Chapter Text
Superman has certainly seen better days.
Things were fine at first- Clark, suited up and fulfilling a few stereotypical Superman activities such as saving a cat from a tree and helping an elderly woman with her shopping, had at some point been alerted to a suspected mugging across town.
Situations like these were nothing Clark hadn’t encountered before, and he’d been made aware of this particular one after hearing the muffled cries and pleas for Superman before the person that made them was silenced.
He arrives on the scene within seconds to find two men struggling against one another in the shadows of an alley. One is pressed harshly to the stone wall, ghostly-white, with his hands bound behind his back and knife to the thoat. The other stands taller, sneering down whilst pressing the blade against skin.
“Hey!” Clark yells, startling the mugger enough for him to drop the knife as he whips around sharply. His eyes widen fearfully, taking in the intimidating stature of the red and blue hero, before turning swiftly on his heels and bolting it out of the alley.
Clark considers running after him, but it’s not like he’s going to get very far. Instead, he decides to check on the shivering man left behind first, and will catch up with the criminal shortly to issue him a lecture on knife violence before delivering him to the cops.
“It’s ok,” he says with a comforting smile, reaching out to the young man to unfasten his restraints. He feels ever so slightly heavier than usual as he moves his body towards the man, and there’s a growing pressure behind his eyes signifying the beginning of a headache, but he’s not slept a wink in at-least 3 days, what with the deadline of Perry’s latest assignment looming, and there are more pressing matters to attend to. Plus, the alley’s dark; untouched by the sun as tall tower blocks shield it from light- Clark’s sure that once he wraps this up and steps back out into the sun’s gaze, his energy will blossom back into his veins.
“You’re safe now. Here, let me help you out of those cuffs-”
As he steps forward however, he can’t help the sudden wave of nausea that hits and causes him to stumble slightly, and that is definitely not something that can be passed off as mild fatigue. The cuffed man averts his fearful eyes from Clark, instead turning his gaze to something behind his back. With his senses weakened by the nausea, Clark doesn’t have time to react before a sharp, searing pain explodes in his lower back, and he cries out in sudden agony.
The pain is white hot; blinding, and Clark is unable to stop his knees from buckling sharply as he falls unceremoniously to the floor. He knows there must be a Kryptonite weapon of sorts penetrating his skin, and drags his arms back in an attempt to grab and dislodge it, but his attacker is still there- still grasping the pulsing green gemstone as they sink it further into the now vulnerable flesh on his back. Another cry rips itself from Clark’s throat as the pain intensifies, but it’s gurgled and raw whilst a metallic taste of blood crowds his mouth.
There’s another hand on his shoulder, one which pulls his upper body back to give leverage for deepening the blade until it passes clean through- ripping the blue material across Superman’s front as a sickly green spike pokes out from his stomach.
He gasps, lifting shaking hands up to ghost over the blade which is allowing the steady beat of hot, thick blood to seep from the gaping wound.
The rattle of an engine starts to flail around inside of Clark’s skull, and he turns to watch an unmarked white van swerve quickly around the corner and tear it’s way towards him.
“Wha.. who-?” He tries, looking back up through heavy eyelids and a spinning vision to the cuffed man- or at least where the cuffed man had been. With a screeching of tires, the van stops just short of him, and he sees now that the man is being shoved towards it’s back door.
The mechanical thudding continues mercilessly as he slumps forwards, barely able to keep himself from face planting the floor with a weak arm bracing his sluggish body against the concrete.
“Jobs done, boss’ll be happy. Let’s get outta here.” A harsh voice snarls from behind him, and Clark watches a pair of heavy black boots emerge at his side and stomp past towards the van. There’s the echoing slam of a door, an elevated engine rev and a scudder from the wheels, and Clark is alone.
He needs to get out of here.
He needs to get up.
Lifting himself to stand almost causes him to black out entirely. The searing pain is lava through his veins, burning him from the inside out, and he has to bite hard on his lower lip to prevent himself from screaming.
Oh this is bad.
He falls roughly into the neighbouring brick wall and begins scraping himself along it towards the end of the alley.
He can’t shake the haunted look in that man’s face from his mind- the fear that had flashed behind his eyes moments before Clark had gotten stabbed. Was he acting? Or was he being used as bait?
How had he not felt the presence of Kryptonite when he he’d first arrived? How had he let them sneak up on him like that?
His thoughts are foggy, and he can’t keep them from falling sluggishly from his mind as the pain pulses deep and overwhelmingly within him, and when he reaches the street, Clark can hardly see- let along think- about anything at all. His vision is blurred; his hearing shot, and any feeling throughout his body is snubbed by the all-consuming agony of the Kryptonite poisoning.
He collapses- only aware of this fact due to the sudden entrance of wet concrete pressed cooly against his cheek- and hears the buzz of screams and shouts from the public, looking on in horror at their Metropolitan hero before he promptly blacks out.
————
The news of Superman’s collapse spread like the plague, and breaches Gotham’s news outlets and gossip circles within the hour.
After the man had fallen unconscious he was promptly whisked away to Metropolis general hospital with frantic blue lights, and since then a crowd has formed which spans the length of the street and more so.
The little Bohemia district is gridlocked- the thick swarm of concerned and curious civilians and reporters alike form an almost impenetrable barrier between the hospital and surrounding Metropolis area. A dozen security guards are stationed before the doors, stoic and unflinching at the hurricane of questions about the Man of Steel’s condition.
Bruce Wayne is late.
Despite the virality of Clark’s condition, the billionaire hadn’t been made aware of it until after his meeting for the day had adjourned; quickly fleeing in pursuit of the hospital once finally informed.
His skin prickles unnervingly as he darts haphazardly through the traffic, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently. He doesn’t have the full story; snippets at best, but it doesn’t sound good. Reports had confirmed the presence of Kryptonite at the scene, and there was no way Superman would end up in a general hospital unless he was physically unable to resist it.
What the bloody hell had Clark been doing? Why hadn’t he called for backup? For Batman? Hell, Bruce didn’t even know Clark had a lead, let alone plans to pursue it. Sure it was broad daylight and hence not particularly Batman’s scene, but in such dire situations where Kryptonite is present, exceptions can be made.
Frankly, he was pretty pissed off at Clark’s carelessness.
The cars up ahead haven’t moved an inch in the past five minutes and Bruce can feel his patience wearing dangerously thin. No doubt the congestion has something to do with Superman, and it so it seems unlikely to be subsiding anytime soon.
Fuck this.
He’s able to mount the curb- parking ticket be damned, before taking off swiftly in the direction of the hospital. He’s not too far, and he doesn’t have anymore time to waste sitting in traffic. The crowd is less than preferable, but thankfully, Alfred has taught him well about the excessive politeness within British culture. With a generous amount of polite yet firm ‘sorry’s and ‘excuse me’s’, Bruce is able to work his way through to the front doors and awaiting security. (And if a rogue elbow had jabbed a couple people in the back at any point alongside the pleasantries… well that was neither here nor there.)
A tall, stern faced security guard looks at Bruce dismissively when he reaches the entrance, and his thick arms remain firmly crossed against his broad chest when he talks.
“No entry.”
“Excuse me?”
“No entry.”
He sighs, readying the classic billionaire bragging card, because needs must.
“Listen,” he starts, lowering his voice and making a show of leaning in. “It’s an honest mistake to make, but I’m not just anyone-” he flashes a charming smile towards the man. “I’m Bruce Wayne.”
It takes a moment for him to react but when he does, the guard merely snorts.
“And I’m Colin, but there’s still no entry, pal.”
Bruce’s patience had been wearing worryingly thin before, but now it was well and truly worn out flat. He hadn’t expected this to be the biggest problem- clearly Clark’s condition must be worse than he imagined if security is this tight. Again- why hadn’t that bastard called him?!
His heart races as his mind lingers; Clark bleeding out on an operating table- a shard of Kryptonite lodged firmly through his heart as he begins to flatline-
Fuck!
“This is ridiculous, I need to get in there.” He huffs. “How much? How much do you want to let me through? I could buy this whole goddamn building-”
“Look mate,” the guard- Colin- cuts in harshly. “This isn’t a pissing contest, alright? No one is allowed in. You’re gonna have to wait your turn for a piece of Superman- just like everyone else in the crowd.”
Before Bruce can reply, another guard approaches. “S’everything alright here?” The new man says loudly. He looks from Colin to Bruce, but the second his eyes slide over to the billionaire, they widen, and he suddenly looks almost fearful. Hope instantly takes root in Wayne’s chest- he can definitely use fear to his advantage.
“No- everything is not alright.” He snips quickly, glaring daggers at the newcomer and shoving an accusatory finger towards Colin. “He’s not letting me in. I mean, come on- do you seriously not know who I am? Do you know what I could do to your career with just a few calls?” It’s a tired, boring threat, but he has to try. Luckily, it seems to have the desired effect as the man begins to stutter.
“Y-yes, Mister Wayne,” he gulps, “and I sincerely appologise. But we aren’t letting anyone inside at this time.”
“Billionaires or otherwise.” Colin snickers, and Bruce itches to punch him clean across his snarky mouth.
There’s a low rumble of chatter behind him and the occasional camera flash as their confrontation intensifies.
“Sir, I am sorry,” the second guard tries again, “but unless you’re family, i’m afraid you aren’t getting inside.”
He’s about to either stalk off and find a back window to break into or forcefully shove his way through the doors and make a run for it, when an idea strikes.
It’s stupid and problematic and impulsive, and he definitely shouldn’t say it at all, but he needs to get inside to see Clark. Another camera flashes to his left and he cringes internally- oh, how the press will love this.
“I’m not here as a billionaire,” he snarls. “I’m here as Superman’s husband.”
There’s at once a chorus of gasps, an eruption of flashes, and both security guards drop their jaws open wide to catch flies.
Whispers and exclaims ring out on all sides.
“Superman is married?”
“-To Bruce Wayne?”
“They’re married to each other?!”
“There goes my chances...”
“Well? Aren’t you going to let me in?”
It takes another few seconds for the men to compile themselves, and even then they’re still not completely with it, the utter morons. “You’re here as his- as his husband?!” Colin finally speaks, disbelief laced through his words.
“Yes I am.” He clips, tapping his foot angrily against the pavement. “Now will you let me through? You’ve wasted more than enough time already.”
“O-of course, Mr Wayne, Sir.” The man stutters, holding the door open. “Please- right this way.”
————
The camera flashes cease once Bruce finally gets inside, although the gossiping does not. There seems to be a Chinese whisper of sorts which runs alongside him as he’s escorted through the hospital, with nurses and cleaners and doctor turning to look at the billionaire shamelessly.
Head forward and determined, Bruce displays no tell of his emotions besides the working of his jaw as he bites down restlessly.
He enters the east wing where a doctor slips out swiftly from a room down the hall, and she looks up at the sound of approaching footsteps before meeting Bruce with an offered hand.
“Mr Wayne.” She greets, face neutral besides the slight lift of her brows. “my name is Doctor Auburn. I’ve been informed that you’re Superman’s husband?”
If circumstances were different, he might have laughed at the absurdity of her words. He doesn’t of course, instead keeping his face flat and his response direct, but it’s a close one.
“Yes. What happened?”
“He came to us in critical condition after sustaining an stab to the lower back. There was internal bleeding as well as damage to his liver and kidney. We were able to remove the weapon, but once it had been withdrawn, the puncture closed almost immediately.”
Bruce hums. “Kryptonite. Did you manage to remove it all?”
Dr Auburn nods grimly. “We suspect so, and yes- the blade was extracted whole. He’s stable- his organs and skin have been seen to sew themselves back together, although he is still unconscious.”
“Can I see him?”
“Of course, but unfortunately we have no way of knowing how long he will remain in this state.” She opens the door again, this time waving him inside. “I’ll give you some privacy.” She says, before closing the door behind him.
Clark is in bed, eyes closed and completely still beneath a light blanket. The monitors besides him beat steadily, contrasting how quickly Bruce’s own heart is thrumming.
It’s always an unsettling thing to see Superman motionless like this, unconcious and vulnerable and anything other than bright and energetic. The man is no stranger to these kinds of situations; lord knows Lex amongst others has had his fair share of Kryptonite-centric attacks, although it’s not often that Clark is affected so greatly.
Bruce moves to the side of the bed and reaches over, pulling back the covers to expose Clark’s bandaged abdomen, and sure enough, the wrappings are clean- not a trace of blood in sight. With the Kryptonite out of the way, Clark should have no problem stitching himself back together fully. Looking down now at dark curls splayed limply across the pillow, Bruce takes a seat beside him in the bedside chair.
“Clark.”
He waits a few minutes, listening closely to the monitors for any change in reading, before trying again.
“Clark.” It’s louder; firmer, and with a sigh of relief, Bruce notices the slight elevation in Clark’s heart beat.
It takes a few minutes longer, but eventually, bright blue eyes attempt to open, at first unfocused and confused, before locking onto the figure at his bedside.
“…Bruce?”
“Yes, it’s me. You were stabbed, Kal, we’re in the hospital.” The older man explains. “How do you feel?”
Clark stares at him, brows furrowed, before eventually collecting himself enough to form a response. “I feel… tired.” He murmers whilst looking down at his bandaged stomach. “Aw heck, they got me good, huh? Straight through.”
Bruce grimaces but doesn’t say anything. He’s thankful to be seeing Clark alive and awake, but he’s also furious at the man for getting himself so badly injured in the first place.
“How long have I been unconscious? It was around lunchtime when passed out.”
Glancing at his watch, Bruce replies curtly, “approximately four hours.”
“Ah, right.” Clark nods, watching Bruce closely. They sit in silence for a moment, nothing but the rhythmic beeps of the monitors echoing through the room until Clark speaks again.
“You’re angry.”
Bruce tuts and sits forwards in the chair in a scolding manner. “Whatever you were up to must have been pretty wreckless for it to land you here.” He scoffs. “You should have called.”
“I had no idea Kryptonite was going to be involved.” Clark defends, pushing himself up by his elbows. He hisses faintly, clearly still sore as his flesh knits itself back together, and Bruce has to stop himself from reaching out. “-I mean, It was broad daylight, for gosh-sake! I thought it was a simple kidnapping, I wasn’t going to call for backup over that.”
His anger softens at Clark’s explaination, and Bruce is pleased to hear Superman wasn’t getting too cocksure after all. He hums again. “A trap then.”
“Yes. One of them referred to it as a ‘job’ and said their ‘boss will be happy.’”
“Considering they were able to sneak up on you with kryptonite, this was clearly planned carefully.” Bruce nods. “I’m sure I can take a good guess as to who this ‘boss’ is.”
“Me too.” The reporter mumbles bitterly.
A short tapping on the door warns them both before a nurse enters to check on the monitors, and she beams at the sight of Superman up and talking.
“Oh, Superman, you’re awake! We we’re all so worried back there!” She smiles brightly, “how are you feeling?”
“I appreciate your concern, ma’am.” He returns the smile easily. “I’m feeling just fine, thank you. In fact, I think I’ll be heading out shortly.”
The nurse seems startled by his speedy exit, but Clark is quick to assure her that he’ll be ok, and remind her that he is in fact, a self-healing alien.
“Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.” Bruce winks at her, ignoring the eyebrow raised in his direction from Clark. “And we’ll be sure to check out with Dr Auburn before leaving too.”
“Well, if you’re sure you’ll be ok, it’s your choice whether you wish to stay.” She decides, and it’s clear by her tone that she’s unconvinced. “I just need to make a few notes for the records, if that’s ok?”
“Of course!” Superman replies warmly, and as the nurse begins to take down readings of his vitals, the man turns to Bruce and chirps, “Thank you for coming, Mr Wayne, I appreciate it.”
Bruce’s entire body cringes.
Ever-polite and proper, Superman was; rarely calling Bruce anything other than Mr Wayne when in other’s company. Granted, it’s not like Clark knows about the whole marriage thing, but clearly the nurse does, as she shoots a confused glace both of their way.
Bruce throws up a charming smile and rests a hand on Clark’s arm. “Well of course, what kind of husband would I be otherwise?” He widens his eyes on ‘husband’, and Clark’s fond expression falls away immediately into one of shock.
They stare at one another for too long to be comfortable- Bruce glaring in a way that screams, ‘go with it or so help me, Clark-!’ and the other man looking hopelessly lost before nodding slowly with a uncertain chuckle.
“Ha, yes. Yes- obviously! That… makes sense.”
As soon as the nurse leaves, Clark’s baffled expression returns, and he sits waiting for Bruce to explain.
“I hit a slight snag on my way in.”
Perhaps ‘slight snag’ was minimising it a bit, but there really is nothing to do about it now.
Clark blinks. “A slight snag? What does that mean?”
“It means they wouldn’t let me in unless we were family.”
“…Family.”
“Yes.”
“And by family, you mean you told them…”
He bites his lip sheepishly. “I told them we were married.”
Clark sends a withering look Bruce’s way at the news and sighs. “And can I ask, by them, was this to an isolated crowd or-?”
Bruce cringes again, turning away from Clark’s gaze and suddenly finding the ceiling to be very interesting to look at indeed.
“…There was, admittedly, a few reporters around.”
Clark groans and shoves his faces into his hands. “Amazing. Superman and Bruce Wayne, me and you, married- that’s- that’s…” the sudden reddening of Clark’s cheeks is clearly indicative of his embarrassment at being paired with the likes of Brucie Wayne, and Bruce feels himself getting rather irritated by the reaction.
“-That’s going to be a problem.” He finishes. “You couldn’t have thought of something else?!”
At this, Bruce rolls his eyes and huffs, “I didn’t have much of a choice, Clark. Believe me, being wedded to Superman is hardly ideal for me either- I won’t hear the goddamn end of it for months!”
“I would have been fine, I am fine.” The Kryptonian emphasises, crossing his arms. “You didn’t have to check up on me at all.”
Bruce laughs bitterly. “Ha, right, sure- because I should have just known you were going to be fine after being rushed here.” He stands, feeling worked up. “I had no idea what had happened, but hospitalisation for Superman is definitely not a good sign. I needed to get in to… check on your condition.”
It was as much as an admittance of care that Bruce would ever give, and Clark clearly hears it for what it is as well. His shoulders slouch and the harsh lines between his brows even out.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I really do appreciate you coming.” He offers a soft smile up at the man, who relaxes in turn. “We can work something out, it’s not like we haven’t dealt with worse, right?”
He nods at Clark, because on the list of problems faced by Batman and Superman, this is hardly taking top spot. Or atleast it wouldn’t be, unless of course you factor in Bruce’s not quite platonic feelings towards the Man of Steel… because if that’s on the table, well, then things are slightly worse off for Bruce than they initially seem.
It’s fine. He’s a grown man, for Christ-sake- he has enough sense and self-restraint to keep those feelings to himself, there’s no need to spoil their friendship with a boyish, one-sided crush.
“I’ll call Alfred to pick us up- that is, assuming you want to get out of here now?”
“Sounds good to me," Clark agrees, swinging his legs over the bed and reaching for the suit folded beside the bed. “I’m feeling better by the minute.”
“Wonderful. I’ll get him to come round to side entrance, he won’t get very far trying the front with those crowds.”
It’s immediately obvious to Bruce that he’s fucked himself over as he watches Clark narrow his eyes knowingly.
“Just how many reporters heard you, Bruce?”
He decides to ignore the question to instead call Alfred, and It’s only after pocketing his phone that Bruce reluctantly replies. “It doesn’t matter. Even if just one reporter had heard, the story would still spread to every news station across Metropolis by morning- two of the most eligible bachelors this side of the country are secretly together? It’s a reporter’s wet dream.”
Bruce doesn’t miss the way Clark’s ears turn red at his crudity as the hero begins to pull on his suit, being careful not to jostle the still-tender flesh at his back and abdomen. “I guess you’re right.” It takes another minute for him to fully suit up, and the two men make for the door. Bruce keeps close to Clark’s side as an offering, which the other man leans ever so slightly into to keep his balance.
They’re half way down the corridor when Clark throws his head back dramatically and groans. “Ugh- work tomorrow’s gonna be a nightmare.”
“Hmm. Well if you’re lucky, Superman might just give you an exclusive.”
Clark glares. Bruce absolutely has no right to tease, but it is admittedly a little funny.
“It’s just celebrity gossip- stuff like this happens all the time. It probably won’t make the front page.”
They both know how highly unlikely that is, but Bruce politely doesn’t correct him. “That suit’s practically indecent with the way it’s torn.” He says instead. “You can change at mine.”
Superman laughs. “Golly! take me to dinner first before talk of removing my clothes, Mr Wayne.”
“Kal.” Bruce deadpans, lip twitching at the corners. “You were in nothing but your briefs back there. Plus-” he lowers his voice as they pass a few hospital staff. “-we’re supposed to be married. Do try not to blow our cover before we leave the building.”
“So bossy. I wonder why I ever thought to marry you.”
“For my money, I’d imagine.”
“Ah yes, of course.” Clark laughs again, filling the corridor with warmth. Bruce’s mouth turns up into a soft smile, and there’s no one around other than his best friend to see it.
This was going to be interesting.