serendipity. [superbat]

embrace.

a/n: i may have to edit this a lil later. sorry about that

"You need to start trusting him, y'know?" Diana says, leaning against the work table. 

Bruce doesn't say anything, hands continuing to fiddle away with the beginnings of Robin's 'panic button'. 

"If he didn't care about you, he wouldn't be here," Diana continues, "so stop pushing him away."

She finishes her speech and stands from the table just in time for Clark to come sauntering downstairs, worried expression already in place before he can even make it to the bottom. He's clearly got something on his mind, but he doesn't say anything as he takes Diana's place next to Bruce. Instead, he just hovers, quietly watching Bruce fiddle with the device.

It's not that Bruce doesn't trust Clark; Bruce trusts Clark with his life. It's more that Bruce has a much harder time explaining himself in general. Diana somehow understood him without words. She just filled in the blanks. He couldn't really expect Clark to do the same, but he'd yet to figure out how to articulate complicated feelings, especially with Clark's unwavering optimism. 

He still hadn't figured it out ten minutes later, so he just puts down the gadget and leans into Clark's space. Clark's taken a seat on the table, so close to Bruce that it only takes a slight movement to make contact, rest his head atop Clark's thigh. 

He's not expecting anything from the action. Maybe he expects Clark to wait, patient as ever, for Bruce to get off of him. Maybe he'd flash a polite smile before pretending like it never even happened. Instead, Bruce feels a light press against the back of his head, gentle and unsure, before Clark's deft fingers begin to slowly run through Bruce's hair.

"How about a break?" 

Bruce is tired. Clark can see it in the man's face even as he stubbornly stares out of the window at nothing but fields. He's determined to keep his eyes open until he lays them on the house. He's been staring at the plans for the past hour, but Clark can tell he's not really looking at them. Despite Bruce's rather calm exterior, he could see the man buzzing with newfound curiosity. 

The house is just as it was the last time they'd passed by. The grass is a little overgrown; the other neighbors slightly too far away to keep it freshly mowed. There's a little stone path that leads up to a set of questionable looking stairs. Clark walks up first, deciding to test them before letting Bruce try them. They don't immediately crumble into dust underneath Clark's feet, but he still holds out a hand to help Bruce make his way up. 

Clark's a bit apprehensive as he stands on the charred porch looking into the old house. His mother's house was old, but it'd had renovations over the years. He didn't have to worry about asbestos or lead paint when he stepped inside. This house, on the other hand, he didn't know the history of. That and it was a rickety two-story with a top floor that may attempt to collapse.

He holds out an arm in front of Bruce, who looks at it in confusion before understanding dawns and he takes a step back. There's more left behind than Clark thought there was. He shuffles through the house inspecting it as carefully as he can. He can see that the previous family hadn't come back for what was left inside. The living room TV was still technically 'on'. The dining room table was still set for eight. The kitchen, where the fire had started, still had pots and pans sitting on the counter. The upstairs bedrooms still had personal belongings in them, some of them burned, some of them not. The walls are not only burned but also water damaged, the paint slowly crackling and peeling away. The flames have completely eaten away at the drywall to expose the interior.

No asbestos. No lead paints. 

However, the stairs and top floor creak as if they'll simply turn to ashes at a moment's notice.