Archive of Our Own

Ω The Paradoxal Batman Ω

The planet is dying.

That was one of the first thoughts that Bruce remembered having when he realized where he was, and what was happening deep beneath the ground under his worn, leather gloves, but to have the thought...it didn't even begin to compare to it actually happening.

The ground continuously shook, rumbling with the sounds of the planet's impending doom like a disconsolate howl of pain. The atmosphere shifted in color and consistency, causing the winds to thrash about madly and hiss like a gasp for breath. And from the fissures pulling the world apart, a bright, unrelenting green that Bruce would know anywhere escaped, pooling onto the surface and erupting into the miserable sky like puss hemorrhaging from a gaping wound.

As both Batman and Bruce Wayne he had seen a lot of destruction in his life—from the more personal versions that haunted him in his waking hours, to galactic threats that riddled his sleep with nightmares. He thought he had seen it all. Foolishly, he had believed there wasn't anything that could happen to him any more that could surprise him, let alone terrify him, but as he hopelessly watched the annihilation of a planet all around him, as the reality of his situation sunk in and great spires of crystalline shape perished before his eyes, he knew he couldn't have been more wrong.

For three months he'd been consistently stunned to silence, with the way such an alien world thrived with impossible life; for three months he'd been racked with all sorts of inner turmoil and conflict, unsure of what to do, what he could do, and most of all what kind of damage to time and space he would cause if he actually acted; for three wretchedly fantastic months Bruce had never felt so helpless and hopeful.

Because, for the last three months...Batman had been on Krypton.

Three Months Ago

Mr. Freeze had decided to attempt covering Gotham in ice, claiming it fitting for the occasion (when really he wanted the city cold enough to take Nora outside for the holiday—whether she would be aware of it or not), but was quickly stopped by Batman and Robin before even a third of the city was frozen. Metallo had decided to try and take away 'Superman's greatest gift' with a bullet of blue Kryptonite, but with Hawkgirl and the Martian Manhunter standing in his way he never even got the chance to pull the trigger, and got a few 'gifts' of his own from Superman once all the Kryptonite had been destroyed.

Ex-student from the Holiday College for Women, Gell Osey, managed an escape from her 'rehabilitation' and sought revenge on Diana, but Wonder Woman was more than enough to take her back to Transformation Island. And then there was Dr. Light, who had taken it upon himself to terrorize Central City, using the over abundance of Christmas lights strewn about to create thousands of duplicates of himself that distracted from the chaos the real Arthur Light was causing; the Flash, Green Lantern and Batman were able to bring him down with quick action and quicker thinking.

Those had merely been the most memorable. There had been plenty more where that came from. But by the time things finally settled down on the 21st, Bruce was just thankful that the Joker hadn't made an appearance; the holidays made him uncomfortable enough as it was, he didn't need any more reason for disquiet. And a relaxing night at the Watchtower, or Fortress, or Batcave for some, enjoying the quiet in their own various ways, was something they all felt they needed.

It would figure something had to interrupt.

Superman, sounding uncharacteristically out of breath and strangely upset, was on the comm. requesting assistance from the entire League; apparently something was wrong at the Fortress of Solitude. So, in an pointedly short amount of time, they found themselves in front of the impressive, multicrystalline architecture that stood in the midst of the Arctic in an almost unnerving, yet elegant way. It reminded Bruce of the feeling of a puissant figure standing above the rest, authoritative and fascinating at the same time. It would almost be an oppressive feeling if he didn't know the man this fortress belonged to so well. Clark couldn't tyrannically rule himself out of a paper bag.

The mental image of the boy scout trying almost caused a smile to slip.

Approaching the biometric scanner outside the entrance to the Fortress, Batman activated his comm. and told Superman they were outside. When no answer was forthcoming from the Kryptonian, the group glanced at one another before the door slid open and granted them access. Taking on very serious, if not cautious state of minds, Diana and Bruce assumed the front line as they stepped over the threshold, John with his ring and Shayera with her axe at the ready, Wally and J'onn at the rear prepared to provide whatever back-up they could possibly need.

The first thing they noticed was the state of utter darkness that quickly descended upon them once the entrance shut behind the group, leaving them barely able to see their own hands in front of their faces; Bruce hadn't even thought the fortress, always filled with such magnificent light, could get this dark. The second thing they noticed was, despite the darkness, they didn't sense any immediate danger like they had expected, leaving them confused and wary. The third and final thing was the sound of the air oscillating around them, and the feeling of something being placed on their heads, before the lights kicked on in a blinding, disorienting moment.

Once their eyes focused, it became painfully clear they'd been had.

Clark floated with obvious excitement a couple feet off the ground, hovering in the middle of the large reception room of sorts, a gigantic sign hanging from the impeccably tall ceiling that read in very colourful letters 'Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!'. In the middle of the room was a table filled to the brim with food, all of which was decorated to a ridiculous degree in Christmas-related colors and themes. Off to the side, towering in a corner in a way that both drew attention to it but didn't let it overbear the rest of the room, was a tree that had to be some sort of freak accident with how gargantuan it was, but Clark, of course, decorated every inch of the damn thing and piled up presents underneath it. And all around the fortress there were lights strung about, displays that were holiday appropriate, and an overall sense of 'homely' that Bruce had never once associated with the Fortress of Solitude. After all, 'solitude' was in the name.

As Clark smiled at them, obviously full of triumph for managing to trick the entire League, Bruce reconsidered the notion of the Joker wreaking some havoc just so he could escape this domestic nightmare.

And to the Batman, oh yes, this was the stuff of his nightmares indeed.

On each of their heads was one of those sparkly, stick-on bows you'd normally reserve for presents, and he seemed to be the only person that minded this as he plucked it off his cowl and saw the way the rest of the League's surprised faces gave way to large grins and soft eyes. Even J'onn's usual poker face melted into something content and happy. Perched off the end of each of Wally's lighting bolt ear covers was a candy cane, which the kid broke into quite excitedly, barely pausing after he scarfed them down before he approached the food table as if it was the Second Coming of Christ.

Oh, but what really made the nightmare come full-circle on Bruce was when Clark said aloud, "Computer: Start 'Primary Celebration Protocol'."

The entire room dimmed and filled with hues of green, red, gold and silver, moving across the floors and the walls like a Christmas-themed dance club. Pop versions of every holiday song on the market began to play, making Bruce cringe as the other's laughed and decided that it was time to 'get this party started', as their youngest member so eloquently put it. Projecting onto a massive wall of the Fortress was a game set-up, which Wally (his mouth full of pastries) and Shayera immediately claimed, and if Bruce recognized the game as Mario Kart, and was also plenty aware of how bad an idea it was to let those two play it, he didn't say. If he was going to have to suffer through this then maybe he'd get the sweet satisfaction of watching Shayera rage quit and beat up the reception hall with her axe, or witness Wally eat all the food and leave none for anyone else in frustration.

Diana and John took it upon themselves to use the open space for dancing to their heart's content, somehow managing to look as if they were fighting without landing a single blow as they moved, admittedly gracefully, across the floor. Clark dragged J'onn into a dance, if you could call it that, as well; it was more like spinning the poor Martian around until he was too dizzy to stand. J'onn was a good sport though and didn't complain. This left Bruce to his own devices, something he was thankful for, so he walked up silently to the food table, popped what looked like a child's attempt at a hors d'œuvre into his mouth, and retreated to stand out of sight beside the tree with a glass of non-alcoholic apple cider.

Batman had a pretty decent view of the entire room from his covert spot. A small space between the mutant tree's foliage gave him enough clearance to view Wally and Shayera gesticulate madly with their Wii controllers as they cursed one another, and his body's position made him nearly blend in with the freakish creation of nature beside him, allowing him to shamelessly watch his other four team mates dance to some of the worst music he'd ever heard—which was saying a lot, considering just two weeks prior a date he'd reluctantly had forced him to sit through the Metropolitain's newest rendition of Massenet’s Manon. Talk about worst.

When the tune filling the room changed to something with a heavy techno beat, the vocals so auto-tuned Bruce barely understood a word, the four dancing grouped together and laughed as they unabashedly moved their bodies to the beat. There was something about the sight that caused an unknown emotion to lurch in the Batman's chest, his brow furrowing in response. He wanted to believe it was John's look of belonging, or Diana's calmness in the midst of three men, or J'onn's endearingly awkward movements as he tried to keep up with the other three, but Bruce knew, even if he tried to deny it, that it mostly wasn't any of that.

It was Clark.

It was always Clark. As much as Bruce ruthlessly buried his feelings, as much as he told himself it was futile because the Kryptonian only had eyes for Lois Lane, that he didn't want nor need his undesired affections reciprocated...the more his heart ached for his best friend. The way Clark's otherwise perfect skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes as he laughed, the effortless way he carried his body in synch with the heavy bass much like a hypnotic metronome, the way he bit the corner of his lips when he thought he was smiling too much, the way a heart-wrenching, charming little chortle would sometimes erupt from his throat without Clark expecting it to...

Bruce was cursed with his skills of observation. He noticed everything that only made his heart twist with tribulation more.

Tearing his gaze away from the dance floor, the detective (who was very much wishing he weren't one at the moment, and not for the first time since he'd realized what he felt) roughly pushed off his cowl, mussing his hair in a way that made him look younger; the trade-off being it also made him appear restive. Bruce spared a glance at Shayera and Wally before he sighed deeply, leaning against the wall and making himself as good as invisible. Tipping his head back gently, the Batman let the music fade away from his attention, his pale, slate-blue eyes pulling his focus from the rest of the room and placing it on the strange array of colors dancing along the ceiling, separate from the Christmas-themed lights mucking about.

He was thankfully distracted from his confliction by the sight.

At first it was a very subtle thing to take note of, nearly blending in with the artificial iridescence, but then he noticed how it moved as an entity that could not be compared to something man-made. The viscous effulgence twisted and glided through the crystal ceiling, its image distorting and righting itself in a constant struggle to keep whole while it waved calmly through the sky above the fortress, briefly giving Bruce a disturbing sense of staring into the empyrean. As if, for a fleeting moment, the firmament had torn open and exposed to him the weaving of the universe the only way it could: through a filter of pure, alien crystal. Something as all-consuming as that shouldn't be exposed to a mere human without aberration, he thought numbly, if not a tad bitterly.

Unable to contain the feeling of being mildly unnerved, Bruce allowed a small shudder to travel up his spine as he continued to stare, gripping his glass of cider somewhat tighter. It was likely nothing more than the Aurora Borealis, his mind waxing poetic about a natural phenomenon as seen through a structure of Kryptonian making, but as scientific as the Batman's mind was, and as logical as he normally operated, sometimes he let himself deviate a little. Especially when he felt unwittingly tenuous, or otherwise exposed in ways that a being like him couldn't stand.

Give him a mask of clinical thought and shadows to lurk within any day, just not vulnerability.

In a rare moment of being so caught up in his thoughts that he was oblivious to his surroundings, Bruce didn't notice that Clark had dislodged himself from the dance floor to get a drink and had been watching him for the past few minutes; he didn't even hear the Man of Steel approach him and softly call his name. So when Clark reached out and ran his fingers playfully through the detective's hair to try and smooth it out, and to get his attention, Bruce had to painfully bite down on the surprised, ugly sound that threatened to leap out of his mouth, his eyes just wide enough to alert Clark that he'd actually caught the Batman unawares.

Smirking, shirking all humility in the face of such an unexpected feat, Clark said, "And here I thought Batman never lost his focus."

Frowning in a way that looked more like a pout, unbeknownst to Bruce, the currently uncowled Batman shooed the other's hand away from his hair, not meeting his unnaturally blue stare. "Yes, well, I can't always have my guard up," he muttered indignantly, inattentive of the strangely delighted expression that flittered across Superman's face.

It was replaced with a subtle, concerned look when Clark inquired, "Are you alright?"

Bemused by the question, Bruce finally met Clark's gaze, his own sharp. "I'm fine," he said curtly, forcing his body to relax when he became aware of how tense he was. It was harder than it should have been, but he could still feel the phantom touch of Clark's fingers through his hair.

The Kryptonian was silent for a moment, and Bruce watched as the other man considered him, almost able to grasp the train of thought in those impossibly blue eyes, but before he could Clark stated, "For someone who's at a Christmas party, surrounded by friends and fun, you sure don't look like you're fine." Then that lopsided smile, the one that made Bruce's fingers twitch with the desire to reach out and trace the man's bottom lip and memorize its shape, found its way onto Clark's face and he placed a comforting hand against the detective's shoulder.

"Wouldn't kill you to enjoy yourself once in awhile, Bruce," he said gently, as if trying to coax a wounded animal out from hiding. And maybe that was exactly what he thought he was doing, for all the Batman knew.

"That's an untested theory, so you can't be certain of that," Bruce countered calmly, looking back through the tree at Shayera and Wally; John, Diana and J'onn had found their way off the dance floor and over to the heated racing competition afoot, taking claim over the extra controllers in preparation to join the fray. It was going to be madness soon.

Good. Maybe he could slip away in the midst of the chaos.

Clark followed his line of sight and smiled in a conspiratorial way, as if he was picking up on Bruce's mental process. "Just so you know, I have the Fortress on lock-down, which will only deactivate under my direct orders or if a crisis needs our attention. There's no running away, in case you were thinking about it," he said much-too-easily, amusement filling his tone.

The corner of his eye twitching in annoyance, and a just-as-equally-irritated sound escaping between his tightly clenched teeth, Bruce downed his cider in one impressive go and sighed deeply when his glass was emptied. He glanced up in time to see Clark look away hastily, a strange grin replacing the easy smile the other man had been wearing just moments before, but he didn't question the slightly odd behaviour; he was too busy resisting the urge to strangle Clark out of aggravation, or maybe to kiss that smile away completely. Bruce severely hated his disturbed heart for how it made him into even worse of a contradiction than he already was.

An awkward silence followed that Bruce decided not to analyze, a sense of fatigue filling him out of nowhere, so rather than disturb the quiet he glanced back up at the ceiling with hopes of finding that fascinating display from before. Instead, however, his brow furrowed upon discerning those supernatural lights were gone. Or perhaps they had never been there to begin with, and his tired mind had merely tried to create an effective distraction.

Pity, it was really quite beautiful.

When he pulled his gaze back down Clark was staring him straight in the face, a fact that Bruce didn't let show surprised him, although he could've sworn he'd tasted his heart in the back of his throat for a terrifying moment. He prayed the Kryptonian wasn't picking up on his quickened pulse.

Clark's lips parted, but he didn't say anything, a fact that made Bruce raise an eyebrow questioningly. A couple minutes passed in stillness, then Clark raised his hand, only to abort whatever motion he was going to do with it. He took on a more determined expression and tried again with, "Bruce...there's something I—"

Before the Man of Steel could finish that statement, something Bruce wasn't sure he was thankful or fearful of, Shayera gave out a rather undignified howl of rage, flipping off the couch with her wings all aflutter and barely resisting chucking her controller against the wall. Or at Wally. She obviously wasn't certain which annoyed her more. "You guys must be cheating!" she yelled, Wally's uncontrolled laughter only getting worse. "There is no fucking way you can keep getting those damn blue shells! They're evil, and I never seem to get them!"

When Wally, who was helplessly clutching his aching sides, fell off the couch Shayera had had enough. Her hands clenching in a need to be avenged, she lunged forward to grab the Flash, only for him to dart away as fast as possible; the Thanagerian simply took this as a challenge and began a heated pursuit. Pandemonium broke out as the two carelessly moved about the room, pulling everyone's attention from what they were doing to watch. It was only after six minutes of this, when Shayera's wings carelessly knocked a few of the emptied platters on the food table obnoxiously to the floor, that Clark sighed deeply, granted with a hint of amused fondness in his eyes, and turned back to finish what he was going to say.

But Bruce had vanished without a sound.

Pressing a hand to his chest, his heart beating fast and hard underneath his touch, Bruce made his way silently and in haste down whatever hall he was in, getting as far away from the party as he could; he barely remembered ditching his empty glass somewhere along the way. Clark's presence these days always made him feel less-than-desirable, but with how close they'd been, with the fleeting touches that the other man so easily gave that drove him insane, and hurt him just as much as warmed him, and the intensity in Clark's eyes just then as he started to say...whatever he was going to say, it had made Bruce's blood freeze in unknown terror beneath his skin. And for the second time that night his heart had made his trachea its home.

Maybe having 'fun' really was starting to kill him?

No, as much as he pretended it could, Bruce knew it was a ridiculous notion, but that didn't make him any less adverse to the idea if even attempting a simple conversation with Clark made him feel this way. Coming to a halt at the end of a large corridor, he gently patted his chest and took a deep breath, pulling himself together and dubbing his reaction to all this utterly stupid and, worse yet, childish. He'd just run away for God's sake. Sighing profoundly one more time, Bruce took in his surroundings and got his bearings, having memorized the current layout of the Fortress without Clark's permission just last week.

Glancing at the door he'd unwittingly been heading straight for, Bruce relaxed a bit as he realized the main console for the Fortress' computer systems were behind the door he was facing, giving him the perfect idea on what to do to pass the time. With the barest of smirks on his lips he walked forward, pushing his way inside with purpose filling his posture.

Bruce was going to hack Clark's computer.

And if it was considered an act of revenge in Bruce's mind, so be it—he wanted something to do that he was comfortable with, that felt like home, and hacking into a computer of Kryptonian making was exactly what he needed. So, Christmas party forsaken behind him, the detective approached the computer and carefully sat down in the chair that stood, like a beacon for those who sought ultimate knowledge, before the grand construct of crystalline technology.

There was a large keyboard, featuring much of the Kryptonian alphabet and all the numeric, but Bruce knew that Clark rarely used it; he mainly utilized vocal commands and shifted the crystals from one station to another. Since he neither had any recordings of Clark's voice that he could try and use, which he figured wouldn't fool a computer of this caliber anyway, or knew where to put what crystal yet, he set his eyes on the keyboard and began typing away.

With his extensive research into the language, and a few study sessions with Clark thrown in (that he stopped arranging after the third time since, when Clark spoke his native tongue, it was deep and husky and riddled Bruce with all sorts of unspeakable frustration), Bruce knew Kryptonian well enough to write out complicated commands on the monitor and begin his self-appointed challenge. By the time he got access to the entirety of the system he'd already studied a few files on Metallo's skeletal structure, the incomplete schematics for the tech Brainiac used to shrink Kandor and bottle it, and the drawn designs for Luthor's power suit.

He was so lost in his unnecessary but fascinating research, that Bruce didn't realize he was being observed for a good while. When he finally registered a familiar gaze boring into the back of his head, he didn't bother to turn around as he asked, "Is the party over yet?"

An exasperated, and yet oddly fond-sounding sigh escaped a couple yards behind him, and Clark answered, "No, it isn't, but is the party the reason you're hiding away in here?"

Continuing to stare at the screen of...what looked to be news paper articles tracking all of Luthor's investments and military contracts, Bruce wasn't really paying attention to it, instead picking up on the nearly muted sound of the Kryptonian approaching him. Leaning back in his seat with an unreadable look on his face, Bruce bent his left arm at the elbow so that he could rest his cheek against his closed fist with a soft exhalation. "One of a few," was his only reply.

It took only seconds for Clark to come into view as he stepped past the chair, folded his arms loosely over his chest, and leaned against the console in such a casual way it didn't look right while he was in the Superman costume. It looked too human. But that was point, Bruce supposed, when the Man of Steel had grown up with human parents, having to be as human as possible so he'd fit in—he couldn't help but consider how lonely that must've felt, and probably still felt, all the time. The irony was, in Bruce's opinion, Clark was more human than anyone he'd ever met; a representation of all the good man was capable of, all the honesty and caring for others. Even if you took away the super powers, everything Superman still was was more than most would be in a thousand lifetimes.

The Batman idly wondered if anyone ever thought anything similar about him. He severely doubted it.

Apparently sensing Bruce's mind delving into something self-admonishing, Clark put on an endearing smile that caused the detective's stomach to flip and asked, "So of all the things you could do to escape the party, you choose to hack into my computer, and read all my files?" Very quickly did Clark reconsider his words and add, "Actually no, that sounds about right for you." The warm laugh that bubbled up out of his throat made Bruce look down at his lap, trying his damnedest to block out that lovely sound.

Forcing an annoyed expression, Bruce clenched his fists a little tighter and flatly asked, "Is there a reason you hunted me down instead of playing host to the others, or are you just here to further exacerbate the headache this entire event has caused me?"

Complete undeterred by Bruce's attitude, Clark pulled a small gift from a pouch in his cape and tossed it carelessly at the detective, smiling in what one could only describe as 'goofy'. When Bruce caught it on reflex, his smile only got brighter and he said, "Everyone else already opened their gifts, it was the only way I could stop Shayera from maiming Wally, so I wanted to make sure you did too." His excitement was painfully obvious in his voice.

Staring down at the little box in his gloved hand, concealed in a matte, yet subtly gorgeous black wrapping paper, a velvety grey ribbon tied around it, Bruce didn't know what to say. He hadn't gotten Clark or any of the League gifts, merely because he hadn't had the time, but leave it to Superman to make time despite the past week; hell, he'd probably been planning their gifts for months, knowing him. Would it really be fair to accept it when he had nothing to give in return? Was it fair to be rewarded for his friendship when his deranged heart wanted more? Would Clark honestly be giving him this gift if he knew what was going through the Dark Knight's brain half the time they found themselves alone?

"Open it," Clark stated simply, cutting off Bruce's inner monologue.

Glancing up at Clark with an indiscernible look in his eyes, Bruce began to unwrap the gift, taking his time and being careful with the ribbon and paper. When he got to the plain, but nice little box underneath he gently lifted the lid and had to consciously stop himself from gasping. Sitting inside, on a small pillow of grey silk, was the most pulchritudinous pocket watch he'd ever seen. Around the circumference were Celtic knots of intricate design carved deeply into the silver casing, vine-like patterns migrated towards the center as if forever caught in the midst of an elaborate dance, and at the heart was his infamous bat symbol with the ends of the vines touching the edges like a careful caress.

It was by far one of the most beautiful things Bruce had ever seen.

In his awe he failed to realize he'd been silent for quite awhile, his pale eyes much too busy taking in all the little details to notice, and Clark was beginning to fidget nervously, obviously taking his silence for something other than amazement. When Bruce finally took note of Clark's anxiety he couldn't help the tiny smirk that pushed up a corner of his mouth. It was nice to know he wasn't as easily readable as he'd begun to fear. With not-quite-a-smile on his face, the Batman looked up at him and said around the lump in his throat, "Thank you."

Clark's face did a few interesting things. Firstly, his eyes widened in what Bruce could only take as surprise, probably by the fact that he actually thanked him, a move he wasn't readily known for doing; color rose in the Kryptonian's face, making his tanned cheeks appear even darker in the unique lighting of the Fortress, a reaction Bruce contributed to Clark's humble nature; then the surprise melted away to pure joy, and by then Bruce turned away to avoid having to see the only thing he considered more beautiful than the watch.

Lifting his right hand to his lips he snagged the tip of a gloved finger between his teeth, yanking it off in one swift motion, and proceeded to pull the other off as well before scooping the watch carefully into the palm of his hand, his freehand feeling out the cold, linked chain like pouring sand. Bruce's thumb swept appreciatively over the design before finding the top button and flipping the cap open, showing a clock face that was just as dignified and magnificent as its casing.

"I know it's a bit of an odd gift," Clark began to say, rubbing the back of his neck as he peered down at his cherry red boots, "but you're an unsurprisingly hard person to shop for." Chuckling softly, he paused for a moment as if remembering an inside joke, then carried on normally. "There were a few gag gifts I'd considered, but since I was serious about everyone else's I...wanted to be serious about your gift too. So I literally spent days just thinking about it, and eventually I honed in on the question 'what would Bruce want for Christmas?', rather than what would Batman want.

We both know you like your symbols personified, and Batman is as much of you as anything could be, but not only that you're always busy doing one thing or another...I wanted to give you more time." Clark glanced at Bruce a few times, as if trying to gauge his reaction to this admittance, and when the detective gave no response one way or another he let his hands fall in front of him and clasped them together. Bruce could recognize an apprehensive habit when he saw one, but he didn't know why Clark would fret over something like this. Especially when it was not only perfect, it was disgustingly thoughtful. Something dangerously warm and lovingly curled around Bruce's heart and filled his entire chest with a pleasant heat.

"Well, odd or not, it's...lovely, Clark," Bruce found himself saying, turning his softened gaze upwards to his friend.

Superman's body seemed to relax at hearing that, and his expression became almost sickeningly cheery, but instead of stating his delight a companionable silence fell between them with Clark looking at Bruce, and Bruce once again staring at the watch. After what felt like hours of oddly comfortable quiet, Clark suddenly asked, "If there was one thing in all the world you would have asked for, what would it be?"

Bruce's brow furrowed slightly in thought, and with a quicksilver mind like his it didn't take long for him to come up with something, he just would rather punch himself in the face than say it aloud. He was terrible enough company for the holiday season as it was, he really didn't enjoy the idea of making things worse; that was why he tended to disappear and force himself into isolation. Better he brood alone than force his friends and family to endure it themselves. Tucking the pocket watch carefully away in a reinforced pouch on his utility belt, Bruce muttered, "It doesn't really matter." He then peered curiously back up at the other man and countered with, "What would you ask for? And not something for laughs, but in all seriousness."

It was apparent that Clark hadn't expected to be asked this in return by the way his whole face seemed to jump to attentiveness, the man blinking a couple times before he looked up at the ceiling in thought. As he considered his response Bruce simply watched him, absent-mindedly wondering just how different their mental processes would be, since it wasn't likely that Clark would take the darker road that he himself always seemed destined to traverse. The Kryptonian was much too optimistic a person to go that route, or so he hoped anyway. The last thing Bruce wanted was to feel like his bad habits had begun to rub off on the one person he desperately wanted them not to.

'Merry Christmas, I've corrupted Superman,' just didn't have a nice ring to it, after all. Especially if heard as a double entendre—Bruce couldn't stop himself from mentally sighing in dismay at that.

"There's only one thing that really comes to mind," Clark began in a small voice, pulling the Batman away from his disturbed brain. A tiny, lugubrious smile formed on the other man's face, much to Bruce's chagrin, and when he looked back down at his boots he continued. "That I could see my birth parents again, just once, so I could talk with them...ask them if they think I turned out all right, you know?"

'I suppose it's too late to keep my darkness from spreading like a disease,' Bruce thought acrimoniously. As it turned out, him and Clark hadn't thought much differently this time, and the detective refrained from groaning in disappointment at that. When the other man got gloomy or sad, he was the last person to turn to to make things pleasant again. Specifically when the subject of parents became involved. Thinking carefully about his response Bruce glanced up into Clark's face, realizing the other was watching him warily, as if awaiting to be rebuked. Such a thing made the Batman curious, if not a little discouraged that Clark thought he'd chew him out for this.

Granted, several months ago (before his heart wanted things it couldn't have) Bruce probably would have gotten angry and chastised him for saying something like that, but things were different now. He was different now...and he didn't know until that moment how much it bothered him that it seemed Clark hadn't noticed. 'Well,' he started in a self-admonishing introspection, 'it's not as if he has any obligation to understand me, and in fact it's better that he doesn't. If he even began to comprehend what I feel he'd probably want nothing to do with me and-'

Inwardly shaking himself out of that train of thought, Bruce unconsciously put a little distance between them as he leaned away from Clark, covering the movement up by replacing the side of his head against his closed, left fist; it felt a natural enough gesture, he hoped it appeared that way. "Trust me," he said, putting his gaze back on the monitor without really focusing on it, "I do know."

Without even allowing a second's pause, Clark's expression turned vaguely sombre and he inquired, "Is that what you would've asked for? To see your parents just one more time?"

And it was right then that Bruce understood: once again the Kryptonian had tricked him. He'd thought himself clever by turning the conversation around on Clark, but instead it had just been led right back to him, causing him to curse his impulse to be honest in an attempt to make Clark feel better with shared sympathy. Gritting his teeth as he suppressed his irritation at that, Bruce turned his razor sharp glare upwards, staring at him in what he prayed was an intimidating look. The nearly imperceptible shudder he witnessed go through Clark led him to believe he might have succeeded.

"I'm not answering that," Bruce stated curtly.

"But you sort of just did," Clark shot back with a hint of a smirk, although he still appeared to be treading carefully.

Good, let the bastard walk on eggshells for dragging him into this conversation.

Standing suddenly, grasping the edge of the console to help boost himself up, Bruce glared down at the keyboard as his grip tightened and he remained eerily still. He was angry now—perhaps he wasn't as different as he thought. He wanted to stalk out of the room, or maybe run at this point, but he'd already escaped the discomfort of talking with Clark once that night, the last thing he could stand was if he did it twice in just a couple hours. It would bother him for days. Although, at this rate, so would this conversation, but actions spoke louder than words so Bruce merely chose the lesser of two evils.

Clark had stepped away from the computer console and had turned full-bodied towards the detective, wringing a corner of his cape in his hands as he watched his best friend, all of which Bruce hadn't noticed in his disconcertion until he calmed himself down and, with his head hanging, returned the look. They silently stared at one another for a moment that stretched on until it was uncomfortable, to the point where he was actually somewhat worried that Clark would rip his cape, so instead Bruce let himself be the first to look away and straighten out, his darkened gaze returning to the keyboard that his naked fingers were gently brushing.

"What are you doing, Clark?" he asked evenly. "Do you like it when I'm at my worst in front of you, or is this some kind of revenge for ditching the party?"

Bruce didn't really believe the Kryptonian was guilty of any of that, but he couldn't stop himself from feeling spiteful; he wanted to drive the point home that talking about his greatest loss was not something he would ever delight in doing. Even if the person asking was someone he grudgingly called his friend, and secretly wished was more.

Clark didn't take it that way. The man dropped his cape and clenched his fists tightly at his sides, just enough to make his knuckles white, and his expression absolutely fell. There wasn't even the slightest hint of humor left in it, or suppressed sadness...it was purely miserable, with maybe a little anger that Bruce supposed, when he recognized it, wasn't entirely misplaced.

"Is that what you think?" Clark asked quietly, his voice shaking ever so slightly and his gaze burning a hole in the floor, almost literally. "That I'd talk about my birth parents, that I'd confide in you like this as some form of reprisal? Do you think so little of my friendship that you still can't share with me the one thing you almost never talk about?"

Something wavered in Clark's voice that Bruce narrowed his eyes at as he turned to observe him, unwittingly honing in on how 'friendship' had just sounded odd coming from Clark's lips. Once again, his heart was conflicting with his mind, making his thought process muddled instead of on-point; it was merely Clark's hurt feelings coming through, nothing more and nothing less. He really needed to quell his useless sentimentality before it made it impossible to take anything the Kryptonian said at face value. Distracted by his own thoughts he nearly missed the other man continue.

"I meant it when I said I spent days thinking about what to get you for Christmas, and in that time I realized something...sad," Clark said, the heat in his tone giving away to something more compelling, something that went deeper than anger. Looking him straight in the face, his shoulders hunching, Clark carried on in a way that Bruce could only think of as a plea. "I really don't know much about you. I consider you my best friend, someone I can share anything with and who has shared the important things with me, but when it comes down to it I don't truly know you.

"I could say your favorite colors are yellow and black, but that's just an assumption; I could say your favorite animal is a bat, but that would only be the most obvious guess; I could even say your hobby is making crazy contingency plans, but for all I know that's just something you do on instinct and you could really make scrapbooks in your spare time. You keep all the small things about what make you you so close to your chest that even with all my different types of vision I can't see them, and I can't help but want that to change."

Bruce didn't know how to react to this, he honestly didn't. For all that people thought he could predict everything, Clark was by far the hardest person in the universe to anticipate. And so, when the other man gently grabbed his wrists and turned him to face him fully, Bruce's expression screwed up in bemusement and he did his damnedest to ignore the way it felt like his skin was burning at the gentle touch.

Clark kept talking right through Bruce's consternation, not missing a beat. "I want to know your favorite foods, I want to know how much you hate having to be 'Brucie', I want to know what you did during those years of training you underwent, and I want to know what you think about when you look at Gotham City. I just want to know...well, everything, if you'll let me," he said softly, the emotions in his eyes both hopeful and melancholic, but his lips twitched up in a charming little smirk.

"By the time next Christmas rolls around I want to be able to go right into a store, without any preparation, and walk out with the perfect gift for you." The hope overcame the sadness in Clark's shockingly blue eyes, making them, for lack of a better word, sparkle in delight that Bruce couldn't understand.

In fact, he didn't understand any of this. Yes, they were friends, best friends if Clark had any say, and sure you usually wanted to know some personal things about those closest to you, but this seemed much too personal to Bruce. This 'confession', as it were, was making the his heart clench fearfully in his chest, while at the same time pound against his rib-cage as if it were attempting to destroy itself in a fit of emotion—because this wasn't something Bruce thought you said to a friend.

This seemed much too intimate.

And while yes, he didn't have much experience with friends, and often had trouble socializing without analyzing a situation and determining an appropriate course of action first, Bruce simply didn't know how to take what Clark was telling him. With what he felt for the other man he couldn't think about this objectively. So, to avoid having to figure it out, Bruce did what he did best and diverged. "We can't even be sure either of us will still be around by this time next year," he said petulantly, trying to free his wrists.

Clark didn't let go (not that Bruce was trying very hard to begin with), nor was he at all deterred by Bruce's attempt to change the subject. Instead he readily countered, "No, we can't, but even so I'd still like the chance to learn all the little things about you." The smile on the Kryptonian's face was downright sugary sweet, and Bruce blanched, feeling ill.

"Why?"

The question hung in the air like white phosphorus, searing the space between the two men, and for the longest time Bruce wasn't even aware he'd asked it out loud, and not in his head like he'd hoped. It was the removal of Clark's smile, replaced by a subtle dolefulness that clued the detective in. And so he ran with it, figuring it was too late to take the question back.

It was too late to stop any of this.

"Why in God's name would you care?" he asked, a fierceness carving itself into his expression, lighting behind his eyes. "Because we're friends? For your information, I've shared more with you willingly than I've shared with any of my 'friends'—I've disclosed enough that I'm comfortable with. You don't need to know my favorite color's actually blue, or that my favorite food is Alfred's home-made potato dumpling soup, or that I read The Divine Comedy over and over whenever I have the time as a 'hobby', because my father used to read it aloud to me on rainy days—"

Bruce cut himself off, his lips nearly snapping shut as he did so, having been so caught up in the current of emotions that the words had just poured out of his mouth without control. This never happened to him before. He couldn't afford to let it happen, but Clark always had a way of wrenching away his usual command over his actions. Shaking his head roughly, Bruce managed to free himself from Clark's grasp and take a few steps back, holding one of his wrists delicately as his focus turned inward and he forcibly regrouped. For some reason, as he did this, the Kryptonian made something of a small, almost dysphoric sound that the detective didn't care to address.

"None of that matters," he tried again, appearing (but not yet feeling) more calm than before. Capturing Clark's gaze, Bruce said, "It doesn't matter, because one day, perhaps even later today or early tomorrow, I'll just be another memory. I could fall off an unsteady ledge with no grapple, maybe something as mundane as getting hit by a car crossing the street, or perhaps I'll be shot between the eyes in a dark alley with no armor...but one day I'll die, and those I leave behind will be forced to deal with the aftermath. They'll be left with the memory of me, the ghosts of my life I've left walking the earth, and each time it hits them they'll rediscover the pain of my loss."

Without meaning to Bruce let slip just a flicker of the anguish that consumed him with this concept, and he had to look away from Clark for a quick moment to pull his cowl back on; he'd given too much of himself away already, it was only fair he could hide behind the familiar Kevlar stitching of his mask. As he looked back into the other's face, feeling much more secure as Batman, rather than just Bruce, he said, "If there's anything that losing my parents taught me it's that you can't stop death from claiming those you love, and when they're gone it's both a blessing and a god damn curse to remember all the little things they gave you in life that you've lost forever in their death.

Talking about them...I remember too much, whether it's that day or all the days before it—they left me far more than I can bear sometimes. And talking about myself merely gives you, and anyone else stupid enough to ask, that much more to grieve when my time comes." A hard expression took over Bruce's face, becoming unwittingly cold and distant with the addition of the cowl's sculpted brow, and the lackluster sheen of the white lenses.

"So take what you can get, Clark, because this is the most you'll ever make me say on the subject," Bruce finished coolly, every inch of him turning into the clinical professionalism that made the Batman so affective on the field. When all that followed was a heavy silence from both parties, the Kryptonian's face set in a strange, blank stare, the Dark Knight eventually relented in his dispassionate demeanour somewhat and took on Clark's earlier pose by leaning against the console, crossing his arms with a sigh.

"If you promise not to ask me any more ridiculous questions, and that this conversation never comes up again, ever, I'll forgive you for being an idiot," he stated calmly, tilting his head a little in a placating gesture.

It seemed that was all that needed to be said for Clark to 'reset', in a way, and take on a pleased, if not slightly disappointed look. "You know, that was both the saddest and kindest thing I think I've ever heard you say," he said lightly, taking claim of the space against his computer station right beside Bruce, their shoulders almost touching.

Groaning in irritation, the Batman practically growled, "That's not a promise, KAL-EL."

"Oh, bringing out the birth name, I see. You must be serious," Clark replied easily with a laugh in his voice, all the tension from before completely eradicated. Before Bruce could grumble some more, or maybe punch him, both were just as likely, he said, "I promise, Bruce." The 'for now' went unsaid, but they both heard it.

Exhaling softly, Bruce was appeased enough to put his conflicting emotions aside and pat Clark's bicep with the back of a closed hand, nodding slowly. "We won't talk about mine, but you're of course more than welcome to talk about your own birth parents. Don't let my spiel stop you," he stated companionably.

The wrinkle on Clark's forehead betrayed his amicable expression, but everything else remained composed as the man regarded himself and how to respond. Just when it seemed he wasn't going to elaborate on his desire to see his parents one last time, he said, "To be honest I don't remember a whole lot about them. Ever since I learned of my birth place, and the history and other recorded knowledge in the Fortress' systems, I remember bits and pieces, but mainly it's kind of...one big blur."

Twisting his mouth as he stared out into the large room, although obviously not even seeing it, Clark appeared to be calling up whatever memories he could, and Bruce was more than willing to quietly wait, sneaking a glance at the Kryptonian's stupidly handsome profile from time to time. "This might be worthy of a 'duh', but I remember a lot of crystal. It was seriously everywhere, from our technology to the smooth counter tops in my family kitchen. My father, being a man of science, I remember him telling me one time that he enjoyed having it where ever he could. I think he found it neat to have such an essential part of our culture and his research in everything he saw and used daily. He was kind of a nerd, I guess."

"Like father like son," Bruce interjected smoothly, resisting the urge to smirk boastfully when this startled a laugh out of Clark.

"Yeah, I guess so." Clark spared him a quick look with a lovely smile relaxing the rest of his face, then turned his sights back to the belly of the room, much more at peace than he was before, Bruce noted. "Mom was also into science, but more for cosmetic purposes; at least, from what I can recall that's what it seemed what she did. I distinctly remember that, whenever she picked me up, or walked by swiftly enough that the air would kick up, I would smell something different, but just as soothing each time. Pretty sure she made perfumes because of this," he said, a faraway look in his eyes.

After a moment of Clark reminiscing, and Bruce taking what he'd been told into consideration, the Kryptonian spun around and grabbed a few crystals out of their sockets, rearranging them around until the whole room filled with holographic images. Bruce held his breath as he looked around, studying the different images of scenery now all around him, and the two people who stood in the midst of it all; it didn't even take half a guess for Bruce to figure out who they were. Clark looked strikingly like the man, but had the woman's eyes and softer features.

They were Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van, Clark's parents, and the landscapes and images of rooms and buildings were glimpses of the lost planet of Krypton.

No words were exchanged between the two heroes as they stepped into the fray of holograms, but none really needed to be said. Everything was right there for them to see, words brought into still-life. Bruce took in the outside terrain and the distinct lack of vegetation, but just like Clark had said there was an abundance of crystal: from the natural geodes in the walls of the many ravines that plunged deeply into the planet, to the man-made structures that stood proudly and together in the cities of the planet's civilizations. There was even crystal in some of the pictures of household rooms, like in a cup he spotted or the counter top he was staring at, relating to the memory Clark had shared with him of his father.

It was all so amazing. Bruce had been aware that the Fortress of Solitude had data banks of Krypton's past, and details about the planet, and he'd known that it had the capacity to create detailed holographs, but knowing was much different than seeing it for himself. Suddenly, the Batman felt humbled by what was being shared with him, his own grief for what he'd lost in the past made insignificant and small in comparison to all that Clark would never see or touch again.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said without preamble, his eyes falling on the flickering images of Jor-El and Lara. "For me, remembering the past is something of a 'necessary burden', but sometimes I forget that there's optimistic people in the world, and I understand that, for you, you'd probably call bearing the memory of all this more of a 'terrible privilege'."

As he extended a hand cautiously out to touch the curve of Lara's cheek made of light and alien technology, something sad took over Bruce's posture, a heavy feeling in his chest becoming prominent when his fingers went through the image, causing him to retract his hand and stare down at it. Watching his stilled hand in silence, Bruce couldn't recall how his own mother's cheek had felt, if she had been the type to constantly be cold or impossibly warm; did Clark remember that kind of detail about his own mother? That thought was a great weight on his mind for some reason, and he couldn't resist the impulse to put his gloves back on and forget it as best he could.

It was only when his hands were safely tucked away in familiar leather that Bruce felt Clark's eyes boring into him, and before he could look back at him the other man said, "I'm sorry too." This made Bruce's head jerk upwards, locking their gazes in the unsaid question of what he had to be sorry for. Unsaid or not, however, Clark answered with, "I'm sorry that remembering them, your parents...I'm sorry that it hurts you so much. Even now."

Scoffing before he could stop it, Bruce shook his head and looked back at the projected image of the two most familiar strangers he'd ever seen. "It's hardly something you need to apologize for, any more than I—"

Well damn, that made three times in one night.

Turning an accusing glare on Clark, all he got in response was a mischievous grin and a playful chuckle, the expression giving away to a fondness that Bruce refused to look at for more than a minute. "I swear Clark, if you trick me and turn our conversations around one more time I'll repurpose that blue bullet Metallo had intended to shoot you with, shoot you myself, and then proceed to beat some sense into you," he said in the lower, more guttural voice he used again his enemies as Batman.

The threat wasn't as legitimate as one might be led to believe.

"I'm just showing you that you don't have to apologize any more than I do, so there's no need, Bruce," Clark said matter-of-factly, as if it was the simplest idea in the world. Maybe it was, to Clark anyway, but that didn't make Bruce any less annoyed.

"If it didn't give me the urge to strangle you, I'd almost be impressed by your ingenuity tonight," Bruce said, earning another little, almost boyish laugh from Clark. Taking a moment more to absorb the details of Lara's beautiful face, and Jor's kind but clever eyes, the detective turned away and looked about the room, getting a strange, contradicting feeling that it would be the last time he saw the remaining images of Krypton in this room, but not the last time he saw them in general. Like having  déjà vu before whatever caused it actually happened.

Pulled out of his thoughts by a gentle touch against his arm, Bruce had to consciously suppress a shiver that resonated beneath his skin, turning to peer curiously into Clark's face. Clark was staring at him in what was an unusual wavering expression, a multitude of emotions conflicting enough that he made himself resemble a fish by opening and closing his mouth mutely a few times. It was in moments like these that the old adage of "imitation is the highest form of flattery" didn't ring true, even when the one imitating was ridiculously attractive.

Bruce would almost say it looked silly.

Almost.

Determination appeared to overrule everything else in the man's eyes and Clark began to say, "Bruce, what I wanted to say before—the thing is, I think—"

It would seem that luck was not on Clark's side that night as a loud sound reverberated profoundly through the room, effectively silencing the two heroes. Before either could even get a word out the sound came forth again, shrieking through the air like a crack of a whip with an undercurrent of noise drumming like a bass. 

Clark floated upwards as his head darted back and forth, trying to figure out what was making the wretchedly entrancing sound, but Bruce felt himself watching the ceiling instead, and to his utter surprise, and unconscious anticipation, there swam the flurry of celestial colors once more. Like a serpent born from polychromatism, dividing and reuniting itself as it traveled in infinite simultaneous haste and tardive, it spread among the prisms above where he stood until he felt threatened, targeted. Bruce didn't think it possible but it was almost as if it was after him, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. Between a fairly normal human and the last of the Kryptonian race, it didn't make sense why he would be chosen over Clark for anything.

And why would nondescript lights, that produced terrible lamentations he could conceptualize the harpies from the second circle of hell emanating, want with anyone for that matter? Was it even sentient?

Bruce wasn't given long to consider the notion before all hell broke loose. The iridescence shot down through the crystal overhead as if the god of thunder himself was colliding with the Earth, encircling the Dark Knight in a cage of indescribable radiance, bringing forth a sense of unknown trepidation within him that he didn't know how to properly suppress or repurpose in any way; he couldn't help the way his eyes widened behind his cowl, or how his lips pursed in barely concealed worriment.

He didn't even have half a second to finish hearing Clark call out his name before the world became a garish imprisonment, swallowing him in a heat that was all-consuming, the sounds from before becoming unbearably loud. Bruce closed his eyes, losing sense of what was up and down, if he was floating or standing, and felt as if he was both moving impossibly fast and yet remaining very still at the same time. This sensation was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. It was nothing he could ever hope to understand, either.

But just as Bruce thought he'd adjusted to whatever was happening, almost finding some purchase in the endless expanse of stark nothingness he saw whenever he dared to open his eyes, his body jerked. A gasp was ripped from him, and the left side of his body impacted harshly with something startlingly solid, forcing him to perceive the world around him in pained shock.

The whiteness was gone, replaced by scenery he couldn't look away from in its validity of reality, where the encompassing nothingness from before had begun to strip him of his belief in verisimilitude. Bruce could feel the hard surface beneath his hurting form, how cold and pleasantly real it was. He could hear the oscillating air jostling his cape and felt it licking the exposed half of his face, other foreign sounds mixing in with the wind and telling him he was in a place with some form of intelligent life. From what he could catch of the night sky above him, this was not Earth.

Bruce couldn't see a single familiar star in the sky.

He wanted to turn over and try to figure out where he was, hell he just wanted to turn over, but he was in a large amount of pain, centering mostly in his left shoulder (possibly dislocated, hopefully merely sprained—due to impact) and head (very mild concussion, not dangerous but jarring nevertheless—also impact's fault), and couldn't manage it. In fact, if Bruce's body had its way, he'd be unconscious soon, but with what sounded like conversing voices getting closer to him, and the fact that passing out in alien territory was the worst thing he could do without back-up, he couldn't afford it.

It took some slow, deep breaths, and a lot of his mental training to push the pain into the back of his mind, but the Batman's endurance came through and he got himself to his feet, even managing to keep himself fairly steady. The only trade-off was that Bruce was having a hard time focusing his eyes, and his hearing felt as if it was being muffled by a few layers of cotton, so when he registered that a group of people were surrounding him he became strikingly alert and dropped into a defensive stance. If he was about to be attacked he was going to be ready for it.

The people began chattering in uncertainty around him, and Bruce felt as if he should understand what they were saying, but he just couldn't shake off the obscured effect to his hearing; at least tone translated well enough. His vision was starting to clear, thankfully, and he noticed the unusual uniforms the people adorned, along with visored helmets, and they were each riding on what he could only describe as 'hovering segways'. If he had to guess they were probably some kind of police force, the glowing rods they each had in-hand acting as batons. Bruce also noticed they looked ready to use them.

As they made themselves louder, taking on an authoritative tone, Bruce shifted his foot and made to reach into his belt for a couple of batarangs, but when he felt the ground disappear from beneath the heel of one of his boots he peered downwards to see why. If he was a different type of man the sight he was met with would've made his knees weak. It appeared he was atop a strikingly large, distanced arc that went far enough to vanish at either end into the curve of the ravine it towered above, and below there were many lights and types of technology buzzing with life, much like the view of the traffic of Gotham from above.

Just a lot more, well, alien. (Though, he supposed, he was the only alien at the moment in all actuality.)

It was no wonder he'd attracted the attention of the police, Bruce was probably in some kind of restricted zone; it wasn't as if he saw anyone else up there but them. What he did see, on the other hand, was the enormous, blazing red sun in the sky that had been out of view before, leaving him considering just how far away from Earth he actually was. Proxima Centauri was the closest red dwarf to his home, but there weren't any planets orbiting that star, and he knew that there weren't any other planets that were sustaining life anywhere near Earth yet. The thought of how far he must be from Gotham, from everything, for that matter, was staggering.

And with how caught up in it all inwardly he was Bruce didn't notice the officers close in around him, nor could he react fast enough when they took peremptory action and hit him on the base of the spine and between the shoulder blades with their stun batons. He slipped away so quickly he could barely register the pain.

With images of giant red suns, moving lights of blue and white far below his feet, and a feeling of being lost he hadn't known since he was eight filling his head, Bruce came to slowly. The process sped up a great deal when he was forced to his knees by a strong pressure against the back of his legs, and the crown of his cowl, a grip strong enough to grasp hair as well as keep him masked yanking him harshly upwards. His eyes snapped open behind his white lenses, and as he gathered his wits so that he could think properly, prepare himself for whatever was to come, for whatever he had to do, the world around him became striking clear.

Voices yelled all around and echoed off the walls, much sharper in enunciation than they had been before, telling Bruce his sense of hearing had been righted; he wasn't mentally aware enough yet to make out the vernacular. The same police from before were the ones restraining him, but the rest of the room was filled with people in much nicer-looking attire, their eyes highfalutin and intelligible, an aura about them that held the notion of being knowledgeable in ways he got the feeling they thought Bruce couldn't comprehend. The room itself was a sight to behold, he observed as he glanced around without being noticed, with its unnatural shimmer that made it appear to be carved out of granite or crystal, maybe even both, and the sharp, sloping shapes he found making up everything he could see.

The ceiling was ridiculously high, the surfaces of everything severely reflective and making the room, and the people, practically glow, and lights of soft blue hues were carved into the pillars along the wall's edges, covering the spaces not bright enough in an eerie coating of luminosity. It made him feel cold just looking at this strange location, reminding him of the ice from the Arctic, and how the Fortress of Solitude felt when Clark forgot to program the heating—

Wait.

That thought was all it took for everything to take a stunning, intricate turn in Bruce's mind. The words being throw all around him, he was finally able to make out what was being said, and he realized in shocked silence that the architecture was familiar as he had been studying it not more than thirty minutes or so prior (depending on how long he was out for). He'd seen images of that red sun before, and that arc he'd woken up on had been a small, barely noticeable detail in one picture, but he remembered it all the same. Even the clothes he'd written off as strange and alien, he'd seen those too, and it made him feel like a fool for not realizing it sooner.

Somehow, some way...Bruce had wound up on Krypton.

You'd think figuring out your location would make your situation easier. That was, after all, the first thing you tried to do when you were unwillingly taken anywhere, but not for Bruce. Not this time. Because it didn't help him in the slightest to have this assertion, not when it brought on more questions than answers, the first and foremost being how the hell he wound up on a planet that died years ago.

Bruce was starting to feel nauseous.

Thankfully, or perhaps not so thankfully, it didn't have the chance to truly settle in before the room fell unnervingly silent, making Bruce turn his head a little both ways to try and figure out why. He regretted allowing himself to be overwhelmed, as he'd missed what was being said. The movement of his head brought to attention his awareness and the police officers shook him a bit, to spite him or to make an example of his assumed weakness, he wasn't sure which. If it was weakness, he was willing to let them continue thinking that of him, so that he could use it to his advantage later if need be, and he was beginning to believe he just might have to when the head of this...council, as it were, spoke once more.

In a demanding voice, pure Kryptonian fell from the lips of an older gentleman, and this time Bruce shoved his personal feelings aside and paid attention to every word. "Let the record show that the four officers standing before us today—" the man took a moment and held his hand out to Bruce and the men holding him down, addressing his other councilmen, "—captured this...creature in a zone off-limits to the general public, and they have come to the educated conclusion that It is hostile, dangerous, and quite possibly an indentured servant to those who still wish to strike at the heart of our dignified civilization."

It was curious that they automatically assumed him to be a creature, and a volatile one at that, when he'd done nothing more than take on a preventive stance and was obviously wearing a costume. Hadn't they even tested their 'educated conclusions' while he was unconscious? Or scanned him to determine his biological origin? Or done anything that backed up these crazy theories they'd come up with? Despite his urge to immediately defend himself Bruce kept quiet, allowing for the rest of the sentence to be made before he spoke up.

"With that being the case, the creature is not suited to speak on its own behalf and we shall take a vote to determine as to what to do with It," the head Councilman stated, as if it were so simple to manage another life. Bruce reluctantly was reminded of some of the judges he'd met in his time, and how easily they sent people to their deaths and felt nothing afterwards. It was those very same judges, who he had the misfortune of always running into during this charity gala or that, that wrote him off as merely his Brucie persona and nothing more, much like this man had done with the idea that he was a stupid beast. Oddly enough they didn't feel like entirely separate situations.

Both were complete morons.

The main difference being he was more than likely about to be sentenced to death at this moment, and on this planet he had no reputation to uphold. He felt it a good time to hold his tongue no longer. Right as the Kryptonian elder was about to begin the voting process, his lips parted and hand held up mid-gesticulation, Bruce took action and moved with deadly accuracy and swiftness as he shot to his feet, slamming the back of his head into the man standing behind him first.

With the officer disoriented he smoothly attacked the other three guards encircling him, gracefully flipping over the the shoulders of one to wrap his calves around the neck of another, harshly twist his lower body and flip him into the hard floor, his arms embracing the neck of the one he'd used as a pommel horse and applying the right amount of pressure to knock him out all at the same time. Then Bruce rolled away from the unconscious men, sprang to his feet, and landed a well-aimed blow to the police officer lunging at him under his chin with the palm of his right hand, effectively disrupting the other man's momentum with enough force to painfully snap his neck backwards and cause him to hit the floor with a dull thud. It wasn't a fatal blow, but it sure sounded awful, and would continue to hurt for weeks.

Good.

The last of the men, who he'd attacked first, was just coming out of his pain-induced haze when Bruce grabbed for him, forced the officer's arms behind his back in a lock, and (perhaps with some revenge in mind) struck the back of his knees with his foot until he was on the ground in front of Bruce in a rather obvious position to show he was the his hostage. This all happened in a matter of moments, leaving the council stunned silent all around him, a particular member, who was watching from afar and unnoticed by Bruce, staring at the detective with untamed fascination.

"There won't be a vote," Bruce said evenly, not showing any signs of fatigue past a quickened pulse that no one but him was aware of. His near-perfect Kryptonian accent and use of the language made the entire room take pause, confusion falling over the faces of many, while the clear message of being insulted came over the rest; he guessed not a lot of outsiders knew the language as well as he did, and he couldn't help the smirk that made its way onto his face. "As it turns out I am plenty capable of speaking for myself, and if you'd bothered to check—" Bruce reached up and pulled off his cowl with one hand, the other still keeping the officer in place,"—you would've realized I'm not some beast, but a mere human wearing a mask."

A hard look taking over his now-exposed, and beautifully bruised face, Bruce finished with, "You may want to reconsider the training of your police officials if their 'educated conclusions' are nothing more than paranoid speculation and, personally, uncreative slander. I don't take kindly to being referred to as a monster, in case you were wondering."

A laugh was horribly muffled from somewhere behind Bruce, causing his lips to twitch as he couldn't help but to automatically approve of whomever it came from, but he couldn't afford to look away from the councilman staring at him with such a scandalized expression that, in and of itself, almost forced a laugh out of him. Or perhaps it was merely the stress of everything starting to get to him. Nevertheless, he had the upper hand for the time being and couldn't give it up, meaning he had to remain in control of himself so that he could also control the situation further.

Slowly, but with an aristocratic grace Bruce could almost appreciate, the head man of the council relaxed into a more diplomatic posture and expression, entwining his fingers in front of him as he considered the detective for a moment. "All right," he said after a heavy silence, "You've proven yourself to be more than just a beast, and have taken down three of our men with the fourth at your mercy. Such an action is against our laws and has, at the very least, proven right the assumption, as it were, that you are dangerous. What would you have us do if not vote, and not sentence you to death without trial for your hostility?"

"Well, for one," Bruce began smoothly, running his freehand through his hair in such a calm gesture that he was showing how little he felt threatened by the situation, when in actuality he was terribly unsure of it, "While I won't deny I'm dangerous, it's only because I've had extensive training to protect the city where I reside on Earth. Secondly, this 'hostility' is merely a means to protect my own life, much in the same way you consider killing me will ensure your own. I haven't fatally wounded your men, and I find that death is a rather strong punishment for defending myself."

Glancing at the men scattered around him quickly, Bruce returned his glance back to the councilman and said, "I would think intelligent men such as yourselves would've been able to conclude these officers are nothing more than unconscious by simple observation, but you're welcome to have someone check should you feel I'm being untruthful." He fell silent then with a single brow raised in a challenge, already working up strategies and contingency plans in his head for whatever happened next.

Murmurs filled the room like the tide of Earth's oceans gently lapping at the shores, and Bruce would've found it a calming sound if it wasn't a discussion of how he was to be handled; it was kind of difficult to be soothed by voices that had sort of wanted you dead just seconds ago, and now probably wanted you really dead. It was because he was thinking this that the response he got surprised him, but thankfully he kept his expression from showing it.

"We'll have the head of our scientific research division, who is expertly versed in the medical sciences as much as anything else, check the officers to validate your claims," the main councilman said easily, leaning back in his seat and catching the eyes of someone out of sight and nodding at him.

Without releasing his leverage, Bruce finally allowed himself to glance behind him, watching as the man made into the patsy of this legislative body strode into view and didn't once look him in the face. Something about the man was disturbingly familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it as he silently watched the him work, absent-mindedly wondering if this man was at all worried he would attack him, a move he knew the council was expecting of him. He could see the gears turning in the elder's head as he'd given permission for checking for proof of life, and he wasn't about to play their game. No way was Bruce giving them a reason to call forth a likely excessive force to take him down, their current stand-off of sorts acting as his only shield against such a retaliation so far.

The examination was quick, but professional and thorough, and just as Bruce thought his unknown sense of familiarity was unfounded the man finally made eye contact, an achingly identical expression of soft-hearted kindness on his face to one he'd seen on another Kryptonian's.

The only one he knew, in fact, back on Earth.

"Clark?" he couldn't stop himself from whispering in English as he stared, wide-eyed and nonplussed at the alien man, his grip loosening in a lack of foresight for this strange turn of events.

As he got a set of raised eyebrows in response, the scientist opening his mouth to speak, Bruce felt his hostage shake him off and flail to freedom a few feet away, holding his arms like he'd been burned. Furrowing his brow in displeasure at having lost his meat-shield, he didn't let it get to him as he pulled out a batarang specially coated in a sedative, threw it expertly so that it merely left a cut on the officer's arm, and watched expectantly as the man quickly lost consciousness and fell to the floor in a harmless motion. His shield no longer useful, all that was left was to have no trained fighters awake to engage him. And that's just what he ensured, if his speculation that the councilmen weren't trained in any way were true.

Ignoring the sounds of perturbation and possible outrage that came from around the room, Bruce instead locked eyes with the man who could be Clark's clone and pushed down what he was feeling, nodded at the fallen guard, and said in English, "He's fine, I just knocked him out. You're welcome to check him too if you don't trust me."

There was a lack of understanding in the man's unnaturally blue eyes for an anxious moment, and Bruce feared his suspicion that the man would understand him could have been incorrect, but then the scientist smiled once more and sighed, shaking his head in what Bruce knew to be exasperation as he'd seen it from Alfred countless times. "I trust you," said the man, sounding disbelieving of himself. "Only Rao knows why, but I do."

Bruce was ready to thank God himself, but other than not personally believing in religion he latched onto the man's undeserved trust, his expression falling a great degree to his exhaustion and helplessness. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't have allowed such a thing but this was far from normal and, if the scientist was anything like the man he reminded Bruce of, a genuine request had to be met with sincerity the man could see for himself as well anything else.

"Then please, help me," he asked softly, his lassitude bleeding into his voice. "You don't have to, I'm not making a demand that will be met with force if not followed through, but I'm asking you...I don't even understand how I got here, I have no way of contacting anyone I know, and I—I need help." Bruce let his desperate plea for assistance fill his hushed voice and he whispered, "Please."

They shared a heart-stopping moment of communication between them, Bruce unsure of what he was being told in their staring match but hoping it was good, and after what felt like an eternity the scientist stood up, taking on a hard, business-like look. Bruce worried he was about to be rejected and thrown into jail, or whatever Kryptonians used as a prison system, but what he got instead consumed him with such relief his whole body sagged under the weight of it.

"I'd like to make a request," the Clark-clone started with, returning to his native tongue, "give me custody of the Earthling, I implore you, and let him work for me as community service to pay for his aggression against these four police officers. He is obviously intelligent for someone of his primitive species if he can speak our noble language, and I could gather a wealth of knowledge about the humans of Earth from him. In the meantime I could develop the means to return him to his planet, as well as a way to remove all memories of his stay here, and rid us of him for good without any blood being shed. Kryptonians are, after all, benevolent and not savages. Wouldn't you agree?"

There was a strange difference in the way the alien man was addressing the council versus the way he'd spoken to Bruce, and he could only surmise that he was speaking like he was, and making his request in such a way, to appease the councilmen and get what both of them wanted. Bruce let himself smile fleetingly to himself at the scientist's use of a social tactic he utilized quite often when uncovering information covertly as Bruce Wayne.

To perhaps both of their surprise it worked, and the head councilman seemed relieved simply to have an excuse to get Bruce out of the room. But that didn't stop him from stating with finality, "I shall accept this compromise, but with one condition." With his eyes narrowed at the scientist, and not Bruce (he truly didn't matter much at this point it seemed), he said, "Should the human act out of turn, harm anyone or anything before he is returned to Earth, he will be punished as seen fit by this council, and you will be held responsible. Is this understood?"

Nodding in agreement without even batting an eye, Clark's clone gently took Bruce by the arm and threw it over his shoulder, helping him walk along as he led him out of the council's chambers and through the building in silence, until they made it into what looked like a parking lot. It was here that the blank expression he'd been employing fell from his face and was replaced with that amazingly kind smile from before, wrinkling the corners of his eyes in another moment of striking similarity to Clark.

The scientist set Bruce up so that he was leaning carefully against his car and let out a sigh that held obvious laughter in it, patting his chest in a self-assuring gesture. "I was afraid they were going to say no for a minute there," he said in English, placing his hands loosely on his hips as he straightened out and stared right into Bruce's face.

A little thrown by the very calm, friendly turn in the other man's countenance, Bruce decided just to roll with it, comforted that not everyone on this planet grew up into pertinacious people like those councilmen, or overly-cautious brutes like those cops. Tilting his head a little curiously, a thoughtful frown on his face, Bruce asked, "What would you have done if they had?"

To Bruce's surprise, the scientist didn't even hesitate as he exclaimed in what could be described as childish glee, "I would've thrown you over my shoulder, pray to Rao I could carry you, and made a run for it!" Laughter followed the man's words, and if Bruce hadn't been thrown through a seemingly endless string of loops already that day he might've had the energy to look appalled, or ridiculously impressed. Either were equally as possible.

Instead he just shook his head in a fond sort of way, peered down at his boots for a minute as he mentally refurbished his weary and beaten constitution, and when he looked back up he found a hand being held out for him to shake. Without pausing at all, not after what this man had done for him, Bruce accepted the hand and shook it, earning himself a lovely flash of teeth in return.

"My name is Jor-El, in case you were wondering what to call me," the scientist—Jor-El, said easily, completely unaware what imparting that seemingly normal bit of information did to Bruce.

Well, that was another mystery solved, but those questions that had come from learning what planet he was on just multiplied, like a freakishly explosive burst of mitosis. Sure, now he understood why this man looked so much like Clark, or really the other way around, but now his main concern wasn't only 'how did he wind up on a planet that died years ago', but also 'why was Clark's birth father alive and shaking his hand'.

The simplest answer was time-travel, which, all right, the Justice League, sans himself, had done before so it was proven possible; they'd also travelled to other universes so sure, time-travel, he could accept that in a detached, scientific way. But why had he been jettisoned to Krypton, of all places, a planet he knew was actively on its way to destroying itself deep within its poisonous core, and what did this mean for himself?

What did this mean for his existence?

It was already an ensnarled time paradox by him being there—if he was actually stuck here and died with everyone else then he shouldn't have existed in the future that he'd traveled to once, where he witnessed himself as an old man mentoring a young Terry McGinnis. Unless Jor-El did indeed live up to his promise and figured out a way to return him home before everything went to hell, but then he still would've been a recorded part of Kryptonian history that Clark neither remembers or knows about in his time. Except for the idea that Jor could remove him from everything he sends to Earth with Clark, but he didn't seem like the kind of man to do that. Especially not since Jor's delivering his son to Bruce's home world, and knowledge that his parents met an earthling before sending him off would've been a relief to a man like Clark.

A man who valued his birth parents' opinions enough to wish for it as a Christmas gift.

But that still posed the question of how much time did he have? When was Krypton to die in this time line? Was this more than just time travel and also an alternate universe where Krypton never exploded?

Now there was an idea. This Jor-El was older than the one he'd seen in the Fortress' holograph, with his dapper beard and streaks of white in his hair, which was why he hadn't recognised him as Clark's father right away, so perhaps this was a different situation altogether. At least, he severely hoped so. But there were always conditions to things like that, and he paled at the thought of what else could happen/be happening right now to Krypton.

He needed so much more information.

All of this went through Bruce's mind faster than a couple blinks of the eye, but Jor-El was a scientist, he was naturally observant, and Bruce could see him catch onto the fact that something wasn't sitting right with him. And so, probably believing it to be something completely different than what it was, like stress or maybe even a mental breakdown, the Kryptonian released Bruce's hand, grasped his shoulders, and gently jostled him as he held eye-contact and kept his expression mollifying. Bruce suspected he didn't want the human to go all martial artist on him in a fit of irrational panic caused by being overwhelmed.

Despite realizing what was happening, Bruce was nevertheless pulled out of his exhausting and hysteria-worthy train of thought, looking into Jor's face for a moment before taking a breath. "I'm sorry," he said as he lowered his eyes to the man's chest, cursing his lack of observation when he noticed the familiar crest of the El family sitting in plain view on Jor's shirt, almost like a broach; he must've been disgustingly overwrought if he'd missed that until now.

His smile one a patient, understanding father would wear, Jor-El patted Bruce's shoulders, ruffled his hair affectionately, and gestured for him to get in the car. "No need for apologies. I honestly don't know how you've managed to keep yourself together through all this madness so far. I'm actually quite impressed," he said with a deep chuckle, showing him how to buckle his seat belt without being patronizing.

Bruce, barely paying attention, still managed the simple task, exhaling deeply and resting his head against the seat as Jor started the car and took off. Tossing the numerous questions and concerns he had aside for just a minute, a minute of peace he so desperately needed and prayed he could afford, he remembered something and turned his head tiredly towards Jor-El. Simply watching the eerily familiar profile for a couple seconds, Bruce ignored his bangs falling into his eyes with the wind passing over him and said, "Thank you."

Jor-El spared the human a glance with a smile on his lips, then put his eyes back on the, well, not the road, more like the sky traffic, and replied, "I'll respond accordingly if you do one thing for me."

All Bruce had to do was lift an eyebrow to cue Jor to go ahead and ask, so he did with a sickeningly pleasant tone of voice; something in the El blood must make you impossibly nice. Clark certainly was, sometimes to a fault. "Promise me you won't do anything that'll cause the council's condition to come to pass," he requested.

"I promise," Bruce stated seriously in reply, giving his answer no thought as it didn't require any. This man had saved him, so he'd be damned if he did anything that wrought punishment onto Jor. Plus, he couldn't help it—this exchange almost felt like the one he and Clark had had earlier that day, where he had been the one making Clark agree to a promise. Having such a conversation with Superman's father, well, it didn't happen everyday, and he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to have a little, personal story to tell his best friend when he managed to get home.

If he managed to get home.

"Then you're welcome," Jor said, the smile lighting up his face apparently something genetic, because it did things to Bruce's stomach and heart that he chose to ignore with every fiber of his being. He felt home, physically, and everything-sick, and the world could very literally be crumbling away beneath his feet, so any crush-like reactions he had from that point on to Jor he was attributing to all of that, and the fact that he was reminded of Clark, and nothing more. He'd sooner hand over Gotham on a silver platter to Joker, and tell the world of his identity, than allow himself to develop feelings for Clark's father.

There were only so many personal issues with one's self that Bruce could take. That would be pushing it. Like, jumping out of a window in the Watchtower and aiming for the sun while laughing manically levels of pushing it.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He needed sleep.

And he got it. Bruce just didn't know he did until he registered his shoulder being shaken a little, Jor-El's gentle voice coaxing him to open his eyes. It was a lot harder than he ever remembered it being, but Bruce indeed forced his eyes to open, their shade appearing much paler than usual in the unique lighting of...where ever he was at. He could only imagine what he looked like: face bruised to hell on the left side, hair wind-tousled, his features riddled with exhaustion, and not to mention the very strange-looking costume he was wearing. He probably accurately resembled a crazy homeless person who had a preposterous fixation with a mammal not even indigenous to Krypton.

Yeah, he really looked like someone you brought home to your family. Bruce barely resisted the urge to bash his head against the dashboard.

But whatever Jor saw as he looked down at him made him continue to smile softly, and crow's feet to appear, and Bruce couldn't bring himself to suppress how vulnerable he felt, and how scared shitless about his life he was for just a moment. He'd hoped he'd concealed the emotions cascading within him as quickly as they'd broken through, but Bruce doubted it when the Kryptonian's face gained a touch of empathy, and that urge to smash his face against parts of the car resurfaced. He didn't do so only because he looked psychotic enough as it was, better to not add to it.

Jor-El helped him out of the vehicle and gently held him by the forearm as he led him through the building, which was all long hallways, more of those bluish lights installed in the walls, along with shaped igneous rock and carved, bare crystal. Pulling himself together with each step despite his short nap not nearly being enough, Bruce took in the details of everything they passed, and mentally filed away a map of the path they'd taken from the parked car just in case, but he almost forgot all of it when Jor stopped them, pressed his hand against a scanner, and a door swished open to reveal a room Bruce had already seen.

Granted, some of the minutiae was brand new as the holographs hadn't shown every inch of the place, but he knew the things he had already seen well enough to feel familiar with the space as he stepped inside. It was only when Jor-El let out an amused sound, and the door closed behind him, that Bruce realized he'd entered without permission, and he was about to apologize for the second time that day before the scientist raised his hand and grinned.

"It's quite all right. I know that everything is completely new to you and, like myself, I can't blame you for wanting to explore the unknown," Jor said with a knowing nod of his head, as if pleased by the earthling's curiosity. Then a somewhat faraway look took over the man's face and he added softly, "I've brought a man from Earth into my home before, but unlike this time I had not the opportunity to show him around." Something almost regretful took over Jor's expression for only a moment before it was replaced by friendly hospitality, and he said, "However, before a grand tour, I think we should get you cleaned up, dress your wounds, and I'll introduce you to my wife and son."

With his arm taken once more by Jor-El and led further into the man's home, Bruce didn't register right away what he'd just been told, and it was only when he was given a change of clothes and left to his own devices in what appeared to be a shower room that it hit him. The Kryptonian had said wife and son—wife and son. Which would mean Clark, or at this point in time Kal-El. Bruce was about to meet the infant version of Superman. Clark would be this tiny, unrecognizable being, while the memory he had of him was of this larger-than-life man who was taller than him. He couldn't fully process that idea for the time being, one more fact piling onto a progressively bigger mountain of ideas and questions and utter confusion that would soon have to be sorted through.

But for now, just for now, he was willing to put it all aside and simply do what was expected of him. Bruce was going to take a shower, and hopefully be much more prepared to face this absurdity when he was finished. Setting his change of clothes aside, he took his time removing his costume and cape, noting each cut, bruise, and any other injury he found that he'd have to take care of, and then figured out the mechanisms for the shower and adjusted the temperature until it was appropriately scalding.

Closing his eyes in content as the steaming liquid poured over his battered form, flattening his hair until it nearly blocked his sight, Bruce sighed deeply and merely stood there for a few, humble minutes. He let as much stress as he was willing to part with wash right off of him, giving him a sense of rejuvenation that he had so desperately needed, and then scrubbed himself clean, rinsed off, and finished. After drying himself with the nearest towel he wrapped it around his waist and looked down in concentration at the clothes he'd been given, a particular detail leaving him unsure of how he felt about wearing it.

The same type of broach Jor-El had had sat atop the clothing, showing plain-as-day that they belonged to the El family. That he belonged to the El family, or was in their custody anyhow, but it felt strange to have it displayed like this—so openly and without shame. He would've thought Jor might've wanted to be discreet about harboring an outsider, but then again, with the displays of his character he'd been shown thus far, perhaps that assumption was misplaced. Maybe it was even required he be labelled, so to speak, and Bruce was simply unaware of the rules? Either way, with the conflict deep in his heart over Clark back home, this was beyond weird for him.

In a strange way it felt like he suddenly belonged to Clark.

He adorned the clothing, thankful that, at the very least, they weren't all that aggravating to put on. Peering at himself in the mirror, Bruce adjusted the house insignia with a slight frown, smoothed out the foreign material of the sleeves, and combed his damp hair back until only a single strand fell softly against his forehead. Feeling he appeared much more presentable now, if you ignored the bruising, he stepped out of the shower room and was surprised to find Jor awaiting him.

With a pleased smile, Jor-El unabashedly studied Bruce for a moment, then hummed in approval and took his wrist to, once again, lead the way to a new location. It wasn't that far of a walk, to which Bruce was grateful as he had worried for a second that they'd be leaving the house to do God (Rao?) knows what, and found themselves in a kitchen-like room that the detective was more than familiarized with. Clark's description and holograms of the crystalline counter tops had been spot-on, he thought with a little smirk.

"If you would take a seat right over there—" Jor pointed to a sitting area across the room, situated like a ledge against a series of windows overlooking the city, "—I'll get the first-aid kit and take care of your wounds."

Bruce calmly did as he was instructed to, relaxing his lithe figure into one of the pillowed cushions with his pale gaze pointed outside. Since he'd practically been a fugitive the first time, and asleep the second time, he hadn't really had a real chance to take in what this city looked like, and now that he got a decent view of it in the safety of the El home it was more beautiful than he could've ever imagined.

The same type of arcs he had awoken atop of lined the skies, acting as apparently some kind of traffic map as the cars moving swiftly through the air below followed their paths without deviation. Carved into the walls of the ravine that stretched out ostensibly endlessly were many Kryptonian symbols, some that stood for specific areas like shops and hospitals, but then there were some that Bruce translated to be other family names, obviously meaning they owned the property deep within the chasm's internal construct.

In the distance on the surface of the planet he could see large structures, and by the way they glistened even from this far he felt confident concluding they were made of crystal; the mineral truly was a terribly important part of Krypton's cultivation. Such a fact only made the whole planet all the more radiant, the people more special as a culture, and it was such a tragic shame what would probably happen to it, if this wasn't some alternate universe where the world survived.

"I realize you just put it on, but would you remove your shirt again, please?" Jor asked from behind Bruce, extracting the man from his thoughts.

Wordlessly Bruce unpinned the broach near his collarbone and put it aside, slipping the light material of his shirt over his head to reveal the patches of contused skin all over his left side, as well as the abundance of old, pallid scars that matted his entire upper body. He heard Jor-El suck in a breath, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was from disgust. That idea was proven rather hasty and incorrect when he felt a rough-skinned, but gentle touch rest against his back, tracing a couple of the unhealed marks.

Bruce violently fought back any emotions that tried to surface because of that.

"Oh Rao...you were not joking when you said you fought to protect your city, were you?" Jor asked quietly, apparently getting himself back into an objective state of mind as he began his work, applying what resembled compresses here and there.

"I'm not one for humor," Bruce replied easily, letting out a small exhalation when one compress was applied to a particularly ugly bruise, providing significant relief.

Chuckling, Jor-El countered, "I'm not sure about that. I found the way you spoke to those blasted bureaucrats to be quite humorous indeed."

Feeling oddly at ease, and a little too proud that Clark's father condoned his actions, Bruce said, "Well, it wasn't the first time that I've had to deal with people like that, and I hardly think it'll be the last. Where I live things can get frustratingly political, and if you don't know how to play their game, turn it in your favour, then all you find yourself with is more problems and no solutions. Or in jail."

Jor-El made a congruent sound and finished, his work as efficient as it had been when he'd looked over the officers in the council's chambers. As Bruce situated himself with his shirt and broach once more, his fingers lingering over the symbol for perhaps a second too long, Jor turned his back to the view of his city and leaned against the glass, looking at the earthling.

"Speaking of your city, where is it you come from on Earth?" the scientist inquired, that inquisitiveness that Bruce was all-too accustomed to shining in his eyes.

"A place called Gotham," Bruce responded, taking on a similar stance as Jor-El, leaning his head back against the glass and staring up at the ceiling. "Despite what others on my planet say about her, and all the darkness that troubles her streets, I protect Gotham because I care about the city. Always have and always will. She may have her problems but she's worth fighting for."

If Bruce had been looking he would have noticed the disbelief in Jor's expression, which when Bruce glanced at him was smoothly replaced by a joy of some kind, the man's voice becoming warm and almost amused. "I can't help but wonder if those from Earth's city of Gotham are prone to finding their way to Krypton," he said with mirth in his voice, earning Bruce's questioning stare. "I said earlier that I'd brought an earthling to my home before, yes? Well, as it turns out, that man had also been from Gotham."

Blinking, unsure of how to take this information, Bruce was not even slightly prepared for what Jor-El said next; in fact, being unprepared for anything was basically the theme of his stay on this planet thus far.

"Thomas Wayne spoke of Gotham much the same way you did, only he didn't use pronouns, and I presume that he did not fight for your beloved city utilizing the same methods," the scientist said, a sense of nostalgic delight filling his blue eyes.

Thomas Wayne.

Thomas Wayne of Gotham city.

Thomas Wayne of Gotham city had been to Krypton.

Thomas Wayne of Gotham city had been to Krypton and had met Jor-El and been in his home—

The mental collapse this was causing Bruce must've showed on his face because suddenly Jor was much nearer, leaning in to look him over closely, and had a comforting hand on his shoulder. Barely managing to revive his sensibilities, to get his feet back on the proverbial ground, Bruce shook his head and caught Jor-El's stare, a note of an apology now in his forcibly reticent expression. "I'm sorry," he said. "Today's been one hell of a day for me, and I guess I was just surprised that I wasn't the first Gothamite that's visited here."

Jor appeared to except this, patting Bruce on the shoulder before he distanced himself and smiled, an epiphany of sorts lighting in his eyes as he looked back at the other man. "That reminds me! How rude I've been—somehow I've forgotten to ask it of you this entire time, but what is your name?" he inquired, sounding rather excited to know the answer.

'Well ', Bruce thought shakily, 'there's no way in hell I'm telling him my real name. The questions that would bring up, questions I don't have answers to...I can't risk it. I've probably already ripped a hole in the fucking universe with just being here in the first place, I'm not going to make it worse. Time to improvise.'

"I had tried introducing myself earlier," Bruce replied with ease, cursing some of the more frustrating consequences of what he was about to do. "Remember what I first said to you?"

Jor-El lifted an eyebrow in question before he turned his sights upwards in consideration. Then the man smiled brightly, patting the small of the detective's back companionably. "Clark, you said Clark. I'd wondered what that was supposed to mean," he answered.

"That's my name," Bruce said with a pervasive mental fatigue, wondering how the real Clark would feel about him lying to his father, using his name to do it. "And it's just Clark, no family name," he added evenly, figuring that the least he could do was not drag the Kent's name into this mess as well.

Jor-El nodded silently, accepting the odd lack of a surname with ease, and then perked up as the mechanical sound of the door echoed from afar and into ear-shot. Practically springing to his feet the Kryptonian tugged Bruce along for the ride, making the Batman wonder if this was going to become a habit with this man, but effectively had his brain shut down when he was suddenly met with the sight of Lara standing in the living room, staring curiously at him, a small child in her arms.

Bruce had honestly thought he wouldn't recognize Clark. You don't tend to appear much the same as a baby as you did an adult after all, but with a full head of dark, wavy hair that he'd know anywhere, Bruce could've identified the child with his eyes closed. The signature 'S' curl bouncing against his forehead was even there, and he would've barked a laughed at just how utterly absurd his life had become if it weren't for his thoroughly stunned silence, and sudden, deeply-rooted sense of anxiety he didn't know how to death with.

Oblivious to 'Clark's' inner disquiet, Jor-El presented him in a similar fashion that Bruce remembered Dick had when the boy had found a stray cat during patrol and begged Bruce to let him keep it, and it was thanks to that memory (something so normal and reassuring) that he was pulled out of his inward turmoil and summoned a pleasant smile; if he was going to be the second stray-Wayne Jor brought home, then the least he could do was look like someone Lara wouldn't mind letting stay.

As Lara studied him with her alluring, aquamarine eyes, as if to determine whether or not he would pose any threat, Bruce remained mute and merely allowed himself to be scrutinized. She stepped forward with a sense of grace Bruce recalled his own mother carrying so effortlessly, and the grip she had on her son tightened enough that a normal man wouldn't have noticed, but he caught the barest narrowing of her eyes and the more pronounced wrinkles in Kal's clothing; she obviously was very protective of her baby, and Bruce wondered, briefly, if Kal would've grown up to be a momma's boy. He didn't even register the smile he let slip at that thought, an expression that softened the look on Lara's face.

But it wasn't until Jor-El spoke up on his behalf that her demeanour completely transformed, going from suspicious to a pleasant understanding that threw Bruce off a little.

"This man, Clark, is from Earth," Jor said in Kryptonian, walking around the detective to gently muss his son's hair and lay a hand against his wife's shoulder blades. Hearing this information was what made Lara seemingly change her mind about him. "Unlike our last guest he's not a telepathic projection, but a real human. It is a mystery to us all as to how he got here, and before he even knew where he was the police had taken him into custody and brought him before the council."

Lara's eyes widened slightly as she looked from Jor to Bruce, then back to her husband as she beckoned him to continue. Jor-El gladly obliged.

"By Rao's graces, I had happen to have just finished addressing the council in one last attempt to get them to listen when he was brought in, and I stayed because, frankly, I was curious." Jor let out a friendly chuckle and glanced at Bruce, such oddly affectionate fondness in his face. "You should have seen him, Lara. He had on the most unusual attire, both intimidating and fascinating as it mimicked a flying Earth mammal, and rather than let himself be prosecuted wrongly he faced down the officers suppressing him and brought the council to its knees. It was fantastic!"

Apparently rather used to Jor's unusual enthusiasm, Lara rolled her eyes in a way that made Bruce think of Barbara for a moment, and how Oracle always seemed to be doing much the same on the other end of the comm. link; he didn't need to see it to know Babs was doing it, her voice has always been quite expressive. "So the two of you, because obviously you couldn't resist getting involved, somehow forced the council into a corner and got them to release this earthling into your custody. Am I correct?" Lara asked in such a lack of surprise that the Batman was beginning to believe that the Gordon family might have Kryptonian somewhere in its heritage. They were about Lara's level of comfortable with such spontaneous madness being thrust upon them.

"You're almost right," Bruce answered in their native tongue, causing that lack of surprise to morph into an abundance of it. He tried not to feel too accomplished at that. "I asked him to help me, and he requested for those idiots to make me his charge for the sake of sending me home and for research. In turn they said yes, so long as I don't cause any trouble."

As would any woman married to a man like Jor-El, Bruce supposed, Lara expertly got control over her shock that he knew their language and nodded contemplatively, lifting an eyebrow and staring right at him. "So long as you don't cause any trouble, I'm perfectly fine with you staying here," she said with a twitch of her lips, a hesitant smile that Bruce accepted as a good sign. He was worried, however, when a doleful look took over her face and she said in addition, "Although, I pray to Rao you are prepared to be affixed here permanently, because interstellar travel is outlawed on Krypton. That is probably why they treated you so harshly." He could see the barely contained urge to reach out for his bruised face in the woman's fidgeting fingers.

"And here I'd hoped they were simply xenophobic," Bruce stated flatly, startling a laugh out both Jor and Lara; he couldn't help how gratified he felt by that.

"Well, yes, they've also become that, but with how many times our planet has been attacked by other civilizations...as much as I wish I could, I can't entirely blame them." Looking at Bruce apologetically, Lara hastily elaborated, "I only empathize because of a psychological understanding, I do not sympathize with their ignorance and judgement. It is my personal belief that the evil actions of many cannot condemn the few who are good."

If there were ever a time Bruce imagined he would feel indescribably respect for Clark's birth mother, now would that moment. It was truly no wonder Superman had become such an amazing person. Not only were Jonathan and Martha Kent spectacular people who had raised their son with unconditional love and devotion, but Jor-El and Lara were a marvelous pair; there was almost too much honest-to-God good in Clark's lineage that Bruce was scared it was almost too good to be true.

Without meaning to he suddenly missed the earth, missed Gotham, missed Clark so dearly that a heavy, suffocating sensation took root deeply in his chest, and he had to glance away from the family before him. Bruce had been through worse, probably, knew what it felt like to be left bleeding to death in the farthest reaches on his planet, and in the darkest alleys of Gotham, so there was no way he was going to make himself depressed with homesickness, of all the damn things. He'd been hit with it once already that day, twice was unforgivable.

To his surprise, and obviously Lara's when he glimpsed her expression, Bruce was unsuspectingly distracted from his inner predicament when a small, but happy voice fluttered through the air. When he sought out the sound he witnessed the infant Kal-El reaching out for him with both of his tiny hands, his eyes absolutely sparkling (from what, Bruce had no clue, but it wasn't like he was an expert on babies—the subject hardly proved to be fruitful research before). Taking a slight step forward, cautious of Lara's body language in case she wanted him to back off, he listened silently for a moment as Kal worked his immature brain to form whatever word he was trying to say.

Just as Jor was about to intervene, obviously thinking Kal was going to hurt himself at this rate, the child sputtered, "B-B...Bii!"

Now that the word had come out of his mouth, Kal himself seemed excited that he could say it and bounced happily in his mother's arms, still reaching out for Bruce in a pleading gesture. "Ma! Bii!" the baby demanded, glancing up at his mother before back at the confused earthling.

Giggling to herself, Lara had on an apologetic look as she stared at Bruce for a moment, and then said in English, "I think he's dubbed you as 'Bii', Clark." Her eyes softening, the woman closed the distance between Bruce and herself and lovingly looked down at her baby, then back up at the detective. "In addition, I believe he wants you to hold him. Would you be so kind as to humor him?"

Floored by this display of trust, Bruce didn't know what to say, or to do; when he got back home he'd have to read about children more extensively, just in case anything this improbable ever happened to him again. If only there were also books written about how to handle meeting your best friend's (infatuation's) parents from the past, and said best friend (infatuation) as an infant. Thankfully it appeared his body was moving on autopilot, because the next thing he knew he had a bundle of Kal-El in his arms cooing pleasantly up at him, and tugging on the front of his borrowed shirt.

Deciding that he deserved a vacation when this whole thing was over, Bruce sighed lightly, taking on the mentality that he could worry about the craziness of his situation in private, but for now he would be as detached from it as he could and just 'go with the flow', as Wally would say. It wasn't like he had any other choice at this point, anyway.

"What's his name?" Bruce asked in a small voice, requiring being told the answer in case he slipped up and said 'Kal' without being informed prior.

With something in his expression that held an odd mixture of melancholy, relief, and predilection, Jor wrapped his arm around his smiling wife's shoulder and replied with merely, "Kal-El."

Bruce hummed gently in the back of his throat to confirm he heard the name, but he would be lying if he said he was paying that much attention to the other two adults in he room at that point. It was hard to pay mind to anyone other than the frankly adorable infant in his arms, who was making a game out of squishing his face against Bruce's chest as if he was hiding, only to spring back with the most honest and open smile as he called out, "Bii!" before doing it all over again. He guessed this was like hide-and-seek, extremely simplified.

But damn if it wasn't endearing.

It was after the fourth time Kal jerked back and called him by that ridiculous nickname that Bruce finally glimpsed at Jor and Lara, and what he saw in their faces he couldn't describe, but the moment the four of them were sharing, this impossible moment...that was the pivotal point that truly connected him to this time and to this family. Kal in his arms, his parents watching their exchange like they were saying goodbye and trying to smile through it, and the feel of small, weak fingers that would one day have the power to crush worlds grasping him...he was actually living this infeasible enactment of would-be fiction.

This was real.

This had somehow become Bruce's life.

He didn't conceptualize how set in stone his continued presence in the El household would be, how truly affixed he was, as Lara had put it, until the day progressed in a maddening blur and Bruce eventually found himself alone. It was well into the night, Bruce had been set up with a large comforter, pillow, and given the rather expansive sofa as a bed, and as much as he craved sleep, some kind of temporary escape from all of this, he couldn't bring himself to shut his eyes.

Sitting Indian style in the middle of the couch, his eyes vacant as he fell deeply into thought, Bruce numbly listened to the white noise of the resting home as his mind raced.

From the clues he'd picked up in Jor-El's earlier statements, it felt a safe enough presumption to say Krypton was still dying. That had more than likely been why he'd addressed the council before they met—had said he'd tried to get them to listen, which meant he must've confronted them, again, about their planet's condition. Age-wise, Kal would be a year-old in a week, and from the body language and noted behavior Bruce observed as both parents happily discussed birthday plans, it would seem that, at the very least, Krypton would survive until then. That still left the unanswered question of when exactly the core would blow, but he could easily gather that information tomorrow when Jor showed him his lab as eagerly promised.

What Bruce did know was that yes, he had time-traveled. This didn't appear to be an alternate reality since events were unfolding as he knew them to be (granted what he knew of was sans his being here) and nothing was significantly different enough to support an 'alternate' existence of any kind.

Also, apparently, Jor-El and Thomas Wayne have met prior.

Why there was no mention of this in either his father's records, or the Fortress', he could only assume was because it was to remain secret. For Thomas, the admittance would've probably had him put in a straitjacket and locked up; for Jor, Bruce supposed, having it publicly known he'd snuck an earthling into basically an interstellar 'no fly zone' couldn't be good with what he'd experienced of the councilmen's attitude towards outsiders. A telepathic hologram also wasn't as threatening as flesh and blood, but the secret prevailed anyway. He was a different case in that his presence was physical and Jor-El hadn't brought him there personally, so he seemed, oddly enough, both less and more of a threat.

That was another question he needed to answer. What had brought him to Krypton, shucking him from his reality and hurling him through time and space to do it? Bruce had compared those lights to the Aurora Borealis, so perhaps it had been some kind of powerful, rare type of radiation that had had the right ingredients to perform such a dubious task?

Like radiation and foreign light particles that could consciously target a living organism, utilize the Kryptonian technology and crystal structure of the Fortress to amplify its effect, and absorb the holographic information that had been all around the room at the time similar to a computer virus. Then upon doing so, much like an artificial intelligence being programmed with a new primary protocol, it then reacted to everything it had gathered by ripping open a wormhole through time and space to find this place it now knew so much about, locked onto the nearest organic material to transfer, and did so.

That was actually a horrifying concept. What type of radiation or light energy was even capable of that? Was even capable of consciousness, for that matter? And what had made him the 'nearest organic material' to transport? Why transport anything at all and not just travel itself? If consciousness was involved, then perhaps it needed a living person who was also thinking pretty significantly about the location it had gathered so much information about to make it a reality?

Robert Lanza might have been right with his concept of Biocentrism, and without a live, conscious person to observe the reality, then it couldn't be real. But that still left Bruce with why choose him over Clark? If either of them would be thinking about Krypton deeply enough that a plethora of life-hijacking, monster radiation/light was going to kidnap them, it would've been Clark, wouldn't it? Hadn't it also been on his mind the moment those lights shot down?

Now that he thought about it though...Clark had been about to tell him something, his second attempt of the night. So maybe Bruce really had been the one of the two to be stuck on the images and concept of Krypton more. He'd also been intensely wondering, in the back of his mind, about the days leading up to the planet's demise at the time. That could possibly account for the older versions of Jor and Lara, rather than the younger versions from the holograms; he was, according to Biocentrism, the one making this place a reality by observing it, so maybe he was dictating the point in time as well on an unconscious level?

Bruce was used to some terribly heavy theorizing and philosophy before bed, but this was way beyond mere contemplation.

This was living it.

And for all he knew it had just been some trickster god who wanted to get their rocks off by fucking up a mortal's day. When beings like Bat-Mite existed, anything was really possible at that point.

It was as if his very soul itself slipped out from between his lips as he exhaled deeply, putting his face in his hands and screwing his eyes shut. What he needed to do was put all the crap that could wait to be solved on the back burner until further notice, and ask himself the important questions.

Such as how did he get home, for starters?

Was it even possible that he could?

Did he tell the Els the truth about who he was and where he came from?

And if he did, then did he tell them about how Kal, the real Clark, would grow up?

Were the others back home looking for him?

Shaking his head, Bruce stopped the mental line of questioning and rubbed his hands over his face, through his hair, and planted them on the back of his neck with another essence-expelling breath. He was grateful that he didn't delve right back into the interrogation he was giving himself, but the shrill, heart-wrenching sound that distracted him from doing so wasn't what Bruce had in mind as an equivalent exchange for his thoughts. He might not be versed in childcare, but he knew a baby's cry when he heard one.

Getting up, Bruce silently moved about the house, remembering enough of the layout to eventually make his way to little Kal's room. When he peered inside, the lights were still off, but with obvious sounds of affectionate cooing and tiny, muffled sniffles he knew someone was taking care of chasing off the nightmares and making Kal's world safe again. It was only when his eyes adjusted to the dark that he noticed both Lara and Jor were at work calming their child, and Bruce simply watched, silent and unnoticed as he leaned against the door frame with a subtle, sorrowful expression.

The picture before him reminded Bruce that, when he took his own problems out of the equation, the variables left still rendered the annihilation of a world, the fall of an awe-inspiring civilization, and the loss of two parents who thought everything of their baby. Remove himself from the problem and there was still so much at stake, and witnessing the tender way Jor ran his fingers through Kal's hair, mussing it all up except for the resilient, infamous 'S' curl, and the painfully gentle sound of Lara's voice humming a lullaby, her hips swaying ever so slightly to the tempo and bumping playfully into her husband's side...Bruce felt compelled to act.

A striking feeling of purpose consumed him, coiled in his rib cage and spread into his blood, and when Kal's tired, but jubilant murmur of incoherence met Bruce's ears he made sense of the sensation. His new purpose was given definition.

Bruce wanted to save this, save them.

He would never be afforded the chance to save his own parents, but he'd been handed an opportunity to try and save Clark's, to save Krypton, and he was going to take it. Bruce knew the chances of him succeeding were absolute shit, but he would fight and do whatever he could to attempt what might be damn well impossible. Even if all he could save in the end were the two people that had given life to the man Bruce cherished most in the universe. In any universe.

Even if he tore a whole in space and time, even if he caused all of reality to collapse in on itself, even if he erased his very existence in the process, Bruce figured he was there, he was already an unnatural occurrence in events, so why the fuck not? He'd always been painfully aware he was just human, had his limits, but that had never stopped him before.

Bruce had work to do.

The next morning came faster than Bruce would have liked, as barely managed a few hours of sleep, but it was worth it, because he'd spent a majority of the remaining night plotting, taking notes he hid away on his person, and worked out what information he still required. He was also very used to all-nighters, so it was hardly important that he yawned all throughout the breakfast Lara had made, or smiled warmly at Kal, who was making funny faces at him at the table, and forgot that Batman shouldn't look like that.

What was important was that he was alert and focused by the time Jor-El had finally led him through his home to his laboratory, the one place that would hold the answers Bruce needed. Once inside, the scientist gave him a tour of his beloved work area, and at the end of it they began a science-riddled dialogue, all of which Jor's excitement was amusingly obvious. Bruce didn't know why talking about all this with a human made it all the more fun, but if it did then he wouldn't complain. A happy Jor-El was a loquacious Jor-El, and that meant information gathering.

It had taken some thought, but Bruce had figured out the night before how to lead the conversation in his favour, and he only hoped that Jor-El didn't have the same tendency to pull a turn-around on him that Clark did. Leaning against a console that had ports for crystals of all contours and colors, Bruce kept everything about him casual as he asked, "It's been on my mind since yesterday, and I wanted to ask you—that Thomas Wayne person, you mentioned he'd been a telepathic projection, and you hadn't sounded all that surprised that he'd showed up here. Were you the reason he was there?"

Jor's face fell a little, but his friendly smile remained in tact as he nodded, taking a seat in the chair nearest him and letting it spin around once before he made it come to a stop facing the earthling. Bruce figured he needed the moment to consider his response. "I did, actually," he said, sadness etching into his features as he scrubbed a hand through his hair, sighing with blatant regret.

"This is hardly something you want to hear, and Rao knows I've tried getting the council to take action and stop it for a little over a year now, but—" Jor made sure he was looking him straight in the face as he said this, "—Krypton is dying."

The finality of that statement wasn't as much of a sucker punch to the gut as Bruce had expected, instead more of a dull blow; while he'd had a minute hope that that the wasn't case, Bruce just couldn't bring himself to be surprised by hearing it said aloud. Perhaps his lack of shock was too apparent, because when he focused back on Jor-El the man was looking at him in confusion, but consequently he was prepared to lie.

"After everything that's happened thus far, finding out that the planet I'm stuck on is falling apart hardly seems like an unnatural progression of this situation," Bruce stated calmly, startling unanticipated laughter out of the Kryptonian.

"You, my friend," Jor began through his chortles, wiping his eyes, "are something rare indeed."

'Jor-El, you have no idea ', Bruce thought.

When the scientist got himself under control, patting his chest and taking a breath, the sadness from Jor's expression melted away and was taken over by a professional seriousness, although his grin hadn't quite followed suit and still made him look a little too cheerful despite their topic. "While interstellar travel is truly outlawed, I've been creating a means to send my son off the planet and to some place safe, where he may grow up healthy and strong," Jor said, standing up to bring to life a hologram of Krypton in the middle of the lab, other images of planets surrounding it.

"However, as any good parent would, I studied each location I discovered that could support a life for Kal-El, and I sent a series of probes to each suitable planet. I learned a lot from the data gathered from each world, but nothing seemed to be the type of environment my son needed, and I feared I would never find the right place. Then I met Thomas Wayne."

A very handsome curve to Jor-El's lips lit up the man's face, and Bruce couldn't help but wonder what his father had said or done to make the very mention of his name cause an expression like that to come to life. If he were a lesser man he would've felt jealous that their dads could get along better than he and Clark could, and Thomas and Jor had only a transient encounter, while Batman and Superman worked together on a daily basis.

The universe was a backwards place sometimes.

"Like you he just showed up in the middle of the city by accident, a mistake on my part due to an error in my calculations, and rather than become scared and lash out he simply stood his ground—I liked him the moment I saw him," Jor stated with a soft chuckle, glancing at Bruce before staring back at his holograms. "I brought him back here, informed him of my plans, and it was because of what Thomas Wayne told me that day that I've long-since decided to send Kal-El to Earth."

Crossing his arms over his chest to hide the way hearing all this was making him feel, to try and remain neutral-looking, Bruce tilted his head curiously and asked, "What did he tell you?"

The smile on Jor's face only brightened as he recalled the words he apparentl. held very dear to his heart. "He told me about your Gotham City, how mankind had its flaws and sometimes embraced its destructive nature and its darkness, but he also believed humanity to be inherently good," Jor-El said softly, peering over at Bruce. "He said that, if he were the one to find Kal-El, he would raise him as his own."

And here Bruce had thought he couldn't have any more surprises sprung on him, but lo' and behold here he was, being told that his father had basically offered to adopt Kal. That would've meant he would have grown up with Clark (who might've not even been named as such), they would have been brothers...if it weren't for the finger he pressed against his throbbing temple he might've blacked out from what all of this meant to him.

Seemingly taking Bruce's look of consternation and pain to be a negative reaction of some sort, Jor-El appeared suddenly uneasy and concerned as he asked, "Do you not believe Earth to be a suitable home for my son?"

Blinking as he looked over at Jor, Bruce sighed a little and shook his head, saying, "You misunderstand me. I'd be more than happy to share my home world with Kal. I was merely thinking about where that leaves you, and this planet for that matter." A slight furrow in his brow was all that betrayed how grievous the concept made him.

The scientist relaxed, beaming once more, but even though he too appeared to be saddened by the thought there was more...hope, than anything else, in his eyes. "I've done all I can for Krypton, and for my people. All I can do now is for my son's future. I am happy that I've gotten a year with Kal-El, and am still blessed with three more months before the time will come."

Without realising it Jor-El had just answered a very important question for Bruce, and he resisted the urge to smirk at having it revealed unprompted. He had three months. Three months to stop this madness from happening, to do whatever he could make possible to save these people. He was still without an idea as to how to do that, however, and decided to keep digging for answers.

"Is it just the council and yourself that are aware of what's happening to Krypton, or is the public aware as well?" he asked.

Sighing a little to himself, Jor interacted with the hologram of his dying planet and spun it around, facing the point of origin of this tragedy-to-come at himself. "The council forbids the public to know of what's happening, fearing the outcome. They believe our people would panic beyond reason, act without logic, and break their laws in attempts to flee the destruction. They believe that, if we are to die as a culture, we should do it with dignity to the very end," he said with a frown, his eyes distant for a moment before he focused back on Bruce.

"I find nothing 'dignified' about forcing our civilization to die, let alone in ignorance."

"I might be just a measly human from Earth," Bruce interjected before Jor-El could speak once more, smirking slightly, "but I don't find death of any sort all that dignified. It's messy, it hurts, and there's no escaping it no matter how hard you try. Death can never be a distinguished thing. Trust me, I've seen plenty of people die..."

Before he let that thought get to him, Bruce shook it off and studied the projected image of Krypton, taking note of the massive crater of viridian scaring the planet's surface and branching out towards every corner. Narrowing his eyes in a studious manner, Bruce asked, "That pit of green...how can it be so large and no one's noticed?" Lifting a single eyebrow, he added, "Kryptonians seem to be a scientific people, I'd think they'd pick up on what's happening with something like that marring your planet's surface. Aren't there any other cities in the vicinity of it?"

Jor-El's lips curved in appreciation of Bruce's observation, but his body took on a more fatigued look, as if being reminded of an issue long since encountered. "The area you speak of was devastated considerably years ago," he said, staring at the area on the hologram in question.

"A man named Braniac invaded that part of our planet and stole the entire city that once resided there: the once-capital of Krypton, Kandor. The city we're in now, Kryptonopolis, is currently the acting capital. Ever since that incident our culture has turned its back on that part of our world, out of shame, grief, and a thousand other things," Jor explained, combing his fingers through his hair with a soft sigh. "Whatever technology he used did significant damage to Krypton's surface where the city had resided, and while not the reason for the core's decay it certainly didn't help."

Bruce nodded, accepting the new facts with a detective's mind collecting clues, only to realize with a single instance of thought that the biggest clue of all had just been all but thrown into his lap. Brainiac, Kandor...that was key to everything. Never more grateful than that moment for his eidetic memory, Bruce's fingers twitched against his arms as he had to consciously suppress the urge to sketch out the schematics for the devices Brainiac had utilized to shrink the once-capital. Even if the designs had been incomplete on the Fortress' computer, with some hard work he could fill in the blanks.

Thanks to hacking into Clark's computer, and maybe some credit to the Man of Steel himself, Bruce knew enough about Kryptonian technology to get by.

For the first time since being throw into this mess Bruce felt like he had purchase, as if he could see the path ahead of him and knew what to work towards. That purpose from last night found not only definition, it had been given intricate detail, and he finally knew what he was going to do. And while it wasn't saving the planet, it was still saving enough lives that they could one day become the lively culture that they were presently, and most importantly the Els would be saved.

Clark wanted to be able to see his birth parents one more time for Christmas, and Bruce, with a level of conviction that only those he cherished inspired in him, would traverse hell itself to give him such a gift.

Gift.

Oh no.

Eyes widening in surprise at his severe case of forgetfulness, Bruce walked up to Jor and tried not to look panicked, asking, "What happened to my costume? It's extremely important that I have it, there's something very special to me stowed away—"

Before he could finish Jor-El perked up and patted him on the shoulders with a chuckle, effectively silencing the earthling. "Fear not, Clark! Lara was kind enough to clean and mend your costume before breakfast, and actually—" he broke off for a moment and glanced around his lab, spotting a container and approaching it, pulling a neatly folded pile of clothing out of it, "—I stored it away in here this morning."

Bruce's shoulder visibly sagged as the relief he felt overwhelmed him, but he pulled himself together, straightened out, and thanked him as he accepted his costume gently. He'd been terrified that the Bat suit might've been discarded, taking the beautiful pocket watch Clark had given him with it, but with the familiar weight of the stitched Kevlar and reinforced material in his grasp he knew it was fine.

"May I borrow your hand, Clark?"

Jerking his gaze upwards Bruce didn't know how to take the request as it was quite odd, but unless the Kryptonian was planning to chop it off he didn't see any reason not to humor the man. Shrugging slightly, Bruce situated his costume under one arm and held out his right hand, almost amused by how unsurprised he was that Jor dragged him across the laboratory and over to a panel. What did surprise him was when he suddenly had his palm being pressed against the panel, scanned, and input into the lab's security system as having clearance.

Jor-El simply flashed a lovely little smile, and Bruce once again was floored by the trust being given to him. Either he emitted some kind of aura that compelled the people of the El household to give him with their confidence, or they were just good people with decent judgement of character; he went ahead and favored the latter. That is, so long as he could still be judged a decent person even as he begun to scheme sneaking into Jor's lab late at night to start building the crucial tech for his plan to work.

Hopefully his secrecy would be a case of 'the ends justify the means'.

The two left the lab in pleasant silence after that, and joined up with Lara and baby Kal in the living room for an afternoon of having Kal entertain them with his infantile behavior, and relaxed conversation between the adults. It had been a long time since he'd last been so at peace, but Bruce knew better than to get used to it and he kept his mind objective, focused. There was much he had to do, and he couldn't be distracted by Lara's soothing perfumes scenting the air, or Jor's throaty laugh, or the way Kal had taken up the habit of bending over and staring at them upside down with a goofy grin through the space between his stubby little legs, only to fall over, shriek with laughter and do it again.

But for an infinitely minor period of time, he let himself really believe he could belong in a domiciliary dream such as this.

Night after night as the week passed without incident, Bruce stole away in the lab as the rest of the house slept, covertly procuring the materials he needed for each device required by the schematics he'd drawn up. A couple of those frustrating nights were spent merely resisting the urge to tear his hair out, but in the end Bruce had managed to complete the schema and had a functioning design in theory.

Now it was just a matter of building each of the thirteen perimeter points, the main focal point, and a few other parts, so by the time the week had officially ended Bruce had a method to his madness. All the pieces he had collected and began to put together were hidden away in couch cushions during the day, and scattered across Jor-El's lab during the night, using all the tools he needed in that time frame and replacing them precisely where they had been before leaving. He got an exact three hours of sleep per night, and that was plenty.

On the day of Kal's first birthday, though, Bruce reluctantly relinquished the thought of working to give all his attention to the celebration.

To his wonderment a Kryptonian birthday wasn't much different than an Earth one: a cake made from organic ingredients Lara had made herself, balloons filled with an experimental type of helium that Jor had synthesised himself just for the occasion that could keep a balloon afloat for four months (Bruce actively didn't think about the implications of that duration), and decorations strewn about the home with obvious crystal influence. It was undoubtedly the most intriguing thing he'd seen since arriving on Krypton.

Despite how parties of such a personal nature normally made him queasy and want to punch someone in the face, the one that ensued wasn't that bad, and a couple times Bruce heard himself unintentionally chuckle before trying to cover it up; Jor and Lara had a tendency to tease though, to his dismay. Kal wasn't any help either with his ridiculous antics and infectious laughter, and so Bruce spent the entire damn thing enjoying himself, grinning from time to time, and generally acting quite unlike himself.

Thank God the Justice League couldn't see him now. They'd probably accuse him of being a pod person.

As the red sun fell below the horizon, and the party came to a close, the final act of Kal opening his small pile of gifts came about. When the baby's incapable little fingers started to decimate the wrapping paper, Bruce unconsciously placed a hand gently over his pant pocket, where his watch sat securely inside. He also thought it unfortunate that, once again, he had no gift to give Kal himself. He just hoped he could succeed in his plans, and that it would be enough in lieu of two missed presents.

With ribbons, bows, and torn wrapping covering the floor around Kal, the resulting mound of objects was quite impressive. A hand-knitted creature that, ironically, resembled a bat and smelt of lavender, a ring of crystals that floated inches above the child's messy head of hair like a crown, a figurine of a rather puissant-looking man on a horse that Kal seemed especially to enjoy (if how he was bouncing as he held it, and stuck it in his smiling mouth were any indication), and a series of books and what appeared to be small compact disks scattered amongst the rest. The last of that list looked to be a secondary system of education for Earth. No wonder Kal seemed to understand him, he was probably being taught Earth languages in his sleep.

But as lovely as all that was, none of it was what caught Bruce's eye.

There, set aside and deemed unimportant by Kal-El, sat a neatly-folded pile of fabrics of blue, yellow and red, their house symbol separate as a patch placed carefully on top.

If only these people understood just how meaningful a thing that stack of material was, but it wasn't Bruce's place to explain. This past week he'd come to the decision that, while he was willing to meddle as far as trying to shrink and bottle the city of Kryptonopolis, and risk being caught and prosecuted, or maybe even killed, Bruce would keep his mouth shut about everything else; he'd keep up the lie that he was Clark, and the presumption that he was from this time line and not another. It was the only way he could see the next three months being as painless as possible, and would give the El family plausible deniability should he in fact be caught.

With his full attention on Kal, his thoughts running away with him as he contemplated the future and how it might play out, and how exactly the infant boy hadn't choked on that figurine yet, Jor and Lara cleaned up the living room around them and left. Had Bruce been paying them any mind he would've picked up on the whispered discussion happening between them, and would've been much more prepared for what they requested of him when they returned a whole ten minutes later.

"You want me to babysit?" Bruce asked incredulously, glancing at Kal-El before back at the parents, a pronounced sense of dread nestling in his gut.

"You will be fine, my friend! Lara and I discussed it. You are more than capable to protect him should you have to, all week you've been nothing but gentle and kind with him, and we trust you," Jor-El explained, reaching out to pat either of Bruce's arms comfortingly.

Searching for a more reasonable person who would be honest with him, and who would understand how leaving him with a baby was a horrendous idea, he looked at Lara.

Who gazed right back at him and smiled brightly.

Apparently, she'd dipped into Jor-El's Kool aid, and honestly believed that entrusting a man she'd only known a week with her precious son, alone, was an excellent idea. Perhaps he should reconsider his previous notion that the Els were good judges of character, and instead research the possibility of him emitting some sort of 'people of the El family, trust me immediately' aura.

"We could really use your help," Jor said pleadingly, already tearing down Bruce's defences with that tone of voice. "When a Kryptonian child turns their first year, the parents are required to re-register their offspring in the city's archives, updating the logged information taken from their birth. When the process is completed the infant is made an official member of their family's household and given their house seal."

Barely maintaining a lack of curiosity over this unique process, Bruce relented knowing that, if anything, he owed Jor and Lara for their asylum and kindness. "I'll do this for you, if you really trust me enough to do so," he said with a slight twitch of the lips, suddenly finding himself amused with the situation. What would Clark think when he told him he'd been babysat by Batman in the past?

"How long will it take?" he asked, already building a schedule and list of things to do in his mind.

Jor-El considered the inquiry for a moment before replying, "I'd say no more than two hours, maybe three, but we will try to be home as soon as possible."

"Take your time," Bruce said easily, rolling with his new responsibility. "You two haven't really had much time together this past week, and I believe it to be...crucial that you make a moment for yourselves where you can." As he spoke he looked both of them straight in the eye, knowing full-well that they understood what he was implying.

Placing a slender hand against her husband's arm, Lara's dark blue optics were so tender as she looked at Jor-El, and then back at Bruce. "If you're truly comfortable with that, Clark, then I don't feel the need to argue your point," she said softly, sparing Kal a look to ensure he wasn't suffocating on his toy before looking back at the earthling.

"No more than five hours," Jor reassured Bruce with a grin, ruffling his hair affectionately before grasping Lara's hand and walking them out of the living room and towards the garage.

Staring after them wistfully, Bruce turned around with a quiet exhalation escaping him, his gaze taking in the sickeningly adorable image of Kal laying on his back on the floor, holding his figurine over him and making it fight the floating crystals. "Hey," Bruce started, walking right up into the infant's personal space and sitting down next to him, "wouldn't hurt you to be a bit more careful, you Rugrat. You wouldn't want to break either of your gifts now, would you?"

Kal went stock still and looked up at Bruce inquisitively, then at his toys, and back to Bruce. Should he have spoken Kryptonian? The detective didn't get much time to wonder what the child's competency for his language was before Kal held out his figurine for him to take. Apparently Kal's solution to the problem was to include his babysitter in whatever game he was playing.

Bruce could appreciate the compromise, and felt himself grinning humorously before he could stop it. And lately, even if he could've, he wouldn't.

And so they played, or to the best of Bruce's ability anyway, which Kal was very vocal in criticizing with his constant barrage of 'Bii!' in all different flavors of vocal range. They covered just about every inch of the living room with their silly antics, much to Kal's delight, and before Bruce knew it the kid was falling asleep on his feet and it had been five hours and fifteen minutes since Jor-El and Lara had left.

So much for Kryptonian punctuality.

"All right, Kiddo," Bruce said with his hands on his hips, thankful that there wasn't much of a mess to clean up. "You've had a big day, but now it's time for bed."

Squatting down and reaching out for Kal, his plan being to carry the infant off to his room and tuck him in, the little Kryptonian seemed to have other plans as he flinched away, flinging himself at the couch with a whine. Lifting an eyebrow, Bruce listened silently as Kal shook his head and clung to the piece of furniture, his expression absolutely pitiful and begging. "Bii..." was repeated a few times, along with some nonsensical utterances, but somehow the detective got the message all the same.

"Kal, that's where I sleep," Bruce stated matter-of-factly. "You have an entire room to yourself, and you want to take my bed?"

Jerking his head in an obvious 'yes', Bruce sighed heavily and put a hand to his forehead, thinking for a second as to how he should proceed. He could easily pry Kal from the couch cushion he was grasping for dear life, and then put him to bed properly, but that would simply cause crying and all-around unhappiness so he nixed that idea. He could set Kal up on the couch by himself and sleep on the floor, but Bruce was having nightmarish images of the baby rolling off the edge and hurting himself, or onto him if he positioned himself right next to the couch. The last option seemed like the best one, and with the beckoning look in Kal's eyes it was probably what he'd wanted all along.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Bruce kneeled beside Kal and placed a comforting hand against the boy's back, his lips frowning but his expression calming nevertheless. "I get it, you want to sleep with me on the couch, and I'll let you get away with it only because it's your birthday. Don't believe for a moment that this will become a ritual of any kind," he said, already plotting his revenge on the baby by imagining just how satisfying it'll be to torment Clark about this back in his time line. "We'll get cleaned up and in proper clothes first though, all right?"

Nodding enthusiastically, Kal agreed to these terms and released the cushion to instead hold his arms up in a very obvious 'pick me up' gesture, and Bruce let out a breath that could've been mistaken for a laugh as he hefted the child into his grasp. They went into the bathroom nearest Kal's room and Bruce got the boy into his sleeping robes, quickly slipping into the shirt and loose pants he'd borrowed from Jor-El. They washed their faces and brushed their teeth (both an interesting experience with a sleepy but stubborn Kal refusing to sit still), then headed back for the living room.

Picking up the area real fast, he held the child to his chest and laid down carefully on the couch, supporting Kal as he situated himself. The ending result was the little boy's head resting comfortably against Bruce's upper body, an ear pressed over his heart, and in a forethought of Kal's peace of mind he made sure that the little knitted bat-thing was cuddled reassuringly in the baby's hold. Despite all this, Kal still didn't close his eyes and allow himself rest, leaving Bruce pondering what more he could do.

The blanket Bruce had been using all week was mostly covering the boy to keep him warm, the house was quiet, and Kal had gotten his way—what else could he possibly want? It was only when a small, muffled whimper met Bruce's ears that he remembered watching how Lara had calmed her son, her humming still quite fresh in his mind, but Bruce didn't listen to a lot of music that wasn't a collection of classical compositions, slow jazz, or the occasional opera...which left him thinking quite deeply as to what he did know that might persuade Kal to go to sleep.

Having been something of a father to Dick turned out to come in handy, as he'd been forced to endure a lot of the young man's choices in music in the past, but one song in particular Bruce had actually liked; he'd caught himself singing it as he worked a few times two days after he'd caught Dick belting it while doing his homework. All it took was a bit of concentration and Bruce recalled the lyrics, then very softly started to sing "Somewhere Only We Know", slowing the tempo down enough to cause the sound to permeate through his chest and mix with the beat of his pulse in Kal's ear.

It wasn't often that Bruce associated any form of sentimentality to music, he wasn't that type of person (unless he had to help a Wonder Woman-turned-pig thanks to a bored Circe), but for now he allowed his mind to consider the words to the melody more closely than he usually would have. How it felt as if Krypton and this time line was the 'somewhere' only he and Clark would ever remember, and how special that made this entire happenstance, but with the description of such Earthly imagery Bruce also felt like he was sharing a secret with the boy. The secret that they were the only two people on the entire planet of Krypton that would know the sound of Earth's streams, or the feel of ageing bark from one of Earth's trees. How it was going to be all right because Earth would become Kal's new home.

When he sang the lyrics 'Oh simple thing, where have you gone?' and the verse that followed Bruce actually felt tired, a heavy lethargy setting in as the words really hit him. Even with being Batman and a member of the Justice League his life had never felt so damn complicated before arriving here, and the line 'this could be the end of everything' added what was almost an unbearable weight to Bruce's mind. He had to pause between that sentence and the next.

The last string of words passing between his lips, he was relieved his stint as bedtime entertainment was ending, one glance at Kal telling him he'd been successful in getting the child to sleep. Bruce sunk a little deeper into the couch and closed his eyes, his aching fatigue devouring him and relaxing every tired, strained muscle in his body. Had he'd been able to see across the room towards the entrance of the living room he would've been made aware of an audience, Jor-El and Lara having just stepped into the room as he'd started to vocalize. The compassionate expressions on their faces as Bruce fell silent would have probably embarrassed the detective, but he was saved from knowing he'd been heard as they went off to bed without making a sound.

For the first time in the sum of a week everyone in the house was asleep at the same time, and the night progressed in peace.

Keeping to his word Kal didn't make a habit of begging to sleep with Bruce, but as the days passed and he got closer and closer to completing the devices, a month coming and going, Bruce was starting to wish he wouldn't. It had been a ridiculously long time since he had slept as deeply as he had with Kal's small form slumbering atop of him, and as the end of Krypton drew nearer whatever sleep Bruce succeeded in getting was riddled with petrifying scenes of what was to come. It was making him feel paranoid and protective of the infant, of the whole family, but helpless in the idea that he might not finish his work in time.

He might not be able to save anyone.

The design could fail; he was, after all, nothing but a human man with a human mind, and genius or not he could still severely screw this up. It could work but be too late to matter; Bruce had no idea when the damage to the core would finally spread to Kryptonopolis, and what that would do to the landscape. If it spread here right at the end then his plan could work, but if it started spreading by, say, next week, then he could put one of the perimeter points in place and be completely unaware of it being broken or destroyed when he left it to go to the next location. And making some sort of shielding for each point would take too much time.

All Bruce could do was his best, but when he was struck by withering confidence in his mind and his ability...his 'best' didn't feel good enough.

But it would have to be, he was agonizingly aware of this. Bruce could not fail. And it was that part of his mind-set, thankfully the most prominent part, that kept him going, kept him working. He acquiesced the moments shared with Jor and Lara, whether it be in-depth conversation at the dinner table or sharing, by request, in one or both of their sciences (it helped him learn the technology and geography and the city in a covert way). As well as whenever it was just him and Kal because the boy's parents had to leave. They were the only breaks he accepted, and it proved to further motivate his efforts when he got right back to work.

Throughout the second month, once completing the technical work, Bruce waited for the occasions he was left in the house by himself, waiting just long enough to be assured the family was gone before he latched on his utility belt, threw his borrowed backpack over a shoulder, and left through the window in the kitchen seating area where he'd first been bandaged up. Those periods of time were all about the physical work to his plan, such as traveling through the city unnoticed (which would have been impossible without his grapple gun and skill set), and finding the exact locations for each perimeter point with a hand-held navigation system that was as 'borrowed' as his backpack.

Two days before the third month and Bruce finished putting everything in place. There had been times he'd nearly been caught, but he always escaped. Especially at the end when he'd infiltrated the council's chambers (more like crystal labyrinth) because, as luck would have it, the focal point had to be in the centre of the city, which was of course the first damn place, aside from the arc (which oddly enough was where a point now secretly sat), Bruce had visited upon his arrival; he wasn't remotely sorry for the handful of guards he'd taken out, and the barely contained panic he'd brought. It was worth it to now know the bottle of Brainiac's design, and the system's 'hub', as it were, awaited being activated securely rooted to its spot in the ventilation shaft above the councilmen's meeting room.

His favorite to recall was the fourth perimeter device, which was embedded in the outer wall of a social gathering center. The tricky part was reaching the outer wall itself and drilling into the crystal, but with a laser cutter he'd rigged up for the job, and his experience with rock climbing, he'd managed without too much difficulty. What he had enjoyed about the job was the unique view of the outskirts of the city he had, that, the further on the horizon he gazed, melted into the deceptively barren landscape of Krypton's surface. At the same time while staring at the terrain, the booming sounds from inside the center vibrated their way outside, mixing with the laughs and joyous shouts of the people. It was basically a Kryptonian night club. The idea of being in the middle of two very different aspects of Krypton made Bruce smile, inspiring each movement he made to save the city like a flame introduced to gasoline.

But the downside to a provoked fire was a loss of control.

Bruce could only be as prepared for further action as he was aware of the progression of Krypton's destruction. It was thanks to Jor-El that he could observe the holographic data pertaining to the core's degradation, but even with such advanced technology it couldn't calculate readings of anything more than 87.996% accuracy, so it was really an educated guess as to when all hell would break loose. And for that matter Bruce was finding it hard to be patient. He could act right now, but the chances of him being interrupted or prevented from going through with his plans was high without the ultimate distraction of a dying planet; having to wait for said distraction, however, was a gamble in and of itself.

One wrong move and everything could fall apart.

That was why it was such a pivotal event when, on the cusp of one evening, Jor-El shared a significant look with his wife before taking Bruce by the wrist and leading him towards his lab. "I have something to show you," was all he related in his native tongue before tugging the earthling along in silence, behavior that made the detective wary but unquestioning.

Once inside the space Bruce was well-acquainted with by now, Jor-El was one for surprises by dragging him to a secured area that he'd never been before (never thought to look, really), but as the stacks of wires, metallic-crystalline plates and other tech came into view, he knew what he was about to be shown. And when the scientist presented to him a small, but capable-looking ship, his presumptions were validated.

"This is what will be delivering Kal-El from the destruction of this planet...this will take him to Earth," Jor said in a small voice, his hand brushing his craftsmanship sorrowfully. Unadulterated regret filled the expression he turned to Bruce, and it took a minute for him to speak, but when he did it literally hurt Bruce's heart to hear the excessive, dreadful emotions in the man's tone. "This was all I could make without the council's notice, and only something of this size will escape their detection. It's ridiculous that, even with our world dying and the predicted number of casualties horrifying, they won't redact their laws, but this is the circumstance we all must bear. Including you."

Before Bruce could comment on that, vaguely aware what Jor was getting at, the Kryptonian apologetically stated, "I cannot keep the promise I intended to and send you home. I am...truly sorry, Clark. Please don't think ill of me. I did search for methods to send you back, but with the restriction of our interstellar bans, and the lack of materials I had available to me, I couldn't—"

"It's all right, Jor-El," Bruce interrupted facilely, a slight, lopsided smirk making its way onto his face. "I hardly think ill of you; I never have and never will. I truly understand that you had no choice but to play the hand you were dealt, and not for a lack of trying to get a better set of cards either." The diffident smile that sluggishly curved Jor-El's lips pleased Bruce to see, meaning the scientist had gotten the reference and understood he meant every word.

In an innocent movement, Bruce tucked his hands into his pocket and approached the ship to examine it more closely, slipping something into the palm of his hand as it did so. "All that matters," he began, pulling his hand free of his pocket and gently feeling the underbelly of the ship, "is that Kal is given the opportunity to live to see his second birthday, and all the days after."

As he retracted his hand in the most casual of withdraws, resting it plainly at his side, Bruce left a barely visible mechanism stuck to the keel of the craft. He'd wondered how he was going to get access to the vessel, and Jor had handed him the opportunity without a single thought. It was the first thing to happen effortlessly in regards to his plan.

"I'd gladly sacrifice what life I have left to ensure he lives a full one," Bruce finished with such finality, such genuineness, that it put a striking display of gratitude on Jor-El's face that forced him to look away in humility.

Since he was no longer watching the other man, Bruce was without warning when a jarring warmth encircled him, and the short, soft hairs of Jor-El's beard tickled his cheek. His slate-blue eyes widened in obvious surprise, and his arms hovered awkwardly in the air, taking longer than they should have to rest against the smooth curve of Jor's lower back. He had hardly expected to be embraced because of what he said, but then again this was Clark's father he was talking about. Just like his son this man was an aggravatingly unpredictable person.

"You cannot imagine how much it means to me to hear you say that," Jor said gently, the tremble in his voice betraying the fact that he was barely preventing himself from crying. The Kryptonian pulled back enough to look Bruce in the face, but didn't bother to distance himself, a firm grip on either of Bruce's arms. "Now, more than ever, I am confident and very pleased with my choice to send Kal-El to your beloved Earth. Even if humanity is flawed and has its problems, you and Thomas have more than shown me that there is so much compassion on your planet, in your people, that all the wrongs they can commit cannot compare."

An expression of stark kindness and fondness came over Jor-El's features and it was hard for Bruce to retain eye-contact, but he didn't want to look away when this felt like the last conversation they'd ever have.

Hell, maybe it was.

"He was right," Jor whispered, his eyes distant for a fleeting moment before focusing back on the man before him. "No matter the troubles humanity face, they are inherently good at their core. I'm proud to share my pride and joy with your world."

If Bruce had been unaware that he'd be hugged, the degree of which he was unsuspecting of what happened next was staggering. Jor-El slid his hands up the detective's arms, over his nape and upwards to his jaw, stopping when he had Bruce's face in his grasp, and as he tilted the earthling's head down a little he leaned forward, planting a chaste, smiling kiss against his forehead. "Thank you," he murmured, resting his own forehead against Bruce's and closing his eyes when he pulled away. "I am honored to have met you, Clark."

He felt like a child again. What had happened right then, Bruce could remember so painfully clearly his father doing much the same thing, a reward for doing right and helping a bird with a broken wing he'd found in the garden; he'd been seven at the time, and all the money and material goods in the world could've never compared to such a prize. Nothing compared to this paternal gesture either. Somehow, although it was incredibly hard, Bruce kept himself from tightening his grip on Jor-El's clothes and clinging to him. That was hardly appropriate, even if his infantile desire was screaming at him.

The only thing that didn't sit right with him was the use of his alias. Though he readily understood its continued necessity, Bruce couldn't help but be somewhat bothered by Jor-El still not knowing his real name, and he would either die, or be stuck asleep in his bottled city naive to the fact that he was the son of the human he'd grown so attached to years ago. With his lips parted, although he wasn't sure what he was going to say, Bruce was stopped when the lab burst to life with alerts and blinking red lights, signalling something was horrendously wrong.

The two men sprang apart and ran into the main room of the laboratory, the giant hologram of Krypton radiating a terrible degree of a sick shade of green, error messages flashing on every screen around them. Neither of them had the chance to react to this sudden change before the ground shook, a growl filling the room that could've been easily mistaken for an angered beast.

This was it. It was finally happening.

Krypton was going to die.

It took no more than a glance between Jor-El and Bruce for them both to come to the same conclusion, but the plans that either man would start to act on were very much different, and that would soon become clear as they hurried to the living room where Lara, with Kal in her arms, awaited the confirmation of her fears. Jor started to shout out instructions to his wife, raising his voice to be heard over the planet's howls of agony and the whining foundation, but when he turned to Bruce with some kind of direction sitting on the tip of his tongue he was startled mute, staring at the raised, flat hand Bruce had up in a silencing gesture.

Be it luck or divine intervention, the sounds Krypton was making all around them reduced to a dull whimper, though the earthquakes continued, and allowed for Bruce to be heard easily as he spoke. "I'm afraid I made plans of my own, Jor-El," he said, pulling the corner of his lips upwards. "You merely worry about getting Kal in that ship, and keeping the two of you safe until I'm finished." It was obvious Jor wanted to ask what he was doing, but Bruce merely talked right over his unspoken questions.

"After just a week of bringing me into your home you told me you trusted me, and I'm asking you to trust me now more than ever." Bruce's voice took on a deep, imperative note, the furrow in his brow a plea. "Situate Kal-El in his ship and activate the systems, but don't start the launch sequence. I know enough about Kryptonian technology, especially of your design, to figure out how to do it myself. I'll be the one to send Kal away," he said, reaching out for the nearest wall as a particularly violent tremor tottered the room.

Waiting just long enough to regain his balance, Jor-El morphed into an oddly calm version of himself, his arms around his wife and son protectively but his eyes on Bruce. Lara was staring at him as well. "I don't understand," Jor said. "What is it you're going to do?"

Out of all the questions the scientist could've asked, should have asked, of course Jor-El inquired about what was most vital. Bruce closed the distance between himself and the family, hesitating slightly before placing his hands on both Lara's and Jor's shoulders, and replied, "I can't save your planet, but I can save you—I can save Kryptonopolis. You may not approve of my methods, you may even hate me for them, but I've spent these last three months creating the means to which I can accomplish this while you slept. If it means saving everything I've come to cherish in this place, I'll gladly endure your loathing of me.

I know this is a lot to ask, specifically when I'm not giving you the details, but I'm begging you...trust me." Bruce's expression turned desperate, his grasp tightening enough to show how serious he was, and whatever else he could've done to convince them was nothing compared to the wetness he didn't register on his cheeks until he found it hard to see.

Blinking, stumbling back a step when the whole house shook and the air shrieked, Bruce touched his face in confusion before harshly wiping his eyes, a sudden feeling of shame overtaking him as he came undone in a moment he needed to be strong. "Please," he heard his broken voice implore before he could stop himself, turning his lachrymose look to Jor-El and Lara and praying he didn't appear as wrecked as he felt. "Trust me."

The one to answer his request was neither of the adults considering him in confliction, but instead it was Kal, his fright apparent in his face, but his eyes purely caring as he reached his arms out for Bruce and called softly, "Bii..."

Jor-El and Lara turned their gazes down to their son, watching him for a second before they looked at each other, their faces clearing and replaced with a striking surety, and looked back at Bruce. Calming smiles broke out on their faces, with just a hint of sadness in their eyes, and they nodded in unison. As obvious as their answer should've been right then, Bruce was so overwhelmed by everything that it didn't register what that meant.

Noticing Bruce's lack of understanding Jor-El laughed, a resonating sound that overpowered all the chaos happening around them. "If Kal-El trusts you right now, Clark, then we trust you as well," he said, his eyes lighting up with a hope he hadn't seen before. "Tell us what to do."

Mentally slapping himself to get in the zone, Bruce took a placating breath and set his features into hard, work-ready lines. Emotions could wait, it was time for action and efficiency; the lives of many were at stake. "Take Kal and get him prepared in his ship, just like I said before, and when you've got him squared away the two of you need to take shelter in your bedroom. What happens after that is all up to me, but I refuse to fail and have your trust be for nothing," he said in a strained but capable voice, easily slipping into the cool, no-nonsense persona of Batman. Which reminded him—

"Go now," Bruce ordered, Jor-El and Lara quite easily accepting his shift into the director of this mayhem-repletive performance and taking off for the lab.

Left alone, Bruce pulled his bat suit from under the cushion on the couch he'd been hiding it and stripped down, not one for bashfulness, to hastily adorn his costume for the first time in three months. Right as he was about to throw the cowl over his face Jor and Lara returned, who tried not to be too thrown off by his change in clothes. Bruce simply paused in putting on his mask, and carried right on as if nothing was different. "Is Kal secured?" he asked.

"Yes," Lara answered, unconsciously seeking out support from her husband as she held onto his forearm while another tremor jostled the room, the structure creaking in dislike and the ceiling chipping from the stress.

Leading his wife so that they were closer to the Batman, Jor-El elaborated, "It is as you requested: the ship's systems are activated and ready for the launch commands to be input while it sits on standby."

"Good," was all Bruce said in response before adjusting his cowl over his face, pointedly ignoring the tiny gasp his completed appearance forced out of Lara. Jerking his head in the direction of their bedroom he commanded evenly, "Now go to your room. Leave the rest to me." Under different circumstance he might've found hilarity in telling Clark's birth parents to go to their room, but now was not the time, not when cracks were starting to slither their way into the crystal all around him, and the planet's throes of anguish filled the air with its lamentations.

Having believed that to be sufficient enough instruction he turned away, taking a few steps towards the kitchen entrance before Jor-El called out for him to wait. Spinning around, Bruce was about to say they didn't have time for this when Jor asked, "What is your real name?"

Unprepared for such a query, having thought he'd been believed when he gave them the name Clark months ago, the Batman's mouth hung agape and got a chuckle out of the scientist.

"I've researched enough about Earth to know most of their cultures have family names, so it was odd that you didn't, and I felt you weren't being honest when you introduced yourself before. So tell me, before you just disappear—" Jor's eyes softened here, the information seemingly important to him, "—what is your real name?"

He wanted to simply leave, to deny Jor the honest answer, but it was stupidly hard to lie to the man when he looked at him like that, and all the problems the truth would've wrought before were a moot point right then; it wasn't like they'd see each other again after he left, at least...not for awhile, if somehow everything worked. Plus, it might prove to give Jor-El confidence in what he was doing if he knew who he really was. Gritting his teeth, Bruce answered with wild abandon, disregarding the loud noise of his heart pounding in his ears, and all his sound logic from before.

"My name is Bruce," he said deeply, watching a sense of delight enter Jor's eyes, swallowing his anxiety as he added, "Bruce Wayne. Thomas and Martha Wayne were my parents."

All Batman witnessed before he left without another word were Jor-El's eyebrows shooting into his hairline, and the partial utterance of nonsensical Kryptonian; he neither had the time or the peace of mind to see the rest of the scientist's reaction. Throwing the windows open in the kitchen he didn't even blink as he leapt outside, spreading his cape wide to use as a glider until he got to the point where he needed to grapple, shooting it into the side of a moaning cliff face. From that moment on it was all about the adrenaline pulsating through his veins, all about the planet destroying itself all around him, and all about making it to the god damn council's chambers before it was too late.

Bruce didn't have time to deal with the people he encountered, who were moving about in hysteria for both the pandemonium occurring all around them and his frankly alarming appearance, so instead of being concerned with keeping to the shadows (what little that were left at this rate) he ran from rooftop to whatever ledge he came across, knocking whomever got in his way out of his path; they were probably better off unconscious anyhow. Moving faster the more damage he saw done, the Batman had to tussle his way through the last couple miles as large crevices dug deeply into the planet, spewing toxic chunks of green rock onto the surface. Bruce was just grateful that the people had cleared away from this area and had started moving to the outer rim of the city, which was still plenty within his set perimeter.

Swinging onto the dome that made up the roof of the council's dwelling, he didn't spare a thought as he broke through the glass and landed onto one of the cosmetic, crystalline high beams, appreciating the expediency of this route versus the stealthy infiltration he'd had to do before. It took no more than a minute to locate the bottle and hub in the vent right above the council's meeting place, using his position on the beam to aim his Batclaw at the vent covering, latch onto it, tear it off, and then grapple up to the tight, hidden space. Once he had what he needed he jumped back down to the beam and crouched, getting to work.

Pulling out the device he'd used as a navigation system before from his belt, Batman changed the settings so that it displayed the inside of Jor-El and Lara's bedroom, adjusting the focus of the tiny, unseen camera he'd put atop the door frame to get a clear picture. To his relief the two Kryptonians had done as he asked and were currently holding onto each other in their shared room, sitting on the edge of the bed and keeping their heads down as the world trembled in pain. Attaching the hub to the outside of the unique bottle, the two objects synced together and veins of technology spread from the hub to cover the surface of the container.

This, in turn, activated the first protocol of the system, and Bruce could hear the atmosphere above the city become statically charged, a jolt of pure energy shooting into the sky through the broken glass from the combined hub and bottle. The energy spread until it covered the entirety of Kryptonopolis, connecting each perimeter point in an impressively large dome, and he could see Jor-El and Lara noticing the change from the looks they were shooting their bedroom windows. Good, the shielding had worked, but there was still more to do before they were in the clear.

Removing a very sharp, and very rare crystal from one of his pouches (an item he'd stolen from the very judge who almost had him killed), Batman locked his jaw and, with as much force as possible, stabbed it into the beam. A pure noise, like a droplet of water, echoed through the room, signalling he'd used it right, and, without warning, the crystal began to glow a soft blue and give off its own energy signature; it had been successfully integrated into the council chamber's power supply, which travelled through the entire structure of the building.

Utilizing that energy, Bruce installed a small chip into the hub device so that it would recognise the new power supply, and then appropriated it without remorse. Using the hub Bruce shot a shock of energy into the atmosphere, charging it enough to spark, and then reached into the compartment in his belt he kept Clark's gifted watch. Forcibly stopping himself from pausing to stare at it, he spared nothing more than a brush of his thumb against the cap's design before turning it over, exposing an identical device to the one he'd put on Kal's little ship; only the specific type of energy that powered the council's chambers could activate them. Flashing up at him was a small, red light, a positive thing in that it had worked, and it meant both his and Kal's designated spaces would be unaffected by the shrinking, making them immaterial to the process. It also brought the ship right to him in a single, instant transport once the city was secure.

Tucking his watch back into his belt, the Batman pressed a button on the hub and stood, taking a few cautionary steps back. A pulse rang out from the piece of technology, a sound Bruce could feel rattle his bones, and then a series of rings began to pulsate through the air, spreading outside and over the city like a sonic boom. Checking his camera's display, he watched as Jor-El and Lara both grew lethargic and fell back against their bed, encircled in each other's arms as they went to sleep, hoping the rest of the city had been lucky enough to find a decent surface to pass out on.

A secondary type of pulse began shortly after, tearing through the entire area much more harshly than the previous one, and in absolute wonderment the Batman witnessed a city that had been so grand, so large, shrink and be reduced to nothing more than a sealed commodity while he was completely untouched.

His focus razor sharp now that the failing planet was quite apparent all around him, the ground shaking unforgivably and compelling him to constantly be aware of his balance, Bruce spotted Kal's transported ship just a couple yards away and snatched up the bottle, activating the final protocol on the hub as he dashed over to the vessel. Relocating Kal and himself to a more stable patch of Krypton with minor difficulty, Bruce checked to make sure the hub was doing its job and building a habitable atmosphere within the bottle, was relieved to see it was, and then turned his full attention onto the ship.

When he opened the hatch to a wailing, scared little Kal, the Batman removed his cowl and brushed his hair back so the child could get a good look at his face, a gesture that calmed the boy down considerably. "Bii!" Kal said through his sniffles, struggling to raise his arms at Bruce with the material he'd gotten for his birthday hugging him tightly, the reds and blues so painfully important for the future. Bruce stopped him from moving, however, with a gently placed hand over the infant's stomach.

"There's no need to be afraid, Kal," Bruce told him honestly, lifting the bottle into view. "Your mom and dad are sleeping away inside this thing for now, and one day when you're all grown up you'll see them again." A slight furrow creased his brow, but he forced himself to keep from frowning, smirking a little instead. "Your parents and your home will be waiting for you until then, right here in this ship."

Reaching into the craft Bruce opened up a hard-to-spot side storage panel, slipping the bottled city carefully inside before locking it away, his attention back on the boy shortly after. Biting his lip as he held them both tight through a particularly strong tremor, he looked around at the planet's violent demise, thankful that, if anything, the ground they stood on was remaining in tact for now. Breathing deeply he put his gaze back on Kal, patting the boy's tummy to help calm him, and in doing so he noticed the knitted bat-like doll nestled under the blanket with Kal; he didn't even bother to try and stop the small, but handsome smile that lit his face.

"Bii..." Kal whimpered with a tiny hiccup, staring up at the Batman in some kind of entreaty.

"It's time to go, Kal," Bruce said in response, pulling his hand away to the baby's obvious dislike. "I hope for nothing but the best of you, and—" he swallowed, hesitating for a single moment, "—and that you don't remember me, or any of this. Just keep in mind that all is not lost, and that, even if I'm not there to see it, you'll get your damn Christmas wish."

Choking on a soft laugh, Bruce shook his head to try and clear it, failing horribly, and then reached for the boy. Ruffling Kal's beautiful crown of hair, wishing he weren't wearing his gloves, he leaned forward and, feeling only a little abashed, placed a chaste kiss against the child's forehead in much the same way Jor-El had done to him. When he pulled back he said, "You'll meet me in your future, and I'll act like an ass—I'll even flip you over my shoulder and into a nightclub table. But despite how we meet, despite how different we are, you somehow wiggle your way right into the very core of my heart and become my best friend."

Sucking in a small breath, attempting to keep himself on point, Bruce just couldn't stop feeling like this could really be the end of everything. If that was the case, then so be it, but not before he got Kal to safety. Not before he told Clark, in one form or another, how he feels.

Brushing back Kal's hair from his face, the infant staring up at him with a multitude of emotions in his incredibly blue eyes, Bruce made his voice work and said, "Over time you'll become much more to me than just my best friend, you'll become...you become my world, the air that I breathe, the only force in this universe that makes my heart ache with—with want, and so much more. You won't ever notice, and that's all right, because all I ever could ask for is for you to be happy. You'll ask me one day what I would wish for for Christmas, and that's the answer. I just...I just want you to be okay, to always be smiling that dorky smile of yours, and to be surrounded by the people you love."

He quickly added with a hint of humor in his tone, "Oh, and when you see Jor again, make sure to apologize to him for me, and that the imbeciles in the council don't punish him for my actions."

Pulling his hands away, ignoring the pang in his chest he felt when Kal protested pitifully, Bruce slipped his cowl back over his face and activated the launch sequence. As the ship rumbled to life, kicking the dirt up into a cloud from underneath it, the Batman stood up and situated the craft upright so it could lift off properly, his hand hovering over the mechanism on the hull that would lock the hatch into place and fill the compartment with a sedative, putting Kal to sleep. But before he pressed it he locked eyes with the scared, lonely child inside, offering one of the most open smiles he'd ever worn while dressed as Batman.

"I love you, Kal-El. Clark Kent. No matter what it is you're called I love you, and I think I always have," he confessed softly, figuring he wasn't even being heard over all the noise of the planet and the ship combined. That was fine though, because at least he said it.

He could die knowing that.

Bruce pressed the button to close the hatch, and watched as Kal struggled not to breath in the light mist, to stay awake, but eventually gave into the concoction and fell limp, his little stuffed toy held loosely in his arms. And with that acting as its cue, the ship's propulsion systems kicked into high gear and shot a plume of fire and smoke downwards as it lifted off, Bruce watching the entire thing with a blank expression. Even when the ship was no longer visible, making it out of the atmosphere and into space, he continued to gaze wistfully upwards at the burning sky, his sight ripped from the lingering phantom image when a fissure split open under his feet and prompted him to act.

This was it, this was when it all came to an end. Though he'd tried to figure out how he could possibly get back to where he belonged while he worked on everything else, there hadn't been any solutions he could come up with. No residual trace of the radiation or light or whatever it was that put him in this mess, no wormhole he could detect and manipulate, and he didn't have enough definitive knowledge of time travel or the technology needed to manage it otherwise. It had been the middle of the second month that he'd come to the conclusion that there was no way he could escape.

If Jor-El and Lara were to survive they had to be bottled with the city, and if the bottled city were to survive it needed to be sent off with Kal in his ship; the only person who could ensure that would happen was himself. It was a condemning circumstance, but he'd meant what he said to Jor-El: he would gladly give his life if it meant Kal could live a full one of his own. He'd just thrown in the bonus of Jor and Lara being able to see what that life would become, damn the consequences.

Still, that didn't mean he would go down without a fight.

Not that there was really anything he could fight, but he would run, and run, and keep running until there was no hope, because Batman never gave up, and even if he's the only one who knows it that's what he wants his legacy to be first and foremost.

So Bruce ran.

And jumped, and glided, and whatever else it took to keep himself alive to the very end.

Screeches from a planet's mantel ripping itself to shreds made it impossible to hear his racing heartbeat, and the ground kept falling away from him as he pushed forward, but he bit down on his terror and kept moving, kept holding onto a sense of hope he knew was useless. Why bring him here? What had those lights really been? Had Clark missed him at all these past three months? Without meaning to a whole array of questions filled Bruce's mind, the lack of answers for a lot in his life suddenly attacking him, making the impact of his impending doom absolutely uncognizable.

The involuntary sounds escaping him were wretched and distressed, and even though he kept pushing himself onward, didn't give up, that didn't make the fact that he was about to die alone, in the wrong time line, on a planet that should already be dead, any less horrifying. He was a human without any powers, who still fought against the worst of mankind and the universe despite this, so he had contemplated, often, the concept of his death; all the scenarios and plausible outcomes hadn't scared him in the slightest. But he could've never predicted anything like this, no matter how hard he thought about it, no matter how crazy his life could be at times. And maybe it was the lack of preparation that made this whole thing so overwhelming, taking him right back to just how many unanswered questions he'd be leaving behind. No one he ever knew or cared about would know what happened to him, and they'll never even have the chance for closure with no body to bury, no funeral to say their goodbyes.

Unbidden to his mind Bruce recalled what he'd told Clark three months ago, about how he would never tell him the little things about himself because of the agonizing weight his death would leave behind. Ironically, all he wanted to do now was see Clark's stupidly handsome face, and have the opportunity to answer all of the man's questions he had denied before. Funny how being stuck on a dying planet in the past could alter one's previous perception.

The air tearing out of his lungs burned with the wayward, perverse nature of the rotten atmosphere, causing him great pain to breathe, but Batman still carried on no matter how useless his efforts. The ground collapsed in places all over, unpredictable and unimaginable in their destruction, and the green, molten core bled onto the surface, erupting into the skies and tainting the firmament. Despite it all, it was as if the planet itself was holding on until it had nothing more, desperately clinging to the last bit of life it had within it. Batman couldn't suppress the sorrow that gripped his being at that thought, wondering which of them would be the first to give up.

Wondering if he'd perish feeling intense sympathy for a moribund Krypton.

That was until he hit the ground hard after a particularly troublesome glide, the landing igniting suffering in his knees and muscles, and it made him unable to react quick enough when a crack split open unimaginably fast into the size of a canyon, aiming mercilessly for him. With his heart in his throat, and his mind distressingly blank, Bruce felt the planet disappear beneath his feet and sent him plummeting towards a river of despicable, bubbling viridian. He tried to reach for his grapple gun but he knew, with a single glance, that there was nowhere he could aim it, and with his end upon him, so painfully clear, Bruce let everything go. His fear, all the unanswered questions, everything, because as time seemed to slow down, letting him savor his final moments, he could see the shining crystal in broken bits of the planet showering the surface. He could see the foreign stars in the sparse, clear patches of sky, and oddly enough the wretched sounds booming in the air synced up with his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

There were worse ways to go, and it was going to happen sooner or later. With his cape rustling in the passing air from behind him, enveloping him in his descent, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, was finally ready to die.

Too bad these things never happened the way he imagined.

With his back to the green magma he was nearing, Bruce couldn't see exactly what was happening, but he could feel a recognizable, all-consuming heat, he could see the entrancing lights reflecting on the ravine walls, and he could hear a bell-like sound he would never forget. In the blink of an eye he was swallowed by the very thing that had brought him here, and as Krypton vanished and the stunning whiteness from before took over he heard something in the distance, the barest of calls. It was the sound of someone saying his name. A sound that grew to be jarringly loud as a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling harshly on Bruce's form to rip him from the nothingness of the world of the mysterious lights. The pressure of a solid form against his back, someone's hold becoming firmer, and a composite sensation of being doused in flame and shrouded in ice shook the Batman to his core, but nothing shocked him more than the world, his world, coming into view.

It wasn't a slow progression.

Bruce was surrounded by nothing and wrapped in a blanket of indescribable heat, and then he was suddenly encircled by everything and felt too much to bear. Like a blurry photo the size of an IMAX theatre jumping into focus, and the collection of noise that piled all onto itself to create a cacophony of life, familiar life, all at once. Voices sounded all around him, a particularly deep one right behind his ear, and the only thing keeping him standing were the arms holding him up. The tear in space and time made of light and who-knew-what-else withering away was the only thing he could see clearly after the initial shock passed.

Swaying in the grip of whomever was holding him, the strength he had leftover evaporated and left the Batman trembling, his legs giving out. The person gripping him gently brought them to the ground and kneeled, hugging Bruce against them and beckoning him to speak by saying his name. It took a couple minutes, when the rest of the people in the room fell silent and circled around him worryingly, but he was able to shake the aftershock of what had just happened enough to clearly take in the image before him.

Shayera's wings were twitching in obvious anxiety, her expression hard but concerned; Diana was openly attentive and knelt right beside him, hesitating to put a hand on his arm. J'onn was studiously noting all of his wounds opposite of Diana's position, cupping Bruce's left wrist and checking his pulse with the tiniest of tremors translating through the Martian's touch; Wally was restlessly moving about the room, alternating from a normal speed to one Bruce couldn't see, pausing only to fidget and look at him before moving again. And John was standing protectively in the spot where the lights had vanished, staring at the Batman with a furrowed brow and his teeth worrying his bottom lip.

Clark was all who remained. But it was obvious, really, when Bruce managed to get his mind back in working order. It was a simple deduction: with everyone else in the room visible, that only left the person who was knelt down and holding him against their chest. Clark was the one supporting him, a fact he confirmed when he built up enough energy to look up. There was something bothering him gut-deep about this, and it had nothing to do with the being held part, or even that it was Clark...well no, it being Clark did bother him but if he could just remember why—

Oh.

"G...Go...away," Bruce managed to mutter, a cough racking his chest that he barely made to cover with his freehand. "You...t-there was...Kryptonite. Lots of—" J'onn cut him off when he accidentally jostled his bruised and sore left leg enough to hurt.

The confusion that had arisen in Clark's expression cleared away to an exasperated, but endeared look. "I was a little dizzy at first, and now I know why, sorta, but I'm fine, Bruce. Only you could be worried about someone else after being kidnapped by...whatever it was," Clark said with a small smile, sighing a bit to himself. "I'm just glad we were able to find some of that strange radiation-light stuff, and that John was able to bring it here and manipulate it using my systems. J'onn used his telepathy to communicate enough with it, since apparently it had its own consciousness, and then it was a matter of linking the stuff to you and dragging you back where you belong," he explained, his smile growing bright and lighting up his whole face.

Bruce filed that information away to think about later, but it sounded as good enough an explanation as any as to how they could've gotten him back. He was more relieved that they had actively been involved in the process, and it hadn't simply been a freak event in much the same way his first trip had been. They hadn't given up on him, that was all he'd needed to hear for now.

"Sorry we took so long," Clark said with an apologetic frown, and Bruce parted his lips to respond but Clark added before he could, "Three hours in that place must've been a nightmare. I didn't see anything in there, like a blank universe, and I just got a glimpse. I can't imagine it was pleasant, that overwhelming sense of nothing."

Wait, what?

"Three h...hours?" Bruce choked out, the jolt of adrenaline causing him to jerk upright. "H-how is that—" He shook his head roughly, his skull buzzing with stress and a lack of proper oxygen, but he ignored it and the pain everywhere else to stand, Wally dashing over to help support him.

"Whoa there, Bats," the young man said, throwing Bruce's arm over his shoulder and holding it firmly, his other hand on the Batman's waist. "You look like you've been through hell, I don't think—"

"Three months," Bruce interjected, effectively causing the room to fall silent. They all spared each other a glance before looking back at Bruce, their questions obvious in their eyes. Reaching a shaking hand up to his cowl to push it off, combing his hair back as a shuddering breath passed between his lips, Bruce cleared his throat and clarified, "I was on...on another planet for three months, and you're telling me it's only been three hours here?"

Everyone was standing up now, staring at Bruce like he'd grown a second head, cautiously approaching both him and Wally. It wasn't that they didn't believe him, Bruce could see that in their faces, it was that they didn't want to believe, because that meant that every second they'd wasted had been days for him. He didn't hold them at fault for that, time travel was obviously tricky business, but that didn't stop them from blaming themselves. Clark seemingly most of all, if the way his expression became utterly broken was any indication.

Unwilling to be the subject of everyone's guilt, especially since nothing was anyone's fault, Bruce's face became scolding as he said, "Look, whatever you're all thinking, stop it. I don't blame you for anything, none of you caused this any more than I did...I just—" he had to pause and cover his mouth as another series of coughs racked his chest for a moment, Wally patting his back gently in concern, but he carried right on when it finished, "—I was just surprised, that's all. Nothing bad happened to me, I actually stayed with some nice people, and you guys got me back when it really counted. That's all there is to it."

A profound sigh left his mouth, causing his shoulders to sag and his head to hang a little, prompting John to take Bruce's other side and help Wally support him. Glaring at the Green Lantern, all he got back was an unrepentant grin, so he tried glaring at the rest of them with as much success as he had with John. Growling a little bit to himself in the back of his throat, looking away, he stated, "If any of you have self-deprecating brooding sessions, I'll find some of that crap that shanghaied me and have it kidnap you next, that's all I'm saying. Brooding is my thing and I don't take kindly to copywrite infringement." The threat in his voice was much too light to take seriously, but that was the point, his true intention being the laughter he startled out of his team.

"Whatever you say, Bruce," Diana replied, placing a companionable hand against Shayera's shoulder as the two shared a knowing smile.

God, Bruce wanted to sleep for a few months to make up for the past three, and he was really starting to miss Alfred and his home—

The lethargy that had started to sink in was roughly shucked when that thought triggered an image of Jor and Lara to flash through his mind, and energy began to thrum under his skin at the remembrance that he had impacted the present as much as he had the past, filling him with the desire to see the results. Slipping his arms off Wally and John's shoulders, he concentrated on keeping himself from swaying and pinned Clark with his gaze, a look of surprise coming over the Kryptonian's face.

"The ship that you first flew to Earth in, is it stored somewhere here in the Fortress?" Bruce asked, every inch of him serious and ancy.

Blinking a few times, struck dumb momentarily by the out-of-nowhere inquiry, Clark nonetheless nodded slowly, saying, "Yes, it's here. But why do you—"

"I need to see it," Bruce interrupted shamelessly, ignoring the exchange of looks between the other Justice League members.

Clark made it clear as day in his expression that he wanted to ask more questions, understand where Bruce was going with this, but perhaps out of a sense of wanting to make things easy on his friend, or just because he was too curious to care for the time being, Clark nodded again instead. "I'll take you there," he said quietly, approaching Bruce and taking up the same position Wally had earlier, disregarding Bruce's objections.

The entire team wandered out of the monitor room and walked down several halls in the Fortress, coming to a large door after about ten minutes of walking. Diana cleared the path and the group walked inside, Bruce's eyes searching out the craft adamantly while everyone else, sans Clark, peered around at the impressive displays around them. Eventually they made it to the center of the room, where giant statues of Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van were holding up a carved representation of Krypton between them, a handful of things sitting in display cases circling around. In the very foremost case was the ship.

Bruce made Clark release him and had enough strength to keep himself steady on his feet, looking between the ship and Superman. "Can you take it out of there?" he asked calmly, earning an inquisitive look, but one with assent in it nonetheless.

Walking over to the display, Clark pressed the palm of his hand against the front of the glass and let the biometric system scan him, gaining access as the door retracted into the floor in one swift motion. Then, with an annoying amount of ease, Clark plucked the ship from the display case and set it on the ground carefully between him and Bruce. "Going to tell us what this is about?" Clark asked, the rest of the Justice League forming a circle around the two as they were as curious as Clark as to what was going on.

"Patience," was all Bruce said as he squatted down in front the craft, turning it over a bit so he could glimpse at its underbelly. To his ultimate relief he found the device he'd stuck to the keel in the past, though it was melted and useless by now, and couldn't help the softer look that took over his face at the visual confirmation that everything he'd done, the time he'd lived in Krypton's past...it had all been real, and no one but him knew what that meant for the future.

"Bruce," Clark's voice said nearby, causing him to glance up and realize he was being intently watched. "What's going on?"

Looking from Superman to the rest of the team, Bruce wanted to tell them everything that happened, but at the same time he didn't, so instead he decided to take a different route: he'd give his best friend the means to obtaining all the answers, rather than answering them himself. "It turns out I have a Christmas gift for you too, Clark," Bruce started with, watching as Clark's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "So bear with me here."

Feeling out the familiar hull for the button to open the hatch, he quickly gained entry to the interior and reached inside with searching hands, Clark's eyes tracking his movements with a variety of emotions on his face, confusion being the most apparent. He was probably wondering how the hell he was so well versed in the ship's structure. Well, he'd find out soon enough, but first—

"There it is," Bruce whispered to himself, earning a curious glance from Clark and causing the rest of the team to kneel down and get closer. His fingers snagged a release latch for the storage panel inside the ship, a soft hiss filling the silence as it opened up and he reached further in to find what he was looking for. He hardly noticed how the rest of them were watching his face more than his rummaging hand, or their surprise from how happy he looked for a brief moment when his fingers wrapped around the recognizable shape of his intended target.

The joy was gone as quickly as it'd come, but Bruce could still see their shock when he finally paid them mind and revealed the bottle, unaware the look was because of him and not what he was holding. That quickly changed, however, when Clark eyed the object in question and incomplete understanding befell him, a startled noise leaping from his lips as he pointed at it in baffelment.

"That's a bottled city!" Clark stated in shock, carefully reaching out to take it from Bruce, who handed it to him cautiously. "All this time, in my ship..."

He turned the contained city over in his hands a few times, studying what he could see of the details inside, not identifying it. "How?" Clark asked as he captured Bruce's gaze.

"I'm way too tired to elaborate right now," Bruce responded honestly, nodding his head at the bottle. "But I'm sure Jor and Lara will be overflowing with enough energy to tell you the whole story once you deactivate the stasis settings, and then figure out a way to shrink down and pay them a visit."

Clark's face was indescribable. Bruce couldn't read it at all as it went through a plethora of emotions and couldn't settle on a single one. His hands started to shake, the muscles in his jaw began to tremble, and Bruce was concerned he was going to drop the bottle when suddenly Clark's incredibly beautiful, shining wet eyes were boring into him. He immediately felt fear that Clark was angry at him, he'd used Brainiac's design after all, but the tears that poured over and slid down the Kryptonian's cheeks made him reconsider that fear. The heart-wrenching sound that followed, probably unintentional as Clark seemed too distracted to notice it, morphed that fear into a number of other things, like guilt.

"I'm sorr—"

Bruce didn't get to even finish his apology before Clark was shaking his head roughly, hugging the contained city to his chest like it was the most precious thing, which really it was. "Don't you dare apologize!" he said firmly, wiping an arm hastily over his face and exhaling before he glanced down at the bottle, then back at Bruce. "All I want...I just—I just need to hear you say it, Bruce," he said constrainedly, the rest of the League rubbernecking the exchange, trying to figure out for themselves what was happening. "I need to hear you say that this is what I think this is."

Well, that was a simple enough request, and he'd take anything over Clark being angry at him. Bruce could do this.

"Inside that bottle is Kryptonopolis. It's a little beat up, since it was shrunken while the planet was basically falling apart at the seams, but the people are safe, they're just asleep," Bruce said easily, resituating himself so that he was sitting Indian style now that he felt more at ease. "I'm sure a lot of people have been using back alleys and street corners for a bed all these years, but I made sure Jor and Lara were in their bedroom, secure, before they passed out."

There were no words to properly describe the expression Clark was aiming at him, nor what this probably meant for the Kryptonian, and Bruce had to turn his sights downward to the ship since all this was causing his heart to pound and his stomach to twist into vicious knots. He might've been more relaxed a second ago, with knowing the bottle was safe and now in Clark's possession, but it was only then hitting him what an intense moment this truly was, and he couldn't take his friend's reaction head-on. Deep emotional moments were all it took to make Batman uncomfortable and unsure of himself? Go figure.

To everyone's surprise it was J'onn that spoke up next.

"Jor, as in Jor-El, and Lara, they are your parents, are they not?" the Martian asked smoothly, directing his question at Clark.

All Clark could bring himself to do was nod in response, his Adam's apple bobbing as he worked his throat, trying to get it to work properly. This news obviously made the rest of the League come to the conclusion of what exactly was being given as a gift right then. Shayera nodded approvingly, John smirked and shook his head, murmuring how impossible their lives were, Diana smiled beautifully, and Wally jumped to his feet in delight.

Clark merely kept watching Bruce; he could feel him doing so, but refused to glance away from the ship.

He hated the word 'embarrassed' but that's merely how he felt, and Bruce didn't want to analyze too closely how making other people happy was something his damaged psyche thought was abashing. There was truly something wrong with him. But in his defense he didn't make a lot of people happy, so he could chalk it up to inexperience.

Later he would think that he should've learned his lesson with Jor, and that he needed to always keep one eye on the El men when he said or did anything pleasing to/for them, but with his eyes averted and his mind and heart racing, Bruce didn't notice Clark stand up. Nor did he hear him walk around the ship, fall to his knees beside him, or pay enough attention to be prepared to dodge when Clark suddenly wrapped him in an unrestrained embrace. The wide-eyed, panicked look that took over Bruce's face made the observing League members burst into laughter. Obviously he would be getting no aid from his teammates.

Reaching up with both hands Bruce grasped the other man's arm, digging his gloved fingers into the alien material, and set his features in perturbed, disgruntled lines. "Let go of me, you idiot," he grumbled, his voice muffled by Superman's massive bicep. The Kryptonian only tightened his grip. And that was fine, really it was, despite pretending it wasn't, but Bruce forced himself to relax in Clark's hold, to conceal his discomfiture so he didn't feel it as well, and with the soothing sound of the voices of his team, his friends enveloping him, and Clark's warmth blanketing him...before he even knew it he was drifting off.

In a matter of seconds Bruce fell asleep, everything right with the world, his world nearby and reminding him what it felt like to be home. To be safe.

For the first time in three months he was genuinely safe.

A soft, consistent tapping on glass was the noise that pulled Bruce back into the conscious world, and the moment he cracked open his eyes, registering the fact he was now awake, he immediately wished he was asleep again. Every muscle ached, to an incredible degree, and the slightest movement felt like his limbs were pulling unnaturally on his skin; a lot of cuts and a lot of strain encompassing his body. Okay then, he could deal with that. Didn't make it any more pleasant, but he'd endured much worse. The fact that he was still suffering for his stint on a dying planet meant he hadn't been out for an unacceptably long time. Bruce was, if anything, thankful for that.

Regardless of his prior predilection for going into hibernation to make up lost time, Bruce always had his concern for Gotham's well-being at the forefront of his mind, and knew he had to get out of bed. One heaving sigh later his bare feet were touching the cold, hardwood floor, bringing to his attention his changed attire. Alfred must've wrangled him into it while he was unconscious. Most likely with some help...he tried not to deduce who.

It looked like midday outside, even with the rain making the skies gloomy and dark, so the detective figured he could spare several hours to properly waking himself up, getting some food in his stomach, and working through the pain until he could readily ignore it. Pulling a sweater over his head, unamused by the obviously inspired grey knitting and blatant bat symbol stitched to the center of his chest, he threw on a pair of socks and wandered downstairs. All that awaited him was a pre-made plate with a hearty sandwich and a couple cookies. Alfred must be out, but the man had an eerie sixth sense about when Bruce would awaken in times like this.

Grabbing the plate, Bruce glanced out the kitchen windows and the pitter patter of the rain brought on an idea, which led him to traveling all the way through the manor until he found himself in the extensive library. Setting up a collection of pillows on the large windowsill found in the north eastern corner of the room, he set his food down long enough to go retrieve a book, bringing it back to his designated spot to get himself comfortable, and begin reading.

He wasn't sure how much time passed, for once not bothering to actively keep track despite his gifted pocket watch sitting right beside him, but Bruce couldn't have cared less. The Divine Comedy was a treat he seldom allowed himself to enjoy, and after the hellish adventure he'd had he hardly felt guilty for letting his concerns go. This was about relaxing, about remembering what it felt like to even do so, and about delving into the only real hobby that he rarely indulged in. And somehow, reading Dante and Virgil's journey through impossible landscapes and scenarios made Bruce feel more connected with this time, this reality, even though it should have been the opposite.

Well, let it be known that Bruce never claimed that he wasn't the living embodiment of the word contradiction.

Right as he was entering the 9th circle of the inferno, which in actuality was a horrendously cold and icy place, Bruce was so caught up in the description of Lucifer and the corresponding illustrations done by Gustave Doré that he nearly dropped his book when something was placed on his head. Something handmade, something he knew well...something bat-like. Damn, that made two times the man guilty of this had completely snuck up on him.

"Clark, get this off my head right now, or I'll make sure you'll never see it again—even with your assortment of vision powers," he stated flatly, that indignant frown of his making itself visible.

A throaty laugh echoed through the library as Clark floated into view, hovering in a seated position over the spot on the sill in front of Bruce. "This was a gift from my mother, which you're fully aware of, so I know you're just full of hot air," Clark said confidently, a cheeky grin pushing up the corners of his mouth.

Lifting an eyebrow, although still staring at the page he was no longer reading, Bruce asked, "Did Lara tell you I would know, or are you just assuming?"

"She told me," Clark said.

Bruce parted his lips but fell silent, a million and one things sitting on the tip of his tongue to ask but none of which he could actually bring himself to vocalize. Snapping his mouth shut, frowning deeply, the detective didn't know how to ask if Jor and Lara were angry with him, if they were in trouble because of him, if the city being bottled had worked properly, or any of the number of questions that came to mind. He wanted to know everything, but his voice simply didn't want to work. Thankfully though, Clark seemed to read the look on Bruce's face as easily as Bruce had been reading his book, smiling softly.

"I'm sure you'd like to know, first of all, that everything's fine inside the city; I might've only visited as a telepathic projection, thanks to J'onn, but I could see that plain as day," Clark began, sitting appropriately on the windowsill instead of floating. "You were right about quite a few people using street corners and alleyways as beds all these years, but they're awfully forgiving considering that they survived, even if they now live inside a bottle. One member of the council even confessed to me that it wasn't so bad once you got used to the lighter gravity and thicker atmosphere."

Shutting his book carefully, Bruce finally brought himself to look up at Clark, his expression inquisitive. "So...the council isn't flipping their shit over what I did?" he asked, adding with a sense of a threat in his tone, "They're not punishing Jor for my actions?"

If it was possible for Clark's smile to become any more soft it did, an indescribable emotion sitting blatantly in his eyes; it was an emotion Bruce couldn't name. "No, they're not. The head of the council might've had a bit of a field day, but the rest were just happy to still be alive, and eventually they settled down and simply accepted things for what they were and got right to work on setting up a new system to match their circumstances. They didn't even think of my father or you. They don't know it was you that did all this.

But my parents do. My father had a lot to say about it, about you...he really wants to see you and talk." Clark's lips turned downwards a little, displaying how serious he was when he said, "He wants to thank you."

Without meaning to Bruce's face screwed up in indignation at that, a scoff escaping him before he could stop it. "The last thing I want is to be thanked for what I did," he said, causing Clark's eyebrows to lift in surprise. "All I wanted was for them to be safe, for the city to survive—I hardly did it for the gratitude of others. What I did was for purely selfish reasons."

The sound made Bruce startle a little, but it went unnoticed as Clark slapped a hand over his eyes and laughed incredulously, his head shaking in disbelief. "Dear God," he muttered through his laughter. "I swear, only you, Bruce, could do something so wonderfully heroic like saving my birth parents, and a whole city of my people, and call that selfish." Sliding his hand over his features and sighing in content, he cupped his own chin with the heel of his palm and openly displayed his mirth as he said, "You're unbelievable."

Jutting out his lower lip slightly in defiance, Bruce stated flatly, "No I'm not, I'm practical. I had the means and the knowledge to do what needed to be done to save them, so I did. It's as simple as that." Glancing off to the side, Bruce spoke quickly before Clark could speak, his expression becoming more gentle unbeknownst to him, "And it was purely selfish, what I did. There were so many things that could've gone wrong, people who could've gotten hurt, but I acted anyway...because there was a certain boyscout who once told me what they'd wish for for Christmas."

The silence that followed was intense in that it held a multitude of emotions within it, most of which were attributed to Bruce's anxiety and sick-like feelings over what he'd said aloud, and the unknown feelings emanating off the aforementioned 'boyscout'. It felt like hours passed before either of them did anything, but truly it was nothing more than several minutes when Bruce heard the sound of Clark shifting, and before the detective could look up to see why he felt the other man placing his hand atop his head. Or, more accurately, on the little stuffed bat that had been sitting on his head this entire time.

As Clark slowly removed it, Bruce managed to finally peer up at him, realizing with a jolt that Clark was much closer than he'd anticipated, and staring directly into his face. He also wasn't distancing himself, and the lack of space now between them was doing all sorts of distressing things to Bruce's heart; things he was painfully aware that Clark definitely had to be picking up on. Opening his mouth to speak, unsure of what exactly he was going to say but willing to say anything if it meant breaking the silence, Bruce was effectively stopped when lavender suddenly filled his senses and the knitted little bat-creature was pressed against his lips.

"Bruce," Clark said, the name sounding a lot more Sibylline than its owner ever thought possible, "I think we need to have a serious discussion about what the word selfish actually means." His mouth twitching into an all-too-charming smile, Clark continued with, "Because it hardly means doing what you did, more so when at the end of it all you were more than willing to sacrifice yourself to get it done." Something of a sad tinge entered the setting of the Kryptonian's brow, but Bruce barely noticed it when what Clark said made his pulse flutter solicitously.

Raising a hand to place over Clark's, a seemingly innocent gesture when he did so to move it and the stuffed animal away from his mouth, he didn't let go as he rested their hands in the space between them and stared down at them, his gaze disconcerted. "You say that as if you know for sure what I was willing to do," he nearly whispered, his voice low and not a little uncertain.

"I do know," Clark replied quickly, imitating the tone Bruce had used when he'd said those very same words; a tone that held the weight of just how much he did honestly know. Before Bruce could say anything to that, his pale gaze snapped upwards to stare at him, Clark said, "You see, among many things, my father told me a lot about the ship he built for me to take me to Earth. It was one of his greatest creations after all, and I was right to call him a bit of a nerd.

"Within the data banks I'd first discovered years ago, that held all the information on Krypton and my parents, there was more: audio recordings of all sorts of research that my father dictated aloud and saved for me to listen to when I grew up. Apparently he always kept the ship's recording software going, deleting whatever he found pointless when he reviewed it every so often, which gave the information storing crystals plenty of space to pick up the very last voice they heard speaking."

It was at this point that Bruce's eyes widened, the only thing happening on his face that betrayed how disturbed this information made him, but Clark carried on, undeterred. "As it so happens, the last person it picked up speaking was you," he said, his eyes practically boring into the other man, solemnity etched into every line of his body. Bruce was beginning to think he'd be sick.

"I can't imagine you heard much, considering a planet was sort of imploding all around myself and the ship at the time," Bruce stated smoothly, although he was plenty aware that this was a rather weak attempt to comfort himself as much as it was to call Clark's possible bluff. That is, if this could be considered a bluff when, if the ship had indeed been recording, he really would have been the last thing it heard talking.

Smiling to himself in a way that was akin to remembering an inside joke, Clark said softly, "Actually, you'd be quite surprised how well the external microphones worked on the ship, even in the middle of all that chaos."

That was it, Bruce was probably going to be ill, or just keel over and die, if he couldn't run away fast enough that is; the likelihood of that was basically nothing, though, when the one chasing could move faster than a speeding bullet. He replayed everything he'd said at the time internally, each and every word a stark, detailed piece to an agonizingly sincere dialogue. Each word more damning than the next. If Clark had truly heard everything he'd said before seeing him off then it was official—his feelings, everything he'd promised himself he'd never utter aloud, were known to the one person they would mean the most to.

Bruce suddenly found himself at the cusp of one of two things: either Clark was going to turn him down gently and their friendship would never be the same, not with knowing what they knew. Or Clark's attitude was soon to change to something a lot less forgiving and a lot more angry. He was now making his own desperate wish of taking back the impulse to spill his guts to a baby Kal.

Or to just instantaneously vanish. That would work too.

Rather than rejection or rage, however, what Bruce got was much more confusing, but certainly welcome as it completely changed the direction of their conversation. "Why The Divine Comedy?" Clark asked, earning a single, lifted eyebrow from him as Bruce stared at him questioningly.

Taking his time to consider his answer, Bruce straightened out his back and leaned against the frame of the sill, pulling his hand away from Clark's to place over the top of his book, his fingers tracing the indented design of the cover and his eyes following the movement.

"My parents did everything in their power to make Gotham a better place. They wanted the rest of the world to see Gotham as the wonderful city they always believed it to be, and my father especially wanted me to carry on that ideal, so one rainy day we sat in the library together and he started reading The Divine Comedy to me. I didn’t understand why at first, but the more I heard of the terrible and frightful descriptions of each circle of hell, the stagnant and unusual eternity of purgatory, and the indescribable beauty of heaven, all of which Dante, who was nothing more than a lost, mortal man, witnessed for himself and found his path again because of this journey…I finally got it.

Dante had seen all that mankind could achieve in life and in death, all the wretchedness and all the glory, and still he found himself at the end of it all. Just like my father had witnessed the worst and the best of Gotham and had found his own place in this life; just as I eventually found mine. I don’t think he meant for me to grow up into what I’ve become, obviously, but I do believe that he always wanted me to remember that, even if Gotham forces me to travel every level of hell she can create for me, at the end of my travels there will always be good, there will always be meaning in everything I’ve endured," he replied.

When he turned his gaze back to Clark Bruce didn't know what to make of the expression Clark was aiming at him—it was somewhere between being touched and a deep understanding, with something like respect underneath it all. Whatever he was seeing in Clark's face Bruce felt his heart clenching because of it, and the hand that he unconsciously lifted meant to reach out and gently touch Clark's cheek. Instead he realized what he was about to do, pulled his hand back before it got too far, and ran it through his hair to try and repurpose what his intended gesture had been. If he was lucky the other man hadn't noticed, but he supposed it was hard not to when you were aware of every little detail about others like Clark usually was.

Especially when that person was someone you knew was in love with you.

Gratefully, before Bruce began a tirade of self-deprecation in his mind over that, Clark leaned forward a little, interest blatant on his face as he asked, "And after everything you endured, all the levels of hell that Krypton threw at you...did you find meaning in that as well?"

Bruce honestly hadn't thought about it that way, but now that he'd been asked it was terribly easy to answer. Everything he'd done was for Clark at the root of it all, and every step he'd taken had changed what he'd written off as an unwanted 'infatuation' to honest-to-God love. He'd not only saved lives and been pushed to his utmost limits, he truly had found himself at the end of the road as he'd been falling to his doom, surrounded by crystal and vicious rivers of green. He'd been willing to die so that Clark could see his parents again. If that wasn't meaningful, he didn't know what was.

But meaning didn't actually mean a damn thing if it led to losing his best friend.

"Yes, I did," Bruce answered truthfully, his expression settling into determined lines as he stared at Clark. "But I'm painfully aware that anything I concluded during the duration of my time on Krypton is purely on me, not you, and whatever it is you might've heard on that recording is in no way to pressure you, or to make you think that you owe me, or something just as dumb. It's probably better if you just pretend you never—"

Without warning Clark pressed the stuffed bat-thing against Bruce's mouth to silence him once again, something so tender and amused in his eyes that Bruce didn't know how to respond. He'd been trying to give the man a way out of all of this, and instead had been interrupted.

"Do me a favor and shut up, Bruce," Clark said after a moment's pause, causing Bruce's eyebrows to furrow in annoyance, which only made him laugh softly. "Oh, and close your eyes for me." When all he did was glare at him, a little bit of frustrated color dusting the Bruce's cheeks, Clark implored, "Please?"

Mumbling what might've been an agitated 'fine', Bruce shut his eyes and quietly waited, his face relaxed, aside from the crease on his forehead. With his mind racing, contemplating Clark punching him, or maybe even just leaving now that he wasn't being watched, what he didn't anticipate was the feeling of the knitted material leaving his senses and being replaced by something much warmer, much softer, and much more organic.

Snapping his eyes open, his heart hammering inside of him, Bruce couldn't describe the level of shock he felt when he saw Clark's eyes staring right into his own, much closer than they had been before. Nor could his brain really wrap around the fact that Clark was actually kissing him and not the other way around. His mind became deliciously blank when a flicker of tongue ran across his bottom lip, and suddenly Bruce's eyes were closed again and the back of his neck was being grasped, his own hands clenching onto the front of Clark's shirt for purchase as their kiss deepened considerably.

A part of him wanted to pull away and ask about Lois, ask if his feelings were just being humored out of some obligation Clark was feeling, but the rest of him didn't care. Bruce had wanted this for what felt like forever and it was about time any wishes of his own came true, obligation, or moment of insanity, or not.

When at last they parted, only because Bruce, unfortunately, was a mere human who actually needed to breathe, they stared at one another without putting much distance between them, their faces flushed and Clark's lips beautifully kiss-swollen. Bruce felt like he should say something, felt like now would be a good time to bequeath Clark of his sense of duty if that's what this really was, but before he could do any of that he was stunned to silence, the most gorgeous smile breaking out on Clark's face effectively doing the job. It was in that moment of shock that Clark acted, pulling Bruce against him until they were both horizontal against the sill, the detective practically laying on top of him and the book forgotten on the floor beside them.

Muffling his voice against Bruce's hair, Clark unabashedly declared, "I love you too, Bruce. And unlike you I know I always have—since the moment you were a real and and threw me into a nightclub table."

It was as if the world itself clicked into place, as if it hadn't been spinning right and finally figured out how; like two dancers falling into a synchronized rhythm at long last. Bruce had never once considered the possibility of Clark loving him back, but now that he knew he wasn't going to be rejected, wasn't the target of anyone's anger, and his feelings had been reciprocated for a long time now...well, suddenly everything just made sense. It made sense in the way that finding Waldo did: you spend hours searching for the little shit in the convoluted mess of a picture, so long that you actually start to believe he's not there at all, and then all of a sudden you find him, and it sinks in that you really should've known he was there all along.

Just like Bruce should've seen that Clark had loved him all along, instead of foolhardily denying the idea that he ever could. Instead of falling back on the concept that no one could ever love him, not really.

Tightening his grip on Clark's shirt, Bruce hid his face against Clark's nape and couldn't even begin to suppress the urge to smile, uncaring to whether or not it was felt by Clark or not. He was too happy to care, and by Jove he was going to allow himself to express it, even if it was mostly concealed. This was by far the greatest gift he'd ever been given, and for once Bruce was going to bask in it.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

Apparently his mouth hadn't gotten the message that they were 'basking in happiness'. What the hell, mouth?

Shifting enough to where he could look Bruce in the face, Clark raised his hands so that he was gently cradling Bruce's head and making them hold eye contact, his expression the most determined Bruce had ever seen it. "You might think I act rashly sometimes, or that I'm naive in certain situations, but this is one thing I know that I want from the bottom of my heart," he said, his thumbs brushing his cheeks. "I sincerely love you, Bruce, whether your gloomy behind believes me or not."

Perhaps it was by nature at this point in his life, but Bruce honestly couldn't help doubting Clark, for a fleeting moment, because of how often he'd been unsuccessful in love and relationships; dating daughters of assassins, cat burglars, and snarky reporters who knew better did that to a person. But the way Clark was looking into his eyes, the way his hands touched him so gently, as if he were something to be treasured, told him there was nothing to fear. For once, he could believe in something good, something positive, and although the future might lead to a messy break-up, or maybe even something worse, at that moment Bruce just wanted to love and be loved, the consequences be damned.

"Prove it," Bruce demanded, the corner of his lips jumping into a smirk briefly.

Grinning in response, Clark said, "Gladly," and made their lips meet once more, coaxing a pleased hum out of Bruce.

Unlike Dante, Bruce had started out in Purgatory, filled with a sense of wrongness while traversing a path that felt stale, if not inert; there had been decent things to be found in his life then, but they were scarce and hard to appreciate. Then the 21st had come and plunged him into perdition, offering him a deceptive life of peace and family, only to rip it away from him in pandemonium as the Inferno savagely tore itself from the core of the planet and showed him what hell truly was; it was in the destruction that surrounded him, his impending demise, and in sending away the only pure joy he'd ever felt. And now Bruce had finally come full-circle.

Bruce had at last found Paradise.

"Merry Christmas," Clark whispered into the kiss, his voice deep and resonating all the way down Bruce's throat.

A one-eyed glance at the calendar across the room told Bruce that, indeed, it was his most despised holiday, and yet here he was making out with Clark Kent. Kal-El. Superman.

Maybe Christmas wasn't so bad after all?

Pulling away with a playful nip at Bruce's bottom lip, Clark stated simply, "Don't think this means you don't have to meet my parents again, with me this time, though."

Well shit...

Fuck it, still worth it.