Well, I stumble through the dark and light a candle...

[silver_lined]

Leaving their younger versions behind, he gave Bruce's hand a soft, careful squeeze before tugging him the rest of the way through the warp hole. He wasn't about let him lose a limb to being a smart ass, after all. And it was hell to replace the pieces of the exo-suit.

"I ought to kick your ass for that, Bruce," he said with a sigh as they made their way back into his own Fortress. It was a bit darker, a little more full, and dustier. Definitely dustier. He'd never quite be able to undo the damage that eight years of neglect had done on the place.

Comments

[beyondthebat]

What Clark would do was a question Bruce knew the answer to, because he knew Clark and he loved him, and because he knew that he was loved.

The specifics didn't matter. The general answer was enough. Clark would be alone, and he would hurt - badly. If Bruce was delaying the inevitable, he'd keep delaying it because every second he could was a second Clark wasn't alone.

"You're also the one with a thick head."

He returned the kiss, a little more intensely than he'd meant to or maybe should have and then - watched Clark eat. Took another sip of his scotch to keep from having another coughing fit, trying to balance that and some numbing of pain against absolutely knowing he could not afford to sleep.

Then shoved himself up to his feet to go to the cupboard and get himself a glass of water. Moving hurt even with the suit - was plain hard - put more strain on every part of his body that was trying to give out entirely, but it also meant he was awake and 'normal' for Clark. It meant he could get his glass of water to handle his throat and not risk the negatives of alcohol.

He stayed standing. Against the counter, braced with both hands behind him and water beside him.

[silver_lined]

Clark leaned against his own counter, the two of them across from one another, mirrors of one another, two sides of a coin.

Clark had always had an abundance in so many ways. Perhaps not of money but of strength. Speed. Health. And it had always, always frustrated the hell out of him that he couldn't just take from his own seemingly boundless well and give.

He could still lift this manor if he was pushed to it. He could still punch Lobo clear across the city if pushed to it. He was 90-something years old and he still looked like a goddamn body builder and there was not a fucking thing he could do about the fact that Bruce was in an exoskeleton just to go get a glass of water.

Clark had never had much use for hate. But right now, he hated this so much he almost couldn't see.

"Well, what else was I any good for? And the costume never looked much good with a helmet..."

[beyondthebat]

It was probably no consolation at all, but Bruce hated it, too. He'd never really had much use for his own humanity, never respected the limitations that came with that, even when there'd been fewer of them. His hatred for it now wasn't all that different, except it was all centered on the fact that he was failing Clark as a result, rather than failing a city or his own expectations.

That was worse.

That was so much worse.

"Did you ever try it with a helmet? It could have worked." No, it wouldn't have and the image made him smile a little.

And he didn't mean to say it aloud but he was so closely atuned to Clark that they may as well have been telepathic, because he did anyway. "Should've let me use the lazarus pit."

[silver_lined]

He was most of the way through the sandwich, eating it mechanically, and then his hand was clenching so tight, he almost ripped his suit.

"Don't tempt me right now, Bruce. Don't..." he sucked in a breath. "Please don't."

[beyondthebat]

The temptation wasn't in immortality, or an escape from pain or even evasion of death . It was in giving Clark something to hold onto.

Instead of whatever Bruce could wring out of himself.

"If you did it, it wouldn't be you and what you got back wouldn't be me." And yet - the temptation was still there. Because he loved Clark.

"Just finish your food." A pause and then more gently, frustration gone from his voice. "Please."

[silver_lined]

"Don't you use that tone with me," and Clark's voice wavered. Bruce had mellowed, but he couldn't-- that wasn't-- That kind of please shouldn't be used for a sandwich. Not... not unless--

But he put the damn sandwich in his mouth and ate. He made sure that Bruce saw he finished every bite.

"Finished," he reported.

[beyondthebat]

Bruce's heart skipped a beat - of the literal and emotional sort at the waver in Clark's voice. It physically hurt enough to feel like he'd been kicked in the chest and like he was suffocating at once. He ignored it all because this was Clark and Clark was the only thing in the world that mattered at all to him.

He smiled wryly at Clark and then took another drink of water, and pushed away from the counter to offer Clark a hand. "I'll get you a medal later," he said, still - just quiet. "Let's take a walk."

A short walk.

[silver_lined]

He took the hand and he left the kitchen as it was.'

"Garden?" he asked quietly. It wasn't far since they were in the kitchen. "Or--"

It didn't matter. He'd follow.

[beyondthebat]

Where didn't matter to him. If he were alone he'd seek out somewhere close, dark, cool and quiet. Or maybe he would have just gone to bed. He wasn't alone, he was with Clark and not a single one of those things were right for Clark.

"The gardens are fine."

So he took hold of Clark's hand, used it more than he'd like to admit even with the suit and made his way out of the kitchen door and to those gardens. Just somewhere with sun and air and a blue sky. Because that was Clark.

He was slow, and careful, and having a hard time holding onto much of anything in his mind except trying to take care of Clark and trying to hang around for Clark. He was up and moving and talking, though not a lot at this stage. So there was that.

"It is a beautiful day."

[silver_lined]

"It is," and Clark's tone was even. Pleasant, even. Because he owed Bruce that much. He could hold out that long. If Bruce could hold on for him, he could hold on for Bruce.

"I've always loved the gardens here," he admitted, "even when they went wild. They still seemed... elegant."

[beyondthebat]

Bruce quirked a faint smile and said, "Only because you call them gardens." They were gardens, but when they were wild - the elegance came from what they had been. He'd never really given them the attention they deserved.

He stopped walking about halfway into them, tilted his head up toward the sky and then glanced at Clark. "Sit down." Yes. On the fucking ground, Kent.

[silver_lined]

Clark took a moment to ask a wordless question before doing as he'd been told, because while he might question, he'd never refuse.

He sat on the ground and looked up at Bruce, never letting go of that hand.

[beyondthebat]

It took Bruce some doing to get down, but he did it. Not beside Clark, but in front of him and, yeah, he pretty well moved Clark's legs out of his way so he could lean back against his chest. Good contact, he could feel Clark behind him and see the sky that reminded him of Clark's eyes.

Down hurt.

"Thank you, Kal."

[silver_lined]

"Thank you, Bruce."

What else was there to say? What else was there to do? There was just his arms to put around him. If he hadn't thought it would only hasten things, he would have removed the exoskeleton. But he wanted every moment. And he wanted Bruce in the least amount of pain.

[beyondthebat]

Bruce probably wouldn't be able to tolerate the exoskeleton indefinitely. It helped keep some of the pain at bay, increased his mobility, but it was also heavy and restrictive in other ways.

For the time being he just closed his eyes, tilted his head back against Clark's shoulder and did nothing at all except control his heart beat and his pulse and keep on forcing it. Got tired enough to start to drift a bit, and everything immediately slid. Got erratic, slowed, skewed off kilter.

Then he jerked back up, everything - pulse and respiration - went too fast while Bruce groped around until he found Clark's arm to hold onto, struggled and fought with it until he could get it back under some kind of control.

[silver_lined]

Once Bruce got a hold of him, once Bruce got things under control, Clark relented. He started, carefully, piece by piece, removing the exoskeleton.

And then, once it was done, once it was all done, he wrapped himself as firmly around Bruce as the device had been. He would support Bruce. He would use his strength to hold him, some of his flight to ease the wear of gravity.

Rest he couldn't say aloud. Couldn't voice. Could never ever say. But he could will it.

Bruce was in so much pain.

He knew where they were. He knew what this was. And Bruce was in so much pain.

I love you. I love you with a force that could move galaxies. I love you more than words could ever say.

I love you. And you can rest.

[beyondthebat]

Bruce knew Clark was there. He could feel Clark holding him, feel Clark lessening the pull of the ground on his body and the warmth and life of him. He could all but hear the unspoken words. He knew beyond all doubt that he was loved. He knew Clark was letting him go.

He knew Clark was being torn apart.

He couldn't - respond the way he wanted to. He was in pain, yes, but far worse was the exhaustion. He didn't have the energy or air for all the things he wanted to say to Clark. He didn't have the energy to do anything except continuing to hold onto his life by his fingernails and with nothing but will power, because.

He was physically cooling off, his fucking brain was defying him and shutting down and he couldn't let go of that one -

"Don't forget your promise." Please Clark. Please.

[silver_lined]

"Never," and there was such force in his words, so much force. He couldn't do anything else, couldn't save him, couldn't help him but God, God help him, he could do that.

"I promise you. I promise you, Bruce. I promise you."

[beyondthebat]

that was it. What he needed, what he'd been waiting for. He squeezed Clark's hand, somehow managed to say "I love you," one more time.

Then he let go; one last demonstration of trust in Clark.

He was unconscious almost immediately after those final words. As soon as he stopped fighting for conscious control, stopped struggling to hang on for Clark, there was a... cascade of body systems shutting down entirely. It was fast, surprisingly orderly and undramatic, and for him at least painless.

He got his reassurance, he trusted Clark at his word, and then he was gone.

[silver_lined]

Done. It was done. Bruce was gone and it was done.

Clark held him for only a minute or so, let every sign of life fade away, before he breathed out. Breathed out and floated to his feet with his husband in his arms.

He couldn't--

He wouldn't--

They'd prepared for this.

The legal documents, the arrangements, the notices. Everything that needed to be done now that Bruce Wayne had passed from the world had been ready to go for years.

Because of course it had been.

And of course it had been triggered to his own monitoring system. Because in all things, Bruce would never make the people he loved go through any more trouble than was necessary.

There was already a coffin picked out. There was already a plot on the manor grounds, next to his parents and only a few feet away from a pauper's grave that had been dug ages ago for a man Bruce had never learned the name for. There was a shovel on the grounds and they'd all agreed. They'd all agreed, the same way that they'd agreed that Clark would be there for him at the end.

They could have the funeral later. They could all mourn him or celebrate his life or do whatever the hell they wanted to later. But Clark would put him in the ground.

The kitchen was cleaned. The rooms were neatened. The manor was arranged and Bruce was as well. So little work for a man who could do so much. So little work left to do for Superman.

She only arrived at the end, as he shoveled the last part of the dirt on top. He knew she'd waited the same way he'd known that this was coming today. So many things his senses could tell him. He was old but still full of wonders. That was why he'd agreed, after all. That's why he'd promised Bruce. The promise that stood as the only thing he'd ever hated his husband

Partner

Soulmate

Words. So many words and he couldn't raise a single one now. Not a single one until she walked over and dropped a flower from the Paradise over the fresh grave.

"There are others who need you, Kal." Because she knew she could not comfort him. Not through this loss. Not from this. There was no comfort to be found, not for a thousand years. And at least he had that.

At least.

And he'd need to make sure he was ready then. But right now. Right now, he was full of so many things and empty of them. Right now, he was as dead as he was ever allowed to be.

"No one needs what I am right now, Diana. But..." he could manage that much, "thank you. And tell them thank you."

It wasn't flight so much as it was leaving the Earth, letting go in his own way. There were people here who loved him; he knew that. There were living people, people who needed him, people who cared about him. And he'd once thought something like this would be selfish but... now, now that it was, it wasn't. He'd promised Bruce. He'd promised Bruce. But if he was going to keep his promise, he just... couldn't. Not now. Not... for some time.

Diana seemed to understand, as she always understood, and lifted a hand in something that was a wave but also a salute as she watched him go. Watched him disappear into the sky just as he'd come from it.