Archive of Our Own

There was only one thing that Batman wanted.

To be swallowed by the deepest, darkest parts, surrounded by silence and nothingness. To drop down where nothing could reach him, nothing to disturb his rest. Where his body could finally lie down, the longing sleep settling into his eyes and bones. The place where he could see the smiles of his family, their warmth spreading through his cold body.

But he couldn’t rest. Not now, not ever.

The snow crunched beneath his heavy boots as he dragged one leg after another through large snowdrifts. His breath was shallow, white clouds escaping his mouth with each step. Behind him, a trail remained in the powdery snow, mixed with scarlet blood. Bruce wasn’t sure where exactly he was. He had been walking for a few hours now, crossing the Russian tundra while snow slowly covered his tracks and the wind surged through his torn cape. On the horizon there were only endless patches of snow blending into heavy white clouds, interrupted by leafless trees.

Batman was all alone. Always had been.

The kids probably didn’t even realize he was gone. They were used to him disappearing, never quite present in their lives. Like a shadow, sometimes you could catch a glimpse of it, but it was never permanent. Especially when you needed it the most.

There was no signal here. Bruce could only rely on his manual compass to guide him through the snow. He tried to get back to the Batwing, but the weather made it almost impossible. Bruce felt like he was going in circles, his mind slowly losing focus as time passed. His body felt heavy, the freezing temperature sneaking through his suit and draining his remaining energy. Blood slowly slipped through his gloved fingers as he clutched his stomach, staining the white canvas beneath him.

His time was limited, he knew that. He had too many injuries, a sprained ankle, a few bullet wounds, and one unlucky stab wound to his stomach. Bruce was slowly bleeding out in Russia, thousands of miles away from home, with no way back.

Why was he so stupid, so reckless?

Just a few hours earlier, he had discovered where Penguin was storing all of his illegal weapons and machinery. He heard about the meeting in a hideout deep in the tundra, so Batman acted quickly. He didn’t tell anybody about it. He didn’t have time, nor did he particularly want to inform anyone. The kids had their own lives, and Bruce had already caused enough damage there.

He didn’t want to become a burden. Again.

Bruce’s knees suddenly buckled, making him fall face-first into the snow. It slipped into his mouth through the gaps in his cowl. His body shivered violently, trying to generate some warmth, but it wasn’t enough. He groaned, using his hands to push himself up from the ground. His muscles trembled, but somehow he managed to stand again, panting and light-headed.

It was a trap.

Penguin knew Batman was on his tail and decided to strike back. Corner him like a pathetic animal. Batman was jumped almost immediately after stepping into the old isolated building in the middle of nowhere. They had been waiting for him. He realized it too late.

Screams. Gunshots aimed at him. Heavy boots stomping against concrete. A broken bone. Dodge. Pain. Blood in his mouth. Another broken bone. A shout. The swish of a flying batarang.

He tried to fight. Many men already lay unconscious beneath his feet, but more kept rushing toward him with guns raised. His suit wasn’t indestructible. It could withstand high pressure only for a limited amount of time. The kevlar in his bulletproof vest and the protectors around his body couldn’t shield him from every bullet. He felt one dig into the muscle of his shoulder just as he knocked another thug unconscious with the side of his skull. Pain rang in his ears, making him choke on his own blood. Droplets of sweat slipped into his eyes, blurring his vision as he desperately tried to defend himself.

He was busy fighting two men swinging a metal rod at him, so Batman didn’t notice the third man rushing toward him at full speed.

Pain bloomed in his stomach, forcing a groan from his throat. His knees buckled beneath the overwhelming sensation, almost making him collapse onto the floor. He landed a punch to one guy’s chin while driving his elbow into the other. Only then did Bruce look down and see the knife buried in his damaged suit, lodged deep in his stomach.

“You’re a fool, Batsy. Left all alone.” The thug grinned at him, revealing dirty, bloodied teeth. His disgusting saliva landed on Batman’s jaw. “How could you save everybody when you can’t even save yourself?”

Bruce slammed a batarang into his face, probably knocking one of his black teeth out.

Pain flooded his veins, staining every cell, every breath, every heartbeat. He felt light-headed, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Bruce had to run, blood already soaking through the layers beneath his suit. He grabbed his grappling gun along with a few smoke bombs, creating an opening to escape. Using a nearby window, he crashed through the glass and ran as fast as he could, hearing screams, gunshots, and hurried footsteps behind him.

Batman ran.

And ran.

And ran.

Until his lungs burned and his throat turned dry and raw. His heartbeat pounded violently as he made sure nobody was following him anymore. Only then did his thighs begin to shake, his legs turning to wool, forcing him to lean against one of the nearby trees. Batman used the sharp edge of a batarang to tear off a piece of his cape. Then, gritting his teeth, he pulled the knife from his stomach. Nearly passing out, he poured alcohol from his utility belt over the wound and wrapped the black material tightly around it. Crimson blood quickly soaked through, dripping onto the white snow.

So he was there. All alone. But he wasn’t sure if it was his choice or somebody else’s.

Batman thought about his kids as he forced himself to keep walking. Dick. Jason. Tim. Damian. And how he had destroyed their lives. The resentment, the anger, the disappointment. How every one of them tried to run away from Bruce, keeping him at arm’s length. Dick lived in Blüdhaven, barely returning to the manor. Jason hated him. Tim avoided him. And Damian was left all alone.

Bruce had made them into pieces of himself, and he hated it. Hated the resemblance, how painfully familiar they sometimes were to him. Batman never wins, and Bruce felt cold nausea settle beneath his skin. He was terrified that his family, his boys, would end up living the same lonely life as him.

His knees buckled once more. Batman gripped the nearby tree, trying to keep himself upright. He bared his teeth, a hiss escaping his mouth as he forced himself to move again.

Bruce was cursed with the sickening desire to be loved, paired with hands far too empty to know how to hold onto it.

His parents died, leaving him all alone. Alfred tried, took care of him, but he had always remained more of a butler than a father. Bruce attempted to fill the gaps in his heart by adopting children in need, children who looked sickeningly familiar to the boy he once was. But he failed them too.

Batman was cold. Grim. A symbol of justice and fear. He had turned himself into a weapon, sacrificing his body for Gotham, for every broken family, for every lonely child. For the person he used to be. He pushed himself through blood, sweat, and tears, but it was never enough.

“You know this place is never gonna change,” Selina once told him while the moon hung low above their heads. “Gotham’s gonna kill you one day, you know that.”

“I have to try,” he answered, even as something deep inside his chest tore apart.

That night Selina left him, and Bruce forced himself to stay, even when everything inside him screamed to follow her.

But he couldn’t.

He fell again, the thick snow softening his fall. His legs shook too much, he couldn’t move them an inch. He tried to get up, burying his hands into layers of snow and frozen dirt.

He couldn’t.

Batman only rolled onto his back, panting as thick clouds of air escaped his mouth. It was peaceful here. The only sound was the dance of the wind carrying tiny snowflakes, slowly settling on Bruce’s eyelashes and chin. So quiet. Snow began covering him like a blanket.

He was dying. He didn’t care.

Then Bruce started thinking about Kal-El. Clark.

How his smile was always so warm and bright, melting the cold wrapped around Bruce’s heart. How good-hearted he was, gentle, noble. How he was everything Bruce wasn’t. How Bruce had loved him for so long.

The love Bruce carried for that man was ancient, rooted so deeply into his soul that it felt less like an emotion and more like a part of himself. A quiet buzzing beneath his skin, a constant reminder he could do nothing about.

Maybe it had started before Selina. Maybe even before Harvey. But it had always been there. At the beginning of the Justice League. At Clark and Lois’ wedding. At the birth of their son. During the divorce. It was so old that Bruce eventually realized most things in the universe were about love. And when they weren’t about love, they were about the absence of it.

Bruce tended to bury his love deep underground. His parents. His son. And the unrequited love he carried for his oldest friend.

Yet the curse still lived inside him, his heart continuing to beat for places, people, and things he could never truly have. Bruce remained tender-hearted despite everything. Despite the grief. Despite the violence. Despite himself.

His eyelids trembled. His thoughts turned sluggish and heavy. Everything inside him begged for sleep. To surrender. To let the white snow cover his dark armor. To disappear.

He had an emergency button hidden inside his suit that would alert everybody in the Batcave, sending his location through satellites.

But why should he press it?

Bruce wasn’t a good person. He was a bad father, a bad partner, a bad friend. He had once believed he would be the one to change Gotham, maybe even save the city. But now he wasn’t sure that was true at all. He wanted to spread justice, his anger and pain serving as fuel that kept him fighting.

But what if it was all useless? What if everything he had done had only made everything, everyone around him, more miserable than before?

What if?

Bruce decided not to press the button, he stopped fighting.

Long ago, he had made peace with the thought that he would always be the only person capable of saving himself.

Dick would become a better Batman than he ever was. Jason would never forgive him. Tim would finally stop living in his brothers’ shadows. Damian would one day hate his own reflection after realizing how much he resembled Bruce. And Clark, Clark would remain the shining symbol of hope and better days, just as he always had been.

Snow slowly settled across Bruce’s face. He stared up at the heavy clouds above him before finally closing his eyes. Memories rushed through his mind, fragments of his life flashing one after another, and Bruce couldn’t stop the faint smile twisting his chapped lips.

He would bury all of his feelings alongside his worn-out body, just as he always did. Maybe one day, when the snow melted away, when the wind turned warmer and the sun returned to the blue sky, new life would grow from what remained of him. Roots fed by his bones. Tiny living things carrying the weight of his few happy memories somewhere beyond the horizon.

Bruce Wayne could never win.

And then he lost consciousness.

Bruce’s body felt heavy. He couldn’t even lift his pinky finger. Other than that, something buzzed loudly in his ears, his head throbbing painfully. He was confused.

He tried to focus, to understand the situation and his surroundings. But there was only nothingness around him.

And he wasn’t cold anymore. He wasn’t dead.

Fragments of words slowly started tearing through the haze. Bruce tried to understand them, maybe say something, open his mouth, but he couldn’t. Every cell in his body felt numb and sore.

“...thinking?!” The voice sounded familiar. Dick. His eldest son. “Why didn’t he press the stupid emergency button he forced us to install in every one of our suits?!”

“And the knife?” Jason. “Has he lost his fuckin’ mind? Who the fuck removes the object stopping you from bleeding the hell out?!”

“Guys, language, please. Damian is here too.” Clark.

“He did it on purpose.” Tim.

“What the fuck are you talk-”

“He knew. All of that. And still chose not to press the button.”

“B-But why would he-”

“I don’t know…”

The voices slowly began blending together. Bruce’s thoughts drifted further and further away until darkness swallowed him whole once again.

The next time he regained consciousness, Bruce wasn’t sure if death could be this painful.

Something sharp pulsed through his body before he could even open his eyes. A deep ache buried beneath his ribs, spreading through every limb until breathing itself felt exhausting. His throat burned. There was pressure against his arm. Something tight wrapped around his chest and stomach.

For a long moment Bruce thought he was still outside. Freezing cold, falling snow, strong wind. His fingers twitched weakly against the mattress beneath him, but it wasn’t snow. A sound interrupted the haze surrounding his thoughts. Soft and rhythmic beeping echoing next to him.

Bruce frowned faintly. It wasn’t wind.

His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, but eventually he forced them open just enough for pale light to stab into his skull. The ceiling above him blurred immediately. Dark stone, shadows, dim lights, everything seemed familiar. The Batcave.

Bruce inhaled sharply, regretting it at once when pain tore through his stomach, as memory crashed into him all at once.

His jaw tightened instinctively. Bruce tried moving his hand and realized something warm rested against it. A hand, so warm he could almost feel it in his bones.

His unfocused gaze slowly drifted sideways. The first thing he noticed was the red cape. Wrinkled fabric pooled across the edge of the bed and beneath Bruce’s arm, stained with dirt and dried blood. His blood. Bruce stared at it stupidly for a few sluggish seconds before his eyes finally traveled upward.

Clark was asleep beside him, still in the suit. His head rested awkwardly against the side of the mattress, curls fallen messily over his forehead. One massive hand remained loosely curled beside Bruce’s own, their little fingers barely touching.

Bruce just stared.

There were shadows beneath Clark’s eyes. His posture slumped inward even in sleep. Bruce couldn’t remember ever seeing him look this tired before.

His gaze shifted further across the room. There were blankets and pillows scattered across the floor. Half-empty water bottles and medical supplies left open on nearby counters.

Jason sat slumped forward in a chair, arms crossed tightly even in sleep. Dick was half-curled beside him with one leg thrown over Jason’s lap. Across the room Tim sat against the wall, chin dropped toward his chest, still holding a tablet loosely in one hand. Damian slept beside him, resting his head on brother’s shoulder.

Bruce swallowed painfully, his throat raw.

His fingers moved slightly against the mattress before he could stop them. Clark woke instantly at that.

Blue eyes snapped open, unfocused for half a second before landing directly on Bruce. Relief hit Clark’s face so fast and so openly that Bruce almost looked away.

“Bruce!” His hand immediately grabbed Bruce’s, squeezing tightly. Clark’s voice cracked under the weight of too many emotions rising to the surface. “You’re awake. Rao-”

Clark’s voice stirred the others awake almost instantly. The boys scrambled up, exhaustion still clinging to their movements as they turned toward Bruce.

“B… dear Lord.” Dick exhaled shakily, relief flooding his face. “We weren’t sure you were gonna wake up.”

“Welcome back, Father,” Damian said, trying to sound composed, though Bruce noticed how closely he stayed near Tim’s side. “I knew you were not weak.”

Meanwhile Tim was already focused on the monitors, quickly checking readings and writing something down.

“Everything looks stable,” he announced quietly.

Bruce heard the entire room exhale in relief.

“It was… a close call,” Jason muttered, standing the farthest from the others with his arms folded across his chest.

It was easy to see they were exhausted. Dark circles rested beneath everybody’s eyes. Their clothes were wrinkled, hair messy from restless sleep.

Bruce’s frown deepened as he carefully scanned every face in the room. A sharp pang twisted painfully in his chest.

He didn’t deserve their worry.

When Bruce tried speaking again, only a rough rasp managed to pass through the literal desert of his throat. Almost immediately Clark lifted a bottle of water toward him, already opened as if he had prepared for this exact moment. Bruce drank nearly half of it in one go, the coldness soothing his raw throat and aching chest.

“How…” He cleared his throat weakly. “How long was I out?”

“A few days,” Tim answered quietly. “You were hypothermic and lost a lot of blood.”

But somehow Tim still couldn’t look him in the eyes, his attention fixed entirely on the softly humming monitors instead.

“Gotham?” Bruce muttered.

“We took turns patrolling,” Dick explained. “And Clark helped.”

Clark smiled softly and nodded. His hand squeezed Bruce’s again, and only then did Bruce fully realize they were still holding onto each other.

“I promise I didn’t break your rules,” Clark said gently. “I didn’t interfere in Gotham’s affairs. I just kept an ear open in case something happened. Made sure your boys stayed safe.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. Emotions swelled painfully inside his chest, pressing against his ribs until he thought they might burst out of him.

“Thank you,” he whispered quietly.

Not just to Clark. To all of them.

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. Full of unspoken words, unanswered questions, and carefully avoided glances. Even Clark’s smile wavered before slowly fading from his lips.

“What the fuck was that?” Jason’s voice came out sharp with fury, veins pulsing visibly along his neck. “What the fuck did you do, Bruce?!”

Bruce’s brows furrowed as every pair of eyes in the room turned toward him, waiting for an answer. His head lowered. He stayed silent.

Then Jason cursed loudly and threw the red helmet he had been holding onto the floor. The impact echoed through the cave, sharp and violent enough that Bruce could almost feel it reverberating through his own aching body.

“Explain!” Jason shouted. Both hands dragged harshly through his hair, his breathing loud and uneven. Dick moved to his side almost immediately, placing a calming hand against his shoulder. “Did you just fuckin’ choose to die?!”

Clark’s hand disappeared from Bruce’s. So did the warmth.

The sudden absence made Bruce feel cold all over again, like he was still stranded in the tundra beneath endless snow.

Clark quietly cleared his throat before standing from the chair beside Bruce’s bed.

“I… I should leave you alone for now,” he said softly, glancing around at the others. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Promise. Take care, everybody. Bruce.”

There was a sudden gust of wind, and Clark was gone, leaving Bruce with his children demanding answers.

The weight of their gazes pressed heavily against him, like hands tightening around his throat. Bruce could only lower his head, greasy strands of hair falling into his eyes.

Truthfully, he didn’t know how to explain it. He didn’t have the courage to confess his self-doubt to his own children. His moment of weakness. The constant dark thoughts circling his mind. The black hole that seemed to live permanently inside his chest.

So Bruce stayed silent, his hands gripping the red cape beneath him.

Then there was a quiet noise beside him. Someone sat down in the chair Clark had occupied moments earlier.

“Bruce.”

It was Tim. Bruce slowly lifted his head, meeting his son’s eyes properly for the first time since waking up.

“Was it a suicide mission?”

The machinery beside him continued its soft rhythmic humming, steady beeping filling the cave. Somewhere far in the distance, if Bruce focused hard enough, he could almost hear the faint flutter of bats’ wings.

Other than that, the room was silent again. Even Jason had gone quiet.

Bruce sighed, lips pulling into a thin line.

“No.”

Several people quietly let out breaths they had been holding. Even Tim’s expression shifted slightly, one corner of his mouth lifting in visible relief.

“I had a lead on Penguin,” Bruce added quietly. “But it turned out to be a trap.”

“Then why didn’t you call us?” Jason’s voice was dull, the previous sharpness and fury gone. “You were bleeding out in the middle of nowhere and you still didn’t press the damn button.”

“Jay-” Tim tried to cut in.

“No. Seriously. Why?”

Bruce turned his head away, looking at the cape beneath his body. It was stained with his blood, dark patches spreading unevenly across the fabric. The cape that used to flap proudly behind its owner.

Bruce’s thumbnail traced the edge of one of the stains. He wondered whether Alfred would be able to get all the blood out of the material.

“I thought I could handle it,” he said to the cape, still rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “I didn’t want to drag you into it. You already do enough.”

He wouldn’t admit that, in that moment, he had been ready to die.

He would never confess to his children that he had been ready to leave them behind, just as everybody else had before him.

They didn’t need to know everything.

“Do you really think we’d rather lose you than worry about you?” Dick’s voice was barely above a whisper, thick with unraveling emotions.

Bruce closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek as they started to sting.

There was sudden movement. Then Bruce’s body met an unexpected force, curling against him, fingers painfully digging into his sore muscles. Bruce opened his eyes to find Damian climbing onto the medical bed, carefully avoiding his wounds just to wrap his arms around him.

Damian. Who had been standing silent and still like a statue. Damian, his youngest son, still a child. The same Damian who avoided physical affection like a plague now buried his face into Bruce’s arm, his entire body trembling.

“You forbade us from dying carelessly, you hypocrite.” Damian’s voice was muffled against Bruce’s body, thick and watery. He tried to fight it, but a few tears slipped past his tightly shut eyes. “Don’t you dare break your own rules, Father.”

Bruce’s arms closed around the boy on instinct. Pain shot through his wounds as he moved, but he ignored it. He rested his cheek on top of Damian’s dark hair. His son was warm, breathing, alive. Bruce caught the familiar scent of his child and drew a deep breath into his lungs, not caring that neither of them was particularly clean at the moment. Strands of Damian’s hair brushed against his chapped lips.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce’s voice broke. Perhaps for the first time in years. “I’m so sorry.”

Dick moved first, quickly wrapping his arms around the two of them from the side. He didn’t bother hiding his tears, letting them trail freely down his tired face while loud sniffles escaped him. Tim, who had been sitting quietly beside them, scooted his chair closer and joined the growing tangle of limbs, resting his forehead against Bruce’s shoulder.

Only one person was missing.

Bruce slowly lifted his head and looked directly at Jason. He was still rooted to his spot, far away from the bed, his red helmet lying beside his heavy boot. His brows were furrowed, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his lower lip trapped between his teeth. Bruce gave a small nod in his direction, trying to form something resembling a smile.

And it worked.

Jason rolled his eyes, but eventually pushed himself forward and joined them, squeezing into the family pile.

“You’re so stupid sometimes, old man,” Jason muttered under his breath, resting his chin on top of Bruce’s head.

Bruce closed his eyes once more. For the first time in what felt like forever, a sense of calm settled around him. Like he was finally allowed to rest. Even if only for a little while. Even if only for a moment. The voices and thoughts still echoed deep inside his head, but the warmth of his boys pressed against him silenced every nagging word and every lingering doubt.

Later, Bruce would hack the Batcave security cameras and save the footage somewhere safe before any of the boys could delete it from existence.

The next day, after finally regaining consciousness, Bruce was confined to his bedroom under strict orders not to enter the Batcave.

He was miserable because of it. Bruce hated feeling useless. Hated the fact that he couldn’t do much of anything. His sons kept reminding him that Gotham had survived just fine while he was unconscious. They had taken turns patrolling, handling everything without major issues. A week of rest wouldn’t kill him.

Except Bruce hated being idle when he knew there were a thousand things that still needed to be done.

So after another failed attempt to escape his personal prison, Alfred took pity on him and returned his laptop.

Better than nothing.

The emotions from yesterday’s confrontation had settled somewhat. There was still lingering tension in the air. Quick glances. Unexpected visits. But overall, he felt better. If he could call it that.

The darkness inside him hadn’t disappeared completely. It still lingered in the corners of his mind, lurking patiently in the shadows. The thoughts he had carried with him through the tundra were still there.

But Bruce had made a promise.

He knew nobody would ever truly save him. In the end, he was on his own. But that also meant nobody could stop him.

So he made a promise to whoever was willing to listen. He wouldn’t leave his family behind.

Bruce had spent his entire life alone, watching everything he loved slip through his fingers one way or another. But that didn’t have to define him, he didn’t want it to.

He would be the person who fought. The person who held on. Not the one who ran away.

The person who stayed.

So Bruce stopped complaining. Having his work laptop was enough for now. It allowed him to get at least some things done while he remained trapped in bed.

His fingers moved quickly across the keyboard when a familiar rhythmic knock sounded against the door. Alfred entered carrying a tray with a fresh cup of tea and a few medications resting beside it.

Bruce had made his butler worry too. Even though Alfred remained as stoic as ever, Bruce could swear there were new lines etched into the older man's face.

After the boys had left the Batcave yesterday, Alfred had simply placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“Good to have you back, sir.”

And somehow, that had been enough.

Now Alfred placed the tray beside the bed before quickly checking Bruce’s temperature, which was stable.

“Master Kent is downstairs,” Alfred informed him, sounding quietly satisfied with the progress of his recovery. “He is currently speaking with young Master Dick, but he wished to see you, sir.”

Bruce let out a slow sigh, his hands coming to a stop above the keyboard.

“Let him in.” A brief pause. “Please.”

After he was left alone, Bruce’s mind overflowed with memories of Clark from the moment he had been in the tundra. The tips of his ears burned.

Bruce had been told it was Superman who found him and basically saved his life, bringing him back to the Batcave. Clark also hadn’t left his side while he was unconscious. He spent days in the cave, only stepping away from Bruce’s bedside when absolutely necessary.

When Bruce watched the footage from the Batcave, his heart beat faster, hand went to cover his mouth.

He had learned to ignore his love for Clark.

It didn’t do any good for him. For them. Because nothing good would come from a confession. They had been friends for so many years, had seen so many different milestones in each other’s lives, had watched each other fall in and out of relationships.

Why would Bruce try to destroy something they had spent years building just for his own sake?

It was always better to remain quiet.

Bruce quickly tried to fix his hair, which kept falling onto his forehead. He almost jumped when there was another knock on the door, softer this time.

Clark let himself in, an awkward smile resting on his lips. He was wearing one of his work suits, slightly too big for his body. This one was dark blue, made from cheap material. His hair wasn’t styled, falling naturally into curls on top of his head. Thick-rimmed glasses sat on his nose, and behind them his deep blue eyes slowly looked Bruce up and down.

Bruce swallowed. He closed his laptop and put it aside as Clark sat down on the chair beside him, the same one that one of the boys had left behind.

“Hi,” Clark said quietly, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “The boys told me you had a fever during the night and I wasn’t sure if I should disturb you. But then Alfred practically forced me to come in here, saying you were doing well. And I saw you were working, which you definitely shouldn’t be doing because you’re supposed to be resting, and if you’re busy I can always come back another time-”

“You’re not disturbing me. Stay.” Bruce cut off his rambling.

Then his lips twisted into something akin to a smile.

“Hi, Clark.”

Clark visibly relaxed. His shoulders slumped down, his posture melting into the chair. Then he smiled in that warm, sunny way of his.

“Hello, B.”

Silence fell between them.

Bruce carefully observed Clark, every small movement. He saw how Clark had been scanning his body, probably using his x-ray vision beneath the shirt and bandages. His blue eyes checked everything, lingering on every injury, but they never met Bruce’s.

Instead, Clark’s brows were furrowed, his jaw visibly tight. His throat moved as he swallowed hard.

Bruce’s mind was racing, though his heartbeat remained steady in his chest.

“How did you find me?” One of the questions that had been gnawing at him finally escaped his mouth, landing heavily in the space between them.

Clark still didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he closed them and turned his head to the side. His frown deepened.

“I memorized your heartbeat,” he said quietly, his face turned toward the window. Sunlight brushed his cheek, his hair, the long line of his eyelashes. “I memorized a few heartbeats. The people I care about most. So I can hear them from anywhere on Earth.”

He opened his eyes again. The sunlight brightened his blue irises, but they remained fixed on the wall.

“Your heartbeat is unique. It always beats strong, rhythmic, calm. In almost every situation. But that day...” A shaky breath. “I knew immediately that something was wrong.”

Bruce felt his throat tighten.

“Your heart was beating so slowly. So quietly. Like it could stop at any moment.” Clark’s fingers tightened around the armrest of the chair. “I flew from my home to Russia in an instant.”

Bruce swallowed heavily. His throat felt raw.

One of Clark’s dark curls had fallen onto his glasses, his shoulders curled slightly inward.

For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Clark finally asked:

“You know what I saw when I found you?”

Their eyes finally met. Clark’s were glassy, slightly wet, his lip trapped between his teeth.

“I saw you lying in the middle of nowhere, completely alone. You were covered by snow. Probably a few minutes more and you would've been completely buried in it. You were cold, so cold. Your skin was like ice, turning blue. And when I dug you out, there was so much blood that I- I still can see it on my hands, under my nails. You almost died there, Bruce. I can’t- I don’t even want to think about how it would've ended if I hadn’t heard you, found you.”

Clark shook his head, his hand curling into a fist as he bit down on it.

“Clark-”

“Every time I close my eyes, I see it. Your lifeless body surrounded by nothing but snow.”

“I’m sorry.”

Clark’s head dropped down, hiding behind his large hand.

Bruce moved closer, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, his thumb drawing small circles over the material of Clark’s suit.

Through Bruce’s mind flashed the memory of his cape, stained with blood. Alfred had promised to wash it properly, claiming he was a master at getting rid of blood from their costumes.

Then Clark moved closer, placing his own hand over Bruce’s and squeezing it weakly. When he lifted his head again, his eyes were still wet and slightly red.

“I just... I just don’t understand. How...? Ugh...”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce repeated, something in his chest twisting painfully. “I didn’t want to die there. I fought. Until I stopped and gave up.”

Clark, just like his children before him, threw himself into Bruce’s arms. Bruce’s heart fluttered. Clark’s body heat warmed him once more, melting away the last remnants of ice and snow that had settled inside him. Clark smelled like sunlight itself. Warm and bright. Mixed with the scent of cheap fabric softener.

“We almost lost you. I almost lost you. Please, don’t ever do something like that again.”

“I won’t.”

They sat there in each other’s arms for a few minutes, letting the emotions settle.

With every passing second, Bruce became more aware that he was hugging the man he had been in love with for years. At the same time, he wanted to end the embrace and return to the appropriate distance between them. But another part of him didn’t want to let go. It could be the last time he would ever have Clark this close to his heart for so long.

Then Clark chuckled wetly and shook his head, pulling away. This time there was a small, nervous smile on his lips.

“You know...” he started, his cheeks still damp and lightly colored red. “When I found you, I realized something. There isn't a version of this world that I want if you're not in it.”

Words stuck in Bruce’s throat. He looked at Clark, slightly shocked by the sudden confession, feeling how the tips of his ears burned. Goosebumps broke out along his arms when Clark slowly took one of Bruce’s hands between both of his.

Bruce tried to calm his heart, remembering the various techniques he used for that, but he knew Clark had already heard the sudden spike in his heartbeat.

“I truly mean it,” Clark said, lifting Bruce’s hand and placing it against his damp cheek, still holding onto it with both of his own. “I don’t want to live in a place where there’s no Bruce Wayne. No Batman. No you.”

Bruce’s fingers trembled against Clark’s face, his fingertips tracing tear tracks and smooth skin still touched by a hint of red. His mouth hung slightly open as his gaze traveled between Clark’s eyes, searching for something. Anything.

But he found only warmth. And honesty.

“Even if you fall into the deepest darkness, into the pit of hell, I’ll always come to save you,” Clark said quietly. “I won’t leave you alone. Never.”

Bruce’s breath hitched. Electricity swam beneath his skin, especially where they touched. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. The air between them grew heavy with something new and different.

Bruce’s eyes drifted down to Clark’s mouth, the movement didn’t escape the other. They moved closer and closer until there was barely any space left between them. The sunlight was warm on their skin, illuminating the dust dancing lazily through the air. Bruce closed his eyes, he didn’t need to see anything else.

Electricity sparked beneath his eyelids when their skin touched. It wasn’t fireworks, it felt more like light. Like hope. Like warmth after endless snow.

Like finding something worth staying for.

There was only one thing that Bruce Wayne wanted.

To live.