I recently read a SuperBat slash fic that made me want to try one of my own. You don't have to read slashfics or like them, but this is one of the most heart-wrenching renditions of any slash pairing that I've ever read. Check it out, it's called "Staunch the Bleed" by gothraven89. actually, check out all the BvS and Justice League stuff from that author, it's great.

So, here goes nothing. This will probably be more than one shot. I posted this whole thing on watt pad too, but I might take it down from there. Anyways, this starts in the middle of Justice League, with the return of Superman, so ***SPOILER ALERT*** there if you haven't seen the movie yet.

GIVEN THE SITUATION, Clark was probably more than literally in over his head, and he knew it. He wanted run for the hills. He wanted to stop the insane overload his brain was experiencing. He wanted to just... anything. Literally anything.

The first thing he registered when he opened his eyes was a searing pain in his chest. The second was that he didn't know where he was.

After that, the only thing he registered was water, and the second he realized he was underwater, he was bursting up, through the ceiling, and up, and up, until he was hovering outside, above the ground. It was instinct to him, and it was over before he even knew why.

There was something else thrumming inside his overactive mind: rage. He didn't know where it came from, but it was consuming him in a way he could not understand. It was mixing with the unadulterated terror in his veins, making his blood hot and his skin ice cold.

He didn't think. He just attacked.

Over time he realized who he was fighting—the woman from that night, the one that fought alongside them with a sword, shield, and glowing rope, but he still didn't understand the circumstances, nor could he stop himself from doing so. She said his name, and that made his blood boil more. "Kal-El, NO!" she cried. That was all it took.

Then there were more of them, trying to restrain him, he presumed. But that made his skin colder. What would they do to him once they restrained him? His lungs burned, and his chest ached, a ghost pain from something his heavily frazzled state couldn't clearly pull up in his memory.

And then... "I know you."

BRUCE WAYNE had felt this moment several times in his life, the moment when the protagonist of the TV Show or movie fully realizes the category 5 shitstorm that they've gotten into and are probably about to die in. He'd been chased and captured and whatever else a hundred times, and wounded a million more. But none of those moments compared to the moment Kal-El registered his presence and zeroed his frigid blue gaze on his suit, and then on his face.

Oh, shit.

He quickly realized that this would not be a battle or fight between two people. This would be a battle of Batman playing stay-alive with Superman's fists. Well, his fists, and his feet, and his ability to fly, and a host of other things.

He groaned as he hit the ground for the last time, staying down and raising his hands defensively in surrender. "Wait," he grunted as the younger superhero descended on him like the literal wrath of God, his foot aimed right for the older man's chest. "Wait, please," he said, hoping to be heard.

"Why should I?"

"Kal-El—"

"STOP! CALLING ME THAT!" he roared.

Bruce took advantage of Diana's distraction to mutter a mayday to Alfred. "Now would be a great time for the big guns..."

"About that, Sir, it appears that Miss Lane..."

Superman was glaring at him now. Bruce swallowed hard. It seemed that his laser vision wasn't always literal. The color of his eyes added to the iciness of his stare. "Wait, Alfred, don't say it."

"Master Wayne," he started.

"Seriously—now is not the time."

Alfred stopped speaking, but Superman had already heard. With an empty stare, he looked up and glanced around. Then he reached down and grabbed the older man by the throat, lifting him high into the air. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!" he roared.

"Nothing," Bruce strained, struggling not to pass out. Blackness was quickly gaining ground in the edges of his vision. The others could onlystand by helplessly, knowing that attempts to fight the newly-resurrected Man of Steel would be futile. "I swear. I told her that you would be back and asked her to see you but..."

"BUT WHAT?"

Alfred answered, for him. "Miss Lane refused to come, Sir."

The words silenced his overstimulated mind. Miss Lane refused to come.

Miss Lane refused to come.

He let go of Bruce's throat, and he dropped to the ground and rolled over, coughing weakly as his lungs burned from the reflux of air.

Then, Superman sunk to his knees.

HE WAS AWARE OF THE WOMAN—Diana, he thought her name was—kneeling next to him. She didn't want to touch him at first, afraid to startle him, but eventually, she pulled his head against her chest and held him while he broke.

Bruce sat up, wincing, and watched the younger hero come to the realization that his lover had refused him.

How could I have wanted this?! He'd seen the younger man die, and now he was watching him be destroyed again, and shame washed over him as if he were lost at sea in a storm. It made nausea turn his stomach inside out and his throat burned with hot bile. To have wanted this man's destruction made his already bruised ribs ache and his insides twist painfully.

As if sensing his emotional turmoil, Diana looked up at him with tears in her eyes, understanding warming them for a moment before she looked down again, pulling the younger hero closer. "Clark?" she said quietly.

He shook his head. "I... don't actually mind Kal," he croaked. "I-I don't know... why..."

"Alright," she said, nodding with a gentle smile. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm sorry you've had to go through this."

Clark said nothing, but his expression was completely broken.

Bruce saw the moment Diana's heart lurched, making her tighten her hold on the young hero kneeling on the ground next to her. "Oh, Kal," she mourned. "Let's go away," she whispered. "What do you say? Can we take you away from here?"

He looked up at her, his eyes pleading. "Please," he whispered.

She nodded, and with a final, gentle hug, she pulled him to his feet.

"HOW IS HE?" Asked Arthur, glancing up the stair case.

"I am not sure," Diana admitted. Upon entering the subterranean space Bruce had turned into his Bat Cave, Superman asked her to lead him to somewhere he could be alone. Likewise, Bruce had excused himself to tend to his injuries and had not returned to them since.

Barry was sitting in the corner, still quite a bit shell-shocked. "He... saw me. He actually saw me running. I... I don't even know how to..."

"Yeah, well I think we're all a little bit worse for wear. How's your head, Amazon?"

Diana smirked. "Not harder than yours, Atlantian, but still only a minor injury."

Victor looked up at her and smirked, but didn't say anything.

Arthur shook his head, frowning. "Nothing about that was okay. Do you see, now, that he is not the same?"

"He is going to be fine. He is just hurting. He needs time."

"We don't have time, Steppenwolf has all three boxes and he's going to turn this rock into hell. We need to get a move on, not—"

"He will be ready. He will not let the world suffer."

"I hope you're right. I hope you're all right about him."

ELSEWHERE, Bruce attempting to get his shirt off, but it was clear his left shoulder was dislocated. He gave up with a groan of pain, sinking into a seat.

It was then that he heard it. It was a groan... a groan of pain, much like his own earlier. But this was the kind of groan that came from deep inside, rising seemingly out of the stomach and past a crushed soul. It was the kind that poured out of the mouth with the sound, and out of the eyes in tears, and out of the veins in blood.

Bruce hung his head in shame. "I wish I could take it back," he said out loud. "Every single thing I ever said or even thought about you, every blow I landed. I would take it all back if it meant you wouldn't feel like this."

There was silence for a long moment, and then there was a growl. "You think this is about you?"

"No. I think it is my fault, which is not the same. You wouldn't be going through this if I'd deigned to listen to you even once. Instead, Ibranded you a threat and pushed you until it was too late." He prepared to replace his shoulder, and then grunted in pain again. There was no way he'd be able to set it alone. He considered getting Alfred, but he didn't want to hear it from him.

He honestly deserved to be in pain anyway.

He pushed that thought away. "You... wouldn't have to be without her now if I'd just listened. You wouldn't have had to die like that. I wish I could take it back."

"Well you can't."

Bruce felt his blood run cold. He didn't look up. He didn't even move. He just waited.

He heard the foot falls of Clark's bare feet, and then he felt the warmth of his hand on his injured arm. He tensed, but Clark released him. "I'm going to set your shoulder," he said, placing his handon the other man's arm again, this time tapping him in warning first.

Bruce released the breath he was holding and nodded. "Count of three?"

The younger man nodded. "One, Two—"

"Gah," Bruce groaned as he felt the strange, intense pain mixed with equally intense relief. It was the kind of pain that made people unsure if they even felt pain in the first place. With a wince, he carefully rolled both of his shoulders, testing them. "Three," he said flatly.

Clark just shrugged. He turned to walk away, but then he stopped. "I...there's a lot I don't remember, or understand. But I know that... I know that you and me, we fought. You... tried to kill me."

Bruce swallowed. "Yes," he said simply.

"Are you... did you do this to me?"

He shook his head. "No. There was... a huge monster that we had to stop. Lex Luthor called it Doomsday. You used the—the weapon I made to go against you—you used it to kill the monster. But it stabbed you in your chest. It made... this gaping hole..." Clark rubbed the spot on his bare chest that had ached earlier, and Bruce nodded, his eyes dropping to the ground. "It was horrible."

"Oh."

Bruce didn't meet his eyes again as he said, "I'm... sorry. I've spent along time wishing I could say that to your face, and now I can."

Clark's shoulders slumped. "You wanted me dead... and now you want me alive."

"I..."

"You admit that it's your fault I was dead, but now you brought me back—and why, because you needed my help?! I wish you had just let me be!"

Bruce hung his head. "I couldn't."

"Why?" he asked, defeated.

"Because the world needs you too, Clark."