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The darkness doesn’t bother Superman as he makes his way through the deserted corridors of Brainiac’s, no, his spaceship. With each passing moment, his link with the ship strengthens. It becomes a part of him, allowing him to wield its powers.
Even it knows when to submit to its new master, unlike the prisoner in the holding cell.
He could have killed Batman at the end of their fight, easily. Just the slightest increase in pressure— squeeze —and the Dark Knight would no longer be a threat. Wonder Woman urged him to do it. It would have been the logical choice; putting an end to the Insurgency for good. If their roles were reversed, he’s certain Bruce would have dealt with him in a more...permanent way this time.
Surely, Bruce knew just how effortless it would be to kill him. Yet, the man still spurned his offer to join him. Refused his offer to help lead the greatest army the universe has ever seen—a legion of warriors soon to be freed from Brainiac’s collection—toward a new era of intergalactic peace.
Bruce can be fiercely stubborn, but Clark is prepared to do what’s necessary to make him understand. He refuses to consider the alternative. He cannot.
Despite all of Brainiac’s sins, Superman is grateful for the opportunity the invasion had brought. If it weren’t for Brainiac’s arrival, he could very well be imprisoned still, trapped in a small cell with the energy signature of a red sun rendering him powerless. The uneasy truce was only possible with the pressure of a common enemy upon them. Batman released him then, because when it comes down to it, Bruce knew he needed him. The thought provides some comfort.
For those few brief days, it was like the dark years hadn’t happened. For those few brief days, their own war was temporarily on hold; he wasn’t the leader of the Regime and Batman wasn’t the leader of the Insurgency, each exacting their will for the good of humanity. It was just them...World’s Finest working together to save Earth from a greater threat.
They had slipped back into their old roles so well, fighting side by side, that an optimistic part of him was convinced that this could be a new beginning. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed it, how much he missed them .
Bruce had been his closest confidante. They both knew the weight of the world on their shoulders, perhaps more than most. On an occasion—so long ago that he wondered if it was merely wishful thinking—they even spent a night of physical intimacy together. It was after a hard-fought victory and he had taken an injured Bruce back to the Batcave.
“Help me with the stitches,” Bruce had requested, hoping to hide the worst of the injuries from his faithful butler. Naturally, Clark complied. It’s not often Batman asks for help.
Clark remembers running his fingers along the broad shoulders and back, tracing a map of new and old scars. Every mark an untold battle the Knight fought for Gotham, for Earth, and for the little boy crying in the dark alley the night his parents were murdered. How could someone so strong be so fragile? Batman could have died. Bruce. Bruce could have died.
In the dimness of the Batcave, fingers went from closing wounds to comforting sore muscles. He could feel dormant power ripple beneath his palm, feverishly warm and so very much alive. Bruce was half-delirious with painkillers, but he still moaned in need as Clark leaned in and kissed him.
It had felt so natural, the two of them. Bruce responded eagerly, returning the kiss with a fervor that turned something hesitant and chaste into something filled with unbridled desire. Clark didn’t dare push him too far, lest the stitches reopen, but he remembers whispering silent vows and tender reassurances in his ear as they made love.
He had never seen him so vulnerable before. For the first time, he saw the real man behind those steel-blue eyes—someone in between the billionaire and the vigilante—and for a moment, he was his and his alone. Fleeting and everlasting. He had often wondered if anyone else has seen Bruce the way he did that night.
In the morning he left Bruce to contemplate what transpired alone, letting him decide what the next steps will be, if any. A million thoughts raced through his mind when he next saw him again, but Bruce acted as nothing happened between them. Reluctantly, he followed his cue. It was enough that they were each other’s trusted allies; he depended on Bruce in a way words could not describe.
What happened that night wasn’t something they mentioned to anyone else, or each other, for that matter. And what was a pleasant memory remained as that.
Years later, Bruce was the first person he phoned about Lois being pregnant (and of course, Bruce being Bruce, said he knew before Clark had said a single word). They would’ve asked Bruce to be the baby’s godfather had he been born. That life seemed so far away now, joyous memories tainted by the brutal events that followed. But it’s not just about the tragedy that befell his family, he now has the responsibility to ensure no one else would suffer the way he has suffered. That goal hasn’t changed.
Superman’s cape trails behind him as he descends into the belly of the ship where Batman is kept. The dense metal prevents his vision from seeing through the walls beyond fuzzy, blurry shapes. Even then, he can tell that Bruce had remained exactly where he left him. The man doesn’t stir even as he unlocks the cell. The only sign of Bruce being awake is the slight hitch in his breathing as he steps through the entrance.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Clark says to the figure on the floor of the cell. Even to his own ears, the repeated request sounds monotonous due to its repetition. Still, he persists, “Give me your word that you will work alongside me and I will—”
“I lost track of three hours yesterday,” Bruce interrupts. “I assume you took control. What did you make me do during that time?”
Superman regards him with narrowed eyes but decides to offer the truth as a sign of good faith. “A quick visit down to Earth...to visit my cousin, Kara Zor-El.”
A grimace spreads across Batman’s face as he asks, “How did the threat go? Was I an effective deterrent?” Clark has to stop himself from wincing as Bruce presses on. “Join me willingly or be a puppet like Batman? I wouldn’t count on Supergirl falling for it; she instills the spirit of the house El more than you ever did.”
He knows Bruce is pressing his buttons on purpose, upsetting him into ignoring the purpose of his visit. Words. Just words. Effective and hurtful, but only if he lets them be. Clark refuses to be goaded, even if the other man is such an expert. After choosing his words carefully, he settles on, “You are not a puppet.”
“Not yet. Not all the time, anyway,” Bruce concludes with a curt nod. “You’re still testing the length of the leash, but it’s only a matter of time before you take over control entirely so you can send me to do your bidding. Isn't that right, High Chancellor of the Regime? Or have you given yourself a new title by now, what with your new-found powers?”
“That’s not what I want, Bruce ,” Clark grunts, barely holding his frustration in check. Talking to Batman feels like talking to a pointy-eared brick wall...except, brick walls are easier to crumble. He lets out a sigh and tries to explain again, this time gentler. “I don’t want a mindless drone following every command. I want you —I want what we had...and I know deep down, you do too.”
Bruce returns an icy glare but remains silent, offering neither an agreement nor denial.
Superman continues, his tone just short of begging now. “I need your help resettling the cities in Brainiac’s collection as well as leading the warriors within them. I need you next to me. You alone wouldn’t be afraid to disagree with me, and that’s fine...as long as I know you’re with me, I want—”
Yet, Batman remains unmoved by his words and Superman can feel himself getting flustered. What else could he say now that he hasn’t already said? His tongue feels like dead weight with its inability to express himself. Forget words, then. Clark leans down and presses their lips together.
Almost immediately, Bruce twists his face away and snaps, “What are you doing?”
There’s no turning back now.
“Bruce, I think about that night...the night you let me past your defenses,” he answers, undeterred by the other man’s reaction. “I still remember how warm you were beneath me. I saw you, Bruce, without the cowl and suit. Not as a symbol or a knight on an endless crusade, just you. And you were never stronger or more beautiful then. We have a chance to be like that again.”
A burst of yearning blossoms from his core at the memory of it. He closes the distance between them and presses forward for another kiss, but he finds only confusion on Bruce’s face.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bruce claims, stating each syllable distinctly as if that would drive the message through.
Clark freezes. An unease grabs hold, bringing doubt and pain in waves. “You’re lying,” he objects.
It has to be a lie. Just another way for Bruce to hurt him in the only way he could: with words. “You’re lying,” he repeats, numbly this time, even if the other man’s steady and unwavering heartbeat says otherwise.
Bruce doesn’t remember.
“It doesn’t matter. We were two very different people back then,” Clark laughs bitterly, feeling sorry for himself. That moment of bliss they shared was a source of comfort during his darkest hours. He knew that even if his world fell apart around him, it couldn’t reach back into the past and undo his treasured memories. Pitiful. Clinging onto that alone all these years when the other man doesn’t even remember it in the first place. Pitiful .
The desire from earlier now barely embers from the cold splash of reality. Unable to keep his crestfallen voice from tinting his words, Clark presses his lips against Bruce’s temple and sobs, “Let me remind you.”
The Batsuit comes apart like paper mache under his fingers, leaving his chest exposed to the cold air. Good, he could use a lesson in humility. With another rip, Bruce’s bareback is revealed, showing more scars than Clark remembers. Some of which he had added during their recent fights, no doubt.
Clark intends to retrace all of them, new and old, and does just that...this time, with his tongue. Bruce’s breathing becomes harsher, but his muscles are cold and uncooperative. The man grips his arm tightly, but offers no other resistance, knowing full well that it would be useless.
“What are you trying to achieve, resorting to this ?” Bruce asks quietly. He sounds tired. Resigned. The “ this” isn’t elaborated. It doesn’t need to be. Judging from his tone, it is an ugly, ugly thing—nothing like the tender moment of mutual comfort they had shared in the past. If only one of them remembers it, then did it happen at all?
Clark doesn’t reply, instead, he busies his mouth by kissing the exposed collarbone, feeling the steadily increasing heartbeat against his lips. The truth is, plans of maintaining peace across the galaxy seem like such a minor task against the desire to relive what they had. To feel Bruce in his arms again, solid and real. To remind himself of who they were to each other once. That the past isn’t an easily discarded memory.
Yet, it’s like trying to hold onto slipping sand: fleeting and ultimately hopeless.
Bruce seems unsurprised at the lack of an answer and took Clark’s refusal to respond as a concession. But even that victory feels hollow. He doesn’t cower as Clark nudges his thighs apart and nestles between them, seeking entry with his fingers. There are different ways to resist, after all. Bruce clenches his jaw and forces stiff muscles to relax.
In the darkness of the ship, there’s only the steady hum of alien machinery and the pleads of its new master in between wet kisses. “Please,” Clark begs now, without shame. The single word encompasses much. Don’t turn away from me. Join me. Stay with me. “ Please .”
But Bruce doesn’t hear him.
It irritates Clark to see those eyes looking past him, denying him...denying them . He wants his eyes to be the same from his memory, fervent and vibrant with desire...and focused on him. Not this cold, empty gaze somewhere past his shoulders. Damnit. He’d even take rage or defiance than this nothing .
Unwilling to see his face reflected in those blank eyes, he flips Bruce over on all fours with little effort. Still, the man barely reacts to their new position, instead, choosing to be unresponsive as a...a coping strategy, Clark scoffs. This could’ve been sweet and tender, with reciprocal pleasure, if only Bruce lets go of his pointless ego. But as always, Batman doesn’t yield, not even in the face of immeasurable defeat.
Clark grips his hips with enough force to bruise. It’s with this desire to evoke a genuine reaction, any reaction, that made him thrust in without further preparation.
A wet sob escapes before Bruce could stop it, but it is drowned out by Clark’s groans of pleasure as he slowly sinks into the tight, delectable heat. God, to think he has denied himself this all these years. The feel of Bruce beneath him, shuddering, submitting physically if not in spirit is enough for him to speed up his movements. Clark pulls out until only the tip of his cock remains inside, then slams back in again, encasing himself completely once more. He wants Bruce to feel him in the absolute sense of the word.
A naive part of him thought maybe this act would trigger Bruce’s memory, remind him of the pleasure they shared. Just another wishful thinking, it seems. Another shattered hope. In fact, every movement, every thrust threatens to overwrite his own memories of the past, seeding doubt, replacing pleasure with pain.
Damnit, Clark remembers Bruce whimpering in pleasure and begging for more. Bruce wanted it. He wanted him. He did. Or was it just what he wanted to remember? An event he retold himself again and again until reality morphed into something he needed during his darkest days. It doesn’t matter anymore. Forget the past. This...this is them now.
Yet, perhaps it wasn’t all false. As Clark continues to plunge into his stubborn lover, taking his time to build up his pleasure, tight muscles begin to melt. He can hear barely audible whimpers every time his cock brushes at that sensitive spot inside him, and eventually, the noises Bruce makes becomes audible even for normal human hearing.
Clark reaches between Bruce’s spread thighs, ignores the soft grunts of protest, and wraps his fingers around the growing arousal he finds there. More than anything, he wants to make Bruce feel good. He soon coaxes him to complete hardness.
“You’ve lost, Bruce!” he whispers into one ear, just as tenderly as he had done once, even if the content of the message is drastically different. “That’s enough, stop fighting. There’s no one here to judge you for giving in.”
“You’re wasting your time,” comes Bruce’s reply, in between heavy panting. Clark thinks he hears regret, but he knows better.
“I will never stop,” Clark vows. He increases their tempo and unleashes a brutality that surprises even him. The renewed vigor drives Bruce downward until he’s forced to bury his face into the crook of his elbow, muffling wet moans. “Never,” Clark repeats.
Then Bruce is tensing up without warning, squeezing him so tightly Clark growls with pleasure and pain in equal parts. He continues to pump the erection in his hand until the man is completely spent and slumps forward, breathless. Clark follows soon after, pouring every drop of himself into the shuddering mess beneath him.
He wants to remain like that, buried inside of Bruce, but decides better. He withdraws himself after planting a kiss in between the sweaty shoulder blades before him. Clark has no doubt Bruce will remember this encounter for the rest of his life.
His head is still reeling from the afterglow when Bruce spoils it with an eerily calm question: “Do you feel in control, Clark?”
“Do you think that’s what this was about?” Clark blinks, anger rushing back into his lungs.
Bruce avoids his gaze and scoffs softly, “You must be desperate to think that holding me down and fucking me proves you have a modicum of control. Make no mistake, the path you’ve chosen is one you will walk yourself. Your allies fear your new powers and I will never join you.”
Clark left in a hurry. He doesn’t want to say or do something he will regret later. A storm builds within him and he feels utterly lost; there’s nothing else he can do. He’s tried explaining the situation objectively, he’s tried begging, he’s even tried threats of bodily pain. Nothing. Worked. Not to a man who no longer believes he has anything to live for.
Yet...Just as Bruce knows him, he, too, knows the Dark Knight...well enough to know that the man has his own brand of kryptonite, no matter how hard he denies it. Clark pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales. Desperate times call for desperate measures. He checks the main terminal to ensure that the ship is running smoothly and that Bruce is safe in his cell with a replacement suit and food. Then he makes his way to Gotham.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Clark has never seen his son. He died before he was born, vaporized along with the rest of Metropolis. Yet, he was a father the moment he learned Lois was pregnant. The moment he could hear the baby’s heartbeat—so fast and full of promise. The death of both Lois and the child devastated him equally. Jon. He would have named him Jon, in honor of his father.
He does wonder, though, does it hurt more when a child dies without the opportunity to grow up? Or does it hurt more to watch them grow up before you, learn from you, be their own stubborn person with their own quirks, then watch them die?
This war between him and Bruce has taken a heavy toll on both sides, and Clark cannot claim to understand Bruce’s pain of losing so many children. One has been more than enough.
He knew Bruce was there when his eldest died...at the hands of the youngest. An accident, but one Bruce could not forgive. Dick Grayson was his first son. His first partner. A light in his life. His sudden, pointless death ripped something from Bruce. He disowned Damian for betraying him to join the Regime, but even more so, he did it because of Dick’s death. He lost two sons that day.
Then there was the clever leader of the Teen Titans, Tim, whom Clark had imprisoned in the Phantom Zone along with his team with the intention to keep them out of the war until it was over. He died during an escape attempt after getting shot through the chest. An unfortunate collateral. Perhaps it’s a small mercy that he died in Bruce’s arms.
Perhaps it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Bruce believes he has nothing more to live for. Nevermind that he’s out of tricks and gadgets to fight him, he’s also lost so many children in such a short span of time. Yet, be it a miracle or the works of the devil, the very first child he lost returned to him...abet slightly broken. This was years ago before all the Lazarus Pits were destroyed. Clark has heard tales of their subsequent reunion in Gotham, and the boy’s self-banishment from the family that followed.
Yes, Jason Todd is a loose cannon that did not side with either the Regime or the Insurgency.
Still, he felt an odd affinity with the boy. They both suffered by the hands of the same mad man, after all, even if he’s not quite sure why Jason chose the deranged murderer’s discarded moniker for himself. Rumors of Red Hood spread through hushed whispers among fearful criminals: a Bat that isn’t afraid to kill.
By all rights, the boy should’ve come out of hiding and thanked him when he put Joker out of his miserable existence. He should’ve joined him then. But as the Regime gained power and executed criminals, the rumors of Red Hood died with them as well. Jason Todd became a ghost once more.
Clark could have asked members of the Regime to search for him. Cyborg, who can find anyone with a trace of digital footprint, or even his estranged brother, perhaps. But no, this is a personal matter. Yet, the task of finding Jason was surprisingly easy, anti-climatic, even. The location in question: the Batcave, where the boy was raised and molded into a weapon against injustice.
Everything useful in the Batcave had been either destroyed or confiscated by the Regime years ago when they exposed Batman’s identity to the world. There’s nothing left except for motion sensors to prevent squatters. Yet, it’s the triggering of said sensors that led him to investigate.
The last time Clark saw the kid, he was still wearing the colorful Robin uniform. The Boy Wonder was rambunctious and full of childish glee at the chance of meeting him. He had wanted an autograph from him, and of course, he gladly gave him one by engraving a discarded piece of metal with his finger. The boy practically vibrated with joy.
Logically, he knew Jason had changed after all these years, never mind the effects of resurrection. Still, the difference between the sourly young man he found smoking in the ransacked Batcave and the exuberant boy from his memory is, well, jarring, to say the least. Clark makes his presence known, but Jason doesn’t seem at all surprised to see him there.
“Imagine,” Clark starts conversationally as he approaches. “If you had convinced Batman to kill the Joker all those years ago in Gotham, then he wouldn’t have gone on to murder my wife and child...and none of this would happen in the first place.”
“Well,” Jason shrugs and flicks the partially smoked cigarette off to the side where it fell to a watery grave beneath the cave. “I tried, but y’know how stubborn my old man could be.”
That elicits a chuckle from him. “Boy, do I know it,” he agrees.
Despite his amiable words, Jason proceeds to put on his Red Hood headgear and unholsters the two guns by his sides.
Bullets laced with kryptonite? Maybe, maybe not. The Batcave might be in ruins, but he does not doubt that Bruce has other secret bases and safehouses set up that the boy has access to. Batman has never made it a secret that everyone in his family had been trained to take him down.
Prepared them for the worst-case scenario , Batman had explained. As if that makes it better. Even if the man’s paranoia isn’t exactly unfounded, it’s still a disturbing thought that he had a contingency plan to take down every member of the Justice League, if necessary.
Clark advances slowly; he doesn’t want to fight...but if that’s what Jason wants, he can surely oblige.
“I’m surprised you didn’t join the Regime, with your philosophy of dealing with criminals,” Clark remarks with open arms, palms up. “The right death to save millions? I know you’re strong enough to make the right call.”
"Okay, Superman ,” Red Hood scoffs and lowers himself into a combat stance. “Save your flattery for kids like Damian. I’m not falling for it.”
“It’s not too late, you can still join us! There’s great work to be done,” he urges. He thought about telling him that Batman is currently a prisoner on his spaceship, but he’s not sure how the boy would react to that information. Besides, from the way things are proceeding, Jason will learn that himself soon enough.
“Yeah, you guys lost me at the whole dictatorial thing,” Red Hood sneers, cocking his head to one side. “There’s far, and then there’s too far. Besides, I kill criminals, not innocents who oppose my views or... children .”
Superman doesn’t need his x-ray vision to sense the seething anger beneath the helmet. He knows who he’s referring to. It’s true, sacrifices were made. He has personally killed former comrades who had stood in his way, including Green Arrow and Shazam. But he doesn’t have the luxury of regret right now, and he’s sure he will continue to kill many more that dares to stand in his way of intergalactic peace.
He has to, otherwise, all those he killed in the past would have died for nothing. That would be the real crime.
“You are your father’s son, aren’t you?” Clark states with a frown. “Human—trained, sure, but no powers, meta or otherwise—yet so full of bravado...especially for someone who has already died once. You know you can’t win.”
“Nothing you can do that hasn’t been done to me already,” Jason responds decisively and aims for his head.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Clark hadn’t intended to hurt the boy, but Jason was skillful enough for him to want to put an end to the fight early. At least before the kid could trigger another trap that would bring the whole cave crumbling down on them both. It wouldn’t leave a scratch on him , but the kid wouldn’t be very useful dead.
Superman carries his limp form over one shoulder as if he weighs nothing, and drops him onto the ground before Batman like the offering he is.
“Jason!” Bruce rushes forward and presses two fingers to detect a pulse. The very action sparks annoyance in Clark. It’s insulting how little Bruce thinks of him.
“Really? You think I would go through the trouble of hunting him down just to kill him?” He shakes his head. “I didn’t even break a bone.” It’s true. He was careful not to do any permanent damage. He even scanned for broken bones when he checked and removed all metal weapons and gear from Jason after knocking him out.
“I thought I knew you once, but not anymore,” Bruce argues. “Nothing you’d do would surprise me.” After making sure his son is indeed alive, he scoops the unconscious young man into his arms. “How did you find him?”
“It wasn’t very hard,” Clark confesses. “In the old Batcave, actually. Triggered one of the sensors. Must’ve gone looking for supplies without knowing the place has been deserted. Or maybe he was there looking for you.”
“He was alone?”
“Rushed right into an unwinnable battle. As foolish as his father,” Clark shrugs. “And don’t bother patting him down for useful gadgets, I already removed anything that could be of use.”
Bruce’s expression turns from skeptical to impossible-to-read. “You think bringing him here would what? Incentivize me to join your side?”
“Couldn’t hurt, right?”
Honestly, Clark isn’t sure why he ever expected an ounce of gratitude from Bruce for returning a son to him. Perhaps he got it all wrong. He wishes he has more information on the aftermath of their reunion in Gotham to make an informed decision. For all he knows, Jason has avoided Batman ever since, on account of their irreconcilable ideology. Perhaps Batman had disowned him too, for breaking his no-kill rule so blatantly, time and time again. It’s not like he can ask Bruce for clarification.
But, if he has to guess, and judging from the way Bruce rushed over to check for signs of life, he’d say Bruce has been hoping this black sheep would eventually find its way home. Clark doesn’t want to become the wedge that drives father and son apart, just the opposite. Even if they see him as a common threat, he would be the reason for their reconciliation, wouldn’t it? And Bruce would be reminded that he does have a reason to be more...agreeable.
Worst case scenario, he supposes he could ask Bruce to comply under the threat of seeing his son tortured. Although, that isn’t without its issues. 1. he’s sure Batman has trained all his kids to have an above normal threshold for physical pain, and 2. Jason seems just as pigheaded as his father and would probably bear the pain out of spite, making the method ineffective, and lastly, 3. if Bruce does call his bluff, then maiming or killing Jason would remove the only handle he has on him. Besides, killing the kid would be so very wasteful.
“What are you planning to do with him?” Bruce asks with a glare.
“Well, once his head’s clear, I’d like him to reconsider what I’m offering. Given a little more time, I’m not sure he’d refuse. After all, the boy has no objections to killing those who deserve to die. Give him a little taste of power, and I’m sure he’d find it much more rewarding by my side than hunting down petty criminals in some dark alley somewhere.”
“And if he does refuse?”
Then it hits Clark. The way Batman’s heart rate is rising and the subconscious tightening of his arms around Jason...does he think he would, what, fuck the kid into submission if he rejects his offer? Even if what he had done to Bruce is fresh on the man’s mind, this is just insulting. Heh, just when he thought Bruce’s opinion of him couldn’t sink any lower...But perhaps he could turn this to his advantage. Not like Bruce could think any worse of him.
“Funny, isn’t it?” Clark says, crouching closer so he can make a show of examining the kid closely. “Even though he isn’t related to you by blood, there’s nonetheless a strong physical resemblance. I met you when you were already an established man, but in him, I can see what you must've been like at his age. The same drive, but with a rawness that still lacks refinement. Just so much... fire . I admit, I probably let the fight with him lingered on longer than it should have, but it’s been a while since I had such an enjoyable fight.”
There. Playing the role Bruce has forced him into. Let him chew on that.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce whispers.
“What was that?” he asks with a raised brow. Clark knows he should take this win more graciously, but it feels good to finally hear Batman apologize. More than good. He can’t help but drag it out. “You’re sorry for not siding with me in the first place? Or for not killing Joker earlier and avoided the whol—”
“No,” Bruce hisses. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stop you from becoming this . I failed my friend. I failed the person you were. He would’ve been devastated to see you now...as would Lois.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Superman left the two of them and returned to the bridge of the ship. Bruce will come around, he just needs more time to weigh his new options. With his enhanced hearing, he can sense when the boy began to stir. He thought he should stop eavesdropping, let the father and son pair take their time to reminisce.
Then again, prisoners don’t have the luxury of privacy. While the material of the ship prevents his X-Ray vision from seeing them beyond blurry, fuzzy shapes, he can still hear them.
Jason groans and tries to sit up, but Bruce stops him with an arm wrapped around his chest. The young man freezes but drops his defense when he recognizes the man beside him. He leans back down and lets out a pained whine, “Fuck, Supes punches really hard. Kryptonians, am I right? Always forgetting how fragile humans are…”
Hearing Bruce chuckle at those words with a warmth and fondness that Clark hasn’t heard in years made his chest ache.
Bruce chides Jason half-heartedly, “But you knew that already, so why would you do something so foolish?”
“Maybe I wanted to see you.”
Clark wonders if those two know he can hear their conversation. Or perhaps they just don’t care. Not that their words are of any concern. It does lean toward them not having seen each other for a while.
“Are you...yourself right now?”Jason asks, lowering his voice.
“Yes.”
After that, their conversation drops to a lull, with the occasional comment to break the silence. The actual words they’re saying are trivial, if banal. Yet, Clark can’t help the rising unease in his gut, even when the two of them remain idle in their cell, quietly enjoying a peace they haven’t had in a long time. So, why does he feel unsettled? Did he miss something?
Clark squints to better focus on the two blurry forms, but they remain sitting on the floor, side-by-side, with Bruce placing his palm on top of Jason’s, as a gesture of reassurance. There are short pauses in between Jason’s recounting of the insipid shows he’s been watching. Nothing that could reveal where he’s been hiding these past years. But that’s just it. If he has been hiding, well enough to avoid Batman’s detection, then why did he let himself be captured so easily? Only because he wanted to see Bruce now, as he said?
Restless, Superman gets up from the captain’s chair and starts pacing. Perhaps he should have dragged Jason out and given them separate cells, even if that might alarm Bruce into thinking he’d act on his implied threat so early, without giving him a chance to make a decision.
“I’m sorry I can’t do better than this,” Jason chuckles softly, his words not matching the train of conversation beforehand. Then, oddly enough, Clark senses Bruce’s heart rate spiking, even if Jason’s remained steady.
“You shouldn’t have to pay for my failures,” Bruce replies, breathing hard, trying to choke back some unnamed emotion. He puts a hand on the back of Jason’s head and brings their foreheads together in an act of tenderness. At first, the boy stiffens with surprise, but then he lets out a shuddering breath and melts into his touch.
Clark sees them and feels a stab of envy. With a deflating sigh, he laments for his own child that was ripped from him and the bond that wasn’t meant to be. Surely, Bruce is thankful to him now for making all this possible, since the two of them were too stubborn to reconcile on their own.
“It’s okay,” Jason reassures Bruce. “It’s alright...I’ve been ready for this for a long time.” Then he shifts slightly to bring their mouths together.
It took Superman seconds, seconds , to cover the span of the ship from the bridge to the cell. But it was too late. Jason has already bitten through the concentrated cyanide capsule hidden in his mouth and delivered both of them a lethal dose.
Having consumed more of the poison, the boy is already convulsing, choking on his own breath in a wet gurgle. Bruce has his arms wrapped around his boy in a tight squeeze, even if he, too, is struggling to breathe. With a final gasp, Jason stops moving, his face shielded by the spill of dark hair and Bruce’s arm.
Clark wants to shout his name, curse his name , but what came out is barely a whisper, “Bruce…”
Even dying, Batman remains proud and returns a steady gaze. Tears are threatening to overflow, however, making the blue of Bruce’s eyes vibrant with something that reminds him of the way he used to look at him so long ago...then the life in them fades away until all that remains is his own image, small and lost, reflected back at him.
“Bruce…”
In the darkness of the ship, there’s only the steady hum of alien machinery and his own, lone, heartbeat. Clark doesn’t recall how he returned to the bridge of the ship. With a shaky step, he walks to the captain’s chair in the center of the room, a throne that once belonged to another, and sinks into it.
All the cities from Brainiac’s collection glow dimly, reminding him of his oath and responsibilities. Thousands, millions of lives to be freed, but he doesn’t give a damn anymore. He stares out the viewport into the vast expanse of space and its never-ending emptiness and feels truly alone.