(Upload) Superman Returns Redux Challenge ch. 2
This. Needs. A. Shorter. Name.
It took me a while to smooth the kinks I had in continuity to write this story. Not that you can tell because nothing happens in this chapter, but I needed to know what was I working with. It's also a much longer story than I'm used to writing, so I'm getting a hang of the pacing. I have plotted out at least another 3 chapters, in which I hope to resolve the 'movie' (this no longer resembles it *at all*) and the Batman+Superman attraction/situation. So far, all I have come to realize is that if Bruce is not the one actively pursuing the relationship, nothing Clark does makes him cave. Damn it, Bruce! Give in!
Many thanks to: the wonderful tmelange and jen_in_japan for the beta read and their insightful suggestions. Savvy victoria_wayne for the help with the continuity. Awesome pervyficgirl for lending me her adorable Lian and the codename Dart, all my love for Lian steams from her wonderful stories. Smart damo_in_japan for the help with Lex's plans. This story remains very much for sasha_anu. I hope you are happy with the monster you created, my friend.
Fandom: (this one is tricky) Superman Returns, DCU and DCAU. Obviously, AU
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pre-slash S/B
Summary: There's no such thing as coming back home.
Word Count: 6200
A/N: It took me two days and about 8 pages to finally write Clark’s tantrum. Bruce didn’t want to talk about it and he just kept running away from it, making me change locations and talking about crazy stuff, like raising a kid. Pfeh! I didn’t mean to spend so much time talking about Jay, but Clark wanted to play daddy.
Started on September 6th 2006 at 7:30 pm
Finished on September 14th 2006 at 9:10 pm
Chapter Two
Though Clark had been less than confident about his move into the Manor, Bruce trusted the Man of Steel would soon find his balance. J.J. needed him and there was no other way around their circumstances since Bruce was most definitely not giving his boy up.
In all honesty, Bruce wasn’t completely comfortable about Clark’s reentry into his life either. There was a tiny flame of anger left in him, one that reminded him that Clark had left the world behind without a second thought, but the anger was moot compared to the myriad other emotions that had assaulted him since Clark’s return.
Bruce hadn’t felt so out of control in a long time, and he feared his inner turmoil was going to affect those around him. Gotham, the JLA, Wayne Enterprises and J.J. needed him to keep his head cool... but Clark was back.
Superman was back.
On the one hand, he had to admit he was happy to see Clark, happy to have his friend back, happy to know all his inadequacies as a father would be amended by Clark’s open, warm, affectionate nature and his firsthand knowledge of the nuances of having super powers.
He also felt relieved. While Superman was away, there had been no way to know where he was, how he was -if he was even still alive. Bruce had never allowed himself to think of that -Superman was surely alive and well somewhere in the vast reaches of space- but having Clark back quenched the doubts that surfaced in the night.
There was also the excitement of knowing Superman was back in business. Watching Clark earlier that day, unpacking his costume as he settled in the suite across the hall from J.J.’s, Bruce’s stomach had done a somersault. It was unnerving, how good it felt to see the blue tights and the red cape. He had been leaning against the door, listening to Clark talk about his journey, fighting against the need to reach out and touch the bright crimson cape. Knowing that Superman would be out there, doing what he did best -he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit it made him feel better. Bruce was done lying to himself, so he had just said he was glad Clark was back.
Clark’s smile had been so bright it hurt.
Beneath the relief, and the excitement, and the subtle taste of nearly forgotten anger, Bruce could feel fear lurking. He didn’t dare push Clark too much, even though there were things that needed to be addressed right away, in case Clark might find them overwhelming.
It was now clear that Clark could leave at any time. Clark could decide he was done with the stupid humans who got in over their heads all the time, done with their pettiness, their hate, their misery. Bruce knew Clark hadn’t been running away -the Kryptonian hadn’t left because it all had been too much, but because he hoped to find more. Love hadn’t kept Clark on Earth the first time, hadn’t that been a recurrent theme in his conversations with Lois? She had felt so betrayed, so cheated. Bruce had done what he could to temper her anger, but in the end it bothered him as well. If love and duty hadn’t kept Clark here, if family and friends hadn’t been enough…
The thing was Bruce didn’t want to get used to Clark being back in case he left again; he didn’t want to expect to see Clark in JLA meetings or his picture in the newspaper as he stopped another catastrophe. Bruce wanted to put some space between them, but J.J. needed his father. He couldn’t deny his boy that. Bruce knew Clark wasn’t going to abandon his son now that he knew he existed, but that knowledge didn’t stop him from almost expecting Clark to be gone the next time he looked.
Bruce sighed, dropping his head into his hands. The sun was rising to its zenith outside his office and he felt too tense and stressed for such an early hour.
To top it all, there were the reports he had just gotten from the head of Kord Industries. He had commissioned Ted to keep track of any leaps in weaponry development, medicine, engineering, anything that might seem like it was using alien tech. It was a precaution, keeping the wrong things out of the wrong hands. Officially, Kord Industries was doing a bit of industrial espionage for Wayne Tech. Unofficially, Blue Beetle was joining his resources with the monitoring resources of Batman, Oracle, Steel and Mr. Terrific.
The current item had escaped everyone’s eyes but Ted’s. He told himself it could be nothing, just humans being resourceful and leaping over their own achievements.
It didn’t have to be Kryptonian technology applied. It didn’t have to be the Kryptonian technology that had been stolen under his nose.
He ran a hand through his hair -it was getting longer than he was used to wearing it. He opened the report with a jerk and scanned the text with hard blue eyes, as if he could will the information to be what he wanted it to be with a glare.
He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Ted was right. He ground his teeth, leafing through the details of the new energy-based weapons Ted had pointed out.
The precedent model was the honest to God human development of -he bit down harder- a personal gun that used a heat wave as a charge instead of bullets. The upgrade, on the other hand, had improved the heat catalyst to the point where the heat wave was an energy charge of devastating effects.
That was great, because the only thing he needed more than having to deal with stolen Kryptonian technology were more guns. The bits that hinted at Kryptonian tech were vague at best. Bruce hadn’t been very forthcoming with the knowledge he had gathered on the exact nature of the Kryptonian tech he had found in the Fortress for two reasons: the first was that he wasn’t very sure of how everything worked, most of the time he felt like a caveman around it; the second was that prying into the Fortress of Solitude while Clark was away felt like raiding a mausoleum.
Bruce knew he wasn’t robbing from the dead because Clark wasn’t dead, just away, but…
It only made him angrier at Luthor. Luthor had raided Clark’s home, stolen a bit of the man from Bruce, taken it away and twisted it, corrupting and tainting it. The stupid, empty, icy Fortress was all they had left of the last Kryptonian and Luthor had defiled it. Bruce’s jaw hurt from biting down so hard.
Clark was having a hard enough time coping with everything, and now Bruce had to tell him this. Bring in more bad news. Tell him he had failed to protect what was his, his legacy, his home.
The tactical side of Bruce’s mind knew it had to be done without delay. A whispering part of him didn’t want to do it; Clark could leave at any time.
---
Clark handed the boy another construction block, watching how his son -the word tickled his mind- built a fortress out of them. He had spent the morning with Jay, getting to know this little person that looked so much like him. So far, he knew Jay liked orange juice and chocolate milk, and he liked coffee but Alfred wasn’t supposed to know that because it was his and B’s little secret. Jay liked to build things and had an amazing imagination -he had been telling Clark stories for over two hours and didn’t seem to be running out of ideas.
Clark had also found out that Jay liked to stay up late, but neither B nor Alfred would let him. The blue-eyed boy had confided to him that Dick and Tim let him stay up late when they were over and Bruce was out of town, and they all watched movies and ate popcorn. Clark felt like he was only broadening the chasm between them by not knowing things like this beforehand, but the kid seemed comfortable enough with him. It was… nice. It was very nice.
Jay struggled with two blocks that were stuck together, furrowing his brow with effort as he tried to pry them apart. “Can I help you with that?” Clark asked, straightening up from his sprawl on the wooden floor.
“Hnn. I can do it,” Jay pulled harder, then resorted to hitting the blocks against the block bucket. He went back to pulling until the blocks gave, and smiled brightly at Clark. “I did it!”
“You’re a very strong young man, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Jay said, avoiding Clark’s gaze. “I have to be careful, or I break things. B says I have to be very, very careful.” With that, Jay grabbed another construction block and crushed it until it was an unrecognizable piece of bright yellow plastic.
Clark stared. He hadn’t meant to, but his son had surprised him. Clark’s own super strength hadn’t surfaced until he was a teenager. He felt a surge of worry entangled with pride run through him. The burden of super strength was on his son’s shoulders since… when? He was too young to worry about such things, and yet here he was, bearing it, being very careful. He was a remarkable boy, and Clark didn’t stop himself from ruffling his son’s wavy chestnut hair.
Clark grabbed one of the blocks and crushed it, showing Jay the lump of green plastic. “I have to be careful too. It isn’t easy, but I’m very proud that you try so hard.”
Jay smiled and grabbed the green and yellow plastic lumps. He held them in his little hands, showing them to Clark like they were some sort of art piece they had made together, and laughed. Clark joined him, an open, relieved laugh.
Jay gave him the lumps of plastic and went back to building the next part of the fort -the kid had many, many construction blocks. Having a dad that was obscenely rich had its perks. Jay’s room was full with toys. Though, it might have had less to do with his dad’s money and more to do with his dad’s penchant for gadgets and toys.
“Do you visit Dick often, Jay?”
“Dick lives in Bludhaven,” Jay said absentmindedly, like that was explanation enough.
“So you don’t leave Gotham much?”
“Sometimes. We went to Metropolis the other day. I saw the place you used to work. The one with the big planet on top. I thought it was cool,” Jay paused, and eyed him like he was considering something important. “It was very clean,” he said, like a dubious compliment.
“Did you like the city?”
“It was okay. It was too hot and I got a rash. I think B got a rash too, he acted funny when we were there.”
Clark smiled. Of course Batman didn’t like sunny, clean, open aired Metropolis. It got in the way of him being dark and sneaky. They were true children of their cities. Even if Clark always felt more like a Smallville boy than a Metropolis man, Metropolis was special. It was his city. He missed it.
“So, Dick comes to visit you then?” Clark wanted to get back in the loop and figure out his new extended family's dynamics. Bruce had raised Dick and the late Jason like sons, so that made Dick J.J.’s big brother. The new Robin probably was J.J.’s big brother, too.
“Dick comes sometimes. He taught me how to do cart wheels and walk on my hands!” The boy stood up and started to demonstrate. After several cart wheels, he dizzily bee-lined for his spot on the floor again, and sat down. “Everyone comes and has dinner with us the second Monday of the month. It’s Alfred’s rule,” he said the last part with an ominous voice, one that told Clark that there was no breaking of Alfred’s rules.
“It’s a good rule,” Clark nodded. “Does Alfred have many rules?”
“Well, some.” Jay looked at him and raised his hand, ticking off his little fingers as he recited the rules. Clark wondered if the boy could count. “No superpowers in the house. No going alone to the cave. Always wear shoes to the cave. No hiding in the passages. No untrained dogs inside the house. Uhm… no running with batarangs?” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged it off. “I don’t remember them all,” he said sheepishly.
Clark raised an eyebrow at the mentions of the Cave and the batarangs. He didn’t think his son should be in such a dangerous place or becoming even remotely involved with crime fighting, he was too young. Bruce wouldn’t… Bruce wouldn’t think of…
“Jay, you’re not training to be Robin, are you?”
“Tim is Robin. I want a cool name like Dart’s but I don’t know yet.” Jay gave Clark a sharp look, one that reminded the Kryptonian a lot of Bruce, staring right through him like his soul was an open book. Clark suppressed a shiver. “What was your name when you were a kid?”
“I didn’t… I didn’t have a name,” Clark said, feeling self-conscious. “I was a regular kid.”
“Ah.”
“I didn’t have any powers until I was older,” Clark said as an explanation, but felt like it was a very feeble one; after all, a man without powers had raised his boy.
“I want a cool name. Dick says I can be Flamebird, but I think it’s a dumb name. I can’t fly and I’m not supposed to play with fire.”
“So you are training to be a super hero?” Clark asked in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice.
“A little,” Jay said, reaching out for a bucket of translucent construction blocks.
“Do you want to be a super hero when you grow up?”
Jay looked up at him and smiled. “I want to be like you.”
Clark’s breath caught in his chest. The boy looked up at him with a mix of hero worship and earnest confidence, and it was doing things to Clark’s heart. It was like his insides had been frozen for years and were slowly thawing, warming up to his son’s smile. He couldn’t fight the blush that crept to his cheeks. “What about Bruce? Don’t you want to be like him?”
Jay looked at Clark like he had grown a second head. “B is way cool. Of course I’m going to be like him,” the boy said with a finality that meant there was no room for questions there, “and I want to be like you, too. I’m going to be the best super hero ever.”
Clark realized that his son was probably right. He wanted to offer the boy some normalcy, keep him safe on the sidelines and not in the front fire, but he knew it was too late for that. Maybe it could be possible in another world, but not here. He hoped the Earth was as kind to his son as it had been to him.
---
Lunch was one of the first things that had changed with Clark’s arrival to the Manor, and there was something about the formality of sitting at the table and behaving like civilians that made Bruce’s skin crawl. Of course, Alfred wouldn’t allow for any changes in the normal house routine. Routine was good for children, it made them feel safe, but Bruce felt like retiring to the cool darkness of the Cave, away from the familiar atmosphere that he knew he would soon have to shatter.
It was turning out to be a very temperate summer in Gotham, and the warm meal that Alfred had prepared for the three of them would surely make Bruce drowsy. He wasn’t sleeping much, and catnapping whenever possible had turned out to be an acceptable solution for his hectic timetable, but he didn’t want to have his mind dulled when he talked with Clark, so he just moved the food around his plate while his companions greedily stuffed themselves.
“This is delicious, Alfred,” Clark said as the butler came in and refilled Bruce’s glass of water.
“I’m glad to see someone enjoys the roast, Master Clark. It would be a shame if it were to go to waste,” Alfred said, eyeing Bruce’s plate pointedly. Bruce took a reluctant bite while Alfred gave him a look that wouldn’t be smug on anyone else but Alfred.
“Did you have a good day, Jay?” Bruce asked the boy, who was currently sculpting the mashed potatoes with the fork as he chewed his roast.
“Clark and I built a fort,” the boy answered, beaming.
“Dad, not Clark. Dad,” Bruce corrected.
“It’s okay, Bruce. He can call me whatever he wants,” Clark interceded. Bruce gave the Kryptonian a look that could wither fresh blooms.
“Names are important, Clark. They give you a sense of place and boundaries,” Bruce said in a dry voice. He really didn’t want to hold both Jay and Clark’s hands to make them see their respective roles in each other’s lives.
“He should call you Dad too, then,” Clark said, with defiance in his eyes.
“Clark,” Bruce paused to take a sip of water, letting his eyes do the talking over the rim of the glass.
“Jay, could you leave us alone for a minute?” Clark said, staring straight at Bruce.
Bruce sighed, breaking eye contact and turning to the boy, who was looking at both of them with wide eyes. Bruce hadn’t thought about how his brushes with Clark were going to affect his son, and he and Clark had a long history of not being on the same page. “Ask Alfred to help you pack, Ace. You have the sleepover with Lian tonight, remember?”
“Yeah, okay. Uhm…” Jay stood up and walked the few steps that separated him from Bruce, grabbing his sleeve. “Make nice with Dad, okay? Don’t fight.”
Bruce chuckled lowly and smiled at the serious looking boy beside him. “I’ll behave.”
Jay gave him a small smile in return, and glanced quickly in Clark’s direction. Bruce was pretty sure five year olds weren’t supposed to look menacing, but judging by the way Jay had just managed to startle Clark, Bruce wasn’t so sure anymore. Jay ran to the kitchen, bellowing for Alfred, and soon the quick footsteps of the five year old and the light, measured ones of the butler were heard going up the stairs.
“He’s very protective of you,” Clark commented.
“Bats are territorial, didn’t you know?” Bruce joked, managing to smile almost apologetically.
“You shouldn’t force him to call me Dad.”
“A father is a figure one looks up to, one that should be respected. Allowing him to call you Clark diminishes your authority.”
“It doesn’t diminish yours,” Clark retorted, a tinge of anger in his voice.
“This is not a contest, Clark. You are Jay’s father, that’s not a subject of debate. You can only have one set of parents in your life, and you and Lois are Jay’s.”
Clark crossed his arms over the table, tilting his head to the side, his lips a thin line. “I had two sets of wonderful parents. Having a second pair made me lucky and in no way made my birth parents any less important.”
“Why are you angry?” Bruce asked, reaching out for his glass.
“Because I don’t understand what you’re doing. You keep pushing me towards Jason, like you can’t wait to get out of the way, but you really don’t want to get out of the way. I don’t know what you expect me to do!”
Bruce took a sip of water and started playing with a drop on the rim of the glass, drawing circles with a finger. “I expect you to be there for him, and in time, to love him.”
“In time? Bruce, that kid… my son, he stole my heart the moment I saw him. I can try to be a father, but I can’t force him to see me as one. Neither can you.”
Bruce glared at the Kryptonian. “He already thought of you as his father, Clark, long before you returned. He knows you better than you know him.”
“That’s exactly it! How can I be his dad if I don’t know him?”
“Act like one!” Bruce slammed the glass against the table. “You’re not going to turn your back on that boy just because you don’t feel adequate,” the Dark Knight growled.
Clark glared. “Fine. You want me to act like a father? Why is Jason training to be Robin, Bruce?”
Bruce swallowed hard. “Don’t call him that.”
“What, Jason? Or Robin?”
“Neither. J.J. is not training to be Robin.”
“Then what is he training for?”
Bruce’s hard eyes regarded Clark for a long moment then he shook his head, as if dispelling a bad dream. “He’s training because I’m Batman, and his brothers are Robin and Nightwing, and because he’s going to a sleepover in Oracle’s apartment with Batgirl, Spoiler, Black Canary and Huntress so he can play with Arsenal’s daughter. Because this is the life I chose and he’s going to be in danger no matter what I do. Because he’s your son, and my son, and he’s going to see more danger and madness that any other kid in the world no matter now much we don’t want that to happen. He needs control over his powers and he needs to feel confident of that control. I won’t let him be afraid, Clark. I won’t let him be a victim.”
Bruce felt hollow, and couldn’t bear to see the look in Clark’s eyes anymore. He looked away. He had lost one Robin, and how many times had he and his family barely avoided kissing death? With the death of Jason, the idea that he couldn't get close to people because people were endangered by his mere acquaintance had been validated. People could die, or leave, and leave him worse for wear. And then J.J. had been born, and Bruce knew that the baby needed him. Not just any family, the baby needed someone who could understand, protect, and guide. Bruce had had to reconcile his fear of getting close to people with the knowledge that pushing people away didn’t make them any safer.
The balance he had found for both ideas was a precarious one. It wasn’t as if he had been looking for more people he could introduce to his way of life. He had just… suddenly… found himself with a family much larger than he had ever intended. And now Clark was part of it, and he was surely looking at him with cold, distant blue eyes…
Bruce looked up to confront the look of disapproval he was sure Clark was giving him, only to find Clark standing by his side, eyes full of something much warmer than disapproval. Clark crouched next to him and chewed his lip ruefully.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Clark put a large hand over Bruce’s forearm, his warmth easily seeping through the fabric. “We won’t let anything happen to him. I’m glad he had you while I wasn’t around. Now he has both of us, right?”
“That’s the idea,” Bruce mumbled.
“C’mon. I want the grand tour through the Cave. I’m sure I missed all kinds of upgrades while I was away,” Clark said, smiling goofily.
Bruce stood up, his heart heavy. He didn’t want to have the conversation that would follow. He felt very tired.
They walked to the Grandfather clock in silence, but Clark started to make small talk as they went down the stairs.
“So, the Cave collapsed during the earthquake?”
“No. Not entirely, anyway. But some of the entrances were blocked.”
“It looks pretty good.”
“I did some structural consolidation, and added a couple of chambers down here. The gym is bigger, and there’s a few new hangars.”
“Is that a new Batmobile?”
“Yes. Clark.” Bruce stopped in the middle of the biggest chamber, a few feet away from the computer womb. “I think you should suit up.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because… this is not a conversation I want to have with you. Batman… has something to tell Superman.”
Clark stared at him like he had gone crazy. “You do realize I am Superman, right?”
Bruce frowned.
“Okaaay, Bruce. I’ll suit up. You really have to get around your multiple personality disorder. You don’t want to be a bad influence on our son,” Clark joked.
Bruce turned to the lockers as he felt the wind current that was the trademark of Clark leaving at super speed. He sighed and started unbuttoning his shirt, and the air current was back in a blur of red and blue.
“Ok, suited up. What did you want to tell me?”
“Wait,” Bruce said, unbuckling the leather belt. He put the shirt on a bench for Alfred to pick up later, and sat down next to it, continuing to undress.
He was half-done stripping when he noticed Clark was fidgeting. “Anything wrong, Clark?” he asked, looking up at his friend.
“No, nothing. Everything’s fine. I’m going to give you some privacy and… erm… look around while you… uhm… finish.”
Bruce nodded and started putting on his costume as he heard Clark’s footsteps retreat further into the cave.
---
Clark wandered inside the Cave, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and his friend. He was starting to fear the echo of the Cave was going to pick up his thundering heartbeat any moment now; it was beating that loud.
The last son of Krypton stopped his wanderings in front of a stalagmite, touching his forehead to the cold stone. He told himself it was just the loneliness. He had been away from people, from family and friends, for too long. It wasn’t weird to crave human contact or to be so utterly surprised by the re-awakening of feelings that had simply had no place in a journey so long.
Surely this wasn’t the first feeling that had re-awakened since his return. His heart, his whole mind, had felt so numb and cold, and there hadn’t been much time to get his bearings. He had still to get in touch with the rest of the heroes, ask Bruce about the JLA, get a new job…
Right now, though, none of that mattered. His hands felt like they were burning, his body felt like an electric current was being run through him, every nerve raw, and he needed to touch, to feel…
Clark gasped for air, closing his eyes as tightly as his fists. The image of Bruce, sitting on the bench, looking up at him from below dark, soft, wavy hair -he didn’t remember Bruce’s hair ever being that long- chest bare, his pale skin criss-crossed with scars, was burned into his lids.
It wouldn’t do any good, to become infatuated with the… father of his child? Oh, god. It was absurd. It was Batman. No matter how much he had changed, or how much care he had given to all that was Clark’s, it was still Batman. He was not going to risk getting on his bad side just because a new set of sensibilities had appeared after a long period of isolation.
Batman walked up behind him and put a gloved hand between his shoulder blades. Clark expected the spot where the hand was resting to burn, but only a slow warmth spread from there to everywhere else. He felt his throat dry.
“Are you okay?” the gravely voice inquired.
Clark swallowed and licked his lips. “Yeah. Just…” Just what? Clark didn’t know what to say. ‘Just felt like pushing you to the floor and using you to scratch every itch I have’ didn’t seem like something he could say to his friend. “Just had a sensory overload,” Clark said. He wasn’t good at lying, but that wasn’t a lie. It was close to the truth.
“Hmm. Do you have them often?”
As close to the truth as a spring rain was close to a monsoon. ‘Just when you start undressing, it seems.’ “Not really. Lately, I’ve been… getting reacquainted with life on Earth. Nothing to worry about.”
Batman nodded, and offered him a hand to stabilize himself as he turned around. Clark wanted to bat it away because it was hard to trust his reactions when his senses were flaring like that, but he took it anyway. Batman felt… solid. And cool. It was comforting.
They walked to the computer womb, and Batman sat down on the chair, swiveling away from Clark. The Kryptonian tried to focus on something else as his senses began to return to normal.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
“Luthor,” Batman said without preamble. Clark’s heart skipped a beat, and his jaw snapped shut.
“Isn’t he in prison?” Clark’s heard his own voice laced with venom, but he couldn’t help himself. There were some things about Earth he would rather not remember.
“No,” Batman said, opening a file on the computer screen and entwining his fingers under his nose. “You were a key witness, and missed the trial. They acquitted him. He has… reformed since then.”
“Reformed,” Clark spat, unbelieving.
“In a way, yes. He’s founded a legitimate company, done some research projects, put out a couple of very interesting prototypes.”
“Good for him.”
“He’s still Lex Luthor, though. I’ve been after him for years, destroying his blackmail rings and trying to build enough evidence to convict him for his illegal activities, but he’s gotten more careful.” Batman swiveled towards him, and Clark could hear his heartbeat speeding up. “Superman, he… Clark,” he rubbed his forehead, then took off the cowl, scowling. “He raided the Fortress.”
Clark took a couple of seconds to realize that Bruce meant his home. “He what?”
“He raided the Fortress. He stole half the crystals from the…”
Clark grabbed Bruce’s wrist and pulled him forcibly towards him, speeding out of the Cave and in the direction of the Arctic.
They were high in the sky by the time Bruce got his breath back, and Clark felt like flying faster to prevent the man from talking. He didn’t have to worry; Bruce just buried his face in his chest and did his best to breathe normally in the rarified air.
Clark was enraged. Luthor had dared? How had he found the Fortress? How had he bypassed the security? Why did that man have to get his greedy hands on his home? Clark held Bruce closer to himself unconsciously. Was there nothing safe from the man’s obsession?
Clark had left the Earth in hopes of finding some remnant of his home planet, something to make him understand better what he was, who he was supposed to be. Something to… belong to, somewhere. He hadn’t found anything but debris out there, and what little he had left here, Luthor had taken it? He ground his teeth. He was going to make Luthor pay. He wasn’t going to raise his son in a world where people like Lex Luthor walked free and violated other people’s homes.
They soon landed on the icy plane where the crystal Fortress was built. Half the entrance had collapsed, and it looked empty, abandoned.
Dead.
He let go of Bruce and walked towards the entry, hot clouds of condensed breath leaving his parted lips. He could hear Bruce a couple of steps behind him, giving him space. Clark turned, scowling.
“What happened here?”
Bruce didn’t meet his gaze, his eyes instead lingering on the ruins of the Fortress. “Luthor tripped an alarm while he was here. Flash responded, but Luthor had a power suit. Wonder Woman and myself got here shortly after, but he got away. I was trying to figure out what he had taken…”
Clark lifted a hand, signaling he didn’t want to hear any more. He could imagine the rest, power blasts breaking the icy pillars, the nigh-invulnerable body of the Amazon hitting the crystal walls during the fight. Structural instability followed by the collapse of his home. Clark walked into the main hall of the Fortress, where an ice path suspended the main controls and core of the computer over a frozen abyss.
The crystals that gave the computer its power, the voice of his father, his mother, the last remnants of his Kryptonian legacy… gone. They were gone. The Fortress would never gleam and sing again. There was no returning home, and there never would be again.
Clark turned, enraged. “Where are they?” He walked back towards Bruce, who had stayed behind at the step of the ice path. “You said he didn’t take them all. Where are they?”
“In the Cave.”
“You had no right to take them! None of you!”
“I couldn’t leave them here. Luthor…”
“Luthor. You. Every one of you, taking what you don't understand. You people destroyed it!”
Bruce didn’t answer. His lips were a thin pale line. His chin was tipped upwards in a defiant aristocratic gesture.
“I’ve lost everything. There’s nothing left but ruins. Humanity took it all away from me. Get out.”
Bruce’s cold dark eyes stared at him for a minute, unreadable. Clark was breathing hard, and he was about to repeat himself when Bruce turned and started walking towards the fallen debris of the entrance. Just before he slipped out, he stopped without turning back, his voice soft.
“You haven’t lost everything, Clark. Remember that.”
Clark closed his eyes, fighting the tears. He would never hear his parents voice again, all that knowledge, the much-needed advice, the far away reassurances of love. Everything was gone.
If he had wondered why he had left Earth in the first place, when it seemed he had missed much more than he could ever have gained, Clark was now wondering why he had ever come back. He felt the cold grip of isolation, the numbness and loneliness of space settling inside him again. He was alone now. More alone than he had ever been, completely out of the loop on Earth, alien, a stranger in the lives of people he barely knew.
He could have stayed in space, leaving everyone on Earth to continue with their lives. They surely didn’t need him. They hadn’t needed him while he was away. There were other heroes, other people willing to defend them and pull their strings. People that were as interested in their little mundane lives as they were in dissecting the freaky alien that came from the sky.
There was nowhere to belong. Nothing but the debris of a planet long dead, nothing but creatures that didn’t understand him and that he no longer understood on a planet he had left behind. Kal felt as empty as the Fortress, while Clark had been as neglected and abandoned as the Fortress itself. Only the shell of Superman remained.
The oppressive atmosphere of the Fortress -cold and dark like a tomb, a mausoleum for the last son of Krypton- was getting to be too much. Clark turned from the remains of his legacy, and walked outside.
It was snowing, and little snowflakes were landing on him, melting against his warmth. He stared into the white clouded sky for a couple of minutes, trying not to think about anything -not leaving, or staying, not revenge, or…
He noticed a slow heartbeat that certainly didn’t match his own, but one that he knew well. He walked towards the sitting figure of his friend, and stood next to him, staring at the way the snowflakes were accumulating on the black cape that was wrapped around him, snowflakes like stars over the black canvas of his slightly wet hair. Bruce was sitting in the snow, his knees close to his chest, a black anchor in the sea of white.
“You didn’t leave,” Clark said, calmly.
Bruce was staring at the horizon. “You flew us here.”
Clark gave himself a mental slap. He had forgotten. “It’s cold out here,” he said, feeling guilty.
“I noticed.”
“You didn’t steal them.”
“I didn’t have any right to take them either.”
“But you… you weren’t trying to destroy my home. You were trying to save it. I’m sorry.”
Bruce sighed, suppressing a shiver, and finally looked up at Clark. “I didn’t know what to do,” he said softly.
“I don’t know what to do either,” Clark confessed, sitting next to his friend. “I want to come back,” he said in a whisper, looking down.
A Kevlar clad arm rose from under the black cape and wrapped itself around Clark’s shoulders. Clark leaned into the half embrace, and couldn’t fight the knot in his throat anymore. His breath hitched. “I want to come back,” he repeated in a half sob. The grip on his shoulder tightened, and Clark let the numbness inside him go.
For the first time in five years, the last son of Krypton wept. Behind him, the ruins of his home gleamed under the cold winter light.
It took me a while to smooth the kinks I had in continuity to write this story. Not that you can tell because nothing happens in this chapter, but I needed to know what was I working with. It's also a much longer story than I'm used to writing, so I'm getting a hang of the pacing. I have plotted out at least another 3 chapters, in which I hope to resolve the 'movie' (this no longer resembles it *at all*) and the Batman+Superman attraction/situation. So far, all I have come to realize is that if Bruce is not the one actively pursuing the relationship, nothing Clark does makes him cave. Damn it, Bruce! Give in!
Many thanks to: the wonderful tmelange and jen_in_japan for the beta read and their insightful suggestions. Savvy victoria_wayne for the help with the continuity. Awesome pervyficgirl for lending me her adorable Lian and the codename Dart, all my love for Lian steams from her wonderful stories. Smart damo_in_japan for the help with Lex's plans. This story remains very much for sasha_anu. I hope you are happy with the monster you created, my friend.
Fandom: (this one is tricky) Superman Returns, DCU and DCAU. Obviously, AU
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pre-slash S/B
Summary: There's no such thing as coming back home.
Word Count: 6200
A/N: It took me two days and about 8 pages to finally write Clark’s tantrum. Bruce didn’t want to talk about it and he just kept running away from it, making me change locations and talking about crazy stuff, like raising a kid. Pfeh! I didn’t mean to spend so much time talking about Jay, but Clark wanted to play daddy.
Started on September 6th 2006 at 7:30 pm
Finished on September 14th 2006 at 9:10 pm
Chapter Two
Though Clark had been less than confident about his move into the Manor, Bruce trusted the Man of Steel would soon find his balance. J.J. needed him and there was no other way around their circumstances since Bruce was most definitely not giving his boy up.
In all honesty, Bruce wasn’t completely comfortable about Clark’s reentry into his life either. There was a tiny flame of anger left in him, one that reminded him that Clark had left the world behind without a second thought, but the anger was moot compared to the myriad other emotions that had assaulted him since Clark’s return.
Bruce hadn’t felt so out of control in a long time, and he feared his inner turmoil was going to affect those around him. Gotham, the JLA, Wayne Enterprises and J.J. needed him to keep his head cool... but Clark was back.
Superman was back.
On the one hand, he had to admit he was happy to see Clark, happy to have his friend back, happy to know all his inadequacies as a father would be amended by Clark’s open, warm, affectionate nature and his firsthand knowledge of the nuances of having super powers.
He also felt relieved. While Superman was away, there had been no way to know where he was, how he was -if he was even still alive. Bruce had never allowed himself to think of that -Superman was surely alive and well somewhere in the vast reaches of space- but having Clark back quenched the doubts that surfaced in the night.
There was also the excitement of knowing Superman was back in business. Watching Clark earlier that day, unpacking his costume as he settled in the suite across the hall from J.J.’s, Bruce’s stomach had done a somersault. It was unnerving, how good it felt to see the blue tights and the red cape. He had been leaning against the door, listening to Clark talk about his journey, fighting against the need to reach out and touch the bright crimson cape. Knowing that Superman would be out there, doing what he did best -he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit it made him feel better. Bruce was done lying to himself, so he had just said he was glad Clark was back.
Clark’s smile had been so bright it hurt.
Beneath the relief, and the excitement, and the subtle taste of nearly forgotten anger, Bruce could feel fear lurking. He didn’t dare push Clark too much, even though there were things that needed to be addressed right away, in case Clark might find them overwhelming.
It was now clear that Clark could leave at any time. Clark could decide he was done with the stupid humans who got in over their heads all the time, done with their pettiness, their hate, their misery. Bruce knew Clark hadn’t been running away -the Kryptonian hadn’t left because it all had been too much, but because he hoped to find more. Love hadn’t kept Clark on Earth the first time, hadn’t that been a recurrent theme in his conversations with Lois? She had felt so betrayed, so cheated. Bruce had done what he could to temper her anger, but in the end it bothered him as well. If love and duty hadn’t kept Clark here, if family and friends hadn’t been enough…
The thing was Bruce didn’t want to get used to Clark being back in case he left again; he didn’t want to expect to see Clark in JLA meetings or his picture in the newspaper as he stopped another catastrophe. Bruce wanted to put some space between them, but J.J. needed his father. He couldn’t deny his boy that. Bruce knew Clark wasn’t going to abandon his son now that he knew he existed, but that knowledge didn’t stop him from almost expecting Clark to be gone the next time he looked.
Bruce sighed, dropping his head into his hands. The sun was rising to its zenith outside his office and he felt too tense and stressed for such an early hour.
To top it all, there were the reports he had just gotten from the head of Kord Industries. He had commissioned Ted to keep track of any leaps in weaponry development, medicine, engineering, anything that might seem like it was using alien tech. It was a precaution, keeping the wrong things out of the wrong hands. Officially, Kord Industries was doing a bit of industrial espionage for Wayne Tech. Unofficially, Blue Beetle was joining his resources with the monitoring resources of Batman, Oracle, Steel and Mr. Terrific.
The current item had escaped everyone’s eyes but Ted’s. He told himself it could be nothing, just humans being resourceful and leaping over their own achievements.
It didn’t have to be Kryptonian technology applied. It didn’t have to be the Kryptonian technology that had been stolen under his nose.
He ran a hand through his hair -it was getting longer than he was used to wearing it. He opened the report with a jerk and scanned the text with hard blue eyes, as if he could will the information to be what he wanted it to be with a glare.
He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Ted was right. He ground his teeth, leafing through the details of the new energy-based weapons Ted had pointed out.
The precedent model was the honest to God human development of -he bit down harder- a personal gun that used a heat wave as a charge instead of bullets. The upgrade, on the other hand, had improved the heat catalyst to the point where the heat wave was an energy charge of devastating effects.
That was great, because the only thing he needed more than having to deal with stolen Kryptonian technology were more guns. The bits that hinted at Kryptonian tech were vague at best. Bruce hadn’t been very forthcoming with the knowledge he had gathered on the exact nature of the Kryptonian tech he had found in the Fortress for two reasons: the first was that he wasn’t very sure of how everything worked, most of the time he felt like a caveman around it; the second was that prying into the Fortress of Solitude while Clark was away felt like raiding a mausoleum.
Bruce knew he wasn’t robbing from the dead because Clark wasn’t dead, just away, but…
It only made him angrier at Luthor. Luthor had raided Clark’s home, stolen a bit of the man from Bruce, taken it away and twisted it, corrupting and tainting it. The stupid, empty, icy Fortress was all they had left of the last Kryptonian and Luthor had defiled it. Bruce’s jaw hurt from biting down so hard.
Clark was having a hard enough time coping with everything, and now Bruce had to tell him this. Bring in more bad news. Tell him he had failed to protect what was his, his legacy, his home.
The tactical side of Bruce’s mind knew it had to be done without delay. A whispering part of him didn’t want to do it; Clark could leave at any time.
---
Clark handed the boy another construction block, watching how his son -the word tickled his mind- built a fortress out of them. He had spent the morning with Jay, getting to know this little person that looked so much like him. So far, he knew Jay liked orange juice and chocolate milk, and he liked coffee but Alfred wasn’t supposed to know that because it was his and B’s little secret. Jay liked to build things and had an amazing imagination -he had been telling Clark stories for over two hours and didn’t seem to be running out of ideas.
Clark had also found out that Jay liked to stay up late, but neither B nor Alfred would let him. The blue-eyed boy had confided to him that Dick and Tim let him stay up late when they were over and Bruce was out of town, and they all watched movies and ate popcorn. Clark felt like he was only broadening the chasm between them by not knowing things like this beforehand, but the kid seemed comfortable enough with him. It was… nice. It was very nice.
Jay struggled with two blocks that were stuck together, furrowing his brow with effort as he tried to pry them apart. “Can I help you with that?” Clark asked, straightening up from his sprawl on the wooden floor.
“Hnn. I can do it,” Jay pulled harder, then resorted to hitting the blocks against the block bucket. He went back to pulling until the blocks gave, and smiled brightly at Clark. “I did it!”
“You’re a very strong young man, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Jay said, avoiding Clark’s gaze. “I have to be careful, or I break things. B says I have to be very, very careful.” With that, Jay grabbed another construction block and crushed it until it was an unrecognizable piece of bright yellow plastic.
Clark stared. He hadn’t meant to, but his son had surprised him. Clark’s own super strength hadn’t surfaced until he was a teenager. He felt a surge of worry entangled with pride run through him. The burden of super strength was on his son’s shoulders since… when? He was too young to worry about such things, and yet here he was, bearing it, being very careful. He was a remarkable boy, and Clark didn’t stop himself from ruffling his son’s wavy chestnut hair.
Clark grabbed one of the blocks and crushed it, showing Jay the lump of green plastic. “I have to be careful too. It isn’t easy, but I’m very proud that you try so hard.”
Jay smiled and grabbed the green and yellow plastic lumps. He held them in his little hands, showing them to Clark like they were some sort of art piece they had made together, and laughed. Clark joined him, an open, relieved laugh.
Jay gave him the lumps of plastic and went back to building the next part of the fort -the kid had many, many construction blocks. Having a dad that was obscenely rich had its perks. Jay’s room was full with toys. Though, it might have had less to do with his dad’s money and more to do with his dad’s penchant for gadgets and toys.
“Do you visit Dick often, Jay?”
“Dick lives in Bludhaven,” Jay said absentmindedly, like that was explanation enough.
“So you don’t leave Gotham much?”
“Sometimes. We went to Metropolis the other day. I saw the place you used to work. The one with the big planet on top. I thought it was cool,” Jay paused, and eyed him like he was considering something important. “It was very clean,” he said, like a dubious compliment.
“Did you like the city?”
“It was okay. It was too hot and I got a rash. I think B got a rash too, he acted funny when we were there.”
Clark smiled. Of course Batman didn’t like sunny, clean, open aired Metropolis. It got in the way of him being dark and sneaky. They were true children of their cities. Even if Clark always felt more like a Smallville boy than a Metropolis man, Metropolis was special. It was his city. He missed it.
“So, Dick comes to visit you then?” Clark wanted to get back in the loop and figure out his new extended family's dynamics. Bruce had raised Dick and the late Jason like sons, so that made Dick J.J.’s big brother. The new Robin probably was J.J.’s big brother, too.
“Dick comes sometimes. He taught me how to do cart wheels and walk on my hands!” The boy stood up and started to demonstrate. After several cart wheels, he dizzily bee-lined for his spot on the floor again, and sat down. “Everyone comes and has dinner with us the second Monday of the month. It’s Alfred’s rule,” he said the last part with an ominous voice, one that told Clark that there was no breaking of Alfred’s rules.
“It’s a good rule,” Clark nodded. “Does Alfred have many rules?”
“Well, some.” Jay looked at him and raised his hand, ticking off his little fingers as he recited the rules. Clark wondered if the boy could count. “No superpowers in the house. No going alone to the cave. Always wear shoes to the cave. No hiding in the passages. No untrained dogs inside the house. Uhm… no running with batarangs?” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged it off. “I don’t remember them all,” he said sheepishly.
Clark raised an eyebrow at the mentions of the Cave and the batarangs. He didn’t think his son should be in such a dangerous place or becoming even remotely involved with crime fighting, he was too young. Bruce wouldn’t… Bruce wouldn’t think of…
“Jay, you’re not training to be Robin, are you?”
“Tim is Robin. I want a cool name like Dart’s but I don’t know yet.” Jay gave Clark a sharp look, one that reminded the Kryptonian a lot of Bruce, staring right through him like his soul was an open book. Clark suppressed a shiver. “What was your name when you were a kid?”
“I didn’t… I didn’t have a name,” Clark said, feeling self-conscious. “I was a regular kid.”
“Ah.”
“I didn’t have any powers until I was older,” Clark said as an explanation, but felt like it was a very feeble one; after all, a man without powers had raised his boy.
“I want a cool name. Dick says I can be Flamebird, but I think it’s a dumb name. I can’t fly and I’m not supposed to play with fire.”
“So you are training to be a super hero?” Clark asked in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice.
“A little,” Jay said, reaching out for a bucket of translucent construction blocks.
“Do you want to be a super hero when you grow up?”
Jay looked up at him and smiled. “I want to be like you.”
Clark’s breath caught in his chest. The boy looked up at him with a mix of hero worship and earnest confidence, and it was doing things to Clark’s heart. It was like his insides had been frozen for years and were slowly thawing, warming up to his son’s smile. He couldn’t fight the blush that crept to his cheeks. “What about Bruce? Don’t you want to be like him?”
Jay looked at Clark like he had grown a second head. “B is way cool. Of course I’m going to be like him,” the boy said with a finality that meant there was no room for questions there, “and I want to be like you, too. I’m going to be the best super hero ever.”
Clark realized that his son was probably right. He wanted to offer the boy some normalcy, keep him safe on the sidelines and not in the front fire, but he knew it was too late for that. Maybe it could be possible in another world, but not here. He hoped the Earth was as kind to his son as it had been to him.
---
Lunch was one of the first things that had changed with Clark’s arrival to the Manor, and there was something about the formality of sitting at the table and behaving like civilians that made Bruce’s skin crawl. Of course, Alfred wouldn’t allow for any changes in the normal house routine. Routine was good for children, it made them feel safe, but Bruce felt like retiring to the cool darkness of the Cave, away from the familiar atmosphere that he knew he would soon have to shatter.
It was turning out to be a very temperate summer in Gotham, and the warm meal that Alfred had prepared for the three of them would surely make Bruce drowsy. He wasn’t sleeping much, and catnapping whenever possible had turned out to be an acceptable solution for his hectic timetable, but he didn’t want to have his mind dulled when he talked with Clark, so he just moved the food around his plate while his companions greedily stuffed themselves.
“This is delicious, Alfred,” Clark said as the butler came in and refilled Bruce’s glass of water.
“I’m glad to see someone enjoys the roast, Master Clark. It would be a shame if it were to go to waste,” Alfred said, eyeing Bruce’s plate pointedly. Bruce took a reluctant bite while Alfred gave him a look that wouldn’t be smug on anyone else but Alfred.
“Did you have a good day, Jay?” Bruce asked the boy, who was currently sculpting the mashed potatoes with the fork as he chewed his roast.
“Clark and I built a fort,” the boy answered, beaming.
“Dad, not Clark. Dad,” Bruce corrected.
“It’s okay, Bruce. He can call me whatever he wants,” Clark interceded. Bruce gave the Kryptonian a look that could wither fresh blooms.
“Names are important, Clark. They give you a sense of place and boundaries,” Bruce said in a dry voice. He really didn’t want to hold both Jay and Clark’s hands to make them see their respective roles in each other’s lives.
“He should call you Dad too, then,” Clark said, with defiance in his eyes.
“Clark,” Bruce paused to take a sip of water, letting his eyes do the talking over the rim of the glass.
“Jay, could you leave us alone for a minute?” Clark said, staring straight at Bruce.
Bruce sighed, breaking eye contact and turning to the boy, who was looking at both of them with wide eyes. Bruce hadn’t thought about how his brushes with Clark were going to affect his son, and he and Clark had a long history of not being on the same page. “Ask Alfred to help you pack, Ace. You have the sleepover with Lian tonight, remember?”
“Yeah, okay. Uhm…” Jay stood up and walked the few steps that separated him from Bruce, grabbing his sleeve. “Make nice with Dad, okay? Don’t fight.”
Bruce chuckled lowly and smiled at the serious looking boy beside him. “I’ll behave.”
Jay gave him a small smile in return, and glanced quickly in Clark’s direction. Bruce was pretty sure five year olds weren’t supposed to look menacing, but judging by the way Jay had just managed to startle Clark, Bruce wasn’t so sure anymore. Jay ran to the kitchen, bellowing for Alfred, and soon the quick footsteps of the five year old and the light, measured ones of the butler were heard going up the stairs.
“He’s very protective of you,” Clark commented.
“Bats are territorial, didn’t you know?” Bruce joked, managing to smile almost apologetically.
“You shouldn’t force him to call me Dad.”
“A father is a figure one looks up to, one that should be respected. Allowing him to call you Clark diminishes your authority.”
“It doesn’t diminish yours,” Clark retorted, a tinge of anger in his voice.
“This is not a contest, Clark. You are Jay’s father, that’s not a subject of debate. You can only have one set of parents in your life, and you and Lois are Jay’s.”
Clark crossed his arms over the table, tilting his head to the side, his lips a thin line. “I had two sets of wonderful parents. Having a second pair made me lucky and in no way made my birth parents any less important.”
“Why are you angry?” Bruce asked, reaching out for his glass.
“Because I don’t understand what you’re doing. You keep pushing me towards Jason, like you can’t wait to get out of the way, but you really don’t want to get out of the way. I don’t know what you expect me to do!”
Bruce took a sip of water and started playing with a drop on the rim of the glass, drawing circles with a finger. “I expect you to be there for him, and in time, to love him.”
“In time? Bruce, that kid… my son, he stole my heart the moment I saw him. I can try to be a father, but I can’t force him to see me as one. Neither can you.”
Bruce glared at the Kryptonian. “He already thought of you as his father, Clark, long before you returned. He knows you better than you know him.”
“That’s exactly it! How can I be his dad if I don’t know him?”
“Act like one!” Bruce slammed the glass against the table. “You’re not going to turn your back on that boy just because you don’t feel adequate,” the Dark Knight growled.
Clark glared. “Fine. You want me to act like a father? Why is Jason training to be Robin, Bruce?”
Bruce swallowed hard. “Don’t call him that.”
“What, Jason? Or Robin?”
“Neither. J.J. is not training to be Robin.”
“Then what is he training for?”
Bruce’s hard eyes regarded Clark for a long moment then he shook his head, as if dispelling a bad dream. “He’s training because I’m Batman, and his brothers are Robin and Nightwing, and because he’s going to a sleepover in Oracle’s apartment with Batgirl, Spoiler, Black Canary and Huntress so he can play with Arsenal’s daughter. Because this is the life I chose and he’s going to be in danger no matter what I do. Because he’s your son, and my son, and he’s going to see more danger and madness that any other kid in the world no matter now much we don’t want that to happen. He needs control over his powers and he needs to feel confident of that control. I won’t let him be afraid, Clark. I won’t let him be a victim.”
Bruce felt hollow, and couldn’t bear to see the look in Clark’s eyes anymore. He looked away. He had lost one Robin, and how many times had he and his family barely avoided kissing death? With the death of Jason, the idea that he couldn't get close to people because people were endangered by his mere acquaintance had been validated. People could die, or leave, and leave him worse for wear. And then J.J. had been born, and Bruce knew that the baby needed him. Not just any family, the baby needed someone who could understand, protect, and guide. Bruce had had to reconcile his fear of getting close to people with the knowledge that pushing people away didn’t make them any safer.
The balance he had found for both ideas was a precarious one. It wasn’t as if he had been looking for more people he could introduce to his way of life. He had just… suddenly… found himself with a family much larger than he had ever intended. And now Clark was part of it, and he was surely looking at him with cold, distant blue eyes…
Bruce looked up to confront the look of disapproval he was sure Clark was giving him, only to find Clark standing by his side, eyes full of something much warmer than disapproval. Clark crouched next to him and chewed his lip ruefully.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Clark put a large hand over Bruce’s forearm, his warmth easily seeping through the fabric. “We won’t let anything happen to him. I’m glad he had you while I wasn’t around. Now he has both of us, right?”
“That’s the idea,” Bruce mumbled.
“C’mon. I want the grand tour through the Cave. I’m sure I missed all kinds of upgrades while I was away,” Clark said, smiling goofily.
Bruce stood up, his heart heavy. He didn’t want to have the conversation that would follow. He felt very tired.
They walked to the Grandfather clock in silence, but Clark started to make small talk as they went down the stairs.
“So, the Cave collapsed during the earthquake?”
“No. Not entirely, anyway. But some of the entrances were blocked.”
“It looks pretty good.”
“I did some structural consolidation, and added a couple of chambers down here. The gym is bigger, and there’s a few new hangars.”
“Is that a new Batmobile?”
“Yes. Clark.” Bruce stopped in the middle of the biggest chamber, a few feet away from the computer womb. “I think you should suit up.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because… this is not a conversation I want to have with you. Batman… has something to tell Superman.”
Clark stared at him like he had gone crazy. “You do realize I am Superman, right?”
Bruce frowned.
“Okaaay, Bruce. I’ll suit up. You really have to get around your multiple personality disorder. You don’t want to be a bad influence on our son,” Clark joked.
Bruce turned to the lockers as he felt the wind current that was the trademark of Clark leaving at super speed. He sighed and started unbuttoning his shirt, and the air current was back in a blur of red and blue.
“Ok, suited up. What did you want to tell me?”
“Wait,” Bruce said, unbuckling the leather belt. He put the shirt on a bench for Alfred to pick up later, and sat down next to it, continuing to undress.
He was half-done stripping when he noticed Clark was fidgeting. “Anything wrong, Clark?” he asked, looking up at his friend.
“No, nothing. Everything’s fine. I’m going to give you some privacy and… erm… look around while you… uhm… finish.”
Bruce nodded and started putting on his costume as he heard Clark’s footsteps retreat further into the cave.
---
Clark wandered inside the Cave, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and his friend. He was starting to fear the echo of the Cave was going to pick up his thundering heartbeat any moment now; it was beating that loud.
The last son of Krypton stopped his wanderings in front of a stalagmite, touching his forehead to the cold stone. He told himself it was just the loneliness. He had been away from people, from family and friends, for too long. It wasn’t weird to crave human contact or to be so utterly surprised by the re-awakening of feelings that had simply had no place in a journey so long.
Surely this wasn’t the first feeling that had re-awakened since his return. His heart, his whole mind, had felt so numb and cold, and there hadn’t been much time to get his bearings. He had still to get in touch with the rest of the heroes, ask Bruce about the JLA, get a new job…
Right now, though, none of that mattered. His hands felt like they were burning, his body felt like an electric current was being run through him, every nerve raw, and he needed to touch, to feel…
Clark gasped for air, closing his eyes as tightly as his fists. The image of Bruce, sitting on the bench, looking up at him from below dark, soft, wavy hair -he didn’t remember Bruce’s hair ever being that long- chest bare, his pale skin criss-crossed with scars, was burned into his lids.
It wouldn’t do any good, to become infatuated with the… father of his child? Oh, god. It was absurd. It was Batman. No matter how much he had changed, or how much care he had given to all that was Clark’s, it was still Batman. He was not going to risk getting on his bad side just because a new set of sensibilities had appeared after a long period of isolation.
Batman walked up behind him and put a gloved hand between his shoulder blades. Clark expected the spot where the hand was resting to burn, but only a slow warmth spread from there to everywhere else. He felt his throat dry.
“Are you okay?” the gravely voice inquired.
Clark swallowed and licked his lips. “Yeah. Just…” Just what? Clark didn’t know what to say. ‘Just felt like pushing you to the floor and using you to scratch every itch I have’ didn’t seem like something he could say to his friend. “Just had a sensory overload,” Clark said. He wasn’t good at lying, but that wasn’t a lie. It was close to the truth.
“Hmm. Do you have them often?”
As close to the truth as a spring rain was close to a monsoon. ‘Just when you start undressing, it seems.’ “Not really. Lately, I’ve been… getting reacquainted with life on Earth. Nothing to worry about.”
Batman nodded, and offered him a hand to stabilize himself as he turned around. Clark wanted to bat it away because it was hard to trust his reactions when his senses were flaring like that, but he took it anyway. Batman felt… solid. And cool. It was comforting.
They walked to the computer womb, and Batman sat down on the chair, swiveling away from Clark. The Kryptonian tried to focus on something else as his senses began to return to normal.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
“Luthor,” Batman said without preamble. Clark’s heart skipped a beat, and his jaw snapped shut.
“Isn’t he in prison?” Clark’s heard his own voice laced with venom, but he couldn’t help himself. There were some things about Earth he would rather not remember.
“No,” Batman said, opening a file on the computer screen and entwining his fingers under his nose. “You were a key witness, and missed the trial. They acquitted him. He has… reformed since then.”
“Reformed,” Clark spat, unbelieving.
“In a way, yes. He’s founded a legitimate company, done some research projects, put out a couple of very interesting prototypes.”
“Good for him.”
“He’s still Lex Luthor, though. I’ve been after him for years, destroying his blackmail rings and trying to build enough evidence to convict him for his illegal activities, but he’s gotten more careful.” Batman swiveled towards him, and Clark could hear his heartbeat speeding up. “Superman, he… Clark,” he rubbed his forehead, then took off the cowl, scowling. “He raided the Fortress.”
Clark took a couple of seconds to realize that Bruce meant his home. “He what?”
“He raided the Fortress. He stole half the crystals from the…”
Clark grabbed Bruce’s wrist and pulled him forcibly towards him, speeding out of the Cave and in the direction of the Arctic.
They were high in the sky by the time Bruce got his breath back, and Clark felt like flying faster to prevent the man from talking. He didn’t have to worry; Bruce just buried his face in his chest and did his best to breathe normally in the rarified air.
Clark was enraged. Luthor had dared? How had he found the Fortress? How had he bypassed the security? Why did that man have to get his greedy hands on his home? Clark held Bruce closer to himself unconsciously. Was there nothing safe from the man’s obsession?
Clark had left the Earth in hopes of finding some remnant of his home planet, something to make him understand better what he was, who he was supposed to be. Something to… belong to, somewhere. He hadn’t found anything but debris out there, and what little he had left here, Luthor had taken it? He ground his teeth. He was going to make Luthor pay. He wasn’t going to raise his son in a world where people like Lex Luthor walked free and violated other people’s homes.
They soon landed on the icy plane where the crystal Fortress was built. Half the entrance had collapsed, and it looked empty, abandoned.
Dead.
He let go of Bruce and walked towards the entry, hot clouds of condensed breath leaving his parted lips. He could hear Bruce a couple of steps behind him, giving him space. Clark turned, scowling.
“What happened here?”
Bruce didn’t meet his gaze, his eyes instead lingering on the ruins of the Fortress. “Luthor tripped an alarm while he was here. Flash responded, but Luthor had a power suit. Wonder Woman and myself got here shortly after, but he got away. I was trying to figure out what he had taken…”
Clark lifted a hand, signaling he didn’t want to hear any more. He could imagine the rest, power blasts breaking the icy pillars, the nigh-invulnerable body of the Amazon hitting the crystal walls during the fight. Structural instability followed by the collapse of his home. Clark walked into the main hall of the Fortress, where an ice path suspended the main controls and core of the computer over a frozen abyss.
The crystals that gave the computer its power, the voice of his father, his mother, the last remnants of his Kryptonian legacy… gone. They were gone. The Fortress would never gleam and sing again. There was no returning home, and there never would be again.
Clark turned, enraged. “Where are they?” He walked back towards Bruce, who had stayed behind at the step of the ice path. “You said he didn’t take them all. Where are they?”
“In the Cave.”
“You had no right to take them! None of you!”
“I couldn’t leave them here. Luthor…”
“Luthor. You. Every one of you, taking what you don't understand. You people destroyed it!”
Bruce didn’t answer. His lips were a thin pale line. His chin was tipped upwards in a defiant aristocratic gesture.
“I’ve lost everything. There’s nothing left but ruins. Humanity took it all away from me. Get out.”
Bruce’s cold dark eyes stared at him for a minute, unreadable. Clark was breathing hard, and he was about to repeat himself when Bruce turned and started walking towards the fallen debris of the entrance. Just before he slipped out, he stopped without turning back, his voice soft.
“You haven’t lost everything, Clark. Remember that.”
Clark closed his eyes, fighting the tears. He would never hear his parents voice again, all that knowledge, the much-needed advice, the far away reassurances of love. Everything was gone.
If he had wondered why he had left Earth in the first place, when it seemed he had missed much more than he could ever have gained, Clark was now wondering why he had ever come back. He felt the cold grip of isolation, the numbness and loneliness of space settling inside him again. He was alone now. More alone than he had ever been, completely out of the loop on Earth, alien, a stranger in the lives of people he barely knew.
He could have stayed in space, leaving everyone on Earth to continue with their lives. They surely didn’t need him. They hadn’t needed him while he was away. There were other heroes, other people willing to defend them and pull their strings. People that were as interested in their little mundane lives as they were in dissecting the freaky alien that came from the sky.
There was nowhere to belong. Nothing but the debris of a planet long dead, nothing but creatures that didn’t understand him and that he no longer understood on a planet he had left behind. Kal felt as empty as the Fortress, while Clark had been as neglected and abandoned as the Fortress itself. Only the shell of Superman remained.
The oppressive atmosphere of the Fortress -cold and dark like a tomb, a mausoleum for the last son of Krypton- was getting to be too much. Clark turned from the remains of his legacy, and walked outside.
It was snowing, and little snowflakes were landing on him, melting against his warmth. He stared into the white clouded sky for a couple of minutes, trying not to think about anything -not leaving, or staying, not revenge, or…
He noticed a slow heartbeat that certainly didn’t match his own, but one that he knew well. He walked towards the sitting figure of his friend, and stood next to him, staring at the way the snowflakes were accumulating on the black cape that was wrapped around him, snowflakes like stars over the black canvas of his slightly wet hair. Bruce was sitting in the snow, his knees close to his chest, a black anchor in the sea of white.
“You didn’t leave,” Clark said, calmly.
Bruce was staring at the horizon. “You flew us here.”
Clark gave himself a mental slap. He had forgotten. “It’s cold out here,” he said, feeling guilty.
“I noticed.”
“You didn’t steal them.”
“I didn’t have any right to take them either.”
“But you… you weren’t trying to destroy my home. You were trying to save it. I’m sorry.”
Bruce sighed, suppressing a shiver, and finally looked up at Clark. “I didn’t know what to do,” he said softly.
“I don’t know what to do either,” Clark confessed, sitting next to his friend. “I want to come back,” he said in a whisper, looking down.
A Kevlar clad arm rose from under the black cape and wrapped itself around Clark’s shoulders. Clark leaned into the half embrace, and couldn’t fight the knot in his throat anymore. His breath hitched. “I want to come back,” he repeated in a half sob. The grip on his shoulder tightened, and Clark let the numbness inside him go.
For the first time in five years, the last son of Krypton wept. Behind him, the ruins of his home gleamed under the cold winter light.