#(but with instincts to scale building and get agitated easily by others oh would it not work the best)

[godzexperiment]

"human" nix thoughts

-the range of how buried nix's memories are vastly varying (though very present in actions/behavior) but typically it's like 'ha yeah i cant tell you if i ever had any adult supervision' and avoids the topic like it's an pit of rusty metal -just an wide chunk of empty information with typically not even vague anything (so very much makes up for it by soaking up any present/future memories that could be had of whatever variety happens) -real sensitive to inquires 'where were you born' 'how long have you been on your own' etc and is far more likely to handle it poorly (ie snapping back like 'what about you') than handle it with ease -tendency to tune out when somebody talks on, and on *can remarkably summarize depending* but yeah very prone to just zoning the fuck out especially if it's certain topics,etc (doesn't even notice when is doing it most the time) -extreme disdain, that surprises even Nix in regards to how much despises being told what to do/how could look at somebody in extreme power and be like xD i feel like testing your patience (certainly makes an terrible impression on plenty of people) -no social skills, but no information active to say 'its always been this way' could believe it's an forever thing; yet nothing to suggest didn't have amicable relationships when younger -likely has pinprick/signature thigh holster bag and aside that maybe the clothes he wears (just sort of 'this leather jacket+these boots etc feel very much like they've always been part of me') or uniform *either just standard/cuz of being an tech* (maybe other objects here or there depending on verse) -if it's an verse where was given some vague not real memories (likely will still avoid the topic of his past/only be able to answer with 'yeah im pretty sure ive been alone for quite some time')

[shiftynightshade]

Inhaling softly Roy rested his face into his gloved hands, fingers threading into black hair and tightening into a solid grip. He left them there for a few seconds before dragging his fingers over his eyes.

“Sir?”

Roy looked up at Hawkeye from where he was sitting, her eyes hard yet shining in concern. “I wish we didn’t have to bring Fullmetal into this.” He whispered, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like it; he’s too young to witness war on this scale.”

Hawkeye didn’t make much sound except for the soft exhale as she closed her eyes. “I don’t like it either sir, but… orders are orders.”

Roy pursed his lips. ‘Orders are orders…. Yeah right. Just like how the genocide of Ishval was just ‘orders’’

 Roy sighed and opened the car door, slipping out and grimacing at the chill breeze that swept its way through the streets. With a few long strides, Roy was standing in front of the dorm's large doorway. ‘Here goes nothing, tch, damn you, Bradley.’

They found Ed’s dorm easily enough, having made plenty of house calls beforehand to know the path by instinct. He rapped his knuckles against the door and waited for any kind of response, not that they ended having to too long.

Behind the door soft, nearly inaudible footsteps approached the door. The door creaked open slightly, half of Ed’s head poking out from behind it, eyes narrowed and eyebrows drawn.

When his eyes rested on them, he obviously relaxed, though the tension didn’t completely leave his body.

“Oh, it’s you two.” Was all he said. He stood back and opened the door fully.

“Lieutenant,” He tipped his head respectfully towards Hawkeye.

 His eyes met Roy’s. “Colonel Bastard.”

Roy spluttered. “Hey! why do you acknowledge Hawkeye with respect but I’m ‘Colonel Bastard!?”

Ed raised a single eyebrow. “One; I give my respect to people who I think deserve it, and two; I may be reckless but I do value my life.”

Hawkeye coughed into her fist. “May we come in Edward?”

Ed blinked before giving a hesitant nod. He stepped out of the way and grabbed the doorknob.

“Mind the mess though.” He muttered.

Hawkeye nodded and strode past him, leaving Roy to trail after her. The second he was through Ed shut and locked the door, wriggling the knob for a split second before nodding in satisfaction.

Roy rose an eyebrow. ‘That’s an odd habit, though I guess it’s better than Fullmetal never locking the door.’

Roy smirked. “Paranoid much, Fullmetal?”

Ed scowled at him. “Like you aren’t?”

Roy dropped his smirk and blinked. He wasn’t that easy to read. Was he?

“Either of you want something to drink?”

Both of them shook their heads. “No thanks.”

Ed shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

The blonde stumbled slightly over to the counter and grabbed a steaming mug with his automail hand, yawning and leaned on the counter. He peered at them over the rim of his mug.

“So,” He began. “I’m gonna assume that this ain't a social call?”

Hawkeye nodded solemnly. “Where is Alphonse? We’d rather he not hear this. He would probably want to hear this from you and not us.”

Ed’s eyes dimmed slightly at the mention of his younger brother, shoulders drooping and body slumping.

“Al’s not here right now, hasn’t been here since yesterday, and won’t be back for a while, so you don’t have to worry about him overhearing anything.” He muttered, taking a long gulp of his drink.

Roy rose an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that? You two rarely leave each other’s side, and with how crappy you’re looking, I highly doubt he’d leave you alone.”

Ed’s eyes flashed with annoyance at the ‘crappy’ comment, but he didn’t say anything.

“He and I had a fight yesterday, it was… pretty bad.”

Roy took the time to observe Ed, eyes roving over the small Alchemist. His hair was down, a simple sweater and soft pants replaced his usual leather get-up. His eyes were droopy and his bags were darker and more pronounced than usual.

Ed pursed his lips. “I don’t even remember what the fight was about, it was pretty loud and,” He sighed sadly. “We said some things we didn’t mean. So he stormed off and most likely won’t be back for a few days.”

Roy couldn’t hold back the small flinch at that. ‘Shit, he’s not going to like this then.’

Roy and Hawkeye shared a look. Ed looked between the pair, eyes narrowing. “What aren’t you two telling me?”

Roy frowned before sighing heavily. “Drachma’s been attacking our borders in the North and North-West with increasing frequency, and State Alchemists are being called to the frontlines as back-up.”

With that one sentence any semblance of sleep that clung to Fullmetal disappeared, his once lax body stiffening and his eyes more aware. “So… we’re looking at war here, aren’t we?”

Hawkeye tilted her head. “Yes, we decided to come get you personally, as our team’s being shipped out later tonight.”

At Ed’s outraged face Hawkeye raised placating hands. “We were just given our orders, Ed, so it’s not like we purposely withheld this from you.”

Ed huffed an agitated breath, hand coming up to slide into his hair and grasp the golden strands into an unforgiving fist.  “Shit, shit, this is so fucked up.”

Ed trembled slightly in his spot against the cold counter, his automail deceptively steady as he placed the ceramic mug down. Roy stared at his subordinate. “You still have your military uniform Fullmetal?”

Ed glanced up at him. “Unfortunately.” He looked annoyed, like having to go to war was simply a mild inconvenience and not a life-changing experience.

 “Good, go get changed.”

Ed frowned, apprehension growing in his eyes. “…How long do I have?”

Hawkeye gave a sad smile. “Half an hour max.”

Ed nodded and made his way through the maze of books and other research instruments that made up the dorm. “Don’t touch any of my research notes Mustang!” He called from the depths of the dorm.

Hawkeye chuckled, shaking her head. “I’ll make sure he behaves Edward.”

“Lieutenant!” Roy shrieked.

Hawkeye smiled serenely, ignoring his indignant splutters.

“Like you haven’t been badgering him about his notes for weeks now sir, I don’t exactly blame him for being wary to leave you with any of his research.”

Roy did not pout thankyouverymuch.

The sound of boots hitting wooden floorboards drew them from their bickering. They both immediately took in the changes in Ed’s appearance.

No longer did Ed look like a simple civilian with artificial limbs; he looked like the ferocious Fullmetal Alchemist, Hero of the People, someone whose loyalty knew no boundaries. Mixed with the blue uniform he looked like every part of a soldier.

It made Roy sick.

‘Child soldiers, we’re using child soldiers.’

“Damn Fullmetal,” Roy smirked, if only to mask the nauseating guilt that was building in his gut and creeping up into his jugular. “You should wear the uniform more often, maybe then you wouldn’t look like such a shrimp.”

Fullmetal spluttered, rage growing on his face, though Roy could see the small amount of thankfulness in his eyes. ‘Give him the familiarity that he will soon lose.’

Fullmetal set his suitcase down and grabbed a stray sheet of paper and an abandoned pen, setting himself down heavily to the wooden chair.

“Just give me a minute to write something for Al,” Not once did Fullmetals�� eyes leave the paper.

“I don’t want him to come home to me being gone with no reason or explanation.” He said it so softly that Roy had to strain his ears to hear him.

“I won’t abandon him like that bastard did.” He spat, right hand curling into a tight fist.

Roy frowned as he watched the alchemist continue his note, continuing his way down the page before gently placing it under a paperweight made from some kind of shiny mineral.

Instead of setting the pen down, Ed grabbed another paper and began to write something else, seemingly oblivious to the slightly tense silence that had dominated the small apartment.

Ed gently folded the paper and slid it into an envelope, sealing it and tucked the letter into his jacket pocket. Fullmetal stood from his spot and picked up his suitcase, He nodded at them, only to stop and turn slightly, running a hand slightly over his scarlet cloak that hung on the chair.

 He inhaled and pursed his lips. “Let’s get this shit-show on the fucking road, eh?”

Even though it was inappropriate, Roy smiled.

~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~

“Ah, young Edward!”

Ed looked up from his book just in time to get a face full of Armstrong’s chest, his large arms wrapping like a vice around his frame.

“H’ly shit Armst’ng, c’nt breathe!”

He was dropped almost immediately, Armstrong patting his shoulders. “Ah, my apologies!”

Despite himself, Ed smiled at the Major. “You joining us as well Armstrong?”

The major gained a slightly darker expression on his face. “My apologies, but no, I won’t be.”

Ed tilted his head in confusion. “I though all state alchemists were being called in?”

Armstrong smiled bitterly. “Ah yes, well I was an exception. Mostly because I wasn’t deemed trustworthy enough due to my… reluctance to fight during the Ishvalan Civil War.”

He shook his head. “No matter, I was assigned to look after your younger brother while you were away, so I’m not complaining.”

Ed smiled at that, despite the ache in his chest and the stinging in his eyes at the mention of his brother. He didn’t want to leave the country without finding Al and apologising for their fight, but he just didn’t have time.  

He frowned, the letter in his pocket burning despite it being nothing but paper and ink. “Hey… Major?” He asked softly.

“Yes Edward?” Armstrong definitely picked up on his mood change, if the concerned look on his face was anything to go by.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the envelope, gently pushing it into the Major’s hands. “If…” He inhaled, trying to ignore the trembling in his limbs or the thick lump that had made itself known in his throat.

“If anything happens to me, can you give that letter to Al for me?”

Armstrong’s sharp inhalation was barely audible over the crowd, but Ed heard it all the same.

The Major opened his mouth to protest, but Ed peered up at his colleague through his fringe.

“Please.”

Maybe it was the look in his eye, or the soft plea, but Armstrong nodded stiffly and pocketed the envelope.

“Fullmetal.” Mustang suddenly appeared at his back, eyes lingering on the envelope in Armstrong’s hand before meeting Ed’s.

Ed turned to stare at Mustang, then back at Armstrong. Mustang put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

Ed bit his lip and nodded. “Seeya Armstrong, look after Al for me would ya?”

When the younger Armstrong nodded, he smiled. “Thanks.”

With that, he turned his back on the larger man and began to follow the colonel towards where the rest of Team Mustang had gathered.

Havoc raised a hand. “Heya Chief!”

Ed smirked. “You guys ready to kick some Drachma ass? Havoc cheered. “Hell yes!”

The wind picked up at that moment, putting out Havoc’s cigarette and sending the skirt overlays of their uniforms flying with the wind. One airship lifted into the air, almost looking ominous in the dark.

Ed inhaled. “So this is it, huh?”

Hawkeye nodded from her spot beside Mustang. “Colonel Mustang!”

The team turned in surprise as a soldier ran up to them and saluted. “You guys are up next.”

Mustang nodded. “Thank you.”

The soldier nodded and pointed to the airship closest to them. “Your teams been assigned to that airship alongside General Simmons. Good luck sir.”

Without any pre-amble, the soldier had dashed off.

Breda stretched his arms out wide before picking up his pack. “Well we better get aboard.” He grinned. “Don’t want to get left behind now, do we?”

Ed snorted. “Pretty sure Colonel Bastard wouldn’t let us be left in the dust even if we wanted to.”

Hawkeye rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Come on boys, we have work to do.”

They all groaned sarcastically, but made it onto the airship without any trouble. ‘What a shocker.’

The rumbling of the airship taking off beneath his feet rattled Ed’s bones.

With a tightness growing in his chest, Ed sat and leaned against the wall, willing his brain to imagine the rocking of a train carriage in place of the rumblings of the airship.

~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~

After a few days of cooling off and stewing in alleyways, Alphonse finally felt stable and confident in his emotions to go talk to his older brother. Al sighed as he picked his way through the streets, the sun almost warming him in ways he hadn’t felt in years, even if he was still entombed in a bodiless state in his armour.

Just thinking about his armour made Al flinch and want to hide away in shame. ‘Some of the words I said… oh brother I’m so sorry.’

The words he said still echoed in his head, and it made Al want to both scream and cry and rage at the world and himself.

“If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be stuck like this!”

Al sighed and made his way towards the dorms, apprehension growing in his metaphorical chest.

‘What if brother doesn’t forgive me this time? URG Dammit Alphonse! Why do you have to be stupid!?’

He finally made it to the dorms, letting his feet take him to the apartment he and his brother shared. When he got to the door though, Al stopped. “What do I even say…”

He gripped the doorknob and shoved the key into the slot after a moment with his other hand.

“Brother, I’m home!”

Absolute silence.

“Brother?”

Alphonse walked further into the apartment, taking note of the dust and how none of the books had been moved an inch.

The glint of colour on the table and flash of scarlet caught his attention.

‘Brothers coat, what is it doing here and not with him?’

As he approached the table, it became obvious that the other colours that were glinting in the sun belonged to a paperweight.

It was a simple thing in retrospect, but it was a small gift from Teacher last time they had visited her, and it meant the world to them.

The paper under it though was new, and after a few brief moments of hesitation, Al picked it up.

Soulfire eyes roamed over the paper, disbelief and world consuming guilt encompassing the world around him.

Al let the paper slip from his hands and onto the table, armour rattling in distress.

“Brother...” The whimper slipped out before Al could stop it, even though there was no one around to hear it. Like it was a shameful little secret.

Suddenly the sun didn’t seem so warm.

[audreycritter]

Color Spectrum

For @jerseydevious​ Chapter 1 of 5 Bruce Wayne & Clark Kent Gen/Friendship AO3 Link Red

The day had been a long and frustrating one but that was hardly going to stop Bruce from going out on patrol. In fact, patrol was usually his preferred method of dealing with long and frustrating days. It was a more direct way of feeling like it mattered, doing something that wasn’t about him.

He was already in the cape and suit, cowl hanging back, going over routes and recent crime reports on the computer to plot out the route that needed the most attention in the absence of specific emergency.

There was a rush of chilled cave air and he knew before he turned that Superman would be there. He glanced at the section of screen on the second monitor that managed the alert system for the Watchtower, confident he hadn’t missed any attempts at contact.

And then he waited, another moment.

Superman didn’t start talking. That was unusual and meant that he was angry or that something else was wrong.

“Superman,” Bruce acknowledged.

Still silence.

Finally, he swiveled in the seat, mostly expecting an angry scowl. If his guess wasn’t wrong, Clark would yell about the same second he turned so he would spin to face Clark shouting.

But instead of a face twisted with barely restrained fury while he floated a few feet off the ground, Bruce found himself staring at Superman firmly grounded with an openly anxious expression. Worry bloomed in his chest, pricking like creeping thorns, but he kept his voice level just at the same time Clark registered his direct attention and tried-- and failed-- to adopt a more neutral look.

“Hey,” Clark said, his voice slightly strained. “Hi.”

“What happened?” Bruce asked bluntly. There was no point in putting off direct inquiry if Clark was that visibly distraught.

“Uh.” Clark’s eyes darted sideways and he chewed on his lip. “Nothing. Just. It’s stupid. Can…uh.”

“Out with it, Clark,” Bruce ordered, turning to the computer. He pulled up Metropolis newsfeeds. If Clark wasn’t going to just tell him, he’d start hunting anyway. Even before Clark approached the desk, he suspected some sort of compromising magic, and that meant villain, not criminal.

“Can I, uh, keep you company? For a bit?”

Unless he knew what was going on, he wasn’t going out on patrol with an unstable superpowered alien, so Bruce bit back a sigh and nodded. “Yes.”

“Oh, good,” Clark said, exhaling in a rush. “Thanks.”

He sat down in the other chair near the computer and hummed quietly while Bruce scrolled Metropolis and Gotham police scanner feeds. The humming quickly turned nervous, a sort of agitated noise that cut off abruptly and Bruce checked out of the corner of his eye. Clark had both hands clamped on his own knees.

“I’m okay,” Clark said, his voice far more tense than anyone who was okay had ever sounded. “Just a run in with, um, some kryptonite. Red. Red kryptonite.”

Now that was surprising. Bruce stopped typing and faced him directly. “Where?”

“Doesn’t matter. Took care of it,” Clark said with a shrug. “Don’t wanna go home yet. Can I…no. It’s stupid. Never mind.”

“What?” Bruce frowned at him and then pulled up red kryptonite in his database, to confirm his memory. Mood swings and mutations. He briefly considered pulling up the cowl, but Clark already seemed so unsettled that he wasn’t sure what even that defensive motion would trigger. “Do I need to contain you somewhere? For safety?”

“CanIholdyourhand.” Clark said in a rush, head tilted toward the floor.

”What.” Bruce, through sheer force of will, kept himself from fully facing Clark with a raised eyebrow. Carefully controlling his own reactions was one of the best ways to keep from spurring a sudden mood change in Clark, and he realized in that instant why Clark was there instead of the Tower or back at home with Lois.

“CanIholdyourhand.” Clark mumbled this time, his whole face flushed red even in the reflection on the darkened monitor just to the left of Bruce.

Bruce had armored gauntlets he could pull on, sitting right there next to him and waiting for him to go out, but even those would do little good if Clark in a moment of distraction or sudden anger decided to crush his bones to pulp.

“No,” he said.

“Okay,” Clark said quietly. “It’s okay. I’m just…I think I might…it’s stupid.”

“What.”

“I think I might die.”

“You aren’t going to die, Kal. Unless there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

Soft wasn’t something Bruce did easily but even he wasn’t a completely heartless monster. It was easy to sound gentle and reassuring in the face of that kind of fear, especially if it was unfounded.

“Just feels like it,” Clark insisted, a little sourly. He fell silent and Bruce went back to working on the computer. If the best thing right now was actually just letting Clark keep him company while things wore off, then he could get some work done and not inspire some sudden rage in Clark at busy activity. There was a tiny part of Bruce that was fighting genuine fear at the bare truth, that if Clark really did swing rapidly to destruction there was little he could do to stop him for very long.

Only five minutes had passed before a rattling noise grew up rapid pitch next to him and he looked to see Clark, his cape drawn around his shoulders, shaking so hard in the chair that the screws around the locked casters underneath were starting to come loose.

“Clark,” Bruce said, bracing himself. They’d faced all kinds of evil together and he didn’t think he’d ever seen Clark this visibly frightened and if that’s how bad he was doing, then he could risk his hand. He held his hand out beside him and the shaking subsided almost as soon as Clark grabbed it. To his credit, it was a reasonable grip.

He began reviewing security footage from an older case and Clark edged his chair a bit closer.

Then closer again.

“What, exactly, are you feeling?” Bruce asked, deciding this was something worth clarifying.

“Eh,” Clark said, noncommittally.

“That is not a feeling,” Bruce replied. He was probably doing a terrible job of attempting to lighten the mood or alleviate stress. He sort of wished Dick was there; Dick was better at this sort of thing. But Clark already seemed embarrassed enough and it would mean putting Dick in potential danger, so Bruce decided against it.

“…clingy?” Clark guessed. Bruce could see him biting his lip in the monitor reflection.

“Hn,” Bruce said, managing to feel surprised and unsurprised at the same time. He was typing one-handed and the grip on his other hand tightened incrementally. “Kal.” The grip loosened just a little.

“Sorry.”

“Hn.”

The monitor showed a four-way split of security camera recordings, all playing at once. They watched for a few minutes and Bruce thought about offering to go upstairs, instead, but the cave really was better equipped to handle large-scale fighting or destruction if it came to that.

Over to the right, the elevator door opened and Alfred stepped out with a basket of clean towels, likely to restock the shower room behind the practice mats. He stopped for the smallest of double-takes, looking over Bruce working at the computer and Clark sitting nearby and still clutching his hand.

“Might I get either of you gentlemen a drink?” Alfred offered, as if there was nothing unusual about this sight.

“I’m fine,” Bruce said.

Clark shook his head.

“Very well,” Alfred said with a nod, and he went on his way. A few moments later, he was heading back upstairs.

The security feed was still running. Bruce rewound and studied a section by leaning forward. When he settled back into his seat, there was motion to his side and Clark moved closer. Their chairs were almost touching now.

In the next breath, Clark leaned his head on Bruce’s shoulder.

“Clark.” Bruce said.

“Sorry,” Clark said, but he didn’t move. Bruce sighed then, long and drawn out and distracted from the danger by the weight on his shoulder that he instinctively wanted to shake off. He held himself absolutely still and Clark sniffled. “I’m sorry. I feel really weird. I should go. I should…”

He trailed off and Bruce ducked his shoulder away, his mind made up, and stood. Clark sat back with an openly wounded drop of his mouth that he seemed to be attempting to get under control.

“Stand up,” Bruce ordered.

Clark stood, facing him.

Bruce pulled him into a hug and Clark, granite-solid alien strength notwithstanding, fairly melted and let out a long, relieved breath.

“This is a special exception,” Bruce warned him, when Clark’s arms showed no sign of slackening their hold anytime soon. “And it’s over. Right now.”

“One more minute,” Clark protested. “You give really good hugs. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I have been informed.”

“Like, really good hugs. This is helping. A lot.”

“You’re saying I’m stuck here.”

“Just a minute,” Clark insisted.

Bruce responded by gently squeezing again. Maybe an increased level of physical affection on top of the offered hug would speed things up. It wasn’t that he didn’t like hugs exactly, but that he had a special category of occasions in which they felt acceptable or wanted and this wasn’t necessarily one of them.

But then, if it was keeping Clark from shaking furniture to pieces or razing buildings with his heat vision or even just feeling like absolute shit, he could handle it for another moment. Another minute max.

“Clark,” Bruce said, when at least seventy seconds had passed. “I have work to do.”

It wasn’t technically true.

“Sorry,” Clark said, without releasing him.

“Kal.”

“I said sorry,” Clark said, with a slight whine. “It’s not like I like it either.”

Bruce didn’t sigh this time, even if he wanted to, and he awkwardly patted Clark’s back. It would have felt and been less awkward if Clark had been a child. What would Dick do in this situation? Maybe make a joke. Maybe that would help. Bruce couldn’t think of anything.

“I mean. It’s a good hug. It’s a really good hug,” Clark said. “I mean, I don’t like feeling this way. It’s awful.”

“Do you still feel like you’re going to die?” Bruce asked quietly, giving up on trying to think of any humorous quip to alleviate things. It would probably backfire anyway.

“A little,” Clark said. “But a little less.”

Bruce cast a regretful glance at the computer and then reached one arm out to freeze and close the security footage he’d been trying to review. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said. “Alfred will make tea.”

“Okay,” Clark said, pulling back. He was staring at his red boots now, while Bruce unhooked his black cape from his own shoulders. “Thanks. I mean. Yeah, thanks. It’s helping.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bruce said. For all his uneasiness, he really did wish he could just fix it somehow, and it was more for seeing how miserable Clark was than his own discomfort. “We’ll…” he swallowed his distaste at the phrase, “…hang out.”

“That sounds nice,” Clark said, giving him a small grin.

“And tomorrow, none of this ever happened,” Bruce warned. Clark’s relief was evident and he nodded quickly. Bruce doubted that he’d want to remember it any more than Bruce himself would.

“Is there something wrong with us?” Clark asked, when Bruce moved toward the locker where he’d kept day clothes to wear upstairs. He was sounded less unstable which was a good sign. “I mean, hanging out is what friends do. It shouldn’t be such a big deal.”

Bruce froze, one hand on the locker.

“I guess not,” he admitted. When was the last time he had just hung out with someone who wasn’t part of his own weird little family? He and Clark did things together but it wasn’t exactly traditional friendship material.

“Maybe,” Clark was wringing his cape in his hands now, absently, like he wasn’t aware he was doing it. “Maybe we can do it again sometime, when I don’t feel…like this.”

“Maybe,” Bruce said quietly. “Let’s see if we survive this time first.”

Clark laughed. It was shaky but it was a laugh, at least. Bruce smiled while pulling the armor over his head and felt a note of triumph. Clark trailed after him to the elevator and while he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, while the elevator descended from the Manor level.

“So. A movie? We could cuddle.”

Bruce whipped his head around so fast that Clark laughed again and Bruce glared when he realized Clark had been joking.

“That isn’t funny, Kal.”

“Yes, it was,” Clark insisted, sounding more like himself by the second. His expression grew serious and he had that intense, earnest look in his eye that made Bruce want to squirm. He’d never mentioned it, but it felt a little bit like Diana’s lasso. “Thank you. Really.”

“Hn,” Bruce said gruffly. He paused and the elevator doors slid open. “You’re welcome.”

“You really do give good hugs,” Clark said, stepping on with him. His feet weren’t quite touching the floor which, kryptonite- and mood-wise was a good sign. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“Just saying,” Clark said. “Maybe once a year. For special occasions. It’d be good for you.”

“Kal,” Bruce said. The elevator was rising and it caught Clark’s hovering feet on the way up.

“Christmas, maybe,” Clark went on. “Or maybe a birthday?”

Bruce closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. At least Clark was feeling better. At least he’d kept a city from being destroyed, or even the cave. At least.

“I’ll figure it out. You can put it on your calendar so you have time to prepare.”

“Clark,” Bruce said. “Don’t make me throw you out.”

Clark grinned and Bruce didn’t mind it, really, not if he was being honest.