Chapter Text
There were always ups and downs for Superman during a fight: times when the going would get tough, absolutely brutal, and times when he was flying high, taking wins left and right. These highs and lows were par for the course, but he suspected that no one knew what the most demanding part of the fight was for Superman.
It was the debriefing afterwards.
This was a time when every single one of his faults was pointed out, one by one. After that, each mistake was closely analyzed in excruciating detail, courtesy of every other member of the Justice League. To add insult to injury, Clark had to sit and take every single hit, unable to fight back.
Clark glanced at the clock on the Watchtower wall. No, not safe yet. About sixty more minutes to go.
While the others were talking, he mentally did his safety check. Limbs: keep them stable. Don’t flail, no sudden movements. Eyes: no burning. If they start to burn, close them fast. Lungs: take only small breaths. Focus on room temperature exhalations. Emotions: stay calm and—
“Kal, are you even listening?” Hal wrenched him from his thoughts.
Clark started to respond, but was interrupted by Barry. “He doesn’t want to hear your annoying voice. It’s why he keeps breaking his communicator, right Supes?”
Clark faked a bright Superman smile and joked, “Right.”
Diana interjected, “Kal has superhearing, so he can hear us all without the communicator. It was probably just an accident.”
Bruce added, “Trust me, it was an accident. Kal is intimately familiar with just how much each damaged communicator costs the League.” A pointed look.
Clark managed to look sheepish. “Yes, I’m sorry.” He was. The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for Bruce and the rest of the League. It truly had been an accident. After the fight, he’d tapped it to switch channels, a little too hard, and it had disintegrated into a fine powder.
“We all make mistakes. Let’s move back to the fight analysis.” J’onn suggested.
Bruce continued the breakdown, “After the robots took to the air, Superman flew after them and fell for their trap. They were able to shoot Kal down with some sort of kryptonite-infused beam. Thankfully, he was able to recover quickly from the sun’s radiation, but it set the fight back.”
Hal snorted and looked at Clark, “Why didn’t you just dodge it? What’s the point of you having superspeed if you don’t use it?”
Barry defended, “Just because you’re fast doesn’t mean you can pay attention to everything.”
Diana tried to help, “Maybe next time, if you can’t dodge you could use your heat vision to meet the beam halfway?”
On and on, Clark was made painfully aware of everything he might have done better. He forced a smile to his face and took it in stride. Of course, the other heroes got their own analyses, too. However, none of them had the battle potential of Superman and their lists of grievances were relatively brief.
“Not taking notes today, Supes?” Barry asked. Clark usually wrote everything down, his journalistic side enjoying the catharsis of expelling his failures.
Clark glanced at the clock. Thirty more minutes until it’s safe .
“Not today.”
“Right. ‘Cause it’s all jotted down in your superbrain.” Hal joked, “Maybe you could use that superbrain more in our fights and we could get out of these meetings faster.”
Bruce growled, “Hal, that’s enough. You will treat Kal, along with every member of the Justice League with respect.”
Hal seemed a bit taken aback, but recovered quickly. “Spooky is right, sorry Supes. I’ve got a killer headache today and I’m being kind of an ass.”
“No harm done.” But Clark’s smile felt frozen, and his finger had spasmed with an involuntary twitch. Thank God his hands were still on his lap, where he couldn’t accidentally hurt anyone.
Batman dismissed the League and the members filed out quickly, leaving Bruce and Clark in the room together alone. Clark stood and glanced at the clock. Darn it, fifteen more minutes . He gritted his teeth.
Bruce took off his cowl and prowled over to Clark. Before his boyfriend could touch him, Clark took a step back.
Bruce gave him an odd look and said, “Don’t worry I looped the camera feed and remotely locked the doors. No one will see me without the cowl… or anything else.” Bruce raised an eyebrow suggestively.
Clark felt his face grow hot. He couldn’t meet Bruce’s gaze. “Oh, um, I’m sorry Bruce but not right now.”
“Never thought I’d see the day my boyfriend turned me down,” Bruce said dramatically, “But I’d settle for a kiss.”
Bruce stepped forward and Clark mirrored with a step back, “I’m sorry, but—”
“Ok Clark, what's wrong?” Bruce crossed his arms. “Something is clearly going on in that gorgeous head of yours.”
“...Nothing.” He couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t.
Bruce closed the distance and wrapped Clark in a hug, and it took every bit of his willpower to keep his arms at his sides, to not hug Bruce back.
Bruce sighed and pulled away when it was clear that Clark wasn’t reciprocating. “Alright Clark, you’re telling me or I’m going to have to start Protocol M. You’ve never turned down a hug.”
Clark groaned. Protocol M was something Bruce had come up with to determine if League members were under mind control, or magic, or fear toxin, or possessed, or… at least ten other options that Clark didn’t like to think about.
“Bruce I’m not mind controlled, I just don’t want to talk to you about this. It didn’t really matter until today.” Looking into Bruce’s eyes, Clark knew that his boyfriend wouldn’t drop this. Bruce was a detective and Clark was currently presenting a mystery he very much wanted to figure out.
“Ok, I’ll tell you. Just… Please don’t judge me.”
Bruce’s eyes softened and he nodded.
“Normally after our battles we have a bit of buffer time between the fight and our debrief.”
Bruce’s brow wrinkled with confusion, “I suppose we usually take time to shower and change.”
Clark nodded, “And today we didn’t.” He looked back up at the clock. A few more minutes .
“You’re saying I stink?” Bruce looked amused.
“Oh God, no not at all. You’re perfect, B.” Clark gave him a real smile this time, then took a deep breath and steeled himself, “Did you know that Kryptonians are affected by adrenaline too?”
Bruce cocked his head to the side. Clark could see that brilliant mind of his turning.
“Bruce, I try so hard to act human that I’m not sure everyone else realizes just how much effort it takes. I don’t want you, or anyone, to think of me as an alien,” Clark’s voice cracked and he reeled in his emotions. He needed to stay calm.
Bruce finished his thought for him, “But after a battle, you feel like the adrenaline makes it that much harder to control yourself. You don’t want to hurt us, but you’re worried you will accidentally.”
Clark nodded, “I always give myself a full two hours after a fight to try and meditate. A flick of my finger can shatter marble. A jerk of my knee could tear through steel. I just… I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
Bruce was already shaking his head, “I’m not,” he said simply. “What time are we at? How long has it been?”
Clark glanced at the clock and exhaled with relief, “Just passed the two hour mark.”
“Good, then I can get that kiss I’m owed.” Bruce surged forward and Clark let his head be angled down for a kiss. He finally trusted himself enough to wrap his arms around Bruce’s waist and hold him close.
Bruce settled his chin on Clark’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you didn’t just tell me. A mandatory post-battle break is something the League can accommodate for easily. And if you don’t want anyone to know the real reason why, I’ll just tell them that they stink too much for your super-nose to handle.”
“Please don’t tell them that,” Clark groaned.
Bruce pulled back with a mischievous grin, “Now back to my earlier suggestion…”
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
After a few days passed, Clark had thought that was the end of it. He figured that Bruce would respect his after-battle boundaries and he could continue his safety checklist process in peace. He should’ve known otherwise.
The two of them were currently in their loungewear, cuddling on the couch. It was Friday night, and work had been slower this week at the Daily Planet. Normally, Clark would have a hard time pulling Bruce away from patrolling Gotham. Tonight however, Bruce had planned a romantic night in Metropolis for just the two of them. Afterwards, they’d had dinner and dessert back at the manor—courtesy of Alfred—while they watched Clark’s favorite movie. The fireplace was crackling and all of the kids were out of the house, on patrol or in another city.
That should’ve been Clark’s first clue that Bruce was up to something.
Bruce paused the movie and faced him. “Clark, I think I can help.”
Clark immediately knew that Bruce was referring to their conversation from the previous day and groaned with frustration. Bruce was tenacious. Once he got something in his head, he pursued it relentlessly.
Sensing Clark’s disregard, Bruce continued, “Hear me out.”
“Bruce, I’m not one of your bat-tools that you can just fix. I’m a person and I’ve been living with this every day of my crime-fighting life.”
“Respectfully, I disagree”
“You can’t just say ‘respectfully’ while disrespecting my boundaries to make yourself sound considerate,” Clark pointed out.
Bruce persisted, “I’d like to ask you a question.”
Clark sighed, “Fine. What’s your question?”
“Have you ever hurt anyone you’ve saved during battle?”
His gut clenched. “So you are scared that I’ll hurt someone.”
“No, Clark. Because I already know the answer. You haven’t.”
Clark relented, trying to hide his relief, “Ok, what’s your point, then?”
Bruce threaded his fingers through Clark’s. “My point is that if there were ever a time you’d be most likely to hurt someone, whether it’s adrenaline or some Kryptonian version of it, it would’ve already happened during a battle. I think your issue is psychosomatic.”
“Bruce, it’s not like I haven’t thought about this before. I know that I’ve never hurt innocents, but for some reason, after a fight, I’ll touch the League communicator and it will turn to dust. I’ll turn a door handle and it will vaporize under my grip. I’ll pick up a pen and accidentally crush it into a puddle of ink. I don’t mean to do it, and that scares me. You need to take this seriously.”
“I see. Then I’ll take this seriously.” Bruce was nodding. Clark narrowed his eyes. The speed at which Bruce had immediately relented made Clark suspicious. He felt like prey being driven into a trap.
“And since this is so serious, I took the liberty of building you a training room. In a controlled environment, we can practice your fight responses.”
“Bruce, I don’t know…” Clark’s gut reaction was absolutely not , but his affection for Bruce and his curiosity about what his boyfriend was planning made him waver.
After a minute of deliberation he swallowed and said, “I’ll give it a try.”