[Fic] splintering, fracturing (we're breaking)
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark/Dick
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Torture, implications of major character death
Word count: c.600
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
A/N: For my angst bingo prompt 'broken bones'.
***
Clark hears every blow and every snap, and it’s taking everything he has to stay seated at his desk at the Daily Planet instead of flying to Gotham as fast as he can.
He can’t hold back a wince as he hears the splintering of bone.
“All right, Smallville?” There’s real concern in Lois’ voice. “Looking a little pale there.”
“I’m fine,” Clark says, pasting a smile onto his face -- he must be hiding it worse than he thought, he realizes, and forces himself not react when he hears the sudden gasp of pain.
Lois still looks doubtful, but she leaves him alone.
Then, a sharper, louder cry, and Clark is this close to launching himself out of his chair when Dick mutters something almost incoherent that keeps Clark frozen at his desk.
“Clark...don’t...”
Clark waits frantically for something more, for Dick to finish whatever he was saying, but there’s nothing. It’s not long before Clark realizes that it must be because Dick is trying to speak to him without letting whoever has him know that he’s communicating with someone.
He’s not sure how many minutes he sits there, staring blankly at the papers on his desk, concentrating only on Dick’s small sounds of pain as he is beaten. He tries to figure out where Dick is, where he’s being held, but he doesn’t know Gotham nearly well enough for that, neither Dick nor his attackers say anything to give him a clue.
Finally, one of Dick’s attackers snarls that they’d be back, and Clark hears the slamming of a door, and Dick starts to speak. He’s quiet, but Clark can hear.
“Clark. You can’t come here,” Dick says immediately, and Clark is so close to ignoring him and finding him in any way possible. “Please. If you come here. If they even catch a glimpse of Superman, a lot of innocent people will die.”
Clark closes his eyes.
“There’s something big going on with the gangs right now, but B and the others are dealing with it. It’ll be okay.”
A long pause, and Clark doesn’t breathe.
“But you can’t come. Promise me, Clark, that you’ll stay away from Gotham until it’s all over. B will call you.”
Clark is shaking his head, no, no, he can’t just leave him there, but Dick wouldn’t lie to him about this, and he can’t risk innocent people dying.
Even if there will be one that he loves in their place.
“There is no other way, Clark. I’m sorry.”
The sound of footsteps, and Dick starts speaking even more quietly, urgently.
“Clark, I love you. I love you.”
Then the door opens again, and Dick falls silent. Clark strains not to clench his fingers too hard on his desk; he’ll crack it again.
“Kent!”
Clark jumps, adjusts his glasses. “Um.”
Perry narrows his eyes at him. “Kent, you look like you’re coming down with something. Get out of here, you can finish this up tomorrow.”
Fumbling with his papers, Clark mumbles a thank you and leaves as fast as he can without raising any more suspicion. It was lucky, really, any longer and Clark might have reduced his desk to splinters.
He doesn’t know what to do, so he just goes home, sits in his apartment, and listens to every cry of pain and every snapping bone. Dick doesn’t get a chance to speak to him again, but Clark keeps listening, clenching the material of his sofa, tearing fabric and crushing wood. He hears Dick scream, over and over again, until he’s hoarse, until he’s reduced to gasping and whispering, and then one last word.
“Clark.”
Pairing: Clark/Dick
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Torture, implications of major character death
Word count: c.600
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
A/N: For my angst bingo prompt 'broken bones'.
***
Clark hears every blow and every snap, and it’s taking everything he has to stay seated at his desk at the Daily Planet instead of flying to Gotham as fast as he can.
He can’t hold back a wince as he hears the splintering of bone.
“All right, Smallville?” There’s real concern in Lois’ voice. “Looking a little pale there.”
“I’m fine,” Clark says, pasting a smile onto his face -- he must be hiding it worse than he thought, he realizes, and forces himself not react when he hears the sudden gasp of pain.
Lois still looks doubtful, but she leaves him alone.
Then, a sharper, louder cry, and Clark is this close to launching himself out of his chair when Dick mutters something almost incoherent that keeps Clark frozen at his desk.
“Clark...don’t...”
Clark waits frantically for something more, for Dick to finish whatever he was saying, but there’s nothing. It’s not long before Clark realizes that it must be because Dick is trying to speak to him without letting whoever has him know that he’s communicating with someone.
He’s not sure how many minutes he sits there, staring blankly at the papers on his desk, concentrating only on Dick’s small sounds of pain as he is beaten. He tries to figure out where Dick is, where he’s being held, but he doesn’t know Gotham nearly well enough for that, neither Dick nor his attackers say anything to give him a clue.
Finally, one of Dick’s attackers snarls that they’d be back, and Clark hears the slamming of a door, and Dick starts to speak. He’s quiet, but Clark can hear.
“Clark. You can’t come here,” Dick says immediately, and Clark is so close to ignoring him and finding him in any way possible. “Please. If you come here. If they even catch a glimpse of Superman, a lot of innocent people will die.”
Clark closes his eyes.
“There’s something big going on with the gangs right now, but B and the others are dealing with it. It’ll be okay.”
A long pause, and Clark doesn’t breathe.
“But you can’t come. Promise me, Clark, that you’ll stay away from Gotham until it’s all over. B will call you.”
Clark is shaking his head, no, no, he can’t just leave him there, but Dick wouldn’t lie to him about this, and he can’t risk innocent people dying.
Even if there will be one that he loves in their place.
“There is no other way, Clark. I’m sorry.”
The sound of footsteps, and Dick starts speaking even more quietly, urgently.
“Clark, I love you. I love you.”
Then the door opens again, and Dick falls silent. Clark strains not to clench his fingers too hard on his desk; he’ll crack it again.
“Kent!”
Clark jumps, adjusts his glasses. “Um.”
Perry narrows his eyes at him. “Kent, you look like you’re coming down with something. Get out of here, you can finish this up tomorrow.”
Fumbling with his papers, Clark mumbles a thank you and leaves as fast as he can without raising any more suspicion. It was lucky, really, any longer and Clark might have reduced his desk to splinters.
He doesn’t know what to do, so he just goes home, sits in his apartment, and listens to every cry of pain and every snapping bone. Dick doesn’t get a chance to speak to him again, but Clark keeps listening, clenching the material of his sofa, tearing fabric and crushing wood. He hears Dick scream, over and over again, until he’s hoarse, until he’s reduced to gasping and whispering, and then one last word.
“Clark.”