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The sterile white walls. The idle mechanic hum. The flickering dull light in the corridors. Bruce always hated hospitals. Yet, he'd managed to put himself in one. His facial expression stayed trained downwards and dull, looking over the thin tubing in his arms and the pale fabric of the hospital’s bedding. He thought of Clark’s arrival, he'd be there soon. Part of him didn't want him there; Bruce felt bad enough for putting Alfred and Clark through the stress. He wanted his attempt to work, so if anything he'd be able to avoid their reactions, despite how entirely selfish he felt for it. Yet, another part of him needed Clark there. He needed the solace. Clark was the only person Bruce trusted enough to give it. Everything he felt was contradictory, he hated it.
Another thought went through his head – with no urgency, everything felt slow and meaningless at this point – would Clark even come? No, of course he'd come, Clark cared, didn't he? But then again, everyone cared at some point, some point before they got tired of Bruce’s constant pity party. Bruce let out a light shaky sigh, closing his eyes and resting his head back. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since his admission; he didn't care. He wanted Clark to come, but he didn't get his hopes up too high. He was used to people leaving, it wouldn't shock him if Clark didn't bother.
“I’m looking for a Mr Wayne? Bruce?” Clark’s voice sounded muffled through the hospital walls, but the urgency and care was still there. Bruce let out a sigh of relief, allowing the faintest hint of a smile to ghost his lips for only the briefest second. Brisk footsteps trailed into his room and beside his bed.
“I came as soon as I could.”
The other could hardly speak. The world around him sounded as if it was slipping away, as if he was drowning. Clark was here, Clark cared, Clark was Clark. Hot tears pricked at the corners of Bruce's eyes as he came back to his senses, looking at Clark. Strong arms were suddenly around him, holding Bruce. It was difficult, considering the various tubing and apparatuses, but Clark had to. He had to hold Bruce and comfort him.
“I’ve got you.”
Tears finally slipped out, dampening Clark’s shirt. Clark blinked; he rarely witnessed Bruce crying. He usually managed to remain composed. Clark couldn't pinpoint exactly how he was feeling; scared, obviously, because although he was renowned as brave and fearless, Bruce meant so much to him, and he was terrified of losing him, terrified of seeing him upset. Part of him was thankful, though, not for the situation but for the fact that Bruce clearly trusted him.
Bruce’s breathing was laboured and uneven as he feebly reached out to cling to Clark. He found a tighter embrace and soft encouragements against his ear in return – “Breathe, I’ve got you, in, out, in, out. Slowly, easy does it, that's better.” It didn't work immediately, but slowly, Bruce regained himself.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce rasped, finally feeling his voice.
“Don't be.” Clark’s voice was so gentle, like honey. Bruce found it so grounding – he found everything about Clark grounding. He was deeply caring, and his smile was the brightest he'd ever seen. “I'd do anything for your happiness.”
“You were off-planet. You were busy. You can't be suggesting that world safety matters are less important than my life.”
Clark couldn't help but crack a smile.
“Even in a hospital bed, you still– what's the word?” Clark’s brow furrowed in thought, and Bruce raised one of his. “You still manage to be Bruce.”
“Is that Superman’s way of calling me an ass?”
Clark laughed softly, causing another hint of a smile to form on Bruce’s lips again. For every moment he was with Clark, he fell deeper in love, with his smile, his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he was happy, his personality, his optimism. He was perfect. And he'd been the one to stay. Despite everything Bruce had done, all of his bad days and episodes and isolation, Clark was still here, still being Clark.
“You're not that much of an ass, Bruce,” Clark tutted, shaking his head. “I love you, through thick and thin, ass or not.”
“I love you too.” Bruce rarely said those words. Love always brought bad connotations with him; it always brought loss and hurt and he didn't want to lose Clark. He couldn't stand the thought of it, in fact. Clark smiled again, brushing away Bruce’s hair from his forehead and leaving a kiss there. Bruce dreaded the moment when the nurse would come in and usher Clark out. It was late, it was bound to happen soon.
Silence loomed again, and all Clark wanted to ask was why. Why had Bruce been so compelled to do it? To end it? He was aware of his thoughts and episodes but what had tipped him off? He didn't dare ask. He was just thankful that Bruce was still here. Taking his hand between both of his own, he kissed his knuckles.
“I’m glad you're here, Bruce. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you.”
Bruce swallowed, grateful for the fact that Clark didn't inquire about why. Clark was wonderful; Bruce felt like crying again.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Another few tears slipped.
Clark smiled softly and looked up at him, wiping the tears away with his thumb as lightly as he could. “Get some rest, love. You need it.”
Bruce crinkled up his nose weakly at the pet name, sniffling.
“I’ll be here. I won't let them kick me out. I'd like to see them try.”
“I love you. I don't say it enough. But I do, I really do. Thank you for coming, and staying for so long. Not just now, but just in general. No one else would.”
“Sleep, Bruce, continue the sappiness in the morning.”
“Get up here and lay with me.”
“I'd break the bed.” Clark laughed.
“I can afford to buy them another one.”
And with that, Clark was on the bed, careful to avoid injuring Bruce further in the process. Bruce rested his head in the crook of Clark’s neck, letting his eyes flutter closed at last. Clark was warm and homely. It didn't take Bruce long to slip away at all. Clark stayed awake, watching Bruce drift away peacefully, idly stroking his hair with his lips and nose nuzzled against his forehead.