#spacefic

1. Truth Under a Broken Sky

Coordinates: low orbit over Rann. Mission status: Thanagarian artifact neutralized. Participants: World’s Finest (currently, off-universe).

The final blow is delivered in tandem, as always. Clark holds the gravitational core with both hands, containing an explosion that could have folded the city in on itself, while Bruce—magnetically anchored to a shattered satellite—inserts the disruptor manually, milliseconds from implosion.

There’s no margin for error. There never is when it’s the two of them.

The artifact collapses inward with a dull sound, nonexistent in the vacuum. Space stills. The debris drifts like a metallic cemetery.

Clark exhales first. Bruce takes a few seconds longer.

They remain suspended in silence, floating among alien junk and stars that are too bright. Clark moves closer—close enough for Bruce to notice without sensors.

Clark: Are you okay?

The question is automatic. Mission routine. Nothing personal.

Bruce opens his mouth to give the usual answer.

Fine. Operational. No structural damage.

But something catches. Like an invisible hook around his chest.

Bruce: No.

The silence that follows is… enormous.

Clark blinks. Not because he didn’t understand, but because his brain needs an extra second to slot that answer into the right place.

Clark: …no?

Bruce closes his eyes. Just for a second. Long enough to know he can’t fix it now.

Bruce: I’m not okay. I’m tired. My ribs hurt. And I hate fighting intergalactic things that could kill me just by… thinking too hard.

Clark doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t smile.

Clark: Bruce…

The name, said like that, without the suit as a buffer, tightens something behind his sternum.

Bruce: I’m human—he continues, because he can’t stop now. And sometimes I forget that matters until I’m hanging off a broken satellite waiting for something not to explode.

Clark closes the distance completely now. He doesn’t touch him. He respects that boundary as if it were sacred.

Clark: Thank you for telling me.

Bruce opens his eyes. Frowns.

Bruce: That wasn’t… an invitation to—

Clark: I know.

A few seconds pass. Then a few more. Space doesn’t rush anyone.

Clark: Do you want me to take you back? Or would you rather use the Zeta?

Bruce should lie. Say it doesn’t matter. That he doesn’t need anything.

He can’t.

Bruce: You. I hate Zeta beams, anyway.

Clark nods without hesitation.

They don’t say anything else. They’re a little scared.

M | 3/10 | casefic in space (spacefic!) | kon-centric | core four, timkon

So maybe Erysimon is dying. Bart is pissed.

{ Read from the beginning! }

“Our beloved Erysimon is dying, and we desperately need your help.”

In the heartbeat of silence that follows Minister Gerop’s words, Bart could circle the entire moon seventy-three times. Probably more, if he really wanted to.

He could launch himself fast enough to reach escape velocity and gone careening into the black void of space, just to prove a point—he does consider it, for a fraction of a fraction of a nanosecond. Just to rub it in that Gerop and his froggy buddies are wrong if they think they can trap him here as collateral against Kon.

Of course, he can’t breathe in a vacuum, and having a super-hyper-mega-accelerated “everything” as far as bodily systems go actually makes holding his breath for long periods of time pretty impossible. Not to mention the whole pressure-differential thing with being in a vacuum with no atmospheric pressure, too. Going pop! like some kind of terrible flesh balloon would probably put a damper on his spite plans. Plus, he just got his spaceship back! He doesn’t want to leave her behind on some random moon all over again.

But, like, he could. On principle. If he really wanted to.

Chapter 1

2. The Impossible Lie

Location: Batcave. Time: 2:53 p.m.

They confirm it in the Batcave.

Clark leans against the main console, arms crossed, watching as Bruce removes his cowl with slow movements.

Clark: Does it hurt a lot?

Bruce freezes.

Bruce: No.

The word comes out… wrong. Ill-fitted.

Clark tilts his head.

Clark: Bruce… does it hurt?

A second attempt. No qualifying words.

Bruce: Yes.

They look at each other.

They both know Bruce should have lied.

Clark: Unexpected.

Bruce: Yeah.

Bruce presses his lips together. His mind is already racing: variables, risks, possibilities of exploitation. He doesn’t like any of them.

Clark: Let’s try something.

Bruce should say no. He doesn’t want to risk talking.

Clark: Do you trust me?

The answer is immediate.

Bruce: Yes.

Clark swallows, even though it means nothing. Bruce trusts him—that’s not new, although… does Bruce really trust anyone? But he said… maybe…

Clark: Do you always tell the truth when you answer me?

Bruce closes his eyes. Curses silently.

Bruce: No.

Clark smiles.

Clark: And now?

Bruce: Yes.

It’s a growl, but Clark is used to it—and he has super hearing.

Clark: Since when?

Bruce shakes his head.

Bruce: I don’t know.

Clark: Are you giving me short answers to avoid saying more even though that’s going to slow us down?

With a snort, Bruce leans back against the Batcomputer and looks at him, brows furrowed.

Clark: Bruce, if this is happening, it could be dangerous.

Bruce: I know. And we need to figure out whether it happens with everyone or, coincidentally, only with you.

Clark: That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

Clark sees Bruce struggle—but the answer slips out before he can stop it.

Bruce: Definitely not.

Clark laughs and Bruce grumbles a little, but the moment fades and they both sober up again.

Clark: If anyone finds out—

Bruce: They won’t.

Clark: I would never use this against you.

Bruce swallows.

Bruce: I know.

And that’s the worst part. And the best.

Clark steps closer.

Clark: Do you want me to avoid asking you questions?

Bruce thinks about it. Really thinks.

Bruce: No.

Clark raises an eyebrow.

Bruce: I hate being exposed, but it’s a relief not having to avoid it and, since for now it’s only you, it’s okay to stop pretending and rest.

It’s almost verbal diarrhea on top of a lot of very pretty words, so Clark can only smile.

Chapter 4

5. Dick Grayson Notices Things

Location: Batcave. Time: 6:04 a.m. Status: last night’s rain has turned into a spring storm by morning.

Dick drops into the Batcave like always: without warning and with far too much energy for the hour.

Dick: B! Alfred said you were in a bad mo— (stops) Oh.

Bruce is sitting on one of the metal steps, out of costume, a cold pack on his knee. Clark is nearby. Not on top of him. But close enough…

Too close not to mean something.

Bruce: Dick.

Dick: Hey, Clark.

Clark: Hi, Dick.

There’s a microsecond of silence. Dick stares at them without blinking, forcing himself to keep smiling and not hallucinate in front of them over what he’s seeing. In fact, the first thing he does is rule out that it’s a hallucination, just like Batman taught him. And he analyzes.

Bruce isn’t tense. He isn’t defensive. He isn’t alone.

That’s new.

Clark is calm. Clark is touching everything. Clark is watching.

That’s not new.

Dick: Rough mission?

Bruce opens his mouth. Sighs.

Bruce: Long.

Dick smiles softly, nothing accusatory.

Dick: You staying tonight? —he asks Clark, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. His brain is screaming.

Bruce tenses just a little. Clark notices.

Clark: If Bruce doesn’t mind.

Bruce can’t lie.

Bruce: I don’t mind.

Dick doesn’t know Bruce can’t lie.

He feels his eyes go wide and his smile lock in place. Inside, he’s absolutely losing it over the situation, the words, everything.

He drops to the floor, resting his back against the railing.

Dick: Good. Because that way I don’t have to worry so much.

Bruce looks at him.

Bruce: Dick—

Dick: Relax, there’s no hidden meaning. It’s just… —he shrugs— it’s good to see you not alone.

Dick has a lot of composure; he can be mature while internally running through the list of objects that could have slipped him the dose of LSD that is probably coursing through his system right now.

After a few more minutes of trivial conversation, Dick stands.

Dick: I’m heading out before Alfred makes me clean something.

He leans toward Bruce, voice low.

Dick: I’m glad to see you like this.

Bruce doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to know what might come out of his mouth.

When Dick leaves, Bruce keeps staring at the spot where he was.

Bruce: He notices everything.

Clark: Yeah.

Bruce: And he still didn’t ask anything.

Clark smiles.

Clark: Of course not, Bruce, of course not.

Bruce nods slowly, beginning to understand.

Chapter 2

3. Silences That Don’t Weigh

Location: Gotham, 2:47 a.m. Status: Constant drizzle. Low clouds. Solo patrol… or not so solo, since an alien has shown up to liven up the hardest hours.

It’s not an official mission. No invasion, no cosmic artifacts, no omega-level threats. Just Gotham being Gotham: a poorly planned robbery, a couple of gunshots, an awkward escape across rooftops.

Clark doesn’t fly. He jumps.

Bruce notices. He doesn’t comment.

They move in parallel, covering different angles, without speaking. When it’s all over—the criminals tied up, the police on the way—they stay on top of a building, watching the city breathe under the rain.

Bruce checks his sensors. Ribs: still bruised. Knee: mild inflammation.

Clark watches him without using X-ray vision. He does it on purpose.

Clark: You’re limping.

Bruce sighs, almost amused by how useless it would be to deny it—even if he could lie to Clark.

Bruce: A little.

Clark nods. Doesn’t lecture. Doesn’t offer to carry him. Just stays at his side.

And that is… disconcerting.

Bruce has spent his life lying so he’d be allowed to bear the weight of the world. To not need. To not lean.

But with Clark… he doesn’t have to. He respects his choice, even if he thinks it’s a shitty choice. Which Bruce assumes he does, because if Clark thought it about himself, Bruce would think it was a shitty choice.

The silence between them is light.

Clark: I can stay if you want.

Bruce should say no. The night is still long. Gotham doesn’t sleep.

Bruce: Stay.

No effort.

It’s so freeing to tell the truth.

But at the same time…

Bruce: I hate it.

Clark looks at him, attentive but calm.

Clark: The pain?

Bruce shakes his head.

Bruce: Being seen. Not being able to… hide the cracks.

Clark takes a second before answering.

Clark: And you still don’t ask me to leave?

Bruce closes his eyes.

Bruce: No.

The silence returns.

And it’s light. Whether that’s good or bad.

Chapter 3

4. Alfred Knows

Location: Batcave. Time: just before dawn.

The Batcave is unusually quiet when they return.

Bruce removes his cape with tired movements. Clark stays close, respecting boundaries more than ever, now that Bruce can’t be safe with him.

Then Alfred appears—not stealthy, but not announcing himself either. As if he’d stepped through a wall, but without anything magical about it.

With a tray.

Alfred: Good evening, gentlemen.

Clark smiles immediately.

Clark: Good evening, Alfred.

Bruce snorts.

Bruce: Tea?

Alfred: Chamomile, Master Wayne. You must sleep, even if you enjoy pretending you don’t need it.

Bruce stiffens. Clark stifles a laugh.

They sit. Alfred pours as if they were in Buckingham Palace itself. Before finishing, he gives Bruce a once-over with a clinical eye.

Alfred: Severe damage?

Bruce opens his mouth to answer automatically.

He can’t lie.

Bruce: Nothing severe. But I’m exhausted.

Alfred raises an eyebrow. Just one…

Alfred: I see.

He hands over the cup. Then looks at Clark.

Alfred: Thank you for bringing him back in one piece, Mr. Kent.

Clark turns serious instantly.

Clark: Always.

Alfred nods, satisfied. Then looks back at Bruce.

Alfred: Do you trust him?

The question lands like a well-placed chess piece.

Bruce doesn’t move. Doesn’t dodge. Doesn’t soften it.

Bruce: Yes.

Clark inhales sharply. Alfred smiles.

Bruce thinks he’s a sly old fox and that he’s in the middle of some plan.

Alfred: I’m glad to hear it, sir. You’ve carried this weight alone for far too long.

Bruce lowers his gaze to his cup.

Bruce: It’s not… simple.

Alfred: It never is. But simple is rarely what saves a man.

Alfred gathers the empty tray and pauses before leaving.

Alfred: Mr. Kent.

Clark: Yes?

Alfred: Take care of him.

Clark doesn’t hesitate.

Clark: I do.

Alfred leaves.

They’re alone again, steam rising from the tea between them.

Clark: I think… he likes me.

Bruce lets out a brief, tired laugh.

Chapter 5

6. Kara Zor-El Doesn’t Believe in Subtlety

Location: Metropolis, two days later. Status: a beautiful spring morning.

Kara lands on the balcony of Clark’s apartment with the energy of a happy meteor.

Kara: Clark! I brought food and an incredible story and— (stops) Oh.

Bruce (not Batman) is there. No mask. Coffee in hand. Looking out the window like he once lived in a small downtown apartment.

Bruce: Kara.

Kara: Bruce.

They look at each other. Kara smiles. Big. Too big.

Kara: You’re not usually here.

Bruce takes a breath to answer.

Bruce: No. I don’t usually come here.

Kara blinks. Then looks at Clark. Then looks back at Bruce.

Kara: It’s morning.

Bruce: Yes.

Kara cares far less than Dick about looking unhinged: zero.

Kara: There’s a lot of sun.

Clark clears his throat.

Clark: Kara.

Kara: No, no, relax. I’m not judging. I’m just… —she makes a wide gesture— observing.

She sits on the couch, still watching them.

Kara: You’re more relaxed —to Bruce—. And you —to Clark— are way too attentive.

Clark turns red. Bruce frowns.

Bruce: What you’re implying—

Kara raises a hand.

Kara: I don’t care. Nothing matters to me as long as it works.

Bruce looks at her, unreadable.

Bruce: Is that all?

Kara: Bruce, my civilization disappeared. I learned not to complicate things and to value what matters.

Bruce rolls his eyes and Clark tilts his head, possibly moved by her words, so Kara doesn’t let him speak.

Kara: Are you calm because you feel safe here?

Bruce swallows. He can’t lie.

Bruce: Yes.

Kara nods and turns to her cousin.

Kara: And you’re watching him because he’s calm and you’re afraid something will happen to him and that never ever again in the entire universe and in every reality will he be able to be calm.

Clark: No, but—

Kara: No but yes?

Clark: Partially.

Kara smiles, genuine.

Kara: Then it’s fine.

She jumps to her feet.

Kara: Great. Now, who wants to hear how I almost broke a satellite by accident and then it did break because Krypto peed on it?