Fly Away With Me

Nightwing is standing on the top of the antenna on the Draper Building; the tallest spot in Bludhaven. Only two people have ever stood where he is now. One of them is dead. The other is in school.

The third person has never, technically, stood here. When he shows up tonight, Nightwing ignores him. He knows it won't make any difference; Superman will give his lecture whether or not Dick invites him to. He simply waits, knowing that he doesn't care and nothing Clark can say will change that.

"Dick..." Superman finally breaks the silence, hovering beside Nightwing as casually as though they were both standing on a street corner. In costume, however, this spot is the more natural one.

Dick doesn't answer him. He stares down at his city. His eyes are constantly moving to observe every spot that's visible. The invisible places are filled in with his mind's eye; he can see the patterns. Places where 'haven life is proceding apace, and places where trouble is brewing. It's like feeling sickness in your own body, like the first chills and aches of the flu.

A hand touches his arm and Dick surprises himself by actually glancing over. Clark's looking at him with worry, and pain. He wants to knock Clark's hand away, but he's pretty sure that Clark will just look at him with even more sympathy.

He'd rather just get the lecture.

"What do you want?" he asks, turning his attention back to the city below them. Perhaps something will need his attention and he can leave Superman behind. Except Superman would just come along, and Dick... really doesn't care about saving anyone.

"You have to stop," Superman says -- and it's the superhero talking, not his friend. This is about responsibility, and not... not...

"Not yet." Dick still has something to do.

The hand on his arm tightens, just enough so Dick can feel it. Clark's controlling himself too much for it to be anything more than getting his attention. He's fairly sure Clark won't stop him if he leaves.

He's also fairly certain Clark will follow him, no matter where he goes.

"Dick..." There's censure. The tone that precedes the lecture.

"He killed them," Dick interrupts, skipping to the end of Clark's speech.

"I know. I understand, Dick. I really do."

Dick knows that Clark has lost loved ones as well. Dick knows he isn't the only one to toss aside everything that used to matter, in pursuit of that one person.

He understands Bruce a lot better, now. He wonders why he always thought, before, that he understood. Looking in from the outside is a hell of a lot different than looking out from in.

"I have to do this," Dick says. He sees the bodies. The burnt out tents. Hears the screams of the people and animals. Sees the rubble that used to house so many of his friends.

He stops the slideshow in his mind and focuses on the mission.

"Because it's easier to destroy something, than face the pain," Clark says, very quietly.

"I don't need you to psychoanalyse me," Dick snaps. "I grew up with Batman -- you think I don't have a degree in it already?"

Clark's hand lets go of his arm. "I'm sorry. Dick... I'm just trying to help."

Dick turns towards him, and it seems... grotesque, that Superman is floating there, untouched by anything, trying to reach him. Dick's back in his costume out of the street clothes Alfred brought him, and it's still torn and dirty and the fresh bandages aren't clean anymore. He's holding onto the antenna, mired by his anchor to the city. Caught by the crime and the pain and the hatred.

Superman looks like he had a shower half an hour ago. Squeaky-clean.

There's a vivid memory of what that tastes like, then Dick shoves that slideshow out of his mind, as well.

But Clark puts his hand on Dick's cheek. "Let me help. Let someone help. Name him or her and I'll have them here in five seconds. Less, if I don't have to explain myself."

"You'd kidnap someone for me? Isn't that sweet." Dick moves his head away from Clark's touch, shifts his grip on the antenna and he knows Clark is tracking every move he makes. He sees Clark float just slightly lower, as though prepared to make a dive if Dick should do so.

"Most of your friends wouldn't need an explanation. Just knowing you needed them would be enough."

"A lot of my friends are dead right now." Dick is not surprised he's managed to say it with such sarcasm. It's better than screaming.

"I know." Clark's voice is so soft, that it nearly breaks him. He hates that. He has always hated how words could get inside him. Bruce was never one for using many words, and Dick doesn't know if that's made him starve for them, or what.

He realises he's psychoanalysing himself, and makes himself stop before Clark figures it out and laughs at him.

Dick tries once more to focus. Blockbuster. He has to--

He can't even think the words 'kill him' in front of Clark. In front of Superman.

"Go away," he says, evenly. It's worth a try.

"Come with me," Superman says.

"You going to take me into Blockbuster's lair?" He knows Clark is going to try everything he can to stop him. He knows Clark is worried that Dick will hate himself, afterwards, for deliberately killing a man.

Dick doesn't know how to convince him that he doesn't care.

Clark says, "I would, if you promise me it won't be to kill him."

Fucking Superman.

Clark puts his hand on Dick's arm, again. Dick wants to -- no, he really doesn't. He wants Superman to leave, so he can get on with the only thing that matters.

"Bruce says you have to work this out on your own. I think he's just afraid he couldn't stop you."

"Great. Why don't you go back and the two of you can talk all about me." And leave me alone, he thinks. Let me do this before...

He stops and thinks, for a second, about Bruce and Clark having talked about him already. Not that he didn't realise Bruce knew. Alfred's showing up before the funeral was proof of that. But that isn't the same as Bruce and Clark talking about him.

Then again, how else wouuld Clark know to be here?

Dick looks over, and he's about to demand an answer when the look on Clark's face just... hits him.

He can't do this with Clark watching. Not because Clark will judge him, but because he'll keep looking at him like that.

"Go away," he says again, and he's at the very last of his control.

Instead, Superman flys nearer, and scoops him up. Dick barely has a chance to reach for the antenna again before Superman has flown too far away for him to hang onto anything but Clark.

Clark's holding him, embracing him and Dick doesn't wrap his arms around his neck because if he strangles Superman from this altitude, they'll both be dead.

He fights for two more seconds, and Clark doesn't seem to care. He doesn't shift his grip on Dick at all, doesn't even move to counter the way Dick is trying to claw his way free. He just floats there, with Dick in his arms.

Dick kicks at him one more time. Then he's got his arms around Clark, and Clark's holding him and saying something that might not be English, but it sounds soothing and Dick really doesn't want to hear it because they're just more words twisting inside him and... he loses the rest of his control.

Clark holds him, above the city, until he's done.

Dick continues hanging onto him, after he's finished crying. He feels exhausted and he wants to curl up and just sleep. Clark shifts his grip a little, and Dick finds his head resting on Superman's shoulder.

"I..." He has no idea what he wants. He wants Blockbuster dead. He wants Yoska and everyone back. He wants...

Oddly, Superman's arm doesn't feel all that different from Zitka's trunk. That same strong, reassuring support. He wonders if Clark would be pleased to hear himself compared to an elephant.


Clark rubs his back, a little, and Dick thinks that maybe they can just hang here, for awhile. Clark won't mind. He raises his head a bit to ask, and finds Clark looking at him. Finds Clark tilting his head and then there's a warm, salty kiss. Dick wraps his hand through Clark's hair, pulling himself closer. He suddenly wants something that has nothing to do with sleep, or death.

Clark keeps kissing him, and he feels a hand pulling at the waistband of his costume. He nods yes, and keeps tasting Clark's mouth, wraps a leg around Superman's waist to make him feel as though he isn't being totally supported by one arm so far off the ground.

Clark's hand is inside his pants, and his cock is hard. Dick moves a little, up and down as though they were in a totally different position. Clark laughs, just a bit, the sound muffled against Dick's mouth. But his figners are warm and strong, and Dick can feel the callouses on Clark's fingertips as Clark touches him.

He doesn't beg out loud, but his hands are moving and he's still trying to hump Clark's hand and still dragging kisses out of him like they are his only source of air. Clark's jerking him off, hand moving a little faster, and Dick is grateful that he's long since convinced Clark just how hard and how fast he can do this sort of thing to a human cock.

It isn't long before Dick is breathing hard, biting back screams practically by instinct. Clark is licking his neck, nibbling a bit and he knows that Clark wants him to scream. It's too well-trained in him to make noise, though, and Clark has always seemed resigned to this. He keeps moving his hand, murmuring things to Dick that don't mean anything except that he's here.

Dick hangs on as tightly as he can, and presses his face against Clark's shoulder as he comes.

Clark doesn't remove his hand until Dick raises his head and looks at him. Then Clark shifts them both around again, replacing Dick's costume and looking well-composed for a man who's been come on. Or --
Dick realises that Clark aimed him elsewhere. The birds are going to be surprised, Dick thinks.

But they're both relatively still clean, and Dick feels... surprisingly not much like being angry at Clark for showing up.

But he also doesn't feel like letting Roland Desmore get away with what he's done. He starts to apologise, trying to ignore the very odd sensation of standing in midair, with Superman's arm around his waist. It's something he's sure he'll never get used to.

Clark asks, "Would it be all right if we just arrest him?"

"That sort of thing doesn't hold, in Bludhaven. Blockbuster owns too much, owns too many people." Simple answers. Clark's life has always seemed deceptively simpler than his own.

"I wasn't thinking about Bludhaven authorities," Clark says easily.

"I... don't know if it will work. Clark... he can't get away with this."

"I know. Do you trust me?" Clark is looking at him, earnestly. Sincerely. His expression is as completely open as Dick has ever seen. Dick's used to seeing him this way, but it's always unsettling. Maybe it's just the contrast. Sometimes he sees Clark and Bruce side-by-side and...

He tries not to think that. It always takes him to a bad place.

Dick realises Clark is waiting for an answer, and he knows Clark must think he's been debating whether or not he does.

"I trust you," he says, and while he meant it only to be that much of an answer, he realises he's just decided to do things Clark's way. It isn't too late to say he'll take care of things himself, and he knows Superman might even let him.

But right now, he just wants the pain to stop, and he knows that justice -- no matter whose -- won't do that.

He puts his arm around Clark, and holds himself there for just another second. Clark says nothing, then Dick moves away, back into 'flying with you' position, and says, "Let's go."