Commentary on 'Breakable'
For taro_twist, the commentary on Breakable.
Hey there, you daring reader. I am having a very embarrassing time commenting this story, for as much as I still like it, it’s a hard one to revisit. See, I started it in the beginning of 2006, and it wasn’t finished until the middle of that year. It was about the fourth or fifth story I had written set in the DC universe, therefore, one of the first I wrote in English. I will tell you right now I think English is evil. I can’t seem to function anymore without a second language to fall back to when my first one fails me, but it’s damn evil. So I was fumbling a lot with the language and my muses were still very sketchy. These days, my Bruce muse is pretty much set in stone and kind of making growly sounds at his canon counterpart, but back then he was closer to canon. My love for Clark was still in its developing stages. I have always been a Bat-girl, and though I have slowly fallen in love with Clark -one of the many things I owe to jen_in_japan is her wonderful discussion with me about his character- at that time… eh.. well, let’s say that I’m not entirely fond of this Clark version because when I wrote it I didn’t really *know* Clark. Does that make sense?
This story has other problems, too, most of them brought forth by the fact that it was wrote in a span of 6 months, during which many things changed, not only my grasp on the English language -that one is constantly evolving, hopefully for the better- and the muses, but what I expected this story to be and how it was going to be. The later parts, I think, are clear evidence of that, as they read different.
Then, when it was done, I sent this to sasha_anu, who is the bestest friend a girl could have for a beta reader, and she… well, she kind of blew her own brain away trying to fix my mess of language murdering. At the time is was very frustrating to see just how bad it needed to be corrected, I felt so bad because Sasha had to work so hard on it! It took me at least another month or two to fix it, and when I was done… it had been too much. Too much time writing it, too much time editing it, I didn’t like it anymore, so I put it in my No Go folder, and it sat there for at least another two months collecting dust. By then, I had the luck of being in correspondence with the _in_japan household, who prodded me about the No Go folder, which ended with me showing them this story. It was the dreadful November, when we were all either tangled with the WFA’s stories or suffering of sever writer’s block, and Jen convinced me to clean this up and post it. They gave it a look over, and then I revised it again one last time. I’m still not comfortable with how it reads, but it’s a testament of what I did last year… most importantly, it’s touched by the hand of those three wonderful persons that have made my fandom days so much fun. I’m afraid the commentary itself is going to be mostly made of moaning at myself, but here we go!
Breakable
“This is too dangerous for you. Let me take it,” Superman placed his hand on the Dark Knight’s shoulder, looking back and forth between Batman kneeling on the floor and the fight going on just outside the room.
“It’s too unstable,” Batman replied, the roar of the explosions almost drowning out his voice. He remained in front of the reactor, hands deep inside the machinery. “Where are you going to fly away to, anyway? If this explodes, the electromagnetic pulse will stop every piece of machinery in the vicinity, and need I remind you that we are in a space craft?”
“The radiation…” the Kryptonian paused as he used his hands to deflect a couple of energy blasts away from his friend.
“I’m fine. Just buy me some time to stop this thing.”
For a moment Superman looked unsure. He didn’t like this situation--there wasn't much to like about being attacked by the alien ship’s crew while trying to stop a malfunctioning nuclear reactor from exploding, all the while also attempting to explain why they were trespassing. Finally the Man of Steel had to admit to himself he wasn't helping much by lingering at his friend's side, and he rushed to the room’s entrance.
This was probably the first and last time I wrote mission fic. I want to do it again, but it is so hard! It feels so much like info dump, and showing the action is harder than writing smut. Coming up with a scenario to hurt Bruce in space is one of my kinks. I’m always doing it in my head :P Oh, the angst! Oh, the pain! The bleeding to death! Why do I find it so romantic? Damn you, h/c! I’m such an addict.
“Any luck?” Green Lantern asked. One look at Superman’s unhappy grimace gave him his answer. “Guess not. There’s not much we can do here, though.”
I can always hear Green Lantern’s voice in my stories. Phil LaMar’s voice is deeply set in my subconscious. It’s sad that I don’t have more use for a John Stewart muse.
Rounds from the alien weaponry kept piercing the green field that sealed the entrance. Superman moved to intercept the energy blasts. The stun rays left him feeling slightly numb, a minor annoyance. He fired his heat vision at the mobile guns in the hallway. “I don't like all this idle waiting.” A second warning blast hit the floor directly in front of the approaching crew, making them step back.
“J’onn, have you been able to contact them yet?”
“Not yet. They have strong natural shields and are in an agitated state of mind. They are afraid of us. Forcing a telepathic link may shatter their psyches.” The Martian stood safely tucked away in a corner, his eyes gleaming as he continued to search for a way to communicate with their attackers.
They had teleported inside the stranded ship less than an hour ago, responding to a distress call coming not from the heavily damaged ship, but from the sector Trade Council. The Council had contacted the Green Lantern Corp, who had in turn asked for assistance from the Justice League, since every attempt to approach the ship had resulted in hostilities. Communication had also been a major problem. Without enough energy to sufficiently power their consoles, the ship’s commander had no way to contact the Trade Council or the approaching ships. The Council was made aware of the ship’s state due to its stagnant position on the fleet’s logs, and was terrified by the possibility of space pirates attacking the vessel and stealing the valuable cargo and equipment.
Info dumping and space pirates! *groans*
It took the four of them fifteen minutes to assess the spacecraft’s condition and notice that the back up nuclear generator was unstable and starting to overload. Another ten minutes to get to the ship’s power core, and they had been stuck behind Green Lantern’s shield ever since, deflecting weapons fire from the crew, who had noticed the system intervention and started shooting.
These are scenes that should have been played out, not told. I fall to that trap very often, my greedy desire to get to the more appetizing parts of the story quicker. I’m still trying to stop myself from doing this, but it’s hard to show and not tell, sometimes. Especially when I know I am going to almost kill Bruce just a couple of pages down the road! Killing and almost killing Bruce is one of my favorite things!
A low hum came from the walls, and all the lights went off. The oxygen for their section was cut off as the ventilation system stopped.
“That’s great. Just fucking great.”
These days, a swearing Batman makes me think of Miller. That is not cool. I still love the idea of Clark not swearing and Bruce having a dirty mouth, but I also really like the take on a very well behaved Bruce who doesn’t swear at all. I give swearing a lot of thought…
Superman turned towards Batman. The steel-paneled room was bathed in the green glow of Green Lantern’s ring while the Dark Knight searched for something inside his utility belt.
“Everything ok, B? The swearing is not very reassuring.” Situation aside, Superman couldn’t hide his smirk. Even in the face of danger, bantering was still bantering.
The Bat grunted as he pulled out a flashlight from his belt and held it between his teeth.
Heheee, I like that image!
The next couple of minutes were spent in silence, the quiet broken only by the sounds of the ship. The plan was a fairly simple one: once they could communicate with the crew, they would assure them that they came here to assist them at the request of the Trade Council. They would explain why they had disabled the power supply, and then GL would tow the ship to the nearest confederate planet, where they could repair the spacecraft.
“This can’t be good,” Lantern stared down the empty hall. “They’ll come down on us hard”.
“It’s their ship, they won’t want to damage it.” Superman replied as he stared down the hallway along with Stewart. The quiet was unnerving.
“S, give me a hand,” Batman hung the flashlight over the reactor by a cable while Superman knelt beside him. “Put your hands there,” he ordered as he guided the bare hands where he needed them to go. “Lift this carefully and hold it. No, don’t take it all the way out, you’ll destabilize it. Good. Now stay still…”
Superman watched his friend very closely while he did whatever it was he was doing with the tools he had laying around, and asked himself once more how Bruce could be so confident working on a piece of alien technology he had never seen before.
“…goddamn control rods of this thing…”
“Your knowledge of alien nuclear batteries failing you?”
Batman gave him a half smile. “It’s a reactor, not a battery. And you better hope it doesn’t or I’m going to get us blown up.”
“I am invulnerable.”
“And wouldn’t it be funny if the radioactive isotope powering this malfunctioning piece of junk was kryptonite.”
Two seconds passed. “That’s not even possible, is it?”
I spent the better part of a week researching nuclear reactors and batteries, and it all amounted to me writing this. Yeah, days of research make up lines like ‘goddamn control rods of this thing’. *shakes head in shame* It was seriously the best thing I could do, though, the original narrative was more info dumping, and who cares about the differences between reactors and batteries. In any case, I love tinkering engineer Bruce. He’s my favoritest thing ever, way beyond martial artist Bruce and detective Bruce. Engineers are sexy.
“I have established a telepathic link with the ship’s commander…”
Superman tried to stay very still so he wouldn’t upset the machinery. Still, he felt a small amount of tension leave his body as he heard J’onn; if they could turn off the generator--and he had all the faith in the world that his partner could--the dangerous part of the mission would be over.
GL walked up to the last son of Mars, his energy shield dropping from the hall entrance. The hall was empty and all stationary weapons had been disabled.
“Move back, Kal, you’re blocking the light…” A series of loud explosions cut Batman off as a panel from one of the walls opposite the door flew off, and unfriendly fire rained down on the two men.
“J’onn! Tell them to stop!” GL flew over his friends, trying to protect them from the weapons fire.
A round from a stun gun hit Superman. The Kryptonian’s eyes went wide with surprise. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t feel anything, and the part from the reactor he was holding was slipping from his grasp. The reactor started to vibrate violently, getting hotter, and he had to be seeing things in slow motion because how could GL’s field not be around them by now?
A high-pitched whir filled the air and the reactor went dead. Bruce’s hands were still inside of the damned thing when he saw a spatter of blood stain the front of his suit. Batman wasn’t moving. A second and a third stain joined the first before the Bat finally fell to the floor.
Well, down goes the Bat. I still think this scene is a little chunky… it could have used better narrative. But I like how Superman can’t conceive that the blood on his outfit is Bruce’s. It has to be coming from somewhere, just… not Batman.
Time sped up and GL was hovering over them, shouting at J’onn. Unable to shift even slightly, Superman could only see the lower half of his friend’s body, the cape covering everything but the dark pool of blood that was quickly forming beside his own kneeling form.
John’s power shield threw the ship’s crew back through, but that didn’t stop them from shooting until loud voices were heard in the hallway. The creatures, who looked like a weird robotic fusion between a swordfish and a mantis, kept their weapons ready while the ship’s Commander entered the room surrounded by a fully armed escort.
“-You said you came to help, but you left us without power.-” It wasn’t really a voice, but a set of metallic whirs and clacks.
“Your nuclear reactor was damaged and under heavy strain, it would have exploded if it wasn’t stopped. And you fired on us, despite your agreement.” J’onn stood tall in front of the creature, a gesture to protect his friends that didn’t go unnoticed by the Commander.
I was talking recently about how much I love the way J’onn and Diana serve as outsider observers of the relationship between the boys. I write that a lot, is one of my most repetitive traits, I think: unless it’s smutty -and even sometimes when it is, lalalaaa- the boys are hardly ever alone. I like having someone else looking at them, and here it’s J’onn and John, and Diana later on. I always write sort of a side story to every story in my head about what is the outsider thinking of what it’s happening, and that helps me keep the main story sort of… tamed. LOL, I just know that one of these days I’m going to take a deep(er) plunge into cheesiness, I can only hope Diana and J’onn can help me to avoid it by spotting it from their vantage positions.
“-Without power, no communication is possible. We’re not shooting anymore. Orders travel slow, without power.-” Slowly, he stepped past the Martian to get a better view of the fallen leaguers.
The Captain made me laugh. He was funny! And well-intentioned! Grating on Clark’s nerves, and clueless, but very fun.
John was at Bruce’s side. He had laid him on his back, and was trying to keep the blood loss under control using the ring. Superman could tell it wasn’t working very well; his knees were soaked with Bruce's blood. Noticing that he was starting to regain feeling in his extremities, he tried to move. He only managed to shift slightly, and felt his stomach knot in desperation.
“-Stun will wear off in time. I’m captain Kh’uo.-” The alien smiled without malice, seemingly happy for the aid they had offered in the first place. “-Your friend is leaking,-” he pointed out helpfully.
A sound full of rage parted Clark’s lips. His position didn’t allow him to look down, and he was worried sick because his teammates weren’t saying anything. GL looked up, straight into his eyes, and lied.
Ah, my good pal John. I love him so. I was so stunned while watching JL animated by how much I really liked GL as he developed as a character. And he and Bruce have this chumminess thing that I can’t leave untouched. Bruce, Shayera and John. Bruce, Clark and Diana can be the Trinity all they want, but Bruce has lunches in the commissary with John and Shayera chats him up and man, I miss JLU so much :( I loved having him around this story, even if he doesn’t do much… aside from preventing B from dying. Ahem. He was doing things in the background, seriously! I just edited them out…
“He’s fine. The stun will leave faster if you relax.”
“Our friend is hurt, Captain Kh’uo. Do you have an infirmary?” J’onn sounded calm and controlled, but he wasn’t fooling Clark. The Kryptonian tried to relax, because it made sense, to relax, so he could move again and properly freak out, but he couldn’t. His breathing quickened.
“-Repair bay, yes. But without power, nothing works. Only emergency lights and air quality.-” He gave a signal, and the crew lowered their weapons. “-You said you would tow us?- ”
The Green Lantern and the telepath gave each other a worried look.
“I can tow us to the nearest planet, but I can’t tow us and keep Batman stable. It’s one or the other.”
“We don’t have much choice. Without proper treatment, he won’t last much longer. We can’t just sit here.” Superman was sure that the Martian was avoiding his gaze on purpose. It was getting harder to breathe, and his chest hurt.
Yeah, well, John just said Bruce was fine, and now J’onn is saying he’s going to die. What’s poor Clark to think, other than people is not giving him enough information to freak out properly?
“We could start the back up generator again.”
“-Back up reactor is not powerful enough to move the ship. Or we would have moved before you arrived.- ”
Clark had a strong desire to punch the weird creature a new face. He wanted to tell him to shut up, because his friend wasn’t leaking, he was bleeding, bleeding all over his stupid ship. He was sure they had recalibrated their guns because the first time they had had no effect on him.
The weapons had been recalibrated to stop him, they wouldn’t have sliced right through Bruce otherwise. Bruce shouldn’t be bleeding to death.
After this, there was an angst-a-palooza bit about how this was all Clark’s fault. And then I re-read it and said ‘erm, no, Clark. Just no.’ and edited it out. Oh, but he was feeling guilty in my head for being super powered. That’s silly, since once I took his powers away, he was very grouchy.
Clark couldn’t breathe. He saw the room go black, and he struggled desperately against his numb body, trying to move, to be awake.
“Superman!” J’onn rushed to his side, checking on him. “You’re hyperventilating. Take deep breaths and try to relax. Batman is going to need your help.” The telepath looked at the ring wielder, and sighed. “Go. Get us to safety as soon as possible, I’ll do what I can to help them.”
“Contact the Watchtower, get them to meet us at our final coordinates. I don’t think we can teleport him in this shape.” John got up, and turned to the ship’s crew. “Where’s your launching bay? I need to go outside.”
See, this is why I imagine scenarios where Bruce gets hurt in space. Or Clark. Or both of them. But it has to be in space, because then I can write cave-fic without the cave. Stranded in space, what will they do? Oh, the tragedy! Oh, the angst! The endless h/c going rampage in my head! I sidestepped the bit about teleporting here because it would just ruin my h/c. And that will not do. Still, it was cheating :P
“-Follow second officer Ng’ia. But we have no power. Bay doors won’t open without…-”
“Power, I know! But unless you want to stay here forever, we’re going to find a way.”
Ha! John! X) Also, I made up the stupidest names ever for the aliens. *grumbles*
One of the creatures stepped forward to lead the Green Lantern out of the room and the field around Batman disappeared. J’onn hands morphed and split into four flat appendages, applying firm pressure to the wounds. Superman closed his eyes and focused on the thump of his heartbeat in his ears as he tried to breathe slower, tried to calm down his heart. A small voice in his head told him he was overreacting again, and that if Bruce could, he would be giving him grief about it. But Bruce couldn’t. Clark’s fist tightened and he growled, in trepidation and anger. All the air left his lungs and he felt his back spasm back to life. He breathed in, and the numbness he felt receded.
“I need bandages or cloth, and blankets,” J’onn said over his shoulder. “Can we move him to a more comfortable place?”
“-Repair bay has no power for instruments, but we have supplies,-” the captain offered.
The shape shifter looked at them, then glanced back at Clark. “You are doing great, Superman.”
Clark gave him a weak smile and finally managed to move in his fallen friend’s direction. The bleeding wasn’t as bad as the Kryptonian had feared, but it was bad enough. Fighting for control, his hand shook slightly as he touched his partner. He removed the cowl carefully, a gesture that made the alien crew draw back, and gently threaded the other’s hair. “I can help now.”
This bit there, about removing the cowl, is part of a joke I had with my brother. I am going to spare you the joke because it’s embarrassing that it still cracks me up so much, but yeah, the aliens thought Bruce’s face was the cowl. And it got removed! Scary! The alien is leaking and falling apart!
Before anyone else could speak, the ship lurched forward slightly and started to move. J’onn and Clark carefully lifted their friend from the floor and followed the ship’s crew to the repair bay.
A quick look around confirmed their fears of the biological differences between their species and their medical needs. None of the equipment was even remotely useful; they were only able to apply pressure bandages to his wounds and keep the injured man as warm and comfortable as possible. J’onn politely asked the remaining onlookers to leave the room; their presence wasn’t welcomed by the Man of Steel and having them around was making the situation feel hostile and tense.
This would be the second time… third time, if you could the ‘sitting ducks’ part waiting for J’onn to contact the crew, that Clark feels, if not powerless, very frustrated about not being able to fix anything. He still has his powers, but there’s nothing he can do about Bruce other than look at him bleed to dead. Poor woobie.
The Kryptonian gave the closing door a final glance, glaring hard at the back of the alien forms as he tapped his earpiece. “Diana, are you busy?”
“Just finishing my shift, Kal. Is everything all right?”
“No, definitely not all right. Bruce is down, and we’re going to need the Javelin to bring him home.” Clark’s eyes drifted to the bloodied bandages around his friend’s chest, his words coming out through gritted teeth.
“How bad is it? What happened?” Diana asked from what seemed like a universe away.
Clark remained silent, not knowing how to explain that he had fucked up--that he and Green Lantern were responsible for protecting Bruce and J’onn as they carried out their parts of the mission. How to explain that he had lowered his guard, gotten overconfident, and now, as a result, his friend was down.
J’onn took over the conversation when Clark didn’t answer Diana. “He needs medical attention as soon as possible. If you can, Diana, pick us up yourself. If there aren’t any other issues that require your immediate attention, then please make sure the Javelin is stocked with medical supplies and bags of his blood type before you leave. Can you trace our coordinates?”
“Your position is mobile, but I can keep track of you on the Javelin. I’ll give you an ETA as soon as I receive your final coordinates,” she paused, her silence filled with questions. Clark was glad she didn’t ask them, he didn’t think he could provide have any answers. “Take care of them, J’onn, I’ll see you soon. Diana out.”
Finally, finally! That part was over! I was so glad. It took me forever to get through that, possibly the best part of 5 months. The rest came up much faster, as they are formatted as short stories, which I write more easily. Still, the rest is a bit weird, because each section was written with a different mood, and they sort of lack mood cohesion. Not that I have improved much on that field, lalalaaa, as I’m still having hell with chapters and longer stories, but yeah. This one was my first attempt at it, and it shows. After this story got published, I was writing Sucker Love, my Brex monster bunny, and that one got written all in one sitting, I think. It’s much more cohesive.
***
It took them less than an hour to land on the accorded planet. The Trade Council’s commercial embassy had been kind enough to settle them in local quarters. The native population of this world was more similar to humans than Captain Kh’uo and his crew had been, but still different. They needed blood, from either artificial plasma, of which this people had never heard of, or a transfusion.
Here is where John’s shenanigans got deleted the first time around. John arranged for the quarters, he mingled with the locals, got information on whatnots and was all around awesome. But that required him having his own side story and I was itching to write the bedside parts. I am a h/c whore! So John’s shenanigans never made it to the story, though they happened in my head.
John was the closest match for a transfusion, but it was still no help: different blood types. It made Clark want to punch something. They had settled for a saline drip, and Clark really wanted to believe that Bruce looked better but he really, really didn’t. His skin was pale and clammy, and violent shivers tore through his body despite the blankets.
And that, my friends, is what came through after a whole lot of research on blood loss. Seriously, I look at the amount of facts that make it to stories and the amount of research I made, and I want to kick myself. It always happens!
Clark sat at his bedside, his elbows propped over his knees, his hands entwined. There wasn’t anything he could do aside from waiting for Diana to arrive, and she was still over three hours away. Nothing but sit and stare at the rise and fall of Bruce’s chest, listening to him struggle for every breath, fearing that if he stopped paying attention, it might stop.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes.
Green Lantern entered the sunny room they had been settled in, followed closely by J’onn. They exchanged worried glances as they stood beside the Kryptonian.
“He’s stable for now,” John started awkwardly. “Why don’t you go freshen up? We’ll stay with him,” he offered.
John is just coming in from his local shenanigans, look at him. I have that scene so clear in him head! Not that it’s a very important scene, since Clark is having another moment of helplessness. They made it, they got the ship to a planet. Bruce is still not better, even though they accomplished their mission. That doesn’t sit well with this Clark, how can the mission be accomplished and Bruce be hurt? Both things do not compute. I am not sure I like this reaction, though, this Clark harbors a good amount of puppy love for Bruce, not very… I don’t know, it lacks equality, like Clark was more emotionally immature than Bruce (hah! I laugh at myself! Past self, you were so wrong!!), and… as the year went by, my Clark developed a clearer image in my head, and puppy love is no longer acceptable. I can’t quite explain it but I’m very ashamed of the way I used to perceive Clark. My early Bruce was quite an ass, sort of the Bruce I would pair with Luthor, which is not a good version of Bruce for Clark. The good thing is that Bruce is unconscious, therefore incapable of being an ass :P
“I’ll stay here,” Clark said as he sat up and stretched. “He might wake up.”
“He is sedated, Kal.” J’onn intervened.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Clark answered, blue eyes looking at J’onn and the GL with stubborn determination. Under Superman’s gaze both nodded in agreement, and Clark went back to watching Bruce.
John sighed and sat in a chair a little further away from the bed, and after a moment of hesitation, J‘onn joined him. They sat in silence, each occupied by their own thoughts, as the planet’s yellow sun began to set and a new red star rose on the horizon.
“You got to be kidding me,” Clark muttered as he stared out the windows, looking at the red light bathing the alien landscape.
“They must live in perpetual light,” J’onn commented. “Your powers…”
This was totally cheating too. How come Clark hasn’t noticed the big red star in the system? They must have known where they were towing the planet. J’onn not knowing is even harder to believe. That’s one glaring plot hole there.
“They’ll wane in less than an hour,” Clark said grimly. It was bad enough that he couldn’t do anything to make Bruce better, but to be forced to sit there, absolutely powerless…
“You don’t need them right now. We’re safe,” J’onn said, interrupting his mental reverie. “Kal,” he called out again, his voice firm, and waited until Superman turned to face him. “It’s going to be okay.”
Superman sighed, and nodded. He wanted to believe J’onn, but he knew that he would feel more reassured if Bruce would just open his eyes and tell him to stop worrying.
***
This is the scene I wanted to write. All that before? My way to get here, now, the h/c scene! Yay! I still love it, lalalaaaaa
“Clark…”
Superman sat up, a feeling of dread making his stomach clench. He had nodded off and the light in the room had changed from a yellowish white to a disturbing orange red. He swallowed as he realized that it was Bruce that had called him and that he was looking at him in confusion and pain. He saw GL and J’onn stand up behind him and wished they weren’t in the room, he didn’t want to deal with them.
I have a very clear image of that scene too. You ever fell asleep in the living room? You know, an uncomfortable position, you’re hot, you should go somewhere else but it’s so warm and you’re so sleepy… and you fall asleep. And when you wake up, it’s sunset, and there’s a lot of light, and everything is warm and you’re sweaty and confused. I don’t know if it’s a desert thing or not, but sunset light is very eerie.
“Hey B,” he whispered, leaning closer to his friend and gently threading his fingers through his hair. “How are you feeling?”
“Where-,” Bruce swallowed slowly, his unfocused gaze darting around the room and then coming back to Clark’s face.
“We towed the ship to its final destination. Mission accomplished, buddy,” Clark said affectionately, his hand wandering from the dark locks to the pale cheek.
Ahhh, the ‘buddy’ bit. It happens a lot in my stories too, both turn to mocking endearments when they are worried. It’s done as a joke, but they sort of really mean it. My RL boys do that a lot, have mock nick names for each other that are really full of affection, only they think no one notices because they are obviously joking.
“You mean I… didn’t blow us… up?”
Clark’s chuckle turned into a shaky breath. “Not quite,” he said, sobering. Bruce’s eyes were closing from exhaustion, so Clark just kept stroking his hair, trying to smooth away the pained frown.
Clark threatened me with tears in that chuckle. It took me by surprise.
“I’m cold…” Bruce mumbled, and Clark cursed. Bruce’s lips were a pale shade of blue.
Aside from adding another blanket to the pile already on top of him, Clark was at a loss of what to do. “We’ll be on our way home soon,” he said reassuringly, trying to convey a calm he wasn’t particularly feeling himself.
Another wave of shivers racked Bruce’s body and he opened his eyes again, still looking slightly out of it. “…Water?”
Clark’s heart broke a little, his throat closing on his words. “Sorry B, you can’t have any right now.”
I am sorry Clark! I mean, one thing is being taken down in battle, one thing to have your powers drained by a red star, but now being able to give water to your wounded partner? That’s really, really sucks. I love rendering him helpless, but I winced while writing that. Hehe, sign that I’m having fun!
Bruce just closed his eyes again, already drifting off to sleep.
As soon as his breathing eased into the slow cadence of sleep, Clark stood up from the chair and started pacing. J’onn and GL were still standing where he had last seen them, eyeing him closely. Clark threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “There’s nothing I can do!”
“We can’t give him anything if he’s in shock,” J’onn reasoned with him.
Which, according to my brain, he might or might not be. I’m not sure how it works out, not after all the crazy ER medicine and the online documentation on first aid in case of shock. Let’s just… pretend I’m not crazy.
“I know,” Clark kept walking until he was once again standing next to the bed. Not having the ability to listen to his heartbeat or monitor his signs at will was unnerving. The Man of Steel felt awkwardly disconnected from his surroundings, completely powerless in every way that mattered. There was no way to give his problems a pounding, no way to make Bruce magically better, no way to get back home. All he could do was sit still and wait, and no matter how powerful and strong willed Superman was, he had never been good at waiting. “What’s Diana’s ETA?”
“About an hour,” John answered.
Clark couldn’t remember an hour ever going by so slowly.
Let’s also pretend the Javelins are crazy fast.
***
The flight back home was tense and quiet, the only sounds coming from the Javelin’s engine and the life support Batman was hooked to. As soon as they settled him in, Superman took one of the front seats to recline in and closed his eyes. J’onn took the controls and charted their flight back, leaving GL and Wonder Woman in the back.
I don’t know why Clark wasn’t willing to be in the back with Bruce anymore. I think I wore him out with all the powerlessness. Poor dear. But never fear, bestest pal John is behind with Diana. I really like John :P I wonder why I don’t slash Bruce and John… it might be that I really liked the GL/Hawlgirl thing, specially since hah! Hawkman wasn’t in the picture. Why, yes, I don’t like Hawkman.
Clark felt like sleeping for a week. He didn’t like the way things felt, like he was looking at a faded picture. His mouth tasted wrong; everything sounded off, far away and dull; his hands felt dry and clumsy. He felt graceless, blind and deaf without his powers. He couldn’t wait to be back under their yellow sun.
This is my most humble nod towards the years I spent fawning over The Sentinel fanfiction. I have always wanted to write Clark in a more feral state, show his senses working at full range… I had to write them the other way here, like you are having the worst hang over ever after a very, very loud concert. Having your senses dulled can’t be fun, especially if you have super senses.
He had been under a red star before, when he met Vandal Savage in the post-apocalyptic Earth. He had felt as awkward as he felt now, but there was something else to it this time that he couldn’t name. Part of it was guilt and dread, he had almost lost a friend because of a mistake in the field, a mistake made because he had been overconfident. It was loss and worry, because even if Bruce was stable, something had broken inside Clark and he felt like there was no way to mend it. It was disappointment and a familiar feeling of being out of place.
Bruce was his friend, his partner, his equal. Bruce wasn’t supposed to die. He was supposed to have his back, to protect him even if he was invulnerable, because a part of him was very vulnerable, and Bruce knew it. He was supposed to be the comforting cool darkness to his intense heat. Bruce accepted him, trusted him, Bruce was his friend.
Bruce wasn’t supposed to die.
Because if he could die, it meant Clark could lose everything Bruce meant. Clark could be left alone to deal with his feelings of alienation; he could lose the tacit understandings and become an outsider again, like he had always been. Bruce made him feel like it was okay to feel awkward around people because it was a very human thing to feel. Bruce made him feel like he belonged, and Bruce could die.
Something had broken inside of Clark, and he was going to have to make sure the remaining pieces wouldn’t crumble to dust.
This is what I meant about puppy love. My Clark never was as naïve as this Clark after this story. It makes sense in an animated slash-developing setting, maybe, but little by little my animated Clark started to get mixed with comics Clark, and comics Clark is many things, but not naïve. I am not sure I like this bit, but it made sense for the story, so I didn’t edit it out. Clark’s naivety about what Bruce means to him is also what J’onn is talking about in the previous chapter of the series. My mind decided that Bruce already knew how he felt about Clark, because the big bad Bat used to be one step ahead of Clark all the time -times change, my Bruce is often so oblivious now!- so Clark has to come to terms here, not Bruce. I was so wroooong. I like my Bruce absentminded now!
***
Superman stood with Wonder Woman outside the Med-lab, waiting to be allowed inside. Diana had been awfully quiet all the way back to the Watchtower, just as Green Lantern and J’onn had been. Clark felt the uncomfortable silence stretch out, but he couldn’t bring himself to break it. He had nothing to say, and she wasn’t saying what was on her mind. Superman sighed and closed his eyes. He hadn’t had the chance to bask in the sun to recharge his powers, and the lack of sensory input felt a lot like isolation.
He was starting to develop a taste for it. He may have felt more alone, alone in a way he’d never felt before no matter how alien he was, but he also couldn’t hear or feel any of the worries and ails that plagued humankind. In a way, he felt free.
“Kal,” Diana broke the silence, staring at him with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine,” Clark answered, feeling half grateful, half disappointed by Diana’s interruption.
“You can head to the Womb if you want, I’ll stay here to check on Bruce,” she continued, trying to be helpful.
“Why would I want to go to the Womb?”
She hesitated. “The panoramic windows allow the sun’s radiation inside. I thought you might want to…”
“Get my powers back?”
“Yes, that too. But Kal,” she looked at his tired frown trying to find the right words. “The sun isn’t just a battery. You need it, like everything on the planet does, and not just to survive. It grounds you. Dawn clears all the night’s doubts.”
Diana is so often my voice of reason. She and J’onn, they rock at insight. Seriously, pair them up. Is there J’onn/Diana out there? I covet it. I like Clark’s moping and feelings of isolation. Feeling truly disconnected from everything must be really freaky, but also liberating.
Superman looked at her warily. “Night doubts.”
“I know what it is like to have a mission that appears too overwhelming for one person. You can’t fool me,” she smiled, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “’With great power comes great responsibility’, isn’t that a Patriarch saying? No one explained to the World of Man that the responsibility never goes away, even if the power does.”
“I’m tired, Diana. You’re not making much sense,” Clark said, but he feared she was making too much sense. He couldn’t be that easy to read.
“You’re shutting us out and you’re attempting to take Batman’s place as the group’s grim brooder,” she said, teasingly. “I can’t imagine how would it be to fall from the grace of the Gods, to be left with nothing but mortal flesh and blood. But I can imagine how would it feel to be ‘off the hook’; free of the duty my power invests in me. But it doesn’t work that way.”
I was, at the time, having a fit over OYL Clark saying ‘It was a good year’ about the year he spent without powers, eating pretzels and not mourning his clone son!! ARGGG. Every time I remember, I get feisty. Anyway, yes. You can’t be the chairman of a world saving League and then just retire because you don’t have powers. I mean, what? Half the League doesn’t have powers. You’re used to be in the middle of the fry, and c’mon, you liked your powers. You liked doing good with them. I wouldn’t walk away from the responsibility, and I am nowhere as selfless or dedicated as Clark is, thank you very much. I think he was being helpful as a reporter but that line… it still irks me. No, just no. Powers or no powers, Clark is a hero for who he is, and he would still be out there pushing the limits, not… not… *mumble mumble* Ahem. Yes. Clark wants to believe he can walk away from the duty here, but he knows he really can’t. See, this is one of the weird things about the way the story broke, *this* is comics Clark for the most part, while earlier it was animated Clark. In my mind, the shift is not very smooth.
Clark scowled. “I know.” He opened his mouth to say something else, and then closed it, his lips becoming a thin pale line.
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
Clark looked away, feeling the weight of the pools of blue on him. Diana didn’t need the lasso to get the truth out of people; she could draw it out with nothing more than her own honesty and her eagerness to understand.
Clark moistened his lips, his eyes still looking down the hallway. “I’m willing to sacrifice everything for those I swore to protect. But I don’t have my powers now, Diana,” he said, finally turning to meet her gaze. “That just leaves me, ‘mortal flesh and blood’ as you said. I’m just one of them.”
Diana smiled in a way that belied her youthful features. It was wise and warm, and Clark felt like a child. He was very tired. “What about Bruce?”
Clark found himself staring down at his feet. “What about him?”
“Nothing but mortal flesh and blood. He’s also ‘one of them’, if by ‘them’ you mean non meta-humans. But he’s also one of us, fighting for a better world. That doesn’t take super powers, Kal.”
]
Oh dear, how I wax about that. You might start to notice that under it all, my biggest kink about superheroes is fighting for a better world in, you know, the real world. But rawr, yeah, go Diana! She’s comics-Diana here too, not animated Diana. This was written much later than the first parts, so I guess it’s only logical that the characters are starting to mix all their incarnations in my head.
Clark still wouldn’t look at her.
“I know you’re not actually running away from responsibility,” she whispered, leaning close to embrace him. “Mortality wasn’t meant to be a punishment, but a gift for mankind, so they might truly shine and become the fabric of legends. Legends never die, and neither has he.”
You might cross reference that paragraph with Turn of the Tide. Dying is sort of a gift in my crazy little head. Valhalla for the Heroes.
Clark held her tightly, taking in the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, her warmth. He basked in the feeling of being loved. He needed some time alone with the sun, to give dawn the chance to wash away his fears, but that would have to wait.
Bruce was alive.
***
I wrote the final scene in a peculiar mood, so Bruce’s drugged rationalizations were funnier quips. I also had him look like he had multiple personality disorder, heh, and Sasha helped me smooth it out. After revising it, I took the quirkier parts away, but I still think it reads lighter than Clark angst-fest before.
He felt numb, his thoughts clouded by a thick fog. His body felt as if it was wrapped in cotton, and he could hear a faint noise coming from somewhere in the vicinity. He couldn’t make sense of it, and a voice in his head, the one that had helped him survive several blackouts during patrol, coaxed him into finding out what those sounds were.
“…hate feeling like this. I don’t know how do you do it, going out there knowing that anything could go wrong. You’ll probably just tell me it could happen to any of us, but you know, the odds are better for those of us who are invulnerable and stuff.”
Words. There was someone talking in the background, and he thought he recognized the low buzzing noise too. He had heard them before, but the voice of his survival instinct noticed that these didn’t indicate impending danger, and was suddenly overwhelmed by another inner voice clamoring for healing and the oblivion of sleep.
“I know you take this very seriously… I know that every time I go on a mission, it could be my last, but I don't like the possibility of it happening to you… or Diana, or anyone else in the League.”
The lethargy he was feeling slowly crept away as he found that he could no longer block out the voice. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he was able to identify machines buzzing in the background and his own breathing. It took him a couple of minutes to figure out that the dull pain in his chest came from breathing.
“…I thought I had coped with my own mortality a while ago, but as it turns out I’m not as comfortable as I thought I would be on the subject of death. I don’t like dealing with things I can’t change.”
Bruce is obviously not paying attention at all, he’s busy trying to figure out where his head is through all the drugged haze, but I like the idea of Clark talking to him even when he’s not listening, just so he can process it better. It’s one of the things that I still keep about their individual characterizations: Bruce is less chatty and introspective -brooding, of course, but also thinking and rationalizing and only speaking after he’s sure, while Clark deals with his problems more openly, thinking out loud. I like to have a chattier Clark, otherwise my stories turn really dialog-free, lol. It’s not about one of them being insecure and the other being an emotional cripple, though, is just different ways of dealing with emotion, both perfectly healthy and normal. I despise the thought of Bruce being an emotional cripple completely unable to communicate. He’s not good at communicating because he’s often lost in his head and not good at talking about his own emotions, but he can deal with emotion just fine… just not put his on the open. Plenty of people without emotional trauma feel awkward talking about themselves, it doesn’t have to be the crippling grand character flaw. I know canon portrays it as a Big Thing, the way Bruce is more paranoid and closed up than the rest of the heroes, but I can’t quite see it as an ever-looming social flaw. I’m going to go for the devil’s advocate again, but of course he seems like a freak in a team full of extroverts…
The pain in his chest was growing sharper. He realized he was injured. The Survival-voice started bringing his consciousness together, getting rid of the mind fog as quickly as it could. Being injured and disoriented wasn’t a good thing.
“And this was just a mission from hell. I know you think I rely on my powers too much, but they are a part of what I am. And then suddenly they were gone and it felt like I’d lost an arm, only worse, and I couldn’t help you at all.”
I mused a lot about super powers in this story. How they aren’t all that ‘super’ to you if you have them, they are normal, it’s other people who are different. Bruce really stretches his limits, so he expects others to stretch themselves too -you have super strength, fine, you better learn how to fight too. I’ve seen versions of Bruce despising super powers, and in a way I think it’s more about how some versions of superpowered beings become one trick dogs in the hands of writers. But then I thought about how it would be to lose something you’re so used to having, like a hand, or your eyes, or your voice, and how out of balance you must feel until you learn to piggy back your other capabilities. It was a fun exercise, especially playing with a desensitized Clark who feels like his connection to the world has been cut. He’s seeing as we see, feeling what we feel, and it’s so many steps down the ‘real thing’ for him. I like seeing super powered beings mix their more ‘human’ capabilities with the super, a mix and match, because it has to feel only natural to them since it’s all part of who they are, and not run around saying ‘I’ll use my super-whatever now!’. I think the stretchos really got it right in comics, they use their ability to stretch all the time, because is natural for them. Is like saying ‘I’ll use my left hand now!’. It doesn’t make any sense… much like me, ahem.
He tried to swallow past the lump on his throat and his tongue felt dry and swollen. Opening his eyes gave him one hell of a headache, so he shut his eyes tightly, deciding that whoever was in the room with him wasn’t an immediate threat.
“And I still can’t. It’s very frustrating.”
He opened his eyes again and could just make out a shadowy figure by his side, and he instinctively tensed for an attack as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the light, trying to place the voice. He relaxed as soon as he recognized his friend, but he decided against doing anything that required parting his lips or dislodging the cotton in his throat that was probably just dryness, as his common sense pointed out. Instead he moved the hand closest to Kal to touch him and let him know he was awake.
Clark stared at the hand lightly touching his, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes trailed slowly from the hand all the way up to his partner’s face, taking note of the way the white bed lining covered his torso, rising and falling with his breathing; the IV slowly dripping life back into his pale body; the oxygen mask, covering the half of his face that Clark was used to seeing, used to reading. He lingered a moment on the mask, then finally met the drowsy gaze.
Oh dear. I always do this, and Sasha helps me a lot with it, but it keeps happening: I hop from one POV to the other. The whole waking up thing is in Bruce’s POV and not we’re back to Clark without transition. Bad Mina, bad! Wanting the cake and eating it too!
Clark licked his lips and tried to find his voice again. “You’re a very frustrating man.”
Bruce’s answer was a slow head tilt, which Clark took as a prompt to elaborate further.
“You should be sleeping, not listening to me venting,” Clark said, affectionately. He took the hand that had reached out to him in his hands, his thumb drawing slow patterns on the palm.
Bruce sighed, managing to convey without words that he agreed with him about the sleeping, but it couldn’t be helped.
“I was having what Dick calls a ‘thick batfunk afternoon’,” Clark said teasingly, then looked down at the pale and cold hand between his own. “I was worried,” he confessed in a whisper.
I like that being worries about each other comes as a shameful confession. It’s an ‘I’m sorry I lost faith in you’. They really trust that the other will come through, no matter what, and worrying is to doubt that trust.
Bruce lifted his free hand and took the oxygen mask off. The amount of effort the act took made his vision gray out for a moment. “Stay off,” he said, his voice a rough whisper, “of my turf.”
Bruce does *not* like to see Clark darken. It makes him queasy. I think he thinks he’s dark enough for both of them, and if Clark gets darker, who’s going to lighten him up?
Clark smiled fondly at him, and Bruce couldn’t help smiling back. “I’ll try. I think I scared the others with the brooding. Diana called me on it.”
Bruce nodded as Clark’s features started to blur. The pain in his chest was becoming more intense, but at the same time it felt like it was happening to someone else. “She’s good at that,” he tried to say, but he wasn’t sure if he had spoken or just thought about it.
“Go back to sleep,” Clark whispered as he rose from his chair, letting go of Bruce’s hand in the process.
Through the numbness, Bruce felt a hand card through his hair, and the oxygen mask lingered over his face, never falling into place. He felt Clark’s hesitation and tried to open his eyes, heavy with exhaustion. He saw Clark standing by his side, staring down at him with a serious expression on his face. He was awake enough to know that something important was happening, but not awake enough to figure out what it was.
There we go again, POV change *rolls eyes* I know there’s a way to touch into everyone’s thoughts in the same piece, but I think it involves not getting so deep into each other’s heads while writing them. I need proper education on that topic…
Clark waited until the sleepy blue eyes closed again, and he lowered his face until their lips were just an inch away from each other. Pushing aside all doubts, he closed the distance between them, kissing the cool, slightly parted lips.
He stood up and replaced the oxygen mask again, closing the door behind him as he left the room. Dawn would hopefully bring answers to all the night’s questions.
I really like the kiss scene. I have an entry from a year ago, reminding me that this story ended with the kiss scene, not before, not after. I had that scene very clear in my mind, Clark trusting his instincts and all other fears be damned.
So this was Breakable. The name applies to both of them and their situation, though initially it was only about how Bruce was breakable. The story of course took Clark to an angst fest of giant proportions, so it turned to be something about both of them and their bond. It could be destroyed, were they bold enough to try to move out of their comfort zone by their own volition? Nothing assured them the decision wouldn’t be taken from their hands and their status quo changed without their consent. I really like the animated version of them because you don’t have to deal with the Lois problem -my Bruce muse refuses to hook up with Clark if he’s married. He’s not going to be the reason why Lois is hurt. Since I suck so much at dealing with that issue, I turn to the toonverse a lot, or just remain happily oblivious of Clark’s marriage when playing in the canon field. I still love a lot about this story, but I also have put more distance between it and myself so I can see some of the glaring problems it has now. But it was my first attempt at something longer with a bigger cast, and I think it wasn’t all that bad.
If you read all the way through my crazy rambling, thank you! I’m sorry I get so carried away while commenting. So, this is my head. It’s a pretty messy place.
Hey there, you daring reader. I am having a very embarrassing time commenting this story, for as much as I still like it, it’s a hard one to revisit. See, I started it in the beginning of 2006, and it wasn’t finished until the middle of that year. It was about the fourth or fifth story I had written set in the DC universe, therefore, one of the first I wrote in English. I will tell you right now I think English is evil. I can’t seem to function anymore without a second language to fall back to when my first one fails me, but it’s damn evil. So I was fumbling a lot with the language and my muses were still very sketchy. These days, my Bruce muse is pretty much set in stone and kind of making growly sounds at his canon counterpart, but back then he was closer to canon. My love for Clark was still in its developing stages. I have always been a Bat-girl, and though I have slowly fallen in love with Clark -one of the many things I owe to jen_in_japan is her wonderful discussion with me about his character- at that time… eh.. well, let’s say that I’m not entirely fond of this Clark version because when I wrote it I didn’t really *know* Clark. Does that make sense?
This story has other problems, too, most of them brought forth by the fact that it was wrote in a span of 6 months, during which many things changed, not only my grasp on the English language -that one is constantly evolving, hopefully for the better- and the muses, but what I expected this story to be and how it was going to be. The later parts, I think, are clear evidence of that, as they read different.
Then, when it was done, I sent this to sasha_anu, who is the bestest friend a girl could have for a beta reader, and she… well, she kind of blew her own brain away trying to fix my mess of language murdering. At the time is was very frustrating to see just how bad it needed to be corrected, I felt so bad because Sasha had to work so hard on it! It took me at least another month or two to fix it, and when I was done… it had been too much. Too much time writing it, too much time editing it, I didn’t like it anymore, so I put it in my No Go folder, and it sat there for at least another two months collecting dust. By then, I had the luck of being in correspondence with the _in_japan household, who prodded me about the No Go folder, which ended with me showing them this story. It was the dreadful November, when we were all either tangled with the WFA’s stories or suffering of sever writer’s block, and Jen convinced me to clean this up and post it. They gave it a look over, and then I revised it again one last time. I’m still not comfortable with how it reads, but it’s a testament of what I did last year… most importantly, it’s touched by the hand of those three wonderful persons that have made my fandom days so much fun. I’m afraid the commentary itself is going to be mostly made of moaning at myself, but here we go!
Breakable
“This is too dangerous for you. Let me take it,” Superman placed his hand on the Dark Knight’s shoulder, looking back and forth between Batman kneeling on the floor and the fight going on just outside the room.
“It’s too unstable,” Batman replied, the roar of the explosions almost drowning out his voice. He remained in front of the reactor, hands deep inside the machinery. “Where are you going to fly away to, anyway? If this explodes, the electromagnetic pulse will stop every piece of machinery in the vicinity, and need I remind you that we are in a space craft?”
“The radiation…” the Kryptonian paused as he used his hands to deflect a couple of energy blasts away from his friend.
“I’m fine. Just buy me some time to stop this thing.”
For a moment Superman looked unsure. He didn’t like this situation--there wasn't much to like about being attacked by the alien ship’s crew while trying to stop a malfunctioning nuclear reactor from exploding, all the while also attempting to explain why they were trespassing. Finally the Man of Steel had to admit to himself he wasn't helping much by lingering at his friend's side, and he rushed to the room’s entrance.
This was probably the first and last time I wrote mission fic. I want to do it again, but it is so hard! It feels so much like info dump, and showing the action is harder than writing smut. Coming up with a scenario to hurt Bruce in space is one of my kinks. I’m always doing it in my head :P Oh, the angst! Oh, the pain! The bleeding to death! Why do I find it so romantic? Damn you, h/c! I’m such an addict.
“Any luck?” Green Lantern asked. One look at Superman’s unhappy grimace gave him his answer. “Guess not. There’s not much we can do here, though.”
I can always hear Green Lantern’s voice in my stories. Phil LaMar’s voice is deeply set in my subconscious. It’s sad that I don’t have more use for a John Stewart muse.
Rounds from the alien weaponry kept piercing the green field that sealed the entrance. Superman moved to intercept the energy blasts. The stun rays left him feeling slightly numb, a minor annoyance. He fired his heat vision at the mobile guns in the hallway. “I don't like all this idle waiting.” A second warning blast hit the floor directly in front of the approaching crew, making them step back.
“J’onn, have you been able to contact them yet?”
“Not yet. They have strong natural shields and are in an agitated state of mind. They are afraid of us. Forcing a telepathic link may shatter their psyches.” The Martian stood safely tucked away in a corner, his eyes gleaming as he continued to search for a way to communicate with their attackers.
They had teleported inside the stranded ship less than an hour ago, responding to a distress call coming not from the heavily damaged ship, but from the sector Trade Council. The Council had contacted the Green Lantern Corp, who had in turn asked for assistance from the Justice League, since every attempt to approach the ship had resulted in hostilities. Communication had also been a major problem. Without enough energy to sufficiently power their consoles, the ship’s commander had no way to contact the Trade Council or the approaching ships. The Council was made aware of the ship’s state due to its stagnant position on the fleet’s logs, and was terrified by the possibility of space pirates attacking the vessel and stealing the valuable cargo and equipment.
Info dumping and space pirates! *groans*
It took the four of them fifteen minutes to assess the spacecraft’s condition and notice that the back up nuclear generator was unstable and starting to overload. Another ten minutes to get to the ship’s power core, and they had been stuck behind Green Lantern’s shield ever since, deflecting weapons fire from the crew, who had noticed the system intervention and started shooting.
These are scenes that should have been played out, not told. I fall to that trap very often, my greedy desire to get to the more appetizing parts of the story quicker. I’m still trying to stop myself from doing this, but it’s hard to show and not tell, sometimes. Especially when I know I am going to almost kill Bruce just a couple of pages down the road! Killing and almost killing Bruce is one of my favorite things!
A low hum came from the walls, and all the lights went off. The oxygen for their section was cut off as the ventilation system stopped.
“That’s great. Just fucking great.”
These days, a swearing Batman makes me think of Miller. That is not cool. I still love the idea of Clark not swearing and Bruce having a dirty mouth, but I also really like the take on a very well behaved Bruce who doesn’t swear at all. I give swearing a lot of thought…
Superman turned towards Batman. The steel-paneled room was bathed in the green glow of Green Lantern’s ring while the Dark Knight searched for something inside his utility belt.
“Everything ok, B? The swearing is not very reassuring.” Situation aside, Superman couldn’t hide his smirk. Even in the face of danger, bantering was still bantering.
The Bat grunted as he pulled out a flashlight from his belt and held it between his teeth.
Heheee, I like that image!
The next couple of minutes were spent in silence, the quiet broken only by the sounds of the ship. The plan was a fairly simple one: once they could communicate with the crew, they would assure them that they came here to assist them at the request of the Trade Council. They would explain why they had disabled the power supply, and then GL would tow the ship to the nearest confederate planet, where they could repair the spacecraft.
“This can’t be good,” Lantern stared down the empty hall. “They’ll come down on us hard”.
“It’s their ship, they won’t want to damage it.” Superman replied as he stared down the hallway along with Stewart. The quiet was unnerving.
“S, give me a hand,” Batman hung the flashlight over the reactor by a cable while Superman knelt beside him. “Put your hands there,” he ordered as he guided the bare hands where he needed them to go. “Lift this carefully and hold it. No, don’t take it all the way out, you’ll destabilize it. Good. Now stay still…”
Superman watched his friend very closely while he did whatever it was he was doing with the tools he had laying around, and asked himself once more how Bruce could be so confident working on a piece of alien technology he had never seen before.
“…goddamn control rods of this thing…”
“Your knowledge of alien nuclear batteries failing you?”
Batman gave him a half smile. “It’s a reactor, not a battery. And you better hope it doesn’t or I’m going to get us blown up.”
“I am invulnerable.”
“And wouldn’t it be funny if the radioactive isotope powering this malfunctioning piece of junk was kryptonite.”
Two seconds passed. “That’s not even possible, is it?”
I spent the better part of a week researching nuclear reactors and batteries, and it all amounted to me writing this. Yeah, days of research make up lines like ‘goddamn control rods of this thing’. *shakes head in shame* It was seriously the best thing I could do, though, the original narrative was more info dumping, and who cares about the differences between reactors and batteries. In any case, I love tinkering engineer Bruce. He’s my favoritest thing ever, way beyond martial artist Bruce and detective Bruce. Engineers are sexy.
“I have established a telepathic link with the ship’s commander…”
Superman tried to stay very still so he wouldn’t upset the machinery. Still, he felt a small amount of tension leave his body as he heard J’onn; if they could turn off the generator--and he had all the faith in the world that his partner could--the dangerous part of the mission would be over.
GL walked up to the last son of Mars, his energy shield dropping from the hall entrance. The hall was empty and all stationary weapons had been disabled.
“Move back, Kal, you’re blocking the light…” A series of loud explosions cut Batman off as a panel from one of the walls opposite the door flew off, and unfriendly fire rained down on the two men.
“J’onn! Tell them to stop!” GL flew over his friends, trying to protect them from the weapons fire.
A round from a stun gun hit Superman. The Kryptonian’s eyes went wide with surprise. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t feel anything, and the part from the reactor he was holding was slipping from his grasp. The reactor started to vibrate violently, getting hotter, and he had to be seeing things in slow motion because how could GL’s field not be around them by now?
A high-pitched whir filled the air and the reactor went dead. Bruce’s hands were still inside of the damned thing when he saw a spatter of blood stain the front of his suit. Batman wasn’t moving. A second and a third stain joined the first before the Bat finally fell to the floor.
Well, down goes the Bat. I still think this scene is a little chunky… it could have used better narrative. But I like how Superman can’t conceive that the blood on his outfit is Bruce’s. It has to be coming from somewhere, just… not Batman.
Time sped up and GL was hovering over them, shouting at J’onn. Unable to shift even slightly, Superman could only see the lower half of his friend’s body, the cape covering everything but the dark pool of blood that was quickly forming beside his own kneeling form.
John’s power shield threw the ship’s crew back through, but that didn’t stop them from shooting until loud voices were heard in the hallway. The creatures, who looked like a weird robotic fusion between a swordfish and a mantis, kept their weapons ready while the ship’s Commander entered the room surrounded by a fully armed escort.
“-You said you came to help, but you left us without power.-” It wasn’t really a voice, but a set of metallic whirs and clacks.
“Your nuclear reactor was damaged and under heavy strain, it would have exploded if it wasn’t stopped. And you fired on us, despite your agreement.” J’onn stood tall in front of the creature, a gesture to protect his friends that didn’t go unnoticed by the Commander.
I was talking recently about how much I love the way J’onn and Diana serve as outsider observers of the relationship between the boys. I write that a lot, is one of my most repetitive traits, I think: unless it’s smutty -and even sometimes when it is, lalalaaa- the boys are hardly ever alone. I like having someone else looking at them, and here it’s J’onn and John, and Diana later on. I always write sort of a side story to every story in my head about what is the outsider thinking of what it’s happening, and that helps me keep the main story sort of… tamed. LOL, I just know that one of these days I’m going to take a deep(er) plunge into cheesiness, I can only hope Diana and J’onn can help me to avoid it by spotting it from their vantage positions.
“-Without power, no communication is possible. We’re not shooting anymore. Orders travel slow, without power.-” Slowly, he stepped past the Martian to get a better view of the fallen leaguers.
The Captain made me laugh. He was funny! And well-intentioned! Grating on Clark’s nerves, and clueless, but very fun.
John was at Bruce’s side. He had laid him on his back, and was trying to keep the blood loss under control using the ring. Superman could tell it wasn’t working very well; his knees were soaked with Bruce's blood. Noticing that he was starting to regain feeling in his extremities, he tried to move. He only managed to shift slightly, and felt his stomach knot in desperation.
“-Stun will wear off in time. I’m captain Kh’uo.-” The alien smiled without malice, seemingly happy for the aid they had offered in the first place. “-Your friend is leaking,-” he pointed out helpfully.
A sound full of rage parted Clark’s lips. His position didn’t allow him to look down, and he was worried sick because his teammates weren’t saying anything. GL looked up, straight into his eyes, and lied.
Ah, my good pal John. I love him so. I was so stunned while watching JL animated by how much I really liked GL as he developed as a character. And he and Bruce have this chumminess thing that I can’t leave untouched. Bruce, Shayera and John. Bruce, Clark and Diana can be the Trinity all they want, but Bruce has lunches in the commissary with John and Shayera chats him up and man, I miss JLU so much :( I loved having him around this story, even if he doesn’t do much… aside from preventing B from dying. Ahem. He was doing things in the background, seriously! I just edited them out…
“He’s fine. The stun will leave faster if you relax.”
“Our friend is hurt, Captain Kh’uo. Do you have an infirmary?” J’onn sounded calm and controlled, but he wasn’t fooling Clark. The Kryptonian tried to relax, because it made sense, to relax, so he could move again and properly freak out, but he couldn’t. His breathing quickened.
“-Repair bay, yes. But without power, nothing works. Only emergency lights and air quality.-” He gave a signal, and the crew lowered their weapons. “-You said you would tow us?- ”
The Green Lantern and the telepath gave each other a worried look.
“I can tow us to the nearest planet, but I can’t tow us and keep Batman stable. It’s one or the other.”
“We don’t have much choice. Without proper treatment, he won’t last much longer. We can’t just sit here.” Superman was sure that the Martian was avoiding his gaze on purpose. It was getting harder to breathe, and his chest hurt.
Yeah, well, John just said Bruce was fine, and now J’onn is saying he’s going to die. What’s poor Clark to think, other than people is not giving him enough information to freak out properly?
“We could start the back up generator again.”
“-Back up reactor is not powerful enough to move the ship. Or we would have moved before you arrived.- ”
Clark had a strong desire to punch the weird creature a new face. He wanted to tell him to shut up, because his friend wasn’t leaking, he was bleeding, bleeding all over his stupid ship. He was sure they had recalibrated their guns because the first time they had had no effect on him.
The weapons had been recalibrated to stop him, they wouldn’t have sliced right through Bruce otherwise. Bruce shouldn’t be bleeding to death.
After this, there was an angst-a-palooza bit about how this was all Clark’s fault. And then I re-read it and said ‘erm, no, Clark. Just no.’ and edited it out. Oh, but he was feeling guilty in my head for being super powered. That’s silly, since once I took his powers away, he was very grouchy.
Clark couldn’t breathe. He saw the room go black, and he struggled desperately against his numb body, trying to move, to be awake.
“Superman!” J’onn rushed to his side, checking on him. “You’re hyperventilating. Take deep breaths and try to relax. Batman is going to need your help.” The telepath looked at the ring wielder, and sighed. “Go. Get us to safety as soon as possible, I’ll do what I can to help them.”
“Contact the Watchtower, get them to meet us at our final coordinates. I don’t think we can teleport him in this shape.” John got up, and turned to the ship’s crew. “Where’s your launching bay? I need to go outside.”
See, this is why I imagine scenarios where Bruce gets hurt in space. Or Clark. Or both of them. But it has to be in space, because then I can write cave-fic without the cave. Stranded in space, what will they do? Oh, the tragedy! Oh, the angst! The endless h/c going rampage in my head! I sidestepped the bit about teleporting here because it would just ruin my h/c. And that will not do. Still, it was cheating :P
“-Follow second officer Ng’ia. But we have no power. Bay doors won’t open without…-”
“Power, I know! But unless you want to stay here forever, we’re going to find a way.”
Ha! John! X) Also, I made up the stupidest names ever for the aliens. *grumbles*
One of the creatures stepped forward to lead the Green Lantern out of the room and the field around Batman disappeared. J’onn hands morphed and split into four flat appendages, applying firm pressure to the wounds. Superman closed his eyes and focused on the thump of his heartbeat in his ears as he tried to breathe slower, tried to calm down his heart. A small voice in his head told him he was overreacting again, and that if Bruce could, he would be giving him grief about it. But Bruce couldn’t. Clark’s fist tightened and he growled, in trepidation and anger. All the air left his lungs and he felt his back spasm back to life. He breathed in, and the numbness he felt receded.
“I need bandages or cloth, and blankets,” J’onn said over his shoulder. “Can we move him to a more comfortable place?”
“-Repair bay has no power for instruments, but we have supplies,-” the captain offered.
The shape shifter looked at them, then glanced back at Clark. “You are doing great, Superman.”
Clark gave him a weak smile and finally managed to move in his fallen friend’s direction. The bleeding wasn’t as bad as the Kryptonian had feared, but it was bad enough. Fighting for control, his hand shook slightly as he touched his partner. He removed the cowl carefully, a gesture that made the alien crew draw back, and gently threaded the other’s hair. “I can help now.”
This bit there, about removing the cowl, is part of a joke I had with my brother. I am going to spare you the joke because it’s embarrassing that it still cracks me up so much, but yeah, the aliens thought Bruce’s face was the cowl. And it got removed! Scary! The alien is leaking and falling apart!
Before anyone else could speak, the ship lurched forward slightly and started to move. J’onn and Clark carefully lifted their friend from the floor and followed the ship’s crew to the repair bay.
A quick look around confirmed their fears of the biological differences between their species and their medical needs. None of the equipment was even remotely useful; they were only able to apply pressure bandages to his wounds and keep the injured man as warm and comfortable as possible. J’onn politely asked the remaining onlookers to leave the room; their presence wasn’t welcomed by the Man of Steel and having them around was making the situation feel hostile and tense.
This would be the second time… third time, if you could the ‘sitting ducks’ part waiting for J’onn to contact the crew, that Clark feels, if not powerless, very frustrated about not being able to fix anything. He still has his powers, but there’s nothing he can do about Bruce other than look at him bleed to dead. Poor woobie.
The Kryptonian gave the closing door a final glance, glaring hard at the back of the alien forms as he tapped his earpiece. “Diana, are you busy?”
“Just finishing my shift, Kal. Is everything all right?”
“No, definitely not all right. Bruce is down, and we’re going to need the Javelin to bring him home.” Clark’s eyes drifted to the bloodied bandages around his friend’s chest, his words coming out through gritted teeth.
“How bad is it? What happened?” Diana asked from what seemed like a universe away.
Clark remained silent, not knowing how to explain that he had fucked up--that he and Green Lantern were responsible for protecting Bruce and J’onn as they carried out their parts of the mission. How to explain that he had lowered his guard, gotten overconfident, and now, as a result, his friend was down.
J’onn took over the conversation when Clark didn’t answer Diana. “He needs medical attention as soon as possible. If you can, Diana, pick us up yourself. If there aren’t any other issues that require your immediate attention, then please make sure the Javelin is stocked with medical supplies and bags of his blood type before you leave. Can you trace our coordinates?”
“Your position is mobile, but I can keep track of you on the Javelin. I’ll give you an ETA as soon as I receive your final coordinates,” she paused, her silence filled with questions. Clark was glad she didn’t ask them, he didn’t think he could provide have any answers. “Take care of them, J’onn, I’ll see you soon. Diana out.”
Finally, finally! That part was over! I was so glad. It took me forever to get through that, possibly the best part of 5 months. The rest came up much faster, as they are formatted as short stories, which I write more easily. Still, the rest is a bit weird, because each section was written with a different mood, and they sort of lack mood cohesion. Not that I have improved much on that field, lalalaaa, as I’m still having hell with chapters and longer stories, but yeah. This one was my first attempt at it, and it shows. After this story got published, I was writing Sucker Love, my Brex monster bunny, and that one got written all in one sitting, I think. It’s much more cohesive.
***
It took them less than an hour to land on the accorded planet. The Trade Council’s commercial embassy had been kind enough to settle them in local quarters. The native population of this world was more similar to humans than Captain Kh’uo and his crew had been, but still different. They needed blood, from either artificial plasma, of which this people had never heard of, or a transfusion.
Here is where John’s shenanigans got deleted the first time around. John arranged for the quarters, he mingled with the locals, got information on whatnots and was all around awesome. But that required him having his own side story and I was itching to write the bedside parts. I am a h/c whore! So John’s shenanigans never made it to the story, though they happened in my head.
John was the closest match for a transfusion, but it was still no help: different blood types. It made Clark want to punch something. They had settled for a saline drip, and Clark really wanted to believe that Bruce looked better but he really, really didn’t. His skin was pale and clammy, and violent shivers tore through his body despite the blankets.
And that, my friends, is what came through after a whole lot of research on blood loss. Seriously, I look at the amount of facts that make it to stories and the amount of research I made, and I want to kick myself. It always happens!
Clark sat at his bedside, his elbows propped over his knees, his hands entwined. There wasn’t anything he could do aside from waiting for Diana to arrive, and she was still over three hours away. Nothing but sit and stare at the rise and fall of Bruce’s chest, listening to him struggle for every breath, fearing that if he stopped paying attention, it might stop.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes.
Green Lantern entered the sunny room they had been settled in, followed closely by J’onn. They exchanged worried glances as they stood beside the Kryptonian.
“He’s stable for now,” John started awkwardly. “Why don’t you go freshen up? We’ll stay with him,” he offered.
John is just coming in from his local shenanigans, look at him. I have that scene so clear in him head! Not that it’s a very important scene, since Clark is having another moment of helplessness. They made it, they got the ship to a planet. Bruce is still not better, even though they accomplished their mission. That doesn’t sit well with this Clark, how can the mission be accomplished and Bruce be hurt? Both things do not compute. I am not sure I like this reaction, though, this Clark harbors a good amount of puppy love for Bruce, not very… I don’t know, it lacks equality, like Clark was more emotionally immature than Bruce (hah! I laugh at myself! Past self, you were so wrong!!), and… as the year went by, my Clark developed a clearer image in my head, and puppy love is no longer acceptable. I can’t quite explain it but I’m very ashamed of the way I used to perceive Clark. My early Bruce was quite an ass, sort of the Bruce I would pair with Luthor, which is not a good version of Bruce for Clark. The good thing is that Bruce is unconscious, therefore incapable of being an ass :P
“I’ll stay here,” Clark said as he sat up and stretched. “He might wake up.”
“He is sedated, Kal.” J’onn intervened.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Clark answered, blue eyes looking at J’onn and the GL with stubborn determination. Under Superman’s gaze both nodded in agreement, and Clark went back to watching Bruce.
John sighed and sat in a chair a little further away from the bed, and after a moment of hesitation, J‘onn joined him. They sat in silence, each occupied by their own thoughts, as the planet’s yellow sun began to set and a new red star rose on the horizon.
“You got to be kidding me,” Clark muttered as he stared out the windows, looking at the red light bathing the alien landscape.
“They must live in perpetual light,” J’onn commented. “Your powers…”
This was totally cheating too. How come Clark hasn’t noticed the big red star in the system? They must have known where they were towing the planet. J’onn not knowing is even harder to believe. That’s one glaring plot hole there.
“They’ll wane in less than an hour,” Clark said grimly. It was bad enough that he couldn’t do anything to make Bruce better, but to be forced to sit there, absolutely powerless…
“You don’t need them right now. We’re safe,” J’onn said, interrupting his mental reverie. “Kal,” he called out again, his voice firm, and waited until Superman turned to face him. “It’s going to be okay.”
Superman sighed, and nodded. He wanted to believe J’onn, but he knew that he would feel more reassured if Bruce would just open his eyes and tell him to stop worrying.
***
This is the scene I wanted to write. All that before? My way to get here, now, the h/c scene! Yay! I still love it, lalalaaaaa
“Clark…”
Superman sat up, a feeling of dread making his stomach clench. He had nodded off and the light in the room had changed from a yellowish white to a disturbing orange red. He swallowed as he realized that it was Bruce that had called him and that he was looking at him in confusion and pain. He saw GL and J’onn stand up behind him and wished they weren’t in the room, he didn’t want to deal with them.
I have a very clear image of that scene too. You ever fell asleep in the living room? You know, an uncomfortable position, you’re hot, you should go somewhere else but it’s so warm and you’re so sleepy… and you fall asleep. And when you wake up, it’s sunset, and there’s a lot of light, and everything is warm and you’re sweaty and confused. I don’t know if it’s a desert thing or not, but sunset light is very eerie.
“Hey B,” he whispered, leaning closer to his friend and gently threading his fingers through his hair. “How are you feeling?”
“Where-,” Bruce swallowed slowly, his unfocused gaze darting around the room and then coming back to Clark’s face.
“We towed the ship to its final destination. Mission accomplished, buddy,” Clark said affectionately, his hand wandering from the dark locks to the pale cheek.
Ahhh, the ‘buddy’ bit. It happens a lot in my stories too, both turn to mocking endearments when they are worried. It’s done as a joke, but they sort of really mean it. My RL boys do that a lot, have mock nick names for each other that are really full of affection, only they think no one notices because they are obviously joking.
“You mean I… didn’t blow us… up?”
Clark’s chuckle turned into a shaky breath. “Not quite,” he said, sobering. Bruce’s eyes were closing from exhaustion, so Clark just kept stroking his hair, trying to smooth away the pained frown.
Clark threatened me with tears in that chuckle. It took me by surprise.
“I’m cold…” Bruce mumbled, and Clark cursed. Bruce’s lips were a pale shade of blue.
Aside from adding another blanket to the pile already on top of him, Clark was at a loss of what to do. “We’ll be on our way home soon,” he said reassuringly, trying to convey a calm he wasn’t particularly feeling himself.
Another wave of shivers racked Bruce’s body and he opened his eyes again, still looking slightly out of it. “…Water?”
Clark’s heart broke a little, his throat closing on his words. “Sorry B, you can’t have any right now.”
I am sorry Clark! I mean, one thing is being taken down in battle, one thing to have your powers drained by a red star, but now being able to give water to your wounded partner? That’s really, really sucks. I love rendering him helpless, but I winced while writing that. Hehe, sign that I’m having fun!
Bruce just closed his eyes again, already drifting off to sleep.
As soon as his breathing eased into the slow cadence of sleep, Clark stood up from the chair and started pacing. J’onn and GL were still standing where he had last seen them, eyeing him closely. Clark threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “There’s nothing I can do!”
“We can’t give him anything if he’s in shock,” J’onn reasoned with him.
Which, according to my brain, he might or might not be. I’m not sure how it works out, not after all the crazy ER medicine and the online documentation on first aid in case of shock. Let’s just… pretend I’m not crazy.
“I know,” Clark kept walking until he was once again standing next to the bed. Not having the ability to listen to his heartbeat or monitor his signs at will was unnerving. The Man of Steel felt awkwardly disconnected from his surroundings, completely powerless in every way that mattered. There was no way to give his problems a pounding, no way to make Bruce magically better, no way to get back home. All he could do was sit still and wait, and no matter how powerful and strong willed Superman was, he had never been good at waiting. “What’s Diana’s ETA?”
“About an hour,” John answered.
Clark couldn’t remember an hour ever going by so slowly.
Let’s also pretend the Javelins are crazy fast.
***
The flight back home was tense and quiet, the only sounds coming from the Javelin’s engine and the life support Batman was hooked to. As soon as they settled him in, Superman took one of the front seats to recline in and closed his eyes. J’onn took the controls and charted their flight back, leaving GL and Wonder Woman in the back.
I don’t know why Clark wasn’t willing to be in the back with Bruce anymore. I think I wore him out with all the powerlessness. Poor dear. But never fear, bestest pal John is behind with Diana. I really like John :P I wonder why I don’t slash Bruce and John… it might be that I really liked the GL/Hawlgirl thing, specially since hah! Hawkman wasn’t in the picture. Why, yes, I don’t like Hawkman.
Clark felt like sleeping for a week. He didn’t like the way things felt, like he was looking at a faded picture. His mouth tasted wrong; everything sounded off, far away and dull; his hands felt dry and clumsy. He felt graceless, blind and deaf without his powers. He couldn’t wait to be back under their yellow sun.
This is my most humble nod towards the years I spent fawning over The Sentinel fanfiction. I have always wanted to write Clark in a more feral state, show his senses working at full range… I had to write them the other way here, like you are having the worst hang over ever after a very, very loud concert. Having your senses dulled can’t be fun, especially if you have super senses.
He had been under a red star before, when he met Vandal Savage in the post-apocalyptic Earth. He had felt as awkward as he felt now, but there was something else to it this time that he couldn’t name. Part of it was guilt and dread, he had almost lost a friend because of a mistake in the field, a mistake made because he had been overconfident. It was loss and worry, because even if Bruce was stable, something had broken inside Clark and he felt like there was no way to mend it. It was disappointment and a familiar feeling of being out of place.
Bruce was his friend, his partner, his equal. Bruce wasn’t supposed to die. He was supposed to have his back, to protect him even if he was invulnerable, because a part of him was very vulnerable, and Bruce knew it. He was supposed to be the comforting cool darkness to his intense heat. Bruce accepted him, trusted him, Bruce was his friend.
Bruce wasn’t supposed to die.
Because if he could die, it meant Clark could lose everything Bruce meant. Clark could be left alone to deal with his feelings of alienation; he could lose the tacit understandings and become an outsider again, like he had always been. Bruce made him feel like it was okay to feel awkward around people because it was a very human thing to feel. Bruce made him feel like he belonged, and Bruce could die.
Something had broken inside of Clark, and he was going to have to make sure the remaining pieces wouldn’t crumble to dust.
This is what I meant about puppy love. My Clark never was as naïve as this Clark after this story. It makes sense in an animated slash-developing setting, maybe, but little by little my animated Clark started to get mixed with comics Clark, and comics Clark is many things, but not naïve. I am not sure I like this bit, but it made sense for the story, so I didn’t edit it out. Clark’s naivety about what Bruce means to him is also what J’onn is talking about in the previous chapter of the series. My mind decided that Bruce already knew how he felt about Clark, because the big bad Bat used to be one step ahead of Clark all the time -times change, my Bruce is often so oblivious now!- so Clark has to come to terms here, not Bruce. I was so wroooong. I like my Bruce absentminded now!
***
Superman stood with Wonder Woman outside the Med-lab, waiting to be allowed inside. Diana had been awfully quiet all the way back to the Watchtower, just as Green Lantern and J’onn had been. Clark felt the uncomfortable silence stretch out, but he couldn’t bring himself to break it. He had nothing to say, and she wasn’t saying what was on her mind. Superman sighed and closed his eyes. He hadn’t had the chance to bask in the sun to recharge his powers, and the lack of sensory input felt a lot like isolation.
He was starting to develop a taste for it. He may have felt more alone, alone in a way he’d never felt before no matter how alien he was, but he also couldn’t hear or feel any of the worries and ails that plagued humankind. In a way, he felt free.
“Kal,” Diana broke the silence, staring at him with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine,” Clark answered, feeling half grateful, half disappointed by Diana’s interruption.
“You can head to the Womb if you want, I’ll stay here to check on Bruce,” she continued, trying to be helpful.
“Why would I want to go to the Womb?”
She hesitated. “The panoramic windows allow the sun’s radiation inside. I thought you might want to…”
“Get my powers back?”
“Yes, that too. But Kal,” she looked at his tired frown trying to find the right words. “The sun isn’t just a battery. You need it, like everything on the planet does, and not just to survive. It grounds you. Dawn clears all the night’s doubts.”
Diana is so often my voice of reason. She and J’onn, they rock at insight. Seriously, pair them up. Is there J’onn/Diana out there? I covet it. I like Clark’s moping and feelings of isolation. Feeling truly disconnected from everything must be really freaky, but also liberating.
Superman looked at her warily. “Night doubts.”
“I know what it is like to have a mission that appears too overwhelming for one person. You can’t fool me,” she smiled, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “’With great power comes great responsibility’, isn’t that a Patriarch saying? No one explained to the World of Man that the responsibility never goes away, even if the power does.”
“I’m tired, Diana. You’re not making much sense,” Clark said, but he feared she was making too much sense. He couldn’t be that easy to read.
“You’re shutting us out and you’re attempting to take Batman’s place as the group’s grim brooder,” she said, teasingly. “I can’t imagine how would it be to fall from the grace of the Gods, to be left with nothing but mortal flesh and blood. But I can imagine how would it feel to be ‘off the hook’; free of the duty my power invests in me. But it doesn’t work that way.”
I was, at the time, having a fit over OYL Clark saying ‘It was a good year’ about the year he spent without powers, eating pretzels and not mourning his clone son!! ARGGG. Every time I remember, I get feisty. Anyway, yes. You can’t be the chairman of a world saving League and then just retire because you don’t have powers. I mean, what? Half the League doesn’t have powers. You’re used to be in the middle of the fry, and c’mon, you liked your powers. You liked doing good with them. I wouldn’t walk away from the responsibility, and I am nowhere as selfless or dedicated as Clark is, thank you very much. I think he was being helpful as a reporter but that line… it still irks me. No, just no. Powers or no powers, Clark is a hero for who he is, and he would still be out there pushing the limits, not… not… *mumble mumble* Ahem. Yes. Clark wants to believe he can walk away from the duty here, but he knows he really can’t. See, this is one of the weird things about the way the story broke, *this* is comics Clark for the most part, while earlier it was animated Clark. In my mind, the shift is not very smooth.
Clark scowled. “I know.” He opened his mouth to say something else, and then closed it, his lips becoming a thin pale line.
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
Clark looked away, feeling the weight of the pools of blue on him. Diana didn’t need the lasso to get the truth out of people; she could draw it out with nothing more than her own honesty and her eagerness to understand.
Clark moistened his lips, his eyes still looking down the hallway. “I’m willing to sacrifice everything for those I swore to protect. But I don’t have my powers now, Diana,” he said, finally turning to meet her gaze. “That just leaves me, ‘mortal flesh and blood’ as you said. I’m just one of them.”
Diana smiled in a way that belied her youthful features. It was wise and warm, and Clark felt like a child. He was very tired. “What about Bruce?”
Clark found himself staring down at his feet. “What about him?”
“Nothing but mortal flesh and blood. He’s also ‘one of them’, if by ‘them’ you mean non meta-humans. But he’s also one of us, fighting for a better world. That doesn’t take super powers, Kal.”
]
Oh dear, how I wax about that. You might start to notice that under it all, my biggest kink about superheroes is fighting for a better world in, you know, the real world. But rawr, yeah, go Diana! She’s comics-Diana here too, not animated Diana. This was written much later than the first parts, so I guess it’s only logical that the characters are starting to mix all their incarnations in my head.
Clark still wouldn’t look at her.
“I know you’re not actually running away from responsibility,” she whispered, leaning close to embrace him. “Mortality wasn’t meant to be a punishment, but a gift for mankind, so they might truly shine and become the fabric of legends. Legends never die, and neither has he.”
You might cross reference that paragraph with Turn of the Tide. Dying is sort of a gift in my crazy little head. Valhalla for the Heroes.
Clark held her tightly, taking in the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, her warmth. He basked in the feeling of being loved. He needed some time alone with the sun, to give dawn the chance to wash away his fears, but that would have to wait.
Bruce was alive.
***
I wrote the final scene in a peculiar mood, so Bruce’s drugged rationalizations were funnier quips. I also had him look like he had multiple personality disorder, heh, and Sasha helped me smooth it out. After revising it, I took the quirkier parts away, but I still think it reads lighter than Clark angst-fest before.
He felt numb, his thoughts clouded by a thick fog. His body felt as if it was wrapped in cotton, and he could hear a faint noise coming from somewhere in the vicinity. He couldn’t make sense of it, and a voice in his head, the one that had helped him survive several blackouts during patrol, coaxed him into finding out what those sounds were.
“…hate feeling like this. I don’t know how do you do it, going out there knowing that anything could go wrong. You’ll probably just tell me it could happen to any of us, but you know, the odds are better for those of us who are invulnerable and stuff.”
Words. There was someone talking in the background, and he thought he recognized the low buzzing noise too. He had heard them before, but the voice of his survival instinct noticed that these didn’t indicate impending danger, and was suddenly overwhelmed by another inner voice clamoring for healing and the oblivion of sleep.
“I know you take this very seriously… I know that every time I go on a mission, it could be my last, but I don't like the possibility of it happening to you… or Diana, or anyone else in the League.”
The lethargy he was feeling slowly crept away as he found that he could no longer block out the voice. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he was able to identify machines buzzing in the background and his own breathing. It took him a couple of minutes to figure out that the dull pain in his chest came from breathing.
“…I thought I had coped with my own mortality a while ago, but as it turns out I’m not as comfortable as I thought I would be on the subject of death. I don’t like dealing with things I can’t change.”
Bruce is obviously not paying attention at all, he’s busy trying to figure out where his head is through all the drugged haze, but I like the idea of Clark talking to him even when he’s not listening, just so he can process it better. It’s one of the things that I still keep about their individual characterizations: Bruce is less chatty and introspective -brooding, of course, but also thinking and rationalizing and only speaking after he’s sure, while Clark deals with his problems more openly, thinking out loud. I like to have a chattier Clark, otherwise my stories turn really dialog-free, lol. It’s not about one of them being insecure and the other being an emotional cripple, though, is just different ways of dealing with emotion, both perfectly healthy and normal. I despise the thought of Bruce being an emotional cripple completely unable to communicate. He’s not good at communicating because he’s often lost in his head and not good at talking about his own emotions, but he can deal with emotion just fine… just not put his on the open. Plenty of people without emotional trauma feel awkward talking about themselves, it doesn’t have to be the crippling grand character flaw. I know canon portrays it as a Big Thing, the way Bruce is more paranoid and closed up than the rest of the heroes, but I can’t quite see it as an ever-looming social flaw. I’m going to go for the devil’s advocate again, but of course he seems like a freak in a team full of extroverts…
The pain in his chest was growing sharper. He realized he was injured. The Survival-voice started bringing his consciousness together, getting rid of the mind fog as quickly as it could. Being injured and disoriented wasn’t a good thing.
“And this was just a mission from hell. I know you think I rely on my powers too much, but they are a part of what I am. And then suddenly they were gone and it felt like I’d lost an arm, only worse, and I couldn’t help you at all.”
I mused a lot about super powers in this story. How they aren’t all that ‘super’ to you if you have them, they are normal, it’s other people who are different. Bruce really stretches his limits, so he expects others to stretch themselves too -you have super strength, fine, you better learn how to fight too. I’ve seen versions of Bruce despising super powers, and in a way I think it’s more about how some versions of superpowered beings become one trick dogs in the hands of writers. But then I thought about how it would be to lose something you’re so used to having, like a hand, or your eyes, or your voice, and how out of balance you must feel until you learn to piggy back your other capabilities. It was a fun exercise, especially playing with a desensitized Clark who feels like his connection to the world has been cut. He’s seeing as we see, feeling what we feel, and it’s so many steps down the ‘real thing’ for him. I like seeing super powered beings mix their more ‘human’ capabilities with the super, a mix and match, because it has to feel only natural to them since it’s all part of who they are, and not run around saying ‘I’ll use my super-whatever now!’. I think the stretchos really got it right in comics, they use their ability to stretch all the time, because is natural for them. Is like saying ‘I’ll use my left hand now!’. It doesn’t make any sense… much like me, ahem.
He tried to swallow past the lump on his throat and his tongue felt dry and swollen. Opening his eyes gave him one hell of a headache, so he shut his eyes tightly, deciding that whoever was in the room with him wasn’t an immediate threat.
“And I still can’t. It’s very frustrating.”
He opened his eyes again and could just make out a shadowy figure by his side, and he instinctively tensed for an attack as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the light, trying to place the voice. He relaxed as soon as he recognized his friend, but he decided against doing anything that required parting his lips or dislodging the cotton in his throat that was probably just dryness, as his common sense pointed out. Instead he moved the hand closest to Kal to touch him and let him know he was awake.
Clark stared at the hand lightly touching his, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes trailed slowly from the hand all the way up to his partner’s face, taking note of the way the white bed lining covered his torso, rising and falling with his breathing; the IV slowly dripping life back into his pale body; the oxygen mask, covering the half of his face that Clark was used to seeing, used to reading. He lingered a moment on the mask, then finally met the drowsy gaze.
Oh dear. I always do this, and Sasha helps me a lot with it, but it keeps happening: I hop from one POV to the other. The whole waking up thing is in Bruce’s POV and not we’re back to Clark without transition. Bad Mina, bad! Wanting the cake and eating it too!
Clark licked his lips and tried to find his voice again. “You’re a very frustrating man.”
Bruce’s answer was a slow head tilt, which Clark took as a prompt to elaborate further.
“You should be sleeping, not listening to me venting,” Clark said, affectionately. He took the hand that had reached out to him in his hands, his thumb drawing slow patterns on the palm.
Bruce sighed, managing to convey without words that he agreed with him about the sleeping, but it couldn’t be helped.
“I was having what Dick calls a ‘thick batfunk afternoon’,” Clark said teasingly, then looked down at the pale and cold hand between his own. “I was worried,” he confessed in a whisper.
I like that being worries about each other comes as a shameful confession. It’s an ‘I’m sorry I lost faith in you’. They really trust that the other will come through, no matter what, and worrying is to doubt that trust.
Bruce lifted his free hand and took the oxygen mask off. The amount of effort the act took made his vision gray out for a moment. “Stay off,” he said, his voice a rough whisper, “of my turf.”
Bruce does *not* like to see Clark darken. It makes him queasy. I think he thinks he’s dark enough for both of them, and if Clark gets darker, who’s going to lighten him up?
Clark smiled fondly at him, and Bruce couldn’t help smiling back. “I’ll try. I think I scared the others with the brooding. Diana called me on it.”
Bruce nodded as Clark’s features started to blur. The pain in his chest was becoming more intense, but at the same time it felt like it was happening to someone else. “She’s good at that,” he tried to say, but he wasn’t sure if he had spoken or just thought about it.
“Go back to sleep,” Clark whispered as he rose from his chair, letting go of Bruce’s hand in the process.
Through the numbness, Bruce felt a hand card through his hair, and the oxygen mask lingered over his face, never falling into place. He felt Clark’s hesitation and tried to open his eyes, heavy with exhaustion. He saw Clark standing by his side, staring down at him with a serious expression on his face. He was awake enough to know that something important was happening, but not awake enough to figure out what it was.
There we go again, POV change *rolls eyes* I know there’s a way to touch into everyone’s thoughts in the same piece, but I think it involves not getting so deep into each other’s heads while writing them. I need proper education on that topic…
Clark waited until the sleepy blue eyes closed again, and he lowered his face until their lips were just an inch away from each other. Pushing aside all doubts, he closed the distance between them, kissing the cool, slightly parted lips.
He stood up and replaced the oxygen mask again, closing the door behind him as he left the room. Dawn would hopefully bring answers to all the night’s questions.
I really like the kiss scene. I have an entry from a year ago, reminding me that this story ended with the kiss scene, not before, not after. I had that scene very clear in my mind, Clark trusting his instincts and all other fears be damned.
So this was Breakable. The name applies to both of them and their situation, though initially it was only about how Bruce was breakable. The story of course took Clark to an angst fest of giant proportions, so it turned to be something about both of them and their bond. It could be destroyed, were they bold enough to try to move out of their comfort zone by their own volition? Nothing assured them the decision wouldn’t be taken from their hands and their status quo changed without their consent. I really like the animated version of them because you don’t have to deal with the Lois problem -my Bruce muse refuses to hook up with Clark if he’s married. He’s not going to be the reason why Lois is hurt. Since I suck so much at dealing with that issue, I turn to the toonverse a lot, or just remain happily oblivious of Clark’s marriage when playing in the canon field. I still love a lot about this story, but I also have put more distance between it and myself so I can see some of the glaring problems it has now. But it was my first attempt at something longer with a bigger cast, and I think it wasn’t all that bad.
If you read all the way through my crazy rambling, thank you! I’m sorry I get so carried away while commenting. So, this is my head. It’s a pretty messy place.