Work Text:
He was in the theater again, watching the opera and how the creatures moved onstage, swooping down like demons landing upon their pray.
It was dark and he was alone, sinking into his seat that turned into cement, trapping him in place. He couldn’t escape the screams and the deafening orchestra. Bruce squirmed against the cement that was swallowing him, fighting for every second but he knew it was useless.
He would never win. He was just a kid with no power, no voice, no strength.
Miraculously, Bruce pulled free from the cement chair just as the bats swarmed towards him and he ran like he’d never before. His heart pumped in his chest, threatening to break through his ribcage.
Suddenly the ground gave way below him and he fell so far into the darkness
Bruce landed at the bottom of the well, his arm and leg definitely broken. He was cold, shivering to the bone, helpless, and drowning with fear.
“Dad! Dad help me! Someone!”
Except this time, Dad didn’t come. No one was coming.
A hand grabbed his foot. Several hands pulled him down, the ghosts of his past, the people he couldn’t save, the people who died for him, died because of him. The sea of hands pulled him down from the light, drowning him in the darkness, drowning him, suffocating him.
The light disappeared, and his screams were drowned out by the screams of the dead.
Bruce sat up so fast, a wave of nausea hit him like a truck, and he thrashed against the sheets that bound him. In doing so, he tumbled out of bed, his nose hitting the nightstand as his arm knocked the lamp over. The nightstand and the lamp clattered to the ground and he joined them on the floor, gasping for air. It felt like his lungs were collapsing, and the world was still spinning.
It took several seconds to steady his breathing and convince himself that the nightmare was over, that none it was real. He was back in his room in Wayne Manor, safe from any danger. He wasn’t a helpless little kid anymore. He was an adult and feeling this way, being upset over a nightmare was stupid and childish.
He was not going to let one stupid nightmare get to him. He was not--
Something warm slithered down his chin and onto the floor.
Blood, he realized, as it continued flowing from his nose.
He brushed his thumb against his nostrils and when he glanced at his hand, it was stained red. Despite whatever he believed, he was still shaking and his heart raced from the adrenaline. He was having trouble focusing, his mind still caught up on whisps of the dream that haunted him.
Bruce needed to assess the damage and went to turn on the lamp light to realize it was shattered, the glass lamp holder in pieces on the floor. He swore he could see himself in the reflection of those broken shards. The nightstand was on its side, but overall undamaged. Bruce himself only hit his face and sustained minor injuries to his nose and a cut on his lip.
It was fine, everything was fine.
He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice someone land on the balcony of his bedroom. Bruce did hear the glass balcony doors open, and he jumped, ready to fight the intruder who walked through.
“Bruce? Are you ok, I heard some noise-”
It took Bruce a second too long to realize it was just Clark, and he let out a sigh of relief, cupping his hand over his nose and mouth to hide the blood. He and Clark had gotten much closer after they revealed their true identities behind Batman and Superman, and their bond was almost unbreakable.
Bruce cared for Clark more than anyone in the world, and this perfect, angelic superhero did not need to be wasting his time babysitting the billionaire brat of Gotham. Bruce knew he was just another person Clark had to worry about, and every time he did, Bruce just felt guiltier and guiltier for taking up his precious time. Bruce didn’t have this genuine connection with anyone, and now that he had it, he was so afraid to lose it that the anxiety was eating him up inside with every mistake he made.
Like right now, he’d woken Clark up with his stupid nightmare and now his friend had come all this way worried about he could be out saving lives. Clark wasn’t even in his suit, which made Bruce even guiltier because that meant Clark wasn’t even on the job. He had been taking time for himself when Bruce ruined it. Clark was dressed hastily in jeans and a plaid button-up, his hair slightly unkempt and yet he was more handsome than ever. Here Bruce was, shirtless and sticky from his own sweat, sure he looked absolutely terrible. He wasn’t in anything more than boxers.
“I’m fine,” Bruce managed after a moment from behind his hand. “Just a little clumsy, nothing to worry about.”
“You sure?” Clark gave him that look, stepping forward, but Bruce just stepped back, turning around towards the bed to reach for his robe to cover up all of his hideous scars from years of crime-fighting. Once the robe was on, his hand returned to cover his face and he turned around to face Clark, who was clearly assessing the damage and the accuracy of Bruce’s lie.
“What did you do?”
“I just tripped, caught the carpet,” Bruce said quickly, hoping Clark would leave so he could clean up the blood. “Really Clark, it’s nothing. I’m so sorry I woke you up.”
“No need to be sorry, I’m just glad you’re okay,” Clark admittedly sincerely, which only churned Bruce’s heart. Clark’s sleepy smile faded. “Why are you holding your hand in front of your mouth?”
“Oh--what?” Bruce forced out a broken chuckle. “Nothing, bad morning breath. Really, I’m fine, nothing to worry about-”
Bruce cut himself off when Clark walked toward him and gently pushed his hand out of the way. Clark’s gasp turned Bruce’s blood cold.
“Bruce oh my god-”
“I’m sorry, it’s not as bad as it looks,” Bruce insisted, taking several steps back, but Clark’s warm hands on his hips pulled him toward the other. “Wha-”
“There’s broken glass behind you,” Clark explained, and before Bruce could overthink, the warm hands were removed and Clark took several steps back. “How did this happen?”
“I told you it was nothing,” Bruce insisted, pushing past his thoughts screaming in his head. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, you’re bleeding!” Clark’s hand reached out to cup his face, but Bruce automatically swatted at his hand before it could reach him.
Bruce looked down at his own hand, mildly horrified at having just slapped the back of his best friend’s hand.
“Don’t!” He said sharply, and his voice surprised both him and Clark. Bruce looked down at his feet, withdrawing into himself. “Please don’t touch me. I…I don’t want to hurt you too.”
“Hurt me?” Clark seemed baffled by the idea. “Bruce, you could never hurt me.”
The panic was returning again, and pieces of his nightmare resurfaced every time he closed his eyes.
“You don’t know that,” Bruce rasped out. “You don’t…I already have…”
“B, you’re not making any sense. What are you talking about ‘you have’?”
“Don’t you get it? I ruin everything I touch…taint everything. You’re perfect and my-my darkness will just destroy you, I can’t stand to hurt you, Clark-”
“You’re not hurting me,” Clark assured, his hands rubbing against Bruce’s biceps. “You are the best person in my life.”
“Don’t say that,” Bruce just pushed him away, his heart racing as his breathing became heavier. He felt dizzy like the floor was just going to open up and swallow him. “Don’t say that, it’s not true.”
His lungs felt like they were filling with water. His eyes were filling with water, and rivers ran down his cheeks as he gasped for air.
“It’s not true.”
“No,” Clark walked toward him, pulling Bruce in by his hips, despite Bruce’s protests. “No, you listen to me, Bruce Wayne. You are everything to me. You’re not full of darkness, but light, and if you think for one minute I’ll ever let that go, you’re wrong. I love you, just as you are.”
That was the final straw, the crack in the dam that broke Bruce, and he crumbled against Clark, crying softly, and Clark pulled him so close, it almost hurt. But Bruce would happily die in Clark’s warm embrace, that kept the nightmares at bay, that could bring him back from even the darkest places.
“Blood,” Bruce weakly tried to warn Clark, but Clark just shook his head.
“It’ll wash out,” He whispered against Bruce’s hair.
Once Bruce cried himself out, Clark carried him to the bathroom and set him down on the vanity where he examined his bloody nose and lip. They cleaned up the shattered glass and the blood and Clark rinsed out his shirt in the sink and threw it into the hamper. Clark made sure Bruce drank something so he wasn’t dehydrated before he carried the dark knight to bed.
They situated under the covers together that weren’t so suffocating after all, and only once they were wrapped up in each other, Clark fast asleep did Bruce whisper,
“I love you too.”