"No, you idiots! Not now! Wait for my sig—" but The Riddler was too late. Somebody in his crew had messed up and the thing — a mass of wires and screws — was armed.
Superman saw things differently.
Wally, The Flash, had said it was the same for him: things seemed slow; even a powerful explosion moved as if through syrup, stretched out and lazy like a summer's day.
Batman was just a man.
He had no time to react — was just a target there, a victim in waiting — but Superman did have time. All the time in the world. Batman's cape danced in the wake of Superman's movement.
The blast was enormous, and there was enough in its path that it kicked up debris and shrapnel like a tornado, hurling it through the air, smashing the building all around and above them into rubble.
The dust settled slowly as huge chunks of stone pelted the ground, each chunk hitting with a thud like a bass drum. The air was thick with dust, smelled like plaster and ash. Superman looked behind him and exhaled in relief. Batman was unharmed; had been shielded by Superman's body from the worst of the blast. He had some bat-themed apparatus over his mouth — a clear mask with straps along the top and bottom to secure it — and was breathing normally. Yes, he looked tragic covered in dust, and his armor was exposed beneath the material of the Suit, but there didn't seem to be a scratch on him otherwise.
Superman stood, no longer making a barrier with his body before Batman; no longer needed to absorb the shockwave and flames. Rubble and dust poured off his shoulders and hair. When he offered a hand to Batman, it was ignored. Batman came to his feet and stepped around Superman, his flat white eyes already examining the ruined building, the exposed beams and singed wood that made up the skeleton.
"Are you injured?" Superman asked.
"No."
Batman prowled the aftermath, taking stock of the blast radius. "Homemade," he said, rifling through the twisted metal and rock at his feet to retrieve some misshapen tangle of wires. "Remote detonation."
He didn't acknowledge Superman's concerned expression. And he wasn't exactly talking to him, either.
"Did I do something wrong?" Superman asked after a moment. Just then, there was a creaking, sour sound. Superman jumped, caught the twisted beam as it broke free from the high ceiling directly above Batman's head, and flew it away. When he placed it on the ground it went thud. In a blur he was back before the Batman who was unmoved by how close to death he had come. Twice in as many minutes, in fact.
"Why?" Batman asked, the conversation not interrupted by Superman's absence at all. His voice sounded strange behind the mask strapped to his face, thin and labored.
"You just look mad. You almost look like you're about to ask me to stop saving you," Superman said and tried to laugh. But his tone made it sound like a question.
The new Batsuit had very responsive mechanisms around the eyes and Superman heard them whirring as Batman scowled. "Sweep the building for additional explosives," he said. He had made it clear that he was more than just dodging Superman's concerns; he was ignoring them entirely.
"I believe this building is still standing because something misfired. They'll be resetting it to initiate the intended chain reaction." He held up the mangled device as if that explained his theory. "Keep an eye out for survivors. Prioritize clearing the building."
When Batman whirled away, it was in response to a groan. With a mighty heave, he forced a chunk of wall off and to the side, revealing the Riddler, eyes closed and head smeared with blood.
Batman crouched down low, but still seemed to loom over the Riddler who had always been thin; was all dressed up in ugly green and black, dusty and tattered now. The motion made Batman's cape flare out flag-like, before settling into shadow around his heavy boots. He pressed two fingers to Riddler's neck and visibly exhaled in relief. Confirming with his fingers what Superman could hear without. Superman smiled.
"Humans are amazing," he almost said, but Batman spoke first.
"Superman? Tick tock," Batman said without looking up at where Superman lingered — not sweeping for additional explosives, not looking for survivors. Just watching Batman work.
That wasn't like Superman to delay, but sometimes Batman did that: made him stop and think or hesitate or rush.
"Aye, aye," Superman sighed. He smirked, but he was already moving, a blur of red and blue through the old Gotham Mint.
"Farthest first," he muttered and took a sharp right. He stilled at the westernmost wing of the building, still as grand and lovely as ever. Marble, stone, endless ceilings. There was no telltale tick or beep to these bombs, so Superman let his x-ray vision loose, sweeping in all directions for anything that resembled the bomb that had almost killed Batman near the pillared entrance to the building. Valuable second passed before he found an explosive device wedged in a rafter like a spider in its web. The digital reading on the device gave him a countdown of two minutes.
"Superman to Batman," he said into the comm.
"Go ahead, Superman," was the gruff reply, laced with static and grit across the frequency.
"I've found one of the bombs in the west wing. We've got two minutes."
"Understood. Riddler doesn't have the detonator on him, which means it's within range, but not onsite. Five miles tops. Is there anything you can trace?"
Turning the device in his hand, Superman analyzed the sound of it, the clicks and whirrs that would be imperceptible to a human.
"There's something..." he said.
Batman was silent, and Superman could hear that he was on the move, but his steps were slow. Even his cape rustled strangely. The reason was clear: Batman was carrying the Riddler to safety, swinging to avoid rubble when he could, but hampered by the weight.
"Come on, Kent. Focus," he whispered to himself. "Not on Batman. Focus on the detonator." A second passed as he let the sound of Batman's labored breathing and heavy steps fade, and invited the sound of a mirrored, electronic click to fill his senses.
He tuned out the world: babies crying, TVs blaring, men and women laughing and screaming. Batman running, leaping.
There.
The digital display on the bomb said he'd lost a minute.
"I've got something," Superman said. "By the docks."
"Go," Batman said. "A short to the detonator will prevent the arming signal from reaching the bombs. Make it quick."
"You're not out of the building," Superman said, eyes darting between the direction of Batman's footsteps, and the distant waves of the docks.
"Go," Batman growled.
Superman clipped the explosive device to his belt — and how many had he left behind? — then lifted off. He burst through a window, inhaled night air like a bellows, stretched his body long, and tore past the dark and ornate towers of Gotham's downtown. The sonic boom of his passing was loud in his ears, the night air cold on his clenched fists.
His body twisted above a small warehouse by the water and he powered down, letting metal and insulation tear through his fingers like paper. The ceiling rained down around him like a rainstorm.
The goon screamed when Superman landed before him, ground cracking at his fist, eyes glowing red and cape whipping around him like fury made of cloth.
"The detonator," Superman said, extending his hand.
The man trembled and his eyes moved from the detonator to Superman wildly. "There's t-two!" he shouted over his shoulder as he turned and tried to flee, tossing the small device in the air. It was the work of a second for Superman to stop him, hoist him up and ask, "Where is the other detonator?"
He reached out his free hand to catch the detonator as it tumbled through the air. It hit his palm with a satisfying swack. Then it sparked and sizzled like a downed wire when he crushed it in his hand.
"I don't know. I don't know!" the goon cried. "This one controlled half of 'em. I messed up! Hit it too early! The other one was for the rest. They weren't supposed to go at the same time! That's all I know!" His legs kicked wildly as he dangled. Superman bared his teeth, then found a convenient bar to bend and wrap around the goon, binding him to a support beam.
His own heartbeat was loud. He took the device from his belt, saw the ten seconds roll to nine.
"Batman, are you clear of the building?" he asked. He lifted up through the sizable hole he'd left in the building like threading a needle. At altitude, he wrenched his arm back and let the bomb arc through the air, high above the water.
"Heading west. The Riddler's crew is still..."
The noise was humongous, like the sky falling down. Over the water, he saw the violent rumble and churning flash of orange and red from the bomb he had thrown. But most of the noise was from behind him. He turned. In the distance he saw it, a rising billow of black smoke, growing and spilling over the city.
The initial boom of the thing was still happening as Superman sped back to the Gotham Mint. Or what was left of it.
"Faster, faster," he chanted. He streaked to the ground, superheated air whipping past his ears, the blast obscuring all the sounds he searched for: footsteps, a heartbeat, a cape billowing.
"Batman, come in. Batman, this is Superman. Please respond."
The silence was louder than the roar of the explosion.
When he arrived, the destruction was unimaginable, half the building sinking in an unchecked tumble of jagged stone and billowing dust. A secondary blast rocked the city, and the ground beneath Superman's feet cracked and shuddered. He shielded his face with his cape as more flames belched out of the decimated Mint.
He heard sirens in the distance, felt the heat of the fire on his face and hands.
"Bruce," he said. The ground buckled when he took off.
Inside the inferno, there was noise and chaos but no visibility, no way to see. Flaming debris rained down on him. He flew further, the map of the place flashing in his mind like a movie. Batman's last known location…
The ground was gone here, and for the first time he could see straight down to an enormous cavern. The Mint had been built atop a vast network of natural tunnels and caves. Gotham was riddled with the things, it seemed. Could he follow these tunnels out of the city, straight through to the Batcave?
The cool air of the labyrinth below was warring with the superheated air from the fire above. Dust and rock twirled like dancers all around. Superman focused, stretched out his senses again, and the faintest sound made him move. It was the strange, muted sound of fabric rippling through water.
He was drenched within seconds of entering the tunnels below. The explosions had cracked a nearby water main, and the cavern was flooding with water. The tunnels continued downwards to his left and right, and the mouths to those systems were already submerged, meaning the network of tunnels were flooded. But how badly? How deep did these caverns go? The currents at his legs were fast and strong enough to wash a human away, but Superman's boots gripped the ground strongly, even as his cape drooped heavily around them.
He moved to where the water went from shallow to fathomless in a few, short steps. The surface of the water was warm at the top, heated by the fire, but when he dove, it instantly turned frigid.
The sound he had followed led him to the right, and he moved through the water like a seal, rolling his whole body to drive deeper. He found what he was looking for quickly.
Batman was a dark shape in the cold water, arms and legs weightless as he drifted down, cape mangled and singed. He had a rebreather in his mouth, but as Superman watched it slipped free and drifted up and away. The long trail of Batman's exhale spread out before him, disturbing the water as a trail of bubbles and foam. He sank too fast, dragged down by the armor of the Suit.
Batman's tattered cape tangled with his legs, his body sinking like a stone. Superman watched for precious seconds. Then he raced forward, focusing all his senses on Batman.
He was not breathing. His heart was graveyard still.
His downward drift stopped as Superman's arms came around his body, heavier than it seemed with all the armor and padding, the dangerous life he lived with his fragile body. Batman's arms didn't come around him, didn't pull him close, and they wavered languorously in the water beside Superman's shoulders.
His eyes were closed, the lenses shuttered, and his mouth was parted — a relaxed, gentle, terrifying thing to observe. Batman's cowl always pushed his mouth forward in a strange way, making him seem almost monstrous.
Superman stared at that mouth now, chapped and chilled by the water. How much time did he have to get Batman to safety? How much longer could he go without air? As he held Batman, the surface of the water came into view and he tilted his head back to see it more, how it was orange and red with fire spilling into the cavern. The light bounced off Batman's skin, lit up his motionless lips. They could not surface safely. The fire meant nothing to Superman. But Batman...
Superman reacted quickly. He angled his head, pressed his mouth to Batman's, and slotted their lips together, using his tongue to force Batman's a little wider. He exhaled a long, slow breath, and felt Batman's chest expand against his, hard and strong beneath the armor. He cradled the back of his head to seal their mouths together tightly.
And he was Superman, so he had plenty of breath to give, closed his eyes and breathed more life into Batman, held him closer.
Tha-thump went Batman's heart suddenly, while Superman's skipped a beat.
Batman's eyes fluttered open, the luminance of the white slits muted underwater. They watched each other for short seconds that seemed like long moments. Batman made a small noise and Superman felt it vibrate through his lips. Then Batman exhaled through his nose, sending bubbles swirling around them. So Superman breathed out again, pushing more air into Batman's lungs. He felt that push against his chest that let him know Batman was breathing in his breath, his lungs expanding. Alive and breathing. Alive. He pulled Bruce closer, chasing that sensation.
Batman's arm finally came around his shoulders, the hand strong just below his neck. The other one pointed above his head.
"Mm," Batman said against his mouth and Superman understood it was the word "Up."
He broke away long enough to nod, mouthed, "Hold on," then pressed his mouth back to Batman's firmly, took the time to hold him more securely before rushing as quickly and safely as possible through the tunnels, away from the fire. Batman's mouth was wet and firm and open against his as they ploughed through the dark water.
In through his mouth, out through his nose. Closer and closer to Superman. Merging through their breath.
They were able to surface ten blocks away through the unfinished floor of a new shopping center, gaping wide to the night sky and littered with equipment and palettes of building materials. He pulled his mouth away from Batman's immediately, heard him gasp and greedily suck in fresh air.
"Hold on," Superman said and looked for a safe place to land, arms still tight around Batman. He found a sturdy section of foundation and placed Batman on his feet. He stepped away.
Batman didn't remain upright, but slumped down to one knee, coughing, water dribbling out of his mouth and down his chin. Water streamed off of the damaged black armor like waterfalls, forming a puddle under his boots. Superman ran a hand over his own hair, pushing the wet waves away from his eyes. His cape was limp and heavy where it brushed against his ankles.
"Batman, are you all right?"
Batman didn't answer. Superman sighed and squeezed his eyes closed. "You told me to respect your boundaries with the x-ray vision, so I'm not peeking. But I need you to tell me the extent of your injuries or all bets are off."
"Super...man," Batman managed, his growling voice made worse by breathlessness, by having been blasted unconscious into water. He raised a hand to where his real ear would be beneath the armor. Pushed hard and his eyes closed in pain.
Tinnitus, Superman realized. Trying to rescue the Riddler's crew had put Batman far too close to the explosion.
"Yeah. Yes?" Superman answered. He reached out as if to support Batman, stilled, then lowered his hands and held them in balled fists at his sides.
"We have to...go back to the Mint."
Superman crossed his arms and shook his head. "You probably have a concussion. The police and fire department are there. We have to let them handle this."
"They can't do...what...we…" Batman tried. He swayed on his knee enough that he had to catch himself on his hands. Superman did move then, dropping down to brace Batman with an arm around his shoulders. It was telling that Batman accepted the help, wrapping one arm around Superman's shoulders to hold himself upright.
Superman's fingers flexed against Batman's armor. "I'm taking you to get medical attention. Call ahead to Alfred," he said.
"No," Batman coughed.
"It's Alfred or Wonder Woman and the Purple Ray. You choose. Alfred's closer."
"Alfred," Batman growled through his teeth, always an unpleasant and difficult patient.
Superman shifted his arms around Batman, one around his back and one under his knees, cradling him like a bride. "I have to carry you again. I know you hate it, but this way's easier. Okay?"
Batman's answer was squeezed painfully from his chest, like wringing the last drop of water from a towel before hanging it on the line to dry in the weak Kansas sun. "Just get it over with."
"Aye, aye," Superman whispered. He drifted up, easily taking Batman's weight. The mansion was the other way, so he turned like a lazy top in midair, and flew as fast as a human body — even an exceptional one — could handle.
"Go back after Alfred has me. Check for survivors," Batman said, as loudly as he could over the sound of rushing wind, near Superman's ear like sharing a secret. His grip on Superman's shoulders was strong and that was a good sign. If he could hold on, he could hold on.
"I'll stay with you," Superman didn't say. Instead, he said, "Okay, I'll go check once you're stable." He sounded agreeable. As always.
Alfred was waiting for them when Superman raced through the waterfall as quickly as he could, already dressed to perform a surgery. He touched down on the tarmac which looked unusual without one of Batman's cars there, waiting like a tiger to pounce and roar to life.
"If I could ask you to follow me, Master Clark," Alfred said before walking quickly deeper into the network of caves that dominated the space beneath the mansion. The medical bay of the Cave had grown and improved over the years. Superman lowered Batman when instructed and stepped back.
Alfred was efficient as he removed the armor, large pieces of it falling and hitting the floor. He kicked one piece out of the way casually as he moved around Batman's body on the table.
The cowl came last and suddenly Bruce Wayne was there, eyes closed in pain. He opened them rarely, and the blue was still bright, but the gaze was unfocused. Strong jaw, full lips. A supermodel who had willfully turned away from the catwalk to beat criminals with his fists. It was well-known in the League that Bruce considered his looks another tool, another way to play the game, give Batman a fighting chance. Even creased in pain, Bruce Wayne was a handsome man.
Just a man.
His broad chest rose and fell in an unsteady way, the rhythm disturbed and worrying. In his youth, Bruce had had a fine dusting of dark hair on his chest. He'd been leaner, molded tight and lithe and quick. The skin was far too damaged for chest hair now, the hair follicles destroyed and burned and melted. The muscle was bulkier, more defined, but the rest of him from fingertip to shoulder and hip to sternum was just more of the same. Bruises filled in the gaps where there were no scars.
Alfred produced a stethoscope and listened. Superman watched, his body as still as possible, toes bobbing above the cold, stone floor of the Cave. The stethoscope was smooth and clean above the ugly tree-branch-tangle of scars covering Bruce's chest.
"Try a deep breath in and out, Master Bruce," Alfred said softly, and Bruce's inhale was damaged and broken and small.
"Clark," Bruce wheezed once Alfred moved away.
Superman's eyes snapped to Bruce's pale face almost guiltily, eyes shifting then freezing like a crook caught a spotlight in some old cartoon. "What do you need?"
"Stop staring. Go help."
Instead of agreeing, Superman looked to Alfred, who lifted his shoulders and let them fall in defeat. "He's survived worse. This won't kill him. Not yet. I promise. Come back once the day is saved."
Superman nodded and turned his head back to Bruce. "I will be back to check on you. And I'm contacting Wonder Woman. No offense, Alfred."
"None taken," Alfred agreed, lip drawn up in a small smile.
"Just go," Bruce said.
Superman lifted off and was through the waterfall and back above the skies of Gotham in seconds, the green of Bruce's estate a smear of midnight muted green and brown below. Nature gave way to city and the smoldering Mint came into view, every building around it clouded in black smoke and drifting ash. He could travel so much faster without cargo. Broken cargo. Cargo he'd had to hold very gently, fly with very slowly.
He touched down beside the fire chief, a familiar figure in black and yellow.
"Ah, Superman," he said. "What a mess." He waved at the blaze where his men were held at bay, endless gallons of water pouring into the shattered windows and doors. Small planes made passes over the building, dropped a payload of water, and then zipped away for the next plane to take its place.
"I'm sorry, Chief. I only got a hold of one detonator. The rest went off."
"Not your fault, honest," the chief said with a shrug, the Gotham of his accent twisting the vowels up and swallowing the consonants. "Could have been worse. Looks like you got the culprit out," he said and gestured to where a dizzy-looking Riddler was handcuffed to a gurney and flanked by officers on every side. An oxygen mask was secured over his face, making him look less like a villain, and more like any other victim of a fire, a small, scared man in need of saving.
"And all his little friends," the chief added. Further down the street there were officers arresting several green-clad men looking silly with their question mark patterns, sour expressions, and more than a little soot everywhere.
"Not me. Batman."
The chief didn't look interested. "Usually one of you two guys, isn't it? Same difference. Superpowers, what can I say?" he said.
And "Batman doesn't have any powers. He almost died trying to rescue everyone," Superman didn't say. What difference did that make to the chief? To the chief — and the criminals of Gotham — Batman must have seemed superpowered. Even Clark Kent didn't truly know what the people of Gotham knew about the various Bats who swept out of the shadows to save them. Robin was just a boy, but Clark Kent had been a boy once, too. Maybe people saw Robin and thought he could fly. Really fly.
"With your permission, I'd like to take a turn through the building. See what I can find? If it won't interfere with your efforts."
The chief adjusted his helmet and lifted a brow at Superman. "You're welcome to go on in. But trust me: nobody is alive in there."
Superman didn't reply to that. He circled around to the back of the Mint where the fire hoses had no chance of reaching. He had any number of openings to go through with the building blasted with holes from the inside as it was.
He'd never explained to anyone what fire felt like. The heat was no less real, the air no less cloying. But it was like being wrapped in a blanket as a baby, unharmed and untouchable. Fire couldn't stop Superman.
Like the chief said, he found no survivors. The good news was that half of the building was still standing, though even that was devoid of life. The detonator he had confiscated and destroyed must have been responsible for the bombs on this side of the building. Fire licked hungrily into that untouched part of the Mint, but Superman blew it back, iced it until it died.
As he drifted through the giant, vacant building, he found eight more bombs. Once his search concluded, he carefully transferred them to the bomb unit.
"Superman," one of the armored officers said as they defused the last of them. It sounded more than a little like "thank you."
"I'll be back," Superman said.
Another turn through the building saw him extinguish the worst of the fire. It took a long time, or seemed to, and the background to his frantic flight was the tha-thump, tha-thump of Bruce's heart miles away, the tutting of Alfred asking him to lay still.
"These are Broken," Alfred said. "Again."
"What have we got for pain?" Bruce asked. Then there was a sliding drawer, a rattle of a bottle.
"Hold out your hand, Master Bruce," Alfred ordered, as if he was talking to a child. And what was Bruce but a child to Alfred? A sad little boy who had never grown up?
Superman touched down beside the chief, who was walking from man to man, thanking them, relieving them, sending some around the side of the building.
"We owe you," the chief said, wiping at his brow. "Nobody, huh?"
"I didn't find anyone," Superman said. "Is anybody missing?"
"Too early for all that. I hope not. We'll be in touch, okay?"
Superman nodded. "Of course. Be safe."
The chief looked at the blackened building, dark without the blaze to light it. "We'll try. You, too." He was already back to the job seconds later, Superman just another thing he had to deal with.
After that, Superman had a few words with the on-site detective about the tied-up goon on the dock, followed by a quick concern-filled chat with Wonder Woman over League channels.
"He is stubborn," Wonder Woman said. It wasn't with judgement in her voice. It was spoken as just fact, plain and simple.
"Yeah. If I can get him to you…?"
She agreed easily with, "Of course. I'll be here. Just let me know. And, Superman?"
"Yes?"
"Don't let him hurt your feelings. He...pushes people away. The more he cares, the harder he pushes."
Superman sighed, pinched his nose as if he was still wearing heavy glasses, squinting at a screen with Lois laughing at him to his right.
"I know. Thanks."
He was off the comm entirely when he repeated, "I know," for no one's ears but his own.
Bruce was attempting to hobble to his computer when Superman returned. He was still bare to the waist and bandaged around the ribs, the lower half of his armor smudged and dirty. He didn't protest when Superman got an arm around his shoulder and helped him walk to the computer.
"Where's Alfred?"
"Sent him to contact Robin," Bruce huffed. "I need my equipment. Okay?"
Superman worried his lip. "Okay," he said reluctantly.
Halfway there, Bruce even put a hand to Superman's chest. "Hold," he gasped. "Let me…"
"Take your time," Superman said, stopping at once, holding up Bruce's body easily.
After long moments with Bruce struggling to breathe he said, "I think I can walk again. Slower steps?"
"No problem. Right then left," Superman agreed, and Bruce didn't grumble, but took the next step with his right foot first. He was hanging onto Superman with all his strength, wincing with each step. Superman knew enough now not to suggest that he carry Bruce, but the lesson had taken a long time to learn.
At his chair, Bruce would have flopped back if not for Superman guiding his head back into the cushions slowly. He leaned down over him as he eased him into the seat, watched his pale face and closed eyes; felt his hair damp against his fingertips. His breath against his cheek.
"There we go. Okay?" Superman asked.
Bruce gave a quick nod. He sat there breathing deep and ragged with his eyes closed.
"It's been a long night," Superman mused as he waited for Bruce to pull himself together. Bruce's reply was another stiff up and down of his head.
"Riddler?" he asked when his eyes opened. They were blue and tired and older than his years should have made them.
"Breathing and arrested. Headed for the hospital with bumps and bruises. A lucky idiot," Superman said.
"The detonator?"
"Found it on a guy at the dock. It must have been for the east wing. West wing went, as you know. I left him tied up for Gotham's Finest. He didn't know much, but maybe he'll talk if Batman questions him." Superman smiled and shrugged, seemingly at his own squeaky clean image. His stock-in-trade was not intimidation.
"Noted. I'll discuss it with Gordon."
Superman scratched his chin, lips pursed. "One guy failed, and the other succeeded. Wish we knew where he was."
Bruce frowned and nodded again. "There are too many unknowns," he said. He wheeled closer to the screens, but immediately gasped and hunched over onto the console.
"Whoa, whoa. What are you doing?" Superman asked, floating closer and getting a supporting arm around Bruce. The remains of the armor that made up Batman on Bruce's damaged body were mostly dry, but Superman was wet again from coming through the cave entrance. Drops of water clung to Bruce's bandages and skin from where Superman clung to him. He was holding him up again, like under the water at the Mint before, like the flight across the city not long ago. How many times tonight had he been forced to confront how near death Bruce came every single day? Sometimes from hour to hour?
"I still don't know their target. You don't blow up the whole Mint if you're just trying to steal a few machines."
"Okay, right, makes sense. But your ribs are broken, Bruce."
"I have to —"
"I'm not telling you not to work," Superman interrupted, voice rising. He took a deep breath and tried again in a more level tone. "Come to the Watchtower. Diana is there. We'll get you fixed up, and then you can burn the candle at both ends and work yourself to death like always. Okay?"
Glaciers melted in the time it took Bruce to decide to stand down and let Superman help. His whole body sagged as if in defeat.
He nodded and one of his fists clenched convulsively in Superman's cape. "I'll need my —"
"On it," Superman said, zipping away and returning with a fresh, dry cowl for Bruce to snap on.
Bruce snatched it from him with a huff.
He was slower than usual securing it, hindered by the damage to his ribs. The eyes took a moment to sync and then Batman was glaring at him, white and dangerous replacing the blue and tired.
"You look like you're about to complain again," Superman said with a smile. Then mockingly, "'Stop saving me. Stop anticipating my needs. Stay out of my city.' I'm just being helpful, you know." He took in the sight of Batman only half complete. Armor here and there, but skin and bone everywhere else. Not Bruce. Not Batman. Somewhere in between and vulnerable.
"Then help me out of this chair," Batman growled.
"Aye, aye," Superman laughed and Batman glared more.
The teleporter inside the Batcave was hidden away, but they made it there in no time because Superman just carried Batman again. He was more than willing to ignore the lessons he had learned if it spared the people he cared about pain.
"I don't mind," Superman said when Batman started making noises that sounded like complaints. "It's not like you weigh that much."
"Shut up, Superman," Batman said, but he groaned in pain then and rested his head on Superman's shoulder. "Vertigo," he said.
"Concussions are nothing to take lightly," Superman said. The words echoed first in the Cave, then instantly around the WatchTower.
Take lightly, lightly, lightly...
The droning, grinding noise that the teleporter made faded away into silence after a minute.
Batman asked to be put on his feet, but the minute he did he almost fell to the ground. Superman held to him tightly, tried not to worry about his costume when Batman's fists curled into it convulsively. It was just that his mom had made it for him.
"Don't complain," Superman said and lifted Batman into his arms. Batman's head lolled onto his shoulder again. "Honestly, let me help," he whispered against the cowl, right where Batman's ear was beneath the armor.
"Yes. Okay," Batman said. And he didn't complain; just held on as Superman supported him with one arm around his back, and one under his bent knees. Seconds later and he wasn't really conscious any longer. In fact, he was heavy, loose, and damp with sweat. His skin was pale and tiny tremors ran through his body. Superman didn't need x-ray vision to know that Batman was bleeding internally.
They were lucky not to encounter anyone as they traveled through the Watchtower. Superman knew that Batman would have hated being seen like this.
Wonder Woman fussed about Batman much less than Superman had. She was efficient and unworried about moving him overmuch even with his injuries, her confidence in the Ray obvious. She removed the bandages around his middle, tsked at the ugly bruises, and reminded him that he was not invincibile. If Batman heard her, he didn't reply.
The Purple Ray was always strange looking, and the table Batman had to lie upon looked uncomfortable and cold. Batman was still flitting in and out of consciousness, which was perhaps a blessing and a curse.
"This isn't instantaneous," Wonder Woman said to Superman. "Especially not for injuries this severe. He should have come here first."
"He—"
"Oh, I know. You don't have to explain." She held up a hand to stop his words, and her eyes were fierce. "After the treatment, he will be out of sorts. It will be important for him to rest to prevent reinjury."
"How long before he's back to fighting form?" Superman asked.
Wonder Woman gave him a disbelieving look. "It's unlike you to be so reckless," she said.
"He'd want to know," he muttered. Batman would want to get back to work. He'd want to stop the bad guy, rescue the princess, and all of it before sunrise.
"Let's not let his unhealthy way of thinking dictate our actions," Wonder Woman scolded Superman. "He needs to recuperate. I leave it to you to see to it that he gets proper care."
The procedure began after that. Wonder Woman found the frequency quickly, aimed the Ray, and worked on all the injured bits and pieces of Batman that an explosion and near-death experience could cause. The procedure ended after what seemed like hours, but couldn't possibly have been.
"You up?" Superman asked when Batman's lenses blinked slowly.
Batman was still silent, but momentarily alert. His eyes drifted to Superman, those blank, white lenses saying more than was intended. To Superman, at least. Speaking still looked too difficult for him, his breathing labored as if each inhale strained his ribs.
"Yeah. I think I can stand."
Batman got to his feet, or tried to. Superman was there to catch him when his legs wobbled. Batman only grunted once in pain as Superman lifted him into his arms again.
Batman opened his mouth to protest, but remained quiet when Superman said, "No. Not up for debate."
Batman's mouth formed a thin, displeased line, but he couldn't maintain it and his eyes closed again.
"Remember what I said about rest," Wonder Woman said. Perhaps her expression was bemused.. She waved a warning finger at Superman, who smiled back a simpering smile.
"I'll take care of him," he said. It was easy to say it now that Batman was mostly asleep again, a heavy, warm weight against his chest.
"I can see that," said Wonder Woman. She smiled and looked down. "It's good that he has you."
Superman shifted Batman a little closer, held him a little tighter. "Is that what this is?" he asked. Then he smiled at Wonder Woman. "Thanks. For everything."
He took the trip back to the teleporter slowly, listening to the steady, humming sound of the Watchtower. Its orbit was predictable and soothing. Nothing like Gotham with its sudden, random violence. Villains and their bombs. Fire and death.
"We could just stay here," he said to Batman when he felt him stir. Batman stilled again suddenly, grunted in pain, and gritted his teeth.
"Home," he said in a voice that was strain and effort. It seemed impossible for him to keep his eyes open.
"Okay. Home," Superman said.
Alfred wasn't in the Cave when they returned. It was late, after all, and even the ever-diligent butler needed rest sometime. He had left a note which Superman glanced at as he passed by the work-area near the computers.
Master Bruce has nightmares, it said. He tends to toss and turn. I would appreciate your help in this matter and apologize for once again imposing on you.
Superman got the message. If rest was important after the Purple Ray, Batman's nightmares were enemy number one. Which was fine. Superman didn't mind handling babysitting duty.
"Nightmares, huh?" Superman asked the barely conscious embodiment of darkness and vengeance in his arms. The man who caused villains sleepless nights suffered them himself. Sometimes the world seemed a strange, mad place.
Batman didn't answer his question, just rested against Superman's shoulder, his eyes closed and the lenses shuttered away.
Batman didn't move even when they were upstairs and Clark was settling him onto the big bed. He moved slowly and carefully and at last the thing was accomplished. He stood up and looked to the left at the bank of tall windows. The curtains were already pulled to let in buttery moonlight from Gotham's dark and mysterious sky. In the city proper, light pollution made the stars dim, but here in the Palisades, the stars were legion, bright and all-encompassing.
"Nice view," Superman said. He looked back to the bed, at Batman's singed and torn armor. "You can't sleep in all this."
He knew where the clasps for Batman's armor were well enough. The cowl was easy, anyway. Beneath it, Bruce's hair was damp, glued to his face, and there were deep grooves in his skin — around his mouth and eyes — from where the armor had been. His neck was rubbed raw on the right side, an unfortunate side-effect of wearing the cowl without the chest armor attached as well.
His boots took more work, as did the armor on his legs, but at last Bruce was down to just the slick, form-fitting briefs all the Bats wore, dusted in the powder it took to get the suit and gauntlets on, and looking much more comfortable. Well, as comfortable as a man covered in this many scars and bruises ever looked.
Bruce stirred a little right as the final piece came off. "Clark...Superman," he said. He struggled to a sitting position, which made Superman huff in frustration. But he was more alert than he'd been since the explosion, so Superman tried not to nag too much.
"Can't you try to be still?"
"Where's Alfred?" Bruce asked.
"His shift ended," Superman said with a playful shrug. "Mine's just starting."
"Go home to Metropolis. You have a city to protect," Bruce growled, but Superman waved a hand at him, then pressed a finger to his own lips.
"Shh, no complaining. How do you feel?"
Bruce rubbed at his ribs and frowned. The frown deepened when he touched the side of his forehead where a purple bruise was slowly fading to yellow. "Like I got hit by a truck," Bruce said.
"Explosion. Close enough," Superman said. "Alfred says that you...uh...squirm. What can I sleep in?"
Bruce looked around the room blearily. "Try...that dresser?" He waved a hand, hissed when even that simple movement was too much for his healing body.
Clark was back in a flash in black silk sleeping bottoms and a t-shirt that was a little tight across the chest. It smelled clean. It smelled like Bruce.
"Climb in, come on," Clark said. He lifted up the edge of the blankets and waved at Bruce to move. "There's nothing more you can do tonight," he added when Bruce's eyes drifted down, towards the Cave, his intent clear; his obsession consuming.
Bruce relented and carefully shifted his feet beneath the blankets. His eyes narrowed when Clark climbed under as well, his toes brushing against Bruce's accidentally.
"Oops. Sorry. My feet are probably cold."
Bruce glared at him. "Clark. Just what did Diana say to you? This isn't necessary."
"She said you need rest. You were pretty out of it."
"Ridiculous," Bruce said. Then he sighed, lowered himself gingerly back to the bed, and flipped onto his side with a grunt, his back to Clark. He said nothing as Clark's big body shifted closer. Clark curled in around Bruce's back and wrapped an arm around him.
"I'll be big spoon," said Clark.
"Are you crazy?" Bruce asked.
"I've been holding you all night. This isn't that different."
"I'm half naked. You're wearing my pajamas and sleeping in my bed. That's different."
Clark laughed and the sound rumbled through Bruce's body. "And they're too small, by the way." On a whim, he leaned forward, kissed the back of Bruce's neck, then pulled back to lick the salt off his own lips.
Bruce was very still for a moment, and his breathing was the loudest sound in the big, dark room.
"All because I squirm?" Bruce asked after a moment. There was even a note of amusement in his voice, so perhaps Robin was rubbing off on him. He slowly arranged Clark's arms around him more securely, and shifted back a little. "We both smell bad," he muttered under his breath.
Clark smiled against Bruce's neck. "Showers are for the morning. We'll get some sleep, wake up refreshed, and have one of Alfred's awesome breakfasts. He can check you over to see how you're healing, and then we can put our heads together about the Riddler. It's a good plan."
Bruce made some unhappy noise, but all the fight in his body seemed to go with the exhale of breath. He relaxed into Clark's embrace a little.
"You're always ten degrees hotter than a human, I swear," Bruce said. He yawned immediately after, which took some of the venom out of the words.
"Mm, hm. Sunlight," Clark agreed and yawned himself. "Those things are contagious."
The bed was comfortable, and Bruce was like a teddy bear, so Clark started to doze. It was as if sleep had tapped him on the shoulder and invited him out for the night.
"You're stubborn," Bruce said suddenly.
"Uh. Me? Huh!" Clark complained. His eyes shot open and he was plenty awake now.
"And...reckless. You're reckless."
Clark sighed and his anger at the accusation dissipated immediately. Diana said he wasn't reckless and Bruce said he was. He couldn't win.
"I don't want you to die," he said. He squeezed his eyes tight, but he could still see Batman drifting motionless in the water, not breathing. It was an image that would stick with him the rest of his life, like a tattoo on his brain.
Bruce curled around his injured middle a little, as if he was trying to hide away. "Dammit, I know that! I know. And...I don't know how to...gratitude is hard because I resent the help. I resent that I needed it."
Clark didn't interrupt. He was in no hurry because time was different for him, just like for Wally. Bruce's struggle to say what he wanted — or maybe needed — to say was stretched out like a summer's day. Clark had time. And he wanted to hear this.
Bruce's hand flexed on his pillow once. "I'm not meaning to...push you away. I'm not ungrateful. I've worked alone too long."
And that wasn't necessarily true as far as Clark could tell. Batman had been with the League for a number of years, fought off aliens and monsters side-by-side with all of them. Batman worked with Robin. Batman had a butler that he trusted with a shotgun to protect the back entrance to the Cave. Trusted to do surgery on him.
But Batman saw alone differently than most.
Bruce's voice was soft when he spoke next, barely audible over the sound of the wind suddenly blowing the trees outside wildly, leaves skittering across the grounds. "You make it so easy to just trust you. In the middle of a fight, I catch myself thinking, 'Superman will get to it,' and you always do. But I can't rely on you forever. You have your own city. There are places you are needed that I can't get to. I always have to be ready to fight on my own."
"But I'll always be here for you," Clark said in a rush. Even to his own ears it sounded childish, and he closed his mouth tightly. What he said next was an apologetic sounding, "I guess I shouldn't say things like that."
"No, you shouldn't," Bruce whispered. "You believe it, which almost makes it worse."
"Ouch."
"I don't want to be the one to...shatter your idea of what you're capable of, but you've done enough for the world. You aren't my personal bodyguard."
Clark shook his head, then rested his chin on Bruce's shoulder. "There's got to be a compromise here."
"Always the peacemaker," Bruce said, but it wasn't as harsh as it could have been. "You could just let me have my way."
"I could, but I won't." Clark said it with conviction, his voice firm, trying to get through to Bruce. "I get what you're saying. I do. But I rely on you, too. I need you at my six. Look. We're a team. We're supposed to watch each other's backs. You're my best friend. I...hate the idea that I can live through an explosion no problem, but you end up with broken ribs and a concussion. But...I love the fact that you do it anyway."
"This is quite a speech," Bruce said under his breath. "And if I didn't know better, I'd think—"
"You're brave," Clark continued, which shut Bruce up handily, his stillness in Clark's arms obvious and telling. "I admire you. And so I want your permission to keep saving you when I can. I don't even care if you complain the whole time so long as you let me do my job. When you need me, I want to know that you'll let me help. Please," he finished, desperation in every syllable. He couldn't hold Bruce any tighter without hurting him, but he wanted to.
"Your job isn't protecting me."
Clark shrugged, the motion rocking both of them on the big bed. "It's not not my job, either."
"I hurt too much to keep arguing." Bruce said, then suddenly caught Clarks hand, laced their fingers together, and squeezed until Clark squeezed back. "Okay. Okay, Clark. I hear you. You don't have to say anything else. We're on the same page. I'll try harder to see your point of view. I'll complain less. You can save me when I'm drowning. Catch me when I fall. We're a team. And...thank you," he said. "For tonight."
Clark leaned his head against Bruce's back, rubbed his forehead against the warm skin there a few times. "You're welcome. Now sleep."
"Goodnight, Clark," Bruce said. He lifted Clark's hand and kissed it briefly, just a dry quick peck.
"Goodnight, Bruce." And maybe he could hold him just a little tighter after all.