Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Watchtower was never truly silent.

Even orbiting above Earth, humming with power and shielded by alien tech, it still had its own kind of pulse — the soft whirring of machinery, the hum of energy fields, and the murmur of voices echoing through the metallic corridors.

Today, though, there was a different kind of buzz.

Rumors.

“Did you hear,” whispered Vixen as she passed through the commissary, “that Batman doesn’t sleep? Like — ever?”

“Yeah,” said Blue Beetle, eyes wide behind his mask. “I heard he can phase through walls. Someone said they saw him appear inside the containment wing once, without using a door”

“Please,” scoffed Black Canary, stirring her coffee. “He’s not a ghost"

But then she paused, thinking. “…right?”

Across the room, a group of younger heroes huddled around a table like kids telling campfire stories.

“You know how every camera feed glitches when he walks by?” said one. “That’s not normal tech interference. It’s his aura. It messes with electronics”

Another leaned in. “I heard he doesn’t breathe. Martian Manhunter tried to read his mind once and passed out. They had to reboot him”

“You’re joking,” said one of the Titans, a new recruit, though his expression betrayed uncertainty. “You’re all joking, right?”

“Are we?” murmured Vixen, sipping her coffee with a smirk.

No one could tell anymore.

And that was the problem.

---

Later that day…

“Guys,” Green Lantern said between chuckles as he floated into the briefing room, “you have got to see the faces on the newbies when they realize Batman’s due to arrive”

Flash was already laughing before Lantern finished. “Did you tell them the one about him feeding on fear again?”

“Oh, I did more than that,” Lantern grinned. “I said he absorbs it. Like a psychic leech"

Flash bent over laughing, hands on his knees. “Oh man, you’re terrible"

Diana gave them both a look that could have cut steel. “You two are spreading nonsense.”

“Not nonsense,” Flash corrected, straightening up. “Morale management"

“By terrifying our allies?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“They respect him more this way!” Lantern protested.

Clark, sitting quietly at the table with his tablet, glanced up with that small, knowing smile of his. “You do realize they actually believe it now, right?”

“Yeah,” Flash said, still smirking. “It’s hilarious"

Clark leaned back in his chair. “It won’t be when Bruce finds out”

There was a brief pause.

“…He’s not gonna find out,” Lantern said confidently.

“Right?”

---

Fifteen Minutes Later

The doors to the meeting room hissed open.

And Batman walked in.

The air pressure seemed to drop.

He didn’t do entrances. He manifested. One moment, the doorway was empty — the next, there was a six-foot shadow cloaked in black and judgment.

Every conversation died mid-sentence.

Even the hum of the Watchtower seemed quieter.

The newer members straightened instantly, chairs scraping back, eyes wide. One even saluted.

Batman stopped just inside the doorway, scanning the room with that cold, unreadable stare. His cape swayed slightly as if responding to an invisible current. His voice, when it came, was low and gravel-edged.

“Status report.”

Nobody spoke.

The silence was so thick you could’ve cut it with Wonder Woman’s sword.

Flash, fighting the urge to laugh, cleared his throat and nudged Green Lantern. “Uh, Hal, you wanna—uh—update him?”

Lantern swallowed hard. “Oh, yeah, right...” He straightened, glancing nervously toward Batman, who was still glaring at the table like it had personally offended him. “Everything’s, uh… under control, Bats”

Batman’s eyes flicked toward him. “Define ‘control'”

Lantern froze. “Uh. Tight. Totally tight control. Like—space-tight. You know. No, uh, leaks”

Across the table, Clark pressed a hand to his mouth to hide a smile.

---

After the Meeting

Batman disappeared the moment it ended, as usual.

One moment he was there, the next — gone. No sound. No motion. Just… absence.

“See?” one of the newer members whispered, staring at the now-empty doorway. “He just vanishes"

“I told you,” said another. “He’s not human”

Flash and Lantern exchanged a look.

And maybe — just maybe — a flicker of guilt.

“Okay,” Flash said later, as they headed toward the observation deck. “So maybe it’s getting a little out of hand”

“A little?” Lantern frowned. “They think he’s some kind of cosmic predator. I heard one of the rookies burned sage in the hall to keep him away”

“Yeah,” said Flash, “but you gotta admit — it’s funny”

Lantern grinned. “It’s hilarious.”

---

Elsewhere: The Observation Deck

Clark was standing by the window, arms folded, gazing down at the blue-green curve of the Earth below. He didn’t have to turn when Bruce appeared behind him — he just knew.

“You let them talk,” Bruce said quietly.

Clark smiled faintly. “You mean the rookies? Or Hal and Barry?”

“Both.”

“They’re harmless.”

“They’re idiots.”

Clark turned to face him then, that familiar warmth in his eyes that somehow never softened Batman’s glare. “You know you don’t exactly discourage it, right? You vanish, you appear in shadows, you growl more than you talk…”

“That’s called discipline,” Bruce said.

“That’s called being theatrical,” Clark countered.

Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something — amusement, maybe. Or annoyance. With him, the line was thin. “I use whatever works"

Clark took a step closer, lowering his voice. “You realize half the League thinks you eat souls now?”

“Good,” Bruce said. “Keeps them efficient.”

Clark laughed quietly, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Bruce turned toward the window, the faintest smirk ghosting across his mouth. “You didn’t correct them either”

“No,” Clark admitted. “I like watching them panic. But as long as they stay away from you I'll take it"

There was a long, comfortable silence after that — the kind that came only between people who had been through too much together to need words.

Finally, Clark murmured, “You know, they say legends are born from fear”

Bruce’s eyes stayed fixed on the planet below. “No. Legends are born from misdirection"

He paused.

Then added dryly:

“…and apparently, Flash"

---

The next day, an anonymous memo circulated through the Watchtower’s internal network.

> To all personnel:

Please refrain from attempting to collect “samples,” holy water, or garlic when interacting with Batman.

There have been incidents.

— Management

Three weeks later, the Watchtower had become… strange.

Not alien strange — that was normal.

This was Batman strange.

It started with whispers.

Then precautions.

Then rituals.

And now?

Now, the League’s newest recruits were actively redecorating the orbital station to “keep the darkness at bay.”

---

“Why are there crosses on the door?” Cyborg asked flatly.

There were indeed — crosses. Handmade, uneven, some carved from wood, others drawn in marker. They covered the entrance to the mess hall like a holy barricade.

Blue Beetle glanced over his shoulder nervously. “They’re, uh, just a precaution"

“Against what?”

“Batman.”

Vic blinked. “You mean Bruce?"

The rookie looked scandalized. “You can’t say his name!”

“…I just did"

“Don’t! He can hear it. Through the shadows”

Cyborg stared at him. “Through—? It’s a space station. There are lights everywhere.”

“Exactly,” Beetle hissed. “He'll hear us!”

Vic pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been hanging around Flash and Hal too much.”

“They told me he feeds on fear,” Beetle muttered. “They said if I stop feeling fear, he can’t sense me.”

“You’re literally shaking right now.”

“Yeah,” Beetle said, “because I’m terrified”

Meanwhile, the recruits were arming themselves. Not against aliens, or cosmic threats, or dimensional horrors — but against one man.

Plastic Man walked into the armory, stopped dead, and just stared.

Half a dozen rookies were there — Kid Devil, Firehawk, Atom Smasher, and a couple of others — all huddled around a table covered in… nonsense.

Garlic bulbs. Wooden stakes. A silver chain.

One had even modified a blaster rifle to fire small, sharpened crosses.

“…What in the stretchy hell is this?” Plastic Man asked.

“It’s preparation,” said Firehawk solemnly. “Batman’s not human”

“Oh, I’ve heard that one before,” Plastic Man said, grinning. “You kids think he’s a what now?”

“Vampire,” said Atom Smasher, dead serious. “Or a fear demon”

Kid Devil crossed himself. “Maybe both"

Plastic Man snorted. “You think Batman’s a vampire? The guy eats protein bars and lectures us about caffeine”

“That’s what he wants you to think,” whispered Firehawk.

In the main conference room, Diana stood with her arms folded, staring at a holo-feed of the Watchtower corridors.

Every corner, every door, every reflective surface had been plastered with something — talismans, chalk circles, salt lines, even stickers that read "NO ENTRY: FEAR EXTRACTION ZONE"

“This is getting ridiculous,” she said.

Clark sighed, rubbing his temples. “I told you it would get worse”

Flash was leaning back in his chair, feet on the table, trying (and failing) to stop laughing. “Oh come on, this is gold"

“It’s chaos,” Diana countered.

“It’s morale-building,” Flash said defensively. “Look — they’re bonding! Nothing unites people like a shared existential dread"

Hal leaned forward, grinning. “Yeah, a little fear’s good for discipline"

“Until someone gets hurt,” Clark said quietly. “You realize some of them are armed?”

The laughter stopped.

“…Armed with what?” Hal asked cautiously.

“Silver bullets,” Clark said. “Blessed by priests apparently"

There was a long pause.

Then Flash muttered, “Oh crap"

---

Elsewhere, in a dimly lit storage room near the docking bay, six rookies huddled around a flickering lamp.

The leader — a tall, nervous meta named Argent — spoke in a hushed voice.

“He knows we’re onto him,” she whispered. “I saw him watching me through the security cameras”

“You mean the security system?” someone asked.

“No,” Argent said gravely. “Through them"

Gasps.

“He’s feeding,” muttered Firehawk. “I felt it. My fear was… lighter afterward!”

“That’s because you panic constantly,” someone muttered.

Argent slammed her hand on the table. “Listen! We can’t just wait for him to drain us all. We need to act!”

“You mean—?”

“Perhaps we have to stop him… permanently"

The silence that followed was heavy and terrified.

“I don’t want to kill Batman,” one said quietly. “But if he’s not human—”

“Then he’s a threat,” Argent finished.

They all nodded.

A plan began to take shape.

---

Batman was, of course, aware.

He didn’t need super-hearing to know what was going on. The cameras told him everything. The trembling glances in the halls, the garlic taped to consoles, the whispered prayers when he passed — it was all there, recorded in cold digital precision.

He watched in silence from the monitor room, the light from the screens reflecting off the pale lower half of his cowl.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

But after a long moment, his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but dangerously close.

Behind him, Clark floated, protective.

“They’re planning something,” Clark said softly.

“I know.”

“You could just tell them the truth”

“I could”

Clark folded his arms, amused. “You’re enjoying this"

“No,” Bruce said. Then, after a pause: “Maybe a little"

Clark sighed, half laughing. “You’re impossible”

Bruce turned slightly toward him, the faintest gleam in his eyes.

“They think I feed on fear,” he said.

“Because you do,” Clark said gently. “Just… not like they think"

For the first time that evening, Bruce’s expression softened.

“Let them believe what they need to,” he said finally. “Fear keeps them sharp"

Clark’s gaze lingered on him, affectionate despite himself. “You know one day they might actually try something"

Bruce’s smirk deepened, cold and dark. “Then they’ll learn"

In the conference room Flash was pale. “We have to tell them the truth”

“No,” said Hal. “We can’t. He’ll kill us"

Clark sighed. “He won’t kill you”

“He’ll glare at us”

Clark hesitated. “…That’s fair”

Diana just folded her arms. “I warned you"

Hal buried his face in his hands. “We’ve created a cult"

Flash groaned. “A vampire cult”

“And Batman,” Clark said with a quiet smile, “is the patron saint.."

The Watchtower’s main briefing chamber hadn’t been this full since the invasion of Thanagar. Every chair was occupied, every corner packed. Even the back row — usually reserved for latecomers and brooding loners — was crammed with recruits clutching notepads, crosses, or energy blades “just in case”

The Founders sat at the front like teachers about to address a classroom of misbehaving children.

Diana looked regal and serene.

Clark was calm, patient, and slightly exasperated.

Flash looked like he was trying not to laugh.

Hal looked guilty.

Cyborg had both hands clasped over his mouth — partly to stifle laughter, partly disbelief.

J’onn was unreadable, though if you looked closely, his eyes held amusement.

And then there was him.

Batman.

Standing. Arms crossed. Silent as the void of space.

Every time his cape shifted, someone in the crowd flinched.

Diana was the first to speak. “We’ve gathered everyone because there are… misconceptions circulating throughout the Watchtower"

Nervous murmuring rippled through the room.

Clark rose to his feet, hands raised in a peaceful gesture. “We’ve all heard the rumors. They’ve… gotten out of hand"

Someone in the back whispered, “He’s using mind control right now"

Clark sighed audibly.

“This is about Batman,” Diana continued firmly. “And we’re going to clarify the facts"

All eyes — terrified, reverent, or skeptical — turned toward the shadow at the front.

Batman said nothing.

Flash leaned over to Hal. “This is so much better than cable"

Hal elbowed him. “Shut up, man"

Clark cleared his throat. “Alright. Let’s go through these one by one”

He lifted a datapad. “Rumor number one: Batman is a vampire"

Half the room tensed.

“He’s not,” Clark said simply.

There was a pause. Someone whispered, “That’s exactly what a vampire’s friend would say"

Clark exhaled slowly through his nose. “He’s not undead. He doesn’t drink blood. He doesn’t avoid sunlight—”

“Actually,” Flash muttered, “he does kinda avoid sunlight"

Batman simply glared him to silence.

Clark continued, pretending not to notice the visible panic. “Rumor number two: Batman feeds on fear”

Diana stepped forward. “Fear is a weapon. He uses it strategically, not supernaturally”

One recruit raised a hand timidly. “But… when I looked into his eyes, I saw the abyss"

Batman turned his head toward the speaker. “That’s because you missed your target during training”

The recruit visibly shrunk into their seat.

Hal coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.

“Rumor number three,” Clark continued. “He’s a demon”

“False,” Diana said sharply. “He’s mortal”

Another rookie raised a hand. “Then how come he never bleeds?”

“I do,” Batman said simply.

“Prove it,” someone whispered.

Hal leaned over to Barry. “You owe me twenty bucks if he actually cuts himself right now”

But Bruce didn’t. He just stared them down — long enough that every recruit squirmed in their seat before looking away.

Satisfied, he continued to say nothing.

Clark sighed. “Look — Batman is human. He’s one of us. He’s just… disciplined. Focused. And, uh, not very talkative”

“Or alive,” someone whispered.

Flash raised his voice, grinning. “Come on, guys, you think an actual demon would argue about quarterly budgets?”

That earned a few nervous laughs.

Diana stepped closer to the crowd. “You have all seen him bleed for this League. You’ve seen him risk his life. No creature of shadow would do that for others”

There was a long pause — then quiet, uneasy nodding.

The tension broke just a little.

As the meeting continued, the fear began to ebb.

Clark explained the myths with a calm, journalistic patience — dismantling each superstition one by one.

Diana reminded them that bravery wasn’t the absence of fear, but mastery over it — something Batman represented better than anyone.

Cyborg even played back footage of Batman training, proving he cast a reflection and appeared perfectly normal under thermal scans.

Flash couldn’t resist adding, “He also sneezed once last week. Totally ruined the vampire vibe"

“Barry,” Bruce said quietly.

“…Right. Sorry"

By the time the meeting ended, most recruits looked sheepish, embarrassed — even a little relieved.

Batman, still silent, stood at the front, cape pooling around him like darkness made tangible. He didn’t need to say anything else. His silence said it all:

He was human… and scarier than ever anyway.

In the corridors afterward, laughter finally started to return.

“You think he really sneezed?”

“I feel so stupid..”

“Me too. I actually carried garlic in my locker”

“Same. I—wait, did you see how calm he was? Human or not, he’s still terrifying”

Clark watched from a distance, smiling faintly as he passed groups of chatting heroes.

The mood was lighter. The Watchtower felt less like a haunted cathedral and more like a team base again.

Even Bruce seemed less tense as he walked beside him down the hall.

Clark glanced over. “See? Not so bad"

“You enjoyed that,” Bruce muttered.

“A little”

“They still don’t believe it”

“Most of them do"

Bruce glanced sideways. “Most”

Clark smiled. “You’ll take that as a win”

Bruce didn’t answer — but the faintest smirk ghosted across his lips before disappearing back under the cowl.

But not everyone attended the meeting.

Four recruits had chosen to hide instead — deep within the engineering level, between maintenance shafts and reactor conduits where few dared to go.

They sat in near-darkness, listening to the hum of the station’s systems. Their names: Argent, Firehawk, Titan, and Bolt.

Argent’s eyes were wild. “You saw how everyone’s acting now, right? All… relaxed? Calm? Like they’ve been hypnotized”

“Yeah,” said Titan, gripping a makeshift stake. “They look brainwashed"

“They are brainwashed,” Firehawk insisted. “It’s him. He must’ve used some kind of fear-pulse or psychic toxin during that meeting”

“Then what do we do?” Bolt asked, eyes darting. “If he got to the League, then who’s left?”

Argent’s gaze hardened. “Us”

The others looked at her, uncertain.

“We’re the last ones who still see the truth,” she continued. “He’s manipulating them. He’s made them his thralls”

Firehawk swallowed hard. “You mean—Superman? Wonder Woman?”

“All of them,” Argent whispered. “He’s gotten inside their heads. The League is compromised...”

Titan’s grip tightened on his stake. “Then… what’s the plan?”

Argent looked toward the dark ceiling, where the faint hum of power ran through the metal.

Her voice was steady. Cold. Certain.

“We end this. Once and for all”

Bolt’s voice trembled. “You mean—?”

“If he’s human, then he can bleed,” Argent said. “And if he’s not… then at least we die fighting"

The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. Somewhere above them, a light flickered, making the shadows dance.

Chapter Text

The Watchtower’s atmosphere had been calm for days.

The paranoia was fading, the laughter had returned — and for a brief, fragile moment, things felt normal again.

Until they didn’t.

Batman stood alone in one of the satellite corridors — a quiet sector overlooking Earth’s curve.

He’d been reviewing mission data on a holographic screen, motionless except for the faint flick of his fingers. The light from the display threw sharp edges across his armor.

He didn’t hear them at first.

Four figures moving down the hall, steps soft, breaths shaky.

Argent. Firehawk. Titan. Bolt.

Their faces were pale with determination — and fear.

“Are you sure about this?” Bolt whispered.

Argent’s eyes didn’t waver. “It’s now or never"

Titan nodded tightly. “We just… talk first. See if he reacts”

They stopped at the far end of the hall.

Batman looked up.

The moment his eyes met theirs, every ounce of confidence they had evaporated.

His voice was low, measured, perfectly calm.

“You’re out of your sector”

Argent forced a smile that trembled at the edges. “We just wanted to talk”

Batman’s gaze swept over them — slow, assessing.

“About what?”

Bolt swallowed. “About… the meeting. We—uh—we weren’t there"

His tone didn’t change. “Then you should’ve been"

The four exchanged nervous glances.

Argent took a hesitant step forward. “We just—wanted to understand"

Batman didn’t move. “Then ask”

She hesitated. Her pulse pounded in her ears. The plan had seemed clear an hour ago.

Now, standing in front of him — the quiet, immovable shadow of Gotham — she could barely breathe.

Firehawk’s hand trembled. The vial of water she’d been holding slipped from her sleeve.

She panicked.

“Stay back!” she cried, and threw it.

The liquid splashed across Batman’s armor. It gleamed for a second under the corridor light — and did absolutely nothing.

He just stared at her.

No recoil. No hiss. No smoke.

Only the slow tilt of his head — cold, incredulous, and very, very human.

“What,” he said quietly, “was that?”

Firehawk stammered. “It’s—holy— I mean, we thought—”

Titan saw her falter and, in pure panic, reached for the sidearm strapped to his leg — a weapon he’d sworn would only ever be used if Batman attacked.

But fear makes people reckless.

The movement was sudden, frantic — a flash of metal, a snap of reflex. He raised the gun and fired.

Before anyone could shout, the corridor rang with a single deafening bang.

The sound echoed off the steel walls, sharp and final.

Batman staggered back a step, the breath leaving him in a rough, surprised sound — half grunt, half gasp. The holographic screen shattered beside him, scattering light like glass.

He dropped to one knee. Hand clasping at his chest.

The world seemed to stop.

Argent’s scream broke the silence. “What did you do?!”

Titan froze, staring at the weapon in his hand as if it had appeared there on its own. His voice was thin, horrified. “I—I didn’t— I thought—!”

Batman was still conscious, but dazed. He tried to rise — one hand braced against the wall — then faltered, his strength fading fast, he fell to the floor.

His breathing was uneven, shallow, labored.

Argent fell to her knees a few feet away, shaking. “Oh god. Oh no. He’s—he’s bleeding!”

Her eyes went wide, terrified, as the reality sank in. “He’s human.”

The hallway filled with the sound of her voice cracking under guilt. “He’s human!”

And then — a gust of air, a blur of red and blue, and Superman was there.

The sound of impact from his landing sent a shudder through the deck. His eyes, bright with heat and fury, swept across the scene — the trembling recruits, the fallen figure on the floor, the gun still shaking in Titan’s hand.

“What the hell did you do?” Clark’s voice was a snarl — deeper, louder than any of them had ever heard. The lights flickered with the vibration.

No one answered. They just stood frozen, caught between terror and guilt.

He took one step forward, the air vibrating around him. “Drop the weapon. Now.”

Titan obeyed instantly. The gun clattered to the floor.

Clark’s focus shifted — instantly — to Bruce.

He knelt beside him, hands trembling as they reached toward the injury, hovering, afraid to make it worse. His voice dropped, tight and desperate. “Bruce. Hey. Stay with me. Just—stay awake, okay?”

Batman’s eyes opened briefly — hazy, unfocused. He tried to speak, but the sound that left him was barely audible. His gauntleted hand moved weakly toward Clark’s shoulder, more instinct than strength.

Clark pressed his palm against the armor, trying to stabilize him, voice trembling now. “Don’t talk. You’re going to be okay, just—just stay with me”

He looked up, fury flashing through his tears. “Why?” he demanded, glaring at the recruits. “Why would you do this?!”

Argent shook her head, sobbing. “We thought—he wasn’t—he wasn’t human! We thought—he brainwashed everyone—”

Clark’s voice broke. “He’s the reason you’re alive! All of you!”

The rawness in his tone cut through the air like lightning. Even the ship seemed to hum quieter.

Behind him, Batman exhaled a slow, shallow breath — his eyes fluttering.

Clark looked down again immediately, his expression collapsing into fear. “Hey, no. No, no, no! Don’t close your eyes. Look at me, Bruce. Look at me"

His voice cracked. “Please"

He pressed one shaking hand against Bruce’s chest, blood oozing through his fingers, the other bracing his shoulder, his whole body tense — as if he could anchor him there through willpower alone.

His thoughts raced too fast to form words, but his mouth kept moving anyway, the way people do when praying and pleading are the same thing.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” he whispered.

The recruits could only stand there — horrified, silent, and shaking — as Superman knelt over the wounded man they had just discovered was, in fact, painfully human.

Clark looked up once more, voice steady now only through sheer control.

“When I move him,” he said coldly, “none of you follow. None of you come near him again. Not until I say”

They didn’t argue. They couldn’t.

He turned back to Bruce, leaning closer, his voice barely audible. “I’ve got you. Just hold on"

Bruce managed one more shallow breath, his head turning slightly toward Clark. There was something like apology in his eyes — or maybe just exhaustion.

Clark’s grip tightened. “Don’t talk. Just breathe"

The recruits didn’t dare move. The corridor was silent except for the sound of machinery and Clark’s uneven breathing.

Clark felt Bruce’s pulse falter once — just enough to send a spike of terror through him — and in that instant, all the restraint, all

the calm, all the public control of Superman cracked apart.

“Stay with me,” he whispered again, this time breaking completely. “Please"

He didn’t wait another second.

The moment Clark lifted Bruce from the floor, everything blurred into motion.

The metallic tang of blood clung to the air. The corridor lights pulsed red as emergency protocols triggered — alarms echoing down the halls. Clark barely heard them. His focus narrowed to the faint, uneven rhythm beneath his hands.

He flew so fast the walls screamed under the pressure wave.

“Medbay—now!” His voice thundered through the Watchtower comms. “Prep surgery. Full trauma unit, cardiac support. I’m on my way”

J’onn’s calm voice responded almost instantly.

“Confirmed. Surgical bay two is ready. What is the patient’s condition?”

Clark’s voice broke. “Critical. Gunshot wound — upper left chest. Massive blood loss"

He landed in the medbay seconds later, his gloves stained crimson. He laid Bruce on the surgical table as the medical drones activated, lights flickering to life.

J’onn, Diana, and Dr. Leslie Thompkins were already there — the only civilian doctor trusted to set foot on the Watchtower.

“Oh, dear God,” Leslie whispered when she saw the wound. She didn’t waste a second. “Get that armor off — carefully!”

Clark’s hands moved automatically, his strength trembling from restraint as he peeled back the torn plating. Each latch felt like a countdown, each breath Bruce took shallower than the last.

The wound beneath was bad.

Worse than any of them had imagined.

Leslie’s tone shifted instantly to command. “J’onn, stabilize vitals. Diana, pressure here—harder. Clark, I need you to hold him still"

“I’ve got him,” Clark murmured, kneeling beside the table, one hand pressed gently against Bruce’s shoulder. His other hovered near the wound, as if he could will it to close. “He’s losing too much blood—”

“I know!” Leslie snapped. “We’re trying!”

Monitors screamed warnings. Bruce’s pulse dipped, spiked, then stuttered again.

J’onn’s hands glowed faintly green as he phased through damaged tissue to stem internal bleeding. His voice was calm, but tight. “The bullet fragmented on impact. It missed the heart by millimeters"

Clark’s throat tightened. “Then get it out"

J’onn shook his head. “If I move too quickly, I’ll cause more damage. I must be precise”

Leslie leaned over the table, instruments in hand, her voice steady but her eyes wide with worry. “He’s in cardiac distress. We need to relieve pressure and get that bullet out now"

Bruce’s breathing hitched, then faltered again.

Clark’s heart stopped with it.

“Bruce! Hey—hey, stay with us, come on!”

J’onn’s voice came like an anchor through the panic. “He’s still here, Kal. But he’s fading”

Diana pressed harder on the wound, jaw set. “How did this happen? Who did this?”

Clark’s eyes burned, voice shaking with fury. “The recruits. The ones who thought he was a monster"

Diana froze for half a second — disbelief flashing to rage. “They—what?”

“They shot him” Clark’s voice was low, trembling with barely contained emotion. “Because they thought he wasn’t human"

The air seemed to drop ten degrees. Diana’s expression hardened like stone.

“They will answer for this"

Leslie’s voice cut through the tension. “He’s coding. We’re losing him"

“NO—!” Clark’s voice was raw, panicked.

J’onn’s hands glowed brighter as he focused, his voice urgent now. “I can repair the tissue, but the fragment—someone must remove it manually”

“I’ll do it,” Clark said instantly.

Leslie looked up sharply. “You’ll crush it—!”

“No,” Clark said, his tone changing — sharper, colder. “I won’t.”

Leslie hesitated. One look at his face — the unflinching determination, the absolute focus — and she nodded. “Fine. Follow my lead. Slowly"

She guided his hand with hers, and together, with J’onn’s help, they found the fragment — small, jagged, and pulsing against a weak heartbeat.

Clark’s fingers, steady despite the shaking in his arms, eased it free. The instant it came out, the monitor steadied — for a second.

Then flatlined.

“No.” Clark’s voice cracked. “No, no, no, come on!”

Leslie grabbed the defibrillator. “Clear!”

The charge hit — Bruce’s body jerked violently.

Nothing.

“Again!”

“Clear!”

Another jolt. Another silence.

Clark’s breathing hitched, tears blurring his vision. He pressed his forehead to Bruce’s arm. “Don’t do this,” he whispered. “Don’t you dare do this”

J’onn’s voice was soft, pained. “Kal—”

And then — a flicker.

The monitor beeped once. Twice.

A weak but steady rhythm returned.

Leslie exhaled shakily, lowering the paddles. “We’ve got him back"

Clark sagged forward, trembling with relief. His head hung low as his breath came in ragged bursts.

Diana rested a hand on his shoulder. “He’s alive”

Clark nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “For now"

Hours later, the medbay had quieted.

Bruce lay motionless beneath layers of gauze and biosensors, oxygen mask fogging faintly with each breath. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only proof that he was still there — still fighting.

Clark hadn’t moved from his side.

Diana and J’onn stood nearby, speaking in hushed tones.

“The bullet damaged muscle and fractured the sternum,” Leslie said quietly. “If it had been a few centimeters to the right…” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t have made it"

Diana’s fists clenched. “He still might not”

Leslie sighed. “He’s in critical condition. We’ll know more in the next few hours"

J’onn looked toward Clark. “He will not leave”

Diana’s eyes softened. “Then let him stay"

Clark sat there long after everyone else stepped back, fingers entwined with Bruce’s  hand. His hand was cold. Too cold.

“You idiot,” he murmured, voice shaking. “You told me not to worry about you. That you always had a plan. Was this part of it?”

He swallowed hard, thumb brushing against Bruce’s knuckles.

“I can’t lose you. Not like this"

He bowed his head, shoulders trembling.

The strong, invincible Superman — utterly undone.

Behind the glass wall, Diana watched in silence. Her eyes shone, though she said nothing.

J’onn folded his hands. “He blames himself"

“He always does,” Diana whispered.

Later.

The doors slid open. Two guards stepped in — escorting the four recruits in restraints.

They froze when they saw the scene — Superman sitting beside Batman’s bed, head bowed.

The quiet beep of the heart monitor filled the room like a heartbeat too fragile to touch.

Diana turned, her eyes blazing. “You should pray that he survives,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Because if he doesn’t…”

Her silence afterward said more than any threat could.

Argent’s voice cracked. “We didn’t mean— we thought—”

Clark stood, slowly, and turned toward them. His face was unreadable — grief and fury balanced on a knife’s edge.

“You thought wrong,” he said quietly. “And you almost killed the best man I’ve ever known”

The words hung there like judgment.

He didn’t look at them again. He just sat back down, took Bruce’s hand once more, and whispered something only the two of them could hear.

The medbay lights dimmed for night cycle.

Machines hummed softly.

And Clark stayed there — waiting, watching, listening — to the fragile rhythm that meant Bruce Wayne was still alive.

The Watchtower had never felt so cold.

Hours had passed since the surgery, but the silence in the medbay was suffocating. The rhythmic pulse of the monitors had become the only sound that mattered.

Every second that Bruce’s heart kept beating was borrowed time.

Clark hadn’t left his side.

Clark sat there, still in the torn remnants of his uniform, cape pooled around his boots. His eyes — red-rimmed and sleepless — never left Bruce’s face. Every time the heart monitor slowed, his own breath caught, and every time it steadied, his shoulders dropped in trembling relief.

When the League finally called him to the conference chamber, it took Diana and J’onn both to convince him to go.

“He’s stable for now,” J’onn said gently. “You can’t help him by sitting here"

Clark’s jaw tightened. “If his heart stops—”

“I will call you instantly,” J’onn promised. “Go”

Clark hesitated one more second, brushing a gloved hand across Bruce’s hair.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered. “You hear me? Don’t you dare leave me, Bruce"

Then he rose, eyes dark with something dangerous.

The main conference hall felt wrong — too bright, too empty, too cold, too human.

The four recruits sat at the far end of the long table, wrists bound in magnetic cuffs. Their faces were pale, haunted. They looked like people who had just realized they’d destroyed something sacred.

The League stood opposite them — Diana, Flash, Green Lantern, Cyborg, and Clark.

The air between them pulsed with tension.

Lantern was the first to speak. His voice was sharp, stripped of humor.

“Tell us why. Every detail”

The recruits exchanged glances, each waiting for someone else to start. Finally, one — a younger man with trembling hands — found his voice.

“We… we thought he was—” His throat closed. “We thought Batman wasn’t human. That he was—”

“A monster?” Diana finished for him, voice hard as steel.

He nodded weakly. “Everyone said so. The stories, the shadows, the— he doesn’t sleep, he disappears, he knows things—”

“So you shot him,” Lantern cut in. “Because you were scared”

“It wasn’t supposed to—!” another recruit burst out. “We thought he’d— he’d deflect it or vanish or something! We didn’t think it would work!”

Flash’s usual energy was gone; his tone was cold. “Congratulations. You just proved he is human”

The words hit like a slap. None of them answered.

Clark had been silent until then, standing behind the others, arms folded.

When he finally stepped forward, his presence filled the room like a storm front.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” His voice was low, dangerous — the kind of calm that made even the veterans tense.

One of the recruits tried to speak. “We didn’t mean to—”

“You pulled a trigger,” Clark said, cutting across him. “You pointed a weapon at a man who’s saved this world more times than you can count, and you shot him.”

He leaned forward, eyes burning like the edge of the sun. “Because you were afraid? Because you believed rumors? You could have asked. You could have gone to any of us. But instead you—”

He broke off, voice trembling, chest rising and falling unevenly. “He’s lying in there right now fighting for his life. And if he dies—”

“Superman,” Diana warned softly, sensing the break in his restraint.

Clark turned toward her, and for a moment, his mask of composure cracked. “If he dies, I don’t know what I’ll do"

The recruits shrank back. There was no glowing heat vision, no raised fist — just the raw grief of someone who could tear the moon apart and might actually do it if he lost the man he loved.

He forced himself to look away, eyes closing. “You’re lucky he’s not the one interrogating you. Because he’d still try to save you"

Silence followed. Even the hum of the Watchtower felt distant.

Diana took over, her tone measured but merciless.

“You will be confined to quarters until further notice. The League will decide on disciplinary and legal action once Batman’s condition stabilizes”

Lantern crossed his arms. “And if it doesn’t?”

No one answered.

Clark finally spoke, voice hoarse. “If he doesn’t make it, you’ll answer to me"

The words weren’t shouted — they didn’t need to be. The quiet was worse.

Cyborg exhaled slowly, glancing toward Clark. “We’ll handle security. You should be with him"

Clark didn’t move for a long moment. Then he nodded once and turned to leave.

Just before the doors hissed open, he looked back at the four recruits — eyes colder than the vacuum outside.

“Pray that he wakes up"

The medbay lights were dim when Clark returned.

The monitors blinked softly in the dark, painting faint green light across Bruce’s still face.

He stood there for a long time, just watching. His hands hovered over Bruce’s chest, feeling the faint tremor of life beneath the bandages.

“Everyone’s terrified of you, you know,” Clark murmured. His voice was gentle, but cracked with exhaustion. “Maybe that’s why you survive. Because even death knows better than to mess with you”

He gave a broken laugh, then sat down again beside the bed.

“You’d probably call me reckless for what I said in there,” he whispered. “But I meant it. If you die, I’ll never forgive them. Or myself...”

He leaned closer, lowering his head until his forehead rested lightly against Bruce’s arm. “You’ve got to come back, Bruce. Gotham needs you. I—”

His voice caught. “I need you"

Hours bled into morning cycles.

Diana visited quietly, leaving food Clark didn’t touch. Flash checked in, offering updates — the recruits were under guard, the Watchtower was calm again — but Clark barely responded.

He stayed right where he was.

Every few minutes, he’d talk to Bruce as if he were awake.

“You’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met, Bruce. Prove it. Don’t let this stop you.”

He brushed a stray piece of hair from Bruce’s forehead. His fingers trembled. “You once told me you didn’t believe in miracles,” he whispered. “Well, I do. So do me a favor… and prove yourself wrong"

He bowed his head, voice raw. “Because I can’t lose you"

Outside the medbay, Diana and J’onn watched nervously through the observation glass.

“He hasn’t slept,” J’onn said softly.

“He won’t,” Diana replied. “Not until Bruce opens his eyes”

J’onn’s eyes dimmed with thought. “The recruits will face consequences. But even if Batman recovers, this will change the League”

Diana nodded. “Fear does that. But perhaps… it will remind everyone what it means to be human"

Inside, Clark’s voice carried faintly through the glass.

“I’m right here, Bruce. Always"

The steady beeping of the monitor answered him — fragile, defiant, alive. For now.

The medbay was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that felt safe or peaceful — the kind that pressed down on Clark’s chest like stone.

Every monitor beeped a steady rhythm, the only proof that Bruce Wayne, Batman, was still alive. Clark had not left the bedside since the surgery ended. He sat on a small stool, hands lightly resting on Bruce’s arm, head leaning against his shoulder. He refused to let go.

Even when his own body ached from exhaustion, he couldn’t move.

Every twitch, every faint exhale, every small pulse made him flinch with relief.

“You’re stubborn as hell,” he murmured softly, his voice hoarse. “Do you hear me, Bruce? You’ve survived worse. You can survive this”

The faint rise and fall of Bruce’s chest was all the reassurance he had.

Meanwhile, across the Watchtower, the League convened in the main conference chamber.

Diana, J’onn, Hal, Barry, and Leslie Thompkins sat in a tense circle. Lantern’s fists were clenched on the table, eyes stormy, though his face betrayed concern more than anger.

Diana opened the meeting. “We need to discuss the recruits. And… Clark"

J’onn’s voice was calm, measured. “Bruce’s condition is critical. If he does not recover… Clark will act. He will not tolerate inaction"

Hal leaned back, hands clasped nervously. “We all know that. But… what exactly will he do?”

Leslie frowned. “You mean… You think he’ll kill them?”

J’onn nodded slowly. “It is possible. His grief and fury will be focused, precise. He is still conscious of consequences… barely. But if Bruce dies… all bets are off"

Barry rubbed his temples. “That’s terrifying. How do we contain that?”

Diana’s eyes were sharp. “We plan. We prepare. If Clark loses control… someone must be ready to intervene. We cannot let the League fracture over this”

Hal scoffed, though it had no humor. “We’re planning for a man we hope doesn’t act like a monster. Great.”

Leslie leaned forward. “You underestimate how close he is to Bruce. Clark’s love is fierce, yes, but he’s also protective to the point of obsession. We can’t stop him with words. Only… containment, or by keeping Bruce alive"

Lantern slammed his fist on the table. “We have to deal with the recruits before Clark does. They need to understand the gravity of what they’ve done. And if Bruce doesn’t make it…” His jaw tightened. “Then Clark may start with them"

J’onn’s eyes softened. “That is why this council meets. To plan contingencies. To prevent further loss"

Diana nodded. “We cannot rely on hope. We act as if the worst will happen — and hope the best does.”

Back in the medbay, Clark refused to leave. His fingers traced the lines of Bruce’s gloved hands, lingering over the faint calluses he knew so well.

“Don’t do this to me,” Clark whispered. “Don’t leave me, not now. I need you here, Bruce"

He felt the subtle flicker of movement — a twitch in Bruce’s fingers. Clark froze.

“You’re fighting,” he murmured, voice trembling. “Good. You’ve never stopped fighting"

He leaned closer, brushing a damp strand of hair from Bruce’s temple. His lips hovered near the side of Bruce’s face. “You’re not allowed to leave me. Not now. I can’t do this without you"

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead lightly against Bruce’s arm. The faint warmth of life beneath his gloves — fragile, impermanent — was enough to break him down completely.

Tears slipped down his cheeks, unnoticed.

---

Scene 3: League Contingency Planning

In the conference room, the League debated in whispers.

“What if Bruce dies?” Barry asked, voice unsteady.

Hal slammed his hands on the table. “Then Clark will act. He’ll start with the four recruits. He won’t ask questions. He won’t wait. And no one here can stop him unless we intercept him first.”

Leslie’s face was tight. “We need to be ready. If we can isolate Clark while keeping him from acting… if Bruce survives, maybe we can prevent a tragedy. But if not…”

J’onn’s eyes softened. “Then it is our responsibility to mitigate the fallout. Clark will grieve — and he will rage. We have to protect both him and the rest of the Watchtower from that fury.”

Diana’s voice was clipped, iron in her tone. “We will guard the recruits. We will monitor Clark. We will hold the Watchtower together, one way or another. That is our duty.”

Barry exhaled shakily. “You mean… we’ll have to restrain him?”

Lantern’s jaw tightened. “If Bruce dies… yes.”

Leslie’s lips pressed into a thin line. “We prepare. But I hope to God it doesn’t come to that.”

---

Scene 4: The Recruits’ Guilt

Meanwhile, the four recruits huddled in the holding cell, trembling.

Argent whispered, voice shaking. “He… he’s alive, isn’t he?”

Titan’s eyes were wide. “Yeah… barely. I think Superman’s with him.”

Firehawk hid her face in her hands. “We almost killed him. I can’t believe we actually—”

Bolt’s hands shook. “Clark… he looks like he’s about to explode. And he won’t forgive us if anything happens.”

Argent’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think… he could kill us?”

Firehawk swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t doubt it. If Bruce dies… we’re all in danger. All of us.”

Titan’s jaw tightened. “We should’ve never… never believed the rumors. Never acted on fear.”

They sat in silence, every creak of the Watchtower above them making their hearts leap. The weight of guilt was suffocating.

---

Scene 5: Clark’s Desperation

Back in the medbay, Clark didn’t sleep. He barely ate. Every sound made him tense, every monitor beep sent him scrambling to Bruce’s side.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered again and again. “Not to this. Not to them. Not to anything.”

Outside the medbay, the League prepared quietly.

“We’ll need to contain him,” Diana said softly. “If Bruce does not make it, Clark will act. We cannot let grief override reason”

J’onn nodded. “We will intercept him. But it may not be enough"

Lantern added, grim. “He won’t hesitate. And he’ll start with the four recruits. That’s all he’ll care about. They’re the focus of his rage"

Leslie whispered, almost to herself, “Then we prepare… for a world where love and grief can be as destructive as any villain"

The League remained in the observation deck, watching over the medbay, their faces drawn tight. Clark’s quiet murmurs to Bruce carried through the glass — a constant, fragile tether between life and fury, hope and despair.

And for now, Bruce remained unconscious.

But the storm was building.

The Watchtower corridors felt colder than space.

Clark’s boots hit the floor like drumbeats as he strode toward the detention wing, cape trailing behind him like a living shadow. His jaw was tight, his eyes darker than the void beyond the windows.

Diana matched his pace on one side, silent but steady. Hal walked slightly behind on the other, his ring casting a faint green glow over the metallic walls.

Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. They could feel the storm rolling off him.

The door hissed open and the four recruits jerked to their feet instinctively, as if Superman’s presence alone had triggered some survival reflex. Their faces were pale, eyes hollow with guilt and exhaustion.

They’d been expecting him.

Clark stepped inside, the door sealing shut behind him. The sound of it was final.

He didn’t speak at first. He just stood there, arms folded, staring at them. His silence was heavier than shouting. The recruits shifted uneasily, glancing at each other like cornered prey.

Finally, Clark spoke. His voice was low, raw, and full of something dangerous.

“Do you know where I’ve been for the past two days?”

Argent’s throat worked. “In… the medbay. With him..”

Clark’s head tilted slightly. “With him. With the man you shot”

No one answered.

“He’s still alive,” Clark continued, voice trembling with fury. “Barely. Machines are breathing for him. His heart is being kept going by a program Cyborg designed overnight. Every breath he takes is borrowed. And it’s because of you"

Bolt shifted, voice cracking. “We didn’t mean—”

“You meant to attack him,” Clark snapped, the temperature in the room seeming to drop. “You meant to ambush him. You brought a weapon. You pulled a trigger. Don’t tell me you didn’t mean it”

Firehawk’s voice was a whisper. “We… we thought he wasn’t human. We thought he was—”

Clark’s eyes burned, but not with heat vision — with something colder. “You thought he was a monster, so you tried to kill him. And you’re surprised that he bleeds?”

No one answered. The room was silent except for the faint hum of Hal’s ring.

“You didn’t just shoot Batman,” Clark said. “You shot the best man I have ever known. You shot someone who has saved this planet, this universe, more times than you could imagine. He is human. He is mortal. And because of you, he may never wake up"

His voice cracked on the last words. He clenched his fists, fighting to keep his hands steady. Diana’s eyes flicked to Hal — a silent warning to be ready.

Clark stepped closer. The recruits shrank back against the wall. “Do you know what he was doing before you attacked him? He was investigating a threat to you. He was protecting you. He always protects you. That’s who he is. And you tried to kill him for it.”

Argent’s eyes filled with tears. “We’re sorry—”

“Sorry doesn’t stop the machines from breathing for him,” Clark snapped. “Sorry doesn’t fix the hole in his chest. Sorry doesn’t take back the fact that I almost lost him!”

His voice dropped to a whisper, dangerous and trembling. “If he dies…”

Diana stepped forward subtly, placing a hand on Clark’s arm. “Kal,” she murmured.

He looked at her, his eyes blazing, then back at the recruits. “If he dies, I won’t be responsible for what happens next"

The words were quiet, but they landed like a hammer.

The recruits looked stricken, some openly crying now. Bolt’s voice trembled. “Please… don’t hurt us. We didn’t know. We didn’t think—”

Clark turned away sharply, cape swirling behind him. “You never thought. That’s the problem"

He stopped at the door, voice hoarse. “Pray that he lives. For your sake”

Then he was gone.

The medbay was dim when Clark came back. Only the soft glow of monitors lit Bruce’s still figure.

Clark’s steps faltered when he saw him.

Bruce looked impossibly fragile. He’d been changed into soft grey sweatpants and an oversized League t‑shirt to avoid irritating his bandages. The oxygen mask fogged faintly with every shallow breath. His skin was pale, almost grey under the harsh lights.

The sight of him like that — so small, so human — cut through Clark like a blade.

He walked slowly to the bed, sinking into the chair beside it. His hand reached out instinctively, fingers curling gently around Bruce’s limp one.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I’m back”

He brushed his thumb over Bruce’s knuckles. The machines hissed softly with each assisted breath.

“You look like you’re just sleeping,” Clark murmured. “But I know you. You’re fighting. You always fight"

His vision blurred. He blinked hard, but the tears spilled over anyway.

“I don’t know what happens if you don’t come back,” he admitted, voice breaking. “I don’t know who I’ll be without you”

He pressed his forehead to the back of Bruce’s hand, shaking. “If you go… I’ll follow. I don’t care what’s on the other side. I can’t stay here without you”

He felt the faintest warmth of Bruce’s skin beneath his gloves. It was enough to keep him from shattering completely.

“You once told me I was the light,” he whispered. “You’re mine, Bruce. You’re my anchor. If you leave, I’ll drift away”

His shoulders shook. “Please. Please don’t leave me”

He stayed there like that, tears silent but steady, one hand clutching Bruce’s as though holding on could keep him tethered to life.

Outside the medbay, Diana and Hal stood at the observation window, watching Clark.

Hal’s jaw was tight. “He meant it, didn’t he? What he said to them. If Bruce dies…”

Diana’s eyes stayed on Clark, her face unreadable. “Yes. He meant it. He wouldn’t stop himself.”

Hal exhaled. “How do we stop him?”

Diana was silent for a moment. “We don’t. We can’t. All we can do is pray Bruce wakes up. Because if he doesn’t… Kal-El will burn the world down, starting with those four"

Inside, Clark lowered his head to Bruce’s hand again, whispering words no one else could hear.

“I’m right here. Please… come back to me”

The machines hissed softly, the monitors beeped, and Bruce lay motionless.

For now.

Days passed.

The medbay felt quieter than it had in days.

No alarms screamed. No red lights pulsed. Only the soft hum of machinery and the steady beep, beep, beep of monitors marking life.

Clark sat beside Bruce’s bed, hands resting gently over his. The deep lines of worry on his face had softened slightly, replaced with relief — though his exhaustion was clear. His gaze never left Bruce, tracing every shallow rise of his chest, every flicker of eyelid.

Bruce was still unconscious. But the monitors told a story the League hadn’t dared hope for in the last twenty-four hours: his heart rhythm was stabilizing, his breathing stronger, and for the first time, he was starting to regulate on his own.

Clark exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, letting the tension bleed out in one long, trembling breath.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You’re really alive, Bruce. God, you’re alive”

Cyborg hovered near the head of the bed, reading the monitors. “His vitals are steadying. Heart rate’s holding, oxygen levels are better — he’s starting to breathe on his own now"

Clark’s hand tightened over Bruce’s. “That’s good. That’s… so good”

Diana leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, eyes softened in relief. “I’d almost forgotten what peace felt like"

Hal muttered from the corner, still tense, still watchful. “You’re not letting him out of your sight, are you?”

Clark shook his head. “Never. Not until he opens his eyes. Not until I know he’s really okay"

Leslie Thompkins stepped closer, checking the IV lines and monitors. “The worst is past,” she said gently. “He’s still weak, but he’s improving. The body’s taking over. The fight is no longer just mechanical — it’s him"

Clark pressed his forehead lightly against Bruce’s gloved hand. “It’s you, Bruce. You’re still here. You’re still fighting. And I’ll stay with you through all of it"

Clark adjusted the blanket over Bruce, careful not to disturb any sensors or tubing. His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from Bruce’s pale forehead.

“You should be furious at me,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I let them hurt you. I wasn’t there soon enough. You could’ve—”

He choked back a sob. “You almost didn’t make it. And I…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t even want to imagine a world without you"

Diana and Hal exchanged glances at the door. Neither spoke. This was Clark’s moment — a private, fragile communion.

Clark leaned closer, whispering to the unconscious man beside him. “You’re the anchor I never knew I needed. You’re my reason. And if you go… I swear, I’ll follow you, Bruce. I’ll follow you to the other side.."

He let a tear slip onto the back of Bruce’s hand. “But I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever"

Outside the medbay, Diana, Hal, and J’onn watched quietly through the observation glass.

“He’s calmer now,” Diana said softly. “He believes Bruce is safe. But the moment comes and Bruce doesn’t wake up… we’re going to have problems"

Hal shook his head. “It’s scary, isn’t it? Watching someone like him cling so completely to another person”

J’onn’s red eyes were unreadable. “It is. But it is also love. He is human in ways that none of us are. That love is as strong as any superpower he possesses. It keeps him tethered — and, for now, keeps him from breaking"

Diana nodded. “We pray Bruce continues to recover. For all our sakes"

Clark remained at Bruce’s side for hours. He whispered to him constantly, recounting trivial things to keep the world alive for him:

“I bought too many groceries yesterday, and Lois said I couldn’t possibly eat all the cookies in a week. Guess what? I ate two. Don’t tell anyone"

He smiled faintly, letting the tension fall away for a moment. “The Batcave is quiet. Alfred’s reading some old mystery novel. And the League… well, they’re all holding their breath, I think; Literally"

Clark brushed Bruce’s knuckles with his lips. “I’m glad you’re still here. Because I… I don’t even want to think about life without you"

A tiny, involuntary twitch of Bruce’s fingers against Clark’s thumb made his heart leap.

“You’re here,” he whispered fiercely. “You hear me? You’re here. Don’t you dare leave me, Bruce"

Hours passed, and the medbay dimmed to night cycle. The soft glow of the monitors illuminated Bruce’s sleeping form. Sweatpants, an oversized t-shirt, and the faint traces of bandages made him look small and fragile — so unlike the towering, impervious Batman Clark knew him to be.

Clark pressed his forehead against Bruce’s arm, murmuring quietly. “You’re going to make it. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll stay with you forever if I have to. And I will, Bruce. I will"

Leslie stepped lightly behind Clark, not interrupting. “He’s still fighting,” she said softly. “And you… you’ve given him more than medicine. You’ve given him hope. That counts for more than any machine"

Clark exhaled slowly. “I can’t lose him,” he admitted. “Not to them. Not to anything. I… I won’t survive it. I can’t”

Leslie placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Then keep holding him. For now, that’s all that matters"

Clark nodded, tears welling again, and whispered, almost prayer-like:

“I love you, Bruce. You hear me? You’ve got to survive this. Because I can’t do life without you. I won’t. I can’t"

And for the first time since the shooting, he felt a faint sense of hope, fragile as a candle flicker in the dark. Bruce was alive. He was fighting.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The medbay was dim, bathed in the soft hum of machines.

Clark had not left Bruce’s side for hours. He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand loosely holding Bruce’s, the other brushing hair from his pale forehead.

Bruce’s eyes opened, slow and heavy, revealing that familiar storm of blue eyes. They were still unfocused, the world around him blurred and uncertain.

Clark leaned closer instantly, whispering, “Hey… it’s me. . You’re awake. Thank god…”

Bruce blinked, swallowing dryly, but no words came. His body sagged weakly against the pillow. He was tired — so very tired — and his breathing was uneven, but he was here.

Clark’s chest swelled with a mixture of relief and emotion he could hardly contain. “You’re still here… you’re really still here,” he murmured, pressing his forehead gently to Bruce’s temple. “Don’t even think about leaving me, okay? Not now. Not ever”

Bruce’s fingers twitched lightly, trying to grip Clark’s hand. The effort was small but deliberate.

Clark smiled softly, voice trembling. “There it is. That’s my stubborn man.” He brushed his lips against the back of Bruce’s hand. “You’re fighting. I can feel it. That’s all I need right now.”

Bruce’s eyelids drooped again, exhaustion dragging him down. Clark held him steady. “I know you’re tired,” he whispered. “You can rest. Just… stay with me.”

He didn’t need words to communicate the depth of his love. His hand on Bruce’s cheek, his touch along his knuckles, the soft brushing of hair from his face — all of it spoke louder than anything he could say.

Clark’s voice softened to a low, soothing murmur. “I was so scared, Bruce. I… I don’t even want to think about what I’d have done if you didn’t wake up. You’re all I have. You’re… you’re everything.”

Bruce shifted slightly, enough to press a faint touch against Clark’s chest. It was unsteady, almost unconscious, but it was enough.

Clark leaned down and whispered against his temple, “You’re safe. I’m here. Always. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Bruce let out a quiet, shallow breath and closed his eyes, still too weak to respond fully. But Clark could feel the faint pulse of life beneath his fingers, steadying with every beat.

Outside the medbay, Diana and Hal watched from the observation window.

“He’s awake,” Diana whispered, her arms crossed, eyes softening. “Even if he can’t speak, he’s awake.”

Hal exhaled slowly. “Clark looks… relieved. And terrified. I’ve never seen someone hold onto another person like that before.”

Diana’s eyes followed Clark as he whispered to Bruce, pressed gentle kisses to his knuckles, and murmured soft, reassuring words. “It’s love,” she said. “Pure and unshakable. He won’t leave him.”

Hal nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah… but Bruce… he’s so fragile right now. And Clark… he’s going to protect him at all costs.”

Clark leaned back slightly, holding Bruce’s hand against his chest. “You’re mine, Bruce,” he whispered. “I need you. I can’t even imagine life without you.”

Bruce stirred again, blinking slowly, focusing just enough to catch the faint outline of Clark’s face. He didn’t speak, didn’t open his eyes fully — the effort was exhausting. But the recognition was there.

Clark smiled gently, brushing Bruce’s hair back. “I’ll stay with you as long as you need. I promise. I won’t leave. Not for a second.”

He pressed a light kiss to Bruce’s forehead, holding him closer. “Just rest now. I’ll be here when you wake properly. Always.”

Bruce let out a weak, almost imperceptible sigh, curling slightly closer toward Clark despite his exhaustion. His body trembled with fatigue, but the bond between them was unmistakable.

Clark remained beside him through the night. Every twitch of a finger, every shallow breath, made him hold his own breath in anticipation.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispered, brushing lips against Bruce’s knuckles again. “Waiting to see you open your eyes, even just a little. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me… just to know you’re still here.”

He pressed a soft kiss to the side of Bruce’s head. “I love you, Bruce. More than I’ve ever been able to say. And now… now you’re awake. Even if just a little, you’re awake.”

Bruce shifted once more, fingers brushing Clark’s palm lightly before slipping back. Clark tightened his hold, letting the silence speak for them.

For the first time since the attack, there was hope in the medbay — fragile, quiet, but undeniable.

And Clark knew, without question, that he would protect Bruce with every part of himself, for as long as Bruce needed him — until the end of time if necessary.

The day after the medbay was quiet — the kind of stillness that followed long nights of uncertainty. The hum of the machines had become familiar, almost a comfort to Clark, who had barely left the bedside.

He sat close as always, elbows resting on his knees, Bruce’s hand wrapped carefully in both of his. Clark had been watching his face, every slow breath, every faint flutter of eyelashes. The silence wasn’t empty anymore — it was patient. Waiting.

Then, Bruce’s voice, soft and rough, broke through.

“…Clark?”

Clark’s head snapped up instantly, breath catching. “Bruce?”

Bruce blinked slowly, his eyes clearer this time, heavy with exhaustion but aware. “You’re… still here”

A shaky laugh escaped Clark before he could stop it. “Where else would I go?” He leaned forward, his forehead almost touching Bruce’s. “You scared me. You have no idea how much"

Bruce’s brows knit faintly as he tried to piece things together. “What… happened?”

Clark exhaled slowly, the air trembling with relief and grief all at once. “You were hurt. Some of the new recruits — they panicked. They thought… you were something else. I wasn’t fast enough”

Bruce stared at him, disoriented. “I don’t remember any of it"

“That’s okay,” Clark said quickly, taking his hand again. “You don’t have to. It’s over now. You’re safe”

Bruce blinked slowly, his eyes shifting toward the ceiling. “How long?”

Clark hesitated, his thumb rubbing small circles over Bruce’s knuckles. “Almost two weeks..."

Bruce’s gaze flicked back to him, startled. “Two…?” His voice faltered.

“Yeah,” Clark murmured softly. “You were unconscious most of it. You gave everyone a few heart attacks. Especially me”

Bruce’s lips twitched faintly, trying for humor, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You worry too much"

Clark huffed, voice breaking with the smallest laugh. “You almost died in my arms, Bruce. I think I earned the right to worry a little"

Bruce’s breath hitched — not from pain, but from the way Clark said it. Quietly, intimately. There was no mask in his voice now, no Superman composure — only Clark Kent, terrified and human and hopelessly in love.

Bruce turned his hand in Clark’s, fingers curling weakly around his. “You didn’t… sleep.”

Clark smiled softly. “I didn’t want to"

“You need to,” Bruce whispered, voice barely there.

“I will,” Clark promised, brushing a hand across Bruce’s hair. “When you’re out of danger. When I know you’re really okay”

Bruce’s eyes softened faintly, exhaustion and warmth mingling together. “You’re ridiculous"

Clark chuckled quietly, eyes shining. “And you’re alive. So I don’t care what that makes me"

Bruce studied him for a long moment — the shadows under Clark’s eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand never stopped touching him. He could see the exhaustion, the heartbreak, the fierce devotion.

“Clark…”

Clark looked up immediately.

“Thank you"

It was simple. Soft. But it made Clark’s chest tighten in a way words rarely did. He swallowed hard. “You don’t have to thank me. Just seeing you awake… that’s enough.”

Bruce’s gaze didn’t waver. “You saved me"

Clark shook his head, eyes glistening. “I almost didn’t. I almost—” He stopped himself, voice breaking. “I can’t even think about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t made it in time”

Bruce’s thumb brushed faintly against Clark’s wrist, a small, trembling motion. “You always do,” he whispered. “You always make it in time.”

Clark laughed quietly, his relief tangled with tears. “I try"

For a while, they didn’t speak. Clark stayed beside him, thumb tracing small, slow patterns over Bruce’s hand. The silence wasn’t awkward — it was soft, familiar, the kind that only existed between two people who didn’t need words.

Then, Bruce shifted slightly on the bed. “You look terrible,” he rasped.

Clark laughed, wiping at his eyes. “Thanks. You really know how to make a guy feel appreciated”

Bruce’s mouth curved weakly. “You’ve been crying”

Clark hesitated. “Maybe a little"

Bruce blinked slowly. “You don’t have to”

Clark shook his head, leaning closer until his forehead rested gently against Bruce’s. “Yeah. I do.” His voice was quiet, steady. “You’re everything to me, Bruce. When I thought I lost you…” His throat closed off. “I don’t ever want to feel that again"

Bruce’s hand lifted with visible effort, fingers brushing Clark’s cheek. His skin was cold but soft, trembling slightly. “I’m not going anywhere”

Clark closed his eyes at the touch, savoring it. “You’d better not,” he murmured.

Bruce sank back against the pillow, exhaustion creeping over him again. “You really didn’t leave?”

Clark smiled faintly. “Not once"

Bruce opened his eyes just enough to meet his. “Good"

“Good?” Clark echoed, amusement in his tone.

Bruce’s lips twitched faintly, the ghost of a smile. “I wouldn’t have wanted to wake up alone"

Clark’s breath caught. He leaned down and brushed his lips against Bruce’s forehead, a soft, lingering kiss. “You’ll never wake up alone, Bruce. Not ever again”

Bruce exhaled a long, tired sigh — but it was the kind of sigh that carried peace instead of pain. His eyes closed, his fingers still curled around Clark’s.

Clark stayed exactly where he was, watching him drift back to sleep. His heart felt lighter than it had in days.

He bent close once more, whispering into the quiet, “I love you. So much"

And though Bruce was already half-asleep, a faint smile touched his lips — one that told Clark he’d heard him.

It had been a few hours when the soft rustle of fabric broke the quiet of the medbay. For once, the machines weren’t beeping frantically — Bruce’s vitals were steady, his heartbeat slow but strong.

Clark had dozed off beside him, his hand still wrapped protectively around Bruce’s wrist, thumb resting against the pulse there. It was the only thing that let him sleep at all — that rhythmic proof of life.

But when Bruce moved, Clark’s head jerked up immediately.

Bruce was shifting, his jaw tight as he slowly pushed himself upright in bed.

“Bruce,” Clark said sharply, instantly awake. “What are you doing?”

Bruce grunted softly, ignoring him. “Sitting up"

“Why?” Clark asked, eyes narrowing. “You’re supposed to rest"

“I’ve been resting for… days,” Bruce muttered, his voice still low and rough. “I’m tired of staring at the ceiling”

Clark stood up so fast the chair scraped against the floor. “That’s because you almost died, Bruce. You’re not ready to—”

“I’m fine,” Bruce interrupted, though his breath hitched as pain shot through his chest. He winced, trying to hide it — but Clark saw everything.

“Yeah?” Clark’s tone was half anger, half worry. “That why you just flinched like someone stabbed you again?”

Bruce sighed quietly, his hand pressed against the bandaged side of his chest. “I said fine, not perfect”

Clark’s lips parted — ready to argue again — but the look in Bruce’s eyes stopped him. There was determination there, tired but steady. That same stubborn spark that had kept Bruce alive through worse.

Still, Clark hovered close, hands twitching like he wanted to lift him back down. “You shouldn’t be sitting up alone”

“I’m not alone,” Bruce said simply, looking up at him. “You’re here”

That small sentence disarmed Clark completely.

He exhaled, shoulders sagging, and gently adjusted Bruce’s pillow, careful not to jostle the healing wound. “You’re impossible”

“I know,” Bruce murmured, managing a faint smile.

The door to the medbay hissed open softly, and two familiar figures stepped in — Diana and J'ohn.

Bruce’s head turned slightly, eyes focusing with effort. “Diana… J'ohn”

Diana’s face softened immediately. “Bruce,” she said, crossing the room with that effortless grace only she had. “It’s good to see you awake"

J'ohn offered a nod, though even he couldn’t hide the faint relief in his eyes. “You gave everyone quite a scare"

Bruce’s lips quirked slightly. “Seems to be a habit”

Clark hovered just a little closer to the bed, as if by standing between them, he could protect Bruce from everything — even well-meaning friends.

Diana noticed, of course. She shot Clark a knowing look but said nothing yet. Instead, she took Bruce’s hand gently, her warrior strength softened by affection. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been shot,” Bruce said dryly.

J'ohn huffed out a small laugh. “Guess that means your sense of humor’s still intact.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly. “For now"

Clark stayed standing beside the bed, one hand resting on the edge of the mattress — never far, always watchful.

J'ohn shifted, his expression hardening slightly. “We wanted to give you an update… on the recruits.”

At that, Clark’s whole body tensed. His jaw locked, and his hand clenched the sheet. Bruce glanced at him briefly before turning back to J'ohn.

“What happened to them?” Bruce asked.

“They’ve been officially expelled,” Diana said quietly. “They’re being held under League custody until further review. The UN Council wants to conduct a hearing.”

Bruce’s gaze was steady. “A hearing?”

“Yes,” Diana continued. “They’ll answer for what they did — for assaulting a League member, for nearly killing one of us.”

Clark’s voice broke through suddenly, low and hard. “Nearly killing him.”

The room fell still.

Clark’s eyes were glowing faintly, a restrained flare of red just beneath the surface. “You make it sound like it was an accident.”

“Clark,” Diana said softly, “no one’s saying that.”

“They chose to attack him,” Clark said sharply, his voice shaking. “They aimed a gun and pulled the trigger. If I’d been two seconds slower—”

He broke off, running a trembling hand through his hair.

Bruce’s eyes softened, watching him silently.

J'ohn spoke up, voice steady. “They’re being dealt with, Clark. You don’t need to—”

“Yes, I do,” Clark snapped, and then immediately looked away, ashamed of how it came out.

Diana stepped forward slightly. “Clark… they’ll face justice. But vengeance is not what Bruce would want.”

Clark let out a breath that trembled at the edges. “I don’t care what he would want,” he muttered. “I just—”

“Clark.”

The single word stopped him.

Bruce’s voice was quiet but firm, the authority in it undiminished even by weakness. Clark turned back immediately.

“Sit,” Bruce said softly.

Clark hesitated — then obeyed, sitting carefully beside the bed. Bruce’s hand found his, fingers curling weakly. “I’m alive,” he said simply. “That’s enough.”

Clark’s voice broke. “You almost weren’t.”

“I know,” Bruce whispered. “But you saved me.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The quiet hum of machines filled the air again, a soft rhythm under their breathing.

Diana watched them quietly — the way Clark leaned slightly toward Bruce, the way Bruce’s thumb brushed faintly over his knuckles. It was small, careful, but unmistakably tender.

After a moment, she said gently, “We’ll leave you two alone.”

Bruce blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“We do,” Diana said with a small smile. “You both need rest. And… I think Clark will breathe easier without an audience.”

When they left, the room fell quiet again — soft, dim, peaceful.

Bruce exhaled slowly, his eyes drooping. “You know they’re right.”

“About what?” Clark asked quietly.

“You’re overprotective.”

Clark smiled faintly. “Yeah, well. You’re impossible. Seems fair.”

Bruce gave a tired, amused sound — almost a laugh, almost a sigh. “Clark…”

Clark looked down at him. “Hmm?”

Bruce’s eyes fluttered open, blue meeting blue. “You can stop worrying. I’m not going anywhere.”

Clark reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Bruce’s forehead. “You said that last time.”

“Then I guess I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”

Clark leaned forward until his forehead rested lightly against Bruce’s. “You’re still pale. You should rest.”

Bruce closed his eyes, voice barely above a whisper. “Only if you stay.”

Clark smiled against his skin, his hand tightening gently around Bruce’s. “Always.”

Bruce drifted off a few minutes later, breath slow and even. Clark stayed there, one hand resting over Bruce’s heart — feeling the steady beat beneath his palm.

Every thud was proof that Bruce was still here. Still fighting. Still his.

Clark sat back in the chair, eyes never leaving him. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that again,” he whispered softly. “I can’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.”

The machine hummed quietly, a soft accompaniment to Bruce’s breathing. And in that gentle rhythm, Clark finally allowed himself to relax — not fully, but enough to breathe again.

Because Bruce was alive.

And that was all that mattered.

The medbay lights were dimmed, soft and warm that evening. It should’ve been peaceful — the kind of calm Bruce Wayne rarely allowed himself.

But for him, the stillness had become unbearable.

Days of lying still, of breathing carefully, of watching Clark hover like a shadow by his bedside. The weight of the sheets, the hum of the machines, the knowledge that everyone was watching — all of it made Bruce feel trapped.

He’d fought gods and monsters. He’d faced death and worse. But being confined to a bed was somehow worse than all of it.

So he waited until the soft sound of the door sliding open — then closed — signaled Clark had stepped out, probably for food or a meeting.

Bruce’s eyes opened. He drew a slow breath.

“Time to move,” he muttered.

With effort, he pushed himself upright. His chest still ached — a sharp reminder of how close he’d come — but he gritted his teeth and ignored it. One hand pressed against the edge of the bed, he swung his legs over and planted his feet on the cold floor.

The room spun briefly, but he steadied himself.

He stood.

The ache in his ribs protested instantly, but he didn’t stop. He took one slow, shaky step. Then another.

He could do this.

Or so he thought — until the medbay door slid open again.

“Bruce?”

Clark’s voice froze him in place.

The next second, Clark was across the room, faster than a blink. “What are you doing?”

Bruce grimaced. “Walking.”

“You’re not supposed to be walking!”

“I’m fine,” Bruce said, forcing another step.

The moment he did, his knees buckled. A low sound escaped him — not quite a groan, but close — and his vision blurred. Before the floor could rush up to meet him, two strong arms wrapped around his chest, catching him.

“I've got you,” Clark breathed, voice trembling.

Bruce’s breath came in shallow gasps as the pain flared bright and sharp beneath the bandages. His hand clutched instinctively at Clark’s forearm.

“Dammit,” Bruce hissed, closing his eyes. “I had it.”

Clark exhaled, shaky and furious and scared all at once. “You almost hit the floor, Bruce. That’s not ‘having it.’”

“I wasn’t—” Bruce started, but Clark cut him off.

“Stop.”

Clark’s voice was low, commanding, and full of an emotion Bruce rarely heard from him: raw fear.

Carefully, Clark lifted him — one arm under his knees, the other around his back — ignoring Bruce’s weak protests.

“Put me down,” Bruce muttered, squirming slightly.

“No,” Clark said simply, striding toward the bed.

“Clark...”

“No.”

The word came out rough, edged with something unsteady. Clark’s jaw was tight as he set Bruce back on the bed, one hand instinctively pressed against Bruce’s shoulder to keep him from sitting up again.

Bruce winced, half from the motion and half from the guilt flickering in Clark’s expression.

“I just needed to move,” Bruce said quietly, avoiding Clark’s eyes.

Clark stood over him, chest rising and falling. “You almost collapsed, Bruce.”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” Clark interrupted softly, eyes finally meeting his. “Don’t downplay it.”

The silence stretched between them — heavy, charged.

Clark finally sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed slightly. “It’s not the first time.”

Clark huffed out a short, humorless laugh. “That doesn’t make it easier.”

Bruce looked down, fingers tracing the edge of the blanket. “I can’t just… lie here, Clark. I need to move. I need to do something.”

“You need to heal,” Clark countered gently. “That’s doing something.”

“Not enough.”

Clark sighed. “You’re impossible.”

Bruce looked up at him then — tired, but stubborn as ever. “You knew that when you met me.”

“I did,” Clark admitted softly. “But I didn’t realize how much trouble it would be to keep you alive.”

Bruce’s lips twitched slightly — the faintest ghost of a smile. “Occupational hazard.”

Clark shook his head, smiling despite himself. Then his expression softened, the humor slipping away. “You can’t keep pushing like this, Bruce. You’re still healing.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

Bruce hesitated, then said quietly, “Because if I stop moving… I start thinking.”

Clark’s chest tightened. He reached out and rested his hand gently over Bruce’s, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “About what?”

Bruce didn’t look at him. “About what almost happened. 

Their eyes met — blue on blue, sharp and aching.

Bruce exhaled slowly, and for the first time, let himself relax back against the pillows.

Clark didn’t move away. He stayed right there beside him, one hand on his chest — over his heart — as if to remind himself that it was still beating.

“Stay,” Bruce said softly.

Clark smiled faintly. “You think I’m going anywhere after what just happened?”

Bruce’s eyelids fluttered. “I had to try.”

Clark leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not going to scare me like that again. Not if I can help it.”

Bruce’s voice was almost too quiet to hear. “You can’t protect me from everything.”

“Watch me,” Clark murmured.

There was no argument after that.

Bruce’s breathing evened out slowly as exhaustion pulled him back toward sleep, and Clark stayed beside him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

He whispered softly, “Rest, Bruce. Just… let me take care of you for once.”

Bruce didn’t answer — already half asleep, the tension fading from his face. But a faint smile tugged at his lips.

Clark leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Bruce’s temple before settling back into the chair beside him.

He watched Bruce breathe.

He listened to the steady rhythm of his heart.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Clark allowed himself to hope that they were finally past the worst of it.

The soft hiss of the medbay door was becoming a sound Clark dreaded. Every time it slid open, he expected to find Bruce doing something reckless.

So when it happened again that morning, Clark’s heart jumped — and sure enough, there was Bruce, halfway out of bed.

He wasn’t fast enough to stand yet — Clark made sure of that — but Bruce had managed to sit up fully, one leg dangling over the edge, scowling at his own weakness like it had personally offended him.

Clark crossed the room before Bruce could even blink. “You’re not doing this again.”

Bruce didn’t even look up from the datapad in his hand. “Doing what?”

“Trying to escape the medbay.”

“I’m not escaping,” Bruce said dryly. “I’m working.”

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Resting and doing nothing are two different things.”

Clark sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t just—Bruce, you were shot. You nearly—”

“—died, I know,” Bruce cut in quietly, his tone not cruel, just tired. “You’ve reminded me.”

Clark’s voice softened, but his stance didn’t. “Then act like it matters.”

“It does,” Bruce said, finally meeting his eyes. “That’s why I’m working. So this doesn’t happen again.”

Clark stared at him for a long moment, frustration and love warring behind his eyes. He exhaled slowly. “You don’t even have a laptop here.”

“I improvised,” Bruce said, holding up the datapad in one hand.

Clark frowned. “Where did you—”

“I took it from the equipment cart when you were gone.”

Clark blinked. “You—” He started to scold him, then just groaned. “You are unbelievable.”

Bruce gave a faint smirk. “You knew that when you decided to date me.”

“Yeah,” Clark muttered, “but I thought it would involve rooftop brooding, not grand theft tablet.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly. “You’re smiling.”

“No, I’m not,” Clark said automatically.

“Yes, you are.”

Clark sighed again, already defeated. “Fine. You win. But if you’re going to work, you’re going to do it from bed.”

“I am in bed,” Bruce said evenly.

“You’re sitting on the edge of it like you’re about to make a break for the training deck.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked toward the floor briefly. “It crossed my mind.”

“Bruce,” Clark said, stepping closer, folding his arms. “If you try, I’ll carry you back.”

Bruce’s smirk widened a fraction. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Clark blinked, momentarily thrown, before realizing the deliberate mischief in Bruce’s tone. “You—” He shook his head, cheeks reddening slightly. “That’s not fair.”

“Life rarely is,” Bruce said, leaning back against the pillow with the faintest wince.

Clark exhaled through his nose, then turned to the nearby counter, picked up Bruce’s tablet and a few files Alfred had sent through League channels. “Fine,” he said. “You can have these — but you stay in bed. Deal?”

Bruce pretended to think about it, eyes glinting faintly. “You’re negotiating with me?”

“I’m compromising with you,” Clark said. “Something you’re terrible at.”

Bruce looked up at him, faint amusement ghosting across his lips. “Fine. Deal.”

Clark placed the files within easy reach and watched him like a hawk until Bruce was lying back properly again. “Try not to hack the Pentagon from here.”

Bruce made a small noise that might’ve been a chuckle. “No promises.”

It was supposed to be a compromise, but an hour later, Clark realized his mistake.

Bruce worked fast. Even half-sedated, tired, and running on maybe fifty percent strength, his fingers moved like he’d never been shot. Within forty minutes, he’d already restructured three mission rosters, reviewed Watchtower surveillance protocols, and sent an encrypted memo to Cyborg with “recommendations.”

Clark stared at him, incredulous. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

“I am,” Bruce said without looking up. “I’m just efficient.”

“Bruce, you’ve done more in an hour than most of the League does in a week.”

Bruce’s tone was deceptively mild. “Then maybe they should improve their efficiency”

Clark groaned. “I regret giving you that tablet"

Bruce’s lips curved faintly. “You’re learning"

Clark leaned against the edge of the bed, folding his arms. “If I take it back, are you going to fight me?”

Bruce glanced up, smirk still there. “Physically, or verbally?”

“Both"

“Then yes”

Clark gave up. He let Bruce work, though he stayed close — occasionally handing him water or pretending to adjust the blanket just to make sure Bruce didn’t move too much.

And even when Bruce didn’t say it, there was something softer in the way he’d glance at Clark between pages — the smallest, quietest gratitude in his eyes.

Elsewhere, the rest of the founding League sat in the conference chamber. The mood was heavy.

Diana sat with her hands folded, eyes narrowed slightly. “They’ve been officially discharged. Two will be remanded to custody, the other two under close supervision.”

Hal leaned back in his chair. “You mean babysitting duty.”

“Justice,” Diana corrected calmly. “Not vengeance.”

John exhaled through his nose. “Tell that to Superman.”

At that, the room fell quiet.

Diana’s gaze softened. “He’s handling it better than expected.”

Hal snorted. “Yeah, because Batman’s alive. Barely.”

“Still,” John added quietly, “we all know what he’d do if that changed.”

No one disagreed.

The Flash, uncharacteristically quiet, rubbed the back of his neck. “I checked in earlier. Bruce looked bad, but… Clark wouldn’t leave his side. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.”

“Because he hasn’t,” Diana murmured.

There was a beat of silence, broken only when Hal muttered, “Man, those recruits had no idea what kind of chaos they almost started.”

“They’ll answer for it,” Diana said firmly. “And Bruce will recover.”

She said it with certainty — not because she knew, but because she needed it to be true.

By the time the League came back to the medbay, Clark had given up trying to stop Bruce from working.

He’d settled instead for sitting beside the bed, reading reports quietly while Bruce typed. Every now and then, he’d glance up to check Bruce’s breathing or frown when he noticed Bruce shifting slightly, hiding a wince.

When the door slid open, Diana stepped in first, followed by Hal and John.

Clark straightened immediately, protective instinct kicking in before he could stop himself.

Bruce barely looked up. “Updates?”

Diana smiled faintly. “You’re supposed to be healing, not managing.”

Bruce’s eyes lifted just enough to meet hers. “I can do both.”

John chuckled softly. “He really can.”

Clark sighed. “Don’t encourage him.”

Bruce smirked slightly, and the sight of it — faint and fleeting — eased something tight in Clark’s chest.

Diana walked closer. “The recruits have been sentenced. Two will serve time under League custody, two have been remanded to the UN Tribunal.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change much, but his eyes flicked briefly toward Clark — gauging his reaction.

Clark’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Good.”

“They’ll face judgment,” Diana said gently. “The right way.”

“I know,” Clark said. “That’s why I’m letting it go.”

Bruce gave him a small, knowing look. “You’re learning too.”

Clark huffed softly, but his eyes softened. “From the best.”

Hal leaned against the doorframe, watching the two of them. “I’ll be honest, it’s kind of nice seeing you two like this. Calm. Not yelling. Not breaking buildings.”

Bruce’s voice was dry. “Give it an hour.”

That got a laugh out of the room — even from Clark, who shook his head fondly.

When they finally left, the medbay fell quiet again. Bruce set the tablet aside and leaned back, clearly exhausted but unwilling to admit it.

Clark smiled softly and reached over to take his hand. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Bruce hummed. “Took you this long to figure it out?”

Clark squeezed his hand gently. “I mean it. You shouldn’t even be awake, and you’re running the League from bed.”

Bruce’s lips curved faintly. “Delegation.”

Clark brushed his thumb over Bruce’s fingers, his voice soft. “You scared me, Bruce.”

Bruce’s eyes opened slowly, meeting his. “You already said that.”

“I’ll keep saying it,” Clark murmured. “Until it stops feeling true.”

Bruce was quiet for a moment. Then, in that low, hoarse tone that always cut straight through Clark’s chest, he said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Clark leaned down, resting his forehead gently against Bruce’s. “Good.”

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. The machines hummed softly in the background, a quiet reminder of the fragility that had become their peace.

When Bruce finally drifted off again, the tablet still resting against his side, Clark reached over and turned it off — smiling faintly.

“You’re the only person who’d treat recovery like a board meeting,” he whispered.

Bruce stirred slightly, his fingers twitching in Clark’s grasp, but didn’t wake.

Clark leaned back in the chair, eyes soft and full of quiet devotion. “Sleep, Bruce,” he said softly. “I’ll handle the world for a while.”

The soft hum of the med bay had finally become background noise — the rhythmic beeping, the low hum of machines, the distant sound of doors sliding open and shut. For the first time in weeks, Bruce was steady on his feet again. Still pale, still thinner than usual, but walking — and walking with intent.

Clark noticed it immediately.

“Where are you going?” Clark asked, setting aside the datapad he’d been pretending to read while actually just watching Bruce breathe.

“To take a shower,” Bruce said simply, already unhooking the light monitoring cables.

Clark blinked. “You had one yesterday.”

Bruce shot him a look over his shoulder. “Then I’ll be the cleanest man on the Watchtower. Move, Kent.”

Clark folded his arms, lips twitching. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re still healing. I can—”

“—help me? I’m sure you’d like that,” Bruce interrupted, voice dry and faintly amused.

Clark flushed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Mm,” Bruce hummed, clearly unconvinced. He walked slowly, stiffly toward the shower room, ignoring the way Clark’s footsteps followed him like an anxious shadow.

When he reached the door, Clark hovered close enough to make Bruce sigh. “You’re not going to let me shower alone, are you?”

Clark hesitated. “I’m not sure you should be standing for that long. You could slip, or—”

Bruce smirked faintly, despite the pallor of exhaustion around his eyes. “You really are a perv, you know that?”

Clark’s mouth fell open. “I—what?! No, I—Bruce—”

Bruce let out a soft, breathy laugh — the first genuine one Clark had heard in weeks. “Relax, Smallville. I'm kidding.”

Clark rubbed a hand over his neck, red from embarrassment. “You have a terrible sense of humor.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Bruce said, his tone calm but fond.

Then, casually — too casually — Bruce said, “You could always join me, you know. In case I drown or something.”

Clark frowned. “You can’t drown in the shower.”

Bruce gave him a small shrug. “Better safe than sorry.”

Clark stared for a long second — then sighed, muttering something about impossible men, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Bruce raised an eyebrow, that faint smirk tugging again at the corner of his lips.

“Didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he murmured.

“You said it was for safety,” Clark said, his tone mock-serious, though the color on his cheeks told another story.

The steam filled the small room, wrapping around them. Clark stood close enough to catch Bruce if he stumbled, one hand hovering near the small of his back. Bruce rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. The warm water cascaded over them, and for a few moments, the silence was easy.

Clark picked up the shampoo bottle, quietly working up the courage to ask, “Can I…?”

Bruce tilted his head in permission, and Clark’s strong but gentle fingers worked through his hair, careful not to pull at any healing skin. Bruce closed his eyes, resting both hands on Clarks chest and leaning his head back as Clark washes his hair, letting himself relax into the touch — something he rarely did, even in private.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” Bruce murmured, his voice low and softer than usual.

“I grew up on a farm,” Clark said, smiling a little. “We learned how to take care of things.”

“I’m not one of your cows, Kent.”

Clark laughed quietly, the sound echoing off the tile. “Could’ve fooled me — you’re just as stubborn.”

Bruce snorted, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “That’s rich coming from you.”

When they finished, Bruce leaned against the wall, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. Clark reached for a towel, wrapping it around Bruce’s shoulders before drying his own hair.

“Come on,” Clark said gently. “Let’s get you back before Alfred appears out of thin air and yells at both of us.”

Bruce grunted but didn’t resist as Clark guided him back to the med bay.

Once they were both dressed — Bruce in a soft t-shirt far too big for him (Clark’s, obviously) and loose sweatpants — Clark began to change his bandages. His hands were impossibly gentle, tracing along the edges of the gauze, careful not to tug or pull. Bruce watched him quietly, studying the concentration in Clark’s face.

Clark finished rewrapping the bandages, his fingers brushing lightly over Bruce’s ribs before he stepped back. “There. Good as new.”

Bruce smiled faintly. “You’re lying.”

“Yeah,” Clark said quietly, eyes soft. “But you’re getting there.”

Bruce leaned back against the pillows, the faintest trace of warmth returning to his face. “Don’t get used to playing nurse.”

“Too late,” Clark said, sitting beside him with a grin. “You’re my favorite patient.”

Bruce chuckled under his breath — tired, but real. He turned his head slightly, eyes tracing Clark’s face. “You’re an idiot.”

Clark’s reply came gently. “Maybe. But I’m your idiot.”

Bruce huffed a quiet laugh, the corners of his lips softening. “Don’t let anyone else hear you say that.”

Clark’s expression softened even more, his voice almost a whisper. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They stayed like that for a while — quiet, warm, the world outside forgotten — two men who had been through too much, finally allowed a moment of peace.

The Watchtower was quiet — quieter than Bruce had ever heard it. The usual hum of power lines and distant conversations seemed to fade into the silence of space. From the med bay, only the soft rhythm of machines and Clark’s occasional voice broke through.

Bruce had been pretending to read a report for the past twenty minutes, eyes flicking over the tablet, absorbing nothing. His thoughts were elsewhere — on movement, on restlessness, on the maddening stillness of recovery.

Finally, he set the tablet down. “I’m going for a walk,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Clark, who’d been sitting nearby and absolutely not pretending to do anything other than watch him, looked up sharply. “A walk? Bruce, it’s late. You should—”

“I’m not tired,” Bruce interrupted, even though the faint exhaustion in his voice betrayed him.

Clark raised an eyebrow. “That’s the third lie today.”

Bruce ignored him, already swinging his legs off the bed. He moved slowly but with determination, his bare feet brushing the cold floor. “I need to stretch. That’s all..."

Clark hesitated, then sighed — knowing resistance was useless when Bruce Wayne had that tone. “Fine. But I’m coming with you”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Bruce said, his lips curving faintly.

So they walked. Slowly. Side by side through the quiet halls of the Watchtower. The lights dimmed for night cycle, casting everything in a soft blue hue.

Bruce still wore sweatpants and the oversized shirt that was unmistakably Clark’s — the one that fell over one shoulder when he moved. He didn’t bother to fix it. Clark tried not to stare too long, but his chest ached at how fragile Bruce looked in that moment. Strong as ever, but thinner. Human in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

When they reached the observation deck, the doors slid open with a whisper. Space stretched endlessly beyond the glass — stars scattered like diamonds, Earth suspended below them in brilliant blue and white.

Bruce stepped closer to the glass, his reflection merging with the stars. “You never really get used to it,” he murmured.

Clark came to stand beside him. “You mean the view?”

Bruce nodded slowly. “You see it every day. But somehow it’s… still bigger than you remember.”

Clark smiled softly. “That’s one of the things I love about it.”

Bruce glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “You would say that.”

They sat after a while, side by side on the small bench near the window. Silence stretched between them — not uncomfortable, just full. The kind of silence they’d both come to treasure.

Clark leaned back, one arm resting loosely along the back of the bench. Bruce sat forward slightly, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the Earth turning slowly below them.

“Are you in pain?” Clark asked quietly.

Bruce shook his head. “Not really. Just… tired.”

Clark studied him carefully. “We can go back whenever you want"

Bruce didn’t answer right away. His eyes traced the outlines of the continents below. “Not yet.”

Clark turned slightly. “Bruce—”

“I said not yet,” Bruce interrupted softly.

There was no edge to his voice this time — just weariness, and something else Clark couldn’t quite name. Something like longing.

So Clark nodded, silent agreement between them.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. Bruce’s breathing slowed; his shoulders sagged slightly. Clark could see the fatigue creeping up on him, the weight behind his eyelids.

When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper. “Clark…”

Clark leaned closer. “Yeah?”

Bruce didn’t look at him. “If I said I can’t walk back right now… would you mock me for it?”

Clark’s breath caught. The honesty in Bruce’s tone hit him harder than he expected.

“Never,” he said softly.

Bruce exhaled through his nose, a quiet, embarrassed huff. “My legs feel like concrete.”

Clark smiled — small and full of warmth. “You could’ve told me sooner"

“I didn’t want to...”

“I know,” Clark said, his voice fond. “You never do.”

Bruce gave him a faint, tired smirk. “You’re learning”

Clark stood then, stepping closer, and offered a hand. “Come on. I’ll carry you"

Bruce looked at the hand, then up at Clark’s face — as if judging how serious he was. When he saw no mockery there, only calm determination, he nodded once.

“Don’t drop me,” he muttered.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Clark said, scooping him up effortlessly.

Bruce made a quiet sound — halfway between a sigh and a protest — but he didn’t resist. He just leaned against Clark’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the cotton shirt. Clark walked with slow, deliberate steps, careful not to jostle him.

The halls were empty, their footsteps the only sound. Clark held him like something precious, his hand resting protectively against Bruce’s back.

“You’re enjoying this,” Bruce said quietly, eyes half-lidded.

Clark smiled. “You caught me"

Bruce’s lips twitched. “Don’t make a habit of it”

“Too late,” Clark murmured.

When they reached Bruce’s quarters, Clark opened the door silently and carried him straight to the bed. He lowered him gently onto the mattress, careful to avoid the healing wound.

Bruce sighed — the sound soft and full of relief. “Thank you"

Clark knelt beside the bed for a moment, one hand resting lightly on the blanket. “Do you need anything?”

Bruce looked at him, his voice almost a whisper. “Just you... Stay?"

Clark smiled “Always”

He climbed into the bed beside him, lying on his side. Bruce shifted carefully, turning toward him. Clark slipped an arm around him — gentle, protective, but not too tight.

Bruce’s eyes drifted shut as Clark’s thumb brushed lightly along his arm. The warmth between them filled the small room.

For a long time, they didn’t speak. Just breathing together.

Finally, Bruce murmured — eyes still closed — “You worry too much"

Clark smiled faintly. “Someone has to.”

“Idiot.”

“Your idiot,” Clark whispered.

Bruce’s lips curved, barely visible in the dim light. “Don’t get used to saying that"

Clark leaned his forehead gently against Bruce’s. “Too late"

Outside, Earth turned slowly beneath them. The stars stretched endlessly beyond the glass. Inside, the two of them lay together — quiet, safe, finally at peace.