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Bruce knew, deep down in his core, it would eventually come to this.
It didn't mean he dread it any less.
It had been years full of heart-wrenching fights against the people he once called his friends—his family. They lost a lot—teammates, sons, daughters, partners. They had been in so much pain and guilt, and no one was really happy. Bruce knew that even after this, no one would come up victorious. It would never feel like a victory when more than half of them were either dead or good as one anyway.
Clark—no, no. It was Kal-El. Kal-El stood tall and proud in front of him, his brows furrowed, lips in a snarl and eyes dangerously glinted steel red.
Bruce didn't want to memorize that face. He didn't want the last thing he would remember of him was Kal-El. No. Not when he had memories of Clark—with Clark.
Clark who had the sweetest and kindest heart he had ever come to know. Clark who had the brightest smile he had ever seen. Clark who made him see the world in a golden light. Clark who took care of his family even if he didn't have to. Clark who stayed by his side no matter how difficult he was being. Clark...
Clark whom he had loved the most.
Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked the tears away. This wasn't Clark. This was Kal-El. This wasn't Superman. This was a ruthless dictator who thought he could control the Earth through fear. This wasn't the man he loved. This was the man whom he had been fighting against for years.
But why? Why did it have to end up this way? Of all people, why did it have to be them?
“Why?” The word escaped from Bruce's lips before he could stop them.
Kal-El's anger seemed to lessen at the unexpected question. His head tilted a little and it was just like what Clark used to do when Bruce asked him a question that he never thought of or when he was answering the crossword puzzle of the Daily Planet paper during breakfast and was thinking of the answer to that one particularly difficult question.
And wasn't that a punch in the gut?
Because no matter what Bruce liked to think, Kal-El used to be Clark Kent. This ruthless dictator was Superman. The man he had fought a hundred times for the past years had been the man he once loved.
Clark Kent and Kal-El were one, but Bruce knew they were not the same and that was what hurt him the most. The fact that the person he used to call his best friend had become his worst enemy.
Bruce didn't bother stopping the tears from falling anymore. Kal-El did this. Kal-El chose to do this—to finally end it. It hurt so much, but Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved because in a sense, he was.
He knew pain like he knew darkness. They were his oldest friends. He had become an expert at them—controlling, manipulating, ignoring. And for it to finally end, it was a god damn relief.
And it was god damn satisfying, too, to see Kal-El, in front of him, mad at—at the world, maybe? Or at him? Most probably himself if he was still the same man Bruce once knew. He let out a sardonic chuckle at the thought as he stared at the alien in both literal and figurative sense.
Bruce could see Kal-El shaking as he walked towards him and even until he was kneeling in front of him, Bruce noticed the tremors in his body.
“We could have prevented this if only you stayed by my side, Bruce,” Kal-El said, his voice trembling but still had sharp edges around it. “Now, look at you.”
Bruce grinned. It was wide and it was mocking. “Have you seen yourself, Boy Scout?”
Kal-El turned rigid at the old nickname, his eyes glaring once again, but it didn't faze Bruce. In fact, it made him grin even wider as he ignored the pain all over his body.
“I'm at peace, Kal-El,” Bruce said and then coughed a little, but the grin still came back. “But are you?”
Kal-El shook his head as his eyes moistened. “You're a fool.”
Bruce could see through Kal-El. He always could. Just like the man could see through him, which was why he knew Kal-El saw it in him—saw the acceptance in his eyes.
“Hm. I miss the time you used to call me brave.” Bruce wanted to chuckle but ended up coughing instead, blood trickling down his mouth and chin. There were too many deep, open wounds all over his body and his left arm was broken. Yet the pain felt dull as he looked at Kal-El.
Kal-El who looked like he was the one hurting even when the sun had already healed him, although Bruce knew the agony that the man felt was much more than in the physical sense. Bruce knew every punch inflicted on him was inflicted back to Kal-El. He knew the pain he felt was doubled to Kal-El.
“Bruce...” Kal-El trailed.
Bruce felt Kal-El's fingers wrapped at the back of his neck and his head was carefully lifted. His eyes fluttered close when Kal-El brought his lips on his forehead. He didn't open them when he felt tiny drops of liquid fell on his cheek that wasn't from his own tears. He wanted to look at Kal-El one last time, but he couldn't. His eyes felt too heavy.
This was it, Bruce thought. And then he remembered the one thing he never said out loud all those years ago. The one thing he knew Clark had waited for him to say.
“I love you, Clark.”
He wasn't sure if he was heard, but he caught an agonizing sob broke from Kal-El.
The last thing Bruce felt was the tight grip on him by the very same hands that brought him to his demise.