FIC: "Song for a Season" (Superman/Batman)
Happy New Year's Eve, Everyone! :-)
Wow. After a mad dash back up from my sister's snow-choked town last night, to cap it all off , a huge fire (!) (that we could even spot right from my Mom's living room window!) ripped through a neighbourhood just across the highway from us at midnight - and had the unexpected result of knocking out our cable - including the internet! No one was hurt though, and though the flames were rather spectacular, the fire dept. put it out with impressive alacrity.
But I hope my fic for the World's Finest Gift Exchange still technically makes the Dec. 31st deadline today! (sorry for any delay!)
I claimed this prompt in early December, and had written a very rough draft a while ago, but what with a lot of commitments and demands on my time this holiday, (oooh, I do need to be working on another S/B fic that's late!) only typed it out onto a computer this morning. It is a bit short, but hopefully answers the prompt okay! It's not been beta'd, I'm afraid, and I've tried to scan it for any errors or typos, but please forgive me if you spot any! (and let me know and I'll fix promptly. *chortle* ) I hope you enjoy!
Happy New Year, folks! :-)
Pax, Raising a Cup of Cheer to All! (and back to being busy working on my overdue S/B E-Book Story!)
FIC: "Song for a Season"
Author: Paxwolf
Fandom: World's Finest - Superman/Batman
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Superman and Batman belong to DC Comics, and nothing but angsty fun is being made from this story here. :-)
Prompt: F38 - Bruce tries to soothe Clark suffering from nightmares. (by singing a song as a bonus)
I really hope this fulfills the requester's hopes!
"Song for a Season"
By Paxwolf
(FIC PROMPT # F38: Bruce soothes Clark after a nightmare. Bonus: Bruce sings Clark a song.)
For the World's Finest Gift Exchange Fic prompt, requested by rai_daydreamer.
He watched him, his heart aching.
The man beside him twisted again in the sheets, and a strangled gasp once more burst forth from tightly compressed lips.
Bruce closed his eyes in empathetic pain, and reached out a hand, lightly settling it on his sleeping companion's shoulder. The man flinched violently, as if the touch was terrifying to him, and Bruce lifted his hand, his mouth turning down even more, his soul hurting in a way the world would never see as he watched Clark thrash in the grip of his nightmare.
This was the seventh nightmare he'd been witness to in the past two weeks. The same damn nightmare, recurring in a vicious loop that dragged even the mighty Superman closer to the edge of exhaustion and insanity. Each and every time Clark suffered from one, ever since the extraordinary day that the two of them had finally, incredibly, become more than friends (and still Bruce could scarce believe the truth of it), Bruce would awaken him, shake him loose from the dream that had so insidiously sunk its claws into him, and do his best to erase its lingering effects. He had done so for weeks. And each time the expression on Clark's face, of first soul-numbing terror, then absolute shock at seeing someone there at his side who wasn't that ... HIM, (or sometimes, Bruce imagined, her) then one of blessed relief, and finally of deepest gratitude, pulled on Bruce's heartstrings a little more, and he knew he was lost, as surely and irrevocably as if he had been plunged into a strange and alien and yet oh so human world that he had never before had the faintest inkling of, even in his vastly experienced life.
He had not thought it possible that he could have loved this man any more than he already did, and ever since he had first discovered and acknowledged the fact that he had fallen in love with Clark - with Superman of all people - and he still could barely fathom it, nor that miracle of miracles, the realization that Clark, his Clark, his Kal, loved him back - that love had seemed to keep growing, and keep deepening.
And every nightmare tore at Bruce's heart as surely as they tore at Clark's.
He watched as the Man of Steel writhed, lost in his nightmare world.
Oh, god, Clark ...
He had never before understood how the simple feeling of compassion could lead to even greater and more encompassing love, and now he couldn't imagine not understanding that, not seeing it, not experiencing its tremendous power and infinite tenderness. Compassion, he had realized with a kind of wonder he hadn't believed he was capable of, served to only strengthen a bond of love, not weaken it. And now, he wanted nothing more than to rip Clark free from the grasp of the nightmares forever, and battle with all that he had, with every resource imaginable, to vanquish every last thing that had ever or would ever hurt the man who had come to mean everything to him.
But ... but he didn't know how. Already he felt the sting of helplessness creep upon him as he watched Clark struggling with whatever phase of the nightmare he was currently confronted with, and already he knew how terribly far he was from being able to help.
What would be enough to help you in this? Nothing I can possibly do could be enough!
Clark had asked him finally, after the umpteenth time of throwing himself awake, a silent scream torn from his throat, to just let him dream the nightmare through, to allow it to run its course, in the hope that perhaps it was what was needed for him to break free of its enslaving grasp at last. Bruce had agreed, albeit reluctantly, none too sure that such inaction would permit Clark to escape the terrible events that still held him in their chains so firmly. But he had agreed. And here Bruce now sat, able to do nothing but watch his beloved suffer, and simply try to be there, hoping his presence would somehow be enough to trickle through to Clark's subconscious and bring some semblance of comfort.
It's not enough. It's never enough.
Propping himself up on a elbow, he stared moodily down at Clark, his heart clenching at the moan of pure pain that escaped the Kryptonian. He watched as those hands that could crush steel clenched, fisting in the blankets but somehow managing to not tear them the slightest. Even in sleep, in the grip of the worst nightmares he had ever been inflicted with, the man's control was nothing short of amazing. Everything about Clark was amazing, he mused, a small smile coming unbeknownst to his lips.
He shook his head slightly, and then bent down quickly as another gasp tore loose from Clark, anxiously scanning his features. Clark's face was so expressive that Bruce, master of observation that he was, was able to catch each fleeting nuance of emotion, every tinge of memory. And he shuddered a little himself at the thought of what Clark had endured, at what he wasn't simply dreaming, but ... remembering.
Why ... why are you being put through this?
He closed his own eyes, his jaw tight as he too remembered.
Never again. Never.
It was horrid enough that Clark had gone through what he had in his waking life, but to be forced to relive it nearly every night was a supremely injust act of cruelty.
No one deserved that. Least of all Superman.
How can I help you? What more can I do?
He knew he would give up anything to be able to help Clark even the smallest amount, make any sacrifice to ease his suffering, surrender any part of himself in order to bring Kal peace. It was still a strange and new and wondrous thing to him that he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Clark would gladly, without a second thought or any instant's hesitation, do the very same for him.
Clark ...
He sighed, and passed his hand gently over Clark's brow, wiping away the shining perspiration that had beaded there, careful to keep the contact very light. Still Clark trembled, and arched away from his touch, still so lost in the darkness of his dream.
If only there was a way!
But even a thousand therapists wouldn't be able to undo the damage that had been done. And Batman knew better than most what severe trauma could do a man, and it was only a measure of his innate strength and willpower that Clark had not completely crumbled. They had even managed to reach a certain level of peace and acceptance in the aftermath of the ordeal, and Bruce knew that their coming together had provided no small amount of healing for Clark. But still the nightmare persisted.
Kal ...
Bruce sighed, very slightly, and watched Clark as he slept fitfully, caught in the horrific trap of his subconscious.
I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you.
Then Clark seemed to suddenly seize up, every muscle contracting and standing out in stark relief as he lay, entire body taut and shaking with minute tremours, and Bruce braced himself for the worst yet to come.
Damn it, he thought, hating this, hating to see his Kal like this, hating himself for being so completely helpless, so completely useless.
Just like I was when it all really happened. I couldn't ... I couldn't prevent the deaths, the capture, the ... the torture! I couldn't save him. No matter what I did. No matter how I tried!
Clark began to twist, and to mumble out words that Bruce half wished he couldn't make out.
I wasn't enough.
He watched, own fists clenched, as Kal's face revealed the torment he was once more experiencing, and listened as the name of the one responsible was torn from those lips.
Damn that monster. Damn him to Hell!
" ... don't ... you can't ... please ..."
"It's alright," Bruce said, keeping his voice soft, hand trembling with the ache to touch, to soothe. "It's over, Clark ... you're free ..."
But his words went unheard, and Clark shifted restlessly once again, every tendon ridged under his taut and gleaming skin.
"Don't hurt them ... you can't ... they ... please ... please ... you can ... you can ... hurt me instead ..."
Bruce squeezed his eyes shut. No.
Clark gasped again, and shook, and Bruce could only uselessly imagine what torments were passing behind the closed lids, what memory of pain and fear was again being imprinted on his body and mind.
Damn it!
" ... no ... I ... I can't ... no ... " Again he trembled, brows creased, jaw clenched. " ... don't ... please ... not them ..."
Abruptly Bruce realized he himself was trembling too, and his own arms were growing sore from the restrained tension in his shoulders. He made a deliberate effort to relax, eyes never leaving Clark, but it was, of course, a lost cause.
How can he expect me to simply watch this, and do nothing? He thought in despair. I can't! Clark!
A muffled scream brought his attention back full force to the so very vulnerable Kryptonian at his side, and in worry he reached down again, unable to stop himself, hands running over the too-hot skin in a desperate attempt to soothe, to bring comfort, to ease the anguish.
Kal!
That was when a torrent of words in other languages came tumbling out, only some of which Bruce could make out. Snatches of German, French, Dutch, Greek, and a half dozen other languages tore out in a cascade amidst jagged breaths and harsh groans. Bruce bit his lip and tasted blood.
Enough. Enough. Clark, I can't bear it! I can't bear to see you like this. Enough!
The nightmare wasn't easing at all; it was tearing him apart. Bruce couldn't stand it any longer. He knew then that he didn't have the strength to withstand the agony of watching him suffer like this. Not when now, unlike then, there was something he could do.
You won't touch him, monster. He's not yours. You don't have him. Never again.
He reached out again, this time with a slightly rougher touch, gripping Clark's arms firmly even as Clark tried to wrench back out of his grip, his head thrashing violently from side to side against the pillow.
"Clark!"
They would have to find another way to rid themselves of the nightmare. They would have to.
He's free of you.
" ... no ... no!"
The dream words had again reverted into English. Bruce didn't know if that was a good sign or not.
He will always be free of you. I swear it!
"Clark, wake up. It's just a dream. Wake up!"
Again, a strangled sound came from Superman's throat, as if he was choking. Bruce's lips and chest tightened, but he didn't relent.
" ... please ... no ... "
"Clark Kent, you need to wake up now." He shook harder.
Clark gasped, still locked in the nightmare, in the memories. " ... no .. don't ... please ... please ... no ... don't ... touch me ..."
Bruce closed his eyes, jaw rigid. But he only leaned closer, and shook Clark with greater force.
"Wake up, Clark! It's only a nightmare. It's not real!" How he wished that were true. Oh, how he wished it.
"Bruce!"
His name bursting out from Clark startled Bruce for a moment, and he stared down, for an instant sure Clark had come awake very suddenly, but peering closer in the dim light, he saw that he slept on, and dreamt on, unawares.
Oh, Clark ... I'm fine now ... can't you know that you are alright as well? That we're both safe?
Clark stirred fitfully, and this time a whimper escaped his half open mouth. Bruce shook him again. He supposed he was lucky that Kryptonian strength didn't simply tear him apart while Superman was in the throes of these dreams. But somehow, thankfully, even deeply asleep and terrorized, Clark seemed to hold himself in check.
Another blurb of foreign languages abruptly streamed out. Bruce gritted his teeth and decided to try a different tack. He drew a breath.
"Kal-El, for the love of Rao, awaken!" he commanded in flawless Kryptonese, and Kal froze, and he could see his eyes move under the closed lids more quickly. Was he coming out of it?
Clark lay suddenly still, the only movement the continuous heaving of his chest. Judging it safe, Bruce drew closer, and lay back down, very gently enfolding Clark in his arms. "Kal," he whispered, and stroked callused hands over his back and up his tensed neck in long, light, easing caresses. "Kal ..."
He could hear and feel the rough breathing even out slightly, and he carefully tightened his arms in a gentle hug. If he had done that earlier, he would have risked Clark thinking he was being trapped, pinned down, and possibly lashing out in frantic terror. But now, he was still, and for the first time beginning to respond to Bruce's voice and soothing touch. Finally. Bruce felt a swell of relief.
You're free.
"It's all right," he murmured, stroking up the back of his neck and through black, silky strands of hair. "Ssshhh. It's okay now, Clark. I'm here. You can wake up. You're safe."
You're safe.
He continued to hold him, feeling the trembling subsiding, and the breathing begin to calm, and repeated soft words of comfort, of assurance, of love.
I'm here.
"It's all right," he said quietly, over and over again. "It's all right, Clark."
After what seemed like an eon of concern and worry to Bruce, as he continued to embrace Clark, and whisper his words of comfort again and again, tenderly caressing everywhere he could reach, he felt the man in his arms stir again, and saw his eyelids flutter. And then all of a sudden it was like the sun had come out, shining in a dark sky as he found himself staring down into depthless blue, glittering twilight dark in the dim light from outside. Clark's eyes blinked open still further, and gazed up for a long, still moment into Bruce's eyes as he gazed back down. For a brief span of time there was no sound but that of quick breathing in the silent room.
"Bruce ..." Clark finally said, voice hoarse and quiet, and Bruce could feel a little tremour run suddenly through his frame.
"I'm here," Bruce said instantly. I'll always be here. "It was the dream again. And nothing more. It's over. You're safe, now. Clark ... you're safe."
How can you believe me, after all that's happened? He thought in despair. Nothing I could ever say is enough.
He watched as Clark swallowed convulsively, and the tremble intensified throughout his body. "It ... it was ..."
"It was bad?" Bruce asked carefully, though of course he already knew it had been. It had been the worst yet. But maybe, just maybe, Clark needed to talk about it.
Whatever helps him. Whatever will help him deal with it, I will do it gladly.
But Clark only nodded shakily, and shut his eyes tightly again, not speaking. The fine tremours didn't cease. Bruce frowned, an icy fist clenching around his heart.
"It was only a dream," he said again, damning his uselessness. "It's behind you. It's over. It's alright now."
Not enough ...
The tiniest of sounds escaped Clark's mouth before he could suppress it, and Bruce held him tighter.
Damn, damn, damn it all!
For long moments, Clark continued to shake and Bruce could feel him trying so very hard to control the shivering and the harsh cadence of his breathing.
"Clark ... you don't need to hold it in. You don't need to control. Not here. Not with me." Never with me.
Clark drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes again. And Bruce wanted to cry out against the haunted quality in that azure, pain-ridden gaze.
"I'm sorry, Bruce." The hoarse voice dropped to a whisper, and Clark turned his head away. "I'm sorry."
Bruce felt like screaming, and he clutched Clark against him more tightly. But his voice when it came was even, soft, and measured. "There's no need to apologize, Clark. Not ever." He paused, and ran his fingers with great care through Clark's glorious hair. "You can let go. You don't have to hold it all in." He laid a hand on Clark's cheek and gently turned Clark's head back towards him. His voice lowered still further. "Let go, Kal."
"I ... I'm trying, Bruce ..." Clark's voice was muffled against Bruce's chest. "I don't know ... if I can ..."
Bruce looked down at him, biting his lip hard. What can I do? He cradled Clark closer, and Clark sighed slightly, burying his face in Bruce's neck. But he could still feel that Clark hadn't relaxed, and his limbs continued to remain taut and quivering.
How can I possibly comfort him from this?
He could only hold Clark and continue to shush and stroke him, and try to pour out his love and care with all his mental might.
Nothing is good enough ...
"I'm glad you're here," Clark whispered, one hand curling loosely over Bruce's wrist. But his chest continued to rise and fall a little too fast, belying the calm tone he was striving for.
"I am too," answered Bruce softly, but his mind was whirling faster than the snowflakes falling in flurries against the mullioned windowpane. "I'm happy you're here, with me. Here. Like this."
Clark shifted slightly. After a moment, he spoke again, the words nearly too soft for Bruce to hear. "Are you? Even with being woken repeatedly from your sleep by my scr... by me?"
Bruce had to fight to keep down the growl of denial that rose in his throat. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I am." How ... how could I be anything else? He swallowed. It's the greatest privilege and gift I've ever been given to be able to have you here, like this, with me. To have you at all. He hesitated, then tightened his hold. "I've ... I've never wanted anything more." You have no idea. None at all.
He felt Clark move against him, an unidentifiable sound emerging from him. Bruce couldn't tell if it was a laugh or a whimper. But after another moment, he heard the soft voice murmuring, "Neither have I. That ... that means a lot to me, Bruce." He drew a shay breath. "You mean a lot to me."
Bruce couldn't quite fight down the warmth that seemed to fill his entire chest, or the smile that threatened to split his face. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Clark's head. Clark's hand slid further up his arm and tightened slightly.
But still Bruce could feel the minute trembling that Clark couldn't quite hide, and his frown deepened.
What can I do? What can I do that would be enough? What power do I have to help you?
Unbidden, an ancient memory suddenly rose up from the far recesses of his mind. An image sprang to life in his head, one of his father, long ago, on a chilly autumn evening, holding his mother the day after she had lost her older sister. He had been singing.
Bruce remembered he had been very small, and had climbed up into the bed with his parents, watching, scared, as his mother cried, inconsolable in his father's arms. And then his father had begun to sing, his deep voice rich and even and entirely soothing. And Bruce's eidetic memory was suddenly calling up the melody and the lyrics clearly, as if he had only heard the song yesterday.
That song ...
He drew back slightly and looked down at Clark, curled in on himself in the large bed as if terribly cold, huddled and miserable-looking, despite everything, despite anything Bruce had done or could do.
Clark ... I'd do anything for you ... oh, my Kal ...
He hesitated only the briefest of moments more, and then opened his mouth, and quietly, so softly, began to sing.
"Let me take you away, so far away,
Where you may for once see
All that I do and all that I say
Is all for you to at last be free
And I will play my part
So that you may finally see my heart."
The refrain ended on a low note, and he saw that Clark had lifted his head, eyes wide in his pale face, staring at Bruce. Was that a look of astonishment or wonder in his gaze?
Will ... will it help?
Feeling slightly foolish, but determined, Bruce sang on.
"I know you're feeling lost,
But look a little closely,
I've somehow lost my way too,
So let's be lost together -
We don't have to walk alone.
"Someday we'll know such peace
That two people dream of,
But never have.
We will know it, you and I."
Clark's eyes stayed trained on him, as if mesmerized, and Bruce geared up his courage to continue, repeating the refrain softly before moving into the second verse, the tune sure and resonant in his mind and in his voice.
Please ...
"And then we'll finally be found
The grace we'll have discovered together
And that blessed freedom will brightly sound,
And keep us in one another's arms forever."
He could see Clark's body loosen just the slightest, long legs unfurling the smallest bit at the tight knees. He seemed entirely enraptured, staring at Bruce with eyes that had regained a small measure of sparkle and warmth to them. Surely that wasn't just his imagination? Or wishful thinking? He kept singing, the music filling him and filling the room with its nostalgic rhythm.
"It's too much for my captivated heart to take,
unless I've got hope
So please, let me reach out my hand
as my soul yearns for your love!"
Please ... Father ... let this work ... let it help him ...
"Let me say, 'thank you', my friend, my love,
For you have saved me,
your light has shone through my darkness,
You have shown me the way to come home.
It's my turn now, my heart,
So let me me lead you on the path
Let me be the one to shine for you,
Let us not be lost forever, but
Let us find our way home ... together."
Suddenly Bruce could feel Clark's hands encircling his own, gently clasping them between them, and the skin felt less clammy, closer to its normal warmth, as, startled, he looked down at him. He stopped singing and opened his mouth to say something, but Clark shook his head slowly, eyes pleading with him.
"Please, Bruce, don't ... don't stop."
Bruce felt his breath catch slightly at the look in Clark's eyes. He had to take a breath to continue, and then managed to softly sing the concluding verses to the old song.
"But lost or at our dwelling place,
It's all the same to me,
For no matter what else happens in life,
as long as we have each other,
I'll always find my home in your arms ...
And you'll find yours in mine."
Clark's eye were large and shining in the soft light, his now normally-hued skin reflecting the shadow of falling snow from the uncovered window. His tremours had stopped, and he looked more comfortable for the first time since awakening. Bruce felt a welling up in his heart, and had to fight back the glimmer of moisture in his own eyes that echoed Clark's as he gathered him once more in his arms, and drew breath to continue the tune with a final repeat of the chorus.
"Someday we'll know such joy
that two people dream of,
But never have.
We will know it, you and I.
Is it helping? Is it enough? At least a little bit? Or am just making a complete and utter fool of myself?
So let me take you away, so far away,
Where you may finally see
All that I do and say
Is for you to at last be free
And I will play my part
So that now you may see my heart."
Clark ... can you see? Can you hear it?
His voice lowered, he lifted Clark's hand in his own, and sang the coda with a slower tempo, dropping his voice until the last words were sung at nearly a whisper.
"And our grace in each other will sound
And we'll never be lost again or alone
We will have found
At long last
Our way along the road together
Never more on our own
Finally facing the demons of our past ...
You and I will be free
And at long last ... we shall be ...Home."
The final note was a long one, finishing with a vibrato flourish, and Bruce did his best to echo what he recalled in his memory, and he could feel Clark's mouth smile against his shoulder.
Clark ... my Kal ...
For several heartbeats, they lay without speaking, but this time the silence was peaceful, and no longer filled with tension and terror and anxiety.
Would it be enough? Did he ... did I ...? Bruce let the thought trail off, and said nothing.
Finally, Clark moved, but only enough to pull back to look at Bruce directly.
"I didn't know you could sing."
Bruce could actually feel a blush stain his cheeks. When was the last time he had done that?
"I ... it' s just an old song. '40's era, I think. I'm not sure who the artist was. Maybe a Sinatra contemporary." He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. "I ... I only just remembered it. My father used to sing it to my mother. I'm not sure I pulled it off. It's a bit of an ... unusual arrangement."
I ... doubt it would be enough to help you.
Clark didn't smile, but there was an expression in his eyes that Bruce hadn't seen since before the entire crisis had started nearly two months before. His breath caught at the sight of it. "I loved it," Clark said, voice very soft, and very serious. Bruce felt a sudden warmth bubbling up from inside again, which seemed to increase in heat at the smile that now graced Kal's mouth. "And you have a beautiful singing voice. A rich and smooth baritone that I wouldn't have expected."
Bruce tried to look lofty. "Well, you know the Waynes are quite cultured folk. Of course musical talent lies in the blood."
Clark actually gave a small chuckle at that, and Bruce couldn't help his own small smile. But Clark's gaze remained deep, and arrowed straight into Bruce's soul.
"Thank you, Bruce," he said, voice low, and then glanced away a little shyly, to stare down at their clasped hands. "Truly. Thank you. That ... that was something. I ..." he looked up again, and though the shadows within could still be seen, the gaze was clear now, and bluer than the velveting sky. "It helped, Bruce. It ... helped." Bruce could see him swallow hard, but he did not look away again. "I know, with you, I can get through this. With you at my side, with you in my heart, I am no longer lost." He reached up to touch Bruce's face. "I am home."
Bruce tried to say something, but his throat worked and no words would come out. What was wrong with him?
But no. He knew. He knew there was nothing wrong, and even if there had been, he wouldn't fix what was undeniably right for him, for both of them. He wouldn't change it, nor for anything in the world.
Words had done nothing to help, and then, miraculously, wonderfully, aligned with pure, sweet music, they had seemed to do everything.
Thank you. Thank you.
But was it enough? There was still such a long road to travel, for both of them. Healing wouldn't come in only one night, with one song.
Words had so very often failed him. They had so often failed Clark.
So, he didn't say anything more with them at all.
Instead, he let his instincts guide him, and enfolded himself around Clark, strong, protective arms circling around him, his so very vulnerable Superman, his Clark, his Kal, his!, holding very tightly and yet with infinite compassion and tenderness, and let his embrace - and his heart - do all the rest of the speaking for him.
And it was enough.
Note: The song used here is entitled "Never Lost Again", and actually has a melody, which of course I can't really share here, but it's sort of a cross between "The Way You Look Tonight" (from the film Swing Time) and "Lost" by Micheal Buble, in case you were wondering! :-)
Wow. After a mad dash back up from my sister's snow-choked town last night, to cap it all off , a huge fire (!) (that we could even spot right from my Mom's living room window!) ripped through a neighbourhood just across the highway from us at midnight - and had the unexpected result of knocking out our cable - including the internet! No one was hurt though, and though the flames were rather spectacular, the fire dept. put it out with impressive alacrity.
But I hope my fic for the World's Finest Gift Exchange still technically makes the Dec. 31st deadline today! (sorry for any delay!)
I claimed this prompt in early December, and had written a very rough draft a while ago, but what with a lot of commitments and demands on my time this holiday, (oooh, I do need to be working on another S/B fic that's late!) only typed it out onto a computer this morning. It is a bit short, but hopefully answers the prompt okay! It's not been beta'd, I'm afraid, and I've tried to scan it for any errors or typos, but please forgive me if you spot any! (and let me know and I'll fix promptly. *chortle* ) I hope you enjoy!
Happy New Year, folks! :-)
Pax, Raising a Cup of Cheer to All! (and back to being busy working on my overdue S/B E-Book Story!)
FIC: "Song for a Season"
Author: Paxwolf
Fandom: World's Finest - Superman/Batman
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Superman and Batman belong to DC Comics, and nothing but angsty fun is being made from this story here. :-)
Prompt: F38 - Bruce tries to soothe Clark suffering from nightmares. (by singing a song as a bonus)
I really hope this fulfills the requester's hopes!
"Song for a Season"
By Paxwolf
(FIC PROMPT # F38: Bruce soothes Clark after a nightmare. Bonus: Bruce sings Clark a song.)
For the World's Finest Gift Exchange Fic prompt, requested by rai_daydreamer.
He watched him, his heart aching.
The man beside him twisted again in the sheets, and a strangled gasp once more burst forth from tightly compressed lips.
Bruce closed his eyes in empathetic pain, and reached out a hand, lightly settling it on his sleeping companion's shoulder. The man flinched violently, as if the touch was terrifying to him, and Bruce lifted his hand, his mouth turning down even more, his soul hurting in a way the world would never see as he watched Clark thrash in the grip of his nightmare.
This was the seventh nightmare he'd been witness to in the past two weeks. The same damn nightmare, recurring in a vicious loop that dragged even the mighty Superman closer to the edge of exhaustion and insanity. Each and every time Clark suffered from one, ever since the extraordinary day that the two of them had finally, incredibly, become more than friends (and still Bruce could scarce believe the truth of it), Bruce would awaken him, shake him loose from the dream that had so insidiously sunk its claws into him, and do his best to erase its lingering effects. He had done so for weeks. And each time the expression on Clark's face, of first soul-numbing terror, then absolute shock at seeing someone there at his side who wasn't that ... HIM, (or sometimes, Bruce imagined, her) then one of blessed relief, and finally of deepest gratitude, pulled on Bruce's heartstrings a little more, and he knew he was lost, as surely and irrevocably as if he had been plunged into a strange and alien and yet oh so human world that he had never before had the faintest inkling of, even in his vastly experienced life.
He had not thought it possible that he could have loved this man any more than he already did, and ever since he had first discovered and acknowledged the fact that he had fallen in love with Clark - with Superman of all people - and he still could barely fathom it, nor that miracle of miracles, the realization that Clark, his Clark, his Kal, loved him back - that love had seemed to keep growing, and keep deepening.
And every nightmare tore at Bruce's heart as surely as they tore at Clark's.
He watched as the Man of Steel writhed, lost in his nightmare world.
Oh, god, Clark ...
He had never before understood how the simple feeling of compassion could lead to even greater and more encompassing love, and now he couldn't imagine not understanding that, not seeing it, not experiencing its tremendous power and infinite tenderness. Compassion, he had realized with a kind of wonder he hadn't believed he was capable of, served to only strengthen a bond of love, not weaken it. And now, he wanted nothing more than to rip Clark free from the grasp of the nightmares forever, and battle with all that he had, with every resource imaginable, to vanquish every last thing that had ever or would ever hurt the man who had come to mean everything to him.
But ... but he didn't know how. Already he felt the sting of helplessness creep upon him as he watched Clark struggling with whatever phase of the nightmare he was currently confronted with, and already he knew how terribly far he was from being able to help.
What would be enough to help you in this? Nothing I can possibly do could be enough!
Clark had asked him finally, after the umpteenth time of throwing himself awake, a silent scream torn from his throat, to just let him dream the nightmare through, to allow it to run its course, in the hope that perhaps it was what was needed for him to break free of its enslaving grasp at last. Bruce had agreed, albeit reluctantly, none too sure that such inaction would permit Clark to escape the terrible events that still held him in their chains so firmly. But he had agreed. And here Bruce now sat, able to do nothing but watch his beloved suffer, and simply try to be there, hoping his presence would somehow be enough to trickle through to Clark's subconscious and bring some semblance of comfort.
It's not enough. It's never enough.
Propping himself up on a elbow, he stared moodily down at Clark, his heart clenching at the moan of pure pain that escaped the Kryptonian. He watched as those hands that could crush steel clenched, fisting in the blankets but somehow managing to not tear them the slightest. Even in sleep, in the grip of the worst nightmares he had ever been inflicted with, the man's control was nothing short of amazing. Everything about Clark was amazing, he mused, a small smile coming unbeknownst to his lips.
He shook his head slightly, and then bent down quickly as another gasp tore loose from Clark, anxiously scanning his features. Clark's face was so expressive that Bruce, master of observation that he was, was able to catch each fleeting nuance of emotion, every tinge of memory. And he shuddered a little himself at the thought of what Clark had endured, at what he wasn't simply dreaming, but ... remembering.
Why ... why are you being put through this?
He closed his own eyes, his jaw tight as he too remembered.
Never again. Never.
It was horrid enough that Clark had gone through what he had in his waking life, but to be forced to relive it nearly every night was a supremely injust act of cruelty.
No one deserved that. Least of all Superman.
How can I help you? What more can I do?
He knew he would give up anything to be able to help Clark even the smallest amount, make any sacrifice to ease his suffering, surrender any part of himself in order to bring Kal peace. It was still a strange and new and wondrous thing to him that he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Clark would gladly, without a second thought or any instant's hesitation, do the very same for him.
Clark ...
He sighed, and passed his hand gently over Clark's brow, wiping away the shining perspiration that had beaded there, careful to keep the contact very light. Still Clark trembled, and arched away from his touch, still so lost in the darkness of his dream.
If only there was a way!
But even a thousand therapists wouldn't be able to undo the damage that had been done. And Batman knew better than most what severe trauma could do a man, and it was only a measure of his innate strength and willpower that Clark had not completely crumbled. They had even managed to reach a certain level of peace and acceptance in the aftermath of the ordeal, and Bruce knew that their coming together had provided no small amount of healing for Clark. But still the nightmare persisted.
Kal ...
Bruce sighed, very slightly, and watched Clark as he slept fitfully, caught in the horrific trap of his subconscious.
I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you.
Then Clark seemed to suddenly seize up, every muscle contracting and standing out in stark relief as he lay, entire body taut and shaking with minute tremours, and Bruce braced himself for the worst yet to come.
Damn it, he thought, hating this, hating to see his Kal like this, hating himself for being so completely helpless, so completely useless.
Just like I was when it all really happened. I couldn't ... I couldn't prevent the deaths, the capture, the ... the torture! I couldn't save him. No matter what I did. No matter how I tried!
Clark began to twist, and to mumble out words that Bruce half wished he couldn't make out.
I wasn't enough.
He watched, own fists clenched, as Kal's face revealed the torment he was once more experiencing, and listened as the name of the one responsible was torn from those lips.
Damn that monster. Damn him to Hell!
" ... don't ... you can't ... please ..."
"It's alright," Bruce said, keeping his voice soft, hand trembling with the ache to touch, to soothe. "It's over, Clark ... you're free ..."
But his words went unheard, and Clark shifted restlessly once again, every tendon ridged under his taut and gleaming skin.
"Don't hurt them ... you can't ... they ... please ... please ... you can ... you can ... hurt me instead ..."
Bruce squeezed his eyes shut. No.
Clark gasped again, and shook, and Bruce could only uselessly imagine what torments were passing behind the closed lids, what memory of pain and fear was again being imprinted on his body and mind.
Damn it!
" ... no ... I ... I can't ... no ... " Again he trembled, brows creased, jaw clenched. " ... don't ... please ... not them ..."
Abruptly Bruce realized he himself was trembling too, and his own arms were growing sore from the restrained tension in his shoulders. He made a deliberate effort to relax, eyes never leaving Clark, but it was, of course, a lost cause.
How can he expect me to simply watch this, and do nothing? He thought in despair. I can't! Clark!
A muffled scream brought his attention back full force to the so very vulnerable Kryptonian at his side, and in worry he reached down again, unable to stop himself, hands running over the too-hot skin in a desperate attempt to soothe, to bring comfort, to ease the anguish.
Kal!
That was when a torrent of words in other languages came tumbling out, only some of which Bruce could make out. Snatches of German, French, Dutch, Greek, and a half dozen other languages tore out in a cascade amidst jagged breaths and harsh groans. Bruce bit his lip and tasted blood.
Enough. Enough. Clark, I can't bear it! I can't bear to see you like this. Enough!
The nightmare wasn't easing at all; it was tearing him apart. Bruce couldn't stand it any longer. He knew then that he didn't have the strength to withstand the agony of watching him suffer like this. Not when now, unlike then, there was something he could do.
You won't touch him, monster. He's not yours. You don't have him. Never again.
He reached out again, this time with a slightly rougher touch, gripping Clark's arms firmly even as Clark tried to wrench back out of his grip, his head thrashing violently from side to side against the pillow.
"Clark!"
They would have to find another way to rid themselves of the nightmare. They would have to.
He's free of you.
" ... no ... no!"
The dream words had again reverted into English. Bruce didn't know if that was a good sign or not.
He will always be free of you. I swear it!
"Clark, wake up. It's just a dream. Wake up!"
Again, a strangled sound came from Superman's throat, as if he was choking. Bruce's lips and chest tightened, but he didn't relent.
" ... please ... no ... "
"Clark Kent, you need to wake up now." He shook harder.
Clark gasped, still locked in the nightmare, in the memories. " ... no .. don't ... please ... please ... no ... don't ... touch me ..."
Bruce closed his eyes, jaw rigid. But he only leaned closer, and shook Clark with greater force.
"Wake up, Clark! It's only a nightmare. It's not real!" How he wished that were true. Oh, how he wished it.
"Bruce!"
His name bursting out from Clark startled Bruce for a moment, and he stared down, for an instant sure Clark had come awake very suddenly, but peering closer in the dim light, he saw that he slept on, and dreamt on, unawares.
Oh, Clark ... I'm fine now ... can't you know that you are alright as well? That we're both safe?
Clark stirred fitfully, and this time a whimper escaped his half open mouth. Bruce shook him again. He supposed he was lucky that Kryptonian strength didn't simply tear him apart while Superman was in the throes of these dreams. But somehow, thankfully, even deeply asleep and terrorized, Clark seemed to hold himself in check.
Another blurb of foreign languages abruptly streamed out. Bruce gritted his teeth and decided to try a different tack. He drew a breath.
"Kal-El, for the love of Rao, awaken!" he commanded in flawless Kryptonese, and Kal froze, and he could see his eyes move under the closed lids more quickly. Was he coming out of it?
Clark lay suddenly still, the only movement the continuous heaving of his chest. Judging it safe, Bruce drew closer, and lay back down, very gently enfolding Clark in his arms. "Kal," he whispered, and stroked callused hands over his back and up his tensed neck in long, light, easing caresses. "Kal ..."
He could hear and feel the rough breathing even out slightly, and he carefully tightened his arms in a gentle hug. If he had done that earlier, he would have risked Clark thinking he was being trapped, pinned down, and possibly lashing out in frantic terror. But now, he was still, and for the first time beginning to respond to Bruce's voice and soothing touch. Finally. Bruce felt a swell of relief.
You're free.
"It's all right," he murmured, stroking up the back of his neck and through black, silky strands of hair. "Ssshhh. It's okay now, Clark. I'm here. You can wake up. You're safe."
You're safe.
He continued to hold him, feeling the trembling subsiding, and the breathing begin to calm, and repeated soft words of comfort, of assurance, of love.
I'm here.
"It's all right," he said quietly, over and over again. "It's all right, Clark."
After what seemed like an eon of concern and worry to Bruce, as he continued to embrace Clark, and whisper his words of comfort again and again, tenderly caressing everywhere he could reach, he felt the man in his arms stir again, and saw his eyelids flutter. And then all of a sudden it was like the sun had come out, shining in a dark sky as he found himself staring down into depthless blue, glittering twilight dark in the dim light from outside. Clark's eyes blinked open still further, and gazed up for a long, still moment into Bruce's eyes as he gazed back down. For a brief span of time there was no sound but that of quick breathing in the silent room.
"Bruce ..." Clark finally said, voice hoarse and quiet, and Bruce could feel a little tremour run suddenly through his frame.
"I'm here," Bruce said instantly. I'll always be here. "It was the dream again. And nothing more. It's over. You're safe, now. Clark ... you're safe."
How can you believe me, after all that's happened? He thought in despair. Nothing I could ever say is enough.
He watched as Clark swallowed convulsively, and the tremble intensified throughout his body. "It ... it was ..."
"It was bad?" Bruce asked carefully, though of course he already knew it had been. It had been the worst yet. But maybe, just maybe, Clark needed to talk about it.
Whatever helps him. Whatever will help him deal with it, I will do it gladly.
But Clark only nodded shakily, and shut his eyes tightly again, not speaking. The fine tremours didn't cease. Bruce frowned, an icy fist clenching around his heart.
"It was only a dream," he said again, damning his uselessness. "It's behind you. It's over. It's alright now."
Not enough ...
The tiniest of sounds escaped Clark's mouth before he could suppress it, and Bruce held him tighter.
Damn, damn, damn it all!
For long moments, Clark continued to shake and Bruce could feel him trying so very hard to control the shivering and the harsh cadence of his breathing.
"Clark ... you don't need to hold it in. You don't need to control. Not here. Not with me." Never with me.
Clark drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes again. And Bruce wanted to cry out against the haunted quality in that azure, pain-ridden gaze.
"I'm sorry, Bruce." The hoarse voice dropped to a whisper, and Clark turned his head away. "I'm sorry."
Bruce felt like screaming, and he clutched Clark against him more tightly. But his voice when it came was even, soft, and measured. "There's no need to apologize, Clark. Not ever." He paused, and ran his fingers with great care through Clark's glorious hair. "You can let go. You don't have to hold it all in." He laid a hand on Clark's cheek and gently turned Clark's head back towards him. His voice lowered still further. "Let go, Kal."
"I ... I'm trying, Bruce ..." Clark's voice was muffled against Bruce's chest. "I don't know ... if I can ..."
Bruce looked down at him, biting his lip hard. What can I do? He cradled Clark closer, and Clark sighed slightly, burying his face in Bruce's neck. But he could still feel that Clark hadn't relaxed, and his limbs continued to remain taut and quivering.
How can I possibly comfort him from this?
He could only hold Clark and continue to shush and stroke him, and try to pour out his love and care with all his mental might.
Nothing is good enough ...
"I'm glad you're here," Clark whispered, one hand curling loosely over Bruce's wrist. But his chest continued to rise and fall a little too fast, belying the calm tone he was striving for.
"I am too," answered Bruce softly, but his mind was whirling faster than the snowflakes falling in flurries against the mullioned windowpane. "I'm happy you're here, with me. Here. Like this."
Clark shifted slightly. After a moment, he spoke again, the words nearly too soft for Bruce to hear. "Are you? Even with being woken repeatedly from your sleep by my scr... by me?"
Bruce had to fight to keep down the growl of denial that rose in his throat. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I am." How ... how could I be anything else? He swallowed. It's the greatest privilege and gift I've ever been given to be able to have you here, like this, with me. To have you at all. He hesitated, then tightened his hold. "I've ... I've never wanted anything more." You have no idea. None at all.
He felt Clark move against him, an unidentifiable sound emerging from him. Bruce couldn't tell if it was a laugh or a whimper. But after another moment, he heard the soft voice murmuring, "Neither have I. That ... that means a lot to me, Bruce." He drew a shay breath. "You mean a lot to me."
Bruce couldn't quite fight down the warmth that seemed to fill his entire chest, or the smile that threatened to split his face. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Clark's head. Clark's hand slid further up his arm and tightened slightly.
But still Bruce could feel the minute trembling that Clark couldn't quite hide, and his frown deepened.
What can I do? What can I do that would be enough? What power do I have to help you?
Unbidden, an ancient memory suddenly rose up from the far recesses of his mind. An image sprang to life in his head, one of his father, long ago, on a chilly autumn evening, holding his mother the day after she had lost her older sister. He had been singing.
Bruce remembered he had been very small, and had climbed up into the bed with his parents, watching, scared, as his mother cried, inconsolable in his father's arms. And then his father had begun to sing, his deep voice rich and even and entirely soothing. And Bruce's eidetic memory was suddenly calling up the melody and the lyrics clearly, as if he had only heard the song yesterday.
That song ...
He drew back slightly and looked down at Clark, curled in on himself in the large bed as if terribly cold, huddled and miserable-looking, despite everything, despite anything Bruce had done or could do.
Clark ... I'd do anything for you ... oh, my Kal ...
He hesitated only the briefest of moments more, and then opened his mouth, and quietly, so softly, began to sing.
"Let me take you away, so far away,
Where you may for once see
All that I do and all that I say
Is all for you to at last be free
And I will play my part
So that you may finally see my heart."
The refrain ended on a low note, and he saw that Clark had lifted his head, eyes wide in his pale face, staring at Bruce. Was that a look of astonishment or wonder in his gaze?
Will ... will it help?
Feeling slightly foolish, but determined, Bruce sang on.
"I know you're feeling lost,
But look a little closely,
I've somehow lost my way too,
So let's be lost together -
We don't have to walk alone.
"Someday we'll know such peace
That two people dream of,
But never have.
We will know it, you and I."
Clark's eyes stayed trained on him, as if mesmerized, and Bruce geared up his courage to continue, repeating the refrain softly before moving into the second verse, the tune sure and resonant in his mind and in his voice.
Please ...
"And then we'll finally be found
The grace we'll have discovered together
And that blessed freedom will brightly sound,
And keep us in one another's arms forever."
He could see Clark's body loosen just the slightest, long legs unfurling the smallest bit at the tight knees. He seemed entirely enraptured, staring at Bruce with eyes that had regained a small measure of sparkle and warmth to them. Surely that wasn't just his imagination? Or wishful thinking? He kept singing, the music filling him and filling the room with its nostalgic rhythm.
"It's too much for my captivated heart to take,
unless I've got hope
So please, let me reach out my hand
as my soul yearns for your love!"
Please ... Father ... let this work ... let it help him ...
"Let me say, 'thank you', my friend, my love,
For you have saved me,
your light has shone through my darkness,
You have shown me the way to come home.
It's my turn now, my heart,
So let me me lead you on the path
Let me be the one to shine for you,
Let us not be lost forever, but
Let us find our way home ... together."
Suddenly Bruce could feel Clark's hands encircling his own, gently clasping them between them, and the skin felt less clammy, closer to its normal warmth, as, startled, he looked down at him. He stopped singing and opened his mouth to say something, but Clark shook his head slowly, eyes pleading with him.
"Please, Bruce, don't ... don't stop."
Bruce felt his breath catch slightly at the look in Clark's eyes. He had to take a breath to continue, and then managed to softly sing the concluding verses to the old song.
"But lost or at our dwelling place,
It's all the same to me,
For no matter what else happens in life,
as long as we have each other,
I'll always find my home in your arms ...
And you'll find yours in mine."
Clark's eye were large and shining in the soft light, his now normally-hued skin reflecting the shadow of falling snow from the uncovered window. His tremours had stopped, and he looked more comfortable for the first time since awakening. Bruce felt a welling up in his heart, and had to fight back the glimmer of moisture in his own eyes that echoed Clark's as he gathered him once more in his arms, and drew breath to continue the tune with a final repeat of the chorus.
"Someday we'll know such joy
that two people dream of,
But never have.
We will know it, you and I.
Is it helping? Is it enough? At least a little bit? Or am just making a complete and utter fool of myself?
So let me take you away, so far away,
Where you may finally see
All that I do and say
Is for you to at last be free
And I will play my part
So that now you may see my heart."
Clark ... can you see? Can you hear it?
His voice lowered, he lifted Clark's hand in his own, and sang the coda with a slower tempo, dropping his voice until the last words were sung at nearly a whisper.
"And our grace in each other will sound
And we'll never be lost again or alone
We will have found
At long last
Our way along the road together
Never more on our own
Finally facing the demons of our past ...
You and I will be free
And at long last ... we shall be ...Home."
The final note was a long one, finishing with a vibrato flourish, and Bruce did his best to echo what he recalled in his memory, and he could feel Clark's mouth smile against his shoulder.
Clark ... my Kal ...
For several heartbeats, they lay without speaking, but this time the silence was peaceful, and no longer filled with tension and terror and anxiety.
Would it be enough? Did he ... did I ...? Bruce let the thought trail off, and said nothing.
Finally, Clark moved, but only enough to pull back to look at Bruce directly.
"I didn't know you could sing."
Bruce could actually feel a blush stain his cheeks. When was the last time he had done that?
"I ... it' s just an old song. '40's era, I think. I'm not sure who the artist was. Maybe a Sinatra contemporary." He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. "I ... I only just remembered it. My father used to sing it to my mother. I'm not sure I pulled it off. It's a bit of an ... unusual arrangement."
I ... doubt it would be enough to help you.
Clark didn't smile, but there was an expression in his eyes that Bruce hadn't seen since before the entire crisis had started nearly two months before. His breath caught at the sight of it. "I loved it," Clark said, voice very soft, and very serious. Bruce felt a sudden warmth bubbling up from inside again, which seemed to increase in heat at the smile that now graced Kal's mouth. "And you have a beautiful singing voice. A rich and smooth baritone that I wouldn't have expected."
Bruce tried to look lofty. "Well, you know the Waynes are quite cultured folk. Of course musical talent lies in the blood."
Clark actually gave a small chuckle at that, and Bruce couldn't help his own small smile. But Clark's gaze remained deep, and arrowed straight into Bruce's soul.
"Thank you, Bruce," he said, voice low, and then glanced away a little shyly, to stare down at their clasped hands. "Truly. Thank you. That ... that was something. I ..." he looked up again, and though the shadows within could still be seen, the gaze was clear now, and bluer than the velveting sky. "It helped, Bruce. It ... helped." Bruce could see him swallow hard, but he did not look away again. "I know, with you, I can get through this. With you at my side, with you in my heart, I am no longer lost." He reached up to touch Bruce's face. "I am home."
Bruce tried to say something, but his throat worked and no words would come out. What was wrong with him?
But no. He knew. He knew there was nothing wrong, and even if there had been, he wouldn't fix what was undeniably right for him, for both of them. He wouldn't change it, nor for anything in the world.
Words had done nothing to help, and then, miraculously, wonderfully, aligned with pure, sweet music, they had seemed to do everything.
Thank you. Thank you.
But was it enough? There was still such a long road to travel, for both of them. Healing wouldn't come in only one night, with one song.
Words had so very often failed him. They had so often failed Clark.
So, he didn't say anything more with them at all.
Instead, he let his instincts guide him, and enfolded himself around Clark, strong, protective arms circling around him, his so very vulnerable Superman, his Clark, his Kal, his!, holding very tightly and yet with infinite compassion and tenderness, and let his embrace - and his heart - do all the rest of the speaking for him.
And it was enough.
Note: The song used here is entitled "Never Lost Again", and actually has a melody, which of course I can't really share here, but it's sort of a cross between "The Way You Look Tonight" (from the film Swing Time) and "Lost" by Micheal Buble, in case you were wondering! :-)