Chapter Text
Bruce stood by the kitchen island, scanning the suit schematics in front of him while listening to Alfred’s assessment on its potential performance. They still had a long way to go before finalizing the new design, but as it stands, these plans showed promise.
As they wrapped up their conversation, they slipped into their usual routine of Alfred urging Bruce to rest and Bruce politely but thoroughly ignoring him. The back and forth continued until a gust of wind announced a very unexpected, but recognizable guest.
“Clark.” Bruce shut his eyes, took a deep calming breath, and opened them directly into a glare at his friend. “What are you doing here?”
Clark, currently in his full Superman attire, cape and all, was standing a few feet away on the opposite side of the kitchen island. Up until a second ago, only air had occupied that space, now that air was wreaking havoc on the pile of paper schematics laid out before him. Alfred had already set about the task of neatly gathering the displaced papers, equally annoyed as Bruce but significantly more skillful at subtle meditative practices.
“I- Um- Bruce? I need to talk to you. I.. I just…” Superman stammered, clenching and unclenching his fists and looking thoroughly uncomfortable standing in front of them. His eyes wandered, never settling on anything in particular but clearly avoiding any form of eye contact. He didn’t even seem to want to look at them at all, let alone their faces.
Something seemed off about his friend. Best friend, perhaps, if Bruce were another man who was more secure in his vulnerable emotions. Then again, if he were that type of man, he was unlikely to just leave it at “friends”. Alas, here he was, doomed to pine in willful ignorance for all of eternity.
“Clark?” Bruce addressed him again, this time with concern and not annoyance. He slowly set his coffee mug down on the counter in front of him, careful not to make any sharp movements or sounds. The implications of being in full costume didn’t go unnoticed by Bruce or Alfred. Whatever was going on, it was unlikely to be a simple or mundane problem.
Superman kept stammering, but his voice dropped to a whisper as he maintained eye contact with the floor.
Slowly moving around the counter, Bruce approached Clark, hands visible at his side. He wasn’t sure what he should be prepared for, but it never hurt to approach with caution. He also wanted to try and get eye contact if possible, if only to better ground him. “Clark, look at me.”
As if only just noticing Bruce’s physical presence, Superman’s eyes darted up, finally making eye contact.
“God, your eyes are pretty.”
Bruce froze mid-step, his mind rebooting after such an abrupt and intimate confession.
Alfred, on the other hand, did not stop. In fact, he seemed to speed up in gathering the last few pieces of paper and making a silent retreat back down to the batcave. Bruce barely noticed, of course, as his brain was not back online yet.
“Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. It just popped into my head and then out my mouth and I can’t stop, I don’t know what’s wrong, oh god please say something Bruce, please, I’m-.”
Bruce’s hand jolts up, shushing Superman as he finally starts to realize the nature of the visit.
“Were you on a mission?” Bruce decides to ignore the comment he’s clearly not ready to process and just starts with the facts.
“No. Well, yes. Maybe? I don’t know. It wasn’t official, it never really feels official if you’re not involved, but Z needed help. Well, not really the Justice League type of help but with something more personal and I mean I wasn’t exactly busy cause Metropolis was pretty quiet tonight and I was already dressed up and it always takes so much effort to get this hair to behave so I thought I might as well meet with her and then we got to talking and she said some things I couldn’t really understand- well- I mean I understood the words I just couldn’t really relate I guess- but then she said some things I really didn’t understand and they kinda sounded something like ‘ Ti od, Ti kniht. ’ and I mean I know a lot of languages but I had no idea what that one was so that was weird but then-”
“Clark.” Bruce cut him off. For all of Superman’s ramblings about not understanding what some else was saying, Bruce could honestly say he understood if only by shared experience. Bruce would have chuckled - internally, of course - at the irony of it all if this behaviour wasn’t so unsettling.
“So, you were talking to Zatanna, and then what? Did someone attack you? Is Zatanna okay?” It would be highly unlike Clark to leave someone behind, especially if they were injured or in danger. He also was not the type of person to delay in a rescue attempt by making a social call, either.
“What? No, Zatanna’s just fine. We were talking and then I came here.” Superman looked genuinely confused as to why Bruce was even asking.
“So you talked, nothing happened, and you supersped into my kitchen to tell me… What, exactly?”
“I wanted to see you. I missed you. Normally I would just listen for heartbeats if I wanted to make sure someone was okay but I know you hate when I do that so I try hard not to but I couldn’t stop thinking about you so here I am so I can just see you in person but now that I think about it you hate having metas in Gotham and while I’m not a metahuman since I’m not even human at all I know what your intentions were so obviously I’ve just ruined your evening and I should just-”
“Clark!” Once again, Bruce startled Clark out of his ramblings. “Slow down. Just take a deep breathe and we’ll take this one step at a time.”
Superman closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for longer than probably any human could comfortably manage, before slowly exhaling, letting the tension in his shoulders dissipate. Having clearly calmed down, he opened up those stunning blue eyes, curled his lips into that brilliant smile, looked directly into the depths of Bruce’s soul and said, “I love how you’re so good at that, Bruce.”
For the second time in mere minutes, Bruce was faced with feelings he still has no idea how to handle. He had trained his body and mind for decades to become the man he was today. He mastered more forms of martial arts than most men can even name. He studied under the brightest minds to become an intellectual elite. He overcame the limitations of humanity, achieving a level of control over his circulatory and nervous systems that medical professionals thought impossible. All of his masters and mentors prepared him to overcome every threat known to man. Obviously, man’s knowledge stopped just shy of Kryptonian kilowatt smiles.
When you can’t prevent an attack, the next best thing is to dodge it. Bruce turned on his heels and walked as fast as he could down the hall.
He had only managed to make it partway down the hallway before he heard an extremely panicked voice call out for him, “Bruce! Wait, please don’t leave me, it hurts, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, please don’t hate me.”
Bruce stopped just as suddenly as he had bolted, turning back to look at Clark. He hadn’t known Clark was in pain, that changed everything. Pain was a symptom, a signal of something wrong, a clue to unravel the mystery of an unseen attack on a man who shouldn’t be able to experience pain.
“Clark-”, another whoosh of wind ruffled Bruce’s hair as he found himself just inches away from that stupidly perfect face. Tonight was supposed to be his night off from patrol, he was not prepared for this relentless onslaught of attacks. Refocusing, he continued, “Where does it hurt? What are your symptoms?”
“I- Um- It- I can’t, Bruce, what if you…” Superman mentally retreated back into his mumbling, fidgeting stance, his eyes losing focus and his thoughts spiraling.
Bruce reached out and gently grabbed Superman’s wrist, squeezing lightly to help ground his friend back in reality. Bruce lowered his head a little to help catch Superman’s gaze back from the floor, and was rewarded with those brilliant baby blues.
“I want to help you, Clark, but I need to know where it hurts.” Bruce resisted his growing bolt reflex and maintained eye contact. Looking straight into someone’s eyes always felt far too intimate and he often avoided the sensation whenever possible, but Clark needed help staying grounded. Clark needed this.
“It hurts here.” Superman gently turned his wrist under Bruce’s hand, grabbing his wrist in return and guiding it up to his chest. Bruce maintained eye contact as Superman flattened his palm against his beating heart and pressed his own hand on top of Bruce’s.
Bruce was thoroughly regretting how unprepared he was. And Clark, bless his heart, took Bruce’s silence as an opportunity to finish off his attack combo with one hell of an uppercut.
“I want to kiss you so bad. I want to, but you’ll hate me, but it hurts, I just… Bruce…” Superman stared back into his eyes, searching, pleading and god he could see the hurt in those eyes.
Bruce had asked Clark to look him in the eyes. Bruce had asked Clark to tell him where he was hurting. Bruce, the emotionally stunted bat in a trenchcoat, had asked Clark, the human-shaped bundle of sunshine and honesty, to open up to him and tell him what he was feeling. Bruce had asked for this with all the misguided confidence of an amateur challenging the master, and now he was getting thoroughly put in his place.
When you can’t dodge an attack, the next best thing is to roll with it and pretend it never happened. Denial was Bruce’s last hope.
“You’ve been compromised. Someone did something to you and you aren’t thinking straight.”
“I haven’t had a straight thought in years. Just you. Always you.”
Deny. Ignore. Run.
“You need to come with me.” Bruce broke eye contact, slipping his hand away from Clark’s beating heart, turning towards the batcave. Obviously discussions were getting them no closer to finding out a solution, and far too close to problems he didn’t think he would have to solve today. He would just have to skip the talking and go straight to the lab tests.
Unfortunately Bruce’s teachings had, once again, not accounted for the being known as Superman. This time the tell-tale whoosh of air was accompanied by Bruce’s swift exhale as his chest greeted the wall. It wasn’t a particularly violent collision, it was actually relatively gentle, all things considered. The problem was that Bruce was now pinned between the wall and a compromised Superman, whose breath was hot and heavy against the back of his neck.
“God, yes, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Fuck.
“Clark. No.” Bruce could only take so much in a single night, and this had gotten far too out of control. Clark wasn’t in his right mind and he was relying on Bruce to stay in control. Once Bruce got Superman back to his normal self, he wouldn’t be able to face him knowing that he had taken advantage of him while his mind was compromised. This friendship was too important to him. He wouldn’t risk it. “You’re not yourself right now, this isn’t what you want.”
Superman gasped at the harsh rejection, and Bruce could almost hear a small hitch in his voice as he started to plead and beg, “Bruce. I’m me. This is me. This has always been me. You just don’t know this side of me yet. I'm sorry for not telling you, Bruce, I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to hate me again, want to kill me again.” A chill ran down Bruce’s spine at the total shift in atmosphere.
It had been a long time since that particular… incident. It still haunted him. Some nights he would wake up in a cold sweat after driving that spear through Superman’s head. But it was never the murderous act that made him wake up screaming. It was what came next. Everywhere he went, Bruce Wayne saw the faces of Clark’s loved ones crying, mourning the loss of the most caring man they had ever known. Bruce would sit between Mr. and Mrs. Kent on the couch of Clark’s childhood home, listening to them retell stories about their sweet little boy as they flipped through the family photo album. Bruce would sit across from Lois at a coffee shop, listening to her confess how embarrassed she was once she realized she had “Welcomed Clark to the Planet” during his first day on the job. Members of the Justice League would skip retrospective meetings, instead gathering to tell stories about how much of a hero Superman was, even when the stories themselves hadn’t happened while Superman was still alive. Faceless strangers would rise from their graves to grab at his ankles, screaming at him for killing their would-be savior. They were dead because Clark wasn’t there to save them. Clark was dead because of him. It was all his fault.
“You can, though, if that's what you wanted. I’d let you.” Superman’s voice was right at his ear as he stood behind Bruce, pinning him physically with his body, and verbally with his offer of self-sacrifice.
“Clark!” Bruce’s breath hitched, startled by the sheer horror of what he was hearing. The memories of that incident swirled in his mind’s eye, overlapping with his recurring nightmares, now punctuated by the sheer force of Superman’s willingness to die by his hand.
“Just like last time. If you wanted it, I’d let you.”
“No…” Bruce whispers. Last time, he… Bruce had always tried to ignore that aspect of their fight. The prideful part of him liked to believe that what he lacked in power, he made up for in cunning. That his ability to subdue Superman came from his intelligence, his planning, his ability to control and manipulate his opponent right into his trap. There was a reason that pride was considered a sin. He didn’t win because he was Batman, the World’s Greatest Detective. He won because Superman was Clark Kent, a man so full of love he would sacrifice everything to save those he cared about.
The reality of Clark’s words hurt more than any of the punches he threw that day.
“Please just don’t hate me for this. It hurts too much.”
Never once during their fight did Superman ever beg for Batman to stop. Batman had shot an entire canister of aerosolized kryptonite directly into his face - twice! - and watched as Superman writhed in pain on the ground. Superman never once begged him to stop as he pounded reinforced fists into his face again and again and again. Superman never once complained about the pain as Batman threw him around like a rag doll, bending and breaking his weakened body across every hard surface he could find. Superman had only ever tried to get him to listen, and only when that failed… Only when he was at the end of Batman’s spear did he ever ask for anything, and it wasn’t even to save himself.
“Clark, I won’t hate you, I promise. You can.. You can tell me anything and it won’t make me hate you.” Bruce struggled with his words. He had always struggled with his words but usually he could take the easy way out and just grunt, scoff, scowl and maybe even just walk away. It was easier to protect himself if he always kept his vitals hidden away, whether that be under a kevlar suit, behind a fake persona, or the thin guise of indifference. He couldn’t exactly do any of those things right now, but even if he could, he wouldn’t risk leaving Clark alone with these thoughts of his. He’s not sure he could handle going through those regrets a second time.
“Bruce, god, I just- It’s been fine until now. I could always keep it in before. I kept it inside so I wouldn’t push you away. But now it hurts. It hurts to hold it in.”
Bruce’s brain wracked for an explanation. Clark was compromised and resisting, but it didn’t seem like he was being controlled, at least not in the traditional sense. Under traditional mind control, Clark would have been acting out of character, and while he couldn’t exactly say this was normal behaviour, he also couldn’t say that Clark had done anything to break any of his core values. Clark was frantic and afraid, but he was genuine, kind, and apparently willing to sacrifice his own comfort for the emotional wellbeing of others. This was, all things considered, undeniably Clark Kent.
“Clark. You need to listen to me. Something’s happened to you and I need to help you. I can’t help you if I don’t know what you’re experiencing.” Bruce leveled his voice, calmly explaining their situation and trying to calm Clark down. “You say it hurts to hold it in. Are you being compelled? Does it hurt because you’re resisting?”
“Yes, Bruce, it- it hurts. It hurts not telling you. It- I- Shit- It hurts not showing you.” Superman’s breaths became more staggered.
“Okay, you can tell me Clark.” Bruce began, trying to be as comforting as possible. “If you tell me, I’ll listen, and we’ll see if that reduces the pain. If you need to show me something, ask me first, okay?” So far Clark hadn’t done anything to suggest he meant Bruce any real harm, but he wasn’t exactly confident in Clark’s sense of self-preservation after his latest confessions. As for his earlier confessions, he needed to make sure, for Clark’s sake, that he wasn’t allowed to act on them. Talking about them, though… Bruce braced himself for the oncoming assault. He just needed to hold out long enough to help reduce the pain, let Superman get his wits back about him, and then they can get to the lab and find a cure.
Superman chuckled as his face leaned closer to Bruce, so close he could practically feel his smile against his neck. “Okay. Bruce, I’ll tell you.”
Bruce got the foreboding feeling that he was, once again, an amateur just begging to be humbled.