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Tears and Rain	By : Waxcrayons Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 13549 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not nor will I ever own Batman, Superman,DC comics or any of their characters, or make any money off of them.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
The silent start of Christmas morning found Clark playing the role of a sentinel, having never gotten around to sleep. There had been a few things to do after his charges had drifted off. Alfred was loathe to not have any gifts for their surprise guests and had instructed Clark on where in the Manor he could locate a few new items Bruce had yet to open. The presents for Hal and Barry were now tucked under the tree, lost in the small tide of gifts for the boys. Everything was laid out, waiting patiently for the good boys and girls to greet the day. He would have to check on the last gift for Tim that was hidden away in the barn soon enough, but for now he had a free moment.
Evidently he had chosen to use his time to lean against the archway between the living room and the anteroom with eyes closed, listening to the symphony of soft breaths and sleepy murmurs. The peace those around him found in sleep was comforting. Not for the first time did he wish he required sleep like the rest of the world. It was something he found hard to do, willing a body to rest that pulled fuel for itself out of the very air. His mind was perhaps capable of running indefinitely as his body seemed want to do... But he found he craved sleep. Sometimes he just didn't want to have to think about something for a little while. A man should be allowed to put the world aside for a handful of hours a day. Despite the slow lulling heartbeat of a certain Dark Knight, those hours were denied to him, his thoughts insisting on circling back to visit the Manor. It should have been simple. Go in, wrap some fancy shirts and watches and leave. Why did he decide right then and there to play Reporter? What right had he had? And even, had it been worth the moment of weakness?
The Manor was cooler than usual, the automated heating set to low. No point in warming an empty home. He shook the wet snow from his hair and removed dirty wet boots before entering. Gotham snow was never clean and white. The alarm was disabled without much conscious effort on his part as he was more focused on finding Alfred's stash of gift wrap. It was thankfully exactly where the man had thought, and with the festive paper in tow he climbed the stairs and entered Bruce's bedroom. It felt weird to be in there... It was perhaps not Bruce's sanctum, no, that title was reserved for the Cave beneath the Manor, but it was still Bruce's private area. He was still standing in Bruce's private space while the other man slumbered a few states away.
...That being said he had never quite had the chance to get a good look at Bruce's room. It wasn't a place the man invited friends into. He wasn't going to go through the man's drawers or anything – aside from getting the shirts – he would just take a quick little tour. He started by looking around the main room. It was different from the rest of the Manor by some pretty significant strides. Much like his farm house, the Manor was attached to it's history and refused to change. The furniture was made up of elegant antiques, the mouldings and styles recalling the days of yore. He doubted Bruce could ever bring himself to update the family home, but he had managed to update his room.
There were no stately ghosts to be found here, surprisingly. The furniture was not quite Spartan, but constructed with clean lines in mind. The wood was solid and well made, the colour of rich Victorian Mahogany, a warm honey spinning along the reddish grain in some spots. The colours played well off the soft shade of candlelight selected for the mostly bare walls. Where Clark had been expecting to see black, everywhere was warmth. Rich reds, gold, and splashes of contrasting green, The intimate sitting arrangement by a cosy fireplace was made of plush burnt gold fabric, passionately red throws and pillows decorating them in case one got a chill sitting by the fire. The reading nook was equally welcoming and in similar hues. The gold-worked emerald chaisse-lounge looked as if it was intended for two people to curl up upon it, as lost in each other as they were in their books. He gave the reading nook one last wistful sigh and moved on to peer out the large balcony doors only partially hidden behind ornate curtains.
The doors opened out to a private patio. Offside was a table and chair set covered with a tarp. In his mind he could see Bruce sitting there on a sunny morning with a cup of coffee and the morning paper, dressed in only a loose pair of pyjama pants, bottoms rolled up, his chest and feet bare in the warm sun. He imagined the ocean the Manor overlooked was a perfect backdrop for a romantic moment with a loved one. The sound of softly rolling waves filling in comfortable silences... Well, the ocean was quite angry sounding this winter night. He turned back inside.
His explorations took him past a dresser set, and what he would have to call a vanity. A manly vanity. Cuff-links and watches were equally organised into there own compartments, some still brand new. An assortment of expensive colognes Bruce wore also had a place here. He smiled wryly, picturing the other man fussing over his hair and accessorizing. He passed up on checking out the bathroom. It had been the one place he did remember from his only visit to this room a year ago. All that was left was the wall sized massive walk-in-closet – My, my, but wasn't somebody a closeted fashion-whore? – and a beautiful canopy bed, both heavy and sheer curtains drawn open, welcoming. A moment passed where he was certain he had decided it was time to simply collect the items and return to the sleepy farm house.
The bed barely creaked as he settled his weight on the edge. The linens under his braced hands felt exquisite and the mattress underneath them firm but supple. A moment later he gave in to temptation and fell into the bed's embrace, arms strung akimbo. A phantom weight settled next to him. He could easily remember what it felt like like to have the brooding Dark Knight asleep so closely, face and body turning into him during the night. To have Bruce whisper 'You're so warm' as he did just so, obviously assuming Clark was fast asleep and wouldn't hear him. To wrap his arms around the sleeping Knight much later and drift off to the sound of the slow heartbeat...
It began as a faint distaste that skittered along the recesses of his troubled mind. The ever-present worried knot in his stomach twisted as far as it possibly could before it finally ruptured, flooding his body with erratic waves of emotion and pain. He felt afraid... Not something he could claim he felt often. He felt in agony, helpless before the circumstances forced upon him. What had he almost lost? What was he afraid he was still losing? He couldn’t stop the tears, but here in Bruce's place away from the world there was no one to see them. There was no one he had to be strong for...To be Superman for. He curled up on his side, drawing knees to his chest and wept. It wasn't fair. He had always been so close at hand. Always been so willing to help... and the one time he was needed he had failed to be there.
You left me.
Bruce's accusation wounded him anew. He could have argued that it wasn't fair for the man to blame him. Fantasies aside, they couldn't be together every second of their lives. Hell, the poor wounded thing had looked straight at the camera during what Bruce believed to be his final farewell and had apologized for coming up short. Bruce had apologized for failing Clark and had begged of him not to blame himself. But he accepted the blame regardless. He scrubbed his face uselessly, as more tears soon replaced those he had wiped away. He couldn't even say who he was crying more for at that moment. For Bruce... Or himself. The urge to get out of the bed was non-existant. Tomorrow was coming so fast... Tomorrow was so uncertain.
The faint scent of an expensive but mutable body spray clung to the fabric under him of which he inhaled deeply.
It was a long time before he willed his body to move. He selected flattering shirts and ties, matched complementary watches, and wrapped the gifts. He left the bedroom with the two parcels in one hand, and another man's keys in the other. His thumb had been tracing the embossment on the key ring's charm for some time. The raised image of Ancelepius' staff pressed into his flesh and he made a wish upon the charm that it brought it's owner what it was famous for. Thumb still tracing the charm, he looked down the hallway at the large double doors he was holding the keys to. Thomas and Martha's room. The mausoleum.
Professional and personal curiosity collided. He let them fall to the side gracefully. However much he wanted to understand... Just to know... Bruce had been violated enough. His secrets were his own to keep. Clark couldn't leave the stately Manor fast enough.
And now here he stood, overlooking the three dead asleep men, wishing it was just as easy for him to escape his bad thoughts for a little while. He wondered if Bruce would feel him climb into the bed beside the slumbering Knight. Would the serene looking warrior turn into him once again? He felt his strength slipping again and forced his stoic mask back in place. Now was not the time to be asking for comfort. He tore his eyes away from Bruce. It was getting too hard to stay away from the sleeping man.
He settled on Hal and Barry instead, believing them to be a suitable distraction. He studied his new friends prone forms from where he stood. They had surprised him a little. Of course people were always different when you got them out of a professional setting, but he hadn't expected to find them so damn easy to get along with. He hadn't expected to see a shyer self-conscious side to cock-sure Hal. It was no wonder the Batman and the Green Lantern bristled in each other's company. They were kind of similar in what he was willing to bet would be quite a few ways once they got to know one another more. The Lantern slept fully bundled in warm flannel, looking in more ways then one like an oversized kid.
In clear juxtaposition, diplomatic and charismatic Barry, the man out of the pair he would have thought to be the softer, gentler one, had shown otherwise. Outspoken Hal seemed perfectly content to have Barry reigning him in all night, deferring to the older man willingly. The blonde man slept untroubled, sprawled out haphazardly on his stomach in nothing but a pair of shorts and the stray corners of blankets that Hal hadn't managed to ball himself into. One arm stretched out to lay across the blanket thief, a large hand splayed flat approximately against Hal's chest.
So while Clark was willing to admit he wasn't always the most perspective person when it came to noticing such things, he was pretty confidant he was getting the correct vibes about the nature of their relationship.
I wonder how they make it work? He frowned slightly. They live in different cities, have different careers, different friends, different interests... They are a good foil for each other, I suppose. They do balance one another. Maybe it wasn't so hard as he feared? The pros were staring to pile up. They work well together because they understand each other's body language and patterns of thought. They look out for one another. It's second nature to them.
There was nothing in their League work or ethics that had clued him in that these two were anything more than good friends. They had managed to balance their work and home lives perfectly. Had he not witnesses the causal touches and natural affection under a domestic light, he still would have been none the wiser.
He dared to imagine himself achieving a semblance of what Hal and Barry shared with Bruce. What would it be like to build a healthy loving relationship like that? To have a lover's touch be so natural it barely drew your attention? To love someone so much you would seek them out even in your sleep? Surely his two new friends would have quality advice to share with this lovestruck idiot. If he could even manage not blushing enough to ask them.
Shockingly loud music startled him out of his quiet reverie. It took him a moment to recognise the instrumental theme, a second longer for his memory to supply the missing lyrics.
Smoke on the water...
Deep Purple. The music was coming from his cell.
He all but pounced open it but he was a little too late to keep the classic beat from waking two of the three sleeping men. He flashed his friends an apologetic smile and answered the phone in a hushed voice, thankful that at they very least, Bruce remained fast asleep.
“Hello?” He greeted softly.
“Hayseed.”
As there was only one person who had such an affectionate term of endearment for him he dropped al sense of formality. “Lois, how nice of you to call so early in the morning. Christmas morning.”
“Oh yeah, Merry Christmas. So, Hayseed... Is there a 'q' or a 'c' in ubiquitous?”
“How dear of you. I can't believe you called me at six in the morning Christmas day of all days to ask me to perform as your spell-checker. You know that tool comes with every word program ever, right? You're just so thoughtful that way... Why I haven't seen you in almost a month too.”
“If I tell you I missed you will you just answer my question? I'm not anywhere near a computer right now. Perry wants the girl who's most famous for Superman reporting to byline this headline for the spread. And while this isn't the kind of reporting I like to do, the demand is going to be insane. People, huh? They'll ignore glaring affronts to our Constitution but go ga-ga over a celebrity baby.”
The disgust in Lois' voice was palpable. He sighed and spelled the word for her. “What is it about this story that's got you all wound up?”
“Because it's getting into someone's personal life that people should stay far out of.”
He barely held back a scoff. “Isn't that the nature of the press?”
“I'm inclined to agree with you, but when someone does so much good for the world and there is this one thing that could paint them in an unsavoury light... It just makes me mad. The debates that will follow. The religious nuts. There are just some people in the world who don't deserve to have their every action questioned.”
“You're surprising me here, Lo.”
“I'm surprising myself, truth be told. But I don't feel right about this. I hope he'll understand.”
Now she had piqued his interest and he deigned to tell her as much but true to form, Lois Lane would never leak a story until she was certain it would be the talk of the town... And that Perry wouldn't string her up no matter how many awards she won.
“Who would call you so early in the morning?”
Clark's head whipped around instinctively to stare at the drowsy man at his side, bleary blue eyes attempting to blink away sleep. He cursed inwardly. He had not wanted to wake the whole house... Especially had not wanted to wake the injured Bruce.
“Who is that?”
Clark ignored Lois' question as he tried to find a simple way to let her go and focus on Bruce.
“That's Lois, isn't it? She's the only one who bothers you at any time during the day.” Bruce's sleepy fog was lifting, and he shifted to sit up. Seeing Clark's distress he nodded to himself, his lips twitching into the slightest evil grin.
“That's... That's Bruce, isn't it?”
“Babe, get off the phone. The bed's getting cold without you.”
The relentless woman squealed, knowing full well there was only one smooth baritone man hell bent on embarrassing him that Clark would be with.
“Aha! I knew it was him. I am so jotting this down in my note pad, Hayseed. I will get to the bottom of the Bruce and Clark mystery, you hear me? Just think, the Dashing Socialite Prince and the Honest Everyman. What a sensation. Hollywood loves those improbable love stories. You know no one believes me when I tell them you of all people are hobnobbing it with Bruce fancy-pants Wayne? This story a guaranteed water-cooler favourite.”
“What happened to all that talk about some people's private lives being left private?”
“Oh, but this is you... And Bruce! Come one, Hayseed, I need this. People think all my awards have gone to my head and that I have to start making up conspiracies to stay on top. Just dish the goods already. Start with telling us how long you've been warming the bed of Gotham's fair prince.”
Lois couldn't help being Lois, he mused. For his part Clark was left with only one hasty solution. The classic cop-out.
“Well, would you look at the time. It's already Christmas! It's so nice to hear from you, Lois, really, but you know how it is. It's so busy this time of year, what with all the presents to open and bed's to warm. You understand?”
“Oh fine. I'll let you off easy just this once. Holiday spirit and all that stuff. But Clark...”
“Yes, Lois?”
“Can you tell him about the voice? You didn't tell him for me the last time.”
“Yes, fine.”
More than satisfied with his promise, Lois at last let him off the phone. Surprisingly for the woman with a single track mind, she remembered to wish him a happy holidays if only to tack on a perverted wish that Bruce get what he asked Santa for. Clark groaned and shot the sleepy man an annoyed look. Of all the people whom before Bruce could have chosen to insinuate... Things... It was always Lois. He did it one purpose, just to make Clark squirm. His annoyance faded marginally as his lips twitched into their own evil grin. Aiming for the most well blanket-cushioned spot on the bed, Clark threw his now silent cell at Bruce with a huff.
“Lois wants me to tell you that you have a very sexy voice.”
“Oh?” The other man quirked a brow and reached out to grab the cell.
That was the moment it all came to a head. The air in the room chilled the instant Bruce's fingers closed over the device. He dropped the phone as if it were made of fire, lifting his bony wrist to eye-level to properly stare at it's sharp angles. He turned his wrist, studying the equally bony hand in horror. From out of the corner of the man's eyes he must have seen Barry and Hal climb out of their bed as he scrambled to his feet to escape Barry's concerned touch, stumbling backwards until his back was flat against the immovable wall of Clark's torso. Breath quickening, Bruce was torn between glaring at the strangers before him and staring in shock at his scrawny hands.
For once Clark found it in him to move. He gently placed his hands on the frightened man's shoulders in hopes of calming him, only to have Bruce pull away from him just as quickly as he had Barry. The act... Stung.
Having backed himself into a corner now, Bruce traded dark scowls between all three of them before he finally settled on Clark accusingly. “What happened?” He demanded, making a vague but angry gesture at his thin frame. “This... This isn't me.”
Please not now... He begged himself, but he could feel his recent bouts of paralysis returning. Why was he so helpless when it came to Bruce of late?
The trembling Dark Knight was less than impressed with his stalling. Giving Clark one more taste of his cold fury before using his offensively thin hands to run over his too narrow waist, feeling the concave depths where knots of muscle and a healthy layer of fat had once been defined. His long fingers explored the jutting hipbones and touched ribs that if a few more pounds were shed would protrude sickeningly. “This isn't right.”
“What do you remember, Bruce?” The soothing tone of Barry's question broke the angry silence stretching out.
Out of instinct alone Bruce snarled, flashing Barry his perfect white teeth. Blue eyes studied the blonde carefully before surprisingly Bruce pulled back his disdain. “The Flash?” He said after a moment. He waited for Barry to nod before he broke the blonde man's gaze and stared at the floor, much of the fight seeming to come out of him. His hands touched his face once, exploring briefly enough before he nodded.
The cowl. Clark realized. Bruce was checking to see of he was wearing the mask. Finding his face exposed didn't seem to bother the man like Clark had expected. He simply accepted that it was not there and continued to sink into himself. “You left.”
Clark inhaled audibly, feeling the knife twist even after realizing that Bruce wasn't accusing him of anything, just stating a fact and using it as a starting point to gather his scattered thoughts.
“We were in the kitchen and you said you were leaving for Oa with the Lantern... That you would be gone for a while. I wasn't going to go out that night, but I didn't want to think about what we were talking about... About what almost happened.”
“Bruce...” He couldn't hold back his guilt. You didn't want to sit around thinking about me? ...Missing me? Clark hugged himself and remembered their last night spent together. He had left Bruce's side feeling so good. After all the years of building trust, all the instances of flirting, of caring, of showing love, they had finally looked at each other with the intensity they had upon their first meeting, the fires stoked by the history they had shared. There had been no walls between them, and nothing to hide. Bruce's whispered confession had warmed him at night every day since.
You've seduced me, Clark Kent.
Apparently the Dark Knight had not been equally warmed by his admission. Clark wasn't sure how to feel about that. Had it really been so much easier for the man to face down the cold and the criminals that night then to think on the near-kiss they had almost shared and his own confession that Clark had won him over? That he would miss him? Or that, by saying those things he was admitting that he wanted the big farm boy around... That Bruce wanted him? ...Was his guilt warranted then? Shouldn't he be insulted or hurt? I don't know... It was the story of his life these days.
“It was a quiet night. Too quiet... if you'll forgive the cliché.” Bruce continued, breaking his darkening thoughts. “I went to Arkham . Everything was wrong. There was blood and piss and excrement everywhere. On the walls... Even the ceiling. And the writing... I... I hate it when their crazy writing makes sense to me.” A shake of the head and he carried on. “ The staff was missing. There was a woman's head... She was pretty, even with her dead eyes and bloodless lips. There was a note... It was stuck to her forehead with a pencil or something.”
“Jesus.” Hal shivered.
“They were all out.” Bruce said intensely. “The Joker had people trapped in the basement with him and the rest of the patients. I went down there to get them. It was dark and tight and damp. People were running by me, I could barely keep my balance. I remember facing down the Clown, but...”
Clark swallowed drawing Bruce's attention. He narrowed his eyes.
“Someone hit me.” Bruce stated coldly. “They took my armor off. It gets very... confusing from there. There was an explosion at some point..? What happened to the people? The staff?”
“They're safe. You got them out.” Clark assured him, staving off the panic that was just climbing into those intense blues. Bruce had no choice but to accept his answer as it was clear he had no recollection of doing any such thing.
Bruce reached up to feel his bruised temple and trailed down, touching where bruises had faded on his cheeks, dropping lower to close his hand lightly over his own throat, fingers matching up perfectly with the round purple circles the Joker's fingers had left. Blue eyes tightened as the man tried to remember, but ultimately failed.
“There's a lot more. Nygma... Croc.” A faint hint of memory caused a physical recoil. “My whole body hurts, inside and out. There were hands on me and I didn't want them anywhere near me. It was... It was bad, wasn't it?” He asked Clark, his whole face plaintive, needing the gaps in his memory filled.
How can I tell you what they did to you?” He bit his lower lip and hugged himself even tighter.
“The Joker... He kept choking me.” The hand tightened against the Joker's imprints. “Standing over me... No. Pressing into me. Touching me... Choking –”
“Stop.” He hissed sharply, snatching the bony hand away before it could do more damage. He held it tightly in his own, unsure which action to take now.
Bruce turned from him, looking as angry and betrayed as he had every right to be. “You won't tell me.” It wasn't so much a question as a bitter resolution. “This doesn't happen over night.” He spat, gesturing once again to his thin frame. “What about Gotham? What about all those criminals? Is the city safe? Can you at least tell me that?”
“Yes. Gordon's men have everything under control.” He supplied, still smarting from the betrayal in Bruce's eyes. Still... I can't tell you. You need to remember on your own. It will be better if you come to it on your own. When you're ready. He would have to keep telling himself that.
“Fine.” The Dark Knight sighed. “Why is there a naked Flash and who I'm assuming is the Green Lantern in your living room? For that matter, why am I in your living room?”
“It's Christmas.” He stammered out.
Bruce threw up his free hand in exasperation. “Well that explains everything.”
“Clark invited us for the holidays.” Hal filled in where Clark was failing. “Look, I understand you're confused and angry, and I get it. It's been almost a month since you first went missing. For a while... I didn't think we were going to find you alive... So let me just say that I'm glad to see you, and I'm relieved you'll still be around to get on my nerves.”
“Hal...” Barry groaned. “Bruce,” The blonde said the warriors name with the kind of affection he would have for a childhood friend. “The entire League was looking for you. We stayed in Gotham helping the police control the Blackgate escapees and the Arkham patients so you don't have to worry about that right now, all right? Just give yourself some time to heal and I'm sure your memory will come back to you. You are Batman after all.”
“A month...” Bruce repeated, his pallor draining of what little colour was there. “The boys?”
As if answering a call, the stirring noises of the children waking drifted down from upstairs. The muffled sound of Tim's displeasure as Jason shoved him aside, the stern lecturing from Dick for the middle son not to ruin Christmas with his temper tantrums, noises that would have been a minor annoyance to their father on any other morning visibly placated the angry man. Clark watched a sense of relief fill Bruce to the brim as he listened to the distant bickering.
“Hal was keeping Bristol County safe while Barry helped me find you.” he said, finally finding the courage to speak. “They've been very brave while you were missing.”
“Do they know?” Bruce asked.
As he didn't specify exactly to what he was referring, Clark answered as best he could. “They know you went missing and that you've been hurt. They've seen you already, though. They're handling things very well...”
Bruce nodded slowly and swept his gaze over the men before him. With careful deliberate movements he closed the distance between himself and the rest of them, his guard completely dropped. The significance of the act was not lost on all those present. “I have a lot of questions.” He stated firmly, with a pointed look in Clark's direction as he continued. “I will have answers. But... It's Christmas. I am... Safe. My children are safe. So for now... I want to thank you.”
“You wouldn't have left any of us.” Hal clapped the frail man on his shoulder gently. “Not even me.”
“Don't push it, Hal.” Barry chuckled before he lay his hand on Bruce's other shoulder. The Flash made sure he had Bruce's full attention before he spoke. “It's wonderful to have you safely back, but you played just as large a part in coming back to us. You're made of tougher stuff then anyone I know, my friend.”
Bruce blinked at Barry's genuine affection but he accepted the sentiments wordlessly and turned from the blonde towards Clark expectantly. And why not? Everyone else seemed to have something to tell the Dark Knight, why not Superman too?
...He really didn't know what to say, however. There were a thousand things he could choose from. A thousand more he wanted to say but would never be able to being put on the spot like this. Mostly he just wanted to take the two steps separating them, their audience be damned, and hold the man. One look from Bruce told him the Dark Knight would never stand for it. His lips parted with nothing significant to share but he was saved by more of the commotion up the stairs.
Alfred and his Ma had roused now, separating Jason and Tim physically. The kind man apologizing profusely for the actions of the children as his Ma insisted boys would be boys.
“You're going to have to put some clothes on.” Bruce told the Flash absently. “There's a lady in the house.”
“Oh, right.”
Barry jumped to find his shirt and Hal elected to help, leaving Clark and Bruce alone by the archway still with nothing to say to each other.
“Kent?” Bruce asked after a moment.
Kent... He felt yet another knife cut into him. So that last wonderful night before he had left for Oa had been a fluke. They were back to Bruce keeping him at arms length, speaking to him like he were a passing colleague and not the person he had begun opening himself up to. He averted his gaze quickly and squeezed himself tighter. Peripherally he could see Bruce raise a single questioning brow but he couldn't face the other man without showing just how much he was hurting... And this was not supposed to be about him.
“Kent.” Bruce tried again.
The hand he was still holding tightly wriggled in his grasp. He let go immediately and hugged his free arm around his body like the other. He was hurting so much he barley noticed the added embarrassment. Or the shame as he noticed Bruce rubbing the red marks he'd left. “I'm sorry.” It was all he could offer. But he was sorry for just about everything. He escaped the cool gaze by helping Barry and Hal tidy the living room. When they had finished they turned to hear the children scampering down the stairs.
Bruce had mentioned in his late night ramblings that he was always playing parts. That he had to shift his masks for different people, and that he was very good at doing so. Clark believed him at that moment, as he and his friends watched Bruce close his eyes and change his entire demeanour before he opened them once again. Standing before them was not the damaged, angry, and confused Knight, but a relaxed and jovial father greeting his children without a care in the world. He was an entirely different person. The boys paused briefly at the foot of the stairs, worried looks passing amongst them. Would Bruce be as strange as he had been last night? They no doubt feared, but came to their father's side a heartbeat later.
“You're awake.” Dick was surprised.
“You're feeling... okay? Not weird or anything?”
“Jason.” Dick warned.
Little Tim lifted his arms, the universal child sign that they wanted to be picked up. Bruce obliged, wincing as he lifted the little guy to balance on his hip and hugged Tim back just as tightly as the kid clung to him.
“You're getting heavy.” Bruce admonished. He carded through Jason's hair once before pulling him close and looked over Tim's nestled head to smile at the eldest. “Merry Christmas.” He wished gently.
Dick bit his lower lip, staving off the tears successfully. “Yeah, no kidding.”
“Dick...” Bruce continued, still gentle. “You know I count on you to take care of things when I'm gone. You did really good. I'm very proud of you all.”
“I'm going to hug you now.” Dick warned before launching himself into the mess of limbs and managing to hog most of the available space on Bruce's body with his own fiercely tight embrace.
“You're such a big baby.” Jason scoffed, but it was a half hearted jab.
He heard Barry make an unmistakable 'D'aww' sound to compliment Hal's wide grin, and it was that sweet scene to which Alfred and his Ma chose to join them. His Ma greeted everyone sweetly but had a especially affectionate greeting for the child-smothered Bruce. Alfred gave his customary nod of greeting while he proceeded to politely pry the boys one by one off the wincing Bruce... who was perhaps a bit too sore to be tackled.
“I am surprised to find you awake, Master Bruce. You are looking much more... present, than earlier.”
“I am beginning to wonder exactly what you all mean with these cryptic comments.” Bruce murmured, but he shot Alfred a playful look. “Did you want a hug too, Alfred? I'm giving them away, apparently.”
“As a Gentleman, I believe a firm handshake will suffice, Sir.”
Clark did his best to fade into the background, all the while trying not to think about how unwelcome he felt in the home he grew up in. His eyes kept settling upon the red marks he had left on Bruce's hand. Such angry, nasty looking, and surely bruising carelessness on his part.
He wondered if he was ever going to hold that hand again.
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Tears and Rain