Work Text:
Barry had settled down sometime over New Brunswick. Having significantly lightened the provisions Alfred had been foresighted enough to pack, he’d finally made himself a spot on a bench, a pile of ropes, and two parkas. Bruce had mentioned that there were blankets and hammocks that were available for just that reason. Barry had yawned, waved him off, and passed out on the spot.
Victor was flying and repairing himself at the same time. His alien parts apparently meant he could literally multitask with no detraction of quality. Bruce was not going to even think about the flare of jealously when Victor’s leg reattached itself, reconnected and is now completely operational, all in under 20 minutes. He’s not.
Arthur – he wasn’t sure where Arthur was. The pitchfork was leaning on the wall beside the emergency exit, but the king was nowhere that Bruce could see. Frankly, he didn’t really want to go looking for the Atlantean.
Diana and Clark were near the front, speaking quietly. She seemed to be filling him in on the major points that brought him back to life. Once or twice, Clark had twisted to look at Bruce as if he thought the man rabid and libel to attack at any moment. He wished he had the energy to do more than stare.
So, everyone was safe, accounted for, and the world wasn’t ending. Great. Wonderful. Number one goal achieved, as Dick would have said.
Next goal: don’t pass out.
*
Alfred welcomed nearly everyone with the same polite warmth, only pausing a moment at Clark’s name. He made sure no one was injured, gave directions to the upstairs guest rooms and showers, and offered an empty weapons rack for anyone’s armour, rather than track it through the halls. Only after he’d seen to the guests did he climb up the ramp into the Fox.
Bruce was leaning heavily against a support beam, watching him. “Surprised that work,” he said roughly.
“Indeed,” Alfred said dryly. “Where are you bleeding from?”
Bruce huffed a laugh. “Only two, shoulder and arm.” He still didn’t move.
“And the reason you won’t come out is a sudden case of nerves?” Alfred asked, frowning. “You have guests to attend to, sir.”
Bruce nodded, head drooping. He pushed off slowly from the wall, and took a shaky step forward.
*
Clark was walking with Diana up the steps to the first landing when he heard Alfred’s startled, “Sir!”
He’d bolted back to the troop plane in time to see Bruce’s knees hit the grated floor with a muted clang. A blink, and he was holding the older vigilante upright, scanning him. Sound rushed back around them.
“Bruce?” he said, trying to see through the armour and not having much luck. “What’s wrong?”
Bruce’s eyes were glossy and bloodshot. “Did you just warp over here?” he asked dumbly, and promptly passed out.
Behind him, Alfred heaved a sigh, pinching his nose under his glasses.