Fic: Bitter Truths
Dec. 6th, 2009 07:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
starsandseaTitle: Bitter Truths
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Word Count: 1157
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Warning: Character Death
Author's Note: For the WFGE. Prompt F30: After years of believing that Batman despises him based on the fact that he treats him differently than everyone else in the League, Superman accidentally finds out the real reason why Batman acts this way. Unbetaed, so point and I shall correct.
Superman sighed as the meeting ended and everyone started to leave. It had gone well enough, he supposed, but as usual, Batman had... Well, he might as well just say it. Batman had treated him differently from everyone else. As if Superman couldn't take care of himself. As if he was stupid enough not to.
He shook his head, seeing the object of his musings looking at him, white eye slits narrowed. Superman raised an eyebrow at him, and Batman turned stiffly, before disappearing in a soft rustle of silk.
Superman sighed again, wondering if he would ever understand the vigilante protector of Gotham City.
*****
Clark looked around Batman's quarters. They were empty. Spartan. Only some gadget that he had either been repairing, or making, or even taking apart showed that the room belonged to anyone. Even the blankets on the bed were the standard white. He had expected them to be black, somehow.
It was funny, he had almost expected the room to be messy - this was, after all, someone who had had their own butler all their life, who had never really had to do anything like tidying or cooking and cleaning or...
Clark felt a sob catch in his throat. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't... He didn't even know why he was here. Maybe it was guilt. Guilt of always thinking the worst of Batman, of thinking that he had hated Superman all these years, only to find... too late.
The image kept flashing through his mind, superimposing itself over everything, Batman pushing him out of the way of the Kryptonite laced energy beam; the stench of charred skin.
A heartbeat stopping abruptly.
Clark felt himself stagger, and fell into a half upright position on the bed, the wall the only thing holding him up.
Batman had just died saving him and Superman didn't know why.
He felt like he had never known the man at all. Clark stared blankly at the grey wall opposite the bed, vaguely aware that he was shaking, possibly gone into mild shock. He didn't know why he felt so bereft, only that he wanted to weep and scream at the same time, that he wanted the world to turn back, so he could save his friend.
And that was just it, they had been friends, of a sort. In as much as people like them could have friends. Clark didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to do, save try not to fall apart. He wanted to go home, he wanted to go as far away as possible from all of this pain and confusion and grief.
He wasn't even aware he had slipped off the bed and was crouching on the floor until his hand hit a hard object, something angular striking his hand. That brought him back to awareness, only because of the sudden remembrance of who's quarters he was in. Who knew what Batman was keeping in here? So he was surprised when he found it to be a book. And it truly was a book, not something disguised as a book. It looked like it was a formal diary of some kind. The kind that men like Bruce Wayne would keep their appointments in, if everything hadn't become so digitalized.
The quirk of it intrigued Clark - he could certainly understand wanting to use pen and paper. There were times he missed using it, and he knew that at work he was considered even more of an oddity for using it in interviews, instead of his Blackberry or another electronic device. The fact that he and Batman had supposedly held this in common without realizing it was a surprise to Clark.
But Batman was an intensely private person. And so was he, Clark reflected, holding the book carefully in his hands. People might think they knew him, but the very fact that Batman had been the only person who had known that Superman wasKal-El was Clark Kent was proof of that.
And now he was alone again. Because Batman had died saving him.
Clark opened the diary without realizing it, then blinked at the indecipherable scrawl. He blinked again, hoping it would become clearer, while feeling guilt overcoming him again. Reading a dead man's diary... But then he laughed quietly. It was in code. Of course it was. He didn't even know why he was surprised, why he was suddenly fighting back tears.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, closing the book. He didn't have time for this. The world needed Superman. Batman had just died so he could live, and Clark wouldn't let his sacrifice be in vain.
*****
Two and a half weeks later. Clark didn't know how much he had slept in those two weeks. He could only remember vague details from them. Gotham's silent accusations when he had gone first to Alfred, then to James Gordon, to confirm that Batman was gone. The loss of hope and then look on determination in the two men's eyes had humbled him. They would continue fighting in the ways that best suited them, in honor of their friend and surrogate son.
And there had been something that Alfred had said 'I don't think you realized just how much Master Bruce valued your friendship, sir.'
Clark had felt shame and guilt twine their way around his heart at those words, knowing that no, he had never known that. Not until Bruce had sacrificed himself for him.
He took another deep breath, almost wishing he could feel the cold air, here at the top of the world. But the Fortress was climate controlled. No hint of the harsh weather outside would find its way within. There was just silence here, and the occasional humming of a dead planet's last gasps.
A humming that suddenly changed frequency, indicating that it had finished analyzing something. Clark wearily raised his head. He didn't even remember asking it it to do anything of the sort.
But then he read the words flashing across the screen, flashing faster than any human could ever comprehend and his mouth went dry.
Batman's - Bruce's - diary. The Fortress had cracked the code.
Clark opened his mouth to tell it to stop, that he shouldn't be seeing this, that he should never, never, have seen this... But it had finished displaying the information before he could speak. He knew it all now. He knew the bitter truth. And it could never be changed.
He gasped for breath. He didn't know if he should laugh or cry. He had been so wrong. All this time, so very, very wrong. He had thought that Batman had despised him, had hated him. But he couldn't have been more wrong. Not at all. It hadn't been hate. No, it hadn't been hate at all.
And alone, in his Fortress, surrounded by ice and bitter winds, Superman wept.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Word Count: 1157
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Warning: Character Death
Author's Note: For the WFGE. Prompt F30: After years of believing that Batman despises him based on the fact that he treats him differently than everyone else in the League, Superman accidentally finds out the real reason why Batman acts this way. Unbetaed, so point and I shall correct.
Superman sighed as the meeting ended and everyone started to leave. It had gone well enough, he supposed, but as usual, Batman had... Well, he might as well just say it. Batman had treated him differently from everyone else. As if Superman couldn't take care of himself. As if he was stupid enough not to.
He shook his head, seeing the object of his musings looking at him, white eye slits narrowed. Superman raised an eyebrow at him, and Batman turned stiffly, before disappearing in a soft rustle of silk.
Superman sighed again, wondering if he would ever understand the vigilante protector of Gotham City.
*****
Clark looked around Batman's quarters. They were empty. Spartan. Only some gadget that he had either been repairing, or making, or even taking apart showed that the room belonged to anyone. Even the blankets on the bed were the standard white. He had expected them to be black, somehow.
It was funny, he had almost expected the room to be messy - this was, after all, someone who had had their own butler all their life, who had never really had to do anything like tidying or cooking and cleaning or...
Clark felt a sob catch in his throat. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't... He didn't even know why he was here. Maybe it was guilt. Guilt of always thinking the worst of Batman, of thinking that he had hated Superman all these years, only to find... too late.
The image kept flashing through his mind, superimposing itself over everything, Batman pushing him out of the way of the Kryptonite laced energy beam; the stench of charred skin.
A heartbeat stopping abruptly.
Clark felt himself stagger, and fell into a half upright position on the bed, the wall the only thing holding him up.
Batman had just died saving him and Superman didn't know why.
He felt like he had never known the man at all. Clark stared blankly at the grey wall opposite the bed, vaguely aware that he was shaking, possibly gone into mild shock. He didn't know why he felt so bereft, only that he wanted to weep and scream at the same time, that he wanted the world to turn back, so he could save his friend.
And that was just it, they had been friends, of a sort. In as much as people like them could have friends. Clark didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to do, save try not to fall apart. He wanted to go home, he wanted to go as far away as possible from all of this pain and confusion and grief.
He wasn't even aware he had slipped off the bed and was crouching on the floor until his hand hit a hard object, something angular striking his hand. That brought him back to awareness, only because of the sudden remembrance of who's quarters he was in. Who knew what Batman was keeping in here? So he was surprised when he found it to be a book. And it truly was a book, not something disguised as a book. It looked like it was a formal diary of some kind. The kind that men like Bruce Wayne would keep their appointments in, if everything hadn't become so digitalized.
The quirk of it intrigued Clark - he could certainly understand wanting to use pen and paper. There were times he missed using it, and he knew that at work he was considered even more of an oddity for using it in interviews, instead of his Blackberry or another electronic device. The fact that he and Batman had supposedly held this in common without realizing it was a surprise to Clark.
But Batman was an intensely private person. And so was he, Clark reflected, holding the book carefully in his hands. People might think they knew him, but the very fact that Batman had been the only person who had known that Superman wasKal-El was Clark Kent was proof of that.
And now he was alone again. Because Batman had died saving him.
Clark opened the diary without realizing it, then blinked at the indecipherable scrawl. He blinked again, hoping it would become clearer, while feeling guilt overcoming him again. Reading a dead man's diary... But then he laughed quietly. It was in code. Of course it was. He didn't even know why he was surprised, why he was suddenly fighting back tears.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, closing the book. He didn't have time for this. The world needed Superman. Batman had just died so he could live, and Clark wouldn't let his sacrifice be in vain.
*****
Two and a half weeks later. Clark didn't know how much he had slept in those two weeks. He could only remember vague details from them. Gotham's silent accusations when he had gone first to Alfred, then to James Gordon, to confirm that Batman was gone. The loss of hope and then look on determination in the two men's eyes had humbled him. They would continue fighting in the ways that best suited them, in honor of their friend and surrogate son.
And there had been something that Alfred had said 'I don't think you realized just how much Master Bruce valued your friendship, sir.'
Clark had felt shame and guilt twine their way around his heart at those words, knowing that no, he had never known that. Not until Bruce had sacrificed himself for him.
He took another deep breath, almost wishing he could feel the cold air, here at the top of the world. But the Fortress was climate controlled. No hint of the harsh weather outside would find its way within. There was just silence here, and the occasional humming of a dead planet's last gasps.
A humming that suddenly changed frequency, indicating that it had finished analyzing something. Clark wearily raised his head. He didn't even remember asking it it to do anything of the sort.
But then he read the words flashing across the screen, flashing faster than any human could ever comprehend and his mouth went dry.
Batman's - Bruce's - diary. The Fortress had cracked the code.
Clark opened his mouth to tell it to stop, that he shouldn't be seeing this, that he should never, never, have seen this... But it had finished displaying the information before he could speak. He knew it all now. He knew the bitter truth. And it could never be changed.
He gasped for breath. He didn't know if he should laugh or cry. He had been so wrong. All this time, so very, very wrong. He had thought that Batman had despised him, had hated him. But he couldn't have been more wrong. Not at all. It hadn't been hate. No, it hadn't been hate at all.
And alone, in his Fortress, surrounded by ice and bitter winds, Superman wept.
