Krypto-Knight (Batman x Superman)

Chapter 3

Clark's POV:

Drowsiness clouded my vision as sunlight crept into the gargantuan windows of the Wayne Manor.

"Good morning, Clark." Alfred greeted me. He was standing over me with an eerie grin on his face.

"Oh...hello," I responded, dazed. I was used to waking up in an empty home.

"Coffee for you?"

"S-sure...thanks." I sat upright on Bruce's couch and stretched.

"How would you like it?" Alfred inquired, already in the kitchen.

"Black, please."

He chuckled. "Not even Master Bruce is tough enough to drink black coffee. Well done." He winked at me, and almost on cue, I heard a door open and shut. Footsteps followed subsequently.

"I didn't know manliness was measured by sugar and cream Alfred." A shirtless Bruce retorted with a coy grin on his face. His abs rivaled my own. I quickly looked away as I realized that I was starting to stare.

I had never seen him like this before. So...chipper. I had hardly ever seen the unmasked version; this was a huge step.

"No, Sir. It's measured by something else." Alfred replied, stifling laughter.

"Or lack thereof." I added, and stood up to bid my friend a good morning.

"Morning, Clark." He said, rolling his eyes. A small smile tugged on his lips. He acknowledged the joke I had made. Normally he'd be angry.

"Good morning. You're in an awfully good mood for a night owl."

He nodded and leaned on the countertop where Alfred was preparing our drinks. "I know, right? It's odd. I guess I could get used to it though."

"Yes. It is a breath of fresh air to see you with a smile on your face as opposed to a scowl." Alfred said.

I agreed. All of this positivity had made me forget the reason behind me being there at all. However, that didn't keep me from remembering eventually.

"So, Bruce," I began.

"Yeah,"

"So we both slept on it...are you sure you're willing to help me?" I asked him, remembering everything that had occurred.

"Of course. You're my friend. Plus my conscience would eat me alive if I just sat idly by and done nothing."

"I see...well then...do we have a plan of action?"

Alfred handed us our drinks and the three of us sat around the coffee table.

"First things first, the press will murder you before Luthor gets a chance to. Bruce Wayne can handle that."

"But...how? And won't that lose you some of your reputation?" I responded, beginning to grow doubtful that this would actually help anything.

"Don't worry, Clark. I have my ways."

This eerie comment had me puzzled for a moment, until my thoughts were interrupted.

"...a press conference. Then we can perhaps get some of the media on your side, Clark." I heard my friend say.

"...what?! A press conference? They think I blew up Metropolis!" I exclaimed, not meaning to yell, but getting slightly frustrated.

"No, no. Not you. Me." Bruce corrected. "You stay here. You can't afford to be seen in the public eye quite yet."

This still seemed like a bad plan, but I knew I didn't have any better ideas, so I went with it. I was going to have to trust him.

*****
Bruce's POV:

As I strolled up to the podium and stared out at the angry news reporters, I felt my stomach drop to my feet.

"Deep breaths, Bruce. Deep breaths. Think about Clark..." I repeated in my head over and over.

I had written a rushed speech on the way here, Alfred driving and also giving me input.

I tapped the microphone, and with a nervous, shaky gulp of air, I began.

"What happened in Metropolis is truly a tragedy. I mourn the loss as well. The people are scared. The people are angry. The people are searching for someone, anyone, to take the blame. And the people have chosen Superman. Is he capable of doing such a thing? Absolutely. He is, well, super. But would he? Absolutely not. All he has ever done is help people. In times of need and crisis, he is there. And he was always there for Metropolis. Risking his life for that city, I know it was precious to him. To think that he would ever do such a thing is hurtful, not just to him, but to me, and all the others who would dare step up and defend he who has defended us for years upon years. Thank you."

As soon as I opened for questions, I was engulfed in a shroud of microphones and cameras.

"Mr. Wayne, why do you defend Superman so openly? Is there something we don't know; a partnership, friendship, perhaps?" A reporter questioned, words spilling through her teeth.

I did not know how to answer. If I let them know that I knew him, it would likely raise suspicion about myself. That was the last thing I wanted.

"No. But I know that somebody who fights like he does, and for the right reasons, would never commit such a crime." I responded, and braced myself for more questions.

About half an hour into questioning, I glanced at the clock.
Almost time to go. I thought, and steeled myself to walk through the maze of flashes and clicks.

When I was almost in the car, one bold reporter shoved a mic in my face.

"Mr. Wayne. If Superman really is responsible...will you accept all consequences for what you just did?"

I paused for a moment. I looked that woman dead in her manipulative green eyes.

"If Superman is really responsible..." I sat in the car and began to close the door.
"...We're all fucked."