"Lois, how do you make up with someone you upset but you don't know how you upset them?"
"How many Cs in Vaccum?" She asks without looking up from her work.
Clark's shoulders sink lower than they already were. "One, but there are two Us."
"Shit," Lois whispers and hits the backspace key a few times.
"I mean, What did I do wrong? We were talking just fine and then I said...I don't remember, but I said something and he told me to get out!" Clark moans.
Finally, Lois looks at him, a patient look in her eyes. "I don't know, Clark. Why don't you ask him yourself? Can't do much if you don't know how you fucked up."
Fair.
"But he doesn't want to talk to me. What if he calls security?"
"Then he calls security." Lois gives him a humored look. "What're they gonna do? Throw you out? You're...you!" She says instead of referring to Superman. Clark is thankful for it, given their very public setting.
When Clark huffs a millionth sigh, Lois continues. "Look, if Wayne really wants nothing to do with you, then he can tell you that. Just ask, okay? Bring some of your Kansas charm and I'm sure he'll at least talk things out." Lois winces after a pause. "Or, maybe sleep with him. That could do it too."
"I'm serious, Lois!" Clark flushes at the suggestion.
"So am I!" She defends. "That man's dick has probably been in every rich person in Gotham-"
"Lois!"
"Clark!" She shakes her head. "You have more important things to worry about than what Bruce Wayne thinks about you. If you want closure, ask him. If not, focus on the bigger stuff. He's not worth your time anyway."
He should've gone to Jimmy. No, Jimmy would've been just as helpless as Clark.
Maybe his Ma and Pa...
"How many Ss in necesary?"
"Two."
"I'd have to agree with Lois, Dear." Ma's voice is warm as it comes through Clark's phone.
He just wishes her advice wasn't...this.
"Well, apart from the, uh, sleeping bit. If you want to set things right, you have to face him."
"Is that Clark?" Pa's voice echoes from somewhere in the distance.
When Ma speaks again, her voice is muffled. "He's worried about his friend, Bruce Wayne."
"What happened? Did a building fall?"
"No, they had a little tiff and Clark doesn't know how to make up again."
Clark groans. He loves his parents, really, but they do this every time he calls.
There's a shuffling behind the phone and when Pa speaks, his voice is loud and clear. "Hey, Buddy! I heard you've been having it rough."
"I guess," Clark sighs. It's been the exact same the last two times he explained this. He just wanted a little advice. A new perspective.
The phone rustles again, as if Pa's moving it to the other ear. "Well, let me tell you something. Whenever my boys and I would start bickering about nonsense back in the day, I'd go out early in the morning and shovel their barn for them. Everything seemed to fall into place after that, no matter the argument. Well, except the time I kissed Hank's crush-"
"Bruce Wayne doesn't have cows, Pa. Or a barn."
"That's not the point." Pa's voice loses some of its jesting. "Do something for him, something you know he'd look at and appreciate."
That does make sense. More than just flying over to Wayne Tower and trying to ask what's wrong.
"But what do I do for a billionaire?"
"Something only you can offer, Clark. Think on it. I'm sure you'll find something."
Clark does consider going to the Fortress with the issue, but he knows that's just desperation talking.
With every piece he's been given, Clark still isn't sure how to move forward, but he does know he has to start somewhere. He won't leave Wayne alone. He can't. Whether they like it or not, they've been bound together by fate. Both of their lives are in danger and Clark intends to make sure they make it out alive. That's what he can offer to Wayne: protection.
In all of his righteous fury, Clark descends upon the new Wayne building, ready to tell the man just that-
He floats on the other side of the window, watching as Wayne stares ahead at nothing. His eyes are drooping and slightly puffy. The dark circles under his eyes are absurdly prominent, even in the moon's light. He's glaring, but there's nothing for Wayne to be glaring at.
Superman pulls the window open and closes it behind him. Aside from the shuffling of loose papers, there is no reaction to his presence.
"Mr. Wayne?" He lands softly on the carpeted floor. "Are you..." No, he's obviously not okay. "Sick?" Clark settles.
Wayne still isn't looking at him. His blink holds for a second longer than it should, as if he were about to fall asleep.
"How long have you been awake?" Clark gets closer, his hands hovering just above the man's shoulder.
Nothing.
Clark thinks, for a terrifying moment, that Wayne has been replaced with some kind of robot, but a quick flash of his x-ray vision disproves that. In fact, he looks again at Wayne's internals, searching for anything that could tell him why the man is so lethargic.
It's then Clark sees the scars. From little stripes to deep-looking gashes, Bruce Wayne is covered in scars. A long streak from his elbow to his shoulder, a cross right on his back. There's a small one just below his collarbone, mostly hidden by the white shirt he's wearing; though, any jostling would leave it exposed.
It's something Clark has seen in many humans, mostly his parents, but never himself. He's invulnerable. And even if someone -Lex Luthor- were to get a real hit on him, make him bleed, it would heal up again in a matter of minutes. His skin is as clean as the day he first arrived on Earth.
Clark remembers rubbing Pa's scarred hands when he was just a boy. They would lay together on the couch after a good milking, then Clark would curl up close and run his hands over the rough calluses and pale marks. He'd ask where they came from and most were some accident fixing this thing or another. But one, one stood out to him.
His Pa, a younger man then, got his wrist stuck in the tractor plow. He called and called for Ma as blood spilled around the gnarled wound, every movement only ripping it wider. He thought he was going to lose his hand that day, but he didn't. Ma stopped the plow and gently pulled his arm loose.
Seeing scars like that make Clark feel completely and entirely alien. He may live among humans, was raised by humans, but he will always be something else. Otherworldly, unnatural. Kryptonian.
Clark's attention returns as Wayne meets his eyes. The man is exhausted, that much is obvious, but there's too much sorrow to blame on a lack of sleep. Wayne has tears building in his eyes. They threaten to spill, but they don't. He blinks them away before they can.
"Do you ever miss your parents?" Bruce whispers, his voice softer than Clark has ever heard it.
"My parents?" Clark is almost afraid his thoughts were said aloud.
"On Krypton. Do you miss them?"
Right. Wayne is speaking to Kal-El, the Ambassador of Krypton. Not Clark Kent, the strange kid from Smallville.
Yet, he doesn't lie when he says, "Always. I didn't know them, not really. I was too young when they...when I came to Earth. But I still miss them."
Bruce's eyes leave Clarks to stare at nothing once again. "I wish they were here. Now." Bruce says, something haunted in his voice. "They were a team. They worked together like it was nothing but instincts. Everything they did..." Bruce sighs so deeply, it must touch his very soul. "We don't work well together. I lie too much."
Clark winces. "I think we're both guilty of that." He admits.
Then, taking a daring step forward, Clark decides he's done lying. At least to Bruce.
It's the one thing only Clark can offer. Not protection, not a partnership. The truth.
"I'm not an Ambassador from Krytpon." He waits for Bruce to look up at him. The movement is sluggish yet riddled with confusion, nearing anger. "There is no Krypton. Not anymore. It was destroyed just moments after I was sent here as a baby. All I know about the planet is through documented memories given to me by my birth father. There is no mission to help Earth from beings far superior. It's just me."
Bruce's brows pinch together and his lips curve further downward. "Why did you tell me that?" There's little heat to his anger, but it's there.
And Clark feels no better than if Bruce had ordered him to leave again.
"Because you deserve honesty."
Bruce's eyes narrow and the spark finally lights. "Honesty? Really, Superman? We barely know each other. Why bother telling me this?"
"Because..." Clark tries hard not to fiddle with his cape. "I thought you'd want to know."
"No. You wanted someone to share your burdens! You selfishly told me information no one else knows about because you made it that way! You lied to every media department about Krypton and you're telling me because it would make you feel better about yourself! If you really wanted to help me, you wouldn't throw another rock onto my back and expect me to just take it!"
Bruce huffs out his breaths like a dragon about to spit fire. "You have no idea how much you've ruined things for me!"
"Because I told you about Krypton?" Clark asks. His voice wavers more than he thought it would.
"Yes!" Bruce's face screws up in a grimace. "No. I just-" He hits himself in the head two, three times before Clark stops him. "Don't-"
Clark's hands hold steady despite Bruce's struggling. "You can be angry at me but don't hurt yourself over it. Tell me why you're mad." This is obviously bigger than Krypton now, and maybe they shouldn't be having this conversation while Bruce is so obviously struggling, but when else will they be honest?
Only once he's sure Bruce won't hurt himself does Clark let go. The man pulls away from him and touches his wrists. There's a faint mark and Clark feels his stomach sink. He wasn't being careful either. He's letting his own frustration guide him and he knows, Clark knows he can't do that. He has power, therefore it's his responsibility to control it-
But before Clark can utter his shaken apology, Bruce is glaring at him again.
"You want honesty, Kal-El? Fine. I haven't been able to sleep longer than thirty minutes at a time for the past two weeks. It takes enough energy to do what I do in Gotham, but opening a branch in Metropolis means more background checks, more employees to take note of, and more ways people can get to me! I hide my secrets very well, but I can't be everywhere at once! All it takes is one person to make everything I've built fall apart!"
"And that's not even adding you into the picture!" Bruce continues. "You, the unkillable god who so mercifully lets us live! You, who could kill me now without even moving but you choose not to! What happens when you get bored, or-or when your morals sway? What if someone else gets into your head? We pay the price!"
Clark...doesn't know what to say. It rubs him raw, makes him want to scream in his own defense, but he can't find the right words. A part of him understands how terrifying it must be. Lois has said it a few times, anyway.
"There's just something about a man that powerful who chooses to help instead of destroy."
"I...I'm doing everything I can," is what makes its way out of Clark's mouth, pained and frustrated. "I save people, I stop the crashing airplanes, I defeat the killer robots. I get cats out from trees. I'm doing everything I can to prove I'm not- I don't want to hurt people!"
Bruce levels him with a hardened look. "No one's kind for no reason."
"Is that true for you?" Clark glares right back. "Are you really a selfish playboy who only donates to charities because it will get you laid easier?"
"No-"
"Then why do you do it?"
Clark can't help to recognize this conversation. It's the same one they had before, with some added anger. It ended poorly last time. Clark expects it'll be the same again.
But instead of shouting or demanding Clark leave, Bruce sits back in his chair. He looks long and hard at Clark before speaking. "I do it so that no one will feel the same way I do."
The anger isn't gone, but something else grows past it. Something stronger. Kinder. "The way...you do?" Clark asks, treading carefully forward. Any wrong move can shatter this rare moment of...whatever this is they're sharing.
"Hopeless. Lost. Afraid. I lose sleep so no one else has to. I fight so no more children have to know what it's like to stare down the barrel of a gun before it goes off."
And oh, doesn't Clark ache at that. A story only ever mentioned in Bruce Wayne's biography is the very thing that's made him who he is. A two-sentence paragraph about some rich nine-year-old losing his parents has turned into a monster Bruce carries with him, unbeknownst to anyone else. It's a demon only the man can see, yet one that claws at his skin and demands to be heard.
A demon so much like Clark's own. It cries at him to be gentle, to never put more than a fraction of his strength into anything! He breaks doorknobs, snaps his glasses, rips his tie. With breath that can freeze and eyes that can melt, Clark is a bull trying so badly to live in a china shop.
"I'm afraid," Clark says at last. "I'm afraid of myself too. When I was a kid, I used to have meltdowns because I could hear the whole town all at once. I could see my teacher's heart and Lana's skull. I've smashed through more walls than I can count." A chuckle escapes him. It's a sad, pathetic thing. "I've always been more scared of myself than any monsters under my bed."
Bruce stares at him openly, gears screeching to try and form some kind of thought. "This doesn't mean you aren't still dangerous. You can feel bad about it all you want, but we still have to do something about it." Bruce looks at him long and hard, his mouth just open enough to show he's still thinking. "You don't look like a killer. Too damn handsome for that."
Clark wants to argue that attractiveness has little to do with one's willpower, but he keeps quiet.
"But," Bruce raises one finger, "I want to...make a plan. To stop you, in case you do lose control."
If it were anyone else, Clark would be worried. Plans to kill him have only ever been to stop him from helping others. Never once has someone offered to stop him from himself.
But tonight, Clark's heart beats fast with affection. Bruce has heard his fears and he's offered to try the impossible. For both of them.
"Okay. Like the kryptonite?"
"Yeah, maybe." Bruce nods slowly. He stops the motion after some time and holds his head steady. "Maybe...I can't think." He repeats through a yawn.
Clark sets a gentle, gentle hand on Bruce's shoulder and turns the chair to face him. "Bruce, how long have you been awake?"
"Thirty...no, forty-three hours. Wait, what time is it?"
"I think you should rest. That's really not healthy-"
"Shit!" Bruce jumps up from his chair, which lands the two of them chest-to-chest. Clark stands there, breathing fast, as he unconsciously holds Bruce by the waist. To steady him, of course.
Bruce's hands are on his shoulders, the fingers squeezing every few seconds before going slack again, as if he doesn't have the strength to hold on.
"...Are you alright?" Clark asks just above a whisper.
"I have to...to go." Bruce blinks up at him.
Then Bruce shoves away abruptly and makes his way towards the door of the office, breaking the spell.
"I have to go!" Bruce repeats with more urgency.
He should try to stop him, but Bruce's panic only escalates as he runs to the nearest elevator and slams his finger against the button several times. Whatever he's late for, it must be important. Important enough to get the man on his feet and running.
Then, Clark looks at the time too.
"Oh shoot!" He gasps. He was supposed to meet with Batman ten minutes ago!
Flying out the window he came through, Clark returns to his apartment in the blink of an eye and changes into his work clothes and glasses. Rao, he hopes Batman isn't waiting up on him! The vigilante was very clear about their shaky truce and if Clark's late to their first meeting, then he may lose this lead for good!
It takes exactly two minutes for Clark to make it to the Metropolis docks, then another five to calm his heart and walk the rest of the way to their meeting place.
He circles the same three warehouses, his fingers tugging anxiously on his jacket's sleeve. What if he missed his chance? What if Batman saw he wasn't anywhere near the docks and decided he'd rather do this on his own? What if-
A faint heartbeat gets louder as someone nears. Clark tenses, prepared for a mugger who thinks they can get some extra change out of him. But with the flutter of heavy fabric, Clark breathes a sigh of relief. It's Batman.
The vigilante lands directly behind him and Clark jumps despite hearing him approach. He didn't think the bat was that close!
"Kent." Batman rumbles and the sound is achingly similar to Bruce's tired groaning.
Of course, Clark waves the thought off immediately. Not only is Bruce far too busy to be the Batman, but he would ruin his precious voice talking like that all the time.
"Mr. Batman!" Clark turns as he adjusts his glasses. He notes that the bat is slightly hunched forward, more a shape than a full man, wrapped in his cloak as he is. "So sorry for being late! I really have no excuse-"
"What do you have?"
Straight to the point, as always.
Clark pulls the card from his pocket, the one he found at the bank, and hands it over. His heart skips when gloved fingers graze his own.
Batman reads the riddle, then frowns. "He reused this one. The answer was 'the brain'."
"Who?" Clark blinks.
White lenses look back up at Clark. "The Riddler. A serial killer known for stringing clues along with riddles. Where did you find this?"
"It was left behind at a bank robbery. I was interviewing the chief of police and-"
Batman holds up one hand and Clark bites his tongue. "It's wrong. Humans don't have three hemispheres of the brain."
"...Right." He really should've paid closer attention in his anatomy class. At the time, he was more consumed with finding out how exactly he differed from the average human. Now, he could've used basic knowledge like this.
Batman hands the card back, surprisingly. Clark pockets it once again. "It may be an animal. Do you know any with three hemispheres?" The vigilante makes a strange motion in the air with his hands, like dividing something into three sections.
"Not off the top of my head." Or maybe he should've taken a zoology class?
Three hemispheres...three sections of the brain. What creature has three-
Him. He has three hemispheres!
But before Clark can blurt out the answer, he remembers that an average reporter, even one well educated with Superman's work, wouldn't know Kryptonian biology that well. He'll need a way to give that information to Batman without revealing his secret.
Better yet, how does this Riddler know? If he's the only Kryptonian alive, then how...
A second heartbeat is coming closer. Clark looks up just as a feminine figure sways towards them. They're covered in a large coat, but Clark can see traces of red hair spilling over the fur. That and...no. The night lighting must be playing with him. Her skin can't be green.
"You boys getting into trouble?" She calls from behind Batman, who actually startles. Honestly, Clark is more surprised that she snuck up on the vigilante than by her suddenly kissing-
Wait, what?
And then Batman falls flat on his back like a corpse.
"Batman!" Clark all but shouts. The vigilante's heart is still beating, just slower. Like he's sleeping.
Clark turns to the mysterious woman. He balls his hands into fists, preparing to defend them against the new threat, but he's too confused to do much. "Who are you?! What was that?!"
She throws off her coat, proving his observation true. She is green, and covered in nothing but an array of vines and leaves. Her fingers reach out to pull Clark in as well, but when her lips touch his, he's quick to shove her off.
"What did you-" He wipes at his mouth but it's already started to tingle. The feeling spreads deeper, covering his tongue in pins and the back of his throat in needles. It rises up to his nose and back down his throat before stopping. He feels like he has to sneeze.
The woman gives him a confused look. "Oh? I haven't seen anyone resist my pollen so well. Maybe another kiss will put you to sleep." She leans in again but Clark is already taking steps back, his hands held out in front of him in defense.
"Don't make me hurt you." He warns.
"Hurt me? Please." She rolls her eyes, then blows into the palm of her hand. A yellow powder sprays into his face and Clark gasps it in on instinct. It makes the tingling turn to a numb feeling and as it spreads to his brain-
The world around him starts to shift. The dark river swirls upward, turning more and more vibrant as it goes. The warehouses stretch taller, way above his head. Clark barely registers someone pulling him along, his feet stumbling after.
"Come on, reporter boy. I think I'll like playing with you."
Note for Batman: Don't go heroing while sleep deprived. It won't end well.