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Bruce jolted awake, his heart hammering in his chest. He was trembling, sweating profusely.
Another bad dream. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, letting his heart settle. It wouldn’t. He sat paralysed for a few moments, letting the room into his senses. That’s right. He could feel the warmth of the morning sunlight seeping through the open windows. He must have forgotten to close the curtains.
He should get up instead of wasting time… or go back to sleep. Though the latter was not an option. His heart eased as he watched the clouds move, slowly. Then, something familiar caught his eye, making his stomach lurch.
There, in the distant blue, was a spot of red. The figure was first a speck, the size of a distant bird, until it grew larger and larger. Bruce ripped off his covers, standing hastily, wincing at the pain of his scars from the night before. He stammered towards the window as the familiar figure descended, making the curtains flutter inwards, blocking the blinding sunlight. Bruce narrowed his eyes.
Superman was at his window, red cape flowing behind him. As he floated towards his window, Bruce surveyed his concerned expression.
“Bruce.” Superman started, and Bruce noted he sounded rather breathless.
“What are you doing here?” Bruce asked, wanting to sound interrogating, stubborn, rude…but he knew it never came out that way anymore. Every attempt at a dig always ended up a soft kind of caress. He would never admit it, though, not even to himself, how he had softened around Superman.
Superman was watching him, blue eyes flitting over him, as if looking for something.
“You called me.” He stated, folding his arms. “You called my name. A few minutes ago.”
Bruce’s blood froze. Shit.
“I came as fast as I could- well, I heard your heart. It was speeding, I’ve never heard it so fast-”
“Superman.” Bruce sighed.
“And I thought you were hurt, or worse…” Superman was looking down at his hands, his forehead creased.
“Clark.” Bruce said, finding his hand twitching unconsciously as he stared at Superman’s hand that rested upon the edge of the window. A hand so capable, so strong. So gentle.
“I’m okay.” Bruce found himself speaking quieter than usual, as if his voice would give it all away. “Truly. I just.. I must have called you in my sleep.”
Bruce glanced at the sunrise melted onto Clark’s face, as his eyes widened at the statement. Shit. That sounded- not good. Bruce turned away, hastily, feeling rather warm.
“It’s nothing. I had a bad dream.” he was pushing him away again, he knew that. But he was ashamed, embarrassed that he had made Clark fly all the way here just because of a nightmare. He hadn’t even meant to call him, didn’t even realise he had. It made him feel queasy.
“...Well… mind if I keep you company for a bit?” Clark said. Bruce could feel his eyes on his back.
No. go home. Go to work- you shouldn't be here, not at this hour, not ever-
Instead, Bruce shrugged. He could never utter the word, and Clark knew that, knew him.
He stepped over the window into the room.
Bruce turned around, eyeing him as he walked slowly around his room taking it in. Clark's head was held high, staring up at the tapestries, the carvings and paintings on the walls.
“This… this is your room? It’s bigger than half my apartment!”
Clark had that look of wonder on his face, the look that made him look immortal. His blue eyes met his, and Bruce’s heart seemed to stammer.
“What?” Clark asked, a half smile on his face.
“What…?” Bruce repeated, defensive.
“You’re staring. With that condescending look again.” Clark replied, humming, as he traced the edge of the bed with his palm, before sitting down.
Bruce averted his gaze. Condescending was not the word he would use. Awe fits better.
“It’s a shame you never showed me your home before now.” Clark said. “It really is spectacular. Imagine the rest of the place…”
Bruce said nothing, just sat beside him. The wounds on his body burned as he sat, and he knew Clark could hear the hitch in his breath.
“You’re hurt.” he said, eyes stern now.
“It’s what happens to us mere mortals.” Bruce mumbled, closing his eyes.
“...You need to be more careful.” he said, ignoring his jab.
A few beats of silence passed before Bruce opened his eyes again. Clark was still looking at him.
“Bruce?”
“Hmh?”
“I’m… I’m so glad you’re okay.” Clark whispered. “I… was seriously terrified. Your heart… what-”
He took a sharp breath, swallowing.
“What kind of dreams- I mean you don’t have to tell me.” he said. “But… Do you often have these dreams?”
Bruce took a breath.
“I don’t remember...exactly what I dreamt of." A lie. "Just that- it’s been happening ever since I was-”. Bruce stopped, inhaling sharply. “Since… my parents...”
Clark nodded slowly, showing his understanding. He knew Bruce hated when people showed him sympathy, and so for him, a quiet recognition was enough. Clark knew this, knew him. Nothing more needed to be said. Comfortable silence filled the air once more.
“But I am okay.” Bruce said, before nudging the other’s shoulder. “Don’t you have work?”
“Seriously?” Clark laughed, quietly. “This… you’re more important.”
“There’s not much you can do, Superman.” Bruce mocked. “Maybe you could crawl into my dreams, beat them all up.”
“I would.” Clark said, his face dead serious. “I would, if that were possible. Then they wouldn’t bother you anymore. Then you could actually sleep.”
“I sleep just fine.”
“3 hours a day?” Clark sighed. “Not in the slightest, B.”
His eyes rested on his hands now, that lay against his lap. Bruce followed his gaze, at his own knuckles that were raw from last night’s battles. They were bruised and red, skin peeling back. He had forgotten to cover them with bandages, and the burning pain was replaced by numbness.
Before he could say anything, Clark got up, stepping towards his bedside table. From the drawers, he searched inside and picked out the roll of bandages and antiseptic cream.
Clark kneeled down in front of Bruce, unwrapping the roll, tearing it off.
“You really are negligent.” Clark mumbled under his breath, taking Bruce’s hand, as one might hold glass. So gentle, and frail. Clark knew of Bruce’s strength, knew the inhuman power he was capable of…
And yet.
Clark focused on covering his knuckles with the bandaid, wrapping it around his hand, slowly, tightening as he went.
“You’re much better at this than I am.” Bruce found himself saying, mesmerised by the steady motion of his hands. Clark hummed, completely focused.
Clark finished covering one hand, and before he started the other, he leaned in slowly, as if entranced. The curl of his hair tickled the skin on Bruce’s hand, as he pressed a kiss upon his freshly bandaged knuckles.
Bruce was never prone to motion sickness. Hell, he drove the batmobile, swung from building to building in the dark. And yet, a sheer brush against his hand was enough to make his vision spin.
“You-” Bruce stammered, trying to break out of the spell. “Is that some kind of… Kryptonian quirk?”
Clark said nothing, just looked up with a strange look on his face, his eyes glimmering.
“If that’s what you want it to be.”
Bruce looked away, his mouth going dry at the comment. How could he say and do things like this? So easily, so surely?
A warm silence filled the room, and the sun was now higher in the sky. Clark finished up the last of his hands, before standing up. His blue eyes seemed to turn translucent as the morning sun lingered on them. Bruce’s chest tightened, as he realised he was going to leave. He looked down at the bandages on his hands, clenching his fists subconsciously.
“You should get some more sleep. For real, this time.”
Bruce shook his head, feeling like a small child. He swallowed harshly.
“Sleeping now is impossible.” I don't want to see my mother dying again in my dreams. I don’t want to see death. I don’t want to see darkness. I don’t want to wake up alone-
Clark regarded him, and Bruce saw his concerned expression from the corner of his eye.
“Then- do you want me to stay? Longer, I mean.” Clark said, his voice soft.
Bruce’s head shot up, blue eyes meeting. Telepathy was not part of Superman’s skills, but sometimes he wondered if Clark was hiding it from him.
“How do you do that?” Bruce mumbled under his breath. Clark stepped forwards, until he was looking down at him.
“Do what?” Clark had that smile on his face, the one he had when he was about to tell a bad joke. He brushed a strand of hair off Bruce’s forehead, tucking it gently behind his ear, in one quick motion.
Bruce thought he might have dreamed the touch of his fingers, thought he might have dreamed him entirely.
A man made of sunlight and hope and all things good and celestial- here he stood, in all his glory, in that godawful coloured suit. Here he was, in the dark of his bedroom, the place he hated coming back to, the place he had to deal with his demons. Fighting villains and monsters was one thing- out there, in the dark streets of Gotham, he had intellect, he had brawn. He had his knives, and his weaponry. He had his speed and his strength in every punch he threw. But in his sleep- he was completely helpless. There was no weapon in those dreams, no way out. He hadn’t felt that helpless since his father had yelled at him that night, since the bullet rang out-
“Hey-” Clark was cupping his face with both hands now. Of course, they were warm. Bruce realised his cheeks were wet, and he turned away, ashamed.
“Go.” Bruce whispered.
“...Bruce.” Clark’s voice was tender. “Buddy, talk to me. Let me be here for you.”
He could. He could reach out, he was right here, wiping the tears off his sorry face. He could reach out, hold onto him. He could for once, be selfish. But he was tired, so tired. He couldn’t bear it, bear Clark’s soft gaze and kind words. He deserved to be punished. A childish thought, impulsive, illogical. But it seems that all Bruce was outside of the suit was a small boy running and running.
That morning he continued to run, as he gently pushed away Clark’s hands with his own.
“Please.” Bruce said. “Just go.”
Confusion, then hurt. Then acceptance. Clark looked away, something like shame across his features. Bruce wanted to punch him, pull him back in.
Instead, he watched as Clark nodded, stepping towards the window.
“One day, Bruce.” Clark said, quietly. “You have to let someone in. You have to… give yourself that grace. That mercy.”
Bruce said nothing.
“Just… until then. I’ll wait for you. You know I will.” He said, a small smile on his face, as he climbed out.
Bruce watched, his heart sinking, as the red flicker in the clear summer sky grew smaller and smaller, until it disappeared entirely.