The fortress used to be a place that Clark would go to for peace of mind. To focus on anything but his tasks as Superman. The one place where he could find peace and quiet.

But this place, so distanced from civilization, that filled his head with the philosophies and words and dreams of a long vanished planet-served as great escapism, but did not solve the problem.

"Is it wrong of me to help them?" Clark said, and it felt more like a question for himself. "I thought after Markovia released its people from their camps and prisons, the public would understand that I had no choice. But they seem to hate and fear me more than ever before. It's not that I necessarily mind it. They're free to their opinions. But a part of me fears that there's some truth to their criticisms. Am I doing this for them or am I doing this for me?"

Jor-El listened carefully to Clark's words. Even for an alien projection, his facial expressions could be remarkably human. Clark wondered if he was worrying Jor-El unnecessarily with his problems-but he felt like he had few people to turn to. He lived a double-life, with the League and his parents being the only ones who knew his identity. His parents certainly had their opinions, willing to support Clark through anything, and the Justice League all had divided thoughts on what Clark should do with his powers.

"When I discovered that Krypton was dying, I spoke to my colleagues. Many of them argued against my findings. For them, it was easier to accept that they were safe, rather than face the truth-that our ancestors' actions had doomed our planet. It might have been easier to give up but my conscience would not allow it. I lost my titles and was often warned that I would bring shame upon my house. If it wasn't for Lara and my brother, I suppose I might have given up. And if I had given up, I might not have worked on the spaceship that saved your life," Jor-El said. Clark listened, letting the words sink in-they were comforting but he still was filled with so much doubt. Seeming to sense this, Jor-El said in a gentler voice, "Would you have been more comfortable with yourself if you had done nothing?"

"No," Clark said after a moment.

"If I'm truthful, it worries me that you are experiencing these issues. Part of me wonders if I was wrong in sending you to Earth," Jor-El said. He paused, waiting for Clark's confirmation or denial.

Clark thought about his parents. About Lana and Pete. About Lois and Jimmy and Ron. About the Justice League-J'onn, Hal, Barry, Arthur. Diana. Bruce.

Maybe humankind was a lost cause-but the idea of just quitting didn't feel right by Clark. At the end of the day, no matter what his failure, he felt better knowing that he could protect people. That he could at least try.

"I should go back," Clark said. "I should spend more time with everyone else instead of… escaping here."

At that Jor-El's gaze lowered. But he eventually nodded in agreement.

"Earth is your home now. Don't let humans repeat Krypton's mistakes. Preserve this planet. I've taught you much about Krypton-and this place will always be here for you when you'd like to learn more about who you are. Or, even if you just need someone to talk to."

"I'll visit," Clark promised.

Before Clark could add anything else to the conversation, he heard something in the distance. He turned his head towards the source of disturbance. Another room, on one of the higher levels.

"What is it?" Jor-El asked.

"Nothing. I thought I heard something."

"Someone did enter the fortress about an hour ago."

Clark felt like someone had snapped him out of his sleep. His head whipped back in Jor-El's direction. "What do you mean? Are you telling me another person is in here?"

"A person, perhaps. Or a creature. I'm informed as to when the fortress opens and closes-not necessarily who or what for. But the fortress opens in response to living warmth-such as the heat of your palm."

Clark mentally reminded himself to have a talk about that security flaw.

He looked up at the ceiling, feeling unsure as to what could be more dangerous-a human or a monster.

"Why didn't you tell me when I walked in?" Clark said.

"I didn't think it was of any importance," Jor-El said. He seemed to sense Clark's concern, his frown growing. "Why are you so worried, Kal-El?"

"I've made a lot of enemies recently and any one of them could be following me."

Jor-El's brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "I thought you were the strongest being on this planet. Who could possibly hurt you?"

"I'm not afraid they'll hurt me. I'm afraid they'll find out too much."

"Find out what, exactly?"

"Just wait here. Stay out of sight," Clark said and he took flight, moving swiftly through the fortress to the upper levels, his x-ray vision picking up a moving body inside one of the rooms.

He soon found himself in the room stored with Kryptonian objects, the deactivated Eradicator encased in the corner. He stayed floating in the room for a moment, watching the intruder carefully. He finally landed on the ground, making the softest sound upon contact. A sound that was instantly picked up.

Batman whipped around, a batarang in his hand-but he stilled his hand from tossing it.

"What are you doing here?" Clark asked incredulously. It was strange enough that he was there-stranger still that he had managed to travel through the extreme conditions of the arctic to make it. His uniform seemed more gray than black, with an almost reflective surface that picked up the whites and blues of the fortress' natural materials, depending on how the light hit him. A suit made to camouflage in the snow, Clark guessed.

When Clark was searching the fortress for his intruder, his x-ray vision couldn't quite visualize who the person was. Clark had thought nothing of it-but the enforced plates of Bruce's suit appeared to have iron particles.

He found himself wondering how much of it was really necessary for the cloaking technology.

Bruce didn't answer at first. He circled around the room, never quite turning his back to Clark, his eyes flitting back and forth between all the items in the room and Clark.

"What is all of this?" Bruce said. There was an edge to his voice-a layer of suspicion that couldn't quite be masked. Clark eyed the batarang that he still held in his hand, poised as if he were ready to throw it at any given moment.

Looking at it, Clark's jaw clenched.

Clark crossed his arms, feeling a small amount of frustration begin to build up in his chest. Bruce following him around was nothing new-but with the suit, he must have gone to great lengths to stalk Clark to the one place where he could find peace. The fortress was Clark's secret-and the last person he wanted inside the building was Batman. With everything that was going on in Clark's life, he was far from the patient man he used to be.

"Answer my question first or get out."

At that, Bruce finally came to a pause. They stood at a great distance from each other, from the opposite ends of a row, shelves riddled with alien technology on either side of them.

"I followed you. You haven't been at your home in Metropolis or in Smallville."

"Smallville?" Clark repeated, nearly scoffing. He took a moment to breathe, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, I don't want you going near my parents ever again. I could forgive it the first time but now you're stalking me across the entire globe-"

"You're an enemy to people around the world-your disappearances were concerning and suspicious," Bruce said. Rather than his usual blunt and composed voice, there was something else there. Clark listened to Bruce's heartbeat, which was racing. Clark just now noticed the straps of a harness, hidden by the folds of a cape.

Did Bruce have supplies strapped to his back-or had he prepared himself for something of an even greater threat?

Clark was tempted to use his x-ray vision and find out. But he stopped himself-reminding himself that this was supposed to be his teammate.

"I was laying low. It was what everyone wanted me to do," Clark protested.

"Yes-but the question was, where?" Bruce's voice picked up, a silent man whose words were suddenly tumbling out of him: "My scanners don't recognize the materials of this place. There is writing that doesn't remotely resemble anything on Earth and all these objects-"

"You knew I landed on Earth in a spaceship."

"But from where? Hal's ring gives him information on everything in the galaxy but even he couldn't figure out who you are."

"How do you know about that?" Clark said, eyes narrowing. He remembered having that conversation with Hal-from what felt like ages ago, in the Hall of Justice. On the same day Clark and Bruce had butted heads on the Markovia situation. Clark could feel his composure beginning to break. "How long have you been watching me?"

"When are you going to tell me what all of this is?" Bruce said, raising his voice, gesturing an arm around the room.

Clark could hear it. Heart hammering now. It's like the day in Markovia all over again, with the landmine...

"Because if you ask me, these look like weapons," Bruce said, not bothering to sit through Clark's silence.

Clark shrugged a heavy shoulder. "Maybe? I don't know what they are yet. This whole building came from my home planet of Krypton-but I came to Earth as just a baby, I have no recollection of any of these things. I can't tell you what they are."

"I saw a spaceship in one of the other rooms. It couldn't have possibly carried all of this."

"It didn't. It arrived in the Eradicator-"

"The Eradicator?" Bruce repeated, taking a step back. Voice more pressing than ever, he said, "You mean the object that attacked Earth?"

"I disabled it and brought it here and then this fortress unravelled. The Eradicator was programmed to preserve all Kryptonian culture, but it malfunctioned and tried to destroy other things. But I stopped it." He didn't need to hear or feel Bruce's suspicion. Clark knew how crazy it all sounded. Almost desperately, he added, "Listen to me-if I felt like I couldn't control these things, I would destroy them immediately. But they're all linked to my past. I never knew where I came from or who I was until I had this fortress-"

"Ridiculous," Bruce said at once. "This place came from an object that is dangerous. How do you even know any of this is real? How do you know that it's linked to your heritage?"

Clark could come up with words on a page rather easily. But he was a good writer, not a good speaker, and he failed to come up with a proper explanation that didn't involve describing a computer hologram of an alien ghost.

Bruce didn't wait for Clark to come up with a story.

"You're harbinging a weapon-not just a weapon, an entire arsenal of alien technology-"

"No, I'm not," Clark barked back.

"Then how else do you explain this?!" Bruce yelled.

"I don't-"Clark started, but he stopped, the realization sinking. "I don't know."

Bruce stared him down, far from satisfied with that answer.

"I'm contacting the League," Bruce said, his tone final. He strode briskly toward the exit, cape flitting behind him. "They need to know about this. They need to know so we can destroy it."

"You can't do that!" Clark called after him. When Bruce ignored him, Clark flew out in front of him, cutting off his path in an instant. He felt less angry and more desperate-because he knew, deep down, there was nothing he could do to stop Bruce once he set his mind on something. Not in any way that was peaceful, at least, and for all of their arguments and all the stress Bruce caused him… he really didn't want to fight him. "This all belongs to me. You can't just get rid of it. These things are valuable to me."

"You just admitted to me that you're harboring weaponry that you don't understand or know how to control! What part of that sounds safe to you? The League has every right to get involved, and this stuff needs to be gone before someone with worse motives than me breaks in!"

"Who would break in besides you?" Clark said, clenching his fists in frustration.

His words and pleas weren't enough to sway Bruce. Clark could see it in his stern expression. A strange feeling filled Clark's chest, twisting at him like a sadness. He felt betrayal.

"I don't understand," Clark said, voice lowering. "In Markovia, you were willing to keep secrets. And when the whole world wanted my head, you were willing to share the blame. And now you want to turn me into the League? You want to call me dangerous, just like everybody else?"

Clark heard something. A skip in Bruce's heartbeat. There was a flicker of something-of hesitation-but Bruce quickly resumed his frown.

"I can't trust you, not when everyone's safety is on the line."

"Do you think I'm dangerous?" Clark asked again, more firmly this time.

Bruce brushed past him. Clark grabbed his shoulder.

"Bruce, answer me."

"It's not about you being dangerous," Bruce said, shrugging off the hand. "The problems that these objects could cause-"

"You mean the problems I could cause," Clark said. "I can save a school of children-and the entire world just increases their military budgets."

Bruce didn't say anything.

"There are days where I think I just bring more problems to this planet. But if I believed the world would be a better place without me, I'd leave in an instant. You know that, right? I'd run away, if it meant protecting the people I love," Clark said. When Bruce remained silent, Clark sighed and asked again, "Do you think I'm dangerous?"

Bruce didn't get the chance to answer. A projection entered, fazing from the floor and lifting itself into the room. Upon seeing movement, Bruce jumped away.

Bruce froze, heartbeat racing as he stared down the blue and white image of Jor-El.

"Who are you?" he demanded instantly.

Clark felt nervous. This wasn't quite the best time for introductions-and there was something in Jor-El's expression. Something almost cautious as he stared down Batman, as if observing him and deciding if he was a threat.

"This is my father, Jor-El," Clark said. He took a few steps forward, between Jor-El and Bruce. After a moment, Clark reconsidered his words. He corrected himself, copying Jor-El's own words that he used to describe himself, saying, "Rather, he is a sentient projection of Jor-El, stored with his thoughts and memories. This entire place, the Fortress of Solitude, stores information from the extinct planet, Krypton, from which I came from-and who I am. He's the one who explained to me about my origins-all of this, the whole reason why I'm even on Earth, is because of him."

"Your father," Bruce repeated, staring past Clark at the projection. His words conveyed no particular emotion, but Clark heard the way his heart skipped a beat.

"I don't know a lot of the things this place contains," Clark said, gaze lowering. "A lot of it doesn't make sense to me. But when I'm here, I feel it. That this is part of me."

"You're jeopardizing mankind out of curiosity." Bruce said, back on the defensive. He shook his head, his frown deepening. "You told me your parents were farmers from Smallville. So which is it? Them, or this ghost? Are you here to protect Earth, or to protect this Krypton?"

Clark turned his head, eyes resting on Jor-El. Clark swallowed, sudden uncertainty carving its way into his chest. The projection was looking back at him. The image of Jor-El was dressed in regalia he had never worn, a symbol emblazoned on his clothing for a House of people that Clark would never meet, a projection that existed purely as a result of his father's scientific achievements, and he breathed life through technology that Clark didn't understand. But when he looked at Clark, he looked with a face and eyes that mirrored his own.

"Can't it be both?" Clark said.

Clark could hear a subtle exhale. Bruce didn't like that answer. Clark held out a gentle hand, gesturing Bruce to calm down.

"It's okay-"he tried.

"What is all this?" Bruce said, staring at Jor-El. "Why did you bring this all to Earth?"

"This fortress was all stored inside the Eradicator, an artifact meant to preserve all things Kryptonian and destroy all else. I reprogrammed it to deliver the fortress, my memories, and various items from Krypton, to Earth, where my son, Kal-El, could study his culture and learn his history."

"'Destroy all else'," Bruce repeated flatly, and at that, Clark tensed. He really didn't want the Eradicator dragged back into this.

"Yes. The Eradicator was only meant to preserve Kryptonian culture."

"And it could harm anything Earth-related?"

"It could-but I have programmed it not to. I do not wish to harm anything, especially this planet on which my son resides."

Clark lost Bruce. He knew it the minute the man shook his head.

"I can't take that risk. I can't," he said, almost to himself, and he left. Clark followed him through the door, into the central opening, Jor-El and Lara's statues shadowing over them.

Clark couldn't bear it any longer, his father's memory on the balance.

"Bruce," he called after him. "I'm not letting you leave until you've completely thought this through."

Bruce's heavy footsteps slowed to a stop.

"Are you threatening to hold me here?" Bruce said, looking over his shoulder.

Clark couldn't see any way around it. "Yes. You've invaded my fortress, you're going to jeopardize the last remnants of my heritage, and you want to turn the League against me."

"I'm not turning the League against you. You turned the League against yourself," Bruce said, the slightest hint of a growl to his voice.

He stalked toward the exit. Clark cut him off.

Grinding his teeth, Bruce tried to go around him.

Clark almost considered letting him go-but then he cut him off again.

"I'm warning you, Kent," Bruce said with a growl. "You're turning yourself into an enemy. You don't want that. For all your powers, deep down, you're nothing but a weak marshmallow of a man. I've spent my entire life training to take down bigger threats than you. I throw my life on the line each and every night-believe me, you don't have the mental fortitude to stop me. Either let go of this place peacefully or I'll burn this whole place down myself and drag you into a prison."

Clark chortled-so sudden that even he didn't expect it. Bruce's eyes just narrowed in response.

"Drag me?" Clark repeated. He clenched his jaw, his breath almost a hiss underneath his breath, "God, you're so fucking arrogant."

He struck a nerve.

The batarang cut through the air as it zipped past Clark. Clark easily dodged-but when his eyes followed the trail of the object, staring in confusion when he noticed a black box attached to one of the fortress walls. The batarang planted itself in-triggering a sound that pierced through the entire fortress.

Clark flinched as the noise stabbed through his ears-a noise that he could only describe as the skittering of an entire cloud of bats, raised to a screeching pitch, ripping through his heightened hearing. Clark opened an eye, his gaze happening to land on the ceiling, his body freezing when he noticed another box.

Before he could even respond, the other box responded to the noise of the other, detonating and doubling the sound. Another, from behind Clark. And then another, until the sound was so pervasive that Clark couldn't even hear the source. The noise, all collected together, screaming through his ear drums until it all became one constant ring. The sound of it all rattling his head, destroying his sense of direction, an instant nausea boiling up through his chest.

He vaguely sensed himself falling to his knees, the impact of the hard ground nothing in comparison to the stabbing in his ears. He held his head, trying to hold himself together.

Eyes squeezed shut, he struggled to open them. Through the blurriness, the entire fortress seemed to totter back and forth, red and black pulsing through the images of blue. He caught Bruce calmly heading towards the exit, his camouflaged suit further sickening Clark. The entire room seeming to spin. Acid burning the back of his throat as his body threatened to vomit.

Finally, above, he caught that black shape. Clark didn't think-his eyes burned as he shot heat vision at the object. The blast took out the object, numbing the sound only somewhat as the other boxes continued to call at each other. Along with the box, part of the fortress came crumbling down, falling before the exit and forcing Bruce to leap backwards.

Bruce turned his head back towards Clark and Clark couldn't even muster the strength to glare back, eyes closing as the sound continued to pound away at his head. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself rising to his feet. Instead of Batman before him, he found Jor-El. Jor-El was speaking to him but Clark couldn't read his words. Kyrptonian or English, the blues and whites of his image all mixed together, lips blurred. As his vision went in and out, Clark did catch a glimpse of concern in his father's eyes-but the projection simply turned his head, quickly disappearing out of sight.

A thought managed to crawl into the back of Clark's mind. He had to take out the other speakers. His heart was pulsing in tune with the waves of the sound, jumping like it would at the crack of thunder or a firework.

Clark struggled to stand up, everything swaying around him. In his peripherals, he caught Bruce standing close to him. Clark couldn't hear him. Couldn't understand what Bruce was doing as he finally pulled at that strap that was wrapped around his chest, a blur of an object landing at his boots.

As Clark spun around dizzily, he caught something in the air. Another speaker. He shot at it and missed-but the blast chipped at the wall and the speaker went flying downwards, crashing against the ground. The sound lessened. He looked for the other one, directly opposite of the exit. Shot at it, the ray chipping at the Lara's hair before striking down the speaker.

He could feel himself growing impatient, trying to find the last one. He couldn't hear the source, couldn't hear much at all, nothing but everlasting ringing in his head. He could feel sweat on his hairline, impatience gnawing at him as he tried to find that last godforsaken box.

He found it. Shattered it.

But there was no time to be relieved.

He was suddenly yanked to the ground, as if two invisible hands had grabbed him by the wrists and dragged him down.

It was hard to feel anything, his sickness overwhelming any of his other senses. But he looked down at his biceps, just now seeing the metal discs that had planted themselves on his skin, like a row of buttons on each of his arm. It was familiar-he looked down, seeing what Batman had rigged while he was distracted. Metal plates all too familiar to what Bruce had installed in Gotham to take down Solomon Grundy, whose strength nearly matched Clark's own.

The magnets dragged him to the ground, forcing him on his knees. Clark could see the blurry waves between the magnets, refracting in the air, pulling him down. Even so, he tried to rise, jaw clenching so hard it ached, every muscle contracting, the tendons in his neck and forearms squeezing as he tried to lift himself up off the ground-and failing.

When he fell back to his knees, he could heard the dull thud in the ground. However slowly, his hearing was coming back to normal. He looked straight ahead-found Batman struggling to cut through the crystal that led to the exit, when something suddenly came jutting out from the corner of Clark's perspective.

Bruce's head turned, sensing it at the same time. He rolled out of the way as the Eradicator attempted to leap onto of him. Eradicator turned swiftly, raising his arm to strike the grounded Batman, but Bruce shot his grappling hook into the nearest wall, retracting the line the drag himself along the ground. The Eradicator's punch struck the floor instead, the impact pulsing throughout the fortress, a crack in the ground.

Clark's eyes followed in disbelief as the Eradicator stalked towards Bruce. Bruce was back on his feet-and while Clark had seen Bruce on a battlefield many times, he didn't realize how much he underestimated the man's agility until that point. Bruce ducked and dodged around the Eradicator's movements.

The sounds of their battle began to pound in his ear. The fog before Clark's eyes began to clear, Batman coming into focus as he leaped out of the way of the Eradicator's swings.

Clark's vision glowed red with his heat vision, ready to strike as Bruce and the Eradicator swung blows.

He caught a glimpse of something. In the reflection of Bruce's armor, Clark saw himself bolted to the ground, hair matted and face flushed from his strain. He focused on the image, fixated on the ominously glowing red eyes staring back at him.

Clark stopped.

Bruce misstepped, the Eradicator landing a strike, sending him skidding across the ground with a single hit. They were out of Clark's line of vision, somewhere behind him. He looked up, found Jor-El behind him. He could hear him again, his voice murky, like listening underwater.

"Shut down the Eradicator," Clark said quickly. He couldn't quite make out Jor-El's voice, just fragments of his speech.

At Clark's command, Jor-El's face fell.

"The Eradicator exists to preserve Kryptonian culture, Kal-El. If this man intends to destroy the fortress, he will destroy all that is left of Krypton. Neither I, nor the Eradicator, can allow that."

"No," Clark said, words rushed, panic settling in. "You have to deactivate him. The Eradicator doesn't just want to preserve Kryptonian culture, he wants to destroy anything non-Kryptonian."

"Do not worry, Kal-El. I will not allow the Eradicator to destroy your adopted planet. I only intend to stop the one who threatens to destroy this fortress-"

"You can't kill him!" Clark insisted. He struggled to stand up, breathing hard as the magnetic field pulled against him. He managed to get on his feet but his back was stooped low, the field ready to snatch him back in. He didn't let it stop him.

He kept pulling himself off the ground.

"I don't mean to kill him. Only to stop him by whatever means necessary." Jor-El's gaze lowered. "I'm sorry, Kal-El. When your mother and I sent you to this planet, we only hoped for your survival. We never meant to abandon you. We never meant for you to be alone. We've already parted ways once-I promise you that I won't stand to allow that to happen again. I won't leave you again."

Clark didn't want that either.

He didn't want it to have to be a choice.

If he could just get up, if he could just pull harder-then he could fix it. He could have Earth and Krypton together.

He could hear it. The sounds of the Eradicator behind him. His appearance might have assumed a Kryptonian's, his chest even emblazoned with the house of El, but his internal workings had the sounds of something robotic. A pretender. Gritting his teeth, Clark forced himself to fly backwards.

There was a struggle at first, then faster-than-bullet speed as he pulled out of the magnetic field.

He collided with the Eradicator, both of them crashing into the closest surface. The collection of crystals, underneath the statue of Jor-El and Lara. Clark opened his eyes, feeling the ache in his shoulders and back from the crash. He blinked wearily at the ceiling, the statue in his sight.

A vision of a peaceful planet, held up by two hands.

He quickly turned back around to face the Eradicator, which was momentarily stunned as it laid on the bed of crystals, severe damage to its shell. Clark's eyes searched the robot, scanning over it wildly, trying to find the source of its strength.

The Eradicator began to rise and Clark punched it back down. There was a loud crack-not just from the Eradicator's materials, Clark realized, only after he saw the veins running down the crystals.

In the corner of his eye, Clark could see blue flashes. The projections, Clark realized.

Kal-El. Last Son of Krypton. Born to Jor-El and Lara, Jor-El's voice spoke. Clark's heart raced faster, harkening back to that first day with the crystal. The voice and words so identical that it felt like a recording.

Because it was a recording. Because Jor-El's memory may have been sentient-but the real person had died long ago, now only existing within the memory of this fortress.

Of all the planets with yellow suns catalogued in your ship's coordinates, you have appeared to have landed on the planet Earth.

The Eradicator grabbed at him. Clark punched again at the machine's core, feeling the metal plates begin to buckle underneath his fists. The impact pushing him further into the crystals. One of white tops of the crystals cracked off, rolling off of the others and onto the ground.

I-I-I have catalogued as many of the languages I c-could from each planet. These languages were studied from afar-afar-afar, c-compiled from research gathered of other o-outerworld species.

The metal plate split in half. The Eradicator shot off lasers from its eyes and Clark groaned, feeling the heat burning against his face, hotter than any oven or campfire. He shoved his hand through the Eradicator's chest, using his other arm to bear his weight down on the machine to pin him in place.

Blue flashed throughout the entire room, Jor-El's skipping voice growing fainter under the sounds of the crystals shattering.

Kal-El-Last Son of Krypton-Of all the planets with yellow suns-

Clark could feel the heated center of the Eradicator's power source. Could grasp it, if only his fingers would stop slipping. His eyes squeezed shut as the Eradicator continued to blast him with heat, the burn beginning to set on his skin.

Kal-El-Last Son of Krypton-

His hand wrapped around the core. Couldn't crush it in his hand alone. Clark held it tight, lifting the Eradicator up and slamming him back down.

Last Son of Krypton-

The rays stopped. Clark looked, saw the flickering yellow visor placed where its eyes would have been if it was living. Clark held on.

Last-

Clark slammed the Eradicator down one last time, a loud crack echoing throughout the fortress. The Eradicator's body fell slack all at once, all light in the room shutting off, the heat dissolving from Clark's hand. The room silencing.

The Eradicator didn't move.

Clark stayed there for a moment, his arm still buried, trying to catch his breath. He felt the air push in and out of him, his body rising and falling, eyes falling shut with exhaustion.

Everything turning dark, unable to focus on anything else, it seemed to Clark that his was the only breath in the room.


"Look alive, Smallville."

Clark looked up, not realizing he had zoned out. He just now noticed that the elevator had dinged open-body memory taking over, he shuffled in alongside Lois. He could feel Lois' eyes watching him. He felt nervous, wondering what embarrassing thing he had done this time. He was about to check his shirt for a stain when Lois suddenly placed her hand on his arm.

He turned his head, was taken aback by the concern in her eyes-an almost vulnerability to them that she usually only expressed during an interview.

"Hey…" she said. "Are you okay?"

The elevator made a low humming sound, smoothly gliding them to their floor.

Instinctively, the words almost practiced, he said, "I'm okay. Head in the clouds, I guess."

She removed the hand, wrapping it back around her purse strap instead. The elevator chimed with every floor. Clark, so used to his daily routine, had the number of elevator chimes memorized. He imagined Lois did too.

As it neared their floor, she suddenly said, "If you need someone to talk to, you can always come to me."

Before Clark could respond, the doors slid open, the sounds of the office seeming to erupt at once. Clark followed Lois in the direction of their cubicles. Someone came running around the corner with a big stack of folders in their arms, bumping shoulders with Clark.

"Sorry, Clark, didn't see you there," his coworker apologized, continuing to take off.

"Lois?"

Clark stopped, nearly crashing into Lois. Ron was standing outside of her cube. Lois regarded him with surprise-and Clark was surprised too. Ron usually kept to himself.

"I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed yesterday's article. One of your best. Really," he said to her.

"Oh," Lois said, blinking. "Thank you, Ron."

"I agree," said another voice. They looked, saw Cat popping her head up above the cubicle divider. "Good work, Lois."

"Thank you, Cat," Lois said, and Clark could catch the flush on her ears. She acted calmly and professionally-but these compliments were truly affecting her. She took her seat.

Clark, who had not been keeping up with the news-both for intentional and unintentional reasons-found himself curious. The Daily Planet always kept copies of their recents printings at the table near the watercooler. Finding one from the previous day, Clark took it with him to his desk.

He looked at the faces in the photo, instantly recognizing a few of them.

The Markovian schoolchildren.

He could hear Ron talking to Lois still.

"It was an important story to cover," Lois said. "They never got a chance to tell their side of the tale. Hearing their story-well, you can start to realize why Superman went there in the first place."

Clark took the time to read it. He never had the chance to learn about the people he helped-he didn't need to know, at the time. The only thing he had focused on was the atrocity of the situation. As he was lost in their stories, described with great care and empathy, Clark wasn't sure if he wanted to congratulate Lois-or thank her.


Clark could hear him-which meant he wasn't working very hard on hiding himself. Still, Bruce had followed him across several rooftops, and he had yet to say anything or make his move.

Finally, Clark sighed.

"You can never just break the silence, can you?"

Clark was floating above the rooftops of Metropolis, waiting to respond to any citizen who needed assistance. The sun was beginning to set over the city-meaning that Bruce should have been in Gotham.

"I knew you could hear me. It was a matter of whether you wanted to talk to me," Bruce murmured, his voice still audible from where Clark was positioned.

Clark paused, several mixed feelings clouding his head. His upbringing, based on acceptance and forgiveness, told him that he should let go of their squabble.

On the other hand, he was also really pissed off.

"You invaded my property, attacked me, and destroyed the only link I had to my heritage-who was also, in a way, all that remained of my biological father."

"I know," Bruce said, and that admittance made Clark stop and listen. "I'm not going to ask for forgiveness. But I wanted to talk to you about something I discovered-it'd be easier to explain at my lab, in my safehouse."

Clark turned around, cape billowing around him. "Whatever you have to tell me, you can tell me here, where I'm certain you won't try to attack me."

"This safehouse… isn't like the one you've seen. It's a lot like your fortress, in ways. I haven't shown it to anyone in the League-but I want to introduce it to you."

There was the slightest hint of emotion in Bruce's voice. A semblance of humility. He claimed that he wasn't asking for forgiveness-but Clark could hear in his voice that he sought after it anyways. He wouldn't be there, in that city, an hour before sundown if it wasn't serious. And as angry as Clark was, he knew that a large part of that anger was directed at Bruce's betrayal.

It wasn't as if Clark was actually naive enough to believe that Bruce fully trusted him. But after everything that happened between working together in Markovia, Bruce revealing his secret safehouse in Metropolis, and his admittance of wrongdoing at the Hall of Justice-Clark had believed things were going in the right direction. That they could work together as a team.

He was surprised by how much it upset him that Bruce had ripped away that progress.

Clark looked up at Bruce, who was crouched on a ledge. Still not quite coming into the light.

"Why did you do it?" Clark had to ask. Bruce hesitated to answer and in that brief moment, Clark turned his head. Ready to fly off.

"I didn't trust you from the first moment I met you," Bruce said, which stopped Clark from leaving, but did nothing to quell his mixed emotions. "I don't trust a lot of people-but you, specifically, because of the power you had…" Bruce cut himself off, his voice reclaiming his usual blunt tone. "I was cautious. I kept waiting for you to slip up. Anything to prove that I was right not to trust you. When I found that fortress in the arctic and saw everything inside, I thought that I had found what I was looking for. That my suspicions had finally been validated."

"And were you right?" Clark challenged. He knew the answer-Bruce wouldn't be in his city if the answer was otherwise-but Clark wanted to hear Bruce say it.

"No," Bruce said at once. He hopped down from the ledge onto the rooftop and Clark eyed him carefully as he approached. "In the end, I just realized how wrong I was." Brow furrowing, he confessed, "Over and over again, you kept proving me wrong."

Well, Clark felt a little satisfied.

"When I reacted violently, I didn't act out of fear. I never really thought you were dangerous."

At that, Clark paused, pondering over Bruce's words. A lot of people thought he was dangerous, Bruce wouldn't have been the first.

"Then why'd you do it?" Clark asked.

"I was angry because I discovered too much. The reason I followed you to that fortress wasn't because I thought you were up to no good."

"Then why follow me in the first place?"

"I was curious."

"Curious," Clark repeated bluntly, face falling. Bruce shifted his weight to his other leg, the slightest frown turning at the corner of his mouth.

"The others I understand. Green Lantern is military. Flash is a scientist, a cop. Martian Manhunter is a survivor. Aquaman is a king. But you and Wonder Woman… there's a mystery to you two. You're both generous and brave, but you don't talk about your past. And what I do know of your past, I can't grasp."

Clark finally was beginning to understand what Bruce was talking about.

He had the same thoughts about him.

"When I needed to contact you about Markovia, I couldn't find you at your apartment or at your parents' home. You were going somewhere. Somewhere alone. When I followed you to that fortress, it wasn't for the intention of hunting you down. I just wanted to know why you were sheltering yourself away from your family, your team, the world. I'm not sure what I was expecting to find-but I realized, as soon as I stepped inside that place, that I had found something private. All of your secrets. And the thought of you explaining it to me, opening up, made me realize that I had stepped too far." Bruce suddenly stopped for a moment. He said instead, "I have some information on your fortress. I want to share it with you at my safehouse."

"You may trust me now. But I can't trust you," Clark said firmly.

"I know," Bruce said shortly. "I'm hoping this might change your mind."

Clark had a bad feeling about all of this. He wasn't sure if his mind would be changed-a bitter part of him wasn't even sure if he wanted to change his mind-and he knew very well that he could have been walking into one of Batman's traps.

Maybe it was the honesty he heard in Bruce's steady heartbeat, or maybe Clark was just a bit curious too.

Batman could still attack him-but ultimately Clark followed because he trusted that Bruce wouldn't.


Clark didn't understand where Bruce was leading him when the batwing headed toward the cliff faces past Gotham Bay. The more the batwing ducked closer to the water, the more apprehensive Clark became. When Clark used his x-ray vision, he finally noticed a hollow cavern in the cliff face.

Clark followed closely as the batwing disappeared into the cavern. It was near pitch black-and if the batwing's lights didn't turn on, Clark might have flown right into a wall.

He could smell water. Could hear it running, fast and heavy, in the distance. He could also hear the chittering of bats, leading his gaze upward. In the darkness, he saw what had to be hundreds of brown bats, crawling and zipping around.

Okay. Maybe there actually was a reason behind the whole bat gimmick.

The cave opened up and that's when Clark finally slowed, coming to a stop midlight.

He lingered in the open space of the cavern as the batwing moved onward, a waterfall in his peripherals. Gaze following the batwing as it landed on a steel platform, he saw lights everywhere and intricate metal pathways contrasting against the natural, rocky walls and flowing water. In the distance he could hear the low hum of a generator.

It wasn't a fortress in the ice. But it was still impressive in its own right.

Strangest of all was the English accent that suddenly spoke up.

"Welcome home, Master Bruce."

Clark stopped, thinking that it had to have been a computer recording.

But no, there was definitely another heartbeat in this place.

Clark slowly lifted himself to the platform, eyeing the person talking to Bruce. Definitely real. Standing with Bruce was an old man in a black and white suit. He immediately noticed Superman and didn't seem at all surprised by his appearance, meaning he was definitely informed that Clark would be visiting.

Clark stared in shock when Bruce suddenly pulled off his cowl, confirming that Clark had heard the man's words correctly.

"You have a butler," Clark said, dumbfounded. "And he knows your secret identity."

"He is my butler but he's also family."

"Alfred Pennyworth at your service, Master… Superman."

"Clark," Clark said, still dazed. He didn't understand what was going on-but he figured if Bruce, the most paranoid person Clark had ever met, could trust this man… then it might be okay for Clark to do the same. "Clark Kent."

"Ah, very well, Master Clark."

"No, it's just…" Clark trailed off, noticing Alfred's watchful gaze. Clark breathed. "Okay."

"Where's Dick?" Bruce said, starting to make his way down the ramp. Alfred followed closely, Clark trailing behind as his eyes wandered.

"Hiding," Pennyworth answered simply.

Bruce stopped fixing his cowl hair, giving Alfred an odd look. "Why?"

"Nerves, perhaps?" Alfred said, glancing back at Clark. Clark blinked.

"Really?" Bruce said, his voice sounding… amused?

Clark was so confused.

"I once was in the same pub as Alec Guinness. He happened to look in my direction and I dropped a full pint into my lap. Being a little starstruck can make you do uncharacteristic things."

Bruce accepted the answer, climbing up the stairs leading into the heart of the cave. Clark did his best to follow but there was so much to look at. Cases upon cases of different weaponry and gadgets. On the level below, the batmobile and a series of other vehicles were parked. Divided areas that appeared to be labs, workshops, and clinics. In the distance, a massive computer-even larger than what was installed in the Hall of Justice.

There wasn't a Kryptonian statue, but there was a giant dinosaur.

"This is all yours," Clark said, and it wasn't a question.

"It didn't happen overnight," Bruce said simply, taking the steps toward the computer.

Clark grabbed a nearby railing and paused, hearing something. His eyes travelled upwards, to where the lights hung. He saw a small shape balancing on the steel beams, flitting into the shadows after Clark had spotted him.

Bruce noticed he had stopped. His eyes followed Clark's gaze.

"We can hear you," Bruce called out. More impatiently, he said, "Get down from there."

A pause. But then a shift in the shadows. Their stalker hopped down from the light fixture onto a high shelf. Closer to the light, Clark was taken aback by the child's face that looked back at him. The tiny heart was beating rapidly but the boy didn't seem afraid-just nervous, his curious blue eyes watching Clark closely.

"Is he…" Clark started but then he thought it over. The raven hair and light eyes threw him off-but the dark complexion and facial features were far too different, and the age difference made it all the more implausible, unless Bruce Wayne's alleged reputation extended into his early teen years.

"Adopted," Bruce said. "Dick, come say hello."

"Hi," the boy said, volume echoing off the cave walls, and his mouth immediately clamped shut, as if he had underestimated his own voice. He didn't move from his spot.

"Hi," Clark said, waving. The boy's eyes went big.

Bruce finally took Clark to the computer, pulling up a diagram. Clark recognized the image and immediately crossed his arms.

"You took a piece of my fortress," Clark said, not even bothering to disguise his irritation.

"Yes. I ran some scans on it-"

"Without my permission," Clark said, rubbing his eyes. For a moment, he was so caught up in the wonders of the cave that he forgot who he was dealing with.

"The material isn't anything that can be found on Earth-but there are some similarities." Bruce zoomed in on a picture. "The outwards appearance, from our earth understanding, fools us into thinking it's some type of crystal. But in actuality its structure is capable of things that crystals cannot do, such as the ability to control its accelerated growth."

"Control it? So it's sentient?" Clark repeated. "That is interesting but why are you telling me this?"

"Because this material can regenerate. On top of that, it seems to retain memory. In my tests, I tried burning it, which damaged it. After it regenerated, I tried burning it again-and the material, upon sensing heat, protected itself from the flames. I think this type of memory storage is how you were able to speak to your father-he stored his memories inside the fortress, using the crystals as some type of harddrive. And since the crystals can regenerate while still retaining its memory-"

"Give it time and it'll heal," Clark finished for him. He slowly shook his head, eyes still fixated on the display. "This is a strange way of dodging the damage you did."

Bruce didn't deny it. He clicked a few buttons, pulling up another diagram. Clark tilted his head, studying the blueprints of a strange, mirror-like object. "The crystals' healing abilities seem to accelerate under natural sunlight-the same way you recharge your own strength. I designed this panel that will help better bring sunlight into the fortress, even in the arctic environment. You can control the settings and use it to repair the fortress and also heal yourself, if the need arises. It'll make your fortress not only stronger, but a better safehaven."

"And you suppose this makes us even?" Clark challenged.

"I prefer this method over breaking my computer out of revenge, yes."

Clark suddenly felt a tug on his sleeve. Clark glanced down, saw Dick standing there.

"Can you really fly?" he asked shyly. Turning all attention on the boy, Clark gave a friendly smile.

"Yes, I can."

Dick's eyes searched his. A little more boldly, he said, "Can I show you the cave?"

"Sure."

"Clark-"Bruce started.

"It's fine, Bruce. We're even," Clark said, and he let Dick lead him away.

Tugging on his elbow the entire time, Dick rapidly fired off all the terminology for different parts of the cave, finally pulling him toward what Clark could only describe as an armory-a series of batsuits locked up behind glass. Clark focused on a familiar gray suit.

"That's the Polarbat, that's the Hazbat, that's the Spacebat, that's the Scubabat-"

"Scubabat?"

"Yeah, because it goes underwater. I named all of them," Dick said proudly.

Clark's eyes flickered in the direction of the Hazbat suit.

In more ways than one, it all started to puzzle together.


"Do you think it'll look bad, having a satellite? Do you suppose people will think that we're… I don't know… watching over them? Like we feel like we're above them?" Hal said, pondering out loud.

"I think it'd be best to have a headquarters that isn't positioned in any particular country, to prove that we strive for the best of an entire planet, rather than implying that we have any allegiance to one particular place," J'onn said. And he hurried to give Arthur instructions on where to piece together some of the panels.

"I've never been to space," Diana said as she helped Clark move some heavy machinery. J'onn had built their new headquarters in a space satellite, meaning everything had to be moved from the Hall of Justice. Clark underestimated how full the Hall had gotten in the past few months.

"I've been there a few times, on missions," Clark said.

They dropped off the items where the spaceship was docked. Bruce was there, keeping track of inventory. He marked down the items.

"Hey, could one of you carry that into the ship?" Barry said, suddenly appearing. He didn't bother waiting for an answer, saying his thanks and running off.

Clark volunteered while Diana went to grab more stuff from the Hall.

Clark lifted up the heavy steel crate, which was about the size of a truck. Bruce followed him, which Clark thought nothing of-until Bruce suddenly said:

"I'm going to your parents' house on Sunday. What should I bring?"

"What?" Clark said, alarmed. He spun around to face him. Bruce quickly ducked to the ground so the crate wouldn't cleave off his head. Clark ignored Bruce's glare. "Why are you going to my parents' house?"

"When you first disappeared, you told me you went to Smallville and had bad cell phone signal. So when I went looking for you again, I had to stop at your parents' house. Without it being said, I figured it out to be a lie when I visited their farm to find out that you weren't there. Your parents invited me to visit again and I agreed."

"That doesn't really explain why," Clark said, grumbling. He carried the crate up the ramp, getting angrier the more he thought about it. "How come I'm just hearing about this now?"

"You weren't invited," Bruce said simply. Clark looked at him, annoyed, but Bruce just asked, "Should I bring a dessert?"

"Ma already makes the best dessert."

"Wine?"

"Pa doesn't drink."

"Does he smoke?"

"No and you're not gifting my elderly parents cigars anyways."

"A ceramic hen."

Clark blinked in surprise. "How do you know Ma collects those?"

"I guessed." Bruce pressed a button on the side of his cowl. "Cave, remind me to shop for a ceramic chicken before Sunday."

"Hi Alfred," Clark said, raising his voice, earning a sharp look from Bruce.

"Why are you doing this? Won't you be doing Batman things?"

"It's just for dinner," Bruce said. "The flight time between Gotham and my safehouse in Keystone is only about seventy-five minutes on the batwing. And Robin wanted to go on a trip."

"Robin?" Clark said, and then the realization sunk in. "Oh, Robin, that's what you call him? That's cute."

Clark didn't understand why Bruce looked at him like he was the one being offensive.


Clark could see from afar that the Langs' shed was occupied. Clark popped his head in, watching Lana use her phone as a flashlight, searching for something.

"Need help?" he asked.

"Jesus!" she cursed, jumping in place. The flashlight shone in Clark's eyes. "Criminy, Clark. Don't do that." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "What are you doing out here?"

"I'm about to have dinner with my folks. I wanted to invite you." Clark rubbed the back of his neck. "I… guess they invited Bruce Wayne too."

"Having dinner with billionaires? Look at you, Mr. Cityslicker," Lana said, her tone light. "Well, as much as I hate to turn down Bruce Wayne-if I'm going to deal with any loose screws tonight, it's going to be the ones on our kitchen door."

Clark looked around the shed with his x-ray vision. "Your toolbox is behind that box on the top shelf."

"Help a girl out?"

Clark rose himself in the air, easily plucking the box off the top shelf, and handed it to Lana.

"You won't believe who I ran into a few weeks ago," Clark said as he handed over the box. When Lana's gaze lingered, he smiled and said, "Lex."

"Oh right," Lana said, face thoughtful. "He's a big hotshot now, isn't he? Up in Metropolis."

"A real big hotshot. He said he didn't recognize me but…" Clark shook his head. "I know it's not polite to check if people are lying, but I could hear his heartbeat."

Lana elbowed him a little bit. Clark looked at her, caught her sly smile. "In all fairness... it's not polite to lie."

Clark smiled a little. "I mean, I figured he didn't care for us much but… it just felt odd. Like he was embarrassed of even knowing there was a place called Smallville."

"Well, he certainly didn't have a lot of friends here. He always thought he was too good for this place. It made him an outcast." Lana tilted her head back and forth. "We tried to be nice to him. Make him a part of our gang. But some people just don't like other people." Lana rested the toolbox against her hip. "I wonder how his sister is doing. I hope he still takes care of her."

"I didn't get a chance to ask."

"Well, thanks for the help," Lana said. "Maybe I'll do dinner with the Kents another time. We could invite Pete too."

Clark slowly nodded, his heart feeling light at the thought. "Yeah, that'd be great."

Clark crossed the fields to his parents' yard. He saw the vintage, black car parked out in front. Somehow, Bruce had made it there before him.

He knocked on the door. Ma answered.

"Oh, Clark!" she said, sounding surprised.

"Hi, Ma. Dinner smells good."

She looked suddenly confused.

"Did we invite you?" she said.

Clark's face fell.

"Well no matter, there should be enough for all of us. Come in," she said without skipping a beat, pulling him into the house. To his left, Clark could see the kitchen. Bruce was without his blazer this time, but his button-up still seemed a little pristine for a visit to the country, even if it was rolled up to his elbows. His back was turned to Clark, distracted by Ma's chicken collection that lined around the tops of the cabinets, and Clark took that as an opportunity to duck into the living room on his right.

Pa was near the cluttered shelf in the corner, going through some boxes.

"Hey, Pa. What are you doing?"

"Your Ma wanted to show Mr. Wayne the family album with all your baby pictures but I can't seem to find it."

Clark glanced down, noticing a box with a green photo album sitting on the floor. Clark discreetly pushed it with his foot, sliding it underneath a curtained table.

"Pa, can I talk to you?" Clark said. Jon looked up from his digging, saw the serious look on Clark's face and stopped.

"Well, alright then," Jon said softly, freeing his hands from the box that he was elbows deep in. "What's the matter, Clark?"

Bruce already knew Clark's secrets but Pa and Ma didn't know his. So Clark kept his voice low, pretending to be discrete. "I've been meaning to give you and Ma some news. Remember a few months back, when I asked to take the spaceship from the barn?"

Pa listened quietly as Clark began to recount the tale of uncovering the fortress and meeting Jor-El. Clark told him about his origins and Krypton, but before Clark could get into everything, Pa placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"Clark, I think this is a conversation we should have with Ma."

Clark paused before finally nodding. "You're right, I was just in a hurry to get it off my chest. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you earlier. I wanted to but with everything going on-"

"Clark, it's not selfish to focus on yourself every now and then. It's not," Jon said insistently. Clark pondered over those words. Jon just patted Clark's arm reassuringly and added, "Let's just enjoy dinner together, alright?"

As if on cue, Ma announced that everything was ready.

Bruce didn't stay long after dessert. Clark walked him to the door but before Clark could say his salutations, Bruce suddenly spoke in a low voice, returning to his usual seriousness, "I need to get into the barn."

"...why?" Clark asked slowly, though he knew that Bruce would fight until he got his way anyways.

"Do you have keys?" Bruce said, ignoring the question.

Clark sighed, glancing back at his parents who were cleaning up the table, and grabbed his keys. They headed outside, the screen door rattling as it closed.

They made their way to the barn, the moon and stars guiding the way. Clark glanced up at the starry sky.

"I miss that. You don't get this in Metropolis," Clark said. Bruce took the time to look up and see what Clark was talking about.

"You don't get it in Gotham either," Bruce said. Back to the situation at hand, Bruce said, "Your father mentioned his tractor was broken the last time I was here."

"Wait, so that's why you agreed to come back?"

"It was the least I could do for all the trouble I caused them."

"How am I going to explain to them that you can fix a tractor but you can't fix a belt on your car?"

"It's simple-you don't explain it."

Clark unlocked the padlock, opening up the barn. Bruce used his phone to flash a light through the entryway.

"Not the fanciest of barns, I know," Clark said.

"I've been in worse places."

"Like what?" Clark found himself asking. When Bruce glanced at him, Clark felt strangely flustered, like it was inappropriate to ask. "Sorry. Just curious."

"The middle of a desert, for one," Bruce admitted after a moment.

"Why were you there?" Clark dared to ask.

Bruce paused before answering. "To learn martial arts from a man who's over seven hundred years old."

It was the craziest thing Clark had ever heard come out of Bruce's mouth-and yet, that was precisely the reason why Clark believed him.

"You've led a fairly interesting life, haven't you?" Clark said. They walked inside the barn, door cracking shut behind them. Bruce's light moved around, observing the interior.

"And you've led a rather ordinary one," Bruce said in return.

Clark was in charge of holding Bruce's phone while he tinkered around with the tractor. Quite some time passed before Bruce's phone finally beeped, announcing its death. But Bruce, ever reliable, finished on time.

"Satisfied?" Clark asked, handing back the phone. "Will you promise not to bug my parents again?"

"They seem to like me."

"They're polite, old folks. They like everyone," Clark said, feeling defensive.

"They invited me," Bruce insisted. Clark rolled his eyes. They started to head toward the exit. It was difficult navigating through the pitch darkness but Clark could see well enough to dodge any harmful intrusions, and Bruce was used to walking around at night.

Clark stopped on the way. He had spotted the wagon when he walked in-had reminisced about it while Bruce worked. Trapped inside the barn were lots of memories-from helping Pa with the farm to sleepovers with his friends to this very wagon.

Clark stopped at it, hand resting on the railing.

"What is it?" Bruce asked.

"It's a wagon."

"I see that," Bruce said, voice almost short. "I meant, what is its significance?"

"Nothing, it's just… my friends and I, we used to take it to the top of the hill down the road, and ride it. It was a summer tradition."

Clark was filled with bittersweet nostalgia, thinking of simpler times.

"Do you ever wish you could go back to the way things used to be, when you were just a kid?" Clark pondered out loud.

Bruce didn't say anything.

Feeling almost determined, Clark climbed up into the wagon, the planks creaking underneath him. He looked back at Bruce, who had been watching almost cautiously.

"Come on," Clark said.

"No," Bruce said with zero hesitation.

Clark walked further along the wagon, taking a seat, his back resting against the side railing. He looked at Bruce expectantly.

"Is this some sort of test?" Bruce said curtly.

"Sure, a test of friendship," Clark said lightly.

Bruce didn't seem to like that answer. Still, clenching his jaw, Bruce climbed up, taking a seat opposite to Clark. Clark could hear him shift around, trying to get comfortable. The thin cloth that covered the planks didn't do much to soften the wood's harsh material.

"How many friends would you take on this thing?"

"Just two others."

"It's cramped," Bruce said. In the process of readjusting his seating, their knees bumped.

"It was in this wagon where I first discovered my heightened hearing."

"What do you hear now?" Bruce asked after a moment.

Clark paused, closing his eyes. Concentrating.

"I hear the barn. The wind blowing between the cracks in the wood. Ma and Pa washing the dishes. The cornfield's really noisy-you can hear all of the stalks swaying."

"Tell me something I wouldn't be able to hear."

At that, the corner of Clark's mouth tugged into an unexpected smile. But he kept his eyes closed, listening harder.

"There's an owl a couple acres from here. It just landed on a tree. I can hear its talons scratching against the bark. There are a lot of trees clustered together-I can hear the leaves moving. And…" Clark trailed off, brow furrowing, trying to discern the noise. "Moths? A few of them. You can hear their wings beating. Around… a lantern. You can hear the buzz from the electricity."

"Do you hear anything else?"

Bruce's voice was low-but Clark could hear it so clearly.

It brought Clark's attention back. Retracting from the lantern with the moths to the owl in the tree to the cornstalks to Ma and Pa laughing to the sighs of the barn to the wagon.

Clark stopped, breath stilling as he listened to what was closest around him.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Clark slowly opened his eyes. In the darkness, Clark saw Bruce's shadow looming over him. He was so close his steady breath fanned on Clark's skin.

Clark could feel it in his ears. His own heart.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Clark swallowed. Nerves dancing in his stomach. Fingers slowly wrapping around the railing.

"Bruce," he said, unsure of what to say.

Bruce leaned in. The moonlight streamed in from the cracks of the barn, the light striping Bruce's face, a clear blue eye coming into focus. Looking into him intensely.

Until everything was dark again. Faces drawn in close, lips finding the corner of Clark's mouth. Then pressing against him fully.

Clark didn't breathe for a moment. An exhale shuddered past his lips only after Bruce parted from him. Clark heard a subtle creak from the wagon as Bruce leaned back, shifting his weight.

Clark grabbed at him, fingers grasping at his shirt. Preventing him from leaving. Clark's hand travelled upward, feeling the smooth material of Bruce's button-up. He leaned in and Bruce closed the rest of the distance. Kissing him again. Harder this time. Everything escalating from there. Their kiss, more heated now, lips moving faster. Clark's glasses clumsily bumped up between them, so Clark yanked them off, setting them aside.

Rough, callused hands held Clark's face. Pulling him in again, kiss deeper now. Bruce's lips and tongue were warm, wet. A thumb brushed against Clark's ear, fingers tangled in his hair. And it was getting harder to remember how to breathe as Bruce kept pulling him in, kept demanding his attention.

Bodies pushed in together. Clark could hear their hearts thundering, swore he could feel each beat when their chests pressed against each other. Clark's hand was trapped between them, fingers resting against the buttons where he finally questioned himself. Finally regained a sense of reality and wondered how far this was going and if he could dare to unbutton.

Bruce answered for him. He unbuttoned the collar and the heat rose in Clark's face, ears burning by the time half of the buttons come undone.

Clark's mouth felt dry and he finally asked, "Why?"

It slowed them down. The shadows were too dark to quite read Bruce's expression. Bruce's heartrate filled the silence, seeming almost erratic in comparison to ts usual steady beat-and it made Clark strangely relieved, thinking that maybe Bruce was unsure too. Clark felt Bruce's hand on him, the t-shirt caught in the man's fist.

"I don't know what this is," Bruce said, voice almost a whisper. Sounding almost lost. He gripped harder, Clark feeling the tug on the fabric. More firmly, Bruce answered, "But we're not friends."

Clark wasn't expecting Bruce to lean back, tugging Clark on top of him. Clark's face burned, sensing their position. Felt their hips align.

Bruce's hands slipped underneath his shirt and Clark clenched his jaw, his body responding to the touch. Goosebumps rising on his arms as Bruce's hands touched him in the darkness. Clark couldn't predict where Bruce's hands would go, feeling them caress his abdomen, his ribcage, his chest.

"Are you sure?" Clark asked. He almost didn't recognize his own voice. It was like Bruce had stolen the breath from his body.

"Come on," Bruce said, the slightest growl to his voice. Urging Clark's shirt off. "Before I change my mind."

Rather, before Bruce's pride took precedence over his want. Clark obeyed, swiftly pulling off his shirt. Let Bruce yank him in, kissing him all over again, fast and hard.

Clark touched Bruce's torso, his desire stomping out his usual shyness. Nothing about Bruce was soft. He was all hardened muscle, his skin raised with scars and bullet marks. And even now, in the midst of passion, where most people would be at their most vulnerable, there was something intimidating in the way Bruce's hands dug into Clark's body, or the way his teeth grazed against Clark's lower lip. And Clark knew he had nothing to fear, confident that Bruce didn't want to hurt him, but his breath was shaky and his heart was racing. Because with Bruce, everything was a thin line, and Clark had a tendency to make mistakes and he couldn't help but anticipate the moment where he inevitably fucked everything up. Kept anticipating the moment where Bruce would withdraw into himself again and wouldn't bother to give Clark a second chance.

There was a distinct sound of metal teeth unzipping that cut through the air. Clark straightened his back, giving Bruce room to fish out his erection. Clark did the same, large fingers fumbling on the brass button of his denim, and Bruce's hands were on him so swiftly, undoing the zipper. Bruce's rough palm grabbed at Clark through the fabric, a shiver running through Clark's body at the sensation, eyes falling shut as the hand ran down the entire length.

Clark's hands ran over the opening of Bruce's shirt. Felt the hot skin. The well formed muscles that he had worked for, bled for. Kissed him once more before covering Bruce's body completely with his own, the wagon creaking underneath them, arms wrapped around Bruce. Their heated bodies embraced, Bruce's legs spread on either side of him, hips aligned and erections pressed hard against each other, trapped between their bodies.

Their breaths were growing short. Clark rolled his hips, seeking friction against his erection. The heat of Bruce's cock pressed against him felt electrifying. Bruce's nails dug into his back, holding on to better guide his movements as his hips bucked up against Clark's. The dark timbre of his voice seemed loud in Clark's ear, his breath hot as it fanned against Clark's skin.

"Bruce," Clark sighed. He could feel the heat between their bodies. Could feel Bruce holding him so tight. Their heartbeats drummed together, filling Clark's ears, adrenaline rushing through him. "You won't leave me."

It wasn't a question or a request. But Bruce answered, his voice sharp despite his increasingly shorter breaths, "What the hell more do you want from me?"

Despite himself, a short, mirthful breath escaped Clark, but it was cut short. Bruce suddenly groaned deeply in Clark's ear, invoking a response in Clark, his eyes falling shut, his head all hazy on account of one sexually aggressive sound. Clark sought after it again, grinding their cocks together, movements harder. Faster. Almost desperate.

Bruce laid flat on his back on the hard planks, trying to relieve the pressure against his cock, to slow down, but Clark's weight had him pinned. Bruce's voice became less aggressive, melting into something more lustful. Sighs elongating. Every inhale sharp. Clark could feel Bruce's grip on him loosening, hand falling against the surface. Clark could hear Bruce's nails raking against the cloth cover, his hand struggling for purchase.

Clark's voice matched Bruce's own, but it whispered and shuddered, more subtle than Bruce's heated voice. It was getting harder to control the rhythm of their thrusts. The friction beginning to feel raw. Clark was close but he was not quite there.

He straightened his back, the air feeling almost cool without Bruce's heat pressed against him. Bruce's heart skipped but he didn't protest as Clark hooked his fingers through the waistbands of Bruce's clothes, yanking them down to his knees. The wooden planks were hard on Clark's knees but the ache meant nothing to him.

He turned Bruce onto his side, a hand pushed down on the scarred knee, pinning his legs together. Clark wet his hand, stroking himself before pushing between Bruce's squeezed thighs. Bruce groaned, the sound almost a hiss between his clenched teeth.

The pleasure coursed through Clark's body as he fucked Bruce's thighs, his cock brushing up against the underside of Bruce's erection. Bruce turned his upper half toward the surface, hand wrenching into the cloth cover as Clark thrusted harder, faster. Clark yanked back on Bruce's shirt, revealing the moonlit skin of his nape and upper back. Clark leaned over him, sucking on the back of his neck, the position angling him better, their erections flushed together.

Clark closed his eyes, groaning. Feeling their bodies work together in tandem, feeling that much closer to ecstasy, to bliss. Until somewhere, in the darkness, he heard matched sighs.


A breeze brushed through the grass. The gust rustled the leaves of the tree in the backyard. The old tire swing, dangling on its weathered rope, lightly beat against the trunk. The house had come to a near still, the television flickering while Pa snored from his spot on the recliner. And the cornstalks kept swaying, their leaves singing together.

All of it was drowned out under the heartbeat near him.

"Clark."

"Hm?" Clark said, snapping out of his concentration. He looked up at Bruce, who finished buttoning his shirt. In the dim light, he could see Bruce watching him carefully. "Sorry. I thought I heard something."

"Heard what?"

Clark paused, feeling heat on his face. He settled on answering, "Everything, I suppose."

Bruce looked at him for a moment but did not question it. They both slid off the wagon, heading back toward the house. Bruce didn't say anything-but he kept at the same pace as Clark. Silent, but not distant.

Clark supposed he could have told Bruce the truth.

But this one, he decided, he could keep to himself.


"Are you almost done?" Clark said, frowning.

"These screws have to be installed perfectly-otherwise you'll have a half-ton panel falling from your ceiling, and all of my money and time will have been wasted for nothing."

"Right, money. Can't waste that," Clark said lightly.

Bruce stopped, blue eyes looking at him sharply.

Clark smiled apologetically.

With more than a little bite to his voice, Bruce asked, "Is there something about holding the panel up that's too complicated for you?"

"It's not heavy, it's just… uncomfortable," Clark said, grimacing.

"Hh." Bruce went back to work.

They were in the fortress, with Clark propping up the panel to the highest part of the ceiling, Bruce suspended from a system he had rigged together so he could install the device. Bruce's cape and cowl was neatly folded on the ground, so it wouldn't get in the way of the harness he had strapped himself to, giving him full movement.

They were at this much longer than Clark had anticipated. The panel wasn't heavy for Clark-but there was no proper way to hold it up. His arms were numb from propping it up for so long.

"I recall you insisting that this was the best place to put it," Bruce said, continuing to drill him. His scolding didn't distract him from his work, at least, but Clark still didn't want to listen to it.

Ears hot, Clark muttered, "Okay, okay, I'm done complaining."

It had been Clark's idea to put Bruce's device on the ceiling. The fortress was built much like the cities of Krypton-with its center being the highest point. The cities of Krypton always erected their shrines to Rao at the highest points of their city-and given that Rao was the god of the sun, it seemed only suiting that this panel, which would help bring in more sunlight, would act as his shrine to Rao.

A few moments later, Bruce murmured, "Last one."

After placing in the last screw, Clark tentatively released the panel. It stayed in place. He nearly sighed in relief. He rolled his shoulders, feeling free.

"The lever on that side opens it up, adjusting the amount of light. This side adjusts the angle of the rays," Bruce said, pointing. "We should test it out."

Clark raised himself higher, hand resting on the lever. Him on one side, Bruce on the other, the circular panel between them.

Working in unison, they adjusted the levers. As the panel unravelled, light poured through, travelling through the fortress. Clark turned his head, watching as the sunlight slowly filled the room. The device whirring lightly as Clark and Bruce worked together, its shutters opening up and unveiling the light hidden behind it, until the glow of the sun finally struck the statue-its gold luster shining brightly.

Clark wondered at the perfect unity of it all, the sun between him and Bruce perfectly reflecting on the globe raised between Jor-El and Lara's joined hands.


A/N: Thank you so much for reading this. I know it wasn't exactly a short story. I hope you enjoyed it!

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