Chapter Text
Waking up from death doesn’t feel like anything Clark thought it would. When he was a kid, hearing the pastor’s sermons about walking on water and turning water into wine, Clark always thought that resurrection would be like waking up from a good night’s sleep. He thought it would feel like bathing in the sun, like all the strains in his body would wash off and he’d be born anew. Mostly, though, Clark finds that he just feels like shit.
His head is pounding, his vision blurring. All he wants to do is get away, find a place where he can sit down, curl up into a ball, press his palms over his ears and keep his eyes shut tight until he can finally hear himself. He wants to scream and fly away, but his knees are shaking and he doesn’t know if he can take off without leaving a crater behind. He can’t do it anyway, not with all these people he doesn’t know staring at him like he’s a wild animal they’re trying not to spook.
The Bat, though—he knows the Bat. He knows that it couldn’t be anyone’s fault but the Bat’s that he’s breathing right now, because even though Clark’s head is a jumbled mess right now, he knows that no one is as persistent to upturn Clark’s life as the Bat.
There was nothing for Clark, in death. No risk of his loved ones getting hurt, or innocent people getting caught in the crossfire between Clark and the people who want him out of their world. But it’s his world too, the only world he’s ever really known. He doesn’t love it in the same way he loves Krypton, because Earth is concrete where Krypton is an idea, something that could and could not have been, because he doesn’t think he would have been able to let the transgressions of the council go, just like his father didn’t.
Clark loves the Earth and its people despite their imperfections, because he grew up here and he knows there can be good in human beings. He knows they’re worth fighting for and that they’re worth everything he can give. He has given, again and again, slowly chipping away at himself until all he had left to give was his life. He doesn’t regret it though. He died knowing fully well what he was walking into and he doesn’t regret giving Lois and Ma more days on this planet he thinks of as home.
So no, there was nothing for Clark, in death. There wasn’t sunlight or peace or hope . But there wasn’t love either, and Clark remembers that now as he sees Lois step out of a car, looking terrified and optimistic and sad all at the same time. Her eyes especially are sad and her hands shake when she reaches out to touch his cheek, like she’s afraid he isn’t real.
Clark feels a phantom sting in his right wrist where a messy scrawl spells out her name, and suddenly all of his focus is on Lois, cold to the touch like she’s the one who came back from the dead instead of him. It isn’t right, and so Clark wraps his arms around her and takes her away to somewhere safe, warm. He takes her back home.
Resurrection is a messy affair, but Clark finds that but he doesn’t have to worry about anything. Apparently, Clark has Bruce to thank for his funeral, several gifts sent to Ma when he was gone, and even getting the farm back from the bank.
It’s a lot to make up for something that’s not even Bruce’s doing. Despite the thoughts that ran through Clark’s mind in his delirium post-resurrection, despite anything he said— won’t let me live, won’t let me die —when he was still coming back to himself, he doesn’t actually blame Bruce for his death. He doesn’t blame anyone, though Diana has been quick to say that if they were to pin the blame on anyone, it should be Lex Luthor for orchestrating the whole thing in the first place. Clark can tell Bruce doesn’t believe it though, because even when Bruce is joking about throwing his money away, he can’t look Clark in the eye for more than a few seconds.
“You realize you can’t stop us from finding a way to repay you for everything you’ve given us, right? Of course, it might take a while, but I don’t plan on going anywhere for a long time anyway,” Clark says, because Bruce is tense, turned towards the door like one word from Clark and he’d leave if asked. Clark—well, Clark recognizes guilt, knows it’s probably what pushed Bruce to do all those things for him and his only family, but he appreciates it anyway. He doesn’t want Bruce to leave, and he’s afraid that if Bruce somehow manages it, that maybe Bruce will find a way to never come back.
“You don’t have to. You’re not indebted to me, Clark,” Bruce says, and Clark wonders when that started, Bruce thinking of him as Clark.
Clark remembers when he was trying to figure out who the Gotham Bat was, so he could try to see the whole picture, see what made the Bat go from a vigilante who helps to one who turns a blind eye to any and all collateral damage. It wasn’t easy, but Clark wasn’t an investigative reporter for nothing, and eventually, the Gotham Bat became Bruce Wayne, tortured by the loss of a son in the hands of criminals he failed to save.
But when Clark came to ask for Bruce’s help, he was still Superman in Bruce’s eyes, still an alien, still a danger to the world. Clark doesn’t know if the shift happened when Bruce found out he had a mother he loved, or when Bruce had to see another body buried and the shift happened as a way to mourn someone who could have been a friend.
“You’re not indebted to me either, Bruce,” Clark says, softly, to lessen the impact. Still, Bruce clenches his jaw. Clark wonders what he has to do to take away even some of the weight on Bruce’s shoulders because no one deserves that much pain.
“It’s my money; it’s my choice what to do with it. A bank fits in nicely with all the other properties of Wayne Enterprises, don’t you think?” Bruce says, looking away from Clark, instead narrowing his eyes in the direction of kitchen where Ma is humming as she prepares some refreshments for the movers.
“Sure,” Clark allows. “It’s my time and money I’m offering as well, so I hope you won’t turn me away either.”
Bruce is quiet for a while, probably thinking of some way to turn Clark down. Clark is persistent though, and his Ma even more so. He also thinks that if it comes down to it, Lois won’t say no if he asks her to hound Bruce at Wayne Enterprises. Bruce isn’t the only one who can play at bullheadedness, and he’s outnumbered three-to-one.
“If that’s what you want,” Bruce says eventually, and he’s saved by Ma coming out of the kitchen with a tray in hand. Bruce moves to help her, and Clark decides he’s already done enough today.
He lets Bruce go for now.
Lois has always been one to stay late at work. While Clark always clocked out at five o’clock sharp so he could keep an eye out as Superman full-time, Lois was either typing away at her computer, brainstorming when she wasn’t putting on the last touches on another exposé, or out investigating another tip.
He thinks of Lois mostly keeping herself to fluff pieces for one long year while she mourned him, and it makes his heart clench. She’s taken another break now that he’s come back, under the guise of a family emergency, and Clark knows it’s her choice to make but he doesn’t think he can forgive himself for taking her away from the work she loves so much.
Clark can’t find it in himself to do something about it though, because he missed Lois and the feeling of peace that settles in Clark’s bones whenever he’s with her. He wants nothing more than to stay in the farm, wrapped around Lois and tracing the sharp edges of his name on her left shoulder while Ma’s in her room, sleeping soundly for the first time in a year.
“You never answered my question,” Clark murmurs.
“What question?” Lois asks. Her eyes are closed, her heartbeat steady. If she hadn’t said anything, Clark would’ve thought she was asleep. It seems like neither of them want to go to sleep, not when they could be here instead, tangled together, all too aware of each other.
“You’re wearing the ring. Is that a yes?” Clark asks, taking her hand in his. The ring is cold to the touch. Lois ducks even closer to him until Clark’s chin rests on the top of her head.
“Yes, it is. Of course I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Clark,” Lois says. Clark knows her enough to realize that her voice is shaky, like all those times she comforted him whenever he came home with his head full of the screams and cries of people he was too late to save. He wonders why she’s trying to comfort him even now.
“But?” Clark says, because there must be a but .
“But I don’t want us to rush,” Lois says, and Clark can hear the familiar lilt of determination in her voice. She pulls away slightly, reaches out with her other hand to trace the line of Clark’s jaw with her fingertips. She looks him straight in the eyes, like she always does when she wants to get a point across. “I’m not losing you again, Clark. We’re not going to exchange vows at the city hall with nobody but Martha and Dusty as our witnesses just because I’m still scared right now.”
Clark closes his eyes for a moment, bites the inside of his cheek even as he smiles because it’s just like Lois to stubbornly, meticulously plan their wedding just to spite death. He doesn’t let himself get distracted. Scared, she said. Lois Lane doesn’t scare easily, and yet because of Clark, she is.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and it’s not just because it’s what Lois wants to hear, but it’s what he intends.
Lois lets out a breath, presses their foreheads together.
“I love you,” she says, and oh . Clark missed that too.
Selfishly, Clark gives in to what he wants, decides it’s alright to keep her to himself for just a little bit more, even though he already held her within a circle of his making when he died. She’ll leave when she’s ready; she’s always been able to pick herself up no matter the situation. When that time comes, he’ll have to face the world outside Lois and Ma, but until then, he’ll bathe himself in their comfort, let them bring pieces of him back from the hole in the ground that housed him for all those months.
“I love you too, Lois.”
Lois leaves on a Sunday with promises to call Clark when she gets back to their Metropolis apartment. Clark’s left with an empty space beside him and an ache in his chest. They’ll see each other again, but first he has to find his place in the world again. With his death and Superman’s poorly hidden return, it can’t be by Lois’ side at the Daily Planet.
So Clark suits up and does his best to help. This, at least, hasn’t changed. People still look up at him, their eyes shining with hope, and they still cling to his cape, knuckles pale. He knows it’s a bad thing, that nothing seems to have improved while he was gone, that he still has to save people from muggings and dart his way through war zones. Still, some part of him can’t help but be relieved that he still has something to do—something to be.
There’s one thing that’s changed though, and it’s that Clark isn’t alone anymore. He doesn’t have to worry about the entire world anymore, because he hears Diana talking her way through a hostage situation and Bruce breathing heavily as he trudges into his manor with something heavy over his shoulder, and Clark remembers that he has other people to rely on now.
When he strains to hear anyone who needs his help, he finds himself in a rare moment of peace. There’s nothing going on that can’t be handled without him, and even Clark gets tired of flying around too. So instead, he perches himself on the roof of the Daily Planet and finds himself seeking something familiar.
Lois is on the other side of the city, sneaking around the port. She doesn’t need his help, but he’ll keep an ear out for her, just in case. Ma’s fallen asleep in front of the television, Dusty curled in her lap, so Clark will probably have to stop by and wake her up if she doesn’t in time for dinner. Bruce is still in his manor, working quietly alongside Alfred. The last time they saw each other, Clark made a promise to repay Bruce, and he intends to make good on that promise. It probably won’t be with money, because Bruce can easily come up with excuses to refuse that, what with his multibillion-dollar company and his sizeable inheritance. What Clark can do is worm his way into Bruce’s life, be the friend that he could have been if he hadn’t died until Bruce realizes that Clark needs a friend and a confidant first before he needs some kind of benefactor.
From what he’d researched after Lex Luthor’s party all those months ago, he knows that Bruce Wayne’s parents died when he was nine, that he was raised by Alfred, and that while Clark was on the verge of self-discovery, Bruce had to mourn for one of his sons. Of course, Bruce Wayne by no means seems like he would be a man lacking in company, but his first son is off working in another city and the only family he has left by his side is Alfred. Bruce has just one person who really, truly knows all the facets of his life carefully held together by the catches of his Batsuit and the buttons of his thousand-dollar suits, and it makes something turn over in Clark’s chest. Bruce Wayne may go above and beyond the usual human capabilities, but he is still human. He must get lonely too, and that’s something Clark’s intimately familiar with, something he would never wish on anyone.
Now, Bruce has the team, and he has Clark too, whether he likes it or not. They may not know him well, but they will with effort and in time. Clark made a promise to repay Bruce for everything he’s given Clark, and the first step in making good of that promise could be to start helping with building the team’s headquarters.
It’s just him, Bruce, and Alfred most of the time. Clark doesn’t have much experience with renovations or interior design besides decorating the barn loft his parents allowed him to spend his days in when he was a teenager and privacy was suddenly the most important thing in the world, so for the most part, Alfred and Bruce lay out the plans and Clark just does what they ask him to do. They work for most of the day, only taking breaks when Bruce has a meeting or when Bruce has to go on patrol.
At first, when it is just the three of them, Clark feels like he’s intruding. Even when they’re all working in silence and even when Alfred clearly tries to include him in conversation in the rare case that there is, Clark still feels like he can’t find his place in their dynamic. They work so seamlessly already, just the two of them, that Clark feels like he’s ruining some sort of flow when he has to ask them if there’s anything else he can help with. He wonders if they have each other’s names, or if their relationship is just a product of living and working with each other for decades.
Clark has his Ma’s name on his scalp, hidden under his hair right next to Pa’s name. When he was a kid, his Ma would tuck him in at night, and every time, she’d kiss him right on the top of his head where her name is. She still does sometimes, when he comes to her feeling like he’s broken into a million pieces scattered all over the world. Having someone like Ma, knowing they’re meant to take care of each other for as long as they both live, makes Clark breathe a little easier, his days a little bit brighter. He knows that soulmates aren’t the be-all and end-all of relationships a person can have, and Clark has people like Pete, Perry, Jenny, and the team who he will always care about, but being soulmates is validation that Clark can’t help but long for. Clark hopes that Bruce, for all his brooding and his reluctance to open up and distribute the weight on his shoulders, has someone there for him the way Ma and Lois are there for Clark.
He sees it sometimes, when Bruce sits on the floor, head in between his knees and his hair sticking to his face, tired after hours of nonstop work. Always, Alfred brings him a glass of water and runs a hand through his hair until Bruce finally resurfaces. It’s there too, in the looks Bruce gives Alfred when he thinks no one can see—sad looks, the inside of his cheek bitten until it bleeds, like he’s asking himself why Alfred stays with him and can’t bring himself to actually say it out loud because he’s afraid of what the answer would be. That’s stupid though, because Clark doesn’t need to see much of them to know that the reason Alfred stays is that he loves Bruce.
Alfred loves Bruce, and he loves seeing Bruce surrounded by friends and family, people who care about him. It’s why Clark isn’t surprised when Alfred asks him to stay after a quiet day, when the look in Bruce’s eyes are a touch too dark, matching the bags under his eyes, when there are fresh crescents of blood on his palms, probably after a particularly bad dream that morning.
“I’m making roast chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner, if that’s to your liking,” Alfred says as he wipes his hands with his apron, stained with dirt and paint. Bruce is leaning against the door out of the manor, looking at them with a small smile that makes the shadows under his eyes seem a little less severe.
“Thank you, Alfred. I would like that,” Clark says.
He follows them to the lakehouse, where Alfred makes him take a shower in the guest bedroom. He dresses in Bruce’s clean clothes and drinks a mugful of hot cocoa in the kitchen while waiting for dinner. Bruce is sitting next to him, very much in the same situation except with a tablet in his hand, keeping busy reading news articles. Bruce lets him look over his shoulder, so Clark reads along and notices a pattern.
“Are you looking for more people like us?” Clark asks.
“What makes you think so?” Bruce counters. He stops scrolling, looks up from an article about a series of drug busts in Seattle, where the police would come in to see the dealers already tied up for them. The only reason it’s known to the public is because a reporter managed to get there before the police on the most recent case.
All Bruce has been reading about are anonymous tips, criminals suddenly giving themselves up to the police, and even reports of an invisible man. It isn’t hard to connect the dots, especially given what Bruce has already done in the past, putting the team together, and Clark says as much.
Bruce nods, smiles a little like he’s satisfied, and Clark wonders if this is the smile that his kids saw when they made a breakthrough in a case, or when they grasped something in training. It feels a little bit like the question was some kind of test, like Bruce wanted to see whether or not Clark still has the wits and instinct of a reporter. Maybe it’s just how Bruce engages with people, like a detective waiting for company, someone to match his wits and to solve the next mystery with him.
“We could always use more people on the team,” Bruce says.
Clark thinks of the last time they had to work as a team, of all the people they could have saved if there were more of them in more places. They did enough, but they could have done more, and that’s why they’re rebuilding the manor with more than six people in mind.
Clark loves this world, and he’s been given a second chance to protect it. There are probably so many people out there who can do good, or who already do more even though they don’t have to, and the team needs those people if they want to be better prepared for another full-scale invasion like what happened with Zod and Steppenwolf.
“Can I help?” Clark asks.
“You already do,” Bruce murmurs, and he looks away, but he doesn’t lean away from Clark or hide the tablet away, so Clark can’t decide if it’s a dismissal or something else entirely.
Clark feels—disconnected, like there was a string connecting them, taut until Bruce reached between them and cut it. He feels like he knows what this is about, because Bruce has taken his job as one of the leaders of the team seriously and it’s clear to Clark that he tends to take everything on himself, no matter how many people he has on his side, but those three words have a weight to them that feels like it’s something more . It feels like it’s something that Bruce didn’t actually mean to say out loud and that makes something in Clark back down. Clark doesn’t truly understand what Bruce means, but asking would only touch on things Bruce doesn’t want to talk about.
Clark doesn’t want to ruin this moment, warm with the steam rising from their mugs and the heat radiating from the lights above the counter, so he leaves Bruce be. He lets Bruce have the last word, ducks his head and reads along as Bruce starts scrolling again.
He notices, later, that his breaths have lined up with Bruce’s. It’s not the first time Clark’s done it unconsciously, though it’s the first time with Bruce. Clark doesn’t think about it for too long.
Sometimes, someone else from the team comes to work with them.
Barry’s Barry, so he fills the silence with endless stories about his job and his hobbies and his life in general. Sometimes, he makes a joke that surprises a laugh out of Bruce, and Clark sees Barry turn away and smile, like making Bruce laugh is a game he’s won. He brings something out in Bruce that reminds Clark that Bruce is more than Batman or a Wayne, that Bruce has two sons that he misses. Bruce laughs, he leans into Barry’s fleeting side-hugs, and he actually listens to Barry because he wants to. He cares about this kid. Clark wonders if Bruce was this bright when Dick and Jason were still in his life, and something in Clark—a selfish part of him—wants to see it more often.
Diana comes in like a hurricane, somehow getting promises out of both Clark and Bruce to take care of themselves and to meet up for coffee outside of work like friends do. Then she walks away to settle down with Alfred, chatting good-naturedly with him about art, literature, rumors and uncorroborated accounts about figures of history that seem so absurd to Clark that he wonders sometimes if Alfred and Diana are just making things up to entertain each other. Bruce makes the funniest faces when he eavesdrops right along with Clark, like he can’t believe some of what he’s hearing either. Clark supposes there must be at least one thing that Bruce isn’t an expert in, and there’s no one who knows history better than someone who’s actually lived it. Diana is a steady presence, solid and dependable, ever patient and relentless in her efforts to bring them out of their shells. She knows loneliness as they do, has had decades of experience with it, of learning how to cope and learning to stand back up. Somehow, just knowing that is a comfort.
Arthur takes up the whole room. His laugh is loud and hearty in a way that makes Clark want to laugh along, no matter how stupid and corny the jokes that precede them are. He reminds Clark of Pa, of Pa’s friends who laugh and drink on the weekends but come home to kiss their children goodnight. Arthur likes to tease and drink all manners of beer, and he loves to rile Bruce up. On the other hand, he’s loyal and he’s good and he cares . Clark knows he’s balancing the team and Atlantis, trying to keep the two halves of his self contained, knit together. Clark also knows that it’s hard, trying to do that without everything falling apart. Arthur manages it with a smile though, and Clark admires him for it. It’s a small thing to let Arthur get away with his teasing and his harmless jokes, because for him, the team is safe . It’s the same way for most of them, because they all understand each other to some extent, brought together by their abilities and their otherness.
Victor is quiet, until he isn’t, and then he and Bruce have made soundboards out of each other for their endless ideas. Victor tells them everything he wants to do and make and improve. He talks about the future of the team like it’s concrete, and it gives Clark hope that maybe they’re not just fumbling their way around with only vague notions of their long-term goals and half-baked plans for it. Victor grows into himself under Diana’s wing, but he also thrives under Bruce and Alfred’s. Victor just fits with everyone on the team, even when he’s not actively trying to. It makes Clark wonder, at times, if it’s enough to remind Victor that he’s human, that he didn’t die in that explosion. Clark hopes that it is, but he knows how hard it can be, knows from experience that there are times that even the team can’t help with the feeling of isolation.
Clark still feels like he’s buried underground sometimes, like he’s stuck, held in place and forced to watch everyone else live on as he slowly turns to dust. He’s had to set an alarm every hour because too often has he found himself losing track of time while flying or sitting on rooftops, just watching the colors of the sky change, listening to the world around him, but not really doing anything himself.
Clark figured out early on that the best way to deal with it is to surround himself with familiar things. It’s not just because he misses Ma that he makes so many trips back to Kansas in the middle of the day. When he’s at the farm, lying on his bed, he listens to Ma go through the motions of her day, leaves rustling in the wind outside, and he lets all these sounds wash over him. It makes him feel like he’s back in high school, lazing around on a weekend, waiting for a text from Pete about meeting up and getting milkshakes with Lana. It’s the closest Clark comes to feeling alive again, the closest he comes to seeing himself.
Sometimes, it starts even when he’s with the entire team, especially when they pair off after meetings, starting their own conversations as they catch up. Clark tries so hard not to, but he starts to feel detached, like he’s just looking in from the outside, a ghost trying to communicate. He gets along fine with everyone, sure, but sometimes it’s hard to put a smile on his face to greet them, or to respond to a hug, or find the right words. It makes him feel like he’s not right for being unable fit in with people who are like him.
There are small mercies, though, because he finds he’s always happy enough working with Bruce and Alfred in silence. After spending so many days with them, Clark slowly settles. Alfred hands him a tool he needs, and Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder as he points something out to Clark, and Clark never needs to say anything to know he’s alive. Maybe it’s because they’ve had experience integrating someone into their dynamic because of the two children they’ve already welcomed into their secretive lives, but they manage to make Clark feel better without him having to ask for it.
So it’s not a surprise when Clark listens to the chaos of having the entire team working together in the manor, finds himself drowning, and having none other than Bruce to come and pull him back to shore. Arthur and Diana are off to one side, arguing about their choice of weapons as they paint the walls. Barry, Victor, and Alfred are rechecking the room measurements so they can finalize the list of furniture to order. Barry’s trying to convince Victor to come to a concert with him, so it’s really Alfred who’s doing most of the work. Bruce is with Clark, painting another side of the room, and Clark is fine until he isn’t.
Clark—needs to breathe. He needs to put down the roller he’s holding before he makes a mess. He needs to move, and the simplest way to start is to breathe . He’s dealt with worse before. He’s in a big room with high ceilings, surrounded by people he can trust. There’s nothing to worry about. He can breathe if he wants to.
There’s a hand on his bicep, steadying him. It’s Bruce.
“Clark? Do you need to step out?” he asks. His heartbeat is quick but his tone is soft and calm, his breaths—in, out, in, out.
“Clark,” Bruce repeats. His hand is on Clark’s nape now, thumb stroking his skin—up, down, up, down—in time with his breaths. He must be doing it on purpose, the same way he means to keep his voice down and to duck into Clark’s space so that he’s almost whispering in Clark’s ear. Bruce’s voice is an island in the middle of nowhere, giving Clark a reason to kick his legs in the water and swim . Bruce’s touch is the first handful of sand that Clark clings to when he gets to land.
“I’m fine,” Clark says, and he is, now. He grasps Bruce by the elbow, keeps Bruce’s hand held where it is. “Sorry.”
“No need to be sorry,” Bruce says. He keeps up the rhythm, and Clark clings to him still. He wonders if Bruce has always known this about Clark, that he’s prone to breaking down at the smallest of things—even at nothing. He wonders how many more times this will happen, how many times until Bruce realizes Clark didn’t come back right . Maybe he already knows, but stays because he feels like he owes Clark something, but Clark doesn’t like to think about that possibility. Bruce is perceptive though; even if he doesn’t know like Clark hopes, it won’t take long for him to see.
“Sorry,” Clark repeats, because it’s all he can say without having to lie. He doesn’t thank Bruce either, because thanking him means an end to this , and Clark finds that he doesn’t want to let go yet.
Bruce purses his lips, but he doesn’t say anything more about it. He just continues what he’s been doing, pulling pieces of Clark back together. It feels like he has more control of Clark’s body than Clark himself, breathing air into his lungs, over and over until Clark can manage on his own. The list of things Bruce has done for him grows longer and longer, while Clark feels like he’s done nothing but the bare minimum to assuage Bruce’s guilt. It’s misplaced guilt, yes, but it’s still there, even though Bruce has been told so many times that he isn’t at fault.
“I think I need some water,” Clark says. He doesn’t pull away though; he doesn’t want to let go until he needs to.
He wonders how they reached this point, from beating each other down on the edge of Gotham, to —whatever this is. Bonded by unhealthy notions of owing each other and knowing each other too well despite never really talking about themselves. He doesn’t hate it though, wants to stay in this bubble for as long as he can.
Bruce doesn’t let go either. His hand goes from Clark’s nape to Clark’s shoulder, down his arm. He takes the roller from Clark’s hand and sets it down.
“I’ll come with you,” Bruce says. When he finally pulls away, it feels like he’s giving Clark a choice to make.
Clark is hyper-aware of Bruce, how he holds himself so calmly, breathing even and hands kept at his sides, relaxed. If Clark were to reach out, he could easily touch him. Maybe that’s the point, and so that’s what he does.
Clark holds Bruce by his elbow, and pulls him along.
They work and work until finally, they finish building the team’s headquarters over the charred remains of Bruce’s past. Suddenly, Clark doesn’t have something concrete to fill his days anymore. There’s nothing left for the team to do except plan and wait and look for others like them, which is just as well considering that the world would need to be under threat of ending for all of them to reunite in battle. So Clark goes back to flying and helping, saving people all day. He’s doing good; he’s doing what he can to help people. Still, he can’t help but feel like there’s a void in him, a gaping hole that spreads a phantom itch in his arms and in his hands that makes him want to reach for something . He doesn’t know what exactly, until he does.
It takes seeing Lois in action to make him admit to himself what’s wrong. He misses the quiet satisfaction of a well-written, thoroughly researched story, the rush of sneaking around when he’s out in his Clark Kent button-up and specs, doing research for a piece. He misses actually talking to other people, hearing their stories instead of just their terrified cries.
He hears Lois’ heartbeat speed up when he’s in the middle of stopping a bank robbery. He’s always been attuned to her heartbeat ever since that first night she sneaked into the Kryptonian ship and got herself injured for a shot, so he knows she tries to keep herself calm when she’s working. She needs her hands steady if she’s going to takes pictures, after all, and her mind alert if she wants to remember all the little details that might be important to her story. Clark knows to only go and help when she’s nervous, when she’s realized she can’t get out of a situation without putting herself in danger or compromising the story.
So Clark makes quick work of the robbery, resolves to check on the bank’s employees later, and flies to her. She’s in an abandoned building in one of the poorer parts of Metropolis, stuck in a room with three children whose captors are back sooner than she expected. Clark blasts through the wall separating Lois from him and get the children out first because they’re the ones who wouldn’t be able to protect themselves and they’re the ones that Lois is trying to save.
“Everything’s going to be fine now,” Clark tells them, looking each of them in the eyes and letting his lips curve up into a reassuring smile. “You’ve all been very brave, but let me take care of the rest, okay?”
They all cling to each other with the same look in their eyes—terrified and amazed and relieved all at once, but still unyielding in the midst of it all. There is alarming strength in kids, Clark finds. No matter if he finds them in the middle of a war zone or a kidnapping or whatever crime kids shouldn’t have to witness or be subjected to, they always come out of it with their grips tight on his cape and their faces set with determination to go back to their families intact.
So it’s no surprise to Clark when they nod at him, even though it lights a fire in Clark’s gut, makes him think that maybe he should just get Lois out of there and bring the entire building down on the people who took these children from where they belong. He knows it’s wrong and he won’t end up doing it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to see them suffer. He will but he has to do it the proper way. Anyway, if Lois has anything to do with it, they’ll be behind bars soon enough. It has to be enough for Clark.
When he goes back for Lois, it’s just in time to see five men rushing into the room, guns blazing, the door banging against the wall in their haste. Clark doesn’t hesitate to put himself in front of Lois, feels the bullets bounce off his chest and doesn’t think about what would’ve happened if he were even a moment too late. Instead, Clark does what he’s supposed to and stops them before they can come up with a plan other than just guns . He’s been in enough of these situations that there’s a list of boxes to tick in his head. Be aware of all weapons they have, be aware of their positions at all times, make sure the people he has to protect are safe, end things quickly so he can give them peace of mind and let their hearts rest.
So he does, and so he ticks each of those boxes one by one. Finally, when the police have arrived with their handcuffs and the backs of their cars ready with blankets to keep the kids warm on their way home, Clark is left with Lois.
“They’re part of a new organization. They’re smaller fish, but the police might get something out of them,” Lois tells him. He doesn’t even have to ask. “Kidnapping. I suspect human trafficking as well, but I don’t have anything concrete to prove it.”
Clark’s lips press into a grim line. He feels anger surge in him again, but he clenches his jaw and tamps it down.
“You’ll update me?” Clark asks Lois instead, because he intends to see this through. He knows she and the police will be able to handle it from here, but he wants to know that there’s one less thing to worry about in the world. Kids may be survivors when faced with adversity, but they shouldn’t have to be in a bad situation in the first place.
“Of course I will,” Lois promises, and how could Clark have forgotten? How could he have thought that the only thing he could do now as Superman was to face trouble as it came?
He became an investigative reporter so he could be first at the scene, so he could stop criminal organizations at their root, take them down in one fell swoop with a USB full of their dirt. The Daily Planet isn’t the only place he can be a reporter, even though Clark will always feel attached to it, tethered to people like Lois and Jenny who are driven by the same ideals and morals as Clark, people like Perry who despite all stern words against a farmboy’s propensity to bite off more than he can chew, holds up the Planet’s mission and vision when it counts.
Clark can still be an investigative reporter; he just won’t be able to do it under his name anymore. Now, he just has to find a story to write.
It feels like an eternity before Clark sees the team again. It’s only actually been a week, but time is something precious and Clark tries to stretch out every second that he can when he’s out there, cape flapping in the wind while people’s lives are in his hands. His week is a blur of hope-filled faces and outstretched hands, and by the end of it Clark is tired . He’s happy that he’s able to help but seeing hope also means seeing the cruelty of humanity, because they’re two sides of the same coin no matter how Clark hates it.
Clark had the privilege of growing up with his parents who loved him, nurtured him, protected him. They’re the ones who worried about him, who told him that there can be darkness in humanity, but despite that, Clark has always held hope that there is more light than dark. Even in his travels, he met more good people than bad. Both Bruce and Diana are more aware of it, or perhaps the better way to put it is that they’ve just been exposed to cruelty more.
Bruce delved deep into the dark of his own volition just to understand how people tick, how they’ve allowed the dark to hold them by their necks and put a gun into their hands. Bruce has seen the worst of it, has been broken by it, and yet he still stands today.
Diana lived through three wars started by humans, and while she’s seen humanity’s eagerness to go back to peace, she’s also seen their apparent inability to stay at peace. Even after all that, she remains by their side, stands firm with her intent to protect them, even though she did come close to losing her way.
Clark wonders if Diana as she is now is how he will be in the future, generations from now, seeing as he has been gifted by this Earth’s yellow sun with an all but immortal body. It’s a curse, truly, and Clark knows that. He may not have seen as much as Diana yet, or experienced as much as she has, but he sees the wistful look in her eyes sometimes when she looks up at the sky, fingers tracing the inside of her left bicep, and he knows that she has someone long gone who she loved and will always love. Clark knows that someday he’ll be looking up at the sky and thinking of Lois, seeing her face in the stars and feeling her warmth in the way the sun kisses his skin. Even then, Clark hopes he will still be protecting humanity. Whether it’s from themselves or from outside forces, he hopes that he will never waver. This is his planet, has been ever since Martha and Jonathan Kent picked up a baby and decided he was theirs.
That’s what this team means to Clark. This team will not die with the six of them. It will live on with the people they will find from here on out, the people who they will eventually train and trust and consider their friends. It will live on with Diana as a guiding hand, ready to lead them, and Clark hopes he can grow to be someone who will stay by her side, a pillar on which she can build them up further.
So when Bruce says that a new meta in Seattle has come out in the open in an eye-catching red suit, calling himself Shazam, Clark feels excitement spark in his chest. That’s one more person—one more who’s trying to do the same thing they are.
“Is that a lightning bolt on his suit? Very Harry Potter,” Barry remarks, which makes Victor roll his eyes and Arthur’s eyebrows to furrow because he’s a stereotypical old man who is out of touch when it comes to pop culture.
Bruce replays the clip from twitter, and once again they see Shazam save a bus full of children he jokes around with after. Just for that, for trying to help the kids distract themselves from what could have happened, Clark trusts him.
“He seems like he’ll fit right in,” Diana says, eyebrows raised. She sounds resigned, just like she does when Barry starts zooming around the place and talking their ears off, or when Arthur makes a pun that even Clark can’t appreciate. She’s definitely the most mature out of all of them, probably just because no one else is willing to take up the responsibility, and Shazam doesn’t seem like he’s going to change that.
“He doesn’t seem like a threat, but we can monitor him through the news and social media before approaching him, seeing as he’s not doing anything to hide himself,” Bruce says, concluding his report.
“I can go,” Clark finds himself saying. It’s a product of impulse, but he tastes the tail-end of the idea on his tongue and finds that he doesn’t mind it. “Metropolis has been quiet lately, and anyway, I was thinking maybe I could piece together an article about him while I’m there.”
Bruce looks at him, considering, and if he’s surprised, it doesn’t show.
“If you’re sure,” he says eventually. Then, his attention is back on his tablet, probably already speeding through a list of things Clark will need in his head.
“I’ll come with you,” Bruce continues. “I’ll send you the details later.”
A part of Clark, the part that’s worried Bruce is only offering because he’s worried about Clark doing something new, wants to say that he can handle himself, that Diana and Bruce both did recon and approached their current teammates alone. At the same time, he also wouldn’t mind the company, the sense of something familiar, but it’s a luxury with their meager number of six and with a whole city that Bruce has his hands in. Clark finds himself automatically turning to Diana, because her word holds just as much weight as Bruce does, and because she’s the one Clark can trust to know whether something is reasonable or not.
She smiles at him, placating, and Clark’s next breath comes a little easier.
“Two is better than one, after all,” she says, and that’s the end of it.
Three days later, Clark finds out what it means to live the life of a billionaire. He meets Bruce at the lake house, holding a carry-on stuffed with clothes both civilian and not, his camera bag slung over his shoulder. Alfred drives them to Bruce’s private hangar, which is surprisingly not as massive as it could be considering who owns it, and they take a quick jet ride to Seattle.
It shouldn’t be so different from flying the skies as Superman, and really, Clark’s faster than any plane a human being can come up with in the next few decades, but it still feels different. Maybe it’s the five-star service, the smell of well-maintained leather, the ready smiles as one of the crew asks him if he’s comfortable or if he wants anything to drink. Whatever it is, it overwhelms Clark. He always did feel out of his depth in the charity balls and fundraisers that Perry forced him into, with the stuffy suits he had to wear and the stuffier people he’s had the misfortune to talk to.
Of course, it gets worse—or better, depending on the perspective. After the private jet, Bruce leads him to a five-star hotel where they’re welcomed like they own it, a line of staff greeting them at the door. Maybe Bruce does own it, because there’s no one he could trust to house him more than his own people.
“We’ll have to be on standby starting tomorrow so get some rest tonight,” Bruce says once they’re left alone in the penthouse suite. Bruce shrugs off his coat and immediately puts down roots on the couch in the parlor, claiming the coffee table for himself. “I’ll set an alert for any mention of Shazam on the police radio. You’ll keep an ear out as well?”
“Sounds good,” Clark says. He leaves his bags by the door of the smaller bedroom and lets his feet take him to the balcony, separated from the suite by reinforced glass doors. The wind is biting when he steps outside, tasting of rain and earth. He closes his eyes for a moment, lets himself feel it. In the middle of this unfamiliar place in an unfamiliar city, he at least has the familiar feeling of the wind trying to force him off-balance and the knowledge that Bruce is just a few paces away, a rock Clark can rely on.
“I’m going to take a nap,” Clark decides, because he’s in an odd moment of peace, lulled into a feeling of safety, and he wants to take advantage of it. “Wake me up when it’s time for dinner?”
When he turns, he finds Bruce frozen on the couch, looking at him. His hair is in disarray, probably because of the wind, and for a moment, Clark feels sheepish that he didn’t think to close the glass doors while he was outside. He wasn’t really paying attention, distracted as he was by his thoughts.
“Sorry about that. I should have closed the door behind me,” Clark says. He doesn’t say anything like you should have said the wind was too strong, Bruce, because Bruce is prone to letting him do whatever he wants and it would be moot. It’s a complete reversal of Bruce and Clark before, when a single misstep of Clark’s would be amplified, blown up into another reason to mark him as a threat. It’s another way that Bruce is compensating, though Clark can’t really tell if it’s intentional, if Bruce is consciously holding himself back from anything that he thinks might offend Clark.
Clark crosses the room and reaches out, tries his best to flatten Bruce’s hair in apology, hopes they’ll settle someday from this tentative peace that stems from the miracle of Clark’s rebirth. Bruce startles, and immediately turns back to what he was working on.
“It’s fine,” Bruce says, and for a split second, Clark wonders if it really is. Maybe it’s because Clark can’t see the look in Bruce’s eyes, or maybe it’s because he was reminded of the them that was before, but now the wounds that were supposed to have closed when Clark died have reopened, and the peace Clark felt on that balcony has gone as quickly as it came.
Maybe it’s because here in this too large hotel suite, they’re disconnected from the rest of the world, without a buffer between them, and Clark doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s suddenly unsure of himself, and he doesn’t know if he should push, or if he should take Bruce’s word for it. He wants to believe that nothing is wrong, wants to hold onto this thing—this understanding—that they have, so Clark tries his best to shake it off, tries to file it away as an irrationality. He pulls his hand back slowly, threads of doubt trying to keep him from letting go.
“I’ll be here,” Bruce says, and it feels like another lie.
Clark makes himself walk away, every step fueled by the hope that he’ll wake up and all his worries will be washed away like a dream. But his stomach remains heavy and the relief of sleep is a long time coming.