RETURNING TO METROPOLIS was going to be a nightmare. He was going to have to re-establish his status as a living person... somehow. He didn't want to think about that for a long, long time.

The group was slowly dispersing. Arthur and Victor were first, being the least social of the group. Arthur cited some business he had with his people and disappeared into the harbor soon after they landed back in Gotham. Victor didn't say much, but he did give Diana a nod and Barry a fist bump of solidarity.

Barry pulled him aside and personally thanked him in a sincere but awkward way for joining them against Steppenwolf in Russia, and then made his way back to Central City. He stayed in Bruce's 'Bat Cave' while he figured out what to do, but he avoided speaking to Bruce at all costs, although he sought out every opportunity to be around him. when he did, he felt oddly sane.

He didn't really know how to feel about him. He ended up watching the older man ashe worked on replacing parts on his tattered Batwing and Batmobile. He wasnt sure what brought him down into the Batcave, or why he was just sitting and watching, but he found himself noting the way Bruce's jeans were slung on his hips, a gray band neatly displaying "Calvin Klein" just above the belt loops. He wore a black beater which outlined his every muscle and showed the myriad of bruises and scars on his arms and shoulders fromthe battles before, including their own encounter.

Their own encounter...

Everything that had happened between them up until Russia had been fueled by pure rage and hatred. He remembered their fight in more detail now, the traps that the Bat of Gotham had set for him, the searing pain in his lungs when that Kryptonite gas grenade exploded in his hands. The distinct moment when he made the decision that if his mother died, so would he. He couldn't bear what they would do to her and live, anyway.

But then he remembered the other things: the way his fists felt pummeling the other man through his armor, the savage satisfaction that surged through his veins and heightened his hate for the man. Had things been different, he would have killed him. Cold realization twisted in Clark's stomach as he realized that that was the hate and rage that he woke up with. There was only one thing in his frazzled mind, and that was a fight to the death.

Clark hung his head. "I didn't mean to hurt you that day," he said.

At first he thought Bruce hadn't heard him, but then he let out a small sigh. "You know, I do bleed."

A chuckle. "Yeah, I know. So do I, as it turns out."

This time Bruce was the one that let out a short chuckle, although it held no humor. "Because of me."

He thought for a moment, watching the older man work. He noted this time that his posture was ramrod straight, as if he was forcing the appearance of confidence. Upon further observation, he realized that Bruce's shoulders struggled not to slump.

"You've done so much for Gotham. Do you... ever want them to thank you?"

Bruce shook his head. "No."

"Why?"

"Well, overly thankful people can also become overly entitled. They expect things to go a certain way, and when they don't then they are not so thankful anymore. You know this from experience, don't you?"

"I...yes," Clark said thoughtfully. "I suppose I do."

"I know that what I do is thankless. And I do bleed. But I don't care, as long as it's for them." He lifted his head for a second, pausing his work. "For them, but I never want to bleed because of them. Understand?"

"I think I do." After a long, loaded silence, Clark said, "I... I hope never because of me."

Bruce turned and looked at him with a half-smile. "But for you, maybe." Then he picked up his tool and continued working.

Clark held his chin in his hands, just watching. "I have nowhere to go," he said after a long silence.

Bruce let his tool clatter to the ground, turning around. "That's not true at all. You can stay here as long as you like."

Clark shook his head. "N-no! That's... I mean, you don't have to..."

"Clark—don't argue. You have a lot of things to figure out before coming back for real. There are rumors out there since Russia... people recording with their phones or whatever, you know? I've been trying to keep all of that tamped down until you figure out what you want. If you decide to go back to Metropolis, or Smallville, or whatever you want, the League is prepared to back you up, and I already told you that you can come to me with whatever you need."

"Is all of this because of your guilt?"

Bruce swallowed. "You never pulled punches, did you?" He gave another humorless laugh. "Heh. Yeah, maybe that is part of it. But the real thing is, I took it upon myself to care for your mother after your death. She needed funds for your funeral, and a few other things. She doesn't know it was me, but well... the more I watched her, the more I decided to learn about you."

Clark looked up, startled. "What?"

Bruce nodded. "I met her once... I just told her that I met you and knew who you really were... and that I wanted to know more about you. She was leery at first, as well she should have been. But then she just... told me everything. She told me about you as a kid, and about your traveling, and about your relationship with her and your father, and your friends. You had a beautiful childhood."

Clark gave him a sad smile. "I did. My parents... they did everything they could to help me. No one could have done a better job."

Bruce nodded. "I agree. They truly loved you, Clark. I think your mother maybe just... needed to not be alone in her grief. She poured it out on me. And I... I grieved, too." Bruce pulled out a small flashlight which he held between his teeth for a moment, and then he took a pad from a rack nearby and tossed it on the floor, and then tossed safety goggles onto the mat. Then he got to his knees, crawling underneath the lifted vehicle and tugging his tool kit next to him. It was just high enough for him to sit upright underneath with a bit of space for him to reach up to work, and he did so. Then he took the flashlight out of his mouth and said, "I got to know you, in a way. And everything that I learned made me see you in a different light. I was wrong about you, Clark. And the things I used to hate about you, I don't hate anymore."

After a long silence, Clark said, "I think... I think I feel the same."

Bruce stopped working for one second, frozen in his spot. Then he nodded. "Thank you. I'm glad."

CLARK FROWNED as he watched the other man work, a few nights later. Something about the lift was bugging him, and his eyes shifted between Bruce who was underneath and the Batwing.

He darted to his feet when he heard the groaning sound of distressed metal. At first he knew it was too quiet for human ears, but that quickly increased in volume.

Bruce heard it, but by the time he did it was too late. "Oh, shit—"

In a second, Clark yanked him out from underneath he large machine by his foot, shielding him with his body as part of the lift bent, causing the Batwing to tilt forward with an eerie metallic shriek before it slid off the lift and crashed to the ground. "Are you okay?" He said. Clark's eyes took every inch of him in, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Hey, say something. Are you alright?"

Within moments, two other sets of footprints came hustling into the part of the cave that Bruce had rigged specifically as a mechanic bay for all of his transport. "Master Wayne?"

"Bruce? Oh my gods... what happened?"

"I'm fine," he said with a grunt as Clark stood and pulled him to his feet. "I'm fine," he repeated, "Clark here was paying more attention than I was."

Clark looked at the owner of the second voice. "I... he's fine, Diana. Thanks."

"Of course," she said. Then she slipped her heels off and leaned overthe Batwing. "What happened?"

"The lift failed on the right side."

"We will have to fix it again, then," said Alfred wearily.

"It's not the first time?"

"No, I've had an issue with it before."

Clark frowned. "There's no time. If he needs this thing again, and it's not handy..."

Bruce had thought of that too. "Yeah this does set me back a lot longer than I'd hoped."

Diana studied the lift. "Clark... the metal is bent, but it is not broken. Maybe you can heat it enough for me to bend it back into place. That will make a temporary fix until you can replace thedamaged part, yes?"

Bruce's eyes widened. "I... that's not a bad idea."

Clark shrugged and then shut his eyes. When he opened them, they were glowing red. "Go," he said.

Together they bent the metal stand back into its straightened position, and then they simply lifted the Batwing onto it, taking the time to make sure that it was properly placed this time. Clark sent Bruce a pointed stare. "Where'd you get the license to fly this thing? Do they test you for parking?"

"Har har," Bruce muttered, his voice deadpan.

Alfred looked like he was about to join in the teasing rebuke, but Bruce cut him off. "It wasn't flying all that well, the wing was damaged. I did the best I could."

"Yes well, maybe check it or get a failsafe next time you need to use the life. This could have killed you."

"I'll work on it, Alfred."

Clark shrugged again. "It's alright for now. Although, maybe we should hang around, just to make sure it doesn't try to crush you again."

"Yeah," Bruce said dryly. "Thanks."

Diana looked first at Clark, and then at Bruce. Then she turned to Alfred and said, "Something tells me that Clark has it handled. Shall we?"

Alfred said nothing, just nodded and offered her his arm as they ascended the steps.

Clark stared at the staircase awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Then he saw her shoes still in the corner. "Uh—you left you shoes here?" he called after them. Diana came back down the steps, quickly retrieving her heels before taking off again.

Bruce cleared his throat, also clearly uncomfortable. "Well... thanks."

"Oh. Um, sure. No problem." Clark finally looked up, meeting Bruce's eyes for the first time. "I'd... like to put all of that behind us,if that's okay with you."

Bruce's eyebrow furrowed just a fraction in confusion, and then he realized that Clark was referring to the earlier conversation. He nodded and then he smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, uh..." Bruce was distracted. He'dnever seen that expression on Clark's face before. There wasn'tanything special about the way he was smiling or anything like that... but there was something incredibly kind in his eyes, which in this light looked like beach blue marbles. Not too long ago, they were glacial voids, intent on his death.

He would have let the younger hero kill him. He felt that he'd earned that.

Clark's brows pulled in, and he tilted his head. "We both... messed up. I know you feel ashamed for how things happened. I do, too. I don't want that to weigh me down anymore. It's tiring. Isn't it?"

Bruce nodded. "Exhausting," he agreed.

Aftera long silence, Clark said, "Okay. I'll stay."

"What?"

"I'm...willing. I want to be your friend. If you'll have me."

Instead of answering, Bruce set his tools down and put them away. "Do you want to... train for a while?"

Clark's expression of concern cleared, and he smiled.

TRAINING WAS DIFFICULT at first. He had turned part of the Bat Cave into his personal training room. When he begun investigating Meta-humans, and eventually bringing them in, he'd decided to have the area expanded to include various training platforms: one for weapons and special abilities, one for strength training and exercise, which was the one he used the most, and one for hand to hand combat training. Diana spent a lot of time in weapons training, mostly alone with her sword, or with Bruce in hand-to-hand.

Clark had watched them fight, going through certain punch sequences and even watching her teach Bruce how to defend himself against sword or dagger strikes. He paid close attention to the training, but did not participate at all.

After a few days, he faced off with Diana, and it was enjoyable to just stretch his proverbial muscles in the training without the threat of his life or the world hanging in the balance. They traded knowledge about their powers and how to use them in combat, testing them lightly, learning how to use each other's powers as a team. They'd all played off each other's abilities against Steppenwolf, instinctively, but everyone knew that lightning didn't strike twice, and it was best to fully know and be prepared.

Clark noted that while he trained with Diana, Bruce observed him constantly. His facial expressions ranged between impressed, to studious, to appreciative. The last one made Clark a bit confused, but he did his best to ignore it.

He winced as he landed hard on the ground, and Diana's forearm was less than comfortable across his throat. "Focus," she said sternly. "Where is your head, Clark?!"

"Nowhere, it's nothing," he said, avoiding Bruce's gaze. "I'm good. Let'sgo."

Later on, Diana pulled him aside and said, "You're afraid, still."

"What? What makes you say that?"

"You're afraid of fighting with him."

Clark didn't bother denying it, but he definitely didn't want to talk about it. He stood up and padded toward the refrigerator, but he didn't open it. Instead, he rested his hands on the counter.

Diana arched an eyebrow. "You know I won't be here much longer. You will have to train with him if you want to continue."

"I don't want to talk about this," he said.

"You don't have to," Diana answered. "All you have to do is listen."

"I don't want to do that either."

"Too bad."

Clark growled. "Drop it, Diana."

"You are a Son of Krypton. Your abilities are... extraordinary is a small word. But your heart... what you have been through is also unspeakable. I understand, Kal-El."

He shook his head. "No. No, you don't."

"I was there, too. I saw what that thing did to you, and I saw what Lex Luthor's corporation did to your soul. I saw it all. I saw the hole in your chest, it bled on my hands. I watched Bruce push your eyes closed. I was there when they lowered your casket into the ground."

Clark glared at the counter, his fingers beginning to dig into the granite. "You still don't get it. How do I know he doesn't still want me dead? How do I know that his temporary appreciation won't fade like everyone else? He will hate me again. I don't want to fight him anymore." Clark gave a bitter laugh. "You know, he explained tome why he is how he is. He says he doesn't want thanks because they eventually become entitlement. HE'S RIGHT! Don't you see? I didn't ask for them to think of me as some God or... I just wanted to protect my home. I just... want them to be safe," he mourned. "And they hated me. He hated me. What do I do now?"

"You learn, Kal. And you believe. There will always be those that fear you, or hate you, or refuse to try to understand you. But you cannot hang on to what they think. You have to trust your abilities and your own desire to do well."

Aftera long silence, he said, "I actually don't mind Kal."

"You told me this."

"I know. I just... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

She laughed. "You did not hurt me, Kal. Stop changing the subject."

"I'm not. I just..." he sighed. "I don't want to blame him. But it'shard when he blames himself." He swung around and met her eyes. "I blame myself too. I let myself fall into that monster. Not the one that killed me, the one that made us enemies. We both had a choice, and we both chose to hate each other. We fought—we tried to kill each other."

"Does the idea of fighting him bring up those feelings?"

"I...no, but what if it does in the moment? I really didn'twant to hurt him! I don't want to!"

"I know that."

Clark froze, cold sweat sending a chill up his spine. For some reason, he always had chills when Bruce was around. The strange thing was, the sensation wasn't necessarily unpleasant.

"I knew it that night, too. I know you tried. I was the one that refused to try. That is why I blame myself." Bruce stood next to him, casually reaching into the refrigerator and then grabbing three glasses. He poured each of them a glass of orange juice before pouring his own. Then he turned to Clark, a half smile pulling at his lips. "Listen, trust me, the idea freaks me out too. It's been two cans of whoopass, and I'm not looking for a third."

Clark couldn't help the laugh that escaped him.

Bruce smiled, pleased with himself for making him laugh. "Yeah. But besides that, trust me when I say, I've been cured of any desire to hurt you. I promise."

Clark tilted his head at the word. "Really?"

Bruce nodded, meeting his eyes with intensity. "I promise."

Clark met his gaze evenly, even though his mouth was completely dry and all he wanted was to look away. They searched each other's faces for long moments, just processing their feelings about the conversation they'd just had. Bruce was taller than him, not by much but enough for Clark to have to look up. Having to look up into his face made him feel vulnerable. But he carefully took stock of himself, straightening to his full height and relaxing his shoulders, making sure to never take his eyes from the deep brown ones probing them. They were suddenly gleaming with approval, which made him stand even straighter.

Bruce patted his shoulder encouragingly, and he smiled and nodded. "Thank you," he said finally. "I'll train with you. Starting tonight."