault; should accept responsibility for what happened. Grayson and Drake looked appalled, and he felt his face flush with shame. He stepped forward, head down.
“I’m—I apologize. It was my fault. I should have—” Grayson swept forward, pulling him into an embrace. He heard the sound of a fist crashing into a locker, Drake and Todd speaking indecipherable words in the background.
“No, baby bird. None of this was your fault. Okay?” Grayson pulled apart from him, now kneeling on the hard floor.
“But—”
“No, no. And B wouldn’t want you feeling guilty either. I know he wouldn’t.”
Dick chewed on his lip, the words puttering around in his mind. One word stuck out: saw. How much did his little brother see? He felt like he was going to be sick. How demented is Talia. How far would she go?
“But, Dami…did you—how do you know about the…the men?”
“Mother made…I believe she wanted to humiliate father.” Damian felt tears beckon, and he angrily scrubbed across his face. “She wasn’t going to permit me to leave, but then she—she allowed those men to…to…” He hiccupped, “I didn’t want them to hurt him. But I just made it worse.” Dick was trying very hard to keep his emotions in check, he was glad that Jason and Tim were working out their own feelings away from them. He didn’t think he could handle more than one little brother at a time.
“Did you…see anything?” God, he didn’t even want to know.
“Just—merely her intentions. They stripped and restrained him.” Damian’s face scrunched up, “In a vulgar manner…You may see the marks for the collar and restraints on his extremities.”
“Oh, Dami…” Dick’s heart ached for his little brother, stomach sinking impossibly further as he tried to dry the boy’s unintentional tears. He looked so much younger than he liked to be perceived.
“I tried not to look before I was taken out of the room.”
“Okay, Dami. It’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”
Jason was seething, Tim close behind him physically and emotionally. He paced the shower room and tried to cool down, ignoring the younger man watching him.
“Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.” He kicked at the wall, sending a shock of pain up his foot. He didn’t really care, reeling back to aim for the stupid bat-shampoo and bat-conditioner bottles on the ground. He sent them shooting into the opposite wall, exploding upon impact.
“—Jason!” Tim had been trying to get his attention, but he didn’t want to intervene too much when he kept seeing the floating flashes of Lazarus green in his older brother’s eyes.
“Fucking what?!”
“You’re gonna freak Damian out more.” Tim had his hands folded over his chest. “You know he’s already blaming himself for this. You need to calm down.”
“I don’t need to—”
“Do you want to trigger Bruce too? You want him to hear all this?” At that, Jason deflated some, leaning back against one of the wet shower walls and sliding down the wall.
“Fuck. I’m going to—I’m gonna fucking kill them.” Jason’s voice was a harsh whisper, neck craned down and eyes boring holes into the tiles. “I – ” Tim crouched down.
“Me too. I know. Fuck, Jason. You don’t think we all want to? But we have to be there for them, first and foremost. Take shower and cool down some. Then come out when you know you aren’t going to freak B or Damian out.” Tim patted him on the shoulder and walked off.
Clark didn’t mean to eavesdrop, didn’t want to intrude on Bruce’s privacy but he couldn’t help the anxiety worming into his chest. Bruce hadn’t dismissed him and Dick, but Clark didn’t feel like it would be right to go behind the now erected curtain surrounding the medical bed where he had deposited Bruce. He hated his enhanced senses at the moment. He could smell blood, which he did not see when he first brought Bruce in. That was enough for him to stand outside the curtain and call out for Alfred.
“Hey, Alfred. Can I come in? Bruce?” the curtain moved, revealing Bruce laying on his back with the blanket pulled up to his chest. Alfred wiped at his eyes and regarded him.
“Yes, Master Kent. Would you be able to retrieve some clothes from Master Bruce’s locker? As well as a thicker blanket and new sheets in the medical closet.” He nodded, speeding over to get the needed items, not even acknowledging anyone else as he passed in a flurry. He came back just a minute later and walked into the makeshift room.
Seeing Bruce so vulnerable, so hurt…made his eyes prickle with heat. He was an investigative journalist, he knew how to put the pieces together in a scene. Clark picked Bruce up at Alfred’s direction, and he felt himself jolt when the sheets were streaked with blood. His mouth went dry, what did Talia do to him? He shouldn’t be bleeding down there, unless…
“Wha—Bruce…what—what happened?” Bruce avoided eye contact, glancing away from the bloodied sheets and breathing deeply through his nose and out his mouth. He placed the silent man back onto the now clean sheets. The others were bunched up on the floor.
“Don’t.” Clark nodded numbly, looking to Alfred. Did he even want to know? “Should I…is there anything—”
“Yes, Master Clark. If he is amenable to it, would you help Master Bruce get dressed? I will be right back with an I.V.”
Bruce scowled and Clark huffed out a laugh. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, right?” Bruce turned somber, eyes downcast as he started to pick at the bandages on his wrists.
“Don’t—don’t ask about it. Just help me.” God, how could Clark ever say no to him? Bruce never asked for help, had never even looked at him that way before, pleading for understanding but not pity.
“Okay, Bruce. I won’t ask. You can tell me, but I won’t ask.”
When Clark saw him laid bare, he didn’t have to.
Bruce was tired beyond words. He didn’t even argue when Alfred insisted on getting him fluids or when Clark insisted on re-wrapping his wrists and ankles. But he was over the pain and the pity. He didn’t want more drugs, even though Alfred insisted on giving him painkillers. He relented when Bruce told him he had been drugged enough for a lifetime. Alfred, I don’t want to feel like that again. No drugs. He was sick of the feeling, and so they compromised with a combination of Tylenol and Advil. It barely made a dent, but Bruce would rather have the pain than the loss of control.
Clark and his midwestern manners refused to leave his side, even offering to use his freeze breathe to cool any bruises, Bruce managed to hide his blush at the offer and say he was fine. He just wanted to lay down in his own bed, exhaustion pulled at his eyelids. Alfred had already put in a drip and left to take care of some things, his children somewhere else in the manor or in the cave. He was alone with Clark for now. Clark kept his questions to himself, pausing and steeling himself when he saw new injuries. Bruce was infinitely grateful for it. He knew he looked bad and it must have been killing his best friend to see the aftermath of his captivity.
The bruises had darkened considerably, etched into his skin and telling a horrible story. The markings imprinted into his throat from the collar and Talia’s strong fingers were turning purple and black; still spotted with petechiae. His voice was only getting weaker as the minutes passed. His tongue toyed with the split in his lip. He was now wearing a loose t shirt and sweatpants, which covered most of the damage. Bruce knew Clark wouldn’t use his x-ray vision to peek under, why would he when he had already seen the worst? But his arms were dotted in dark spots and cuts, face bruised. Clark covered up the worst of the marks from the restraints. And he had seen the bloody sheets and the ointment Alfred had used on his lower half. He was black and blue across his entire body and would have applied bruise cream himself if he wasn’t so sore and tired. Clark had massaged bruise cream into his stiff muscles before and while it was awkward, it wasn’t horrible. The man had a way of soothing him.
“Clark, would you—” His voice wasn’t slurred anymore, just rough and scratchy. He pointed at the cream on the cart.
“Oh- oh yeah of course. Umm…where would you…?” Bruce almost laughed at the self-conscious way Clark moved towards the cream and his hesitant words. At such a high contrast to the confidence of Superman. He threw his head back onto the pillows behind him and gestured at his arms and thighs. He felt shame color his cheeks as he thought of all the bruises littering the skin. He didn’t necessarily want another man’s hands on him at the moment, but the pain was getting to him a bit and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep without some kind of relief. Clark opened up the cream and stood awkwardly for a second, “Do you want me to—what would be easier…first?” Bruce thought of it for a second, the majority of the bruising was on his thighs and hips. That is probably where Clark should start, just to get it over with.
“Legs, please.”
After Clark helped Bruce turn himself over onto his stomach, they were able to settle with just pulling down the sweatpants while covering Bruce with a blanket where any bare skin showed that was not getting massaged. Clark could hear the man’s heartrate quick up and it was starting to worry him.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?” He wanted to help Bruce with the pain, but he didn’t want to make his best friend uncomfortable after such a harrowing experience. “I can get Alfred to—”
“No. I’m fine.” Bruce paused, voice slightly muffled by the pillow underneath his head, “Unless you don’t—”
“No, no its not that. Uh…I just…don’t want to hurt you.” Clark could hear the amusement in Bruce’s tone, could picture the smirk in the reply, “Then don’t hurt me. Easy, Superman.” He blushed, “O-kay…” He put a glob of the cream in his hands, slightly heating it up so it would feel better for the man. His hands hovered over the meat of Bruce’s left thigh, right over a handprint he wanted to erase. “I’m going to start now.”
As Clark massaged into the muscle, generous with the medicine, he felt Bruce relax into the sheets. He let out a soft, silent sigh of relief. He felt a little bit like a massage therapist, even though he was working with a mostly clothed man and trying to massage pain out of bruises instead of relaxation into muscles. Well, he could do both…and was trying just that. He managed to get down to the calf of the first leg, he felt Bruce tense, “Uhh…Bruce…?” He leaned in close, an instinct borne out of self-preservation and not the actual need to catch the sounds. He heard Bruce’s heartrate tick up again, not even registering that it had gone back down to baseline during the treatment. There was a soft puff of air, the words so weak that only he would’ve been able to hear them—even if someone else was just as close to the man, “No.”
He jumped back, as if he had been burned. He crouched down low and tried to meet Bruce’s gaze, seeing glassy, silver blue eyes. Beautiful eyes locked in terror. “Bruce!” he snapped his fingers in front of the vacant stare and Bruce flinched back, “Don’t.” Clark didn’t think he was speaking to him. The man was starting to breathe rapidly, harsh exhales punctuated by small, choked gasps of air. He didn’t know what to do, cringing as he looked around the empty area. He sent a cooling breath over Bruce’s neck before speaking again, patient and slow.
“Bruce, its okay…you’re safe. Its just me…um…Clark. Kent.” He winced, he was so bad at this, “It’s Clark, you’re just in the cave right now. I’m sorry, I didn’t—Bruce please, its okay. You’re safe…I promise.” Should he turn him back over? He didn’t want to touch the man when he was on the edge of…of something bad. He kneeled on the ground and blew another cool breeze across Bruce, aiming for his forehead this time. Bruce shivered in response and blinked slowly, lips slightly parted with a dotting of blood across a split in them. “It’s just us, Bruce. Alfred is upstairs getting some food together…ummm…” he noted the man perked up a bit at the name of the father figure, “And Tim, he’s probably brewing coffee…” he focused on in the noises in the manor, “Nope…Alfred took the pot away from him.” He rambled a bit more, talking about the kids and Alfred and their going-ons at the moment. It seemed to help. He was seeing clarity part the cloudiness of Bruce’s expression, minute trembling starting to subside into occasional jolts until Clark was rewarded with a scratchy whisper, “Clark?” Oh, thank God.
“Yeah, yeah B. It’s just me. I uh…lost you for a second there.” Bruce coughed, one hand coming to prop him on his side, the side of his head against the pillow as he addressed the other man. “I don’t—I’m sorry…I didn’t think that—that—”
“It’s okay, don’t apologize…seriously, B.” He wrung his hands, unsure of what else to say. Bruce filled the silence, the scratchy baritone cutting between them. “It-it was bad. I…uh…am not sure—I don’t know how to…” Bruce fell a bit more into the bed, taking the weight off his wrist, “…how to move past it.” It. Clark felt his heart break a little. His best friend had been hurt heartlessly, brutally…intimately; and he was already trying to get past the trauma and put on a brave face. He hadn’t even healed yet, mere hours since his rescue. He shouldn’t have this standard for himself, one he surely held for no one else. Damn Talia and Ra’s. Damn him for not being there sooner. He shakily smiled at the other man,
“B, this isn’t something you have to…move past so quickly. You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself some grace.”
“But—”
“And no matter what you’re thinking right now, I am going to be here for you. Whatever you need, okay? Alfred and the kids too.” Bruce sighed, exhaustion wearing him down. He was hurt, emotionally compromised, and worried about what the future held. He met Clark’s gaze, sapphire eyes above a smile that was more of an upturned lip. It exuded enough warmth to take away the slight chill that had settled onto his abused body. He could try and do that, give himself a little grace. Especially if it meant having those eyes focused on him, the chance of seeing the smile more often while he recovered. Maybe even after.
“Promise you won’t get sick of me?” Clark let out a huff of air, grinning now, hand paused in the space between them.
"As if I could.”