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Chapter Text

BATMAN

Batman sat perched on the roof of one of the many warehouses situated not far from the docks of Gotham Harbor. This latest case had been running quite smoothly, probably some newbie criminal wanting to make it big through a series of successful but rather sloppy jewelry heists. Batman had grown quite fond of working with the Justice League, but he missed the times of his lone night stalking in the city, and with most of the league occupied with the aftermath of Lex Luthor’s most recent highly destructive model of laser-weilding robots, this seemed like the perfect opportunity for some solitary crime stopping.

Two of Gotham’s biggest gem retailers as well as a safe deposit box known to harbor some of the rarest precious stones in the city were robbed. Without too much difficulty, Batman connected the crimes and traced the culprit to the warehouse he was now watching. Light leaked through a crack in the doors, left ever so slightly ajar in a careless streak on par for this criminal.

An easy takedown. Just what Batman needed.

He jumped down from the roof, gliding into a shadow with no more sound than a quiet flutter of his cape. He crept toward the door, batarang in hand, and slipped inside the warehouse. He could hear faint footsteps coming from deeper amongst the shipping containers stacked in a simple maze around him. Easily he found his way to the noise, pausing for a moment to watch as a man dressed in all black, fitting the rough size and appearance Batman calculated through security camera footage from a store across the street of one of the robbed establishments. 

The man grabbed another small crate from the pile he was loading into a van. As soon as the man set the crate on the floor of the van, back turned to Batman’s hiding spot, he pounced, catching the man and flipping him to the floor with no struggle.

He shouted in both fear and pain as he hit the floor.

“You’d think that if someone wanted these diamonds so badly that they’d put more thought into their plans for stealing them.” Batman growled as he clicked a set of handcuffs on the man's wrists. If this was the level of crime now common in Gotham, either Batman has done a very good job at locking away the worst of the worst, or something big was underway, but Joker was still in one of his times of self-imposed isolation after his last great failure. Whatever the reason was, Batman would refuse to let pride get the better of him. This guy had practically left a trail for Batman to follow.

“It’s almost as if you wanted-” Batman froze, the man beneath him flicked his eyes to meet his with a look of fear and regret. 

He wanted me to find him.

Reaching for a batarang, Batman whipped around only to be met with a blinding flash of white light followed by a pummeling darkness.

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SUPERMAN

Superman wasn’t exactly surprised that Batman wasn’t there to help clean up Metropolis after the latest LexCorp fiasco today. No Kryptonite was involved this time so he was in full commission and Bats has his own city to look after. Not being surprised doesn’t mean that Superman couldn’t be disappointed that he wasn’t there, still. Or displeased when Batman wasn’t at the Watchtower. 

The rest of the league present that day had a quick debriefing, Superman jotting down a few notes to leave for Batman to file away later with the rest of the notes on Luthor for future reference. Wonder Woman and Green Lantern were on the next watch shift which meant he could return back to his apartment, which he did quickly, changing out of his suit and falling into bed almost immediately when he got home. 

Despite Batman’s horribly grumpy disposition, the man was able to brighten up Superman’s day, often without saying a word. He couldn’t put a finger on why exactly, but he could say with certainty that Batman was his closest and near only friend.

Work at The Planet has been draining lately, Lois was out of town doing some international piece, and he and Bats are the only ones who know each other’s civilian identities, so he didn’t plan to ask any of the league to hang out suited up. They’d all only known each other for a few months anyway. 

On top of current loneliness and the stress of his job, Luthor planning stuff so soon after… after last time, was not the easiest thing for Clark to deal with right now. Batman was not a man of many words typically, but Clark felt that whatever words he’d say to him in this moment would help.

He rolled over, wrapping himself in his huge, puffy comforter. A few good hours of sleep and the bright metropolis sun would set him right in the morning.

~~~~~~

Clark had been right, for as soon as the sun began to warm his face he could feel life returning to his mind and body. He grabbed a bagel from the kitchen, popping it in his mouth while he rummaged for clothes in his closet. Nearly all his clothes were a size too big to help hide his form. Turns out that and adding a bit of a hunch and a pair of glasses was all it took to make him undetectable. 

Now dressed, satchel thrown over one shoulder and half a bagel still dangling from his mouth, he patted down his hair so it was still messy but not fresh-out-of-bed messy and headed out the door.

“Kent!” Clark heard Perry’s voice from over his shoulder as he made his way to his desk. “I’ve got an assignment for ya. Tomorrow night Wayne Enterprises is holding a charity gala and I want you there. One day you’re gonna tell me how you get Wayne to talk to you. Well, talk to you past the usual innuendos and flirtations he seems to be full of.”

Clark gave a small chuckle, holding in the bigger grin he felt tugging at his lips. “I’m afraid that’s a secret I’ll take to my grave.”

“I guess that’s one way to maintain job security. Speaking of, I need your articles on the LexCorp blackout and those sunk ships by Friday.”

Thankfully the dread of writing not one but two articles dealing with the recent LexCorp issues was outweighed by the fact that he was guaranteed to see Bruce tomorrow night. As the only one who could get anything of actual substance from the man, Clark was always the one assigned to any event he was to be present at. 

Talking with Bruce was different when he was at work, harder for them both, but their little dance of secrecy was quite fun really. Bruce Wayne was a character completely unlike Batman when in the public eye, and Clark was one of the very few people who got to see both sides. Bruce Wayne was a flirt, a billionaire playboy known for his promiscuity. 

Clark had to admit that it was a fantastic way to keep his civilian identity separate from his hero one. Early on there were rumors. The young billionaire disappears for four years only to return and make quite a poor impression with the other socialites just as the mysterious caped crusader pops up. He turned it around luckily, to no surprise of Clark’s. The man is a genius, but he’s had more than his fair share of pain and struggle, and that takes time to adjust.

Bruce’s ability to continue living and as a good man is just one of the many reasons Clark admires him so greatly. The Kents did a fantastic job raising him, but Bruce has still taught him more than anyone what it means to be human.

The Justice League line is quiet the rest of the day, giving him good time to finish up his articles and send them to the editing staff. He thinks about calling Bruce and letting him know he’d be at the gala tomorrow but decides against it. Bruce’s absence from the tower is likely on purpose and who is Clark to deny him his solitude, at least for a little while. 

He falls asleep with ease tonight.

~~~~~~

Even for a nice event like this gala, Clark still wears a suit a size too big, much to Bruce’s disdain. It’s important to maintain his secrecy, and who can blame him for enjoying the way Bruce gives him a onceover with those steel-blue eyes, taking note of Clark’s faux pas without breaking his grin.

“Ah, my favorite reporter from The Daily Planet, back again! You just can’t keep away can you, Mr. Kent?” Bruce would say, slapping a hand down on his shoulder. 

Their conversations at these events in terms of reporting are about as successful as any reporter would expect. Mr. Wayne deflects every question with some flirtatious remark and only being caught for flickering moments before being pulled away into the crowd once more. Bruce knows that Clark gets these events due to getting more solid interviews than the rest of the reporters, so often after the event wraps up the two of them sneak away into the manor, finishing off a few more glasses of champagne and chatting. 

That is what Clark looks forward to the most tonight. While the energy of Bruce at the gala is fun, the moments they share in the quiet of Wayne manor, after they finish talking business and move on to catching up on each other’s lives, that is what Clark misses most right now.

Per usual, the gala is an extravagant event, full of free champagne and the glitter of hanging chandeliers over polished tile floor. A quick glance over the room lets Clark know that Bruce isn’t here yet, so he finds his way over to a small table, catching a glass of light and floral champagne. The next hour is spent having small talk with other reporters he recognises from previous events and light eavesdropping on small clusters of socialites. Bruce is still nowhere to be seen by the time speeches start and Lucius Fox gives remarks on behalf of Wayne Enterprises.

The ceremony is long and boring, as they tend to be. Clark jots down a few quotes from each speaker but spends most of the time scanning the room, still unable to sense Bruce anywhere. It’s not unlike him to only be present for a very small portion of his own events, popping in just at the beginning, end, or for a speech before taking his leave. Despite being able to appreciate a party here and there, he’s a man who likes his peace and solitude, but it’s rare for him to be a complete no-show just on principle. 

Clark sticks it out to the end of the night, the small talk wearing on him until he too begins to understand the appeal of skipping out on these events. He leaves with a feeling of unease. He thinks he should be more upset that Bruce has decided to isolate so severely, and Clark knows how his temper gets sometimes, but tonight disappointment reigns supreme over anger. If Bruce wasn’t here, it’s for a good reason.

He makes it back to Metropolis fast, by human standards, and finds himself pacing in his apartment. Nothing has come through from the Watchtower, he has gotten no messages from Batman on anything, and nothing seemed off in Gotham when he had scanned over it upon arrival. This wasn’t the first time Bruce has disappeared for a week or two, but something about this time feels different, unprecedented, not that he needs an excuse to be by himself, but usually there is some sort of reason. 

Suited up, Superman touches down at the Watchtower not twenty minutes after arriving home from the gala. 

“Hey, Superman! Stopping by to help with this puzzle, I’m sure?” Flash runs up to him, smiling. 

“Puzzle?” Superman asks, following closely behind Flash as they head towards the command center. Of course, there was something going on keeping the League busy, some kind of mastermind scheme or cypher Batman was trying to break or-

“Lantern brought it in to kill time during dry spells.” Flash grinned, zipping over to a table that had a humongous 24,000 piece puzzle barely started on it depicting a panoramic view of a city being attacked by various creatures and villains. 

“Oh.” Superman let out a breath, looking down at the piles of edge pieces slowly being sorted out from the mound in the center of the table. “I’ll have to compliment Green Lantern on his choice in puzzles, we should frame it and hang it somewhere in here when it’s finished. Lord knows this place could use some decoration.” He chuckled, looking around at the blank, steel walls.

“Thanks! Although Bats would have a stroke if we put it anywhere near the control room. Maybe we could put it in the lounge.” Green Lantern’s voice came from behind. 

Superman turned around, freshly reminded of the purpose of this visit. “Speaking of, have any of you heard from Batman lately?”

“Hmm, no. I haven’t seen him since we took down Luthor’s robots.” Lantern responded, looking down thoughtfully.

“Me either.” Flash chimed in. “Whatcha’ need him for? Additional puzzle help and decor permission?”

Superman loved the kid’s energy. It was very welcome on his end with how serious it could get in the League sometimes. It reminded him of himself when he was younger, more innocent. “No. I haven’t heard from him since then either. I don’t want to cause any alarm quite yet, he can isolate himself sometimes, but something doesn’t feel right.”

“Well… you know him, right? Like know him. You could, I don’t know, check just to see if he’s where he should be?” Green Lantern suggested.

“I suppose I could. Just keep your ears open and let me know if you find anything.” Superman frowned, giving a small wave as he walked back towards the flight bay. 

~~~~~~

Clark parked his truck right in front of Wayne manor, the old car creaking as he hopped out onto the driveway. The door to the manor opened just as he reached the top of the front steps.

“Master Kent, welcome.” Alfred stepped aside, ushering Clark inside. “I’m afraid Master Bruce is not in at the moment.”

“Ah. I was worried that would be the case, Alfred.” The unease in Clarks chest grew even more heavy. 

“I see. Shall we head to the cave then?”

Clark followed Alfred down the winding stairs deep into the ground below Wayne manor. They settled into the few old, comfy chairs Bruce had moved down into the cave for the odd guest. Most of the screens had been powered down or locked. Bats’ suit was gone and so was the batmobile.

“I believe he was working on some low level crime about in the city. He called it a ‘refresher’, something quick and easy.” Alfred moved to the huge computer set up, typing for a moment before all the screens flashed to life, silhouetting the older man. “I’m sure you are aware of how Master Bruce is with his personal items. This is where he left off, if that helps.”

“It does. Thank you, Alfred.” Clark glanced at the screen, reading over the information with superhuman speed. “A jewel heist? He would have no problem with that. If that was all it was.” He clicked around for a moment, pulling up the security cam recordings of the cave. “According to video footage of the cave, Batman left during the clean-up in Metropolis and hasn’t returned since.”

Clark turned to Alfred, who was watching quietly from a distance, polite and neutral as ever, but his voice betrayed his indifference. “So, Master Bruce is missing.”

Stripping off his civilian clothes and reaching for his League communicator, Superman’s voice darkened. “Yes. Batman-Bruce-is missing.”

Chapter Text

BATMAN

“Master Bruce,” Alfred’s voice calls from the doorway, “You have a visitor waiting downstairs.”

“Hhnng,” Bruce groaned, blinking at the sun beaming through the cracked curtains. “Tell them I’ll be down in a minute,” He called back.

Bruce found himself in his own room, cocooned in his huge pillowy comforter wearing just his underwear. This wouldn’t be odd if it weren’t for his last memories being in that warehouse at the harbor, no recollection at all of how he got back to his house and into bed. 

Surveying the room, nothing seemed off. His clothes were all in the right place in the closet, he noted as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. His body still ached from whatever happened last night. On the off chance he made an in person appointment, whatever business Bruce Wayne had today could be rescheduled.

He wondered who could be visiting him out of the blue, perhaps Dick was stopping by for supplies or advice, since he wasn’t necessarily in the habit of taking social breaks. Bruce missed him, but they saw each other a decent amount considering that they both led double lives in different cities. It was bittersweet to watch him grow into himself since it meant he also grew away, but lord knows, Alfred refuses to let Dick visit any less than five times a year: once for each of their birthdays, thanksgiving, and Christmas. 

“Every man deserves a break on the holidays, Master Dick, even you.” Alfred would chide during the early days of Dick’s move to Bludhaven, typically followed by some remark tying in Bruce to “all this no-fun nonsense.”

As he made his way downstairs and approached the sitting room, he made out the voice of his visitor. Deeper, louder than Dick’s.

“Clark,” Bruce said, leaning against the doorway.Clark was dressed in worn jeans and a flannel, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, meaning he was likely off from both of his occupations for the day, or for the moment at least. He was gingerly holding a teacup handed to him by Alfred, who was now approaching Bruce with a larger mug of fantastic smelling coffee.

“Coffee, Master Bruce?”

“Yes, thank you, Alfred.”

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Bruce asked, looking towards Clark.

“After last night I wanted to make sure you felt alright,” Clark looked up at him, brows slightly furrowed. “What do you remember?”

“Everything until I was knocked out. I had the guy, but I missed that someone else was there. I didn’t even see him.” Bruce spoke just above a mutter, then, “How did I get back here? I’m assuming something to do with you?”

“I received a distress call from your communicator and found you in that warehouse. I don’t think the guys you were after expected to see me because they tried to run as soon as I arrived. They didn’t have much with them either, just some flash grenades and a buttload of stolen jewels.”

“I see. And you took care of it?” 

“Yep! Two petty criminals handed to the authorities and lots of happy ladies and gents with their returned jewels.”

“Hmm.”

Something seemed off to Bruce. A flash grenade wouldn’t have knocked him out cold and for so long, and he was almost certain that there was not a second man involved in the actual stealing of the gems.

“I brought you back here and Alfred took care of you. Well, all the parts that didn’t involve lugging you around.” Clark chuckled.

“I see, thank you.” Bruce said, still mulling over the previous night's events in his mind.

“You okay, B?”

Bruce looked up from where he was staring into the dark depths of his coffee and met Clark’s bright blue eyes. Clark was looking at him with such incredible softness, projecting a comfort that made Bruce’s body want to finally relax and settle. A look that made him want to tell Clark everything, absolutely everything , and he almost did, but he held his tongue.

“Yes, I’m still a bit worn from last night.” Is all he said, rubbing his shoulder with his free hand a bit.

“Oh? Let me help!” Clark jumped up from his chair and was right in front of Bruce, grabbing him by the arms and sitting him down where he himself had just been sitting, taking his mug and sitting on the coffee table before Bruce could form a single thought. 

His shock quickly dissipated as he felt Clarks hands on his shoulders, his thumbs pressing and pushing at all the right muscles. Bruce let out a quiet, involuntary groan, slumping forward a little before his mind finally caught up with him.

‘ What the hell was going on?!’

He practically jumped out of the chair and whipped around to look at Clark, who looked just as shocked as Bruce did just moments ago.

“Shoot, sorry! Did I push too hard or-”

“No, no, you’re fine it’s just-”

“Sorry I should’ve-”

Bruce grabbed Clarks hands, which he was flailing around. “It’s fine, I just… wasn’t expecting that, that’s all. I’m okay.”

“Oh, okay.” Clark said, a blush cresting his cheeks as he looked down at their hands. “Okay.”

Bruce let go and took a step back, clearing his throat. “Well, if that’s all, I’ve got some stuff to do. Y’know, uh, updating the database and all that.”

“Right. Uhm, well then. I’ll get out of your hair. Call if you need anything, I’m glad you’re alright!”

He gave his farewells and Clark took his leave from Wayne manor. Bruce watched as he drove his old truck down the drive until he was sure Clark had gone.

Clark was always an odd guy. His Midwestern charm clashed awkwardly with Bruce’s more edgy side and his Boy Scout personality made for a good time when he played as young Billionaire Bruce Wayne. Superman and Batman, while having a rocky start, work quite well together now as well. The two of them have been friends for years at this point, yet never has Bruce had an interaction with Clark quite like that one.

There were times, of course, where Bruce truly meant what he said when flirting with Clark at a gala. Times where he cradled Superman’s beaten body and saw that look of pain in his eyes and wished he could take it all away, destroy every foul thing in the universe that had ever harmed this man. Times where Superman cradled him and he thought,even just a moment, that Superman feels the same way he does.

Bruce picked up his mug, shutting away any and all feelings that were not of use to this current situation he found himself in, whatever it was, and headed down into the Batcave.

He logged into his computer, the files and data from the robberies still pulled up. He opened up a new note document before closing it again, opting for pen and paper. He had no idea what was going on and maybe handwritten notes would be a wiser choice for now.

He began to review the case, starting from the very beginning, the first robbery. Halfway through he had to get up and pace, rummaging through a draw for the bottle of ibuprofen he keeps for the headache beginning to press behind his temples. The data wasn’t right, it was different than he remembered. There were little hints everywhere to an accomplice, a second criminal working on the heists. He wouldn’t have missed that.

He tried to research more, look into his memory loss even, but the pain in his head grew exponentially worse. His vision began to go blurry, dark spots floating in front of his eyes, he got up and stumbled away from the computer, falling to the ground, gritting his teeth in pain. It felt like his head was going to combust at any second.

“Computer, turn off! Turn off the lights!” Bruce screamed, slurring slightly.

The cave fell into complete darkness. All Bruce could hear was the sound of his own breathing and rapid heart rate. He could feel his pulse throb in his head. 

The pain slowly began to subside. He’d been laying on the floor for who knows how long.

“Computer, lights on.”

The cave lights flicked on, making Bruce wince as he adjusted to the sudden brightness. He’d have to do this without his computer, then. And without letting anyone know, perhaps even a secret observer.

Something was wrong, and he’d have to figure it out all in his head.

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SUPERMAN

Superman paced in front of the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the debriefing room in the Watchtower. He usually liked the time he spent here, far enough away from Earth that the constant sounds were quiet in the very back of his mind and far enough from all the lights to see the stars. 

When he was young he hated to look at the stars. It hurt. He knew his home, his family had been out there. The stars reminded him of how alone he was. One dark night, during a meteor show, his Pa took him out into the fields to look at the stars.

He started to pout but his Pa made him stay, pointing up at the sky.“Now, Clark, you see that cluster of stars there?”

Clark huffed, glancing up at where his Pa was pointing. “Yeah.”

“Now right below it, these stars here-” he traced his finger across a line of stars, “-make up the constellation, Taurus. Taurus comes up right around the start of planting season every year.”

“Okay.” Clark said with a hint of question in his voice.

“We don’t use the stars anymore, haven’t for a long time for farming, but they used to be how we navigated the world.” He took a breath. “Clark, you’re very special to me and your Ma, and we’ll be here for you as long as we live, but we know that sometimes, for someone as special as you, that may not be enough. Your home is here. Your family is here. But you had a home and family out there, too. 

“Now, the stars have guided us for hundreds of years, and they can guide you too. Your past is up there, guiding you if you look and listen. One day, Ma and I will be up there to guide you. 

“As much as your Ma and I want to keep you here on the farm, I know you’re gonna go out and do big, great things, son. You’re gonna find yourself in times of struggle and will need a guide. Look to your stars and trust in yourself. You’re a good kid, Clark.”

It wasn’t the most eloquent speech, and teenage Clark didn’t properly appreciate it at the moment, but he did begin to look up to the sky. He can’t say that he’s healed from his past, but he’s made peace.

Pa taught him about shooting stars that night too, and together the two of them made countless wishes. Wishes for toys and candy and world peace and happiness. 

Tonight, Clark looks out to the stars and wishes not for the first time to hear the calming voice of his mother. He wishes for the empowering voice of his father. He wishes for a world that no longer exists, but in a different way than before. He wishes for a world long gone to help him find his world built now. Some part of his mind feels that reaching out to the first loved ones he’d lost would help him find the most recent one. 

Tonight, the silence, the stars, did Superman no service other than leave him alone with his thoughts of his lost friend.

He backs up from the windows and sits in one of the many chairs at the huge oval table, holding his head in his hands. It has been four days since anyone has seen or heard from Batman, one since Superman informed the League that he was missing. With each passing second that Batman remains missing, Superman knows that it decreases the chances of them finding him, or at least finding him alive. 

Although Superman agreed to it, the current plan of rescue frustrated him beyond all measure. Clearly, whoever kidnapped Batman was not to be played with, so they would not raise any flags that they were searching in hope that the captor wouldn’t implement any additional security. They were all forbidden from solo missions, either patrolling in duos or in distanced watches of each other. Everyone was researching, patrolling, questioning the best they could to find Batman, but everyone was sorely aware that Batman himself was the best at dealing with this kind of thing.

‘ Screw him, that selfish dick!’ Superman thought, smashing his fist into the table, leaving a sizable dent. ‘ Dammit.’ Bats always had this annoying habit of secrecy and never asking for help. HE was also the one to set the heavy no solos suggestion for the league and here he goes breaking it and fucking disappearing because of it! 

He couldn’t help but blame himself too, though. He knew something was wrong as soon as Batman didn’t show up the evening of clean up, but he waited almost three whole days to check in and now he’s missing. 

“Superman? Are you alright?”

Superman looked up to see Wonder Woman standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, I’m just… worried about Batman.” He sighed.

Wonder Woman walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not alone. We all are worried, and we are all here to help. We will find him.”

“I know, thank you.” He said, standing up and giving her a hug out of instinct. She returned the gesture, albeit awkwardly.

He left the watchtower after that, returning home to his empty apartment to find that a note had been slipped underneath the door.

Chapter Text

SUPERMAN

The note read:

Dear Mr. Kent,

Or shall I say, Superman.

I believe I have a friend of yours.

Come alone if you want to see him alive.

Attached was an address and a polaroid picture. With shaky fingers, Clark flipped the photo over to reveal a slightly blurry picture of Batman, bound and bleeding from the mouth and nose. 

Clark felt his eyes heat up, slowly lifting from the floor, as his powers flared with his rage. The only thing stopping him from flying to the address this very moment was the voice of Batman scolding him in his mind about charging in recklessly without a plan.

He took a few deep breaths, steadying himself once more on the floor. Time to make a plan.

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BATMAN

    "Batman, glad to have you back!" Superman clapped him on the shoulder as he entered the command center.

    "Thrilled to be here." Batman replied, completely monotone. The best part, according to Batman at least, about everyone thinking you're broody is that no one notices when you actually are.

    He has spent the last day raking his mind for what could be happening, for any answers as to where he is and how to get out. Writing notes out on paper had led to a similar searing headache, confirming that the only safe place was in the silence of his own thinking, but even then, he had a feeling that if all he did was lay around and think that wouldn't turn out so well for him either. 

    After careful consideration, Batman decided that the best course of action for now would be to pretend that everything was normal until he collected more information. So here he was, tapping around the screens of the control center at the Watchtower, and of course, Superman had to be here too.

    He couldn't get that last interaction out of his mind. It wasn't unusual for Batman's thoughts to linger on the look of Superman's eyes, but now he can't get the feeling of his hands off his back. The way someone with enough strength to easily crush Bruce's bones pressed just hard enough on the knots that haven't ever really left his shoulders for years. The way Clark's cheeks dusted pink as he glanced at their joined hands.

    God, they've... looked at each other before. Touched each other before. This shouldn't be any different and shouldn't be messing with Batman's head as much as it was. 

    "Earth to Batman," Superman waved a hand in front of his eyes, causing Batman to blink and turn to look at the man floating mere inches from him. "Are you sure you're feeling well enough to return to work?"

    "Yes, don't worry about me." Batman went back to checking the command center's activity feed. "There was an explosion at the metropolis power plant last night. Do we suspect foul play?"

    "Let's take a look." Superman touched down next to him, standing so close that Batman could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Superman got his power from the sun and that was clearly reflected in everything about him, so it seems.

    Superman scanned through the recovered security footage from the power plant while Batman searched the criminal database to see who might be active and in the area. Most free criminals were low tier threats and haven't been seen in action since before Luthor's latest fiasco.

    "Look!" Superman pointed to the screen where he had paused the footage, zooming in and enhancing the frame. "Is that-"

    "Volcana. And knowing her, she's unlikely to be working alone. Was anything reported missing from the plant?" Batman said as he pulled up her file.

    "They're still doing clean-up, the explosion was huge."

    "The kind of explosion you'd cause to leave no evidence."

    "Weren't they storing some kind of power cells there?"

    "I believe so," Batman pulled up his files on S.T.A.R. Labs. "They had some experimental compact but highly powerful power cells being stored and charged. One cell could easily power any machine of your choice for weeks without needing to recharge."

    "So, someone in need of some light, portable power had them nicked."

    "Likely. I'll see if I can track Volcana and identify her accomplices."

    That was typically Superman's cue to leave. Batman wasn't exactly sure what Superman did around the Watchtower in his downtime, but he always seemed to keep himself busy in the past. Instead of flying off to some other part of the tower though, Superman pulled a second chair to the ring, quietly watching over Batman's shoulder. As much as Batman loves to research and how little observation tends to wear on him, he found his mind blanking with Superman's gaze so intent on him.

    "I promise I'm fine." He grumbled.

    "I know," Superman said and Batman remembered that the guy could hear his vitals, "I just wanted to spend time with you, that's all."

    "hrmm." Batman had no idea what to do with that statement.

    "What? Can a guy not spend time busting crime with his best friend?" Superman laughed.

    Batman was silent for a moment, processing. "...You're always welcome to spend time with me, Superman." 

    Batman had no idea what was going on. Superman's actions weren't bad or wrong, but they weren't right either. Batman just needed to play along, and hey, after years of silence and denial, he could maybe indulge himself just a little bit, if this wasn’t real as he was suspecting anyway.

    He managed to continue his research with minimal difficulty and within the hour the pair was traveling across the city to yet another warehouse. Volcana was easy to follow back here considering her abnormal heat signature, and unsurprisingly, two other thefts were traced back to the warehouse. A large amount of copper and silver was stolen from a cargo ship about a month ago as well as a near ungodly amount of scrap metal. Whoever Volcana was working for seemed to be building something big.

    Batman peered in through a vent in the roof of the warehouse, Superman following suit. Volcana was carefully welding together two large sheets of metal with her fingertip, a man holding a large blueprint standing a short distance behind her, guiding. The man couldn't have been very old at all, perhaps in his early 20's and of average build. The thing they were building, however, looked to be a colossal metal robot suit, and it was almost done.

    Batman turned to Superman, who was already looking at him, waiting for the plan. Batman just nodded and gingerly lifted the vent cover, both heroes dropping to the floor in the center of the warehouse.

    "Volcana!" the man shouted, "It's done enough! It's time!"

    She whipped around, blasting a ray of hot fire at each of them while the man ran towards his robot, climbing up its torso. Superman jumped into the air but got hit with a ray of fire from Volcana, shouting as he was flung across the warehouse, scattering the pile of scrap he landed in.

    Batman threw a batarang at Volcana while simultaneously grappling upwards into the rafters. The batarang sliced right past her head, lodging itself in the table behind her. 

    "Ha! You missed-gahh!" Volcana was knocked face down from the explosion of the batarang. 

    He swung toward the robot but the man had already climbed inside its steel body, the metal beast groaning as it came to life with an eerie yellow glow. 

    "Don't try to stop me and maybe I'll let you go in one piece!" The robot called out, holding up its massive hand revealing a ray gun embedded in its palm, sparking and whistling as it powered up before firing a beam directly at Batman's chest. Batman let go of his grapple, flying into the wall of the warehouse, grunting with the impact. He just managed to roll out of the way as a second beam blew a crater in the floor where he had just fallen.

    Superman then flew out of the scrap pile, landing a solid punch to the chest of the metal creature with a reverberating clang, causing it to stumble back. Volcana fired off another beam of her own which Superman swooped away from, coming down hard and fast on her and knocking her back. He grabbed a piece of scrap metal and bent it around her like a straight jacket, using a second, smaller piece to hold her legs in place.

    "Superman, look out!" Batman called, but it was too late.

    Superman cried out as a beam of light hit him square in the back. Batman threw a batarang, lodging it perfectly in the well of the ray blaster and one of the robot's hands exploded, causing it to let out a mechanical, anguished cry. Superman was just pulling himself out of the small crater when Batman saw that the robot was about ready to blast Superman again with his other hand and that Volcana had nearly melted free of her metal cocoon. Batman threw himself across the room, just in time to get hit with the blast from the beam and be thrown directly into the back of Superman, which was about as soft as hitting the concrete floor. 

    He groaned but was reassured as a second explosion and robotic scream graced his ears. His batarang had hit its mark and both of the robot's arms were now out of commission. He watched, slightly dizzy, as Superman grabbed Volcana, still mostly contained by the metal, and hurled her into the body of the robot. The robot toppled over, sparking and hissing with Volcana unconscious in the cavity of its chest. 

    The man slowly crawled out from the wreckage and Batman pulled himself up, suppressing a limp as he made his way over, pulling the man up by the collar of his lab coat before dropping him again on the floor, pulling his arms behind him and cuffing his hands together.

    "Next time save the robots for the science fair."

    He heard Superman chuckle lightly from behind him. "The police are on their way, should be here any minute." Superman picked up Volcana and laid her down next to the man, and began tying the two of them together. "And who might you be?" He asked the man.

    The man spit at Superman's face, refusing to speak.

    "It's fine, Superman. I'll ID him back at the Watchtower." Batman said, standing just behind Superman, glaring down at the man.

    "Okay. I can hear the police, they have entered the factory yard. We can go."

    "Lead the way," Batman stepped to the side, giving the man one last glare before following him out.

Once they were outside, Superman stopped and turned to Batman. 

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. Let’s just get back to the Javelin.” Batman said gruffly.

“We parked it outside of the factory district and you’re hiding a limp.”

‘Damn that stupid Kryptonian.’ Batman thought. He could see the smallest hint of a limp in Batman’s gate and now he wouldn’t hear the end of it. “I can still walk.”

“But you shouldn’t.” Superman looked at him for a moment and then scooped Batman up in his arms bridal style.

“Woah- Hey! Put me down, I’m fine!” Batman cried out, squirming and wiggling in Superman’s arms which only caused him to hold on tighter, which very quickly caused Batman to still.

He took up, soaring up into the air and flying towards the Javelin, Batman, instinctually wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck. Superman just looked down at him, giving a small smile, touching down gently at the ship.

God, this was going to kill him.

~~~~~~

    "So..." Superman said, awkwardly looking around back at the Watchtower while Batman logged the day's events.

    "So." Batman said back flatly.

    "I've got nothing to do the rest of the night, and we're off watch in an hour."

    "Okay."

    "Okay." Superman waited for a minute. "So, do you want to grab dinner or something?"

    Batman swiveled in his chair to look up at Superman, who looked more like Clark than he ever tends to when suited up with how awkward and nervous he appeared.

    ' What the hell ' Batman thought. ' Why not. '

    "Sure. I'll pick you up at 7:30 sharp. Casual attire is fine."

    Superman smiled at Batman like a little boy who had just been given a puppy for his birthday. "Okay! See you then!" He flew off, hopefully to do a sweep of the Watchtower before the shift change.

    Batman sighed and put his head in his hands. Whatever was happening here, he was fucked.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

SUPERMAN

Okay, so not much of a plan was made, but he did at least try to think about what he was going to do. He took one more long look at the note, scanning it on a few different spectrums to see if he missed anything, but there was nothing.

He tucked it away before taking off. The address was to an old farm house a few miles outside of Gotham. He had hoped to hide his arrival somewhat, but the flat, open grounds would allow for him to be spotted easily from quite some distance, so instead he flew straight to the front of the building.

It was silent except for a distant hum, audible likely only to Superman himself. He floated just a touch over the floor to not make a sound as he approached the door. It was already cracked open, so he went in.

He did a quick scan of the house with his X-ray vision, finding nothing until he looked below him. There was a large room that he couldn’t see. This was someone who knew his abilities, his weaknesses.

He took a determined breath and darted over to the basement door, also suspiciously unlocked. He made his way down the stairs, walking through a second doorway that hissed and dropped shut the moment he was through.

“Superman, so good of you to join me.” A tall, lanky man dressed head to toe in an orange and black spiral morph suit sat in a large antique arm chair. “Care for some tea?” He gestured to the wooden table by his side where a platter with a teapot and two cups rested.

“Where is he?” Superman boomed, the odd acoustics of the room unable to dull the power of his voice. Superman raked his mind trying to remember if they’d fought this guy before.

“Hmm, a bit rude, but I guess we can get straight to business if you’d like.” The man rose from his chair and walked towards the wall on the far side of the room. “This way.”

Superman kept a solid distance behind the man. Spark-something. Sparkcaster, Spiralcatcher, Spiral…

He put his hand to the wall, a faint light emanating from around it before a hidden door slid open, leading to another room.

Spiralbinder? Spellbinder! That was it, Superman thought. He didn’t remember much about Spellbinder, but it didn’t matter anyway because as soon as he entered the next room his mind went blank from everything other than rage.

Batman, suit torn and patched with dry blood, floated limply in a stasis chamber, a few simple machines hooked up to monitor his vitals and brain waves but nothing more.

“What have you done to him!” Superman shouted, but as soon as he moved to pounce on Spellbinder, He felt a searing pain and fell to his knees, screaming.

Even when whatever hit him stopped, the pain lingered. He fell to the floor, rolling over, his vision lagging and wavoring in doubles. Lex Luthor walked across the room, a wicked grin curling on his lips, some kind of blaster held in his other hand. 

“You!-” Superman growled but the gun whirred and flashed another scorching beam of neon green, sending Superman into darkness.

Chapter Text

BATMAN

“His name is Stephen Burrows. Recent dropout from Gotham City University despite being top of his class. It was noted that he suddenly withdrew from his extracurriculars and grew increasingly isolated and irritable. He used the alias ‘Silver Sun’ on a few online forums where he was doing some kind of research on electricity, specifically conduction capacity.” Bruce handed over a small file to Clark who sat across the large, slightly sticky table from him.

Per request, Clark was dressed casually in a worn, dark blue sweater and jeans. It was surprising how well Clark was able to hide his form, too big suits somehow making him look small and this sweater softening his edges in a way that made Clark look like the most gentle man on Earth. In a way, he was.

Bruce was dressed about as casual as you would ever catch him outside of his own home. He was all crisp lines and straight edges, the sleeves of his white dress shirt cuffed neatly just above his elbows, the shirt bottom tucked into dark gray slacks. 

“He was an engineering student. The robot was made primarily of copper and silver, the scrap had been used for support and some selective armoring. He was making some kind of ultra-conductive machine.” Superman leafed through the file.

“You would think that would be counterproductive. Putting yourself in a metal suit designed to conduct electricity.” Batman mused.

“The cockpit was fully sealed in multiple insulators, but you’re right. Why would he want to make a suit like that anyway?”

“I’m not sure. Yet.”

They both sat to think for a moment and like clockwork, the waitress appeared with their food. She set two, giant burgers in front of them, checking to make sure everything looked alright before leaving them to their meal.

The bar was a little hole-in-the-wall place Bruce had stumbled across on patrol one evening. No one ever seemed to recognize him here, in fact most everyone just minded their own business entirely, but the burgers were phenomenal and service was good.

Bruce couldn’t help but watch as Clark lifted the burger to his mouth, moaning around his first bite. He watched as his mouth worked and followed the bob of his throat when he swallowed. 

“Bruce, this has got to be one of the best damn burgers I’ve had in my life. How the hell did you of all people find this place?” Clark asked, taking another bite.

Bruce cleared his throat, mouth suddenly dry. “I found it on patrol a few years back.” He took a bite of his own burger, refusing to look up from the sandwich at the man sitting across from him, noisily scarfing down his meal.

When he did finally look up, Clark was looking at him with some unreadable expression. Bruce felt his heartbeat skip and try to speed up but he continued to breath steady, willing it back to a normal rhythm. Now was not the time for his body to betray him to his all-hearing friend.

When they were finished eating, Clark tried to take the bill but Bruce had already talked to the waitress, paying it under the guise of using the restroom. The dinner was hardly expensive for Bruce and wouldn’t have been for Clark to cover, either, but he wanted this to be his treat.

The two men left the restaurant and began to walk towards Robinson Park, the sun clear on its descent towards the horizon behind them and a warm breeze in the air. Usually Bruce would opt for an indoor activity or a trip back to the manor, but the evening was unusually nice for Gotham.

“So,” Clark began, “other than because they love the dark and hiding away in caves, why’d you choose bats?”

Bruce looked around, cautious of other people potentially overhearing their conversation. They were in Gotham, afterall, but Clark caught his hesitation and assured him that he was listening and monitoring their surroundings.

“I was scared of them as a kid.” Bruce replied tersely, not hugely interested in spilling his backstory to a potentially fake Clark in the middle of a park. “Why the red and blue?”

“Hmm, there’s got to be more than that but fine. I was wrapped in blankets when I arrived here, red, blue, and yellow ones. Their material was as strong as I was, being Kryptonian in origin, and Ma helped make my first suit out of them.” Clark sounded thoughtful, a bit nostalgic. “Of course since I’ve grown a bit and with even Kryptonian materials not being indestructible, I’ve opted for newer materials, but I’ve stuck with the design.”

“And the ‘S’ surely doesn’t just stand for ‘Superman’, does it?”

Clark chuckled. “No, it’s a Kryptonian symbol for hope, kind of like… a dove, or a heart maybe?”

Bruce couldn’t help but to laugh, imagining Superman flying around with a giant heart emblazoned to his chest. ‘It would still be an accurate representation,’ he thought.

“What? What’s so funny about that?” Clark asked defensively.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s nice, really.” Bruce said, a smile still gracing his lips.

“I’m not the one stuck in some- some emo furry phase!”

“Hey! My costume is much more sophisticated than that!”

“Sure, that’s why you spend so much time dressed up like a bat all alone in a dark cave.”

“Yeah? Well could an emo furry do this?-” Bruce stuck out his foot, catching one of Clarks while shoving him to the side, directly into a fountain.

Clark fell right in, much to Bruce’s satisfaction, knowing that Clark could have easily been as un-shove-able as a wall. Clark spluttered in the water, Bruce laughing with his full chest above him as he looked at the most powerful man in the world kneeling in a fountain, soaking wet, glasses askew.

“YOU-!” Clark reached out with lightning speed, abruptly cutting off Bruce’s laughter as he grabbed him.

“Woa-!” Bruce was dunked fully into the frigid fountain, glaring at Clark like a wet cat when he surfaced.

Bruce lunged forward to try and dunk him again, but ended up practically hanging off Clarks outstretched arm instead.

“Not this time!” He laughed, dropping Bruce into the water for a second time.

Bruce scrambled out of the water and righted himself on the sidewalk, Clark following behind him, still laughing.

“Well that didn’t go how you planned, did it? Wow, this really is a special occasion!” Clark joked, but stopped when he turned to Bruce who had now begun to shiver in the cooling evening air. “That’s no good, let’s go.”

Bruce was about to tell him that it was fine but Clark had already glanced around the area and scooped Bruce into his arms, soaring into the air. He held Bruce close, trying to preserve as much warmth as possible, which wasn’t too hard considering that this man literally radiated heat.

Bruce shivered in little bursts all the way back to the manor, but he did not squirm or complain like the last time he was picked up like this. He was let down to his feet on the front stoop and together they walked inside.

Alfred appeared around a corner as they walked inside, quickly taking in the situation. “I’ll be right back with some towels and a change of clothes for you both, Master Bruce, Master Clark.”

Bruce gave another shiver and moved deeper into the house where another grand living room was, this one with a large, burning fire beneath a wooden mantle, glossy black tiles flickering where they were embedded around the hearth. He sat in front of it and looked back to where Clark was behind him, already beginning to strip off his water-soaked clothes, the sweater holding water like a sponge.

His eyes locked on to the muscular figure in front of him. The wet clothes stuck to his body in a way reminiscent of Superman’s jumpsuit but the thin, near translucent-ness of his undershirt had an even stronger effect on Bruce’s mind. Clark walked over to the fireplace, laying his sweater on the front hearth, glancing down at Bruce who’s eyes had followed him the whole way over.

“See something you like?” Clark teased.

“Maybe. And what if I do?” Bruce purred, his voice low as he watched Clark’s eyes darken.

“Come here and find out.”

Bruce was on his feet, Clark meeting him as he stood, their lips crashing together, teeth knocking in a hungry kiss. He grabbed at Clark, reveling in the feel of the man’s mouth against his, the taste of his tongue.

Clark began to unbutton Bruce’s shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, licking further into Bruce’s mouth, desperate. Bruce groaned into the kiss. He had wanted this so badly for so long. To taste, to touch, but his mind caught up with him and he drew away quickly. This isn’t real and he needs to get out.

“Sorry, was that too fast? We can go slow.” Clark whispered, coming over to cup Bruce’s cheek with his hand and turn his face towards his, but again Bruce pulled away.

“No, it’s just- I… I can’t. I’m sorry.” Bruce gritted out, fighting everything inside him to stop from breaking right now.

“Can’t what?” Clark asked innocently.

“This. I can’t do this.”

“Ah.”

They both stood there in silence for a moment, Bruce unable to raise his eyes to meet the ones he felt gazing at him.

“You should probably go.” Bruce took a step away.

Clark took a step towards him, reaching out a hand. “I-”

Bruce whipped around, looking Clark in the eyes, refusing to let himself hide from this because anyone willing to hurt Clark the way he was hurting him, real or fake, deserves to live with the full consequences. “JUST-!” He took a breath, keeping the shake out of his voice with herculean effort, and whispered “Just go.”

Bruce felt like his body was trying to destroy itself as he watched Clark’s face, the look in his eyes. Bruce could see the man's heart break in real time, the wave of grief as everything comes crashing down all before Clark straightens himself up, wiping his face blank, tapping into the stoicism of Superman.

“Alright.” Clark says in a sharp monotone. He grabs his sweater and makes his way to the door, closing it behind him and flying off.

Bruce’s legs gave out and he slumped to the floor, tears welling to his eyes. He could allow himself to cry for a bit, this was a fake world anyway.

Alfred picked that moment to return, taking note of Clarks absence and setting one set of clothes and a towel off to the side before bringing the other to Bruce. He wrapped the towel around Bruce, patting his shoulder lightly and letting his hand rest there.

“No one is free from the natural equilibrium of the world, not even you. You’ve had a great deal of pain in your life, Master Bruce, but soon you will be rewarded with joy of equal measure.” Alfred sat for a moment. “Of course, through it all, I will be here if you need me.” And he stood to go.

“Alfred.” Bruce said from the floor.

“Yes, Master Bruce?”

“Thank you.” He said, looking up with teary eyes. “I mean it. Thank you.”

~~~~~~

SUPERMAN

A sigh came from the other room. “Why do you make this so difficult?” It was Spellbinder’s voice.

Superman was just blinking awake when bright light flooded the room and Spellbinder walked in.

“Good, you’re awake! We’ve been waiting.” He clapped his hands, pleased.

“We?” Superman grunted, lifting his head with great effort to watch as Spellbinder crossed the room to pick up an old rotary phone from a table stuck in the corner.

“Yes. You see, I could care less about you. It’s Batman that I want, and in exchange for helping me catch him and restoring my labs in a lovely and protected state, I made a deal with one of your little friends to take you in along the way.” He began to dial in a number, holding the receiver up to his ear. “It was so very pleasing for the two of you to make it so easy. You’re quite the pair.”

As the phone rang, Superman looked at his restraints. His hands and feet were completely locked inside thick, metal cylinders, holding him open in a vulnerable ‘X’. He tugged at his arms but found that his strength was gone.

“Yes, he’s awake. How long do I have? Mhmm. Mhmm. Good, good. Yes, he’ll be ready for you when you get here.” Spellbinder hung up the phone.

“Let me guess. Lex Luthor?” Superman snarked.

“Not too hard to figure out, hmm? He’ll be here soon to collect you. And don’t try anything. The blaster he hit you with earlier was infused with Kryptonite and has made you just an average joe like almost everyone else.” He cackled. “Oh, and I have this.”

Spellbinder pulled a small remote from his pocket and pressed a button. Excruciating pain shot through Superman’s body as electricity was pulsed through the metal cuffs. He screamed, tensing as nothing but the sensation of burning filled his mind. The pain subsided abruptly but left a lingering ache.

“Best behave yourself now, Superman.”

Spellbinder disappeared on the other side of the wall for a moment before an alarm began to blare. The wall slowly lifted up, exposing a much larger laboratory. And Batman, still unconscious in his tank. Superman’s cross slid across a track on the floor, siding him up with Batman in front of a large array of equipment.

Spellbinder was seated behind a large control panel that looked like it belonged in a rocket launch control center.

“What are you doing to him?” Superman asked, watching his friend float limply in his tank.

“Hmm. I shouldn’t talk about my work with captives, let alone heroes, but it’s so rare that anyone asks, and god only knows what Mr. Luthor is going to do to you, so sure, I’ll tell you.

“My focus of study is psychology, particularly dreams and the subconscious. I’m sure you have a file somewhere with my background, seeing that’s how Batman works-”he gestured at the tube”-but as a refresher. I was a high school psychologist and those little brats helped me perfect my research. That was when Batman showed up and ruined it all.

“I’ve been doing more studying in private and making a hefty profit off it. People come to see me to get to live their best lives in my dream-tubes. They’ll pay me whatever I want, do whatever little errands I need, all for the chase of a Dopamine high and a perfect life. Unfortunately, I need to do more research because after extended use, people go catatonic. I have found, however, that if you take them out just before, they blend right in with the junkies wandering the streets of Gotham.” He laughed.

Superman resisted the urge to yell, breathing deeply to temper the anger bubbling inside of him. That’s what Batman would do. Keep them talking until they give up some fatal flaw.

“That’s what you’re doing to him?”

“Trying to, more like it. Batman, of all people, will likely be one of the most valuable additions to my studies. That man simply refuses to let himself be happy, even in his dreams.”

“What do you mean?” 

“See for yourself.” Spellbinder rolled over a standing screen, switching it on.

It flickered for a moment before displaying what Superman guessed was a look into Batman’s mind. Bruce sat on the floor at the foot of his bed, damp and wrapped in a towel. His eyes were puffy and he was still sniffling occasionally.

“What did you do to him!” Superman raised his voice, horrified to see Bruce of all people in actual tears. He’s only ever seen it once before and that was a shortly witnessed event.

“Interesting,” Spellbinder mused. “Perhaps it is mutual, then.” He rolled the screen away.

“What did you do!” Superman yelled again.

“Don’t raise your voice at me, Superman. You are not the strongest in the room anymore. Not right now.” Spellbinder held up the remote. “Anyway, I didn’t do anything. He did that to himself. Or I guess you could say that you did that to him.”

“I would never-!” Superman was cut off by the burning wave of pain sent again through his body, screaming.

“That’s enough from you. Our other friend should be here quite soon anyway.” Spellbinder began to walk towards the door to the lab.

“Wait…” Superman rasped and Spellbinder turned partially toward him. “Can I have some water at least, please?”

Chapter Text

SUPERMAN

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” Spellbinder fills a small cup and brings it to him, pouring it into his mouth.

Superman pretends to swallow, holding most of the water behind his teeth, and slumping down even more in his restraints lets out a sigh through his nose. The act was enough to send Spellbinder on his way, thankfully.

About a minute after he left the room, Superman looked back over to Batman and then down to the ground between their prisons.

‘What idiot wires all his stuff to the same power strip?’ Superman thought and then spit the water directly onto the cords. ‘And then keeps it right next to his captives?’

Sparks shoot up from the power strip, crackling as it short circuits. His cuffs click and open, dropping him to the floor as an alarm starts blaring. Thank god even the doors are high-tech in this lab because with the alarm going off, Spellbinder is trapped on the other side until he figures out the manual override.

He turns to the tank. Superman doesn’t know how to open the tank and Batman needs out now before whatever oxygen left in the air mask runs out, so he does the one thing he can think of to get him out. He swings his fist against the glass, grimacing in pain as his fist collides with the cold, hard tank. He swings again and again, grunting as his knuckles begin to bleed. Slowly a crack begins to form, shooting vertically across the whole tube, he punches blindly, crying out at the sharp sting of glass cutting his skin as he finally shatters the tube.

Batman is heavy with his suit on for a normal man, even heavier waterlogged, but Superman hoists him out of the tank with a grunt, careful to not catch him on any remaining spikes of glass and lays him down out of the water.

Just on cue, the door finally slides open, Spellbinder already lunging at him, shouting. Superman meets his approaching face with his fist, sending the little man straight to the floor.

“We’re leaving.” Superman deadpans, turning his back to pick up Batman when he cries out, a sharp pain in his back.

He feels a second and a third as Spellbinder stabs Superman with a large shard of glass he picked up from the floor. Superman falls to the ground, the glass pricking his hands and knees, blood sprinkling around him. He feels the glass pulled out from his back and flips over, catching Spellbinder again across the jaw with his fist. 

He rises up, face stern and Spellbinder steps backward from the man in front of him, covered in blood and sinister even when powered-down. Superman punches him again in the face, then the stomach, and once more on the side of his head.

Spellbinder falls to the floor and Superman grabs him by the front of his suit, lifting him into the air, drawing back his fist to pummel him again.

“P-Please! I’ll let- let you go! Just please! Don’t kill me!” The man sobbed, sputtering.

Superman stopped, glaring at the whimpering man in his grasp. He could imagine what he looked like now, eyes wild, suit almost equally as red as it is blue with his own blood. He threw him across the room into the wall. Spellbinder slid down onto the floor, unmoving, but there was still a slight rise and fall to his chest. 

No matter how angry he got, no matter how easy it would be to crush his enemies and make sure they never came back to hurt people again, he would never kill someone. It was his duty to protect all life, even the ones of evil men, and he will wake up every day to fight this battle. It’s not easy, but nothing ever is. The thought briefly crossed his mind that Batman would be proud of him.

He walked over to where he had set Batman, checking his pulse with his fingers before picking him up bridal style and striding out of the lab. He easily found the steps and made his way to the front of the house.

He looked around, no car in sight since he flew here, and finally the panic began to set in. There were things he noticed he loved when he lost his powers. There was no endless drone of sound in the back of his mind, no strain of extra colors and wavelengths fighting to be seen, the true feeling of the breeze or soft grass on his skin that he could focus on as a whole rather than a microscopic level. He got to experience humanity as a human.

But there were also the horrible parts about losing his powers. It almost always happened at a time where he needed to help someone and he would then be useless. Without his strength, his flight, his eyes and ears, he was useless, a nobody. He watches how hard Batman works to be useful, far exceeding all expectations set for him by the league each time, and he can’t help but to be in awe of the strength and character before him.

Superman, however, had his gifts handed to him through luck of birth. He’d be nobody without them. Nobody would want him without them. Fear set into Superman’s mind, but he decided to search the area anyway, because what else was there to do other than wait for Luthor to arrive.

He hadn’t had much hope, but then he spotted a large tarped box to the side of the porch which he hoped to god was a car. Much to his luck, it was, and the keys were inside. He started it up and sped down the dirt drive onto the road, heading straight to the only place he could think to go in a time like this: Bruce's house, Wayne Manor.

~~~~~~

He wasn’t proud of his driving, but he didn’t get pulled over so that makes the whole thing a win. He’s not sure what would happen if an officer pulled over a bloody Superman and unconscious Batman anyway. He was proud that he made it all the way to Wayne Manor without any wrong turns and while staying alert.

The adrenaline had begun to wear off many minutes ago, his already weak body growing weaker and the pain growing stronger. His face would probably be permanently scrunched from the expression he had been making to keep his eyes open and focused.

Breathing labored, he opened the driver side door, biting down on a groan as he stepped out of the car, glancing back in mild horror at the blood soaked driver's seat. He took a step around the front of the car, leg wobbling beneath him. Another, hand firmly on the hood for support.

He gasped in pain as his leg gave out with the next step, making him fall to his hands and knees, aggravating the cuts already covering both. He pushed to stand up but the world around him already began to fade to black. The world spun as his face hit the ground.

-------------------------------------------------------------

BATMAN

Batman wakes up with a groan, shivering in the cold of his wet suit and faint with hunger. He remembered sitting alone in his room before his mind seemed to flicker and then everything went dark.

Eyes closed, he reached for his belt, counting exactly how many batarangs as he was supposed to have after the warehouse encounter. He ached in all the right places too. Now, where the fuck was he?

He recognized his house immediately, alarm bells going off in his mind. Those bells became sirens when he saw the blood soaked driver’s seat empty next to him. 

‘How the hell did I get here? Where was I before?’ He thought.

He jumped out of the car, backpedaling only slightly before noticing a bloody hand peeking around the front of the car. Carefully he stepped to the side to get a better view.

The hand was connected to an arm. The arm was clothed in a very familiar blue, only partially recognizable due to the blood, but Batman felt his heart rate spike, adrenaline coursing through his body. He lunged to the front of the car, the full body of Superman now in view.

Batman felt his stomach drop as he saw his friend, unconscious and covered in blood on the ground. There was just so much blood. Tears threatened to well into his eyes but Batman swallowed them back. He needed to be here, in the moment, fixing the problem.

Superman had a pulse, faint but present. He ripped off his own cape, carefully rolling Superman onto it and wrapping his whole upper body tightly in the fabric before hoisting him over his shoulder, gasping as his own body cried out in pain. He definitely had broken bones, and while the suit provided enough support to keep him standing now, it surely wouldn’t last much longer.

Never had he gotten to the Batcave so fast, swiping all the stuff off of one of the big stainless steel tables in his work area. Alfred had arrived shortly after Batman had begun climbing the stairs to the house and followed him to the cave.

“We’re turning this space into a Medbay for now.” He said, carefully laying Superman onto the table.

“Yes, Master Bruce.” Alfred quickly began to move equipment, rolling over the already existing medical cart to Batman’s side and then searching for stand lights to better illuminate the area.

While Alfred dutifully set up the area, Batman began to address Superman’s injuries. He pulled out a small pair of scissors, unassuming in appearance but designed to cut through the strongest of materials, like hero suits in cases of emergency.

From the front, most injuries appeared to be on Superman’s arms and hands, but after carefully rolling him over, Batman was met with a horrifying sight of 6 near 2 inch wide stab wounds, all still oozing blood. 

“Shit.” Bruce passed on his needle for the staple gun. 

He wiped down Superman’s whole back with a wet rag to mop up the blood, followed by a wash of iodine, and then got ready to staple the wounds shut. He just hoped nothing was too serious that it couldn’t wait to be healed once Superman regained his powers. He would still try his best to do this closer to right than wrong, though.

He finished stapling one wound, then the next before having to reload the gun. He got the third and then halfway through the fourth when he saw Superman’s hand twitch. Batman set down the gun and went to grab the case of syringes to knock him back out but it was already too late, he was awake.

“AHG!” Superman screamed, lifting himself and sliding off from the table.

“No! Stay down, don’t move!” Batman yelled at him, pulling out a syringe.

Superman’s eyes calmed down when he saw Batman standing there, and after a moment his arms began to shake and he laid himself back down on the table. 

“Sorry…” He mumbled, face pressed sideways on the cold metal.

“Don’t be.” Batman said, putting the needle in his arm, watching as Superman’s eyes fluttered closed and his breathing leveled out once more.

He quickly finished up the stapling, wrapping thick gauze and bandages over Superman’s torso. He then moved onto the hands, cringing as he felt the broken bones shift beneath his fingers as he applied pressure.

With a pair of tweezers, he carefully picked out the shards of glass from his fist, splinting and tightly wrapping all the way up to his elbows to account for the burns running up his forearms. He did the same to his feet, finding similar burns there. Electrical burns, Batman concluded.

By the time he and Alfred transferred Superman to an actual gurney, the pain in Batman’s leg and chest became too unbearable to walk on anymore. He sat and watched Alfred flick on the few solar lights they had in the cave before making his way over to where he sat.

Alfred rolled over an X-ray to look at the damage to his ribs before removing his suit. 

“8 ribs, Master Bruce. That’s a new record for you.” Even when joking, there was a disapproving note in Alfred’s voice. “Please try to hold your breath for as long as possible when I take your suit off, and breathe shallowly once you can’t hold it any longer.”

He did as told until Alfred properly bandaged up his chest and then they started on his lower half. His left leg was properly broken, a transverse fracture through his fibula and greenstick through his tibia. He didn’t even flinch as Alfred worked on his leg, too focused on where Superman laid in front of him.

The solar lights had yet to bring back his strength, so far just deepening the shadows of his sunken face. He thought back to Superman’s screams upon waking up half stapled together on the table and paled at the thought of what he must have gone through to get them both here. He’d never know how to repay him for going through whatever happened.

This isn’t the first time Superman has been injured like this, but he finds it harder each time to witness. He’s seen Superman in so many more lights than as a distant coworker. He’s seen the joy on his face as he reads through letters sent to him by children he’s saved, secretly keeping every one of them. He’s seen the care in his eyes when visiting his mother and father back in Smallville. He’s witnessed the way he could be infinitely gentle despite his unyielding strength. He’s seen him as a friend. 

To think that that was the same man, the face of the same man who he had tasted not so long ago in his memory.

“All done, Master Bruce. Now it’s time for you to rest.” Alfred stood, brushing off the fronts of his pants.

“No, I need to-” Bruce stopped, feeling a pinprick in his arm. “Alfred?” He looked up at his butler who was holding a syringe.

“I’m sorry, Master Bruce, but I promise, some rest will not hurt you.”

“Huuhhnnoooo…” Bruce slurred before slumping back onto the table.

Chapter Text

SUPERMAN

The first thing Clark noticed was the faint warmth radiating over his body, followed quickly by the dull ache encompassing his entire being. There was a beeping, a steady pulse. ‘A heart monitor,’ He thought. He could hear a second beeping from further away, too.

The world was bright when he opened his eyes, taking a moment to adjust to the bright lights shining down on him. He groaned as he sat up from the bed. Everything hurt, but the pain was much duller than before, and he could feel that his strength was slowly returning.

A good ten feet in front of him, on a similar gurney sans the lights laid Bruce. He too looked worse for wear, but now that he was all cleaned up and getting genuine rest, looked better than how Clark had found him. He got up, slowly testing his ability to put weight on his feet before making his way over to Bruce’s side.

Bandages wrapped his chest and a thick cast was on his left leg, stopping just below the knee. Smaller patches of gauze were taped down on his arms and face for cuts. Clark squinted, using his x-ray vision to get a look at the bones beneath the bandages, frowning at how extensive the damage was.

He knew that Bruce was going to be incredibly unhappy with the situation when he woke up and would try to be as mobile as possible despite Alfred’s best effort to keep him in bed. Clark would try to help ease the healing process as much as he could, too.

Clark walked back over to his own gurney and began to unwrap the bandages on his arms. The skin underneath was closed up but still stood out as raw, pink scars. He knew they would fade away as he grew stronger, but to see the marring of his own flesh was grotesquely fascinating to him. It wasn’t often that he got to see himself healing.

He carefully unwrapped his own chest, reaching a hand behind himself to feel for scars and was surprised to feel the small bumps of metal in his skin.

“You should be resting still.” A raspy voice came from behind him.

Clark turned to see Bruce staring blankly at him from his bed. He had missed the sounds of him waking up, his super hearing still not fully back in commission. 

“It’s alright, I’m already feeling much better.” Clark gave him a small smile, meant to be reassuring, but Bruce just frowned.

“Come here,” Bruce motioned to him. “And bring that chair.”

Clark listened, bringing over the wooden chair Bruce had pointed towards.

“Turn and sit.” Bruce said once he reached the bedside. “I’ll take the staples out before you decide to try yourself.”

Bruce swung his legs off the side of the bed much faster than Clark would have liked, mostly managing to hide a grimace as he sat up, hand automatically moving to grab his ribs but instead only hovering for a moment before returning to his side.

“Be careful!” Clark chided.

“I’m fine.” Bruce grunted, reaching for the remote attached to the gurney, pressing down on a button to make the bed lower.

Clark grabbed the tweezers from the cart at Bruce’s bedside before he tried to lean to grab them himself and handed them over. He sat backward in the chair, scarcely breathing as he waited for the feel of Bruce’s careful hands on his back.

He took a small, sharp inhale when he finally felt the slight cold of Bruce’s fingers, resting tenderly next to the first set of staples he intended to pull. Almost instantly he felt them withdraw.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked, actually sounding worried.

“Yeah, yeah. Just a little extra sensitive right now is all. It doesn’t hurt.” Clark mumbled, blushing slightly, hoping that it wasn’t visible to Bruce.

“Okay. Tell me if anything hurts.” Bruce’s fingers returned and he began to work out the staples. He was careful not to pinch Clark’s skin as he grabbed each tiny bit of metal, working slow and with diligence.

Clark closed his eyes, the fatigue and soft pressing of Bruce’s fingers lulling him off into the recesses of his mind. He thinks back to Spellbinder and what he had told Superman about his dream tubes. He remembers Spellbinder’s words after showing him into Bruce’s dreamscape. What had he meant by something being mutual? 

The image of Bruce staring blankly at the floor in his room is stuck in his mind. He said that it was mutual. He said that it was Superman who caused Bruce’s pain. Maybe it was just Spellbinder trying to get in his head, or maybe there was something behind it. 

“Hey B.?” Clark said, voice quiet.

“Mhmm.”

“Do you, uh, remember what happened? After you left for the warehouse?”

He felt Bruce pause on his back.

“I was knocked out by someone else there while I was focused on the jewel thief. Then I woke up here.” Bruce said curtly, resuming his tweezing.

“It was Spellbinder. He was partnered with Luthor to try and get the both of us. He put you in what he called his ‘dream tube’, which he said he had been using to run experiments and make money on Gotham citizens who wanted an escape from their lives. Do you remember-”

“Yes.” Bruce cut in.

“Okay.” Clark sat for a moment. Bruce obviously wasn’t fond of remembering his time in the dream tube, but he needed to get this off his mind.

“When Spellbinder had captured me, before I broke out, he showed me something. He said it was what you were dreaming. You were- you had been crying.” 

Silence.

“Do you think that- Are you… scared of me?” Clark asked slowly, voice dropping down to a whisper. He was trying his best not to curl forward into himself.

“What? Why in the world would you think that?” Bruce asked incredulously. 

“Well, I… Spellbinder, he said that- that I was the one to do that. To hurt you. That it was me who was hurting you in your dream.” Clark could feel his voice threatening to break and knew Bruce could hear it too.

“No. Hell no. I am not afraid of you and in that dream… in that dream I hurt myself. You did nothing wrong, it was all me.” Bruce said it with such conviction that the guilt in Clark’s mind was nearly wiped away entirely, but it was only replaced with worry.

“Done” Bruce sat back, tossing the tweezers onto the cart again where they clattered loudly.

Clark stood up, stretching his arms above his head and leaning side to side, his back giving a few satisfying pops before he relaxed and turned to Bruce. He still hadn’t figured out whatever was apparently mutual between them, but he could tell that Bruce was in no state to talk about it. 

Bruce was refusing to look in Clark’s direction, some unreadable emotion flickering across his face. He watches as Bruce drags his legs back into the bed and like a fool lets himself feel a moment of relief before watching Bruce swing them out the other side and immediately drop to his feet to stand, his body tensing with suppressed pain.

“Hey! You need to stay in bed, your bones are so broken and-” Clark rushed to the other side of the bed to try and put Bruce back in, but Bruce swatted him away.

“I'm fine!” He snapped, the harshness of his voice freezing Clark in place. “I’m fine.” He said again, softer.

This is precisely what Clark had expected.

“If you’re going to be up, then you need to use this.” Clark pulled over a wheelchair from where it was folded by the bedside. He nearly laughed at the look of horror on Bruce’s face.

“No, I can walk fine.”

“It’s this or crutches. Neither means you’re staying in bed.”

Bruce looked at the wheelchair, then to the set of crutches, also resting by the bed, and then to Clark, who even when not at full strength was more than strong enough to deal with Bruce.

“Fine.” Bruce pouted, grabbing the crutches and tucking them beneath his arms.

He began to make his way away from the beds when Clark tried to stop him again.

“Now where do you think you’re going? You can’t make it up all those stairs like that.”

“Damnit, you’re not my mom. I’m not going to the stairs anyway.”

Clark watched as Bruce made his way over to the wall where a small rectangle panel was embedded. Bruce pushed it and a small circle button lit up. 

“I have an elevator.” Bruce said smugly as the wall opened behind him to reveal a surprisingly large, well lit elevator.

He stepped inside, blocking the door from closing with his crutch. 

“I’m grabbing some food, you should sit under your lights. Want anything?” Bruce asked.

“Bring me some of whatever you’re having.” Clark smiled, walking back to his bed to sit under his solar lights.

–-----------------------------------------------------------

BATMAN

Bruce slumped against the wall as soon as the doors to the elevator closed. His body ached terribly and every movement was felt. The crutches helped his leg but hurt his ribs, but he refused to use the wheelchair, knowing it meant that Alfred and now Clark would dote on him even more.

That is if Clark still wanted to be around him. Bruce had had thoughts about Clark before. He imagined the feeling of his body pressed against his own, how it would feel to taste his lips, having his senses full of nothing other than Clark. These thoughts either just popped into his head unbidden, or on the rare occasion, during some of the lonlier nights, serve as a guilty pleasure. Never had he felt this bad about it, he can’t blame himself for his thoughts in the past, he was only human after all, and he’s never acted on them or made moves to wreck what the two of them already have. 

Whatever happened in that dream tube, despite being all in his head, was different than imagining things. It felt more real, and according to Clark’s short debrief, what had happened in his mind was able to be watched. Not just able to be, was being watched. 

Clark had seemed incredibly uncomfortable when asking about what he saw. He said it was just when Bruce had cried. ‘So much for thinking it would be okay to grieve openly in the privacy of his mind.’ He thought. But Clark may not be telling Bruce everything that he saw because as far as Bruce is aware, he is uncomfortable. Beyond uncomfortable, disgusted. Repulsed.

He remembered the way Clark seemed to flinch when he first touched his back. How when he asked the questions, he tried to hide how he was pulling away from him. He asked if Bruce was afraid to see who was at fault in the dream, if maybe Clark had come onto him instead of the other way around. And Bruce said no. He made it clear it was his decision to do what he did.

And he’s handling it better than Bruce deserves. Clark is keeping it on the backburner in order for them to heal and to maybe even try to salvage their partnership, if nothing else. 

He imagined telling Clark yes instead. Bruce found it hard to be scared of a man literally powered by sunshine, no matter how superhuman those powers may be. Clark has long since proved his control and restraint. He has far exceeded the standards for gentleness and care, more so than most humans, even. Clark works hard to dissipate fear surrounding his name, at least for innocent people, and Bruce has been witness to this many times. He knows about Clark’s anxiety about humanity shunning him for his differences, no matter how good he tries to be. He doesn’t even wear a mask, just to show the public that he can be trusted. His civilian identity seems like more of a disguise than his suit.

With minimal fumbling of the crutches, Bruce made it to the kitchen. He took a moment to peer through the doors and down the halls, making sure Alfred wasn’t nearby lest he wanted to be shuttled right back to his bed in the cave. Clark may be in the position to let Bruce move about if it means he gets more personal space, but Alfred would have none of it, and Bruce would be powerless against him.

If Bruce had said that he was scared of Superman, he knows that too would fundamentally change the nature of their relationship. Clark would likely draw away, giving Bruce as much space as possible. His face would be expressionless and stony as he listened to Bruce say, “Yes. I’m scared of you,” and would nod solemnly before departing from the cave as soon as he got the chance. They would still work together though. They would still talk. They could still be friends, despite the crack it would leave in Clark’s heart to think that Bruce feared him.

Bruce began to rummage through the kitchen for whatever food he could find that he knew Clark enjoyed. The man didn’t need to eat, so he wasn’t going to force any ultra-healthy energy foods on him today. He opened the fridge, peeking in the few tupperware containers Alfred had stored leftovers in from the past nights of Bruce not being home(God bless that man), and hit the jackpot.

He pulled out the large pot of leftover chili, hobbling over to the stove and dragging his crutches behind him by squeezing them under his arms. Alfred would break his other leg if he saw what bruce was up to for sure.

The chili was nearly ready when Bruce heard a sound from the hallway, turning with the expectation of having to defend himself from Alfred’s attempts at sending him downstairs. Instead, in the doorway was Clark, leaning against the doorframe still shirtless. 

“You should be laying down.” Bruce turned back to the pot, stirring it just to give himself something to do other than look at Clark.

“Says you.” Clark laughed. “I could smell whatever you were cooking and had to come up. I also was going to sit outside in the real sun, if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course, make yourself at home.” Bruce said, shuffling sideways with his crutches to get bowls down from the cabinet. 

He reached up for the handle but was suddenly aware of a presence right behind him. Clark reached above his head and got the bowls down, setting them on the counter. Bruce hunched down, leaning away. Of course he was going to be Mr. Helpful, even if it meant being near Bruce. 

“Are you sure you don’t want the wheelchair? It’ll be easier on your ribs.” Clark said, stepping back, a slightly guilty look in his eyes.

“Absolutely.” Bruce huffed. “Since your hands are free, fill those bowls, would you?”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

Clark filled each bowl with a hefty scoop of chili. He grabbed silverware and a bag of oyster crackers and shredded cheese from the places Bruce directed him to and headed out to the back gardens, finding a small table under an old, wooden pergola. 

Bruce sat under the shade while Clark set his chair where the sun shone down brilliantly on him. Despite being on the fringes of the city limits, Wayne Manor tended to be subject to the same Gotham gloom, but today was nice and mild. The sun was high in the sky, the late spring air was fragrant with the smell of the gardens.

“I take it you don’t come out here much?” Clark raised an eyebrow at Bruce.

“Why do you say that?” Bruce asked, slightly offended to be asked if he frequents his own house.

“Well, you’re looking around like me. Like you don’t see this very often.”

“Oh…” Bruce took a big bite of his chili, swallowing it before continuing. “I guess I don’t, really. Not during the day at least. We light it up well and host parties out here at night during the summer and early fall, but I’m usually too busy or too tired to spend time out here on my own.”

“That’s a shame, it’s lovely.” Clark sighed, taking in a deep breath through his nose and sliding down into his chair.

He was so relaxed, Bruce noticed. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling as well as Bruce thought earlier, or maybe when he recharges in the sun it lowers his inhibitions. 

They finished their food in silence, listening to the sounds of the garden and enjoying this rare moment of beauty and slowness. Clark stood up, holding out his arms, skin now smooth and pristine, no evidence of shattered carpals or glass chunks left behind, and leaped over the edge of the pavilion the pergola was seated atop.

Bruce’s heart jumped out of his chest, shocked before he remembered who he was fearing for, and no sooner than this realization, Clark soared across the beds, shooting up to do a slow, elegant loop before turning and heading back to where Bruce sat, landing gingerly on his bare feet.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you, I just couldn’t resist.” Clark said sheepishly, sitting himself back in his chair.

“You didn't, it's fine.” Bruce looked away.

“Don’t lie, I heard it.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Oh so that’s how it is, huh? And here I was thinking that you cared about me.” Clark pretended to pout, but Bruce said nothing in return.

Bruce felt a pang in his chest. ‘I care about you. I care so damn much it hurts.’ Bruce thought, keeping his expression level and his breathing even. It wasn’t enough though, because Clark leaned forward in his chair, expression growing serious.

“Bruce. What happened in there?”

Chapter Text

SUPERMAN

“Nothing.” Bruce said flatly. 

Clark looked at him, this tired, hurting man. As a hero, it is Clark’s goal, his dream and purpose, to save everyone he possibly can. He knows there will always be some who slip through the cracks, and from the moment he met Bruce he felt that this might be one of the people who does. He could save Bruce a thousand times from criminals and bad guys, but that task paled in comparison to the challenge of saving Bruce from himself.

He could see how hard Bruce was on himself, the limits he pushed himself to. He sees how deeply Bruce cares for his friends, for his city. He remembers the state Bruce was in after Dent, the states he gets in about Dick and how hard it was to let him go out of Batman’s easy-access range. 

Everyone sees the scary side of Batman, the cool headed caped crusader of the Gotham streets. Others see the shallow playboy side of Bruce Wayne. Clark is one of the few people who gets to see Bruce’s brilliant mind at work, who gets to learn the subtle language Bruce speaks his feelings in without even realizing it, who gets to share a bowl of chili out in the stately gardens while enjoying the sun.

Bruce had taught him so much about how to not just be human, but a good one. He deserves so much more kindness than he allows himself to receive. Clark wishes that he could show him that. That he is loved. He would take Bruce in his arms and cherish each line of his body, using gentle hands to work the stress out of his muscles until he was soft. He would soothe over every scar with his tongue and murmur every word in every language Clark knows to show the depth of his feelings across his skin. He would do everything in his power to make Bruce feel safe at last.

“No, there is something.” Clark pointed and Bruce flicked his eyes over at him wearily. “I get that you don’t like talking about things, especially when it has to do with your feelings, but your mental health is just as important as your physical health.”

Bruce scoffed and pushed himself up from his chair, steadying himself with his crutches.

“My mental health is good enough. I’m fine, like I said before.” Bruce dismissed him.

Clark opened his mouth to continue arguing but before he could say a word, Bruce’s crutch caught against the edge of a paver and he tumbled forward. In the blink of an eye, Clark was there, catching him by the shoulders before he even got close to hitting the ground.

Bruce refused to make eye contact, body stiff as a board as Clark righted him up. He didn’t let go of Bruce’s shoulders despite the sting in his heart caused by Bruce’s obvious discomfort with his presence. After this he would take his leave and Bruce wouldn’t have to see him again until he called upon him, but right now he needed to make sure Bruce was okay.

“Please, talk to me. Spellbinder said it was my fault you got hurt, and I know you said it wasn’t, but you’re not acting that way. I want to make things right, Bruce. You’re my best friend.” Clark felt the fight leave Bruce’s body and he sat him back down in his chair, kneeling down in front of him so that they stayed near eye-level.

“I shouldn’t be.” Bruce whispered hoarsely.

“You shouldn’t be what?”

“I shouldn’t be your best friend.”

“That’s ridiculous-”

“No, you deserve someone better. I’m mean and grumpy and am bad at telling you that you’re appreciated or thanking you for your help. You deserve someone who is kind to you and gives you the world. You deserve friends who empower you and help you. You deserve friends who- who don’t…”

Clark felt his heart swelling, a strange mix of love and sorrow for the man in front of him making him want to be nearer to Bruce. “Don’t what, Bruce?” He gently prompted.

“Friends who don’t wreck their friendship because they can’t get over their feelings.” Bruce’s voice broke, his eyes shone with the threat of tears.

“Bruce…” Clark’s mind short circuited.

Bruce liked him. Bruce liked him back. All of this was because Bruce liked him and thought it was one sided and that their friendship would end because of it.

“I’m sorry. You can leave if you want. I promise I’ll keep things professional and you won’t have to see me outside of-” Bruce’s voice was strained with the effort it took to not sound as horrible as he felt.

“Stop.” Clark ordered, not wanting Bruce to continue this train of thought any longer. Bruce took in a shaky breath, wiping his face with his hand.

“In the dream,” Bruce whispered, his voice pleading, beggin Clark to see him as he sees himself, “We kissed and then I sent you away. I took advantage of your kindness and created in my head some version of you that doesn’t exist and then broke your heart. You did nothing wrong, it was me.”

Bruce put a hand on Clark’s shoulder and moved him to the side, standing once more. This time, Bruce did not stumble as he moved back to the house with a speed unprecedented for someone in his condition.

Clark sat for a moment, dumbfounded, his mind reeling to catch up with everything he just learned. Bruce likes him back and is still convinced that Clark no longer wants anything to do with him. So that is what Spellbinder said was mutual(which means they need to deal with him sooner rather than later…). 

In Bruce’s dream they had kissed and then Bruce said he broke Clark’s heart, meaning he probably did something similar to what he’s doing now, which is push Clark away. At least now Clark knows how to fix this for both of them.

----------------------------------------------------------

BATMAN

Clark didn’t follow him inside. Bruce wasn’t expecting that he would but it still hurt. When he got his hands on Spellbinder he was going to make sure that it would be the last time he had to deal with him ever again.

He swung himself briskly on his crutches to the elevator and called it up. To his surprise, Clark was down in the batcave when he stepped out.

“You don’t have to stay-”

“Bruce-”

“Or say anything,” Bruce wasn’t looking at Clark. He couldn’t.

“Bruce, listen-” Clark approached Bruce's back.

“Like I said, I’ll leave you be. I’ll keep things professional and-”

“Will you just-” Clark sounded frustrated, putting his hand on Bruce’s shoulder to turn him around.

Bruce was about to continue his apology but suddenly Clark’s mouth was on his. He froze, eyes wide as Clark had grabbed his face in both of his hands and pressed their lips together hard.

When Clark pulled away, Bruce was finally silent, staring at Clark whose cheeks were now a beautiful pink. Clark still held his face and Bruce’s hands were gripping his arms tightly.

“Just listen to me for a sec, would ya? I’m not mad, I…” Clark paused, thinking about his next words, “I have feelings for you, too.”

“Oh,” Bruce finally breathed out, still staring like a deer in headlights at the man powered by the star which loves humanity more than all the others. “Oh.”

Clark began to lean in again, pausing for a moment. “May I?”

“Please, yes.” Bruce whispered, a note of desperation in his voice. 

They met in the middle in a slow, deep kiss. This one was different from the one in his dream world, which had been rough and pushed for more. No, this one was a different hunger. Clark seemed to drink him in, memorizing the feel of Bruce’s lips and the taste of his mouth, putting into action every dear thought that he had ever had for Bruce.

This kiss was better than the last, better than he could’ve ever imagined, because this time he wasn’t imagining it.

Bruce was breathless when they finally pulled away. Any other person would have had bruises in the shape of Bruce’s fingertips with how hard he had been squeezing Clark’s arms. But this was Clark, it was Superman, the most kind and selfless being in the whole universe and the center of Bruce’s.

Clark scooped him up, kissing Bruce’s forehead, moving slowly across to his temple and down his cheek, landing one final kiss on his lips as he set him in his bed. 

“You’re tired, let’s rest up. We have a lot to talk about once you’re feeling better.” Clark began tucking Bruce into his bed.

“But I’m feeling fi-” Bruce was cut off by another kiss. He could tell that Clark was going to abuse the hell out of this newfound power.

“Shhh, it’s bedtime. I’m gonna rest too. The bat computer is right here if something goes wrong, don’t worry.” Clark stood, planting one last kiss on Bruce’s forehead before stepping away. “I’ll watch the world tonight.”

Bruce caught his arm before he moved far.

“Stay.” He said, looking up at Clark in a way that drew a smile to his lips.

“Always.”

Chapter Text

BATMAN

Batman and Superman stand on a distant rooftop, watching as the police make their final rounds of the building before driving off, taking their new captive off to prison. Batman had left him neatly tied up in his lab for the cops to find, surrounded by heaps of evidence and perhaps a little more beat up than he tends to leave criminals. Superman maybe snuck in a punch or two early on that was a bit harder than they needed to be, but he left most of the work to Batman himself.

As soon as they knew where to look for Spellbinder and his operations, he was incredibly easy to find. The whole thing was quite messy, his ex-customers actually slowly recovering mentally from their near dream-induced comas. Batman would’ve heard about SPellbinder’s activities sooner or later anyway, it seems.

Taking him down was easy too. With the help of Superman, in Spellbinder’s already partially destroyed lab, he was practically a sitting duck ripe for the taking. Still, they went in guns blazing, having some personal beef to deal with.

And now it is over.

It took a while for Bruce to fully come around to believing in Clark’s feelings for him. The cuts left by Spellbinder’s dream world are deep and still healing, but Clark has been so incredibly patient. So understanding and kind. Bruce hasn’t been able to let his guard down the way he gets to with Clark in the privacy of their own rooms in years, decades even. 

“Anything else on your agenda for the night?” Batman asked, peeking at his league communicator.

“Nothing. You?” Batman said, watching the lights of the police cars slowly disappear with each turn.

“Nada. Although,” Superman turned to Batman, giving him a sly smile. “I could think of a few things to fill my time this evening.”

“Oh really? Is finishing that puzzle back at the Watchtower bothering you that badly?”

“No, but something else is.” Superman slid behind Batman, pressing his whole body against his back.

Batman inhaled sharply at the feeling of Superman pressed against him, warmth swelling in his stomach as he felt the beginning of something against his ass.

“Hmm, I’m not sure what you could be referring to, Superman. Maybe you could show me back at the cave so I can help you out?” Batman said, shifting ever so slightly forward to take away the hope of friction for Superman.

“Such a tease,” Superman huffed, scooping Batman up in his arms and flying towards Wayne Manor. “I can’t believe all these people think you’re the world’s greatest detective.”

“I wonder why they call you the man of steel when something as small as this can throw you off.” 

“Wha-?” Superman choked on his words, flight wobbling as Batman slipped a hand between them, cupping his dick through the suit and giving it a squeeze while also turning his head to put his mouth on Superman’s neck, biting down softly.

Batman gave a satisfied hum before sitting normally once more in Superman’s arms.

“Oh, you asked for it!” Superman said, accepting Batman’s challenge.

He flew as fast as he knew Batman could take, landing on the balcony outside of Bruce’s room and undressing Batman entirely with superspeed. Bruce looked mildly surprised at the situation and the cool night air on his skin, but ultimately seemed to bask in it. One thing Bruce has never really been is ashamed of his body. It serves him well, despite the occasional shortcoming, and he is grateful for that.

Bruce is still mad about his broken leg, but thankfully long ago in a similar situation, Bruce developed a cast about the thickness of a sock that could support not only his healing but also his usual activities during that process. So there he stands, naked on his balcony, looking at Superman who stands a few feet in front of him, cape fluttering as he takes in Bruce with dark eyes.

This won’t be their first time exactly, but so far their other time had been pretty heat-of-the-moment, so this change of pace made Bruce’s heart leap with excitement. He hoped Superman could hear it.

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SUPERMAN

Superman marveled at the man before him, so confident even in his absolute vulnerability. He could never fully understand that vulnerability, living with that all the time, and he admired Bruce’s bravery for it. The results of his bravery stood out on the man’s skin like slivers of moonlight, some more closely knit together like on the outsides of his forearms or the center of his chest, right where the bat logo sits on his suit. One day he would map each and every scar with his tongue.

He heard Bruce’s heart flutter as they stared at each other and Superman felt the sudden want to give him everything he ever wanted. This beautiful man, tested and tempered by the world, took a look at some humanoid alien who could easily be the end of all mankind, and his heart skipped a beat.

Superman strode forward, placing a burning kiss on his lips, speaking everything in his heart to Bruce with his tongue. Bruce clung to him, holding their bodies together, gently rutting himself against Superman’s thigh. He ran his fingers through Bruce’s hair, tugging softly and eliciting a soft moan as his reward.

When he broke the kiss, Bruce’s lips were swollen and shiny with spit. His breath came fast and his pupils were blown wide. Superman dropped down to his knees, grabbing Bruce’s waist with his hands, looking up at Bruce’s face when taking the tip of his now very hard cock into his mouth.

He started slow, a few gentle bobs of his head before pulling off to kitten-lick the length of Bruce’s dick. Bruce tangled his hands in Superman’s hair, grip slowly growing harder the longer Superman teased. He could feel Bruce pushing at his head, hips twitching forward in search of more, but Superman remained firmly where he wanted to be, giving just enough to keep Bruce hard and wanting.

Bruce moaned, a shudder running through his thighs. “Clark, please…” He pleaded.

Superman stood up, kissing Bruce again, relishing in the groan he made as he tasted himself on Superman’s tongue, relaxing himself in Superman’s arms. He flew them both into the room, dropping Bruce on the bed and stripping out of his suit slowly, knowing Bruce was watching. He took his time, peeling it off piece by piece, layer by layer, making sure to exaggerate every movement of his body.

As expected, Bruce was staring at him, biting down on one of the fingers of the arm he propped himself up on, slowly stroking himself with the other.

“Not yet, roll over.” Clark said, crawling onto the bed with Bruce.

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BATMAN

Clark grabbed his ass, kneading a little with his hands before pulling his cheeks apart, letting one of his thumbs ghost over Bruce’s hole, applying the smallest amount of pressure.

“Is this alright?” Clark asked.

“More than.” Bruce responded, bending his knees slightly and shifting his hips to give Clark easier access. 

Clark grabbed one of the pillows from the head of the bed and shoved it beneath Bruce’s hips, Bruce sucking in a breath at the friction the smooth pillow case gave to his cock. He was so incredibly hard after all of Clark’s teasing.

He felt cold lube drip onto his ass, listening as Clark squeezed more into his hand and coated his fingers. He must’ve grabbed it from Bruce’s bedside. Bruce sighed as Clark slowly pushed in the first digit, relaxing as much as possible. Clark began to work the finger in and out, crooking it, searching for just the right spot.

“This isn’t my first time. You don’t have to be gentle.” Bruce grit his teeth, his body begging for more.

“Oh, I’m not worried about hurting you.” Clark said, his voice growing dark with his next sentence. “You’re beautiful like this, and I want to see you squirm.”

Bruce groaned into the mattress and Clark slipped in a second finger, continuing his slow, methodical opening on Bruce’s ass. By the time Clark had slipped in the third finger, Bruce’s thighs were quivering as he tried not to buck into the pillow. His knuckles were white where he gripped the sheets and he was moaning loudly, begging without words as Clark repeatedly rubbed over his prostate.

“Please, Clark,” He whined. “I’m ready, just fuck me already.”

He heard Clark let out a moan from behind him, clearly having been using every ounce of his own willpower to move so slow. He whined again when his hole was suddenly empty, but the feeling of the head of Clark’s cock lined up with it replaced it quickly.

Clark slowly began to push, both men panting with the effort it took to not speed things up. It felt like forever before Clark was fully seated in Bruce’s ass, gripping his hips so tightly that he would be surprised if there weren’t handprint shaped bruises there tomorrow. He leaned forward, sucking and biting marks along Bruce’s shoulder blades. 

“Clark,” Bruce moaned, loud and wanton.

He tried in vain to wiggle his hips, to gain any sort of friction anywhere. Bruce felt so incredibly full, so sensitive, so desperate to reach his release. He writhed gasping at each little shift of fabric against his dick.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Clark asked, sucking on his neck. “Something bothering you?”

“I need- I need-” Bruce panted.

“Need what, baby?”

“Please, fuck me already!” Bruce nearly sobbed out as his hips bucked fruitlessly.

Clark, unable to hold himself back anymore, began to fuck into Bruce hard, grunting with each thrust. Bruce moaned loudly, hardly able to keep his eyes open as waves of pleasure washed over him.

“Fuck, Bruce, baby, I need to see you.” Clark grunted.

Bruce gasped as Clark pulled out of him, flipped him over, and quickly slid back in. Clark was ruthless in his pace, the shift in position letting Clark nail his prostate on almost every thrust.

“Shit, I’m gonna-” Bruce came, his orgasm ripping through him like none had ever before.

Clark fucked him through it, growing more frantic as he approached his own release. He curled forward, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s shoulders and biting down on the crook of his neck as he shouted through his climax, hips twitching softly forward through it.

He let go and kissed Bruce, mouth open but gentle. They lay there making out, cum drying sticky between their bodies. Clark eventually stood up, Bruce gasping as he slipped out of his oversensitized hole. He came back with a damp washcloth, gently wiping them both off before tossing it far across the room through the bathroom door once more.

Clark crawled back in bed, curling up in Bruce’s arms. That night, like the many that will follow, they fell asleep in each other's arms.