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And so here they are now, standing in the cave with Bruce peering up at him like a frightened little child, and something is gnawing in the pit of Clark's stomach. An ugly realization that somehow he has turned into the source of Bruce's distress.
Bruce drops his gaze almost instantly. Not his stance though — his shoulders are still too high, his arms too rigid. It makes Clark want to soothe him. To lower his voice and murmur things you would to a crying child, maybe ruffle Bruce's hair and give him some backrubs also. But as much as he hopes for those pretty eyes to return to him, he doesn't want them to do so with anger and indignation clouding their blue. Clark just bites his mouth shut and watches as Bruce's jaw clenches even tighter when he presses in, trapping bony fingers within his hold and lifting the mask off.
_
Or the cowl is broken, and Clark takes it upon himself to take care of Bruce as Bruce doesn't seem to know how.
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