#SuperBat fanfic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

karnival2 · 2 years ago

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op. op. this. is amazing. I adored this. Thank you sm for sharing this op

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Call For Help

Summary: He wasn’t angry. He’d gone into this knowing Bruce was particular about his space, that his trust came sparingly, that things would have to move slow, but he’d like to think that he was past the point of punishing himself to avoid setting a boundary.

Clark couldn’t remember when he’d memorized Bruce’s being, when his heartbeat had become as familiar to him as his own, when it had gotten to the point where Clark could find him as easy as breathing no matter how far apart they were.

It had happened gradually, naturally, Bruce’s place in Clark’s life settling into its importance long before they’d become something more than coworkers. More than friends.

It had been two months since they’d crossed that line, since Bruce had finally taken that step out of his dark corner and allowed Clark to see him, really see him, after years of waiting.

Clark would have waited a hundred more. He hoped Bruce knew that.

It had started slow, both of them unsure, but it had progressed significantly better than he’d thought it would.

Not that Clark had been worried it would go poorly, of course. He loved Bruce and he knew, although it was much harder for the other man to say, that Bruce loved him too.

Things were never going to be easy, he knew that. The lives they both lead guaranteed that.

They both had their own unique walls, their own reservations and fears, and while Clark had promised Bruce he was ready to put in the work, promised that he was ready to go as slow as Bruce needed, he’d been prepared for an uphill battle. Bruce lived like he had his back to the wall, a lifetime of loss and abuse etched deep in his bones, and getting Batman to even trust Clark as a friend had taken years.

But everything had fallen into place like it was meant to be, the new dynamic easy to slip into, the two of them fitting together just as easily as their hands, their lips, their arms when they found each other at the end of a particularly hard day.

Clark was still wary, well aware of the damage he could do, the power behind his hands capable of so much destruction, so much bloodshed. There was a deadliness below the surface that he wished, more than anything, wasn’t there. There were days where he was terrified Bruce still harbored any remains of the deep-seated mistrust he’d clutched onto when they’d first met, analyzing Superman like a threat.

And Bruce was still Bruce, overthinking every conversation, every movement, quiet and careful with how he touched Clark, both in public and behind closed doors.

But it all felt easy. It all felt right, more so as each day passed, Clark now waking up in the manor more than his own apartment, finding Bruce in the kitchen or the cave and planting a gentle kiss to his hair before flying to Metropolis, racing the sunrise to work.

Bruce was always waiting for him when he woke, both of them sharing a snippet of their lives, relaxed and quiet, Batman always ready to greet him along with the rising sun.

And as nice as that was… that was the problem, wasn’t it?

It had taken a bit for Clark to fully register what was happening, to spend the night at the manor enough times to recognize it as a pattern, but once he did he couldn’t help the wave of unease that settled in his gut, the worry and confusion gnawing at racing thoughts.

He knew he couldn’t expect Bruce to take nights off regularly, and he wouldn’t dream of asking. But Bruce had made an effort to work out his schedules to give him and Clark a few nights to spend together, Dick or Jason covering his routes for a few hours when he came home early. Alfred seemed thrilled about that, at least.

The night would end with them in the same bed, Bruce pressed securely against Clark’s chest, a grounding presence that lulled him to sleep faster than anything had before. Like this, with Bruce’s heartbeat close and his steady breathing in his ear, Clark could let go and drift off, knowing for a fact that Bruce was safe.

And while he didn’t technically need the rest, not physically at least, in Bruce’s bed he slept deep and peaceful in a way he never had before, wrapped up in silk sheets and steady arms.

But then he’d wake up, sunlight seeping through the black curtains, and he’d start his morning in an empty bed.

Bruce was never far, of course. He’d usually wait to tell Clark goodbye if he had business at the office to attend to, and they’d leave together if the Justice League called, but… still.

It felt like Clark was missing out on something important, on waking up next to Bruce, on starting their days together. He wanted to wake up slowly in his arms, hold him as long as he possibly could until there was no choice but to get out of bed.

But he didn’t even know what time Bruce woke up, what he looked like in the first rays of sunlight, slowly blinking into the waking world.

It wasn’t like Clark wasn’t used to sleeping alone, but waking up with Bruce gone so suddenly sent a spark of anxiety through his chest each time, dread and confusion weighing him down until he found the strength to push himself up and seek his partner out.

If Bruce didn't want to stay the night with him that was his choice, but Clark would at least like to know what he’d done wrong.

So he’d finally worked up the courage to bring it up, stumbling through his question, not quite sure how to explain his worry or voice what exactly it was that he wanted.

It was silly, making such a big deal over something so small, over the desire to wake up next to Bruce when they spent the night together rather than left alone in bed. But it was important to him, as small a gesture as it was, and he knew Bruce understood small gestures better than anyone.

“I didn’t know it upset you,” Bruce said, brow pinched in the way it did when he was trying (and struggling) to be emotionally available. “Sorry.”

“I’m not upset with you,” Clark assured, because he wasn’t. It wasn’t about that. “I just wasn't sure if I did something wrong, or if you–”

“You didn’t,” Bruce said. “I’m just usually awake before you.”

In all the years he’d known Bruce, Batman had certainly never been a morning person. He barely slept, glued to his computer in the cave most nights, but on the rare occasion he did sleep, he’d emerge no later than noon, scowling and sluggish until someone handed him coffee.

But apparently he’d been awake before Clark rose with the sunrise, coffee at the ready by the time he made it downstairs.

It didn’t make sense, but Clark couldn’t find a reason to question the explanation. Maybe they were both getting better sleep in each other’s company.

“I think it might be nice to wake up together,” Clark said softly, reaching across the table to take Bruce’s hand in his own. “Is that okay?”

Bruce stared at their hands before blinking back up at Clark, calculating and reserved. Unreadable. “Alright.”

And for the time being, that had been that.

The next time they spent the night together, Bruce had curled up next to Clark as usual, a case file and a pen in his hand, muttering something about needing to finish up some work since he was missing patrol. Clark hadn’t thought much of it, it wasn’t unusual for Bruce to put himself to sleep mulling over a case.

The steady rhythm of his heart was already easing the lingering nerves from the day, Clark lulled to sleep in minutes by Bruce’s presence.

When he woke up the next morning, opening his eyes to the early morning sun, Bruce was still at his side just like he’d agreed to be. Clark smiled, reaching for him, but the relief was short lived.

Bruce was in the exact same position he’d been in when Clark had closed his eyes the night before, reclined against the pillows, eyes slightly bloodshot, the folder of files on his lap noticeably larger.

Bruce glanced at him, his gaze softening just a fraction when their eyes met. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Clark managed, frowning at how rough Bruce’s voice sounded. “Did you sleep at all?”

Bruce hummed, glancing down at the papers scattered across his lap. The tremble in his hands would have been undetectable to the human eye. “I promised Dick I’d go over these files for him. I lost track of time.”

“Oh.” Bruce let Clark reach forward, let him lean against his side and intertwine their hands. He seemed okay, and Clark knew all-nighters were nothing new for him, but there was something… off. “You should try to rest, B.”

“I’m fine,” Bruce said, a little too quickly. His heart- always slow, always controlled- skipped a beat. There was a tightness around his eyes, his shoulders held too tense for someone in their own bed, whether they’d gotten any sleep or not. “You’re going to be late for work. I’ll make coffee.”

And just like that he was gone, heading for the kitchen, and Clark was left alone in bed again.

—---

The next three days progressed the same way, Bruce clearly forcing himself to stay awake through the night at Clark’s side, bleary eyed and surrounded by his work when morning came.

On the fourth night, Clark made a lame excuse for why he needed to spend the night back in Metropolis just so Bruce could hopefully get some sleep.

And a later check in with Alfred confirmed his suspicions. Without Clark staying at the manor, Bruce had taken the night off per the butler’s request and slept a consecutive four hours that night, and another half hour nap in the late morning.

It wasn’t a lot, especially not after how much he’d lost already, but he knew by now that it was as close to a full night’s rest that Batman would allow himself.

Which meant that he hadn’t been reading into things, and Bruce refusing to close his eyes was entirely because of Clark’s presence.

Because of Clark taking up space in his bed.

It also meant that Bruce had most likely lied about waking up early, that he’d waited until Clark fell asleep before slipping out of bed for the rest of the night. It sure seemed that way, at least.

He wasn’t angry. There was no reason to be, not if this was what Bruce needed. He’d gone into this knowing Bruce was particular about his space, that his trust came sparingly, that things would have to move slow.

He just wished that Bruce didn’t feel the need to sneak around. If they were moving too fast, Clark would have understood. He would have backed off immediately if Bruce had just asked him to sleep in his own bed.

He knew how fragile Bruce’s trust was, how getting him to open up about anything was like pulling teeth, but he’d like to think that he was past the point of punishing himself to avoid setting a boundary.

Apparently not.

There wasn’t a good way to bring this up, either. Not without Bruce immediately shutting down the idea altogether and closing himself off even more, inevitably undoing any progress they’d made.

But that was fine. Clark could ignore the lingering ache in his chest and take a step back without a word, careful not to draw any attention to the shift in their dynamic. He’d gotten comfortable at the manor, often utilizing a guest room even before they’d gotten together, and he amended that he might have moved a little too fast without explicit permission.

He cherished the feeling of falling asleep in Bruce’s arms, of their breathing syncing up as he drifted off to the sound of his heartbeat beside his own rather than cities away, but if Bruce wasn’t ready for that kind of intimacy, Clark wasn’t selfish enough to push the subject.

And if he never wanted to share a bed with Clark, then… then that was fine too. Bruce was worth it.

He’d gotten used to making himself scarce at the manor over the last few days, still meeting Bruce for dinner in the evenings and working alongside Batman as usual at the Watchtower, forcing himself to be content in the quiet of his apartment and an empty bed. Nothing else between them had changed, there was no reason to make this a big deal.

Their sleeping arrangements didn’t come up again for another week, until Clark received a call from Alfred during a late night at the Daily Planet.

“Master Kent,” the butler greeted, and Clark could hear the tightness in his voice, the veiled urgency in his careful tone. “Do you have a moment to stop by the cave? I could use some help with Master Bruce.”

“I’m on my way,” Clark said, pushing away from his desk and starting for the roof before Alfred was even finished. “What’s wrong? Is he hurt?”

“A few broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder,” Alfred said. “Nothing serious, but he’s… worked up, and I’m having some trouble getting him to cooperate.”

In the background, Clark heard a familiar “Who are you talking to? What are you doing?” and sighed in quiet relief. Bruce was awake, and aware enough to be furious over Alfred calling Clark for help.

He sighed into the phone, an exasperated smile tugging at his lips, never slowing his ascent up the stairs. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”

He made it to the manor in less, despite the initial terror that Bruce was more severely hurt already fading, his heartbeat still a constant, grounding rhythm in his ears.

Clark found them in the cave’s medical bay almost exactly as he’d expected- Alfred dutifully peeling away disposable gloves and putting away medical supplies, Bruce wincing as he pulled a t-shirt over his head, scowl etched permanently onto his face.

Clark was able to get a good look at his torso before he pulled the shirt into place, wincing at the bruises and bandages littering pale skin. But a quick scan with his X-ray vision told him there was nothing serious.

Not by Batman’s standards, anyway. A normal person would be in the emergency room.

Bruce glanced up as he approached, piercing blue eyes dulled by pain and exhaustion. “What are you doing here?”

He knew Bruce well enough by now to pick apart his tone, to hear the quiet I’m glad you’re here that went unspoken, and smiled.

“I was worried about you.”

Bruce’s scowl deepened. “Alfred called you.”

“And I was worried.” He stopped beside the cot, waiting for silent permission before reaching out to cup Bruce’s cheek, carefully running a thumb along his bruised cheekbone. Bruce went tense, as he always did (and it always made Clark’s heart ache when he braced himself for something that would never come) before relaxing into the delicate touch a moment later.

“I’m fine,” Bruce said, but his voice was rough, every part of him run completely ragged, drained until there was nothing left. His eyelids were drooping, his jaw clenched. “You didn’t have to come.”

Clark ignored him, moving to hold Bruce’s face in both hands, something tugging in his chest at how wary he looked, always ready for the worst even after all these years, even in the safety of his own home. “You look exhausted.”

For once Bruce didn’t argue, didn’t shove him off and rise to his feet in a desperate effort to disprove any suspicion of weakness. His shoulders just slumped, and he leaned a little more into Clark’s hands.

“Long night,” he muttered, letting his eyes close for a moment. “Killer Croc.”

Clark hummed in sympathy and ran a hand through Bruce’s hair, still damp with sewer water, the faint stench of Gotham harbor still clinging to him. There were goosebumps along his skin, Batman shivering under his thin t-shirt and sweatpants.

“Why don’t you take a hot shower,” Clark offered. “And then we can try to get some sleep.”

It was a testament to how tired Bruce really was that he didn’t even argue or glare, just gave a silent nod and pushed himself to slightly unsteady feet. Clark knew better than to push his luck by trying to steady him, choosing instead to offer another gentle smile and let him make his own way to the bathroom.

“Thank you for coming,” Alfred said when they were left alone. “He’s had a long week. He’s calmer when you’re around.”

“Of course,” Clark said, but hesitated before his next words. “I’m just… glad he’s been getting some sleep recently.”

He could feel the older man staring, picking him apart in that uncanny way that left him feeling exposed, fiddling with his hands with nothing to do but stand there and wait.

“Is everything alright, Master Kent?” Alfred asked, and Clark knew better than to request he call him by his first name, odd and out of place as the title made him feel. “You’ve been around less this week. I was beginning to get worried.”

“Oh.” Of course Alfred had noticed. And he’d never shared Bruce’s talent for ignoring the elephant in the room. “I just… uh. You know. I’ve been busy with work.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, and Clark’s gaze went to the floor. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Clark said quickly. Too quickly. “No, just… we’re okay. We… I just… wanted him to get some sleep.”

It didn’t make Clark feel any better about the situation when he didn’t need to explain any further, understanding flashing in Alfred’s eyes almost immediately. He nodded, smiling almost sadly.

“I see,” the older man said, lowering himself to the plastic chair beside the now vacant cot. “I was hoping he’d managed to move past that.”

It caught Clark’s attention, the weariness to his words, and he was prying before he could think better of it. “What do you mean? Is… if I did something to–”

“Not at all, dear boy,” Alfred said, effectively cutting off the nervous spiral. “It was nothing you did. Quite the opposite. Master Bruce has… a very adamant aversion to sleeping near anyone. Myself and his children included. With how safe he feels in your presence, I was hoping you’d be the exception. It isn’t your fault in the slightest.”

“Oh.” It made sense, even with the missing pieces, and the helpless panic at not knowing was starting to lessen, the shame that he’d done something to make Bruce begin to despise his company fading. But the new information just left a different kind of ache in his chest. “Why wouldn’t he just tell me?”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “Master Bruce willingly coming to you with an insecurity? Master Kent, have you lost your mind?”

Clark laughed, despite the situation. “Fair point.”

“You’ve been very patient with him,” Alfred said, softer this time. “I don’t have enough words to tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“He deserves it,” Clark said simply, because there wasn’t anything more to it than that. “And I love him. If he never wants to sleep next to me, he doesn’t have to. I just want him to feel safe.”

“I believe he does. I’m not sure where this… fear of his came from, but I hope he can overcome it. It didn’t used to be like this.”

“It’s recent?”

“A few years now,” Alfred said. “He used to sleep better with company. When he was a boy, he’d spend more nights in my room than his own. The nightmares were easier for him to handle when he had company. And he and Master Richard used to fall asleep on the couch together most nights.”

Clark smiled, chest light at the mental image, but reality pulled him right back down. “And then it just… stopped?”

“I don’t think it was quite so sudden,” Alfred amended. “But I should have noticed something was wrong before it got this bad. He’d always had night terrors and dreams but he’d never been afraid to… something must have happened, I just… wish I could offer him more. I wish he’d tell someone what changed.”

“I can talk to him about it,” Clark said. “When he’s feeling up to it.”

“You are welcome to try.” Alfred’s voice was soft, his smile sad as he pushed himself back to his feet. “Thank you, Master Kent. You’re of course welcome to stay, we have plenty of spare rooms.”

—---

When Bruce stumbled out of the bathroom, dead of his feet and doing a fantastic impression of a newborn deer, Clark decided to take matters into his own hands and fly them both upstairs to Bruce’s bedroom.

“Clark!” he’d barked, grabbing at Superman’s sleeves, but the heat in his voice was lost to bone deep exhaustion. “I can walk.”

“I’m sure you can,” Clark said. “But I’d rather not have you fall down the stairs and crack your head open.”

“I’d be fine,” Bruce muttered, but he let his head rest against Clark’s shoulder. “And you’d catch me.”

Clark didn’t grace that with a response, just smiled and pressed a kiss to Bruce’s hair. They both knew he was right.

He let Bruce get into bed on his own, placing him carefully on his feet, fully prepared to back away and leave as soon as he was under the covers.

But he was barely lucid enough to walk in a straight line, falling gracelessly onto the bed and rolling over, despite the hiss it pulled from his lips when it aggravated his injuries. He blinked up at Clark, and to his shock, reached out a hand.

He didn’t move, frozen to the carpet. “Did Alfred give you painkillers?”

“Clark,” he called, quiet and slurred. “Come here?”

And Clark could never deny Bruce anything, especially not when he asked like that. He pushed aside the worry, crossing the room immediately and lowering himself to the edge of the bed, letting his fingers intertwine with Bruce’s.

But Bruce clearly had other plans, tugging slightly on his hand, moving aside until Clark had time to lay down on his side, their noses inches apart.

Hesitantly, he reached out his free hand to cup Bruce’s cheek, relishing in the way his blue eyes fluttered shut, his face relaxing.

“You’re okay,” he said. “You can rest, everything’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Bruce leaned into the warmth, relaxing in the touch, tension leaking from his body entirely. “Will you stay?”

Clark’s breath caught in his throat. “Are you sure?”

“Stay,” Bruce said again. “Sleep here tonight.”

He was barely conscious, his words nearly inaudible, and for a moment Clark was inclined to say no, to lull Bruce to sleep and slip out immediately after- just like Bruce had done to Clark. He was almost positive Bruce wouldn’t want this if he was more awake, and he was terrified to cross any boundaries, even the unspoken ones.

But… this could help them make progress. When he woke up in the morning, warm and content, he could start to see he was safe, that he was allowed to fall asleep in Clark’s arms. Clark denying him the opportunity when he was asking, even with an exhausted, delirious request, might only prove to be a setback.

“Of course,” he said. “I’m right here, B. Close your eyes, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Bruce’s breathing evened out just a few heartbeats later, relaxing fully into the mattress and going limp in Clark’s hands.

It occurred to him, all at once, that he’d never seen Bruce sleep before.

They’d known each other so long Clark sometimes had a hard time remembering a time without Bruce’s heartbeat in his ears, without his presence being the most comforting constant in his life. And yet.

He’d seen Batman knocked down, drugged up on painkillers and poison, knocked unconscious for a moment, and- although he didn’t like to think about it, completely motionless with nothing but tubes and the power of technology keeping him breathing, his heartbeat weak.

But he’d never seen this, Bruce’s face completely relaxed, the hard lines smoothed out, leaving him looking years younger, peaceful in a way he’d learned a long time ago Bruce could never experience when he was awake.

He knew how rare it was to get Batman to sleep. He wondered if he could have a hand in changing that.

He scooted forward just a little, careful not to jostle Bruce too much as he wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. He closed his eyes to the sound of his heart, his even breathing, letting the world fade to a gentle hum.

—---

Clark woke to screaming.

His eyes flew open as the body in his arms began to flail, fighting desperately, letting out another piercing, terrified scream. Bruce’s eyes were still closed, face twisted in pain and panic, and Clark’s heart dropped.

“Bruce,” he called, scrambling to sit up, his hands hovering, not sure if it was safe to touch- if it was even safe to wake him. “Bruce? It’s okay, you're okay! Wake up sweetheart, it’s okay, I’ve got–”

Bruce jolted awake with a strangled gasp, kicking at the sheets tangled in his legs, eyes wide and watery as he frantically took in his surroundings, scanning the darkened bedroom like a battlefield.

“It’s okay,” Clark said, keeping his voice low, but it was clearly the wrong move. “B–”

Bruce jumped the second the words left Clark’s mouth, eyes widening when he finally focused on his boyfriend. He twisted out of Clark’s hold, fighting like a wounded animal, flinching like someone had moved to grab him when Clark scooted back.

“B?”

“No,” Bruce croaked, his hands held over his face like he needed to protect himself, scrambling until his back found the headboard. He curled in on himself, shoulders hunched, wide eyes staring at nothing. “No, no no–”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Clark tired, faltering when Bruce’s attention immediately snapped to him, his eyes startlingly alert. “It’s okay, B. It was just a nightmare, you’re safe. You’re safe now.”

Bruce was shaking, hands trembling violently from where they were raised to block his face, body twisted to the side like he was bracing for a blow. Clark held himself perfectly still, meeting his eyes, fighting to bring him back to reality.

“It’s okay,” he said again, not quite sure what else he could offer. “I’m not… I’m not gonna hurt you, Bruce. It’s just me. It’s Clark.”

Bruce looked so small, pressed up against the headboard, curled in on himself like he could disappear if he tried hard enough. His wary gaze lingered on Clark for another moment, like he was slowly trying to make sense of his words, before he slowly turned away to scan the room again. His eyes lingered on the closed door, then the window, and Clark’s heart only sank deeper.

He was looking for an escape route.

“Hey,” he said softly, wincing when Bruce went tense, eyes back on Clark. “I can leave if you need me to, Bruce. You’re safe, you’re in your room.”

Bruce just blinked at him, still waiting for something that would never come, and Clark forced himself to smile, gentle and quiet, just for the two of them.

“Or I can stay right here,” Clark added. “And wait until you’re ready. Whatever you need.”

Bruce took a shaky breath, never dropping his guard, still watching Clark like he was an unknown threat. “I woke you up.”

“It’s… fine, B,” Clark said slowly, because that was the last thing he’d been expecting. “I don’t mind, I'm not upset.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed and his breath hitched, like he hadn’t been expecting that either. “But… I woke you up. I screamed.”

The pieces were slotting themselves together into a very worrying picture, and Clark realized with sickening clarity that it wasn’t just the nightmare sending him spiraling into panic.

“I’m not mad at you,” Clark said. “It really isn't a big deal, I promise. I’m just worried about you, okay? I want to help you.”

It took too long, Clark waiting frozen with Bruce’s pounding heart in his ears, not trusting himself to make a single move and risk spooking him further.

It felt like hours before Bruce moved again, slowly lowering his hands before inching forward, distrusting eyes still watching Clark like a hawk.

“It’s okay,” Clark promised again, carefully opening his arms and sending Bruce another smile. “It’s okay, you’re safe. You can come here.”

That was apparently all the encouragement Bruce needed. He fell forward like a puppet with their strings cut, falling limp against Clark’s chest, grasping at his shirt and burying his face in his shoulder, and Clark wasted no time wrapping his arms around his partner and holding him close.

“You’re safe,” Clark said, heart squeezing when Bruce’s only response was a choked, muffled sob. “You’re safe. It’s okay. It’s all okay now.”

“I woke you up,” Bruce said into his chest, still shaking like a leaf in his hold. “I woke you up.”

“Bruce, it’s okay.” Clark didn’t know why this was what had rendered Bruce to a panicking mess and not whatever nightmare had been plaguing him enough to leave him screaming bloody murder in his sleep, but it didn’t make him hold Bruce any less tight. “It’s alright, B.”

Bruce just shook his head, burrowing further into Clark’s arms like he was trying to disappear, making himself as small as possible. Clark ran a hand down his back, scrambling for another approach.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, frowning at the way Bruce went perfectly still. “The nightmare?”

There was a beat of silence, Bruce clutching at Clark’s arms so tightly it would have left bruises if he’d been human.

“They died,” Bruce said after a moment, the admission overtaken by trembling sobs, and if Clark hadn’t known any better he would have marched them both right back down to the cave and checked for any signs of Scarecrow’s fear toxin. But he knew Alfred had done a full scan- he wouldn’t have let Batman out of his sight if he hadn’t been sure. “I couldn’t- I couldn’t stop it, I can never… I can’t… they’re all dead. Everyone’s dead because of me, I didn’t–”

“No one’s dead, B,” Clark said. “Everyone’s okay. You’re safe- we’re all safe. It was just a nightmare.”

“It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.”

Clark wasn’t sure what death was haunting him tonight- his parents, a team member, a friend, a civilian, his son- but he’d seen the depths of Bruce’s guilt for each enough times to know his answer would always be the same.

“It wasn’t your fault, Bruce.” He held him closer, resting his chin atop Bruce’s hair. “It was never your fault.”

He didn’t move again until Bruce went silent, both of them still clinging to the other like a desperate lifeline, Clark carefully easing them down to rest against the pillow. Bruce didn’t protest, his fingers twisted in the material of Clark’s shirt, his face hidden from view.

He kept a careful eye on Bruce’s heartbeat, his breathing, holding him close and running a hand through his hair, the pressure on his chest warm and grounding.

Bruce didn’t fall back asleep, not even as the hours passed and the first rays of gentle sunshine began to peek through the curtains, bathing the bedroom in early morning gray light. The thought of closing his own eyes didn’t even cross Clark’s mind.

Bruce eventually stirred, and Clark loosened his hold just enough for Bruce to silently push himself into a sitting position, eyes still red rimmed and heavy, his hair a mess and face drawn into a carefully blank expression.

He didn’t look at Clark, eyes on the wall.

“I should start some coffee,” Bruce said after a moment, voice hoarse. “I have to be in the office at noon.”

It couldn’t have been any later than six, if even that, but Clark just nodded and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I can make it. Why don’t you go get washed up?”

Bruce glanced at him, looking almost like he was surprised by the offer, before the walls came hastily back up, closing himself off again as he nodded silently and disappeared into the bathroom.

The rest of the manor was silent, the others either still asleep or down in the cave after last night’s patrol. It was still early enough that Alfred hadn’t made his way into the kitchen yet, and Clark was left in solitude, waiting at the edge of the counter as Bruce’s favorite blend of coffee brewed.

He’d just finished pouring two mugs, black for himself and cream and sugar for Bruce (he’d stopped pretending to be fooled by Bruce’s lie that he preferred black coffee months ago. He had no idea why Batman had even lied about it in the first place) when the background sound of his boyfriend’s heartbeat grew a fraction louder, a silent presence appearing in the doorway.

“Good morning,” Clark said, turning around with his best smile. He knew it wouldn’t reach his eyes. “Coffee?”

Bruce didn’t say a word, but he crossed the room and took the offered mug, hesitating a moment as he wrapped his hands around the glass, taking in the warmth radiating from the drink before making his way over to the table.

Clark hadn’t been asked to leave, not even in any of Bruce’s subtle, silent ways, so he took his own mug and carefully followed.

The kitchen fell into silence so heavy it felt like Clark was wading through water, and he dropped his eyes to his hands folded neatly in his lap. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now.

He wanted to ask Bruce if he was okay, if he needed anything, but he knew better than anyone that Bruce wouldn’t take well to that, stubbornly defiant over his own need for help and care. It would just make him close himself off more, if Clark were to jump right into the heart of the issue.

Bruce was the first to break the silence, to Clark’s surprise, clearing his throat and setting his coffee back down on the table.

“Well,” he said quietly. “Now you know.”

Clark picked his head up, staring blankly at Bruce who was pointedly looking anywhere else. “Now I know what?”

“Why we can’t share a bed,” Bruce said, like it was obvious. “I knew I’d slip up and fall asleep eventually. This… makes things simpler, at least.”

“What?” Clark asked, blinking when Bruce raised an eyebrow. “B, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Last night,” Bruce said slowly, a bit like he was talking to a particularly confused child. “I woke you up.”

“And I told you it was fine. What does this… have to do with us sharing a bed?”

“The nightmares, Clark,” Bruce said, spitting out the word like something poisonous. “That’s going to happen every night.”

“Bruce–”

“I mean it,” Bruce cut him off. “Every night. Every night I’m going to wake up screaming and confused and… and I’m not doing that to you. I won’t.”

Clark swallowed. “There’s nothing that helps?”

“Alfred and I have been trying everything since I was eight years old,” Bruce said, and Clark’s heart ached. “There’s nothing. Sometimes they’re less intense but… they aren’t going to go away.”

“Oh.” Clark hesitated, not sure what else to say. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t sleep a lot anyway,” Bruce said, brushing off the sympathy. “But I’m not going to put you through that. You deal with enough of my shit as it is.”

Clark froze. That was what he’d been worrying about? This whole time, he’d been doing everything in his power to avoid falling asleep next to Clark to spare him from hearing Bruce wake up screaming?

“B, I don’t need to sleep. Not physically.” And Bruce had known that. This wasn’t adding up. “I’d rather be there to calm you down when you wake up.”

“You still sleep,” Bruce argued, but it sounded weak. “You’re busy and you deserve the rest either way. Waking you up every night wouldn’t be fair. I just… think it would be better for you if we slept in separate rooms so you wouldn’t have to deal with that.”

Clark watched him carefully, blue eyes darting across the kitchen, fingers drumming along the side of his mug. He held himself tense, his words clipped, his heartbeat uncharacteristically out of control.

He thought about what Alfred had told him. He’d said Bruce had always had nightmares, always been a restless sleeper, but he’d used to seek out that comfort. He’d used to sleep better around someone he trusted.

And in recent years, out of nowhere, that had stopped.

Clark had seen it for himself last night. He didn’t just feel guilty over waking Clark up, he wasn’t just confused and exhausted from his dreams. He was terrified.

“There’s more.”

Bruce’s brow pinched together, startling slightly before he leveled Clark with a wary glare. “What?”

“There’s more you aren’t telling me,” Clark said simply. “It’s not just about the nightmares.”

Bruce scoffed, but the sound was quiet and he dropped his gaze again. “There’s not.”

“Bruce,” Clark tried, desperate to understand. “You were scared of me last night. You’re not just worried about being an inconvenience- which you’re not, by the way. You’re scared to sleep near anyone. Alfred said it wasn’t always like this.”

Bruce’s face twisted in disgust, but Clark could see him fighting the urge to shrink in on himself. “Alfred is a traitor.”

“No, he loves you and he’s worried.” Clark took a breath, reeling himself back in. Bruce hadn’t snapped at him or stormed off yet, which meant they were getting somewhere. “And so am I. I just want to know what’s going on so I can help you.”

Bruce still wouldn’t look at him, visibly uncomfortable with the shift in tone. “What else did Alfred tell you?”

“Not much,” Clark said. “He said you used to sleep better near him or Dick. And that you used to ask for help when you’d have nightmares.”

“Years ago,” Bruce said quickly, like he needed to defend himself. “I was a child.”

“It’s normal to need help with nightmares, B. Everyone does. And I’m happy to, no matter how bad they are. I want to help you with them.”

Bruce took a suspiciously unsteady breath, hands curling around his coffee mug so tight Clark was absently worried it may crack.

“I can’t,” he said, breathless and strained. “I can’t.”

“I won’t make you,” Clark amended, because no matter how this went, he wasn’t going to push too far. “But can you please tell me why?”

Bruce clenched his jaw, staring silently into his coffee, stubbornly keeping his head down like he had all morning.

Truthfully, Clark hadn’t expected anything more. Bruce was more than capable of going completely silent, shutting off from the world when he didn’t want to talk about something, grasping for distractions or busywork until it all went away.

But after a moment he took another breath, sparing Clark another uneasy glance. “It’s stupid.”

“I doubt it,” Clark said. “I’m listening.”

Another moment of silence, tense and heavy as Clark waited for Bruce to work up the courage to find his words and continue.

“I used… I used to date this girl. A reporter. Just- briefly. It wasn’t even really… she was doing it for a headline and I was stupid. She wanted money and I thought… it doesn’t matter.”

Clark ignored the heaviness in his chest, waiting for Bruce to compose himself. “Take your time.”

“We weren’t together very long,” Bruce said. “And I wasn’t allowed to fall asleep next to her.”

“You weren’t… allowed to?” he echoed. “Because of–”

“The nightmares,” Bruce finished for him. “I don’t blame her. They’re… loud.”

“Bruce–”

“I was sleeping even less back then,” he barrelled on, and Clark quickly shut his mouth. “So it didn’t matter anyway. I was busy keeping Batman from her, it wasn't like I had time to spend my nights there.”

Clark didn’t move, terrified that one wrong move would shatter the moment and Bruce would close back up forever. “But you know that wasn’t fair, right?”

“I fell asleep in her bed once,” Bruce said instead of an answer, and Clark’s heart sank at the heaviness to his words. “Just… just once.”

Clark threw caution to the wind, reaching across the table to put his hand over Bruce’s, squeezing slightly when it trembled under his touch.

“It was a bad one,” he admitted. “I don’t… I don’t remember it but I woke her up, obviously. I was loud and I was… I don’t know. I think I reached for her and she was… she wasn’t happy about it.”

Clark’s blood ran cold. “Oh, Bruce–”

“I’d been Batman for a few years at that point,” Bruce said, once again looking anywhere but Clark. “I knew how to cover up bruises when I went out so it wasn’t… it wasn’t an issue, but–”

“She hurt you,” Clark said, the rage clawing its way to the surface dark and dangerous, a familiar heat prickling behind his eyes. “Because you had a nightmare?”

“Because I woke her up,” Bruce corrected, like that made any difference. “She was… she was probably exhausted. She was right to be mad, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking you had every right to fall asleep in your partner’s bed,” Clark said. “No matter what, she shouldn’t have hit you.”

Bruce pulled his hand back, his warmth slipping right through Clark’s fingers, looking for all the world like he wanted to get up and bolt. “I’ve had worse. Every night I have worse.”

“But this is different,” Clark insisted. “Someone you trusted hurt you for something you couldn’t control. You needed help and she broke that trust.”

“It isn’t a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Clark said. “You can’t sleep around people anymore, Bruce.”

“It’s safer that way,” Bruce said, quiet and defeated, and the rage simmered down just like that, the sorrow overpowering anything else. “It can’t happen again.”

“It never would happen again. Bruce, no one here would do that to you. Alfred or your kids or- or me, I wouldn’t–”

“I know,” Bruce said, but Clark’s heart only broke all over again when it didn’t sound like he really believed it. “I know.”

Clark rested his hand back on the table, palm up, there for Bruce to take if he chose to. “I’d never hurt you, B. I’ll never hit you.”

Bruce shifted in his seat, like the words made him physically uncomfortable. “Okay.”

“I promise,” Clark said. “If you’re never ready to sleep next to me, that’s okay. I won’t make you. But if you do… if you do want to try it, I’ll be happy to help you through it. Any nightmares, any night terrors, anything. I’d rather be woken up so I can hold you then let you go through that on your own. Hurting you for being scared was… that was horrible, Bruce. I’d never… I’d never.”

Something deeper in the manor creaked, a bird chirped outside, but the kitchen remained drenched in silence, Bruce holding himself as still as a statue, like he was braced for the rug to be pulled out from under him, for the other shoe to drop, for Clark to give up the act.

“I want to believe you,” Bruce said. “I want to. But I… I can’t. I can’t believe that. And it’s not fair to you.”

“It’s not about me.”

“I don’t know how to trust you, Clark. It’s… you’re safe and you’re good and it feels like I’m lying to myself. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have this. It’s been years and you’ve never… you don’t hurt me.”

“And I’ll go the rest of my life without hurting you,” Clark said, and he meant every word, without a shadow of a doubt. “And I’ll never get tired of proving that to you.”

Bruce didn’t loosen his hold on his mug. “She wasn’t the only one.”

Clark’s heart twisted, but somehow he’d suspected as much. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce muttered, but it mattered more than anything in the whole world to Clark. “I’m just… sorry it’s hurting you now.”

“I’m not hurt,” Clark said. “You’re not hurting me by being scared. I’m not mad at you. Bruce, I’m never going to stop being gentle with you. I’m never going to get tired of proving to you that I won’t hurt you. I don’t care how long it takes. You’ll always be worth it to me.”

Bruce finally lifted his head, scanning Clark’s face for any kind of deception, for a hidden meaning that didn’t exist. Clark just smiled, open, hoping it was enough.

“You’re too good for me, Clark,” Bruce said. “I know you won’t but… I don’t know how to start believing you. I want to. I want to. But I can’t.”

“Well,” Clark said, careful. “It might help to start by convincing yourself that you deserve it. Because you do. You deserve people being kind to you, B. Nobody should have hurt you like that.”

Bruce dropped his eyes again, jaw clenched tight. “Hm.”

“I’m going to prove it to you,” Clark said. “I promise, I’m never going to hurt you. Not for anything. And whenever you’re ready to try again, I’d like to start by helping you through your nightmares.”

Bruce shifted in his seat again, his frown deepening, but he didn’t brush off the idea immediately, didn’t completely recoil in terror at the suggestion. Clark dared to consider that promising.

“I like being next to you,” Bruce said, pink tinting his cheekbones at the admission. “Sleeping with you wasn’t… bad.”

Clark forced himself to keep a straight face. “I’m glad.”

“I’m loud when I dream most of the time,” Bruce continued, but his tone was noticeably less clipped, the words pouring out easier now. “It’s annoying to wake up to.”

“It’s not annoying,” Clark said. “You’re never annoying. And I’d rather be there to calm you down, if you’ll let me.”

“Maybe,” Bruce relented, cautiously, and Clark beamed. “We could try it again. Just… not every night. Not yet.”

“That’s okay,” Clark said. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

Something in Bruce’s shoulders loosened, just a little, and he hummed in quiet acknowledgement before finally taking a sip of his coffee, Clark following suit.

He almost jumped when Bruce reached out and took his hand again, his skin cool against Clark’s palm, and he carefully closed his fingers, holding on tight.

“Thank you,” Bruce said, his eyes on the kitchen window. “For staying.”

Clark just smiled again, watching the dawn’s light reflect in Bruce’s blue eyes. He’d traveled the world, traversed the universe, and there was nothing in infinite galaxies more beautiful than the sight in front of him right now.

“Of course,” he said, squeezing Bruce’s hand. “I’m staying right here, B.”

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