one day, you will understand. but that day is not today.

[thepull_mods]

Who: Siren's Port
When: The night of Thursday, October 20th into the morning of Friday, October 21st.
Where: In the mind, in the dreams, in the unconscious of the sleepers.
Summary: The final night.
Warnings: These dreams may be considered not safe for work, with violence, gore, death, underlying sexual themes and other mentions of graphic nature.

Comments

[kingofrooks]

Bruce had fought, of course, pushing back against Clark. But it was a distracted kind of fighting, and he had stopped with his hand right about the El shield, above Clark's heart, and started to breathe according to each thump against his hand. In, out, in, out. It was as if Clark's heartbeat was the only thing that was anchoring him to reality.

He had to snap out of this. There were words. Answers to his questions. Bruce let himself sink into the cot, looking at Clark with dull, blank eyes. He blinked once, twice- sucked in a breath and concentrated just as Clark mentioned that he found his body. With a broken arm. It was Clark who had found his body, who had- made sure that he didn't return as a Darkness monster as Carrie had. It was Clark who had found his body after he had made such a mistake. When he had underestimated Sylar and died for it- did he die, really? Even if there was a body, he still breathed now. He still lived. His heart was roaring too loudly in his ears for him to not be living. For him to be dead- he couldn't

[kingofrooks]

It was a little surprising that the burn remained even after death; Bruce would have thought that it would be similar to a 'reset' - that he would return back to life in the same state that he had arrived at the Port in. But apparently not - even his newest injuries were present, except for the bruises. However, there wasn't a scar on his temple- nothing that he could feel, anyway. He should check later, when he had a proper mirror

[isitablurred]

Clark only nodded quietly. Bruce was the boss, after all, and it was his secret to keep precisely as he wished. He nodded, stepping quietly back to give the other man his privacy and turning away. When the door closed behind him he vanished smartly, back to work while he listened to the sound of water running in the back of his head.

When Bruce was done, he would leave the shower to find a hot meal prepared for him by Clark. Thick, potted chicken with a half a loaf of bread to help settle it on an empty stomach. Bruce had died; eating after being killed was a troubling thing, because you were given time to think, to chew and swallow - things you couldn't have done were you still dead. It was humbling, too, to be reminded of how fragile you were--even for Clark, who was essentially invulnerable.

But he would be fine. Sure, Clark would need to watch him carefully, but of all the people on the island, it was Bruce that he trusted to keep it together the most. He didn't need to babysit him.