Chapter Text
There were some things even superman couldn't fix. Poverty. Mental Illness. Hatred. The human condition.
This Gala only left a sour taste in his mouth. The rich getting richer. The poorer poorer. He had to watch every word he wrote in his reports - no matter how much the terms 'free speech' and 'critical press' floated around - each and every one of the soulless elitists could end Clark's job if they wanted. With just a flick of a wrist. That thought landed heavy in his stomach - and twisted as he watched Lex Luthor present his newest project 'the superman killer'. A broad smile with fake white teeth. Lest the alien kill us we kill it first he says.
Clark clenched his jaw and found open doors leading to a garden. The air was cold, crisp. He sighed in relief as the voices and chatter faded behind him. The light of some stars came up behind some clouds. He made sure to breathe - smell the grass and roses - when another smell hit his super sense. Someone else was out here. Clark twisted his head with curiosity, taking a few more steps forward. It was some cologne mixed with - a natural smell. It was - a little musky. His ears perked - breathing, a heart beating. He turned and took a few steps around a golden statue - there in the stairs sat - Bruce Wayne?
It was as if the billionaire also had super senses - his eyes catching Clark's as soon as he was in his field of vision.
"You've found my hiding place," Bruce mused, signature playboy smile on his face. A very expensive Rolex glistened in the evening light as he twirled his champagne glass.
"I -" Clark stuttered due to the shock, "I apologize Mr. Wayne. Sorry to disturb. I'll go." He turned on his heel.
"You'll leave? Just like that?" There was some surprise in Wayne's voice - but his heart held a calm, slow rhythm. Clark turned again and tuned his hearing in on that beat. It was unlike any he'd heard before.
"Yes?" Clark asked with caution.
"That's surprising - usually reporters claw at each other for an opportunity like this. You're not going to hound me with questions?" Clark noticed his eyes - tired and grey. Juxtaposed to the smile on his face - it was a little strange.
"I'm not that kind of reporter," Clark muttered a little offended.
"What kind of reporter are you then?"
"The Appointment in advance kind? I - I'm just filling in for someone. I don't really -" he probably shouldn't prattle truths like he does but that's who he is - "I really don't...fit in in a place like this."
"A place like this? What is that to you?"
Clark felt a little strange - like he's being interviewed.
"...Just...rich people," the reporter admitted causing Bruce to huff.
"That's a very poignant answer. You should write that down," he chuckled.
Clark felt a little embarrassed - that was a very Smallville kind of answer and decided to elaborate "E-everyone is fake - Noone in there is being honest with anyone and every single thing in there reminds me of what I - and many others like me can't and...will never have and yet - they throw it around like it's nothing."
"Ouch," Bruce smirked, "Touché."
"I mean," the heat of this argument came up from the back where he had it buried and the floodgates opened, "That watch is just a watch to you but to others - it could mean plenty of meals, a roof over the head, a surgery paid - a life saved. A life!" Clark felt his superman voice daring to come out - to speak for the people he loved and wanted to save.
Bruce gulped a quiet sip down. Without his supersenses Clark wouldn't have known that his heart rate momentarily spiked.
"Very idealistic," Bruce glanced back at the reporter, "Very naive."
"Ho- how is that-" Clark felt arguments wanting to spring out of him despite the fact that there really wasn't any need to - that he could just walk away.
"You don't know how any of this works," Bruce murmured, "All of it is...to put it simply - a headache."
"That's a stupid excuse," Clark grunted, "All of this it - could be so much more- and you - you're part of it!"
"...Hm," the other answered Simply, his eyes closing slightly, "I wish it..." Bruce stopped himself, reopened his eyes and widened his small smile back to a grin, "What would a little country bumpkin know? I don't think your clothes are even worth a meal."
Clark felt rage boil up from his esophagus. His muscles tensed. Thank God he wasn't holding anything. He hated Bruce Wayne. No matter how pretty he may be.
---
All he wanted was a bit of peace and quiet - was that too much to ask? Bruce cursed internally as he sat in another boardroom. The sun shone happily through the windows of the Wayne Corp skyscraper in Metropolis.
A kid in the corner eyed him curiously - one of the staff must've not been able to find a babysitter. His blue eyes reminded him of that reporter - Clark Kent he later found out.
He already felt inadequate. Like there is so much more he should be doing. The fact he can't was already weighing on him that night when hours of talking to humans with no regard for others had finally worn him down. Now a bumbling small town reporter with a suit too large and ocean eyes behind thick glasses was doing gymnastics in his brain. He got no sleep. Again.
He took another sip of the coffee - it was too sweet. His eyes wandered around the room of people who were actively ignoring him. Didn't he say no sugar?
One shareholder looked back at him, annoyed. Bruce smirked back - then felt alarm bells go off in his head. Smoke? He straightened his back and made sure to inhale as much air as he could. Fire.
From where-? And the fire alarm? Why wasn't it going off?
Noone else has noticed. Bruce scanned the room frantically - his eyes finally fixing on the air vent. It was coming through the ducts. Shit. How bad was it? How should he handle this? As he was about to stand up screams started to emerge from the lower floors. Bruce sprung to the windows and looked below - visible fire. He turned around and saw panic rise around him - and general confusion. Why the fuck has the alarm not gone off?
Bruce saw the kid cower in the corner of the room - he was afraid. Bruces hands became nervous fists as he looked down to his left leg. This better not all go to shit.
---
Clark bit his lower lip as his eyes scanned the burning building - he's already picked up a few unmoving ribcages with still hearts. If only he hadn't - he clenched his fists remembering how immersed he was writing the piece on Bruce Wayne. How invested he was in the argument with Lois about publishing it. So much so he hadn't managed to pick up the early signs of a fire spreading - when a desperate scream finally got his attention.
Were they burning alive? Did it hurt? Was it quick? Was it slow?
He needs to be better. Faster. He swore he heard more of the same scream. Nonono. Please. Please. His heart pounded against his ribs in agony.
He kept scanning and listening despite the tears threatening to emerge from his eyes. Come on. Come on. There! He sped up - throwing his body through a window. No normal human could see in this smoke - nor breathe. Clark inspected the walls - the blaze was so strong on the lower floors he was afraid of a collapse. A staggering breath. He grabbed the body and flew back outside.
The smell of burnt flesh almost made him gag as he looked down at the disfigured woman in his arms.
'Rob...Rob...' She managed to say between restless coughs. Tears running down ashen cheeks. Clark felt her lungs give out, her heart beat slow.
"Stay with me. Stay with me," Superman repeated like a mantra, getting her down to emergency services.
Ambulances and fire trucks had surrounded the building. Flashes of water tried to reach the upper floors but struggled. EMTs started rushing towards superman - who had felt the trembling heart stop.
"Nono.." He kept saying as he gave her away - no. Focus on saving more. Focus. Focus.
---
"...Ugh..." Clark felt his flight stutter as he forced himself to search for more survivors. He had to be brave. He had to be.
At the top. Two more. He made his reluctant body move forward once more. This time he couldn't stop the tears running down his face - he had decided to ignore them.
Emergency crews below were starting to move away from the building - debris already starting to fall down. It was now really threatening to collapse.
Clark spotted the figures within the thick smog. Fire hadnt gotten up here yet. A larger body was over a smaller body - protecting it. It was coughing violently - the smoke thick in their lungs. The smaller one seemed to be doing better. Clark decided to grab the larger body as it clung to the smaller and flew out just before the creaking metal support gave out.
Clark forced his eyes back down - eventhough he was so afraid of what he might see - and saw Bruce Wayne stare back up at him, coughing.
Superman felt an intense bewilderment - then his eyes fell on the child. The boy, clinging desperately to the billionaire, had a mask on his face. That's when he realized the small oxygen tank in between the two.
"...smoke..." Bruce said coughing, "Kid...inhaled...some..."
Superman scoffed after having a look at both their lungs, "You inhaled some Mr. Wayne. A lot of some." Bruce replied with an intense coughing fit, and a "M...fine.." grunted through them. Superman scanned the ground, opting to ignore the man. Emergency services were moving away. The building was going down.
"Hold on," he told the two in his arms, making them all fly towards the hospital at a steady, fairly fast but still human-tolerable pace.
"Ugh-" Bruce flung an arm around the superhero, and then Clark felt warm bile on his chest. The flight must've made his nausea worse.
"...so...ryy" Bruce murmured with another cough, weakly trying to wipe it away with his probably too-expensive coat.
"Happens," Superman sniffed, holding the two of them closer whilst wedging their bodies through the city. Two grey eyes looked up apologetically. Was this really the Bruce Wayne? The billionaire? The man who kind-of sort-of made him late to this?
"...You...did all you could," Bruce murmured, seemingly forcing down the need to expulse the toxic fumes.
"...Huh?" Superman replied, confused.
A gentle hand came down to Clark's cheek, rubbing it with a tremble, as they finally came close to the hospital, "Don't cry. You did all you could," Bruce said with more force, "You can't save everyone. Noone can."
Somehow that made Clark's conflicting feelings - between bravery and desperation - clear screams still haunting his ears - the smell of flesh charred away - rise up to his throat, making his eyes squint away more tears. He grunted. Stop it. Stop it. You're a hero. You don't cry. You don't cry.
He wanted this to be over, kicked his legs to be a little faster and landed in front of Ambulances - their lights flashing strongly. Slowly he lowered the two down to the ground - the boy still silently holding on to Wayne for his dear life - when a sharp hiss escaped Bruce's lips. Clark quickly picked them up again, "Sorry - sorry - You-" he gave Bruce a thorough scan - an injury?
His eyes widened - several if not all of Waynes ribs showed signs of having been broken and healing back up wrong - the same can be said with other bones - his arms and even his hip but - the worst was the left leg. Multiple metal objects within the knee and lower leg bones - holding a shattered structure together. Some bone even seemed to be missing.
"Am fine..." Bruce muttered, "Didn't...have my pain killers...is all...," he clung a little harder to Superman, "left the Damn...thing in the car..."
"..." Superman had to actively suppress his shock, "I'll walk you in there," he concluded.
"...I'm...fine," Bruce tried to wiggle himself free and in the movement couldn't manage the control over his lungs and coughed again. Clark ignored his ramblings and walked through to the ER past nurses and doctors who were too busy to mind them.
---
Clark stared at the article, still bright on his laptop, he really wanted to go and publish just hours ago. He stared so hard - maybe he hoped it would talk to him. Give him all the answers he was searching for. For some reason he did this instead of changing out of his smoke-ingested, bodily fluids littered suit.
'You can't save everyone.'
Bruce covering the child with his body. Giving the kid the mask he had found. Not caring what would happen to him. The bones. The pain killers.
The gentle, cool hand on his cheeks - he now realized was covered in calluses and some scars (is that why he usually wore gloves?) - warm grey eyes staring back at him with empathy and understanding. His still calm heartbeat. The wind catching his dark hair. The most beautiful human he'd ever seen.
Clark groaned, sinking his head into his hands. It was mortifying. A crush? On a billionaire? Really?
At least it was better to think about that then the people he couldn't save.
Why were his bones like that? Was there something going on? Had someone...abused Bruce Wayne?
Clark closed his eyes, remembering exactly what he had seen. It honestly looked like what he'd seen in some gangsters - fighting each other, usually resulting in broken ribs - not daring to seek medical attention. The bones growing back wrong. So was Bruce fighting people? Were they fighting him? How? Why? Did Bruce need help? Did...he need someone? Maybe...someone like superman?
Clark felt a headache coming. No. No other way. Maybe Bruce was involved in shady things - like Lex. And thus had to fight himself to the top or something. And because it's shady - he couldn't go to the hospital!
Grey eyes flashed in front of him, causing Clark to jerk back. He realized in horror that everything in him wanted to defend Bruce - and now thought him a good man.
"...I'm too easy..." Clark muttered, a slight blush on his cheeks. Against all logical thought, his senses honed back in to Bruce Wayne.
---
"I told you already - I don't know where the kid came from. Superman must've picked him up from somewhere else," Bruce huffed, unhappy about the press already having wormed their way through. He was still on a drip for God's sakes!
"Mr. Wayne - cameras captured-"
"Get the hell out! I'm done. I'm done," he huffed trying to throw something at them, unsuccessfully. All hospital staff was too busy to care about the storm of reporters. Where the hell was his body guard?
"Mr. Wayne!" Who the fuck-"Were you the intended target of the attack?!"
"How am I supposed to know - can anyone-!" He raised his strained voice when another interrupted.
"Mr. Wayne - was this attack due to your inability to help with the recent flooding?"
Bruce felt his heart drop. I'm sorry.
"Do you believe it was because of your status?!"
I'm sorry.
"The building project in Gotham downtow-"
I'm sorry.
"Why are you bothering a man trying to recover," the noisy room quieted immediately as they saw superman - his face and suit dark from previous events - floating through the window.
"Get out," the heros voice sounded angry, almost furious. The press decided to scram. Incredibly effictive.
Bruce stared at the big floating figure. His hands still in fists. He remembered the sad eyes - so blue they couldn't be real.
"...it's alright now. You scared them away..." Bruce said, a little shocked.
Superman turned, slowly. His brows still furrowed. His eyes still...full of sorrow. Bruce felt his hands twist the sheets in discomfort. He didn't like that. For whatever reason.
"...You protected the boy. Why aren't you telling the truth?" Superman's voice had a more gentle tone to it.
"..." Bruce didn't know how to respond. He wasn't expecting this.
"...you're not going to answer?" It was the worst case of puppy eyes Bruce had ever seen - and it affected him in ways he didn't want to know.
"...Why are you here?" Bruce asked instead.
"...You don't deserve the press hounding you - you need to rest."
"Do you really think I don't deserve it," Wayne scoffed in disbelief, "You're defending heartless billionairs now?"
"You saved that child," Superman reiterated, "Besides. No hero should make a distinction between classes."
"...maybe you should," Bruce grunted, the earlier questioning of the press going back through his head. I'm not enough. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Alfred. His voice hitched, and suddenly superman was floating a whole lot closer to him.
"You okay?" The hero asked in a soft tone.
"...I'm fine already," Bruce tilted his head away.
"You're not," Superman said simply.
"...You've made your point. Aren't you needed somewhere else?"
"..." No. Bruce wouldn't turn around. He couldn't promise he'd be composed looking at those eyes again.
---
Clark stared back at the man, determination in his eyes.
"I'm not budging on this, Mr Wayne. I have enough proof."
The conglomerate smirked a little less than before. But just a little.
"How about this," the man stood and Clark watched with concern how he put weight on his left leg, his heart still the same beat as before. Before he knew what was happening Wayne stood right in front of him, "You let go of this ridiculous story with the heart-of gold billionaire who saved a kid - and I'll treat you to dinner however often you would like to." The hand on Clark's bicep made him shudder a little, the tiny sparkle in the grey eyes he's come to like not making the heat in his face go away.
"..." How can he help this man? How can he make his pain a little less? Make his heart not make that agonizing sound it made the other day?
"...I have a different offer," Clark raised his head, "I don't publish. And I - we become friends."
Bruce looked back in surprise, "Friends?" He questioned.
"...You know. Hanging out sometimes. Talking about... I don't know our favorite music..and texting each other funny jokes...that...kinda thing..."
Bruce seemed genuinely taken aback. His eyes stared at Clark as if he had just seen an alien (kinda true).
"...Why would you want that?" Bruce questioned, "If this is an elobarate way of trying to get some money - I can just -"
"No," Clark bit back, "I don't want your money - I don't want. Anything else but a genuine attempt at friendship," the reporter cleared his throat, "I mean maybe we won't click as friends but...I want to try."
"...Now I get it," Bruce's eyes lit up, "You want to get closer to me so you can learn all of my secrets - then publish them. That's quite conniving putting that out on the table like tha-"
"I will sign whatever stupid contract you want promising I won't publish jack!" Clark suddenly felt himself shouting. He heard his ma being a little dissapointed. Manners. Sorry, ma - the man is frustrating.
"..." Bruces heart beat out of place just the slightest amount, "....alright."