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Bruce could tell you in many ways how the weight of change sat in your chest. Pressing against every heartbeat with frost tipped fingers that dug into your core as you reeled. The ground beneath giving way like a sand dune rotting from inside before piling high above your head to swallow you whole. Gasping, Dizzy in a headlight haze as dread chases every thought.
Things are different.
Things are worse.
And crucially; you hold no power to change course.
The day his parents died, his world collapsing in ragged shards that cracked with the gunshots that ended their lives. Alone, hands bleeding as he tried to desperately reconstruct what was long beyond saving. Alone, for hours with their bodies until they were found. A family outing. Their last joy bled into the concrete. Just another gunshot in crime alley. Just another orphan on the streets.
When Jason died. Explosion ringing into the Ethiopian air with a bitter tang that stung his throat, smoke biting at his lungs as he dragged the body from the wreckage. His son as limp in his hold as his mothers arm had been clutched to his chest. The sky bending until it broke over his head in a torrent. Powerless. Weak. The grave mocked him just as easily as the man who set the charges.
It played on repeat, no matter any effort he took to right the skipping record. No life that touched his was spared from the fallout.
It shouldn't have been a shock when the man that had drawn his attention so deeply, plucked the curiosity in his chest until it sang, finally been victim to that skipping record.
A mission so simple he'd hardly considered it a task for the world's finest, Clark tagging along despite his protests. He'd only managed half of what he should have. Arguments dying on his lips as soon as he looked at those eyes. Full of mirth and that spark of knowledge. Their song and dance swinging to another crescendo as Bruce gave in to the prodding once again. Undying chatter filling his ears with Clark's heavy Kansas twang that he didn't bother hiding when they were alone anymore; Ease in their familiarity. Always leaving Bruce with thoughts of the lowest strings of his guitar, sound warm and full as it washed over him. The edge of something else teasing at it's edges as his friend nudged him along. Never deterred by his almost replies, his gruff direct statements that held others at an arms length easily brushed aside same as any bullet leveled at Superman's chest.
He'd been doomed as soon as that damned word entered Bruce's thoughts.
Love.
Thought unrestrained as they sat in the cave together, his muscles aching from another hard mission. Clark handing him a slice of his mothers famous apple pie and a cup of coffee. Hand carding through sweat sticky hair that clung to Bruce's forehead without hesitation. Featherlight and careful, the touch pulling the worry from his chest for just a moment. Just long enough for him to ponder quietly when he'd come to love this. Tired mind not dwelling, they simply chatted through their post mission report for the league. Lex Luthor's latest plot relegated to background noise behind their children's life updates. Cass's recital and Jon's latest baseball game. How Lois's new relationship was going and how that conversation ate the entire afternoon at the planet. He'd remembered then, the breakup, how Clark came to him like a wilted sunflower haunting the corner of the cave until Bruce had dragged the details out of him. Falling asleep in the theatre upstairs with a favorite of Bruce's still flicking over the screen. The Cowboy and The Lady spinning it's familiar tale with Cooper at it's lead.
It was easier to let his mind wander to those times while his hands worked. Easier to remember Clark's warm breath on his neck than the blood coating his sterile gloves. Tools that had no place breaking the skin cutting easily through Kryptonite weakened flesh. The glowing green bullet lodged between his ribs all too close to the mans heart than it had any right to be. It was his fault. He'd missed the shipment sent to one of Luthor's out of state sites. Thought, Hoped, that they had deprived the maniac of every ounce of the damned crystal that had ever caught his gaze. Proven wrong by the glint at the tip of the barrel as the shot rang out. A flash of green that burrowed into Clark like a hot knife, superman collapsing under the red sun lamps hidden through the warehouse.
It was supposed to be a simple job.
A gun shipment.
Some gang in Gotham getting cocky again.
Anything but this.
Clark groaned again, gripping the table under him with fingers that should have folded the metal like paper. White knuckles on his shaking hand as Bruce pulled every shard of Kryptonite out of his chest. The only man he'd trust to be wrist deep in his chest for the task. Though, usually when you say you'd trust someone with your heart, you don't expect to see it near literally in their palms. The lenses of the cowl scanning out every shard, Deft fingers easing them out as quickly as possible. Unwilling to pause for anything, even restraining the urge to comfort Clark until the task was complete.
By the time Bruce slumped in his stool, sun lamps blazing above them, he was covered up to his elbows. Heart finally calming in his chest as Superman's breaths lost their stutter. Skin kitting together slowly under the light as they did their work. Peeling the gloves from his hands to throw in the pile of contaminated materials. Stumbling over to look at his face despite the sharp ticks up pain rolling up his leg, despite the limp that would surely haunt him for the next few weeks. Careful to not stand in the path of the lamps outside of leaning over in a moment of weakness to barely touch his cheek. He was alive. That's all that mattered.
Bruce didn't see Clark cracking open an eye behind him. Smile on his lips as he watched the cape fade into the darkness. Still too weak to see into the shadows that Bruce hid himself away in. The quiet strength of Bruce's hard won care and attention, unspoken to the point of bullheaded avoidance, shining through the cracks in his armor with the force of every star that guided him to Earth. From the Lights above his head to the broken shards of Kryptonite it howled louder than the roar of Metropolis; And for now that was good enough. Letting the weight of his eyelids win Clark drifted into a calm sleep.