Fic: Black and Blue (Clark/Bruce) , PG (6/?)
Series: Black & Blue (Part 6/?) a.k.a Chapter 5b
Table of Contents
Category: Alternate Universe, Pre-Slash
Universe: DCU/Smallville/Batman Begins
Rating: PG for now
Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Summary: The friendship before they donned the capes.
Disclaimer: DC and Millar/Gough own them and say this didn’t happen…I choose not to believe them.
Notes: An AU of “When Clark met Bruce” by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale.
A/N: This is the second half of Chapter 5. I changed the number...because it just looked better as Chapter 6 on my TOC than as 5b...but this is still technically 5b...um, yeah.
And A/N: Thanks so much to
supercaptain182 for the brainstorming so early on. And I bow down to
jen_in_japan for the awesome beta job.
It was more challenging than Martha thought, having two ten year old boys around the house non-stop. Although Clark was doing a good job of hiding his abilities, it still amazed her how much trouble two children could get into. Trouble was the wrong word, she thought. It was more like they personally calculated the exact amount of time, space, and determination it took to come back to the house covered from head to toe in dirt, sweat, grass and anything else they could find to roll in.
And in spite of Jonathan’s initial misgivings, she knew he loved having more than one child running around the house constantly. They could hear the boys futilely whispering at night in Clark’s room hoping not to wake them, or laughing all the way from the barn while they explored the loft. Jonathan had expressed the idea of converting that space into a sort of clubhouse since it was apparently the boys’ favorite place on the farm.
Bruce, for his part, had proven himself to be helpful with the farm chores, Jonathan had told her once with a grin. Whenever the older man looked up, he found their guest peering at him wide-eyed as Jonathan slung hay bales or mucked the stalls. After finally asking the young boy if he knew how to feed cows, and receiving an even wider-eyed shake of the head in the negative, Jonathan had found himself an eager hired-hand. Bruce didn’t have Clark’s strength or speed, but damned if he wasn’t determined to do the job right. Jonathan would find Martha standing at the barn doors smiling at the three “men” as they worked and knew that he would be hearing “I told you so” sometime in the near future.
Stalks of corn rose above his head to the right and left of him. He could still hear the countdown. 75, 74, 73, 72… Bruce turned to the right, trying to hold his breath as he ran, not wanting to alert his pursuer to his whereabouts. He could hear the rustling of the stalks behind him. It could have been anyone, but as long as it wasn’t the most important person... 62, 61, 60, 59… Turning left again, he saw the sun overhead in the direction he was running. He knew now that wherever he was, he was heading west.
In June, the sun was bright, but not terribly hot. There was still a bit of the spring breeze floating over the farm town, cooling the beads of sweat that sprinkled across Bruce’s nose and slid down his temples. He figured he must have run far enough by now. He could hardly see the Kent’s barn in sight, and he could no longer hear the counting. Crouching low to the ground and trying to regulate his breathing, Bruce waited. He heard the slightest rustle of corn that could have been the breeze, or it could have been something else.
After several minutes Bruce heard nothing. He hadn’t known how long he’d sat crouched there until a rapid succession of footsteps began to approach. His heart began to pound in anticipation, though he struggled with whether to remain hidden or make a run for it. He wasn’t sure he could make it to the barn in time, but as he saw the dusty tennis shoes just a few rows of corn over, his decision was made for him.
Bruce dashed to the left, sprinting in the opposite direction of the sun. The barn was just over there, he was pretty sure that he had enough of a head start to outrun his pursuer. His heart was fit to burst, and not simply because of the physical activity. The footsteps behind were gaining, and though he knew the barn was only just beyond that row of corn, it would not make a difference if he was caught before he reached his destination. Making a sharp right turn, he cut back into the corn, knowing that he would be covered and the change in direction would cause confusion. Bruce was fast enough, he could lie low for little bit longer before heading back in the right direction. He only had to-
The flap of black wings startled a yelp out of him and he skidded to a stumbling halt right into the dirt covered ground. The flapping did not cease, but instead seemed to grow closer and become more than one. His vision was filled with flying black…things, and Bruce threw his arms up to cover his face, and all of a sudden he had a jarring case of déjà vu…
He felt himself falling, seemingly forever until a sudden harsh stop onto a hard ground. His arm felt as if it exploded, and the pain screamed ever more as he tried to roll into a sitting position. He heard his name being called from above, but it was the distant squeak in the dark hollow beyond that caught his attention. The squeaks became several, and before Bruce knew it, he was swarmed with dozens of pairs of black wings covering and clawing at him. He tried raised his arms to strike at them, wave them away, to get them to leave him, but they continued to claw, to flap, and Bruce shouted until he thought he would have no voice left…
“Bruce, stop! They’re gone,” he heard a voice say. Opening his eyes, he saw the familiar blue surrounded by black curls.
“Bats,” Bruce said somewhat dully, feeling his face grow hot with having Clark see him act in such a way.
“It wasn’t bats. It was those darn crows,” Clark said with an understanding smile. He’d known about Bruce’s phobia, and now Bruce suddenly felt that he would rather that Clark didn’t know about that particular weakness. Especially as he looked up and saw Lana, Pete, and that Greg Arkin kid standing off to the side looking at him as if he were crazy.
“Maybe we should have a do over,” Clark suggested to the group, helping Bruce to stand up. Bruce started at how Clark seemed to have lifted him to his feet with no effort and no help from him. “Bruce was close enough to home base before those crows ruined everything.”
Lana nodded her head in agreement while Greg simply shrugged. But it was Pete that became vocal. “Oh come on! If have to be It again, I don’t wanna play anymore.” Bruce noticed the slight glare that Pete sent in his direction. He felt himself go hot suddenly; Clark didn’t have to make such a big deal out of it.
“Fine, I’ll be It.” Clark declared magnanimously. Clark turned a lopsided grin in Bruce’s direction, and the Gothamite felt his shame ebb away. Clark twisted away from them all and covered his face with his hands. As soon as he started at 100, the remaining four kids made a mad dash into the corn.
After Lana went home, the boys all set up camp in the newly cleared out hayloft. Jonathan was still making changes to accommodate anything a young boy might need, but for now they had lamps and flashlights-which the boys were utilizing so as not to alert the parents that they were still awake-a desk, and as promised, the telescope. Jonathan also included an old red couch that converted into a bed, and a hammock stretched between two beams. The latter was favored by Clark who tried to convince Bruce that it could hold the both of them. After hearing jeering remarks coming from the other two boys about Clark and Bruce sitting in some tree, Bruce opted to squeeze into what little space was left on the sofa-bed.
The hammock was looking more and more comfortable by the minute.
Bruce knew when he wasn’t liked, especially since Pete was making it very obvious, at least to him, that every question, joke, or statement was aimed at Clark and Greg, not Bruce. Whenever Bruce tried to interject, Pete pointedly interrupted him with another story or observation. Clark did not seem to notice, and Bruce could see that Pete was just the talkative type. Although Clark did, for his part, try to include Bruce on their group conversation, after a while Bruce simply gave up and stared longingly at the apparent comfort of the hammock. It was too late to change his mind now.
He didn’t remember falling asleep, but Bruce opened his eyes to find the lamps turned off and the sound of light snoring from beside him on the sofa-bed. It was a wonder he hadn’t fallen off of the bed as close to the edge as he was. Both Greg and Pete had taken up more space than should have been possible for boys their size.
The Kent farm at night was like being trapped in a pitch black cave. With every light extinguished, Bruce could not see his hand in front of his face, and though he’d never been afraid of the dark before, this sensation was overwhelming. It was as if the darkness was swallowing him whole.
After spending a month on the farm, Bruce was able to decipher which snore belonged to Clark. It wasn’t loud or disturbing, just a steady rumble that Bruce had grown accustomed to. In the crushing darkness, he found that if he focused on it he could let it lure him back to sleep.
Something tickled his face and brought him out of his peaceful sleep. Without opening his eyes, Bruce batted at his face and began to doze off once more. The whatever-it-was was relentless, and Bruce batted it away again before he remembered that his flashlight was somewhere on the floor next to the sofa. He fumbled on the floor for a few seconds until his hand connected with the cylindrical shape. Sliding his thumb along the sides, he found the switch and turned the flashlight on, his eyes adjusting to the sudden illumination.
He didn’t expect to see the giant bat hovering a few inches from his face. His shout echoed throughout the barn and Bruce tried to roll away until he felt the bed fall away from him and he abruptly hit the floor. The lights suddenly flooded the loft and the sounds of thudding and giggles evaded his senses.
“Bruce! Are you alright?” Bruce heard Clark’s voice, even over the hysterical laughter. He felt the hand on his arm and shrugged it away violently. Finally able to get his bearings, Bruce stood up to find Clark looking up at him with a wounded expression, Greg rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and Pete with tears of laughter streaming down his face. In his hands was a stuffed crow with a maroon, varsity lettered S stitched on its chest.
“God, you should have seen your face,” Pete managed to gasp out in between fits. He collapsed backwards onto the bed and clutched one hand to his stomach. Peripherally, Greg began to giggle if only because of Pete’s reenactments of Bruce’s apparent facial expression. Bruce rounded on him and snatched the stuffed crow out of his hands. Pete immediately stopped laughing as Bruce went to the open loft windows and applied his pitching techniques to send the crow flying out into the night.
“Hey!” Pete yelled and he advanced on Bruce until Clark suddenly appeared and stood between the two of them.
“Guys, stop!” Clark bellowed. His two hands managed to keep the boys apart as they continued with their verbal sparring.
“What the hell is your problem?” Pete cried in outrage.
“That wasn’t funny,” Bruce managed with an eerie calm, though the sheen in his eyes betrayed a different emotion.
“It was just a joke! You didn’t have to throw my crow out the window, man.”
“Perhaps you should watch where you put your things.”
“Wait!” Clark finally managed to interject. “What happened?”
“It was just a joke,” Pete repeated. “And this guy flips out and throws my crow out of the window!”
“And your friend here shouldn’t have had it in my face while I was trying to sleep.”
Realization dawned as Clark put the pieces together. “Please tell me you didn’t, Pete.”
“What? It was a joke. Are you gonna take his side over mine?” Pete asked. Bruce watched as Clark grew silent and could not witness the scene any longer.
“You don’t have to choose sides, Clark,” Bruce said quietly, his face returning to that blank expression from their first meeting. “I’m going to the house.”
Bruce had no illusions that Clark would pick him over Pete. After all, he had known Pete way longer and knew him better. Bruce gathered his pillow and pulled his tennis shoes onto his bare feet and marched back into the house. When no one seemed to follow him, he knew he’d made the right decision.
“Why did you do that?” Clark asked angrily. He knew that Pete saw how Bruce reacted earlier in the cornfield, so he couldn’t understand why his friend would pull such a mean trick.
“It. Was. A. Joke.” Pete repeated again slowly. “It’s not my fault that rich snob is so touchy.”
“Well, it was a mean joke,” Clark bit back, the vehemence of it taking Pete by surprise. “And stop calling him names! You don’t like people doing it to you. And if I wouldn’t let it happen then, I’m not gonna let it happen now.”
Pete had the decency to look ashamed, but only temporarily. “What’s the big deal? It’s not my fault he’s a big fraidy cat that’s scared of some stupid birds.”
“You don’t know what you just did, but I’m going inside with Bruce.”
“You’re taking his side?” Pete exclaimed.
Clark stopped at the top of the stairs, turning slowly to face Pete. “I figured out that you’re jealous of Bruce, Pete. But I thought you’d get over it and see how great he is. But I see that you just don’t want to like him, so I’m going to see if he’s cool. I’ll see you in the morning.”
With that, Clark left the loft with his flashlight in hand, leaving a shocked Pete and a wide-eyed Greg to their thoughts until it was time to wake up in just a few hours.
Bruce stepped through the kitchen door in time to see Jonathan coming down the stairs blearily. He’d hoped the older man wouldn’t ask him about the shouting that Bruce could still hear coming from the barn, but it seemed that his luck was getting worse and worse.
“What’s going on?” Mr. Kent asked with genuine concern.
“It’s nothing,” Bruce answered, just wanting to climb the stairs and get into Clark’s more comfortable bed.
“Son,” Jonathan started, but at Bruce’s unconscious flinch at the word, he immediately regretted the presumption. “Bruce, I can tell it’s more than ‘nothing’. You can talk to me.”
Bruce never liked snitching, but he knew that Mr. Kent wouldn’t let him go to bed without some explanation. “Pete played a joke that wasn’t as funny as he thought. Can I please just go to bed?”
Just then Clark came bursting through the door, and unlike Bruce he was still in his bare feet. Bruce really did not want to deal with Clark just then, but as luck would have it…
“Wait Bruce, I’m sorry about Pete. He was being a jerk, but he doesn’t know that it wasn’t just a joke.”
Even knowing that Clark knew just how unfunny the prank was, Bruce did not want even the elder Kents knowing about it. He already felt like a wimp for letting Pete get to him.
“Clark, just leave it alone, alright? I just want to sleep in a more comfortable bed.”
“I’m coming with you,” Clark started to follow, but Mr. Kent, who had been watching the exchange with interest, finally halted the two boys hoping for a more adequate explanation.
“Boys, I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but you have guests in the barn and it’s a little rude to just leave them out there.”
“That’s why Clark should go back,” Bruce stated, silently acknowledging that he would not be joining him.
“I’m not going without you,” Clark replied with enough conviction to let Bruce know that Clark was not to be argued with. Oh, but did he want to argue.
“Clark,” Jonathan halted him again, “maybe you should go back out to the barn and try to settle things with Pete. If Bruce wants to be alone, then we can respect that.”
Clark continued to shake his head, but instead of addressing his father, his eyes remained resolutely fixed on Bruce. “I already told Pete what I thought of his stupid joke. He’s my friend, but you are too. I’m coming with you.”
The two boys stared each other down, making Jonathan apprehensive as neither one of them seemed to be ready to relent. An unstoppable force and an immoveable object, he thought idly; that’s what Martha would have called them. He began to protest his son’s uncharacteristic insolence, but Bruce spoke up first, stopping the impending argument.
“Fine,” Bruce relented after a long pause, though his eyes flashed with defiance. Jonathan’s objections died in his throat as the two boys marched up the stairs. Bruce suddenly had a jarring since of déjà vu as Clark pulled him by the hand up the stairs. He tried futilely to wrench his hand out of Clark’s grasp, but Clark was persistent. Yet in spite of his continued resistance, Bruce was silently very glad for the darkness of the night as they headed towards Clark’s room.
In the dark, no one could see the relief etched all over his face.