Chapter 8
Clark busts through the doors. They crumple as if made of paper under his fists. He lands in a rather normal looking lobby of the office building. Security men around the room have their guns aimed on him the moment he lands. Behind him Steve and Bucky jump over the mangled doors. Clark sneaks a glance at them and sees that Steve has his shield up defensively and Bucky has positioned himself between Steve and Clark, using them both as shields. Satisfied that both his companions are protected, Clark crosses his arms.
“Where is Bruce Wayne?” Clark asks, with more force than Superman is known for.
The guard ignores the question.
“This is private property. Vacate the premises.”
Clark doesn’t move. Behind him he hears Steve shift; preparing to throw his shield.
“I’ll leave once I get some answers.” Clark says.
“Vacate the premises.” The guard repeats. He levels the gun at Clark’s chest. It’s an old clunky thing, very different than their sleek modern uniforms. In fact, the last time Steve had seen that model was back in the war. Realization clicks into place.
“Superman move!” Steve commands. Clark and the guard respond at the same time. Clark flies up just as the gun fires. A green bullet wizzes through the air, striking Clark in the stomach. He’s lucky though, without Steve’s warning it would have been his heart.
The kryptonite burns as it rips its way through Clark’s body. He collapses to the floor as Steve’s shield sails overhead. It collides with the first guard before bouncing off the wall and hitting a second. Clark struggles to get his feet under him, he has to help Steve and Bucky. The movement causes a whimper to escape his clenched jaw, as his legs fail him.
“Easy pal.”
Bucky is at his side, talking in a low soothing tone. The same tone Clark has heard him use on his cats many times. He feels the cold metal of Bucky’s arm wrap around his shoulder while his flesh arm grabs under his knees. With a grunt, Bucky hefts him up.
“Got him Cap. Fall back.”
Bullets ricochet around them as they race towards the exits. Steve provides cover at the rear, letting the bullets ping off his shield. He can hear Clark groaning and Bucky leans over to whisper something that’s lost in the surrounding chaos. As the team falls back, the guards pursue with ruthless efficiency. Out of the corner of his eye Steve sees Bucky rip something from his pocket and throw it back at the guards. Steve covers his eyes just in time. The flash grenade goes off, temporarily blinding the guards, allowing Steve, Bucky and Clark to disappear while the guards try to get their bearings.
Clark stares blankly at the night sky above him as pain radiates from his stomach. The kryptonite worming its way deeper into his body makes his head feel fuzzy and he fights not to pass out. Above him, Clark can hear Bucky and Steve talking in clipped professional tones, though he can’t focus enough to fully parse the words.
The jostling finally stops as Bucky gently sets him down on the dirty ground of an alleyway. There’s an atmosphere of controlled urgency, not unlike an operating room. Bucky shifts, taking a position at Clark’s head. His hands pressing down on Clark’s shoulders. Steve riffles through his belt pouches where Clark knows he keeps a small kit of field medical supplies.
“This is going to sting a bit, try not to move.” Bucky says as Steve takes a spot next to Clark’s stomach. A pair of tweezers glint in the dim light.
“Sorry pal. I’ll be fast.” He promises. Clark blinks, not fully comprehending.
“Lucky for you, you’ve got the fastest bullet pincher this side of the Atlantic.” Bucky says, “Dug a bullet the size of a quarter out of Jones’s leg once in under ten minutes, and that was under heavy fire.”
Clark pieces the words together as understanding settles in. He barely has time to tense before he feels the tweezers against his stomach. Pained gasps work their way out of his throat as he fights not to scream. He struggles weakly and Bucky presses down harder, forcing him to remain still.
A large shard is pulled out and hastily stuffed into a lead-lined pouch. Then the tweezes are back, routing around the wound for more pieces. The pain steals Clark’s breath away. His head spins. Leaving the kryptonite seems like a better plan than this torture.
“Breathe through your nose.” Bucky says helpfully. Another shard is removed.
“Almost done.” Steve promises. His hands are steady, even after being coated with blood. A third piece is removed, then a fourth, and fifth. Steve gives the wound a critical onceover being nodding in a satisfied way. Clark’s breathing slows, returning to normal at the removal of the kryptonite, though the pain lingers; hot and sharp.
Steve grabs bandages. Without needing to be told Bucky sits Clark up. Together, Bucky and Steve wrap the bandages around Clark’s waist.
“twelve and half minutes, not bad.” Bucky says.
“Still doesn’t beat our record of just over nine.” Steve says as he tucks away the tweezers. He smiles at Clark, “How do you feel?”
“Hurts,” he grunts. Steve’s eyes are sympathetic as he cleans the blood from his hands.
“Gunshot wounds tend to do that. Lucky for you, tomorrow is a sunny day. You’ll be right as rain in no time.”
“Thanks.” Clark says and then stiffens. Bruce! He struggles to his feet, only to be forced back down by Bucky and Steve.
“Bruce. We can’t leave him.” Clark grunts. The image of Dick Grayson’s worried face flashes across his mind. They are so close. If they leave now Luthor might have Bruce moved, or worse.
“Stay here. Buck and I are going back.” Steve says.
“No, someone has to stay back with him.” Bucky says nodding at Clark, “I’ll go back.”
“You can’t go alone.”
“Yes I can Rogers.” Bucky grunts, “This just became a covert operation. Security is going to be on edge. There’s no way you’re sneaking your target of a shield back in.”
Steve’s jaw clenches. The plan was they stick together and though they’ve often had to abandon plans and wing it in the past, Steve doesn’t feel right sending Bucky off on his own with Clark injured.
“Steve,” Bucky says softly, “I can do this.”
“I know.” Steve admits, “I just don’t like it.”
Bucky dips his head in acknowledgment, but persists.
“They are guarding the building the kryptonite guns. Bruce has to be in there.” Bucky says. His eyes are dark with memories as he adds, “We can’t leave a man behind.”
Steve feels his heart shatter at the look on Bucky’s face. Not for the first time Steve wonders about the thoughts that must have went through Bucky’s head after waking up back in the hands in Hydra. Had he thought imagined Steve and the Howling Commandos breaking down the door coming to save him? Had he wondered why he had been left behind like a forgotten piece of equipment? Guilt bubbles up in Steve. He nods.
“You’re right. Go in but get out of there and come get me if security looks too stiff.”
Bucky nods, giving Steve a sloppy salute before disappearing into the night. Steve helps Clark prop himself up against the side of the wall, next to a pile of rotting garbage. He hardly notices the smell however, too busy twisting himself into worried knots.
“I’m sorry.” Clark says after a few moments of silence.
“For what?”
“For this.” Clark says gesturing towards his bloody bandages. Steve smiles.
“Everyone gets shot doing this job eventually.” Steve says with a lopsided grin, “just be glad it’s one you can walk away from.”
“I’m supposed to be faster than a speeding bullet.” Clark shakes his head in bitter self-reproach.
“Those were kryptonite guns. It’s different.” Steve insists. Clark doesn’t see the difference but he’s too sore and too tired to argue right now. Instead he changes the subject.
“The guns looked pretty old. Germanic?”
Steve nods, “We should have guessed that any Nazi kryptonite weapons floating around would be scooped up by Luthor.”
Clark groans. He doesn’t want to even think about how many kryptonite weapons Luthor has stashed away or about how much more kryptonite he’ll get his greedy hands on if his shady deal goes through. Steve puts his hand on his shoulder, his touch light but comforting.
“We won’t let him get away with this.” Steve promises. Clark meets Steve’s eyes. There’s a serious look on his face, the same one Clark blurrily remembers from the night he inhaled kryptonite gas. It’s a calm look that seems to say that no matter how bad things are or how much they hurt now, they will get better. It’s a look Clark trusts, and more importantly, believes.
Steve stands up, pacing the length of the alleyway. Clark knows he calculating how long he expects Bucky to be able to break in, find Bruce, and escape. Clark doesn’t expect it to be any less than an hour, at least. Which is why he startles when Bucky drops down from nearby rooftop only twenty minutes later.
He’s alone. Clark feels his stomach clench painfully in a way that can’t be blamed on a kryptonite bullet.
“I have bad news and more bad news.” Bucky says, his face dark.
“What happened?” Steve asks. Clark holds his breath.
“Bruce isn’t there. I don’t think he ever was.” Bucky says.
“But the guards—”
“That’s the other bad news,” Bucky sighs. He runs his hand through his hair, the metal gleaming in the moonlight.
“On the third floor there’s nothing but labs…and a lot of dead dogs, mutated dead dogs. I think Luthor has been experimenting on them.”
There’s a dark look on Bucky’s face and fury radiates from every line of him. Danger does as well. Clark suspects this is as close to the Winter Solder Bucky has come in a long time. It sends a shiver down his spine. He wonders if Bucky recognized any of the dogs.
“He’s trying to make his own version of the serum.” Steve says, looking almost as angry as Bucky.
“That’s what I was thinking as well.” Bucky says, “I didn’t do anything that would tip Luthor off that I was there, but after we find Bruce I’m tearing that place apart.”
Clark shivers at the hard edge in Bucky’s words.
“I’ll help.” Steve promises, “come on there’s nothing more we can do tonight, let’s get Clark home.”
Clark feels two sets of hands grab him under his arms and haul him up. His wound stings at the sudden movement, but manages to stay on his feet. Flying is out though. Instead Steve and Bucky help him stagger down the street, keeping in the shadows. Clark is grateful that it’s late and the area is sparsely populated. He can’t imagine what people would say if they saw Superman staggering around like a drunkard after a long weekend.
Clark struggles to remain upright even with Steve and Bucky’s help. Every step is a lesson in stubbornness and concentration. Above him he catches snatches of conversation as Bucky and Steve plot their next course of action. He’s too tired to follow most of what they’re saying but the steady stream of soft words is soothing all the same.
Steve and Bucky stop at Clark’s apartment and help him inside. Bucky freezes. Picking up on his reaction Steve goes still as well.
“Somebody’s here.” Bucky hisses, his hand drifting towards his knife. Steve raises his shield. Clark tries to steady himself in case there’s a fight.
A dark tousled haired head pops out from the kitchen.
“You’re good Sarge.” Dick says ambling into the room. He stops when he catches sight of Clark, “What happened?”
“Kryptonite.” Clark says shortly as Steve deposits him on the couch, “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to know the moment you find Bruce. I didn’t want to have to wait on a phone call.” Dick says, “Besides, I can’t be of any real help in Gotham.”
“And?” Clark asks because that doesn’t tell him why Dick is in his apartment.
“And…I figured that I would stay with you until we find Bruce. I promise not to go out and risk my identity,” Dick says in a rush, before quickly adding, “Alfred said it was okay.”
Clark blinks at him. His head aches and his body is begging him for rest. Dick looks at him with a mixture of earnest hopefulness and worry. It’s endearing and after the disappointment of not finding Bruce for him yet, Clark finds he can’t deny him.
“Steve?” Clark asks. Let Captain America be the one to disappoint the teen hero, he’s not the one who got shot today.
“I think that’s a great idea.” Steve says. Clark gives him a look and silently takes back every nice thing he’s ever said about Steve. Bucky too for that matter, who stays quiet throughout the exchange.
Clark can’t babysit a kid, especially not Bruce’s. What if something happens to the boy? Bruce would never forgive him. Clark would never forgive himself. No, Dick is much safer if he stays in Gotham, at home with Alfred where he belongs.
He opens his mouth to say as much when Dick turns his big blue eyes in his direction.
“I promise I won’t be a bother.” Dick says earnestly. The words die in Clark’s throat, as if Dick being a bother was the issue. How could he not see that Clark just wanted him to be far away from danger. Somehow Dick’s eyes get even sadder, his whole body drooping with anticipated disappointment. It’s heart wrenching to look at and shockingly manipulative. Where did Dick learn that trick? There’s no way he learned it from Bruce.
Like kryptonite, Clark has no resistance against Dick Grayson’s pleading look. He supposes his apartment will be safe enough. It’s not like Dick will be out fighting. In the face of Clark’s silence Steve claps him on the back and the two super soldiers depart, leaving Clark with his new roommate.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Dick asks, “I can get you a glass of water…or something.”
Clark feels any lingering annoyance at the situation melt away at the sincere concern in the boy’s tone. He smiles.
“I’m okay. I just need some sleep and since I’m already here, I’ll take the couch. You can take my bed.”
“Thanks Superman.”
“Clark,” Clark corrects, “if we’re going to be roommates, call me Clark.”
Dick stares at him in amazement.
“Sure thing…Clark.”
Clark feels his lips twitch in amusement.
“Now get to bed, it’s late. We’ll talk about the mission in the morning.”
Dick hops up to follow his command and bounds into Clark’s bedroom. Clark settles in to get some well-deserved sleep. Dick pops his head back into the room.
“Thanks for everything…Clark.”