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It was starting. Bruce could feel it setting into his mind, pulling him away like it was doing to everyone in the city. He’d been a fool, trying to experiment with alien technology when he didn’t know anyone from the source civilization. Everyone on the Watchtower would be appalled… but he supposed it didn’t matter. He would be dead soon. Their opinions of him were the least of his worries.
Everything he’d worked for…
Everything he’d built…
His parents’ legacy…
Gone.
Dead.
Because of his reckless experimenting. Bruce leaned over the Batcomputer console. The gas was filling the Batcave, which never would have been possible with any normal gas. He might normally have been able to come up with a solution, but already his whole household and family had succumbed to its effects, and were lying upstairs in a halfway state between life and death, their vitals slowly falling apart due to this mysterious, sentient gas. It never would have happened without his tampering.
There was only one thing he could do. And he hated it more than any other option—but there were times when having metas and aliens in his city was necessary. As infuriating as it was, this was one of those times.
Bruce’s hands were already numb. The rest of his body was quickly following, and soon he collapsed onto the console of the Batcomputer. His arm trembled as he forced it to do the last thing he would do in this life. The button to alert the Justice League of the danger that would spread to the whole world without intervention. He slammed his hand down, and held it just long enough to hear the call answered by a familiar voice on the other line.
“Batman. What’s—oh, god. Batman, what’s happening over there?”
Bruce could no longer hold himself up. He slid off the console, landing in a heap on the floor.
“Batman? Bruce!”
***
Gotham was quickly quarantined after Batman activated the black button alert. It was a global threat, and no one knew how it happened or why. It was so dire, not even the beings who didn’t need to breathe were allowed within the confines of the city. That left machines as the only option available to evacuate the city of all its survivors, placing them in hospitals all over the country—except anyone counted among the ‘Batfamily’. They were sent to the Watchtower, to be watched over by Mr Terrific and Dr Mid-Nite, who oversaw their recovery to the best of their ability.
The gas seemed to separate peoples’ consciousness from their nervous systems, sending their vitals into a panic state that made it look shockingly similar to them dying. It was almost like a group of children had been put in charge of multiple millions of spaceships. All of the systems, therefore, were failing and their inhabitants would be gone soon if nothing was done about it.
Superman stood over his old friend, holding his wrist so he could feel his pulse, as if to confirm the sound he heard. It was a certain comfort to feel it—to touch him, to make sure he was real. He was solid.
“I’ve managed to put together a report of what happened from the Batcomputer’s stores,” Mr Terrific said as he entered the med bay. He loaded some files onto a holographic screen. “But they may be incomplete. The encryptions on his files are no joke.”
Superman nodded absently, but he switched his attention to the screen before them to follow Mr Terrific’s explanation.
“He brought something back from the uninhabited planet from your last mission together,” Terrific summarized. “It looks like it was some kind of geological formation, and he found signs of bacteria in it. Life, essentially. So, he tried to see if he could get more information.”
“Oh, god…” Superman felt his stomach drop as he took in the equations and scribbled notes on the screen. Bruce always wrote his notes by hand, even if it was into a digital format. His writing was always so elegant—Clark liked to think of it as a little window into the secretly soft underside of the Bat’s hard exterior.
Here, the notes dictated his experiments: he used his own stem cells, something that would have been extremely painful for him to gather on his own. Why he didn’t just ask someone for help, especially with something like that, Clark would never understand. (He muttered, “Stubborn as always,” squeezing Bruce’s wrist as he did.) He’d done this to encourage growth, as he’d found some properties that indicated the bacteria actually had genetic markers not dissimilar from human physiology—which was strange to start. At first the results excited him: he started being able to communicate with a piece of a geological formation, which was exciting to Clark in just reading about it. Incredible.
Then it turned out the piece he had was but one part of a whole, and desired to get back to its home. So, naturally, Bruce had tried to do just that—but the creature had wanted to go itself. It needed to become more. Bruce didn’t want people to know—he often hid it well—but he was a sentimental man, even kind. He wanted to help it get back home, while also trying to study it without hurting it. They exchanged information—Bruce providing whatever was necessary, while also making notes of its stated weaknesses. But he’d given it his stem cells to encourage growth, and he realized his initial mistake too late. While he was taking into account its weaknesses and planning counteractions if it tried to work against him all the while—the process of which was so fascinating for Clark to read firsthand—it was doing the same to him. It had his intelligence and stubborn will to survive… but not his experience. It didn’t have his caveats of trauma and lessons learned in rebuilding his sene of trust and emotional safety through the Batfamily, through Clark.
He’d had the ability to send it back at any time. But its body had something in it that made Bruce believed it could make cancer a non-issue for not just humans, but every living creature in the world. He’d found something that could save countless lives, but when it discovered he could have sent it back whenever he wanted, it felt betrayed. And now, well… here they were.
There were videos attached to the files, each labeled Icarus, and numbered according to their time of recording. In each of them, Batman spoke to the creature and explained what he was doing, and it would respond in spurts of air. Bruce noted a familiar pattern and, his eyes alight with scientific excitement, noted that Clark would have been excited to see it.
“Kryptonian,” he remarked in one of the videos. “I realized why it’s so familiar. It’s close to Kryptonian—but unfortunately, because it is a geological specimen, bringing it to Superman could prove dangerous for him. It’s a shame, really, I think he would find this extremely fascinating.” At this, the alien rock would respond with a few puffs of air and some resonances that sounded almost like a wind instrument—patterns that Bruce marked down and responded to in kind.
Clark watched the interaction in awe. After a moment he realized Mr Terrific was watching him, and he released a heavy, almost tearful laugh as he met the man’s gaze.
“He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Clark remarked—to which Mr Terrific nodded.
“Yeah. Well, he’s Batman.”
“Yeah.”
Mr Terrific was quiet as they both watched Bruce’s vitals. They were fading. Bit by bit, whatever this creature was that he’d bonded with was sucking his life away in a strangely gentle way. It was like watching someone go in their sleep. But however it happened, Bruce was dying. The knowledge made Clark move his hand from Bruce’s wrist to his hand, curling his fingers between his friend’s. Seeing this, Mr Terrific stepped aside.
“I’m going to keep going through these,” he said, “in my office. I’ll let you know if I find anything that could help them.”
“Thank you,” Superman said, his voice tight. “I’ll be here.”
Mr Terrific nodded and patted his shoulder as he left. Superman stayed by Bruce’s side, watching the videos chronologically through the files. Some of them were just him sitting in silence, his cowl off, nodding and writing down the patterns of air and notes that the rock spat out, while he deciphered their meaning. Superman’s mind being what it was in this world, saturated with yellow sunlight, figured out the patterns quicker than Bruce did—though not quite as thoroughly. Bruce was picking up on the little tone shifts—contextual meanings—six hours of research in.
Eventually, Clark found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand on Bruce’s chest to feel his heart’s slow, steady beat under his palm to match the familiar sound. He watched the creature learn about their world, and what mattered to them. Eventually, Bruce and the rock actually seemed to be becoming friends—as friendly as Bruce was with anyone. Clark watched most of the videos at 5x speed, taking in the information with the help of his sharp Kryptonian mind. This lasted until the two of them were talking about they were talking about romantic relationships. Bruce was explaining their importance when the creature made a comment about his close relationship with ‘the Kryptonian’.
“Superman?” Bruce stared at it for a moment. He seemed to need a moment to regulate again before he said, “Our relationship is platonic in nature. That’s very different.”
“I understand platonic relationships. I even understand romance,” the creature replied. “We have something similar where I thrive. We are all separate and one there. We are all the earth. We endure together, breathe the same air, are nourished by the same fuel. We are one, even as separate pebbles. Your connection to Superman sounds the same. You are one, even when separate. He is not here, yet you breathe his name like it keeps you alive. You speak of him as if his very existence nourishes you, as the existence of my world nourishes me.”
“That. sounds familial,” Bruce replied evenly. “I would describe us in that manner.”
“Familial. Is that different from the other two?”
“Yes. It’s… deeper, I would say, than romantic or platonic. Familial connections nourish each other, as you say.”
“Romantic does not?” The creature released a puff of air that sounded closer to a laugh. “All relationships nourish each other, save the volcanic ones. Unless that is not the case with your species…”
Clark noticed Bruce’s jaw tighten and flex, then quickly release. “It is. Volcanic is an interesting term. We call those toxic here.”
“Ah-hah. You are clever.” The creature laughed again. “Clever human. Do you do this to your Kryptonian as well?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, clever beast, I know you do. You might have fooled me in believing your genuine interest in my linguistics there, but I am the stone you pretend to be.”
Bruce was getting visibly annoyed now. “And what is it you want me to say? Superman is a good friend to me. He’s family, he’s a friend, he’s part of me. Our connection is deep and old, and we balance each other well. But we are friends—platonic and familial. Nothing more. And we will never be more. He’s married, and I’m…”
That hesitation struck something deep in Clark’s chest. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but for Bruce to cut himself off wasn’t even in the question. There was something odd in his reaction to the rock there—something unspoken that tore at his being. Clark looked down at him now, where he lay, locked in a deathly slumber with the rest of Gotham.
“Why do you hesitate?” The rock pulled his attention back to the screen. “Marriage, as I understand by your explanation, is a beautiful thing. Yet this fact saddens you.”
“It doesn’t sadden me. His wife is a friend of mine.”
“I may be communicating to you in a way you can understand, but my species communicates naturally by resonance.” The rock paused for effect, and Clark picked up on the tension building in Bruce’s shoulders. “I feel the vibration of your soul. The affections you have for this friend of yours are closer to romantic… yet there is fear there. Why?”
Bruce stared at it. He swallowed. Clark could hear his heart jump in speed and intensity in the video. He’d heard Bruce’s heart do this before during conversations, but he’d never been able to place the source. It was only ever when Bruce was a little drunk or impaired, which only happened with the two of them. He would only ever let one person see him like that.
“You have it wrong,” Bruce told it after a few seconds. “This conversation is over.”
He pressed a button on a remote and the video ended, taking them to the next one—which was mostly silent while Bruce took samples from the rock with its permission and studied them under a microscope. They chatted a few times, but whenever the conversation became too deep, he would end all interaction with the creature.
Clark looked down at Bruce where he was now, a warm sympathy flooding his chest. He’d never even considered this before, but what the rock said made sense when Clark considered all the times Bruce had backed out of deep conversations with Clark, and even talking about his on-again, off-again habits with Selina became a challenge when he asked why he didn’t just make her an honest woman. Guilt tore at Clark’s gut when he realized now what he should have known all along: Bruce was gay.
The revelation made so much sense, it was like opening the floodgates to so many unanswered questions. One answer that made so many things click into place. And Clark hadn’t seen it. Even if he had, what could he have done to help him? What could he have done to support someone who didn’t want to be supported?
Tears pricked at the corners of Clark’s eyes unexpectedly, and he sniffled as his nose threatened to dribble. Oh, Rao, Batman would have his head if he knew Superman was about to cry over this. But he couldn’t help it. It felt like such a betrayal that he was never allowed to be there for him in the way he needed it. No. It wasn’t his burden… but there was a part of him that wished it was. Clark was overwhelmed with the desire to just hold his friend, to tell him he was fine—there was nothing wrong with this—and…
And what?
Clark sighed as he swept his hand over Bruce’s face, holding his cheek. If he knew before Bruce was gay, he might eventually have put together the man’s affections for him. And then what? Was Bruce afraid he would hate him for it? Did he fear rejection? That would make sense, but… that wasn’t remotely close to how Clark would describe his current reaction to this. It was more complicated than rejection… more like lamentation.
He loved Bruce. He did. It was just how Bruce described it in the video: they were one, in some way that was difficult to conceptualize in human terms. They balanced each other, found comfort in each other, and had supported each other through things the women in their lives may never know about or understand. They were cosmically connected in a way that went beyond romance or family or friendship. In every universe, including the ones where they’d turned out evil. Even Bizarro had found Batzarro.
“Here.”
The next video started while Clark was still sorting through whatever feelings had popped up in his chest from the epiphany of Bruce’s sexuality. He looked up at the screen to see Bruce inserting something into a small part of the stone—his own STEM cells.
“This should allow you to grow, but I need to see what kind of effect it has on your physiology before I do anything to your actual body.” Bruce set the small pebble aside and turned back to the rock. “In a few days, we should see what comes of that.”
“What do you hope to achieve?” the stone asked.
“A few things,” Bruce answered, “one being a way to get you home.”
“And the rest?”
Bruce hesitated before answering. “There are… cells within you. Things that could be helpful for my species. We sometimes develop an incurable illness called cancer, which is essentially our bodies mutating and building on cells where they aren’t welcome—where they turn harmful. There is something in you that stops that process, and it seems this carcinisation is entirely impossible for you. If I can determine what that is, we could eliminate cancer altogether. That could be millions, possibly billions of lives saved.”
“That’s incredible!” The creature puffed excitedly. “Your people turn into crabs?”
“I guess we try,” Bruce replied with a small smirk. “But it’s never worked. How do you feel about helping us combat this?”
“I would be honoured.” There was something almost devious about the creature’s tone as it added, “on one condition.”
Bruce raised a brow. “Name it.”
“I’ve been thinking about your relationship with the people in your life. I’ve studied them, much as you’ve been studying me. You see, time is stored in the earth, and this earth is ripe with history. This ground, your history. It has given me the context of homosexuality.”
“Jesus Christ.” Bruce groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Is this what I have to do to get you to help me? Come out? Fine. I’m gay. Now can we cure cancer?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” The two of them seemed to study each other for a few silent minutes before the rock spoke up again. “You must kiss a man.”
Bruce dropped his head into his hand. “What?”
“I won’t be the only one making a sacrifice in this relationship.”
“This is just not happening.”
“Well, I don’t mean just any man.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Su—“
“Don’t you dare say it.”
“Per—“
“Stop.”
“Man.”
The video ended abruptly. Clark couldn’t help but laugh, even as warmth crept into his cheeks. There was something charming about watching Bruce get so awkward and flustered over being told to do something as simple as kiss him. It was something Clark would have done easily, especially if it meant saving billions of lives.
Clark was on the last entry now. He almost dreaded to watch it, but knew it was important to fully understand all that happened. Obviously, Bruce hadn’t agreed to the rock’s terms, and Clark was starting to understand what happened. The last video log confirmed it: Bruce had started his experiments for cancer research, citing that he simply wasn’t going to debase himself and kiss Superman just to get the rock to comply. And it was already willing. Maybe he’d thought it was a bad joke. Either way, it ended badly. The result was right beside Clark.
When it ended, Clark took his old friend’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “You stubborn dolt,” he muttered against his fingers. “You could have just told me. You could always tell me. When you wake up, you and I are going to have words… but for now, I just want you to stay alive, so you can tell me in your own words. Because, believe it or not, I’m going to tell you something I should have a long time ago.”
His plan required him to see the rock creature—but before he did, he had to make a stop at the Daily Planet. There, he found his loving wife behind her desk in the editor’s office, bent over piles of paper. She looked up with a frown, her heart stopping for a moment as she stood to greet him.
“What is it?” Lois asked urgently. She stood and approached him to hold his hands. “Are they all okay? Oh god, did they… are they…?”
“No, no.” Clark touched her cheek. “No changes. I just… I needed to tell you something. I guess… I need your insight. Because I’m not sure what to do.”
Lois nodded, clearly relieved now she knew that the worst hadn’t happened. “Yeah, honey, of course. Sit down. Tell me everything.”
And he did. He described all the videos, the interactions Bruce had with the rock, and how he felt while watching them. When he finished, Lois was silent for a minute or two before she nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “That makes sense.”
“What?” Clark raised a brow at her. “It… makes sense?”
“Yes.” Lois seemed on the verge of laughing. “Clark, our marriage had largely been me competing with him for your attention. I don’t think he knew it—in fact I think he tried to avoid it, but he didn’t take into consideration how obsessed you are with him.”
“What? I—“
“Clark, consider the plan you just laid out to me and tell me again you’re not obsessed.”
“Well…” Clark opened and closed his mouth a couple times, heat coming to his face as he tried and failed to say anything different. “Yeah… okay. The thing is, I do love him, Lois—and I love you. And I’m just not sure how to…”
“I know.” She leaned over and touched his hand. “We can talk more about it later… but right now, it sounds like you have a city to save.”
“Thank you.” Clark leaned forward and kissed her hand. “I love you so much. Thank you.”
“I know.” She smirked, patting his cheek. “I love you too—so much. Now, I have work to do. You have my blessing to do what you have to, to save your Bat.”
***
Superman hovered over Gotham, at the edge of its gas containment, and studied the colourful edge of the psychic containment bubble, which was maintained by Dr Fate, Martian Manhunter, and a few other psychics and magic users in rotation. Clark’s skin developed goosebumps when he felt attention on him, but he couldn’t pinpoint the source. Hoping it was the gas—the creature—he lowered himself slightly to the edge of the gas prison and introduced himself.
“Hi. I don’t think Batman ever got your name, but he did give you mine. I’m Superman.”
Puffs of air separated the gas against the inside of the containment, and Clark smiled at its comment: “The Yang.”
“Does that make Bruce the Yin?”
“What do you think, Kryptonian?”
“I think that’s a yes.” Clark crouched on the edge of the barrier, staring down into the colourful mist. “I watched the videos he took of you two talking. You must have felt betrayed when you realized what he was doing near the end.”
“Yes.” The gas’s colour shifted between those belonging on the horizon. “But this was not for revenge. He gave me power, after all. Such power.”
Clark frowned now. “And what are you doing with that power? If this isn’t about revenge, why make his city suffer? Why make him suffer?”
“If he is suffering, it is not my doing.” The creature shifted in the barrier, and Clark realized there was a note of dark humour in its tone. “If you watched the documentation of our conversations, you know the real reason he suffers.”
Clark felt pain flash across his face. “I didn’t know… I should have, but I didn’t.” He sighed. “Do you realize he’s dying? They’re all dying. I don’t know what it is you did to them, but the whole city is trapped in a coma, and their vitals are dwindling.”
“Yes, I understand this.” The creature opened up beneath the barrier, the gas parting enough that Clark could see the city below. “To you, it looks like they are dying, but the truth is that they are all being terraformed. Much like Brainiac did to your planet, how the radiation of Krypton affects you, I can affect them. Eventually, they will all be like me. There will be no more need for a man like Bruce to be afraid of love, for on my planet we are all one. When he is finished changing, he will be at peace. They all will be.”
There were so many things in that sentence that triggered alarm bells, and they all accumulated to a rising panic in Clark’s chest. “Wait—what are you talking about? How do you know about Krypton? Did Bruce tell you?”
“No. Brainiac did.”
It took Clark a moment to find his voice again, as he was stunned into silence. Then everything made so much sense. “That’s why. That’s why you speak the way you do. That’s why it’s so close to Kryptonian! You’re a Brainiac project?”
“In a sense,” the creature replied. “We were born from a piece of Kryptonite that kept moving through space. As I said in my conversations with Bruce, the earth tells a story. It holds the purest memory of a planet. We were born from one piece of Kryptonite that was simply built upon as it barrelled through space. Brainiac may have been our source of life, but we have no connection to him. And only the core of our planet can hurt you. The rest is accumulated space debris, which have become sentient through time and connection.”
Clark’s breath was stolen from him in a deep exhale. “Wow. That’s… I don’t even know what to think about that. So hearing about me…”
“I knew you were Kryptonian. I knew what that meant.” The creature swirled against the barrier in acknowledgment. “It was fascinating to know what became of some of the people who survived.”
“Fascinating… yes.” Clark muttered, his heart sinking at the detached way the piece worded it. “Look… I appreciate that you feel for Bruce, and want him to be happy—but this will not do that. This world needs him.” He swallowed, recalling the feeling of Bruce’s heartbeat under his hand. The sound of it—constant, a comfort to Clark when he needed it, in a way that Bruce didn’t even know. “I need him.”
“You need him for your own validation. You want him to feed you, but you will never return his affections.”
“That’s not true.”
“You are married!” The creature’s colours swirled red and white—anger. “You pull him along, telling him you need him, but you will never give him what he needs. My people can do that.”
“Why do you think I’m here?!” Clark scowled at the gas as he stood again. “Please! Just let me try! Let me do something to fix this. I can’t lose him. I… I need him to know that I… oh, Rao, please. Please!”
Silence met his desperation at first, and he half expected the gas to shoo him away in finality. But it cleared further and said, “Come into me. Speak with him—be honest with him. But beware: I will know your truth even before you do, so if you have selfish intentions at all, I will make my decision then and there.”
“Understood.” Clark nodded, relief flooding him. “Thank you.”
He called for the barrier to be released where he was and—with some convincing—it finally parted for him. He sank down into it, and allowed the creature to engulf him as he set foot on Gotham soil.
The next thing he knew, he was in a white cloud. His mind felt clear, his body weak, without its powers. He turned around, looking through a nearly opaque scene of fog before he heard a familiar voice that made him feel feather-light.
“Clark?”
He turned to see Batman intact, standing on his own two feet. He looked haggard—but he was in one piece. Clark rushed toward him, wrapping him into a tight hug. The man’s shoulders stiffened, and though he didn’t return it, Clark felt his heart thudding quickly in his chest, and heard the sharp inhale through his nose.
“I came to get you,” Clark told him. “I watched the research logs. Bruce… why didn’t you ever tell me?” As he drew back, he held the man’s stubbly face between his hands. “You don’t need to live like this, in secret. You don’t need to hide.”
“Ah…” Bruce pulled away from him, a soft exhale marking a laugh in his throat. “I see what this is. Adding insult to injury? Is that your game?”
“What?” Clark frowned, his eyes going wide. “I don’t…”
“I know I made a mistake,” Bruce continued. “Rather, I was careless. It ended up hurting you, and I’m sorry for that—but this…” He gestured generally to Clark’s being. “This is just unnecessary. It’s cruel, really. If he really was here, he wouldn’t…” His voice tightened. “He wasn’t ever meant to know, you know. That was the point. Maybe that makes me a coward. But you don’t need to mock me with this.”
Of course. Bruce had no way of knowing anything that was happening outside of his own internal experience. Clark’s stomach fell. There was no way Bruce would believe he was himself, and if he did he would have to face the knowledge that Clark had seen the videos and knew more than Bruce ever wanted him to. He would have to be patient, then, and simply convince him.
“Bruce, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to mock you.” Clark stayed where he was, keeping his hands at his sides despite the urge he had to grab hold of Bruce and hold him for as long as he was allowed. “I just… I want you to know this—all of this—it isn’t vengeance or cruelty. This is happening because that creature saw that you were miserable. It wants you to be happy, and thought the only way it could do that was to turn you into what it is. On their planet, everyone and everything is… what we are. Or something like it.”
Bruce huffed out mild, sardonic amusement and sat down. As he did, a rock appeared behind him and as he sat on it the whole scene changed around them. Clark marvelled at the light changing, becoming a gorgeous pink and white over the grey expanse of slate and stone. It was the planet where they had found the specimen.
“Of course,” Bruce grumbled. “I should have known it would be something like that. So I’m not saying after all, I’m—we, all of us in Gotham, are—changing into… what, rock people?” He took a moment to process, then swept a hand down his face. “Maybe that’s for the best. Gotham is… was a sickness. And if he’s seen the documented footage, then Supermen is aware of what I…” He sighed. “What I am. How I… feel, I suppose. He’s happy. He should stay that way. I never wanted to get in the middle of anything. And that’s not why I’m… the way I am.” He stood again, pacing now. “It just is, it doesn’t have anything to do with him.”
“I know,” Superman replied, his voice gentle. “It’s natural, Bruce.”
Regardless, he continued. “I was deeply traumatized at a very young age. I’m miserable because I saw my parents be murdered in front of me, not because of him. And Gotham is… relentless. It was just one thing after another after another. I always said I would rest when I was dead. I told myself I didn’t need it.”
“That makes sense.” Clark leaned against a rock wall and watched him, crossing his arms and ankles as he waited for Bruce to work through whatever was happening. He enjoyed witnessing this, though: it wasn’t unheard of for Batman to get introspective, but it was rare that it was ever out loud, and with a witness, no less. “Bruce, if I told you I loved you, would you believe me?”
“I don’t even believe you’re you,” Batman shot back. “Anything you say is filtered through whatever that stone got about you from me, so no—not really. I would be surprised, I’ll admit, but if your goal is to make me happy, I can see why you would try that.”
Superman sighed, nodding slowly. He pushed himself up from the wall and started toward Bruce. The man stopped pacing and raised a brow at him as Superman asked, “Would that make you happy? If I said it?”
“No,” Bruce replied evenly. “Because it would be a lie. And if you’re taking his form to make my last few minutes somewhat comforting, having him lie to me doesn’t fit under that. And you should know that, so now we’re back to this being a cruel form of mockery.”
A small smile pulled at Superman’s face. He set his hands on either side of Bruce’s arms as he closed the distance between them, keeping eye contact as he did.
“I love you, Bruce.”
Bruce inhaled sharply, the sound full of pain as he stood there, stock-still and silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again, it was with a strained voice. “Don’t do this to me. God dammit, don’t do this. I have tried so hard to put this behind me. I-I can’t… I can’t. Please.” He let out a trembling breath, his hand coming up to cover his face. “Please…”
Superman took his hand away from his face and pressed the man’s knuckles to his lips. “If I could make you believe me, what would you say to me? If you knew this was the real Superman—the real Clark—standing in front of you, minutes before your death, what would you say?”
Bruce sighed now. He used his free hand to remove his cowl, and Clark’s chest clenched when he saw the man’s eyes glistening with hot tears. He reached out, wiping them away while he held his face. Bruce let him, and closed his eyes, inhaling softly as he leaned into the gentle touch.
He whispered, “I would… tell him I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For being such a coward.” Bruce’s brow knitted in the centre and he held Clark’s hand against his face. “I never told him… because I knew he would never be able to say it back. It would make things… awkward between us, and the last thing I ever want is to lose him. So I could never tell him. Maybe he deserved honesty.”
“What if he would just like to know?” Clark took a step even closer now, and Bruce hummed in quiet comfort as the man stood nearly against him. “What if he returned it?”
“Then it wouldn’t be him.” Bruce emitted a slow, shaky inhale as Clark leaned forward, his nose hovering just inches from the other man’s cheek.
Clark smoothed his hand along Bruce’s face, noting the expression on his face while Clark crept closer and closer to him. It was like it was painful for him to just give in… agony for him to be so close to something he wanted, while still not believing its validity. Clark remembered then, the stone had memories of their time together on this world. It knew of their history here, so anything he said about their time on Earth would be discounted, but…
“Do you remember…” Clark kissed his cheek, and continued along toward his jawline. Even here, he smelled like leather and sweat, scents so sweet to Clark after all this time together. He continued, “the planet we went to, that was covered almost entirely with these pretty little pink flowers? Everything was so soft. And you were so irritated the whole time.” He chuckled as he kissed a slow pattern into the side of Bruce’s neck. “Then we came to this one place that put you to sleep because of the properties in the pollen. I had to carry you the rest of the way back to camp, where we would wait for the League to come get us. I made this little feather bed for you, and watched you until you woke up.”
Bruce chuckled at the memory. “I woke up to your face just an inch away from mine.”
“Do you know why that is?”
Bruce looked at him now, and grunted, the content of the conversation dawning on him, “No… I don’t.”
Clark smiled. “I was about to kiss you. You were out for hours, and I was starting to get worried. I think the pollen was messing with my mind, because I was so certain it would wake you up.”
Bruce blinked at him, the pink on his cheeks darkened and spread. “Clark…” He seemed frozen, unable to decide what to do. “It is you. What are you… how—why?”
“I told you why.” Clark chuckled despite the growing horror in his old friend’s eyes. “Don’t back away. Please. I… gosh, Bruce, I watched your logs, and you’re so… you’re amazing. You’re everything. I can’t lose you.”
Bruce was breathing harder now, and the longer they stood close like this, the more pained he seemed. “I’m changing… there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“There is.” Clark’s thumb ran along the edge of Bruce’s stubble. “If the stone can see you have a chance to be happy—to be open, and free—it will let the whole city go.”
“What?” Bruce’s eyes widened, and he pulled back. “And you think coming here, pretending to be in love with me, will make me happy? That it will magically make everything better?”
“Who’s pretending?” Clark demanded. “Bruce… I didn’t know how you felt until I watched those logs. I didn’t even know how I felt. I mean, I… I did, I guess, but it was… I didn’t understand it. It’s like you said: we’re inseparable, you and me. We’re forever—we’re cosmic.” He dropped his hand from the man’s face, allowing him the space to move back further if he chose to. “Together, we’re a force of nature, while apart we’re… I don’t want to know what I am without you, Bruce. You’re my heart. My soul. There is no me without you.”
Bruce stared at him, dumbfounded. “I don’t know what to say to that. How can I even know it’s really how you feel?”
“I don’t lie!”
“I know that,” Bruce shot back, “but you have to admit, there could be some emotional influence on you feeling this way. In your eyes, while you were watching those logs, you thought I was dying. We’ve been best friends for a long time. We care about each other. Of course you feel something for me, but it’s…”
Clark sighed heavily, cutting him off. “How long are you going to keep pushing me away? You went years without telling me how you felt. Why is it so hard to just accept that I love you?”
“Because you shouldn’t!” It came out broken and hard, and even Bruce seemed surprised by it. He swallowed, smoothing his hair back with his palm as he stepped back, and said it again, softer this time, like he was letting it sink in. “Because you shouldn’t. I’m not… I’m…”
Clark didn’t let him finish. He pulled him forth and planted his lips on Bruce’s, his arms around his waist to press him close. Bruce’s breath staggered in his throat, and as he accepted the kiss, a sound almost like a sob was torn from his chest. His fingers grasped desperately at Clark’s head, pulling him closer as if afraid he would spontaneously change his mind. Clark breathed heavily into him, revelling in his scent—the prickly stubble on his chin—the way his mouth moved against Clark’s, soft lips moving against him, more relaxed every moment.
After about twenty seconds, Bruce released a sharp sob and pulled back, setting their foreheads together. He stood there quietly for a moment, gathering himself, fighting his trembling, cracking breath. “I love you,” he whispered, the words full of so many years of agony. “Oh god, Clark, I’m in love with you.”
Clark kissed his the corners of his eyes, where tears beaded, threatening to fall. “I love you, too. I love you so much.”
A soft hum of sound pulled them out of their romantic stupor, and the two of them looked around to find themselves back in the completely white surroundings of before, but now the colourful gas swirled around them.
“Okay,” the gas said, using colours and tones to communicate in the familiar Kryptonian patterns. “I believe there is a chance in this. I see your resonances, and they are indeed nearly identical. You are one, neither as effective without the other. I will withdraw my influence, then. Your strange, fleshy bodies will remain as they are, and your disconnection from each other will continue. Such fickle beings you all are—even you, Kryptonian. But if there is a chance at comfort here, I will leave.”
The gas retreated, leaving the two of them alone. But when Clark turned back to Bruce, he was gone—and Clark was on his back on the ground, in the middle of an abandoned Gotham. His comm shrieked to life in his ear, almost bringing him to his knees.
“Superman!” Mr Terrific addressed him. “I don’t know what you did, but it worked. They’re all awake! I’m getting reports from all over the country that their Gothamite coma patients are waking up.”
Clark’s heart flipped. He looked around and, sure enough, the gas was entirely gone. And he was awake, which meant…
***
Bruce’s whole body ached. He went to sit up, pulling at the monitor cords all over his torso as he did. He just put his feet on the ground when a whoosh of air almost knocked him over again—and might have, if not for the arms that not wrapped around him. Soft lips pulled at his own, and he sighed into the kiss as a thick red cape fell around him like a curtain. He wrapped his arms around Clark’s shoulders, and let the man pull him up to his feet.
“You’re okay!” Clark’s voice broke with either a sob or a laugh, or maybe a mixture of both, and he gripped Bruce tight around his waist while burying his face into Bruce’s neck. “You’re okay. You’re awake, you’re okay…”
It was almost too much. Bruce’s chest felt so full with Clark around him and in his arms, he wasn’t even sure how to react. He’d never felt such deep affection for someone—never before felt so connected. Was it that he’d been changed slightly still? Or was it simply the nature of their long-standing relationship? Either way… he was here, and closer to Clark than he’d ever been. And oh god, it felt so nice.
He would stay here forever if he could… and all of a sudden that was possible. He let himself sink into Clark’s embrace now, closing his eyes as he inhaled his sweet scent, and ran his fingers through his hair. He’d never before allowed himself to touch this man like this before—never allowed himself to even think about it. But here he was, holding him—smelling him—he’d even tasted his tongue, and felt its soft buds on his own.
“Thank you,” Bruce whispered into his ear, kissing a line across Clark’s jaw and neck. “I thought… I thought it was all over. Thank you.”
Clark moved to look him in the eye, and held his face with both hands. “Don’t thank me,” he said as he pressed his mouth gently to Bruce’s forehead. “I wasn’t about to lose my whole heart.”
Bruce hummed, leaning into his touch. The men stayed like that for minutes that drew out into hours. For all the trouble that little stone brought to Gotham, Bruce couldn’t help but be grateful for it in forcing him to face an abyss that had lived inside him for years.
Today, for the first time in a long time, he was alive. He was free.