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Clark stays on the ground, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. He knows he shouldn't be here, especially not when he hasn't been invited, but there's just… no where else he can be right now. Besides, Bruce probably won't mind.
And if he does, well. That's a problem for later.
It's cold, he thinks. He kind of feels it, if he focuses on it, hard enough. He likes that. He wonders if it's weird. Probably, but it's nice to feel anything at all.
He hears Batman approaching on his bike for several long minutes before he skids into the cave. He remembers a time when his ability to hear so far hurt, and a time when it felt like a gift.
As expected, Bruce wastes no time — stripping off his cowl and shedding the suit as soon as he's on the platform.
"Superman. I wasn't expecting you. Everything alright?"
"Yeah, B. I was just hanging out. How are you?"
"Good, slow night. You want some tea?"
"Whatever you're having."
It's a new pattern of theirs. Bruce doesn't question him too much — just accepts his presence and involves him in whatever is happening. Clark appreciates it. He likes feeling like he belongs. But, eventually, Bruce yawns.
"Guess I better get going."
"Where to?"
"I'm sure someone needs Superman, somewhere in the world. But you need sleep."
"You do, too, Clark. Don't forget it."
Clark pastes a smile onto his face and lets himself out. He's not fooling Bruce with it. He isn't even fooling himself.
But it doesn't matter. Nothing really does.
Clark goes through the motions, day after day, week after week. He goes to work and does his job. He suits up and saves lives. He talks to Bruce. He calls his Ma. Rinse and repeat.
He's not sure why he feels so empty. He's not sure why Bruce is the only one he lets see it.
"Thanks for the coffee, Smallville. What are you working on today?"
Clark smiles brightly at Lois, chats with her effortlessly. On the inside, he feels like ash.
He keeps going through the motions, though. When Jimmy teases him later for his nonexistent crush on Lois, he stutters out some nonsense, as is expected of him. Jimmy accepts it and playfully teases him some more. Clark grins, and Jimmy doesn't see through it. Clark is too good at this dance to ever be caught missing a step.
He calls his Ma, later, because it's time to do it. He should want to. He thinks he remembers a time when he wanted to. Now he just does it because he's supposed to. And it's not that he doesn't love her, he does. He just… well.
He goes out on patrol as soon as he hangs up. He saves a family, and then a dog, and then he pulls a sinking fishing charter boat back to shore, and then he helps a construction crew get a steel beam down when their crane breaks, in some city somewhere in the world. He wonders if he ever felt good about doing this stuff, or if it was only ever obligation. He smiles and waves and no one questions it.
He goes back to the bat cave, because he knows Bruce will question it.
He doesn't know why.
"Clark, how's it going? Superman's been busy, lately."
"Mmm. Good to keep busy. What's up tonight?"
"I was casing the Ice Lounge. Looking for some information, knew I could get it there."
"Sounds fun."
"Have you taken a break lately?"
"This is a break."
"Is it?"
Clark shrugs, sits up, and tells Bruce he'll see him later. Bruce doesn't try stopping him.
The cycle repeats. It's been like this for too long. Not just weeks, but months. Too many months. Clark can't properly remember a time before this emptiness. If he thinks about it long enough, he knows this happened before — but never for so long. Never so severe. Just, sometimes. When he was a teenager. Sometimes he felt empty and alone.
He'd like to say it started when he found out he was an alien, but, honestly, it's always been there. Maybe it is because he's an alien. He doesn't know. There's no one he can ask.
The last time it went on for more than a few days was when his Pa died. It took a few weeks, then.
He doesn't know what drove him over the edge into the abyss, this time, but he can't find his way out. He's not even sure if he wants to.
"Back again?"
"Mmm. Does it bother you?"
"No, Clark. I enjoy your company, even when you aren't feeling yourself. Do you want to talk about it tonight?"
"There's nothing to talk about, Bruce."
"Okay. I'll tell you about my day."
Bruce is a good friend. Clark thinks. He's pretty sure there's a spark of warmth in his chest as he listens to his friend rattle on about his day, but he just can't quite tell. There's no fire, there's no ice. There's not even the vacuum of space, which, despite all accounts, does feel like something and not the nothing the name implies. There's simply nothing.
He sees himself out when Bruce stops talking.
Bruce tells him to come any time.
Clark can't remember how long it's been since he slept or ate or even drank anything. For a while, he stuck to the habit, going through the motions. It's just, the motions don't really seem all that important right now. Maybe they never really were.
He's lying on the ground, flat on his back, staring at the stalagmites or stalactites or whatever they're called, when Bruce comes back.
"Clark. I'm worried about you."
"Don't be, B. I'm the man of steel."
"I don't think you're taking care of yourself, and you aren't actually made of steel, so unfortunately you do still need to eat and sleep some. Why don't you come upstairs for a snack?"
"I…" Clark doesn't really feel like that, but he also doesn't not feel like it.
"Come on, let's go." Bruce is insistent in a way that he usually isn't. It probably means something, but Clark isn't sure what.
He doesn't care to think about it. He just nods and hoists himself upright into a standing position. Weirdly, though, his vision narrows — black creeps in from the edges and he's struck by an odd, unsettling feeling that he could never hope to describe. The world spins around him, and the last little pinprick of light disappears.
"Come on, wake up, you big lug."
"Nnnhh?"
"You awake, Clark? Come on, sit up, slowly."
"What happened?"
"You fainted. How long has it really been since you ate or drank?"
"I… honestly don't know. A while."
"How long is a while?"
"Um. Maybe… when I helped that street vendor in Los Angeles a few days ago, he insisted on giving me a taco. I thought it would be rude not to eat it."
"And before that?" Clark shrugs, hopelessly. He really has no idea. "Clark… Los Angeles was six days ago. And you're telling me you don't remember eating before that?"
Clark shrugs again. "I don't know, Bruce."
"Weren't you hungry? I know you're Superman, but you get hungry."
"I… maybe. I don't know. I can't really tell right now."
"Let's go upstairs."
Bruce leads, dragging Clark along. He feels fine. Well, he feels nothing. Same as fine, really, he tells himself. He doesn't know what happened. But he follows along anyway, sitting in the chair Bruce pulls out for him, staring at the table silently while Bruce busies himself in the kitchen.
Not much time passes, he thinks — though Clark finds he has no real measure for it to judge one way or the other — before Bruce sets a bowl down in front of him.
"Oatmeal. With brown sugar and maple syrup. Alfred used to make it for me when I was going through a spell like this."
"Like what?"
"Depression."
"Oh. You think?"
"I know, Clark."
"Hmm. I don't know. I mean, I guess. I just…. I don't know, Bruce."
"You'll be okay. You'll dig yourself out of it. It's never easy to say what causes these things, you know, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that you take care of yourself and, if you can't, that you let others take care of you."
"Hmm." Clark picks up the spoon and eats the oatmeal, slowly. It's good. The hot chocolate Bruce sets down in front of him is too. When he's done, Bruce grabs his arm and pulls him up, leading him to his bedroom.
Clark has seen it, before, but he's never been bundled into the bed and tucked in. Bruce tells him to wait there, then disappears to go shower. Clark wonders when the last time he actually showered was, and then he wonders if he should really be in Bruce's bed if he can't remember. But Bruce comes back clean and slides into bed, seemingly not minding.
Bruce wraps his arms around Clark, pulling him close. "Let me tell you about the sun."
"The sun?"
"Yeah. You might think it's a big ball of gas out in space, or you might think it's a bright yellow ball of light in our sky. But I'm going to tell you the truth. The sun is hope. Happiness. The foundation of life, in some ways. She gives as much as she takes, her warmth turns to burns in an indecipherable moment. She blinds us if we look at her wrong, but she also gives us the tools to see. She is despair just as much as she is joy, she scars just as easily as she heals."
"She does a lot."
"Yeah. And everyone sees her differently. We appreciate her more at some moments than we do at others. And, we fear her or hate her sometimes. But it doesn't matter. She just exists, regardless of how we feel about her."
"Hmm. What's your point?"
"I guess that… you're like the sun, Clark. You exist, no matter what. Sometimes people might like you more than other times. Sometimes, you might like yourself more than other times. But that doesn't matter. You're here. And I'm glad."
"I hurt as much as I help?"
"You have the capacity for both, and yet, even in your darkest moments, you choose to be a force of good. Like the sun, bringing us light and energy. You pour your heart and soul into helping the world, even when you can't find either."
"I miss the sun, I think."
"She hasn't gone anywhere, you're just hiding from her. When you're ready, she'll be waiting to shine on you again."
"Hmm. Thanks, B."
Clark doesn't really feel better in that moment. He doesn't really understand what Bruce is trying to tell him. But he does know that his belly feels full, and it didn't before. And he's warm, though he wasn't before. And he feels protected, which is odd, because he doesn't need protection.
But it feels good, anyway.
The shadows are still with him, but maybe — just maybe, with Bruce holding him — the sun is shining back through.
"You're like the sun, B."
"Oh?"
"The sun heals me, makes me strong. But sometimes, I can't feel it. You're here, though. You heal me and make me feel better, strong again. Or… at least, getting there."
"I don't think I've ever been compared to the sun before."
"I'm an expert on the sun, Bruce. My opinion is the only one that matters."
Bruce chuckles at that. "Noted. Go to sleep."
Clark smiles, and it's the first real one he's had in months.