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Clark recognises Bruce's familiar silhouette, the look of the cloak and cowl etched into his mind. He lowers himself, in front of Bruce, and their eyes meet.
Usually, Bruce was hard to read, any trace of emotion was hidden behind an impenetrable facade. This time Bruce's face is bare, even with the cowl. The pain and anger was plain in his eyes. It sends a chill down Clark's spine.
"I'm here to stop you," Clark says "but I don't want to fight you"
-
Bruce can feel the anger bubble inside of him, like a thick bile. How dare he try and stop him. He wouldn't let anyone stop him from delivering justice. Not Alfred, not Superman, not even Clark.
He reaches for the kryptonite in his belt, it's powdered, for the most effectiveness. He throws it towards Clark. It isn't enough to completely immobilise Clark, but it is enough to even the playing field. It will make Superman susceptible to his punches. He launches towards the, now vulnerable, man of steel. The kryptonite caused Clark to be disoriented at first, Bruce was able to strike his face and stomach before Clark started to defend. Defending was all that Clark did, he never threw a punch in return. That angered Bruce. It fucking infuriated him. Throw a fucking punch you useless bastard.
---
Bruce was in no state to be fighting. Clark knew it, he could see how Bruce's relentless quest for vengeance had weathered away at his body. He was injured and tired. He probably hadn't eaten or slept in a few days. He knew how Bruce was when he became obsessed, and the overwhelming grief would only confound his lack of self-preservation.
Clark gripped Bruce by his arms, not letting him move. Clark isn't sure exactly how long they spent fighting, but it was long enough for the effects of the kryptonite to wear off, even a hint of weakness would be enough for Bruce to figure out something, to fight off his hold. Clark could see the rageful determination in his eyes. He spoke softly in an attempt of reassurance.
“I can't let you do something you'll regret”
“There won't be any regret ” Bruce barks back, words dripping with venom, desperation, and anger.
“I don't want to lose you Bruce” Clark pleads as softly as he can.
“Please Bruce, I love you. you are my dearest friend”
“I don't want to lose you” he knew it was a selfish request but it was true he couldn't stand to see Bruce lose himself.
“He doesn't deserve to live” Bruce snarls as he tries to loosen Clark's grip.
“I know” Clark grimaces, he dreads what he is about to say but it must be said.
“Sometimes people who deserve death, live, and the people who deserve to live… don't,” the words are bitter on clarks tongue, “I'm sorry”.
Bruce's eyes dart upwards at Clark's words full of anger, and then his anger grows tired and all that is left in his eyes is sadness and tears. Before Bruce, finally, averts Clark's gaze. With that motion, Clark feels the tension in Bruce's body release. Bruce wasn't going to fight him anymore. He no longer had the strength. That's why he said nothing when Clark lifted him off the ground and held him tight, tighter than usual, as he flew through the sky. A part of him was afraid that if he carried Bruce like he usually did, the man would somehow slip through his hands.
“I'll take you back to the mansion.... okay?” Clark asks as he navigates the night sky, he avoids the clouds. He knows how cold they are for humans, even humans like Bruce who seems to lack weakness.
“ No… there is too much of him there. I don't-” Bruce pauses trying not to let his voice waver anymore than it already had, “the mansion isn't an option”
The vulnerability in Bruce's voice was alarming to Clark, yet a part of him was glad to hear it. He was glad that it was him who Bruce chose to be vulnerable with.
Clark went through more locations in his mind but he knew that he wasn't comfortable leaving Bruce in the care of anyone else other than him or Alfred. Not in this state. “I guess you’ll have to spend the night at my place then” he offers.
Bruce says nothing in objection, which is the closest thing Clark was getting to a yes.
---
“You can sleep here tonight,” Clark says as he opens the door to his apartment.
Clark's apartment is modest, as he likes to call it, Bruce would describe it as cramped, but he doesn't use half the rooms in his house so most homes would seem cramped to him. But despite that, he was here with Clark.
“You can stay as long as you need” Clark amended
“Thanks...” Bruce says audibly drained, not that Clark needed to hear his voice to know he was tired, everything about the man exudes exhaustion. Clark wonders how long he neglected his body, fueled by the anger and sorrow and the need for revenge. Guilt swells in his chest, he should have been there for Bruce sooner.
Clark ignores the feeling as he guides Bruce to the bathroom. “You need to wash off the blood, your wounds will get infected,” Clark says, trying to meet Bruce's eyes, who hums in what Clark will have to assume is agreement.
Clark lets the water in the shower run waiting for it to warm up as Bruce removes the cowl, his hair matted down with sweat and grease. Somehow it suits him. Bruce lets his armor fall off his body. Clark guides Bruce's bare body into the shower, he watches as the water runs down his back, turning a diluted red by the time it hits the shower floor. He doesn't bother with soap, getting the blood off is good enough (for now). The water had long run clear by the time Clark wrapped the man in a towel, trying to dry him off as gently as possible. Clark dressed Bruce in a pair of pajamas he didn't use often, the pants were too short for him, they fit Bruce better.
–
Bruce slowly lies down on the bed in front of him, he feels a blanket fall along his body, and how Clark adjusts the blanket to make sure it covers his whole body. Like tucking a child into bed, his heart aches at the realization. The anger, grief, and sorrow muddied together into a large painful lump in his chest. It makes him want to throw up. It makes him want to hurl the blanket off his back and go back out, in search of the monster that took his baby from him. His mind is screaming at him to get up but his pathetic body won't listen.
–
As Clark puts the blanket on Bruce he notices how Bruce curls up. It's strange to see him like this, so vulnerable. Maybe he shouldn't be seeing it.
“I'll go sleep on the couch”
Clark waits for a response, not that he's expecting one. He is however hoping for one, one that asks him to stay, a response that tells him to stay.
Bruce mumbles out, so quietly most people would have missed it, “You don't have to..”
Clark was glad for his super hearing because he was sure that this was Bruce's way of asking him to stay by his side.
Clark laid down on the other side of the bed, facing Bruce, his common sense telling him that he should turn around but he was afraid to let the broken man out of his sight.
Bruce's body curled towards him, Clark draped his arm across Bruce's body gently placing his hand on Bruce's back. He felt Bruce tense at the touch before burying himself further into Clark's chest like he was desperate for a source of warmth.
The sleep that night was scarce and restless, Clark heard every quiet sob, felt every tensing muscle and saw each time Bruce's jaw clenched, and each moment of pain he witnessed caused a wave of guilt to wash over him. Bruce was mourning the loss of his child, an inconsolable pain that left Bruce a broken man. Clark knew this was the reason for his vulnerability, the physical touch between them was out of necessity, Bruce needed it. He needed a friend, and here Clark was getting flushed at the idea that they were cuddling. God, he was a terrible person, longing for a man in mourning.