I'm late to joining the BruClark Week party, but I've come bearing some angst, hurt, and comfort... That's what you all wanted, right?

TW: Mention of a panic attack and serious injuries. There are no graphic descriptions, but the injuries are severe enough to require hospitalization.

I tried my best with the medical side of the story, so hopefully, I didn't mess it up. If it's crap, pretend it makes sense.

Disclaimer: I don't own any DC characters.

Superman raised his hand and knocked on the bright-red front door of the farmhouse. It was the only house on the old dirt road. Looking around, Clark could tell that the large property must have, once upon a time, been used for farming. But based on the state of the barn and the broken silos further down on the property, Clark knew it had been a while since any farming had been done.

As he waited, he adjusted his cape, making sure that what he had bundled inside was protected. "You're almost home, buddy," he whispered reassuringly.

Finally, the front door swung open and Clark was face-to-face with the elderly woman who'd called out for his help about five minutes ago. She was a short woman with white curly hair and a round face. Behind the lenses of her glasses, Clark could see tears forming in her eyes.

"I think I found him, ma'am," Superman said as he carefully removed a section of his cape. A small, brown, and white head poked out, glancing around at his surroundings. "Is this your dog?" Clark asked, hoping he'd found the right pup.

"Yes!" she gasped, her hands rising to cover her mouth. "That's my baby." Recovering from her brief shock, the woman took a step back and enthusiastically gestured for Clark to enter her home. "I can't believe you found him so quickly," she remarked in awe.

Clark chuckled a little at her comment; it always amused him when people made comments like that. It was a welcomed change compared to being feared or expected to solve every problem in the world. Being able to help with a simple task like finding a lost dog, made Clark feel human.

"He was hiding in a hollowed-out log about two miles down the road," Clark explained as he fully unwrapped the Jack Russel terrier. Although the lining of his cape was insulated, Clark could tell the dog was cold being caught in the storm. The poor thing was also shivering from the stress. "He doesn't seem to have hurt himself," Clark reassured the woman. "But we should grab a towel or something to warm him up."

"I set some up in the living room while I was waiting for you to come back," she explained as Clark handed her the terrier. "I can't thank you enough for your help, Superman."

"It's no trouble at all, ma'am," he joyfully answered.

"Call me Flora," she told him. "And I'm sure you have much more important things to be doing than helping an old Texan lady find her puppy."

Clark followed her into the living room, slightly hovering over the floorboards so he didn't track in any mud.

"I know my situation isn't an emergency, but I didn't know what to do when he slipped past me and ran out of the house. Normally I'd call my granddaughter, but she's out of state for the holidays. She's visiting her girlfriend's parents for the first time," Flora explained, a soft smile gracing her face as she talked about her granddaughter. She reached out and grabbed one of the many towels she'd prepared for her dog. Clark noticed that Flora had also thought to bring out the hair dryer to help warm him up. "The shelters are closed today and I didn't think it was safe for me to run out in the storm to find him."

"You did the right thing," Clark told her honestly. He thought of his ma living alone on the farm and he wouldn't have wanted her to leave the safety of the house in the middle of a storm. The wind, rain, lightning, and cold temperatures could be unpredictable and dangerous. "I promise you; I don't mind helping. I'm happy I could make sure this little guy got home safely. What's his name?"

"His name is Toe," Flora said as she continued to pile the dry towels over the terrier; he was practically drowning in them.

"Toe?" Clark repeated in a surprised tone. "Is it short for Toto?"

"Oh, no," Flora laughed. "I adopted him from a shelter. He arrived with his two siblings as puppies. The workers at the shelter named the trio, Tic, Tac, and Toe. I know the name is a bit strange, but Toe seems to like it so I haven't changed it."

Clark chuckled. "Well, the name makes for a fun story."

Speaking of Toe, Clark noticed that he had stopped shivering. He seemed to have relaxed since realizing he was safely back at home with his owner.

"Can I offer you a cup of coffee for your troubles? You must be cold after being out in the storm."

"Thank you, but I'm okay," Superman replied.

"Well, I hope I'm not keeping you from any other emergencies. You do good saving the world, but make sure to take some time for yourself and enjoy the holidays," she instructed.

Flora's worry reminded Clark of his ma; she often scolded him for not taking enough time to relax and enjoy himself. He'd actually listened to her advice and flown this morning to Smallville. He'd regrettably been busy as of late, so they chatted and celebrated the New Year over a homemade brunch.

"I will," Clark replied as he made his way back to the front door. "Take care, Flora. I hope Toe doesn't get into more trouble."

"You and I both," she chuckled before plugging in the hair dryer; ready to pamper Toe.

Clark hadn't been lying when he'd told Flora she wasn't keeping him from any emergencies, but it was always a good idea to patrol and keep an eye out for any signs of trouble. It was a habit of Batman's that he'd adopted after years of friendship and partnership.

Speaking of Bruce, maybe Clark could make a quick pit stop in Gotham to check in on him. He knew Bruce would be patrolling Gotham alone tonight seeing as Damian was on bedrest after breaking his arm last week. Clark had heard from Kon that Tim would be spending the evening with the Young Justice team. As for Bruce's other kids, Clark knew that Dick was working in Blüdhaven, that Jason would be busy patrolling his own parts of Gotham, and that Cass was spending the night with Steph and Babs.

Seeing as Bruce had an empty nest, Clark felt justified in his decision to check on his significant other. With a bit of luck, maybe Superman could convince Batman to shorten his patrol, but only if there wasn't too much crime being committed. They could spend some alone time at the Manor; Clark thought that would be an excellent way to ring in the New Year.

And so, as he opened the front door to Flora's house, Clark stretched out his senses and listened to the sounds of the city of Gotham. The citizens were loud tonight, but it was mostly cries of joy and celebration. There were a lot of parties being held downtown and in the wealthier suburbs. The rest of the city seemed quiet. Clark searched for any signs of trouble, but he heard nothing.

He heard nothing and that made him nervous.

The city was eerily quiet. Clark searched and searched, but apart from some littering and jaywalking, there didn't seem to be any major crimes being committed. Clark couldn't hear Joker's laugh; he couldn't hear Mr. Freeze's ice gun nor could he hear Bane on a rampage. He couldn't hear any of them. Gotham's criminals weren't normally known for respecting national holidays, so what was going on? If Clark didn't know any better, he would have guessed that all of Batman's enemies were in hiding. But what could they possibly be hiding from? No, Gotham's rogues hid from nothing. At the very least, they were watching from the shadows, waiting for something to happen; but what? Was someone planning on making a move and the others were waiting to see the outcome?

Clark needed Bruce's input; he knew and understood the criminals of his city better than anyone else.

But the other constant sound of the city was missing; Clark couldn't find Bruce's strong and steady heartbeat anywhere. A panicked feeling washed over him. He must have missed it. There was no way Bruce wasn't in Gotham.

And so, he listened again. This time Clark heard something he didn't like. It was Bruce's heartbeat, but it was different. It was beating erratically and much too fast.

Clark had to leave. Now.

Forgetting his good manners, Clark flew out of the house in a hurry, neglecting the close the door behind him. Hopefully, Flora wouldn't be upset. But honestly, Clark didn't care. All he cared about right now was finding Bruce and making sure he was okay.

"Bruce?" Clark asked cautiously, making an effort to keep his voice gentle and his volume low. "Can you hear me?"

Seconds ago, he'd seen one of Bruce's fingers start to twitch and now Clark could see Bruce's eyelids fluttering at the sound of his voice. Bruce had been unconscious for the past twenty-four hours and this was the first time Clark had noticed movement.

When Superman had rushed from Texas to Gotham, he'd found Batman in an abandoned building, unconscious and crumpled on the ground in the fetal position. He'd been breathing heavily and gasping for air. Clark had instantly smelled the pool of blood on the concrete floor. It had steadily been dripping out of Bruce's mouth. Other than that, Clark hadn't been able to detect any signs of an attack; there hadn't been another soul in the abandoned factory and Clark hadn't seen any external wounds on Batman. The only thing out of place had been a fine, shiny powder coating the floor and parts of Batman's suit.

Superman had tried not to panic. He had no idea what had led to Batman's condition, he'd just known that he needed to help Bruce.

When Clark had rushed Bruce to the Watchtower, he'd been told that Bruce had a concussion and was suffering from respiratory failure. It also hadn't taken long to realize that Bruce had been exposed to a new strain of Scarecrow's fear toxin.

Clark had been left with no choice but to helplessly watch as Bruce was intubated and placed in a medically induced coma.

Since the horrible moment when Superman had laid eyes on Batman's almost lifeless body, Clark had been keeping a constant vigil by Bruce's side. They were currently in the Watchtower's medbay but in the quarantine zone. Much to the frustration of Alfred and Bruce's children, none of them had been allowed to enter the room. They'd only been able to watch from behind the giant glass windows.

Clark had only been granted entry because he'd already been exposed to the same toxins Bruce had and it hadn't affected him. That ruled out the possibility that the toxin included traces of Kryptonite, so Clark didn't think he was at risk of suffering the same fate as Bruce.

Clark would also do anything in his power to make sure Bruce wasn't left alone when he was vulnerable.

A muffled groan escaped Bruce's lips, instantly pulling Clark out of his thoughts. Now he was positive that Bruce was waking up. It made sense seeing as the doctors had switched off his sedatives a couple of hours ago.

"Bruce, you're okay, you're safe," Clark said, hoping Bruce could understand him.

The doctors had warned him that Bruce would most likely be disoriented because of the concussion and the medications. But there was also no telling what the full effects of the newest line of fear toxin had done to Bruce. The medical team, with the help of Oracle, had managed to concoct an antidote, but it had been a rushed process, constricted by Bruce's declining health. The antidote may not be perfect and the doctors were on standby, ready to modify it if necessary.

Clark watched as all of Bruce's fingers started to move, tentatively gripping the bed sheets.

And then Clark saw the most beautiful thing he'd seen all week. Bruce opened his eyes and Clark got to gaze into those piercing blue eyes once again. By nature, Superman tried to remain positive at all times, but for a while, he'd been gripped with the fear that he'd never again get the chance to look into the eyes of his best friend.

But the moment was short-lived and bittersweet because as soon as Bruce realized he was awake and in an unfamiliar area, he started panicking.

Bruce's hands darted for his face, clumsily trying to grasp at the breathing tube that ran through his mouth and down his throat. But Clark was faster; he gently took Bruce's arms and redirected them back onto the mattress.

"Bruce, listen to me," Clark said a bit more sternly than earlier. "You're safe. The discomfort you're feeling is a breathing tube, don't try to talk or take it out."

Bruce immediately reacted to Clark's instructions and stopped moving, but Clark could see the gears turning in his head. Despite being hooked up to several machines and probably feeling like he'd been hit by a truck, Clark knew that Bruce only stopped moving because he was busy. He was busy cataloging every item he saw, identifying every sensation he was feeling, and dissecting every word he'd just heard Clark say.

Clark had always admired Bruce's ability to collect and analyze every piece of evidence he encountered and spin it into a solution or a hypothesis. But now was not the time for that. Bruce's only job was to accept the fact that he was safe.

Being a colleague, a friend, and a lover to Bruce meant Clark knew exactly what to say to reassure him.

"Trust your instincts, Bruce. But I also need you to trust me. I wouldn't lie to you about your safety," Clark said, releasing his gentle hold on Bruce's arms. He knew Bruce didn't like to be crowded and Clark now trusted Bruce to not try and take out his breathing tube. "You're in the Watchtower's medbay, I had to bring you here when I found you in the abandoned factory."

Bruce redirected his gaze and focus on Clark. For the moment, he'd put a pause to his methodical classification of the room and the situation. But Clark had no doubt that Bruce had already identified all possible emergency exits and all the items he could use to protect himself.

"When I found you, you were barely breathing and your heart rate was erratic. I could tell you'd inhaled something toxic because I saw your rebreather on the floor, but I had no idea what you'd been gassed with."

Bruce gave Clark a pointed look and only years of practice allowed Clark to immediately understand what Bruce was asking.

"Yes, I remembered to grab a sample of the powder you inhaled. That's what Oracle and the med team used to create an antidote," he told his partner. "I'll read you the full report when you're more lucid, but Scarecrow manufactured it; it's new and nasty."

Now Bruce gave him an angry sort of stare, letting Clark know that he could read the report by himself and that he'd do it whenever he felt like it.

"You also have a concussion and we had to place you in a coma for a bit because you suffered respiratory failure," Clark countered, trying to emphasize the severity of the injuries Bruce had suffered.

Clark felt a little bit like he was talking to himself since Bruce wasn't saying anything. But Bruce had always been the prime example of "if looks could kill". Even if all of Bruce's facial expressions were similar, they always spoke great volumes about how he was feeling; but only if you knew how to read them. Clark was a specialist in that department.

Bruce was now giving Clark a different look. His features had softened a bit and he'd raised an eyebrow in concern. It was evident that Bruce wanted to know if the members of his family were okay; their health and safety always took priority over his.

"Everyone is fine, although they're worried about you. I sent them home with Alfred a couple of hours ago so they could get some sleep," Clark explained. "I was the only one on the scene and I don't seem to have been affected by Crane's powder; I'm sure you'll have no problem figuring out why that is once you've analyzed the substance for yourself."

Clark was sure that if Bruce had the energy, he probably would have rolled his eyes at Clark's comment. But it was the truth and they both knew it; Bruce made it his business to understand everything. And figuring out the purpose of the powder as well as the reason it didn't hurt Clark would be a mystery he'd enjoy solving.

Instead of rolling his eyes, Bruce held out his hand. Clark grabbed it, interlacing their fingers together and giving Bruce's hand a reassuring squeeze.

Clark expected to feel Bruce compress his hand in return but instead, he got a quick series of squeezes. It took Clark a second to recognize that Bruce was using morse code to ask him about his injuries and his prognosis.

"Last time I spoke to the doctors, they wanted to keep you under observation to see if you had any underlying side effects of Crane's new creation. You should recover from the concussion and once you've gained a bit more strength, they'll try removing the breathing tube," Clark told Bruce. He'd kept his explanations simple because he had a strong feeling Bruce wouldn't remember this conversation in a couple of hours; the pain meds the doctors had administered had been strong.

Bruce nodded in response, content, for now, with the information he'd been provided.

"I'm going to go get the doctors, they'll want to run some more tests now that you're awake. Do you need anything?" Clark asked. But one look at Bruce, and Clark could tell that their conversation had exhausted him.

Bruce was fighting his fatigue, his eyes kept opening and closing in rapid succession. It was an admirable fight, but Clark needed Bruce to lose this battle so he could rest.

"I love you, Bruce," Clark said. "Get some rest, I'll be right here when you wake up."

Bruce was out cold as soon as Clark finished his sentence.

Clark walked into the Watchtower's medbay expecting to find Bruce either sleeping or surrounded by his children. Bruce had been moved to a regular room once the medical team had figured out he wasn't contagious. Since then, Bruce hadn't had a moment to himself.

That's why Clark was surprised to discover that Bruce was alone. He was sitting up in his bed, propped up against the headboard with a laptop resting on his legs. He looked lost in concentration as he furiously typed something on his computer. Despite appearing consumed by the task at hand, Clark knew that Bruce had sensed his presence.

"How was your day at work," Bruce asked, proving Clark's point. Bruce's voice was still a bit raspy; his vocal cords had been irritated by the breathing tube and Crane's powder. Despite the change in voice, Clark could almost let himself believe that Bruce wasn't currently stuck on mandatory bedrest after almost dying five days ago. Because Bruce was trying really hard to act like everything was normal, but Clark saw right through him.

"It was a slow day, nothing much to report," Clark replied as he walked over to the plastic chair beside Bruce's hospital bed. "The biggest news at the Planet is still how Bruce Wayne rang in the New Year in the most thrill-seeking way and how he's now recovering at home from a gnarly injury."

Bruce hummed in reply. It was a distracted-sounding hum that let Clark know Bruce had heard his weak attempt at humor but wasn't interested in playing along.

"How are you feeling?" Clark asked, choosing to ignore the first warning sign that Bruce wasn't in a good mood.

"Fine."

One-worded responses were the next warning sign, but Clark trekked on.

They needed to talk about what had happened, but things had been hectic this week. Between creating a cover story for Bruce, filling in for Batman during his monitoring duties for the League, and attending work at the Daily Planet, Clark felt like he hadn't had a second to breathe.

Despite all of that, Clark still had the time to notice that Bruce was shutting down to avoid talking about what had happened to him. He feigned being tired anytime his children tried to initiate conversations about Crane and his health and avoided being left alone with Clark so he wouldn't be questioned.

Either Bruce was tired of running away from the conversation or he'd just been caught off guard by Clark's sudden arrival. Clark wasn't going to let this opportunity pass.

"Do you remember what happened to you? Your memory was still a bit fuzzy when I saw you last night." Clark knew he was being generous with the way he'd phrased his sentence. On top of the concussion and strong meds affecting Bruce's short-term memory, Crane's new "Fear Powder", as Oracle had dubbed it, also had a nasty side effect that the first batch of the antidote hadn't fixed.

Since waking up five days ago, Bruce had randomly been having panic attacks. They always came on suddenly and nobody was quite sure what triggered them. They only knew that the attacks were exhausting Bruce, both mentally and physically.

Oracle's guess was that the powder forced the body into a state of panic. Not only were all the physical symptoms of anxiety present, like shortness of breath and dizziness, but the powder was designed to attach itself to the lungs. A specific chemical reaction then sent the lungs into a panic which in turn started to destroy them from the inside out. It explained why Bruce had been unable to breathe and had been coughing up blood when Clark had found him.

The first dose of the antidote had fixed the issue with his lungs, but Bruce had still been showing severe signs of anxiety. On several occasions, Clark, Alfred, and the kids had been forced to reassure Bruce that he wasn't in immediate danger and that everyone was safe. A panicked Batman could be physically dangerous to deal with. But a Bruce unable to control his emotions was a ticking time bomb.

"Yes, I remember," Bruce replied curtly. "I got a new version of the antidote two hours ago and I'm fine now."

"Okay," Clark replied, aware now more than ever that he was walking on eggshells. Bruce was clearly not fine. He was avoiding Clark's gaze, focusing instead on whatever report he was writing. But Clark could tell that on the inside, Bruce was drowning. There was something specific that he didn't want to talk about and he was ignoring it.

If Clark had to guess, Bruce was concerned with trying to figure out where Crane was hiding and how Batman could stop the production of the powder before it was released on Gotham's citizens.

"Bruce," Clark said, deciding to follow his instinct. "You know it's okay to not be okay. Your body and your mind have both gone through something pretty traumatic. I hope you know that you don't have to put up a front with me."

"Would you just let it go?" Bruce snapped, finally tearing his gaze away from the screen of his computer. "I told you I was okay!"

"Really? Because I'm not okay!" Clark replied, matching Bruce's volume and anger. "One minute I'm rescuing a ridiculously named dog in Texas and the next minute I'm trying to resuscitate my boyfriend in an abandoned factory in Gotham!"

Bruce chose not to answer, letting his silence and the glare he aimed at Clark to speak for him instead. Clark chose to stop talking out of sudden embarrassment and guilt. He shouldn't have taken out his fear and anger on Bruce. Clark knew he had to apologize, but Bruce surprised him by being the first one to break the heavy silence.

"What do you want me to say, Clark? Do you want me to admit that I messed up!" his voice was quieter now but it was still full of emotion. Bruce's silent fury had always been scarier.

They both needed to cool down before they said or did something they'd regret. Clark took a deep breath. This was not how he wanted this conversation to play out. He needed to try a different approach if he wanted to help Bruce.

"Bruce," Clark tried again, adopting a much calmer tone. "Do not believe for one second that anyone blames you for what happened."

Without Clark's super hearing, he would have missed Bruce's reply.

"I blame myself," he mumbled as he avoided making eye contact with Clark.

"Why?" Clark asked, trying to keep his concern at bay. The last thing Bruce needed right now was Clark panicking; even if that's exactly what he was doing. Clark could count on one hand the number of times Bruce had so easily admitted his true emotions. Either the fear toxin was still running in his bloodstream or something really bad had happened before Clark had found him and Bruce didn't know how to deal with it.

"I made a reckless decision and I forced everyone I love to suffer the consequences," Bruce answered bitterly. But Clark knew that the anger was directed toward himself and not Clark.

Clark didn't reply, giving Bruce the time he needed to find his words.

"A week ago, Damian and I were investigating the rumors that Crane was working on a new fear toxin. We'd followed a trail that led us to a building being used to manufacture the powder. When we intercepted, there was an altercation and Damian got injured. I'd seen the attack coming, but I'd been a second too late in reacting and it cost Damian. That was my first mistake."

Clark knew this part of the story; he'd witnessed it firsthand. He'd been at the Cave on Christmas Eve when Batman and Robin had returned from patrol. He'd watched Alfred reset Damian's arm while Bruce tried to reassure his son. Damian had been trying to pretend he wasn't in pain. It had been evident to Clark that the duo each blamed themselves for the injury and failure of the mission.

"Tending to Damian had been my sole focus. I left without collecting samples or placing any tracking devices on the shipping containers. I don't regret my decision, my priority will always be my kids," Bruce said as if trying to convince Clark that he'd made the right choice. But it was totally unnecessary because Clark already knew the kind of man and father that Bruce was.

"With my obligations as Bruce Wayne during the holidays and everything else Gotham threw Batman's way; I never got the chance to follow up on the case. The night you found me, I'd seen an opening to finish the investigation and I recklessly chose to do it alone. I knew Crane was planning something big, I could sense it and so could the other rogues. I also knew Crane would try to get me off his trail, but I had to do it alone. I wouldn't allow another one of my kids to get injured."

Clark disagreed with Bruce's judgment call but refrained from saying anything.

"When I arrived at the factory, I knew Crane had already abandoned it. I was hoping to find residue of the powder on the floor or on some of the equipment. I thought I'd be in and out after collecting a sample. I felt it was a task I could accomplish without backup; I've done it countless times in the past."

Bruce paused in his story, which let Clark know that what he was about to say next was what he'd been beating himself up about.

"Not only was I reckless, but I was also distracted. I wanted to be in and out so I could go back home to check on Damian. And then I thought I could spend a quiet night with you since we've been so busy. I foolishly wanted things to be simple; I should have known they wouldn't be," Bruce said, his voice rising in anger once again.

"I clumsily set off a silent alarm because causing a could of dust to fall from the ceiling. The worse part is that I'd analyzed the building before entering. I looked at the ceiling and the rafters and I saw those fire sprinklers," Bruce spat out; he sounded disgusted by himself.

Bruce took more precautions than anyone else Clark knew, but to him, it would never be enough.

"I failed to notice that the sprinklers installed weren't the right system for that type of building; that system is actually dangerous in a factory and goes against regulations. If I hadn't been preoccupied, I would have known that the sprinklers were what Crane used to disguise his security system. I know Crane; he's highly intelligent and is good at profiling others. I should have assumed that he'd know I'd go back to investigate. Instead, I fell right into his trap."

Clark was saddened by the fact that Bruce blamed himself for that. It wasn't a crime to want to spend time with loved ones instead of chasing after a psychologist gone rogue. Clark also had no idea that there were different kinds of fire sprinklers, and really, who did? Bruce put too much pressure and expectations on himself.

Bruce was on a roll now, fueled by his anger. He continued to frantically tell Clark every single thing he'd done wrong.

"I grabbed my rebreather, which I should have been wearing before even entering the building, but I was too late. I'd already inhaled the powder and it was fast-acting. I immediately felt my heart rate spike and I felt panicked. I knew that I needed to administer the general anti-toxin I kept in my utility belt, and I also knew that I needed to grab some of the powder so I could test it. But I was gripped with fear. The kind of fear I haven't felt since I was a kid. I was too scared to do what I knew I needed to do."

Bruce sighed in frustration. He closed his laptop and tossed it to the end of the bed.

"My limbs weren't responding. I fumbled and dropped both the rebreather and the syringe. I couldn't breathe properly. I couldn't formulate a sentence and use the comm link to call for help. I tried to send an S.O.S in morse code, but my fingers weren't responding. I don't remember what happened after that..." Bruce trailed off. His anger had suddenly shifted to exhaustion and disappointment.

"I have no one to blame but myself. I caused all of you to worry about me and I jeopardized my life with a stupid mistake. The kind of mistake I'm always telling all of you not to do. And now if I don't find Crane, all of Gotham is going to pay for my mistake."

Clark had heard enough. He rose from his chair and moved onto Bruce's bed.

"Come here," Clark said gently. He held out his arms as he lay down in the bed beside Bruce. He hoped that Bruce would take the bait and let Clark hold him. Bruce needed to be grounded, both mentally and physically. Maybe they both did. It was a reminder that, right now, in this very moment, they were both okay.

Bruce hesitated for a couple of seconds, but finally slid down into Clark's arms.

"You cannot change what happened," Clark told Bruce, hoping he would listen to what he had to say. "Everyone makes mistakes, that's what makes us human. It's great being able to admit our faults when we've done something wrong, but that's not at all what happened to you. You couldn't have known. Your actions didn't cause Damian to break his arm; one of Scarecrow's goons did that. Your actions didn't cause you to almost die; Crane's decision to release that powder on you did that."

Bruce looked like he was about to argue, but he uncharacteristically bit his tongue. Clark counted his blessings and continued.

"You're allowed to be frustrated. What happened was scary and you're right about it being dangerous that Crane is still out there. But you shouldn't have to carry this burden alone," Clark paused, making sure he had Bruce's full attention. Those blue eyes were staring right at him, so Clark continued.

"Your kids, the ones you raised and trained and love with all your heart, aren't going to abandon you because you got hurt. They care about the city just as much as you do and they care about you even more. They know this is eating you up inside, and they want to help. They've been trying to talk to you about it, but you've been pushing them and everyone else away in fear. But they're still out there chasing Crane for you. Because they love you; faults and all."

To drive his point home, Clark kissed Bruce's forehead. Bruce needed to know that no one was mad at him. They still loved him.

Bruce was silent for a while, taking in Clark's speech.

"Thank you, Kal," Bruce tentatively said. "I think I needed to hear that."

"We all need a reminded here and there," Clark replied.

Bruce nodded, clearly not sure what to say next, but Clark knew what he had to say.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper and yelled at you earlier. There is no excuse for that behavior," he admitted.

"It's okay," Bruce immediately answered. "I appreciate that you're never afraid to me the stuff I don't want but need to hear."

They slipped into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying being close. It was comforting. After a while, Clark heard Bruce's heart rate slow down and he felt his muscles relax. He was melting into Clark's embrace and Clark was sure Bruce was on his way to falling asleep. But to his surprise, Bruce softly chuckled to himself.

"What?" Clark asked, curiously amused by Bruce's behavior.

"Why did you insult the poor dog you rescued?"

It took Clark a second to understand why Bruce was asking that. He'd almost forgotten that, during his outburst, he'd mentioned that he'd been in Texas rescuing a dog.

Clark's cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he remembered how he'd angrily yelled out that the dog had a ridiculous name. Bruce had obviously noticed the strange comment and cataloged it to be investigated later. And it was now that time. But it was obvious that the focus of Bruce's investigation was making fun of Clark.

"The poor dog is named Toe," Clark explained. "And no, it's not short for Toto."

Bruce raised an eyebrow in amusement. "That isn't that bad."

"Toe!" Clark repeated, making sure Bruce had heard him correctly. "Like a toe on a foot! It's like if I changed Krypto's name to finger, how is that not bad?"

"I'm guessing I never told you about the names Dick gave to the bats when he first started hanging out in the Cave."

"No!" Clark exclaimed in surprise. Seeing as Dick had been the one to come up with the names of all of Batman's weapons and even his car, Clark could only imagine what names he'd chosen for the bats. "If you're about to tell me he named one of them Toe, I'm going to be disappointed in your parenting skills," Clark huffed out in fake annoyance.

That earned him a laugh from Bruce. Not one of his fake ones, but a deep and genuine laugh. It was the most beautiful sound Clark had heard all week.

Clark knew that they still had a long way to go in terms of Bruce's recovery. But he had no doubt, that as long as they had each other, they'd be okay.

Drop your best suggestions for the names Dick chose for the bats. My top contenders are BatBat and BatBoy.