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Bruce found himself waking up in a rather comfortable chair. The first thing he noticed was that his body seemed somewhat restrained. The second was that he wasn’t panicking.
His vision was blurry, but while he couldn’t exactly see where he was, he knew immediately that he’d been brought to the Fortress of Solitude. It was where he woke up most often, and it had been happening with increasing frequency, so he could deduce that the overt brainwashing was beginning to fail.
That didn’t help with the covert part of it. His mind was still failing, as evidenced by the fact that he was still calm as he blinked and took in the interior of the crystalline structure. The place was decorated oddly; and there was some form of altar in the middle that he hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t decorated, in fact it seemed to be made of simple ice, with some sort of pattern carved all over. Had Kal managed to do this on his own? Or had he forced someone to make it?
The next thing he noticed was that he was not dressed as he normally was when he woke up. The suit Kal had designed for him was much tighter than this, and much heavier, even if the weight meant nothing to him anymore. It was much softer, and seemed to fall over him in layers; he could feel where it draped and folded, especially around his legs. He tilted his head forward just slightly, looking down to find that his body had been covered in soft black cloth, the kind of silken fabric he knew Kal saved for special occasions. It was done in a style somewhere between suit and dress, with pant legs that draped like a skirt and a thin mesh overlay that completed the illusion.
He would have felt sick to his stomach, if he could have.
“Do you like it?” Kal’s voice from behind him, and his heart beat faster. He couldn’t panic, not anymore; the response had been lowering for months now, he should have expected it would eventually go away entirely. But the sound of that voice still caused an instinctive reaction, one born from memories of long-ago friendships and months worth of mental reprogramming. From a time when Kal was still Clark, and it had been impossible to imagine a time like this.
“Yes,” he lied through his teeth, staring down at the beaded black mesh. Patterns of constellations and things that might’ve been kryptonian words that he didn’t recognize covered it, glinting slightly in the light. He knew better than to talk back or say he didn’t like something Kal gave him if he wanted to stay conscious.
“Good,” Kal said, clearly pleased. Warm, strong, large hands settled on his shoulders, holding just a little too tight for comfort. “You’re going to be wearing it for the rest of the night. After tonight, I’ll put it on display for anyone who comes to see us, but if you want to wear it again, you’ll need to ask. Got it?”
Bruce nodded. There was no purpose in fighting back, not anymore. No matter how much it hurt or if Kal’s touch made him want to throw up while simultaneously making him flush. It simply wasn’t worth the hassle, even if he wanted to. He had no chance, not anymore - not unless a miracle happened. And there was no one left to male a miracle.
“Do you want to know what it is?” Kal’s hands brushed over his shoulders, then lower, over his sides. They stopped to cup his chest, squeezing slightly, and Bruce became suddenly aware that the fabric was stretched taut over his pecs. Kal’s hands went down further, to his waist; another squeeze, and then settled.
“A dress?” Bruce guessed, raising an eyebrow at the black fabric, only to come to the realization that he wasn’t wearing the cowl. His face was uncovered for the first time in a very long time.
Kal laughed, warm and sweet and affectionate, and it made Bruce hurt. When had that laugh started to cause dread? When had it turned from a subconscious comfort, meaning light and safety, to the laugh of a worldwide dictator? When had Kal become more than the farmboy from Kansas, when had Bruce’s best friend become a tyrant king?
“Well, you aren’t exactly wrong,” Kal said, his voice soft and gentle, making Bruce’s stomach roll. “It is a dress, yes. A very special one. It’s kryptonian wedding attire.” Before Bruce could question that, one of those large hands was pressing over his mouth. “I’ve taken some liberties - I figured you would enjoy the black more than the white. And of course, it isn’t finished quite yet.”
Kal’s hand pulled away, the man’s large shadow falling over Bruce as he stepped around the chair Bruce was settled in. He held out a hand, smiling, soft and sweet in a way Bruce hadn’t seen in years, and for just the barest moment Bruce felt hope. And then he remembered why he was here.
“Come here, let me get you finished,” Kal said.
Bruce reached up slowly, without much hesitation - he couldn’t afford making Kal angry, not now in this moment. If Kal got angry at Bruce for ruining whatever the fucking wedding dress was for, one that was clearly custom made, the punishment would be harsh. His hand settled in Kal’s and the taller man pulled him to his feet, immediately wrapping his arm around Bruce’s waist. Bruce found out why seconds later when Kal began to lead him across the room and he discovered he was wearing heels.
They stopped in front of a tall mirror, and Bruce got to take a full look at the mesh-and-silk contraption his body was wrapped in. It went down to just above his ankles and he could see the front of the black heels he’d been put in, which made him wobble when he tried to walk. From what he’d felt when walking, it had some sort of train.
Kal stepped away and Bruce inched closer to the large crystalline surface, reaching out to touch it. His hands were uncovered too. He couldn’t stop looking at himself, for some reason. He was surprisingly stable in the shoes, at least while standing still, but they were difficult to move in.
“We’ll have to practice some with heels,” Kal said, appearing behind him with something made of more black mech in his arms. “I think you look quite good in them, but I wouldn’t want you confined to a chair. It would be boring if you were only decoration.” His voice lowered. “Unless you’d like that.”
Bruce couldn’t suppress a twitch and Kal laughed again. “Oh, alright. You’ve always been much too stubborn for your own good, Bruce. Let’s just get you ready.” He lifted the mass of black mesh. “Close your eyes now, darling.”
Bruce did as he was told. The word, ‘darling’, was familiar - one of the few habits Kal had kept from his days as a midwestern farmboy. The mesh settled over him in one piece, folding in on itself, brushing against his nose and eyelashes. There was a weight on the top of his head as Kal settled whatever it was.
“There we go. Take a look.”
Bruce opened his eyes, reaching up a hand to touch the black mesh. He could see through it just fine, but in the mirror his face was completely covered. There was something like a tiara at the top, weighing it to his head. A veil?
“That’s it, perfect,” Kal murmured, hovering over Bruce’s shoulder. “Now your face is only for me, my darling bride.”
Oh.
Oh.
Bruce’s heart nearly stopped as he realized what was happening. This wasn’t just some stupid intimidation thing, it wasn’t Kal dressing him up for fun as the man sometimes did. Bruce glanced at the carved-ice arch. This was a wedding. Or, well, as close as one could get in a world where the industry of marriage didn’t exist anymore. He wondered why - there was no point in being married now, there were no institutions to confirm it unless you counted Kal himself, and there wasn’t a need for a ceremony.
But Clark had always been the sentimental type. Maybe… Maybe there was more of him inside Kal than Bruce had thought.
Kal pulled him along again and Bruce nearly tripped, only to be caught by a strong arm.
“Oops, forgot you’re not used to those shoes yet,” kal said, ruffling Bruce’s hair and settling him again, wrapping an arm back around his waist. “Well, you won’t be able to do it on your own by tonight anyway. But that’s alright, I have someone to walk you down the aisle for me in proper fashion.”
Bruce didn’t dare to question that. He just followed as Kal led him through the walls of the Fortress of Solitude, wondering if he’d ever have a chance for escape. What even was there for him now, beyond this? He was sure Kal had killed the rest of his little resistance group. It would take years to build up that kind of group again, one he could trust and who trusted them not to get them killed too. Did he really even have a chance out there? Was this the only thing left for him?
It was dark outside by the time Kal deemed everything ready, but they were in the middle of the arctic, so perhaps not as much time had passed as Bruce thought. He found it hard to tell how time was passing anymore, at least here with Kal, away from any kind of signal but the rising and setting of the sun. Kal led him back to the large central area he’d first woken up in, except that the chair was now gone, and there was a pale blue run laid out in front of the arch. Those robots Bruce sometimes saw must’ve finished things up while Kal was keeping him distracted.
Kal set him down at the end of the carpet, and he wobbled on his feet.
“Don’t worry,” the man said, “I have someone to help you.”
One of the robots approached as Kal stepped away, and for a moment Bruce thought this would be simple, clinical. But before the robot reached him, it turned, going silently to a door Bruce hadn’t noticed before. It opened the door with simple, practiced movements, and behind it was a face Bruce thought he would never see again.
“Take your hands off me,” Alfred’s voice cut sharp through the air, struggling against steel. The moment I get my hands on that man, he is as good as dead. And you still haven’t told me what I’ve been brought here for! You would think a king would have some form of hospitality!”
The smooth British accent filled Bruce’s ears and his eyes stung, his stomach churning as bile burned his throat. Alfred was dead. But the man was right there in front of him, fighting so hard to get free as he was dragged to Bruce's side. And that was when Bruce realized what Kal had meant.
“I don’t know who-” Alfred was saying, but then the robot reached out and grabbed the mesh of Bruce’s veil and lifted it. “Oh. Oh, my boy.” Alfred stopped dead, and slowly, haltingly, reached up. His hands met Bruce’s cheeks, eyes glassy, and Bruce could feel the tears on his cheeks. “My sweet boy, what have they done to you?”
“Alfred…” Bruce’s voice broke, and then he was being embraced, pulled into familiar arms, held against the same strong chest that had shielded him as a boy. Calloused fingers ran up and down his back in straight lines and careful circles, just like they had when he was sitting on his parents’ bed unable to stop crying.
“Shh, shh, my boy, it’s alright. I’m here.” The sound of that gentle tone was like balm on an open wound. “You’re going to be just fine. Let me help you, dear one. You’re going to make it through this.”
Bruce’s fingers twisted in the fabric of that same suit Alfred had always worn. ‘Please don’t go.”
“I won’t.” When Alfred pulled away, it was with no small amount of hesitation, but Bruce understood why. They needed to get this over with. His hand closed around Bruce’s and held on tight, familiar and grounding. “Let’s go, dear boy. You’ll make it through this. You’re going to be just fine.”
Bruce nodded, taking a breath as black mesh fell over his face again. The first few steps were wobbly, but with Alfred’s hands on his arm, he managed to keep himself upright until he began to get the hang of it. Short steps, small and careful, kept him from shaking too much as he moved across the carpet. The fabric definitely helped to keep him from slipping, too.
Kal was standing on a small platform at the other end of the carpet, which Bruce thought was ridiculously long. Did Kal enjoy seeing him struggle like this? Gripping hard to Alfred’s arm, careful only not to bruise or break, leaning in so he wouldn’t tip, at least not without being able to be caught.
(Was Afred still strong enough to catch him?)
Alfred’s hand steadied against his arm, like silent understanding. “It’s alright, my boy. You will be alright.”
Bruce took a breath and nodded, slowly shuffling along the carpet that would have been soft if he could feel it through the uncomfortable shoes. Every motion pinched his toes and made his heels ache. He became aware that he could hear faint music that was slowly growing louder as he moved, nothing like traditional human wedding music, but perhaps the Fortress had records of kryptonian music. Either way, it helped to soothe his nerves just slightly, and he wondered briefly if there was some kind of backtrack underneath it. It wouldn’t be as overt as Kal usually was with the brainwashing, but Bruce had heard of more subtle, perhaps more effective methods.
He reached the edge of the platform, head tilting forward as he stared down at the white stone that might have been ice, just like the arch atop it. The tiara-esque weight on the veil was beginning to make his head ache, his neck craning uncomfortably from it. Alfred’s hand left his arm and he almost fought to cling, but after a brief grab his fingers relaxed and the heat left with a sigh. Alfred’s hand hovered and he realized what he was being expected to do. He took it and pushed himself up, his feet lifting more than an inch off the ground for the first time since he’d woken up in these godforsaken, painful shoes. The hand left his and he was cold.
And then suddenly he was face-to-face with Kal, and the man reached up and smiled, grasping the thick black mesh and parting it over Bruce’s face. He tucked it into the tiara in such a way that it stayed, the light shining over Bruce for the first time in hours. He was pulled closer by hands over his waist and he obeyed, stepping in close so he and Kal were nose to nose - or as close as could be.
“You love him?” Kal asked, and Bruce knew somehow that he was talking about Alfred, even if the question made little sense to him.
“Yes,” he replied, a feeling of dread filling his chest. He would not lie. What was Kal planning to do?
Kal kept that same smile as he raised a hand to Bruce’s cheek. “You want him to stay?” His voice was softer now, with the slightest hint of a croon.
Bruce swallowed. Hesitated, for just the briefest moment. What was the best choice? Was there something that could make Kal let Alfred go free? Would saying yes mean certain death for the only family Bruce had left? Would saying ‘no’ mean the same?
Kal wasn’t usually one for trick questions…
He nodded, slow, hesitant, just the barest amount he could manage. “Yes,” he whispered again, glancing briefly as far back as he could without turning his head. As though if he could just see Alfred, it would keep the man from harm. He could not lie; Kal knew too much. It was almost rhetorical, the question; only otherwise because there was a chance Bruce would want Alfred to go away to keep him from Kal’s wrath later on. From seeing everything that was being done. But Kal knew him well.
Kal’s smile grew, his thumb rubbing slow and gentle across Bruce’s cheek. It was almost tender. It was terrifying. “Then I’ll keep him. Just for you, love. But-” He raised his other hand, gesturing for quiet even though Bruce had no intention of speaking even if he did know what to say. “-only if you’re good and listen to me. As long as you listen, I’ll let him stay with you. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Bruce nodded slowly once more. It was all he could manage. It sounded horrible. It sounded too good to be true.
“Good.” Kal’s eyes lowered to half-lidded, his voice dripping with warm honey and red. “You’ve been much better at following instructions lately, Bruce. You’re learning again. Be proud of yourself.”
Bruce just swallowed. It told him too much of his life when he slept. He was learning. Even his other mind, blank and empty, obedient - even that part of him was adapting, figuring things out. He could reason nearly as well asleep as he could awake. Wasn’t that terrifying? Why did he feel warm in his chest? Why was he following the order to be proud? Did Kal have control over even his emotions now? How bad had it gotten?
His mind felt fuzzy. He bit his tongue and tried to use the pain to ground himself. He didn’t want to fall asleep again.
Kal drew him closer, looming, shadow falling over Bruce. In a soft, amused tone, he murmured, “you may now kiss the bride. His mouth was warm his lips were soft, and Bruce’s world went black.