Even Super Men Cry

By: Vampira Maxwell

Disclaimer: I do not own The Justice League or any of its characters. I am not making any profit or gain from this story, it is purely for entertainment value.

Beta'd by: XXXMystery

Gunshots filled the air, loud as firecrackers. It was nothing like the movies. He'd never expected such a slight noise from such a deadly weapon. Never expected such a slight noise to be so loud.

A woman's scream, his own name on her lips. Pearls stained red scattered across the pavement, where more redness was slowly welling out from the two dead bodies on the asphalt.

The two dead bodies that were his parents. His father...his father already looked as if he was...

Oh, but his mother...his mother, as he looked at her, had tears in her eyes and the fading light in her eyes was locked directly onto him. She whispered his name again and then went still and he knew...he just...knew.

That stare, that vacant stare. He'd never seen that look on either of his parents' faces before. It made him shiver and he wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or scream or just stare at them with the same blank stare they were giving him.

Faintly, he heard panicked footsteps, someone running away. The man who had shot his parents was running away. He couldn't bring himself to look up. He just stared at his mother's vacant expression, the blood all over her white blouse, all over her white pearls, all over her alabaster skin...

:-:-:-:

Bruce Wayne sat bolt upright in bed, panting and wide eyed. It wasn't the first time he'd had this nightmare. It wouldn't be the last time. But, until recently he'd thought he was used to them. Now...now there was a vividness to them he hadn't felt, hadn't seen, in these dreams for years. It took a moment these days to remember where he was, how old he was, and that he was safe and that years had passed since that awful event.

"Bruce?" another voice in the same bed as he, sitting up with him, rubbing his shoulder and then down his back.

He gave no reply.

"Bruce..." the voice was more worried this time. It was the first time he'd taken so long to answer after waking from such a nightmare.

"I...sorry...I just..." he sighed and stopped trying to answer. He pulled away from his lover, removed the blankets and stood up.

"Where are you going?" Clark furrowed his brow, starting to get up as well.

"I don't know. The kitchen." Bruce said, absently, not sounding at all like himself and Clark had to wonder if perhaps he'd even taken note of what he'd said in retort.

Still, Clark said nothing, going over to him. He pressed his hand to the door and shut it when Bruce began to open it.

"Clark..."

"Bruce, don't you think you might at least want to put on some underwear first?"

"Its my house..."

"Yes, but there's Alfred to think about, as well as Dick..."

"Its late. They're sleeping."

"Maybe so...but, they could wake up."

Bruce sighed and decided not to argue further, going to put on his boxer briefs.

"Okay, now I know you aren't okay." Clark said, folding his arms.

Bruce just looked at him silently, waiting for him to voice whatever epiphany led him to such a conclusion.

"It was too easy to convince you to stop arguing with me, and you didn't even attempt to just ignore me and go out anyway."

"Your hand was on the door. You're Superman. I don't think I could have overpowered you." Bruce said, his tone a bit snarky.

Clark sighed and went over to hug him. He didn't want to upset Bruce further. "Okay." he said, deciding to let that go. "But, something's wrong. These aren't normal nightmares. Please. Tell me what's going on..."

Bruce sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. When Clark sat down with him, he still remained quiet, staring at the floor and his feet in the dark.

"Bruce...?"

"I...Clark, its not easy to talk about. You're a reporter, you know my past."

"Oh...then its about...?" he let the sentence trail off and hang there. There was really no need to finish it.

Bruce nodded, silently, deciding not to answer beyond that.

"Oh, Bruce..." Clark hugged him again and softly nuzzled into the soft onyx hair.

"Clark, don't fuss..." Bruce sighed.

"This isn't fussing." he knew that if Bruce really hated it as much as he claimed, then he wouldn't be leaning into the embrace the way that he was or turning his face toward Clark's neck that way.

"It is fussing." He mumbled, his voice muffled a bit by the skin of Clark's throat.

"How long have you been having these nightmares?"

"Since it happened."

"I meant recently, babe..."

"Don't call me that..."

"We're in private..."

"I was aware of that."

"Bruce..." he sighed. He wasn't going to let him redirect the conversation. This was the third time he'd tried it, unless Clark's math was off. First the underwear and strength issue, then the fussing, now this.

"They haven't been this vivid in a long time. They focus more on my mother lately. Happy?" he grumped.

"No...I'm never happy when you're upset. But, honey, maybe there's a reason they're more vivid."

"Like what?" he sighed, deciding to ignore the endearment this time.

"Well...her birthday is coming up in a few days..." Clark said, quietly.

Bruce was silent for a while before replying, "You know when her birthday is?"

"Yes. You told me once."

"I didn't expect you to remember."

"Did you forget?"

"No...I just...try not to think about it."

Clark sighed and kissed the top of his lover's head, then nuzzled softly near his temple.

"You know...if you need to, its alright to cry."

Bruce sighed and pulled away. "This discussion is over." instead of getting up to try to go to the kitchen again, he just decided to lie back down in bed and cover up again.

Clark sighed and did the same, but he pressed closer to Bruce this time and held him through the rest of the night.

:-:-:-:

Six days later, on a Sunday, Bruce Wayne could be seen at the cemetery where his parents had been laid to rest, with a bouquet of red roses and a pink card. For a while, he stood there and just stared at the memorial headstone. He read the words over and over again.

Finally, he moved forward, knelt in the grass gently, and ran his hands over the side of the headstone that bore his mother's name and information. After a moment and with care, he put the roses down by the headstone, and set the card up where it would be safe from the wind.

Out of his pocket he took a small, purple candle and from the other pocket a tiny book of matches. He set the candle where it would also be safe, and where it would not be a danger to the card, and lit it with one of the matches, before putting the rest of the book back into the pocket he took them from and stood up, taking a quiet step back.

The candle was lilac scented. His mother loved the scent of lilacs. And the scent reminded him of when he was a child. When she hugged him, she always smelled of lilacs.

The reporters knew that today was Martha Wayne's birthday and had anticipated that her son and only child would pay a visit to the site of his parents' final resting place. They'd taken pictures as the limo drove up at the gates and as Bruce Wayne got out of the car. But, they had not followed him beyond the gate. They knew this was a solemn occasion and apparently on this day even the most zealous and ruthless reporters acquired and obeyed their scruples.

Had they been there, they might have caught a rare picture. Bruce Wayne, though he stood stoic and quiet, had silent tears slipping down his cheeks.

He'd asked Clark not to come with him, that he wanted to be alone, and he had been granted that wish. For the most part. Superman was there, somewhere behind him, quietly watching from his perch in a tree on a sturdy limb. If Bruce was aware of his presence he made no indication.

Superman was stoic and quiet, as well, not wanting to disturb his lover. But, he had tears slipping down his own cheeks, knowing the pain his lover must be going through.

Clark had told Bruce the truth the other night. It was okay to cry. Even Superman cried once in a while.