Bruce's voice. Shaking. Weak. Hoarse.
Silence.
Bruce's face. Worn. Exhausted. Pained.
Darkness.
Bruce's touch. Wrinkled skin. Loosened grip. Cold. Shivering.
Gone.
Clark closed his fist and felt the odd texture of falling strands. A handful of whitening strands fell between his fingers. They piled at his feet, drowning him in quick, suffocating agony. Bruce's hair.
Wetness formed on his forehead, dripping down his chin. Red amplifying its presence against the contrasting whiteness of his shirt. A waterfall of crimson. Bruce's blood.
Screams of torture. Echoes of panting. Begging, ringing against his ear drums. Bruce, waiting for his aid, losing hope with every passing minute.
Clark failed him. Over and over again.
Clark.
Clark, wake up.
"Clark. Clark!"
Familiar blue eyes were staring at him with masked concern. Clark bolted from the bed and heard the bed creak dangerously with his sudden movement.
"Easy. You'll break the bed."
"How-" Clark wiped his hand across his forehead. It was damp with sweat. "How long have you been-?"
"Not long." Bruce admitted. He propped a pillow up against the headboard and settled in comfortably. "You were having a nightmare."
Clark surveyed the room. It was still dark. "What time is it?"
"Three twenty."
Clark rested his head back against the pillow wearily. "Sorry. I should have slept elsewhere. It… happens." Frequently. Recurrently.
Bruce appeared hesitant for a moment. "Do you… want to talk about it?" He shrugged at Clark's questioning gaze. "I happen to have a lot of experience. Dealing with nightmares, that is. All the boys have had them at some point. Screaming in the middle of the night was a common occurrence."
"They're lucky to have you."
"You can confide in me, if you want." Bruce was studying his hands with odd interest.
It suddenly occurred to Clark that Bruce was nervous. That to Bruce, the intimacy of sharing a private conversation was even more so than sharing body heat and fluids. He didn't want to reject Bruce's offer. It was an opportunity to show his trust.
"I dream about you. A lot." Clark began. He watched Bruce's astonishment in the tiny flinch of his finger. That was all the reaction he was going to get. He continued, "I remember your last days. My mind replays them when I sleep. I remember feeling responsible. Helpless. Being the most powerful man on Earth, but seeing the futility of all my strength and will. I see the hair that falls out of your scalp, the blood that you cough onto a white sheet. It always feels like I'm strangled in my sleep."
Bruce was watching him oddly now. For a long time he refused to comment on Clark's confession. Almost until Clark thought he was never going to get his response. Then quietly Bruce uttered, "I would never forgive you."
Clark felt the sharp sting of a deep, open wound inflicted on his battered body. He choked back the emotions welling in his throat. "I know."
"You don't." Bruce snapped stubbornly. "If all my life serves is to make you miserable after my death, then I would never forgive you. I would never forgive myself."
Clark replied with stunned silence. For a moment he was unable to respond, then slowly he looked away from Bruce's frustrated stare. "You wouldn't say that… When you go through that mind-wrecking torture, you… I wouldn't be surprised at all if you blamed me. Blamed the Kryptonian that barged onto your planet and the Kryptonite that came with him. Blamed the source of your sickness that eventually led to your last breath. I wouldn't."
"Clark." Bruce squared on him angrily, his jaw clenched. "Don't tell me what I know or not know about myself. I'm younger, doesn't mean I'm any less the man you knew." He retreated in frustration. "I don't like seeing you tortured over a memory of a dead man, regardless of who that is."
Clark rested his forehead on his palm and shook his head. "I know, Bruce. If the situation was reversed, I would have hated myself and the pain I inflicted on you."
Bruce turned abruptly, ready to pounce on that confession, but Clark beat him to it. "I'm learning." He said, avoiding Bruce's gaze. It was less a promise and more a defence. "I'm trying hard. At least I'm not giving up. Not anymore."
He shut his eyes for a while and heard the shuffling of their sheets, then warmth curled up near his waist and hips.
"Good." Bruce said simply.
Clark waited in the dark for any comment that followed, but the only sounds that came after a long while were Bruce's soft snores. The comforting breaths were accompanied by the gentle warmth radiating from his body. Bruce's warmth, urging Clark into deep, dreamless sleep.