dreams save us

he sighs and shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair as sky-blue eyes flitter downwards and blink a few times for good measure. “i’m not sure exactly what we can do about it, but i know we haven’t tried everything. have you gotten close to it? have you tried coming near to it?” clark ought to confess, he actually hasn’t gotten too close, having experienced atom-shattering pain upon approach to the damn thing, as though the universe becomes confused in that particular area, and while desperation is brimming inside him for answers, he doesn’t want to risk dissolving himself into nothingness without information first. not that he’s not gearing up to attempt it but….

at the mention of bruce, clark pauses, dark eyebrows furrowing slightly, his glance upwards at her halting, strained. “i’m not entirely sure bruce is… well… interested in fixing the problem, in all honesty.” it’s been strange, listening to bruce’s movements and heartbeats these past few months, the way the older man seems to relax more, appreciate more, exist more fully in the light than he ever had before. clark had assumed the man would be more eager to get back to his precious gotham and his precious towers and shadows and monsters, but it seems quite the opposite. “i think bruce is enjoying the simplicity of this world a little too much for him to be really bent on getting back, if i’m really honest with you, diana.”

somehow saying that out loud feels like a betrayal and he can’t help but wince. “not that i don’t think bruce would help us, or the others for that matter but i don’t think he’s exactly looking into the root of what’s brought us all here.”

at her jumbled questions though, he nods fervently, distracted for a moment with the feel of her hands smoothing down over his clothes, her touch electrifying him and kindling an urge, a need, a hope to continue the connection, to never let go again. this time if he blinks out of existence, can she please come with him? “yeah, yeah, of course-- of course i can. i… i came here specifically to see you, to talk to you.” a beat passes before he realizes how creepy and stalkery that sounds. “i mean-- because, well, because i found your name on the database registrar so i knew you were here finally. and… you like coffee shops to write in, so…” this is going splendidly already, the clark kent persona practically writes itself and all he has to do is look at her before tripping all over his shoes.

he takes the seat opposite her and smiles-- or tries to smile, still a bit distracted by her glow, still a bit breathless by her voice. finally. finally. “i’m still in the housing yeah, i don’t really have a means of leaving just yet… and i’m sort of okay there. i haven’t gotten another job as a reporter yet, i think i’m… actually going to try something a little bit different.” something he’s excited about but also incredibly apprehensive for. “i’m okay though, yes, i’m in one piece.” at her last question though, he balks a little, pausing, almost scoffs. “lois, i… i fell through just as i was heading over to come pick you up.” his speech slows slightly. “you know i wouldn’t have… just dropped off without saying anything, right?”

he misses them worse than he could ever say.

“besides, you know half of this is for me anyway.” setting the bags down, he begins rifling through everything, pulling out the smaller bags and containers of noodles and entrees onto the counter. “i was hoping it’d be alright if we ate together, y’know, hung out.” does he sound as desperate as he feels? he hopes not.

but still. he has to give the detective credit where it’s due; batman is used to dealing with a nastier breed of monster than clark is, the hero molding himself to fit the need he sees, a dark vigilante for a darkened world, and that’s something clark can appreciate. excluding all that though, as odd as it may seem even to himself, clark finds batman’s atmosphere…. communal. like they’re two sides of the same coin, like they are stronger together than apart, like they must form an alliance between each other first before all others, for peace to reign secure.

and also, unlike most every other superhero on the planet, and probably every dimension they may happen to fall into, clark actually finds bruce kind of funny.

he steps over to the bed as per the request and retrieves the sewing kit, bringing it over to the other hero and then leaning back against desk near him, arms crossing over his chest, lungs inflating, the quirk of a grin spreading over his face. “sugar would be nice, yes, and who could ever resist the temptation of your jolly company, but actually i’ve come to talk to you about those world-destroying threats. they’re not as absent as you might think.” his eyes pin down to bruce’s gauntlet. “in fact, i feel like i’m dealing with more of them now than i was before.”

he raps his knuckles against the wood of the door, noting the thinness of it, the flimsy, government-issued housing atrocity, something rather pathetic, something rather worrisome, and it’s been a concern of clark’s ever since they came up with the concept-- something he was actually present for, being one of the first metahumans through the gate. the walls are too narrow, too sparse, not enough protection from threats, and with refugees like these, that ought to be in the forefront of people’s minds, but apparently this world’s population can’t seems to give enough of a crap about them to ensure their safety against… well, against each other. heroes and villains all in the same complexes? sounds like a disaster to him.

which is why this is the third time clark has paid his favorite daughter-not-daughter a visit this week, bearing food and drinks of course ( because he’s not a barbarian ), in his attempt to lowkey keep an eye on her. he knows she can fend just fine for herself and he doesn’t view her as any sort of damsel in distress…. but still. he worries. “i hope you like chinese, i just about bought out the whole shop,” he declares as soon as the door opens.

he watches wally wrap the monster up and kick him backwards into a sitting position, but the creature still writhes and clark can tell the tape and wires are not going to hold for very long, despite them being a good idea, which leads him to the only course of action he can think of to encourage immobility for at least another hour. an uppercut to the face knocks the colossus into unconsciousness without breaking too many bones and ensures that he’ll be passed out well enough until hopefully someone can drain the monster toxin out of his system and revert him back to the human male he once was. which reminds clark, he ought to pay a house visit to batman sometime soon.

clark grins at his teammate but then noticed the bright, flickering sheen of red and blue lights across the wall behind him, the crackle of police radio scanners filtering in through his ears, and he motions as much to the flash. “we better exit stage left before they start throwing tomatoes. meet me at sarah’s diner on 23rd street.” and with a tap on wally’s chest like tag, he’s gone, because he has to be, because the government here doesn’t know him yet, doesn’t listen to him yet, even with six months in this dimension under his belt, even with over ten years of vigilante under his skin. it’s like starting all over again.

he arrives in the parking lot of the diner at the speed of light, hair brushed back, changed into normal clothes, loafers and jeans and plaid shirt, large, distracting rimmed glasses obscuring what he can over his face, and he knows wally is won’t be late but he approaches the small, squat building anyway.

“are things still… people are still alive and everything, right? it’s not… armageddon?” not to put too much importance on himself or anything, but with most of the world’s greatest heroes falling through the cracks and seams of the universe, clark’s nightmares howl to him of his home, his city, all the world crumbling apart, supervillains taking control, millions dying or being enslaved, the balance of good and evil being tipped irrevocably. his friends, his family, normal people he’s come to love and appreciate being stuck in that world without enough protection as more and more heroes come to this side of the spectrum and leave them vulnerable, has given clark more than one anxiety attack in the past six months. it’s true, there have been plenty of villains coming through as well, but worry isn’t rational enough to care about that.

he nods at her assertion that at least she’s okay, at least she’s not hurt, a blessing in that of course and he squeezes her hand in connection, hoping to burn strong enough for her, to burn hopeful, to burn comforting; even when he is at a loss, even when he is the one begging for help and reassurance, he still wants to instill calm in her. “it’s going to be okay, alright? we’re working on things, to piece together what’s been going on.” muscles in his jaw clench and tighten as memories of the past few months flood his mind; distrust from the world, government confinement, his mother’s door closing in his face because she doesn’t know him, but he tries to maintain a smile. “well… we’ve got to maintain a lower profile here, a much, much lower profile. no one here has ever heard of real magic or metahumans, they’re all very… scared.”

yeah. scared is a good term. violent also, but mostly scared.

nights in new york city are never silent, never calm, never dimmed, and in all honesty it reminds clark a lot of gotham, something about the way the streetlights hum, the way cars are always honking, people are always talking or shouting or wailing, the echo of police car sirens forever ringing down one street after another, and he wonders if bruce can feel it too-- if he can sense it. perhaps there are similarities in every major city of the US, perhaps there are similarities in every lined dimension, the veils of the universe strung up together by these paralleled audio tracks, as though sound and life are the threads that weave existence together.

clark listens to it all outside the government-issued apartment window, listens to heartbeats thrumming and pulsing all across the city, listens to conversations and arguments and confessions, listens to tires squealing, doors closing, a thousand, thousand televisions blaring, listens to it all like white-noise fuzz filtering through his ears, and reacts to none of it. he sits comfortably, legs crossed, arms outstretched across the rests, ocean blue eyes pinned distantly across the mainroom floor, and waits. waits and waits and waits, because for as long as the night howls on, the cries of the desperate begging for salvation, eventually he knows the dawn will come, he knows morning has to break at some point, and bruce will need to catch at least an hour’s worth of shut-down time before that.

sure enough, as soon as the atmosphere shifts and clark’s attention focuses on the inflating lungs and steady heartbeat of an oncoming presence, he stand and turns, makes his company known and obvious. he knows how much bruce hates surprises.

but here she is, her hair the same shade of brunette, eyes the same fervent heat, her makeup done the exact same way he’d recognize-- she’s herself and a gust of wind leaves his lungs in a rush of relief, a tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as he spoke, blinking a few million times to repress the emotions brimming at the edges of him. she’s perfect, she’s beautiful, she’s less than a foot away, and even though all he wants to do is scoop her up and kiss her and disappear from the world for a while with her, he settles himself with the hug she bestows on him, her collision course with his body something like coming home.

she falls into him and he wraps his arms around her and reminds himself not too tight, but it’s tight enough, it’s secure enough, and god, he’d forgotten her scent, forgotten her height, forgotten how she feels between his arms, so small and yet somehow larger and brighter than any sun he’s ever touched before. she pulls away but he doesn’t let her get very far, his hands finding purchase on her lower back, eyes pinned and searching across her features, forcing himself into a smile when all he wants to do is be serious with her for a moment, be honest with her, be closer to her.

“well technically, something bad did happen to me; i’m in another dimension. it’s not my fault though!” or at least he’s pretty sure it’s not-- they’re all still scrambling to figure out exactly what is causing the rift and why. he chuckles a little nervously when she asserts that she might still be mad, and he blinks another million times, swallowing and nodding with a slight shrug, because well, of course she’s probably mad at him, their night did go pretty terribly for both of them. “i mean? if you want to?” he squints. “that was a while ago, you might also consider congratulating me on survival, and perhaps… we could…. talk….?” why does everything that comes out of his mouth always end up being so ridiculously awkward? it’s part of his guise, but it’s also part of his personality as well, it would seem.

he chuckles and reaches out to clasp hands with the other, pulling himself up to his feet, not even pausing before ruffling his fingers through the shock-red hair of the other league member, a dear friend despite the decade of years between them, all light chuckles and bright eyes between them despite the monster falling and landing a few yards away from the building. “of course i’m really here! man, i’ve been here! six months! where have you been?” he hits wally’s shoulder jokingly, not hard enough to hurt him, careful always always always, but hard enough that he’s sure the other can feel it through his armor, his smile still lighting them both up like stars, still burning clear and brilliant, dazzling in their surety that now they are together, now they cannot lose.

“look, if i had my way, we’d always stick together, but yknow,” the monster that once was a man roars and charges at them but superman is no longer worried, no longer outnumber, no longer outgunned, and he grabs at the tail and uses it like a tether to throw the beast against another area of the floor, flying up a few yards to pound himself down into the beast, feeling the air leave its lungs but also feeling its arms and legs scratch and claw at him, razor-sharp jaws snapping and biting, wild and untamable. they need to tie him down, restrain him somehow quickly. “flash, help me strap him down to something before the police get here, we’ve got to get him to the government’s jail.” more importantly though, they’ve got to render him immobile on a secure level before he goes anywhere, so he doesn’t kill any of the officers in transit.

despite the upset that being forcibly uprooted from his life in metropolis for such a lengthy period of time, 6 months trapped in a rifted dimension he has yet to breach away from or even so much as figure out its intricacies or functionality, clark kent still manages who he is at the core of himself the same, still maintains the bright luminescent center of his soul as solar as it’s always been, his lips still quick to grin, eyes still reflective and radiant. the heartbeat in his chest is not built on external forces, doesn’t adhere to shadows or intimidations, doesn’t bow before time immutable or gods holy or unholy, doesn’t cater to the winds or the currents; he is a tower all of himself, a beacon, a lighthouse in the storms, and he wears his kindness on his sleeve because he knows it’s strong enough to bare the world as well.

he never shies away from doling out his adoration of the people surrounding him, neither abandons nor ignores those he considers friends, allies, companions, whether or not they agree, never lets them pretend to swim while they’re drowning, always there with outstretched hands and a call for their reliance, understanding that you can’t break a stick in a bundle. they’re stronger together than they are alone, and even in times of soft weaknesses, times apart from disturbia or worldwide catastrophes, times when the lights are off and the city is still, he nevertheless burns in their atmospheres, continually making himself available for them, even if it’s nothing, even if it’s silly. he hopes they all know that, but suspects most of them are too proud.

but times like these, they demand a community, an allied front, locked arms and gazes and trusts, everyone in their metahuman groupings required to step up and stand together, join together, bear the brunt together, and clark is ready to come up with a gameplay with his fellow companions, his fellow generals, all of them, everyone at once, but first… first he needs to know his head is still right on his shoulders, and for that, he really only needs diana. “i just, i don’t want to come across this like a worrywart, you know? i don’t want anyone unduly scared, but-- but we’ve got to decide something to do about that crack.” he sits in her kitchen elbow poised on her counter, his legs coiled around the legs of a stool as his eyes wander across the walls. “i think it’s getting worse and we need to decide how to fix it quickly.”

still though. it would have been nice if not every bad guy he’s put away in the past decade or so had managed to fall through the rift and wreak havoc here as well, forcing him to battle them once again to put them away. things like this do occur plenty in his home dimension-- the occasional break out from prison, the wandering menace from the phantom zone-- but it’s extra salt in the wound now since most human onlookers don’t really know who to root for and clark has to deal with this monster while also avoiding the police sirens chasing them all around town. he’s lured the snarling, ravenous half-human-half-monster that used to be a guy named john burkley over to this side of town, mostly populated by shutdown stores and empty warehouses, but new york is still on their trail and clark is still trying to take him out with minimal collateral damage.

he’s not standing for long though before mr. burkley burrows through the hole he’s left and charges at him, both of them entangled and thudding against the ground quickly, the building floor breaking instantly, the man’s teeth longer than clark’s head as he snaps at him, his oversized body scaly and hideously deformed, but strong, being mostly muscle now.

backup would really be appreciated at a moment like this.

there is a crack in the multidimensional fabric of the universe. something is definitely breaking, if not ending.

so he laughs, lets his eyes flicker down to the paper in front of her, let’s the humanity of his upbringing wash over him, color him farm boy, color him kansas fields, color him blood and bones and sinew and skin, and all the apple pies his ma could make for him. “aw shit, you’re serious! i was just being philosophical, i don’t really think the whole world is coming to an end!” he puts a hand over his heart, the quirk on his lips, the charm in his eyes, his head shaking a bit before he shifts eyes down to her paper and reads the emblazoned title across the top. “i’m not worried because i’ve been in this town a long time, seen it go through a lot. hell, we’ve seen the whole country go through a lot, and every time it always feels like the end of the world. but it’s not. things move on. maybe vigilantes in costumes will be good for the city-- god knows the police are like, always outnumbered anyway.” another beat passes and he chuckles again, leans over across the table and lowers his voice as though he’s sharing a secret, as though this information might get him fired from his job. “you know you really shouldn’t believe everything you read in the news lately, trust me, i’m a reporter. i know too many guys who will over-exaggerate a story to get it to sell-- it’s sad, but true. not me of course, that’s actually why i’m pulling out of mainstream, but i’m just saying..”

she rushes at him and he catches her fully, hugging her like it’s the only thing he’s wanted to do for six months, albeit mindful that he doesn’t crush her, always with that careful, light timidity he has to account for whenever dealing with anyone even slightly breakable, the bones in their bodies something clark always has to think about. but he hugs her tightly enough, both arms, both lungs, picks her up an inch or so off the ground as a twisted chuckle bubbles up from his throat, something bittersweet, something golden but sad, something glorious but despondent; they’re together, but she’s trapped here now too. “my god, it’s good to see you again, zee.” he lets her go, sets her down on the ground once more, taking only a miniscule step away from her before keeping a hold of one of her hands. “i found out you fell through and i’ve been looking for you-- i have so many questions about our world.” he shakes his head, the anxiety about their homeworld still boiling beneath his veins. “but first, are you alright? i heard some people got hurt coming through.”