aftermath

one

I. prologue

Batman lays sprawled on the ground, cape in tatters, cowl ripped off to reveal his beaten face. A cut runs alongside one high cheekbone.

He can't see through his own shame, even when no one is there to watch or judge or pity. He can't breathe through the deep bitterness running through every vein.

That wasn't Kal-El, the Superman. That monster, who so savagely slammed him into weakness and hit him until he was dizzy, grabbing his armor like it was soft flesh to feel bones bend under his touch.

That monster, who so remorselessly entered Bruce and did so for pleasure and nothing more. That wasn't the Kal-El he knows.

Batman is smarter than a man of injury lying on the ground, doing nothing. He can think of a hundred and one ways to contact the League, or his family, or even a random civilian, before something worse happens to anyone.

But in a rare, rare moment, he allows himself a moment of pure selfishness to lay there in all his pity, blood dripping freely, insides aching from the rough, bruising touch of not-Clark.

"Batman reports that a creature disguised as me, or rather transformed, should I say, attacked him in the Watchtower last night." Superman pulls up security camera feed from a familiar place. "Though he must have been stronger than me if he defeated Batman." Clark smiles easily. Some of the League chuckles.

"Don't play the recording," Bruce says, and there's something strange in his voice.

"What, you embarrassed?" And then Clark looks at Bruce- really looks at him, for the first time that night. The League falls silent then, shifting in confusion.

"Don't play it. Delete it. All the League has to know is that your doppelgänger beat me, and then left."

A pause. "Alright then," Superman says, and moves on.

Bruce cannot move on.