SuperBat Santa is Coming to Town...

Preemptive strike...

2010-07-17T02:19:29Z

...to stave off deletion by the evil!PTB.

Fanzine: Once Upon a Time in Gotham (Superman/Batman)

2009-02-04T00:52:15Z

Title: Once Upon a Time in Gotham: A Superman/Batman Fanzine
Type: Ebook PDF
Number of Pages: 142
Size: 10.3 mb
Genre/Rating: Slash, PG - NC-17
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Theme: A re-telling of certain fairy tales and myths with a DCU slant.

ACT I
Happily Ever After by Saavikam

Indivisible
Story by Vipers_in_Love | Artwork by LA Buenaventura (R)
Bruce and Clark are young men who have been in love forever, but fate decrees that they never act on their feelings. Suddenly, a beautiful, mysterious woman captures Clark’s heart. Has Clark left Bruce behind, or is there more to this bright new romance than Clark knows?

Second Star to the Right
Story by theclexfactor | Lineart by Avium, Color by Rex Barker (G)
Growing up isn’t inevitable.

Diamond Heart
Story by BradyGirl_12 | Lineart by Avium, Color by Rex Barker (G)
During a snowstorm, Bruce and Dick are directed by a mysterious figure to an icy castle in a northern kingdom. While Dick recovers from illness, they discover its King has been enchanted and doomed to live a literally icy existence unless someone can truly love him and break the spell.

ACT II
Dream Come True by Saavikam

Nutcracker’s Promise
Story by Saavikam | Artwork by DarkJ3 (G)
After Clark is gifted with a set of unusual dolls at a charity fund-raiser on Christmas Eve, the last thing he expects is to spend the night dreaming about fighting the criminals of Gotham alongside the mythical Batman and his Robins. The revelations in his dreams are just as baffling, even as a promise is made to him.

The Prince and the Mer
Story by Trinity Helix | Lineart by Avium, Color by Rex Barker (PG)
When a young Mer rescues a handsome stranger from drowning, his eyes open to the world above the seven seas. He makes a bargain with the sea witch for legs and a chance to win his heart’s desire, but when the time comes to choose between love and his kingdom, will the choice be as easy as he thinks?

ACT III
Handsome Princes by Saavikam

Wish
Story by Arianstarr | Artwork by LA Buenaventura (PG)
Bruce faces something wearing Clark’s skin.

Hubris
Story by Renaissance Makoto | Artwork by DarkJ3 (PG)
Clark Kent is house sitting and finishing his dissertation. Unfortunately, he gets stuck with a rich, arrogant jerk for an upstairs neighbor. One who like to throw very loud holiday parties. Sparks fly when Clark stops being nice to one Bruce Wayne.

About Us

Sketches Gallery

Fanzine: The Greatest Gift (Complete)

2008-01-31T00:17:17Z

Title: The Greatest Gift: A Superman/Batman Fanzine
Type: Ebook
Number of Pages: 321
Size: 20 mb

Prelude: Gifts Given by joannindiw

The Greatest Gift I Can Give You (Movieverse)
Story by Saavikam | Artwork by Samibee
Six months after telling Lois the truth about his identity and having no choice but to make himself scarce, Clark is absolutely heartsick over not being allowed to be a father to Jason. His relationship with Bruce is his only source of solace.

The Sound of Snow (DCU/Marvel)
Story by Cyc | Artwork by Vespertila
Christmas is a time for family, and for showing loved ones just how special they are.

Three Days (DCAU)
Story by Cavaleira | Artwork by DarkJ3
When Lex Luthor discovers their secret identities, Superman and Batman have no choice but to spend the holidays together, stuck on a mission. But as the heroes get beneath each other's exteriors, they discover that what seemed like the worst holiday ever has turned into the greatest gift either of them could have asked for.

A Jolly, Happy Soul (DCU)
Story by Ladybugkay | Artwork by Liezl Buenaventura
Superman and Batman exchange Christmas presents.

Interlude: Leadership Skills by Cyc

Five Times They Were Swept Off Their Feet (Movieverse)
Story by Trascendenza | Artwork by Vejiicakes
Five times Kal swept Bruce off his feet and the five times Bruce did the same to Kal. A continuation of a previously published story.

Hearts and Bones (DCU)
Story by ladybugkay | Artwork by Hermine_Ichigo
Bruce and Clark agree to use each other for casual sex, but strings have a way of attaching themselves to the most casual of arrangements, and the boys just might end up giving each other more than they intended.

The Perfect Gift at Just the Right Time (DCU)
Story by Quiet Tiger | Artwork by Audz
Bruce had been confusing long before he and Clark hooked up. Now he was impossible.

Christmas Paradigm (DCU)
Story by Cyc | Artwork by DarkJ3
It's Christmas morning, and while Batman is trying to work, Superman just wants some attention.

Interlude: Something Preferred by joannindiw

Superman and the Monstrous Bat-Man of Gotham City (DCU)
Story by Evangelene | Artwork by Avium
Ace reporter Clark Kent is in Gotham to interview the airheaded millionaire Bruce Wayne, and while he's in town, he figures he might as well check out the rumors about the mysterious Bat-Man.

A Certain Thought that Lingers (DCU/DCAU)
Story by tmelange | Artwork by Liezl Buenaventura
Batman is faced with an unintended consequence of a decision: he is bonded to Superman for life. Will he accept the change in their relationship, or will he hurt the both of them, trying to find a way out? A re-write of a previously published story.

Looking for Love (DCU)
Story by DC Lady | Artwork by Liezl Buenaventura
When Lois ends her engagement to Clark Kent, a certain Dark Knight is there to pick up the pieces.

Kryptonite and Opium (DCU)
Story and Artwork by Cyc
There is little room in Batman's world for escapism, and none at all for wishing for intervention from on high.

Interlude: The Greatest of These by tmelange

Dancing with the Star (DCAU)
Story by vipers_in_love | Artwork by Cyc
Clark Kent hates to dance. Even on a planet light years from Earth, he refuses to make a fool out of himself. Too bad Bruce is prepared to insist upon it.

Warm Hands in the Night (Smallville/DCU)
Story by Arian Starr | Artwork by Nuu
A threat is made against Gotham in the midst of Clark and Bruce’s first Christmas with their friends and family, and Bruce leaves to handle it on his own. When things go wrong, Clark is left to find a missing Bruce.

The World in Solemn Stillness... (DCU)
Story by Paxwolf | Artwork by DarkJ3
When Superman is infected by a dangerous, potentially fatal virus, Batman discovers that only he has the means to save him. This leads to revelations of a far more personal and deeper nature for both of them.

Interlude: A Gift For Gotham by joannindiw
Artwork by Avium

Featuring:

The Good Part (DCU)
by vipers_in_love
Clark is convinced there is more to his lover than meets the eye.

The Gift (DCU)
by tmelange
On Clark Kent's first visit to Gotham City, he finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Epilogue: Baby, It's Cold Outside
Story by tmelange | Artwork by Avium

Credits

Sketches Gallery

Cover Gallery

+

Fic: Hearts and Bones

2008-01-05T23:46:29Z

Project: The Greatest Gift: A Superman/Batman Holiday Fanzine

Title: Hearts and Bones
Written by: ladybugkay
Artwork by: hermine_ichigo
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Rating: Adult
Universe: Comicverse
Word Count: 11,614
Summary: Bruce and Clark agree to use each other for casual sex, but strings have a way of attaching themselves to the most casual of arrangements, and the boys just might end up giving each other more than they intended.

Fic: Kryptonite and Opium

2008-01-05T02:58:17Z

Project: The Greatest Gift: A Superman/Batman Holiday Fanzine

Title: Kryptonite and Opium
Written by: cycnus39
Artwork by: cycnus39
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Rating: G
Universe: Comicverse
Word Count: 3,295
Summary: There is little room in Batman's world for escapism, and none at all for wishing for intervention from on high.

Fic: A Jolly, Happy Soul

2008-01-02T21:50:34Z

Project: The Greatest Gift: A Superman/Batman Holiday Fanzine

Title: A Jolly, Happy Soul
Written by: ladybugkay
Artwork by: labuenaventura
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Rating: PG
Universe: Comicverse
Word Count: 1,723
Summary: Superman and Batman exchange Christmas presents.

Fic: Three Days

2008-01-01T15:38:23Z

Project: The Greatest Gift: A Superman/Batman Holiday Fanzine

Title: Three Days
Written by: cavaleira
Artwork by: darkj3
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Rating: R
Universe: DCAU (Toonverse)
Word Count: 8,370
Tags: Holidays, First Time Sex/Romance, Plot-Intensive, Hurt/Comfort
Note: Takes place some time after the World’s Finest movie.
Summary: When Lex Luthor discovers their secret identities, Superman and Batman have no choice but to spend the holidays together, stuck on a mission. But as the heroes get beneath each other's exteriors, they discover that what seemed like the worst holiday ever has turned into the greatest gift either of them could have asked for.

(Click for larger image)

Fic: The Perfect Gift at Just the Right Time

2007-12-31T16:42:36Z

Project: The Greatest Gift: A Superman/Batman Holiday Fanzine

Title: The Perfect Gift at Just the Right Time
Written by: quiet__tiger
Artwork by: Audz (d0wn_on_paper)
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Rating: R
Universe: Comics
Word Count: 4,452
Tags: Holidays, Established Relationship
Summary: Bruce had been confusing long before he and Clark hooked up. Now he was impossible.

(Click image for larger version)

Fic: Looking for Love

2007-12-31T05:10:00Z

Project: The Greatest Gift: A Superman/Batman Holiday Fanzine

Title: Looking for Love
Written by: DC Lady (paulasj)
Artwork by: labuenaventura
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Rating: R
Universe: Comics
Word Count: 7,555
Tags: First Time Romance/Sex, Holidays, Romance, Slice-of-Life
Summary: When Lois ends her engagement to Clark Kent, a certain Dark Knight is there to pick up the pieces.

(Click for larger image)

The Greatest Gift: A Superman/Batman Fanzine...

2007-12-10T04:57:26Z

Title: The Greatest Gift
Project: A Superman/Batman Fanzine
Release Date: December 30, 2007

Crossposted to wfslash

ladybugkaygossvipersinlovelabuenaventuracalveriavejiicakes
quiettigercoderenegadearianstarrd0wnonpapersaavikam
samibeetrascendenzavespertilaevangeleneyunepaxwolf
hermineichigopaulasjdarkj3cycnus39joannindiwtmelange

Eh...?

2007-11-20T02:55:02Z

*
*
*
*
*
♥

It's the holidays; they finished saving the world (yet again)
and he's drunk on the icy feel of the wind.

He wants; he has wanted for so very long and, now. Now it's time to take.
A step, a taste of air redolent of his scent. Quickly, fast enough that Bruce
can't really think, but slow enough that if he really, truly objects—

But he doesn't and Clark is there, watching as Bruce's mouth opens
on meaningless objections. A gauntleted hand fisted in his cape.

For once, Clark just takes.

It's the holidays. He's due a gift.

Right?

Fic: Claim #126

2007-01-16T03:41:04Z

Title: Multiplied We Fuck (and Suck)
Author: joannindiw
Claim No.: 126 for jen_in_japan
Prompt: In JLA: Divided We Fall, Superman and Batman are split into their civilian and superhero identities. Kal/Clark/Bruce threesome (let's leave Creepy Faceless Batman out of it).
Rating: Adult
Word Count: 1,950.
Author's Notes: Beta'd by tmelange, randi, and forest, with much dithering on my part.

:-:

Bruce flung himself into his chair, mouth shut with the last straining remnants of his control. Alfred hadn't said a word or lifted an eyebrow, just opened the door and left him alone.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Bruce growled. He couldn't go on like this. Mindless rage filled him at the slightest provocation; a need to lash out coupled with an inability to hit properly drove the rage even higher, both fueled by memories of being able to actually fight…

"Having a little trouble?"

"The hell?" Surging to his feet, Bruce was caught by inhumanly strong hands and held effortlessly in place. "Superman?"

He had a perfect smile on his perfect face even as his blue eyes locked mercilessly onto Bruce's. "Yes." Superman's strong fingers traced the line of Bruce's cheek, cupped his chin, and kept him from looking away – kept him from moving as Superman kissed him. Thoroughly.

"Mmmph!" Scrabbling desperately for a hold, Bruce gripped the uniform – the odd ridges along the shoulders and arms and the slick material covering them bent under his fingers, but didn't rip. Superman didn't even shift, and his tongue explored Bruce's mouth, completely disregarding the flailing of his body.

It felt good.

Breaking off the kiss, Superman pulled back just far enough that they could look at each other. "I'm not going to force you. But wouldn't it feel good to be with someone you couldn't possibly hurt?"

Bruce swallowed. This was wrong. This wasn't really what he wanted, what he (sometimes) thought about when he had thought about sex and Superman (really it wasn't. Most of the time). Maybe, though, it was what he needed. Maybe if he could spend his anger here, this – this whole separation - could work out. Maybe he could stop picking fights and be the rich playboy he was supposed to be… Bruce couldn't say anything, but he signaled his compliance by relaxing.

Abruptly, Superman raised his head and smiled. "This should be interesting."

Frowning, Bruce started to ask – and then he heard Clark's distinctive voice, muffled through the door. "It's ok, Alfred, I just need to talk to him."

Taking a breath to struggle, Bruce gave up when the door opened and Clark walked in. "Bruce? Superman? What's –"

Dryly, not easing his hold on Bruce, Superman replied, "You're not much of a reporter if you need an answer to that question."

Clark turned brilliantly, fascinatingly red.

"Why don't you join us?"

Clark swallowed convulsively. Clearly, this wasn't what he had expected. His mouth worked wordlessly before words fell out, apparently on automatic. "This is – I'm married to Lois! I can't – you can't possibly –"

Superman smiled, blue eyes cold as ice. "It's not quite the same, is it? Lois never really wanted just Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter. And you – I know what you want."

Clark whitened.

Bruce shut his eyes. This was surreal. The two of them, arguing. Clark endearingly human, Superman being… Superman.

"I'm not going to try to take her from you. I think you'll lose her well enough on your own. With Bruce, though you never had the guts to reach for what you wanted, I have. You can watch, you can join us, or you can leave."

Clark cleared his throat, his voice raspy with shocked desire. With one last attempt at some sort of normalcy, he asked, "Don't you think Bruce has some say in this?"

Bruce shook his head, laughing softly, letting his hands curl around Superman's shoulders. "Clark – I'm going to let Superman do whatever he wants to me – that includes sharing with you." Giving Clark a slow up-and-down appraisal, Bruce smirked. "It's not like it'd be a hardship."

"Now, since that's cleared up…" Ostentatiously, Superman turned his back on Clark and kissed Bruce, stripping him effortlessly, flinging the clothing out of the way. Bruce's hands clenched; he fought unthinkingly and ineptly, ending up naked, panting, and plastered against Superman.

***

Clark stripped out of his clothes mechanically, letting his glasses drop to the side, and moved behind Bruce. He was – he couldn't believe he was doing this; he couldn't believe that he was going to have – with Superman (if anybody found out- he didn't want to think about it); with Bruce. A surprisingly pliant Bruce - that was wrong in so many ways, he could almost believe that this whole – the whole separation, even – was a dream, and that at any time he'd wake up. Except he had never dreamed anything this bizarre before… Shaking his head, Clark let himself settle against Bruce's broad, warm back, let his hands wander, ignoring the odd jolt of running into his own hands, of feeling the slick-otherworldly fabric covering Superman's body. Clark ran his nose against the nape of Bruce's neck, and then bit – hard. Clark felt Bruce moan and push back into his mouth. Letting his hands tighten, Clark could still feel Bruce move easily against him, Bruce's vocalizations showing clear enjoyment and not one jot of pain. If he had known that he could do this, that Bruce would allow this…

Superman laughed, his strength holding all of them up. "There are some benefits to being human, Clark." Sliding a hand down, Superman stroked Bruce's hole, slipping a finger easily inside as Bruce writhed between them. "Benefits, also, to playing with a multi-billionaire playboy." Two fingers now, and Bruce took them easily, head thrown back in abandon, hips working in counterpoint to Superman's hand. With one last twist (and a gasping moan from Bruce) Superman pulled his fingers out and looked challengingly at Clark. "Now, Clark."

"Wait – I mean, shouldn't there be something else? Not just-"

Bruce grabbed Clark's hair, twisting into a position that looked entirely impossible and probably dependent on Superman's superhuman strength – and bit a kiss against Clark's lips. "Fuck me. Now."

Clark shuddered, his hips moved, and suddenly, he was pressing against and into that small opening, flesh catching against flesh - tight, hot – Bruce moving back against him, asking for more – and he was in, completely in, Bruce shifting restlessly against him, growling softly, but with no signs of any pain whatsoever.

And the world shifted. Superman was pushing them down to the ground, pushing Bruce more firmly onto Clark, as their legs buckled, Bruce ending up sprawled on Clark's lap, as Superman let go. And floated upward.

"What the hell?" Bruce's growl was almost Batman in tone, and sent shivers through Clark.

Superman – Superman just smiled, and did something to his uniform, pulling his penis out and stroking it slowly.

Clark could feel Bruce swallow.

Superman steadied Bruce's head with both of his hands, and guided his penis into Bruce's open mouth.

"You need something to occupy your mouth, Bruce."

A muffled moan was Superman's answer, as Bruce's eyes shut, his hands clutching convulsively on Superman's hips.

Clark groaned. Bruce took Superman in without choking or gagging; took Superman in as if he was everything Bruce wanted – the way Bruce had taken him into his body – as if sucking and fucking were things he did every day. Bruce was licking and swallowing, creating obscene sounds that made Clark twitch, that made him need to move – which led to a muffled groan (muffled by Superman's penis in Bruce's mouth) and more movement, a rhythm that spiraled and tightened, until Clark came with a stifled cry, his teeth clenched in Bruce's shoulder. He couldn't even care that he was probably leaving bruises on Bruce's hip.

Bruce certainly didn't seem to care, the way he was squeezing, trying to get more. Belatedly, Clark realized he hadn't even touched Bruce – talk about inconsiderate…

Superman laughed, and pulled his penis out of Bruce's mouth.

Bruce whimpered, unable to help himself as Clark slid out of him as well. "Don't you even think about –"

Superman dropped to his knees and took Bruce's mouth in a searing kiss before replying. "Oh, I wouldn't," he said. Turning Bruce around, Superman impaled him with one deep thrust.

Bruce screamed, his back arching, every muscle tight and highlighted by a sheen of sweat, fingers clawing uselessly on Superman's hips.

Curling forward, Superman looked at Clark as he inhaled, and then bit delicately down on Bruce's neck, exactly where Clark had bitten Bruce before.

Bruce whimpered and shuddered, hips rocking upward, penis hard, red, and glistening with pre-cum.

Clark swallowed, and answered the challenge in Superman's eyes. Crawling forward – because his legs were too orgasm-shaky to hold him – he put his hands on Bruce's thighs. Bent his head down.

And took Bruce in his mouth.

Bruce screamed again, thighs tightening under his hands, and Clark could see why people would do this. The only way it would have been better would be if it had been Batman writhing under his mouth, all that power helpless against this…

Bruce came; Clark swallowed in startlement as Bruce sagged backward. Letting him go, wiping the semen from the corners of his mouth, Clark looked up in time to see Superman smile. Unable to move, he watched as Superman took his pleasure - one, two, three sinuous rolls of his hips, and Superman's face tightened, his eyes going distant while Bruce shuddered and moaned again, legs flexing involuntarily. Finished, Superman let Bruce sag against Clark. He had just enough energy to wrap his arms around Bruce – a limp, unconscious bundle of warm flesh – and look up as Superman smiled down on them.

And left.

Tightening his hold on Bruce, Clark sighed, and let the exhaustion take him. Superman would take care of the emergencies. As he always did.

******

Batman carefully shut down the feed. If this all got resolved, it didn't really matter. Their memories would merge just as surely as they had diverged, but even though he wasn't Bruce, a direct feed into the JLA watchtower of Bruce's home was not something he was willing to leave connected.

If this didn't get resolved, it wasn't going to matter because even though the rest of them might be fooling Wonder Woman and Aquaman into thinking that they could function, it wasn't going to work long term.

Maybe it was because alter ego or not, Batman and Bruce were both only human, but he could feel the edges fraying. It was more than the fact that his vision had been fading more and more over the past few days (if he had been himself that would have worried him a great deal more – which was the point; he didn't even care about that). If this situation had taught him anything, it was that no matter how Bruce felt, no matter what he did, Bruce was more than just the Batman - that without Bruce's passion, Bruce's will, Bruce's fury - there wasn't a true Batman.

He should have been bothered by seeing Superman toying with both Bruce and Clark.

He should bring it up to Wonder Woman or Aquaman. Copy the surveillance and leave that copy somewhere one of them couldn't fail to see –

Well. If he had been Bruce, he might have. Granted, if he had been Bruce, it wouldn't have been an issue.

As darkness closed in on him, Batman carefully finished erasing the traces.

Superman would be coming back soon.

******

Extra bonus odd tag scene:

Alfred turned the thermostat up three degrees. Normally Master Bruce preferred the ambient temperature on the cool side, but from the – sounds – (and subsequent abrupt lack thereof) a warmer climate would be a benefit.

He was glad to know that the brief blackness streaking across his vision hadn't been a sign that he required new spectacles.

Fic: Claim #131

2007-01-06T02:53:06Z

Title: Lost Together
Author: evangelene
Claim No.: 131 for tmelange
Prompt: From the Justice League Animated Series, the episode where Superman is presumed dead: a story where BOTH Superman and Batman are sent into the desolate future. Bonus: Batman is hurt (hurt/comfort).
Rating: R
Word Count: 4481

:-:

Fic: Claim #121

2007-01-05T05:41:25Z

Title: One Wedding and an Admission
Author: trascendenza
Claim No.: 121 for calliopes_pen
Prompt: A fanfic wherein Clark and Bruce attend a wedding (anyone is fine--use your imagination) separately, but realize their feelings by the wedding reception.
Rating: G
Word Count: 1795

:-:

Fic: Claim #156

2007-01-04T22:31:23Z

Title: Two Fish, One Swimming Upstream
Claim No.: 156 for iris_summers
Prompt: An angsty love triangle involving Clark/Bruce/Lex. Clark is torn and conflicted about both, while Bruce and Lex are jealous/possessive about having to share Clark with the other.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4662

:-:

Fic: Addition to Claim #160

2007-01-03T23:49:59Z

Title: This is How I Feel
Author: wachey
Claim No.: Special addition to #160 for fan_spagle
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 478
Note: This drabble is a continuation of Perchance to Dream.
Summary: Superman tells Batman what he has dreamt.

:-:

It took little effort to bring Mongul down, and Superman wasted no time in imprisoning him. His heart still hurt over the sudden loss of his dream, but he would strive for something similar.

Walking with his comrades to the invisible plane, he placed a hand on Batman’s shoulder, and said, “Diana, if you don’t mind, I have something private to tell Bruce.”

“Do you need me to wait?” she asked.

“There’s no need. I’ll take him home,” he explained, receiving a quirked brow from both of his friends.

After she had left, Superman led Batman to the computer room, trying to hold onto the little resolve he had left to fulfill his promise.

“What did you want to tell me?” Batman asked, not impatient, just curious.

“I—what did you dream about?” Superman asked in return. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to word his explanation.

Looking at his friend sternly, the Dark Knight replied, “I think we both know what I dreamt.”

“Right, I’m sorry. I’m just not sure how to tell you my dream,” Kal admitted.

“Simple, start out with the details, then elaborate,” Batman said curtly.

Staring at him blankly, Superman stated, “The first thing I saw was a gold wedding ring with a piece of green kryptonite in the center. It had the inscription: To My Shining Star, My Love, My Pain." “The ring didn’t hurt me, though, because I was on Krypton. It hadn’t been destroyed, and I was living on a farm, with my spouse and two adoptive sons.”

“Adopted?” Batman questioned when his friend paused.

“Yes, they were Dick and Tim. You were my spouse, Bruce,” Superman admitted.

To say the Dark Knight was stunned would’ve been an understatement. He never suspected that his friend felt that way about him; not a single clue. Seeing the anxious look on Kal’s face, Batman finally said, “That explains the ‘My Pain,’ part.”

That earned him a laugh, which eased some of the tension, but he was still a bit unsure, so he asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I love you, Bruce, and I made a promise to you in my dream to let you know it,” Kal admitted honestly.

He could tell his words scared Bruce, so he added, “I don’t expect you to ever feel the same way, I just wanted you to know how much that dream meant to me.”

An intense silence then fell between the two, as one of them felt conflicted, the other unsure.

In an attempt to break the silence, Superman said, “Would you like me to take you hom—“

The kiss he received from Batman interrupted his question, and set his heart on a new high.

They kissed for what seemed like decades, before Bruce pulled away and commanded, “Tell me everything.”

Kal did that, and more, in the bedroom.

-End

Fic: Perchance to Dream

2007-01-03T23:37:50Z

Title: Perchance to Dream
Author: wachey
Claim No.: 160
Prompt: A fic based around the Justice League episode called “For the man who has everything.” A fic where Clark's Dream World is being with Bruce! When the plant gets torn off…Clark tells Bruce about the dream world and tells him that they were a couple in the world...and cue in the Slashy goodness!
Rating: R
Word Count: 1825
Notes: This story is based off of the episode, “For the Man Who Has Everything,” and is sort of a prequel to my other claim Stupid Dog.

:-:

Green. That was the first thing he saw as he opened his eyes. Lifting his left hand, he found the green was from his ring, his wedding ring. The green part was obviously Kryptonite, but it wasn’t hurting him.

Taking it off for a better look, Kal-El then found the inscription written on the inside. It read, ‘To My Shining Star, My Love, My Pain.’

“Reading the inscription again?” Someone said beside him. It was then Kal remembered he hadn’t been sleeping alone. He never had to sleep alone anymore because…

…because he was married to Bruce Wayne.

That’s right; Krypton and Earth had formed an alliance with one another, ever since his father Jor-El made the first spaceship that was able to travel the distance between the two planets. Then scientists, funded by the Wayne Foundation, had created the teleportation gateways, thus allowing them quicker access to one another.

Everything was shaky at first, until both governments decided it would be best to marry off the two prominent sons of the El and Wayne family. Not necessarily to one another, but it turned out that way. And no alliance could have been formed upon a stronger bond.

“Hello, Krypton to Kal! Are you going to keep staring at that ring all day, or are you going to make love to the man who gave it to you?” Bruce interrupted.

Putting said ring back on, Kal decided it was best not to disappoint his husband, and turned to kiss him. Of course their kissing went further along into groping and fondling, until, finally…they were interrupted by Brainiac.

“Happy birthday, Kal-El. It is approximately 7 am, giving you one hour and twenty minutes to get ready for work, Bruce Wayne-El,” the little machine announced.

“I swear, one of these days I’m going to throw a magnet at it, and see how badly it malfunctions,” Bruce muttered.

“Don’t let it irritate you, we’ll have another day,” Kal said, kissing his husband again.

Not wanting to, but having to break the kiss, Bruce replied, “But today’s your birthday, Kal.”

“All the more reason for you to get out of work early and give me a proper birthday lay,” Kal stated, and both laughed softly.

When Bruce was finally in the shower, Kal set to work making breakfast. He knew his husband would only have ten minutes to eat before having to make the thirty-five minute drive from their home farm to Wayne-El Tech, but he wasn’t going to let his man work on an empty stomach.

As he did so, he remembered fondly the first day the two of them met. They had barely hit puberty before they were introduced, and were then informed that they were to be the best of friends.

Of course it was difficult at first, because Kal was humble and wanted to live on a farm, while Bruce wanted to do more, and appeared snotty. They were also so competitive with each other.

They even made a bet once as to how many times they could get laid within a month. Kal had courted Lana Lang, from Earth, and spent the entire month worshiping her body like a religion. Bruce, meanwhile, had slept with two or three Kryptonian girls a day. In the end it was a draw.

Thankfully, as time moved on, they matured, and like their parents wanted, they became best friends. But it wasn’t until Lex Luthor arrived that things changed between them again.

Clark…

Shaking his head, he nearly missed the question, “You okay, dad?”

“Yes, I’m fine Dick, just got up too fast,” Kal answered. He then asked, “Is your brother up, too?”

“Not yet, I’ll go get him,” Dick replied, and went off to wake his little brother Tim.

Kal smiled as he watched the young man walk back into the hallway. He loved both of his adopted sons so much, but he couldn’t help but want to make one with Bruce. Producing children through test tube was still in the experimental process though.

The project was something LexCorp Industries was working on, and that fact brought Kal back to his earlier musings.

Lex was also from Earth, and had been the one that made both Bruce and Kal question their orientation. He flirted shamelessly with the both of them, making them jealous of the other, or so they thought at first.

It wasn’t until Lex set them up did they realize they weren’t really jealous of each other, but of Lex himself, who now was just their mutual friend.

Suddenly, Bruce came rushing through the house, grabbing his briefcase and a small piece of toast saying, “No time to eat! Gotta go! See you later on tonight!”

Then with a quick peck on the cheek, he was gone.

“I wonder what that was all about,” Kal mumbled to himself.

Clark…

Messaging his temple, Kal tried to figure out why he was having these random bursts of dizziness, but was thankful he was at least able to make breakfast for his boys.

Drinking his coffee, he watched calmly as Dick and Tim ate their food happily, until Tim ran off with Krypto.

“You think I can have a cat?” Dick then asked, sipping his juice.

“We’ve been over this, and the answer is still the same,” Kal replied, trying not to smile as his eldest pouted. He then imagined how funny it was going to be when Dick’s birthday came up and he found a cat on his bed.

Clark…

“Dad you okay?!” Kal suddenly heard, not realizing he had fallen.

“Tim! Call Grandpa! Dad needs help!”

“No! No need for that! I’m fine, it’s just a dizzy spell,” he tried to explain.

Dick looked at his father and said, “You know I won’t believe that till Grandpa says so.”

Sighing, Kal nodded his head, and replied, “Fine, but we’ll go to him. No need for him to leave behind all his other patients just to see me.”

Thomas and Martha Wayne would spend up to six months on the planet Krypton and the other six months on Earth. This allowed Thomas to create two prominent hospitals and aide all that needed it.

And thankfully, he found nothing to be wrong with Kal, except for maybe lack of sleep and dehydration.

“We’ll leave it up to you two to make sure your dad here gets plenty of rest and juice,” Thomas ordered jokingly to Dick and Tim. Both boys nodded anyway and shook their heads at Kal. He felt embarrassed.

Clark…

A portrait of the Wayne family, above a fireplace, and a man with his back facing Kal looking straight at it, appeared in his mind. Then the man, now in some strange bat costume, was kneeling before a gravestone in the pouring rain. The stone had the word ‘Wayne’ on it.

The rest of the day seemed to go by in a blur, as Kal couldn’t get those images out of his head. Who was that man?

He somewhat reminded him of Bruce, but that couldn’t be possible. His husband’s parents were alive and well. And the man he saw was too depressed compared to his sarcastic yet romantic lover.

Besides, Kal had never been to Earth, so how could he know what Gotham City or Wayne Manor even looked like?

Distracted though he might be, he didn’t fail to notice his sons whispering some type of secret into each other’s ear. What were they up to?

He became even more suspicious when Dick used the excuse of needing more razors to leave the house. The boy hardly ever shaved…

Clark!

“Maybe you should take a nap? You know, until dad gets back,” Tim suggested, concerned.

“That might be a good idea,” Kal said, and retired to his room.

Laying his head down for what seemed like a minute, Kal was surprised to find it was already evening. Perhaps he hadn’t been getting enough sleep.

Clark! Wake up!

“You awake?” He heard his husband say, as he entered the room quietly.

“Bruce, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep so much,” Kal admitted.

“It’s okay, you needed the rest,” Bruce reassured and kissed him.

Deepening the kiss, Kal pulled his husband onto the bed, and tried to resume where they had left off that morning. His lover didn’t protest, and in fact encouraged it.

But again they were interrupted, only this time it was a baby's cry that did it.

Pulling away, Kal looked at his husband, seeing him smile and nod. So, in a rush, he ran out of their bedroom and into the living room to discover something, something grand.

Sitting between Dick and Tim was a little basket, and nestled inside of it was a baby.

“Happy Birthday, Kal,” Bruce whispered behind him.

“Thanks to LexCorp Industries, you and dad now have a baby!” Dick proclaimed.

“His name is Kon,” Tim then added, excited.

He’s going to kill her, Clark…

There were arms around his waist, he must’ve fallen again. What was wrong with him? Either way, his husband carried him back to their bedroom, and appeared very worried, if not a little scared.

“Can I hold the baby?” Kal asked softly, and was grateful when Tim handed over the infant. He was then left alone with his new son, as Bruce went off to contact his father.

Kon was still crying, if not worse than before. It was then realization hit him.

The man that had been standing in front of the portrait, and the grave, was Bruce—Batman.

His husband’s parents were dead. No, they weren’t even married, which meant his sons didn’t belong to him, only to Bruce.

He looked to the baby in his arms, remembering that LexCorp Industries had made it. Lex Luthor was not their friend. He was an enemy, because…

Because Kal-El was Superman. He was also Clark Kent, a journalist for the Daily Planet on Earth. Earth, not Krypton. Krypton had been destroyed.

Please Clark…

“Kal, tell me, what’s wrong?” Bruce seemed to plead. Batman never pleads, at least not out loud.

“Bruce, can I see the inscription on your ring?” he requested.

Unsure and confused, Bruce did so, and Kal took his time examining it. It was the same as his, only the stone was red. The inscription only confirmed what his mind knew to be true.

‘To My Dark Knight, My Heart and Desire.’

Why the title of ‘Dark Knight’ if his husband wasn’t Batman?

Everything in this world was just a dream, a wonderful dream, including Kon, their son. The son Kal-El always wanted with the man he loved.

The baby finally stopped crying, but the planet Krypton started to quake in its place.

Looking to Bruce one last time, Kal stated, “I love you, Bruce, and I promise to let you know once I wake up.”

He then gave one final kiss, before being ripped from his heart’s dream.

-End

Continued in This is How I Feel...

Fic: Claim #139

2007-01-03T20:32:54Z

Title: In Words Writ Large
Author: tmelange
Claim No.: 139 for schala_kid
Prompt: Batman's feelings and thoughts after he finds out Superman left for Krypton without saying goodbye, you can also include if desired his thoughts during Superman's four year absence and his reaction to Clark's return. You can include things from the comics, make it AU, whatever you want to add.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1244

:-:

Fic: Claim #155

2007-01-02T23:31:00Z

Title: A Spoonful of Sun
Author: tmelange
Claim No.: 155 for ignited
Prompt: All-Star Superman-verse - Clark Kent decides to "interview" his best friend Bruce Wayne (not All-Star Batman; I’d imagine he’d be slightly Silver Age in this particular verse) but really just wants to talk to him about Clark's solar overload/impending death. How will Bruce react and what will he do?
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2044

:-:

Fic: Claim #103 (4 of 4)

2007-01-02T05:59:17Z

Title: A Year Without Batman (4 of 4)
Author: taro_twist
Claim No.: 103 for samibee
Prompt: Brucie gets kidnapped, Batman is not amused, Bruce has to balance the act. Meanwhile Clark Kent investigates the high profile kidnapping and Superman saves the day. Even though Batman could have totally handled it himself...
Word Count: 12,383

:-:

Continued...

Part Four

“By Jove, have we been killed, sir?” Alfred exclaimed. “Sir? Are you there?”

“Oh! Sorry about that. I … forgot,” Clark turned on his heat vision just enough to cast a soft pink glow about their surroundings. He could see in the dark, but of course Alfred couldn’t. He felt bad for not considering that.

“I don‘t think it worked. Your hocus-pocus, I mean,” Alfred commented as he gazed around them. They seemed to be standing in a small, underground passage.

“Actually, I think it worked a little too well,” Clark said as he scanned the area with his super-hearing. The sound was muffled, but he thought he could hear the clamoring of bats. “Instead of showing us where Bruce is, I … I think the spell took us there!”

“Oh, jolly good. I’ve always wanted to visit the lair of an evil wizard,” Alfred said. “Well, what is your plan, then?”

“Um … find Bruce and get out of here?” Clark tried to get a look at the rest of the cave system with his X-ray vision, but it didn’t work. Whether that was because of magic or lead in the walls, he didn’t know, but it was damn annoying.

“You call that a plan?” Alfred sounded appalled.

“It’s … when dealing with magic, there’s only so much I can plan for,” Clark sighed. “My powers are almost useless, and magic is so unpredictable. I … just trust me. I’ll get us all out of here.”

“Don’t tell me to trust you,” Alfred grumbled. “I already do.”

Clark smiled.

“Well, I think you’d better come with me,” the Man of Steel said after another moment. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Lead the way, then, Superman.”

:-:

“You know, sir, if you ever tire of this superhero thing, you could go into the business of providing mood lighting,” Alfred mused as they rounded another corner, Clark’s heat vision coloring the rocky walls crimson.

Clark snorted, embarrassed. He involuntarily switched off his heat vision, the passageway going dark.

“Well, don’t take it personally,” Alfred said. “It was only a suggestion.”

:-:

“I believe we’ve passed this spot three times already,” Alfred observed, gesturing towards some stalactites that had grown in the shape of a goat.

“I know,” Clark sighed.

“Just checking, sir.”

:-:

“Ouch,” Clark rubbed at his hand after (unsuccessfully) trying to break through a collapsed passage.

“That’s never a good sign,” Alfred commented.

“They must have reinforced the rock here with some kind of spell after the first time I broke in,” Clark said, looking around for another way to circumvent the blockade.

“Is it just me, or do you feel like we’re rats in a maze going after a bit of cheese?” Alfred asked.

“Yeah. Sort of,” Clark agreed. He tried moving the boulders that blocked their path aside one by one, but they wouldn’t budge. “Bruce is better than cheese, though.” A pause. “I mean … he’s more important than cheese. Obviously.”

“I won’t tell him you said that.”

“Thanks.”

:-:

“Alfred, look at that,” Clark whispered. He turned his heat vision down so that the butler could see the faint golden light that glimmered in the distance. “The main cavern must be right up there.”

When Clark didn’t get a response, he turned around and saw—nothing. Nothing but empty passageway lay behind him.

“Alfred?” Clark called out, his voice echoing through the cave. “Alfred!”

Clark tried to retrace his steps at super-speed, but he could barely get up to a normal run. His super-hearing was just as useless. He couldn’t believe that he had lost Alfred. The man had been right behind him. Right behind him. How had—

Clark leaned against the cave wall and rubbed his hands over his face. He took a few deep breaths, trying to ease the tightness in his chest. He should never have involved Alfred. Never. These realizations wouldn’t do him any good now, though. He had no choice but to press forward.

:-:

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Von Rothbart picked up his full-length mirror and repositioned it so that Bruce could see into it from his cage. It was the mirror that had broken all those months ago when he had escaped, but it had since been repaired. “I did not expect to see the alien. My protection spells detected your lover—not this creature.”

Von Rothbart adjusted the mirror further, then stepped aside so that Bruce could look at it. Instead of seeing a bat in a cage staring back at him, though, Bruce found himself gazing into a small chamber that was not much bigger than Von Rothbart’s bedroom.

The room on the other side of the mirror was suffused with a soft golden light. Translucent stalactites hung from the ceiling, slender as a woman’s fingers and glittering like crystal. Superman stood in the entrance to the room, his face glistening with sweat, his uniform streaked with dirt.

Clark. Bruce wanted to call out. He forced himself to sit still, though. Forced himself to not show any reaction at the sight of his friend. As he continued to gaze into the mirror, though, he couldn’t help but jump. At the other end of the chamber, there was—

“Or could it be that your lover is this alien?” Von Rothbart asked, raising his bushy eyebrows. “I cannot see why else he would fall into my Odile’s trap.”

Bruce barely registered Von Rothbart’s words. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He was at the other end of the chamber. Him. Bruce Wayne. Shackled to the wall and in the tuxedo he’d been wearing when he was taken last year. He was looking at himself.

“Ahh. A man who is not deterred by the boundaries between species,” Von Rothbart was saying now—purring, really. “There are so many things to love about you, my pet.” He tapped on the mirror, and Bruce heard Clark’s voice rise out of it.

“Bruce, are you all right?” Clark gasped, rushing forward to unchain the doppelganger. “God, I thought I’d never find you.” Clark’s voice was shaking as he undid the other man’s restraints. “I-I’m so sorry. That I couldn’t stop him. And I-I lost Alfred. And—”

“It’s okay,” Bruce heard his double say. The other Bruce reached out and took Clark‘s hand. “I’m fine. Everything‘s fine.”

“Good,” Clark breathed. He was staring at the hand in his. “Good.” He shook his head. “We have to find Alfred, now. I don’t know if Von Rothbart took him, or if we just got separated because of all the spells we had to walk through or—”

“Shh,” the other Bruce hushed him, resting a finger against Clark’s lips. “There’s something I have to do first.”

If Bruce had been in human form, he would have laughed upon seeing his double lean forward and press its lips to Clark’s.

That’s ridiculous, he thought to himself. If he’s trying to pretend to be me, he’s definitely failing. I would never do that. I would never—

And then Clark kissed the other man back. Suddenly, Bruce felt a strange mix of desire and nausea wash over him. He felt longing. He felt … betrayed.

“I think that is enough for one day,” Von Rothbart smirked, and swept a hand across the mirror’s surface. The golden room on the other side vanished, and Bruce found himself faced with his own reflection. He could barely see what lay in front of him, though.

“I am sorry for you,” Von Rothbart continued. “I truly am. It must be sad to find that you are so … replaceable. But I promise that I will love you better than he ever did.”

Bruce didn’t hear what the magician said next. He threw himself against the bars of his cage, nearly hard enough to break a wing. Over and over and over again, until blood trickled into his eyes and Von Rothbart had to freeze him with an incantation.

:-:

“No. No.”

Clark shoved Bruce away from him with so much force that the other man went flying. He crashed into the stalactites, and they shattered with a silvery tinkling as he skidded to a stop on the far side of the room. Clark wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, ashamed that he had given in to the temptation to kiss this mockery of his friend.

“No,” he repeated. It seemed to be the only he could say.

“What’s wrong?” the man who looked like Bruce gazed up at him from the floor, eyes wide and watering. Those weren’t Bruce’s eyes. “I thought … don’t you want this?”

Yes.

“No. No. No,“ Clark chanted. “This—this isn’t real. You aren’t Bruce. He would …” As much as he hated to say it, he had to. To remind himself of reality. “He would never want this.”

The Bruce imposter touched his fingers to the back of his head. When he pulled them away, they were wet with blood. He then raised his eyes to the ceiling as if searching for something. When the imposter lowered his eyes again, Clark realized that he wasn’t looking at Bruce anymore, but at Odile.

“You,” Clark hissed. “What have you done? What have you done with him?” He rushed towards her, but was stopped by some kind of invisible barrier. She slowly climbed to her feet, hands raised in a position of surrender.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, out of breath. “I’m so sorry. I just thought … I thought … I know you won’t understand. But I’ve never been allowed to experience love. Not in my entire life. It weakens Papa’s magic, you see. But you—you love him so much. I just wanted to make that love mine. Is that so selfish?”

“Yes,” Clark spat. “Now tell me where he is, or so help me god I’ll bring this place crashing to the ground.”

Odile laughed weakly. “No you won‘t.” She laughed harder. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

In response, Clark hurled himself at her, only to strike her barrier again. He crumpled in a heap at her feet.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Odile said, taking off the jacket she was wearing and folding it over one arm. Bruce’s jacket. “He loves you, too. If he didn‘t, Papa would have destroyed you by now. It’s only Bruce‘s love that has protected you.”

“Don’t you dare say his name,” Clark growled. He picked himself back up off the ground. He could barely stand. He reached out for the invisible barrier that Odile had erected. Leaned against it. It was cool against his forehead, like glass. “Please take me to him,” he begged. “Please.”

Odile shifted from foot to foot. For a long while, she stared at the ground. Then, she raised her chin, lips set in a determined line. “If I do this for you, will you find me someone?”

“Find you … someone?” Clark frowned.

“To love,” Odile clarified.

“I can’t promise you that,” Clark told her. “Finding love isn’t easy. Some people spend their entire lives searching for it.”

Odile ground her teeth. “Promise, or you’ll never see your love again.” She waved a hand, and Clark found himself pinned to the ground again.

“Okay. Okay,” Clark gasped, realizing that it would be silly to refuse. It wasn’t as if she was asking for a blood sacrifice. “If you help me rescue Bruce, then I’ll … set you up on a date. And you have to send Alfred home, too. Is that a deal?”

Odile screwed her mouth up as she considered Clark’s offer. Then, she smiled, a spark in her dark eyes. “That’s two favors I’d be doing. Wouldn’t it only be fair for you to set me up on two dates, then?”

Clark groaned. “If the first guy doesn’t work out, then I’ll set you up with another one. Is that fair?”

“Who says I like guys?” Odile asked.

“But you … but you kissed … never mind,“ Clark sighed, and buried his face in the dirt.

:-:

“Pamela Isley?” Clark raised his eyebrows at Bruce.

“What?” Bruce looked up from the mound of paperwork on his desk. Returning to work after a year’s absence had left him with a lot of catching up to do.

“You got Odile a room in Arkham with Pamela Isley?”

“She said she wanted someone to love,” Bruce shrugged. “And who doesn’t love Poison Ivy?”

“What happens if she breaks out?” Clark asked, not wanting to dwell on the subject of Odile and Poison Ivy anymore. “She’s a magician—that place can’t hold her.”

“No worries, Clark,” Bruce signed one paper with a flourish and pushed it aside before grabbing another. “I found some djinn in Morocco to help me out with that—Arkham is officially magic proof. It‘ll even hold Von Rothbart, if and when we find where he‘s disappeared to.”

“Nice,” Clark nodded, impressed.

“Clark, is there something you want?” Bruce snapped, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Or were you just planning on hovering around me like a gnat for the rest of the day?”

Clark took a deep breath. “There’s something you need to know.”

“I’m waiting,” Bruce rumbled. He was filling out a form with such vigor that his pen tore through the paper. Cursing, he trashed the form and grabbed a packet from a stack of files. Clark tried not to smile. It was nice to have his friend back.

“When I ran into Odile in Von Rothbart’s cavern—at first, she … didn’t look like herself,” he finally said.

Bruce froze, pen poised above this newest piece of paper.

“She looked like you,” Clark went on. “She was … impersonating you, because … well, it doesn’t matter why. I knew it wasn’t you. I don’t know how. I just … I knew. But then she kissed me. And I knew it wasn’t you, but I still kissed her back because … because I knew that was the closest I would ever get to the real thing.”

Clark ran his fingertips along the edge of Bruce’s desk, unable to look his friend in the eye. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I’m sorry for feeling this way, but I can’t help it.” Clark sighed. “I’ll let you do your work now.”

Before Bruce could respond, Clark turned to leave. He couldn’t bear it if Bruce told him that he didn’t feel the same way.

He was at the door when he heard Bruce start to stand up. In spite of himself, he paused.

“Clark. You idiot—”

Clark winced.

“Don’t be sorry.”

Clark looked back at Bruce, who was gazing at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

“Don’t break my door knob, either,” Bruce said, gesturing towards Clark‘s hand.

“Oh. Oops,” Clark released the door knob to Bruce’s office, but it was too late. It had already been soundly mangled. “Sorry about that.” Clark apologized in dismay as he tried to squeeze the knob back into a vaguely spherical shape. “I’ll pay for a ... new ... one ...”

Clark trailed off as he felt Bruce’s hand on his arm, turning him so that he was now face to face with the Dark Knight.

“Clark, have you ever made a wish on a falling star?” Bruce asked.

“Um ... sure,” Clark frowned, confused. “Why?”

“I never did,” Bruce said. “Not until last year.”

“Oh. Okay. Did it come true?”

“Yes,” Bruce smiled. Clark found this to be rather suspicious. When Bruce kissed him a second later, he found it to be even more suspicious, although quite enjoyable as well.

“You’re not going to turn into a girl now, are you?” Clark asked after several breathless minutes had passed.

“Would you like that?” Bruce waggled his eyebrows.

“Nah,” Clark shook his head. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

“You could ask Odile for another favor,” Bruce suggested.

“Shut up,” Clark said. Then, to ensure that Bruce was effectively silenced, Clark pinned him to the door, and kissed him again.

Outside of the door, Alfred Pennyworth raised a hand to the door knob, ready to enter the office with his employer’s afternoon coffee. When he heard the commotion inside, though, he decided that maybe it was safest to bring the coffee later. As in, the next day, perhaps.

Fic: Claim #103 (3 of 4)

2007-01-02T05:56:43Z

Title: A Year Without Batman (3 of 4)
Author: taro_twist
Claim No.: 103 for samibee
Prompt: Brucie gets kidnapped, Batman is not amused, Bruce has to balance the act. Meanwhile Clark Kent investigates the high profile kidnapping and Superman saves the day. Even though Batman could have totally handled it himself...
Word Count: 12,383

:-:

Continued...

Part Three

{Ruined. Ruined! My plans will all be ruined,} Von Rothbart wailed in German as he stalked about his bedroom.

{Papa, will you please calm down?} D—Odile—pleaded. She paced in his wake, wringing her hands.

{How can I calm down, daughter? Tell me how. I have dreamed of finding a specimen of this caliber for eons,} Von Rothbart thrust a finger in Bruce’s direction, who was locked up in a cage as a bat once more. {And yet I cannot possess him because he is spoiled by love’s touch.}

{Nonsense, Papa. It won’t matter after—}

{His lover will find him and he will break the spell.}

Clark? My lover? Bruce would have raised an eyebrow, if he‘d had eyebrows. He tried to ignore the fact that he didn’t actually mind if the crazy wizard thought he and Clark were lovers.

{Papa, you’re forgetting yourself,} Odile blocked her father’s path, and took both of his hands in her own. {Once a year has passed since the spell was cast over this man, it will be permanent. Not even true love can break it then. He will be yours for eternity.}

True love? You’ve got to be kidding me, Bruce snarked to himself, mostly to distract from the fact that, if he wasn’t able to escape in the next few months, he would apparently be trapped here for the rest of his life.

{Yes, yes. But if he and his lover are somehow reunited before then …} Von Rothbart fretted. {Oh, daughter, you do not know how difficult it was to bring him back home. I do not think that I can face them together another time. My magics are worthless when dealing with two bonded souls.} Von Rothbart grabbed a vase from a nearby side-table and threw it against the wall. It shattered. {Worthless.} His shoulders slumped.

Odile took a deep breath, and lifted her chin. {Then we will have to break that bond,>}she said.

{No spell can—}

{There are other ways,} Odile assured Von Rothbart. Her voice was steely with resolution, but when she turned to look at Bruce again, her gaze wavered.

:-:

“Apparently, it’s somewhat like trying to pin down an electron as it orbits a nucleus,” Clark explained. “The Fortress can calculate the probability of finding Von Rothbart’s cavern in a certain spot, but it can’t say where it is specifically at any one moment.”

“Well, that’s certainly better than nothing,” Alfred remarked. He and Clark were in the manor kitchen—Alfred waiting by the oven for his cupcakes to finish baking, and Clark standing next to the island, fiddling with the fake fruit that made up the centerpiece.

“Don’t worry, sir. Master Bruce did escape once—I‘m sure he can do it again,” Alfred went on when Clark didn‘t say anything further. The timer dinged and he slipped on two oven mitts. “And at least we know he’s alive. That’s the most important thing, yes?”

“I thought I was supposed to be telling you not to worry,” Clark raised his eyes from the plastic lemon he was holding to look at Alfred.

“Yes, but you were doing a bloody terrible job of it, so I thought I’d take over,” Alfred commented as he removed the tray of cupcakes from the oven. Clark laughed in spite of himself.

“But what if Bruce can’t escape this time?“ Clark sighed. “The Fortress said it could take months to finish the calculations necessary to find where Von Rothbart’s lair might be. Or even years.”

“There you go with the gloom and doom again,” Alfred shook his head, placing the cupcakes on the island. Their sweet smell flooded Clark‘s nostrils. “If you continue to insist on moping like this, I’m going to start charging you a therapist’s fee.”

Clark set the fake lemon back down. He didn’t want to say it. Not in front of Alfred. But he couldn’t help himself anymore. “I failed him. I failed him again.”

“You could never fail him,” Alfred insisted. He braced himself against the island, and looked Clark square in the eye. “Not as long as you remain yourself. Now cheer up and help me ice these cupcakes. You can’t ice cupcakes when you’re sad, you know.”

:-:

As Lois approached Clark’s desk, Clark tried to close the browser window he had been looking at. Technology always failed him when he needed it most, though. In spite of all of his frantic clicking—or perhaps because of it—his computer froze.

“’Traditional Witchcraft,’” Lois read off of the computer screen, leaning on the back of his chair. “Wow. They’d burn you at the stake for this back home, yeah?”

“Um …” Clark continued to click on the “X” of the browser window, but to no avail.

“Never took you for the alternative lifestyle type,” Lois continued, swiveling his chair around so that he was facing her.

“Well, it’s not …” Clark fumbled for an explanation. “I’m doing research on, uh …”

“A hot story, huh?” Lois quirked an eyebrow at him and plopped down on the corner of his desk. She was always sitting on his desk.

“Maybe,” Clark shrugged.

“Let me guess. Your newest theory is that Bruce Wayne was taken by a New Age cult,” Lois mused.

“Lois,” Clark laughed uncomfortably. “You-you don’t really think that I’m still working on—”

“Clark, if nothing else, let me remind you that I am your partner,“ Lois caught his eyes with her own. “You can always ask me for help.” A beat. “You can trust me.” Her gaze intensified. “To keep a secret.”

Clark wondered if she was saying what he thought she was saying.

“Anyway, what I meant to tell you in the first place is that Jason‘s spring piano recital is next week,” Lois hopped back off of his desk, heels clicking as she landed. “He’s playing ’Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’ It—he likes you. It would make him happy to see you there.”

“Oh. Okay, Lois,” Clark grinned. “I won’t disappoint him.”

:-:

“Sir, I highly doubt that Master Bruce is going to appreciate it if he returns to find the cave decorated with stars,” Alfred clucked as he came down the steps into the Batcave, holding a spice rack in both hands.

“It’s not a star, it’s a pentagram,” Superman announced. He finished chalking the figure on the floor of the Batcave; he had drawn it right at the edge of the pool that the waterfall plunged into. He then stood up, and dusted his hands off on his blue tights. “Did you get the herbs?”

“Right here, sir,” Alfred held the spice rack out to Clark, who checked a list he had written on the palm of his hand before picking out a few bottles from the rack.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Alfred asked as he watched Clark sprinkle the herbs into the waterfall pool. “This seems like a waste of perfectly good seasoning if you ask me.”

“You might be right,” Clark admitted. “But if this works, it should allow us to see exactly where Bruce is.” Clark handed the herbs back to Alfred, before dashing over to a bundle wrapped in his cape, which he had dropped in a corner of the cave. From the bundle, he pulled out a number of candles, and set them up around the circumference of the pentagram.

“We really are desperate, aren’t we,” Alfred remarked. Clark looked up from lighting the candles with his heat vision.

“The Fortress gave me a new estimate for how long it would take to come up with the probability function for the location of Von Rothbart’s hideout,” Superman informed the butler. “It said it would take a hundred years.”

“My word,” Alfred breathed.

“I really think this’ll work, though,” Clark tried to smile. “This is a legitimate spell. I can‘t work magic, but a lot of magical bloodlines come from the British Isles, which means there’s a good chance that you have some kind of latent magical talents. The Batcave is a place of power. The Fortress crystals should help you to channel the energy.” Clark paused to catch his breath. “I really think this should work.”

“If you say so, sir,” Alfred said. “Now, what is it that you would like me to do?”

:-:

“I tell you, I’m not seeing anything,” Alfred said. He was kneeling in the middle of the pentagram, staring into the well-seasoned pool of water, a Kryptonian crystal in each hand. One of the candles sputtered out. Superman rekindled it with a glare.

“Just keep … staring,” Clark said, pacing back and forth outside of the circle, his cape swishing behind him. “It’s supposed to take a while.”

“Define ’a while.’”

“Just … keep visualizing the flow of energy, and keep concentrating,” Clark told the butler.

“And just how am I supposed to concentrate with you dancing around like that?” Alfred snipped.

Clark stopped mid-pace. “Oh. Sorry. Maybe I should leave?”

“Maybe we should take a rest,” Alfred suggested. “Give it another go in the morning?”

Clark shook his head. “We can’t. It has to be tonight. If we don’t succeed now, then we can’t repeat the spell for another three months—something about the alignment of the planet or … We just have to do it now.” Superman insisted. “We have to.”

“Well, when you put it that way …”

“Alfred, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Not to worry, sir. I think I’ve just gotten a second wind,“ Alfred remarked, smiling a little as he turned to gaze into the pool with renewed vigor.

For his part, Clark tried to keep still from that point onward. Every once in a while, he dashed out of the cave to deal with some emergency, but he always returned as soon as possible. To watch, to wait. To hope.

:-:

For a long time, the only sound in the cave was that of the waterfall. Clark tried to focus on that sound; it was certainly easier than focusing on Alfred, and what was turning out to be another futile attempt to save Bruce. He just wanted to lose himself in the splashing of water against rock, the churning of liquid, the bubbling of—

Clark frowned when he noticed that the waterfall pool appeared to be boiling. He opened his mouth to ask if Alfred was seeing anything, but restrained himself after remembering that he wasn’t supposed to disturb the butler. He crept closer to the pentagram. Alfred no longer seemed to be aware of his presence. The crystals in his hands were pulsing with a soft blue light, which soon jumped to the pool of water.

“Alfred?” Clark whispered, unable to hold back any longer. He had to know. “Alfred, is it working?”

No response. Clark tip-toed closer, trying to peer over the butler’s shoulder. He thought he could see the flickering of an image in the water, but even with his enhanced vision, he couldn’t quite make it out. He edged even closer.

“Alfred, can you see Bruce?” he asked. He had to know. “Alfred.”

Clark rose up off the ground and floated forward a bit more. When he set down, he realized that he had crossed into the chalk circle, smudging it with one of his boots. An instant after that, the pastel blue light shot out of the pool and surged up through the waterfall. A loud hum filled the Batcave, and the waterfall began to twist around like a tornado. It lashed out, coiling about Alfred’s torso. Pulling him underwater.

“Alfred!”

Superman lunged for the butler, grabbing him by the ankle just before he disappeared entirely. Whatever had seized Alfred was too strong for Clark, though. He couldn’t get Alfred away from it. He could only hold on as the two men were dragged ever downwards.

Continued in Part 4...

Fic: Claim #103 (2 of 4)

2007-01-02T05:45:09Z

Title: A Year Without Batman (2 of 4)
Author: taro_twist
Claim No.: 103 for samibee
Prompt: Brucie gets kidnapped, Batman is not amused, Bruce has to balance the act. Meanwhile Clark Kent investigates the high profile kidnapping and Superman saves the day. Even though Batman could have totally handled it himself...
Word Count: 12,383

:-:

Continued...

Part Two

“Mr. Kent! Mr. Kent, are you alive?”

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Jimmy Olsen’s swam into Clark’s dreams. A second later, he felt something like cold water being poured on his face. A lot of it. Spluttering, Clark opened his eyes, and jerked upright.

“Oh, Mr. Kent, you’re all right,” Jimmy exclaimed, throwing his arms around the soggy reporter. Clark blinked, and gently extricated himself from the younger man’s hug. Looking around, he saw that he was in his apartment, in the living room, on the floor.

“Gee, Mr. Kent, you sure gave me a scare,” Jimmy was rambling now. He took a sip from the glass of water that he had apparently splashed on Clark a moment before. “You really looked like you were dead when you were lying there. I thought for sure that maybe Luthor had sent someone to kill you. I mean, it’s no secret that you’ve been getting those threats …”

Clark glanced down at himself while Jimmy spoke. He was wearing one of his work suits. Raising a hand to his face, he felt around his eyes. Where were his glasses, though? Aha! On the coffee table. He grabbed for them, wiped some of the water from his face with the back of his sleeve, and slipped them on. For a moment, he closed his eyes and held his glasses in place as if they might run away if he let go. Waves of dizziness washed over him. What had happened?

“Mr. Kent? Mr. Kent, are you feeling okay?” Jimmy was asking. “Do you want some water?”

He held out the glass he’d been drinking from. Clark took it and drained it. He was terribly thirsty.

“Jimmy, um, what’s going on?” Clark set the glass down on the coffee table. He thought about standing up, but his spinning head seemed to have a different idea about that.

Jimmy raised his eyebrows. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Uhh …“ Clark racked his brain for a suitable excuse for the state he was in. “I … I think I have the flu?” he finally offered, somewhat lamely. It seemed to be an acceptable answer for Jimmy, though, who pressed his lips together and nodded gravely.

“Jimmy, what are you doing here?” Clark asked, hoping that the photographer’s answer might shed some light on what Clark himself was doing here.

“Well, apparently you have some files that Ms. Lane is in need of, and you weren’t answering your phone and,” Jimmy lowered his voice, as if Lois might have bugged Clark’s apartment. “Well, you know how Ms. Lane gets. So I offered to try to track you down. I’m sure she won’t be too upset when she realizes you’re sick, though.”

“That might be a little too much to hope for from Lois,” Clark mumbled.

“Say, are you hungry?” Jimmy chirped, apparently eager to get away from the subject of Lois Lane’s wrath. “Why don’t you lie down on the couch here, and I’ll make you some soup. How’s that?”

“Don’t you need Lois’s files?” Clark asked as he obligingly dragged himself onto his sofa. He buried his face in a pillow. Soup did sound good. Jimmy said something in response to his question, but he couldn’t quite understand what the words meant. His mind was wandering in the dark again, returning to wherever it had been before Jimmy had thrown water on him.

God, what had happened? He remembered flying, now—he had been sweeping the globe in search of Bruce. That was it. He’d been doing that every night since he’d learned of Bruce’s disappearance, although it never yielded any results. This time had been different, though. Clark had heard the other man’s heart beat, his voice—muffled, as though Bruce was in a partially soundproofed room, but there nonetheless. For an instant, Clark had wondered whether he had become so desperate to find Bruce that he had started imagining signs that his friend was still alive. An instant later, he had pushed aside all doubts, and had sped towards that aural beacon.

Jimmy was asking him something. Did he want chicken soup, or tomato soup? Clark tried saying the word “tomato,” and assumed that he had succeeded when Jimmy didn’t rush back into the living room to check if he was still alive. It was difficult to speak, though. He was remembering magic now. Magic. It had been so hard to reach Bruce. Magic had kept Clark from him. He had flown as fast as he could go, and the rhythm of Bruce’s heartbeat had been everywhere and nowhere at once. It had been like chasing after a mirage—every time he had thought he had found the place where Bruce was being kept, he had realized that nothing was there at all.

Clark didn’t know how long it had taken before he had finally closed in on Bruce’s location. If the journey before then had been a blur, the events that followed were shrouded in an even thicker fog. There had been a cavern full of pale, glowing stalactites, and golden cages, and jet black bats. Clark had crashed into the cave, disoriented, and Bruce’s heartbeat had faded away into nothing, and there had been spells, shooting at him from all directions and—

Clark sat bolt upright again. Jimmy was standing in front of him with a bowl, looking lost.

“I almost had him,” Clark gasped, not speaking to anyone in particular. “I was so close.”

“So close to what, Mr. Kent?” Jimmy inquired, setting the soup down on the coffee table.

“I was so close,” Clark repeated, too shocked to say anything else.

“Mr. Kent, I think you might be delirious,” Jimmy suggested.

:-:

The crash of glass as a window shattered. A shriek.

“Get it away from me get it away from me get it away from me!”

Clark started, spilling pink punch on his tuxedo shirt as he did so. He set his drink down, and switched to X-ray vision, peering through the crowd to see what was causing the commotion. He hoped that it wasn’t anything too serious. As Superman, he had promised Lois that he wouldn’t make any appearances at her wedding, or at the reception, unless it was a life or death situation. This meant that if there was any trouble just short of murder, he would have to defuse it while keeping up the mild-mannered act. And that was no easy task.

“I wonder what’s happening,” Richard said from beside Clark. A moment later, the pilot was heading towards the crowd that had gathered at the far end of the banquet hall. By now, though, Clark had already determined that the source of the ruckus was not a serious threat. It was just a bat that had flown through a closed window.

“Somebody kill it, somebody kill it,” the woman that had shrieked earlier—some reporter named Polly—was standing on a chair, cringing and pointing at the bat in horror. The creature was sprawled out on the floor, flopping around. It seemed to be injured. The Lane-White’s wedding guests slowly gathered around it. Most of them kept their distance, but one brash young man advanced towards it with a broom, seemingly intent on striking the animal. Clark rushed forward to stop him, but was beaten to the punch.

“Don’t! Stop it, it‘s hurt,” Jason White protested. He dove into the circle of adults, putting himself between the bat and the broom-wielding man. He then turned to his mother, who had joined her new husband in seeing what all the fuss was about. “Mommy, can we take it home, please? It needs help. I can take care of it, I know I can. Can we keep it? It can be our pet. Please?”

“Jason, I’m afraid you can’t keep a wild animal as a pet,” Richard informed his son, sounding apologetic.

“Jason, you’re probably allergic to bats,” Lois added. “And don’t touch it, it might have diseases, too.”

“But mommy, it’s hurt. We can’t just leave it here. What are we going to do? Can’t we just keep it until it gets better?” Jason pleaded, blue eyes wide. A number of the adults present cooed and chuckled at the child’s sudden display of emotion.

“Um, I could take care of it for you,” Clark offered, kneeling down to look at the bat. He remembered a cavern full of golden cages. He remembered a fierce man, in black leather and Kevlar and rippling silk—a man whom he hadn‘t seen in so many years. Seemingly at the sight of Clark, the bat stopped struggling. It was cut in several places, its fur peppered with shards of glass. It crawled towards the reporter, leaving a wet, red trail across the hardwood floor in its wake. Clark had to stifle a sob.

“Really, Mr. Clark?” Jason bounced up and down on the balls of his feet at the news. “Can I come visit it? Can I?”

“Of-of course, Jason. I mean, if that’s all right with your mom, that is,” Clark scooped the bat up, cradling it in his hands, and turned to look at Lois, his plaintive blue eyes bearing an uncanny likeness to those of the little boy standing next to him.

“Lois?” Richard turned to his bride when she didn’t say anything.

Lois blinked, shook her head. “Sure, sweetheart,” she finally said. “You can visit the bat. But only if you have your inhaler with you. And will someone please do something about this damn window?”

:-:

“I used to live on a farm, you know,” Clark said as he taped some gauze over one of Bruce’s lacerations. “Animals got hurt all the time. Sometimes they had to be put down.”

That’s comforting, Bruce thought, although of course, Clark couldn’t read his mind, let alone detect psychic sarcasm.

“Sorry, I know that’s not very comforting,” Clark continued. He brushed a few more specks of glass from Bruce’s fur. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I know what I’m doing, so don’t worry. Well, I sort of know what I‘m doing … treating a bat can’t be that different from fixing up a cow, right?“

You did not just compare me to a cow, Bruce grumbled to himself.

“Okay, maybe not,“ Clark conceded. “But I’ll try my best.“ He swabbed at another one of Bruce’s cuts with disinfectant. It stung. Bruce tried not to wince.

“You really shouldn’t make a habit out of flying through windows,” Clark said after another minute.

You try living as a bat in the wild for god knows how long, Bruce thought. See how well you do.

“You’re lucky you ran into me,” Clark went on, bandaging the cut he had just cleaned. “Imagine what might have happened if I hadn’t been there.”

Imagine what might have happened if you had actually been here for the last five years, Bruce snapped silently, but he wasn’t able to put much oomph behind the thought. Try as he might, he couldn’t be angry at Clark right now. It was nice to see Clark again, even under these odd circumstances. It was … so nice.

“I hope you like towels,” Clark was saying now. He seemed to be finished tending to Bruce’s wounds. Gently, he lifted the bat up, and set him down onto something that was unreasonably fluffy. Towels. And from the smell, freshly laundered ones, too. “I had—have—a friend who’s around bats a lot at work. I think he’d know what to do with you better than I do. He kind of knows everything—though if you ever run into him, don‘t let him know that I said that.”

Bruce felt like he should have been gloating over that remark, but instead, a pang of sadness struck him.

I’m right here, you idiot. I’m right under your nose, he mentally shouted at the Kryptonian.

Clark sighed. “Anyway, maybe you’ll be able to get some rest in my laundry basket? I promise to Google bats while you’re sleeping, and—hey! Stop flapping around like that. You’ll only hurt yourself more.”

Clark grabbed Bruce so that he couldn’t move, but Bruce kept struggling anyway. It did hurt, but suddenly, he desperately needed Clark to know who he was. He nipped at Clark’s fingers. If only the man hadn’t been invulnerable, Bruce would have bitten the initials “B.W.” into his skin.

“Hey, hey, calm down little guy,” Clark sounded somewhat dismayed. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

Mental pain, Bruce thought, considering how frustrated he felt. Earlier, when he had accidentally (and literally) crashed Lois’s wedding reception, he had been so dazed and relieved at finding Clark that he had temporarily forgotten about trying to solve his other problems. Now, though, his brain began racing through all of its various plans again. It shouldn’t be that hard to reveal his identity to Clark. All he had to do was move some objects into the shape of his initials, or type his name on Clark’s computer, or—

Morse code! Clark’s super-hearing could pick up the ultrasonic clicks that bats used for echolocation. Bruce could send Clark a message with those clicks.

Unfortunately, this was easier said than done.

“I think I’m hallucinating,” Clark told Bruce after he’d clicked I am Bruce Wayne in Morse code for the tenth time. Bruce sighed internally, and tried again. Clark just gave him a look.

“My friend, the one who works with bats—he disappeared last spring,” Clark said after a while. “Everyone thinks he’s dead. They had a funeral for him and everything. But I keep looking for him anyway. Lois—the lady who just got married—she thinks it’s driving me crazy. And maybe it is. A few weeks ago, I had the wildest dream that I found him in this enchanted cave full of bats—”

Bruce blinked. Clark had been the one to attack Von Rothbart’s lair that day. All of the disorientation spells set up around the place must have kept Bruce from running into the superhero. Momentarily forgetting his circumstances, he tried screaming that it hadn’t been a dream, but the words only came out as a squeak.

“It was awful,” Clark continued. “It was like one of those nightmares where you’re running away from a monster, but you can’t run fast enough to escape. Only it was worse, because I was running towards him and I couldn’t get there no matter how hard I tried. And now look at me. I’m talking to a bat.” Clark laughed mirthlessly, and shook his head. “And I’m imagining that this bat is the friend I lost.”

I am, I am! Bruce clicked, jumping up and down as best he could with his injuries. He had a feeling that he was going to be very embarrassed about this behavior in the future.

“But you can’t be,” Clark told him matter-of-factly, holding the bat down again so that he couldn‘t get hurt further by flinging himself about. Bruce squirmed. He wondered if banging his head into Clark’s towels would get the message across better. “Because if you were Bruce … if you were Bruce Wayne …”

Clark trailed off, his voice thick with emotion. He disappeared from Bruce’s line of sight, although Bruce couldn’t tell whether this was because Clark had collapsed, or because Bruce suddenly found himself changing form again. Bruce had a second to note to himself that the transfiguration spell he was under must be a kind of name magic. A second after that, he was sprawled out on Clark Kent’s kitchen table, fully human once more. He rolled onto his side, and spotted the Kryptonian sitting on the floor, gazing up at him with eyes wide as saucers.

“Bruce?” Clark whispered.

“Kent. Fancy meeting you here,” Bruce tried not to smile, but he couldn’t say whether he succeeded or not. He sat upright, and started peeling off the little bandages that Clark had stuck to him. As for Clark, he stared for a few seconds longer before apparently realizing that Bruce was naked. He grabbed one of the towels that had fallen to the floor, threw it at his friend, and dashed out of the room.

:-:

“And this is only the tip of the iceberg,” Bruce said. He was sitting on Clark’s couch, wearing Clark’s pajamas, and flipping through the reporter’s files on the dozens of people who had gone missing in connection with Odile Rothman. If the number of bats he and Bruce had seen in the cavern were any indication, there were hundreds more cases that had never even been reported.

“Unless that was an illusion,” Bruce pointed out. “It’s possible that these people,“ Bruce gestured with Clark’s files, “are the only people in Von Rothbart’s ‘collection,’ but that he uses magic to make the cavern look more populated. For purposes of confusion.”

“Since when do you know so much about magic?” Clark asked, a smile tugging at his lips. He was finding it hard to concentrate. Bruce was sitting on his couch, wearing his pajamas, rifling through his files. After all these years, Bruce was right beside him. Clark needed to focus on this moment, and this one, and the one after that. He needed to preserve their time together in his memory, lest it should slip away again. But he could barely concentrate.

“I believe you were the one who said I know everything,” Bruce reminded his friend, dropping the files onto the coffee table.

“Who says I was talking about you?” Clark asked.

“’A friend who’s around bats a lot’?” Bruce quoted.

“Maybe I’m dating a veterinarian.”

“Who also went missing a few months ago?”

Clark shrugged. “It’s a dangerous world.”

A pause.

“Are you dating a veterinarian?” Bruce asked.

“What do you care?” Clark laughed, and hoped that the lighting in his apartment was low enough to hide the fact that he was blushing. Thankfully, Bruce didn‘t say anything further, although part of him was disappointed that the Dark Knight didn‘t answer his question.

“Why don’t we call it a night,” Clark said, gathering up his files and sticking them back into his briefcase. It was easier to talk about work—or not working. Easier than talking about all the years he had missed, or about … other things. “You must be beat. I could take you back to the manor. Alfred would die of joy.”

Bruce considered that for a moment. “It would be nice to have access to the Batcave computers instead of limping along with this artifact,” he finally said, waving at Clark’s laptop.

“That’s not calling it a night, Bruce,” Clark pointed out.

“I work at night, Clark, or did you forget that while you were on your vacation to the stars?” Bruce growled, rising to his feet.

Clark felt a stab of hurt, but didn‘t take the bait. “You just came back from the dead, for crying out loud—”

“I was ensorcelled. Not murdered. There’s a difference.”

“Still, you should rest,” Clark insisted. “You’ll need it if we’re going after this owl … guy.”

“We can’t afford to waste time.”

“Fine, how about this, then: you see Alfred and get some sleep, and I’ll see if the Fortress can find where our magician is hiding. Okay? Deal?”

“What are you, my mother?” Bruce grumbled. “You can either work with me on this, or you can leave me alone.”

“I am working with you,” Clark protested. He realized that he was standing now, too. “I’m just … trying to look out for you.”

He reached out to put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, but at the last minute decided that that might be awkward. He settled for picking some lint off of Bruce’s shirt instead. This turned out to be even more awkward. Clark waited for Bruce’s inevitable insistence that the Dark Knight of Gotham didn’t need someone to look out for him, but it never came.

“You think that the Fortress could pinpoint Von Rothbart’s location? Even if it’s cloaked with magic?” Bruce finally asked.

“Well … maybe,” Clark said. He rolled the lint from Bruce’s shirt into a little ball. “Kryptonian society was so scientifically oriented that there wasn’t much room for magic to develop. But they did study the occult arts more than Earth has.” Clark flicked the lint onto the carpet. “It’s worth a shot at least. I would have tried it before, after I’d found the cave the first time, but I hadn‘t yet recovered the crystals Luthor had stolen.”

“Wait—how did you find the cave the first time?” Bruce asked.

Clark opened his mouth to answer, but he didn’t get the chance. There was a crash of glass as a window shattered. A wind swirled into the room, so strong that both men were knocked to the floor. Leaves skittered in through the open window, brown and dry from autumn’s touch. Following close behind was an owl, its eyes burning.

“Tup yats,” the owl said to both men. It wasn’t actually speaking aloud, but the words it projected sounded strained nonetheless. It then turned to Bruce. “Tab a emoceb,” it intoned.

Clark watched in horror as Bruce slowly shrank away into apparent nothingness. The Man of Steel tried calling for his friend, but nothing came out. After an agonizing stretch of time, all that was left in the Caped Crusader’s place were Clark’s pajamas, lying on the floor, limp and empty.

“Em htiw emoc,” the owl ordered. A lump under Clark’s pajamas began to squirm. A second later, a bat emerged into the air. Clark tried to reach for it, but he couldn’t move. The owl swooped out of the window, the bat floating along behind it. The leaves rushed back outside. The shards of glass leapt back into the window frame, the cracks between them sealing until you couldn’t tell that the window had ever been broken. Against his will, Clark’s eyes slid shut, and the night overtook him.

Continued in Part 3...

Fic: Claim #103 (1 of 4)

2007-01-02T05:36:02Z

Title: A Year Without Batman (1 of 4)
Author: taro_twist
Claim No.: 103 for samibee
Prompt: Brucie gets kidnapped, Batman is not amused, Bruce has to balance the act. Meanwhile Clark Kent investigates the high profile kidnapping and Superman saves the day. Even though Batman could have totally handled it himself...
Word Count: 12, 383

:-:

Part One

“Brucie.”

A flirtatious giggle. A tug on the lapel of his tuxedo.

“Hmm?”

Reluctantly, Bruce Wayne tore his eyes away from the stars and focused on his date. Her name was something with a “D”—Delia? Delilah? They were standing outside on one of the manor’s balconies, enjoying a spring breeze that kept blowing wisps of D’s short black hair into her brown eyes. A part of him wished that she had blue eyes, although he couldn’t have said why.

“You’re not listening to me,” D pouted.

“Darling, I’m riveted,” Bruce assured her. Just then, something flashed in his peripheral vision. He raised his eyes again, just in time to catch sight of a meteor as it streaked across the night sky.

“What’s so fascinating up there, anyway?” D asked.

“Nothing,” Bruce murmured, which was partly true. From Earth’s Northern Hemisphere, you couldn’t see the area of space in which Krypton was thought to lie.

“C’mon, you’re looking for something,” D nudged him playfully. “Tell me.”

“Thought I saw a shooting star,” Bruce finally said. He took a sip from his glass of champagne, then allowed his gaze to lazily settle on D’s face.

“Did you make a wish?” she asked, sidling closer to him.

“Perhaps,” Bruce forced his voice into a low purr, and positioned himself for the impending kiss.

“Do you think it‘ll come true?”

No.

“That depends on you,” Bruce lied.

From somewhere out on the manor grounds, an owl hooted. D started, and Bruce felt an inexplicable sense of relief at being spared from kissing the girl.

“Sorry,” D laughed nervously, hand held to her chest. Her eyes kept sliding sideways, stealing glances of something nearby. “I’m a little jumpy tonight.”

Bruce followed her gaze, and saw that the owl which had interrupted them was sitting in a tree right next to the balcony. It’s eyes glowed gold, two small suns piercing the gloom. Bruce shivered. The temperature must have dropped.

:-:

This was not happening.

Clark Kent stumbled down the front steps of Wayne Manor. He made it halfway to the main gate before ducking behind one of the spruce trees that lined the drive. He needed to catch his breath, to get his bearings. He sank into the prickly branches of the tree until he fell back against the trunk. Even with the support, it was surprisingly hard to stand. And all he could think was that this. Was not. Happening.

While talking with Alfred, he had somehow managed to keep his composure. When the butler had informed him that Bruce had gone missing a few days ago, Clark had somehow managed to promise that he would find him, even as he had listened for his friend’s heartbeat and heard—nothing. Somehow, he had kept himself together, because Superman did not fall apart. Superman gave hope to other people. Despair—that he kept for himself.

After a few more moments of hiding in the shadows of the spruce tree, Clark started heading down the driveway again. It was an effort to put one foot in front of the other. He couldn’t believe that, just the other day, he had been upset by the discovery that Lois had gotten engaged and started a family in his absence. He had thought that that was the worst thing that could have happened while he was gone. Now, he was reminded that things could always be worse. And they were.

For a long while, Clark aimlessly wandered the streets of Gotham. He could barely see where he was going, and he could hear everything, but he couldn’t hear Bruce. If only he had come back from Krypton earlier. If only he had never left. He berated himself until eventually, he found himself in an alleyway, held at gunpoint, a masked man demanding that he hand over his wallet. No Caped Crusader swept down to save him and call him an idiot in the same breath. As for Clark, he couldn’t even muster up the energy to act scared. He tossed his wallet at the mugger’s feet, and watched as the man ran away with it.

:-:

Upon awakening, the first thing Bruce noticed was that nothing felt ... right. He wasn’t experiencing any pain, but at the same time, he didn’t feel as though he was in one piece. He felt much smaller than usual, as if the boundaries of his body ended long before they should have. At that thought, a part of his mind panicked at the possibility that he might be paralyzed, but he clamped down on his fear. It was a waste of energy to panic over mere assumptions.

For a moment, he simply lay still and listened. If there were any hostile agents nearby, he didn’t want to alert them that he had regained consciousness until it was absolutely necessary. He couldn’t hear anything that posed an immediate threat, though—just a barrage of high pitched clicks, and a tumult that made him think of capes flapping in the wind. Unbidden, his mind’s eye conjured up a vision of red silk. He shoved that aside along with his earlier anxiety.

That sound—like cloth beating against the air. It reminded him of wings, too—of the bats in the Batcave, flying out into the night in search of their evening meal. That plus the clicking and chirruping was almost enough to make Bruce think he was back in the Batcave. He couldn’t hear the rushing of the waterfall, though, so he squashed that hope as quickly as it arose.

When no other sounds reached his ears, he decided that it was time to let the rest of his senses do some work. He opened his eyes, and was greeted by the sight of slender golden bars. They were narrowly spaced, and they arced upwards to meet at a point directly above him. Beyond the bars, there was a rocky surface which this shining prison seemed to be attached to.

Part of Bruce felt relieved at this. Escaping from a prison made out of metal bars should be no sweat, right? The rest of Bruce ignored that sentiment, though. Optimism wasn’t Batman’s thing; that was Superman’s arena. And Superman wasn’t here.

As Bruce turned his head to get a better view of the cage, he was treated to a masochistic kind of vindication. Oh yes. He had been right to be pessimistic, because instead of his left arm lying beside him, there was a leathery wing. Bruce stared. He willed himself to wriggle his fingers, which he knew had to be somewhere around here ... and the wing moved. Bruce stared for a second longer, then turned to look for his other arm. There was a wing in its place, too.

Scrabbling to his feet—which seemed to have become claws, Bruce observed—the Dark Knight did a completely-not-frantic inventory of the rest of his body, only to realize that not one piece of human anatomy remained. Feeling dizzy, he stumbled sideways and collapsed against one side of his prison. Balancing in this new body seemed to be difficult; he hoped that it wouldn’t take him too long to adjust.

From the corner in which he had slumped, Bruce had a much better view of his surroundings than when he had been lying on his back. Now, he could see that his prison was actually something of a bird cage—one of hundreds, all of which were dangling from the ceiling of a huge cavern. And each cage housed a bat. A bat. He had been turned into ... into a ...

Crap.

:-:

At first, the disappearance of Bruce Wayne had been front page news, a story that was second only to Superman’s sudden return. Now, though, the missing Wayne scion was lucky to get a blurb on page eight. The headlines were all about Luthor these days. His trial. Whether the charges would finally stick. Perry had assigned Lois and Clark to cover the whole ordeal. Lois was impassioned, and Clark—well, Clark should have been impassioned. For the most part, though, his emotions had invested themselves elsewhere.

“Kent, let’s get a move on it,” Lois yelled at her partner from the entrance to the bullpen. “We’ve got twenty minutes to make it to the courthouse.”

“Uh, just-just a second, Lois,” Clark waved at her before returning to his phone call. He ignored her exasperated sigh. After all, he wouldn’t have heard it had it not been for his super-hearing.

“Sorry, Commissioner, I was, um … could you run that by me again? Please?” Clark requested. He tapped at his notepad with a pencil. The pencil tip broke. Silently cursing himself, he began to rummage through his desk drawers for another writing implement while Police Commissioner Gordon relayed the GPD’s latest findings on Bruce’s case.

“The girl he was with the night of the charity ball,” Gordon was saying. “Odile Rothman—”

“You found her?” Clark banged one drawer shut and threw open another. He was a writer. He wrote for a living. So how was it that he had nothing to write with?

“No,” Gordon sighed, sounding somewhat defeated. Clark tried not to feel disheartened by that, reminding himself that Gordon always sounded somewhat defeated. “But we now have even more reason to believe that she was involved in Mr. Wayne’s disappearance.”

Clark jabbed a finger at his computer’s power button. He could take notes on a word processor.

“So you … you really think she kidnapped him?” Clark asked.

“Four other Gotham residents disappeared during the week Mr. Wayne vanished,” Gordon explained. “Two of them were also last seen with a woman matching Ms. Rothman’s description.”

“One second has elapsed.”

Clark jumped at the sound of Lois’s voice, banging his knee against a file cabinet with a resounding clang. Lois was standing on the other side of his desk, leaning forward, bracing herself with both arms. A predatory gleam shone in her eyes, and she looked very much like a lion about to pounce on an oblivious gazelle.

“Commissioner Gordon, could I, um … could you hold on? Sorry, I … thank you, um …” Clark cradled the phone against his shoulder before Gordon had the chance to respond. “Lois, why don’t you go ahead, and I’ll—”

“Meet me there? Again?” Lois arched an eyebrow at him.

Clark opened his mouth to say something, but Lois barreled on.

“Clark, why do you care so much about this?” she demanded. She pushed aside some papers and his name plate so that she could sit on the edge of his desk.

“Um, about … what?” Clark blinked at her.

“This!” Lois grabbed his notepad, which was currently covered in scribbles about Bruce Wayne, and slammed it against the desk. “You barely even knew the man. Why does this mean so much to you?”

Through the phone, Clark had heard Gordon typing, but now, the typing stopped. Apparently, the Commissioner was interested in the motivation behind Clark‘s obsession as well.

“Tell me why this story means so much to you, and I will leave you alone to chase after it for as long as you want,” Lois promised, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Naked hunger flashed in her eyes. “I‘ll even cover for you with Perry. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

She swung her legs around so that she was sitting Indian-style on Clark’s desk, hands draped over the edge of her crossed ankles. Clark tried not to feel intimidated.

“Mr. Wayne is a good man,” Clark finally said. “He’s done a lot for Gotham. He deserves—”

“Don‘t feed me bullshit, Smallville,” Lois interrupted. She jumped off of his desk, landing beside him. “I can smell it from a mile away.”

“Lois, I—”

“If you don’t want to tell me, then just say so. But I better see you at that courthouse in,” Lois glanced at her watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

On the other end of the phone line, Gordon was typing again. Lois began to stomp away, then stopped to rifle through her purse. A second later, she tossed a pen at Clark. He fumbled it on purpose, allowing it to fall into his lap.

“Fifteen minutes!” she shouted as she left the newsroom.

:-:

Clark lifted his glasses up, rubbed at his eyes. He was the only one left at work, his desk lamp the only source of light in the otherwise dark newsroom. Perry had already put the paper to bed, and even Lois was gone—she and Richard had left early to sample cakes for their upcoming wedding.

As he flipped through his notes again, Clark told himself that he would leave in another five minutes. After all, he wasn’t getting anywhere. Over the last couple of months, he had come across several other missing persons reports that somehow involved Odile Rothman. They hadn‘t yielded any leads, though. The people who had been taken had a few things in common—they were all young and attractive, and none of them had any close family. Aside from that, though, there were no other threads connecting Odile’s victims to one another.

As for Odile herself, she seemed to be something of a phantom. Although she always went by the first name Odile, she never used the same last name twice. She had no paper trail to speak of, no point of origin. If Alfred hadn’t told him that he’d seen her with his own two eyes, Clark might not have believed that she really existed.

Clark glanced at his watch. Five minutes had passed. He pulled on the chain of his desk lamp, plunging the room into blackness. A moment later, he clicked the light back on. Ten more minutes, he told himself this time. Ten more minutes and he would let it go for the night.

:-:

Bruce hung upside down from the roof of his cage, wings wrapped around himself. During his time as a bat, he had found that hanging upside down was much more comfortable than sitting or standing. Pulling his wings a bit tighter, he closed his eyes, and tried to meditate.

It was going to be his turn this time. He knew it. Ever since he had arrived here, an owl had been visiting the cavern at regular intervals—the same owl that had interrupted his private moment with D all those nights ago. The same owl whose golden eyes were the last thing he’d seen before waking up in this hellhole.

Each time it came to the cave, the owl would release one of the bats and spirit it away somewhere. A short while later, the bat would reappear in its cage. If Bruce had read the pattern right, his feathered friend should be coming for him next. He had no idea what lay in store for him, but he did know that this would be his best—and maybe only—chance to escape.

He had already tried everything else—not that there were many other things to try. The damn cage he was in must have been enchanted—it didn’t have a door, and he hadn’t been able to find any other mechanism that would open it. He had tried shaking it loose from the cavern roof, hoping that the fall would break it open, but that had proven to be futile. And at one point, he had even lubricated the bars with his own blood, thinking that that might allow him to slide between them. The more he had tried to push through the bars, though, the closer they had drawn to each other, until he had been forcibly squeezed back into his little prison.

So now, Bruce waited. It was difficult to meditate as a bat, but he gave it a shot anyway. He needed to be as alert as possible. If the magician behind this was as powerful as he suspected, Bruce would be a poor match for him—or her. The only things he had on his side were quick thinking, and the element of surprise.

:-:

Even with a bat’s sensitive ears, Bruce could barely hear the owl as it approached his cage. It glided forward with just the faintest whisper of feathers against air, its eyes pulsing yellow, and for his part, Bruce began to act frightened. He fluttered about his cage wildly, banging into the bars, ricocheting about like a loose pinball. As far as he knew, he had been taken as Brucie, and would therefore have to act like Brucie no matter what form he was in. Getting transformed into a bat was an unusual coincidence, to say the least; considering that the entire cavern was filled with captive bats, though, Bruce felt that it was safest to assume that it was only a coincidence, and that his kidnappers did not know about his dual identity.

“Pots!”

The owl swept up to Bruce’s cage, and perched on its lip. At the same time, Bruce found himself frozen in mid-air. He could have sworn that the owl had uttered some kind of incantation, but Bruce hadn’t actually heard anything at all.

“Nepo.”

There it was again. A word without sound, never reaching Bruce’s ears, but reverberating within his mind nonetheless. The bars of the cage began to melt away, like smoke dissipating in the wind.

“Em htiw emoc,” the owl ordered, and even though he hadn’t moved a muscle, Bruce began to float after the bird with the golden eyes.

:-:

“I’ll give you money,” Brucie promised. “Name your price, and I’ll meet it. Hell, I‘ll top it.”

Bruce had been taken to what he assumed were the owl‘s private quarters. They were still part of the cave system, but they were richly furnished and reminded Bruce of a medieval castle. Oriental rugs lined the rocky floor, tapestries hung from the walls, and a four-poster canopy bed stood in one corner of the chamber. An iron chandelier dangled from the ceiling as well. Candles flickered in its holders, casting ghastly shadows.

Bruce was back in human form, too. He wasn’t entirely sure how that had happened. One minute, he had been a bat, perching on the back of a chair. Then, the owl had spoken his name, and suddenly he was a man again. He would have been happy about that development (in spite of the fact that he also happened to be naked), but he didn’t have time to be happy. He had to concentrate.

“Is that what you believe I want?” the owl was asking, although he wasn’t an owl anymore, either. He had transformed into a man as well—his eyes were still golden, but a faint smirk played about his lips now.

“Just a guess,” Brucie chuckled nervously, and rubbed a hand through his hair. “What else is a billionaire good for, Mister … ?”

“Von Rothbart,” the owl-man supplied. “You may address me as Von Rothbart.”

“Ah, that’s German, isn’t it?” Bruce clicked his tongue. “Or is it Dutch? Deutschland. Dutchland. Never can keep those two straight.”

Von Rothbart gave a low laugh. “You are an amusing man Mr. Wayne.”

“Does that mean you won‘t kill me?” Bruce spoke with a tone that bordered on hysteria, and shifted from foot to foot. The magician just stared. “So, Mr. Von Bart—”

“Von Rothbart,” the owl-man corrected patiently.

“Right,” Bruce nodded, gulping audibly. “Sorry, I’m terrible with names. In one ear, out the other. Anyways … if you don’t want my money, what do you want? Someone to chat with? A shoulder to cry on?”

“Close, but no cigar,” Von Rothbart said, looking momentarily pleased with himself. “That is a saying in your world, is it not?”

“Yep, I’ve heard that one before,” Bruce grinned. He was doing a good job of sounding like a man who was trying a little too hard to mask his fear. “You’re a sharp one, Mr. Von Ross—”

“Von Rothbart.”

“Right. My bad. Von Rothbart. Got it,” Bruce held up his hands in apology.

“Oh, you are not like the others,” Von Rothbart suddenly gasped. He swept forward, his robes flowing about him, advancing on Bruce until the playboy was forced to fall back into the nearest chair. Von Rothbart hovered over him, so close that Bruce could smell his breath.

“I have searched for so long, and I have found so many beautiful people to add to my collection,” Von Rothbart continued, his voice a low murmur. “But I have never been satisfied. I am so fickle. My daughter tells me that it is my worst trait.“ Von Rothbart chuckled, his eyes glowing with lust. “You, however—you are fantastically exquisite. You—yes—you will be the last. You will quench my thirst. I know it, Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce cringed at the way the magician savored his name, and it wasn’t entirely an act. The owl-man began to move his hands along the contours of Bruce’s body. Thankfully, he didn’t touch Bruce—yet. Just repeatedly traced his shape in the air, as if the Dark Knight was surrounded by some kind of force field. But it was still enough to make the hairs on the back of Bruce’s neck rise up.

Von Rothbart’s eyes were hooded now, heavy with desire and shining brighter than ever. Bruce wanted to close his own eyes, to shrink away and shield himself from that blinding light. He resisted the urge, though. This was his chance to get away. He couldn’t let this moment pass without taking action.

The owl-man ran one long fingernail down Bruce’s cheek. He tilted his head to the side, contemplating the man he was about to enjoy, and exposing one side of his neck with that gesture. The window of opportunity couldn’t have been opened wider. All Bruce had to do was grab a pressure point, and the magician would be out cold. And after that? After that, Bruce would run. It wasn’t an ideal plan. He still had no idea where he was in this underground complex, or where the exits were—assuming there were any at all. But he wasn’t about to sit here and be assaulted for the sake of coming up with a better strategy.

Von Rothbart was angling even closer to Bruce now, obviously intent on kissing the other man.

“Tell me that you want me,” he ordered Bruce.

“I want you,” Bruce choked out. Von Rothbart closed his eyes, their light temporarily extinguished, and Bruce reached for his neck. Squeezed. The magician collapsed in Bruce’s lap, as limp as a rag doll.

And after that? After that, several things happened at once. Before Bruce could even push the owl-man’s body off of him, the playboy realized that he was dwindling, shrinking, shriveling.

Not again, Bruce groaned to himself as he realized he was changing back into a bat.

He was stuck in a shape somewhere between man and bat when the walls began to shake. It was like an earthquake was taking place. A rumbling filled the room. A full-length mirror that was propped against one wall fell over, its glass shattering. Candles toppled from the chandelier, and the chandelier followed soon afterwards. It crashed to the ground, narrowly missing Von Rothbart’s legs, clouds of dust billowing up from the carpets it had landed on.

A second later, the door to Von Rothbart’s chamber burst open, and a young woman came running in.

Papa, come quickly. We’re being attacked, she shouted in what Bruce recognized as an old German dialect.

Bruce recognized her voice as well. Fully bat now, he crawled to the top of the chair he’d been sitting in and poked his head over the top of it. The girl who had entered the room was D—dressed in a Renaissance gown, and with a circlet in her dark hair. Bruce would have cursed himself for letting his guard down around her, but for now, he had to focus on getting out of this place.

Papa! Papa, speak to me, D had spotted Von Rothbart now, unconscious and draped over the chair. She threw herself at him, shaking him. In her panic, she didn’t notice the bat that swooped over her head, and out the door.

Continued in Part 2...

Fic: Claim #105 (2 of 2)

2007-01-01T22:12:38Z

Title: Before the Dawn (2 of 2)
Author: paxwolf
Claim No: 105 for rai_daydreamer
Prompt: Hurt/comfort, Bruce caring for Clark and giving him a kiss.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 12,239

:-:

Before the Dawn (2 of 2)

Continued...

Three hours later, he had fallen into a light doze, when he awakened with a jolt as he felt Superman stir beside him. He rolled over from where he had been facing the mouth of the cave, away from Superman, to see Clark blinking muzzily at him.

Thank Heaven...

"Good morning," he said gruffly, not having a clue as to the time. "Good to see you coming around."

Superman raised a shaking hand to press against his head, and then blinked again, and sat up slowly, an expression of discomfort crossing his face. He looked first at Batman beside him, and then around at the cave.

"Uh, yes. W-where are we?"

Batman rolled to his feet, masking the effort it took. "We're below the glacier where you had your battle with those three villains who ambushed you. I was able to find this nook at the bottom of a nearby crevasse. It's served relatively well as an impromptu shelter."

Superman lowered his hand and looked up at him, surprised. Then he shook his head. "You never cease to amaze me, Bruce."

The smile that followed was near blinding in its intensity, and Batman was forced to turn away from it. "How's the wound?" he asked gruffly.

There was a short silence, and in concern, he turned back around. Kal's smile had dimmed, and he wasn't looking at the makeshift dressing on his side, but down at the ground. Batman took a step forward. "Superman?"

"What?" He jerked his head back up at him, and then down at the bandaging. "Oh. Well," he moved his left arm gingerly and winced. "It's...good. The worst of the pain is...mostly gone. And I can breathe a lot better now." He looked back up at Batman. "You did incredible work, especially given the circumstances. Thank you."

Batman shrugged. "It was touch and go for a bit there. You probably wouldn't be sitting there speaking if you were anyone else."

Superman ducked his head, but the half-smile seemed more sad than relieved. "Yeah. I guess." He looked at the cave. "Looks like the blizzard's slowing down for now."

Batman shot a glance outside, surprised. He hadn't even noticed. And when was the last time he hadn't noticed something?

"What hap-?"

"To Massacre and the others?" Batman interrupted.

"Yes."

"I'm not sure. I got them off of you, and my immediate concern was getting help to you, and the knife out. Honestly, I expected them to stumble upon us sometime during the night." He paused at Superman's expression. "What?" he snapped.

"I'm ... they would have killed you too if they had," Superman said, his voice very quiet.

Batman shrugged again. "We got lucky."

"Yes," Superman agreed softly. "We did."

They looked at each other for a moment. It was Superman who broke the gaze. He glanced down at their makeshift bed, and for a second Batman swore he could see a slight blush on his cheeks. "And ... and you even managed to find a way to keep me warm."

This time it was Batman who felt the flush hit his face, and he was profoundly grateful for the cowl still masking his features. Aloud he only said, keeping his tone noncommittal, "It was necessary. You were in shock. I made do with what I had on hand."

"Then thank goodness for utility belts and Bat capes," Superman said, a small grin gracing his mouth. Batman had to look away again. He disguised it by reaching down to his belt, which he had tossed beside the still dimly-glowing lightstick, and extracting a small container of water from a back pouch. "Here," he only said, prying open the lid. "You lost a lot of blood. You're dangerously dehydrated. Drink." He stepped over to Superman and thrust the bottle into his hand. Superman took it but did not lift it to his mouth.

"Drink," Batman commanded impatiently. "You need the fluids."

"So do you," Superman pointed out. "And given enough time, with the Kryptonite removed, I should make a complete recovery. You need to drink too." He gestured around them. "I don't see a fountain anywhere. Do you?"

"Don't be a fool," Batman snapped. "You're far from healed, Clark. And I suspect there are trace amounts of Kryptonite in your system. Bits I couldn't prevent from breaking off from the blade." One look at Superman's expression right then told Batman this was not news to him. He shook his head. "It'll take a while for you to get back on your feet, even if you were bathing in full sunlight." Ruthlessly, he shut off the mental image that accompanied those words. Not now..." And I can always melt some snow for more water." He loomed over Superman and glared. "Drink."

Superman's eyes narrowed as if he was going to argue some more, but then he sighed, and raised the bottle to his lips. Batman watched, satisfied, as the Kryptonian took a long draught, and it was clear how thirsty he was. He tried his best not to notice the long line of Superman's exposed throat as he tilted his head back, and the muscles as he swallowed, droplets from the bottle's neck trailing their way down the neck and down over the hollow of his throat and collarbone and down over the bare skin of his chest to disappear under the ragged edges of the torn uniform. He stood in place, riveted despite himself.

Damnit...

He was more lost than he had realized.

Superman finished his drink and flashed a look up at him. "Happy?"

"Yes," Batman bit out, before snatching the bottle and stomping away.

Superman let out another sigh, but this time the sound was slightly warbled, and breathless. Batman whirled around and in a flash was crouched next to Superman, who was pale again, and waxy. He caught Superman before he completely collapsed, and eased him back down to the ground. He could feel the tremors that Superman couldn't quite contain, and drew the cape back over his shoulders.

"Let that be a lesson to you," he said sternly, and bent to check the dressing. The wound had started bleeding again. "You're still weak. The last thing you should be doing is arguing with me."

Superman closed his eyes, head moving in a tiny nod, saying nothing. He was concentrating on breathing in and out slowly, it looked like. Batman frowned.

"I want you to stay still," he ordered, "and don't try to sit up again."

Superman kept his eyes closed, but the wry grin was visible again on his mouth. "Yes, sir, Doctor Wayne."

There was a sudden silence and Superman's eyes flew open as he realized what he had said. His gaze locked with Bruce's. "I'm sorry, Bruce," he said softly, but Batman was already shaking his head.

"No need," he said shortly, and reached to pull the last of his emergency cheesecloth patches over to apply to the re-opened wound. No further words were exchanged as Batman cleaned the injury and changed the bandages. Superman held very still, his jaw tight and his breathing strained throughout the proceedings, and though Batman knew how much his ministrations were hurting him, his erstwhile patient didn't make a sound.

"Anaesthetic would be nice right about now," Batman muttered, trying to be as swift and gentle as humanly possible.

Superman cracked a strained smile. "You're telling me."

Batman's mouth tightened, and Superman opened his eyes to look at him, and Batman saw his expression soften suddenly. Then Superman was reaching up and grasping his forearm, and their gazes locked.

"It's all right, Bruce," he said, voice very quiet, and the eyes so blue and dark that Bruce swore he could see stars in them. He held his breath and resisted tearing his arm free. After the revelations of the night before, it was almost too much to be touched like that, to be held like that by him.

"It's me who should be telling you that," he said roughly, and hated the way his arm was trembling.

Superman smiled. "I can see what this is doing to you," he said simply.

Batman nodded tightly, and started to draw away. But Superman did not let go.

"Bruce," he said, gazing up at him, his expression open and clear, unguarded, the eyes brilliant, almost alight with fire of their own in the dimness of the cave. Batman caught his breath, and held very still. He suddenly didn't trust what he might do just then. "It's not the first time, but you...you saved my life. Out there. At great risk to your own."

Batman started to shake his head. "It's..."

"No," Superman interrupted, "let me finish." He hesitated suddenly himself, a look of uncertainty suddenly crossing his face, before raising his eyes again to Bruce's. "You don't know," he said softly. "You can't. You have no idea how... you can't know what it means to me to...to have you in my life."

Batman stared at him, as Superman suddenly swept his lashes lower and glanced away. Was that a shimmer of tears he had glimpsed?

"So, I want you to know..." Kal was whispering now, but he still hadn't let go, though the grip was weakening, and Bruce could feel the hand trembling harder. He suddenly didn't want Superman to let go. Ever. "That I..." He coughed slightly, and there was a pained hitch in the sound. Then he looked up again, meeting Batman's gaze, and his expression had altered, the eyes shifting color the slightest bit, deepening in hue. "I thank you, Bruce. " He stopped, and then blushed, and then stammered again. "I...I...not just for what you did, but...but just for who you are. For...what you always do for me."

Bruce stared a long time, unspeaking. Kal smiled again, but there was a strange and sad tint to the smile this time, and his grasp slid from Bruce's arm. His arm dropped to the ground, and clearly he was exhausted.

Batman knelt there, unmoving. He said nothing. He didn't know what to say, what to do. He felt his heart racing in his chest, and felt every part of him calling out, urging him to do something, to ... do ... what??

Superman turned his head away, and pressed a hand to his eyes. "I'm sorry, Bruce." Batman stared again. He was apologizing?? "Didn't mean to get soppy on you. I know how uncomfortable that always makes you. I ... I tend to get a little maudlin this time of year."

Batman swallowed and opened his mouth to speak, and had to try again. The words seemed thick and stuck in his throat. "Don't worry about it."

He blinked, aghast at himself. That was what came out of his mouth? After all that, after Superman practically pouring out his heart on Batman's sleeve, and all Batman could say was "Don't worry about it?"

It was true then. He was a certifiable idiot.

But Superman only smiled a small smile, and when his eyes opened again, their gaze pierced through Batman and left him shaking in its wake. "Thank you."

Never had two words seemed to mean more to Bruce right then. And there was something, once again, in that crystalline gaze that seemed to speak much louder than words ever could, and a whole world of telling behind them.

He felt something in his hand, and looked down, astonished to find Superman's hand grasped in his, and it was clear Bruce was the one who had done the grasping. When had he done that? Were his hands moving of their own volition now? He looked back at Kal's face, and again, those eyes drew him in, and he was drowning and flying all at once, and couldn't look away for the life of him.

Clark ... Kal...

In spite of himself, Bruce leaned forward, his heart pounding in his ears, every fiber of his being singing, his hand tightening over Superman's, and...

...suddenly leapt nearly to the ceiling as a loud insistent beeping echoed throughout the cave.

He crouched reflexively into defensive mode, looking wildly all around them. Have his enemies found Superman at last? He scanned quickly, heart racing, but didn't see any sign of or hear anything ... except a low rumbling laugh coming from the cave floor. He looked down.

Superman was laughing weakly, and pointing a shaking finger at Batman's belt lying a few feet away. " ... League...communicator," he was gasping.

Batman straightened, swallowing hard. He wrestled himself back under control, and shot a glare for good measure at Superman as he strode towards the belt. Superman only chuckled again, though it ended on a painful-sounding cough.

Batman gritted his teeth and whipped out his communicator. "Batman here."

"Batman!" The voice on the other end sounded frantic and relieved all at once. "J'onn! I've got him!" There erupted a flurry of garbled words said too fast to be clear.

"Flash, slow down," Batman said testily. "I..."

"Batman," J'onn's calm, measured tones came through clearly. "It has taken us some time to reach you. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he answered, feeling a measure of calm return to him and a surge of relief of his own. The League had found them. Superman would be all right. "But..."

"Have you seen Superman?" J'onn interrupted, startling Batman. That was most unlike the unflappable Martian. "We cannot locate him, and we have reason to believe he was attacked..."

"It's all right, J'onn," Batman interrupted himself, exchanging a glance with Superman. "I have him here."

"Thank H'ronmeer," J'onn breathed, and Batman heard him reporting the news to whoever else was with him, and a flurry of questions and shouts could be heard in the background. "We could not locate either of you for many hours."

"There was a blizzard that must have blocked our transmissions," Batman said, cutting in sharply. "We are currently trapped inside a crevasse of a glacier off Mount Robson, in a northern range of the Rockies. Superman has been gravely injured. And there are dangerous hostiles in the vicinity." He cast a worried look at Superman, who was not looking too well at all. "I need some assistance down here. Now."

"We read you, Batman," J'onn responded, all professional now. "We are pinpointing your location. Is...is Superman stable?"

Batman glanced at him, and Superman, face pale but with a smile, lifted a trembling hand in a thumbs up gesture. "He can't move on his own yet, but yes. He's stable. Relatively stable," he amended and from the corner of his eye he saw Superman actually rolled his eyes at him. Good sign.

"That is...good to know," J'onn said over the whoops in the background. "We had received word that a cadre of his enemies had targeted him, and possessed the means to..."

"I know," Batman said curtly. "And the help...?"

"Is on the way. It should arrive shortly."

"Good. Home in on the signal. We're not exactly visible from the air."

"We'll be with you as soon as we can. And Batman," J'onn hesitated. "Thank you." Batman grunted. "Watchtower out."

Batman snapped off the communicator, though he surreptitiously double-checked to make sure the signal was still broadcasting, before tucking it back into his utility belt. He avoided looking at Superman as he donned the belt again, and reached down for the discarded gauntlets on the cave floor. "They should be here any minute," he said.

There was a moment of silence. Then, "That's... good to know," his colleague said softly.

Batman nodded and moved to stare out of the cave's mouth. Flakes of snow were drifting down, softly, serenely, in the chill air. He gazed out, and suddenly thought, incongruously, how beautiful it all looked. There was a gleam from above as the Morning Star glittered in the sky, and the snow around him sparkled in the frosty air.

He breathed in deeply. The blue light of dawn was slowly brightening the wall of ice inside the crevasse, and color was slowly flowing back into the world.

He swallowed.

It suddenly reminded him of Christmas, many years ago, on a wintry December morning, when he had been up before sunrise, looking to the sky with hopeful eyes. He drew in a deep breath, and turned around to see Superman watching him, his expression indecipherable right then. He suddenly saw Batman's eyes on him, and the strange expression vanished instantly, and he gave a wan smile.

"Looks like dawn is breaking," he said.

"Yes," Batman only said.

He looked back out again, and then back at Superman, who was lying so still, so quiet.

For a while neither spoke.

Then Batman, unable to help himself, stepped over to Superman, and crouched beside him. He absently tucked his cape closer around Superman's body, noting the shivering had increased.

"Are you cold?"

"I've been warmer," Superman admitted, and though it was an innocent statement, Batman could feel his face suffuse with heat all of a sudden, and once again was glad he had never removed his mask.

"They'll be here soon," he said gruffly.

"Looks like."

Again the silence descended, and Batman busied himself with cleaning up and making sure Superman was as fit as he could be to travel. He tried not to stare too much at the dried and stained blood covering everything, the old bandages, his gloves, his belt, the floor...his hands...

Thank God he'll be all right...

For the first time he allowed himself to feel the profound relief at that knowledge, and for the first time since the night began, he felt his heart settle back into its normal rhythm. He could no longer suppress the intense feeling of gratitude that was overwhelming him right then.

Oh, God, Kal...

"Bruce," he heard, and he looked up at the soft words. Superman was again looking not at him, but at the floor of the cave, his hands twisting the dark material Batman's cape in his hands. "I... I'm sorry I put you in this situation. You shouldn't ever have come after me."

Oh, Superman, you fool...

He took breath and stepped over to Superman, and knelt beside him.

How could I not?

"You must still be sick from the poisoning," he said practically. "To be talking such nonsense."

Superman still didn't look at him. "I...know how grating my presence is on you, sometimes, Batman. I don't...I would understand if you would prefer to distance yourself from me. At least for a while. I...don't want to ruin your game."

For a beat, Batman just stared, and could feel his heart beginning to trip hammer in his chest.

Oh Kal, you...you...

He couldn't find the words to even complete the thought. What could he possibly ever say?

His mind flailed, and he knew there was no answer convincing enough. In words, there never could be. But why then was his heart beating so much the faster? Perhaps he should trust his instincts after all. Perhaps his heart knew what to do when his mind did not.

For a fraction of an instant, he hesitated, a billion and one thoughts, worries, hopes, and fears things racing through his mind, and his heart. Then he suddenly turned, leaned over the surprised Superman, and cupped his face in his hands. He stared down into his eyes, so blue it was like looking into the heart of a star, for a heart-splitting moment of utter eternity, and then all of a sudden Bruce was pressing his mouth against Kal's, in a kiss of sheer splendor and inexpressible triumph.

Then he tore free, pulse pounding, breath sounding wild and clamoring in his ears, and stared down at Superman...who looked more completely astonished than Batman had ever seen him.

Batman swallowed hard, staring at him, unable to believe what he had just done, and wrenched to his feet and whirled around, slamming his gauntleted fists into the stone wall, breathing in great heaving gasps.

What ... what have I done?

After several indeterminate moments of nothing but breath and silence, he forced his mouth to work again, to speak. "I...God, Kal, I didn't..." He had to stop to draw in another deep gulp of air. "I...I'm sorry."

For a moment, he couldn't hear anything, and he trembled against the wall, afraid to turn around. Afraid to see what might be in those eyes.

Then he suddenly made out a sound, and for a second, he couldn't quite place it.

Then he suddenly could.

It was laughter. Weak, thready, edged with tiny, pain-filled coughs, but laughter. Definitely laughter. And not laughter of derision or disgust. But laughter of at first, disbelief, and then, unbelievably, unending, utter joy.

Could ... could it be?

At last, Bruce dared to turn around.

Kal looked back up at him, and the laughter and sheer amazement was still dancing around his mouth, and that incredible joy was blazing in his gaze. And his smile was brighter than any star Bruce had ever seen. And best of all, there was that Look, that oft-times glimpsed Look that Bruce only dared dream of, shining in Superman's eyes, and right then those eyes were impossibly blue, bluer than the dawn sky brightening to glorious color above.

Kal held out a hand and Bruce drew to it like a flame, and grasped it in his own. He looked unbelievingly at it, and then up at that beloved face.

Kal was smiling.

And then, when the words came, they were perfect. "Don't worry about it."

And he smiled more brightly than a thousand stars, and he tightened his grip on Bruce's hand. In that instant, Bruce had never felt so warm in his life.

Fic: Claim #105 (1 of 2)

2007-01-01T22:10:30Z

Title: Before the Dawn (1 of 2)
Author: paxwolf
Claim No: 105 for rai_daydreamer
Prompt: Hurt/comfort, Bruce caring for Clark and giving him a kiss.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 12,239

:-:

For a moment, Batman was seeing it all play out as if in slow motion: the Daxamite had caught the dazed Superman from behind as the Man of Steel was knocked back through the air from Bloodkind's blow, and quicker than could be believed, Massacre had been upon him and was smashing a bloody fist across his face.

Batman was already firing, arcing as close as he dared, his stomach tightening painfully as he saw the missile deflected by the Apokoliptian parademon. Massacre flashed an ugly grin at him and leaped again, grasping the front of Superman's uniform in one hand, the knife raised in one large, red fist.

Superman saw it coming and tried to desperately twist out of the way, only to have Bloodkind lunge at him to wrap his meaty arms around him as well even as the Daxamite viciously tightened his hold. He couldn't move.

With a roar of triumph, Massacre plunged the Kryptonite-edged blade into the Kryptonian's side, the blade easily tearing through both cloth and flesh.

Batman fired again, a mix of cold fury and terror washing over him as he saw Superman scream, his face a rictus of agony.

His second barrage impacted seconds too late, taking out Bloodkind and the Daxamite, flinging them back, and he watched as if from a great distance as Superman began to fall. Massacre shrugged off the blasts and managed to hang on to both Superman and the knife as they plunged together towards the glacier surface several dozen feet below.

Batman snarled even as his heart leapt to his throat, and he wrenched the Batwing over hard on a steep vertical bank, diving after them. He was close enough to see Massacre's grotesque mouth leaning close to Superman's ear and speaking something before grasping the knife hilt in a fresh grip and dragging it upwards with a brutally slow thrust.

Then they both disappeared into a plume of snow and ice crystals as they hit the glacier on the mountainside with frightening force.

"Superman!" Batman shouted, the cry torn out of him against his will even as he swung the jet low, skimming over the surface of the ice sheet, searching frantically for signs of movement below.

In that instant, he had never felt so cold in his life.

For a few seconds that stretched longer than eternity there was only absolute stillness, other than the freshening wind. Suddenly, to his right, the huge crimson shape of Massacre burst up from the snow. Batman instantly changed course and swept towards him, readying his weapons even as he saw the monster bury his arms in the snow and drag Superman up through the ice by an arm.

He fired, and at this range Massacre didn't shrug them off but was sent flying back several feet, dropping Superman into the snow.

Batman angled away on a flyby, veering to scream back and renew his attack, determined to get the monster as far from Superman as possible. But as he flew lower, trying to maneuver into firing position again, Massacre was quite suddenly there, powering a fist into the belly of the jet with concussive force. The jolt tore through the Batwing's frame, and sent it careening wildly out of control. Batman set his teeth against the g-forces, fighting for control and scanning the readouts simultaneously. He saw in an instant there was no saving it. And he was going down.

Cursing, he snapped open his flight harness and with a savage punch, popped the canopy and ejected.

He landed hard on the glacier, but upright and uninjured, his cape parachuting him to relative safety, seeing from the corner of his eye the jet crash in a spectacular explosion against the rocky side of the mountain, but he was already swinging towards Massacre, readying for another attack. But Massacre was ignoring him, heading back for Superman, obviously intent on finishing him off.

Batman fumbled at his belt as he sprinted towards their position, and just as the villain reached the spot where Superman was lying crumpled on the ice, he flung the batarangs he'd prepared. His hasty throw proved good, and Massacre was knocked back. Without any hesitation, Batman flung himself between the villain and Superman, readying more weapons, chest heaving for breath in the frigid air.

Massacre picked himself up and turned to face him, wiping blood from his mouth.

"Well, aren't you the little saviour," he snorted. "What are you, a loyal little lapdog, leaping to his master's defence?" He laughed, and straigtened, looking beyond Batman at Superman. "Won't do either of you any good. He's done for anyway. You may as well let me put him out of his misery."

"Not going to happen," Batman growled, readying his stance, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder.

"I want to finish the job," Massacre said matter-of-factly, even as a leer passed over his craggy features. "And I wanna do it up close and personal like." He smacked a huge fist into his palm. "That knife felt so damned good goin' in. The pleasure of the kill of your pal there, the mighty Man of Steel, is all mine."

Batman felt his heart quicken in his chest. "You are not going to touch him," he growled, the rage and terror curling inside him like smoke.

Massacre guffawed. "Right. An' you're gonna stop me. Look, Bats, I got nothin' against you, but if you wanna stand in my way, you can join your teammate there in oblivion, if ya really want."

And without further words, Massacre abruptly leapt, hurtling at Batman with tremendous speed and power. Batman stood his ground. When Massacre was only seven feet away, he threw. His bomb cluster hit the creature in the chest with a resounding crack, and exploded. Batman leapt out of the way, rolling with the force of the explosion, coming up to his feet in time to watch Massacre being blown off the edge of the glacier, his mouth opening in surprise even as he hurtled out of sight.

Batman had aimed true. But then again, there had been too much at stake not to.

He drew in a deep breath, and then turned and ran to Superman's side.

Although Massacre would probably survive the fall, it would take him a while to climb or leap back, but the parademon and Daxamite might recover and be back any second. He had to get Superman to safety. Somehow.

He tried to ignore the thought that flashed across his mind that it might be too late.

Superman wasn't moving any more.

He slid to his knees beside Superman, desperately reaching to feel for a pulse, trying not to notice the growing stain of crimson all around the crumpled body in the snow.

Kal ... no ...

He couldn't feel anything, or see any sign of the chest moving in breath. The knife's hilt was still sticking out of Superman's side in horrific vividness, but Batman dared not to move it, for fear of causing Superman to bleed out entirely. Not that it might make any difference, as he still couldn't feel or see any sign that Superman was still to be counted amongst the living.

His heart seemed to freeze in his chest at the thought. Furiously, Batman ripped off his gauntlet in the subzero air, and touched Superman's neck. For a second he felt nothing, his own heartbeat roaring in his ears, and then, with an enormous surge of relief that left him feeling weak, he suddenly felt the barest hint of a throb below his fingers.

Superman was still alive.
He had a pulse, slow and thready and weak, but there.

There.

Batman sagged for a second, and then went to work in a fury, using bandage pads from his belt to try and stem the bleeding, and examining the knife's position more closely. It didn't look at first glance like Massacre had succeeded in piercing any immediately vital organs in his hasty stab, but Superman could still bleed to death.

And then, of course, there was the Kryptonite factor.

Damnit.

And any second, any one of the three villains who had attacked him could be back. And the Batwing was gone, and the storm was growing worse, and here they were, without aid or shelter, exposed out here on a glacier high on a mountain, and Batman couldn't seem to get his damnable Justice League communicator to work.

"Superman," he whispered, leaning close to Superman's face, hands busy with sealing up the worst of the wound. "Wake up."

Superman didn't stir, and Batman noted with increasing alarm how pale his skin was. Even under that perpetual tan, Superman looked white to the bone.

How much blood had he already lost? The snow around them was more pink now than white. Batman swallowed hard, and again desperately looked around them, seeing nothing but the expanse of snow and ice and rock. Darkness was setting in even faster with the onset of the blizzard, and his cape swirled around them in the vicious, driving snow.

"Superman!" he called, and dared to shake a shoulder. Still no response. What if ...?

No, he wasn't going to think that way. He wasn't.

"Clark!" He shouted, and slapped him a sudden, smart blow across the face

For an instant there was no response, and Batman's heart seemed to freeze in his chest. The wind seemed to blow right threw him, and in that instant, he was sure he had never been so cold in his life.

Then, suddenly, he heard a tiny intake of breath.

Superman stirred, a small, aborted movement, and his eyes slitted open.

"Bruce?" he gasped. His voice was very weak.

Thank God ...

Batman had to swallow before his words came out as sound. "We've got to move," he said, almost harshly. "We'll both die out here if we stay."

Superman coughed weakly, and the pain in his face that he couldn't quite push back spoke volumes. "Where ..."

"Gone for now. Blasted Massacre off the mountain. Can you move?"

"W-what choice ... do we have?"

"None." Batman was blunt, hating himself for it. Superman squeezed his eyes shut.

"Then yes. I ... can move."

Batman took a good long look at Superman's face. As if sensing his gaze, Superman's eyes opened again and met his look.

"I can ... do it, Bruce. I'm ... all right."

It was such a boldfaced lie that Batman almost laughed outright in harsh disbelief. Instead, he forced down the gamut of everything he was feeling, and taped the bandages more firmly all around the knife's hilt and along the deep gash that Massacre had cut below Superman's ribs. He did his best to ignore the sound of sharp inhalation as he pressed on the wound, and the knife's blade was joggled within its puncture. He knew how important it was to stabilize the blade so that it wouldn't shift and cause even more internal injury. He tried not to see how tightly Superman had clenched his fists and his jaw, or how the Kryptonian tried not to writhe under his touch, and failing miserably. Despite the great cold, Batman could see beads of perspiration on Superman's face, and realized that shock was setting in. He could acutely see Superman growing weaker by the second, and had to tightly compress his own lips to keep from swearing aloud.

They had to get out of there.

"Superman, you're showing signs of cyanosis," he said tersely, looking at how blue Superman's lips had become. Another reason to get down off the glacier; the high altitude wasn't doing any favors to Superman's already dangerously low blood oxygen levels. Superman shifted again in response to his touch, unable to suppress the thick gasp of agony. His head fell back, and Batman saw how much weaker his movements already were. Superman's eyes closed. No, no, no… "Stay awake, Clark! You've got to stay awake!"

"I'll ... try." The words were barely audible over the rising howl of wind.

Batman finished what he could, and sat back on his heels, looking around them, forcing back the surge of desperate panic that threatened to spill out as he took in how untenable their position had come. Where could they go?

He tried his communicator again, and again, there was nothing but static. Either their enemies had somehow jammed the signal, or the encroaching blizzard was blocking its transmission. Either way, there was zero chance of anyone coming to their aid.

It was up to him to save Superman.

All right. He took a breath. First things first. The bleeding is contained for now. But we have to get off this mountain. He looked around them at the white exposed face of the glacier, and then down at the protruding knife. His eyes narrowed and he leaned closer to Superman's face. Was his skin turning a slight chartreuse color underneath the paleness? Were his lips slightly greenish under the blue? I have to get that knife out of him. I won't have to worry about shock or blood loss killing him if the Kryptonite poisoning isn't stopped, and soon.

"Bruce ..."

Startled, he looked down at Superman. "What?"

"You need ... to get away from ... me. They'll be ... coming ... back. Go. Get to safety."

The coldness settled in his gut like a malignant thing.

Batman stared at him. Superman saw his look and struggled harder to speak. Frothy blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth, and his breathing became even more labored. Had a lung been punctured after all?

"Please ... leave me. You can't ... help me, Bruce. I'm too far ..." His voice was lost for a moment, until he swallowed and gasped, the tremendous effort obvious. " Go. Save yourself ... please ..."

Batman suddenly shuddered all over, and it shook him out of his own state of half shock. He leaned forward fast, rage and frustration blazing out, unable to keep it out of his own voice. "Don't you dare ask me that," he hissed, inches above Superman's face. "You're not allowed to give up, Superman. And I'm sure as hell not giving up on you."

With a savage pull, he hoisted Superman up to a sitting position, trying not to hear the agonized cry that tore out of Superman at the movement. He slid an arm around his back, and lifted, even as Superman fought to get his legs under him.

"Bruce ..."

"It'll be all right, Clark," he husked, his own chest heaving in the cold air and with the effort. "We'll both make it out of this. I promise."

Supporting Superman's near dead weight on one side, he began to trek across the ice to the rock wall he could barely see ahead through the whirling, driving snow. Superman muttered something unintelligible, and groaned as he staggered against Batman's side. For a second, he stayed on his feet, trembling all over as he leaned his weight against Batman, and then all of a sudden his knees buckled and he was collapsing to the snow.

"Superman!"

Frantically, Batman laid his fingers across Superman's throat: the pulse was still there. But Superman looked even worse, and the lines of pain in his face had deepened.

"S ... sorry, Bruce ..." he whispered, the words thick and slurred. "I ... can't get ... my legs ... to ..." His head fell forward as he passed out.

"No!" Batman shouted, and seized Superman's shoulders. "You can't go!" He swallowed the fear in his mouth. Should Superman lose consciousness while suffering from shock ... "Superman! Damnit, don't! Clark! Wake up!" He shook him roughly. "KAL!!!" With the last shout he drew back his arm and struck Superman hard across the face. Superman's head rocked with the blow, but he didn't revive. Shit.

The storm roared around them, the wind and driving snow increasing in velocity. Batman looked around them, desperation and terror clawing at his mind. Nothing. They were alone, and he was without anything that could help.

And Superman ... Kal was dying.

No! I can't let that happen! I CAN'T!!!

Clenching his jaw, he reached forward and grasped the hilt of the knife. For a fraction of a second he hesitated, his own hand trembling, and then he mustered his will and twisted it sharply. Superman instantly galvanized, and a scream, unlike anything Batman had ever heard, was torn out of him. The pain must have been incredible, and Batman felt like walking wounded himself with what he had done. But Superman was awake, dragged up from the deathly unconsciousness, and that was what had to count now.

Thank God...

"I'm sorry, Clark," he muttered, watching Superman gasp and shake in the snow. "But we can't afford you to..."

But somehow Superman was managing a nod, and the flash of his eyes as they opened were alert over the waxy, ashen skin. "'S'okay," he whispered, and then he was given over to fighting the agony and struggling to breathe.

What can I do now? Batman thought, unable to resist the wave of despair that washed over him, looking around them at the desolate emptiness. How do I save him? How?

Then suddenly he spotted a darker patch against the dimming grayness, several feet away in the surface of the glacier. He squinted, and then reached up to flick a hidden toggle flattened in his cowl, and his infrared lenses activated. Yes.

He looked back down at Superman. The green tinge in his sweat-covered skin was growing as the radiation poisoning spread further. There's not much time.

With that and the injuries he'd sustained in the attack, there was simply no way that Superman would be able to manage his feet again.

"If you can't walk, then by god I'll carry you. I'll move heaven and earth itself if I have to," he said aloud, and his own words in the howling wind made his skin prickle. The words had sounded so hollow and disappeared so quickly. Gritting his teeth, he maneuvered closer to Superman and reached his arms underneath the Kryptonian's legs and back, braced himself, and lifted.

Batman could tell that Superman was struggling to not cry out at the movement that surely tore at the wound and the collapsed lung, and the hiss that escaped was terrifying in its warble.

He tightened his hold, cradling him against his chest as he waded through the deepening accumulation. "Don't fight it so hard," he murmured, gaze trained on that darker shape that he prayed would be their salvation. "You don't ever need to hide anything from me."

Superman couldn't answer.

Ten minutes of eternity later, they reached the lip of the opening Batman had spied. He paused to catch his breath, his own muscles trembling in equal tandem with Superman's, and peered down.

Yes.

It was a crevasse, deep in the glacier, and the slope was just gentle enough that he was sure, with help from his grapple, that he could lower both himself and Superman safely. It wasn't ideal, but at least it was out of the worst of the storm and wind, and they would no longer be exposed on the face of the ice. And maybe, just maybe, there would be a deeper cave beyond the drop where shelter could be made.

"Clark, I'm going to shift you a little," he said in warning.

Superman's shivering had increased, Batman noted with increased worrry, but he forced out a nod. "I'm ... ready."

Batman saw that he too had spotted the crevasse. But he wasn't ready. He never could be. Still, he stifled his cries as best he could as they moved. Batman clenched his own jaw, and kept going.

It took a bit of careful muscle control to carefully half-lower Superman against the upthrust of ice at the crevasse's mouth, and use the free hand to extract the equipment he needed, but Batman was nothing if not determined, and in seconds he had managed to anchor them to the rope, now lodged deep in ice, and lower them, inch by inch, down the shaft of the break in the ice. Even being out of the direct wind was a distinct relief, and even though snow was still falling from above, already Batman felt much warmer. He watched Superman's face carefully, but there was no discernible change from before.

If anything, he looked even worse.

That's to be expected, he told himself harshly, battling the renewed terror. Until I can get that Kryptonite out of him. And what if ...?

He bit down on the thought and concentrated on getting them both to the bottom of the narrowing crevice.

They reached the bottom, with rope to spare, and to Batman's great surprise and enormous relief, there was a bit of a sloped surface flat enough to walk on, and though dark, he could see a blackness a few feet away that indicated that yes, indeed, there was an ice cave there.

Well, 'tis the season for miracles.

He dropped the grapple and lifted up Superman in his arms again, careful of the protruding knife, and carried him towards it. Superman let out a weak gasp, but otherwise barely moved. His strength was nearly entirely gone.

Swallowing hard, Batman quickened his steps.

The cave was deep, and Batman carried Superman to the farthest corner before carefully kneeling down, and ever so gently, ever so slowly, lowered Superman to the ground.

Superman stiffened as his body straightened out, and a strangled cry emerged from his throat, and for a second, Batman feared he had passed out again, but then Superman, chest heaving spasmodically, opened his eyes to look up at him. "B-bruce ..."

Batman could see that it was taking everything Superman had in him to stay awake, to fight against succumbing to the pain and the poisoning, to not just lapse into pain-free unconsciousness. But he couldn't keep it up for much longer. His strength was ebbing fast, and his breathing was becoming more and more ragged.

He's dying.

Again, he felt that awful cold seize him and threaten to still his heart in his chest. He'd never felt so cold in his life.

No! I'm not going to let that happen!

"Hang on, Clark," he said, own voice rough, "just a little bit longer." He sprang to his feet, and set about the tasks that had to be taken care of first so that he could do what needed to be done.

He again blessed his foresight as he removed object after object from his utility belt, trying not to listen too hard to the labored breathing and tiny, pain-filled groans that Superman could not suppress. He jammed lightsticks into the ice around the cave, and sparked off his miniature portable heatlamp, setting it as near to Superman's position as he could. As light and heat began to fill the small cave, Superman's shivering seemed to become more intense, and his body more strained.

Batman whipped off his cape and settled it over him, knowing how important it was to keep a shock victim as warm as possible. At least Superman was lying on rock and not actual ice. He did his best to arrange Superman's own cape so that it was between his body and the cold stone. It wasn't ever going to be as warm as Superman needed, but it was all he had and he could only do the best he could do.

In the next several minutes, Batman found his mind settling into a clinical mode as his brain, almost without conscious prompting, recalled all of the basics of his first aid training. It helped him to set aside the panic that had threatened to spill over.

I'm not ready to let him go. No. Not ever.

Forcing aside the cold that wouldn't let him go, Batman worked steadily and swiftly. He maneuvered Superman onto the ground, raising his legs six inches off the ground into the shock position, placing a pile of rocks beneath the boots. He bent to make sure Superman's airway was open, but the fact that he had been able to speak, albeit not easily, was a good sign of that. He assessed his breathing, and made sure Superman's head was tilted back in case he did lose consciousness. Superman's breathing was coming in short, gasping breath; definitely a sign of acute respiratory distress. He seemed always short of breath, and Batman tried not to see how much agony each of them was for him. Several more times, Superman tried to speak, but failed as he couldn't seem to catch his breath.

Batman pressed his ear to Superman's chest. He could hear air going in and out on his right side, but there was a horrifying nothingness on the left.

Damnit. He does have a collapsed lung.

He looked at the knife. There was no way he could leave it in there. It had to come out. Normally he knew one should never remove an object that had penetrated the body, not in conditions like these, outside an emergency room with all the attendant necessary equipment and medical personnel. But the Kryptonite ... the damned Kryptonite was killing him. It would end his life long before blood loss or severe trauma would. Treatment now would have to be geared towards that end.

It has to come out. It has to come out now. And I have to do it.

Forcing out a breath, and forcing down the aching cold that seemed worse inside him than out, he reached back for his belt. He found the oxygen mask in one compartment and slid it gently over the lower half of Superman's face. The additional oxygen should help slow down the shock progression.

Then he stripped off his gauntlets, washing his hands in snow as best he could, wishing he could sterilize them. But there was nothing else to be done. He reached over Superman's chest, and roughly tore the cloth of his uniform, exposing a large area around the long wound over his side and ribs and chest. He readied what bandages he had, and prayed that Superman's natural Kryptonian abilities would kick in to help.

Earth and Sun, and all powers that aid him, come to him now! A line from Hamlet suddenly rose in his mind, and he threw that in too, as an impromptu prayer. Oh, angels and ministers of grace, of Earth or Krypton, defend him!

He leaned over Superman, and gently grasped the knife's hilt in one hand, trying his damnedest to keep it steady.

"Clark."

Superman opened his eyes, and met his look.

"I'm going to remove it now." There was really nothing else he could say.

Superman licked his dry lips, and swallowed, chest heaving, still fighting for breath, and still losing. Batman watched as he clenched his jaw, and nodded shortly. He had no breath left to speak at all. Batman tightened his grip and his resolve.

For an instant he waited, ruthlessly pushing down his terror, watching Superman brace himself, wild thoughts screaming in his mind. Screaming in his soul.

Kal...

Then he yanked.

He tried his best to pull the blade out the same path it had gone in, to minimize the damage, but Massacre had dragged the knife in a wickedly vicious cut, and Batman couldn't help but tear through new flesh and vessels as he tore the knife free.

The scream that tore free from Superman was almost worse.

He saw how Superman tried not to cry out, how his back arched right off the stone floor, and how absolutely impossible that was. Fresh blood gurgled froth, much of it tinted a sickly green, and Batman threw the knife across the cave as hard as he could before pressing down on the wound with his emergency padding, using bunched up bits of material from Superman's own costume to stem the tide of blood as best as he could.

Superman was gasping, eyes squeezed shut, muscles spasming. Thank god his pain threshold was so high; it was a miracle he hadn't passed out from the sheer pain.

But perhaps it would be better if he had.

Batman looked at the blood pooling around him, and knew, in that instant, never felt so cold in his life. He swallowed and concentrated.

Applying more pressure to the bleeding wound, he saw, to his vast relief, greatest amount of blood flow slowing down. "It's all right," he whispered over and over to Superman, as if a mantra. "It's gone. It's out." He couldn't be sure Superman had heard him. He forced himself to concentrate on his treatment.

There had been a sound like suction when he had pulled out the knife, and he knew it was a sucking chest wound with the object removed. He quickly grabbed the plastic bag he had laid out, thanking Alfred for the simple restock, and taped it down all around the puncture wound. It would create a sort of valve. Every time Superman inhaled, the plastic would be sucked close against the wound so that he would be able to actually take a breath.

As soon as he had it in place, he knew Superman was experiencing immediate relief, and his breathing was already returning close to normal. Air was venting out the fourth side of the plastic he hadn't taped down. Thank god he remembered his advanced First Aid training or he would have taped down all sides and inadvertently caused a tension pneumothorax. That would have been a nightmare. Air would have been trapped inside and Superman's lung would have kept expanding until the pressure on his heart would have pushed it to the right, and his trachea too, causing impairment of its ability to contract and Superman's condition to rapidly deteriorate.

He may be an alien being, but his heart still has to beat like any man's.

He checked on airway, breathing, and circulation again; all seemed as well as could be given the circumstances. He checked the radial pulse in both of Superman's wrists. Both were pulsating at the same time, which was good news. The pulse was rapid and weak, but definitely still there. He was still in a dangerous state of shock, but so far Superman's body seeming to be fighting it tooth and claw.

Compensatory shock, he remembered it was called.

Superman was pale, cool to the touch, and diaphoretic. But blessedly, most importantly, he was breathing on his own.

Thank you.

Batman felt weak himself, and for a second, leaned forward on his hands, head bowed, taking in great breaths of air. At a slight sound below him, his head jerked up. Superman was looking up at him, his eyes clouded, and agony written in every line of his face. He was trying to speak. Batman removed the oxygen mask.

"B ... Br ..."

He shook his head, and laid a blood-stained finger across Superman's lips. "No. Don't try to speak right now, Clark. Just rest. It's going to be okay."

Still, Superman fought to speak, until breathing became too difficult. All of a sudden, his whole body went limp, and his head lolled to the side. Batman's heart froze in his chest. Instantly he was pressing his ear to Clark's chest. Faintly, he heard the sound of breath, and the steady, rhythmic thump of his heart. He sagged back, his own heart pounding.

He's still alive. He's still alive.

Superman's body couldn't handle the trauma any more, but it was still alive. He hadn't given up. He was a fighter. He had just lapsed into unconsciousness. Not a good sign, but there was nothing else Batman could do about it.

He hasn't died. He's alive.

He could only pray he would stay that way. What had he been trying to say? He frowned a little as he removed the rocks under his legs, and tried to make Superman as comfortable as possible.

He sighed as he finished. He looked down at his hands, covered in Superman's blood. He abruptly rose and moved to the side of the cave, where a drift of snow had built up along one side of the entrance. He knelt and savagely scrubbed them with the icy crystals until his skin was red and raw. As clean as he could get them.

Clark...

He looked at his hand for a moment, and then at a sudden groan from the figure behind him, he sprang up and raced back to Superman's side. Helplessly he watched as Superman fought to breathe, in obvious pain, and eventually settle back into a near-normal pattern again. He hugged himself a little, to keep warm, he told himself, and shivered. He had never felt so cold in his life.

For a long time, time that went by unmeasured, Batman sat still and watched Superman breathing. The breaths seemed as even and steady as they could get. After a long while, he felt the tension gradually leave him, and he felt utterly exhausted, his muscles like jelly, and he sagged a little, allowing the thin relief to fill him. Superman may have been unconscious, but he was alive.

Thank God...

Batman knew he needed more advanced care than what he could provide at that moment, including IV therapy, blood and blood products along with meds and, of course, surgery to repair the internal injuries. Then he shook his head at himself with a wry snort. Well, that would be true of anyone else. This was Superman. Hopefully, with the Kryptonite removed, he would slowly start to heal on his own, as his systems regained their strength, and his natural resilience to injury and illness would reassert itself.

What do I do now?

He sighed and looked out at the mouth of the cave. The wind was howling above the crevasse with even greater gusto than before, and fresh snow was accumulating at the narrow entrance. At least their tracks would have been long covered. He had tried numerous times to raise the Watchtower, or anyone, but to no avail. They were on their own.

There's nothing to do but wait. Wait until the blizzard abates and hope I can get a signal through to the League before any of Superman's enemies are able to track us down. He pressed his lips into a tight line, refusing to give in to senseless worry. Not exactly how I planned to spend Christmas.

He turned his head to look at the Kryptonite-encrusted knife that he had flung to the mouth of the cave. Wearily, he stood up, every inch of his body protesting. Batman hadn't felt so sore from fatigue and tension in...longer than he cared to remember. He moved over to the weapon and leaned down to pick it up. For a long moment, he held it and looked at it, at the blood staining the rough-edged blade, and his hand trembled. With a deep-seated loathing, he jerked forward and hurled the thing out of the cave and deep into the crevasse, as far from Superman as he could get. He was left feeling drained and breathless, harsh gasps erupting from his chest as he stared out into the snow-swirling dark.

Then with an abrupt jerk, he turned and headed back to Superman, once more checking on his airway and circulation. To his great relief and gratitude, the Kryptonian seemed fairly stable, all things considered, though he was still pale, and sweaty, and cold to the touch. He tugged the cape a little higher over Superman's neck, and then shivered a little himself. Even with the thermal layering in the batsuit, he could feel the cold seeping through. And Superman...he had nothing next to his skin but the thin material of his uniform, and of course that had been ripped away over his side and over a good deal of his chest. If he were awake, he would be freezing, no doubt. Even unconscious, he wasn't exactly toasty.

Batman shivered again, and looked down at his friend. Am I really attempting to justify this? Shaking his head savagely, he bent down, and lifting the edge of the cape, he rolled in beside Superman and drew the voluminous cloak over them both. He tucked himself right against Superman's body, and laid an arm lightly across Superman's stomach, careful to avoid the bandaged wound on his far side.

Shared body heat will help keep both of us warm and alive, he told himself fiercely, curling even closer, tucking his head right next to Superman's.

For several long minutes, he lay there, listening to the deep breaths, still slightly hitched, of Superman next to him, and feeling the slight lifts and falls of his chest as he breathed. He thought briefly of removing Superman's and then his own costume; surely skin-to-skin contact would be even warmer for them both.
It would be practical.

He quashed the thought immediately. That might prove a little bit awkward. How on earth would I explain that position when he wakes up?

After a while, he stopped shivering so much, and felt the warmth begin to seep in around him. Thank goodness for insulated capes! He kept his cowl on, knowing it would keep him warmer; the greatest loss of heat was through the top of the head.

That's right.

He reached over and dragged up a strip of Superman's scarlet cape from beneath his shoulder, ripped a piece of the fabric free, and threaded his fingers through the black curls, wrapping the scrap of cape gently around Superman's head.

I hope that helps somewhat. It's damned cold in here. He could see his breath in the frigid air. What if we're trapped down here for too long and we freeze to de ...? Harshly, he cut himself off from finishing the thought, again reaching out, as if his hand had a will of its own, to stroke a finger along Superman's brow and then traced it down over his ear.

He's got such incredibly soft hair, he marveled, distracting himself from the awful peril his friend was in. Is it always like that? Or just now when he's not so ... invulnerable? He tucked a stray bit of tattered cape beneath the back of the head, his fingers buried in the hair at the nape of Superman's neck, before reluctantly easing his hand back. For a while he huddled against the Man of Steel, and gradually began to feel a bit warmer. With the warmth came a greater sense of ease, and he stopped shivering.

I very nearly lost him... He swallowed hard and abruptly shuddered. But I didn't. He's here, warm and alive and breathing, right beside me. They didn't get him. I stopped them. He's alive.

He lifted himself on one elbow and gazed for some time down at the Kryptonian. It was not very often, after all, that he saw his colleague like this: asleep and vulnerable, entirely trusting himself to Batman's care. His skin had already taken on a healthier colour, and the taut lines of pain had eased in sleep. The crimson cloth crowned his dark hair, making him look strangely exotic, like some alien prince that had fallen from the stars to land in Bruce's arms.

Startled at the thought, and slightly alarmed at the images and accompanying feelings that had arisen with it, he shook his head. I think I'm more tired than I thought.

He looked back down at Superman and on reflex reached forward and brushed back that unruly lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. The skin felt cool and smooth to his bare touch. The fever had died down, he noted distantly; Clark was no longer clammy and hot. But what he really found himself focusing on was the electric jolt that went right through him at the touch, and how his hand felt drawn to that flesh like a magnet. His fingers traced over the fine eyebrow and down over Superman's temple, caressing the high cheekbone and then trailing down over his chin. He marveled at the feel of that face under his fingertips, and though he knew he should stop, he couldn't seem to muster the willpower to do so. His hand traveled down Superman's jaw as if of its own accord and then over the side of his neck, feeling the carotid artery pulse with life, the hot blood pumping and throbbing beneath his fingers. He moved across his throat and the hollow of the collarbone to the bare left shoulder where he'd torn the uniform apart to work. His hand dipped lower, lightly tracing the swell of hard pectoral muscle, feeling the gentle reis and fall of quiet breaths, moving with a rapt fascination to the nub of nipple he could not resist touching.

It's really only right that Superman of all people have the most magnificent chest in the world, he mused dreamily, falling into his exhausted fugue even further. He circled the smooth, hot skin around the nipple, and then all of a sudden drew himself up short and snatched his hand away as if he'd been burned.

What ... what the hell am I doing??? I'm feeling up Clark—Superman, for god's sake! He swallowed hard. An injured Superman, at that! Who's trusting me with his life, not exactly expecting me to take advantage of him! Disgusted at himself, and more than a little confused, Batman closed his hands into fists and drew back a little from where he'd been pressing against the length of Superman's body.

This ... this isn't right. What am I doing? What am I thinking?

He realized he'd begun to tremble, and that it had nothing whatsoever to do with the temperature.

This is wrong.

Then why, why, did it suddenly feel so right?

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Clark...I didn't...I don't... Oh god, Kal...

He opened his eyes, zeroing in again on the man beside him. He couldn't seem to stop looking at Superman, drinking in the sight of him. He so rarely allowed himself to just look. And there Superman was, a living, breathing, warm presence, lying at Bruce's side. Just as he so often had imagined, secretly, guiltily, hiding the ramifications of such thoughts even from himself. And he knew he had been fooling himself for far too long. Of course, he thought with not a little wryness, I never exactly pictured it like this.

This wasn't something he could keep buried, not for much longer. He realized he didn't even want to. Not any more.

He groaned and pressed his face against Superman's shoulder. I'm worse than I thought. But for whatever reason, all of a sudden he didn't ever want to move from right where he was, not for anything. Not for anything in the world. What is wrong with me? Why am I so damned weak?

He had fought so hard and for so long to keep his feelings in check, even from himself. And now, suddenly, he was forced to acknowledge them. Somehow, the terror of being so close to losing Superman that night had changed something, freed something within him. Somehow, having Superman hurt and entirely dependent on him had forced Bruce to look at him—at them—with open eyes. Clearer eyes. And perhaps with open heart too, for the very first time.

And clearly his heart—and his body too apparently—understood something his mind had refused to. Somehow having Superman's life and welfare in Batman's hands had awakened something inside him. Something wonderful. Something dangerous. Something exhilarating.

Something terrifying.

Kal...

He lifted himself up in an abrupt move, and stared down at Superman again, his eyes tracing every line and nuance of his face. You're so damned beautiful. He shook his head in awe and amazement. What have you done to me? I've been enraptured by you, somehow, against all predictions and analysis, against all expectation, against all logic, and against all odds. He blinked against the moisture forming in his eyes. Superman, my teammate. Clark, my friend. Kal, my...

He swallowed, his mouth dry as he gazed at the face before him. I want you. I need you. I ... I love you. The ache in his throat became unbearable. And I don't know if I can ever have you. He shut his eyes tightly, against the sight before them, fear and wonder and despair and joy each tearing their way through him all at once. He released a long, shuddering sigh, and opened his eyes again, and unable to resist any longer, laid a tender hand along the side of Superman's face. I don't know if I'll ever have another chance.

Still, he hesitated, leaning his weight on his trembling arm for long, breathless moments, before easing himself down to rest on top of Superman's uninjured side. I don't know how you feel. I don't know if there's any chance that you could feel the same way for me. He ran his naked hands up over Superman's neck and the sides of his face. Gently he drew away the scrap of cape that he had wrapped over his head, and buried one hand in his silky hair. Carpe Diem, he thought, a savage joy and fierce possessiveness suddenly sweeping over him. Seize the day!

He cupped Superman's jaw in his other hand, and tilted the head upwards.

I'm sorry, Kal. I hope you'll forgive me. But I have to do this. Just once. He ran a fingertip lightly over those lips.

I have to.

Despite being chapped, he would have sworn that he had never felt anything so soft, so electrifying in his life.

God, Clark... You...

He swallowed, and felt his heart racing even as he lowered himself more to feel the steady, slow, thump of Superman's heart beating beneath his breast against his own. This may be the only chance I'm ever given. His hand as if of its own accord, slid behind Superman's neck as his other hand circled back over his jaw. But I...I pray...

Pulse racing, hands trembling, scarcely able to believe he was about to do what he was about to do, Batman slowly lowered his head, and with the most perfect gentleness, lightly touched Superman's lips with his own. I pray that somehow, some way, this isn't the last. But only the first. He feathered a kiss with infinite care and lightness on the sleeping man beneath him. I pray that someday you let me kiss you awake. And that you will kiss me back.

He drew back and looked down at the face before him. Superman had still not stirred. He was safe. With all the joy and need and ... and love that I feel right now. And then, the tenderness was being swallowed by something wilder and darker, and Batman lowered his head again, beyond all ability to resist, and this time pressed his lips to Superman's mouth with greater force, and kissed him with abandon, fierce passion filling him, tasting Superman as he had longed to do for so very long, memorizing the feel and heat of that mouth against the long, lonely days to come.

Kal, Kal, Kal...

He was one. He was where he belonged, at long last. He was home.

You're mine. Oh, Kal, you're mine.

With a tremendous effort of will that took more out of him than he had ever felt before, he finally lifted his head, breaking the contact, breathing hard, trying—and failing—to assimilate everything that was washing over and through him at that moment. He had never felt so overwhelmed, so completely out of control, and for one split second, it was glorious.

Oh, God, thank you...

Then his reality was reasserting itself, and he blinked, suddenly seeing the cave and feeling the cold and feeling his hand clutching at Superman, who had thankfully not awakened beneath his...

It was practically an assault.

But to his own surprise, the thought held no guilt, only a certain ruefulness. He couldn't seem to bring himself to regret what he had done. He realized he wouldn't take back what he had done, not for the world. He couldn't ever regret. For if nothing else, he had that memory. And it had been incredible. No kiss had ever felt like that, make him feel like that. Never. What I would give...

And if it was the last, it was a damned spectacular one, and would be enough.

No, no it's not.

The sudden blazing thought surprised even him in it intensity.

It won't ever be enough.

His heart still pounding, and his breath coming ragged in his chest, Batman looked back down at Superman, and the pain right then that seared through him seemed enough to swallow him whole.

I can't ... I can't ever let you go.

He cradled his hands along that face, so noble, so compassionate and kind, so brave, so heartbreakingly beautiful. Superman... He longed with everything he had in him to see those brilliant eyes open, drown in that otherworldly blue, fall in amongst the starshine that blazed within them whenever Superman thought he wasn't looking.

Clark ...

He knew that what he sometimes thought he glimpsed in those blue eyes, those singular eyes unlike anything else on earth, eyes that were sometimes cerulean like a summer's sky, sometimes sapphire like a sparkling clear winter's dawn, sometimes turquoise like a pristine jeweled lake, sometimes ice-blue like a mirrored glacial mountain, sometimes velvet like a starlit and moonlit midnight, sometimes aquamarine like the deepest tropical sea, sometimes something more akin to blue gold, bursting with stars and the bright soul behind them...sometimes he thought he saw something different...something special. Friendship and care, yes, regard and affection, yes, but sometimes perhaps something even more. He dared to hope what he glimpsed was not just in his fevered imagination, fueled by hidden hopes and dreams on his part, but was actually there. Not a dream. Not a false hope. But Real.

True.

Kal...

Maybe, just maybe it was.

Bruce released a long sigh, and pressed his forehead against Kal's for an eternal moment. Then he raised his head to gaze down one more time at the face below his, drinking in the sight, before leaning down with the greatest of care, and giving one last, brief, kiss, a kiss of infinite sweetness, pressing it against Superman's mouth tenderly, pouring all of his longing, grief, loneliness, joy, and love into that final touch.

I'll wait for you.

He drew away, and levered himself back on the ground beside Superman, his hands trailing from the body so tantalizingly close to his own, and then, with an effort of will greater than he had believed possible, he pulled them away.

No matter how long it takes.

He lay close to Superman, so close, and never so far away. In that moment, he had never felt so cold in his life.

Continued...