Work Text:
Bruce’s new form is considerably more disturbing to Clark than to Bruce himself. Bruce admits that it’s worse than the times he became a mermaid or a buzzsaw. Still, it’s not that bad, all things considered. At least he can still move, for some reason.
Clark isn’t thrilled, though. He’s becoming a little teary about it, in fact.
“You’re so fragile now,” Clark says through his wobbly lip. “All it would take is one wrong step, and you would smash into three dozen pieces. Your guts would splatter everywhere!”
Bruce can’t actually answer, because he is an egg.
He is able to rotate in place, so he does so, in an attempt to express, “That could happen to a human too.” His little cape swirls with him, and a gentle sob catches in Clark’s chest. Great, now Bruce has made him cry. What a day it’s been.
“Do I need to hatch you?” Clark asks weakly. “I’m not sure that would solve all our problems, but you’d at least have some kind of functional body again.”
Bruce wobbles in place to express disagreement. He doesn’t think there’s anything inside him to be hatched. Just batwhite and batyolk. He’s imagining the concept of being incubated and it doesn’t seem pleasant. The thought of Clark sitting on him is more amusing, but would surely end in more tears.
“Okay. Then we’ll just have to wait it out until we can reverse the magic.”
Clark takes a violent breath inward, slaps his own chest, and stiffens his upper lip. He does recover with impressive speed, when the times call for it.
“Meanwhile, I need to put you somewhere safe,” he says, and he scoops Bruce up into one broad, beautiful hand. He seems to think better of it, and cups Bruce in two hands instead, cradling him close to the chest as he flies out of the conference room and into one of the labs. He makes a soft stack of paper towels and nestles Bruce there while he zooms around, grabbing steel pieces. Bruce watches with his painted white eyes as Clark uses his heat vision to forge a single occupant egg box on a chain.
He flies off for a second and returns with velvet and sponges, which he cuts and affixes to the walls inside of the box. Next, he inserts a lovely little cushion, and then lifts Bruce to show him his new home.
“Not bad, right? That way, I can fly with you hands-free.”
It’s quite nice, for a box Clark made in five minutes. However, it’s also basically an egg prison.
Bruce wiggles between his fingers, not so hard that Clark might drop him, but just enough to make his objection known. Clark chews at his lip for a moment to try and guess what the issue is.
“Oh, I know. You can’t see anything, huh?”
Bruce is returned to his paper towel stack so that Clark can put a window in his portable egg box.
“There, all fixed. Now you can enjoy a front row seat to the Superman show. It’s mostly me eating hotdogs.”
Clark replaces all the soft linings and carefully deposits Bruce inside the box, before hanging it from his neck. He probably looks ridiculous, but Bruce can hear him whistling happily as he flies out of the lab, and that’s all that matters, he supposes. Nothing sadder than a sad Superman. It isn’t so bad hitching a ride on his chest. No more undignified than all the other ways Clark has carried him over the years.
He can see the corridor of the Hall of Justice through his plexiglass window, and rounding the corner toward them is Diana.
She hurries over when she sees Clark sporting his new gaudy jewelry.
“Oh! There he is,” Diana says, bending down to look at Bruce. He can’t really do much to greet her, as it’s a rather snug fit inside his box. “Is this sufficient protection? Shouldn’t we put him in the refrigerator while we resolve this?”
Bruce shudders as well as he can with an eggshell body. He’s had enough bad run-ins with Mr. Freeze that the thought seems deeply uncomfortable.
“I’m afraid someone will try to eat him. Speedsters don’t always look too closely at what they’re grabbing before it ends up in their mouths.”
“That would be unfortunate,” Diana agrees. She taps a nail against the glass and Bruce rocks slightly in her direction to acknowledge her presence. She smiles at him, but it drops away as the alarms start ringing, signaling some kind of emergency.
Clark and Diana both zip over to the monitors, where they can see a swarm of goat-like robots causing mayhem in Metropolis. Before Bruce knows it, he’s midair with Clark as they fly over to help.
“Wait, I shouldn’t have taken you with me,” Clark says, but it’s too late to turn back now: the goatbots are climbing all over the buildings, and starting to take big chomps out of the walls. Bruce has absolutely no idea what practical purpose this serves, except to destroy the city.
He vibrates in place on his cushion, wishing he could do more to help Clark and Diana as they begin dispatching robots left and right. He still has his utility belt full of batarangs, but it’s just part of his shell. Also he has no arms. He’ll just have to trust they can handle this themselves.
Clark was right, though — Bruce has a great vantage point for exciting Superman action. Robogoat limbs and heads go flying in every direction as Clark blasts his way through them, trying to keep buildings upright as he does so. It’s like a special show just for him, Gotham’s Number One Superman Fan (yes, #1, despite what Dick believes). In between all the punches, Clark also sweeps civilians out of danger in his usual comforting manner. At least one of them looks at Bruce’s prison in confusion.
Although the waves of enemies seem endless, Bruce does think his allies are beginning to break the robot army down. There are fewer terrorizing the streets and skyline as Clark fights his way down another thoroughfare.
It’s this momentary lapse of judgment that perhaps trips up Clark as well, because three goatbots get him in a pincer attack, and one manages to gore into the egg box before Clark decapitates them all with heat vision.
Bruce feels the rush of air overhead and he tilts as well as he can to stare up at Clark’s chin. His box has been breached!
Clark notices too, and he looks down in alarm. “Are you okay?!”
Bruce doesn’t have time to answer or worry about his own circumstances, because a building comes down on Clark’s head right afterwards. Clark is too busy smashing another goat away from a family to stop the collapse, and though this would normally be no issue for him, a terribly familiar glint of green tumbles out of the goat’s crushed torso as it goes down.
Kryptonite!
Clark curses, but it’s too late for his superspeed to kick in; Bruce isn’t even sure he’s willing to use it, not with Bruce’s stupid useless egg body strapped to him.
The piece isn’t large, but it’s big enough to drain Clark’s strength, and he can’t even push it away, pinned under the fallen concrete as he is. This must have been a ploy to catch Superman with his guard down while he’s protecting the public; Bruce would bet there are more kryptonite-bearing robots in the crowd.
“Ugh, gotta get out,” Clark hisses, trying his best to crawl out of the debris. The civilians nearby are screaming for Wonder Woman to come help him, but it’s obvious that she’s still fighting off goats that are trying to ram civilians in the street.
“You need to keep moving!” Bruce attempts to tell Clark, and Clark tries, but the kryptonite is simultaneously too far to grab and too close for him to escape its effects. But if it could be moved further away…
With immense effort, Bruce slowly wiggles his way out of his padded egg box, and slips right out of the jagged opening. It’s a rocky ride down the plane of Clark’s chest and arm to the ground, but he makes it without damaging himself beyond a scratch or two. His cape helps protect him from some of the detritus.
“B? Where are you going?” Clark asks. His voice is thready, pained. Bruce rolls faster in response, spinning away from Clark’s fallen body and toward the wretched stone that’s hurting him. This is how he can still pull his weight, even in this strange body.
He’s rolling so fast that the momentum is building almost past his control, which is exactly what he needs as he collides with the kryptonite shard. He ignores the splintering burst of pain that accompanies the crack to his shell upon impact. Luckily, the kryptonite is long enough that Bruce can push it forward even as he begins to careen off course.
His luck runs out soon afterwards. The collapsed building atop Clark isn’t stable, and what chance can one little egg stand against the still-shifting chunks of concrete and steel?
Bruce hurtles the kryptonite as far as he can go, far enough to liberate Clark from its evil presence, and then the dust and the dark crumble in on him. At least it’s quick. A lone eggshell can only withstand so much pressure, so much less than the weight of the world.
“NO!”
Bruce is shaken awake by two broad, beautiful hands gripping his shoulders and rattling the remnants of sleep right out of his brain.
“Ugh. Stop,” he protests, trying to shove Clark away. Unfortunately, his hand just deflects off Clark’s amazing pecs and flaps uselessly in the air as Clark continues to vigorously pat him down.
“No, I need to make sure you’re safe and human.” His hands come up to squeeze Bruce’s face, and Bruce can hear the relief in his sigh when Bruce’s skin doesn’t crack apart like peeling paint. “Thank god,” Clark says, attacking Bruce’s face with kisses. “I had the most awful dream just now…”
“I know. I was in it,” Bruce says. He’s loosely holding Clark by the wrists, but allows the kiss assault to continue. The light outside his window is still pale; it probably isn’t even seven o’clock yet. Way too early for nightmare crises. He needs to convince Clark to lie back down and maybe they can enjoy a few more hours of peace.
“Yes. You were an egg, of all things. As if I needed some new potential problem to start worrying about-”
“Don’t waste energy thinking about it. I’m not going to turn into an egg.”
“But you could-”
“And if I did, I’m certain you’d protect me. Right?” It’s Bruce’s turn to grip Clark’s face, trying to still his hysteria long enough for him to return to his senses.
“Of course. I’d build you a box- no, a perfect safehouse to keep you in. Triple-reinforced. Complete with security cameras. And bubble wrap.”
“Wonderful.” He briskly closes his hands around Clark’s cheeks, and then guides him back down to the mattress. “As I am currently still human, this will do.” Bruce burrows through the blanket into Clark’s chest; finally getting the picture, Clark wraps his arms around him and relaxes into the bed.
“Okay. But I’m still going to buy bubble wrap later.”
“Sure. We’ll get as much as you want.”