Fic: Claim #105 (1 of 2)
Title: Before the Dawn (1 of 2)
Author: paxwolf
Claim No: 105 for rai_daydreamer
Prompt: Hurt/comfort, Bruce caring for Clark and giving him a kiss.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 12,239
:-:
For a moment, Batman was seeing it all play out as if in slow motion: the Daxamite had caught the dazed Superman from behind as the Man of Steel was knocked back through the air from Bloodkind's blow, and quicker than could be believed, Massacre had been upon him and was smashing a bloody fist across his face.
Batman was already firing, arcing as close as he dared, his stomach tightening painfully as he saw the missile deflected by the Apokoliptian parademon. Massacre flashed an ugly grin at him and leaped again, grasping the front of Superman's uniform in one hand, the knife raised in one large, red fist.
Superman saw it coming and tried to desperately twist out of the way, only to have Bloodkind lunge at him to wrap his meaty arms around him as well even as the Daxamite viciously tightened his hold. He couldn't move.
With a roar of triumph, Massacre plunged the Kryptonite-edged blade into the Kryptonian's side, the blade easily tearing through both cloth and flesh.
Batman fired again, a mix of cold fury and terror washing over him as he saw Superman scream, his face a rictus of agony.
His second barrage impacted seconds too late, taking out Bloodkind and the Daxamite, flinging them back, and he watched as if from a great distance as Superman began to fall. Massacre shrugged off the blasts and managed to hang on to both Superman and the knife as they plunged together towards the glacier surface several dozen feet below.
Batman snarled even as his heart leapt to his throat, and he wrenched the Batwing over hard on a steep vertical bank, diving after them. He was close enough to see Massacre's grotesque mouth leaning close to Superman's ear and speaking something before grasping the knife hilt in a fresh grip and dragging it upwards with a brutally slow thrust.
Then they both disappeared into a plume of snow and ice crystals as they hit the glacier on the mountainside with frightening force.
"Superman!" Batman shouted, the cry torn out of him against his will even as he swung the jet low, skimming over the surface of the ice sheet, searching frantically for signs of movement below.
In that instant, he had never felt so cold in his life.
For a few seconds that stretched longer than eternity there was only absolute stillness, other than the freshening wind. Suddenly, to his right, the huge crimson shape of Massacre burst up from the snow. Batman instantly changed course and swept towards him, readying his weapons even as he saw the monster bury his arms in the snow and drag Superman up through the ice by an arm.
He fired, and at this range Massacre didn't shrug them off but was sent flying back several feet, dropping Superman into the snow.
Batman angled away on a flyby, veering to scream back and renew his attack, determined to get the monster as far from Superman as possible. But as he flew lower, trying to maneuver into firing position again, Massacre was quite suddenly there, powering a fist into the belly of the jet with concussive force. The jolt tore through the Batwing's frame, and sent it careening wildly out of control. Batman set his teeth against the g-forces, fighting for control and scanning the readouts simultaneously. He saw in an instant there was no saving it. And he was going down.
Cursing, he snapped open his flight harness and with a savage punch, popped the canopy and ejected.
He landed hard on the glacier, but upright and uninjured, his cape parachuting him to relative safety, seeing from the corner of his eye the jet crash in a spectacular explosion against the rocky side of the mountain, but he was already swinging towards Massacre, readying for another attack. But Massacre was ignoring him, heading back for Superman, obviously intent on finishing him off.
Batman fumbled at his belt as he sprinted towards their position, and just as the villain reached the spot where Superman was lying crumpled on the ice, he flung the batarangs he'd prepared. His hasty throw proved good, and Massacre was knocked back. Without any hesitation, Batman flung himself between the villain and Superman, readying more weapons, chest heaving for breath in the frigid air.
Massacre picked himself up and turned to face him, wiping blood from his mouth.
"Well, aren't you the little saviour," he snorted. "What are you, a loyal little lapdog, leaping to his master's defence?" He laughed, and straigtened, looking beyond Batman at Superman. "Won't do either of you any good. He's done for anyway. You may as well let me put him out of his misery."
"Not going to happen," Batman growled, readying his stance, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder.
"I want to finish the job," Massacre said matter-of-factly, even as a leer passed over his craggy features. "And I wanna do it up close and personal like." He smacked a huge fist into his palm. "That knife felt so damned good goin' in. The pleasure of the kill of your pal there, the mighty Man of Steel, is all mine."
Batman felt his heart quicken in his chest. "You are not going to touch him," he growled, the rage and terror curling inside him like smoke.
Massacre guffawed. "Right. An' you're gonna stop me. Look, Bats, I got nothin' against you, but if you wanna stand in my way, you can join your teammate there in oblivion, if ya really want."
And without further words, Massacre abruptly leapt, hurtling at Batman with tremendous speed and power. Batman stood his ground. When Massacre was only seven feet away, he threw. His bomb cluster hit the creature in the chest with a resounding crack, and exploded. Batman leapt out of the way, rolling with the force of the explosion, coming up to his feet in time to watch Massacre being blown off the edge of the glacier, his mouth opening in surprise even as he hurtled out of sight.
Batman had aimed true. But then again, there had been too much at stake not to.
He drew in a deep breath, and then turned and ran to Superman's side.
Although Massacre would probably survive the fall, it would take him a while to climb or leap back, but the parademon and Daxamite might recover and be back any second. He had to get Superman to safety. Somehow.
He tried to ignore the thought that flashed across his mind that it might be too late.
Superman wasn't moving any more.
He slid to his knees beside Superman, desperately reaching to feel for a pulse, trying not to notice the growing stain of crimson all around the crumpled body in the snow.
Kal ... no ...
He couldn't feel anything, or see any sign of the chest moving in breath. The knife's hilt was still sticking out of Superman's side in horrific vividness, but Batman dared not to move it, for fear of causing Superman to bleed out entirely. Not that it might make any difference, as he still couldn't feel or see any sign that Superman was still to be counted amongst the living.
His heart seemed to freeze in his chest at the thought. Furiously, Batman ripped off his gauntlet in the subzero air, and touched Superman's neck. For a second he felt nothing, his own heartbeat roaring in his ears, and then, with an enormous surge of relief that left him feeling weak, he suddenly felt the barest hint of a throb below his fingers.
Superman was still alive.
He had a pulse, slow and thready and weak, but there.
There.
Batman sagged for a second, and then went to work in a fury, using bandage pads from his belt to try and stem the bleeding, and examining the knife's position more closely. It didn't look at first glance like Massacre had succeeded in piercing any immediately vital organs in his hasty stab, but Superman could still bleed to death.
And then, of course, there was the Kryptonite factor.
Damnit.
And any second, any one of the three villains who had attacked him could be back. And the Batwing was gone, and the storm was growing worse, and here they were, without aid or shelter, exposed out here on a glacier high on a mountain, and Batman couldn't seem to get his damnable Justice League communicator to work.
"Superman," he whispered, leaning close to Superman's face, hands busy with sealing up the worst of the wound. "Wake up."
Superman didn't stir, and Batman noted with increasing alarm how pale his skin was. Even under that perpetual tan, Superman looked white to the bone.
How much blood had he already lost? The snow around them was more pink now than white. Batman swallowed hard, and again desperately looked around them, seeing nothing but the expanse of snow and ice and rock. Darkness was setting in even faster with the onset of the blizzard, and his cape swirled around them in the vicious, driving snow.
"Superman!" he called, and dared to shake a shoulder. Still no response. What if ...?
No, he wasn't going to think that way. He wasn't.
"Clark!" He shouted, and slapped him a sudden, smart blow across the face
For an instant there was no response, and Batman's heart seemed to freeze in his chest. The wind seemed to blow right threw him, and in that instant, he was sure he had never been so cold in his life.
Then, suddenly, he heard a tiny intake of breath.
Superman stirred, a small, aborted movement, and his eyes slitted open.
"Bruce?" he gasped. His voice was very weak.
Thank God ...
Batman had to swallow before his words came out as sound. "We've got to move," he said, almost harshly. "We'll both die out here if we stay."
Superman coughed weakly, and the pain in his face that he couldn't quite push back spoke volumes. "Where ..."
"Gone for now. Blasted Massacre off the mountain. Can you move?"
"W-what choice ... do we have?"
"None." Batman was blunt, hating himself for it. Superman squeezed his eyes shut.
"Then yes. I ... can move."
Batman took a good long look at Superman's face. As if sensing his gaze, Superman's eyes opened again and met his look.
"I can ... do it, Bruce. I'm ... all right."
It was such a boldfaced lie that Batman almost laughed outright in harsh disbelief. Instead, he forced down the gamut of everything he was feeling, and taped the bandages more firmly all around the knife's hilt and along the deep gash that Massacre had cut below Superman's ribs. He did his best to ignore the sound of sharp inhalation as he pressed on the wound, and the knife's blade was joggled within its puncture. He knew how important it was to stabilize the blade so that it wouldn't shift and cause even more internal injury. He tried not to see how tightly Superman had clenched his fists and his jaw, or how the Kryptonian tried not to writhe under his touch, and failing miserably. Despite the great cold, Batman could see beads of perspiration on Superman's face, and realized that shock was setting in. He could acutely see Superman growing weaker by the second, and had to tightly compress his own lips to keep from swearing aloud.
They had to get out of there.
"Superman, you're showing signs of cyanosis," he said tersely, looking at how blue Superman's lips had become. Another reason to get down off the glacier; the high altitude wasn't doing any favors to Superman's already dangerously low blood oxygen levels. Superman shifted again in response to his touch, unable to suppress the thick gasp of agony. His head fell back, and Batman saw how much weaker his movements already were. Superman's eyes closed. No, no, no… "Stay awake, Clark! You've got to stay awake!"
"I'll ... try." The words were barely audible over the rising howl of wind.
Batman finished what he could, and sat back on his heels, looking around them, forcing back the surge of desperate panic that threatened to spill out as he took in how untenable their position had come. Where could they go?
He tried his communicator again, and again, there was nothing but static. Either their enemies had somehow jammed the signal, or the encroaching blizzard was blocking its transmission. Either way, there was zero chance of anyone coming to their aid.
It was up to him to save Superman.
All right. He took a breath. First things first. The bleeding is contained for now. But we have to get off this mountain. He looked around them at the white exposed face of the glacier, and then down at the protruding knife. His eyes narrowed and he leaned closer to Superman's face. Was his skin turning a slight chartreuse color underneath the paleness? Were his lips slightly greenish under the blue? I have to get that knife out of him. I won't have to worry about shock or blood loss killing him if the Kryptonite poisoning isn't stopped, and soon.
"Bruce ..."
Startled, he looked down at Superman. "What?"
"You need ... to get away from ... me. They'll be ... coming ... back. Go. Get to safety."
The coldness settled in his gut like a malignant thing.
Batman stared at him. Superman saw his look and struggled harder to speak. Frothy blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth, and his breathing became even more labored. Had a lung been punctured after all?
"Please ... leave me. You can't ... help me, Bruce. I'm too far ..." His voice was lost for a moment, until he swallowed and gasped, the tremendous effort obvious. " Go. Save yourself ... please ..."
Batman suddenly shuddered all over, and it shook him out of his own state of half shock. He leaned forward fast, rage and frustration blazing out, unable to keep it out of his own voice. "Don't you dare ask me that," he hissed, inches above Superman's face. "You're not allowed to give up, Superman. And I'm sure as hell not giving up on you."
With a savage pull, he hoisted Superman up to a sitting position, trying not to hear the agonized cry that tore out of Superman at the movement. He slid an arm around his back, and lifted, even as Superman fought to get his legs under him.
"Bruce ..."
"It'll be all right, Clark," he husked, his own chest heaving in the cold air and with the effort. "We'll both make it out of this. I promise."
Supporting Superman's near dead weight on one side, he began to trek across the ice to the rock wall he could barely see ahead through the whirling, driving snow. Superman muttered something unintelligible, and groaned as he staggered against Batman's side. For a second, he stayed on his feet, trembling all over as he leaned his weight against Batman, and then all of a sudden his knees buckled and he was collapsing to the snow.
"Superman!"
Frantically, Batman laid his fingers across Superman's throat: the pulse was still there. But Superman looked even worse, and the lines of pain in his face had deepened.
"S ... sorry, Bruce ..." he whispered, the words thick and slurred. "I ... can't get ... my legs ... to ..." His head fell forward as he passed out.
"No!" Batman shouted, and seized Superman's shoulders. "You can't go!" He swallowed the fear in his mouth. Should Superman lose consciousness while suffering from shock ... "Superman! Damnit, don't! Clark! Wake up!" He shook him roughly. "KAL!!!" With the last shout he drew back his arm and struck Superman hard across the face. Superman's head rocked with the blow, but he didn't revive. Shit.
The storm roared around them, the wind and driving snow increasing in velocity. Batman looked around them, desperation and terror clawing at his mind. Nothing. They were alone, and he was without anything that could help.
And Superman ... Kal was dying.
No! I can't let that happen! I CAN'T!!!
Clenching his jaw, he reached forward and grasped the hilt of the knife. For a fraction of a second he hesitated, his own hand trembling, and then he mustered his will and twisted it sharply. Superman instantly galvanized, and a scream, unlike anything Batman had ever heard, was torn out of him. The pain must have been incredible, and Batman felt like walking wounded himself with what he had done. But Superman was awake, dragged up from the deathly unconsciousness, and that was what had to count now.
Thank God...
"I'm sorry, Clark," he muttered, watching Superman gasp and shake in the snow. "But we can't afford you to..."
But somehow Superman was managing a nod, and the flash of his eyes as they opened were alert over the waxy, ashen skin. "'S'okay," he whispered, and then he was given over to fighting the agony and struggling to breathe.
What can I do now? Batman thought, unable to resist the wave of despair that washed over him, looking around them at the desolate emptiness. How do I save him? How?
Then suddenly he spotted a darker patch against the dimming grayness, several feet away in the surface of the glacier. He squinted, and then reached up to flick a hidden toggle flattened in his cowl, and his infrared lenses activated. Yes.
He looked back down at Superman. The green tinge in his sweat-covered skin was growing as the radiation poisoning spread further. There's not much time.
With that and the injuries he'd sustained in the attack, there was simply no way that Superman would be able to manage his feet again.
"If you can't walk, then by god I'll carry you. I'll move heaven and earth itself if I have to," he said aloud, and his own words in the howling wind made his skin prickle. The words had sounded so hollow and disappeared so quickly. Gritting his teeth, he maneuvered closer to Superman and reached his arms underneath the Kryptonian's legs and back, braced himself, and lifted.
Batman could tell that Superman was struggling to not cry out at the movement that surely tore at the wound and the collapsed lung, and the hiss that escaped was terrifying in its warble.
He tightened his hold, cradling him against his chest as he waded through the deepening accumulation. "Don't fight it so hard," he murmured, gaze trained on that darker shape that he prayed would be their salvation. "You don't ever need to hide anything from me."
Superman couldn't answer.
Ten minutes of eternity later, they reached the lip of the opening Batman had spied. He paused to catch his breath, his own muscles trembling in equal tandem with Superman's, and peered down.
Yes.
It was a crevasse, deep in the glacier, and the slope was just gentle enough that he was sure, with help from his grapple, that he could lower both himself and Superman safely. It wasn't ideal, but at least it was out of the worst of the storm and wind, and they would no longer be exposed on the face of the ice. And maybe, just maybe, there would be a deeper cave beyond the drop where shelter could be made.
"Clark, I'm going to shift you a little," he said in warning.
Superman's shivering had increased, Batman noted with increased worrry, but he forced out a nod. "I'm ... ready."
Batman saw that he too had spotted the crevasse. But he wasn't ready. He never could be. Still, he stifled his cries as best he could as they moved. Batman clenched his own jaw, and kept going.
It took a bit of careful muscle control to carefully half-lower Superman against the upthrust of ice at the crevasse's mouth, and use the free hand to extract the equipment he needed, but Batman was nothing if not determined, and in seconds he had managed to anchor them to the rope, now lodged deep in ice, and lower them, inch by inch, down the shaft of the break in the ice. Even being out of the direct wind was a distinct relief, and even though snow was still falling from above, already Batman felt much warmer. He watched Superman's face carefully, but there was no discernible change from before.
If anything, he looked even worse.
That's to be expected, he told himself harshly, battling the renewed terror. Until I can get that Kryptonite out of him. And what if ...?
He bit down on the thought and concentrated on getting them both to the bottom of the narrowing crevice.
They reached the bottom, with rope to spare, and to Batman's great surprise and enormous relief, there was a bit of a sloped surface flat enough to walk on, and though dark, he could see a blackness a few feet away that indicated that yes, indeed, there was an ice cave there.
Well, 'tis the season for miracles.
He dropped the grapple and lifted up Superman in his arms again, careful of the protruding knife, and carried him towards it. Superman let out a weak gasp, but otherwise barely moved. His strength was nearly entirely gone.
Swallowing hard, Batman quickened his steps.
The cave was deep, and Batman carried Superman to the farthest corner before carefully kneeling down, and ever so gently, ever so slowly, lowered Superman to the ground.
Superman stiffened as his body straightened out, and a strangled cry emerged from his throat, and for a second, Batman feared he had passed out again, but then Superman, chest heaving spasmodically, opened his eyes to look up at him. "B-bruce ..."
Batman could see that it was taking everything Superman had in him to stay awake, to fight against succumbing to the pain and the poisoning, to not just lapse into pain-free unconsciousness. But he couldn't keep it up for much longer. His strength was ebbing fast, and his breathing was becoming more and more ragged.
He's dying.
Again, he felt that awful cold seize him and threaten to still his heart in his chest. He'd never felt so cold in his life.
No! I'm not going to let that happen!
"Hang on, Clark," he said, own voice rough, "just a little bit longer." He sprang to his feet, and set about the tasks that had to be taken care of first so that he could do what needed to be done.
He again blessed his foresight as he removed object after object from his utility belt, trying not to listen too hard to the labored breathing and tiny, pain-filled groans that Superman could not suppress. He jammed lightsticks into the ice around the cave, and sparked off his miniature portable heatlamp, setting it as near to Superman's position as he could. As light and heat began to fill the small cave, Superman's shivering seemed to become more intense, and his body more strained.
Batman whipped off his cape and settled it over him, knowing how important it was to keep a shock victim as warm as possible. At least Superman was lying on rock and not actual ice. He did his best to arrange Superman's own cape so that it was between his body and the cold stone. It wasn't ever going to be as warm as Superman needed, but it was all he had and he could only do the best he could do.
In the next several minutes, Batman found his mind settling into a clinical mode as his brain, almost without conscious prompting, recalled all of the basics of his first aid training. It helped him to set aside the panic that had threatened to spill over.
I'm not ready to let him go. No. Not ever.
Forcing aside the cold that wouldn't let him go, Batman worked steadily and swiftly. He maneuvered Superman onto the ground, raising his legs six inches off the ground into the shock position, placing a pile of rocks beneath the boots. He bent to make sure Superman's airway was open, but the fact that he had been able to speak, albeit not easily, was a good sign of that. He assessed his breathing, and made sure Superman's head was tilted back in case he did lose consciousness. Superman's breathing was coming in short, gasping breath; definitely a sign of acute respiratory distress. He seemed always short of breath, and Batman tried not to see how much agony each of them was for him. Several more times, Superman tried to speak, but failed as he couldn't seem to catch his breath.
Batman pressed his ear to Superman's chest. He could hear air going in and out on his right side, but there was a horrifying nothingness on the left.
Damnit. He does have a collapsed lung.
He looked at the knife. There was no way he could leave it in there. It had to come out. Normally he knew one should never remove an object that had penetrated the body, not in conditions like these, outside an emergency room with all the attendant necessary equipment and medical personnel. But the Kryptonite ... the damned Kryptonite was killing him. It would end his life long before blood loss or severe trauma would. Treatment now would have to be geared towards that end.
It has to come out. It has to come out now. And I have to do it.
Forcing out a breath, and forcing down the aching cold that seemed worse inside him than out, he reached back for his belt. He found the oxygen mask in one compartment and slid it gently over the lower half of Superman's face. The additional oxygen should help slow down the shock progression.
Then he stripped off his gauntlets, washing his hands in snow as best he could, wishing he could sterilize them. But there was nothing else to be done. He reached over Superman's chest, and roughly tore the cloth of his uniform, exposing a large area around the long wound over his side and ribs and chest. He readied what bandages he had, and prayed that Superman's natural Kryptonian abilities would kick in to help.
Earth and Sun, and all powers that aid him, come to him now! A line from Hamlet suddenly rose in his mind, and he threw that in too, as an impromptu prayer. Oh, angels and ministers of grace, of Earth or Krypton, defend him!
He leaned over Superman, and gently grasped the knife's hilt in one hand, trying his damnedest to keep it steady.
"Clark."
Superman opened his eyes, and met his look.
"I'm going to remove it now." There was really nothing else he could say.
Superman licked his dry lips, and swallowed, chest heaving, still fighting for breath, and still losing. Batman watched as he clenched his jaw, and nodded shortly. He had no breath left to speak at all. Batman tightened his grip and his resolve.
For an instant he waited, ruthlessly pushing down his terror, watching Superman brace himself, wild thoughts screaming in his mind. Screaming in his soul.
Kal...
Then he yanked.
He tried his best to pull the blade out the same path it had gone in, to minimize the damage, but Massacre had dragged the knife in a wickedly vicious cut, and Batman couldn't help but tear through new flesh and vessels as he tore the knife free.
The scream that tore free from Superman was almost worse.
He saw how Superman tried not to cry out, how his back arched right off the stone floor, and how absolutely impossible that was. Fresh blood gurgled froth, much of it tinted a sickly green, and Batman threw the knife across the cave as hard as he could before pressing down on the wound with his emergency padding, using bunched up bits of material from Superman's own costume to stem the tide of blood as best as he could.
Superman was gasping, eyes squeezed shut, muscles spasming. Thank god his pain threshold was so high; it was a miracle he hadn't passed out from the sheer pain.
But perhaps it would be better if he had.
Batman looked at the blood pooling around him, and knew, in that instant, never felt so cold in his life. He swallowed and concentrated.
Applying more pressure to the bleeding wound, he saw, to his vast relief, greatest amount of blood flow slowing down. "It's all right," he whispered over and over to Superman, as if a mantra. "It's gone. It's out." He couldn't be sure Superman had heard him. He forced himself to concentrate on his treatment.
There had been a sound like suction when he had pulled out the knife, and he knew it was a sucking chest wound with the object removed. He quickly grabbed the plastic bag he had laid out, thanking Alfred for the simple restock, and taped it down all around the puncture wound. It would create a sort of valve. Every time Superman inhaled, the plastic would be sucked close against the wound so that he would be able to actually take a breath.
As soon as he had it in place, he knew Superman was experiencing immediate relief, and his breathing was already returning close to normal. Air was venting out the fourth side of the plastic he hadn't taped down. Thank god he remembered his advanced First Aid training or he would have taped down all sides and inadvertently caused a tension pneumothorax. That would have been a nightmare. Air would have been trapped inside and Superman's lung would have kept expanding until the pressure on his heart would have pushed it to the right, and his trachea too, causing impairment of its ability to contract and Superman's condition to rapidly deteriorate.
He may be an alien being, but his heart still has to beat like any man's.
He checked on airway, breathing, and circulation again; all seemed as well as could be given the circumstances. He checked the radial pulse in both of Superman's wrists. Both were pulsating at the same time, which was good news. The pulse was rapid and weak, but definitely still there. He was still in a dangerous state of shock, but so far Superman's body seeming to be fighting it tooth and claw.
Compensatory shock, he remembered it was called.
Superman was pale, cool to the touch, and diaphoretic. But blessedly, most importantly, he was breathing on his own.
Thank you.
Batman felt weak himself, and for a second, leaned forward on his hands, head bowed, taking in great breaths of air. At a slight sound below him, his head jerked up. Superman was looking up at him, his eyes clouded, and agony written in every line of his face. He was trying to speak. Batman removed the oxygen mask.
"B ... Br ..."
He shook his head, and laid a blood-stained finger across Superman's lips. "No. Don't try to speak right now, Clark. Just rest. It's going to be okay."
Still, Superman fought to speak, until breathing became too difficult. All of a sudden, his whole body went limp, and his head lolled to the side. Batman's heart froze in his chest. Instantly he was pressing his ear to Clark's chest. Faintly, he heard the sound of breath, and the steady, rhythmic thump of his heart. He sagged back, his own heart pounding.
He's still alive. He's still alive.
Superman's body couldn't handle the trauma any more, but it was still alive. He hadn't given up. He was a fighter. He had just lapsed into unconsciousness. Not a good sign, but there was nothing else Batman could do about it.
He hasn't died. He's alive.
He could only pray he would stay that way. What had he been trying to say? He frowned a little as he removed the rocks under his legs, and tried to make Superman as comfortable as possible.
He sighed as he finished. He looked down at his hands, covered in Superman's blood. He abruptly rose and moved to the side of the cave, where a drift of snow had built up along one side of the entrance. He knelt and savagely scrubbed them with the icy crystals until his skin was red and raw. As clean as he could get them.
Clark...
He looked at his hand for a moment, and then at a sudden groan from the figure behind him, he sprang up and raced back to Superman's side. Helplessly he watched as Superman fought to breathe, in obvious pain, and eventually settle back into a near-normal pattern again. He hugged himself a little, to keep warm, he told himself, and shivered. He had never felt so cold in his life.
For a long time, time that went by unmeasured, Batman sat still and watched Superman breathing. The breaths seemed as even and steady as they could get. After a long while, he felt the tension gradually leave him, and he felt utterly exhausted, his muscles like jelly, and he sagged a little, allowing the thin relief to fill him. Superman may have been unconscious, but he was alive.
Thank God...
Batman knew he needed more advanced care than what he could provide at that moment, including IV therapy, blood and blood products along with meds and, of course, surgery to repair the internal injuries. Then he shook his head at himself with a wry snort. Well, that would be true of anyone else. This was Superman. Hopefully, with the Kryptonite removed, he would slowly start to heal on his own, as his systems regained their strength, and his natural resilience to injury and illness would reassert itself.
What do I do now?
He sighed and looked out at the mouth of the cave. The wind was howling above the crevasse with even greater gusto than before, and fresh snow was accumulating at the narrow entrance. At least their tracks would have been long covered. He had tried numerous times to raise the Watchtower, or anyone, but to no avail. They were on their own.
There's nothing to do but wait. Wait until the blizzard abates and hope I can get a signal through to the League before any of Superman's enemies are able to track us down. He pressed his lips into a tight line, refusing to give in to senseless worry. Not exactly how I planned to spend Christmas.
He turned his head to look at the Kryptonite-encrusted knife that he had flung to the mouth of the cave. Wearily, he stood up, every inch of his body protesting. Batman hadn't felt so sore from fatigue and tension in...longer than he cared to remember. He moved over to the weapon and leaned down to pick it up. For a long moment, he held it and looked at it, at the blood staining the rough-edged blade, and his hand trembled. With a deep-seated loathing, he jerked forward and hurled the thing out of the cave and deep into the crevasse, as far from Superman as he could get. He was left feeling drained and breathless, harsh gasps erupting from his chest as he stared out into the snow-swirling dark.
Then with an abrupt jerk, he turned and headed back to Superman, once more checking on his airway and circulation. To his great relief and gratitude, the Kryptonian seemed fairly stable, all things considered, though he was still pale, and sweaty, and cold to the touch. He tugged the cape a little higher over Superman's neck, and then shivered a little himself. Even with the thermal layering in the batsuit, he could feel the cold seeping through. And Superman...he had nothing next to his skin but the thin material of his uniform, and of course that had been ripped away over his side and over a good deal of his chest. If he were awake, he would be freezing, no doubt. Even unconscious, he wasn't exactly toasty.
Batman shivered again, and looked down at his friend. Am I really attempting to justify this? Shaking his head savagely, he bent down, and lifting the edge of the cape, he rolled in beside Superman and drew the voluminous cloak over them both. He tucked himself right against Superman's body, and laid an arm lightly across Superman's stomach, careful to avoid the bandaged wound on his far side.
Shared body heat will help keep both of us warm and alive, he told himself fiercely, curling even closer, tucking his head right next to Superman's.
For several long minutes, he lay there, listening to the deep breaths, still slightly hitched, of Superman next to him, and feeling the slight lifts and falls of his chest as he breathed. He thought briefly of removing Superman's and then his own costume; surely skin-to-skin contact would be even warmer for them both.
It would be practical.
He quashed the thought immediately. That might prove a little bit awkward. How on earth would I explain that position when he wakes up?
After a while, he stopped shivering so much, and felt the warmth begin to seep in around him. Thank goodness for insulated capes! He kept his cowl on, knowing it would keep him warmer; the greatest loss of heat was through the top of the head.
That's right.
He reached over and dragged up a strip of Superman's scarlet cape from beneath his shoulder, ripped a piece of the fabric free, and threaded his fingers through the black curls, wrapping the scrap of cape gently around Superman's head.
I hope that helps somewhat. It's damned cold in here. He could see his breath in the frigid air. What if we're trapped down here for too long and we freeze to de ...? Harshly, he cut himself off from finishing the thought, again reaching out, as if his hand had a will of its own, to stroke a finger along Superman's brow and then traced it down over his ear.
He's got such incredibly soft hair, he marveled, distracting himself from the awful peril his friend was in. Is it always like that? Or just now when he's not so ... invulnerable? He tucked a stray bit of tattered cape beneath the back of the head, his fingers buried in the hair at the nape of Superman's neck, before reluctantly easing his hand back. For a while he huddled against the Man of Steel, and gradually began to feel a bit warmer. With the warmth came a greater sense of ease, and he stopped shivering.
I very nearly lost him... He swallowed hard and abruptly shuddered. But I didn't. He's here, warm and alive and breathing, right beside me. They didn't get him. I stopped them. He's alive.
He lifted himself on one elbow and gazed for some time down at the Kryptonian. It was not very often, after all, that he saw his colleague like this: asleep and vulnerable, entirely trusting himself to Batman's care. His skin had already taken on a healthier colour, and the taut lines of pain had eased in sleep. The crimson cloth crowned his dark hair, making him look strangely exotic, like some alien prince that had fallen from the stars to land in Bruce's arms.
Startled at the thought, and slightly alarmed at the images and accompanying feelings that had arisen with it, he shook his head. I think I'm more tired than I thought.
He looked back down at Superman and on reflex reached forward and brushed back that unruly lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. The skin felt cool and smooth to his bare touch. The fever had died down, he noted distantly; Clark was no longer clammy and hot. But what he really found himself focusing on was the electric jolt that went right through him at the touch, and how his hand felt drawn to that flesh like a magnet. His fingers traced over the fine eyebrow and down over Superman's temple, caressing the high cheekbone and then trailing down over his chin. He marveled at the feel of that face under his fingertips, and though he knew he should stop, he couldn't seem to muster the willpower to do so. His hand traveled down Superman's jaw as if of its own accord and then over the side of his neck, feeling the carotid artery pulse with life, the hot blood pumping and throbbing beneath his fingers. He moved across his throat and the hollow of the collarbone to the bare left shoulder where he'd torn the uniform apart to work. His hand dipped lower, lightly tracing the swell of hard pectoral muscle, feeling the gentle reis and fall of quiet breaths, moving with a rapt fascination to the nub of nipple he could not resist touching.
It's really only right that Superman of all people have the most magnificent chest in the world, he mused dreamily, falling into his exhausted fugue even further. He circled the smooth, hot skin around the nipple, and then all of a sudden drew himself up short and snatched his hand away as if he'd been burned.
What ... what the hell am I doing??? I'm feeling up Clark-Superman, for god's sake! He swallowed hard. An injured Superman, at that! Who's trusting me with his life, not exactly expecting me to take advantage of him! Disgusted at himself, and more than a little confused, Batman closed his hands into fists and drew back a little from where he'd been pressing against the length of Superman's body.
This ... this isn't right. What am I doing? What am I thinking?
He realized he'd begun to tremble, and that it had nothing whatsoever to do with the temperature.
This is wrong.
Then why, why, did it suddenly feel so right?
He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Clark...I didn't...I don't... Oh god, Kal...
He opened his eyes, zeroing in again on the man beside him. He couldn't seem to stop looking at Superman, drinking in the sight of him. He so rarely allowed himself to just look. And there Superman was, a living, breathing, warm presence, lying at Bruce's side. Just as he so often had imagined, secretly, guiltily, hiding the ramifications of such thoughts even from himself. And he knew he had been fooling himself for far too long. Of course, he thought with not a little wryness, I never exactly pictured it like this.
This wasn't something he could keep buried, not for much longer. He realized he didn't even want to. Not any more.
He groaned and pressed his face against Superman's shoulder. I'm worse than I thought. But for whatever reason, all of a sudden he didn't ever want to move from right where he was, not for anything. Not for anything in the world. What is wrong with me? Why am I so damned weak?
He had fought so hard and for so long to keep his feelings in check, even from himself. And now, suddenly, he was forced to acknowledge them. Somehow, the terror of being so close to losing Superman that night had changed something, freed something within him. Somehow, having Superman hurt and entirely dependent on him had forced Bruce to look at him-at them-with open eyes. Clearer eyes. And perhaps with open heart too, for the very first time.
And clearly his heart-and his body too apparently-understood something his mind had refused to. Somehow having Superman's life and welfare in Batman's hands had awakened something inside him. Something wonderful. Something dangerous. Something exhilarating.
Something terrifying.
Kal...
He lifted himself up in an abrupt move, and stared down at Superman again, his eyes tracing every line and nuance of his face. You're so damned beautiful. He shook his head in awe and amazement. What have you done to me? I've been enraptured by you, somehow, against all predictions and analysis, against all expectation, against all logic, and against all odds. He blinked against the moisture forming in his eyes. Superman, my teammate. Clark, my friend. Kal, my...
He swallowed, his mouth dry as he gazed at the face before him. I want you. I need you. I ... I love you. The ache in his throat became unbearable. And I don't know if I can ever have you. He shut his eyes tightly, against the sight before them, fear and wonder and despair and joy each tearing their way through him all at once. He released a long, shuddering sigh, and opened his eyes again, and unable to resist any longer, laid a tender hand along the side of Superman's face. I don't know if I'll ever have another chance.
Still, he hesitated, leaning his weight on his trembling arm for long, breathless moments, before easing himself down to rest on top of Superman's uninjured side. I don't know how you feel. I don't know if there's any chance that you could feel the same way for me. He ran his naked hands up over Superman's neck and the sides of his face. Gently he drew away the scrap of cape that he had wrapped over his head, and buried one hand in his silky hair. Carpe Diem, he thought, a savage joy and fierce possessiveness suddenly sweeping over him. Seize the day!
He cupped Superman's jaw in his other hand, and tilted the head upwards.
I'm sorry, Kal. I hope you'll forgive me. But I have to do this. Just once. He ran a fingertip lightly over those lips.
I have to.
Despite being chapped, he would have sworn that he had never felt anything so soft, so electrifying in his life.
God, Clark... You...
He swallowed, and felt his heart racing even as he lowered himself more to feel the steady, slow, thump of Superman's heart beating beneath his breast against his own. This may be the only chance I'm ever given. His hand as if of its own accord, slid behind Superman's neck as his other hand circled back over his jaw. But I...I pray...
Pulse racing, hands trembling, scarcely able to believe he was about to do what he was about to do, Batman slowly lowered his head, and with the most perfect gentleness, lightly touched Superman's lips with his own. I pray that somehow, some way, this isn't the last. But only the first. He feathered a kiss with infinite care and lightness on the sleeping man beneath him. I pray that someday you let me kiss you awake. And that you will kiss me back.
He drew back and looked down at the face before him. Superman had still not stirred. He was safe. With all the joy and need and ... and love that I feel right now. And then, the tenderness was being swallowed by something wilder and darker, and Batman lowered his head again, beyond all ability to resist, and this time pressed his lips to Superman's mouth with greater force, and kissed him with abandon, fierce passion filling him, tasting Superman as he had longed to do for so very long, memorizing the feel and heat of that mouth against the long, lonely days to come.
Kal, Kal, Kal...
He was one. He was where he belonged, at long last. He was home.
You're mine. Oh, Kal, you're mine.
With a tremendous effort of will that took more out of him than he had ever felt before, he finally lifted his head, breaking the contact, breathing hard, trying-and failing-to assimilate everything that was washing over and through him at that moment. He had never felt so overwhelmed, so completely out of control, and for one split second, it was glorious.
Oh, God, thank you...
Then his reality was reasserting itself, and he blinked, suddenly seeing the cave and feeling the cold and feeling his hand clutching at Superman, who had thankfully not awakened beneath his...
It was practically an assault.
But to his own surprise, the thought held no guilt, only a certain ruefulness. He couldn't seem to bring himself to regret what he had done. He realized he wouldn't take back what he had done, not for the world. He couldn't ever regret. For if nothing else, he had that memory. And it had been incredible. No kiss had ever felt like that, make him feel like that. Never. What I would give...
And if it was the last, it was a damned spectacular one, and would be enough.
No, no it's not.
The sudden blazing thought surprised even him in it intensity.
It won't ever be enough.
His heart still pounding, and his breath coming ragged in his chest, Batman looked back down at Superman, and the pain right then that seared through him seemed enough to swallow him whole.
I can't ... I can't ever let you go.
He cradled his hands along that face, so noble, so compassionate and kind, so brave, so heartbreakingly beautiful. Superman... He longed with everything he had in him to see those brilliant eyes open, drown in that otherworldly blue, fall in amongst the starshine that blazed within them whenever Superman thought he wasn't looking.
Clark ...
He knew that what he sometimes thought he glimpsed in those blue eyes, those singular eyes unlike anything else on earth, eyes that were sometimes cerulean like a summer's sky, sometimes sapphire like a sparkling clear winter's dawn, sometimes turquoise like a pristine jeweled lake, sometimes ice-blue like a mirrored glacial mountain, sometimes velvet like a starlit and moonlit midnight, sometimes aquamarine like the deepest tropical sea, sometimes something more akin to blue gold, bursting with stars and the bright soul behind them...sometimes he thought he saw something different...something special. Friendship and care, yes, regard and affection, yes, but sometimes perhaps something even more. He dared to hope what he glimpsed was not just in his fevered imagination, fueled by hidden hopes and dreams on his part, but was actually there. Not a dream. Not a false hope. But Real.
True.
Kal...
Maybe, just maybe it was.
Bruce released a long sigh, and pressed his forehead against Kal's for an eternal moment. Then he raised his head to gaze down one more time at the face below his, drinking in the sight, before leaning down with the greatest of care, and giving one last, brief, kiss, a kiss of infinite sweetness, pressing it against Superman's mouth tenderly, pouring all of his longing, grief, loneliness, joy, and love into that final touch.
I'll wait for you.
He drew away, and levered himself back on the ground beside Superman, his hands trailing from the body so tantalizingly close to his own, and then, with an effort of will greater than he had believed possible, he pulled them away.
No matter how long it takes.
He lay close to Superman, so close, and never so far away. In that moment, he had never felt so cold in his life.
Continued...
Author: paxwolf
Claim No: 105 for rai_daydreamer
Prompt: Hurt/comfort, Bruce caring for Clark and giving him a kiss.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 12,239
:-:
For a moment, Batman was seeing it all play out as if in slow motion: the Daxamite had caught the dazed Superman from behind as the Man of Steel was knocked back through the air from Bloodkind's blow, and quicker than could be believed, Massacre had been upon him and was smashing a bloody fist across his face.
Batman was already firing, arcing as close as he dared, his stomach tightening painfully as he saw the missile deflected by the Apokoliptian parademon. Massacre flashed an ugly grin at him and leaped again, grasping the front of Superman's uniform in one hand, the knife raised in one large, red fist.
Superman saw it coming and tried to desperately twist out of the way, only to have Bloodkind lunge at him to wrap his meaty arms around him as well even as the Daxamite viciously tightened his hold. He couldn't move.
With a roar of triumph, Massacre plunged the Kryptonite-edged blade into the Kryptonian's side, the blade easily tearing through both cloth and flesh.
Batman fired again, a mix of cold fury and terror washing over him as he saw Superman scream, his face a rictus of agony.
His second barrage impacted seconds too late, taking out Bloodkind and the Daxamite, flinging them back, and he watched as if from a great distance as Superman began to fall. Massacre shrugged off the blasts and managed to hang on to both Superman and the knife as they plunged together towards the glacier surface several dozen feet below.
Batman snarled even as his heart leapt to his throat, and he wrenched the Batwing over hard on a steep vertical bank, diving after them. He was close enough to see Massacre's grotesque mouth leaning close to Superman's ear and speaking something before grasping the knife hilt in a fresh grip and dragging it upwards with a brutally slow thrust.
Then they both disappeared into a plume of snow and ice crystals as they hit the glacier on the mountainside with frightening force.
"Superman!" Batman shouted, the cry torn out of him against his will even as he swung the jet low, skimming over the surface of the ice sheet, searching frantically for signs of movement below.
In that instant, he had never felt so cold in his life.
For a few seconds that stretched longer than eternity there was only absolute stillness, other than the freshening wind. Suddenly, to his right, the huge crimson shape of Massacre burst up from the snow. Batman instantly changed course and swept towards him, readying his weapons even as he saw the monster bury his arms in the snow and drag Superman up through the ice by an arm.
He fired, and at this range Massacre didn't shrug them off but was sent flying back several feet, dropping Superman into the snow.
Batman angled away on a flyby, veering to scream back and renew his attack, determined to get the monster as far from Superman as possible. But as he flew lower, trying to maneuver into firing position again, Massacre was quite suddenly there, powering a fist into the belly of the jet with concussive force. The jolt tore through the Batwing's frame, and sent it careening wildly out of control. Batman set his teeth against the g-forces, fighting for control and scanning the readouts simultaneously. He saw in an instant there was no saving it. And he was going down.
Cursing, he snapped open his flight harness and with a savage punch, popped the canopy and ejected.
He landed hard on the glacier, but upright and uninjured, his cape parachuting him to relative safety, seeing from the corner of his eye the jet crash in a spectacular explosion against the rocky side of the mountain, but he was already swinging towards Massacre, readying for another attack. But Massacre was ignoring him, heading back for Superman, obviously intent on finishing him off.
Batman fumbled at his belt as he sprinted towards their position, and just as the villain reached the spot where Superman was lying crumpled on the ice, he flung the batarangs he'd prepared. His hasty throw proved good, and Massacre was knocked back. Without any hesitation, Batman flung himself between the villain and Superman, readying more weapons, chest heaving for breath in the frigid air.
Massacre picked himself up and turned to face him, wiping blood from his mouth.
"Well, aren't you the little saviour," he snorted. "What are you, a loyal little lapdog, leaping to his master's defence?" He laughed, and straigtened, looking beyond Batman at Superman. "Won't do either of you any good. He's done for anyway. You may as well let me put him out of his misery."
"Not going to happen," Batman growled, readying his stance, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder.
"I want to finish the job," Massacre said matter-of-factly, even as a leer passed over his craggy features. "And I wanna do it up close and personal like." He smacked a huge fist into his palm. "That knife felt so damned good goin' in. The pleasure of the kill of your pal there, the mighty Man of Steel, is all mine."
Batman felt his heart quicken in his chest. "You are not going to touch him," he growled, the rage and terror curling inside him like smoke.
Massacre guffawed. "Right. An' you're gonna stop me. Look, Bats, I got nothin' against you, but if you wanna stand in my way, you can join your teammate there in oblivion, if ya really want."
And without further words, Massacre abruptly leapt, hurtling at Batman with tremendous speed and power. Batman stood his ground. When Massacre was only seven feet away, he threw. His bomb cluster hit the creature in the chest with a resounding crack, and exploded. Batman leapt out of the way, rolling with the force of the explosion, coming up to his feet in time to watch Massacre being blown off the edge of the glacier, his mouth opening in surprise even as he hurtled out of sight.
Batman had aimed true. But then again, there had been too much at stake not to.
He drew in a deep breath, and then turned and ran to Superman's side.
Although Massacre would probably survive the fall, it would take him a while to climb or leap back, but the parademon and Daxamite might recover and be back any second. He had to get Superman to safety. Somehow.
He tried to ignore the thought that flashed across his mind that it might be too late.
Superman wasn't moving any more.
He slid to his knees beside Superman, desperately reaching to feel for a pulse, trying not to notice the growing stain of crimson all around the crumpled body in the snow.
Kal ... no ...
He couldn't feel anything, or see any sign of the chest moving in breath. The knife's hilt was still sticking out of Superman's side in horrific vividness, but Batman dared not to move it, for fear of causing Superman to bleed out entirely. Not that it might make any difference, as he still couldn't feel or see any sign that Superman was still to be counted amongst the living.
His heart seemed to freeze in his chest at the thought. Furiously, Batman ripped off his gauntlet in the subzero air, and touched Superman's neck. For a second he felt nothing, his own heartbeat roaring in his ears, and then, with an enormous surge of relief that left him feeling weak, he suddenly felt the barest hint of a throb below his fingers.
Superman was still alive.
He had a pulse, slow and thready and weak, but there.
There.
Batman sagged for a second, and then went to work in a fury, using bandage pads from his belt to try and stem the bleeding, and examining the knife's position more closely. It didn't look at first glance like Massacre had succeeded in piercing any immediately vital organs in his hasty stab, but Superman could still bleed to death.
And then, of course, there was the Kryptonite factor.
Damnit.
And any second, any one of the three villains who had attacked him could be back. And the Batwing was gone, and the storm was growing worse, and here they were, without aid or shelter, exposed out here on a glacier high on a mountain, and Batman couldn't seem to get his damnable Justice League communicator to work.
"Superman," he whispered, leaning close to Superman's face, hands busy with sealing up the worst of the wound. "Wake up."
Superman didn't stir, and Batman noted with increasing alarm how pale his skin was. Even under that perpetual tan, Superman looked white to the bone.
How much blood had he already lost? The snow around them was more pink now than white. Batman swallowed hard, and again desperately looked around them, seeing nothing but the expanse of snow and ice and rock. Darkness was setting in even faster with the onset of the blizzard, and his cape swirled around them in the vicious, driving snow.
"Superman!" he called, and dared to shake a shoulder. Still no response. What if ...?
No, he wasn't going to think that way. He wasn't.
"Clark!" He shouted, and slapped him a sudden, smart blow across the face
For an instant there was no response, and Batman's heart seemed to freeze in his chest. The wind seemed to blow right threw him, and in that instant, he was sure he had never been so cold in his life.
Then, suddenly, he heard a tiny intake of breath.
Superman stirred, a small, aborted movement, and his eyes slitted open.
"Bruce?" he gasped. His voice was very weak.
Thank God ...
Batman had to swallow before his words came out as sound. "We've got to move," he said, almost harshly. "We'll both die out here if we stay."
Superman coughed weakly, and the pain in his face that he couldn't quite push back spoke volumes. "Where ..."
"Gone for now. Blasted Massacre off the mountain. Can you move?"
"W-what choice ... do we have?"
"None." Batman was blunt, hating himself for it. Superman squeezed his eyes shut.
"Then yes. I ... can move."
Batman took a good long look at Superman's face. As if sensing his gaze, Superman's eyes opened again and met his look.
"I can ... do it, Bruce. I'm ... all right."
It was such a boldfaced lie that Batman almost laughed outright in harsh disbelief. Instead, he forced down the gamut of everything he was feeling, and taped the bandages more firmly all around the knife's hilt and along the deep gash that Massacre had cut below Superman's ribs. He did his best to ignore the sound of sharp inhalation as he pressed on the wound, and the knife's blade was joggled within its puncture. He knew how important it was to stabilize the blade so that it wouldn't shift and cause even more internal injury. He tried not to see how tightly Superman had clenched his fists and his jaw, or how the Kryptonian tried not to writhe under his touch, and failing miserably. Despite the great cold, Batman could see beads of perspiration on Superman's face, and realized that shock was setting in. He could acutely see Superman growing weaker by the second, and had to tightly compress his own lips to keep from swearing aloud.
They had to get out of there.
"Superman, you're showing signs of cyanosis," he said tersely, looking at how blue Superman's lips had become. Another reason to get down off the glacier; the high altitude wasn't doing any favors to Superman's already dangerously low blood oxygen levels. Superman shifted again in response to his touch, unable to suppress the thick gasp of agony. His head fell back, and Batman saw how much weaker his movements already were. Superman's eyes closed. No, no, no… "Stay awake, Clark! You've got to stay awake!"
"I'll ... try." The words were barely audible over the rising howl of wind.
Batman finished what he could, and sat back on his heels, looking around them, forcing back the surge of desperate panic that threatened to spill out as he took in how untenable their position had come. Where could they go?
He tried his communicator again, and again, there was nothing but static. Either their enemies had somehow jammed the signal, or the encroaching blizzard was blocking its transmission. Either way, there was zero chance of anyone coming to their aid.
It was up to him to save Superman.
All right. He took a breath. First things first. The bleeding is contained for now. But we have to get off this mountain. He looked around them at the white exposed face of the glacier, and then down at the protruding knife. His eyes narrowed and he leaned closer to Superman's face. Was his skin turning a slight chartreuse color underneath the paleness? Were his lips slightly greenish under the blue? I have to get that knife out of him. I won't have to worry about shock or blood loss killing him if the Kryptonite poisoning isn't stopped, and soon.
"Bruce ..."
Startled, he looked down at Superman. "What?"
"You need ... to get away from ... me. They'll be ... coming ... back. Go. Get to safety."
The coldness settled in his gut like a malignant thing.
Batman stared at him. Superman saw his look and struggled harder to speak. Frothy blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth, and his breathing became even more labored. Had a lung been punctured after all?
"Please ... leave me. You can't ... help me, Bruce. I'm too far ..." His voice was lost for a moment, until he swallowed and gasped, the tremendous effort obvious. " Go. Save yourself ... please ..."
Batman suddenly shuddered all over, and it shook him out of his own state of half shock. He leaned forward fast, rage and frustration blazing out, unable to keep it out of his own voice. "Don't you dare ask me that," he hissed, inches above Superman's face. "You're not allowed to give up, Superman. And I'm sure as hell not giving up on you."
With a savage pull, he hoisted Superman up to a sitting position, trying not to hear the agonized cry that tore out of Superman at the movement. He slid an arm around his back, and lifted, even as Superman fought to get his legs under him.
"Bruce ..."
"It'll be all right, Clark," he husked, his own chest heaving in the cold air and with the effort. "We'll both make it out of this. I promise."
Supporting Superman's near dead weight on one side, he began to trek across the ice to the rock wall he could barely see ahead through the whirling, driving snow. Superman muttered something unintelligible, and groaned as he staggered against Batman's side. For a second, he stayed on his feet, trembling all over as he leaned his weight against Batman, and then all of a sudden his knees buckled and he was collapsing to the snow.
"Superman!"
Frantically, Batman laid his fingers across Superman's throat: the pulse was still there. But Superman looked even worse, and the lines of pain in his face had deepened.
"S ... sorry, Bruce ..." he whispered, the words thick and slurred. "I ... can't get ... my legs ... to ..." His head fell forward as he passed out.
"No!" Batman shouted, and seized Superman's shoulders. "You can't go!" He swallowed the fear in his mouth. Should Superman lose consciousness while suffering from shock ... "Superman! Damnit, don't! Clark! Wake up!" He shook him roughly. "KAL!!!" With the last shout he drew back his arm and struck Superman hard across the face. Superman's head rocked with the blow, but he didn't revive. Shit.
The storm roared around them, the wind and driving snow increasing in velocity. Batman looked around them, desperation and terror clawing at his mind. Nothing. They were alone, and he was without anything that could help.
And Superman ... Kal was dying.
No! I can't let that happen! I CAN'T!!!
Clenching his jaw, he reached forward and grasped the hilt of the knife. For a fraction of a second he hesitated, his own hand trembling, and then he mustered his will and twisted it sharply. Superman instantly galvanized, and a scream, unlike anything Batman had ever heard, was torn out of him. The pain must have been incredible, and Batman felt like walking wounded himself with what he had done. But Superman was awake, dragged up from the deathly unconsciousness, and that was what had to count now.
Thank God...
"I'm sorry, Clark," he muttered, watching Superman gasp and shake in the snow. "But we can't afford you to..."
But somehow Superman was managing a nod, and the flash of his eyes as they opened were alert over the waxy, ashen skin. "'S'okay," he whispered, and then he was given over to fighting the agony and struggling to breathe.
What can I do now? Batman thought, unable to resist the wave of despair that washed over him, looking around them at the desolate emptiness. How do I save him? How?
Then suddenly he spotted a darker patch against the dimming grayness, several feet away in the surface of the glacier. He squinted, and then reached up to flick a hidden toggle flattened in his cowl, and his infrared lenses activated. Yes.
He looked back down at Superman. The green tinge in his sweat-covered skin was growing as the radiation poisoning spread further. There's not much time.
With that and the injuries he'd sustained in the attack, there was simply no way that Superman would be able to manage his feet again.
"If you can't walk, then by god I'll carry you. I'll move heaven and earth itself if I have to," he said aloud, and his own words in the howling wind made his skin prickle. The words had sounded so hollow and disappeared so quickly. Gritting his teeth, he maneuvered closer to Superman and reached his arms underneath the Kryptonian's legs and back, braced himself, and lifted.
Batman could tell that Superman was struggling to not cry out at the movement that surely tore at the wound and the collapsed lung, and the hiss that escaped was terrifying in its warble.
He tightened his hold, cradling him against his chest as he waded through the deepening accumulation. "Don't fight it so hard," he murmured, gaze trained on that darker shape that he prayed would be their salvation. "You don't ever need to hide anything from me."
Superman couldn't answer.
Ten minutes of eternity later, they reached the lip of the opening Batman had spied. He paused to catch his breath, his own muscles trembling in equal tandem with Superman's, and peered down.
Yes.
It was a crevasse, deep in the glacier, and the slope was just gentle enough that he was sure, with help from his grapple, that he could lower both himself and Superman safely. It wasn't ideal, but at least it was out of the worst of the storm and wind, and they would no longer be exposed on the face of the ice. And maybe, just maybe, there would be a deeper cave beyond the drop where shelter could be made.
"Clark, I'm going to shift you a little," he said in warning.
Superman's shivering had increased, Batman noted with increased worrry, but he forced out a nod. "I'm ... ready."
Batman saw that he too had spotted the crevasse. But he wasn't ready. He never could be. Still, he stifled his cries as best he could as they moved. Batman clenched his own jaw, and kept going.
It took a bit of careful muscle control to carefully half-lower Superman against the upthrust of ice at the crevasse's mouth, and use the free hand to extract the equipment he needed, but Batman was nothing if not determined, and in seconds he had managed to anchor them to the rope, now lodged deep in ice, and lower them, inch by inch, down the shaft of the break in the ice. Even being out of the direct wind was a distinct relief, and even though snow was still falling from above, already Batman felt much warmer. He watched Superman's face carefully, but there was no discernible change from before.
If anything, he looked even worse.
That's to be expected, he told himself harshly, battling the renewed terror. Until I can get that Kryptonite out of him. And what if ...?
He bit down on the thought and concentrated on getting them both to the bottom of the narrowing crevice.
They reached the bottom, with rope to spare, and to Batman's great surprise and enormous relief, there was a bit of a sloped surface flat enough to walk on, and though dark, he could see a blackness a few feet away that indicated that yes, indeed, there was an ice cave there.
Well, 'tis the season for miracles.
He dropped the grapple and lifted up Superman in his arms again, careful of the protruding knife, and carried him towards it. Superman let out a weak gasp, but otherwise barely moved. His strength was nearly entirely gone.
Swallowing hard, Batman quickened his steps.
The cave was deep, and Batman carried Superman to the farthest corner before carefully kneeling down, and ever so gently, ever so slowly, lowered Superman to the ground.
Superman stiffened as his body straightened out, and a strangled cry emerged from his throat, and for a second, Batman feared he had passed out again, but then Superman, chest heaving spasmodically, opened his eyes to look up at him. "B-bruce ..."
Batman could see that it was taking everything Superman had in him to stay awake, to fight against succumbing to the pain and the poisoning, to not just lapse into pain-free unconsciousness. But he couldn't keep it up for much longer. His strength was ebbing fast, and his breathing was becoming more and more ragged.
He's dying.
Again, he felt that awful cold seize him and threaten to still his heart in his chest. He'd never felt so cold in his life.
No! I'm not going to let that happen!
"Hang on, Clark," he said, own voice rough, "just a little bit longer." He sprang to his feet, and set about the tasks that had to be taken care of first so that he could do what needed to be done.
He again blessed his foresight as he removed object after object from his utility belt, trying not to listen too hard to the labored breathing and tiny, pain-filled groans that Superman could not suppress. He jammed lightsticks into the ice around the cave, and sparked off his miniature portable heatlamp, setting it as near to Superman's position as he could. As light and heat began to fill the small cave, Superman's shivering seemed to become more intense, and his body more strained.
Batman whipped off his cape and settled it over him, knowing how important it was to keep a shock victim as warm as possible. At least Superman was lying on rock and not actual ice. He did his best to arrange Superman's own cape so that it was between his body and the cold stone. It wasn't ever going to be as warm as Superman needed, but it was all he had and he could only do the best he could do.
In the next several minutes, Batman found his mind settling into a clinical mode as his brain, almost without conscious prompting, recalled all of the basics of his first aid training. It helped him to set aside the panic that had threatened to spill over.
I'm not ready to let him go. No. Not ever.
Forcing aside the cold that wouldn't let him go, Batman worked steadily and swiftly. He maneuvered Superman onto the ground, raising his legs six inches off the ground into the shock position, placing a pile of rocks beneath the boots. He bent to make sure Superman's airway was open, but the fact that he had been able to speak, albeit not easily, was a good sign of that. He assessed his breathing, and made sure Superman's head was tilted back in case he did lose consciousness. Superman's breathing was coming in short, gasping breath; definitely a sign of acute respiratory distress. He seemed always short of breath, and Batman tried not to see how much agony each of them was for him. Several more times, Superman tried to speak, but failed as he couldn't seem to catch his breath.
Batman pressed his ear to Superman's chest. He could hear air going in and out on his right side, but there was a horrifying nothingness on the left.
Damnit. He does have a collapsed lung.
He looked at the knife. There was no way he could leave it in there. It had to come out. Normally he knew one should never remove an object that had penetrated the body, not in conditions like these, outside an emergency room with all the attendant necessary equipment and medical personnel. But the Kryptonite ... the damned Kryptonite was killing him. It would end his life long before blood loss or severe trauma would. Treatment now would have to be geared towards that end.
It has to come out. It has to come out now. And I have to do it.
Forcing out a breath, and forcing down the aching cold that seemed worse inside him than out, he reached back for his belt. He found the oxygen mask in one compartment and slid it gently over the lower half of Superman's face. The additional oxygen should help slow down the shock progression.
Then he stripped off his gauntlets, washing his hands in snow as best he could, wishing he could sterilize them. But there was nothing else to be done. He reached over Superman's chest, and roughly tore the cloth of his uniform, exposing a large area around the long wound over his side and ribs and chest. He readied what bandages he had, and prayed that Superman's natural Kryptonian abilities would kick in to help.
Earth and Sun, and all powers that aid him, come to him now! A line from Hamlet suddenly rose in his mind, and he threw that in too, as an impromptu prayer. Oh, angels and ministers of grace, of Earth or Krypton, defend him!
He leaned over Superman, and gently grasped the knife's hilt in one hand, trying his damnedest to keep it steady.
"Clark."
Superman opened his eyes, and met his look.
"I'm going to remove it now." There was really nothing else he could say.
Superman licked his dry lips, and swallowed, chest heaving, still fighting for breath, and still losing. Batman watched as he clenched his jaw, and nodded shortly. He had no breath left to speak at all. Batman tightened his grip and his resolve.
For an instant he waited, ruthlessly pushing down his terror, watching Superman brace himself, wild thoughts screaming in his mind. Screaming in his soul.
Kal...
Then he yanked.
He tried his best to pull the blade out the same path it had gone in, to minimize the damage, but Massacre had dragged the knife in a wickedly vicious cut, and Batman couldn't help but tear through new flesh and vessels as he tore the knife free.
The scream that tore free from Superman was almost worse.
He saw how Superman tried not to cry out, how his back arched right off the stone floor, and how absolutely impossible that was. Fresh blood gurgled froth, much of it tinted a sickly green, and Batman threw the knife across the cave as hard as he could before pressing down on the wound with his emergency padding, using bunched up bits of material from Superman's own costume to stem the tide of blood as best as he could.
Superman was gasping, eyes squeezed shut, muscles spasming. Thank god his pain threshold was so high; it was a miracle he hadn't passed out from the sheer pain.
But perhaps it would be better if he had.
Batman looked at the blood pooling around him, and knew, in that instant, never felt so cold in his life. He swallowed and concentrated.
Applying more pressure to the bleeding wound, he saw, to his vast relief, greatest amount of blood flow slowing down. "It's all right," he whispered over and over to Superman, as if a mantra. "It's gone. It's out." He couldn't be sure Superman had heard him. He forced himself to concentrate on his treatment.
There had been a sound like suction when he had pulled out the knife, and he knew it was a sucking chest wound with the object removed. He quickly grabbed the plastic bag he had laid out, thanking Alfred for the simple restock, and taped it down all around the puncture wound. It would create a sort of valve. Every time Superman inhaled, the plastic would be sucked close against the wound so that he would be able to actually take a breath.
As soon as he had it in place, he knew Superman was experiencing immediate relief, and his breathing was already returning close to normal. Air was venting out the fourth side of the plastic he hadn't taped down. Thank god he remembered his advanced First Aid training or he would have taped down all sides and inadvertently caused a tension pneumothorax. That would have been a nightmare. Air would have been trapped inside and Superman's lung would have kept expanding until the pressure on his heart would have pushed it to the right, and his trachea too, causing impairment of its ability to contract and Superman's condition to rapidly deteriorate.
He may be an alien being, but his heart still has to beat like any man's.
He checked on airway, breathing, and circulation again; all seemed as well as could be given the circumstances. He checked the radial pulse in both of Superman's wrists. Both were pulsating at the same time, which was good news. The pulse was rapid and weak, but definitely still there. He was still in a dangerous state of shock, but so far Superman's body seeming to be fighting it tooth and claw.
Compensatory shock, he remembered it was called.
Superman was pale, cool to the touch, and diaphoretic. But blessedly, most importantly, he was breathing on his own.
Thank you.
Batman felt weak himself, and for a second, leaned forward on his hands, head bowed, taking in great breaths of air. At a slight sound below him, his head jerked up. Superman was looking up at him, his eyes clouded, and agony written in every line of his face. He was trying to speak. Batman removed the oxygen mask.
"B ... Br ..."
He shook his head, and laid a blood-stained finger across Superman's lips. "No. Don't try to speak right now, Clark. Just rest. It's going to be okay."
Still, Superman fought to speak, until breathing became too difficult. All of a sudden, his whole body went limp, and his head lolled to the side. Batman's heart froze in his chest. Instantly he was pressing his ear to Clark's chest. Faintly, he heard the sound of breath, and the steady, rhythmic thump of his heart. He sagged back, his own heart pounding.
He's still alive. He's still alive.
Superman's body couldn't handle the trauma any more, but it was still alive. He hadn't given up. He was a fighter. He had just lapsed into unconsciousness. Not a good sign, but there was nothing else Batman could do about it.
He hasn't died. He's alive.
He could only pray he would stay that way. What had he been trying to say? He frowned a little as he removed the rocks under his legs, and tried to make Superman as comfortable as possible.
He sighed as he finished. He looked down at his hands, covered in Superman's blood. He abruptly rose and moved to the side of the cave, where a drift of snow had built up along one side of the entrance. He knelt and savagely scrubbed them with the icy crystals until his skin was red and raw. As clean as he could get them.
Clark...
He looked at his hand for a moment, and then at a sudden groan from the figure behind him, he sprang up and raced back to Superman's side. Helplessly he watched as Superman fought to breathe, in obvious pain, and eventually settle back into a near-normal pattern again. He hugged himself a little, to keep warm, he told himself, and shivered. He had never felt so cold in his life.
For a long time, time that went by unmeasured, Batman sat still and watched Superman breathing. The breaths seemed as even and steady as they could get. After a long while, he felt the tension gradually leave him, and he felt utterly exhausted, his muscles like jelly, and he sagged a little, allowing the thin relief to fill him. Superman may have been unconscious, but he was alive.
Thank God...
Batman knew he needed more advanced care than what he could provide at that moment, including IV therapy, blood and blood products along with meds and, of course, surgery to repair the internal injuries. Then he shook his head at himself with a wry snort. Well, that would be true of anyone else. This was Superman. Hopefully, with the Kryptonite removed, he would slowly start to heal on his own, as his systems regained their strength, and his natural resilience to injury and illness would reassert itself.
What do I do now?
He sighed and looked out at the mouth of the cave. The wind was howling above the crevasse with even greater gusto than before, and fresh snow was accumulating at the narrow entrance. At least their tracks would have been long covered. He had tried numerous times to raise the Watchtower, or anyone, but to no avail. They were on their own.
There's nothing to do but wait. Wait until the blizzard abates and hope I can get a signal through to the League before any of Superman's enemies are able to track us down. He pressed his lips into a tight line, refusing to give in to senseless worry. Not exactly how I planned to spend Christmas.
He turned his head to look at the Kryptonite-encrusted knife that he had flung to the mouth of the cave. Wearily, he stood up, every inch of his body protesting. Batman hadn't felt so sore from fatigue and tension in...longer than he cared to remember. He moved over to the weapon and leaned down to pick it up. For a long moment, he held it and looked at it, at the blood staining the rough-edged blade, and his hand trembled. With a deep-seated loathing, he jerked forward and hurled the thing out of the cave and deep into the crevasse, as far from Superman as he could get. He was left feeling drained and breathless, harsh gasps erupting from his chest as he stared out into the snow-swirling dark.
Then with an abrupt jerk, he turned and headed back to Superman, once more checking on his airway and circulation. To his great relief and gratitude, the Kryptonian seemed fairly stable, all things considered, though he was still pale, and sweaty, and cold to the touch. He tugged the cape a little higher over Superman's neck, and then shivered a little himself. Even with the thermal layering in the batsuit, he could feel the cold seeping through. And Superman...he had nothing next to his skin but the thin material of his uniform, and of course that had been ripped away over his side and over a good deal of his chest. If he were awake, he would be freezing, no doubt. Even unconscious, he wasn't exactly toasty.
Batman shivered again, and looked down at his friend. Am I really attempting to justify this? Shaking his head savagely, he bent down, and lifting the edge of the cape, he rolled in beside Superman and drew the voluminous cloak over them both. He tucked himself right against Superman's body, and laid an arm lightly across Superman's stomach, careful to avoid the bandaged wound on his far side.
Shared body heat will help keep both of us warm and alive, he told himself fiercely, curling even closer, tucking his head right next to Superman's.
For several long minutes, he lay there, listening to the deep breaths, still slightly hitched, of Superman next to him, and feeling the slight lifts and falls of his chest as he breathed. He thought briefly of removing Superman's and then his own costume; surely skin-to-skin contact would be even warmer for them both.
It would be practical.
He quashed the thought immediately. That might prove a little bit awkward. How on earth would I explain that position when he wakes up?
After a while, he stopped shivering so much, and felt the warmth begin to seep in around him. Thank goodness for insulated capes! He kept his cowl on, knowing it would keep him warmer; the greatest loss of heat was through the top of the head.
That's right.
He reached over and dragged up a strip of Superman's scarlet cape from beneath his shoulder, ripped a piece of the fabric free, and threaded his fingers through the black curls, wrapping the scrap of cape gently around Superman's head.
I hope that helps somewhat. It's damned cold in here. He could see his breath in the frigid air. What if we're trapped down here for too long and we freeze to de ...? Harshly, he cut himself off from finishing the thought, again reaching out, as if his hand had a will of its own, to stroke a finger along Superman's brow and then traced it down over his ear.
He's got such incredibly soft hair, he marveled, distracting himself from the awful peril his friend was in. Is it always like that? Or just now when he's not so ... invulnerable? He tucked a stray bit of tattered cape beneath the back of the head, his fingers buried in the hair at the nape of Superman's neck, before reluctantly easing his hand back. For a while he huddled against the Man of Steel, and gradually began to feel a bit warmer. With the warmth came a greater sense of ease, and he stopped shivering.
I very nearly lost him... He swallowed hard and abruptly shuddered. But I didn't. He's here, warm and alive and breathing, right beside me. They didn't get him. I stopped them. He's alive.
He lifted himself on one elbow and gazed for some time down at the Kryptonian. It was not very often, after all, that he saw his colleague like this: asleep and vulnerable, entirely trusting himself to Batman's care. His skin had already taken on a healthier colour, and the taut lines of pain had eased in sleep. The crimson cloth crowned his dark hair, making him look strangely exotic, like some alien prince that had fallen from the stars to land in Bruce's arms.
Startled at the thought, and slightly alarmed at the images and accompanying feelings that had arisen with it, he shook his head. I think I'm more tired than I thought.
He looked back down at Superman and on reflex reached forward and brushed back that unruly lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. The skin felt cool and smooth to his bare touch. The fever had died down, he noted distantly; Clark was no longer clammy and hot. But what he really found himself focusing on was the electric jolt that went right through him at the touch, and how his hand felt drawn to that flesh like a magnet. His fingers traced over the fine eyebrow and down over Superman's temple, caressing the high cheekbone and then trailing down over his chin. He marveled at the feel of that face under his fingertips, and though he knew he should stop, he couldn't seem to muster the willpower to do so. His hand traveled down Superman's jaw as if of its own accord and then over the side of his neck, feeling the carotid artery pulse with life, the hot blood pumping and throbbing beneath his fingers. He moved across his throat and the hollow of the collarbone to the bare left shoulder where he'd torn the uniform apart to work. His hand dipped lower, lightly tracing the swell of hard pectoral muscle, feeling the gentle reis and fall of quiet breaths, moving with a rapt fascination to the nub of nipple he could not resist touching.
It's really only right that Superman of all people have the most magnificent chest in the world, he mused dreamily, falling into his exhausted fugue even further. He circled the smooth, hot skin around the nipple, and then all of a sudden drew himself up short and snatched his hand away as if he'd been burned.
What ... what the hell am I doing??? I'm feeling up Clark-Superman, for god's sake! He swallowed hard. An injured Superman, at that! Who's trusting me with his life, not exactly expecting me to take advantage of him! Disgusted at himself, and more than a little confused, Batman closed his hands into fists and drew back a little from where he'd been pressing against the length of Superman's body.
This ... this isn't right. What am I doing? What am I thinking?
He realized he'd begun to tremble, and that it had nothing whatsoever to do with the temperature.
This is wrong.
Then why, why, did it suddenly feel so right?
He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Clark...I didn't...I don't... Oh god, Kal...
He opened his eyes, zeroing in again on the man beside him. He couldn't seem to stop looking at Superman, drinking in the sight of him. He so rarely allowed himself to just look. And there Superman was, a living, breathing, warm presence, lying at Bruce's side. Just as he so often had imagined, secretly, guiltily, hiding the ramifications of such thoughts even from himself. And he knew he had been fooling himself for far too long. Of course, he thought with not a little wryness, I never exactly pictured it like this.
This wasn't something he could keep buried, not for much longer. He realized he didn't even want to. Not any more.
He groaned and pressed his face against Superman's shoulder. I'm worse than I thought. But for whatever reason, all of a sudden he didn't ever want to move from right where he was, not for anything. Not for anything in the world. What is wrong with me? Why am I so damned weak?
He had fought so hard and for so long to keep his feelings in check, even from himself. And now, suddenly, he was forced to acknowledge them. Somehow, the terror of being so close to losing Superman that night had changed something, freed something within him. Somehow, having Superman hurt and entirely dependent on him had forced Bruce to look at him-at them-with open eyes. Clearer eyes. And perhaps with open heart too, for the very first time.
And clearly his heart-and his body too apparently-understood something his mind had refused to. Somehow having Superman's life and welfare in Batman's hands had awakened something inside him. Something wonderful. Something dangerous. Something exhilarating.
Something terrifying.
Kal...
He lifted himself up in an abrupt move, and stared down at Superman again, his eyes tracing every line and nuance of his face. You're so damned beautiful. He shook his head in awe and amazement. What have you done to me? I've been enraptured by you, somehow, against all predictions and analysis, against all expectation, against all logic, and against all odds. He blinked against the moisture forming in his eyes. Superman, my teammate. Clark, my friend. Kal, my...
He swallowed, his mouth dry as he gazed at the face before him. I want you. I need you. I ... I love you. The ache in his throat became unbearable. And I don't know if I can ever have you. He shut his eyes tightly, against the sight before them, fear and wonder and despair and joy each tearing their way through him all at once. He released a long, shuddering sigh, and opened his eyes again, and unable to resist any longer, laid a tender hand along the side of Superman's face. I don't know if I'll ever have another chance.
Still, he hesitated, leaning his weight on his trembling arm for long, breathless moments, before easing himself down to rest on top of Superman's uninjured side. I don't know how you feel. I don't know if there's any chance that you could feel the same way for me. He ran his naked hands up over Superman's neck and the sides of his face. Gently he drew away the scrap of cape that he had wrapped over his head, and buried one hand in his silky hair. Carpe Diem, he thought, a savage joy and fierce possessiveness suddenly sweeping over him. Seize the day!
He cupped Superman's jaw in his other hand, and tilted the head upwards.
I'm sorry, Kal. I hope you'll forgive me. But I have to do this. Just once. He ran a fingertip lightly over those lips.
I have to.
Despite being chapped, he would have sworn that he had never felt anything so soft, so electrifying in his life.
God, Clark... You...
He swallowed, and felt his heart racing even as he lowered himself more to feel the steady, slow, thump of Superman's heart beating beneath his breast against his own. This may be the only chance I'm ever given. His hand as if of its own accord, slid behind Superman's neck as his other hand circled back over his jaw. But I...I pray...
Pulse racing, hands trembling, scarcely able to believe he was about to do what he was about to do, Batman slowly lowered his head, and with the most perfect gentleness, lightly touched Superman's lips with his own. I pray that somehow, some way, this isn't the last. But only the first. He feathered a kiss with infinite care and lightness on the sleeping man beneath him. I pray that someday you let me kiss you awake. And that you will kiss me back.
He drew back and looked down at the face before him. Superman had still not stirred. He was safe. With all the joy and need and ... and love that I feel right now. And then, the tenderness was being swallowed by something wilder and darker, and Batman lowered his head again, beyond all ability to resist, and this time pressed his lips to Superman's mouth with greater force, and kissed him with abandon, fierce passion filling him, tasting Superman as he had longed to do for so very long, memorizing the feel and heat of that mouth against the long, lonely days to come.
Kal, Kal, Kal...
He was one. He was where he belonged, at long last. He was home.
You're mine. Oh, Kal, you're mine.
With a tremendous effort of will that took more out of him than he had ever felt before, he finally lifted his head, breaking the contact, breathing hard, trying-and failing-to assimilate everything that was washing over and through him at that moment. He had never felt so overwhelmed, so completely out of control, and for one split second, it was glorious.
Oh, God, thank you...
Then his reality was reasserting itself, and he blinked, suddenly seeing the cave and feeling the cold and feeling his hand clutching at Superman, who had thankfully not awakened beneath his...
It was practically an assault.
But to his own surprise, the thought held no guilt, only a certain ruefulness. He couldn't seem to bring himself to regret what he had done. He realized he wouldn't take back what he had done, not for the world. He couldn't ever regret. For if nothing else, he had that memory. And it had been incredible. No kiss had ever felt like that, make him feel like that. Never. What I would give...
And if it was the last, it was a damned spectacular one, and would be enough.
No, no it's not.
The sudden blazing thought surprised even him in it intensity.
It won't ever be enough.
His heart still pounding, and his breath coming ragged in his chest, Batman looked back down at Superman, and the pain right then that seared through him seemed enough to swallow him whole.
I can't ... I can't ever let you go.
He cradled his hands along that face, so noble, so compassionate and kind, so brave, so heartbreakingly beautiful. Superman... He longed with everything he had in him to see those brilliant eyes open, drown in that otherworldly blue, fall in amongst the starshine that blazed within them whenever Superman thought he wasn't looking.
Clark ...
He knew that what he sometimes thought he glimpsed in those blue eyes, those singular eyes unlike anything else on earth, eyes that were sometimes cerulean like a summer's sky, sometimes sapphire like a sparkling clear winter's dawn, sometimes turquoise like a pristine jeweled lake, sometimes ice-blue like a mirrored glacial mountain, sometimes velvet like a starlit and moonlit midnight, sometimes aquamarine like the deepest tropical sea, sometimes something more akin to blue gold, bursting with stars and the bright soul behind them...sometimes he thought he saw something different...something special. Friendship and care, yes, regard and affection, yes, but sometimes perhaps something even more. He dared to hope what he glimpsed was not just in his fevered imagination, fueled by hidden hopes and dreams on his part, but was actually there. Not a dream. Not a false hope. But Real.
True.
Kal...
Maybe, just maybe it was.
Bruce released a long sigh, and pressed his forehead against Kal's for an eternal moment. Then he raised his head to gaze down one more time at the face below his, drinking in the sight, before leaning down with the greatest of care, and giving one last, brief, kiss, a kiss of infinite sweetness, pressing it against Superman's mouth tenderly, pouring all of his longing, grief, loneliness, joy, and love into that final touch.
I'll wait for you.
He drew away, and levered himself back on the ground beside Superman, his hands trailing from the body so tantalizingly close to his own, and then, with an effort of will greater than he had believed possible, he pulled them away.
No matter how long it takes.
He lay close to Superman, so close, and never so far away. In that moment, he had never felt so cold in his life.
Continued...