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“To think, all these years of playing together and all this time it’s been you!”
Bruce grits his teeth, hands gripping the chains suspending him in the air tighter as sick laughter echoes across the room. That deranged, gleeful grin has always made his blood boil and he wishes he could punch it right off that pale face but right now, not Batman but Bruce Wayne in his thousand dollar suit-sans jacket, shoes and tie-could do no more than hang there, losing more and more feeling in his arms with every second that passes.
“Oh, I recognize that look. It really is you, Bats!” Joker laughs again, hunching over to hold his sides.
Bruce’s heart sinks. How had the clown figured it out? Where had Bruce slipped up?
Luthor tuts from somewhere behind Bruce, “Games, games! Always playing, never serious. Now that you’ve seen for yourself and believe me, I don’t have to spell out the rest for you, do I?”
Joker tilts his head, squinting at the place just beyond Bruce’s shoulder, “And what do you think I should be doing then?”
There’s a pause, a moment where the air is tense and Bruce thinks any deal struck between the two is going to be null and void with the sound of gunfire. But then Luthor huffs and Bruce hears the man walk off to his left where the sound of a heavy metal door-the exit his mind supplies and saves for his escape-creaks open. Luthor’s parting words and the intense way Joker’s smile widens at them has unpleasant shivers crawling up Bruce’s spine:
“Whatever you want to, of course.”
The sound of the monitor alarms beeping loudly jolts Bruce from his nightm-his sleep. He ignores the way his heart beats frantically from the memories and focuses on the screen he fell asleep in front of.
There’s a red dot placed on eastern side of the United States and Bruce sits up in his chair to press a button. The picture zooms in until revealing that the red dot was placed on New York and Bruce sighs when he pulls up a satellite video of where the red cursor was pointing to. A group of college students were protesting again, standing outside of their university with wooden signs and angry faces.
Although there were less voices willing to outright express their views against the Justice Lords nowadays, some still hadn’t entirely given up. Bruce is mostly glad that he’s the one usually alerted to when it happens. Clark hasn’t been forgiving to anyone who disrupts the peace for a very long time now.
“Flash, come in.” Bruce says after opening up a communication channel through the main computer.
“Yup, right here!” Barry’s voice crackles back at him almost instantly.
Bruce smiles, glad to hear the nervous stutter the boy sometimes adopts when he knows Clark is on the line absent, and relays the information about the protesting students to him. The Flash was the closest one to New York at the moment and really, when it came to a bunch of young hot heads not really thinking about the consequences of their own actions, someone more… gentle like Barry was better suited for the job.
“Oh uh, sure can do! I’ll just go and discourage them then!”
Bruce thanks the boy and ends the line. He pauses, staring at his hand, at the scars and stiff way he has to hold them. He remembers a time when, even scarred as they were before, he was able to at least curl his fingers without hoping he wouldn’t feel as though there were a hundred of needles stabbing into each joint; remembers when the pain in his leg was more of an annoying dull ache he could ignore most days than the unbearable agony he wouldn’t be able to stand if it weren’t for the medicine provided to him.
He remembered-
A gasp. The Joker had brought down the metal pipe again. His leg must have been nothing more than a bloody mess at this point-he couldn’t even feel anything in it beyond the blazing hot fire pulsing up into his hip-and all he can think about is how he’ll be able to escape with his leg in this condition. How long has it been since he’d been here, in this dark room hanging from the ceiling by his arms-
Bruce grips the arms of his chair, willing his heart to back to a normal pace and breathing slow, steady breaths. He can’t think about that. He won’t allow himself to.
A few minutes pass. No memory assaults him and he sighs. Clark is in a meeting with the leaders he’d personally chosen for the world’s countries and Bruce’s mind always goes back to that dark, dreary room whenever his husband has been away for too long. Despite Clark’s insistence that Bruce let him know immediately whenever he was having a… moment with his past, he can't help but feel pathetic for wanting to bother the busy man with such trivial matters.
There’s no more active alerts in front of him and the Fortress would let him know otherwise anyway so he gets up, making sure not to forget his cane-Clark had been so upset, face scrunching up into an indignant pout when Bruce last forgot it, needing to support himself back to the bedroom with only the wall for help-and deciding to go to the Fortress’s greenroom for some relaxation.
The greenroom was built when Bruce had complained about a “lack of fresh air” jokingly to Clark one month into his stay at the Fortress. It housed all sorts of plants, tended to by the automatic sprinkling systems and temperature regulator. Bruce always came here to calm his nerves because the sight and smell of living plants gave him the sense of being outside.
It wasn’t that he felt claustrophobic or anything of the sort here. He just… liked the way the light reflecting in from glass house. It gave him proof that he was no longer trapped-
He needs to try to attempt another escape.
His watch, the one Alfred had gotten him for his 30th birthday, was the only tracking device he’d kept on him that night but they’d taken it with his jacket, tie, and shoes sometime after he’d been knocked out and when he’d woken up in this forsaken place. Everyone has to be out searching for him. If both Luthor and the Joker were involved, he wasn’t surprised they hadn't found him yet so needs to try to get out himself.
(Who was it that had caught him off guard? A man in orange? Was he wearing a mask?)
God, Alfred must be beside himself with worry. And Clark must be frantically looking for him everywhere. What was this place that could block out his calls for Superman? Luthor must know some other weakness that Clark had then. The thought frightens him.
He has to warn the team. He has to get out. He has to leave.
The heavy metal door opens and Joker’s laughter fills the room.
“Oh Brucie! I’ve come to play!”
Bruce curses, curling into himself in his seat and clutching at his face with shaking hands, feeling the texture of his eyepatch and trying not to fall into more memories. He knows having more than one… episode is a bad sign and that he should call for Clark but…
The scent of human flesh burning is nauseating. Screams cut off abruptly whenever Superman twitches his head to angle it better. Bruce tries-tries so hard -to reach up a hand and stop Clark from using his heat vision. He can’t allow Clark to do this but he hasn't been able to move his arms for days now.
“Please,” he tries instead, throat raw and burning from screaming, “please… please don-” he can’t finish when the attempt causes his already abused throat into a coughing fit.
That, at least, halts Clark. The man unconsciously cradles Bruce closer and looks down. Bruce shudders at the frantic, almost manic wide eyed expression on Clark’s face.
‘I’m okay now, I’m okay’ Bruce wants to say but the words are stuck in his bloody throat and Clark is lifting him up from the ground. Bruce wants to feel relief, wants to finally be able to close his eyes without fear of waking up to a mad man back for that day’s round of torture but his remaining eye catches sight of the burning corpses on the way up and his heart thunders when he sees Clark calmly follow his gaze. Clark’s bright blue eyes (so beautiful, always full of so much warmth for him, for the world ) are so empty, so unaffected by what he’s done Bruce has to choke back a sob-
Bruce gasps. There are tears welling up in his lone eye, his breathing is becoming too quick. He can’t-has to calm down.
Calm down. Calm down!
One deep breath. In two seconds. Out four seconds.
In three seconds. Out five seconds.
In four. Out six. In four. Out six. Repeat. Again. And again.
“Fuck!” Bruce curses when he doesn’t feel as if his heart is going to rip out of his chest. He should-no he shouldn’t call for Clark. Everything that’s happened these past few years was his own fault. Clark had… had done all those things because Bruce had been careless. It wasn’t fair to put any blame on him or to burden Clark anymore than he has already.
Even so, the thought of spending the rest of the day without his husband there to calm him still filled him with an aching loneliness.
He looks up, out through one of the windows to the sky. It was still daytime, still plenty of hours before Clark would be done with his meeting. Here in the Fortress, Bruce was-
“Nothing can hurt you here, Bruce. I just… I want to keep you safe,” Clark says, a plea in his eyes for Bruce to agree. A hand held out for him with the hope that Bruce will take it.
Bruce was safe here but…
Bruce hesitates, looking from that hand to the “Fortress” that Clark had built just for him out here in the frozen Antarctic.
Bruce hesitates, dressed in the warmest clothing the Fortress could provide for him, looking at the door that led right outside.
Bruce understood why Clark was asking him this. He knew Clark would have made sure this “Fortress” was truly safe. Here no one would be able to find him. No one to kidnap him. No one to torture him. He could live with all the comfort that kryptonian technology could provide and Clark would… Clark’s eyes would hopefully lose some of that desperate pain he tried so hard to hide from Bruce.
Bruce instructs the Fortress to open the door, waiting wide eyed as it does. His breath comes out in white puffs even behind his scarf as he takes that step over the threshold and into the snowy landscape. The white scenery is just as awe inducing as the first time Bruce had fully seen it. There’s not much wind at the moment and the sky is clear.
Bruce takes two steps into the snow and feels so much free lighter. So much lighter out here. His mind isn’t threatening to send him somewhere else and his feet-
“Bruce.”
-freeze right in place. He doesn’t move a single step forward as Clark floats down beside him with a frown and pinched brows.
“Clark,” he breathes, not sure if he feels relief or… or disappointment at his husband’s appearance. He just wanted a few minutes, just a few to get away from his thoughts. From the stifling-
“Bruce, I heard your heart racing and came as quickly as I could. What happened? Where’s your cane? Why are you out here in the freezing cold?” Clark’s expression is concerned as he asks.
“I…”
Guilt gnaws at Bruce’s stomach when he realizes Clark must have heard his episodes while at his meeting and dropped everything just to comfort him. What was Bruce thinking, coming out here? Just for a short moment of what? Reprieve from his own mind? He could have just called out for Clark and waited in their bedroom for his husband. And now here he was instead, shivering in minus degree weather while standing with his bad knee, worrying Clark with his recklessness.
“Come on, Bruce. We can talk inside where it’s warm, okay?”
The expression Clark’s face is crumpling the longer Bruce stands there without an answer. His hand held out the entire time. It’s the memory of long ago, of being dragged into a not space and meeting a Clark from a different time with that same longing, heartbreaking look that has him taking Clark’s hand.
Clark holds up a hand for Bruce, smiling lovingly when it’s taken without another thought. Bruce lets Clark pull him in for a hug, savoring the heat he could feel radiating off the kryptonian even through the layers he’d worn and even lets his husband pick him up to carry him back into the Fortress.
Clark lights up at that and Bruce lets him pull him into the Fortress, feeling foolish but unable to help glancing back into the frozen Antarctic for what he feels like will be the last time.