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lurkinglurkerwholurks · 11 days

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You Are the Sun and I—

First posted: August 5, 2019

Focuses on: Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent

Favorite bookmark: "Note to self: This is literally the fic of your dreams."

Second favorite bookmark: "THE ANGSTIEST ANGST TO EVER ANGST. HOLYYYYY SHIT."

Tier:

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

I'm so happy that I've finally made it to my first Bruce and Clark fic in this obnoxiously narcissistic exercise. I love this series. And when I wrote this fic, it wasn't even a series yet! As I put in the fic note, @audreycritter got me hooked on a phenomenal Lois/Clark fic (originally posted on FFN, now here on AO3), and I got brain worms thinking about how ridiculously overpowered Clark is as Superman and how utterly terrifying that would be to Bruce before they learned to trust each other fully.

I also had mentally tattooed the entirety of "The Last of the Real Ones" by Fall Out Boy to my brain as the One True SuperBros Song, so pulling a lyric from there as the title just made sense. (Also please note that this fic was written in 2019. I talked about it incessantly. Audrey finally listened and told me I was correct, this was a Bruce and Clark song, in 2022.)

Bruce could feel when the tides of battle began to turn in their favor. He was no warrior, but he was a strategist and a businessman. Negotiations with fists and weapons were negotiations nonetheless, and the shifting winds of favor never failed to lift the hair on the back of his neck.

Starting this one, I knew I wanted to address Clark's terrifying abundance of power through Bruce, so it would need to open on the battlefield. Bruce would need to see what Clark could do, really see for the first time, and not be able to handle it.

Which all sounds very orderly and logical but my brain kicked off this fic by handing me the opening line and letting me wrestle through "Would Bruce see himself as a warrior??? Probably not, he's a defender but not really a chest-thumping champion... right?? Okay, so how would he see a battlefield, then, how would he operate—"

The last blow had popped something in his chest, making pain radiate with every breath. Besides, he was outmatched here, and the winds had shifted. . . . Superman gripped the beast by one of its many throats and whirled the wheezing creature over his head before slamming it to earth. The ground buckled with the concussive blow. Bruce cowered on his face, arms thrown protectively over his head and neck, and rode the cresting wave of dirt and weeds until the earth settled with a shudder back into place.

All of this was important for Bruce's psychological state. Like he's down. He is out of this fight, but he's also physically watching from a lowered position, face smashed into the dirt. He is a worm, a speck, crawling in the muck at the feet of gods. It's kind of a lot for him.

Bruce shuddered a bit himself as he lifted his head once more. The creature lay prone and unmoving where it had been thrown, likely dead but certainly defeated. Above it, Superman hovered, his back to Bruce as he faced the watching entities arrayed between him and the sun. He was utterly still except for the slow ebb and flow of his cape, a monument to implacable power. He was so small, little more than a speck against the armies waiting above. And yet it did not matter. He did not move. “This planet is protected.” Alien lungs carried the words through the open air, a trumpet of triumph and a warning. There was no answer from above. The hosts gleamed in the light, casting deep shadows over their fallen champion. Superman rose. Not much, just a few dozen feet, but he seemed to grow larger as he lifted. Thousands of eyes followed his movements. “This planet is protected.” This time, the words were not spoken but roared. Even from a distance, Bruce could see the tendons bulge in Superman’s neck. His normally cool blue eyes burned red. “This world and its people are under my protection. I have destroyed your great champion. Return and I will destroy you, too. This is your only warning.”

I just need everyone to know even so many years after, I can still see this clearly in my head, which pleases me. I also wish I could Art, because mannnnn do I want to paint it.

Clark. Is. Scary.

It was like worrying over a mote of dust or a ragged cobweb. He was nothing, just a man wrapped in a thin layer of plastic and dead animal. His life was a squiggly little amoeba on the petri dish of humanity, just one out of billions, and they would all rise and fall under the eyes of the one hovering before him. “I’m fine.” Even as the words came out, Bruce marveled that he could speak, that he could sound normal. Gruffer than usual, certainly, but still stoic, still in control. Not like his world had just radically shifted in scope.

He's toooooootally fine, just having a wee little existential crisis combined with a panic attack because he feels like he'll never feel safe again, all good.

“No offense, but you don’t look fine.” Of course he didn’t. Because Superman had x-ray vision. He could see what was wrong with Bruce’s knee, with his chest, with his pounding head. In one glance, he could know more about Bruce’s body than Bruce did.

Clark: buddy, you're limping and you look a little green

Bruce: I AM BEING SCANNED!!!!!!! NOTHING IS PRIVATE!!!!!!!!

Then Bruce had met what he had thought was the man behind the lone curl and valiant smile. He’d gotten to know Clark, had reluctantly fallen under the sway of a big-hearted man with a soft lilt to his voice and stars in his eyes. It wasn’t that Bruce had forgotten what Clark was capable of; the lead-lined safe in the Batcave attested to that. No, it was more that Bruce had… set it aside. He’d valued his partnership with the Man of Steel, had let himself be soothed by a Midwestern accent and an aw-shucks demeanor.

Honestly, this is the real thing. I don't get into it so much in this fic, but their friendship is still on the new side but so important to Bruce. He trusted Clark. He valued Clark. He relied on Clark, as much as Bruce Wayne lets himself rely on anyone who isn't Alfred. So now he feels stupid, he feels betrayed, he feels scared, and I think beneath it all is grief, because he feels like he lost a friend he never had.

He needed to heal and to plan. Nothing he came up with would be enough, he knew that even now, but the need for contingencies was baked into his marrow. He needed to get to work. He wanted to crawl under his bed and huddle in the dark like a child.

Bruce Wayne is SHOOK.

Superman called the next day. Bruce refused to answer and waved Alfred away. The wise move, he knew, would be to behave exactly the same. The man The alien was a threat, but not an active one. The more Bruce could keep him in an unsuspecting, tolerant lull, the better. He couldn’t do it. Superman would know. A fragment of his voice, a peek at his heart rate, his pulse, and Bruce’s deception would be undone. Thankfully, Bruce already had a reputation for surliness and standoffishness, so he could fall back on that for a little while.

A few things here. 1) The crossed-out text feels a little amateurish now, but honestly it did what I needed it to do. Bruce had started thinking of Clark as human, but he is now determined not to make that mistake again.

2) These paragraphs are me going "NUTS. Bruce wouldn't have behaved like that! He would know not to raise suspicion! But it makes sense emotionally for him to react that way, so how do I reconcile this on page?"

Have I mentioned lately that writing is hard?

The situation might have stagnated for months, or even years, a standoff with only one side participating, had Gotham not been so very… Gotham.

Clark would have noticed, of course, and absolutely would have had his feelings hurt, but he would have still jumped in to help Bruce any time, any place. Good thing Gotham is so efficiently awful sometimes.

Batman and Robin had tracked a ruthless gang of drug smugglers to a block of high-rises under construction in a gentrifying neighborhood of Gotham. The homes and small family businesses, once passed from generation to generation, had been swallowed whole into the maw of “progress,” chewed up, then spat out into flashy new towers of glass and steel.

Witness here the writer 1) painstakingly trying to push her little dolls up somewhere high high high and 2) having very strong feelings about gentrification not benefiting the communities that have the most right to the area being revamped.

They needed to end this fight. Bruce’s chest, though mostly healed, had begun to protest seventeen floors ago. He needed a heating pad and a handful of aspirin. Also, it was past Dick’s bedtime. Alfred was going to be pissed.

Ah the concerns of vigilantism. His boy was there and then he was gone, nothing left but his scream. Bruce fought to get to his feet, but there was no time, no space between Dick and the hard earth thirty floors below. His body was too slow, too feeble, too human. “SUPERMAN!”

hey so turns out when you read a fic like Cor Et Cerebrum as your entry into fandom and it becomes the cornerstone of everything you know, pieces of that will continue to leak through your own work for actual literal years—aka, I consider calling for Superman the most stark indicator of Bat desperation and I love it

Bruce lunged forward, half-crawling, half-limping toward the building’s edge. The third man, Dick’s murderer, had fled.

Bruce you are so friggin dramatic.

Superman had one hand tucked against Dick’s cheek, cradling the boy’s head against his chest and blocking his face from view. At Bruce’s cry, Superman knelt and gently scooped his cargo into Bruce’s trembling arms.

Like a kitten.

You’re safe you’re safe it’s okay I’ve got you I’ve got you I’ve got you it’s okay breathe love breathe

I'll state it here again—Bruce alternates between "sweetheart" and "love." The former is from his parents. The latter is from Alfred.

Bruce jolted when a hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see Superman retreat, both palms raised reassuringly. “It’s just me. Everyone’s gone. I took them away. How is he?” . . . “Can I look at him?” The request was hesitant, almost flinching. Superman was watching them, brow furrowed, shoulders pulled together in a way Bruce hadn’t seen before—not in that outfit, anyways.

He knows he's scared Bruce somehow. He might not know exactly what did it, but he knows and he's trying so hard not to make it worse.

“Yes, but could we… could we talk?” The Midwestern lilt had started to creep in, warping the vowels and making them soft. Hesitant. Bruce’s eyes narrowed and Superman met his gaze sheepishly. “You can say no. I’ve just gotten the feeling you’ve been avoiding me. Was it something I did?”

The thing is, this is early days, sure, but they were friends. They were absolutely friends at this point. Clark was Robin's go-to non-family adult! So this wasn't "Batman distanced himself from an ally." It was "Bruce ghosted his friend and it hurt."

He’d been stupid. So incredibly stupid. Little more than a child seeing monsters in the bathroom drain and murderers in the closet. “I’m sorry,” Bruce rasped. Guilt and remorse battled pride and won. Clark had saved his boy. He was owed. “I got scared.” Shock flared in Clark’s eyes, only to be doused by more sadness. “I understand. I know it’s hard to… I know I’m not… It can be a lot, all of this. But Bruce, I would never, never hurt you or Dick. You have to know that.” He couldn’t make that promise. They didn’t know how long Clark would live, what would happen in his life, in Bruce’s life, in the life of the planet, while he waited for his end. He had to know that promise wasn’t enough.

And that's really the thing. Bruce cuts himself no slack and he doesn't loosen up because when he loosens up, people get hurt. They die. He knows he was stupid for being afraid of Clark right now. Clark doesn't mean him or anyone else any harm. But Bruce is so particular about promises, about their boundaries and what he actually can or cannot guarantee. That shows up in other fics, too. Bruce might trust that Clark does mean him harm now, but he can't promise forever. Neither of them know how Kryptonians age or what happens when they do, or even what normal life might bring, and Superman is still so jaw-droppingly, horrifyingly powerful.

Also, making Bruce sound like a little boy with "I got scared" was my favorite.

Bruce didn’t need extraterrestrial abilities to read the emotions passing over Clark’s face like clouds, to see that Clark was at a loss, desperate to regain the trust he had lost but already convinced of the futility and unwilling to impose on the one person he himself had trusted with both of his lives. He rubbed the pad of his thumb against his finger, the fretful gesture of a doer who didn’t know what to do.

Hi, I love Clark Kent. Like, a lot.

Sky blue eyes flew to meet Bruce’s gaze. Bruce held steady, one hand extended. Clark stared, then smiled, and it was like watching the sun rise.

Sun and sky descriptors with these two are also my favorite.

They could let the god carry them down to the car. Just thinking about the walk made Bruce’s knee throb.

Ah, how quickly the awe fades 😂

#fanfic bts brain dump #bruce wayne #clark kent #batfam #world's finest #fanfic

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