[FIC] DC Comics: Learning to Fly [2/3]
part one.
Before Batman knew what he was doing, he was already dashing down the staircase. It was within the grounds of his castle, and the moment he had stepped past the front door he spread out his wings and took to the skies. The chill bit at him, bit at the skin drawn too tight over his bones, but Batman ignored it. Even if it was a hallucination, he had to be sure, and Clark's voice was getting nearer and nearer. He was shouting in fear, shouting for help, and he could hear, so near to the forest, the wolves' growls and barks and howls. They were closing in.
He landed close to Clark, right behind him just as a wolf leaped at him, and Batman smacked the wolf right in the head with the heavy shoulder of his wing. He stood at his full height, taller than the wolves, larger still as he spread out his wings and roared, inhuman and monstrous. He could hear Clark behind him, but he adamantly did not turn around, facing the wolves.
One of them darted in during his moment of distraction, and Batman couldn't help an anguished scream from tearing itself out of his throat when sharp teeth sank into his wing, ripping through flesh. He curled his leg, kicked out against the wolf's throat sharply, enough to make it release its grip, fighting past the pain to continue fighting, to shove the wolf down and break its neck.
The snap of bone echoed loudly in the air. The wolf laid still beneath his feet, Batman's blood staining its mouth. The other wolves stilled, looking at him, and Batman had a distinct feeling that he had murdered their alpha before they turned and fled, leaving deep footprints and blood and clumps of fur in the snow.
When the last of them had disappeared into the trees, Batman closed his eyes and let his knees do what they wished. They buckled, sending him down, crashing into the snow and the grass and the mud.
Throughout, Clark didn't know what was happening. There was a whoosh of wings and rushing air and the sound of an animal hitting...something, and then another whoosh, and a roar, inches away from his ears as he turned, like a monster calling out into the night, screaming murder at its enemies, its prey.
It was the Batman.
He turned just in time to see the wolf leap, teeth snatching deep into the wing; the scream that followed, and immediately the pain that the Batman felt leapt across his own face, stung his heart. He'd been injured fighting for Clark. Saving him. The wolf was killed only moments later, not living long enough to regret its mistake, and then the Batman crumpled to the ground beside the murdered creature; blood and fur and footprints in the snow, but more importantly--
More importantly they left behind the injured monster.
With a broken sob Clark threw himself forward, moving to Batman's side and throwing his arms around the monster's neck, forcing him up, out of the snow, pulling the huge, heavy bulk of the creature to the thundering of his heart and the warmth of his chest.
"No. No, please. You're okay. It's okay now, they've gone, and I'm here. I'm sorry that I left. Please--"
He raised his hand, brushing at the Batman's furred face. He was almost hysterical with worry, and though the wound was only superficial - the wing shredded and torn and useless, but not the same as his being stabbed through the heart, or bleeding through the neck - it worried Clark to see him fall the way he did. Somehow he was sure it must be too late.
"Let me help you. The castle isn't far. Let me help you inside. I'm sorry--I'm so sorry."
For a moment, Batman thought that he had died and was dreaming this; the warmth of Clark's arms around his own, the press of his body so close that he could hear his heartbeat, so quick that it could be the hoof beats of a thousand running horses. His wing was bleeding still, creating a pool of red amongst the white, and the pain was the only thing reminding him that he was still alive, and that this was real. That Clark's arms around him were real, that Clark was almost crying for him.
"Clark," he said, and his voice had changed. It was softer, gentler, though still far too deep and rough to be from a human's throat. "Clark," he said again, reaching up with his uninjured wing to smooth against his cheek. Just the softest, gentlest of gestures, like Clark was a particularly frightened little sparrow, and Batman didn't want to scare him away. He didn't know what caused the change of heart - what caused him to start crying like this - but he didn't like seeing it.
Clark's face wasn't made for such worry and sorrow, especially when it was for him.
Batman swallowed a little, forcing the pain away. It had been years since he had felt physical pain.
"I'm alright," he said, and felt like a fool for a moment for how archaic his wording sounded. "Okay. I mean, I'm okay, Clark. It's not your fault. I wanted you to leave, because if you hadn't gone-" He swallowed, and drew his wing across Clark's shoulder hesitantly.
"I didn't want you to waste away in the castle. Please don't apologize."
The boy's eyes were wide and wet, cheeks flushed from terror despite the cold of the snow around them. He was shivering, knelt in snow even though the wing was closed across his back and the beast was warm against his chest. He dropped his hand away from the Bat's cheek, warily, and looked up into his eyes.
They were red - still the red that he remembered - but there was something human about them that he hadn't been able to see before. His hand raised again, just a little higher, and smoothed underneath one of them, studying them curiously, before he realised where he was, and why, and the puzzlement dropped from his expression. He began to try and help the Batman back to his feet.
"Come on, let's get you inside."
He was too much weight for even a farm boy to support on his own, and unless the Batman tried to get up, there was nothing he could do, slipping and sliding on the snow as he was, to get them both upright and in to safety. The wolves would not be gone for long; they could smell blood, after all. And Lois was somewhere out in the woods alone. He hoped she had found her way to safety without them.
"Help me out here, will you?"
Batman hissed quietly, trying to not lean on Clark as he found his feet again. It was dizzying, trying to stand up while he was still bleeding freely from the wound. Dimly, he wondered if he would ever be able to fly again, and if he would regret this if he never could. If he could trade the single joy of this existence for Clark's life, would he? He smiled bitterly to himself, hiding it by ducking down his head.
Of course he would. He would, in a single second. He had, and if necessary, he would do it again.
"You don't have to," his words were quiet as he tried not to stumble. He was on his feet, standing, but his knees threatened to buckle at any moment and Clark's shoulders seemed a little too tempting to be leaning against. He had already imposed too much on this too-kind boy already, being so close when he was so hated.
But he couldn't help but hope, just for a second, that Clark no longer hated him. He touched him willingly, even though he recoiled back as soon as he noticed Batman's red eyes, but no, no, he couldn't stand anymore hope. He couldn't even think of it, because if Clark left again... He would not be able to stand it. To know the heat of this man beside him, to hold him close with his wing and yet not be able to see him, to be able to--it was a cruelty farther than anything the witch could have done.
He closed his eyes, turned his head slightly away and hardened his voice once more.
"I can return to the castle myself. You need to find your horse, and find your way back to your usual path. " For what other reason would Clark venture here, after all? He had already left once; made himself clear. "I should not delay you, the woods will only be more dangerous now that the wolves have tasted blood tonight. "
Clark shook his head. "No, look--" He pointed into the dirt. "The hoof prints lead this way anyway, and I'm not leaving you. Not again." He raised his eyes to the monster's again, and forged on toward the castle, made himself put one foot in front of the other even though it seemed he had to half drag the Batman along with him.
He glanced over his shoulder to shoot him with a piercing glare.
"I came back for you."
The mud and the snow was freezing onto Batman's fur and his clothes by the time they reached the castle gates, and Clark was already beginning to shiver, moving into the beast's embrace to keep himself warm. Each breath was a gust of steam. Each step was made like clockwork, and the lights of the castle shone ahead.
Alfred knew he was coming.
He looked up at the beast again, all softness and hope in his eyes, steady even though the rest of him shook and shivered.
"We're almost home."
Home.
Batman's eyes widened at that, and he almost stumbled. It wasn't Clark's admission that he had came back for him that mattered, it was that he referred to the Manor as home. That he was bringing Batman home, a home that belonged to the both of them. That he had left his village - the village he had missed so much that he was pining over it - to come here. To come back home.
And he knew that the word could have been just a slip. He knew that it might just be that Clark meant Batman's home. But he hoped, nonetheless. Hoped with a sudden lump in his throat that this meant that Clark would be staying. Just staying here, where Batman would be able to watch him. And if he was courageous enough, he would be able to talk to him. Touch him. Like he had wanted to every single day the last time Clark was here.
The gates swung forward for them, and locked themselves securely after they had passed through them. Batman knew that was necessary, because he was leaving a trail of blood in the snow for the wolves to follow. His head was getting a little dizzy with the blood loss, but he pressed on, nonetheless, gritting his teeth because... because Clark was here.
He had no more reason to wilt beside the window waiting for the flower to lose all of its petals.
The heavy gates closed as though to say 'If you came back it had better be to stay; you won't break his heart again,' but Clark paid them no heed, helping the Batman down the corridor. Not knowing the way to his room, he instead head for the room which had been given to him when he was kept here before, knowing that there was a bed there where Batman could be laid down off his injured wing, and left to rest.
Despite Batman's hope and the feel of Clark's warmth against him, it took him until they stepped into the Manor proper, the doors slamming shut behind them, before he could speak.
"Why?" his voice was low. Not accusing, but simply quiet. "Why did you come back?"
"Because I don't give up on anyone."
A simple reply, but said with the not-quite-honesty that had him quickly glancing away. It was true, of course, but there was simply more to it than that.
The door opened in front of him, and Clark was reminded of the magic of this place again; he'd taken it for granted before - after all Lex Luthor was a world renowned mage - but this was a different kind of magic. It was wholesome and sentient; welcoming. It felt like a touch on the back of his hand as he lowered the Batman past the drapes and onto the heavy silk coverlet, splashing the ivory white with his blood.
"Because I looked into your eyes and saw compassion, that first day. And because..." A swallow. "Because I know how it feels to be lonely. When I sat at that window I wasn't just wishing to go home. I would have done anything for someone - or something - to talk to."
Batman hissed quietly as he was laid on the bed, laying the wing on the coverlet and knowing that it would be entirely ruined by the blood. But Alfred's magic worked on the clothes here, and his attention was dragged away from the sight of red on white by Clark's words, and he looked at him for a long moment. To know that Clark had wanted someone - anyone - to talk to, even if it was him... to know that it was his own cowardice that had ruined his first chance, that he had hidden himself away and watched this man (not a boy, not with the kind of look in his eyes) when he could have spoken to him, and that if he had, then Clark wouldn't have left. That if he had, Clark wouldn't have gotten himself into danger in the forest; wouldn't have been so close to the wolf's jaws that Batman's heart had taken permanent residence at the base of his throat.
It was his own cowardice that caused his injury. Batman closed his eyes, and swore to himself that he wouldn't be so foolish again. Clark's return was a boon that he didn't deserve, a second chance for his life that he shouldn't have gotten--and he knew it.
It didn't even matter that Clark was insinuating that he was a 'something' rather than a 'someone'. It had been too long since he had thought of himself as human; too long since he remembered that this monstrous form could have been anything else. He was a monster, nothing better than a thing.
He sat up a little, pulling his wing close even as he tried to shift a little closer to Clark. He wished, frustrated, that he had fingers - he had managed to carry Clark out that one time, but that was a combination of brute strength and the curves of his wings. He wished he could reach out and trace those high cheekbones with his fingertips.
A breath.
"You won't be, this time," he said, and his voice was quiet, his eyes determined. "I won't let you be alone. Even if... If you didn't want to talk to me, I--" He shook his head, and turned away. "If you like, you can invite your family here. To stay in the castle."
Clark smiled, and he reached up to brush the tips of his fingers against the creature's furred face, gliding the tips of them back across one pointed ear. He was much less severe in the warm light of the fire than he had ever been before, and injured, his words soft, he was by no means the terrifying monster that Clark remembered from his previous stay, the one that had insisted that he could never leave; that it was not benevolence or kindness but selfishness that had kept him shelter from the storm before.
He dropped his hand away, but the smile didn't fade.
"My family are happy where they are; back on the farm, raising our cattle. They don't belong here." Neither did he, but that was another matter entirely. Gotham was no more his home than the capital of Metropolis, where Lex would gather him away if he could.
No, he couldn't think of the monster as a thing any more. There was something vulnerable about him; something human. He rose up off the bed and wrapped his arms around himself. Despite the fire he was cold, and he'd need to get out of these cold clothes.
"I'm going to find something to change into, and check the stables in case Lois came home. You get some rest, okay?"
When Clark moved to leave the room, Batman reached out, his wing brushing against his leg gently. Only gently, because he realized what he was about to do mid-way and tried to pull himself back--but it was already too late, and he had touched Clark.
He swallowed, and wondered if his current face was capable of showing nervousness. He felt foolish for even thinking such a thing, and took a long, slow breath in before he spoke.
"Clark-" he said, and turned his head away, looking out of the window sightlessly. He wished he hadn't spoke. It was too late now. "I--thank you," the words came out in a rush. "Thank you, for...coming back."
The touch, however fleeting, had happened, and Clark smiled brightly as he turned, looked back at the Batman where he lay. The nervousness couldn't be conveyed through his expression, but the position he lay in, the way he looked away, the speed of his words, they told Clark everything that he needed to know.
"You don't have to thank me. Not for that."
He stepped back over, and touched the beast's furry shoulder; it's wing.
"Just promise to be honest with me from now on. I'm like a nightingale. I can't sing in a cage. But if I'm free, there's a chance that I might come to your windowsill to sing you a lullaby each night. You...understand, don't you? You have a second chance. Everyone deserves one."
He left the beast with that sentiment, heading down to the stables. Lois was waiting, happily munching from a barrel of apples in her stall, and Clark laughed once, untacked her and closed the stall door. He smelt like wet horse by the time he came back inside, and was no more warmer for that, but there were clothes waiting for him in the study, courtesy of Alfred, and he changed before heading back to the bedroom to look for his host.
Back in his room, the Batman lost himself in his thoughts, let Clark's words go back and forth through his mind as he drank in every possible meaning, burned them into his memory.
I can't sing in a cage.
Was that what he had tried to do to Clark? To cage him, to hold him here? Of course it was, and why hadn't he seen it? He had been so caught up in his own selfishness, in his own misery. He had wanted to watch Clark, so eager to reassure himself of his presence and to make sure he wasn't alone that he was basically killing the man whom he--
Loved?
Batman's eyes widened slightly, his wing held close to himself, relishing in the heat of Clark's touch. How pathetic was he, that he had to rely on something so brief, so insubstantial? No, it couldn't be love. It could not, simply because Clark might be kind, but at the most his affection for Batman would be akin to a child's for an injured bird, or a kind man for a dog with a broken leg.
No. He only wanted Clark, that was all. That was all.
He closed his eyes, banishing those thoughts. When he opened them again, medical supplies were waiting for him, packed in their usual crates and boxes. Alfred's work. Batman smiled a little, inclining his head in thanks at the nearest wall before he started to nurse himself. He had gotten proficient at doing so. After a while, the loneliness and isolation would get to him, and he would start screaming into the silence, and clawing at himself to find some sort of relief from the endless emptiness.
Now Clark was here, he didn't need to do so anymore.
When Clark returned, Batman had moved from the bed to the chair by the window, looking outwards. The sheets were pristine again, and his wing was splinted and bandaged. He turned at Clark's entrance, and nodded towards him.
"How is - your horse?"
"Lois? She's fine now. I think she knew that this was the safest place."
Who had splinted his wing, Clark wondered? Had he done that himself, while he'd been gone? Or had the castle somehow... Magic, right. Quietly he came over, sitting down on the windowsill and looking out into the dark, icy grounds. The moonlight could barely cut through the blizzard now, but where it did it turned the snow silvery blue. Outside the walls, the wolves prowled, nursing their wounds, and a lonely, miserable howl went up into the darkness. One of their kind was, after all, dead.
"How are you feeling?" The fire was roaring in the grate. "Any better?"
One hand brushed a furred shoulder, almost reassuringly, though he was in fact testing his temperature. What was normal for a giant bat, he wondered? And he was a bat; now that he saw him properly, the light from the fire, the angles of his face, he could see that it was a bat and not a monster. A creature of the night; terrifying, maybe, but there had been bats that lived in the rafters of their home, and Clark was used to them. He wasn't frightened by the grotesque visage; not now that he knew that there was a heart, a soul behind it.
What did appearances matter?
It was still strange to have Clark approach him with no fear in his eyes, no disgust- it was so different from the look in Batman's own eyes when he had seen himself for the first time. For Clark to not judge him like this- for him to accept his appearance and to see beyond it to realise that there might just be a man trapped inside...
Or did he just think of Batman as some kind monster? Kind, but monstrous, nonetheless. Worthy of his gentle kindness, which he no doubt showed everyone, but not love. That should be better, Batman thought, though he hated thinking of it. Not because he would die, no. But if Clark actually started to like him, to think of him as a gentle monster, then he would mourn when Batman died. He knew that he should, for Clark's good, start pulling away, start treating him cruelly again. But he couldn't; not when those beloved eyes were looking at him like this--softly, with the hope of love.
"It'll heal," he rasped, then tugged at Clark, gently.
"You should sleep. Tomorrow--" he hesitated for a moment, uncertain where the sudden idea had came from. But there was no harm, right?
"I'll take you around the grounds, tomorrow. There is so much more to see."
So Clark wouldn't be bored and trapped in the castle.
* * * * *
Tomorrow. That was the promise that the beast - and it did feel strange to call him that--even Batman didn't seem like a name - had made him. Tomorrow. Clark had seen him once by daylight before. Today he would be ready for it, and though he didn't sleep particularly well with the howling of the wolves and the wind, when he woke he felt well rested.
The castle was still. Outside snow lay on the ground, covering even the tracks and the blood from the night before. The trees were dressed in their silvery winter best, and the gardens looked as pristine and well managed within the walls as Clark remembered them being before. Lois was already out, her tracks in the snow the only sign of life. She was rolling in it and pawing for grass, looking for all the world more alive for having survived the wolves than the night before. Maybe it was the apples that grew here.
Dressing in the clothes that had appeared for him, Clark went down for a quiet breakfast, wondering where his host was, then wandered out into the gardens to explore, burying his nose in the thick fur muffler wrapped around his neck.
The roses, lined with snow, were beautiful. It was late for roses now--two months or so late, but these were in full bloom, just as the apple trees were still laden with fruit. The un-seasonality was part of the beauty of this place--part of the magic.
Perhaps that was why he had come back, after all. The adventure. There was still so much to learn, unlike the sleepiness of Smallville, which had revealed all its answers to him so long ago.
It was foolish of Batman to not sleep when Clark had, but after he had left, Batman had disappeared into his study, not even bothering to light the fire before he was closing his eyes again, calling to the castle's magics to let him see Clark. He had watched him for what seemed like minutes but was most likely many hours, entranced by the simplistic beauty of dark sooty lashes against pale skin; of the rise and fall of his chest; of the sweet little smile curving against his soft - he could only imagine they were soft - lips.
By the time Batman had torn himself away from the sight, night had long fallen and his study was as cold as the stones that covered the rooftops. Alfred had drawn a fire, but that was barely enough to keep away the cold. He drew his wings around him, and slept uneasily, waking with the dawn and feeling ridiculous that a monster could be ill.
It didn't matter.
He sat in his room again, watching through the castle walls as Clark went about his morning. It warmed him far more than the bare embers of a fire left behind, and Batman ignored the food Alfred laid out for him to instead sweep down the stairs two turns of the second hand after Clark had, his claws tapping a cacophony on the wooden steps.
Reaching out, he picked an apple, coloured red and gold just like the one that Clark had offered him on his first night, and let the snow collect on its tip, spilling over. The ice was freezing against his claws, but he didn't notice, blowing heat upon the snow until it melted. He left it to the mercies of the rippling winds, and the ice froze over again instantly without the warmth of his breath, clear and shining around the apple. A shell of glass.
Holding it, Batman finally let himself step out from behind the trees.
"Clark," his voice was soft, echoing around the orchard. The apple dangled in front of him.
An invitation. A gift.
The thought of humming - of maybe singing to himself - had barely touched on Clark's mind when the Batman had appeared, breaking him out of his reverie, a dangling apple hanging from his clawed wing. It seemed to glow, a glossy reflection that had Clark reaching out to take it, but it was frozen, and the chill ice bit into his fingertips so that he had to juggle it back onto his sleeves to keep from being burned.
"Thank you. It's--"
He smiled.
"Cold. It's very cold. But maybe we can pick a few more, and I can cook up my mother's world famous Kent Apple Pie. My mum's recipe. You know--" He was about to regail him with a story of Ma Kent winning an apple pie contest at the Smallville fete when he realised how silly it sounded. Batman didn't know his family, or anything about Smallville.
"How did you sleep?"
Batman barely heard the question. It was foolish of him. He should have realised that Clark would be cold, holding the apple. For a moment, Batman started forward, as if to snatch it back- then reconsidered after a long moment, a foot hovering half in the air and a wing outstretched towards him. He wasn't even paying attention to the question.
Then, slowly, he placed his foot down, careful to not disturb the snow more than usual and make Clark look at it. More than anything he didn't want to have his mistake acknowledged. He blinked a little, then refocused. Right, what was it that Clark had asked?
"Fine." He shook his head, then reached out, pulling out one of the incongruously huge leaves from a tree. He folded it into two, and finally he plucked the ice apple from Clark's hand, placing it on the leaf before holding it out to him. Then--
"Tell me," he said, looking away. "About Smallville. Your parents."
Clark only beamed, taking the apple carefully back when the Batman offered it to him. He lifted it high and took a good look, turning it on his fingertips. It really was beautiful. The gold was almost metallic, and it shone like polished jewellery. The red was ruby, like the stones in Smallville--the ones that had fallen from the sky, and were said to be magic but bizarrely just made Clark feel sick.
"It's beautiful. It's a little farming village--a few hundred people. We provide all the corn for the land of Metropolis, but my family keep cows, too. It's hard work."
And it would make sense that he stayed there, that he helped them, if not for the fact that Luthor was breathing down his neck. Instead they would retire, sell almost everything and live on it for the rest of their days. For Clark, who had always craved something away from the farm, it sadly made sense. This castle, the magic of it all, the Batman. Could this be what he was looking for? It seemed crazy.
No, the whole thing was crazy.
Clark smiled and stepped forward, the apple in one hand, moving to brush his fingertips against the edge of the uninjured wing.
"My parents are good people, and they love me very much. I'm their only child, but they...found me. They couldn't have any children of their own, and one day there I was in a cornfield."
The smile on Clark's lips when he spoke about his family sent a spike of jealousy through Batman's heart, and he almost stepped back, jerking his wing away so Clark wouldn't be touching it-touching him. It was a foolish, childish impulse, but there was a sharp pain within himself, and he wondered, bitterly, why it couldn't be him that brought such a smile to Clark's lips. Why must it be something that he could not have, something that he had left behind to come here, that made him smile that way?
But he was here. He had chosen this lonely castle, staying with nothing but a monster, and Batman once again wondered why he had returned. The sun did not deserve to be hidden within the dark shadows of the castle, and yet that was what Clark had chosen, and Batman was far, far too selfish to send him back, now that he had him. He had sent him back once, and it was already too much. Only a fool sent a treasure back once. So what would he be, if he sent him back twice?
Batman shook his head a little, dislodging those thoughts, and took a low breath.
"Where did they find you?" He didn't ask- why did they keep you? Why did they let you stay? The answer seemed obvious enough.
"It was the back field." Clark answered, thoughtfully. He was recanting a story he didn't know, something he'd been told rather than something he remembered. "Land we never really used, actually, but back then times were pretty hard and dad had to make use of as much of it as possible, even though there was just him. So he'd planted corn out there, and then stars rained down from the sky. Well, he had to go see how bad the damage was, right? And there I was, just sitting there crying.
"The crop was pretty much ruined - only enough to feed the cows, not to sell - but they had me, so it didn't matter any more. They used to joke that I'd fallen right out of heaven and into their hearts, but people don't just fall out of the sky."
Clark laughed, easily, and shook his hair out of his face, stepping away into the snow.
"Come on. Let's find something to collect the apples in."
With the brightest smile, Clark turned again and led the way through the orchard, heading for one of the small outbuildings where things were stacked up under piles of snow. There had to be something there; a pail or a bushel.
The smile was like the sun, warming Batman up from the inside, and he ducked his head suddenly, ashamed and embarrassed at how easily this man could move him with just the smallest curve of the lips. He wanted to reach out, touch him, and feel that smile and that warmth against his too-ugly skin. But... Batman only nodded, walking towards the outbuilding that he vaguely remembered as containing supplies.
Part of his mind was already running through what Clark had said. It would be foolish to think that he was truly an angel, fallen from the skies- but the stars had fallen, and there he was.
His voice was soft, musing and almost melancholic, as if he wasn't even aware that he was speaking: "It's as if you were an angel fallen from the stars, but angels do not grow up, do they?"
Then, as if he was suddenly aware of what he had said, Batman ducked his head still further, averted his eyes and turned away. He kept the rest of his words hidden inside, embarrassed once more, ashamed once more.
You're as beautiful as one.
Clark looked a little bit surprised by the words, and had to restrain himself from laughing because the Batman looked so humiliated even by the few he'd let loose. It was sweet. A little cliché, maybe, but sweet none the less, and he stepped forward and let his hand settle between the creatures folded wings, against his back.
"If I were an angel, then we would be able to fly together, wouldn't we? I think I'd love to be able to fly. To feel the wind in my face." He stepped past him, reaching forward to brush snow away from one of the piles, and pulling a slightly old, ravaged looking wicker basket from underneath it. It was weather torn but whole, and it'd do just fine for carrying apples in.
Clark straightened back up, holding it proudly.
"When your wing heals you have to tell me all about it. About what it feels like to fly. To be able to look down on the world below you and know that you're a part of it, even if you're miles away."
To fly... Batman looked at him for a moment, at the tableau of this strange, special man holding up an old basket as if it was a treasure, more comfortable with it than the various beautifully-made, antique and precious cutlery that he ate his food with every day. For a moment, Batman had a glimpse of what Clark looked like at home; of what a vision he must be every day in Smallville, dressed in his common work clothes.
And he wondered: why had an entire town let a man like this go? Why had he not been chased, precious like a jewel, unto the edge of the Earth? Why was it that a beast as ugly as Batman was the only thing that seemed to see his beauty?
Or was it only his vanity that assumed that no one saw Clark as he was? Perhaps it was simply that he wanted to believe that no one did, for if they saw Clark and wanted him, then what could Batman offer except a cold castle and an ugly face? He had nothing to win Clark with, not even gentle words and charms, for Batman might be a Prince, but he had never tried to woo anyone.
Much less a man. Much less someone like him.
He took a breath, and worked at his wing a little. Batman lifted his head, then shifted his eyes away. The red of his eyes was unnatural and he did not want Clark to see it. Still, it was strange--for him to have taken so long to grow truly humiliated by his own looks.
"I'll take you flying," he said, and his voice was soft, half-hopeful. "When my wing is healed, I will take you over the forests. The skies look different, when you are so close to them."
* * * * *
Take him flying he did.
The wing took three weeks to heal; long enough for the last of the snow to melt away and an early spring to grip the garden. Things did not stay frozen and cold within the walls with Clark there, even though outside the deep snow was still treacherous and thick, and would be for many months still. They had spent those three weeks getting to know each other all the better, the Batman opening up to Clark more with each passing day, and Clark learning to love the beast despite his frightening appearance. He was human beneath the fur and red eyes, with human fears and human desires.
The speed of the healing Clark accounted to the magic of the castle, though he had caught Batman caring for his wounds one day and marvelled that he was doing all the dressing and bandaging himself. Sure enough, three weeks later he was able to fly again, even carry Clark's weight, and the promise that he'd given came true.
They soared high above the world below in the cold January sky. Clark was warm enough, clinging to the Bat's waist as they flew, marvelling at the sights below him. Gotham was a beautiful kingdom, with high mountains and the sparkling city of Arkham not far from the Manor in which they lived. There were villages that he had never seen before, and away in the distance he could see his country--Metropolis.
"It's beautiful. You really... You really meant it. It seems like the sky is all around us. Like we're a part of it!"
The joy on Clark's face was a precious sight to behold, and Batman could only hold onto him tightly as he flew over the trees. The harsh bite of winter was over, and even this high up, the air was still warm- and he couldn't help but think it strange, that it was cold all the way up to the skies. The clouds were frost itself, even though they were so near the sun - there was a reason there that Batman did not understand, and he wished he could keep his wings and his humanity both, to bring the great philosophers here to study the sky.
But in the meantime, there was Clark. There was Gotham, dark in her beauty, her stone bricks gleaming dark in the sunlight - it was mainly made of gilded, dark volcanic rock. At Clark's joy, however, Batman swerved, turning towards Metropolis. Towards the city of Luthor, with its shining limestone castles and buildings, the direct contrast to Gotham's grey stone and the physical manifestation of its rulers' greed and want. The highest tower- the castle of the Luthors, shone high up, nearly reaching the skies.
And at the base of the tower- a group. A mob, with flashing torches. Batman's wings angled suddenly without his conscious wish, swooping downwards and moving towards one of the large, heavily-leafed trees.
"There," he whispered to Clark, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read the leader of the mob's lips. All he could see of him was the shining crown of his bald head, and Batman cocked his head to the side, ears flicking forward and back even as he ducked down further, out of sight.
"What is happening, over there?"
For reasons that Clark couldn't begin to know, he could hear them. It had always seemed normal, never extraordinary to him, that he could hear people at a distance, and now was no different. The sound of Lex's voice was gruff and angry. He was baiting the crowd, encouraging them to roar and lift their pitchforks higher.
"The beast has taken one of our own,” Lex was saying, “And as Lord of Metropolis I am duty bound to raise an army to slay it. This creature--it devours your young! It's coming for you and everything you own! It doesn't belong here! Who of you will be brave enough to join me? Who will come with me to vanquish this beast, who preys on your livestock and your children? This winged bat, this foul monstrosity?"
The crowd roared again and raised their weapons higher, and Lex - helped onto his white horse by his men - strode out in front of the crowd and kicked the magnificent animal, a creature Clark knew to be called Bucephalus, into a rear. He swung his sword around and turned the raging mob toward Gotham.
"We have to go," Clark, tugging desperately on Batman's arm, looked urgently away. "We have to go now."
Batman looked at him for a long moment. For some reason, he thought that Clark could hear them, even this far away; even this far up. There was fear in those brilliant blue eyes, and that made the decision for him very quickly. He nodded sharply.
"Hold tight."
They took to the air again at great speed, careful to remain over the clouds, letting the white fluffy things hide them. Well, not as white as fluffy as they should be - a storm was coming, and it was almost appropriate. There was fear in Clark's eyes; fear for that man, for his purpose as he rode off. For his direction, coming towards them - even though Batman could hear nothing, the soft rumbling of far-off thunder sounded remarkably like hooves.
He landed near the gates, his wings folding beside him as he let Clark find his feet again. Then he looked at Clark, aware of how monstrous he looked in the fading light of the day.
"What did you hear?"
Clark found his feet rather well for someone who wasn't used to flying, instantly raising his head up to look around. The clouds flashed. A few seconds, and the rumble would come crashing down around them, so he spoke fast, wrapping his arms around himself to keep warm as the wind rose and ripped around them.
"They're coming,” Clark’s breath was short, his words hesitant. “They're coming here."
The rumble followed, loud, drowning out their heavy breaths, and Clark reached out for Batman on instinct, took hold of the edge of his wing and pulled gently, pulled him toward the castle.
"Please. Let's get inside. Lock the doors, put out all the lights. Maybe if it doesn't look like there's someone here they'll leave us alone."
It was pointless. Hopeless. Luthor was a determined man, and he had been stung by Clark's flight. He had come here to take him back, and exact revenge on the beast that had harboured him; there was no doubt.
The words resonated in Batman's head even as he began to move, nudging Clark and nearly shoving him in through the gates. They closed behind him immediately, the locks falling into place behind them. So Alfred had heard as well. Red eyes narrowed, and he threw a gaze backwards.
He had been expecting this for a long time. Long before Clark had ever brightened his doorstep. He had lived in fear for the first few weeks of this beastly existence, waiting for the people of Gotham to find out about how far their Prince had fallen; to call him a demon and to rush at him with pitchforks and knives and torches, ready to kill him to eradicate from their world a so called 'monster'.
But they hadn't. They hadn't, and now it was Metropolis that was coming for him. Metropolis' Luthors, who had an eye on Clark--Batman's exhale sounded remarkably tight and dangerous, a low, sharp hiss. He would not crawl away with his tail between his legs. He would not turn away. These were not the people he had betrayed; these were people coming to steal the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.
No.
"I refuse," he said quietly, then tipped his head up, pride in every line of his body as he looked at Clark. His voice dipped, roughened. "I will not."
He turned around, facing the gates. "Get inside and stay safe, Clark. But they will have to get through me before they can think of claiming you."
His answer was not unexpected, and it didn't go without effort on Clark's behalf to change it, either.
"No," Clark whispered, reaching for Batman's wing, pulling himself closer again. He refused to be pushed away, refused to be protected like this; like some helpless maiden. "This isn't like the wolves. They'll kill you."
Desperation and horrible pain shone in his blue eyes. He didn't want to watch this noble bat reduced to beast. They'd kill him and make Clark watch, make him walk back to Metropolis beside Luthor's horse, a pageant boy with the Batman's head on a pike walking ahead of them. His eyes would be lidded and sightless, never again to live, never again to shine with the love that Clark occasionally saw in them; the love that he knew was in Batman's heart. Batman knew that Clark's love would die then too, that he would become an empty shell with nothing to live for, his heart broken by grief. It was what he had been trying to avoid.
Clark tightened his grip, fighting the very nature of similar images that no doubt assaulted his mind.
"How can I go inside and stay safe when I know you're out here doing precisely the opposite. Do you think I want to see them kill you? My safety means nothing if it comes at the price of your life." Earnest, desperate, Clark pulled again. "Come back to the house with me. Help me barricade the doors."
"They won't leave even if we do," the Bat's voice was a low murmur, but the determination was clear. It was a hard voice, deepened and roughened until it was barely recognisable as human, words torn apart and placed back together haphazardly, all the edges shown proudly. Like a wolf baring his teeth even before the hunters arrived, simply because he could hear their footsteps.
Even if it was hoof beats in this case.
Batman turned his head, and looked out of the closed and locked gates. "I have been expecting this for a long time."
He turned around and looked at Clark, red eyes sharp beneath the blackness of the coming storm. Reaching out with a wing, he let the edge trace against Clark's cheekbones, almost stroking against him. His cheek was so incredibly smooth, like a child's- and Batman suddenly swept out his other wing, shielding Clark from sight while at the same time nudging him back towards the castle.
"Your safety is everything," he said almost brusquely. Batman could now definitely hear the stampeding hoof beats coming closer and closer, trampling on the forest trees and shoots and bushes. The animals were shouting and shrieking and squeaking in rage as they dove away from the horses' feet, from the shouting men raising their pitchforks.
"Go. The house will protect you."
* * * * *
part three
Before Batman knew what he was doing, he was already dashing down the staircase. It was within the grounds of his castle, and the moment he had stepped past the front door he spread out his wings and took to the skies. The chill bit at him, bit at the skin drawn too tight over his bones, but Batman ignored it. Even if it was a hallucination, he had to be sure, and Clark's voice was getting nearer and nearer. He was shouting in fear, shouting for help, and he could hear, so near to the forest, the wolves' growls and barks and howls. They were closing in.
He landed close to Clark, right behind him just as a wolf leaped at him, and Batman smacked the wolf right in the head with the heavy shoulder of his wing. He stood at his full height, taller than the wolves, larger still as he spread out his wings and roared, inhuman and monstrous. He could hear Clark behind him, but he adamantly did not turn around, facing the wolves.
One of them darted in during his moment of distraction, and Batman couldn't help an anguished scream from tearing itself out of his throat when sharp teeth sank into his wing, ripping through flesh. He curled his leg, kicked out against the wolf's throat sharply, enough to make it release its grip, fighting past the pain to continue fighting, to shove the wolf down and break its neck.
The snap of bone echoed loudly in the air. The wolf laid still beneath his feet, Batman's blood staining its mouth. The other wolves stilled, looking at him, and Batman had a distinct feeling that he had murdered their alpha before they turned and fled, leaving deep footprints and blood and clumps of fur in the snow.
When the last of them had disappeared into the trees, Batman closed his eyes and let his knees do what they wished. They buckled, sending him down, crashing into the snow and the grass and the mud.
Throughout, Clark didn't know what was happening. There was a whoosh of wings and rushing air and the sound of an animal hitting...something, and then another whoosh, and a roar, inches away from his ears as he turned, like a monster calling out into the night, screaming murder at its enemies, its prey.
It was the Batman.
He turned just in time to see the wolf leap, teeth snatching deep into the wing; the scream that followed, and immediately the pain that the Batman felt leapt across his own face, stung his heart. He'd been injured fighting for Clark. Saving him. The wolf was killed only moments later, not living long enough to regret its mistake, and then the Batman crumpled to the ground beside the murdered creature; blood and fur and footprints in the snow, but more importantly--
More importantly they left behind the injured monster.
With a broken sob Clark threw himself forward, moving to Batman's side and throwing his arms around the monster's neck, forcing him up, out of the snow, pulling the huge, heavy bulk of the creature to the thundering of his heart and the warmth of his chest.
"No. No, please. You're okay. It's okay now, they've gone, and I'm here. I'm sorry that I left. Please--"
He raised his hand, brushing at the Batman's furred face. He was almost hysterical with worry, and though the wound was only superficial - the wing shredded and torn and useless, but not the same as his being stabbed through the heart, or bleeding through the neck - it worried Clark to see him fall the way he did. Somehow he was sure it must be too late.
"Let me help you. The castle isn't far. Let me help you inside. I'm sorry--I'm so sorry."
For a moment, Batman thought that he had died and was dreaming this; the warmth of Clark's arms around his own, the press of his body so close that he could hear his heartbeat, so quick that it could be the hoof beats of a thousand running horses. His wing was bleeding still, creating a pool of red amongst the white, and the pain was the only thing reminding him that he was still alive, and that this was real. That Clark's arms around him were real, that Clark was almost crying for him.
"Clark," he said, and his voice had changed. It was softer, gentler, though still far too deep and rough to be from a human's throat. "Clark," he said again, reaching up with his uninjured wing to smooth against his cheek. Just the softest, gentlest of gestures, like Clark was a particularly frightened little sparrow, and Batman didn't want to scare him away. He didn't know what caused the change of heart - what caused him to start crying like this - but he didn't like seeing it.
Clark's face wasn't made for such worry and sorrow, especially when it was for him.
Batman swallowed a little, forcing the pain away. It had been years since he had felt physical pain.
"I'm alright," he said, and felt like a fool for a moment for how archaic his wording sounded. "Okay. I mean, I'm okay, Clark. It's not your fault. I wanted you to leave, because if you hadn't gone-" He swallowed, and drew his wing across Clark's shoulder hesitantly.
"I didn't want you to waste away in the castle. Please don't apologize."
The boy's eyes were wide and wet, cheeks flushed from terror despite the cold of the snow around them. He was shivering, knelt in snow even though the wing was closed across his back and the beast was warm against his chest. He dropped his hand away from the Bat's cheek, warily, and looked up into his eyes.
They were red - still the red that he remembered - but there was something human about them that he hadn't been able to see before. His hand raised again, just a little higher, and smoothed underneath one of them, studying them curiously, before he realised where he was, and why, and the puzzlement dropped from his expression. He began to try and help the Batman back to his feet.
"Come on, let's get you inside."
He was too much weight for even a farm boy to support on his own, and unless the Batman tried to get up, there was nothing he could do, slipping and sliding on the snow as he was, to get them both upright and in to safety. The wolves would not be gone for long; they could smell blood, after all. And Lois was somewhere out in the woods alone. He hoped she had found her way to safety without them.
"Help me out here, will you?"
Batman hissed quietly, trying to not lean on Clark as he found his feet again. It was dizzying, trying to stand up while he was still bleeding freely from the wound. Dimly, he wondered if he would ever be able to fly again, and if he would regret this if he never could. If he could trade the single joy of this existence for Clark's life, would he? He smiled bitterly to himself, hiding it by ducking down his head.
Of course he would. He would, in a single second. He had, and if necessary, he would do it again.
"You don't have to," his words were quiet as he tried not to stumble. He was on his feet, standing, but his knees threatened to buckle at any moment and Clark's shoulders seemed a little too tempting to be leaning against. He had already imposed too much on this too-kind boy already, being so close when he was so hated.
But he couldn't help but hope, just for a second, that Clark no longer hated him. He touched him willingly, even though he recoiled back as soon as he noticed Batman's red eyes, but no, no, he couldn't stand anymore hope. He couldn't even think of it, because if Clark left again... He would not be able to stand it. To know the heat of this man beside him, to hold him close with his wing and yet not be able to see him, to be able to--it was a cruelty farther than anything the witch could have done.
He closed his eyes, turned his head slightly away and hardened his voice once more.
"I can return to the castle myself. You need to find your horse, and find your way back to your usual path. " For what other reason would Clark venture here, after all? He had already left once; made himself clear. "I should not delay you, the woods will only be more dangerous now that the wolves have tasted blood tonight. "
Clark shook his head. "No, look--" He pointed into the dirt. "The hoof prints lead this way anyway, and I'm not leaving you. Not again." He raised his eyes to the monster's again, and forged on toward the castle, made himself put one foot in front of the other even though it seemed he had to half drag the Batman along with him.
He glanced over his shoulder to shoot him with a piercing glare.
"I came back for you."
The mud and the snow was freezing onto Batman's fur and his clothes by the time they reached the castle gates, and Clark was already beginning to shiver, moving into the beast's embrace to keep himself warm. Each breath was a gust of steam. Each step was made like clockwork, and the lights of the castle shone ahead.
Alfred knew he was coming.
He looked up at the beast again, all softness and hope in his eyes, steady even though the rest of him shook and shivered.
"We're almost home."
Home.
Batman's eyes widened at that, and he almost stumbled. It wasn't Clark's admission that he had came back for him that mattered, it was that he referred to the Manor as home. That he was bringing Batman home, a home that belonged to the both of them. That he had left his village - the village he had missed so much that he was pining over it - to come here. To come back home.
And he knew that the word could have been just a slip. He knew that it might just be that Clark meant Batman's home. But he hoped, nonetheless. Hoped with a sudden lump in his throat that this meant that Clark would be staying. Just staying here, where Batman would be able to watch him. And if he was courageous enough, he would be able to talk to him. Touch him. Like he had wanted to every single day the last time Clark was here.
The gates swung forward for them, and locked themselves securely after they had passed through them. Batman knew that was necessary, because he was leaving a trail of blood in the snow for the wolves to follow. His head was getting a little dizzy with the blood loss, but he pressed on, nonetheless, gritting his teeth because... because Clark was here.
He had no more reason to wilt beside the window waiting for the flower to lose all of its petals.
The heavy gates closed as though to say 'If you came back it had better be to stay; you won't break his heart again,' but Clark paid them no heed, helping the Batman down the corridor. Not knowing the way to his room, he instead head for the room which had been given to him when he was kept here before, knowing that there was a bed there where Batman could be laid down off his injured wing, and left to rest.
Despite Batman's hope and the feel of Clark's warmth against him, it took him until they stepped into the Manor proper, the doors slamming shut behind them, before he could speak.
"Why?" his voice was low. Not accusing, but simply quiet. "Why did you come back?"
"Because I don't give up on anyone."
A simple reply, but said with the not-quite-honesty that had him quickly glancing away. It was true, of course, but there was simply more to it than that.
The door opened in front of him, and Clark was reminded of the magic of this place again; he'd taken it for granted before - after all Lex Luthor was a world renowned mage - but this was a different kind of magic. It was wholesome and sentient; welcoming. It felt like a touch on the back of his hand as he lowered the Batman past the drapes and onto the heavy silk coverlet, splashing the ivory white with his blood.
"Because I looked into your eyes and saw compassion, that first day. And because..." A swallow. "Because I know how it feels to be lonely. When I sat at that window I wasn't just wishing to go home. I would have done anything for someone - or something - to talk to."
Batman hissed quietly as he was laid on the bed, laying the wing on the coverlet and knowing that it would be entirely ruined by the blood. But Alfred's magic worked on the clothes here, and his attention was dragged away from the sight of red on white by Clark's words, and he looked at him for a long moment. To know that Clark had wanted someone - anyone - to talk to, even if it was him... to know that it was his own cowardice that had ruined his first chance, that he had hidden himself away and watched this man (not a boy, not with the kind of look in his eyes) when he could have spoken to him, and that if he had, then Clark wouldn't have left. That if he had, Clark wouldn't have gotten himself into danger in the forest; wouldn't have been so close to the wolf's jaws that Batman's heart had taken permanent residence at the base of his throat.
It was his own cowardice that caused his injury. Batman closed his eyes, and swore to himself that he wouldn't be so foolish again. Clark's return was a boon that he didn't deserve, a second chance for his life that he shouldn't have gotten--and he knew it.
It didn't even matter that Clark was insinuating that he was a 'something' rather than a 'someone'. It had been too long since he had thought of himself as human; too long since he remembered that this monstrous form could have been anything else. He was a monster, nothing better than a thing.
He sat up a little, pulling his wing close even as he tried to shift a little closer to Clark. He wished, frustrated, that he had fingers - he had managed to carry Clark out that one time, but that was a combination of brute strength and the curves of his wings. He wished he could reach out and trace those high cheekbones with his fingertips.
A breath.
"You won't be, this time," he said, and his voice was quiet, his eyes determined. "I won't let you be alone. Even if... If you didn't want to talk to me, I--" He shook his head, and turned away. "If you like, you can invite your family here. To stay in the castle."
Clark smiled, and he reached up to brush the tips of his fingers against the creature's furred face, gliding the tips of them back across one pointed ear. He was much less severe in the warm light of the fire than he had ever been before, and injured, his words soft, he was by no means the terrifying monster that Clark remembered from his previous stay, the one that had insisted that he could never leave; that it was not benevolence or kindness but selfishness that had kept him shelter from the storm before.
He dropped his hand away, but the smile didn't fade.
"My family are happy where they are; back on the farm, raising our cattle. They don't belong here." Neither did he, but that was another matter entirely. Gotham was no more his home than the capital of Metropolis, where Lex would gather him away if he could.
No, he couldn't think of the monster as a thing any more. There was something vulnerable about him; something human. He rose up off the bed and wrapped his arms around himself. Despite the fire he was cold, and he'd need to get out of these cold clothes.
"I'm going to find something to change into, and check the stables in case Lois came home. You get some rest, okay?"
When Clark moved to leave the room, Batman reached out, his wing brushing against his leg gently. Only gently, because he realized what he was about to do mid-way and tried to pull himself back--but it was already too late, and he had touched Clark.
He swallowed, and wondered if his current face was capable of showing nervousness. He felt foolish for even thinking such a thing, and took a long, slow breath in before he spoke.
"Clark-" he said, and turned his head away, looking out of the window sightlessly. He wished he hadn't spoke. It was too late now. "I--thank you," the words came out in a rush. "Thank you, for...coming back."
The touch, however fleeting, had happened, and Clark smiled brightly as he turned, looked back at the Batman where he lay. The nervousness couldn't be conveyed through his expression, but the position he lay in, the way he looked away, the speed of his words, they told Clark everything that he needed to know.
"You don't have to thank me. Not for that."
He stepped back over, and touched the beast's furry shoulder; it's wing.
"Just promise to be honest with me from now on. I'm like a nightingale. I can't sing in a cage. But if I'm free, there's a chance that I might come to your windowsill to sing you a lullaby each night. You...understand, don't you? You have a second chance. Everyone deserves one."
He left the beast with that sentiment, heading down to the stables. Lois was waiting, happily munching from a barrel of apples in her stall, and Clark laughed once, untacked her and closed the stall door. He smelt like wet horse by the time he came back inside, and was no more warmer for that, but there were clothes waiting for him in the study, courtesy of Alfred, and he changed before heading back to the bedroom to look for his host.
Back in his room, the Batman lost himself in his thoughts, let Clark's words go back and forth through his mind as he drank in every possible meaning, burned them into his memory.
I can't sing in a cage.
Was that what he had tried to do to Clark? To cage him, to hold him here? Of course it was, and why hadn't he seen it? He had been so caught up in his own selfishness, in his own misery. He had wanted to watch Clark, so eager to reassure himself of his presence and to make sure he wasn't alone that he was basically killing the man whom he--
Loved?
Batman's eyes widened slightly, his wing held close to himself, relishing in the heat of Clark's touch. How pathetic was he, that he had to rely on something so brief, so insubstantial? No, it couldn't be love. It could not, simply because Clark might be kind, but at the most his affection for Batman would be akin to a child's for an injured bird, or a kind man for a dog with a broken leg.
No. He only wanted Clark, that was all. That was all.
He closed his eyes, banishing those thoughts. When he opened them again, medical supplies were waiting for him, packed in their usual crates and boxes. Alfred's work. Batman smiled a little, inclining his head in thanks at the nearest wall before he started to nurse himself. He had gotten proficient at doing so. After a while, the loneliness and isolation would get to him, and he would start screaming into the silence, and clawing at himself to find some sort of relief from the endless emptiness.
Now Clark was here, he didn't need to do so anymore.
When Clark returned, Batman had moved from the bed to the chair by the window, looking outwards. The sheets were pristine again, and his wing was splinted and bandaged. He turned at Clark's entrance, and nodded towards him.
"How is - your horse?"
"Lois? She's fine now. I think she knew that this was the safest place."
Who had splinted his wing, Clark wondered? Had he done that himself, while he'd been gone? Or had the castle somehow... Magic, right. Quietly he came over, sitting down on the windowsill and looking out into the dark, icy grounds. The moonlight could barely cut through the blizzard now, but where it did it turned the snow silvery blue. Outside the walls, the wolves prowled, nursing their wounds, and a lonely, miserable howl went up into the darkness. One of their kind was, after all, dead.
"How are you feeling?" The fire was roaring in the grate. "Any better?"
One hand brushed a furred shoulder, almost reassuringly, though he was in fact testing his temperature. What was normal for a giant bat, he wondered? And he was a bat; now that he saw him properly, the light from the fire, the angles of his face, he could see that it was a bat and not a monster. A creature of the night; terrifying, maybe, but there had been bats that lived in the rafters of their home, and Clark was used to them. He wasn't frightened by the grotesque visage; not now that he knew that there was a heart, a soul behind it.
What did appearances matter?
It was still strange to have Clark approach him with no fear in his eyes, no disgust- it was so different from the look in Batman's own eyes when he had seen himself for the first time. For Clark to not judge him like this- for him to accept his appearance and to see beyond it to realise that there might just be a man trapped inside...
Or did he just think of Batman as some kind monster? Kind, but monstrous, nonetheless. Worthy of his gentle kindness, which he no doubt showed everyone, but not love. That should be better, Batman thought, though he hated thinking of it. Not because he would die, no. But if Clark actually started to like him, to think of him as a gentle monster, then he would mourn when Batman died. He knew that he should, for Clark's good, start pulling away, start treating him cruelly again. But he couldn't; not when those beloved eyes were looking at him like this--softly, with the hope of love.
"It'll heal," he rasped, then tugged at Clark, gently.
"You should sleep. Tomorrow--" he hesitated for a moment, uncertain where the sudden idea had came from. But there was no harm, right?
"I'll take you around the grounds, tomorrow. There is so much more to see."
So Clark wouldn't be bored and trapped in the castle.
* * * * *
Tomorrow. That was the promise that the beast - and it did feel strange to call him that--even Batman didn't seem like a name - had made him. Tomorrow. Clark had seen him once by daylight before. Today he would be ready for it, and though he didn't sleep particularly well with the howling of the wolves and the wind, when he woke he felt well rested.
The castle was still. Outside snow lay on the ground, covering even the tracks and the blood from the night before. The trees were dressed in their silvery winter best, and the gardens looked as pristine and well managed within the walls as Clark remembered them being before. Lois was already out, her tracks in the snow the only sign of life. She was rolling in it and pawing for grass, looking for all the world more alive for having survived the wolves than the night before. Maybe it was the apples that grew here.
Dressing in the clothes that had appeared for him, Clark went down for a quiet breakfast, wondering where his host was, then wandered out into the gardens to explore, burying his nose in the thick fur muffler wrapped around his neck.
The roses, lined with snow, were beautiful. It was late for roses now--two months or so late, but these were in full bloom, just as the apple trees were still laden with fruit. The un-seasonality was part of the beauty of this place--part of the magic.
Perhaps that was why he had come back, after all. The adventure. There was still so much to learn, unlike the sleepiness of Smallville, which had revealed all its answers to him so long ago.
It was foolish of Batman to not sleep when Clark had, but after he had left, Batman had disappeared into his study, not even bothering to light the fire before he was closing his eyes again, calling to the castle's magics to let him see Clark. He had watched him for what seemed like minutes but was most likely many hours, entranced by the simplistic beauty of dark sooty lashes against pale skin; of the rise and fall of his chest; of the sweet little smile curving against his soft - he could only imagine they were soft - lips.
By the time Batman had torn himself away from the sight, night had long fallen and his study was as cold as the stones that covered the rooftops. Alfred had drawn a fire, but that was barely enough to keep away the cold. He drew his wings around him, and slept uneasily, waking with the dawn and feeling ridiculous that a monster could be ill.
It didn't matter.
He sat in his room again, watching through the castle walls as Clark went about his morning. It warmed him far more than the bare embers of a fire left behind, and Batman ignored the food Alfred laid out for him to instead sweep down the stairs two turns of the second hand after Clark had, his claws tapping a cacophony on the wooden steps.
Reaching out, he picked an apple, coloured red and gold just like the one that Clark had offered him on his first night, and let the snow collect on its tip, spilling over. The ice was freezing against his claws, but he didn't notice, blowing heat upon the snow until it melted. He left it to the mercies of the rippling winds, and the ice froze over again instantly without the warmth of his breath, clear and shining around the apple. A shell of glass.
Holding it, Batman finally let himself step out from behind the trees.
"Clark," his voice was soft, echoing around the orchard. The apple dangled in front of him.
An invitation. A gift.
The thought of humming - of maybe singing to himself - had barely touched on Clark's mind when the Batman had appeared, breaking him out of his reverie, a dangling apple hanging from his clawed wing. It seemed to glow, a glossy reflection that had Clark reaching out to take it, but it was frozen, and the chill ice bit into his fingertips so that he had to juggle it back onto his sleeves to keep from being burned.
"Thank you. It's--"
He smiled.
"Cold. It's very cold. But maybe we can pick a few more, and I can cook up my mother's world famous Kent Apple Pie. My mum's recipe. You know--" He was about to regail him with a story of Ma Kent winning an apple pie contest at the Smallville fete when he realised how silly it sounded. Batman didn't know his family, or anything about Smallville.
"How did you sleep?"
Batman barely heard the question. It was foolish of him. He should have realised that Clark would be cold, holding the apple. For a moment, Batman started forward, as if to snatch it back- then reconsidered after a long moment, a foot hovering half in the air and a wing outstretched towards him. He wasn't even paying attention to the question.
Then, slowly, he placed his foot down, careful to not disturb the snow more than usual and make Clark look at it. More than anything he didn't want to have his mistake acknowledged. He blinked a little, then refocused. Right, what was it that Clark had asked?
"Fine." He shook his head, then reached out, pulling out one of the incongruously huge leaves from a tree. He folded it into two, and finally he plucked the ice apple from Clark's hand, placing it on the leaf before holding it out to him. Then--
"Tell me," he said, looking away. "About Smallville. Your parents."
Clark only beamed, taking the apple carefully back when the Batman offered it to him. He lifted it high and took a good look, turning it on his fingertips. It really was beautiful. The gold was almost metallic, and it shone like polished jewellery. The red was ruby, like the stones in Smallville--the ones that had fallen from the sky, and were said to be magic but bizarrely just made Clark feel sick.
"It's beautiful. It's a little farming village--a few hundred people. We provide all the corn for the land of Metropolis, but my family keep cows, too. It's hard work."
And it would make sense that he stayed there, that he helped them, if not for the fact that Luthor was breathing down his neck. Instead they would retire, sell almost everything and live on it for the rest of their days. For Clark, who had always craved something away from the farm, it sadly made sense. This castle, the magic of it all, the Batman. Could this be what he was looking for? It seemed crazy.
No, the whole thing was crazy.
Clark smiled and stepped forward, the apple in one hand, moving to brush his fingertips against the edge of the uninjured wing.
"My parents are good people, and they love me very much. I'm their only child, but they...found me. They couldn't have any children of their own, and one day there I was in a cornfield."
The smile on Clark's lips when he spoke about his family sent a spike of jealousy through Batman's heart, and he almost stepped back, jerking his wing away so Clark wouldn't be touching it-touching him. It was a foolish, childish impulse, but there was a sharp pain within himself, and he wondered, bitterly, why it couldn't be him that brought such a smile to Clark's lips. Why must it be something that he could not have, something that he had left behind to come here, that made him smile that way?
But he was here. He had chosen this lonely castle, staying with nothing but a monster, and Batman once again wondered why he had returned. The sun did not deserve to be hidden within the dark shadows of the castle, and yet that was what Clark had chosen, and Batman was far, far too selfish to send him back, now that he had him. He had sent him back once, and it was already too much. Only a fool sent a treasure back once. So what would he be, if he sent him back twice?
Batman shook his head a little, dislodging those thoughts, and took a low breath.
"Where did they find you?" He didn't ask- why did they keep you? Why did they let you stay? The answer seemed obvious enough.
"It was the back field." Clark answered, thoughtfully. He was recanting a story he didn't know, something he'd been told rather than something he remembered. "Land we never really used, actually, but back then times were pretty hard and dad had to make use of as much of it as possible, even though there was just him. So he'd planted corn out there, and then stars rained down from the sky. Well, he had to go see how bad the damage was, right? And there I was, just sitting there crying.
"The crop was pretty much ruined - only enough to feed the cows, not to sell - but they had me, so it didn't matter any more. They used to joke that I'd fallen right out of heaven and into their hearts, but people don't just fall out of the sky."
Clark laughed, easily, and shook his hair out of his face, stepping away into the snow.
"Come on. Let's find something to collect the apples in."
With the brightest smile, Clark turned again and led the way through the orchard, heading for one of the small outbuildings where things were stacked up under piles of snow. There had to be something there; a pail or a bushel.
The smile was like the sun, warming Batman up from the inside, and he ducked his head suddenly, ashamed and embarrassed at how easily this man could move him with just the smallest curve of the lips. He wanted to reach out, touch him, and feel that smile and that warmth against his too-ugly skin. But... Batman only nodded, walking towards the outbuilding that he vaguely remembered as containing supplies.
Part of his mind was already running through what Clark had said. It would be foolish to think that he was truly an angel, fallen from the skies- but the stars had fallen, and there he was.
His voice was soft, musing and almost melancholic, as if he wasn't even aware that he was speaking: "It's as if you were an angel fallen from the stars, but angels do not grow up, do they?"
Then, as if he was suddenly aware of what he had said, Batman ducked his head still further, averted his eyes and turned away. He kept the rest of his words hidden inside, embarrassed once more, ashamed once more.
You're as beautiful as one.
Clark looked a little bit surprised by the words, and had to restrain himself from laughing because the Batman looked so humiliated even by the few he'd let loose. It was sweet. A little cliché, maybe, but sweet none the less, and he stepped forward and let his hand settle between the creatures folded wings, against his back.
"If I were an angel, then we would be able to fly together, wouldn't we? I think I'd love to be able to fly. To feel the wind in my face." He stepped past him, reaching forward to brush snow away from one of the piles, and pulling a slightly old, ravaged looking wicker basket from underneath it. It was weather torn but whole, and it'd do just fine for carrying apples in.
Clark straightened back up, holding it proudly.
"When your wing heals you have to tell me all about it. About what it feels like to fly. To be able to look down on the world below you and know that you're a part of it, even if you're miles away."
To fly... Batman looked at him for a moment, at the tableau of this strange, special man holding up an old basket as if it was a treasure, more comfortable with it than the various beautifully-made, antique and precious cutlery that he ate his food with every day. For a moment, Batman had a glimpse of what Clark looked like at home; of what a vision he must be every day in Smallville, dressed in his common work clothes.
And he wondered: why had an entire town let a man like this go? Why had he not been chased, precious like a jewel, unto the edge of the Earth? Why was it that a beast as ugly as Batman was the only thing that seemed to see his beauty?
Or was it only his vanity that assumed that no one saw Clark as he was? Perhaps it was simply that he wanted to believe that no one did, for if they saw Clark and wanted him, then what could Batman offer except a cold castle and an ugly face? He had nothing to win Clark with, not even gentle words and charms, for Batman might be a Prince, but he had never tried to woo anyone.
Much less a man. Much less someone like him.
He took a breath, and worked at his wing a little. Batman lifted his head, then shifted his eyes away. The red of his eyes was unnatural and he did not want Clark to see it. Still, it was strange--for him to have taken so long to grow truly humiliated by his own looks.
"I'll take you flying," he said, and his voice was soft, half-hopeful. "When my wing is healed, I will take you over the forests. The skies look different, when you are so close to them."
* * * * *
Take him flying he did.
The wing took three weeks to heal; long enough for the last of the snow to melt away and an early spring to grip the garden. Things did not stay frozen and cold within the walls with Clark there, even though outside the deep snow was still treacherous and thick, and would be for many months still. They had spent those three weeks getting to know each other all the better, the Batman opening up to Clark more with each passing day, and Clark learning to love the beast despite his frightening appearance. He was human beneath the fur and red eyes, with human fears and human desires.
The speed of the healing Clark accounted to the magic of the castle, though he had caught Batman caring for his wounds one day and marvelled that he was doing all the dressing and bandaging himself. Sure enough, three weeks later he was able to fly again, even carry Clark's weight, and the promise that he'd given came true.
They soared high above the world below in the cold January sky. Clark was warm enough, clinging to the Bat's waist as they flew, marvelling at the sights below him. Gotham was a beautiful kingdom, with high mountains and the sparkling city of Arkham not far from the Manor in which they lived. There were villages that he had never seen before, and away in the distance he could see his country--Metropolis.
"It's beautiful. You really... You really meant it. It seems like the sky is all around us. Like we're a part of it!"
The joy on Clark's face was a precious sight to behold, and Batman could only hold onto him tightly as he flew over the trees. The harsh bite of winter was over, and even this high up, the air was still warm- and he couldn't help but think it strange, that it was cold all the way up to the skies. The clouds were frost itself, even though they were so near the sun - there was a reason there that Batman did not understand, and he wished he could keep his wings and his humanity both, to bring the great philosophers here to study the sky.
But in the meantime, there was Clark. There was Gotham, dark in her beauty, her stone bricks gleaming dark in the sunlight - it was mainly made of gilded, dark volcanic rock. At Clark's joy, however, Batman swerved, turning towards Metropolis. Towards the city of Luthor, with its shining limestone castles and buildings, the direct contrast to Gotham's grey stone and the physical manifestation of its rulers' greed and want. The highest tower- the castle of the Luthors, shone high up, nearly reaching the skies.
And at the base of the tower- a group. A mob, with flashing torches. Batman's wings angled suddenly without his conscious wish, swooping downwards and moving towards one of the large, heavily-leafed trees.
"There," he whispered to Clark, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read the leader of the mob's lips. All he could see of him was the shining crown of his bald head, and Batman cocked his head to the side, ears flicking forward and back even as he ducked down further, out of sight.
"What is happening, over there?"
For reasons that Clark couldn't begin to know, he could hear them. It had always seemed normal, never extraordinary to him, that he could hear people at a distance, and now was no different. The sound of Lex's voice was gruff and angry. He was baiting the crowd, encouraging them to roar and lift their pitchforks higher.
"The beast has taken one of our own,” Lex was saying, “And as Lord of Metropolis I am duty bound to raise an army to slay it. This creature--it devours your young! It's coming for you and everything you own! It doesn't belong here! Who of you will be brave enough to join me? Who will come with me to vanquish this beast, who preys on your livestock and your children? This winged bat, this foul monstrosity?"
The crowd roared again and raised their weapons higher, and Lex - helped onto his white horse by his men - strode out in front of the crowd and kicked the magnificent animal, a creature Clark knew to be called Bucephalus, into a rear. He swung his sword around and turned the raging mob toward Gotham.
"We have to go," Clark, tugging desperately on Batman's arm, looked urgently away. "We have to go now."
Batman looked at him for a long moment. For some reason, he thought that Clark could hear them, even this far away; even this far up. There was fear in those brilliant blue eyes, and that made the decision for him very quickly. He nodded sharply.
"Hold tight."
They took to the air again at great speed, careful to remain over the clouds, letting the white fluffy things hide them. Well, not as white as fluffy as they should be - a storm was coming, and it was almost appropriate. There was fear in Clark's eyes; fear for that man, for his purpose as he rode off. For his direction, coming towards them - even though Batman could hear nothing, the soft rumbling of far-off thunder sounded remarkably like hooves.
He landed near the gates, his wings folding beside him as he let Clark find his feet again. Then he looked at Clark, aware of how monstrous he looked in the fading light of the day.
"What did you hear?"
Clark found his feet rather well for someone who wasn't used to flying, instantly raising his head up to look around. The clouds flashed. A few seconds, and the rumble would come crashing down around them, so he spoke fast, wrapping his arms around himself to keep warm as the wind rose and ripped around them.
"They're coming,” Clark’s breath was short, his words hesitant. “They're coming here."
The rumble followed, loud, drowning out their heavy breaths, and Clark reached out for Batman on instinct, took hold of the edge of his wing and pulled gently, pulled him toward the castle.
"Please. Let's get inside. Lock the doors, put out all the lights. Maybe if it doesn't look like there's someone here they'll leave us alone."
It was pointless. Hopeless. Luthor was a determined man, and he had been stung by Clark's flight. He had come here to take him back, and exact revenge on the beast that had harboured him; there was no doubt.
The words resonated in Batman's head even as he began to move, nudging Clark and nearly shoving him in through the gates. They closed behind him immediately, the locks falling into place behind them. So Alfred had heard as well. Red eyes narrowed, and he threw a gaze backwards.
He had been expecting this for a long time. Long before Clark had ever brightened his doorstep. He had lived in fear for the first few weeks of this beastly existence, waiting for the people of Gotham to find out about how far their Prince had fallen; to call him a demon and to rush at him with pitchforks and knives and torches, ready to kill him to eradicate from their world a so called 'monster'.
But they hadn't. They hadn't, and now it was Metropolis that was coming for him. Metropolis' Luthors, who had an eye on Clark--Batman's exhale sounded remarkably tight and dangerous, a low, sharp hiss. He would not crawl away with his tail between his legs. He would not turn away. These were not the people he had betrayed; these were people coming to steal the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.
No.
"I refuse," he said quietly, then tipped his head up, pride in every line of his body as he looked at Clark. His voice dipped, roughened. "I will not."
He turned around, facing the gates. "Get inside and stay safe, Clark. But they will have to get through me before they can think of claiming you."
His answer was not unexpected, and it didn't go without effort on Clark's behalf to change it, either.
"No," Clark whispered, reaching for Batman's wing, pulling himself closer again. He refused to be pushed away, refused to be protected like this; like some helpless maiden. "This isn't like the wolves. They'll kill you."
Desperation and horrible pain shone in his blue eyes. He didn't want to watch this noble bat reduced to beast. They'd kill him and make Clark watch, make him walk back to Metropolis beside Luthor's horse, a pageant boy with the Batman's head on a pike walking ahead of them. His eyes would be lidded and sightless, never again to live, never again to shine with the love that Clark occasionally saw in them; the love that he knew was in Batman's heart. Batman knew that Clark's love would die then too, that he would become an empty shell with nothing to live for, his heart broken by grief. It was what he had been trying to avoid.
Clark tightened his grip, fighting the very nature of similar images that no doubt assaulted his mind.
"How can I go inside and stay safe when I know you're out here doing precisely the opposite. Do you think I want to see them kill you? My safety means nothing if it comes at the price of your life." Earnest, desperate, Clark pulled again. "Come back to the house with me. Help me barricade the doors."
"They won't leave even if we do," the Bat's voice was a low murmur, but the determination was clear. It was a hard voice, deepened and roughened until it was barely recognisable as human, words torn apart and placed back together haphazardly, all the edges shown proudly. Like a wolf baring his teeth even before the hunters arrived, simply because he could hear their footsteps.
Even if it was hoof beats in this case.
Batman turned his head, and looked out of the closed and locked gates. "I have been expecting this for a long time."
He turned around and looked at Clark, red eyes sharp beneath the blackness of the coming storm. Reaching out with a wing, he let the edge trace against Clark's cheekbones, almost stroking against him. His cheek was so incredibly smooth, like a child's- and Batman suddenly swept out his other wing, shielding Clark from sight while at the same time nudging him back towards the castle.
"Your safety is everything," he said almost brusquely. Batman could now definitely hear the stampeding hoof beats coming closer and closer, trampling on the forest trees and shoots and bushes. The animals were shouting and shrieking and squeaking in rage as they dove away from the horses' feet, from the shouting men raising their pitchforks.
"Go. The house will protect you."
* * * * *
part three