Chapter Text
Incessant whirring and beeping were the only sounds in the room. Clark lay on the bed in the center of numerous machines. He was surrounded by monitors keeping track of his vitals and sun lamps specially created with heightened intensity for a Kryptonian. A tube ran from a ventilator to Clark’s mouth, forcing air into his lungs. He had stopped breathing on the Fox. They knew he could go without oxygen for long periods of time, but in his fragile state, they couldn’t risk anything.
Bruce sat in the corner with his eyes trained on the tablet in his hands and not on the unnatural rise and fall of Clark’s chest. It had been six hours since they had reached Gotham. Alfred already had Dr. Leslie waiting for them at the Manor-turned-Justice-League-Headquarters. She had been working tirelessly since their arrival, running tubes and wires from Clark’s body, quizzing Bruce on all the information he had compiled.
When he had watched her remove the oxygen mask and begin intubation, a cold numbness washed over him and sank into his core. It was a failure for Superman to be in need of a machine for his body to continue functioning. It was Bruce’s failure.
Leslie hesitated to expose Clark to more Kryptonite needles, but it turned out that she didn’t need to. Bruce watched as regular syringes pierced Clark’s skin. She ran an IV of fluids for his severe dehydration and one of potassium iodide based on the small hope that it might be able to reduce the radiation with Clark in his mortal state.
There was no change.
She tried a variant created by Bruce and Victor, but it also failed. Clark’s heartbeat weakened.
They were now on their third idea; blood transfusion. Bruce kept stores of each team member’s blood on hand in case of emergencies. Clark had never needed his before today. Their goal was to remove as much Kryptonite from his system so Clark’s healing abilities could kick in enough to counter the poisonous effects ravaging his body.
That had been an hour ago. The transfusion was still in progress, and, so far, Clark’s vitals were less than optimal, but they were holding.
Bruce had vanished to the cave soon after Leslie had started the first IV and had spent most of his time down there researching. He hadn’t even stopped to change his clothes until Alfred appeared with fresh ones. His broken hand was now bandaged because Alfred was the only being alive with a stronger will than Diana. The mention of food turned his stomach, so he had escaped to Clark’s room to avoid further interruptions.
The transfusion would be coming to an end soon. If this didn’t work, they currently had no other recourse except to wait. So, Bruce sat out of the way, ignoring the machines and the pallor of death that covered the room. He watched the trackers on his tablet, the facial recognition scans, looking for any match.
Because he was not going to just wait.
-----
“Master Wayne?”
Bruce didn’t look up.
Alfred sighed and set a tray on the table next to Bruce. ”Come now, Master Wayne. You refuse to rest—I understand that. But your body will refuse to keep you going much sooner if you starve it as well.”
Bruce switched to another tab on his tablet and began studying a new set of data, but he did reach for the steaming cup of coffee on the tray. He knew that Alfred had only included it because it was the one thing Bruce would definitely take.
“Not what I hoped for, sir, but it’s a start.”
Bruce emptied the cup in two gulps. “Anything from Victor?” He croaked. The hot liquid was soothing, but his throat still ached.
“No updates yet, but he’s working quickly.”
Bruce grunted and set the cup back on the tray with a clink. He started to bring his hand back to the tablet, but wavered when he felt Alfred’s disapproving frown. After a moment's pause, he grabbed a protein bar, ignoring Alfred’s pleased hum as he tore open the wrapper with his teeth—not missing a thing on his tablet.
They fell silent. Bruce typed with one hand while he took small bites of the protein bar. Alfred hovered while trying to not appear like he was hovering.
One monitor started to beep faster.
“He’s waking up.” Bruce abandoned the tablet and was by the bed immediately.
“I’ll alert Dr. Leslie.” Alfred disappeared through the door.
Bruce carefully sat on the edge of the mattress, not wanting it to dip too much. He placed his hand over one of his husband’s, mindful of the IV going into it. The chill of Clark’s pale skin prickled against Bruce’s coffee-warmed palm.
If not for the monitor, Bruce wouldn’t have let himself hope at all for any response. Clark still lay there motionless. Bruce couldn’t even detect any movement of the eyes beneath the lids, no twitching of fingers. Only the chest mechanically moving with each pump of the machine.
But Bruce was exhausted, and Clark had spent the last few years weakening the powerful wall he had constructed around feelings like hope.
“Clark?”
The whispered word was nearly inaudible; something that the man in the bed had always heard before today and would answer with unfairly blue eyes and warmhearted smiles.
Bruce swallowed. “Clark?” he repeated, a little louder this time.
No response. The monitor still beeped.
“Goddammit, Clark,” he growled, “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re playing at, but that’s enough.”
The door opened.
“All that strength and you can’t open just one eye?”
“Bruce.” Leslie put her hand on his shoulder.
“You know how much Dick worships you?” Anger tremored in Bruce’s voice. “Even if you can’t do it for me, would you let him down?”
“Alright, Bruce,” Leslie said firmly, her grip tightening. “Move out of my way so I can do my job.”
Bruce tensed and glanced up at her, but she was staring past him, surprise on her face.
His head snapped back towards the bed. A single eye was cracked open, its piercing blue trained on Bruce.
“Clark…” The air rushed out of Bruce’s lungs. He leaned forward, cupping Clark’s face, distantly aware of Leslie moving to the other side of the bed instead of insisting that he move.
The eye followed Bruce’s movement, holding his gaze.
“I’m right here, Clark.” Bruce blinked quickly a few times. “Can you hear me?”
Without answering, Clark turned his face into one of Bruce’s palms, nuzzling it as his eye fell shut. Bruce turned his other hand over and ran the back of his fingers along Clark’s cheekbone, lightly touching over the bruise there.
He looked up at Leslie. “Well?”
“Vitals have improved.” Leslie pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Give me a minute.”
Bruce scowled, but went back to gently cradling Clark’s face. His heart stuttered when Clark’s eyes opened again, confusion swimming in their depths.
“You’re home, Clark. You’re safe.” Bruce combed his fingers through Clark’s limp hair. “We’re both safe.”
But Clark’s confusion melted into panic, and he began to struggle weakly, his hand fumbling for the ventilation tube.
“Clark, no. You need that.” Bruce grabbed his hand before he could tug at the ventilator. “I know it’s uncomfortable. Try to relax for me. Alright?”
Clark blinked then collapsed against the mattress, but from exhaustion rather than Bruce’s reassurance. His eyes slid shut again.
Bruce touched his forehead, then his cheek. “Clark?”
“He’s out again.” Leslie said while looking between monitors.
“Is it working?” Bruce trailed more gentle touches along Clark’s jaw.
“Yes. Slower than I would like, but yes.” She passed a readout to Bruce.
He scrolled through it slowly, pausing longer than he normally needed to take in each figure and statistic. Radiation levels were lower, but the change was minimal. Not enough for Clark’s body to start any significant healing yet. Bruce exhaled and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was tired. That bone-weariness still weighed at him.
“We expected things to move slowly at first. Didn’t we, Dr. Leslie?”
He kept himself from starting at Alfred’s voice, but Bruce reproached himself for not realizing that Alfred had come back into the room.
“We did. We’re counting on the positive impact being multiplied once Clark’s healing abilities are able to resume functioning on any level. A snowball effect.”
Alfred already knew this. The question was for Bruce’s benefit, but Bruce only felt heavier. He looked at Clark’s face again. Still pale and bruised. How was he supposed to feel better when Clark still—
The tablet pinged.
Bruce shot to his feet and turned to his abandoned chair in one swift movement, crossing the room to where Alfred had already swept up the tablet and stared at it grimly. He pulled it out of Alfred’s hands and looked down at the blinking alert on the screen.
Subject located.
An image popped up with coordinates underneath it.
Bruce stared at the blurry figure in the photo as something dark and vicious flashed through him, stoking the reserves of his energy and biting through the fog that had trapped him. It didn’t matter if it replaced his weariness or simply masked it. Everything pent-up inside of Bruce now had a purpose. A reason for him to harness all that bitterness into one singular focus.
“Do I want to know which government system you had to invade in order to access that information?” Alfred spoke lightly but gave him a long, searching look. Bruce met it without flinching.
“I’ll be back.”
“Master Wayne—”
“Send me any updates on Clark’s condition.”
“I do think that you—”
“He has to be brought in, Alfred.”
“At least take Ms. Prince with you.”
“Unnecessary.” Bruce turned towards the door.
“Unnecessary or unwanted?” Alfred countered. “Because she will object to your actual intention?”
Bruce paused, his back a rigid line. “You underestimate what Diana is willing to do.”
He heard a quiet inhale behind him. That had taken Alfred aback, but he recovered quickly.
“Then there is no reason for her not to accompany you, Master Wayne.”
This time Bruce took a slow, controlled breath.
“No.”
He didn’t look back when Alfred called to him again and strode into the hallway. He halted quickly at the sight of Dick leaning on the wall just outside the door to Clark’s room, his face pale but his jaw set in familiar determination.
Their relationship was less strained these days, but it was still a rarity to see Dick at the Manor. Rare enough that, even now, it made Bruce stop. They looked at each other wordlessly for a moment. Then Dick nodded once.
“Go finish it, Bruce.” Dick’s eyes were hard. “I’ll keep watch here.”
Bruce’s shoulders lowered slightly. He had been prepared to hear more arguments on his course of action from his son. Relieved, he said nothing, but reached out to squeeze Dick’s shoulder, both in gratitude and comfort.
Then he was gone.
-----
Faint noises and bits of speech drifted into his consciousness. Was he dreaming? It seemed dreamlike. Fuzzy and heavy.
I am sorry to disturb you, Ms. Prince. The coordinates should be coming through to you now.
Alfred. A slight pinch to his voice. He was worried.
A door shut. Somewhere a plane engine hummed.
You’re going to be alright, Clark. You know Bruce won’t give you a choice.
It was a younger voice this time. Frayed but earnest. Dick?
Heartbeats echoed around him. He couldn’t tell if they were all in the room with him or if he was picking up ones from farther away? And where was the one he always looked for first?
I don’t need you here, Diana.
There it was.
Thump-thump...thump-thump…
That familiar pattern.
Perhaps not, but I am here.
The rhythm was faster than normal. Was there a fight? He should help. If he could focus enough…
Wind raging. Rain pounding.
A storm. The heartbeat was in the middle of a storm. A bad one.
The whistling of a grappling hook. A grunt.
The heartbeat sped up.
Something exploded.
Clark opened his eyes.
“Bruce.”