I wake up stiff. I can smell Lois's hair; the doorman is smoking; somewhere below the street, a small gas leak has occurred, whistling, but no emergency. For the first time since I tasted this yellow sun, I am tired. Exhausted. Divided. I haven't been sleeping. I'm sure Bruce knows the feeling. I'm sure he would laugh at me: stiff joints and weak knees? The Man of Steel a bit rusty? The tin man need his oil can? The thought makes me smile. Smiling hurts.

Bruce may not pull out of it.

***

Two days ago, I got a call from Alfred. Before he could put the phone down, I was a mile outside Gotham. Bruce never calls. That's not to say we don't talk; it's just always, always on Bruce's terms. Translation: dark, startling, a hint paranoid, and after all these years, surprisingly pleasant. Suffice to say, Alfred's voice shook me awake.

"Mr. Kent--Kal--..."

"I'll be right there."

I walked into the mansion and Alfred was still holding the receiver. He was pale as the fog on the cliffs.

"Where is he, Alfred?" Alfred let the phone drop to the floor, composed himself with a tug on his jacket, straightened his tie, and hid a single tear that stranded itself in the purple circle below his eye.

"Right this way, Mr. Kent."

The cave was damp and dark; it is a child's nightmare come to life. To him, it is home. Above is his father's house, but down here is where he truly lives. I forget that with Bruce, what's on the surface is never really him; Bruce is the real mask: he is only and forever Batman. In the bottom of the cave, down innumerable steps, Bruce lay on a gurney. Dick and Tim, Robin and Robin, stood on either side of Bruce. They flirted with restraining him, but both were visibly scared of what might happen.

I have seen terrible things. I try not to remember them, but they're always there. Somewhere in my memories, a sun explodes. A planet dies. A single child floats a course through deepest space. My father dies. Both of them. Friends and lovers, enemies and allies lay at my feet. And somewhere in these memories, I too, die. Before the final blow, I am weak, limp, lifeless. Another blow teaches me what fracture means. He is monstrous. I fall to the ground. I hear the voices of those who love me dearly; they pray to me, scream at me. Get up. I cannot. I abandon them to the most destructive force in the universe. I sleep, and the sleep is easy. Crawling back, like a toddler, like everything beyond is tugging at my legs, willing me to stay, that's the hardest part. I am blind and warm. I am slow but strong. I am beneath the Earth, the mother who is not yet finished with me. I breathe and it burns. I wipe the soil from my face. I am the impossible. I am terrible. I have looked death in the face, stood in the face of Doomsday, and crawled my way from the dirt.

But I have never seen anything more frightening than Bruce on that smooth metal gurney.

His face was contorted into a smile, but there was no happiness there. He shrieked, lashed out, drew blood from Tim's cheek. Tim held his face where blood leaked past his fingers. Dick held Bruce down, pressed a needle to his throat. Something terrible moaned, gurgled, and slept. Dick threw the needle to the ground and slammed his fist into the gurney. For all his bravado, I had never seen him more scared. All were silent in the cave. Two orphans were losing their patron saint; a host of bats, their king. The two raised their heads when I spoke.

"What. Happened."

***

Lois wakes up behind me and runs her fingers down my back. It gives me goosebumps. It is the first time in days that I allow myself to relax.

"Which suit are you wearing today, Mr. Kent?" She reaches her arms around me and runs her fingers over the craters on my chest. "Clark, what the hell are these?"

"I took a bit of gunfire last night." She is not satisfied.

"A bit of gunfire has never left scars before." She continues to prod at the scars. "You need rest." The automatic shades open to our bedroom. Metropolis is golden this morning. The sun soaks my skin, and for once in the past week, my body doesn't betray me. The red burns close as she runs her hand over them a last time.

"I'm fine, Lois." She walks to the window in her nightgown and points downward.

"No, Clark. The people down there, on the street? They're fine. The people out there at work, all over Metropolis? They're fine. The Daily Planet? It's frickin' super! But you? You're staying home."

I've learned better than to argue with this woman. I roll back into bed. She makes coffee and walks into the bathroom door, leaving it cracked. She lets her nightgown fall to the floor and steps into the shower. It's nice that she doesn't make me use the x-ray vision.

When the shower door closes I am three blocks away with the wind cracking like thunder in my ears. Before her hair is wet, I'm soaked in the bay, the spray shooting off of my feet and up my back. Before she can rinse the conditioner from her hair, I am tasting clouds. And while she is drying off, I am letting the bay water evaporate off of me in the heat of the sun that is so close I could kiss it.

And by the time she walks out of the bathroom in a towel, I am asleep in bed. She lets her hair fall out of her hands.

"Why does it smell like the bay-walk in here?" I smile and fall asleep...that is, until she leaves.

***

The day has been slow in Metropolis. From above the city, everything is quiet and undisturbed. I make my way far above the streets and rooftops, avoiding one rooftop, one building in particular; Lois wouldn't want me out of bed today. I avoid The Planet entirely. She's actually gotten quite good at noticing the blur of primary colors; the shock of wind that follows the sonic boom. I won't rattle her window today, but knowing her, I won't have to. She's on her way home to check on me. Even now, even here, I would never mistake those stilettos on the sidewalk, southbound on fifth street.

If I'm caught, I'm caught. The sun feels too good today to let go of. And besides, who would be there to catch Frank for the fifth consecutive day?

"This game's getting a bit sick."

"Shut up, Super-ass."

"I love you too, Frank." Frank's a jumper. For the past week he's been bound and determined to kill himself in some gore spectacle off the tallest buildings in Metropolis. He mixes it up, making it fun for me; today he actually made it to the twenty-fifth floor before I felt the change in the air. Frank keeps me busy on an otherwise boring day.

"You gonna take me to the cops?"

"Nope."

"The Planet?"

"Not a chance."

"Got a quarter for coffee?"

"Where would I hide a quarter?" He looks me up and down in disbelief.

"I'm going to do it again," he says.

"And I'll be there to makes sure no one sees you." Frank, I think, if you're going to do it, you'll have to do it where no one can see you. "Why couldn't Lex Luthor ever jump off a building?" I mumble a bit too loudly.

"Because your sorry ass would catch him too!" I chuckle. "What's funny?" he asks.

"Nothing Frank. Go home."

***

It's going to sound sick, but the way things have been going, people like Frank are a welcome distraction. I've been splitting my days and nights between Metropolis and Gotham. At night I tell Lois I'm gone on League business, but she knows I'm in Gotham. After all, she's the greatest reporter that ever lived.

"You smell like Gotham," she says when she kisses me the next morning. "Out all night again?" And there's that. Gotham has a distinct odor, a dinginess, but I'd never tell Bruce that. It's just as well; he's told me numerous times that he hates how bright Metropolis is, even in the middle of the night.

"Almost."

"League business?"

"Yep."

"That's funny, because I heard that Hal hasn't been Earth-side in months, Jon is still on Mars, and Bruce hasn't visited The Planet in weeks."

"I..."

"If you don't want to tell me Clark, don't. But don't lie to me either." She kisses me on the cheek. "Give Bruce a kiss for me."

I wish I could tell her about Bruce, but I'm still not used to seeing him in the condition he's in, and I'm not sure the reporter in her could resist breaking the story of her boss-gone-awol. I won't be able to hide it much longer. That's what I spent all night discussing with Dick and Tim.

"Dick, I don't think you realize the implications of this."

"Please, Robin, enlighten me." The two of them were at each other's throats from the moment I got there. Dick's been working overtime keeping the streets clean; Tim's been looking for an antidote for whatever it is that happened to Bruce. I was looking for an opportunity to interrupt them. It presented itself when Dick held Tim over a ledge in the cave.

"You know I can't let you drop him." Dick looked startled. I didn't give him time to notice my approach, in case he was actually considering dropping the third Robin into the abyss. "I hear that Robins are in short supply this time of year."

"How did you get in here?" Dick asked. He put Tim down, not gently, but also not on the bottom of the cave.

"Bruce has his tricks; I've got mine." Dick was surprised that I entered the cave undetected. This would have never happened on Bruce's watch, but Dick is not Bruce, and my presence in the cave--Batman's sanctuary--only reminded him of that. We stood there for a moment, Dick with his back to both Tim and me. The Robin skirmish had kept my attention away from Bruce who was resting in a cryogenic chamber, but did not look in peace. I ran my hand down the steel door of the chamber. For all the disagreements, for all the backstabbing and jibing, Bruce is the only friend that I've ever had who was truly honest with me. Either everyone else on the planet was a liar, or was terrified of me.

Or Bruce had balls of steel.

"The chamber acts like Mr. Freeze's suit. It helps to slow the effects of the toxin on his body," said Tim. Though he looked better in the chamber, a slight, purple smile was beginning to creep up the corner's of Bruce's mouth; his eyes, wide, looked terrified. "I haven't been able to isolate the toxin, so developing the antidote is going to be difficult."

"I hate to be the only realistic one," said Dick, "but we have a larger problem on our hands." Dick pointed to the many monitors that illuminated the cave. Bruce's information network, the crown jewel of his paranoia, flickered in the darkness, showing images of people and places in Gotham that even I can't see. A common theme moved throughout the blue screens: people moved freely, did as they pleased; not one looked over his shoulder. People walked down alleyways, down train stations, in and out of warehouses, through shadows, without a second thought. In any city other than Gotham this would've been a good thing, but the people Bruce takes notice of are the same people that he wants noticing him, or at least thinking they do. If Bruce had his way, he'd be in the farthest corner of everyone's eye at all times, infecting them with the same sort of paranoia that drives him to greatness.

"Somebody has to be out there," said Dick.

"You two are working overtime."

"It's not enough, Clark."

"Whoa, your name is Clark?" said Tim.

"It has to be him," said Dick, pointing at the cowl and cape. Dick's words ring in the cave. Even the bats are quiet.

***

Dick and I spent the first half of the night running some quick sweeps over Gotham; him from the rooftops, me about a mile up. I didn't measure it out or anything, but I can always tell the mile mark when my nose frosts over. People think being the Man of Steel is a walk in the park, but a cold nose can be serious business. It's not that I can't feel cold, it just doesn't matter. That's why I hate getting shot in the eye: it doesn't do a damn bit of damage, but for a minute there, it kinda smarts.

Gotham was relatively quiet early on, so I stopped in to check on Tim's progress. He was asleep in front of the screens, his mask half off in a puddle of drool. Without the mask he looked like a kid, and I wonder what Bruce is thinking getting Tim involved in this business so young; but I guess people like Bruce and I never had a choice. And anyway, Tim found Bruce and asked to be Robin, not the other way around.

Until recently, I didn't belong in this group. Bruce had his future and security ripped from him as a child, then relived that moment through Dick's eyes as his parents, too, toppled to the ground. Tim's pain is more recent, but just as scarring. I was an orphan of a planet I'd never seen, but my father and mother were as devoted to me as any adopted parent could be. In truth, it's hard to this day to call Jar-El my father. He is in every way my savior, but my father, Jonathan Kent, died on the same planet that will never let me do the same.

After my father's death, either out of grief or anguish, I flew my father's body to the fortress. I wanted him to see everything that I had seen. I wanted him to meet my other father, and for a time I wanted him to remain there forever. But there was something out of place about memorializing him in all the splendor of the fortress. My father loved dark, Kansas soil more than anything, and to give him anything less than the simplicity of a home-burial would have been a disservice.

When I got back from the fortress, my desk was covered in flowers and cards of sympathy. The only envelope that caught my attention (though I'd never tell Lois this) was an envelope from Bruce Wayne. The card on the inside (and he knew I'd scan it) had only a time and an arrow pointing up.

I met Bruce on the top of the Daily Planet at 12:45. He didn't say anything, which wasn't surprising, but then he handed me a pocket-watch that didn't work. He nodded once, and then disappeared over the building. I scanned diagonally through the lower floors but he was gone. When I turned the watch over, it read: "My beloved Thomas: Love, Martha." My tears fell onto the face of the watch. It is in the fortress to this day.

I carried Tim up the stairs and handed him to Alfred who hasn't slept since Bruce went into the coma. I walked back down to the cave and looked at the screens. I must have been exhausted, because when Dick asked what I was looking at, I was actually startled.

"I can't hope to make sense of any of this," I told him.

"Tim's got his work cut out for him. It's more serious than anything I've ever seen." Dick isn't half the detective that Bruce is, and even Bruce has said that Tim is the heir-apparent of the "world's greatest detective" mantle, so the two of us can't make much of the data on the screen. But Dick says what we are both thinking; it doesn't take a detective to figure out who's partially responsible for Bruce's condition. The smile crawling up his face speaks for itself.

"Joker."

***

It didn't take long to find the maniac. He'd just made balloon animals for a nursing-home birthday party and then attempted to choke one of the residents with an inflatable dachshund. Then he lit the place on fire. When I picked him up he had his pants around his ankles and swore he was trying to put the fire out with his hose. As I ran to grab him he fired a few rounds into my chest. They actually stung. I hadn't slept in two days, and had mostly been working nights. Suffice to say: I needed some Vitamin D. He was in rare form, and all too happy to see me in his city.

"Where's bats? Sleeping upside down in a cave? Or has the brain of steel just decided to get a little down and dirty in my fair city?" I shook him enough to loosen a few bolts. "Heh! No need to get violent there, boy scout, though I do like it when you're rough with me."

"What did you do to him."

"Me? My, my. Look who's playing detective! That's awfully presumptuous for an amateur private eye. Have you scanned me yet? Be honest now: I'm hung like a horse! Heh!" I shook him some more, this time for fun. "Okay, okay. You're hung too! That suit really leaves little to the imagination."

"I don't have time for this."

"Oh you hero types rarely do. But where's the fun if there's no anticipation? What's a climax without a little foreplay?"

I started to burn a hole in his forehead. Not a deep one, but enough to make a bubble.

"You do know how to get me hot, super-freak! Not too fast now, I wouldn't want to prematurely...oops! Too late!" He sprayed a red gas into my face from the flower on his lapel. Distracted, I let him go. "I'm so sorry Superman! God, I feel like I'm in high school again."

He ran halfway down the alley before I'd burned that junk out of my eyes. I picked him up by the hair and flew him high above the Gotham skyline.

"Do it, boy scout. Have the balls that he never had. Him and his golden rule. Sure, he's beaten the shit out of me, but he's nothing more than a sadist. That's what separates him and me: I'm a goddamned artist."

I dropped him.

About halfway down he realized that I wasn't about to catch him. He screamed something about my mother, something about contraceptives, and then screamed "Scarecrow."

When his nose touched the river, I caught him by his pants, lit them on fire, and then dunk him in the sludge.

***

When I got back to the mansion, I looked over the bullet marks. There was no way Lois wouldn't notice. There were six bright red craters on my skin. It looked like nothing more than acne, but Lois would never buy that my middle-aged Kryptonian skin had just broken out over night. Most people think that being the Man of Steel comes with no scars. This is mostly true, but I've found over the years that the less time I spend in the sun, the uglier it can get; kryptonite is a whole other deal entirely.

I walked downstairs to the cave and saw Dick staring at Bruce. As much as he'll never admit it, Dick was really shaken up by all of this. The only father he'd ever really known for most of his life was now cryogenically frozen and slowly dying. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he quickly pulled away, wiping a tear. I pretended not to notice.

Dick asked me if I had any luck with the Joker. I repeated what the Joker had said before pissing himself. He told me to wipe my face off. I still had some of Joker's gunk on me.

"What's Scarecrow got to do with any of this?" said Dick.

"I don't know, but he won't be nearly as easy to find as Joker. Joker has a way of making himself known."

"So does Scarecrow," said Dick. Tim walked downstairs with his mask off eating a ham sandwich.

"What's the plan?" he asked with his mouthful. Dick shot him a condescending look. "Hey, just cause you guys don't sleep or eat, doesn't mean I can't have..."

"The plan is," Dick interrupted, "to find Scarecrow."

"How are we going to do that?" asked Tim.

"You're just in time to find out," said Dick. Dick looked worried, as if he was conflicted about what he was about to say. He looked back at the chamber and at Bruce, then looked at the ground. He removed his mask. "Here's the plan."

***

The Scarecrow, alias Dr. Jonathan Crane, is many things. He is a brilliant psycho-therapist, pharmacologist, chemist, and sociopath. He is also, as Dick believes, partially responsible for whatever is crippling Bruce. His counterpart in this unlikely duo, The Joker, is probably toweling himself off in Arkham Asylum at this moment. The Scarecrow is many things, but one thing he is not is a team player. That's the funny thing about sociopaths: they all think they're superior to one another.

So when I found the Scarecrow in the middle of Robinson Park, poisoning people with his fear toxin, I figured he would not be pleased with someone else taking the credit for his own work.

The Scarecrow and I fought, but it didn't last long: the fear toxin has little effect on me. I with I could say the same for the people who were around me; in every direction, all over the park, people were collapsing, paralyzed by their own fear and dementia. This was not part of the plan.

I made quick work of the Scarecrow and began dragging him off to Arkham, when a question was bellowed behind me.

"And what is the Man of Steel afraid of?" When I turned around, I saw the Scarecrow standing behind a row of trees, his long, skeletal limbs blending in with the branches, his eyes aflame in the darkness. I looked down at the man I was holding in my right hand. Scarecrow noticed. "I'm afraid you've caught an impostor," he said. He made his way beyond the trees, revealing the full length of his emaciated body. "But my question was not rhetorical. What is the Man of Steel afraid of?"

I swooped in to grab him, but when I was within feet of him I fell into the dirt, skidding to halt at his feet. Looking up and in agony, I saw a small green glow coming from his scythe.

"Did no one tell you? No one in Arkham can keep their mouths shut about our new visitor. It's just abuzz with all the talk of a dead bat and his pet super-dog. I hate to say it, but we've all been waiting for a chance to see you for ourselves."

He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me from the ground. He pressed the scythe against my face, and I could feel my veins bubble with the green toxin, feel it work it's way through my head like a locomotive, faster than a speeding bullet. I could've laughed at the irony, if I didn't feel like I was being burned alive from the inside out.

"This is a much better trophy than a flying rat," he said. "After all, he's just man, a freak like the rest of us. But you, you're like...well, let me ask you another question: can god bleed?"

He pressed the scythe hard against my throat, and I began to cough and gag. This was not a part of the plan. I could taste blood in my mouth, a sensation that I'm not used to. But before he could push the blade through the back of my neck, the other Scarecrow kicked him from the side, knocking him to the ground.

"You fool. You would dare presume to..." said Scarecrow to the impostor. The impostor removed his mask to reveal the mask of Nightwing. "It's you!" said Scarecrow. I stood to my feet as Dick kicked the kryptonite away from me.

"Gassing those people was not a part of the plan," I said to Dick.

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Taking advantage of his arrogance was the plan, not gassing innocent people."

"Tim is already administering the antidote."

"I'm still not okay with it."

"The point is, it worked. He fell for it completely."

"That he did. Completely gullible."

"What do you expect from a lunatic?"

The Scarecrow looked up from the ground where Dick had kicked him.

"I'm still here," he said.