Work Text:
Bruce was no stranger to nightmares, no hero was. They were a familiar plague, a resident pain, one that rooted itself in all of them, too deep to cut out. But Bruce was a stranger to tears, the small drops of saline that he never let escape seemed to fall defiantly against his will more and more as the years as Batman passed.
Memories,, regrets,, all on a loop in his head that he stuffed under the cowl and buried under detective work in a futile attempt to ignore them.
Sleep was when they caught him.
He could keep his thoughts occupied, rational and acceptably horrific until sleep sunk its teeth in and pulled him under.
Sleep,, those few brief hours of complete vulnerability scared him more than anything. Hours of reliving Jason's death, of green hair and manic smiles of bloody fists and the dying screams of heroes.
But the one that haunted him the most, liked to kick him when he was down. It was an infrequent agony.
Clark. He'd almost killed him, killed the man that earth sees as their God, as their hero, as their saviour, he almost took that from them but he stopped, hands drenched in blood, with the crumbling shell of a man beneath him and he stopped.. But Clark still died, Bruce still killed him.
The kryptonite he'd gone out of his way to find and weaponize and use against Clark was the thing that killed him and no matter how you look at it.
It was Bruce's fault.
This night was one of those nights where those memories wreaked havoc on his mind, pulled painfully at the strings of his emotions and made him face the agony he so desperately tried to keep buried.
~~~ Metropolis ~~~
Clark bolted upright, desk chair creaking under the sudden movement. Something was wrong with Bruce. Every night Clark listened to his heartbeat, his breathing, he monitored all that he could to make sure Bruce was safe and every night he listened to the spike in his breathing, the frantic pounding of his heartbeat but tonight it was worse.
Within moments Clark was gone, a small dent on his apartment balcony from the force of his take off. He pushed his top speeds and made his way to Wayne Manor, drawing lines in the sky and ripping rifts in the clouds from his speed.
He dropped to Bruce's balcony and pushed open the doors, the lock cracking and breaking as he broke them open with no regard for the state of the door. Bruce was the only thing he cared an ounce for right now.
~~~ Wayne Manor ~~~
Bruce jumped, pulling the covers tight around himself as the door was cracked open. He couldn't put up a fight, not in this state. But within moments of recognizing the shadow, he knew he wouldn't have to fight, he wordlessly reached out to Clark and sighed in relief as a warm hand clasped his own.
"Papa"
The word was quiet, hardly a whisper but Bruce knew Clark heard it.
"Hello my boy" Clark responded gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and scanning Bruce for injuries he knew he wouldn't have. He pressed a hand to Bruce's forehead and frowned, he was sweating badly.
"I think we better get you changed."
Clark lifted Bruce out of bed like he weighed nothing at all and carried him to the bathroom, placing him gently on the closed lid of the ensuite's toilet.
Clark was gone and back within a few seconds, Bruce could only assume by the momentary rustle of fabric that Clark had stripped and remade his bed. Bruce felt shame flood his body, he couldn't help the tears as they welled up and spilled down his flushed cheeks.
"I'm sorry,,"
Clark picked Bruce up, cradling the smaller man to his chest, bouncing and shushing him gently, like you would a child.
"There is nothing to be sorry for B, it's alright, take some deep breaths."
Bruce nodded and took small shaky breaths, placing one hand on Clark's chest, tracing where his symbol usually is. After a few minutes and fresh waves of tears and more calming down Bruce was ready to be put down.
Clark ran the water in the tub, splashing his hands under the water to make sure it wasn't too hot as it filled the tub. While it ran he stripped Bruce of all his drenched clothes save for his boxers and tossed them on the floor to be dealt with later.
Once the tub was full he selected some fancy salts for the bath that help with sore muscles and calming, that he knew Bruce kept on hand for this sort of thing.
He knelt next to the tub and helped clean Bruce, helping him wash himself properly and then shampooing and conditioning his hair to make sure he didn't get any in his eyes.
Bruce was always good around Bath time so getting him out was no trouble and the floors stayed relatively dry. Clark looked over Bruce again for any bruises or sore spots as he towled him dry, when he noticed no aches and pains out of the ordinary he wrapped Bruce in his towel and grabbed ahold of the regressors hand, making sure he didn't slip as they padded out to the bedroom.
Bruce insisted on choosing his own clothes and dressing himself, so he ended up in a backwards facing dark blue onesie which Clark had to take off and turn around the correct way.
Despite Bruce's insistence on choosing his own outfit, Clark had managed to convince Bruce to let him put him in a pull up even if there were many grouchy words and protests.
Bruce didn't need them, not often but when he was upset and regressed it was better to be safe.
Of course Bruce knew that, but trying to rationalise that with a regressor who has the stubbornness of Batman and the defiance of a toddler would never prove an easy task for anyone, even Superman.
Clark won, a smile of triumph on his face, polar opposite of the pout that Bruce wore while Clark picked him up and tucked him into the freshly made bed.
"Would you like to read?"
Clark asked with a smile, watching Bruce's expression shift from a pout to a small smile. Clark grabbed one of the children's books from the nightstand and began reading to Bruce.
Sometimes Bruce would repeat words back or babble about something but he was mostly quiet, barely a peep as he listened intently to the story.
Clark closed the book and placed it on the nightstand after watching Bruce yawn for the 10th time in a couple minutes.
"It's time to sleep Bruce."
Clark said softly, pressing a kiss to Bruce's forehead. Bruce grabbed his arm, tugging him with all his might. Stay. Clark understood the silent plea and climbed under the covers, pulling Bruce to his chest, letting the small man curl up in his lap.
About an hour had passed and Clark thought maybe Bruce had gone to sleep but the small noises were not snores but sniffles and then he smelt salt. Clark shifted Bruce to lay sideways across his lap, supporting his head like you would a babies so he could look at him.
"Are you okay?"
Clark asked, voice filled with concern as he ran a thumb across Bruce's cheek, wiping the tears as they fell.
Bruce nodded, sincere, quiet, small.
"Yes"
His voice was broken but honest, he was okay, he just needed to cry. He needed a release and he was safe in Clark's arms so he let himself cry and Clark just held him and rubbed soothing circles into his back.
And he'd come back every time to do the same because they needed each other.