Chapter Text
The last of the giant, alien robots smashed into the rock with a resounding groan. Bruce sprang back and raised his arms to block his face; hunks of metal slammed into the wet sand. When he finally dropped his stance, he lifted his head to the scene: the roughened metal of the robot’s body lay limp on the shore, and the heavy rain drove down in sheets all around it. Water rushed from a flat metal panel on its chest onto the ground, but with the storm, Bruce couldn’t make out any details more precise than that.
“Good work,” Bruce muttered to J’onn, who stood beside him on the coast. J’onn had been the one to sever the alien-robots’ connection to their mothership, or hive mind, or whatever it was. Hal was currently heading into deep space to find the source, which also meant he was out of range of communication. Until he got back, they would have to wait and hope the robots didn’t reactivate.
A wave crashed over the rocks and swept the debris from the robot into the cold, dark ocean. Clean-up would now be Arthur’s problem. Bruce let out a breath and leaned forward, his arms braced on his legs. His side ached from a blow he’d taken and (as loath as he was to admit it) Alfred may have had a point that he needed more sleep than the few hours he was allowing himself.
J’onn gave a small, curt nod. His expression seemed a bit tight—Bruce mentally added to his list of to dos that he would have to check in with J’onn after the mission. He didn’t have a good understanding of the Martian’s limits, which could prove dangerous in high-stress situations like these.
Team, Bruce directed his thoughts through the mental link, status report. Cold water—the icy rain of a Maine storm—poured off the nose of his mask. The moment the adrenaline pumping through his body wore off, Bruce suspected he would be absolutely freezing.
The team chirped through their confirmations in order--Arthur was sweeping the shoreline while Diana secured the Western field, and confirmed the civilians were safely at bay behind the road. Even if the team was still new, and the growing pains were still many, they were working much more smoothly than when they’d started the team (officially speaking) a few months back.
After Flash added that he was uninjured and completed the perimeter checks, that left only Superman to confirm both he and the sky were fine.
Bruce waited. A cold gale slammed into his side.
No response came.
Superman. Status report.
J’onn frowned. “Something is wrong,” he said to Bruce over the roar of the sea and patter of the rain. “His link is damaged. I cannot find him.”
Bruce pressed his lips together. Flash. Locate Super—
Behind the lighthouse. He’s down.
Bruce swore. His heart slammed against his sore ribs. He took off running in the direction of the lighthouse, cutting his way over the damp rocks and heavy sand. The implications of Superman being down—Bruce didn’t want to think about it. The robots they had fought were tough and hardy, but as far as he was aware, they didn’t have Kryptonite. If Superman had another weakness, something he hadn’t disclosed and something Bruce hadn’t accounted for, it left the whole team vulnerable. More than that, the idea that Superman had purposely concealed something from the team sat heavy in Bruce’s gut.
As good as the alien appeared to be, he’d only been in the public eye for three years now (the first consisting of only spotty sightings) and Bruce had only known him for around half of that. Sixteen months was nothing when it came to trust—trust that the world depended on—and Bruce wasn’t foolish enough to think he actually knew the other hero. A handful of conversations and missions did not equal blind loyalty, especially not with someone who could end the world on an off day.
All the same, Bruce pushed against the driving wind and rain, sprinting toward the lighthouse, when the familiar pop of the mental link pressed against his skull.
I’m with him, Arthur said. He’s responsive.
Bruce grunted and made his way up the last pitch of the rocky hill. The sight of Superman on the ground met him; he held his head in one hand and shooed off Arthur, who was crouching next to him. Barry stood to his left, biting his lip and looking on nervously, while J’onn and Diana touched down at his back.
Bruce came to a grinding halt in front of the group. “Superman,” he said. His breath came out a hair uneven after the fight and sprint uphill, but he wrestled it steady. “Report.”
Superman groaned and slowly moved his leg back in toward his body. He kept one hand planted in the wet grass, clenching his fist in the soft mud. Bruce would give Superman one thing--as alien as he was, he had never shown an aversion to getting his hands dirty, quite literally.
“Flash, mind the civilians. We don’t need anyone to see this,” Bruce instructed. With a quick nod, Barry disappeared into the misty rain with a blip, and Bruce pressed a button on his gauntlet to page Leslie Thompkins.
If Diana was bothered by the rain, she didn’t show it. She knelt next to Superman and Arthur, and said something that Bruce was too quiet for Bruce to hear, especially with the crashing waves and hollow wind and drumming rain.
Superman groaned and shuffled up to his knees. He kept his head hanging low, and his eyes closed. Water poured off his back
“Don’t try to move, Kal,” Diana offered. Her voice was smooth and soft; she said Kal like it was some secret, and maybe it was, since she was the only one to ever use his given name. She placed her hand between the blades of his shoulders so gently, rubbed a circle, and murmured something again too low for Bruce to hear.
Not for the first time, Bruce wondered what was going on between them. It would make sense, he thought, for them to be together. Even if he didn’t like it.
Superman coughed. “I’m alright,” he muttered and wheezed and rubbed his head, his eyes still squeezed shut. “Just need a minute, then I’ll be right as rain. Ha. Get it?”
Bruce frowned—like hell was he going to let this go without a professional opinion. ““Wonder Woman is right: don’t move. Moving could exacerbate an injury,” Bruce said, “and medical has already been alerted.”
“You mean you alerted medical.” Superman shuffled on the ground, his hand clamped over his face. To his credit, he didn’t try to stand, even if he wasn’t completely still. “Trying to hide it with the passive voice,” he muttered more to himself than to anyone else.
“Hm.” Bruce’s frown only deepened. Superman was talking… strangely. Not like his usual self.
Bruce took in the scene--the cold ocean, beating on; scraps of metal littering the grass and rocks; the steel grey sky; the sea-dipped wind; Superman crumpled in pain, water dripping from his hair into the mud. Truthfully, Bruce had no idea if Leslie could handle this. In their brief discussions of what they would do if Superman was hurt, they’d come up with Dr. Thompkins as the start and end of the plan. Superman claimed that he looked and ticked like a human on the inside. Leslie took his word, but needed to confirm it. While some initial X-Rays and MRI results did look promising, they hadn’t completed all the scans she wanted yet; they’d only mocked up a few emergency plans about what to do in case of Kryptonite poisoning, bullets, and gas.
“I’m fine,” Superman insisted. “Damn bot got me, square in the back of the head. Right at the end, too. That’s all.”
Superman swearing—that was new. Bruce hadn’t been certain he knew how; however he learned English, Bruce thought he might’ve skipped over that part.
But if he’d been his hard enough to swear? Bruce’s stomach flipped. They were all lucky the blow wasn’t deadly, but the risk of internal injury was still startlingly high. “Kal, don’t try to move if you’re not—”
Superman lifted his head and blinked his eyes open.
A red wave poured out.
The hot, red beam but through the rain; steam curled in one clear band across the coast, and as Superman shook his head, the beam of light and heat followed.
The red light cut into the side of the lighthouse. Superman yelled, and the beam instantly vanished. Rubble tumbled down into the wet grass.
Through the fog and rain, Bruce couldn’t see the exact extent of the damage. But a moment later, the lighthouse groaned. The old structure creaked and moaned, and suddenly Bruce was aware of a hand (Barry's?) on his arm, yanking him backward and away from the carnage.
Instinctively, Bruce raised his arms to protect his face as he rolled with Barry’s sharp speed. The thundering noise of rock slamming into rock echoed in Bruce’s ears and for the second time in not even ten minutes, rubble and debris rained around him. Bruce ground his back molars together, and then slammed into the wet grass. His heart climbed up his throat and his gut twisted as he scrambled to make his way back to his feet.
Mud and water and wet grass clung to his suit. Dusty bits of rubble floated up, but the rain tamped most of the dirt and loose debris back down into the earth.
The rest of the team stood around him. Barry had grabbed Arthur too, by the looks of it, J’onn was steady on his feet, and Diana had Superman in her arms.
Superman, whose face contorted in pain. A hand over his eyes dammed back the red light and, when Diana loosened her hold, he crouched forward into a patch of burnt grass and gritted his teeth.
For a moment, none of the team spoke. Some crashes still echoed—bricks tumbling from the lighthouse and rolling down the rocks toward the ocean. Even after they landed, they stayed in silence as the dust settled and final bricks groaned as they fell into their places.
“Kal?” It was Diana who spoke. Her mouth turned down, and she knelt beside him again, one gentle hand on his bicep. Even in the downpour, she held her head high and regal, like a princess.
“I—I can’t turn off my heat vision,” Superman finally said. “Something’s not right.”
The knot of worry in Bruce’s chest tightened. Something, indeed, was not right. “Medical has been alerted,” he repeated. Even in his own ears, his voice sounded empty and distant. He slammed his finger on the gauntlet button again; Leslie would get the second buzz. And a third. High alert, high alert, high alert.