serendipity. [superbat]

destruction.

Clark's curled up next to Bruce when the news breaks. His eyes can barely parse what they're seeing, ears barely register what they're hearing as the reporter stands outside of a burning building talking urgently to the camera. It's shameful how long it takes him to realize what's happening. It's not until the camera pans to the actual building that he's knocked out of the warmth he's been wrapped in for the past 48 hours.

 It's the venue where Luthor was holding his event. 

He sits up abruptly accidentally startling Bruce, who glances back at him before following his line of sight to the TV. Clark's not even sure he even says anything, explains where he's headed, reassures Bruce that he'll be back. All he knows is that he takes off running. He takes off running and he doesn't stop until his feet have left the ground. 

He shoots through the sky like a missile, eyes scanning the ground below until they catch the orange flames and dark smoke billowing into the clouds. He lands with a thud inside, not stopping to ask questions. The place is filled with people screaming, coughing, dying. There are bodies squashed under debris, impaled by steel, burned to ash by the flames. He grabs five people at a time, going as fast he can, dropping them off near the ambulances that have managed to make it before the actual fire truck. Out of the hundred he manages to pull out, none of them are Lois. He scoops Jimmy up, who's coughing, eyes clamped shut and watering as he tries to find his way out. Clark finds Lana, but she's pinned underneath a large slab of concrete, her eyes staring blankly up at nothing. He listens to the creek of metal, the sound of dust crumbling from the ceiling, the crackle of the blaze. He doesn't hear another heartbeat nearby. 

He moves the chunk of concrete off of Lana's limp body, gently scoops her up, and drifts down to the ground below before the building itself caves in and is no more. 

He doesn't understand.

Maybe she'd gotten out before he'd gotten there. He drapes Lana's body across a gurney and watches as the EMT's attempt to revive her. His eyes scan the area, ears trying to find Lois' voice, her heartbeat. Something. 

He eventually hears her voice faintly. He turns to see Jimmy with his phone up to his ear. It's emanating from the phone. She's not here. 

He can hear her asking if Jimmy is okay, asking about Lana. 

"You're lucky your car broke down, Lane." The man answers with a shaky voice. 

That's what it took for him to finally come to his senses. At some point during his disassociation, he'd managed to remember his suit and to take off his glasses, but that didn't stop people from staring at him. He looks down at himself thinking maybe, in his hurry, he'd forgotten to do so. It takes him a moment to realize that they're in awe of him. His existence. He's so used to Bruce's nonchalance that it almost seems jarring. 

Clark takes off into the night and doesn't stop until he's standing inside of his apartment. It's not until he's leaning up against the door, that the rest of it hits him. Lana was dead. Lana was dead and Luthor was nowhere to be seen. Of course, that's when the anger sets in. He'd been too late to save her. Luthor had killed her. 

He's not sure how long he just stands, staring down at the floor, but eventually Bruce wanders over. He's watching him as if he knows exactly what Clark is feeling. Clark's not sure what he's even expecting from Bruce. The man had probably experienced more loss than Clark has, but this was still Bruce. Bruce, who tended to lean on the harsher side, says the wrong things at the wrong times because he thinks it'll have a better outcome than sparing people's feelings. Clark can feel him lingering, watching, analyzing. It's like Clark's some kind of project or test subject. Then, he shuffles forward, wrapping his arms around Clark's neck and tugging him down into a hug.