Folks said his family were all dead

[isitablurred]

Who: The Man of Steel isitablurred  and The Caped Crusader kingofrooks 
When: Friday 17th June
Where: A safehouse in Sector 10
Summary: Bruce is determined to see himself punished for what happened with the Joker. When Clark is reticent to indulge him, Bruce takes things into his own hands.
Warnings: Violence, blood, Kryptonite, Bruce Wayne's self-loathing, more violence. No

Comments

[kingofrooks]

The last words hit into him like a suckerpunch, knocked the wind out of his lungs and he only continued to breathe out of sheer stubbornness. For a long moment, Bruce could only look at Clark- stare at him with wide eyes, lips parted and this was yet another betrayal- no, not a betrayal, for Bruce had believed something he should not have in the first place. He was a fool to even-

I will always save you.

Don't. He deserves it.

The ironic choked him further, because he had spent so long telling Clark to not interfere with him, to not save him- that the confirmation that he heard- that Superman thought that he deserved his punishment, that he didn't deserve to be saved- it crushed him still. The thought that this man- this man whom he had trusted enough to show him who he was- to show him the link between Bruce Wayne and Batman and even the tiniest glimpse of the man beneath- this man who had seen more of him than anyone else on this island- would judge him to be not worth saving was.

He couldn't describe it. He could only look at Clark, feel those too-warm hands on his own, and he hated, hated himself for being vulnerable enough to believe. To be hurt. To feel like he was shattering with just a few words. This was his punishment, he thought to himself, distantly, his mind half-blank and his body turning cold. This was truly the punishment that he deserved for all that he had done. For Darkseid, for the Joker, for failing to save Carrie, for making use of Clark this way- and even for failing to save Jason, for doing what he had, what no father should have- to cut his throat and made him bleed. For placing his principles and his own sanity above his son.

He deserved this, all of this. He deserved to not be saved. He deserved everything if Clark had deemed him to be below saving. That-

Bruce stopped that train of thoughts before he could spiral further down into self-pity and self-hatred. He looked at Clark for another moment before he yanked his hand back, and he backed away- stepped back once, twice, before he whirled around entirely, turning his back against Clark. Striding with stumbling steps towards his kit, towards the crate, slamming a fist against a metal pillar.

(The cruel, almost funny irony was this: the moment those words had left Clark's lips, Bruce trusted him more. He trusted him to save the world, to save everyone on the island, now that he knew how to judge that a person didn't deserve to be saved. He trusted him with the world and all those in it because he wouldn't abandon them to come for Batman; for a man who wss no better than the Darkness monsters here.

He trusted him to take care of the world, and he always would. But it would take a miracle for Bruce to trust Clark with himself.)

"Get out," his voice was soft, but steel-strong. He tipped his head back, and pushed away all the hurt, all the pain, and focused on his anger and his hatred. Made his eyes burn with them.

"Get. Out."

[isitablurred]

Clark didn't need Bruce's condemnation to feel horrible about those thoughts. But they had come out of his head, whether under the power of red Kryptonite or not. He had thought them, and they were the same thoughts, the same ones, that had burned through his head on occasion when Lex had been on his mind. When Doomsday had died. When Zod's towers had crumbled. He thought, if he had his hand around Lex's throat, would he be able to stop himself? Would he crush him and kill him the way that Bruce had almost killed Joker?

And if, after he had killed Lex, someone had wrapped their hands about his throat, would he deserve it too?

He would.

More so because his power, his limitless power, meant that he had to be better than that. He couldn't use it to kill; he would be more of a monster then than anyone else, but he felt, right now, that he was the closest to capable of it than he had been since his father's death.

If he had been in Bruce's position, he would have sought punishment too. Not like this, perhaps not even as vehemently, but he had been there. He had exhausted himself in an effort to feel some pain, to feel anything which wasn't the hollow agony of his own mistakes. All the people who had been killed and injured during Dark Thursday; those lost lives had been his fault, his inability to stop Brainiac, to stop Zod in Lex's body, and he had pushed himself so hard to punish himself for it.

He was a hypocrite to blame Bruce for this.

But he couldn't be anything less than honest, too.

He stayed, stood still, stared at Bruce's back. He had betrayed him, perhaps more than Bruce had returned the favour. He should have been a better friend, a more heroic man than he was, and once more he didn't feel as though he was capable of being good enough. Not when he could be so wrong.

"I've stood in your shoes, Bruce. The only difference is, nobody punished me. After my father died I went after a man who stole his watch from me. I almost killed him. It would have been so, so easy--"

Clark turned away, a swish of cape about his ankles, his eyes closed.

"I deserved it, Bruce. But there was nobody there to punish me for what I did. Maybe... Maybe, somehow, I thought I was helping. I'm sorry. I wish... I'm just so sorry."

But he wasn't gone; hadn't left. How could he leave it like this?

[kingofrooks]

There was a sharp inward breath at that. Bruce's hands immediately clenched into fists even though he was midway through trying to pick up the medical supplies to clean his wounds again- and for a moment, his hands just trembled there in the air, his shoulders bleeding sluggishly, red dyeing bandages on his chest red from the tension, the knots that wound themselves into the muscles. For a moment, he closed his eyes and shoved the anger away.

After what he said, Clark now tried to offer empathy? To say that he deserved it- that he understood Bruce's need to be punished? After he had said that he had thought Bruce to deserve all that he had got? That he deserved the punishment?

Either Clark was a hypocrite or it was a terrible attempt to backpedal. Bruce had no patience for either- no need for Clark to claw at the raw, open wound inside him and tear it further open, to make it bleed more.

"Helping," he said, his voice flat. Emotionless. His back like a wall against Clark, not even looking at him. He had straightened, a hand against the wall, fingers half-curled inwards, nails digging against the wood. Trying not to shake out of anger and hurt and a bundle of anger that he couldn't identify.

"Does that make you feel better? Being facetious? Oh, I've tried. I reached out. I've tried to empathize. I've apologized. I really don't mean to." He stated it all almost in a sing-song voice, barely keeping himself from spitting the words out. "But Clark, you said it yourself.

"I deserved it. You just dealt the righteous punishment." He sucked in a breath and laughed, sharp and humourless. "And because I've used you, I don't need you anymore."

He made a dismissive motion, a jerky wave of a hand.

"Shoo."

[isitablurred]

No. No he didn't. He didn't get to turn this all on Clark. Don't blame yourself he'd said, and now he was making it sting, digging his fingers in and ripping Clark apart, for the human weakness behind the red Kryptonite. The part of him that he always, always resisted, always conquered.

"You ripped away my free will, and now you're trying to make all of this my choice. My decision to hurt you. Mine. Isn't it fair that I try and defend myself against that? Look at you. Shouldn't what you've been through be enough proof of the efforts I go to to be better than that, or should I be perfect by default?

"You told me once that I'm more human than you. Well this is human weakness, and it's a human weakness I fight all the time. You took away all the control I've built, over years, the efforts I go to protect other people from me. And now I'm not even allowed to apologise in case it might be facetious?

"How dare you punish me for this? Dealt a righteous punishment--how can you even look at me and say that, Bruce, knowing who I am, what I have to be?"

And Clark was almost shaking. Of all the people on the island Bruce knew best who he was. And he knew how best to completely destroy it. Was that what he was trying to do now? Taking Clark's doubts in himself and pounding them back at him as hard as he could. It was remorseless, and it had nothing to do with the pain, or his mood.

He should have left when Bruce had told him to get out before. He still didn't.

[kingofrooks]

"I always thought you were deaf, or had some sort of selective hearing," Bruce shot back, almost idly. But his posture betrayed him - there was too much tension in his muscles, and if Clark was almost shaking Bruce was actively keeping himself from doing so. It was pride that kept him standing despite the pain, pride that kept his voice controlled simply because he had shown this man enough of himself already. He had shown himself to be weak and vulnerable enough; shown Clark that he had the ability to affect him enough.

Never again.

He trusted him. He trusted him and Clark had thrown his trust back into his face and burnt a mark onto his face. He trusted him to save him and Clark admitted that he didn't deserve to be saved.

And most of all- Bruce believed it. He believed that he didn't deserve to be saved more than he believed that Clark was affected by the red Kryptonite. He contradicted himself, irrational for he wanted Clark to believe that what he did during it was Bruce's fault and Bruce's fault alone; but at the same time, he held what he thought under the influence to be indelible truth. Bruce clung onto the belief that everything was his own fault, that he was to be blamed- yet at the same time he was lashing out at Clark, wanting to make him hurt as Bruce himself had been hurt- if only he wouldn't be vulnerable. That he wouldn't be the only person who was being torn apart piece by piece here.

When you lose something, you blame the whole world, while punishing just yourself. Over, and over again, as though that helps anyone. It doesn't. It's selfish. And it's pathetic.

Pathetic. Right, of course. Bruce had every word of Clark's engraved into his head- because Clark knew him best here, right?

(And even if he didn't trust Clark's judgment, it was something that was prodding at him. What he was becoming was something too terrifying for him to even think about. What he had done to the Joker; the lines he had crossed when he took down- when he killed Darkseid.)

"I took away your free will, your control. All of it." He smiled, sardonic and just a little mad at the edges. "You're right - that's my fault. All of it.

"But you're free to think what you want. Did I say I'm blaming you? No- I'm admitting you're right, Clark, and if you're self-flagellating so much as to think that I'm blaming you for it, please, don't say that those were my words.

"You're just hearing what you want to hear. Are you done with your self-pity fest?" He dragged his two fingers through the blood on his shoulders, holding it to the dim lights of the safehouse- letting the blood shine but his back was to Clark still.

"Don't make me repeat myself."

[isitablurred]

He came so close to swearing, out of frustration, that he had to bite his tongue to hold it down. Martha Kent wouldn't approve.

"I'm not right, Bruce."

But there was no fighting this any more. If he kept battling on that point then he would just be bringing more pain on both their shoulders. This... This situation would never improve until they were both past it. Until Clark had left and settled things his own way, until Bruce had channeled away his demons and made them fight for him. There was just nothing for it but that.

And so Clark turned.

After all, he knew what came after 'Don't make me repeat myself'.

He left.

[kingofrooks]

The moment he felt the rush of air, the cold wind against his exposed skin- the moment Clark left, Bruce closed his eyes and tried not to collapse onto the ground. He knew that Clark would hear, and he still refused to give him the satisfaction. Held onto his pride as if it was the only thing he had left.

It might as well be. Bruce leaned against the pillow, levelled his breathing and pretending that he didn't want to claw at the metal in front of him until his nails broke and bled. Until the physical pain and wounds overwhelmed the pain within him, the emotions that were twisting and twisting inside.

Breathe.

He closed his eyes. Counted to ten in all the languages he knew. Cleared his mind and blanked it.

Then he opened his eyes. Moved over to the first aid kit and started, automatically, to bind his wounds.