Blood dries quick when you travel at supersonic speed.

Superman was unaware of this bleak fact until he passed a mirror on his way out of the E.R. Wally's blood was stained and flickered across Superman's torso, bits flaked and chipped at here and there, almost as if someone had deliberately done a bad job at dyeing his suit. Walking out in the lobby he knew instantly how odd a figure he was in a hospital, which was odd because he was certain that a hospital would be filled with bleeding and dying patients. But instead, in a place where the colors on the walls were all neutral and plain and the people were all dressed in plains day clothes, he must have stuck out like a sore thumb. All around him he could feel the eyeballs of mothers and fathers and sons and daughters glued to him with keen interest. They were whispering in hushed voices and it was only a matter of time before they hurried forward, gushing about how big a fan they were and if they could get him to sign a stupid napkin.

Superman took off before the wolves closed in on him. He wanted to stay with Wally, but there was nothing else he could do for him, medically speaking, and that was the Batman thing to do—make the tough decisions for the good of others. And right now Superman needed to make sure that Diana and Batman weren't beating Dent to a pulp, although a dark corner of his mind was all too eager to join in.

So when he closed in on the Prewitt building, the first thing that caught his attention was Harvey Dent, or rather, Harvey Dent's corpse; spread-eagled on the ashes, a steady pool of blood collecting at his chest. But Superman didn't linger on Harvey's corpse for long. As soon as he touched down onto the building he turned away from corpse of Gotham City's White Knight, turned a deaf ear toward the wailing cries of police sirens. Instead, Clark focused his attention on the soft and gentle sobs of the woman keeling a few feet away. She had her back toward him and she was suspended over a body, a body that was suited in what used to be black and smooth armor, but now it was stained with white ash, chipped, torn, and mangled. She had the head and torso rested in her lap, the legs lay on the ground, perfectly still.

Clark slowly walked up to her and he knew she heard him because the ground crunched with every footstep, but she made no move to acknowledge his presence, she remained knelt down, her black glossy hair falling over her face and the face of the battered and mangled black-suited body. Clark cautiously placed his hand on her shoulder, and he was grateful that she didn't snap at him. He stayed quiet for another minute, listening to her steady sobs and the sound of the police sirens drawing nearer. He squeezed her shoulder lightly. "We have to go." he said, his voice soundly oddly hoarse, as if he hadn't used his voice in centuries. "They're coming."

But she didn't answer him, she remained perfectly still, just like Bruce Wayne was still.

"There's nothing we can do," Clark said gently, and now his eyes began to burn. "We have to go."

Again, she ignored him, and Clark couldn't bring himself to anger. He knew this wasn't the right course of action, he knew that they needed to get as far away from the place as possible. He knew he should shout and yell. It's what Batman would do. And then, without preamble or warning, Batman's leg twitched, and Clark's heart leapt with joy as images of Batman blinking and groggily waking up overcame him. Batman was the stubborn survivor, how could Clark ever for moment believe that he would actually roll over and die? It was absurd. It was impossible.

He lifted his hand from Diana and automatically stepped backward, because any moment now Batman was going to lumber up and mutter how stupid they were for believing in something as ludicrous and impossible as death.

But Batman didn't wake up. His leg twitched because Diana was gently lifting Bruce's body from the ground. His legs dangled freely as she rose to her feet and his right arm swung down like a pendulum, his lifeless fingers gently swayed in the air until they too became quite still. With her back still toward him, Clark couldn't see the rest of the Bruce's body, but from the movement of her shoulder he was sure that Bruce's head was cradled into her chest.

"I'm going to take him home," she announced suddenly. "I'll be at the hospital shortly."

"You can't go there," he said tiredly. "Doctors are obliged to report gun-shot wounds. The police will have blocked off access to Wally. They'll want to question him if he wakes...when he wakes, I mean..."

Diana nodded and she shifted uncomfortably. "Alright..." and her voice became slightly higher, "I'll be at the Manor if you need me then."

The ache in her voice struck him hard. He was always a softie for pain, something Batman annoyingly pointed out on several occasions. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "It wasn't your fault, Diana."

Diana let out a half sob, half bitter laugh, and she shook her head sadly. "That's what I told him."

Clark could hear the police opening and shutting their doors, the steady sound of footsteps trudging up steps. "I'll be with Lois if you need me," he said. "She knows more about law than I do."

Diana shook her head. "He said to pin it on him, Clark..." she said softly. "The murders...everything...he said it was what he wanted."

Clark blinked a few times. "Pin it on him?" he said slowly, because he must have misheard her. "You mean..."

"Yes," she said firmly. "He begged me...so that's what we're going to do."

Clark heard the finality in her voice. There would be no questioning this.

"Well...I'll just..." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I'll just talk to others to get the story straight...I'll call you at the manor."

The footsteps were growing louder, the police had to be only a few floors below now.

They both rose in the air, and Diana spun slowly because Wayne Manor was in the opposite direction. Her face wasn't puffy like he half expected it to be, her eyes weren't even red. She looked quite calm. He glanced down, Bruce was entirely limp, the cowl was removed and his eyes were closed, he might have been sleeping.

Clark grimaced. "Stay safe, Diana."

It was all he could manage because seeing Bruce's limp body was too much. He looked away from the two of them, not caring or paying attention on what he was looking at. He distantly heard Diana mumble something in return and then she set off into the night. Without looking back Clark drifted off into the Gotham night, his mind fixated on his friends. He numbingly replayed the gunshots in his mind, he could see Wally falling down...John falling down...Clark didn't know how long he lingered in the air, but his nose picked up the smell of wet grass and flowers. He reached his hand out and didn't pay attention on what he grabbed, because he was in the air again, and his eyes were shifting in and out of focus. He flew for a few seconds, or maybe it was a few hours, he didn't know. The only thing he did know was that his feet touched down on cold cement, and his body was quivering with a sense of wrong-doing, because he was trespassing on sacred ground.

Clark moved silently down the cement, and he leaned against the graffiti stricken walls, gazing patiently at the single streetlamp that shone brilliantly in the darkness of the alley. Clark closed his eyes and he bowed his head, because it was here at this spot that Thomas and Martha Wayne lost their lives...

Clark lowered the rose he had picked and gently laid on the ground, right at center of the brilliant yellow light that made the cement appear shabbier and bumpier than usual. It looked odd. The rose was such a beautiful thing, and it was placed on such an ugly backdrop.

He left without saying a word, he didn't need to, nor did he want to, because Batman was not a man of many words. He would have like that, Clark thought; but of course, he would never truly know, because Bruce Wayne was gone.

Clark rose into the air, and he slowly ascended over the streets and nightlife of Gotham City, his extraordinary sense of hearing could pick up the bubbling laughter of kids playing, the blaring honks of traffic, even the silent murmur of an elderly man humming a soft tune...

He never felt so full of life, and, at the same time, he never felt so alone. Until now, it never occurred to him how similar he and Bruce Wayne truly were...both orphans...both outsiders...both men with extraordinary talents.

He set off for Lois' house, and amidst the chatter of Gotham's night life, he thought he could hear the faint screech of a Bat in the air.

Or maybe it was the wind.

Sorry for that cliff-hanger, I know it was a horrible and evil thing for me to do...but in the words of Jack Sparrow:couldn't resist mate.