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Summary
The red fabric pooled in his hands, strong but unbelievably soft. Bruce itched to know what it was made out of. Would the fibers match anything on Earth? What would it look like under a microscope? Was it flame retardant? Could it be torn or damaged? How was it able to stop bullets and still be this... soft?
"It was my baby blanket." Clark hummed.
Bruce stopped breathing.
It transformed from the cape of the strongest man on the planet into an infant's swaddle; a relic of a dead world, a soft token of a mother's love that was strong enough to keep her baby safe thirty-three years later. Bruce hadn't cried in almost eighteen years, but tonight, he was about to break that streak.